Technical Writing
AboutWritingOther WorksBooksBlog

 

Bipolar Commentary

Last updated December 9th, 2017

Bipolar Taunts Me
November 6th, 2017

In dreams
May 8th, 2017

Shut up Brain
January 17, 2017

Addiction
December 27, 2016

Friends and Mental Illness
December 16th, 2016

Bipolar Time CapsuleNovember 29th, 2016

After the hospital
October 30th, 2016

Seductive Mania
October 11th, 2016

Agoraphobia
September 2nd, 2016

Medication
August 16, 2016

Bullshit and recovery
May 1, 2016 at 5:56pm

Losing oneself
April 12, 2016 at 4:00pm

Depression
January 31, 2016

Pills
January 23, 2016

Apologies
January 22, 2016

Paranoia
December 13, 2015

Betrayed
December 8, 2015

Losing it
November 21, 2015

Ah Bipolar, how you do love to taunt me.
November 6th, 2017

(TLDR version. I got beyond worked up over nothing because fuck you bipolar.)

-This bit might be boring-

Earlier today I futzed with my computer to create a linux boot disk for my partner. The old ways of doing it weren't working so I researched and downloaded a tool that creates linux boot disks.

But this was bare bones program. First I had to figure out why it couldn't see the iso file I wanted. And then I needed to figure out why it couldn't see the disk. Then I needed to double check in terminal that it was actually doing it to the right disk as it only uses the identifier. (I'm anal)

-tldr: I fixed a computer problem.-

But then I had problems with my browsers. All of them. Considering what I was doing it's no big surprise. I tried all the fixes I *remembered*. None of them worked.

Bipolar me was convinced I had a virus despite my research.

Then I got a notice from the bank. I thought there were issues paying my taxes.

Bipolar me was convinced I had a computer virus and my taxes had bounced.

I was going to have to restore from back up. (Which I had updated literally right before installing the new program). And I didn't know what I was going to have to do with the IRS.

So, hey. Dude. It'll all work out. At least you've got the back-up.

Not what I was thinking.

I Freaked the fuck out.

I had beyond an f5 melt down. I've never just collapsed in a corner screaming "no." over again. But I think I now know how Hillary felt at election night now.

But I'm a tenacious bitch. So I was going to call my bank. And I was going to research my browser issue on my fucking iPhone.

It turns out my tenacity is of some benefit.

My computer had a simple fix. One I used to know. Indeed so familiar to me that my "Go" command still had the folder I had to futz with.

My bank notice was actually just the third time they notified me about the same thing that happened on Saturday, which I had already taken care of (thanks to parental units), and indeed my taxes did not get rejected.

It was a total huge - fuck off, glad only my upstairs neighbor heard it- burst of noninlear frustration, fear, and fury. Because why not Bipolar. Over literally absolutely nothing.

No problems. Everything working as according.

Fuck you Bipolar.

Back to top

Share

In dreams
May 8th, 2017

A world of slumber can reveal a universe of troubles.

My dream was unusual at first. I had just escaped some bad guys with help. She just left to attend to the rest of the team. We had found the building we wanted, the campus was crawling with our agents, I had climbed up to the landing, all I needed was just up one short stair, and it descended down. Lower the stair and we had what we came for. It was in the bag.

I take a step and my stomach lurches, by instinct I look down. I am on the edge of a gap between the carpet I’m on, and the wall, the rest goes down to the bottom in a way that would break my neck if I went a step further. In the dream I think this is stupid, why would someone build it that way. And I wake up. In the world I wonder if my brain isn’t trying to whisper, there are no certain things.

But then I remember. No it’s a dressed up, very pretty tomb.
I’ve had this dream before.
I’ve been chased.
I’ve been scraped and hurt.
This time I had all the support in the world.
But always it’s the same obstacle I keep trying to climb over.

And as I face struggle after struggle to keep focused on work (the one that pays the bills), I wonder if this means I am close to getting over my problem once and for all, or I will always end up, back at the beginning of a journey of trials, trying to climb up the first obstacle again.

Back to top

Share

Shut up Brain
January 17, 2017

I am currently battling a difficult demon I thought I left in the past.

I every Job I’ve ever had I’ve suddenly reached the feeling of “I can’t do this”.

