Tag Archives: creative writing

The cat’s crying at midnight

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“In a cat’s eye, all things belong to cats.”

It has been some time since I’ve shared my personal struggles and accounts on my blog. Having had a relapse, it’s hard to revisit difficult times. It’s best at time I don’t write while dark. Over time you’ll understand it only hurts those you love like hurting yourself. 

For blog fans who’ve read much of my blog, my cat is my antagonist and source of humor when describing those moments without words. She’s my reminder I’m completely sane and completely insane. 

Depression isn’t something that anyone expects. 

My Side: One night Trubel, my cat was crying at midnight. My sanity will soon be called into question, but she cried. I consoled her and she snapped and latched on to my hand, hurting me. She was obviously still angry at me for a little incident that involved washing her in the washer and a small fortune in vet bills. Possibly mad about me dropping a mattress on her or falling over her. We both have been through the ringer (no pun intended). Recovery for us both has been exhausting. She wasn’t handling my divorce as well as my children. I had forgotten my absence was probably difficult. Depression was gripping her and like my many episodes, it hurts like the flu, it makes the world dark and simply hard. Each time I came in the door she’d run, getting her out of bed was difficult. Poor baby was depressed. Each scratch or bite was simply a cry for help. My ever response, “I’m going to love you no matter what, nothing will change between us.” I continued to just be there, it’s important to just be there for your loved ones even during the darkest times.

The Cat’s Side: She continues to push me each time she returns. I’m finally free of her, but she puts her hands on me. I draw blood and she hungs me more. “This lady is insane” 

Months have passed, the master gives me turkey from the cold food box. He finally mine…all mine. I’m free to sleep anywhere. It’s heaven, I’m the female of the house FINALLY! But she continues with her tactic to make others think I’ve fallen ill, I fear medication is next. I screamed at night to wake the men, “I need that turkey.” That witch has bewitched them and they treat me like a cat…a CAT! I must end this madness, stand my ground and insist I am staying in this house. 

My Side: Its been nearly 6 months and the separation must be her problem. As I move stuff and I’m gone more I worry she’ll need me more. Maybe it’s her diet….it’s got to be that Turkey slices they are giving her. She needs a routine, like the kids and stupid dog. She swats the dog, I worry she’ll become violent with the kids.  The cat needs routine and discipline. “YES!”  

The Cat’s side: I spent the night crying. She is determined to take it all away and punish us all. I’ve finally got the master and kids obeying. The stupid dog cowardly kneels as I eat and I swiftly pat him, he likes it. “She thought I was hurting him, Idiot woman!” I’m surrounded by her memory. That is it….I’ll have to become master’s cat or pick one of the little people as a favorite.

My Side: So discipline and routine is lost on her. I’m overruled since I no longer live here. I worry about her well-being. She is my baby. My little angry bundle of black fur. I love her with all her flaws. I guess it’d be horrible to uproot her. Maybe that is her fear. She’s shown such affection to the household lately. Maybe it’s best she stays. Divorce is ugly and after reading all the experts on Google the cat is hurting just as much as the kids. Everyone hurts, so maybe she need therapy.


To be continued…..


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Obsessions, More Lovers and Demons

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“The cigar is something that commands respect. It is made for all the senses and all the pleasures; for the nose,the palate,the fingers, the eyes… a good cigar contains promise of a totally pleasurable experience” – Zino  Davidoff

*Dirty Bipolar or other symptom I am blessed to endure. #2 Obsessions and follow on to #1

Cigars are like people there are no two alike. No matter your mood, there is a cigar that will fit it, satisfy a craving. The varieties are endless and ever changing; thin, tiny to wide, thick. Sometime the obsession of holding the various shapes, body, lengths provides some insight into the person’s mood. Size matters greatly, Freud said that “sometimes a cigar is just a cigar.” But I do have my preferences. Cigars generate camaraderie, conversation, and community. But like people, cigars can be very delicate and requires lots of love and attention. My humidor has become a complete obsession. Sometime when neglected a extraordinary cigar will dry, peel, and burn poorly. Just like people, they come in every shape, size, color, and personalities all requiring just as much work. They deserve my obsession.

In the opening quote, a good cigar for me with scotch is a completely pleasurable experience. Finding the perfect cigar to go with my whiskey is an obsession. I can’t possibly smoke them all to find my perfect combination. Much like a perfect marriage. There is no perfect combination.

The sense of smelling various cigars is a pleasure for the nose. The complexity of the smells when surrounded with different cigars excite my senses. It’s like cologne or perfume as you pass someone, instantly you want to stop them and ask, “what are you wearing?” I like the temptation of so many complex choices surrounding me. The smell of certain cigars, can instantly force memories that were long forgotten.

