mental health – Page 5 – It’s All in Your Head

“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.

stack of love wooden blocks — Photo by Ylanite Koppens on Pexels.com

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

‘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.

yellow animal dangerous head — Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

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 🙄).

man riding on horse in front of window — Photo by Gantas Vaičiulėnas on Pexels.com

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

“The Greatest Loss is What Dies Inside Us While We Live.” ~ Norman Cousins

So, here we are as a nation having to be isolated from one another and then knowing we are taking a chance at getting COVID when we go out to get what we need. Today I was at the grocery store and to be honest with you, I was scared by what I was seeing. There were people there with not only masks on, but with huge bandanas wrapped around their faces so only their eyes showed. When I would reach for something and my arm wasn’t exactly 6′ away, I’d get a dirty look. The instant we let go of something, it’s sanitized. Now, I know the measures need to be taken. I get that, and I would be devastated if someone in my family contracted this. But here’s my point: we are taking so many measures to fight this virus. This crisis. And that’s the right thing to do. I guess I just want to see the same measures taken for a crisis that has no ending in sight.

Now, hear me out. In 2018 (the most recent data I can find), 48,344 Americans died of suicide, which is about 132 people every day. Further, 1.4 million people attempt suicide every year (American Foundation for Suicide Prevention). What scares me the most is this: between 2007-2017, the suicide rate for teenagers (15-19) went up 76%. Read that sentence again, grasshoppers. Seventy-six percent. For KIDS ages 10-14, the suicide rate tripled during that same time frame. For both age groups, suicide is the 2nd leading cause of death and takes more lives than anything except accidents which include motor vehicle deaths (Centers for Disease Control). Finally, men over 65 are at the highest risk for suicide, and people 85 and over are the 2nd most likely age group to die (NPR).

sawyer-sweeten-suicide-secrets — Sawyer Sweeten (Everybody Loves Raymond) Gunshot wound – age 19

Obviously, I could go on and on with other statistics, but I think I made my point: suicide is a public health crisis in America ALL of the time, and I think attention needs to be paid to this; particularly when it’s taking the lives of so many of our kids and teens, as well as adults. Do you realize we are twice as likely to die by suicide than homicide, while cancer, heart disease and stroke deaths are lessening?

Think about this: suicide is preventable. Yes, I said preventable. Suicide is not about death, it’s about ending pain in the person’s life. No one truly wants to die, we have a huge survival instinct. Think about the Jews in the Holocaust, or the POW’s in Japan during WWII or Vietnam. When I think how so many willed themselves…forced themselves…to survive in spite of the abhorrent conditions they faced, it astounds me.

I teach about the Donner party in my Sociology classes, and most people joke about this: “Hey…what are the Donner’s going to have for supper? Aunt Jane!” Actually, it was tragic. These poor people who had lost the great majority of their food and supplies because of the Great Salt Dessert crossing and Paiute Native Americans who attacked them, got stuck in the Sierra Nevada mountains for an entire winter where literally, scores of snow fell which made climbing these impossible. They tried numerous times though, but failed. The first person that was eaten was a man who had begged his daughters to do so. If they lived, he said, so would the rest of their family. But no one ended up eating their kin, and no one consumed meat unless everything else had been used: bark, leather, fur, etc. That’s survival, peeps. That’s what life means.

Go back to those stats. For kids and teens to be in such pain they end their precious, young lives is unacceptable to me. Overall, not only do we have a suicide epidemic (literally) that cuts across all ‘lines’, but we have a mental illness/mental health crisis that is behind these horrific losses. It’s a 2 fold problem: a society that’s in so much pain, people of all ages are killing themselves because of problems bigger than they are mentally capable of handling at that point, and a lack of resources.

