Difficult Days

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My brother died last year and although this hasn’t been on my mind all the time, it has been wrecking havoc with my subconscious mind. Depression, anxiety, anger and lots of crying.

At first, I didn’t know why I had slowed down, but it wasn’t hard to figure out why because his picture hangs in my living room. April 16, 2016. It marks the first whole year I’ve lived without his calling, the kidding around, the laughter and teasing. He was the best brother a person could have. He wasn’t perfect, but he took time with me. When I felt ignored growing up, I can remember him taking the time out of his play time, to teach me how to hold a bat and play baseball. I sucked, but that didn’t matter. He took time with me and showed me some attention when my other siblings were busy or teasing me for being the baby of the family. He never did that to me and that is one of the reasons I’ll miss him so much. He loved me and told me all the time.

I’m not back to where I was before March hit, but I’m getting there. My mother still can’t talk about him for long periods of time. He was her first born. I can’t imagine what she’s going through, although she did say she had her days earlier than mine. Without actually saying what ‘those’ days were about.

It’s still cold and it feels like the real spring will never get here. I wonder if I’ll go through this every year. I don’t like marking deaths of people, I feel it’s morbid. But my mind had other things planned for me. And I don’t appreciate it.

Someone told me and everyone is telling me to just ‘remember the good times’. That works for a while. But I guess I’ll always miss him, I don’t think that will ever leave.

This is the first family death where I was stable. My sister, my grandmother and my best friend passed when my meds weren’t together and every day was zombie day. The last time I was this stable, my favorite uncle died and it threw me off balance and landed me back in never-never land for years.

I can see that I’m much stronger than I use to be. I’m holding things down and looking forwards to things and although life isn’t perfect, what is?

PLEASE HELP ME ATTEND A WRITERS CONFERENCE. CLICK LINK. THANK YOU

 

 

Turtle

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box_turtle_page_image

 

Sometimes I wonder how long this ‘good’ feeling is gonna last. I feel stable. And I’m scared it will be gone one morning like it has so many times in the past.

But I can’t think that way, I have to just keep moving forwards. And make the most of what I have now.

So much of me want to just revert like a turtle and go back into my shell.

But the sun feels good. Although a storm is coming (literally). The snow will melt, the skies will clear and the sun will come back again. So why not enjoy it for now.

Taking a slight break from writing. Did some searching of where I am in my present writing abilities and where I want to be in the future.

Having some feelings of doubt and low self-esteem. Which are hard for a writer.

I know that going to the conference will improve my writing. I’m not jumping into that pool without the right tools.

You know how your mind creates ENORMOUS POSSIBILITIES. While you dread that first rejection. But I know I have to put myself out there if I’m gonna get the word out about STIGMA. And what it feels like to live with a mental illness.

I need to make my characters into everyday people in order to reduce the fear and stereotypes of mental illness. I can’t and am not doing this alone. There’s a huge social media movement out there, and I just want to be a part of it.

But I also want to be that turtle.

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I’ve got ideas

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prolactinoma

 

Conversations going through my mind about stories. I don’t wanna forget them, but today is the day I take my Cabergoline for the growth on my pituitary gland. I begin to feel the draw on my energy and confusion the day before I take my pill, which is Friday. Saturdays are usually a blur of sleep and Craig Charles Funk and Soul Show on the radio.

Sunday’s are better, I feel clear minded and my mood is improved. My endo says there must be something that my body needs in the pills besides what it’s intended. It took me five minutes to write that last sentence and I’m still not sure it’s right. Ugh.

I intended to write about something else, but I can’t get my mind wrapped around. I wanted to write about parents and how they never die. How their effects on your life never seem to leave.

I also wanted to write about self-esteem and how I’m working on mine. How it dips and how I self-talk my way out of the lows.

It’s gonna have to wait. I’ve done my light therapy, taken my morning meds and eaten. Gonna take it easy. My mind isn’t very clear today.

There are days I remember my laundry list of illnesses. I believe that once you have one illness, other ones just seem to follow. BiPolar, general depression, social anxiety, Sjögren’s Syndrome, prolactinoma. Kinda puts a damper on things. I need a nap.

I’m not depressed, just foggy minded.

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Getting a bit depressed

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I tend to worry. And now that I have registered for the conference, I’m still short on the hotel and transportation aspect. I know it’s early and I’ve got 3 months to save and hope for more donations.

