I tell myself this every day

I tell myself this every day

Monday, November 18, 2013

Teach Me How You Dream So Sweetly

If you haven't read the previous post on suicide I highly suggest reading it before continuing with this post.

This post is on the subject of psychosis but also deals with suicide.
That can be very hard for some people so I'm putting this as a warning.

I'm currently going through a depression cycle. It's probably one of three that I've had in my life. I'm prone to mania and mood drops but not depression. I've also hit psychosis twice in the past 4 weeks. For me that's one of the two most dangerous states, the other is the all consuming numbness that the deeper levels of depression can cause.

Both these states cause a drastic rise in the chances of a suicide attempt.

Psychosis causes me to mentally disconnect with my surroundings, I'm detached from my body but still inside of it- watching but emotionless and with no internal responses. Not by choice, it just happens. The other day around 1 am I stood up, walked out of my house, and down to a park on the reservoir about a half mile away.  I just walked down there without a thought in my head or any concept of what I was doing. I wasn't dressed properly for the cold, wet weather but I didn't notice. It wasn't a "I don't care if it's cold and wet," it's a complete lack of conscious acknowledgment . I had a very content form of disassociation. This isn't numbness- it's very different. My mind detaches itself from receiving or processing information. I don't become some else- I become something else. This time around it was like a peaceful possession- and I only say peaceful because that is what it felt like while I was in that state. I felt nothing but a perpetual sense of calm. And that's exactly how it can get scary.

I ended up standing at the end of a dock, just standing there over the water experiencing everything but feeling nothing. In that state I don't have emotions or internal dialog. In the absence of those there is no way to police what my mind is doing. There is only indifferent silence.

While standing at the end of the dock I stared out across the water for a while until something caught my eye. I looked down and saw my body right below the surface of the water looking up at me. It was staring directly at me. She looked alive but wasn't moving- her hands and feet didn't make swimming motions in order to keep her self suspended there. The face was devoid of any emotion. She slowly started sinking and I watched her disappear with only couple bubbles replacing where she once was floating. Her expression didn't change as she sank. There was no sadness or fear just cold acceptance of her decent.

Completely unresponsive to what had just happened I shifted my gaze to further in the distance. I looked up to an image of myself walking on top of the water surface about a quarter of a mile away. She was walking with her back facing me for only a moment before she turned around. As clear as day I'm looking at myself standing on top of a lake with a boulder in my arms. She locked eyes with me and then plunges straight down into the water with a loud splash. The same expression on her face as the previous image.

I stood there for what seemed like hours looking out over the water. Neither upset or disturbed. No reaction what so ever- just that same peaceful disassociation. Eventually I saw a couple bouquets of flowers starting to float by. Beautiful bundles of white flowers almost glowing against the dark water. A couple at first and then more and more kept floating by. Hundreds of bundles of pale flowers coasting through the pitch black water directly in front of me. I knew right away what they were. They were flowers placed there after my "death." Another image my mind was throwing at me.

These images seem 100% real when they happen. I can see them as clear as day. They are not faint, they are not cloudy, and they aren't fleeting images seen out of the corner of my eye. The parasite has full control over my mind during these episodes.

I stood there for a long time with images and thoughts like this flooding my consciousness. Obviously I didn't act on any of them nor did I have a desire to. I wasn't fighting anything that was going on, I was just standing there and watching it like a movie.

Eventually I walked back home, not a conscious decision- things just happen in this state. I laid on my bed and stared at the ceiling. Blissful and peaceful nothing. Every thing around me registered as what it was but I still felt 1000 miles away from my mind and body. I was a ghost.

I did eventually have some of my mind return because I remember telling myself "take your medication and your sleeping meds then lay down." This message wasn't a harmful "take more than the prescribed amount of sleeping meds," it was just enough of my regular self preservation breaking through, knowing that tomorrow this will be gone.

Waking up the next day was terrifying. I panicked almost immediately. Every bit of fear I should have felt the night before I experienced when I woke up. The next 3 hours were spent crying on and off, almost incapable of getting out of bed to face myself. I couldn't believe I "saw" what I did. I knew they weren't real when they were happening but in the moment I didn't mind their existence. I focus so much on making sure I don't act out and negatively impact my loved ones with my mood swings that I neglected to realize the parasite could let me torture myself. I became afraid of who I was. My mind has the ability to conjure up images of me taking my own life that look 100% real.

This is all very terrifying but I found out a bit more about myself through this. I have alcohol induced psychosis.

When I was at UPMC I was really concerned about this revelation that I have "feelings" of things that aren't there (images hadn't manifested themselves until recently). It sounded like schizophrenia and I had just begun to accept the label of bipolar- I didn't know how I would feel about switching my diagnosis. They assured me I wasn't schizophrenic and it had to do with my type of bipolar. Also the fact that I knew these things weren't real apparently attributed greatly to the divide between the two.

They also pin pointed that my symptoms got worse when I drank, something I had not pieced together on my own.

I have almost never "seen" images and never to the extreme that has been the past 3 months. After speaking with my Drs and some self research I found out my mood stabilizers alter the chemical make up of my liver and therefor it doesn't process alcohol properly. My meds cause it to create an extra enzyme that regular livers don't produce. I haven't been drinking often and I sure as shit haven't been drinking heavily. But I did notice one glass of wine or one  hard cider would drop my mood or make me feel uneasy. I told myself that I wouldn't drink anymore months ago but in my depression and lack of daily maintenance I had lost sight of my goals and mistakes were being made.

I only had two and a half glasses of wine over the course of 4 hours to cause the images that night on the dock.

Through this very harsh experience I had to reevaluate everything in my current life and path to recovery. I didn't learn it right away but I am here solidifying and accepting this limitation in my life. I cannot drink. Not a glass of wine with dinner, not a hard cider hanging out with friends, not a shot of liquor to calm my nerves. Nothing. If I want to be healthy and functional like I keep fighting so desperately for I have to accept this as fact and no longer test those limits.

I will not let this disorder take me down. I will break the cycle in my family and give my daughter and others a success story.

Thank you for reading


Sunday, November 10, 2013

If There's a Future We Want It

I'm having overwhelming emotions tonight but some of them are the right ones. I'm feeling remorseful, very sad, and vulnerable. A lot of loss- a very deep stinging sense of loss. But at the same time that has kick started some determination and purpose inside of me. I have to reorganize my life and it's going to be painful and there will be casualties. I have to get back in contact with my needs and remember that I can't please everyone. I need stability more than pleasure. Most of all I have to remember that I have bipolar disorder and I have to live my life according to a different set of guide lines. It's a difficult and painful process but the rewards are greater than most people could possibly hope for, even with an emotionally stable life.

I can't keep feeding this depression. I'm letting apathy control me. That sounds impossible unless you've been there. Your ability to exist but care very little is a slow but powerful force. I've neglected myself, my environment, and my ability to act when I have needed to. I haven't been setting my boundaries nor have I been true to myself. The internal conversations I have in order to keep myself in check have dried up- mostly because I didn't like what I heard. I have been running away from my problems in the form of inaction.

I am terrified of what I have to face now. Emotions can be crippling to me- my whole life has been haunted by an extreme and over powering amount of emotions that have the ability to take me down when they want to. I have dealt with so much and my mind hasn't wanted to deal with them any more. 

