Caring for my new grandson while dealing with bipolar depression, anxiety, and agoraphobia

So for those of you who don't know my background story, I am 54 and have bipolar II (primarily depressive), severe anxiety, and severe agoraphobia.  Due to these conditions, I became disabled five years ago.  At the beginning, it was so severe that I didn't leave my bedroom for six months or my house for one year except to go to doctor appointments, and that almost made me hysterical.  Some days I can't even get out of bed.  I am at the point now where I am continually trying to find new medications, something that works, but not much at this point.  But I can leave my apartment, in which my mother and I live together and take care of each other, for progressively longer periods, but so far not really longer than five hours and still have anxiety and agoraphobia during that time.  I can go to my daughter's house, small stores on occasion (like a drug store), and have even started going to a smaller grocery store with my mother on occasion if we move fairly quickly and I can try to deal with the anxiety.  I will never be able to deal with something like a Walmart ever again, or even a concert or movie, or going to a friend's house.

I have three children (32, 30, and almost 25) and six grandchildren (including the newest 6-week old).  But I haven't seen or heard from my older two children or five of my grandchildren in 6 1/2 years.  They cut me out of their lives, and to this day I do not know why.  Well, I did see my son and a couple of his children a handful of times up until four years ago.  It kills me, and I think about it every day, even though I try not to.  But I am very close to my younger daughter and want to shower my new grandson with all of my love.

For three years my daughter has wanted to have a baby.  During that time I always have told her that I will be her nanny as often and as long as she needs me.  She and her boyfriend work 13-hour shifts as paramedics, and their days can sometimes vary each week so finding someone they trust to come into their home would be almost impossible.  This is something I very much want to do as I love them both so much.

Well, a couple weeks ago, knowing her time off of work would be coming to an end soon, my daughter asked if I was ready for these long shifts with fussiness and feedings.  And I just lost it with panic attacks and crying and said, "I don't know."  I felt horrible.  I could hear the fear and disappointment in my daughter's voice as I tried to explain how I was feeling, but I just couldn't explain it properly.  She said she needed to know and that I needed to decide because she needed to figure things out.  I told her I would figure out a way to make it work.  And I had a two day breakdown, feeling very suicidal, knowing I was letting everyone down, mostly myself.  I was also very sick and nauseated and vomiting, throwing up my medications, too.  And no real anxiety medication to take.

My daughter called me the next day to say she had gotten me some help, that she would try to keep the days she needs me down to one to three times a week.  Also, Logan's other grandma, who works nights, said she will try to come over in the mornings to help out on those days, his grandpa will come over after work and relieve me a couple of hours early, and my mom said she will come over as often as I need her to and help me during the day.  And if I have a day when I can't get out of bed, his step-grandpa who doesn't work said he should be able to pinch hit.  Between all of that, I should be okay.  But I'm still scared that I will screw it up, not be able to figure out what to do, that being out of my house for that long will terrify me.  But I am determined to make this work.  I have to do it for everyone, for Kassi, for Logan, and for myself.  I have wanted this for so long.

In talking with my therapist, she helped clarify things for me.  My therapist said it has taken me four years to go from 0-5 on a scale of being able to do things.  Now, with Logan, I’m trying to go from 5-100 in less than a month.  Even when I feel decent, I am terrified that I won’t be able to handle the fussiness for long periods of time or stay awake or just screw it up.  And I hate being out of my apartment for very long.  So that sends my anxiety and agoraphobia soaring which triggers my depression.  And then, because I want to watch him as much as possible like I promised more than anything, it makes me even more anxious and depressed and triggers my agoraphobia.  And because I counted on myself to be able to do this because I want to so much because I love them so much and want to be there for them and feel useful again and have a purpose, it triggers all three even worse because of the disappointment in myself for not being able to do something I want so badly to do.  Does that even make sense?  That’s pretty much how I feel all the time.  And I’m sure all of this contributes to the constant nausea.

But I am at a place where I am determined to do this, with help and understanding.  I may not always be able to handle everything and ask for as much help as possible.  I may not know what to do.  I have to cut myself a break and understand that if I'm feeling so many negative things, the baby will pick up on that.  But I will figure this out.  My daughter is an angel for not giving up on me as my other children did.  Everyone in my life is since there are many times I give up on myself.  I don't want anyone to leave this post thinking that I am pushing myself to do something I don't want to do.  I know I can't work, but Kassi is doing everything she can to help me do the one thing I have wanted more than anything in years, to show my love and dedication to them and how proud I am to have them in my life.  So, together, this village will not only raise a child, but help a 54 year old woman have something wonderful in her life that she never thought she would have.

Physical Problems - And This Is Gross, But I Need To Say It

I know this is really gross, and will probably be very long, but I just have to put it out there.  I have had chronic constipation most of my life.  It has gotten progressively worse over the last few years, to the point that sometimes I wasn't able to go for weeks at a time.  I had tried every over-the-counter and diet things that were available.  I finally went at the beginning of this year to a GI doctor, who kind of took it not too seriously but did put me on a medication that seemed to be a real help for many months, until my body seems to have gotten used to it now, and it doesn't work all the time.

My daughter has a disease called Hirschsprung's Disease, which she was born with.  It is congenital and causes the nerve endings in the colon to not work properly.  This was 25 years ago, and I had to fight hard to get her treatment since little was known about this disease then.  At the age of 2, she had part of her colon removed and reattached, but she has also still had problems off and on for most of her life.  But now she seems to be mostly able to manage it.

I moved recently and had to find a new GI.  Well, this one I like better, and she is taking this seriously.  She wants me to have a colonoscopy and biopsy, which I have put off (I am 54).  She also said that I probably have also had Hirschsprung's Disease my whole life, undiagnosed since it wasn't known when I was young, and I didn't have good medical care at different times in my life.  Instead of the colonoscopy I did a Colo-Guard test which came back negative, but my new GI is pushing hard.  I told her I would consider it.

That was before this weekend.  I had a bad bowel blockage in 2010 that had me calling 911.  It was one of the worst experiences I've ever had in a hospital, with doctors and nurses who basically made fun of me and manually broke up a softball size stool.  Well, on Friday I hadn't gone poop in about 5-6 days so I took a laxative, even though with my constipation medication, Trulance, I'm not supposed to have to.  Usually this happens lately every 4-5 weeks.

I started having the worst cramps and pain and trying to go to the bathroom.  I knew I was going to pass out from straining my vasovagal syncope, which has happened before.  I also knew that if I went to the ER I was going to have maybe the same type of reaction I had before.  The blockage was so large there was no way to do an enema, but I did do a liquid glycerin suppository min-enema, which of course didn't work because it just makes it slippery, but the stool block was still too large to pass.  I finally bit the bullet and decided to do what I knew would happen at the ER.  I used my fingers to go inside my anus/rectum and break up the blockage myself.  So gross, I know.  But I was desperate.  It hurt so bad, and took so many tries, and bled so much.  After many tries I was able to finally break it up enough to get it out, and the laxative I had taken, combined with my Trulance, started the diarrhea, which continued into yesterday.  And I was exhausted for the rest of the day and all day yesterday, with no appetite but knowing I had to at least eat some soup so I would have something in my body so maybe this wouldn't happen again too soon.

