Well, I'm figuring the lack of nicotine in my system is now causing some inflammatory condition which has turned me a huge lizard like creature roaming the valley.
Yes, I must apologize immediately for all that I am, probably, by the look on my cameraman's face, going to do and say for the next couple weeks.
But as you the readers of the bi-polar American understand, bi-polar experts you are becoming, realize, let's say it together, change my chemistry, change my emotions, and then...watch the fuck out.
To my brother and my friend, I am quitting smoking as I said I would do, and I damn well expect some sort of action out of you. No more drinking at all. Yes, you may need to be scared "straight" here.
And clearly I'm the one to do it.
You'll be home tomorrow, and I have no idea what sort of nonsense you have been up to, but you need to back up your end of the bargain.
Its not like stopping smoking is going to do anything for me at this point, so I'm doing this for you...and probably to you.
Yes, I apologize now and ask "Scooter" for as much control I can muster during this time. Explosive to say the least.
When a bi-polar actually scares other bi-polars, it is always bad sign.
I've got to stare down my demons and so do you. This is only an opportunity to empty the fear basket. Now let's do this and rock on. Again, just bumps in the road.
(The pens are starting to look like cigarettes. The camerman is afraid. Should be an interesting week. I'm spun tight, ready to fight. And Sept. 8th is right around the corner.)
Potential new mottos: "Don't Drink, the craving will go away in a wink"
"If you booze you lose, and possibly easily bruise." You wouldn't like that, being covered in bruises would you?
My mind is so silly and intense all at the same time. "I won't smoke, its no joke. You don't drink and the better you will think."
"No smoking, just lighting them up." I don't know I'll work on it, when my chemistry begins to balance out.
Talk soon, little brother. (This a no slurring or smokestack zone.)
Saturday, August 29, 2009
Tuesday, August 25, 2009
I'd rather be dead than not be able to work
I consulted with a NP, nurse practitioner today, who I am very impressed with at this point. Not only was their intelligent understanding and valid explanations, but this man actually knew what my original disability was, which nobody has ever actually known the first time I told them.
(Yeah, I had to have something strange. Go figure.)
I was damaged by an aminoglycoside antibiotic called Gentamicin. It burned out my inner ear, obfuscated my vision, and took away my balance.
But that was ten years ago.
My father recently asked me if I remembered what the date was when it happened.
I got snippy with him and said you never forget the day your vision and basically whole life changed: it was October 1, 1999.
For two years after that I worked to put on weight and muscle and reached a point at 130 pounds where I thought I could start my life up again. I learned to drive, read, catch a baseball, and walk all over again.
(Yeah, I had to have something strange. Go figure.)
I was damaged by an aminoglycoside antibiotic called Gentamicin. It burned out my inner ear, obfuscated my vision, and took away my balance.
But that was ten years ago.
My father recently asked me if I remembered what the date was when it happened.
I got snippy with him and said you never forget the day your vision and basically whole life changed: it was October 1, 1999.
For two years after that I worked to put on weight and muscle and reached a point at 130 pounds where I thought I could start my life up again. I learned to drive, read, catch a baseball, and walk all over again.
Funny that my therapy was taking care of two children, my cousin's kids. One of them was just learning to walk when I was too. I had gotten so strong I could carry one child under each arm and throw them in their rooms for their often much deserved, "time outs." They were a gift. They probably have no idea what their presence in my life meant to me.
Unfortunately, Grave's disease came along, to strip me of all the muscle and health I had regained. Grave's is an autoimmune disease which attacks the whole body, but specifically likes the thyroid and the eyes.
I went in today not for either of these issues, it was about the head injury which has left me with chronic damage to my neck. And constant pain.
As we talked about all of these issues I suddenly understood in a very real way that I am not going to get better. And I can accept that truth.
I told the NP, don't think you're going to fix these things, because that's not what I'm asking for. I'm asking only that you put a patch on me and let me work.
Realizing that I cannot sit at a meeting and take notes without hitting out of control pain levels and finding that my arms are numb, and my fingers feel like bees are stinging them, I just want to function to whatever ability I can now.
Sitting at a desktop computer is becoming very problematic for me as well. But to hell with it, I'll work in bed, with a laptop. And I'll attend meetings but not take notes, just go home and pull the quotes from the video and audio, while lying back on pillows.
There are problems, but then there are ways of getting around them, for now.
I was quite pleased also with this medical "professional" that he understood and did not make me feel diminished that I'm bi-polar.
After I explained my problems with taking medications, the mania/depression trigger which comes from pain, he was not overwhelmed or even fazed by the situation. I truly appreciated that.
I'm a mess, but a working mess. Blogging and writing isn't as easy for me as it may seem. Sometimes its downright fucking tough.
I cry a lot these days, but not out of pity for myself, but because it helps reduce the stress. I cried in Lens Crafters the other day because I had reached a point of pain I couldn't handle.
The people adjusting my glasses apparently thought I had an issue with their glasses. ? I didn't feel like explaining it to them, and just let the tears roll as they bent and reshaped the ear pieces of my sunglasses.
I'm realizing I have nothing to lose anymore. Who cares if I cry in public, I don't.
The idiot who threatened me with a gun earlier this year should have known he was the one in danger. Shooting me would probably be a gift, but it wasn't Christmas, so it didn't happen.
My stepfather, sort of, and one of my biggest supporters is dying of lymphoma. When we talk we always laugh about our respective situations. Neither of us is afraid.
I told him he's going to be bored when he dies, because I was already there. (I'll be posting the picture of the bathtub which I hit because of my original disability, you might be impressed that I'm still here)
My short visit to the death side of things, made me realize that me and everyone else have nothing to fear. It's quiet and peaceful, but I'm going to wait a while before I go back. I've got things to do. Situations to rectify and fights to write.
And I want to show my brother and sister about strength of character. My brother will quit drinking and I will quit smoking this week. (Oh, boy, the blogs should be interesting.)
And Lord help the Kern Valley Healthcare District next week at the board meeting. They thought the "shock and awe" campaign was nearly over, why, its only just begun.
Like my stepfather tells me, the most dangerous person is one who has nothing left to lose. And that's me.
So, doctor's do what you have to, but keep me working.
Friday, August 21, 2009
To my brother: Please stop drinking, I love you so much
Brother, I know you didn't expect to see anything like this on the blog, but as I said, this blog is about real issues. Your drinking problem is real. My concern is real. Your fiance's feelings are real too.
I know that I can't make you stop drinking. But I'm not willing to accept all the excuses you've been giving lately as to why you are doing it, again.
You say you can't write music without it, I'm not biting on that. I write daily without a single sip of booze, because I'm not afraid. I write crap I don't like all the time. I fail, fall on my face, and sometimes embarrass myself in the process. It makes me feel human really.
Booze is the fear buster isn't it? Nobody drinks Colt45 for the taste, its an alcoholic's choice. Cheap, nauseating buzz. You're trying to escape something and I don't know what it is. Maybe you don't either.
You left my house one night and forgot several cans of this beverage, and I caught our dog, we both love, Walter, lapping up the beer. When I yelled at him, he ran off drunk with a beer can in his mouth. (I'm sure we are officially white trash over here)
It's reached a point where I cannot bare to see you with a bottle of cheap beer in a bag, revving up your bi-polar engine, and screwing up your chemistry.
This has gone on too long. I watched you torture yourself with drugs, all kinds and any drugs basically for years. I lost you. I couldn't get through to you. And I realize even now it may just be too late this time as well.
I know you don't have a father anymore, and our mother is a lost, barren, soul, but you have me and our sister. And as you know, you called me back here, when I lay dead on your bathroom floor.
You also saved my life just weeks before that too. So, something tells me I am alive today at the request of you.
You then asked me to come out as bi-polar, so you didn't have to hide your own issues in shame and misunderstanding, and I did that. You wanted to see if justice could happen and I'm working hard on that project. I'm sure you will be pleased with the results if you put down your beer fear long enough.
I've shown you many times how to not let the bumps in the road stop you from doing what you love to do. You are a musician, you were born playing, you were never taught, you just knew.
But you bumped into the competition, I'm not good enough, I'll fail, energy, and forgot about the love of playing music. Each time you hit this stupid energy, you think you need a drink.
Fall on your face and fail, its great I do it all the time. When you get up from it, yeah it's bit painful, but its good to know there are an infinite number of notes and lyrics, an abundance of power in the universe, for you to use to create.
Somehow you have to use your music to heal yourself. But as of the last few years, you have been creating some sort of distorted ego to compensate for your lack of self esteem.
You've heard me say it a million times, we are all fucked up in some way or another, you're no better and no worse. You think deep down inside, in the quiet hours, that you are somehow worse than the rest of us. How could that be?
In fact you are more sensitive than most others and you have to account for that. Don't build a facade to cover up what is most special about you, your heart, your caring nature, your empathy, and your music. Your music that only you can produce through your filter.
But let's get down to it here as I've always been direct with you whether you like it or not. Stop drinking now. No more for the rest of your life. Kick out the fucking fear. FEAR: false evidence appearing real.
