I have a tendency to say incredibly stupid things without thinking. I call it my "lack of a brain-to-mouth filter." It's when the words come out of my mouth before I even realize that I've thought of them.
Last week, a couple of people I know came to help me paint my bedroom. Now, these two people are quite possibly the least judgmental people I've met (and a freakishly cute couple!). You know when you meet someone and know right off the bat that they're a good person? It doesn't happen to me very often, but these two just ooze acceptance. Even with that, I still don't know them very well and wound up with vocal vomit. I couldn't stop talking no matter how hard I tried. They just smiled and tried to keep up with my speeding thought train as best they could. I hope they know how grateful I am.
A couple days ago, my mom and I went to IKEA. We were trying to find our way out of the senseless maze. We found a gate and were told we could go out that way. I pushed and pushed, but the gate didn't move. When the worker told me to pull, I said "I'm a natural blonde," and laughed. Only after I'd lost sight of her did I realize that she was blonde.
This happens most when I'm manic or what I call "situationally manic." Side note: Yes, I know it's not a word, but I use it anyway. That's when I'm in a depression or mixed state but something happens to temporarily boost my mood. I have absolutely no idea how to make it stop and would give my first-born for a cure. My kingdom for a cure!
I said a while ago that friendships are like plants; if you ignore them, they die. I've also said that I'm tired of the one always putting in the effort. I decided that I was going to see who my true friends are by practically ignoring everyone. I don't even need all my fingers to count how many people acknowledge me.
There are the people I talk to regularly. I've never worried about them. I've got the people who comment on things when they see them in the five minutes a day they spend online. It's very much appreciated. Then I've got the ones who never comment, "like," share, or even acknowledge that I've commented on something of theirs. They ignore me until they think I've done something wrong. I've got quite a few of those people. These are the people I can tag in things, send notes, "like" everything they do, but only notice I exist when I make a typo or mislabel something.
When they're offline and in real, live person, I only exist when nobody else is available. I've had quite a few "friends" pop up when their relationships are going down the toilet, or if they're having a crisis. Yes, I get that I'm a good listener, but I'm not your therapist. I've got my own things to deal with, and you popping up only when you need a sounding board is not okay. Either be a friend, or an acquaintance. You can't go back and forth as you feel you need.
Since I made the decision to let others show their dedication to our friendship, I've lost quite a few people. I can't say I lost friends because, friends try to keep in contact.
One more thing...
One of my biggest pet peeves is when I voice an opinion and someone tells me I'm wrong. I've said it before, and I'll say it again:
OPINIONS ARE NEVER WRONG!
Facts can be wrong, actions can be wrong, but opinions (as well as feelings) are never wrong! When I say I don't like kids, don't reply with, "How can you possibly say that? Kids are such a joy and blessing." You are welcome to your opinions; allow me to have mine.
While I was in the shower this morning, I started thinking about my school days. School was my own personal circle of Hell that Virgil told Dante was too dangerous to enter.
It started off innocently. I was thinking about this Archaeology class I took the summer between fifth and sixth grades. It was a blast! We got into a silly string war on the last day! Then my thoughts moved to fourth grade.
There were three math classes with varying degrees of difficulty. I was in the highest class. Each day, we were to complete one problem on a sheet we were given. These problems were incredibly difficult, but I always got them right. At the semester, my teacher decided that I wasn't smart enough to be in the high class because, I kid you not, I got one problem wrong. ONE! Since I was no longer smart enough for her, she dropped me to the LOWEST class! My mom fought the school and said that I was not to be in the other teacher's class. We had a meeting, and the principal agreed with my mom and me. Finally, I was put in the middle class. Side note: a few years later, the teacher who taught the low class was arrested for "inappropriate contact with students." Thanks mom for fighting!
Fourth grade was also when I was locked in the school counsellor's office for being the victim of a bully.
I dealt with a ton of crap in school, but the thing that hit hardest was in ninth grade. I had spent eighth grade at a different school and when I came back to my home school, I wasn't very well received. I was having a bad day all around, so when I was walking to another class, having someone spit in my face was the last straw. That's right... someone actually spit in my face. I went to my guidance counsellor's office to tell her what happened and just broke down. Side note: she was an amazing counsellor! She's the only reason I got out of the 9th grade!
I've always told people that there comes a time when you must stop thinking like a victim and start thinking like a survivor. I'm not convinced that I have taken my own words to heart. I think that's what I'm going to start working on in therapy.
"2015 is the year of the crap pile."~ Charmaine's calendar.
This year has been one blow after the next. Yes, my world was uprooted by the news of Zayn leaving One Direction, as well as the news of the "hiatus." Not long after that, one of my all-time favorite artists, Nick Santino, announced that he has not only formed a new band, but that they have a new EP out now. Side note: Beach Weather. It's fabulous!
Now, you may think that this is all childish and wonder why these things affect me, but the thing is, it's big and unexpected. I don't like big and unexpected changes. Small and predetermined change is alright, but don't blindfold me and untie it right as I'm about to walk into a wall.
When my "sister" moved back in, my world wasn't just uprooted, it was bulldozed. I lost all control of my emotions and actions. When my grandma passed, I could hardly breathe. I cried at least once a day for weeks (been doing better on that). Every time I go up to her grave, that feeling comes back.
The biggest change hit me like a bat to the face. I saw my therapist last Friday and she told me that she has been offered, and has accepted, a new position somewhere else. I get to pick between two interns at the clinic I'm at now, but I'm still not okay with it. It took me about six or seven months to get comfortable enough with my current therapist to really open up. How am I going to get that way with another new one?
"Silence will fall when the question is asked." ~Doctor Who (NERD ALERT!)
I back down faster than a balloon gives in to a pin. Why? My father. Have you ever heard "Whatever You Say" by Martina McBride? The chorus says, "I know you can hear me, but I don't think you're listening." This is my father. I can say something that I need or want, and he'll pass it off and just do what he always has. I have always said that he should have never gotten married, let alone had a family because he cannot, no, he will not change for anyone. He does what he wants, everyone else be damned.
When I ask his opinion on something, he'll say, "you usually ignore my suggestions." Yes, I do. Do you know why? Because that's how I was taught. I'll suggest things to him, he'll say "that's an idea," and forget it five seconds later.
We fight quite a bit because I believe that a man should be a dad; not just a father. He cut himself out of my life when my sister decided she no longer needed him. Ever since, it's been a one-sided relationship. I do what he likes, talk about what interests him, etc., but when I talk about something, he doesn't really listen.
There have been quite a few times where I've stopped talking to him; sometimes, for weeks, but stupid me goes back to trying. I don't know why I do. I always get the same result. I get hurt because he doesn't know how to be a dad.
Sure, he's been there to help out when I've had surgery, but even then, he's downstairs until I call (three freaking times) that I need something. He gets it and returns to his claustro-hell.
