The Facade of Being Broke

Struggling financially has no face. It has no limitations to what you look like. Being broke affects anyone and can affect everyone, not just people living in a mobile home or underneath a box. It affects people who don't have the means to make a good living; a living that is acceptable in today's society. A living where putting food on the table is a struggle.

For us, the vision is limitless.

It's a facade we carry everyday and will continue to grace our existence with this facade as if it isn't happening to us; but it is. Unfortunately, it is. 

Today I realized that we were down to one roll of toilet paper—one roll for 3 bathrooms; one roll that we all had to share. Why? Because we couldn't afford to buy more. As I look around our home, I realize we don't live in a bad place, quite the contrary, it's a nice place. Not a home prototypical of people who are "broke" but a nice comfortable home instead. Nothing fancy and nothing ostentatious, just nice—opulent. As I gaze at our furnishings, I sometimes think what a lie we're living; what a simulation this is, as if it's no longer real. I'm living in a dream—or is it a nightmare instead?

It's a lie because when people come and visit our home, they would never realize our circumstances, it would appear as though we're doing OK. But are we? They wouldn't know how we've had to scrape up leftovers and odd food here and there to create an unusual dinner, just so we can eat for the night. For example, by gathering odds and ends from our cupboards, last night I made nachos with eggs, mozzarella cheese, rice while incorporating the hot sauce packets from Taco Bell. It was surprisingly delicious, but it gets tough trying to create different meals every night so we can eat dinner. Tonight, I made breakfast burritos. We had plenty of tortillas and eggs, so it ended up being a hearty meal. It has become an imaginative challenge.

We were lucky. This time. How long can scraping up leftovers last until we can afford to go to the grocery store and buy food?

What will we do tomorrow night? Or the next night? And what about the toilet paper problem? What to do then. It seems that we're always having to 'cross that bridge when we get to it', otherwise I think we'd go insane trying to worry and figure out how things are going to turn out. We've just seemed to go with the flow of things hoping for the best, but were we expecting the worst? I know I was, but my husband? He's different from me. He's always had an optimistic view on things, and of course, I'm the opposite. I know for the most part, we complement each other, but now? When will it finally work out for us; when will our lives be filled with zero worry and plentiful groceries permeating throughout our refrigerator and cupboard? Whether or not I dream and fantasize about traveling and seeing the world, the reality of it is, I just want food. I just want to visit the grocery store without that butterfly ache wondering if our debit card will be approved.

I ask this question every single day. We're not asking for much. Just food and toilet paper.

I frequently gaze up into the sky as I stare up into the clouds hoping and wishing for a better life. There are days where I feel guilty of this wish, that perhaps I should be grateful for the family and life that I already have, and how some people don't have half of that. I am lucky for that, I do know this, but it's tough regardless. It doesn't make our circumstances easier. Two people with college degrees are living a life of poverty. Living the life of being unable to buy a substantial amount of toilet paper so we don't run out. Or being able to purchase more when we do run out.

Living the life of a facade.

I am continuing to look for a job to hopefully enhance our future; build up something that is so dear to me—my family. For now, it'll be tough and I know it'll be a challenge, but it's all we have at the moment so this choice is not ours.

Bipolar Gal on Twitter

Mirror, Mirror...

....on the wall? No, not this time. This reflects all mirrors, windows, et al—anything around me that mirrors my reflection. I will immediately and purposely turn away to not catch a glimpse of myself. Why? Because when I see that manifestation, it only saddens me and makes me feel inadequate, as well as hideous. Harsh, I know, but it's how I feel during that moment in time. I can't stand looking at myself in the mirror. I know there are times where we must look at ourselves in the mirror, but for me, I no longer do that in a vanity sort of way. I only do it when necessary, and even then it's limited. For example, while I'm getting my hair cut, I can't look at myself in the mirror staring out in front of me—I have to sit with my head hanging down as I try and not catch a glimpse.

What I see when I look into that mirror is someone who is aging and someone who is no longer what I was once considered, beautiful. At least in my eyes. My husband tells me repeatedly how beautiful I am, but for now, it means nothing. I don't believe him, I only brush it off as what a husband should say to his wife. To his sad, aging wife. He's biased, you see. He loves me, so of course he's going to tell me this, right?

