Does Happiness Exist?

For most people, perhaps it does. But for me, I'm not so sure. As I gaze at my life, I recognize that happiness should exist for me, but most of the time, it doesn't. Am I selfish? Am I expecting too much? Perhaps.

I expect to be happy, and I expect to surround myself in a world of content, only to be disappointed instead. I'm lucky to have a loving, supporting husband, and a healthy daughter who have both accepted my bipolar disorder without judgment and resentment, because they love me regardless. I know my outbursts have only saddened them, instead of angered them as most people would deal with such torment. For most families, I imagine this would only be the case. Not for me, however, so why can't I be appreciative instead of questioning the result of my happiness?

I know for one to ask if happiness exists is the million dollar question we all ask ourselves, if not an expectation we all want to grasp. With the fear of losing it all, I only want to be thankful for the support I have received instead of questioning it on a daily basis. 

I've always believed—albeit wrongly—that happiness cannot and does not exist for me. Perhaps I'm being pessimistic, but in my heart, it can't. Can it? I look at people and their lives, their families, and their careers, and they all seem happy and satisfied. With me, I'm not so sure. I've had many jobs over the years and I honestly cannot think of one that I've been completely in love with. On the contrary, I've only felt dissatisfaction instead. With all of them.

How can that be? Is it so difficult to feel happiness and fulfillment? For most people, they would look down upon their lives and be thankful for everything they have been blessed with, whereas for me, I'm the opposite. It seems that my job situation won't escape me. I've had to go backwards instead of forward with my career. My current job isn't in my field, but only a job I've held for years as I battled my way through college. What is the point of my degree? Why did I bother? I've always been an advocate of the regurgitating effects of an education—that it's never a waste. But this time, I'm not so sure.

I'm lucky to have such a supportive family, that much I'm grateful for. But our finances and my job situation have hindered this feeling of satisfaction which continuously override the lack of happiness in my life. As I continue to daydream and wonder what life would be like without the worry of funds, I often wonder if we'll ever be financially secure in our lives, or are we destined to live the life of struggle as we wrestle our way through a web of destruction? I know I should be grateful for our lives and what we have with each other would be the easier way to go, instead of dreading on what we don't have, but instead, what we do have.

Most people say that money should not define us, but only to make us indebted to what we've been blessed with to make our lives that much easier. However, I always seem to battle with the continuous negative thoughts of unhappiness. We know that's not right, and we all know that money does not make us happy, but the jealousy of such a dream override my unhappy thoughts.

I know that one day, money will hopefully never be an issue—I pray for this on a daily basis, so how can it not? I won't give up on an incessant job search in hopes of a better way of life; to ensure my happiness with everything full circle in my life. In our lives. I will be adamant, therefore something will have to give way to my relentless forage of happiness if only to secure our finances. It must, or I will drive myself crazy with the possibility of an unsuccessful exploration of triumph; an effort and drive of love for that one perfect job. I know there's one out there, therefore I won't give up.

I must be positive.

Bipolar Gal on Twitter

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

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

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

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

A Dream.

We all have a dream. Something we all yearn to be, to do, in our lives. Sometimes we don't all get the opportunity to live out our aspirations, but it's fun to get away, if only in our minds, as we gaze into our fantasy.

For me, a dream that I've fantasized about for the past 3 years is opening up an art school—an art school for kids. I never thought in a milion years that I would ever want to teach art, especially to children, but after having my daughter, and exposing her to art, colors, painting, et al, since she was 18 months old, I realized that it's something I loved; something I truly enjoyed. And you know what, I was damn good at it, too.

It was at this age that I taught my daughter colors. At this time, she knew her colors and by the time she entered daycare at the age of 2, the instructors were highly impressed by this. I have paintings that she created at 19 months old that are framed and hanging in her room. I love these paintings because nothing gives the impression of brightness through art more than a child's painting. The vibrance and stimulating assemblage of colors pleases me. Seeing all the bright colors gives the viewer such joy, that we don't even realize we're experiencing it.

But I do. I always appreciate and love all the different colors. Bright beautiful rich colors.

I always knew that this would be my goal, but how do I attempt it? How do I start? I have no money and no bank in their right mind would ever grant me a business loan. So how? As my unemployment is nearing its end, I am scared. So scared that as I look at the jobs listed, I get even more depressed. There is nothing in my field, and nothing that even looks like I could qualify for. It's scary out there, and I won't know what to do. The time is soon approaching.

Do I even attempt to research how to obtain this and follow through with my dream, or do I just leave it at that—nothing but a fantasy in my mind and my heart? This is what I need to ask myself, because as I sit here and ponder how I would come up with the money to fulfill this objective, it will just have to remain nothing but a daydream for now. Who knows what will happen, life is funny that way. I may have the means to follow through with this goal, but for now, I don't.

What do I do in the meantime? My heart is yearning to fulfill something meaningful in my life. I want to be able to walk away from all of this, create a therapeutic retreat, if only in my head, and grow; move forward and excel in my life. Haven't I been through enough?

We all work very hard, and in this horrible economy, sometimes people struggle to the point of losing everything. Although that is not happening to us, I look at my husband everyday as he comes home from one of his two jobs exhausted, literally exhausted. My husband works 80 hours/week, and for what? Little to no money only so we can have our bills paid, our rent paid, and food on the table—which doesn't always happen, unfortunately. Barely enough to survive as we live paycheck to paycheck every week. We are not poor, but we are not rich either. Is there such a thing as middle class these days? I don't know.

But I do know this, I will try my hardest to live out my dream, even if it takes me years to attain. 

I have to.

Abstract Finger Painting – Artist, my daughter – 2001

Copy of Keith Haring – Artist, my daughter – 2006

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