Standing Desk Update
A Serious Discussion
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 ta
ke 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.
Cooking Day Fiasco
Today I began cooking a month’s worth of dinners. I’ve done a couple of weeks worth before, but never this big of an undertaking. I started last night.
Since I had a boat load of veggies to chop I bought a new razor sharp knife. I was almost finished chopping buckets of onions when I started talking to Tristan. Yep, you guessed it, I cut myself.
I spent 30 minutes sittin
g in the living room trying to stop the bleeding.
I decided to pack it in for the night and slipped the knife into the soapy water in the sink. I then forgot said knife was lurking beneath the dirty water. I put my hand in to find the cutlery on the bottom and cut my other hand!
I spent another 30 minutes sitting in the living room trying to stop the bleeding.
Today, with the addition of band-aids on two fingers, I started cooking ingredients I had so diligently prepped the day before. I looked down at one point and one of the band-aids was missing!!! I had only made three dishes so I dug through them all. I couldn’t find it! I looked on the floor, in the trash and the sink of soapy water (minus the knife this time) to no avail. I debated what to do…could I get away with it? No, I had to throw the three dishes away.
Finished the cooking and took Allison to an orthodontic appointment. I had been sitting in the waiting room for ten minutes or so when the reception said to someone, “Do you smell onions?”
Ha!
Quitting the Habit
After drinking wine disguised in a mug last weekend I decided I should do something about my habit. I stopped drinking on Monday.
Yesterday after an argument with John, I decided a nice glass of wine would be just right, and since I hadn’t drank in two days I could do it. I went to the store on the way home and bought a box of wine. If I needed a glass it would be there. Turns out I didn’t need it! Yippee!
The deeper question has yet to be asked, “Is it a habit or a dependency?”
I think it may be too soon to tell. I’ve been drinking wine every night for the past five years. It coincided with the beginning of my medication for Bipolar II. I used it as a way to make me feel something because the medication seemed to squash my feelings. Now I feel great with my cocktail (no pun intended) and enough time has gone by that I have adjusted to the new me.
Of course, the ultimate goal is always to lose weight 🙂 and that side effect will be welcomed with open arms.
Drinking in the Afternoon
You know what I did today? I drank wine out of a mug so my son wouldn’t question me. It was 12:30 in the afternoon. I was feeling so depressed that I thought it might help. It was that second mug that finally put a dent in it.
I realize that the trauma of my mother dying is making me depressed. Very understandable. This may be the most normal reaction I’ve ever had to anything.
I have to get my act together. I think it’s the three weeks on overdrive trying to make her feel comfortable, help my family and come to grips with her dying. Now with nothing left to do I feel like I’ve fallen off the edge of a cliff. That’s when the depression set in.
It’s “normal”, but when have I ever been normal?
Wallowing
No more wallowing for me.
I’ve got a mountain of laundry to do. The kitchen is a health hazard and my appearance has a lot to be desired. I think I’ve worn the same three outfits for the last two weeks. I cancelled my hair appointment and my legs are hairy. Allison needs her mother back and Tristan should be able to ask me how I’m doing without me turning into a crying mess. The dog hasn’t been walked, I haven’t gone to work in two weeks and my Christmas tree is still up.
I am still in shock, but isn’t it time to physically rise up and start participating in my life again?
Hmm, no, not yet, not today.
Walking Through Mud
Please excuse me if I my post is incoherent. I’m half-drunk with the wine I’ve been drinking since 10pm. I didn’t start out planning to get drunk. I was just trying to wait out my family in order to get some peace and quiet.
Oldest visiting daughter, Emily, went to bed at 10pm. Allison, the youngest, wanted to stay up until midnight. I let her stay up. Just as the ball dropped my husband came home!
After discussing the recent death of my mother, he wanted to know why there wasn’t a funeral. She didn’t want one.
He wanted to know why there wasn’t an obituary. She didn’t want one.
Why don’t I print up some photos and have them at the “Memorial”? She didn’t want that.
It’s hard enough trying to wrap my mind around what has happened in the last two weeks let alone try to experience it with someone who doesn’t understand the nuances and complications of my mother’s and my relationship.
It’s actually pretty simple to me, I loved her and I miss her already.
My Mum
My mum died yesterday. I saw her body and the realization fell on me. She’s really not here anymore. I feel scared. That’s the last feeling I thought I’d feel. I’m a grown woman with a family of my own and I’m scared my mother isn’t here anymore. What if I need her?
Never Agains
I am crocheting and thinking. I crochet a dish cloth for my sister once every three or four years. This one is a reddish pinkish color. I contemplate whether it is a tomato or real red while my mother lies dying in her hospital bed. All I have done the last three days is think. I stare and think.
Someone said to me the other day when they found out that my mother was dying,
“Well, we all have to go through it don’t we?”
“No, “we” don’t”, I thought, “You have know idea how I am feeling. My mother isn’t like yours. She is amazing, smart, funny, interesting. She makes you feel like you are the only one in the world that matters.”
I’ve been like this all week. Anything someone says I take it as a personal affront. Everything is just trivial now. Bills, work, going the speed limit, laundry.
Does everyone feel like this when their mother dies? I had no idea. I was always sympathetic, but I had no idea it was so debilitating emotionally. The sadness is almost overwhelming.
All those “never agains” just keep piling up in the back of my mind.
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