mental illness – Page 6 – It’s All in Your Head

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Kristi xoxo

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Kristi xoxo

‘Scary Monsters (And Super Creeps) ~ David Bowie

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Kristi xoxo

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

Growing-up-FB — National Alliance on Mental Illness

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Kristi xoxo

Maybe it’s About Starting Over and Creating Something Better.

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So, I was thinking a lot today about what I would have changed in my life if I could go back in time…you know, have a do-over. ‘Member when we were kids and we did something we didn’t like: a painting where the eyes didn’t line up or missing the kickball on the first pitch. When that happened, we could always have a do-over; just wad up that paper or take another pitch and suddenly, things were set straight. Wouldn’t that just be fucking awesome to be able to reverse your life a bit whenever you needed and get things done right the second time around?

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If this was possible, and I could go way back, I really don’t know where I would start! Hmmmm. Maybe Kindergarten? Instead of watching the other kids and trying to figure them out, I could just jump in the fray and simply be me. Or, when I was in 2nd grade and my teacher (who really was a sweetheart, but strict) wouldn’t let me wear my pink ‘see behind glasses’ I got in a box of Alpha-Bits that day (and sis wanted them but had her own real glasses). They were so cool and I felt like a movie star in them. But, Mrs. M. said they looked silly and I had to take them off in class. Being the overly sensitive girl I was, this crushed me. I translated this to be that I looked awful and disappointed my teacher. I would like to go back and change my perception of that day (as well as my bangs and God awful clothes my ma made me and sis wear) and understand that not everything in life is personal. That not everything revolved around me. I think that’s when I really started having a stronger sense of being self-conscious; it was the first time I can remember where what I saw wasn’t what others did.

Or, I could go back to my 5th grade class where I was badly bullied; one day he caught me behind a tree and wrapped his hands around my neck. I was petrified but didn’t speak up because of his threats. If I had, would I have been more apt to stand up for myself later in life too?

I would definitely go back to Jr. High, which was actually the best couple years of my teenager-hood, and not try out for pom poms. I sucked at it. BIG time. Not only did I have no sense of rhythm (like I do now…not) but I also looked like a Burger King sack in my red and yellow skirt and vest that was created from the most icky piece of polyester ever known to man. Believe you me, that is something I would love to forget!

96386754_516252455921935_3008065197127499776_n — Yes, I circled my own face in my yearbook because I might forget myself otherwise. Please insert eye roll here.

And high school. Oh Lord, where do I start? I think during my freshman year, I would want a do-over that probably would have affected all the rest of my life: not caring about what other kids were saying. If I hadn’t listened to them making fun of my looks…my body…my clothes. If I hadn’t held my head down instead of up that year. If I would have walked with confidence and shown pride in who I was, would that have changed the trajectory of my life?

I would definitely go back and run out of the psychologists office (for you newbies, he sexually abused me for 2 years) the first time he touched me. Period. I also would have let my mom report it, and get that son of a bitch punished for what he did to all of us girls. And letting that be a do-over might have made me more positive about relationships, more trusting, more open, less ‘needy’ (for lack of a better word…that one sounds pretty bad) and much more likely to better understand I don’t have to give anything to be loved, I can be loved just for little old me.

Another thing in high school I would change (besides dying my hair orange along with my sis when we used too much Sun-In and then lied about it to our mom) would be my grades. I sucked in my classes because I simply didn’t care. I wanted to pass notes, doodle in my notebook, decorate the cover with Mrs. So and So to see what it would look like if I married any of the guys I drooled over. I wanted to read novels instead of textbooks, and I wanted to spend time at my grandparents playing cards, riding bikes, and shooting baskets rather than doing stupid homework. See, I love animals and I think I would have been a great vet (if I got over puking every time I see blood) who did a lot in terms of animal rescue and care if I would have gotten great grades and a scholarship to university.