12-Quotes-From-Anthony-Bourdain-We-Will-Never-Forget — Anthony Bourdain – Death by Hanging (1956 – 2014)

Look at this: The National Institutes of Health are the largest funder for biomedical research in the entire world. In 2016, they spent $68 million on suicide, but 5x more studying SLEEP (what the fuck?), and 10x more on breast cancer which actually killed less people than suicide. Something has to give. We are spending more money on killers that take fewer lives. Isn’t there something very wrong with that? Doesn’t that show the value we place on mental illness and mental health issues?

And like I said, the kicker is that suicides are preventable, primarily with hotlines where the counselor establishes connection with the caller quickly, shows care and empathy, and let’s them know there are other ways to end the pain they are overwhelmed with in their lives. Another prevention? Breaking the stigma of mental illness by making is less ‘risky’ for people to say they are battling depression, or feel like they are outside their bodies looking in, or are experiencing so much anxiety, panic, or mania, they don’t think they can handle it another day. Men are 4x more likely to commit suicide, and are also less likely to receive help for mental health issues. Hmmmmm. Plus, these approaches don’t require social distancing, masks, or staying at home in isolation: it requires work in terms of funding and education. In my mind, that’s doable.

I know these things all too well from my own experiences at attempting suicide – when you are in such a fucking dark place where you look around and see only this black hole enveloping you more and more, you have no way of seeing anything else. That monster has you, and it takes someone outside of yourself to start the journey of climbing up those walls. It takes someone showing you that you matter. That you can survive. Saying: “Things will get better…we all go through stuff.” or “You just got to look on the bright side.” or even “Don’t be so dramatic” are just going to make the person feel guilty for what they are feeling. But saying “Hey, I care about you I want to help you” can.

2908768_1 — Kate Spade – Death by Hanging (1962 – 2018)

Edwin Schneidman was the pioneer in the study of suicide, and stated there 10 commonalities of it: seeking a solution, cessation of consciousness, intolerable psychological pain, frustrated psychological needs, feelings of helplessness-hoplessness, feeling ambivalent, a feeling of constriction, a want of escape, communication of intent, and the coping skills the person has. (The Suicidal Mind – Oxford University Press)

Look at some of these closer. How can we help ease people’s psychological pain? By maybe recognizing and helping those with it? By reducing the stigma of expressing this? What about feelings of helplessness & hopelessness? By giving people, such as the homeless, lonely, and sick something that gives them meaning? Something they feel some control over? Something to feel they are needed?

And communication of intent? Maybe we can help by addressing it. Believing it. Showing empathy for the person. Helping them while standing beside them all of the way. That’s what my ma did for me, and it obviously worked.

Lastly, the coping skills the person has. Mine suck balls, like a lot of others with bipolar. I haven’t been able to cope with much since I was a gangly little girl. Normal things hit me hard. Very hard. Just having a friend pay attention to someone else would devastate me (and I don’t use the word devastate lightly). Having my ma or dad express disappointment in me would crush me down to where I felt incapable of being loved. Having a guy reject my feelings in HS would get me so emotionally distraught, I felt I was a ‘nothing, like an invisible girl no one really saw. Is it no wonder the first time I attempted suicide was when my first love told me he didn’t want to be with me anymore? And my second time when too many things piled up on me at once that I totally collapsed under the weight of it all?

We need so much to understand what some people can handle, others can’t. When my ma would say “Honey, you’ll get over J and move on with someone who loves you back” I know her intentions were very good, she simply hated seeing me in so much pain. But I couldn’t ‘just’ do that, no matter how much I tried. Her coping skills are amazingly strong, while mine are amazingly weak. When people would say “Kristi, your nephew is in a better place”, I knew that to be true. But guess what? Maybe understanding that does comfort some, but it didn’t do shit for me when mourning a boy who had barely grown up.

Look, peeps…we are in the midst of a pandemic. We all need to stay healthy and safe. We all need to be diligent about washing our hands, wearing our masks, and staying away from others. But let me tell you something and I want to make this very clear: suicide will still be around. Long after this fucking Covid has either ‘run it’s course’ or we develop a vaccine for it. However, suicide will still be taking lives, young and old. Every single day we’ll see another 129 people kill themselves, all preventable deaths.

