The Discovery of the Mental Me

The End Is the Beginning Is the End

2010-11-23T10:51:00.000-08:00

Hello all. Life has changed dramatically and I found myself involved more in the external than the internal. This is both good and bad. I was going to take this blog down as I don't really see a need for it currently. My Bipolar Disorder has become fully integrated into my life so I don't really feel the need to separate it from my other blog. I originally created this because I was in the throes of accepting that my life needed to change and that I would never be the same. I needed a place to lash out and share my struggles in the hope that if anyone else felt the same way that they would know they are not alone.

But I won't take the blog down as it's existence reminds me of how lucky I am. I just found out a person who used to read my blog died. He always had nothing but kind words and I do hope he's found peace.

I may still write in here from time to time if the dark clouds that I usually keep at bay roll in unexpectedly. I do hope that this means that the posts will be few and far between as I'd like to write more in my other blog.

To those that have followed me and encouraged me, thank you so much. Your words have helped me get through some of the darkest times in my life.

I hope that things have gotten better for you too. Life is full of ups and downs. You just need to remember that there is always an UP from a down.

*hugs*

Medication Change

2009-11-11T10:40:00.000-08:00

I’ve cut back on my Lamictal by 50mg so now I’m at 200mg. I waited awhile to write this to see if there would be any changes. I think there has been… I really can’t tell because I can’t seem to remember if I felt better before. I have been in a shifty mood as of late. Some dark thought cross my mind but then light ones chase them away.

Sometimes.

I feel that I am losing interest in… everything really. I’m discovering that there are VERY few movies I enjoy and I haven’t been in to new music for months. There is a voice in my head that’s screaming at me to practice my fiddle but there seems to be a masochistic side of me that just won’t let me. I’ll distract myself or try and go online to watch/read something mind numbing. I haven’t written any sort of creative writing in months and… I’m just… meh. Honestly I have never really enjoyed my job but I get paid well enough to try to. I don’t do nearly as much as I should… Also, this photography class has turned out to be a HUGE disappointment. I have a teacher that just DOESN’T CARE. He just name drops and digresses to the point of absurdity. The other teacher (for the lab) seems to care enough but… I don’t edit my photos in adobe lightroom because I already edit them in GIMP. The only thing I needed lightroom for was to print contact sheets but now I just found a program online that lets me do it for free. This now makes this 3 hour lab time POINTLESS.

Anyway, I think that these could just be “normal” bad days. I honestly don’t know what a “normal” bad day is like sooo… I still have dangerous thoughts that wander to the forefront of my mind but I’m able to think about them with a safe amount of detachment. I also think that I know the cause of the general lack of interest. My whole life I’ve only ever wanted to be loved. I never, ever thought a man would ever love me. Late last year I had a huge spiral downward where I just gave myself away to any boy. This was actually a symptom of bipolar disorder but I was unaware of that and just thought I was searching for a positive emotion. That all ended when I got medicated and got my life straightened out. As soon as everything seemed to line up and start going well I met a man who changed my life. I had found love. Unconditional love. He knows all about my crazy and what could happen and has seen little fits of it and he still loves me. We moved in together in August and everything is still going wonderfully. I don’t doubt that he loves me and that’s… very strange. I’ve never let myself grow this attached to someone because I seem to have the uncanny ability to lose people. But I know that loves me and that the only thing that could take him away is … le death. That terrifies me because I can’t control that.

Meh.

Speaking of control, my craving to have it has gotten WAY out of control. I’ll leave that for another post so that will FORCE me to update my blog more often…

*shuffles feet*

Ah ha… lol

For those reading this, I hope all is well. :)

Balance

2009-09-04T15:27:00.000-07:00

I’ve noticed that when mentally ill people “get better” they stop writing in their blogs. I’m not sure why because I think that’s the most important time to write. You’re showing people that there is a light at the end of the tunnel. I can assure you that will not happen to this blog. I have a mental disorder. I will never think the same way most people do. I will have to keep my brain in check for the rest of my life and I want to share that.

Why?

Many reasons. I thought I started writing this blog for me; to get things out of my head. But I realize now I really wanted people to read it. I wanted someone to see what I was going through and say “Me too!” I wanted to make sure that it wasn’t just me. That’s the biggest thing with mental illness is that you feel alone, sometimes ashamed, and really just want someone to understand what is going on in your head. I found a community by writing this blog. I found other people that are going through the same thing and trying to help one another. For so long I thought I was weak for not being able to control my actions and my thoughts. I thought that I was just lazy and incompetent. But it’s because my brain is wired differently. But I don’t use my disorder as a scapegoat. I will take responsibility for my actions and I will always strive to be aware of the consequences, hence the “getting better”. I still have my days, my moments where my impulses control me but I recognize them now. Most of the time I am able to take a step back and ask myself if I’m making a good decision. But it’s exhausting. Keeping yourself in check is fatiguing. I can’t describe what it’s like in my head just like I can’t imagine what it would be like in the head of someone that can just be. To control your brain and not have it control you.

I write because I want to help people that are going through what I did. I don’t want them to feel alone, I don’t want them to think they’re weak and hate themselves. I’m honestly very lucky to be alive and I attribute it to being stubborn. I had suicidal thoughts take up residence in my head for a very long time but I refused to put anyone through that. Though I admit in my darkest times I just wanted the pain to stop and I wasn’t really thinking about anything else but getting through it. I have this disorder for life. It will not go away, it can not be cured. It can be controlled through medication and determination but it will always be there. Think of it like a scab that will never heal. It can still get agitated and infected and lead to serious problems if you don’t take care of it. But you will always need to take care of it.

It sounds daunting and sometimes it is but I can’t describe how happy I am right now. I have never felt this good, never. I am stable and oh how I relish it. I honestly never thought this would happen. Ever. But for anyone that’s reading this and going through a dark time IT.WILL.GET.BETTER you can get here too. I honestly know how that is inconceivable right now. But please, please, don’t give up. I’ve been there, I truly have.

I’m not saying that you need medication to get better. There are other methods. But please try. Being bipolar sucks because most of the time you firmly believe that nothing is wrong with you; that your personality is extreme. I won’t deny that I miss the highs. GOD I miss the highs. I miss being able to write until dawn and still function at work. I miss the overwhelming happiness that would randomly surge through my body. I miss being a ball of energy that could party every night. But I know that the highs were not worth what the lows did to me. The lows were all consuming and so very painful. I don’t miss being curled up in a ball begging my brain to stop, stop the racing thoughts, stop the voices that would tear me apart, that would convince me that I am weak and worthless, that I will never be loved.

I have the elusive balance that I never thought I’d find. I have a healthy relationship in which I know that I am loved. I have the reins of my brain again. But I know that it’s only because I fight for it. I can’t ever give up. I will never give up.

They Get It.

2009-08-18T12:07:00.000-07:00

I'm not ashamed to say that this made me tear up a bit. This is the best ad for mental health advocacy I've ever seen. Plus it just helps to know that there are other people dealing with it and frustrated at peoples lack of education on what the mental health condition does. Like one guy's response in the video when a woman said that she wouldn't want to live next to some one with a history of mental health problems because she had children. He replied with "Why? I'm pretty sure we don't eat babies."

I'm spamming the shit out of this video because it's amazing. If it evokes a strong reaction in you like it did me, join me in spreading the word yo. People don't get that mental disorders do kill. Only instead of your body dying, your brain is telling you to kill your body. Schizophrenia actually propels significant loss of gray matter in the brain.

As I've said time and time again, mental illness is real, mental illness can be treated, mental illness should never be overlooked, and it's NOT a choice.

So there. lol

*EDIT*
I found another!!!

Wow. Cancer was easier to deal with than depression. Holy fuck.

Death

2009-07-29T18:22:00.000-07:00

Everyone mistakes the Death Tarot card. It doesn't mean a physical death. It means the closing of old doors and the opening of new.

Also known as change, which, consequently, is just as fearsome as death for some.

It seems this city is a catalyst for it. Just when you think you have things figured out, BAM, the puzzle is once more taken apart. Sometimes it’s for the better, sometimes for the worse. For me, it has been amazing. I have found someone I love wholeheartedly and who loves me equally as much. I’m moving into a new place this Friday. I am kicking ass at work. I have met some amazing people that have shown me true friendship I have seen the true colors of people that I thought were friends.

But I can honestly say that my life right now is awesome and I do hope that stay in this comfort zone for awhile.

Ze zone:

Being mentally healthy.
Waking up next to someone I love.
Being surrounded by the most amazing friends.
Having a job that treats me well and surrounds me with more amazing people
Knowing who I am.
Knowing that while I may have to rely on a pill to keep my brain healthy, I AM healthy.
Knowing how incredibly lucky I am

I’ve been through really, really, really dark times but no matter how bad it was I knew that it could be worse.

So, yay I say to the Death card. And I also tip my hat to it in thanks.

Also... I really shouldn't write this but... to certain someone, if you're reading this, move on.

Owning Up to My Feelings

2009-07-06T15:44:00.000-07:00

Uh… ok, perhaps I was a bit overzealous when I said I would update three times a week. I believe I’ll start with a goal of once a week and go from there. Things have been ok on the brain front but I’ve started taking Adderall only twice a week as my “come down” is hellacious. I’ve broken down a couple of times in front of le boy which leads to humiliation at my lack of control.

Yesssssss, I am aware that I should not be afraid of showing my emotions but it’s hard to undo years of training.

Also, my need to control everything around me is becoming quite bothersome. I’ve taken to making lists not only for me, but for le boy as well. Additionally I’ve been trying quite hard not to freak the fuck out on my roommates. At this point I am pretty convinced that I am the only one that cleans. The stress of having to deal with disgusting remnants of other peoples meals in order to just make room in the kitchen so that I may cook is inspiring some very violent thoughts. Le boy and I are moving in together (hopefully) by September 1st and quite honestly I am extremely excited to have my own kitchen. The move will prove to be interesting as I have decided to take three classes this for the fall semester. I always have the option of dropping but I hope that it won’t come to that. I’ll be taking English, intermediate HTML, and intro photography. I have a bit of a vain thought that perhaps I will do well in photography as I think I have a good eye but then again, this is my point of view. I’ll only be going to campus 3 times a week as the HTML class is online. I am some what confidant that will leave enough time in the rest of the week for homework.

Onward ho to the catalyst for this blog; an event has occurred that caused a couple of heartstrings to snap and fray. I’ve refrained from writing about this because I needed time to collect my thoughts and I think I’ve finally pieced them together into a comprehensive mosaic of sorts. A good friend of mine has seemingly decided to cut ties with me. This is a rather HUGE blow as she was the only one there for me during some dark brain times. Feelings that are associated with this whole situation: devastation, rage, confusion, hurt and…. an almost feeling of relief. Not because I wanted our friendship to end but it provided a clear picture of what our friendship had become. We had been growing apart more and more due to different life paths and distance. I find the reason for the friendship ending saddening and so very trifle. I told her how I felt about some of her actions and how they left me hurt. Her initial response was understanding but then a couple of messages on facebook made it clear that something had provoked a 180 on her mind.

This whole situation has thrown me for a loop due to the root being me saying how I felt. I am finally able to convey how I feel. Since this is new, people do not expect a backbone that ceases the apologies that used to accompany my words. I thought I lost a friendship in the past due to it and now this. If anyone has followed my blog for a bit you’ll recall an event at the end of last year where I kicked a good friend out of my house. I told her how I felt and it was seemingly dismissed and our friendship had waned. YET we still remained in contact. Ties weren’t severed completely even though I had let some serious pus out of my increasingly irritated heart wound.

Here is what sends me spinning. I completely opened up and (we’ll call the girl that I kicked out B and the friend that is dismissing me J) pointed out numerous things that B had done that hurt me and she still wanted to remain my friend. I said 2 things to J and now our friendship is seeming cut. There may have been more factors for her reaction but I am unaware of them.

But I am now going to allow my indignation to speak. There is no fairness in this. J has pointed out COUNTLESS things that I was doing that she was uncomfortable with or thought were immature. I say two things that she was doing that hurt me and suddenly I’m the bad guy. How is that fair? How is it fair to deny me the right to say how I feel? Even if it appeared to come out of nowhere how is it reasonable to dismiss an entire friendship? I always try and see every problem from every point of view but in this case… I just can’t. How is saying what I feel so horrific? I didn’t betray her, I didn’t harm anyone she loved, I didn’t spew noxious lies about her. All I did was say how I felt. It cuts deeply as it took a lot of courage on my part to do this. People that have tried to comfort me stumble over words and if nothing can be grasped they utter the ambiguous phrase “Perhaps you’re better off.”

I refuse to believe this and would rather not hear these words even though it is only meant to try and help. I had been adopted into a family that became my own and now I am shunned for saying how I felt.

Tears alone do not provide relief or even begin to express how I feel.

The part that provokes rage is if a friend told me what I passed on to her, I would be mortified, shocked and eager to prove that I did value them and was shamefaced for even making them feel that way. I would go on to try and explain that I was clueless that my actions warranted these feelings but I would try and understand them. Everyone interprets things differently and if I am unaware of causing discomfort I would like it pointed out to me.

Admitting or even typing this is incredibly hard as J might even stumble across this post but… I think that I am owed an apology as I have apologized countless times for inciting these feelings. But her words have cut deep and I don’t believe I should provide the band aid. I have a sinking feeling that if she does read this it will increase her anger and that saddens me as that is not my motive. This is my blog, my story and this is a chapter in it.
I dearly hope this chapter isn’t ending and that it’s only a space between paragraphs.

But I will stick to what I said as it was how I feel. These feelings are mine therefore I will own up to them and for once I am firm in this belief. If this causes an end to this friendship it will honestly break off a part of my heart. But I will still carry a fondness for the memories and an unwavering appreciation for all that she and her family have done for me. I won’t allow a bitter taste to muddle what was and I dearly hope that she won’t either.

This Blog is Brought to You By Medication.

2009-06-19T15:46:00.000-07:00

I know it’s been awhile. A LONNNNNG while. It seems that I wasn’t the only one to drop off the blogging planet but I be back with plans to update AT LEAST twice a week.

Just cause.