Once Jarys returned to work and my hours were again squeezed by driving, I started to struggle with my work, not just finding the right time to do it, but that old feeling hit me. It used to take six weeks, I’m encouraged that I took a long time to get to this point.
Now true I held longer jobs. My boss would give me a week off and move me into a new department.

But that won't work this time.

I am applying every trick in the book to break past this blockade.

Certain shows in the background,

A special tea I've assigned for work.

A ritual of spending some time looking at facebook first

Then I look to my job.

It's not difficult for me, it's part time. It's flexible and with the best boss one could hope for. This is the job I am capable of, need and want to do.
But a force within me says, "I just can't"

It’s not rational, it’s not what I want. And I’ve gotten a lot of work done just pushing past it.

But it’s a fight every time.

Brain shut up and let me do my job.

 

Back to top

Share


Physical Addiction
December 27, 2016

Back in the hospital I started the process of stopping Xanex. I had been on it for a year before, and quit cold turkey with no issues. I expected this would be the same.

No, my back bitched and bitched, finally causing physical symptoms so bad they lead to anxiety attacks because my body will always overrule my mind.

So we worked out that I would take it daily, and titrate down. I found I could push it to every three days.

Then I started taking these CBD lozenges. The first one made my back feel amazing. But rest seemed like they might be helping but never felt quite as relaxed. I took them anyway through, about every other day. No mental high, just a muscle relaxer really.

I got to feeling so normal, I didn't take the CBD lozenges. Four days later my body was PISSED. My back seized up, making me tremble all over and be unable to move my body. Which caused a massive panic attack as being unable to move is a phobia.

Thus I find conclude that the likely reason I didn't need the xanex earlier was because the CBD lozenges were combating the withdrawal and forgetting to take them let the door in for one hell of a backlash from my body. I am not free yet.

a) Now I know how important those Lozenges are I am carrying them everywhere.

b) You don't really clearly understand that physical addiction is an uphill fight, blindfolded with one hand tied behind your back, until you are mentally done with a substance your body still wants.

I thought giving up sugar was hard. It just causes me to obsess and have occasional binges before I get back on track. I rarely think about taking Xanex and only take it for emergencies with either an anxiety attack so severe I need a back up med, or my body tricks me into having an anxiety attack so it can get more.

I'm lucky. I have a tolerant doctor who wants me to go slow with my kicking it for everything but a back-up med. And he knows I rarely take a back-up med unless forced.

I'm also lucky to have stumbled upon CBD lozenges as a way of helping my body be free because mentally I'm done with this crap!

 

Back to top

Share

Friends and Mental illness
December 16th, 2017

Last night, while talking to a very good friend, she found my anxiety overwhelming. She did the exact right thing. She put her boundary down, kindly but firm. She had been dealing with anxious students all day, and couldn't help me. It didn't hurt my feelings one bit. I understood. I apologized; admitted I had been having severe trouble with my anxiety lately; took my meds, and later on joked that I would shower her with apologies but that would only make it worse.

Why was this the right thing? Because as much as I fight to control my negative impact on others, sometimes I fail, the symptom gets out of control. But most of the time there is something I can do about it.

If it's severe I have medication, if it's something that can just be helped by being more aware I'll do it.

Jarys and I have been working on stopping me in the moment, and having me just step back - without being hurt, and it's going well. If I do get hurt, I realize I'm being unreasonable about fifteen minutes later, and I'm not going to take it out on you either way.

Please, I am begging you, if you see any of this:

Anxiety you find overwhelming
Arrogance or rudeness
Aggressiveness
An energy level that seems extreme and makes you uncomfortable.
An inability to grasp what you are saying to the point it's frustrating
Anger that seems beyond belief
Sharp tongue without provocation.
Something seems off but you can't put your finger on it.
Or finally, I'm acting in a way you don't understand -

Please, say something or ask questions. It's possible a symptom has escaped the cage and I need to do something about it.

Once I take control of it the problem it should ease up for you, or I'll realize I shouldn't be involved in the conversation because my cognition has taken a hit from a med I took. Or I'll give myself a time out to wait for a med to kick in.

Unless something fires up the dragon, and I am that angry for a very good reason. - I try to be as polite and kind as possible.

