Monday, March 30, 2009

Tangled in Hate

I don’t know what to write, but I feel that I should because it’s been so long.

I can feel myself beginning to recede into myself again, hence the lack of writing. My moods have been shifting at a faster rate which is beginning to worry me. I am retaining my self confidence but I’ve started wake up at least 3 times a night and my thoughts jump from one subject to the next. Sometimes I feel like I’m just a spectator in my own head, that my thoughts and I are separate. I just watch them float by. I also did something a bit masochistic on Friday as well. I walked home from Sacramento and Fillmore. For those of you that know where I live you know that’s kind of a long walk. About halfway through I felt my tennis shoes start to rub my feet and blisters develop. Instead of getting on the bus, I just kept walking and now my feet are pretty much destroyed.

Perhaps this is just a melancholy mood that will pass but I admit I’m scared. It’s been awhile since I’ve been this down. It’s so fucking frustrating to not have a reason to feel like this. To just wake up and have my brain be like “Yo, I hate you.” I hate it. I HATE IT. I just want to BE. Fuck. Now my eyes are watering.


I really hope I don’t end up in a ball tonight begging my brain to stop. I wish that I could just have melancholy moods without it going some where deeper. I filed all my nails off so I can’t scratch myself, even though I want to.

I’m not eating much anymore. I’m pretty sure it’s the meds but it could be my mood too. I started taking the A.D.D meds and so far it hasn’t worked. The first day I took them I was a little hyper but now I feel nothing. My dreams have been extremely morbid as of late. They all have death in them. Either someone I know dies or I do. It sucks to go from being so happy to this.

I think it may have something to do with my mother. It seems whenever we are in contact I go from stable to “what the fuck is stability”. I just carry around so much anger and hurt. I want to be able to just let go of it. When I try I just become numb. I want to be able to forgive her. I do. I just….I know this will sound cold, but love is not a word I can attribute to her anymore. I will always respect her in a way because she gave me life. I know that she tried, at least… I think she did. Her actions were just so extreme. Either she’d be a super mom or she’d be the worst enemy I’ve ever had. I think part of the reason I’m angry is because I finally figured out what love is. It’s a balance. When you love someone, you will sacrifice your happiness to see them happy. BUT if it’s love, the other person would do that as well so you would find a balance. With my parents I feel like it’s my dad doing all the work. His back is in horrific condition but he still works. He has to because SHE refuses to get a job. She’ll say that she’s applied to places but I know she hasn’t. She has claimed that she had been working her whole life and deserved a break. That is so fucking selfish. What about EVERYONE ELSE? I would love a break. I’ve been working since I was 13. I started off as a dishwasher and haven’t been unemployed since. Wait, I take that back. I was unemployed when I moved here. What about my dad? What about my sister? What about the rest of the fucking world? I just can’t comprehend her complete lack of awareness to the people around her. It’s always about her, how she was hurt, how she worked hard, how she did this, did that. She expects so much from the people around her but she doesn’t give. Well… to her giving means buying someone a present. I don’t think she understands how to give mentally. I’ll never forget the day that she had officially moved back in after she left my father and me. I came home and she was downstairs with my dad. She was all smiles and urged me to go upstairs. I walked into my bedroom and found misc presents on my bed. I remember staring at them in shock and having her come up behind me and asked if I liked everything.

Really? After all the shit she pulled she thought a necklace and some clothes would make everything suddenly better? When you refuse a gift from her she instantly gets hurt. She loved giving gifts and I think, to her, that’s giving. There has to be a physical gift because she doesn’t know how to just give.

Ah yes, this brings me back to a week before my surgery. She found out THROUGH FUCKING FACEBOOK that I was having surgery. She called me and asked if I wanted “Mama” there. I said no, I didn’t. There was silence at the end of the line.

“But why? I’m your mama.”

I was floored. Really? REALLY? After almost a year of not talking and her random spiteful fucking emails, she wanted to be my “mama”.

I snapped. I started screaming. I let go of everything I was holding in. I yelled at her for not acknowledging that I was bipolar. I yelled at her for laughing in my face when I told her I was depressed when I was 14. She said that it was normal. It wasn’t. Normal is teenage angst. Normal isn’t slicing your skin to feel. Normal isn’t hiding in your closet rocking back and forth begging your brain to stop hating you. Normal isn’t hiding in the bathroom during lunch because you’re having a panic attack. Normal isn’t hating yourself so much that you wear baggy pants and a black sweatshirt in 100 degree weather because you can’t stand to see your own body. Normal isn’t feeling so ashamed to cry that you just stop crying all together. Normal isn’t wanting to die because you can’t take the hate anymore. The hate that fills every pore, the hate that makes you want to scratch your skin off, the hate that constantly tells you that are nothing, that you will never be anything. Angst is supposed to dissipate after puberty; all this was happening up until last year. I screamed at her for not even TRYING to support me. Then she had the AUDACITY to ask me if I had taken my meds that day because I was “acting unstable”.

I hung up on her and started sobbing. The kind of sobbing where you feel like you’re going to throw up and you can’t breathe. She made me doubt if I was mentally ill AGAIN. I called my friend Julia to ask her if I was crazy, she assured me that I was and that I wasn’t making all this up. Then we started laughing because I need to be reassured that I am, in fact, crazy. When I left my room, my roommate Ariel immediately embraced me. Apparently I really was screaming.

I felt relieved after but not healed. I will never feel healed because she will never, ever be able to comprehend anything she has done. She just isn’t in reality. I have to accept that, I have to let go. But I can’t. I can’t let go of the anger I feel towards her because she’s not even trying. I can’t let go of the fact that she has made up a completely different life then the one she actually lived. I can’t let go of the fact that she can still get to me, that she can still make me doubt myself. Dealing with this shit is already hard enough. Taking medication is so unbelievably hard for me to do. I don’t want to but I know that if I don’t I will go back to being even lower. I will go back to not being able to control my actions. I can’t do that. Maybe one day I’ll be able to stabilize myself and stop the meds. That’s what I’m striving for. But for now, I need outside help. I need to be ok with the fact that I asked for help. I need support from the person that is supposed to love me. I know my dad supports me. I know that he knows everything he did to hurt me and actually feels sorry for it and he has apologized. That’s why I carry no anger from him.

I need to stop typing because I’m clenching my jaw and am near tears.

I just want to let go and just be. God I wish I could just let go.

Friday, March 6, 2009


So, I've moved all of my "mental" posts from The Discovery of Stuff and Things to this blog because I felt like everything was getting too jumbled. I want people to read my stories and musings but I find the heavier stuff scared them away.

So, Voila! Here is the Mental Me.

I'll still be writing just as much and letting y'all know what's going on in my brain, good or bad.

As I just had 4 fillings this is all I'm going to write for now!

Melody (Originally published on 3.3.09)

Yesterday was not a good day... in the beginning. On my way to my fiddle lesson I had to quell the rising anxiety and clench my jaw and fists in order to stop my chest from heaving and my brain from racing. I got to my lesson and was a bit skittish at first and I lied and said that I was over medicated on allergy meds. Which is actually comical because I was actually under medicated; I refused to take a Klonopin because I wanted to get through it on my own. But as I pulled out my fiddle and warmed up... I warmed up.

Everything faded away and I could only concentrate on the vibration of sound rippling through my chest. That's why I chose the fiddle. The sound reverberates through your chest, down towards your limbs and wraps around your head, cutting off anything outside of the melody.

After I was done playing, all the noxious fumes left over from the darkness in my head had faded away.

I found my heart home, and it's in a harmony I can create.

I'm better than fine.

Smile (Originally published on 3.2.09)

My brain and I are not getting along today. Spelling has become an issue as my memory seems to get worse and worse. I can’t tell if it’s because of the medication or I’m just not accustom to using it as it seems every electronic device is supposed to do it for you. You don’t have to remember phone numbers anymore, meeting times, Dr’s appointments, birthdays, etc.

I’m frustrated because I missed my Dr’s appointment this morning due to roommate issues and muni being a bitch and I get to pay the $110 missed appointment fee. So I’m back to flogging myself due to my lack of self discipline for not waking up earlier. I’m irritated as hell and it’s showing every where. I’m irritated for not writing enough, I’m annoyed because it doesn’t seem to flow anymore. Any lyrical sentences that used to spew forth from my fingers are now dull and drab.

I hate this. Is it because of my medication or do I seem to just not have time anymore? Let’s look at my schedule:

Monday - Work, then fiddle lessons, then visiting House of Shields to keep the bartender, who is a great friend, company. I usually get home around 11 so I try and go to bed right away but that never happens.

Tuesday - Work, studying for psychology and practicing the fiddle. I greedily suck up this night because it’s the only night I have to really do anything I want to do so I usually end up going to bed at about 1.

Wednesday - Work, then class (yoga) until 8:30. I usually walk to Church and Duboce from Noe and 24th or I just walk home so I have time to think and just explore the many crooks and crannies that San Francisco has to offer.

Thursday - Work, then Psychology until 9. I usually get home at 10ish so I’m supposed to try and go to bed by 11 but, once again, that never happens as I just want to sit and read or play around on the computer for a bit. I’m usually too exhausted to write anything creative because my brain has usually shut down at this point.

Friday - Work, then therapy, then usually hanging out with my friends as I usually don’t have time during the week to do so.

Saturday & Sunday - “Relax time” which is basically me sleeping in until about 1pm then lounging around until I possibly go out with my friends again. I usually try and practice the fiddle or study but I never do.

Yeah. I’m tired; all the time because I don’t sleep. I have no willpower to force myself into bed by 11. I constantly have bags under my eyes and my brain is all fuzzified at work.

Also, every day I have to keep my thoughts in check. I have to make sure that I’m not taking matters into extremes or that I’m not slipping into a hypomania or depression. I have to watch what I say, what I do, what music I listen to, try and filter whatever I say so that I don’t later regret it. I’m on the verge of crying now just because I just want to have a day where my brain just functions without me regulating it.

You know, like the majority of people I pass on the street. People that don’t have to worry at a sudden wave of happiness or sadness because it’s just an emotion that can fade as easily as it came, where as I have to make sure that it doesn’t linger or intensify to the point where I want to point out the beauty of the world to random strangers on the street or I get home and curl up into the a ball, rock back and forth and just sob for no reason.

