It’s All in Your Head

“Oh, It’s Been a Hard Day’s Night” ~ John Lennon & Paul McCartney

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So, yesterday sucked balls (for some reason I really love this term). I’m having a bit of a tough week, and yesterday I pretty much lost it. I’m missing my son and his girlfriend since they are in their own apartment now…I’m working really hard to get my house in order and have a wrenched back and purple/numb finger to show for it…and this week marks the 3rd anniversary of seeing my nephew for the last time before his death. Also, this is the exact time that J began making plans to see his ex which started his back and forth abandonments and cheating.

In some ways, I’m really proud of how I’m handling things because not long ago, I would have been much worse. It shows that I have grown and healed to some extent these past couple of years and that I really am stronger. But it also brings me back to a place that I never wanted to visit again.

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My sis and I were talking about this last week as we discussed things happening in our quarantined lives. She’s always worried about me…she was my protector growing up and still plays that role today. I know she’s proud of how far I’ve come since that fucking breakdown 3 years ago, but she also knows once you experience something like that, there’s always a chance of going back. I have to agree.

Anniversaries are tough, aren’t they? The anniversary of someone’s death. The anniversary of a divorce. The anniversary of a marriage or relationship that failed. The anniversary of a tough time in your life. As much as we like to put things behind us, they still have a tendency to haunt.

For some reason, I find myself saying “I’m Sorry” an awful lot lately. It’s almost like I’m going back to a somewhat ‘weaker’ me I thought I had all but buried. Maybe since these anniversaries are here though, I find myself going back to being a ‘people pleaser’, just to ensure I don’t get hurt again. Hmmm…I don’t know.

One of my precious students messaged me last month and asked me something I’ve had other students deal with as well: she had been sexually abused as a child and was worried about having a child someday herself. How would she protect them? Would she be able to recognize when something was wrong? How could she open the road of communication early so her child would feel comfortable sharing things with her? Other students who have been physically abused worry they might end up repeating the generational cycle they were in, that their own parents lived. I’ve had female students tell me they will never marry or live with man because they are so scared they’ll be in a domestically violent situation like their mom was.

So, I tell them it’s understandable how these serious past issues are affecting their present. I talk to them about being conscious of the damage these situations caused will help them in stopping these cycles. After all, you can’t fix what you don’t acknowledge (Dr. Phil 🙄). I also recommend they develop a support system of friends and family who are aware of the issues, see a counselor to learn how to put ‘safeguards’ in place, talk to their partners about their fears, and to make themselves understand they don’t have to be like those who hurt them. They can make a cognizant decision to be the kind of parent or partner they want to be, and anyone, with enough ‘want’, truly can break this cycle of abuse.

three red heart balloons — Photo by Kristina Paukshtite on Pexels.com

We are all in cycles…patterns…dances…whatever terminology works best for you. I know I am. I fall for someone and immediately I’m so elated and excited since I love to love (that sounds like a great title for a song), and I want to share with them, be with them, and get to know all I can about them! Falling in love excites me; it opens my heart and so much flows from it. I think this can be attributed to the feeler inside of me…the empath. This sensitive person I am who when I feel something, I feel it strong and want to share every single bit of myself with that person. The problem? It can be hard to keep up! I know it can be overwhelming. I know I’m very excitable. Well…I know I’m bipolar.

I also know that when I’m around others, I try very hard to be the person who never rocks the boat. It’s almost like Everyone Loves Raymond…I want everyone to love me! And I guess I’ve learned, through various life experiences, that to do that I need to acquiesce to the wants of others. To make sure they’re happy. Satisfied. “If I’m good enough and sweet enough and act happy enough, this person or these people, will have to like me!” For some reason, I associate any criticism, hearty disagreement, or conflict with the idea the person has ceased to approve of me, and for those of us who are sensitive ruminators who tend to personalize things, this is terrible for us! As a result, we do what we say we won’t do again: push our own needs down, do all we can for the other person, envelop them with a love that’s very hard to return, and then take blame for when things go wrong. I don’t like this dance and I’m trying so hard to change the steps. But when this is the only way you’ve danced for 50 years, that’s easier said than done.

This fucking bipolar. I know so many people have it much much worse. I truly understand that and I thank God every single night about how grateful I am for the blessings I have. But I still hate this. It’s so easy for people to say, “Of course I understand you’re bipolar”, but it’s not so easy to understand that if I am more emotional or sensitive to words and behavior than others are, it’s because of this brain illness. Unless you’ve been there, how do you describe what it feels like to have your brain pushing you one way, when you really want to go the other. Pushing you to have that emotional, hypersensitive reaction instead of letting you tone it down to what is more appropriate. What’s more realistic. You’re fighting an opponent that’s very very difficult to beat.

Maybe I need to put some of those masks back on that I tore off a couple of years ago. I am starting to understand masks can be a good thing too and we really do wear them more than we think. Sometimes I say to myself, “OK, Kristi, who do you want to be today?” When I get into another relationship, will I be able to put on a mask that says: “I’m a bit reserved because I don’t want to give so much that you have the power to destroy me.” I wonder what that mask would look like?

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There are so many ‘anniversaries’ for me in the spring and summer: my grandparents dying, 2 husbands leaving, 2 weddings (and no, the weddings and leavings were not necessarily the same people…and yes, I understand this aspect of my life is a freaking soap opera), my nephew, J, my breakdown, etc. It’s impossible not re-visit these. To make yourself forget. And so many of these bring me pain. Remembering my sweet nephew who was killed on a Naval ship continues to bring tears to my eyes. Looking back at my weddings and remembering the excitement of starting a new life with this person, and then trying to understand how the marriages fizzled out like they did. I smile when I remember my grandparents, but get choked up too after all of these years since I wish they were here to hug and talk too. Having to go back to all J did and trying to still build myself up from being torn down like I was. And remembering that breakdown. That fucking breakdown. Actually, I’m reminded of it everyday since I have scars that mark the time.

I’m going to try to put on a ‘strong’ mask for this summer. I’m not going to be fake or go back to being someone I’m not.

I just need to consciously remember I’m capable of handling anything that might come my way. Old memories…new situations…new people. I’m not going to have the mask completely cover my face though. I’m going to have more air holes so I can breathe. More flexibility in how it fits. A better representation of who I am compared to masks I used to wear.

So anniversaries…memories…do you worst. I’ve got the ability to handle them now. And to be honest with you, I’m pretty proud of that.

Kristi xoxo

“I’ve Had the Time of My Life.” ~ Bill Medley & Jennifer Warnes

people riding a camel near pyramid under blue sky — Photo by Mouad Mabrouk on Pexels.com

So, as I’ve mentioned before, I’m a Pinterest nut and am constantly scrolling through it (in fact, it’s my go to app when I’m on the toilet). Anyhoot, because I’m always looking at mental health issues, quotes, etc. I get a lot of self-help stuff on my feed. I’ve been noticing a lot lately about how we need to LIVE OUR LIVES LARGE! How it’s so important to travel the world…make every single one of our dreams come true…do something spectacular and world changing every day. And here’s my question: Why?

I’m the first to admit that I live a somewhat little life. To be honest with you, I have no aspirations to climb Everest or hike for a year around Europe or write the great American novel. Instead, I like my little life, and am tired of apologizing because I don’t want more.

It’s not that I don’t have dreams and aspirations…of course I do. But they are a bit more contained: I want to get some books published, travel to each state in the U.S., become a motivational speaker. And that’s pretty much it.

