Bipolar Me

There are two parts of me.  The happy me is talkative, loves to be around people, loves to encourage and motivate others, loves to be the life of the party.  The happy me loves the color of the sky and the smell of flowers and loves to touch and hold and feel.  The happy me loves to be me.

The other me is dark.  The other me likes to be underground, living unseen, hiding in corners and down dark alleys.  The other me doesn’t speak, doesn’t move, doesn’t blink.  The other me likes cemeteries and darkness and death.  The other me hates me.

There has to be a balance to survive.  Neither can go on for very long without some of the other.

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Why Are You So Weird?

Time goes by so slowly; minutes feel like ages. Impatient waiting for ANYthing, like i want to scream and pull the hairs from my head.

Want to talk talk talk talk talk to anyone who will listen.  It’s really hard to not interrupt – i just want to tell all my stories cause i have so many.

Irritable for no reason. 

Wearing tight clothes, revealing clothes.

Want to give away all my money to other people.  Really strong urge to give away money to people who need it.

Interrupt interrupt interrupt.  Talk talk talk. Can’t listen. Don’t care.

Manic Blues

Did you ever want to punch something because you were so mad?  I’m not even particularly mad at any one thing.  I just have Anger.  Deep, irrational Anger.

Nobody understands mania.  It pisses me off.  My one friend says, “You CAN control it. You just THINK you can’t.”

Really?  I want to punch something.

My other friend (who only prefers to be around when I’m the “fun” me) says, “Can’t you just have a good day?  Why does it have be a “thing”?”

I want to punch something.

My mania isn’t a “fun” thing and no, I’m pretty sure I can’t control it – why would I throw my car keys into a field, strip down naked, and run from the police trying to help me?

I’m fairly certain that IS a THING.

Oy.  I hate bipolar.

 

Dark

depression

I’m in the bottom of a deep, dark hole.  I’m so far down that I can’t see the light shining at the top (my kids’ bright smiles, my husband’s warm hugs).  I kick the walls of the hole because I’m angry and because I feel that somehow it’s my fault that I’m down here.

I can’t cope with loud noises, mornings, daily chores.  The more irritable I get, the angrier I am at myself.  I snap at the people closest to me and I just feel worse.  I’m mad at how long this depression is lasting.  I don’t remember it ever being this disruptive to my life.

The only thing I can tell myself is “don’t give up” and “this will get better.”  I have to keep convincing myself of this (every day, multiple times a day) because I can’t give up and this will get better.

Depression Expression

What do you call your depression?  How do you describe it?  How do you combat it?

This is something I wrote a few days ago:

I am so sad.  So deeply, deeply sad.  It’s almost that it is so strong of an emotion, so overpowering and overwhelming that simple words do not come close, not nearly close enough, to describe even an ounce of it.

I wish I were able to depict it artistically in some way.  I understand and appreciate those who do.  Sometimes I will google “sadness” or “depression” and click on the images tab to find the one that speaks to me the most.

All the synonyms, again, are unable to express it nor define it correctly nor accurately.  It is so immense and heavy and weighing.  Sorrow, gloom, despair – these all seem like cardboard cut-outs of the same word, and it does not express the true nature of it.

Sometimes in pictures, it’s shown as a heavy burden, like a ball and chain.  Or a weight on someone’s back or shoulders.  Sometimes it’s depicted like a ghost shrouded in black, or a scream, or a soul being tortured in some way.  Agony, defeat, these are getting closer when you look at others’ visual depictions of it.

It is a hopelessness

And that is where my writing ended that day.  It is strange for me to be unable to put things into words, as writing has always come so natural to me.  I can see poetry possibly being an effective strategy for helping me to express my depression, though I haven’t dove into poetry for 20 years.

Let me know what tools you use to describe your own depression, or to express whatever turmoil you’re struggling with inside.

My OBGYN appointment

OB appt:  8:25 am

Goal for arriving at OB appt:  8:15 am with time to spare.

Intention to prepare, shower, drive cautiously and carefully, all with lots of time to spare.