A father is supposed to be a pillar. The pedestal that every girl puts her daddy on is empty in my heart. He hurts me more than he cares enough to realize. I want a daddy. I want to be able to say I'm daddy's little girl. The sad fact is, though, that I never will. All because my father will always do whatever satisfies my father.
No joke, I would much rather be in a depression than manic. I can't get to sleep, and when I finally do, I don't stay asleep. I overreact to everything. Whether I get angry or excited depends on a myriad of things that I feel like I have no control over. I'm hypersensitive to everything; I mean everything. Noises, pain, tickles, heat, and other people.
My mind is running a billion miles per second (you can read Blame It On The Train for more insight than I have the attention span to give right now). I can't put coherent thoughts together, which is really fun when trying to talk to someone new. I have no idea if this is connected, and would love to know if this happens to anyone else, but I get way more panic attacks when I'm manic (kind of like right now, for no reason). Breathe in, breathe out.
The really annoying part about mania is that I can't feel it coming on. Weird? Probably. I can feel myself slipping down, but the rise up never quite hits me as, "Hey! This is your brain! I'm going manic, so get ready!" I guess I just revel in the fact that I'm to a point out of the depression where I can get myself up, showered, and dressed and don't think anything of it. Well, I can tell that the depression is letting up, but I guess I just never think it'll get to this point.
I tweeted last night exactly how I felt about mania. I said, "Dear mania, You were not missed. Please return to the Hell from whence you came and leave me be." *I crack myself up! HA!*
If you watched Gilmore Girls, you'll understand why I feel like Pasquale. If you didn't (or need a refresher), allow me to explain. At the beginning of this episode, you can hear a man (Pasquale) shouting and see things being thrown out of the shop he owns. Loreli tells Miss Patty they just had "Stars Hollow loves Pasquale day last week," and questions his behavior. We then see Loreli go in to the shop and sweet-talk Pasquale.
If that was clear as mud, I basically mean that, I feel underappreciated. Every now and then, I let this be known in a Facebook rant (hey... you have your outlets, I have mine) and this gets people to notice me for about a week. No, I don't need constant attention or loads of praise, but I have 115 friends and things I post get one, maybe two "likes." More often than not, one is a miracle.
I wish Facebook was the least of my annoyances. I have a few friends who, after I do my rant, will text once or twice. Usually these texts will include an insincere "let's hang out" or some other empty promise. Granted, I have a few truly good friends who I can rely on, but most are outside the state (one in South Korea!). Side note: Yes, I appreciate any and all contact with friends, I just wish I had friends who would jump the same rivers and valleys I do for the friendship.
Home isn't too fabulous, either. My mom will talk to me, but my father is a whole other story. He complains constantly that I don't talk to him. He's right, usually. The reason I don't talk to him is because that's all it is. I talk, he shovels food in his mouth with the occasional "mm-hmm." He doesn't converse. He doesn't understand that a conversation is two or more people. When just one person talking, it's a monologue. Wait, he does understand this concept, but only with my mom, sister, brother-in-law, or, well... everyone else. And he wonders why I gave up...
Friendships are like plants. You need to put effort into them, because if you ignore them, they die.
I'll just leave this here...
"How To Save A Life"~ The Fray
About five years ago, I went through a hell worse than anything I've ever known to fix my right leg. I was born with both of my legs twisted, which caused me quite a bit of trouble throughout the years. My right one was, by far, worse than my left. On December 19, 2010, I (ok, my parents) actually paid a doctor to break my bone, twist it, shove a rod down it, and pin it in five places. I spent eight weeks dependent on a wheelchair and crutches, and the next few months were spent relearning how to walk. Exactly thirteen months later on January 19, 2012, I had to have my Achilles tendon lengthened. When my bone was twisted, it pulled my Achilles so far that I couldn't stand flat-footed. Once again, I spent time dependent on the wheelchair and crutches and had to, again, relearn to walk.
I was talking to my therapist about this and how my symptoms seemed to blow out of proportion right after the first surgery. She wasn't surprised and explained how a physical trauma like that can definitely have a negative impact. I've always heard that "everyone has their breaking point," and I guess that was mine.
About a week ago, I twisted my right knee and it has been killing me ever since. I managed to get in to see a surgeon, but A~ I'm always nervous with new surgeons, and B~ I really don't want another surgery. I know there's something wrong because it keeps giving out and hurts like mad, but I'm actually scared of having another surgery. I mean, I had countless procedures before these last two, but nothing affected me like they did. I can't even look at a wheelchair without my heart jumping.
I have been numb the last couple of days. Well... until something agitates me (which is happening a lot). It doesn't have to be big; even something as simple as someone not signaling on the road (which happens here more than anywhere else I've been).
My father, however, is constantly my biggest trigger. Story: When my "sister" moved in, all my storage was in her old bedroom, so it all had to be moved. It was only in there because my father has cluttered up our basement to the point that it looks like an episode of Hoarders. Most of my things were blessed with a bit of space in this hellhole, but some boxes were left upstairs in the family room. They're still in the family room. I just tripped on one. He's just now, after five or six weeks, thinking about putting it downstairs. Why now? Because I pitched a fit. Side note: Ignoring the needs of others until they get angry (and you know this will happen) is emotional abuse.
I'm exhausted. I'm not sleeping well, people are getting on my nerves, and the word "happy" hasn't been in my vocabulary for a while. The only feeling I can actually pinpoint that I've felt in a few days is "agitated" (and all its synonyms). Other than that, I simply exist. I've been reaching, trying to think my way into some kind of feeling, but I'm at a loss. I went a few places today, and couldn't even force a smile. Not even one of those, "I-feel-like-crap-but-it's-not-your-fault-so-I'm-going-to-try-my-best" smiles. I hate doing that. I will always be polite because you never know if the person at the checkout is having a hard time as well.
I'm starting a new job next week and I'm terrified that this won't be over. Side note: This job falls into the category of "good" because it has minimal social interaction!
Anyway... I heard this song for the first time today and instantly bought it. I'm an addict (and can't think of a song to go with the subject because my brain shut off).
My grandma passed two weeks ago, but every time I walk outside, it hits me all over again. Since she lived next door, I see her house every day. It's not the house that hurts, it's the fact that she's not in it.
I do okay until something reminds me of her or that she's gone. Saturday morning, my mom was playing around on the piano, and started playing "Wishing You Were Somehow Here Again" from Phantom of the Opera. It took everything I had to not completely break down. Later, I asked her to pick a random number and I would play the corresponding song on my phone. Number one hundred was "With You In Your Dreams" by Hanson.
Yesterday, I woke up to see a large moving trailer in her driveway. Needless to say, I was in a much-less-than-good mood the rest of the day.
I went into her backyard and took some pictures. Mostly, I just wanted to be close to her again. There are no words to describe the pain of losing a loved one. If you've been through it, I am so, so sorry.