This entry is a bit harder to write as I’ll be talking about medication. I was diagnosed with ADHD shortly after being diagnosed with Bipolar II and Panic Disorder. This is what makes Bipolar Disorder so incredibly hard to diagnose correctly as there are SO many other afflictions associated with it. Here’s just a few: alcoholism, drug addiction (this is due to the need to self medicate) Anorexia Nervosa, Bulimia Nervosa, Attention-Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder, Panic Disorder, and Social Phobia. Because of the variation of disorders I have, finding the right combo of meds was extremely difficult as I need a sedative for the panic disorder and speed for ADHD. Ahh extremes just pop up every where with me, don’t they? lol

I did a 20 minute presentation on Bipolar Disorder for my Psychology class this last semester (a contributing factor to le absence). The information I found on Bipolar Disorder was more than a bit alarming due to the inconsistencies in various sources. I used the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders (DSM) which is used in the US and in varying degrees around the world, by clinicians, researchers, psychiatric drug regulation agencies, health insurance companies, pharmaceutical companies and policy makers. Basically, it’s what is used to diagnosis a mental illness. BUT DO NOT USE THIS TO SELF DIAGNOSE! THERE IS A REASON PSYCHIATRISTS ARE DOCTORS AS THERE IS A CERTAIN CRITRIA THAT MUST BE MET IN ORDER TO BE DIAGNOSED THAT ARE NOT IN THE DSM. Self diagnosis and self medication are INCREDIBLY harmful and a bit insulting when you tell someone who has actually been diagnosed "Oh I think I'm Bipolar too because I'm so moody." Moodiness is not the main affliction of Bipolar disorder. Our moods are far more EXTREME than just being moody. There is a certain time frame that a mania, a hypomania, and depression lasts. This involves MONTHS, not hours. Moving on...

I also used the movie Mr Jones starring Richard Gere (and produced by him as well). It’s about a man with Bipolar disorder that falls in love with his psychiatrist. While the plot is a bit unbelievable, he does a pretty good job in depicting a person with Bipolar Disorder. At times it was incredibly hard for me to watch as I’ve felt that way and witnessed it firsthand. Here are a couple of scenes that stuck with me: While in the throes in a mania Mr Jones (Gere) is tied down to a gurney while the Dr’s explain to him that he is Manic Depressive (Bipolar). They refer to it as a disease that is treatable. He freaks out and starts screaming “I do not have a disease! This is me! This is who I am!” This ties in with the second scene that plucked more than a few of my heartstrings. He eventually commits himself and starts the medication process (keep in mind this was in 93 and meds have actually come a long way since then and that he was on lithium). He can’t deal and breaks down to his Dr saying “I’m a junkie, I need my highs. I can’t do this, I can’t do this.” Once again it was dead on. Giving up the ability to go non-stop on little to no sleep along with the creative surges I used to get is probably one of the most painful things I’ve done. But with the highs, are the lows. I definitely do NOT miss those. While I firmly believe that medication has saved my life, I still struggle with the idea of taking a pill to “correct” my brain.

Here is my current med line up:

250mgs of Lamictal
20mg of Adderall
.5 mg of Klonopin when needed.

What I have tried that was unsuccessful:

Lexapro: (SSRI) this is how we discovered that I was Bipolar. If you give an antidepressant to someone with bipolar disorder it sends them into a hypomania and holy fucktarts did it.
Abilify: (antipsychotic) Worst expierence of my life. It fucked me in the head. For really
Concerta: (ADHD med which is basically ritalin) I had absolutely no reaction to it. None. lol I am immune to certain kinds of speed (there are 2 classes of ADD meds).

The info on the current meds:

Lamictal: is an anticonvulsant drug used in the treatment of epilepsy and bipolar disorder. It is the first medication since lithium to be granted approval by the U.S. Food and Drug Administration (FDA) for the maintenance treatment of bipolar type I (it was approved in 2003). Chemically unrelated to other anticonvulsants (due to Lamotrigine being a Phenyltriazine), lamotrigine has relatively few side-effects and does not require blood monitoring in monotherapy. The dosage must be slowly increased from 25mg to 200mg. IT IS NOT AN ANTI DEPRESSANT AKA SSRI.
Adderall: is a brand-name drug psychostimulant composed of mixed amphetamine salts, which is thought to work by increasing the amount of norepinephrine and dopamine in the brain. Adderall is generally more potent than Ritalin and has a longer period of efficacy, especially at lower doses.
Klonopin: is a benzodiazepine derivative with highly potent anticonvulsant, muscle relaxant, and anxiolytic properties. It inhibits the synaptic transmission across the central nervous system ie is basically an emergency brake.

The good:

Lamitcal: has had little to no side affects. It has also mellowed out the extreme moods and brought clarity to my overworking mind.
Adderall: has saved my job. No lie. I finally understand what it is like for “normal” people. I can not describe how incredibly hard it was for me to function. I would try so hard to concentrate but racing thoughts made it almost impossible.
Klonopin: has stopped many full-blown anxiety attacks.

The bad:

Lamitcal: The side affects, while mild, are still things I would normally experience were I not on medication. The only prominent ones are a rash that happens from time to time and a restricted appetite.
Adderall: my appetite has nearly disappeared and I have to constantly be reminded to eat. It’s getting a bit better as I actually get hungry from time to time. I also can only stomach the things I truly crave. I can’t have substitutes or I have to literally force myself to eat. I also can not have coffee as it triggers anxiety attacks.
Klonopin: I honestly don’t really take this often enough to really feel any side affects. The reason for this is explained below.

The ugly:

Lamitcal: carries a Black Box Warning which means it has the possible side affect of death. How it does this is a bit strange. It can provoke a life threatening skin reaction, including Stevens-Johnson Syndrome and Toxic Epidermal Necrolysis. Both of these basically cause cell death that in turn causes the epidermis to separate from the dermis. It is estimated that 5 to 10 % of patients will develop a rash, but that only one in a thousand patients will develop a serious rash. It is thought that one in 50,000 exposed patients may die from a rash. Nearly all cases occur in the first 2 to 8 weeks so I’m partially out of the danger zone. But still, scary shit.
Adderall: It is Schedule II drug under the Controlled Substance Act which means it is in the same class as: Cocaine, Oxycodone (OxyContin), Methadone, Opium, Methamphetamine (Meth), etc. I am taking a drug that is one of the most addictive out there. It’s EXTREMELY difficult for me to take because I am willingly taking a drug that is in the same category as OxyCotin; the drug that pretty much destroyed my family. I also discovered, the hard way, that I can NOT drink coffee while taking it as is aggravated my Panic Disorder and I started having anxiety attacks. To make sure I DO NOT start abusing it (addiction issues run in my family), I do not take it every day and I am using Cognitive Behavior Therapy to train my brain HOW to concentrate. It’s actually working as I only take it during the work week and I’ve been skipping a day or two to see how well I function without it.
Klonopin: It is the second most abused benzodiazepine in the USA. You can overdose on it, you develop a tolerance, and it has a common side affect of short term memory loss. For those of you that know me, you are already well aware of how horrible my memory is. I take this drug MAYBE twice a month. I will only result to it if I feel a hardcore anxiety or panic attack on the way.

So yeah. I know what these drugs do, I know what could it COULD do to me, BUT I know that these drugs are currently HELPING me. I can say that I have never been this happy or functional in my life. I do not plan on being on drugs forever but for now, I will stick to it as I know that they are saving my life. That may seem dramatic but you can not understand, relate or feel what it was like inside my head before. Just like I can not understand, relate or feel what it is like in YOUR head. All of our brains are wired differently and we all have our own understanding of the world.

So badabem badabom. This is my life and these are the tools that are helping me through it.

For now.

I am NOT saying that you need to take medication to "get better", I am just informing you of what works for me as this is my blog, my life, my story. Take from it what you will!

Brain = 1, Heather = 0

2009-05-11T13:46:00.000-07:00

My brain and I have been debating on whether or not I should stop the meds. I keep asking everyone around me to see if they’ve noticed a difference. Their only remark is that I seem calmer. The reason why I am struggling with this thought again is because my luck in the no side affects department finally ran out. I have a rash and my memory is completely fucked. I was bad before but now…. Also… I don’t know if I can attribute this to the meds or not but my emotions are severely unstable. Er not like the happy/sad emotions. The “do I like this person” emotion. Recently I did a completely cunt move and blew off a really nice guy. I just stopped talking to him (yes I am absolutely aware of how incredibly low that is). But I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know how to tell him

“Hey, I am fucking nuts and my emotional switch just shut off. You got shafted, sorry.”

What guy would believe that? It’s nauseating that the “It’s not you, it’s me” phrase actually applies to my brain. Because he truly did nothing wrong. He was quite sweet but I felt nothing. I said I did (yes, cunt move) because I truly WANTED to feel something. But I just couldn’t. I continued to follow through on going on a date with him due to something my sister said. She pointed out that whenever I get close to a guy, I push them away. This is true. I hate being vulnerable. I hate it. I’d rather get hurt than be vulnerable. You can’t really have a healthy relationship if you never allow the other person to see you vulnerable…. that’s kind of a HUGE part of intimacy.

I freely admit that I am a coward for doing what I did. I just honestly didn’t know what to say. But you see, life has a real funny way of kicking you in the ass. I thought I’d never see him again or have any connection to him again.

Ha.

A friend of mine has just recently started dating his roommate.

Once more, ha.

Avoidance is something I am well versed in. It’s also something that I need to work on and clearly “the powers that be” agree.

So yeah. But! There’s more! I started um.. ugh I don’t know what the fuck the term is. “Seeing someone”? He’s amazingly awesome and I like him. I know that I like him. But my emotions wax and wane.

It
fucking
sucks.

Why, why, WHY can’t I control my own fucking brain? I just want to like him and not worry that I will shut off. I have already but that was before we were even doing anything; that’s when we were in “crush more”. I just shut it off. It returned but… I know it could happen again. I warned him of this as well. I’m starting to get scared and want to pull away so that I won’t hurt him and honestly, probably because he’s seen me in a some what vulnerable state and that scares the shit out of me. It makes me feel like a turtle without a shell. I keep looking for flaws that would push me away but I honestly can’t find any which is awesome, but at the same time, WHY THE FUCK AM I LOOKING FOR FLAWS???

Maybe I’m making the meds a scapegoat to deal with my insecurities. Eh, why lie, I am. I just don’t know how to fix it and that scares me. It really, really, scares me. It’s a bit terrifying to know that your brain could just completely cancel any feelings you have for someone. Jesus fuck why can’t WE JUST GET ALONG?

Fuckity fuckin fuck.

Oh, sorry I haven’t written in here in so long… school and work stress kinda took over everything and my desire to write had diminished. I’m forcing myself to write this now so that I don’t completely fade into the oblivion. Hizzah for self discipline. Now I just have to pick up my fiddle again.

Tangled in Hate

2009-03-30T15:49:00.000-07:00

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.

UGHHHH.

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.

Explanations

2009-03-06T16:47:00.001-08:00

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)

2009-03-06T14:03:00.000-08:00

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)

2009-03-06T14:02:00.000-08:00

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.

Smile.

4 comments:

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)

2009-03-06T14:00:00.000-08:00

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)

2009-03-06T13:58:00.000-08:00

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.

5 comments:

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.

*hugs*

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)

2009-03-06T13:57:00.001-08:00

Yo.

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.

Flighty
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

\(^o^)/

Bare (Originally published on 1.05.09)

2009-03-06T13:53:00.000-08:00

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.

gulp

2 comments:

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)

2009-03-06T13:51:00.001-08:00

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.

Ever.

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.

1 comments:

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)

2009-03-06T13:30:00.001-08:00

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 with 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)

2009-03-06T13:28:00.000-08:00

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.

4 comments:

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.

Thanks.

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)

2009-03-06T13:26:00.000-08:00

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:

UNFORTUNATELY-LIKE ME..WE OUR VERY DRAMATIC,PASSIONATE-HUMAN BEINGS, BUT IF THE MEDS HELP YOU SO BE IT...IF YOU ARE FEELING MORE DEPRESSED, THEY ARE NOT HELPING........I BELIEVE YOU NEED TO DO VERBAL THERAPY.

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.

Uh HUH.

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:

ANYWAY...IF YOU LOOK, NO EXAMINE YOUR CHILDHOOD DEEPLY..JENNIFER ALWAYS--USED YOU...FOR HER SCAPE COAT....YOU LOOKED UP TO HER FOR EVERYTHING...YOU DID EVERYTHING SHE ASKED YOU...UNFORTUNATELY-SHE LIED TO YOU..AND I BELIEVE SHE IS STILL LYING TO YOU..I KNOW SHE KEEPS CONTACT WITH YOU ...AND ONLY THE LORD KNOWS WHAT SHE IS TELLING YOU.

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:

BUT YOU ARE 25YRS OLD NOW, A GROWN WOMEN.......ITS TIME FOR YOU TO THINK FOR YOURSELF ...EVERY HUMAN BEING ON THIS EARTH HAS FAULTS, SIN...BUT DADDY AND I ARE OLDER ...AND OUR TIME HERE IS LIMITED. WE KNOW THE MISTAKES WE HAVE DONE TO BOTH YOU AND JEN...BUT WE CAN'T GO BACK IN TIME ...ITS DONE...WE CAN'T ERASE THE PAST...WE JUST ASK FOR YOUR FORGIVENESS...THERE IS NOTHING MORE WE CAN DO MY LOVE. EXCEPT ASK THE LORD ALSO FOR OUR FORGIVENESS . HE IS THE FATHER OF US ALL...........AND WE ARE NOT GOD.....WE ARE NOT PERFECT.

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)

2009-03-06T13:20:00.000-08:00

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.

4 comments:

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...

Heather

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.

Meh.

Balance (Originally published on 12.11.08)

2009-03-06T13:18:00.000-08:00

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)

2009-03-06T13:16:00.000-08:00

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.

3 comments:

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)

2009-03-06T13:14:00.001-08:00

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.

2 comments:

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)

2009-03-06T13:11:00.000-08:00

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!

Meh.

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

*cue the Youngbloods song - Get Together*

3 comments:

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)

2009-03-06T13:08:00.000-08:00

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.

12341231234123412341234

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.

4 comments:

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

Pat

+/- 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.

Questions About Confidence (Originally published on 11.20.2008)

2009-03-06T13:06:00.000-08:00

Ok, so this has been bugging the hell out of me and I must ask for your feedback because I’d like to see different viewpoints on this subject.

Self confidence.

This has always been an elusive trait for me. I can’t quite seem to grasp it. I used to be painfully shy but some people that know me now would never assume that. When I’m introduced to new people or when I enter a party, depending on my mood, I either immediately begin a conversation with whoever is closest or shrink into the wall thereby becoming a flower.

Is self confidence just a front? Is it something that you have to practice and then maybe you’ll eventually believe it? If I pretend to be confident wouldn’t that make me a phony? Wouldn’t that make me a fake? You see I really, really, REALLY despise myself. I have never once wanted to be me; I have always wanted to be someone else. My envy of people comfortable in their own skin has actually lead to the termination of friendships. I get frustrated that they can love themselves while I’ve broken mirrors due to my self resentment. They get fed up by my constant self deprecating comments and inability to believe them when they compliment me. I don’t know how much of this is from being bipolar or from being raised by people that also hated who they were. I used to cover up the mirrors in my room and my mother would just laugh at me and think I was being ridiculous instead of really being concerned as to why her 18 year old daughter can’t stand to look in the mirror. Up until recently, I only had one mirror in my room and eventually a good friend got me a full length one for my birthday just so I could see what my outfits actually looked like.

