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.
Update on my last Ketamine fusion and how it has changed my life. I could really stop there; that says it all.
Let me step away for a minute and count the exact days on my calendar hanging on my fridge dedicated to my depression free days from infusion to infusion. 33 days.
I try to keep in mind that ketamine is a treatment, not a cure. I remind myself that I still have bipolar 2 and Treatment Resistant Depression (TRD). When I remind myself of that, I think of it for a minute and then push it away.
Occasionally, I have what I call a “dip” (my old name and feeling was “falling off a cliff”) thank God that hasn’t happened since the treatment started working. That sense of dread when a dip moment occurs, and I don’t know the reason for it. My poor old brain leaps right to “it’s back”.
I think I’ve found an explanation. I don’t know what emotions people with healthy brains feel. I give it some thought and come up with a few reasons.
Most likely it’s stress. Stress has always been a killer for me.
It could be from working too much and anxiety from that.
Worrying about money (definitely).
I’ll keep writing about the ketamine, but I really want to start writing about my day-to-day things again. My posts have been so heavy for a long time they need a little nonsense.
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.
I was cleaning out the bathroom drawers. I have been accused in the past of throwing out things I shouldn’t have. I can usually counter that accusation by finding the item in question. I am the record holder of “Supreme Finder” title in our family. I can find things without even looking or getting up.
As I said, I was cleaning the drawers in the bathroom vanity. I pulled everything out first, cleaned the drawer and then put everything back in. Well, almost everything. There were the loose tooth floss toothpick things, hair ties, stray, Q –tips, old toothbrushes, etc. Those I threw away.
The real danger came when I approached John’s drawer. I pulled the drawer open and felt my blood run cool for just a moment. Okay, that may have been my imagination, but you get the gist of the apprehension I was feeling.
In his drawer were razors, empty toothpaste tubes, used stray toothpick floss things, an old handle for the blinds, combs and a few pens. Pretty straight forward I thought. A no-brainer. Ah, no. Nothing is ever simple with John. It is my fault. I should’ve realized it. I should have tried to get into his brain while I analyzed every piece of bathroom paraphernalia in his drawer. Hindsight is 20/20.
The next day John casually asked me if I had seen a white pole when I was cleaning out the drawers. I didn’t remember until a few minutes of thinking about it.
“Oh, yeah, I threw it away, ” I don’t know why I felt so confident in myself at that moment. It didn’t last long.
“I had made it into a handle for my razor so I could shave my back”, he said quite calmly.
“Oh no! I thought it was just an old pole!”, I cried (it was just an old pole).
He was very calm, unlike him calm and said, “It was the handle from a blind and the end was broken in just the right way so the razor handle fit.” I thought this was a little strange to invent something when he could have bought one.
My first response to a problem, especially when caused by me is to begin to solve it. I took a handle from the blinds in the bedroom, no dice. I took one from Allison’s room, no. My last one was from the kitchen and it didn’t work.
I felt terrible, probably worse than the situation warranted (as is also my way), but I kept trying to fix what I had caused. I think I was also trying to save face. I had always heralded the fact that whatever I was accused of throwing away I had always found it and felt quite smug about it too.
My first line of defense was Amazon. I looked for something to replace “the rod”. I found two things, so I screen shot them and sent them to John. He texted back saying “I will figure something else out”. Always the martyr.
I had an idea of going to ACE Hardware with the razor and getting a piece of pvc that it would fit into. I could also get some plastic tubing. I meant to go there twice, but I always ran out of time. Yesterday I went to the bank, the post office, grocery store, etc. and I thought I could fit it in. I was in the process of trying to convince myself to go when I had an epiphany.
I had found a replacement “razor pole” and he said thank you, but no. My part was done. I can move on with the other 15- 29 things on my to do list.
Who was I trying to kid? Of course, I didn’t move on! I went to ACE today and told the guy what I needed and what I needed it for. I asked for pvc pipe and plastic tubing. I got it home and after much filing, shoving and twisting etc., I got it to work!
Pheww, that was close! I almost wasn’t able to move on with my life.
I’ve included the blueprint to the “razor pole” below in case anyone is in need of such a high quality gadget.
Allison has been in kind of a funk lately. It’s her age, summer is too long, etc., etc. I have (as is my way) been trying to fix the situation. I get criticism from Allison that this is a “fault” of mine and sometimes she just wants to talk. Point taken and so I usually stay silent. Staying silent in the moment is one thing I can handle, but not trying to come up with a fix as soon as we stop having the conversation is another thing.
I have so many ideas and projects I want to do the list is ridiculously long. I would have to hire an assistant to complete all of the fun things I want to do. So in looking for something for Allison to pass the time, one thing I came upon was a great app called Stylebook. It’s where you take photos of all your clothes and make your outfits for a whole week! She was not interested. I showed her how she can change photographs to really anything with Photoshop. Not interested. I told her about a new Nintendo game app where you have to find the Pokeman in real time, kind of like a treasure hunt. Not interested.