I don’t know about you, but I want this epidemic to be over too. Badly.

Kristi xoxo

The National Suicide Hotline is available 24/7 – 1-800-273-8255

“Old Age is No Place for Sissies.” ~ Bette Davis

So, last night I started laughing as I was getting ready for bed. Not because of how horrible I looked with my hair plastered down on my head and no make-up on my face, but because of what I was putting myself through. And I do this every night.

I counted how many anti-aging products I have in my bathroom cabinet, and it’s 16. Sixteen! I literally have creams, lotions, oils, serums, and ‘cold plasma’ goop (which I really don’t want to know what it’s ingredients are) that I spread over my skin in hopes they will actually do what I am told they will by such enticing ads. Sometimes, I feel like a mad (well…yeah…I’m bipolar after all) scientist with my pots, bottles, and jars, mixing my concoctions and rubbing them on different parts of my face.

I have eye goop that I spread around my…you guessed it…eyes in hopes they will look 30 instead of 53 (I still look 53 after all of the smears). I have cream for around my mouth to make any small wrinkles “disappear’ while making sure my lips look pouty and moisturized. I have oils, (that I mix myself in little bottles and smell so good but are hell on my pillowcases) for my cheeks since they’re so dry, as well as overall lotions I plaster on top of all this mess. The layers on my face could be studied like geologists study rocks…just start digging and you’ll eventually be able to uncover my actual birthdate.

Then, there’s my bod. I have…wait for it…6 lotions and creams for it, plus ‘butter’ that makes me feel like a greasy french fry. I actually tried to make my own body butter this winter. It was a disaster. I cooked the ingredients in my favorite sauce pan, and it was hellish trying to get the greasy concoction completely washed out. I, of course, did it wrong (big surprise there), so the butter was grainy. I spread it on my arms and legs anyway and it was a sandy, smelly mess with the goop dripping off in globs, since the minute it was on my warm bod, it became liquified again. When I walked out in my shorts and tee, my son looked at me, turned around, and left. He was practicing what I always taught him: If you can’t say something nice, don’t say anything at all.

After all of this schmearing, I sleep in a contraption that could possibly be used in a 50 Shades of Grey type scenario (note to self, remember this) since it’s got buckles and straps which I wear in order to not get the chest wrinkles common to women my age. It’s going in the back of my closet today. I’m tired of feeling like a trussed up turkey.

So, I’m plopping in bed all lotioned, creamed, oiled, and bound up. Gee…I wonder why I’m sleeping alone. (You may insert an eye roll here).

Why in the fuck do women go to such measures to try to stay young looking? I’m the FIRST person to say how women need to accept themselves for who they are (I actually did a Tedx Talk on it), to be proud of their bodies, to love themselves for their accomplishments, to understand that beauty is so much more than what is reflected back in the mirror. And believe you me, I try! However, when you are bombarded with gorgeous young women in the media, while ads for older women are all about staying young, you begin to figure out that young equals better in our society. Why?? I don’t get it.

Confession: during the summer of the breakdown I had, I did something I regret terribly. It was just a few weeks before everything went to hell: I had a face lift. Yep. I did. J had mentioned something his mom said about my age, and I became extremely self-conscious about it (actually, I still am: old habits, or in this case messages, are hard to break). I went to a plastic surgeon, something I never thought in a million years I’d do, and was talked into it. That’s not what I went in for, but the doc made it sound like the answer to all my woes. So, I had a 90 minute surgery where the doc literally cut my face from ear to ear, pulled down the skin (you can gag…I’ll wait), stitched up my facial muscles, and then put in 22 staples AND 22 stitches to re-attach my skin.

eye of the beholder

And my reward? Paying this guy $5000 for the pleasure of sleeping upright in my ma’s chair for a week straight, not being able to talk (for some reason, ma wasn’t too upset by this…hmmm) not being able to open my mouth to eat which required ma to pour soup down my gullet, not being able to shower well since I couldn’t get my face wet, having so many bruises I looked like Rocky after being pummeled by Apollo Creed, and being in a lot of pain. It hurt like hell.

