Rock Bottom

I think we've hit it. We've hit rock bottom. Aside from being homeless, I feel like we're on the verge of losing everything. We have worked so hard just to stay afloat, only to have it all come crumbling down any day. 

Ever since my husband lost his job last year, and since I lost my job back in April, our lives have fallen deeper into a financial abyss. Last month, I had to sell a piece of jewelry that meant the world to me. Given to me from my husband over 6 years ago, was the only piece of jewelry from my husband that I had left. A year and a half after we were married, I lost my wedding ring. Although it was immediately replaced from our insurance policy, I still no longer had that original ring that he placed on my finger on our wedding day, so as a reminder, I felt like I lost my wedding ring all over again.

I received a decent sum of money to help us through, but as that sum has trickled down, I fear we will be back to struggling once again. I know what we have left, it most likely won't last more than a month; maybe even a few weeks at the most. My husband still hasn't found an acceptable job, something that will sustain us each month, and for now, I am only working part time as a preschool teacher. I wanted to do something different with my life, and although for the most part, I'm happy with it, I miss doing what I love most, graphic design.

I've been able to have fun with the kids as I collaborate new and exciting art projects, but the feeling of accomplishment only goes so far. 

Back in April, I was fired from my job—a job that I held for a year and a half. I was overworked and underpaid. I came home everyday feeling more stressed than the day prior. Everyday was an emotional struggle but I knew, as unhappy as I was at my job, at least I was making money. The entire time I worked there, I had never received a raise, even though I was promised one. Finally after a year and a half, I was fired for reasons of making errors. I admit to these errors, and for that, I blame my disease. I know what my mind is capable of, and for the past few years, my mind has slipped.

Suffering from bipolar disorder makes your mind wander. I couldn't concentrate and as a result, dealing with orders, numbers, etc. was just too much of a challenge.

I hated that job. Hated it more than anything. I dreaded going into work everyday and I dreaded dealing with customers/clients. When I'd get an email asking where their order was, I wanted to scream! It was the same thing each and everyday. Someone always complained about something, and it never seemed to end.

I was underpaid, but I grudgingly showed up everyday like clockwork. Like the rest of society.

Ironically, since that day, I was awarded unemployment insurance, which even today, still surprises me since I was fired. Because I never received any written notices or warnings, they considered that a valid reason. Although my employer fought it, I still won.

That was the best feeling, knowing I had the last word. So for now, albeit temporarily, I have money supplementing my part time job.

Now, I am working half that time and making the same money per hour. Less stress of course, but because I work with 3-5 year olds 5 days a week, it's a different kind of stress. Regardless, I don't go home wanting to pull my hair out and running for the bottle of wine.

After all of this time, and all of this heartache with our lives, I try to look at the positive—we have each other. We're all healthy (knock on wood) and we love each other. I look at my daughter everyday and think, where has that time gone? She is starting high school in a few weeks, and I want her to have the best high school experience that any teenager can have. Even though she is now on the free lunch program, I just look at it as one less stress to worry about. Wondering if she'll have enough money in her lunch account to get a hot lunch at school. Her sports are paid for since she qualifies for the free lunch program. 

She doesn't seem to mind, at least that's the impression she's giving us. For now, I just don't want her to worry about what will come next. I just want her to be happy and enjoy her high school experience. After all, it only happens once in our lives.


Bipolar Gal on Twitter

The Edge of Crazy

Why do I continually test the waters? Why is it I take it out on the people I care about the most? It seems this is a common monthly occurrence for me, and I always realize the next day—if not only a few hours later—how wrong I was, and how I risked so much as a result of this endless act. I am always wrought with guilt if only to consume me and ultimately, fill me with a constant pit in my stomach as though it'll all go away within an instant.

Our friendship will be no more.

But it never does. I am always forgiven. Is it because—as my friend frequently labels it, "I'm having a bipolar day?" I don't mind when he says that, because I know he's always right. Even though at that time, I don't admit it and only deny its very existence, I know he's right. It has become a common joke in our friendship, but I worry that one day, he will finally throw his arms up in the air and walk away. Walk away from what he no longer should have to put up with, but walk away from our dear friendship that has meant so much to both of us.

