Struggle

I’ve got to make it through this.  I’ve got to be able to carry this and keep going.

Right now I’m using every tool in my toolbox.  Im scrounging around in the very bottom of it, searching for what’s left.  I’ve used up all the ink in my pen, my voice is harsh and strained from all the talking and crying and my mind is drained.  I have very little left.

I’m angry and hurt and I’ve lost the ability to express myself in every way imaginable.  I have no map for this awful terrain.

I’m on my knees begging for help.

I’m going to lay down now and hope that my thoughts dont follow me to my pillow.  Music, tv, any distraction – just please work so I can have one peaceful moment outside this reality.

I have work in the morning, in just a very few hours.  Please just let me sleep and when I wake up, please make this nightmare disappear.

Wrong Way On a One-Way Track

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FYI:  This is not actually me.

I feel like I’m headed toward a breakdown.  Like a runner who’s running a bit too fast and starting to lose traction but can’t slow down soon enough.  This is the exact scenario I work so hard to avoid, and yet – here I am.

Starting to flail my arms and trying to maintain my balance, but who am I kidding?  We all know I’m about to fall.  And I’m going to smack the ground.  Hard.

I could write about how hard it is as a mom with bipolar disorder.  I could write about how my husband tries to support me but we’re having marital problems.  I could write about how I’m terrified that my oldest son will develop bipolar disorder and my worst fear is that one day he will commit suicide.

I know my coping skills.  I am to:

Image result for running and almost falling

This is just a pretty picture that reminded me of a place I used to go to on my dad’s farm.  It was an old train track in a wooded area behind the acres he farmed.  When Mom got sick and there was no one to take care of me, I’d ride with him in the tractor.  If I got bored he’d let me out at one end of the field and I’d wander down the grassed-up tracks till he came back around to pick me back up again.

– write
– take walks
– utilize my support system
– stick to a routine of regular sleep
– eat healthy
– SEE MY THERAPIST.

I haven’t seen her since…October?  That is when I realized that my insurance isn’t paying for my visits (and won’t until February).  This is what stirred up problems for me last time, too – I wasn’t seeing a psych nor a therapist for months leading up to my breakdown.

Tomorrow I’ll call the office.  I’ll make an appointment.  I’ll find a way to pay for it later.  I have to see someone.

You Know We’ll Have A Good Time Then

I can’t satiate your need for play.  I know there will be a day when you won’t want to play with me anymore, and there will be a sharp and sudden reversal of our roles – me begging for a minute of your time, just a second, puh-lease! but you won’t have one and all I will be left with is “Cat’s In the Cradle” lyrics rolling through my head.

I work hard, only for the purpose of keeping the house warm and having food for us all to eat.  I work hard, only to come home tired and worn, with sore feet and an ache in my back.  I work with you on your homework, you struggle, I struggle.  It’s bedtime now and you hate bedtime.

And then I’m in bed and I know I’ll do it all over again tomorrow and I have to remind myself I do it to keep the house warm and to have food for us all, but it never fails to hit me each morning that the only thing I want is to have time with you.

So I’ll make the most of today and I’ll try not to snap at you when you’re out of your bed at way-past-bedtime.  I’ll hug you just a little longer than I normally do, and I’ll take a second longer to look right into your eyes and tell you I love you.  And I’ll pray that those are the parts you’ll remember.

Alwrite so I’m gonna right.

I’m not in the mood to write, but I know it helps me.  So I’m going to choose to do the healthy thing even though it is the thing I least want to do.

In fact, the thing I would most like to do is completely give up.  Only I can’t.  Because of alot of things.  Because other people depend on me.  Because I have kids.  Because it would be the easy way out.  Because it wouldn’t fix anything.  Because I have to keep keeping on.

I’m not in the best place right now.  I know those of you who know depression understand.  So I know that I have to focus on the positive right now.  I have to force myself to get through each minute of each day and just focus on what is right in front of me.

I need to take a walk.
I need to focus on breathing.
I need to write to make it alright.

I remember when I was in the psychiatric hospital, we used to get together every morning and state our goal for the day.  Over and over my goal was simply “breathe.”  Maybe people thought I wasn’t being serious (or maybe that was my paranoid thoughts about what others were thinking of me) but it was literally all I could do to just focus on breathing and being alive.  Like, accepting that I’m here and this is it and this is what I had to deal with.  Cause I fought it so hard, fought the fact that I was in the hospital, fought the fact that I had to take care of myself before I could take care of anything else.  Accept that I was sick.

We had art class in the hospital, and it was life-changing for me.  It still is so hard for me to draw or create something art-ful.  Because I feel like I don’t do it well enough or that it won’t look good and so why should I even try?  I need to get back to that therapeutic aspect cause once I started doing it, I realized that it was helpful.  Like helpful-alot.

Right now, today, I have to go to work.  I have to put on a stupid red apron with all this Christmas crap on it and I have to smile and I have to make stupid jokes with the customers.  And I’m doing it for my kids.  To support us because I’m the only one that can.  I have to miss out on them getting off the bus.  I have to work until night and then I get to see them for a while before they go to bed.

Vent/rant:  I’m so sick of everything.  I’m so sick of trying so hard for just simple things.  Like getting dressed, getting ready, driving to work.  Working.  Coming home and trying to be there for my family.  All I really want to do is be alone.  I imagine myself going to a soft cabin in the woods somewhere, being completely alone with myself and no one else.  Just feeding myself and sleeping and maybe writing a little and maybe, if I get the confidence to do it, drawing.  Or creating something.  Anything.

