When I think about it I guess we're all bound by something, but there are times I want to go back to the days before I was diagnosed with bipolar. I want to be free of the label. I want to just be me.
I want the carefree times of not having to count out meds, of not having to make it to psychiatrist appointments. I want the freedom to be what I thought was me, impulsive, daring, and outgoing.
Most of the time I felt I could conquer the world. I felt so good I knew if I had been younger I could have done back flips. I liked the adventure and the ever changing scenery of my life.
My psychiatrist would call those times "hypomania," and they came with a price. They came with the price of being chained to deep bouts of depression. They came with relationship problems. They came with bonds of the lure of self harm, of destruction.
Today, even though sometimes I wish I was in the days before the term bipolar entered my life, I realize I truly am free. I'm free of the bondage caused by the carefree times, the impulsive times, the throw caution to the wind times. I'm free of the depression that consumed me at times, that kept me in bed and away from the people I love.
I'm free to make my own decisions, not ones marred by an emotional roller coaster. I'm free to enjoy my life without damaging others or myself. I'm free in knowing my demons have a name and I'm free to conquer them.
I know, I know, with all the crap going on around here you thought I said "surgeon," didn't you? HA! Fooled ya there.
I did indeed write "sturgeon," as in the extremely ugly fish like creature.
Last night, to get away for a bit, Jeff and I went to dinner at a cozy little seafood place. I saw "sturgeon" on the menu and began to feel a bit queasy. I hoped, no, I PRAYED, that Jeff wouldn't order the thing.
"Teri, what are you going to have tonight?"
"I think I'm going to have the sauteed sea scallops. What about you?"
"I'm thinking of the sturgeon."
"NO!" Damn it, this place is quiet! Everyone was looking at me. I lowered my voice and asked, "I mean, why don't you try something else? There's a spicy seafood stew....."
"No, I'm really thinking about the sturgeon."
"Jeff, please, if you love me you won't have the sturgeon."
His eyes lit up as he remembered my one and only encounter with a sturgeon. It was a few years ago and he, my husband who DOESN'T fish, went with a friend of ours to fish for sturgeon. I DO fish, but they left about 4 in the morning and we all know Divas don't do anything before sunrise but slumber so I stayed in bed.
It was a misty Oregon morning when he got home about 8 with his catch in the back of the truck.
IT WAS STILL ALIVE AND THRASHING ABOUT!
The thing was about 6 feet long and prehistoric looking!
"What are you going to do with it?"
"I'm just going to leave it in the truck until we go to Jim's tonight to cook it."
"You're going to leave it in the truck all day ALIVE?"
"It'll die."
Well the damned thing DIDN'T die! It lived all freaking day long. It was alive when we got to our friend's house that evening about 5.
Then the talk was about how to kill it. First our friend tried a bat. Yes, PETA, he used a bat. It didn't work. That would have been too easy. He tried and tried to kill it and it wouldn't die, it kept hanging on just to spite them. Finally after what seemed like hours, our friend's son came out with his pistol and shot it in the head. The thing died and they did whatever they did to get it ready to put on the smoker.
They should have used the gun FIRST, like WHEN THEY CAUGHT IT!
When the "fish" was ready it was dished up and I couldn't even look at it. The thought of it made me sick.
It wasn't until last night I realized I had "sturgeon trauma." Yet one more thing to add to the list for my psychiatrist. She's gonna love this one.
Oh, and Jeff ordered the spicy seafood stew.
As for Karli, she's at home trying to recover after having a 4" long, 3.5" deep incision made on her leg, down to the bone, to try to release the infection. The terrible thing is that she can't take pain medications except for Ibuprofen and Tylenol. She's in excruciating pain. The good news is that the infection hadn't reached her bone and her blood culture is clean. We're still waiting on the other tests to come back. Hopefully we'll know more tomorrow. Thanks for your wishes, thoughts and prayers.
I have a daughter, The Bipolar Princess, that's sick. She's really, really sick, life threatening sick.
Not only is she fighting worsening symptoms of bipolar, she got another MRSA infection. This one's not like the last ones. This one is consuming her body. Her immune system is gone from fighting the infection. Today she got the news from her doctor that she will probably need surgery to rid her body of the invasive infection. She sees the surgeon tomorrow.
The MRSA began on her thigh and now the doctors fear it's reached the bone. She's been on IV antibiotics as well as oral ones. Nothing's helping. It seems surgery is inevitable and in her weakened condition, both mentally and physically, it's very, very dangerous.
She called me in hysterics today after she got the news. There was nothing I could say, nothing I could do, but listen to her sobs. All I could do was listen and cry with the girl that will have another huge scar added to her collection of scars from dozens of surgeries.
I cried with the girl that's afraid, that's sick of being sick, that's trying to fight the curve balls thrown her way at each and every turn in the road. It's no wonder she feels like giving up.
Bipolar we can deal with. The possibility of losing her to a virulent staph infection scares the holy hell out of me. Losing my cousin to a staph infection several years ago only heightens my fear. This is serious folks, and this mama is scared.
Have you ever had one of those days when you couldn't get motivated and just wanted to go back to bed for a week or three? Well hello to today.
I ended up taking my meds way too late last night and feel like I'm dying here! Plus the new bed is so plush and comfy I just wanted to turn over, pull the covers over my head and take yet another ambien.That coupled with a new change in my medications is killing me today.
I'm sitting in Starbucks, as usual, reading blogs and I came across a new one called"Confessions From An Impulsive Addict." I loved her title so I had to check her out. She had a few questions on there and since my brain is in "no go" mode I thought I'd do them, like you don't already know everything about me. But, as I've said before, this is my blog and I can do what I want. So here goes. I'll see if I can even remotely entertain you. sigh, shrugs, and give me a little sympathy here.