Kick out the depression you have brought on by altering your chemistry with alcohol. Depression is a sneaky little thing isn't it? It creeps up on you, whispers all sorts of down trodden messages. If you listen to it, believe it, then you are bound to live it. Have another beer it says and it will get better. People will hear the "real" stuff about you and all your superior drunken opinions.
It's drunken gibberish, which diminishes your capacity to really express yourself. God help you just express it, get it out. But it has to be done sober.
Brother we have so many chemicals firing off in our brains, we don't need anything else.
Your life is at the edge right now. The woman you love, and who will be the love of your life, cannot go through this anymore. You can't do this to her. And if you really want children, which is a tremendous responsibility, you can't do it to them.
It's not just about sobering up, its about changing the way you operate and think about your place in this world.
You're not strong yet. You have a ways to go. And the door to the pub of your life is closing. You will either be locked in or out for good depending on what you do next.
When you read this today, after you eat some breakfast off a plate and not out of a can, know that I'm going to suffer with you. You will not be alone.
I've never really been a drug addict, so I don't have that experience to share.
But I do still smoke cigarettes, which in some way is an escape, so I quit. That's it. I'll face down whatever energy started this habit in the first place. I know what it was too. Maybe it scares me. It must.
You will also never see me drink again, because I don't want you to think that I can do something you can't. It's no big loss for me.
Let's do it together. You're not alone this morning, I will be over here wondering why the pen on the desk looks so much like a cigarette.
I'm with you brother and I wish I could do it for you, but I can't. But I will take the steps with you and stop smoking.
It's really the end of the line, the rock bottom, you don't want to lose everything and everybody who cares but cannot watch you do this to yourself.
If you really can't handle life, and don't recognize and appreciate the wonderful things you have, and the good people in your life, then you will just continue down the path of destruction. It's your choice.
Just because you have a thought doesn't mean you have to act on it. This has all been your choice to live in fear and in alcohol.
And if you truly want to do this and don't believe you can do it yourself, then get help. AA is one way, our sister is an expert in that area. Or there's other ways to change your way of thinking, which is likely the whole problem.
Call me this morning and talk to me after you read this. Tell me what you're going to do. I love you so much and pray that you will find a way to come out of this.
Stop drinking and create through the pain. Remember, you did that before? Use the pain, transform it into something special. Like you.
But this is it, and that's why we're on the blog. She's already talked to you, and now you've heard from me. So, which is more frightening, losing us, or losing booze? Let me know. Love Laura
I know that I can't make you stop drinking. But I'm not willing to accept all the excuses you've been giving lately as to why you are doing it, again.
You say you can't write music without it, I'm not biting on that. I write daily without a single sip of booze, because I'm not afraid. I write crap I don't like all the time. I fail, fall on my face, and sometimes embarrass myself in the process. It makes me feel human really.
Booze is the fear buster isn't it? Nobody drinks Colt45 for the taste, its an alcoholic's choice. Cheap, nauseating buzz. You're trying to escape something and I don't know what it is. Maybe you don't either.
You left my house one night and forgot several cans of this beverage, and I caught our dog, we both love, Walter, lapping up the beer. When I yelled at him, he ran off drunk with a beer can in his mouth. (I'm sure we are officially white trash over here)
It's reached a point where I cannot bare to see you with a bottle of cheap beer in a bag, revving up your bi-polar engine, and screwing up your chemistry.
This has gone on too long. I watched you torture yourself with drugs, all kinds and any drugs basically for years. I lost you. I couldn't get through to you. And I realize even now it may just be too late this time as well.
I know you don't have a father anymore, and our mother is a lost, barren, soul, but you have me and our sister. And as you know, you called me back here, when I lay dead on your bathroom floor.
You also saved my life just weeks before that too. So, something tells me I am alive today at the request of you.
You then asked me to come out as bi-polar, so you didn't have to hide your own issues in shame and misunderstanding, and I did that. You wanted to see if justice could happen and I'm working hard on that project. I'm sure you will be pleased with the results if you put down your beer fear long enough.
I've shown you many times how to not let the bumps in the road stop you from doing what you love to do. You are a musician, you were born playing, you were never taught, you just knew.
But you bumped into the competition, I'm not good enough, I'll fail, energy, and forgot about the love of playing music. Each time you hit this stupid energy, you think you need a drink.
Fall on your face and fail, its great I do it all the time. When you get up from it, yeah it's bit painful, but its good to know there are an infinite number of notes and lyrics, an abundance of power in the universe, for you to use to create.
Somehow you have to use your music to heal yourself. But as of the last few years, you have been creating some sort of distorted ego to compensate for your lack of self esteem.
You've heard me say it a million times, we are all fucked up in some way or another, you're no better and no worse. You think deep down inside, in the quiet hours, that you are somehow worse than the rest of us. How could that be?
In fact you are more sensitive than most others and you have to account for that. Don't build a facade to cover up what is most special about you, your heart, your caring nature, your empathy, and your music. Your music that only you can produce through your filter.
But let's get down to it here as I've always been direct with you whether you like it or not. Stop drinking now. No more for the rest of your life. Kick out the fucking fear. FEAR: false evidence appearing real.
Kick out the depression you have brought on by altering your chemistry with alcohol. Depression is a sneaky little thing isn't it? It creeps up on you, whispers all sorts of down trodden messages. If you listen to it, believe it, then you are bound to live it. Have another beer it says and it will get better. People will hear the "real" stuff about you and all your superior drunken opinions.
It's drunken gibberish, which diminishes your capacity to really express yourself. God help you just express it, get it out. But it has to be done sober.
Brother we have so many chemicals firing off in our brains, we don't need anything else.
Your life is at the edge right now. The woman you love, and who will be the love of your life, cannot go through this anymore. You can't do this to her. And if you really want children, which is a tremendous responsibility, you can't do it to them.
It's not just about sobering up, its about changing the way you operate and think about your place in this world.
You're not strong yet. You have a ways to go. And the door to the pub of your life is closing. You will either be locked in or out for good depending on what you do next.
When you read this today, after you eat some breakfast off a plate and not out of a can, know that I'm going to suffer with you. You will not be alone.
I've never really been a drug addict, so I don't have that experience to share.
But I do still smoke cigarettes, which in some way is an escape, so I quit. That's it. I'll face down whatever energy started this habit in the first place. I know what it was too. Maybe it scares me. It must.
You will also never see me drink again, because I don't want you to think that I can do something you can't. It's no big loss for me.
Let's do it together. You're not alone this morning, I will be over here wondering why the pen on the desk looks so much like a cigarette.
I'm with you brother and I wish I could do it for you, but I can't. But I will take the steps with you and stop smoking.
It's really the end of the line, the rock bottom, you don't want to lose everything and everybody who cares but cannot watch you do this to yourself.
If you really can't handle life, and don't recognize and appreciate the wonderful things you have, and the good people in your life, then you will just continue down the path of destruction. It's your choice.
Just because you have a thought doesn't mean you have to act on it. This has all been your choice to live in fear and in alcohol.
And if you truly want to do this and don't believe you can do it yourself, then get help. AA is one way, our sister is an expert in that area. Or there's other ways to change your way of thinking, which is likely the whole problem.
Call me this morning and talk to me after you read this. Tell me what you're going to do. I love you so much and pray that you will find a way to come out of this.
Stop drinking and create through the pain. Remember, you did that before? Use the pain, transform it into something special. Like you.
But this is it, and that's why we're on the blog. She's already talked to you, and now you've heard from me. So, which is more frightening, losing us, or losing booze? Let me know. Love Laura
my own healthcare reform/justice for KVHD
As I suffered my regular, undiagnosed bouts of serious pain for the last two days, I had the awful thought that I may be tied to drugs for the rest of my life. They call it "pain management" and the pharmaceuticals are at the top of the list.
It really scared me to the point I couldn't stop thinking about it.
Then I realized, I'm not powerless over this thing, there must be something I can do to help myself. I want my "Lorenzo's Oil." I'm a problem solver, I hate to hear things like, "no" "I don't know" or my favorite irritant, "there's nothing we can do."
Screw them all for their lack of concern and their apparent sparingly used brain cells.
I'm on a mission for me right now too. Being disabled by an antibiotic called Gentamicin almost ten years ago was quite the eye opener.
I had to learn to see and walk again, and it took me two years to accomplish it.
Then at the peak of my rehabilitation, Grave's disease caught me as I was getting ready to restart the life.
Oh well, its been tough, but it has also been enlightening.
When I think about the nursing center in our valley hospital, it has come to a point where it makes me sick to imagine what everyone has gone through because of two people who need to be punished "at the highest level" for what they did to residents, families and this community.
I've had fantasies of taking a ride up to the hospital our former, evil, nursing home administrator fled to after she manipulated the community into believing she was true to her word.
Pictures flashed through my mind of dragging her out of there and bringing her back to face all the people she hurt. (There was a some torturing fantasies too. Botoxing her big mouth shut, throwing her in a geri-chair, and giving her dosages of psychotropics, then letting the staff have at her)
But I much prefer to do things the right way, like making sure she gets three good meals a day where she can no longer hurt people or have any power to ruin the careers and lives of others.
