Tag Archives: depression

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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Understanding The Terror

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“The so-called ‘psychotically depressed’ person who tries to kill herself doesn’t do so out of quote ‘hopelessness’ or any abstract conviction that life’s assets and debits do not square. And surely not because death seems suddenly appealing. The person in whom Its invisible agony reaches a certain unendurable level will kill herself the same way a trapped person will eventually jump from the window of a burning high-rise. Make no mistake about people who leap from burning windows. Their terror of falling from a great height is still just as great as it would be for you or me standing speculatively at the same window just checking out the view; i.e. the fear of falling remains a constant. The variable here is the other terror, the fire’s flames: when the flames get close enough, falling to death becomes the slightly less terrible of two terrors. It’s not desiring the fall; it’s terror of the flames. And yet nobody down on the sidewalk, looking up and yelling ‘Don’t!’ and ‘Hang on!’, can understand the jump. Not really. You’d have to have personally been trapped and felt flames to really understand a terror way beyond falling.” ~

David Foster Wallace

11 Signs That Someone You Know Is Hiding Depression – Learning Mind

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https://www.learning-mind.com/hiding-depression-signs/

https://www.learning-mind.com/hiding-depression-signs/

 “Self-Help Psychological Therapy!” 

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“I am developing a new board game. It’s called “I’m Sorry.” It’s also a form of “Self-Help Psychological Therapy!”

You take turns moving around the board like Monopoly. But if you land on a Yellow or Green “I’m Sorry Space”… you have to make a Phone call. Both green and yellow cards are labeled- the same with things like: Your Ex, Parental figure, friend, co-worker, boss, children, etc. You get the point…

If you land on the yellow space, the game stops, everyone gets quiet and you have to call that person up – on speakerphone. You apologize for something you’ve done in your past. Come on you know you are not perfect and you probably screwed up, hurt or disappointed everyone in your past at one time or another. So you call and you apologize. You explain what you did to them wrong if they forgive you, you move forward 10 places and everyone cheers! No forgiveness back- you move back to the beginning.

If you land on the green space- it’s similar. But you call the person up and you try to explain to them how, in someway, they hurt you in the past. If they apologize… cheers and you move forward 10 spaces. No apology… move backward ten spaces. They curse at you- game over.

In the original packaging of the yellow and green cards, are mixed in a set of “I’m Sorry Cards.” If you are lucky enough to get to pick up an “I’m Sorry Card,” it’s like a Get Out of Jail Free Card, and you don’t have to make the call.
The only catch is that the cards come hermetically sealed. After opening up the package, and the cards are exposed to air, all of the “I’m Sorry Cards,” magically turn into “Deal With it Cards!” And so, you really never get a free ride. In reality, every time you pick up a yellow or green card, you have to- Deal with It!
Of course you can always order a new factory set of sealed of “I’m Sorry Cards.” But they only last about 30 minutes and are very expensive, so you’ll have to play fast. Cute Game? Hey, don’t steal my idea!!!” ~ José N. Harris, Mi Vida

Hospitalization ~ Down the rabbit hole

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“It is a very inconvenient habit of kittens (Alice had once made the remark) that whatever you say to them, they always purr.” ~ Lewis Carroll, Through the Looking-Glass, and What Alice Found There (Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland, #2)
I’ll spare you all the details of the manic episodes that led to this post because of my young readers, including my own pre-teen. I hope she and others read this post and understands why her mother was gone for nearly two weeks and all the Thanksgiving food went uncooked this year in my unexpected absence. Please respect my blog and direct any questions privately. 

Like the quote above, I have an inconvenient habit of purring, always smiling, and always living life to the fullest. The details are unimportant to this particular post except I did the one thing you never do, stopped my medication. I was convinced I was wrongly medicated and each time another pill would be added sending me into a rabbit hole. I reached out entirely too subtle and told one or two people I stopped all my meds then followed with the “I’m fine”. I WAS NOT FINE.
“Manic depression — or bipolar disorder — is like racing up to a clifftop before diving headfirst into a cavity. Maintaining a healthy lifestyle is the psychic equivalent of an extreme sport. The manic highs — that exhilarating rush to the top of the cliff — make you feel bionic in your hyper-energized capacity for generosity, sexiness and soulfulness. You feel like you have ingested stars and are now glowing from within. It’s unearned confidence-in-extremis — with an emphasis on the con, because you feel cheated once you inevitably crash into that cavity. I sometimes joke that mania is the worst kind of pyramid scheme, one that the bipolar individual doesn’t even know they’re building, only to find out, too late, that they’re also its biggest casualty.” ~ Diriye Osman
So head first I landed in the mental health hospital. It was extremely important to stabilize and get me on proper medication as fast as possible. I was numb, dead to the world and nonexistent. The details are blurry, the EMT talked the entire time on the ride to the hospital to comfort me. Entry was like a jail, but an overwhelming smell of crayons. All my things were taken, watch, phone, shoes, and anything with strings. I didn’t care, I was escorted to my little room I would share. During my time there I watched the ward turn over patients 2 or 3 times, I stayed.
I wasn’t one of the lucky ones who got to eat in the cafeteria, I wasn’t allowed to leave my ward. My breakfast, lunch, dinner came in styrofoam containers at the same time everyday, in the same place. The same area I sat all day to color and look out the window. Thanksgiving day, dinner came in the styrofoam container, it was surreal. I had grown attached to a small group of people and we ate together and then went on with our day like any other. I watched people come and go, I wondered to myself, “how sick am I?” I couldn’t understand why I couldn’t go home and in my tiny room I’d already had three roommates. Looking out my window everyday I just felt trapped, trapped like an animal. 
I was eventually released just before the weekend, After nearly two weeks I felt defeated and broken. It was amazing to surround myself with friends who insisted I spend the weekend outside doing a sport I love, but now looking at windows from the outside, not trapped inside. Feeling defeated went away and feeling broken slowly went away so I could heal and forget the memories of the ward. I need that inconvenient habit of purring.

“Understanding me”

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“Understand me. I’m not like an ordinary world. I have my madness, I live in another dimension and I do not have time for things that have no soul.” ~ Charles Bukowski

I’ve done a lot of reflection, experienced great things, great people, and been part of some extraordinary projects and events even since my last post. Again, this is such a silent illness. If you know me in person you will rarely see me without a smile on my face. What is hard to admit is how many times I wanted to run or avoid any human interaction. I forced myself, not because it was for the experience, not for the social reward, but to make myself experience life. I do this because my family and my friends mean more than this thing I fight in my mind.

On social media, you only see the good and rarely the bad. I promise for every extraordinary experience, I’ve had a great fall from the over stimulation. It was never someone’s fault and I am thankful for the wonderful things I am blessed to be apart of socially and recreational. I am able to listen to everyone, hear everyone, remember, and listen. I do put together huge pictures in my head. It’s almost a curse, I pin and connect everything and have amazing epiphanies. People want to see other failures, it’s astonishing. I see it everyday, someone who volunteers and moves on to another endeavor is always criticized, success is criticize.