How I named my blog. Well, that's kind of obvious to everyone that knows me and, but I did do a post defending the "diva" part a couple of days ago. But if you don't know me, the title says it all. "Bipolar," and a tad, well a whole lot, spoiled, hence Diva.
What my least favorite exercise is. That would be the exercise of putting my credit card back in my wallet. But if you're talking gym, that would have to be anything that requires me to use a piece of sweaty equipment. What would my last meal be if I were on death row? I really don't see the point in a last meal for those on death row. Plus I'd never make it to death row, John Walsh would never find me.
11 Random Questions
1. What's your most embarrassing moment? I've yet to write about that, but I shall in a day or two. That is IF I can get the nerve up.
2. Why do you live in your current city? We were transferred here by a rather unscrupulous company. It was the only time my husband has worked for someone other than himself in years and proved to be a great learning experience as well as a nightmare. As for living in the PNW from Texas, we were following work and wanted a new lease on life, a totally selfish and a not very well thought out, move on our part. Even though we adopted six great kids here, we destroyed many lives as well. But now that I have all these great kids I wouldn't change it.
3. Did you/Will you have sex on your wedding night? That was 24 years ago, I don't think I can remember, plus it's a little foggy due to an abundance of champagne.
4. What is one household appliance you can't live without?the minions are about the only ones that know how to use the appliances in my house. I guess for me it would have to be my blow dryer and straightener.
5. It's your birthday dinner and you can order whatever you want. What is it? anything that allows me to enjoy the carnivore in me, oh, and creme brulee
6. Have you ever enjoyed a Captain and Diet Coke? Never have
7. I should give up ______but I just can't do it yet. Buying shoes and lingerie. Won't happen, never will. Now that my 18 year old is out I'm thinking knocking out the wall between my closet and his room to make a brand new, huge closet!
8. Approximately how many pairs of shoes do you own? probably over 100 or so, and I just got rid of a ton!
9. Have you ever sucked a toe?
All the time. I have grand kids and it makes them laugh. They laugh, I laugh.
10. Do you have a secret talent? If I do it's a secret to me.
11. Are you really answering these silly questions? Of course, they're getting me out of my funk, these and a few shots of espresso.
Ok now off to the mall in search of black matte nail polish and considering actually writing about my most embarrassing moment. I think it was "Two Chicks and Their Peeps," I told it too already?
There's a girl I follow on Twitter that had a tweet come through that said, "you're NOT a Diva." So natch I had to read it. You know, with the paranoia that sometimes comes with bipolar, she HAD to be talking about me, right? After all, she does follow me too.
My, oh my. Girl is seriously pissed about people calling themselves "Diva." She states the word itself "annoys the shit," out of her and that she would love to "punch them in the throat," and "I sure as Hell won't take anyone seriously that calls themself a diva." Wow.
First of all "themself," is not a word. "Themselves," if you're wondering why I used that word in the last paragraph, is a word and is used when a compound subject has been used in the sentence to show that it refers to the same group.
Furthermore why is the mere word so annoying to someone? I guess it could be poor self esteem or envy maybe. Still can't figure that one out.
I kinda felt I had to defend myself, then I thought, "Would a Diva do that?" Hell no, she'd hire someone to do that. So I decided to pay a kid to transcribe this for me.
Fact is there are really a lot of reasons people may use that term. Mine is tongue and cheek. I mean, HELLO, I'm freaking CRAZY, how on earth could I be perfect? It's called an OXYMORON, ya know when you combine two contradictory terms? Kinda like "bipolar," and "Diva."
It's also a nickname I've had for years for trying to keep it together and look ok on the outside while I'm fighting this insidious disorder. Fact is I kind of act like it to cover for the insecurities in my life, over compensate I guess you can say.
I did write a post a while back comparing the two terms, "bipolar," and "Diva." I think it's pretty explanatory. Truth be told, the two terms do have a lot in common: grandiose ideas, spending, self absorption, etc. I think my psychiatrist would call those traits "psychosis."
Yes, I hide behind a lot of materialistic things, but I know why I hide. I hide because to look myself in the mirror and realize the hand I've been dealt, and passed on to my daughter, is a bit too much to handle most of the time.
But that's just it, I hide from myself. If you've read through my blog, even sporadically, you'll see I'm open and honest with the world about my short comings.
She has a right to her opinion, as we all do in this great nation of ours, but seriously, try to figure out if it's really just a play on words before condemning someone.
Now, I'm off to have a bubble bath drawn for me and my pinky toe nail re-painted because I chipped it when I was trying on Louboutins this afternoon.
And before bed I'll down my hand full of anti psychotics with nice glass of Cristal that has been delivered to me in a crystal glass on a silver platter by the white gloved minions.
Tomorrow's the day we've been waiting for forever. Joshua leaves for Job Corps. He's my kid with autism/aspergers and has been a challenge from day one.
He tries his best, but sometimes his disability gets the best of all of us. He's really excited to be leaving and beginning his new life.
He's never been away from home and I'm afraid he'll be scared and homesick and I'm worried about bullies. He's all gung ho and knows it's going to be hard, but he seems determined to make a go of it.
His area of study is Culinary Arts. If he does well in the program there, he'll be transferred to San Francisco to take advanced Culinary Arts for a year.
After that year Job corps will work with him for another year transitioning him into a job and into independent living. He'll also have the opportunity to have two years of college paid for.
The program is a God send, especially since he was found ineligible for our County Developmental Disability services for his autism. We're hoping he'll listen more to the counselors at the center than he does his parents.
