Lack of consistency, discipline, and regularity.

My lack of discipline brings me full circle again though I’m not done venting. I look at others who have an incredible amount of discipline–eating, exercising, spending, sticking to routines–I envy them. People have told me I can do anything I put my mind to. That’s a lie. I’m never going to fly without sitting in an airplane and I’ll never be able to professionally fly an airplane.

I’ve tried time and time again to be disciplined and I’m simply not. I can only hope I have a child who is OCD about a schedule and can set Mama Kass straight. Otherwise, I’m doomed. I can hope I stick to a fitness schedule or a good diet but I haven’t been regular with much in 27 years. Well, perhaps brushing my teeth…

So when I desire consistency, especially with devotions, prayer, and reading God’s word, I feel defeated already because the last place that occurred was at a strict Christian college I attended–an artificial environment of sorts. I’ve never been able to maintain consistency of anything in the real world including church attendance. I’m not wired that way. (But we do pay our bills on time, thank God. Maybe inconsistent but not irresponsible.)

If God spoke to me before I was born and asked, “If you could have any talent or any gift, what would you choose?” I’d reply, “Music, Lord. I’d like to sing exceptionally well and play instruments remarkably well.” I probably would have been asking amiss (James 4:3) because I was born (overall) with the gift of writing well. Despite my many insecurities, I’ve accepted a general consensus that I can write a variety of prose fairly well.

When it comes to writing, I’m pretty certain that’s something I should do. In fact, I’m convinced it’s my calling. God gave me writing as my talent and I’m doing to do my best not to bury it. (Matthew 25:14-30) What kind of writing, though? Journalism? Novels? Copy writing? 140-character writing? I don’t know. But I know that I’m called to use the talents God gave me for His honor and His glory–not mine–in an effort to be a servant for Him.

Blogging.

I feel bad about not blogging regularly anymore. It was once a daily part of my life–now, I’ve given it up. What I blogged about daily, depression, is no longer something I dwell on daily. The journey began in an effort to discover whether I was more than my mental illness. I concluded that journey in about 2 years and discovered I am more than my mental illness. I am a Christian, a wife, a daughter, a writer, a Beatles fan, an avid Twitterer–so many more things than “depressed and bipolar.” It’s still a part of me but “in remission.” I’m a suicide survivor with several victories.

Yet here too, I suffer massive guilt because my cessation of regular blogging has also led to a cessation of regular blog reading. And remember my earlier rant about not being consistent or disciplined with anything? Well, that applies to blogging too…

December means snow.  It means fewer days of sunshine.  It means the sky getting dark so very damn early.  December and I – we aren’t on the best terms.

I dread December every year.  And November, January, February and sometimes even March and October.  They are dreadful months for my bipolar.  For depression.  For those woe-be-gone feelings of loneliness and despair that I’m so desperate to be rid of.  But December?  She’s probably the worst.  She’s the beginning of what I deem my “bad months” and despite the break I usually have around Christmas time, I still find that I’m depressed most of the month.

Today I went and did some Christmas shopping.  Just a little bit of it.  And I got my son some pants.  During my trip I wanted to cry.  I don’t even understand it myself, but just being out was enough to make me want to burst into tears.  And at the third store when I was informed that what I wanted wasn’t even something I could buy and have it be used, I’d just had enough and I bought other stuff.  Probably not stuff that will necessarily be wanted, but stuff anyway.  It just felt so useless.  It was a chore.  And it was a chore I didn’t even want to have any part of.  And I like Christmas.  And I like shopping.

December is already pulling and it’s pulling hard.

My daughter who is in college came home recently and told me about a discussion she and another white woman and a black woman had. They were talking about racism. She told them that I (me) consider myself a racist. Then she explained that what I meant by that was that I was sick and tired of (especially) black people labeling all white people as racists. I’m tired of hearing that the white person got the job, we live in low income because we can’t get work, we get blamed for this and that. Buck-up! I say.

You want to talk about favoritism? I’m unemployed by choice and live on state money. I can’t tell you how people look down on me for this decision. I’m lazy, I’m working the system, I should get a job… I don’t have a job, and this is the other thing, I have a mental illness. Oooohhh no one wants to know some with a mental illness. In fact I have Bipolar Disorder. Watch out! I might murder you.

The black woman in the group had never considered someone hating the way blacks practice reverse racism is a racist. She was amazed. When I voice my opinion black people with me immediately consider me racist. Read the definitions below:

Racism is the belief that some races are just plain superior (physically, intellectually, or culturally) to others and therefore have a right to dominate them. Pshaw.

Racism is the belief that race accounts for differences in human character or ability and that a particular race is superior to others. It is discrimination or prejudice based on race. It is hatred or intolerance of another race or other races.

I’m not a racist. My daughter says I’m a “stupid-ist.”

A bigot is a person who completely intolerant of any differing creed, belief, or opinion.

So I can say with certainty that I’m not a bigot.

Discontent… let’s consider it. It means not to be content; dissatisfied, discontented, lack of content, displeased.

That’s what I am. Frustration bred by the misassumptions of others…

I guess I’m not a racist after all. I’m just discontentedly pissed off.

I feel so worn out from everything, still.  Although we winded up having a decent weekend (a few upsets, but a lot of times when she was ‘with me’ and doing things together).