I am vulnerable and scared but I am not weak.

I'm in Arlington VA after seeing Paramore with a great friend. They have a song that hits home with me and it's been part of my silly but very helpful self encouragement soundtrack I created in my head. When I heard that song tonight I felt the apathetic part of me. My response wasn't as powerful as it should have been. Something had a grip on me and I realized it was my minds current addiction to nothing.

I am not and will not be an apathetic person. My disorder chose that emotion or lack there of as a defense mechanism and it's holding me back. I didn't choose this chemically fucked brain but it's my choice to deal with it or not. 

When life gives you coal- crush it into diamonds.



Thank you for reading and goodnight.



Tuesday, October 29, 2013

Demons to Some, Angels to Others

I have to start this post off by saying that I am a very loving indifferent atheist. I passionately believe everyone has the right to worship or not worship who/whatever they want. Doesn't make you right but it doesn't make you wrong. I attach lovingly indifferent to that tittle because I don't care to disprove or argue with other people about their beliefs. Frankly- I just don't care. That's your business, not mine.

Religion is a very touchy subject- I understand this.

With that being said I'm going to talk about bipolar and personal beliefs. I've been reading Bipolar Victory by Ray and Linda Sturt and outside of it being a very good read it got me thinking quite a bit about the connection between bipolar and spiritual beliefs. Ray, Linda, and their two sons are very religious. They believe very deeply in the bible, it's message, and are completely devoted to living their lives according to their Christian faith. They express how that was what they held onto in order to survive all of the struggles with living with bipolar. I enjoy their story and how their faith is very much ingrained in all of the battles life has to throw at them.

That's their story. It has been told by their point of view- I enjoy and respect that.

Ray and Linda are two of the nicest people you'll meet. When I got a chance to meet them they were very warm and welcoming to myself and a friend of mine. I'm not a conventional looking kind of woman and my friend who accompanied me that day was scaring the children walking by with his outfit. The Sturts didn't even seem to notice. Absolutely wonderful people. They believe that their Christian faith is what healed Ray and their family from the bipolar monster and other tragedies they have had to deal with throughout their married lives together.

I've mentioned in previous posts that I'm a fan of science and what is true right in front of me.

I believe bipolar is a product of evolution. I don't know if it's a flaw or if it once served a purpose when we were a primitive nomadic peoples. I like the theory that it is genetic- passed down from generation to generation. My grandmother was bipolar. She self medicated with alcohol most of her life and eventually heroin before committing suicide. My oldest daughter (9 years old) has it. I can see me in her, it's like I'm watching myself grow up- mood swings and all. My father had it. Most of the people I know who have it tend to have another relative with bipolar or relatives that could be but they are undiagnosed.

I don't believe in a higher power so I have to rely on myself in the darker battles against the disorder. I don't believe that an evil force is what causes it. I don't buy into the good vs evil or that things in life are that clear cut- black and white. Life is mostly all grey areas. Everything is situational to me.

Some times having a belief system seems like it could make it easier to get through this for some. Whether or not it's "correct" is not my purpose here. I imagine being able to trust your physical, mental, and spiritual well being to a higher power could definitely provide a level of comfort and relief otherwise difficult to find. An external entity that you can share your inner turmoil with. Something or someone that is ideally perfect- detached from your suffering as a faulty human. Especially if it's perceived as loving or forgiving. I think humans need and want to believe- it provides comfort, purpose and answers. That concept has always been part of the human psyche. We have always worshiped or had faith something, whether is was a handful of sticks or a king in the sky. The human imagination knows no bounds.

 I believe in managing this disorder and living out a successful and happy life. That is what I hold onto in my good times and bad. It's not quite as in depth as a spiritual belief but it provides comfort and determination when I need it. It's something I cannot currently prove, just like any spiritual belief.

I don't care for faith, god, or spiritual conquests. There is no current way to know why we are here or where we go after death. I've accepted this as fact and have moved on. It seems irrelevant to how I live my life. That doesn't mean my life and actions aren't governed by rules and standards. I'm not going to kill anyone or take cash out of some one's wallet. Though my own rationalization, application of forethought, and social conditioning I have come to understand empathy, the consequences of my actions, and general concern for my fellow man. It's ever evolving just like I am but there is a system in place.

Bipolar is hard. You're already burdened with trying to survive the horrors of your own mind, I can imagine trying to understand the "why" in all of this could be torture to some people. It makes sense that one would want answers they could believe in and find relief in.

Personally I don't care "why." I'm fixated on moving forward and managing this chemical brain parasite. I believe it's science, it happened somewhere along the line and has been passed down, and that is what life gave me. It's genetic chance.


HAPPY HALLOWEEN!!!!!!!!!!!


Thank you for reading

Monday, October 28, 2013

Screaming Howl and the Children Play

My moods haven't been stable as of late. It's been a slow decline and I've felt the parasite creeping in but somehow my mind found a way to ignore it. I've been in a depression since moving back from Pittsburgh so I know I should be working twice as hard to keep myself stable. I've neglected environmental triggers, practicing my daily mood managing skills, and sticking to my schedule. I've had other setbacks and stressors out of my control come up that have thrown my slightly unstable moods into full blown mood swings and episodes.

I've been having one to two episodes a week.

Tonight I'm paranoid. It's been the symptom of choice for over a week but it came to a head tonight. I had been repeatedly going outside of the house because there was a loud noise in the neighborhood that my mind interpreted as someone screaming bloody murder. I don't know if that's what it was- I couldn't get outside soon enough each time to hear it clearly. My mind was going wild with what would happen if I did hear someone screaming like that. My brain started to flood with graphic images of someone getting stabbed, raped, bludgeoned, torn, crushed- you name it, my brain was making me think it. I put my shoes and jacket on and was ready to follow the noise if it was in fact someone in a life or death situation. I knew I couldn't live with myself if it was someone in any of the awful situations in my head. Standing on the porch I eventually realized this isn't how a brain is suppose to operate. This wasn't normal and it was unhealthy.

Paranoia hadn't been in the spot light in my life with bipolar until 2 years ago. It had found a perfect breeding ground when infidelity sprung up in a long term relationship of mine while I was unmedicated and undiagnosed. There were multiple incidences of unfaithfulness by my then partner and that kick started it into full gear. I had never known paranoia until then. Thankfully those days are over and the issues that started my long decent into a paranoid lifestyle have successfully been brought down through therapy and getting on the proper medication.

But the parasite evolves to keep itself alive. Now it's coming on full force in a completely different manner- eating away at the very core of my mental stability.

I don't hear noises that aren't there but my nerves seem to over react to screams or anything that could be interpreted as one. Every scream I hear I think is someone getting hurt- children playing, loud people in public, excited teenage girls, the TV, and any other form of screaming that isn't pain inflicted. Some noises produce the same reaction in me where I immediately go into a fight or flight state of mind. I heard a car tire screech yesterday and I immediately thought someone was being thrown out of a car, run over, or stabbed. When automatic doors produce a high pitch dragging sound I immediately think of people in excruciating pain and start to panic. Children screaming outside when they're playing makes me think someone is hurting them or trying to kidnap them. I spent a couple days watching over the kids in the neighborhood a little bit from my window- that was a wake up call that something in my head isn't right.