Job Corps is an incredible opportunity for him. The first two weeks he will have a counselor that will work getting him acclimated to the program. The second two weeks he'll be in training 8 hours a day working on independent living skills, budgeting, paying bills, finding housing and making it on his own in the world. After that he plunges full force into his area of study.
Here's to Joshua, here's to us and here's to his new beginning!
That was the Facebook status update the other day from my daughter. Karli, A Bipolar Princess, entered an intensive all day (home at night) hospitalization this past week. She goes in at 8 AM and leaves about 3:30. It will last for several weeks. She's not being admitted because she's been deemed not to be harmful to herself or to others. She can go in on the weekends, but doesn't have to.
She's in several group therapy sessions, some private sessions and lots of medicinal juggling in the hope of finding the "magic" cocktail all of us suffering from bipolar search for.
I gather from a conversation with her that she's doing lots of self preservation and keeping her distance from others.
She made a rather strange comment. She said that being in there makes her grateful for how "crazy" she's not. Evidently there's lots of head banging and a woman living in a world of grandeur. She's in a full length, gold sequined, ball gown with perfect hair and way too much make up.
Karli met with the on staff psychiatrist that told her since she was "used to living with hallucinations," they would only address her PTSD and help her grieving process over Isaiah's death.
Come on! Who in the hell would be "used to living with hallucinations?" Who would want to continue having them in their life. That's the main reason she went there in the first place.
The hallucinations are always present and terrifying. I can't imagine, since my bipolar isn't at the level as hers is, having to live watching frogs and spiders hop and climb on everything all of the time.
Her hallucinations have increased to auditory ones. She said she Jakob was sitting on the couch with her the other day with her having a normal conversation when she realized that he had been in school for several hours.
I hate this for her, I hate it for her kids and I hate it for her husband. Mostly though I feel guilty for passing on something to my child that has put her in a terrible position. I feel badly for being frustrated with her because of a situation she can't has no control over.
My only hope is that the hospital and the intensive therapy will give her some relief and that she'll find the path to recovery.
Cole called me today. "Mom, how do I get an epi-pen?"
Oh this was not going to be a good conversation. We found out Cole was severely allergic to bees when he was in first grade. The school had called. He had been stung by a honey bee and his face had begun to swell. By the time I got to the school, which was across the street, he was going into shock. We raced him to the doctor's office and they whisked him away. I wasn't aware of it at the time, but my son was dying. His system was shutting down from the allergic reaction. He hasn't been without his trusted epi-pen since. If he gets stung again he removes the stopper from the vial and jabs the pen on to his thigh. The pressure releases the needle and epinephrine is released into his system giving us enough time to get him to a hospital.
"Cole, you have to have a prescription for one. You need to go the doctor and ask for one before you go."
He informed me that he thought that was stupid and that he had an old one he could take. I'm imagining this fast-food encased, gunk covered, shattered epi-pen. Ok so now I'm going to get hives.
"Oh, and by the way, our plans have changed."
Stay calm, I tried to remind myself. Oh this isn't sounding good. My mom instincts are telling me to sit down and hold on to something, anything, it's gonna be a bumpy phone call.
"We're hitchhiking to Vegas instead!"
I was right, it's gonna get worse before it gets better. Seems Smart Boy and his sidekick, Brilliant Kid, are leaving tomorrow. Hitchhiking to Vegas. Through the desert, Death Valley to be exact. My suburban raised son and his friend in the desert with desert creatures like rattlesnakes and scorpions scares more than just a little bit. This is a kid that stole acorns from a wild squirrel, and was attacked by one pissed off nut-less animal.
Then he tells me the best part. When they leave Vegas, they're going to go "up through Arizona.” Just like that train he thought was going to California he had once jumped that was actually gong to Montana. Oh Good God! I think I did a pretty good job at remaining calm, partly because I couldn't speak and partly because he's going to do it anyway. This way, he'll call me when, if, there's a problem. He did agree to call me at every major town and then he left me with the spine-chilling phrase "that way you can call the police if we don't call when we should.” Great thing to tell a mom, especially one that fights anxiety under the best of circumstances.
On one hand, I am excited for him. It'll be an incredible once-in-a-lifetime experience. On the other hand I have this feeling that I'll see him on a new Las Vegas episode of "COPS,” and I guess that would be a good thing compared to all the other dreadful things a mom's mind can conjure up.
He said he'll be gone for about 4 weeks. I hope I can last that long, and I hope he takes a camera.
No, that's not his hair. It's his coon-skin cap. Appropriate I think.
I wrote this in 2008 when my son informed me of an adventure he had decided to take. Watching him with his baby now I realize just how far he's come in the last 3 and 1/2 years.
JUNE 2008
My oldest son, Cole, has been out of the house for a few years and is trying to become his own, uh, well ya know, grown up person I guess.
Cole's 6'3”, handsome, charming, has great personality, is so funny and well, he's a 23 year old of the male persuasion. Cole was born an adventurer, an absolute incredible baby and he was so much fun to raise. Fun and exploration were on the top of Cole's list the entire time he was growing up. There are entries and entries that could be written about the experience of raising such a child. Jumping from, and climbing buildings in down town Portland, fires, running away and sleeping under a bridge downtown with 5 friends with only one blanket, as well as being terrorized by “little people,” that’s a story in itself. He is covered with scars from fights or being pushed through windows, and he decided to explore the bomb shelters hidden in the dark maze of the old Clackamas High School. So there's Cole in a few words.
Anyway the child that inherited my sense of adventure was not blessed with common sense, he has my impulsivity. Just one tiny example: when you run away from home and want to go to California, don't hop on an eastbound railroad car, Montana's not far off when you don't know shit about directions!