I've been holding it in for too long. I'm going to listen to all the songs that make me think of her and just let it out. You can listen along, if you like. Here they all are:
"Another Set Of Wings"~ A Rocket To The Moon
"Wishing You Were Somehow Here Again" from Phantom of the Opera
At this very moment, even as I type, my "sister" is moving her things out! Let the bells ring out, let the music play! She's gotten a place of her (and the husband she's apparently reconciled with) own and I get my safe zone back. Everyone wins!
For the first time in nearly six weeks, I feel like I can breathe! I feel... happy. This is strange. I'm not sure what to do with it. Usually when I think I'm happy, I'm really just manic. I don't think I've been truly happy in years. Side note: I could very well be manic now, but I'm not arguing this time.
Bad segue in 3... 2... 1...
Since joining Twitter (@AROTBEblog), I've met some really cool people. I generally don't care much for technology, but the internet can connect people from all around the world. You never know who you could connect with. I'm rambling, so back to my point...
I read these blogs almost religiously and the people who write them are quite possibly the most amazing people on the web. Check them out!
Last night, I was attacked and made to believe that I'm a horrible person. Who did this? My family.
Several times now, I have made clear my feelings on my "sister" and the husband she "left" staying in our house. They are invading my safe zone and sending my anxiety off the charts. I've never liked them coming over. Thanksgiving, Christmas, and Easter are pure hell for me.
Story:
After telling my father several times that I will no longer give in to my brother-in-law staying here, he, once again, invited him to stay. Instead of simply listening to me when I said, "they are most literally killing me," he passed off my feelings in favour of the married people who are more than capable of getting their own place. When I stood my ground, he had to go get my mother out of bed because, apparently, he still has no idea how to talk to me. I gave up on trying to talk to him a while ago. He never listens anyway.
Once my mother got involved, my father could not grasp the concept that I have no idea why I feel this way and kept repeating the same things. "What if you had a friend who needed to stay the night? Would it be the same?" "They lived here when they first got married. What's changed?" I will say this again... I DON'T KNOW!
My mother seemed sympathetic while trying to weasel me into concession. I had to get on the repeat train to get my point through both of their heads. "I need to feel comfortable in my own home. I don't know why I feel like this, and I don't want to. I want it, and them, to go away. They are invading my safe zone and I'm feeling attacked."
After they "understood" how I felt, they went to "discuss the situation." When I went to bed, I couldn't sleep because the light was shining under my door. Annoyed, I was less than kind telling them to turn it off. I was done asking for things, at this point. My brother-in-law's response? "It's on because we're trying to accommodate you." Excuse me?! This is MY home. You shouldn't have to accommodate me because YOU SHOULDN'T BE HERE IN THE FIRST PLACE!
My mother then came into my room and began telling me how "she has to feel comfortable here, too. This is her home, too." Gee... wonder who she'd been talking to. Both my sister and brother-in-law are terribly manipulative. They will both make themselves out to be the victim or the hero with just a few words. Either way, they will tear you down to do it. I find it amusing when they pull it out on each other.
Naturally, I got angry. Once again, the boundaries I try to set are twisted and made to make me feel like a selfish brat. I have tolerated her here for three and a half weeks. There have been confrontations and blow-ups, but I've never straight out told her to leave. When he started staying here, things escalated because my anxiety hit "attack mode." I was being attacked, so I fought back.
The one person I thought would never attack me was my mother, and she was the one doing it last night. There was screaming, swearing, and I left. Side note: Walking on an old, uneven asphalt driveway without shoes is a bad idea. I have lost my support system. Sure, I have friends who say I can come to them, but I can't bring myself to be a burden on anyone else. My mother chose to have me and therefore deal with all a child comes with. My friends have also never seen the full force of my messed up brain, and I don't know if they could handle it.
I say I've lost my support system because, if my sister can manipulate my mother into thinking that I'm the problem here, how can I believe that she truly understands that I have a problem, and no, I can't make my brain concede?
What do you get when you cross a bottle of Xanax, a bottle of Percocet, and a bottle of Vodka?
The last three weeks, I have given up on trying to stop my suicidal thoughts. My "sister" still has the husband she "left" sleeping over when they've spent so much time together after work that he's too tired to drive home (grammatically correct run-on sentence #... I lost count). Tonight, I let my feelings on the subject be known. I explained (ok, basically shouted) how all this is affecting me, and how badly I wish I knew why. I pointed out (for no less than the tenth time) that this narcissist is, quite literally, killing me. Then my father pulls the "he's son-in-law" crap and completely disregards my feelings. Needless to say, the soon-to-be ex-son-in-law is staying the night.
My whole life, I have tolerated everything that has been thrown at me. Better still, I survived it all. Since she moved back, I have zero control over how I feel or what I think. Last week, she got me cornered while shouting at me and demeaning me, and, almost as if I were watching from the outside, I saw my foot go out and kick her. I suddenly understood how people can lose control. I'm not sorry I did it, I'm just a bit confused as to how it happened.
As my mother was sitting with me, attempting to make this whole "him staying over" thing okay somehow, I said something that I'm not sure if she fully understands: "I can't do this anymore." She probably took it as a passing comment, but it's way more than that.
I have been entertaining my suicidal thoughts quite a bit today, but tonight, I'm seriously considering it. I don't feel sad about it. I don't feel angry. I don't feel anything. I have dug my nails into any place on my body that will bleed, as well as pinched and pounded just trying to feel something, but there's nothing. I can't make myself cry because I can't make myself feel.
I think this is what "giving up" feels like.
The truly tragic part about all this: I'll still go to bed, not really sleep, get up in the morning, and do it all over again.
My grandma's funeral was today... (and as usual, I was jealous of the people already in the ground)
I know I already praised this woman up and down, but there's one thing I left out and I have no idea how.
When I was a kid, my grandma ran this program called "Achievement Days" for the kids in our neighborhood. I don't really remember what activities we did, but I remember only going because it was at grandma's house. Backstory: There wasn't one person in the neighborhood that didn't know about Brooke being a bully. Quite a few of the adults would catch it occasionally and just let her have it. Grandma was one of them.
Anyway, my grandma (among so many others) talked about how getting away from here would be helpful for me. Get out, go to college, do military, just something away from here. I know that would help, but, in my mind, I'd return a different person and everyone would notice and either stop bugging me, or become a friend. My dream was crushed the other day when I heard someone saying this (Side note: I have edited it because, well... grammar.):
[He] tells the story of a young man... who, for many years was more or less the brunt of every joke in his school. He had some disadvantages, and it was easy for his peers to tease him. Later in his life, he moved away from his community. He eventually joined the army and had some successful experiences there in getting an education and generally stepping away from his past.
Then, after several years, he came back to the town of hos youth. Most of his generation had moved on, but not all. Apparently, when he returned quite successful and quite reborn, the same old mind-set that had existed before was still there waiting for his return. To the people in his hometown, he was still just old "so-and-so"-- you remember the guy with the problem, that idiosyncrasy, this quirky nature, and did such and such. And wasn't it all just hilarious?
