Abuse · Adultery · Anger management · Bipolar · Bipolar Disorder · Brain · Cheating · children · Cuttings · Death · Depression · Divorce · Domestic Abuse · Dysthmia · family · hydrocephalus · hypersexuality · Infidelity · Intermittent explosive disorder · life · Loss · mania · Manic · Manic Depressive · marriage · Mental Illness · Miscarriage · Obese · parenting · psychosis · Self harm · Seperation · sex · Sickness · Stress · Tumor · Uncategorized · Verbal Abuse · Weight

Lost again..

The exhaustion of wearing the mask of normalcy, began to take it’s toll,

The inevitable day will start with or without me  and I must be prepared no matter my minds eye,

I rub the sleep out of my eyes and face another unpredictable day, trying to remember the events of the night before,

The words that were spewed out in anger were not my own,

I acted on things, did things and said things that were not becoming of ME

A stranger randomly takes control and I’m left to pick up the pieces of the destruction left behind,

Holding myself up with what strength remains, I slowly approach the mirror to face myself this very day

I apply my make up and put on suitable attire for work, in almost a mechanical fashion

I was so high on life the night before and the most loved, wanted and confident one of the bunch

Not today though, today is a low day. It’s the exact opposite of yesterday.

It’s a day that the darkness manifests and thrives, and guilt slowly peaks its ugly head.

I drive silently to work and close the office door; letting all who dare know today is not the day but never knowing why

The fleeting feeling of insanity haunts me with every step I take, and than

The very next day comes….

Waking up a little more afraid of myself everyday becomes the norm

Mania, creating characteristics of feeling grand, glad, gorgeous, high, heavenly and haughty

Leaving yesterdays lessons in the rearview mirror as I dive in as the beautiful disaster I have always been

Normalcy is an otherwise mundane mortal activity and holds no interest in my eyes

Not today anyways because it is a high day

I advocate for audiences and despise interferences

Adventure lies in all avenues as I’m actively associating with strangers in bathroom stalls

I believe in fictional theories forgetting fact based beginnings

And as I stop eating or sleeping through this hazy phase

I try to fathom the nature of my thinking

As I reach a climax,  I begin to sink into a depression,

What a difference from the previous mania….

I am floating forever, far gone from fenced in facts that once made sense

Further flying feelings soon fleeting, falling, forcefully

Focusing on forgotten failures as they begin to come back, with relevance

Trying to part and propel myself from pity parties that Im hosting

So I take poor perception pills that are pouring in my mouth

Popping to stabilize but the symptoms surmount and add up to my systematic separation from sanity

And so once again..I run and yearn for conversation in the height of my heart rate

excited, elevated, elated and  eventually exercising the elements of evolution

eluding from stress as its soaring smoothly and standing still with my mania.

I am yet again lost in mania….

 

 

 

 

 

 

Bipolar · Bipolar Disorder · children · Cuttings · Death · Depression · Divorce · Dysthmia · family · hypersexuality · Infidelity · life · Loss · mania · Manic · Manic Depressive · marriage · Miscarriage · parenting · psychosis · Self harm · Seperation · sex · Uncategorized

You just don’t understand

I didn’t want another baby. I wanted you.

I held my face in the sun light praying for the energy to feel. To feel anything but this pain that overwhelmes me. This hurt that overtakes my very being.

Scrapping whatever happiness I can find to fuel my existence. I’m dying to survive.

Crying through broken smiles and invisible tears. Hiding this storm in my heart that  only I see.

I cry for the two babies I have lost, for the hearts that no longer beat inside of me. I muster up the will to go on but emptiness fills the void that has manifested in their absence.

The kind but angering words of strangers only pull me back further into the burrow I have created for myself to hide. The lack of understanding has enriched this anger I have festered in.  He/She is no longer living inside of me but this love goes on.

You just don’t understand.

I never held it or heard it cry and I wasn’t ready to say goodbye. I held all these hopes and plans that never will come to pass.

I cry for her in the night.

It hurts so much, and no one can make it right.

Though they try, with kind words and reassurance of at least you can have another….

But…..you just don’t understand.

I don’t want another. I wanted her. I wanted the feeling of fullness that my tummy felt when I knew she was growing inside. I wanted to know that my body could be the safety that she needed in order to grow. The ultimate betrayal when your body cannot sustain the life you love.

The embarrassment and rejection runs deep.  You have nothing to be embarrased about, they say.

You just dont understand.

I’m sorry that you didnt make it.

If love alone could have saved you,

You never would have died.

I know the pain that drowns my soul, What I was forced to face.

Drowning in puddles of blood, searching for your face.

They just dont understand.

God doesn’t make mistakes.