I connect the dots in my head and have an overwhelming sense of shame for knowing something I should not know, only because three or more people placed puzzle pieces via causal conversation. I was able to see it all completed, and it hurts me like a dagger upon completion of the puzzles in my head. I’ve found myself withdrawn from those whom I never wanted to finish the puzzles, but regrettably by forcing the smile and “living” it was inevitable.

As, Bukowski said above, “I do not have time for things that have no soul” and I shall not make my time available to be sucked dry of any hope I have to win the battles in my mind. I fight too hard everyday to erase, remember, and overcome the thoughts in my mind.

“Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle,” It’s questionable to the origins of the quote, was it Plato? Most likely Ian McClaren, but it is something we should all remember.  I am reminded daily by brief encounters, private messages, emails, or comments on wordpress that I am not alone and we are all very different, but….you are not alone.

Remember, you deserve understanding.

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Parenting through the blur

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“Through the blur, I wondered if I was alone or if other parents felt the same way I did – that everything involving our children was painful in some way. The emotions, whether they were joy, sorrow, love or pride, were so deep and sharp that in the end they left you raw, exposed and yes, in pain. The human heart was not designed to beat outside the human body and yet, each child represented just that – a parent’s heart bared, beating forever outside its chest.”Debra Ginsberg

I enjoy every moment, occasionally I will complain about all the mommy chores. So many friends or facebook peeps complain constantly about the juggling act for various reasons. But, I remember this past summer struggling after moving. Changing all my doctors, trying to get my medication refilled. With each doctor, they rarely agreed on treatment plans. Each thinking they knew more than the other. So that left me in a pickle and found myself running out of my old medications. New doctor prescribing medications I’ve loathed and never worked, such as lithium again. So I found myself turned upside down, in a new town and state. I left behind my network I had built and people had just started to understand me and i’m relocated to a place to begin the cycle again. But as a mother, I put my children first and planned summer camps and summer sports for both kids before my appointments.  I delayed my own health to ensure they relocated and made friends. I’d find myself going to soccer practice and crying for no reason. Emotions completely unchecked, mood stabilizers not working. Sitting watching my kids play soccer. I would  remembered the times when I played outside carefree. I remember those moments and again I’d cry. It was just uncontrollable at times and and without rhyme or reason.

Even dealing with my problems and pretty sure some of the parents thought I was antisocial, it took everything to survive summer. Watching my kids play, helping them find friends, and trying my best to hide my mood imbalance, not to mention anxiety of all these new strangers. I wasn’t sleeping at all for various reasons. Watching all the kids reminded me of the ones I have lost and even more thankful for the amazing ones playing on the soccer field, I sat and cried. I wasn’t being antisocial, I was protecting these new parents from meeting that person. Somehow the stigma of people with mental health problems can cause others who do not understand to protect themselves and children from what they don’t understand. It’s a circle of protection. I’m protecting my kids, I’m protecting myself, and I’m protecting potential friends from knowing this person.

Eventually I survived the weekly blood draws, the medication changes, and surprisingly avoided the hospital. I worried what people thought if they noticed the needle bruises, sometime it took 4 or 5 times to give blood. I survived summer and got back on the very cocktail of medications I love to hate, but work.

I try not to talk much about what meds I take because I don’t want others thinking, “I need that because she’s awesome” when behind closed doors I’m not awesome all the time. I have a condition with no cure that makes me awesome, not my medication. It’s like Ironman and batman need their suits to be superheroes. This mom needs her meds to control her superpower and be my children’s superhero. It’s what helps me be awesome. I want people to know and understand mental illness.

 

You can always reach out to me if you’d like a dialogue or have questions. I’m not a professional, nor would I give medical advice. I just share my experiences with my blog andon my Facebook page www.facebook.com/itsnotcrazytoday A valuable tool  is wonderful to have interact on my page or via messenger. Invite friends to like the page too. Keep the dialog open! 

 

Shh. Don’t talk about it.

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Hallucinations and delusions, a story with the black cat

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This morning the cat and I shared a moment. It confirmed, we both suffer various psychotic symptoms. Both of us thankful for our medications. *skip to the bottom if you’re impatient.

*I suppose this is another “don’t talk about it” dirty symptom.

So before I get to our experience. I figured I’d explain a bit about bipolar disorder delusions and hallucinations. They are very different, delusions being irrational, illogical, and just a bit of false grandeur. Hallucinations can be many things, hearing, seeing, smelling, and generally sensing things with something triggering the response. Usually experienced during manic episodes.

My grandiose delusions are usually related to when I’m suffering mania or it is fast approaching. In a recent setback, I believed that I was approached by an Angel and he told me I’m having a child. I began seeing things, but I’ll get to that a bit further.  This required, some help with medication. It’s what my husband refers to my mental reset. It also causes me to sleep for 16 to 24 hours or if that doesn’t work the good old hospital visit. It’s funny to look back on the experiences, but I mean biblically it’s happened before right? In all seriousness, it was a grandiose delusion. I have visions and find connections, I feel completely in sync with the earth’s energy, which can also be perceived as a delusional or maybe I’m just extremely in tune with nature. I can sometimes spend hours which feels like minutes staring into the woods. Keep in mind this is me medicated.

There are so many other things other than grandiose and persecutory delusions there are a great list of common hallucinations. They include olfactory (smell), auditory (hearing), gustatory (taste), tactile (feeling touched, creepy crawlers), somatic (feeling in your body) and last but not least, visual (seeing things).  These aren’t always all associated with Bipolar disorder, but remember, I’m the kitchen sink, PTSD, ADHD, GAD are sometime the culprit. Now put it all in a pot and stir it, actually shake it.

My primary culprits are auditory, olfactory, visual, and somatic. These are the ones I still experiences even on medication. The delusions are generally contained very well with medication. My kids and husband believe I have this superpower to smell, the ability smell anything and pinpoint precisely the source. The hallucination is when I am convinced I smell smoke most often, sometimes it’s Jasmine. Other strong smells include, rust or blood. One that almost always gets me is some old heirloom roses that were behind my grandmother’s house as a child. I remember as a kid always stopping to smell the roses, literally.  I only started smelling them after my father passed away. Roses today have lost the smell, these roses had such a strong, unique, unmistakable smell. Sometimes they smell as if they are right under my nose. Some would say this is spiritual and loved ones reaching out to let me know they are present, others hallucinations.

The auditory, are usually like whispers, but only at night. I recognize it as my mind decompressing, I’m simply hearing myself. But it’s interesting to know I sometime talk to myself in a completely sane manner. Sometime the pets and like other stories we have conversations, they have their voices too. Visually, it usually shadows…also reassured it medication adjustments by doctors. The somatic is usually gut feelings. They can be very unnerving. I could go on and on to the sense of being touched sometimes to waking at night and seeing someone.

So many of you may have skipped down here to me and the black cat. This morning in bed, the cat and I heard something downstairs. We currently live in a three story townhouse. So hearing something downstairs was a bit unnerving. So the dog, the cat and I walked downstairs to the sound in the main living area. Instantly, the cat completely puffed up her fur and arched her back and the dog stood in front of me and slightly growled. This happened once before when my mom visited and she witnessed a similar event. 

