As I start this post, I know there's a chance that my husband will read it, therefore causing more hurt than I intend. Since I started this blog, my husband has been respecting my privacy, consequently trusting me with the freedom of writing what I need to express here, allowing me to write personal words throughout its fruition. Is it difficult for me to write this? Absolutely.
Here I go.
The past few weeks have been difficult for our relationship, to the point that we have been fighting everyday as a result. I admit, it's been mostly on my part, not his, as I scream hurtful words towards him in hopes of a change. I realize that's not the right way to approach such a private affair, but at the time, it's what I know and how I feel to react. Even though I regret it immediately after, my stubborness disables me from apologizing, whence continuing the hurt.
Sometimes I don't know how to move forward with our marriage, and sometimes nothing would please me more. It changes on a daily basis and on occastion, I ask myself, is this what I want? Do I want to be married in hopes of being left alone? Or just fight through what seems like a rough patch? I know he is soon getting to the point of frustration, therefore about to walk away from it all. I don't blame him, I have put both he and my daughter through hell. It's not fair to them, nor is it fair to myself.
The love I feel for him is unquestionable, it's why I have been married for so long. But the resentment I feel is also undeniable. I resent that we are in this financial anguish with only hope to guide us. At the time that I am writing this, we have no food, and my dog hasn't been able to eat aside from scraps we have left over from the previous week's dinner. I look inside our bare refrigerator and ask myself, how did it get this bad? I know that my unemployment has caused a great deal of that, but how can we still not have the money to eat? Forget a xmas tree or lights, we can't even afford that. Our home looks unconventional during this holiday season and nothing displeases me more. I've always loved this time of year and always enjoyed the bright twinkly lights permeating throughout our home. Only to look at dullness instead.
I'm bitter, I'm very bitter.
I ran out of my Trileptal last night and since my "drug dealer" is out of samples, I don't know when I'll be able to refill my prescription. After days of withdrawals, I know that will only hinder my diagnosis, not get better like it's supposed to.
Everyday I look at my husband with disgust. I watch him work many hours a week just so we can have food on the table, only to see it empty instead. Here is an educated man working at a job he loathes just so we can have health insurance, and work for a company that has not given him a raise since he started 6 years ago. I plead with him everyday to look for another job in hopes of a better life, but I can't watch over his shoulder wondering if he's adhering to my advice. He's a grown man, and I know he only wants what's best for our family and regrets the position we are currently in.
In my eyes, we are living the life of poverty, only to not qualify for food stamps or the like. According to the state, my husband makes too much money to collect. Ironic. We're not big spenders, nor do we have a lot of debt (if any). It comes from bills and rent that must be paid every month, only to snowball with regular past due amounts and regular phone calls fighting after us.
I don't know what to do at this point with my marriage, he has been there with me every step of the way as I struggled with my bipolar disorder, but as I wake up everyday in a dark depressive state due to our finances, I sometimes think it would only be easier if I went off on my own. Leaving him with my daughter to raise her properly and not have to worry about me and my illness or an extra mouth to feed.
As we sat through my therapy session last week, letting out our frustrations and spewing the hurt, I know that what I decide to do will have to come to fruition quickly, or both of us will sink down into a state of sadness and unhappiness. But what do I decide? How can I move forward with my life with or without him? That is what I need to think about every single day.
But how?
Give me the courage, please.
Bipolar Gal on Twitter
Thursday, December 13, 2012
Sunday, December 9, 2012
Fifty Shades of Bipolar Disorder
To even narrow this number down to fifty would be a challenge. There are so many different facets of bipolar disorder, that most of us—not even those of us suffering from this disease—will ever lay witness to. For most 'victims', it's buried deep within our brains and our souls, never to come out for the world to see. We tend to crawl deep inside our bodies in hopes of never being caught, ultimately to be left alone instead.
As we know, there are many ups and downs to bipolar disorder and that is in fact, what bipolar means—to be caught in different waves of mania as most struggle through what feels like, sheer hell. I can honestly say that I have experienced these waves of hell over this past year and a half alone. Even though I've had my family side-by-side with me every step of the way, I was alone while suffering these demons deep within my inner being. I never knew how to climb out of what felt like, the shell of my body. It was a challenge and therefore, a constant daily struggle.
I have recently learned that bipolar disorder has become a common disease among people of all ages, not just myself, but many others as well. As I was going through many stages of mania, I felt as if my world was crumbling below me, thus enabling me to always consider random thoughts of suicide. How would I do it? Why should I do it? And worse, when will I do it. There were times that I wanted to race upstairs into my kitchen and pull out a large, sharp kitchen knife only to free myself from the recurring reminders of pain. Thankfully, I didn't have the courage and eventually I would overcome these evil spirits that permeate my body everyday. Realizing that suicide is not only the answer, but a permanent effect of what my family would have to endure for eternity.
The feelings of what I struggle through with my bipolar disorder is a constant reminder of how sometimes, my medications don't always work. They're not always the answer to pure happiness, nor is it the end-all cure-all. Am I on the wrong meds? Perhaps. But according to my 'drug dealer,' they're the best that I could be on. Maybe a little tweaking here and there, but mostly an excellent concoction of a pharmaceutical mix.
I always daydream of how my life will improve, and how I could be filled with pure content. Yes, I'd be satisfied with that, considering how common it would be to be filled with pure happiness? Does it even exist, or are people just walking around fooling the rest of us, giving us the notion of envy? My cousin, for example, is most likely one of those people. She is, however, in a different position than I am, and will ever be. She and her husband are extremely wealthy. Oh, I don't mean the kind of wealth that most people are accustomed to, but a fortune that is only a small percentage of the population. They are worth hundreds of millions of dollars, therefore giving them the freedom of unlimited travel and lack of worry. I don't expect anywhere near that, but only a feeling of content and no worry of finances would satisfy my need of happiness. I realize that money is not always the answer to exuberance, but it sure would help.
If only.
Am I green with envy? Absolutely. Throughout my cousin's entire life, she has never had to worry about bills, finances, working or the like. My aunt and uncle have always been well off, consequently providing her the life of luxury. After marrying her husband, his business venture became a successful one, therefore giving them the privilege of infinate affluence. Is that fair? Mostly, it is. He worked hard. He didn't grow up with a silver spoon in his mouth like my cousin had the advantages of, ultimately providing him with the means of such wealth. I respect him for that.
Perhaps it's my bipolar disorder that provides me with such envy and obsession to their situation, but I know it's just mostly jealousy instead. I know my meds, or even hypnotherapy, couldn't solve these feelings or eliminate them completely. Maybe I'll be provided with control, or just a way of moving forward with my life without looking at them as if they're so much better than me, just because of their wealth.
I know there are so many dimensions of bipolar disorder, and I know they affect me in a way, that pulls me beyond my control, but I still continue to persevere in order to become 'normal' again, instead of a constant feeling of resentment. The ups and downs of my frequent manic episodes. If not for myself, but for my family as well. They deserve a stress-free life where walking in the door is not a walking-on-eggshell feeling of worry, waiting to see if the smile on my face is evident to provide them with relief, instead of wondering if I'll explode into fits of anger.
The many shades of bipolar disorder will one day pull me out of the continuous spirits of mania. I must have confidence that I will heal, and I will get better.
Or I'll go 'crazy.'
Bipolar Gal on Twitter
As we know, there are many ups and downs to bipolar disorder and that is in fact, what bipolar means—to be caught in different waves of mania as most struggle through what feels like, sheer hell. I can honestly say that I have experienced these waves of hell over this past year and a half alone. Even though I've had my family side-by-side with me every step of the way, I was alone while suffering these demons deep within my inner being. I never knew how to climb out of what felt like, the shell of my body. It was a challenge and therefore, a constant daily struggle.
I have recently learned that bipolar disorder has become a common disease among people of all ages, not just myself, but many others as well. As I was going through many stages of mania, I felt as if my world was crumbling below me, thus enabling me to always consider random thoughts of suicide. How would I do it? Why should I do it? And worse, when will I do it. There were times that I wanted to race upstairs into my kitchen and pull out a large, sharp kitchen knife only to free myself from the recurring reminders of pain. Thankfully, I didn't have the courage and eventually I would overcome these evil spirits that permeate my body everyday. Realizing that suicide is not only the answer, but a permanent effect of what my family would have to endure for eternity.
The feelings of what I struggle through with my bipolar disorder is a constant reminder of how sometimes, my medications don't always work. They're not always the answer to pure happiness, nor is it the end-all cure-all. Am I on the wrong meds? Perhaps. But according to my 'drug dealer,' they're the best that I could be on. Maybe a little tweaking here and there, but mostly an excellent concoction of a pharmaceutical mix.
I always daydream of how my life will improve, and how I could be filled with pure content. Yes, I'd be satisfied with that, considering how common it would be to be filled with pure happiness? Does it even exist, or are people just walking around fooling the rest of us, giving us the notion of envy? My cousin, for example, is most likely one of those people. She is, however, in a different position than I am, and will ever be. She and her husband are extremely wealthy. Oh, I don't mean the kind of wealth that most people are accustomed to, but a fortune that is only a small percentage of the population. They are worth hundreds of millions of dollars, therefore giving them the freedom of unlimited travel and lack of worry. I don't expect anywhere near that, but only a feeling of content and no worry of finances would satisfy my need of happiness. I realize that money is not always the answer to exuberance, but it sure would help.
If only.
Am I green with envy? Absolutely. Throughout my cousin's entire life, she has never had to worry about bills, finances, working or the like. My aunt and uncle have always been well off, consequently providing her the life of luxury. After marrying her husband, his business venture became a successful one, therefore giving them the privilege of infinate affluence. Is that fair? Mostly, it is. He worked hard. He didn't grow up with a silver spoon in his mouth like my cousin had the advantages of, ultimately providing him with the means of such wealth. I respect him for that.
Perhaps it's my bipolar disorder that provides me with such envy and obsession to their situation, but I know it's just mostly jealousy instead. I know my meds, or even hypnotherapy, couldn't solve these feelings or eliminate them completely. Maybe I'll be provided with control, or just a way of moving forward with my life without looking at them as if they're so much better than me, just because of their wealth.