So many have been hurt because of her and some others, and still have not been able to recover from it.
And people stood by and let this happen.
I've been talking to a woman whose father died in the nursing center at the hospital, she still does not know what happened. They never notified her that her father died, she actually had to call the police and fire department to finally get information. Real nice.
So, I will continue, driven, to bring this horrific situation to an end so that we all can heal.
I just have to get around my own health issues, but trust me, I will find a way to do it, but do it right, unlike the government.
It really scared me to the point I couldn't stop thinking about it.
Then I realized, I'm not powerless over this thing, there must be something I can do to help myself. I want my "Lorenzo's Oil." I'm a problem solver, I hate to hear things like, "no" "I don't know" or my favorite irritant, "there's nothing we can do."
Screw them all for their lack of concern and their apparent sparingly used brain cells.
I'm on a mission for me right now too. Being disabled by an antibiotic called Gentamicin almost ten years ago was quite the eye opener.
I had to learn to see and walk again, and it took me two years to accomplish it.
Then at the peak of my rehabilitation, Grave's disease caught me as I was getting ready to restart the life.
Oh well, its been tough, but it has also been enlightening.
When I think about the nursing center in our valley hospital, it has come to a point where it makes me sick to imagine what everyone has gone through because of two people who need to be punished "at the highest level" for what they did to residents, families and this community.
I've had fantasies of taking a ride up to the hospital our former, evil, nursing home administrator fled to after she manipulated the community into believing she was true to her word.
Pictures flashed through my mind of dragging her out of there and bringing her back to face all the people she hurt. (There was a some torturing fantasies too. Botoxing her big mouth shut, throwing her in a geri-chair, and giving her dosages of psychotropics, then letting the staff have at her)
But I much prefer to do things the right way, like making sure she gets three good meals a day where she can no longer hurt people or have any power to ruin the careers and lives of others.
So many have been hurt because of her and some others, and still have not been able to recover from it.
And people stood by and let this happen.
I've been talking to a woman whose father died in the nursing center at the hospital, she still does not know what happened. They never notified her that her father died, she actually had to call the police and fire department to finally get information. Real nice.
So, I will continue, driven, to bring this horrific situation to an end so that we all can heal.
I just have to get around my own health issues, but trust me, I will find a way to do it, but do it right, unlike the government.
Saturday, August 15, 2009
Good luck to us all
Thank God, I have another blog where I can come to and write what's on my mind. This has been a crazy, emotional week, beginning to even describe it will be difficult.
After so long, being ill, stressed out, and generally disagreeable, I've kind of hit the floor again. Crying; lots of it this week.
I guess I'm growing up whether I like it or not.
People are fucked, the system is fucked, and why I ever thought it wasn't supposed to be that way is beyond me. I guess parents, teachers, government, religion, philosophy, psychology, theologies, had me thinking that there could be some intelligence, fairness in this world.
Stupidly, I thought people were real and authentic, and that deep down they really cared. What I've learned is deep down they are really scared.
Scared to be who they are and frightened to death that they might slip and be normal, fuck ups like the rest of us already know we are.
I know I have some fantasy world I live, not live in, but actually live. It's the one where people are more like me: not afraid to tell the truth, unembarrassed to be themselves, trying to be better and learn. Willing to admit to the truth, and more than anything else to stick to the truth, whether its painful or not.
Yeah, the great Pollyanna. The hero complex and all the rest.
I tried to live my ideals. Then I found out that by doing this, by being free to be me, I have upset the apple cart.
It's been a lifetime's worth of "I really respect you and like you," but could you change this long list of things about yourself so you don't scare me so much.
My early life was all about lies and deceit. Whether anyone in my family will ever admit to their own complicity and denial, is really unlikely. It's hard to watch people do the same things year after year until they fucking die.
But because I have some weird issue about the truth, I spent my life arguing, debating and fighting. Gee, things have really changed.
I remember the gossip mills from my childhood. Hell it was right there in my own house. Grossly flawed people judging other people about their race, religion, jobs, weight, height, color of their hair, the way they spoke, it didn't seem to matter, they just wanted to feel better about themselves by taking down others. (loserville)
I watched this for years. So, in my tiny child mind, I deduced that I didn't particularly care for this sort of mindset, and set out about finding my own. But I had to fight through the morass to get to my own situation, which is far from good, but the best I could do.
The past never goes away, we all have so many things that hurt us, and we think, "oh, if I don't think about it, it will be all right." And others who won't stop thinking about the past events yet will never do anything to actively try to change it.
Bitching and complaining, but no ovaries/balls to do anything about it.
I can't help but remember a short term job I had in an office situation. For one looonnnnngggg year, I heard everyone talking about all the negative issues within the office. My hours suck; my desk is in a corner, the boss is an idiot, the managers treat us like children, the system is inconvenient and on and on.
Not thinking I would be there very long, I didn't engage these things, and just made the best of my situation. Which tended to piss everyone off. Yes, I can have fun doing anything, pretty much.
Then the day came when they asked me to join them in a meeting with upper management. These weaklings sat there in front of the top dog, and put their noses between there paws and didn't say a thing.
The room was full of fear. The manager sensed it and began to placate everyone rather than actually problem solve.
Immediately I became irritated with the situation. Suddenly, I was talking, and giving it a good go. There's not too many who could have kept up with me in an argument in my younger days. And this day would be no exception.
After I castrated the managers for two hours, we all left the meeting. Like a flock of frightened fowl, these employees, circled around me, eyes agog, and said, "wow."
I dissed all of them. I said I have been listening to all of you cry and moan about your situations, and when you had the chance to share your opinion and have your voice heard, you sat there.
They said, yeah, but you did great. I left the job immediately, these were not the people I mesh with.
Honestly, I don't know who I mesh with. I have very good friends who have known me for years, and they had to learn to accept me, for all that I am and am not.
This week I am a wreck. Emotionally twisted into a ball. Conflicted in every way.
Why, because I do believe if you fight for right, you will win. That's plain idiocy. Justice is a roll of the dice. It won't balance out in the end.
That's what I have to learn. I'm involved in a situation where a lot of people were hurt, including myself. What people don't know about me except my close friends, is that I'm really a kind person who only wants to do the right thing.
Other people from the outside see me as "cocky" "smartass" who thinks she knows it all.
Let me let you in on my side of that widespread opinion. I am my worst critic. I will give everyone else a break before I will take mine, if I ever do.
And recently, I decided to pray in public, which apparently caused alarm amongst the audience who heard it. So, I'm assuming my reputation has escalated to the "devil" herself.
Fuck you all for thinking I'm not in constant contact with God. I ask for guidance in all matters. I realize I know nothing, and that anything I do seem to know comes from the creator of this life.
I don't think I'm better than anybody else. Quite frankly, I often think that I am somehow lower than everyone else. But I've worked on that self esteem issue and try to realize my place in this world.
Self esteem, that's another interesting thing I've learned about with other people this week. Sadly, I see wonderful people who don't know how great they are hiding in the background of life. You can't convince people they are very important to the universe, each of us has to find that place on our own.
Then the others I most likely will fight with, are the people who are so weak on the inside that they have to put up a huge front and they are rather aggressive when you touch those tender buttons. They will lie to protect their facade, attack to keep you out of their weak areas, and everything they say will just be a reaction. Not an action, of the will. A response like a single celled organism.
My other blog is full of sarcasm, humor, showmanship, but that is a tool, it is not me. I learned it well though.
It's my invisible sword. Words are my missiles, and they have hit many targets. Some of it was friendly fire, regrettably so, but we can all learn from what makes us tick or freak.
A friend of mine asked me a question and that was, "are you happy." I had recently arrived home from another horrific medical experience and couldn't remember anything else she said.
While I took my respite to heal up, I realized I was angry about the question. Then I thought I was angry with my friend. When I stopped resisting the feelings, suddenly the answer came.
"Yes, this is what makes me happy." I called her to tell her about my answer, she hadn't really thought about it again, but I did.
We got into a long discussion about happiness, and I realized, not just intellectualized, I knew that I am becoming what I was supposed to become. What was on the back of my seed packet. "Needs partial sunlight, water and feed regularly."
Happiness is the underlying acceptance that it comes from within, not from outside sources. So many people can't or won't let themselves be happy until they have enough money, look better on the outside, have a great job, or whatever needs we use to put off being happy.
I think its more of an acceptance of all of life.
At this moment, I accept that there's a battle about to ensue, and that I will do my best to take it on. I'll do it by God's direction, and whatever happens will be what was meant to happen.
I'm learning. I'm mad at the world, but that is the stupid part, as I am my world.
Well that was wild rant. Fuck yeah. I'm afraid for my readers, because I'm wound up now. I'll try to post a warning: Rant in progress. Maybe not, you can figure it out for yourselves.
Trust is the next issue. I'm so conflicted in that area right now. It could be my lifelong issue in fact. I suppose we all go through it. But I'm sitting on documents for court and I don't know what to do but kick a chair or slam things around.