I am pretty sure I heard the cat say, “holy shit” and the black dog growled just trying to be brave and quickly ran to the couch. The cat and I stood for a few moments basically, she held her puffed, arched back hissing. I just closed my eyes and use my senses. Was it a smell, was it the sound, was it delusional. I kept my eyes shut and remembered the smell of the roses and suddenly it was all gone. Whatever cause the disturbance, was sent away by thinking of the most comforting thing, the smell of those heirloom roses. Some would say my guardian angels came to my side. The room smelled of roses. The cat calmed and purred on my leg. I opened my eyes to nothingness.

Just a peaceful feeling.

Anosognosia, hello old friend.

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“Part of having bipolar can be what is called “anosognosia,” a weird word for a simple idea: a mentally ill person who’s unable to perceive that he or she is ill. This means a huge part of bipolar is that, when your loved one most needs help, your partner will be least likely to look for it or accept it.”
Excerpt from http://psychcentral.com/blog/archives/2016/04/27/know-what-to-expect-when-you-love-someone-with-bipolar-disorder/

Denial, fear of medications, multiple combinations of medication, side effects, the list goes on forever. I had been told many, many years ago. I really believed it was a made up or only the over dramatic people.  I tried to hide my lows and tried be extraordinary with my highs. I used my gifts and talents, which now I understand as gift. I could focus, accomplish any task you give me. Then, lose myself for weeks sometimes. Sadly, unlike the writer of the article, I’m Bipolar I, There is a huge spectrum in diagnosing bipolar, the author of the article which is wonderful article to share, is Bipolar II.

Anosognosia, struck a cord or rang a bell tonight. So I read a bit more and ran across a very easy to read explanation on National Alliance of Mental health.

https://www.nami.org/Learn-More/Mental-Health-Conditions/Related-Conditions/Anosognosia.

I gave it much thought from the above post but this statistic struck me  “Anosognosia affects 50% of people with schizophrenia, and 40% of people with bipolar disorder. It can also accompany illnesses such as major depression with psychotic features. Treating these mental health conditions is much more complicated if lack of insight is one of the symptoms. People with anosognosia are placed at increased risk of homelessness or arrest. Learning to understand anosognosia and its risks can improve the odds of helping people with this difficult symptoms”

We have to be open about mental illness. May is Mental Health Awareness Month. Please share your stories on my Facebook page http://www.facebook.com/itsnotcrazytoday , Share my page or story that touched you with friends. I hate social media, but it reaches so many people who need and may suffer from the stigma or Anosognosia.

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?

The perfect lover and demon. Hypersexuality and a bit about whiskey

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The perfect lover and demon. Hypersexuality and a bit about whiskey

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“My dear,

Find what you love and let it kill you.Let it drain you of your all. Let it cling onto your back and weigh you down into eventual nothingness.
Let it kill you and let it devour your remains.
For all things will kill you, both slowly and fastly, but it’s much better to be killed by a lover.”
~ Falsely yours
Charles Bukowski

Dirty bipolar symptom #1

This quote has been on my mind all day, actually for about a month. I think talking about darker indulgences in life is harder than the sad, happy, or lonely. But I know this will relate somehow to some to better understand symptoms or understand a friend or loved one.

We all have our vices, I love whiskey neat. It’s flavors can be dignified, youthful, soft, firm, dry, sweet, big, subtle, and rich. I just described the perfect lover. Let’s explore that a bit.

Some have a smokey, woody, nutty, oaky taste that reminds me of nights under the stars, a fire and my night sky. Some can be almost salty with herbal overtones, instant memories of a night on a beach. Some are creamy, hot, and mouth-coating. A big whiskey dominates my mouth.Those instantly remind me of more intimate things. A sweet whiskey can leave you with a very wet feeling, literally a wet mouth. It like loving a woman. I like viscous thicker whiskeys that leave legs on the glass when swirled, how it reacts when swirled and lingers on the glass. I like a whiskey that’s body floods my mouth with flavor. That can provide the perfect finish.

Whiskey is like the perfect lover. I only see him briefly. Overindulgence can led my destruction. So I control my impulse to drink. When I do see these lovers, I have the inability to stop. I overindulge in all the sensations and crave all the different flavors.

I have my demons, my vices caused by Bipolar. Like whiskey, a symptom rarely talked about is hypersexuality. This is probably the most feared in a monogamous relationship. Sadly, sex is a constant thing I have to control. I control it with medication, but it’s the one thing I can never satisfy, I want sex constantly. Even minutes, after sex. Most would read that and offer a high five to my husband. I need intimacy, but honestly sex. When bipolar hypersexuality knocks on the door, I get help and that not sex. I’ve found many forms of therapy over the years and great support. It’s a dirty little secret, but it’s honestly very sad and hurts.

Think about it, even writing about whiskey can become sensual and sexy. I’m a hard woman to control, but knowing someone like me who is Bipolar 1 doesn’t mean we are all the same and my symptoms are different from type 2. There is actually a whole spectrum.

I love being complex. I love how I feel more than most humans. I feel sadness like now other, love like no other, and sex is a spiritual experience. It took me years to realize how bipolar is my superpower. Like all superpowers, we also have our Kryptonite. This is #1, stay turned for #2

I didn’t even get into describing the depth of cigars, another post 😉

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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How to enjoy being introverted…with some mad women steps….

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How to enjoy being introverted…with some mad women steps….

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Let’s explore how I reset and enjoy the healthy time alone.

1. Learn to observer and watch people. It’s simple, watch children play and interact. Sit in the bar or group and listen. It’s much the same. Listen, don’t talk, unless spoken too.

2. Enjoy your time alone. It’s rare, turn off every device in the house for 20 minutes. Everything, phone, WiFi, televisions. Actually, go find the breaker box main switch and flip it off (turn the usuals off before doing this), you’ll instantly feel peace. It’s a strange sensation. Close your eyes and feel the lack of WiFi and electricity…..you will feel it if you shut it all off.

3. Learn to talk to yourself. You can always be kind to yourself. Learn to appreciate what your mind tells you in silence. Many times I’ve ignored what I knew or I should have done only to have my mind tell me, “I told you so”. So it’s worth listening and talking to yourself. No one will ever love you or listen to you like yourself.

4. Volunteer! You can do the smallest thing and change a life. But you do it on your own, you don’t do it to seek recognition. You just do something that helps others selfishly.

5. Decide you’re going to learn a skill or project. Complete it! I wanted to learn electrical repair. Several vocational classes and yours truly can fixed a toaster, wire a lamp, or do general household repairs. It was so rewarding, I continued with woodworking, plumbing, and auto repair. I’m a bit obsession so don’t use me as an example.

6. Make a list. I hate list, but make an agenda of things you want to accomplish before bed. Make sure the first this on your list is MAKE YOUR BED. Trust me, if you don’t make your bed you’ve screwed up the list. Make your bed, you’ll feel a sense of accomplishment and then that first thing is checked off your list.

7. This is by far my hell on earth task, working out. Yes, workout! Walk 30 minutes, yoga, run, or what ever your vice….even sex. I prefer the latter. Sex count.