And as an adult? OMG. Can you have a do-over on a decade or two? Hmmm. I would definitely do-over marrying Hubby 1 (I know, they are so freaking hard to keep straight…I have flashcards in front of me to help). We were so young and stupid when it came to what a marriage entailed. And with Hubby 2? I wouldn’t have avoided conflict like I have a tendency too, but would have faced our problems head-on instead of letting every little thing build up to an explosion that was way too much to handle. And Hubby 3? I would have drawn much stronger boundaries in terms of his motorcycle club and our life. Sitting at home every weekend, and most nights, really wasn’t much of a marriage…in fact, it was pretty darn lonely.

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I definitely want a do-over with J. The first time he was cruel to me: bye! Don’t let the door hit you on the ass on your way out! Or, at least the first time he cheated: Buh Bye! I would do-over the last time I saw my nephew and hugged him tighter. So much tighter. I would have fought how a threatening student was handled in regard to his treatment of me; I would have gone way further (like ma wanted us too, badly) in clearing my name, which up to that point at school was literally perfect after 21 years of service.

Doesn’t this all sound so freaking good? Doing all of this over so the related issues simply don’t exist anymore? It would almost make life perfect, wouldn’t it? Taking care of these pesky things that might haunt us to this day.

But wait. Let’s really think about this a tad bit more. What if I had jumped into the fray in Kindergarten? Would I have just followed anyone after that, or still have marched to the beat of my own drummer? What if I would have reported the psychologist and been put on a stand and torn apart by a sleazy lawyer? Would not being believed devastated me even more, with the lesson ‘never trust authority’ learned as well? And what if I would have looked at those jerks in high school and said, up yours assholes. Would I have gotten worse treatment for that?

And doing my homework? Why would I want to go back and do that for piss sakes? Because I did screw up so bad, I went to community college and it gave me a love for how they allow people to find their footing while being in a smaller, more comfortable classroom. It opened up so many possibilities for me and proved I could actually succeed in school. If I would have become a vet, I wouldn’t have had the pleasure of the thousands of students that have been in my classes and all who have become one of the most important parts of my life. When I say I love my students, I mean it.

Hubby 1 and I had no kids so there’s nothing connecting us now. But does that mean our marriage wasn’t worth it? Or, did it help me go to Hubby 2 with more maturity and realistic expectations for us? And my God, I would never ever do over my marriage to Hubby 2 no matter what it ended up like: I got my boy. And Hubby 3? He actually did show me a new world and to be honest, he helped me to see that the men who look to be the meanest or toughest, are often the softest and sweetest; and that you have to get to know anyone before you can make a determination as to who they are.

424746at

And J? Hmmmm. That’s a toughie. He really is the one who haunts me the most. I think it’s because of all we went through…all he put me through. Actually, it’s time I took equal responsibility: all I allowed him to do (and I was no angel either). But you see, we had really great times too. So many little jokes, and affectionate names, and things only he and I could understand and laugh about. I could bawl in front of him, sing my loudest, talk my dirtiest and he accepted it. He didn’t judge. I cherish the time I spent with him and his kids, because I felt like I was getting a 2nd chance at a young family again which I loved. And anytime I’d say, “Can I ask you something?” he’d always say: “You can ask me anything.” He was very open to hearing me, listening to me. Were those times worth the bad? I’m starting to think in some respects, they were.

I was telling my son about this post while he was rummaging around the basement and here’s what he said about do-overs: “Every decision you have ever made has led to where you are right now.” So many of my decisions in life have been crummy…so many of my perceptions have been skewed. But I’ve learned from them. Sometimes suffered because of them. And I am who I am. These decisions have taught me compassion, how to listen, the value of education, the importance of always saying I love you before saying goodbye.

But, there is one thing I would like a do-over on. And I would take it if I could. Asking for help when I knew I was really spiraling downwards in my teens instead of channeling my sickness into the ‘crazy’ Kristi who partied. Going to a psychiatrist to be diagnosed with bipolar so much earlier and then put on meds which would have lent a stability to everything else. Taking off the masks I had to wear to hide this mental illness I knew was inside of me, but I was too much of a dumbass chicken to face. Not being ashamed to let out the tears instead of pasting on a smile. Being able to say “Hey, I’m mentally ill…that’s just a part of who I am” instead of saying “Hey, I’m trying to be as perfect as I possibly can because it diverts attention away from the imperfection inside where at times I don’t know what the hell is going on in my head and I’m scared out of my fucking mind that I’m crazy and this mania will never stop and the depression will get worse and worse until there comes a day where I simply give up.” Would have made a big difference, huh?

Look, I know this isn’t possible. No matter how much I want it…how much it would have eased the burden on ma, O, sis and my family…how much it would have made my life easier, this is definitely one thing that will never get a do-over. But maybe that’s OK. Maybe I had to go through all of this until I was ready to face it, have the courage to talk about it, open up and speak about it, and finally write about it. I have you peeps tell me that reading about my experiences helps you; that it makes you feel less alone and more accepting of yourselves. Helps you to understand it’s ok to ask for help. That it’s all right to take off your masks. A do-over would take this away from you, and you know what? That’s something I just won’t allow to happen.

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

“Oh, Oh, I Gave You My Heart.” ~ Elton John

dry rose flower next to broken heart shaped cookie — Photo by freestocks.org on Pexels.com

So, when I started this blog it was for 2 reasons: first and foremost, to talk about life with mental illness and to shed light on related issues that might help start conversations while reducing mental illness stigma by letting others see we are ‘real people’, and not just diagnosis, who are coping with issues as best we can. Second, it was selfishly for me. I suck balls at journaling. I get the cutsie notebooks with the fancy schmancy covers and then write for 2 days and stop. Having this blog helps me be consistent, with awesome feedback and support, and allows me to get things out I need to process.

I’ve had this friend since we were in Jr. High. He’s amazingly funny, kind, smart, respectful. Actually, he is everything that’s good in a person that I’ve lacked in my other relationships. When we were in HS, he asked me out a couple of times and has said how he had wanted so badly to be with me, but I was with my first ever boyfriend so it didn’t happen. We lost touch after graduation but a couple of years ago we rediscovered each other on Facebook and started responding to each other’s posts and having bits of conversation.

As I was dealing with the break-up of J, he reached out to me and we started messaging. He made me feel better and more confident in myself by building me up, telling me how much I have to offer, and how I should never ever settle for anything less than wonderful. I was starting to think that maybe he was the wonderful that was finally coming into my life. I’ve known him for so long and talking with him was second nature.

I knew I was developing feelings…feelings that started a long time ago and grew quickly as we re-connected. In my mind, I could see a future. A ‘forever’ partner that I could be ‘me’ with and know I was safe with. I told him that the difference with him was that my other men had made me cry…but he made me smile.

A few days ago he said he loved me and that he had always had me on a pedestal. I didn’t say it back right away; I needed to think about what my feelings really were. And with the joy his words brought to me, the way my heart opened, and the butterflies I was experiencing, I knew I loved him too. It was like a part of me always did, all these decades since school.

butterflies — Photo by Suzy Hazelwood on Pexels.com

Now the caveat. He’s with another woman who he says he’s not happy with, doesn’t have sex with, but who he’s comfortable with since the relationship has lasted for a lot of years. I know, I know: “Kristi, wake up and smell the fucking coffee! ALL men say that when pursuing someone else! Duh!” And you’re right; so many men do say this. But I know him, and I think he’s genuine. Don’t say it…I know what you’re thinking, grasshoppers, that it’s just another game I’ve been sucked into.

So, I said I love him too. And I mean it from the bottom of my heart (sing that sentence like Stevie Wonder does please). We talked about having a life together and wanting to be together. But then, just today (which is why I needed to write this so I could process it the best I can right now) he told me that the future would be us together when we could be, and him going home to his partner. He just can’t leave her after these years together, no matter how unhappy he is.

I can’t do that. I simply can’t. I know first hand, not just with me, but with family members too, how horrendous ‘affairs’ are to everyone involved. They destroy relationships…break up families…hurt so many people in the name of ‘being happy.’ How can I do that to someone else? How can I selfishly hurt a person I don’t even know? How can I look my ma in the eye and tell her why this man I love won’t be around for any holidays and just sporadically at my house?

round window view of the ocean — Photo by Johannes Rapprich on Pexels.com

But (and y’all will be proud of this), how can I do that to myself? I have spent the last 2 years of my life rebuilding it. Rebuilding me. The reason why Hubby 3 left (sigh)…everything J did to me…my sweet nephew dying senselessly…my health scare…my issues at school regarding a threatening student…my mentor passing away…dealing with the most difficult depression I’ve ever had in my stinkin’ bipolar life…cutting myself…attempting suicide. For fuck sakes, I’ve had a lot to patch up and, by the grace of God (I’m very very serious about that, and I need to add with the grace of O, ma, and sis too), I have. I was at the very bottom of where I could be. Sometimes, I can’t even think about it. Revisiting that hole is terrifying because it makes me have to wonder if I’ll ever fall in again. I don’t know if I would make it this time if I did.

I like to joke and laugh about being bipolar. Like I’ve said before, if I don’t laugh I’ll cry, and to be honest with you (and I always am), I am so fucking tired of the tears. Us bipolars do that a whole lot you know, and it’s exhausting. So many of you with other mental illnesses can relate all too well; I know my sis does who struggles immensely with her major depression. Like so many, I’m overly sensitive, overly emotional, overly affected by rejection.

How ironic is it that this man is everything I say I want? Need. Desire. And like a bad joke, he’s the one man in my life that’s not accessible to me. I feel like I don’t know how to handle this. The tears have been flowing…my heart has been aching…and my brain is trying to process how I could get hurt again so fast.

Remember when we talked about punishment? It’s hard not to think that’s what’s happening to me now. I know ‘logically’ that’s probably not true. But as my neighbor and I discussed yesterday as we chatted for a couple of hours in my backyard, it’s not reality that we work from, but our own perceptions of that reality. So, ‘right’ or ‘wrong’, my perception holds true for me. I’ve also talked a lot about really shitty things I’ve done in my life that I attribute so much to my unmedicated bipolar, as well as just really crummy decisions I’ve made. I deserve retribution for those things. I deserve to pay the price. Unfortunately, I selfishly thought I had already paid that debt, but I think there’s still more there to do.

And you know, when something like this happens, it’s very difficult to think my mental illness doesn’t play a role. After all, our mental illnesses affect every part of our lives, don’t they? Maybe I’m too ‘much’ for him. Too ‘different’. Too ‘imposing.’ And yes, I probably am.

Anyhoot, I needed so bad to talk about this; to see these thoughts in words. And to be honest, connect with you, my sweet peeps. I thank you for listening. Thank you for the understanding I know you will give me because y’all are just so supportive and kind to me. In fact, thank you for going on this journey with me which I’ll continue until my age-spotted hands just can’t type anymore.

Hopefully, you’ll all be here with me for a happy ending. Very greedily, I want it sooner than later. I’m 53 (sigh…) and want my forever. Not a perfect forever…I know fairy tales aren’t real. But a forever where I’m happy…he’s happy…and we build something genuine and stable that keeps us together through the good and bad. I’m ready. I’m waiting. And when it does happen, I’ll appreciate it so much. I promise.

Kristi xoxo

Don’t Stop Believin’ ~ Journey

So, never in a million years (well, let’s not start out too dramatically…let’s say 50) did I think I would base a post on a Lifetime movie, but here goes: I joined the Lifetime Movie Club the other day; it’s a pandemic and I’m desperate for entertainment outside of watching Edward lick himself. So anyhoot, I watched a doozie today about a couple of contractors, one who is trying to off this gal (shocker) and the other one that ‘acts’ crazy but is really the good guy. To make a long story short, the good guy never ever gave up on this woman he was trying to save, even when she was bad to him and told him to go away. He just stayed true to what he felt was right.

Hmmmmm. It got me thinking about giving up on people; when you should…when you shouldn’t.

J texted me again today, and I can tell he is in so much pain. He’s angry, hateful, acting belligerent, all of which I know is covering up the pain he has inside himself. No, he would never admit this. No, he won’t allow himself to try to confront it because I don’t think he would know how to handle the feelings he’d be flooded with. And no, he won’t seek out help because he needs this shield against a world he doesn’t want to be a part of anymore.

I have re-connected with an old friend from high school and we are really having some great talks, so I chatted with them about this today, and they said, “Just block him.” Of course, I could do that. Easily. But I’m not going to and I’ll tell you why. (Ma, if you are getting pissed at me, turn off the computer…the little button on the left. The one that says ‘power’. No…not that one. The other…oh…for fuck sakes, just shut the lid and turn on the TV).

It all goes back to giving up on people. Yes, he gave up on me. And yes, how it happened was wrong. And no, I didn’t do anything to deserve that sort of treatment (this is progress, peeps). However, after 3 years, half of them living together, I know him very well. I know his family and they are horrible to him (and to me, but I digress). They gave him absolutely nothing in his life but the bare minimum to survive and that was it. And yes, that included ‘love’ too. It’s truly beyond my realm of comprehension, as a mom, how you can’t show love to your own child. I just don’t get it.

touch (1)

I could give up on J. I could turn my back. Walk away. Cut myself off. And that means I would be like everyone else in his life. I’m not though, and I think this tenacity comes from a couple of things.

First, my ma has never done that to me. I put her through hell and back a couple of summers ago, and she bore the burden and stayed by my side as long as I needed her too. She still does. I have dumped shit on her I should have taken out on myself, and she looks at me and tells me she loves me. In other words, she has never given up on me. Not when I was at the lowest place in my life…when I was telling her I wanted to die…when I was cutting myself and she had to see the bloody bandages…never. And I wouldn’t be here if she had.

Second, what is in us as humans that we walk away so easily when people need us the most? How many times have I said to someone “GO AWAY” when all I really wanted was for them to come closer? When I was younger, I’d yell “I HATE YOU” to other kids who didn’t want to play with me (gee…I wonder why), and actually, all I wanted was to feel included.

When I was in the midst of that fucking breakdown, so many people gave up on me…backed away…ignored me. People I had known for decades at school turned their backs on me. When I would cry in my office over lunch, no one would ever ask me how I was. People whispered about me (I know this because I heard them at times), would turn away when I’d walk by, would pretend they didn’t know me. How can I even describe how much that hurt? My nephew was dead, I was finalizing a divorce, J was treating me bad, I had cervical surgery, my mentor died, a student was giving me trouble, etc. I needed people more than ever. I needed just one person at work to say: “Look, I know you’re hurting, what can I do?” If just one wouldn’t have ‘given up on me’, I wonder how much faster I would have healed?

stars and clouds at nighttime — Photo by Arnie Chou on Pexels.com

So, how can I do that to J? He’s reaching out for a reason. Not because he wants me back, but because he doesn’t know any other way to connect with someone who understands. How can I turn my back on him when he’s at, what I believe, to be the lowest point in his life? How can I let him down…give up on him…like everyone else has?

Look, those of us with mental illnesses know we are going to have good times in our lives, and we are going to go through hell at times in our lives. Walking with someone in the sunshine is nothing. But helping them through the storm is. By not giving up on J, I’m paying forward all the times people haven’t given up on me. And that’s a debt I’m happy to be responsible for.

Kristi xoxo

Good Bi-brations.

So, if you can’t laugh at yourself, who can you laugh at?

Well…wait. I guess you can laugh at comedians. Funny movies. The People of Wal-Mart website. OK…so when I think about it, there are actually a lot of people you can laugh at, but anyhoot, let’s stick with us.

The other day, I was yacking with ma (go figure) and I told her I had a GREAT run that day…so good, that I was dancing along a bit while running. The following conversation then took place:

“You were…ummmm…dancing? While running?”
“Yes, ma.”
“How were you ‘dancing?'”
“Well, for example, when YMCA was playing I did the arm stuff.”
“Well…OK! (BIG pause) So…ummmm…did anyone see you? Like…you know…people?”
“Ma! I have fucking bipolar! I can get away with it!”

We started laughing so hard and she agreed with me! I realized then with all the crap that goes with having this mental illness, sometimes you have to just laugh about it. It’s survival.

Sis and I love to eat lunch out together, and here’s a common conversation:

“OH NO (said in a very dramatic voice)! T, I know it’s my turn to pay, but dammit…I forgot my card and don’t have any cash on me!”
“Again? You forgot it again?'”
“Uh, yeah. You know, T, I do have bipolar.”
“Kristi, I’m well aware of that. However, I’m a LPN who has worked on the psychiatric floor of a large hospital and I don’t remember ever hearing about how forgetting your debit card is a symptom of ‘bipolar’.'”
“Oh. Well. It’s like a ‘new’ symptom. You know. A rarer one. That I happen to have.”
“Sigh.”

See what I mean?

So, confession time: I’m in love with Simon Cowell. Let me say it again because it just sounds so damn yummy: I’m in love with Simon Cowell. As such, I’m always watching X-Factor and American Idol videos on YouTube. There is nothing more I want than to be belting out a song on that HUGE stage on X-Factor and have the audience give me a standing ovation.

“Son (O), I wanna try out for X-Factor.”
“Why?”
“Uh, duh. Because I want to be a star. You know, I gave up that dream when you were born, but maybe now it’s time.”
“Ma. You have no talent. You can’t sing. You can’t dance. At all. And from what dad says, you couldn’t when I was born either.”
“So O, what are you trying to say? You know, I’ve been feeling pretty depressed lately. ‘Cause of my bipolar and all.”
“OH. Well. SSSUUURRREEE…you’d be great on it!”

Or…

“Dammit, O, the yard needs mowed.”
“Uh huh.”
“Really BAD.”
“Uh huh.”
“Wanna mow for me?”
“Ma, I’m working on some stuff and I thought you loved yard work.”
“Son…I’m feeling depressed and don’t think mowing is a good idea for me right now (isn’t that the biggest load of bullshit you ever heard?)”
“OH. I’ll go do it then.”
🙂 MISSION ACCOMPLISHED.

Please don’t give me a lecture on using bipolar this way. Look grasshoppers, sometimes you use what you have and this is my way! If I was beautiful, I’d use my wiley ways to do the same. Get it?

Now, when I’m manic, I can’t do enough artsy fartsy stuff. And I get in moods in terms of what I want to make. I’ve gone through Zentangling, acrylic pour painting, crocheting, sewing, beading, water coloring, book folding and decoupaging. And when I do it, I do it! For a while, there was literally NOTHING I wouldn’t decoupage.

13592376_10157105851195082_8742606666467863492_n — A quilt I entered in a show! P.S. I didn’t win anything for it.

Some things turned out really well and I loved them (until I came down, that is). And others sucked ass. Big time. When I went through my crocheting stage, EVERYTHING in my house that was the size of a breadbox or smaller was covered in some sort of crocheted “wrapping”. I have a picture of me with a crocheted ‘purse’ and it’s horrendous. Too bad I can’t find it to show you. But you know me…my bipolar makes it hard to get my old pics out. Just sayin’.

92955591_10163265955380082_4130272638981373952_n — Edward helping me bead in my studio!

I have so many beaded bracelets that I’ll never be able to wear them all (a slight exaggeration) and my son says the number of quilts we have could be lined up to go around our entire neighborhood block. My paintings cover my walls and when I get out my brushes, NOTHING is safe. And PLEASE don’t say I should open my own Etsy. Been there…done that. My profit? Zip. Zero. Nada. ‘Nuff said.

Now we all know how creativity is linked closely with bipolar: F. Scott Fitzgerald, Ernest Hemingway, Walt Whitman, Sylvia Plath, , and Vincent Van Gogh just to name a few. Not that I’m comparing myself to these people…just sayin’. But my mania really does let me explore my creative side and I let go. I’m not concerned with the process or the result or being afraid something isn’t going to turn out. I just do it and even if the end product is ass ugly, it was fun!

60084786_10161705687865082_4417430222496858112_n — I love this ooooops painting that turned out so cool!

Another great thing is that when I’m manic, my confidence and charm explode! I was up for a full-time tenure track position at my college in 2000 and was passed over as a candidate the first time around. When the search committee couldn’t agree on anyone, I was considered the second time interviews were set up! I was teaching as an adjunct already and was doing the work they wanted, so this was something I really really really really desired! So, I was in the President’s Office for my final interview with about 7 other muckety mucks and knew this was my only chance to nail it:

“Kristi, tell us what your biggest weakness is. Your biggest negative.”
“I don’t have any. Next question?” (Remember, I said this in a very charming way.)

My colleague tells me that’s what set me apart from the others. My confidence!

When my son was a little guy, I was never too embarrassed to really play with him: get dirty, be on the playground equipment, take him cool places, try fun things with him. Who gave a fuck what the other moms were thinking? We had a ball!

18274744_10158588564510082_7364312475645208443_n — My son and I still have so much fun together!

When I set what others might think of as unrealistic goals, I meet ’em. Like registering for a marathon after not being able to run an 8th of a mile. I had 6 months and I did it! My mania and energy got me there!

In the classroom, my mania can sometimes be a bit hard to reign in, but it’s really fun for my students! We learn a lot (I can give a hell of a lecture in an hour), but we also laugh and that makes it a comfortable environment that all my students respond too. There’s nothing I like better (except maybe…you know…ahem…sex) than hearing my students say “I love this class!” while walking out the door. Makes me smile every time.

79288045_10162622565895082_8886445750997745664_n — I love being in front of an audience.

I’m not scared to speak in public at all. I’ve been graduation speaker 3x and LOVE giving my speeches in front of the 1000 people there. When I’m manic, I have the LOOK AT ME syndrome going on…I want to be the center of attention!

I can get excited over the littlest things. Sometimes I have a feeling people think I’m ‘faking’ a reaction to something, but I’m not! I can actually get REALLY excited over seeing a deer on a hike or going to a stage musical or finding a turtle on a path. Things like that make my day! And Christmas? I LOVE to give and open presents and everything I receive excites the crap out of me!

Now, I don’t want to brag on this one, but let’s get it out there: people with bipolar tend to have higher IQs, particularly in verbal areas. I love to learn. LOVE IT! I read anything and everything I can get my hands on, and theorizing is actually fun to me. That’s why I think I love teaching psychology and sociology so much…you can never ever learn it all! (I also think that’s a big reason I chose to teach: I can use my ‘verbal’ abilities to yap all fucking day).

60010395_10161706393445082_7830050964898840576_n

And of course there’s also the fact that we’re sensitive, empathic, and in tune with other people’s feelings. This makes us good listeners…good people to talk too since we can relate to others so much. We’re the huggers. The comforters. The ones who people will seek out because they know we truly care about what they’re saying. I’ve literally struck up conversations with people in Wal-Mart (much to my ma’s and O’s chagrin) and after 5 minutes, I’m hugging them while they spill their life story out in the make-up aisle.

You know having bipolar sucks, and whatever mental illness or mental health issue you are battling sucks too. But I’ll tell you what: you’re going to have days that go on forever and you’ll wonder what the fuck you’re doing here; and you’ll have good days that make you understand what you were put on this earth for. And trust me, grasshoppers: if we can’t laugh about it…maybe until we cry about it… then we are going to let these mental illness bastards win.

Kristi xoxo

Definitely Underwear. From K-Mart. (The Rainman)

So, I’ve been thinking a lot about change lately and what all can we change in ourselves, if anything. There is a lot of change we control: we change our underwear, our taste in clothes, our skin with tattoos, our body with piercings, our brand of deodorant, our hair style or color or both, and the list goes on and on! (P.S. If you don’t change your underwear, we need to have a natter.)

But, can we change who we are? Parts of our personality? Our ‘core’ to where the changes are actually set, and the old ones washed away? Hmmmm. Here’s what I think: change is a possibility, but not a likelihood for a lot of things.

I believe our personalities are developed during early childhood and are very much influenced by our parents and early experiences. Yes, we are born with a temperament and have hereditary traits which can impact this development, but I am convinced that nurture outweighs nature by a significant amount.

I also have to think about the impact of mental illness. Can we change parts of us, or do our mental illnesses dominate so much of who we are it’s just not possible. Take my impulsivity (I mean actually take it away from me and toss it in a bin). I hate it because it makes me blurt things out without thinking or do things without taking into consideration the consequences.

