PATIENTS LIKE ME… A site I go to in order to find others who understand

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If you follow the link I’m about to paste. You will find a place made up of all types of people from around the world who all have conditions that are diagnoses and live with them every day of their lives.

These aren’t doctors or researchers or advertisers. But everyday people who survive day to day and can offer help, comfort, support and conversation.

https://www.patientslikeme.com/?utm_source=ambassador&utm_medium=patient_referral&utm_campaign=ambassador_54924

There are boards for Mental Health, MS, Arthritis, AIDS, Cancer, all types of conditions. I have found so many wonderful people here and I offer you this chance to find some comfort and advice and camaraderie.

Thank You.

The See-Saw I ride

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When I was a kid, I loved the see-saw. Going up and down with a friend who, hopefully wouldn’t jump off and let your ass hit the ground with a thump, was the most fun you could have on the playground. Apart from the Merry-go-round.

I live my life on a see-saw. There are times, I can deal with it. Up and down, up and down. But imagine doing this 365 days out of the year, never stopping, never knowing if someone was gonna jump off while your UP and you CRASH down with a back breaking THUD.

Sometimes it’s rapidly moving from mood to mood. Other times, it takes days or weeks. Each day, feeling yourself slip away and lower into more than just feeling blue, or out of sorts. Deeper than mildly down or just not yourself today.

You know you’re heading for full blown depression, and you just hope that it doesn’t last very long. That something will spring you back up, be it chemicals (meds) friends or just the whole cycle of BiPolar.

This is the second day I’ve felt like pieces of me are falling off. I’m fighting the negative thoughts. I’m getting to the point where, come hell or come high water… I just don’t care.

Everyday is a fight. I have to weed out the negative in order to let the positive things grow.

“One must cultivate his own garden.” – Voltaire

That alone is tiresome. Then I must deal with ‘living’ in the real world and functioning enough so I can keep myself clean, fed and housed. Just the basics, just the basics.

I don’t complain. Some people would explode. But I’ve been on this ride for over 20 years, and it’s just par for the course.

I never know when I’m going to come down, its part of the game too. Your friend holds you up on the see-saw for a long time and slowly, you begin to come down, but if the game is going good, you go right back up again.

I’m not talking manic, just ‘up’. Smiling. Living.

Like I said, I feel like pieces of my self or rather armor are falling off. The one I built in the hospital.

I’m tired. I don’t want to exercise. My sugar keeps dropping. I’m just not enjoying this ride.

Me and Algernon

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You find yourself back home. From a low stress environment. You try to hold onto the lessons you were taught by the groups and therapists while you were inpatient. And it slowly becomes gobbely gook. A hodge podge of words you find hard to attach to ‘reality’. The outside world.

I wonder if I’ll ever be able to cope with the every day. Where people take pleasure in causing you stress and pain. Where words hurt you more than sticks and stones. And there are REAL MONSTERS walking the streets in their masks with evil thoughts.

There are times I wish they still institutionalized us, put us away on some plot of land and protected us from them and them from us. But there were still monsters behind those doors. Are we safe nowhere?

I didn’t ask for Mental Illness, I just live with it, not in it, with it.

I am trying, I really am and I just hope I don’t break again. I’m realizing “THERE’S ALWAYS SOMETHING”. It’s unending. Down the road, around the corner. There will always be some type of stressor, waiting and pouncing.

It doesn’t matter how good a person you are or how many godly deeds you do a day. They still wait, they still strike. But its all in how you ‘react’. How you process and overcome.

I’m working on that, letting things lay where they will if I can not influence them. Because I have no control over the world. Who really wants to rule the world, such a mess.

So I pray, and hope and fight when need be, but not in vain. I stand up for myself and let my voice be heard. I spread the word.

Stop STIGMA. I think that’s why we get triage mental health units. Pump you full of drugs, set you up with clinics and kick you out. No groups, no peace, as stressful as the real world. Just full of more pills. Shit, I could have done this at home.

They can’t cure us, only help the symptoms. I kinda feel like we are dismissed. We don’t get telethons, or concerts.

Only news coverage when someone stops taking their meds or has no access to proper mental health care. And their illness takes over. That’s when we make the news. And then we fade away from the public eye.

I remember reading “FLOWERS FOR ALGERNON”. I loved that book. One of my favorites. IF you haven’t lived with mental illness all you life, there are moments in your life that were clear, and productive and positive. Charlie had these, and then they were taken away. Lucky for him, when he went back to where he was before, he didn’t realize he was once, “NORMAL”.

To me, there is no NORMAL. I take meds, but there are many out there who are worse off then I am and they are considered NORMAL.

It’s hard to look back at what I use to be, who I was before the bottom fell out. I don’t look back anymore, too much pain and self hatred.

I can’t live like that. I have to be who I am now, live with what I have now, and hope that NOW is enough.

Can’t future think, I get overwhelmed and it all turns to failure. But I can hope, that one day. I will accomplish something.

Maybe I’ll finish the maze before the mouse.

When you wake up with a “Pudding Head”

Although this is a Doctor Who reference, I am clearly from the Planet of the Pudding Heads today. Somedays I can be clear and my thinking on point. Then other days, things are so muddled I can’t even decipher a cartoon. Today is one of those days. And I have some work to do and don’t know if I can remember what I’ve read or if I understand it.

