Drifting Away

so maybe this isn’t the best format for me to attempt to write on and maybe this is not the ideal time to gather my thoughts and try to put them down on paper but maybe this is the best I’ve got and the closest I’ve come and so here it is and here I am:

Have you ever heard someone say that the only thing they know for sure is that they don’t know anything at all?  That sort of sums up the way I feel tonight. I’ve been up and down and around on a whirlwind of emotions since I last wrote.

Number one:  I don’t know what I’m doing as a parent.  I try so hard yet fail so easily. I have regrets and excuses and I’ve been so off track the parenting train that I don’t even know where the hell I’m headed now.

Number two:  I’m lousy. Just plain lousy. I like this word lately. It really pinpoints the emotion and where I’m at currently.  I hate everything, I have grievances against everyone, and especially, most of all, I can’t stand myself.  Being around myself just makes me cringe and I’d much rather be elsewhere…but I’m not.

Number three:  is the ride over yet?  I really, really want to get off.

And where would I be and where would I go?  To a crowded city and get lost in the alleys?  To the coast and throw myself to the sea?  To the infinite space above and away from this earth and out into orbit around some distant planet?  To the desert where I’d travel for days on end until I succumbed to Death and let it overtake me?

I have no hope.

I used to dream and challenge myself. I told myself someday I’d travel. Someday I’d read poetry on stage.  Someday I’d learn to ride a horse. Someday I’d learn to accept myself in my own skin.

I don’t dream anymore.  I’ve given up all hope.  I’m disappearing, and it is a relief.

Running Scared

Image result for depression

I don’t understand my depression.

Often I can’t identify when I’m depressed or not.  Sometimes I fall into the black hole without a moment’s notice, other times it drags on for months, subtly, until I wind up at the bottom, not even interested in climbing back out.

Is my lack of energy caused by my depression?  Is my weight gain, my lack of a desire to exercise, my overeating – are these caused by my depression, or am I just simply fat, lazy, and weak?  I call myself these things because that’s what I feel inside.  But maybe that is the depression talking?

Alright, I’m done whining.  Here’s a list to help me sort it all out.  Maybe it can help you, too:

Signs and symptoms of depression include:
  • Feelings of helplessness and hopelessness. A bleak outlook—nothing will ever get better and there’s nothing you can do to improve your situation
  • Loss of interest in daily activities. No interest in former hobbies, pastimes, social activities, or sex. You’ve lost your ability to feel joy and pleasure.
  • Appetite or weight changes. Significant weight loss or weight gain—a change of more than 5% of body weight in a month.
  • Sleep changes. Either insomnia, especially waking in the early hours of the morning, or oversleeping (also known as hypersomnia).
  • Anger or irritability. Feeling agitated, restless, or even violent. Your tolerance level is low, your temper short, and everything and everyone gets on your nerves.
  • Loss of energy. Feeling fatigued, sluggish, and physically drained. Your whole body may feel heavy, and even small tasks are exhausting or take longer to complete.
  • Self-loathing. Strong feelings of worthlessness or guilt. You harshly criticize yourself for perceived faults and mistakes.
  • Reckless behavior. You engage in escapist behavior such as substance abuse, compulsive gambling, reckless driving, or dangerous sports.
  • Concentration problems. Trouble focusing, making decisions, or remembering things.
  • Unexplained aches and pains. An increase in physical complaints such as headaches, back pain, aching muscles, and stomach pain.

(P.s. I hate these lists.)

Moving Out and Moving On

I have now selected my new pharmacy (first on the list, of course), my new psychiatrist, my new grocery store, my new gas station, and my new library.  These are all of my essentials.  I still need to find my new nature trails, my new 4 am coffee spot, and my new place to buy milk when I run out, as New Grocery Store is a 15 minute drive away (for those city folk who are confused and/or appalled at this, this is country-living at its finest…)

All of it is…different.  I’m feeling a little reckless lately; all of this change doesn’t necessarily do a body good.  I feel kind of like a fish out of water, and I’m flip-flopping all over the dock.

Mind you, this is the place where I lived for 18 years of my life.  Only I never lived here as an adult until now, with adult needs (oh gawd, that sounds so naughty) like finding a relatively sane pediatrician or locating an oil change place that won’t accidently put washer fluid in my radiator reserve.

Moving out was easy enough.  Moving in was even easier.  It’s the “moving on” part that I’m struggling with.  I feel a little challenged in embracing this new life we’ve created for ourselves.

Although parts of it are great.  Being around my parents, having my son go to the school I grew up in, being close to good friends – I’m excited for that.  My entire support system is now only a moment’s drive away.  And as I mentioned before, there is a new place of worship for me just 15 minutes away from my house.

But there is a part of me that feels a loss.

I spoke with a family friend yesterday.  He was miles and miles away, now living in a country far away from the US.  He used to live right down the block from us.  We used to see him every day, and now it’s months in between our short, rushed conversations (using international minutes makes each phone call too expensive to last long enough).  We were cut off abruptly in the middle of a story about my husband, and I couldn’t call him back.

So I suppose change is all relative.  I need to gain my perspective back and learn how to adjust to this new/old environment.  I need to find myself as an adult here and pave new roads.  I need to embrace this change and create my own niche in this wide, open world.

Chopping Onions: The Truth is in Our Core

Chopping Onions: The Truth is in Our Core.

Psychiatric Mess

Anyone been in the psychiatric hospital and had a great, fun-loving, good ol’ time?