But that won’t soften the worst blow.

Or make my heart not ache.

I didn’t get a chance to say “Hello.”

you never said “Goodbye.”

I didn’t think that I could feel

so sad, lost and forlorn.

I never knew God chose his Angels

before some of them were born.

Because to be honest, you just dont understand.

They say love is blind, and you made this true

I never got to place you in an outfit either pink or blue

A space where life once stirred, My eyes were not yet seeing,

Where once my heartbeat shared a tone, with a small and fragile being

So scarcely formed yet still a life. you were a dream, a hope, a promise

Our plans were changed to now include, this new life thrust upon us

Then just as quickly as it came, my dreams were gone away

The deepest pain I’ve ever felt, was when I heard our baby died today.

You just dont understand

With footprints left upon my hearts, he/she gently took their leave

I’m left with nothing but regret and only time to grieve and with each word of sorrow

my teardrops fall like rain,

The anger and resentment are mixed with guilt and pain,

I have to look to heaven for a sign in order to help search out a course

Where love can teach acceptance and eliminate my remorse

My body will eventually accept the truth, that now my baby’s gone

But in my heart, my Angel, you live on.

Adultery · Bipolar · Bipolar Disorder · Cheating · children · Cuttings · Death · Depression · Divorce · Dysthmia · family · Infidelity · life · Loss · mania · Manic · Manic Depressive · marriage · Obese · psychosis · Self harm · Seperation · Uncategorized · Weight

Living with Dysthymia

As I open my eyes for the start of a new day, I am hopeful. I awaken with a chipper exterior and a life that cannot be contained. I envision the day, its stressors and beneficial highlights. I plan accordingly and seek all the positivity that this world can offer. The daily routine of applying make up to the gospel word, kissing my loved ones good-bye and driving an hour to work as I blast music the whole way through.

Enjoying the day with an extreme amount of enthusiasm all the while hearing the gnawing voice within. The one that creeps in when the end of the day is in sight. The anxiety builds and in a brief moment I think to myself, I miss him. I want to snuggle and feel his everlasting warmth, to kiss the smile on his lips as it forms. I naively think that he will be all the things I allow myself to envision and dream of.

A rude awakening always emerges itself in some form or another. A late night at the office, a text message or email from a male coworker or a misspoken word; can suddenly bring me back to the reality of my life.

My spouse has dysthymia.

He screams at me as I trudge in after a long night of work.

“Where were you?”

“Why did you not answer?”

“Who were you with?”

I plan a day at the gym with friends and it continues…

“You are easily influenced, so gullible.”

“You don’t need to work out”

“Just come home and eat and relax”

You find yourself “walking on eggshells”, never knowing what you will do to set him off.  What you will say that could potentially make it worse. Your feelings mean nothing and are laughable because his triumph all.

You coware when he screams afraid he will hit you. He screams profanity and anger at you. How can you even begin to reason with someone who has no perception of whats real. One moment he is the most loving husband and extremely apologetic; the next he stares at you with hatred that makes you wince in pain.

His depression, lack of self work and anger, slowly take over him and he no longer sees reason. He only sees his uncontrollable feelings.

When you love someone with a mental illness who verbally abuses you, it can bring pain and a sense of loneliness inside you. The fear of him hurting you is always there, the sadness that overwhelms me when all I hear are his hurtful words of how stupid and naive I am replaying in my mind. Living with him at times can be the most depressing and hostile environment    I feel most of the time; as if I am drowning. If I try to take myself out of the negative atmosphere, he resents my absence; if I remain in the environment he resents my presence. Nothing I say to reassure or comfort him helps and some how I manage to always fail.

He doesn’t see the names he calls me, how he belittles me, he doesn’t know that he shames me, at times he doesn’t even care that his ballistic rage comes for very little cause. He can’t understand that his threats scare and intimidate me, that my feelings are being dismissed and even more so he doesn’t get that he’s trying to manipulate me because of how he feels.

He doesn’t see that he is abusive, he just knows how he feels. He knows he’s angry at me and so I must have done something to deserve everything that he does in retaliation.

With every day that passes by I always remember the nights I cried myself to sleep, the pain his words have triggered within me, the sadness I have developed within because of the opportunities I have let go of in order to not upset him. The joys I have set aside for maybe another lifetime because he needs me….

Somewhere in all this, I have spent so much time trying to lift his spirits and act according to his reactions, I’m not so sure if that extremely happy smile I bear is real or just another act that I have perfected so well over time, that I even fool myself….