So Cole came to see me today. He had that "mom I have something that's really gonna freak you out smile.” Now that I think of it, it's a lot like his " I want something" smile. Anyway, here's the plan. He's leaving Wednesday with his friend. They're going to hitchhike to California, part of the way they'll be in a canoe and part on a "homemade Huck Finn" raft. I'm just looked at him, what could I say? He's been talking about this for years. He and his friend are so excited. They're taking a small amount of money, they want to "live off of the land,” I think it’s more that they’re totally broke. I have a feeling by the second day they'll resort to road kill over an open fire for dinner. They're going to camp along who knows where. The first question I asked was if they'll have a camera. I know them, it will be an adventure, if they don't get killed or accidentally kill each other before they get back. He's 23, I can't stop him and I don't think I want to. He needs to follow his adventurous heart while he's young and can. Oh I'll be freaked out until I hear from him, but I have a feeling they'll come though this just fine. I hope it's more than wishful thinking.
The Bipolar Diva: Constraints: Somewhere between consciousness and the darkest shadows of sleep lies a parallel universe where dreams and reality are melded into one. It i...
Somewhere between consciousness and the darkest shadows of sleep lies a parallel universe where dreams and reality are melded into one. It is a place where we are not bound by earthly constraints and our innermost fears and desires are lived out in the most amazing detail. We, as well as those that came before us and those who come after us, are free to enter and leave as we wish.
It is to that altered existence I find myself increasingly drawn. In that ethereal plane most responsibilities and difficulties of life are released and I am free to discover inner most truths and to follow the whims of my heart. These are times I have grown to treasure and my visits to this reality occur with greater frequency.
Judgment is not passed and assorted relationships can be explored without fear of discovery or retribution. It is during these precious few hours that those connections that have been severed can once again be enjoyed. And those that have yet to form are brought to fruition.
After hours of indulgence I find myself reluctantly being pulled back to the bonds of this terrestrial plane. I am left with only vivid memories and cannot help but wonder about the authenticity of these times and if I alone participated.
It takes a lot to shock me, a mean, ya know, after raising a ton of kids, dealing with all kinds of people in business, and just basically everything that's happened in my life in the last 49 years has me pretty well prepared to handle most anything.
I say most because tonight I saw something that actually made me scream from sheer shock. It was like coming face to face with a chupacabra.
My son has graciously allowed me to post this tonight. I think he took some sort of sadistic delight in hearing my shriek.
We began having said son tested this past year for what began as a low thyroid condition, which led to testing for a brain tumor, that then led to testing for Cushing's disease. I know what you're thinking. "What in the hell is wrong with her family? They ALL have some weird thing going on." Am I right? Of course I'm right.
While testing for all of the above conditions the endocrinologist decided to run a genetic test on a hunch. And it paid off. My son has a condition called Klinefelter's Syndrome. She hit pay dirt. My son has this syndrome which means instead of having the normal XY chromosomes, he has an extra X. So he's XXY. It actually explains a lot of what's been going on with him.
Having the extra X means his body doesn't produce enough testosterone on it's own. He'll be 21 in May and was shaving maybe once every month or two, he still has eight baby teeth, and the list goes on.
He's been on the treatment for about six months now. The treatment consists of applying a testosterone gel to his shoulders and chest every day for the rest of his life. I asked him if he noticed any difference besides his facial hair growing in thicker and at a much faster pace. He said, "As a matter of fact yes. I'm growing a little hair on my arms."
"You mean under your arms?"
"No Mom, I mean ON my arms."
"Let me see."
"Ok," he said as he smirked and pulled up the sleeve of his shirt.
I'll let you be the judge of whether my gasps of horror were justified or not. Here's a pic of my smiling, handsome son. Click the pic to see what scared the holy shit out of me.
My daughter's condition has weighed heavily on me today. Maybe it's the reason I've taken so much valium today. I usually only take it at night to help with sleep, but I'm on my fourth for the day.
My husband and I decided, on a friend's advice, to watch "A Beautiful Mind," again. Wow. I see my daughter with her hallucinations and realized that she very well may have to live with them. In John Nash's fear I saw her fear. In his reality I saw her reality. Her hallucinations may have to become part of her "normal."
I hope not, but if so, I hope she can deal with them the way John Nash learned to over time.
I don't know what else to say tonight. I'm drained. I have a headache and I need another valium.
For years on Christmas Eve all of my kids, with their kids and spouses, have gathered at my house for a night of gift exchanges, games, food, and laughter. While I was in the midst of last minute preparations for this year's party the kids began to arrive. I had no idea how drastically the night would change, or how fast.
The Bipolar Princess was the first to arrive with her family in tow. She looked good, the kids and her husband were happy and I took in a long, deep breath of relief in light of how difficult the past week had been with her spiraling behavior.
While we were sitting around the living room talking I got a text that read:
"I feel like I'm losing my mind mom. All I can focus on are the frogs jumping all over everyone. I'm not going to let it ruin my night though. I'm just praying."
Things quickly spiraled out of control. The frogs became too much for her, the disassociation too great. She jumped at every sound, she heard ghostly voices calling her name. Tears begin to fill her eyes before spilling over her lashes and rolling down her beautiful face giving away her torment.
It was time to get her out of the chaos of children, laughter and frogs. Back in the familiar comfort of my bedroom she told her father she only wanted the pain and confusion to end. She wanted out of life and the hell that she had been thrust into by no fault of her own.
An emergency call was made to her doctor. She talked about checking herself into the hospital. We were resolved to keep her home and stand watch twenty four hours a day until the psychotic break eased if that was what was needed.
