So we sat down, she looked at me, asked 'the question', and I will be damned if out of my mouth popped the words, "I think I need hospitalization, but I can't afford it." I swear to you my mouth dropped a bit and I thought, "WHAT THE HELL DID I JUST SAY?" Tonya didn't immediately tell me how silly of a reason lack of money was not to admit myself, but thanks to her, I did end up admitting myself to Mesa Springs in Fort Worth, Texas, early afternoon on June 4. I agreed to it midway through the session and went home with a game plan to get things in order within 24 hours so I could go. During my 90 (I got 30 free minutes that night) minute session with Tonya, I kept telling her I wasn't suicidal, but I did have one heck of a fool proof plan I was happy to share and thought pretty highly of myself for thinking of it. Why not share? I wasn't suicidal. She didn't challenge me. Instead, she helped me to admit to myself that my preoccupation with gaining approval to die would eventually become greater than the need of my children's approval. And she isn't as smart as she thinks. I know now she made it seem like my idea, but she led me right to the watering hole. She never once told me, "Yes, you are suicidal." And, even though I just didn't care, I did obviously care enough to not want that preoccupation to become true. That is just how good she is. Or maybe she is the sly one??? Hmmm...
I was inpatient for 13 days. The first night home, June 16, I knew I wanted to blog about this, but had no idea how. How could I explain a journey from void to hope and make sense enough to touch someone else? I read a book that Tonya brought to me while there (told you she is awesome). The author tells the story of feeling inferior about giving a speech in which the other speakers are all CFO, CEO, COO types. In discussing it with her husband, she told him of a time where she failed miserably giving a speech that included other peer speakers instead of speakers she felt had more talent than her. I related to that. I felt like a failure and I felt inferior in life at the point when I read her story. All I could think was, here I am a blogger and mental illness advocate that just blogged about stopping suicide, trying to set an example and help people, and I am hospitalized! What else speaks complete failure? So, after reading her story again on my first night home, I made a terrifying decision. I decided to open up to YOU and publish my journal entries - word for word, grammar and spelling errors included (wow, that grates my nerves). The thought causes me to sweat even as I type now. BUT, in defiance of the shame, irrationality, doubt, self hate, irritability, psychosis, confusion, mania, hypomania, depression and anything else mental illness causes, this journey will now become yours if you so choose to read. My hope is you can see that 'broken' can become something 'much less than broken' again. I refuse to use the word 'fixed'. That implies 'works like new' and that was over the second I took my first breath with my childhood background. I won't use the word 'balanced' either. I still got some work to do. So, this is my journey. I do not wish it on a single person in this world. Even my two enemies. Though I say it becomes 'yours', your journey of hospitalization may (hopefully) never happen and if it does, it will be different. But I am now so convinced we ARE each other's best support system, that I am both nervous and excited to share.
So, before I let you loose, there are three things you need to know:
- I was the victim of a crime on May 8, 2014. I can almost give you the time but I won't. It is etched in my mind and behind my eyes at random times during the day forever. It changed me. Laura was stolen from me without permission (not that anyone would have given permission).
- Bipolar 2 and Generalized Anxiety are not my only diagnoses. I was diagnosed with PTSD December 2014, directly in relation to May 2014's events.
- I made three consistent edits to my entry that were necessary:
- details of my suicidal ideation and plan are replaced with the words "-suicide trigger-".
- details of the event on May 8, 2014 are replaced with the words "-event trigger-".
- real names are not used, however, look to the top of the blog. There is a tab called 'Glossary' and it gives the name and relationship to me. Use it if you find the blog confusing. If I would have ever thought I would share this publically, I would have done a better job of describing each person!
DAY ONE SUMMARY - I know I got to Mesa Springs sometime early afternoon because I had just found out my nephew Ricky's cancer had returned and I looked at my phone time as I stood outside the doors to call him and tell him I loved him before going inside. I was hysterical when I found out, even though his caring bridge entry was full of hope and determination. I don't remember anything else about getting there until I was shown my room and told that was the second time I had been in there (I wanted to know who touched my clothes) and my things were already put away by me! Obviously, the big name 'Laura' on my door wasn't big enough to show me where I was now living at that point. I was so clouded and confused. I hadn't slept since Saturday. I was very stressed and emotional and scared. And I have been hospitalized before so I should have known the drill. I would describe this entry by saying that at this point, I think I am the only person in the world that can fail at bipolar - you know, like how pigs can fly as hell freezes over and the Eagles win a Super Bowl...that really isn't possible. Oh! Language warning! Here I go...
JOURNAL ENTRY - Thursday, June 4
So here I am. Loser LB46-1. Room 412A. That is what my wristband says. Yeah me. Like who the fucking cares, I don't. They do. Insurance money. Get to know me and they are gonna want to return that shit as fast as possible and send me home in the first taxi they can call. Shit if they are smart, they wont wait for a taxi. Just throw me at the door and say see ya. They don't have to say don't wanna be ya cause that part is obvious. My eyes are sandpaper. When did I sleep? Saturday? Sunday? Who cares. I suppose I will see Dr. Kennedy and he will give me sleep meds. Yeah me. Nightmares. What I deserve though. Dumb fuck. I bet he is going to fucking mess with my meds...til he figures out how futile that is. Tonya says he is good. No worries. I will just smile, lie, do my time, and go. Lying is so fucking easy anymore. Fuck him. He will figure out how much of a waste of time I am. So it is the joy of a med set change and then the happy wait of seeing how long it takes for me to screw that one up once I am free. Woo the fuck hoo. Like I need something else to tell me I suck. What the fuck do they want. Prozac, wellbutrin, celexa, lexapro, zoloft, Citalapram, effexor, Cymblta, zyprexa, seroquil, trazadone, ambien, lunestra, resperidol, Lithium, Abilify, Pristiq, Lamictal, Buspar, xanax (oh yeh), klonopin, what else. Like I can fucking remember. I know there is more. Why am I me? Why god damnit. It is cosmically deserved punishment. I tried so hard to figure it out. O I just thought I was smart. Ha. Riiiiiiiiiiiiiight. Stupid Fuck. Why? I am such a fuck I say I love the boys but I cant even do the innate thing a mother does. They wont fucking give me permission to die. I do have enough brains to know that isn't love. But add selfishness to the fucking list of failure cuz I just don't care. I want it. Like I WANT IT. But being the fuck I am I cant even deserve that. God the fuck damn, I have even lost my words. I think maybe I was once whole. Dunno... It is a logical thought. Words are me. They compartmentalize me and give me purpose. I can define my fuckedness by words. Poems. Lyric. Journal. Blog. Now I obviously don't even deserve those. My brain is fucking mush to punish me for being such a fuck. Like is it even in there anymore. Maybe the nightmares steal it like they do my hands. I don't deserve hands either. They just fuck people up when I write. Stupid idiot. Like I feel them in me trying to take flight, but they fall to the ground and die. I'm in labor and my words are stillborn. They die before a breath. Lucky words. Ha I can still crack myself up. I just cant take the filth in me anymore. Come on asshole - reality. Hey one for the fucktard to be smart enough to know that. Whats the damn score? 1 to what - infinity? As if I care I AM NOT SUICIDAL. I just don't care. Empty. Void. Numb. Nothing. Nada. I. DO. NOT. CARE. nope. don't try to understand me. Don't call me. Don't care damnit. What a fucking waste of your time. Why haven't you all figured out this obviousness by now? My stupidity is rubbing off. I am capable tho. Capable of dragging them thru hell because they are obligated to care. Nothing left sargent. I am on the cliff. There is the rail that that is forced to protect me from tumbling over. Fuck, I am not standing behind the damn thing, I am leaning over as far as I can on my tippy toes and trying to fall because I am a dumb fuck and forget to crawl over. Why not. The bottom is the only thing beautiful about me. My death. The best for all involved. I AM NOT SUICIDAL. I just know what is best for everyone and I am so dumb, I cant figure out the words to tell them it is ok cuz the words deserted me. I deserve that too. I just don't care. Jesus. I am here because I am obligated. I have children. OMG they are wonderful despite me. And since I obviously am such a piece of shit that I cant love them like they deserve, I have to come here. I owe them my life since they cant see the truth. Give them time I guess. If god loved me he would have given my children the gift to know they don't deserve me. Better off without me. Oh wait, God loves me, but I even fucked that up. I don't even deserve him. So I guess I need to be careful what I write. Wait no words because I am so stupid. No wonder. Am I writing? Is this a fucking nightmare? It looks like I am writing. Where the fuck am I anyway. Someone is fucking with my head again. Damnit leave me alone. Jesus Christ what is reality these days except I need permission to die. I am a failure. Stupid Worthless fuck. Wow that is such a nice thing to say about me. I need new words. The ones I have don't do me justice. They are too nice. It doesn't matter what I do. I fail. No cure for me. No remission. Just fail. Inevitable. Meds even know it so they give up too. The sand is solid and smooth at the top of my hourglass. And it falls through the tiniest of holes as its minute piece. It falls to the bottom. It reforms. different and ugly, in a unsymmetrical pile. A smart person turns the hourglass over and starts again. I don't deserve it. I just fail. I am the epitomy. I don't even deserve poster child. Ugly. Filthy. Poison. Venonmous. I am so tired. I cant do this anymore. Please. Grant me death. Mercy. I beg you tho I don't deserve it. Even if my toes give way, I will be that sand. Stuck at the bottom and ugly. But even my toes know to hate me. Protect those that think I help. I am a fraud. Protect them from my insanity. My poison. My despair. My heart filled with rage at myself for continuing to breathe. I am bipolar and it is stronger than me. None of that have bipolar shit I spout. It has swallowed me. I am it. It swallowed the boil that I am leeching with pus. It will digest me and spit me back out, more blasphemous than before. WEAK. BEATEN. POISON. WORSE. CANCEROUS BOIL SPEWING VENOM. It IS me. It OWNS me. Waste. Feces. A maggot. Spit out to the bottom of the hourglass and even more stupid to turn it over that now I will not even see the stupid. I am weak. I fail. Please. Mercy. I beg you. I can't. I just can't. Love me and give me permission. I know I don't deserve it but please just lie and love me. It is the best thing you can do for you. Someone help me let them see the only wisdom I have. Give me the words. Stripping my words is the last thing for me. I didn't need confirmation but no words confirm it. Then they can be free. Then they can be happy. Then they can have the life they deserve. Then everyone is protected. My head is exploding. It wont leave me alone.
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DAY TWO SUMMARY - I did see Dr. Kennedy before lights out on day one and was given something to sleep. I did sleep, but I think I would have regardless of medicine or not. When I moved it made me so dizzy I would almost fall over because the room literally seemed to have no direction (I couldn't feel which way was up and which way was down), I kept seeing black things move from the corners of my eyes that weren't there, and my muscles had begun to spasm randomly, so I knew my body was shutting down despite my inability to sleep. I could barely blink because my eyes hurt so badly. Over the last few months, that is how I know my brain will let me sleep, even though it never stopped the nightmares. This entry is a little clearer as you will see my confusion lift a bit. With the clearer head, I begin to get angry. Before admitting myself, the anger at May 8, 2014 had reached epic proportions but I did my best to stuff it because I am not an angry person. It was like an erupting volcano spewing forth infinite lava. Ugly. Blind rage. I would become enraged and not remember what I did. I cant tell you the number of bruises I found but had no idea how it happened. My cat went through a period where he shrank back from my touch. I am afraid to think I must have hit him. I am positive I did because I am ashamed to admit I remember kicking him one day just because he meowed when I was really irritated. I kicked him over 10 feet away from me, from one side of the living room and against the door. It shames me. I call him my cuddle bug because he is always attached to my side. And my son can tell you of the day he tackled me as I tried to grab a knife and held me down until I came to. I still don't remember what my intentions were but I do know I flew into a rage because of a single comment he made. This entry is also a combination of the rest of my day one and part of my day two. Things happened after I ended my writing on day one and I remembered things after some sleep. I hope it isn't too confusing. Language warning.
JOURNAL ENTRY - Friday, June 5
I hate this fucking golf pencil I have to write with. Seriously. If I was suicidal, I could hurt myself with it so why do they insist we have to use it. I am going to steal a pen. They already found the first one I smuggled in, but I noticed they don't check under the mattress. Ha. But anyway, I am not suicidal so stuck with this piss ant excuse of a writing implement. I wrote last night and then smoked. Then we could use the phone. I just had to talk to the boys or I felt like I was going to disappear, and I mean I literally thought I was going to disappear. And Daniel asked me to let him know when I settled in. That made me feel like he loves me. Poor, misguided kid. But he will get it when I lie my way through this place and am no different. I mean lie like I KNOW I can get them to release me cuz I have lying down now. Just another example of the fuck I am. Pet peeve is liars. How apapro that I am now the expert. I am my own pet peeve. That kind of makes me smirk. Another proof of fuckedness. I wonder if I can exhaust proof before last breath. Anyway, I met with Dr. Kennedy. Fucker took my Paxil. And gave me Trazadone for the night but changed it to Prazosin today. Rinse. Wash. Repeat. I thought, 'what the fuck does it matter. I don't care. Open mouth, insert pill, spew poison anyway. WHATEVER.' But I did smile and say good. And I do have to give the man credit. What a fucking relief that he didn't open with 'So tell me why you are here", I am worthless you stupid fucks. You think I need a vacation or something? Heard the fucking food is good and the bed comfy? I cant live worth a fuck and nobody will allow me to die because I deserve it but don't deserve it so I can be punished. So I have to admit I learned something. He of course made me tell him about May. That alone gave me an anxiety attack right in front of him. But then I found out it wasn't an anxiety attack. He said it is a panic attack. I wondered why it felt different than it used to. I don't shake. I don't tremble. I quake. First sign. I draw up into myself, like I mean my shoulders curl in, my back bows inward like I am trying to curl in a ball. I cross my hands up around my next and pull my arms in tight because of my heart. I cant stop crying. But I cant breathe and I try to hold my breath and my throat feels like it could burst. I can feel my heart. I mean feel the heartbeat trying to come out of my chest without touching it to feel it. I feel the organ straining. It physically hurts. Just my heart. And my heartbeat canters. And I cant breathe but I am breathing so fast. And my muscles lock but the quaking wont stop. And I cant speak. I try to say words, but I just stutter once I can finally force my lips to form the beginning of the word. I have to clench my teeth to force the word in whole, or I just sit there like a stupid demonic fucker and stutter over and over. And, it is hard to describe, but everything tunnels. I see people talking to me. I hear people talking from my sides. I know they are talking. But I can't get my head to turn and they sound like they are speaking underwater from far away and if I don't really concentrate, they sound foreign like in some horror movie in another language. Fuck. Just reread that. Pretty awesome description for such a worthless piece of shit. But Kennedy taught me something. And he also made me see I have a double loss because of May. Not only -event trigger-. Whatever, I just cant get -event trigger-. I so deserve it tho. Pristiq is maxed so nothing new there. Buspar was as needed. No choice now. And added Latuda and Trazadone and Valium and Visteral. Think it may take a few more to fix me? Fix. What a fucked up word. I am not going to ever work like brand new. Have I ever been brand new. Could a filthy, disgusting soul of mine even ever been like new at conception? Judas was a fucking saint. And then there is me. I am Adam's firstborn. You know, the one not mentioned before Cain since I suck so bad. Thank god for the world he learned with the rest of them. Everyone thinks you have bipolar in one of two ways. Don't believe it. Think you use it as a crutch. Think you should just get over it and live. Ok, so that is three. No four. Think you are a drama queen. Five. Think if you are happy you are stupid if you don't stay there. Should I go for six as if why bother doesn't matter I don't care. I just fucking fail. Thoughts never right. Feelings always wrong. I am the sleet - each piece a part of a shattered and frozen soul that melts as tears outside the warm home of everyone's love, faith and acceptance. I fail. To watch forever but never deserving to belong. Who blames them. So phone time and Daniel was asleep. Ian didn't answer. Can you say panic attack. What was the count for yesterday anyway. There is this spot between the wall and my bed that I can wedge in. So I felt safe crawling there and curling up and putting the pillow in front of me so nobody had to look at me. Had a panic attack there too but can only take the visteral every 4 so I was fucked. Wedging worked for a few hours before lights out. And then lo and behold I slept. I slept about 3 hours before I woke up coughing and asked for a cough drop. I felt like superwoman with three hours of sleep AND no nightmare. AND I went back to sleep and woke up in this morning but of course I had a fucking flashback nightmare and the god damn valium made it so I went right back to sleep and just pleased myself by going through the whole ordeal again. But I made sure to sit away at breakfast so I didn't poison anyone. They all may be here but they all deserve to get better and I will just fuck that up. Figured out my roomie Patricia is a Witness. God Damn stayed away from her so I don't poison her for sure. She deserves Jehovah. I don't. You know Lenny wouldn't even bring me here. He needed to work. One hour to work is worth more than my life. I spent 20 years with the man and lets face it. He figured it out waaaaay early but we had the kids. If anyone would know how fucked I am it is him after having to suffer my presence for so long. He is so much better off without me. He is the smart one. If I asked HIM permission to die he would be smart enough to help me plan and execute, make sure I wasn't breathing, let my body rot like it deserves, then plan and have the party, I want the boys to be that smart. It is my fault they aren't. No I mean they are smart, but I am so evil, I fool them without realizing I do and can't figure out how to unfool myself. I think it is that fucker in my head. He wont talk to me but controls me. I do have some hope tho. Daniel and I aren't as close anymore. He is getting it thank god. Give Ian a couple more years. Then I can move to Indiana with Josiah and wait for him to figure it out and then they can line up happily behind Lenny. PERMISSION! Then I can do what I need to do to end their misery. They will help Lenny. I didn't tell Josiah I was coming here. Didn't tell Jonathon or Randy or Jade or Jennifer either. Hopefully that will help them line up too. I did tell Linda, Mason and Arthur from group. They deserve to know. They will try their best to accept me just because of group. But I do so love them. God they are too good to me. You know I understand why people choose to die. I am the only one that it is true for though. Like Ricky's family. His leukemia is back. They deserve him. Not because of that but because his soul is good. I am just filth. Disgust. Nothing. Poison. Venom. Boil. Pus. Nobody deserves me. Why don't my children hate me?????????? Maybe the family therapy tomorrow will be good. Maybe they have started to understand and when I get free they can give me permission. I am not suicidal. I need to die. I need to give a gift to this planet and eliminate myself so it is a better place.
