I've been gone for 6 months now. I haven't written in my blog that entire time. Why? Because I got a job in late December and being in new surroundings with new people gave me a sense of importance—of being wanted and appreciated. I loved being in a social environment once again and as the months have gone by, I have become very close with the people that I work with. I've been happy and I love it.
Even though I don't make much money, it feels good to be out there once again. Although it's a bit of an insult making such a low wage, considering the 10+ years experience I have in my field and of course, my education, it still feels good nevertheless. But, I look at it this way, it's a job and more importantly, it got me out of the house and away from my video game and away from my solitude of a constant depression that was permeating my world everyday.
For once, I am not writing in my blog because of a depression due to my Bipolar Disorder, but because I am keeping an up-to-date look at my life as a way to prove to people that I can be happy. All of us suffering from Bipolar Disorder, can actually be happy.
For now.
I'm worried. I must admit that I am terrified of what might become once again. My husband lost his job a few months ago, so the money has become tight, and then even worse, we lost our health insurance. Now, don't get me wrong, he still has his other job as a personal trainer and he's now trying to establish a regular clientele, but in the meantime, we no longer have our health insurance, therefore as my medication runs out, we are unable to fulfill more prescriptions as a result of being too expensive. I am down to two prescriptions out of five total.
I'm scared. What will happen when the last prescription is gone? Will it come back in full force thus causing me to feel depressed once again, possibly affecting my employment? I'm very lucky, I work in a business where the owner is a wonderful, caring human being. He actually cares about his employees and always makes sure we're taken care of. I have become very close with my direct supervisor and as a result, our work environment has become enjoyable. Since she and I share an office together (she is also a designer), we get along famously. In my experience, this a very rare situation.
But I worry that as my medication goes bye-bye, my old "self" will come back with a vengeance. I've been happy, and I know a great deal of that is due to my job and my work environment and the people that I work with, but mostly, because of a regular dose of medication every month. As I inquired—hoping and praying—about the regular cost of my meds, I was astounded. How could something like this happen in one of the richest countries in the world? How could we as Americans, have horrendous and expensive coverage of health insurance and medications—or lack thereof? Don't get me wrong, I've always been privy to the health insurance problems in our country, but we've always been lucky enough to have a good amount of insurance due to my husband's employment, but now that I am one of those 'victims,' it bothers me even more. Especially since I have been told, since my initial diagnosis that medication must be a constant, regular occurrence in my life. It has always been presented to me in a way, as if someone suffering from diabetes will have to take medications for the rest of their life. The same goes with someone diagnosed with Bipolar Disorder.
I've dealt with that, and I've gotten used to it. Until now.
What will happen once I take my last pill? Will I start hitting myself again? Will I start crying for no reason? Will I take it out on my family? Will I have regular thoughts of suicide?
I'm frightened that this will all come back full force. The cost of my medications is beyond our budget and unfortunately, until we get insurance again (hopefully as my husband increases his clientele), I will be OK.
I know it's that old saying, only time will tell, but will it, or will it be immediate?
I don't know.
Bipolar Gal on Twitter
Showing posts with label art. Show all posts
Showing posts with label art. Show all posts
Tuesday, July 2, 2013
Wednesday, January 9, 2013
Joy to Xmas
As I fill myself and my home with constant Xmas "cheer," a depression came over me like no other time of the year. It's expected to fill your tree (or in my case, a decorated ladder in lieu of a tree) with presents and happiness. For us, that wasn't the case. We were unable to buy each other gifts, nor were we able to buy the plethora of gifts that we usually buy for our daughter that has become a tradition every year. Even during Hanukkah, my daughter and I created a tradition of lighting the menorah as well as purchasing her gifts everyday during the 7 day celebration.
It was hard for me to not be able to adhere to this annual tradition this year. It's been a tough year, both financially and emotionally. Being unemployed as well as losing my unemployment benefits in early July, only made that worse for all of us.
They say that Xmas presents are not supposed to define us, as it's supposed to be about family and love, but when you're one of the few—although it feels that way—who cannot take advantage of the giving tradition, it makes you feel sad, thus inept of this holiday observance. It makes you feel inadequate. Especially when there's a child involved. As parents, you want nothing more than to provide them with gifts, only to see their face as they open the wrapping paper in anticipation of seeing what will be hiding underneath. Even if she did ask for such presents for her Xmas list.
This year only brought disappointment. If not for my daughter (at least she didn't show it), but for us. Both of us wanted to provide her with what we've given her in the past—a bright smile and an unexpected surprise.
As we both sat there and gazed at her 'amazement,' I felt as though I was being jipped out of something that typically brought me a smile. Because I had no gift to open, no gift to rip open the wrapping paper and shaking the small bright box, I was sad and disappointed, if only for myself, and not my daughter or husband. Again, I know Xmas is not about gifts, but about togetherness that a family brings, I felt despaired at the same time regardless.
Does that make me selfish? Shouldn't I have sat there and been happy for our love and health instead? On that day, Xmas day, all I felt was resentment. Resentful that my husband doesn't make enough money to provide us with a plethora of gifts and surprise, only to be felt as though we were nothing; we were nobody in comparison.