The doctor called back quickly. He called her pharmacy and ordered a massive dose of an anti psychotic and increased her mood stabilizer. I went through my pharmaceutical collection in search of something to calm her, to sedate her and to take away the suicidal thoughts, until someone could get to the pharmacy. I had a strong sedative that she had been on before. I filled a glass with cold water and handed it to her along with the mind quietening drug.
We waited until she calmed. We told her she couldn't leave us. We told her we needed her. We tried to change her thinking.
Trying to change the thought pattern of someone having a bout of psychosis it difficult at best, but we tried. Gradually it seemed to work.
After the medication began it's magic she was able to re-join the family for a bit. We finished the night early so her husband could get to the pharmacy to retrieve the medication called in by the doctor.
About an hour after she left I received another text that read:
"Just so you are aware, I made my husband let me go to the pharmacy alone to get my meds with the intention of buying a knife to end my life. I kept seeing the kids and hearing their laughs. I couldn't do it. NO way would I intentionally take my kids' mom from them. They NEED a mom. Anyway, I'm going to make a contract with you, my husband and my sister. I want everyone to know when someone needs to come pick up the kids. There are behavioral changes I have that need to be addressed immedieately, etc. I'm going to wait until after Christmas but it's something I feel needs to be done. Thank you so much for your support tonight. I love you. I'm so sorry for ruining the night and making it all about me."
Then another text:
"I'm feeling a lot better now, suicidal wise at least. I could NEVER EVER take the kids' mom away. It would ruin their lives. But that doesn't mean that those thoughts aren't frequent and intrusive."
I spoke with her several times today. She has a contract made for her closest family members to sign, so we know the signs to watch for that mean a break is imminent, so we'll support her and so we'll be able to get her help.
Hopefully it will never come to that. Her new psychiatrist is one of the best in the area and is diligently working to identify the correct cocktail to stabilize her.
She's signed releases with him so he can talk to us if an emergency arises. She's making progress. She'll slip from time to time, as we all do in so many areas of our lives, but she's on the right track. This Christmas the greatest gift received was the awareness she gained during some of the darkest days of her life.
You all know of my disorder......if you don't try reading the title of my blog, it'll give you a clue.
I have eight children. Six of which are adopted, two I gave birth to.
Bipolar is genetic. Two of my kids are predisposed to the disorder. When I was first diagnosed I wondered where it came from. I mean, my parents seemed normal enough. Then I remembered my father's alcoholism and his drug seeking behavior. Hmmm, could he have been self medicating?
His mother was a total lunatic. Sorry, there's no other word to describe her. She was a mean spirited, awful woman. She also had this deep seated paranoia.
Then, after re-connecting with my dad's sisters, stories of bipolar came out. I have cousins with it, cousins I've never met because my grandmother farmed all of her kids out except for my father. I wish she had farmed him out too. He would have had a much better life. But that's another story.
What I really wanted to write about was my daughter, Karli, and her struggle with Bipolar I. I have Bipolar II. It's not as severe as Bipolar I. I have no hallucinations, no psychotic breaks, but she does.
I know I'm not to blame, but I can't help but feel terribly guilty of the defective gene I've passed on to my princess.
She wrote a post of her hallucinations tonight, a very brave move on her part. I'd like to ask you to read it, to try to understand the terror she lives with and maybe encourage her.
Her blog is called "A Bipolar Princess." She's a wonderful, loving girl and I'm lucky she's mine. I just feel terrible I'm the one that's made her suffer.
In a palace far, far away in a village called Happy Valley, go figure, in a time long, long ago there lived this Ambien Virgin, I know, hard to believe these days right? Everyone that hasn't taken ambien please raise your hands....see no hands. I win.
This is going somewhere but first I have to make a side note: I was reading this new blog I found, or found me, well, somehow in bloggy land we connected and, well, I can't explain it, you're just going to go check it out for yourselves. It's called SSS Porch Party, and I so want to be a part of these people!
Anyway a post there reminded me of this yet unnamed, but totally known, Ambien Virgin. It had been a bad night. I'd like to say it was a dark and stormy night, and it was, only not with the weather. See, the Ambien Virgin and her King were arguing.
Not just "I'm gonna sleep on my side of the palacial bed with massive down pillows separating us," kind of argument. It was more like "I'm sleeping in the other chamber with the Bipolar Princess," type of argument.
This was after the Bipolar Princess had lost her youngest prince, the Ambien Virgin's grandson, to a horrible disease. The Bipolar Princess was staying in the palace trying to regain her sense of self and right her terribly wronged world.
The Bipolar Princess listened from her chamber. She heard slamming doors and loud voices. The Bipolar Princess had been through this drill before. She rolled her eyes, turned over and tried to sleep.
During the argument, and the huffing and puffing that ensued, the Ambien Virgin took a couple of ambien. Only one had been prescribed, but see, this Ambien Virgin sometimes plays fast and loose with the rules, kinda like Craps only with pills instead of dice. Then she stomped off to the chamber of the Bipolar Princess.
At this point in the story there are only flashes of memory of conversation with the Bipolar Princess. The Ambien Virgin was seeing things, specifically she was seeing an elf. Not just any elf, but an elf that lived in the wall and was swinging on the limb of a tree that was growing in the wall. Oh yes, bring on the ambien hallucinations.
The Ambien Virgin kept trying to get the Bipolar Princess to look at the elf, see the Ambien Virgin was amazed by the elf that lived in the wall. She wondered why, after all the years she had lived in the palace, she'd never before noticed the swinging elf.
The Bipolar Princess wanted nothing to do with the elf, but seemed annoyed with the Ambien Virgin's requests to look at the little swinging guy.