-----stopped writing
I protected everyone at lunch and dinner. I hope they just think I am stuck up so they stay pure from my insanity. Some chick named Kristine asked me to eat lunch with them. I just told her I was afraid of people to get her to go away. I am so good at one thing at least. But then Samantha came up. I can tell she is nice. I didn't know what to say so I said I would try next time. Maybe if I sit and am very quiet and don't look at them I can. I don't want to disappoint her. I had three nightmares last night and only remember one. Maybe the Prazosin will work. It just makes me so fucking mad that I have to have these. I am so pissed. Wasn't May enough that I have to STILL have nightmares about it? I even see it flash behind my eyes when I am awake. It just makes me so mad. Why did it happen? Why did I deserve that? Why. Just answer me? Why did I deserve -event trigger-. Is it really me. I mean he has done it before. I know that. But for Christ sake that was -event trigger-. WHY GOD DAMNIT? Is this all really my fault. I fucking want them to suffer like me. Do you hear me. SUFFER. PAIN. TORTURE. SLOW SLOW SLOW TORTURE. NO DEATH. TOO GOOD FOR THEM. JUST THE WORST IMAGINABLE PAIN COMBINED AND INTENSIFIED MORE THAN ALL PAST, PRESENT AND FUTURE PAIN. AND THAT STILL ISNT THE PAIN I WANT THEM TO HAVE. GOD DAMNIT. FUCKING PAIN SO THEY FEEL A MILLIMETER OF WHAT IS LEFT OF ME. FUCK I WANT THAT. FANTASIZE ABOUT IT. AGAIN NO DEATH. TOO GOOD. IT WILL FEEL SO GOOD. NOW THERE IS A FUCKING POSTER CHILD FOR BETRAYAL. THAT FUCKING BITCH. TO SAY I MADE HER LOOK BAD? WHAT THE HOLY FUCKED PILE OF STINKING SHIT GOD DAMN FUCK? TO SAY I SHOULD HAVE STOOD UP FOR MYSELF? TO SAY I TURNED MY. MY. MY. MY. MY. MY. MY. MY. BACK -event trigger-? WHAT A FUCKING GOD DAMN JOKE. I BETTER STOP WRITING. I think I better stop writing. Why am I so angry? Here comes that fucking rage I cant stop. I could break this fucking stubby piece of shit pencil in half and sharpen it to a diamond point with my anger right now. Corner. I need the corner. Panic. Volcano. Death. Permission. He is in my head. Get the fuck out of my worthless head. No anger. No. NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO corner
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DAY THREE SUMMARY - I'm not exactly sure how to summarize this day because I was all over the place. I can tell you that the first time I was hospitalized, I was at the very next group and never missed one the entire time. This time I just didn't care and I think you are going to be able to tell that it was actually a good thing as you see more of me and I begin to come into something much more less than broken. In retrospect, I learned something very important at Mesa Springs. I have to be me. The good. The bad. The ugly. And all of it is ok. So, I hope you wont read today and think, wow she just doesn't want help. That is true of day three, but it is soon to change. Hang in there. Stay with me. Language warning.
JOURNAL ENTRY - Saturday, June 6
I guess I am supposed to call this a good day. I got to see the boys for family therapy. They smelled so good. I love to smell them. Their arms around me were heavenly. I didn't want to let go. So it made me feel like happy. Til they left. Then it was reality again. Whatever reality is. I certainly don't know because of him. But I have had sleep now. 2 nights in a row. I slept all night again. So with sleep I feel so much clearer. I had no idea lack of sleep could do that. Everytime I would finally sleep I would wake up even after a few hours and feel refreshed so I thought it was enough. I don't know what to say about the boys. They really do love me. I could just feel the pain from Daniel. I have failed him worst. And I saw it hard for him to talk about but he loves me anyway. How did I get such good kids. I feel they are the best things in the world despite me. But did I have a hand in it? Is it possible to be a rotten tree and produce good fruit. The Bible says no but maybe it doesn't apply like that here? I don't know anymore. I have something to admit to Tonya but I don't want to. I am suicidal. It just not a suicidal ideation I have felt before. Before it was all -suicide trigger- but this time it is different. I am -suicide trigger-. I mean, the plan -suicide trigger- is brilliant, but the fact that I was so into it to the finest detail, I mean like lights and rushing and hands and shit...damn that is suicidal. -suicide trigger- So I guess it is good that I am here. Does this feeling mean I am beginning to care. Do I care if I care. I don't know yet. And I don't care if I know. Guess that kind of answers that question. I just know it feels so good to have seen the boys. They aren't going to get to visit me otherwise. That is best though. I still wont talk to anyone or sit or come out of my room. I still think they need protection from me. So, sleeping...the fucking nightmares...I don't think I can write that right now. I just sat here for a moment and tried deep breathing. Nope. Cant do it. Maybe later. Sat again. Nope. Gonna have to be later.
-----stopped writing
I am so fucking pissed. Amanda came in because she wanted me to get out of bed and come out and go to a fucking group. I don't need fucking group. I need these fucking meds to work. Then I am gone. And I was crying and she wouldn't stop. And she was nice and everything. I mean that IS her job. But I just kept crying harder and finally told her to stop because I was about to launch rocket style. I was getting so fucking pissed. Well I was smart enough not to tell her the rocket part. Don't want the isolation room. She backed off thank fucking God. She suggested talking to someone and asking if I could just talk to them - like another patient. Samantha? I guess maybe. Diana seems like a good choice. I don't know. She is quiet and probably won't talk vomit from the mouth like Tish does. That fucking woman never shuts up. I can hear her from my room and it drives me nuts. Well, worse than I obviously am. Do I define stigma? Am I helping it because I am here? I hurt the mental illness world of advocacy because I cant keep my shit together? I wonder what Kitty or LaShonda would say. They are the most awesome advocates. I learn so much from them. Anyway Diana it is.
-----stopped writing
I have to write this demon. I have to. Maybe that guy will leave my head and not come back. Maybe he wont control and try to kidnap me from reality anymore. I told Kennedy about the nightmare last night. Prazosin goes up tonight. It hasn't stopped the nightmares. I am asleep. I feel asleep. I can feel myself sleeping. And someone opens the door. I hear the knob turn and the door open and close. I hear the footstep. I feel the person standing above me. And then the reality fight begins. The person doesn't do anything else. I don't see the person. I feel the person. No gender. But an evil personality is there. I know it is there. It is real. There is where reality and nightmare begin to blur. I KNOW it is real. I mean it isn't real but it is REAL. It is more real than not real to me. I believe it is real just like the guy in my head trying to control me. That is the blur. I try to wake up to prove it isn't real. I cant. I think I do for a split second because suddenly I see the room and no one is there but all of a sudden I am asleep again and the evil personality is back. Did I even wake up? Maybe that is part of the master plan. I struggle getting more violent with myself. Punching my arms out. Wake. Sleep. Am I really? Or kicking my legs. Wake. Sleep. Am I really? Or screaming at myself. Wake. Sleep. Am I really? Over and over. What is real? I KNOW someone is trying to control my head. Trying to steal reality. I know not to tell anyone this because they wont believe me. But I know. When I finally wake and am really awake, I'm not sure I am awake. I search the house. Check the lock. It is always locked but is it reality or not. Is he in my head fooling with me? How do I know? I am so confused. With time, I finally decide I must be in reality but how do I really know still. What happens the day he really steals my reality and wont give it back. And that was the one last night. Then there is my hands. I am asleep. I look at my hands even though I am asleep. They aren't mine. I KNOW they aren't mine. And he is in my head again. Trying to fool me anyway possible. Stealing my reality. No stitches from a surgery or scars, but technology can fool me. They look like my hands. I check for the mole. It is there, but he is so clever he would do that to fool me. They wiggle when I tell them but he is in my head so of course they are going to wiggle. And I am so afraid those hands are going to hurt someone even though I don't feel it but he is in my head and fooling me and I know I need to cut them off to protect people and try to defy him. Beat him. Ian. I MUST CUT THEM OFF AND FIND MY HANDS AND DEFY HIM AND SHOW HIM HE CANNOT STEAL MY REALITY. So yeh, it was pretty scary to wake up in the kitchen crying the first time. And the lines are blurred. I just stood there and stared. What was reality? What should I do. Cut them to be sure? I am so confused. What if I do nothing and they hurt. What if I cut and they were mine. He is in so much control. So I sit on them. No cigarettes. No coffee. No books. Just sit and try to anticipate his next move. How can I know anything they do is real or not. How can I trust myself. I cant. I sit and they hurt from sitting on them. But that could be him too. I finally give up I guess. But truly, who knows if I am even in reality now? His hands could be having me write this just to make it seem real. Maybe my reality is still kidnapped. I am Star Trek episode whatever. Stuck in a false world and even Kirk cant help me. Or was it Spock. No it was Kirk? Was that show reality? Maybe I have never been in reality? Is there reality? FUCK. I hate those nightmares. You would think after having them once I could reason they aren't real. But can I? He is powerful in my head sometimes. It tires me so much to fight him. I slip and almost give up so many times. Just take me. It must be part of what I deserve. And truly is the Prazosin reality? Maybe it is his illusion to kidnap my reality completely. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. I am fucked. I have to protect this world from me. I want to badly to just -suicide trigger-. It is still so best for everyone. There isn't any way to -suicide trigger-. This is all HIS FUCKING FAULT -event trigger-. Cant we just erase May from the earth? Nope. Don't deserve it. God can I please see my children again. They are my reality. Or email Charles. Or talk to Josiah. Or talk to Linda or Jennifer. I just can't. I have to protect them. That is why I didn't tell them. These meds need to work. I just don't fucking need groups. Jesus Christ they will see my ugly. I am poison. This is such shit. SHIT. God. Damning. Shit. I am getting so pissed. This whole fucking thing is ridiculous. God let me scratch my eyes out. Fucking life. What the fuck did I do to deserve this. Fucking strike me with cancer would you. Then people would care instead of roll their eyes, never believe and shun me. I fucking try to be human. Fucking hell I do. Fuck. Damnit. Rage. Rage. Rage. FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK. RAGE RAGE RAGE RAGE RAGE RAGE RAGE RAGE RAGE RAGE RAGE WORTHLESS PILE OF SHIT FUCK YOU BITCH BITCH BITCH -suicide trigger-
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JOURNAL ENTRY - Sunday, June 7
I can't stop being angry and it makes me angry that I am so angry but too stupid to stop being angry. That is what being a fucking bipolar will do to you. Fuck up your mind so you cant think through the simplest of equation. Become bipolar and 1 + 1 becomes anything but 2. You will multiply when divide and convince your brain it is just fucking with you. Math becomes English. English becomes French. Light becomes dark and dark stays dark. FUCK. I am a bitch that shoots through anything that touches me. Antithesis Midas. This is just so fucking unfair. Another nightmare so Kennedy upped the Prazosin. I can't go much further. I think he said the max is 5. It isn't going to work. What am I going to do. I cant live like this and I cant avoid sleep. I slept all night again. What is that 3 days? 4. Dunno. Don't care. Just I had another nightmare. My life was fucking stolen from me. It isn't fair. -event trigger- And still, never a word of I am sorry? Aren't Christians supposed to care when -event trigger-. I want to puke. Never that was wrong. Never you didn't deserve that. OH and lets not let yourself forget Laura your worthlessness that it was my big mouth that made her look bad. The devil tarnished the archangel's halo. Yep, that would be me. Devil incarnate. And then that email. I blew up at Josiah about it. I couldn't control my anger and I couldn't control the screaming. Unless we were the normal kind of kid fighting, I have never been angry at him. He is my rock. The only one besides Ian ready to listen and comfort. All he wants to do is help and all I did was scream. How fucked up is that? I have a new roomie. Stacey. We told each other to not take it personal if we didn't talk to each other and then in the room she had me crying I was laughing so hard. Already glad she is my roomie. Oh my God. I was really laughing. Besides Facebook group I never laugh anymore. You can't help but laugh in group. I love Linda, Mason, and Arthur so much. Especially Linda. That girl just makes me feel special even though I don't deserve it. And if Mason could get any smarter. I would have to kill him, except the Smeagles of course. He does have that disease going against him. I hate. I literally hate. I hate. FUCKING HATE. I understand that -event trigger- but how could I be betrayed by her. I hate. I don't hate, but I hate her. I fucking hate her. Death is too good. Slow. Maiming. Trickling blood but never dying. PAIN. ETERNALLY. Torture. Never ending. This hate consumes me. My thought. My taste. My smell. Consumes. Don't try and blame bipolar on this one. Life has been a special hell for me now. Bipolar and -event trigger-. Already fucking suck at coping in the world like a real human. Now this. WHY FUCKING GOD DAMINT WHY? WHY THE FUCK? I AM BITCH CONSUMATE. Just -suicide trigger-. I have exactly 3 brothers left out of this mess. 3 nephews. NO cousins. NO Uncle Jeff anymore. I will never see him again. Never. He will die and it will continue to look like I am the fuck up. That is how fucked up I am. LOSER. BITCH. FUCK UP. So fucked that yes my minds soup de jour of the night was flashback time. Guess that slot of punishment got filled quickly. It seems to love to be featured. FUCK THE FUCKING VALIUM. I couldn't wake. Kicking. Screaming. Crying. Punching. Trying to find a blade to cut. Just nightmare over and over. FUCK PRAZOSIN. Black. Blasphemous sin. Raging inferno. A never ending tsunami. I am ready to snap the fucking head off the next person that walks in this damn room, shove it down their throat, kick the hell out of what is left and enjoy every minute of it. It can be her. I tried to refuse morning meds. It isn't fucking working. I got spoken to like a first grader. I refused breakfast. I refused morning group. What the fuck for? I AM FUCKING BIPOLAR. DO US ALL A FAVOR AND EXTERMINATE ME LIKE THAT ROACH THAT I AM. SQUASH ME FLAT. Unfucking fortunately my head will survive for however long it takes those suckers to die. SO FUCK ROACHES. MAKE ME A SPIDER AND EXTERMINATE MY FILTH AND DISGUSTEDING BIPOLAR ENTITY. Except the boys are still convince they need my diseased mind. I cant even be smart enough to get them to see how much better off they would be. I NEED THESE FUCKING MEDS TO WORK OR I SWEAR TO GOD I WILL GET OUT AND -suicide trigger-. I am wedged. Pillow up. Writing like I am in first grade cuz it is hard to write and hide. But hidden is what I must be to protect from my insanity. Protect. Withdrawal. Admit defeat. Defeated bipolar bitch. Put it on my headstone please. Here lies the stupid, defeated bipolar bitch that sure as hell took her time making the world a better place. But thank God she finally did it. Now we can celebrate. HA. Mason would tell me I am having a fucking pity party. He just doesn't know me well enough yet to realize how I know the truth about myself. This is so fucking unfair that I am so pathetic. I FUCKING HAVE PTSD thanks to May. There I FUCKING SAID IT. HAPPY YOU FUCKING DIAGNOSIS. I am not evil enough to have just bipolar, I have to be worse for everyone and have PTSD too? Strike me with the cancer I deserve and just get rid of me please. I don't know. Do I have it? Another reality check? Part of the ultimate plan to kidnap my reality and make me never want to come back. Maybe that is what I can do. But how do I know which one is best? Which will cause the people the least pain? The more I can save the better. GOD DAMNIT. I am so confused. I wish that fucker would just actually speak to me. But then, how would I know if he was telling the truth? Is it possible to give a lie detector test to someone in my head? And would it be reality? Or would it be another of his tricks. I am slipping.................so fucking worthless and weak. It isn't that I don't want to get better. I can't. All that will happen is the mood shoe will drop again. More casualties. I just don't deserve life. I don't manage bipolar. It manages me. God Damn valium. Sleep. Wonder what the flavor will be tonight.