You hear a lot about bucket lists and I know a few people who have them. I’ve never made one, because first of all, there it is in the previous paragraph, and second, because I just don’t know what the hell else I’d put on it (besides kissing Taron Eggerton…I’d even give up my dream to live in Antartica for a year if this ever came to fruition 😳 🙄). A lot of bucket lists include things like: riding horses on the beach, attending the Olympics, swimming in each of the 4 major oceans (are there minor ones…I never really thought about that), seeing the Great Pyramids in Egypt, and you get the point. Actually, as I was researching a bit about this topic, another recommended item for a bucket list was to swim with wild pigs in Exuma, Bahamas. 😐

http___cdn.cnn.com_cnnnext_dam_assets_181007112502-07-piggies-of-paradise — By the way, the pigs bite. 😲

Here’s the problem with those: first of all, I hate big crowds so the Olympics is out. Second, the thought of a horse pooping on the beach takes the ‘romance’ out of that idea; I’ve swam in 2 of the ‘major Oceans’ already and to be brutally honest, they both looked the same to me. The thought of hiking through the dessert to see something that has no gift shop attached just sounds freaking exhausting, and swimming with wild pigs is something I would only do if it was between that or hearing yet another one of ma’s stories about a friend of a friend of an uncle’s cousin’s neighbor who got splashed while walking down the street 6 months ago. Get my drift?

Is it bad not to want to do some of these things? No. Is it bad to DO some of these things? Of course not! I’ve actually done a few bucket listings that others might have written down: run a few marathons, bungee jumped (which literally made me pee myself…it was the most horrifying 15 minutes of my entire life, including 16 hours of back labor), got an advanced degree, etc. I did these because I just wanted to at the time…I wasn’t really thinking about how they might be part of a list.

Nowadays, it’s almost shameful if you don’t have high aspirations:

“I’m going to sail around the Galapogos Islands in Ecuador!”

“Wow…so have you traveled to other countries before?”

“No…never been out of the state.”

All righty then, good luck with that.

My pursuits are smaller and it’s little things that actually make me the most happy:

buying things for my house and fixing it up just so, knowing it’s all mine
smelling Dottie’s little head after I give her a bath
cuddling up next to Edward when we’re watching a scary film (every night)
hearing the cardinal sing outside my office window who has been around for the last few years
walking in my classroom on the first day of the semester and being so excited about having new students to teach and get to know
running hard until I’m a sweaty mess and then taking a cold shower and getting squeaky clean
walking around the pond near my house as I cool down after a run and watching the geese hatch their babies every year
seeing the green come back every spring and loving the smells of the fall
smelling lilacs when they bloom…my favorite scent in the world
warming up muffins ma makes and devouring them with tons of butter on top
buying new art supplies and organizing them
wandering around the dollar store and seeing what new books are on the shelves
the smell of a new car
the smell of ‘English Leather’ because it reminds me of my grandpa
laughing with my sis so hard that we can’t talk, while no one else even understands what’s so funny
playing cards with my ma and seeing her get a pissy look on her face when she’s losing (which by the way, is a lot…I have a ‘system’ for winning)
mowing my yard and admiring how nice it looks while the dogs play
running in the first snow of the year
walking in the rain
looking at my son’s photographs and being blown away each time by his talent
seeing my boy smile anytime and every time
flipping my pillow over in the middle of night to get to the cool side
cracking a window in the summer so I can listen to the crickets as I go to sleep
writing in this blog and typing Kristi xoxo at the end because I know I have another post done that I’m happy with
reading, sewing, painting
biting into a just picked tomato
fixing chicken and noodles on the coldest night of the year

And my list goes on and on. See, it’s obvious I’m not living a ‘large’ life. In fact, it’s pretty darn small. But it fits me. I’m happy with it. Sometimes I’ll be talking to someone who has just returned from a trip or done something big, and they’ll say ‘You gotta go’ or ‘You just have to do this.’ And when you say you really don’t want too, they look at you like you’re out of your mind…as if being happy with smaller things is wrong. Why? I think it’s great to plan and save and spend lots of money on bucket list items, but my stuff just requires me to walk out the door. I don’t have to wait. I don’t have to plan. I just ‘do’.

Maybe part of this is because of being bipolar. Sometimes my life is enough to handle as is, I certainly don’t need anymore stimulation or anxiety or stress. Like when I travel, I worry about what my moods will be like. When I went to Florida in March, I was still in the midst of a depression and it wasn’t alleviated by being on the beach. The beach was awesome and beautiful, but I was still down. My environment doesn’t change my bipolar. I can be sad at home for free…as opposed to on a boardwalk for a couple thousand bucks.

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So, I’m thinking that instead of telling people they have to do something ‘awesome’ with their lives, or have bucket lists that include ‘running with the bulls in Pamplona, Spain’, maybe we should just tell people to live their lives on their terms; in their own way without any judgement. It’s true we only get 1 life (at least that’s what I believe), so why should I be forced to live it in the way others tell me too? Why is it wrong to be content with what I already have? Already do? It makes me happy…and isn’t that the secret to living your best life ever anyway? I think it just might be.

Kristi xoxo

I’m Gonna Love Me Again” ~ Bernie Taupin

white black and red person carrying heart illustration in brown envelope — Photo by freestocks.org on Pexels.com

So, any of you who know me even just a tiddle know how incredibly much I like the film “Rocketman”. I think I’ve watched it at least 20 times, because the music, and the inspiration of the story is just so damn good. My favorite song is the final one called “I’m Gonna Love Me Again” by Bernie Taupin, and here are my fave lyrics from it:

Singing, I’m gonna love me again
Check in on my very best friend
Find the wind to fill my sails
Rise above the broken rails
Unbound by any ties that break or bend
I’m free, and don’t you know?
No clown to claim he used to know me then
I’m free, and don’t you know?
And oh-oh-oh, I’m gonna love me again.

Here’s why I was thinking about these words today: one of my sweetie students wrote me and asked me how you go about loving yourself. She said she has always heard you can’t love others unless you love yourself which is something she struggles with, and she was scared she’d never be in a relationship because of that. So, I’ve been thinking a lot about loving yourself. How can you learn to do it, and why isn’t that love already there? Also, is it really true you can’t love anyone else if you don’t love yourself.

I don’t know about you, but my love for myself fluctuates…it waxes and wanes based on what’s happening in my life. I think it’s much more fragile than the love I have for others. Much more conditional based on my standards. Much more unforgiving based on my ideas. I wonder why that is? Why it’s such a challenge to love ourselves as openly and non-judgmentally as we do others? Why is it I can quickly forgive another person and my love never wavers, but I just as quickly berate myself and lose self-love in the same situation?

Maybe some of it, or all of it, has to do with being bipolar. I’m a ruminator. An overly sensitive person. An empath. But the last 2 of these wonderful qualities (🙄) seem to only be for others.

I can hate myself so easily. Years and years ago, I had a mutt named Scooter and he was 15 when I had to put him down. For a few weeks prior to that, his kidneys were failing, he was deaf and going blind, and he had cancer. Because of all of this, he had a lot of difficulty with bladder control and he was quick to snap at me since he couldn’t hear or see me approach before I touched him. I had to crate him when I was gone and it was a horrible and stressful time. One day, out of frustration, I got angry (and I’m not going to tell you specifically what I did…it wasn’t terrible but still wasn’t right) and scolded him too harshly. It’s literally been 17 years since that time, and I still haven’t forgiven myself for it. Seventeen years. If someone else had done it, I would have forgiven them in a heartbeat. Understood the frustration, the stress, the fear. But not me. After little Scooter was gone, I went over it and over it in my head and truly hated myself for making those couple seconds in his life crummy.