I wound up going with her to most of the counseling session this morning.  I am starting to see how maybe he isnt the most helpful therapist ever.  Although he does a good job of talking about issues and trying to look at things from all sides, he doesn’t really provide any tools.  She knows that she’s struggling and wants to be able to do stuff but doesn’t really have anything to help her in those moments of panic.  My counselor helps me think of simple things to do when I get scared or upset (like drinking water or sitting outside and breathing deep or in some cases looking at my arm and reminding myself I’m an adult who can make choices about what I do).  I am hoping that tomorrow she follows through with calling Portland DBT and is able to commit to starting that program.  I think it would be immensely helpful for her, and lead her to more life tools.

Although I’m not certain as to all the mental health stuff going on with her right now…  I think that most of the bipolar stuff has subsided but she’s more into intense borderline stuff now.  It seems to be more quickly triggered upsets with self protection involved or protection of her view of things.  It was really overwhelming this morning when she realized that part of her is addicted to chaos.. which is part of why in upsets she pushes me more and more until i break.  I have never liked chaos.  I liked my life when it was simple and mellow a lot (i was almost always single), I think in our relationship I’ve desperately tried to squelch the chaos.  I was much more successful before all the bipolar upheaval hit this summer.

I think the hardest thing right now is to begin seeing how I enable behavior by constantly taking care of her and taking on a lot of her negative feelings.  Earlier this weekend I thought “i need to learn how to not be a caretaker or her punching bag”, which I do but I also need to look at why I do those things and how they enable her to keep acting out.  I picked up the “Stop Walking on Eggshells” book today after 2 weeks of not reading it…I’ve already had several ‘oh….’ moments.

I just want to sleep now, so I’ll end it now.

Dearest Cyclothymia,

You just might be a bigger bitch than I am. Or maybe that’s the thing: you make me a bitch. You make me snap at the drop of a hat, and I know that I said that people don’t snap but I don’t mean in the sense of going crazy. I mean one minute, I am totally fine and one minute I am so incredibly sad or so incredibly pissed off or so incredibly happy. And then five minutes later, I’m totally fine again only I’ve pissed people off, wasted time, said moronic shit, spent all my money, or cried hysterically.

I’ve researched the shit out of you, little cycle bikel, you. And they describe you as “mild”.  A mild form of a worse disorder. But I don’t know that you’re mild. Some days, I think I’d rather just be fucking bipolar. “And with cyclothymia, you don’t lose contact with reality, as you might with bipolar disorder.” I swear to God, I would love to lose contact with reality. But I am attached to reality at the hip, and its skin sears into mine and hurts me. Wakes me up just when I think I could have what I want. Just when I think I was thinking the right kind of thought. Just when things were good. There’s reality, right at my side. Always. I would love to lose it. Love to live in my happy dream world and never come down. But I always come down. That’s the point.

“Other times, you may engage in senseless arguments.” I fight with people so easily. They say one wrong thing, and I’m all over them. I’m picking apart that one sentence, that one phrase, that one text or IM or statement or gesture. I’m picking at it until it bleeds and you hate me and a piece of me loves you hating me because I’m sick. And then the time passes. The anger fades and leaves remains of shame. I am so ashamed. I feel so stupid. So incredibly, incredibly stupid. And they say, “It’s okay. You couldn’t control it. It’s okay. Don’t worry.” But it’s not okay. It’s not okay to keep doing that to people, and it’s always the people I’m close to. I don’t snap at people I dislike. I snap at the people who actually care, and unless I can stop it all, they will eventually stop caring. Everyone will. That’s the way people are, and I don’t expect them to be miraculously different. Everyone leaves. Everyone.

I want to know how the fuck I got this. Why me? Isn’t that the usual question? Well, I’m asking it. Why, out of everyone, why me? “Cyclothymia is thought to be relatively rare, affecting less than 1 percent of the population.” 1%? Out of everyone? What are the odds of that? One in several million? I can’t do math. I don’t want to do the math; it will only make it worse. And, oh, happy feminist me, cyclothymia is a rarity in many ways, including the fact that men and women are equally diagnosed with it. How Gloria Steinem of me.

Sometimes my thoughts are so horrible. Sometimes I wish it would have been severe schizophrenia. Just flat-out batshit crazy. That would have been okay. I could have lived with that. I wish it would have been cancer. Everyone would know and most would understand. Cancer is everywhere. People know what to expect from cancer and how much pain cancer can cause, and they’d look at me and understand, somehow. They don’t understand. And I’m not crazy enough to be crazy and not sane enough to be sane. Sometimes I wish I’d had a limb chopped off or I’d been paralysed or something that people could have just seen. Because they can’t see, and they don’t understand. I hurt them and they hurt me and neither of us understands. I wish it would have been what my mother wishes it would have been: just a depression. One little depression. 25% of people or some outrageous number like that are depressed at one point in their lives. And they get over it. They move on. They’re okay again.

This is the rest of my life. I will wake up to this every day. I will probably never have a healthy relationship. I will probably have financial problems my whole life. I will probably abuse some sort of a substance, drugs or drink or food or whatever. Something. I will probably do badly in school or at work. I will probably fuck up my life, over and over again. Because it just happens over and over again. Consistent, in a way, but it’s not comforting anymore. Because I know what it feels like, yes, and what I can do, yes, but I don’t know what the world will do. How the world will react.