Well, you know what happened. Little by little, this man's effort to leave that which was behind and grasp the prize that [was] laid before him was gradually diminished until he died about the way he had lived in his youth. He came full circle: again [...] unhappy and the brunt of a new generation of jokes. Yet he had had that one bright, beautiful midlife moment when he had been able to rise above his past and truly see who he was and what he could become. Too bad, too sad, that he was again to be surrounded by those who thought his past was more interesting than his future.
Give those around you the benefit of the doubt. You never know how they have grown and changed. Do not gossip or spread rumors. Do not judge. Be kind, be open... see in the heart. Look for the good in others and remind yourself of the good within you.
I think I'll just end with that.
"Over You"~ Miranda Lambert
Today, I learnt that the only grandparent I've ever really known passed away. She isn't biologically related, but my parents moved into the house right next door to this amazing woman before I was born and we just kind of adopted each other.
When I was little, I was over at her house more than I was at my own, I think. We would play games most of the time. Her favorite was Yahtzee, but Go Fish was always a go-to. On warm summer nights, we would go into her backyard and she would sit and talk while I played. I always had to take things over to show her- new clothes, Christmas or birthday gifts- and she would always look at everything patiently and smile. Her favorite thing was when I learnt a new dance and came over to show her.
About two years ago, she had a stroke. The only reason she survived that was that her daughter, a nurse, happened to be with her. When I saw the ambulance pull into our circle, my heart dropped. I ran out without shoes, heart pounding, and speechless.
After that, she jumped from hospital to care center, and care center to different care center. I've seen her once in the last year because her family is big and trying to keep everyone informed was next to impossible. I saw her the day after my birthday- election day.
When I heard the news, I didn't know what to do. I was sad, angry, and about a hundred other things all at once. It took me three hours to figure out that crying was a good option. Even that was confusing since I haven't cried over something besides my own messed up brain in years. I've lost people before, but nothing has hit me as hard as this. I've lost friends when we were fourteen or fifteen, I've lost three aunts, but none of them hit me like my dear grandma.
She was an incredible, beautiful woman and the world was made better by her. There are many people who wouldn't be where they are now, if not for her. I wish I could write something better for her, but this will have to do.
I went to a new doctor this morning. Going somewhere new is always an adventure for my blood pressure. My anxiety spikes, leaving my hands red after just ten minutes of wringing. Add the twenty minute drive into downtown, and well, I don't even want to be around myself.
Here's where our adventure begins...
On my way down, The city bus decided to stop right in the middle of the lane, forcing those of us following to go around. I was half way 'round when the driver thought "now seems a good time to take out a tiny red car." I had to floor it so as to not get hit by him or head-on with the car coming from the other side.
Needless to say, I was already a bit wired when I got to the massive complex that contains every doctor you could ever need. Yes, pointless info. Deal with it. I had to ride the elevator with five people who had absolutely zero concept of personal space, and the old man in the back decided that those of us up front should have waited for him to get off first. Anxiety spiking...
When I got to the desk, I was prepared for the typical apathetic, all-business robots that run the medical field. I just about choked when the woman at the check-in was, get this, smiling!!! Then... she kept doing it while she checked me in. Weirdest part: she said more than was necessary to do her job! Actual conversing!
I was made speechless when the nurse was as, if not more personal than the lady at the desk! Granted, we found something in common right off the bat. Never underestimate the power of Doctor Who. The thing that knocked me down was the doctor (no pun intended). He was just like the nurse and desk lady. He listened to what I said, explained any question I had, and I kid you not, spent an entire hour with me! Usually, doctors rush you out the door (faster if you have Medicaid), but he made sure he went over the form I had to fill out before along with anything else.
I have found the best doctor in the world! I have no faith in any other doctor, but hey, I got the good one! I can count this as a good day.
I'm constantly getting movie recommendations because, get this, it has a character who is mentally ill. Umm... would you, a diabetic, want to see every film with a diabetic character? No. At least diabetics are portrayed correctly in film, whereas the mentally ill are overdone and stigmatized.
When I turned on Netflix today, the ad at the top was for Benny and Joon. I'd heard the title before, but never knew what it was about. When I read the synopsis, I just about choked! It reads, and I quote, "Benny is the overprotective caretaker of his mentally ill but artistically talented sister, Joon, who falls in love with an eccentric comedian." So, if you're mentally ill, that it? You can't be anything else? I don't know about you, but I'm many other things. I dance, play an instrument, write, and do photography.
I watched Girl Interrupted because, well, I wanted to, but I've given up on watching anything that has been suggested after trudging my way through Manic.
One of the most stigmatized portrayals of Bipolar Disorder got the actress an award. Sally Fields in (the ever epic) ER. I'm not dismissing her performance, but her role was what ran through my mind when I heard those words put on me. She was the reason I was afraid of coming out with my illness.
Anyone who knows me knows that I have plenty of things to blame Hollywood for, but mental illness stigmas are the worst. Along with women's body image issues, what defines a "real" man, and 40 year olds playing teenagers, and in turn, making me look 12.
"I'm not crazy, I'm just a little unwell."
"Unwell"~ Matchbox Twenty
I went to my high school reunion last night. I initially didn't want to go because I've always seen reunions as a way for people to brag about their successes, but it wasn't like that at all. Yes, people talked about what they're doing now, but it was never bragging. I didn't really get to talk to very many people, but some were quite surprising. The best part: I wasn't the only single, childless person there!
It was quite eye-opening. Most people have grown out of the whole, "judgmental teenager who cares more about how they look than about how they treat people," and "my parents don't understand me because they're crazy," but some haven't. The friend that I went with pointed out that, generally speaking, the people who were shallow in high school were the ones who stayed fit, but the ones who were nice, gained weight. Side note: the awesome exception was that Brooke, the bully, is twice what she was. I couldn't stop smiling all night!
I thought I wouldn't get through the night without my friend Xanax, but it was actually fun. Not gonna lie, Xanax helped make it fun. It made me not really care about the fact that there were way too many people for the space we had. I even found a way around my lack of employment! I just told people I do photography and run a blog! Only two people asked what my blog was about, so it wasn't too uncomfortable!
This is the song that was huge when I was in high school.
"Boulevard Of Broken Songs"~ Green Day/Oasis/Aerosmith/Travis/probably someone else
I have no idea what's happening to me. Since that thing I'm forced to call "sister" moved back in, things I've worked on quite a bit are reversing and new things are popping up that I don't understand. I'm loads more angry, I'm breaking down three to four times a week, and my anxiety is always on red alert.
A couple of nights ago, she went out, leaving just my parents and me at home (the way it should be). It was like the world was right for the first time in a while. I was genuinely smiling, laughing, and just happy! When she's here, I suddenly hate myself, have no hope, and get dangerously close to ending my life.
