THIS!!!!!!!!!! Most Of Us Feel Like We Aren't Doing Enough Because We Can't Physically Stop A Genocide

This is called "word vomit."

I swear I had a draft from last week somewhere… Dammed if I cannot find it.

Oh we’ll. I’m not there anymore anyway, so no sense in trying to back track to then. I’m pretty sure I’m on the way down. I am home, alone, and have managed to eat four bowls of cereal (which promptly was eliminated back into the sewer… TMI sorry).

I had an awesome Friday therapy, had a nice but cold afternoon at the farmers market, Saturday morning was an okay yoga- I felt distracted but couldn’t put my finger on why. Went for an almond joy mocha at the square. Went to a consignment shop- bought a $3 necklace. That afternoon I was happy to entertain myself by working on my husbands car (side note- I’m a closet gear head). We worked on that for so long that it got too dark to work anymore and thunderstorms rolled in while we were cleaning up… Kinda romantic, caught in the rain with him… And then there was Sunday.

I was completely Up allllllll morning. I had managed to wash, cut, prep, store and set up a snack tray with all the market Fruits and vegis. I cleaned and prepped and set up a whole chicken in the crock pot (seriously thinking of going back to vegetarian after that… Ew ew ew.). I scrubbed out the fridge, rearranged all the food to fit in there, did the dishes. And then realized it wasn’t even noon yet. Managed to then prep a bunch of stuff out of my clothes for consignment (my new excuse for purging and rearranging my closet…). And then… … … The kid started to get neeeeeeeeeeeedy. My pet peeve. And when I am Up, it’s annoyance is even worse… Poor kiddo. I know it’s not her fault. It makes me grouchy and irritated… And I shouldn’t be. I should be patient. I used to be. I used to work with dozens of kids everyday, all day… Now I can barely tolerate my own child for a short period of time.

To remedy this, I went to the grocery store. Stay with me on this one. We needed milk, and chocolate milk, and I had a coupon for a free fro-yo and a $1 off my entire purchase, all expiring Sunday. And… Here’s the best part— they have FREE babysitting there. Hallelujah. Two birds- meet one stone. I dropped her off, took my walkie talkie and wandered the aisles for a good forty five minutes. And yes, I bought more than I was going to… But I needed the break. Thirty dollars later, I am a pleasant Mommee again, and excited to see the kiddo. I tease her to guess the frozen goodies I have bought. I treat her to not one, but two quarter gumball treats (she picks a bouncy ball and a ring- good girl). We skip out to the car, sing BINGO at the top of our lungs on the way home… All is right again with the world. I even fall asleep by her side after our nightly ritual of bedtime songs…

And Monday. Monday starts UP, with two capital letters. It is Memorial Day, we have a picnic, at one. I am up at 6:15. I feel like I need to take something, as a good guest I should bring food… Cupcakes are already being made by an aunt… I scour my online hoarding site - which shall remain nameless but rhymes with sin terrist… I find two recipes… I leave my awake little one with my still unconscious husband and again, head to the store — this time I get out with only $12 of exactly what I needed. I proceed to make over fifty strawberry-short-stacks and banana-splits on a stick…. Pics to come. All before we leave at 1230. Yeah. UP. When there, I chat nicely- not abiding to the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, skirting around the work questions, the how are you’s and the quizzical looks when I pause, mid-sentence to try to remember what I was just saying. Eventually, I fall into a good stride of —“shhhh…. Wait…. Listen to her talk…. Nod…. Wait…. Ask a question… Listen…. Don’t talk over her… Wait….” And repeat ad nauseam… I carry a beer, pour out a few micro inches each time I walk around the side of the house when no one is following me. It is a brilliant cover. This is tedious work I find. Pretending.

It must have gotten into my psyche. That night I sleep like a brick- so hard that my husband doesn’t even wake me at 615, or 700… He leaves at 745 and kisses me “it’s almost eight, just so you know…” His sweet way of saying get your ass outta bed… We are now late. After falling up the stairs, I slept on my right wrist wrong overnight, it throbs. Wearing my brace now we are even more disadvantaged to get to school and therapy on time. She is one hour late, “Class Junior Kindergarten- time 902- reason - just late.” I am only a half hour late to therapy today… I can already feel the need to slink in, under the radar, to ready myself for the inevitable “your turn”… I’m just not feelin it today.

And somewhere, sitting in there, listening to another person whine (my apologies, it is no one I know in the Real World and will certainly not invite to read this blog…)… Her depression is contagious. The day floats away. Apparently I called my mother, told her to pick up the kiddo today… I meant tomorrow. My mother in law calls, twice, then texts “I am here to get the kiddo, your mom already did” … My irritation is here again. I text a brief I WILL GET HER without care for hurt feelings. Then… I cry. Short, small, hot tears, but not chest heaving, sobbing. Just cry. And I feel like I need a nap, but I’m too irritated to sleep…how is that even possible? I try to read my Bipolar book… It irritates me. My stomach is irritated too, oh hooray. What is this feeling? Is is the Crash? No, not really. The Crash makes me thoughtless, motionless, powerless. Here, I am still creative, wanting to write more of my word vomit- the words that come to me in waves, unfiltered, almost regurgitated onto page. I am still thinking of things I should be doing, still understanding that I have to keep my nice clothes on to play the Good Mommee to go get my kiddo. This is not the Crash… it may be a Down. Apparently, there is such a thing, halfway between Up and Crash. Is this a sign that the medication is actually working? Or that it is not? I can’t read my book to know to find out… Right now, I am still irritated. Later, I will go to get the kiddo… Now… I will just write…

thanksgiving cookies…

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.

