3.3.21

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.

THIS!!!!!!!!!! most of us feel like we aren't doing enough because we can't physically stop a genocide but speaking helps!! pressuring helps!! boycotting helps and protesting helps!! please don't give up on Palestinians not when the entire world has turned their backs on them

here is how YOU can help Palestine

Back again- Confession

I'm in therapy. We talked about my past.... Did anyone notice me being "different". Maybe. But then I got thinking, there was a lot of mania in my life. Overachiever extraordinaire. Gifted. Accelerated college program in high school. Honor rolls in college. And then I remember some super stupid decisions. A one night stand at the beach. A one night stand with a rich mans son. While in a long term relationship I had an affair with my almost fiances' best friend, and them with him and his wife. I moved from east coast to west cost, and back again to New York, then to virginia. I remember never sleeping- parties and going out and meeting people. And them I met my husband and somehow he changed me... Or possibly, I had just come down off a two year High. My family said " he's good for you, he settles you down". And now, I lay here on the couch ... Alone. Because he had to "rescue" a friend... By taking her out for drinks, to distract her from her ex boyfriend being found unconscious, a pill bottle beside him, after she broke up with him. And my husband to the rescue. Did I mention she's a stripper he met at a club?... My bad. Missing piece. And yet, I let him go bc I don't want to start a fight- I'm High, and I say a lot of stupid things right now. I'm mad mostly bc he went to her so fast. Moments after her text, he's got a coat and his keys and he's gone. But I ask for him to say to me "honey, your doing a great job fighting this, your trying so head, I'm proud of you"... But instead I get " you need to get it together. We need to have a good year"... Awesome. I totally lost it- in text form of course bc I can't fun front him. And nine days later we still haven't talked about it. And with his rescue mission, now I don't want to. To top it off, we get to take my daughter to the hospital. Bc of my inpatient stint she has stopped going to the bathroom TMI. So now, she has the belly of an Ethiopian solid as a rock and a fever of101.3. I'm tired and wired... I want off this roller coaster. I took my first full dose of my med- back on after an insurance mishap that lasted two months. I'm praying I can be strong enough to let it kick in... Distraction tactics engaged. Maybe more writing later. Not sure when my husband will be home, you know, after going to the rescue of his stripper best friend. Sleep on that. Not.

Where am I?

*SI trigger warning Just in a weird place lately... I'm pretty sure I'm not High, and I know I'm not Low. But, this is a weird place. I said that, my bad. So anyway. Maybe still in a state of confused mourning?... Had a dear friend pass away, and it was super hard... Harder than I thought it would be. Harder not because of who he was, rather, who he hid he was. And then, how he passed. I couldn't believe it. None of us could. But then, to be there, among friends and coworkers and family... And I'll bet you I was one of maybe three that had any clue what he felt like ...before. I could sense in one friend. He felt it too close too. And another, he couldn't even go to the front to say goodbye- like he would physically be too close to "it"... The Event. The End. I did it... I went up. To the small, granite box, with his name engraved on it... I placed a dime on it- he always called me a Ten. It made me smile. So instead of a penny, which I used to do for all the old"er" people, it was a dime. I believe they should go whoever they are going feeling rich with simply a penny and their soul... Just me. Anyway... After a while, it was too hard to be inside. Fresh air. And a friend. Old friend. When we went through the service... There was a part... I just didn't get why it made me so angry. I hate religion in general, hate is a strong word, dislike immensely... But the pastor... I'll never forget it... "He was chased by demons. The demon is in this room. And today, we are going to give this demon a name. It is Suicide.".... And my heart stopped... More like cracked. Broke. Split apart, leaving a gaping serrated edge of a wound. Angry and angry, and what is a better word for angry?! Furious? Painfully angry, hurt, wounded. How dare he? How dare that man, who calls on the name of his god say that a demon took my friend?! It took me a good solid day to figure out why I was so mad. It wasn't a demon. It never was a demon. It's not a demon that does it... That makes us think those thoughts. ... It's hope. Hope that when we go we leave behind all the good we were in the world and don't leave the ugly, terribly, horribly wretch of a person we were at that moment. Hope that we get to move forward instead of sink. Hope that we can be done with all the feelings, all the not even kind of good feelings. Hope that there is love... Somewhere. Because at that moment, it's not a demon that possessed us.. It was hope... So yeah... I'm not sure where I am right now. Between the reality of thankfulness and the reality of what-could-have-been. Surreal. Is that a place? It should be.

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.

O.M.G. This just made my decade... Seriously, I love Graham Norton, and Wiil, but Carlton... Cannot. Be. Beat!

...she talks to angels... ...on our fridge.

Very nicely done!

Another version of the pictures, less photo manipulation , I just combined them to create “Never Grey”.

I think this is a great self portrait because it portrays the duality of my emotional state in which I’m constantly experiencing . The battle within. Swinging from one extreme pole to the other. The bipolarity that is at times creative and colorful and then on the other hand devastatingly dark .

Here’s a short poem to go with it.

//Never Grey//

She is both me. She is We.

Wide-eyed , Full-hipped Bitten lip, And Naturally Unhinged On both ends.

Swaying Always Swaying In no direction At all.

Who could withstand Such colorful chaos?

I can barely Climb The wall

Two pieces ,One mouth A mirror reflection of a stranger Defeat rides translucent , upon victory’s coattail .

She slithers in silk Mostly the spine in protest, Burning in the cools where Dark and Light coexist

Finding it hard to live In the neutrals of gray

It’s easier to swim, But sinking can be more Intriguing .

Perverse And pure, Like Pressed Pain hiding Behind Pleasure.

Vulva mind, Choice words for a Lady, So wet and so Cut dry.

Within the soul Appears the sweeter of Angels, While she’s holding the Pitchfork behind .

Who is she ? When I cannot protect Me from me.

She is never grey, Colors changing From day to day.

-Dee

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.