Showing posts with label mania. Show all posts
Showing posts with label mania. Show all posts

Self Harm.

Saturday, November 23, 2019

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.

It's Just Another Manic Friday. Wait, What?

Friday, September 5, 2014

I have a lot of thoughts tonight.

Like how easily a promise is made; how easily it is broken. What is a promise, anyway? Something that we just tell someone else or to ourselves, because we want it to be true? Should we really even make promises? Even if you are a promise-keeper, how do you know 100% for a FACT you will be able to keep that promise? Like, what if you die first? I'm for cereal. It irks me to even say it, really. I make pinky promises ONLY, because they are the only kind of promises that mean anything to me. A PINKY PROMISE CANNOT BE BROKEN. Don't ask me why - it just can't. Ask my kids. We take pinky promises very seriously. Well, we did anyway. I got a pinky promise from my youngest daughter in June that she would finally call me and we'd talk, but that hasn't happened. Honestly, I kind of didn't really hold my breath on that one to begin with. I could see the lack of promise in her eyes. It hurt, because, you know, it's a pinky promise. You'd have to be us to understand. But even still. What if I pinky promise that I'm going to be somewhere? 


"I pinky promise, I will be there before all the other parents so I can sit right in the front and watch you sing your solo performance!" Then you get into a car accident. I'm not trying to be Miss Negativity or Little Miss Worst Case Scenario, but point-in-fact, you don't know. I didn't pinky promise that I would be somewhere before all the other parents, but I was on my way to pick my kids up the second time I was in a major accident. When you are stopped at a red light and surrounded by traffic (left, front, right) and the person behind you seems completely oblivious to the hundreds of brake lights lit up in front of him, and he plows into the back of you right after making a last ditch effort to slam on his brakes when the DUH moment happens, which SO does NOT work, by the way, it isn't your fault that the back end of your minivan just flew up into the air and the front of it went careening under the Lexus SUV you were just admiring sitting nicely and prettily in front of you. I did make a promise I was picking up my kids and they were excited. When I called frantic and a little out of my mind because I'd just been hit by a man who barely spoke English driving a white utility van hauling a trailer full of white paint, which was now splattered in a very abstract pattern across the asphalt of State Road 436 in Casselberry, Florida, with the back of my minivan now looking slightly like a metal version of an accordion and a lump slowly, but surely, getting bigger on my forehead, the last thing I wanted to say was I'm not coming, mommy just got into a bad accident. BAM. I just broke a promise. Of course everyone survived. Of course they were glad I was alive. But I broke a promise. So I beg the question. Should we ever really make promises? Because really, are intentions good enough in today's society, or is the promise the only thing that matters?

That escalated quickly.

Also, how one day you can have a friend; the next day just "not." Like, they just aren't your friend. I don't understand how that works. How do you just not be friends with someone in a day? Were you really friends to begin with, then? Because if not, that was a whole lot of crap! Just sayin'!!

How can you have a thought one second and the next second it's just gone. As if some strange alien force just swooped in and entirely zapped your brain and you have idea what you were thinking, or saying, or why you walked into a room. It happens to me effortlessly. Honestly, it's quite annoying. When I joked around and said "I think I've finally got my brain cells down to a manageable number."... well, maybe I shouldn't have said that.



The worlds on fire but we're all smiling
Though it's all our fault
But life is short so we resort to laughing through it all

It's the battle within the good and the sin
With both sides standing strong
It's the permanent scars
How broken we are
It's the things that hurt us all

But isn't it beautiful
The way we fall apart
It's magical and tragic all the ways we break our hearts

So unpredictable
We're comfortably miserable
We think we're invincible 
Completely unbreakable
And maybe we are
Isn't it beautiful
The way we all fall apart

You're a liar but I'm a coward so I can't throw a stone
We're so imperfect but so worth it because we're not alone

It's the wars that we wage, the lives that we take
For better or for worse

It's the lion we cage, the love and the rage
That keeps us wanting more

But isn't it beautiful
The way we fall apart
It's magical and tragic all the ways we break our hearts

So unpredictable
We're comfortably miserable
We think we're invincible 
Completely unbreakable
And maybe we are
But isn't it beautiful
The way we all fall apart

The world is dark but all it takes
your love to spark
To set my heart on fire once again

But isn't it beautiful
The way we fall apart
Isn't it beautiful
oh, isn't it wonderful
The way we fall apart
It's magical and tragic all the ways we break our hearts

So unpredictable
We're comfortably miserable
We think we're invincible 
Completely unbreakable
And maybe we are
But isn't it beautiful
The way we all fall apart

Isn't it beautiful
The way we fall apart

Some things can be so tragic and beautiful at the same time.

I think way too much.


I have an internal battle of good and evil going on inside me all day and night.

N
OWHAT?! [-->AGGRAVATION<--]

I inspirationally realized that sometimes I feel like I'm back in high school again. I don't think inspirationally is actually a proper word or why inspirationally and high school would even be in the same sentence, but that's how it came out.


Some bugs freak me out, some bugs don't. Actually, that's a lie. I hate all bugs.


LMAO. I just thought of something. I was watching Family Guy, and in the episode, Peter and Bryan are in jail. They have bunk beds. Bryan is laying on the bottom bunk flipping through something to read and Peter is standing up talking. Peter suddenly says, "I got top bunk!" and he runs and launches himself onto the top bunk, and it falls and crushes Bryan. If you don't watch Family Guy, then you probably don't know that Bryan is a dog; in which case you would find none of the above funny at all, so in reality I probably just wasted like 2 minutes of my time typing out that one piece of the episode for nothing. Peace out.