On top of the possibility of having Hirschsprung's disease, every psychiatric and other medication that I am on has constipation as a side effect, which just makes things worse.  And when I was inpatient in the psych hospital at the beginning of this year, they put me on lithium, which I had an extremely bad reaction to that immediately sent me into hypothyroidism, which also causes constipation.  So I just can't win.  And my Trulance doesn't seem to be working much any more.

So I have finally decided to call my new GI tomorrow and get the soonest appointment as possible and tell them it's an emergency.  I will do the colonoscopy and biopsy and see if she wants to change my medication.  But I don't know how long it will take to get in to see her.  My first appointment took almost two months.  I'm hoping now that I've had my first appointment and if I tell them it's an emergency maybe they can get me in sooner.  I have to do something.  I'm so scared of this constant pain and worry.

How does this have to do with my bipolar and other mental health issues?  Well, first, all of my medications definitely contribute to this.  Second, having this constant physical pain and cramping and nausea has brought me back to a place of bipolar depression and severe anxiety.  And the medications I'm on aren't working so well, anyway.  But they are better than nothing.  I can't sleep or eat.  I feel horrible physically and mentally.

I guess that's all I have to say.  It's gross, I know, and I'm sorry.  I just had to get it out there, so if you read this, you are probably disgusted, or maybe you've had some of the same issues.  Thank you for letting me get this off of my chest.

What A Month...And Now I'm Down

It's been a while since I've written, but then it's been a crazy month.  I've done some YouTube blogs but haven't written one in a while.  So I thought I would try, even though I may be repeating myself sometimes (as I'm known to do since my memory is shot).

I've been in a mixed state for a while after being in a depressive state for a long time with my Bipolar.  Now it looks like I'm heading back down.  I know I've said something to this effect before, but it bears repeating.  For a lot of people, depression can be addictive.  I've talked to my therapist about this, and a lot of it comes from feelings of worthlessness and no purpose.  But when you live with depression for so long, it's like it is your sense of self.  The thought of being happy, or trying to be, makes you feel guilty, like you don't have the right to any positive emotions.  The depression, although debilitating, feels more comfortable inside your own skin.  I'm afraid that's where I'm headed back to right now.  Although the mixed state I was in wasn't any better.

We got my very pregnant daughter, Kassi, and her boyfriend packed and moved and unpacked.  Mom and I packed and moved and unpacked and are starting to settle in.  Kassi wasn't due until 11/10, but on 10/26, her OB decided she needed an emergency induction, so we spent two days at the hospital with her and all of her boyfriend, Martin's, family waiting.  My new grandson, Logan, was born on the night of 10/27, and he is beautiful and perfect.  Since I have 5 other grandchildren who I don't get to see because my older two children cut me out of their lives 6 years ago, this child will get all the love I have showered upon him.

I've been spending the last 2 1/2 weeks spending as much time with Kassi and the baby as I can, trying not to be pushy or overbearing or needy, but wanting to be with them as that has been the only time I can feel something close to happy.  And Kassi has been great about that.

I also went back to my old psychiatrist, although I'm seeing a different practitioner in her office because she and I butt heads.  My mom, however, is seeing her, and we still butt heads and argue, only now it's over my mom's treatment.  I've been put on medications that I have and haven't tried before, but my genetic testing showed that I am an ultra fast metabolizer who is med-resistant and needs higher dosages to work.  Those seem to have gotten me to a better place, a more stable place, until the last few days, when I seem to heading back down again.  Maybe it's just adrenaline from all the changes falling away and going back to what I know.  I don't know.

I've also lost 3 friends in the past month or so, which really sucks, since I didn't have hardly any friends to begin with.  My therapist says they weren't really friends, and one was actually toxic.  But now I'm lonely.  And so tired.  I want to sleep all the time, especially during the day, but I try not to, but then I can't sleep at night, either.  It's broken up every hour or so, and I'm up for good between 3:30 and 4:00 a.m.  I've tried melatonin at the highest dose, but maybe it's time to consider going back on a prescription sleep medication.  I can fall asleep.  I just can't stay asleep.

So that's what has been going on.  Now, I feel lonely and down and depressed most of the time.  And I have no purpose, except for spending time with Mom and Kassi and Logan.  I have no hobbies, even though I've tried about everything to find something I enjoy, but nothing works.  People ask me "What's the reason you're down?"  There is no reason.  It's just part of my disorder.  I can't change it just because I would like to.

So I guess this has been a useless blog post, other than to explain where I am and why, I guess, I am here.  A catch up, if you have read this far.  There's really no exact "point" to this post.  So, thanks for reading, and I hope next time I will be feeling better and have something useful to say.

New Place/Same Shit

Well, I'm here in our new apartment, new city.  I knew it would be same shit, different day, but I was hoping.  I guess I can't complain.  There are some good things.  I'm so much closer now to Kassi and my upcoming grandson that I will be able to see them often.  That's the real benefit of moving.

Most of you know that my mom and I live together.  So it's mostly just the two of us.  I don't really have any physical friends except one, just a couple online.  And my only family here is my mom and daughter.  I have a couple of family members that live far away that I can talk to sometimes.  Sometimes I am unbearably lonely.

I am mentally disabled, so I don't, and can't, work a job or volunteer.  I am in a mixed bipolar state right now which is making me crazy, along with med changes.  But the thing that bothers me most is that I am incredibly bored with no purpose.  I watch TV, read books, and get on the computer or sometimes the phone.  That's it.  And sleep.  Because sleep is all I want to do when I have nothing to do.  Kassi tells me that baby Logan will give me more purpose when he gets here, and I believe her.  I want to be the best grandma possible and look forward to as much time as I can spend with him now that we live near each other.

And this damn mixed state has me depressed and sad, upset, bored, overly anxious, overly worrying, overly analyzing everything.  It bothers me, and I know it irritates other people.  I've lost two friends in the last month.

I don't have any real purpose for writing this morning.  Just putting some thoughts down because I'm crying, again, and just feel horrible.  And I'm worried about money and our car is broken.  I'm always worried about money.

That's it.  At least I have Kassi and Martin coming over today to look forward to for an hour or so.  That will be nice.  I hope all the rest of you have a good day.

Helping a Friend or Family Member With Mental Illness

It has been a really rough couple of weeks.  Tougher than usual.  I have a lot going on that is causing my anxiety to increase, and I am in a bipolar mixed state (the worst), and I am basically unmedicated until I see my new psychiatrist.  That's where I'm coming from.