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I can think of so many other things I’ve done in my life that I’ve hated myself for, that I would have accepted in others with no loss of love at all. I’m the first person to say that love isn’t a ‘switch’, if it can be turned on and turned off easily (meaning I love you today, but don’t tomorrow) then that’s not love. Love is supposed to sustain us through the bad times, not suddenly go away. It’s supposed to grow during the ‘worse’ while celebrating the ‘better’. If it doesn’t…if it disappears when there’s a bump in the road…how can that have actually been love?

So, is it really love I have for myself if I do turn it on and off based on my behavior? My words? Even my thoughts? I don’t think so. When I’m in bad situations, that ‘love’ leaves me at a time I need it the most. When J cheated on me, I continued to love him. But I started to hate myself. What was in ME that compelled him to cheat (I know this thinking is wrong NOW, but that’s what was going on inside my head at the time)? Was I a bad person? Ugly person? When Hubby 3 left, I hated myself. I would spend hours doing ‘reruns’ in my mind about fights we had and issues we should have worked on, and I criticized myself harshly and was convinced it was my fault he walked out the door (which I have since painted and it looks awesome).

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It’s sad to me how hard we are on ourselves. My sis is the curvy one in our family and I think she is beautiful…I truly do. But, she’s so hard on herself when she gains a pound or two. I guess I’m the same way too though. We tell other women that no matter what, they have a unique beauty all their own and they are special just the way they are. Then we look in our own mirrors, and catalog our flaws one by one and say things like “Oh Lord, I hate the way I look” or “Dammit…if I didn’t have these thighs I’d love myself so much more.”

So, if I’m hating on myself or at least not totally loving myself, can I not love others? See, you may disagree, but I believe you can. No matter how I’m feeling about myself, I still love others. When I was married to Hubby 2 (keep up…I know how hard it is to remember all of these) I had periods of depression and didn’t like myself as a result of what I couldn’t do. Hubby also disliked it when I would say how awful I felt…how down…how helpless I was. It was hard for him to understand the organic basis of depression and in his family, when you aren’t feeling ‘right’, you hear “Get to work…it’ll help!” or “Ignore it…it’ll go away!” But through it all, I loved him. Very much. How I feel about myself might affect my interactions, but I never stop loving. Ever.

Maybe talking about having to completely love ourselves is unrealistic. Maybe it’s simply that we should be more LOVING towards ourselves. Maybe the key is forgiving ourselves like we forgive others. Letting go of things and consciously catching ourselves when ruminating on them. Allowing ourselves to make mistakes, with the understanding this is something everyone else does as well. Talking kindly to ourselves. Looking at our bodies and saying, “Yes…I have a belly, and thank the Lord I do. It carried my baby boy!” Accepting our mental illnesses that cause so many of us to feel shame, self-doubt, less self-worth, more guilt, and feeling we are less than because of them.

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In other words, being as loving to ourselves as we are to others; I guess I’m just not there yet. But I’m thinking that might be OK because I see this as a process. A day by day challenge. And no matter how ‘loving’ I feel towards myself at any particular time, I still accept me for who I am. Someone who tries their hardest, does her best to make the world around her just a little bit better, and can’t help but to see only the positive in people.

So, Bernie…I love what you wrote, and I’m working on what you ask. I’m gonna love myself again. And again and again and again. But just understand, it’s a lot harder than we might think.

Kristi xoxo

“Schools for Fools” ~ Jamie Kennedy

So, in a perfect world I’d write to each and everyone of you, but since that’s almost 3000 and counting, I figured this would save me from carpel tunnel syndrome. Here goes:

To My Amazing Students:

First, I don’t use that word lightly and you also know I am brutally honest so there you go. You are all freaking marvelous to me.

I’ll never forget the first day I walked into my classroom at Hutchinson Community College in KS. I had just had my son 6 months before and needed to get out of the house once in a while so I wouldn’t lose my mind. I knew that was happening when I would continue watching “Barney” long after my son was asleep. Anyhoot, I got a job teaching a psychology class a couple of nights a week, even though I didn’t have my Masters degree yet, and I was a wreck. Back then, in the olden days (1994), we had what were called ‘paper rosters’ (ask your grandparents and quit rolling your eyes) and when I tried to take attendance that night, my hands were shaking so badly I couldn’t read the names. So, I took a deep breath, braced myself against the overhead (google it…there still might be a couple around), and dug in. I know I did terrible…what the hell did I know about lecturing? I was used to teaching 5th graders how to write a paragraph. I was young and scared and after doing so bad in high school, never thought I’d be in front of a college class as the instructor. Lucky for me, my students were extremely patient and kind that first semester, and had mercy on me for the evals. I was so thrilled when I got hired again and again for more classes.

18519507_10158665370275082_7669739309193944420_n — Eating lunch out with 2 of my students because we just had so much more to talk about!! They are an amazing couple!!

Every semester was better as I gained confidence in myself (and didn’t have leaky boobs because my boy was still breast-feeding), and I even started doing this very new-fangled thing called “Distance Learning” where I was ‘beamed’ to other locations and kids were in those classrooms too. I had to keep track of my ‘real’ students in the studio, monitor 4 other classrooms, and deliver a lecture. OMG…I felt just like Dianne Sawyer (if only I would have had her blonde hair). The technology was amazing! I was actually on TV! Wow! 🙄

There were so many awesome experiences there, and I realized how much I adored teaching college! I had a lot of students take me for more than one class (suckers!) and I realized how easy it was to build relationships with them. But there were some sad times too. Once, a student went into labor in the middle of my class. We were so excited for her and called security etc. It was her 4th baby and we all had bets on the gender. She is a wonderful woman, and as you know, I like nicknames and called her Knickerbocker Bear! Sadly, I got a call that night from her hubby, and he tearfully told the baby had suffered distress and was still born. I was so devastated for her. When she returned to class a couple of weeks later, we all rallied around her and cried. I realized then that a class can be a family too.

13062274_10156804969805082_9091811536014234582_n — My student and I clicked from the beginning…I was so sad to see her graduate! How selfish is that?

I also had my first totally blind student. She hated me in the beginning because I had no clue how to deal with her lack of sight. The internet (invented by Al Gore) was in it’s infancy and I just couldn’t ‘search’ to see what strategies I could use. I did everything wrong and she let me know! Finally, I asked her to help me learn how to interact with a blind person appropriately and she did! She let me get close to her seeing eye dog and we became great friends after she took a couple of my classes. She taught me more than I ever taught her, and her understanding of how people aren’t rude, but ignorant at times, turned her attitude around too. When I left Hutchinson, she was the last person I visited.

Hubby and I decided to come back home after our 3 year stint in Kansas (where he had been transferred) and after I got my M.S. I had graduated community college from where I teach at now, and when I applied, I was so so excited. I was back on my old stomping ground.

It’s been 24 years, and I can honestly say I’ve never, ever, not wanted to be with y’all every day that I am. No matter what’s going on in my life, you are my bright spots. My sunshine. Once, when I told Hubby 3 (yes, I know, they are hard to keep track of, just try) I wished I could have had more kids, he said: “Honey…you have hundreds of kids. Thousands!” and he was right (at least about that). That’s what I think about all of you. Yes, you are my students first, but you are more than that. Much more. You are ‘people’ struggling with so much and to be a part of that side of your life, makes me a more compassionate, understanding prof who learns what you need and how to present it best.

