A Broken Record

This post has been edited for those too sensitive to accept harsh truth.

I want to give up.

I have a tendency to daydream about things that I know will never happen, but lately, everything has been becoming real. In these daydreams, I'm smart, funny, and living in England (usually somewhere in Yorkshire), but the truth of it is, I'm none of those things and I'll never even get to visit my beloved country.

Just the realization of this has made me a super-pessimist this morning. I'm crabby, there's a strange man in my room (don't go there...), and I have to move half my stuff around just so he can fix my carpet. So, yes, I'm sitting here typing in my pajamas while some random guy is working on my floor. It's kinda funny once you imagine it, but I'm still crabby.

Not just the sudden, stabbing realization of every dream I've ever had going down the drain, it's just knowing that I'll never have the normal life. I'll never be able to live on my own, I'll more than likely never get married, basically, I'll never be what society sees as "normal," so what's the point?

Every day, I see people with severe cognitive impairments who rely on others for everything, and it just about kills me to know that I'm, in a way, exactly the same. What's worse is that this country doesn't care. I can't work anywhere near as much as it would take to sustain myself, but if I lived in Puerto Rico and said I couldn't speak English, my disability claim would be approved in no time (no joke or exaggeration). If I were a ten year old child whose parents said I had ADHD, same deal, but because I'm an adult doing the best I can with my circumstances, I get denied. I'm drowning, and if America doesn't care, why should I?

In my denial letter, it listed every single one of my diagnoses and then said that I can still perform normal work with no accommodation. Mind you, it listed "social anxiety and panic disorder." Nope. I don't need accommodation...

"Strong Enough To Break"~ Hanson (Again, I hate fan-made lyric videos because they're usually wrong, so just listen.)

Psychiatric "Care"

I give...

When I finally got Medicaid (despite not being single and pregnant), I was so excited because I hadn't been able to see a doctor regularly in over two years, but now it's nothing but frustration.

The psychiatric clinic I finally found in my area told me that Medicaid required an evaluation before beginning treatment, so I wasted two hours and did as I was told. Afterward, I was told that the psychiatrists needed to review the notes from the evaluation before I could be "assigned to a psychiatrist." A week later, I got a call to set up an appointment with the doctor they deemed best for me. I took the first available appointment which wasn't until, get this, a month and a half later!

I've been basically off any form of medication for months, and they want me to wait even longer?! I called the God-sent free clinic I had been going to and asked if they could give me anything to get me through. The dim-witted "doctor" they gave me to (once the one I had seen moved on) could not grasp the concept that, no, I hadn't filled the prescription she gave me last time because I told her countless times that I'd already been on that and it didn't work (run on sentence...)! So what does she do? She calls in the same freaking thing!!!

I've missed so much work in the last couple of months that I'm actually afraid of losing my job. All because nobody seems to understand that when someone says they need medication now, they need it now.

Suicide rates in the US, Utah specifically, have been rising for years, and this is a big reason why.

"Rescue"~ The Summer Set

Not Qualified

Wait, what?

I've been looking for a job for the summer, and it's absolutely ridiculous. Every part-time job I look at, requires at least two years of college (or similar experience...?). Some say they require a bachelor's degree for an entry level position! To do what?! Type things into a computer?!

Then there's the language issue. It's considered discrimination to say "must speak English," but not discrimination to say "must be bilingual Spanish?" Umm...

I've started looking at writing jobs just to see what's out there. Without a degree in journalism, I'm basically stuck with social media and apparently must "eat, sleep, live social media." Not quite sure how you eat social media...

Basically, without a Ph. D. and fifty years experience, I'm stuck with retail or call centers. I've done my time at both. I've lost it at both. I've quit both (a few times). I can't handle them because of all the people. Even the school is too social for me.

I'm at a loss. When in the process of applying for disability benefits, they pose the question, "is there any other type of work you can do?" The answer is technically yes, but without the degree and experience, I'm not even qualified to file paperwork.

"Take This Job And Shove It"~ Johnny Paycheck

What A Day

Yesterday was rather interesting...

If you read yesterday's post, you'll know that I'm still manic. As such, Most of yesterday was a bit of a mystery. I couldn't handle it and had to call my mother home from work.

Once I finally managed to stop crying, we went to get something to eat. When we got back, my dad came up with some research he had done on naturopathic remedies. I'm always skeptical of things like that because, well, I'm not a hippie (that's how I see it anyway. I know some of those things actually work for some), but he mentioned this therapy light thing that I've heard about before and I got pretty excited. I've seen them and talked to people who use them and it's all good news, so we went to get one.

Then we moved on to possibly my favorite thing on the planet: books. A while ago, I was looking through the bookstore and found a couple of Anxiety books I wanted but couldn't get right then. Well, I finally got them! "Overcoming Social Anxiety and Shyness" by Gillian Butler, and "The Anxiety Workbook" by David A. Clark, PhD & Aaron T. Beck, MD.

As you can imagine, this sent me from "crying and irritable" straight to "flying high," but the day wasn't over just yet. The Sizzler was helping the Salt Lake City Police Department with their "Cops for Kids" fundraiser. Side note: We didn't actually know this before deciding to go there. The parking lot was packed! I could just imagine the crowd inside and it automatically sent alarms to my brain. When we got in there, we were told exactly what this was. The cops would be our wait staff and all the tips would go to the Juvenile Justice Centre. It was actually a lot of fun (mostly)!

Being out that much and around that many people is never a good idea for me, so all through dinner, I had the ever lovely psychomotor agitation. When I finally got home, I turned on my Wii and started boxing. Seriously, if you have energy, box. Tennis is a good idea as well!

Oh! I almost forgot to mention that I'm actually going to look for a naturopath. Yep... the most skeptical girl on the planet is going to try not being hopped up on medication. This'll go well...

Today is Holocaust Remembrance Day, so instead of my usual musical addition, there's this:


From "Schindler's List"

 

Don't Stand Out, Don't Fit In

This post has been edited because it was mean. I'm sorry.

I'm still manic, so this could get weird...

It's no secret that I have trust issues. I've been betrayed, stabbed in the back, and abandoned by those who supposedly care about me, and it's happening again. Bright side: She told me.

The therapist I've been working with is the best therapist I've ever been with, but she's an intern and graduating next month. I've been working with her since late August of last year and I didn't actually open up until February. That's about six moths of seeing her every week and having to talk about things I don't even admit to myself. I'm not exactly excited to start over again with someone new.

Bad segue in 3... 2... 1...

One time, during session, I got rambling about how whenever I tell people about something I like and suggest that they check it out, I almost always get something along the lines of "that sucked." Music is my world and I don't stick to just one genre, I listen to all types (except metal and rap because, well, those aren't music). I have more music than most people even know exists because I listen to different things.

I've got some people in my life who won't accept anything I suggest, calling it "stupid," or saying, "yeah, no" and moving on. These things mean something to me and they've just been brushed off.

I have always been incredibly accepting of individuality, so these people irritate me to no end. "Why do you still talk to them," you ask? Because I'm the good friend. Always have been, always will be. I don't care how you dress, what music you listen to, or what your religious beliefs are, I like you for you. If you have something that means so much to you that you want to share it with me, I listen. All I ask is that you do the same for me, because one day, I will get fed up.

"Weird"~ Hanson (try actually listening to the lyrics)

Blame It On The Train

DSM IV on mania/manic episodes: (Side note: This has since been updated in the DSM 5, but I don't have access to that right now.)

A distinct period of abnormally and persistently elevated, expansive, or irritable mood, lasting at least 1 week (or any duration if hospitalization is necessary).

• During the period of mood disturbance, three (or more) of the following symptoms have persisted (four if the mood is only irritable) and have been present to a significant degree.