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DAY FIVE SUMMARY - I attend my first group thanks to how I felt safe from friending another patient, Diana. I relate my story in group, but I find it very interesting that my emotions during the group from telling my story do not make it into this entry. Instead my entry focuses on what I get from group. I came into Mesa Springs with the intention of not speaking to a single person. I never expected to meet people I could identify with so easily. While groups benefited me greatly, talking to and hearing other patients talk helped me the most. I learned that I need to share my fears and insecurities with others I can trust instead of being afraid to hurt them. This was the first full day I did that. I have included the points I got out of a handout that day. I did not include all of the handout. I only included the ones I had checked as applying to me and when you see comments in parenthesis, I actually wrote them like that on the handout. What is in parenthesis is not part of the handout, just my thoughts about it.
JOURNAL ENTRY - I am so glad I decided to talk to Diana. Oh my God she is exactly the type of person I want to let in my circle and be my friend. That girl is going nowhere when I get out. And she lives close! She is sweet, positive, understanding, and thank the fuck God I already feel like we can just sit there and not say anything, but be comfortable. No vocal vomit from her. Although I do love the talking from Matthew. He is like da bomb to talk to. I didn't want to shut up talking to him. Could he possibly be the first male friend I want in my life since May. CAN I TRUST HIM? I need her. It seems like she can accept my insanity and not reject me. Is she the beginning of me coming back? Is her acceptance of me the first ray of sunshine that maybe I deserve to live? I can actually look her in the eye and not feel ashamed that she met me. I am so glad I chose her. And she convinced me to go to group. I hope she doesn't figure me out. What if I hurt her. She doesn't deserve it either.
Group -
Failure is failure but not complete, never ending and always predictive failure. Look for exceptions. What was a similar situation where you succeeded. If none, did you survive yesterday? Then you succeeded. Therefore failure is not predictive of always failing. Failure is just a mistake. It is an opportunity to problem solve. It takes steps. You may have to go through the steps and have to adjust. If you solve the problem and later fail, do not think in a catastrophic way. Go back to what worked or restart the problem solving. - from group
Does this mean I am not a complete failure? I have lived 50 years of days. I have held a job before. I have won awards. I have blogged like my dream. I do love the boys. I did have three good years after Sundance. Food for thought. Must think this further.
vicious cycle - negative beliefs
virtuous cycle - positive belief and evidence to prove the vicious wrong
example: my vicious - I am a worthless person. I fail my children by not having a job. I fail my blog by not blogging enough, so worthless.
my virtuous - I am a person of worth - I am here to change and stabilize my meds - I don't have to make a lot, but I can get a job if I work hard here. I WANT to work to support my children, have made the choice to come here to get to the point I can, so not a failure.
I MUST STOP ADDING ALL THE NEGATIVE THOUGHT INTERJECTIONS TO THIS VIRTUOUS. Question is how now? Food for thought. I forced myself to write it without the negative so is there hope? Can I learn to think this habitually? Probably not, but that is vicious. Maybe. That is as virtuous as I can manage right now. Honestly at least.
Positive statements encourage us and help us cope through distressing times. We can say these encouraging words to ourselves and be our own personal coach. We have all survived some very distressing times, and we can use those experiences to encourage us through current difficulties. Examples:
-stop and breathe, I can do this (survive another day)
-this will pass (that fucking never ending depressive state)
-I can be anxious angry sad and still deal with this (does this include rage)
-this feels bad and that is a normal body reaction (disagree what the fuck is normal)
-this feels bad and feelings can be wrong (especially with bipolar)
-this wont last forever (even if seems it will)
-I have survived before, I will survive now (ummmmmm)
-I feel this way because of my past experiences, but I am safe right now (hmmm, that food for thought. Failure after success may not be predictive of permanent failure again. Interesting. Must think further to this one)
-my mind is not always my friend (no fuck)
-thoughts are just thoughts not necessarily true or factual (wow, that is a hard one. How do you know which is which. Future consideration)
-I can learn from this and it will be easier next time (ok, I call BULLSHIT on this but I am willing to think on this one. It just seems to get harder each time, but am I doing that myself with my vicious. I guess I can be vicious with myself. But don't I deserve the vicious. Holy shit I really need to think this one through. Am I my own worst enemy instead of my own advocate that knows better than everyone else about myself. Can I trust this thought. hmmmmmmmmmmmmmm. Think Think Think. This could possibly be key.)
Keep calm and carry on (cant resist - keep calm and carry on being a cowboys fan makes more sense but yeh, think about this too. Is freaking out helping me validate negative and vicious???) - handout
Kennedy upped the prazocin. I am willing to give it a chance. Maybe it can get rid of my nightmares. Group today gives me hope. Makes me really think. Do I perpetuate myself. If that is true does that prove my insanity and worthlessness or do I need to accept and heal? Confusing to me right now? How do I know the difference? How do I feel this in my gut? Tell me and intellectually I accept. Intellectual didn't seem to work for me. How do I drive this from uncomfortable to habitual thought? How can I get it to reach my heart and gut so I can be something more than failure. If I fail again, how can I see it as a mistake and worthy of readjusting with different steps instead of deciding to -suicide trigger-. Bipolar is so black and white. At least for me. Is that my perfectionism? Am I the only idiot to suffer bipolar like this? Or am I even an idiot? Do we all suffer this? How can I find out? Can I beg my readers to tell me? How do I ask? I want to reach them. I want to help. I don't want to suddenly need their help. What if I hurt them? That is failure. But as a failure can I? Wait. Am I am failure. Gah. vicious versus virtuous. How the hell am I going to get to that. I am fucking good at vicious because it is true. Is it? Confusion. Confusion. CONFUSION. How do I know what is for me here and not? Maybe I do need more than a med change. Do I need to regroup my coping skills? Can you lose coping skills? Or does that just mean you failed at getting them the first time when they don't work or you stop. Can you get them back? Does it work anyway? I have no desire to cope. But I do. If I fail at coping is it failure or a mistake I can correct. This is all confusing but good for thought. But my mind is fucking racing. Maybe that is good. Is this a turnaround? Can I trust a turnaround. It has failed before. Is that predictive failure. How do I know. Wait til I die to decide. This is very hard. I don't want to accept. Is that part of the problem. Afraid of success? Why? Because I think anything but what people think I should be is failure? I can't be depressive. Not acceptable in their book. Is that them or me? Wow. If it is them, how do I survive living in this closet of unacceptance and discrimination because I have to hide the real me? Or am I just right? I AM A FUCKING FAILURE. What to think. I am confused right now. But at least I don't want to kill myself or cut right now. My thighs need a rest anyway. OH get serious Laura. You really aren't a cutter. They didn't even notice the healing ones when they did their little inspection last week. I don't have to cut deep to get relief and I am smart enough to know where arteries are and I know to use neosporin after. I just do it a little to feel better. Diana made me feel so safe today. Stacey made me laugh my ass off. She fucking took a radio out of a truck - I mean like yanked it and clocked someone. I like this chick. I can think of a bitch that deserves more than a fucking clock by a radio. Think I may hire Stacey.
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DAY SIX SUMMARY - I can summarize this day in one word. Rage. And I included the picture from my journal. It does no justice whatsoever to how I felt. I wanted to bury black scribbles all over it, breaking the tip of the marker while screaming my lungs out. I wanted to bleed on it. I wanted to spit on it. I wanted to crumple it, then stomp on it. I wanted to tear it into tiny pieces and shove it down someone's throat. None of those were acceptable behavior at Mesa Springs, so I was left with this drawing. I tried to refuse meds. I tried to refuse to eat. I tried to refuse to see Kennedy. I stayed in my room. I skipped every group. I did smoke, however and tried to just act normal to Diana, but she knew. Stacey knew also and gave me plenty of space. But both of them did something that was important to me. They respected me and cared. They knew I was in pain and they knew it was up to me to handle it and up to staff to help me make that happen. I closed my door several times, which isn't allowed and just ignored them when they told me it needed to stay open. One tech came to try and draw me out and I basically told him to go to hell and leave me alone. My night nurse tried to draw me out and I told her it was none of her business. By the way, you will notice the drawing is in color. I have smuggled several markers into my room by now and hid them whenever I was out. By the end of my stay, Stacey and I had a full set of colored pencils in our room, too. Don't do this if you are hospitalized. It is for your own protection that nothing other than golf pencils are allowed in your room. STRONG language warning.
JOURNAL ENTRY - Tuesday, June 9
FUCKING GOD DAMN BASTARD MONSTER. GET OUT OF MY HEAD. FUCKING GOD DAMN BITCH OF THE ANGEL YOU THINK YOU ARE. YOU ARE NOT. HE IS NOT. HE IS DAMAGED? WHAT THE FUCK. HE IS DAMAGED SO HE CAN WILLINGLY CREATE MORE DAMAGE AND WE ARE SUPPOSED TO SUPPORT? YOU BITCH TO SHOVE THAT DOWN OUR THROATS. GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY HEAD. DO YOU HEAR ME. GET THE FUCK OUT. FUCK YOU NIGHTMARES. FUCK YOU. DO YOU HEAR ME SCREAMING IT. FUCK YOU. FUCK YOU BASTARD. FUCK YOUR SOUL. FUCK YOUR FUCKING SOUL TO HELL WHERE YOU ARE NOT EVEN GOOD ENOUGH TO BE BANNED. MAY YOU FUCKING SUFFER FOR ONE SPLIT SECOND OF MY SUFFERING AS YOU CONTIUNE TO MAKE ME SUFFER IN NIGHTMARES. AND FUCK HER AND DAMN HER TO HELL FOR LETTING YOU DO IT AND CONDONING IT. GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY HEAD. GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY EYES. LET ME FUCKING BLINK WITHOUT HAVING TO SEE YOU. WHY? WHY FUCK YOU. WHY DID YOU DO THIS. WHY YOU MOTHER FUCKER.WHY ME. WHY GOD WHY JUST FUCKING TELL ME. I AM SO FUCKING WORTHLESS. I AM SO FUCKING DISGUSTING. FILTH. DO YOU HEAR ME. FILTH. STINKING FILTH GRIMY AND DISGUSTING AND SLIMY AND FULL OF INFECTION. FUCKING DIRTY ROTTEN SMELLY FUCKING NO GOOD FILTH. FUCK ME. FUCK ME LIFE. I HATE YOU I HATE YOU I HATE YOU. FUCK YOU BASTARD. GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY NIGHTMARES. FUCKING PRAZOCIN ISNT WORTH SHIT. FUCK PRAZOCIN. FUCK IT. IT DOESN'T FUCKING WORK. FUCK YOU PRAZOCIN. FUCKING GET RID OF NIGHTMARES YOU MOTHER FUCKER? FUCKING HELL WHY ARE THEY STILL HERE THEN. PLEASE FUCKING KILL ME LIKE I DESERVE. FUCKING HELL. FUCKING NIGHTMARES. GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME. AWAY AWAY AWAY AWAY AWAY LEAVE ME ALONE GOD DAMNIT. I HATE YOU. DO YOU HEAR ME. I FUCKING HATE YOU. FUCKING WANT YOU TO FEEL THE PAIN, FEEL IT FOREVER. ETERNAL. PAIN. FUCKING PAIN. GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY FUCKING HEAD GOD FUCKING DAMNIT. FUCK YOU. FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK YOU. YOU FUCKED ME OVER. SO FUCK YOU. FUCK YOU AND THAT BITCH. THAT FUCKING BITCH I GAVE EVERYTHING TO. FOR WHAT. TO GET FUCKED OVER BY BOTH OF YOU. FUCK YOU. FUCK PRAZOCIN. FUCK THIS PLACE. FUCK GROUP. FUCK PEOPLE. FUCK KENNEDY. FUCK NURSES. FUCK ALL OF YOU. DAMN EVERY SINGLE ONE OF YOU. I AM DAMNED TO HELL. ME. DAMNED TO ETERNAL NIGHTMARE HELL. FUCK YOU BASTARD.
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DAY SEVEN SUMMARY - Finally. The tide begins to turn. It only took me a week!!! But I hope this shows that hospitalization is not necessarily linear just like other diseases. You have setbacks. And, there are a couple more setbacks but my reaction is much more rational. COGNIT is a computer led group session that lets you track your daily mood. It also has video to help you. So, when you see entry followed by the words COGNIT, I have written something that COGNIT said. I only took advantage of it starting with today's stay and I regret that. It is a very good tool. The book I read that Tonya gave me is called, "The Gifts of Imperfection". I highly recommend it. Tonya may never get it back. HA HA! Anything followed by BB is directly from that book.
JOURNAL ENTRY - Wednesday, June 10
Kennedy doubled Latuda and upped Prazocin yet again. We shall see. Last night I lost Josiah in my dreams. He was in front of me and suddenly not. I was in our house. Ian was there. He was holding my hand. And somehow I knew Josiah was supposed to be there with me. And I couldn't find him. I panicked. I ran outside. I don't remember how but suddenly I was outside in a parking lot. Lots of buildings were around me. But I was seeing myself from far away. I couldn't find him. I knew someone had taken him from me. And suddenly I was behind some sort of wall and she was on the phone telling someone how poisonous I am and to avoid me and I kept thinking she was speaking so soundly and correctly. I wanted to expose myself to her that I was listening but I wouldn't let myself because I knew I needed to hear these things about myself. And I was somewhere in grass but could see Mamaw McGregor's stairs and that room on the right with the rocker and I KNEW evil was in there. And it liked me. It wanted me. And I turned in the grass but it was concrete and I was in the back of a car that was being driven away and I looked out and far away there were people that I knew from another dream but I didn't know their names and they were standing with Josiah. I was screaming and beating the window but then the window was down and Josiah was close and looking at me but not saying anything. I was screaming but no sound came out. And I wanted him. And I was reaching my hands out and I wasn't in the car anymore but I am not sure where we were then. I just remember seeing his face looking at me and not having any emotion and not saying anything. And it all went away and I was in front of our house again and I walked to the backyard with Ian and Frederick. And I kept saying, "Take me to Josiah, Ian. Please baby if you love me, take me to Josiah." And I was trying to scream for Jennifer to come to help me but she wouldn't come out of the house. And Ian kept walking around the backyard and Frederick was biting my ankles. And I went back in to the house and I crawled to the boys room and there was Josiah's bed and I crawled up into it and it smelled like him and I went to sleep. And I was watching me sleep. And Daniel walked in and then the tech woke me up for vitals. I went back to sleep til breakfast. Now I am going to go to group. As many as I can today. Stacey is asleep so I need to try and stay out of the room so she can rest. Diana will go with me. And I am going to try to talk. Try to make something of this mess or I am never going to be free.
