goodbye

I am leaving Blogger and going to tumblr.  It's an all together nicer format I feel.  And it's way easier.  So, come with me if you'd like.  It's nice, trust me.

http://bipolartara.tumblr.com/

Hope to see you there.

check and check

So, today was a bad day.  You know those two very important questions they ask when you first go into the hospital.  Well, I think I would have had to answer yes to both of them today:

Are you having any suicidal thoughts?  Check.
Are you having any homicidal thoughts?  Check.

So, why am I not in the hospital?  I guess, I'm afraid to go back.  But tomorrow I have an appointment with my psychiatrist, so let's just see what he says.

my brain is an amusement park

A week ago today, I was with friends.  I was having a wonderful time.  I was wonderful.  My friends were wonderful.  I was planning wonderful times.  I was going out almost every day.  I was happy.  And then, BAM!!! I sink into this highly depressive episode and nothing is what it once was.  And that's so hard to explain.  And every time I try to explain it, it makes me feel bad.  

For instance, at this very moment, I don't know what to type.  But I know that I have to type to stop myself from going crazy.  I've muted the television and I'm at home alone and yet somehow, my head is still full of noise.  Something's not working right.  Something's so off that even the normal meds aren't working correctly.  I'll need to take that extra pill today that the psychiatrist gives me just in case.  But even then, this feeling won't completely subside until it's darn good and ready.  

So, what does it feel like in my head right now?  It feels like an amusement park of sorts.  Only the people running around in this park aren't people, but thoughts.  They're all running around aimless, attempting to get on different rides.  But they are pushing and shoving to be first in line.  They are scratching and biting to be the first one to the top of the coaster.  And once they're there, the rush of the ride itself becomes too much and they scream so loudly that I feel like my ear drums are going to burst and blood is going to pour from my ears.  

And then... they do it all again.  

A week ago I was functioning well.  I could type the novel I'm working on while watching some television in the background and I could successfully follow both.  Now, it's hard to follow just one.  My head feels tight.  My brain feels too big.  I feel like something needs to stretch before I explode.  I've been seriously contemplating another visit inpatient because I think that's what I might need.  A quiet space to get back to "normal".  Some intensive therapy.  Maybe a little med tweak.  It's been a year since I was last inpatient and statistically, that's very, very good for someone with my disease.  But, I'm going to try handling it at home first because the hospital is no vacation.  It's lonely and desperate and sometimes you feel worse being there than you do being on the outside.

So, I have decided, just today, that since I'm not getting better as fast as I would like to be, I'm going to use some tools I've learned to get myself out of this funk.  And if that doesn't work, I will check myself into the hospital.  

First, I'm going to turn off the internet.  Sometimes all that Facebooking doesn't help shit.  Sometimes caring about everyone else's opinion is impossible.  Sometimes you just gotta take care of you.  Second, I'm going to work on the "homework" my outpatient therapist gave me and if need be, I will call her to talk it over.  Third, I am going to keep my mother abreast of what I'm feeling because if she sees me getting too bad, she'll have me committed against my will just to keep me safe.  Fourth, and this is the hardest one, I will worry about myself first.  No matter what.  Which is highly difficult because I think it makes me sound like a bitch.

But for anyone reading this who is used to me caring about them and their needs, trust me, I want to care again.  I want to talk you off the ledge.  I want to let you cry on my shoulder.  I want to come over your house and laugh and play games and be happy.  I want to hear your jokes.  I want to see you smile.  I want to be the one who makes you smile.  But right now, feeling the way I do, I can't be that person.  And that's not only unfair to me, it's unfair to you.  So please, give me a little while and I'll come back better than ever.  I promise.  

And if you still don't understand, I suggest looking into some literature on Bipolar Disorder because believe you me, I wish this wasn't happening to me.  I wish I could be "normal" all the time.  I wish I could be what everyone wanted me to be.  I just can't.

just a little crazy

So, I didn't fall off the earth as you may have assumed.  Just been silent for awhile trying to get some shit together.  And, I can proudly say now, that a lot of shit has been put together.  And quite well I should add.  At least, in my opinion.  My family would tend to disagree since I'm not a bible-thumper, but I say, fuck 'em.  It may sound harsh to you loving family people, but I don't have a loving family.  I have a grandmother who disowned my mother, a father who disowned me, and cousins who learned nothing from the death of another cousin.

Point: I'm back bitches!!  Better than ever I feel.  You can bite me if you don't agree.  I'm no longer living to make anyone else happy cause bitches will turn on you.  Even family will turn on you.  So, I'm gonna make my own family from now on.  Which I hope to have already started.  I've met some awesome people in recent weeks and I hope that they don't flutter away as other friends have in the past.

...
well, I think that's all for now.  Just wanted to update those still paying attention.  I'll be back sooner this time. Promise.  All my crazy, bi-polar, tendencies intact and ready to be shared.  I am, after all, an open frickin' book, which, let's face it, also bugs the hell out of people.  But I don't care too much about that either.  If you're not interested, then don't read it.  And if you are, then you're probably a little crazy, too.  LOL.

screw the eggshells

Haven't written in awhile.  Rob Thomas once said that he doesn't usually write when he's happy.  When he's happy he's out living life.  He saves writing for when he's not so happy.  Well recently, I can actually tell you that that was the case for me.  I mean, I wasn't bounding over hills of green with gold coins falling out of my skinny jeans, but things were leaning toward the pleasant. 