1. inflated self-esteem or grandiosity

2. decreased need for sleep (e.g., feels rested after only 3 hours of sleep)

3. more talkative than usual or pressure to keep talking

4. flight of ideas or subjective experience that thoughts are racing

5. distractibility (i.e., attention too easily drawn to unimportant or irrelevant external stimuli)

6. increase in goal-directed activity (either socially, at work or school, or sexually) or psychomotor agitation

7. excessive involvement in pleasurable activities that have a high potential for painful consequences (e.g., engaging in unrestrained buying sprees, sexual indiscretions, or foolish business investments)

This may sound like fun or even a nice reprieve from the depressive side, but I promise you, this is pure Hell. If you didn't get it (because I didn't exactly say before), the symptoms in bold are the ones I usually get. Allow me to expand:

Decreased need for sleep is pretty straight forward. It's not necessarily insomnia, it's just that I don't need sleep. I can get two or three hours a night and be bright-eyed and bushy-tailed all day long. However, when I can't sleep, I don't have the luxury of being able to get up and do something since I still live at home. So instead, I toss and turn all night and get freakishly irritated at my lack of sleep.

Again, more talkative is straight forward. I tend to only talk when absolutely necessary, but when I'm manic, it's vocal vomit. Ask a simple question and you'll get a long answer along with anything else that comes to my head.

Racing thoughts are beyond annoying. It's like looking straight ahead at a passing train and trying to really see anything. It's all a blur. People often ask me what I think about, but I never have an answer. Imagine for a minute... There are thousands of sticky notes on that train. It's flying by at a hundred miles an hour. Now, try to grab just one sticky note.

Distractibility is probably the most anno

Psychomotor agitation is difficult for some to understand. It's not exactly a household phrase, so not understanding it is, well, understandable. It's basically useless movement. It's not getting you anywhere or anything; you're just moving. I've always had a problem with paper. Give me a piece of paper and you'll never see it again because I'll fold it, roll it, whatever. I recently got a worry stone on my therapist's advice. It helps. Really. A lot.

Pleasurable activities with potential painful consequences. Yeah, there are way more options than the examples they give. I promise. I used to go on spending sprees. That has gotten me in quite a bit of trouble, but I'm broke now and no one in their right mind will give me another credit card. Now I eat. I have a huge box of Goldfish that I've had for just over a week and it's already more than half gone. The Girl Scout cookies? Gone. Any candy in the house? Gone. The salads? Haven't touched them. Told ya I don't eat anything healthy!

This in and of itself isn't fun, but add my anxiety on top of it and you get someone who can't get herself dressed and out of the house, let alone work. I just can't. I tried today. I got up, showered, dressed, I even put on makeup and drove to the school, but when I got there, I couldn't make myself go in. I hate that. I love my job and those kids, but my stupid brain is keeping me from doing anything productive.

I know it's Tuesday, but I thought about writing this yesterday, so it counts.
"Manic Monday"~ The Bangles

Words Escape Me

100th post! Woot!

I talked to a lady today who shocked me. I have more or less known this lady for ten years, but I never really talked with her. I knew her son in high school and became friends with her (far too beautiful) daughter a few years later, but that's about it. She showed me something that I have been searching for since, well, always.

Knowing my history with her kids, she asked what I've been up to. We talked about work, photography, and a few other things. We talked about how talented her son is (best pianist I've ever seen!) and the behavior of the artist which morphed into my writing. When I talk about my blog, inevitably the question of what it's about arises. I'm really good at avoiding this because I'm still uncomfortable talking about all this. For some strange reason, I told her the name of it. Call it uncontrollable anxiety, social overload, or vocal vomit; fact is, I said it.

What she did next threw me for a serious loop. She asked if I had Bipolar. An understandable question at this point, but then she started telling me how she understood because she has this and other things that run in her family. At this point, I'm on auto-pilot with nodding, smiling, and interjections of "yeah" because I couldn't believe that she neither looked at me funny nor stepped back in self-protection.

She didn't assume anything, she understands what I'm going through, and she wasn't afraid to tell me about how she understands. She talked about these things running in her family like you'd talk about how red hair runs in yours. No fear, no judgment, no stigma. I'm still in awe. This woman is my new hero!

"What If"~ Five For Fighting (I know I use it a lot, but I like it)

It Works!

I must share!

Last time I saw my therapist, she told me about a technique she learnt from an article written by a neurologist on how to get better sleep.

Background: A big part of what happens when you sleep is that the blood recirculates throughout the body. You legs are the biggest part of that process. What this neurologist (wish I knew who!) suggested was to sit flat against the wall with your legs straight up (yes, up) for thirty minutes right before bed. No getting up for water, bathroom, anything.

Well, I (as usual) was having a hard time getting to sleep last night thanks to my ever running brain, so I decided to try this. I grabbed a book (I actually had to search for one that didn't include murder and the subsequent investigation), got sideways on my bed (because I have no floor-to-wall space), and propped my legs up. Granted, I only made it twenty minutes before one of my feet went numb, but I still noticed a difference!

Now, I didn't get to sleep any faster, but the few hours I got were much more restful! This neurologist did a study with people doing this every night and concluded that those who did, felt like they got two whole hours more sleep than those who didn't, even though they may have gotten the same number of hours. Basically, the people who did this felt more rested.

Now, since I woke up in such a good mood, I give you a blast from my high school past!

"Accidentally In Love"~ Counting Crows

BOOM!

Told ya.

I knew I was going to break down eventually, and apparently that's today. I have quite a load pushing down on me and today was the last straw. This camel's back is officially broken. I've been trying to be more upbeat and look at the bright side, but I think it's contributing to the pressure, so I'm going to get this all off my chest...

Lately, I've been having some major sleep issues. I can't sleep without drugging myself with Benadryl. Even at that, I'm not really sleeping thanks to the overwhelmingly terrifying nightmares. I've got two recurring nightmares that really get to me and they've both made their appearances near nightly. I'll spare you the details (mostly because I don't want to think about it that much), but I'm not the biggest fan of public bathrooms or fire.

It's been such great weather here and it plummeted today. I think this is the most snow we've gotten since winter 2013/2014. It's dreary and depressing. Bad weather is a double hit on me. It's not just dark and depressing, it physically hurts. I had major surgery on my leg a few years back where the doctor had to break it. Long story short: I have a metal rod and a few screws in it now. So when the barometer drops, anyone who has had a broken bone or almost any surgery knows the pain.

I've got a few other things that I won't go in to because, well, this would be the world's longest blog post, but today just put the pin to the balloon. With the snow comes indoor recess for the kids. Indoor recess is my own personal Hell in the best of conditions, but I had to train someone today. Don't get me wrong, she's a super nice lady, but the only perk to indoor recess is my alone time (little as it may be). Side note: I also didn't feel like talking or smiling already today, and I exhausted everything I could muster in an hour.

So basically, I shut down. Driving home in the snow while tired and emotionally drained was less than fun. So I'm going to put some music on and hide.

"Heartbeat"~ Mayberry

Tried. Failed. Next?

Bite me.

Have you ever read those articles about how exercising when you're depressed can help? And have you ever actually attempted exercising when you're depressed? If so, how did that go? For me, it's actually quite infuriating.

Exercise doesn't take many brain cells and it allows your mind to run free (at least the exercises that people not obsessed with the gym can do), so everything I've held down starts to come up along with everything I didn't even know I've held down. It's especially angering because I've struggled with weight management for a few years and I want the weight to all come off after ten minutes of walking. Side note: After that ten minutes, I reward myself with cookies. Not the best idea, but sure tasty! Side note to the side note: I don't eat a lot, but nothing I eat has any level of nutritional value. Hence the weight struggles.

Now, when I'm manic and have all that excess energy and I've already cleaned the entire house with a toothbrush, I'll get out my step exercise... thing (I don't know what it's called. Judge me.) and spend anywhere between two and thirty minutes at it and I'm perfectly fine.

Side note: I've got a cut on my arm and have no idea where I got it...

