A Good Read

I finally realized, that after struggling with bipolar disorder for several years, that it's time to read about this common illness that has made our world more aware of its commonality. After receiving a book recommendation from a friend of mine, who is also struggling with bipolar disorder, I immediately perused my local library's website in hopes to read about something so common and so aware, in hopes of a change of my way of thinking. A woman's perspective of what she has endured for most of her adult life. Only to be disappointed with the final ending. It was scattered—perhaps as a mere quintessential reflection of someone suffering with bipolar disorder—it seemed to jump from one subject to another, not leaving the reader with a final outcome. I found the book to be dismaying therefore I learned nothing new of my illness, only that, again, I wasn't the only person dealing with it everyday. Just another person's account of what they're going through.

But somehow this book was one of the lucky ones to hit the shelves and bookstores and libraries throughout the world—a paper thin documentation of reminiscent memories from the author herself.

So, I'll try again. This time I went to the library myself so I can view the shelves in person to make my own decision on which book to choose. Which book would suit me the best. Even though I was filled with confusion of the many choices, this particular book jumped out at me, discussing the many side effects and personal scenarios of bipolar disorder II, as well as from the doctor's point of view of over 25 years experience of studying this disease. Even before it was known what it was and what label was to be given.

As I started reading, I wasn't sure what to expect, but figured I'd continue on either way—I needed to know what made this book so special because again, having the advantage of gracing the shelves of thousands of books side-by-side, began a competition that will be forever thought of as nothing but a collective unsureness filling a void lingering the many doubts of potential readers. Myself included.

Although I've only made it halfway through, continuing on will be a challenge, that much I admit—especially given these days of enormous difficulties of paying attention to anything surrounding me—I know this will be a book that will heighten my knowledge of BDII, but with a much needed distraction, additionally I checked out a novel to coincide my fiction read of this educational recount of what I now know to be something I also suffer from.

On a regular daily basis, I have a hindrance to sitting down quietly and reading a book—something I have spent countless hours adhering to. I enjoyed reading regularly. On average I would read 2–3 books per month. From novels to non-fiction, it was something I took pride in. These days however, I know I hold a tremendous strain trying to do so. But why? Is it that much of a challenge to sit down quietly and read a book? Does my mind continuously wander in many directions preventing me from completing this once simple task?

This past week, I have prevented myself from playing my video game, something that for the past two years, has held a great addiction in my soul and my mind. It was a protest to my emotional psyche. If only a personal one, at best. But these past few days, I have had no desire to play, thus causing an even greater bout of boredom. 

Now what do I do? Do I try to spend that quality time to read a book while enjoying my solitude? Or shall I wrestle with my thoughts of continuous confusion? 

I'll figure it out. I always do.

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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.

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The Blog of Craziness

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


Why I chose to blog is definitely the former. 


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


Like me.


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


I wanted to disappear forever.


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


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


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


Am I being neurotic or is it legitimate?


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


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


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


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


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


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


I'm keeping my fingers crossed here.


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