bipolar · Life · mental health · mental illness · Self Image · Stigma

Friends and diagnoses

You may say you care.

You might wish me luck.

You may have the best intents but it just doesn’t show up.

Wish me well, understand.

Just don’t attempt to take me by the hand.

I know my position. I’m well aware of my affliction.

It’s not your position to help me get through my diagnosis.

Did I ask you? Did I beg you?

I was only throwing it out there trying not to persuade you.

Why did you run so fast? Forgetting that I am human.

What can I do from so far away when I’m the only one I’m ruining.

So I’ll keep my mouth shut. Keep it simple and sweet.

We won’t get too deep because the Stigma scares you more than your own contradictions.

Advertisements
anxiety · bipolar · depression · Meds · mental illness · Self Image · social anxiety · symptoms · Thoughts

I HATE THIS PART!!!

New MED. New worries. Walking the fine line between feeling good or wondering if it’s a climb into a hypomanic state.

I went for a walk. Brought lots of junk food to put away for those times when nothing satisfies like a sugar rush.

Find myself wondering if I’m cycling up. I upped my dosage two days earlier and now I’m worried. Will I sleep tonight? What will tomorrow be like when I do my grocery shopping? Will I spend like a maniac?

This is the risk I take with every med adjustment. I hate med adjustments. I usually do them in the hospital. But I’m trying to avoid inpatient crap.

I have to be honest with myself and slow it down tonight. I like this feeling. I’m not harming anyone at the moment. The walk felt good.

But now I’m feeling guilty for feeling GOOD. Like it’s a bad thing and can only lead to grandiose thoughts and actions.

I hate not being able to trust my feelings and emotions. A lifetime of this shit is tiring.

No wonder I keep to myself and stay indoors.

Is it so wrong to smile sometimes?

anxiety · bipolar · depression · Life · Meds

Anxiety

Surprising I got more support for my short story on FB than here. I thought those of us who get it, would understand the story more. Whatever. Nobody reads this shit anyways.

The anxiety between the get together and my mother’s cataract surgery is starting to get to me. I’m literally having to take it day by day. Can’t think beyond today or I’ll get overwhelmed.

I just want to disappear into my house and never come out. Except for food and therapy. There’s a drop in and I want to go. Probably will. But I doubt the Marvin in me will enjoy it.

post-125-1262523505

LIFE DON’T TALK TO ME ABOUT LIFE

 

I should be very happy about my story being published. But I kinda feel like it’s not legit. Like they just needed a story to finish off their publication and threw mine in, mistakes and all.

Two other publications declined it because it wasn’t what they were looking for, “I GUESS NOT!”

No one wants reality anymore. No one wants to read about the mentally ill unless it’s “HAPPY”. There’s nothing fucking happy about existing with this shit.

But we make due. We have happy moments and those are the ones we have to hold onto.

Just shovel us back into the sanitariums and forget us again. You practically are doing that again.

What’s my audience? People. People who want to understand the truth. The reality of mental illness.

Yeah. I guess that makes two people. Me and my friend.

IF YOU ARE INTERESTED IN MY STORY HERE’S A LINK TO THE ORIGINAL POST.

STORY PUBLISHED.

anxiety · bipolar · death · depression · Meds

April and a sense of loss.

There was a fire on our street this morning. Loads of fire engines and ambulances. But no one was hurt, so that’s a blessing. But it has affected me in a bad way. I have this heavy sense of LOSS.

Had to walk past the house twice, not much damage outside, no marks of fire. But all the windows are broken and there’s water going down my street. Now they’re cutting off the electricity and gas.

I feel so sad for the people who lived there. Easter morning and your house is on fire. Next thing you know,  you’re walking out of your door with your belongings in a bag.

There were children in that house. No one was hurt, but now Red Cross is there for them. That eases some of my feelings, but my thoughts have been morbid since the fire. Which was just a few hours ago.

I realized that I messed up my meds. Which explains why I feel this so deeply and am slowly slipping into a depression. I was messed up before my morning meds and then after I took them, I was ok. I’m dipping down again, but writing this out helps.

I’m confused and scared and just not really here. If you can understand that feeling. Saw the neighbors kid this morning and the look on his face was exactly how I feel now, dazed. He’s BiPolar too.

I don’t know if I could have handled this illness as well if it began when I was a child.

So much to think about. So much I don’t want to think about, but I know I can’t stuff.

I realized that the month I was molested as a child, is the same month my brother died. Which is April, this month and my emotions and thoughts are a whirl. I processed the molestation years ago. I had originally blocked it from my memory and through hypnosis, I remembered when I was twenty-five; something that happened when I was five years old. I don’t think you ever really get over something like that, no matter what age you were or are when it happened. I am proof of that.

I can’t wait for this month to end. In the past, I was always in some type of mental turmoil during April. I would end up with a deep depression from nowhere and go inpatient and have to adjust my meds. This pattern went on for a long time and I didn’t have an idea why. I would be fine and then, BAM.

I can’t remember when it stopped, but things got better and the meds got better and the pattern stopped. I was doing pretty bad in the beginning of the month, just processing the first anniversary of my brothers’ death. But I was making it with help from therapy.

I was standing in the kitchen when it hit me that these two events took place in the same month. I knew it happened, but all I never knew exactly when. I just knew it was sunny.

This is my April. I have to be careful and mindful of my meds and therapy from now on, or I’ll be back in the bed crying all day or at least most of it.

 

anxiety · death · depression · Life · mental illness

A few days 

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.

anxiety · bipolar · death · Meds

Difficult Days

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

 

 

anxiety · Book · depression · Meds

Getting a bit depressed

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.