Category: Mental Health

The Accidental Kindness of Strangers

Published on by cmglife

Yesterday I backed into a car while attempting to get into a parking space.

I got out of my car and we looked at the damage. I had dented and cracked his bike rack. No damage to mine. The man wasn’t very nice and actually said, “You’re not going to skip out on this are you?” He stated this in several different ways several times. The nerve!

Side Note: I did not have a terrible reaction the way I used to when I did something wrong. My eyes only filled with tears and lips quivered. Almost, but not quite, my face began to crumple into “oh god I’m going to cry” phase. Honestly I’m not ashamed of any of that. I think that would be a normal reaction to an unpleasant situation.

While standing there trying to keep my calm, I felt a hand on my shoulder and it was the director of the event I was working. He asked if I was alright. He had such a genuine look of concern, a few more tears leaked out. He asked if I needed to go home he would understand. I said I would be alright and he gave me a hug.

On my way into the event someone else approached me to ask how I was and she gave me a hug.

Half way through the event a volunteer checked in to see if I needed anything and I got another hug.

When the event was over the director came by again and I thanked him . I said I couldn’t believe how kind everyone was and how much it meant to me that I wasn’t standing there in the middle of the street alone.

This maybe a bit dramatic, but it was human nature, as it could be and was that in that moment.

This accident was no accident. The more I think about it, to experience kindness and worth as a human being, well, was worth the deductible.

hi·a·tus

Published on by cmglife

A pause or gap in a sequence, series, or process.

I don’t want to write about my relationship with my oldest daughter again. Let’s just say that after 8 years it is the same. I see my two grandchildren about a couple of times a year.

It’s taken me three or four of the 5 years to make peace with it. It’s been tenacity, therapy, good friends, my son and ketamine that has enabled me to live with it.

Now my other daughter, the youngest, has caused me more stress and heart ache, because it has gone on for most of her life.

I can actually admit now that I have been emotionally abused by her. She is not a narcissist like my ex husband and my mother. I think she has borderline personality disorder. Since she is my child I hung in there through it all while dragging her to every kind of professional under the sun because she was clearly unhappy (which is what I thought).

Last year she began texting me and wanted to get together. I hadn’t heard from her in a year, not from lack of trying on my part. It was wonderful! It’s like this person was behaving in a way I had never experienced with her. She would come over for dinner about once a month and we watched Sherlock and Vampire movies…not sure how we got on that one, but it was fun and I could finally love her in a real way.

I’m not completely delusional. I was puzzled by this new and improved child. Maybe I was pushing away the probably end to it with screaming, yelling and unfounded accusations from her. I was a bit tentative giving too much of myself emotionally to the situation, but it was so lovely while it lasted.

First she cancelled Christmas with us. I hid how disappointed I really was “walking on eggshells” kind of thing. We had never spent Christmas apart. Fast forward to early May, that was the last time I saw her. I did get a “I’m fine” text in late July when I asked her if I should file a missing persons report. I texted her on and off since then. The usual things. Memes, videos of the cats, silly stories, etc.

Last Sunday I called my son to see if he had heard from her. He said no. A couple of hours later I got a text from him saying “I’m Alive”. So he had texted her, I don’t know the extent of the conversation, but I know he doesn’t have patience for the way she treats us.

Another hour went by and I got a text from her “I’ve blocked you”.

This caused a familiar reaction. I had been blocked by my sister and my oldest daughter during the hardest time of my life when I divorced my husband. The reaction was that horrible pain in my chest followed by uncontrollable sobbing. This time though I got myself together within minutes instead of 30 which it usually takes.

I rummaged around in my head to figure out how I was feeling. This was new. How did I feel? I went to bed. The next morning rummaged some more trying to pinpoint this strange non-reaction.

Before I left for work I wrote on the back of an envelope “this could be a good thing because now I don’t have to worry about her and take all the abuse”.

By the time I got to work I felt so strong and relived about another rejection from another daughter. Finally I could say “NO” to this, That feeling lasted all day.

I saw my therapist that afternoon and she could see the difference in my reaction. She has always given me advice that makes me feel either real with the way I process things or gives me clues as to how I can see it differently. She was really positive and then she slipped in something like “While you are taking this hiatus from her it will be good to….” can’t remember the rest.

I was disappointed that she had said “while”. Just her saying it broke that wall down a little bit knowing that it is just a matter of time that I won’t be able to keep up this persona. It’s not me, I’m her mother.

I’m not thinking about it now though. I figure if she needs anything she can go to her brother, sister or dad. I’m checked out for now. I may just block her. That would feel so good until I unblock her 10 minutes later.

Revised definition: hi·a·tus: A pause or gap of emotional reactions to my estranged daughters.

Deconstructed Birthday Cake

Published on by cmglife

So here’s the deal. I have a lot of talents, cooking and baking is not one of them. Every time I try anything different, 50% of the time it doesn’t work the way it’s supposed to.

The reason for this particular post and the reason I’m actually including my first video ever is because not only was it a total catastrophic fail, but extremely funny, at least I thought so!