Reality:  Begin day at 6 am, get through breakfast and school prep with kids, get them on the bus on time at 7:15 am, watch youtube and drink tea till 7:55 am, then check google maps to see how long it takes to get to ob appt.  Freak out, take a five minute shower, throw on clothes and race out the door, peeling out in the driveway while frantically punching the address into my phone.  Drive like hell to get there, only to be stopped by a l-o-n-g train.  Spend a furious amount of brain power in an enraged fury about the purpose and/or usefulness and/or efficiency of transporting stuff by train.

Careen into the parking lot at 8:30 am and arrive breathless at the desk to check in.

Pat on the back for making it on time (i.e. before being charged a fee for being a no-show.) Add an additional hurrah for not having a high blood pressure reading despite crazy use of  daredevil driving tactics.

 

Thank U

I can’t really do stream-of-consciousness writing.  I can’t cause I can’t really post anything without editing it first.  I can’t really write anything without editing it first.  Even when I was in high school my friends would tease me because they’d read my letters and know it was my final draft after several first drafts with errors I’d edited and paragraphs I’d revised.  And these were letters we simply passed back and forth in class, so…

It wasn’t like I was being (or am being) unauthentic, it’s just that I’m really into writing and grammar and it’s really the only way I know how to express myself and I’m also a perfectionist so I can’t just pass a note or even send a text without rereading it first.  Or second.  Or third times.

notes

I saved a bunch of those high school letters in a big box at my parents house and every time I always sit down to go through the whole batch hoping with my Adult Self looking back on my Younger Self with all my new Wisdom and Maturity I’ve acquired over the years that I’d discover some eye-opening revelations about my inner self but this isn’t the case EVER cause it’s always just about whatever boy I was “crushing” on at the time and that gets really boring, really fast.

Do you ever watch youtube videos or read other people’s blogs or books and think about what a horrible writer or performer or whatever the thing is that you like to do or want to do or strive to do is just something that you really suck at?

LikeStickersSparkle

Perfect segway into any one of you who has ever “liked” my blog post.  Cause I wrote for a good solid TWO days of posts in a row this past week, and I got alot of likes.  And by “alot” I mean like ten.  (And that is alot.)  And my email will beep-beep and tell me that I have an email and it will say, “soandso liked your blog post” and I will think, “wow!  Really?  Someone actually read it?!  And not only did they read it but they liked it?”

Now, I recognize that it’s very easy to simply “like” something by just clicking on that little button but I spend alot of time deliberating on the choices of “likes” that I make clicking on that little button.  So if I have ever given you a “like,” it’s because I really did like it.

Now, I also realize that not all readers use the same discrepancy with their likes and so sometimes I forget that and so sometimes I give myself too much credit for getting a like from someone, when I go and look at their work and I realize they maaaaaay just be liking haphazardly and not using the full potential of the like button like I do (as I said, I use strong discretion and it carries alot of weight.)

But then I just like to pretend that they weighed it with as much emphasis as I do and then I get happy again.

Alot of the successful bloggers whose only commonality I have with them is that I started blogging and reading their blogs around the same time that they started blogging and reading blogs have now published books.  And that makes me sad (for me, but happy for them) because then I start to fall into this wistful dream-state of oh-what-might-have-been.

But then that’s just silly because immediately after I start to think, “well, what if that moment is now?” as in, if I start really caring and really trying and really pursuing something then couldn’t I accomplish it five or ten years from now?

Image result for negativity vs positivity

Do you ever think that,too?

Or maybe I would just rather use this blog to track my ups and downs (and mostly primarily all the downs cause that’s the only times I post) and not put all that much effort into it as if it were, like, a career path.  Cause I know that those who become successful blogging or vlogging or what-have-you have only been able to do so through rigorous hard work, that it takes years of dedication and commitment.

And then also there’s the instant “equal and opposite” negative BLAST from inside my inner self that says awful things to me about how I could never be as good as them and you’d never be able to write a book and who do you think you are.  And that force is a pretty strong one that typically takes away whatever sort of wispy winds had entered my sails for a brief second.

Charlie-brown-1-sad

So I don’t know what conclusion this leads me to, but I do know one thing:  I whole-heartedly want to send a big thank you to anybody who has liked my writing.  Cause it means alot to me.  And although I cannot measure the sincerity of your like, I still will receive it as such:  “They like me! They like me!

sally-field-oscar-acceptance.w536.h357.2x