I had a point, I just don't remember it... Oh yeah! Not everything that professionals say is going to work for everyone. I've tired just about everything "they" say to do and most of it doesn't work for me. On the flip side, what works for me may not work for you. I'd be interested to know what does and doesn't work for you (I know that most people won't leave comments here, but I'm gonna ask anyway.), so let me know!

"Physical"~ Olivia Newton-John

ROTFL

I'm kind of tired of talking about my problems, so I'm just going to tell you some stories that make me laugh just thinking about them.

Last Friday, I was waiting for my mom to come home. I usually look out my bedroom window which faces the driveway. Well, I saw her car there and she had the door open but hadn't yet gotten out. Well, I put my shoes on and went to open the door not knowing that she had since walked up. I open the door and screamed! I literally screamed! I wasn't expecting her to be there! It scared me half to death and I couldn't stop laughing for like half an hour.

Side note: This next one didn't happen to me. One of my teachers in high school told it to the class and I thought it was genius!

There was a girl who was having a hard time getting a date to the upcoming dance. It was girl's choice and every guy she asked already had a date. One day, as she's walking into the building, she tripped and fell. Her skirt flew up revealing, well, everything. She simply stood up, started laughing, and said, "If that doesn't get me a date, I don't know what will!"

Lastly, my mother tends to not hear what someone actually says. Especially when she's concentrating on something. One day, we were at the grocery store and they had their people with samples out on the floor. When she saw one, she said, "I wonder what they're taking samples of." Confused, I asked, "You mean giving?" Her reply? "You're Satan." To this day she doesn't know exactly why she said it, but she thinks she heard someone say "pieces of Satan." Side note: No. She will never live this down! It's possibly the greatest thing she's ever said!

I've always believed that if you can't make fun of yourself, you have no right to make fun of anyone or anything else. Even though some situations may not seem funny in the moment, we often look back and laugh.

Possibly the best song this man has done!
"Word Crimes"~ Weird Al Yankovic

I'll Pencil It In

Explosion is imminent...

A couple of weeks ago, my therapist told me something that honestly weirded me out a bit. She told me that she schedules time to worry. She told me that, during this time, she over dramatizes and forces herself to actually worry. She said she does it because worrying at work is not at all helpful, but she's a natural worrier and needs to release it so it doesn't build up. This got me thinking... What if I designated a time to cry?

I can't even remember how many times I've said or typed that I don't cry in front of people. My therapist actually called me on it once. We were talking about something and I started fighting it back, as per usual. Well, it builds and builds and comes out all at once along with the anger and sadness that I push down along with the tears. This is never a pretty sight, and it feels much worse than it looks. So maybe, just maybe, if I set a time to release all the pent up tension, this wouldn't happen.

Now comes the hard part... how exactly do I schedule that? I mean, right now I'm in a fantastic mood. Then, I'm always in a good mood when I get new music. Side note: Ships Have Sailed is an amazing band with two incredible albums! Go check em out! It's not like I can just decide to be upset any more than I can decide to get out of a funk and be happy. Then it hit me: music. I've got more music than most people even know exists. There's got to be something that can depress me enough to get it out, right? Side note: As December Falls is also an amazing band with some incredible music! Check them out, too!

So now my mission is to go through my iPod and find things that may work. If you don't hear from me within a week, call the authorities; I may have forgotten to eat. Well, that, or I just have nothing to say...

And now, I give you my new obsession...

"Midnight"~ Ships Have Sailed

A Two-fer!

I've got two things I want to address today, so this could get weird...

Point number one: watch what you say.

I've posted before about how my sister is the conductor of the judgment train, and this has been really getting to me the last couple of days. Thinking about it Monday night got me hyped up and Tuesday was far from a good day.

Now, the thing that got to me most was something she said the day she, my mom, and I went to the opera. No joke, she stepped out of her car, looked up at me, and started in on what I was wearing. "Are you really wearing that? People wear formals to this thing." Yes, yes they do, but this was a matinee and it's not like I was wearing jeans. I was wearing a nice shirt, nice skinny pants, and nice boots. My hair was done nicely, and I looked just fine according to everyone else. Now, she was also wearing pants along with her husband's tie and suit coat. Side note: if you're going to wear a waist belt at all, let alone one with tie strings that hang pretty low, don't wear a man's tie. It looks stupid. Umm... how was her outfit any better than mine? Oh yeah, because she's her, and I'm not.

I've never done anything that reaches her approval, and I never will. I can't tell if she's ridiculously narcissistic, or incredibly insecure. Either way, when she starts saying things like, "we need to get you married," or, "if you dressed a little nicer, you might attract a man," all I hear is, "you're not good enough."

I wish I could say that she was the only one whose words stab me, but the fact is, so many others who don't realize it have done the same. I had a friend who once told my boyfriend that I don't have a bathing suit because I have stretch marks. I had told her that in confidence, and she humiliated me. Another friend who I had told about my diagnosis before I really came out with it decided that it was okay to tell her husband. When I went to their house, I was completely bombarded. He was talking about it and all I could do was stand there in disbelief. Side note: if you've read my post Come Again?, (<-- that's a link), that's where I heard the, "I've never seen you be, you know, Bipolar."

Fact is, I've been torn down and betrayed by the people closest to me who are supposed to be the ones who care the most. And people wonder why I have trust issues...

"Smiling Faces Sometimes"~ The Undisputed Truth

Point number two: perpetuation of stigmas.

So many times I've talked about not blaming your mental illness for your actions, and it seems to go unnoticed. I was chatting with someone on Twitter last night and I thought I'd punch him when he said "I had a Bipolar freak out today." Are you serious?! No. You freaked out today, made people afraid of you, then blamed your circumstances instead of taking responsibility for your actions.

That's right, I just said that we need to take responsibility for our actions instead of blaming our circumstances. People are afraid of those with mental illnesses because of how we act and subsequently blame the illness.

The really irritating part is how it's addressed in the court system. Claim mental illness made you do it, get off with court mandated therapy.

Your Bipolar does not make you rude, hot tempered, or violent. That's all you. I am completely on my own, no medications at all, and I manage to not hit people. It's called decorum people; use it!

There are signs all over the classrooms I work in that say "You are responsible for you." If seven year old kids can understand this concept, it shouldn't be that difficult for adults.

"If you could kick the person in the pants responsible for most of your trouble, you wouldn't sit for a month." - Theodore Roosevelt

Just The Short Of It

For those of you who know me, you know I can't stand monotony. Things MUST change every now and then. SO... I've done some work on the blog (changing link colours, moving some things around, etc.).

If you look just above this slightly pointless post, you'll see all my contact info. I tweet a bit too much sometimes, I'm dying to get the Facebook group to a point where I'm not the only one posting in it, and the email is there for questions, rants, and hellos.

I don't do any other social media because, well, I'd much rather have social interaction than sit at my computer all day. Although... I've been talking with a friend who is going to help me start vlogs! I've wanted to do it for awhile, but I'm so technologically stupid that editing and whatnot is a mystery to me.

I Don't Negotiate With Insecurities

I have no clever opening line today.

I was thinking today about something that happened a while ago, and it just sparked something in me to talk about it. Today's subject: body image.

We all know that Hollywood and fashion magazines have made unrealistic standards of beauty. We also know that there are people and organizations out there fighting this. I personally believe that there is no such thing as a physically ugly person, and someone's attitude and behavior determine their beauty. I see every single person as a beautiful creation who is perfect just the way they are. Well, almost every person.

I've never felt particularly pretty even though people have always told me otherwise. My entire life, I've heard, "you have such a beautiful smile." Every time someone says it, I suddenly become entirely self conscious and close my mouth. If someone says that I'm funny, I retreat into myself and become very literal. Basically, any kind of compliment makes me stop doing whatever it was that earned the compliment.