I love my husband very much, but the last few months I have felt unhappiness instead. A feeling of loneliness and forlorn. I miss our 'marriage' and I miss the happiness we once felt as a couple. Now it only feels like we're roommates; roommates with a child. Sex has become inconsistent and dissatisfying. It's a rare act that has brought me despondency therefore has only pushed me away from what typically brings love to a marriage. Divorce has permeated my mind everyday, but what would I do without him at the same time?
I don't know.
I know if I walked away, I'd end up being unhappy, or would I? Solitude has always been something I've enjoyed, but on my terms only. My husband has always understood this therefore allowing me to go away for a few days to visit friends or relatives. Whereas most spouses may not accept this as part of their marriage. Isn't that why we get married to begin with, to spend time with that person and include them in their life? For me, that hasn't always been the case. Obviously that changed a great deal once my daughter was born, but for the most part, it never changed how I felt.
Recently, money has prevented me from taking advantage of such feelings, so I've only gotten worse in my confinement and resentment towards him. I know this is wrong, and I know I shouldn't take this out on me as my unemployment and recent lack of benefits has been a large part of that, but I have felt as though I have been deprived of something that has been so meaningful to me over the past several years as a result of this.
I know as time goes by, with my recent job, that will change a great deal. It'll take time as we catch up with bills that have recently snowballed into a large sum of payment every month, into a normal American household. Paying our bills every month, living a happy fulfilling life on a regular, daily basis.
I must, and I will. If only for the sake of my family and my marriage.
Bipolar Gal on Twitter
It was hard for me to not be able to adhere to this annual tradition this year. It's been a tough year, both financially and emotionally. Being unemployed as well as losing my unemployment benefits in early July, only made that worse for all of us.
They say that Xmas presents are not supposed to define us, as it's supposed to be about family and love, but when you're one of the few—although it feels that way—who cannot take advantage of the giving tradition, it makes you feel sad, thus inept of this holiday observance. It makes you feel inadequate. Especially when there's a child involved. As parents, you want nothing more than to provide them with gifts, only to see their face as they open the wrapping paper in anticipation of seeing what will be hiding underneath. Even if she did ask for such presents for her Xmas list.
This year only brought disappointment. If not for my daughter (at least she didn't show it), but for us. Both of us wanted to provide her with what we've given her in the past—a bright smile and an unexpected surprise.
As we both sat there and gazed at her 'amazement,' I felt as though I was being jipped out of something that typically brought me a smile. Because I had no gift to open, no gift to rip open the wrapping paper and shaking the small bright box, I was sad and disappointed, if only for myself, and not my daughter or husband. Again, I know Xmas is not about gifts, but about togetherness that a family brings, I felt despaired at the same time regardless.
Does that make me selfish? Shouldn't I have sat there and been happy for our love and health instead? On that day, Xmas day, all I felt was resentment. Resentful that my husband doesn't make enough money to provide us with a plethora of gifts and surprise, only to be felt as though we were nothing; we were nobody in comparison.
I love my husband very much, but the last few months I have felt unhappiness instead. A feeling of loneliness and forlorn. I miss our 'marriage' and I miss the happiness we once felt as a couple. Now it only feels like we're roommates; roommates with a child. Sex has become inconsistent and dissatisfying. It's a rare act that has brought me despondency therefore has only pushed me away from what typically brings love to a marriage. Divorce has permeated my mind everyday, but what would I do without him at the same time?
I don't know.
I know if I walked away, I'd end up being unhappy, or would I? Solitude has always been something I've enjoyed, but on my terms only. My husband has always understood this therefore allowing me to go away for a few days to visit friends or relatives. Whereas most spouses may not accept this as part of their marriage. Isn't that why we get married to begin with, to spend time with that person and include them in their life? For me, that hasn't always been the case. Obviously that changed a great deal once my daughter was born, but for the most part, it never changed how I felt.
Recently, money has prevented me from taking advantage of such feelings, so I've only gotten worse in my confinement and resentment towards him. I know this is wrong, and I know I shouldn't take this out on me as my unemployment and recent lack of benefits has been a large part of that, but I have felt as though I have been deprived of something that has been so meaningful to me over the past several years as a result of this.
I know as time goes by, with my recent job, that will change a great deal. It'll take time as we catch up with bills that have recently snowballed into a large sum of payment every month, into a normal American household. Paying our bills every month, living a happy fulfilling life on a regular, daily basis.
I must, and I will. If only for the sake of my family and my marriage.
Bipolar Gal on Twitter
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
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
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
Friday, September 7, 2012
Let the Good Times Roll
After a long depressing month and a half, I quickly realized not long after I started my new job that it just wasn't for me. I knew within the first week that I hated it and I was unhappy. I kept asking myself this one simple question—"why can't I be happy? Why don't I appreciate what I have?"