Walk away forever.

Even yesterday, I told him I must let him go from my life, but as I get ready for my day's work ahead of me, I am filled with regret. Butterflies flutter inside me with worry that he will finally say, "OK, nice knowing you." Would I blame him, no of course not. I didn't mean it, and I know he understands it's what I do—not that it makes it right of course, but it's what I do. Every month I try my hardest to accept our friendship for what it is, without the continuous threat of walking away. He has never made an attempt of ending it in the 2 years we have known each other.

We have been there for each other throughout everything—sad days to good days, depression to happiness. We have been friends through thick and through thin. Isn't that what friends are supposed to do for each other? Of course. Then why do I risk it regularly and risk losing a friend who means so much to me?

While I'm experiencing these regular "bipolar days," I always attempt to tell my friend that we should no longer be friends, and therefore remove him from my life forever. Only to regret it immediately thereafter. What is wrong with me? Why would I say such a harsh thing to a person who has always accepted me for who I am, and who has always been there for me through it all? He was there for me during the worst time of my life—during the death of my father. I will never forget that and I will be eternally grateful.

He's a very special person to me and I know deep down in my heart, it's not what I want. I will always want him there for someone to confide in and go to for advice, if only for a shoulder for someone to listen to me. And he always knows, he can do the same with me. I will always listen to him and be there for him. Recently, I have been experiencing pain in my life and I have used him for my pillow to cry into, and as I always suspect, he's there for me. Sometimes it takes a little longer than I would for him, but I understand that he's busy in his life and busy with his family. They must come first. He has recently reconciled with his 'wife' and as a result of that, it only makes him busier. I have been so happy for him and only wish nothing but the best for their relationship. It's what he's been wanting for over 8 months. I couldn't be happier for him.

When he calls me, it brightens my day. Hearing his voice brings nothing but a smile to my face. Whether I'm having a down day, it brings me new life. We speak on the phone everyday, and even though I know he's busy, he still takes the time to call me. Is it because I expect it and feels it's easier to avoid confrontation? I don't know. I only hope it's because he too likes to talk to me so we can discuss our daily lives. As a friend, he isn't 'required' to call me, as it wouldn't be fair to him to accept such a task, but when I hear my phone ring and look at the caller ID and see it's him, it only makes me smile. 

Does that make me obsessed? I don't think so, but maybe it does. Maybe in some cosmic way it's not healthy. There are days—during my "bipolar" moments—that I sometimes feel it's only for the best that I walk away and make it easier for him, so he doesn't have to feel the obligation that I possibly project onto him everyday.

There are days where we talk for an hour if not longer, and days where we talk for 20 minutes or less. If I ask him to call, he always does, but most of the time, he'll call on his own without my asking. If that's not a true friend, I don't know what is.

So what is the problem? Why do I question our friendship and consistently ask for reassurance? I have always been insecure with my life—from my physical appearance, to relationships—and even today, I still question its very existence and the depth that is felt on the other end.

I try so hard, and I need to continue to try to maintain what we have now and the strength that our friendship continues to endure. I trust him, and I know he sees something in me that nobody else would. I love him for that, and I know he's a dear friend as a result of it.

I'm sorry, M/M. I'm sorry for continually putting you through this up and down "bipolar" spiral that you do not deserve. You have proven to me that our friendship means a lot to you, and therefore you no longer have to convince me of how much it means to you. 

Because I trust you.

Bipolar Gal on Twitter

Finally feeling better, but not cured...

I got a job. I finally got a job. About a month ago, the week before Xmas, I was hired to start a new job at a local print shop. I never thought I'd work at a print shop, but as a graphic designer, it was always recommended that I do so. There is so much to learn, and I never thought in a million years, with the many years of experience in my field, that I'd be at a loss of what I'm doing. Obviously I was hired as a graphic designer / pre-flight specialist. Pre-flight? What's that?