I got side tracked... Anyway, I don't remember all the exact details, but I posted on Facebook a while ago that I don't like my nose because it's too pointy. Not a big surprise seeing as how a pointy nose is a trait inherited from my mother's family. Well, one of my friends (sorry I can't remember who!) said that she had always liked my nose. I feel so bad that I can't remember who said it, but every time I look in the mirror and see Cyrano 2.0, I remember what she said.

If we could all think about the good things people say about us, we'd be better off. Unfortunately, that doesn't always happen. I was scrolling through my Twitter feed, and saw a picture a girl had shared of new cuts on her legs and she put so many demeaning words about herself with it.  Now, I'll be the first to say that posting that to social media was a bad idea simply because so many people post so many things that it will almost always go unnoticed. When nobody notices our pain, it endorses the thoughts we have about our lack of self worth.

You are beautiful.
You are smart.
You are worth it.

"Love Me"~ Katy Perry

All Access Trauma Pass

Wait, that's traumatic?

In therapy lately, we've been focusing on traumatic events in my life and the possibility of a dual diagnosis of Bipolar and PTSD. I'm still fighting this because, when I think of the word "trauma," I picture scenes from the TV show ER, not my life.

Things we talk about as traumatic events, don't even feel like they made much of an impact. Like, I grew up right close to a rather dangerous set of intersections. Three in a row are known for car wrecks. I've actually lost count of how many totaled cars I've seen there. Most are relatively minor (fender-benders, rollovers) with no major injuries, but there have been a few that were more serious.

Story (slightly graphic, so feel free to skip if you need to): My senior year of high school, there was some dip stick who thought that the speed limit wasn't fast enough and that the merge was more of a suggestion than a rule. so, going way too fast, he hit one car and ricocheted off a few others before finally stopping. The sound alone was horrifying. I was one of the first to get there and see the aftermath. I'll spare you the image, but to paint an idea, not everyone survived.

Besides all that, the bullying I had to endure day in, day out is considered a traumatic event in my life. I guess I can see that. It left me with major anxiety and serious trust issues. I have a really hard time making new friends because I feel like everyone is like that thing and has ulterior motives. I find myself questioning when someone new comes to talk to me. I'm trying to overcome that, but add in the social anxiety, and it's going to take some time.

There were a few others my therapist and I have talked about, but I really don't want to go there. My point is, you never know what could be considered a traumatic event. What was traumatic for me, may not be for you, and vice versa. I've seen a lot of things that I wish I could erase from my memory, and believe me, I've tried. I've always prided myself on my ability to suppress things like this, but apparently that's bad. I'm not excited to add something else to my diagnostic sheet, but if it'll help, I guess I'll have to face the music.

I miss this show...

System Malfunction

What's the point?!

I've asked myself that question (as well as shouted it) so many times in the last 24 hours, and now I'm going to rant about why.

Quick note: I couldn't care less if you support the president's healthcare act. It's stupid and unconstitutional.

So, as all Americans know, you are now forced to obtain medical insurance, whether you want it or not. If you don't have insurance, you are penalized in the form of a fine that is 2% of your yearly income and $325 (or so) for every child under 18. To avoid the fines, you have three options:

1. get private health insurance which can cost $500+ per month, per person
2. get obama-care (which you must make at least $11,500 per year to even qualify for)
3. get state-funded Medicaid (if your state has any openings and you qualify)

I would add "get a full-time job with benefits" to the list, but since the implementation of this circus, many employers have cut hours to prevent having to pay benefits. Fun example: Some of the school districts in the nation consider 30 hours to be full-time. They cut down to 29 to avoid that.

Since I work part-time and can neither afford private insurance nor qualify for obama-care, I had to apply for Medicaid. I had to apply three times before the application was even accepted and could begin review. Then there was the five month runaround. "Do this. Get that. Go there." All the while, missing the December 31 deadline to avoid a fine for being uninsured for 2014.

Now for the fun part: Not every doctor on my list of providers accepting Medicaid will actually accept it.

I don't know about the rest of the country, but in Utah, Medicaid is not just Medicaid. You have to sign up with a plan as you would any private insurance. There were four options, and I chose the one that had the most names I recognized in the providers.

Excited to finally see real doctors, I began calling to set up appointments. I was able to get my usual ophthalmologist (eye doctor) and an allergist that my mother goes to, but when it came to a primary care, I hit wall after wall. "I'm sorry, we're not accepting new Medicaid right now." "Oh, well, we only accept Medicaid for children." I finally found the one office accepting new Medicaid for adults within (no joke) ten miles, and the wait time for an appointment was two weeks. Yeah, okay. I'll just feel better now and plan on being sick in two weeks. No problem.

My favorite part, however, was the one psychiatrist listed. She requires a referral from your primary care doctor that she also requires to be in the same clinic as she's in.

And people wonder why "the land of the free" has so much illness...


Here's a random song that's running through my head...
"Love Like Woe"~ The Ready Set

Too Tired For Titles

WHY?!

Ok, so, last Sunday, my mom, sister, and I went to the opera. Yes, really. It was a packed house and my seat was the fourth one in from the aisle. So, not only were there way too many people around, but I was trapped. Side note: the rows of seats were also super close together. Even crossing my legs was out of the question!

After having to endure all those people, we decided to go to dinner afterward. Now, my sister and I can never agree on places to eat. I didn't really feel like arguing this time and gave in when she suggested her favorite Italian restaurant that I really just don't like. I should have argued. This place was completely packed! There were people running around, kids screaming, and apathetic adults allowing the kids to scream while they shout to be heard. Side note: if you're going to allow your kid to be a brat, don't bring them out in public. Yes, kids are kids, but there's a limit.

After a day that stressful, I knew I wouldn't sleep much, but I haven't slept in two nights now. I'm going mad! I'm so tired, but I can't sleep! My dad went to two stores last night hunting down some natural sleep aids that my sister recommended, and they didn't work!

The worst part: the vicious circle. I'm annoyed that I can't sleep, so my mind runs and my blood pressure rises so it makes it harder to sleep.

Oh well... Here's the song that was running through my head all... freaking... night.

"Come On Eileen"~ Dexy's Midnight Runners

What's In A Name?

Round two...

I've had a major record set in the last day. I had one hundred views in twelve hours! Mostly on my post called I AM NOT BIPOLAR!!! (<--- shameless plug).

Now to the point of the day: names.

A name is the single most personal thing we have, in my opinion, so when someone messes with mine, it really gets to me. My name isn't that difficult, is it? Two basic syllables: "Char" and "maine." Now, Char is a fairly common nickname for Charlotte, Charlene, and whatever other names begin the same way, and for those in the know, Maine is a state on the eastern coast of the United States. Side note: if you want in my good graces, don't call me by either of those.

It's not spelt funny, it's not terribly difficult to break down, and I promise there is no "L" in it.

We give names to everything we care about, and sometimes, things we hate or fear. I have a friend who once wound up in the emergency room on an overdose, and the nurses kept referring to this friend as "the overdose." I've heard people refer to others as "the cutter," "the schizo," and "the mental patient." When I was hospitalized in that hell-hole (shameless plug #2 Hard Time On The Inside), the staff would give us their own little labeling names.

None of this is alright. If you don't know someone's name, ask; don't just designate your own label based on one thing you think you know about them. Side note: if you just know that "the girl in the red shirt" said something to you, that's fine.

I don't know about you, but my name is not Bipolar, PTSD, Schizophrenic, Borderline, or even Hey You. I have a name, and that name is Charmaine (say that five times fast...).

"Charmaine"~ The Bachelors (Yes, this is a real song. No, I'm not named after it.)

+/-

When did this happen?

Lately, when I'm attempting the whole "small talk" concept, it's a vocal vomit of negativity. When someone asks the ever elusive, "how are you" question that we all know nobody really wants the answer to, the only response I can come up with is, "alive." Wait, back track... Sometimes I manage a less-than-enthusiastic groan.