I don’t even trust my own brain to make a decision so I usually base my decisions on other people’s words. I can not even begin to describe how many relationships were ruined this way. I am so wishy washy that it disgusts me. I can’t make up my own mind so I greedily suck in the ideas of others. Maybe I’m scared to just be myself because I could get rejected so easily. I’m a people pleaser; I always put everyone else’s needs in front of my own. I’m getting a tad better at actually sticking to my beliefs but I feel so inadequate when people ask me to back up what I believe or ask me where I got the source from some fact. My memory has become so horrendous that I only catch snippets of things. Perhaps I should just stop relaying things at all. But then I would just crawl in to my shell once more and close it.

People say I’m too hard on myself. Yeah, I’m aware of that. I don’t know how to stop it. People get so disgruntled at my inability to change. I DON’T KNOW HOW! So does it just take practice? If I feign self love will that make me love myself?

Sometimes I do think that I’m ok. I look over my list of accomplishments and feel a bit proud that I’ve made it on my own with almost no support from my family or a man. Sometimes I think I’m strong but then that horrid little voice kicks in and assures me that I am not strong, that I am weak because I can’t let a man in and love me. That I hide everything until it festers then explodes. That I am a waste of space that I am a coward because I can’t just be myself, that it’s too late to start anything new, that I’m lazy and everyone secretly snickers at me behind my back, that I’m selfish and a phony. Etc, etc.

Oh what a vorpal tongue it has.

So I ask you, what is self confidence? Is it a front? Is it something to practice? Or do you genuinely have to love yourself? If that’s the case…. I feel I’m fucked.

5 comments:

chelsea said...

Hey Heather! I totally get where you're coming from on this self confidence stuff. I think that it is one part bipolar, one part your upbringing, and one part, yes, lack of practice.

I recommend: http://tut.com sign up for the Notes from the Universe. Surprisingly helpful to receive a daily note about how awesome you are, sent with love from your creator. Sounds corny, but these notes have helped me for a year to learn to feel better about myself.

Do that first. Then, every day, check your email and read that note, and (you have a powerful imagination: use it) pretend that it is REAL.

Second: When you receive a compliment of ANY KIND, do this: Just say Thank You. I know that this is the HARDEST thing to do sometimes, and might make you feel extremely squirrely and awkward, but just do it. Just practice saying Thank You. That's it, that's all, no explanations about why this person who likes your shoes is on crack because you only paid eight bucks fro them at Target when clearly, she is rocking a sweet pair of Jimmy Choos. Just. Say. Thank You. And smile.

One of the hardest things to do when you can barely even like yourself is to let anyone else love you. It's definitely a wall we put up to deter the impending possibility that the someone who is trying to love you will soon find out that there is something WRONG with you. I have a habit of sabotaging good relationships with great guys in favor of total jerks. My sick reasoning, I know, is that the good guys deserve better, and the jerks, well the jerks deserve a physcho like me.

Anyhoo, this has now become a novel. But you can build it up, by practicing basic good manners - just say thank you- and by getting those notes every day. Also, what is it you see in the mirror that you find so offensive? The outside of you, or the inside?

Post a picture of yourself, and let us tell you what we think!

I already know that you are one fab & talented gal, who is simply wrestling with a wicked, wicked, yes VORPAL TONGUED Jabberwocky.
That doesn't make you unlovable. That makes you tough and strong and capable of a lot more than "regular" people.

Bert the wonder hog! said...

the only mirror I have in my room is a little 6"^2 one, but thats because I'm a hobo!

And I dont know, I think confidence can be practiced. Also studies have shown that self confidence isnt always neccesary. There are a lot of self loathing people that have accomplished amazing things (hemmingway, poe, and thompson for example.)
But I think it does have a big effect on happyness.

Not trying to pick on you, but your insecurities sometimes make it rather hard to be your friend. I think you know that. I dont know how it works in general, but I know for me I just had to think about myself differently. Of course its different for everyone and Im not trying to say it would be easy for you, but I think it is like a skill you can learn.

I know you want to be happier than you are, and self confidence is part of that. It is possible and you can do it. I know you can.

Paddym22 said...

I used to be annonyingly self confident and now I am just of puddle of self doubt and hatred. I look ok, its not my looks that have escaped me. It is the power of the untamed mined usually in a depressed state that and I think it is a lot to do with leant behaviour( we spell certain words differently in Europe Colour - color, centre - center, theatre - theater)My experience with learnt behviour stems from years of peer abuse and bullying so I know my confidence in a public setting is very poor. However in previous jobs I was a very confident individual and did well because people knew nothing about me and I was dealing with situations that had nothing to do with my early life. However now I am a mish mash of all the self's (doubt, hate etc.) How to come out of it, I dont know....I thik the first step is to differentiate which elements of the lack of confidence comes from ie. early psychological traumas etc. and more presently cleaning up the mess after your mood swings out of control. My therapist keeps saying to me "its not your fault, forgive yourself" But I didnt do anything to me I reply.......tough call. To me to go to the vegetable market and ask for a kilo of courgettes at the moment takes up as much of my self confidence that Obama will need on January 20th to deliver the inaugural addresss.

+/- said...

I think you need to level the playing field a little here Heath-bar. Chelsea is a god damn genius by the way. I love those tips.

You need to remember that everyone has something they are insecure about. I'm sure there is something that oh.. Keira Knightly (sp?) doesn't like about herself. I think there is a difference between "self confidence" and well... the opposite of "self loathing". I believe, even if one loathes oneself, they may still be confident.
I asked Elfie about this the other day, do I seem confident? Is there really a difference between "self-confidence" and just exuding confidence? I'd generalize and say I don't feel confident about 60% of the time, yet to others, I seem very confident.

I think part of confidence is being sure about things. Being able to tell someone without a doubt, some inane statistic, quote the source, or whatever. I think it's easier to feel smart that way, as well.

There is definitely a correlation of feeling smart, and self-confidence. And looks don't have anything to do with it. You know it looks more "confident" to sit- or stand-up straight, rather than slouch. There's a way to carry yourself with confidence, and you've always pulled that off well, even if you don't FEEL it.

And, who the hell cares if you fake confidence? Who's going to know? Fake it and see, what's the worst that's gonna happen? (In case the answer here isn't obvious, it's: NOTHING! because no one will know just how uncomfortable you are unless you tell them!)

And, follow Chelsea's advise. Please.

Trying (Originally published on 11.19.2008)

2009-03-06T13:04:00.000-08:00

So yeah, I know that my posts vary from quirky adventures to weird reflections on my childhood, inner emotions, etc. I wish all the posts could be based on my misadventures or observations but there are a lot of things I need to process that happened years ago. Writing them helps me organize and face a lot of things I’ve shoved to the side for a very long time. Sometimes I secretly wish a family member would read it and go “Ohhhhhh, yeah, sorry about that”. I dunno. My brain is strange. When I went on medication, I mistakenly thought that it would some how give me self confidence and make my depressions go away. Well it did make my depressions fade to melancholy but it didn’t take away this crippling self hate that doesn’t seem to want to dissipate.

Meh.

I am going to try and tone it down a bit though as I’m really not sure I want to go into the details of all my issues. I have a journal for that. Sooo yeah. lol I guess this is a weird apology in a way. I’ll write about my bipolar but leave my past out of it. Or at least parts that aren’t relevant… I think. Ahh ha.

Speaking of bipolar, as I mentioned before I’ve been in this weird state of melancholy that’s kinda disturbing my ability to work efficiently. I keep getting frustrated by how hard it is for me to focus. I’m pretty sure it’s not because of the medication because I’ve always had this problem. I put stuff off instead of just doing it and it’s definitely showing. Hell I can’t even focus on writing this post. I keep getting distracted or staring off into space. Maybe it’s from lack of sleep? I tried to get in bed by 11 but by the time I looked at the clock it was 12. Then I was too cold because I always leave a window open and had to cover my head with a blanket etc. I also woke up earlier then I have in awhile, 7:30. Ugh. I just hate going to bed. I feel like I hardly get any time in the day to do anything I’d like to do. I’m really not a big fan of my job but I know I have to do it because… in this economy, I really can’t get fired.

I need to learn self discipline. Ok, lets make a list Heather (yes, I am referring to myself in the third person… shhhhhhhhh).

1. Call the guidance counselor and GO TO THE FUCKING APPOINTMENT.
First part is kinda done. The dude was new and had no idea how to schedule anything so someone is going to call me back.
2. START WRITING MY FREAKING NOVEL ooooooooor my…coughcoughfanfictioncoughcough story. Yes, I do write that and am somewhat ashamed… BUT IT’S INSTANT FEEDBACK SO SHHHHHHHHHH. And fun. Shhhhhh
3. Try and complete a creative writing exercise from this book I have at least once a week and post it. WOO WOO.
4. Clean my sty of a room. I’ve let it go for far too long.
5. Actually set deadlines for myself at work and adhere to them.

I will be productive damn it!

3 comments:

chelsea said...

You've summed up my day in a long rambling post. I've been SO frustrated today by my lackofabilitytofocusandgetanythingdone. I hate it. So hey, did you see your breakdancing Lobsta over at the hubby's bloggy? You must go add on over there. What happens next??? For some reason, I have a hard time participating on my own hubby's blog, so you have to do it for me.

Well, if you find some magical productiveness, send it my way. WHat writing book is this you are wanting to do an exercise from each week? I should get it and do that with you. I have eight novels to write. Have you got Dorothea Brande's Becoming a Writer? Fabulous book. Too bad I have no amount of attention span that can get me into a schedule of any kind. I need a coach. Someone with a whistle that busts into my room every day and tells me what to do next in a hyper, overly peppy, and partly stern voice. Sigh. My brain is all confuddled today. I kind of want to just go to sleep and wake up awesome. Is that too much to ask for?

Paddym22 said...

Thanks for the comment. I am all with you on medicating. I think it vital in the management of the illness. I used to take loads, but now I am down to one and its cool..Certainly keeps me from crippilng psyhcosis and dank depression, so I am happy. Thanks for reading my blog and being a follower.

+/- said...

HEATHER!!! Don't forget: You also have A.D.D.

Duh... so it's going to be hard to focus. :)

And it's not your fault.

My Brain Is Dribbling Out My Ears (Originally published on 11.17.2008)

2009-03-06T13:02:00.001-08:00

For serious. It’s 5:10 here and I’m staring at my screen with a look that could rival a blank page. It’s frustrating to be trapped where you don’t want to be but it’s the best option for now. I’m sure once school starts again I’ll be a bit better. Or I could have another breakdown… let’s cross our fingers for the first option shall we? I also need to wash away this shame and just go. to. the. damn. guidance. counselor. I’ve missed two appointments with them due to my irrational fear of… well I don’t even know what the hell I’m scared of.

*frustrated sigh*

It may have something to do with my inability to ask for help, or my fear of being looked down upon (my rational side is beating the shit out of the irrational voice chanting “THEY’RE A FUCKING GUIDANCE COUNSELOR. THEY’RE SUPPOSED TO HELP MORON”) or it could be my anxiety being like “Yo Heather, remember me?”.

Mehhhh.

It’s strange to be frustrated but it’s like a “normal” frustration. As in, it’s not all encompassing. I can look around me at my mess and not want to jump into a vat of boiling water. I can distract myself from being frustrated but not from being tired. This whole… baggage shizzy needs to be checked and intentionally left behind on the plane that will crash and burn. I wish there was a way to stop these thoughts immediately. These thoughts that circle and twist while squeezing my guts. I need to sledgehammer this devious filter that jumbles what’s coming in and what’s going out. I would love to stop hating myself and punishing myself for inane things.

Ehh! Why can’t this just be instant? lol

I am terrible at waiting for things. I am terrible at practicing things. Re-routing the circuit board that is my brain will take time but I feel like it’s wasted. I want to go out and enjoy the things that most people get to do. Like going out and having fun without having a little breakdown before I go out because I loath what’s in the mirror staring back at me. I am exceptional well at recognizing other peoples problems and helping them in finding a solution.

Why can’t I apply that to myself?

*goes back to staring blankly at computer screen*

1 comment:

chelsea said...

Hey Hey. Wow, it's been goin' around lately. Is it a full moon? What? what is it? Well I hope you are reeling in those nasty thoughts, replacing them with good thoughts. What is looking back at you in the mirror is a FUCKING AWESOME person. Who is being TRICKED by that Jabberwock, who is a big fat liar, who only speaks NONSENSE. I know this probably doesn't help you right now, but I'm thinking of you, I'm rooting for you.

big hug!

Trying To Be Me (Originally published on 11.17.2008)

2009-03-06T13:00:00.001-08:00

Time to be brutally honest.

I am incredibly self conscious. It has reached a crippling level and now that my bipolar is manageable I have to move on and tackle this. I am finally figuring out why. For a majority of my life I have tried to be someone else. I am constantly pinging the people around me to mimic their actions, clothes, tastes and so on. This is left over from growing up with parents who really didn’t know how to be parents. I was never enough. Either I needed more makeup or different clothes or I “had so much potential” and I was “being lazy” because I did nothing with it. Honestly, I didn’t know what to do. I was never really encouraged to do anything. When I decided to take up the violin in grade school I had to use the “extra” violin because my parents refused to buy me one. My mother was convinced I would give up on it. So I did. My parents never really had me play in front of them. I do remember playing at Christmas but I think that was about it.

Even writing became daunting when I entered English class because I wasn’t using correct grammar. I put commas in the wrong place, I wasn’t using correct prepositional phrases, I put apostrophes in the wrong place and so on. So I stopped that for awhile too. I could never seem to get anything right. In 1st grade we did this exercise where the teacher would show us words and we had to draw what it was. I used colors because I think in colors. When I saw the word cat I colored a blob of yellow and orange. I had to stay in for recess because my teacher thought I was being a “smart alec”. So I learned to mimic the people around me so I wouldn’t stand out. I wouldn’t be picked on. I forced myself to think in images and to not let the colors come through. I am just now letting my brain meander where it wants be it color or no. In fourth grade, this girl said she liked my bracelet so I took it off and offered it to her. She was incredibly uncomfortable and started pointing me out as a “freak”. Very few material positions really mean anything to me, they never have. When I played with my Barbies I would create these fantastical adventures that were so complicated I got my guy friends to play become involved; they wanted to see where the story would end up.