In the past year, this seemed to be a constant reminder of what I was trying to convince myself of, only this time, it was worse. I was at a job that I was unhappy at and hated. The problem is, I loved my boss and loved the atmosphere where I worked. So how can I hate my job? Isn't that what it's mostly about anyway? Apparently not. I have never worked at a job where I really liked my boss that much and loved the atmosphere, so it was a confusing situation for me overall, but soon realized that happiness was more broad and more complex than what I had envisioned.
I hated what I was doing and I hated going into work as a result of that. The weekends were great as I spent a great deal of time with my family and knew that I never wanted it to end. Until Monday came around, my world felt like I was going to burst; I felt as though I would explode with the anticipation of having to go back into work the very next day after the end of my weekend—Sunday night. I always dreaded that time of week knowing full well I'd have to put the alarm on and get ready for another long, drawn out depressing week of work.
I realize that most people, if not all, suffer through this every week. I have such envy for those who love their jobs and love what they do. But for me, I've never felt anywhere near that and I am taking this opportunity to move forward and try to be appreciative and most importantly, to be happy.
My boss came to me this week and reluctantly discussed the possibility of hiring me through my design company as a sub-contractor, salary every week as though I was an employee, and work on ongoing graphic design projects that are continuously needed. In a nutshell, he has decided to eliminate my position all together since let's face it, I wasn't very good at it. I tried my hardest to become a good executive assistant, but knew deep down in my heart that it wasn't a position I was happy with. Therefore, it was reflected in the outcome of my job performance.
For me, this has worked out for my benefit. Not only will I be able to work from home, but I can work on my Mac once again. I hated working on his PC and it was a struggle, I assure you. Telecommuting was something I had always desired, but never offered the opportunity for. This is ideal for me, and I know it's a possibility of my attempt to gain more clients. Yes, he will now be my client, and no longer my boss.
We sat there and worked out the details and in the end, it benefits both of us exponentially. I'm happy and I'm eager. Today is my last day as his executive assistant and going into the office as required.
In the back of my mind, I worry about this opportunity and I continually tell myself "this is too good for me, I'm not supposed to be happy and am I good enough to follow through with this amazing opening of my career?" Part of my bipolar disorder is the constant negativity that runs through my mind, and I hate it. I wish I could knock it out of my brain so I can move forward without feeling as though I will come head-on with disaster.
As I sat there telling my therapist about this exciting news, she was thrilled and supportive. Although the money is a little less than what I was earning per week, it still worked out to my benefit. My husband is also supportive.
But why can't I accept this as a great opportunity? Why am I thinking about it as though I will fail?
I want to be happy about it, and I want to be grateful and I want to be delighted about this amazing position and him hiring me through my company. Something that I've never experienced long term.
I need to accept it for what it is and move forward with anticipation, instead of thoughts of catastrophe.
It's time to move on and let the good times roll.
Bipolar Gal on Twitter
In the past year, this seemed to be a constant reminder of what I was trying to convince myself of, only this time, it was worse. I was at a job that I was unhappy at and hated. The problem is, I loved my boss and loved the atmosphere where I worked. So how can I hate my job? Isn't that what it's mostly about anyway? Apparently not. I have never worked at a job where I really liked my boss that much and loved the atmosphere, so it was a confusing situation for me overall, but soon realized that happiness was more broad and more complex than what I had envisioned.
I hated what I was doing and I hated going into work as a result of that. The weekends were great as I spent a great deal of time with my family and knew that I never wanted it to end. Until Monday came around, my world felt like I was going to burst; I felt as though I would explode with the anticipation of having to go back into work the very next day after the end of my weekend—Sunday night. I always dreaded that time of week knowing full well I'd have to put the alarm on and get ready for another long, drawn out depressing week of work.
I realize that most people, if not all, suffer through this every week. I have such envy for those who love their jobs and love what they do. But for me, I've never felt anywhere near that and I am taking this opportunity to move forward and try to be appreciative and most importantly, to be happy.
My boss came to me this week and reluctantly discussed the possibility of hiring me through my design company as a sub-contractor, salary every week as though I was an employee, and work on ongoing graphic design projects that are continuously needed. In a nutshell, he has decided to eliminate my position all together since let's face it, I wasn't very good at it. I tried my hardest to become a good executive assistant, but knew deep down in my heart that it wasn't a position I was happy with. Therefore, it was reflected in the outcome of my job performance.
For me, this has worked out for my benefit. Not only will I be able to work from home, but I can work on my Mac once again. I hated working on his PC and it was a struggle, I assure you. Telecommuting was something I had always desired, but never offered the opportunity for. This is ideal for me, and I know it's a possibility of my attempt to gain more clients. Yes, he will now be my client, and no longer my boss.
We sat there and worked out the details and in the end, it benefits both of us exponentially. I'm happy and I'm eager. Today is my last day as his executive assistant and going into the office as required.
In the back of my mind, I worry about this opportunity and I continually tell myself "this is too good for me, I'm not supposed to be happy and am I good enough to follow through with this amazing opening of my career?" Part of my bipolar disorder is the constant negativity that runs through my mind, and I hate it. I wish I could knock it out of my brain so I can move forward without feeling as though I will come head-on with disaster.
As I sat there telling my therapist about this exciting news, she was thrilled and supportive. Although the money is a little less than what I was earning per week, it still worked out to my benefit. My husband is also supportive.