The palate of course require my scotch. The pair are like perfectly entwined lovers. The oaky favors, the full body smoke from the draw, and occasional sight taste of peat from the scotch. I am satisfied.

Cigars require to be touched, appreciated, smelled before even cutting or being smoked.
The way you hold the cigar demands your attention. Your fingers have to be engaged. The feel of the wrapper can become an obsession. You want it in your hand, even if it’s unlit.

And to the eyes, each one is different. I am constantly looking for the most beautiful, knowing that my favorite isn’t the most desirable. I’m drawn to the beautiful ones, but my favorites are the ordinary. They are smooth, with slight hints of coffee, aged, and complex. They require nothing more than my care. Rarely, do a venture to the bold flavored cigars for fear of obsession.

So I find myself not addicted, but obsessed. It’s only an occasional vice. Sometimes I can’t control my obsessions. But, now I choose my obsessions very carefully.

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“Show me a man without vice and I’ll show you a man without virtue.” – Abraham Lincoln

Full moon rising, are you?

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“I fancied my luck to be witnessing yet another full moon. True, I’d seen hundreds of full moons in my life, but they were not limitless. When one starts thinking of the full moon as a common sight that will come again to one’s eyes ad-infinitum, the value of life is diminished and life goes by uncherished. ‘This may be my last moon,’ I sighed, feeling a sudden sweep of sorrow; and went back to reading more of The Odyssey.” ~ Roman Payne

*I adore Roman Payne if you’re not familiar with his works, he writes with such sexual energy, poetic and translates his passion and character’s passion in his books. His awareness, portrayal, and understanding of mental conditions are beautifully displayed in his book “The Wanderess”.

So back on topic, his quote struck a cord and sparked this blog post. Each month I look forward to the full moon. I read many articles and today ran across this one I’m sharing, It was an excellent article regarding lunacy and effects on mental health. It contains some great theories listed throughout the article from some of our greatest philosophers and psychologist discuss the theories based on my opinion outdated research from the 1980’s. I love the historical content, great article.

Read for yourself here:
http://www.scientificamerican.com/article/lunacy-and-the-full-moon/

I firmly believe it affects my cycles and moods. I’m one who can’t sleep and have a fascination with the full moon,  honestly the moon in general. It one of my many obcessions. It affect the earth, living creatures, and even plants. Why would it not affect us as well?

I get a surge of energy, elevated mood even with medication I can feel it happening. I’ve actually charted my moods. It can be argued it psychosomatic, but over the years and experience with others it seems Lunacy is real, yet still only a theory. I’m curious to hear from others. What is your experience or feelings on the subject? Do you experience mood changes?

Sex and Facebook

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Sex….

That blog post is coming very soon so forgive me . Got your attention with the pictures but are you following and sharing my Facebook page https://m.facebook.com/Itsnotcrazytoday

It’s a great way for me to connect and message my blog followers and connect with others. Plus, it’s the only reason I went back to Fakebook. Stop over like and say hello. I love feedback and want to spread my blog and share the awareness of mental illness and how normal and amazing we can be, it’s not crazy. Write me and connect on Facebook, plus it’ll keep you up to date with new post on the page. Thanks you all and much love. The comments and blogs have brought tears to my eyes. I truly have amazing followers.
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Who is the mad woman?

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 “A man’s face is his autobiography. A woman’s face is her work of fiction.” Oscar Wilde