I now know that the past week has been a product of paranoia. It was insane to sit at my window and make sure every scream or loud noise wasn't something horrific happening to the kids playing in the road. Every loud noise would produce horrific images of torture and death in my mind. Paranoia manifests in my life as an irrational fear of people getting severely hurt, tortured, kidnapped, murdered, and a slew of other tragedies while my brain creates these images of worst case scenarios.

It's always the safety and well being of others. I never panic about the situations I'm in or could be facing. I'm also not bothered by death or injury to others in documentaries, the news, video games, movies, or tv.

When I take a shower and someone else is home with me I turn the water off every couple of minutes to make sure someone with murderous intent hasn't broken in. If I hear any thumping or knocking noises coming from another occupied room my mind tells me that person is trapped or has fallen and is possibly dying. It tells me that the random faint tapping I hear is them trying to cry for help and if I ignore it then I'm letting them die. Every time my mom goes out on an evening with friends my mind tells me that something bad is going to happen to her so I spend all night waiting for her text to tell me when she's going to sleep. I have a hard time sleeping at night because I dream of scenarios like these.

I'm scared to face the paranoia symptoms I'm having. Plain and simple. This is new territory- it doesn't make sense. When unmedicated I have psychosis, which is pretty scary already knowing my brain has the ability to create feelings and visual manifestations of things that aren't there. Now I'm terrified of things that aren't happening that are triggered by real noises. I'm afraid that if my psychosis and my paranoia meet up I could lose grip on reality and my entire battle for a successful life would be compromised.

I really don't know what to do at this point besides get my daily routine back on track and crack down on my skills to prevent mood swings. I'm just coming to understand that I am having severe bouts of paranoia.

I'm also paranoid about the effects I could have on people. I'm no longer scared of my disorder but I'm scared of the effects it might have on those close to me.

I need to spend this week getting my mind together.


Thank you for reading

This is one of my original art works titled "Teach Me Not To Dream"





Sunday, September 8, 2013

A Letter To My 13 Year Old Self

I just entered this into a writing contest where we had to write a letter to our 13 year old self. I talk about some topics I haven't blogged about yet but I put a lot of myself out there with this simple letter. I feel a euphoric sense of relief strangely. I hope you enjoy.

Dear 13 year old me,
                This was the age you were first put into the hospital- I remember how confused you were by the isolation. The Drs gave you a diagnosis of bipolar which they later retracted. They were right, my child, but you won’t know that for quite some time.
 You had been alone up until this point of your life but having familiar faces around is what brought you minor comfort, the hospital offered nothing familiar. I can see you sitting on your bed, feet dangling down; your body slumped over, too tired and confused to cry. You didn’t even have a roommate in the hospital like all the other girls did. I remember you staring at the other bed- just wishing anyone was there. It was awful, my child. You will never forget that isolation and it will take you 17 years to shake that feeling.
I write to you, my child, to tell you to keep your chin up. Nothing I could tell you will make it feel worth it. I cannot share any insight into your future- you would give up too early.  I won’t tell you how much sadness your life will be filled with after this and for the next 17 years. I won’t tell you about the mental health struggles you’re going to face. I won’t tell you about the times that you cannot control your mind and will spend countless days pulling your hair out and vomiting from the extreme places your mind forces you. I won’t tell you about the numerous suicide attempts you will have. I won’t tell you that you’re going to lose your best friend growing up and the only companion throughout your childhood- your little brother right before his 24th birthday. I won’t tell you how you’ll lose your best friend to a drug overdose. I won’t tell you about the failed marriage you’re going to face. I won’t tell you about the horrific postpartum depression hallucinations you’re going to have. I won’t tell you how many times you’re going to suffer physical abuse at the hands of significant others. I won’t tell you how you will lose the love of your life to infidelity and a battle with drugs. I won’t tell you about the hundreds of nights you will drink yourself to sleep, crawled up in a ball wishing for death. I won’t tell you about the monumental and unbearable loneliness you will feel.
I cannot tell you these things.                                                                                                                            
But do not lose hope my child because something happens 17 years from now. Every miserable day becomes worth it. Something in your mind gets switched on, my child. You will start to value yourself. You will rise up and accomplish the one thing you’ve always wanted but were discouraged to do: you become an artist. Not only that but you find out who you are. You become your own savior. You are not a bad person, my child. That shame, guilt, and self-loathing is no longer your cross to bear. Life finds you. It’s a horrible and lonely path to take but my message is to preserve that road. Don’t change any step along the way child. At the age of 30 you rise up like the warrior you are. You create a life my child that has been lying dormant inside of you.
Don’t change, don’t take another path my child.
With my letter I offer the one thing you never have- I offer to strip away the loneliness of all of your struggles.
Keep this letter under your pillow at night, my child. Know that one day you will find your place in this world.


-Gwendolyn Florie Devereaux





Thank you for reading.

Tuesday, September 3, 2013

Dog Days of Summer

I haven't been doing very well. I've for the most part settled back into Richmond but something in my mind hasn't clicked into place yet. My thoughts have been racing. I'm finding it hard to sit down and draw/paint/write for extended amounts of time. I can't stay focused. The majority of my day is spent fighting to feel good and focus for more than 10 minutes on something. I'm having a hard time writing this to be perfectly honest. I refuse to dwell in my low swings like I use to but even when feel good it's short lived.

I have everything I was fighting hard for up in Pittsburgh and can't seem to enjoy it. I've got a ton of great things lined up and I keep my schedule full but I'm not feeling the elevation that usually comes with accomplishing these jobs/tasks or even the anticipation of the work I get.

I'm doing awesome artistic things and feeling minimal amount of joy from it. I know it's a reflection of the parasite but I'm feeling lost as to what to do about it- which I know is also the parasite talking. Every good day, thought, and understanding of what to do goes out the window with mood shifts. I feel like I've felt like this forever but checking my mood chart tells me different. I'm the same person but with these shifts it feels like there are different versions of me and they don't remember the advice of the others. Every mood shift feels like I never left it. A very disappointing feeling.

I am still finding beauty in things and the world around me so it's not as bad as it could be. I also do have days where I'm mostly at a not so bad level.

My mind has started to attack itself again- over thinking things and it's very negative. I am my own worst critic and that doesn't go away when I'm not feeling good- it just gets more vicious. I walk around criticizing what I'm doing constantly, well I'm not, the parasite is.

"You're problems aren't that bad, you have food, shelter, water, and people who love you. You should feel bad for thinking your problems are that serious."

"You're getting art jobs but you don't think you're that good. You KNOW you're not that good, you just got a good start."

"You have no idea what you're doing, ever."

"Hope you like being alone, you're too crazy to be with anyone ever again. You'll just drive them crazy."

"You haven't been sticking to your workout, you're going to get fat and gross. You're getting old, it only goes downhill from here."

"You didn't do _____ today. You have no conviction. You won't make it as a freelance artist."

This is a taste of what has been my internal dialog for weeks now. My regular healthy self criticism turns into bullying but it's a part of my mind so I can't get away from it. It just gets worse and worse. It sucks to live with. When it goes on for days and eventually weeks it wears you down.