288118_495027130512133_1762728789_o — My student and I who ran a 10k together while my son, his friend, watched! It was so hot and hilly, but we did it by encouraging each other the entire way!

In my classes, as you know (quit skimming this…for goodness sakes, read it all) we talk about really shitty things (I can cuss here…it’s my blog, so there). Domestic violence, rape, child abuse, sexual abuse, divorce, alchoholism, mental illness, war, death, suicide, and the list goes on. It’s such a joy 🙄. But it’s necessary for the classes I teach. I tackle the hard stuff because that’s what can happen in the world. And here’s the thing: I’ve never taught a class on any of these issues without having a handful of you e-mail me to tell me your story. I know you can’t see my tears, but knowing what you’ve been through, how you’ve found the strength to go on, and how so many of you want to use these experiences to help others overwhelms me. I’m humbled by you.

But at the same time, I was lying to you. I was letting y’all share, and I was still the consummate professional (look up that word and quit rolling your eyes at my vocabulary) that wanted to be seen as your ‘guru’, like I saw my profs as being mine. I’m not worthy of that though. None of us are. So when I had a breakdown 3 years ago, I stopped lying (to me and you) and started sharing with you about my having a mental illness and things I’ve experienced in my life. I had too. I was actually teaching summer school during this time, and we were in the tail end of the semester. There were days I’d get up at 4 in the morning (yes, life starts before 7…you’ll find out when you have kids) and would have to force myself to shower and dress and then drive to teach you. Some days I didn’t think I’d get through the couple of hours we had together, and some days I’d have to take a break. I was embarrassed and ashamed but you all took me by the hand, gave me an incredible amount of support, and showed me that the love I feel for you goes both ways. In so many aspects, you were part of my salvation.

10363955_10154124726995082_8691975107848878302_n — Yes, my student is as gorgeous as this pic shows, with a heart to match!

Then my nephew was killed on a Navy ship. Only 1 colleague acknowledged the pain and grief I was feeling. One. But not you. EVERY day y’all would ask me if I had heard anything about him since things were so confusing with missing sailors, and once I learned his body had been found, I was devastated. When I came to school the next day, you started hugging me and comforting me as I cried. Sobbed. Because you were the only support (outside of my ma and son) I had. When older folk say that you ‘young people’ are self-centered, I say bullshit (don’t say that in front of your own ma…it’s not respectful). You are the opposite. You did so much for me, and I see you do so much for others as well.

I had a student threaten me, and like anything on a campus, word leaked out. When I wasn’t taken seriously and was ‘victim blamed’ for him threatening to rape and kill me, so many of you said how you lost respect for the institution as a result. I had dozens of you want to protest and do a walk-out to show your support of me. I told you not too and that I was OK (you knew I was lying, my perceptive sweeties) because it was my battle (that I lost) to fight, not yours. Just knowing you felt so strongly and so protective of me helped diminish the blow that treatment dealt me after so many years. YOU are the reason I came back day after day. I still don’t feel totally comfy there anymore. Not totally safe. I know that people will turn on you in seconds regardless of what you’ve done. But not you…not at all. And you kept my faith in people. Literally. Thank you for that.

97402524_1585487618269561_205898232499273728_n — My student who is graduating tonight! I truly love her like a daughter and am so proud of her!

OMG….we’ve had so many fun times too! Donut days! Saying ‘anyhoot’ to make you smile. Having students say “In the name of all that is holy” in a high pitched voice to preface my comments! Teasing students who laugh the hardest. Laughing so hard in class we can’t continue until we get control again. Talking about weird stuff like serial killers where we feel guilty for being so interested. Having you come to my office and eat lunch while helping me pick out a dress for a wedding (not mine 🙄). Bringing candy to school around Halloween and Easter so we can get all chocolaty and sticky before the next class. Rolling our eyes at each other as we pass in the halls. Being in clubs together and having bake sales where we eat more than we sell. Giving high fives to each other after a super great comment or grade. Watching funny video clips at the end of class to get you on your way in a better mood than when when you came in. My wonderful jokes I tell so well (shutty…and remember my best one about the nuns?). And the list goes on and on and on. There hasn’t been a day I haven’t smile with you or laughed with you…no matter what!

And now I’ve been teaching so long (yes, I’m still 40…I started teaching college when I was 12 and quit doing the math 😜), that I get to see your engagements on FB, your wedding pics, your precious babies, and all the amazing degrees and jobs and things you’re accomplishing! It’s so fun for me! And in the spring and summer? I get so many wedding invitations I can’t go to them all, but I love love love buying you something! Following your lives and still interacting with you is a joy…whether I had you 20 years ago or 1. Truly!

So, on this graduation day for my current students, I wanted to tell you all this: thank you for letting me be a part of your lives. It’s been not only a pleasure, but a privilege as well. Whenever I get feeling blue about the state of the world, I think of all of you: the amazing, talented, intelligent people who are working to make changes, and then my hope in humanity is rekindled. You all have so many gifts, and don’t let anyone tell you different. You are loved. You are appreciated. You are important. You matter. Professor K says so. And remember, I don’t lie.

Kristi xoxo

P.S. I have permission from each student to use their pic…just sayin’! 😀

“You Should Have Seen His Face When I Started Taking My Clothes Off. Priceless.” ~ Stephenie Meyer (Breaking Dawn)

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So, one of my Facebook buddies I’ve known since the 7th grade sent me a message the other day and said this:

“And you are so easy to support. You just put it out there!! You never ask or demand, and you have this thing with honest reflection of the places and moments that make you whole. I thought I was the only one with questions attached to things like joys and regrets.”

I loved getting this and it showed me that opening up on this blog really is helpful to others. We all have our challenges…our burdens…and to write about them and share them maybe helps to distribute that weight a little more easily, or eases the heaviness on some on our shoulders.

When you hear the phrase ‘coming out’, you think of those who have revealed to their family, friends and colleagues about their sexual orientation or gender identity. And that’s a wonderful thing! For so long, members of the LGBTQ community were forced into ‘hiding’ so to speak. To talk about their orientation was societal suicide and often still is. They can lose family and friends, be fired from jobs or denied promotions, be denied housing or custody of their children, be a victim of a hate crime, be an outcast in a neighborhood or community and the list goes on.

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What’s so sad to me is that even though things have ‘gotten better’ more than 50% of LGBTQ have faced discrimination in just the last year, and even more frightening is there’s no federal law against this (Center for American Progress, May 2nd, 2017). What the hell?

The term ‘coming out’ regarding the mentally ill is similar. Like the LGBTQ community, there’s a lot to lose and a lot of discrimination tied to having a mental illness: housing, health care costs, work issues (yeppers), criminal justice issues (receiving longer sentences, etc.), loss of friends and difference in treatment among colleagues (been to that freaking rodeo) to name a few (National Alliance on Mental Illness, March 11th, 2020).

So why did I do it? Why do any of us do it, regardless of the issue we’re coming out for? Because it’s not only hard to fake your way through life, it’s simply not fair. Pushing down who you are to pretend to be who you’re not is exhausting, and shameful to the person. You aren’t ‘good’ enough…’normal’ enough…’right’ enough to be fully accepted in our society, and feeling that way leads to self-stigmatization as well. It also impedes seeking help/recovery and following through with it, as well as asking for support from others which leads to more feelings of low self-worth. In other words, your ‘person’ is thwarted and you feel less than.

