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

I Myself Am Strange And Unusual Part 2

Here's my latest vlog on my psychosis.

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

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.....