Self Harm.

As you all know, I run a page called Ramblings of a Bipolar Sober Chick, hence the name of my blog.  It deals with a lot.  Not just strictly the label of bipolar disorder or addiction, but the many underlying facets of those two things.  There is so much that can go into a list under the heading of bipolar disorder alone, so we'll just say "mental illness" for the sake of argument.  I struggle with depression, mania, PTSD, OCD, anxiety and self harm.  Not everyone will have all of those things, but many do.  Depression and mania obviously lie directly under bipolar disorder.

Hi, I'm Barbara, if we haven't "met" yet.

If the subject of self harm is hypersensitive for you, you may want to stop reading here.

I think the first time I ever harmed myself, I was around 16 years old, but it wasn't a regular thing.  As a matter of fact, it didn't become a "thing" until well into my adulthood, right around the time I was finally diagnosed with bipolar disorder.  That wasn't until I was about 30 years old.  It became serious when I was around 39.  I'm 45 years old now.  So you can take out of your head that it's just a "teenage thing" or a "cry for attention."  It's neither.

My self harm escalated and peaked as my bipolar disorder was severely uncontrolled and was at it's "peak" I guess you could say.  My primary form of self harm has always been cutting, although I've scratched myself raw before, as well.  I probably have well over 100 scars on my body, but many of them are faded.  Some you can't even see at all anymore.  I believe that when people think of cutting, they always look for it on your wrists.  That's not always the case.  Actually, those of us that self harm are not proud of what we have done, so we tend to hide it with long sleeves or long pants, long shirts even.  I've cut all up and down my arms, my thighs and my stomach.  In November of 2012, when I survived my suicide attempt by taking a bottle of Lithium, I also had about 20 cuts up the length of my arm.  One of the nurses in the emergency room was quite rude and made a big deal about it, saying she'd never seen anything like that and why would I do it?  As if I didn't already feel bad enough.

Why?  Why do we do it?  Believe it or not, we are not trying to kill ourselves when we self harm.  For me, and from what I've heard from many, it is a release of pain.  A reason for pain.  When we feel things so freaking intensely and it doesn't make any sense to hurt so badly, we make that cut to give us a visual for our pain... a "reason" for it.  It becomes an addiction, almost.  No, not almost.  It does.  It also isn't for attention.  It makes me so angry when people make that statement, because as I said before, we hide our wounds and our scars.  Why would we hide them if we are seeking attention from them?  We wouldn't.  

The reason I am even writing this is because recently someone reported a meme dealing with self harm on the Facebook page that I run and Facebook promptly removed it.  It was not overtly graphic nor did it encourage anyone to behave that way.  I gave a trigger warning, just as I did for this blog post.  I will repeat what I said in my post last night on the page, that if you are sensitive to certain things dealing with mental illness, my page may not be the place for you.  It is a safe place where I share things that I know others will relate to, no matter what the subject matter is.  Yes, that subject matter will always fall under the categories of mental illness and/or addiction/sobriety, but it isn't always happy.  It's simply relatable.  Sometimes it's downright sad.  Sometimes it's encouraging and meant to make you smile.

Thankfully, it's been quite a while since I have self harmed.  I'm pretty stable on my medications; all 4 of them.  It doesn't mean I don't have episodes where I think about it, though; and on the occasion in the future where I may slip up, I will move on and forgive myself for harming the encasement of my soul.

If you self harm, I encourage you to seek help.  I'm not telling you that you need to run out and see a psychiatrist or go to therapy, though if that is your choice, they are good ones.  I'm simply saying reach out to someone who you trust, who you know will listen to you without judging you, who will sit by your side and not say a word if you don't want to talk anymore, who will hold you if all you want to do is cry inside.  I do not condone self harm, but I'm not ashamed to tell my story anymore.  I hope more people begin to tell their stories so they can be a beacon of hope to the people that think they are all alone in theirs.

Peace out.

Fatigue Neverending.

I just don't know how I do it sometimes.  Fall asleep, for one thing.  Every single one of my bipolar medications is supposed to make me sleepy.  What a joke.  I never fall asleep quickly at night.  Let me lay down in the middle of a work shift and I'll fall asleep within minutes!  It's weird.  I don't get it.  My body is tired, my soul is tired, my eyes are tired, my emotions are tired.  I don't think I'm necessarily going through a "phase" right now, I'm just fatigued all the time!  I honestly don't think it's due to my medications, but what do I know?  I'm not a doctor.  I know my body, though, and something is just off.

Yesterday I worked from 6 a.m. to what was supposed to be 2 p.m., but I had a headache and laid down "for a minute" at about noon.  That turned into me sleeping until 5 p.m.  I didn't even mean to fall asleep.  My joints ache all the time.  The sleep that I do get is nonrestorative.  I don't wake up feeling refreshed.  I wake up feeling like I need to drink a gallon of coffee.  My doctor restricted me to one cup a day, though, so that has been a joy.  Not.