That's what we do in the printing business as setting up files for the printers to execute for the client. I have a lot to learn, and right now, I'm clueless. I walked into my first day feeling confident, knowing with the 10+ years of graphic design under my belt, I thought I knew it all. 

Not the case.

Everyday I'm learning something new. I know this is good not only for my psyche, but my experience as a designer. This is what I needed to succeed in my field. While in college, professors always recommended to their design students of either an internship at a print shop, or better—a job. Several months ago, I had interviewed for a design position at another local print shop, only to be narrowed down to myself and another candidate. But unfortunately, I was not chosen. I was disappointed because I knew this would have been an ideal fit for me, but it just wasn't meant to be. Then several months later, I still remained unemployed.

Until now.

I knew during the interview that this is where I wanted to work. I knew right away after meeting the other designer and art directior, that it was where I wanted to be to further my career and experience. Then during the second interview with the production manager and the owner, it solidified my wishes. I walked out of that interview feeling more than confident, but assured that I would be offered the job.

And thankfully, I was right.

It wasn't even 30 minutes later that I received that anticipated call to start the following week. I was elated. I couldn't believe I was going to be employed once again. I knew I needed this to further my illness without feeling lonely and incompetent in what felt like eternal depression. I needed social interaction on a daily basis. I craved it.

Social interaction with other people out in the community than sitting by myself, everyday, in a dark loft waiting anxiously for my family to get home. There were days, however, that I admit I wanted to be by myself, but mostly I needed an adult conversation to further my intelligence. But, as any social person can imagine, speaking with my husband everyday and every night, only grew tiresome. Nothing against my husband, of course, but I wanted—and needed—to speak to a friend.

Once I started my job, it was apparent that this was the place for me. The owner of the company was always looking out for his employees, and my fellow co-workers were actually nice. They actually seemed genuine.They were considerate to one another. Something I just wasn't used to in my many years as an employee. 

No cattiness here.

I was happy. I was actually happy. Could this be a feeling I have waited for for so long? For once, I didn't have that overriding feeling of negativitiy; something I have experienced for many months now. I felt confident and I actually have a good feeling about this place, as well as my employer (the owner).

As I continue to feel good about this job, I will work hard and continue to be social with my co-workers, perhaps going out and having the opportunity of sitting down and having a beer together. It's what I have needed for so long. 

I need this to further my recovery, and although I have put my therapy sessions on hold, I will continue my medication regardless, because I want to feel good about myself as a person, as well as my job. 

Dammit, I deserve this.

Bipolar Gal on Twitter

Fifty Shades of Bipolar Disorder

To even narrow this number down to fifty would be a challenge. There are so many different facets of bipolar disorder, that most of us—not even those of us suffering from this disease—will ever lay witness to. For most 'victims', it's buried deep within our brains and our souls, never to come out for the world to see. We tend to crawl deep inside our bodies in hopes of never being caught, ultimately to be left alone instead.

As we know, there are many ups and downs to bipolar disorder and that is in fact, what bipolar means—to be caught in different waves of mania as most struggle through what feels like, sheer hell. I can honestly say that I have experienced these waves of hell over this past year and a half alone. Even though I've had my family side-by-side with me every step of the way, I was alone while suffering these demons deep within my inner being. I never knew how to climb out of what felt like, the shell of my body. It was a challenge and therefore, a constant daily struggle.

I have recently learned that bipolar disorder has become a common disease among people of all ages, not just myself, but many others as well. As I was going through many stages of mania, I felt as if my world was crumbling below me, thus enabling me to always consider random thoughts of suicide. How would I do it? Why should I do it? And worse, when will I do it. There were times that I wanted to race upstairs into my kitchen and pull out a large, sharp kitchen knife only to free myself from the recurring reminders of pain. Thankfully, I didn't have the courage and eventually I would overcome these evil spirits that permeate my body everyday. Realizing that suicide is not only the answer, but a permanent effect of what my family would have to endure for eternity.