Also, if this isn’t telling of what my childhood was like, I don’t know what is. Instead of playing house, my best friend and I would play bartender. We would take turns mixing soda and “talking grown up talk” and such.

High school was incredibly hard for me. I hung out with “the wrong crowd” (dude, today I am the quotation mark queen today) but never really participated with their activities. I never had sex, a half bottle of tequila made me wary of alcohol for a long time, and I’d never snuck out that often. I of course indulged in the “hippy lettuce” but stopped once I found my mom and dad’s stash. My parents were never around and the only time they were you could be sure there would incredibly loud arguments. It was always about money. My mom would go on these absurd shopping sprees (gee I wonder what THAT’S a symptom of…) and we didn’t have the money to cover a third of her whims. I would usually end up hiding underneath my covers or in my closet because one of them would always come in and end up taking their anger out on me.

Now, I’ll be the first to say my childhood wasn’t that bad. However, I tend to think in extreme terms. I wasn’t like a child called it, and I wasn’t starving or locked in a room some where. But I’m accepting that a lot, if not all of my issues stem from them. A lot of what I think is inconceivably wrong. I am in the process of re-learning EVERYTHING I know. I have to learn to switch off the vile voice in my head that criticizes everything I do. I just learned this weekend that it is not “normal” to have this voice all the time. I started crying because I always thought that everyone had this voice and I just wasn’t strong enough to stop it. I now have the hope that one day I can switch it off and just be me.

Speaking of being me, I always had trouble fitting in. I would like so many different activities people couldn’t place a label on me and it drove them nuts. In high school I would hang out with the “losers” but be friends with some of the most straight-laced people I ever met. I was a total drama geek but wasn’t in many plays. I listened to electronica but went to very few raves. People tried to pigeon hole me as a “raver” or “candykid” but I didn’t try ecstasy until I was out of high school. I also loved classical and alternative music. High school is where you learn to place labels on people. They’re all supposed to have a certain niche that they fit in. I never really did. My parents never encouraged me to be myself so I hid a lot. I do these weird abstract drawings and when I showed my grandma who lives up in Canada she sent me these amazing water color pencils for Christmas. I still have them. They’re almost untouched because I treasure the fact that someone encouraged me to do something.

Well, I’m sick of trying to be a certain type of person. I’ve been obsessed with trying to be more “hipster like” because I envied their ability to just be. But as I meet more and more of them I realize that most of what they do is for other people. They’ve spent thousands of dollars on college and do nothing with the degree. They bitch and moan about their lives but do nothing to improve them. The only time they ever take action or participate in something is if it threatens the way they live. Now, I’m not saying that all of them are like this. This is just something I’ve been noticing more and more with the people that I come across.

Fuck that.

I want to be me for me. I want to make the music that’s in my head and not tell myself I’m too old to start it (I’m 25). There is so much stress in our society to do everything while you’re young. Take Britney Spears for example. They said she was washed up before she reached 30. It’s fricken ridiculous. You’re supposed to act a certain way at a certain age because that’s what the norm does. Screw it. I’m not going to go with the norm and I’m not going to go against it. I’m going to be me for me.

This weekend I got my hair dyed purple and brown. I’m not a punk, I didn’t do it to be a badass. I did it because it’s the only color I’ve never really had in my hair. I work in the financial district and man oh man did some heads turn this morning. But instead of feeling self conscious I just grinned. I like to have crazy colors in my hair. We have the ability to have the color of sunsets on our heads but people are afraid to because they’re afraid of being looked down on.

pfffffffffffffffft.

I’m learning to not care what other people think of me. I have amazing friends that think I’m awesome just the way I am. I will admit that lately I feel like I’m not living up to their expectations of awesome but… that’s completely irrational (me irrational? Surely you jest….). They like the fact I laugh like I’m choking, or will get people to dance on an empty floor by dancing like a tard. They like the weird jibber jabber that comes out of my mouth and my quirky akwardness around attractive boys. They like me for me. The like when I’m not playing for a crowd, when I’m not trying to be a people pleaser. They like what they saw when I let them truly see who I am.

And that my friends is what makes this whole world worth it. That’s what keeps me going when I’m at my lowest low. I have made a family out of complete strangers that love me for me. I can not express how incredibly grateful I am.

*note I know this isn’t all external like my last post but hey inner reflection can be good too. And you know that I will find myself in another misadventure soon… the turkeys are out to get me man. I have to prepare for the final turkey battle.

FINISH HIM! *feathers fly everywhere* Guess who’s thanksgiving dinner, bitch?

An Unquiet Mind - Part One (Originally published on 11.10.2008)

2009-03-06T12:57:00.000-08:00

There are very few books I could not finish or had to put down because the content disturbed me. Today I began reading a book that my therapist recommended and after less than one chapter I had to put it down because I could feel tears welling in my eyes. It was a passage about the author visiting a mental hospital for the first time that got me. She had always had a fascination with medicine and sought to become a doctor one day so she volunteered at her local hospital and immersed herself in her curiosity. While visiting the wards common room, a certain woman caught her attention. She seemed stable enough to be aware of her surroundings and was braiding and unbraiding her hair. The author (whose name is Kay), approached the woman and asked her why she was there. The woman’s answer was that when she was five, her parents put a pinball machine in her head. The red balls told her when to laugh, the blue ones told her when to be silent and keep away from other people; the green ones told her she should start multiplying by three. Every few days a silver ball would make its way through the pins of the machine. When Kay asked her what the silver ball meant the woman suddenly went blank and reverted back to staring off into space. The author was intrigued and terrified by the sadness and insanity that was captured in that woman’s eyes. She never thought that one day she’d look in the mirror and see the same thing.

The author also talked about her older sister and how she had terrible black moods and never seemed to be comfortable in her own skin. She was hyper aware of everything around her and though she could be quite charming her highs and lows affected everyone around her. Right away a part of me tightened. When I was a child, I was always living in extremes. When my friend Donald caught hit by a car, I ran to his house and calmly explained to his mother that she needed to call 911. I was so calm that she didn’t believe me at first. I had no reaction to watching my best friend get hit by a car. On the other extreme, I was at my grandmother’s house when I decide to hook myself to the long chain that they used for the dogs. I promptly began to panic and started screaming and crying. All I had to do was unhook myself. My father eventually came out and bewildered he unhooked me and walked back to the house.

That was my first panic attack. I believe I was about 8.

I always thought that what I felt was something I could control it. That I was just being dramatic or letting my imagination get to me. I thought that I wasn’t strong enough to control my own emotions. Reading this book is unraveling everything I know. I still struggle with the idea that I am bipolar. I still think that it’s a weakness in my make up. I thought that my extremes when I was a teenager were just hormones. That’s what my parents taught me so that’s what I believed. But it never stopped. When I was 19 I was still living in extremes and I was surrounded by people that didn’t understand that there was something wrong with me. They constantly told me to stop freaking out, or accused me of doing irrational things on purpose. I’m just beginning to understand that I truly couldn’t control myself. I thought that when I was rocking back and forth in my room, crying hysterically and wanting to die, it was due to hormones and I was just too weak to control them. So I began to hide everything. I let it stew in me for years until it finally boiled over and I could no longer control anything.

I am just now accepting that I am not weak. I am just wired differently than most people.

I tried to turn to religion for answers. My mother is a “born again Christian” and would claim that when I lashed out, demons were controlling me and I needed to be stronger and ask Jesus for help. I tried praying for God to “fix me” and nothing ever happened. When I moved to San Francisco I attended a church with my friend. Well… it wasn’t really a church, they called it a “spiritual center” but there was still a giant cross hanging above a casually dressed man who was talking about God. He was an inspiring speaker and I became giddy with the idea that I could be fixed, that I just had to pray and genuinely believe that Jesus Christ was my savior. I called my mother, ecstatically explaining that I had found God and I was going to be ok. She claimed that I was so happy because the “holy spirit” was in me. It was actually a bout of hypomania.

When the feeling didn’t last and I sunk into another depressive episode, I prayed and prayed and prayed. Nothing. I’d convince myself I wasn’t trying hard enough and began donating to the church and a man who claimed he talked to God - a prophet. But I started to question. How could a religion that bases itself on love being all powerful segregate certain groups and claim that they were “going to hell” or judge their beliefs? Wouldn’t a being that was all powerful base his/her decision on the person’s heart and intentions? Why should how much a person donated to the church matter? Couldn’t you just do a good act because you wanted to and not for some future reward? If it was based on love why did you have to believe in a man being your savior? Couldn’t you just believe that love is the ultimate savior because that’s why the man died - for our sins. He took it upon himself because he loved everyone so much that he was willing to die in order for us to “go to a better place”. What about the people that died before him?

The reason the passage about the woman disturbed me so much is because there is no way to help someone that is that far gone. You can’t blame them for not living in this reality because they just can’t. Something in their brain isn’t firing right. It’s not that they’re not trying because who in the hell would want that? Who would choose that life? They can’t suddenly “find God” and be cured. I am absolutely terrified by losing reality because I have been to the very edge of it. I’ve seen the look of insanity in my own eyes and was absolutely powerless to stop it. Whenever I walk down the street and see a homeless person mumbling to themselves my stomach drops. I can identify with them. I know that they don’t have the option of helping themselves because they can’t even grasp the concept that something is wrong.

I am just learning that something is wrong. That I’m not copping out and claiming to be mentally ill to justify my actions, because why would anyone choose this? Why? Why would you want to have absolutely no control over your own fucking brain? I over-react or under-react because that is how I genuinely feel. I’m not pretending to be crazy. Why the fuck would I want to do that? I am so hyper aware of other’s opinions of me. Why would I want them to see that? I thought maybe I'm just trying to seek pity, but who wants pity? Who wants someone to think they're pathetic?

I’m going to chronicle my realizations while reading this book, An Unquiet Mind by Kay Redfield Jamison, because I hope that someone, like me, reads this blog and realizes “Holy shit, I’m not alone”. I hope they understand how they are isn’t their fault. I hope that I can realize that one day too.

Feeling Safe (Originally published on 11.06.2008)

2009-03-06T12:55:00.000-08:00

This is all on my mind recently due to a dream I had last night. But first, a little bit of back-story. My mother has always decided when I not longer needed something by redecorating my room. I know this sounds strange but let me break it down for you. When I was about 8 she decided that I needed to be more girly and sent me to stay with my friend for the weekend. When I came back my room was painted purple and I had a canopy bed. All my “non girly toys” were packed away and my Barbies (that I usually used for target practice or to act out my stories) were out on display. I reacted in the way that I knew she wanted me too. But when they left me alone I curled up on my canopy bed with all its useless pillows and cried. I just wanted a space that was mine. So from that day forth I would find a spot outside of my house and claim it as my own. Usually it’s a place surrounded by trees so I can feel hidden and safe. When I was about 11 my mother left my father and me (my sister had moved in with her step father because she could no longer deal with my mother lashing out at her) and we moved to another town and I got to claim my own room. Then my mother came back. Once more I was kicked out of my room for a weekend and all my toys were packed away because “I was getting too old for them”. I had trained myself not to care anymore. it didn’t matter as long as I had SOME WHERE to feel safe. I was never really allowed to close my door until I was about 18. But even then she’d walk in unannounced and start picking up my room claiming I was a pig and lazy for not having everything in its place. This would be a good time to point out that my mother is OCD. Everything had to be perfect or she’d flip out. When I vacuumed the lines in the carpet had to be straight or she’d make me vacuum again. Pretty much the whole time I lived with my family my mother made sure to let me know that I should be grateful to have a place to live and demanded that I keep the house clean. Yet I was always chastised for being lazy because I didn’t dust the tops of the cupboards or some other inane thing. I was also never allowed to put anything on my walls unless it was with scotch tape. Since we all know how well that sticks, I moved to putting random things on my dressers and tables. She flipped out about that as well. When I moved out to San Francisco I first lived with a boy that didn’t want me there, then moved in with a psycho who’d completely disregard the meager sliding piece of plastic that was my “door” and just walk into my room. Then I moved to the Hugo House. I *finally* had a place that was mine. The first couple of months I lived there I slept on a mat and the only furniture I had were 2 ikea dressers and a paper lamp.

Then my mother came out to visit me. She insisted that we went shopping to decorate my room. I didn’t want her to spend the money, but mostly I didn’t want to give her ammo for the arguments that would come later. Any time I entered an argument with her she’d use the things that she bought me as a way to guilt trip me into submission. I never ASKED for anything. I stopped asking for gifts by the time I was 13 because I knew better. Once again, she invaded my space and made sure to leave pieces of herself behind. It took me a good year before I felt safe in my room again and that was only after I rearranged into what *I* wanted. Since this is a city I don’t really have a secret spot I can call my own because going into the park at night isn’t exactly the smartest decision. So my room is the only thing I have. So if you’re still confused as to why I flipped out the way I did when "she" disrespected it… and yeah that is something that can change overnight. It's not a mental illness, it's a matter of picking up after yourself. You can make time for it.

Now to the dream. I didn’t really sleep that night due to tossing and turning thoughts in my head so when the dream started I was a bit confused because there were so many elements from reality placed in it. My mother was staying with me and each of my walls were covered with various themes. One was pooh-bear, another was filled with band posters, and another was filled with beautiful artwork in glass frames. She came into my room, drunk and I suggested that I should probably re-decorate my room and she immediately volunteered. I kicked her out of my room and she huffed herself upstairs. My roommate came opened her door and asked me what all the yelling was about. I explained that my mother wanted to decorate my room to which she replied “Isn’t she drunk?”. The rest of my dream is a bit of a blur but I do remember there being a strange aura around my mother. It was black and seemed to shadow everything behind her.

It seems that recently all I’ve been doing is removing her presence from my life. Trying to figure out where her labels ended and my thoughts begin. I don’t want to claim that my childhood and past was that bad because I had food, shelter and nurture up to a point. I’m just trying to figure out what is real and what isn’t. There is so much I don’t remember and I finally know why. I was in a state of hypomania. I would retreat into my head whenever my mother would start hurling insults at me. My father added his own to the foray but as soon as I was about 15 he stopped with the sudden outbursts of anger and we actually started building a pretty solid relationship. The catalyst for that was showing him a poem I had written for English class. I won’t post it because it’s so incredibly cheesy but I know that it definitely touched something in him and he looked me straight in the eye and apologized. Maybe that’s why there is still so much hurt leftover from my mother. She’s apologized so many times, insincerely because she truly doesn’t understand the consequences of her actions. She still doesn’t get it. I don’t know if she ever will and I have to accept that. I just wish all this baggage would just drop away so I could finally just LIVE MY LIFE. I wish I had a reset button so I could clear away my cache of my past. It just sucks because no matter how much she hurt me… I want my mom back. The one that would take care of me when I was sick or the one I could make laugh so hard she’d wet herself. Or the one that would just hug me when I was crying uncontrollably. It hard to make sense of things when you realize just can’t just dismiss one side or the other.