I've not been crying for myself this week, I've cried for others. Prayed that they make good decisions, that they learn, and that when the dust settles we will all come out of this thing stronger than ever before.
Good luck to us all.
After so long, being ill, stressed out, and generally disagreeable, I've kind of hit the floor again. Crying; lots of it this week.
I guess I'm growing up whether I like it or not.
People are fucked, the system is fucked, and why I ever thought it wasn't supposed to be that way is beyond me. I guess parents, teachers, government, religion, philosophy, psychology, theologies, had me thinking that there could be some intelligence, fairness in this world.
Stupidly, I thought people were real and authentic, and that deep down they really cared. What I've learned is deep down they are really scared.
Scared to be who they are and frightened to death that they might slip and be normal, fuck ups like the rest of us already know we are.
I know I have some fantasy world I live, not live in, but actually live. It's the one where people are more like me: not afraid to tell the truth, unembarrassed to be themselves, trying to be better and learn. Willing to admit to the truth, and more than anything else to stick to the truth, whether its painful or not.
Yeah, the great Pollyanna. The hero complex and all the rest.
I tried to live my ideals. Then I found out that by doing this, by being free to be me, I have upset the apple cart.
It's been a lifetime's worth of "I really respect you and like you," but could you change this long list of things about yourself so you don't scare me so much.
My early life was all about lies and deceit. Whether anyone in my family will ever admit to their own complicity and denial, is really unlikely. It's hard to watch people do the same things year after year until they fucking die.
But because I have some weird issue about the truth, I spent my life arguing, debating and fighting. Gee, things have really changed.
I remember the gossip mills from my childhood. Hell it was right there in my own house. Grossly flawed people judging other people about their race, religion, jobs, weight, height, color of their hair, the way they spoke, it didn't seem to matter, they just wanted to feel better about themselves by taking down others. (loserville)
I watched this for years. So, in my tiny child mind, I deduced that I didn't particularly care for this sort of mindset, and set out about finding my own. But I had to fight through the morass to get to my own situation, which is far from good, but the best I could do.
The past never goes away, we all have so many things that hurt us, and we think, "oh, if I don't think about it, it will be all right." And others who won't stop thinking about the past events yet will never do anything to actively try to change it.
Bitching and complaining, but no ovaries/balls to do anything about it.
I can't help but remember a short term job I had in an office situation. For one looonnnnngggg year, I heard everyone talking about all the negative issues within the office. My hours suck; my desk is in a corner, the boss is an idiot, the managers treat us like children, the system is inconvenient and on and on.
Not thinking I would be there very long, I didn't engage these things, and just made the best of my situation. Which tended to piss everyone off. Yes, I can have fun doing anything, pretty much.
Then the day came when they asked me to join them in a meeting with upper management. These weaklings sat there in front of the top dog, and put their noses between there paws and didn't say a thing.
The room was full of fear. The manager sensed it and began to placate everyone rather than actually problem solve.
Immediately I became irritated with the situation. Suddenly, I was talking, and giving it a good go. There's not too many who could have kept up with me in an argument in my younger days. And this day would be no exception.
After I castrated the managers for two hours, we all left the meeting. Like a flock of frightened fowl, these employees, circled around me, eyes agog, and said, "wow."
I dissed all of them. I said I have been listening to all of you cry and moan about your situations, and when you had the chance to share your opinion and have your voice heard, you sat there.
They said, yeah, but you did great. I left the job immediately, these were not the people I mesh with.
Honestly, I don't know who I mesh with. I have very good friends who have known me for years, and they had to learn to accept me, for all that I am and am not.
This week I am a wreck. Emotionally twisted into a ball. Conflicted in every way.
Why, because I do believe if you fight for right, you will win. That's plain idiocy. Justice is a roll of the dice. It won't balance out in the end.
That's what I have to learn. I'm involved in a situation where a lot of people were hurt, including myself. What people don't know about me except my close friends, is that I'm really a kind person who only wants to do the right thing.
Other people from the outside see me as "cocky" "smartass" who thinks she knows it all.
Let me let you in on my side of that widespread opinion. I am my worst critic. I will give everyone else a break before I will take mine, if I ever do.
And recently, I decided to pray in public, which apparently caused alarm amongst the audience who heard it. So, I'm assuming my reputation has escalated to the "devil" herself.
Fuck you all for thinking I'm not in constant contact with God. I ask for guidance in all matters. I realize I know nothing, and that anything I do seem to know comes from the creator of this life.
I don't think I'm better than anybody else. Quite frankly, I often think that I am somehow lower than everyone else. But I've worked on that self esteem issue and try to realize my place in this world.
Self esteem, that's another interesting thing I've learned about with other people this week. Sadly, I see wonderful people who don't know how great they are hiding in the background of life. You can't convince people they are very important to the universe, each of us has to find that place on our own.
Then the others I most likely will fight with, are the people who are so weak on the inside that they have to put up a huge front and they are rather aggressive when you touch those tender buttons. They will lie to protect their facade, attack to keep you out of their weak areas, and everything they say will just be a reaction. Not an action, of the will. A response like a single celled organism.
My other blog is full of sarcasm, humor, showmanship, but that is a tool, it is not me. I learned it well though.
It's my invisible sword. Words are my missiles, and they have hit many targets. Some of it was friendly fire, regrettably so, but we can all learn from what makes us tick or freak.
A friend of mine asked me a question and that was, "are you happy." I had recently arrived home from another horrific medical experience and couldn't remember anything else she said.
While I took my respite to heal up, I realized I was angry about the question. Then I thought I was angry with my friend. When I stopped resisting the feelings, suddenly the answer came.
"Yes, this is what makes me happy." I called her to tell her about my answer, she hadn't really thought about it again, but I did.
We got into a long discussion about happiness, and I realized, not just intellectualized, I knew that I am becoming what I was supposed to become. What was on the back of my seed packet. "Needs partial sunlight, water and feed regularly."
Happiness is the underlying acceptance that it comes from within, not from outside sources. So many people can't or won't let themselves be happy until they have enough money, look better on the outside, have a great job, or whatever needs we use to put off being happy.
I think its more of an acceptance of all of life.
At this moment, I accept that there's a battle about to ensue, and that I will do my best to take it on. I'll do it by God's direction, and whatever happens will be what was meant to happen.
I'm learning. I'm mad at the world, but that is the stupid part, as I am my world.
Well that was wild rant. Fuck yeah. I'm afraid for my readers, because I'm wound up now. I'll try to post a warning: Rant in progress. Maybe not, you can figure it out for yourselves.
Trust is the next issue. I'm so conflicted in that area right now. It could be my lifelong issue in fact. I suppose we all go through it. But I'm sitting on documents for court and I don't know what to do but kick a chair or slam things around.
I've not been crying for myself this week, I've cried for others. Prayed that they make good decisions, that they learn, and that when the dust settles we will all come out of this thing stronger than ever before.
Good luck to us all.
Friday, August 7, 2009
What this blog means to me...
It looks and feels like this blog has become a place for me to have some sort of emotional cartharsis, which isn't exactly what I had planned. My writers have been somewhat timid so far, but now that they have read some of the things I've written, they're feeling less inhibited about posting.
So, it seems for now, all of us with the "Order of the Bi-Polar Disorder," will be utilizing this site for our personal insight and for the expansion of other minds.
I'm just going to let this site develop itself. If it's emotions we are dealing with, past post traumatic stress issues, relationships, mood swings, depression, I really don't care, I want it written here.
As much as I am a different person on my KVHD blog, that is a whole different ballgame. It's a style, a character, created for a certain type of situation.
But it doesn't really belie who I really am. And since I'm quite interested in who I am and why I'm still alive, I come here to say it.
And I've invited others and insisted that they let down the facade and really talk. About anything.
Who I am now was forged from the fires of the Kern River Valley, I place I came to sick and looking for a den to crawl in. But the type of healing that I recieved was probably not like most who find a doctor and a pill, and head back down the path.
I found a doctor and a pill allright, but that was not what healed me. Oh, do I think I'm healed?
In fact I do. I'm healed in my acceptance of myself.
My self esteem works like this: as bi-polar the continual flipping off and on of the light switch, causes continual changes in perspective, so I believe simply that I am no better or no worse than anyone else.
It's an even playing field. We are all great in one way and ghastly in another.
I've learned to forgive myself, which is the hardest thing I practice, a real work out to say "it's okay to screw up."
Holding such high standards for myself, I found that I would always fall short somehow. I tried ditching the standards for "anything goes" but could not live that way either.
Then when my life lessons came to me one after the other, I didn't try to put out the fire, I just let it burn me, until I was completely gone.
Or at least I thought I was. What I found left seemed to be the core of me. Alive and well and ready to rock on.
If the many things hadn't happened, I would not have had the opportunity, the god given chance, to know who I am. And I am just your average anyone.
I breath, I cry, I laugh, I die, just like anyone else. What a concept.
Either I was too small or too large, nothing I was wearing before fit me.