The feelings of what I struggle through with my bipolar disorder is a constant reminder of how sometimes, my medications don't always work. They're not always the answer to pure happiness, nor is it the end-all cure-all. Am I on the wrong meds? Perhaps. But according to my 'drug dealer,' they're the best that I could be on. Maybe a little tweaking here and there, but mostly an excellent concoction of a pharmaceutical mix.

I always daydream of how my life will improve, and how I could be filled with pure content. Yes, I'd be satisfied with that, considering how common it would be to be filled with pure happiness? Does it even exist, or are people just walking around fooling the rest of us, giving us the notion of envy? My cousin, for example, is most likely one of those people. She is, however, in a different position than I am, and will ever be. She and her husband are extremely wealthy. Oh, I don't mean the kind of wealth that most people are accustomed to, but a fortune that is only a small percentage of the population. They are worth hundreds of millions of dollars, therefore giving them the freedom of unlimited travel and lack of worry. I don't expect anywhere near that, but only a feeling of content and no worry of finances would satisfy my need of happiness. I realize that money is not always the answer to exuberance, but it sure would help.

If only.

Am I green with envy? Absolutely. Throughout my cousin's entire life, she has never had to worry about bills, finances, working or the like. My aunt and uncle have always been well off, consequently providing her the life of luxury. After marrying her husband, his business venture became a successful one, therefore giving them the privilege of infinate affluence. Is that fair? Mostly, it is. He worked hard. He didn't grow up with a silver spoon in his mouth like my cousin had the advantages of, ultimately providing him with the means of such wealth. I respect him for that.

Perhaps it's my bipolar disorder that provides me with such envy and obsession to their situation, but I know it's just mostly jealousy instead. I know my meds, or even hypnotherapy, couldn't solve these feelings or eliminate them completely. Maybe I'll be provided with control, or just a way of moving forward with my life without looking at them as if they're so much better than me, just because of their wealth. 

I know there are so many dimensions of bipolar disorder, and I know they affect me in a way, that pulls me beyond my control, but I still continue to persevere in order to become 'normal' again, instead of a constant feeling of resentment. The ups and downs of my frequent manic episodes. If not for myself, but for my family as well. They deserve a stress-free life where walking in the door is not a walking-on-eggshell feeling of worry, waiting to see if the smile on my face is evident to provide them with relief, instead of wondering if I'll explode into fits of anger. 

The many shades of bipolar disorder will one day pull me out of the continuous spirits of mania. I must have confidence that I will heal, and I will get better.

Or I'll go 'crazy.'

Bipolar Gal on Twitter

Hypnotherapy?

Hypnotherapy is something I have never tried before, but in this day and time, I'm desperate. I need to take control of my life and do it now. With constant thoughts of obsession, I now know that in order to continue on with my life is the best way to go.

Or is it?

I've done some research about hypnotherapy and found that it's not what we all envision to be—an entertainment of sorts while flapping your arms like a chicken on the stage of a hypnotist, for the audience to enjoy. No, it's much more intense than that. According to the Mayo Clinic's website, you're in complete control of your actions, its a trance-like state in which you have heightened focus and concentration. Hypnosis is usually done with the help of a therapist using verbal repetition and visual objects. When you're under hypnosis, you usually feel calm and relaxed, and more open to suggestions.

Hypnosis can be used to help you gain control over undesired behaviors or to help you cope better with anxiety or pain. It's important to know that although you're more open to suggestion during hypnosis, you don't lose control over your behavior.

Can this form of therapy help me? Or shall I just continue to have the feelings of obsessions in which I face every single day? This feeling of helplessness has overpowered my life, therefore affected my marriage. In recent days, my obsession has been controlled, but for how long? My mind wanders in a state of gloom wondering what will happen next. I know these feelings will eventually subside, but I often ask myself when. 