My mom asked what the problem was- why I can't handle my "sister" being here. I still have no answer. I don't understand why my brain is reacting so strongly. I mean, my "sister" has never been a real sister. My parents even admit that she thinks about herself first, her friends second, parents third, and somewhere down a long line of people she'd rather associate with (like drug dealers and con artists) before me. She made it very clear, growing up, that she wanted nothing to do with me. I couldn't have the same shirt, same toys, I couldn't even like the same music.
She moves in here, whines about the same things every day, can't decide what she wants to do, says one thing and does another, but the biggest problem is: she comes in here after eight years of not living here and knowing what's going on, and judges me. I have a mental illness that , lately, I am understanding less and less. She sees some of my (increasingly) weird behavior and makes her own, narrow-minded assumptions that make her look even dumber than I thought, and make me angry.
Side note: I can say whatever I want because she doesn't care enough to read this.
Tonight is my ten year high school reunion. I live at home, can't get, let alone keep a decent job, I haven't been in a relationship in nearly eight years, and I have no foreseeable successful future. Today is just awesome...
"I'll call for pen and ink and write my mind"~ William Shakespeare
I love writing. My blog gets most of it lately because I don't have a program to write anything else. I've had a story running through my head for years, but when I got my new computer, I couldn't afford to replace my Microsoft Word. It's a pretty good story, I've been told, but it's stuck in my head until I can get Word back.
Writing is, for me, a way to get things out. I write daily, but most of the things I write just get deleted because, well, I don't need to make you yawn. A lot of it is rambling, some pointless rants, and some short stories that make Twilight look mature, but I'm dying to write the one in my head!
I've been telling one of my best friends about this, and she did something absolutely amazing! She set up a GoFundMe so she can buy Microsoft Word for me!
I am the absolute last person that would ask for money, like ever, so doing this actually makes me incredibly uncomfortable. The only reason I can is because it's not technically me; it's my friend. Side note: this is the only time I'll ever do anything like this.
If you have just $5 to spare, please consider helping out. If this book gets published, everyone who donates will earn themselves a huge "thank you" inside!
I honestly and truly believe that Medicaid is useless. Getting any level of decent care is just not an option. I'm stuck with apathetic doctors just looking to get me out the door as quickly as possible so they don't feel cheated out of a ridiculous paycheck. They don't care how I'm doing, how I feel, or how my medications are working. They'll prescribe whatever drug they're getting kickbacks from to supplement what Medicaid doesn't pay, even though I tell them that I cannot take this one or that. All this after having to wait three months for each appointment.
Rant #2
Since my genetically similar female relative moved in two weeks ago, my life has gone to Hell. Her total and complete lack of respect for me and my things is out of control. I found out today that she has been using my shampoo. Why did I just find out today? Because she didn't bother to tell me, let alone ask if she could in the first place. When she invades my space, she'll (badly off tune) sing "it's the end of the world as we know it" and laugh like it's nothing. I cater to her, I made space for her, and this is how she treats me? Well, I'm done being the good sister. I'm going to hit the hardball she pitches out the park!
Rant #3
Monday through Friday, I am awakened by my sister and father. They don't seem to realize that talking at normal-to-loud levels right outside my freaking door is not alright. Then, common courtesy has always been lost on the narcissistic... When I wake up enough to speak, a rather annoyed "SHUT UP" comes out and suddenly I'm the problem.
Rants over.
All this, plus a few other things (I'll spare you the details) has been building up inside because, let's face it, I don't speak up. I try to say my piece and when it's shut down, I back down faster than anything you could imagine. Anyway, I blew up tonight. There was screaming, crying, cursing, and much more ranting than I've done here.
I hate blowing up even though it releases the crap that's all built up. The screaming leaves my throat sore, the crying makes my eyes red, puffy, and burning for about twelve hours, and getting angry is never fun in general. I really need to learn to speak up instead of backing down. Maybe this wouldn't happen so often.
I just want to take second here to thank all of you!
Over the last two months, the view count here has skyrocketed! When I checked this morning, there were almost seventeen hundred just in July! That's incredible!
I've also been seeing some new countries show up! Croatia, China, Denmark, Ukraine, Netherlands... the list goes on! Although, I have to apologize to France because you, my friends, have been the solid number two spot (behind the USA) on my top ten countries, and now the UK has overthrown that spot. Side note: THANK YOU, UK!!!
I don't know what I'm doing, but I know that some of you faithfully share every post, and I am forever grateful!
If you have any ideas on what I should blog about or if you have some music you'd like to share with me, please feel free to email- bipolarexpressride@gmail.com.
After my last post, I was telling my cousin that I thought it would be weird to write what I would have written in a suicide note, even though I find that it helps sort things out. His response? "Yep! I know it helps sort things out! Been there, done that! To "normal" people that might sound weird, but "normal" people scare me!" I've never actually written it, but I think about it quite a bit. When I feel like I've hit the end of my rope and nothing matters anymore, I start thinking about what I'd say in my suicide note. When I do that, I start to notice things that, at the moment, my mind won't let me see. Usually, it's the people in my life. When I start to picture who would come to my funeral, I see people that I don't necessarily talk to on a daily, or even weekly basis, but who still care about me. Sometimes, when I feel like I haven't done anything worthwhile in my life, things that I have done come to mind. Things that may not seem like anything to anyone else, but, in the moment that they happened, made me feel good. It's really amazing the things that you can think of when you're at the bottom, if you just let yourself. Every time I get to that point, where I think about writing that note, it helps. It gives me hope. I know it sounds weird, but it's true. No, it won't cure me, nor will it make the pain go away. What it does is make me see the bigger picture; not just myself. This song will almost always come to mind before I start thinking of all those people... "Why"~ Rascal Flatts
I'm not perfect. I've never claimed to be. I know I let my emotions take control of me rather than controlling my emotions. Not that it's an excuse, but I've got quite a few emotions going on all the time. I just have to release them sometimes and, judging by the reactions I get, I shouldn't.
My genetically similar female relation moved in a week ago. Since then, I've been torn down so much, I can't even remember each little incident. This week has been pure Hell, and now, more than ever, I want it to end.
My "sister" is quite possibly the most condescending, self-centered person on the planet.
She'll interrupt me and keep talking, but when I try to get back to what I was saying, she freaks out because "you're interrupting me!"
She makes it abundantly clear that I'm beneath her because I can't work full-time. I've explained to her time, and time again that, not everyone can take whatever job pays the bills. Some of us have to think about it very, very carefully.
She won't drink tap water and insists on buying bottles because "Britas aren't good enough."
She won't wear jeans. Says they're "too casual."
She'll sit there and whine about the same... freaking... thing... for an hour... every... freaking... day, but if I mention the same thing twice in one week, I'm being whiny and repetitive.
She won't even read my blog because she doesn't "have time." And the award for 'Crappiest Sister' goes to...