When I say I'm healed, I don't necessarily mean that I've reached perfection or homeostasis, I mean I'm healed enough to begin repairing the rest.
Before, I was lost. Lost in my intellect, lost in my chemistry, but I've got a map.
Whatever this blog turns out to be, I want it to be honest and heartfelt in what we do here.
When we feel silly, we will be silly. When there is pain, then let it be pain. When there is sorrow let there be sorrow. When there is failure let it be a lesson. And when there is success, let it be appreciated.
There are a lot of projects I am working on, from bed to desk all day and night, but I will now consider this blog my touchstone to who I really am.
And hopefully, it will ground me to this place in time where I have arrived.
So, it seems for now, all of us with the "Order of the Bi-Polar Disorder," will be utilizing this site for our personal insight and for the expansion of other minds.
I'm just going to let this site develop itself. If it's emotions we are dealing with, past post traumatic stress issues, relationships, mood swings, depression, I really don't care, I want it written here.
As much as I am a different person on my KVHD blog, that is a whole different ballgame. It's a style, a character, created for a certain type of situation.
But it doesn't really belie who I really am. And since I'm quite interested in who I am and why I'm still alive, I come here to say it.
And I've invited others and insisted that they let down the facade and really talk. About anything.
Who I am now was forged from the fires of the Kern River Valley, I place I came to sick and looking for a den to crawl in. But the type of healing that I recieved was probably not like most who find a doctor and a pill, and head back down the path.
I found a doctor and a pill allright, but that was not what healed me. Oh, do I think I'm healed?
In fact I do. I'm healed in my acceptance of myself.
My self esteem works like this: as bi-polar the continual flipping off and on of the light switch, causes continual changes in perspective, so I believe simply that I am no better or no worse than anyone else.
It's an even playing field. We are all great in one way and ghastly in another.
I've learned to forgive myself, which is the hardest thing I practice, a real work out to say "it's okay to screw up."
Holding such high standards for myself, I found that I would always fall short somehow. I tried ditching the standards for "anything goes" but could not live that way either.
Then when my life lessons came to me one after the other, I didn't try to put out the fire, I just let it burn me, until I was completely gone.
Or at least I thought I was. What I found left seemed to be the core of me. Alive and well and ready to rock on.
If the many things hadn't happened, I would not have had the opportunity, the god given chance, to know who I am. And I am just your average anyone.
I breath, I cry, I laugh, I die, just like anyone else. What a concept.
Either I was too small or too large, nothing I was wearing before fit me.
When I say I'm healed, I don't necessarily mean that I've reached perfection or homeostasis, I mean I'm healed enough to begin repairing the rest.
Before, I was lost. Lost in my intellect, lost in my chemistry, but I've got a map.
Whatever this blog turns out to be, I want it to be honest and heartfelt in what we do here.
When we feel silly, we will be silly. When there is pain, then let it be pain. When there is sorrow let there be sorrow. When there is failure let it be a lesson. And when there is success, let it be appreciated.
There are a lot of projects I am working on, from bed to desk all day and night, but I will now consider this blog my touchstone to who I really am.
And hopefully, it will ground me to this place in time where I have arrived.
Thursday, August 6, 2009
Guest Writers trickling in...
(This blog is new and under construction and creation at all times. Guest writers are the core part of the reason for this outlet. To both share with everyone, bi-polar or not, and learn for themselves by opening up and getting this out. The revelations, the torment, the hilarity: there are no boundaries, no restrictions. )
Guest Writers:
now I understand
i had a conversation with my fiance about how she always says dont leave me.i said now i would never leave you for another woman.she said thats not what she means ,shes found me drenched in my own blood when i slashed my wrist to the bone,to the bone she repeated......im worried your going to leave me that way.
now how i missed that all this time...when i consider my self an empath that read peoples feeelings pretty fuckin good.cause i knew she didnt feel i would cheat,but i felt she was honestly worried about me leaving her.now i know
Writer's moods:
Confusion
Move forward, or go back to what I believe I know? True uncertainty or false familiarity? Is the pain all in my mind? Is the pain worth the prize? Am I just a fool? Am I strong enough to play the fool at any cost, including having my own worst fears come to light before my very eyes? Could my spirit truly take another blow like the one I have suffered?
I am confused; The questions are endless, the torment is endless. I am stuck in the middle. I am without inertia, perpetually still. I am in an ocean of thick, black nothingness; a void so dense and without remorse it takes of my essense greedily and mocks me while doing so. I am drowning in such unrelenting sorrow that even the violins weep at my song.
Clarity is what I seek; to conclude a journey of pain endured through loss of naivity and innocence and of which wisdom may be forged; to see at last what it is that eluded my sight for so long; to open my weary eyes and let me see unclouded that which basks in mystery and hides from a careworn, persistent heart.
I long to be free from the chains that enslave my soul and eclipse the now broken, uneven light I once shared. There are no victims, and there is no blame; only choices, and the struggles and triumphs that ensue. The choice I made some time ago, be it for the better or worse...was to remain ignorant no longer.
The Birth of a Dream:
mood: inspired
The Birth of a Dream Like all things in creation it begins small; an idea, a feeling...a faint beat from a place distant and unknown. It is fragile, fleeting, and uncertain but if you listen close - not with your ears but with your heart - a crescendo of its rhythm emerges slowly and becomes more defined until it is clear that this beat you hear deep down inside...is already a part of you.
However, your heart can be reluctant and perhaps you hesitate to listen. You cannot hide from the doubt you feel but the beat cares not. It calls out undeniably to be brought forth to light and its song heard and so you begin to toy with the idea...and to question it. "Could I if I truly wanted to?" you ask yourself doubtfully. It seems silly at first, almost absurd, and you don't take any of it very seriously...yet the beat remains steady, true, and waits patiently to be answered. "What if?"...
The questions grow in number and frequency but soon small barriers you once struggled with are overcome and triumphs of immeasurable depth and purpose are achieved until at last one day you truly hear the song. Even if others cannot hear it, you can, and the chords it strikes reverberate deep within and stir you unlike anything before. Nobody believes it's there. Nobody cares. But you do. It is no longer silly to you; it is no longer questionable; it has become a thing of meaning, beauty, and inspiration and it is yours.
Your heart now beats in steady rhythm with it and it has become the most powerful song you have ever heard or felt. This compels you and at long last the time has come to answer its call because you now understand what it is you must do. And you shall never be the same again; this was a transitional journey of the heart, mind, and soul that all began as a tiny piece of who you are...and grew into something extraordinary and more amazing than you ever imagined possible...simply because you learned to listen with your heart and in doing so witnessed...the birth of a dream.
Guest Writers:
now I understand
i had a conversation with my fiance about how she always says dont leave me.i said now i would never leave you for another woman.she said thats not what she means ,shes found me drenched in my own blood when i slashed my wrist to the bone,to the bone she repeated......im worried your going to leave me that way.
now how i missed that all this time...when i consider my self an empath that read peoples feeelings pretty fuckin good.cause i knew she didnt feel i would cheat,but i felt she was honestly worried about me leaving her.now i know
Writer's moods:
Confusion
Move forward, or go back to what I believe I know? True uncertainty or false familiarity? Is the pain all in my mind? Is the pain worth the prize? Am I just a fool? Am I strong enough to play the fool at any cost, including having my own worst fears come to light before my very eyes? Could my spirit truly take another blow like the one I have suffered?
I am confused; The questions are endless, the torment is endless. I am stuck in the middle. I am without inertia, perpetually still. I am in an ocean of thick, black nothingness; a void so dense and without remorse it takes of my essense greedily and mocks me while doing so. I am drowning in such unrelenting sorrow that even the violins weep at my song.
Clarity is what I seek; to conclude a journey of pain endured through loss of naivity and innocence and of which wisdom may be forged; to see at last what it is that eluded my sight for so long; to open my weary eyes and let me see unclouded that which basks in mystery and hides from a careworn, persistent heart.
I long to be free from the chains that enslave my soul and eclipse the now broken, uneven light I once shared. There are no victims, and there is no blame; only choices, and the struggles and triumphs that ensue. The choice I made some time ago, be it for the better or worse...was to remain ignorant no longer.
The Birth of a Dream:
mood: inspired
The Birth of a Dream Like all things in creation it begins small; an idea, a feeling...a faint beat from a place distant and unknown. It is fragile, fleeting, and uncertain but if you listen close - not with your ears but with your heart - a crescendo of its rhythm emerges slowly and becomes more defined until it is clear that this beat you hear deep down inside...is already a part of you.
However, your heart can be reluctant and perhaps you hesitate to listen. You cannot hide from the doubt you feel but the beat cares not. It calls out undeniably to be brought forth to light and its song heard and so you begin to toy with the idea...and to question it. "Could I if I truly wanted to?" you ask yourself doubtfully. It seems silly at first, almost absurd, and you don't take any of it very seriously...yet the beat remains steady, true, and waits patiently to be answered. "What if?"...