8. Do something completely alone. I’ll go to the movies, bookstore, and then have a drink and dinner while writing in my journal, ALONE! It is possibly, my best advice if you’re a mom or dad with a schedule. Plan a run away monthly!

9. Approach and engage strangers and be genuinely interested. I’ve learned so much about people just by removing the stigma of societies norm. I’ve made some of the best and life long friends whom I don’t think I could live without if not for letting go of my preconceived impressions based on societies normal. I’m in a military community, so normal is pretty straight laced.

10. Set goals, writing it down and put it in an envelope. In one year, I will have….? Next one, In 5 and 10 years. It can be big, it can be as simple as I’ll stop biting my nails. But, when you open that envelope you’re rewarding yourself. Do monthly envelopes! It’s goals with the satisfaction, you put it in writing and you accomplished something for yourself, not someone else. You discover and achieved it for yourself.

That is my alone time. That is how I’m alone and not defined by anyone else.

Falling in love with the Moon

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“Love is a serious mental disease.”

— Plato

Some times, I do like to write a bit about those little things off the wall. Tonight, it’s really obsession, falling in love and also of the idea of the unreachable goal. I have fallen in love with the moon. I’ve fallen in love with things that burn me.

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I speak of unreachable goals, because some may argue all goals are achievable. It certainly not true, but worth ever second to try to reach the moon. Love for some may seem unreachable, but it’s achievable. Some things are worth the chase, worth the wait, and certainly worth the risk.

I read blog and books now everyday, now obsessively. I set aside a few hours and really get to be inside others peoples minds for that time. A few, I’ve really fallen in love with as they write and post on blogs, others in books, I’ve started. I love writers and poets. I have fallen in love with dead authors and have this fantasy of them writing about me, because as to quote Mik Everett, “If a writer falls in love with you, you can never die.” Maybe I never died and live as a character in my classics. Maybe a muse, an inspiration for a character in a classic. I love the writers and the poets. I’ve formed an obsession with the simple and the complex.

“You don’t love because: you love despite; not for the virtues, but despite the faults.” William Faulkner

And no matter what, I shall end with a classic story and movie quote.

“Death cannot stop true love. All it can do is delay it for a while.”
— The Princess Bride

I am certain, I’ve touch the moon. It was once unreachable.

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Chasing butterflies at night

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I was a very internal kid regarding emotions. My love of the hunt, survival, and outdoors encompassed my childhood. Appalachia is a special place full of magic. Nature is my therapy.

Sometimes it’s easy for me to forget the past but brief moments flash back. Those moments flood back, I’m catching lighting bugs as a child in a mason jar. Catching June bugs in summer. The humidity is in the air and a storm is brewing. Storms in the mountains shake the earth. Suddenly a lighting bolt strikes, I cried.  It knew something bad had happened and my salvation hurt. My oak tree was struck by lighting in my front yard and I felt it’s pain. I think I can remember feeling it dying that night. It lived, but suffered, struggled, and eventually it was cut down. The strike was the death sentence, but the final euthanizing came by chainsaw. I watched it come down with tears. It was the end of something I’d known my whole life. Like watching an animal euthanized.

Solitude today is torture and pleasure, my mind never stops. Solitude is necessary for my survival. A storm brings me peace and closure because of that single memory. I crave summer storms, because of the energy I feel for all living thing.  I wanted 10 kids, I’m sure my oak wanted a forest. I’d like to think that my oak has bloomed and reborn many times.

I still have a leaf from the tree, but wish I had a kept a seed, an acorn.

The oak and I have both ended our lineage with different stories. I just wasn’t struck by lighting, but touch by fire and fate.

Ode to a brilliant woman, Marilyn Monroe and an FU to Megan Fox

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  “Dogs never bite me. Just humans.” ― Marilyn 

Marilyn lived a very troubled life and struggled with mental illness. When she was young her mother was even institutionalized as a paranoid schizophrenic. Marilyn constantly feared the eventual diagnoses of her own mental health. Marilyn was extremely intelligent and was said to have an IQ of 168. She had many marriages her first at age 16 to an young sweetheart later to Joe DiMaggio and Arthur Miller. After reading a great biography and there’s many of them written, but one particularly, “Marilyn: The Passion and the Paradox” by Lois Banner is a great one. In death Marilyn has been idolized; posters, shirts, art, truly a icon. She also very popular figure in tattoos. One particular story is of Megan Fox and her former Marilyn tattoo. She idolized her success, her image, her pose, and the face that Marilyn shown the world. What I found interesting was once Megan did research and learned about Marilyn as a person, her background, her history her tragedies. Megan made the choice to remove the tattoo of Marilyn to avoid possible”negative energy”. Megan is quoted in US weekly referring to the tattoo, “she (Marilyn) was a disturbed negative person, she was disturbed, bipolar. I do not want to attract this kind of negative energy in my life ” Well, I’m sorry Megan that’s a shitty answer and even a slap in the face to those who suffer from mental disorders. I could write much more on her, but she does not deserve my time nor money for any movies she may appear.

This quote is you Megan:

“I’ve never fooled anyone. I’ve let people fool themselves. They didn’t bother to find out who and what I was. Instead they would invent a character for me. I wouldn’t argue with them. They were obviously loving somebody I wasn’t.” ― Marilyn Monroe

So on to some of my favorite Monroe musings and quotes.


  
“This life is what you make it. No matter what, you’re going to mess up sometimes, it’s a universal truth. But the good part is you get to decide how you’re going to mess it up. Girls will be your friends – they’ll act like it anyway. But just remember, some come, some go. The ones that stay with you through everything – they’re your true best friends. Don’t let go of them. Also remember, sisters make the best friends in the world. As for lovers, well, they’ll come and go too. And baby, I hate to say it, most of them – actually pretty much all of them are going to break your heart, but you can’t give up because if you give up, you’ll never find your soulmate. You’ll never find that half who makes you whole and that goes for everything. Just because you fail once, doesn’t mean you’re gonna fail at everything. Keep trying, hold on, and always, always, always believe in yourself, because if you don’t, then who will, sweetie? So keep your head high, keep your chin up, and most importantly, keep smiling, because life’s a beautiful thing and there’s so much to smile about.” 

 

“She was a girl who knew how to be happy even when she was sad” ― Marilyn Monroe
RIP Marilyn
***edited to add some fun stuff I alway enjoyed and to say F*ck you Megan Fox.

1. Marilyn’s hero was Abraham Lincoln. She read everything she could find about him.

2. She loved Clark Gable so much she cried for days when he passed. She saw him as a father figure and would imagine him as her father.

3. She was rumored to have had a intimate relationship with Einstein who she openly talked about her attraction to him.

I could go on and on, but she was an extremely intelligent lady who hated being the labeled the Hollywood dumb blonde.

A tiny bit of wine….Emerging hibernation, 10 awesome musings

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I may have been into a bit of wine…

1. Josh Hartnett can kick one heck of a Scottish accent. Check out the 2015 “The Lovers”

2. Disc Golf is extremely therapeutic and I’m certain my daughter will kick butt in the Pro leagues, but we need sponsors see #6.

3. Her coach, well he’s my newest best friend. Possibly my mentally healthy doppelganger and pretty damn cool, because he is also a super comic book fan like myself. I am totally dressing up as Wonder Woman for Halloween this year.