I also have to make sure that when a feeling of panic or anxiety arises I have my pills and try and control it while I’m surrounded by people and have to smile and pretend that I’m just fine; which I am very, very good at.

I just want to work, to function without thinking about EVERYTHING. I want to write blogs that are chipper or fun and inspiring and filled with sentences that are lyrical and poignant.

It’s funny, before I started taking medication I wouldn’t react correctly to a situation. I would go to extremes over small things and be comatose to traumatic experiences until a few months passed. Now my emotions are just below the surface and for me, it’s irritating as hell. Right now I feel the prickle of tears and I hate it. I HATE IT. But it’s “normal”. You’re not supposed to wrap an emotion into a ball and throw it to the back of your brain so it bounces back months later or blows up due to the intensity of the emotion and I go ape shit on whoever is near me.

Back to work, back to work. Here comes another gilded smile and the clenching of hands and teeth to force the tears away while pretending everything is just fine. Like usual.

Smile for the camera Heather, everyone’s watching. Smile for the camera Heather, no one wants a sad face. Smile for the camera Heather no one wants to be depressed after hearing you talk. Smile for the camera Heather.



T. said...

Don't smile if you dont feel like it! It bothers me when people ask me to smile......why should I smile if I dont feel like it? What's the point? If I'm having a bad day I want the world to know, and I think you should do the same! I'm sorry you had a bad day, I know how that feels :(

happyian said...

I really like the name of your blog.

DigitalApprentice said...

damn girl. the worst part of writing truer than true words like that is the fact that everyone around you, well not everyone, but a large majority, or fuck that, never mind, I'll speak for myself - I relate completely. I know that won't help you dealing with this tumultuous period of your life, but that last portion about smiling for the camera is super prevalent in my life as well. I always seem to overlook my own emotions and belittle them due to this omnipresent birds-eye view of the human race that seems more relevant. or more important at least. I think, "what does this little human (talking about myself in times of distress) really have to be sad about? why is he so confused? why can't he just lighten up like those around him? why does he pout so when he's alone? what's truly is the point of him absolutely doing nothing other than staring at a wall he'll eventually hit? oh, how funny, he did hit that wall. see I predicted it. what a predictable little human. and look, he can't stop thinking about someone watching him. He's trying to prove to me that he's doing something constantly, but can never rid himself of the constant watch he feels he's under. Oh, now he's trying to convince himself that he's not ashamed of masturbating, or looking at himself in the mirror, or choosing to read some political book that he'll never truly understand and only seems to be trying to retain morsels or information only to repeat them as some banality in casual conversation. what is really interesting to this human? it must be that he's interested in the fact or belief that someone is always watching him. because look, he can't stop thinking about it. how sad. look at all those other humans around him, just casually living their lives with out the constant fear that some non-existent higher being is judging their every move. why is this little human plagued by that? well, that's his own problem. I'll just sit back and watch and observe him self destruct into either tears or a desperate need of sleep with the hope of never waking up. How odd this human is..."

I don't even know where I was going with that, but those thoughts are very prevalent in my reality, just as they are in other people's world. It may seem that you're alone, but fuck it we all are. I've seen people who have issues that I truly can't even imagine having, yet understand that everyone does seem to be plagued by someshit or another. coffee, hobbies or pills all just seem to exist to distract us from those terrible truths of self hatred and over hyper self consciousness. I'm not trying to give advice or even try to help you in any way, I'm just writing to basically let you know you made my mind wander into realms of life people rarely touch on. and here it is: a reflection of that. thanks and keep pushing

NerdOneirik said...

T. - ehh, not good at showing my real emotions, as you well know.

happyian - Thanks! lol

DigitalApprentice - lol you know what I think ;)

Stepping Out of the Ring (Originally published on 2.11.09)

So, a few months ago I wrote a blog about a friend that I thought had betrayed me and used me. Looking back I now understand that my reaction was a bit…exaggerated. It was necessary to react but I could have done it far more logically. But, this was at the time when my meds hadn’t kicked in and my brain was malfunctioning in the worst way. I had warned her before she came out here that my behavior would be completely erratic and I would be extremely difficult to be around. She assured me that it would be fine.

It wasn’t.

I understand how hard it is to be around someone that has a mental disorder. I was raised by a woman that has more than one. I remember being so frustrated with the fact that she couldn’t seem to comprehend the simplest things. She dealt with a lot of things by creating her own reality; “remembering” things that had never happened, blaming everyone around her for the situations she put herself in. She has yet to resurface to what is considered “the real world”. I’m not sure she will ever be able to and I now understand that I have to accept that. I can’t blame her for her actions as she really isn’t aware of the hurt they cause. She’s just not here anymore. I think at times she has visited reality but she could never accept responsibility for what she did consciously to hurt people so she’d allow herself to get pulled under once more.

Back to the friend I freaked the fuck out on. After I pretty much exploded, our friendship unwound and become threadbare. I felt betrayed because even though she promised she could deal with my disorder, she couldn’t and it seemed that she didn’t even try. Another part of me was disgusted with myself for blaming the disorder for my actions. I wanted to take full responsibility for them. But, as hard as this is for me to type, I can’t take responsibility for things I can not control. I also can’t be mad at people that don’t understand why I react the way I do. All my warnings and explanations can’t really prepare someone for what could happen.

We’re beginning to reform our friendship and for that I am extremely grateful. She’s seen me through a lot of hard times in my life and is the oldest friend I have. We had lunch today and we talked about what happened some more and it sucked because she said something that I really didn’t know how to respond to. She said it wasn’t fair that she had to change her actions and demeanor because of my mind frame. I was silent for a bit and reluctantly said “I warned you and because of that, you should have.” Saying that was incredibly hard for me. I don’t want to be treated any different but the fact is I don’t think the same way others do. Now that I’m stable, people don’t have to tip toe around me anymore but when I was at my lowest, unfortunately people did. If someone is unable to walk would you huff at the fact that it takes them forever to get some where?

This is the hardest part about being bipolar; getting other people to understand that it’s real. I still struggle with it. Like Girl said in one of her comments, if what we had was physical and were on medication for it, people wouldn’t bat an eye at our erratic behavior because they can physically see that we are in pain. But because it’s mental and because we can still some what function in the “real world”, people think it’s an excuse. But why would anyone want to react the way we do? Why would anyone want to break down in public and lose reality? Who would want their friends to think they’re flaky and overly dramatic or exhausting to be around? Why would they want to be belittled their entire life for reacting in extreme ways? I think that because of our conversation I can stop blaming myself for things I did while manic. I can stop beating myself up for things that I said, things that I did because… I couldn’t control it.

Holy fuck this is hard to type.

I apologized to her for 2 reasons. I apologized because had it happened now, I wouldn’t have reacted like that. I apologized because she had to go through that. BUT I can not apologize for what my reaction was then because it wasn’t under my control. I can look back and understand that I did overreact. I can acknowledge my actions now because I am stable and I think that’s what separates me from my mother. I don’t pretend it didn’t happen, I own up to the fact that my actions were fucked up. But I now understand that when I say I am taking responsibility it means I am not blaming myself, I am not copping out and using my disorder as a scapegoat, I’m not making excuses; I am acknowledging what happened, but understanding that at the time I did not have the capability to react rationally. She considered this and said that she should have been more aware of it.

I know that some people will read this and roll their eyes because they don’t believe in mental disorders or whatever. I have to let go of the anger it provokes in me because everyone is entitled to their own opinion. The only opinion that should matter to me is my own. And right now, my belief is - sometimes I honestly do not have control over my brain. Admitting that to myself and typing it scares the shit out of me but it’s true and if people disagree with that I can’t let it affect me.

I always say “It could always be worse”. And it could but I shouldn’t feel guilty for being in pain. I shouldn’t mentally beat the shit out of myself because what some people consider trivial really hurts me. I shouldn’t feel guilty for being Bipolar. And I’m going to try my damnedest to stop because I can’t carry what isn’t mine. I'm not going to beat myself up anymore. The bell rung, I'm dropping the gloves and stepping out of the ring. You can't fight yourself because you'll spend most of your life fighting for the right to be who you really are and you'll need all the strength you have to win that battle.

I hate this. (Originally published on 2.08.09)

So, I know that I get far more responses when I write a funny blog and not one that deals with my head. That disturbs me a bit but I understand why. Sometimes people don't want to hear heavy stuff. But this blog is supposed to be about what is going on in my head and how it's not always good. So those that don't want to get heavy, just go to another internet thingy and come back when you think an entry will be amusing, because this one won't be.

I am in a bad state right now. I think I doubled dosed on my meds and am freaking out a bit. I called my sister who's pretty much a nurse and she said that it's fine, she's had patients that done this before and were fine. But here's the thing. I hate this. I hate this so much. I don't want to have to take a pill to “think” correctly. I just want to be. I just want to not want to die and no feel so disgusted with myself all the time. To not feel weak for having to rely on chemicals that I don't even understand. Oh god I hate this. I hate how I constantly question myself and constantly wonder if I should go off them. I hate when people encourage this as well. “Oh no Heather, you can regulate this with exercise and eating the right food.”

It's not that fucking simple. The chemicals that my brain produces are off. The neurons are firing wrong. A person I haven't talked to for awhile called and I told her about what was going on in my life and what I was diagnosed with. She immediately responded with “Why does it seem like everyone is suddenly getting diagnosed with all these things? It's like a fad.”

I equate that with being slapped in the face. I constantly question if I really am bipolar because I was trained to think that EVERYONE feels this way. That everyone feels suicidal at times. Is that true? Does everyone really think that it would be ok to die? That everything would be better? Everyone? So does that mean I'm just buying into this whole medication thing? Everyone curls up in a ball and just sobs for no reason all the time? I'm honestly asking, is that what people do? I really don't know. I don't. Am I just faking this, am I just being pushed onto meds? I don't know. I think I've been better since I've been on them because even this low isn't as low as I've been before.

I get so angry when people say I shouldn't be on meds because sometimes I think I shouldn't be as well. It just makes this so much harder. Am I weak because I'm taking meds? Am I? Isn't it like when diabetics have to take insulin?

I hate this. I really hate this. I wish there was some kind of fucking test that tells me for sure. Because I don't know. I hate having to rely on other people. I hate it. I usually just suffer in silence. I'd rather do that. I don't want people to think I'm weak. I want them to think of the Heather that makes everyone laugh. The Heather that I wish I was all the time. If that even is who I really am. I have had to rely on myself for so much that I don't know how to let someone take care of me. I'd rather mimic those around me so that I seem ok.

