My Mental Holidays

Holidays Schmolidays.  I can't be the only one who feels that way right now.  As a matter of fact, I know I'm not.  Which is why I'm writing this.  I'm not really sure it's actually going to help anyone else, accept to definitely assure them they aren't alone in this, at all.

I just cried.  I think it was the twelfth time this week.  Oh wait, today's Sunday, so actually it was the first time this week.  I have no idea why I'm sitting here torturing myself by having Christmas music playing in the background right now.  It makes me want to throw something.  I love Bing Crosby's voice, just not right this very second.

I was hoping this holiday season would be easier than last year.  Up until last year, I had always done relatively well for the most part.  I mean, there were definitely a couple of years that were pretty hard, but nothing like last year.  Last year sucked.  It sucked giant Santa balls.  This one is undoubtedly feeling in the same direction.  Right up good ole' Kris Kringle's chocolate whiz way.  It's not something I do on purpose, and it's most certainly not something I can 100% control.  If I could, I would probably be dancing around my living room right now singing Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer with jingle bells hanging off my nipples.  Just kidding about the jingle bells.  They'd be hanging around my wrists.  Unfortunately, I just literally cannot MAKE myself be Christmas happy all the time.  I have my moments.

I've been told to focus on the positive countless times this past week.  While I appreciated the unsolicited advice (LOL), it simply isn't that simple.  If only people knew how much I wish it were.  I am very thankful for the positives.  I'm thankful that I'm no longer homeless.  I'm thankful that I'm dealing with my bipolar disorder and depression and all the holiday triggers without self-medicating or self-injuring.  I'm thankful that all 4 of my children are alive, healthy and seem to be doing well.  I'm thankful I have a job.  I'm thankful for the encouraging and uplifting people I talk to.  I'm thankful for the ocean breeze that is 2 miles away.  I'm thankful that I haven't had a nervous breakdown so far this month, although if one more romantic Christmas movie comes on this weekend I actually might, because bah humbug my ex-fiance is a douche bag.

Can anyone relate yet?  Let me add a little more.

I think my ex-fiance has a lot to do with the fact that this holiday season is just as rough as last year. Granted, at least I have a place to live this year.  I'm not in a drug and prostitute infested crack hotel like I was last year worrying about whether I am going to have a bed to sleep in each and every night or week.  No one is getting stabbed in the neck right down the hall.  I can walk out of my building without someone trying to get me to take a ride with them to get me to do God knows what. I'm just still.. angry.  I don't feel like I've healed much.  Maybe I am just now getting to a place in life where I can actually allow myself to heal.  Life is actually slowing down just a tad. I finally, just as of this last month, no longer have to have any contact with him. I can start to move on.  The stuff he still refuses to give me, he can keep.  I was able to finally get the few most important things.  He can keep what he destroyed. He almost destroyed me, but failed. The anger, the hurt, the pain, the sadness.. it's all right here, right on the surface.  The triggers during this time of year are paramount when it comes to everything "him."  I don't know how to make my mind shut up, but I'm trying.

Moving on.

Most of you know this; however, I've gotten a lot of new followers recently.  (Still not sure how that happened, but I'm thankful for that, too.  One, because that means awareness is being raised.  Two, because I am here to listen to and help others if I can.  Three, because that means someone is listening, or at least pretending to.)  Two of my children talk to me.  Two don't.  The fact that two don't compounds the sadness and triggers of the holidays so freaking much that I wouldn't even know where to start or end with trying to explain the magnitude of it.  My heart goes out to anyone who experiences this.  If one more person tells me "he'll come around" or "she'll feel bad one day" I'm going to punch them in the face.  It really doesn't help me.  Really.  Because seriously, you just don't know that.  Don't tell me you do, because you don't.  There are no absolutely positively no guarantees in life, so don't tell me that one day everything is going to magically be all mended and wrapped in a pretty pink bow because you just don't know that.  A multitude of things could happen in the interim where it's just not even a possibility, so please.  Just stop.  It doesn't help.  What helps is listening and just helping parents of estranged children reach a point of acceptance and a place where it's going to be okay even if they don't talk to us again.. which is super hard to do, but it's 12,948 times better than false hope and setting us up for potential disappointment.  I hope you can understand that.