But why can't I accept this as a great opportunity? Why am I thinking about it as though I will fail?
I want to be happy about it, and I want to be grateful and I want to be delighted about this amazing position and him hiring me through my company. Something that I've never experienced long term.
I need to accept it for what it is and move forward with anticipation, instead of thoughts of catastrophe.
It's time to move on and let the good times roll.
Bipolar Gal on Twitter
Monday, August 27, 2012
Excitement & Disappointment
My job. Yup, you guessed it. I was so eager to start my job when it was offered to me a few days prior, only to be disappointed upon my starting. How can that happen? Why does it seem that my disappointment is something that is a common occurrence for me.
Will I ever be happy?
I have to admit something, and even though I'm not proud to admit this, I know it needs to be said—if only for my own personal gratification. Here I go—I've never enjoyed working.
There, I said it.
During my unemployment, I enjoyed staying at home being by myself and collecting those what felt like, neverending unemployment checks. I never thought I'd be one of those people who would "take advantage of the system" but instead, would prefer to be with people while being out there in the work force. Lately, I've been the opposite. I was dreading being 'out there' while mingling and working.
How could this be? One word—dissatisfaction.
I've never liked any of my jobs. Although I love the graphic design field as a whole, I've never worked at a design job that I truly loved or held passion for. On the contrary, I was unhappy and I was saddened by my lack of creative inspiration that held me back as an artist and a designer. I've always dreamed about working for a large advertising agency or small design studio, only to be employed by a magazine or newspaper instead. I've never had that agency experience which is commonly required by 'real' graphic design jobs.
Don't get me wrong, I'm appreciative of what opportunity I've been given in my field, but I've never felt the need to aspire to receive a promotion within my past companies or a sense of pride for what I did. Isn't that what it's supposed to be about?
Upon graduation, I know that any sort of job outside of my two internships would be a godsend in my field allowing me to build up my portfolio away from the common recent graduate of school work. Especially in such a competitive field, but only to be disillusioned instead. I wanted to fulfill my dream, I wanted to dive in full throttle and work as a true graphic designer—not someone sitting in front of a computer creating nothing but ads and layouts for a local magazine or newspaper.
It was disheartening and frequently shattered my hopes and dreams.
With my new job, it has only become exponentially worse. Since technically I am not a graphic designer, but an assistant instead—an executive assistant that has no meaning or purpose but making mundane phone calls and regular copying for the company. Is that where my degree was supposed to take me? Yes, I know I'm lucky to be employed during these hard times, but is it so much to ask to even work as a designer part time? I'm not picky, I'd even accept a design position at a local newspaper with a small amount of employees. At this point, I wouldn't care how much salary I made, as long as I was happy. For once in my life, I wanted to be happy.
I worked hard to graduate from college and my goal was to never have to work in a field—or at a job—where I was dismayed again. Only to be taken backwards in my life in this job.
As I continue to look for that 'perfect' job in my field, I know that I may be stuck working at a job that I loathe instead of a job that I love. However, I won't give up, I will persevere for the one job that'll perhaps provide me eagerness as I embark on a new chapter in my life.
Or will I?
Bipolar Gal on Twitter
Will I ever be happy?
I have to admit something, and even though I'm not proud to admit this, I know it needs to be said—if only for my own personal gratification. Here I go—I've never enjoyed working.
There, I said it.
During my unemployment, I enjoyed staying at home being by myself and collecting those what felt like, neverending unemployment checks. I never thought I'd be one of those people who would "take advantage of the system" but instead, would prefer to be with people while being out there in the work force. Lately, I've been the opposite. I was dreading being 'out there' while mingling and working.
How could this be? One word—dissatisfaction.
I've never liked any of my jobs. Although I love the graphic design field as a whole, I've never worked at a design job that I truly loved or held passion for. On the contrary, I was unhappy and I was saddened by my lack of creative inspiration that held me back as an artist and a designer. I've always dreamed about working for a large advertising agency or small design studio, only to be employed by a magazine or newspaper instead. I've never had that agency experience which is commonly required by 'real' graphic design jobs.
Don't get me wrong, I'm appreciative of what opportunity I've been given in my field, but I've never felt the need to aspire to receive a promotion within my past companies or a sense of pride for what I did. Isn't that what it's supposed to be about?
Upon graduation, I know that any sort of job outside of my two internships would be a godsend in my field allowing me to build up my portfolio away from the common recent graduate of school work. Especially in such a competitive field, but only to be disillusioned instead. I wanted to fulfill my dream, I wanted to dive in full throttle and work as a true graphic designer—not someone sitting in front of a computer creating nothing but ads and layouts for a local magazine or newspaper.
It was disheartening and frequently shattered my hopes and dreams.
With my new job, it has only become exponentially worse. Since technically I am not a graphic designer, but an assistant instead—an executive assistant that has no meaning or purpose but making mundane phone calls and regular copying for the company. Is that where my degree was supposed to take me? Yes, I know I'm lucky to be employed during these hard times, but is it so much to ask to even work as a designer part time? I'm not picky, I'd even accept a design position at a local newspaper with a small amount of employees. At this point, I wouldn't care how much salary I made, as long as I was happy. For once in my life, I wanted to be happy.