When I focus on how my life journey is dim and nothing but sitting around and waiting to fail again, flip it around and understand it may happen again, but I am not a failure. I am strong for recognizing I needed help to balance myself again. Remember this: Needing help to balance is like sneezing from a cold. You get a kleenex, blow your nose and move on. You don't beat yourself up because you couldn't stop the sneeze and refuse to sneeze or blow your nose again. You do what you need to do to get over the cold. COLD BIPOLAR. SNEEZE AND SNOT RELAPSE. DO WHAT YOU NEED TO DO MED CHANGE TOOLS HOSPITALIZATION. Then you can say fuck the cold for a bit longer!
If you don't transform pain, you transfer it - Timothy
I do NOT want to transfer my pain to the boys. They don't deserve it. They already bear enough having me. Think on what transform means. Transform to what??? Balance? How?
Sometimes it becomes too overwhelming to maintain your private health and hide it - Kate
Trauma can cause a disconnect from your strengths, values, principles - COGNIT
Your beliefs become your thoughts
Your thoughts become your words
Your words become your actions
Your actions become your habits
Your habits become your values
Your values become your destiny - COGNIT Mahatma Gandhi
So I do perpetuate something because my belief about myself is negative. But I am confused. I have good values. How can I flip? My beliefs almost became my destiny. I believed I didn't deserve to live and -suicide trigger-. Does that mean my values are skewed. What are my values? I think they are good, but it they include -suicide trigger- then do I have some values to change to be kinder to myself. Hmmm...I think this to be true.
Facts
When you are weak you are stronger than you think
You already have, or can develop the strength you need
Concentrate on the strengths you have. Many of the strengths that served you in the past will help you now - COGNIT
So I need to reflect on life and list my successes and challenges so I can find my strengths cuz I see none at the moment. Figure out how to use those strengths in the future for challenges. Think of strengths I would like to develop, would have been useful, wish I had, research them and remember to try them out.
I feel shame in any action or emotion, afraid to be thought of as weak and unable to manage bipolar.
I no longer trust what I feel. Do I feel it because it is authentic me or do I feel it because it is what I think I am supposed to feel.
I act like I think I am supposed to act to be stable and refuse to acknowledge I may be slipping into hypomania or a depressive state. I think I can control bipolar and instead allow it to control me.
I see good and victories in others, but only negative and failure in myself. I readily accept their victories and cheer them on, but I also readily accept my failures and use it to prove my worthlessness. I feel I must be perfect to be loved.
My public self is how I act publicly - many positive qualities. My private self is all negative. Very unkind to myself. My inner child is all about feeling unloved. My inner critic judges me harshly. Much more harshly than anyone else. We all have an inner eye that sees all four parts. It sees what we do and what we feel. The more we are aware of each one, the easier it is to adjust and become a balanced form of each four. Wow do I have a lot of work to do.
You don't have to believe it. Just listen and it will grow - Evan from group - fucking profound
People are very fond of giving away what they need most from themselves - Oscar Wilde from Samantha - that is me and when I don't get it back, I don't get mad, I just think I don't deserve it!!!!
I don't want anyone to fix me. I want them to listen, assure me they care, and still love me even though I am not perfect. I want you to want me to talk to you again and tell me you welcome me talking otherwise I assume I am a burden.
Please do not see me through the eyes of your values, thoughts, opinions, reactions, brain. My brain is diseased. Understand if I seem unacceptably angry, if I am seemingly stupidly sad, if I cry for silly reasons, if I talk too much, If I am over the top happy, if I speak and act insecure and irrational, that I have bipolar and may do these things. I promise you that I have been battling NOT to do these things. I just don't do them everytime they happen in my head. I have fought so hard not to let you see this. And you witnessing it is my failure. I have tried every tool that I have learned, and tried to act like a normal person and it didn't work. The dam has broke and flooded the land of my psyche. I have stopped using my tools, or need a med change and my actions should show you I am desperate and need your help before I fall permanently down the bottomless rabbit hole.
How much we know and understand ourselves is critically important, but there is something even more essential to living a wholehearted life: loving ourselves - BB
I must admit I do not love myself. Ok, I do not love myself. Is this common with bipolar??? Who knows. Research.
Unraveling is a time when you are challenged by the universe to let go of who you think you are supposed to be and to embrace who you are. - BB
So, I do not love myself and I have unraveled. Now is the time to forget who I think I need to be and love who I am. So, fuck, that is what Tonya meant on the card when she wrote you are enough.
...let go of my need to please, perform, protect. - BB
I do not love myself, I have unraveled again, and maybe I do not love myself because I never think people accept me, SO I DO NOT ACCEPT MYSELF FIRST TO PREEMPT THEM. Wow. Deep. But I see the truth in it. Now how do I apply this to the gut??? What part do meds play in this? Bipolar is meds, and tools and CBT. I have to keep seeing Tonya and stop being so opposed to med , even though I hate changing meds.
...make the conscious choice to believe... - BB
hmm. Conscious choice has to involve my heart too.
I want to call today a turning point. I feel different. Part of it is the sleep I now get. Nightmares still exist, but last night wasn't a nightmare in my book. Just a bad dream because I fear losing Josiah so much. What will I do without him. I hope he doesn't have his transplant when I am in here because I just have to be there to watch over him and make sure everything works out like I did with Dad for so long. So, today is a turning point. I have been so confused and negative so far. Why am I here? I mean, obviously I am fucked up, so I am here. But am I here because I haven't dealt with May? Am I here because I need a med adjustment? Am I here because I stopped using my tools to manage? Am I here because I have crossed the line of no return? What is the root cause? I can't improve by treating symptoms or results of the root? Is one thing the root or do they work in combination? I mean, I agreed to another med set change last year in April. Then the -event trigger- happened 10 days later. The meds set change seemed to be making a difference when I -event trigger-. Before -event trigger- I was already clearer and working full time again. Of course, after -event trigger-, I NEVER worked another full shift and got fired in August. But because the meds seemed ok before, I kept telling myself situational depression. Then, of course I stuffed everything to take care of her through cancer. Then December 14 and the world blew up thanks to little miss Eleanor. I am the big mouth??? She supposedly loved me? She kept saying nothing was wrong. But she went and just had to open her mouth. So December 14 and now I can really see I started the slippery slope then. April hit and I realized next month was one year. Then began the plummet. Then that stupid email about turning my back. Last straw. Full explosion. If I handled -event trigger- differently would I have not ended up here? DID I handle it wrong? I never reported it. I tried to tell her and when she said she needed me to concentrate on her surgery, I just felt it was the right thing to do anything she asked of me. Then the cancer and I decided after that and the wedding was the right time. Since December 14, I have shamed myself constantly for how I handled it. For not reporting. For not speaking up. For actually seeking help from those I trust and love. I actually shamed myself and feel I brought burden to their life because -event trigger-. I thought I failed. Me. I took total responsibility for something that should have never happened and was WRONG. DESPICABLE. Well guess what. I don't even think I made a mistake at this point. I did the best I could. Could I have handled it better? Yes. I could have started therapy back right away and could have not resisted what Zimmerman recommended for med changes. Was that a mistake? NO. I handled it the best I could. What part does bipolar play in it. Limit of cognitive function. Damn bipolar. The known inability to tell when you are slipping to late. I cannot resist med changes. Does a person resist antibiotics? No. They may not like it, but they embrace it to get better. And I better think again before I go and stop therapy too. Hope Tonya wants to see me until I die. That is the mindset I must consciously choose to believe. I preach it to everyone else. Time to walk the walk as I talk the talk. I must become my own advocate before becoming others. Be authentic. Hey. That is what I need here. Sundance was all about intellect. I need to be authentic and believe it in the gut. My heart. No more learning and thinking now do and do because I learned. Gut it. Heart it. But that is a thin line to walk. Like the thinnest thread of the smallest spider on a web. The heart of bipolar is treacherous because of the brain.
SO what did I teach myself today:
- do not resist med changes but don't accept them readily either
- use my tools again: journal, journal, journal, journal, journal... music, read, exercise, regular sleep, review of what I got from Sundance
- start chart daily moods again so I better recognize when a mood swing is hitting
- find a new pysch
- I connect with Tonya. Keep going. Also, go ahead and start -event trigger-
- I AM NOT A FAILURE!!! I am strong (Mason will love that one damn him for being right again). I have hit bottom harder than ever before. Not only did I survive - I sought help when I had convinced myself not capable of being helped. That alone implies I recognize I was strong. At least a little strong. But strong is strong. Ian told me so many months ago that if I am breathing, I am fighting, and if I am fighting I am strong. I breathe. Is there a worse bottom? Possibly. Will I go lower in the future? Possibly. Does it mean I failed? NO. NO. NO. It means I am experiencing what others with bipolar do and I can't completely avoid it nor think I am above others and fail if I am not perfect. All I can do is not stop using my tools, be better about my med changes, and stay in therapy. I need to stop trying to control bipolar like I have been and go back to managing it. I must learn to be my own med and mood advocate. I need to come up with a game plan to educate my support group to help me recognize the signs when I begin to stray because I have a brain disease and my brain may not be as good at recognizing it as they are. Am I scared. Fucking hell you bet I am. But I WANT TO LIVE AGAIN. I WANT BALANCE. Balance is fucking cool. Depression sucks. Hypomania is awesome but I have to reject that as okay to go through. The bounce back sucks balls in depression so it isn't worth it. Tonight I feel passion to live. I have so little according to the American dream and damn anyone that wants to put me down for it - Lenny. I like simple. Nobody can tell me that is wrong. It is simple and easy. I make mistakes and am usually pretty stupid in how I handle things but God Damnit, I am not perfect and neither is anybody else. Shit, I feel like writing more so I can come back and see this clarity, but valium is kicking my ass. Good night. I love you Laura. Thank you for helping me.
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DAY EIGHT SUMMARY - I spent my day reading 'The Gifts of Imperfection' and in groups. And I got a lot. I started to stop viewing bipolar as such a monster and back to being just part of me. And even though I didn't write it in my journal, I think this is the day that I started to realize that though having bipolar 2 disorder is hard, it is not impossible. And, it has given me some gifts. And, I needed to start applying those gifts to myself. This was the first day that Brene Brown discussed courage, compassion, and connection in her book. And everything I read left me with a sense of awe that if I would do this for myself, I could manage bipolar again. However, as I translated this journal entry, I still see a lot of negative self talk. Hopefully, I think you will agree, much, much less than when I arrived on June 4th. Finally, you will notice I wrote down questions from the board during group. My notes on the questions that I took are in parenthesis.
JOURNAL ENTRY - Thursday, June 8
to externalize - not the label of depression, mania, bipolar, anxiety - not how you explain with words. Those are not us in whole, only part. To externalize is to DESCRIBE how those labels make us feel - in picture or in picture words. Give mental illness a picture. - Rebecca in group
RAGE - hot with a chest that explodes, refuting logic as it spews vomit, disagreeable to it's own logic and unable to stop the flow. Red vomit like congealed blood. Black as a blasphemous sin. Poisonous as the strike of a cobra. Dante's Inferno.
DEPRESSIVE STATE - An elevator at the top floor of the highest skyscraper, suddenly plummeting, freefalling to the bottom, sucking the air out of me as it slams to the ground of my brain, but remains whole, yet in pieces. The fog then descends, thick, lifts for a spilt second to a slice of clarity with no air. Vision is lost, clouded by the fog, wet and thick. An enraged elephant tramples my heart, leaving it bleeding, yet refusing to stop bleeding. Caught in a black hole. Pulling me in as I can't resist and crushing me into nothing. I disappear, never to be seen again.
MANIA - Floating in the heavens with ants crawling my body, fingers mixing all the pots of color in the world where money is no object to achieve the super intelligence I have been rightfully given. Sex is the ultimate expression of the beauty in my being. And I am radiantly beautiful. I float through the clouds with the energy of the eagle as it endlessly hovers above the horizon. Colors pop and explode in beauty. Language becomes mystic and worthy of hours of investigation. But the ants won't stop and render me unable to rest. They spur me to greatness.
DISTORTED THINKING - 2 + 2 = anything but 4. My fish is a lion. The universe consumes me and I no longer deserve to exist. Minute mistakes prove absolute, complete, utter failure.
BETRAYAL - A never ending, twisting, gouging, hacking, stabbing, axe with serrated edges that is chopping and dismembering my body, my limbs, as it drinks my blood and refuses to feed the scraps to the dogs.
WORTHLESSNESS - The deformed particle of the molecule on the speck of dust that is stuck to the old gum ground into the heel of a ratty, tattered shoe on a decrepit, ugly person with one set of stinking, torn, dirty clothes, bleeding gums and teeth, mangy hair, and can never shower. And the particle does all it can to hide because if found, the molecule will reject it as unworthy.
1. Who invites problems into your life? (I know the answer is ultimately me, but there are times when I cannot control the problems entering my life. The issue is how I handle them)
2. Who stands against with you against this problem? (hmmm...here I go again. ME. BUT BUT BUT need to look more closely at my support group. I freeze them out even though they want to help.)
3. What does the problem want to do with your life? (destroy it...and apparently I let it. Must stop. Must manage. Must learn to accept and flow. Must learn to let med changes happen. Research on situational depression versus otherwise)
4. What gives the problem power? (Fuck yeah, it is me. I give bipolar power. I give -event trigger- power. I literally hand over the power. How to stop?)
5. What would taking a stand against your problem look like? (hell if I know)
6. What would be made possible if the problem wasn't influencing your life? (wont use normal, but normal? Balance? That thin, clean line? The gentle baby's breath. The soft touch of a feather? Is that really possible with anyone? Am I fooling myself. I have to walk the walk of that which I talk. How? Meds? Better with Tonya? Give up? No, jk, need to investigate)
7. What would you need to feel supported in taking a stand? (Josiah can do nothing more than he is. Maybe open more to Charles? Yes. He loves me. I think. No, yes he does. I need me most to feel supported, but how do I do that when slipping into depression or hypomania? Think about this)
8. Who are you outside the problem? (worthy. balanced.)
9. What area of your life has the problem not been able to influence? How come? (Josiah and Ian. I need to do something about Daniel. Repair. Everything else I need to think. I shut everyone out. No job. No friends in Arlington. No social life but Ian. Read 24/7. It has become a way for me to escape instead of enjoy. Confused by this question. Come back) - questions on the board in group
Balanced living is not something you attain. It is a process and I lifelong journey if you have bipolar. - my thoughts from BB
Just like any journey, we need to think about what we need to take along, Tools, Support. Patience. Acceptance. Courage. Compassion, Connection. - my thoughts from BB
All of us have to dig deep at times to function. It is the 'goto' we all rely on when we know we are slipping down a slippery slope of depression or hypomania. Besides the potential of facing an adjustment or change in med set, it is what we do to push through. DIG can be an acronym.
D - deliberate
I - inspired
G - get going
DELIBERATELY choose an action that benefits your mental health and if you can't, big red flag. Scream at someone that you need help. Don't ever let it get to that point again.
INSPIRE - yourself to make appropriate, new and different choices towards that action. If it doesn't work, inspire to another. Do not give up. Feel like giving up. SCREAM.
GET GOING - Do it!!!!! Doesn't work? Back up and start over. SCREAM.
So, DIG deep, be deliberate, inspired and get going! Is that hard being bipolar. Fuck yes. But doing it could possibly stop that slippery slope, you can do nothing but learn from it, and will help manage bipolar in the future. Stop giving up you idiot! - my thoughts from BB
So, what did I learn today? Stop saying stuff like I feel worthless, etc. Describe it. That helps my support group understand better. And I have a thought. Is this the first time I have thought of it? Maybe I can educate my support group to know when I am going up or down? Hell, when was the last time I was up. Yeh, last year for a bit, but I even convinced Zimmerman it was nothing because it felt so good. So gotta stop encouraging that hypomania. Damnit. Perfectionism is a bitch. I expect to try something and succeed first time. Does my history play into that? Yep. Is that part of bipolar. ??? How do I find out? How do I advocate that? Can I just ask? I will never achieve balance. As in, I will never grab it and keep it. Perfectionism. A sense of failure. Must remember to recognize the ups and downs as part of me, not all of me. Even with problems, those of my own and those that interfere with my life, my reaction is key. Sometimes I can handle. Sometimes not. There is no shame in asking for help. It should be pride. Pride that I help myself instead of try to force being that fucking N word. There is no N for anyone. Why do I expect it for myself. How dumb can I get? Pretty dumb I guess. Recreation therapy kicks ass! So does COGNIT. I got to meet Fritz and COGNIT means we get to request video after doing our COGNIT work. I found Yelawolf and Shinedown!!!! They fucking rock. Good night Laura. I think maybe I love you. Do you deserve it???
