It’s All in Your Head

World Bipolar Awareness Day!

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So, it’s not as exciting as Christmas or as fun as Halloween, but today is World Bipolar Awareness Day, and it’s something important to recognize!

You know, there are so many misconceptions out there in terms of what bipolar is, or is not, so let’s learn more about this brain disease with my infographic below!

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In terms of the mania, here’s what those of us who have bipolar can experience (Mayo Clinic) with my comments in the parenthesis:

ABNORMALLY upbeat, jumpy and wired (I can barely sit down when I’m manic)

Increased activity, energy, or agitation (last summer, I walked 8 miles every single morning and then more in the evening, painted the interior of my house in days, created dozens of pieces of artwork, painted all of my wood furniture, kept up with 3 online classes, did tons of yard work and the list goes on!)

Exaggerated sense of well-being and self-confidence (when I’m manic, I feel like I could rule the world! Literally!)

Decreased need for sleep (I have to take OTC meds to induce sleep)

Unusual talkativeness (my mom knows I’m getting depressed when I stop talking non-stop)

Racing thoughts (sometimes I cry because all of the thoughts are so ‘busy’ in my brain it scares me)

Being easily distracted (my mom will tell me something and I’ll be looking her in the eye, and then I say “What?” and she has to start all over. I’m distracted by my thoughts, sounds, what I’m seeing around me…all the while thinking how I could incorporate this into some kind of art)

Poor decision making (whooo-weeee…where the hell do I start with this one? How about spending $20,000 on motorcycles in one weekend? Or, allowing my ex to move back in with me days after he cheated on me?)

In terms of depression, we can experience these things:

Feelings of sadness, hopelessness, emptiness with lots of tears (I will cry over anything, everything or nothing. I literally feel like there’s a whole inside of me that will never get filled or healed again)

Marked loss of interest in activities (I can’t even think about painting or even coloring a page…I just don’t have the ‘will’ to create at all)

Significant weight loss or weight gain, or changes in eating habits (when I’m manic, I’m too busy to eat, and when I’m depressed, I’m too sad to eat. Also, eating disorders often go along with bipolar, and since I’m a recovering anorexic, this isn’t good for me at all)

Insomnia or sleeping too much (depression makes me want to nap during the day and it’s harder than hell to get myself up and face the night)

Restlessness or slowed behavior (everything feels like I’m doing it in slow motion)

Fatigue or loss of energy (oh yeah)

Feelings of worthlessness or excessive/inappropriate guilt (when I’m experiencing a depression, I apologize for things I did decades ago. I feel guilt over every wrong I’ve ever committed and feel I should be punished for them. When something bad happens to me, I feel like I deserve it as a payment for sins (even though I believe in Jesus). I also feel so worthless that the world would be better off without me.)

Decreased ability to think or concentrate or indecisiveness (I know I stumble over words, don’t remember lectures like I should, and really have to think harder at school when I’m depressed…I hate how it affects my teaching. This is the worst thing for me…knowing that I’m not able to give 100% to my students each and everyday.)

Thinking about, planning or attempting suicide (yep. Been there, done that. Nuff said.)

Now that you know about bipolar, maybe better than you did, this final question remains: What can YOU do with this info? Let’s see:

Try not to use the term bipolar as an adjective…it’s not! It’s not a substitute for crazy or nuts or someone acting out! It’s the diagnosis of a mental illness!
If you know someone you love or know is bipolar, try to remember the above! If they cancel plans on you at the last minute, refuse to join you in eating out, won’t speak to you except in short phrases, they are probably cycling through a depression and it’s not their fault! Also, if they are talking so fast that you can’t get a word in edgewise, won’t sit down and watch a movie with you, want to try everything out there right NOW, they are cycling through mania. Just try to be understanding that these things aren’t their fault.
Having said that, if you see signs that you feel are much exaggerated and/or dangerous, talk to their partner, parents, or trusted friend of theirs. They might need help!
Never ever be afraid to ask a bipolar (or anyone!) if they are considering suicide if you see signs of it (talking about it, giving away things, saying ‘goodbyes’, seeing helpless and despair in them, etc. For a full list of warning signs and more info, visit The American Foundation for Suicide Prevention.) Talking, directing them to call the National Suicide Prevention Lifetline at 1-800-273-8255, discussing what you see with their parents/partner/friends, or taking them to your local Emergency Room can help save their life.
When you hear someone talking about bipolar in an inappropriate way, or you see something in the media that minimizes or portrays bipolar wrongly, speak up! Use it as a teaching moment for others to learn from!

There are so many other mental illnesses out there as well, and learning about them, talking about them, and understanding them can help reduce the stigma that the mentally ill face. The World Mental Health Day is celebrated on Oct. 10th every year, and the Mental Health Awareness Week is the first full week of October. Be vocal these days on social media and show your support for all that suffer from mental illness. We need you!

Finally, thank you all for supporting me. There are so many of you that read my blog who e-mail me with support while sharing your own stories. I love the connection with all of you!

I know it’s not easy to be my parent, son, sister, and friend. I know that it really sucks balls sometimes, and I’m so so sorry for what I’ve put my mom and son through especially. If I hadn’t had, or didn’t have, their support, I know I wouldn’t be typing this right now. The support you give someone who is suffering from a mental illness is truly life changing or life saving. We need you…and we know how special you are to be there for us.

Kristi xoxo

It’s in Their Head.

So, I’ve been reading a lot about the stigma of mental illness, and the more I read and study, the more I’m shocked and disheartened by the attitude of people towards the likes of me: a mentally ill woman with Bipolar and Anorexia (in ‘remission’ but still something I have to fight daily in terms of making myself eat enough and stay healthy).

First, let’s talk about what stigmas are; if you look at the Oxford Dictionary for a definition, here’s what you find:

“A mark of disgrace associated with a particular circumstance, quality, or person.”

Take a close look at this sentence, Peeps. “A mark of DISGRACE.” Really? In this day and age, we are still considered ‘disgraceful?’ Or let’s use other synonyms to further understand this: shameful, despicable, bad. I should be ashamed to have a brain disease? It makes me despicable? It makes me bad? Wow.