I know there are so many dimensions of bipolar disorder, and I know they affect me in a way, that pulls me beyond my control, but I still continue to persevere in order to become 'normal' again, instead of a constant feeling of resentment. The ups and downs of my frequent manic episodes. If not for myself, but for my family as well. They deserve a stress-free life where walking in the door is not a walking-on-eggshell feeling of worry, waiting to see if the smile on my face is evident to provide them with relief, instead of wondering if I'll explode into fits of anger.
The many shades of bipolar disorder will one day pull me out of the continuous spirits of mania. I must have confidence that I will heal, and I will get better.
Or I'll go 'crazy.'
Bipolar Gal on Twitter
Thursday, December 6, 2012
Hypnotherapy?
Hypnotherapy is something I have never tried before, but in this day and time, I'm desperate. I need to take control of my life and do it now. With constant thoughts of obsession, I now know that in order to continue on with my life is the best way to go.
Or is it?
I've done some research about hypnotherapy and found that it's not what we all envision to be—an entertainment of sorts while flapping your arms like a chicken on the stage of a hypnotist, for the audience to enjoy. No, it's much more intense than that. According to the Mayo Clinic's website, you're in complete control of your actions, its a trance-like state in which you have heightened focus and concentration. Hypnosis is usually done with the help of a therapist using verbal repetition and visual objects. When you're under hypnosis, you usually feel calm and relaxed, and more open to suggestions.
Hypnosis can be used to help you gain control over undesired behaviors or to help you cope better with anxiety or pain. It's important to know that although you're more open to suggestion during hypnosis, you don't lose control over your behavior.
Can this form of therapy help me? Or shall I just continue to have the feelings of obsessions in which I face every single day? This feeling of helplessness has overpowered my life, therefore affected my marriage. In recent days, my obsession has been controlled, but for how long? My mind wanders in a state of gloom wondering what will happen next. I know these feelings will eventually subside, but I often ask myself when.
All it'll take it is one act that will ultimately throw me off the edge. The edge beyond reasonable merriment thus causing my behavior and obsession into a full blown chaotic state; a state of mania. As I continue to read my daily/monthly horoscope in hopes of an answer, I cross my fingers and hope that I will receive some sort of sign that everything will be alright. Even though I have never believed in horoscopes, the aligning of the stars and moons—or whatever it is—the desperation fills my soul hoping to be 'cured.' I'll try anything.
I realize that my naiveté will not solve all of my problems, if only my obsessions, but my torment will continue as I constantly pray that they will be answered, thus giving me back my happiness once again. I'm not a religious person, but faith is all I have at this point in time as I proceed in an attempt to control my life—aside from my regular daily meds. Without that one special sign every single day, my heart drops and I am unable to function normally—as normal as one can be when you're suffering from bipolar disorder.
Am I overreacting? Of course. I'm smart enough to know that what I'm feeling isn't real, it's just that part of my brain that's taking over my logical thinking. I know this much and I know that unless I take control of my life and these feelings of obsession, my life will be a constant pounding of distress. Much to the chagrin of my husband, he knows that in order to heal, I must have the strength to take that one little step in an attempt to move onward in the right direction.
There are no answers for me because it's a step that only I can take, and nobody else. I've had my therapist tell me for months that it must be done and like the ripping of a bandaid, it must be done cold turkey.
But how? Where do I start?
Bipolar Gal on Twitter
Or is it?
I've done some research about hypnotherapy and found that it's not what we all envision to be—an entertainment of sorts while flapping your arms like a chicken on the stage of a hypnotist, for the audience to enjoy. No, it's much more intense than that. According to the Mayo Clinic's website, you're in complete control of your actions, its a trance-like state in which you have heightened focus and concentration. Hypnosis is usually done with the help of a therapist using verbal repetition and visual objects. When you're under hypnosis, you usually feel calm and relaxed, and more open to suggestions.
Hypnosis can be used to help you gain control over undesired behaviors or to help you cope better with anxiety or pain. It's important to know that although you're more open to suggestion during hypnosis, you don't lose control over your behavior.
Can this form of therapy help me? Or shall I just continue to have the feelings of obsessions in which I face every single day? This feeling of helplessness has overpowered my life, therefore affected my marriage. In recent days, my obsession has been controlled, but for how long? My mind wanders in a state of gloom wondering what will happen next. I know these feelings will eventually subside, but I often ask myself when.
All it'll take it is one act that will ultimately throw me off the edge. The edge beyond reasonable merriment thus causing my behavior and obsession into a full blown chaotic state; a state of mania. As I continue to read my daily/monthly horoscope in hopes of an answer, I cross my fingers and hope that I will receive some sort of sign that everything will be alright. Even though I have never believed in horoscopes, the aligning of the stars and moons—or whatever it is—the desperation fills my soul hoping to be 'cured.' I'll try anything.
I realize that my naiveté will not solve all of my problems, if only my obsessions, but my torment will continue as I constantly pray that they will be answered, thus giving me back my happiness once again. I'm not a religious person, but faith is all I have at this point in time as I proceed in an attempt to control my life—aside from my regular daily meds. Without that one special sign every single day, my heart drops and I am unable to function normally—as normal as one can be when you're suffering from bipolar disorder.
Am I overreacting? Of course. I'm smart enough to know that what I'm feeling isn't real, it's just that part of my brain that's taking over my logical thinking. I know this much and I know that unless I take control of my life and these feelings of obsession, my life will be a constant pounding of distress. Much to the chagrin of my husband, he knows that in order to heal, I must have the strength to take that one little step in an attempt to move onward in the right direction.
There are no answers for me because it's a step that only I can take, and nobody else. I've had my therapist tell me for months that it must be done and like the ripping of a bandaid, it must be done cold turkey.
But how? Where do I start?
Bipolar Gal on Twitter
Monday, December 3, 2012
Insecurity.
I feel this often. Too often. More often than I'd like to admit. I'm a grown woman and I should be confident during this time in my life, only to feel the opposite instead. I should feel nothing but faith and assertiveness, but instead, I slither away from confrontation. I experience sadness while approaching these feelings that permeate throughout my body and my mind; throughout my soul. I can't seem to shake them, so as a result, I let them overcome my thoughts and my heart.
As the butterflies continue to flutter inside of me, I want to step outside of my body and take control; complete control of all of it. My entire life, my friends, my family, everyone surrounding me with whom I show a great deal of love for. Not to alienate them from my life completely, but to stand proud for those who have graced my affection and will only continue to do so.
So why would I feel insecure about these relationships? Why can't I just accept them as they are without the constant reassurance that everything will be OK? One word—insecurity.
The people who I have chosen to remain in my life are very special to me, therefore removing them now would be a mistake, if not a sad one. Although there are times where removing a friend or loved one from my life will seem like the right thing to do at that moment in time, I know in the future I will be filled with regret, only convincing myself that life is short. If it is in fact, short, I sometimes ask myself why continue on when I may believe something or someone may not be the proper fit for me which will have the advantage of gracing the presence of my life.
Most of the time I feel frustration, but don't we all? This is a common question we sometimes ask ourselves, but what is the answer? Is it as simple as removing that someone or something without further despair? I've always been the type of person who cares very deeply for the people in my life, especially friends. My friends mean a great deal to me, so when I feel as though I've been wronged in any way, I simply remove them from my life and move forward, without the uneasiness of looking back. However, certain friends have remained in my life regardless of their involvement and how they treat me. I know removing them from my life is the best thing to do, if only for my sanity and my future, but I can't, I just can't. I know it will only hurt and know I will constantly be filled with regret.
But for my future and my sanity? I know in my heart, it will be for the best. As they say, time heals all wounds. Doing it now will empower me.
My insecurity has only become the best of me, thus causing me to walk around in a cold daze. I know deep down that this is not healthy, and I need to rise above it and enable the invulnerability in my life and my mind. In this case, I know that confidence is of great magnitude.
As I am broached with a tough decision, I know whatever decision I make will be the right solution for me, and everyone around me. It can no longer affect my family like it has done for the past year or so. A thought that has rummaged through my mind for a long time coming, but I never had the courage to do so. I am weak, and I am not strong enough to make that one important step, so until then, I will continue to suffer and wonder, what if?
Like my entire life, insecurity has delegated my decision-making, and not for the good, but for the bad only. A negative that will continue to destroy my life until I take a stand in order to enrich it. Although I have tried many times, I always backed down, only to regret my weakness instead. Regret my cowardliness.
I need help, and I need guidance, and I need it now. If I only knew how.
Bipolar by Design
As the butterflies continue to flutter inside of me, I want to step outside of my body and take control; complete control of all of it. My entire life, my friends, my family, everyone surrounding me with whom I show a great deal of love for. Not to alienate them from my life completely, but to stand proud for those who have graced my affection and will only continue to do so.
So why would I feel insecure about these relationships? Why can't I just accept them as they are without the constant reassurance that everything will be OK? One word—insecurity.
The people who I have chosen to remain in my life are very special to me, therefore removing them now would be a mistake, if not a sad one. Although there are times where removing a friend or loved one from my life will seem like the right thing to do at that moment in time, I know in the future I will be filled with regret, only convincing myself that life is short. If it is in fact, short, I sometimes ask myself why continue on when I may believe something or someone may not be the proper fit for me which will have the advantage of gracing the presence of my life.
Most of the time I feel frustration, but don't we all? This is a common question we sometimes ask ourselves, but what is the answer? Is it as simple as removing that someone or something without further despair? I've always been the type of person who cares very deeply for the people in my life, especially friends. My friends mean a great deal to me, so when I feel as though I've been wronged in any way, I simply remove them from my life and move forward, without the uneasiness of looking back. However, certain friends have remained in my life regardless of their involvement and how they treat me. I know removing them from my life is the best thing to do, if only for my sanity and my future, but I can't, I just can't. I know it will only hurt and know I will constantly be filled with regret.