But today I received an email from a family member.  I don't have many friends or family members I can talk to about my mental illness.  I have lost people I cared about because I tried to talk and explain things to expect about me, and people didn't or wouldn't listen or care.  They didn't want to hear the "bad stuff".  I felt (and still feel) that if people want to be in my life, who care about me, and want to be part of my support system, need to know some of the facts and realities of what I deal with every day.

So this family member who reached out to me (I find it almost impossible to reach out to others first), just told me that she thinks of me and hopes that I find help and that she is always there for me to talk to or message or whatever.  I appreciated that message so much.  It made me feel like there was someone thinking about me.  This person was my favorite relative growing up.  We were almost the same age and got together regularly and always had a good time.  But as we grew older, life happened, and our relationship drifted but never died.  But it's been a long time since we chatted.  I had forgotten that I missed her.

When she reached out today, I was at a low point.  I'm an atheist, and I know she is a Christian, but that doesn't hamper our relationship.  She believes that she was led by God to reach out to me, and who am I to say that she wasn't?

I told her how much I appreciated her reaching out, but that it is very hard to love me or be a friend to me because I always feel a need to explain my mental illness to someone who doesn't know all about my issues, but that discussion can quickly turn into a monologue of me just trying to explain what I feel when I don't even know how to explain it to myself.  I know that it would be best if I could just hit the general points, but my stupid anxiety ridden brain insists on going into more detail than is necessary, and it's hard to back down even when I'm trying to.  It's like I just want this person to know all about me so they could understand.  But man, trying to explain all that to a person is a difficult task.  And the person on the other end has to really be ready to hear it all, even with my warning of how long it might take.  And I presumed that she wouldn't be ready or willing to listen to it all.

She proceeded to tell me about her best friend's suicide last year, and how she felt so horrible that her friend didn't reach out to her when she did this.  She explained how she felt and the circumstances.  I had the opposite story to tell her.  Of my own suicide attempts and constant thoughts.  I, also, did not reach out to my best friend of 30 years when I attempted suicide.  Nobody saw it coming.  I also explained to her that people say suicide is nothing but selfish.  I told her that it really isn't.  Most people, like me, who have attempted or consider suicide don't actually want to die.  They just want the pain to stop and don't know any other way.

We chatted for a while, and I realized that I had just assumed she (like so many others) wouldn't want the "real" story.  I didn't go into it very far because that would take a long time.  I did, however, ask her that if she ever had the time and interest in learning about my actual mental illness and what it means to me then to please let me know, but that it would be a long conversation (or monologue), and I wanted her to be ready.  And I would answer any question asked.  So maybe someday down the road she and I will be ready and able to have that conversation.  To me, having that conversation feels more selfish than committing suicide.  It requires listening and empathy and understanding and a lot of time.

So for anyone who is reading this, please feel free to reach out to me.  We can have whatever kind of conversation you are up for.  I can try to pare down the long explanations and experiences into something a little shorter and more general that will still lead to (I hope) some understanding.  I know there are people out there who care about me and have messaged me, but I haven't really opened up to many people.  If you are one who wants to be there, then I am certainly open to having that conversation.  In fact, that would be the best gift anyone could give me.  Just the time and understanding of truly listening while I try to make sense of what has happened to me.

Ok.  Time to wrap this up.  Thank you all, as usual, for reading.  I appreciate those who think about me and wish me well more than you could possibly know.  And I think about you, too, even if I find it hard to reach out, and I wish you all well.  Have a good evening/day and be thankful for all that you have...something I am trying to learn every day to do.

Don't Fuck With A Bipolar Mixed State

Hi everyone.  This may be an even longer vent than usual (wow, I just reread it, and it's a freaking novel...sorry) since I'm in a mixed state with my bipolar.  For those of you who don't know, being in a mixed state is hell.  I get a combination of some good things, some bad things, some irritable things...all at the same time or shifting back and forth continuously.  It's impossible to keep up with the mood and try to use coping skills because it can change so fast.

I never used to get mixed states, but I'm basically unmedicated right now until I see my psychiatrist on the 28th to go over my genetic testing and determine what meds to try.  Until then I am at a whim.  The two most common things that happen to me in this period are that I sleep a lot and I'm really irritable and downright vicious if someone does something to me that hurts or upsets me.  I'm talking scorched earth policy.  And I never used to be this way.

Take this week for example.  Had some good times.  Had an old friend reach out to me to invite me to lunch.  We keep up with each other on facebook but haven't talked or anything in years.  But I've seen from his posts and he's seen from mine that we have a lot of mental health disorders in common, and since we've both lost most of our friends and support system he wanted to know if I wanted to get together.  He's actually my daughter's friend, but I took him in at 18 and let him live with us until he could get on his feet.  He was always a good kid.  That was 7 years ago.  It never occurred to me to reach out to him because a)it's really hard for me to reach out to people, and b)I wouldn't have thought he would want to get together with a 53 year old woman who used to look at him (and still does) like a son.  I should have reached out when I started realizing he was having problems, but I didn't.  And now we are going to get together and probably spend the whole afternoon catching up, and I am really looking forward to it.

I can be ultra sensitive and dramatic, too, at the same time.  I can snap at people, pick arguments, or just cop an attitude, even with my daughter who I never want to be on the outs with.

But at the same time, I still feel depression and sadness.  It's almost impossible to explain how you can feel all of these things at one time or just cycle through them rapidly.  And I  know it can cause my family and friends to go crazy.  I am not very likable during these times.  Sometimes I don't even know I'm in this state till someone (usually my daughter) points out things that I am doing.  And I do things really impulsively, especially when I get hurt during this time.

So a few days ago, I had a friend we'll call R.  Well, R and I have been friends for about 8 years.  He's a pretty good guy, and sometimes he tries to support me, but he doesn't believe much in medicine and really thinks psychiatric problems are nothing but bullshit.  We have argued about this many times.  We have had our tiffs for a week or two then made up.  I usually reach out because I either figure I played a part in it or I just don't want the friendship to end.  Well R is very unhappy with his life.  I'm sure he is clinically depressed but would never admit it.  He also has a few friends (4 or 5) that he talks to me about, and he always talks shit about them.  Totally hypocritical.  He talks about how shitty they are to him, that they don't treat him well, that they are stupid or whatever.  Which makes me think he probably talks to them about me like that, but I've never let that bother me until now.

He also has a son and a transgender daughter.  The daughter is nice, but she moved out a couple of years ago, and they don't really talk or see each other.  He totally doesn't get her being transgender and doesn't think that him becoming a woman is what he always needed to feel like her authentic self.  And his son is a totally arrogant, egotistical, lazy, bastard.  He's 22, lives at home with daddy while working and making decent money, but he won't move out, and he doesn't pay any bills at all.  R pays for everything.  I think he's afraid of his son moving out and being on his own (he's 54).  His son calls him names, says he's stupid, won't do any housework or clean up, and R does it all while bitching about it.  I tell him that he enables his son not to grow up by doing everything for him, paying for everything, and not teaching him to be responsible.  He should be out on his own.  I asked R what his son does with all the money he makes, and he said he didn't know, that it's none of my business.