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Prejudice is pre-JUDGING. PRE-judging. Putting people in groups based on certain characteristics then lumping them all together under an umbrella of adjectives. “The rich are all stingy.” “The poor don’t want to work.” “All teenagers all use drugs.” Nope. None of these are true. There might be some individuals that have these characteristics, but not all! Now, here’s the one we MI’s might hear: “The mentally ill are just crazy. They should be locked up!” “Those homeless guys make me nervous…you know they’re just nuts.” “I know that if someone is schizo, they’ll hurt you!” And on and on and on. Then, because of these prejudicial stereotypes, discrimination follows – these ideas are acted out by the people that have them, and suddenly, we’re treated differently.

I read an excellent article entitled: The Stigma of Mental Disorders by Wulf Rossler. In this, he states the following: “There is no country, society or culture where people with mental illness have the same societal value as people without a mental illness.” He also writes that people with mental illness internalize societal stigmas, and then experience diminished self-esteem and self-efficacy as a result. Non wonder so many of us feel bad about simply being who we are.

In another article entitled: Prejudice Towards People with Mental Illness, the authors say 4 factors have been identified that underlie prejudice towards people with mental illness (my explanations of these are in the parenthesis): fear/avoidance (people being scared of the MI and then staying away because they’re considered dangerous), malevolence (highly negative thoughts against the MI and thinking they are bad), authoritarianism (the MI should be controlled by society), and unpredictability (who knows what they’ll do?). So, in a nutshell: people fear us…try to avoid us…think we’re bad or inferior…think we need to be controlled…think our behavior is always unpredictable. Wow again.

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So. I’m literally sitting here right now, trying to think of what to say, and I’m drawing a blank. Not writer’s block. But a blank of how us MI can been seen so freaking negatively for having disorders we can’t help. But then, I think about racism, and how skin color changes a person’s opportunities and treatment in our culture drastically. How our gender puts us in boxes with very clear expectations and assumptions. How our social class determines the way people see us, treat us, and either look up to us or down to us, just based on what we might have in our bank account. How can any of this be possible? How can anybody be judged by others who could be judged themselves. I just don’t get it.

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And yes, I’ve definitely felt the consequences of these stigmas. You know, in the 23 years I’ve taught at my school, I’ve only been asked to lunch twice. Twice. People get in groups and eat together all of the time, with me watching my colleagues in adjoining offices getting ready to go out while joking around. But I’m not asked. I think it’s because I can be loud…overly sensitive…overly eager. When a student threatened to rape me and turn me into a lamp shade (his words), I was blamed. After all, I’m the sicko. Right? The crazy and unpredictable one. So, of course MY bipolar had to be the reason for HIS threat. When I’m struggling with depression or having difficulty with suppressing my feelings, I’m simply ignored. It’s just too uncomfortable for others to be around or address. In fact, according to one colleague, mental illness isn’t real. They say: “Just cheer up! Damn, others have it a lot worse than you do.” Or here’s a good one that really makes me feel better: “What the fuck! Quit being so damn sensitive.” (I’ve heard that more times than I can count). Or how about this gem: “God, here goes Kristi AGAIN, just looking for more attention.” Or my truly favorite one: “What the fuck is the matter with you?”

It’s not my imagination; I know I’m treated differently than others since I’ve ‘come out’ and really started talking about my mental illness. I’m not taken as seriously. Sometimes I’ll be talking in a meeting at school, and someone talks over me and I just have to shut up and not contribute. Or, I’ll be in a bad depression but try to hide it from family members because I don’t want them to think I’m not trying to be ‘better’. In fact, I have family members that won’t even talk about it at all, while others have told me: “You’re going to beat this!” No, I’m not. I’m going to fight it, but I’m not going to beat it; this is who I am, and who I have been for as long as I can remember. {Shout out here to my mom, son and sister: they are awesomely supportive of me. My rocks.}

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I feel different than others. I see things differently. I think about things differently. But when I try to express that to people, I’m shut down. And to be a part of the conversation, I just have to nod and pretend that their ideas are mine too. Sometimes I think I should just build a bubble around myself to protect people from having to be around me. Uncomfortable around me. Wary around me.

But, there is a light. You know the friend I talked about in my last post? While we were talking about what having bipolar is like, I told him I did feel so different..so out of place…so at odds with others. And after thinking for a minute, here’s what he said: “Kristi, you are different. You light up a room when you walk in. Not many do that.”

You know, like Elton says in ‘Rocketman’: “I’m OK with different”. Maybe someday, we can all share that sentiment.

Kristi xoxo

Invasion of the Monster.

So, a friend and I were yacking yesterday, and we were talking about what being bipolar is like. He truly wanted to know what went on in my head and how it felt to be me. Very few people have ever asked me this, so it felt really good for someone to be so interested that they asked me for my personal experience with it, as opposed to textbook definitions.

Here’s what I told him: “When I’m manic, it’s like a blender with ice, fruit, and juice, on high, with no lid…just spraying around the kitchen.” But really, in this scenario, the juice has an outlet…it’s escaping the blender. I can’t escape my blender…the ingredients (thoughts & emotions) just keep coming back and getting spewed out again and again.

Then I said this about depression: “It’s like there’s a monster with heavy metal chains that grabs my mood, reels it in, and makes me sink so low during this process that I can’t escape.”

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After listening to this, he said it helped him understand it more, but he had something to confess (Ought oh…I’ve heard that phrase before). His ex-wife had depression and would spend days in their bed, refusing to even get up to eat dinner or walk around. He said it would tick him off, that he just wanted her to GET UP and try. He said he feels guilty now, that after learning more about depression, he was so hard on her when she was down.

First, I can understand him feeling guilty. As much as I want people to understand bipolar and take that into consideration, I don’t always reciprocate well. Ex-partner has a personality disorder: I thought for a long while it was Narcissistic Personality Disorder since his treatment of me mimicked narcissistic relationships in terms of idealize, devalue, and discard (he repeated this cycle multiple times). A couple of months ago, he got formally diagnosed with Borderline Personality Disorder which actually does make more sense while considering other issues in his life. Anyhoot, I knew he had a personality disorder along with the PTSD from his military tours. But here’s the thing, I would get impatient with him. I’d try to change what I was seeing by getting angry with him and telling him what he should be doing instead. I’d respond to his irrational behavior by yelling at him and holding grudges. (On the flip side, he’d do the same: get mad at me when I was ‘too emotional’…get frustrated when I was bouncing off the walls).

