Strange Days

Tags

, , , ,

Thursdays are always strange days for me. Therapy and maybe something social. I think it’s the social part that sends the anxiety flying early in the morning. I did some writing on a second short story. I’m not worried about how good or how much editing I’m gonna have to do later. I’ve just got to get these stories out of my head.

Poetry is easier. I don’t rhyme all the time. I think there really shouldn’t be any rules to poetry. It’s a pure expression of the soul and how can anyone put rules on your soul.

It’s you.

I need to write more and I’m glad I did some writing today. But right now, the anxiety has got a huge hold on me and I have to go and do something about it before I scream.

Fears that keep me from dating

Tags

, , ,

The number one fear is that I’ll fall into an abusive relationship with some predator type male who likes to “rule” over their mate. Someone who will put me down and try to make me feel like no one else will want me because of my illness.

20971343-business-worker-with-ball-and-chain-attached-to-foot-stock-photo

I’ve seen and had a taste of this type of relationship. It makes me wary and paranoid of all who approach me out of interest. I wonder if I’m giving off some type of “victim” signal.

Some believe that only others who have mental illness can understand what the other is going through, so I should seek out others with similar if not the same diagnoses. I think this is fucked up. There have to be some people who can relate with what it means to be BiPolar without living with the illness.

When I am going through the ups and downs of being BiPolar. I can not imagine having to deal with another BiPolar going through the same thing. I’d lose it. I’m sorry but I tried living with my brother who was undiagnosed and it was hell. Only room enough for one nut per household. That’s what I told him and he understood because it’s hard enough dealing with your own shit and keeping it together. Then having to try and help, understand and relate with someone else who is going up and down and slideways at the same time.

I comply with my meds and my therapy. Even with compliance, there are times that are difficult. But not to the degree they would be IF I didn’t comply.

So, why don’t I date? I have purposely turned men away by divulging my illness on the first date. Just to see if they would stick around. None of them did. Part of me was glad. I wasn’t ready. I knew this deep down inside. There was still work to do and I view a relationship as a serious step in one’s life. I don’t see sex as a sport. Although I dabble when the need arises. And it’s a mutual using of each other’s bodies. And then I’m gone.

I am getting older. Hell, we all are getting older each day. I missed out on the child-bearing years. Personally, I think I spared a child some couch time in their future. But it’s still a missed opportunity I regret.

I wonder if my future will be a lonely one or if someone will ‘catch this drift’.

Sometimes the fear of dying alone is overwhelming. My friend never understood it when I told him, “I have never lived.”

He fell in love, had children, traveled, worked a fulfilling job and enjoyed LIFE. I spent my years just trying to stay out of the hospital and chasing sanity. Now, I have physical limitations which make it hard to get around. But, it doesn’t mean I won’t try if given the chance.

So, if you’re out there. This 50-year-old goddess is looking and may finally be ready to let someone close enough for a glimmer.

No serial killers or abusers need to apply.

To date or not to date 

Tags

, , ,

Dating has always been a scary thing to me. Ever since high school I never had a date. I’ve had boyfriends from time to time but nothing ever official. As I got older and still remained dateless. I wondered what’s wrong with me. 

I never got to sit awkwardly in a restaurant and wonder if my hair was right or if my shoes fit well enough to dance. I never had to worry about what should I eat and if something had garlic in it. Those things that, I guess dating pros have to put up with. 

Most of my life has been spent trying to get my head on straight, in other words dealing with BiPolar. Now that I am stable, I find myself wondering what and if I should jump into the dating pool. So much of me says no and there are moments when the loneliness is so strong I wish there was someone there.

I go back-and-forth with this argument and today I wish there was someone here. But an hour from now I’ll be glad that I’m alone. So much of me knows that I’m better off as I am. But is that me or is that my illness?

One day I might find someone who answers this question. Or not, either way I know that my mental health is the most important thing. Alone or with someone.