4. Meds are good…..got a few changes yet again. Agoraphobia and introvert didn’t suit me.

5. I don’t need to be a size 2, I’m happy with curvy 4, well 6 but my boobs are perfect so suck it and I hear I have pretty eyes.

6.  You can gift me here https://paypal.me I really want a phone that doesn’t crash constantly. How about just funds for a phone, well honestly I’d spend it on my kids or someone else (possibly books, I heard there is a website to request those donation and I seriously laughed out loud). So you’re probably better off giving to a charity. Leave your blog or email for a very fun blog post as reward. It’ll make for a more entertaining blog entry that involves you, the reader. Plus, I’ll throw in a psychic reading to each donor. This could be really fun for you cheap people.

7. #6 ^^^ was horrible human behavior, but, I bet you thought about the psychic reading.

8. The black cat now speaks with a scottish accent.

9. Outlander kicked ass and I am stoked for the Game of Thrones premier. More to come on them both….books are AMAZING!

10. This is truly a musings of a mad woman.

I truly appreciate the amazing following and please find my page on Facebook and share your personal blog or experiences. I’d love to repost and share on my page. Here’s the link:

https://m.facebook.com/itsnotcrazytoday

I seriously have a great story for each 10 so make sure to follow if your new. And the cat just reminded me, I have some brutally honest movie reviews to post.

I just excaped the black dog 🙂

Today my cat and I argued, Then we shared a glass of Jameson.

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She ended up being a horrible drinking partner. Whiskey just isn’t for everyone. She has this horrible black cat stigma of being bad luck. She tends to hold back and never opens up. Sobbing the narcissistic cat broke down. She removed her mask. We bonded and she ran upstairs to bed with the kids. I think it’s because we watched Cat’s eye the movie based on the Steven King’s novel. Now the cats thinks she is our gaurdian. The black cat stigma is one reason she was adopted. It’s horrible how poorly black cats are treated. They are killed, abandoned, mistreated, and judged because they are simply born black cats.

So a bit of musing, Tonight I realized, I’m a little like the black cat. It’s possibly the reason my cat and I don’t get along but love each other. We compete for attention, but wear very different mask.

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Popped my cherry throwing disc and banging chains

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Best day ever!  It’s like finding money in the dryer or a jean pocket, but the joy keeps going and you are constantly being uplifted. Yesterday was one of those days. No anxiety or panic, no sadness, no flashbacks, no racing thoughts, no tears, nothing over the top. Just a blank canvas day, that ended up a beautiful picture.

My blank canvas didn’t involve winning the lottery or anything of grandeur. It simply involved waking up to two beautiful kids who let mom sleep, started the house chores, and my oldest made breakfast without burning the house down. When I finally woke up, a bit foggy forgetting the kids were even home on spring break. I walk downstairs and head directly for the coffee pot. From the other room two little heads pop up, “Hi Mom! Good morning!” I yawn and think to myself how awesome of them to let me sleep and go on autopilot. Then almost as if they planned the timing together they asked, “Mom, is today the day you have your friends teach us to play Disc Golf?”  I responded with my normal noncommittal, “We’ll see, mommy needs her coffee first.” This is a protective response from me when I don’t want to let them down. Two reasons, I needed to make sure I wasn’t dreaming and second I knew this activity required a commitment from friends to teach them to play. I hate when I let down my kids, but to have someone else let them down physically hurts.

Bit of a backtrack, I decided months ago I needed to take back up a hobby such as golf. I was really good at one time and really remember it being fun and therapeutic. Then, I ran across Disc golf, I was immediately intrigued. Disc golf is where you throw a flying disc at a target like chained basket, the fun is scored like golf and based on precision and accuracy on a 18 basket courses. Win, win for me, no hauling balls or golf clubs, just a bag of various discs. I loved it instantly and quickly became obsessed with the concept and game. This was going to be my new sport. I shall master it and shared this with my kids. Who watched Vine and YouTube videos that a friend had sent, over and over. They wanted to learn too!

Back to best day ever, “We’ll see” I tell the kids and I sent text to my friend. He’s, a disc golf junkie and jumped at the opportunity to teach the kids and myself. We meet at the park, I knew instantly his passion and obsession with the sport made him the perfect guy.  Plus, he was a bit of a kid himself so the kids loved him and the sport.

Peter couldn’t figure out if he was left or right handed thrower. This took some time since he is ambidextrous. Eventually, he threw it, just somehow backwards each time. When advised to run into it and throw, Peter literally ran 25ft forward then threw. Peter, always the one to look for the cheat.

Turns out Rowan was really good! She was a natural. Not only did she throw really well, she was noticed by some of the local disc golf  players in the league who encouraged her to join the league and play in a tournament next month. They said she probably win. That was really cool and a huge encouragement for her. She sometimes needs encouragement and this came from one of the best female players locally.

As for the mad woman, well I threw, but kept getting my butt kicked by my daughter and dodging Peters crazy Ivins. Try to not scare our new friend with our multiple personalities. Not only did we learn to play. My daughter found something she loves. Peter was still frolicking tossing, then came home to tell stories to his friend about how he plays disc golf like a boss. I found my new hobby and made great friendships.

In retrospect today, I had a day without let downs, a day away from society. It was therapeutic. It was the perfect day. I was again, a new “normal” for the day.

See, it’s not always crazy.

The dreaded cone of shame!

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My cat is a narcissistic psychopath and my dog is a drug addict.

Let me introduce you to Lucy, my Portuguese Water Dog since I’ve already given you a glimpse into my cats troubled mind. But before you say, “Oh you have a Obama dog” I’ll stop you, I had Lucy long before President Obama. But as I was saying, Lucy my PWD has humorously vet diagnosed anxiety issues that lead to Irritable bowl syndrome. I think she has undiagnosed borderline personality disorder and mild schizophrenia. I certainly think the animals in my life were destined for my family because any other would have been a death sentence.

My whole life I’ve had stray dogs, mutts and rarely had health problems. But this beautiful little fluff ball wooed me, the promise of a hypoallergenic, and that they didn’t she’d sealed the deal. Within a year, health problems began manifesting, skin allergies would trump all her mental disorders.  Aside from all that, we love the nut. We loved her enough to recently fix a sudden onset of health problems, a blood hematoma in her ear, skin infection from allergies, double ear infection, and an eye infection, when it’s all said and done it damaged my checkbook by nearly $2000. But here’s the fun part, the cone of shame and she’s now a drug addict. Yes, a drug addict that is currently slapping the shit out of me with the big plastic cone begging for Tramadol. BEGGING!

The big damn plastic cone of shame is her weapon. She will slap the walls, bump into everything, knock things over more than the psychopathic black cat. She makes her presence known and will go to the kitchen to beg for her pills. Sunday, we finally gave her the last dose.