I want to let go of it, I truly do. But I have to relearn everything I know. I'm one of those people that just wants to do something immediately. I'm terrible at practicing and I feel like I'm behind in so many ways. But that's just another part of relearning things. I shouldn't be placing these unreasonable expectations on myself. I guess I'm just used to it. Perhaps that's why confidant people put me at ill ease. Ah, but that's another post.

Phony (Originally published on 11.03.2008)

2009-03-06T12:52:00.001-08:00

Sometimes I feel like a phony when reading other peoples bipolar blogs. I never actually carried out my thoughts of suicide and was never hospitalized. I honestly should have been at a couple of points but when I was living with my family they’d just say I was going through a “dark phase” and nicknamed me Poe. It just hit me recently how cruel that was. I have hundreds of pages in my journals begging for help knowing that my mother was reading them. When I confronted her about it she laughed in my face claiming that I was just being dramatic. How could you ever tell someone who is asking for help that? How? I learned from a young age to keep everything in, to never show someone that they’ve hurt you. I can hear the most hurtful things and not bat an eye but on the inside I crumble. If your 19 year old daughter hasn’t left her room in 3 days, wouldn’t you be concerned? But then again how could I expect much else from her. She’s in complete denial about being mentally ill. She doesn’t comprehend that when she lost her job, it was due to the fact that she is mentally ill. She’d tell her patients all about her life and end up talking with them for HOURS. She’d show up for work hours late and the deeper she delved into oxycotin she’d slump over in the middle of appointments. She wouldn’t sleep for days on end and lash out at anyone near her.

I feel like a phony because I just kept everything inside. No one knew I was a cutter because I only cut deep on my hips and lower stomach. I’d only scratch my nails down my arms and it was easy to claim I had a mishap with a bush due to my oh so graceful nature. Then one of my good friend’s brother committed suicide and I watched her family fall apart. I promised myself I would never put my family or friends through that. So I would just hide how I felt, everyday and would only let go in room. Usually I’d hide in the closet and just sob uncontrollably rocking back and forth chanting, this will stop, this will stop.

But in the last two years I wasn’t able to hide it anymore. It started seeping though my cracks and the panic attacks started. Then the days where I’d be totally unresponsive and call in sick and just lay in bed all day, not eating, not sleeping… just sitting there staring. I finally tried to seek help but the therapist I went to basically told me she didn’t have time to see me after 2 sessions. She said I needed to see someone 3 times a week and go on medication immediately. At that point I wasn’t ready to consider medication for whatever was wrong with me.

Then it got worse. After a very public panic attack on muni I sought out help again. This time I lucked out and found a great woman who has helped me in so many ways. The person I am now is the real me. I try and not hold everything inside (something I’m still working on) and I wear my heart on my sleeve. If I’m not feeling well I will let people know. It’s still hard because not many people understand why I can’t just snap out of a depression and just be happy. They’ll tell me it could be worse. Hell, I say that all the time. But my switches are broken. I can’t just turn things on and off.

On my good days I manage to convince myself that I’m just fine, that I don’t need medication. That I’m not bipolar. But then a mood hits and I’m back where I started from. I’m on a medication now that has seemed to stabilize me and it’s amazing how clear I can think now that I’m not hiding everything. I deal with things as they come and don’t push it away to deal with later. I know that people could see through my façade before but even then it was misinterpreted as something deliberate because they didn’t understand and at that time neither did I. I never want to use bipolar as a scapegoat for my actions so I will take responsibly for everything I’ve done whether or not it was intentional. I also don’t want to apologize for being bipolar. This is something I’m just recently getting over. I apologize for things I can not control not matter HOW MUCH I wish I could. I just still carry around that idea what I can control my own brain but I have to accept that I really can’t (ugh that still feels like a cop out). Also, just because it seems that I’m dealing with it remarkably well, please keep in mind that it is sheer stubbornness that has gotten me this far.

So yo, I’m bipolar and I’m trying, tis all I can do.WOO WOO!

2 comments:

Mace Elaine said...

Dork. I give you a hundred digital hugs and kisses. I'm so proud of your progress, and I love reading your blog.

+/- said...

you've always been able to differentiate between blaming things on being bipolar, and explaining what's happening to you. the only people that see it as an excuse, are the people that don't understand bipolar disorder.

i like the term "disorder" by the way. it makes me see your brain like a tangled ball of string. so it makes sense when things don't come out the way you'd like, or that things come out when they shouldn't.

Letting All the Puss Out (Originally published on 10.17.2008)

2009-03-06T12:46:00.000-08:00

I think that’s what I’ve been doing when it comes to my family. It’s kinda like a wound that I’ve been fiddling with forever but never taken care of. I held so much in that eventually the scab just burst and the wound became infected ie my *breakdown.

*Ah, a word on that. A breakdown doesn’t always just happen in a moment. Sometimes it lasts for chunk of time before you even notice that everything is spiraling out of control. That’s what happened to me. Crippling panic attacks and horrific anxiety forced me to recede back into a shell I built years ago. I’m too stubborn to attempt suicide, no matter how many times I think about it. Anyway - back to my scab.

I realize now that it wasn’t that my childhood was bad, it’s how it affected me. I know that sounds weird but even though there was a lot of negative, there was a lot of positive too. I just took the negative and buried it in my skin until it became a sore, then a wound. I never dealt with it - I was never taught how. It mainly stems down to the one thing that hinders me yet sets me free - words. There is so much power in words. Most people don’t realize just how much their words affect someone else. My parents didn’t. But I don’t blame them. They’ve built up calluses over time so they just said things that they never thought would cripple me. But they did. I have always been hyper sensitive to what other people say. I can recall things that were said years ago to someone only to receive a blank stare because they honestly don’t remember ever saying it. For example, when I was a teenager I would crank the cranberries and sing along. One day my sister stormed in, demanded I turn it down and said that I sing too high. I’ve never sang in front of anyone else since then. I’m even afraid of singing to loud in my own room lest anyone should hear me. I asked her about it years later and she had absolutely no idea what I was talking about.

In a way I’m just realizing that just because someone says something doesn’t make it a fact, it’s an opinion. And no one’s opinion should come before my own. I’m realizing there are a lot of things I’ve never formed my own opinion on, I just adopted someone else’s. I think that’s what made philosophers. They looked around them, saw that everyone was worshipping and suffering for gods that no one sees and were like… fuck this, there has to be another reason for this shizzy. And they sat down and logically thought about the coulda’s, woulda’s and shoulda’s. But not in the past tense so I guess they would be the can’s, will’s and shall’s.

The biggest thing I’ve never formed an opinion on is myself. I took all the negatives from other people and assumed that’s what I was. So when people would say anything positive the only thing that was left ringing in my ears was a twisted version of whatever they said - something negative. My therapist said something recently that should have been a Duh statement but I never really considered it. She said “Heather, what if I said you are such a pink Cadillac?” She said it in an insulting tone but since it made no sense I just shrugged. Then she asked “What would you do if I said Heather you’re getting chubby? You’d freak out, right?” I nodded and immediately sized myself up in my head. She smiled and said “Comments only hurt if you are insecure about what is being said. You know you’re not a pink Cadillac so no big deal, but you’re constantly worried about your body so if anyone ever says anything about it you freak out. Consider that. We’ll make it so no one else’s words can cut you down because the only thing that matters is what you think.”

Duh to most people but I never really considered it. I’ve finally stopped comparing myself to other people because they. aren’t. like. me. Different face, different body frame different LIFE. How can you compare that? You can’t. So hey, I’m making progress. But it’s time to let all the pus out, clean up the wound and let is scar so I remember what’s there but don’t dwell on it anymore. WOO WOO!

2 comments:

Tanya said...

Not sure how, or why, but I feel like this post is a really trough example of your breakthrough. There is just so much insight that you put down here that totally gets to the root of what your friends and others who care about you have seen: that you have a lot of good in you, which you might not always see or accept; that you have control over how others' words affect you. Sounds like your therapist is a smart woman to offer you this insight, and you are even smarter to really allow it to help you feel better about yourself. Hooray.

No matter how horrid our past, it is an amazing feeling when we come to realize that we can put it not so much behind us, but in front of us and tell this bad past - "Okay, well, we've had our time together, but just want to let you know I'm letting you off at the next stop light and you are NOT along for this ride anymore."

+/- said...

i hope this one sinks in and sticks with you babe. this was a great revelation, to say the least.

btw, from what you remember, you had a pretty fucked up childhood. i think it's probably ok to admit that. we have had several conversations about your past, and i think your horrific events would haunt anyone.

i think any child of abuse can still remember some good times, but just because they are sprinkled in the bad doesn't make the bad stuff any less relevant.

and to withstand some of the things you went through, in childhood, and your teen years, you really are a [for lack of a less ghey term] "trooper". you're quite strong dear.

it's a damn shame that people don't remember slamming others for what they love, like the singing thing. i remember when i was younger i was singing "We are the Champions" by Queen, and she said "That's not how it goes. You're singing it wrong." which shut me up, so now, i too, do not sing around people.

Being Vulnerable (Originally published on 10.16.2008)

2009-03-06T12:43:00.000-08:00

Yeah, that’s something I haven’t quite gotten the hang of. And by that I mean I go wayyyyyyyy out of my way to ensure that I never am.

Ever.

Currently I do not put myself in positions where I could be rejected, I don’t really step outside my comfort zone and surprise surprise I’m miserable. I’ve figured out how to allow myself to be vulnerable around my friends but around a boy?

Helllllllll no.

I am an expert on pushing people away. If a dude gets too close I start to distance myself. I figure I should push him away before he can push me away. Wonderful logic I know. Actually it’s a lack of logic that propels this action. It all comes back to that lame phrase “How can anyone love you if you don’t love yourself?”. Great question. As I brought this up to my therapist she pointed out that people will only reach out so many times. I can’t even count how many times I’ve refused to tell someone how I felt and was absolutely crushed when they found someone else. I won’t even acknowledge how I feel to myself but part of me always knows. I’d rather be alone than be rejected. I don’t know why rejection is so horrific to me. It prolly all stems back to my childhood and how I was rejected by my family and blahity blah. I just… I don’t want to seem weak. I don’t ever want to show that I can be hurt. I rarely cry in front of anyone (unless there is alcohol involved…. <_<>_> not good, I know) because I feel like I’m a burden if I cry. So usually I cry alone, stuffing my face in a pillow so no one can hear me.This comes back to people seeing me completely broken by an unhealthy relationship and eventually getting tired of the same old story of me going back to him. So now I overcompensate.

But… I’m tired of only holding a piece of someone. Yet I don’t think it’s fair to invite anyone into my life right because I’m so confused and … crazy lol. It’s lame. I can’t love myself, in fact, most of the time I hate myself. Sometimes my co-worker will stop me mid sentence if I’m on a self hate roll and say, watch it Heather, you’re talking about a good friend of mine and I may have to kick your ass. It’s something I’m working on. I’m terrified my friends will grow weary of my self depreciation and then grow weary of me. I know that I purposely push people. It’s like test. If they come back that means they truly like me which is so fucked up I can’t even begin to describe it. If someone deliberately pushed me away I don’t know if I’d come back, I’d be too terrified of being rejected again. So how can I expect people to come back?

I just don’t want to be hurt. But so many people have told me great stuff can happen when you allow yourself to be vulnerable. Like what? Be crushed? Yet, I crush myself by not having the courage to say what I feel. It’s a vicious circle I need to break out of because honestly, what’s the worst that could happen? I get rejected, big deal. It’s not like a dude would be like “OMG I HATE YOU” and stab me in the face or something. Though I have had a guy pretty much yell in my face that he’d never love me, all while my mother was cheering him on. Now that was fucked up. I’m pretty sure I learned this behavior from my dad. He used to hide all of his emotion until it built up into ball of rage and he’d snap. He hasn’t for years but I know he still hides a lot from the surface. I’ve told my therapist about some dudes in my life in which nothing will ever happen (ok shhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh to everyone who’s like YOU NEVER KNOW, because I do, shit ain’t never gonna happen… or am I being closed again? Fuck.) and she suggested that I try reaching out to them. From what I’ve told her she confirms that yes, they like me but they may not be ready for a relationship. This is fine by me because honestly I don’t know if I am either. So I’m going to take a big step for me: call them. Because you see, I never call boys; I wait till they call me.

Lame, I know.

So I’m going to practice. I’m going to step outside my box and see what happens. If I were speaking to you, you’d note a tremor in my voice and my eyes wide with fear. This is a box I’ve pretty much cemented shut so opening it is going to be a bitch. But I’m tired of being sad, I’m tired of hurting myself and I’m tired of the “what if’s”. So, fuck you “what if’s” it’s all about the “at least I tried “.

1 comments:

+/- said...

it's a simple idea here: every relationship is a compromise.

re·la·tion·ship Pronunciation[ri-ley-shuhn-ship]
–noun
1. a connection, association, or involvement.
2. connection between persons by blood or marriage.
3. an emotional or other connection between people: the relationship between teachers and students.
4. a sexual involvement; affair.

so, you see how far down the "sexual" part is on the list? it's not the first one. although marriage is a whole other topic.

you have relationships. GET OVER IT. you give and take. THAT'S OK. You're allowed to TAKE every once in a while.

YOU ARE ALSO ENCOURAGED TO GIVE.
give a little. not money, not STUFF, but you. give a little of yourself, crazy or not, to anyone and everyone. if you're always protecting yourself from some assumed danger that you've been brain washed to fear, then you're fucked. the end. see ya later. f-u-k-k-e-d.

but if you can see a relationship with a man as a friendship (as it should be as well as a "romantic" one) then perhaps you'd be able to see them as a partner.

you and i are partners. we give and take and compromise all the time. i call you, you call me, we need each other. and we have each other. and guess what: it's OKAY.

jerk. ;)

Slipping (Originally published on 10.09.2008)

2009-03-06T12:38:00.001-08:00

That’s what I’m doing. In the deep recesses in my mind I am clawing for solid ground. Struggling to make something whole that isn’t. A weight has settled in my chest warning me that I need to release something and quick. I’ve tried crying, I’ve trying singing - it’s still there. Similar to a lead ball it makes it hard to breathe and even harder to swallow. All my energy goes to willing myself not to breakdown in public, to just get through the work day and commute.

Breathe in, breathe out, breathe in, breathe out.

