Lack of Motherhood?

This past year, as I've mentioned numerous times, has been a tumultuous one for me. Mainly due to my biopolar disorder, and mostly because of my dad's illness and struggle with prostate cancer. As you know (if you've kept up with my prior posts), my father recently lost his battle with this horrible disease on Father's Day. But overall, my bipolar disorder took over my life this past year and made it worse than it's ever been since I was diagnosed in 2004.

As a result, my family, wifely and motherly duties have escaped me completely. I'm not questioning the fault in that, I'm not. I'm mature enough to know that it's wrong and for the most part, not involuntary. I take full responsibility. I can't blame my bipolar disorder on everything, including this, can I? As I look back, I feel like I've blamed my bipolar disorder on too much—if not everything—in my life and to be honest, I don't know if that's necessarily the right thing to do; or an excuse for that matter.

Even for me, being legitimately diagnosed, I've grown tiresome of these constant excuses and placing blame. However, I do know for the most part, it's what has caused my lack of support and most importantly, my lack of affection. Considering this has gone downhill for the past year and has become significantly worse, is unlike me because I have always been a very caring and doting mother; even a person in general when it comes to friends and other family members. It's how I've always been.

I love giving hugs, and I love the demonstrative affection that goes along with being a mother. Ever since my daughter was born, I couldn't get enough of her smiles, her giggles, her affection—because even then, she was always such a happy and cuddly baby with such affection, that you couldn't help but reciprocate, so naturally she grew into that as a pre-teen as well.

I used to love it, I used to love holding her and kissing her and hugging her until she couldn't take it anymore. It's just what my husband and I always did. But this past year dwindled down to a "leave me alone" approach. As it got significantly worse, I wanted to escape even more; I didn't want to hold anyone, or kiss anyone, or even hug anyone, and that's not like me. I have always been the opposite, not just to my daughter or husband, but everyone around me.

Why did that change? How could a disease like bipolar disorder dramatically change that? I wish I had the answer to this question, but I also never asked it at any of my therapy sessions or even brought it up to my psychiatric nurse either. Should I, or just leave well enough alone?

I don't know.

Even now, after the medication has finally started to take effect, my daughter will come up to me and want to tell me how much she loves me and hug me; she gives me her support every single day, but it only annoys me more. I feel guilty about this feeling and I know one day—soon—I will miss it and she will no longer offer it as she embarks into adolescence. Everything around her will change, and not just physically, because she will soon turn into a teenager and she will crave other activities in her life, not just hugging and telling mom she loves her, but worrying about her friends and of course, about boys.

I know I should appreciate it now and love every minute of it, but I don't. I used to, but I don't anymore. Does that necessarily make me a bad mother, or just bipolar? Again, I don't want to come up with these excuses anymore, it grows tiresome and since I'm getting better with the proper medication formula, I feel like I have no more space for excuses. But she's used to my prior behavior as an affection mother, so how can I explain to her now without hurting her, that mommy no longer wants to hug or kiss her anymore?

I just need to overcome it, right?

I know there are a lot of people suffering from bipolar disorder who feel the opposite when they're on their medication. They feel numb, stoic and even emotionless. For the first month, I felt the same way until it was noticeable that I did a complete turnaround of how I typically am. We didn't want that to go away, we just wanted to control the ups and downs of my mood—well, for the most part that was the goal, but I've noticed my lack of affection has gotten even worse and I have gotten even more distant. Neither my husband and daughter have confronted me with this turnaround, but I can see it in my daughter's eyes as I push back and I'm reluctant to offer it back. 

Nothing breaks my heart more than seeing the hurt in her eyes. Do I blame her? Of course not. As a result, I can see she's gravitating to my husband even more, which is not what I had always anticipated being the mother of a daughter. I want our relationship to mimic what I had with my mother, someone I can turn to when I got my period and when I had a problem with a boy.

I only hope she will feel the same way as time marches on, instead of turning to my husband for those constant feelings of support. Not me.

I want to overcome this recent problem that I have encountered, and only hope with the medication and with time, that I will know for certain it is my bipolar disorder that is causing this, not me pulling back. Because, isn't it my daughter who is supposed to pull back, and not me?