I worked hard to graduate from college and my goal was to never have to work in a field—or at a job—where I was dismayed again. Only to be taken backwards in my life in this job.
As I continue to look for that 'perfect' job in my field, I know that I may be stuck working at a job that I loathe instead of a job that I love. However, I won't give up, I will persevere for the one job that'll perhaps provide me eagerness as I embark on a new chapter in my life.
Or will I?
Bipolar Gal on Twitter
Wednesday, July 25, 2012
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
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
Thursday, July 19, 2012
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
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
Friday, July 6, 2012
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.
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!
Saturday, June 30, 2012
Abstract Madness
I love abstract art. Always have, and most likely always will. I conquered it in college during my art theory class and believe it or not, it's not as easy as it looks. I remember struggling with my project and at first glance, you'd think abstract art, or cubism for that matter, would be easy; almost infantile and child-like.
Not even close.
My attempts ended unsuccessful, but I received a good grade nonetheless. I was so happy and so relieved, the first thing I remember out of my professor's mouth was "it's clear you're inspired by Pablo Picasso." Hearing that made me proud. I was happy. I even named my pug after this brilliant artist as a homage to him.
Now as I look back this past year or so, abstract art for me is nothing shy of relevant. I've always loved it and now I have executed it in my art. Even more so these days than my early college years. Maybe it's an appropriate representation of how I've been feeling for so long; something that embraces my mood and my frequent doldrums. Will I continue to create these abstract tendancies as my medication will continue to work? Absolutely. It's not something that I've done in the moment only, but in the future as well. I feel that it's an accurate depiction of what has defined me for so long—for me, it felt like it lasted forever. I realize that a year taken from my life is minimal compared to the big picture, but at that time in my life, it felt like eternity.
Not even close.
My attempts ended unsuccessful, but I received a good grade nonetheless. I was so happy and so relieved, the first thing I remember out of my professor's mouth was "it's clear you're inspired by Pablo Picasso." Hearing that made me proud. I was happy. I even named my pug after this brilliant artist as a homage to him.
Now as I look back this past year or so, abstract art for me is nothing shy of relevant. I've always loved it and now I have executed it in my art. Even more so these days than my early college years. Maybe it's an appropriate representation of how I've been feeling for so long; something that embraces my mood and my frequent doldrums. Will I continue to create these abstract tendancies as my medication will continue to work? Absolutely. It's not something that I've done in the moment only, but in the future as well. I feel that it's an accurate depiction of what has defined me for so long—for me, it felt like it lasted forever. I realize that a year taken from my life is minimal compared to the big picture, but at that time in my life, it felt like eternity.
Pablo Picasso - 1925 The Bottle of Wine
Pablo Picasso - 1932 Girl Before a Mirror
I've always wanted to conquer abstract painting but never could. Or was it I just didn't have the courage to do so? Regardless, I've done it and I will embark on it some more. Now that I feel confident, why not?
While I was in school studying art, I always tried to analyze abstract art. I always wondered and asked myself, can it be analyzed? Or just something you feel from within? I've always said—and promoted—that art is subjective. Not everyone is going to love or appreciate your art or other artists' work. It's something we have to accept as artists. It took me a long time to realize this and not take it personally, but I admit, it's difficult to follow this rule of thumb, but for the most part, I don't let it get to me. As a graphic designer, we're not there to design for ourselves, but for the client. If they can't appreciate your expertise and professional background, then we have to accept it and move on. I always wonder why they hire us to begin with anyway.
Back to the drawing board.
Pablo Picasso - 1937 Lee Miller as L' Arlesienne
Pablo Picasso - 1934 Head of a Woman Portrait of Marie-Thérés Walter
As you could imagine, abstract paintings are quite a bit different than graphic/advertising design. Not many clients would request something abstract to their logo, business card, et al, as they would prefer something a little more straight forward. Which is why I love painting more abstract than anything else. It epitomizes who I am and exploits my left brain.
Aside from the paintings, I don't want my mind to be 'abstract' anymore. I want clarity in my life and my brain. Like they say, Rome wasn't built in a day, but for me, I've been struggling with bipolar disorder since 2004, so I think it's time I get better.
What do you think?
As I continue to paint for myself, I will continue to hope that one day soon, I can even paint for a much larger audience than myself and my family. Maybe have one of my paintings hanging in somebody else's home instead of mine? Only time will tell to see if that question will be answered, but for now, I'm doing it for me. It pleases me and I enjoy it. It keeps my mind off everything around me and my constant racing of thoughts. At this point, they haven't subsided, they're just more tolerable now.
NOTE: At the time that I wrote this post, I received an email requesting that I hang my paintings in a restaurant in town where they showcase local artists' work. They would like me to showcase my work as well. It's a step in the right direction as I try to sell my work and my painting services. An unusual exhibit, yes, but it's a start. Wish me luck!