I hate how I want to cry and just let it all out. Like now. RIGHT NOW. Cry, scream at the top of my FREAKING LUNGS from the highest rooftop in Central Florida. All the stuff that I have that just won't come out. Just act like Angelina Jolie in Girl, Interrupted, because I can. Just yell at the sky and ask it why I have 12 days now to get a deposit to stay in an extended stay hotel so I'm not sleeping on the street on August 17th. Ask it why everything that is suddenly happening around me right now had to happen RIGHT NOW, and why I couldn't have just a little more time. Beg it for a miracle so I can get into a room, put that week's deposit down, and be able to breathe. Just breathe, relax, work my job, and know that I'll be able to pay for my weeks after that IF I CAN JUST GET IN AND STARTED! I CAN'T WORK FROM THE STREETS, SKY! I FINALLY HAVE A GOOD JOB AGAIN AND I NEED TO BE ABLE TO WORK ON MY LAPTOP WITH INTERNET TO DO IT! FROM A ROOM! DO YOU HEAR ME?! I. DON'T. WANT. TO. EVER. SLEEP. ON. THE. CONCRETE. AGAIN!

I'm done screaming and crying now.


My time is running out. Tick tock, tear drip, tick tock, tear drop.

Getting interrupted when you are texting is like getting interrupted when you've been trying to pee for 30 minutes, but you just haven't been able to get it out; and right when the flow starts, someone walks into the bathroom.
Something happens to me when I see or hear other people cry; especially if I am close to them. My heart starts to tangibly ache, then it drops a little bit into my stomach. I want to take the tears away. Sometimes, I can't.Townhouse Multigrain Crackers are pimpin'. In two words: they bangarang!


I can't believe I actually just typed that, and while I'm extremely tempted to hit the backspace button however many times it takes to get to before the word pimpin', I'm just not. 

I have a very special talent. I have absolutely no trouble whatsoever losing my cell phone. All. The. Time.

I hate not knowing certain things. Thankfully, God knows all. I would hate to have that much memory. As a person suffering with bipolar disorder type 1, I would literally go insane if I knew everything. So I recant my previous statement. No I don't. I still hate not knowing certain things. Key word: Certain.


Yep, I did it again. I just thought of something and laughed out loud. I guess technically I should have put LOL so everyone would know I laughed. Disclaimer: I did not make that meme. I actually kind of feel sorry for the kid.


Anyway, my oldest son once asked me to make a Peter Pan costume for him, which naturally, I did, because I am the most awesome, creative, talented mom in the universe of whatever, and he had to wear it to school one day to get credit it in drama class. Not just in that class, his WHOLE DAY. AND he had to stay in Peter Pan character all day. OMG. I suddenly visualized him wearing the costume and chasing his shadow down the sidewalk during lunch or something; you know, like trying to catch it? Yeah. Ha! Good times, good times.

We live. We get sick. Sometimes it scares us. Sometimes we don't make it. Sometimes we have absolutely no idea how we are going to get through anything. But, ultimately God has everything under control.Good night sweetheart, well it's time to go, bum bum bum bum. Good night sweetheart, well it's time to go, bum bum bum bum. I hate to leave you, but I really must say; good night sweetheart, fart fart. 

Bum bum bum bum bum bum bum bum bum bum bum bum bum bum.

(There's a link in the upper left corner of the page for my fundrazr campaign, aptly title HELP ME START OVER, if you want to click on it up there or you'd like to help in any way get me out of crisis before the 17th, and such. Bipolar Sober Chick, signing out. That's a big 10-4.)

Slightly Manic.

Monday, July 28, 2014

It's obvious to me that I've been just a little bit manic this past week. I know myself pretty well and definitely know my illness. Thankfully, it isn't the rage, irritable, throwing stuff, crying, wanting to slice my skin to bits manic. Rather, it's the happy, bubbly, little too much energy (if there is such a thing, especially with the completely opposite EXHAUSTION feeling I've been experiencing), laughing at EVERYTHING even if it's inappropriate manic. I actually enjoy this form of mania, because nothing in the world can bother me. I'm also even funnier than usual when I'm this type of manic, so people absolutely love being around me or reading my posts, because my usual sense of humor goes up about 3 notches and I post some ridiculously crazy stuff. I do believe, however, there is one downfall to the way I am feeling right now; okay, two downfalls.

1. I'm eventually going to crash. Where I will land, nobody knows. Not even me. That presents a problem, because I don't know if it will just be an "I'm really freaking tired and need to sleep for a week." crash, or if it will be a "What in the world was I so extremely happy about when my world is falling apart, now I just need to crawl into a very, very deep, black hole, where hopefully there is a little white rabbit in the bottom of it." crash.  Considering I've been doing very well for a while now, I think I'm just going to be tired, and remarkably what most people without mental illness consider normal.  That's funny.

2. I am overtly nice, thoughtful, loving, and carefree. Why would this be a problem? you ask. Because I tend to reach out to the wrong people. I think about people I still care about that I wish I didn't, that I really shouldn't be talking to, and I do something stupid like send them a message, knowing full well that I either won't get a response or they will just find a way to use my niceness against me, like say something like "Here she goes, she just won't go away." Trust me, I have every intention of KEEPING away, not just going away when I finally can. I am just crazily, insanely human, with feelings that I seem to feel deeper than everyone else, and it is the freaking curse of the Bipolar Disorder Conspiracy! Seriously, can anyone else with bipolar disorder relate to "feeling too much?"



Somebody flip the off switch and make the madness stop!

That is all...... for now.