The questions grow in number and frequency but soon small barriers you once struggled with are overcome and triumphs of immeasurable depth and purpose are achieved until at last one day you truly hear the song. Even if others cannot hear it, you can, and the chords it strikes reverberate deep within and stir you unlike anything before. Nobody believes it's there. Nobody cares. But you do. It is no longer silly to you; it is no longer questionable; it has become a thing of meaning, beauty, and inspiration and it is yours.
Your heart now beats in steady rhythm with it and it has become the most powerful song you have ever heard or felt. This compels you and at long last the time has come to answer its call because you now understand what it is you must do. And you shall never be the same again; this was a transitional journey of the heart, mind, and soul that all began as a tiny piece of who you are...and grew into something extraordinary and more amazing than you ever imagined possible...simply because you learned to listen with your heart and in doing so witnessed...the birth of a dream.
Tuesday, August 4, 2009
dueling writers, bi-polar, and slightly damaged....
King Arthur wrote:
So, I'm bi polar. What does that mean to me? It means I am piloting a vehicle that can go from still to fucking mach 3 in less time than it probably took you to ask yourself "what the fuck does bi polar mean?"
I have been given a tuned-up, badass machine to cruise in and although at times I may seem like I am going to careen out of control at any moment, my machinehead is cruisin' beyond your sight and leavin' your narrow-minded, clouded, blinded, ignorant ass in the wake of my fucking foresight!
Now, with that said...what does being bi polar mean to you?
Bi-polar reporter wrote:
Well, King Arthur, the bi-polar majesty, I'll tell you what it means to me...the bi-polar reporter.
Today, we have a dualing blog of bi-polar energy. Arthur is a wiley lad and I am an old manic from way back.
What I know is that I have the power to break through walls that make others claustrophobic, and when I'm not doing that, I'm aching for the freedom to fully emit me to the world.
It took years and years to really accept that I am bi-polar and not just a really emotional writer.
Here in the Kern River Valley, a lake surrounded by a few small towns, cloistered together in sometimes peace, but a lot of times strange oddities.
When I was 20, I was quite the devil, and quite the misunderstood. I believed very much in principles and morals, and was always willing to fight for what I believed in.
What gave me this power was the chemical make up of my mind. Where as others give up when things are at there worst, I wake up and create a way to spin the situation.
I believe in god or as I like to call the creator, "Scooter," and it gave me the strength to carry on each fluxuating day of my life.
My good friend and co-writer, King Arthur, and I have been on a journey together for the last year, and he has found something in himself, he never believed was there (we will have him explain that to you now)...
King Arthur wrote:
Yes...indeed good points made and good form. We are not evil brethren, that should be shunned upon and otherwise taken for a small and lowly progeny in the back of society's mind but rather prevalent and substantial contributors to the common folk; the Robin Hoods of mental disorders that cannot and will not choose to comform to statistical normalcy! Fuck that! I am what I am and whoever disagrees with this can FUCK OFF!
Now, getting to what has truly enlightened me...I have found that in order for you to fully discover and develop your strengths you must first have everything taken from you. I'm talking dignity, respect, fucking EVERYTHING.
And when your ashes fall away and you rise up against everything that has torn you down to look those motherfuckers in the face with fire in your eyes and a burning passion in your soul, you will see what I fucking mean! No words here can prepare you for the struggle you must ensue nor the strength you shall gain but do know it is a journey worth taking, one of heart, mind and soul that will leave you forever changed. Try and stop me now, naysayers! You can't! You forged me in the fires of your malice and ignorance and now you have to fucking deal with me!!
Bi-polar reporter wrote:
Dammit, I had a whole blog figured for "you forged me in your fires."
But that's allright, I can handle it.
Yes, I have been the gadfly, the daredevil, who has been barraging the Kern Valley Healthcare District and the government, with correspondence and criticism, but that is what I do best.
I was hurt badly in 2007 by many people whom I trusted and tried to protect, it was a painful year.
But what seems to be bad can often turn out to be good.
The learning process seems arduous and sometimes doesn't feel like it is ever going to pay off: but then I realized not at all.
I have learned so much about life, love, trust, faith, that I will say to you now it was all worth it.
If I had not gone through the trials by fire, I would not be the same person I am today. And I'm a much happier person now that I realize that I can survive all of it and find the prize at the bottom of the box.
Life shot me down in mid-air, set me aflame, and laughed while I writhed in its agony. Moments went by where I assumed I would die from all of it. The physical and emotional pain were so overwhelming my survival mechanism, faltered. There seemed to be nothing to live for.
Funny enough, there was much to live for. Many people came to my aid and lifted me out of the grave being dug, and pounded on my chest, until I gasped life again.
Honestly, I didn't care whether I lived or died, but other people did.
I think of their faces right now, looking at me, praying for me, hoping I would not leave them.
The trials didn't stop though, and one after the other, I had to endure. I couldn't honestly tell anyone of the people who love me, that I could carry on. I really didn't think I could.
In an effort to help my mother, who is bi-polar as well as chronically dememted, I found myself in a very serious situation.
She was unable to formulate anything reasonable, and had people around her who were just as scrambled as she was.
Unfortunately, I ended up fighting one of them.
At 90 pounds of bone and shriveling muscle, I found myself face to face with an attacker.
This attacker was unexpected as my mother had sent him my way. I didn't know what was going to happen.
Five hours of fighting and psychological warfare was what it took to drive off this psychotic person: but unfortunately it was seemingly all I had left.
I drank and I popped pills and I screamed at the top of my lungs at my mother as she drove me to the apartment where this scoundrel lived.
He was fortunate I did not find him that day. It would have been the day he died.
However, I now no longer felt like living. Yes, that bi-polar can drag you down to the bottom of the ocean, and make you believe that there are no other options.
My mother, who does not believe she is bi-polar or to this day, that there is anything wrong with her thinking, was a menace to society and to me.
Helping her brought me to the ground, and only fate would choose what would happen next.
After a call to the police and a lot of yelling, my mother, cast me out of her house and into the cold windy night.
I had a bottle of wine with me and my father picked me up off the side of the road, drunk and angry.
He didn't know what to do. He wanted to kill the guy.
But, I am the kind of person who would talk her father out of such a notion, so that he could sleept that night.
I told him, "I'm good, go home, and call me tomorrow, I love you."
My father left me rolling around on the floor in serious pain. I had been thrown against the dresser, my head swollen from the serious injury.
Now it was time to kill me off for good.
I don't remember much of what happened, just that I had booze and pills and a mind bent to kill who I though was responsible: me.
But apparently, I called my sister and she called my brother.
My brother just told me that he got a call from my sister, and she thought I was on my way out. And they were right.
They drove all morning and afternoon from California to Arizona, and arrived at my house that evening.
My sister, had a big brick she was ready to throw through the window to get in. But my brother told her to wait.
He knocked three times and yelled at me, "we love you, please come to the door."
Somehow, half unconscious, I came to the door. I fell into his arms and they took me to the hospital, where they pumped my stomach and revived me.
The police were there taking pictures of my shrunken, beaten body. I remember I couldn't say anything, I just looked at them.
That night my sister, brother and I slept in my bed, them talking to me keeping me going. We smoked, talked and the next morning went to the police station for examination.
I didn't want to do it, really. My sister told me I had to do this the right way. I just wanted to kill the guy and my mother.
Instead, I got the full report.
They took me back to California, beaten and broken and scared. I stayed with my brother, who had just lost his father and his girlfriend, and watched as I tried to recover.
Then, I woke up to go to the bathroom, headed fast into the dark room, hit the switch and realized the switch was going sideways, while I was pushing up.
The sound was so loud as my face hit the side of the tub. The molecules of my body were dissapating, breaking apart. All I heard was the word, "death."
It was quiet and comfortable whereever I had went. But I was not long for the afterlife, as my brother in terror, yelled, "don't die."
I woke up, blood everywhere, and began a whole new life. Welcome to my world. More soon.
We will be back with the rest of the story...
So, I'm bi polar. What does that mean to me? It means I am piloting a vehicle that can go from still to fucking mach 3 in less time than it probably took you to ask yourself "what the fuck does bi polar mean?"
I have been given a tuned-up, badass machine to cruise in and although at times I may seem like I am going to careen out of control at any moment, my machinehead is cruisin' beyond your sight and leavin' your narrow-minded, clouded, blinded, ignorant ass in the wake of my fucking foresight!
Now, with that said...what does being bi polar mean to you?
Bi-polar reporter wrote:
Well, King Arthur, the bi-polar majesty, I'll tell you what it means to me...the bi-polar reporter.
Today, we have a dualing blog of bi-polar energy. Arthur is a wiley lad and I am an old manic from way back.
What I know is that I have the power to break through walls that make others claustrophobic, and when I'm not doing that, I'm aching for the freedom to fully emit me to the world.
It took years and years to really accept that I am bi-polar and not just a really emotional writer.
Here in the Kern River Valley, a lake surrounded by a few small towns, cloistered together in sometimes peace, but a lot of times strange oddities.
When I was 20, I was quite the devil, and quite the misunderstood. I believed very much in principles and morals, and was always willing to fight for what I believed in.
