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.
Certain things are important to people for different reasons. We place value on things or events or people because we hold memories or feelings or hope towards these events etc.
I got to thinking why I really want to go to this conference. And my therapist reminded me what it was all about. That I write and it brings me joy. Very few things in this life bring me joy.
I’ve got a lot of problems. We all do. Some can be cured, some are temporary, some imaginary and some are brought about by our own actions. Whatever the cause, these are the conditions of our lives.
If you’ve been reading this blog for a long time you are aware that I am Bipolar, have a connective tissue syndrome and a growth on my pituitary gland. These are my main conditions. These are things which will NOT go away. So I live with them, but they are not who I am as a person. I just live with these conditions and do what is necessary to function within my life.
I could give up. I’ve thought about it and I’ve cried over it and come very close to just quitting. I’m talking about killing myself in case you’re wondering.
But instead, I move forwards. Everyday. I find something to do or something to make me feel good about myself or just enjoy someone’s company. I don’t obsess about my conditions. Why think about things no one on this planet has the power to change?
To me, writing is my way out. It is my respite from my conditions. And according to others, I’m pretty good at writing. Damn, I am good. I have to learn affirmations daily, so I’ll start here.
Low self-esteem has plagued me all my life and it’s a battle in the brain and the mirror. People tell me I’m pretty. My first thought is, ‘your just being nice.’ I don’t look at mirrors, even when I brush my teeth. I just realized that a few weeks ago. I use to physically duck the hall mirror every time I passed it, just in case I might see my reflection.
When I write, all is fine with me and the world around me. This writers conference is and event where I can learn and flex my ability and meet others whose passion for writing is the same. I might even make a friend.
I’ve been indoors for about a week. Because I freaked out at a social event. Anxiety, self-doubt, self-hatred a whole lot of things. Felt I didn’t belong there and all everyone was doing was playing board games.
How am I gonna handle a conference? I’ve thought of that too. The thought of going brings me as much joy as my writing. I will be learning about something that I have been doing since I first learned to string a sentence together. A donation to me is not just the money, it shows me that people believe in my ability. That they believe in ME. Something I have difficulty doing daily.
I’ve thought of pulling the gofundme, but my therapist reminded me that this conference is as important as my writing. I need things to look forwards to in my life. Events I can have happy memories of and feel like I belong.
Someone tried to break me down about my gofundme. Tried to tear down my dream of one day being published. I didn’t curse them out, just gave them some information and told them “I don’t need to justify myself to you.”
I also told them we all have our journies. Mine has taken me from healthy and working and moving towards a career. They were all smashed. I’m just trying to get a little piece of that dream back. And there is nothing wrong with that.
I want to publish a series of stories about mental illness and offer hope and understanding to those of us who suffer. That’s the ultimate dream, am I having grandiose thoughts? I know I can’t change the world, but I already have a few stories under my belt, so I want to go to the conference to help make this a reality.
This is more than I wanted to say, but if you’ve gotten this far. You must have dreams too.
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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?
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.
Its tough enough meandering thru life with a mental illness; you’ve got STIGMA, the inability to find and KEEP the therapy or meds you may need, due to money or changes in the mental health care system.
I knew my therapist was leaving. I thought I would be transferred to another one, seeing as I have a chronic illness, the BiPolar.
But no; they just closed my case on the day of my appointment without prior warning. They no longer handle ‘long term‘ therapy.
And it was so convenient, right in town. I love the nurse practitioner, but part of me wants to go, because
I NEED THAT ONE SELFISH DAY, ONCE A MONTH; WHERE I CAN FOCUS ON ONLY ME AND NOT ANYONE ELSE; ITS CALLED INDIVIDUAL THERAPY!
I thought of going without and just opening a case when things were really tough and after I get through the one hurdle. I would be without a therapist again. Until the next hurdle, which eventually would come alone, hey it’s called life.
So I would just be opening up all these cases and it would get ridiculous. Dropping Mentally Ill patients without warning and basically saying “YOU’VE HAD ENOUGH THERAPY. GOODBYE“. Now that’s ridiculous.
