10 minutes in my manic brain

I’m cycling into mania. I live with bipolar disorder. I want to do all the things. I don’t want to sleep. I have a million FABULOUS ideas. Why doesn’t everyone see how fabulous my ideas are and be part of them? Wait, if I recognize it does that mean it’s not really mania? What if I’m just going crazy?  I should make presents for everyone. Right now. At 1:45 am. No, I should clean. No, I should write everyone letters about how much I love them. I should record tutorials. I should write blogs. I should write soldiers. I should write more prisoners. Imagine their lives. Imagine the many who have lost or are losing hope. The many who are wrongfully convicted. The many who made an awful decision but who are truly remorseful. Those who will get out of prison after many years not at all knowing the strange new world they’re coming into. What is wrong with our society? I should get a law degree so I can help people. That’s way too much school and I have a hard time with boundaries. That won’t work. A paralegal degree? Yes, I should enroll RIGHT NOW. Oh, I bet my niece would love this present! I guess I understand why veterans don’t like being told “Thank you for your service”. Some feel like they didn’t join to be of service, if we knew what they were thinking at the time we wouldn’t be thanking them, that we have no idea what it truly means to serve. But for civilians they mean it. They appreciate those who made sacrifices many of us will never know or understand. They’re hoping to make up for a generation that spit on those coming home from war.  Should we say, “I’m glad you came home”? Thank you for your sacrifices? We all understand sacrifices although not at the level as our veterans. I should go visit the veterans’ home tomorrow. I should make it a habit. I should make them a postcard album. But I’d have to tell people not to write “Thank you for your service”.  Maybe there are lonely veterans who don’t really have anyone and I could brighten their days and help them feel loved and hopeful.

What’s that taste in my mouth? Orange juice shouldn’t leave a metallic taste. Yuck. I want coffee. Coffee won’t help me sleep. Not sleeping makes the mania more pronounced and sometimes increases the cycling of depression/mania. I should read something inspirational. I can’t sit still and focus that long right now. I wonder if Aaron is really happy. I don’t think this is the relationship he envisioned when we me, when he proposed, when he married me. But then I was honest, too honest, when we first met and he knew what he was getting into. Do my stepkids hate me? Past and present stepkids. Although they’re all mine. They’ll all always be mine. All 7 of them. I’ll be just a phone call, a text, away. I’ve made so many mistakes. Do they know how much I love them? Do they know I always just wanted the best for them? Do all my children know this? My sister-in-law and brother have done such an amazing job being parents. They’re close with their kids, they play with them, laugh with them, cry with them, discipline and set expectations with them. I’ve made so many bad decisions in my life. Maybe some people are right. I’m a toxic person, I hurt people, I’m too negative, I’m really selfish but I convince people I’m not, I take advantage of people… No, no I’m not. I’ve helped so many people, been there for people, and I always truly want to help and make things better. Every time someone mentions a worry, a problem, to me my mind and heart instantly go into fix it mode. I have to work hard to simmer it down because it drains me and I give too much to stay healthy myself…

This is about 10 minutes in my brain and it's not all of it. And I think you’re right there with me. So I say things or ask questions that seem really random. But they make total sense in my brain and I can’t understand why you’re so slow at catching on.

Thank you for being patient with me, for being my friend after I make grandiose plans and then fall of the face of the earth for a bit. This is why you might get a bazillion texts in a row from me and then nothing for days/weeks/months. And those texts will probably be completely random. 

Petrified

Some mornings, too many mornings, I wake up warm and cozy with my fleece sheets pulled up to my chin. And I feel petrified - emotionally and physically. I feel I can't possibly get myself out of bed for yet another day. My body feels made of stone.The simple acts of shower, make-up, hair, and finding something to wear seem like too much. I curl into a ball thinking about another day behind a computer, wearing headphones to help limit the noise that sets off my anxiety, forcing myself to interact with people for 8 hours, trying not to be irritated by everything around me. The argument with myself begins. Of course I can do this. I can get out of my bed and get the day going. I have a good life. Friends who care, people who love me, a good paying job for a great family friendly company. And yet moving - getting out of my bed - takes so much out of me I wonder what I'll have left for the rest of the day. If it's a good day, there's no pain anywhere. My joints don't hurt. My shoulder doesn't ache. If it's a really good day, once I get myself moving the day doesn't take quite as much energy and I can have a "normal" day.

I suffer from bipolar disorder. For me, the manias are rare but do happen. The depression is frequent. I've tried most medications and had various issues with the majority of them. I can't "snap out of it", as much as I'd like to do just that. I'd love to wake up and say, "Today I won't be depressed or anxious. Today I won't be so tired and achy that a day at work takes everything out of me." In fact I do wake up and say those things. But sometimes it's really not about "mind over matter".