Not sure.

Even as I sit here writing this blog post, I can see my reflection from the screen of my computer and I hate what I'm seeing. My hair is wet, my hair is curly and I have no makeup on at all—just me, in the raw (with clothes on, of course). I was never one of those women who had to always put makeup on when I left the house. I never understood those kinds of women. I'd play tennis against them and they would wear full makeup, bejeweled with their everyday jewelry and their hair elegantly styled. Me? I'm different; I was different. I was one of those women who had my hair up in a ponytail, not a drop of makeup (except for lip balm), no jewelry or anything while running around on the court in an attempt of triumph. I just wanted to play tennis. I didn't care how I looked, it was a matter of a sport, not fashion or vanity. I was the same with skiing. I remember going to Vermont on a holiday ski trip with my cousin while in college, and even then, I didn't have a spot of makeup on, but my cousin? That was a different story, she had full makeup adorned and her hair was beautifully done. She looked stunning, but for the mountain? I just never understood women like that.

Hey, to each their own right?

It's just not me. Never has been, and even today, never will be. Don't get me wrong, I like wearing makeup now, I just know when it's a good time to wear it, and the tennis court and ski mountain is not one of them. At least for me it's not. Nothing against women who choose to display themselves like this during a workout or sport, of course. I know everyone is different. Therefore, I do not judge.

But after all these years of walking around with only lipstick touching my face, I've grown a lot more insecure than I ever have been in my life. I've quickly realized in the past few years that wearing makeup is used to try and conceal my aging, not enhance my so-called beauty. I've always been an insecure person, but now as I've gotten older, it's gotten significantly worse. I can tell. I hate it, I really do. I thought I'd be one of those women who'd "grow old gracefully" like my beautiful mother, but apparently I can't seem to adhere to this old saying that we've come so accustomed to hearing and repeating.

After many years of smiling happily and proudly as the subject of many photographs, I will no longer allow anyone to take my picture, even though I once loved it. I have hundreds of photos looking back at me as I posed in front of the camera as if it was just me by myself. Nowadays, I'm the one taking the pictures, therefore no longer the subject of one.

My husband thinks I'm just going through a 'mid-life crisis,' but I don't see it that way. Maybe for the most part, he's right. I know deep down in my heart there's more to it than just a mid-life crisis. However, I do know that it contributes to my feelings of inadequacy, but  does not affect me completely. At least I don't think so. My husband might express something different entirely.

My life has turned into a hidden demonstration of everything surrounding me. Including my physical appearance. 

Yesterday my husband told me how beautiful I looked and how good I looked in a certain outfit I was wearing. Is he trying to give me uplifting words of encouragement, or just truly believes what he's saying? I know for the most part, he believes what he's saying. Why else would he have married me if not attracted to me, right? Of course he would never tell me otherwise.

Overall, I know I need to get over these feelings of defensiveless repulsion, but the underlying question is, will I ever? Will I ever accept that I'm getting older and just embrace it? Or will I continue to fall deep into a dark slump until it's too late? Not to repeat myself, but for this situation, only time will tell. I believe at this time, that changing my medication for the OCD will be better for me and will be extremly beneficial, but should I risk the replacement of the depression medicine as well? Like my 'drug dealer,' I believe it'll enable me to move forward and diminish these feelings of physical inadequacy. I know for the most part these feelings are egocentric at best, but I know I will need to quite simply, get over it.

Again, I must try.

Bipolar Gal on Twitter

The Escape Artist

I couldn't think of a more appropriate title because I am an artist, and for the longest time—even as I sit here and write this—I wanted to escape; literally escape from everything and from everyone. There were many days where I just wanted to get in my car and drive, drive for hours and end up who knows where. I needed to go and get away from everything. My thoughts were constantly racing and my brain was on overload. I felt trapped inside of my body and felt trapped in my own home. Every time I felt the need to run and escape, the lack of funds prevented me from doing so. I couldn't go anywhere because I knew I'd end up getting stuck and without any means of coming back or going any farther. 