I’ve now got to find another therapist or clinic. Now is not a good time. But then again, when is it a good time to say goodbye to someone who has seen you thru over 10 years of the darkest days of your life?
I have two options now, but I’m not gonna rush this, it’s my life I’m dealing with and I want to make sure this doesn’t happen again.
They say the future of Mental Health Care are ‘short term’ and ‘goal oriented’ sessions with the therapist typing in your responses as you say them, like a stenographer. They are basically taking dictation and offering coping skills and you have no idea what they are putting into the computer, that’s not therapy. That’s dictation.
At the end they ask you, “SO, do you think you’ve made progress in the 30 mins I’ve been typing down what you’re saying and giving very little response or reassurement?”
I find this cold, impersonal and RUDE. If I’m gonna share with you things I can’t even tell my own mother, at least look at me and PRETEND to pay attention or be concerned.
I am angry and disgusted with the whole process.
They also mention, that it’s an insurance thing. But it doesn’t matter that this THING doesn’t apply to my case.
So where does that leave me? Hunting and hoping; that’s where it leaves me.
Don’t get me wrong, I know the importance of medication and keeping things ‘level’. But when you have more than one condition, lets say physical pain and a mental illness. Sometimes they bump heads.
I don’t have a thyroid, had it removed in March. So since then I have been slowly titrating up my thyroid medication 80mcg to the present 137mcg. It hasn’t been fun. For the first few days, I am hazy, depressed, confused and tired. I am reclusive and self hating and almost suicidal. I said almost, because all these feelings and emotions are feeding upon each other and at the SAME time, my psych meds are in the background WORKING.
So I know it’s the meds and not me, or rather the adjustment to the new TSH crap and not the BiPolar rearing its ugly head.
Add in the pain killers for the arthritis from my Sjogren’s Syndrome. Your average person/doctor is baffled by this illness. Some Rheumatoid doctors don’t even treat it, why? I have no idea, I wish I knew.
So, I’m on a low dosage pain killer; which I need to boost with Tylenol when it doesn’t quite do it. I can’t take another type because of the psych meds I’m on, but I can take Oxycodone, (generic). Which I do when the flare up hits the hardest and I can barely walk.
Levothyroxine, Tramadol/acetametaphine, and the BiPolar cocktail and vitamins necessary to survival (a malabsorption issue). And I rattle when I walk. Like a bottle of pills. I didn’t want this and there are those who rant that, I can live without all these ‘poisons’ in my body.
I’ve tried this approach. For me, it doesn’t work. But that’s me.
I sometimes wonder where all of this started. I wasn’t the healthiest youth, always sick. Several cases of tonsillitis and very thin and weak.
I can remember them packing my nose with gauze when my fever hit above 103 when I had the measles and had to be rushed to the hospital with a gushing nose bleed that wouldn’t stop. So many ice baths, I don’t remember why, always had a fever, always sick.
Then things leveled out as I got close to my teens. Except I couldn’t go out to play during sunny days. Allergic to the sun, I would get nose bleeds. I grew out of that part, but now I just get small blisters on my chest. Even when I use sunblock and cover myself.
I was ok during college, although high school, my arthritis really acted up. Gym was a problem.
Looking back, I shouldn’t be surprised that at 25 BiPolar would strike and at 47, the thyroid would rear its ugly head (dodging cancer) and the Sjogrens would reach its detectable level.
So when I’m wary of taking anymore meds. Of any new treatments. I’m facing a possible Boniva treatment for my bones (preventative). I have to supplement calcium and vitamin D3.
It makes me wonder about the next 10 years of my life. My mother battled breast cancer twice and won. So I just don’t know what else to expect, if anything.
I feel so new with this physical illness. You can’t see pain with the naked eye, but you can see it’s effects. Kinda like mental illness. So actually, I should be able to get an understanding on how to live with this shit. Maybe.
With Sjogren’s, like BiPolar, you really never know when an episode is gonna hit, but you can kinda see or know the signs it’s coming.
I’ve got BiPolar’s signals down, for me. I can tell when certain behaviors are leading up to an upswing or a downward spiral. And I will try to head it off with meds or self talk etc. Using my skill set here.