Will anyone ever hire me? Will anyone ever keep me? Will anyone ever forgive me? Will anyone ever pass me? And the one that hurts the most and seems the most unlikely: Will anyone ever love me?

Because if I were someone else, I wouldn’t love me. I’d love someone who could love back full force. Who would be happier more. Who would trust me. I’d love someone sane. I’d love someone stable.

So thanks, Cyclothymia. Thanks a whole fucking lot.

-Cat

Nyss hemkommen genom ösregnet. Blöt ända in i märgen och så kom frusenheten när jag bytt om.

Hade ett brunt kuvert som väntade på mig när jag kom hem. Ännu ett av de där domedagsbreven jag väntar… väntat på. Diskret brun utan avsändare och orden nådde min ångest som legat och väntat på att få komma ut. Åklagarmyndigheten meddelar att: Det föreligger tillräckliga skäl till åtal. Fortsättning följer. Och jag undrar vad jag ska göra nu. Hur funkar det här? Jag är ju inte kvar där jag var. Vem ringer man med alla frågor? Vem tar hand om min ångest nu?

Jag ser det här som ett tecken på att jag är klar med klientelen. Att det jag funderat på i ett par veckor eller så betyder ingenting. Att jag inte ska söka det där jobbet jag har funderat på. Att jag har funderat på att gå tillbaka till missbrukarna. Brevet fick mig att inse att det inte kommer att vara möjligt. Inte i den här staden i allafall. Egentligen ska inte ett brev som den ovan få mig att dra den slutsatsen, men jag gör det. Tecken från ovan var det ja.

Nu till stora nyheten. Jag har pratat med chefen idag, och chefens chef som faktiskt var närvarande. Att ta båda på en gång var faktiskt väldigt bra ändå. Jag berättade om framtidsplanerna. Mina funderingar och att jag är på väg bort. De reagerade inte sådär nämnvärt faktiskt, som om de redan förstått det. Att jag inte blir långvarig. Jag förstår inte heller varför jag hade ojat mig så över det samtalet, nu när jag har facit i hand hur det faktiskt blev. Var och är. Men, jag låter fan sitta kvar på väggen en stund till, än är inte striden vunnen. En massa att ta itu med innan det blir verklighet. En sak i taget. Nu är ett av de stora hindren ur vägen. Nu blir det inte så konstigt att fortsätta prata om det.

En sak i taget.

Försökte nå min psykdoktor hela dagen, men det har varit upptaget hela dagen. Även till hennes telefonsvarare. Betyder bara att jag får prata in i den senare ikväll eller ta det imorgon när jag vaknar. Tiden måste flyttas. Helst till en dag så nära den jag skulle ha haft som det bara går. Men, det kan ju bli hur som helst. Speciellt med tanke på vad det är jag ska göra istället.

Jag har varit så duktig idag. Kvävt ångesten och tagit första stegen i striden om mitt liv.Jag har ignorerat en massa hjärnspöken och svalt rädslan. Och nu… nu blev jag bara sådär trött. Energin tog slut, även de som skickats till mig. (Tack för omtanken!) Ingen kan nog klandra mig heller. Det är mycket nu.

A few weeks ago the Pew Center released a study on different states’ financial health. Illinois is amongst the 10 worst, its problem being persistent financial mismanagement and borrowing of money rather than having a balanced budget.

Pew Identifies States, Like California, In Fiscal Peril

Pew Center Report on Illinois

NAMI also gives a low rating to Illinois. Granted, Illinois received the national average rating of “D” but that doesn’t bring me much consolation when I moved from a state with a “B” rating.

NAMI Grading the States 2009

When deciding to move to Chicago, I researched things like cost of living, the culture of the city, and the public transportation system. I didn’t think to research things like financial health and availability of state-provided health insurance. After all, I planned on getting a job and thought Medicaid and health insurance would be distributed like it was in the state that I moved from. That as long as I was broke, I could get health insurance. Not so in Illinois.

My husband and I have already talked about moving if we can’t get a job by the time our lease is up and if I didn’t get into any grad schools. However, that could just open us up to the same problem of moving without a job. Plus, I hate the idea of being forced to move purely for health insurance and because a state is fiscally irresponsible.

At the same time though, if neither a job nor grad school comes through, Chicago is going to feel even more like a bad vacation that has gone on for too long. We have the time to explore the city, but not the money or the peace of mind. We’re just living on borrowed time and borrowed money. Literally.

A week or two ago, (I can barely tell the passage of time, not working does that to you), I applied for jobs at Target.

I got called the next day for a job different from what I applied to at that location but whatever, minimum wage is minimum wage.

I showed up 7 minutes late to the interview. According to the CTA bus tracking, which I had my husband watching online, 3 different buses were canceled and the one I caught was delayed, so really, it wasn’t my fault that I was late.

They didn’t seem to care and had me wait 30 minutes to be interviewed. During the first interview, the guy barely made eye contact and may’ve been younger than I am. Then for the second interview, I waited for over 10 minutes in someone’s office.

I thought I did okay for the second interview. The questions she asked were difficult, like to give an example of a time my boss or coworker did something I didn’t like. The hard questions had to do with giving examples of negative things.

About two days later I got an email saying I didn’t get the position. I was a cashier in high school, basically hired on the spot, but now I wasn’t good enough.