Sometimes when he comes up with his shit about his son I will bring up my daughter who is only 2 years older.  She moved out at 19, worked 2 jobs and went to school full time, and never asked me for anything.  Now she's a paramedic, making good money, bought and sold her first house (ironically, R bought her old house last month), and is just very mature...and very pregnant at 33 weeks...lol.  Can't wait for this grandbaby.

I know I'm rambling so if you are still here, thank you.  There is a point to all of this.  I'm just being way too detailed and stuff, I know.  I do that all the time to everyone's exasperation.

So the other day when my friend reached out to me to take me to lunch next week, I was feeling good, and I shared my feelings with R.  Well he met this boy when he moved in with me at 18, and R was very jealous of him and disliked him and said he used me, which he totally didn't.  I was telling R about the upcoming lunch, and he got really snappy and said that I need watch out, that he is just trying to use me for something again, that he's nothing but an asshole, and I'm stupid for wanting to get together with him.  I tried to explain the situation to him and told him that he knew him at 18 and doesn't know what the last 2 years of his life have been like and I do a little bit and he shouldn't judge.  He hasn't seen him or heard anything about him for 7 years.  Besides, he can't use me for anything.  Back then I made a ton of money and had a huge house.  Now I am on disability with little money and no place for him to crash if he needed it unless he wanted my couch.  I have no concerns about this boy/man wanting to use me for anything.  I know how lonely this disorder can be and what it's like to lose all of your friends since I have lost most of mine.

At this point my good bipolar mood was shifting, and I pointed out to him that he had no right to judge when he has no information, that he was just jealous, and if he wants to talk about people being used and taken advantage of he should start with all of his friends who he talks about using him all the time and even more than that, his son using him.  That is what did it.  He was yelling at me about how stupid I am and that if I want to bring family into this then "at least my kids still talk to me."  I hung up the phone immediately and started to cry and wanted to throw things and break things and wished he would drive his car into a tree.

You see, in 2012, wow 6 years now, I had a series of mental breakdowns.  I tried to commit suicide twice, was hospitalized 3 times, and was completely at rock bottom.  I was also trying to get myself off of dilaudid, which my orthopedist had been feeding me for 2 years as I had two shoulder surgeries.  So during this time I went off the medicine cold turkey which I now know is a big no-no.  It was a horrible year for our whole family, and I take pretty much all the blame.  I still feel the shame and guilt from that year in my life.  It will always stand out as the worst of my life.  My 18 year old daughter who was finishing high school had to step up and try with my mom to take control of our lives and keep us going because I was a complete wreck.

The thing is, I also have two older children.  They are 6 and 8 years older than my baby, Kassi, who is now 24 and my best friend.  Between the other two, I have 5 grandchildren.  I don't actually know a reason because they wouldn't talk to me, but the two of them just cut me out of their lives with no reason or explanation or anything.  I was, and still am, baffled.  It was so abrupt.  Not only did they cut me out, they cut out anyone who had anything to do with me, including my mother who helped raise them.  The only reason I can guess at is that they were ashamed of my mental health issues and suicide attempts and didn't want to be part of my life anymore.  But at least Kassi and her sister still talk sometimes.  It's the biggest trigger in the world to me, knowing they are there, knowing how much I love them, knowing I would love to get to know my grandchildren, knowing I would apologize for anything, but I don't know what I did.  I tried for years via phone, email, text, etc. to reach out to them with apologies but would not get any response.  Except my son actually took my call a few years ago and I got to spend a couple of months seeing my grandbabies before he got pissed off at me for something stupid and stopped all communication.  It breaks my heart that I can't have them in my life and that all I can hope for is to maybe find my grandchildren after they turn 18 and try to start a relationship, if I can even find them.

I'm telling this story to explain how it affected me what R said about "at least his children still talk to him."  After crying for hours, during this mixed state, I fell asleep, and when I woke up I had gone from just being upset to being absolutely livid.  I get very impulsive when I'm in this place.  The first thing I did was write a long rambling post about all the shit he says about his "friends" and posted it on his facebook page.  My daughter, though, who is my conscience told me I should delete that, that I would regret it.  So I did.  Instead I copied the post and texted it to R which of course caused a big fight and him telling me to "lose his number."  I wanted to go back and post on his wall after all, but by then he had blocked me on his facebook page.  But I was still completely crazed with anger.  So I wrote individual messages to a few of R's friends.  Friends that he talks shit about all the time, about how they use him for these things and treat him like shit, how he stays friends with a couple of these women just trying to get sex from them, things like that.  And I sent the messages.  I didn't really figure anyone would open them except for one woman I'll call K, because she is my friend, too.  I figured the other people wouldn't open the messages from some random person.

Well K did open the message and messaged me back.  I told her some of the stuff that R says about her and that I was sorry if what I said was hurtful but that I knew he was probably talking shit about me, too.  R and K have been friends for like 15 years.  So she and I just talked for a while.  She said she was sorry to hear the things he says about her.  I don't know what she will do about it.

Then I got a message from D, another friend of R's.  He said he was driving and would I mind calling him because he would love to know all the stuff R had been saying.  So I did.  I told him all this shitty stuff that R had been saying constantly since I had known him.  Well D doesn't like R's son anyway, saying that he is a lazy, useless piece of shit, basically the same way I feel about him.  D was extremely pissed.  I told him he could feel free to reach out and chat or call or message whenever he wanted.

So after taking a nap yesterday, something else I do a lot of when I'm in a mixed state, I woke up and had received a text from R saying "hope your happy".  Ha!  I called D and asked him if he had confronted R about the stuff I said, and D said, "Damn right I did.  I called that fat fuck and told him all the stuff you told me that he had been saying for years."  R tried to deny that he said anything.  Then he said I was making stuff up because I was mad at him.  D told him that he was full of shit because the things I said to D had specific details in them that I could only have gotten from R.  It wasn't vague stuff.  It was very specific stuff with names, dates, and personal information.  So D told him to get the hell out of his life, that he didn't want an asshole like him as a friend and that if he ever wanted to get in touch with him, he would, but not to hold his breath.  D told R that whatever R said or did to me, he shouldn't have done it, and that he was now getting what he deserved.

So did I feel bad?  Nope.  I guess when I'm in a mixed state I'm a very vengeful person when I feel like someone has hurt me.  I did something bad to another ex-friend of mine back a few months ago, and I didn't feel bad then, either.  In both cases I felt justifiably righteous in my pain and anger.  I'll tell my therapist about this at my next appointment and get her opinion.

Thanks for reading this long post.  I sure do hope my new psychiatrist, along with the genetic testing, can find some meds that will help get me out of this state.  Bipolar depression (my usual state) really sucks, bipolar hypomania (for me at least) is great, but bipolar mixed state is just a whirlwind of craziness where I don't even know or care what I'm doing half the time, sleep too much, act impulsively, get irritable and angry quickly then sometimes regret it.  I just want to get to a place where I can finally feel stable.  That hasn't happened in a long time, at least not for more than a week or so at a time.  So I'm keeping my fingers crossed about this new doctor.  Wish me luck.