This is one of the reasons I don’t think I could survive studying for my Masters. All that reading, somedays I just can’t read. This all started with the onset of BiPolar. Words started running into each other on the page. I would read one sentence over and over and then the page would go blurry and I had no idea what the hell was going on, just that I couldn’t read anymore.

I started reading comic books again to help me and it did. But as for articles in newspapers and magazines and sometimes even online, I’m lost.

I still have difficulties with washing dishes. I use to get lower back pains and panic attacks when I had to wash dishes. This started with the BiPolar too. The simplest tasks became harder too do. I don’t understand why, but it just seemed to happen that way.

It’s been over 20 years and I’m still having these problems, but to varying degrees.

Back from the hospital

Unbelievable. I can’t believe that… Nevermind

Inpatient for a week, really only needed like 5 days. But, I only saw the psychiatrist once and she changed my 20 year diagnosis after only seeing me for 5 minutes. Give me a break. What a piece of garbage she was, didn’t even want to listen too me. It just angers me sometimes.

The therapists were exceptional, the staff was exceptional, I had a single room WEEEEEE! No roommate. So I was blessed this time.

I need to focus on that and dismiss the stupid doctors.

I’ll write more another time, just wanted to link my poem.

http://bipolarslip.wordpress.com/2014/08/22/my-time-with-the-psychiatrist/

This moment

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I want to kill myself today. Somebody hold my hand. What makes today so much different than yesterday?

I feel as if all thoughts and emotions converged simultaneously and I can’t handle it.

My heart aches, my mind spins, my body shakes and its just too much to bare anymore.

At this precise moment, I want to die.

I want release.

I want a break, just for once, I want a break.

I realized that I am here to suffer. That’s my purpose in this world. Someone has got to be oppressed, someone has got to suffer and I am one of them.

A certain calmness came over me when I accepted this, but now. It’s just sadness and remorse.

So I’ll be here, performing my place in this world.

Until I can’t take it anymore and check out early, or my time comes.

A realization

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I’m in it. I find myself with no emotions. I’m a blank. I feel and care for nothing. I may smirk at the amusing, but I feel tethered here against my will.

Some have the courage to say goodbye. I hold on for the love of my mother. I don’t want to see her cry.

People never realize the damage they do, until after they have done it. And no words can take away the sting and the wound. It is done. It can’t be ‘undone’.

I am poor and powerless. I am destine to suffer.

I always wondered what my ‘purpose’ in life was, since this illness came upon me, I have been lost. My plans for the future have all been one by one taken away from me and I am a waste of space. Using borrowed air, I did not earn.

My purpose is to suffer. To be constantly kicked aside and in the head. To be that poor bastard, so others can say, ‘whew, glad that wasn’t me’.

I am the example of what NOT to be.

Flashbacks

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How come the most horrible moments of our lives come back to us in flashbacks. Funerals, rapes, abuse. Why can’t we get moments when we were truly happy, just suddenly burst thru our brain and put a smile on our faces once again.

I find myself doing a slide show of the day I put my dog down. My body grows heavy, my eyes tear up and my heart aches again. It keeps coming back. I was on Youtube looking at a short film on Rik Mayall’s funeral. Watching his friends and family carry his coffin and all I could think was, ‘he’s in there’. A man who made me laugh so much and smile. And now, no more.

I began fearing for others who bring moments of joy into my life. Quite selfish when you consider it, worried for my own happiness. Not for the ones they leave behind. But there are so few moments of true happiness in my life, I treasure anyone who offers me that blessed distraction. I live for the distractions. In between the pieces of gray.

Things are flat right now, even keel. No real depression, no real mania. Just waiting for the oncoming storm, which will be August. So much up in the air, I don’t like ‘maybe’s’. I like ‘yes’ or ‘no’. Too much gray in my life.

Fewer flashbacks would be nice too. It’s only been a year since Chianna died. Its hard to believe she was ever here. But I have memories, which grow cloudier each day. I can still smell her. And when I do, I inhale deeply and smile. My baby. So scared during those last few moments without me. No more dogs. I’m gonna miss that part of my life.

Maybe something else will come along and love me, one day.

Pieces of Grey

Days that resonate as good are few and far between. Most days are pieces of grey. The wobble between hell and heaven from hour to minute and never quite come to settle.

I’m just so tired now. People trigger you. Thoughts trigger you. Expectations trigger you. My mind is a gun of powder and pills. Explosions of fear, depression and self doubt are constantly occurring.

If my life was a color, I guess it would be pieces of grey. The other pieces, would depend upon your perception at that moment.

Fog

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Those days when you head is in such a downcast state. You can’t think clearly, you don’t feel well, you’re irritable and either in pain or just feeling blah. For me physical pain really makes the mental state worse. It’s hard now to express myself properly and clearly, but “I’m in a fog”.

Nothing is clear and I don’t know what’s oncoming. I had a good run with my moods until my pinched nerve started acting up in my hip. Didn’t sleep well, the numbness and tingling is driving me bonkers. Wish I had more to write, something profound. But my head just isn’t there right now.

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