Finally out of a desperate need for sleep and a desperate need for the Ambien Virgin to close her mouth and go to sleep, the Bipolar Princess said, "Mom, he's always there. He comes out at night. Now SHUT UP about the damned elf and go to sleep!"
For some reason those words worked, and the Ambien Virgin didn't even scold the very naughty Bipolar Princess for swearing in her presence. The Ambien Virgin turned over, covered her head with a pillow....the elf might try to get her after all, and fell into a deep slumber.
The elf never re-appeared, although his presence is always felt.
I've been in trouble a lot lately, which is nothing new....remember the Ambien misadventure? That was just one misadventure in a long line of misadventures. Oh well, I'm me and that's just the way it goes. I'm damn near 50; it's not likely my personality is going to change 180 degrees any time soon.
But today I made another realization, something my husband has been trying to get me to realize for years now. He does this by leaving a three and a half pile of shoes in front of the bedroom door so I have to step over them or trip on them and break my neck. I guess I could move them, but I have mentioned I'm stubborn too?
I have this really bad habit. Yeah, I know, who would have thought right? Well I have this habit of taking my shoes off when I come in the house. I don't know why. I'm certainly not trying to protect my carpet, it looks like I've raised a freaking cattle farm in my living room, and in a way I guess I have. It's probably just the Texas girl in me and I can't stand shoes on my feet any longer than need be. The problem is that I leave them where ever they happen to come off.
Every morning I search the entire upstairs for the shoes I knew I left in my bedroom. HA! I never leave my shoes in my bedroom. And my closet, well forget that. I have a PILE of shoes that I frantically search through every damn day. I pick up and throw shoe after shoe only to realize the ones I want aren't there.
This morning on my daily hunt I realized just how bad my habit was. So you know what I'm going to do? I'm going to show you. So ready or not here we go and remember, just remember, this is on a good day.
Just one. That's odd.
Oh, there's the other one in a pile of some more.
Love these.
Not sure why I didn't put these back in the box?
Rainboots, this is Oregon, remember?
Gross, wear everywhere sandals
But on my way out of the house this morning after looking for the shoes I wanted:
Finally found them under a table and a chair in the living room.
Anyway after I found them I was out of the door in a whirlwind to make my doctor appointment and I saw this:
None of these are mine.
Neither are these.
These were all in the entry way. I guess the difference is that I leave mine ALL OVER THE HOUSE.
PLEASE tell me I'm not alone!
The very first thing I do when I wake up is reach under the pillow and grab the remote to turn on the news. Yes, it's under my pillow I'm that obsessed.
The next thing I do is check my phone for texts, emails and Facebook, once again I'm that obsessed.
The worst mornings, the ones that give me that queasy, OMG, feelings are those that have a crap load of emails in my main account.
I open the mail app with one eye closed as if I'm opening a letter from the IRS, yes, I've done that too. I'll go on record here on my blog and in full public view saying I think the IRS are nothing but glorified mob men out to break your legs, even if your bill is only $16.08, but that's another post.
Back to the flood of email in my main account. Usually that means ambien shopping, and boy I seemed to ambien shop last night.
The first one I looked at I seem to have flashes of memory of. It's a 7 1/2 ft white Christmas tree with thousands of white lights. I saw one the other night and thought it was really pretty. I guess I thought it was REALLY pretty 'cuz one is gonna show up at my door in a few days. That'll be in storage for the next year.
Then there was one from Bare Necessities. Evidently there was some Aubade lingerie I couldn't live without, I mean, who could, right? I can always send that back, maybe.
Everything else seemed to be presents for the kids, that's ok. Oh I hope I didn't pay any $99 overnight shipping fees. I was too afraid to read the emails all the way through. I did, however, click them all as read so I didn't have to stare all day at my iPhone seeing 37 new emails waiting for me.
Speaking of getting things in the mail, you have to go read throughbrowneyes latest post. She always make me laugh. I LOVE the way she writes. When I first met her I would have never guessed she would be so funny. I don't mean that in a judgmental type way, it's just that she presents herself as a cultured, athletic and all around great type of person. Thinking about it though, why wouldn't she write great? Greatness seems to follow her. Check her out. There's something mentioned in her blog I need, only for the bathrooms and my closet though. Well, come to think of it, I need it for the entire house. If you stop by tell I said hey.
Once again, back to my midnight shopping. From now on I'll turn off the computer, turn out the lights, put a pillow over my head and dream of one day waking up with no more ambien shopping notices.
After my last post I received a ton of emails saying that they didn't know I even had a husband. Well, I haven't written about him on this blog for a couple of reasons.
One is that for the last several years things haven't been that great. We were both walking the fence during our daily lives as partners and in our marriage. We've both made mistakes, but in our time away from family, kids, business and every other chaotic aspect of our lives we do great.
The other reason I haven't written about him much is for his privacy and the fact that I didn't want anything I might have written taken out of context by anyone (as it has been far too often) and having more hot coals heaped upon our heads than we already have.
We have enough going on without the whispers and gossip of others that don't know the full story. If there is any couple out there that hasn't had problems I'd be really surprised. If there's any couple out there that thinks only one partner has been wrong, they're delusional. People have tended to read things into what I write without knowledge of the full situation. To those people I'd say, judge not lest ye be judged and let him without sin cast the first stone. Point being, none of us is perfect. We've all made mistakes. My husband and I are still here, we're still one. We love each other despite the flaws.
I've put together a slideshow to show you all that my husband, and my marriage, is indeed real. He's not an imaginary guy, but a real, live, breathing, tattooed (go figure), Harley riding, wife loving, Texan.