But for my future and my sanity? I know in my heart, it will be for the best. As they say, time heals all wounds. Doing it now will empower me.
My insecurity has only become the best of me, thus causing me to walk around in a cold daze. I know deep down that this is not healthy, and I need to rise above it and enable the invulnerability in my life and my mind. In this case, I know that confidence is of great magnitude.
As I am broached with a tough decision, I know whatever decision I make will be the right solution for me, and everyone around me. It can no longer affect my family like it has done for the past year or so. A thought that has rummaged through my mind for a long time coming, but I never had the courage to do so. I am weak, and I am not strong enough to make that one important step, so until then, I will continue to suffer and wonder, what if?
Like my entire life, insecurity has delegated my decision-making, and not for the good, but for the bad only. A negative that will continue to destroy my life until I take a stand in order to enrich it. Although I have tried many times, I always backed down, only to regret my weakness instead. Regret my cowardliness.
I need help, and I need guidance, and I need it now. If I only knew how.
Bipolar by Design
Sunday, December 2, 2012
Out of My Control
As I sit here pondering the inevitable question in my mind, while enjoying my morning cappuccino, my head is spinning around in circles and butterflies are once again, fluttering inside of me. Certain circumstances are always out of my grasp only to be out of my control—again. I don't know if it's my obsession getting the best of me like it always does these days, or if it's just disappointment and worry. My mind wanders aimlessly into this seemingly obsessed hole stuck in my brain, that it won't close up with thoughts of contentment instead.
Recently, certain events have changed all of that, and I don't know how to overcome them. Do I walk away from it completely or just deal with it like any adult learns to deal with? I want to escape from all of it because the constant overwhelming musings of what the possible ifs are quite simply, driving me crazy. It must stop and it must stop now.
But how?
It's not supposed to fade, but only flourish instead, as these past several months have only made me happy and secure in what it has become. Now that certain events have changed all of that—albeit in my mind only—it has, as a result, become bothersome in my mind. An obsession of sorts.
I worry about the inevitable replacement; something that will ultimately become out of my control. I can't control what may or may not happen simply because I am not within an earshot to control it. I can only sit back and hope for the best, and possibly prepare for the worst.
If you've seen the movie "Someone Like You" with Ashley Judd and Hugh Jackman, perhaps you'll know what I'm getting at. Throughout this movie, Ashley Judd's character, Jane, discusses the possibility (if not in a non-fiction sort of explanation) of a "New Cow Theory." This 'theory' explores a straightforward approach to the probability of the inevitable replacement of one person (or in this case, one cow) to another. Someone new, if you will.
The "Old Cow Theory" implies that as an 'old cow,' the boredom and excitement of this regular 'relationship' has gotten old; therefore, the spark has diminished. Whereas with a 'new cow,' the delight and newness of such 'theory,' has permeated one's thought process, therefore enabling this person to gravitate towards them even more. The pleasure and chemistry overwhelmed them in a state of ecstasy, if not pleasure.
Without divulging too much information here, mainly in fear of being "exposed," take it from me that mainly, due to unusual circumstances, there is literally nothing I can do to change this person's mind, because it is literally out of my grasp. What happens, happens.
So as I continue to obsess about it, how do I handle it? A part of me wants to walk away as an easy current solution, if only for me, in hopes of healing and moving forward with my life instead of the obsession that fills my mind and fills my soul everyday. Or perhaps just take a step back and let it fade away naturally. I know if I choose either scenario, I will be hurting in the process.
Like a bandaid, I know the former would only be the easiest—if not the most difficult—resolution in order to be happy and to not worry about the possibility of the inevitable. Time will encourage such a decision and knowing in my heart it must be done, but shall it be handled sooner or later, or immediately as a way of obtaining pure happiness and lack of worry. Eventually, to free my mind and free my heart.
That is the question I must continually ask myself on a regular, daily basis. At least until I have the courage and wherewithal to decide ultimately, what is best for me, and only me.
Bipolar Gal on Twitter
Recently, certain events have changed all of that, and I don't know how to overcome them. Do I walk away from it completely or just deal with it like any adult learns to deal with? I want to escape from all of it because the constant overwhelming musings of what the possible ifs are quite simply, driving me crazy. It must stop and it must stop now.
But how?
It's not supposed to fade, but only flourish instead, as these past several months have only made me happy and secure in what it has become. Now that certain events have changed all of that—albeit in my mind only—it has, as a result, become bothersome in my mind. An obsession of sorts.
I worry about the inevitable replacement; something that will ultimately become out of my control. I can't control what may or may not happen simply because I am not within an earshot to control it. I can only sit back and hope for the best, and possibly prepare for the worst.
If you've seen the movie "Someone Like You" with Ashley Judd and Hugh Jackman, perhaps you'll know what I'm getting at. Throughout this movie, Ashley Judd's character, Jane, discusses the possibility (if not in a non-fiction sort of explanation) of a "New Cow Theory." This 'theory' explores a straightforward approach to the probability of the inevitable replacement of one person (or in this case, one cow) to another. Someone new, if you will.
The "Old Cow Theory" implies that as an 'old cow,' the boredom and excitement of this regular 'relationship' has gotten old; therefore, the spark has diminished. Whereas with a 'new cow,' the delight and newness of such 'theory,' has permeated one's thought process, therefore enabling this person to gravitate towards them even more. The pleasure and chemistry overwhelmed them in a state of ecstasy, if not pleasure.
Without divulging too much information here, mainly in fear of being "exposed," take it from me that mainly, due to unusual circumstances, there is literally nothing I can do to change this person's mind, because it is literally out of my grasp. What happens, happens.
So as I continue to obsess about it, how do I handle it? A part of me wants to walk away as an easy current solution, if only for me, in hopes of healing and moving forward with my life instead of the obsession that fills my mind and fills my soul everyday. Or perhaps just take a step back and let it fade away naturally. I know if I choose either scenario, I will be hurting in the process.
Like a bandaid, I know the former would only be the easiest—if not the most difficult—resolution in order to be happy and to not worry about the possibility of the inevitable. Time will encourage such a decision and knowing in my heart it must be done, but shall it be handled sooner or later, or immediately as a way of obtaining pure happiness and lack of worry. Eventually, to free my mind and free my heart.
That is the question I must continually ask myself on a regular, daily basis. At least until I have the courage and wherewithal to decide ultimately, what is best for me, and only me.
Bipolar Gal on Twitter
Wednesday, November 21, 2012
Does Happiness Exist?
For most people, perhaps it does. But for me, I'm not so sure. As I gaze at my life, I recognize that happiness should exist for me, but most of the time, it doesn't. Am I selfish? Am I expecting too much? Perhaps.
I expect to be happy, and I expect to surround myself in a world of content, only to be disappointed instead. I'm lucky to have a loving, supporting husband, and a healthy daughter who have both accepted my bipolar disorder without judgment and resentment, because they love me regardless. I know my outbursts have only saddened them, instead of angered them as most people would deal with such torment. For most families, I imagine this would only be the case. Not for me, however, so why can't I be appreciative instead of questioning the result of my happiness?
I know for one to ask if happiness exists is the million dollar question we all ask ourselves, if not an expectation we all want to grasp. With the fear of losing it all, I only want to be thankful for the support I have received instead of questioning it on a daily basis.
I've always believed—albeit wrongly—that happiness cannot and does not exist for me. Perhaps I'm being pessimistic, but in my heart, it can't. Can it? I look at people and their lives, their families, and their careers, and they all seem happy and satisfied. With me, I'm not so sure. I've had many jobs over the years and I honestly cannot think of one that I've been completely in love with. On the contrary, I've only felt dissatisfaction instead. With all of them.
How can that be? Is it so difficult to feel happiness and fulfillment? For most people, they would look down upon their lives and be thankful for everything they have been blessed with, whereas for me, I'm the opposite. It seems that my job situation won't escape me. I've had to go backwards instead of forward with my career. My current job isn't in my field, but only a job I've held for years as I battled my way through college. What is the point of my degree? Why did I bother? I've always been an advocate of the regurgitating effects of an education—that it's never a waste. But this time, I'm not so sure.
I'm lucky to have such a supportive family, that much I'm grateful for. But our finances and my job situation have hindered this feeling of satisfaction which continuously override the lack of happiness in my life. As I continue to daydream and wonder what life would be like without the worry of funds, I often wonder if we'll ever be financially secure in our lives, or are we destined to live the life of struggle as we wrestle our way through a web of destruction? I know I should be grateful for our lives and what we have with each other would be the easier way to go, instead of dreading on what we don't have, but instead, what we do have.
Most people say that money should not define us, but only to make us indebted to what we've been blessed with to make our lives that much easier. However, I always seem to battle with the continuous negative thoughts of unhappiness. We know that's not right, and we all know that money does not make us happy, but the jealousy of such a dream override my unhappy thoughts.
I know that one day, money will hopefully never be an issue—I pray for this on a daily basis, so how can it not? I won't give up on an incessant job search in hopes of a better way of life; to ensure my happiness with everything full circle in my life. In our lives. I will be adamant, therefore something will have to give way to my relentless forage of happiness if only to secure our finances. It must, or I will drive myself crazy with the possibility of an unsuccessful exploration of triumph; an effort and drive of love for that one perfect job. I know there's one out there, therefore I won't give up.
I must be positive.
Bipolar Gal on Twitter
I expect to be happy, and I expect to surround myself in a world of content, only to be disappointed instead. I'm lucky to have a loving, supporting husband, and a healthy daughter who have both accepted my bipolar disorder without judgment and resentment, because they love me regardless. I know my outbursts have only saddened them, instead of angered them as most people would deal with such torment. For most families, I imagine this would only be the case. Not for me, however, so why can't I be appreciative instead of questioning the result of my happiness?
I know for one to ask if happiness exists is the million dollar question we all ask ourselves, if not an expectation we all want to grasp. With the fear of losing it all, I only want to be thankful for the support I have received instead of questioning it on a daily basis.