I'm a creature driven purely by self motivation. The well hasn't gone dry, someone poisoned it.


Thank you for reading.

Thursday, August 1, 2013

Faces Look Ugly When You're Alone

I wore the mask of anxiety for too long. I didn't know what it was- I always assumed it was a symptom for a limited few who wore foil hats and thought the government was feeding them poison through the TV. I was walking around with it clung so tightly to my face it had become my second flesh. I never could have guessed it was what kept me from being able to grocery shop or hold a conversation for an extended amount time, or leave my apartment most days. It traps you inside your own mind, you build walls in order to escape the gazes or interactions of others. I'm a highly social person so I was at a complete loss as to why this would happen to me.

I loathed phone calls. I would avoid them at all costs to the point to where my adult responsibilities weren't being taken care of. I felt that I didn't understand the rhythm of a normal conversation. I would get so nervous which caused me to interrupt others, speak at the wrong times, say the wrong things, and make everything generally awkward for myself and the poor soul conversing with me. I would lay my head down or drop it between my legs when I got away after every phone call or social interaction and almost cry because I didn't know why everything seemed to go so poorly. I LIKE people so why couldn't I function with them? I would beat myself up over it. The parasite would start it's trail of feeding me thoughts of how I'm a fuck up because if you don't have good social skills then how are you going to make it in this world?

Everything made me anxious. Walking in the door at work, walking in the door at home, arriving anywhere. That's when the mania would kick in and I would have to make an overwhelming presence in order to deal with the bizarre fear my body seemed to have. It was generally at the expense of someone. I would make mean jokes or get really condescending to the people around me. I assumed that was just my sense of humor. It's not funny when the other person isn't laughing and I always felt terrible later. I wasn't afraid of anyone but my body and brain seemed to over rule that every time. I feared everything and everyone.

Most people shy away and keep to themselves, choosing to become loners in order to deal with it but I didn't. I'm a very social person- I thoroughly enjoy others and social evens and gatherings- that's why when the anxiety would hit it was confusing. I would usually be in the middle of something with a lot of people around. It didn't matter if it's friends or strangers- the mask does not discriminate, you are it's target.

I always tried to fight it. I tried not to shy away from people but the frustration from that just adds to it as it rapidly builds up. Alcohol helped a lot in calming it down but that's temporary and drinking all the time to quell anxiety ended in disaster about 30% of the time. I would get worked up and if something minor set me off all hell would break loose. That loss of control afterward would send me into a depressive state. I wouldn't want to see anyone or anything outside of my bedroom for a week. I had no control over who I was and I hated it. I wouldn't look into a mirror because I couldn't stand facing who started back at me.

Looking back now I understand that I spent a lot of time hating myself with all of  my energy dedicated to trying figure out how to get away from that part of me. Not all of it was bad- I did have times where I leveled out or calmed down and I loved it. I figured that all the bullshit was over with and I get to figure out how to maintain the level headed person that I always strived to be.

It never lasted long. I would start avoiding eye contact at all costs everywhere I went. I would shy away from customers at my job. At all times I felt weak and vulnerable. I wore that mask and never knew it.

It becomes exhausting. It wears on your self worth which feeds into every other area the parasite has control of.

Now I can see it in others. It's displayed on their faces- I can read it right away. Walking down the halls of my therapist's office I see other people suffering in the parasite's grip. They pass me, fighting to avoid eye contact or even existing in the same space as another human. I become overwhelmingly empathetic knowing how terrible it was for me. I can see how far lost inside themselves they are. It's a mask they cannot take off and it has vicious barbs on the side that rests on our face.

I am the same person I now see in the faces of other struggling. It breaks my heart to see it pass me by in the hallway, it breaks my heart to see it on someone in a store, it breaks my heart any time I see it. I call it a mask because that's what it looks like if you can see how it affects a person. They're hidden but not lost. They're struggling but being overpowered and it rears its ugly head directly on the afflicted person's face.

I want to so desperately grab them by the shoulders and tell them if they fight hard enough with their Drs and venture down their own the personal road to recovery it can be defeated. You can pry it lose and you can win this battle. I want them to know that I had it and I had it bad but not all hope is lost.




Thank you for reading

Thursday, July 25, 2013

DBT Skills and Chocolate Dragons



This photo will be relevant if you watch the video. If not- here's some chocolate to look at.


Thank you for reading and watching.

Sunday, July 14, 2013

I Must Become The Lion Hearted Girl

My biggest problem throughout my life is asking for help. I've had no one to rely on except for myself growing up and I did the best I could for a severely bipolar child dealing with severe physical, sexual, and emotional abuse. It's always been me against the world. If I had learned how to ask and accept other people's help I would have saved myself a world of trouble but the first 13 years of my life didn't afford me that option.

Throughout my therapy and self reflection I've learned the beginnings of that concept. Maybe it's ok to take someone up on their offer to carry some of the boxes that are crushing my spine? Maybe it's ok to allow myself to cry on a shoulder that is offered to me? Maybe one day I will learn to reach out for these things before hand? It's not pride. It's all I've ever know. The power of me.

But that system is faulty. I CAN"T do everything by myself regardless of what I convince myself of. I tried to deal with being bipolar on my own and ended up making it 100x worse with the wrong Dr, the wrong meds, and the wrong coping skills. I have no medical degree so I need to reach out to those who do.

 In order to understand receiving I've been teaching myself giving first. I would rather be helping bring someone else's boxes up the stairs, I rather have a tear soaked shoulder for now. It's hard to rewrite 30 years of programming but luckily it's far from impossible. I need to learn when to ask for help because that trigger doesn't naturally go off in my head. "Hey can you hand me that?" in my world is "hey, move out of the way- I need to grab that."

My plan is to turn into a self sufficient person that gives and receives, find a balance in between the give and take experience. I currently give a place for bipolar sufferers and their loved ones to find understanding. I give my personal experiences so others don't feel bad about themselves and will seek treatment. I give my neck to the chopping block so others can feel empowered. I give my time and energy to anyone who needs an ear to listen or someone who just gives a fuck. I give my art to this world- not just my personal paintings but the ideas of others who need my talent in order to make their ideas come alive. I give myself because it's what I can offer freely and willingly.

I give this because I can.

But now I must to learn how to ask because I need it.

I have started a Youcaring.com fundraiser in order to help with my medical bills. The treatment I need in order to give back in the future is what I need help with. Living in Pittsburgh had granted me the opportunity to go to the UPMC Bipolar Institute- something that I couldn't have imagined. They specialize in bipolar and work with medication and life management skills. This isn't a Dr I go to see every once in a while and report to him how I've been. They keep track of me, my moods, and the meds so they can fix any problems before they start. No more emergency room visits after being on the wrong medication for 3 months. This is something I need in order to get past this stage in my recovery. It will not be forever.

The opportunity I currently have here is like no other and I must do what I can.

I will be putting up my new Etsy site as another way to support me- I'll post an update once that's complete.

I am an artist- feel free to contact me for special commissions, that helps me out the most.

 I also have an Amazon Wish List- all items are supplies for my Etsy shop and art career only. These are not personal items.