Monday was withdrawal hell! At times I think the dog is dying, she trapped the cat with her cone. In my head, I imagined a conversation from the dog, “Cat go knock the pills down or I will eat your black heart.” My kitchen is very narrow and each time I walk near the kitchen the dog rolls onto her back in submission for her pills. Then when she sees I’m walking away, up she’ll bolt and knock into me over and over and over with the cone. I tell myself, It’s only for three weeks and I spent so much I have to leave the cone on her. Last night, midnight…plastic scraping drywall, back and forth.  She’s learns this get a response from me. I kick her out of my room only to have her torture my children.

We survived the night. Tuesday, I think I was going mad, had to take my own anti-anxiety medication. The plastic scraping along the walls. She is taunting me back and forth raking the walls like nails on a chalkboard. Even the cat walks by and hisses at her. Even the cat has had it with the cone. The dog constantly flips over on her back begging for her Tramadol. I swear I saw her purposely trip down a couple steps and limp in hopes I’d get her more pills.

It’s morning now, I hate the damn cone. I snap at every clumsy move the dog makes now. She’s somehow knocked my coffee over twice. I think I’ve found myself a trigger. Hello Benzodiazepines!

I’m now walking around singing “Sunshine, lollipops, and Rainbows” by Lesley Gore. If you don’t know her songs google. You can thank me later for the songs on repeat in your head. As if it wasn’t already crazy enough, this too shall pass. I’ve planned myself a mommy night. No family, no pets, just me and a quite corner in a bookstore, coffee shop. I’d even settle for hanging out in Target for a couple hours without, “Mom, can I get this?” Maybe I’ll go have a meal and glass of wine.

My family can see the black dog coming, literally!

Oh the horror!

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Screams radiated from one bedroom, while a maniacal laugher rang out from another room.

It was the beginning of the perfect conclusion to awesome spring break day. Both my kids were playing quietly upstairs in their rooms. They had played all day, either with me or friends. I listen as my daughter asked my son, “Come on bud, let’s go play Minecraft.” Peter, “Really?” And off they went to play together. I say to myself, “You have parented well, now go reward yourself. You are winning!” It is spring break so Cork popped the cork on a meaty red wine! “Breathe beautiful wine, breathe”



They silence was beautiful. I was rather proud of my kids. They rarely need to be disciplined and are both amazingly intelligent. They were playing together in this virtual Minecraft world. Apparently, my daughter invited Peter to play in her world. They separated, he in his room and she in hers on separate devices. Suddenly screams of terror, cries from my daughter’s room. Sobbing hiccups crying, a barely audible, “He Godzilla’ed my world, he put lava everywhere!” Obviously, I’m not too informed on the Minecraft lingo or the complexity. I had read it was good for three dimensional thinking and brain development so I became a fan. In the other room, we hear laughter, maniacal laughter. Peter is obviously pleased with himself, he had finally won something against his older wiser sister. Peter saw himself as Peter the Minecraft dominator, Peter the destructor. 

My daughter’s sadness quickly grew into anger and then acceptance. Rowan would surely rise like a Phoenix from the Minecraft world ashes. My son, well… we all learned why he’s blocked so much on Minecraft. He was apparently known to Godzilla worlds with lava, he was indeed Peter the destructor. My husband and I often talk, she is a genius with the morality of a saint. Peter has a bit more creative genius with flexible morality. He’ll either go to prison or find the cure for cancer. Both are incredibly smart. I think about the possibility of one or both inheriting my genetics. Tonight I saw myself in them both, I laughed silently with Peter and cried internally for my daughter. Her forgiveness was humbling and his apology priceless, “It’s just a game, I’d never hurt you in real life row.” 
My hope is my children see my struggles and learn from my mistakes. They recognize the symptoms, they watch out for each other as adults. They learn from my openness of my own mental illnesses. They adapt and overcome, they are kind, they grow up knowing how to handle their superpower. Something I only learned as an adult.
I parented tonight and the wine was wonderful.

Yes I am obsessed with your blog!

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I found myself reading blogs like novels! Yes, probably your blog too. I may possibly be stalking you. *Maniacal laugh…… I do really like to read, expecially with my new medication (new doc, hahaha she gave a stimulate to a bipolar who was rapid cycling, I’m chasing squirrels right now) I can concentrate, until it ignites mania and then it’s back to mind numb forgetfulness. But I read a lot of blogs and yes I do love your blog. I think I’m going to start showcasing mental doppelganger bloggers of the week.

I read, heard a long time ago when you read books, papers, or articles you absorb a small part of that author. It really made me a bit picky about my choices in literature. Hemingway will always have my heart. He wrote with such conviction, blood emotion, and experience. I instantly feel in love with a dead man who suffered from the same mental flaw I am fighting. I never knew Hemingway was bipolar until recent years. Once I  reread his works with my new understanding of his mind it really explained my analysis and sometimes unorthodox synopsis of his stories. I read them with a bipolar mind and he wrote it with a bipolar mind. It really is beautiful to admire his beautiful mind. I don’t discount the darkness, He lived with sickness, Hemingway himself and put a shotgun in his mouth in his finest Chinese robe in his door hallway. He saw the sunrise one last time. He knew his story had ended and he was determined to write the ending, not a  sequel. He knew his ending which is a very sad statistic for those who are  diagnosed bipolar. 

It’s a bipolar thing, we like to write our endings. My challenge is to bring back the sequels. A story doesn’t have to end with the story book,  Prince meet princess and they have beautiful children and live long prosperous lives and die without regret, pain and have a long legacy. I can say with certainly those handsome narcissistic princes you meet along the way will always satisfy their needs even thought they have beautiful princesses. I’m around it everyday, it’s really sad the poor girls/guys who accepts the repeated infidelities of a narcissist, because they feel they have a trophy husband or trophy wife. I am sad for their delusion of happiness and infidelity. It’ll never stop, it’s a cycle. It makes me sick how many people live such a fake life or repeatedly try to reinvent and change their lives….until they get drunk again a cry to listening ears. Until they gey the attention from the assfish who circle them. Those people are DUMBASSES!

I am happy to admit I’m flawed, possibly worse than the abusive narcissist married to a dumbass. I love deeply and  I crave a happy ending. I love to satisfy emotional and physically. I am hurt very easily when my affections aren’t returned. Sometimes all you want is to be held, hugged, touched, and cuddled. It makes me so happy that I have someone who loves me, holds me, satisfies me, touches me, and holds me and I know they aren’t that narcissistic person or playing me a fool. They know all my demons and still love me.

I HOPE and pray sometimes I relay the true depection of the emotions of my mental health in words that help someone. The comments and messages I receive give me great hope you hear and share my musings.

I hope you love me because I’m writing a tragedy, but you know it ends a love story. It’s that crazy Nicolas Sparks novel! No one dies or gets sick, those books and movies are just full of heartbreak. I’m surrounded with heartbreak everyday right here on wordpress. Except I can interact with the characters, the real people and real stories. Unless your one of my fictional writers or poets. Then I’m probably just obsessed with your way with words. I love the poets!

I think eventually in a lifetime you get it right and your soul can rest.My soul needs to rest and this is my nutty story…….I love your blog!

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How to lose friends and piss off people.

