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

The Blog of Craziness

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


Why I chose to blog is definitely the former. 


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


Like me.


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


I wanted to disappear forever.


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


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


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


Am I being neurotic or is it legitimate?


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


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


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


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


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


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


I'm keeping my fingers crossed here.


Bipolar Gal on Twitter

The Rat Race

I mean this legitimately—the rat race in my head and my thoughts. They're always racing, so much so that I cannot sleep. It feels like my mind and my thoughts are going 100 miles a minute. Sometimes I can control it, especially when I go for my morning run, but most of the time, I cannot. Unfortunately, it prevents me from sleeping, and this isn't good for my disease, my bipolar disorder. My therapist and my "drug dealer" (as I like to call my psychiatric nurse who prescribes my medication), always tell me that I need my sleep; it's imperative I get a good night's sleep. But how can I control it? How can I control my racing thoughts?

Most of the time, I'm always thinking of ways to improve my solitude and give me projects to work on, especially for my art. But there are so many ideas that I honestly don't know where to start, or worse, how to execute them. I know I have discussed this through one of my prior posts, Therapy Through Art, but it's something that continues to affect me even today, several weeks later.

I sometimes feel like my mind is in the middle of New York City running through rush hour as though I was part of the "rat race." It gets beyond frustrating because I just can't seem to concentrate on anything—not even my art, which means the world to me right now. Again.

Yesterday I had my daughter's friend come over for a sleepover, and since I had never met her mother, she eagerly came upstairs to introduce herself. Nice enough lady, just couldn't seem to stop talking. Well, for most people that may be OK, but for me, someone who suffers from bipolar disorder, my mind wanders if you've lost me; lost my interest—which unfortunately happens a little too often these days, and with her, it was just too much; too in depth.

As I'm standing there trying my hardest to listen, my mind continued to wander—round and round about everything and anything to zone her out. I couldn't help it, but I lost interest not far into the conversation.

How do I overcome this? The past several days, I have been shaky in the mornings, and now exhausted. I credit the exhaustion to my lack of sleep these days, but the shakiness, I just don't know what to do. Thankfully I have my appointment tomorrow with my "drug dealer" so hopefully he can recommend something. It's tough, kind of like this dichomoty in my brain telling me that although my depression and mood swings have diminished exponentially, I'm shaky and exhausted regardless.

The polarity is frustrating for me. No pun intended.

This tells me one thing—I'm still not 100% like I had hoped. The last few weeks have been such a huge transformation, as we had immediately thought, finally she's back.

Not yet.

After starting this painting a few weeks ago, I finally completed it this morning. Although I haven't done the finishing touches to date—a shiny gloss coat—but I can still display it proudly to share with you for this post.

I hope you like it. If not, that's OK too, I realize my art is not for everyone. That's what makes it art. More abstract in nature which demonstrates my current state of mind; my racing thoughts.

Skyscraper of a Scattered Mind – Artist, me – 2012

Thank you for reading, and thank you for allowing me to share my recent painting with you.

P.S. Please understand that my paintings are amateur as I have had no professional training in fine art painting with acrylic. But it's something I do for myself. I typically don't sell my paintings, would consider it.

Bipolar Gal on Twitter

The Start.

Today I start this blog. A blog that will have great meaning to me. Why? Because I am about to reveal the last year of my life, and most likely from this day forward—that has been haunting me the entire time—something that has affected me and my family for a year. A long, tumultuous, emotional year. So emotional that I have decided to share it with you via this blog—put all my thoughts and past experiences as a way to move forward; put everything down on paper (or the internet). By doing this, I feel it's important to release my inner emotions to maybe, just maybe pursue peace within myself.

So please understand and accept my poor writing as a result of sharing my thoughts.

To be honest, I really don't know where to start.

I'm an artist, a designer, and a painter—although inexperienced and self-taught as a painter, I find it therapeutic nonetheless. It's an avenue I have always had interest in, something that I have been told I am good at. However, due to my insecurity since childhood, it's difficult for me to accept these acknowledgements—from friends or even strangers who have viewed my work. It's why I chose to title my blog, Bipolar By Design. The ramblings of a bipolar mind through art, not just writings.

As this blog progresses, I will submit samples of my work, samples of the designs I have implemented throughout my home—a loft. Yes, we have chosen to live in a loft. I find that living in a loft not only conserves the resources within our planet, but it allows me and my family the opportunity to walk to our local downtown area, enjoy the local parks—in lieu of a backyard—and close, easy walking distance to locally owned businesses, as well as stumbling home late at night from the local bars without the risk of driving.

Without getting ahead of myself, and without overwhelming you with all of my bipolar ramblings over the past year (because going back any further would be REALLY overwhelming—and I most likely forgot most of it, if not all of it), I will end it right here. But please, check back as I will post my work, post my design techniques not just within my home, but my paintings as well. If not babbling through this brand new blog.

Thanks for reading!

If you'd prefer to read more succinct ramblings, check out my twitter page as well.

Bipolar Gal on Twitter