Please, let me get back to normal and be that warmhearted mother that I have always been, because I so desire to be what I once was, not what I am becoming.

Bipolar Gal on Twitter

Last Minute Lulu

As I sit here contemplating what to work on next—as far as art projects go—I truly don't even know where to start. My mind keeps going around in a circle and for me, this has been a common occurrence for the past month or so. I'm not sure if this is necessarily a good thing—or just how I am in general—but as I sit here and examine what to work on next, I know it's part of my racing thoughts and a frequent development as a result of my bipolar disorder.


I have so many projects I want to work on, but I seem to ponder which one to start first? Which to go forward with next? This coming Saturday, I will be submitting a project to my local museum for a subject that means a great deal to me. Although I have three more days (counting today) I must have it finished in order to submit my idea, I have yet to start except for a few photographs that were printed out before I've gotten started on my finished idea.


I'm excited and I'm eager to stand before the museum judges in hopes of exhibiting this project, but whether or not I will be accepted to display this piece is irrelevant, because I know for certain that it's a step in the right direction for me.


A matter of self-confidence that I have lacked for so long.


After two and half years of not wanting anything to do with art and having zero inspiration, this is a monumental achievement for me. I know I'm ready to embark on the next step of my design career, but how can I go forward if I can't get a simple project such as this started? I know now I'm ready to do so, even after I questioned it as I started to have ideas in my head, but now the dilemma is when? What to do next to avoid this constant procrastination that lingers through my brain.


This is what I've always known, and how I've always been, even in school, I have always procrastinated and waited until the last minute. Not sure if this is a positive undertaking, or if it's just how I work and it works for me, but I know eventually this will come and bite me in the ass. As a result of my continuous postponement, I felt that my projects were lacking due to the lack of thought and timely execution. I always seem to go through what I'm going to do and how I will execute it in my mind, eventually leading up to when it's due, however, for this particular project, I know it's not necessarily the finished product that will get me accepted, but my idea in instead. But I still want to submit a somewhat professional 3D design that will "knock their socks off."


Thankfully, for the compliance of the exhibit and the presenting of my idea/project, the only requirement is a simple sketch, photograph, 3D project, or even the actual product itself. I'm excited and I hope it's something I can place on my resume as a display in this highly revered museum, because I know it's one more notch for my career and a current one at that.


I know part of my procrastination has always been apart of my bipolar disorder, but I will no longer question it and perhaps accept it, because I know, as a part of my medication and success, I must override this urge to wait any longer, and just do it! Go forward and plan ahead because I know this will benefit me in all projects ongoing. 


It will turn it into a positive.




Bipolar Gal on Twitter

Dreams

Lately, It seems I am having a consistent theme with my dreams—my father's death. But these dreams are unique because they're not dreams about him in memory, but of him dying—whether he realizes it or not—and how he's come back to life. Either he will die again after coming back to life, or will simply just come back. One dream, which I have always believed in, is apparent that he was reincarnated and was completely aware of this. Even went as far as saying he will go back because he was reincarnated as a 7 month old baby.


As these dreams increase with the nights, I wake up feeling sad; wake up missing him more and more with each passing day. Aren't  these feelings of grief supposed to subside with time, and not increase? I admit, and almost ashamed and remorseful, because my crying has diminished a great deal, but I still miss him regardless. I still wish and hope he was here, or even if there was a way that I could at least know he's OK; some sort of solace for me—a sign.


Is that selfish? At this point, I don't care, I just wish I could have some sort of manifestation from him, some indication that he's OK and he is no longer suffering. But I know in my heart that I will never receive this—unless that's what these recurring dreams are about, or just unfinished business I may have with him. 


One last word.


I know I will never have the answer to that underlying question that seems to control my mind and my heart. My dreams are precious to me now and hope I will never forget them, because at this point, I remember every one of them in full detail, as if I had them yesterday. I still see his face clearly and I still see his bright smile because he was always so full of life and energy, and hearing about him play golf, a sport he idolized made me happy.


