Very Nicely Done!

Partial hospitalization is weird

You're not IN but your stuck. You have things to do every hour, break, lunch, talk BLAH blah blah ... But you're NOT stuck either. You leave at the end of the day. I'm not sure how to take this. I keep asking myself- What do I wan to get out of this? What are my expectations? What do I hope to learn?... And I absolutely have no idea. I want ... I don't know what I want.

Yes.

Just getting it out there

Sorry I’m gonna say this but people who joke about mental illnesses get right on my tits, the weather isn’t bipolar, you’re not anxious because your strawberries are going off and you have to eat them, and you don’t have depression because you couldn’t afford the shoes you want.. It’s 2015 and there’s still so much stigma.. Depression is a real dark place to be, bipolar isn’t as black and white as mood swings and anxiety disorders stop you doing the simplest things like going out by yourself, I have all three and before judging and taking the piss, educate yourself because you’ll never know what it’s really like until you or someone you love has been through it! This year for me has been the hardest most draining and the worst my illnesses have ever been.. You wouldn’t joke about cancer so don’t joke about mental illness because it’s no ones fault and sadly they both take lives, trust me I wouldn’t wish this one worst enemy! It’s a daily battle and I had to get this out there because people are so insensitive.

The Slide

So my sister took my kiddo and hers to the pool yesterday. Showed me pictures of them there, going down this gigantic slide. One picture showed my niece I mid air- out of the shoot, floating above the water, before the splash landing. I look back, think about that picture today. My body is starting to wind down, untwist the coils so tightly wound, I'm remembering what deep breaths feel like, yawning. High is fun. I like High. But the Slide. The Slide is never quite just a straight shot down and out. Like my niece, she came down, whoooosh! And in to the water below. My Slide is twisty, curvy, sometimes I get stuck on a spot and have to scoot, scoot, scoot forward to get going again. Getting stuck is okay- it means another hour/day to be not all the way down the Slide. I'm going to be okay this time, I can feel it differently in my brain, I've accepted that I can't be High all the time... As much as I've loved it. Now I will have to somehow find the fight in me that I know is there... The fight to hover- right above the big splash.

"Any resemblance to persons living or dead should be plainly apparent to them and those who know them, especially if the author has been kind enough to have provided their real names and, in some cases, their phone numbers. All events described herein actually happened, though on occasion the author has taken certain, very small, liberties with chronology, because that is his right as an American."

The memoir A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius, by Dave Eggers, because of its autobiographical nature, features the above play on the usual disclaimer... If you believe I have used your character without proper recognition, please feel free to sulk about and stew on the idea that either 1) I didn't know your phone number, or 2) I didn't know you well enough to notify you of said use of your character, or 3) that I believe that you are mature enough to get over it... Consider that last one a compliment. Thank you!

My Drishti.

Drishti (yoga) Drishti (IPA: [ dɽʂʈi ]; Sanskrit: दृष्टि; IAST:dṛṣṭi), or focused gaze, is a means for developing concentrated intention. It relates to the fifth limb of yoga (pratyahara) concerning sense withdrawal, as well as the sixth limb dharana relating to concentration.

Theory

The source of dṛṣṭis in yoga is limbs five and six from the eight limbs of yoga. The fifth limb of yoga pratyahara concerns sense withdrawal. The sixth limb of yoga dharana (concentration), includes maintaining dṛṣṭi during yoga practice in order to ensure dhyana meditation will occur.

. From Wikipedia

Mental Disorders

12.1.2020

It’s now been another two years since I was on here. (Helloooooo hypomania.) Before I go back and fill in all the pieces, how about a rant from today?

I started a coach to 5k -ish type thing today. Because my new psych doc told me to. And I kinda feel like he’s right, and I also kinda hate him for it. Apparently running is good for overall brain health... I’m sure there’s research somewhere (feel free to share what you got). He changed some of my meds (increased and added) - which I totally agree with, no beef there. He seems like a good fit - and after a year of being without a psych, that is no small feat. 

And now, here I am, eating my peanut butter toast, and dark chocolate covered bananas, sipping a (homemade) iced vanilla latte, deciding I want to get back to journaling. Writing. Whatever you wanna call it.  Basically, I just want to have a place to vent about how much I super duper HATE running. 

There. I said it. I hate running. I hate putting on the Costume of running - too tight pants that cut in to my stomach. Do I wear underwear? Sports bras constricting my chest, too thin straps digging in at my shoulders. Who knows what top layer to wear - more too tight long sleeves, or just a racer back tee, under a puffy coat (that apparently No, I’m NOT supposed to wear that... whatever).

This won’t be ALLLLL complaining. Mostly, but not all. 