Recently, I saw the second interviewer in Target. I asked her if she remembered me and if there was anything I could improve upon. She feigned not really remembering me, but then said that I could have answered questions more directly and shown more enthusiasm.

Enthusiasm. For a cashier time during holiday rush. Oy. This of course had to come from a woman about my age, who I would describe as faking happiness. She’s too loud to be genuine.

Not being the enthusiastic is another thorn in my unemployment side. I thought I was plenty enthusiastic. I have Depression, I don’t naturally smile.

This now has me concerned that I have to be a cheerleader to work in mental health. Do I? I still can’t get any concrete informational interviews to ask. I figure I’ll just ask the staff at the Dincin center, whom thankfully, so far, are friendly but not “enthusiastic.”

“I put a non-alcoholic drink in yours”  my Dad in-law whispered into my ear right before the Thanksgiving feast.  I wonder why this had to be whispered like a secret considering everyone there knows that I’m a drunk, it’s definitely not a rumor since the last Christmas we spent at their house they had a dinner party and I got sloshing drunk, passed out about 7pm, I had drunk at least a 12 pack in an hour.  Yes, absolutely sloppy drunk.  And since everyone in the family knows that my in-laws had to help my hubby out with the kids and the house while I had to sit in the detox unit and dry out a couple years ago.  But for some reason, whispering this seemed like the appropriate thing for him to do, so I smiled at him and said my thanks for looking out for me.  So now I wonder about being the whispered secret in the room.

Many times I walked past the bar and it seemed the Grey Goose vodka looked at me in a calling me out manner but I kept walking by ignoring the call.  Then I opened the fridge to find something and realized that they had a bottle of whiskey tucked down on the bottom self.  It called me the same way the vodka did but I closed the door and thought I should probably tell them that the whiskey belongs on the bar and the vodka in the fridge because no one likes cold whiskey but many enjoy cold vodka.  The fridge in the garage holds all the beer and trust me when I say there was so much of it in there that no one would notice a 12 pack missing.  With those thoughts I came to the conclusion for the 100th time in my life that I am an alcoholic, obsessive compulsive alcoholic, which in short terms means, a drunk.

Last night I took a whole bunch of vitamins.  I take B-12, B-6 and five fish oil capsules.  I was laying in bed.  I thought:  ”Did I take the medication?”  Of course I did.

This morning when I went down stairs I looked at the pill box.  I had skipped them.  Dammit.

I know what this means and I don’t like it.  For at least the next three days I will be off.  I won’t be able to think, I’ll cry when even a little thing hurts me or upsets me.    I am a mess right now.  I’ve stopped crying but haven’t started dancing, and it’s a happy time and I’m not participating in it because I can’t.  We had a wonderful Thanksgiving.  But I discovered last night that among the pictures I took only seventeen were readable.  Devastating.  I couldn’t get either one of the cameras my parents gave me to work consistently, even when I replaced the batteries.  Stressful.  We went to the Hanging of the Greens at church and I used Mr. Malakoa’s cell phone to take pictures and there was no flash.  Tragic.  My good friend and her husband are separating.  They have six kids.  Distressing.  All of this would have been like water off a duck’s bath, but not without my meds.

Meds don’t really change my personality though, they really don’t.  Of course I wouldn’t be crying all the time in my “right” mind.  I don’t want this kind of ’self’.  I am much happier with these medications than I could ever be, more even and even happier with them.  I’m not always happy, but I have the choice to be happy.  Without meds I can’t hold it together.  My true self is not a crier, I’m not miserable and I’m not struck by the grief of life.   Without meds I have to cry, be miserable and make others grief my grief.  It’s not a position where I can live well and help others.  (I do not like that quality in people.  I feel that people who cry all the time do so because it makes everything be about them.  This is not helpful.)  With medication I am able to hold it together enough to minister to others in their distressed states.  I want to be able to do these things.  I cannot be anything I want to be to anyone when I am sick.

Except  I can remember this time when things are better. I can fight my way out of it and tell others why and how I did it.  I’ll be okay soon, so long as I remember all that I have done to sink to the depths and risen to some sort of normalcy.  I’ll never be “normal” it’s just not who I am, but I will be able to do things like go to the grocery store without filling the basket with various chocolates, potato chips, sodas and bacon.  I’d like to be able to listen to someone else talk and empathize, rather than just falling apart.  I want all these things and they aren’t an option in a depressed state.  Or a mixed state.  I have to be careful.

But being careful is not fun.  This means I have to go to bed earlier than usual.  It means trying with all my might to wash, dry and fold and put away laundry.  It can take hours and hours to do so.  It means fights with my husband.  It means my daughter telling me, “I know what will make you happy!” and going to get her favorite blanket or stickers for my book-making.  That hurts the most.  I am happy to see she’s a child with empathy, but don’t want her to remember me like this – constantly needy, in bed or eating.  I don’t want to nurture a burgeoning co-dependent.  I want her to be confident, Godly and loving.  Am I providing this kind of home for her?  How can I?

Psychology Definition: “The main characteristic (of transference) is the experience of feelings to a person which do not befit that person and which actually apply to another. Essentially, a person in the present is reacted to as though he were a person in the past. Transference is a repetition, a new edition of an old object relationship…. The person reacting with transference feelings is in the main unaware of the distortion.”