When he was first diagnosed with prostate cancer two years ago, he had to stop playing golf not long thereafter because of the treatments. They significantly weakened him and therefore playing on a 9 or 18 hold golf course would have been impossible for him. That saddened me the most because I know how much he loved it. This one sport that he enjoyed over the years and brought him so much joy.


I still miss him and I hope these dreams will only continue and not diminish. I don't want to ever forget him or his smile; his vibrance. 


With these dreams his memory will persevere in my heart.


Bipolar Gal on Twitter

Back to the Drawing Board

I'm scared, I'm really scared. I've been searching for a job for 3 weeks now only to get one interview as a result of that. I've recently changed up my resume, and as I looked at the list of employers, I've come to the realization that perhaps the reason I haven't been called is because my jobs are less than a year in length. It was finally obvious to me how in the past I've really jumped from job-to-job.


All these years, I always thought it was me, but as I have recently been taking medication for my bipolar disorder and attended regular therapy sessions, I've been assured that a common problem with people suffering from this disease/illness, is lack of stability as well as the recurrence of jumping from job-to-job.


It makes complete sense to me, not because I'm trying to come up with an excuse for my lack of continuous employment, but because as I look back at each job, it seems the common denominator has always been finding fault in someone I work with—whether it be my direct boss, owner, or even a fellow co-worker. Clearly there is a pattern here.


At that time, I always asked myself, "what is wrong with me? Why can't I get along with anybody?" But the way I am and with my outgoing personality, this is rarely the case, nevertheless, there always seems to be one person—a single individual who makes me feel unworthy and makes me believe that I am incompetent . Now, I have never had problems, or even issues, with making friends with the people I work with—I have even made certain that we have a weekly night out not just as co-workers, but friends too. So how can this ever be a problem?


It can't right? Or can it?


It seems that placing blame on the people I didn't get along with was a habit for me, a very bad habit. I've either lost my job, or just quit in anticipation of the possibility that I will lose my job as a result of this person and our conflict. Only to be paranoid with my assumption and be completely one-sided.


As I look back, it's now obvious to me that I know a large part of these conflicts were from my bipolar disorder, and how it has contributed a great deal to these disagreements. Can I change from this as I embark on a new job, or will I continue to create these demons in my head and think the worst of people? I know it's like what I've been saying in my last post, Paranoia & Confusion, that 'only time will tell,' but apart of me is still fearful that this will become an issue, if only in my head thus causing me to again, lose my job.


As I continue to try and find a job in my field of graphic design, there's a large possibility that I will be unable to find success in this field that I have grown to love and become passionate about, but in a customer service position instead. Again, I worry about working with the public in this capacity, but I think I'll be OK, but of course, how can I be certain of my triumph? Maybe it'll be good for me that I work with people without the paranoid feeling of constantly being judged as I am as a graphic designer. That has always been a struggle for me, especially considering my insecurity and lack of confidence, because as a designer, it is always an issue I've dealt with.


I have always said that things happen for a reason; I have always believed this to be true. I must tell myself now that if I am unsuccessful in finding a job as a designer, then there's a reason for this, that I will persevere in said position instead because anything is possible.


The world is my oyster.


Bipolar Gal on Twitter

"Smile, it can't be that bad"

Call me crazy, but I have always loathed that catchphrase, especially when I'm out shopping and the sales clerk or cashier says it to me. Why would anybody say that to someone they don't know? I never understood this. First of all, they don't know me, and they don't know what's going on in my life, therefore the fact that I am not smiling should never be of their concern, nor should they ever assume that "it can't be that bad."


I've always been polite when someone communicates that, especially someone that is an employee of the establishment to where I am shopping. Mostly because at the time, nothing was wrong in my life—that I can remember—so I never said a word, just dealt with it politely with a fake smile and continued to walk away.


I know for the most part they're trying to brighten my day, but will a smile honestly do it? Maybe, but for the most part, I've always been one of those people who would walk around, unbeknownst to me, without a smile on my face. Maybe it's the New Yorker in me, I don't know, but I just never paid attention, nor should I have to. Or should I?


