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

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"

Title of this post is from The Mission Uk's "Serpent's Kiss"

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 24^th 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.

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.

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

Title inspired by "People Are Strange" by The Doors

DBT Skills and Chocolate Dragons

Here's my newest vlog. I will get back to written posts soon.

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.

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.

I must become the lion hearted girl

Thank you for reading