I simply know that I love him through all the mental illness that clouds his judgement is caring and loving individual.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I feel most of the time as if I am drowning. If is take myself out of the negative atmosphere he resents my absence, if I remain in the environment he resents my presence,

Bipolar · children · Death · Depression · Divorce · family · life · Loss · mania · Manic · marriage · Miscarriage · parenting · Seperation · Uncategorized

My little girl

June, June is a month that holds weight. June is the month that my mother was born. June is many things but June is ultimately the month I will never forget. You were everything I ever dreamed of.  I prepared as any mother would. I didn’t have much but all that I had was yours. The crib set up in preparation for your appearance. The soft small pink outfits that I folded time and time again. The tiny toys that filled your box. With every doctors appointment your heart beat grew stronger and stronger. I felt your kicks and your little hiccups. I loved you more than you had known. I loved you more than I had the chance to show you. You were so tiny in the sonogram and the overwhelming realization that you would soon be mine came over me. I felt blessed and afraid. Afraid that I would never add up, afraid that I couldn’t be a better mother, and hopeful that you would make me better.

Within one appointment, I carried you for a last month check up. You weighed me down and  I felt your pitter patter not too long ago. It had been days though and I grew worrisome. The doctor was hopeful that I was simply an overly worried young mother, she knew that all would be well and reassured me that I should cast my worries away. So I did, assuming that I was just overly protective. You see, I loved you so much. I was so worried and excited. I dreamt of you so many nights. I dreamt of your long black hair, your pale skin, the deep brown eyes that would stare at me with your dads long eye lashes. The smile that would break your fathers heart and drop me to my knees. You were my daughter before you even knew it.

That appointment , the doctor smeared the cold jelly on mommies tummy and the moment that I waited for each month came as it always did. It was time to see you move and squirm within me. It was a chance to see you and feel you and hear your tiny heart beat within mine. It was the moment I thrived for. It was immediate but I saw the concern within her eyes, I didn’t hear the beat of your heart. She smiled awkwardly at me. She rubbed the handle of her sonogram machine all around me, in hopes to find a sign of life. She only only saw the tear. Tear of your amniotic sac, the home that you have known since you were conceived. You at some point were lacking your nutrients, your home, your safety.

The sadness and despair to which the doctor had was inconceivable. She apologized as she excused herself from the room. She returned almost instantly with 2 other physicians and they all took turns confirming what my fears had already shared. You were gone. You no longer lived and squirmed within me. The absence of your kicks and the silence of your hiccups were a sign that you were gone. Rushed into an OR room where I was provided medication to contract and push you out was almost unreal. I didn’t have a chance to call daddy. I didn’t have a chance to call anyone.There was hope that if you were taken out they could save you. I didn’t take a chance yo slow down the process. I needed you. You see you were my salvation, I dreamt of you since I was a little girl. I dreamt of your appearance, how you would feel and the years that came after. I never let go of hope.

You came out and the silence was deafening. You were pale, you had the black hair I dreamt of, you were so small and fragile. You were beautiful. They let me hold you. I was in aww, I was in pain and I was alone. I was so young and I had no idea what to do. I wanted you to kick, to say surprise and start crying. I wanted you to breathe. I wondered how I would even begin to tell all those that waited for you in anticipation. How could I let you go? I couldn’t take you home. I considered it. I felt pain but the sudden realization of what had happened didn’t hit me. I was numb. I let you go and they took you away. I laid there frozen signing papers with no real understanding as to what I was doing. I was told that I would be transferred to the maternity ward. I couldn’t do it. To hear the song of every new baby brought into this world with a new life to be witnessed. To hear the sounds of babies crying all around me, knowing that yours would never be heard. I refused. I left and never returned.

Everyone around me felt anger, sadness and emptiness. I couldn’t understand or even process. You were gone. You would never lay on that bed that your dad and I built, You would never wear the tiny outfits we prepared. The depression deepened and everything within me shut down. Daddy had to pack everything away, No easy task I’m sure. I held a blank stare, I lost hope. I felt a feeling that I wish upon no-one. I loved and lost you in such a small time frame. Death had never been apart of my life, you were my first loss. I didn’t recover. I never could.

Every birthday I dreamt of how old you would be, how cute you are and what your personality could be at this moment. I envisioned your smile and sassy attitude, your tiny feet and little dreams. I imagined the look in your fathers eyes that would have been filled with so much love for his little girl. Every little girl that passes by me,  is you. Every babies little laugh is yours. The dreams that I have of you are so real that it hurts. Years have past and not a moment goes by that I don’t see your little face, feel your small body and smell your soft scent. Not a day or year goes by that I don’t want you. I dream, I hurt and I know that this emptiness will never go away but ultimately you are and always will be my little girl.

Bipolar · Bipolar Disorder · children · Depression · family · Infidelity · life · mania · Manic · Manic Depressive · marriage · Obese · parenting · Uncategorized · Weight

I am a Pancreas!