I made a cake for my son, a delicious looking lemon one I found online. I read the recipe and I decided I could do it.

That afternoon, I came out with it, birthday candles lit, we sang and I put the cake in the middle of the table.

I explained the reasons it looked so good. I had buttered the pans. Used parchment paper. Froze both layers so I could frost them without getting crumbs in the frosting. I was so proud of myself!

My son cut the cake with some trouble, and handed out the slices.

I started to eat my slice commenting I didn’t realize it was so dense (I had trouble getting my fork through it) Then I saw it, parchment paper! I had forgotten to remove the parchment paper from the layers. Not only that, I had actually frosted over the paper in each layer!

There’s nothing more to say.

Ruminating

Published on by cmglife

Today, I began to read my blog posts from the beginning. I’ve been avoiding it because I’m not sure what I will find and how they will make me feel.  Scrolling down (a long way down) I didn’t expect to arrive at 2012.

I feel I must read them because there is such a wide gap between when I stopped writing and now. It’s like I’m reading them for the first time (I have a terrible memory).

I started my blog to express myself after learning I had Bipolar 2.  I stopped writing for a long time because of several reasons, mostly depression.  All I could focus on was staying alive all while looking like nothing was wrong.

I’ve only read three or four early posts so far; they made me smile.  The progression of my life from 2017 until now is sad and I’m not looking forward to reading those. 

I still am not allowed to see my grandchildren and the four-year anniversary of when this nightmare began is this September 8th.

I realized recently that I didn’t even know the word ruminate existed until my daughter banished me from her life. It’s very hard for me to avoid ruminating, especially when I don’t understand, been given no information and I do not have any control. Sometimes it feels like a physical battle, and it has a mind of its own, a separate entity that keeps creeping in when I least expect it.

I am getting on my feet again though

My therapist says that while this has been and is still terrible and there is no explanation for the alienation of my grandchildren, being better with the ketamine helps me not fall off that cliff so regularly.

I was, and am, a good mother. I should ruminate on that.

URC BD

Published on by cmglife

I’ve had a small glass of wine. I’m resisting the urge to write.

I have Ultra Rapid Cycling Bipolar Disorder. I’m not sure if there is “2” “II” behind it or not for this glamorous sounding disease.

Now, and for the last five days, I’ve taken a dive into the abyss of depression. No, I’m calling it a fall into the abyss of depression, that sounds less deliberate, because I certainly have no control over it.

If you know anything about or suffer from a mood disorder and read my last post, I think it is obvious that I had begun falling in a dramatic way.

I’m much more aware and less likely to fight against admitting defeat these days, so I call my Dr. and get in right away.  There is always a lot of crying on my part and a lot of rifling through my three maybe four-inch-thick file folder on his part.  I think I’ll mention to him next time – it’s time for a binder.

He looks, he thinks, I cry, I tell him what I think is wrong and he comes up with yet another plan. 

I’ve been cycling again, but not at all in a fun way, I’m not getting the pleasant phase. The productive, “Aren’t I amazing? “ and “I love me!” phase. All depressed and irritability. More like angry and pissed off. Either sobbing or berating myself as pathetic. Raw exposed nerves, don’t even talk to me and definitely don’t touch me! I want to be hit by a truck and throw things that aren’t cooperating. I’m not eating either. I cannot even enjoy the lack of appetite and therefore lack of calories because it is a danger sign that I’m getting closer to the edge.

No one knows I’m felling this way because I have way too many responsibilities and way too high standards for myself to drop the mask I have perfected over a lifetime.

So about now you might be thinking, where is all this going? She has definitely not been able to resist the urge to write.

I was resisting the urge to write because I had a small glass of wine.  I know I am not supposed to drink because of my condition, but when I feel this depressed it is the only relief I get until the medicine starts to work.  Luckily, I metabolize medicine very quickly.  That is also a plus for the very small amount of wine I need.  I have been known, a year or so ago and before, to drink a lot every night. And now I don’t. 

Writing my thoughts and feelings in a blog about being diagnosed with such a stigmatized illness was a great outlet for me. I couldn’t tell anyone I knew because of the shame I felt. It took me months before I told my husband. Drinking was the only way to feel anything. The medicine was levelling me out but there was nothing left. Being buzzed wasn’t the same, but at least I didn’t feel dead.

So what’s next for me? Drink and then write again? Today, and with the way I’m feeling, the buzz feels a tiny bit good and writing this feels good. It feels real. It makes me feel like me. The real me that I love. If other people felt this way about me I know they would love me too.

Tiles for everthing!

Published on by cmglife

Is it paranoia to suspect I have gremlins following me around moving things I have just put down?  I wasn’t paranoid before, years ago, but I didn’t have that problem then.  I’ve put “Tiles” on my two sets of keys and my purse, my most lost items.  I think I’ve already saved a couple of searching hours in the last month.