My instinct is compassion, my desire is to have healthy relationships. And I more easily trust those willing to put a boundary down, willing to tell me what's wrong. Because I know I'm safe with them, they're not going to pretend to be nice, while grimacing underneath. They're going to tell me to stop as kindly as possible and it won't hurt our friendship. Indeed it will improve it. Letting me know when you have a problem with me, at the exact moment it is happening, is a vaccine to paranoia regarding you.

People may remember last year. Two people stored their grievances up - problems a simple pill could have solved - and then went behind my back to talk to Jarys about me. They didn't have the courage to talk to me directly and the way they handled the issue caused me to be deeply, deeply paranoid for three months.

I don't need to worry my friend from last night will do that, because she's shown she'll just tell me if she's upset. That means a lot to me. I want to rectify problems. I want to be easy to get along with. But mental illness means sometimes I'm not able to be the friend I want to be, and I don't even know it.
I cannot implore you enough to speak up in the moment. It will make our friendship healthier.

 

Back to top

Share

Bipolar in a five minute capsule with aftermath.
November 29th, 2016

I walk out of target feeling pleased I managed to make it at all.

I see a very hip looking guy with sunglasses, walking with determination and clearly trying to project "cool". I'm not interested but am deeply amused when he bumps into the trash can.

I think about this post in the car - remember five minutes is not up yet.

I turn onto the main road and see a pet shop sign for a baby parakeet and cage for a really affordable price. My heart tugs. I want one so badly but Ian would spend all his time plotting to catch the little thing - and I don't put it past Ian to learn how to open cages.

Five minutes is up, but the heart continues to tug as I remember the bird I had when I was younger. It died of a cold and I'm not sure our apartment is warm enough for a tropical bird. I miss my bird. Thinking about him, or a baby one, starts to get obsessive. I'm tempted to just go back to that store. Resisting is difficult. No choice but to try to distract myself.

My emotions could be described as volatile. But I view them more as vulnerable - sensitive to the world around me, and creating extremes. I'm trying to find better ways to cope so I'm not so easily hurt. But I'm not there yet.

 

Back to top

Share

After the hospital
October 30th, 2016

For those who didn't know, I had to go into a locked ward for a seventy two hour hold (after being in the mental health emergency room for about thirty hours). It might have been the best thing to happen to me since Jarys said, "yes".

On my personal wall I've shared what I learnt but it's not all fit for public consumption. I've had requests to share here. So here's what's fit here publicly for the world (At least those who can access Facebook)


Things I learnt at the hospital:

1) Don't take an antacid within thirty minutes of your meds.
- If I you do that sometimes waiting half an hour will make the symptoms go away.

2) However much water you think you drink, you don't, drink more.
- If you do that you will need to pee once an hour and that's okay.

3) It's rather pleasant not to wait to get too hungry and snacks are good things once a day.
- If you do that and avoid sugar you can still lose weight, or if you don't need to, maintain yours.

4) Join group therapy for whatever plagues you.
- If you do that you will learn that some very deep secret shames are shared by other people and you no longer feel ashamed of them.

5) Have Dialectical Behavioral Therapy as much as you can
- If you do that you will learn coping skills they should be teaching in schools.

6) Smile at everyone you see.
- If you do that, chances are they will smile back, and if they don't who cares?

And breaking the mold:

7) There are people who have it worse than you, really.
- I know everyone says that but it’s easy to forget when it seems literally everyone else is doing better. Speaking of:

8) There will always be people who have it better than you.
- And you can be happy for them without being jealous because that doesn’t mean they aren’t fighting the same battles. Indeed some are fighting battles you’ve already won.

9) If someone shits on you it's about them not you.
- This I had been told before, but I didn't get it until dealing with a particularly cantankerous fellow patient.

10) Finally, if you can’t handle life, always seek help and throw yourself into recovery. Attend every group, tell the psychiatrists the truth, all of it. You would be surprised by what’s treatable. Just dive into mental health and you’ll surprise yourself and be surprised by others.

 

Back to top

Share

Seductive Mania
October 11th, 2016

Last night, after struggling with depression for weeks I was finally in a good mood. I felt high, buzzed with a level of happiness that drugs can't achieve - that the sane can't achieve. It was euphoria.

I was manic.

And it felt so good, so incredibly good. And awake. And alive. At eleven o'clock at night. Fuck.