I want to be someone else so much. Not just with this whole mental thing but with everything in my life. I wish I could be like this girl I've met a few times, Sorrel. Her life is fascinating. Or be able to just drop everything and travel. Just have the courage to do what I want. But how can I when that constantly changes? I don't want to be here. Sitting in my room typing a blog that exposes so much of me because I can't tell people this in person. I write this so people know who I am, so maybe I can figure out who the fuck I am. I can put my most private thoughts online but will not let someone carry me when I have a twisted ankle or comfort me when I'm crying or even admit to them that I am crying. But maybe this is my way to comfort. To let people know how I feel through words because I am too scared to do it in person. I can't just expose myself to people in person because I don't trust and I don't want to burden them. I always feel like a burden. That when I talk about this people roll their eyes and say “Oh Heather is being dramatic.” Is this dramatic? It's how I really feel. So should I just be silent so I don't make people uneasy? I don't introduce myself as “Hi, I'm Heather and I'm bipolar.” If the topic of meds or something comes up in a convo or when I say or do something strange I'll mention something. I don't want to be silent about it because I don't want it to mean that I'm damaged or crazy. I'm just different right? I'm not incomplete, am I? I don't know.

Ugh, I think I did double dose. My stomach is not happy.

If I did commit suicide I'd want it to be painful so that I could feel something so that I could feel that I am dying. So I could fade and not just disappear. Don't worry, I'm not considering it, just thinking about it. I don't think I'd want to go in my sleep.

I admit that right now, I wish I could just let someone hold me so I could just sob and actually FEEL that someone is holding me here. That they see this. That I don't have to hide it.

But I know it could always be worse. I'm lucky that I have what I do. So... is it ok to feel like this? Am I just being dramatic, stupid and weak? That I'm spoiled because other people in the world are trying to just survive and I'm here feeling sorry for myself. Am I disgusting?

I don't know. I really don't know. Don't write comments that I'm not. Don't write what you don't believe to comfort me. I want to know if I'm being brat and should just suck it up. But I always just suck it up. What's real? What's ok? Am I just a whiny bitch?

I don't know. I really don't. I was raised to not “pout”, to not cry. To not feel sorry for myself. But I don't think that I am feeling sorry for myself. I'm just confused. Very, very confused and searching for some type of answer. Maybe in a way asking for some source of comfort so that I know that it's ok to feel this.

I don't get this. I don't get this at all. I hate this. I hate this.


T. said...

All these feelings are real and no your not being dramatic, stupid or weak!! I have had most of these feelings myself, I dont know whats it like to be on meds, i'm sure its easy.......I wish you didnt worry what other people think of you if you cryed infront of other people and i wish you would call your friends if you felt sad!!! Thats what good friends are for and the body is meant to cry, if it wasnt we wouldnt! DUHA!! Crying is awesome, just after part is not good, the face is all red and puffy and sometimes i get a headache, but besides that i think crying is awesome!!

Mace Elaine said...

What your friend said was insensitive, but I'm sure she doesn't know the whole story. Heck, I don't think anyone knows the whole story! Those of us who care about you and read this blog probably know more than most, but I'm sure it's still only about 15%.

I'm sure what your friend was referring to was this: there are some people who curl up and cry on the floor ONCE, or have some other isolated event, and march into their doctor's office demanding pills. Feh.

You stay strong, little H. It's tough at times, but remember than on the whole, things are on the up.

T. said...

Sorry I meant to say "I'm sure its NOT easy" !!!!!!!!!

Girl said...

There is nothing that angers me more than people who say "you shouldn't need medication to feel good about yourself" or "happiness should come from within", like it's that easy. Funny how it's always people who have never suffered a mental health problem who have that opinion - if they ever have one then I would be happy to hear their opinion, but if you haven't then STFU!

The sad thing is, if we had a physical problem we wouldn't think twice about taking medication, and society wouldn't judge us for it for a second. At the end of the day: if medication works for you, keep taking it. I know how much medication has helped me and I will never ever feel ashamed of it, you shouldn't either.


NerdOneirik said...

Mace - I'll remain strong cause I have the bestest buddies in the world. I couldn't ask for anything better.

T. - I'm getting better at showing emotion! I just feel like when i do, I'm a burden. SHHHHHHHHHHHHHH I know what you're going to say. I'm working on it!

Girl - I wholeheartedly agree. Punch someone in the face and people immediately are like oh yeah, he needs to be taken care of. Cut your own skin and people think "Oh how dramatic". That be fucked up.

Leaving Flighty in the Cage (Originally published on 1.21.09)


I know I’ve been M.I.A for a week or so but I’ve been trying to gather the things that I lost. I’m finally getting a phone on Friday, I made new copies of my keys, I’ve been to the DMV (shudder) to get a new license and have yet to receive my atm card (grrrrrr). However, I did receive my new credit card so woo woo for that! After saying that, there is a certain someone that will probably feel guilt wash over them. STOP IT!!!!!!!!!! *smack*

Anyway, onward ho to the title of this blog - Leaving Flighty in the Cage.

1. Given to capricious or unstable behavior.
2. Characterized by irresponsible or silly behavior.
2. Easily excited; skittish.

This was me to a tee; hence the eventually unraveling of my sanity. I lived in a vicious loop of realizing these incredible epiphanies and losing them the very next day. Instability was my bread and butter. Everything I deduce now has been bouncing around in my head for ages. My good friend Troy can vouch for that. I have always been very aware of my flaws, always. Or at least, what I thought were flaws. But ever since I’ve sought help and started medication something new has happened.

I slowed down.

Everything in my head has slowed down. In the past I HAD to multi task to get anything done. Concentration was an elusive thing. People would marvel at my rapid fire tangents and become annoyed with my constant digressions. I would never re-read anything I wrote, I would never really go in depth about anything because I just couldn’t. My brain was moving too fast. I would breeze through books and skim the details on everything. Basically I knew a little bit about a lot of things. But that's all changed. Now, in order to concentrate I have to focus on only a few things at once. At first this scared the hell out of me. I thought rapid thinking was part of me, that other people loved that quality about me. I thought it made me, me. But really, a speedy brain hindered me in the most important way. I couldn’t remember my realizations on life because they would get caught in my undertow and I’d move on to something else.

I can’t describe how wonderful it is to think at a slower pace. As I am adjusting to my meds, I am unearthing my buried epiphanies and forcing myself to really FEEL past hurts in order to move on; I found the real me. I found the girl that doesn’t need to put on a show to try and please people. I found the girl that didn’t have to start conversations with a self deprecating comment in order to propell it. I can still make people laugh just as hard with out acting like a tard (YAY! A rhyme!) on purpose. I am eccentric but I don’t have to worry if what I say is too odd because fuck it, it’s me. I am a nerd, a geek, a dork and I revel in it.

Some people believe that I’ve always been like this. But what they never realized was when I was alone in my room, I’d go over EVERYTHING I said and beat myself up if I said a stupid comment or worry that people didn’t like me and just kept me around as amusement; to ridicule me after I left. I used my silly behavior as a shield. I spent an irresponsible amount of money on other people and I usually would have no money to put into savings or spend on myself. I felt like I had to make up for this hole in me, that if they really knew me they’d leave. Hence the constant stream of thoughts; it was a distraction. Now that I’ve slowed down I remember and employ the things I’ve always known.

I have always been incredibly aware of what’s going on around me but now it’s also turned inward. I have become more self aware then ever before, but now it is a more whole self awareness. I no longer only recognize my flaws; I try and fix them. I finally recognize the bits of me that are pretty amazing. I recognize that I am strong, that I am genuinely good person even if I don’t constantly put others before myself, that some part of me is beautiful and amazing because why else would people say it if it wasn’t true? I don’t have to hide any part of myself anymore because if someone doesn’t like me, they’ll tell me. I refuse to constantly wonder if people like me. It’s exhausting and now that my thoughts are no longer racing, my brain is all “Dude let me introduce you to logic. I think you two will become the best of friends.”

An example of that happened today. I did something that I had never done before. There was an attractive guy walking down the street and I held eye contact with him and smiled. He smiled back. I used to be so incredibly skittish around guys that I couldn’t even LOOK at them. But fuck it. A guy wouldn’t ask me out if he didn’t like me. If he doesn’t like me, big deal - that just means we’re not well suited. It doesn’t mean that I’m lacking something. I may not have the traits he wants but that doesn’t mean I need to acquire them in order for ALL guys to like me. I can smile at a guy; it’s just a fricken smile. It’s not like when they pass they’ll sneer at me and scream “DON’T LOOK AT ME.” Well… at least the sane ones won’t. lol I may still be skittish for awhile, but I'm getting better and that's all that matters. The past is something I can't change and something I won't cling to anymore.

I have stepped out of the cage I placed myself in. Bye flighty and bars. Streching my wings feels pretty damn good and I have no intention of ever locking myself up again.

I know I’ve written about these subjects before but its part of making myself remember. It’s part of the retraining of my brain. It doesn’t matter if anyone else thinks I’m awesome, because I know I am. WOOOT! lol


Bare (Originally published on 1.05.09)

Point of View.

This is something I’ve been pondering lately. Everyone has a different point of view on pretty much everything; that’s what makes us human. But the one point of view I’ve been concentrating on and identifying with is Vincent Van Gogh’s. His life was riddled with mental illness that eventually caused him to commit suicide. Over 150 psychiatrists have attempted to label his illness, and some 30 different diagnoses have been suggested. Diagnoses which have been put forward include schizophrenia, bipolar disorder, syphilis, poisoning from swallowed paints, temporal lobe epilepsy and acute intermittent porphyria

But the thing that strikes me the most was his constant search for affection or love. He yearned for a connection with someone so badly that he felt the only way of proving it was through self harm. Almost saying “I will die for you, I will hurt for you, please, please don’t leave me.” When he was terrified that his friend, Paul Gauguin would leave him, he literally tried to give a piece of himself (his left earlobe) to him in order to prove that he needed him, that he loved him. Gauguin did eventually leave and never saw Van Gogh again after that Van Gogh was devastated and hospitalized in a critical state for a few days.