All it'll take it is one act that will ultimately throw me off the edge. The edge beyond reasonable merriment thus causing my behavior and obsession into a full blown chaotic state; a state of mania. As I continue to read my daily/monthly horoscope in hopes of an answer, I cross my fingers and hope that I will receive some sort of sign that everything will be alright. Even though I have never believed in horoscopes, the aligning of the stars and moons—or whatever it is—the desperation fills my soul hoping to be 'cured.' I'll try anything.

I realize that my naiveté will not solve all of my problems, if only my obsessions, but my torment will continue as I constantly pray that they will be answered, thus giving me back my happiness once again. I'm not a religious person, but faith is all I have at this point in time as I proceed in an attempt to control my life—aside from my regular daily meds. Without that one special sign every single day, my heart drops and I am unable to function normally—as normal as one can be when you're suffering from bipolar disorder.

Am I overreacting? Of course. I'm smart enough to know that what I'm feeling isn't real, it's just that part of my brain that's taking over my logical thinking. I know this much and I know that unless I take control of my life and these feelings of obsession, my life will be a constant pounding of distress. Much to the chagrin of my husband, he knows that in order to heal, I must have the strength to take that one little step in an attempt to move onward in the right direction.

There are no answers for me because it's a step that only I can take, and nobody else. I've had my therapist tell me for months that it must be done and like the ripping of a bandaid, it must be done cold turkey.

But how? Where do I start?

Bipolar Gal on Twitter

Jury Duty?

You guessed it, today I have jury duty. What were they thinking? All I can say is, they're in for a surprise when they put me up on that stand under oath to see if I'll be one of 12 jurors (I think) that they will possibly choose. Please, don't. Do you want someone who has racing thoughts and who most likely won't be able to pay attention to what the lawyers are saying? 

Somehow, I doubt it.

This morning, I will, however walk in with my head held high in hopes of some sort of sympathy. But I screwed up, because had I actually read the summons in advance, instead of tucking it away for a month, I would have noticed that I could have been excused if I presented a doctor's note explaning my condition. But I didn't. Now I'll have to go in there, spend the time this morning and describe my condition—most likely in detail—as the lawyers on the case will have to decide whether or not I will be chosen as one of the jurors to hear and decide the case.

God, help me (and them).

As I walked into the courthouse, my palms felt sweaty and my mind was racing with thoughts of nervousness. I didn't know what to expect because I had never been chosen for jury duty before, so regardless of this being an entirely new experience for me, I knew it was something I wasn't ready to undertake. Could I, even if I wanted to? That's a question I may never know the answer to.

After the interviews of potential jurors started, I was relieved I was a part of the first group of 28 for questioning and inquiry. As soon as the judge asked us if there was anyone who believed they were unable to undertake jury duty for whatever reason—medical or mental illness—please raise your hand. After I raised my hand, I immediately became nervous as well as embarrassed. I wasn't about to announce to the lawyers on the case and the judge who was hearing it what my "issue" was. As I approached the bench, I asked the judge politely if I could speak with him privately in his chambers. There were at least 100 potential jurors sitting in the courtroom waiting to be heard, just like me. This was the last thing I needed any of them to hear.

He understood and immediately obliged to my request. As I followed the judge and the lawyers to his chambers, I sat down with my head held high and hoped they would all understand. It's not that I was trying to get out of being a juror for this case, because I knew for a murder, sexual assault and domestic violence case, I would have needed to pay close attention. Due to my regular manic episodes, I couldn't guarantee that I'd be able to do that, so I reluctantly sat down and told my story. Explained that I had Bipolar Disorder and frequent manic episodes, as well as a regular dose of racing thoughts. It was a common, daily occurrence. I knew for this type of case, it'd be a challenge for me to be a juror. One of twelve that held this man's life in my hands. 

Or so I thought.

I was questioned. I was prodded. The lawyers on the case needed to know if I could handle such a responsibility and would I feel comfortable letting them know if I needed a break as I could possibly "doze" off at any time during the trial.

I assured them that I could, and most importantly, that I would.