I just never really thought twice about it—until someone would say something to me. Say something that is really none of their business. Unless they're a friend of mine, I don't see the point.


But these past 6+ months in my life proved otherwise. Smiling was literally a struggle for me and I didn't know how to "fake" it. I think for the most part, that is why I never showed up to my daughter's soccer games this past spring season to avoid such questions and inquiries. I just wasn't ready to face the music, if you will. I wanted to crawl into a fetus position and cry, that's what was pleasureable to me, not smiling. That was the last thing I was thinking of doing during the worst time of my life. And after my dad died, I was a spectacle of sadness—although that's a legitimate action during the mourning of a loved one, I'm not sure if that's still how one is supposed to act while out in the public arena.


Thankfully, nobody had uttered that phrase to me during those tumultuous days, otherwise I don't know what I would have been capable of or how I would have responded to them. And with the recent passing of my father, I most likely wouldn't have cared either way. 


So yeah, it IS that bad.


Life is short, I realize this—especially now—but when your mind is at a stand still and depression is a common daily occurrence, how could I be happy or smile? I just couldn't. I wanted to so badly, but after my lovely visit to the psychiatric hospital and recent events surrounding the death of my father, my bipolar disorder and thoughts of suicide, is it that bad? I would have to say the answer is yes. A solid yes.


It's a disease we cannot control, as much as we would like to think otherwise, it is out of our hands without seeking proper medication and therapy. In my soul and my brain, I couldn't comprehend that this was happening to me. Bipolar disorder only happens to someone else, right? Not me. It took me a long time to accept this and now that I see the results and success of my medication, I now know that bipolar disorder is what I have and how it was legitimately diagnosed several years ago.


I won't give up, regardless of what anybody says to me. I can't, I have to realize that life is so very precious, and how my family mean the world to me. I don't want to give up. After seeing my father lying in his hospital bed fighting for his life, he finally came to the realization that his life was over. He had no choice but to stop fighting. I knew the time had come while I was there with him, every step of the way, and nothing saddened me more. I wanted him in my life and I didn't want him to go. But it was out of my hands and into God's instead. I'm not a religious person, never have been and most likely never will be, but I knew right then and there that we had to give in to his cancer and end the fight.


As I currently wallow in my surroundings of pure bliss and recent creative inspiration, I must proceed with all things secure and happy. Maybe now, given my state of mind these past few months, if and when someone says to me, "smile, it can't be that bad," I will respond with "you're right, it's not," and proudly display my buoyant smile.


I must give in.


Bipolar Gal on Twitter 

A pill a day helps keep the temper away

I've always had a temper, this much I admit. I take after my Italian father. Always have, always will. Now that he's gone, I'm proud of this trait from him. However, as long as it's under control, it's OK. Sometimes a temper can be a good thing—again, as long as it's under control and doesn't affect anyone around you, why not?


For me, my temper involves keeping myself on the up-and-up. Keeps me in control of my thoughts and my ideas. For the most part, I keep my temper bottled up inside of me, not on the outside.


Sound weird? For me, no. For others, possibly.


Most of the time, it's because my mind is racing with many thoughts, and I never know how to contain them. For example, this morning I'm feeling so creative and so inspired that I just can't control them. I've been writing them down all morning to keep them in check because I want to execute all of them, so I know in order to do so—and not forget these inspirations and ideas—I must do it this way. This was also recommended by my therapist as well as my "drug dealer" (my psychiatric nurse).


However, in the past year or less, my temper has escaped me—verbally and emotionally. I have been unable to restrict it, to the point that it has bled into my family as well. 


This is not good.

Although verbally I have taken it out on my daughter many times, she hasn't judged me for this behavior—for now. I've never hurt her, nor will I ever, but acting this emotion out on her is something I will always regret. She is a strong girl and will most likely grow into a strong woman as a result of this—am I proud? absolutely not—but no child should ever have to endure the verbal pain that I have caused her.

As I was growing up, I witnessed my father's temper on many occasions, but as far as I know, he was not suffering from bipolar disorder. Just like me, he has never taken out this aggression on me or my brother physically. Is that an excuse for me? Maybe not, I don't know. But I do know this, I wanted it to stop and it had to stop immediately!