It physically hurts to have it there. I try and focus on other things and then my breathe catches and I’m struggling to clear my blurry eyes. I can’t hide this anymore. People are noticing and asking what’s wrong and it’s infuriating because I. Don’t. Know. It’s one of my blacker moods coming on. It has been for about a week but I’ve been able to stave it off as long as I could. I just don’t have the energy to fight it and then try and live. I come home exhausted and self medicate because I can’t think about it. I can’t think about the noxious puddle of hate that’s seeping through the cracks of my self worth.

I was so confidant a week ago. Where did that go? Why did it leave?

I know where this feeling leads and it terrifies me. I will not go back in to that depression. I can’t. I need to keep my job, I need to feel pain if I try and hurt myself to prevent anything stupid.

But who knows, maybe this is the tail end of it. Maybe tomorrow I’ll be chipper again. Maybe something in my fucking brain will finally kick in and be like “Whooooa there, no self hating, we’re all we got”. But right now it isn’t. Right now I’m digging my nails into my palms to focus on the outside world because my inside has been thrust into a shit storm. Right now all my energy has been diverted to a little voice that keeps telling me that I can do this, that it’s worth it, that I’m worth it.

But right now I’m struggling to take a deep breath and believe it.

0 comments:

What It Feels Like (Originally published on 10.06.2008)

2009-03-06T12:35:00.000-08:00

It starts with a string inside of you that snaps to attention. It pulls your insides taunt and wraps around your lungs. Your heart speeds up and you struggle to breathe. Then the thoughts start, the horrible intrusive negative thoughts that would bring any strong person to their knees. At first they whisper:

“You’re ugly, you’re fat, you’re worthless, even your own family doesn’t want you, people make fun of your presence, you’re a burden, your existence is useless, and you’re a mistake.”

But they grow louder. Louder than screaming, you begin to feel them. Feel the bass of a speaker in your own brain. The feeling of hands closing around your throat causes your breathe to quicken and you begin clawing at your skin. Usually this is when the calming voice kicks in and tries to reassure you that this will pass, that you are worth it, that you deserve to be here. But sometimes that voice is drowned out and you are left with the feeling of razorblade winged butterflies battering your heart. You begin to worry that people around you will start to notice so you try and occupy your mind or ignore the thoughts that are bulleting your brain.

1,2,3,4 1,2,3,4 1,2,3,4

You count your fingers over and over but the feeling just gets worse. The string coils tighter and you begin begging your own brain to stop.

But it doesn’t. It only gets louder.

So you start playing with the sharp edges of your keys. Pain forces you to the present. But then people start to notice. They ask if you’re ok but your jaw is clamped shut for fear of screaming. Because your brain is attacking you, because you have no control over your thoughts, because you would do ANYTHING to get those feelings to stop. Anything. Even if it goes against everything you stand for.

In my case, trusting a little yellow pill to shut off my brain and allow me to breathe again. I let it dissolve under my tongue while apologizing to everyone around me. I wasn’t strong enough, I couldn’t hide it. I can’t hide anything anymore. The thoughts melt away and all I want to do is cry. Why is this happening to me? What did I do that triggered this?

Why, why, why?

How can people scoff at this feeling? How can people say that you can control it? How?

Then the what if’s. What if next time I’m not strong enough to stop the feelings? What if I don’t have the magical little pill?

But I can’t think like that. I can only hold my own hand and hug myself and reassure myself that I am strong enough. But there has been this thought floating around in my head. How could someone still love me if they see me at my worst? After they watch my eyes roll back in my head while tears are streaming down my face? While they watch my body arch and my fists pound into the ground? While right in the throes of an attack I suddenly go blank and begin talking to myself.

How could anyone love that?

I know that my friends will always be by my side but I know that I can still scare them. I just don’t understand how a man could still love me after witnessing that. But then again I don’t how to allow myself to be loved. That requires trust. I’m so worried about letting someone see me. Physically and Mentally. I hide so much, all the time. I feel that I have to. I have to hide the fact that I’m sick. But I know I don’t do the best job. I talk about it constantly because I don’t control my own fucking mouth most of the time. I am so very tired from keeping myself in check because I really don’t know what will happen if I let go. I don’t know if it would be a good thing or fatal.

I really don’t understand how people can think mental illness doesn’t exist. I wish I could force them into my head for a day and watch as they crumble. Because you need practice to stay alive. You need reasons all the time. My reasons are my friends, bits of my family, things I’ve yet to see, people I have yet to touch, stories that I need to tell.

I will make sure that I am strong enough. I have to.

2 comments:

Bert said...

Does your psychiatrist have much experience with relaxation techniques? Maybe you could try EMD or something.

You have to learn to trust people. Your friends love and care about you, so why does it seem so impossible that a man would too? I dont think trust is earned really. Trust has to be given freely. Theres no way to quantify how trust has been earned, so you have to give trust, and if the recipient is trustworthy then they will maintain it. Many men would love you, but no one can love you if you dont let them.

Youre a strong person, and are doing much better than you realize. Things will get better, life is cyclical.

+/- said...

i wasn't going to post a comment. because i'm on g-chat with you right now, and it'll be a little repetitive repetitive...

but here goes,
that was a very vivid, and eloquent description. i see the amount of control you have to use to keep yourself appearing "normal". i see now that it's as if your brain is losing control, yet there's that strained little rope to reality that is trying to keep you in check, the little part that realizes there are consequences of actions.

there's a little bit of conditioning your mom didn't fail at completely. there are social ramifications to hurting yourself. whether it's a cut, or an overdose, you'd be thrown in the loony-bin. i know you'd rather it be the sunny-bright voice that takes care of you and soothes you back into reality, that you're not fat, ugly, stupid, worthless, what-have-you's. sometimes it won't be. sometimes you just have to trust in your instincts, that possibly, you'll be committed. sometimes it's a negative influence that may help in the long run.

you're feeling desperate sometimes. i can see that. like you're grasping at straws, and you're afraid that there won't be any left. perhaps this will be true. i don't think there's any amount of relaxation technique that will help with the hopelessness of your situation. i'm not saying pills will always be your only option. but, you could carry them with you for when things get really bad.

don't be afraid that you'll be like your mom. with anything you do, you come from a different perspective, and you have a different understanding than she ever did.

and so what if people notice you behaving "strangely". fuck 'em. your friends come back.

sure it made me concerned a bit when you were having your... melt down? on saturday. but i knew you'd be ok. whether it was eventually, or immediately, i didn't know, but you did get through it.

I'll Give You Calm (Originally published on 9.29.2008)

2009-03-06T12:32:00.000-08:00

“Don’t freak out Heather”

“Calm down.”

Those 2 phrases are sure to send me into a state of near hysteria. I don’t know how to communicate to people that I am unwell. That my brain DOESN’T WORK THE SAME WAY THEIRS DOES. That when you think I am actually freaking out I am struggling for control of my own fucking brain. That I am hiding SO MUCH from the surface. That every day I come home and am exhausted from trying to desperately keep every word, every action in check. That some times I just really want to let go and show every crack that is under my surface to scare the shit out of people so that I can confirm to them that yes I am mentally ill, because I know if they saw the sick me, the part that is ill as in NOT WELL that they would freak the fuck out. There is a reason I love Lewis Carol - what seems nonsensical makes sense to me. My thoughts are not linear in any way. I feel and think in colors. I see sound, I smell words - my senses are mixed up so add that on top of an already fucked up brain and you get me. The girl that people seem to be baffled by because I under-react in heavy situations and overreact in small ones. Why does everyone think I apologize too much… BECAUSE I DO. Because I know how confusing it must be to try and participate in a conversation with me. It sucks. I can see outside myself now, I usually know when I enter the weird zone but I. CAN’T. STOP. IT. I really, really can’t. If I could wouldn’t you think I would? Who the fuck would choose to be out of control. Really? You don't think I realize that it sounds like a crutch, an excuse to be fucked up? But I ask... who would want to be fucked up? Who would want a crutch, an excuse to freak out? Why would anyone want to be looked down on for their reactions? Why? I sure don't hence why I am trying to fix myself or at least stabilize.

*Sidenote* I don't care when people that don't know about my issues say this to me because I understand that they don't know and I do use humor as a way to inform. It's the people that know whats going, that I have asked repeatedly to NOT tell me to calm down when I am NOT freaking out (ie talking fast and am spastic - believe me if I freak out you will know) that send me into a state of anger/panic. It's trigger I need to work on, I know.

So far I have come across 2 people that hold that against me. Oh well, I can’t worry about them. I need to worry about myself. There is a reason I love Fiona Apple. Her lyrics explain what I fail to. That the gears in my brain get stuck in some places and are constantly running overtime in others. Especially in the song Fast As You Can

Watch the Video if you want yo!

Lyrics:
I let the beast in too soon, I don’t know how to live
Without my hand on his throat; I fight him always & still
O darling, its so sweet, you think you know how crazy
-how crazy I am
You say you don’t spook easy, you wont go, but I know
And I pray that you will
-fast as you can, baby run-free yourself of me
Fast as you can
I may be soft in your palm but Ill soon grow
Hungry for a fight, and I will not let you win
My pretty mouth will frame the phrases that will
Disprove your faith in man
So if you catch me trying to find my way into your
Heart from under your skin
-fast as you can, baby scratch me out, free yourself
Fast as you can
Fast as you can, baby scratch me out, free yourself
Fast as you can
Sometimes my mind don’t shake and shift
But most of the time, it does
And I get to the place where I’m begging for a lift
Or Ill drown in the wonders and the was
And Ill be your girl, if you say its a gift
And you give me some more of your drugs
Yeah, Ill be your pet, if you just tell me its a gift
Cuz I’m tired of whys, choking on whys,
Just need a little because, because
I let the beast in and then;
I even tried forgiving him, but its too soon
So Ill fight again, again, again, again, again.
And for a little while more, Ill soar the
Uneven wind, complain and blame
The sterile land
But if you’re getting any bright ideas, quiet dear
I’m blooming within
Fast as you can, baby wait watch me, Ill be out
Fast as I can, maybe late but at least about
Fast as you can leave me, let this thing
Run its route
Fast as you can (repeat 4 times)

I get this. Do you? Every word, every word has a special meaning to me because it’s how I feel.

Hrmmm. Maybe I’ll write two entries and post the other one tomorrow. I’ve found confidence. Well not found, gained. It finally clicked that I deserve to be here. Here as in on earth, alive. I shouldn’t feel ashamed of who I am or anything about myself. I am me. That is all I need to be. But yeah, I’ll explain that later. Just had to get this burr off my back so here you go! lol.

3 comments:

+/- said...

"but I. CAN’T. STOP. IT. I really, really can’t. If I could wouldn’t you think I would? Who the fuck would choose to be out of control. Really?"

i truly think there are people who believe this. that you DO choose this lack of control. some people would argue that it's a way out, a crutch that you can blame everything on. or that you're seeking attention, even if it is negative.

and those people would be ass holes.

i've mentioned to you before what the uneducated/lay man would think about bi-polar disorder. that we really don't see every angle that you have, and that we can just see it as a "freak out" in our own scale of things. i know that you're controlling yourself, and you seem to come off as neurotic at times. i know i'm not seeing the whole thing. what you let slip out is enough for a "normal" person to see as a freak-out. i do know that it's only a portion of what you really feel.

i guess you can take that or leave it. i hope you take it.

Tanya said...

I'm sorry, I gotta play devil's advocate and tell you this one thing.

People close to you WILL learn how to communicate with you better and understand where you are coming from because of your mental health issues. However, you have to remember that if you want everyone to completely adjust their attitude towards how you react in situations, 100% of the time, then that means you are going to allow your illness to define you. And you shouldn't. I'm telling you this as someone who has two extremely close family members who are afflicted with the same - there are times where I treat them with kid gloves, but most other times? I don't know for a fact that they are being an asshole (I'm not saying YOU are being one, but in them it's the manifestation of their condition) because they are just being an asshole, or because their brain is malfunctioning. I can either take the choice to be walked all over by them, or I can take the choice to treat them the same way I would if they were NOT sick. First and primary thing I learned, from going to support groups for family members of bipolar individuals, don't become the victim; don't placate or pacify them - use reason and logical, NOT emotion. Don't let emotions rise up in you. So if someone says to you, "Heather you are freaking out," they better say it in a context of "Heather, the way you are talking and acting right now is making it hard for me to tell you how I feel, or to act around you." That is reasonable because I'm sure as you learn to keep your condition in check through meditation and vitamins and will rely less on pharmaceuticals, you WILL appreciate knowing the situations where your behavior is changing to a tell-tale sign that you might be having an episode. However, if the person is saying "Heather you're freaking out and I just think it's lame and stupid and wish you would stop for NO REASON AT ALL" then that person is being a douche.

It's all in the delivery. You'll figure out the people's intentions behind what they're saying, and you'll be able to separate the once who mean really well from those who are just being selfish.

And don't take this as a criticism of yourself, because I'm very proud of you for taking on the process of acknowledging your illness, of working through personal issues and of looking for treatment. I wish the loved ones in my life had the opportunity several decades ago to do the same thing, and didn't have to start on the process so late in life.

Tanya said...

PS - I don't think you're confusing when you talk! You contradict yourself, and don't always know how to take advice or a compliment, but that just means you are NORMAL. Cuz duh, I do the same thing!!! :P

Backbone's Back Alright! Beir Deir Deirn Da Deir! (Originally published on 9.17.2008)

2009-03-06T12:28:00.001-08:00

Being disliked.

This is something I have never come to terms with. Ever. I hate that feeling. HATE IT. I will do EVERYTHING in my power to ensure that I am liked. That could include being a sugar mama, bending over backwards for people, never speaking up when I am hurt by someone’s actions, altering my personality if someone points out something that they don’t like, etc. Basically I’ve been changing everything about myself, for someone else. But methinks I can swallow this shit no longer. Yesterday I was informed that some people didn’t like me because I was “acting weird” when they saw me. Let me invite you in on the situation. I had just stopped taking Abilify and was going through some seriously fucked up side affect that basically zombified me. I was there but unable to really contribute conversationally. The best part about this that fuels my indignation is that I. Fucking. Told. Them. That. I. Was. Heavily. Medicated.

But did that matter?

Nope. I was still “weird” and disliked. Ok, let me go farther back. This couple includes a chick that doesn’t like me because of some action I have taken in my life. Now this would be understandable if SHE HADN’T DONE THE SAME FUCKING THING TWICE. I’ve only done it ONCE and I learned my lesson.

This anger is an actual good reaction. This means that I have had my fill of being a beat up ballerina for assholes that make snide comments about me that usually leave me sitting in the dark like the fucking match girl desperately trying to create a reality where I am ok and everyone is ok with me.