What gave me this power was the chemical make up of my mind. Where as others give up when things are at there worst, I wake up and create a way to spin the situation.
I believe in god or as I like to call the creator, "Scooter," and it gave me the strength to carry on each fluxuating day of my life.
My good friend and co-writer, King Arthur, and I have been on a journey together for the last year, and he has found something in himself, he never believed was there (we will have him explain that to you now)...
King Arthur wrote:
Yes...indeed good points made and good form. We are not evil brethren, that should be shunned upon and otherwise taken for a small and lowly progeny in the back of society's mind but rather prevalent and substantial contributors to the common folk; the Robin Hoods of mental disorders that cannot and will not choose to comform to statistical normalcy! Fuck that! I am what I am and whoever disagrees with this can FUCK OFF!
Now, getting to what has truly enlightened me...I have found that in order for you to fully discover and develop your strengths you must first have everything taken from you. I'm talking dignity, respect, fucking EVERYTHING.
And when your ashes fall away and you rise up against everything that has torn you down to look those motherfuckers in the face with fire in your eyes and a burning passion in your soul, you will see what I fucking mean! No words here can prepare you for the struggle you must ensue nor the strength you shall gain but do know it is a journey worth taking, one of heart, mind and soul that will leave you forever changed. Try and stop me now, naysayers! You can't! You forged me in the fires of your malice and ignorance and now you have to fucking deal with me!!
Bi-polar reporter wrote:
Dammit, I had a whole blog figured for "you forged me in your fires."
But that's allright, I can handle it.
Yes, I have been the gadfly, the daredevil, who has been barraging the Kern Valley Healthcare District and the government, with correspondence and criticism, but that is what I do best.
I was hurt badly in 2007 by many people whom I trusted and tried to protect, it was a painful year.
But what seems to be bad can often turn out to be good.
The learning process seems arduous and sometimes doesn't feel like it is ever going to pay off: but then I realized not at all.
I have learned so much about life, love, trust, faith, that I will say to you now it was all worth it.
If I had not gone through the trials by fire, I would not be the same person I am today. And I'm a much happier person now that I realize that I can survive all of it and find the prize at the bottom of the box.
Life shot me down in mid-air, set me aflame, and laughed while I writhed in its agony. Moments went by where I assumed I would die from all of it. The physical and emotional pain were so overwhelming my survival mechanism, faltered. There seemed to be nothing to live for.
Funny enough, there was much to live for. Many people came to my aid and lifted me out of the grave being dug, and pounded on my chest, until I gasped life again.
Honestly, I didn't care whether I lived or died, but other people did.
I think of their faces right now, looking at me, praying for me, hoping I would not leave them.
The trials didn't stop though, and one after the other, I had to endure. I couldn't honestly tell anyone of the people who love me, that I could carry on. I really didn't think I could.
In an effort to help my mother, who is bi-polar as well as chronically dememted, I found myself in a very serious situation.
She was unable to formulate anything reasonable, and had people around her who were just as scrambled as she was.
Unfortunately, I ended up fighting one of them.
At 90 pounds of bone and shriveling muscle, I found myself face to face with an attacker.
This attacker was unexpected as my mother had sent him my way. I didn't know what was going to happen.
Five hours of fighting and psychological warfare was what it took to drive off this psychotic person: but unfortunately it was seemingly all I had left.
I drank and I popped pills and I screamed at the top of my lungs at my mother as she drove me to the apartment where this scoundrel lived.
He was fortunate I did not find him that day. It would have been the day he died.
However, I now no longer felt like living. Yes, that bi-polar can drag you down to the bottom of the ocean, and make you believe that there are no other options.
My mother, who does not believe she is bi-polar or to this day, that there is anything wrong with her thinking, was a menace to society and to me.
Helping her brought me to the ground, and only fate would choose what would happen next.
After a call to the police and a lot of yelling, my mother, cast me out of her house and into the cold windy night.
I had a bottle of wine with me and my father picked me up off the side of the road, drunk and angry.
He didn't know what to do. He wanted to kill the guy.
But, I am the kind of person who would talk her father out of such a notion, so that he could sleept that night.
I told him, "I'm good, go home, and call me tomorrow, I love you."
My father left me rolling around on the floor in serious pain. I had been thrown against the dresser, my head swollen from the serious injury.
Now it was time to kill me off for good.
I don't remember much of what happened, just that I had booze and pills and a mind bent to kill who I though was responsible: me.
But apparently, I called my sister and she called my brother.
My brother just told me that he got a call from my sister, and she thought I was on my way out. And they were right.
They drove all morning and afternoon from California to Arizona, and arrived at my house that evening.
My sister, had a big brick she was ready to throw through the window to get in. But my brother told her to wait.
He knocked three times and yelled at me, "we love you, please come to the door."
Somehow, half unconscious, I came to the door. I fell into his arms and they took me to the hospital, where they pumped my stomach and revived me.
The police were there taking pictures of my shrunken, beaten body. I remember I couldn't say anything, I just looked at them.
That night my sister, brother and I slept in my bed, them talking to me keeping me going. We smoked, talked and the next morning went to the police station for examination.
I didn't want to do it, really. My sister told me I had to do this the right way. I just wanted to kill the guy and my mother.
Instead, I got the full report.
They took me back to California, beaten and broken and scared. I stayed with my brother, who had just lost his father and his girlfriend, and watched as I tried to recover.
Then, I woke up to go to the bathroom, headed fast into the dark room, hit the switch and realized the switch was going sideways, while I was pushing up.
The sound was so loud as my face hit the side of the tub. The molecules of my body were dissapating, breaking apart. All I heard was the word, "death."
It was quiet and comfortable whereever I had went. But I was not long for the afterlife, as my brother in terror, yelled, "don't die."
I woke up, blood everywhere, and began a whole new life. Welcome to my world. More soon.
We will be back with the rest of the story...
Sunday, August 2, 2009
The bi-polar and the operation
I recently had a surgery that was far more extensive than I had thought it would be. It wasn't done the way I expected, nor was I ready for the recovery time that came with it. I'm quite disappointed in myself for allowing the surgery to be done the old fashioned way, being cut open like a Thanksgiving pie.
But because of the urgency of pain, I guess I agreed to something I didn't really know about. And now I find myself two months later, still dissatisfied with the situation, and feeling the emotional trauma that went along with all of the nonsense.
Knowing that I seem to react to every medication I ever take, I carry around the whole document about what not to give me.
I listed all my ailments, my current prescriptions, my allergies, side effects, because I want to make sure the medical types are getting all the information they need.
But they don't seem to understand it.
I put a highlighted warning on my paperwork: I do not react well to anesthesia.
When I checked in for surgery, the nurse, said, don't worry, we will take care of you.
I told her I'm not worried about me, I'm worried about you.
After what happened, I'm sure nobody took it seriously.
Fortunately for the whole crew, I was cut like a pig, and unable to really move to get to them.
And what they don't realize is that I'm blacked out and have no idea what is going on. No impulse control, no control.
Thus began one of the worst hospital experiences I have ever had. Trust me, I have had some doozies, because nurses and doctors don't realize that the bi-polar is sensitive to medications.
And since medications have replaced the healing arts, its hard to argue about it.
Hours after my surgery, I was yelling, coming in and out of consciousness, and in major pain.
The moment I saw the huge cut, which I did not expect, I was freaked out.
Then the staff went to work. They made phone calls to the 20 people on my list entitled: you're going to need help, call them.
Completely stupefied by my reactions to everything and given I had the title going in of being bi-polar, when I complained I couldn't breath they told me I was hyperventilating.
I explained through the sticky phlegm keeping me from taking a deep breath, that hyperventilation is associated with lots of oxygen and generally a tingling.
They waited almost a half hour before they brought in the breathing treatment. (Now would they been quicker if they hadn't suddenly become psychiatrists and diagnosed my breathing problem as a panic attack? You bet.)
When they cut your abdominal wall, its not favorable to coughing, and it took two hours, with the breathing treatment to finally be able to breath.
But that didn't end anything except for the comfort of breathing properly again.
Now, I feel a fullness, and pain in my abdomen. The nurse comes in and tells me I'm being a baby, what do I expect, I just had surgery.
Little did she know I didn't expect this surgery, something much smaller was what I had pictured.
She left and came back and saw that the pain I had been complaining of may have been the fact that my catheter was filled all the way. So, she picks the thing up, moving the liquid around, inside me and the damn tube.
I yelled at her, absolutely. And I pissed air for more than a week after the incident. I don't know what the hell happened, I have never had a catheter before.
But things were only getting better as they next decided to overdose me.
I brought in all my bottles of medicine, with the labels, paperwork about the medicines, and yet they just couldn't manage the three prescriptions.
One of the medicines I have been on for the last 5 years is a benzodiazapine, called Ativan. Because of insomnia, anxiety, mania with rage, I began taking it, and it was effective more so than other prescriptions thrown at me.
Well, after five years, and a newly balanced thyroid (we will be going thoroughly into what the thyroid can do to the bi-polar or even people who don't have it, its an altering chemical) I have been decreasing my medication.