Here's a link to another blog on bipolar mixed states that is WAY shorter than mine and might help you understand if you want to read it.

https://themighty.com/2016/12/what-a-mixed-episode-in-bipolar-disorder-is-like/

The Nobody Pity Party

My last blog post was a good one.  I wish I could say the same about this one.  I'm sure it will be long and self-pitying and probably not worth reading.  But my therapist says to write these things out so here I go.

After my last post where I actually made a successful trip to the grocery store, the next day I crashed.  The only way I know to explain it is that I suddenly felt that I was putting an expectation on myself and maybe others were, too, to be able to be "normal" again in that part of my life, and it scared me and worried me and made me terrified to try again in case the next time would be a failure.  So the depressive cycle was triggered.

This is going to get messy.  I can see it now.  But I don't have any other way to really express myself.  This is when the self-pity part is going to start, so feel free to close your browser now.  Over the last 4-5 years since my mental health has deteriorated so much, I have lost pretty much everything.  I'm not talking about material things (although that, too), but people.  Friends, family.  Me being "different" than I was caused many of those people to cut me out of their lives.  Being isolated and depressed and finding it hard to reach out to people sure didn't help.

Early on I tried to explain how my brain and emotions work to people in hopes that they would want to understand.  Some said they wanted to try, but most didn't.  I couldn't even understand what I was going through which made it hard to explain how I felt to people and what I might need in order to feel better.  People started dropping like flies.  Not calling or returning phone calls.  I got the picture.  If I wasn't "normal" then I was too hard to be a part of people's lives.

Now I find myself with really only 4 people in my life who try to care.  And I know I have facebook friends who try to help, and I appreciate that, but it's not quite the same thing.  I started talking less and less about my issues and tried to listen more to the people I cared about.  This was how my world shrank.

I am not and have never asked to be treated differently because of my mental health.  The only thing I have wanted was empathy when I tried to talk and understand how I kept making things worse most of the time.  I was told I talked too much, gave too many details, was overly sensitive, was unreasonable.  Not just about my mental health but about anything.  I know how hard it must be to be connected to someone like me.  It must be damn hard and frustrating all the time.

So I've tried to stop talking about my mental health as much as I can and only bring it up when I can no longer hold it in.  Sometimes the reaction I get is empathy, and sometimes I get berated or feel bashed.  I have had rules placed on me by people about what I can say, when I can say it, how long I can say it.  So I figure it's easier just to stop all the talking.  I'll talk through my blog so people don't have to hear/read if they don't want to.

The truth is that I have many days where I cry for hours for no apparent reason, and if someone happens to call and ask me why I don't have a good answer, or any answer.  It's been especially bad the past year or so because I haven't been medicated due to not being able to find a psychiatrist that I can work with.  I have limitations that I try to work with and some days I can try to push through those, and some days I can't.  But I never have easy answers because I can't even understand it myself.

So yeah, I'm feeling sorry for myself and I'm lonely.  This is a self-indulgent rant because I have had a couple of bad days.  Shit I've had bad months for a long time now, and it's hard to keep from feeling hopeless.  Yes, I can talk too much.  Yes I can message too long.  Yes I can give out more information than is needed.I don't do these things on purpose.  Afterwards I berate myself for fucking up yet again.

You know who is on my favorite call list on my phone?  The suicide crisis line.  I know I can call them, and they will listen and try to understand and help me understand and feel better.  I have to remind myself constantly of my promise to never attempt suicide again because I think of it all the time.  I think the world would be better without me, and I would be better without the pain.  But I am still here.  I can't even say I'm fighting because I'm really just existing.  I feel like my life is disappearing along with me.

I have nothing but time on my hands since I'm on disability, and I have no hobbies or anything that brings me pleasure except talking to my daughter and my two friends.  I do have one thing that I am looking forward to, and that is what I try to focus on whenever I feel this down.  I want to be here for my mom, my daughter, and my soon-to-be grandson.  That is what I live for.

So I guess I'll close the party down now.  There really isn't anything left to say.  I know I shouldn't even post this because it's just me being a whiny, crying baby.  Thanks for reading, but you really didn't have to.  It's just a useless post for me to cry out my feelings.  So it's time to say good night.  I've given up hoping that tomorrow will be better because it isn't.  I wake up just waiting to go back to sleep.  So sleep it is.  Except that I usually can't sleep also because of my problems.

Now I'm just rambling so I'm done.  I hope everyone has a good night.  Be thankful for what you have, the family and friends, the people who lift you up, the hobbies you have, a job you enjoy.  That is what I wish for all of you.  Goodnight.

Agoraphobia and Grocery Shopping

Many of you may know that one of my mental health disorders is agoraphobia.  I've explained a bit about it, but this week I had somewhat of a breakthrough and decided to tell you a little more about it.

Agoraphobia (ag-uh-ruh-FOE-be-uh) is a type of anxiety disorder in which you fear and avoid places or situations that might cause you to panic and make you feel trapped, helpless and terrified. You fear an actual or anticipated situation, such as using public transportation, being in open or enclosed spaces, standing in line, or being in a crowd.

People with agoraphobia often have a hard time feeling safe in any public place, especially where crowds gather. You may feel that you need a companion, such as a relative or friend, to go with you to public places. The fear can be so overwhelming that you may feel unable to leave your home.

Agoraphobia can severely limit your ability to socialize, work, attend important events and even manage the details of daily life, such as running errands.

My agoraphobia started about five years ago after a head injury and concussion that caused post-concussion syndrome and escalated all of my other issues such as my bipolar disorder.  It was a nightmare I could never have imagined.  For the first six months I did not leave my house except to go to a doctor.  For another year after that, I would not even leave my bedroom to go into the living room, except to use the bathroom or go to the kitchen.  The thought of being outside gave me horrible panic attacks, as did the idea of being in a store (such as Walmart) or a crowded place, or a new place, really anything.  I was just simply terrified.  Along with my other mental health issues, this was being treated by my psychiatrist and therapist, along with a neurologist.

One of the typical treatments is exposure therapy which is horrifying.  You have to force yourself to do the things you fear the most.  So after about a year and a half I started trying small things, just leaving the house with my mom and going for a short ride in the car.  I started trying to go to my daughter's house for brief periods of time.  I would go to a small store, like a drug store, with my mom to pick up a couple of items as quickly as possible and then return home.  During these attempts I had multiple panic attacks, which make agoraphobia worse, but I had to keep trying.  There were weeks and even months when I couldn't do anything, and then I would start to try again.  I was able to leave my bedroom and sit in the living room with my mom, and that became ok.  I just had to keep working the steps.  One step forward, sometimes two steps back.