Quelling Paranoia

Tags

, , ,

The way things are and the way things seem are two different things. There are times that you feel people are doing things JUST to annoy or impress or in spite of you. Like your upstairs neighbor for example. Are they are really that noisy? Or do they only get that way when you are at home.

Other people’s actions. My mind is hung up on the delusion that my neighbors make noise specifically to disturb me. Following me from room to room and settling down directly over my head when I am trying to sleep. That they are doing it to show me that they are in control of the building and that I have no power or say over things.

I have to remind myself that the world does not revolve around my actions. People are so hung up on themselves, that my life is the furthest thing from their minds. They are hung up on bills and their own problems and couldn’t give me a second thought.

My paranoia is on high alert and I have to bring it down to reality. Of course, my neighbors seem to only make noise when I am home. Because that is the only time I can hear it. When I am home.

Who knows what they do when I am out. Who cares. I need to concentrate on ME. Not what I think others are thinking or doing or whatever. I need to keep safe by being aware, but not paranoid of my surroundings.

Wanting to be a wallflower and then being told by others that I “STAND OUT” in a crowd, simply sucks. Being told that I am approachable when I want to be left alone. Things like that feed on me. But there are others who wish they were approachable or stood out in a crowd. It’s no fun.

And yet I am nowhere in my life. I’ve got one talent and it seems that when someone tells me about it, I shut it down. I don’t want attention. No matter how much joy it brings me. So I distract myself by reading Manga or watching movies or re-runs.

I use to think that no matter what I did, I couldn’t please my father. So why bother trying. So I didn’t. Now it seems that enjoying something in my life feels wrong. So I don’t do it.

There’s something in there, I haven’t figured it out yet, but there’s something in there I need to decode and disperse.

 

Cross post from SEPT.

Is it weakness

Rate This

Second treatment for  bronchitis, I’ve been going through. Pills that you have to eat with and I don’t like eating 3 times a day. I try light meals, but need protein etc. to keep my stomach from hurting.

To think, all this weakness and phlegm and headaches and body ache. Are because I traveled to a high volume public area. I’ve been into the city and didn’t get this sick. Penn Station in NJ is a toxic farm. I saw roaches and it smelled and you didn’t really want to sit down. But I had a long wait. Somewhere in there and the train and the bus, I caught this shit.

I was exhausted and in massive pain, after I got home. Made me wonder about all the traveling I use to do without incident. And how now I feel so weak and old and I’m not even fifty yet.

I’ve got to crawl back into bed.

Been a long time, been a long time, been a long. Lonely, lonely, lonely time.

Tags

, , , ,

So much has happened this past year. It feels cursed. From my brother’s death to the most recent ones. Things are just a bit numb and I’m going through the FIRST stages.

First, birthday after his death. First Thanksgiving without him. First Christmas and New Years. Next year it will continue until April 17, the first anniversary of his death.

I don’t like to mark deaths as an occasion. Death shouldn’t be celebrated in my opinion. I miss my brother and I can remember my father coming into the living room every anniversary of his father’s death and sitting there with his head down, sighing all day long. It seemed a waste to me. He wouldn’t talk, just sigh and there was nothing you could do to move him.

I refuse to do that. For me, the dead take care of the dead and the living take care of the living. Not to say that I will miss him any less.

I have to move forwards and continue to do so always. I do have some depression, just not as deep. Thank you meds and therapy for that blessing.

That’s all I have for now.

Present Tense – where I’m at

Tags

, , , , ,

 

FamilyLivingPicture

I’ve often wondered why some people take so long to get on with their lives after someone dies. Why they create these “mini” shrines to the person in their houses and visit the person’s grave year after year on the day of their death like it’s a national holiday or something.

I don’t want to remember the day you died! I want to remember your life. I want to talk about you and have the memories of our conversations and love for each other stay with me every day.

In the beginning, my mom wouldn’t mention my brother because she was afraid it would upset me. While I was doing the same thing for her; afraid I would upset her. Thanks to my therapist, I was able to see this and we started talking. It feels good to talk about my brother.