My oldest is 22 and recently got married.  He has his own life now.  If it were just the simple fact that he is an adult and has moved on with life and so on and so forth, it would be much easier to accept. It's the fact that this has been going on for years that makes it difficult.  I'm not only cut out of his life, I'm also cut out of his wife's life.  He even instructed her not to become my friend on Facebook. I'm blocked from his. I wish I could say I understand it all; why, how, etc.  I just don't.  I think I understand why he felt he had to do it at first, but so much time has passed that I can't grasp the why of now.  I fear that I'm never going to be able to get to know his wife the way everyone else has had a chance to get to know her.  She's beautiful, sweet, endearing.  God gave him an amazing girl.  I'm super happy for them. I'm just really sad.  I don't get to see the pictures of the life updates that everyone else gets to see.  I don't get to have occasional dinner with them.  I'm scared to death that once my first grandchild comes along, I'll never get to spend time with him/her. I'm missing so much.  My eyes are burning right now with the tears that are begging to spill down my face. I'm missing it all and there is nothing I can do about it.  I've tried.

My youngest daughter just turned 18.  She hasn't spent any time with me for about 5 years now. So many things made that reality especially hard.  She was my shadow.  Like, almost literally my shadow.  I would walk from one room to another and turn around and run right into her because she had followed me without me even realizing it. She would fight my other 3 kids for the spot right next to me and would insist on being my sidekick at all times. I wasn't the only one who noticed, either. Everyone at church would say "here comes mini-you" when she would walk into a room.  She wanted to do everything mommy did, be everywhere mommy was. She has a lot of my same traits, including bipolar disorder. I wish she didn't have that one. I wish I could take that one away from her. I wish I could take away the pain she has gone through because of this hated illness. I wish I could fade her scars that she had caused on her own body. I wish I could take away all the nights she felt like she was worthless and didn't want to live anymore. I'm glad she's still alive after so many attempts. I wish she would talk to me.  I wish she didn't blame me because I have bipolar disorder and she feels like it's my fault she has it.

I wish I could stop crying now... again.

I'm in a lot of contact with my other two children.  My oldest daughter, who is 19, spends quite a bit of time with me.  She is legally blind, and she and her dog will come spend a weekend with me or several days.  We are always laughing when we are together and we always find something to do and a way to smile.  She is a lot like me, too.  She takes things to heart like I do.  She see's the best in people.  She always wants to do things for others, even if it costs her something (to a fault sometimes, like me).  She got accepted to the local university for the spring semester.  I'm so proud of her.  My youngest son is 15.  We don't get to spend as much time together as we would like because of his crazy busy schedule right now and the fact that I live an hour away, but we do our best.  We send each other silly texts and joke around.  He's my comic relief and makes me smile.  He really cracks me up.  He plays soccer a lot and I'm glad he found something he loves to do so much. I'm really looking forward to spending more time with him once his schedule loosens up a bit when school lets out and his activities slow down.  I call these two kids my two "A's" because their names start with an A.

My two A's when they were younger:

I have the opportunity to take my two A's to the Mickey's Very Merry Christmas Party on the evening of December 13, and you really don't understand how completely ecstatic I am about it. Totally stoked.  They are about a million gazillion times more excited than I am, so I know that's a lot.  My daughter A has only been to Disney one time and my son A has never been, which is sad since we've been in Central Florida their whole lives, so needless to say they absolutely cannot wait.  Even though the tickets are cheaper than regular daytime Disney tickets, they are still above my budget, but you know what?  They've waited long enough.  I've waited long enough.  If I don't do something special and positive for once this year, I am positive I just might lose my mind.  So, I have to do this.  We will have practically nothing at all to spend while we are at the park, but at least they will have fun.  I hope.  Yes, they will.  Judging by their excitement, they will.  They know I'm struggling, and one thing I can say about my children is that they have always been really good about being understanding when it comes to finances.  I'll never forget my daughter telling me when she was younger, "all I want for Christmas is you."  I'm tearing up again.

How do we get through the holidays, exactly, when our lives are in shambles or if we have trigger overload?  I can't always get away from my triggers, and I think it's safe to say you can't, either; however, I think that if there are certain triggers we can avoid, we should certainly do that.  Here is what I have discovered this year so far:

1.  Don't watch all the sappy Hallmark Christmas movies that are flooding the television stations right now.  Our lives very seldom come close to even remotely resembling the crap that's in the script and instead of making you go "awww" and giving you a warm and fuzzy feeling, you end up wanting to break your shit instead.