When he fell in love with his cousin Kee Vos-Stricke and asked her to marry him. Her answer was "No, never, never". From that point on her parents refused to let him see her and told him "Your persistence is disgusting". In desperation he held his left hand in the flame of a lamp, saying, "Let me see her for as long as I can keep my hand in the flame." His uncle blew out the candle and ordered him to leave.

When Van Gogh first began painting he used only somber colors. His style eventually changed to Impressionism and Neo-Impressionism. I know that the way he painted was a style, but to me it looked like he was painting while viewing the world with tears in his eyes. The colors blur together and seem to separate through salty eyes.

On July 27, 1890, at the age of 37, Van Gogh walked into a field and shot himself in the chest with a revolver. Without realizing that he was fatally wounded he returned to the Ravoux Inn where he died in his bed two days later. His brother Theo hastened to be at his side and reported his last words as "La tristesse durera toujours" (French for "the sadness will last forever").

I identify with him in the way that I thought that if I gave people physical trinkets or bought them dinner or drinks, they’re remain my friends. That if I put on a show for them or let myself be the butt of jokes, they’d keep me around. It was especially bad when I was a child. I’m not sure if I already wrote this story in a past post but when I was in 4th grade a girl commented that she liked my bracelet. I promptly took it off and offered it to her. She backed away and from that moment forth I was labeled as a freak. I didn’t have very many friends in my school growing up, and when I did make friends, when they got too close I’d push them away.

I finally understand that the only thing that I have to give to another person is me. Let them across my moat and through my drawbridge. This is positively terrifying for me because it leaves me room to get hurt; hence my intimacy issues. I just jump right in to sex and foreplay is a bit of a foreign thing to me. I want to let people in and not push them away. You could say this is a bit of a new years resolution.

From now on the only thing I am offering is myself and if that isn’t enough for someone, I won’t punish myself. Well, it’s not that I wasn’t enough, I just don’t have the traits that they’re looking for and that’s ok. It’s funny, I can write my innermost feelings and desires in a blog but can’t tell them to someone’s face. When I try and speak the words get all mottled and twisted. Part of me wishes I could just print this out and hand it out to people that don’t understand. Though I am finding a lot of my friends read this blog and I’m always surprised. It’s nice when I don’t have to explain myself because they just respond with “Oh, I read that.” Thanks to all those that read this, it really does make me happy to know that you care and don’t look at me any different.

So yeah. Hello world. This is me, laid bare before you.



Xantraun said...

i have been dealing with a lot of issues myself lately and after having been on and off countless meds in the past few months while doctors try to create a cocktail of delicious relief...

it's comforting to read through your blog from time to time just for that assurance that life really does go on. whether it be a physical or mental ailment, it helps to know that others share in the constant struggle for the semblance of normality if such a thing really exists.

guess i just felt the need to leave a note and thank you for all your instrospective insights.

rock on with your bad self

"If you don’t like something, change it. If you can’t change it, change your attitude."
-Maya Angelou

seems fitting. sort of an elegant way of saying to roll with the punches ...just wish life didn't hit so damn hard when you forget to duck >_<

Tanya said...

Good on ya.

One thing I learned is that people stick around when you show genuine interest in them. I don't mean like, actively pursuing them, or constantly calling them up, or taking up their hobbies, but doing unexpected acts of kindness and bearing them in mind. A friend appreciates when you call them out of the blue and say "Hey, we haven't talked in ages, but I was thinking about you. How are you?" That, for me, goes farther than any present, dinner, or drink would go. Just to know that I am thought about and not forgotten.

Christmas (Originally published on 12.27.08)

I'll be a writing a much longer blog tomorrow. But I wanted to take the time to say that I am so very, very, very lucky to have the friends I do. To have found people that are so loving and accepting. I went to my friend Julia's father's house for Christmas. They gave me a violin.

Yeah, a violin.

I had been mentioning that I wanted to buy a fiddle for awhile and apparently Julia's stepmother had her old violin lying around collecting dust so they refurbished it and gave it to me for Christmas.

I can not possibly describe how incredibly astounded I was to be invited into a family and for them to love and accept me. It's more than a little amazing.

Also... I talked to my parents for the first time in about 6 months. I talked to my dad and the sound of his voice nearly brought me to tears. I miss our late night chats sitting on the island in the middle of the kitchen staring out the glass doors to the porch. I will continue to repair our relationship and miss and love him.

As for my mother. I am beginning to understand what kind of relationship we will have from now on. I will carry the love that one has for their mother for bringing them into this world. But, I will have to close myself to most of what she says. Our conversations can not be deep, our opinions not shared and no advice will be sought or given. You can not help someone that doesn't want it. She believes that she is not mentally ill while everyone knows it. That's fine. The countless concerned voices that have tried to permeate her brain, haven't. I still believe that she is a danger to herself and others. But at least she has found some sort of solace in the Catholic Church. I will not allow her to talk to me about her religion just like I would never mention my beliefs to her. My mother has given me all that she could give me and for that I will be forever grateful. While I will always carry old wounds and scars from her words, her actions, I now understand that I will never get closure for them. She doesn't understand what she has done, what she still does. I have to train myself to understand and cut her off before the poison leaves her lips.

She says that she has forgiven me. For what, I'm not sure.

All I can say in return is that I will try and forgive the things she was not conscious of. I don't know if I'll be able to forgive her for the things that were premeditated and intentionally designed to hurt me but I will try. I will not carry this weight around any longer. I will call home with the intent of talking to my father and will lightly chat with my mother. If the conversation begins to take on a personal tone, I will end it. I will no longer feel guilty for feeling this way. I will no longer allow any of the her sharp words wound me.


This is how it is for me. This is how I see it. This is how I feel. I'll continue picking out the shrapnel and let the shards fall where they may. They're not mine to carry any longer.

I am loved. I am worth the love. That is all I need. I will not live in the past and I will not let my past hurts bleed into the present. There is nothing more I can do about them besides deal with the feelings they've left behind and once I've done that I can truly move on. It will take time. It will take practice. It will take all of my concentration, and I will do it. I want to live. I don't just want to be recovering anymore. Instead, you'll find me disciplining myself to follow through with my ideas. To stop that vile little voice that slithers through my brain, strangling my self confidence. I don't want to believe that the rabbit hole is a bad place anymore. I want to believe that it can be amazing if harnessed. I won't believe that the place my mind wanders to is a place of pain. Instead, the vile voice will be my Jaberwocky to conquer while I will relish in the madness that is my brain. When my mood drops I will write out why. Why I am feeling that way and examine it. Read it out loud so the logical side of my brain speaks up and is all: "Bitch, those are all false statements and toxins left over from old hurts. Your brain is not firing in a positive way at the moment but it will pass. Sit your ass down and write or play your fiddle or guitar. You will be ok."

And I will be. I am not crazy, I am not insane, I am not limited in anyway. I am wired differently and I am ok with that. That just means I'll see things certain things from different perspectives and interperet things a bit differently.

But don't we all?

Mine views may be more extreme but I will harnass that. My brain may be in disarray but perhaps that could be an advantage. I am aware of the misfires which leads me to believe that I will overcome them; they will not overcome me.


something more than ordinary said...

I think your doing the right thing in regards to your mother. It sounds like a hard thing you will have to do. The right things often are. I hope it goes well.

I'll Get By With a Little Help From My Friends (Originally published on 12.19.08)

Don't worry, that mood has passed and the some what balanced Heather has returned. But to all those that called me or texted me concerned, I give you this, because it says it far better than I can. I'm grateful to you all, and even if I don't say it, I do love you.

What would you think if I sang out of tune
Would you stand up and walk out on me
Lend me your ears and I'll sing you a song
and I'll try not to sing out of key

Oh, I get by with a little help from my friends
Mm, I get high with a little help from my friends
Mm, Gonna try with a little help from my friends

What do I do when my love is away
Does it worry you to be alone
How do you feel by the end of the day
Are you sad because you're on your own

No, I get by with a little help from my friends
Mm, I get high with a little help from my friends
Mm,Gonna try with a little help from my friends

Do you need anybody
I need somebody to love
Could it be anybody
I want somebody to love

Would you believe in a love at first sight
Yes, I'm certain that it happens all the time
What do you see when you turn out the light
I can't tell you, but I know it's mine

Oh, I get by with a little help from my friends
Mm, I get high with a little help from my friends
Oh, Gonna try with a little help from my friends

Do you need anybody
I just need someone to love
Could it be anybody
I want somebody to love

Oh, I get by with a little help from my friends
Mm, Gonna try witBoldh a little help from my friends
Oh, I get high with a little help from my friends
Yes, I get by with a little help from my friends,
with a little help from my friends

*100 Hugs from THE STARFISH CRICKET OF LOVE!!!!!!*

1 comment:

T. said...

I got your back girl!!

Pathetic (Originally published on 12.18.08)

I'm fighting with my brain right now. I am sobbing, begging it to stop hating me. I don't want to hate myself anymore. Everyday. Everyday. I hate myself. I just want a day that I don't. Just a day. Why can't I just have a day? A day where I don't cringe when I look in the mirror, a day when I can look down at my body and not hate it. A day where I don't feel like I'm failing because I'm not writing or playing my guitar. A day where I feel like maybe one day I can be loved.

Oh but I love to hate myself. I am so very good at it .I sit in it, I bathe in self loathing. I scratch it into my skin, bury it as deep as it will go and cover it so it stays there, decaying with putrid puss crawling in to every pore.

I hate myself so much. So very very much. I don't want to anymore. I don't want to be lonely anymore. I want to allow myself to be touched. I want to believe in love. I really do. I don't want to be used anymore. I want to flay myself. Rip the skin off that I offered to gilded boys that never cared. Will never care. I don't understand intimacy. I don't understand how to feel close to someone without sleeping with them. I don't understand, I don't understand.

I can never remember the good. My memory only saves the blue and the black. When I am happy it flows away while the hurt is dammed up inside me and I sink in it.

I want to truly show people who I am. Cause you don't know. Cause I don't know. I want to be hugged and accept it. I don't want to shy away from affection. I want to stop thinking that it will hurt me. I want to feel like I deserve it. I want to be able to be happy without thinking that it can be taken away from me like everything else.

I am locked into the smallest position I can get in while still typing. I want my pillows to hug me. Someone to hug me. Someone to rub my back and tell me it will be ok even if it isn't. I want to allow someone to do that. I don't want to hide anymore. But I feel like I have to. I don't know how to stop.

