bipolar

Моя маленька незалежність...


March 12, 2022 :: 1:46 PM

Just a reminder… Harry Potter and his friends won that war. Avada Kedavra!

As I’m doing my quick run through of Facebook, I stumbled upon a video of Святослав Вакарчук (lead singer of Океан Ельзи (Okean Elzy) - probably Ukraine’s biggest rock band.) just jamming out on a piano in front of the Lviv train station.

Taken out of the context of the war, that would be the coolest thing to stumble upon.

The set list was awesome. It’s interesting how, when put together, it’s very obvious the message Slava was sharing with the crowd. Oddly enough, it was all songs that I love that have a special meaning to me. The majority of them I’ve used as anthems as a sort, too, while fighting with the worst of the bipolar. (I’ve cut and pasted my favourite lyrics thanks to Lyrics Translate - any mistakes cutting and pasting the Ukrainian are mine. Any English errors are not.)

1) Без бою (Without a fight) - Я не здамся без бою (I won’t give up without a fight)

2) Еверест (Everest) - Шум і тисяч їхніх слів, часом приносить біль. / Та дощ із хмари темних стріл не потрапляє в ціль. / І ми продовжуєм нести свій прапор, а не хрест. / Ми продовжуєм іти на власний Еверест. (Noise and thousands of their words, sometimes brings pain. / But the rain from the cloud of dark arrows doesn’t hit the target. / And we continue to carry our banner, but not our cross. / We continue to walk on our own Everest.)

3) На небі (In the sky or In heaven) - А часом / Коли я сам не свій / І в голові дивні думки / І на душі сумно... (Once in a while, I feel so blue / So many thoughts rush through my head / And in my heart sorrow)

4) Не питай (Don’t ask)- Не питай / Де я був коли тобі було так солодко / Де я був коли тебе таку незайману / Підіймали вище неба / Тільки сам на сам / Хіба не там (Don´t ask / Where was I, while you felt so sweet, / Where was I, while you, so untouched, / Were raised higher than heaven.)

5) Не твоя війна (Not Your War) - Бій на світанні. Сонце і дим. / Мало хто знає, що ж буде з ним. (Battle at dawn. Sun and smoke. / Few know how it will end.)

6) Місто весни (City of Springtime) - Бентежне століття загоює рани / Ще до повноліття тут всі ветерани (A turbulent century is healing its wounds / Even before coming of age, everyone here is a veteran)

7) Обійми (Hug Me) - Коли настане день, / Закінчиться війна (The moment the day comes / This war will be over)

8) Все буде добре (Everything will be OK) - І все буде добре / Для кожного з нас. / І все буде добре, / Настане наш час.(Everything will be all right / For everyone of us / Everything will be all right / Our time will come)

 

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As is the norm lately, too much in my head. Too much I won’t write about here.

The balance between blogging publicly and keeping certain things private is never ending…

 

I no make words go good. English hard.


February 23, 2022 :: 9:56 PM

I’m running out of icons and pretty colours on my little sidebar.

I’ve decided to scrap the third draft and start over again…

Welcome to draft 4, which is already filled with random notes like this one.

TBH, I don’t know which one of us was completely shitty when that was written, but my money’s on me. Beka seems like he’d be straight-edge. (When he’s not statutory raping a fucking 15 year old, that is. KEEP IT IN YOUR PANTS, BEKA.)

Yeah.

So much shit on my mind and instead, I’m tearing apart a story that I’ve already written three drafts of to play with new point of views and - hopefully - get them to keep it in their pants. I DO NOT WRITE KIDDY PORN, GODDAMNIT.

At this rate, I’m going to have to age them up… and I hate that. I like AUs, but that’s totally not the story I wanted to tell.

Yearning. Slow burn. A love story spread over three years.

That’s the story I want to tell.

And the one I am completely incapable of telling.

Oh well. The 4th time’s the charm, right?

 

- - - - - - - - - -

I’m trying to keep myself distracted.

The pending war in Ukraine. The new job. Life in general.

I’m a big ball of stress right now.

So, of course, the Sims released a new game pack today.

By all accounts, it is buggy as fuck, even despite being held back by a week. (And wasn’t that a week - the short version is, EA self-censored and refused to release the game in Russia. All hell broke loose. EA backed off and held the release a week to ensure that the game would launch globally at the same time. A whole lot of stupidity ensued.)