Over the past year, I have started getting a little better.  I could ride in cars, I could visit my daughter's house, go into a drug store, even going into a grocery store (the worst) just to pick up one or two items then leave quickly.  It's been a very slow process, and I'm not always successful.  I've had to give up a lot of things I used to love, such as going to concerts or movies.

I was lucky that my mom did our grocery shopping because I could not do it.  Then we turned to shopping online for groceries and just picking them up.  We've been doing that for the last year and a half or so.  But two days ago I was having a "good" day and decided to try really hard to go into a grocery store with my mother and do an actual shopping trip to buy what we needed.  I hadn't been into a grocery store to shop in almost five years.

We went inside, and I immediately had an anxiety attack.  I had to stop and breathe and remind myself that I wasn't dying, that I wasn't having a heart attack.  Then we progressed.  We went up and down every aisle, while I focused carefully on price checking products and using my calculator on my phone as coping skills to try to stay distracted from being out in the open.

It was hard.  Very hard.  I had to stop a few times to deal with my anxiety, but my mom was right there with me.  We were there for about an hour, unheard of for me for the previous five years.  We checked out and loaded the car and drove home to unload the groceries.  I immediately went to my bedroom, my safe space, to deal with the anxiety.  

But at the same time I was really damn proud of myself.  It may not sound like a lot to most of you, but if you've ever experienced it, especially for years on end, it was a big fucking deal for me.  I didn't think I could do it, but I did.  I called my daughter and told her what I did.  My anxiety was so high that my voice was racing and I couldn't stop talking.  She told me how proud she was of me, and I felt like I had made a small break through.  I wanted to tell all of my friends how I felt, but I don't really have but a couple of friends.  So I journaled about it instead, feeling excited to tell my therapist next week.

But I was exhausted, mentally and physically.  It took so much out of me.  I had to lie down for the rest of the day.

Then came yesterday.  It wasn't good.  I woke up with terrible anxiety.  I felt like I had a hangover from it and the day before.  I was in a horrible mood that I tried and tried to get out of.  I realized that I had set a bar for doing something, and now I felt like I should be able to do it again and again and go farther and farther more frequently.  I was putting a tremendous amount of pressure on myself in my mind, even though I was trying not to.  I was trying to focus on the good part, that I actually did it at least once.  Only four or five people who have seen this disorder affect me over the years have been able to see the slow changes in my trials and sometimes failures to overcome this.  I knew they were proud of me, and I didn't want to let them down the next time.  My brain spiraled with racing thoughts about this all day.  And I had a couple of panic attacks just thinking about the next time.

Today, though, I am just trying to remember that I did it.  A fucking grocery store.  Something that most people take for granted was a huge deal for me.  Maybe the next time won't be as successful, but I will be trying again, and thinking of other places to try.  Smaller places with few people are much easier.  I don't know if I'll ever be able to go into a Walmart again, but that's ok with me.

I also have trouble going to someone's house and meeting and being around groups, even small groups, of people I don't know well.  So in my pride of going to the grocery store, I almost forgot that my daughter's friend held a baby shower for my daughter two weeks ago where there were about 40 people that I didn't know.  There was no way that I was going to miss that.  I had quite a few anxiety attacks during it, but I was able to escape to bathrooms to settle myself down.  My daughter said that I had done a great job and she was proud of me for that, too.

So I'm making progress.  I'm trying not to worry about the next time or the time after that.  I'm just going to try to do what I can, and if I have to leave in the middle of an attempt, then that's just what is going to happen.  I am trying to have reasonable expectations that not all of my attempts will be successful, but that I need to keep trying.

I am on disability, and I don't drive.  The thought scares the shit out of me, but that's my next big goal.  Early next year, I am going to take the written and driving tests and see if I can pass and then see if I am able to drive on my own.  I've been talking about this for quite a while, and I'm going to do the best I can in maybe February to make this happen.

Meanwhile, today I have another trial.  My daughter and her boyfriend are taking my mom and me to lunch at a restaurant.  I never do that because I don't have the money (she's paying for it because she loves me and wants to treat me and help me) and being stuck in a roomful of strangers and eating is really scary.  But I'm going to do it.  It may not be smooth, and I know I will be anxious, but the people I love will be with me, and they know my limitations and will help me however they can.  I'm both looking forward to it but kind of dreading it at the same time.  But I'm going to do it.

Today is going to be a good day.  I'm going to spend time with people I love, out in public, in a restaurant, with people I don't know surrounding me, and I'm going to conquer the fear at least for today.  These attempts leave me feeling both happy and anxious and terrified and proud all at once afterward.  I have to take the good with the bad and just keep hoping that things will get easier as time goes on.  But I have to remember not to put so much pressure on myself that I actually cause a panic attack just out of my own fears.

So I wanted to share with you the progress I have made.  When I read it back, it doesn't necessarily sound like much, but it really is.  I can see the progress even when I also see the setbacks.  I will continue to try and hope for success.  Today, though, I'm just going to breathe and enjoy my family and try to ignore the potentially distressing parts and know that I am doing the best that I can.

New/Old Psychiatrist

Hi all.  Many of you know of my mental health struggles, especially the last year and a half trying to find a new psychiatrist.  I had a good one for about 3 years, her name is Keisha, but about a year and a half ago we were having some issues.  I thought maybe we just needed a break, and I needed to see someone else.  I was under the "grass is always greener" theory.  So I left and thus started my journey.

Where I live it is very difficult, as I found, to find a new psychiatrist, even though it is a very large, urban area.  It can take months to get an appointment only to find out that you don't like this person.  So after I left I found a psychiatrist who I saw twice.  He was an idiot and told me that what I really needed was more therapy (I go to therapy) not medication, even though I wasn't medicated at the time.

I'll spare all the details, but I went through four or five more psychiatrists.  Two I didn't even have time to get to know before they quit and left their practices.  That's when things got really bad.  I became suicidal and ended up at the inpatient ward of the hospital for 8 days.  They put me on a couple of meds and recommended a new doctor.  This was in January.  I thought I felt better.  That lasted about 3 weeks then I hit bottom.  The new medication did not work and sent me feeling lower than I had been feeling before, but I had an appointment with the new psychiatrist coming up and wanted to wait until I saw him.

I really tried from the beginning to like him and do what he said.  Since I have so much time on my hands and I'm a very involved patient, I do a lot of research on my conditions, treatments, and medications.  But this doctor had only one plan, would not listen to my questions or answer them, and told me I had to follow them and he wouldn't even consider any other options even though I told him how bad I was feeling.  I was trying to be a good patient.

Fast forward about 4 months.  I was feeling worse and worse, but the psychiatrist didn't care at all.  He was cold and arrogant and would not listen.  He didn't schedule me for blood tests that I knew I needed until I told him to.  Once I had the blood test, and the results also went to my PCP, my PCP was extremely alarmed at the results.  The medication had caused some serious physical problems  and she wanted to see me the next day.  She also wanted to talk to the psychiatrist, but he said "he didn't talk to other doctors or therapists."  