Enter Tristan, my 20 year old son. I mentioned to him I had told Allison about the Nintendo app, but she was not interested. I said it must have been the way I had explained it. A few minutes later Tristan left and went into the living room where Allison was and this is what I heard:
I have been underground again. I didn’t feel I had anything relevant to say for the last few months. I have a certain criteria* of the things I will post.
My post must be:
interesting.
have my unique point of view (I’ve finally put it to some good use).
have an “END” or a clever phrase to wrap it up (wink).
true.
Anonymous. It cannot contain any details that would lead someone to figure out my real self. Literally my name, etc. I know I am either extremely egotistical or completely paranoid that anyone really cares, but nevertheless it is an issue. I have remained incognito my entire life. I think it is one of my “things” that no one except my immediate family knows the real me. The crazy me. The unbalanced me. The totally fucking exhausted keeping up appearances me.
* There has been a flash flood of stories that meet my stringent criteria. Tune in.
I’ve started to save money to go to England again. I’ve been trimming all over the place. I stopped getting my nails done. I’m going to try to color my own hair. Cutting back on clothes will be easy because I refuse to go up a size and right now that is where I am. Shaving off dollars here and there will allow me to get to my goal.
The decision to save has set off a domino effect of expenses.
My soda stream broke! I suppose I can do without it, but why should I have to? I work very hard, I should be able to enjoy the finer things in life like homemade sparkling water, shouldn’t I?
My laptop crashed, big time. It’s about 4 years old and the screen is being held to the body with mustache patterned duct tape I borrowed from Allison. I tried to turn in on. It said “bleep” and was gone.
Lost my camera. I laid it down at the park and didn’t realize until the other day!
Those are the things I didn’t have any control over. The problem also lies with things I can’t control myself from.
Two weeks ago I was in need of new liquid foundation. I had originally planned to go to Walgreens. That was a step up from Walmart, but I thought I was worth it. So, of course, I ended up at Sephora instead. Emily decided to get her makeup matched by a computer and applied by one of the make up artists. I jumped right in and ended up looking “five” years younger with the new color, so I was told. $98 dollars poorer, we left.
Then here comes Tristan’s girlfriend’s birthday, she is turning 18. I felt like I should get her something. Of course, I pulled up Sephora on my new laptop and found a great fragrance sampler. On the top of the screen it read that if I spend $25 more I can get free shipping. Well, I did really want that mascara that promises to make people think you have false eyelashes. I tried some of Emily’s and it made my lashes look like they had been glued on. $78 poorer, order confirmed.
Feeling guilty about my purchases I went to the liquor store to get wine. After perusing and brooding the selection, I ended up punishing myself with a box of Franzia, $13.99.
My husband just came home and ruined the little cave I have built tonight. It’s not his fault, he has a right to come home.
My cave consists of a glass of wine, putting head phones in the computer, listening to my iTunes and writing about what usually starts out as nothing and sometimes ends up as something.
I’ve been in my cave a lot more than usual lately because Allison has been at a friend’s for a week. It’s been a very comfortable and well-deserved hibernation for me. Now, the time is getting later and later to start though because of summer break. Allison’s bedtime for school used to begin at 8:30 pm or so and now it is 9:30 – 10:00. Actually, I have been trying to remember to call it “time for sleep” because “time for bed” sounds too babyish and Allison is certainly not a baby as I’m constantly being reprimanded for. That doesn’t sound right to her either and I get an eye roll.
How about “time to go to bed”, “time to retire” or maybe she would rather it be what my mother called it for years “time for bobos”? No, that shouldn’t generate an eye roll or a sound like a tween cat coughing up a hair ball!
I was going to write about my juice fast I’ve been on for four days. I say, I was, until I realized how I must be boring everyone with diet after diet.
I thought I’d write about my son, 18, who just graduated and has overnight turned into a horrible version of himself. More of the same, dull.
How about my bipolar II condition? Then I thought, do I capitalize the “b” in bipolar and do I use roman numerals for the “II” or the numeral “2”.
Obviously, sidetracked I started to write about my love of Adam Lambert and U2 (do you know I met Bono) (yes, yes, I did!). Adam’s next (dare to dream)!
I wrote about the silly predicaments I get myself into. For instance, I kept biting the inside of my lip every time I cheated and ate on the four day juice fast (Karma I think). It’s going to take at least four days to heal!
See, somehow I have written about all the same boring things, but I have come full circle. That makes me feel better, you know, finishing things.
I know everyone has been wondering from a post a few weeks ago about my new stand up desk and how it has changed my life.
I suppose it has in a way. I now stand all day.
I’m still getting the occasional question asking how I’m getting along with it. As annoying as my “co-worker” is I know my answers repeated over and over again are getting to her (good).
“I really like it.”
“Don’t notice I’m standing.”
“Good for my back.”
“My neck doesn’t bother me anymore.”
While that is all true, it still hasn’t done what I got it for. After researching it thoroughly I found one can burn 70 – 90 calories per hour while standing. It still hasn’t put a dent in my weight. Now I wouldn’t go back to sitting again, but how disappointing!
Bottom line, I’m no thinner, but I would certainly recommend a stand up desk anyway, it makes me look taller.
anincidentallife.com 
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