It will be two days until the Day my brother died. Some people may not believe it but he visited me. I was sleeping and I could smell his cologne and I felt like somebody was there and I was comforted in my grief. Kind a like when your dog comes back after he dies and you can feel him curling up next to you in the bed and you smell their scent and you swear that they’re there but of course they’re not. This is this is the same thing that happened to me two nights ago. I told him I loved him and went to sleep. I guess this was doing the twilight before you fall asleep. I miss him. I’m going to keep on missing him and I guess I’m going to keep on crying, but my heart aches less and my mind is not all there right now. I’m very anxious and I know this is the reason why, I miss him.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.