Thursday, June 21, 2012
Painting Makes the Heart Grow Fonder
I love painting, I do. I think I've made that apparent in most—if not all—of my prior posts. Although I haven't been trained professionally as a painter (even though I studied art), it's something I've always done to calm my nerves and makes me happy—even to keep me occupied and "out of trouble." It's just what I've always done. I think I take after my mother in that regard, because she did the same thing.
After many years of painting bright colors on many canvases, I've come to the realization that painting has helped me through my bipolar disorder on many levels, not just as an artist, but for a therapeutic point of view as well—even if I wasn't made aware of it at the time. However, it's something I have always enjoyed and realize that many painting instructors teach their students to mix their colors and never paint straight ouf of the tube. For me, I'm the opposite. I prefer to paint with acrylic when most instructors teach their students to use oils instead.
Any way you look at it, it's still a personal preference.
I do know that as a fine artist, we will all eventually use what works for us the most. It allows us to inhabit our own methods and excel as artists. At this point after many years, I don't care what the art community thinks about my paintings, and I don't care if they're being critiqued to the point of negativity and displeasure, I enjoy painting and I take pleasure from it.
As a graphic designer, we are taught to design for our clients, not the designer. That rule of thumb has always been tough for me, but I've come to learn after many years of working as a graphic designer that it's how we have to work in order to make a living.
We are there to make the client happy.
It can be very frustrating because as professionals, we know that many times the design we choose instead of the client, are always better. But that's not always the case. The client sees and desires what they want, regardless of our professional opinion. I've just learned to not take it personally, because ultimately it's not a reflection of who I am, but of the client during that point in time.
Isn't that what they're paying us for?
When I'm painting, I can take comfort that I'm doing it for me and for myself only. Nobody else. I've never put my paintings up for sale and I don't intend to. Over the years, I've been lucky enough to have painted many commissions of pets, couples, children, etc. but I've never really sold my paintings that are hanging on my walls.
These were painted for me.
I truly believe that these individual paintings mean something special to me and they have a purpose in my home. I don't think I could ever say goodbye. They're important to me and I've grown to accept them as part of my 'family,' part of my decor.
But as my heart grows for each painting I create, I know that deep in my heart I do it for enjoyment and a release. A release of everything I've endured this past year and what I will move to this coming year.
Maybe one of these days I'll actually sell one of my paintings, but in the meantime, I'll just enjoy them as they continue to hang on my own four walls.
Bipolar Gal on Twitter
After many years of painting bright colors on many canvases, I've come to the realization that painting has helped me through my bipolar disorder on many levels, not just as an artist, but for a therapeutic point of view as well—even if I wasn't made aware of it at the time. However, it's something I have always enjoyed and realize that many painting instructors teach their students to mix their colors and never paint straight ouf of the tube. For me, I'm the opposite. I prefer to paint with acrylic when most instructors teach their students to use oils instead.
Any way you look at it, it's still a personal preference.
I do know that as a fine artist, we will all eventually use what works for us the most. It allows us to inhabit our own methods and excel as artists. At this point after many years, I don't care what the art community thinks about my paintings, and I don't care if they're being critiqued to the point of negativity and displeasure, I enjoy painting and I take pleasure from it.
As a graphic designer, we are taught to design for our clients, not the designer. That rule of thumb has always been tough for me, but I've come to learn after many years of working as a graphic designer that it's how we have to work in order to make a living.
We are there to make the client happy.
It can be very frustrating because as professionals, we know that many times the design we choose instead of the client, are always better. But that's not always the case. The client sees and desires what they want, regardless of our professional opinion. I've just learned to not take it personally, because ultimately it's not a reflection of who I am, but of the client during that point in time.
Isn't that what they're paying us for?
When I'm painting, I can take comfort that I'm doing it for me and for myself only. Nobody else. I've never put my paintings up for sale and I don't intend to. Over the years, I've been lucky enough to have painted many commissions of pets, couples, children, etc. but I've never really sold my paintings that are hanging on my walls.
These were painted for me.
I truly believe that these individual paintings mean something special to me and they have a purpose in my home. I don't think I could ever say goodbye. They're important to me and I've grown to accept them as part of my 'family,' part of my decor.
But as my heart grows for each painting I create, I know that deep in my heart I do it for enjoyment and a release. A release of everything I've endured this past year and what I will move to this coming year.
Maybe one of these days I'll actually sell one of my paintings, but in the meantime, I'll just enjoy them as they continue to hang on my own four walls.
Bipolar Gal on Twitter
Friday, June 15, 2012
Eternal Sunshine of the Vintage Display
I love color, I do. If you saw my loft, you would know that I love color.
I've never been one to decorate my home with the usual taupe and beige that seem to be the norm in most homes. Oh no, I have to have colorful surroundings. It'll make me happy, you see.
Hmm maybe not always.
I'm mature enough to know that a colorful home will not solve all problems—especially those suffering from bipolar disorder. But it feels and looks good, nevertheless. You can tell, the minute you walk into my home that an artist lives here.
That pleases me.