2.  Avoid alcohol in excess (and avoid drugs entirely).  If you want a glass of wine, have a glass of wine.  Just don't drink the whole bottle.  You might think it's going to help you, but it's not.  You'll end up calling or texting everyone in your phone's contact list and telling them you love them so much or you hate them so much and neither is probably a good idea, not to mention all the other things you might end up saying.  Plus, alcohol is a depressant, and most drugs are just bad.  Yikes.

3.  Write.  A lot.  That journal or notebook that has been sitting in a drawer for months or even years can come into some good use right now.  Just start writing.  Write everything.  If it's in your head, write it.  You'd be surprised how much stuff you are actually thinking about.  You'll also be surprised at how much better you just might feel once you've gotten it out of your head.  Sometimes I read what I've written later and all I can say is "what the hell?"

4.  Only listen to music that is going to lift you up.  If it's making you feel sad or angry, turn it off immediately.  Kind of like I did the damn Christmas music I had playing when I started writing this blog.  It was on for a whole 7 minutes.

5.  Go for a walk.  I have taken so many walks recently that I'm actually kind of angry that I haven't lost like 20 pounds at this point.  It releases both physical and emotional tension.  I don't always FEEL like going for a walk, but I have come to realize that if I take that first step out the door and make myself do it, I'm always really glad I did and feel better afterward.  Except for the morning I went jogging on the beach in my bare feet and didn't see the hundreds of jellyfish on the shore until I was tripping over them and I basically almost died.

Lastly, never ever ever be afraid to reach out.  None of us have to do this alone.

My inbox is always open on my FB page.  Ramblings of a Bipolar Sober Chick.

<3

Stopping to Smell the Nightshade.

I heard someone tell a friend who also has bipolar disorder recently, "you people always feel like killing yourselves, so I don't want to hear your drama."  I'm pretty sure the anger I felt surge through my body quite literally made my skin a lovely shade of burgundy, but just in case it didn't and it wasn't obvious that he'd hit a nerve, I made sure he knew it.  What ignorant crap to spew out of ones mouth!

Fact checker:
1.  No, we don't always feel like killing ourselves.
2.  It's not drama, asshole, it's mental illness.
3.  Unless you are going to say something compassionate, or at the very least, intelligent, just shut up because you only sound and look completely stupid and uneducated.
4.  Suicide isn't a joke in any way, shape, or form, so at the assumption that my friend is actually seriously contemplating suicide, you just took the expressway to making her feel a hell of a lot worse, and quite possibly pushing her over the edge... so, thanks.

No wonder mental illness is so hard to talk about.  Especially for those of us that actually HAVE a mental illness.  I mean, why in the world would anyone ever want to open up to anyone if THAT is the kind of response we are going to get?  Yes, we have periods where taking our own life seems like a very good option for the time being, but it's all part of how our brains function; and contrary to seemingly popular belief that we can just "snap out of it," uh no... we can't.  We can't control it the majority of the time, and I speak from experience.  Medication absolutely helps, but it isn't a cure. There is no cure for mental illness, unfortunately.  There is only palliative care, along with therapy, love, compassion, and the hope we get from others who inspire us and from those who actually are willing to listen, even if they don't have any answers.  From the people who say, "I may not understand 100% what you are going through, but I'm here for you if you decide you want to talk about it."  From the people who are going through it alongside us and let us know we are not even remotely close to being alone in this universe, because there are a lot of us out there.  Bipolar disorder is NOT a rare illness.  It affect about 5.7 million American adults, or about 2.6% of the U.S. population 18 and older, according to the National Institute of Mental Health. That number could be dramatically increased if everyone who actually is struggling with it was properly diagnosed.  The percentage may seem small, but that is still quite a few people; enough to where the entire human race should be paying attention.  Add to that the percentage of other mental illnesses, and we have a whole slew of Americans (and I am sure, others in other countries, though I have yet to do that research so I cannot comment on it) who need professional psychiatric care; and we need to stop making people feel ashamed of that fact.  Your physical health is important and you go to the doctor for that.  Why not take care of your mental health, as well?  It is just as important.