So... My pm won't work since I haven't know you long enough yet- or my fan mail won't... Can you PM me? I'm horrible at blog stuff... Ugh!

Did ya find one? ...

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

So I never told you

Long ago and far away, in a blog about an eon ago, I said someday I’d write about the evil things my mother in law has said to me that certainly we not warranted nor appreciated, rather encapsulated exactly the kind of self righteous person she is.

…About five days into my ordered detachment from my three month old daughter after having delusions of grandeur within my postpartum depression, I asked said MIL if she could bring my daughter to come see me. With the load of Zoloft I was on I was neither able nor legally allowed to operate any machinery. In my case, the microwave was difficult enough.

phone Can you bring her over please? Maybe a little later, just so I can see her today.

*Heavy SIGHhhhhhh*… I just do not understand whyyyy you. are. not. capable of caring for your. only. child. I *indignant as all hell IIiIiIiIiiIiIii I* had no. problems. raising threeeee boys, practically on my own. And you can’t handle this sweet child? She’s not difficult, you know. It’s you that’s being difficult.

*inhale- realize painfully that she HAS MY DAUGHTER.* Never (fucking) mind. …I’ll have my mom bring her tomorrow. Thanks for your help. *CLICK*

Good stuff right?

Then there was that time, four years later, when I was leaving Inpatient… 1- My loving (read: what the hell was he thinking) husband sends HER to come get me. I don't think that "misunderstanding" will ever come to a close there. 2- she is told I need two hours notice, I’ll be ready at 3/330. She shows up at noon. Goddam NOON. I’m not even processed to leave yet, nor packed, nor did I finish my exit interview, nor say goodbye to my now Insiders… nor was I in any way psychologically sound enough to handle HER let alone HER EARLY. Then 3- she brought my daughter. She. Brought. My. Daughter. To my Inpatient Psych Discharge. Because, well, *heavy sighhhhhhhh*. Traffic will be so much worse at three, NOW is BETTER. … … …

And so with hot tears brimming, I say my hasty goodbyes, and spin around to my sweet, adorable, innocent baby girl rushing through three inch thick triple locked rebar enforced metal threaded glass paned doors to my arms… Her energy and force and love knock me to the ground. I never wanted her here, in this place, part of this memory. But now she forever is, in this place.

And all I want is to not be in this place.

At the car, the fresh air is beautiful- the view truly is pretty. An open pasture to the north, a steep upgrade of rock ledge to the south. Baby girl says Someday Mommy, when we come back here *my throat catches* can we climb these wrocks? The words tumble out, wanting to make her happy now no matter the cost Yes, Love, of course we can. Enter stage left *heavy sighhhhhhhhhhhhh* NUH UH, NOooooOoo. We are NOT coming back to THIS place ever again. Get in the car, I am taking you home.

My daughter, my saving grace in this moment, refuses to allow me to sit upfront- no mommy- wif me heeeeeerrrrre. In the back. I remember holding her tiny hand the entire fourth minute ride home... Just don't let her go... Don't let her go... Don't let go...

I just wanted to be invisible, at that moment more than any, I wanted to disappear. Somewhere in my heart, I knew I’d be back again.

I can't stress enough that people need to be aware that there are doctors who are "just okay" at their jobs. Who barely passed their boards and/or had to retake courses and/or had scores so low they even had a hard time matching at the end of med school.

Please seek second opinions. Third, even. Ask the doctors endless questions. Challenge them if something doesn't feel or sound right. Don't stroke their egos by being intimidated by their perceived intelligence.

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.

For my friend Cinnamon... Almost, there...almost! If you can make this you are alllllllllllright.

Scared.

I renamed this post three times... Petrified. Terrified. Frightened. Just plain scared. I am just plain scared. I am supposed to go back to work on Tuesday and I am just plain scared. I don't know that I'm ready. I know I'm not ready, who am I kidding. I can barely read a menu let alone the two hundred plus emails I have to go through and all the changes that I am sure they have made in two months since I've been out. I'm basically going back ready to fail. Ready to get fired. And guess? I don't care. Can you tell where my mood is? Yup. Still down. But I think this is what they call a mixed state- I can't keep a thought in my head, but I just don't have any energy to care. I have one more day of therapy in group to go to before Tuesday and I'm not terribly confident that I can express myself the way I want to... When I say I'm scared, I mean, I have spent the past three days with diarrhea, no appetite, and picked out three outfits to wear on that day back... No four. Changed my mind. I want the green striped sweater, my comfy sweater, to go back in... I can't seem to find a comfortable place in my own skin. My clothes irritate me, my stomach irritates me, my face irritates me, my house irritates me, even my kiddo- and i hate that the most. Everything I come I contact with bothers me in some way. I'm not ready but I don't feel like anyone is giving me a choice- even when they say they are... I don't know... Guess we just have to jump in with two feet and hope the water is deep enough that we don't break a leg...

3.5.21

here we go again.

mundane.

yesterday was less than mundane. i had an actual panic attack, although at least not earth shattering. this goddam broken brain of mine has ruined so much, and yet it still manages to say loud and clear how much of a failure i am. why can’t it suck at that? instead of not letting me finish a book, or pushing me to do everything all the time and worry about all the possible outcomes.

i asked my therapist why i was so damn tired - (for a variety of reasons i’m sure) and we landed on “it is exhausting to try to control your thoughts and words and actions, and be mindful of what you say and do and think all day, every day”

the epiphany before that was that my body remembers the feelings of fear at a cellular level, so even when i can logic my way out of something the physical part of it is often out of my control. 

other therapy gems: 

manage you expectations

people show you who they are, believe them

i’m sure there are more, but i can’t think of them this morning.

mood swing- don’t feel like writing anymore. gonna go.