But, I figured all of this was worth it if J liked the results (remember, he’s significantly younger than I am). Well…that was a fiasco in itself. I had the surgery while he was on maneuvers with the National Guard and was told by him that he wouldn’t be able to text or call me during this time. I was mostly healed when he got home and…wait for it…he broke up with me to be with his ex girlfriend. By the way, he texted and called her during the entire month he was gone. Sigh.

I can’t tell you how much I regret that fucking surgery. Not because I felt coerced into it, but because I HATE that I did something so drastic to look younger again. For piss sakes, I’m 53. 53!! I’ve done a lot in that time. I’ve put my body through hell. I’m a hard worker; I’ve always taken care of my yard, the house maintenance, painting, digging, planting, etc. and my hands show it. I’ve had a baby (quite large I might add) who I adore with all my heart. I’ve taught for 25 years. I’ve been through 3 divorces (another eye roll). I’ve earned these wrinkles…and God knows I deserve them.

20526189_10159079488940082_1145399140704715291_n — Me…wrinkles and all. 🙂

I’m trying so hard to be ‘real’ in my life now. No masks. No lies when I’m asked how I am. No pretty stories to sugarcoat having this…say it with me…fucking bastard of a mental illness. I’m living genuinely…authentically…and it’s about time. 50 years of hiding who I am was exhausting. No wonder I have wrinkles.

As my magic potions run out, I’m not going to replace them. I’m going to take care of me like I should, but I’m done trying to turn back the clock. If I want people to accept my inside, I need to learn to accept my outside. Yes, we live in a youth oriented culture. Yes, people lose their value as they age. Yes, women are held up to the standards of perfection. But let me tell you something: I’m still valuable and I’ll always be a million miles away from perfect no matter what I do. But I’m me. Finally me. And it feels really good.

Kristi xoxo

To say or not to say, that is the question.

So, my counselor and I were talking a couple of days ago, and I was telling her about this blog (or as my sis and I pronounce it: blawg). I told her the purpose of it was to be open and honest about my journey with mental illness and to show others that you can be a successful person, even if you suffer from one. I told her I wanted to break down stigmas of the mentally ill as being dangerous, dependent, or volatile people who should be avoided; that I felt the need to take off the masks I wore for decades while trying to act ‘perfect’, so that others can feel more comfortable doing the same. She asked me what all I share, and I told her I was pretty frank in my posts, and got as personal as I saw fit.

Then, we started yacking about my 2 date guy because I wanted to tell her it was no longer in the works. I also told her that I thought him reading my blog may have scared him a bit (that may not be true…I just have a feeling), and off we went on a discussion as to whether or not me blogging was worth possibly sacrificing potential relationships.

And I had a long drawn out answer for her: “Yes.”

I’ve always been a talker (I know…huge shocker for those who know me) and I’ve always had a hard time respecting boundaries. Even though I’ve only started speaking out about being bipolar for a couple of years now, I still opened up way too much to people about other aspects of my life. I am one of these people who speak first, and think later! Not necessarily a good thing! Part of that has to do with being bipolar, and another part comes from being such a feeler while lacking enough outlets in which to talk, that when I get into conversations, I want to jump right in. Head first.

But what’s too much to share about myself on this public blog? Actually, a few things. Yes, I share things about relationships that I feel are pertinent to my feelings and behavior, but I would never share intimate details of alone time, if you get my drift. I’m also very careful what I share about family, and don’t use their names, only initials which aren’t always theirs. I never want to identify anyone on this, and even yesterday, when I used pics of ma, T, and O, I asked them first before I did so.

close up of a sign against white background — Photo by Tayeb MEZAHDIA on Pexels.com

We all have secrets, don’t we? Secrets that are only ours…only in our head…only in our hearts. There’s a place inside of me that’s for me only. And I protect it. I’ve learned through experience that revealing everything about yourself makes you extremely vulnerable, and can be used against you as well.