So here I am, helplessly becoming the victim of the dreaded ‘transference’ blow from his therapy sessions. Quick little brief intro: I’m bipolar, and have been diagnosed for just about a year now (my anniversary was two days ago, yippee). I’ve been going to the same therapist since the very start, which I have to say I’m lucky that I didn’t have to go through a crazy therapy sampler platter type search. I found her on the first shot, the very scary first session I ever had to venture to. I’m so grateful to have found her, because I fully believe that she is the main reason I’m still standing. I’d give my life for my therapist, and I do have to say that I love her. I’m not IN love, just love her. Enter the transference.

I know i’m not in love, although with the feelings I’ve been having for the last week would make me feel otherwise. I’m convinced that transference is what is taking place, just because I know that these aren’t real amorous feelings that I have for her. But what does this mean though, since I am aware of it and I still feel this way? Is it just transference because it’s being bounced towards my therapist, or is it a real crush that I have because she’s a great listener (but that’s her job), she’s very attractive and professional (not her job to be attractive, but is to look professional). It’s really confusing.

Since i’ve been thinking about my therapist like this, I’ve been trying really hard to get myself to think of one person from the past that I know I shouldn’t, a girl that I feel that I do have strong feelings for. Plain and simple, it’s one of those stories that go the ‘two people that are right for each other but never happened’ route. Although it hurts really bad to think of her, because I know I was in love with her (and possibly still could be). But I feel that this may be one way for me to keep my mind off of my therapist, because I feel it will be easier to focus on someone from the past that hurt you than it sometimes is for a person from the present. Possibly because things from the past you can never change, but with the present it’s possible.

I know it’s important to talk to your therapist about things that occupy many of your thoughts and how things can be fixed. But I don’t know what type of damage this could possibly do. All sites that I check out online say that it would be a hindrance to therapy if you don’t, and that you won’t help yourself if you don’t bring it up with your therapist. But I could just imagine how awkward, embarrassing and potentially dangerous this could be. What happens if after I tell her about the ‘T’ word and my recent thoughts and she decides to kick me to the curb, citing the ‘not comfortable working with you’ shpeel? What would happen then? I would be thrust back to finding a therapist, to try and replace someone that’s helped me come so far over the past year. Replace a person that played the MAJOR role in pulling out of my depressive states and real life dramas?

I could tell her and risk all this, or I could just keep it in, battle with it nonstop as well as battle with my thoughts from my girl from the past, and hope this all goes away. Not to mention that thinking of the girl from the past may possibly thrust me into a depressive state again?

Nothing is clear at the moment, just confusing.

It is Sunday, my last day of Thanksgiving vacation.  I am sitting in my loft apartment looking on at the sleeping puppy and kitty and the slight mess that I must straighten.  Nothing to major a task.  The heat is on it is a nice 77 degrees and I am munching on cucumbers and orange peppers with an olive tapenade.  I am listening to the hum of the washer through the wall what a beautiful sound – the sound of my own washer and dryer.

I have such an amazing life.  This new medication has given me my life back, a life that I lost a few years back.  I am so thankful.  It has been a lot of hard work.  It has taken a lot of tears, a lot stress.  I have gone to edge so many times wondering if I could pull back and I did.  It was a humbling experience.  My ego was non-existent, I’ve had to rebuild it but now it is better than ever .  All the hard work that I have done over the last two years is finally starting to ………I don’t know the words they are hard to find but “paying off” does not seem exactly appropriate.  It is more like everything is falling into place and working out like a life should.  I am still mourning the death of my best friend.  I spend 15 minutes a day doing so.  That is my homework for this week.  I go see my therapist tomorrow and we will see what I move on to for this next week.

Ok I have to get off the computer and go finish the laundry and dishes before my girlfriend calls me to come over – she is making dinner tonight.

Thresholds has many programs for the mentally ill. One of them appears to be community centers like the Dincin Center. I’ve gone there twice.

It doesn’t have its own website and its daily calendar has errors all over it. The building is really old and the offices dreary. However, the staff have been nice, the members odd but not unfriendly, and they serve free cooked food.

To get a case manager you have to attend groups and come in several times a week. After this, you can become a member, and then get assigned an employment specialist. I wanted to jump straight to employment by have been told “no” by several different people so I guess I’m stuck.

Going in several times a week is difficult as that costs money (public transportation costs) and I’m still having difficulty leaving the apartment. For a while I was walking the dog several times a week and now I’m back to only playing with him outside in the “backyard” area. The fact that it’s been grey outside for the past couple of days doesn’thelp.

Despite not being able to go straight to employment help I’m trying to hold onto some hope that the place will be helpful. One thing that they’re trying to stress to me is that the members have already gone through trying for public aid and know the system pretty well. Still, I’d rather just get a job, or better, have my husband get a job, then fight with Illinois.

In addition, if I can get myself to go, I can try volunteering there, thereby addressing the giant gap in my resume.

Now to see if I can leave the apartment.

It’s been ages since I’ve written here. I figure I’ll do a post on my current situation then do posts on what has happened since I’ve last written.

Employment

We’re both still unemployed and appear no closer to getting a job than when we first moved here. I was reminded the other day that one of the reasons I may not be getting any call backs is the two year gap in my resume. At the same time though, the person recounted her own difficulties with finding a job despite all her volunteer work. In addition, my husband doesn’t have a huge gap in his resume like I do and he’s having as much trouble as I am.