With Sjogren’s, it’s all so new. I have a journal of daily activities. I know if I do too much, I will pay for it later or the next day. But, HOW MUCH IS TOO MUCH ?
I slowly push the limits, but I fear a flare up, so I just do nothing. I hate the pain all over my body. My knees, my back, my hips. I’m sore all over and even laying down hurts.
So I take it easy.
Which leaves me without a life; I fear pain, depression, people, myself, loneliness, love. So many things, it’s not like a phobia, but more like a general fear of everything. Without being specific, maybe its paranoia, but I don’t think so. I don’t think anything is out to get me, so maybe it’s anxiety.
I’m just so tired of illness. No matter what the brand. I’ve been sick with something ever since I was born. Wearing leg braces as a toddler, constant bouts with tonsillitis. Depression.
I see myself dying alone and it scares me. The people I love are either growing up or getting older and as the youngest child, I fear being left behind. Sick and alone. No one knowing I’m dead until the stench in my apartment reaches the street. As the unpaid bills pile up in the mailbox and the neighbors begin to ‘wonder’.
Over 20 years of fighting BiPolar has left me tired and alone. I avoided relationships because I didn’t trust my judgement and I felt I would attract someone who would abuse me. The one time I tried, this came true. Not physical abuse, although there were time it came close, but verbal, emotional and mental abuse.
So, proving myself right. I stayed alone. Isolated and trying to get some sanity back.
When I finally got on an even keel, the bottom dropped out again with the thyroid and the Sjogren’s.
Something new to experience. I’m too old for this.
I don’t know if I have the fight of a 20 year old to battle and come out, O.K. anymore.
But something inside of me, keeps me moving forwards. Although I don’t know why or what it is I’m moving towards.
I’m in it. I find myself with no emotions. I’m a blank. I feel and care for nothing. I may smirk at the amusing, but I feel tethered here against my will.
Some have the courage to say goodbye. I hold on for the love of my mother. I don’t want to see her cry.
People never realize the damage they do, until after they have done it. And no words can take away the sting and the wound. It is done. It can’t be ‘undone’.
I am poor and powerless. I am destine to suffer.
I always wondered what my ‘purpose’ in life was, since this illness came upon me, I have been lost. My plans for the future have all been one by one taken away from me and I am a waste of space. Using borrowed air, I did not earn.
My purpose is to suffer. To be constantly kicked aside and in the head. To be that poor bastard, so others can say, ‘whew, glad that wasn’t me’.
I am the example of what NOT to be.
So much madness has happened since I last posted. My dog died, I tried to off myself, I wanted to move, but my cunt of a landlord threatened me. Too much pressure and too much stress and not enough support from people I needed it mostly from.
Lost another friend. Or rather fake friend. Someone who considered me their therapist and never considered or cared about ME. Just a mess. Too much drama.
I’m on Latuda now. Which is making me gain weight. And issue I have been fighting with for years. So I’m not happy.
I’ve been cycling ever so slightly, but I keep moving. I keep trying. I keep fighting. I’m still here.
Found out I could never have children, even before the bipolar set in, one barren chic.
Had to deal with that.
But I’m still here. BiPolar is not me, I am me. I am a poet, a woman, a thinker. I am more than what is written above.
I need to remind myself of this daily.
I’m still here.
This song has always been my favorite. For some reason, it resonated with me this morning.
For the times when you feel like your whole life is a joke….
I STARTED A JOKE
I started a joke, which started the whole world crying,
but I didn’t see that the joke was on me, oh no.
I started to cry, which started the whole world laughing,
oh, if I’d only seen that the joke was on me.
I looked at the skies, running my hands over my eyes,
and I fell out of bed, hurting my head from things that I’d said.
Til I finally died, which started the whole world living,
oh, if I’d only seen that the joke was on me.
I looked at the skies, running my hands over my eyes,
and I fell out of bed, hurting my head from things that I’d said.
‘Til I finally died, which started the whole world living,
oh, if I’d only seen that the joke was one me.