I realize now daydreaming about shit like that is useless. No one on earth is completely liked. No one. How the fuck did I expect to be? The problem is I need to learn to be ok with that. The people that don’t like me don’t matter to me because 1. They’re not in my life 2. They don’t care about me so their opinions really don’t matter 3. I have the most amazing friends that would beat some serious ass if they knew who these people were.

Now if someone disliked me because of a trait I hated about myself (for example, my ability to over dramatize EVERYTHING is one of them. Don’t worry, I am aware of it and am trying to fix it) then perhaps I would be a bit more understanding and less pissed off. But to be a hypocrite and not like me because of something I can’t control… lean in close to the screen please.

Go fuck yourself you piece of shit.

Yeah. That’s how I feel about that. And guess what people, if you tell me to “calm down about it” you may get the same response. I am never allowed to react to anything. People ALWAYS make this comment “Heather calm down, stop freaking out.”

OhhhhhhhfuckingK.

First off, very FEW people have EVER seen me flip out. I can count them on one hand and honestly even that breakdown was subdued because they were there. NO ONE has seen me at my worst. NO ONE. So guess what. You’ll know when I’m freaking out because usually that entails self harm and a fuck ton of tears and a blank stare. SO please, please, please instead of saying “Heather stop freaking out” just let me react for even just a couple of minutes then just grab me and hug me. Please.

I am terrified of being a bitch because it seems that whenever I do stand up for myself people immediately interpret that as bitchiness when really I’ve grown a backbone and have something that is really important for me to say. I did this to a friend this weekend. She really didn’t understand how the phrase she kept using bothered me and I admit I should have just pulled her aside and been like “Yo, when you say this it makes me feel _____, please stop.” But I snapped on her, in a public place. I immediately became flustered and withdrew in my head terrified that she would hate me. We talked about it later and everything is ok but that little spark has been slowly fanning to the point where yeah, I’m going to stand up for myself. If this means people I know and care about thinking I’m becoming a bitch that will sadden me but not break me because I trust myself to now know when enough is enough.

What’s that sharp thing digging into my ass? Oh wow, my backbone! It’s back!!

WOO WOO!

But don't worry, I am still a starfish cricket at heart.

CUDDLE ATTACK!

1 comment:

+/- said...

deep down you really do know that there is a difference between being a bitch, and standing up for yourself. if someone interprets it that way, that's on them. i was thinking about that kind of stuff recently. my neighbors are complete assholes, and i try to let them know. i don't know them as people, but in a community, they're pricks. my first instinct was to worry that they think i'm a bitch.

and then logic took over, and reminded me that they don't matter. if they do something to my house, i'll call the cops. but really, what else can they do if they do perceive me as a bitch?

as for these "friends" letting you know that there are traits of yours that bother them: how is that a friendly thing to do? i mean, if you were poking me in the eye all the time, i'd let you know it was irritating.

point me at 'em and i will kick some ass.

Bipolar (thats right bitches I'm saying it!!!) (Originally published on 9.03.2008)

2009-03-06T12:18:00.000-08:00

So, to say these last two weeks have been hard is kind of an understatement. I’m on medication now which is…. good and bad. Let me ‘splain.

First off I was supposed to go on Lexapro but my insurance was all “Nah, we don’t cover that shizzy” therefore my insurance is lame. Anyway, my Dr had to ok a generic version similar to that called Celexa. Let me explain what these things are.

“Lexapro is an antidepressant in a group of drugs called selective serotonin reuptake inhibitors (SSRIs). Lexapro affects chemicals in the brain that may become unbalanced and cause depression or anxiety.”

The problem with SSRI’s is that it can send someone who is bipolar (like muah) into a mania or hypomania (which literally means “under mania”. A mania is a fucking terrifying state.

“Mania (from Greek μανία[1] and that from μαίνομαι - mainomai, "to rage, to be furious") is a severe medical condition characterized by extremely elevated mood, energy, unusual thought patterns and sometimes psychosis.”

I was on Celexa just over a week with no problems. Then shit got nuts. I woke up at 3am and couldn’t get back to sleep. I was grinding my teeth and extremely irritable and started having not so good thoughts that were racing like mofo’s. I started getting frustrated with the fact that once again I was on the verge of a severe breakdown and playing a losing game of frogger in traffic began sounding appealing. Hello hypomanic state….I was encouraged by both Jaye and Julia to call the my Dr and I did. He had me come in immediately and prescribed some different meds.

The good news: because I reacted this way to an SSRI this indicates that I am in fact bipolar.

The bad news: dude, I’m really bipolar.

Yes, I’ve been diagnosed. I’m not one of those people that reads shit online and is all “Oh I have this, and that and blahity blah.” It doesn’t WORK that way. If you say that to someone who is in fact mentally ill, it’s a bit insulting. I actually get really uncomfortable when people go on on and on about how they’re “bipolar” cause they have “highs and lows”. Dude, if you’re really worried that you are in fact bipolar GET HELP. It’s a serious condition and not something to fuck around with.

K Back to medication stuff.

So I am now on Abilify which is… good yet bad. Good because all the racing thoughts have stopped and I no longer carry that crippling anxiety about what others think of me. Bad in the sense that my head is foggy and I’m tired as fuck most of the time but that should fade and right now it is manageable. Hell, for once *I* am manageable. I was actually taking tranquilizers as well but due to the fact I was sleeping for 18 hours, my Dr wisely said “K that’s enough”. SO here I be.

Is that??

Could it be???

A bit of light after a long stormy day? ;)

I will stick with this, I will get better, I will not give up. I have reasons to be you see. They’re called friends. And I have a reason to be for myself and my story.

I dedicate this song to my friends:

Don't Give Up by Peter Gaberial but the best version is by Jody Watley. LISTEN TO IT!

in this proud land we grew up strong
we were wanted all along
I was taught to fight, taught to win
I never thought I could fail

no fight left or so it seems
I am a man whose dreams have all deserted
I've changed my face, I've changed my name
but no one wants you when you lose

don't give up
'cos you have friends
don't give up
you're not beaten yet
don't give up
I know you can make it good

though I saw it all around
never thought I could be affected
thought that we'd be the last to go
it is so strange the way things turn

drove the night toward my home
the place that I was born, on the lakeside
as daylight broke, I saw the earth
the trees had burned down to the ground

don't give up
you still have us
don't give up
we don't need much of anything
don't give up
'cause somewhere there's a place
where we belong

rest your head
you worry too much
it's going to be alright
when times get rough
you can fall back on us
don't give up
please don't give up

'got to walk out of here
I can't take anymore
going to stand on that bridge
keep my eyes down below
whatever may come
and whatever may go
that river's flowing
that river's flowing

moved on to another town
tried hard to settle down
for every job, so many men
so many men no-one needs

don't give up
'cause you have friends
don't give up
you're not the only one
don't give up
no reason to be ashamed
don't give up
you still have us
don't give up now
we're proud of who you are
don't give up
you know it's never been easy
don't give up
'cause I believe there's the a place
there's a place where we belong

BRING ON THE CHEESE!!! lol *hug peeps*

2 comments:

Xantraun said...

*hugs* to thee

Really glad you've finally found something to alleviate your plight. I was actually on Lexipro for two years and some change... As well as a few other make-troy-more-palatable meds. A cheery-troy cocktail, if you will.

I had to take Lexipro to get through college because I was such a freaking ball of ADHD & Anxiety. But yeah, they thought I was possibly bipolar too because I had such a bad reaction to Zoloft. Actually, reacted poorly to a few meds come to think of it. Some of which I don't even remember because they put me into such a transient state that whole months are blinked from existence in my mind. I really wish I could have had the courage to confront my problems back then and not go it alone. No one really knew what was up with me. Was just that weird Troy kid.

And I soooooo hear ya when you grimace at the effing tardbucklers that walk around saying they're bipolar or whatever ailment they aren't diagnosed with just because it's apparently a fad to be screwed up these days.

I get so unnerved when someone does something moronic and then babbles that they must have ADD or something. I was completely crippled as a human being until I was finally diagnosed & treated for my issues... and sadly you were one of the many effected by that. =\

Anywho, before my comment winds up longer than your post... Just wanted to say kudos for the step forward. <3

Xantraun said...

Er... if that double-posts, I apologize. New to how blogger operates. I think I may have just failsauced that one

<_<

The Era of the Hudge (Originally published on 8.19.2008)

2009-03-06T12:15:00.000-08:00

So (yes, I am aware of the fact I start most of my posts out with so. So?) today I started le meds. Honestly I keep expecting a switch to flip in my brain and a spotlight to suddenly train on me while a boy’s choir appears out of no where singing Hallelujah. So far I have been sorely disappointed…

lol.

I am aware that it will take 2-3 WEEKS (EEEK!) for me to really feel the benefits of this medication but so far I can report that it does make my burps pepperminty; a fact you surely wanted to know. Speaking of this medication good LORD was it a bitch to get! The first rx my Dr wrote wasn’t covered by my insurance so I had to wait (over the weekend) for him to send an rx that IS covered. Of course the little irrational voice in my head took this as a negative sign and was trying to convince the rational side that I shouldn’t start medication, that I could fix myself. But *ahem* we can all see how well that’s been working out for me. Denial, that is. I always thought that this was just how I was. That I was high then low then high then low then high then low then I SHOULD BUT A BOAT! That panicking over seemingly simple things was finnnnnnnnnne and totally “normal”. That not reacting while in mental turmoil was positively acceptable.

HA!

Of course this was aided by the fact that after I had my first breakdown in high school my mother claimed I was just being dramatic. HA! HA! HA I SAY! Yes, sliding a razor blade under my skin in an attempt to feel is TOTALLY dramatic. A total fake ploy for attention right? Except that NO ONE KNEW I WAS DOING IT. Unlike most cutters, I only cut deep on my lower stomach and hips. I’d scratch my arms with my nails or some other sharp object but that was easily covered up by just saying I had fallen into a bush or my clumsy ass had done something else like fall up the stairs. My mother would witness my violent mood swings and just say it was my period. OR OR OR she would leisurely lounge on the couch while guzzling beer from a wine glass and drawl “You’re sooo bipolar.”

DING DING DING.

Mommy Dearest had it right, but she used is a weapon and made it seem less than it was so I never sought out help. I was about 12 the first time she said that to me. But anyway, that’s old news. ONWARD TO THE FUTURE! One of my bestest friends in the whole wide world is out here and I can’t even begin to describe how grateful I am to the powers that be that I am not going through this alone (shhhh yes, I know I have never been alone dear friends but I mean PHYSICALLY as we are sharing a room). We’re looking for a place to move to (after she finds a job) then her husband will drive out here and thus begins a new era in San Francisco - the era of awesome. Well… awesomer because when Julia and I were going out on the town, that was pretty fricken rad and Terese and I have had some times and the Age of the Heathi was fucking rad as well, and clubbing with Miss Tanya was always an adventure….

Ok, the Era of … Invigoration? Alteration? Metamorphosis? Satisfaction? Effort? Health? Ok, hows about the Era of Ms Hudge. Where I will be me but out of me head enough to be functional. Rad, yes? The Age of Humor, of Wine, of Laughter…. of…. YOUR MOM!

(come on! how could you NOT see that coming??)

So these little peps posts will continue till I convince myself to put on of my short stories up here.... *nervous laugh* I will soon. I promise!

1 comment:

+/- said...

i

love

you.

i'm very happy for you to have started your meds. and i'm glad you didn't give any credit to this "bad sign" of having to get a new prescription. i can't wait to see what you're like when you're less crazy! yay!

Classless (Orginally published on 7.28.2008)

2009-03-06T12:13:00.000-08:00

I’ve always been really good at disappearing. Sometimes I do it consciously, most of the time it’s a defense mechanism or an inability to deal with confrontation. I find myself beginning to distance myself from certain people once more. Right now I think it’s necessary as I can no longer choke back damaging words. I rarely react out of anger but I find myself biting my cheek or sliding my nails into my palm more and more. I have so much frustration and indignation stored up in me that when I do boil over it will not end well for anyone around me. See, I was taught to go for the throat hence my silence or strained smile when I find myself annoyed. But I am beginning to wonder now if perhaps these people need a wake up slap. Perhaps no one has told them they’re selfish and immature. Maybe they’re just always used to getting their way. I know I’ve bent over backwards far too many time to avoid stepping on toes. It’s funny. I have been encouraged to NOT talk about my problems with these people, the very people I call “friends”. Yet, when a mood happens upon them and they vent I listen patiently while offering encouraging words. Yes, I know my issues are a little more “weighty” than others, BUT how can you turn to me after venting and stifle any of my words about what’s bothering me? I believe I have the right to say “How dare you?”

I also find myself in this position with my family. I received an e-mail from my father informing me that I’m classless because I haven’t sent a card or called after my mother’s surgery. I was unaware that she even was scheduled to have a surgery. Why you ask? Perhaps because I haven’t spoken to her as I have not been able to find it in myself to forgive her for a multitude of things. I do not hate her. I will never hate anyone because that emotion is far too taxing to sustain. In her head the events that transpired during my visit to WI in December never happened. To her everything is forgiven and forgotten. And my father *bitter laugh*, where do I begin. Saying any thing ill about my father twists my guts and forms an icy lump at the back of my throat because it hurts me. I was a daddy’s girl. Now… I am a completely separate entity from my family. I talk to my sister and try to keep up with my cousins, but I know that I am failing at that. But for him to call me classless… I first read the e-mail yesterday and felt nothing. Only a mild curiosity at if he was prompted to send it due to my mother’s moping. Now I can say I’m pretty pissed off.

Me classless?

Me?

Really?

This is coming from man who has fed my mother pills and alcohol my entire life to keep her placated. This is coming from the man who stood by as my mother threw a punch at me. This is man who would throw objects at a child because he was frustrated. This coming from the man who couldn’t pick up the phone or send an e-mail when my mother wasn’t talking to me so he knew NOTHING of my life for 6 months.

If I am classless, haven’t I learned from the best?

I mean, really.

See, I knew that my mother needed to have a surgical procedure but I became unconcerned after she manipulated me ONCE AGAIN into believe that she was dying. She told me she had cancer when she didn’t. HOLY MIND FUCK. She knew I wasn’t ready to forgive her so what would speed up the process? Her convincing me that she was dying. And oh did it work. I called her, assured her that everything was going to be ok. I listened to her teary tirades about God and how she wasn’t scared. I was a mother to my mother, again. And then I get a phone call from my father letting me know that the RESULTS came back and it wasn’t cancer. WHOA WHOA WHOA. Results? How strange. I was told that the results had ALREADY COME BACK AND IT DIDN’T LOOK GOOD. Lies.

Yet I’m the classless one.

“Honor thy mother and thy father.”