I can relate to my friend, sadly.  Although I have never had the exact phrase muttered to me, and I would likely knock some sense into someone if it ever was, I have had something as equally hurtful said.  Actually, I reflect on what I just said about knocking some sense into someone, and I retract.. because I didn't.  I didn't knock sense into the person who said something horrible to me, because I never actually expected to hear something like that come from someone who was supposed to love me more than anyone else on this earth.  He was supposed to be the one person who would love me through everything, the one person I could trust to share my thoughts and feelings with, yet he ended up pretty much just like everyone else.  Wistfully, it is usually loved ones who hurt us in this way, and not strangers.  Just another vast reason for education and paying attention. I went through an exceptionally difficult road with my bipolar disorder in 2012-2013 when I was going through medication changes, along with other factors in life I just don't care to include in this particular post.  I cried; a LOT.  I had only allowed someone to make me feel ashamed of crying once before in my life, and because of that first incidence I didn't cry for an entire 2 years.  In fact, I had completely numbed myself to any emotion that would cause me to be anything but indifferent.  That, I found out, can be way more unhealthy than allowing yourself to feel the God-given emotions you have in the first place.  This time around, I didn't numb myself, but I still found myself very hurt, frustrated, and then ultimately feeling bad because I cry.  What was said to me?  "You always find something to cry about."

I guess it never occurred to him that I had legitimate reasons and sources for emotions each and every single time I shed a tear; however, given that he was usually that source, or at least something he did or said, I guess he really wouldn't think of that, would he?  He isn't exactly the type of person to take any sort of responsibility for his own behavior, but instead would rather point fingers in any available direction away from himself.  I can't think of a single thing during our entire relationship that was actually "his fault."  It was always mine.  But that story of narcissism is definitely a story for another time.  Point being, no, I wasn't always finding a reason to cry. I just happened to cry as a response to pain AND anger, both of which I was experiencing an untoward amount of during that time period.  Now, you might be thinking, "Really?  You got upset because someone complained about your crying?"  You're damn straight I did.  Before you get any bright ideas about calling me defensive, I will tell you right now that "being defensive" has nothing to do with it, and happens to be something else that is said to those with bipolar disorder, as well, and I truly hate it.  It's called being human. Additionally, anything I say in response to it is called standing up for myself, which took me a REALLY long time to be able to do.  If you want to call me defensive, that is positively your prerogative; but if you want the truth, I just look at you calling me that and think that you are just mad because you didn't get my goat, so to speak. Don't you just hate it when former doormats learn how to speak their minds?

I'm a former doormat.

I cry.  I think.  I am.

I stop to smell the roses, yes; but I also occasionally stop to smell the deadly nightshade.  Just not usually on purpose.

It's those moments when I allow the poisonous thoughts inside my head that I end up where my friend recently was.  Contemplating and entertaining thoughts on how this world would just be better off without me.  Thinking about my emotional, and sometimes physical pain, and letting it obscure any positive thoughts that might help me out of my funk.  Not seeing how certain things are ever going to change and finding it unquestionably pointless to go on.  You see, when your mind functions in the way a bipolar mind functions, it isn't always easy to see past the pain.  Have you ever been in so much pain that you seriously wondered if you could even take it anymore?  I have.

I want to LIVE, not just SURVIVE.  When in survival mode, it gets tiring.  It's like running through a tunnel and never ever seeing the end, wondering if you are ever going to see the brightness of the suns rays in your face or feel raindrops hit your skin.  It's like being in the middle of the ocean with absolutely no view of land and just floating, and suddenly your flotation device is ripped away from you and you are struggling to stay above water, but you know, you KNOW that eventually you are no longer going to be able to swim.  You are going to drown.  It's like running in sand.  If you have never tried it, I implore you to go to the nearest beach or any other place that has at least above-ankle deep sand and try running through it as fast as you can, and see how tired you get.. or even how far you get before you can't run through it any longer.

If you don't have a mental image or feeling yet, I feel for you.  Bad, that is.  I feel bad for you.  It makes me wonder if compassion or empathy or anything resembling either even exists anymore.

If you encounter someone who is sad or making comments about taking their own life, or just hurting themselves, don't make it worse.  Don't tell them they always feel that way.  Don't tell them they are being dramatic.  That is your ignorance and inexperience talking, and it shows.  If you can't deal with it, just let them know you aren't sure what to do and ask them if they need to talk to someone else who can help.  If the person has a history of actually being dramatic or saying things for attention, guess what?  It's still a mental illness and quite possibly a personality disorder, and they STILL NEED HELP.  It happens.  Still, be kind.  Call a crisis line and ask how you could help, or get the person help.  If it is way too much for you after that, maybe you should set your own boundaries and back out of the friendship, but don't call them an attention seeker.  They might not even realize they are doing it.  If you feel like anyone who mentions suicide is an idiot and that's your common response... well, you're just an asshole.