Although, and I know she'll get upset about this, but she isn't the sole reason I'm ready to give up. Surprise! The world doesn't revolve around your ego! My father has become worse, as of late.
I've told you before about how the only way I can get him to do something is to pitch a fit. Well, now I think he's doing it intentionally. That's actually abuse, in case you were wondering. With my sister moving in, we've had to clean out her room (which was only cluttered in the first place because dad deemed it storage since he couldn't be bothered to clean up his hoarding mess in the basement). Most of what was in there was mine. I lost track of how many of my things were damaged or destroyed while trying to move it all.
Now, this wouldn't be such an issue, except for the fact that, when dad cleaned a space in the basement for my storage, it wasn't even a quarter of the space my sister's stuff takes. I can't even lie down in it and all my stuff is supposed to fit there?! Just another example of child favoritism.
I'm tired of being looked down on. I'm tired of it being made clear that I'm not good enough. I'm tired of having to get angry. I'm tired of feeling like an unwanted guest in my own home. I'm tired of crying myself to sleep. I'm tired of watching from the outside. I'm tired of living. I hate my life and I hate myself for holding on this long. I'm done.
Today, I had an interview for a job that sounds absolutely perfect. I would be a photographer for the company who does school pictures in my area. Yes, I would be getting paid to play with a camera all day. I've been jumping hoops since high school to get a job in one of the fields I find interesting (photography and criminal justice), and I finally got the opportunity! I was even offered the job right there on the spot!
This is great, right? I'd get paid to play with a camera all day, get paid to drive all over to set up, and get to act like an idiot to make kids smile! Sounds perfect! Well, perfect except for the fact that it's full-time and ridiculously public...
As I was driving home, those two little things sank in and I got nauseous. I could barely handle eighteen hours a week with the same kids every day, how am I going to handle more than twice the hours with hundreds of different kids each day?
Photography has always been a connection for me, so maybe it would be fine, but the tiny voice in the back of my brain still says, "you're not ready for this." Anyone who knows me knows that I want a full-time job; I don't want to job hop every three months.
This is a rather precarious situation... If I take the job, my disability claim goes out the window. Granted, I'm not excited to get labeled "disabled," and would much rather work than be a government dependent, but if the job doesn't work out, I'm back at square one with a claim.
Lately, when we watch an older movie (like "Trip To The Moon" circa 1902), I'll say something to the effect of "they're dead now." Okay, fine... that's exactly what I say, but still... When we go to the cemetery, I tend to actually voice my envy for the, umm... residents. I think, however, that the thing that would frighten anyone is what I said the other day.
In Utah, we have two seasons: winter and construction. You can bet that, once the snow clears, almost every major road will be torn up for one pointless reason or another. Anyone who has driven through a construction zone knows the familiar sight of flagmen. They're the all powerful beings that you either praise for the "slow" sign, or curse when they turn it around to the "stop" side right in front of you. Since I have been looking for a new job, I mused that this job would be perfect for me. No social interaction, super easy, and pays quite a bit. My mom, always looking out for safety, said that there are some of these people who are hit, and even killed every year. My response? "Fine by me."
Was I being morbid? Yes. Was I also being serious? Definitely.
This goes right along with the conversation I had with a friend of mine a couple of days ago. I was telling her that I truly and honestly see no valuable future for myself. I don't see me ever holding a real job, getting an education, or even getting married. How can I do any of these things when just the thought of having to talk to someone gives me a panic attack? Better still, even when I can talk to someone, I'm so used to people judging and subsequently rejecting me that I strike before I can get hit. People don't tend to stick around when the person they just met is intentionally pushing them away.
I have folded in on myself to the extent where I've pushed practically everyone away. I rely on books and my own, slightly (*incredibly) twisted imagination for company. Most of my conversations with friends, even through text, are no more than ten minutes. On Facebook, I generally hit "like" and call it good. Even with people I've known for years, I'm absolutely terrified to talk because I don't want them judging me. Side note: I love that I can't talk directly to people, but I'm willing to put my innermost thoughts into a blog that hundreds of people read.
Whenever I have an all-around bad day, it hits a spike at the end. It's like a balloon that is slowly being filled, but after it's been full for a while, and it has finally gotten used to the pressure, someone decides to see what a pin would do.
Four weeks ago, I was having one of those days. Long story short, there was screaming and throwing. Wednesday, (read Wednesday's post for the explanation) ended with a crap-filled balloon exploding all over me. This time, my entire life is going to be uprooted.
My sister is moving back in. Sure, it's "temporary," but this is my sister we're talking about! My, "I won't answer your calls, but I'll answer mom's or dad's," "my little friend takes priority over you any day," "your pain is in your head and my paper cut will ultimately result in my untimely death," sister! This genetically similar human being is the second leading cause of my self-esteem issues! For eight blissful years, she has lived forty miles away and only visited on occasion, thus ensuring my fairly well managed (fine, slightly better) mental status.
She takes over everything. Space, conversations; you name it, she'll dominate. When she's around, I don't exist. My mom tries to get me involved, but inevitably it will wind up my sister and my dad talking with the occasional interjection by mom. It's not hard to see who dad's favorite child is.
The worst part of all this not-so-pent-up anger: I'm still the wide-eyed, adoring little sister. She says "jump," and I don't even ask how high, I just do it until she's satisfied. I will do anything she asks, and she knows it.
Story (which is kind of funny in retrospect): After both of my major leg surgeries, I had a walking boot. Anyone who has ever worn one, knows they're no fun. The second surgery allowed me to walk on my heel for the first time in my life. Since said heel was not used to being used, it hurt like mad. Well, my sister asked if I wanted to go shopping "for a minute." I went. Two hours (and several inventive ways of saying "ouch") later, we finally leave.
I am, by no means, saying that my sister is a bad person; just that she's not the ideal big sister. She never has been. I guess I just keep hoping one day that we'll be as close as some of my friends are to their sisters.
When I was a kid, I used to as my sister to play "the cherry cola song."
"I Want You"~ Savage Garden
"Fear leads to anger. Anger leads to hate. Hate... leads to suffering." ~ Yoda
This was me today. I got scared, then angry (which I took out in a rather caustic post on Facebook), hate got into that post, and now I feel like crap.
I wish I could say that this was a rare occurrence, but when I get as angry as I did today, you can bet that I got scared out of my wits not long before.
Story: I went somewhere with my mother this morning (cryptic, I know). After a while, I had a bit of a sugar low and needed to leave to get something. Well, as I was walking out to the car, there was a man who was asking people for a lighter, and when people denied having one, he would get angry and start yelling. When I ignored him (since the only thing I could think to say was less than kind), he started shouting and following me! I practically ran to my car, got in, locked the door, and started going before I could put my belt on! When I returned to pick up my mother, there were three (maybe four) police cars and this man was in handcuffs.
