Another aspect of bipolar disorder…

I don’t know how well known this is, but one aspect of being bipolar is being crazed and hyped up and super psyched about a new project, only to lose interest soon after starting.  And I don’t think it has anything to do with being manic or depressed.  Maybe for some that’s exactly what it is, and maybe I’m kidding myself on my own causes and effects.  Nonetheless, it’s something I struggle with.  Book after book.  Blog after blog.  I’ll start something that I’m highly passionate about then lose interest.  This blog, for example, has sat here on the internet, virtually untouched for over a year.  I’ve also made several attempts at writing a novel.  And I’m actually a pretty good fiction writer.  I just can’t keep my head in it long enough to finish it.  I also get myself caught up the idea of my work being criticized.  So here I am.  Back again, after stumbling across my own face while commenting on another blog.

Just to update:  My husband and I are doing well.  My son, who will be four in August, is also doing well.  We’re working hard on potty training.  There are good and bad days, as any other parent can tell you.

And if I may, I feel a little like pissing and moaning.  Just because I doubt anyone actually reads this, and I can say whatever the fuck I want.  So here goes.

My sister (two years younger than I) and I had a fight.  If you can even call it that.  More like a texting war.  She’s not a mother, nor is she even ready to entertain the idea of motherhood.  So when she decided to tell me that my kid isn’t well enough behaved to be in public and that I should work on that, I exploded on her.  Something else she had said prior to that, but still part of the same conversation, was that if I wanted “me time” I should sell my used panties on Craigslist and use the money to hire a babysitter.  All the other stay at home moms out there, you can see how I was reaching my boiling point.  Mentally ill moms, all moms for that matter, need a break once in a while.  My sister doesn’t believe this.  “You wanted kids, you got ’em!”

I’m going to post screenshots of our “conversation”.  It escalates quickly, and I lost my temper very swiftly.  Bear in mind, my sister has been coddled her entire life.  Everyone in the family is jumpy around her, afraid of what to say or how to act.  She’s attempted suicide more times than I can count.  This has been going on for YEARS!  I’m fed up with the bullshit and I’ve started calling her out.  I also refuse to tiptoe around her feelings.  I love my sister, but if she commits suicide because of something I do or say, I’m not going to hold myself responsible for that.  She has more mental health problems than I do, and she doesn’t keep up with her treatment plans.  She was discharged (refusal to see an uncooperative patient) from her last doctor’s practice.  No one ever knows if she’s taking her meds or what meds she’s supposed to be taking.  No matter what they are, there isn’t a medication for mental health anything that can safely be mixed with alcohol.  She drinks in excess.  She got drunk Christmas morning and didn’t go to Christmas dinner at our Grandma’s house.

THEN!  Because she hasn’t fucking grown up yet!…….I get a group message to my sister and me from our mom telling us to “knock it off.”  There was more to my mom’s message, but that was the gist.

So take a look at the conversation and leave me your comments.  I’m sure I overreacted.  That won’t be news to me.  But other moms out there, what’s your take?  Am I justified in any of my anger?  I see moms all the time talking about how their spouse, parents, inlaws, SOMEONE, kept their kid(s) for a weekend or three or four days while they had a getaway with friends.  BAHAHAHA!!!  What?!  PLEASE!  Someone do that for me!  And if you think I’m a bad mom because I need to get away once in a while, you either don’t have kids or you have all the answers.  If it’s the latter, please share!

Another little tidbit…My son is not a complete terror in public.  Difficult?  Yes.  Stubborn?  Yep.  He’s never stolen.  He’s never intentionally broken anyone else’s property.  Once he did get into my sister’s paint and painted her mattress protector and a pillow.  All of which I replaced.  He’s my kid.  If he is unable (because of age and/or lack of understanding) to make things right when he does something wrong, that falls to me.  And I do take responsibility for him and his actions.  The worst part of his behavior right now is angry screaming when he doesn’t get his way and throwing things for the same reason.  All of which he is disciplined for.  And sometimes ignoring his screaming works better than any discipline or punishment.  I really am addressing his “behavior problems.”  If you want to call a toddler being stubborn a “problem.”

Thanks y’all.

Sometimes the roller coaster seems unending.


And after feeling normal for a bit…

The ups are always followed by a down.  I feel like I’ve lost all control.  My husband and I had a really nasty fight on Monday.  Or so I thought.  It was so bad that I said I wanted a divorce and I packed my son and myself and left.  I also didn’t take my meds.  When I decided to come home and take my meds, I was met with no disdain whatsoever.  So I was completely thrown off.
As it turns out, the fight that I thought we had on Monday morning never actually took place.  It’s like when you have an argument with someone who really annoys you and you want to say something really witty, but can’t.  Then ten minutes later you know exactly what you wish you had said.  Except I truly believed I said those things.  And it still feels so real.  In my head, those things really happened.  I’ve truly lost my mind.
So now I’m left with not knowing anything.  I don’t know what’s real and what’s just in my head.  I’m scared and I don’t know what to do about it.  Am I bipolar or is this something else?

I Couldn’t Hide it Anymore

It was my freshman year of high school, which had been pretty eventful.  Just in the first semester, two relatives passed away.  My great grandmother died miserably from Alzheimer’s disease. My father’s brother (my uncle) committed suicide, suddenly.  No one even suspected any depression.

