Reblog

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.

I promise I will try...

Share your story so others know they are not alone

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.

Tomorrow is just another day right?...

Kind of… It is my first day at IOP (and for those of you not lucky enough to know the lingo, that stands for Intensive Outpatient, as in therapy). So, basically, I was discharged from inpatient at the hospital to my home - Yay real water pressure! Yay no cafeteria food! Yay home with my dog! Boo — holy sh!t what?! I’m on my own?!

Luckily, it was only for four days really… The return trip home, well now that’s a whoooooooole other post, remind me to share that someday. I also wasn’t alone for any period of time at length… My choice. I hate being alone, it’s part of my mania (ooo -more lingo. Mania, I have named mine “Up” as in how I feel, but not quite me, so somewhat of a separate entity, my mania has its own name). In making sure I’m alone as little as possible I can protect myself from The Crash — pop quiz, I bet you can define that… … … … Times up - The Crash - the avalanche ride from being Up to being Low. Got it? Yes? Good.

But I digress. So… Tomorrow. I had my worries, concerns, anxieties about tomorrow. They have lessened a bit- I chatted with some friends, some from “The Inside” (Hahahahah!) and another from The Real World. Yes, these two locations are both physically and psychologically as separate as they can be. I truly didn’t have any difficulty bringing the Insiders into my Real World, but rare is it that the trip goes the other way. This IOP is kind of like that backward integration for me- the Real World Me going Inside, only temporarily. So I am a bit torn. I know this will be good for me, I’m actually excited about learning more about my disease and learning from others that have it too. And still, I’m nervous about the pressure- the need I feel to fix myself…

I suppose the only way to move forward is to just… well… Move.

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.

Truth.

me: walking and out of breath... phone rings

her: are you breathing heavy? did i interrupt something?!

me: no... just walking, and out of breath.

her: Oh that's so great! i love running, it tones up everything, and gets you so firm! we should schedule a time for us to workout together!

me: absolutely not.

her: yay! let's look at - wait - what?

me: absolutely not.

her: i thought you were going to say absolutely yes! why?

me: because you are good at it, and i hate it.

her: oh. then... okay... so...

me: how's work?

(*insert other small talk)

her: so, i should let you get back to your walking! call you later! love you!

...

and thus begins the first invasion of my peaceful journey to not hate running.

Toasting a still alive garden. Salud!

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

Where I am... Where am I?

You know that feeling of foreboding?... I mean, if you're bipolar or depressive or anxious or have panic attacks you get that feeling, like, the other shoe is gonna drop... Any minute now. I'm there. I think. I don't know. I wish there was a guide book for the emotional roller coaster that is my life. Not your life or her life but MY life. I wish I could look into the future and see Yes Dammit, I'm headed in the right direction... You'll see, you'll get there. But no. No book. No instruction manual. I split our account two weeks ago, into a hers and his. It was my first step at "detachment with love" they call it. I took my name off all the credit cards, which I already regret... What if I need to buy medicine or pay for a copay?... I suppose I will have to figure that out. Right now, I'm paying for myself and my daughter to live without fear of not having money. So. Yeah. No credit cards. Dammit. I was High as a kite on Friday, not sure why. Probably just the excess built up passive aggressive anger coming out in a ball of misplaced energy. I was singing and laughing and felt like I was in a good place. I don't know where i am now. This bipolar thing for me was pretty stable there for a long time, but the past month or two I've been rapid cycling ... Like sometimes morning to afternoon cycling. So strange to have the Black thoughts at ten am, then be Rainbows at two. I don't get it. I suppose there will be years of learning ahead. For everything. Learning how to lean on myself and still love him. Learning how to cultivate a relationship between my daughter and her father, but not allowing her to get hurt. I'm inpatient. Learning should come to you like math facts - 2x2=4. Got it. Done. Never changes. This learning curve is so long and twisted and it dives off cliffs and parachutes to rolling greens then skids you off to an iceberg. But no map. No instructions. And that other shoe- it's hovering. My break downs are minor compared to losing my ever loving fucking mind two years ago. But no less scary. A panic attack three (3?) weeks ago was enough to rattle me for days. I don't wish them on anyone. I felt it coming, like now. I felt it in my skin, in my ears... It was humming, right there in my brain. The vibration that stirs all the shakes and tears and cuts off my voice. I felt it coming. I tried, honest, I did... I washed my hands and face. I plugged in, loud as I could get it. I sat on the floor- what can I see? what can I feel? what can I smell? what can I taste? Grounding. And it didn't matter. The wave swept me up, the whole stick of a human I've become, and tossed me over its shoulder into the rolling ocean ... No lifeguard. No raft. Just deep, drowning, tumultuous waves of ... Of what? It wasn't truly sadness. It was this odd combination of relief and terror. Finally, FINALLY it was here and I could drown. Who wishes that they could drown?... I suppose only those of us that are most scared of the water. Because if we come up for air We've won.