 

Diabetes…Type 1 none the less has been the most trying experience and exhausting disease that you can possibly fathom; not to say that there aren’t other’s but I speak from my own experience. I have this constant impending doom that swims over me like a fog, that should I slip for one moment, should I allow my guard to falter for even a second; I could potentially lose my son.

I am his Pancreas, I am his nurse, I am his provider and I am his army and to be quite frank, I am also exhausted! I endure restless nights, I withstand patiently as every little judgement and every little number is questioned. I find Pinterest recipes when eating is no longer fun and more of a requirement and is limited to him. I search for results and solutions to the questions that he has in regards to his own life. I manage his meals, his medications, his appointments, his school nurse and teacher. Should he be away from me at any point in time, I manage those in charge. I carry with me disappointment, regret, sadness and dare I say it again? Exhaustion!

The nights in ICU are brutal and the sounds of the monitors beeping, allow for no sleep. Any beep and every beep can be a potential issue I need to be aware of. Even though he is amongst professionals, I have held on so tightly for so long, I can’t seem to let go. It wasn’t always this way though.

As a woman, there is a point in your life where you truly take on the full embodiment of a mother. For some it’s the feeling of life growing inside you, for others its the nestling of a small baby in your arms and knowing that you are all they have. For me that moment took years to come. I carried a sort of resentment towards those cookie cutter moms who carried their children with such pride. The mothers that created Halloween costumes from scratch and looked forward to school events and PTA meetings. Where was my embodiment? Had I missed my moment?

There was emptiness in that department and I never truly embraced those moments that were passing by me. Some women were made for motherhood, it was apparent that I was not. So my husband and mother-in-law assumed the role that I was unable to fulfill and I searched for meaning elsewhere. I dived into a career that would be the baby I never truly embraced. It was everything for a time and in some regards it still is.

Then something happened, that I can only describe as a strange, unexplainable, unfortunate and devastating event. My youngest son was falling asleep in daycare and was pale. I never had the intuition of a mother but all flags were going off and I was not to be refused. I took him to the closest hospital and as the doctors simply dismissed it as a cold and asked that he see his family physician in the morning, I remained stubborn and insistent. I may not have always been the mother they wanted but I certainly was the mother that they needed. I would not allow my children despite my lack of emotion to suffer. I would not allow him to be ignored as he was too weak and little to fight for himself. I asked for every test possible and when his blood sugar came back at over 1000, I was shocked. I imagined something but not this. No one had Diabetes in my family, I had no idea what that even meant.

As the sudden rush of an emergency became present, all the nurses and doctors carted my son away to stabilize him as best as they could. As the plastic bags of liquid were injected and the insulin was administered at a slow drip. I watched as he cried, when they couldn’t find a vein due to his lack of hydration. I stood in silence as a nurse briefed me on my son’s condition. I was breaking inside and had to hold it inside to not scare him. I waited for my husband to arrive and once he did. I left that room as fast as I could! Something came over me and I couldn’t contain it. I had my moment, I embraced and embodied the very meaning of motherhood in that instant. My heart was broken and for the first time in my life I was terrified for my children.

I cried and fell to the ground in defeat, unsure of how to move forward with all of these feelings as they clouded my judgement. I knew that this was not about me and I needed to be by his side and silently I knew that tonight as he slept safely in the care of professionals; I would cry. As AJ was rushed to pediatric ICU, I remained calm and hopeful. I watched as they managed his hyperglycemia and prayed for his discomfort to stop. That night as he slept, with the sounds that I would soon become accustomed to; I watched intently. I watched him and saw every moment of his childhood. I absorbed all the issues he’s endured at such a young age and processed all the challenges to come. I watched my fragile, 9-year-old… 50 lb. child lie there. I watched as the wires were coming from all ends. I listened to the sounds of parents questioning concerns and their children’s faint cries through the night. I held on to the chair for dear life as the tears ran rampant down my face. I faced the decision and understanding that I was his only hope and things needed to change. That was not only the scariest moment of my life but the best decision of my life.

As the years past, I have seen more Endocrinologist then I care for, I have become a Diabetes expert, a mother with OCD in regards to his health. I have consumed my life with work but also with my family. He is the happiest child I have ever known and yet the bravest I may ever know. He has taught so much and yet till this day I still learn. Through him, I have learned forgiveness, endurance, laughter and hope. I have gained a closeness that I never knew. I have become the mother I never thought I would be and even though I’m still not a cookie cutting mom; its ok. I am a loving, fearless and determined mother. So yes, Diabetes has been the worst thing to happen to my family but dare I say it has been a gift in its own respects. I gained something that is priceless. I gained motherhood….