Of course my family knew about me being bipolar and so many of them were supportive and accepting of the mentally ill ‘me’ which was such a relief and validated my worth. I also share with my students, when it’s appropriate and in the context of what we are studying. When I teach about mental illness, if I can’t talk about something I have openly, how can my students believe my lecture in which I state there needs to be acceptance of those with mental illness, education about the various illnesses, and a real effort to end the stigmatization of this population (which is quite large, by the way). If I can’t talk about being bipolar without shame and share my experiences, everything I teach them is a lie.

But there have been consequences for ‘coming out’ too. Colleagues look at me differently. Some are so supportive and I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it. Others have told me that it’s all in my head (hence the title of this blog!) and if I just got off those meds and kept a positive attitude, I’d be fine (oooookkkkkaaaayyyyy). A couple told me to ‘pray it away’ (what the fuck? I believe I was given this for a reason, peeps…and I would prefer these particular people pray away their ignorance instead). I think the worst I’ve experienced at work was when I was having a very serious issue with a student at the same time of my mental breakdown and when I was at the bottom of the most serious depression I’ve ever had. I was treated horribly (after 23 years of perfect service) and my mental state was obvious. This was used against me as proof I was the cause of the stalking and direct, written threats I received. I couldn’t fight it. My illness was too strong right then.

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How transparent should I be though? Should I share everything? My sissy and I were yacking about it last night (after I admired her highlights…they freaking rock), and she said I wasn’t being honest when I didn’t share everything going on in my life. And she’s right. I promised candor, but I realized there are some things I just can’t do that with. I have my secrets…and I think we all do. If I share every piece of me, what’s left that’s just mine? It’s kinda like when sis and I would go trick-or-treating and take a look-see at our candy after. I’d keep some of my treats hidden from her (I’m sorry T…I’ll buy you some Reeses peanut butter cups to make up for it) because I wanted those all for myself. Likewise, it’s not always easy to be completely transparent. Accountable. And like all of us, it’s just too hard to be ‘out there’ all of the time. I guess I just need to keep some of my ‘me’ inside too.

I know my ‘coming out’ has helped people, and that quote at the beginning is only one of scores I’ve received. Every time I hear that I’ve encouraged others to lessen their shame of having a mental illness and assured them it’s absolutely no fault of their own, I feel justified in this openness. Is it worth the negatives? You betcha.

Like I’ve said in previous posts, ‘coming out’ has freed me. Removed so many of the masks I was hiding behind. Helped me to live more authentically which has bolstered my self-confidence and worth. It ain’t always easy doing this, and it ain’t always everything in my life that I put out there. But it’s real. Something I wish we could all be, no matter what it is we’re struggling with.

Kristi xoxo

“Someone Call the Doctor. Got a Case of Love Bipolar.” ~ Katy Perry

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So, I’m reading a book about a school shooting, and during the trial of the shooter, a psychiatrist is testifying after interviewing the boy. The defense attorney asks what the psychiatrist was looking for in terms of mental illness, and he states ‘bipolar and schizophrenia.’ Heh? Bipolar (I’m going to focus on this one since I have it)? Really? It’s perceived as being that dangerous it needs to be ‘looked for’ in a school shooter? I’ve had a LOT of ups and downs with this illness, and it hasn’t been a bed of roses, peeps, but I have never entertained the thought of hurting others.

After reading this I decided to peruse the web (you know, the one Al Gore invented) to see what is said about bipolar out there, because this particular illness really does have a lot of stigma attached to it. So, I googled (that’s a search engine, ma…don’t monkey with it or you’ll get confused) ‘what are some questions people have about bipolar’ and I was gobsmacked (Lord, I love that word) about the way it’s perceived. Let’s dig in, grasshoppers.

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One question was: “Can bipolar people love?” (Skip over these next few words, ma) but what the fuck? Really? There’s the idea floating around that you can’t LOVE if you have bipolar? No. Not true. Here’s where I think this came from: when we’re in a manic state, everything looks wonderful and exciting, including potential partners. We might feel that initial intoxication very quickly and be giddy in the romance. Yes, some might become very promiscuous too. However, what the person feels during the manic state may not be love; we are so emotionally bombarded with energy that’s overwhelming us, we might say it’s love when it’s really just sexual infatuation. 🤩

But, you gotta remember that us bipolars are not always manic and not always depressed. There is a state in-between where we are ‘relatively’ stable called euthymia and this, at least in my case, is when I can really ‘fall in love’ (whatever the hell that means) and know that it is love. When I love someone, I love ’em whether I’m manic or depressed, and I love them hard!

Another question was: “Can people with bipolar be faithful?” Short answer? Yep. Long answer…well, here goes: when we’re manic we’re not making the best decisions and are usually very impulsive with no thought of consequences. So, during those times, yes, it’s possible. Sometimes the mania is so strong, there is no ‘you’ left inside to help mitigate what the mania is wanting you to do, but sometimes there is and that reigns you in.

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However, a medicated bipolar (me!) who is on a mood stabilizer (I love Lamotrigine…if I could marry it, I would 😳), then the ups and downs are so much more calm; it’s like the roller coaster becomes a bunch of small, rolling hills and your thought processes are much more clear. You have to keep in mind though peeps that 40% of people cheat on their spouses and I can guarantee you they ain’t all bipolar!

How about this question: “Are bipolar people violent and dangerous?” Yes. I keep a roll of duct tape and some tarps in my trunk. 🙄 There are so many mental illnesses that can can cause a person to be dangerous including psychopathy, sadism, narcissism, borderline, etc. However, people with bipolar are either really really happily manic or we’re pretty down in the dumps, and neither one of these states has violence as a feature. Of course, someone with bipolar ‘could’ be dangerous, but so could anyone. Right?

Last one: “Is it safe to live with a bipolar person?” For piss sakes, yes. Hello! I raised my son very very lovingly…I adore each and everyone of my students…I’m the best dog ma around…and my house is comfy cozy with me sitting on the couch at 7:00 every night, in my jammies, watching Netflix. YIKES! Sounds horrible! Now, people who live with someone bipolar need to understand there are going to be issues, but through education, patience, and counseling, these can be handled well.

You know, when you see how stigmatized bipolar is and how it’s perceived by others, you might believe we’re just dangerous people who fool around and will bitch slap you at anytime. Nope. But, we do have some serious issues affect us that should garner some sympathy: bipolar people have a reduction in life expectancy of 9-20 years (more than a heavy smoker) and this is scary as hell to me. Particularly since I don’t have a grandbaby yet (did you read this sentence, son?). We are also at greater risk for dementia as we age, as well as seeing an increase in the severity of our depressive episodes. These things are disheartening to me and should show people that we have more fears about being bipolar than others might have regarding the myths about it.

Look, people with mental illnesses struggle. Right? So many of you reading this are battling everyday and we need support, understanding, love, patience, and encouragement from others to get through. What we don’t need is misinformation circulating about that causes yet more problems in our lives. We need to be seen as people. Individuals. Folks who are sometimes good. Sometimes naughty. Sometimes happy. Sometimes sad. We’re ma’s and pa’s and sisters and brothers and teachers and CEO’s and nurses and doctors and electricians and sales people and on and on and on. In other words, in so many ways, we’re really just like everyone else.

Kristi xoxo

“…But I Grew Strong, and I Learned How to Get Along.” ~ Gloria Gaynor

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So, something happened last night and when it did, I was quite gobsmacked. A friend and I were chatting about relationships, and she said, “You know the saying… no one wants a woman who has ever been abused.”