Oh it hurts. It really does physically hurt. It's locked around my chest and I'm heaving. I can hardly see the keys. But I have to get it out. I have to. Otherwise I'll hate myself more. I want to shut out the whispers that pull the strings around my heart. The ones that know just what to say so that I crumble and make me shout stop it over and over. My house is empty. I can shout all I want.

Why does everyone have to leave? Why did everyone have to leave? Why couldn't they just stay? Why couldn't they just hold me while I cry? Was I that horrible? As a child was I just not worth it? Maybe they did. I don't remember.

I was in such a good mood earlier. Where did it go? I don't want to change medications. The others have side affects I can't deal with. I can't. I don't want to have start all over again. I can't, I can't. So is this normal? Is it more subdued than before? I can't remember. I can never remember.

I am tired of being the strong one. I'm tired of having to hold my own hand. I am tired of trying to comfort the other half of myself that is psychotic. A friend of mine believes in true love. I want to but she says that it will take time. Am I supposed to be better when I find someone? So I have to suffer alone now?

I want to drink. I want to numb this. I want it to stop, but I know I shouldn't do that. I can never do anything my brain wants because it could be harmful. Always harmful.

Now it's gone. Now I'm numb. Whatever chemical that's in my head that stops this has finally kicked in. But it doesn't stop the longing to be held.

I wish I could stop hating myself. I really, really do. I hate being disgusted with myself when I admit I want someone. I'm supposed to be strong and deal with this on my own right? Because who wants a broken girl?

I know I have friends. But I want love. That love that you wake up to in the morning with a smile on your face. The love that can touch my brow and look me straight in the eye and he tells me I am not broken. And I believe him. I want to trust. I really do. I just don't know how. And if I don't know how to trust, how can someone else trust me? If I don't know how to love, how can anyone know how to love me?

Time Heather, it takes time.

Fuck time. It only makes things worse. It only helps me close up more. Teaches me to hide more. Teaches me how to scream with a smile on my face.

I feel so broken. I have too many pieces to pick up and I'm pretty positive that no boy wants to help me. They want a girl that's whole, a girl that happy, a girl that doesn't break, a girl that's beautiful inside. Not a girl that's broken, not a girl that's me.

But all this shit is trival right? I should be happy with what I have. With the life that I have. Could someone program my brain to think that? Could someone program my brain to stop pitying and hating myself? I've tried punishing myself for these thoughts. That just left scars and a quick release that never let it all out.

I am pathetic.


Girl said...

I actually feel like I could have written this myself (well, if I was as eloquent a writer as you). I don't know what else to say, except :(

NerdOneirik said...

Ah! lol Thanks! This was spur of the moment so the fact that you think it's eloquent makes me happy.


Mood swings are a bitch. le meh.

Hope is all we have really. I'm going to keep trying to keep the spark I have burning.

something more than ordinary said...

You asked a lot of the questions I ask myself. Let me know if you ever get any answers. There are so many "whys" it hurts. I read the post after this one. I'm glad your doing better. Sorry you had to go through it.

+/- said...

you say time makes things worse? makes you close up more? are you utilizing your therapy? they call it that for a reason. is there a chance you print these blogs out for your doctor, or that she subscribes to this? i think both of your doctors would get a better glimpse into your brain TO HELP YOU BETTER, not to punish you, not to yell at you for not telling them, but to help. i think you would all benefit from that.

also, from what i know, you are the one that prescribed no love for yourself. you assume that there is no decent man in the world that could love you. you assume that because you are damaged, that is all you will attract, which in turn would ruin your life? even if it was real love?

not to say you live in the best petrie dish for loving relationships, san francisco is pretty much for... players. you're more-often-than-not going to meet a guy that just wants to fuck. unfortunately. don't deny yourself love because that's what you think will HELP... crazy bitch ;) i love you.

Le Family (Originally published on 12.17.08)

Ms Alice’s post prompted this post:

My family: ahhhh, where to begin. I found out recently that my father follows my blog (hi dad!) and instead of being uncomfortable, I found I was quite flattered. I know that I have written some things that can be considered very hurtful. But what I write is my opinion, my view, which I am well aware is quite skewed. Yet, there are some things I am sure of, and sadly it can be proven by the previously mentioned e-mail my mother sent me. It was irrational, unexpected and incredibly upsetting. The part that got me the most was:


The hysterical thing is I AM like her. I am bipolar. But she refuses to acknowledge it. In fact, I’m pretty sure it’s never entered her mind. As for verbal therapy… I am doing that. She has been TOLD that. She has been taken antidepressants for YEARS and as we all know, that medication fucks up our disorder to the point where erratic behavior becomes the norm.

It definitely did with her. I have a crisp memory of going Christmas shopping with her in a Walgreens. She bought me dish soap for Christmas. Yes, dish soap. She has no recollection of this so when I told her that she did this she immediately denied it and said I was crazy.


I think I’ve finally figured out why I have some of my panic attacks. One was triggered when I was reading an Unquiet Mind. Kay (the author) was talking about how her mother helped nurse her back from her depressions and took care of her. I can’t express how much it hurts me to know that my mother can so casually dismiss that I am mentally ill. That it is “normal because we’re just dramatic”. How was I supposed to even realize something was wrong? I haven’t responded to the e-mail yet. I am still too angry to form logical responses and I refuse to speak from anger. I know I have accept that this is my mother. I know that I have to let go of the idea of what she used to be like or what I created. I am not saying she is a bad person, far from it. She’s just incredibly confused. But it hurts to know that she is living in her own reality and refuses to accept that she is wrong at times. But this is because she is mentally ill. But the most frustrating kind - the kind that refuses to accept it and blames other people for her erratic behavior.

Here’s another fun excerpt:


FYI - my sister was 15 FUCKING YEARS OLD when she “used me as a scapegoat”… well duh, that’s what older siblings DO. I am far from scarred from it.

Here’s the one that caused me to go for the cross and break the shit out of it:


WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOA THERE. “Time to think for myself”. Oooofuckingk. I am in one of the most expensive cities in the US and I live comfortably, I have a job that most people go to school for, I live on my own and have NEVER asked my parents for money, I am putting myself through school while working full time, I have created an entire LIFE on my own.

So apparently I’m not thinking for myself, aye?

I admit that I do have trouble trusting myself so sometimes I take other’s opinions before mine. But I believe I can say that a majority of the time (at least recently) I do think for myself.

Also, the thing that gets me is SHE DOESN’T KNOW WHAT SHE DID TO ME AND JEN (my sister). She thinks that asking for forgiveness will make everything better. How can you ask for forgiveness if you don’t even know what the fuck you did? My mother is an addict and she refuses to acknowledge that. She doesn’t understand that you are an addict for life; you will just continue to move on to one addiction to another. There can be positive addictions, they’re not all bad, but it is still an addiction. I know that this is her way of apologizing for how she acted under the influence of a slew of drugs and alcohol but because she refused to acknowledge that she is indeed an addict, it’s hard for me to really believe she can grasp what she did.

As for the god thing: No, he’s not my father. No he can not forgive me as he doesn’t exist. At least not in the terms that any organized religion deem “him”. My therapist agreed with me when I said that most mentally ill people turns towards god. We want so desperately to believe in SOMETHING besides ourselves because sometimes we can’t trust our own judgment. The idea of a perfect being, in my mind, would love EVERYONE. Wouldn’t that be a part of being perfect? No prejudice, no rules to follow except to try and incorporate love into everything you do? Wouldn’t a perfect being just KNOW that you are a good person if he is all seeing and not demand acts of “faith”?

The only reason I still carry baggage from my past is because I never dealt with it at the time. I still have my parents’ voices echoing venom in my head. I still have the labels that were placed upon me in childhood to rip off. A lot of incredibly vile words were thrown at me, along with some heavy objects and hands. I was made the scapegoat for many things I didn't even understand and everything I ever did never felt like enough to win the attention of my parents so I started down the path of drugs and alcohol very early but stopped once I realized that I would be just like my mother. So to this day I am terrified of pills and worry whenever I feel like I need a drink. I was raised by a mentally ill person so I didn't really learn a lot of the basics that most kids did. Like being left alone when I was 8 years old was normal. That eating ice cream for breakfast because I was unsupervised was ok. That hiding in my closet while rocking back and forth and mumbling to myself that I wasn't crazy wasn't ok. That confiding my fears to a dog was normal because there was no one else that would listen. While my mother insists that my family was physically close, I honestly don't remember being hugged that often and to this day have an issue with being touched. I also get incredibly uncomfortable around public displays of affection.

I reiterate that my childhood wasn't horrific BUT I am still have many wounds that stemmed from it. And I understand that, like Ms Alice said, there is no book on parenting so it's not like they could know any different than what they were taught. The only thing that I harbor a HUGE amount of bitterness for is the fact that they laughed in my face when I told them I thought I was depressed. Asking for help has ALWAYS been incredibly hard for me. I was taught to not show emotion, to try everything on my own first, even if I didn’t have an understanding of what was going on. Maybe I just hid it too well. But if my mood swings were so drastic, even when I was 18, wouldn’t that be a red flag? Part of me still feels like I’m 14. I still process emotion the same way.

I apologize because I know this is a huge blog, but the whole point of having a blog is to get what I need off my chest. If you’ve made it this far, I thank you. This is one of the only outlets I have, and I want it to be personal, because I truly want you to know what it’s like in my head. I don’t care if people find it trivial or to open. Fuck it. I’m open because I am not ashamed of who I am. I am not ashamed of what I have. I am no longer ashamed to be me, Heather - a nerdy girl that loves to write, is about to embark on a musical adventure (I’m getting a kaossilator and am FINALLY going to start making music.. and sing... *gulp*) and loves to drown herself in mythology and semi fantasy books (my favorite authors are Charles de Lint and Christopher Moore). I do admit there is one area that am very, very closed about. The whole being able to accept love in the romantic sense; but that’s something I’m working on. I have been through many a boy that I just wasn’t enough for and used as a fuck toy so at this point I am too terrified of rejection to open up my gate (think of it as Mordor if you will… yeah, it’s THAT tough to get in lol). If they were only in it for sex how could I ever let them see me at my worst? Though I do accept resposibily; I let myself be used because I thought that was the only want to be close to someone. Even though I am blunt and honest in this blog, I get to hide in a way. Allowing someone to watch me break down in front of them is completely different.