Adultery · Bipolar · Bipolar Disorder · Cheating · children · Depression · family · hypersexuality · Infidelity · life · mania · Manic · Manic Depressive · marriage · Obese · parenting · sex · Uncategorized · Weight

The woman in the mirror

Holding an old red brush that pulls my hair when I begin to brush the naps that do not easily entangle. Basting the foundation around my deep, exhausted eyes that illustrate a story untold. I stare at the woman in the mirror, its early and the sun is just awakening through the skylight of my bathroom. The birds are happily chirping in the distance alarming me of the new day that is before me. I know this woman; faintly. She is a person that used to be someone I once knew but lately she has become unrecognizable.

The soft sounds of those I love around me, silently sleeping. The light snores and faint breathing allows me peace for the time being. The hustle and bustle of the day will start soon but for now, I envelope myself in the silence. There’s an eerie feeling when the woman in the mirror stares back at me with these deep sunken eyes. The small creases that begin to enfold wrinkles, that are slowly making their way through her withered face. Time has not been kind and the struggle of it all has impacted her image. The scar’s and bruises are deep within; festering within her soul and heart. Her mind is altered and filled with joy and despair.

I look at her and she presents a small and frail smile that appears fake in some respect. Her roots are coming in as her hair drapes heavily over her face. Ponytails have never suited her but they suit me just fine. She cannot afford to allow all of her flaws to shine, so she hides behind the thick multi colored hair, that resembles her life. She sacrifices comfort for beauty in order to manage her insecurities.

Her body has fallen and sagged into its own shape and though most see her beauty, she only see’s the inconsistencies. The nose that grows larger with every pound, the gap between her two front teeth that widen with ever coming year. The hair that brittles with every treatment and the mind that deteriorates with every coming day.

I have seen her before but this woman has taken a form unknown to me. She has wrapped herself in exhaustion and has lost the fire that once bestowed her. She is the strength that once was and is no longer.  I fear for her safety and pray for her to return to us all. This woman that once carried joy, positivity and optimism.

This woman has endured great amounts of pain, she has shouldered the cosmos on her bare back. She has held back the tears and strived on through life’s constant struggles and road blocks. She has persevered when all have fallen behind, she has loved when she wasn’t loved back. She has given and expected nothing in return. She has faced love and deceit. She has remarkably survived but to say that she made it through unscathed is a lie. She is broken and she has fallen to her knees.

Though the pieces are hard to find and glue back, she takes a deep breath and glues them as she stares back at me through my bathroom window. She cries as she puts it all back together and then she stuffs it away from all those that can see. She wipes her tears and continues on her early morning ritual and before she leaves to begin the day, she looks back at the mirror, knowing that she just has to get through one more day. She stares intently at me and I know that I am her strength. I am the person she strives and wishes to be. She holds on and stares at the stranger in the mirror and I know that she is me. She knows that I am her. Though we are not the same, we once were and all the glue in world could never combine us.

There is a moment as a woman where you see the person you used to be, the woman you have become and the woman you strive to be. This moment is staring me in the face and asking me what is the outcome. What will it be? I stare and hope that she will surpass her struggles and navigate through her indifferences. I plead for her to see past her indiscretions, past her pain and disappointments. I beg for mercy, understanding and the possibility of acceptance and forgiveness. This woman who has become tattered by life’s unpredictable paths has become numb and it shows. It resonates within her face, her body, her mind and dare I say her very existence.

She holds a steady gaze and says goodbye to all she once was. This woman that I barely recognize is now me and as she walks away with not even a second glance, I know that she will never be the same.

 

Adultery · Bipolar · Bipolar Disorder · Cheating · children · Depression · family · hypersexuality · Infidelity · life · mania · Manic · Manic Depressive · marriage · Obese · parenting · sex · Uncategorized

A little Introduction

I grew up with a mother that loved reading and a father who valued education above all else.  These traits most definitely stuck with me and growing up I read so many books, that when I ran out of children’s books; I read my mother’s books. By the age of 10, I was well versed in the signs and symptoms of menopause and could recite a good majority of Edgar Allan poetry. Reading was an escape for me, it provided a gateway to other worlds that my imagination could take hold of. You see even though my parents were intellectuals and instilled education as the forefront to my life, they had flaws that overshadowed all the words they spoke. Their actions determined the truth behind it all and I was fully aware of it. I chose reading and writing to escape the reality of it all.

My mother was determined, smart and loving but with age I came to realize she wasn’t like most mothers. It would take many years and many adversities until I found the truth, my mother had untreated Bipolar Disorder. Learning that softened my heart and allowed for forgiveness. My father on the other hand was a functioning alcoholic and drug addict. There were more disappointments than a girl should ever have to endure from her father but the love that I had for him was immense and no amount of pain he caused, could ever deter me from loving him.