I've always been crap at small talk, but this is pathetic. The custodian at the school I work at tries to talk to me, but everything out of my mouth is a sarcastic dig at whatever's going on at the moment. He just kind of laughs it off and goes on with his duties. Every time we "talk," I just turn the corner and face-palm myself. If I can't even talk to a kid six years younger than I am who I have no interest in other than friendship, how am I going to do this whole "dating" thing?

I don't see anything wrong with saying something along the lines of "I'm good, thanks," but it's neither true, nor the first thing to my mind. Right now, I'm sick. I've got a pretty nasty allergy attack that has kept me propped up with pillows, Netflix, and three boxes of tissues by my side. See? complaining even in type. I'm pathetic!

Ok, I need some positivity so...

• Today is a beautiful day, and it's been beautiful all week!
• It's spring!
• I saw a happy puppy sticking his head out the car window!
• A super cute lady I know named Rose was wearing a shirt with roses on it today!
• My hair looks freakishly good today (shallow, I know, but still)! Look!
• 
• I've got the UK, Batman, and Doctor Who all in one picture!!!
• Best news of all that I forgot to share with y'all last week...

I finally got Medicaid approved!

For the first time in over two years, I can see REAL doctors! Side note: The NHS is desperately needed in the US.

Anyway, here's an upbeat song to end this...

"Midnight Memories"~ One Direction

Freaking Out

Yes Ma'am.

I've always been the "yes girl." The one who does whatever is asked of her (not at home, of course), and it bites me right in the tushy pretty much every time. I am once again backed into a corner that I have no idea how to get out of.

I got a text from my boss asking me to work with one of our kids for the last fifteen minutes of the day. A simple request requiring no more than a "no problem" from anyone else, but I've been having full-on panic attacks every time I think about this. See, I get to work fifteen minutes early so that I can leave fifteen minutes early, therefore avoiding the swarm of parents picking up their kids.

Backtrack... The parking lot that I park in every day is extremely small and is set up kind of like a circle. One entrance, one exit. It's ridiculously tight and trying to get even three cars through at a time is something only accomplished by Shriners, so having all those cars there at the same time while I'm trying to escape is less than fun. This is why I give myself the fifteen minute head start.

I know I'm going to say yes because, well, that's what I do, and I'm completely freaked out! I tried talking to my mom about this earlier, but she was so engrossed in her Facebook that she didn't even hear me, so all of you get to hear about it.

I seriously freaked out all day and even started looking at other jobs I could do, but the only things listed online are retail or something requiring a Ph.D. and a thousand years of experience.

I've used this song before, but it's so appropriate...

"Xiat"~ Trevor Moran

Anti-social Media

Why can't there be a juice cleanse for your life?

I've come to the conclusion that I need to remove toxic people from my life. Now, toxic can mean something different to everyone (people who use you, people who are always negative, etc.), but for me, it means people who don't bother to make me feel worthwhile.

I've taken to heart the whole, "Don't make someone a priority when all you are to them is an option," thing. The problem with this, however, is the "real life vs. social media" thing. I've got people on Facebook and Twitter who I talk with sometimes or they comment on things every now and then. This is great! I don't need to be the number one priority in every one of my Facebook friend's life, but it's nice to know they acknowledge my existence. It's the ones who don't even notice when I've commented on their things or bother to hit "like" on anything that need to go.

I'm down below 100 friends, and honestly, I feel so much better! I tend to get upset when I put forth an effort in a friendship and it's not reciprocated, and social media just makes that worse. Actually, social media makes everything worse, but I'll spare you my "technology is ruining our society and creating a generation of idiots" rant.

On second thought... This video is everything I feel...

Nice To Meet You, Rose

I need an anchor... or a floatie.

I feel like I'm losing control. Half the time I have no idea what I'm doing, the other half, I'm all too aware of it. The worst part: I can't actually put words to exactly how I feel. I can try, but it never seems quite right.

There's something that The Doctor says in the first episode of the new series of Doctor Who that is as close as it gets. He says: *I copied it from IMBD, so if it's misquoted, blame them.

" Do you know like we were saying, about the earth revolving? It's like when you're a kid, the first time they tell you that the world is turning and you just can't quite believe it 'cause everything looks like it's standing still. I can feel it... the turn of the earth. The ground beneath our feet is spinning at a thousand miles an hour. The entire planet is hurtling around the sun at sixty seven thousand miles an hour. And I can feel it. We're falling through space, you and me, clinging to the skin of this tiny little world. And, if we let go..."

The more I read that, the more it's actually exactly how I feel. The part about not believing the world is spinning because it looks like it's standing still is like not believing there's anything standing still because my mind is always spinning. The whole, "falling through space... clinging to the skin of this tiny little world," is like how I'm trying to cling to some sense of normalcy, "and if we let go..." I don't want to know, but I'm not sure how much longer I can hold on.


"Hold On"~ Wilson Phillips

How To Stop Stigmas

(Clever intro line goes here.)

I've had to deal with quite a few people lately who know the inner most workings of my mind. I've had to send in my psych records to be reviewed by nameless, faceless people who will decide if I meet their standards of "disabled." Every time I get the ever-cryptic letters from the government, I have to call the office and talk to some (inevitably) pre-judgmental drone who assumes I'm going to yell or pitch a fit. These lovely people always have their guard up in preparation for said assumed fit-pitching and often strike preemptively.

Side note: not every person who works there is cranky, assuming, or, well, your basic government worker.

ANYWAY... I was thinking about why people have this reaction to anyone labeled as "mentally ill," and I just came back to what I had said before: those with mental illness are creating the stigmas they're fighting. People treat us this way because of how our predecessors acted (not to mention the lack of trying on the currents' part). I've said it before, I'll say it again, and again until stigmas are gone:

Having a mental illness does not excuse you from having manners!

I'm probably going to be alone in this, but I'm still going to challenge everyone to change the stigmas, not by marching, protesting, or shouting, but by simply using manners. I don't care how you feel on the inside, be polite. You don't need to smile/laugh/joke, but I'm going to tell you right now, with the rampant mental illness in the world, the checker at the shop you just yelled at is, most likely, also a sufferer. Just think of what Thumper says in Bambi: "If you can't say something nice, don't say anything at all."

Now for an appropriate song. Well, appropriate for the time of year, anyway.

"Winter's On The Wing (From The Secret Garden)"~ Original Broadway Cast

Awkwardly Annoyed

Awkward...

I have a truly rare gift, indeed. I can bring any conversation to a screeching halt simply by opening my mouth. Doesn't matter what the subject, anything I say is just so off-the-wall to anyone who is not me that everyone just looks at me like I'm speaking an obscure, forgotten language.

I've always been a little awkward around people. I was a freakishly shy kid. I'm still quiet until I get to know someone. It just seems like it's gotten worse since I graduated high school. Four sentences in a row starting with the letter "I"

I'm always trying to not offend people, so I try to word things differently. Fun example: I have a profile on a dating site (don't judge), and on it, I say how into music I am. Well, a guy messaged me with a link to a YouTube video of a song. It was possibly the most boring thing ever recorded. I mean, I gave it a fair chance, but after about a minute and a half I was contemplating stabbing my eardrums with an ice pick. What can you say? All I could say was "not generally my style, but not bad." (Yes, I lied. Judge me.)

Then there's the thing where, when I ask a question, I want the shortest answer possible so I can stop talking to you and stop feeling awkward. Nobody seems to understand this. I can ask someone directions to a room in the building, and instead of simply saying, "downstairs and third door on the right," I get an explanation so exact that I could paint a detailed picture. I don't need to know what room is just before it, what's on the wall next to it, or what decorations are on the door. The worst is when the answer is just yes or no. I really don't need to know your reasoning behind your answer, especially when you take ten minutes to explain it.