I've always believed—albeit wrongly—that happiness cannot and does not exist for me. Perhaps I'm being pessimistic, but in my heart, it can't. Can it? I look at people and their lives, their families, and their careers, and they all seem happy and satisfied. With me, I'm not so sure. I've had many jobs over the years and I honestly cannot think of one that I've been completely in love with. On the contrary, I've only felt dissatisfaction instead. With all of them.
How can that be? Is it so difficult to feel happiness and fulfillment? For most people, they would look down upon their lives and be thankful for everything they have been blessed with, whereas for me, I'm the opposite. It seems that my job situation won't escape me. I've had to go backwards instead of forward with my career. My current job isn't in my field, but only a job I've held for years as I battled my way through college. What is the point of my degree? Why did I bother? I've always been an advocate of the regurgitating effects of an education—that it's never a waste. But this time, I'm not so sure.
I'm lucky to have such a supportive family, that much I'm grateful for. But our finances and my job situation have hindered this feeling of satisfaction which continuously override the lack of happiness in my life. As I continue to daydream and wonder what life would be like without the worry of funds, I often wonder if we'll ever be financially secure in our lives, or are we destined to live the life of struggle as we wrestle our way through a web of destruction? I know I should be grateful for our lives and what we have with each other would be the easier way to go, instead of dreading on what we don't have, but instead, what we do have.
Most people say that money should not define us, but only to make us indebted to what we've been blessed with to make our lives that much easier. However, I always seem to battle with the continuous negative thoughts of unhappiness. We know that's not right, and we all know that money does not make us happy, but the jealousy of such a dream override my unhappy thoughts.
I know that one day, money will hopefully never be an issue—I pray for this on a daily basis, so how can it not? I won't give up on an incessant job search in hopes of a better way of life; to ensure my happiness with everything full circle in my life. In our lives. I will be adamant, therefore something will have to give way to my relentless forage of happiness if only to secure our finances. It must, or I will drive myself crazy with the possibility of an unsuccessful exploration of triumph; an effort and drive of love for that one perfect job. I know there's one out there, therefore I won't give up.
I must be positive.
Bipolar Gal on Twitter
Tuesday, November 20, 2012
The Sadness of Loneliness
Have you ever felt lonely as a result of your bipolar disorder? To be honest, I would find that hard to believe if the answer was "no." I know for most people who suffer from this illness, that feeling of loneliness and sadness is just a common part of what we struggle through on a daily basis. At least it does for me.
I always wonder, speaking from someone like myself who is very outgoing and typically very social, how can a person overcome this? Medication? For me, that is definitely the correct answer. Ever since my daughter's soccer season this past spring, I have realized how being social and friendly was not something I wanted to do, nor did I do. As a result, I stayed away and slithered into my lonely space at home where it was a safe environment for me, where I didn't have to put on that facade that I have grown accustomed to for the past year. It was tough for me and I wanted to constantly crawl in bed and sleep, but since I've never been the type of person to sleep all day, I quickly pulled myself out of this slump and tried my hardest to continue forward, even though it was a continuous effort.
Since being like this was the antithesis of my normal behavior, I truly didn't know how to react or even respond to these actions. As you could imagine, It was a tough transition. What came next for me? How could I get out of this slump? It seemed to be the same question I was asking myself on a daily basis. But when your mind is in a dark hole everyday, you can't think logically, but as a self-loathing emotionless human being instead, but you know it's only at that time as you're suffering.
When I first came back from visiting my parents last summer, and seeing my father struggle after receiving chemotherapy, it felt like my world was shattering right before my eyes. I know it wasn't, that much was apparent to me, but in my mind I felt as though everything was crumbling down like a house of cards. I felt as though I had no control, and for the most part, considering these particular situations, I didn't have control, but I was also aware that in most normal situations, I would have handled it much better than I did. With the exception of my father's illness, of course.
Once I saw my father, I felt as though he'd be OK, yes he was walking slower and he was definitely a lot weaker than he normally was, but still the same strong man I had known since childhood. His strong deep voice that always made me shake when he yelled at me as a child—even as an adult had still made me shutter. For the first time in my life, I liked it and never thought I would desire it, but once I heard his voice and his strength, I believed he was OK. And at that time, he was.
But loneliness is different, after seeing my father, I was broken. I knew my husband wouldn't understand nor would he accept my crawling into a quiet space and demand to be alone, so I hid it the entire time, which was the most difficult emotion I had ever had to overcome, but it didn't last. That was just my husband's way. As I look back now, I'm so very grateful of how he 'forced' me to try and adjust to these new emotions as a way to move forward and try to get better, but at that time, we had no idea it was my bipolar disorder crawling back into my life once again.
Until the following November where it all changed.
Several visits to the emergency room changed all of that. I didn't want to be there, nor did I want to be alone, but knew I had to be. My husband and daughter were there for me every step of the way, but mostly, I didn't want them there, I only wanted to sink into my dark abyss that I have grown so accustomed to instead. I wanted to be alone.
Several months later as I look back, I know that wasn't me and I do know that my bipolar disorder had wriggled its way back into my psyche—once again—and changed all of that. I look back and realized with great anticipation that regular visits to my therapist and my medication was a necessity, not an option and will most likely be a regular occurrence for the rest of my life. Maybe a decrease of visits to my therapist, but daily, the medication will always be there for me.
I'm better, a lot better, and I'm a lot more social once again, and I love it. I love being with my friends and I love socializing with them as I frequently laugh and smile—just like the old days.
Thank you Latuda and Tripletal, you've made a huge difference in my life.
Sunday, November 18, 2012
Days of Mania
I have them, almost everyday. Many ups and downs that permeate my very existence. I'm continuously at a loss to why. Most of the time, I don't know how to handle it as I proceed to find out what is wrong with me; why do I cry as if my life is crumbling right before my eyes? A daily reminder of what my bipolar disorder is causing me—a regular heartache that hurts so much, I never know why, or how and what has created it.
I always ask myself if this is something I can control or even handle. Without an answer to this question, I know that the hurt won't go away, but will only accentuate even more.
My mind races and my mind wanders. I can't think straight and I can't focus on anything. My surroundings are black and white—nothing as simple as one color opposite from the other, but an over-the-top display of emotions. I want to scream, and most of the time I do. I let it out, so loud and so intense that I'm surprised my neighbors haven't complained. It hurts, you see, and I can't stop it. At that moment in time, I can't. Without the aid of my anti-anxiety pills, it will continue to mutilate my soul and affect me as if nobody can hear me or comprehend my plight.
I want to dive into the black hole in my mind and never crawl back. I want to stay there and I never want to come out. Just hide. It bewilders me, but I continue to scream—my mind is persistent and it won't stop. My thoughts fill me with intense emotion and sadness, that I want to end it all. All of it. Everything.
How does this misery end? Aside from swallowing one of my anti-anxiety pills, will I ever be 'normal' again? What is 'normal' anyway? For me, 'normal' is happiness and tranquility, a feeling of composure and belief that only guides me into another dimension of pure merriment. Even now, as I sit here and drink my morning cappuccino, I wonder how and why? I love drinking my cappuccino, I love the taste and I love how it makes me feel albeit shaky and anxious.
Every morning I feel this way as though I want to get up from my chair and paint the world bright colors to fill my soul—paint everything I see in sight without a care in the world to what I'm depicting from the heart. I love to paint. It's something I have done since college. Even though I studied fine art, I never completely understood the effects of oils but acrylics instead. I'm an amateur at best.
I love creating my own "graffiti" on street signs I purchased at the local eco thrift. It's my way of recycling within my home, and painting unusual objects that marvels my satisfaction.
I don't care. I do it because it pleases me. It's for me, nobody else but me. The downsides of being a graphic designer is it's for the client. Although working for the client has always given me the advantage of showing my professionalism and talent, the frustration of their layperson eye only frustrates me. I know what's best and I know what they need to settle on. Even if they don't see it at that point in time. Learning is key.
The shakiness that penetrates my body with a throbbing headache most likely from my morning medication, only extinguishes typical normality . My annoyance from this medication aggravates me but I know it's something I must do everyday, or my bipolar disorder will only come back full force, only making it worse.
I am filled with dizziness, but what is more important? I know what I must do, and I know how to control it, if not for my sanity and my family's as well. I must struggle on with the manic voices climbing through my soul as if they're not there. To only make me 'normal' again.
It's time. Time to paint.
Bipolar Gal on Twitter
How does this misery end? Aside from swallowing one of my anti-anxiety pills, will I ever be 'normal' again? What is 'normal' anyway? For me, 'normal' is happiness and tranquility, a feeling of composure and belief that only guides me into another dimension of pure merriment. Even now, as I sit here and drink my morning cappuccino, I wonder how and why? I love drinking my cappuccino, I love the taste and I love how it makes me feel albeit shaky and anxious.
Every morning I feel this way as though I want to get up from my chair and paint the world bright colors to fill my soul—paint everything I see in sight without a care in the world to what I'm depicting from the heart. I love to paint. It's something I have done since college. Even though I studied fine art, I never completely understood the effects of oils but acrylics instead. I'm an amateur at best.
I love creating my own "graffiti" on street signs I purchased at the local eco thrift. It's my way of recycling within my home, and painting unusual objects that marvels my satisfaction.
Handicap sign
Speed Limit sign
Vintage Gas Station Number
I don't care. I do it because it pleases me. It's for me, nobody else but me. The downsides of being a graphic designer is it's for the client. Although working for the client has always given me the advantage of showing my professionalism and talent, the frustration of their layperson eye only frustrates me. I know what's best and I know what they need to settle on. Even if they don't see it at that point in time. Learning is key.
The shakiness that penetrates my body with a throbbing headache most likely from my morning medication, only extinguishes typical normality . My annoyance from this medication aggravates me but I know it's something I must do everyday, or my bipolar disorder will only come back full force, only making it worse.
I am filled with dizziness, but what is more important? I know what I must do, and I know how to control it, if not for my sanity and my family's as well. I must struggle on with the manic voices climbing through my soul as if they're not there. To only make me 'normal' again.
It's time. Time to paint.