 Writing became my peace that can only be described as serene. I’ve always been compelled to tell a story, always had a talent in seeing beyond just words. I felt the meaning behind the smallest of things. As a writer or artistic person, there is an understanding and a connection of the world around you.  I can feel and hear the whispers of life because I simply sit back and soak it in. I can embrace the elements that fearlessly embrace back.

True writing cannot be taught or learned for that matter. It can be enhanced, nothing more. The creativity that compels someone to express themselves fully through art, words, photography and more is a gift. A gift that requires a vision.

 I have always had a knack for writing and poetry. I felt deeply, hurt intensely and loved courageously.

 When I saw the sun, I not only felt its warmth surrounding my arms and face as I enfolded in the new dawn.

 When I was by the sea, I envisioned the sand between my toes and the sound of the waves clashing in the distance. It created a melancholy symphony of music that intertwined with the winds various movements.

The stories in my mind were not only easy to write, they were widely vivid and enticing. My mind took reality and captivated it; in doing so there was only manifested beauty. Many people can write on specific genres and subjects, mine has always been humor and sadness. I know… what an odd combination but hear me out if you will. I could always encapture sadness and in that sadness, I cultivated humor. Its my defense, my shield and my only tactic for handling the issues that I have had to endure. I always felt that if you couldn’t laugh at yourself, you could easily cry for an eternity and where’s the fun in that! In my life I have felt so much sadness that I felt it only fitting to claim it as my own, it seemed appropriate to say the least.
In this bullshit world of social media, selfies and primitive behavior; I choose books, writing and education. I have always dreamed of a life unscathed by the 9 to 5 work flow. You need the experience of life, pain and beauty in order to be inspired and triggered to create something into existence.

Writing has gotten me through the hardest moments of my bipolar disorder and its not easy to present it to the world but I know that many are alone in their struggle. I know I was and when I began writing and opening up about my disorder the outpour of relief from others that felt the same was up lifting and presented an opportunity.

Writing can be a beautiful and mysterious experience as I always envisioned long nights of words and wine; as I reach an oasis of elevation.
Not everyone feels they have a story to tell and for me my life was enough to fill multiple books. Though for now we shall concentrate on the subject at hand; Bipolar Disorder. My life contains so many anomalies that it begged to be told.

A girl raised in a small and stuffy apartment in the Bronx slums of New York City. The smell of urine intoxicating the elevators and the litter that filled the streets of my neighborhood. It was all I knew and to me it was simply home. In a home that consisted of domestic violence and an untreated Bipolar mother whom did the best she could with the tools she had.  My mother was a fierce woman and she was capable of more than she gave herself credit for but as a single mother with 3 kids she was limited in her time and patience. That frustration eventually caved in and spilled over onto me. With no possible understanding as to why my mother acted the way she did, I rebelled. In that rebellion it only made matters worse and I was homeless by the age of 16.

 

My father was a fun and adventurous dad that most kids wished they had. He had no fear and did as he pleased. As a young girl I idolized him and he could do no wrong in my eyes. He was the center of my love and though he was what you would consider self-centered, a drug addict and an alcoholic, my feelings and outlook of him remained the same. I never understood why he failed to show on many occasions; when it was his turn to spend time with me. I was young but I wasn’t too young to see the pity in my families eyes. I wasn’t too young to know, that there was a routine of either showing up extremely late or not showing up at all. It didn’t deter me though from grabbing my grandmothers rotary phone and calling him repeatedly. I knew he would never answer but I always kept the faith that one day he would.

 

As the years past I needed him more and more and as the relationship between my mother and I worsened, I frequently wished and dreamed for his insight. I carried pain in my heart, pain because I felt he didn’t love me, pain because my mother had disposed of me, pain because I was alone and pain because I had a grim outlook on my life.  Though there were moments of sadness there were also moments of joy in the little things and I remained hopeful that one day I would be the woman that I dreamed of being. I would be successful and then, only then would my family accept and love me again.

 

With education, hard headedness, determination and my boyfriend -who’s now my spouse – I managed to become a writer, mother, wife, accountant and somehow trudged along; even as I was eventually diagnosed with Bipolar Disorder tearing at the very seams that I worked so hard to pull together.