So why did I do this in response to his behavior? Like my counselor has said to me before: “He’s Borderline…what did you expect from him?” Yikes. She’s right. Right as rain. Just like I’m bipolar, what the hell do you expect from me? I’m gonna be up and I’m gonna be down. BUT the behavior that results from mental illness can be frustrating, hurtful, embarrassing, anger provoking, etc. to others in our lives. It’s hard to deal with people like us! It’s hard for others to understand us when we can’t always understand ourselves. I get angry at me. I get frustrated by me.

Back let’s go back to my monster and depression. I do believe my monster is very very strong. However, I can’t lay down and always let him win; it’s time I started fighting back. You know, there’s not many times in my life where I’ve been a fighter against people who were hurting me. When I was being bullied in grade school, my sister always protected me so I never had to fight back. When the psychologist I was seeing at 16 sexually abused me for 2 years, I didn’t fight back out of fear and a misplaced sense of loyalty. When I was bullied my Jr. and Senior years in high school, I just tried to look away and make myself as inconspicuous as possible. When ex was cheating on me, I apologized for my role in it.

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I never really fought. But guess what? No more. Let’s all say it together: “NO MORE!” I fight that fucking monster, my biggest adversary, with as much as I can muster. When he’s dragging me down so far I can barely see any light, I grab that chain and pull up with all I have. Link. By link. By link. And then, magically, my feet the floor in the morning. Then Edward comes running to me to let him and Dottie out; so I hug my pooches and let them out to pee in the backyard (and eat poop). Then I have to let them back in and that propels me for a walk to the bathroom where I hop into the shower. Get it? I’m tugging back on that depression monster little by little. And, those little tugs are making me function. Making me ‘do’. Making me feel not so much at the mercy of him showing me only darkness. I have vowed that he will NOT keep me so down ever again that I stand in the middle of my floor for hours, not knowing what to do with all that’s in my mind.

Look, bipolar is a brain issue. My brain is different. I can’t help the roller coaster this brain has set me on; just like someone with a migraine isn’t to blame.

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It’s not that I’m going to suddenly ‘cheer’ up and be happy. But yes, I can push myself little step by little step and show that monster Kristi is still here. Me. And that I’m going to take as much control as I possibly can; count my small victories and celebrate them. Just knowing that I’m fighting back makes me feel stronger, which makes me feel ‘better’ in the midst of this depression.

I’ve had enough ‘monsters’ in my life that I haven’t fought against and I’ve decided I’m not ever going to bow down to anyone (or anything) again. I’m going to fight. I’m going to do all I can with all I have to get wins in these battles. And at the same time, I’m going to get a little piece of myself off of that fucking roller coaster. That son-of-a-bitch monster has led me on this ride for too long. It’s time for me to start taking over at least a few of the controls.

Kristi xoxo

Forgive? OK. Forget? Hmmm.

So, my son and I were yacking while doing dishes last night, and we got on the topic of forgiveness. You see, his best friend found out his wife was cheating on him. After a week of thinking about it, the friend decided to go back to her to give their marriage another shot. I told my son I thought it was great they were going to try to build up their relationship again, and O said this: “Mom, you can’t do that. It will never be the same.” I argued and said it could be, if she worked diligently at building up trust. Again, he said: “MOM…it will NEVER be the same. He won’t be able to look at her the same way ever again.”

So I’ve been pondering this for a couple of hours, and I’m thinking he may be right. (He’ll probably be floored by that sentence if he reads this…rarely do we ever tell each other we were right about something).

Anyhoot, let’s look at forgiveness. To forgive something is to release it from yourself. To let it go. “To remember without anger.” (I don’t know where I read this, but I love this particular definition).

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If I lend you a thousand bucks, and expect you to repay it, that’s only right since it was a loan. BUT, if I say “Follower, I forgive you that loan. You’re clear.” that’s something else. You have been released from the burden of that loan. I can’t go back later and say, “Hey, forget what I said, I want my money back.” NOT FAIR! I have already forgiven the loan. Excused it. Cleared it. I wiped your slate clean.

Get my drift? You can’t say you TRULY forgive someone if you are going to keep bringing the issue up. Keep picking at it. Keep looking at it under a microscope. If you say “I forgive you”, then you pack it away and lock it up. Let’s take a look-see at cheating, something so many people will face in their relationships.

As we know, forgiveness isn’t always asked for by the person who cheated. It may not be ‘fair’ to give it to them. The person may not deserve forgiveness at all. So, you have to forgive them for YOU. You. Because if you don’t, the anger, betrayal, hurt, etc. will feed off of you again and again and again. But, forgiving doesn’t mean forgetting. It means you have become smarter from the experience you went through.

I know of whilst I’m speaking (I feel like typing formally tonight and am feeling quite British after watching Rocketman for the 10th time.) As I’ve said in past posts, my last partner cheated on me with his ex-girlfriend during our 3 year relationship. The first time was during a month stint when she was visiting from another state, and decided to stay with his family. He was living with me at the time, but chose to sleep over at the family home too. You know, just to protect the stuff (old clothes that no longer fit) he still kept there. Mind you, he hated staying there and never did after he moved in with me, but ya gotta protect those pants.

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Then, he cheated on me the last time I saw him in October: Him naked…with another woman right there. So I ASSUME it was cheating, although I didn’t actually SEE it. For all that is holy, I am grateful for at least that.

After that first summer of his cheating a couple of years ago, I couldn’t forgive. No way, Jose’. I think it’s probably because of a few things: first, he lied to me the entire year before he cheated in that he assured me he never spoke to her, never made plans to see her, never e-mailed her and blah blah blah. Second, it was over a month period, with a week here and there in-between seeing her, and he swore to me, actually held my hands, & looked me in the eye, and promised me it would never happen again. Because he loved me. Not her. (When she was here the last time, he proposed to her. Just saying.) And I took him back. Again. Again. And again. (Don’t say it…I know what you’re thinking). Then I said I forgave him. I lied.

I wanted too. I truly did. I loved him so very much. I was deeply invested in his life. His kids were a joy to me and I still adore and miss them terribly. I saw so much in him he never saw in himself. I understood his personality disorder because of my mental illness. I knew he had PTSD from his 3 tours in the Middle East. I wanted to give to him everything he never got from his family. I wanted to forgive him.