Bipolar Gal on Twitter
Saturday, November 17, 2012
Long Days or Old Age?
After much contemplation on my job search, my husband suggested that instead of a relentless search into a career in graphic design, I should try to find a job in retail instead—something he claimed I had always been satisfied with. With the upcoming holiday season, I knew it would be easier than usual since most stores were hiring for the busy holiday season.
As I continually perused craigslist, I was apprehensive of applying for anything outside of my career, if not an office job. Something outside of my comfort zone. A job that has proven to be stifling and lonely. At least with my last job this has confirmed to be true. Do I dare? Or just sit there doubting my husband's recommendation?
I'll give it a try. Why not? I have nothing to lose.
With the holidays rapidly approaching, I knew undertaking this challenge could possibly benefit me, albeit temporarily. The advantages of working in retail during the holidays, is that it gives me the opportunity of eventually not going back. During a temporary position as 'holiday help,' I wanted to ensure that money wouldn't be an issue since working in retail can become problematic, not only with the unusual hours, but the hourly wage as well. I wasn't interested in a commission based salary, but knew that most retail jobs would require a certain amount of sales in order to remain motivated and fulfilled, as well as a requirement with the company.
Even though I've always preferred a more simplified retail position, I often wonder if selling was something I'd be good at. A successful attempt at working with the public in hopes of ringing up that next purchase to promote happiness with each individual customer. Shopping is always a happy endeavor, so as a salesperson, it's my job to establish their exuberant visit. Therefore, walking out of the boutique with a smile on their face.
Immediately after my search, I received a phone call for an instantaneous interview. A part of me was elated, but the other part of me was disappointed at the same time. I had hoped that upon my continuous search that finding a job in retail would not come to fruition, but only an excuse from telling my husband that it didn't work out; that nobody was interested. But I knew that it was an undertaking that I must take; a risk in my mind that needed to materialize. While in college and as a young teenager, I've worked many years in retail, with only the last 10+ years of graphic design permeating throughout my resumé, therefore possibly causing an apprehensive conflict from my being hired. As a result of my recent experience, I wasn't sure if I would receive this quick of a phone call. I didn't know what to expect.
The woman on the other end was giving me a chance regardless. She wanted to hear my experience and know that I was fully qualified to grace the marble floors of their upscale boutique as a potential salesperson.
Even I wasn't certain, because I wanted to know and also hear what she had to say. I also gave her the chance to sell the position that could be offered to me.
After a successful interview, I was offered the job the very next day. I was happy, but at the same time, I was disappointed. Upon hearing the hourly wage (plus commission), I was disillusioned—albeit expectedly—of the low wage. I had worked retail long enough to know that standing on my feet would be a challenge if not a painful one—even if I am a regular runner.
After starting my first day, my back was bothering me to the point where I'd have to regularly sit down, only to be told that I am allotted a 10 minute break for a 4 hour shift. I knew this would be problematic, but how could a 10 minute break benefit me? By the time I sit down, my break is basically over. A snack? Perhaps. Lunch or dinner? Not enough time.
Although at the moment, I am only working 4 hour shifts in hopes of being triumphant on my way home from a beneficial outcome of—what feels like—a long day. However, what I did feel was excruciating pain instead. My back bothered me, to the point that I could barely sit down. How can this be? How can a regular runner like myself be in such pain from standing on my feet for a mere 4 hours? I sometimes wonder if it's my age causing this, but I don't know for sure. Many years ago while I was pregnant, my back hurt so bad that I had to take an early leave of absence and as a result, receive short term disability. Prior to becoming pregnant, I ran 5–7 miles a day, 5 days/week. After having my daughter, my back never went back to normal pre-pregnancy.
Until 2 years ago prior to my running 3 days/week. It felt good to never feel that lower back pain again. Although I was concerned as I started running again, I felt elated and continued to remain painless. Even if I felt a constant nervousness.
Until now. Until I started this job. I don't love this job, but I don't hate it either. For now, it's just a job I am doing. It feels good to get out of the house and in a social, public environment. Something I have needed for a very long time. I now know that only working minimal hours per week that the possibility of getting burned out, could only overcome me, but feeling good instead. Aside from my back pain—which I hope is just a discomfort I must get used to—the probability of going to work a few days a week will heighten my entertainment surroundings with the struggle of incessant back pain.
Have I gotten too old for such an environment? Or am I just not used to it?
Long days, or old age?
Only time will tell.
Bipolar Gal on Twitter
As I continually perused craigslist, I was apprehensive of applying for anything outside of my career, if not an office job. Something outside of my comfort zone. A job that has proven to be stifling and lonely. At least with my last job this has confirmed to be true. Do I dare? Or just sit there doubting my husband's recommendation?
I'll give it a try. Why not? I have nothing to lose.
With the holidays rapidly approaching, I knew undertaking this challenge could possibly benefit me, albeit temporarily. The advantages of working in retail during the holidays, is that it gives me the opportunity of eventually not going back. During a temporary position as 'holiday help,' I wanted to ensure that money wouldn't be an issue since working in retail can become problematic, not only with the unusual hours, but the hourly wage as well. I wasn't interested in a commission based salary, but knew that most retail jobs would require a certain amount of sales in order to remain motivated and fulfilled, as well as a requirement with the company.
Even though I've always preferred a more simplified retail position, I often wonder if selling was something I'd be good at. A successful attempt at working with the public in hopes of ringing up that next purchase to promote happiness with each individual customer. Shopping is always a happy endeavor, so as a salesperson, it's my job to establish their exuberant visit. Therefore, walking out of the boutique with a smile on their face.
Immediately after my search, I received a phone call for an instantaneous interview. A part of me was elated, but the other part of me was disappointed at the same time. I had hoped that upon my continuous search that finding a job in retail would not come to fruition, but only an excuse from telling my husband that it didn't work out; that nobody was interested. But I knew that it was an undertaking that I must take; a risk in my mind that needed to materialize. While in college and as a young teenager, I've worked many years in retail, with only the last 10+ years of graphic design permeating throughout my resumé, therefore possibly causing an apprehensive conflict from my being hired. As a result of my recent experience, I wasn't sure if I would receive this quick of a phone call. I didn't know what to expect.
The woman on the other end was giving me a chance regardless. She wanted to hear my experience and know that I was fully qualified to grace the marble floors of their upscale boutique as a potential salesperson.
Even I wasn't certain, because I wanted to know and also hear what she had to say. I also gave her the chance to sell the position that could be offered to me.
After a successful interview, I was offered the job the very next day. I was happy, but at the same time, I was disappointed. Upon hearing the hourly wage (plus commission), I was disillusioned—albeit expectedly—of the low wage. I had worked retail long enough to know that standing on my feet would be a challenge if not a painful one—even if I am a regular runner.
After starting my first day, my back was bothering me to the point where I'd have to regularly sit down, only to be told that I am allotted a 10 minute break for a 4 hour shift. I knew this would be problematic, but how could a 10 minute break benefit me? By the time I sit down, my break is basically over. A snack? Perhaps. Lunch or dinner? Not enough time.
Although at the moment, I am only working 4 hour shifts in hopes of being triumphant on my way home from a beneficial outcome of—what feels like—a long day. However, what I did feel was excruciating pain instead. My back bothered me, to the point that I could barely sit down. How can this be? How can a regular runner like myself be in such pain from standing on my feet for a mere 4 hours? I sometimes wonder if it's my age causing this, but I don't know for sure. Many years ago while I was pregnant, my back hurt so bad that I had to take an early leave of absence and as a result, receive short term disability. Prior to becoming pregnant, I ran 5–7 miles a day, 5 days/week. After having my daughter, my back never went back to normal pre-pregnancy.
Until 2 years ago prior to my running 3 days/week. It felt good to never feel that lower back pain again. Although I was concerned as I started running again, I felt elated and continued to remain painless. Even if I felt a constant nervousness.
Until now. Until I started this job. I don't love this job, but I don't hate it either. For now, it's just a job I am doing. It feels good to get out of the house and in a social, public environment. Something I have needed for a very long time. I now know that only working minimal hours per week that the possibility of getting burned out, could only overcome me, but feeling good instead. Aside from my back pain—which I hope is just a discomfort I must get used to—the probability of going to work a few days a week will heighten my entertainment surroundings with the struggle of incessant back pain.
Have I gotten too old for such an environment? Or am I just not used to it?
Long days, or old age?
Only time will tell.
Bipolar Gal on Twitter
Friday, November 16, 2012
A Unique Friendship
I am writing this post that is meant for a dear friend of mine, someone whom I have never met, but someone that means a great deal to me, regardless. He just happened to come upon this blog, so for that, I am dedicating this post solely to him. When he found it, it upset me because I was concerned that he would read the intimate details that for many months, I have projected here, and in turn, he would judge me. But I know he won't, and I know even if he did read it—even though he has promised not to—he will accept that it's who I am and continue to be my friend regardless.
So this is for you, M/M. I hope you like it.
Because we have never met, and because we "met" simply by playing a popular video game, we just happen to hit it off from the very beginning. It started out slow, like any friendship would, but then it grew into something very special. A friendship that we both call(ed) 'weird'—for reasons that I will not divulge here, because the two of us will always keep that secret between us, and between us only—a special friendship nevertheless.
As the year grew, and as we embark on our two year 'anniversary' of our friendship, it has grown to become strong for both of us. As we communicate every single day, whether it's via text, phone or mumble (a popular gaming audio program), we still find a way to say hello and move it forward with the details of our lives at that current time. Because I love speaking with him and hearing about his life and how he's doing, I don't ever want it to end. I always want to make sure he's OK with the elements of his life.
I have to know he's there. It's just how I am. And with never having the luxury of seeing him face-to-face, I enjoy that comfort of our deep friendship in my life. Sometimes I question if he feels the same way, but I know our communication also means a great deal to him as he initiates the contact as much as I do with him. It's just what we do.