He was a caring and charismatic man. He loved life, a little too much. He was no saint, but he tried. My father did a serious number on him mentally and physically and it wasn’t until maybe 5 years ago that he felt comfortable enough to tell me about it.

That’s a long fucking time! My father was a complete dick. And I don’t believe in that, don’t speak ill of the dead crap. If you were a dick in life, death doesn’t absolve you of all the crap you did and left behind.

My brother never hurt anyone but himself. He was ADHD before they had a name for it, so it was hard. He was in denial about his mental illness, so he self-medicated. Which is something my family has done on both my mother’s and father’s side of my family. Which leads me to believe there was a lot of undiagnosed mental illness. Plus being black back in the 40’s and 50’s wasn’t a blast in the USA.

It’s hard to look at his picture at times. And sometimes I stare at it and caress it and move on from there. My mom says sometimes she hits it. I guess that’s the anger portion. He should have taken better care of himself. And everything was falling into place, he just needed a little more patience. Hard for someone who was in chronic pain, depressed, afraid of therapy and facing their first operation. He was very sick.

In a way, I’m glad he doesn’t have to live through my mother’s passing. Whenever that takes place. He simply wasn’t strong enough, he took my father’s and my sister’s death hard. He would still cry over my sister’s death. I know he would have offed himself after my mother died. He told me so.

I like the way they express ‘condolences’ in Finland. “I take part in your grief”. Makes you feel like the person truly understands what you’re going thru and is there for you. But as my friend said, after awhile they are all platitudes.

Not to put them down, but what do you REALLY say to someone who has lost someone? Secretly, you feel sorry for them, but you can’t go up and say, “I feel sorry for you man, just glad it wasn’t my mom.” So you say, “sorry for your loss” etc. etc. and run home and hug your family and call your relatives.

Understandable. Grief is a personal thing. It takes time and patience and no obsessing. Or else you’re just as dead as the person you’re grieving for in the first place. Feel the pain is what I say. But reliving it every year by visiting the grave, my god how depressing. Dredging up those feelings again.

I am living and working with my issues and diverting my attention away from my health issues with writing and hopefully reading the graphic novel series SANDMAN. While finishing my short story.

Day by day and moment by moment. I can’t look further than that, I’d become overwhelmed.

Thank God for my Meds.

 

Life without 

It’s hard sometimes when you remember that someone is gone. But it doesn’t mean that it’s the end of things it’s just an adjustment period. 

Before life turns into something you can handle.
He passed in April and now it’s July. The year is almost over and it’ll be his birthday in November. He would’ve been 55, that’s too young. 

What helped me survive was writing. I wrote a short story.  I’m still struggling with description but once I have that down I hope to get it published. It’s about someone who’s bipolar and some of the difficulties she has gone through. I hope to get it published one day but I’m not rushing myself because then I will become overwhelmed. The Sjogren’s has seemed to have settled which is great. That means my meds are working. Fewer flareups. Knock on wood. 

Life is full of ups and downs. I’ve been through my fair share and I imagine there are more up ahead. 

But I made the decision to get on living, so this is part of the package. I hope to come back and add some more but right now I’m waiting on a ride and I figured I’d let you know that I’m OK. 

The meaning behind my absence

Tags

, , , , , , , ,

I’ve always been the kind of person who knew something or rather ‘felt’ something was coming, before it got there. The day I wrote the poem, “The Blackest Wings” I thought I was writing of my own death or another illness piled upon the ones I already have.

I felt like death was hovering around me, and it was close, but I couldn’t put my finger upon it, but it was something I should be prepared for, so I braced myself. For the past year I have been preparing for my brother’s death. He wasn’t deathly ill, but I knew he would be the next in our family to die, I knew it was time for a death. We had had two births and the devil was due his cut. I knew this as well as I know my name.

And that morning I wrote that poem, I never put the two feelings together. And here I am, connecting dots and writing of my brother’s death.