So, I said the words, and I thought I meant them. I was ready to go back to the way things had been (which wasn’t a good place either when you think about it.) I said: “I forgive you.”

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But I couldn’t stop checking his phone. He had lied about texting and calling her for an entire year BEFORE the cheating…I had to see his phone all of the time to make sure her number didn’t pop up. And yes, I’m sorry to say I checked his cell billing too. When he’d be out and about while I was at school, I’d ask him where all he went. I looked at envelopes in his mail to make sure she wasn’t writing to him. And this pissed him off. In fact, he told me this behavior was why he was cheating again. Because I was making HIM upset due to this invasion of his privacy. It made him stress out. It made him uncomfortable. So guess what I did? I apologized.

You can say it: “What the fuck, Kristi?” After I thought about it, and it didn’t take long, I realized he had deserved all of that. And more. Hello!!! YOU’RE the one that cheated. YOU’RE the one that lied. YOU’RE the one that broke the trust I truly had in you. I trusted what you said. What you promised. What you swore. You broke all of these things! Your cheating had to have some consequence, and that invasion of privacy was a small price to pay for what you put me through emotionally. You brought it on. You let it in.

Now, here’s the irony of the situation. I was thinking about him last October, after an argument we had on the phone. And while I was stewing about it, I finally realized I had a choice: I could forgive him and rid myself of this horrible behavior I hated to be doing, the angry feelings I was feeding into everyday, and the words I’d say to hurt him like he hurt me; or, I could continue being with him in a way that caused so much stress and rife in my life, that I was making myself sick and ashamed. So, I chose the first. And here’s what happened: I said to ME, “I forgive you, Guy. I’m letting it go.” And I swear that the burden I’d been carrying for those couple of years began to lift off my shoulders. I know it sounds preachy, but it did. I could finally remember all those things without anger. I packed it away and threw away the key. It was such a relief. So I went to tell him the next morning and you know the rest (as does his girlfriend who screamed at me in the hallway of ‘our’ apartment).

“Well,” you say, “guess you shouldn’t have forgiven him after all, huh?” Yes, I should have, Grasshopper. And yes, I have forgiven him again. Not because he’s asked. Not because he’s deserving of it. Not because he’ll even know. But I do. I flushed the anger, humiliation, embarrassment, hurt, and broken heart right down the crapper. It was great to see it spin down that hole.

I’m never going to forget any of this. It’ll fade. It’ll become something I don’t tear up about at times, but it will always be there. I’ll always remember, and I’m building up better boundaries, trusting my instinct more, and working on my self-love because of it. I’m remembering without anger. I’m forgiving, but not forgetting. Instead, I’ve turned all of that negative energy into positive stuff I’m using for me.

And to tell you the truth: it feels fucking great.

Kristi xoxo

Don’t Fence me In.

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So, my counselor and I had an excellent conversation today, and I really look forward to seeing her every week! Yea!

Anyhoo…we are talking about relationships, because as you know from my last post, me and relationships just don’t get along too well. Let’s put it this way: I have a 100% fail rate for them! ‘Nuff said.

As we were talking about the ‘why’ behind all of my relationships ending, I began to see so many of my problems lie in the fact that my boundaries are pretty poor. In fact, if my boundaries were a fence, even a chihuahua could escape. Easily. Having bad boundaries makes it very easy for people to get in. And for me to get out.

One of the many ‘wonderful’ characteristics of being bipolar is impulsiveness. And I’m not talking impulsive as in buying a new shirt I don’t really need. I’m talking about impulsiveness throughout every area of my life, including relationships.

Ever since I was a kid, I’ve never done things half way. I do them the entire way, and then some, or I don’t do them at all. When I was 30-something, I was still carrying around baby weight (from a 65 pound gain…I couldn’t eat just one Oreo when I was preggers, I had to eat the whole damn sleeve) and wanted to lose it. I called my dad who had been a runner since I could remember, and we met at a track. I couldn’t finish an 1/8th of a mile, so I did what any rational person would do. I signed up for a marathon. When I started acrylic pour painting, it wasn’t enough to create a canvas or 2. I had to buy every painting supply known to man…fix up a studio in my basement…and make so many canvases that I’ll be giving them out as Christmas gifts long after I’m in a nursing home. See what I mean?

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I do the same thing in relationships. I jump in…without looking…without thinking…without considering the consequences of what that jump could do to me. Once I’m in, I’m in. I fall too quickly. I love too hard. I give too much. I want even more. And the problem is this: once I get outside that boundary which should be in place to protect me, I’m VERY hesitant to get back behind the little fence there is. After all, freedom is better! Take my Edward. He’s such a good dog, but if I’m taking out the trash, and leave the gate open, he’ll take off and never look back. I can tempt him with every known treat, and he’ll still value that freedom more than the safety of home. Even though it’s dangerous! Even though it’s unknown! Even though something could happen to him that could cause great injury! For some reason, being outside of a gate is so much more fun than being inside it.

Like Eddie, I want that gate open, especially in relationships! The simple fact is, I love love. I hope you read that correctly…let me try it again: I LOVE love. 🙂 I love falling in lust…building up love…getting to know someone…unlocking the secrets of someone…cuddling with someone…knowing I have someone in this world just for me. Little old me. OK, little OLD me.

It’s intoxicating, isn’t it? That first tug of the heart. The first kiss you share when your heart is beating so hard you wonder if it will ever be the same again. But like anything intoxicating, it can be so dangerous too. 1ce81319ae2fb2a691e22822a6618feb

We learn to ‘feed’ off the impulsiveness. It becomes almost addicting. It becomes something to us that puts us in a tunnel. And then all we can see is that tunnel and the person in it with us. We can’t see the dangers associated with it, just like a drug addict might not see the consequences of their use. Our rational mind has been blinded, and our impulsive, emotional side has taken control; face it, it’s MUCH more exciting to listen to our hearts than to our heads.