Chrysler Building Pop Art – Artist, me – 2010

As I look back, a part of me looks at it as a blessing in disguise. I always believed that things happen for a reason, and perhaps not having the money on such days was a godsend. I always imagined, sometimes fantasized, where I would have gone if I did have the money to escape. I simply wanted to get in my car and drive, continue to drive for hours and hours. I explained this urge to my therapist and the one thing she recommended was for me to at least have a plan. Don't just drive, but have a plan. A course of action, if you will.

I knew where I wanted to go, and I knew when I wanted to leave. Since it was still winter time, I was concerned about the possible inclement weather I may encounter, but a part of me also didn't care. I just wanted to go away! To escape.

Empire State Building Pop Art – Artist, me – 2010

In my heart, I wanted to head to NYC, or even Chicago. I know that would have been a tough drive, a long tough drive, but I was on a mission and I needed to just go! My state of mind at the time was a concern for both my husband and my therapist—it was at an all time low. They encouraged me to wait, but I didn't want to. I wanted to leave that instant, that moment in time. I couldn't, and I hated it. I felt trapped because I couldn't just leave. I didn't want to be responsible nor did I want to be considerate to my family, I wanted to escape and I wanted to do it immediately. But like everything else in my life, money prevented me from doing so.

Statue of Liberty Pop Art – Artist, me – 2010

I still had no idea where I wanted to go. My mind was telling me to just drive and I'd figure it out along the way. Realistically, I now know that wouldn't have been the smartest course of action for me, but when your mind isn't thinking rationally, you don't really care about that. You just want to go, regardless of where it is. 

I had even contemplated the hope of heading to Italy. I learned several years ago that I had distant relatives that still live in northern Italy. Relatives that my father hasn't seen or spoken to since he was a child, so a huge part of me wanted to inquire about visiting them—if they were even still alive or living there—possibly staying with them as I traveled to this distant land and meet this part of my family whom I have never met before; and most likely never will meet.

Again, money got in the way. I couldn't just pick up and buy a ticket to Italy, so my inquiry quickly ended there. It never went farther than my mind. Just a dream; nothing but a fantasy in my head. 

Leaning Tower of Pisa Pop Art – Artist, me – 2009

I had never been to Italy, and this could have been a dream that I could have easily—or so I thought—obtained and fulfilled. When you are struggling with Bipolar Disorder, unobtainable dreams or desires seem within an easy grasp, but they're not. In reality, they're so far away from actuality that it's difficult to accept, so to be told "No" is something that someone like me, cannot easily undertake. Or worse, want to accept.

Maybe one day I will have the opportunity to travel as far as Italy, maybe meet my Italian relatives and appreciate what my European kinsfolk has to offer. Or something just as easy as getting in the car and driving for 2 days. But one thing I do know is, even now, after all this time and after all my medication, I still get the desire to run—run as far away as I can. My mind quickly shifts me to reality now, so who knows if I'll ever want to take the leap, I don't know. Only time will tell. I love to travel and hope I could see the world! Maybe one day that dream will come true, to give me the opportunity to travel to not just get away, but to appreciate and embrace the world and surroundings on a different mental level. But most importantly, when I'm feeling well and I've kicked this disease in the ass!

For now, all I have is my imagination and my brain that will allow me to do this since I have no other means at this moment in my life. I will however, continue to dream and dream big! My dreams are all I have at the moment that are keeping me from moving forward in my life, and not backwards. 

It's all I can do right now.

Bipolar Gal on Twitter

Guilt

Guilt. I feel it everyday, but why? Every single day, I look in the mirror and a wave of guilt passes through me as if my life has gone by with every single regret. I wish I knew why, but for the most part, I know how it has affected me to this point of hate and regret. But I still can't explain it.

I feel guilty about how I've acted in front of both my husband and my daughter. Especially my daughter. She is only 12 years old (almost 13) and has seen her mother through a great deal. She is too young to witness such horror from her mother. She is at the age where spending time with her mother is precious, and most importantly, filled with happiness and cherish. Instead, she has witnessed the opposite—screaming and sadness, hitting myself and depression. My obsession beyond anyone could even fathom. Why must I experience this on a regular—sometimes daily— basis. It's not fair to her, nor is it fair to my husband—who has been my rock throughout all of this; every step of the way.