The really funny thing about this is that I can't stand awkward silences, either. In the elevator, I can look at my phone, but with the checker at the market, phones aren't really an option, so once again, I say something and get the, "okay, you're weird" looks.

My personal favorite is when I start rattling on about serial killers. That's the one subject that I can just keep going with, even when I want to shut up. Side note: I have a theory that Jack the Ripper was actually a woman. Based on victimology and MO, it just makes sense to me.

It's a random song day, and this has been on repeat almost all day.

"Legendary"~ The Summer Set

Just Another Figure

Lovely.

My blog may suffer for the next few weeks or so. I had to carry an overly dramatic eight-year-old boy and that busted my arm. Naturally, the one I actually use. Let's see how long it takes to type this with the four fingers that actually work...

I realized yesterday that I have a serious issue with criticism. Any kind. It's like, any time someone tells me something I'm doing wrong, my anxiety hits the roof and I suddenly can't think of the meanings of words or remember how to walk.

 Fun example: apparently, my phone was too loud for just one of the five people in the vicinity, so princess told (not asked) me to turn it down. I had adjusted the volume about an hour before but couldn't remember how to right then.

I've always felt that I don't do things right. Everything I do or say just seems to be wrong somehow. I mean, I know that nobody can do everything wrong, but it sure feels that way sometimes. I'm convinced that it goes back to school and that (insert demeaning expletive here). But then, it's easy to blame so much on something that caused so much damage.

I've watched an entire episode Gilmore Girls while typing. That's almost 45 minutes. I'm not left-handed and it's doing most of the work. It's tired, so I'm done today.

"Strong Enough To Break"~ Hanson

Just Puttin' Off The Pain

My happy place is playing "Hide and Seek."

I'm still at the bottom of the well and the walls are too slippery to climb. Last week, I missed three and a half of my usual four days at work. I managed to go today, but the physical pain caused by smiling was too much to handle, but I don't have the energy required to get angry. I had kids pulling me in every imaginable direction by my arms, waist, scarf, coat, anything they could find, and all I could do was passively say "no."

After hiding out in the closet of the empty classroom fighting back the tears, I left a bit early. I came home, made Mac &  Cheese, piled up every pillow I own onto my bed, and turned on Gilmore Girls.

Stress is not my friend (nice segue, huh?). It seems to be worse lately even though I haven't really had any. Even the tiniest thing gets to me and I'm not particularly good at processing it. I can bite harder and faster than a pack of hyenas on a... well, I'll spare you the visual. I don't actually like doing it, it's actually more of a defense mechanism, but it's been happening a lot more often.

I don't know what to do. I've never been this low before and I keep getting lower and lower. Have you ever heard someone say that it's too cold to snow? Well, I'm too sad to cry.





"Let It Hurt"~ Rascal Flatts

A Sinking Feeling

Can someone take my shovel, please?

I feel like I just keep digging myself into a deeper hole. I'm still depressed, and as I get farther down, I get more antisocial. I haven't been talking much, and when I do, it's quiet, muffled, and sounds angry. I have no appetite. I'm ridiculously tired but I can't sleep. I feel like I'm going to cry all the time. The list goes on.

Last time I met with my therapist, I explained that it's like walking through a dense forest. You can't see much, let alone a way out, but sometimes there's a bit of sun that breaks through. It's small and fleeting, but it's there. I actually hate those bits of sun because it reminds me of how I can't feel all the time (if that makes any sense). I mean, I'll be watching Gilmore Girls, and something funny will happen. I'll smile or laugh, but then it's right back down.

I am completely on my own. I've got no medications to help. It's getting so bad that I'm actually beginning to be afraid of myself. I've had more ideation thoughts in the last three days than I've had in the last three years. I need help, but I refuse to check myself in to any of the "treatment centers" here. They do far more damage than good.

I don't know what to do.

"Help"~ Bananarama (Beatles cover)

Help!

Catharsis (and possibly self discovery) in 3... 2... 1...

I have no idea how I feel right now. It's either something completely new, or about ten thousand things all combined into my tiny head. Normally, I can explain how I feel, but not today.

I didn't sleep at all last night, which makes for a very long night. My mind was on hyper drive and I honestly couldn't sort one single thought from the others. So basically, not only do I not know how I feel, I don't know what I'm thinking. Do you have any idea how frustrating this is?

Along with it being incredibly frustrating, it's sending my anxiety off the charts. This is super fun seeing as how I can't get a coherent sentence out on the best of days. Side note: It has already taken me three times longer to write this than normal. So, I've got this whole "... try to say smart, but the dumb comes out." ("Right Girl"~ The Maine) thing going on. Wednesdays are my therapy days, and not being able to form a complete, coherent sentence is not particularly helpful.

None of this has been made better by the fact that I had to be social. I had to go to the bank, then to the dentist, then to the grocery store, then to make an idiot of myself while simultaneously getting an innocent kid searched. Long story. Don't ask. As I was driving home, I had to stop on the side of the road because I was shaking so hard that driving became dangerous. Bright side: Got a couple of pictures from the benches.

I came home and haven't said a word. I feel like crying, laughing, screaming, and about a billion other things right now. If someone knows why I feel like this, I'd love to hear.

"Let Go"~ As December Falls

Retraction & Correction

I've been meaning to talk about this for awhile, but I'm not particularly in the mood to communicate, so bear with me.

One of my most read posts is my first one, entitled, "Bipolar 101." In it, I describe the different types of Bipolar and their symptoms (to a very small extent) rather sarcastically. Since then, I have learned that the DSM-5 has changed the major criteria for the types. Not having read the DSM-IV, I'm not sure what all has changed, but I now fall under Bipolar 1 with rapid cycling.

As I was reading my original post, I was mortified. I have learned a lot since then, and I truly apologize for passing off anyone's suffering in such a sarcastic, demeaning way. Not gonna lie though, "Cop Out" and "Cop Out: The Sequel" were still funny.

I am not an expert, nor have I ever claimed to be. I've lived with this pain all my 28 years, and I'm still learning new things. This horrible thing that has been bestowed on us is more complicated and difficult to sort out than tangled Christmas lights. I'm not sure anyone has all the answers. Not even the DSM-5. We are all different, so we experience everything differently. All we can do is generalize the big things and go from there.

I've said before that I imagine "normal" as basically emotionless. I posed the question to a new Twitter friend who said that, paraphrased, it's not having to take so many pills and deal with the side effects along with the symptoms. I'd really like to hear what you think "normal" is. Please feel free to leave your comments below or email me at bipolarexpressride@gmail.com.

I'm gonna go back into my hole now, and listen to this...

"Story Of My Life"~ One Direction

50 Shades Of Purple

It's Monday...

Ever have one of those mornings where you just know the whole day is going to suck? Sometimes it gets better, sometimes it gets worse. Today was definitely a "gets worse" kind of day.

Why was it so bad? Well, To start with, I didn't sleep very well last night, which we all know makes for a hard day anyway. When I got up an hour before my alarm, I got so light-headed in the shower that I nearly fell over. Yes, it's a hilarious image to think of, but not too fun in actuality. Then, getting ready for work, my stomach decided that it didn't like what I had for breakfast (I'll spare you that image). That made me run late, and in my rush, I managed to burn part of my hair with my flat iron, trip and fall into my bed (lovely shade of purple now), and forget my watch, hat, and water bottle.

Things didn't get much (if any) better at work. It's super windy today, which makes it only about 20F outside (that's -7C for the rest of the world). When it's that cold, we keep the kids inside during recess. Easier, right? Oh so very many shades of wrong! Imagine for a minute... 30 kids in a classroom, no teacher (because she's at lunch), and allowed to play games. I think Dante may have forgotten to mention this circle of Hell.

Side note: Because of the noise and total lack of space, this sends my anxiety off the charts. I had to leave early.