I will use this opportunity to overcome the complications of living with bipolar, become successful, and more importantly give back with more to offer the world.



Thank you for reading

I Myself Am Strange And Unusual Part 2


It goes a bit more in depth about my experiences and I tell a couple of good scary stories.

I'll get back to writing posts soon- I've been busy with my commissions and moving into Pittsburgh


Thank you for reading and watching

Friday, June 28, 2013

Serum of a Will Destroyed

I feel completely mad right now. I can't find my paints in order to escape this mood and I'm losing my mind because of it. I have been doing so well but today just hit a peak for me and I'm all but insane right now.

I want my paints.

I'm completely distressed over current evens in my life that I'm unwilling to talk about right now. I will in due time but right now I have to face a lot alone. I have come so far and learned so much but it only makes me capable- it doesn't make anything in my life better. Like I said before- I've woken up into a world I didn't want.

I have no escape- I want my paints.

My mind is racing 1000 miles a minute and I feel like something terrible is going to happen. I know nothing is going to happen but the chemicals in my brain don't. Sometimes I think it would be better to just be completely insane and unaware of it. I don't know- maybe it would. I can't imagine it being as bad as having two opposing sides of a war constantly battling it out inside of you. Logic and emotion forever at odds and I'm the only casualty.

My future right now feels hopeless and uncertain but I know it isn't. It's a cruel joke to be able to spend weeks feeling better and building a better life for myself and in moments my entire brain can re-write everything. It's awful. I've learned a lot of skills to cope with emotions and bipolar in general but when it's this extreme I only have one outlet.

I want my fucking paints.

I've searched everywhere and the more I look the more neurotic I become. I'm only writing this down as a way to record how completely erratic this disorder is. How completely erratic my mind is right now. Bipolar people- we have issues with racing thoughts. It gets us in trouble a lot. Mine are particularly fast, even for bipolar sufferers. It breeds anxiety, paranoia, and a world of other troubles. In short- it's no fun.

The only salvation I have right now is that the anger is gone- I haven't been angry in a while and I'm ok with that. I'm also able to keep to myself- that's something I haven't learned until recently. I would hide from the whole world but go looking for Johnny to give me something he couldn't. I've learned to keep all of my moods away from other people. I'm sure that will feel good later. Or not, I don't know. These moods always have a "forever" feeling to them. There is no "this too shall pass" no matter how much I say it or how much I know it to be true. The moods are all encompassing and quite literally feel like the end of the world each time.

I leave you with no point. No epic story. I just wanted to record how everything can go to shit for the smallest reason. I'm going to try to find my paints or go to sleep.

I really want my paints.....

Monday, June 24, 2013

Second Skin

My biggest non-serious fear was that taking the meds would change who I am, turn me normal. I would replace my entire wardrobe with pastels and khakis.

They haven't but I have been evolving. My priorities have changed, what I'm wearing doesn't really matter as much. I still dress like me- dr martin knee high boots, black torn shorts, black tank tops but the difference is I don't care about all the shit I use to. I threw away my costume contacts, I gave away all my belts with chains and shit on them. I've retired my platform stompy boots. I still have all my cut up shirts and I still wear them. I gave away all my gaudy rings and claws. The massive collars and necklaces are gone.

I didn't get rid of these as some sort of initiation ritual or a rite of passage shenanigans. I've just moved into a different direction. I spend most of my time painting, drawing, or one of my crazy athletic hobbies.

I was afraid that I would change but now I understand evolution vs change. I'm in my bike gear most the time but I'm blasting through the streets listening to Sisters Of Mercy or Specimen (on a halloween colored bike). I still hang out in cemeteries but thanks to my psychosis being cleared up I don't feel the dead anymore. I paint dark images and am still drawn to those things. With the anxiety gone I can talk to everyone and anyone. I don't put up those barriers anymore in the form of too many accessories. All that stuff was very much a part of me and it wasn't hollow or some concept of trying too hard. That was what I was genuinely into and it was fun.

Now I'm evolving and the biggest lesson I've learned is that I can't limit myself. I can't look at anything and say "that's who I am." I can look at things and say "that's what I enjoy." The anxiety kept me latched onto things but the girl typing this right now is ready to experience the whole world.

I'm not worried about who I am anymore- I found her and she seems pretty cool.


Saturday, June 15, 2013

5 Minute Sanity Sketches

I've been back in my right mind for a week now. But it's been tough to wake up to such a massive wreckage that was caused by months of rapid cycling. I have fallen behind on my Etsy, I've fallen behind on my physical fitness, I've all but destroyed my relationship, and every other area in my life has been drastically effected. I thought it was tough going through all that but now I can see clearly and the road ahead of me is tougher.

I'm moving out of the house I currently share with my boyfriend. It's not forever as much as it is a good way to keep myself under control so we don't end up splitting for good. It still hurts but my want and need to get better and not drag him down with me is way stronger.

Because I've fallen so far behind in my Etsy I have to find employment in order to sustain myself for the couple of months I will be living by myself. That isn't that bad since I have been continuously employed since the age of 15. The only problem I face with that is I don't know anyone around here. I have a plan and will work on that in my own time, it's just something I didn't expect to have dropped in my lap the second I came around to being a functional adult. I was excited about going full speed ahead with my Etsy and I will still work on it but I will have to find a way to balance that, employment, therapy, managing my bipolar, getting to Richmond to see my kids, and trying to salvage my relationship. This could literally destroy me if I don't do it right.

So to deal with this I've been busting my ass on my Etsy, my commissions but for those fleeting moments of sadness (a lot of those lately since the person I love is all but gone from me emotionally), depression, anger, stress, guilt, or anything else that might drag me down I have created what I call "5 Minute Sanity Sketches" they are literally sketches I only give myself 5 minutes to draw in order to save my sanity. It's been helping me tremendously and has helped keep me focused instead of spending hours stuck in these emotions.


Here is Bad Joke Gorilla





Here's one I call "Currency" 



Check out the rest on the Facebook page,
and thank you for reading.

Friday, June 14, 2013

My Mother Warned Me About Getting Into Cars With Strange Men

I've made a lot of progress; I can’t believe I've come this far. I am battling against 30 years of a disorder I didn't know I had or didn't understand and I’m only 7 months into recovery. I was diagnosed when I was 13 but it just seemed too easy the way the Dr threw it at me. Stuck me on Prozac and I ended up worse. They stuck me on Welbutrin and it got worse. They decided I was ADHD and that was it. I went through years of therapy to deal with my past and Adderall seemed to fix what ever the initial chemical deficiency was. I wasn't educated in the disorder- this was 17 years ago. The science and understanding behind it has jumped light years ahead since then and I’m benefiting from it this go around.

When I was re-diagnosed I was 27, it made sense but I didn't do my research- I didn't take it serious outside of taking the meds and thinking that was good enough. I was terribly wrong and that’s why I eventually went off my meds- I literally didn't know any better. After 27 years of being completely under the control of the disorder there was no way I was capable of understanding the gravity of it all. I could never have guessed how bad my case was and the parasite will literally try to preserve itself. It doesn't want me to get healthy.