At my next psych appointment I actually audio recorded my session with him for my therapist and doctor could listen to the things he said to me.  My therapist was appalled and said he was flat out lying to me and that he should not be practicing medicine.  Both she and my PCP told me I needed to try to find a new psychiatrist as soon as possible and started treating me as much as they could.

So I started looking for a new psychiatrist.  It took me about 30-40 calls to find one.  I didn't think anyone could be worse than the one I was seeing.  I was wrong.  This new guy was horrible.  Traumatic.  He wouldn't listen to me, told me I was dirty and disgusting with filthy clothes and hair and teeth.  Now I know I don't look my best, but I was certainly none of those things.  And I had a panic attack and was crying and he was yelling at me.  I ran out of his office after only 15 minutes, stood by a very busy street and contemplated stepping in front of a truck.  Luckily I remembered my promise to my mom and daughter that I would never again attempt suicide, and I had a new grandbaby to look forward to.

The next one was just as bad.  She was terrible.  Called me names, said I was a liar and a drug seeker and a lot of other things.  I was both upset and crying and extremely angry.  I was at the end of my rope.  I knew I needed to be back inpatient, but I couldn't do it at the time because Mom and I are moving and I have to take care of her.  Meanwhile I have had to keep seeing my horrible psychiatrist because I am on two medications that I need prescriptions.

I spent a long time with my therapist, and she was so upset for me and what I was going through.  I started really thinking about my old time with Keisha, who was very good, and I didn't know how good I had it.  I looked deep inside and realized that by the end of my time with her I wasn't always being the best patient and had to take responsibility for that.  I argued with her and didn't always want to believe what she said.  I needed to make a change and go back to somebody who I knew always cared about me and did everything she could even when I was having really bad times.  Plus she is a good friend of my therapist.

So I humbled myself and emailed Keisha, telling her the terrible things that I had been through.  She emailed me back that she was happy to hear from me but sorry for the terrible things that were going on.  She said she wanted to talk to my therapist before deciding if she would take me back on as a patient.  Of course my therapist told her of all of my troubles and the audio that she listened to, and Keisha got right back in touch and told me to make an appointment as soon as she has an opening.  She talked about new tests and treatments and medications and such.  I feel so lucky to be going back to her starting next week.  My therapist said the last year and a half has given me psychiatrist PTSD so it's good that I will be seeing someone that we both know is very caring.  I can hardly wait to have someone who cares who will start helping me with medication and other things.

Thanks for reading about all of this.  I just needed to get it out.  I also have a YouTube channel that I started where I am trying to talk about some of what I am going through and to help me with my anxiety and agoraphobia.  I did one post that kind of talks about this that you might want to watch.  Here is the link if you would like to watch.  And I would love to get comments and feedback on both here and there.  Thanks again!  

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=X8lu4EZgyo0&t=2s

Suicidal Thoughts Again or Just Still?

I’ve been thinking a lot about suicide lately, and I don’t know why.  I mean, I think about it a lot, but it’s been even more.  Not that I’m going to actually do it.  I know I probably need to be inpatient in the hospital, but it’s never really helped me in the past, and I have Mom to take care of.  So I just sit and think about it.  Even fantasize about it.

I was reading a book earlier, and it had a story about a boy considering suicide.  It’s fiction, but what it said really resonated with me because it’s how I feel most of the time.  I’m going to write out the whole thing here because it’s such a good explanation for how I feel, but these are not my words.  They are from an author who I feel could read my mind.

People who don’t understand it want suicide to be an act of insanity.  They want it to be an impulsive overreaction to a single bad thing, or a series of bad things that make a person go mad.  The reality for me is exactly the opposite of that, or nearly so.  When the day comes that every hour hurts, when every new day is an exercise in endurance, there’s that moment when you realize that ending it all is the only rational choice.  Who wouldn’t choose peace over warfare?  And when the war is being fought between your ears, all sides of the conflict are the same person.  The winner is the loser.  And vice versa.

Not to get all melodramatic, but what difference would it make?  Really, what difference?  As the source of pain for so many people – myself among them – I’d be doing the world a favor by not being in it anymore.  Every one of us has an Eject button beating beneath our breastbone, and every one of has perfect control over how to activate it.

That’s the end of the passage that I read, and I’ve read it a few times now.  I’m going to have to talk some more to my therapist about this because some part of me knows this isn’t healthy.  I’ve pretty much given up on finding a psychiatrist who will actually help me or medication that will make me feel any better.  I’m just so damned tired.

I’ve tried a couple of times in the past with overdoses, but they didn’t work.  I failed even at that.  I’ve thought of other options in case the time ever does come.  Since I’m an occasional cutter, the chances are that it will be by cutting, specifically my arms.  I don’t talk to people about this because I know they don’t know what to say and don’t want to hear it.  So it’s just a voice that’s always in my head.  And every time it starts, I remember my promise to not do it again.

That’s why I say I should probably be in the hospital, but my past stays have really done nothing positive for me.  So what I have are suicidal ideations, no plan.  At least not now.  I have three people to live for, and that’s about it.

Suicide - Just wanting the pain to go away

I am in so much pain.  Mental pain.  Physical pain.  Alone.  Knowing there's no hope for at least a few months to start trying to see if anything will help.  And I'm so tired of it all.  Exhausted.  Doctors and doctors.  At least my physical doctors are starting to try to work together, but my psychiatrist refuses to talk to them or my therapist.  And I'm having trouble finding a new psychiatrist.  And he is the one who actually started most of these problems with medication that he prescribed that has caused a lot of physical problems now.

I know I am rambling.  That's how my brain is right now.  Unmedicated.  Suicidally depressed.  Looking at knives for cutting and pills for swallowing.  It all sounds like the only way out of feeling miserable every single day.  But I know I won't because I promised my daughter and mom that I won't try it again.  It is especially hard since my doctors can only see me every 2-3 months.  So I know it's going to be a very long road.

I just wish I could get all of my doctors together to talk and brainstorm ideas to try.  Anything.  I'll try anything and have, but now they don't have anything for me left to try for the next couple of months while I hope they try to consult with each other.  I just want to lie in bed all day every day crying and sleeping.  I have no life in me at all. 

I'm whining.  I feel like a whiner.  And I haven't even brought up my teeth problems, my money problems, my anxiety and panic attacks, my agoraphobia.

The only thing that helps me for brief periods is talking to my daughter, especially knowing she is carrying my first grand child, and that is the only thing I am looking forward to.  I can't wait to have that baby here to love like I love his mother.

I should stop here.  Nothing can be done.  I have given up hope.  I live in misery.  And me writing more about the details of all of the terrible things I feel won't help.  I just wanted to put this out there, I guess.  I don't know why.

Meet The Parents

It’s been one of those down periods for me for a while now.  No particular reason why.  It just sucks.  I don’t even know why I’m writing.  I guess I just feel the need to reach out to my universe of friends and say that I’m sorry I’m isolating and not there for anyone right now.  I wish I could be better.  I really wish that.