No. It would be a waste of honor. In fact, right now I can’t think of them without wanting to spit in both of their faces. I do hope this feeling fades because it’s churning my guts to think so lowly of the people that gave me life. But I think that for once, it’s ok for me to be mad. Even if it’s only for a little while, I think I deserve that. I've tried to be all zen and not blame them, not be mad at them because they can't help it. But fuck it, they're the adults here. They have 20 years of experience that I don't, yet some how I've become the mature one.

I haven't responded to the e-mail nor will I until I speak with my therapist because I don't want to respond out of anger. I'm better than that and I don't want to sever ties with them because fucked up or not, they are my family. I know that if they read this they'd be hurt and angry... but I also hope it would make them value their words more.

Classless indeed.

1 comment:

+/- said...

sometimes that really is all parents amount to be: the people who gave you life.

and if that's the case, and that's ALL they ended up being, then where is the harm in severing the ties? blood? what does that really amount to? i mean, kids get adopted all the time and love their new parents quite fiercely. yet, if your birth parents teach you nothing but falsehoods, and twist the truth so you have to worry and wonder about everything (and don't say you don't. i can see in your head sometimes), then how are they really parents? of all the things you've told me about your past, did you dad every try to stop your mom from being a monster to you? when she and Troy(?) confronted you about how he would never love you? how was that in itself a sane thing to do, but where was your dad for that one?

i am NOT trying to blame. and i am NOT just trying to make you feel better, but really, question what it is to be and have parents. a parent is an educator, a disciplinarian, and to some degree, a friend. yours took everything from you, taught you false truths, and there was physical trauma too. how is that love? being a parent? it seems too damaging, physically, emotionally, and psychologically to remain attached to them.

as elfie's talk-doctor said, you're mom's a bitch. it's ok to hate her.

i love you heather. i know i type that and say it a lot. but i really do.

"i treasure your friendship!"

Here Comes A Better Version of Me (Originally published on 7.25.2008)

2009-03-06T12:11:00.000-08:00

I’m going to start off with this:

The nickel dropped
When I was on
My way beyond
The Rubicon
What did I do

And of the games that I can handle
None are ones worth the candle
What can I do

I'm a frightened, fickle person
Fighting, cryin', kickin', cursin'
What should I do

Oooh, after all the folderol,
And hauling over coals stops
What will I do

Can't take a good day without a bad one
Don't feel just to smile until I've had one
Where did I learn

I make a fuss about a little thing
The rhyme is losing to the riddling
Where's the turn

I don't want a home, I'd ruin that
Home is where my habits have a habitat
Why give it a turn

Oh, after all the folderol
And hauling over coals stops
What did I learn

I am likely to miss the main event
If I stop to cry or complain again
So I will keep a deliberate pace
Let the damned breeze dry my face

Oh, mister, wait until you see
What I'm gonna be

I've got a plan, a demand and it just began
And if you're right, you'll agree

Here's coming a better version of me
Here it comes a better version of me
Here it comes a better version of me

That lovely little ditty is a song by Fiona Apple entitled Better Version of Me. I've always loved the way she worded things and I deemed it appropriate to begin this post with this song in particular because this week marks the end of something for me. The end of feeling helpless, the end of just sitting by and watching everything around me crumble because I smash it. I saw a Psychotherapist, got tested and was diagnosed. Now, for those of you that read this and don’t agree with therapy or taking medication for a mental illness, I’m just going to go ahead and bid you ado and tell you not to read any further because you will not like what I have to say. You are not me so you do not know what it is like to be in my head. You can not image how terrifying it is to NOT be able to control your emotions or feelings. To have panic attacks for NO REASON. To be huddled in a corner on the bus controlling your breathing and having the nails bite into your hands because you need to focus on something physical to pull yourself out of a metal shit storm. Every. Fucking. Day. Every day. To go from being eerily happy and energetic only to plummet back to how you felt when you were 14 and listening to Linkin Park all within 10 minutes. To have to battle between rational thoughts and irrational thoughts EVERY SECOND OF THE DAY. To not be able to cry, get mad or react when I should but to randomly go off about a small thing that means NOTHING and possibly hurt myself or others.

I can’t do it anymore, it’s exhausting. I can’t even describe how hard it was for me to call a stranger, set up an appointment and ask this stranger to please, please help me because I just can’t do this anymore. For me it’s humiliating to admit I can’t control what goes on in my brain. Shouldn’t you be able to have control? Isn’t that the whole fucking point of free will? I’d ask people around me (the WRONG people) and they would just dismiss me saying that I could control it. “Go to yoga” “Meditate”, don’t drink coffee (I rarely do), do this, do that, do this do that but don’t go to a shrink because that’s a crock of shit. The people I consider my true, true, amazing friends grabbed my hands, looked me straight in the eyes and told me to talk to a professional. They told me that I wasn’t just being dramatic because they have seen my struggle get worse and were worried about me. That they would support me no matter what. They understood that I really, really can’t turn off my head.

I am going to do what ever it takes to control this. That may include medication, it may not. If it does DO NOT try and deter me from it. This is already INCREDIBLY hard. A mental illness is a fucking ILLNESS. It is not something that just goes away. Something is not firing right in my brain and it’s becoming detrimental to my health and my life. If you do not believe in mental illness… then lucky you, you’ve clearly never been around a severely mentally damaged person. I was raised by one.

So, the song is a bit of inspiration for me. I’m hoping this is the start of a better version of me. Not a completely changed me because I want to retain my quirks, but I’d like to be able to control them. So cross your fingers for the greatness cause I’m coming back from the breakdown.

Also, I do plan on making this blog less mental and more physical. You’ll see what I mean.

*hums and breathes a sigh of relief*

2 comments:

+/- said...

i am actually very proud of you. for many reasons. i haven't met the people talking you out of talking to a professional, but they're probably shit heads anyway.

1. following an occupation as a means of livelihood or for gain: a professional builder. (http://dictionary.reference.com/browse/professional)

so really a "professional" is just someone trained in a craft. so, is it really that bad to talk to one when they are trained to deal with brains?

any really, anyone who says something like that isn't looking out for your best interest. we know your mom is FUCKED UP, and can't be turned to, so i do like to think that you can turn to your [reliable] friends for support and ideas.

i am VERY proud of you.

Tanya said...

Late comment, but I'm pretty sure I've said "YES PLS SEE THERAPIST" before, because I think for anyone who's willing it's a GREAT opportunity to receive an unbiased opinion from someone who's NOT involved in your life emotionally in ANY way.

People who say that shrinks are bad are probably just hidden Scientologists who want to take all your moneys and make you Tom Cruise's dungeon slave.

Snow Globe (Orginally published on 7.07.2008)

2009-03-06T12:07:00.000-08:00

That’s what my head feels like, one of those snow globes. This weekend a whooooole bunch of shizzy got stirred up and now it’s all just kinda floating around and landing where ever it pleases. I know that it’s a good thing for my life but it’s not so good for my sanity. Well sanity is a little dramatic, let say that it's not good for my overall well being. But I guess anything that’s been allowed to fester and rot for years would never really be fun to remove.

Hrmm let me try and explain without throwing my luggage at you.

I was trained to absorb things rather than react immediately to a situation. I wasn’t allowed to cry when I was a kid and I wasn’t allowed to show anger. If I did cry or “make a face” this usually warranted a slap or some other form of punishment. I also trained myself not to react when I was hurt as well, because it could be used against me. See, if I did something wrong, my punishment was to have something taken away from me. While I watched tv, it was never really that important to me so my parents would go for things they knew I loved. I wasn’t allowed to go outside, or read (I have an interesting memory of watching my father remove every book in my room and telling me NOT TO READ…) my notebooks, my pens, etc - things they knew I loved. So when I started to get gifts from people, I would carefully monitor my expression so they’d never know if I truly enjoyed it or not so it couldn’t be used to hurt me. As a result of this I don’t react when things happen to me. At least not to the full extent one should. I store it away for later, which is INCREDIBLY SELF DESTRUCTIVE. But at least I recognize it now. I honestly never really thought about it before this weekend. But with the help of a… “mind expander” my brain exploded and I’m not even attempting to clean up the mess. Well technically I am getting help with the clean up from a professional.

Yes, I am going to see a shrink. Nope, this isn’t my first time. I actually attempted to see some one when I first started this blog but I had quite an unfortunate experience that made me karate chop anyone that said to “go to see someone” after that. But I stopped being stubborn and realized that when you’re trying to find someone to confide in and help re-arrange your mental madness, it’s ok to try more than one person. I just have a huge problem with asking for help to begin with. More leftovers from a not-so-savory past. I’m also aware that my past could have been worse but… I’m also coming to terms with the fact that it’s ok to say that it was bad. Because, quite frankly, it was (I can’t even describe how hard it is for me to NOT delete that sentence).

Anywho, I am going to ask and accept help because honestly, I don’t know how to pull out stuff that I’ve stored for years. I re-live humiliating experiences on a daily basis, as far back as FIRST GRADE. Seriously. Here’s one: My mother taught me to read and write before I was in kindergarten so I would always work ahead in my “writing book” (a little backstory - I was originally left handed but due to a broken arm in kindergarten I started writing with my right hand. My father wanted me to keep writing with my right hand because he felt that it is a “right-handed world”…), my first grade teacher Mrs. Statter (fuck yeah I remember the cunt’s name) saw that I had gone ahead of the class and due to the fact that I was writing with my right hand my hand writing was (and still is) a bit sloppy. She ripped the book from my hands and promptly told the class not to rush ahead otherwise they would all have ugly handwriting like mine.

This prompted snickers, name calling and taunts but I didn’t cry, I just blinked and waited until she gave me the book back and erased all of my work. All of it. Then I started over, erased it again, and the cycle continued until I tore through the pages and had to get another book. I don’t think I ever told my parents what happened because I remember they were called in to my school after I stopped handing my homework in on time and that’s when they discovered that I had developed callous’ on all my fingers from writing over and over and over again. My handwriting never did improve and still leans the opposite way it should but I don’t really give a flying fuck anymore, lol. But I stored that experience and never cried. I used to scare the shit out of the kids in my school because they would gang up on me and call me names and I wouldn’t react. Eventually I did have a breakdown in high school and started over-reacting to EVERYTHING, but I still stored the experiences and bits and pieces were left to fester. Now I’m back to not reacting or turning self destructive as a way to deal with things and lets face it, I’m 25 and I really shouldn’t be holding on to most if not ALL the shit I carry in my head. I can’t even count the number of relationships it’s destroyed. Someone will say something and instead of confronting them right then and there I would store it and bring it up months or even years later. A habit I am trying to quell and it will be easier now that I am actually aware of the fact that I do it. I’ve already begun at work with my co-worker the She-Beast.

Oh yes, She-Beast. She is one of those people that make you wonder how the hell they walk and breathe at the same time. No, I am not being harsh, I assure you. This woman has asked me over 7 times how to cut and paste. Yes, cut and paste. I know that some people are not computer literate but this is why she was supposed to attend a class (I honestly don’t think she went because she STILL asks me stupid questions). I also made her write down the ways to cut and paste and still, about a month ago she asks me how to do it…. again. *deep breath* Also, instead of simply looking for something she e-mails me. I am buried at work right now so any little distraction buries me further. Today I just copied my boss on her e-mail and let her know that I have already told her where the spreadsheet she was looking for is and if she asks me again I will not respond. So yay for me. A small step but it’s something.

I am aware that a couple of my bags were thrown at you but Circe’s socks people it wasn’t that bad… lol. Anyway, my tangents will only grow more frequent so I must bid thee adieu for there is work to be done and procrastination to conquer.

1 comment

The Crofts said...

Ah yes, I have been referred to as a "mind-expander" before... ?

har-har. it's funny that you use the term "Snow Globe"... I commonly refer to Nichole's house as a snow-globe, but in a far more negative sense.

I, too, am feeling rather snow-globe-esque. But in a good way. It's still very mind-opening, but at the same time, rather frightening. I'm in the process of re-learning quite a bit of things. I actually just had a really long talk with my mom about some of the realizations that I had. It was actually quite funny, in said conversation, I was getting a little.. heated?, and my mom actually told me to calm down. If that isn't trying to control my emotions I don't know what is. Why should I have to calm down? I'm talking about something that's effected me for the last 25 years. MY WHOLE LIFE, about how SHE effed up in my childhood, and all she could really say (an HONEST reaction) was "calm down". Later she apologised.

Fucking parents.

Want (originally published on 6.15.08)

2009-03-06T12:04:00.000-08:00

I want to start off by saying that I know I'm lucky and I so grateful for everything I have. I have the most amazing friends a person could as for. I just wanted to clarify that before I launch into what I am about to type so you understand that I am not a whiny bitch by any means.

I can not admit what I want to myself.

Typing that makes me feel so incredibly stupid but it's true. I am completely confused in almost every aspect of my life. I have no idea what I want out of a career (yes, I am aware that NO ONE DOES but that doesn't make it any less frustrating), I have no idea what I want to spend time doing (hobbies and such) and the "tough" part of me is trying to convince me that I have no idea what I want emotionally. But I know and I just can't admit it to myself because I think it would make me weak. How fucked is that? I have been raised and taught that you are born alone and you die alone. You have to fend for yourself because no one will ever be there for you all the time. I know that this is true, one must be self reliant. Now, on to the whole relationship issue. I can honestly say that I do not think I am mentally equipped to maintain a healthy relationship right now. I have so many other issues in my life that are demanding my attention and energy that I think it would be unfair to invite someone else into them. I already throw my suitcase on whoever will listen because I don't know what to do with them. But I am understand that I need to let go of this self loathing just because I would one day like to be in a relationship.

Even just saying that makes me want to go all house elf on myself and pick up an iron and beat my head in with it. Yes that is a Harry Potter reference, if you have a problem with that FUCK OFF. People refer to authors I hate all the time and I don't jump down their throat with a stick of lit shit because of it. I love the books because it got kids to read and write and it made adults remember how to think like a kid again, how can you really hate that?

Anyway - back to my rambles.

I would one day like to be in a loving relationship. That is so very hard for me to admit and I could use beautiful language to describe what I think that would be like but quite honestly my bed is looking mighty fine and I don't want to fill my head with anymore unnecessary fantasies (HA my inner bitter bitch just HAD to say hello). But I wanted to get this mental randomness out because HA!!! I STUCK TO MY GOAL OF 3 BLOGS IN A WEEK!!!! WOOOOO WOOOOO.

I will write a blog that makes sense next week. Yes that is singular because I really can't guarantee that I will write 3 blogs that make sense. I mean come on, I was talking to the tree on my street earlier tonight. The absurd is what I live for, sense just kinda happens sometimes.

Nighttttttttttttttttttttttt y'all!

No Comments