Those of my students reading this will tell you something I teach in my Marriage and Family classes is to zip it. We live in a culture where total self-disclosure is an everyday thing. We see people talk about everything. And I mean EVERYTHING. “Hey, Jerry…I had sex with my sister’s cousin husbands wife, stole a $1000 from my mom, and tried to boink the UPS worker when they delivered my box of sex toys.” OK. Good to know. Listen, I’m a huge believer that we DON’T have to share everything. NO! I think it’s so important to weigh the pros and cons of disclosing. Of baring yourself. I truly believe that not everything has to be heard. We may need to SAY it, but they may not need to HEAR it. Often, we disclose to unburden ourselves. To make ourselves feel better. But here’s the thing, grasshoppers: when you unload your burden when talking to another, it moves that burden to their shoulders. Why would we do that? What purpose does that really serve? When I need to unload, I talk to God. Edward. Dottie. They are all great listeners and I know they can handle any burden I give them well.

donkey — Photo by Wery Shania on Pexels.com

Has anyone ever told you: “I really shouldn’t tell you, but…”? When that happens to me, I say: “Then don’t.” Look, if there’s something I need to know, I’ll find out. Why would you want to give me some juicy tidbit just to get it out there, when I’ll probably resent you for sharing it with me? You know, the ole’ ‘hate the messenger’ type thing.

BUT, you might be saying, what about guilt? Ok, what about it? I knew a gal who was attracted to a colleague, and although they had lunch together a couple of times, she realized she was close to a boundary she had set with her husband and what was at stake. So she stopped seeing him in any social capacity and only spoke professionally to him at work. Nevertheless, she just HAD to tell her hubby about this. WHY?? Nothing really happened. But, she told (against my advice). He wasn’t just upset (like she assumed he’d be), he was furious. He took it way out of context and told her that she had probably ‘fucked’ this guy too, and when she vehemently denied it, he called her a liar (‘thou doth protest too much’ type thing). Their marriage was never the same, and they divorced a couple of years later. Hmmmm. Was unburdening that guilt worth it? Ask her 2 kids. They are now living with a stressed, single mom who is fighting to make ends meet, while rarely seeing their dad. Guess what? If you have guilt, suck it up, Buttercup. THAT is the burden YOU live with…the penance, if you will.

Look, if someone doesn’t like what I share, then they don’t have to read it. That was easy to figure out. For Petes sake, close the freaking tab. Block my site. Turn off the damned computer or shut down that iPad and take a walk.

But I’m not going to stop sharing, because if I can’t be genuine and talk about my life as it really is…and not just a ‘filtered’ social media version of it that’s all rainbows and sunshine, then I’ve put those masks back on, and they will eventually suffocate me in the process. Not worth a couple of people disliking me.

There’s another problem I have too (among hundreds of others): I not only yap too much, I also ask too many questions. Hello! I have degrees in Psychology…it’s sorta natural for me to do that. And to be honest, I think the most important question that we don’t ask enough, is WHY. Why are you so angry? Why are you acting so hateful? Why do you look so down today? Why did you share that with me? Look, behavior and feelings aren’t just random. There’s a cognitive process behind them and knowing the ‘why’ can help immensely in understanding the person. Another important question is WHAT. What can I do for you? What do you need? What is hurting you?

We are so quick to judge people on their behavior, that we often don’t stop to ask what’s BEHIND it. The whats’ and whys’. Imagine if we asked kids who misbehave that question before calling them out in front of the class. “Little Johnny, I asked you to stay in with me during recess today to talk about what might be happening to make you act out so much today. Why are you doing this? What can I do?” Wow. Think that could change a life or 2?

