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

Maybe Tomorrow

The sun has risen and the children are laughing in the distance. I can feel my husband rise and within moments I can smell the brewing of coffee, that means it’s time for my day to start.

I can’t move.

It’s seems to be the simplest thing; right? It isn’t though, it’s crippling. There is a fear to jump out into the world, a resistance from my bodies lack of energy and my mind’s refusal to acknowledge all that needs to be done.

I know that I will be a disappointment and the looks of dissatisfaction will only confirm my need to hide further within myself. If I could be a turtle, I would hide in my shell until all have disappeared. I can hear the clink of the dishes that need washing, the silent whispers of socks that haven’t been cleaned and feel the disapproval of the time that I have managed to squander. I have spent the past few days saying the same exact thing.

“Maybe tomorrow”

There is no real reason or explanation that I can muster. I simply hide further in the sheets, knowing that they provide a blanket of comfort. My bed allows for me to sleep and not feel, see or hear. The soft feel of my comforter holding me down and allowing me to stay. I know that I can’t or won’t manage a thing today. Sweet words and loving kisses will not change me. I have locked up and lost myself within the shadows of mind as depression consumes me.

What happened? I was so energized and optimistic just the other day. I was proactive and almost perfect. That woman seems far away from where I lay now. I know the world means well but I wish they understood. I wish they didn’t take it personal when I reject their calls. That they accepted my unwillingness to answer the door. I wish they all could see that it isn’t me.  That I truly want to be all that they expect of me.

But “Maybe tomorrow”

I can’t though. I am drowning in myself and the only one that can save me is unfortunately me. I will though, as I have time and time again. I will eventually rise, with my knotted hair, my 3 day worn pajamas and a frazzled look on my face. I will force myself to move. With every step, as a million pounds of bricks weigh me down. I will still trudge through and try. I will try to do all that I need to.

Today though I’m perfectly delighted to hide and that is where I will remain for today. So I whisper softly to myself.

“Maybe tomorrow”.

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

Where did I go?

When did the push and pull of life become the center of your being. The overwhelming exhaustion of life’s many trials.  Where did I go?

Where is the vibrance! The optimistic girl that once resided in me?

When did life become so predictable and dead stares of silence fill a room?

Knowing all and realizing you still know nothing can be the ultimate paradox.

The simplest of things aren’t so simple when you really consider it.

The need to be seen for the first time. To be valued and not pitied. The resistance that is put forth in order to protect yourself. The loneliness you feel when in a room filled with those you love. We all want to be loved, we all want to be acknowledged. Its what makes us human. The looks that turned from passion and hope; to resentment and hopelessness? When your feelings are deemed irritional and so you reserve them and shell up. There is a sense of jealousy towards all those who remain carefree. There is a sense of disappointment when all you had wished for became a joke.

Distant stares and secret cries carry its toll. The arguments that resolve nothing. The words that aren’t heard but hurt.

As a mother, wife and friend I had hoped for so much more. Am I wrong? The love is blocked by the 9 to 5, the children’s every need, the families every quarrel and the bills that appear with every coming day. The bulbs need to be changed, dinner needs to be made, wash the dishes and pay the bills before they shut it off. Think and think and solve and solve. Hoping for 100% and settling for keeping the peace.

Get over it, except it so you don’t end up with nothing and no-one. Is the presence all worth it. Craving for a different ending, knowing that it will never change. The difference is ever-changing and undeniable. The broken hearts that carry weight. Resolved in what life has provided. I don’t know, forget about it, Keep the peace. Is this ok? Those that are lonely pray for love and those that aren’t pray for happiness.

Sinking in a hole that no one sees but you. Praying to simply give up and knowing this isn’t even an option that should ever be entertained. The misunderstanding that all know how you feel or can even relate is bitter sweet. Pulling me back or pushing me forward is simply a form of control and sometimes the need to not care is enticing. Where are the invisible restraints that bound me and hold me without even being touched.

When did it disappear? When and where was the moment that changed it all? When did life ultimately diminish the faith and love that was once dear. When is your decision ever the right one? I know that the answer will never truly be clear and only time will tell. Never takes too long to be pulled back into the same spectrum that you have become accustomed to. Broken vows and innocent lies carry through and weigh you down with time. The pain that never left, the deceit that has never been forgiven. I don’t know if I like what I have become. The voices that whisper in the back of your mind and confirm  the scary questions that lie hidden. Who am I without you? The love that you provide never allows me to even ask. The loneliness you create also holds me in the dark.