I only have one solution for breakthrough mania. It's a drug I fucking hate. The side affects are horrendous. I was on it for three years and it killed my cognition during that time. But it works. So after feeling miserable, then a hectic day, then normal, then amazing, I killed the mania with a pill.

I write this so you understand how crazy people go off their meds. Do you realize how seductive euphoria is? And how dangerous mania is? Do you see now what it takes to kill the feelings that are so amazing? Now imagine my depression had been years, or like in 2011 when I went mad with grief. I had to do the same then and I had a lot less to lose. When mania seizes you, the lure to go to the wilds is strong.

I needed sleep to take Jarys to work. The choice was easier this time, more a brutal irritation than an act of strength. I was profoundly annoyed that my life involves deliberately killing such alluring highs. But the choice to do it was easy. Because I do not want to hurt Jarys and that means not letting them down.

I struggle and I fight, and sometimes I fail. But with such inspiration in my life, I keep getting up again. It used to be significantly harder. Thank goodness for Jarys

 

Back to top

Share

Agoraphobia
September 2nd, 2016

Ah Bipolar I how frustrating it is that you can make two simple errands into a huge act of courage.

They were a block away, two doors down from each other. I could WALK there. But my paranoia and agoraphobia are out of control, and I already have a risperadol hangover.

In the end I pushed myself with all my might to have a bath, get dressed, and fucking walk if I really didn't want to get in the car.

I succeed. But I don't have the words to convey how hard it was, how quickly I walked because it felt like I was pushing through something thicker than air, something that left me breathless. The heat felt like it would destroy me, everything was louder and the long lights stretched endlessly as I fidgeted.

All the while my mind screamed to be at home. Screamed so loud the only other thing I could hear through the traffic was the blood pumping in my ears.

I had already taken xanex.

I just can't explain the battle in my mind. And I wish I could feel victorious that I won this round. But I have more battles ahead of me today, harder ones.
Bipolar I, you're an asshole.

 

Back to top

Share

Medication
August 16, 2016

CN: Mental Illness. Vague hints of violence either self inflicted or other.

Over the years I've had a few naysayers to my literal dependence on medication.

Let me make something extremely clear. I rely on pills in order for me not to be an utter asshole, to have a life, slightly fewer hallucinations , marginal control over my temper (Trust me I'm better now than I was), and in general survive this sometimes lethal disease.

I swore when I was diagnosed that I would never stop taking the pills. Indeed I am so dedicated to treatment that I will take a pill with horrific side-affects as an emergency back-up drug just to stop mania because mania is that dangerous. I NEED my drugs. It's not addiction, it's dependence. That's what they call it when it is medically necessary, but you could in theory be alive and not take it, but your quality of life for you and your loved ones would be total shite.

Don't pretend you don't know the difference, and don't give me side-eyes if you happen to see my cocktail. I take a shit tonne of drugs and you know what that has given me?

The ability to have a healthy relationship with Jarys, I finished my book and am on editing round five. (I skipped a couple of updates) I have a job that I can do from home which meant I could spend more time helping Jarys get set up in the classroom today, I am engaged and as far as I can tell my future in-laws aren't horrified. Indeed one of them is my boss. People trust me and rely on me, and that means everything to me.

Without medication I couldn't even trust my own senses, indeed sometimes with it I still can't. I've had to fly home early because I didn't have my back up drug, and the whispering I kept hearing meant I didn't know if people were talking about me - or it was another hallucination. (I learnt to pack it at all times after that).

Without medication I would be unable to keep unbreakable promises, I would have no structure in my mind, indeed I would likely be dead. So save your puritanical stance on medication for someone who isn't as dangerous with it as they are without it. Right now I'm the hulk, my anger is a problem when it sparks, no meds? All I need is the right delusion.

Some people remember me fondly from my pre-medicated days. I was not that person in the end, I was ragged and raw and my life felt like a razors edge. I will never go back to those days. So keep your google med degree, I will rely on the psychiatrist who saved my life.

 

Back to top

Share

Bullshit and recovery
May 1, 2016 at 5:56pm

CN: Body talk
CN: Bullying
CN: Sexual and emotional abuse
CN: Death
CN: Haunting, Spirits, Gods, Faith. (You never know)

 

A discussion of bullying came up with the comment that no one ever gets over being bullied.