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DAY NINE SUMMARY - I had a hard day. I was groggy because I had switched med times and part of my meds are valium (the generic actually) and I went to sleep after taking it in the morning. And, I found out that the third most important person in my life, my brother Josiah, had surgery. Shortly before I admitted to Mesa Springs he called me one morning to tell me he had been put on the liver transplant list. My brother was born with a hole in his heart. In 1973, he had heart surgery to correct that. I remember crying every night he was gone. I remember the moment I saw him when he came home. Because they did not screen blood in the 70's, my brother got Hepatitis C from the blood transfusion during his surgery. I am happy to report that he is doing very well today. He is a fighter. Part of that is being a Culross. We are all fearless fighters. Part of it is the grace of God. And part of it is today's medicine. The rate of liver transplant failure is 5%. Still, I fear that 5%. But Josiah is doing well. Thoughts about today. I had a nightmare the night of the seventh day. I had a flashback nightmare and remember waking up because someone was rubbing my back and it lulled me back to sleep. I literally felt someone rub my back. I remember the sensation and how it comforted me. I got up on the eighth day and asked Stacey if she rubbed my back. She didn't. I asked Kennedy to look at notes about my night and it wasn't mentioned. I asked every tech and nurse that had been on shift. They didn't either. And I was very upset that I had a new nightmare I had never had before where I was confusing reality with nightmare. I went into Mesa Springs convinced I was losing reality and that some force in my head that was evil wouldn't talk to me just to fool me and he was trying to fool me so he could steal reality from me. Is that psychosis? No. It was purely lack of sleep. But it gives me a good idea of how those with psychosis must suffer. My heart hurts for them. Even on day nine, I was still catching up on sleep. Another thought. My reaction was over the top to hear about Josiah's transplant. I should have been overjoyed. And honestly, in my condition at that point, it was a really good thing I wasn't there or I would have drove everyone nuts, including myself!!! Another thought about today. I didn't go to groups because I was so groggy, besides COGNIT. I went to that every single day once I went to the first day. But it wasn't because of the surgery that I skipped groups. It was because I slept most of the day away, or I read. And, I was much less hateful towards myself for not being there for Josiah's surgery. Especially because I had a panic attack over it. I was REALLY EMOTIONAL about it. So, while you read this journal entry, recognize this as yet another day that I improved. The book I am referring to by Stephen Seager is called 'A Year with the Criminally Insane, Behind the Gates of Gomorrah'. Please consider reading it. We have a subset of mentally ill men and women that need our help. They are criminally insane and are imprisoned in places like Napa State Hospital, a forensic mental hospital. Men and women like Dr. Seager work there, WITH NO GUARDS, to try and help these men and women. Not only is he in danger without the protection of guards, but the patients themselves are in danger from their fellow patients that are criminally insane. They aren't protected from each other. It is basically a free for all as far as behavior goes. All of these people: doctors, nurses, techs, patients, need our help to reform the mental illness system to better serve them. It is something I hope to help come to fruition, although it will be years in the making, I am sure. There is so much that needs fixed in our current mental illness system, especially for those with serious mental illness. Our current system is concentrating on those able to recognize they need help. It spends it's funds on mental health, not mental illness. There is a huge difference between Mental health and mental illness. One I intend to blog about. Those unable to recognize they need help are ignored. Funding and current law do not help them at all. That is shameful to our population. This book is worth the read. Dr. Seager tells a story that will draw you in and ends it with how we need change. It is available at book stores and electronically. Dr. Seager is on Facebook. Please read this and friend him and get involved. He is very on point as to the changes that MUST happen to help the criminally insane and the people dedicated to helping them. Oh, final thought for clarification. PHP is Partial Hospitalization Program. It is offered to people in crisis to try to avoid an inpatient stay and it is strongly suggested to people after an inpatient stay. It is a Monday through Friday program of intensive therapy in a group. I am currently in PHP thanks to Diana transporting me there every day. From now on, if I think hospitalization is possibly in my future, I will go to PHP before it gets bad enough to need hospitalization. Unfortunately for us with mental illness, and a part of the issue with parity, insurance dictates whether you are covered and how long you stay. Even though I am blessed with good insurance, you wouldn't believe what my out of pocket is costing me and I am at their mercy as to how long I get to take advantage of this through insurance.
JOURNAL ENTRY - Friday, June 9
Well, I did pretty good yesterday. It was obviously a positive day to me. I just read the entry. So good job for me. But I lost it with Kennedy just now. I mean lost it. I felt a whirlwind of emotions hit me when I talked to him. I KNOW I felt a hand rub my back. I KNOW IT. Yes, intellectually I will tell you it was a dream. But someone exists in my head and SOMEONE RUBBED MY BACK. I KNOW IT. Nobody says they did it. Not Stacey, not the techs or nurses. I know it is true. It is a totally new what is reality and what isn't dream. I have never had it before. NEVER. He is in my head and the Prazocin is still not working. I cried my eyes out to Kennedy. Did he understand? I don't think so. He can't see how terrified I am that someone is trying to kidnap my reality and not let me back. Of course, it would help if I would tell him about that person in my head that doesn't speak, but I just can't admit that to anyone. One day I am not going to wake and I am going to think I am awake forever. What will happen to Daniel and Ian? And God knows what he will make me do while I am kidnapped. What if I hurt someone? What? I am petrified. Terrified. Maybe it was one of the reasons - suicide trigger- even though I no longer feel that way. Should I think it over and maybe -suicide trigger-? NO. Kennedy upped the Prazocin again. My last step. No more upping. If this doesn't work, I have to consider - suicide trigger- to protect the world from what he may make me do if I lose the fight though. I just have to. I will write the kids and admit there is this evil in my head and that I love them but I must protect them. But for now, I give the Prazocin one more chance. ONE. It is all I have left. No more upping. We watched Golden State and the Cavs together last night. Me, Stacey, Ron, Bryson, Sydney, Justine, Denise annnnd Renata. OMG the obvious crush that girl has on Bryson. He is such a sweet soul. I just want to gather him up and mother him. He is so unassuming and such a shining star. I hope that kid never doubts himself again. It is so obvious on how much he deserves life and has to offer the world. And Ron. Why is that man here? I respect him so much. His eyes are so kind. And he rarely smiles but when he talks about his kids, his entire face lights with fire and love. He doesn't talk much and I think he is smart enough to not like me, but I wish I could stay in contact with him after. I honestly did not expect to connect with anyone here. So many good, deserving people here. They inspire me to be deserving. They inspire me to try to be worthy. They switched my morning med set from 9 to 6 today. Ugh. Talk about groggy. I went back to sleep after I took them. Stacey and Diana say I told Sophia to leave me alone when she kept trying to get me up for breakfast. That makes me laugh. You don't say no to Sophia. That woman follows the rules! I think that is awesome. Even though she is the one that took my pen the first day, she hasn't found my markers yet. I really like her. She has passion for her job. That is what I like about Mesa. They just don't hire. They obviously hire people that demonstrate in their interview they are in this profession because they care. For all I think about Sundance, the techs and nurses just never engaged. I realize the most I got from Sundance was due to Tonya. I think I already knew that. I am so grateful to have found her again. I am so grateful she actually took me as a patient. I need to tell her. I am so grateful she brought me that book. So I missed breakfast and slept til smoke. No way in hell I am going to miss that. And then, even though I was still sleepy and didn't tell Josiah I was coming here, I needed to talk to him. I just had too. So I called and damnit, he had just gotten out of surgery from the liver transplant. I freaked. I talked to Jonathan and made him promise to keep me up to date. I am supposed to be there. I am supposed to protect him. Interrogate those doctors. You can't trust doctors. I need to be there to protect him like I did dad. It is my fault dad died. I protected him. I knew his meds. I knew their side effects. I asked asked asked question after question. Fenway said I was a Nazi daughter. But I caught so much for dad and was there when dad didn't know what questions to ask or what symptoms to mention. And then I stopped paying such close attention because dad was doing so well. And he died on me. I just can't let that happen to Josiah. Can you love a brother so much? I do. My soulmate. My identical twin that is three years older. But I feel that close to him. Why else would I have been so focused on talking to him today when I promised myself I wouldn't. I broke my own promise. I know him that well. I need to be there, I just have to be even though everyone but Jonathon wouldn't want me there - especially Eleanor. Please God, listen to me this one time with a request. Please please please please please please protect Josiah and let him live. I know it is selfish to ask him to live for me, but fuck it I am selfish. I want to die before Josiah. I don't want a life without him. I love him so much. He is my brother. I mean he is what embodies that word. Brother. Family. Friend. Acceptance. Standing by my side. Love. He loves me. I know I burden his life, but he still loves me. He loves ME. Stupid me. HE LOVES ME. So when I called and Eleanor had the phone, I had a panic attack. Thank God Diana was there to help me. She wouldn't leave my side. Neither would Stacey. I am so scared. I need to be there. If I was worthy I would be there for him. SO no nightmare last night. whew. Kennedy asked what I thought about release for Monday. Am I ready? I don't know. How do I know if I am ready? This is just for stabilization. Am I stabilized. I went ahead and said yes. If he says Monday then obviously Mesa has done all it can for me and I go back to Tonya for more work. I have no transportation to PHP, so it is up to Tonya for my work. Fuck, I have to figure out how to get to Tonya each week. Can she do phone? FUCK. But I can't stay here forever. Christ today is the 12th. I have been here 9 days. I was out of Sundance at 8. I have overstayed my welcome already. But how do I know I am ready? Is this another example of me doing what I think I need to do because someone else thinks I control - DAMNIT - manage bipolar? I mean I do one or two things constantly. I don't allow my own feeling. Hell half the time I don't know what my own feeling is. Only the feeling of what I think everyone else thinks I have to do because I can't trust my bipolar brain. I think I need to let everyone think for me. I just put up this persona on my blog that I am intelligent. OR, even if I think I have a feeling, I deny it because I just don't trust myself. I just trust everyone else. Intellectually, I know that is wrong. Even with bipolar I have intelligence about myself. I do know what I need most of the time. God I am getting confused. I know what I feel and that makes me resist med changes and made me -suicide trigger- so do I really now what I feel. Pffft. I think I better let that one rest. My mind is racing right now. Going in circles. Circling the bandwagons, but around what I don't know. I AM SO FUCKING CONFUSED. What is right? What is wrong? When will I ever know. Do mother fuckers that have cancer race like this? Have to ask Charles. Ummm, not that I mean he is a mother fucker. Crack myself up. I want to talk to Charles. Not email. Talk. I just don't have his number and neither does Daniel. And I have my phone locked up here. I can't get to Charles right now. Why the hell didn't I tell anyone I was coming here. Idiot.
Feelings
-afraid of how it makes me look
-afraid of what people think
-afraid I am being selfish
-afraid that feeling is wrong and unacceptable
-afraid it means I am failing
fuck you bipolar. FUCK YOU.
I remember the afternoon Jim and I got up from nap. I remember being on the swings and Ben came outside after us. I can see him running up to the swing and telling me he wanted to swing. I said no. Damnit I was on that swing first. I then remember Mom yelling and standing in the corner. MY nose pressed close. I remember the corner. The one closest to the front door. I remember Mom standing me in front of her and telling me Ben wasn't old enough to lie. That I was lying. I loved Mom. If she told me I was lying then I was lying. I don't remember why she told me I was lying. Maybe Ben went inside and told her I took the swing from him? I dunno. But she said I was lying and I wasn't but she said I was. I remember the searing, hot tears streaming down my face and feeling so empty that I was such a bad girl. Those tears were so hot and full of confusion and rejection of self. I realize that now. I can still feel that feeling. I was telling the truth but she said I was lying so I must have been lying and not realized it. Funny how a kid's mind works. Have I damaged my kids like that? Is that why I am so convinced that I hurt my kids even though they are the most good, caring, wonderful, awesome, open, warm hearted young men that I know? Is that why I don't trust my feelings? Is that why I am afraid to speak up for myself? Does bipolar make it worse? I know everyone suffers from self esteem issues with bipolar. I know things like how you were brought up exacerbate bipolar. Am I just dead out of the gate because I didn't have the best childhood AND have bipolar? Jesus. Getting confused again? How the hell do I figure all this out. I have to. I just have to. I won't survive -suicide trigger- again. I know in my heart I won't. Ummmm, should I trust that feeling or am I fooling myself again. Holy Fuck how the mind can play tricks. At least my mind does. Does that prove my failure. My unworthiness. JESUS. I need to shut up. or write up. Crack myself up still. But that memory hurts. But the truth of that memory is that even when I am telling the truth I assume nobody believes me. I assume I don't know what my truth is. I know I must do as others say because I have bipolar and can't think for myself. Was I bipolar as a child? Did my childhood cause it? GAAAAAAAAAHHH. Ok Laura. STOP THINKING. STOP IT. STOP IT. You had Daniel bring you Stephen Seager's book. Go read it again. Go see what is like for real people who suffer from real mental illness and figure out how you can help. Others need help. Not you. Please God. Save Josiah. Please. I beg you. If it saves Josiah, take my life. Please. I beg of you. I don't beg God. I am begging you. Please. I need Josiah. Take me, not him. Please God. I can't pray anymore because I don't deserve it so I am writing it because I know you see this paper. Please God. Blur these words so Satan can't see them because I know Satan has me since that is all I deserve. I know you love me God. I know I don't deserve it so I am protecting you too God. But. Please save my brother, my Josiah. He deserves it. People deserve him. If Satan sees this he will take Josiah. I want Charles.
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DAY TEN SUMMARY - Once again, a day with troubles but a day of improvement. Things are really coming together. My thoughts have begun to be clear. I am thinking more rationally. I have almost no negative talk. I am being proactive in how to move forward. I was angry at the first morning events, but instead of stewing over it, I attacked my "recovery" (you'll learn in a blog in the future after this journey series why I put that word in quotes) with zeal. The only group I did that day was COGNIT. I loved writing down my mood AND the music after!
JOURNAL ENTRY - Saturday, June 13
I got up at 6a today instead of going back to sleep. Good energy. I felt good and ready to speak to Kennedy. I do want to be out of here. I miss the boys. I miss their smell. It's normal to be nervous or even anxious to leave inpatient. A mental health facility is the safest place you can be when you crash. So my plan was to admit to Kennedy I agreed to Monday because he suggested it, but then got more anxious than I felt I should be and ask him how I would know I was truly ready. Being honest with myself, I have only had a few good days. Last night that bitch was texting the boys and I raged. I am still crashing way too easily. So am I ready? I don't know. I decided I would tell him I was still bouncing into desperation and -suicide trigger- too easily. So, I grabbed coffee and sat down to read more Gomorrah before breakfast. Then it happened. Sophia congratulated me that I was being released TODAY. All inside hell broke loose. Panic attack. The whole nine yards. Crying, shaking, inability to speak, curling up in myself, tunneling, breathing and not breathing, hurting, confusion. If they were releasing me today then obviously they were done with me and thought me no longer capable of more help. They very thing I came in believing would happen once they got to know me was coming true. I shut down. I filled my morning paper laced with self hate. I decided they knew best and I would just go home and -suicide trigger-. I took a visteral and calmed down but still thought fuck it all I am hopeless. Met with Kennedy and he said it was a mistake but it answered my question of if I am ready. I am not. No groups for me today. I am still very anxious. I am going to read some of Gifts instead. I need to recenter myself and get my head straight. Even though Kennedy said it a mistake, I am still having a lot of confusion. Can I ever truly manage bipolar? Can I? I don't know right now.