I was making new friends, entertaining the idea of dating and having a boyfriend, dreaming about driving to school once I turned 16…The normal high school, teenaged life.  I was taking a child development class.  A nurse from the local health department came to our class to do a lecture on all the preventative measures that sexually active teens should be taking.  It was a “blah blah blah” lecture to me, because I already knew all of this stuff.  My mom was always open and honest with my sister and me when we had questions.

I did, however, decide to set up an appointment and start Depo shots.  I had PMDD and very painful, irregular periods.  The idea of being able to stop my period altogether sounded like a blessing.  It was, but getting there was a nightmare.

Of course I had to have a full gynecological exam.  I didn’t have a problem with it until the physician started asking me some very uncomfortable questions.  She said she found scar tissue and I had to dredge up every last little detail about five years worth of abuse.

I didn’t know anything about family law or how social services got involved with families lives.  So I had no clue that the physician would be reporting the incident to social services.  About a week later, a woman came to visit me at school.  She asked so many questions that I just couldn’t handle answering.  I was forced to give all the nasty details of every single encounter.  Already having problems with migraines and rebound headaches, this triggered a migraine.  I was so embarrassed and so scared and so ashamed, all I could do was cry and sleep in my next class.  My teachers, the rest of the day, tried to get me to go home.  I convinced them that I was fine.  I didn’t want to go home, because that meant that the social worker would show up and I would have to tell my parents everything.

I got on the bus at the end of the day and slept on the hour long ride home.  When I got home, I told my mom to expect a visitor and that it wasn’t going to be fun.  I locked myself in my room until the social worker knocked on my bedroom door at about 6:30.  I came out and stood the entire time, ready to go back to my room.  I just wanted to hide.

This was the real trauma.  I had to say what happened and who did it and when it happened and for how long it went on.  My parents were so cold about the whole thing.  They looked the social worker dead in the eye and said they didn’t believe a word that I was saying and that it was just attention-seeking behavior, just like my headaches (which I still have problems with today).  The social worker was the only one in the room who showed any sympathy at all.  She even hugged me and said she was sorry that I had to do that.  She did tell my parents that whether they believed me or not, it was a very real problem for me and that they had to help me with getting the proper counselling for it.  So for the next year I saw a therapist, which I didn’t cooperate with because of the fear of her telling my parents anything that I told her.

My parents not believing me is something I’ve struggled with ever since.  Even after they found out, they still had contact with, and forced me to have contact with, my abuser’s family.  And my abuser.  The abuse never came back up, and when I had to be around my abuser, it was incident-free.  Eventually, though, I never had to see any of them again.  Everyone went their separate ways, just like old friends losing touch.


After deciding that no one cared, I took a bad up turn.  I decided that I was the only one who could love me, but still sought out approval.  At the same time, I also equated sex with love and vise versa.

I started having sex with everyone that I dated.  And I wasn’t afraid to use sex to hook someone in.  It’s actually how I got my husband.  Luckily, he stuck around, but not without some issues along the way.

My trend or pattern began.  I would be dating someone, having sex with them, and then get bored with them.  Instead of ending the relationship, I would start having sex with someone else in order to have my current partner leave me.  I did that over and over from ninth to 11th grade.  I didn’t care who got hurt, and I didn’t care how much any of it hurt me.

I was rapid cycling and having mixed episodes.  I was doing things to get attention.  Some of those things were extremely inappropriate.  I also started drinking whenever I had the access and the opportunity.  Occasionally I smoked marijuana, but was never a big fan.  I’m a control freak and can’t stand that marijuana makes me feel like I have no control over my body or mind.  I’ve been smoking cigarettes since I was eleven, so that wasn’t anything new.

In eleventh grade, I started to feel better.  Almost like I came to my senses.  I decided that I didn’t want to date, and I didn’t even care much about sex.  I decided to stop using it as some sort of tool.  I buckled down and got my grades up.  Just in time, too.  It took a year and a half to get my GPA up enough to graduate.  I graduated with a 2.6 weighted GPA, 2.3 unweighted.

I graduated in January of 2009 and started taking classes at the local community college in August of 2009.  I did great in community college.  I aced all my classes, kept a 4.0 GPA, and even got some scholarships from essay contests.  That didn’t last long.  My focus changed.  Or just dissipated altogether.  I couldn’t focus on anything.  And I just quit caring again.  College became a start-stop-start-quit trend.  My instructors and school counselors were really disappointed.  And my parents, having no idea what was going on in my head, were getting angry.

I finally quit for good and kept working for as long as any employer would keep me.  I would either get fired or quit after a few months on a job.

Bipolar was affecting me in so many ways before I even knew I was bipolar.

Hello and Thank You

Welcome all.  The suffering, the curious, the crazies, and all in between.

Mental Health always fascinated me.  I grew up with a severely bipolar mother and a father who like(s)(d) to stick his head in the sand.  My mother has had her illness pretty well controlled for a long time now.  But this is a place for me to share my story, not hers.  No offense, Mom.  🙂

I endured many years of sexual abuse as a child.  Coping with it wasn’t that hard for a good long time.  I didn’t snap until twenty years after the fact.  But my problem wasn’t with my abuser.  My problem was with my parents.  I didn’t tell anyone about the abuse until I was a teenager.  And when I did, I wasn’t greeted with any sympathy whatsoever.  My parents didn’t believe me.

So my roller coaster began.

My Encouragement
My Encouragement

Stay tuned…