I've told him my life, and shared deep secrets with what I have endured this past year, details that I have never trusted with anyone else before—aside from my husband, my 'real life' friends will never learn of these recent horrors in my life; the sentence I have endured for the past year and a half. After everything I have confided in him, he has never judged me—even though I always thought he would. Maybe our lack of meeting in-person makes that easier for both of us, a computer or cell phone blocking our contact, I'm not sure, but he has proven to me by listening to my plight and the dark abyss where I have fallen many times, that he will continue to place his friendship onto me that nobody ever would in a real life scenario. Sometimes I forget that we have never met, and someone whom I've never had the luxury to cry on his shoulder or hug him while I mourned the recent death of my father.
I made the mistake of judging him once, a mistake that was devastating to his wife, and surprisingly, to me. Although this mistake never affected me personally, in my heart, it did. I will always regret the selfish behavior that I have created because for 3 weeks, I thought I lost his friendship forever. After reaching out to him, he forgave me, for reasons I'll never understand till this day, because he exonerated me of the vile words I spoke upon him as a selfish friend, because instead of supporting him—regardless of how I disapproved—I judged him instead. I should have been there for him as a friend, like he is always for me, but I wasn't. That is a distant memory now, and after more than a year later, we have grown even closer than that day over a year ago, and we both know that will always remain so. If only on my end.
There have been numerous times where I have taken my bipolar disorder out on him, and like the friend that he is, has never walked away from our friendship, or even judged me for it like most people would. He knows when I'm having—as he calls it—a "bipolar day," and still, after how I've treated him, over and over again, he never once judged me or walked away. He's special to me, and for that, I'll never let his friendship go and I'll never walk away from him again, like I did before.
Although I sometimes state otherwise, I won't. I hope he knows that I never will in spite of everything we've endured with our friendship.
In turn, as he is going through a rough time in his life, I try to be there for him, like he has for me, as a friend. I know that if someday, if he reunites with his family, or even if he falls in love with someone else, I will have to accept that our friendship could possibly diminish, if not completely end of our daily communication. I know that this could be a possibility that will only sadden me a great deal, but I'll understand, even if I may not agree with the likelihood of the inevitable lack of contact. I'll know and I'll understand why. It's real life, and I am not a part of that real life, but only a virtual one instead.
As our friendship continues to flourish, I daydream about the inevitable possibility that we will one day meet in person. Something that I know will come to fruition, but the question is not if we will meet, but when and how. Money is tight for both of us at this current time, therefore it's just not possible for either of us, which is fine. As I continue to accept that we cannot sit down and have a beer together, or cry on each other's shoulder, or even laugh like we do on the phone, I'll have to accept that as a friendship, it's still there. Whether or not I am unable to look into his eyes and see deep down into his soul, but to hear his voice and the laughter that frequently comes with it instead. For now, that'll make me happy, as long as we will remain friends and he will continue to be my confidante, I'll be elated.
You're very special to me, and I want you to know that you are forever in my heart as an unusual, but remarkable friend, and I hope we will continue our unique friendship for the future to come.
I love you, M/M
xoxo...
Bipolar Gal on Twitter
So this is for you, M/M. I hope you like it.
Because we have never met, and because we "met" simply by playing a popular video game, we just happen to hit it off from the very beginning. It started out slow, like any friendship would, but then it grew into something very special. A friendship that we both call(ed) 'weird'—for reasons that I will not divulge here, because the two of us will always keep that secret between us, and between us only—a special friendship nevertheless.
As the year grew, and as we embark on our two year 'anniversary' of our friendship, it has grown to become strong for both of us. As we communicate every single day, whether it's via text, phone or mumble (a popular gaming audio program), we still find a way to say hello and move it forward with the details of our lives at that current time. Because I love speaking with him and hearing about his life and how he's doing, I don't ever want it to end. I always want to make sure he's OK with the elements of his life.
I have to know he's there. It's just how I am. And with never having the luxury of seeing him face-to-face, I enjoy that comfort of our deep friendship in my life. Sometimes I question if he feels the same way, but I know our communication also means a great deal to him as he initiates the contact as much as I do with him. It's just what we do.
I've told him my life, and shared deep secrets with what I have endured this past year, details that I have never trusted with anyone else before—aside from my husband, my 'real life' friends will never learn of these recent horrors in my life; the sentence I have endured for the past year and a half. After everything I have confided in him, he has never judged me—even though I always thought he would. Maybe our lack of meeting in-person makes that easier for both of us, a computer or cell phone blocking our contact, I'm not sure, but he has proven to me by listening to my plight and the dark abyss where I have fallen many times, that he will continue to place his friendship onto me that nobody ever would in a real life scenario. Sometimes I forget that we have never met, and someone whom I've never had the luxury to cry on his shoulder or hug him while I mourned the recent death of my father.
I made the mistake of judging him once, a mistake that was devastating to his wife, and surprisingly, to me. Although this mistake never affected me personally, in my heart, it did. I will always regret the selfish behavior that I have created because for 3 weeks, I thought I lost his friendship forever. After reaching out to him, he forgave me, for reasons I'll never understand till this day, because he exonerated me of the vile words I spoke upon him as a selfish friend, because instead of supporting him—regardless of how I disapproved—I judged him instead. I should have been there for him as a friend, like he is always for me, but I wasn't. That is a distant memory now, and after more than a year later, we have grown even closer than that day over a year ago, and we both know that will always remain so. If only on my end.
There have been numerous times where I have taken my bipolar disorder out on him, and like the friend that he is, has never walked away from our friendship, or even judged me for it like most people would. He knows when I'm having—as he calls it—a "bipolar day," and still, after how I've treated him, over and over again, he never once judged me or walked away. He's special to me, and for that, I'll never let his friendship go and I'll never walk away from him again, like I did before.
Although I sometimes state otherwise, I won't. I hope he knows that I never will in spite of everything we've endured with our friendship.
In turn, as he is going through a rough time in his life, I try to be there for him, like he has for me, as a friend. I know that if someday, if he reunites with his family, or even if he falls in love with someone else, I will have to accept that our friendship could possibly diminish, if not completely end of our daily communication. I know that this could be a possibility that will only sadden me a great deal, but I'll understand, even if I may not agree with the likelihood of the inevitable lack of contact. I'll know and I'll understand why. It's real life, and I am not a part of that real life, but only a virtual one instead.
As our friendship continues to flourish, I daydream about the inevitable possibility that we will one day meet in person. Something that I know will come to fruition, but the question is not if we will meet, but when and how. Money is tight for both of us at this current time, therefore it's just not possible for either of us, which is fine. As I continue to accept that we cannot sit down and have a beer together, or cry on each other's shoulder, or even laugh like we do on the phone, I'll have to accept that as a friendship, it's still there. Whether or not I am unable to look into his eyes and see deep down into his soul, but to hear his voice and the laughter that frequently comes with it instead. For now, that'll make me happy, as long as we will remain friends and he will continue to be my confidante, I'll be elated.
You're very special to me, and I want you to know that you are forever in my heart as an unusual, but remarkable friend, and I hope we will continue our unique friendship for the future to come.
I love you, M/M
xoxo...
Bipolar Gal on Twitter
A Good Read
I finally realized, that after struggling with bipolar disorder for several years, that it's time to read about this common illness that has made our world more aware of its commonality. After receiving a book recommendation from a friend of mine, who is also struggling with bipolar disorder, I immediately perused my local library's website in hopes to read about something so common and so aware, in hopes of a change of my way of thinking. A woman's perspective of what she has endured for most of her adult life. Only to be disappointed with the final ending. It was scattered—perhaps as a mere quintessential reflection of someone suffering with bipolar disorder—it seemed to jump from one subject to another, not leaving the reader with a final outcome. I found the book to be dismaying therefore I learned nothing new of my illness, only that, again, I wasn't the only person dealing with it everyday. Just another person's account of what they're going through.
But somehow this book was one of the lucky ones to hit the shelves and bookstores and libraries throughout the world—a paper thin documentation of reminiscent memories from the author herself.
So, I'll try again. This time I went to the library myself so I can view the shelves in person to make my own decision on which book to choose. Which book would suit me the best. Even though I was filled with confusion of the many choices, this particular book jumped out at me, discussing the many side effects and personal scenarios of bipolar disorder II, as well as from the doctor's point of view of over 25 years experience of studying this disease. Even before it was known what it was and what label was to be given.
As I started reading, I wasn't sure what to expect, but figured I'd continue on either way—I needed to know what made this book so special because again, having the advantage of gracing the shelves of thousands of books side-by-side, began a competition that will be forever thought of as nothing but a collective unsureness filling a void lingering the many doubts of potential readers. Myself included.
Although I've only made it halfway through, continuing on will be a challenge, that much I admit—especially given these days of enormous difficulties of paying attention to anything surrounding me—I know this will be a book that will heighten my knowledge of BDII, but with a much needed distraction, additionally I checked out a novel to coincide my fiction read of this educational recount of what I now know to be something I also suffer from.
On a regular daily basis, I have a hindrance to sitting down quietly and reading a book—something I have spent countless hours adhering to. I enjoyed reading regularly. On average I would read 2–3 books per month. From novels to non-fiction, it was something I took pride in. These days however, I know I hold a tremendous strain trying to do so. But why? Is it that much of a challenge to sit down quietly and read a book? Does my mind continuously wander in many directions preventing me from completing this once simple task?
This past week, I have prevented myself from playing my video game, something that for the past two years, has held a great addiction in my soul and my mind. It was a protest to my emotional psyche. If only a personal one, at best. But these past few days, I have had no desire to play, thus causing an even greater bout of boredom.
Now what do I do? Do I try to spend that quality time to read a book while enjoying my solitude? Or shall I wrestle with my thoughts of continuous confusion?
I'll figure it out. I always do.
Bipolar Gal on Twitter
But somehow this book was one of the lucky ones to hit the shelves and bookstores and libraries throughout the world—a paper thin documentation of reminiscent memories from the author herself.
So, I'll try again. This time I went to the library myself so I can view the shelves in person to make my own decision on which book to choose. Which book would suit me the best. Even though I was filled with confusion of the many choices, this particular book jumped out at me, discussing the many side effects and personal scenarios of bipolar disorder II, as well as from the doctor's point of view of over 25 years experience of studying this disease. Even before it was known what it was and what label was to be given.