What? I guess when she said that, 2 things quickly ran through my mind: first, that a relationship with me is probably not advisable, and second, I am ‘dirty’ or ‘shameful’ for having been in abusive situations.

I guess I can understand the idea of a relationship not being the easiest thing with someone who has been abused…whether man or woman. There is a lot of baggage we carry and although time can soften those memories or even push them down so far you aren’t really conscious of them, I know how easy it is for those to affect others. My friend and I have been discussing trust lately and both of us have struggled with situations that have broken it, and let me tell you peeps, nothing breaks trust more than abuse. Once that happens, and although you tell yourself again and again the next relationship is a new playing field, it’s easy to be wary of how the game is going to be played.

Take cheating. Please. Before J cheated on me the first time, I would ask him if he was talking to his ex. He would look me in the eye, tell me a firm no, and also made me feel that questioning him was wrong because I had nothing to worry about. And? Those words meant nothing, because all along he was planning for the moment. After, when we got back together, he said the same. He had learned his lesson…saw how much it hurt me…and vowed, eye to eye and holding hands, it would never happen again. The next day, it did. Of course, through this all he was emotionally and verbally abusive to me. In retrospect, which truly is so much clearer than when you are in the midst of something, I could see the purpose in that: the worse I felt about myself, the more likely he could proverbially have his cake and eat it too.

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How do you get past that? How do you allow yourself, in a new relationship, to believe the person when they say the same? Once you’ve been burned, how do you not assume that all stoves are hot? It’s almost reflexive…an ‘instinctual’ reaction that has been created to protect you from this happening again. It’s not that you are ‘blaming’ the new guy/gal for something they haven’t done. It’s not that you don’t want to believe what they are reassuring you of. It’s not that they have hurt you. But unfortunately, our past experiences dictate so many of our future ones, and when something has made such a lasting impact on you, it’s hard to brush it aside.

Now, the idea you should never be with someone who’s been abused? Hmmmm…gonna narrow your playing field, that’s for sure: 1:3 girls and 1:5 boys will be sexually abused by 18 (scary as fuck, isn’t it?), and about 3 million cases of child abuse are reported each year…and these are only the ones recognized and turned in for help. So there are an awful lot of victims out there walking around as adults.

What upset me the most about the comment of never being an a relationship with someone who was abused made me feel disgraced. Embarrassed. As if I was at fault for what happened. As if I could have stopped it anytime.

With J, it seems I should have been easily able too. But like anyone who has been abused by a partner, once you have been manipulated, broken down emotionally, made to feel less than in every situation, it’s tougher than it sounds. You see, I liken an abusers tactics to fishing (something I actually love to do): the victim needs to be hooked and then played with so they don’t fight what’s happening. That’s what abusers do. They bait their hook based on what they see in you (vulnerability, sadness, loneliness) and use that to catch you and reel you in, all the while making you think you are in a better place. But it’s not, because it’s a net where everything you wanted was just an illusion. Then, abusers break down their victim. It’s not as dramatic as cutting off your head and scaling you, but it’s damaging none the less. Once you’ve been broken down to the very bottom of who you are, it’s very very tough to pull yourself up…or even believe you should try. This is so hard for people who haven’t experienced abusive partner relationships to understand.

And then with the psychologist. I was a teenager when he started sexually abusing me. I had come to depend on him to where I trusted him with my life. The power dynamic between a psychologist and client is very one sided, with the professional having all of the influence and advantage. People seek out help because they are dealing with something that is insurmountable to face alone, and the person they seek help from becomes something of a guru. A savior. And once that’s been established, especially in a 15 year old and for 2 years, being able to see it any other way is almost impossible to do. Then, to be told you owe them…that’s it’s going to be healing for both of you…that it puts you on a higher level than his other patients, is something I needed to hear at that point in my life. It made me feel like I must be special, and that I must have some power over him too. I mistakenly believed I was so much better than I had thought for him to see me in a sexual way. That was a heady thing to someone who desperately needed that validation.

EDPgkS4XUAEdIYY — Britain’s National Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Children

But it leaves a mark. A scar. Like a smudge across your face that everyone can see. You perceive yourself as being different, because you are. You’ve been through something that was dirty. Wrong. Degrading. Humiliating. Hurtful. The feeling of powerlessness that goes along with such abuse stays with you, whether it’s been 5 or 35 years. And since having a mental illness feels the same way in terms of feeling different (for lack of a better word), it’s a double whammy. Having bipolar makes me more sensitive, emotional, more likely to ruminate, etc. so processing the abuse, and then putting it in a compartment to try to ensure it’s effects on new situations are minimal, is tough to do.

When ma was going through her divorce with R who had abused her, she would say how she never addressed it because of the shame it wrought inside of her. I told her, time and time again, that the shame was on R, not her. She was the victim. Not the perpetrator. I wish I could listen to my own words.

Those of us who have been abused already feel guilt, a sense of betrayal by those who have hurt us, feelings of stigmatization, and damage to our perceptions of our self-worth. We don’t want to be seen different or damaged. We want to be seen as survivors who have come through abusive situations with strength. With lessons to share. With an experience that allows for empathy. With more compassion for all who have faced such dark periods in their lives. Maybe others will never ultimately see it the way I do, but I think it’s admirable.

Kristi xoxo

P.S. Wanna show me some love, peeps? Just click on the FOLLOW button on the right! 🙂 xoxo

‘Scary Monsters (And Super Creeps) ~ David Bowie

So, one of the most short-sighted, but often quoted saying to me is this: “There’s nothing to fear but fear itself.”. Now, when Franklin D. Roosevelt said this in his inaugural speech in 1933 (didn’t know you were going to get a history lesson today, huh?), the country was in the midst of the Great Depression and he wanted to rally the people to not let their fear paralyze them or beat them down further than they already were. OK. I understand the circumstance and the need of FDR to challenge the people to be as pro-active as they could, but today I think this saying is used too freely.

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We all have fears, don’t we? Fear of falling, heights, snakes (ME ME ME), public speaking, being alone at night, being the victim of a crime, clowns (ME ME ME) and the list can go on and on. And to say there’s nothing to fear but fear itself assumes that all fears are irrational. Hey, if I’m confronted by a bunch of snakes slithering towards me, my fear is justified, peeps. My cold sweats and elevated heart beat says it all. If we don’t validate that people have ‘real’ fears and recognize that so many times they come from a very justifiable place, then we aren’t addressing how we can help the person deal with them more productively (damn…that is a very impressive sentence…textbook quality?).

And fears aren’t always about actual, physical danger, are they? I’m a believer that many of us have fears regarding ourselves, our relationships, our mental illnesses. I also believe that these fears just don’t come about quickly, but develop over a period of time through, I could say situations here but it sounds too ‘light’ so I’m going to use the word shit. The shit we go through that shapes us into fearful beings.

Take me (ok…that’s not literal, but if you’re rich and single, give me a call): I learned over the years that to be in a fairly stable place, I needed to make sure I was aquiescent to the people who could hurt me or the people I love. When ma was married to her 2nd husband who was domestically violent, I learned very early in their marriage to give in or go along with whatever R was saying, no matter how irrational or wrong it was. If I didn’t, he’d become enraged and the target of this anger would be ma. In order to keep her safe, I bowed down to him. Knowing ma could get hurt because of me was a tremendous fear in my life every time I was around him.