I’m also a big believer that past behavior can be a good indicator of future behavior. Not always, but often. I like to dig around in peoples lives; I find it fascinating, and as someone who has worked with 100’s of students from my classes on their personal issues, digging can uncover truths layer by layer.

shallow focus photography of pancakes with blueberries and syrup — Photo by Olenka Sergienko on Pexels.com

I ask about past relationships when I’m dating someone new. Look, when you’ve been cheated on a couple of times in your life during both a committed partnership and a marriage, you want to understand where exes stand in their life. How closed those chapters are. It’s kinda hard not to worry about stuff like that. But that’s where the WHY comes back into play. “Why are you asking me these things, Kristi?”

Look, I know I share a lot. I know that some of it may not be the most comfortable reading material out there. But I also know this: I am NOT going to hide myself anymore. I’m not going to fake my way through the next few decades like I did before. I am not going to be ashamed to be me…warts and all. This is who I am. It’s my bipolar life. This is my experience with mental illness and it ain’t always purty. But it’s real. And to frank with you: I’m going to fucking own it.

Kristi xoxo

Shame on you.

So, I was surfing around on my iPad last night, and came across a couple of blurbs about celebrities who have been age shamed lately. Eva Mendes posted a pic and someone said she was getting older (OK…how should she stop time?), and another was of Gwen Stefani who wore a leotard, hoodie and boots with sequins while giving a concert. People said she should ‘act her age’ and ‘quit performing since she’s so old’ (she’s 50!). Lara Spencer on Good Morning America was age-shamed because she posed in a dress with ‘old looking knees’, and Madonna was shamed regarding her old looking hands, and actually had multiple, invasive, painful treatments on them to make them look younger. And we all know about fat shaming: take a look at the tabloids this summer and we’ll see pics of celebrities who have the “Worst Beach Bodies” because of weight.

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Shame. That’s an interesting word; one we need to understand since it’s being done so much to others on social media. Do you know what it means? To shame someone is to try to make them feel they are disgraceful or should be humiliated by what they ‘are’. It means you should feel bad for whatever someone deems to be an issue. Look at those words: disgraceful, humiliated, guilty. Damn.

Of course we should feel shame when we do something wrong. Self-shame in that regard is healthy since it makes us realize how wrong we were and then hopefully makes sure we don’t do whatever it was again. I once read a parenting book that said “You should never allow your child to feel shame.” What the fuck?? Of course I wanted O to feel shame when he did something wrong. How else could he learn to internalize his own consequences for behavior? And I don’t know about you, but I’ve done a lot of things in my life I am ashamed of, and rightfully so.

However, we aren’t looking at personal, internal shame. We’re looking at what’s put upon us by others who want us to feel shame simply for ‘being.’ Age shaming? OK…guess you’re not going to get older (let me know how that goes). Fat shaming? All righty…stop eating those desserts before you gain a few.

Hmmmmm.

But, what really hits home for me is mental illness shaming. And yep, it happens. The mentally ill are shamed for having a disorder or condition. Period. We are supposed to feel humiliated, disgraced, less than. Our illnesses are shameful while other medical conditions such as arthritis, COPD, asthma, etc. are accepted as a struggle the person has to bear. “Of course, take the medications that help treat the symptoms.” “Of course you can’t join us for dinner since you aren’t feeling well.” “Of course, take your time…I know you are struggling today.”

57cf081d160000ef1bc00ec5 — Gemma Correll

What? Of course physical medical conditions should be treated with such care and support! But, shouldn’t that hold true for MENTAL ILLNESSES we well? Sadly, those of us who live with mental illness hear things like this instead:

“Do you really need all of those meds? Don’t they just screw up your brain even more? I wouldn’t take something that messes with MY brain!”
“C’mon. You’ve been depressed long enough. Get out there and so something!”
“You can’t make it? Why are waiting until now to tell me? What the hell?”
“Therapy? How does talking to someone help? No one’s probing my mind.” (Thank fuck for that.)