Courage...requires us to let go of what we think others think. - BB
...boundary setting and saying no is an important part of compassion. - BB
Belonging is an essential component of wholehearted living, but first we have to cultivate self acceptance. - BB
Owning our story can be hard but not nearly as difficult as spending our life running from it. Embracing our vulnerabilities is risky but not nearly as giving up on love and belonging and joy - the experiences that make us most vulnerable. Only when we are brave enough to explore the darkness will we discover the infinite power of our light. - BB
So intellectually I understand this. I have gotten to the point of my not owning my own bipolar story because of shame. I have never experienced a depressive state such as this one. It shames me. But, in giving up ownership, I threw away self acceptance. I left courage. I became obsessed with what others think. This is profound. If I can stay brave and compassionate to myself can I own my bipolar story and keep it? I only caution I feel is what will I do and what will I think of myself if I relapse this badly, OR WORSE, again. Will I survive it if I don't somehow release this perfectionism again??? Much to think about. Fuck this book is good. I could hug Tonya. That woman seems to know just what I need. She sees right through me.
Trying to co-opt or win someone over...is always a mistake, because it means trading in your authenticity for approval. You stop believing in your worthiness and start hustling for it. - BB
Holy shit. Authentic??? I know I have felt like I don't know who authentic me is. I know only certain people need to know I have bipolar. BUT BUT BUT I try so hard to be what I think others expect of a 'normal' person I start hustling. I THINK MAYBE IT STARTS THAT SLIPPERY SLOPE. Must stop. Must stop caring. Must. Must. Must. Must stop doing the Hustle. Crack myself up.
We have to own our story and share it with someone that we can count on to respond with compassion. - BB
JOSIAH. STOP FREEZING HIM OUT. CHARLES??? LET HIM IN MORE? Hmmmmm.
Compassion is not agreement. Compassion is not the obligation to fix. Compassion is an act of listening and accepting it is my story and a reflection of me at that moment. Compassion does not judge. - BB
More profound. Reflection of that moment. Profound for me. I think of my non balanced states as failure. Compassion for self would believe and know it is just that moment. Hello Laura. You have bipolar. Bipolar babe. Moods are gonna swing. No choice. Just that moment. Say goodbye to shame if I can remember this. And don't let the door hit ya shame!
Sympathy perpetuates shame. Empathy creates connection. Stop feeling sorry for myself and connect instead. Accept I can't be the perfect bipolar.
When we're looking for compassion, we need someone who is deeply rooted, able to bend, and most of all, we need someone who embraces us for our strengths and struggles. We need to honor our struggle by sharing it with someone who has earned the right to hear it. - BB
The root of the word courage is cor - the Latin word for heart. Courage originally meant "To speak one's mind by telling all one's heart." ...is often about putting our life on the line. Ordinary courage is about putting our vulnerability on the line. In today's world, that's pretty extraordinary. - BB
I am not authentic because I think as I think others think I should. And act. I don't speak my heart. I don't trust my heart. I excuse it by saying I can't because of bipolar. That is wrong. Now how do I take the next step???
The word compassion is derived from Latin words pati and cum, meaning to suffer with. - BB
Must learn to allow myself to suffer. Must understand I will have highs and definite lows. Stop denying it. It will allow self acceptance.
We do not innately respond with compassion to ourselves thus creating shame. We are prone to blame, judge, become a fixer. Those that want to be compassionate to our story are the same. Compassion is not a relationship between the healer and the wounded. It is a relationship between equals. One able to express courage and one able to express empathy. This totally speaks to where I MUST take my relationship with myself. Remember this!
So what did I learn today? A lot. But too much to handle. Must rinse repeat and wash often. I have to get this book on my own so I can mark it up and make notes where I can find them. So I am definitely looking to be authentic. Speak my heart. Have courage for my heart. Be compassionate
and accept myself as is. As Tonya says. I. Am. Enough. I will be hypomanic. I will be depressive. I will be balanced. But if I do the things above, I feel balance will stick longer. No shame. No shame in hypomania. No shame in depression. Shame is longer allowed. Get the hell outta my house. Bipolar is a brain disease. Bipolar is livable. More balance includes more than meds. It even includes more than therapy. It includes constantly reassessing yourself to see where you fit in your spectrum of allowing yourself to be imperfect. Every human is imperfect. Is bipolar more imperfect? Is cancer more imperfect? Fucking no. Bipolar is a disease. Is bipolar a more difficult disease? Some. Not all. I. Am. Enough. iamCULROSS. Good night Laura. I am pretty sure I love you. Still thinking about it to. Hang in there babe.
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DAY ELEVEN SUMMARY - There are two times I write my name in this entry. I literally signed my name and was going to take a picture, but I spilled coffee all over my journal while proof reading my transcription and that was the page I was on. I also hope this doesn't sound to disjointed. It isn't hypomania, but when I get thoughts at a clear headed level, I tend to think faster than I can write. My spelling becomes abbreviations. My use of punctuation lazier. I tend to run thoughts together trying to get them all down. My thoughts do race, but again, it isn't hypomania. It is just the Culross mind. Depressed, my thought is so slow, I get things down more clearly, if that makes sense. And, my humor with myself is much more pronounced. I love to joke. I love to laugh. There are quite a few people that can attest to that. It is Culross humor. And I proudly tend to think I own the title. With that said, I am going to let this day speak for itself.
JOURNAL ENTRY - Sunday, June 14
Racing thoughts. Write quickly. Bipolar can = impaired cognitive function = exacerbated perfectionism = distorted thinking or is it vice versus whatever = fear of mistakes = me unlovable in my opinion = me digressing mood or depressive state (doesn't happen with hypomania, I LOVE myself when hypomanic) = longer depressive state = unable to love self = also perpetuating hypomania when it happens = self hate = doubt = what are my feelings really = me hustling for worth = denial = resist or refuse med change = me. Duh. So boundaries. We talked boundaries in group this morning. Wasn't very informative. Tonya's was much better. But it made me remember her teaching it at Sundance. Wish I had that folder here. I would share. The group on grief last week wasn't like Tonya's either. She is so fucking awesome. But I need to set a boundary for me about me. Number one and first boundary. Most important. Self love. Acceptance. Awareness. Stop hustling for love. Have feelings. Allow feelings. Pondering is acceptable. Necessary as I learn and practice, BUT allow having and acting on MY feelings, not what I think everyone else thinks I should feel or what I think everyone thinks I should feel, I am always guessing. I perfect guessing. That in itself is a distorted thinking. Anyway. Ponder carefully but stop hiding and denying myself. That = exacerbation. Allow to feel. Allow confidence in bipolar. It is but a part of me and certainly not the reason to not be me. Allow bipolar. Depressive and hypomania. STOP DENYING. Consequences? If a mistake not a failure. DEPRESSIVE OR HYPOMANIC STATE IS NOT FAILURE. It is part of my disease like a reaction to chemo. God forbid I ever have cancer tho. Please God save Ricky. Anyway. I digress yet again! IT FUCKING HAPPENS. Adjust. Learn. Continue. Relax. Forgive myself for not controlling the depressive the hypomania. Accept. I. Am. Enough. Damnit Tonya I Love you. You are so smart. Accept I am imperfect like everyone else AND I HAVE BIPOLAR, so maybe a bit more imperfect than others. Continue. Apologize if necessary. Learn. Seems like a fucking awesome plan. Now I gotta do it. Waiting on Kennedy and here is what I need to say. Make sure to take this with me you forgetful old woman. Ha 50. Old? NOPE.
I would like to discharge Tuesday at the earliest. Even after yesterday and us talking about the mistake, I felt suicidal. I just wanted to go home and - suicide trigger-. I haven't had two days without ideation. I want two things to release:
1. two days without ideation or severe mood drop or panic at the drop of a hat
2. time to finish Tonya's book before I have to leave this safety and face pressure again
Ha. Proud of myself. I am standing up for what I feel. High five. Back slap. Slap! I have realized I am very good at setting myself up for a sure fail bipolar system. LOL. I know, no failure, but I make myself and allow myself to make many failure mistakes. What the hell else am I supposed to call them. I don't let myself have a chance at winning. God even that doesn't sound good. What the hell do I mean? How do I write it. Anyway, I live like I think meds control bipolar, but then resist or refuse change. I always hide the hypomania or think the depression is situational. How do you know what is situational hypomania or depression anyway. I asked Timothy and his answer was clear as mud. No help. Thanks anyway dude. But I believe emotions and thinking patterns are a result of life's experiences and do not effect-affect bipolar. What? They are a part of bipolar. That is what makes it difficult. I have this brain disease and need my emotions and thinking patterns to live through this disease and the very organ I need is the one that is fucking diseased. So my thinking is wrong. No duh. It is diseased, but I set myself up to screw up. And two wrongs don't make a right. Crack myself. In my case it made hospitalization. Ha Ha Ha, I allow bipolar to control me because I am at times limited in cognitive function but refuse the help that will get me back to cognitive function. I get confused. Nah, I just get controlling. I fucking HATE med changes. Change and wait a month for results????? Jesus Christ. Just leave me where I am and I will cope. That is wrong wrong wrong. Patience. Need patience. Need more education. I still don't understand this beast called bipolar. Will I ever? pffft. It is the old chicken and egg question. Which comes first? Meds. Meds help manage, not control...MANAGE. Meds needed to do the personal work to manage and walk that spider web. Well, in my case meds obviously seem to, at this moment come first. I reserve the right to change my mind. Hey! I am so smart. I can change my feeling. WOW girl you go. Think think think. Is that everyone. Must be careful on blog. Remember no black and white. Fuck me black and white for me but nobody else. I see black and white for me and every color in the spectrum plus some for everyone else. Yep, that is me. Gonna stop that shit. Make it into lemonade...with lots of sugar. Ha! So, I officially with this signature using this stolen marker, declare not only will I talk the talk, but I will walk the walk - Laura M. Culross. Thank you Jimmy Johnson. Sorry but Jason Garrett is still a better coach. FUCK YEAH COWBOYS!!!!! LESS THAN 100 DAYS TIL THEIR SEASON OPENER. Shame on me. I think it was at 102 when I came in, but I cant remember how many now. Bad Cowboys fan! lol. Super Bowl Baby. Fuck the smeagles and those damn referees. Dez caught it!!! Bipolar is a brain disease. No solid foundation on its cause. No single cause. No root. Not enough known about the brain and ain't gonna happen anytime soon. Inherited biological chemical environment all of the above? More? Can't get much further til we learn more about that brain. So it is hit and miss. And then there is such division in the mental illness community, not just the outside community. Pass this law. No don't pass this law. Spend money here even though it doesn't help or is for stupid reasons. Really? Money spent by SAMHSA on anti-psychiatry. pfffft. Not enough money. Lets include substance abuse in our money even though they have their own. Pyschs not seeing patients because they are too ill. WTF??? Where are they supposed to go. Beds closing. Jails the new beds. Jails profiting and housing but no treatment. Homelessness. ER - stabilize barely and throw you back on the street. No follow up plan. AOT - proven but rejected. Freezing out family that want to help because of civil liberties. HUH? What about the right to life? FUCK CIVIL LIBERTIES IN THIS CASE. Homelessness. Stigma. Discrimination. Your insurance decides whether you get treatment or not. Limiting treatment. Who the hell is going to limit your chemo treatment. Police aggression. 25% deaths by police are mentally ill. Only 31% approved for disability but their number 1 approval is bipolar. What the hell is THAT telling us. Saying gun control is answer to mental illness crime? HUH? WTF. We are victims more than the perpetrators. Discrimination. Discrimination. Say you got cancer and the whole world is there. Say mental illness and you are pyscho, not to be trusted nor believed about anything no matter what. Your worth just disappeared in their eyes. Shunned. No job. Only 40% of bipolar can hold a job. AND THAT ISNT INDICATION OF A PROBLEM THAT NEEDS FUNDING FOR RESEARCH??? Like which problem do you want to choose. Literally. Where are our research dollars? Our dollars are going to mental health, not mental illness. Our criminally insane are allowed to kill each other or the ones that are there to help. Who seems to care? Post and ask for prayer and ignored. Post you have cancer and need prayers and the entire nation prays. HOW IN THE HELL CAN PEOPLE NOT WANT TO GET INVOLVED. Bitter? Hell no. I need and want to get people to become a voice. I need to be stronger in my own advocacy for my own life so I can help. WE need help. Honest, non judgmental, factual help. Research. Money. End stigma. Start with one law and progress. Tim Murphy. Research. More research. Beds. AOT. CIT. God yes CIT. Feelings, opinions, reactions, thoughts...they originate from the brain. Regardless of the past, because of bipolar it affects your shit. Embrace it as acceptable. SHIT IS ACCEPTABLE. No sorry. I can't help it at times. I fight that devil but I just can't help it sometimes. Damn I fight it. That isn't failure. That is small victories that I showed strength in fighting. But stop fighting it in the wrong way. Meds. Damn them. But meds. Practice makes perfect. No not perfect but something, better? Stickier? Balanced longer? I, Laura M. Culross, officially declare this my new motto...at least til I think about it again and have another breakthrough. I didn't have nightmares last night. Ummm, not since the 12th maybe. Ask Kennedy. When can I get off Prazocin. Immunity? Others? I have this memory that I was thinking about this morning. I know god is love. Agape love. So why do I not believe he loves me cuz I still don't. It was winter. Sunday morning. Everyone but mom and me gone to church. Blue wool skirt with the straps and white shirt that itched. No idea what I did wrong. But I do remember the EXACT place in the kitchen that I was standing. Right next to the radio. Staring out the window. I still see the snow. I still see the frost and condensation on the window. Right next to Josiah's chair. Mom was sitting in her chair. Turned around and facing me. I still see her. What I remember. Her words. GOD DOES NOT WANT A LITTLE GIRL LIKE YOU IN HIS CHURCH. wow. I didn't cry. But everything went black in front of me except the register in front of the window that I looked down to as she said those words. I remember that focus on the register. The heat was blowing at that moment. I can still hear our furnace. And all I remember thinking is "I am bad. I am going to hell. God doesn't love me because I am bad. I don't know why, but I am bad" Mom said so. And I figured Dad told her to keep me home because he thought the same thing. They had to protect me from God. It was fact at that moment. Have I done something to like that to my boys??? Please God tell me no. Some people react to life like that by going wild. I reacted by being whatever I thought I had to be to possibly gain forgiveness. The wallflower. The ultimate potter's clay. Never trust myself again because I don't know what I am doing. Allowing everyone to be the potter. Anyone. Especially that bitch. Mom and Dad weren't going to love me. God wasn't going to love me. I thought she would maybe love me. Obviously not. Now add bipolar on top of that. No wonder I get fucked up. And it is also a clue to me why I get to the point why I think I have to protect people from me. Profound girl profound. Oh, time for Kennedy!!!!!!
Ok, Kennedy says we can revisit Tuesday and no problem. Whew. LOL. He pointed out I am spelling his name wrong and it is Prazosin, not Prazocin - pray zoe zen cuz I asked. Dude is cool. No known immunity. Get off after 6 months and with good therapy and monitored by my pysch. So I heard that and thought, cool 6 months. Then I thought No dumbshit, measure by therapy first. I got a long time before ever getting over - event trigger- and the betrayal. Yes to other PTSD drugs, but since no immunity, don't worry about it. Did I already say no nightmares. Worth repeating. NO NIGHTMARES. There. Repeated for sure. No flashback. No what is reality. OH! And I can't remember the last time I felt like someone was in my head. I think it is a combination of finally routine sleep and no nightmares. YES FOR VALIUM! YES FOR PRAZOSIN! Happily welcomed in the med family of my life. See, med changes can be good. STOP CONTROLLING!!!!!! lol Just one question. Am I in reality? Do I trust that yet? Nope. But gonna go with the flow. I think I am. Did I just contradict myself??? Time for bed. So what I have I learned today? I am clear headed. Low anxiety. Josiah is doing ok and no panic attacks. Lower anxiety. I honestly can say I am not depressed. I won't say happy. What the hell is happy without hypomania for me? I won't say balanced. I still wish the fucking plague on her. But, clear headed. That is a good description. This is good, right? I am running around the track at a comfy pace and not getting out of breath. I am on that runner's high. NOT hypomania high. I know that. Fucking love that. YUM. Just running comfortably with even breath and the great feeling that I want to keep running. The only thing that is racing through my mind though is how do I make this stick how do I make this stick how do I make this stick. That is dangerous. That is my learned behavior that makes me try to control bipolar. I do feel good that I immediately caught myself about the Prazosin. So I guess I am kinda catching this. Some days will be balanced. Some days will not be balanced - a little high a little low. Some days will be depressive. Some days will be hypomanic. But with stopping the hustle, perfectionism, resistance, and allowing I. Am. Enough, maybe the balance can stick longer????? If it doesn't, gonna have to force myself and train myself to not see failure. That gonna piss me off tho. I want sticky. Sticky forever. Who doesn't? Maybe when I get my own Gifts I will collect the best quotes instead of positive affirmations. Before Tonya, whatever his name was said it takes x repetitions of saying something before you believe it. I forget how many. But I tried saying my positive affirmations that many times and it dinna work. Go figure. I am more motivated by profound thought than trying to convince myself of something. I do have another big step here. I really have to stop cutting again. When I get out I have to control that and stop. That is one thing I think I can control myself. I mean, Tonya knows, but if she doesn't ask again, I wont mention. I can do this. I did it before! And yeh, stop lying to myself that I am not really a cutter. A cut is a cut. I am just a smartass cutter, thinking I am fooling myself and denying fact. Admitting that alone should give me the control to stop. God what if Ian found out. HEY! BITCH! I LOVE YOU. YOU. ARE. ENOUGH. nightie night girlie. Sleep tight.