I apologize to those who have experienced trauma in the hospital, who have been in there involuntarily and/or due to an attempted suicide or depression or instability or any of the difficulties related to those.  I was probably the person you most hated in there.

My experience in the hospital was a manic one.  But I felt safe and I felt like I could be who I was.  I felt the rush of mania – that extreme, euphoric feeling where you can be and do anything, and why are all these other people in here not having as great a time as I am?  I had forgotten any and all negative experiences I have ever had and was floating near the moon for the first half of my trip.

I felt slightly more and more defused when I realized I didn’t care whether I got out or not.  When I started to realize that my kids were out there without me, and that I didn’t really care all that much cause I was just having too much fun.

Trust me, I came crashing down, so those of you who are rolling their eyes at my insanity, know that I got what was coming to me.

But I just wonder if there’s anyone else who actually enjoyed their stay?  I got food made for me (best part), I had a shower (almost) every day, and that alone was incredible.  I had spent so much of myself taking care of others, that being manic and so exorbitantly happy made me a fool, but a happy hap-happy one.

I FELT so much of everything.  Ah, mania.  You tricky trickster, you.  If only I had realized it was all destined to come crashing down.  I could have selfishly stayed that way forever, not knowing or caring the difficulties my family was having on the outside.

But I did stay manic for quite a long time.  When I got in there, they had taken me off of all of my meds (do they do that for everyone?) and I was med-free for almost a week, and boy did I have fun.  I felt like I was truly ME.

I’m not trying to glorify this experience (although I totally am.)  It’s just that mania is really something special.  I know it’s dangerous.  I know it spins out of control.  I know eventually I want to rip off all my clothes and be naked and the irritability and anger comes eventually.  But music sounded better, dance parties were spontaneous and rock-hard awesome, and food was the greatest thing ever.  I just felt alive and felt like I was finally ME.

Please, oh please, please don’t hate on me for this post.  Cause – just to justify this post – last night I was wishing I could reach back to the back of my skull and rip my hair and skin off of the top of my head, pull forward, and reveal my skull and hopefully let all of the agony seep out.  Cause I hated myself so much that I just wished and wished that I was dead.

Oh man, that was totally unnecessary to add.  I’m a douche sometimes.  I guess it is pretty obvious by now that I feel immense guilt for having such a great time.  I had no responsibilities, and to those who were carrying them all for me, I’m so so very very sorry.  I just can’t deny that I felt free.  Maybe you would have, too.

Google Searching All Readers

Excuse me, could I have your assistance, please?

So, I have a friend* who needs some help finding bloggers who share her predicament.  She has joined an already established family and is feeling the pressures of being a mom to kids that she did not raise (I believe they call it a blended family?).  She feels she’s stepping into their life and not her own, new life.  Do any of you guys know of a blogger (or bloggers, plural) that she could connect with for help?

I could do a search on this, but I feel like my readers and the bloggers in my own pool will know better than a random search.  So I’m calling out to everyone who reads any of my posts or who follows me, to find out if there’s someone out there in the same situation, as I’d like to send you her way.

Thank you.

(*NO – it’s totally not me.  That’s the truth, really.)

Driving While Bipolar

Driving while Bipolar is hazardous to your health.

Traffic lights are points of contention.  You are either trapped in the pain and agony of depression, convinced at a dead stop that driving through the red light just might be the solution you’ve been looking for – or you are so lost in your own thoughts that you mistakenly drive right through it.

Okay, maybe that’s just me.  I don’t want to hurt anyone and I certainly don’t desire to run a red light.  But sometimes, I do want to die.

You see, to all the bipolars out there who understand this, I don’t need to explain myself.  But let me explain to those who don’t:  It’s not always a conscious choice.  Sometimes it really does feel like the only right thing to do.  We are fully aware of the troubles and worries we cause those around us (they have their own SUPPORT groups even!) and sometimes, just sometimes, you think to yourself that they would be better off without you.

Last night my husband and I were talking about acceptance.  Acceptance of the fact that I am bipolar.

I’m always trying to think of a way to control my depression, to make it go away, to become something different.  And I constantly think that if I just think hard enough or just try hard enough, I can come up with the solution, as if it’s a math equation with only one answer that I just haven’t figured out yet.

He’s right.  I have not accepted this part of myself yet.  This whole of myself.  I have not accepted that I have an illness, an illness that produces the following obstacles:

Bipolar disorder, also known as manic-depressive illness, is a brain disorder that causes unusual shifts in mood, energy, activity levels, and the ability to carry out day-to-day tasks. Symptoms of bipolar disorder are severe. They are different from the normal ups and downs that everyone goes through from time to time. Bipolar disorder symptoms can result in damaged relationships, poor job or school performance, and even suicide. But bipolar disorder can be treated, and people with this illness can lead full and productive lives.

(That last part, I’m not so sure about.)

Sometimes, I can live with the fact that I have bipolar.  I can recognize the symptoms, truly try to cope by doing things that are good for all people, bipolar or not:  exercise, eat right, yada yada yada.  But there are many more times when I just can’t see beyond my own internal struggles.

Having a strong support system is a special blessing I have that some don’t have.  My entire family backs me up and steps in when necessary – when they see the signs I cannot see – and my doctors and therapist appointments and medication help, too.

But most of the time, I fight the disease.  I fight it tooth and nail.  I worry myself almost to the point of death.  And at every stop light, I wonder.