I've had a failed marriage and several failed long term relationships. I didn't do anything directly affecting these to cause the deterioration that inevitable came. I just thought I kept choosing the wrong person. It happens- not everyone is meant for each other and despite how I tried or how much effort I put into it they ultimately failed. It was the disorder but I didn't really have a super realistic investment in them anyway. It never bothered me because I was able to keep head strong and move forward. It happens.

When I started dating Randy I wasn't ready for what eventually came out of that relationship. It drove me into a whirlwind of self destruction. I couldn't fix myself- I sure as shit couldn't take on his problems. It became a terrible contribution to my decline in mental health. It’s not his fault- he didn't know any better and I was impossible to deal with and if anyone was unable to deal with me he would be it. As I come to understand myself and the disorder I place less and less blame on him. There were some pretty bad physical altercations between us- I ended up on the bad end of those every time. He cheated on me and it was way more than I could have guessed or dealt with. He’s a simple creature. I never thought he was stupid- he’s just way more fragile than anyone knows and more than I could have guessed.

That relationship is in the past. The healthier I get the more I realize we were just a bad combination. Both good people but driven insane by each other’s issues. I've forgiven him a long time ago but he can’t be a part of my life and not a part of my recovery. The disorder developed an unhealthy emotional dependency with him. Staying with him long after it was obvious it would have been beneficial for us to part ways was a reflection of my inability to discern healthy emotions from unhealthy ones. I don't pity myself- through all of that I have something to help me identifying all the ways my disorder can manifest itself. It was bad but it’s good for my recovery to understand why it happened and why things went so wrong.

Bipolar people have a very little chance of maintaining a long term relationship. I have faced this fact and I have had to take this on head first.

I've found someone I want to be a part of my life- the healthy one I’m creating. I’m finally figuring out who I am and where I want to go in life and managing my disorder is key to possibly having any chance of a successful life. A logical, artistic, and talented person. I would never have guessed someone of Johnny’s caliber would have fought for me and stayed as strong as he has. He was the sole reason I went back on meds, the reason I took Dorian’s class, and the driving force behind my difficult but fast recovery.

I don’t have to sing his praise- it’s very obvious the positive effect he’s had in my life and anyone who knows him or in someway takes notice of him knows he’s a solid person with a good head on his shoulders. When I fucked up my meds for the past 2+ months he was there for me. It was tough and took a pretty hard toll on both of us. It’s terrifying to watch someone you love be effected this drastically by something you can’t control but try to so desperately. He went to Dr’s visits with me to get my meds fixed- he would hold me while I cried not knowing why everything in my life felt so awful. He held me when he found about my suicide attempt I had in February- something I tried to hide from him. He felt terrible that this was something I had to go through. He did his research to try and understand the disorder and helped educate me. These things I could never have imagined anyone would be capable or strong enough to help me through and stay by my side. His family has been amazingly supportive and there for me when I would assume no one would be. I have never felt more welcome anywhere as I have with his family. I can never repay them for what they gave me. I’m still amazed with these people and my love and appreciation of them will never fade away.

I have had a very bad 2+ months after my meds were getting fucked up. It sent me into rapid cycling and I became a complete emotional basket case. I physically and emotionally isolated myself. I was too sick to realize this. I was reading everything I could but I couldn't understand why everything seemed so wrong. Some days I would be so manic that nothing mattered but my irrational narcissistic needs. I was be so nasty to be around that I could barely stand being around myself. We avoided each other at almost any cost. I was so depressed at times I would explode into hour long fits of crying and freaking out. I was literally losing my mind and he had to take the brunt of it. He still stuck with me. He wanted to get me to the right Dr’s and make sure I get on the right meds. I could never express how much I appreciated this and I was incapable of showing my gratitude. I was under the complete control of the imbalanced chemicals in my brain.

My paranoia exploded. There was nothing in my world that was ok. Every little thing he did was some terrible act against me- my fucked up mind had convinced me of this. There was no way he could interact with me without triggering a nasty reaction in my brain. Every day I was filled with more and more guilt. I knew things were wrong but my mind had convinced me it was him. I had plenty of moments of clarity but they were fleeting and the mania would start back up again. It had convinced me that he was the source of all my problems.

It was far from true. He was the source of my success and progress. I was too sick to see this. The Dr gave me the wrong medication and I have to answer for it. Mania isn't fun- it comes with paranoia, psychosis, a constant state of irritation, and it destroys lives. It destroys relationships.

It has destroyed mine.

I’m now off the meds that were fucking me up worse than before I was medicated. I’m in therapy learning how to live a successful and healthy life. I’m learning how to have successful interpersonal relationships. I've done a complete 180 from the past couple months. I feel like myself and it’s amazing. I understand the warning signs and have learned so much and am prepared to move forward with my life.

Possibly a life without Johnny in it.

It took too much out of him. I don’t blame him but there is nothing worse than coming into who I am, learning how to live a functional life, having the ability to see a bright future, having a heart that is overflowing with love and affection- and not having the one thing I was fighting so hard for. I finally figured out how to open the door into a wonderful life and it’s not what I wanted.

Nothing hurts as much as this does. I've fought so hard to get here and when I finally start to see the finish line it a lot less rewarding than I hoped. If I had gotten help a week earlier I wouldn't be where I’m at. There would have to be a lot of repairs made but I wouldn't have walked into a world without him by my side.

I have been unable to cope with this. I feel terrible that all his time, effort, sweat, and tears might have brought him nothing but stress and misery. There might be no pay off for him.I am back into my healthy mind but I am unable to experience the love and affection I wanted so desperately. 

I never took him for granted. I am someone who suffers from an emotional and behavioral disorder that can be crippling to those who love me.

 He’s been pushed so far from me that I don’t know if I could pull him back. It’s impossible to discern the sickness from the woman he loved. It’s still my body, mind, and actions that have affected him regardless if it's a sick person.

I am becoming of sound mind- I’m learning how to handle myself, the disorder, and getting close attention to make sure my meds are regulated and I’m not caught into another cycle like I had been stuck in. I’m getting all the help I need but its heart wrenching.

I have stepped into a world that I am capable of handling but lost what I wanted most.


I'm ready to play but the ball isn't in my court.



Thank you for reading

Tuesday, June 11, 2013

Bipolar Bear

I drew this. It has a really funny story behind it that I will post tomorrow. Until then please enjoy my happier and mostly sane moments.

I present to you "Bipolar Bear"


Friday, June 7, 2013

There Is Nothing You Can Do That I Have Not Already Done To Myself


There will always be these people.

I'm not offended, mad, or upset.

Everyone is entitled to their opinion, even if it's my friends and family who are opposed to this, annoyed by it, or simply don't care. That's ok, spend your time being awesome- that's what I want to see and that's what I'm trying to do with my life.

This is my outlet. This is my story. This is my recovery. I'm going to my own personal hell and back and giving it to the world so my daughter won't have to and hopefully others all well.

My current condition makes almost all of my life out of my control. When I get help and get better there will be an evolution to this blog and my story. I'm getting all the bad out so I can show myself and other people the imperfections of dealing with emotional disorders and my eventual move up into a functional way of life

I'm not a unique snowflake- I'm one of millions of people with this disorder and I'm glad I'm not alone. My case is severe but nowhere near as bad as it gets and I'm grateful to not have it worse. But I empathize with everyone else and their struggle be it bipolar or not. Behavioral, psychological, and mental disorders are difficult at every level.