I went to the library after, and as I was down looking at the bottom shelf, I got light-headed again and fell backward... right into the edge of the shelf behind. I haven't looked yet, but I bet it, too is a lovely shade of purple.

After that, I came home and turned on my Hanson playlist. I really shouldn't have gotten out of bed today...

Here's my favorite Hanson song of all-time.

"Georgia"~ Hanson

 

Twitter: @AROTBEblog

Facebook Group: A Ride On The Bipolar Express

Gmail: bipolarexpressride@gmail.com

Shallow As A Shower

"If you're out on the road..."

I've been binge watching Gilmore Girls since it hit Netflix. I watched it on TV faithfully (almost) every week, bought the DVDs when they came out, and dream of being just like Loreli. Here's why...

1. Ok, can you say "awesome name"?!
2. She's incredibly quick witted.
3. She's confident in everything she does.
4. She can coherently stand up for herself when she needs to.
5. She's not afraid to just dive in.

I could go on for quite some time, but I'll spare you from my fangirl rants.

Well, as I think about how much I would love to be Loreli, I was noticing how much I'm like Luke.

1. He's antisocial.
2. He's not terribly eloquent.
3. He pushes most people away,
4. He doesn't accept that someone could actually like him.
5. He sounds angry when he talks, even when he's happy(ish).

Again, I could go on, but I'll spare you from my self-deprecating rants this time.

I have a tendency to daydream, and I'm usually imagining myself as someone just like Loreli. It makes me happy to think that I could be happy, confident, and well liked. Then I get back to the real world and realize that I'm still the same old me.

When I get asked if I like myself, the most positive thing I can respond with is, "some aspects." Sure, I've got things I like about myself, but overall, I'm not my own biggest fan. Most of the time, I can't think of the things I do like, so I'm going to put them here as a reminder for myself.

• I'm a realist.
• I'm a music encyclopedia.
• I've got fabulous hair. Shallow alert!
• I'm freakishly organized.
• I don't let outside influences alter my style.

Not gonna lie... that took 20 minutes to think of just those 5 things.

Anyway... here's the only song that came into my head while writing this...

"Curse of Curves"~ Cute Is What We Aim For

 

Twitter: @AROTBEblog

Facebook Group: A Ride On The Bipolar Express

Gmail: bipolarexpressride@gmail.com

A Friend In The Eye Of The Storm

Do I have to get out of bed?

I've hit the bottom once again. I don't particularly like the mania or mixed episodes, but my absolute least favorite is the depression.

People who have never experienced a true depression (meaning, more than "I didn't get the job") don't understand that it is more than just emotional. Again, not speaking for everyone, but I get physical things as well. It most literally hurts to move, so when I do, it's much slower than usual. I talk slower, I think slower, I am slower. The worst part for me, though, is the fact that, again, it most literally hurts to even smile. I work with kids. I need to be able to smile. Even a fake one would be nice!

I haven't wanted to get out of bed for three days now, and believe it or not, forcing it makes me feel worse. This whole deal of "try a little harder" is total rubbish. Even "fake it til you make it" is just going to escalate my depression (oxymoron of the century!).

Bad segue in 3... 2... 1...

I tend to point out things when I'm down here, like how I only have two or three people who really talk to me. I wish I could say it was as nice as that, but I get incredibly sarcastic and a little demeaning. I've never actually said this before, not even to myself, but I do that because I'm scared. I don't want to feel like this to begin with, let alone go through it alone, but when someone asks, "what can I do?" I have no answer. I don't know how to answer it. Just knowing that someone is there is good enough for me.

I'm pretty sure I've used this song before, but I love it and it applies to those who are there.

"Rescue"~ The Summer Set

 

Twitter: @AROTBEblog

Facebook Group: A Ride On The Bipolar Express

Gmail: bipolarexpressride@gmail.com

Where Do Stigmas Come From?

This is probably going to sound like I have a superiority complex...

I've been reading some things lately written by people who also have Bipolar, and the only thing I can say is, are you freaking kidding me?!

I've lost track of how many times I've said that I don't show emotion outside my house and that I like to pretend I don't have a problem. I don't want to talk about it all the time. I know I have a problem, but would you want to talk about that strange mole on your leg 24/7? I'm well aware of my shortcomings and do not need to be constantly reminded of them.

Then there are the people who are always using their mental illness as an excuse. If you're cranky, rude, or pitching a full-on fit, that's just you. Having a mental illness does not excuse anyone from having manners. I feel like the bottom of a compost heap every minute of every day, yet I manage to keep some sense of decorum. Screaming in the middle of the road while ripping your clothes off? Don't say "it's because I have Bipolar." It's not. I promise. You're just looking for a way out with the fewest repercussions.

I've seen people say they have some kind of mental illness to get out of trouble ranging from traffic tickets to that freak who shot up the theatre in Colorado. And we wonder where the stigmas come from...

If you feel like the bottom of a compost heap and need to stay home in bed, do it. There's nothing wrong with that. Don't, however, expect understanding and compassion when you act out and blame it on your brain. We are the only ones who can end the stigmas.

• Mental illness does not give you special rights.
• Mental illness is not an excuse for lack of decorum.
• Using mental illness for your own advantage is only escalating stigmas.

Twitter: @AROTBEblog

Facebook Group: A Ride On The Bipolar Express

Gmail: bipolarexpressride@gmail.com

"Honestly"~ Hot Chelle Rae

I'm A Hazard To Myself

*Sigh*

So, I have finally succumbed to the fact that I cannot work enough to support myself and, without proper care, I never will. Between my mood swings (notice how I avoided "the B word" again) and ever increasing anxiety, I am doomed to part time and low income. I hate having to ask my parents for money for anything, let alone everyday living things like clothes, food, etc. I've said before how I like to pretend I don't have a problem, and believe me, I've avoided "the D word" like WalMart on clearance day, but I came out of my imaginary happy world long enough to apply for... Disability.

Just admitting that makes me feel like a lazy, entitled moron who can't be bothered to get a real job. Don't get me wrong, I've never looked down on anyone receiving disability benefits (if for the right reasons), I just have been telling myself I'm normal for so long that I actually believe it. Until I get around actual normal people, that is...

I had help from my attorney to fill out the application (actually, his office manager did it and she's awesome too), and every question about medication and job histories just felt like a knife. As I was thinking back on my job history, I felt more and more like a failure. I've had one job that has lasted more than four months. One. I've had quite a few jobs that have lasted less than a month. I had one once that lasted just one week. Since March of 2011, I've had so many jobs that I can't even remember some of them!

I actually confined myself to my room most of the day because just thinking about what a failure I am sent me into an incredibly fast spiral down to the lowest circle of Hell. Side note: I had to go to WalMart today, as well, and that just made the spiral faster. Why can't I do the things that normal people do? I want to go to work 40 hours each week and complain that I work too much to do anything fun. I want to have that one person in the office that I confide in about how much I hate the boss. I want to contribute to society. Most of all, I want to know that I'm not a burden; on my parents or the taxpayers.

Twitter: @AROTBEblog

Facebook Group: A Ride On The Bipolar Express

Gmail: bipolarexpressride@gmail.com

"Don't Let Me Get Me"~ P!nk

Girl Talk

I'm crabby.

Let's be honest, ladies. Not one single woman on the planet jumps for joy at the arrival of her period each month. We all get crabby because we feel like we got hit by a truck, we have to pay a ridiculous amount for supplies to maintain something we never asked for, and those supplies are freakishly uncomfortable, but having to deal with those hormones along with what's already going on inside my head is, well, less than fun.

I can be called moody on the best of days, but during my far-too-frequent "special time," (Side note: whoever started calling it that should be shot.) being anywhere near me makes you a target. I think I should design a shirt that says:

 

WARNING:

Close proximity to occupant

may result in serious injury!

 

I used to have one that said "Caution: Does Not Play Well With Others," but I outgrew it when I was 18 (ok... I finally threw it out when I was 18 because I'd had it since I was 12 and much, much smaller). Yeah... there was no point in telling you that...