ANNNNNNNNNNNNNWAYYYYYYY. I leave you with this quote and a promise of less “heavy” blogs in the future… hopefully… lol.

The only good is knowledge and the only evil is ignorance. - Socrates

1 comment:

alice said...

Jeez, Louise. It's like we are twins living in a parallel universe. It's actually really fascinating for me to read what you write because it's so flipping similar to my own experiences, and it makes me wonder if this shit is what causes bipolar disorder. My life up until I was like 9 or ten was pretty awesome I guess. I had a vast imagination that kept me entertained. Then reality sunk in when my dad started in with the regular heavy drinking. My world was just torn apart. You speak of venomous words, my dad actually accused me of being the evil seed of every bad thing that ever went down in my family. Scapegoat? yes. Black sheep? yes. Can someone please quit forocing me to be a farm animal??!

I'm so glad we have connected. You are an awesome person, and good for you for saying it like it is in your head. I don't think these kind of posts are heavy, and you shouldn't avoid them if they need to come out. I think there is a ton of healing to be had from getting it out. As a person who also loves to write, maybe this is better therapy than talking it out, which I have found no value in doing so far. In fact, I am so tired of hearing my old stories and woes it's not funny. I want to get to a place where I'm writing my own stories, participating more in the here and now than the way back when. We can do this. We are awesome. SO there.

Acceptance (Originally published on 12.15.08)

As I’ve previously mentioned, I have struggled with the idea that I am bipolar. Well, not the idea, rather the fact that I am. But recently my therapist said something to me that cleared my head and actually made me accept the fact that I do, in fact, have a mental disorder (I hate saying disease). I was talking about my parents and was comparing my mom to my dad and she stopped me and said “Don’t do the bipolar thing and make your dad the good guy and your mother the bad guy.” AHHHHH HA! A professional’s offhand remark popped the bubble of denial floating around in my head. I didn’t truly understand what being bipolar was until she said that. We don’t just FEEL in extremes; we also THINK in extremes. Some of you that read Ms Alice’s blog will notice that I am using pretty much everything that I said in one of my comments there but I think that it’s necessary that I should explain how I feel and what I’ve discovered.

I have finally figured out what meds do. They don't reprogram our brain. We will still THINK in extremes. They just help us not FEEL in extremes. We have to refrain from letting our brains go to just one side of things and throwing ourselves to the completely opposite side; which is frustrating, daunting and exhausting. We need to stop using the terms always and never because those words imply that there is no middle ground. But my belief is that we are strong enough to take it. Because we are bipolar (not the royal we, the we referring to the people that are bipolar and read this blog) have far more compassion than most people because we understand what it is be in the extreme. We understand actions that seem unintelligible to others. Part of me likes to think that being bipolar makes us stronger than other people. Not weaker; that when we find that balance, we are brilliant.

Recently I have been cornered by people that I thought cared about me and had them spit venom in my face about taking meds, about this being a “choice”. I have finally reached the point where I can look them straight in the eye and say

“Fuck. You.”

Really. Fuck them. Fuck their opinions and lack of compassion or intelligence to acknowledge that some people are just programmed differently. Sometimes I compare being bipolar to being dyslexic. A good friend of mine has that disorder and she gets so frustrated because people believe having dyslexia just means you mix up words. It's so much more than that. It's like bipolar in the sense that our filters are broken. It takes us a bit longer to process certain things and we mostly live in a more confusing place than others. Some of these people are ignorant and hide behind religion because they need to believe that SOMETHING will make us magically and immediately better. That it's not a chemical mishap in our brain. They'd rather assume it's the “devil” trying to get a hold of us. I have washed my hands of any organized religion. How can a god that is supposed to be based on love pick and choose those who are “worthy” of being saved? Why does is matter if two men or two woman fall in love? You love people for what’s inside, a “soul” if you will. The outward appearance means NOTHING. If religion says it's our souls that live on doesn't that mean that our “earthly bodies” don't matter? So the fact that it’s two men in love or two woman in love means NOTHING because it’s the inside that counts.

OHHHH look, a discrepancy.

A friend of mine was sent an article that basically said that being bipolar was a CHOICE. I believe that the sender should a) be punched in the face (is she would let me know where they live and I will deliver the blow myself, for real) b) immediately be cut out of her life or c) be told that because they are so ignorant, that from this moment forth anything they say to her will be immediately discounted. I believe this goes for everyone. If someone that you consider a friend truly believes that this is a choice…. they really can’t be put in the category of a friend. I understand that it is INCREDIBLY hard for people that don’t have this disorder to truly understand what it’s like. They want to blame the person and pass it off as them just being moody, or a flake when they just can’t get out of bed to attend an event with them. That’s why I write this blog. I want to help people understand what it’s like. I am aware that it makes some people uncomfortable and if that’s the case just don’t talk about the disorder with the person. that has it. Don’t try and come up with excuses as to why they feel that way. It’s okay to not be able to really handle stuff that is considered “heavy” because sometimes it truly gets burdening and frustrating because you feel that you can’t help them therefore you feel helpless. Really, ask them to not talk about it if you must but when you see that they are struggling, all they need is a hug and comforting words letting them know that even though you don’t understand it, you’re there for them. Also, truly ponder how that person acts. Do you really think that they would choose to react the way they do? Really? To have people think they’re slightly addled in the brain and be a drama queen?

While I do have AMAZING friends I still do break down and rock back and forth asking why. Why is this happening to me? Why won't it stop? What did I do to deserve this? Why can't the horrible racing thoughts stop? The only thing that gets me through most of these attacks is knowing that is WILL pass; that this is a temporary extreme that will normalize. I think of my friends, of laughter, of the smell of clean laundry, of lying content on the grass on sunny days. I try and force myself to think of anything that seems beautiful to me and when the wave breaks and I'm able to breathe again, I force myself to acknowledge that I am stronger because I have survived it. I have beaten the Jabberwocky again. I have not submitted. Instead I am taking up my vorpal blade and saying

“Bring it bitch”

I sincerely hope and believe that we ARE strong enough to defeat it. It will just take practice and patience in understanding that we are the only ones that can change the way we think – meds just help the physical aspects. There is no chemical that can go into our heads and over ride harmful thinking. If there was, everyone would finally understand how beautiful life is.

I am bipolar, and I am going to try my damnedest to stop denying it.


alice said...

Amen to that, sister. I'm glad you pulled this over to your blog, because it's a good post. I have been having such the same intense wrestling match with my thoughts about bipolar disorder. It's like a massive mind-fuck to think about it, because it IS all in our heads. And it's real. I am not going to stop trying to figure out if there is a CURE for this. It seems to me that there are similarities between bipolar people. Traumatic childhoods, or some traumatizing event. A serious lack of self worth that has come from said trauma. A lack of support...It's confusing and mind-bending. And the people who say it aren't real can, yes, FUCK OFF. Even if one day it turns out that I did make this all up, that I chose this for kicks, because BEING BIPOLAR IS SO MUCH FUN (not), I have no way of even being able to comprehend that RIGHT NOW. Right now, I am spinning out of control and I need help. That's where I'm at. And the people who think I should be able to sit in my room and pray to make it go away, or meditate it right out of my chakras, or karma karate chop it.. those people are nuts.

Hang in there girl, we're gonna get through this. I'm glad we have our wee group of supporters here who get it.

Paddym22 said...


You got it.....its all about extremes and it is how we learn to manage these extremes is the key

The Bipolar Drunk said...

Brilliant. Seriously, I couldn't have put it better myself-- especially your comments about meds and having a "choice" in being bipolar.

Your comments on the meds are almost exactly what I tell other people how it feels to be on mood stabilizers (in my case, lithium): it doesn't make you stop feeling, it makes those feelings less extreme-- and therefore, easier to handle. My creativity is still the same, my same cynical sense of humor is still there, only now I'm able to make them work for me, instead of against me.

It also took my family a while to accept that what is wrong with me is, in fact, a disorder like many others, and not some lifestyle "choice". I didn't "choose" to cut myself when I'm distressed. I didn't "choose" to blow through $20,000 that I didn't have because I felt like it. I didn't "choose" to get six speeding tickets in twelve months because I wanted to lose my license. My bipolar disorder cost me many relationships (including one marriage), but I have gained a lot more since I've come to terms with it.

I'm very glad I found this blog (through alice-- thanks, I owe you one!). It's always good to find kindred spirits in this effed-up world. I look forward to reading more in the future!

NerdOneirik said...

Mr Paddym22, where have you gone to???

And yeah, lets hope we learn to manage them... I'm tired of being on Mount Everest only to plummet to the bottom of Lake Asal.


Balance (Originally published on 12.11.08)

I think I am beginning to understand part of the reason bipolar people are so different from the greater part of society. When we feel an emotion, we feel it to the extreme. We can’t just feel a small part of it. It actually becomes quite primal. We revert to a state where emotion is the only thing that envelops us and logic withers away. If you look into our eyes when we’re having a panic attack or just breaking down, you’ll find a look akin to a frightened animal - we revert back to our “lizard brain” or the “id”. Everything we feel is all encompassing. Nothing else really matters at that given moment. Then the super ego kicks in with anxiety riding on it's shirt tails. We need to find the ego. We need to find a balance. People just don’t understand that. They just figure that we’re being overly dramatic.

I so wish that was the case.

It has been so incredibly hard for me to accept that this is real. That bipolar is actually a very real disorder or (the most dreaded d word) a disease. There really is no way to go into the brain, study the chemical make up of it and have the Doctor tell you “Um yeah, you are genuinely fucked up.” My whole life I was told that this was normal so I wrapped a cord around my emotions until they built up and snapped it. When I lost that control I had been so carefully honing, I, in all honestly, freaked the fucked out. I had learned to control every aspect of my life for fear of that happening and to hide as much as I could. So much so that when people would will me to “take a chance” or “let go” I just couldn’t. I was terrified of the consequences, because I don’t do things halfway. I live in extremes. That’s what this disorder is all about. We are trying to learn what the elusive “middle ground” is. It’s almost impossible for us to comprehend. I wish that I could just shove someone inside my head and have them understand.