I was shaking so badly that I could barely drive. I made my mom take over and I haven't been behind a wheel the rest of the day. She even had to drive me to my therapy appointment.
I guess that, when I get scared that badly, everything that has ever frightened me in my entire life floods my mind and my brain sends out an anger response.
On Facebook, I've been trying to do a "Daily Dose of Happy." A friend actually noticed this and gave me this song. I'm really liking it! Maybe it'll get me out of my funk.
Four and a half years ago, I had a surgery to straighten my leg. Basically, the doctor broke it, twisted it, shoved a rod down it, and pinned it in five places. I was stuck in a wheelchair for three months and had to relearn how to walk.
Exactly thirteen months later, I had to have yet another surgery. When my bone was twisted, it pulled on my Achilles tendon so much that I most literally could not put my heel on the ground. This landed me in the chair for another three months and had to relearn how to walk again.
Yesterday, I did something that I haven't done since the summer before the first of the two life-altering surgeries: I rode my bike!
It was incredible! I had forgotten how much I love riding! It was the best mood-altering high I have felt in years! The wind in my face, the speed... pure freedom! I was in the best mood the rest of the day!
The down side hit me this morning. My butt is killing me. You know how bike seats are. They're not meant to be comfortable. I swear, there's a convention every year to see who can come up with the least comfortable design. Add that to the fact that I haven't ridden in about five years, and you get bruises that make me look like I had gotten pelted with paintballs!
It was quite the exercise for my injured hand/wrist/whatever as well. Now, every time I move my ring or pinky fingers, a horrid pain reminds me, "I'm here!" At least I won't forget that my hand is still attached...
Neither of these pains will stop me from riding, though. No chemically designed pill in the world could make me feel this good! It's unbelievable!
Avoidant Personality Disorder(as defined in the DSM-IV)
A pervasive pattern of social inhibition, feelings of inadequacy, and hypersensitivity to negative evaluation, beginning by early adulthood and present in a variety of contexts, as indicated by four (or more) of the following:
(1) avoids occupational activities that involve significant interpersonal contact, because of fears of criticism, disapproval, or rejection (2) is unwilling to get involved with people unless certain of being liked (3)shows restraint within intimate relationships because of the fear of being shamed or ridiculed (4) is preoccupied with being criticized or rejected in social situations (5) is inhibited in new interpersonal situations because of feelings of inadequacy (6) views self as socially inept, personally unappealing, or inferior to others (7) is unusually reluctant to take personal risks or to engage in any new activities because they may prove embarrassing
I'll be the first to deny that anything is wrong with me, but every one of these criterion describe me. The DSM-IV goes on to say that APD is often diagnosed with Social Phobia and Panic Disorder With Agoraphobia.
Now, I'm not necessarily afraid of going outside, but I make sure that nobody on my street is outside before I go out. The thought of (a) having to talk to someone, and (b) not looking good enough or (c) not having anything interesting to say keeps me inside more often than not.
I was talking with my mother about this after the Hellish experience at the coffee shop, and she made a valid point: With all I've endured with Brooke (the bully) and the crap shower of "friends" I had in high school, I just expect everyone to be critical and reject me as a person.
I was just reading an old post (Just Another Figure), and I realized that my issue with criticism goes deeper than I thought. I've talked before about how my sister never approves of anything I do, but even something so stupid as her saying, "I wouldn't wear it" to my new jeans, hurts.
Going through all my old posts, I've talked about a few of these criterion before. Like in Socially Inept. The title alone calls out criterion 6.
I had never heard of Avoidant Personality Disorder until someone sent me a link suggesting this may be an issue for me. Looking into it, I must (reluctantly) admit that it seems to fit. Heh heh... that rhymed!
I'm not going to claim this on my long list of issues until I talk to my therapist and psychiatrist. The less I have on it, the happier I am.
So, last night, my sister and I went up to where the Utah State Capitol Building is so I could take some pictures. Whenever we do this, we crank up the stereo and dance and sing along like a couple of teenagers. It's a blast! I got some great pictures this time thanks to the fact that the sun was still up.
After the Capitol, we swung by to get my dad and the three of us went to this coffee shop that my sister knows with a great view. The second we got out of the car, I could tell that this wasn't going to be a piece of baklava.
Everyone inside were the type of people who think bathing is overrated and everything they wear/eat/whatever has to be natural (including the carcinogens in their cigarettes). Thankfully, my sister said that the view was out back.
As we walked through the shop, I could hear the music in my head get tense (like you hear in movies before you get the reprieve). I was expecting to be able to breathe deeply when we got outside, but no... Outside were the people who, in high school, look down on anyone who isn't driving a brand new BMW. Needless to say, the music went something like, DUN, DUN, DUUUUUUN.
I wish I could say that the whole time, I went through unnoticed, but the fact of the matter is, I don't fit either group and everyone was staring with their faces on permanent judgment.
Long story short, I managed to get out of there pretty fast, and, better still, managed to hold in my total and complete breakdown until I got home.
Instead of a video, I thought I'd share some of my pictures :)
The last few days (and posts) have been rather depressing. I'm sure you could see that yourself since you're just that smart, but voicing your feelings is... well I just... I lost where I was going with this.
I've been trying to be optimistic, but that's just not me. I've been indulging my depression and trying to make it slightly better with Gilmore Girls and more chocolate than anyone should eat in a year. This helps, but as I've said before, music is my life. Nothing can change my mood faster or more efficiently than music.
Sometimes, I get on YouTube and find a song I like, then make a sort of chain by clicking on one of the suggested videos. It can take some weird turns, let me tell you! I've done 90's, 80's, YouTubers, interviews, you name it, I've done it.
I did a chain today that started with the video below and ended with a documentary about kids who don't age. Yeah... weird. Anyway, this totally made my day because I am, as I'm sure you remember, a One Direction fangirl and Batman is my all time favorite superhero. Side note: I would love to know what the boys would think of this.
I really just don't understand why people don't care.
I've had people tell me that I write about something that others are too afraid to, that I'm a good writer, and that they enjoy my posts. In the last month, I've had two people share my posts. Yep... it really affects you.
I was scrolling through my Facebook just now and saw one friend post that she has had over five hundred views on her blog in one day. I had nineteen yesterday. She thanked her friends and family for sharing and supporting and attributes her number to them. I'm not trying to downplay her or her blog because she is amazing and so is her blog! I'm just curious why I don't have people who care enough about me or what I have to say.
I have asked, begged, and even bribed people to share my posts, yet nobody ever does. I've threatened to kill my blog a few times because of lack of interest, and every time I see others get that much love, I still think about it. I mean, if you like a restaurant, you tell others about it. Why, then, do you read my post, like it, but not share?
It has been this way in everything I've ever done. I go to a birthday party for a friend and there are so many people there. I could invite fifty people to mine and three would show up. I just wish that people could understand exactly how much it hurts to be excluded by the people who are supposed to care.