Still bought it. Haven’t even bothered playing yet.

I probably won’t get a chance until the weekend.

Maybe EA will patch it by then. (Or not. We still have bugs in the game that are several years old and well known by everybody. Like, there’s no way the SimGurus don’t know about them. Why they aren’t being fixed is anyone’s guess at this point.)

Also not helping is the fact that the 2023 NHL All Star game is being held in my backyard. At that place. That I used to work at. Before I got fired for being bipolar.

I’m torn between wanting to go and staying home. I don’t know which option is healthier.

I’m just glad that life is starting to become closer to normal again… I have a half marathon towards the end of March and I just signed up to run a 5K in early March. I have a Boombox concert to go to, and I might head to Universal on my birthday to see Gavin DeGraw.

Who the fuck knows.

All I know is that I’m stressed to the gills….

I need a nap, a cookie, and a hug.

When you lose something you cannot replace


February 12, 2022 :: 10:45 AM

reminiscin’ this ‘n’ that ‘n’ havin’ such a good time… oo-de-lally, oo-de-lally, golly, what a day

I’m in a few Disney running groups, but my favourite is, hands down, #runDopey. The people are so great in there. It’s truly one of the safest Facebook groups there is, everyone is friendly, and there never seems to be any conflict. (Can you imagine that? A Facebook group without the token asshole? I KNOW!)

So anyway, a while back, they created an offshoot, called DFF. One of the mods has had some pretty debilitating depression lately. He’s so open about posting it that it breaks my heart. It hurts to hear what he’s going through because I’ve been there / I am there / I know I will be there.

Behold: twelve years of psychiatric care records.

I haven’t had the heart to go through them - I had them sent to me when I was going to pursue an EEOC violation against that former employer. I didn’t, in the end. The money I would win from the lawsuit (and I was told I had a textbook case) wasn’t enough to justify keeping that wound open for however long it would take to go through the EEOC process and subsequent legal bullshit. In all honesty, I don’t know how much would have been enough… No matter how you slice it, it wouldn’t give me the closure I still so desperately need. I’m not sure that’s attainable. I’m always going to be bipolar. I’m always going to carry that stigma. Getting fired because of it was unavoidable considering how fucked up that job made me. So yeah.

It is what it is.

Acknowledge. Move on.

But, to circle back to the DFF… we may run hills on Tuesday and flex on Fridays, but Mondays are mental health days. So many people unload their issues and we all reach out to comfort each other / share coping skills. It’s beautiful. I’ve been pretty open there. Even more open than I am here sometimes, because they understand in a way I’m not sure you all can. (I don’t even check my stats… I could be screaming into the void for all I know.)

They give me hope when I’ve lost it. When I don’t know how to talk about the noise in my head, they sort through it for me. Nobody tells me I’m crazy. Nobody tells me I’m broken. Nobody tells me it’s all in my head and I should get over it.

Depression is a bad-ass motherfucker and I don’t mean it in the ‘good’, Samuel L Jackson, way. Lately, I’ve been struggling. A metric fuck-ton. That group is my safe harbour. That group reminds that depression lies. That I am a bad-ass motherfucker, in the good way. (I mean, fuck, that man could teach me a thing or two.)

It’s good to find those places online - anonymity is awesome. People just know me from the little bit I share in the group. I love it. Face to face therapy does me more harm than good, because they want to dig, dig, dig until all my wounds open and I bleed out all the defences I’ve built over the years. Plus, half of them want to change my meds right off the bat. Um, no.

I don’t know… I guess all those words just to say that I love my DFF family. They keep me sane when no one else can.

Alphabet Soup


December 28, 2021 :: 2:09 PM

the boxes (and bags) OF DOOM

I don’t know what started it, but there has been a trend among my friends to post articles about ADHD.

I’ve already been diagnosed with a few things, with bipolar being the #1 diagnosis - from several doctors, and even a few therapists - so bipolar is the benchmark.

Anyhoo… one of the things I’ve seen several times is the tendency to put clutter in boxes so that it doesn’t have to be dealt with immediately, but it’s removed from sight. And, oh, holy fuck, does that make so much sense. I’ve had clutter boxes my entire life. Once I found out I was bipolar, I decided that this was a symptom of it. I clean during manic phases and I box during depressed ones. What happens when I’m forever depressed? MORE BOXES!