I typically don't watch the quintessential home decorating shows all over the networks these days, or anything close. I just like to come up with my own ideas—with the occasional inspirations wherever I go. I'm always looking around and observing for a "lightbulb" effect. However, I was watching a show and absolutely loved it! The decorators/artists/designers (whose vocation was more along the lines of professional flippers), were a married couple who were like me—they loved mixing vintage elements with new. I loved it. OMG where did they come from?
New York City of course.
They demonstrated a modern taste—such as myself—with a lot of bright colors. They weren't afraid to go beyond the usual common boundaries.
I was addicted, so I continued to watch every episode with anticipation. Heck, I even downloaded the series from iTunes so I can watch over and over. It was invigorating and more than inspiring.
Many ideas were presented as an eclectic juxtaposition of vintage essentials displayed throughout their clients' homes. I loved it. Unfortunately, they have the advantage of living in New York City where there is a plethora of vintage/pre-owned shops. I didn't have that luxury here where I live.
Regardless, I'll make due. I've always loved and taken advantage of eBay and it's right there at your fingertips.
With empty vases and chachkes cluttering up my coffee table, I knew I had to make a change. Something more simple; maybe even adding more color. But what?
Once again taking advantage of the convenience of eBay, I scrolled page after page looking for ideas for the perfect find. Perusing Craigslist didn't seem like an appropriate option, so I continued to search for the perfect bargain. Or even idea. Regardless, I still tried Craigslist just in case. You never know.
I have been on the hunt for an old vintage pinball machine for months now—don't ask me where I'd put it however—and know that clearly eBay wouldn't be a practical option. I even found the perfect set of old gym lockers on Craigslist for a small space that was being misused in the foyer of our front door—for a mere $60.
Even though I still had no idea what I wanted to fill those empty vases with, I figured I'd come up with an idea eventually. An epiphany. Because that's just how I roll.
One day it literally came to me, and I realized it'd be the perfect solution. Nobody would have these items displayed in their homes. Only on their pool tables for practical use—playing pool.
I knew coming up with the idea of displaying old vintage billiard balls mixed with new ones would be a perfect solution, albeit an odd one. But I could always appreciate its colorful and retro-style and loved how the color bordering each ball's circumference added life, which is what gave them a unique perspective.
Let the hunt begin.
For me, using something as simple as old styled mixed with new styled billiard balls was an inexpensive infusion and I knew it would be something I could afford and proudly display without "breaking the bank."
At first my husband thought I was weird, but I didn't care. As with everything in our home, he eventually comes around and loves how I've decorated our loft and proudly displayed my art.
I didn't want to stop there, I wanted to continue to add more "life" to my loft.
As I was attempting to work on my Lego art project—from my prior post, Blocked?....No Pun Intended—looking at the tub of colorful legos inspired me even more. Too bad it wasn't for that particular project, however, but the colors and different sizes always made me want to do something else; maybe something extraordinary outside of my 'blocked' Lego art project.
Buying an old bowl for $1.99 and filling it with Legos was also an unconventional inspiration, but a colorful one, nonetheless.
Even something as simple as an old unused gumball machine which I purchased on eBay for $20, even adding the candy gave it a colorful eclectic—and delicious—alternative.
My gaming headset has always been quite bothersome on my desk, so finding something as simple as a styrofoam head bust was an even better solution. For only $10, I took it home and spray painted it yellow and gave it more life than the sold as-is white styrofoam. I received an unexpected veneer as a result of the spray paint mixed with the styrofoam. Overall, it looked really cool.
I like to frequently shop the local vintage stores, Goodwill, pawn shops, our local Eco-Thrift store and the like for old, pre-owned items. It's like the saying, "one man's junk is another man's treasure." I have always found this to be true. I've always been an advocate of reusing items not just to "save the earth" but just as a way of expressing a form of unrivaled taste and individuality. This way, you're not seeing the same thing in everybody's home, or their clothing (i.e. Gap, Old Navy, Pottery Barn, etc.).
It's also why I love old estate jewelry. There's a history there, and although I may not know it, I can appreciate that there was a story regardless. Something about its untold diary gives an impression of excitement and wonderment as we try to imagine what that story is/was, maybe it was out of sadness or grief, or even desperation for money—God knows we've been there a number of times. Either way, it's a story I can create in my head; something that gives me inner peace.
Finding exceptional one-of-a-kind objects is something I've always treasured and enjoyed. Even altering its appearance with something as simple as spray paint can give it exclusivity.
These are one of the many things that have always helped me through my disease, bipolar disorder. I realize it can't cure it, but at least try and keep my mind occupied from my racing thoughts or decrease them a great deal. That is something I am satisfied with—even if it's only temporary at that time.
Bipolar Gal on Twitter
I've never been one to decorate my home with the usual taupe and beige that seem to be the norm in most homes. Oh no, I have to have colorful surroundings. It'll make me happy, you see.
Hmm maybe not always.
I'm mature enough to know that a colorful home will not solve all problems—especially those suffering from bipolar disorder. But it feels and looks good, nevertheless. You can tell, the minute you walk into my home that an artist lives here.
That pleases me.
