Monthly Archives: February 2014

3:33am Sunday morning

I’m not sure if I am the only person with bp that stays up late engrossed in something… movie, game, craft, book. Today, it was a quilt. The sound of the machine and the neat stitches calms me, reminds me of my grandma’s house. I miss her. She did when I was in high school of what? I don’t know. I’ve had the most mind numbing toothache for weeks now. I’ve been waiting to get the money to get the filling replaced. My late husband would say do you want me to get mana  from heaven when things were tight. I’m so tired of waiting to hear back from social security I just want to give up. Living on one income with milk almost 5 per gallon. It is hard to hold on. A few days ago I got a tattoo of a beautiful butterfly. I think it kinda reminds me to hold on. For what? Kids?

For now everything is SHITTY. My husband is working OT tomorrow. I want to sit on the porch and drink until I pass out.

 

 

Radical

I went to my favorite piercing studio to get some new jewelry for my nose ring and ear piercings. I left with a brand new tattoo of a butterfly. I dreamed of getting a lioness or something hard. I ended up getting something that has always been close to my heart. My sister called me radical. Since, I am unable to work. I want to live the life I wished for while studying for tests and working a job a hated.

I want to take care of my home and children with tender care instead of rushed lives. BUT….

My bp keeps me from being consistent. Right now, I have dirty laundry scattered in baskets in my bathroom and hall way. I also have a pile in front of the washer and dryer. I should be doing it, but… I’m here writing, watching a video, sleeping, or sewing. It is like I get stuck. I was the clothes but they don’t get put away. I have a horrible day where my mood is awful and I forget or cannot manage the clothes in the washer and they spoil and need to be rewashed. If I’m lucky, I bounce back the next day. If not, depression, anxiety, and anger holds me hostage for days. When I am released… I start all over washing, drying, and putting away. My husband washes dishes in the dishwasher like that is his professional job. I am happy he does. He keeps that part of the house clean. Most of the house is ok except for the areas I occupy, bedroom (my side), my bathroom, and a corner of the tv room where I like to sew when I can’t sleep or feel anxious.

Mental health is a balancing act and an act of self-love and FORGIVENESS. It has taken me a long time of psychotherapy, nightmares, crying, and getting angry to start to glimpse a space where I am ok with not having the high powered career life I was planning for. Instead, I constantly seek ways to embrace my new high-paying, high-powered executive position/CEO Mommy and Wife.

I once thought that being just a “mother” or “wife” was not living up to one’s potential. Boy… I was wrong. This is the hardest, most wonderful position that I have ever had the privilege of doing. I can say in the crashing of my “professional” dreams, I’ve found another life better suited for my abilities. No one judges me for staying in the bed late or wearing the same clothes for days. Or not showering. Some days, I walk around trying to figure out what I am suppose to do, because I forget when I get to that room or that space. I have learned to calm myself, write out what I want to do, or just surrender and watch a movie or show with the kids. No judgments, no arguing, just acceptance.

I can say we have been working on it for years. I want to say that tomorrow will bring sunshine and happiness, but I can’t make that promise. BP holds me hostage most nights to the chemistry of my brain. I have a good set of meds now and a life with less stress. I am lucky to have minimal deep depression days and angry, irritable days. Now, I know that I can make it through any day sad or angry. I must take care of me. No one can do that for me. Right now, I understand I must do that. Tomorrow… who knows. The shadows on the wall may convince me that I would be better off without meds and a family. lol

Real truth: I was ready to run away last week. I was going to leave with the clothes on my back and sleep with the homeless people.  Crazy, manic yes! I believed it and considered it a valid option to the aching and pain I felt inside for not living up to some standard or ideal I invented in my head.

I hope that you, the reader, find a place of peace within you that you can go to when the demons and voices start to fill your head with noise and crazy thoughts. I put a fish tank next to my bed in Dec. The slow pour of water from the filter and the clarity of the view reminds me to breath and relax. It allows me to listen and let the meds work so I can be in a better place.

No one can tell you that it is time that you move on, get over it, stop it, pray about it, work through it… It is never going away. No matter how long we pray, chant, wish, cry. We must learn to live, live, live and not be afraid. If you will, I will walk with you and share my story. Don’t worry about writing back. Opening the computer and looking at this may be the only thing you can do today, and I thank you for reading this. I send positive energy out to you.

 

Celebration

Today is my son’s 2nd birthday. He was born by Emergency C section after I crashed my car into a center median on the interstate on my way to a dr appt.

That is a whole book in itself. So many twists and turns, characters, anger, regret, medicines, no meds, no sleep, little sleep, homicidal thoughts about my husband laying next to me snoring when I haven’t fully slept in weeks, sleeping pills, Benadryl, melatonin, Tydonal, mixture to passout for at least 4 hours straight. It was hellish being pregnant. My son was lucky to be carried so long. The torcher of being under medicated was painful. I fought demons in my sleep and waking hours. The only thought I had was getting him OUT! I made 8 months the day I went to the dr and wrecked. My husband was happy. Again, I was angry that my body was being assaulted daily by a little person I wasn’t sure I wanted. I can say I wanted him, but I did not want to do the work of carrying him. He was born 2 months early and I felt an unimaginable guilt for wanting him out of me. The universe (God) heard me. He lived after all of that.

The story about the accident has more players and situations that could be discussed. We just made it home from my parents’ house celebrating his 2nd birthday. It was a good visit. No cops, threats, crying, massive anxiety, just dinner, conversation, and cake.

Husband is in bed, waiting for me to GO TO SLEEP! So, I must take my new cocktail of sleepy meds…Seroquel included. It is the most wonderful medicine I’ve ever taken. I sleep all if not most of the night (some late night snacking), but for the most part rest, quiet mind, sleep.

