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….

 

 

 

 

 

 

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,

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