With a side of Self Hatred, please…

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I have hated myself since I was a child. I was too thin, then too fat and my knees wouldn’t bend all the way like everyone else’s did. Arthritis.

I was always finding some fault with myself. My siblings teased me mercilessly. I was over sensitive, my mom would say. She would yell at them for teasing me. But it really never stopped.

As I got older, the teasing turned into judgement. I was the odd one out. I took pride in that. I like being a misfit.

BECAUSE IN ALL YOUR LIFE, YOU WILL NEVER FIND ANOTHER PERSON, LIKE ME.

The individual, I praise it.

This would be nice if I didn’t hate myself. IF my father didn’t tease me in front of everyone and turn my efforts to lose weight into a joke. I hated him. The mental abuse was non stop. I could not please the man, so I just stopped trying.

The best thing he ever did for me, was to die. I was free.

Didn’t stop the self hatred, which turned into self harm once the BiPolar hit. No self confidence, low self-esteem, low self-image. Just Low.

I’m 47 years old. I’ve been battling this crap for years. I’m sure I’ve got more battles ahead, but right now.
At this moment. Today, at 12:52pm EST.

I don’t hate myself. I don’t want to die. I don’t want to harm myself or others. And I am just HERE.

Now, I’m going to play Farmville 2.

Tomorrow will be, what it will be and I will feel as I feel TOMORROW. And I’m not going to obsess on that to the point of an anxiety attack.

I’m in the moment. And it’s quite peaceful.

Stephen Frey: The Secret Life of the manic Depressive – Important film to fight Stigma.

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I began watching this award winning documentary early this morning. Was only able to get thru a half hour, because I was triggered. I’m easily triggered, I empathize and identify with the person on the screen and I remember feeling or doing the same thing and I’m there again.

I saw it on YouTube, a friend of mine sent me the link. There are two parts I know of right now and a link where you can get it with subtitles in different languages.

In my opinion, it is very honest. Asks the right questions and pretty fucking accurate. It’s not boring or draggy. Watching Carrie Fisher in the midst of her illness was disturbing to me. I’ve been there. Cant sit still. Thoughts flying, such brilliance and such suffering all at the same time.

Here are the links: PART ONE:

and PART TWO:

Watch, post and pass on. I think this film will help a lot of people. And fight the stigma of mental illness

Thank you Mr. Fry.

Is it wrong ? All I know is a change is coming.

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When my sister died, I wished it was my cousin instead. He was misbehaving and just an all out nuisance, pest, waste of space. While my sister, well… She was my sister.

That was many years ago. My cousin has caused so much family drama etc. Too much to get into. I had chalked that thought up to grief, and I guess I really didn’t want anyone to die.

With all the pedophiles, rapist, murders, sadists etc. roaming the earth. I will never come to grips while the innocent and good seem to die so young and so easily.

I don’t blame God. I have long considered Earth, this world as it stands, to be the real hell. Some days just living is torture. And I wonder why I continue to do so, way too often.

My mother and her love keep me here. I’ve said that to my therapist one time too many. She understands that once she’s gone. I’m gone.

I know my life will be lonelier than it is now. I search so hard for a purpose to breath, and I still can’t find one.

Spent half my existence just trying to taste ‘stability’ again, and it keeps running me by. Twenty plus years of meds, therapy, inpatient stays.

Now I approach if I’m not in menopause and children are and impossible. Sitting here with one beat up ovary and non-viable eggs. Not much of a woman, never the chance to reproduce and nurture.

Can’t even have a dog in my apartment. NO PETS. What shall we do with our time?

My brother may be dying. I always go to the worst case scenario, force of habit. Trying to change that aspect of thought.

Doc added an additional low grade anxiety pill. To be honest, I’m in a nice buzz thru the day. But no anxiety. I’m fine with that, I think I would have done something stupid or eaten half of North America by now if not for the little greenish pill.

The anti-HULK.

Things are changing.

When your family treats you like the CITY DUMP!

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You’re the house they crash at for weeks when they are homeless. And they don’t clean, contribute or say thank you.

You’re the one they misplace their anger upon. You get yelled at, hit and talked about like you killed their dog.

It’s your apartment, but someone’s always there and you have no privacy and they eat all your food and steal your things.

This is abuse. And I’m tired of it.

I’ve always said, “I get treated kinder by strangers than I do my family.” I’ve been saying this since I was a teenager.

And it still holds true.

Does this make me weak? Does this make me the rock that they can depend upon?

NO! It makes them selfish bullies. It makes them thieves and liars. It makes them less FAMILY and more like criminals.

I’m too old for this, I don’t trust any of them.

Stringing sentences

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Things have been pretty awful, but I know they can be worse and I guess that’s what keeps me going sometimes. I want to write poetry, actually entered a contest and edited some stuff for the contest. I hardly ever edit my poetry, but I just didn’t feel I was getting the point across.

One I thought was brilliant, was a mess. I guess its all state of mind at the moment.

Anxiety is really high. I’m beginning to think my ‘generic’ Xanax just isn’t doing anything. I’m afraid of everything. I try tea and warm baths and it just isn’t helping. Life is like, ‘hurry up and wait’ right now.

I’m going nowhere and yet things will change, but the change scares me. Although I know its something I’ve been hoping for and need. I’m scared.

When I say this, my therapist always asks of what? My answer, “Everything”. I’m scared to face the day, to deal with people, to not have enough to pay bills, to speak to others, to just LIVE. Everything brings me anxiety, because of the expectation of others.

Maybe it’s imagined, but after being judged for so many years. It’s hard not to feel this way. I don’t walk right, I don’t look right, I should be doing this, I should be doing that, why haven’t I BLAH, BLAH, BLAH…

Yadda yadda yadda…

Life is cruel. People are so dissatisfied with themselves, all they can do is find fault with others. Makes them feel better about what they lack.

Which is why, I guess. I am alone.

No one considers the bullshit of growing up and adolescence that we all went thru. There is no PERFECT NORMAN ROCKWELL HOME. Give each other a break and have some fucking empathy for a change. I’m not asking for excuses, just understanding.

But I guess that’s too much to ask for in this world. Which is why I’ve wanted to leave so many times.

I use to have so much confidence in college. Although underneath, I was pissy scared. But I could pull it off, cause I knew what I wanted.

Now, what I want is so far out of reach and has either passed me by or is crippled by my own inadequacies, that I just accept ‘being’. Cause everything else is just too stressful.

Had a horrible weekend. Anxiety on mountain high. I use to get so anxious and stressed, that the muscles in the back of my neck would feel like they were tightening so tight. That my head was tilting upwards and I would soon be looking at the ceiling.

It’s getting to that point again. Right now, I just want to sleep. I just want an even break. I just want a chance to have a ‘fucking good life’, as Rik Mayall suggested.

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/

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