As I spoke to them intimately about the details of my illness, I immediately wanted to run out of there in shame; embarrassed that I had to succumb to such details about my life. An intimate part of my life that only a few have been blessed with knowing. As the questioning continued, so did my mind. At that point, I had no problem answering their questions, because I knew what they were doing was in the best interest of their case, as well as the defendant. I knew this and I understood it, so I tried my best to be as cordial and eloquent as I possibly could to aid them in their inquiry.

After several minutes of back and forth interest in me and my illness, I knew it was winding down to the end, and as I was asked to go into the courtroom and take my seat, I patiently waited for their decision. I felt in my heart that I would be excused; released of my jury duty obligation. But a part of me wanted to be a juror on this case because a case like this doesn't come along everyday, and it's something that has always fascinated me, but as they all came out of the judge's chambers and into the courtroom, the judge sat down and succinctly excused me.

As I was confused by my disappointment, I knew it was for the best. I felt it in my heart and understood their reasoning. It wasn't personal, it was professional. Ultimately, in the best interest of their client. 

The next day I woke up as if jury duty never happened. As if I wasn't questioned until I lost interest and gained satisfaction for knowing that I could possibly be released, because I went about my day as if none of that existed. That experience has given me a great deal of perspective on life, and as a result I now realize that even though I wasn't' chosen to be a juror, I was chosen to appear for jury duty, therefore it was an honor to give what minimal time I experienced in that courtroom for the possibility of becoming a juror on an important life-changing case.

Bipolar Gal on Twitter

Obsession

I have an obsession problem. As my 'drug dealer' (psychiatric nurse) calls it—I am OCD. I never associated OCD with the sort of obsession that I clearly possess, but more of a person who is fastidious and "anal" about keeping things tidy in a certain way within their home. Someone like me, of course, but worse. I've always been the type of person who has obsessed about certain facets in my life, but lately with most situations. And now, even intertwining the two into a toxic combination of regular outbursts. 

Everyday I often ask myself, why can't I just be normal and go about my normal routine and daily life? Why? Although I ask this question regularly, I simply cannot answer it without justification to why. It's not just one or two specific parts of my life that I obsess about, but many, if not all. It just depends on what's going on in my life that I seem to obsess over and over all day long, 24 hours a day, 7 days a week.

As anyone could fathom, it affects me all day and all night, to the point where my mind has crawled into a dark empty place filled with racing, negative thoughts. For once, just for once, I'd love to be positive and have an outlook filled with happiness and some sort of encouraging words to keep me going and moving forward with my life.

But I can't, I just can't. Although I am regularly told from loved ones that I need to adhere to this, I am unable to.

I'm ready to tell my 'drug dealer' that it's time I switch to an OCD medication to keep me from these obsessive thoughts everyday. I can't take it anymore. I must move away from these feelings of despair and convince myself that life is worth living instead of getting rid of regular thoughts of suicide; of leaving this earth in hopes of a painless mind.

Obviously, I haven't taken these thoughts serious enough to attempt this horrible final act, but the fact that I think about it daily scares me. It scares my husband and it scares me. Of course, my daughter is unaware of these feelings as it would only devastate her. She has witnessed enough from me at such a young age than to hear her mother discuss feelings of suicide.

There are days, however, where my mood is even—I am stabilized to a normal dimension that I wish would last everyday. But for now, I am grateful that my mood and lack of depressive state are even keel—for now.

My job status with my recent at-home 'gig' has diminished greatly. I now know (as well as suspected) that it has come to an end. Although I haven't been told of this directly, I just know; I know deep down in my heart that it's done; it's over. Therefore, it's time for me to move on with my life and continue with my endless search for another job—a normal job.

As a result of this, my mind wanders aimlessly into another obsessive state therefore causing me to cry uncontrollably every single day. I hate this feeling and I hate the disorderly way of communicating with my husband and my daughter. Even my friends.

But I know I must move forward in order to succeed with my search because as I receive interviews for jobs, I know that a prospective employer will suspect otherwise unless I am able to control it.

Here we go...

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

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