I hear so many people say, "I would sit up with you all night if you felt like hurting yourself."  But would you?  Would you, really?

Social Anxiety. What I Just Cannot Do Right Now.

January, 2015
"Somebody please help me right now. Like, really... right now. I'm in a room full of people; okay, four people including myself. That's full to me because we are in my room. My hotel room - that I live in. I don't know what I'm doing anymore. I try to be so nice to people, but they use me.  And people really wonder why I have social issues and anxiety around people. I'm not even in the conversation right now. The three of them are talking and I have no idea what is going on. Actually, I take even that back. The girl across from me is a lot like me. Quiet. Social anxiety. My roomie that I took in to help her out is having a conversation with this chick I just met and was nice and said, yes you can come up for a while. Why am I such a pushover? Why do I STILL feel like it's not okay to say NO. It's like phases I go through. I stand my ground. I let something slide. I've actually learned a lot about myself in the last hour listening to this stuff that has nothing to do with me. It's actually really hard to type this while they are still conversing. I feel like chewing all the skin off my fingers, or pulling my hair out one by one, or screaming at the top of my lungs. I can't listen anymore. Everything they are saying makes me feel all my feelings for Ron and makes me think about how much I miss him. Oh my gosh, my feelings. My heart. Just shut up. I want everyone to leave. I terribly miss 3 weeks ago when I was completely by myself. I'm sliding. I hate this. I don't want to be here."

That is a random sampling of the stuff that goes through my mind at any given moment of anxiety. So chaotic. And yes, I really am sitting among 3 other people right now. I'm going to close my laptop, simply because I can think no further and I'm mustering up nonexistent courage to tell everyone to get out, because I don't feel like I can calm down at all or think right now. My very skin feels like it is vibrating. I want to cry. To be continued...........

SEVEN WEEKS LATER:
It's better. I have moved out of the hotel and into a townhouse, and things are starting to look up. I really love my roommate and her daughter, and other people in the family that I have met so far. I have yet to feel really super anxious since I got here. It's safer. I'm pretty sure I was actually going crazy at the hotel. I was surrounded by drug dealers, users, prostitutes, and even a murderer. It is awful how much that place has changed and gone downhill since I was there in 2007. I had no idea, of course, before I got there. But, it was the only place I could go to get back on my feet after what I deem as my traumatic experience with Ron last year.

It's pretty hard to believe we have been separated for almost a full year now. Two more months. I kind of choked up just now, which was actually a little unexpected. I have felt my heart beginning to heal, finally. I don't get all emotional anymore when I think about him. Rather, it's my horse that I miss that gets me more emotional; I don't miss Ron. At all anymore. The best thing he ever could have done was leaving me at the hospital and never looking back, even though he says it was "the hardest thing he has ever done." I call BS on that one, but it really is okay, because I couldn't take his verbal abuse, screaming, throwing things, alcohol and drug use, and a multitude of other things that started happening anymore. Naturally, he blames everything on me, from the finances to "his reason for drinking." I'm taking a stand and letting everyone know that I did the best I could. I loved him to my fullest, but it wasn't enough. I took care of the house, the animals, everything was always clean, I cooked for him, always made sure he knew I loved him, and sacrificed a whole lot of friends and a good church for him. I will never ever ever do that for someone again. I was completely stupid and ignorant about him. He says he wishes he'd known before that I had bipolar disorder. WHO THE HELL CARES WHEN YOU FOUND OUT? What he should have done was attempted to support me, instead of always making fun of me when I cried.... funny, that's the second person I've been with that has done that. SMH. He always had to point out what was wrong with me; God forbid if he tried to understand and be supportive while I was trying really hard to "fix" myself, until I realized I actually wasn't broken in the first place.

It has definitely affected my social anxiety. While I don't have it at home much anymore, it still increases when I have to go to church or Celebrate Recovery, because he's right there in my face.

From this day forward, I have to pretend that he doesn't even exist. There is no "we'll still be friends." Sorry. You can't just go back to that when you lose what you thought was your soulmate. I honestly believe that will help my social anxiety a lot, because I won't be concentrating on any one person anymore. I'm free to concentrate on myself. And that's okay, not selfish at all.

Do you believe that self-love and self-care are important?

When you have social anxiety, where do you go to calm down?

I can't find the video of the other person I was talking about. :/ But I will try!