Hence, people like me put up with a lot of things they shouldn’t. After all, we slid ourselves into this tunnel, we’d better learn to like it; we ran outside the gate, we’d better take advantage of it. So we’ll let people say horrible things to us without calling them on it. We’ll let them use us: financially, emotionally, and sexually, because saying no to them, trying to build up another fence while we’re out wandering around, is just too damn hard to do. And anyway, whose got the time or tools for that? We’ll let them cheat on us, with no consequence other than making them ‘promise’ they’ll never do it again. We’ll let them put their hands on us, when we swore to ourselves that would never ever ever happen.

But after a while, you do get tired of this. Tired of being in such a dark place. Tired of exhausting yourself justifying to others your objection to leaving. Tired of having a hollowness inside of you that nothing outside the safety of a fence will quench now. Tired of looking in the mirror…and then looking away…because you don’t want to see, or acknowledge, the pain you can no longer hide in your eyes. Tired of feeling less than. Tired of feeling like a thing, instead of a person. Tired of not being ‘you’ anymore. You are just so fucking tired.

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Since my last relationship ended, I have come to understand that the safety of a fence is actually so much more comfortable and satisfying than running around without a leash. I finally have gathered some tools now. I finally have time now. I have the know-how to build my fences, and keep them in repair. I have the want to protect this person I’m getting to know better and better each day. A person I’m actually starting to like. Maybe loving myself is right around the corner. Maybe I’m the ‘one’ I’ve been waiting for all my life.

I guess I’ve just come to the realization that I’m worth taking care of. And if that’s not motivation to get busy nailing these boards together, I don’t know what is.

Kristi xoxo

It’s Ironic…Ain’t It?

So, my Master’s degree is in Family Development and Education. I’ve taught hundreds of classes and workshops on marriage and family, and I even have a book through amazon on how to have a happy marriage. And then I get this question from one of my Facebookers:

“I hate to ask this but are you embarassed (sic) to have been married 3 times since you teach about this stuff?”

Well, Grasshopper, let me give you an easy answer: yep.

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I guess I could end there, but we all know how I love to hear myself talk (even if it is in my head) so let’s continue.

With Hubby #1, we were both so freaking young!! I truly believed, with all of my heart and soul, that I was an adult at 20. I also thought that we could live on ‘LOVE’ (you need to say that in a way that the word is stretched out a bit like I do in class). I was finishing up my senior year in university and had to student teach during the entire spring semester, which meant no money was coming in on my end. Hubby was working at the customer service counter of TJ Maxx. Yep. That was all we thought we needed to get by. Minimum wage job with less than 40 hours a week…and love. Guess what? Reality set in quick! So why did this marriage end? Because we had no idea what we wanted! We were still kids! Neither one of us had any idea what we were doing, and to top that off, I know my untreated bipolar caused a LOT of problems. We lasted 4 years…and bless his heart for having the courage to understand we were never going to work. The divorce broke my heart, but it was the right thing to do.

Then Hubby #2 came along. I grew up with him and we went through school together from 3rd grade to community college. He was newly divorced. I was newly divorced. And our loneliness brought us 2 friends together. We had a happy marriage! I really loved the years we were together, raising our son, and creating the little family we had. I think our problem was complacency.

Thinking this is never going to end, so why put more into it than you have too. I’ve learned, the hard way, that complacency kills. It makes you not acknowledge what needs to be worked on. It makes you close your eyes to problems that are springing up.

Hubby #3 was an enigma. He was a big, tough, motorcycle riding, muscled guy with skull tattoos who belonged to an outlaw motorcycle club. People were shocked that we were together because we’re so different! But hubby had such a sweet, funny, smart side and he could make me laugh so hard! This big old tough guy bought me a finger puppet the first year we were married. He was ‘Cookie’ and we took this puppet everywhere we went! I even have pictures of ‘Cookie’ in front of some Van Goghs’ at the Chicago Art Institute (our favorite place to go).

20150405_115115 — Damn…my hair looks great in this! 😉

He decoupaged with me…painted with me…was so so proud of everything I made and all of the accomplishments I worked for. But hubby came from a very bad background…his parents were horribly abusive and negligent and it was hard for him to just be my hubby. The motorcycle club was a brotherhood to him. Was a family. The kind of the family he never had as a kid. So it became more of his life than I was. He knew it and I knew it. We were living in different worlds after 10 years, and when we divorced, it hurt both of us so much. We stood in front of the judge together, holding each other. The Judge asked if we really wanted the divorce…hubby had to answer because I was too choked up. But, we’re friends and we talk everyday. I’ll always be a part of his life, and I know he’ll always be my best friend.

So, it does sound bad that I’m a 3x divorcee. But you know what? When I think back on my marriages (why do I suddenly feel like Elizabeth Taylor?), I am so appreciative of each one of them. Hubby #1 helped me grow up. Helped me to understand my actions have consequences. Helped me to see that marriages take more than just love…they take work and effort and understanding and humility and forgiving and asking to be forgiven and on and on and on.

Hubby #2 gave me the greatest gift I could ever have gotten on this earth. My boy. Those 13 years we had together as a family are the happiest years in my life. I loved being a mommy and a wife. I reveled in it. I wanted some of the moments we shared to last forever and ever and ever. But the thing is, neither one of us put in the effort to make that possible.

And Hubby#3? He gave me passion! He awakened in me things I didn’t know were there! As much as I loved my first 2 hubbies, this guy took my breath away. I thought I’d die if I couldn’t see him everyday, and when we were together, I couldn’t keep my hands off of him. He is the one man in my life that made me feel like a sexy gal!! OooooWeee!

Of course I’m sorry that my marriages ended. And I take a lot of responsibility for this. I was an untreated bipolar going through manic phases (did you know you can plant a half acre garden in a couple of hours??!) and depressive episodes (where I would force myself to make dinner and then sit at the table and smile). I didn’t want to admit what was happening in my brain. By the time of Hubby 3, I just wanted a relationship to work so bad, the things in my head were pushed to the side as much as possible. Would any of these marriages have lasted if I had been treated? Hmmmm. Maybe so. But maybe not. Marriages take 2 people. Both working. Both trying. Both putting in all they can. These divorces weren’t their fault. Or my fault. Each one was our fault. df2c21640f561869bb1990053494eb19

So, grasshopper…I’m not embarrassed. I’m lucky to have had 3 men in my life that gave to me, taught me, loved me, and awakened me. Will there be a #4? Not if my mom has any say in it. And I doubt it. I would have married my ex-partner. I really would have. But maybe marriage just isn’t for me! Kinda like milk. I drink it…I get sick. I get married…I get divorced. However, that doesn’t mean they weren’t good while they lasted.