Let's see.

Was bullied all through middle school and socially isolated for four years of my life. My so called friends called me fat when I was 5'3 118 pounds and swimming for two hours every day. But I had boobs and they didn't. I looked like an adult woman at 13 and that's when I started getting sexually harassed.

During that time a family member, who had been part of a perfect family life, turned on me due to the mental illness I too now have. We moved away, I made friends. But the family member and the fat shaming I did not escape, even though I was not overweight.

People who are jealous will stick their needles in, and I had a booty, hips, bust, and an itty-bitty waist. I was vulnerable to the comments of being thick, and being fat, even when I was a size eight and all muscle. That pain never went away because the meds packed on the pounds and I am fighting like mad to get them off, and currently failing.

I've gained not lost. Premenopause hit this past December and while nothing I ate changed, my body's metabolism slowed to that of a snail, now it doesn't seem to matter what I eat or how active I am, I've stabilized at the higher weight and it will not budge. But I'm not fucking giving up on getting slimmer. It will happen.

But am I vulnerable to fat shaming now? No. Not even now when I privately cry about my size, no other person can make it happen. Indeed very few people have influence over my emotions.

Let's dig deeper.

I've been molested. I've been date-raped. I became depressed and succumbed to a sexually and emotionally abusive relationship. I've been used and abused.

My best friend of ten years was talking shit about our mutual friends, and I wrote him an email calling him out on it. I told him, "do you think it hasn't occurred to me to wonder what you say behind my back?" I never heard back from him.

I did get an email from his house mate that was viscous in intent and wording, had I still been suicidal it could have literally killed me. But it did confirm that every secret I told V he told his inner group.

I walked away from an entire social circle rather than stir shit up and tell everyone else all the things they said behind their "friends" back. I didn't tell anyone how they mocked and laughed - like the tired, boring, privileged hipsters they had become.

That took a long time to get over, it took a long time to get over all of it. But my brain delivered demons and voices, it delivered dreams so horrific I would wake up wanting a drink, it still does. But now I have anti-anxiety meds to take when the dreams send me to hell and back.

When the one thing I had left, the cat who had comforted me for fifteen of those years finally had to be put to sleep I had finally lost everything. Kaeli's death was the last straw. I could no longer work at that point. I had no friends and my mind was my enemy. I ceased to exist. Or rather who I was finally died. I've died so many times I can't count the number.

Who I was died when we left England. Who I was in Maine died when we left. I died when I left high school early. I died several times in college. I died when I let go of everything I had built of myself and started treatment.

But this death was the deepest. I had literally lost everything but my family. Thank the lords for my family. I went catatonic. All I could do was hand sew little pouches for my magical things. And I didn't really know why I was bothering as I had lost my faith a long time ago.

And then the spirits of the house started to teach me how to talk to them, how to recognize the difference between a ghost, a spirit guide, my god, and the voices of madness. Suddenly I was not alone. And then I started to once a month visit two friends in the east bay. And then I took a trip to Portland and, with great company, even went on a ghost tour. And in the most haunted place where everyone else felt uncomfortable I felt like I was surrounded in safe golden (but invisible) light, I was protected. I was safe. My spirit guide wouldn't let anything come near me.

I found my faith again in Bran, my god. And he essentially built who I was when I met Jarys, and then my world opened up again and I changed. I learnt new ways of seeing the world, I met many millennials, I made friends who forgive me my flaws. Jarys helped reshape what Bran had made. Now I even have two jobs and I'm happy in them. We are finally able to afford to go to the movies again. We don't have to rely on my parents as much as we were. Now I have a life and a future and plans of what to do next. I finished my book and am editing it. I am a person again.

Do you think I give a rats ass about the kids in Maine? I don't even remember most of their names. Do you think I care about V? Or J the narcissistic sociopath I was involved with? Do you think that when I have someone like Jarys to help and protect the past makes any difference? I was hurt as recently as November. People I thought were my friends didn't act like friends, and it knocked me flat for months. But I fucking got up again and am fighting again.

No, non of that matters, not Maine, not high school, not the fat shaming, not the people who went behind my back to complain about me, not even the demons my mind dishes up, or the nightmares that leave me shivering. Because I have my faith again and I trust in Bran. And Bran delivers.