As I started reading, I wasn't sure what to expect, but figured I'd continue on either way—I needed to know what made this book so special because again, having the advantage of gracing the shelves of thousands of books side-by-side, began a competition that will be forever thought of as nothing but a collective unsureness filling a void lingering the many doubts of potential readers. Myself included.
Although I've only made it halfway through, continuing on will be a challenge, that much I admit—especially given these days of enormous difficulties of paying attention to anything surrounding me—I know this will be a book that will heighten my knowledge of BDII, but with a much needed distraction, additionally I checked out a novel to coincide my fiction read of this educational recount of what I now know to be something I also suffer from.
On a regular daily basis, I have a hindrance to sitting down quietly and reading a book—something I have spent countless hours adhering to. I enjoyed reading regularly. On average I would read 2–3 books per month. From novels to non-fiction, it was something I took pride in. These days however, I know I hold a tremendous strain trying to do so. But why? Is it that much of a challenge to sit down quietly and read a book? Does my mind continuously wander in many directions preventing me from completing this once simple task?
This past week, I have prevented myself from playing my video game, something that for the past two years, has held a great addiction in my soul and my mind. It was a protest to my emotional psyche. If only a personal one, at best. But these past few days, I have had no desire to play, thus causing an even greater bout of boredom.
Now what do I do? Do I try to spend that quality time to read a book while enjoying my solitude? Or shall I wrestle with my thoughts of continuous confusion?
I'll figure it out. I always do.
Bipolar Gal on Twitter
Monday, November 5, 2012
Go Away
I feel awful, I really do. Almost to the point of guilt. How could I feel this way? Why am I such a loner when it comes to guests? I've never been a gracious hostess; in fact, I've always been frustrated because I never know how to act as a mannerly hostess, or how to entertain them or what to do. This time, it was the worst it's ever been. Our loft is small, only 1200 square feet, therefore, having any overnight guests—especially beyond one night—is tight. And challenging as well.
My mom had just arrived and because of monetary restrictions, was unable to stay at a hotel during her visit. At first, I loved the idea, but soon realized not long thereafter that it would become disheartening. I hate that she's a few states away and alone since my father's death, so having her visit was an ideal recommendation. Since I've been bugging her to come visit or even sell her house and move here, it was only a matter of time that she would take me up on my offer to come stay with us for a few days. She loves where she lives, and knows that moving away right now would force her to leave her comfort zone of her 'home.'
Since she came in last week, I was excited to see her and spend quality time with her since I was there when my father died. But after a day of her being here, I was becoming impatient and I was dissatisfied with her visit. I didn't know what to do and didn't know where to take her. I live in a small college town, therefore the activities are limited. At least I think so. Since we only live in a 2 bedroom loft, she had to sleep in my daughter's room while my daughter was upstairs sleeping on the couch. She didn't mind because she understood that my mother is on a limited budget so staying at a hotel was not an option.
At first, I welcomed her with open arms, but upon her arrival—not even an hour of her being here—I already wanted her to go back home to leave me alone. It wasn't even 20 minutes after picking her up from the airport that she was driving me crazy. No pun intended. So what to do? I had 4 long days ahead of me and knew after such a short period of time, that I would be frustrated with her presence. The very presence in which I invited her.
Since she arrived in the morning and upon dropping her suitcase off at our loft, we immediately went shopping as moms and daughters typically do. She knew I've been looking for a job, whether it was full time or part time, so as we were visiting one of the clothing stores, she learned that this particular store was hiring. I am a 47 year old woman, and she is 75, so as I continued to try on a few pair of jeans, she instantly announced, not quietly, I may add, that I was interested in a job there. Needless to say, I was mortified and embarrassed. I wanted to run out of there as fast as I could in hopes that the salesgirl wouldn't notice my instantaneous red blushing face.
How could she? How could she embarrass me like that as if I was a young teenager too shy to inquire within? As a manic bipolar woman, I literally wanted to scream. I wanted to smack her across the face as if she was a woman who approached me and started a fight. But I knew the consequences thereafter, so instead, I just chose to acknowledge my interest in a job, and because thankfully they only accept applications through their online website so I could hide behind the computer screen.
After that, I knew I would never apply at this store, simply because of my humiliation in fear of being recognized from this horrific day. How could she? Doesn't she know that I'm a manic bipolar woman, dealing with daily fits of mania? Once we left the store, I made it clear and well known of her embarrassment, hoping she'd understand that what she did was not only wrong, but awkward at the same time. She was remorseful and immediately apologized.
It didn't make it right, but it made it better knowing that she would never react that way again. Regardless of how good the job may appear to be.
As I continued to be a gracious host, I put my selfish tendencies aside and realized, my mother is now alone, and I am the only family she has—aside from my aunt and uncle whom she regularly keeps in touch with that live in New York. She needs the comfort and security of knowing that I am here for her, which I always will be. I think it's normal that a daughter gets impatient with a parent, because I know there are times where my daughter does the same to us, and will most likely get worse as she grows older.
It's the cycle of life. But how we choose to act is another story.
I love my mom and I will always be here for her.
Bipolar Gal on Twitter
My mom had just arrived and because of monetary restrictions, was unable to stay at a hotel during her visit. At first, I loved the idea, but soon realized not long thereafter that it would become disheartening. I hate that she's a few states away and alone since my father's death, so having her visit was an ideal recommendation. Since I've been bugging her to come visit or even sell her house and move here, it was only a matter of time that she would take me up on my offer to come stay with us for a few days. She loves where she lives, and knows that moving away right now would force her to leave her comfort zone of her 'home.'
Since she came in last week, I was excited to see her and spend quality time with her since I was there when my father died. But after a day of her being here, I was becoming impatient and I was dissatisfied with her visit. I didn't know what to do and didn't know where to take her. I live in a small college town, therefore the activities are limited. At least I think so. Since we only live in a 2 bedroom loft, she had to sleep in my daughter's room while my daughter was upstairs sleeping on the couch. She didn't mind because she understood that my mother is on a limited budget so staying at a hotel was not an option.
At first, I welcomed her with open arms, but upon her arrival—not even an hour of her being here—I already wanted her to go back home to leave me alone. It wasn't even 20 minutes after picking her up from the airport that she was driving me crazy. No pun intended. So what to do? I had 4 long days ahead of me and knew after such a short period of time, that I would be frustrated with her presence. The very presence in which I invited her.
Since she arrived in the morning and upon dropping her suitcase off at our loft, we immediately went shopping as moms and daughters typically do. She knew I've been looking for a job, whether it was full time or part time, so as we were visiting one of the clothing stores, she learned that this particular store was hiring. I am a 47 year old woman, and she is 75, so as I continued to try on a few pair of jeans, she instantly announced, not quietly, I may add, that I was interested in a job there. Needless to say, I was mortified and embarrassed. I wanted to run out of there as fast as I could in hopes that the salesgirl wouldn't notice my instantaneous red blushing face.
How could she? How could she embarrass me like that as if I was a young teenager too shy to inquire within? As a manic bipolar woman, I literally wanted to scream. I wanted to smack her across the face as if she was a woman who approached me and started a fight. But I knew the consequences thereafter, so instead, I just chose to acknowledge my interest in a job, and because thankfully they only accept applications through their online website so I could hide behind the computer screen.
After that, I knew I would never apply at this store, simply because of my humiliation in fear of being recognized from this horrific day. How could she? Doesn't she know that I'm a manic bipolar woman, dealing with daily fits of mania? Once we left the store, I made it clear and well known of her embarrassment, hoping she'd understand that what she did was not only wrong, but awkward at the same time. She was remorseful and immediately apologized.
It didn't make it right, but it made it better knowing that she would never react that way again. Regardless of how good the job may appear to be.
As I continued to be a gracious host, I put my selfish tendencies aside and realized, my mother is now alone, and I am the only family she has—aside from my aunt and uncle whom she regularly keeps in touch with that live in New York. She needs the comfort and security of knowing that I am here for her, which I always will be. I think it's normal that a daughter gets impatient with a parent, because I know there are times where my daughter does the same to us, and will most likely get worse as she grows older.
It's the cycle of life. But how we choose to act is another story.
I love my mom and I will always be here for her.
Bipolar Gal on Twitter
Saturday, October 27, 2012
Jury Duty?
You guessed it, today I have jury duty. What were they thinking? All I can say is, they're in for a surprise when they put me up on that stand under oath to see if I'll be one of 12 jurors (I think) that they will possibly choose. Please, don't. Do you want someone who has racing thoughts and who most likely won't be able to pay attention to what the lawyers are saying?
Somehow, I doubt it.
This morning, I will, however walk in with my head held high in hopes of some sort of sympathy. But I screwed up, because had I actually read the summons in advance, instead of tucking it away for a month, I would have noticed that I could have been excused if I presented a doctor's note explaning my condition. But I didn't. Now I'll have to go in there, spend the time this morning and describe my condition—most likely in detail—as the lawyers on the case will have to decide whether or not I will be chosen as one of the jurors to hear and decide the case.
God, help me (and them).
As I walked into the courthouse, my palms felt sweaty and my mind was racing with thoughts of nervousness. I didn't know what to expect because I had never been chosen for jury duty before, so regardless of this being an entirely new experience for me, I knew it was something I wasn't ready to undertake. Could I, even if I wanted to? That's a question I may never know the answer to.
After the interviews of potential jurors started, I was relieved I was a part of the first group of 28 for questioning and inquiry. As soon as the judge asked us if there was anyone who believed they were unable to undertake jury duty for whatever reason—medical or mental illness—please raise your hand. After I raised my hand, I immediately became nervous as well as embarrassed. I wasn't about to announce to the lawyers on the case and the judge who was hearing it what my "issue" was. As I approached the bench, I asked the judge politely if I could speak with him privately in his chambers. There were at least 100 potential jurors sitting in the courtroom waiting to be heard, just like me. This was the last thing I needed any of them to hear.
