Life · lyrics and music · mental health · relationships · Self Image

Both Sides…

Knocked back by a cold for a few days. I must admit once you start walking daily its hard to stop. Even while I was sick I just wanted to walk and be out in the air. I did go out. Bundled up while taking short walks and napping once I got home. I was exhausted, but I just NEEDED to walk.

Mentally things are fine. Physically things are fine. Emotionally things are confused.

Trying to figure out what I want in life. Do I want to remain alone? I had resigned myself to being a spinster. That sister/daughter who never married or had children.

At first, the thought made me sad. But there’s a freedom to being alone and a loneliness. It’s the emptiness that kills you. When you want to talk to someone and no one is there. So you pick up the phone and everyone is busy with their family and work.

So what do you do? Where do you go when life is just YOU and it’s not enough.

Do you rush into a relationship just to have someone? Or rekindle an old flame in hopes it stays lit this time. Knowing there was a reason it failed in the first place. But it’s better than the hollow feeling in your chest. Maybe.

I figure I’ll be alone. Not because I’m damaged goods like I used to think. My mental illness doesn’t mean I’ll never find love. Nor am I damaged because of it. If there is someone out there for me or not… I’ll survive.

I had a love. A possibility of having a life with someone who loved me. Or I thought I did. God had other plans and I thank him/her for it.

I realized that when I wrote to him that I was not able to have children and he didn’t want me anymore. All those feelings and empty promises were just that, empty. If I couldn’t breed I was useless. He’s the one who’s useless.

I could get angry. I could hate. Instead, I’ve been spared. Thank you, Lord. He didn’t truly love me. If he did, I wouldn’t be writing this post. A woman’s not a breeding machine. I would have loved to have a child. It just wasn’t meant to be. So be it.

If I find someone who wants this whole beautiful package, we’ll adopt a child or two.

Wow, I called myself beautiful. I’ve never done that before in my life. It’s not a physical beautiful I’m writing about it’s everything I have to offer to a true love. I guess I’m a romantic. Everything I have to offer as a person is what makes this beauty. It’s a fifty-year long journey.

I’m listening to the song, “Both sides now.” by Joni Mitchell

I guess that’s what this post is about. Looking at things from both sides and realizing you really don’t know what you thought you knew.

Age brings a wisdom and acceptance which youth can never fathom.

I’m glad I’m still here.

Advertisements
anxiety · bipolar · depression · Life · Poetry

Empty Mornings – A Poem

Waking up

Opening eyes

Dry mouth and sore thighs

The chairs are barren

The table set

The dishes washed

I never leave a mess

No one ever calls

But just in case

The apartment is clean as gallery walls

Silent Sundays

Still Friday nights

Saturday is for television

And Popcorn for one

Things become familiar

Medication routine

Waiting for it all to kick in

So I can function once again.

Searching for the meaning of this emotional state

Popping a pill to quell the anxiety

Eating chocolate to satiate

Not knowing what I want

Not knowing what I need

Just knowing there is emptiness

If it stopped suddenly

I would find it all peculiar

Living so long like this makes living without impossible

And Saturday’s are for television

And Popcorn for one.

DIH – 9/26/18

death · depression · Life · Meds

The meaning behind my absence

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.

bipolar · depression · Meds

Waking up

To wake up crying for no other reason than I’m awake. I’m depressed and know it’s probably the rain or the fact that I missed doses yesterday. So I am in pain. But I can’t do anything about it until I take the morning dose on empty stomach a half hour before my other meds.

So, I’ve been busying myself with cooking and making playlists. I got up at 2am crying, wishing I was dead. Not wanting to be in this world anymore.

I’ve been here before. There is no reason beyond the fact that it is the nature of the beast. No event, no word uttered or knee pain. I’m on a downswing of depression and I’ve got to ride it out. Meds will help, talking with my mother will help. This, the writing, will help.

Hopefully it won’t last long.

bipolar · depression · Life · Meds · mental health · Prolactinoma · Sjogren's Syndrome · Thoughts

So, very tired

Tried to get out of the house today. But I am just too tired. There are days when all I’m doing is dragging from one room to the bed. And no matter how positive I think or how much sugar or protein I ingest. My body is just too tired to move.

I’m off one med and waiting to see how I am feeling to see what other med I can be put on for the microplactinoma. Maybe they’ll just leave things as they are, right now I don’t know.

All I know is that I’m tired. Very, very tired. And I’m scared.

After all these years, BiPolar doesn’t scare me as much as physical illness does. Sure they can most of them, but I seem to be getting the ones that can only be managed. And that’s distressing at times.

 

bipolar · depression · Meds · mental health · mental illness · Support · symptoms

A phone call

Sometimes you run across a doctor who EXTENDS beyond the 9 to 5 and will call you on the weekend or after hours.

My endocrinologist is such a doctor. He called me yesterday and let me know my diagnoses and my treatment.

I can treat this with hormones. Although they do have a side effect of fatigue and nausea, it’s a lifetime commitment to this pill. It will stop it from growing and stop it from producing prolactin.

It has seemed that lately its been one thing on top of another. I just wanna run thru the fields like Laura Ingalls in “Little House on The Prairie”, without a rock tripping me up.

But it seems those days are gone. I don’t want this blog to be a constant report of what goes wrong when.

I did find out that what I have does effect mood cycling, so it may be a blessing in that respect.

I recently went thru some deep depression. About a week’s worth, around the holiday’s when everyone is so happy and thankful for family. I just felt so alone, despite the fact that my mom was there with me on New Years Eve.

Sometimes it’s so hard to deal with the holidays. Sometimes its hard to just DEAL; the illness is intertwined so much into my life.

There is no end to it, it is part of me. But it is not who I am.

Meds

‘Tis Holiday Seasonal Disorder Time

Here come the Dark Days for me. I know they are there. The under lying depression; the monetary stress and the forced joy.

I’ve got stressors, you’ve got stressors, all God’s children got STRESSORS.

So I wrote a poem about it.

‘Tis Holiday Seasonal Disorder Time

The sun sets sooner

The feelings dredge deeper

The scars resurface and the pain twinges in my head

These are the months of forced happiness and joy

Of family and money and abundance

For those who have it

Serving only as a reminder

a staple in my foreskin

That I have none of these.

Happiness, family or joy

My echoing dwelling

reminds me I am alone

each sound resonates its hallow presence.

Time for forced smiles or selfies

Gifts wrapped in debt and

Tables overflowing with meals slaved over in hot kitchens

For stressful family gatherings of suppressed anger.

Snow falls and we smile

Childhood memories of snowmen glint in our eyes.

While shovels full of the stuff

Pull our back muscles to spasms of pain.

Gee, this poems a downer

Where is the Joy of the Season?

Where is baby Jesus?

Where is my Xanax?

The Dark Days approach

And the sun sets sooner

And the food is abundant

And gluttony is king.

10/25/15

DIH