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 “When we deny our stories, they define us. When we own our stories we get to write a brave new ending.” Brené Brown

 
In the most inopportune times my illness takes the wheel and steers me into the ditch.  In the ditch, I’m not reliable, I’m not consistent, and I’m constantly having to reschedule or delay planned activities, because of the grip of anxiety and an overwhelming fear that is unexplainable and inexcusable. I forget birthdays of even my closest friends and family. I’m the definition of a flake, but only because I hide behind a mask everyday. What most people don’t know is that I don’t intentionally flake. If I had a choice, I’d be the outgoing, helpful, and reliable girl they love to be around everyday. The life of the party, dance on the table fun girl, the girl who volunteers as much time as she can to help others. It hits me like a sledgehammer, usually a slight trigger but many times no warning. I know I’m not getting depressed, I am intimate with depression.  I’m suffering the suffocation of anxiety and PTSD. I have a sudden lost of all control of my emotions. On top of everything,  I realize I have won the jackpot of mental illnesses. This one much harder to treat, memories have become the enemy. 

Unlike my superpower bipolar, Post traumatic stress disorder is normally in my community associated with military members who have given their mind to our country and suffer the wounds of war internally. Their wounds aren’t always visible. It’s definitely not a superpower and has no benefits. It’s become a mainstream topic and given credibility because of the media coverage and the fact that more doctors are recognizing it as a serious condition. So being around the military, I rarely talk about my own PTSD as not to take away from the service members. I hate being asked if it was caused by my service. Earning the title Marine was and is still one of my greatest achievements. My PTSD has absolutely nothing to do with my service to my country. Many of my symptoms are the same as my Bipolar disorder, except I’m haunted at times with nightmares and sudden anxiety. Triggered by the memories of near death, trauma, and lost a precious baby boy. I’m not sure I can write anymore about the cause, the trauma is something my mind can’t fully accept. I never talk about the nightmares and sudden overwhelming fears. It hard to balance being bipolar, being stable, and uncontrollable anxiety. I hide it well and it is exhausting, sometimes I am amazed I survive day to day.

So you might ask how do you lose friends and piss people off?  You don’t tell them you can’t leave the house, you just cancel plans without reason. You are embarrassed to let anyone see you cry and trust me, it isn’t something that can be controled. You just don’t show up and withdraw from society. The fear of sitting or being in a group and starting to cry terrifies me, the circling of strangers asking if I’m okay and rubbing my back trying to help me and I know I can’t explain myself or my actions. It’s the fear of unwanted attention. It’s like choking and not being able to talk. You voice is muffled, when you do talk is that of a gasping hiccup. It passes like a storm, but when the dust has settled and the rain has stopped. You find yourself alone, because you decided to protect them from yourself. You cancelled, you didn’t show up, you flaked. You couldn’t bear the embarrassment of being perceived in any other way than person you chose to show the world.  Turn out this pisses people off, who knew? 

In my pursuit of normalcy, I realized I segregated myself from an incredible support system. It was only once I was honest about my mental health did people understand. Many times once I opened up they opened up about their own struggles with mental health. Some of the strongest people I know had their own demons. Like myself, they hid that they relied on similar drugs. The stigma, It’s the whispers, the people who try to help, and the embarrassment of being a very professional outgoing extrovert who crashes into a barely functional introvert.

So my laundry is piled, sink is full of dishes, and I just want to be alone, the battle has begun. I will not be a flake and a prisoner to my mind.  I’ll start today by going to the grocery store and I’ll cry in aisle three. I’ll let a stranger comfort me and accept the embarrassment that is only in my head. We all need to be more open about mental health.  

It’s the clean up in isle three that can be just as scary.

Cats and narcissist

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Cats are narcissist, self gratifying creatures. My love for cats is never hampered. I still love the creature that needs me to feel loved and cared for daily. I know the cat is beautiful and can survive easily if cast aside to the wilderness. I admire the the cat.

What bothers me is if I’m cast aside would I survive? Cats have this natural instinct and narcissistic attitude. The people who I am drawn to are usually representative of a narcissist cat. They would seek self approval, if human wod post over and over again their perfect lives to a social media format. When in reality cats will kill without cause or need, breed with multiple mates, and turn on you and love you in the same moment. They will hurt you and make it your somehow your fault. I love my narcissist cat. But I’ve learned there are people who are like cats. They eat us alive. They feed on our weakness to care, to love unconditionally, and the need to be loved. They look for someone who will say, “your amazing” “your beautiful” daily to them, someone who constantly reinforces their egos. Someone who merely says thank you. Someone we imagine to be like that of friendship in Hollywood movies. These people know we will do anything for them. They know it the day they meet us and continue to accept and fluff our self-esteems until we are completely obsessed. It then they start to show their true natures. But for us, we have invested, we have loved, we just want to be loved back. We don’t want to walk away from the beautiful creatures that once told us they loved us, it rare someone could love someone like us. We certainly come with our own flaws, like the narcissist, but we never hurt to make ourselves feel better.

We invest, we love, and we grieve because we attract those who love our bipolar, anxiety, and depression. Some people are drawn to us, because in a very sad way they are using us to feel better. They don’t face there own narcissism. They are self serving and need those who will pet them, feed them, and scoop their shit.

I have all that with my cat! Why the hell would I put up with someone who emulates animal behavior (unless it’s only sex related, then maybe)? My cat metaphorically is constantly taking selfies of her amazing social life, her amazing vacations, and just her selfies of herself,  she’s the Kim Kardashian of black cats. I’m scooping her shit while she’s at club med.

Dammit, I love my cat even though she doesn’t love me, I love her. She stays with me, provides me comfort with her presence. It makes me feel good she occasionally purrs on me……I know she wants something, but it’s affection. I crave affection. She meows, she talks to me….I know she wants something and I reward her. I pet her, I tell her she is the best cat in the world, she’s the perfect cat. I love narcissist cats! I recognize narcissist people because of my psychotic narcissist cat.

I guess my point is those who suffer from lows, wherever it be on the bipolar depression anxiety spectrum, remember narcissist will feed on you. You will and probably already fluff their egos daily on various social media’s such as, Facebook, instagram, or twitter to hang on to thier love and approval. Stop promoting that behavior and look at those friends who need your attention. I’m guilty of ignoring those who needed me for narcissistic people. I learned my lesson years ago, but it took my cat to put it in perspective.

You can cast a cat aside, they’ll survive to exist.  Cast me aside, I’ll survive because I existed.

Today the Muse has the Wine Flu, but the nut got out!

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As I walk around trying to unravel and piece together my night with the wine flu today, I’m constantly finding little notes to myself. I know when I drink too much I don’t remember, it’s like I’m on a break and that “nut” is on the loose. So sometimes I leave myself notes so I don’t forget the epiphanies. She must have been dying to break free.

The nut certainly took over from my estimates around 10:30 pm based off emails, blog post, text, drawings, and notes all over the place this morning.

The sticky notes….
As I walk down the stairs I immediately notice yellow sticky notes everywhere. On each one it read “This doesn’t belong here” stuck on shoes, toys, books, dishes, and random object that should have been put away. Oh that’s right, passive aggressive nut must have been cracking herself up last night over the sticky notes. So I dig further, I knew I blogged last night, but hadn’t really read what I wrote, but I remember writing it so it can’t be that bad so I move on to my text messages.