I’ve lost my wedding ring, my work keys, $1400 in cash to name a few. It’s like I spend time thinking where I should put these valuable items and then immediately forget. It’s like when I change a password, if I don’t immediately put in in my phone, I forget it. Then I have to change it a second time.

I know it is a side effect of my Bipolar condition. Memory loss. It feels more like memory slipping through my fingers.

I make jokes at work when something is missing, “have you looked in my safe place”. Of course there is no such place. More like a black hole of important never to be seen again items.

I did track down where I had left my work keys. I threw them in the trash with a plastic drop cloth I was using for painting. So now I have to lurk around waiting for another coworker so I can follow them in, or have to ring the bell. How humiliating.

Then there was the $1400 cash.  I had my furnace fixed and confidently when upstairs to get cash to pay the invoice.  I went directly to an old purse hanging in my closet. The money wasn’t there because the purse was gone, I had given it to Goodwill the week before! I frantically called Goodwill and told them my story and could they look for it.  The manager was wonderful and said she would do what she could.

While I was waiting for her to call back with triumph in her voice, I began to think. Round and round in my head, searching for a clue in my overworked brain that would lead me to another tenuous memory. Waiting for that revelation when the clues finally lead me to the money. I rummaged through everything for hours. Even places I knew the money couldn’t possibly be.

Then it happened (angel’s chorus).  I looked at the picture on my wall and all the gears slid into place. I had hidden the money behind the picture frame!  It must’ve taken it out before I put the purse in the pile for goodwill.

I love it when I am that smart! I just wish it wasn’t wasted on my scatterbrainess (made up word). I called up Goodwill and thanked them profusely.

I don’t think it’s going to end or get any better, and I haven’t come up with a system to fix it yet. Well, that may not be true. I haven’t tried attaching Tiles to all my important items with glue dots.

My Men

Published on by cmglife

I’ve come to the conclusion that the men I choose in my life suck.

The first man to suck was the father of my oldest daughter.  I was just 20. He abandoned us when I gave birth.

The second man, the main man, was John my husband of 28 years.  He is a narcissist.

Unbelievably, I fell in love with the third man just this last July, Rick.  We had known each other since we were teenagers.  He popped up into my life and manipulated me to such a degree even the likes of John and the other guy had never seen.

When the lies were revealed to me I deleted all his texts, photos, etc.  He has only tried to reach me once the next morning and haven’t heard from him since.  There is so much more to this story than the few sentences I have written.  I am so upset by his betrayal that I’m not even able to write about it fully.

My therapist warned me to go slowly.  I honestly tried.  At first I thought I was.  I think my perception of slow is different from other people’s.  It must have something to do with a lifetime of running my four-day ultra-rapid cycling pattern.

I was going slow for me.

In addition to the hate for Rick,  and all the lies he told, I feel used.  I feel violated. I know that word it tossed around and has made us all insensitive to it, but I was in every sense of the word.  The situation this man caused was so horrible it made me miss John.  The night that the bottom fell out of this short relationship I stacked up my pillows in bed and tried to hug them like they were John.  That is so sad I’m tearing up remembering it.

For all the trash I talk about John, I miss him.  He always protected me.  Half the time he was what I needed protection from, but that’s how I felt even though it might not have been true.  It’s normal to still miss him.  I have a crazy unrealistic healing time schedule in my mind.

The advice I’ve been given is to feel what I’m feeling.  It doesn’t mean I want him back. I’ve cried on and off since last Monday.  I don’t even seem to be able to hold tears back even when I want to.  I cry because I miss John, I cry because Rick broke my heart.  I cry because I’m lonely.  I miss my oldest daughter and my son.  I’m crying now.  I’m just so sad.

I’ve got a long road.  I thought I could make it shorter, but it doesn’t work that way.

 

 

Fascinating Article on a Genetic Mutation Linked to Bipolar Disorder

Published on by cmglife

Genetic Mutation Found In 1 Of Every 200 People Linked To Alcoholism, Schizophrenia, And Bipolar Disorder

 

A Serious Discussion

Published on by cmglife2 Comments

Emily and I had a discussion the other day about revealing my Bipolar Disorder II to people. “People” means the people I know. I worry that if they know I have this mood disorder they will view me differently.

My daughter, I believe because of heredity, has a little OCD and General Anxiety. She tells people in her life about it. She thinks it is important to educate about mental illness and she feels that it will make a difference as far as how some people view it.

I have a different tano-more-stigma-10ke on it though. I am afraid to tell even my closest friends about my illness. I am afraid they will misunderstand and think I will strip down naked and run down the street with a knife.  Actually, I hate to admit it, but before I was diagnosed with this disorder, I thought the same thing.

Just like everyone is told by top news stories, the perpetrator of mass murders, etc. are often reported as having a bipolar illness.  The general public sees that and assumes the worst.  Who can blame them?  There are so many variables that are not reported.  Predisposition to violence, access to weapons, psychotic breaks, not medicated, etc.

Writing this blog is the farthest I can go right now.  I feel very protective of my situation. Maybe one day.

Ha!

Published on by cmglife2 Comments

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