I often sometimes wonder if one day, she will hold this against me, or perhaps understand. She has talked me down during these periods, but for the most part, it saddens her and scares her that her mother will hurt herself; or worse, kill herself. How can this not affect me emotionally? How can it it not make me try my very hardest to not allow her to see this from her mother? Someone who is supposed to be her guidance, not her weakness.

I've tried so many times to snap myself out of this emotion and out of this act of such horror, but I can't. Once I'm in this state, there is nothing I can do; other than taking my anti-anxiety pill, I still need that push that'll snap me out of this act. But unfortunately, when I'm suffering through such obsession and depression, I can't think rationally therefore, I do not immediately take my pill without force from my husband. Not myself.

It's why I feel such guilt. 

For those of you reading this, and those of you who are also suffering from bipolar disorder, I hope you can empathize my plight, or perhaps force judgment on me as if it has never happened to you before. For those of you without children, you're lucky enough to not feel that guilt of screaming such emotion in front of a minor, and witnessing a wave of panic . I never thought in a million years that this would happen to me, that I would continue to be in a state of depression and sadness. Constant feelings of suicide and harm.

I don't know what to do, because it's clear my medication has stopped working. Why? I wish I knew. My recent appointment last week with my 'drug dealer' has gone nowhere. He's thinking of taking me off my mood stabilizer and starting me on a new medication that will control my obsession. Will it control my screams and outbreaks as well? I worry that by switching the two that I will dive into my depression full force like it was before.

Is this a dangerous risk? He claims no, but only time will tell. I am now in the process of documenting my moods and my elevations of mania in hopes of determing the outcome of these changes.

I'm nervous and I'm scared. Although the seriousness of my OCD have escalated in recent months, my depression and the hitting still haven't been at the magnitude that it was prior. But also haven't diminished either.

However, I'm desperate. I will try anything at this point. I know that I need a change; a change from this guilt and a change from my outbursts.

As I sit here drinking my daily cappuccino, something must change. If not for my sake, but for my daughter's.

Bipolar Gal on Twitter

Bill Me Later

Bills. They never seem to go away, they only snowball every month and get worse; they accumulate. At least if you're like me, and you don't pay them every month. We've gotten to the point of being able to only pay the past due amount, instead of the entire balance. That's frustrating for us, because for once, we'd love to have a zero balance on everything—including our cell phone bill which is now $630. I make deals with Sprint every month, and every month, thankfully they work with us. But I fear, that one month, they won't and will require the entire balance to be paid in full. They have to be sick of us calling every month with the same sob story—we just can't pay it, can we work on a financial agreement instead.

By the time that financial agreement rolls around, we are unable to make that payment as well. Instead, we pay what we can, and keep our fingers crossed and hope for the best.

Most companies will work with us, but a few just won't. They want their money up front and they want it now. For the most part, that hurts us financially, but we know in the end, it's for the best. We have gone without food and we've gone without gas to get to work. As recent as last week before I got my paycheck today. Living off ramen noodles and cheese on tortillas we thought was for college students instead. Not a family of three.

We feel like shit and we feel incompetent as parents. We're supposed to make sure that our daughter is well provided for and taken care of. Instead, these past few years, the only thing we're able to give her are random months of food and what we feel is happiness. I sometimes wonder if deep down, she regrets our situation and our family. Maybe wishes she was apart of another family instead of ours. I remember what it's like to be 12, so I know random wishing and regret are a huge part of that.

These past few weeks haven't been so bad. I made sure that once we got paid, I needed to load up with lots of food in our refrigerator because prior to that, it was completely bare. The only thing inside of it was a small block of cheese leftover from weeks of eating quesadillas and a few bottles of water. I myself can live off of white rice since it's what I ate while living as a starving student in NYC, but my family, that's another story. I can't expect my daughter to live off of white rice, nor can I expect her to spread peanut butter over a flour tortilla because the cheddar cheese is completely gone like she has grown so accustomed to these past few months.

When will it stop? When will our lives be normal and consistent?