My temper mainly involved myself and nobody else. I was frustrated with everything and everyone around me. I was a walking time bomb waiting to explode. Instead, they mostly imploded inside of my body and my mind, until I decided to release them, thus affecting my family.


I wanted to hit the wall. I wanted to hit anything around me. Hence turning to hit myself instead. For me, at that time, I knew if I didn't hit myself, who knows who I would have hit in retaliation of my soul. During that time, that was a safe alternative for me.


It had gotten so bad, that I contemplated—not acted out—thoughts of suicide. I wanted the pain to end and it needed to end STAT! I didn't know what else to do. I was desperate.


Hitting myself was the safest way to act out, this much I know, but I was depressed and I was frustrated. Frustrated to the extent of sadness and an eternal episode of crying and internal mourn.


As the months progressed and quickly passed me by, I knew I needed to do something drastic so I could change my actions, for my family's sake. 


What turned into weeks felt like an eternity for me. We were all anxious for me to get better and move forward with my life, so thankfully because my unemployment benefits were in full force, I was able to collect a 'paycheck' as I continued to try and get healthy. We all felt that during that tumultuous time in my life, holding a job would have been near impossible. I was very lucky.


After I had my first few appointments, I was on my way to getting my health and my sanity back—no pun intended. I was optimistic.


A few weeks later, my medication was starting to work and I immediately noticed that my agitation and temper had almost completely subsided. I was relieved! Life was looking a lot brighter for me. But I still had a long way to go. I never gave up and I never wanted to stop going to my regular therapy appointments and seeing my "drug dealer." I knew it was a huge step in the right direction for me.


Today I can proudly say that my temper has almost disappeared. Although I did have a blip a few weeks ago—nothing to the magnitude of my regular episodes as before—am I almost free of my grumpy irritability.


Thank you to my "drug dealer" for making me better!


Bipolar Gal on Twitter

Inspiration is Key!

This weekend, I will attend the annual local arts festival about an hour away from me. Since I live in a smaller college town, the arts festival is held every year in the major city of where I live. I love it, but it seems as though every year when I go, I'm with my husband and daughter, or even one year with my parents as well, only to be dealing with constant complaints of the heat or how bored they were. It's a hot weekend, as you can imagine, so throughout the day, all I hear is how hot everyone is—which of course, ruins the entire experience for me. Since it's located in the downtown area, you primarily walk around and check out the local artists' kiosks and enjoy their artwork. So yes, I can understand why it would be hot and uncomfortable, but for me, I avoid all of that and walk and gaze in each tent not to miss a single kiosk.


I love it and it inspires me, but it does ruin the entire day as I am subjected to the constant 'whining' about how hot everyone is. This year, I will be attending it alone. I think it's best.


I need this time to myself, and I need to walk around and feel inspired with uninterrupted grievances. Not that I can't empathize with how they feel, because let's face it, it is really hot, and for people who are not interested in art, it can be quite boring. I can sympathize with this emotion, but this year, I'm gonna do it alone!


I'm excited for this!


I think I need it, I really need this time to myself to appreciate other artists and their work. I only wish I could afford to showcase/sell my artwork as well, but since this arts festival has gotten so massive over the years, it has become a little out of my price range.


A part of that saddens me. I only wish there was some sort of local marketplace where artists who may not have the means to afford such lavish surroundings and events, can proudly display and sell their individual crafts. When I lived in NYC in the late 80's, I would enjoy walking downtown to enjoy the flea market filled with local artists and their creations. I only wish there was something equivalent of that here where I live.


But there isn't.

This is one of my favorite exhibits from 2011 - it's reminiscent of arcade-type retro designs

Since I've been on the lookout for a retro 70's-era pinball machine, this exhibit was my favorite. I love the designs and the retro-style arcade feel to it because it makes me want to go back to my childhood during that pre-video game craze—I loved it. Nothing can beat those days anymore.

I've always loved and still get inspired by retro designs of any sort. Or even a funky style that may not exactly be practical, but unique nonetheless. An imaginative approach.