 

Anyhow... You'd think that there would be some kind of cosmic exception making it impossible to have that many mood swings. I've basically succumbed to the fact that, I will be spiraling down an emotional vortex of doom every four weeks and hide as much as I can.

 

On the bright side: I have pizza.

 

Twitter: @AROTBEblog

Facebook Group: A Ride On The Bipolar Express

Gmail: bipolarexpressride@gmail.com

 

This.

 



Hard Time On The Inside

Here goes...

Last night, a good friend of mine suggested that I write what it's like inside treatment hospitals. I'm not sure I'm the best person to be doing this, as I've spent less than a week between the two times I've been locked up, but I'll try.

The first time, I was 15 and admitted to the University of Utah Neuropsychiatric Institute (UNI). From what I remember, this was a good place. They had a level system, so, the more progress you made, the more perks you got. The staff was great! Nobody talked down to anyone else.

However, I was only there for one night because I'm ridiculously good at talking my way out of things.

The next time, I was 24 and put on a "blue sheet" at... not UNI (I won't say where this place is simply because I'm afraid of them coming after me for defamation). Side note: A blue sheet means you're not there voluntarily and they hold you for at least 72 hours. This was, without a doubt, the absolute worst place I could have been! The doctors were almost never around, I was forced to participate in things I either had no interest in or simply didn't want to do, and the entire staff made it very clear that everyone was there by their own fault. You're in here because of something you did. Forget the fact that you have an illness, you just did something bad.

We were treated no better than felons! Every door had to be unlocked by staff who would act like they were doing you a favor by letting you use the restroom. If you don't participate in group, you're threatened with longer incarceration. They had phones, but the staff had to dial out and you were only allowed two minutes (I actually fought them on that quite a few times. Yelling was involved, with colorful names used to describe the staff).

Not bad enough? I made nice with one of the other inmates (I refuse to say patients for this place) who was there for a rather interesting reason... She went in to the office just for a basic evaluation, as was instructed by her doctor. This place blue sheeted her because she had one passing suicidal thought seven years before.

Sadly, there's a list of things that have lead to my not wanting to seek proper care besides this prison. When I was in elementary school, the school psychologist figured that, "since you can't get along with these particular classmates, you can spend the day away from them, locked in my office." I got punished for being a victim. I've had several therapists who have done more damage than good, but this was the worst.

Yes, our system is not only broken, it's shattered, but it's not all bad. I'm in a pretty good place with all that now. I know how to judge if a particular therapist will work for me (usually if they won't let me talk my way out of it the first visit, they're good), and I know myself well enough to play with my prescribed medications to see if they will work.

I urge every single one of you to question what you're given. Don't accept that this bad therapist/medication/whatever is all there is. You are the only one who truly knows what's best for you. If it's not working or it makes you uncomfortable, get a second opinion or go somewhere else. Most of all... DO NOT LET ANYONE TRY TO CONVINCE YOU THAT ANY OF THIS IS YOUR FAULT!


"Jailhouse Rock"~ Elvis Presley

That Was A Wall...

Oww.

Have you ever changed moods so quickly that you have no clue what even triggered it and it kind of feels like you hit a brick wall? That's where I was today.

Despite my anxiety over returning to work this week, yesterday was pretty good. Today was a whole other story. It started out alright, but about half way through my whole four and a half hour shift, I plunged so low and so fast that I'm still waiting for my ears to pop!

I've spent the last few hours trying to pinpoint the dirty little factor that did this to me, and as usual, I figured it out just now as I'm typing. There's quite a bit going on at the school today. It's close to Valentine's Day, so all the classes are doing their art and party prep, there's the semi-annual book fair that all the classes got to go preview, and one class has a display that all the other classes are going to see. Worst part: The room where the book fair is, is right close to the class who has the display. This is the area I'm in all day. Too many people moving too much of the time.

The fun continued on my way home. Fun Fact: Utahns don't know how to drive properly! I swear, I could write new words to "12 Days of Christmas" to apply to how bad our drivers are.

OH! I got more of my records today. I was locked up in the absolute worst facility in the world a few years ago (long story there), and for the 41 pages of completely useless crap they sent, they want $20.50! How could anyone, in good conscience, charge that much for someone's own information?! Especially when it's useless?! That's it. I'm moving to the UK. The NHS is (mostly) a better system.

On the bright side, I got to talk to my friend in Oklahoma today! I don't get to talk to her much, so when I do, it always makes me happy. Even if only momentarily.

"Scene Change"~ The White Tie Affair (This is the best video I could find in the 30 seconds before I gave up. I normally hate fan-made lyric videos because the lyrics are usually wrong.)

Twitter: @AROTBEblog
Facebook: A Ride On The Bipolar Express
Email: bipolarexpressride@gmail.com

Updates N'stuff

I've talked about my twitter, but have never actually mentioned what my handle thingy is. So, should you desire to do so, you can follow me there.

@AROTBEblog

I've also talked about the Facebook group. It's there for sufferers, family, friends, or anyone wanting to learn more. It's completely open, so feel free to join!

A Ride On The Bipolar Express

I have also set up an email. Why? Because I'd love to hear from you! I know some people who read this don't want to post comments because it's kind of difficult to leave it anonymously, so if you have a comment, question, or need to vent, you can send it to me! Sure, I'll know your name, but everything is between us.

bipolarexpressride@gmail.com

Fin.

Just Another Title

Gotta suck it up, right? No.

I've been ridiculously sick for the last week or so and have been stuck in bed with my tissues, NyQuil, and Netflix. Now, normally this would sound fun, but when I have a job, it seriously messes with me.

When I start a new job (or go back after being a walking virus), it takes me a while to get into the groove. My anxiety skyrockets and I become the reincarnation of Harry Houdini. Some jobs take more time to get used to than others. If my schedule is the same days and times every week, it's going to take me a bit longer than if it changed. It actually took me seven weeks to make all my scheduled hours at my current job.

Best part of working at a school: 2 week Christmas break.
Worst part of working at a school: 2 week Christmas break.

I haven't recovered from the break yet and it's February! So much has piled on in the last few weeks that have made me miss work that I haven't even been able to make half my hours since we came back in January! 

Right now, I'm sitting on my bed, making myself nauseous with the idea of going in today. I love my job, but my brain has other ideas.

"Xiat"~ Trevor Moran
"Trying to do normal things I used to pursue.
So fired up, but now rotting inside.
I do my hardest to break out of this shell.
Without a crack, I'm still stuck in this Hell."

On The Record

At least I'm consistent...

I've been collecting my psychiatric records, and all I can say is "really?" I don't have much in the way of super far back, but even since 2009, not much has changed. On paper, anyway.

I've said before how I like to pretend I don't have a problem. It's always been that way. When I get those questionnaires about mental status, I will always mark the things that make me look normal. My efforts are, however, in vain because the doctors' notes will always tell a different story.

I was just going through my records from the last place that did my medication management, and I got back to the initial paperwork I had to fill out before being seen. On those, I had to mark somewhere between one and four (one being "not at all" and four being "all the time"). I don't think I actually read the statements before simply choosing to mark the one box. Every now and then, though, I'd change it up and mark a two. I read all the notes from my doctor and thought, "Why do I even try to hide it?" I mean, when the notes say that there is a "markedly noticeable difference" in what I put on paper versus how I act, it's useless.

Now comes the really hard part: accepting, not only the illness, but the illness being a part of me. I've only ever posted three pictures of myself on here (none of which could be used for identification) because I hadn't fully accepted it. I've been thinking of it as its own entity, but it's not. I'm not saying that it is me, I'm just saying that it is a part of me. I may not like it, but without it, I feel like I'm not being honest with myself. So this is me. Flaws and everything. (Sorry. I'm not too big on selfies, so this is the best I have.)