The hardest part about all of this was deciding whether or not I should go on meds. So many people were telling me not to but my mental state was rapidly deteriorating to a point where I almost walked out in front of a speeding car. I know I repeat a lot of things in my blog. It’s because I honestly can’t remember if I typed it or not. My thoughts constantly loop. It’s a circle I need to learn how to break out of.

I haven’t posted on here in awhile because when I came back to San Fran I was greeted with an e-mail from my estranged mother. I have not responded yet, nor will I until I talk to my therapist. My first reaction was pure rage. No amount of medication could stop the feeling from flowing through me. When I got home I used my bare hands to dismantle a metal cross she had given me years before while my roommate looked on, worry etched upon her face. It felt so good to twist and contort the metal until it broke apart in my hands. The entire time I felt like it was her words that I was breaking apart; destroying the emotions the letter had evoked. After all the pieces had been pried apart, I noticed the blood on my hands. My roommate hurried to her room for band aids and I just sat and stared at them. My blood, her blood that runs through my veins had destroyed a symbol of a belief that she hides behind. That so many people hide behind.

That cross carried a certain symbolism with it.

Right before I began peaking on a molli with a friend of mine, the cross fell to the floor. This immediately sent my mind spiraling in to a terrifying direction and I began having an internal panic attack. I thought that I was going to die because the falling cross meant that “god” was no longer with me. My friend who was with me had no notion of what was going on in my head. When I finally hit the point of no return, my head went silent and I just FELT. I believe this was the first string I plucked that led me to slowly pull the wool mask off my face. After that experience I began seeing who I was, who I had become. I couldn’t go back to my comforting ignorance that I lived in for so long. I still can’t. I am disgusted with what I find facing me in the mirror. I am disgusted with my lack of courage to step outside what is comfortable. I detest the fact that I value myself so little that I will sleep with the gilded boys who want nothing more than a fuck. But after they get what they want, they curl up next to me and I feel wanted. But really, I’m just there. There is no attachment or acknowledgment that I am anything special.

Destroying that cross marks another fork in my road that I have turned upon. I will no longer let the beliefs of others come before my own. I will stop listening to people that tell me I must do something a certain way or in a certain order. I will stop my mind from whispering poison in my ear about how it’s too late to truly get into anything that interests me. That I need to be taught everything a certain way. That’s not how life is. You learn from experience. Nothing else. I will not hide behind a symbol or a religion that restricts me or other people. The god that the bible speaks of or any other text does not exist to me. The only thing I will follow is my belief of being nice and that love is the most important thing to believe in. I am still struggling with the idea that I will one day find it. Part of me longs for it now; another part is too terrified to comprehend the actions that must come with it. That I have to cast aside my masks, I have to believe someone when they say they love me. That I have to let go and believe that someone else will catch me. That love isn’t all me, it isn’t all them, that love is a place in the middle. That love is a balance.

I will find a middle ground. I have to. I refuse to live like this any longer.

1 comment:

alice said...

Heather. Very lucid and powerful post. Typing on iPhone will write more later but you nailed it; the very thoughts I've been running through my head all the way down to the mom reaction. We need to talk.

xo yes, your friend, alice ( hahaha )

I Want My Family Back (Originally published on 11.30.08)

So I started this blog with the intent of being completely honest. Well here's the most raw entry yet.

I want my family back. I don't want to be alone anymore. I want to see the forest green walls of my kitchen and worry about the numerous candles my mother would always have burning. I want to talk to my dad in front of our fire place while my mom puts the finishing touches on dinner at 9pm. I want to decorate Christmas cookies while laughing hysterically at my mothers nonsensical replies to my dads questions due to her inability to really hear anything he says. I want to play with our pug buster and marvel at how many things he could run into while chasing me. I want to giggle with my dad while my mother tries to sing Christmas carols but since she's tone deaf the dog would howl. I want to drive to my sisters house while blasting music and sing along. I want to have laughing fits with her at her ability to ALWAYS lose her pipe.

I want my family back.

I hate alcohol. I hate oxycotin. I HATE IT. I hate it so much it burns. How can something be legal that destroys so much. Why? Why? Why?

I want my dad to tell awkward jokes when he notices I'm down. I even want to see my mother's dramatic gestures while she tells a story. I want my family back. I'm tired of hiding it. I'm tired of shutting down when people ask each other what presents they're going to get their family. I'm tired of people's pitying stares when they abruptly sidestep the conversation away from family issues. I'm tired of being jealous of peoples ability to really talk with their mothers.

I know it could be much worse. I know it could be. I understand this. But it hurts. I know I have friends. Wonderful friends. But I feel so very alone. At the end of the day most of them have someone to curl up to or a parent to offer comforting words. I read books with happy endings because that's the only thing that remains in my head as I drift of to sleep. I want to make amends with my parents before I lose them to death or illness. I want to talk to them but I don't know how. They haven't even tried to contact me. Why? What did I do that was so horrible? I defended myself. I offered support to a fake illness my mother produced while I've suffered in silence while ALWAYS comforting them. What did I do? Why can't they try? Why do I always have to be the one to extend the olive branch? They're twice my age and I am their child. Why can't they comfort me? Why? Why do I still feel like the little girl that was always separate from everyone. My sister said that I did it on purpose, that no one pushed me out. But wouldn't a parent be concerned if their child would hide during family functions?

Even though there was a great deal of pain inflicted to EVERYONE in my family, I still want them back. I want that unconditional love that is supposed to come from your parents. I know my parents love me in their own way. So why can't they reach out to me? Why couldn't they call me and ask how my Easter was? Or my birthday? Or my thanksgiving?

I know it could be worse. But honestly, I don't care. I want my family back.


T. said...

Maybe they feel you dont want to talk to them? I think you should give them a call and tell them how you feel and say "I want my family back". It never hurts to try!

+/- said...

I'd like to remind you, your mother is on a mental vacation and probably doesn't remember much, but your dad did email you. He didn't forget you.

Sweetie, things change in life. Sometimes even heartfelt traditions. It's a shame, but sometimes you have to decide to make new traditions. Even if it's just being around the friends you love.

I'm actually trying to figure that out for myself now. Especially since we're still thinking about Portland as an option. This weekend will help with that decision. But we don't do the same things we used to. And I miss it. But I try to make up for it in similar ways.

I know it's hard, but maybe just call to say hi. If you want, you can try in the car with me. We could even practice. It's about a 10 hour drive, and i have a power inverter for the car, so you can recharge your phone.

chelsea said...

sigh. i can both relate, and totally not relate to this. glad you're writing again. I'm crap right now. total crap.

Tired, So Very, Very Tired (Originally published on 11.25.08)

I’ll be honest; I really don’t feel like posting. I’ve kinda hit rock bottom over the last couple of days and have sunk into a depression which included 4 panic attacks in 4 days. To say I’m exhausted is an understatement. I had an emergency Dr’s appointment and we’re upping the meds and I have to take a sedative so I can stop panicking for no reason. I keep trying to convince myself that I’m not really bipolar, that I lied to the Dr in order to have a label instead of just being weak. I don’t know anymore. I really don’t. I’m tired yet I can’t sleep. The sedative wipes out all the racing thoughts but it also only allows me to do one thing at a time very, very slowly which is not at all what I’m used to. I hate it but I secretly love it because I really don’t think I can handle another attack. Yesterday I had to stay home from work because I just couldn’t bring myself to leave my room. I also had one of the worst bloody noses I’ve had in years. When I went to see the Dr, I asked him if he really thought I was bipolar. He said that I exhibit the symptoms and that I should give myself a break. He thinks these attacks were due to my panic disorder and not the bipolar. My memory is shit lately and it is beyond frustrating. I think I’m also going to give up drinking because I’m finding that I like it more and more. It quiets the evil voice that criticizes everything I do.

Where is Heather? Where did she go? I really don’t know anymore. My friends tell me that I’m amazing but it’s so baffling because I really don’t understand how. All of my energy is spend trying to keep it together so the only thing on the forefront of my mind is me. I won’t commit suicide or anything like that. But I have been thinking about the oblivion and if it would be better. I just want these feelings to stop. I want to be me again. I want to be happy. I don’t want to have to strain a smile on my face and lie when people ask me how I am. I want to be able to have an interest in SOMETHING. I want to write or draw. But I just sit in my room and stare. For hours. I should also be working right now but I can’t bring myself to make the calls I need to, to test a store when I have no fucking idea how to. Meh. I just want to sleep these feelings away. I just want to hibernate and hope that when I wake up, I’ll be ok again. I’m afraid I’m losing my strength. That the little voice that encourages me is fading away because it’s tired of always have to remind me that life is worth it. That this will end, that I will be happy and find someone to share it with when I’m ready. That one day, I will truly be loved and be able to accept it. But right now. I’m just tired. So very, very tired.

*I'm too tired to edit this so beware of typos galore.


Paddym22 said...

Ah God, looks like you are in the midst of a rotten depression. Thankfuly you posted as I was worried where you were these past few days. Things will change, nothing stays the same remember that. In time you will feel better. I know that is no consolation at the moment as you battle with your demons, but you are not alone, trust me. I know Chelsea is also thinking of you, she is a very good person too. I know the oblivion feeling all too well but it is not a solution, it is a dangerous trap. I am glad you got a sedative to get you through the really rough panic patches as they are horrifically painful. You are on a rollercoaster ride at the moment, hang on tight, dont be scared, it WILL pass. Your perception of things is not what it should be at the moment and everything seems enormously difficult but remember that is just how your mind sees it, it is not REAL. Nobody wants to hurt you, everybody wants you to be well. Time, sweetheart, time is what will get you through and remember once you balance out you wont feel half as bad. I cant offer any quick fix solutions just silly words which probably dont make much sense but I am thinking of you. When I am depressed which is very often I take time out and focus on doing small things and leave out anything major, I make no decisions, I try and eat a little every now and then. If I cannot sleep which is quite usual for me I get out of bed and amuse myself with small things that I like, like now I am reading your blog and it is 4.30am here in Amsterdam because I cannot sleep. It is very dark, quiet and I have the Radio on low in the background with the BBC worldservice for company. There is a single soul around to talk to so I am talking to you and I dont feel so alone. Hold on tight, focus on the good things about you and there are many and in a while you will balance out. Fondest love and strength...........

+/- said...

where's this "should" coming from? you have these preset rules in your head: what you should be like if you're bipolar, what you should be doing instead of doing nothing in your room.