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So, guess what? That fear became a part of me. It was so deeply ingrained that I still believe that ‘people pleasing’ is a necessary thing in relationships and that it’s important in order for that relationship to be ‘happy’ (whatever the hell that means). I need to make sure I say what I’m supposed to say, or act the way I’m supposed to act, based on someone elses wants or needs.

When that psychologist was sexually abusing me, I knew it was wrong and I felt dirty and shameful because of it. But, he had saved my life…gotten me to open up about things I needed to face. He helped me reign my eating disorder in, talked me down after my first suicide attempt, and the more I depended on him, the more I strove to please him as much as I could. I didn’t know if I could live without him or his office and the sanctuary it had once given me. When he began touching me, I didn’t say no. In so many ways, I didn’t know how. I didn’t want to upset him. Reject him. Give him reason to ‘hate’ me. Abandon me. Throw me away. So, I said nothing.

Hubby 2 has a GREAT mom…she truly is the best and can do most anything and everything. She was “Supermom” and worked 24/7 in such a selfless way. When we had been married for 6 years, we built a house on Hubby’s parents land and I lived next door to my in-laws for the next 7 years. Because we were so close, I felt I was put into a competition with mom. She washed her windows every season, planted a huge garden, took care of acres of property, hung her wash out to dry, cooked nice meals that I couldn’t emulate, and never sat down to read or rest. After hearing for years how terrific she was (and I know she is), I began to feel I had to live up to the bar she set. When I lived next door, I struggled to keep up. If I laid down in the afternoon, I felt guilty (sometimes I still do) and not getting a chore done was unacceptable.

So I did all of this with a smile on my face, wanting to please Hubby and let him know I was up to par with this woman he idolized. And the entire time I plastered a smile on my face. I was ‘person pleasing’ him and I feared the consequence of not doing this would be his disapproval and criticism (something I’m ill equipped to handle thanks to my ‘sensitive’ personality 🙄).

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This pattern, based on the fear of retaliation, hurt and rejection, truly has followed me my entire adult life. The most recent rendition of it was with J. After he cheated on me the first time, I forgave him quickly and with very little effort of apology or him showing remorse. If I voiced my anger, my sadness, or my distrust, he’s the one that became offended and annoyed. You see, my nagging was what was dragging us down. My feelings of distrust and needing to know where he was or who he was texting made him feel resentful, which once again, was the cause of our relationship not being ‘perfect’. It didn’t matter what he did. It mattered what my reactions were. And since I’ve attended this shitty rodeo before, I tried, as hard as I could, to ‘person please’ him. “No honey…it’s ok. I’m sorry I was worried.” “Babe…it’s my fault you’re upset. I shouldn’t have brought her up.”

Sometimes I wonder if so much of this people pleasing, which is founded in the fear of me being rejected, is a big part of the breakdown I had. I had given in to so much over the years and lived my life based on other expectations while sucking up my own wants and needs, that it became too much. Think about it. I was a pleaser in all of my marriages (shutty the mouthy…I’m not Elizabeth Taylor yet 😳); I gave everything I knew the Hubby of the decade wanted, yet they still moved on to apparently greener pastures. (They’re all greener until you start crapping in those too). I gave in to so much of what J wanted throughout our relationship because I loved him so stinkin’ much and didn’t want to lose him, and look what I got for my effort. Nada.

I’m kinda starting this pattern again with my old friend I’ve been yacking too. Trying to be what he wants me to be in order to please him. Trying to say the right things. Agree to the right things, but this time, I’m stopping myself. I’m recognizing it. I’m seeing that if I continue this pattern, it ain’t gonna work out. I think I finally understand that I’ve never wanted someone to be a ‘yes’ man for me. I want their genuine, muddied, real self. By the same token, I can understand how me being a ‘yes’ woman can lessen respect someone might have for me. I guess I’m just scared to put my real self out there. When you have a mental illness, your genuine self isn’t always your best self. Your intentions may not be what your moods are dictating that day. Your responses and behavior may be a done deal before you reign in that fucking brain of yours and try your best to fight it. Sometimes your real self can be very overwhelming to the other person. Sometimes, it can even be a deal-breaker.

So, I learned early on that you can’t rock the boat. You can’t disagree. You always have to nod, smile and say yes on the outside, while saying no to yourself on the inside, no matter how much it hurts or how much it might cost you. But, as I have found, people pleasing isn’t the key. Maybe trying to be whatever the other person wants you to be isn’t the strongest foundation for any relationship. And maybe what I’ve been doing all of these years is backwards – that the key is simply pleasing me and them much more equally and hoping the other person can accept that as being enough.

Kristi xoxo

“We Don’t Need No Education” ~ Pink Floyd

Growing-up-FB — National Alliance on Mental Illness

So, I’ve been teaching since I was 24 years old: 2 years olds (who scared the crap out of me), 5th and 6th graders, high schoolers, and of course, college, and through these experiences, I’ve learned there are 2 types of students – those who memorize and learn what they need to know for the subject, and those who take what they are learning and apply it to their lives in ways that allow for change and more insight to come about. I think a lot of us are actually both. There were classes I took where my main objective was to do all I could to get my grade and then scoot the hell on. Ask me what I ‘learned’ in College Trigonometry. The answer? Not much. I got my A and was very proud of that, but I never applied the info after my final exam; it wasn’t ‘important’ enough to my life and what I wanted to do, so the info has fallen by the wayside (Note to Dr. S: you were an AWESOME professor to teach me something that was so hard for me to pick up…bless your heart in heaven!).

I guess I’m feeling this way about what I’m trying to do with blogging: to educate others and help people see the inside perspective and challenges of mental illness, and then to take that info and run with it. But I also understand this is very hard to do, particularly for those who have no experience with these issues themselves.

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Besides my brain (🙄), I’m really quite healthy, and so it’s difficult for me to understand what it’s like to have diseases and physical illnesses. For example, diabetes. I have a friend with this, and he is struggling with a bit of a weight problem . At times, I nag (yes, I said nag…I’m quite good at it actually) him to walk more, ride his indoor bike more, and eat better because I’ve read that losing weight and exercise is a great help for a diabetic. And for me, this would be easy. But I’m me…not him. I don’t have any idea what it is to struggle with low blood sugar, to have to wear a monitor that’s showing insulin levels which must be checked dozens of times a day, to have diabetic neuropathy which makes balance and walking difficult. I simply haven’t had this so I have no clue what it’s like to walk in his shoes, and the ‘advice’ I give to him is much more demanding to do than I can ever imagine.

But by the same token, it’s the same with mental illness. You can read all you want on it…show greater acceptance of people who suffer from it…vow to be kinder to those who have it, but actually doing these things is tough if there’s no personal experience to draw from.

I’ve written a lot about how bipolars have heightened sensitivity and stronger emotional reactions, and research shows that even during our ‘middle’ states (called euthymia – where we aren’t too high or too low but experiencing more stable moods), we are still ‘hypersensitive to emotional stimuli and higher arousability.’ In other words, I’m a potentially hot emotional mess, regardless of my cycle (that word always makes me think of my old menstrual cycles which I’m happy to say menopause has taken care of, thank the Lord). I’ve also written about Rejection Syndrome which once again (if one has this particular symptom which I’m lucky to be blessed with myself 🙄) is always a part of a bipolars life regardless of cycle (but more pronounced when depressed ).

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So, people have learned this from me and understand I have a brain disease that doesn’t affect my liver or my heart or my bones. But, how can someone understand what it’s like to have a brain that is so ‘much’ unless they’ve experienced it themselves?