This is my life. Some people can't handle it: the ups and downs and never being quite sure where I'll be at next, the overreactions, the irritability. I can't say I blame them. For those who have managed to stick around, I say thank you. It is because of you I'm still here and making it through another day.

6/2/14 Update:
Turns out I'm not bipolar. I suffer from depression. Although apparently note severe enough for my insurance to pay 50% of my medical bills. It's considered mild, so they pay 30%. Whatever, right? Anyhow, the last two psychiatrists decided I have some anxiety and depression, at times impulse control, but not bipolar disorder. I'm also what's called a Highly Sensitive Person. It explains a lot, actually. But so far knowing that isn't making the fact that I've spent most of the last two days hiding in my room wishing the world would just BE QUIET any easier to deal with. At least now I know I'm not crazy or just a bitch...

Choosing Fun over Healthy

I want to vent and complain, but I can't. Not here. Not yet. Not about this. Partly because I'm hurt and angry, and the people I want to vent about are hurt and angry, and frankly we all need to take some time and calm down!

And now I've totally forgotten what I was going to write about instead. I'm truly a hot mess these days. I can't remember what I did an hour ago. Is it meds? Is it stress? Am I just going crazy? All of the above?

Anyway, I recently posted about my problems with bipolar disorder and addiction. I asked for friends willing to help me be accountable. This is hard for me... I say I want this, but it's not so easy to accept when they actually start doing it. I've said it before: I have a tendency to not only justify things on my own but have others around me who justify for me. They tell me I have every right to do what I'm doing because of this, that, and the other thing going on in my life or done to me.

This pretty much sums me up! Image from Autistm - Day by Day. 

Well, let me tell you, if you want someone who takes this accountability (and your well-being) seriously, TheBorgBlog is the person to have in your life. I was fortunate enough to meet her through Twitter at #wineparty. (Read her post #crankypants and #wineparty confessions... to find out more, especially if you're on Twitter and find yourself at home bored on a Friday night.) I began reading her blog - which I thoroughly enjoy - and tweeting with her. We've gotten to know each other through email and eventually texting. She's an awesome friend. And now she's helping hold me accountable.

A few things she knows about me:

• It's important for me to get 7 to 8 hours of sleep each night to help manage my bipolar disorder.
• I need to exercise at least a couple of days a week to help relieve stress and stay in shape. 
• I tend to do things I want before the things I need. 
• The details of my addiction. What kind it is, how it's affected my life lately, and so on.
• Alcohol, while not my addiction, makes it more likely I'll give in to my addiction.
• I need quiet time to myself to stay stable and sane.

Photo from Sugar Doodle. Check out Nicole's Value Posters for more!

So last night I had a plan: go home and check on the 5 teen boys in my house, pick up a few groceries and prep some healthy meals for myself for the week, go to the gym, go to bed by 10.  I went home. I saw the boys needed food, which meant going to my most hated place (Wal-Mart), and off I went. I also needed some cards, which take me forever to pick out, so I wound up being in that dreaded store for over an hour. I also had to stop for gas and go to Safeway for a few things. I don't like to work out after 8:30 or so because then I can't get to sleep. (All justifications/excuses, I realize.) So when a friend texted and invited me over for a glass of wine and daughter's birthday dinner, I said sure. Took the groceries home and headed over. 

TheBorgBlog very kindly, but firmly, pointed out to me that it's much more fun to go to someone's daughter's birthday party and be with people than stick to my plan to do things that are healthy for me. I wouldn't be taking time for myself, working out, or (probably) getting to bed on time. She pointed out the things I say  I want to do versus the things I end up choosing to do.  Which is exactly what got me into trouble last week. 

Another friend asked what I ate yesterday and when I told him, he was so kind as to point out that I probably feel so tired all the time because almost everything I eat comes from a box. 

Today's lunch. Marie Callender's Smoky Bacon & Cheddar Mac.

I continue to go forward - attending meetings, making appointments, setting bottom lines, and making healthier choices. I'm grateful for the people in my life who are stepping forward to help me be accountable for the choices I make - who are helping me really think about the choice and what could come of it. 

I wish I'd taken many of these steps years ago. I can't change that. But I can move forward much more positively.  Thank you all so much for helping me in my journey.

Best Friend or Frenemy?

I originally wrote this as a piece for another site, but they wanted me to change it and make it more mom focused. I decided I didn't want to, so I'm posting it here. Where I can just be me. I may not get as much exposure or as  many comments, but that's okay.