He understood and immediately obliged to my request. As I followed the judge and the lawyers to his chambers, I sat down with my head held high and hoped they would all understand. It's not that I was trying to get out of being a juror for this case, because I knew for a murder, sexual assault and domestic violence case, I would have needed to pay close attention. Due to my regular manic episodes, I couldn't guarantee that I'd be able to do that, so I reluctantly sat down and told my story. Explained that I had Bipolar Disorder and frequent manic episodes, as well as a regular dose of racing thoughts. It was a common, daily occurrence. I knew for this type of case, it'd be a challenge for me to be a juror. One of twelve that held this man's life in my hands.
Or so I thought.
I was questioned. I was prodded. The lawyers on the case needed to know if I could handle such a responsibility and would I feel comfortable letting them know if I needed a break as I could possibly "doze" off at any time during the trial.
I assured them that I could, and most importantly, that I would.
As I spoke to them intimately about the details of my illness, I immediately wanted to run out of there in shame; embarrassed that I had to succumb to such details about my life. An intimate part of my life that only a few have been blessed with knowing. As the questioning continued, so did my mind. At that point, I had no problem answering their questions, because I knew what they were doing was in the best interest of their case, as well as the defendant. I knew this and I understood it, so I tried my best to be as cordial and eloquent as I possibly could to aid them in their inquiry.
After several minutes of back and forth interest in me and my illness, I knew it was winding down to the end, and as I was asked to go into the courtroom and take my seat, I patiently waited for their decision. I felt in my heart that I would be excused; released of my jury duty obligation. But a part of me wanted to be a juror on this case because a case like this doesn't come along everyday, and it's something that has always fascinated me, but as they all came out of the judge's chambers and into the courtroom, the judge sat down and succinctly excused me.
As I was confused by my disappointment, I knew it was for the best. I felt it in my heart and understood their reasoning. It wasn't personal, it was professional. Ultimately, in the best interest of their client.
The next day I woke up as if jury duty never happened. As if I wasn't questioned until I lost interest and gained satisfaction for knowing that I could possibly be released, because I went about my day as if none of that existed. That experience has given me a great deal of perspective on life, and as a result I now realize that even though I wasn't' chosen to be a juror, I was chosen to appear for jury duty, therefore it was an honor to give what minimal time I experienced in that courtroom for the possibility of becoming a juror on an important life-changing case.
Bipolar Gal on Twitter
Somehow, I doubt it.
This morning, I will, however walk in with my head held high in hopes of some sort of sympathy. But I screwed up, because had I actually read the summons in advance, instead of tucking it away for a month, I would have noticed that I could have been excused if I presented a doctor's note explaning my condition. But I didn't. Now I'll have to go in there, spend the time this morning and describe my condition—most likely in detail—as the lawyers on the case will have to decide whether or not I will be chosen as one of the jurors to hear and decide the case.
God, help me (and them).
As I walked into the courthouse, my palms felt sweaty and my mind was racing with thoughts of nervousness. I didn't know what to expect because I had never been chosen for jury duty before, so regardless of this being an entirely new experience for me, I knew it was something I wasn't ready to undertake. Could I, even if I wanted to? That's a question I may never know the answer to.
After the interviews of potential jurors started, I was relieved I was a part of the first group of 28 for questioning and inquiry. As soon as the judge asked us if there was anyone who believed they were unable to undertake jury duty for whatever reason—medical or mental illness—please raise your hand. After I raised my hand, I immediately became nervous as well as embarrassed. I wasn't about to announce to the lawyers on the case and the judge who was hearing it what my "issue" was. As I approached the bench, I asked the judge politely if I could speak with him privately in his chambers. There were at least 100 potential jurors sitting in the courtroom waiting to be heard, just like me. This was the last thing I needed any of them to hear.
He understood and immediately obliged to my request. As I followed the judge and the lawyers to his chambers, I sat down with my head held high and hoped they would all understand. It's not that I was trying to get out of being a juror for this case, because I knew for a murder, sexual assault and domestic violence case, I would have needed to pay close attention. Due to my regular manic episodes, I couldn't guarantee that I'd be able to do that, so I reluctantly sat down and told my story. Explained that I had Bipolar Disorder and frequent manic episodes, as well as a regular dose of racing thoughts. It was a common, daily occurrence. I knew for this type of case, it'd be a challenge for me to be a juror. One of twelve that held this man's life in my hands.
Or so I thought.
I was questioned. I was prodded. The lawyers on the case needed to know if I could handle such a responsibility and would I feel comfortable letting them know if I needed a break as I could possibly "doze" off at any time during the trial.
I assured them that I could, and most importantly, that I would.
As I spoke to them intimately about the details of my illness, I immediately wanted to run out of there in shame; embarrassed that I had to succumb to such details about my life. An intimate part of my life that only a few have been blessed with knowing. As the questioning continued, so did my mind. At that point, I had no problem answering their questions, because I knew what they were doing was in the best interest of their case, as well as the defendant. I knew this and I understood it, so I tried my best to be as cordial and eloquent as I possibly could to aid them in their inquiry.
After several minutes of back and forth interest in me and my illness, I knew it was winding down to the end, and as I was asked to go into the courtroom and take my seat, I patiently waited for their decision. I felt in my heart that I would be excused; released of my jury duty obligation. But a part of me wanted to be a juror on this case because a case like this doesn't come along everyday, and it's something that has always fascinated me, but as they all came out of the judge's chambers and into the courtroom, the judge sat down and succinctly excused me.
As I was confused by my disappointment, I knew it was for the best. I felt it in my heart and understood their reasoning. It wasn't personal, it was professional. Ultimately, in the best interest of their client.
The next day I woke up as if jury duty never happened. As if I wasn't questioned until I lost interest and gained satisfaction for knowing that I could possibly be released, because I went about my day as if none of that existed. That experience has given me a great deal of perspective on life, and as a result I now realize that even though I wasn't' chosen to be a juror, I was chosen to appear for jury duty, therefore it was an honor to give what minimal time I experienced in that courtroom for the possibility of becoming a juror on an important life-changing case.
Bipolar Gal on Twitter
Wednesday, October 24, 2012
The Facade of Being Broke
Struggling financially has no face. It has no limitations to what you look like. Being broke affects anyone and can affect everyone, not just people living in a mobile home or underneath a box. It affects people who don't have the means to make a good living; a living that is acceptable in today's society. A living where putting food on the table is a struggle.
For us, the vision is limitless.
It's a facade we carry everyday and will continue to grace our existence with this facade as if it isn't happening to us; but it is. Unfortunately, it is.
Today I realized that we were down to one roll of toilet paper—one roll for 3 bathrooms; one roll that we all had to share. Why? Because we couldn't afford to buy more. As I look around our home, I realize we don't live in a bad place, quite the contrary, it's a nice place. Not a home prototypical of people who are "broke" but a nice comfortable home instead. Nothing fancy and nothing ostentatious, just nice—opulent. As I gaze at our furnishings, I sometimes think what a lie we're living; what a simulation this is, as if it's no longer real. I'm living in a dream—or is it a nightmare instead?
It's a lie because when people come and visit our home, they would never realize our circumstances, it would appear as though we're doing OK. But are we? They wouldn't know how we've had to scrape up leftovers and odd food here and there to create an unusual dinner, just so we can eat for the night. For example, by gathering odds and ends from our cupboards, last night I made nachos with eggs, mozzarella cheese, rice while incorporating the hot sauce packets from Taco Bell. It was surprisingly delicious, but it gets tough trying to create different meals every night so we can eat dinner. Tonight, I made breakfast burritos. We had plenty of tortillas and eggs, so it ended up being a hearty meal. It has become an imaginative challenge.
We were lucky. This time. How long can scraping up leftovers last until we can afford to go to the grocery store and buy food?
What will we do tomorrow night? Or the next night? And what about the toilet paper problem? What to do then. It seems that we're always having to 'cross that bridge when we get to it', otherwise I think we'd go insane trying to worry and figure out how things are going to turn out. We've just seemed to go with the flow of things hoping for the best, but were we expecting the worst? I know I was, but my husband? He's different from me. He's always had an optimistic view on things, and of course, I'm the opposite. I know for the most part, we complement each other, but now? When will it finally work out for us; when will our lives be filled with zero worry and plentiful groceries permeating throughout our refrigerator and cupboard? Whether or not I dream and fantasize about traveling and seeing the world, the reality of it is, I just want food. I just want to visit the grocery store without that butterfly ache wondering if our debit card will be approved.
I ask this question every single day. We're not asking for much. Just food and toilet paper.
I frequently gaze up into the sky as I stare up into the clouds hoping and wishing for a better life. There are days where I feel guilty of this wish, that perhaps I should be grateful for the family and life that I already have, and how some people don't have half of that. I am lucky for that, I do know this, but it's tough regardless. It doesn't make our circumstances easier. Two people with college degrees are living a life of poverty. Living the life of being unable to buy a substantial amount of toilet paper so we don't run out. Or being able to purchase more when we do run out.
Living the life of a facade.
I am continuing to look for a job to hopefully enhance our future; build up something that is so dear to me—my family. For now, it'll be tough and I know it'll be a challenge, but it's all we have at the moment so this choice is not ours.
Bipolar Gal on Twitter
I ask this question every single day. We're not asking for much. Just food and toilet paper.
I frequently gaze up into the sky as I stare up into the clouds hoping and wishing for a better life. There are days where I feel guilty of this wish, that perhaps I should be grateful for the family and life that I already have, and how some people don't have half of that. I am lucky for that, I do know this, but it's tough regardless. It doesn't make our circumstances easier. Two people with college degrees are living a life of poverty. Living the life of being unable to buy a substantial amount of toilet paper so we don't run out. Or being able to purchase more when we do run out.
Living the life of a facade.
I am continuing to look for a job to hopefully enhance our future; build up something that is so dear to me—my family. For now, it'll be tough and I know it'll be a challenge, but it's all we have at the moment so this choice is not ours.
Bipolar Gal on Twitter
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)