One of the reasons that has me down is that I am meeting Kassi’s guy’s parents in a couple of weeks.  They have great careers with money and a good life.  I want to tell them that I am very well educated, that I had a great career, that I made lots of money, had a great house, took nice trips, took care of the people in my life.

But that life got blown to hell four years ago with my various mental health issues.  Now I feel like that life never was.  I’m going to meet them how I am, with nothing and no life, and I feel embarrassed and ashamed.  For me, and for Kassi.  I’m working on it with my therapist, but I can’t stop the feeling that I wish they also could know the me I used to be.  The me that wasn’t useless and a waste of space.  But that’s what they are going to see.  And I hope it doesn’t impact how they feel about my daughter.

Every time I think about it, I cry and/or have a panic attack.  I’m afraid of doing both at their house.  All I can do is pretend.

That’s about it.  That’s what I’m working on.  I hope you all are finding your way and having a peaceful day.

Boundaries

Having bipolar disorder makes it difficult to define boundaries with other people.  And having abuse and PTSD in your past makes it even more difficult.  It’s only been recently that I’ve been told that defining boundaries with people would help me.  It’s hard.  I’ve just started, and it’s still hard.  It’s not like you usually have one set of boundaries that covers every person in your life.  It can be necessary to come up with boundaries that cover the personalities and effects that each person can have on you.

For example, as a former victim of abuse, I have a few people in my life who said things to me that were mean, cruel, abusive, vicious, or just plain fucked up.  That former victim went into victim mode, figuring I must deserve to be talked to that way, that somehow it must be my fault, that I was causing these things to happen.  It hurt.  A lot.  But I didn’t know any other way.  The only other way I knew was to not have any contact at all, and I would take the occasional good conversation over no conversations at all.  Especially since I don’t have a lot of friends and family as part of my life.

Now I’ve started developing boundaries.  I only have one so far, and it applies to everyone in my life.  That boundary is that I will not be spoken to in a cruel, vicious, mean, or abusive manner at all.  If that happens, I will tell the other person that they have crossed my boundary and how and that I will not talk to them again until they are ready to be civil, if not friendly.  It could make me lose people in my life who have gotten used to using me as a punching bag for some reason.  But do I really want those people in my life?

With my bipolar disorder I sometimes have trouble organizing my thoughts and speaking my mind.  I never used to.  I used to be a very different person before this disorder became out of control.  I am taking my time with people in my life and actually putting down on paper boundaries that I will not accept from them.  I am just getting started, so I am learning as I go.  And telling people about them is, for me, a very difficult prospect.  I have a fear of abandonment if I stand up for myself, but then again, if they can’t accept that kind of boundary are they really someone I want in my life?

So that’s where I am today.  And will be for a while.  Sometimes I don’t know I need a boundary until an issue arises.  Boundaries can make some people uncomfortable, but I need them to help with my mental health.  Luckily I do have some people that don’t ever seem to cross any boundaries I may come up with.  I know they love me, and they don’t do some of the things that trigger my bipolar or my anxiety/panic attacks.

If you have any of these issues, start thinking about boundaries.  I’m still learning, but it’s a self-esteem thing.  I don’t have any, but I’m trying to find some.  Good luck to all of us trying to figure out where the lines need to be drawn.

"Real" Feelings

Recently I was with my therapist and feeling hopeless and despondent.  We found ourselves discussing my life in terms of my childhood physical and emotional abuse.  From a young age, I was always the protector from my father, of my mother and sister and brother.  That meant that my mom and I bore the brunt of the abuse.

I continued that role of protector throughout my life, with my mom, my siblings, my children, my husbands, my extended family, and even friends.  I always tried to stand in the way of anything negative happening to any of them and making sure they were happy and content.  I did this my whole life.  I still do it although I'm trying to learn to back away a bit.

Because of this, I never learned what "real" feelings were.  I understood pain and hurt and fear and hopelessness and anger and frustration, and I tried to make sure those I cared about didn't have to face these things.  I did everything I could to step in front of those feelings for them so they wouldn't have to feel what I felt.

But I never learned how to feel good feelings like happiness, joy, contentment, pleasure.  Instead, I learned to mimic these feelings so those around me would see what they needed to see to be happy.  I played the role they needed me to play.  But I didn't actually feel those things.  I still don't.  I haven't learned.  I'm like a toddler just learning what "feeling" and "emotions" really mean.  And I am so stuck.  I don't like myself, I don't value myself, and I have no feelings of self-esteem.  I'm starting from scratch, and I think it's going to be a long haul.

I've only tried to explain this to a couple of people.  One or two tried to understand, the others didn't want anything to do with it.  That leaves me pretty much on my own, and it's a very lonely place.  When I'm feeling the negative feelings, I'm not sure if it's coming from a place with my bipolar cycle or from PTSD or from plain loneliness.  A long road ahead.

So if you talk to me, and sometimes things come out the wrong way, it's not meant to be negative or self-centered and certainly not hurtful.  I know a couple of you will come along for the ride, but more of you will not and will only be content with a surface, superficial friendship.  Sometimes I'm ok with that, and sometimes it makes me really angry that people who say they are there for me dismiss my feelings and change the subject if I try to bring them up.  It's hurtful.  But I guess it's all part of the process.

Maybe next time will be better.

Help And Support

I'm crying as I write this because right now this is one of the most important things to me. Whether you have bipolar or some other mental illness, having a support team in place to help you can be the difference between succeeding and failing.  Support can come in the form of doctors, therapists, friends, family, and support groups.  It's hard to support someone with these disorders.  We can be an awful bunch.  And a lot of times we push away the very people we need the most.

That is what has been happening with me recently.  I've pushed away people, but the one person who I thought would always be there for me and support me as I navigated these rough waters, has said she no longer has any interest in being my support.  In fact, she doesn't even want to be part of my life.  She's been the very closest thing I've had, and I've tried to support her, but maybe I haven't done a very good job because she is fed up with me.  Maybe I deserve it.  When you get this far into your disorder and emotions, it's hard to tell.  But to me loyalty is extremely important because I know I won't always be on good behavior.  I guess her loyalty was pushed too far.

I'm down to very little in the way of support now which probably means that I'm going to get a lot worse before I get better.  The few people I have left have to feel frustrated hearing me go on and on, and I might lose them, too.  But nothing will compare to what I lost today.  She's always been my beacon of light when things were bad.  I could navigate through to find her through my hard times.

She was pretty rough with me today.  I felt like a boxer against the ropes taking punch after punch with no way to defend myself until it was finally a knockout.  One that I don't know how to recover from.  I won't sugar coat it, it makes me feel suicidal.  Without this person in my life, I don't have the will to live.

If you have a support system, try to do what you can to keep them.  They are valuable.  This is a very lonely, selfish disease and hold those dear who are there for you.  You never know when you may be down to your very last.