The text messages….
Have you ever been up at night and get a text from a strange number and they immediately text back, “I’m sorry you must have the wrong number.”? Well I did that a couple times, but then tried to engage in conversation with, “Oh I’m sorry. How are you doing then?” Guess the nut was lonely. Those went nowhere beyond that, but I chuckled thinking what those poor people must thought. Not too bad, let’s check sent email.

The emails….
I open my email and click on the sent folder. “Dammit, she emailed!” She actually was doing pretty good. Replied pleasantries and general responses to many emails that needed to be addressed. So far, not too bad, until I scrolled to the one to myself. As I read it I forgot this was actually written by me to me for me. I am completely delusional and really engaging. I wrote myself about all my memories and past lives (saving that gem for it’s own post). It was awesome and I’ve rarely write to myself with such details. It was really making me think I had tapped into the universe somehow…….until I start telling myself it was critical for me to get a pet skunk and name her Petunia. I laughed and moved on unraveling my night.

The drawings…
After checking everything else and breathing a sigh of relief I see I had my journal next to my seat on the couch. I open it to read and to my surprise I had drawn hobbit houses with my ink pen. Pretty cool, but rather sloppy for my work. I knew I was better than that and under the journal were some really impressive pencil drawings. I was pleased with the nut.

I was indeed very pleased with the nut, but unfortunately she needs to be locked back up. I need to learn to bring her out without alcohol and teach her to be productive. She has ruined me for the day when I desperately need to be productive. Hangovers are hell, but in combination with my medications they are even worse. I know I shouldn’t do it be we all need to howl at the moon ever so often. I just wish she would have cleaned, she does that sometimes. Always a gamble with her.

Oh I  played the song lost boy by Ruth b a million times too.

“Passive aggressive” *insert maniacal laugh

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  Some people have writers block, but I always have another problem…..touchscreen keyboards. Yes, other than my evil nemesis the black cat, it’s touchscreen keyboard. My hands have a tendency to sweat all the time. To me it’s gross, discussing, and has caused me social anxiety my whole life. I alway think, “My god, they are reaching for a handshake” and I roll in for the inappropriately timed hug. Sometimes it’s normal and sometimes with anxiety they drip with water. I’ve learned to control it a bit over the years, but it drives me bonkers using an iPad or touchscreen device. I toss them in frustration, and you’ll hear a snicker and laughter from one of my kids, “Mom must be trying to write with wet hands again.” My kids are hilariously times and know how to make me laugh. Sometimes, my oldest who likes to be a bit sassy, will see me getting upset and walk by ever so causally and say, “E—-eeeeeeyore” in her best Eeyore voice and we both laugh. Her best is when I’m talking and anytime I am passive aggressive and she hears it she will say loud enough for me to hear,”Passive aggressive!” It humorous and she knows her boundaries. She usually snaps me out of my aggressive or depressive behavior. 

So as I was trying to type and tossed my iPad and went in search of my laptop this morning. I heard a little voice in my head and smiled. Then in the search for my laptop I asked passive aggressive questions in my head and heard that little voice in a sigh say, “passive aggressive.” There on her bed my laptop, battery dead. This time I don’t ask, “Who took my laptop and forgot to replace it?” This time I leave a note that reads in bold, “Passive Aggressive!, I heard your voice. Love you so much for keeping me cool.”

So next time you find yourself asking passive aggressive questions, hear a voice like that of a maniacal muppet like that of my conspirator Uncle deadly saying, “passive aggressive” and smile remembering the honesty of child who lives with parents who just isn’t right sometimes. 

P.S. The Lego image and why Legos? All parents can relate it a huge source of passive aggressive behavior at night in the dark when barefoot.

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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The “Eeyore Effect” and the slow depression

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  To slowly slip into depression is worst than the episodes that can be linked to a trigger. But no trigger this time, slowly feeling it is like waiting for the unknown. Panic and anxiety start to sink in for fear of the unknown. Some people notice right away, others just realize they haven’t seen you, some miss the life of the party, and surprisingly very few ask, “Are you okay?”

I become what I recognize as delusional now, because I know it’s not true.  I call this the “Eeyore effect.” Eeyore is a character in the Winnie-the-Pooh books if you lived a sheltered childhood under a rock you may not know he is a gloomy, depressed, pessimistic old grey stuffed donkey. I certainly know depression is coming when Eeyore shows up. I tell myself I have no friends, no one cares and does anything really matter? Unlike Eeyore, I hurt those who do care and the angry  outburst become common. I cling to those who make me happy hoping to pull myself out before it happens. Eventually being clingy and needy will take a toll on the sane and they don’t want to sink with you so the abandon ship. Then you realize I am clinically  depressed.

So what is the cure for the “Eeyore effect?” I’ve found doing the one thing that is the hardest for me is key, talk to my doctor. Yes, hardest thing in the world is admitting I’m depressed to my doctor. I fear yet another medication. I fear the side effects new medications. I fear she’ll think I’m just lazy. I fear she will tell me it’s normal. But for the cure to the Eeyore effect, the key is talking about my fear to the doctor and family. Being brutally honest about yourself and your moods and behavior. Sadly having bipolar once I do slip it’s dangerous so Eeyore has to be balanced quickly.

The stigma of medication and mental illness is the only thing I wish we could cure. It’s okay to admit you’re sick. Antidepressants are OKAY! If it was your heart or maybe diabetes, you’d take the medication needed to make you feel better. I just heard my friend yell that at me in my head. It took me years for family and friends to convince me it was okay. Now I help others, talk, listen and I’m open about my illness. You’d be surprised how helpful it is for you to be yourself and they understand you can’t just snap out of it when you become Eeyore.

On the other hand, the “Tigger effect” is hard for me to talk about and deserves it’s own post for all its scandal, excitement, and embarrassment. You’d think depression would be harder to talk about but writing about something you miss because of medication is hard.

Feeling the sting of human behavior

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I’m not sure if many of you have read or been told the story of the scorpion and the turtle or frog in some stories.  I’ve heard the story in various ways with the cast of animals swapped in and out, but generally it’s a classic for reflection on human behavior and inherent vicious natures that cannot change. We all feel the sting, and living with my condition I feel I’m constantly both characters. Nevertheless, I wanted to share and pass along the story. It’s a story that’s been heavy on my mind as i’ve read through the diversity of the blogs here on wordpress. So here you go, I’d love to hear your thoughts.

A scorpion, being a very poor swimmer, asked a turtle to carry him on his back across a river. “Are you Scorpion mad?” exclaimed the turtle. “You’ll sting me while I’m swimming and I’ll drown.”

“My dear turtle,” laughed the scorpion, “if I were to sting you, you would drown and I would go down with you. Now where is the logic in that?”

“You’re right!” cried the turtle. “Hop on!” The scorpion climbed aboard and halfway across the river gave the turtle a mighty sting. As they both sank to the bottom, the turtle resignedly said:

“Do you mind if I ask you something? You said there’d be no logic in your stinging me. Why did you do it?”

“It has nothing to do with logic,” the drowning scorpion sadly replied. “It’s just my character.”
[Braude, 1965]