Tag Archives: bipolar

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.


Wish You Were Here

I can’t post videos and this is lame but Wish You Were Here (by Pink Floyd and only Pink Floyd by personal preference) is playing on repeat right now and for some reason I thought someone might give a crap.  I will never post about music again (by personal preference).

Oh yeah, and one more:  Hallelujah by Leonard Cohen.  Totally probably most likely overused but understated all at the same time.  Okay, now I’m never going to post about music again (personal rules that don’t apply to anyone else – I’m totally okay hearing about music likes, choices, etc., etc.)

Sometimes I have really strong convictions about very specific things even though I have no basis for really strong convictions about very specific things.  Like flu vaccines.  I don’t want one and never will and there is absolutely no logic nor explanation nor reason behind this choice.  (These tendencies drive my sisters nuts.)

I feel a strong conviction to express all this in a blog post RIGHT NOW.

Oh my gosh, someone put me to bed already I have so much to do in the morning and I have absolutely no chance in hell of waking up to my alarm now.  I have four hours to sleep and I need 18.

Good night.  Peace.


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.

No Piece of My Heart

Alright, so I woke up at 3 am.

I didn’t think this would affect my mood.  I didn’t think this would flip my attitude upside down.  I didn’t think I’d be trapped in anxiety for the next 24 hours.

Or, maybe this has something to do with my echo-cardiogram.  It’s taking place today at 1:00 pm.  I didn’t know I had problems with my heart.  I just had chest pains; never considered I’d have heart problems.  Age 32.

And maybe there’s a deeper reason.

You see, Allah is always with me; I am the one that has strayed.

I don’t do my prayers anymore.  I talk about people behind their backs.  I’m sure I do alot of other non-Islamic and/or haram things, too, I just don’t have time (nor do I want to) list them all here.

I’m tired.  Tired of wishing my anxiety away.  Tired of day after day feeling confused, torn, angry.  I feel like I have given up hope, only this is not the first time I’ve felt that way.  I’ve given up hope lots of times.  And the only thing that ever brought me back was the remembrance of Allah.

If you don’t know about Islam and you don’t know the truth about Muslims, you probably are reading this post right now and feeling confused.  What is she talking about?  What is this blog about?  Well, it’s about me.  I am a bipolar disordered Muslim in complete disarray.  Yes, I am  medicated.  Yes, I take my pills on time.  But do I pray on time?  No.  When I pray, I feel it is an act of worship and meditation.  It benefits me and my mental illness and essentially, all the other parts of my life, too.

I’m tired.