Me and my high school best friend, Marcy, in the summer of 1992. The summer after high school graduation.
 We lost touch when I moved to Germany and I have no idea where she is now.

I've never been very good at making friends. I'm shy and self-conscious (in person, so all my Twitter followers and Facebook friends just hush right on up now), which leads people to think I'm stuck up.  In school I was on the lower end of the socioeconomic scale and some years my best clothes were hand-me-downs from a friend.  (Wouldn't you know, from someone I thought was my best friend who turned on me and helped make the next three years of my life a living hell.  But I'm not bitter. Nope, not me.)  My glasses were horrible and my haircuts mostly hideous. I was a nerdy, out-of-style kid who really had no idea how to get through school without being picked on. These days, I'm still nerdy and not particularly fashionable. I'm also intense and moody. I can be dramatic, crazy, witchy, and sometimes say things I don't really mean. Frankly, it can be hard to be my friend: bipolar and anxiety don't make for fun friendships at times.  But I admit when I'm wrong, I apologize for what I've said/done, and I try to be there for my friends. Add to this my busy life as a work-outside-the-home mom of four, and friendship is that much more difficult to maintain.

Recent events in my life have me thinking about how to define "best friend". I asked around to see what others think and got some interesting responses from my Twitter friends and a few others:

• Someone who'll hold your hair back while you vomit, then tell you to use better conditioner. (@Anchorbeard)
• Someone who is there day or night, time passes you pick up where you left off, doesn't expect anything just knows your there, knows every secret and never judges! (@TGalletti)
• Someone who you can call and always hangout with- also likes sports and the same video games. (@amzmomrocks' 12 year old son)
• BF= supportive no matter what, BUT will always give honest opinions & advice. Never tell your business. (@MrsMiscellanea)
• Someone who tells you that your deodorant is not doing its job but still rides to work with you. (@6todd2)
• TRUST! And it takes time to develop. In my life best friends evolved over time. (@foxbat16)
• A best friend is someone who gets you and loves your weirdness or neurotic behavior. (@kel3054)
• As adults, I believe a best friend is more like family. Someone we choose, someone we love and will always be there for. Someone we love unconditionaly and do not judge, but can be honest with all the time, even if it's a difficult subject. Someone we can trust with our secrets and who has our best interest in mind. A person who will not stop being a friends just because you have done something they don't like, or you have offended them, someone we can easily forgive. I also think its important for us to have mulitple best friends, who meet different needs in our lives. (My best friend, Angie)
• Someone you can trust. Someone who doesn't have to pretend around you. (My 19 yo daughter.)

Angie, me, and Amy in May 2010.

I have two very best girlfriends. Amy and I have been friends since our elementary days in Arizona. She stuck with me through bullying that was so bad I tried to slit my wrists to avoid having to go to school. She stuck with me through awful rumors that had no basis in truth. She stuck with me through my first heart break and the resulting downward spiral into a wild lack of self-control. We mostly keep in touch through Facebook and text. We haven't seen each other in years and rarely talk on the phone (this is totally my fault - as most of my friends know I hate the phone and even have a slight phone phobia).

The other is Angie. Angie and I met as co-workers about 13 years ago. I was a single mom, going through a manic phase. Two very different women, I'm not sure how it is we managed to become so close. She was my Maid of Honor when I got remarried.  I lived in a studio in her back yard two of the times I left my husband (welcome to the world of bipolar disorder) and one of those times I was pretty much out of control.  We've been friends through her divorce and my move. I've hurt her feelings and she's hurt mine. We don't talk nearly as much as we used to and see each other maybe once every few months.

Angie and me, March 2011

These two women have seen me at my worst. They've known me at my best. They haven't always agreed with me and at times probably didn't even like me, but they always love me.  They never judge me. They never turn their backs on me. I know I can call them anytime, that I could show up on their doorstep at two in the morning and they'd take me in, no questions asked.  I can text them when I'm angry and go off for 1/2 an hour and they won't tell me I'm too hard to be friends with. They won't ask me questions about my life and then when I tell them the answers, judge me for what I've said. They won't send me messages going off on me and then when I try to respond tell me they can't talk to me about it anymore. They call me on my crap, tell me I know what I'm doing/saying is wrong, tell me they don't agree with me, point out that maybe I need to see my psychiatrist for a medication adjustment - but they don't abandon me. They listen to me rant about my kids and significant other and they rant about theirs. They remind me no mom or wife is perfect and I'm not a total failure at either.

And that's how I define a best friend.

Also, here are a few resources (I didn't put a lot of research into them, but I think they're interesting and maybe helpful):

How to help a friend who suffers from bipolar disorder

Social Anxiety Disorder