The PTSD part of me still has horrible dreams. Lately, I’ve had several sex dreams. I guess it is my body wishing. I am now up to 320 with the meds, surgeries, steroids for healing, and massive depressive eating. I am no longer sexually appealing to anyone, especially my husband.

So, I sleep virtually alone with my son in the middle offering comfort in his own little way. Thank God for sons.

 

The following..

I love that show, the Following. I have been unable to watch the show since the Dish was disconnected a few weeks ago due to nonpayment.

My short-term disability payments stopped in October. I went to my social security hearing in January. I am now waiting the 30 to 60 days for the judge’s response and disability payments. As of now, my husband is the only one in the family bringing in an income, 2000 per month after everything is taken out of his check. I feel like a child asking for money, then being challenged over the amount. I feel like I am in a flea market bargaining over the price of an apple. I hate it. He thinks it is his right to control the money, to keep it away from me, since I have a proven history of making purchases that were too large and crashing the family budget.  Hmmmmm.

1. He closed the joint bank account with Bank of America over Thankgiving citing fears of separation or divorce because of my questions to his parents regarding his thought processes and priorities. (By the way, I received nothing from them.)

2. He moved his income to a separate account that I did not have access to at Avest. After angry comments and threats, he added me to his account as an authorized user. Stab #2

3. The next day he opened a third account, I don’t know where to set up another place to put money, so I won’t spend the family’s grocery money on things like pets or clothes for the kids. Stab #3

As I mentioned before, this is my second marriage after being widowed in 2007 at the age of 30 with a  2 year old daughter. I held on for several years trying to keep the huge house we bought, keep my daughter in private school, work on my dissertation, join a sorority, and manage/hide my anxiety and bipolar. I fell apart after some time of doing that. I decided I NEEDED a father for my daughter who was stable and would help support the family income.

Then comes dating sites, Eharmony, Match, and Yahoo personals. I found several men on the sites who gave me company and attention when I needed it. (Read attention in many ways….:)  After looking around with no luck, I opened my Eharmony profile up to receive matches from White men. I’m Black. Within the first round,  I got a hit. It was his blue /green eyes that drew me in, telling me that he was the one and could be trusted.

After marriage and a 2 year old boy tomorrow 2/16, I live in a virtual boiling pot of hatred and regret. I love my children, but I have a hard time hiding my mistrust and dislike for the things that he has done and refusal to apologize or recognized he was wrong. So, when I see him I fight back urges to throw things at him.

Marriage is built on trust and we have none.

CW

 

 

Purple African Lioness

I see myself there. On the rock, looking out, ready to pounce on anyone/thing/whatever, that attempts to bother my babies. I have two children, 8 year old girl and almost 2 year old boy. (Age difference was not on purpose. Keep reading posts to read that story.) I find meaning and purpose in my role as a mother.

Aside– I have been out of the professional field and away from writing for public view for some time. I had several rounds of ECT or Electro convulsive therapy (depression shaver — smile AND MEMORY ZAPPER). I have a B.S, M.A, and abd (All but Dissertation) in Educational Leadership with a specialization in curriculum and instruction.

I write all of that to say that if you read a word and it is wrong, just wrong or strange in that sentence, please give me some grace and know that my brain is still healing from the treatment and large doses of medications I take to keep me “stable or functional”.

I’m getting sleepy. My 2 year old has thrown his last fit for the night and sleeping. I cooked 2 almost 3 meals to feed the hubby and daughter. I made the hubby’s favorite to make up for clearing his work desk items out of frustration.

I’m not sure what you want to know. I think on other days I will have more insightful things to share and some totally bizarre rambling I believe is divine knowledge and insight into everything.

Living with a mental illness, whatever it is, is difficult without a family. I have been blessed with 2 children and 2 marriages (I was widowed and remarried.) For me, having bp and all the other diagnoses I’ve picked up, has been one the most difficult aspect of life I’ve thus far had to accept and work through. I was a top student, professional moving, doing things, keeping it together. But… after being diagnosed in grad school in 2001, I learned about meds, symptoms, mood charts, and support. It has taken that many years for me to get to the place where I am ok to talk about it without being angry.

How did I “get” it? Well, science says that the illness(?) is part environmental with a huge genetic component. My mother has major depression and my father has bipolar (or something). He would angrily deny this if he knew it was here. In addition, I grew up in a very small town. I experienced horrible abuse growing up in the name of discipline and the harsh loss of my virginity to an older crush (I just turned 13 and he was 17.) All of that created a perfect storm for low self esteem, need for parental approval, and men who would validate me through wanting my body. I am still not sure if I really know what it is like to love someone and be in a relationship. I never really learned how, following instructions and laying on my back.

I felt that if I could climb inside one of those “boys” bodies and let them lead me (they were no where near where I wanted to be — no job, living with momma), I would find my way and wouldn’t have to work so hard to “fit in”. Update — Never worked over the 20 plus years I’ve been trying it. I know it was an attempt to bring stability to my life, mind. Again, while pursuing the “right” cover, I worked hard to get degrees and appear  normal, productive, useful. That never really happened neither.

I know I am starting to ramble and just all over the place. This is another side-effect I have from the meds or the “treatment”. I will continue to write more as I can. If you would like to know about something in particular, please ask… the worst I can say is no. I also would ask that no one post negative comments, feedback, constructive criticism here. I have a hard enough time keeping it “together” most days than to read your nastiness about anything written here. If you want to share your story or experience, please do.

Peaceful Thoughts…

 

 

Intro and purpose

I am amazed at how much is available now, everywhere – online, stores, school.

This is cool. I hope that the words and thoughts here will provide insight into my life and possibly lives of other mothers (parents) with a mental illness.

Let’s get started on this journey of sharing.