Kristi xoxo

Learning to Chill.

So, I’m in my 2nd week of working from home. Last week, I moved all of my on-campus classes to an online learning format, and this week, I’m starting to interact within my classes, while getting my students acclimated to this new way of doing things.

First, I know some people are complaining greatly at having to social distance, and that’s understandable. It’s boring. Inconvenient. Tedious. But, I just have to remember that it’s keeping me, and my family, away from the virus as much as possible. And so importantly, that the healthcare workers on the front line…the business owners who have had to shutter their operation…the people that have been laid off indefinitely…those are the ones truly making sacrifices. Some that will last the rest of their lives. How sad that is…and how thankful I am to only have to stay home and teach online. I’m blessed.

Having said that, I’m not good with inactivity. Being bipolar, I’m used to UPS and DOWNS. And to be honest, there’s not much in-between for me. Actually, just not in terms of mood, but for everything. I either love a food or hate it (beets and iced tea come to mind). Want to watch a movie 100 times (Rocketman!!), or turn it off after the first 10 minutes. Decide to buy that shirt the minute I see it, or pass it by with a small ‘blech’.

So activity is the same way. If I get up and started, I can do so much and feel mega-productive. But, if I allow myself to laze around a bit, I feel even more lazy and then guilty about being lazy and then feeling guilty about feeling guilty about being lazy. Yes, it’s a circular trap I find myself in, and it perpetuates itself like rabbits.

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What is ‘lazy’ exactly? And why does it have such a bad connotation in our society? It doesn’t matter what word you use to describe it (idle, sluggish, slow, etc.), being lazy goes against what we are told to do: and that’s to get things done! Multitasking is the new way we need to go about our days! Right?? If we aren’t doing at least 2 or 3 things at once, we’re not doing enough; we’re just couch potatoes. Loafers. A lazy-bones. And look on Facebook. People try to ‘out task’ others by listing all they did that day. “I got my house re-plastered and painted by 6:00 a.m. And now I’m getting ready to run a quick half-marathon before finishing the book I’m writing.” “Oh yeah? Well, I did all of that as well, except I ran a full marathon, the book I’m finishing is a tome, and I did 23 loads of laundry too. But whatever.” Sheesh. When did it become a status symbol to knock ourselves out so much?

I’m learning that lazy isn’t a bad thing after all. Being slow is OK. Idle. I’m tired of tiring myself out all of the time! I’ve been working since I was 16 years old, and have tired myself out for the great majority of my life. I cut the grass more times than necessary. I vacuumed the living room even when it didn’t need it. There were only a few dishes in the sink, but by golly, I did them, because God forbid they wait until more are added.

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And what did that get me? Not the martyrdom I wanted. It got me nothing. Well, nothing beyond being able to say “Look what I did today. See…I’m not lazy!” Does anybody remember what my backyard looked like in 2006? Or that my rugs were extra fluffy a few years ago? Or that my dishes still had a bit of yolk on them last week? Probably not.

I think I know where this came from. My self-esteem has never been great; as I’ve mentioned, I was always different from other kids and making friends was really hard. So, I started to believe that to fit in or make friends, I had to DO SOMETHING in order to show my worth. It wasn’t enough just being me. I had to GIVE. Sometimes it was an over-abundance of time I gave. Or presents. Or money. Or energy into proving “LOOK AT ME!! I DID ALL OF THIS FOR YOU!! NOW DO YOU SEE HOW AWESOME I AM?”

The problem with this is you start to understand it’s never enough. And you start to feel resentful of the fact YOU feel you have to give. But where is that resentment directed? Towards the people YOU feel you have to give too. So unfair to them.

My mother-in-law from Hubby #2 (my son’s dad) was perfect. Martha Stewart perfect. So busy…productive…self-sacrificing along with being a perfect gardener, cook, parent, and believe me, the list goes on. She’s an amazing woman and I love her so much still, but she was a hard act to follow. Especially since we lived right next door to her and her accomplishments were seen everyday. To feel worthy of hubby, I felt I had to keep up. Do just as much, if not more, to show I was ‘just as good.’ Or even just plain old good. I’d be exhausted by the end of the day, and not feel any sense of accomplishment. Just wondering if I did enough and being frazzled about what the next day would bring.

In my last relationship, I knew something was wrong from the start. I have great intuition and usually trust it. However, my heart just happens to be so much stronger, and it often prevails in romance. Because he was still in love with his ex, and was still in touch with her regularly (although I was told I was paranoid when I’d ask him about it), I truly believed that if I did enough…gave enough…proved myself enough, it would be the catalyst for him to love me instead. So I did. I gave all I had.

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Literally. All of my energy and time and emotion and forgiveness and money and gifts and home and everything else you can think of. And you can see where that got me; after all, I’m writing this as a single woman. When we broke up (well, when I walked in on him with another woman…I guess that could be considered a break-up), I reminded him of all I did give him. I fancied the idea that if he remembered all of my sacrifices, he’d realize my value. He didn’t. It was all for naught.

Now I’m trying really hard to work on understanding my value comes from me; from just being me. Not from what I give or what I do. But for who I am with the person…what I feel for them…what they feel for me. I don’t have to ‘buy’ my worth; dammit, I’m worthy as I am.

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So I’m learning that it’s OK to be ‘lazy.’ To read on the couch for hours and get lost in a book. To cuddle with my pooches and nap with my arms around them. To putz around in my sewing room and take my time making something; not just to get it done and checked off a list, but to enjoy the process of cutting and sewing and creating with the fabric. To scroll through Facebook and see my past students show off their new baby. I think these things are more meaningful and more memorable than making sure my check-list is a tad longer than yours.

And with relationships? Yes, of course I’m still going to give (when my Prince Charming arrives). But I’m going to give of ‘me’…of who I am. I’m not going to work and work and work so he can say: “Wow…I need Kristi because she does this and gives me all of that.” I want him to say: “Wow…I love Kristi for the woman she simply is.”

Now that I think about it, I’m not sure I’ve ever heard those words before.