This hospital decided first not to give me my dosage and the way I take it. So, we had an argument.
The nurses would only come in threes by this time as there was strength in numbers. And they brought me the wrong strength.
I was told I would be given 20 milligrams of Ativan, 10 milligrams at a time. I laughed and said really, where did you come up with that?
They didn't think it was funny. I told them I would pick out my dose take that, and they could go on their way.
They then told me if I didn't take the whole 10 milligrams, I would then get nothing. This is a very addictive drug, and coming off of it takes years when you're body becomes dependent, so messing with the dose could cause many problems.
(we will discuss this drug more. It has its use, but not on a regular basis.)
I grabbed the cup of pills and poured them in my mouth and chewed them up angrily. They asked me if I wanted water and I just shook my head.
The adrenaline surged from being forced to take this medicine and it had little or no effect on me.
An hour later, the nurses peaked in on me expecting me to be sleeping like a little baby.
"WHERE'S MY NEXT TEN MILLIGRAMS," I yelled at them.
They left and came back, and said, "there's been a mistake."
I yelled, you're damn right there has!
But would they listen to me, no.
Then they tried to give me a different kind of thyroid, and I had to go through the whole thyroid supplement talk with them. This was the drug I didn't want them messing with, yet they tried.
After the Ativan overdose the worst thing that could have happened, happened. My blood pressure dropped along with my heart rate.
So, now they couldn't give me any pain medication. That's where the action started. As the pain gained control of me, the bi-polar rage began to surge.
We argued for eight hours while I writhed in pain. They just avoided me so as not to hear it.
Finally, I yelled for a patient advocate or to call my doctor or something, but nothing happened.
Pain makes you tired, so I gave up, cried for while, and rolled over onto my side trying to get as comfortable as I could get.
I asked my babysitter, they had a person watching me, to turn out the lights, which she did.
An hour later, I was just about asleep, when some woman, who was not a patient advocate came in my room, flipped on the lights and yelled, "what's going on in here?"
I thought what an idiot. I didn't move and acted like I was asleep so she would go away. But she did not.
She came over and leaned in to look at me, and I yelled as loud as I could at her, "what are you doing coming into my room and yelling at me."
She jumped back three feet. I tried to tell her what was going on and she really didn't care. I went through my whole list of ailments and the current situation.
I asked her if she knew what eight cranial nerve damage and oscillopsia was. She said, "of course."
Then I laughed and called her on it, "what is it?"
She took a good five minutes to give me the wrong answer and I sent her packing.
Next day, same problem, low blood pressure and heart rate, so no pain killer. I asked for a Tylenol or something.
They told me it was not ordered for me. It was a nightmare.
After more hours of yelling and arguing, they brought in mental health. I give them credit, because they actually helped me.
Ten minutes later I had the pain killer and was asleep from the exhaustion of arguing with them.
After five days of this, I practically ran from the hospital. It hurt but I jumped in my brother's truck before he could get out and open the door for me.
I'm bi-polar and that is what happened. And what happened was that they didn't know anything about bi-polar. But like I said, we're all going to learn.
But because of the urgency of pain, I guess I agreed to something I didn't really know about. And now I find myself two months later, still dissatisfied with the situation, and feeling the emotional trauma that went along with all of the nonsense.
Knowing that I seem to react to every medication I ever take, I carry around the whole document about what not to give me.
I listed all my ailments, my current prescriptions, my allergies, side effects, because I want to make sure the medical types are getting all the information they need.
But they don't seem to understand it.
I put a highlighted warning on my paperwork: I do not react well to anesthesia.
When I checked in for surgery, the nurse, said, don't worry, we will take care of you.
I told her I'm not worried about me, I'm worried about you.
After what happened, I'm sure nobody took it seriously.
Fortunately for the whole crew, I was cut like a pig, and unable to really move to get to them.
And what they don't realize is that I'm blacked out and have no idea what is going on. No impulse control, no control.
Thus began one of the worst hospital experiences I have ever had. Trust me, I have had some doozies, because nurses and doctors don't realize that the bi-polar is sensitive to medications.
And since medications have replaced the healing arts, its hard to argue about it.
Hours after my surgery, I was yelling, coming in and out of consciousness, and in major pain.
The moment I saw the huge cut, which I did not expect, I was freaked out.
Then the staff went to work. They made phone calls to the 20 people on my list entitled: you're going to need help, call them.
Completely stupefied by my reactions to everything and given I had the title going in of being bi-polar, when I complained I couldn't breath they told me I was hyperventilating.
I explained through the sticky phlegm keeping me from taking a deep breath, that hyperventilation is associated with lots of oxygen and generally a tingling.
They waited almost a half hour before they brought in the breathing treatment. (Now would they been quicker if they hadn't suddenly become psychiatrists and diagnosed my breathing problem as a panic attack? You bet.)
When they cut your abdominal wall, its not favorable to coughing, and it took two hours, with the breathing treatment to finally be able to breath.
But that didn't end anything except for the comfort of breathing properly again.
Now, I feel a fullness, and pain in my abdomen. The nurse comes in and tells me I'm being a baby, what do I expect, I just had surgery.
Little did she know I didn't expect this surgery, something much smaller was what I had pictured.
She left and came back and saw that the pain I had been complaining of may have been the fact that my catheter was filled all the way. So, she picks the thing up, moving the liquid around, inside me and the damn tube.
I yelled at her, absolutely. And I pissed air for more than a week after the incident. I don't know what the hell happened, I have never had a catheter before.
But things were only getting better as they next decided to overdose me.
I brought in all my bottles of medicine, with the labels, paperwork about the medicines, and yet they just couldn't manage the three prescriptions.
One of the medicines I have been on for the last 5 years is a benzodiazapine, called Ativan. Because of insomnia, anxiety, mania with rage, I began taking it, and it was effective more so than other prescriptions thrown at me.
Well, after five years, and a newly balanced thyroid (we will be going thoroughly into what the thyroid can do to the bi-polar or even people who don't have it, its an altering chemical) I have been decreasing my medication.
This hospital decided first not to give me my dosage and the way I take it. So, we had an argument.
The nurses would only come in threes by this time as there was strength in numbers. And they brought me the wrong strength.
I was told I would be given 20 milligrams of Ativan, 10 milligrams at a time. I laughed and said really, where did you come up with that?
They didn't think it was funny. I told them I would pick out my dose take that, and they could go on their way.
They then told me if I didn't take the whole 10 milligrams, I would then get nothing. This is a very addictive drug, and coming off of it takes years when you're body becomes dependent, so messing with the dose could cause many problems.
(we will discuss this drug more. It has its use, but not on a regular basis.)
I grabbed the cup of pills and poured them in my mouth and chewed them up angrily. They asked me if I wanted water and I just shook my head.
The adrenaline surged from being forced to take this medicine and it had little or no effect on me.
An hour later, the nurses peaked in on me expecting me to be sleeping like a little baby.
"WHERE'S MY NEXT TEN MILLIGRAMS," I yelled at them.
They left and came back, and said, "there's been a mistake."
I yelled, you're damn right there has!
But would they listen to me, no.
Then they tried to give me a different kind of thyroid, and I had to go through the whole thyroid supplement talk with them. This was the drug I didn't want them messing with, yet they tried.
After the Ativan overdose the worst thing that could have happened, happened. My blood pressure dropped along with my heart rate.
So, now they couldn't give me any pain medication. That's where the action started. As the pain gained control of me, the bi-polar rage began to surge.
We argued for eight hours while I writhed in pain. They just avoided me so as not to hear it.
Finally, I yelled for a patient advocate or to call my doctor or something, but nothing happened.
Pain makes you tired, so I gave up, cried for while, and rolled over onto my side trying to get as comfortable as I could get.
I asked my babysitter, they had a person watching me, to turn out the lights, which she did.
An hour later, I was just about asleep, when some woman, who was not a patient advocate came in my room, flipped on the lights and yelled, "what's going on in here?"
I thought what an idiot. I didn't move and acted like I was asleep so she would go away. But she did not.
She came over and leaned in to look at me, and I yelled as loud as I could at her, "what are you doing coming into my room and yelling at me."
She jumped back three feet. I tried to tell her what was going on and she really didn't care. I went through my whole list of ailments and the current situation.
I asked her if she knew what eight cranial nerve damage and oscillopsia was. She said, "of course."
Then I laughed and called her on it, "what is it?"
She took a good five minutes to give me the wrong answer and I sent her packing.
Next day, same problem, low blood pressure and heart rate, so no pain killer. I asked for a Tylenol or something.
They told me it was not ordered for me. It was a nightmare.
After more hours of yelling and arguing, they brought in mental health. I give them credit, because they actually helped me.
Ten minutes later I had the pain killer and was asleep from the exhaustion of arguing with them.
After five days of this, I practically ran from the hospital. It hurt but I jumped in my brother's truck before he could get out and open the door for me.
I'm bi-polar and that is what happened. And what happened was that they didn't know anything about bi-polar. But like I said, we're all going to learn.
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