As usual, I am being overlooked. I really want to advocate for mental illness and my way of doing this is through this book. By not being able to afford the hotel presently and by not being able to afford transportation. I’ve got myself in a tizzy.

My anxiety is rising and I just want to tell myself to calm down. But my head just goes someplace else and I feel like I’m biting off more than I can chew and as always it boils down to money. I hate the whole thing.

But I love writing. And I love where my book is heading. I can’t give up on that. It’s my purpose.

I always tell my therapist that I feel like I have no purpose in life. I have no children. No husband and can’t hold a job. So what is there to live for? I have no purpose in life.

Writing gives me this purpose. It makes me feel like I’m worth something. That’s just the reality of it.

Writing this helps me. It’s been going through my head all day and it’s only noon. I wake up at five a.m. each day, so it’s been a couple of hours. I need to take it moment by moment and hope that the donation drive picks up and I won’t have to cancel.

I don’t know what to think anymore. I just want to be relaxed about the idea. That would be nice for now.

I’ve just got to keep posting to FB and pushing this cause for myself. Keep believing in myself and try to avoid negative thinking.

So, I’m gonna post the donate link at the end of each blog post and hope for the best.

PLEASE DONATE TO THIS WRITERS CAUSE.

Short but sweet

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Today is my writing day, no television, no video games. Just writing and a few rests in between. I’ve already begun, but have to make a short pause to call my mother. I call her at least twice a day, once at eight a.m and then again before we both go to bed.

So far, so good. Pulling out old notebooks and polishing up my current story and Mozart in the background.

I’m hoping and taking things day by day. I get so anxious about things, even if they are months away. I need to stay in the moment and just hope for the best. It would be crushing not to be able to attend the conference in June. But just having tried and having failed, is better than not trying at all. Plus it forces me to write more and quit screwing around with distractions.

I plan to add more to the blog about my progress. I have one story done. Which needs some serious editing and maybe a bit more background or clarification of character. I’m leading my second story into a decline or rather extending the climax. I think I’ll extend the climax and add some more dialogue.

With a day to work on it, I should make more progress. Which makes me happy. Something which is hard to attain at times.

Yesterday was particularly hard. All I could do was phase out and just feel numb.

So it was a nap and television and app on the phone day. That’s all I could handle mentally and physically. I’ve got a busy week ahead and weekend. I think I needed that bum day.

I was thinking about my brother yesterday, in April it will be a year since his death and it’s beginning to feel like he was never here. I dreaded this stage. He’s in my soul and I will see him again at the resurrection. These are my beliefs, you have your own.

So much time has been spent being angry at him. Now I know it is time to start living and shake those feelings away. Work on this book and hope for the best.

Please consider donating to help me attend the Writers’ Conference.

Been a little busy lately, in a good way!

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I’ve been writing short stories about people with mental illness. Concentrating on characters who just happen to be ill and making them as identifiable as possible.

It’s important to me that these characters could be anybody. Not a stereotype or diagnoses, just a person going through a phase or situation.

My purpose is to help chip away at the stigma that is out there about those of us with BiPolar or Schizophrenia or depression and the list goes on…

I don’t want it to read like the PDA, but rather as a glimpse into someone’s life. There will be some triggering and tragic instances, but also some simple one. Which to a person without anxiety would be a simple task. But for those of us with anxiety, it’s a major undertaking.

There is a Writers’ Conference at Rutgers University I wish to attend. But money is an issue. When isn’t it when it comes to living on a very limited budget. I have to have the money for the conference and the money to get to and from the train. I’ll be taking a bus, to a train and then Lyft. Unless I can get enough to just take Lyft there and back, that would be heaven.

Donate to help me attend the conference, CLICK HERE.

This is my mission and my dream. To get this book finished and attend this conference in June. Either way, I am writing this book.

The conference would put me in contact with publishers and fellow writers and give me a peek into what it takes to get your work out there. To find out if there is a market for my book or would I be creating one. I realize that I need to attend this conference in order to get a better understanding of what I intend to accomplish. In real terms and not just as a dream.

So, if you’re still reading. Please consider helping me attend this conference by clicking the link and hopefully contributing to my cause. Even if you don’t contribute a comment would be nice. We have to support each other and not be ashamed of who we are, and remember that our illness does not define us.

Thank You.

Donate to help me attend the conference, CLICK HERE.

Strange Days

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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

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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.

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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 

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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

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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.