I cannot change people's view of me and nor would I if I could.


This statement is coming from a warped perspective and a need for self gratification and hopefully they got what they needed. When I'm successful and have accomplished everything I've set out to do and overcome my set backs I will dedicate all of that to these people- the ones who take the time out of their day and spend it on me in an effort to bring me down. There is NOTHING anyone can try to do that is worse than the struggle inside myself.

These people are my launching pad to a better life.

I will not be going back to that page to see the responses and the wave of other hateful anonymous posts that are sure to follow. I shouldn't have gone there in the first place- I already knew some people view it this way. I just wanted something solid to remind myself everything I have to deal with.

OP, most of the people reading it aren't from Facebook. This is bigger than you and myself. Oh, and if you think I'm doing this for attention then thank you for your time and the attention you're giving me.


Thanks for reading.


Scream, Paint It Out



I use painting as a coping mechanism and also a form of restraint. If I hole myself away in the basement with my brushes and paint so I can't act out against the people around me. It's hard. I drop to the floor a lot crying uncontrollably, I have a special brush I put in my mouth and bite down hard on whenever I feel the urge to explode, I pace around with my hands tightly gripping my hair or cradling my skull, I also collapse on the floor out of pure exhaustion from trying to control myself. It's a very sad and terrifying experience but I've managed to turn it around into something productive.

I will have to live with this disorder for the rest of my life. I will also paint for the rest of my life. I think that trade off makes it worth it.



Scream, spit it out

Thank you for reading.

Thursday, June 6, 2013

Official FB Page!!

I went ahead and set up a Facebook page for this blog. I always have really random but funny thoughts I want to put up here but I don't want to over post and have all the important issues get lost under a million posts about funny shaped poops I find on the sidewalk. I also would like people to see that despite all of these struggles I have plenty of good moments. It will allow you to see the other side of me- the funny outgoing, up beat, silly, and positive person I really am.

Here is proof of the real me. The enjoyable, loving, and ridiculous person I am fighting to bring out daily.






As always thank you for reading
Your time is precious and I'm grateful for allowing me some of it

Dead Girls Don't Cry

I've woken up today in a massive depression. It's unbearable. It's a very lethargic decline in mental capability. I have to call in to get my lamictal (mood stabilizer) refilled and it took me over 2 hours to do so. Who the hell in my state DOESN'T want to call in their meds? Isn't that the whole reason I'm here fighting?

My stupid shit-ass brain. That's who.

The one thing I'm fighting for is also my biggest opposition.

I'm still sitting here in complete disbelief that this is my reality. Pretty girl, lots of dedication, pretty good genes, likes to workout, healthy, above average intelligence, funny, witty, adventurous, outgoing, empathetic, caring, artistic, lost of love and support, great smile, among other things. And I have a chemical imbalance so bad that I can't call in my meds. I have 1000 things going for me except my mental competence. I did though. I had to dig my teeth into my tongue until it bled to force myself to. Luckily their pharmacy has an automated refill line. Automated services are depression's/anxiety's best friend.

I made a step yesterday I should have made a long time ago- I got evaluated and set up with a proper therapy group and psychologist in order to get my meds straightened out. I didn't get to see a Dr but I got everything set up to see the proper set of medical professionals for future management of this mental bullshit. I knew this was what I should have been doing a couple months ago. I just seemed incapable despite my desperate need and desire to get better.

Self preservation- the parasite fights for it's own survival.

I went to a psychiatric emergency room on Tuesday. I'm not out of control as in danger to myself or others but I'm out of control in that my moods and thoughts haven't been right in a while. As of Monday I realized that but now I'm playing catch up again and realizing even more how very little I understand about myself and this disorder. Every question answered brings 100 more uncertainties. I'm sitting here in my head knowing everything is wrong but I really don't know what "right" is.

I thought I knew. I thought I knew what right was in my world but now I know even more that I can't label anything I do as right or appropriate because I literally have no idea what that means. I got out of control again because of my warped perception of what it "right." I needed much more help than I was receiving and giving myself.

I have been use to existing at such a high level of difficulty that I didn't realize a subdued version of bipolar existence was still incorrect. I identified that as a correct emotional state because everything seemed better to me. I was wrong. I cannot make these judgments. I have to realize that I cannot understand these concepts- I have no point of reference.

I cannot trust myself to call and get the meds I need. I cannot trust that same person to deem what is right and wrong. I have no true allies except an emotionless army of medical professionals.

That very realization makes me understand I'm not fooling myself anymore- I'm down but I'm still winning. I need something far removed from my daily life and completely detached from who I am emotionally. I need a completely uninvested point of view. I felt that yesterday. I felt I'm about to get what I need- all the help in the world. For the first time in a long time I didn't feel lonely.

This morning I don't feel good. I don't even feel human. But I can hold on to what I felt yesterday. It's a reminder that I'm doing right. I don't need to feel good right now- I need to feel motivated to keep moving. I can't trust any emotions I have currently- I might never be able to again and that's something I have to face. I don't know what "healthy" and "manageable" are going to entail and I have to accept that fact. I may not be able to ever have a successful long term relationship, I may never be able to have any close interpersonal relationships, I may never be able to do anything I currently think I want. I cannot trust my perception of life. Success might mean something I can't understand at this point. There is only one certainty in my emotionally volatile existence- I was to be successful. That's what I want but I have to have a team of professionals help me define what that means in my world.

I'm not lonely but I'm very sad.




Thank you for reading

Tuesday, June 4, 2013

Arsenic On The Rocks

I'm barely into 6 months of recovering from a lifetime of severe bipolar.

It's been a lot of trial and error- countless hours of research, days watching videos and lectures, hours and hours of reading, a lot of confusion and some clarity.

My bipolar is different because I'm 80% mania, 10% depression, and 10% mixed moods. The severely manic spectrum isn't usually where people fall. They tend have manic episodes but generally tip the scale more toward the depression side. I don't. I get depressed, terrible bouts of crippling depression when they happen but I mostly stay manic which is strange. I talked about this to a degree in my other post Clean Cup, Clean Cup, Move Down, Move Down!

I realized I was mostly mania right before that post. I didn't have a fucking clue.

With that being said I've fucked up hard core recently.

I have given myself Serotonin Syndrome. I had every symptom and I had them bad.

I haven't been able to get back to my psychologist back in Richmond so I went to a general practitioners office to get my ADHD meds and something to handle my mood swings when my period starts to hit. She asked me about all my meds and I told her I was taking St. John's Wort and she told me to go off of it immediately. But with that and my Lamictal I've been doing so great! I'm not taking that completely out of my regimen, what did she know? She's just a doctor......

She put me on Seraquil XR to help with my lady time mood swings. I researched it to see if St. John's Wort would interact with Seraquil. None of the lists had it on there so I figured I was in the clear.

The fist period I had since given the Seraquil I went off the St. John's Wort just in case- give me time to do my research. I did my research- it wasn't listed as something that interacted with my home herbal remedy. That period went over without any incident. Awesome.

I should have done my research properly.

So much little shit can contribute to an instantaneous decline in mental health. I haven't been right for a while but the worst part is I haven't noticed how bad I have been getting.