You can call me belief in a God a crutch if you like. But Bran proved to me he exists, fucking proved it, and I have the evidence. And I say to you, it may be that relying on my God so much is a crutch but I am broken and cannot walk without him, and he is so kind as to lift me up when I am down.

So yes, you can get over bullying, you can get over everything. Because life must move forward, and eventually what was ceases to matter, there is only what is and what will be.

I have a choice over what will be. And it will be beautiful.

 

Back to top

Share

Losing oneself
April 12, 2016 at 4:00pm

This came up on a thread, I've edited it for clarity as I am separating it from the original topic. Many bipolar people came on to say they never lose sight of their compassion. I envy those people. So please, let me elucidate.

As the Bipolar child of a bipolar parent with several close bipolar family members, I breath mental health. I can say that an episode can indeed totally rob you of your humanity.

It's usually mania that does it. Some people have bitchy mania but when they are treated, or when the treatment works are actually very sweet people.

Fortunately for me, my mania tends not to go that way. But I have lost sight of my own sense of ethics when enraged. And in mania, I have behaved in a way that goes against my own values, and emotionally hurt the one I love.

Bipolar comes in many threads, the lucky ones never lose their sense of compassion no matter what the state. But you flip me into rage and you will see the beast I keep inside, the beast that makes me feel like something other than human.

Bipolar also makes some people feel tough as nails. I know it does me. What can someone say to me that the voices can't one up? (I'm treated by the way, and never miss my medication) What can you do to me that is worse than the years I was followed around by demons? Some people, in their fight against their own minds, reach a point of strength and toughness that they feel is positive and others should achieve too. But I believe that as a person made of iron, it is my solemn duty to protect the soft and the wounded.

I am a warrior because my mind makes me fight every day. Because of this I am strong and relentless. But I am flawed and in a different state I make mistakes and say the wrong thing. I can only hope that people see bipolar comes in many flavours and forgive me my trespasses when the drugs fail, and I lose my humanity.

Most people find me a kind, compassionate, generous person. But yes, Bipolar can steal that away from me at times. We are not all so lucky to never lose sight of what makes us who we are.

 

Back to top

Share

Depression
January 31, 2016

Sometimes you fall so many times you wonder if you shouldn't just lie there and give up. This happened to me over and over during my worst depression. I didn't see the point of getting up and trying again. But eventually I clawed my way into a standing position - and then I would fall, stay there and claw again. Until one day staying standing got easier, and getting up again seemed worth while once more.

 

Back to top

Share

Pills
January 23, 2016

You haven't lived till you had to spit out pills to make sure you remembered to take them all then try to count through the soupy mess that indeed there are four and none made it into the sink

 

Back to top

Share

Apologies
January 22, 2016

There are many tragedies of Bipolar. But one is that no matter how much love, trust, and investment you have made in your non bipolar partner, and no matter how much of the same they have returned to you - Bipolar will bite them. I wrote this poem as an apology yesterday:

It was when winter came that it hurt us both the most.
The bitter moods.
The recent mania that rose so fast and furious it cut us both.
Cut me twice.
For while it wounded my mind, and left me nearly helpless,
the tears I shed in private are for the times I hurt my love.
The times I was out of my mind and unable to perceive it.
I have trouble crying in front of other people, even my Jarys.
But alone, I do cry.
Tears of ache for the ability not to hurt the one I love.

 

Back to top

Share

Paranoia
December 13, 2015

Mental illness is still struggling with crippling paranoia a week after the trigger - until you end up crying in your car for thirty minutes because you would do anything to be free of your own mind.

It is many things, but the overpowering desire for the impossible: a total, permanent cure, is a frequent aspect.

My illness gives me abilities that were probably useful to the Celts. I can push past all physical limits if forced. (not that it's healthy to do so) I am a berserker, so if I got into a fight my manic rage would ignite. My perception and reflexes would speed up and the small amount of training I have would kick in. But I would also risk severely hurting someone and I would be killed before backing down. That's why I avoid fights, and that's why it's a bad idea to be aggressive around me. And never ever touch me on the head unless you are Jarys or Eli. It will piss me off, and while I might suppress my instinct to fight, squashing it would be painful.