The day before he died, I had told my therapist I was afraid for him. That he was going to do something stupid. Like drink too much or something like that, I just knew something was not right for or with him. She asked me what I thought it was and with a straight face I said, “I’m afraid he’s dead.” The next morning, we found out he was, we still don’t know why, just that it was medical.

People keep asking us how and about toxicology reports and other rude rumors. For he did party and dabble and peoples minds always think the worse.

It doesn’t matter to me the HOW! Just the fact that he is GONE. I will never see or hear my brother’s voice again. Part of me didn’t believe it. Still expecting to hear from him, to hear that it was a mistake. But eventually, I deleted his phone numbers from my phone and realized, he was gone.

I never blamed God or damned him. I would just keep crying that; ‘someone took my brother away.’ In the beginning all I could do was cry and feel anger. Anger that he left me. Tears because he wasn’t here to protect me anymore. He was the oldest.

My mother lost her first born and when I told her, the words she said were, ‘I wish I could dig up his father and beat him and kick him and beat him for what he did to my children.’.

My father never knew how to be a father, cause his died when he was very young. And he basically raised himself. But it wasn’t until my ’40’s that I learned of the physical and mental abuse he put on my brother and how it tore him up inside like a secret eating at his soul.

He never had a chance to come to terms with those feelings. He was just beginning therapy and beginning a path where good things were ahead, it just required patience. Something someone with ADHD has very little of and he didn’t have the tools to move thru this life with mental illness.

I tried to teach him what I could, and he learned a few tricks thru his faith.

Faith or rather a promise is what brought me some peace concerning his death. The promise of resurrection, when we will be reunited again.

I’ve never spoken of religion here, because although I have my faith. I don’t go to church. I simply believe and respect everyone else’s right to believe and practice whatever works for them to live in this world.

But this soothes me and works for me and quelled my anger. Lessened my tears. Although there are days I still cry in my breakfast and wake with the words, ‘my brother is dead’.

I have to wake a half hour before I can take my psych meds. They are the hardest half hour in my life. For I grieve all over again and I realize without my Latuda and Xanax, I would be in deep distress.

The funeral is on Friday and I expect tears and that sharp pain in my heart again when I see his body, one final time. I’m not looking forwards to it. I wish it were done and over with and then there’s the repast my relatives want. But my mother and I do not. We just want to go home and crawl in the bed and sleep.

And can I add that funerals are more expensive than it takes to live a month of life. We had to scale back so many things and still, almost didn’t have enough. I hold disgust for this necessity of life and the greed surrounding it.

I had to write the obituary, a small blurb for the pamphlet and put together photo’s and a list of music for a DVD, which was a free offer. Gee, thanks for the 6 hours of staring at my dead brother and cropping and scanning photo’s. But he has a killer playlist.

I don’t know how long until I write here again. I have a short story to write, which will take some time. Baby steps towards my novel. I’ve taken some courses on writing, which have helped tremendously. Did all this over the past three weeks. Over achieving.

I’m not gonna end this with a goodbye. Instead, I’ll end it with a quote.

“My heart has joined the thousands, for my friend stopped running today.” – Richard Adams, Watership Down.

Amazed

Tags

, , , , ,

You can have many conversations and relationships throughout your life. Passing and intense and meaningful. You can begin friendships and acquaintances online and in real life.

And it still amazes me how once THAT person discovers you are BIPolar and have Depression or are Schizophrenic or whatever, you may as well have said, “Oh by the way, I have the Black Plague”.

Potential friendships disappear, relationships dissipate and acquaintances may as well never have existed.

The STIGMA is so strong, that once you were a ‘nice’ person. Now you are a Leaper (nothing against leprosy). Just because you have a mental illness.

No one wants to be around you and all the good you are and have done, might as well have never happened.

I’m tired of it. It’s wrong. I am not ashamed to have an illness. I have never killed someone or abused a child. Why treat me like some pariah?

I am still human. I still have hopes and dreams, like anyone else. I’m no different. I’m the same person you THOUGHT was so ‘nice’ a while ago.

It’s YOU who has changed.