So, as you may have already guessed, since I am writing now, something must have gone wrong.  Why of course.  Because I'm in a fucked situation that can't unfuck itself because no one in the situation with me has the means to unfuck it. 

I think I'm still afraid of him.  I think she is too.  I think she's also afraid of me.  I think her and I walk on eggshells all the time.  And I think he hates himself because he knows we do.  I want to have more normal conversations.  I want to talk about books and movies without everything turning into a battle of epic proportions.  I want to know that after she dies, I won't die too. 

I want too much I guess. 

outward appearance

It's hard for me to write honestly about the topic of body image, but I suppose it is time.  While I was in my group sessions I only brought it up once and even then it was glossed over.  It's hard for me to talk about how badly I feel about my outward appearance.  But if I can be kind to myself for a moment - and I really should at least give myself that - I've gone through a lot in the last 5 years that would make anyone a little out of sorts. 

I was raped, which put on the pounds.  Because usually girls go to one of two extremes after a rape: they become very sexual and do some things they never thought they would (which I admit I dabbled in) or they become almost completely closed off (which I am leaning towards more).  I gained a lot of weight simply because I didn't want anyone to look at me anymore.  At least, not to see me as a sexual being.  And sadly, now that I'm getting over the rape, the weight gain has worked so well that I don't feel like anyone's looking.  Not that that's completely true of course.  I've been looked at.  I know this in my head, but my heart is crying and broken that I not only let the fucker rapist violate me, but I let him screw me up for years afterward.  I let him keep me in that prison he had me in while he was close to me.  Only now he's not so close, and the prison isn't really a prison, but a big, fat body with a really pretty girl inside that I think I once remember being.  And I can't help but feel like it's all my fault that I let him have so much power over me for such a very long time.

Also, there is the bipolar of course.  A very wicked disease with very wicked symptoms.  In order to curb the symptoms (which I totally do not want) I have to take medicine.  Probably everyday for the rest of my life.  Just so that you fully understand the exact nature of my drug cocktail, I will explain... I take 4 medicines: one to stabilize moods, one to stop the paranoia and help me sleep, one for anxiety and one for depression.  Now, I currently need a new anxiety drug, but the others seem to be working well.  But of course, there's a downside to everything isn't there?  The downside here is that my mood stabilizer is a very powerful drug which of course causes, you guessed it, weight gain.  So, add a few pounds more for good measure and you have the me I am now.  The me who will not be telling you my weight or anything, but trust me, it's more than it ever has been and more than I want it to be. 

Saddest part of all this is that I remember hating myself in high school and the early years of college.  Hating the way I looked.  Most likely because I was trying to define myself while choosing the absolute wrong company.  Company that told me I wasn't pretty and that I was fat and that I was wrong.  Only now do I see that he was wrong.  The whole time he was wrong.  I look at pictures of myself back then and I was beautiful.  I was thick, but not fat.  I had curves in all the right places.  I had a pretty face and a pretty smile and eyes everyone complimented and still compliment because they are two of the things you can still see that are right about me. 

I've decided that I'm going to get back there one day.  I think I've mentioned that before.  I even took some pictures of myself recently and I look better than I did just a few months ago.  Still, I hate it.  I feel like the weight loss isn't happening fast enough.  I feel like no one will ever love me and worse, I feel like I will never love myself again. 

But I'm going to try to love myself.  The way I am now and whoever I change into.  The first step I feel is to be honest with myself and others.  As fragile as I feel writing this, I think it's more detrimental to my well-being if I keep the thoughts locked away inside.  So, here is my soul, in blog form.  Please be kind.

unconditional???

I got some extremely good news yesterday which is going to help me fix A LOT of problems in the coming months.  Yay me!!  However, right now, my family and I are still treading water.  And I have a bit on my mind. 

First of all, why is it never the people with more than enough who aide you in surviving when you're not sure you can??  Why is it always the people who are in the same boat as you??  Or at least once were??  I suppose it's because they understand what it's like.  But in that case, I thank God that I was not born with "enough" like some of these people because they call themselves one thing and they say they care, but they are hypocritical bastards who wouldn't know Jesus from a jeweler. 

Second of all, why does everyone always tell you you're going to learn something when there's a situation presenting itself complicated??  I happen to be one of those people who believe that most things happen for some sort of reason, but yes, some shit is just random.  And I am going through some random shit right now.  And if you want specifics, email me, and I'll tell you all about that.  But I'm not going to write about anything too openly because it doesn't just involve me.  But trust me, there is no lesson learned from this.  And if there is I think I've learned it before: some guys are total creepers and pervs. 

Third, I am itching right now.  So bad.  Crawling out of my skin.  Just one of the very fun Bipolar Traits.  If I had any money at all, I'd take my brother to the mall and walk around for hours.  I'd go to the comic book store and the regular book store and then hit up Starbucks.  I'd drive around and see where the gas took us and then I'd stop there and buy a burger.  But right now, I just have to sit at home and itch.  Because I have no money.  Not yet.  I have friends that aren't really friends at all.  I have people who look down on me and think I caused this all myself.  And I have creepers that would only take me out somewhere to try to get into my too-goo-for-them pants.  UGH!!!

Oh, and a big PS - if you happen to be one of those negative people that I just mentioned above, you can kindly remove yourself from my planet because I officially DO NOT GIVE A SHIT!!  If you can't ride the bus with me for unconditional support, than you certainly don't deserve to get inside my limo that's about to pull up.