Lime green chair - unfortunately I don't remember the artist's name—I just took the picture because

 I thought it looked cool! It looks like it's plastic and soft, but it was actually a hard chair.

Nothing inspires me more than seeing artists whose work is unique and out of the ordinary. It means they take chances and they take the time to think and create. Not just take a pencil and a sketchpad and draw something they see. They use their imagination instead, not just their eye.

Now, please don't misunderstand me, I'm not saying that artists who do create their work by sketching something they see aren't talented, but quite the contrary, they're very talented. However, what I am saying is, I don't think that takes much imagination to see and sketch, and it's not really the kind of art I'm into. I like artists who step outside of the box, not stay within them.

But again, art is subjective so there's no use in arguing there.

Local sculptor using unsual materials for this unusual sculpture

An area for children to paint a mural for whatever they want! I love it!!!

As I would continue to walk and peruse the local artists and their work, I'm in awe. I always say to myself how I wish I could do something like that, but I don't seem to have the nerve! But why not? Why can't I go out there and do something that artist can do? Isn't it all within, all of our art and our work? I don't mean to copy their work or "plagiarize" another artists' piece, but inspire me to do something like them—step away from my comfort zone and create something that will not only please me, but maybe please others as well.

This is a big step for me. As my bipolar mind and ramblings continue to fade, I know that the one thing that will make me happy will be to create—continue to create my work and my art in hopes of maybe pleasing others. 

Just like when they walk into my loft for the first time.

Ooooh ahhhh....

I will be inspired!

Bipolar Gal on Twitter

Sex, Bipolar & Videotape

OK, maybe not videotape, but it's a certainly a catchy title, right? A little homage to the 80's movie, Sex, Lies & Videotape, so why not? I bet it caught your attention either way.


If so, then my ploy worked.


I talk about sex and bipolar simply because I have found in the last several months, my libido has diminished a great deal. Now, this is not typical of my behavior so I attribute it to my new medication. I have talked about this before with my "drug dealer" to no avail. He even tried decreasing my medication dosage but then we found it wasn't working for my mood stabilizing. Which is better to give up, my sex life (or lack thereof) or my moods and depression? Well, clearly I chose the former but I still miss the sex life nevertheless.


Am I the only one who experiences these changes with bipolar disorder medication, or should I just chalk it up to my aging and menopause? Aside from the guinea pig disorder that I have been associating with lately, I don't know which to blame it on.


At this point, does it matter? Probably not. Either way, the outcome is the same.


For me, it's easier to blame it on my meds, because let's face it, do I really want to condemn my increasing of age? Probably not. But it sounds damn good, doesn't it?


Perhaps this is an inappropriate personal 'problem' to discuss out here in the blogosphere, but since it's an anonymous blog, I think I'm safe here. Where else can I be honest and upfront about a situation such as my lack of sexual desire?


As if my life hasn't been altered enough as it is, now I have to worry about a decreased sex drive? How can life be so cruel? I love my husband very much, and I am still very much attracted to him, so I know for certain that making love to him is something I still enjoy doing—on a regular basis—but lately, that hasn't been the case. Perhaps I should just make a "date" with my husband and see where it goes? Spice things up, if you will.


I won't go into detail about how long it's been, but trust me when I say, it's been a while. Damn you bipolar medication! How could you do this to me!!!


I think as I try and succumb to the quintessential aphrodisiac—oysters, anyone?—perhaps that'll get me back into the groove of things and renew my aging as something exciting—not scary—and maybe even an attempt to play the cameo of promiscuous behavior? Obviously, I don't intend on cheating on my husband, but I have recommended a little role playing here and there, just for fun. Not sure that's his thing, but I think at this point, he'll try anything.


I'm game for whatever, so for now, I will just lay low and see where it takes me.


Bipolar Gal on Twitter

Headaches & Yoga

I think the title of this post says it all. About six months ago, I was starting to get involved with yoga. Immediately I loved it. I had always wanted to try it, but for whatever reason, I never had the courage to do so. I think a lot of it for me was that I was really intimidated, thinking there would be the quintessential-magazine-cover-type yoga experts surrounding every inch of me as they gaze at themselves in the mirror. 