The only way this works is by allowing the words that I have held in for so long and have waited so very patiently to express. To use the gifts given in order to fight the demons that stand at bay. Isn’t it funny, that for a good majority of my life I resented my mother for her mistakes, to only then commit the same ones she endured. Isn’t that the paradox though, its assumed to be the cycle of life, all that your mother endures at some point you will endure the same and the level of understanding awakens within you. Though I do not agree with all her choices, I know that Bipolar Disorder controls every part of you and logic is non exsistant. As she did it all alone with no family or spouse to bring her back down to earth, she managed somehow to gets us all through this alive. I may not have been around much but the moments I needed her and came for help she assisted despite her doubts. My mother is the reason I am who I am today and dispite the everything she has also provided, loved me and guided me; even when I fought to not listen. The good and the bad molded me and allowed the same sort of fierceness and independence to flow inside of me.

My weapon is my truth along with my mind which carries racing thoughts that have flown through as an uncontrollable tornado. Pounding down the shed door as the latches give way, these words need to be portrayed.

 

As I sit here I hope you see the deeper meaning behind my words, read as if your the writer. Analyze and maybe you can even feel what I failed to acknowledge for so long.                  

                                                                                                                                                            My life is not dictated carelessly and its hard to share such intimate details of my life and the struggles I have endured with alcohol, drugs, family and bipolar disorder. This memoir is a reflection of all I have overcome and still overcome on a daily basis with the inconsistencies of life, mental illness, drug and alcohol abuse. Coming from my own family, my upbringing and my adulthood. Though I carry no certainty and pride in the drug and alcohol addictions that I have carried, I feel like it has played a role in shaping the woman I am today.

 

Drugs…Alcohol…They were my solitude and they were my poison. Its crazy to know that the one thing that kept me sane,  played a major part in my illness. The drugs and alcohol only magnified the mania and the depression which in turn amplified the realization that there was a problem. A problem that I was never truly ready to face or even admit.

If I could ever give something back; let it be my words, stories and visions. Let it touch those that know my struggle but lack the direction, the approach and the ability to elevate and share with those around them. For those that have a story they cannot tell, may my saga speak for you. May it embrace and comfort you when you are at your loneliest and most misunderstood.

“You are not your illness, you have an individual story to tell. You have a name, a history and a personality.

Staying yourself is part of the battle!”

 

Julien Seifter

Bipolar · Bipolar Disorder · children · Depression · family · hypersexuality · life · mania · Manic · Manic Depressive · marriage · parenting · sex · Uncategorized

It’s OK to be Overwhelmed

I have seen the overloading, inexplicable need to be perfect and to be the best, wife, mother, friend, daughter and employee a woman can possibly be. I know I wrote this blog to tell you that you can do it all and I still hold true to that statement but I also want you to know that it is OK.  It’s OK to have moments of doubt and fear. It’s OK that you don’t know everything. Its OK that things can get a bit overwhelming because we live in a time where women do everything but to everyone around them they never do enough. Find your inner peace, the place you go to in order to get away. Take a deep breath and relax because you are only one person and doing the best you can.

I can honestly admit I get anxiety attacks due to all the jobs that I have on my plate and to be misunderstood and easily dismissed can be frustrating. The best description for anxiety for me and the way a lot of Bipolar women feel that are taking on, their world goes something like this:

“It feels like a freight train running through the middle of my head.

Like being trapped in a tiny phone booth with 12 other people and they’re all yelling at you to the point where all their voices become your own.

Blur of Hypomania, Mania

Like the brain being on speed while your body tries desperately and unsuccessfully to catch up.

Like being a genius that no one understands and being annoyed at the stupidity of everyone else.

Like being unable to complete a thought before another comes and runs over the first, blanking it out without completion.

Like torment from the pulsating cell walls that won’t shut up for one moment and let you think.

Like crying and running and screaming and jumping and scratching and clawing and hitting and gnashing all at the same time.

Like tossing and turning all night long

Like anxiety created from not being able to quell the millions of thoughts or being able to facilitate the thousands of movements being demanded of the human body all at once.

And like a million other things all happening at once inside one tiny head unable to contain them all.

And, personally, I have to keep telling myself that everything is fine because it feels like it’s really not and that I’m going to freak the hell out at that very next moment.

BUT…It will be alright and it’s OK. Some women need anxiety pills to make it through the day, some use exercise / yoga and some try breathing methods. Whatever the method, find your relief to get through the day because you are amazing but even amazing people need to know it’s OK.

(2015 natashatracy.com/bipolar-disorder/bipolar-hypomania-feel-like)

Bipolar · Bipolar Disorder · children · Depression · family · life · mania · Manic · Manic Depressive · marriage · parenting · sex · Uncategorized

When you’re young, they don’t tell you….