That's what scares me. I want a light like the oven has, whenever it's preheating there is a little red light that comes on, when it's done it turns off. I want a little light on my forehead that turns on whenever my chemicals are out of line.

Once again I knew something wasn't right and everything around me was falling apart despite my efforts. I also had the Gluten incident so that threw in another monkey wrench.

I have been losing my shit. Paranoid, full of anxiety, and a burden to those around me. I just thought it was period stuff and the Seroquil had stopped working. I knew things were bad but only at their most extreme. I'm learning all the warning signs and red flags but it's hard when you're on the path to a bout of depression or pure mania to realize it. This is normal for me. I've always thought this way..... I fell back into it. It happens slowly and the parasite latches onto things in my real life- I'm not just making up these emotions out of no where.

I've been having inappropriate emotional responses and I failed to realize it.

Seroquil directly effects my serotonin levels, so does the St. John's Wort. I've over loaded the  serotonin in my nervous system. It's caused a lot of behavioral problems, set my bipolar into heavy rapid cycling, and as an added bonus there have been bad physical problems as well. Seroquil even looks like the word serotonin- obviously there's a fucking connection. Why brain? Why do you do this? This shit isn't funny.

St. John's Wort causes mania. Too much Serotonin causes mania. As a beast comprised mostly out of mania- this is a really really bad situation destined for failure and self destruction.

The symptoms that get me the most are confusion, headache, nausea/vomiting, and muscle twitching. I've had all of these and some of them pretty severe. I don't know why I didn't pick up on this. Like I've said before- I knew something was wrong but that was all the information I had. I'm never nauseous- ever. I have amazing balance and I workout a lot, I've never had bouts of nausea or needing to puke out of the blue. I've had the feeling to vomit a lot and I've thrown up twice out of nowhere. I've had mind splitting headaches almost daily. My heart rate monitor was giving me strange readings that weren't normal during my runs and I would be doing nothing and my legs would start to spasm like crazy.

The worst part has been the confusion. I have been terribly confused about everything lately. I've been telling johnny for weeks that I keep getting confused but when I'm telling him I'm already in a cesspool of emotional garbage. How can you discern what's real, what's symptoms of something else, and what's just the bipolar talking? I don't blame him for pushing me away. I was terribly confused about everything and I understand confusion is going to be associated with this dissorder but never like that. I'm never crying or losing my shit and shouting out "I'm confused."

I had been for weeks.

I didn't notice how bad it got until yesterday.

On an off chance I looked into the possible connection between St. John's Wort and the TYPES of medication it effects, not just the list of brands it effects.

Found it. It messes with antidepressants and any medication that effects serotonin levels.

Seroquil was never on any of the medication lists but I should have done my research better. I know better but the trial and error part hurts the most.

NOT TO MENTION THE FACT IT'S CALLED FUCKING SEROQUIL!!!!

I need something to call these moments. Before I use to label that person as Bloody Mary but I'm trying to find healthier ways to go about recognizing this shit as well as giving it it's own name- something that isn't associated with who I am but what is effecting me.



Thank you for reading

Monday, June 3, 2013

Stephen Fry - The Secret Life Of the Manic-Depressive

Turns out Stephen Fry is bipolar.

I just finished watching this. Lots of good info.

I highly recommend watching if you or someone you love is bipolar.

I'm not kidding.

Watch this is you or they are.



I Never Wanted To Cease To Exist, Just Disappear- Part 1

This is going to be one of the hardest posts I make.


1 out of 3 people with bipolar attempt suicide.

Mortality from suicide in bipolar people is 18%-25%

It usually happens in the depression stages.

I have rapid cycling. I can have a depressive state a couple times a day, a couple times a week, a couple times a month, or a couple times a year. Some years I've had none but since 2010 it's happened more and more frequently.

This is the most recent suicide note I've left.

I've left one other that was almost just like this. I don't really remember. I had taken a lot of muscle relaxers, sleeping pills, pain killers, and alcohol.

It didn't work that time because I was too healthy. I ate right, worked out regularly, and got plenty of sleep so my body was able to pull through, albeit sick and sleepy for a week.

I'm glad it didn't work that time or the time I wrote this note.


I'm not a weak person. I never want to kill myself. I never even think about that possibility. The world is tough, difficult, and full of shit but I never let that get me down. I'm always fighting and doing it with a smile.

It's a direct product of the parasite.

I have a hair trigger self destruct button and I hate it.

I've lost countless friends to suicide directly related to bipolar. Most important of all I lost my grandmother to suicide. She was as bipolar as I am. Same type. Same frequency of episodes.

Fuck.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

I don't want to be that person. I want a success story.

I have 2 daughters- my oldest (8 years old) has the disorder. She has my severe version of it.

I want a success story for my children and especially for my daughter Faye.

I have to show her that no matter what mommy's tough and she can be tougher.

Every goddamn day I fight for a better life. Every waking moment I pull myself up thinking "it could always be worse." I surround myself with awesome people, I have a lot of potential in everything I do, I love taking care of myself and my body, and I have a great family (some of it chosen, some of it blood).

I love life. I genuinely do.

When the depression hits this low it's unbearable.

It's a different level of depression when this hits.

 The wreckage inside of me is overwhelming and almost instantaneous. My thoughts race, my body feels weak, and the parasite digs it's tentacles in like a corkscrew.

Racing thoughts are a huge problem with bipolar and I have then when in any bad cycle. My brain works 100x faster than most people's. Doesn't always make me smarter- just makes for almost no patience, impulsive behavior, and really bad self control. When the depression gets going my mind races incredibly fast and thinks of every challenge in my life and all the hurdles I've failed to overcome or did poorly.

It piles everything on top of me at once. A couple mile long landfill constructed and filled to the brim in a couple of moments.

The sane part of me- the person who I really am is gone. I am nowhere to be found. This level of the disorder is the only time that voice inside me isn't screaming and trying to get out. Dead silence except for every bit of frustration and pain I'm going through and have gone through. A lifetime of struggle brought to the surface in seconds. Solutions to life's problems are a long hall of open doors- violently throwing themselves shut. Options transform into dead ends.

This is not me. That person is mentally sick. That is the parasite. It wants full control or it wants me dead.

I do not get overwhelmed and give up. I am not weak.

I have a severe chemical imbalance. My mind tries to destroy itself.

I would never choose to end my life.

It's the single most horrific aspect of the disorder.

When I'm ok and sane it's terrifying when I think about it. It's the same fear as having someone set on trying to kill you. Walking down a dark alley that someone has tried to shoot you in before- and that person might still be there.

Someone is trying to kill me and I don't want to die.

I'm scared of that person and rightfully so. I'm scared because I'm not around when that person surfaces.

I cannot defend myself.

I do not want to die. I have no desire to cease living. I do not want to damage myself nor the people around me who love me. I would never think twice of doing that.

There will be another post to continue this story but for now I have to put this down.

This is incredibly difficult for me. This is the first time I've ever talked about this and strangely enough I'm telling the whole world.




This disorder isn't pretty. It's not something I'm proud of. I am not proud of where it's taken me.

I will one day be proud of where I take myself

I will survive this.

Thank you for reading.