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DAY TWELVE SUMMARY - Just a few clarifications. I mention an internet service. We have an internet service here in Texas called Clear. My humor and thought process is fairly twisted like that. And I do crack myself up quite often! I have noticed over the course of the last few days that I started writing that again. I had a list of questions for Kennedy and wrote my answers next to them when we met, so I just included what was written in the margins of my journal in parenthesis. I write about crayons in this entry. I have since modified it and included it in my writings that I hope to eventually publish! It is simply named "Mental Illness In Crayola".
JOURNAL ENTRY - Monday, June 15
Release tomorrow? YEP! WOOT!!! This is very different for me and makes me think much. Have I ever been on a good med set like this before. I honestly don't think so. Kennedy is brilliant. I feel so different than any med set except how I was beginning to feel on the last one before -event trigger-. I feel so clear. A different clear than before. Is this happy? It IS different than hypomania. I'm not high happy. And I haven't been high happy outside of hypomania back in the day. I don't have any of the disillusions with hypomania. Nothing reckless. Nothing irritable. No ants crawling all over my body while I love every single thing about life and think I can do everything. I even love the ants because it makes me feel alive. They do make me really irritable though. My body wants to sleep - well thank you valium. I don't have my mind in a million directions thinking of all the things I need to start and do, or these brilliant ideas that I know can make a difference if I just start them, but really have no idea how to go about them, and try anyway only to abandon them when the next one hits. It is just different. It is ... clear. Dunno. Maybe I am the internet service. High speed. Occasional blip, usually when I need the service the most. But ready to process information at the listed top speed. Not faster. Not slower. Just regular 4g. DAMN DO I CRACK MYSELF UP. Jesus what if this one gives out? Ugh. Don't think that. Ha. Caught myself. How about please please please don't give out or I will cry? Meh. Go with it.
Questions for Kennedy:
- will Prazosin make me completely dreamless cuz that sure would be nice (no, you will still have good and bad dreams. Dreams are essential for proper sleep. You will still have nightmares, you will be unable to remember until they stop when you come to terms with what happened)
- I had bad side effects from resperidol. Am I more susceptible to side effects from Latuda. A lot of them are the same (no)
- are there other drugs like resperidol or latuda - same family that don't have those side effects. Abilify did nothing. Lithium didn't. Zyprexa stopped working. (yes)
- had a nightmare about Lenny last night but don't remember it except I found Valentine presents - the same ones but in different colors - and wondered who they were for and then found out he had been recording my phone conversations because he wanted to prove I am a liar and everyone knew but Ian and Daniel and Ian found out and got really mad and upset with Lenny and I felt like it was all my fault because I wasn't good enough for Lenny to believe I don't lie and I felt like it was my fault that Ian was upset. I cried really hard in the dream. Ok, so I remember but ask this question anyway. Will those nightmares get better (that is a dream not a nightmare - see above)
- Latuda says side effect of bruises. 4 on right arm, 1 on left elbow, 3 left knee, 1 left shin, 1 right knee. All new since here and I don't remember hitting anything. Is that a problem? (no, you will just bruise easier but it is not dangerous. You will just bruise easier as the side effect)
The heart of compassion is really acceptance. The better we are at accepting ourselves and others, the more compassionate we become. - BB
Ok, so compassion meant to suffer with. So stop blaming myself and shaming myself and suffer or maybe a better word for me is to mourn bipolar and my childhood. Stop trying to stop it and stuff it and prove my failure. Accept it. Accept myself. Accept bipolar. I am angry about it again. Stage of grief over loss of health. Stop trying to be the perfect bipolar. Stop trying to be the perfect child that is over a bad childhood. Allow or agree that I am allowed to be sad about it and bipolar. Then, have the courage - speaking from my heart - to move on. PROFOUND FUCKING PROFOUND
Connection - the energy that exists between people when they are seen, heard and valued; when they can give and receive without judgment; and when they derive sustenance and strength from the relationship. - BB
Still think this can apply to me personally. Especially the judgment I put myself through. Be real with myself and don't deny bipolar. Let myself hear myself. Become valued to myself. Accept myself even with bipolar. Derive strength from that real. Connect to myself - my bipolar self.
One of the greatest barriers to connection is the cultural importance we place on 'going it alone.' Somehow we've come to equate success with not needing anyone. Many of us are willing to extend a helping hand, but we're very reluctant to reach out for help when we need it ourselves. It's as if we've divided the world into 'those who offer help' and 'those who need help.' The truth is we are both. - BB
We become more adept at helping graciously each time we graciously accept help says Brene. Why do I feel such shame at accepting help? LaShonda helping almost killed me. Think think think. I really need to figure this out because if I am to become a real advocate, that means I will help and I can become a better advocate logically if I also graciously accept help. Lots to think about on this. Lots. I hate getting help because I have bipolar and think it shows failure. But is that true? What if I ask for too much help? Am I fooling myself that I need help when I am just not wanting to do something. Am I fooling myself? I am always doubting myself. I really need to think this through more. I must change to become a better advocate.
Until we can receive with an open heart, we can never really give with an open heart. - BB
Ouch. Because asking for help shames me does that mean my heart isn't open??? Ouch. Hope she goes into this more. Lay this one aside as important but don't think about this one just yet.
If connection is the energy that surges between people, we have to remember that those surges must travel in both directions. - BB
When we spend a lifetime trying to distance ourselves from the parts of our lives that don't fit with who we think we're supposed to be, we stand outside of our story and hustle for our worthiness by constantly performing, perfecting, pleasing, and proving. - BB
Wow did she just describe me. I think I own bipolar, but I don't!!!! I have to own my story. Does this mean I should blog this journey I am on right now. YES! But how? How do I get a story across of going from broken to something less than broken??? I HAVE to do this. I have been thinking about what direction to take the blog since I have written three while here. I want it to do different. Could this be the start? I really have to think about this. I want want want to touch. Passion to touch. Bipolar is so livable. For others. BUT FOR ME TOO. How do I own my story and move forward. I want to advocate. We all need so much. I want change for others more than myself. Is that not owning my story? Hmmm.
Worthy now. Not if. Not when. We are worthy of love and belonging now. Right this minute. As is. - BB
Yes! Bipolar makes you feel unworthy. If you aren't balanced, you are embarrassed and ashamed of depressive and hypomanic states. So not true. Right this minute - worth. Depressive or manic!!!! Wow.
...fitting in and belonging are not the same thing... Fitting in is about assessing a situation and becoming who you need to be to be accepted. Belonging, on the other hand, doesn't require us to change who we are; it requires us to be who we are.
How has this woman gotten into my head and seen my life story?????????? Crack myself up.
We are biologically, cognitively, physically, and spiritually wired to love, to be loved, and to belong. When those needs are not met, we don't function as we were meant to. We break. We fall apart. We numb. We ache. We hurt others. We get sick. There are certainly other causes of illness, numbing, and hurt, but the absence of love and belonging will always lead to suffering. - BB
Part of what makes bipolar so hard. Think of cancer Laura. Have cancer and you instantly get loved and supported. You belong. People adopt you. Pray for you. Bring you food. Mention you at church in special prayer. Call you. Check up on you. Accept your 'sick' behavior as part of your illness. Mental illness. Not so much. Too much stigma. People don't understand mental illness. It isn't their fault. WE don't understand mental illness as a society in whole in truth. Not enough known about it yet. It is the brain. The best supportive people are ones with mental illness only because they live it too, but every bipolar is different and has different reactions and different states and so much different so even that support isn't exactly right. Society knows so little that they can't understand. Tell someone you have cancer and it is a different story. Say mental illness and the reaction is all over the fucking board. Not their fault. Brain. Not enough known. Inconsistent diagnoses. Inconsistent treatments. No cure. Relapses will happen. No I feel better and so they think it won't happen again. So, depressive and manic effects the ability to love, be loved, and belong. Interesting.
Loving yourself means trusting ourselves, respecting myself, and kind and affectionate to ourselves. - BB
The name of this book should be The Gifts of Imperfection for Laura M. Culross! Ha. Crack myself up. I just realized I don't respect myself though, so maybe this woman is good like Tonya.
Do not allow professing love and practicing love to be incongruent. To profess is feeling. To practice is action. Your feelings of love must reflect how you practice your love - honor, trust, honesty, authentically, compassionately, and with courage - both for yourself and in return. So that is what I just got out of that part. I need to love myself as bipolar. It is lovable! And, if someone can't love you with bipolar, then they are the incongruent one. See ya. Don't let the door hit ya.
If you feel you can love others but not yourself, remember that others can see the amount of love you have for yourself and it is like second hand smoke. Yikes. I kill people??? LOL. I can become a better advocate by loving myself. I can manage bipolar better by loving myself. Accept me. Right at this moment. As is.
This is my last night here. I spoke to Kennedy today and Mesa has done all it can for me at this point. Medically, I feel stable. That is all inpatient can do for me. The real work starts now. So many things have raced through my mind while here. So many changes. I know I came in broken. Shattered, really. I really hated bipolar and myself again when I came. It feels good to be out of that again. For me, it is a combination of a lot of things. But those things happen to anyone. I just so happen to also have bipolar. But I don't want to minimize that. Living with bipolar is hard. So many things happen to make it difficult. The biggest thing is that the very organ designed perfectly by God to help humans through a chronic or possibly terminal illness is the very organ sick. And mental illness is both. Chronic. Possibly terminal. Everyone is imperfect so we all operate in imperfection. But with bipolar, it just becomes so much more difficult. Mental illness as a whole is ignored by society. Even within the mental illness community I see division. Some do not want to recognize PTSD. Well, I am here to tell you Laura, never discount PTSD again because of what you read. This is a serious thing. But I also recognize where our community is coming from. The day I admitted I had PTSD, Tish piped up and said she had it too. So later I asked her from what and she didn't know and didn't remember. Yeh. For me, it is nightmares that are ugly beyond belief. Don't touch me if I don't see it coming. Rage. I feel like I cant even talk to a man because I am so scared. Although Matthew may be different. I don't know. I get scared in my own house so much because they still know where I live. I have to move when I can because I don't think that will ever end. I am literally afraid to open the curtains or go outside sometimes. I cant stand to see black trucks. All black trucks cuz I can't remember what specifically he has. I am afraid I am being followed. It is so much more, so yeh, PTSD is real. It needs help like other mental illnesses. Anyway, girl stay on point. We are ignored as a whole by society. Like we are going to go away if ignored??? And, having bipolar, NOT schizophrenia, but bipolar is thankfully ALL I have. I think schizophrenics are the most ignored. They scare people. And they need the most help. BACKWARDS!! Let's ignore brain cancer because it scares us. But I am definitely ignored at a personal level and a societal level. People just don't understand. But having bipolar becomes such a problem because you want to function, you want to be accepted, you want no one to know because they treat you differently and shit, you want to be a part of society, but lets face it...you can't be a member of society like it dictates at times. So, you hide, you shame, you can't help nor even sometimes remember how you act. And it becomes this vicious cycle that can destroy you. This vicious cycle of wanting to be productive so not wanting help but needing help. This vicious cycle of needing help but either denying it - ME!!! I RAISE MY HAND FIRST!!! - or not realizing it so you get worse...sicker. This vicious cycle of wanting to be productive, but you can't at times or you think you are, and really aren't, and then just feel like giving up because it never seems like you accomplish anything but riding waves. It's like fuck it. Fuck trying to explain. Fuck trying. Fuck everything. Just throw me in the sea and I'll ride the waves til I can't anymore and it really doesn't matter. This vicious cycle of wanting to be rational but unable to be rational and then shaming yourself. This vicious cycle of people not understanding, seeing you happy and thinking it will stay that way, and when you fall up or down again, they begin to tire of you because they just don't understand. So many vicious cycles that lead us, in part to more mood swings or longer mood swings. We are self destructive and don't mean to be. We are our own enemy without meaning to be. Society is our own enemy without meaning to be. How do I change this? I can't. But I can certainly be a voice. How can I grow? How can I start to impact. I want to. I want for me. I want for others that are alive with mental illness right now. I want for our future community of those with mental illness. I just WANT. I have to take care of myself better so I can do the best I can to help those that are suffering. My brain is my enemy but damnit, I am fucking strong and I will prevail. I will prevail during balanced moods and I will do what it takes to make those mood shoes that drop of shorter duration, and then while balanced scream from the top of the highest building in my loudest voice til I am hoarse for needed change. To help. To touch. I cant do it all the time, but when I can I MUST. I have bipolar and I am not going to be perfect. I can't be fixed. Fixed implies 'works like new'. Not possible. I just know I came in here very broken.Shattered into millions and millions of pieces. I came in not caring about anything anymore. I cared about absolutely nothing. Especially myself. I came in at such a low point that I literally hated myself just because of -event trigger- and that I have bipolar. How can I hate the disease I fight against as an advocate. I can't help people that way. I came in a liar. To myself especially, but to others, too. Those others, I lied to them. They are my support group. I can never lie to them again. It isn't fair to them. IT ISN'T FAIR TO ME. I can always redefine my support group. I HAVE TO LET ME BE ACCEPTED FOR ME. ALL PARTS OF ME. The good, the bad, the ugly. I cannot stop fighting...managing...surviving. I want. I came in in shame. Shame that yet again I had failed. FAILED? Hell no. I was a warrior to come here. I am a fighter to be so broken and irrational and incapable of thought that I came here and accepted help. I didn't want help at first. I was so ashamed at first. Shame I was here. Shame I was failing my own disease. Shame I was failing others. Shame I haven't held a job when I have always succeeded at jobs. I feel no shame now. How can I help others to not feel shame? My blog HAS to change. My focus HAS to change. I don't care what the community says about peer counselors. I can do it. I can make a difference. I can learn more than a peer support is required to know and help. Let people judge me. Peer support isn't an answer. It is a supplement to what is really needed for our community. I believe in it. I want to use peer support to speak. Speak at mental health facilities. Speak at NAMI - good god do they need help. Speak to high schools. Think of the help that our young ones need at that age Laura!!! I want to speak. I want to blog. I want to write a book. I want to motivate. I want to help. I want to give. I want change. I want. I want. I WANT. My head is clear and now work can begin. Meds have cleared my head. I feel content. I want. I know I am not hypomanic. I don't have the symptoms. Not the I feel happy in that hypomanic way. Not euphoria. I just want. I know I am happy because I am safe here and no stressors of reality. Well, except having to wait so fucking long between smoke breaks. Ha. Crack myself. Anyway, stay on point girl. I know reality is going to hit me when I walk out that door. And that is why inpatient is just the beginning. You don't walk out of inpatient and everything is fine. It is but a beginning. Just a scratch on the surface. NOBODY without mental illness realizes that. Inpatient just stabilizes you so you can work towards a new balance. And balance is fucking hard work to get to, let alone retain for any amount of time. Such is the life of bipolar. But it isn't THAT bad. I am blessed. Insurance. Proximity to have a place like here, a therapist, a psych, support groups. A roof over my head. Food. What about all of us that don't have that. I have to fight for them. I want. SO, no I am not fixed. UGH. Strike that word from the mental illness dictionary. While we are at it, strike recovery. I am ready to walk out, nervous as shit, but ready to go. Ready to face. The good. The bad. The ugly. Especially the bad and ugly. I can do it. I can do it and use it for my advocacy. I can help others to see that no matter what, they have worth and they can do it too and they should seek support and stay on their meds and it is OKAY to fall either way, depressive or manic. It happens. Like when you have cancer and go through chemo, do you say I don't accept that my hair is going to fall out? Of course you don't cuz it is GOING to happen whether you want it or not. SHIT HAPPENS. WE MUST MOVE ON. If for nor nobody but