I may not be the most intelligent or sociable person, but you will never find a better, more loyal friend.
I just cleaned my entire room. Why? Because I got seriously annoyed. Things today have just been one fail after the next. My wifi was out for awhile, so I couldn't really do anything, so I decided to run a few errands. This is where my adventure begins...
I went to mail a package for my friend in Oklahoma, but when I got there, I realized that I had forgotten her address. Side note: the guy working at the post office was unusually nice for a postal worker. He even smiled! Then, I went to the pharmacy to get a prescription that I was told had been called in on Monday. It wasn't there. You want to know what was there, though? An old woman who couldn't figure out that, standing right next to me and butting in on my business was far from OK! Most pharmacies have a "privacy rope" that instructs patrons to stand a certain distance back, but not this one.
When I got home, I called my doctor's office and was on hold for, get this, fifteen minutes before someone finally picked up! Then they deny having told me they would call it in on Monday and say that it should be there tonight.
Needless to say, I was hopping mad! So I did what I usually do when I have energy: I cleaned. Maybe I should seek a career in housekeeping...
Now I'm just cooling down with a Cherry Pepsi, pretzels, and Gilmore Girls. I really need a job...
"Something's Gotta Give"~ All Time Low (totally my spirit song at the moment)
My biggest pet peeve is when someone either doesn't listen to me or hears something wrong and doesn't bother to ask for clarification. This is a daily occurrence at my house. The worst part is when I'm already visibly upset and get misheard. This will send me into "stare at the ground and shut mouth" mode every time.
My family has seen me in this mode so many times that I'm sure they know I'm upset, but it's rare to hear a "what's wrong?" Is it really that difficult to see that I'm upset? No. Someone I've never met could see it. Granted, I don't always want to talk about whatever it is that's bugging me, but it never hurts to ask.
The absolute worst thing anyone could ever do is know that I'm upset and completely ignore the fact. Like I said, I may not want to talk about it right then, but don't just go on talking about the schedule or, my favorite, tell me personal things about people I don't know and don't care about.
If you haven't figured it out by now, I'm upset. I'm sending a good friend back to her home in England, my computer keeps kicking me out of whatever I'm trying to do, and I didn't get the job that I (strangely enough) actually wanted.
Word of advice: when you see someone agitated or upset, ask why. It's not difficult. You never know how a simple kindness will affect that person.
There comes a time when you must stop thinking as a victim and start thinking like a survivor.
This is something I have said for quite a while, but have a hard time applying to myself at times. Most of the time, I don't think about my illness, but sometimes I just feel like the universe screwed me.
After nine months of working with my therapist (still the best one in the world!!!), I finally accepted my illness as a part of me, rather than a defining quality or even a separate entity. This was huge! Then came the diagnosis of PTSD. I'm still in Egypt on that (denial= the Nile), but every now and then it hits me in the face and I can't ignore it.
Fun example: A few years back, someone who I had always seen as this strong, indestructible person wound up in a coma. Side note: this is incredibly difficult for me to write. I rushed to the hospital where I saw this pillar of strength lying on a table with a breathing tube down the throat and tubes attached all over. For eight days, I went to the hospital and sat by the bed, praying for this person to not only survive, but to come back normal.
This story has a happy ending, but the image of that person on the table will forever haunt me. It intrudes my thoughts and turns dreams into nightmares.
Back to my point... When things keep getting piled on, it's easy to sit and pity yourself. I look at others who seem confident, have careers or families, or have loads of people who like them and I feel like, if I didn't have Bipolar Disorder or Anxiety that I would be just like them. I blame my circumstances for pretty much everything wrong in my life.
Feeling like a victim is OK on occasion, but making it a habit isn't. People always tell me how strong I am and I usually shut it down because I feel that my illnesses make me weak. The truth of it is, however, if you are living with a mental (or physical) illness, you are strong! If you're still breathing at the end of the day, you are a survivor!
I'm sorry we fought. I miss you. Please come back.
Sincerely,
Me
Have you ever had a night where you can feel every single stupid second pass? Where every tick of the clock kills your hope just a little more? This has been my last few days.
Sleep is crucial for everybody's health and well-being, but when you're on a medication that is supposed to knock you out... I've been practically catatonic. Especially fun at my interview last Wednesday.
I'm sure everyone around loves when I don't sleep seeing as how I get cranky and overly sarcastic. The really obnoxious thing is that, what people don't seem to understand is, when I'm cranky, it's not because of my Bipolar. Everyone has moods. Everyone has bad days. Just because I have an illness that messes with my brain and moods, doesn't mean every single mood is because of that. If that were the case, every single person on the planet would have the diagnosis.
The really fun part for me is the total and complete lack of coordination. My mind isn't in sync with my body. Half the time, I have no idea what I'm doing. I tried washing my hair with conditioner this morning, then tried to blow it dry with my brush. It took me at least a minute of trying to turn it on to figure out that I was holding the wrong thing. I wish I was kidding.
Well, since my brain isn't working, I'm going to leave it here.
In honor of The 4th of July...
"Made in America"~ Toby Keith
For as long as I can remember, I have had panic attacks when I get angry or try to stand up for myself. It's not a pretty sight and it just makes the situation worse.
Fun example: A few years back, I got the front end of my car taken off by an imbecile who... well I'll spare you the details. ANYWAY... needless to say, I was raging! I got out of the car, already shaking, and when he tried to blame me, I started shouting and eventually got to a place where I couldn't do anything.
I have finally figured out why. My entire life, I have been punished in some way or another when I would get angry. At home, well, let's just say my father has never been "daddy." (Don't you dare let your thoughts wander down Abuse Alley!) At school, Brooke and her lemmings would just egg it on and when I'd get home in a bad mood... Not to mention the school psychologist who literally locked me in her office and cut me off from any social interaction.
I learnt that anger is an emotion that was punished at a very young age. Yay epiphany...
Now with all the ridiculous political crap that's going on, I get pretty upset just looking on Facebook or Twitter. There are accounts on Twitter who have made it their mission to end bullying. Kudos! However, now with the SCOTUS decision, these people seem to think it's alright to bully anyone who supports traditional marriage. I'm going to say this once...
Free speech is not limited to one point of view. Support for traditional marriage is OK! Support for LGBT marriage is OK! Not supporting one or the other is also OK! I promise.
Life would be so much less irritating if there weren't so many people who are perpetually offended. I hate politics because there is yes and there is no. I try not to get involved, but this one is getting beyond ridiculous. If you don't make your profile look like a bag of Skittles spilled, suddenly you're homophobic.
I've got friends all over every imaginable spectrum. I don't care what your preferences are, what colour your skin is, or what religion you are or aren't... I respect people. The only label anyone should ever be given is "person."
Well... that took a very different turn than I intended... I'm going to end it here.
This song has been stuck in my head for days!
"Appreciated"~ Rixton