Feeling lost and afraid is something that I have felt many times in my life. Do you know that feeling? The feeling that frightens all reason out of you. The fear that no one see’s you or see’s everything other than who you truly are. When you’re young it’s almost natural to feel that way because you have this impending future that you have to plan and adhere to as your family deems necessary. You are so unsure of yourself but at the same time you tend to think you know it all. What they don’t tell you, is that even when you grow up you still have moments when you are lost and undeniably afraid. That you are still that teenage boy / girl in this older body with responsibilities and with people depending on you! What they don’t tell you, is that you will still want your mommy or daddy…you will still crave for the laughter and jokes of your brothers and sisters, for the safe haven of family.

Some people are fortunate enough to have a great family in their lives and some are not. For those who do not have a good family, I know that you understand. Then there’s the old saying that “Blood is thicker then water” but for all those homeless children, abused teens, lonely and afraid kids out there; this just isn’t true. When I was growing up I had bigger concerns then what outfit I would wear or what I would be doing that weekend. My concerns were more on where my next meal was coming from and where will I sleep but when I look back I realize how much time I have wasted trying to be a part of a family that never wanted any part of me.

We can’t all choose our families but we can choose how we react with them, how we continue our lives with out them. To see how some girls are so close to their mothers and to yearn for that relationship. To know now as an adult raising her own children, that I was robbed. Robbed of my childhood, robbed of unconditional love, robbed of a normal life, robbed of family. Did you know that you can be robbed of life? Memories and love are precious possessions that YES you can be robbed of.

From one parent to another, know that your children need you even at their worst. Do not be quick to judge and love them even when they are at their most un-loveable. Motherhood is not easy by any means and looking back at how my mother raised me, I know now that she didn’t know any better. My boys could never make me not call, visit, listen and love them. It’s easy to throw in the towel but yelling, hitting and throwing your children out are crimes in the face of motherhood. We bring our children into this world and it is our job to protect them, not abandon them when thing’s seem hard. Protecting and taking care of your mind, body and soul means to let go. To understand that in order to live a healthy life you need to let go and forgive those who let go of you. To not raise your children the same way you were raised. Break the cycle and love your children even more than you ever were.

There are days when I miss what could have been but I become wiser and stronger every day. I wish I could say it’s easy to walk away but I would be lying to myself and you, if I said that. Every time I find myself  wishing I had a loving and involved family, I remind myself I do. My own special, personalized, loving family, created by me! There are some things in life you cant change but you CAN change how you react and what you do. Know that what ever people do to you is on them but how you react is on you. Concentrate towards the future and leave the past where it belongs…in the past!

untitled

“The weak can never forgive. Forgiveness is the attribute of the strong.” Mahatma Gandhi

Bipolar · Bipolar Disorder · children · Depression · family · life · mania · Manic · Manic Depressive · marriage · parenting · sex · Uncategorized

The Unexpected Teaching’s of ParentHood

Being a parent is probably the hardest but most rewarding, life changing job you will ever have. When I became pregnant at 18, I never could have imagined the spin my life was about to take. I wasn’t necessarily sure it was for the better either, not at the time anyways. All my life the only thing that mattered to me, was me; a selfish existence I must admit but none the less it’s true. Once I had my oldest, It still didn’t completely hit me that I was in charge of this little person’s life! Me!! I wish I could give you this amazing story of motherhood that just came to me in a blink of an eye but that would be a bold face lie. I was completely and utterly clueless. To be honest I had no business having a baby so young, especially since I wasn’t ready but at the time I was 18 and “knew it all”.
Twelve years have passed since Christopher my oldest son was born and since then I have had another son named A.J, who is now 10 years old. So much has changed since then and it has been the craziest journey for me and them. You think that you will teach your children all that you know and guide them through life but that’s not always the case. Children will teach you more then you could have ever taught them. Children teach you to be humble, enjoy the small things, laugh at yourself, not to take life so seriously and to appreciate everything. Some may call it naive but the purity and the untainted, unconditional love that my children have for complete strangers blows my mind.

As young mother’s we are expected to know it all, to automatically have this Ora of perfection but not every mother does. There is so much judgement out there, criticism, anger and hate that we put these standards on ourselves to be perfect in an un-perfect world. Taking care of your mind, body and soul begins with realizing your imperfections and working on making a better you. It wont happen over night but every little bit counts.

Mother hood is a journey for the soul that can only be explained when you give your life to someone who needs you and in actuality learning that it is you, that needed them the entire time. My boys gave me courage, strength and ambition; traits that I didn’t have before they existed. Traits that I admire and see in them everyday and as we continue on this journey called a family we will cherish all that we have experienced. I still don’t know it all but I’m a way better mother than when I started. I had to break down everything that I thought a mother should be and build from the bottom to what a REAL mother is.

Enjoy the journey, who knows how long it will last~