Confessionsofabipolarbaker - Confessions Of A Bipolar Baker

A sliver of silver moon.

I'm not on tumblr as much but I love to write... Lemme know :)):

Did ya find one? ...

Anyone wanna be my penpal? I’ll send you a ton of letters and shit.

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.

Low Bridge, Poe Forrest 

Mental Disorders

new to me - love this.

Old now

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 Prequel

"Welcome to my sweet upside down world."

In 2013 I wrote my first blog piece. I had (have?) zero followers, I rarely posted — at one point it was 2 years between, and yet I still held on to this need to write. "Someone, somewhere wants to hear my story."

Today I’m sitting on my front porch, it’s an unusually warm October day, contemplating things that two decades ago I never thought would be in my brain — Why is my wife upset with me? When do we have to leave for our trans son’s LGBTQ group meeting? Are we taking the dog with us? What will this drive look like next week after the 2024 election?

I'm writing again, today, because aforementioned Wife (THE bestest wife everrrrr) has asked me to take time to focus on my writing - for the first time ever. My goal - share my life. Lots of people - when I share my story/ies - find it interesting. I often think it's quite ... normal? Is that the word? Maybe. If nothing else I feel like I can keep the attention of most people when I share. We shall see. I'm not sure what order makes the most sense, but I have lots of stories to tell, and I am confident they will make their way here.

Shall we?

-Yes, let's.

First blog post - May 14th, 2013:

There is a saying in yoga practice when doing inversion asanas (upside down poses):  inversions help you to see your world upside down in practice so you know how to deal better with upside down moments in life.

Let’s just say that I’ve been doing a lot of inversions lately.

Hello, I am the self-titled Bipolar Baker… And welcome to my sweet upside down word.

I was only recently diagnosed, as of May 9th, 2013… Not even a week now.  And yet, it feels like I have lived with this disease all my life.  I’m already comfortable with its company.  My official diagnosis is Bipolar I, rapid cycling, with mixed mania, and Anxiety Disorder.  Sounds like fun, right?  Actually, it is quite fun… 

When I’m in my mania, I am a hoot!  I am the social butterfly, the Carrie In The City, the best friend you just met.  I am super over productive: writing a 1,450 word paper for school in three hours — in APA format, with citations and five references, without an outline. I am the baker baking forty-eight  cupcakes from scratch, with homemade raspberry soufflé icing, individually wrapped in lace and prepped for the bridal shower that is less than ten hours away, which I then co-host with flair (constantly having to remind myself, of course, that I am NOT the center of attention for the next two hours).  I am the organizer of clothes into rainbow rows, by type, from left to right, separated by specific hangers into three sections — pants, tops, and dresses/skirts, even coordinating my underthings in their drawers by color.

Color rules my world most days.  I get caught up in feeling the deep, cellular green of the late spring leaves inside my head.  I watch the wispy feather white clouds drift in slow motion across the infinite Carolina blue sky.  I study the amber and coal and hematite hairs on my dog’s coat as he lays beside me, head on my thigh.  I see colors as moods, and as auras.  It is my gift and my burden as an empath, only adding to the complexity of my mind.  In my mania I see starbursts of yellow and honey gold following little children, chasing their worries away…  

Luckily, the downs don’t stay as long.  “The Crash” I have named it. The free fall after the mania.  It is quick and steady: a ride down the steep side of the roller coaster, G-forces pulling at my heart, then a quick upturn to baseline, stomach churning, to wait for another incline, steady again climbing up up up.  On grey days baking and my yoga pull me up.  I have never found baking difficult, which is how I know it is my “out” when I have crashed.  It is the one sweet thing where I can lose my mind, both figuratively and literally.  My yoga practice I revel in: morning yoga to invigorate, day yoga to stay motivated, evening yoga to be thoughtful, and night yoga to burn off the stored energy from the day.    Usually the night yoga involves the inversions — head stands, bridge pose, arm stands, wheel pose…  Feet high above my heart to remind me: be grounded in the air, let that which is real rise above your wounded heart, and let your heart rise above your head. 

Again, this is simply the walkway, the entry to my world.  I hope you can join me for a few trips, or maybe just one spin...  Either way, I hope it's a sweet ride.

#Bipolar #anxiety #mania #rapid cycle #writer #wlw #lgbtq

lessons learned...

so... today i have learned the following:

-that Lamictal sucks.  it takes away my high, it makes my nose stuffy and makes me eat like a pregnant heiffer...  that which i am not.

-that GAK must be made with Elmers glue... seriously.  it wont work with the cheap stuff.

-that homemade playdoh is a ZILLION times easier to make than Gak, and the kiddo loves it more.

-that i like my highs.  i get some *winks* and go to sleep late, sleep through the night, and wake up early at 630 refreshed, and can make-coffee-unfriend-120-FB-peeps-clean-the-bedroom-unmake-the-bed-put-the-blankets-and-pillows-in-the-wash-and-dryer-feed-the-frog-surf-pinterest-for-twenty-yoga-plans-and-scrub-the-toilets all within about an hour...

but when i take that d@mn Lamictal i freakin CRASH.  it was at 10 i finally took it, b/c i knew, i just KNEW it would kill my high.  and it did.  at 1220 i was telling kiddo to go watch some tv on the ipad and Mommee is taking a nap.  i slept for a whopping 30 minutes (who can sleep with a kid in the house, alone anyway?).  this is an evil drug.  hate it hate it hate it.  three hours later, it finally wears off  - "drivers, start your engines!... and they're off!"

i come out of the fog and make s'mores for the kiddo, drag her to the grocery store, pick up the four things i need, head over to the drug store for a return, go home, mangle the Gak recipe, and make three batches of play doh stuff.  and i realize i am brilliant- as i think of a zillion new yoga classes i can totally teach, invent a new seat cover for the kiddo so she doesnt burn her arse off in this heat, and plan out next years garden in our new home (which, of course, we havent actually bought yet... but i digress... ).  life is good - well, except for the whole stuffy nose thing, STILL.

again -i hate the Lamictal.  its worse than the Seroquel, which is going away next week (commence countdown- night 8... tonite).  i cant tell if the other one, the Risperdal -i hate spelling that- if its working or if its the one that chops me down.  although, i can totally pinpoint the two hour half life of the Lamictal... so im blaming it.  the good doc says that the hives are a sun sensitivity from both meds, and that my aches and pains are from the highs -HA!  i laugh at the thought.  tooooooooo baaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaad.  i like my highs.  i said that.  oh well - i DO.

what else?...  ...  ... 

OH -i dislike immensely the saying that "you should do what you dislike doing first..".  only a-holes do this, i have decided.  i cleaned the upstairs bathroom- like, scrub-the-doorknobs-and-lightswitches-with-a-toothbrush cleaned.  i LIKE doing them - they are small, i know where everything goes, and it is DONE and i move on.  even the master bedroom is okay.  it is the dining room/office and living room i DESPISE.  there is just NOT enough room, and too much CR@P.  they are still not done.  neither is the laundry to put away (not even WASH, just put away!) or the sewing (yes, i mend things... when i want to be cheap... ). 

i have a brilliant idea again... i salvaged a tv stand from a front yard curb, and i am going to repurpose it as a scrap corner!  whahoo!!!  cant wait.  it is a project for my niece and i for the summer.  cant wait to pick out colors- i am thinking tiffany blue and black.  love that.  and i love blue, and black.  this also will be in my new house, in my new office and craft room.  oh - i do so love a good fantasy. 

okay.  rant closed.

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.