Financial

My mom finally came through and agreed to give me a sizable loan. I had to beg her for it though and she didn’t offer it to me despite my keeping her updated on all the debt I was running up and having to take out a cash advance at a hefty interest rate. She also found a way for the loan to not come out of her pocket at all. It’s from a credit card offer.

My husband’s mom in the meantime has been tapped dry. The money and loans she’s given us have come out of her own pocket. The different between our parents is striking. Then again, it’s my mom who has OCPD, not his.

As part of that OCPD, my mom is suddenly putting restrictions on the loan. Originally, she was going to give us the whole thing at once. When I asked for the loan in stages, she now has an idea of what I’m using it for and has declared it cannot be used on my husband. Huh? Somehow, my credit card bills to pay for his food and rent to pay for his housing is ok but wanting to use the money for his bankruptcy lawyer is not. This happened yesterday. It stressed me out so much that I couldn’t see straight and had a massive headache. We ended up just going to bed because of the stress she’d caused us.

I’m going to try again today, using a lie to get the money to cover my husband’s bankruptcy. I don’t have enough in the bank to pay for it outright, that’s part of the reason I originally asked for the loan!

Eye Strain

I finally have new glasses. Hopefully my eye strain will be less and I won’t need to take naps as often. Damn astigmatism.

My husband says that stress can increase the pressure in my eyes and I’m feeling it even now. I used to be able to read for hours without a problem. Bleh.

Uninsured

We’re still uninsured and see no way of getting around it. Stroger is now where we have to go for health care. We’re not even sure if our Medicaid denial can be successfully appealed without first getting Social Security which can take who knows how many more months. We seriously moved to the wrong state.

Graduate School

I’m researching graduate schools and trying to start the application process. It’s been a very long time since I started on and completed a project. I keep having doubts about whether or not I can actually do the application, never mind do a graduate school program. My self-esteem is shot and that’s all there is to it. Right now, I’m looking at two schools and three programs. The applications are a lot simpler than I expected. When I first started doing research, I was expecting crazy application essay questions like the ones I got for undergrad. Now it’s just simple “Why do you want to attend our program” questions. When I first started looking I was too early, now I fear I’m too late. The graduate schools are already accepting applications. If I don’t try though, I’ll never know.

I have two main hurdles, getting recommendations from people I haven’t talked to in over three years and taking the GRE. I’m terrified of the GRE because of the cost and because I perform so badly on standardized tests. I’m trying to avoid stress and to keep the depression at bay.

When did I become so fucked up? When did I start to see myself as disabled? As intrinsically different and limited? Bleh. I’m hoping that going to grad school will help alter my perception of myself. While most people can get a BA and certainly anyone can be unemployed, not everyone can get a Master’s degree. I need something to make me feel better about myself and my station in life.

After a month on lithium, I’ll be emailing my psychiatrist today to tell him about my symptoms and see if he thinks I should increase my dose to 1250mg.

My symptoms have been a whole lot of anxiety, irritability, obsessiveness, and not being able to sleep much in the morning.  And occasional rage.  Sounds mostly like anxiety, but has enough of mixed state in there that more lithium might help.

I’m fed up.  There’s no one person or thing to be angry at, but I just feel angry that several months of acceptance, drugs, DBT (Dialectical Behavioral Therapy) classes, Bipolar informational classes, talking to co-workers and family….  none of it seems to have been effective.

It’s hard to keep going.  I’m in no danger of suicide, just in danger of losing the will to do anything but acquiesce to the couch.

Things that will make me happy include reaching out to distant friends, going outside, and doing interesting activities, but this all seems just beyond my grasp.

I feel haunted by something my doctor said at our last visit: “I can medicate you, but I can’t medicate your life”.  I hope just a little more lithium will help me make changes in my life.

Today is a depressed day. I can’t fight it off for the life of me. I’m broke, basically homeless, no job, morbidly obese, everything I try turns to shit and doesn’t make me a cent, and tomorrow I have group counseling which I hate to no end. It always seems like I am in a negative mood no matter how much I try to stay out of it.

A dear dear friend tried to give me words of encouragement to say to myself often and I have tried them, they just don’t seem to push through to the surface. There isn’t a bright spot in my day and it all plays down to many things. I want to self mutilate, but at this point have stopped myself from doing just that. I have no idea why I have stopped myself, but I have and for the time being that is a good sign for me. My life has become harder then I need it to be and I am the one who has made it this way for myself. I see people smiling, laughing, and carrying on in wonderful moods and all I want to do is smack the shit out of them, however, I resist.

What the fuck is wrong with me? Is it my Bipolar Disorder acting up? Are these my true feelings and emotions? Could it be the Borderline Personality Disorder kicking itself into high gear? I’m dieing here and I can’t find a middle ground. Way to many thoughts running through my head, thoughts that shouldn’t be there but are and won’t go away.

I’m tired of all this shit and want so much better for myself. My mom walked out the door this morning saying, “trust in the Lord and he will provide”. How can I trust in someone who has shown me nothing but ugly things in my life? Trust me when I say there is quite a bit I had no control over!

INSURED.

First time since…2005?

I have medical, dental, vision and…MENTAL HEALTH.

I can see a doctor as of Tuesday.