I like the bright florescent colors of my pants, that I have cool socks to wear, and my shoes are almost new. I like knowing I did it - as little as I feel I actually accomplished today - I did SOMETHING today. I liked the shower. I liked that I took time to put on face cream - oh shit, I forgot to put on deodorant. I like that for now this is my little secret - only two other adults know about this, and one I live with so hiding it would be difficult ;) The other one, Scoop - you know who you are - has been a solid supporter of this next endeavor. We’ve decided in a weird way that he will live his lost running life vicariously through me. Oh - and, I mean, this could be a thing - I like that my wedding dress will fit better if I keep this running thing up (and the aforementioned man in my life is super excited to see how it affects, um, my wardrobe... we’ll say wardrobe. 

More negatives, for funsies: 

I hate that I clench my jaw when I run. Since I started running back in 2009 I used to say “running is bad for my teeth” because I would clamp them down so hard I was afraid I would crack them.. I cannot tell you how many times I have bitten my tongue whilst running. The taste of metal and "working out” go hand in hand in my brain. 

I hate that I forget to bring things. By that I mean I am always surprised at how woefully underprepared I am when I head out the door. Tissues- forgot. Earbuds that fit in my coat - nope. Charge the phone - totally did but then forgot to put it on low battery mode and it died only ten minutes in. Headband ear warmer - again, nope. Left that in my car, that I walked past on the way. Ah- deodorant. Yep. Forgot that too. Not that I need it, I have that weird gene that my sweat doesn’t smell bad - look it up, it’s a thing. Warm up stretch - shit. I mean, I stretched in bed before I got up, and had to bend over to put on my shoes - that counts for half, right?

I hate the headache I get after. I don’t drink enough water, that’s on me. But for as long as I can remember I’ve always had headaches after exercising - whatever form it may be: swimming, yoga, sex, hiking, roller skating, dancing... always a headache after strenuous physical activity. Water. I’m sure water is the answer. Also 

I hate water. And I know I need it. blahhhhhhhhhhh. This has nothing really to do with starting running, but I thought I’d throw it in there.

I’m having a hard time understanding the “runners high” concept. I don’t ever remember having that. Even with two 5ks behind me, and all the practice runs leading up to them.... I was proud of us for DOing them (me and the kiddo), I was blissfully happy to have them BEHIND me. The endorphin rush I’ve heard about and read about doesn’t ever seem to come my way. I wonder if that’s related to my botched biochemistry, my headaches, my bipolar.... or am I just not doing it right?

For now, one day down. I sure as hell hope my Fitbit tracked today. Shit. Imma go check.

Later peeps.

-Me

Wishys... For my friend...

So tired

I so tired of having the same damn fight with him. When I'm High, I can't put one foot I front of the other without concentrating on balance, equilibrium, pace, timing, weight, etc. I can't pick out am outfit- it takes me forty stages of preparation to get out the front door-- with the KID. And he says he feels like he gets the short end of the stick when I'm like that. No shit. You do. Trying to remember which pedal is gas and brake, which side is hot and cold, how does the door lock again? And you want me to what? What? What do you want from me? I asked you, I asked YOU specifically "I need you to tell me I'm going to be okay and I can make it though this day because it's really been a rough morning" and you say I need to get my shit together and toughen up bc we need to have a good year. I need to wha? Seriously. I'm not like you. I can't fight like you do. I don't have that in me. When the wave sweeps over me I can't control it, I wash out to sea with it, ride the tide until it brings me back again. I don't know how to swim, in that moment, I'm keeping my head above water. When I'm not High, I swim. I'm a goddam lifeguard rescuing other people, running down the waters edge yelling "I can help you- hold on!" When I'm High... I can't yell. I can't even cry out, or cry. I just can't do anything other than what is right effing in front of me. This. Boot. Here. Goes. In. This. Basket. This. Plate. Goes. Beside. The. Sink. Because I can't actually process opening up the dishwasher and organizing all the dirty dishes already IN the sink. You don't get it. You do get the short end of the stick, because I have NO stick. I have nothing tangible to hang on to. I breathe. That's what I have. Air. You are lucky to have a stick. You are a goddam adult, take your short stick, understand my meds take four to SIX WEEKS to kick in, and just ... I could be angry here... But all I want is patience. I went two months, sixty three days exactly, without my meds. They titrated me back up, 25mg a week, 50 mg the next week, and only then was I at my full 100 mg. One week ago, eight days. And tonite you say this past week has been a lot easier for you since I've been on my meds. For you. For me? ... Not so much. I'm not even halfway back. My head buzzes like bees. Thoughts scramble. Important things need written down. Remembering doesn't happen. I fight for each hour to keep my mouth shut and not say something stupid bc I don't have a filter. I drive and daydream about not stopping- just driving away... No idea where, just away. I forget the left turn. I forget to urn off the toaster oven so it smells of hot coils and toast when I wake up. I forget to ask if her homework was done and a meltdown ensues. But it's easier for you. So that's nice. I'm still out here in the waves. Waiting for a stick.

He spoke for me. I speak for him. A quote I live by now.