I constantly ask this question because for a couple in their late 40's with college degrees, how and why is this happening? We all expect people who are impoverished to be what we think, the quintessential uneducated living in trailer parks kind of people.

I can confirm, that this is not always the case. We have a roof over our heads, so that much I am grateful for, but what else do we have? Each other? That doesn't always cut it. At least for me.

I'm not living in a Hollywood movie, and the sappy story of love will not pay our bills, will it?

When I see people driving their expensive cars and carrying their expensive purses, I'm resentful and I'm jealous. Jealous that they can easily write a check for anything they choose or please without even once cringing at the thought of that check clearing before you're able to put money in your bank account. Even though it's what we've done for many years, it gets tiresome and it gets depressing. What to do? We're trying to look for another job, but to no avail. It's a tough unemployed desperate world out there and competing with others with even more experience and more education than us is beyond heartbreaking.

Can you ever get used to a living like this? Even now, after all this time, the answer is no.

Because welcome to our world!

Bipolar Gal on Twitter

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

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

The End of My Tunnel

It's official, today I feel as though I have reached my threshold—the end of my tunnel. I feel as though my life is wasted and I am no longer challenged. As if I am oppressed. How do I overcome this? How can I excel within my soul and my psyche to fight this constant emotion? Is it even possible at this point, from someone who is in their late 40's? To some of you, that may seem young, but to most, it's beyond a mid-life crisis. I have been experiencing this for over a year now and I can't seem to shake myself from it. I wish it was like a bad dream and I could just wake up, instead of living it every single day. 

I sit here at my new job bored and unchallenged. I feel as though my life is being wasted and everything I worked so hard to achieve while in college and beyond graduation has escaped me and slipped through my fingers; it has become out of my grasp. Everything is out of my control, including my bipolar disorder. It's clear my medication isn't working as I had hoped, and only creating a constant depression that is beyond anything I had ever imagined. A deep decline within my soul.

I should be happy, I should be grateful and I should love my life. I have a loving, wonderful husband and a beautiful healthy daughter—so why can't I appreciate this and just accept it as being a part of my life? Why can't I just realize that the majority of the population is worse off than me and just move forward and try to make the best of it? To continue on as part of my personal life cycle.

'Why' seems to be the question of my life these days. It seems I am always asking 'why.'

I'm tired of asking this question, and instead, I want an answer. Nothing embellished, I just want to know that everything will be OK and my life will persevere regardless of what job I'm at or whether or not we're ever rich or even if we're poor, that life will still go on and I'll be happy. I'll be thankful for my life and appreciate and relish my family time everyday instead. But I can't. Alternately, I dwell on my life and it makes me even more depressed than I had ever imagined.

This slump that I'm in won't go away and it's making me exhausted; I am emotionally exhausted. I never thought in my wildest dreams that repeating that phrase would ever escape my lips or even an emotion that would ever be consummated in my life. 

But it does. Every single day for the past year. Or, at least it feels that way.

Last night I had a long discussion with my husband about my job and how unhappy I was. He understands, but at the same time, he doesn't. He's trying to wrap his fingers around why I am like this, because I know for my husband, he too is emotionally exhausted just from living my personal hell along side me. It affects him too. He knows that in all the years we have been together, I have never reacted like this or have ever let a job affect me the way this job has, in this manner; I have never been this depressed.

He asks that I give the job some time, at least until he can accumulate a clientele from his new position as a personal trainer. I promised him I would, as I had no intentions of just easily giving up and walking away. I've always been responsible that way and I always seem to think logically, which I was told just the other day from my psychiatric nurse—who I like to refer to as my 'drug dealer'—that my logical thinking and planning is a "gift." Maybe an attribute I should grow to admire, instead of criticize. 

I will try and honor my husband's wishes and trudge everyday at a job that I loathe and a job that I come home depressed from, I will do it and I will make my husband proud. For our finances, it's a necessity. It'll give us that one little freedom of paying our bills and our attempt to live like the rest of society in an honest manner.