And of course, the list goes on.

Why is it that so many people look at mental illness as something WE are at fault for? That we must have ASKED for? That we should be able to control on our own? Maybe they think we are ‘sick in the head’ because we’re being punished for something. Why can’t people understand that our illness are often biological too?

In a study done by Ole A. Andreassen at the University of Oslo, people with bipolar have thinning gray matter, particularly in the parts of the brain that control inhibition and motivation (the frontal and temporal lobes). Psycheducation.org states that “Evidence is growing quite strong that a region of the brain called the medial prefrontal cortex is underactive in people with bipolar disorder even when they are having no symptoms at all.”

how-to-tell-the-difference-between-bipolar-disorder-and-depression-neuroinnovations — health-innovations.org

The Stanford University School of Medicine has determined that scrambled connections between the part of the brain that processes fear and emotion and other brain regions could be the biological reason for types of anxiety disorders and even depression.

MRI’s show structural abnormalities in the brains of those with major depressive disorder or social anxiety disorder according to a study by Youjin Zhao from Sichuan University in China.

In terms of eating disorders, findings are showing that the hypothalamus may not be functioning correctly in triggering the response of being full in the person. Further, researchers are also determining that certain neurotransmitters in the brain are tied to eating disorders as well.

So…we are finding more and more biological causes of mental illnesses. Mood disorders, anxiety disorders, eating disorders and even some personality disorders. Borderline, for example, is now considered an inheritable brain disease with specific brain abnormalities. Wow.

SSSSSOOOOO, here’s my question. Why in the HELL are we shamed for having a biological brain disorder??? Answer that for me, peeps. Mental illnesses are not made up for attention or an excuse or crutch people use when they can’t cope. They are BRAIN disorders. Period. And we should feel guilty for having one (or in my case, 2)? We should feel disgraced that our brains differ from others? We should be humiliated to carry a diagnosis showing that we have brain abnormality?

Wall-of-Shame

NO, grasshoppers, we shouldn’t. Why in the fuck should I apologize or feel shameful for having bipolar? Why should I have to worry about ‘coming out’ and disclosing this to everyone? (Kristi…are you sure you should talk about all of this? What about your job?) First, it’s a fucking career I went to school for 8+ years to get (so let’s get that straight right now!). Second, why should I HAVE to worry about having an illness? A disorder? OH YEAH. Because it’s in my brain. Even though I earned a freaking M.S. in 18 months, while taking care of a toddler, and teaching to pay for it, people should still worry that I just might screw things up at school. Well, I haven’t yet for 23 years…so…

Here it is: I’m so tired of people shaming other people for things that they can’t help or control. I’m going to get old (OK, I’m already there). I’m going to gain weight as I age (less estrogen, less metabolism, more tummy). And I’m going to have this bastardly bipolar until the day I die. Except now there are studies showing how dementia is more likely to happen among us who have bipolar, so that’s something else to look forward too as well. Goody.

We who have mental illnesses shouldn’t HAVE to be afraid to talk about it…ask for support…get compassion. I understand when my neighbor with arthritis can’t carry in her own groceries, so I do it for her. Why can’t others understand that when I’m depressed, I simply can’t answer my phone at times? Can’t go out to the mall? Can’t make plans for the week? When are us ‘crazy, psychotic sickos’ going to get the same treatment as those with physical disorders?

I don’t have the answer for that, grasshoppers. But you know, I’m just hopin’ and prayin’ it happens soon.

Kristi xoxo

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.

walnuts — Photo by Dmitry Demidov on Pexels.com

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.

baf0edcc65a2307861c274cc659b92ae--mental-illness-quotes-mental-health-stigma — What have YOU been told to do?

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.”

black chain — Photo by lalesh aldarwish on Pexels.com

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.

black and white roller coaster — Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

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

Don’t Fence me In.

green leaf on gray wooden fence — Photo by Jaymantri on Pexels.com

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?

fence

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.

love-yourself

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