Maybe I am falling into a slightly depressed mood now that I think about it.  I haven't showered in 4 days.  Gross, I know.  It's just too overwhelming.  That's another thing.  I've been getting way overstimulated lately and it causes me to snap at people.  I try my hardest to have a cheerful disposition, but when there is too much going on at once in my head it's like my brain explodes a little bit and comes out of my mouth in words.

I honestly feel like I'm just talking out of my ass right now, but I urgently felt the need to put some words down where they belong.  You may go on about your day now. <3

Complete Bipolar Randomness.

There are just way too many thoughts and things (weird, unweird, undefined, upsetting, angry, silly) going through my head right now, it's making me dizzy... it's making me numb... it's making me feel like a zombie... makes me think of a Cranberries song (none of you probably remember the Cranberries)

If I'm not looking at you when you are talking to me, or seem like I am looking somewhere else, you might want to make sure I'm listening, because I'm probably not.

This picture is just too cute:

Coca Cola really does take all the bunk off a penny. I tested it out. It really makes me wonder what it does to my intestines.

I love chicken.

What exactly does "You're shitting me" mean, anyway?

I really cannot stand it when a song comes on the radio and I can't understand any of the words, because the singer does not sing the words clearly, or it just sounds like a bunch of gibberish (high five if you remember "wrapped up like a douche"). It's impossible to sing along to something like that, and it really sucks when it's to, otherwise, good music.

Marilyn Manson scares me.

Coming is spelling with ONE M, helping is spelled with ONE P, it is NOT dieing, it's dying; it is NOT lieing, it's lying. Come on, people, think back to oh, I don't know, 5th grade? There, their, they're, too, to, two, are, or, our, it, its, it's... there's a difference.

Wrinkly balls.

I had a guy give me the finger at a stoplight a couple of weeks ago for playing Christian music too loud. I thought it was kind of funny. I wanted to give him the finger back, but decided that probably wouldn't convey the right message.

I hate it when my cheese in my salsa won't melt properly. It's just..... gross.

I do not care if Jennifer and Brad aren't together anymore or who Brad is with now, or that Brad and Angelina are happy. I do not care that Tom Cruise and Katie Holmes are supposedly no longer in a blissful state of happiness. I do not care how many freaking kids Britney Spears has. I do not care what is happening on The Young and The Restless. I do not care I do not care I do not care. Why is any of this news?

Why do they put caloric intake on fast food table mats? I don't feel informed. I feel threatened. It might as well say "Eat this and you will die in 7 days."

I have looked at the microwave at least 5 times tonight in utter confusion because every time I've looked at it, it's said "00:41" on it. Maybe I should go push clear so that the actual time is showing instead of how many seconds were left the last time I nuked something.

Itchy ears and jalapenos.

Pauly Shore is just not funny anymore and I wish he would stop trying to be. I miss Encino Man.

Why can my ex-fiance, of whom I've been split from for 2-1/2 months now, take his ex-wife out to dinner with a bottle of wine "for the sake of being civil, for their children," even though "their children," who are like 21 and 25 or something like that (not really sure, honestly.. he never would talk about them to me.. I'll add that to the list of things he never talked to me about), are grown ass adults, but he can't be in the same room with me? Better yet, why is it taking me so long to realize how dumb I actually am?

I was holding a friends 8-month-old baby at church and he "spit up" all over my arm, front of my shirt and front of my pants. Then, he proceeded to break into a huge smile and laugh, which was cute, but when I looked down I just had to ask what the hell he had eaten. "Avocados and carrots." :/ My friends 6-year-old thought this was very funny. Later when I went to leave I gave the 6-year-old a hug and he realized too late that I pressed his head into the front of my shirt in doing so. I thought this was very funny.

Get jiggy with it.

I went to Google and typed in quotation marks "Barbara looks like" and got some hysterical results... the first one was "Barbara looks like a breadstick from Olive Garden." I put my ex-fiance's name in, too, just because. The first one that makes sense says, "___ looks like Ed Sheeran's ass." I'm not even lying.

This guy really likes to play the piano:




Why do they call it "quiche?" I don't like it.

Hey, guess what? "A lot" is TWO WORDS.

It is humanly impossible to lick your own elbow.

Trail mix is super good but I think it's making me constipated.

It really sucks working by production and not getting paid by the hour. Not because I don't want to do the work. I don't mind working at all. I type, just like I'm doing right now, so it's not something I don't love doing. Of course, I type words like "gastroesophageal" and "salpingo-oophorectomy" and "Staphylococcus aureus" and "psychotropic" and "taint" all night (just kidding about the last word) and have to put up with doctors who love to make my nights difficult by not speaking English correctly or not speaking it at all, but hey.. it's a living. What sucks is that if I have a hard time with a specific doctor and have to do that report slowly, I'm making less money than if the doctor would learn how to speak. Don't get me wrong, I have some amazing dictators; but some of them really suck. Oh, and I can't get up to go pee without losing money, either. Because I'm not typing. Get where I'm going with this? Good. Because I'm losing money by taking a break to write this blog. I try not to take breaks, but there is only so much I can take from one particular physician. Moving on....

I could stare at Jared Leto all day and night, and never get tired of it.

Wtf: