mental illness – Page 7 – It’s All in Your Head

Paper, Plastic or Burlap?

So, I’ve mentioned before that Anne Tyler is my favorite author, and I love her book “Breathing Lessons” so much. In this, the main character works in a nursing home and a resident there tells her that he believes when you go to heaven, you will be given a big gunny sack with all of the things you lost or miss from your life. He talks about a red wagon, meeting his wife, an old pet, etc. It started me thinking about what I would like in my own sack (if I make it to the pearly gates, which I’m planning on), and the realization this sack is going to be ginormous.

One thing I have lost over the years of moving so much is a sweater my grandma knitted for me when I was a teenager. Of course then I didn’t appreciate the work and time she put into it, but it really was beautiful. Soft green fuzzy yarn with a v-neck. I’d love to have that again to wear (does it get chilly in heaven?) and feel that softness against my skin again.

il_570xN.2077529204_k1u5 — I think this speaks for itself. I think I’m going to buy this on eBay. 😉

Grandma also made these God-awful yearly sequined calendars, which my mom actually had to help her with every December since she never got them done in time, no matter when she started them. Every year was a special ‘motif’ such as cardinals, tea pots, flowers, etc. And need I remind you, these were all made with sequins. Oh grandma, these were so hideous, with the calendar dates so small you needed a magnifying glass just to be able to read them, but I tell you what…there’s nothing I’d love more than to have one hanging in my office right now.

By the same token, grandpa used to make a lot of things too. One year, he made my sister and I stilts. A high pair and low pair with the high pair being about a good foot off the ground. They were made from 2×4’s (impressed with my wood knowledge?) and would be outlawed in a minute today! But for a few years, my sister and I clomped around the neighborhood on them all of the time! He also made T and I buckeye necklaces after gathering buckets full of them. I thought they were my jewels and wore them proudly! I’d pretend that I was a beautiful princess wearing my diamonds, ready to meet my prince Charming (by the way, still waiting…just sayin’).

I’d also love my first library card in my bag. I can still see it now: the size of a recipe card, pink, with my signed name on it! Every Saturday my mom, sis, and I would traipse to the bookmobile and check out armfuls of books. I liked to read anything and everything, and I know I get that love from my ma…she’s an avid reader and definitely passed that trait along to me and T. I really loved it when I finally qualified for my ‘Young Teen’ card and could check out books by Judy Bloom! I finally got to read about periods, french kissing, and, GASP, sex!! I wonder how many of us learned about all of these things because of Judy?

Me at the lake…look guys, I look great in a swimming suit (just sayin’)!

When T and I were little, our family went to a lake not too far away and had a room in a small motel with the beach right there. I know I was pretty little, but I remember the smell! That sort of musty, watery, buggy smell and for some reason, I still love it today. I’d love to have that smell in my bag.

My mom gets jealous when I talk about this, but I had a HUGE crush on the speech teacher I had for 3 years! She taught me how to speak so people could actually understand me, and she had ‘treasures’ we could earn for doing well. One time, I earned what I had my heart set on for weeks: a blue canister that had cow sounds when you turned it upside down. I loved loved loved it! I also earned Fruit Strip gum once, and never tasted anything so good…it was from Ms. D!

I also remember matching nightgowns T and I had; for some God forsaken reason, mom thought we were twins and dressed us accordingly. We are 3 years apart. Anyhoot, they were red plaid flannel and we wore them so much, they became soft and comfy! I was also into ‘Little House on the Prairie’ at the time, and envisioned myself as the reincarnated Laura Ingalls. My nightie made me look like it!

One Christmas, when I was probably in the 6th grade or so, my aunt gave me a clear make-up case with lip gloss, mascara, and some powder in it. I loved that so much! I’m sure mom and dad spent a lot more on me at Christmas that year, but this was my favorite! It’s the first time I felt like I was really growing up!

And my first 10 speed! Baby blue with black taped curved handlebars and I paid for most of it myself! I don’t even remember who took me to pick it up because I was just too damn excited to ride it, because it was like a ticket to freedom for me. I rode everywhere around our city and loved the feeling of going fast with the wind on my face. I still love riding anything on 2 wheels still; and yes, I’m cool enough to have had a Harley! Oh yeah!

s-l640 — This is the bike, which can be found in bicycle museums. ‘Nuff said.

I was in 8th grade when I really wanted to learn to play the flute because my best friend played it so well! So, she gave me her old flute and I learned on that, and had a ball in marching band, music camp, and just feeling a part of that band-geek community.

When my sis and I were in grade school, my dad surprised us by picking us up from school, taking us to a local shop for greasy bags of buttery popcorn, and then going to a theater to watch “Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid”! I’ll never forget how good that popcorn tasted because I was with dad and T doing something so special! Dad would also call T and I every morning on our birthdays while he was at work. Back then, getting a call from your dad was truly an awesome thing…we loved them!

OMG. Ma won’t believe I’m including this, but she had this UGLY outfit comprised of flared capris and a button up shirt in a patchwork quilt pattern. Go ahead and gag…I’ll wait. Anyhoot, to be a smartass, I told her how much I loved it, so guess what? She believed the compliment and bought me one of the damn outfits to match hers. Fuck. So, I had to wear it at least a couple of times in front of her, and did so for the first time when my son, his dad, and I met mom at church one Sunday. I got dressed and asked hubby how I looked. His fashion sense was not great, but he said: “My God, you look like a freaking quilt. Are you really going to wear that in public?” Unfortunately I did. Twice. But having mom buy it for me, and seeing her face when I wore it makes me think I’d wear it again (once) in heaven. Just to give Jesus a chuckle. (NOTE: I tried to find a pic of this, and they all must have been burned or banned).

Taken on the way home…AFTER the weather moved on!

When my son lived in Fort Worth for 3 years, ma and I drove down one Christmas and it was the WORST weather possible! Sleet, flooding, crawling traffic, ice and as I was driving, we’d hear radio reports saying: DO NOT TRAVEL IN THIS! Well, were only going 800 miles, so what the hell. Anyhoot, I’d love to have that time back because we laughed our way through the weather, stayed at the dumpiest motel you could possibly find in Oklahoma where there was 1 towel the size of a notebook, no kleenex (that was an extra amenity not offered), and a man behind bullet proof glass taking cash only in a town of about 3. But, we barricaded the door, got to Texas, and I got to show ma this awesome state for the first time. We had a blast!

And there are so many things from my son’s childhood I’d love to bag up! His sweet smell on his little bald head, and how he’d give me a slobbery, toothy grin when I’d get him out of his crib in the morning.

The little outfits that were his faves and how cute he looked in them. Him coming home and handing me a gluey, glittery valentine made out of a doily. The smell of the ball field for the many summers I watched him play in little league. The look of him in his swimming trunks yelling at me to watch him jump in for the 100th time. His getting older and going through that awkward stage where he had a face I still loved despite the fact he refused to cut his CURLY hair for a year and he looked like he had a bowling ball on top of his head. Getting to know him as his adult self where he developed an individuality and independence I’m so proud of. His hugs even now. His sweetness that is still there that shines from his face.

When I think about it, there are so so many things I’d love to have! The old green love seat in our basement when I was a teen where I made out with some guys…and I know T did the same because I was her look out! The gold shag carpet in my bedroom that would be actually really funky to have today. My first car: a 1980 Chevy Chevette complete with racing stripes and a luggage rack (this bag better be really big). The Mickey Mouse ears I got when we visited Disney Land when I was in the 4th grade.

asimov_trs — It took 20 minutes to boot this gem up.

The smell of a grade school classroom: crayons, glue, freshly sharpened pencils, markers, books, etc. The feel of my graduation robe when I got my Masters. My mom’s brown (shit brown) Monte Carlo that my sis would take me riding in…we actually found a street where if she went fast enough, we’d get off the ground (sorry, ma). My first computer, a Tandy with about a .0000000000001 size gig. My first sewing machine. The smell of my first dog, Scooter. And my gosh, the list would go on and on!!

Looking back like this makes me realize all of the special memories I have and how could I ever make this list complete? I’ve talked a lot about some bad things that have happened to me in my life, but there are so many good things too! Sometimes, when you are battling a mental illness, it’s hard to see them because we have to focus so much on getting through the day at times. But we are so much more than our diagnosis. We are complex, loving, funny, smart, interesting people who have so much more to us than these…wait for it…fucking bastards of mental illnesses. I think it’s nice to remember that.

Kristi xoxo

“Sorry Seems to be The Hardest Word” (Bernie Taupin)

So, the other day in one of my posts, I talked about how guilty those of us with bipolar often feel because of the strain it can place on others. After reading some messages from you Grasshoppers, I know that others feel this in relation to their own mental illness. In fact, in an article published by the National Institute of Health, it states: “The stigmatizing attitudes toward mental illness held by both the public and those who have a mental illness lead to feelings of shame and guilt, loss of self-esteem, social dependence, and a sense of isolation and hopelessness.” Basically, any of us can experience guilt based on what we have, and not just necessarily by what we do.

Some of you commented that one way to combat the guilt tied to actions/behaviors/words/etc. was to apologize to those who were hurt by these things. I’ve been talking about this very issue with my counselor, and I totally agree. I’ve been wanting to apologize for a long time. But, my problem (among many) is how to go about it.

How can words possibly convey the burdens and hurt I’ve inflicted on others during my life as a bipolar? Will the words sound genuine if I speak them? More ‘real’ if I write them? What exactly do I apologize for? Being mentally ill in the first place? What I’ve ‘done’ during the course of this sickness? Both?

blue cabinet — Photo by Bruno Thethe on Pexels.com

If I were to list all of the people I should apologize too, the list would be too long for the gigs I’m allowed on this site. Seriously. I have tons of family members I know I’ve hurt. Ex hubbies. Friends I’ve had. I’d have apologize to entire classes for the times I was down and not totally ON for them, which is what each of my classes deserves every time I’m in front of them. And, sorries should go to people I haven’t been kind to since I was so far down to even be able to care like I should.

When I try to apologize to family, I can’t do it verbally. I get so choked up at the hurt I’ve caused that talking is difficult. Just writing this is making the tears begin. But, that’s no excuse for not apologizing…period.

My mom has taken the brunt of this illness. It was really starting to show itself when I was a teen, and the acting out I did during manic times and the anger I expressed to her during my depressive states is shameful to me. Mom was my scapegoat for everything I was feeling but couldn’t describe or handle at the time. I remember sitting at the table when I was around 16 or so, and she had made me an Italian sausage sandwich…onions, peppers, the works. She served it to me and I threw it across the kitchen, hitting a quilt she was hand-quilting while yelling and crying. Mom had no idea what was wrong, but instead of yelling back and punishing me, she hugged me. I’ll never forget that.

Another time in high school, I called my mom a ‘bitch’ for no good reason. Actually I screamed that word to her in her face. Right after, I stormed out of the house and rode my bike to my grandparents house. My grandpa was waiting for me in the kitchen with some food for me. Mom had called him, just to tell him how upset I was and what I said. I started nibbling, and grandpa sat down at the terry cloth covered table with me and told me he had never been disappointed in me during my entire life, but today he was. I sobbed. Having my grandpa say that told me how far I’d gone in hurting my mom. I apologized to her when I got home, and she accepted it with no further mention. That, my Grasshoppers, is forgiveness.

During the breakdown I had, mom took care of me everyday for a few weeks. Everyday. I know what an incredible burden that had to be and the guilt I feel for putting my 73 year old mom through such a trial haunts me constantly. She saved my life and never once said anything to make me feel responsible for what was happening. The words “I’m sorry” don’t even say a fraction of what I want too…but other words don’t exist that do.

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And my son? For all of his growing up years I tried so so so hard to hide my mental illness. His dad and his family don’t believe in ‘weakness’ and being ‘sick’ isn’t an option. How could I admit what was swirling through my brain and how that was affecting me to someone who rebuffed anything that had to do with mental illness? Plus, I wanted my son-shine to have the best childhood possible. So I wore the tightest masks I could find; I’d be damned if I’d let him see my illness. There was no way I’d have wanted him to carry any burden of it around as a kid. My job was to be a mommy and make his growing up years happy and stable.

But when I decided to ‘come out’ with being bipolar, which was a necessity after my breakdown, my son (26) became such a support to me. To be honest, it took him a while to accept this unmasked me since he had never really seen it before. But now? He handles all of my moods, cycles, insecurities, crying, quietness, hyperactivity and everything else with support, care, and understanding. He’s been my rock, which makes me feel like I’m failing him as a mom now. But he says he’s supposed to take care of me (since I’m an elder…WTF?) and says that just how it is. I don’t agree with that, but him doing it is more than I can ever thank him for. And not being the mom he still deserves is something I’ll never be able to make up for. He’s going to be moving out in a couple of weeks, but only 2 miles away so he’ll be close if I need him.

And these 2? They’re just the tip of the ice burg. What about apologizing to my ex-hubbies? I know my sensitivity, impulsiveness, strong emotional reactions, periods of depression and the list goes on, affected each of them. Would I still be married to O’s dad if I wasn’t bipolar? Would I have saved my son from going through a divorce had I been honest with him about the severity of what was happening to me? I don’t know. But the question makes me ruminate often.

My sis and dad have been so affected by this too. Both have their own struggles with mental illness (hello…genetics anyone?) and so many times when I’ve wanted to support them, I can’t because of the state I’m in. How can I apologize for this neglect, when I know how important support really is?

be-sorry-be-healthy-722x406

So yes, apologizing is necessary, at least for me. I’m not going to say I’m sorry for having this brain disorder. That I can’t help. But to my family, friends, students, and so many other people that have been affected by me having this fucking bastard (you didn’t think I’d leave that out, did you?) of an illness, I am so sorry for what I’ve put you through. So very sorry. Please forgive me for all of these overwhelming burdens I’ve placed on your shoulders. I don’t know any other words that truly reflect how shamed I am by this. I hope you understand what I’m trying to say.

Maybe Elton John was wrong. Maybe sorry isn’t the hardest word to say. Actually, finding the words that will convey the depth of this apology is much more difficult. I just hope to find them someday, because I owe them to a lot of people.

Kristi xoxo

Emotion Sickness ~ Silverchair

So, if look up articles about what bipolar is all about, you get the standard definition of ‘cycles of depression and cycles of mania that the person transitions through, with periods of normalcy in-between (what ever the hell that is).’ OK. Got it. But, there’s more: anecdotal (yes, I had to look up that spelling) evidence suggests that people with bipolar are also ‘liars who exaggerate things and are manipulative, along with having a lack of self-awareness.’ Well, spank me hard…I should be locked up!! Of all of these “extras” that we can have, I think the idea of lying hits home for me the most.

We all lie, don’t we? Someone asks how they look in an outfit. You aren’t going to say, “Girl, that outfit is ass ugly!” You’re more likely to say, “Girl, you look fine!” The reason for the lie? You want to protect their feelings (which is what us empaths do). My grandma used to make ham loaf which had to be the grossest food on the face of the earth, except for pickled beets.

But, I would say, “Grandma, this is good!” as I was hiding bites in my napkin. She worked so hard on the dinner, how could I tell her it made me gag? White lies are often harmless, and aren’t used maliciously, but graciously.

But here’s the thing. When people know you have a mental illness, so much of what you say is questioned, examined, and often downplayed as just another wrong opinion, lie, exaggeration, or what-have-you since the person is ‘sick’. We’re often not taken seriously. And because of this, we, or at least I, get very emotional when trying to get the point across. Particularly when I’m accused of ‘lying’ when I’m not.

There’s a TV doc I used to love until last year when I watched an episode of their show that really upset me. A woman was on with her daughter who is with a guy 17 years older than her and they have a tot together. She also had her other daughter with her as well. The mom talked about signs of abuse in the couples home and also stated that her daughter told her the man said, “I’ll kill you if you ever try to leave.” OK. Sounds like abuse is going on to me, since this is a line most batterers use to keep their victim home. And we also know for women that once they do leave, the violence can escalate quickly. The other daughter confirmed that she saw signs of abuse too, and wouldn’t even invite the couple to her wedding because of the toxicity of their relationship. So, here’s what pissed me off: the doc was minimizing what the mom was saying and chuckled at her when she got emotional! He even asked the daughter: “Are you scared of him?” And guess what she said? No. What the fuck is she supposed to say? My God, all of us who have ever worked in DV or know anything about it realize that you NEVER ever question a victim in front of their abuser! The daughter went on to say to her mom (the woman who raised her, had a great relationship with her prior to her involvement with this ass, and did a lot together as adults…something else the other daughter confirmed), “I’m too good to be in your life.” She also said if her mom ever came on their property, she’d have her arrested for trespassing. Hello! Brainwashed much?

black crt tv showing gray screen — Photo by Burak K on Pexels.com

Doc believed the man and daughter in that she wasn’t being abused and berated the mom for getting so emotional about the situation. Are you serious? I don’t know about you, Grasshoppers, but if my young daughter was being abused by any guy, I’d be emotional too, particularly if I’m not being believed! Doc even said that if she was right about the abuse, she was handling it wrong, and if she was wrong about the abuse, she was handling it wrong! Wow. In other words, no matter what, she was in the wrong because she was being so emotional. Consequently, the abuse wasn’t addressed and the woman didn’t get the help for her daughter which was her intention. Oh, did I mention this boob was arrested for statutory rape (he copped a plea)? He was 19 and the girl was 15. The doc went on to say this wasn’t really a big deal because after all, you can’t tell a 15 year old from an 18 year old anymore. What the hell? He snickered when saying this. Hmmmmm.

I bring this situation up for a reason; when I’m confronted with something, I get emotional. Overly emotional because I’m bipolar and a very strong feeler to boot. But, emotions are often tied to lack of control, aren’t they? Think of what we tell little 2 year olds who are throwing a crying tantrum because they really don’t have any other way of expressing the strong emotions they’re feeling at that age: “Stop that right now and get control of yourself!” So next time I have a student in my office crying about a situation and getting emotional, I’ll say the same. Right?

There have been times in my life where I’ve been telling the truth about a serious situation and I wasn’t believed. Guess what I do? I get emotional. I just do. And the tears, red face, and escalated pitch of my voice stymie anything I’m trying to say. In other words, I can’t win. Once, I was being threatened by someone who sent the threats to me via texts which I still have. Despite the concrete evidence of these, I was reprimanded at my place of employment then, and also attacked by his lawyer during an emergency Order of Protection hearing (where the perp and lawyers aren’t usually allowed) where I was told once again, it was my fault he did this. I was so berated, scared, and dealing with other traumatic things in my life that were breaking me down that everything thrown at me made me cry. I was already an emotional mess and couldn’t ‘fight’ back against all of this like I could now. And guess what? My emotionality (is this a word?) convinced these people that I must the one in the wrong. I mean look at me: I’m a mentally ill woman, bawling, not able to get words out, and reacting so differently at that point than probably anyone else would that of course I’m guilty. Lying. Trying to manipulate the system. After all, “The lady doth protest too much, methinks.”

shakes — Methinks this is the first time I’ve ever quoted Shakespeare. 🙂

Look, here’s what I’m saying: situations that bring up some emotion in other lives, bring up huge emotions in those of us with bipolar (and other mental illnesses as well). Hello! Emotion is so much a part of this freaking illness. It shouldn’t minimize what we’re saying or discredit it. We should still be listened too. Given time to explain. Understood in the context of our illness in that we’re often going to express a lot of feeling.

Maybe those extra characteristics of bipolars are true for some. Lying, exaggerating, etc. And maybe we do some of these during times of mania when we are so out of control, but those can also be an anomaly for us most of the time.

Trust me when I say this Grasshoppers: dealing with bipolar is tough enough. Real tough. And then not being taken seriously, being called a liar, and having your emotions used against you is even tougher.

So, how do we fight against this unfair treatment of us? This idea that our opinions, statements, and truths don’t really matter? I don’t know. Gee, it makes me too emotional to talk about, so anything I offer as a solution shouldn’t be taken seriously. Right?

Kristi xoxo

Oz the Gweat and Tewwible. (Stephen King)

So, in my sociology classes, we talk a lot about power and we define it as this: getting your way despite resistance. That pretty much sums it up, doesn’t it? YOUR way DESPITE resistance. Like when my son was a little guy and I’d tell him to clean his room. He’d say NO or hem-haw (is this really a word?) around, and that’s when I’d say, “O, do it NOW.” And, he’d do it. My way…not his. I had all the power (muahahaha)!

I don’t think I ever abused my power with O, although he might beg to differ. Unfortunately, so many in power do abuse it. I’m going to talk about something I never have before, when power was used against me in a way that damaged a piece of me.

When I was a freshman in high school, I was a bit chubby. Puberty, fast food at lunch, lots of pop…and a few people made fun of me for this. I wanted to fit in, so I started to diet. Harmless, right? Except, as we now know, eating disorders are often comorbid with bipolar and it wasn’t long until I wasn’t controlling the diet, the diet was controlling me. At the same time, I started exercising incessantly: running up to 8 miles or so a day, doing aerobics (very popular in the 80’s…thank you Richard Simmons), walking home from school at the fastest pace I could, taking PE seriously for once in my life, and before I knew it, I had lost all the weight I was hiding under my bib overalls, and then some. I went from about 130 (I’m 5’4″) to about 105 pounds in a couple of months. The lowest I got was around 97, and that’s when mom noticed something was wrong. She would try to get me to eat at home, but believed the stories I told her about how much I was eating at school and my friends house. This went on for some time, and by my Jr. year, I was seriously starting to cycle through periods of depression and mania as well. Ma knew I needed help,so I started seeing Dr. G.

During the first few appointments, I wouldn’t even talk. I didn’t want his help because I knew that meant him making me eat, and since anorexia had taken hold, I sure as hell didn’t want that. His office was nice and cozy…a bit dim. He filled my silences with stories, advice, and something else: the promise that his office was my safe place…where I could share anything and everything and he would be OK with that. With me. That ‘unconditional regard’ if you will.

1677e11b644204f5d851e435d9aeac4f — Sigmund Freud Museum, London

So, as I started seeing him less as an enemy, and more of an ally, I started to open up. Little by little I let him into my life. At the same time, my boyfriend of 2 years broke up with me (who could blame him since I was such a hot mess) and I was so overwhelmed by my emotions, I ran my car into a tree. I was trying to kill myself.

When I was able to get to my grandparents and tell them what I did, they called my mom who called Dr. G. He wanted to see me ASAP, even though it was nighttime, and I quickly went to his office. I was able to pour out all of what was inside, and he talked to me for hours. He saved my life. And he didn’t just save my life in terms of wanting to die, he also saved me from the worst of anorexia. He became the most important person in my life, bar none.

During the end of my Jr. year, mom’s insurance ran out and it would no longer pay for psychological care, and mom couldn’t afford the price on her own. I was devastated. I truly had no idea how I would be able to function without Dr. G. At what was to be our last appointment, I tearfully told him of my predicament. He thought for a second, patted my leg, and told me not to worry about it, we’d figure something out.

WOW! This guru…my savior…my friend…my ‘love’ in so many ways…wanted to keep seeing me! I was important enough that he would make that happen! My world suddenly brightened.

When I went back the next week, Dr. G. started rubbing my legs as I sat by him…started hugging me…started touching my shoulders. Part of me was scared. I was 17 and very unsure how to handle what was happening by this 56 year old man. But, he was the doc…the head of a Behavioral Sciences department at a well respected university…the one who knew everything. So, I didn’t say a word and allowed him to continue.

By our 3rd ‘unpaid’ appointment, the touching started to include my breasts and my bottom, with a lot of kissing too. Omg. Was this man falling in love with me? ME? Skinny, mentally ill, homely on the cusp of ugly, bullied, acne riddled me?

Finally one evening (all of my appointments were now at night since I ‘wasn’t paying’), he told me he had needs and he just knew, because of how wonderful I am, that I could fulfill them. That way, he said, we’d both be helping each other, like a team. And, like he also pointed out, he was still helping me. He was right about this; when he wasn’t pawing at me, his advice and acceptance still held true. So, that was the first night he had sex with me. It was horrible. There I was, on his 20 year old carpet with no one in the building, crying the entire time because I was so confused. To deal with that confusion, I started to delude myself into thinking he was in love with me. That we would be married someday (after he divorced his wife) and would live happily ever after in our perfect little house.

Deep down I knew how wrong this was. I felt so dirty…so ‘shamed’ in a way. After he’d have sex with me every week, he’d immediately clean up in his private bathroom (connected to his office) but wouldn’t allow me too. It was ‘just for him.’ Our talks became less and less, and the sex became more and more. Not just in terms of occurrances, but in terms of what he expected from me too. This dynamic lasted for 2 entire years, until I met Hubby 1. Once this happened, I stopped seeing Dr. G all together.

Long story short, after Hubby and I got married after a couple years of dating, we got divorced 4 years later. I knew I was very much to blame since I had a LOT of baggage from Dr. G that Hubby just couldn’t handle. When we were in the process of the divorce, I went to see a counselor. We started talking about why I was there, and when I told him about this sexual relationship, he stopped me and said: “I know who it was. It was Dr. G.” I was gobsmacked. How would he know that? “Look,” he said, “I’ve had around 7 women in here over the last few years with the same story.” What? NO! That couldn’t be! I was stunned.

I told my mom the whole story, as well as a couple of other people who encouraged me to take him to court since this was not only a case of sexual abuse, but it was highly unethical for a psychologist to do with a patient! I went back and talked to that counselor and he said this: “Who would believe you? You were a teenager and now you’re a divorced woman with a documented mental illness (anorexia) and he’s a doctor and well respected man.” ‘Nuff said. (This counselor was an asshole too.)

angry animal big carnivore — Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

He was right. I couldn’t go up against him. None of his victims could. And I knew he understood that. With the power he had had over us, we were easy prey. And, with the help and attention he had given us, there was a feeling of culpability, at least with me, since I believed he loved me in some way. I never wanted the sexual relationship. It disgusted me every time it happened. It made me feel used and dirty, but I owed him. Or so I believed at that time.

Dr. G died a year after my son was born. It brought me closure knowing he couldn’t hurt anyone else, but I still think about him every once in a while. Having such sexual power used against me at a ripe age when I’m trying to figure out sexual relationships anyway was so damaging…so confusing. I’m wary of power now. It’s hard for me to trust those above me. It’s hard for me to sometimes understand that not everyone in power is going to use it against me. Hurt me with it.

On the other hand, he reinforced in me to be a pleaser. Someone to just acquiesce to what’s being asked of me, because in some way I must owe it to them. I must deserve it. I think that’s why I’m always so quick to take the blame when someone hurts me. Why I’m so quick to apologize. So quick to feel bad. Saying “I’m sorry” is almost a mantra to me.

Looking back, I now understand that Dr. G was more sick than I have ever been. He was a sociopath. A user. A narcissist. He did what he did because he could. He used his power as a predatory trap. He knew how to bait that trap, and he knew how to kill his prey once they were caught. I was very easy prey.

Power is a heady thing. It can be used for so much good, and it can be used to destroy. Isn’t it scary that one thing can have such different consequences depending upon who holds it in their hands? And isn’t it sad that this one man used it in both ways. This man, who more anyone, should have known better.

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

Luck is this Lady Today.

So, writing about my bipolar journey and life isn’t always the most cheerful experience. Those of us with mental illness know that there are some pretty tough times we have to work ourselves out from. But, I am so freaking blessed in my life and never want to lose sight of that. Ever.

Take my ma. Please. (Just joking, ma…I won’t let you go.). I call my mom my ‘bra’ because she’s been so supportive of me all of my life. I remember lying (gasp) as a little girl (BTW, when I type ‘girl’ you need to say it like Linda Belcher does: ‘giorl’) that I was sick just to stay home with her during the day…and this was from someone who loved school so much. In high school, I had a party at our house in which I was told I could invite a few friends. So, I did. And those few friends invited a few friends, etc. The party of 10 grew to be a party of about 40 (some of you reading this were there!) and even though I swore with the best (ahem) intentions, alcohol miraculously appeared. It was a GREAT time though! I got to kiss my long desired dreamboat (who smelled of whiskey and polo…a combination that still gets me a bit hot) while others were doing Mexican hat dances on the carpet, with tortilla chips under their feet. When mom and her husband came home, they didn’t yell like I thought they would. My step-sister and I had cleaned the best we could in our inebriated states, and since I was still ‘tipsy’, I think mom figured she could yell at me some other time. I would have been furious at my kid doing this, but mom was pretty cool about it. She put me through hell the next day though by vacuuming, emptying ice trays, and anything else she could think of that was noisy as hell to further compound my hangover headache, but besides that, nothing else was said. Except…that I could never…EVER…EVER…have a party again. Go figure.

I’ll never forget when mom took me to lunch one day after Hubby 2, our son, and I moved back to IL from Kansas where we had lived for 3 years. I remember the weather, the restaurant, the booth, and the food on the table when she said this: “I found a lump.” I don’t think words can adequately describe my feelings at that moment. Mom fought like a warrior over the next year though and survived a lumpectomy, chemotherapy, and radiation to treat this metastasized cancer, and has now been cancer free for a little over 20 years. She’s a fighter like no other I’ve seen.

When I had a breakdown a couple of years ago, my mama saved my life. Literally. She and my doctor were my salvation and she had to work with me everyday to make sure I was just eating and showering. I was at her house all of the time either crying, staring off in space, or just being close to her so I couldn’t cut myself anymore. She doesn’t take enough credit for what she did for me. She should though. I wouldn’t be writing this if it hadn’t been for her.

And my sister? When I was a tot, I could hardly speak to where anyone was able to understand me. The roof of my mouth is incredibly high and when I talk, I can’t use my tongue against it to help form words. So, T was my translator. She’s OLDER than me (see that, T?? You’re OLDER!) and was truly my voice. In every single pic of us at little kids, she is standing with her arm around me, and when we were in grade school and both of us were getting bullied, she protected me.

On snow days, we’d tie our beanbag chairs together in the downstairs, and pretend we were stranded at sea and couldn’t move off of them! We’d take bike rides to Grandpa and Grandmas, and as we got older, we’d boogie off to the drug store to buy make up and try it out on one another. I was the sickly, puny one as a kid and then with having anorexia and bipolar, I know T has often been second to the attention I took…and still take. She’s the smartest, most kind-hearted person I know. Really.

And my son? Well…what do you say about perfection? OK. I know he’s not perfect (sorry, porkchop), but he’s damn close. He was the funniest, sweetest, most adorable kid ever and grew up to be such a good, kind, talented man. O has aphantasia which is the inability to see pictures in your brain…you actually don’t have a ‘minds eye.’ We didn’t understand this had a name until a few years ago, but as early as Jr. High, when his geometry teacher told the kids to picture a cube and then to rotate it in their minds, O couldn’t do it. He simply couldn’t see it. He would always tell me he didn’t really dream and when he did, it was like fleeting images of black and white. His dad and I had no idea that such a condition existed, but now I can see how he’s had this all his life.

My amazing son…introducing me to IKEA in Dallas a couple of years ago!

O always wanted cameras. When he was 4, we started going to pools every summer afternoon, and he would ask for underwater cameras and took amazing pics even at his age. As he got older, I’d get him more and more disposable cameras before buying him the real thing. Now, he’s a professional wedding photographer who has already received national attention. I understand how for him, photographs ARE his memory, and his passion is to create those precious memories for others as well. Have I mentioned how amazing he is?

Another blessing in my life are my students! I taught elementary school for a couple of years before getting my M.S. and I loved my 5th and 6th graders so much! When I started teaching college at the ripe old age of 28, I feared I’d miss that close connection. How wrong I was! I absolutely, unequivocably LOVE my students! Each and every one of them. They have given me so much more than I think I’ve given them, and when I’m at the store, and I hear someone shout “Ms. P!” or “Professor K!” my heart soars!

I can’t share a pic of any of my students, but you can see the joy in my face when I’m with them!

So many of them are on my Facebook and to see how they have succeeded in their careers, started beautiful families, and become incredible people is more joyful than I can express. I may forget names after having so many thousand students over these last 24 years, but I remember every single face…and I’m touched that they remember me as well!

There are so many other blessings I could talk about: all of my other family (yes, Edward and Dottie, this includes you), my colleagues, my home, my neighbors, my health, my finances, and the list could go on and on and on.

And who do I have to thank for all of this? Well, the big guy himself. God. Yep, I’m a believer. Have been for as long as I can remember. I could go into a big testimony of how God came into my heart, but I’m not going too. As much as I think it’s wonderful to share your faith, which I do with people who want to share with me, I also think it’s kind of personal to talk about since words actually minimize that experience. I talk to God a lot, and I also pray. And yes, those are 2 different things to me. He’s very good at listening to me chit-chat, and I know he hears my prayers since they’ve been so generously answered. I haven’t deserved the blessings that I’ve received, but like any father, God gives me exactly what he knows I need. ‘Nuff said.

You know it’s so easy to lose sight of the positives in your life when you deal with the negative ramifications of mental illness day to day, and I think it’s important to always keep those in mind. I don’t ever want to forget what’s wonderful in my life and get mired only in the lousy. That wouldn’t be fair: it would be ignoring all of the people and things in my life that are so incredible.

Kristi xoxo

The Tragedy of it All.

man walking on the empty street — Photo by Alex Fu on Pexels.com

So, I’ve written a lot since I’ve started this blog, and it means so much to me. When I began this, I told myself these posts were my chance to say some of what I need to say, some of what people need to hear, and sometimes, a little bit of both. But this is the first post I’ve written while tears are streaming down my face.

I’ve talked about my ex-partner in posts before, and I think it’s because the wounds from the relationship are still fresh, and because I thought he was my forever (actually, I thought all of them were until him, but c’est la vie). I also write about him because he’s mentally ill like me. He’s been diagnosed with PTSD from his 3 tours overseas in the Army, and also with Borderline Personality Disorder, which I believe is caused by a genetic component (I believe his mom also has this disorder), and also because of the abuse he endured as a child: serious physical and psychological abuse with periods of forced isolation where he literally couldn’t move from his bed for weeks at a time. I was attracted to him before I knew all of this, and after he told me his story, it made me love him even more; I felt so much empathy and compassion for this man who had been through so much.

For the last couple of days, he’s been messaging me. The messages are horrifying. Ever since his unfaithfulness last October, he’s been on a downward trajectory. He’s completely isolated himself from everyone, including his 2 kids, and has told his family members that he hates them and won’t have anything more to do with them ever. I know some of this behavior is the BPD. But I also know he’s taking all of the pain of his childhood and tours, and turning it outward as anger against the only targets he has. The problem is that many of his targets don’t deserve to be his scapegoat, most especially his children.

When I first met them (one was in Kindergarten and the other in 2nd grade), I fell in love with them immediately and completely. I love kids and these 2 are so smart, sweet, affectionate, and funny. To be honest, I didn’t know I could love other kids as much as I do them, with the same unconditional love I feel for my own son, and my nieces and nephews. The feelings blew me away. Once, my sister said this: “Blood is thicker than water, but love is thicker than both.” She’s right.

These kids have been through a lot in their lives. Not having their dad around because of his tours, moving around the country multiple times, and then experiencing a contentious divorce took their toll. The little guy is extremely sensitive and like me is a huge feeler who is at a loss as how to deal with the emotions of what he’s been through, so he internalizes them. He doesn’t eat well. He doesn’t have friends. And he lives in his own world, not wanting others to intrude. I’m lucky he let me in. The little miss is also a sensitive child, but as opposed to internalizing, she externalizes her feelings. She’s a clinger, and just wants to feel love from anybody and everybody. In that regard, she’s like me.

When J told me he completely cut off everyone in this life (I think I’m the only one he can talk, or in this case text, to), I assumed he didn’t mean these sweeties. You see, during our 3 years together, J learned so much more about being a parent than he previously knew. He built a strong relationship with them, and we did so many fun things together as a family: museums, zoos, hikes, eating out, birthday parties, swimming, playgrounds, movie nights, etc. and I could see the connection to their dad get stronger and stronger. He also worked hard to provide a home for them. He got a really nice apartment in a family oriented neighborhood, and the kids were thrilled at having this with their dad. J and I had fun buying bunk beds, comforters, toys, books…anything that would create a positive environment for them. He took them to the private school he got them into every morning, picked them up afterwards, started little miss in Taekwondo, made nice dinners for them, bought them birds so they could have pets, and hugged and cuddled them to their hearts desire.

Then, this BPD took over. Actually, it had taken over before, something that I experienced first hand. I was on the receiving end of rages, weeks of silence, damaging words and actions, but to be honest, I knew when it was the illness that was in charge, and not ‘him’. People questioned me again and again why I kept loving this man…why I forgave him over and over. The answer is simple: because I’m mentally ill too. When I’m in a depression or a period of mania, I’m not in control either. I do things, say things, act out on things that I never would do when I’m in a more self-restrained time. Sometimes…well maybe always…it takes someone mentally ill to truly understand another’s struggle. Once I had a student say to me, “I like talking to you, Professor K. When I tell you I’m depressed, I know you get it.” And yes, I do.

But this time for J it’s different. The BDP is in total control. 100%. And it’s going to stay that way for however long he lives because he’s doing nothing to try to fight it at all. He’s wallowing in it. Yes, I said wallow. He’s feeding that monster we’ve talked about an awful lot of food. He’s given up. He’s become trapped in this disorder without grabbing onto the rope that’s there, and pulling himself up as much as he can. He’s pulled up before…he just won’t even try to do it again. He said he likes the wallowing. The hating. The anger. The isolation.

And I think he’s a fucking liar. He experienced so much as a kid that like his little guy, he doesn’t know what to do with the feelings. So, by killing his soul, I guess he’s killing those emotions too.

But the real tragedy? These sweeties. After having a dad for these past few years, how can they ever understand why he’s no longer in their lives? Why ‘his’ home is no longer theirs? How can they take another loss? Another upheaval? Another piece of their hearts destroyed? He’s doing to them what was done to him (to a degree). Isolating them. Rejecting them. Maybe he thinks that will heal him. It won’t. All it will do is continue this generational cycle of abuse that’s been in his family for decades, and then cause these 2 innocent angels to grow up with what J is battling himself. He had been reversing this trend for years so well…the kids were flourishing and J seemed happy and content. It’s like he got the diagnosis of BPD and decided to live down to that as much as he can. It’s the excuse I guess he was finally looking for to hate. He’s making this diagnosis a label to be absorbed, as opposed to a diagnosis to aid in understanding. Dammit, J, you fought fucking Akeida for 3 years in desert conditions on the front lines, how can you not fight against this too? Your kids lives are worth the battles this is going to give you; you are worth the battle. I know J is still in there. I’ve seen him. I’ve loved him. He’s a smart, funny, passionate guy that he’s allowed this beast to consume.

Mental illness is a bitch to live with. Y’all know that. But I also understand first hand, that it’s a bitch to deal with in others too. I’ve put my mom, son, and sis through so much. I know I have. If I could take back what I’ve said and done, I’d do it in a heartbeat. It’s agonizing to know how they have been victims of my bipolar. I can’t think about it without feeling so fucking guilty and ashamed, and I know words can’t take away the pain I’ve caused them.

When I attempted suicide a couple of years ago, I laid on my bed, ready to go to sleep forever. And then God spoke to me. Yes, he spoke to me. He showed me my son. My mom. My sister. My family. My students. He showed me the pain they would experience. How horrible it would be for my mom to bury her daughter. For my son to bury his mom. And that’s what turned me around. This fucking bastard of a mental illness is not going to be who I am. I’m going to always fight and fight and fight to stay me as much as I possibly can. I’m gonna win some battles. I’m gonna lose some battles. But I tell you what, every one of those is worth the bloodshed.

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.

5b9af586d1a92.preview

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

My Lesson in Schizophrenia.

So, Hubby 3 has a nephew named Jack (I changed his name for privacy!) and he is a paranoid schizophrenic. A few years ago, when Hubby and I were married, his sister came to town from Florida (where she lives) with Jack (25 at the time) to visit her and hubbies mom who was suffering with lung and breast cancer. Right before she left, she came to us and said this: “I’m not taking Jack with me. I rented an apartment, and it has a 6 month lease. I can’t handle him anymore. He’s yours now.” And there we were with the responsibility of Jack for 2 years.

The first thing we learned was that Jack had no medication for his schizophrenia. We got him set up with a behavioral health facility here in town, and he was quickly put on anti-psychotic medication. This really helped, and for a while, we thought he could maintain his apartment, with us checking on him daily. We had no idea how serious his schizophrenia was at that point.

A couple of weeks after getting him settled and hooked up with services, we bought him a bus pass and a cell phone. We wanted him to be able to get to us and around town easily as well as call us anytime. But, instead of him calling us one day, it was his landlord. He said the apartment Jack was living in was a “shithole” (his words) and he was kicking Jack out. We went to talk to Jack, and found what the landlord said was literally true. Within a week of us not seeing the apartment (he had been visiting us), we were shocked by what we saw. There was poop smeared on the walls because he had run out of toilet paper, rotten food on the counters with maggots beginning to develop, and garbage strewn all over the place. We also saw Jack wasn’t taking his meds, and was clearly not able to live on his own at all. After talking with his caseworker, we got him into a great group home where he would be supervised, given his meds, and taught the general life skills he needed.

man sitting on street — Photo by Malcolm Garret on Pexels.com

By the way, Jack didn’t want to live with us. He wanted more freedom than we would have allowed him and since both of us worked full-time, he wouldn’t have gotten the supervision needed. Jack lasted about 3 weeks in the group home, and then got kicked out for not following the rules. So, with more calls to his caseworker and other agencies, we got him into a subsidized apartment with home visits scheduled as well as us checking on him everyday. He had also been taking his meds at the group home and he swore to us he would continue (of course, we knew that wouldn’t happen…Jack didn’t like them). He got kicked out there within a month, and one day, we went to check on him and he wasn’t there.

All of this time, he’d come to visit us. I’d always have a supply of t-shirts, underwear, jeans, socks, etc. since he seemed to lose his own or get them so dirty or torn they were unsalvageable. I also made him take a shower when he got here ,while I washed his laundry. The first time he showered, he was out within a minute and I shouted to him if he had used soap. He told me I hadn’t told him too, so I explained in detail what to do and he learned to shower “Aunt Kristi’s way”! I’d also make him his favorite meal: grilled cheese with soup or chili. According to Jack, I made a mean cheese toastie! Sometimes, he’d start pounding on it with his fists “to kill the bugs on it” or study the chili to look for any evidence of tampering. Once he looked and then I assured him everything was OK, he’d eat. I’d usually have a new phone for him too; he went through them at about one a week, so I bought a few burner phones with minutes on them from Dollar General.

man in black long sleeve shirt sitting on floor — Photo by Arian Malek Khosravi on Pexels.com

During this time, he moved around from friend to friend, and finally, he ended up homeless. We hated this and begged him to go back to the behavioral health facility and get back on meds, which might have allowed him to go back to the group home. He wouldn’t. He liked being homeless. He said he liked the people he had found and being on his own, living on his wits. We usually knew where he was during the day (our local homeless day center) and then had ideas of where he was living on the streets. We’d drive around until we found him, would offer him food or anything else he might need, and then he would say he needed to get back to business. This consisted of him making ‘traps’ (they were harmless stacks of boxes, etc.) to catch the spies who were out to get him. Once we took him to the psychiatric floor at our local hospital, but he was discharged in days with meds that he pitched after we left him.

One day, I got to the day center to say ‘howdy’ and he wasn’t there. I talked to some of his friends, and finally one said this: “Some people said they took him to the woods and killed him.” Now, this was coming from another guy with schizophrenia, so we didn’t know how seriously to take this info. We called the police and they said they would investigate but in the meantime, to see if we could find him because he was most likely alive. Hubby walked parks for hours and hours each night while I drove all over town. As the days wore on, the police took the info more seriously and interviewed a couple of people who said where his body could be found. Along with the police, we looked and looked, but nothing.

The news station ran a story on Jack and there was also an article in our local paper; we wanted to know if anyone had seen him. Here’s what happened: social media blew up with the most horrible comments I’ve ever read…in fact, I have tears in my eyes just remembering. People said things like this: “Why waste resources on this sack of shit?”
“Homeless people get what they deserve.” “I hope he’s dead so he quits draining our system.” “They’re all fucking drug addicts.” “Fuck him…I ain’t wasting my time looking for this asshole.”

When I started reading these, I was gobsmacked. Truly. These were people I knew! See, Jack’s last name is different than Hubbies, and people didn’t know he was my nephew. So, I wrote a post myself talking about how Jack was my family, that I loved him, how he was mentally ill, and that he needed help. All of a sudden, the tide changed. “OH…I didn’t know he was YOUR nephew.” “I’m sorry! I wouldn’t have said those things if I had known that.” and blah blah blah.

Really? What the fuck? It’s OK to wish someone dead if you DON’T’ know them? It’s fine to say a mentally ill young man is a ‘sack of shit’ unless he’s Prof K’s nephew? What the hell is wrong with this?

Finally, police in Iowa found Jack…he had literally joined the circus! We had had one in town and he went with them to ‘help with the animals’ when it moved on. We were so relieved, and I don’t think he could understand why we hugged him so much when he was brought to us. Long story short (finally), he’s back with him mom in Florida, and still doing about the same. I miss him. I really do.

neon signage — Photo by Ivan Bertolazzi on Pexels.com

As an educator all of my life, I try to see the lessons in experiences, and as much as I tried to teach Jack things, he actually taught me so much more. Jack brought out a compassion in me I had never felt before, and he could break my heart with just a look. He taught me that happiness can be anything…just enjoying a whopper on the curb of a street is reason to smile. Jack taught me how to see the world through completely different eyes…a different reality. It was his reality, but I needed to understand we all have our own reality, and no one’s is more or less than anyone elses.

But most of all, Jack taught me how cruel, insensitive, degrading, and ignorant so many people are when it comes to mental illness; and, how superficial they can be when expected to say the ‘right things.’ When we’d be out together, people would look at Jack like he was disgusting. They’d sniff the air because he often smelled. They’d look away as if by ignoring him, he’d simply not exist in the world they wanted to keep ‘crazy’ free. I’d listen to radio shows and read articles in the paper about the city needed to ‘get rid of the homeless’ downtown because they made people uncomfortable. REALLY? Sleeping on the fucking streets? Bathing in a fucking sink? Shitting behind a building because that’s all there is? That’s what’s uncomfortable, assholes.

Did you know there are 10,363 homeless shelters in the U.S., and 13,500 dog/cat shelters and sanctuaries? As much as I love love love dogs, this is wrong. ‘Nuff said on that. We need more resources for the homeless. More acknowledgment of how much help is needed for those who are seriously mentally ill. Better education amongst the masses so that maybe, instead of ignoring the problem, we could instead start to solve it.

Love ya forever, Jack, and I’m sure I’ll see you again when you pass through sometime.

Kristi xoxo

World Bipolar Awareness Day!

world dayu

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!

Untitled-Project

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