To those of you that have access to my private blog I know you've already read this. I just thought it was time I acknowledged to the world how much of a delusion I was living, how much pain I have caused and how I came to realize that I'm the one responsible. I'm the one that has to take care of it. I'm the one that has to be humble enough to change.
My wedding ring. Yes there is a point to this picture.
You already know I tell you way too much. I guess I should thank you for reading what I write. The writing clears my brain and allows me to vent without going to jail. I really don't want John Walsh looking for me. He kind of creeps me out with his ever-changing hair color.
Anyway, I'm going to totally sound like a self-absorbed brat (yes, I edited out the original word I used to describe myself) here, well mainly because I am, but that's beside the point. Yes I wear Manolos and Louboutins, and Chanel, yes my bag is a Louis, as is each and every piece of my luggage, yes I drive a Mercedes, my watch is a Rolex and I won't even tell you what my jewelry appraised for, because, well, it's embarrassing. All that is leading to a point. I'm a spoiled child with no control, no restraint and a husband that has given me everything I've wanted, everything I've asked for. All of his giving and all of my taking has taken it's toll in many ways.
There was an "incident" Thanksgiving night that set off a firestorm. My husband was gracious and didn't tell me about it until everyone had gone home. He didn't want to ruin my day. I'm thankful for that. The details of what happened aren't really that important, but what they sparked were earth shattering, for me.
You all know of my wanting to be free, to wander, to play, to be me and have no responsibilities. Well this weekend I was slapped square in the face with a realization. I wanted all of that because deep down inside I believed whatever I did, my husband would never leave me. Wanting to be free was a fantasy, and nothing more, well bipolar played into it, but I'm going to be a big girl here and take full responsibility.
My disorder had caused many of the incidents in past years, it had caused me to act in ways I might not have otherwise. It's a demon I live with and I have to acknowledge that, but it's under control and has been for more than a year, yet I continued old habits. I'm to blame here, not bipolar.
Jeff and got into a HUGE argument, one that would usually trigger my "bipolar vortexes," send me spiraling down into the pits of hell, finding a razor blade (I did get one, I did take it out of the wrapper, but I didn't use it), and ending up on a death watch. My daughter did try to get my new psych's name out of me, but I wouldn't tell her, that's how bad it got. If I was going to do it, I wanted no one talking me out of it. Not wanting to "burden" my psychiatrist was part of if, my stubbornness the other.
I went to the edge, like with everything in my life, but this time I didn't go over. I cried (most of you know I DON'T do tears), I sat on the cold tiles of the bathtub deck. Through my tears, and blurry 49 year old vision, I kept one eye on the new, shiny, razor blade. I thought about it, but I didn't act. Even with all the pain of the moment and watching the blade taunt me, I didn't give in. The meds must be working.
I surveyed the bottles of pills on my cluttered bathroom counter. I counted them, 19 in all, not all mine. But in a pinch they could help. All I did was stare at them and wonder. Which were working? Which, in an overdose, would just let me go to sleep? Which would make me vomit....not doing vomit, not this Diva, and which would merely relax me enough to enable me to think things through more clearly? I chose none. I would deal with this full face without the help of my crutches.
Jeff, minutes earlier, told me our marriage was broken and he didn't think it could be fixed, that he didn't know if he wanted it fixed. Whoa now. What did he just tell me? I freaked, totally freaked. That was my line and he was using it one me? Someone had changed the script, someone had inserted a new plot. Someone had thrown me a curve ball. Mixed metaphors I know, but remember, this is my blog and being the spoiled child that I am, I can use whatever metaphor I want.
The next day was horrible, although we were talking some. That night in bed I leaned over and asked, "You'd never really leave me would you?"
He looked at me with his sleepy, blue eyes and said "Yes, yes I will."
I didn't know what to do. I was stunned. I thought that in the heat of the moment he had said we were broken, that he really didn't mean it. But he meant every word that night.
I turned over and silently cried. I couldn't believe that he would leave me!
He's always told me how much he loved me, how he adored me, how beautiful I was, that I was his everything and I assumed he always would, and I'd assumed I could do what ever I wanted. He'd given me free rein before, for 24 years he let me do whatever I wanted to do. He let me have whatever I wanted to have. He let me play whenever I wanted to play.
I took advantage of it. I did what I wanted. I was enough of a brat (once again censored) that I thought he would take it, that he would always be there. I'd pushed him to his limits, and I knew he was now serious.
I emailed him late that night. He called me the next morning while I was sitting in Starbucks. I broke down a little more with each word he uttered. He was going to leave me. I was crying, sobbing uncontrollably, and everyone was watching, but it didn't matter. I realized that what I thought I had wanted for so long wasn't what I wanted at all. I realized that I was about to lose everything I had, I was going to lose him.
I'd never been running from him per se, but from myself, for myself, with no thought of anyone else.
I begged him not to leave. I told him I'd do whatever I could do to show him I wanted it to work. I asked if he would put my wedding rings back on my finger, I haven't worn them much in the last five years. He said he would, but that he wasn't going to be convinced by mere words or the symbolic action of putting the rings on the finger they were made for.
That night when he got home, I met him at the stairs. I hugged him like never before. I didn't let go.
He led me back to where my rings were and carefully put them on my finger. First, my mom's ring, then my wedding ring, then the ring I bought to match my mom's. We both gazed at the three rings on my finger. We thought of the past, we thought of the future. Then he kissed me, like he hadn't in years, I hadn't let him kiss me in years, not like that.
The commitment was made. We'll start over. I'll do my best. I'll try, he'll try, we'll try.
Today has been a totally laid back day. Jeff is sick so while he kicked back and watched the movie "The Tourist," I did algebra homework while trying to keep up with the movie.