Kristi xoxo

What the Hell?

So, I teach Sociology at our local community college, and now that the nation is practicing social isolation, I am working hard to get all of my on-campus classes switched to online learning. This isn’t necessarily a big deal for me, since I’ve taught online classes forever, but as I’m working on lectures and content for my Sociology of Deviance class, I am getting a bit angry…perplexed…wondering about what we consider to be deviant in our culture.

First, deviance is an act or behavior that goes against societal norms (rules) we have in place; and it isn’t always an easy thing to recognize since it’s dependent on so many variables like culture, context, place, etc. Also, a behavior/act isn’t necessarily considered deviant even if it goes strictly against a societal norm; instead, we take into consideration the ‘label’ society has placed on it; for example, does this behavior cause anger in people? Scorn? Disgust? And finally, sometimes you don’t even have to ‘do’ anything to be labeled a deviant. You simply ‘are.’ People with physical or mental disabilities are often considered deviant. Labeling people like this as deviant stigmatizes them. It connects them to negative stereotypes which can cause them to be ostracized ; looked down on as outcasts.

Now, think about this. SOCIETY can ‘say’ a person is deviant simply because the person is ‘different’. Or simply because the person ‘is’. Because they exist. Because they are them. “Holy crap, Batman…what the hell is this?”

“Let me tell you, Robin.” This means that ANYONE can be labeled deviant…have a stigma put on their head…and be treated as such at anytime in their lives. Right? First, let’s take a look at age, simply because (God willing) we will all experience this eventually in our lives.

Oh, Lord…I hate talking about age. As a woman who is (cough cough) 53 (I know…that’s a really BIG number!), I have seen the way I’ve been looked at over the last 10 years or so, and can’t believe the difference! When I turned 40, it was a celebration! “Girl…you are in the prime of your life!! 40 is the new 30!” Actually, it isn’t. 40 is 40. 30 is 30. And so on…you get my point. But when I turned 50? I was almost ashamed! What do you say to a 50 year old? “Ummm…you look great FOR 50!” That’s about it! And what a horrible sentence to hear!! Let me translate it for you: “Kristi…I don’t know what else to say, so I’m going to tell you that you look OK for being 50…but if you were 40, you’d look like hell!” Hmmmm…what a compliment.

Look in ANY women’s magazine. Know what you see? Products that work from the ground up to make sure nothing on you looks old. Nothing. We’re talking younger looking feet (which I rarely show off) to younger looking hair. And face creams? If I tried everyone that was advertised AND that promised to wipe away my years, I’d go broke. Quickly.

Best-Anti-Aging-Products

But why would I want to ‘wipe away’ my years? Why is it deviant to get old? Why does society tell us our worth is less as we grow up more? Why is a natural aging process a bad thing? And why, because of these messages, should us older people (more so for women than men in our society…much more so) feel guilty if we have wrinkles? I don’t get it.

Mental illness is considered deviant too. Because face it, being mentally ill makes others feel uncomfortable. We’ve all heard the words. At least I have. People use crazy or nuts as a synonym for bipolar all of the time. Even Katy Perry, in her song Hot and Cold, says “…love bipolar” for a crazy type of unhealthy/game playing love. So, I’m deviant because I’m mentally ill too? Because I have a brain disease I did absolutely nothing to get? Because I might cry? Or be angry? Or be depressed? Or be manic? These make people uncomfortable? Scornful? So I’m LABELED deviant. LABELED.

Guess what labels do? Labels make us see ourselves through that mirror. Like sociologist Charles Cooley described in his “Looking Glass Self” theory, we see how we appear to others, and reflect back what we’ve perceived. Don’t believe me? Then why are so many people ‘ashamed’ to talk about their mental illness? Reluctant to let their friends know how much they are suffering on the inside? Hesitant to tell people they’ve dated for a while because they fear it will negatively affect their relationship? Afraid they will be treated differently by colleagues? Worried they might be passed over for promotions? Embarrassed to say their Dr.’s appointment is with their psychologist? Humiliated when words like ‘psycho’ are used to describe behavior tied to their own mental illness?

And for people who have cut…have attempted suicide (2 other groups I fall into)? Wow. The stigma is fierce! How dare I have been in so much psychological pain, that I felt the only relief came from using a razor blade on my legs. How could I have hurt myself, even though the physical hurt took away some of my mental hurt? AND, what an awful person I am that I was in so much pain and so much anguish, that I truly felt, at that time, being with my grandma and grandpa in heaven was better than my life on earth.

These labels…this stigma…is something we have to endure. Not because of what we have. But because of how we’re seen through the attitudes people have. Opinions. Reactions.

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Dammit. I don’t know about you and what you might endure in terms of stigmas, but I’m tired of feeling ‘less than’ over issues I can’t help. Yes, I’m old. Yes, I’m mentally ill. And that’s just to name 2, or this blog post would be so long, I’d have carpal tunnel after all the writing (and probably be stigmatized for that as well). And NO. I will NOT be made to feel demeaned because of these things. I refuse too. I will continue to talk about being bipolar. About why I used to cut. About why I took a handful of pills. About all of my struggles, and all of my successes. I will do this again and again, because until we all speak out against stigmas (and in my case, mental illness stigmas), we will never see them gone. Until we all learn to accept everyone for who they are…what they might have…how they might be ‘different’, we’ll never see the change I think we need to see most in this world.

Acceptance.

Kristi xoxo

Living with Me.

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So, my son lives with now. He’s 26 years old and is a professional photographer (who, by the way, is freaking amazing!) and needs to put his money into his equipment which means living on his own isn’t possible right now. Previously, he lived in Texas for 3 years, and even though I went down to see him a few times a year, it wasn’t the same as having him close by. Having him here right now is special to me…it’s like we’re catching up on lost time.

But. And there’s always a ‘but’, isn’t there? We are 2 adults, with very different personalities, who are sharing a house, kitchen, shower, food, etc. and there’s bound to be difficulties.

I know I’m not easy to live with. Sometimes I hate living with myself! Having bipolar means I’m very unpredictable. I don’t care how ‘stable’ one is with this illness, there is still ups and downs, and I’m sure it’s very hard for my son to know what ‘ma’ he’s dealing with day to day. There are days I’m laughing. There are days I’m crying. There are days when I’m so tired or crazed or impulsive that figuring me out is probably next to impossible. I get that. I really do. And I admire him for being able to adapt to what woman I happen to be that day.