Bipolar Gal on Twitter

Not Funny

I'm finally speaking out. I have finally had it with all of the jokes and play on words that so many people within our society like to reference—"you're acting bipolar today," and those sort of phrases. I'm sick of it and I'm sick of how the youth in our society likes to think they're being cool by overusing it. I'm angry and I'm sad at the same time. It affects me, yes it does, mainly because after decades of discovering this disease, people still think it's a psychological/psychiatric problem in our society that can be controlled by good weather, et al. 

No, it's not as simple as that, is it?

I have been through hell and back this past year and I continually try to climb my way out of this deep dark hole every single day. Only to make it to the top, and drop down once again and continue to climb up from the bottom. I have been dealing with this for months even after my medication has been changed, altered and modified. It seems to be a regular habit for me because just as I feel that my medication is starting to work, I go into another "remission" of emotions only to increase yet once again. Will it ever get better? Will my circle of emotions solidify again? I want this so badly and I just want to be happy. Is that so much to ask? I am tired and I am emotionally exhausted and no longer can handle these feelings of discontent and sadness, and what makes it worse are the insensitive name-calling that I hear every single day coming from the mouths of today's youth and ignorant individuals who think what they're saying is actually funny, instead of what it really is, very hurtful to those of us suffering from bipolar disorder.

It's not funny.

My family is continually walking on eggshells with me, this much I can tell, and I hate it. I try so hard to make it right for them, but then I start to fall in that hole once again. I can see the smile on their faces when I'm smiling and happy, as if they're experiencing pure relief, but then when I'm sad and crying, they're sad and they're hurt. It affects them just as much as it affects me, but sometimes only worse. I can see the hurt in their eyes as I struggle with this illness on a regular, daily basis.

I hate it, but at the same time, I can't control it.

Nobody would love this, nobody would even like it, but whether we like it or not, is not the issue at hand, it's still out of our control and that much I loathe. I hate being out of control and I hate not having the wherewithal to get me out of this depressive slump that I am regularly experiencing. 

As I type this post from a job that I now dislike and hate going to everyday, I continue to hope that my life will change and see a dramatic improvement in the upcoming days, if not weeks ahead. I get sad when I hear the misuse of "being bipolar" from the ignorance of today as well as the uneducated opinions of some, if not most. I will try to walk by with my head held high and hope that as the future unfolds, so will the education of this disease that is out of our control, and within our grasp as those of us struggling with this disorder, we try and improve our wellness and get healthy and become happy.

That is the goal.

Bipolar Gal on Twitter

Back to Work!

Well, tomorrow will be my third week at my new job. How am I liking it? Hmm...tough one since I really like the people I work with as well as my new boss. He seems laid back and pretty nice and from what I've noticed so far, he seems to treat his employees very well; he respects their opinions and expertise. I like that. However, I don't like what I'm doing and—here it goes—I don't like being back to work.

There, I admitted it.

These past few weeks have been tough for me. I don't know if it has anything to do with my bipolar disorder, or just that I don't feel it's challenging for me, or both. Either way, with everything that I've been going through, I thought I'd want to dive in and be ready and eager to start this new adventure in my life.

But I'm not.

I'm beyond discouraged and so far, it's not a challenge for me; I don't feel as though this is within my realm of my background and knowledge, and worse, my professional training. Sadly—and I'm embarrassed to admit—I feel it's beneath me. Yes, I realize these are not words I should be expressing, especially considering I have been unemployed for two and half years, so I should be grateful that I found a job so quickly after my unemployment benefits have ended. Right?

Unfortunately, I'm not.

Perhaps I should just suck it up and try and work my tail off and move forward with my life. Right now, our finances are in dire straits so the option of quitting and starting over with an endless job hunt, is not an option at this time. I hate being in this position and I hate that my illness has gotten in the way of my pride. After spending thousands of dollars to what now seems like a worthless college degree, this is what I'm destined to find? An executive assistant? Yes, that is my official title—an executive assistant. I went from being a successful graphic designer to this. As anyone could imagine, it's quite discouraging. 

But don't judge me.

Even though doing graphic design work is about 30% of my job description, as well as very little marketing, but mostly, I am there as an assistant to my boss, the owner, and other managers as well. I work at an arts center, so that part of the job I like. It's new to me, and although I like being involved with something new and something unfamiliar, overall I don't like the job duties.