This summer I spent time with my sister and her niece and my kids and my sister’s husband.  And we were at a beach and we had just ate pizza at the beach and we had to leave so we decided, let’s take one more jump in the water, and then we’ll pack everything up and go.

So I dove out into the water and I forgot about my kids and my sister and I left my life on the shore and I swam out and out and out and just kept crashing my body into the water over and over, diving farther and farther out, away from everything.  I would jump up, throw myself into the water, crash through the surface, immerse my whole body deep under the water, then rise back up and do it again.  It was the single best experience of my entire year.

Peace.

 

 

Does Misery Love Company

I have no scientific research on this because I am too busy watching extremely depressing videos of places I’ve never been to and where I probably will never go where devastating events are happening, not only terrible natural disasters, but worse yet, human-to-human violent acts that are hard to speak of or consider or think about or talk of but that are happening now and have been happening for eons.

I mentioned this to my equally bipolar sister (birth sister) the other day, of how I am sucked into this downward spiral of soaking up all of this knowledge of horrible events and awfulness happening around the world through news broadcasts and books and alternative news stations and videos on youtube and wherever, and I mentioned that this happens when I get depressed; I wrap myself into this blanket of awfulness, working to avoid the depressive state of my own affairs and seeking to cover myself with the depressive state of others’ affairs.  And I expressed that I couldn’t really understand why I do this, because it’s completely counterintuitive toward getting well (although, much can be said about that as there are LOTS of things we do to ourselves when we are depressed that we know FOR A FACT are not helping but we do them anyway as that is sort of the evilness that is mental illness.)

Anyway, she pointed out to me that perhaps it was because that when we are in these pained states, these highly sensitive states, it is one of the only times when we are actually able to come closer to understanding what others are going through; it is one of the few times that we can relate to a portion of the feelings of devastation or sadness or pain or pure torture that other people in various parts of the world are existing in.

I don’t know if she is right or wrong.  I see these atrocities when the feelings crushing me inside, the ones that make me hate myself and want to die, lead me down the road towards a different kind of pain, the pain of others.  Do I watch/read/absorb these things because I want to be more depressed?  Or is it to remind myself that I am privileged, safe, and not in any immediate danger for my life?  Do I do it because it is the only time I can feel the sorrow and sadness at a depth that seems more attune to plight and devastation?

And how sad for the state of us all that I and other humans can absorb these things and yet still do nothing to stop it?  I already have heavy feelings of powerlessness and hopelessness – why do I allow myself to view events that are even more charged with those same feelings?  Does misery really love company?  Is it as simple as that?  I don’t think so.

We were never promised a life without suffering.  We were never promised it; in fact, we were promised that there WOULD be suffering, that we WILL endure hardship and pain and discomfort of all different kinds.  And that from those calamities, if we show patience and endurance and continue to display kindness and love and spread peace, that we will have ease and be rewarded in this life and the next.  And the reason is because without suffering we cannot build strength.  Without pain and hardship, we would never become strong.

I can’t tie this all together, but I also feel that I don’t need to.  Peace.

Stuck Inside My Couch

Oh man. I’m here again.

Couch, I thought this was over.  I thought you had let me go and that we had gotten past this.

Look, I think you’re great. I really do.  We’ve had a lot of good memories.  Great memories, I’d even say.  But I can’t keep doing this.  I have a life I need to live. I have pants I need to put on.

Yes, you’re comfortable.  Yes, you offer a slightly less depressing place for DDS (daytime depression sleeping) than my bed.  And yes, I can quickly pretend I was just folding laundry if anyone comes in and says, ” You’re STILL sleeping?!”

But I really think (after tomorrow) I’m going to have to stop sinking into your cozy comfort of avoidance of my real life.  I really think (after the day after tomorrow) we’re going to have to part ways and only come together when I need someplace to temporarily sit.  And (after the day that comes after the day after the day after tomorrow so we’re kind of looking at next week) I really would appreciate it if you’d stop giving me such an easy place to continue drowning in my own sloppy mess of depression and worthlessness.

It’s okay – you still have the cat.

I got hit today. By a car. Well, but I was in a car, and so was the driver, and so everything was supposed to be fine. Which it was. Sort of.

Cause I drove away, and no one was hurt. And plus, it wasn’t even my fault. So that, too, was good.

But there was something not quite right about how I felt afterwards. Sure, we said our awkward goodbyes at the scene in front of the cop at the end.  And I drove away, adjusting my rearview mirror confidently, knowing I had done nothing wrong to cause this interference in the process of our days.

But then, all of a sudden, I just lose my sh!t.  I’m just crying and sobbing and snotting over every piece of clothing I’m wearing, and I’m just like, “woah.”  What is happening here?

Everything that I have ever thought of or been concerned about or worried about just comes pouring out in wave after wave, just crashing into the surface, violently, shamelessly, just smash, crash.  I don’t even know what the hell is going on.

I try to overcome it, I figure if I just lay down it will pass but it doesn’t pass so I make the WORST choice possible for a bipolar person in distress – I reach for alcohol to numb the pain.

Have I been here before? Yes.  Has it EVER EVER EVER helped? NO.

The only saving grace was me calling my best friend, who soothed me and calmed my crashing waves of emotion and swam me carefully back to shore.

I swear, she is what keeps me here.

Tomorrow is going to hurt. Bad. And the next day after that will be even worse. I’m just hoping that the next day after that gets slightly less worse. That’s what I’m shooting for. Wish me luck.