And oh how I can squash rage. When my voice becomes a velvety purr that is low and calm in a way that is creepy? Let me walk away. I have meds to take. Let me cool off. Otherwise, at the very least, I will tell you what I really think, and usually no one wants that.

The days of the ancient Celts are long past, my soul and mind may be of a warrior but I'm a writer now. And maybe somehow it helps that too. Maybe there is a balance. Perhaps to have my kind of non-linear, creative, and scientific brain it has to have a few screws loose. Maybe it gives me insight. It probably does. I know it helps me feel closer to my God (Bran). I just wish that it would also give me a break.

 

Back to top

Share

Betrayed
December 8, 2015

Many already know of the incident on Sunday. For those whom are blissfully unaware, the short version is, my culture and symptoms were misunderstood and I got edged out of a gaming table as a result. So here is what I have learnt about what you need to know:

I'm English, despite how public I can seem, I will always have aspects about myself I am reserved about, will downplay, and minimize. In person many aspects of my illness will be brushed aside, out of view. This is not just for my comfort it is supposed to be for yours as well.

I also apologize all the fucking time. The English practically apologize for existing so get used to the words "I'm sorry" as a reflex rather than an admission of guilt. Oddly the one thing I am not apologetic about is how I little I am able to assimilate into American society. I was indoctrinated into English ways at a very young age and those ways can be strict and lasting. America is much more lax and hard to grasp, so I have nothing to hang onto but my first nationality.

As for my symptoms, most people are familiar with depression, many with anxiety as well, but many do not know how to recognize mania. Sadly a depressed person usually (not always) knows they are suffering. But someone in the grips of mania will often be unaware of their own behavior or its affect on others. If you see the following please mention it. I might need emergency medication. The earlier we catch it the less I have to take. Which is good because I fucking hate that drug and only take it because it is 99.9% effective. (Has only failed to kill mania once)

***Symptoms of mania, roughly***
Talking too much, too loudly, too quickly, or usually a combination.
Egoism.
Irrational or underdeveloped thoughts.
Irritability.
Laugh just a little too easily, just enough to make others uncomfortable, or at the least confused. (This one is hard because I already laugh at everything)
Over abundance of energy to the point it's overwhelming for others.
Lack of social awareness to the point of sometimes seeming rude because I did not pick up on cues I normally would.
Total lack of self awareness. THIS IS CRUCIAL. If I am manic chances are, I do not know it. Please for god sakes tell me you are concerned because I'm acting strangely.

Thank you for taking the time to read this. Please speak up if you are concerned. There may be symptoms I'm forgetting so if you are not sure please ask.

 

Back to top

Share

Losing it
November 21, 2015

Here we go:

Last week I officially lost my shit. I lost my ability to be rational. I lost my ability to reign in my mental illness. I lost every coping mechanism I've learnt over the past twelve years. The illness took full control. It was terrifying. It hurt my Fiancé Jarys on a day they were already struggling with extreme stress. It was a fucking nightmare.

All because some wounds never heal, they just sit in your emotional past waiting for the exact, rare circumstances that emotionally reduce you to the grief of a nine year old. (or whatever age your trauma hit) I'm not proud of the things I said to Jarys and if I had been able to maintain control you better fucking believe I would have handled the conversation differently. I have to live with that. Jarys has forgiven me but even though mental illness takes away choices, I'm having trouble forgiving myself.

That said, despite the fights, tears, paranoia, and being constantly on the verge of having a total and utter melt down, I did what needed to be done. I went to the store. I made the food. I got the medicine. I fed the brood. I did anything it took to help. Even now I'm listening constantly for the sound of a sick dog drinking water. Because that's what he needs.

But I will admit, as soon as I was alone in the house, I called Jarys and balled my fucking eyes out. It still cuts deep, deep into the past. But these dogs need to be walked, litter needs to be scooped, and thirsty plants are begging for attention. So for now I work. Because what other choice is there

 

Back to top

Share/Bookmark

Last updated December 9th, 2017


only search melissadevlin.com

Share

facebook link google plus linkyoutube link instagram link patreon link Pinterest Link Find me on pinterest

 

Sitemap | Copyright | News | Contact
Copyright Melissa Devlin 2009-2018
Content available through CC BY-NC-ND 3.0 (Please see above link)

Personal Logo