I feel guilty, I truly do. I've been coming home from work these past few weeks in a depressive slump, only to shoot my family down from daily excitement for my going back into the work force. And for what? An executive assistant job. Even though my husband tells me every single day—as well as my therapist—that this is not the end all job for me, that I have the option of continuing to look for another job in my field while I'm employed. Although I plan on adhering to this advice, I'm disillusioned regardless. 

I feel as though my life has shifted again to this endless abyss of depression. Perhaps it's as simple as feeling sorry for myself, I don't know. Will I ever know the answer to this, or again, is it the reaction of my bipolar disorder? I truly don't know how to answer to what seems, this neverending question in my life.

Let's hope I have an answer soon enough.

Bipolar Gal on Twitter

Anniversary Lost

This upcoming Friday, August 10, would have been my parents' 55th wedding anniversary. As I look back with idealistic memories of my parents and how they celebrated this joyous occasion, I look forward with true sadness and despair. I will still call my mother and wish her a happy anniversary, even though my father will not be there to answer the phone like he always did, I will call her to make sure she's OK regardless. I know it will be difficult for me because I will never hear his happy voice when he heard I was on the other end. I will never hear him call me that nickname he gave me since I was a baby ever again. I will never hear his voice at all ever again.

I'm sad and I'm truly heartbroken. I had hoped that I was able to visit and spend that time with my mother so she wouldn't have to be alone, or have her come here, but since I started my new job, that just wasn't possible. She chose to prolong her visit for another month or so instead. Why? I don't know, but it's her decision either way.

My mother is doing well. Surprisingly well. I admire her strength and I know as their anniversary approaches, I know it will affect her. How could it not? Perhaps that is why she is choosing to not visit at this time, because she probably wanted to be alone during this sad occasion. Instead, she will spend it with my father's spirit and celebrate their love and their many years of marriage, which would have been a colossal observance. It was special to her, and still is. She says she talks to him everyday as if he's still there in the same room with her. Perhaps it's possible he is, or maybe he isn't and her voice goes unheard. But for my mom, it makes her feel better, and that's all that matters. It's her way of dealing with this difficult time as she continues to grieve.

How she chooses to grieve is her choosing and I will not begrudge her for that. It is her choice, not mine. I know she loved him, and that's all that matters.

I will celebrate it in my heart, knowing that it would have been a monumental occasion for them, many years of marriage that has seen many downs, but mostly ups, where they finished each other's sentences and laughed at what most people would find ridiculous and silly. It was just their way. They were like two peas in a pod. A long marriage that unfortunately is atypical these days. 

As anyone could surmise, I still miss my father very much and still continue to think about him every single day. It makes me sad as I reflect on what a wonderful father he was, but grateful at the same time. But mostly, I reminisce about him and how he had such strength and energy, and I remember what he stood for and how hard he worked as we were growing up to ensure we had everything we wanted, and of course, a roof over our heads and food on the table.

Yesterday afternoon during some down time at work, I was admiring some old photos that I took of my father last summer and this past December, and it saddened me greatly. I know it always will for a very long time, and as it still brought tears to my eyes, I realized while I was sitting at my desk, at my new job, I knew I had to put my phone away and look away until I was able to compose myself. It was difficult nonetheless. 

The upcoming celebration of their anniversary will be a quiet one without my father's presence, but I know in our hearts, he will always be there and I know for my mother, his memory will never fade away, even on that celebratory occasion.

I miss you, daddy. I love you very much.

Bipolar Gal on Twitter 

Lack of Motherhood?

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

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

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

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

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

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

I don't know.

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

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

I just need to overcome it, right?

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

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

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

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

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

Bipolar Gal on Twitter

Last Minute Lulu

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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


It will turn it into a positive.




Bipolar Gal on Twitter

Dreams

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


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


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


One last word.


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


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


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


With these dreams his memory will persevere in my heart.


Bipolar Gal on Twitter

Back to the Drawing Board

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


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


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


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


It can't right? Or can it?


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


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


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


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


The world is my oyster.


Bipolar Gal on Twitter