So, yeah. In the spirit of full disclosure, this is about two or three years worth of clutter boxes (and several bags). We painted my office last year and I’m just now finally working my way through the Boxes of Doom!.

Why the Boxes of Doom!, you ask? Because, half the fucking time, they’re filled with memory landmines.

You know, those things you randomly stumble across that rip open wounds that had been slow to heal in the first place? Yeah. Those.

I’ve gone through three boxes this morning and I have cried during every one. My offer letter from the Cats was in one box, photos of my parents and I at Disney World in another… just weird shit that I am not equipped to deal with right now.

And, can we talk about that photo with my parents? The photo is of myself and my parents in front of the castle and we are wearing matching Mickey Mouse shirts. OH. MY. GOD. We were that family back in 1980. We were wearing MATCHING SHIRTS. (I’m pretty sure it was my idea, too.) I make fun of those families now… and I am obviously the one that started the trend. Fuck. Me.

I still have boxes and boxes of clutter - and memory landmines - to get through, but I’m pretty sure this is what the articles are talking about.

I feel both seen and attacked, and I don’t like either.

(I suppose the joke’s on my most recent former employer… I had two clutter boxes at the office and a clutter folder on my desktop and a clutter folder in my inbox. In my defence, those things did not appear until Ida decided to visit Louisiana this year and I was overloaded with minutiae. Oh well. I hope they have fun with that.)

I’m full of contradictions and hypocrisies


December 25, 2021 :: 10:34 PM

I may run at the speed of turtles swimming through peanut butter. But I run.

My Christmas present to myself was the top medal hanger… I haven’t done the #threewords in a long time, but I’ve been using Twelve’s words / the unofficial motto of the Whovian Running Club to guide me. Laugh hard. Run fast. Be kind. Sadly, the only thing I’m good at is laughing hard.

We didn’t celebrate Christmas at all this year. Not one bit. No special dinner, no last minute “I feel like I need to buy you something”, not even a bone for the dog.

I don’t know. Neither one of us is feeling it this year. Which is fine.

Everything is fine.

 

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When you’re young, you got time
When you’re old, you built a life
In between you’re just along for the ride
Nothing’s in a straight line, like the wrinkles on your eyes
Try to take it one candle at a time…
- Pictures, Matt Nathanson

I’ve been on a steady pace of a new job just about every year and a half, two years for a long time. That’s when the honeymoon period is over, and the bipolar starts to affect things. Which, at this point, is probably a good sign to start seriously thinking about disability.

This job change completely blindsided me. I’d actually been doing well, and was mostly happy, but… there’d been some… hiccups. Definitely wasn’t expecting to be forced to choose between engaging in ethical behaviour and doing what was expected of me. I have a very odd moral code, but the things I believe in, I do not waiver on. One of those things is taxes. I am, apparently, on the side of the government because I believe they should be paid. The owner and I had several differences of opinions, but this last straw was the last straw. I’d already been looking for freelance gigs I could do on the side, and it was easy enough to find a real 9-5, so I’ll be back to normal after Dopey.

But anyhoo… it’s the reason I’m kind of stuck in my head.

We watched Emmet Otter’s Jug Band Christmas, as I’ve done every year since 1977, and it felt different this year.

I’ve been missing my father a lot lately. This year has been a bad one - I’m the same age my mother was when she died, and April 30th was the 20th anniversary of my father’s death - and I haven’t been able to get through it. Not that turning the calendar to a new month is going to make a huge difference in the facts of the matter, but there are no major milestones in 2022 that are triggering. Unless celebrating our 20th anniversary is a trigger… which it kind of is, but we will unpack that baggage in August.

I don’t know anymore. I know I blog a lot about being bipolar, but for every entry there’s a ton of things that I never say. I never really work through my shit here, in real time, and I probably won’t start any time soon. It’s easier to dissect it, in writing, well after the fact. But that doesn’t mean that I’m not tempted to do so.

So with that said… Christmas is hard. It is always hard. This year seems harder.

2022 is around the corner and I can’t be more thrilled for a fresh start.

In the meantime, I’m going to take it one candle at a time.

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