"should" implies a deadline, like a due date, or time line. you're an adult now, and you can set your own timeline.

as for work, well, you're crazy, so you have a reason.

you've always had ups and downs. this is a low, and probably more than you've experienced in the past. but you are strong. even if you don't feel like it.

and Heather: It's OK to be weak sometimes.

Update (Originally published on 11.21.08)

It’s ok now. It’s passed. In fact it’s hard to remember feeling like that at all. It’s so fucked up to go through something like that and then suddenly get chipper again and be like “Oh yeah, I’m fine, totally normal.” HA!


Why do my brain and I have to fight? Why can’t we just get along?

*cue the Youngbloods song - Get Together*


chelsea said...

Serious. Glad you're through the tunnel. Hope you found that pill.

Paddym22 said...

God dont we all go through it, the important thing to try to hold onto, hard as it is, is that this state of mind will pass. Then when you return to a safer ground you think "What was that all about" Then you wonder when will the next attack be. anyway glad you are safe and can enjoy the moment of normalcy.

Paddym22 said...

Hope you are ok, I trust as you ahvent blogged you are in a good place for the moment

I Can't Hide It. Should I Hide It? (Originally published on 11.21.08)

Something is wrong. Something is very wrong. I can’t control my thoughts. I can’t control them at all. They’re racing, racing, racing. I forgot my pill, I forgot my pill that calms me down. I took my medication this morning but it’s not working. Why is it not working? I can’t type fast enough. I won’t let myself make typos.


Is there a God? I broke down last night and was rocking back and forth like I used to. I was begging anyone to listen to me but I hid from my roommate. I always hide, always hide. I hide everything. I have to. No one can know. I forgot my pill. I forgot my pill. I can’t cry. Not here. Not at work. I can’t let my boss see me break down. No one can know, no one can know. But that doesn’t make sense does it? You know, you’re reading this. Why am I posting this? Am I doing it for attention? Is this all for attention? But why wouldn’t I know? Why would I be so confused? Why can’t I control my brain? Am I pretending? Have I gotten caught up in one of my characters? Have I lost myself? I don’t remember taking my pill out of my bag. I can type but why can’t I calm down? I can’t do this here. I can’t I can’t. Should I post this without typos? Should I post this at all? Why do I post anything? My ramblings are inane. What’s going on with my memory? Why can’t I remember anything? How can I correct my spelling? Why is this happening? What was my trigger? Is it because I read a book where the mother is loving and caring and there? Is that why? Is it my mother? Why is this happening now. I wish I had my pill, then this would stop. Oh god am I going crazy? I don’t want you to worry, I won’t do something stupid. I can’t. I’m strong enough I have to be strong enough. But if I was strong why would this happen? Is it all in my head? What’s normal? Does everyone go through this? Am I really bipolar? Are these just racing thoughts that I don’t want to control? Am I doing this on purpose? Is this normal? How could I be so stupid to take my pill out of my bag. Why does what anyone think matter? Why do I ping people? Why do I assume I know what they’re thinking? I feel like they’re judging me. Everyone is judging me. I’m ugly, they’re laughing at me. My hair, they’re laughing at me. Am I pretending I’m something I’m not? Is this fake? Last night I called my sister but she didn’t pick up, she never picks up. If I really am freaking out like this how can I type? Is it helping? Maybe. I don’t know, I don’t know. Why is this happening now? I was doing ok, I was doing ok. Am I faking it? Why wouldn’t I know, why wouldn’t I stop. Am I having an anxiety attack? Am I panicking? I don’t know, I don’t know. I promise I won’t do anything stupid. I won’t I won’t. Don’t call me I’ll cry. I can’t cry. I have to hide it. I have to hide it. Should I go home and get my pill? Will my boss be able to tell? I was late, so late. I couldn’t get out of bed. I am so disgusting. My throat is closing up. I need to breath I need to breath. Why won’t these thoughts stop? Is it because I’m a terrible person? How can I type? Is it fake, am I faking it? I don’t know. How could I be so stupid. Do I need a pill? Does it really work. I’m rocking back and forth. He isn’t here. Should I post this? Will people think I’m crazy? Is it to prove something? Is this real? Is this real? I think it’s stopping. I think it’s stopping. I think the voice stopped. Why am I not strong enough to stop it? Why am I so weak? I hide it, I hide everything. Maybe I’m tired of hiding. I’m filled to the brim and overflowing. I can’t stop it, I can’t stop it. Is this why I push people away? I can’t let them see me like this. Should I up my medication? Should I be on medication? Am I really bipolar or am I faking it? Does everyone have these moments? Why do I care what everyone thinks? I have to hide it I have to hide it. It’s not like I have it bad. My co-workers dad died yesterday. I have it easy I shouldn’t be like this. Am I begging for pity? Why am I freaking out when my life is ok? Why am I so selfish? I want to scratch my arms. I want to focus on something. I won’t I won’t. Then people will ask. I can’t hide it I can’t hide it. Why is this happening to me? I can’t cry, I can’t cry. Maybe if I let go this will stop. Not like let go of life. I can’t do that, I won’t do that. I mean let go and just let the thoughts race instead of fighting it. Or would that lead me to do something stupid? I can’t typo, I can’t typo. It’s coming in waves now. I calm down then it starts but less intense. Is it ending? Should I post this? Should I keep hiding it? Am I really hiding it or can everyone see? Does everyone pity me? Do they like me or are they being nice. I wish I had my pill. Does that make me weak? Am I weak? Why can’t I just stop this on my own? Is it all in my head? Am I just not strong enough? I think it’s done, I think it’s done. Deep breaths. Deep breaths. I can hide this. I have to. I have to. Should I post this? Would you think I’m mad? Am I mad? Should I let someone see what happens to me? Rhymes, I wish I could always speak in rhymes. They’re calming, there calming. If I post this, will it drive people away? Should I be honest? Will this ruin my chances of him ever liking me? Why does it matter? I shouldn’t ever be in a relationship. I can’t do it. I’m crazy. It wouldn’t be fair. Why does it matter, why does it matter? Don’t call me, I’ll cry. I can’t cry. Why do I want someone here? Do I? Can I let them see me like this? This happened once before in front of people but I had a pill. How the fuck could I forget my pill? Do I like feeling like this? Am I just a masochist? Do I do this because it’s familiar? Do I like it? Am I pretending I’m crazy? It’s like there’s a scared animal in my chest. Panicking in a cage. I feel it beating in on my chest. Let me out, let me out. Am I confining it? Should I let it out? Will I be free then? Can I be free? Will this ever stop? Is this forever? I. Can’t. Cry. I’m going to post this before I think about it too much. I can’t think about it too much. Am I mad? Should I re-read it? No no. You tell me, is this normal? Am I just weak? Am I just being dramatic? Am I looking for attention? I don’t mean to. I swear I don’t mean to. Do I? How can I write this then? How can I format it? Am I faking? I don’t know I don’t know. I’m shaking now. Should I post this? Am I looking for attention? Or do I want people to see? I'm sorry. Don't worry about me. I'll be fine. I have to be fine. I'm sorry. So sorry. Something is wrong. He’s here. Have to hide it.


chelsea said...

Hey hey sister, holy hell that was intense to read. I swear, the most interesting thing about me starting my blog, and then meeting you and Pat and our other bipolar buddies is that even though I still feel completely alone when I'm Down The Rabbit Hole like that, I have you guys now, who I know beyond a shadow of a doubt, GET what is going on inside my head when I'm like Down There. Girl, those thoughts have gone through my head almost word for word. Minus the pill and a few other things that were unique to you and your own situation. But I understand completely that feeling of wondering if you're just faking it, if it's really real, how could you be typing like this, etc. Reading that post was really intense for me, which confirms that Yes, it is real. Real on the inside. Maybe to anyone walking by, you just looked like an intensely typing girl. I often wonder when I'm halfway pulling it together on the outside and crumbling on the inside what I must look like to a random observer. I think about that when I'm losing my mind, like, can they tell this is happening in here? They can't. They don't have any clue. I feel for you, and I'm glad you came out of it. I find that sometimes all that fast typing can just at least give an outlet. Especially if you are at work and can't cry. I'm glad you wrote it out, and I think it is brave and wonderful that you shared. People need to know what it's like. You are not crazy, I mean look at you now. You probably have no memory of what you even typed. I have been there SO MANY TIMES. And now, you're just basically "normal" again. Bipolar s confusing, confounding, and totally mysterious. And it sucks. And I get the part where you wonder if you LIKE being like this. I often ask myself that same question when I'm chillin with the Jabberwocky. It is certainly something familiar, isn't it. I wish I knew what our subconscious was trying to do when it takes over like that. Dood. I think it might do you a world of good to find a person who would be willing to hold you while you cry. It sounds like you've got a lot stored up inside that could use some getting out.

Take care, Heather. You are beautiful. God doesn't make junk.

T. said...

Heather, what do you think would happen if people found out about you? Most people that know you already do and we all still love you!!!!!!!! For the people who dont know about your "issiue" WHO GIVES A FUCK if they found out!!!!!!!I promis the world will not come to an end, your not crazy, i have had mind racing thoughts like that before.Your a good person who just falls off her wagen every now and then......and guess what? SO DOES EVERYONE ELSE!!!I also hope you know you can call me anytime you want at any time of the day, I promis you i'm the last person that would freak out on you. Unless your head can spilt into 2 and an alian pops out, then i will freak out!

Paddym22 said...

Heather, my apologies I missed this blog and feel awfully guilty not being there for you. What an awful nightmare experience. You are not alone and never far from my thoughts.

With respect and love


+/- said...

I'm not sure if I've ever typed this to you before, but it might make it easier to revisit later, for you:
There's a certain "comfort" we all find with the... common, the familiar. It's like people that get in abusive relationships: They're familair. They don't necessarily LIKE to get the shit beaten out of them, but to them, that's what "love" is. I remember feeling GUILTY when I was happy before. I've had bouts with.. depression? I don't know. I was never diagnosed with anything really. But one thing I can tell you, you are strong. To open yourself like that to anyone or everyone is very brave, and I know it took a lot out of you to not delete it.

And like "T" said, we all know, and we all still love you. And really, if it "bothers" someone, who cares? Do they matter in the long run? Will he be forgotten months down the road? Or the hurtful words will stay. I know they will. The hurt stays better than the good. And that's a shame.