I can see a doctor.

I CAN SEE A DOCTOR!

That is all.  Carry on folks.  Carry on.

Well I had the talk with the FF. Kinda.  Not really.  Sort of.  Basically, he came over and hung out, and we talked a little about how right now I’m completely unpredictable and all over the map with how I’m reacting to people and situations in my life, and that goes for everything and everyone.

I felt a little bad for essentially blaming it on bipolar, but I’m apparently really bad at confrontation. Plus, when I saw him in person, I was thinking, “Well, I dunno.  Maybe at some point in the future?  Possibly?  I don’t know . . . “

It is true that I’m all over the map right now, though.  J.L. and I have basically just buckled in and hunkered down for the ride.  My usual thing during these types of times is to basically cut off or minimize communications with non-resident family and friends as much as possible.  Especially with the rapid-cycling, the way I’m shifting up and down, sometimes within 20 minutes, can be a bit . . . disconcerting.

I keep thinking I’m fine . . . a day or two of okay will happen, and then a couple days of rough patches and bumpy, constantly swinging moods.  It’s so annoying.  I’m exhausted all the time.

I’m also starting to wonder if the emotional and mental stress can show a physical toll, because I’ve started running a low-grade fever, alternating with chills, and I have this annoying cough and sore throat.  I know it’s a cold and probably due to the time of year, but I’m wondering if I’m more susceptible because of the stress.  It’s an interesting question, anyway.

J.L. and I are going to hang out with Allen and Seamus at their place on Sunday, and we’re taking the Kidling.  So that should be interesting.  J.L. apparently sent Allen some sexy phone pics and texts while he was at work this week, which led Seamus to believe J.L. was more interested in Allen than him.  Drama ensued.

At first, I was inclined to sort of laugh and say, “I told you so,” because hey.  Relationships are hard work.  But then I realized that Allen and Seamus were leaning toward pressing J.L. to choosing between them, and that started majorly stressing me out for a variety of reasons.

1. I love J.L., obviously.  I like Allen and Seamus; they’re very cool.
2. I don’t want any of these relationships fractured or shattered in any way by rushed decisions.
3. It felt like everyone was blaming me for not being able to just get over the betrayal I felt at J.L.’s broken promise, as though I needed to rush into allowing the three of them to have a relationship, or J.L. would have to choose one or the other to date and therefore potentially fracture relations with the other and between the couple.

Anyway, J.L. ended up telling Seamus and Allen that he wanted to put off any major relationship decisions with them until after the holiday season (specifically, until after New Years).  Which gives me a breather and some chance to kind of assimilate the whole vow-shattering-lie-to-my-face-my-word-is-my-bond-breaking aspect of the threesome that’s so hard for me to deal with, but on the other hand, means that since J.L.’s not sleeping with anyone outside our marriage, it’s not exactly kosher for me to, either.

I haven’t discussed that particular bit with him, but I probably should.  Especially given that The Atheist, a guy I’ve been seeing, may be getting a job that moves him out of town in a month or so.  And I’d think sleeping together might be on the agenda before he leaves town.

Also, there’s the matter of the long-simmering attraction between Harley and I, which I’d like to fully consummate.  I’m going to refer to him as Harley here because of his motorcycle type.  His wife will be known as Yente, because since J.L. and I entered into an open relationship, she’s become the matchmaker between me and Harley.

Anyway, I’ve slept about 10 hours today and I keep having these weird fever/chill/panic attack things.  I get all hot and sweaty and dizzy and my vision goes all blurry and it feels like my heart is beating super fast.  J.L. just texted and he had a similar attack, so I’m guessing it’s some sort of cold-related thing.

I’m heading back to bed now.

Twitter is an appalling medium for medical news. Currently doing the rounds is a story about the relationship between sleep patterns and bipolar disorder. This is based on proper research: http://www.biomedcentral.com/1471-244X/9/70 try reading that and you’ll be pushed unless you’ve got a professional medical background. In reality the conclusion is “Our findings suggest that clock genes in general and RORB in particular may be important candidates for further investigation” MAY BE IMPORTANT CANDIDATES FOR FURTHER INVESTIGATION – that’s like saying we’ve not found anything yet, but might in the future. The report also concludes “There was no evidence for association between pediatric bipolar disorder and any RORA SNPs or haplotype blocks after multiple-test correction.” So why are there thousands of tweets trumpeting this non-result? And I mean thousands, not corporate twitter whore marketing tweets, but regular people who reTweet the news because they think it might matter.

Why? Anybody with any experience of bipolar will tell you that there is a correlation between sleep patterns and mania. We already know this. The idea that there is some science to back up what we already know is (I believe) what makes this “news” worth tweeting.

But, in reality the science is bollocks. It’s based on a small sample of children building on research with mice. But neither children nor mice get bipolar so it’s like looking for a hamburger in a chemist – not going to happen.

This is why Twitter is crap in medical stories. It’s so easy to retweet the link without ever taking the time to read the science. It is much worse than a newspaper headline because in Twitter there is a direct link to the genuine science, so it makes a greater pretence at authenticity. But, in reality, the twitter generation are being sold bird shit for truth.

NEW GENETIC MARKER FOUND FOR SERIOUS MENTAL ILLNESSES

BBC News – ‘Mental illness gene’ discovered by Scots scientists.