Instead, those of us with bipolar might hear: “OMG, don’t be so sensitive.” OK…”OMG, don’t be so diabetic.” Or, “OMG…you are so emotional and moody…you need to have better control of these things.” OK…”OMG…you are so low on insulin and have nerve pain in your legs and feet that you need to have better control over those sugar levels.” When it’s put this way, how silly and indifferent it sounds. But to us with mental illness, the comparison is real. (P.S. If you grew up in the 80’s, feel free to say OMG like a Valley Girl).

Look, I can’t control my moods…my emotions…my sensitivity anymore than someone can control what their pancreas is doing right now. And yelling at us, or accusing us of using our disorder (yes, it’s very fucking fun to be on an emotional roller coaster all of the time) or ridiculing us for having ‘something in our heads’ compounds our symptoms even more. The above is hard enough: add guilt and shame to the mix and it can be deadly. Literally.

No one asks for a mental illness (and if they do…well…they’re nuts). Whether it’s major depression, generalized anxiety, a personality disorder, ADHD, schizophrenia, etc., we were just lucky enough to have been dealt that card (or often times, cards). So, why are we blamed even though we’re the victim of the disorder?

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I had a really sweet person talk to me on Facebook not long ago and they said this (with truly the best intentions): “But you seem so normal. I thought bipolars were like, more crazy, than you are.” Hmmmmm. Do you know what ‘crazy’ actually means? Deranged. Insane. Mad. Unless we’re channeling Ted Bundy, that’s not what mental illness is. We are ‘normal’ people in that we love, work, read, garden, run, raise kids, clean our houses, mow our yards, ride our bikes. Bipolar and all mental illnesses/disorders are always with us and these things can be a huge struggle at times; but we’re not ‘always’ the disease. Major depression is always with my sissy, but she’s not always at the mercy of it. Schizophrenia is always with my nephew, but he has stable times when you wouldn’t ever suspect he could be psychotic.

Look, I love love love that y’all who don’t have a mental illness are reading this blog. It shows you have a desire to learn more about these issues, as well as enjoying my incredible wit 🙄. But may I ask you a huge favor? Will you please do more for me? For all of us who have these illnesses and disorders? Try to use the info for more understanding. More compassion. More accurate perceptions that being mentally ill doesn’t mean being crazy. Help others understand that too by correcting them when you hear stereotypes or misinformation.

My goal here is to stop the stigma of mental illness. I guess it started with me on these pages…but it ends with all of us.

Kristi xoxo

“Someday I Hope to Write Something That’s Worth Plagiarizing.” ~ Author Unknown

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So, my son said something so adorable the other day (yes, I know he’s 26 but he’s still adorbs to me) regarding my blog: “Ma, you are blogging so much you are going to run out of things to say.” I looked at him dumbfounded for probably a solid minute and responded: “O, in the name of all that is holy, do you REALLY think I would run out of things to yap about?”

C’mon. I’m a talker. The biggest complaint my teachers had about me in school was how much I talked to the other kids. But the ironic thing is I really didn’t care if they were listening or not because it didn’t matter to me. I wasn’t talking to get information or ask a question, I was talking because I’m the type of person that needs to talk. My ma says I always talked in my sleep, and one of the hardest manners I had to learn was not talking with my mouth full. And if I’m being honest, I still find that very hard to do. I will swallow a glob of food without chewing if I can’t wait to say something I need to get out.

Related to that, I love love love to write and I always have. In early grade school we would copy things from the board to learn our letters and such, but I would always take my paper and write stories instead. I didn’t want to copy, I wanted to create my own story; even at that young age, I wanted my voice to be heard. Bless my ma and dad’s hearts because they saved all of sis’s and my report cards, papers, etc. and I have so many stories in my school box.

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Take a look at these: I know the Spotted Apple was written in the 3rd grade and From Outer Space (my personal favorite because of the green yarn binding) was in 4th. Why these 2 tomes didn’t win a Pulitzer is beyond me.

But now, here’s a couple of huge issues: “Sue Ann Gets Married” sounds very much like the hit movie “Peggy Sue Got Married” which was released in 1986, more than 10 years after my ‘book’, while the “Harry Potter” series sounds eerily like my “Harry and the Spider” novel. Now, I’m not saying these original ideas were stolen per se, but I do have a literary lawyer looking into the matter. P.S. If you are reading this J.K. Rowling, I can show you how to shave off a few hundred pages…Harry and the Spider is 4.

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As I got older, whenever I needed to vent something, I’d write it. Not in journals (like I’ve said before I’m horrible at keeping those) but just on random sheets of paper, the back of ads, on scraps I’ve pulled out of the garbage can. It’s like I have to get the words out and sometimes, for me, writing is the best way to do it.

Maybe because I’m bipolar I feel the need to do this. When I’m manic, there is absolutely no way I can keep up with the thoughts that are swirling around my brain (my new mood stabilizer is helping!). Sometimes people have asked me what it’s like to be so ‘high’ and it’s kind of like the teacup ride at Disney. You sit in these cups and there’s a wheel in the center that you grab and turn, and your cup goes around and around faster and faster until it feels like you’re almost flying. That’s what it’s like (except you don’t puke in the end). So because of that swirling, writing gets things down for me that I can’t keep up with otherwise. I have notebooks all over the house and if you tried to read them…good luck! But I can read every word I scribble down.

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And when I’m depressed? I need to get out things that choke me up to talk about and that I can’t face any other way. Writing allows me to say my thoughts in a way that won’t put off or scare anyone else. These often macabre thoughts are safe on my paper, and seeing them in writing releases them a bit from my brain.

That’s why this blog is so great for me because it gives me an outlet where I can just talk. When I used to sit down in front of a computer as an adult, I would think about perfect sentence structure, perfect grammar, etc. and would be so concerned with the mechanics of the writing and whether or not it sounded perfect, that it was constricting. But now, I just write. Just talk. I don’t care what the sentences look like. I just care about getting down what I need to say that day. That’s what writing should be. Talking…telling stories…sharing ideas. Who cares if it’s perfect?

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I wrote a book a few years ago on marriage (go ahead and roll your eyes…but really, after 3 of them, at least I’m experienced in the subject) and I wanted it to be like other self-helpy type books out there. Lots of chapters with cute tables or graphs, illustrations, references, etc. So, that’s what I sat down to write, and I’d get about 5 sentences in it and give up. It wasn’t ‘sciency’ enough and I’d get so nervous about making sure it was up to the standards of the ‘experts’ that I’d just quit trying. Finally, I decided to talk, like I do in class. Just say what I wanted to say and that’s what I did. I talked about what I thought were important aspects of marriage and instead of worrying about it being perfect, I simply let it flow. When writing goes like that with the words coming easily, it feels so freaking good to me!

I have a couple things in the works right now. I’m starting to write a book about being diagnosed bipolar, etc, and I also have a lot of children’s books I’ve written over the years. When my son was a little guy and we’d run out of library books to read, I’d make up stories for him and then write them down later. I’d really like to get an agent to see if they think they’re good enough to submit to a publisher; it’s always been a dream of mine to be a children’s writer. We’ll see!

Anyhoot, I’m having such a great time writing, talking, getting things down I need too, expressing what I’m feeling, and the best part is that y’all are kind enough to take this ride with me. You don’t judge it, or critique it, or try to tell me what I’m doing wrong. You are a wonderfully accepting audience that motivates me to sit in front of my keyboard everyday. Thank you so much for that. I know this blog is light years away from being perfect, but you know what? That’s just fine with me.

Kristi xoxo