Yet sometimes my son isn’t easy to live with either. He’s a 26 year old young man, who has lived on his own since he was 18. He’s used to his independence and being able to have his home his particular way. He’s also starting a business that requires so much marketing, web site work, along with mastering the use lighting, film development, and editing. In addition to all of this, he’s scared. Scared of taking this chance and making this work. So much is riding on making this business a success.

I’m so proud of him for doing this though! Taking this risk and putting everything he has in it – money, time, energy – is stressful, and I tend to forget that. I forget that this stress affects him, which can make his mood unpredictable as well. Like me, he has great days when things seem to be in place, and hard days when he questions his work and wonders if he’s made the right decision.

Together, we can be awesome! There’s no one I’d rather spend time with and his sense of humor, his ideas, the way we can joke about things is so fun! On the flip side though, we can also be volatile! Two different adults, with different ways of communicating, different ways of dealing with conflict, different ways of seeing the world. When this happens, there are hurtful words exchanged with feelings damaged and tears flowing.

But you know. That’s OK. We can’t grow as adults without resolving these issues. Without using conflict as a way to move forward in our relationship as grown ups. With our contrasting personalities, and my mental illness, conflict is inevitable. But it doesn’t have to pull us apart. Conflict can aid in more understanding of one another, more compassion towards one another’s needs, more depth in our connection. Something I think we both want. And need.

All I know is this: my son is my heart. Truly. Having this time with him, watching him build something that’s uniquely his using a talent I could see in him when he was only a few years old, and experiencing his growth as a man is worth any arguments we might encounter along the way.

Kristi xoxo

The Battles We Fight.

So…!

Wait. I need to stop here first and admit something: I’ve always hated it when people begin paragraphs with so, and I get on my students all the time about this! And, I just read an article about how using the word SO undermines how people see you. BUT, it just seems SO handy and such a good intro, that it’s now going to be my signature move! 🙂

SO, I went to a new psychiatrist this week; he is the over-seer of my counselor and she wanted me to have a ‘med check’ since this f%^&ing depression isn’t lessening at all, despite better personal circumstances AND being on my meds. I liked him right off; he was much more thorough with me than another I had seen, and really took his time explaining my options. First, he told me that the anti-depressant I’m on now isn’t well indicated for bipolar. I was put on this since Effexor is indicated for fibromyalgia (which I also have…go figure), but since that’s not as serious as the bipolar, he wants to change it in 3 weeks. He did put me on a mood stabilizer which I am a bit nervous about. I’ve been on Depakote and Lithium at times, and both gave me thoughts of suicide and self-harm. I was too scared to try another, but he put me on Lamotragine which doesn’t have that particular effect. He believes that getting on a stabilizer, as well as a new anti-depressant, will really help me with both my cycles and the depression. He said I’ve basically been fighting this depression by myself…with no real ‘help’ at all in terms of my meds. I can’t wait until I start feeling the benefits of the Lamotragine and once it’s had a chance to build up a bit, that’s when the other will be switched. I’m optimistic!

You know, using the term ‘battle’ is an interesting choice of word, and one that fits for all of us at so many different times in our lives. For some, the battle can be won and for others, it’s never over. But we all fight them, and sometimes we forget that.

As much as I hate having bipolar, I also know how very lucky I am. Things could be so much worse for me. My mom’s bestie has Primary Lateral Sclerosis, a diagnosis that came after much testing at the Mayo clinic. Prior to this, docs believed her to have Parkinsons. This poor woman has suffered, and is suffering so much. Her speech, her ability to eat, her physical dexterity and abilities, her pain, her weakening…everyday she faces challenges. Here’s the thing though: she is the most optimistic, positive woman when it comes to this disease, and she sends me messages all of the time offering ME support! How does she do this? How can she be fighting such a battle, and still be concerned with someone else?

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I think I know. Because giving support is just as important in receiving it, no matter what you are facing. After I post things on Facebook regarding issues I might be having, I get a ton of support, which boosts me and makes me feel better and less alone in whatever it is I’m going through. Then, I get dozens of private messages from people who share their own struggles and issues with me, and I talk to them and help them the best I can. Even if it’s just being a listening ear or validating their experience, or making them feel less alone. More cared about. Loved. Important. And the best thing is this: doing this makes me feel better as well. Not that that’s the purpose of me helping them, but it’s a nice extra consequence of doing so. It reminds me how much we all deal with, whether it’s known or not. That we are never alone. There is always someone else out there struggling.

Sometimes I don’t know what to say, beyond “I care and I’m here.” And I used to think this wasn’t enough. I wanted to have answers for everyone! I wanted to fix them! I wanted to wave a magic wand and POOF, their lives would suddenly be OK! But I realized that all I want when I’m needing support is hearing those words of care and concern myself. I know my mental illness, or issues I might be dealing with won’t be fixed with some words. But those words are still comforting to me. Are still important to hear. For all of us, at anytime.

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A drawback to recognizing and supporting others who are struggling is this: guilt. How can I talk about depression or being bipolar, when others are looking at painful, progressive, and potentially deadly diseases? How can I lament my loneliness at not having a partner, and the grief I still feel at losing him, when others are embroiled in contentious divorces in which they could lose their children? How can I cry over things in my life, when there are those being beaten regularly. Raped? Are homeless? It makes me feel so small to think I make my problems sound important next to these.

But does another person’s suffering mean ours isn’t valid? Who defines what constitutes suffering and what doesn’t? Should I feel bad…for feeling bad? Well, I do. Then, that guilt and feelings of selfishness make me feel even worse about myself. Talk about a circular pattern to get into.

But ultimately, a battle you fight is your battle. It’s your pain. It’s your life. And that pain is valid. Always. It may not be as severe a pain as others feel. But it’s still pain. Your pain. And it’s OK to acknowledge it. OK to ask for support with it. OK to reach out. Just remember the others in the war as well. They too need all we do. Support, guidance, validation, love, help. And by giving those, we help to get more to fight our own battles with; and we become more compassionate, more understanding, more open. Things that help us all.

Kristi xoxo