If you've seen the movie you know that it's an action/drama with a bit of comedy thanks to the incredibly HOT Johnny Depp. I know, I know, but I LOVE the guy. Angelina Jolie is gorgeous, as always, and captivating.
I won't give the movie away for anyone that hasn't seen it, but I'm such a dork, a complete and total dork.
At the end of the movie when the safe is opened and the item is found, for some reason known only to God and the evil's of Hollywood, I got all choked up and teary. I COULDN'T EVEN TALK!
If you've seen the movie, you're shaking your head at the moment, embarrassed that you know someone one that would cry at THAT! It's ok, I'm embarrassed to be that person and to shatter my image as a "hold-it-together" kind of chick, well when I'm well medicated anyway.
Now we're watching The Closer and Jeff's crying...WTH?
So I need a disclaimer for this post: To my Awesome psychiatrist that I saw today and to whom I revealed that I have a concealed handgun license, this is totally a coincidence! I heard the line on a TV show this evening and thought I'd see how many great friends I have, and I have a LOT! So, I have no intention of shooting anyone, ya know, just for the record.
You've all heard the saying "A good friend will help you move. A REALLY good friend will help you move a body."
I posted this as my Facebook status and my friends are hilarious! I love them. Had to share. Of course this is all hypothetical, especially if my psychiatrist happens to read this!
So here are the replies I received:
Teri ~
you know what they say "a good friend will help you move. A REALLY good friend will help you move a body." Just checking.....do I have any REALLY good friends out there?
:-) A mulcher works better than hiding a body
call me any time Teri, I have a woodchipper =}
Fargo...here we come!
where do ya want to take it
ya know Ron, hypothetical, just askin
Although Ron, I know this place outside of Santa Rosa, it kinda looks like a smurf house
I'll help you if you help me
It'll take a few days for me to get there tho...
An extremely good friend will help you take someone out from a few blocks away by using a sniper scope so that you don't have to deal with the body.
I like the way you think!
An excellent friend provides an airtight alibi, cell phone records, Nordstrom receipts, documentation that you did indeed purchase a waffle cone maker, and some glossies showing you kickin it with your old pal Tupac.
haha, _ _ _ _ _ ! You and _ _ _ _ _ _ _ WERE raised by the same parents! You two need to get your butts to Oregon!
LOVE it!
I get to be Madeline Kahn.
Ya gotta ask?!
I don't think you and I could carry dad, er, the body by ourselves......
Remember that old sleepover party game Light As a Feather, Stiff as a Board? We just need to get at least 4 people, so the weight will distribute evenly. I've got it all worked out. But we need some ski masks that aren't a polyblend. You know, for the pores.
I think I might be on probation LOL
Where's the body and do you have a good alibi while I move it?
you got my back, I got yours :)
You know it!
just message me where you want it dumped, and consider it moved, no questions asked
I'm lovin' my friends!
not only will I move it I have the land to hide it on and the coyotes to dispose of it
oh, coyotes, I like coyotes!
so love you!!!!
you need someone with Alzheimer's to help you, wait...who is this?
Thanks to all the friends who have my back and made this post possible! I love you all! And Doctor....no worries...I would never need to move a body....I don't think so anyway?
I'm really not sure what I was thinking. That's nothing new I guess, I seldom know what I'm thinking or was thinking. One of my kids is convinced I have early onset Alzheimer's. I forget his name, but he knows who he is.
I've been immersed in school. I think I mentioned it before, but I'm working on finishing a degree majoring in Political Science with a minor in American History. It's kept me submerged in books, papers, highlighters and post it notes.
In the middle of all of this, and since this is finals week, I've had little time to do anything. But you see, I had to do something. It seemed simple enough. All I had to do was make two phone calls. One to cancel my MSN service, that I haven't used in a year, and one to clarify a clause in a new life insurance policy for accidental death.
All in all it took me a FULL FREAKING DAY to accomplish these two seemingly simple tasks.
I tried to tackle canceling MSN first. One phone call at most right? It seems canceling MSN is about as easy as finding the interest rate on your credit card statement. It took me nearly an hour and a half and SEVEN different people to have them click a damn button to cancel my service.
My last words to them, actually I think I used these exact words four times with four different people, "Just CANCEL MY BLEEP BLEEPING SERVICE!"
Finally when that was done I called the life insurance company to clarify this clause under exclusions: "Will not pay if the insured person is under the influence of any excitant, depressant, hallucinogen, narcotic; or any other drug or intoxicant."
Alrighty then. The simple question was if this policy is nullified by my medicinal regimen. Easy enough, right? Apparently NOT! I take excitants for ADD, I take depressants for anxiety, I take hallucinogens (technically a hypnotic) to sleep, and see that little clause "ANY OTHER DRUG?" Yeah, see what I mean?
Six and three-quarters of an hour later I had an answer. I went through EIGHT departments and finally ended up with the head underwriter.
It appears that they left out a pretty important clause in my contract that states if I'm under the influence of any of these medications and they are the determined CAUSE of the accident, the policy won't pay. Since I'm taking all of my meds as prescribed I am indeed covered.
Yeah, I'm canceling the policy. If they can't even answer a simple question in less than 15 minutes with the help of one person I've kinda lost faith that they'll pay in the event of an accidental death. Bastards!
And MSN....suck it!
As for finals I have three essays to revise, three more to write and four exams. Again, I'm not sure what I was thinking.
Oh yeah. Thanksgiving, how could I forget? Here's a few of my favorite pics from the holiday! Who am I kidding? I have a HUGE family and being kind of a camera whore...I have a little more than a "few" pics.
