Posts Tagged With: coping

MOMMA TOLD ME THERE’D BE DAYS LIKE THIS

Today is one of those days that inspire a head-shake and an exasperated, “Really?

The morning begins with a shower where I shampoo my body and body-wash my hair.

SHAMPOO BODY WASH

And the afternoon brings ten fumbling, frustrating minutes of trying to make a sandwich only to discover that the Pita bread won’t open because it doesn’t open! Are you kidding me?

 PITA NO POCKET

And moments later, when I take the first bite of my real Pita pocket sandwich, the bottom splits open and everything spills out and goes plonk on the plate.

And finally, some news from my doctor.

Apparently, I am not the only one who gets annoyed with people, my body does too! And some of my organs are protesting. (Bastards).

My heart’s hammering, migraine’s pulsating, bladder’s faking infection and my gall bladder (where is that anyway?) is feigning stones; but, wait . . .

O.M.G., did I just wee-wee on my socks?”

FACE YIKES

Nope. That unnatural flush of warmth is hot flashes . . . IN MY FEET!

All of your test results are “unremarkable” the doctor says, “You’re fine, but you need to work on the stress.”

Really?

That’s just marvelous.

Resigned to staying home, I walk to the sofa, dumfounded and defeated, in my jammies and my over-sized athletic socks . . .

IN JAMMIES

. . . and step right into cat barf.

But it’s not even noon yet!” I whine.

Now, before this polka dotted, hot-flashing old gal can relax, I’ve got to take my funky-ass hair and itchy skin, and go air out my feet. And my socks. And clean up the leaky non-Pita pita mess. And the gaggy cat stuff I just smooshed into the carpet.

There’s no doubt, it’s one of those days alright. Haha.

What’s my calmative mantra again?

Oh yeah . . . “Just breathe”.

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Categories: Humor | Tags: , , , , , , , , , | 23 Comments

SENSITIVE STEEL

I have bipolar disorder.

I am constantly challenged by my own intense emotions.

I feel everything you feel . . . times a thousand.

The good, the bad, and the ugly . . . times a thousand.

The loneliness and depression can be devastating, and the endless and exhausting struggle to cope, pure torture.

The statistics confirm it. One out of every five people afflicted with bipolar disorder successfully takes their own life.

My life consists of agitated anxious thinking and tormented isolation, with brief intermittent bursts of joy.

Even the happiness is heartbreaking. So erratic. And fleeting.

When I feel a joyous moment, I try to grab hold of it and capture it like a lightning bug in a jar. I embrace it. I consume it and feed it to my hungry heart. I am a quiet little hoarder of happiness.

Because I don’t know when I’ll see another lightning bug again.

Maybe never.

When most of you meet new people, you get to know them and then you judge whether or not to trust them and let them into your heart.

I do the opposite.

I take people at face value, and after a quick scan of my instincts, I pretty much let everyone in. And then I judge, as they prove dramatic, unstable, or hurtful, which ones are unhealthy for me.

It’s an awful way to live, but I’ve tried being careful and guarded, and it’s just not my nature.

I love quickly and with a wide open heart.

I view everyone as being unique and magnificent, and I let them come in, and I celebrate them loudly. That’s how I am.

But I forget.

I forget that people don’t always say what they mean. And sometimes they’ll say what they mean all day long until you need them to, and then they won’t. People are funny like that.

I also forget that people misuse the word “love”, and when they hug me and say it, they mean it casually like, “It’s been nice to see you”. They don’t really love me.

And I forget that people don’t feel as intensely as I do.

And when I am reminded, it breaks my heart.

I am a constant victim . . . of my own brain.

So I strive to make better choices about people. Who I let in. Who I believe. And trust. And love.

And when I get hurt, as surely I will, because I will always love quickly and hugely, I will take the hit to my heart, lick my wounds, adjust, and then get right back out into the world.

But I will remember this pain.

For a little while anyway.

And then I’ll forget again.

Because that’s just my nature.

I love quickly. And I have a terrible memory. Sheesh.

The irony is, that as sensitive as I am . . .

I am as strong as you are . . .  times a thousand.

We bipolars are funny that way.

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(Read, “Being Bipolar” at: http://wp.me/p2ckKM-hF).

Categories: Bipolar/Depression, Friends, Inspiration/Motivation, Kindness & Compassion, Mental Health, Suicide | Tags: , , , , , , , , , | 21 Comments

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