ourselves. WE MUST MOVE ON. Did I already say that? Ha!!! I want. Life. Breath. Love. SELF LOVE. Job. Good. Bad. Ugly. Ok, maybe stretching it with the bad and ugly, but hey, what did I just say Laura. I am strong because I face the bad and ugly. Back slap. SLAP! Ouch. I feel fire. Life. Advocacy. Me. ME. Me. I feel me. The good. The bad. The ugly. And I am still beautiful. There is joy, minute, but joy in having bipolar. That silver lining. That sliver. I have patience. Compassion. A true desire and purpose to help. A nurturing nature. Mercy - unless I am an ignorant fuck and I am trying not to be an ignorant fuck anymore. Will I fall? Yep. But God Damnit, I will rise and fight yet again. If I can they can too. iamCULROSS and still am even with bipolar. Mesa has made me understand I deserve those things for myself. Mesa or meds or does it even matter? Hence the ignorant fuck comment, right girl. I know I may need hospitalization in the future. But so what. It is an opportunity to yet again grow. Ok, so I don't want hospitalization again, but I have to mark this place in my journal to remind myself to seek it out hella sooner than I did. Stop wasting my life with denial. Embrace bipolar life. It sucks. It fucking sucks. It is demeaning. It messes you up. It destroys your brain. It really fucking sucks. But it is SURVIVAL. And I did grow. Sundance was great. But I am so much more real this time. So much more honest about me and my disability. And maybe one day I will have to get realer. REALER? NOT A DAMN WORD I THINK BUT IT WORKS FOR MY JOURNAL SINCE NO ONE WILL SEE. Thank God nobody sees my journal or they would think I am crazy. Wait I am crazy! Ha! Crack myself. I do not control bipolar. It does not control me. I live with it like I live with migraines and my neck. Push through. DIG. Deliberate. Inspired. Get Going. My new goto. And Get Going can be med changes and hospitalization if needed. It is definitely going to be therapy for the rest of my life and continual reassessment. Courage. Compassion. Connection. No more thinking I can't be bipolar and be successful and happy. I do it better than some and a hella worse than others. But bipolar is part of life. NOT LIFE ITSELF. So push. I want. So, med changes and hospitalization throw it at me bitch. I am not a failure. I am making the most self loving strongest decision I can. Fight. I deserve it even though bipolar. I have tried my best, and need help. Is it a Culross thing to never want help? But remember, Gifts says you cannot truly help unless you ask for help. So stop seeing bipolar for myself as black and white because I am a perfectionist. Oh shit. I need to really work on that in php if I can go. Or if not, with Tonya. You know the days in the life of mental illness are like that big box of crayons you always wanted when you were a kid, except the crayons never get used all the way up. And yes, they may break. But you can still use them. Our days aren't black. Our days aren't white. They are every single, separate color in between. Some are pretty. Some are ugly. Some are bright. Some are dull. Some look hot. Some look cold. Some are very dark. Some are very light. Some look a lot like other colors. And you will go through phases were you get to use the good colors a lot. Then you will go through times where you are forced to use colors you hate. Sometimes your favorite color will change. Sometimes you may have to unwrap the paper a bit to keep using your crayon. And sometimes, it gets so worn from so much abuse and use, ya gotta take a step back, a deep breath, and sharpen that fucker!!!! MEDS!!!!!!!!!! Daniel and Ian have been the biggest blessing that life has ever allowed me. Can a mother love her children this much. Everyone says that a mother thinks that. Fuck them. I think I still love my children more. They love me. ME! Bipolar and all they love me. They cheer me. They believe in me. How many times has Ian told me how strong I am and how much he believes in me! They kick me in the ass when I need it. Daniel is excellent with that. He is a great ass kicker!!! And they are such good young men. Both are so smart and talented. The best gift God ever gave any woman. I can't survive like I do without them. I love them. I love their touch. Their smile. Their laugh. Their smell. Oh god, Ian is with going to be with Lenny to pick me up and I can't wait to smell him and feel his arms. He hugs me so good. Can I love Josiah more? He has gotten the brunt of me in the last year even though I hid so much from him. I love that brother. MY brother. MY soul. My identical twin that is three years older than me. I mean, you know, I love him like an identical twin. OF COURSE I KNOW WHAT I MEAN!!!! Crack myself. Would anyone think it is strange that I talk to myself in my journal? I am weird! I love it. Stay on point girl. I never want to lose him. I cant wait to move closer to him. And thank God the surgery has seemed to go well. Ha. He IS a Culross. I just love Josiah so much. How can I ever get across to him how much? And Jonathon. That is one nephew I wish I could tell him what he means to me. Again. He loves me! I LOVE THAT CHILD. Not because he loves me. Part because he is like Josiah so much. So I was instantly fond of him for that reason. It was just the beginning tho. I remember when he came down here all of a sudden I just knew he was special. I just knew that I instantly loved him no matter what. He is a very special young man. He is sweet and loving and intelligent beyond his years. He is wise. He makes me laugh. He makes me feel special. He checks on me. He always is there. I love him so much even if he doesn't love the Cowboys! He is my Jonathon. BUT, I am so mad at him that he probably wont be in Indiana when I move. I secretly hope he is. Ha Ha Selfish. Hell yeh! And Charles. So wonderful to have him back in my life. I missed him. It hurt. So comforting. So warm. So good. I love him so much. I really want to open up to him more. I need to. I trust him. I have good people in my life. Not very many compared to some. But enough that I can't name them all. All of them positive and good and something to inspire me to fight and be a better person. I just want. I WANT. Yep, I, me, Laura, I WANT. I am happy for what I have done here. Good job Bitch!
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DAY THIRTEEN SUMMARY - This is how I came to decide to publish these journal entries. I hope they have meant something to you. I will do one more entry to this series. I want to you see that an inpatient stay is just the beginning in the fight against bipolar if and when it becomes necessary. Oh, and LuBrano-Lavadera was my mother's maiden name. My dad and she met during World War II in Morocco. They fell in love while she taught him French and he taught her English. It was part of a program the Army did where they had a family adopt someone serving in the army for dinner once a week. She was a war bride!
JOURNAL ENTRY - Tuesday, June 16
I am home. I have no latuda and yeh I got really upset. I knew I would come out to some sort of stressor but that is to be expected. Well, besides the stressor that Lenny was late, of course. Like I expected anything else. But Ian smelled so good and I couldn't let go of him and couldn't stop smiling. It felt so good to hug him and be in his arms again. I missed my baby. He had just gotten off from Six Flags and I still couldn't stop smelling him. I love my baby. Anyway, real life is stressful. I panicked about the latuda. Took a visteral. Stacey and I spent the day together as much as possible. I never expected to connect to Diana and Stacey like I have. I do not want to lose contact with either and I know I won't with Diana, but I respect Stacey's boundaries and know I may never hear from her again. We colored mandalas and talked and laughed and just hung out. We stole a whole set of colored pencils from the group room this morning! Heh Heh. I brought home two. Bill my insurance fuckers. I did leave the stolen pen to my credit. And all those god awful golf pencils. Good lord may I never see another golf pencil. I think I will even refuse to play putt putt from now on. Crack myself up. Anyway, I have made a decision. This scares the shit out of me. I am going to publish this journal. Word for word. Craziness for craziness. Negative to positive. Maybe even my hateful picture. Ok, maybe not that one, but maybe. It IS part of the story. Broken to something less than broken. I shall see what happens. Talk about nuts Laura. Geesh you take the cake. But hopefully I will touch someone. Help someone. BROKEN!!! And I have done it. I am NOT AS BROKEN. Damn, if I can do it anybody can. My perfectionism. My self esteem. My LuBrano combined with Culross stubbornness. My fucked bipolar. Yeh yeh I know girl, my bipolar, not my fucked bipolar. Just bipolar fuck off. I am still here. I can still smell my children. I can't wait to see Daniel. I want to smell him. Yeh I know you are weird girlfriend. Anyway, on point...my bipolar but fuck off bipolar. I can live with you. Up and down, I can do it. And now the real work begins. I don't have a way to php even though Diana offered. I just don't want to impose. So, the real work begins with Tonya if I can get her to do therapy over the phone since I have no transportation right now. I wonder if she Skypes? HELL NO. I would have to stare her in the eyes for an hour and I can't do that. I wonder if she ever notices how much I look around the room. What am I thinking, of course she does. So, yeh, publish the journal. Be courageous. Tell my heart. Be brave like Brene Brown. Yeh, think I will sleep now. God Laura, you rock. Ok, you suck too, but you rock you fucking survivor. I fucking want to get my nose pierced. My celebration of life. Good night love. You bitch! LMAO. Crack myself up. Jesus am I really gonna publish this? Yep. iamCULROSS...hear me roar! Holy shit, I am going to publish my journal. Wow. Extraordinary courage? Yeh, give myself credit. Man am I scared. But going be like that Brene Brown talk and tell the worst thing that has ever happened to me. Yep. Pat on the back. Pat! Now shut up and go to sleep. Yes ma'am. Good night girlfriend. Love you. You deserve it. Your own love you know. You deserve it. As is. Right now. Now shut up.
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FINAL THOUGHTS
I am a perfectionist. We will name that problem number one. I decided to blog some final thoughts about Mesa Springs and my stay. I wanted it to be perfect. So, I started to think about what I wanted to blog. Enter the second problem. I over think everything. Just ask my son, Daniel. He tells me I over think things and I tell him I think he may be right, but I have to think it over and then, after thinking about it, I will get back to him to let him know what I think...I think. Anyway, I regress. I've stopped obsessing over what to blog and here are some final thoughts for you.
Mental illness is a beast. Bipolar disorder is a beast. An ugly, rotten, stinking beast that does it's best to chew us up and spit us out. And, there are times it succeeds. Any chronic, possibly terminal illness is a beast. Is mental illness the worst beast to live with? I won't go that far although on bad days I would lead the parade. My nephew, Ricky, is fighting a reoccurrence of cancer and I can't imagine going through what he is going through. They had to drill a hole in his hip! But, mental illness is truly a beast. In my opinion, it is the only illness that tries to cyclically destroy our cognitive, emotional, mental, spiritual, and physical being. It is not a nice beast to live with. As you know, there are many people that live successfully with mental illness though. Right? Well, let me address that for just a moment. I have bipolar disorder. And, even though you read probably the worst I have ever been through (ok, it was definitely the worst) because of a depressive state, I am a success. In fact, I am a huge success. You see, I still breathe. Therefore, I am a success. Are you reading this? You are a success, also. Congratulations. You are enough. Just as you are. Right now. This very moment; you are a warrior, just like me. I don't care what your current state is. You are breathing. You are a success for living with this beast.
Did I have mitigating factors that exacerbated my depressive state? Yes. But that is the nature of the beast. And I would like to address that, also. You will hear the terms 'mental health' and mental illness' thrown around as if they mean the same thing. They don't and whenever possible, I refuse to use the term 'mental health'. Unfortunately, that is where the current mental 'health' system focuses. They ignore those that are seriously ill, and ignore those that aren't so seriously ill, too. They focus on mental health, not mental illness. Unfortunately, the more ill we are, the less attention we receive. It just has to change or all of us are in danger. I fear for my children should they inherit my disorder with the current state of affairs. Anyway, to make my point about the difference between mental health and mental illness. Every human has their own mental health to take care of. None of us have had a perfect life free of strife, mistakes, disappointment, dysfunctional relationships, loss, etc. So, each of us has been molded by the positive and the negative in our lives into what we currently are. That is mental health. People deal with mental health issues every single day from those experiences. That is NOT, however, mental illness. Do you know the story of the princess and the pea? The pea is our mental health. All of those mattresses are mental illness on top of every single positive and negative experience in life. It piles high on your psyche and smothers your mental health. You can't find your mental health. It is not health (or the pea), it is illness (all of those mattresses piled one of top of another hiding that pea), and there is no princess in this story. Mental illness is a disease of the brain. You will see me repeat this over and over. The very organ perfectly designed to help us rationalize, accept, make decisions about, and lead us through an illness is the very organ that is diseased. It conflicts itself. It works against itself. It fools itself. It can't be trusted all the time. Like I said, it is a beast. We know next to nothing about the brain and therefore know very little about mental illness and how to treat it, (never mind cure it!).
So what did I learn from Mesa Springs? Well, first, I have to tell you that it was very difficult for me to transcribe the first week. I cried many tears while doing so. How in the world did I let myself get that low? But, I felt energized by the last 6 days. I saw the broken become much less than broken, and I am even more less broken now by making myself relive it. So, transcribing those last days was, in sorts, a mini boost. I learned that anyone can go from the depths of despair to beginning to accept mental illness. Yes, I have accepted that I have bipolar before. It was time for me to accept it again. I learned that anyone can go from the depths of self hatred to beginning to love oneself. Have I loved myself before? Yes, but it was time to do that again. I learned that if I want to be the kind of person I want to be, I first have to willingly accept the person I am, illness and all. That was a kick in the butt to my perfectionism. It didn't take kindly to it. I learned that I am enough. I have bipolar. I am not ashamed of it. I need help at times. And I am a fighter, so I am going to ask for help when I need it instead of beating my head against a brick wall. If I can do any of this, you can do it too. I watched, as a third person (even though I was transcribing my own words), someone come back to life and succeed.
I have been enrolled in an aftercare intensive group therapy program at Mesa Springs since my release from inpatient and it has been very hard work. I am finished now, but most days I came home mentally exhausted and had to take a nap. So please understand this very important fact. Inpatient stays are for one reason only. To stabilize you to begin working your way back to a balanced state. I read an interesting article the other day that spoke to getting your bipolar disorder IN order. I like that thought. Bipolar is never free of the possibilities of a manic, hypomanic or depressive state. A lot of very regimented, hard work has to go into lengthening the timeframes between episodes. Tons. So, inpatient stays do nothing more than get you ready to jump back up on that horse and try to ride. You just never finally reach the proverbial sunset. You are going to fall back off at one point or another. It doesn't mean when you fall off that you need hospitalization. I did, but I not only fell off the horse, I demanded it stomp all over me and kick dust in my face. You probably don't need hospitalization like I did if you are working hard and sticking to your regimen. You may just need a med tweak. But then again, that is the beast. Bipolar hates meds. Bipolar hates regimen. It fools itself that it doesn't need that. How many cancer patients find out that their tumor is shrinking and decide to stop just because they think their cancer will heal itself without any further treatment? I'm willing to say that if that number exists, it is very low. Ask that about mental illness and your number is too large to count. Even the group therapy that I just finished isn't the 'end'. I now face intensive personal therapy, finding some public support groups out there, deeper dependence on my personal support group for an unseen amount of time, and a regimented sleep, diet, exercise, and medicine schedule (again). All of that and more, like journaling and blogging are what I need to manage my mental illness.
I entered Mesa Springs in a bad state. Today, I am in a much better state. I entered broken and am now much less than broken. I still have a long way to go. I understand depressive and hypomanic states are a part of my future. But, Mesa Springs gave me a selfish idea. It made me realize I want to change this blog. I still want to blog about stigma and needed law changes. However, I am going to focus more on topics that we can address together to take care of ourselves. I know of a blogger with mental illness that blogged how uncomfortable they were with blogging about their struggles. You won't find this here. If I don't stay authentic with you, how can I be authentic with myself? So, I hope you will like the future blogs I have in the works and find them helpful. I will be including how I struggle, too. We'll share tips for managing. We'll delve into topics about why we think the way we do as mentally ill persons and how we can improve. We'll go into topics that are exercises for self care. We'll share with our supporters how to help us help ourselves. And, we will still talk about stigma and needed changes. Even though my main goal is still to touch you, I will be touching and supporting myself at the same time.
I would like to leave you with two songs. The first, "Sober", by Tool, is me going into Mesa Springs. It has one word I want you to change. When you hear the word, 'sober', replace it with 'normal'. The second song is "Fight Song" by Rachel Platten. That is me today. Stick with me, let's fight together.
To balanced and productive days my friends,
Laura
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