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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,

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 · 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!