Money is a good example! I see something…I get it! Then later, I worry about the spending and feel guilty. So, how do I change this? This impulsiveness is much much worse during manic cycles, and I often feel so ‘high’ I can’t see anything else but the minute I’m living in. Last summer, I painted my big, wooden, expensive bed a God-awful color and glued glass stones from the Dollar Tree all over it. After I came down, I thought: What the fuck did I do??

I would really love love love to change how sensitive I am. How I react to things so strongly, when others can simply brush them off. Hearing a criticism is devastating to me. I might have 20 students give me perfect reviews, while another writes a scathing one. I cry over that one and can’t see the positives. Mouthing off to someone makes me feel so bad, I ruminate over it for days and apologize to them again and again. Relationships are the same way: when I love, I love way too hard and am so sensitive to my partners moods, comments, and behavior. As a result of this, I am very good at taking personal blame for things…even when logically I know I shouldn’t.

77BAEDA3-3467-43E1-9A4FD8F0ED43AD83_source — From scientificamerican.com

Now, the question is this: can I change my sensitivity? Is this a genetic trait that’s pre-wired in me? Or, is this a result of my bipolar (which also is centered in my brain)? And if so, is change possible? Can I just turn off that switch in my brain labeled “Kristi’s Emotion” and be done with this piece of me that causes so many of my tears to be shed?

And let’s say I find that switch and turn the damn thing off. Is it REALLY off? Will it come back in times of stress? Is the ‘shut off’ permanent, or can it be flicked on again easily?

What else do I want to change in me? I think it would be my ineptness (thank the lord for the online thesaurus I use) in forming friendships. I can’t do it. I’ve said it before: I’ve always been different from other people. I felt it in Kindergarten…truly. I’d see the girls playing with the kitchen set and I’d go join in, but I felt like an outsider. Like I was looking through a window at what everyone else was doing and then would try to imitate their behavior. I’d be invited to slumber parties throughout elementary and Jr. High and all of the girls would have their besties there. I never had one. It would be just me; so to be noticed, I created this HUGE personality! I’d be the loud one who would do any dare. The funny one. The weird one.

I had a couple of good friends in High School, but I wasn’t their bestie. As an adult, I can honestly say I had 1 really good friend for about 7 years. We did so much together but her bestie lived about 60 miles away, and when she would visit my friend, I was put aside. Ouch.

So how can I change this? Am I truly different inside, but could change it with enough work? Is this feeling of being different a part of my bipolar and anorexia? Obviously, both of these make me very different! Or is this difference just something I feel, but isn’t true in the eyes of others? If I take off the mask I see in the mirror, would it change my awkwardness?

oval brown wooden framed hanging mirror — Photo by Nadine Wuchenauer on Pexels.com

But I also wonder this: do we really need to worry about if or how we can change, or instead just learn to live with who we are? Be happy in our own skin? Accept our challenges?

I feel like we live in a society where being different is bad. Right? It’s almost like there’s an expectation to look a certain way, emote a certain way, act a certain way. And anything that deviates from that is ‘WRONG’. But, what if those of us that are different are the ones that are RIGHT? What a kick in the ass that would be! What if I’m just brave enough to show my sensitivity? Isn’t it a good thing to be sensitive (maybe not to the degree I am, but still…)? And my impulsiveness? That’s helped me accomplish a lot of things in my life I might never have done. And being different from the other girls and people in my life as an adult might mean I’m not a sheep following the herd. Maybe I’m the sheep that’s taking my own path through the meadow and sees flowers the others have trampled on.

So, maybe instead of asking about whether we can fundamentally change, we should be asking: how do I celebrate these things in me and just try to have a bit more control over them. Doesn’t that make more sense? Wouldn’t it be great if all of us with mental illnesses could look in the mirror and say ‘Hey, I am what I am.’ Use our differences to educate others? Let people see we accept ourselves, illnesses and all? Isn’t that a HUGE step in them accepting us too?

I’m 53 fucking years old. I don’t think I’m going to be able to radically change this Kristi that I am. However, I think I could change the way I accept this Kristi who’s been with me on my journey in this life…through the good and the bad. When I think about it, she’s taken care of me pretty well. Maybe I’ll take her shopping for new fancy underwear today; I think she deserves it.

Kristi xoxo