I typically don't watch the quintessential home decorating shows all over the networks these days, or anything close. I just like to come up with my own ideas—with the occasional inspirations wherever I go. I'm always looking around and observing for a "lightbulb" effect. However, I was watching a show and absolutely loved it! The decorators/artists/designers (whose vocation was more along the lines of professional flippers), were a married couple who were like me—they loved mixing vintage elements with new. I loved it. OMG where did they come from?
New York City of course.
They demonstrated a modern taste—such as myself—with a lot of bright colors. They weren't afraid to go beyond the usual common boundaries.
I was addicted, so I continued to watch every episode with anticipation. Heck, I even downloaded the series from iTunes so I can watch over and over. It was invigorating and more than inspiring.
Many ideas were presented as an eclectic juxtaposition of vintage essentials displayed throughout their clients' homes. I loved it. Unfortunately, they have the advantage of living in New York City where there is a plethora of vintage/pre-owned shops. I didn't have that luxury here where I live.
Regardless, I'll make due. I've always loved and taken advantage of eBay and it's right there at your fingertips.
With empty vases and chachkes cluttering up my coffee table, I knew I had to make a change. Something more simple; maybe even adding more color. But what?
Once again taking advantage of the convenience of eBay, I scrolled page after page looking for ideas for the perfect find. Perusing Craigslist didn't seem like an appropriate option, so I continued to search for the perfect bargain. Or even idea. Regardless, I still tried Craigslist just in case. You never know.
I have been on the hunt for an old vintage pinball machine for months now—don't ask me where I'd put it however—and know that clearly eBay wouldn't be a practical option. I even found the perfect set of old gym lockers on Craigslist for a small space that was being misused in the foyer of our front door—for a mere $60.
Even though I still had no idea what I wanted to fill those empty vases with, I figured I'd come up with an idea eventually. An epiphany. Because that's just how I roll.
One day it literally came to me, and I realized it'd be the perfect solution. Nobody would have these items displayed in their homes. Only on their pool tables for practical use—playing pool.
A view from the side showcasing how the pool balls & bowl
of legos look underneath my coffee table
Closeup view of the bowl of legos & vase of pool balls
View from above as you can see the large bowl filled
with vintage & new pool balls
I knew coming up with the idea of displaying old vintage billiard balls mixed with new ones would be a perfect solution, albeit an odd one. But I could always appreciate its colorful and retro-style and loved how the color bordering each ball's circumference added life, which is what gave them a unique perspective.
Let the hunt begin.
For me, using something as simple as old styled mixed with new styled billiard balls was an inexpensive infusion and I knew it would be something I could afford and proudly display without "breaking the bank."
At first my husband thought I was weird, but I didn't care. As with everything in our home, he eventually comes around and loves how I've decorated our loft and proudly displayed my art.
I didn't want to stop there, I wanted to continue to add more "life" to my loft.
As I was attempting to work on my Lego art project—from my prior post, Blocked?....No Pun Intended—looking at the tub of colorful legos inspired me even more. Too bad it wasn't for that particular project, however, but the colors and different sizes always made me want to do something else; maybe something extraordinary outside of my 'blocked' Lego art project.
Buying an old bowl for $1.99 and filling it with Legos was also an unconventional inspiration, but a colorful one, nonetheless.
Even something as simple as an old unused gumball machine which I purchased on eBay for $20, even adding the candy gave it a colorful eclectic—and delicious—alternative.
Sometimes I'll add peanut or plain M&M's for even
more bright colors—and when we're bored of chewing gum
My gaming headset has always been quite bothersome on my desk, so finding something as simple as a styrofoam head bust was an even better solution. For only $10, I took it home and spray painted it yellow and gave it more life than the sold as-is white styrofoam. I received an unexpected veneer as a result of the spray paint mixed with the styrofoam. Overall, it looked really cool.
I needed somewhere to display my gaming headset & saw
this styrofoam head & thought it was the perfect solution!
I like to frequently shop the local vintage stores, Goodwill, pawn shops, our local Eco-Thrift store and the like for old, pre-owned items. It's like the saying, "one man's junk is another man's treasure." I have always found this to be true. I've always been an advocate of reusing items not just to "save the earth" but just as a way of expressing a form of unrivaled taste and individuality. This way, you're not seeing the same thing in everybody's home, or their clothing (i.e. Gap, Old Navy, Pottery Barn, etc.).
It's also why I love old estate jewelry. There's a history there, and although I may not know it, I can appreciate that there was a story regardless. Something about its untold diary gives an impression of excitement and wonderment as we try to imagine what that story is/was, maybe it was out of sadness or grief, or even desperation for money—God knows we've been there a number of times. Either way, it's a story I can create in my head; something that gives me inner peace.
Finding exceptional one-of-a-kind objects is something I've always treasured and enjoyed. Even altering its appearance with something as simple as spray paint can give it exclusivity.
These are one of the many things that have always helped me through my disease, bipolar disorder. I realize it can't cure it, but at least try and keep my mind occupied from my racing thoughts or decrease them a great deal. That is something I am satisfied with—even if it's only temporary at that time.
Bipolar Gal on Twitter
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