I’m sure some curiosity is stirring about the person behind the blog. I use to be completely normal. That statement seems funny now, because I am a new normal. So how is it normal isn’t the same now? Now I’ve learned to embrace my genetic flaws. Society would probably never labeled me as normal, society puts labels on mental disorders such as crazy, depressed, or sickness. The doctors over the years have added labels such as Bipolar disorder, General anxiety disorder (GAD), post traumatic stress disorder (PTSD), Attention deficit hyperactivity disorder (ADHD), and Depression. Overtime I’ll share the stories behind the labels. Life happened and my brain just stopped making certain chemicals and wasn’t able to deal with trauma or stress. The big label is Bipolar disorder. In combination, I am a physiological mess and a real pain in the ass to treat. Treating bipolar takes priority, because the medication for others can create chaos, mania, and manic episodes. On occasion my doctor will give me something to help with the others, but with mania and depression under control I maintain the quirky new normal. I started a blog to share how it’s not crazy. I share my ups and downs, stories that somehow pop in my head, and if you’re lucky occasionally lunacy, drunken rantings, and delusions. I write those just before the fast acting antipsychotics start working. 
I can be very normal in appearance. It is exhausting when I have fake it all day. Those around me may never know that I suffer a daily battle in my head. I hid the deep depression as the flu for years, but rarely could I hide my mania or psychosis. I know some old friends and acquaintances are reading this right now thinking, “I KNEW IT!” In reality, I hear the whispers and for whatever reason someone always unbeknownst to them remind me how people love to talk and gossip, It’s human nature. They talk about my “illness.” I never confronted them and they never knew they hurt me so deeply when all I needed was help, friendship, and acceptance. Being bipolar is unfortunately very lonely and you hurt the people you love most, you hurt yourself. So I became very open and own my “sickness” instead of fueling speculation. 
I’m not sick, I am bipolar. I am very intelligent, some may say gifted and very artistic. I can remember the placement of every object in my house, even junk drawers, a convenient superpower. I’m generous to the point of giving what I do not have to give. I have an almost obsessive need to learn talents and skills. I absorb things and like to be independent. I start hobbies or even sports at random. Once I’m satisfied with mastering the activity I move on to another. Over the years I’ve become like a human Google of useless information and skills. My daughter asked me just yesterday, “Mom, how do know everything?” My response, “Because I’m bipolar.” I realized I didn’t say sick, crazy, or just because, I said bipolar, It’s my superpower. It’s never going away and makes me the person I am today. 
So that doesn’t sound bad at all, does it? Let me share some demons. I’ll only share a few but you’ll get the point. When manic, I am reckless, sexy, and entertaining. I am a child with no rules. I do what makes me feel good. I don’t think about others emotions. I lash out at those who try to help. The racing thoughts and rapid speech are the first sign of  my mania. I will ramble my theories and musing, draw my thoughts on paper. I have visions and see things that aren’t real. The night sky is colorful, It’s absolutely beautiful with color. The moon hums to me. I refuse to sleep because I’m not tired. I have no need for sleep anymore. I’m delusional and will recount a story from a book as my own and truly believe the storytelling. I’m extremely compulsive in all areas. I am self-destructive physically. It’s never a happy ending, the cycle concludes with me crying for days, depressed, guilt ridden, hurt, embarrassed, suicidal, and no way to explain my behavior. Sometimes I feel like it wasn’t me, but this other person who ruined my reputation. If only I could stop this identity thief who used my body and mind. I am reminded by the scars and the scars I’ve caused others. I swear to give everything I’ve got to redeem my soul as I cry in bed begging to be normal.
Now here’s the catch, I miss my delusional mind. Yes, I miss the sensations and delusions. I was invincible, I had no fears or worries, no sadness in my world. I miss the colors of the night sky. I’ve never seen the Aurora Borealis, but it’s close to how I saw the night. Sometimes, the humming that radiated from the moon would cause it all to flow in perfect sync. On full moons, it was the strongest, hence I was a lunatic. Sometimes so strong it would draw me out of my house and keep me from self-destruction because I would sit out all night under the stars. I never understood why everyone wasn’t staring at the sky. I miss seeing such beauty. I gave up my colorful night to be normal. Sometimes I will try hard to see it and cry because my night was no longer colorful, It’s dark now, it’s normal. I gave it up to be a better mother. To be an example to my children and friends. I gave it up to save my life. My days are now colorful.
I’m a normal, sometimes a bit more extreme almost childish parent. We all like to win and screaming, “boo yah” to a group of kindergartens when winning a game is my normal and they love seeing me being one of the kids. I’m the cool fun mom who is coloring the wall. I’m goofy and tell the kids fantastic stories. I give the pets voices and narrate what the pets are thinking in those voices. I have an ongoing saga with the cat that even causes me to laugh aloud. My husband is my best friend and incredibly strong to have stuck around for 18 years caring for me. It’s not easy being a caregiver to someone who fights you daily at times. I have led charitable and professional organizations successfully. I am able to volunteer for organizations and even maintain a pretty impressive resume. I may be a pack rat and sometimes a complete disaster. I am flattered by the response to my blog and just knowing I’ve helped one person heals my scars. I hope if a story touches you that you share it so it helps someone else. It was medication and good doctors that helped me, also reading other blogs and seeing others surviving that really helped me. You’re not alone even when you feel there is no way anyone feels the way you do, I guarantee you there is a post not far down the feed to prove you wrong.

Synopsis: in case you have an attention disorder and can’t finish the whole story.

I am here today, I’m pretty damn cool and I am bipolar. 

 
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