In time, medical science will find better and better ways of treating major mental illnesses.  This is a step forward.

BDSM and Bipolar for me is a wonderful combination!

While they might not be a great combination for my submissive, it works for me. LOL. I love the feel of release as I inflict pain on my submissive. The weight of the world leaving my mind for that short time as I force the submissive to do things they normally would not do in their true mindset.

Maybe it’s time to find that submissive again. After all it has been a few years since I have had one that wasn’t online. LOL

I’ve come to the realization that my Dominant side is a hiding technique. A way for me to inflict on another the pain I am feeling inside my head and heart. Thats where the Bipolar plays in. Because I am just that confused, I feel I need to give someone else the pain I’m feeling but in a different way. They get the pain through whippings, floggings, humiliation, CBT, and Mind Control (as well as many other ways), I have the pain in my head.

Hum: New thought! Maybe it’s not my Bipolar that instigates this, but my Borderline Personality Disorder since it supposedly is what triggers my emotions where relationships are concerned.

For me, BDSM is not about SEX as it is for most. I don’t personally use it as a sexual release. But here is the clincher; I’m submissive to my partner.

For me being submissive means going into another world, a world where someone else takes over and dominates my existence. So what is my true calling then? That of a Dominant or that of a submissive? I hate the term “switch” as I don’t feel that is me at all. Your either Dominant or submissive, there really is no in between.

I’m confused! LOL

I made a small mistake yesterday that I keep biting my fingernails over (not really.)  My dad asked if I needed anything to play with my new toy.  I asked for some cardstock, but what I really needed was a thinner type of paper.  Now I have this huge box of cardstock and it’s going to dull my cutting blade.

I keep beating myself up for it.  It’s a horrible pain.  I keep ruminating about the type of paper I could have had and how beautiful it would have been.  I wonder how much of it I would have been given.  I think about all the cool things I’ve done with it.  It’s almost like unrequited love…  I’ll never know what could have been.

This sort of melodramatic thinking is a part of bipolar, isn’t it?  I mean, it isn’t right – I’m just obsessive.  Oh yeah, I’m obsessive compulsive.  This paper stuff is haunting me.  I still cannot believe I made such a foolish, albeit small mistake.

Because it’s three in the morning, I went to a website with the symptoms of bipolar.  Quite honestly, such sites embarrass me.  They make me feel like people are talking about me while I’m right there, as if I wasn’t there.  The manic symptoms are the worst:

• Agitation or irritation
• Elevated mood
  • Hyperactivity
  • Increased energy
  • Lack of self-control
  • Racing thoughts
• Inflated self-esteem (delusions of grandeur, false beliefs in special abilities)
• Little need for sleep
• Over-involvement in activities
• Poor temper control
• Reckless behavior
  • Binge eating, drinking, and/or drug use
  • Impaired judgment
  • Sexual promiscuity
  • Spending sprees

Tendency to be easily distracted

The one that got me here is the “delusions of grandeur.”   Do I believe I have special talents that I don’t really have?   I think I deluded myself in to thinking I could act for many, many years.  Are there other things in my life that  I think I’m fantastic at, that I am barely squeaking by?

Wouldn’t a loving friend tell me?
Would you?

Next thought

In many ways, religion encourages bipolar illness.  I’m not saying God encourages it, but many folks want to the be ones “sold out” for God.  (Is that phrase even in the Bible?)  This is a hard thing to do if you’ve got school, or if you’re running a family or a large company.  Or a small company.  But it’s not so tough if you’ve got yourself a major psychiatric illness.  Obsession is often a welcome part of my walk.  Those times I’ll read and read the Bible, Christian books and magazines.  I’ll pray until I’m breathless, astonished at the beauty of a line of ants.  I’ll think of the time in seventh grade my friend and I killed hundreds of ants for fun.  Then I will be very sad.  I’ll remember the painful times that came after that.  Then a leaf lined in gold will catch my eye.  I’ll wish I could worship idols.

When I’m not in an episode  I still have religious experiences, but it’s not the same.  Spending time in the Bible and in prayer lead me further in faith and in forgiveness.  Sometimes things rise to the surface but It’s easier to let it go.  Forgiveness comes in to my heart and I can welcome it.  I understand the freedom of having a heart unencumbered by that weight.

Heb 12:15  ”Be careful that no one is deprived of the grace of God and that no root of bitterness should begin to grow and make trouble; this can poison a whole community.”

This sort of verse is startling for me, Mrs Mood Disorder.  When I’m distressed it’s very difficult not to meditate on the wrongs in the world and in my life.  There are tons of verses about forgiveness, but most of them don’t really apply to my situation.  Things are over.  I’ve prayed  and repented.  But those aren’t the things in my life that plague me.  Bitterness grows towards me and I’m not quite sure how to fight against it.

It’s a terrible thing to be held captive by one’s own mind. For your mind to get stuck on one train of thought, unable to get off the track. Controlling you every minute of the day.

It’s not a matter of reasoning. I or anyone else can reason with me until the cows come home, but the reason just doesn’t sink in. My train of thought seems more real than what reason tells me is real. To me, reason is only wishful thinking. What I’m feeling is R-E-A-L-I-T-Y.

Times like this can only be remedied by a pharmaceutical. It gets my mind back on the right track. Last year my savior was Klonopin. I suspect that once again it will save my life.