Well, there were a few of those, but mostly people like me who were only there to expand their mind; expand their flexibility and peace within their souls. I thought it'd be the ideal recreation for me. I knew I'd never dive into it completely like some, but I was OK with that.  I wanted to try it regardless.


When I attended my first yoga class, I loved it, but I could never grasp the whole breathing part of the exercises, and I knew that was a big part of yoga. I didn't care. I just liked being there and I loved the tranquility of the whole experience entirely. Even if I did look like a fool, I didn't care.


After about 3 or 4 months of religiously going to yoga class 2–3 times a week, something odd was starting to grow inside my head. Now before you think the worst, it wasn't a tumor or anything like that. The feelings were excruciating headaches—something I never had to deal with before—well, aside from the morning after a drinking binge in college. Constant headaches that can only be described as blood plumping through my frontal lobe. It was awful. Just bowing my head was a painful experience.


I had never gotten headaches of this magnitude before, so I was scared; I didn't know what to think or what to expect. After a doctor's appointment assuring me that everything was OK, I was still experiencing throbbing headache pain. It was surrounding the entire front part of my head and I didn't know how to make it go away. Frequent pill-popping of Acetaminophen and Ibuprofen didn't help me one bit. It was a waste.


By this time, the idea of going to yoga class was difficult to comprehend. I couldn't imagine bowing my head down for a downward dog posture just to be in piercing pain as I pulled up. My blood pumping throbbing headache was too agonizing to even think of yoga.


The stabbing pain prevented me from my regular yoga visits throughout the week. I thought I finally found something I enjoyed and could dive into. In addition to running three times a week, I felt renewed, only to be let down a few months in.


Although I was able to continue to run early in the mornings, I still couldn't trial the yoga adventure any longer. 


I had to stop. I was discouraged.


We never did know what caused these headaches, maybe the medication I was on at the time, but these past few months, my headaches have completely subsided. Maybe here and there I'll get a little headache, but nowhere near as troublesome as before. Am I able to do yoga again? Yeah, why not. Have I done yoga since? No, I haven't.


Why? Good question.


My husband keeps telling me I should go and try it again, but something in my head—no pun intended—tells me not to and I make excuses. Maybe I'm afraid to try it again, I don't know, but I won't know how it turns out until I try it, right? I think I might give it a try again because it's something I loved and enjoyed. Albeit for only a few months, who knows where it could have taken me after all this time. Obviously I'll never know until I completely make that effort once again.


Here we go.


Next week on the calendar I have scheduled my first yoga class in several months. Wish me luck!


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Family.

This is a tough word for me to say. I love family, I do. Family means the world to me but these past several years have proved to me that family can drift apart. This is unfortunately a common problem among families these days. We grow up, we get married, we have children of our own, and then before you know it, life passes us by. Before you notice, we gravitate in our own direction and focus on our own lives thus ignoring what we had while growing up—an appreciation of sorts.


Separately.


When I was growing up, family was an integral part of my life. We had a small family, so that made us even closer. We were all living back east and all within an hour's drive from each other. Our parents were all very close and got together on a regular/weekly basis. My brother and I were at least 2-3 years apart in age with our cousins and repeated visits were common. It was the ideal situation as we were growing up.


Then when I was 9 years old, we moved out west because my father had a better career opportunity, but unfortunately this changed everything amongst our family. Although we were all still close as we all tried to stay in touch and enjoyed continual visits throughout the year, they weren't as periodic as they once were. As we got older, those visits dwindled significantly. 


I always missed that connection we had with my cousins, aunt and uncles, and spending quality time with them during the holidays and even just to visit for no reason, was something we all enjoyed to do. We took pleasure in those relationships. Back then, and it was fun and we were all very close.


Now those ties have changed. As I've gotten older, got married and had a child, I realize how important those family get togethers were. My daughter is the youngest of my husband's family and the youngest before her is 12 years older and my cousin has twin boys a year and a half older than her. She never had that closeness that I had with my cousins, and it's weird, very weird. My relatives still live back east, whereas I still live out west. My daughter hasn't even met my cousins' children, who are all close to her age, which has grown to become a disappointment in my life. My husband's family all live within an hour or so distance away, but still, we never see them, nor do we spend the holidays with them.