The fight has diminished. I don’t know me any longer. I know that I should. Holding impossible dreams that cannot be controlled is not fair to anyone. The letting go is the simplest solution and at times the hardest. Knowing that you will never be heard will always remain a fallacy that can never be identified. Why can’t we simply cherish who and what we have? Why can’t we accept who we are not?  I know perfection doesn’t exist but perfection was never demanded. I cant say that I don’t dwell on whats been done. The ripples that still remain hold a a sadness that had never diminished.

We have been here before and I have no want to say everything and nothing all at the same time. Let go of what has been done and continue with faith that all will resolve itself.

There is no right or wrong. There is only the understanding and realization that change is needed. Change that can make or break you and those that you love.

Choose wisely and hope for the best as life never holds a gaurentee and doesn’t that scare you? I know It scares me…

 

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

Am I a prisoner of Impulse

Impulses are strong and the lack of control can override logic. Should we let go for just a moment, will that moment shape our eternity. I see it like this; you should live for the here and now as tomorrow is not a guarantee and though that is a well known cliche; it still holds weight. But when does living in the moment override all logic and the line placed before you in order to keep you safe, becomes a joke. When is living in the moment the reason that your life has faltered and the faces that once loved you, now look back in disdain.

In my life there is no grey spectrum it is all or nothing; black or white. There are no boundaries to refer to and no limits to stop my endless escapades.

Should we move?

Answer: Of Course!

Should we start a new business and leave our stable jobs?

Answer: Why not?!

Should we leave and drink until we are no longer in control of what’s happening?

Answer: Fuck it!

Once I have given in I know that I have created an unpredictable situation and I  am simply delighted to not care.  The sudden elevation in mood and the hyperactive thoughts overwhelm you and suddenly Bipolar is the one in control and you are sitting in the passenger seat praying for it to end. The results can be devastating but at that very moment you’re in pure ecstasy living at a whim. At any moment the circumstances can change and I am rapidly excited about the prospect. Giving in to your urges, your cravings and saying Fuck it is the most exhilarating feeling that only further justifies you when you clearly crave freedom.

The wind in your hair as you drive above the speed limit.  The sounds of the music playing ever so loudly in your car. The darkness  removing clarity and the open container of alcohol that feeds the flame. Not regretting the silly sudden dances, the exhilarating sexual kisses (what was her name again)? That moment provides life that a nine to five life cannot fulfil. The attention of all those around, the meaningless yet deep conversations, the eyes searching around; seeking a connection. The music rumbling and moving the body of those surrounding you. A spectacular atmosphere to only reconfirm your inhibitions.

The mind is a dangerous tool that can make you or break you. I have feared not only for my safety but for the integrity and beauty of my life. The awareness that I am slowly tipping the iceberg. The insistent warning from deep within that this cannot last forever. Holding on to the thinnest thread, reading the smallest of signals and praying for the courage to overcome the next impulse. To regard your finances, to limit your sexual urges and to hold on to a family that has taken a lifetime to create.

Are we our impulses?  Or are we simply prisoners of our illness? Do we hold ourselves accountable as the world does? I hold my impulses as lessons and of course I have regrets but should I give in to all that pain I have caused for myself and others. I could never get better. Not until I have realized the destruction that mania inflicts. Not until I resist my imprisonment and take back control what is rightfully mine.

My life…

 

 

 

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 · Obese · parenting · sex · Uncategorized · Weight

Group Therapy 

Automatically placed in the hands of the program manager. I am greeted with a black binder containing all the rituals and lessons I’m intended to learn. First thing on the agenda is the rules which contain so many obvious points but I suppose some find them absolutely absurd. It becomes apparent to me as this lady that carries herself with quite a bit of authority over those whom are helpless, that I am a prisoner to my dysfunctional mind. 

I am them escorted to art therapy, where we are instructed to pick out crayons, construction paper and markers. Today’s theme is gratitude and the project is to create a collage of all that we are grateful for. Maybe this is a proven method to heal the soul but for me it doesn’t intrigue the mind and to be quite honest I feel like I’m in kindergarten. Just because I have a mental illness, doesn’t mean I’m not an adult that deserves respect. The mediocre classes and assignments are basic babysitting methods disguised as therapy. 