That saddens me. At least I would love to have the option to give my daughter that feeling of those glory days with my family that I was so lucky to have. But money is tight, and money is what will enable this "dream" to happen.


Sometimes I wonder if family could have helped me through my bipolar disorder; kept me busy. I honestly don't know, but I honestly doubt it. I just miss family all together and hope that someday we can all get together again and have our children meet.


Maybe someday soon.


Now that would make me happy.


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The Blog of Craziness

Why do people choose to blog? Is it because they're hoping to become rich and famous from their exceptional writing skills? Or just like me, do it because it's a release for their thoughts? With the advent of internet in the late 90's and blogging, sometimes I think the answer is split down the middle. At least in my humble opinion.


Why I chose to blog is definitely the former. 


I started this blog because it was towards the end of a nightmare in my life. I was severely suffering from bipolar disorder and I was at the worst of my disease. I was down at the bottom of a deep dark abyss that at the time, I felt like I couldn't climb out of. I wanted to release my thoughts and feelings by documenting them in a journal, or better, an online blog. Maybe hoping, just hoping that someone could read it and empathize with my plight. Especially someone else suffering from this disease. I wanted to try and help someone out there who felt their life was at a complete loss.


Like me.


As I struggle with my new medication, I realize that it has been working miraculously. At the period of time, that dark time in my life, I never thought I'd get better. The pain I was in seemed endless. I couldn't comprehend how much it would work and release me from this throbbing sadness I was experiencing on a daily basis. I honestly never thought it would end. I wanted my world to end.


I wanted to disappear forever.


At first, my meds started out to be a guinea pig of sorts. I literally felt like a pin cushion waiting to be poked with medication after medication to ensure it would work. It was a series of an increased and decreased dosage as well as switching all together. Although there are days where I'm still sad, and perhaps a little depressed, they've been working and making me feel good regardless. I feel empowered.


The only negative effect to the new medication—if it's an adverse effect at all, considering it's actually working—is the constant feeling as though I have the "shakes" every morning. I honestly can't explain it, but it's more inside of me than physically. I feel as though my thoughts are continually racing and I can't control them. How can something like this be a side effect. If in fact, that's what it is. Is it me? Am I making this happen, or is this feeling authentic?


I look forward to my upcoming appointment next week with my psychiatric nurse, because last time we discussed this (a month ago) I brought it up only to be told it takes time to adjust to this medication. Is this true? Or am I just being a hypochondriac here? I can't seem to figure it out. I only hope he'll give me the answer(s) that I'm looking for.


Am I being neurotic or is it legitimate?


I was hoping that my lack of obsession and anticipation would go away. Is that purely chemical or self-involved? I may never know the proper answer to that question, but I do know this, I was told that it can be controlled with the right medication. My constant "obsession" would go away. But how can it? How can something like that be controlled? Is it time that I end it and just move forward with my life; my family and my search for a new job? Or torture myself with this ceaseless aching every single day?


At this point, I am hoping I can easily treat certain "obsessions" with a slacken attitude. I hate how I'm feeling and I hate how I'm continually "obsessed." Those of you who have read my prior posts, most likely know what I'm referring to. If not, just understand this has been ongoing for over a year.


I can't take it anymore. My mind and my soul are being taken for granted, and if I respect myself at all, I will prowl quietly in the opposite direction as I attempt to take charge of my life.


Maybe that's a hint for me to just do it, march forward and never look back—indefinitely, for crying out loud. I can't take it any longer. I thought it was over; I thought these feelings of endless determination would be forever terminated. 


But they're not. They have only subsided minimally, not completely. It has to be me, not side effects from my bipolar disorder.


As I continue the attempt to move forward with my life and this disease, I will hope and pray that it will eventually be 100% under control. All of it! Is that an unrealistic goal? Only time will tell.


I'm keeping my fingers crossed here.


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