As an intelligent individual that suffers from mood disorders how am I expected to be intrigued. Assuming that some sort of activity will provide me with insight and comfort, I am sadly disappointed with coloring classes and meditation that doesn’t include actual meditation. Those with mental illness are grouped together with those that have substance abuse issues. Many may assume that the two go hand in hand but it does not. People that have substance abuse issues are dealing with issues due to their addictions but those who have mental issues seek substance to rectify and alleviate their illness. To put it bluntly if a person with an addiction recovered they would be of sound, body and mind. A person with mentally illness could stop using substances but will always retain the same disorder. How does this help me you ask? It simply doesn’t and thats where our health and medical professionals fail us. We are not to be saved but simply babysat and billed. A sad Realization as I sit and color a tree of gratitude that will never soothe the racing thoughts that formulate in my mind. For I am grateful for all that I have but I simply cannot focus on that as my mind has taken hold of my life and the system has failed me and many like me just the same. 

As I look for a resolution to my thoughts, I am then introduced to meditation class that revolves around a fit, water drinking, tight wearing lady who sits in the center and provides insight on the drug industry. We are told that the food industry is Lying to us and sugar is the he devil. Within that moment meant not for not am I deprived of drugs and alcohol but I’am told that chocolate is another form of addiction that needs to eliminated. Not sure of how this will solve my immediate needs but I now understand that all things that you once made are also not allowed. In that moment by defiance is apparent and they will not take away my precious sugar as I have nothing left to hold onto.  
The next class is group therapy and it suddenly becomes apparent to me that I am placed in room of addicts that are filled with legal issues and regret. I have no issue with people that struggle from substance abuse, it’s just that I don’t relate. I don’t suffer from the same issues and in that moment I feel isolated. Holding on to the little sanity that I have I pray that I can leave sooner than later. In a group that consists of 30 none talking individuals, I fail to see the actual relevance of it all. I seek acceptance, I search for comfort and I am simply settle for discouragement and mediocrity.

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

To be Hungry or Not to be

You ever hit a point in life where you realize a serious change needs to be made? I imagine at some point everyone does but do you have what it takes to make the change? I sure didn’t, not at the time anyway. I have always been what you would call the chunky kid, the thick girl, the fat chick so to speak, in the group but never did I consider myself obese! Well if your hiding in the mountains of Pennsylvania with no thin friends in site its quite easy to reach the point of no return. I wish I could say that I ate because I was depressed or because of a medical condition such as my thyroid but to be honest I wasn’t any of those things. I’m actually the opposite, I eat when I’m happy and lose my appetite when I’m sad. Which sucks for me because I’m always happy!!

My moment of realization came to me in the form of embarrassment. It was in 2013, for my husband Alex and I’s Anniversary on a cruise ship. I’m not sure how many times I was told congratulations..It had become apparent to me that everyone thought I was pregnant. Imagine that…I was so embarrassed I didn’t have the will in me to tell them they were mistaken because then It would just mean that I’m fat.You see we live in a selfie era and to be honest that is an era that works perfectly for us thick chicks. All we have to do is get a good shot of our face and everything else Is irrelevant. There was so hiding it that week though, there were pictures, videos and tons of comments from waitresses to guests; by the time we docked I was almost due!

As  I looked at all the pictures I realized I was in fact the fat friend. The one that has a cute face and great personality but nothing more. What happened to me? When did I become this person? I had pains in my knees, frequent Asthma attacks, exhaustion, shortness of breath and a hunger that was never satisfied. As I ate one meal, I was already thinking about the next meal, wonder what I will eat tomorrow? Well no wonder I was as large as a whale, I never did my research, I never cared until it was too late, 300 lbs too late.

That my friends was my wake up call. I knew that my husband loved me no matter what size I was but I didn’t love me. Not just look wise but health wise, I was a 28 year old woman that felt like she had the body of an 80 year old. I didn’t feel physically, the way I felt mentally. Inside I was this outgoing, motivational go getter, on the outside I was this lazy, overweight woman that had settled.

So the journey begins, it has been 5 years since that cruise and I am down to 210. I go with small goals so not to overwhelm myself. As my husband always says it took me years to get this way, I wont loose it all in one night! There is no magical pill (trust me I’ve looked), only diet and exercise. To be honest though Diet isn’t even the right word, because eating healthy is a lifestyle, not a trend. Consistency is key my friends. Treat your body right, you only get one!