I've just got issues (I'm sure this is part one of many)

The title of this blog was created a long time ago during a conversation. I got done telling a friend a story and as if to make it seem as if I understood what I said, I closed with "I just have issues."

We laughed. I wrote down the title and waited until some morning where I could explore that whole idea. And that's today.

Well, I guess the hot topic amongst my friends is my fighting issues.

"We're just worried about you."

How sweet. Well fucking worry about something else. I'll worry about me.

Fighting, hey, its for something.

But then again, going back in time, I remember my childhood. Fighting and lots of it.

Being bi-polar fighting comes naturally, as the chemicals needed to fight are always "that was the wrong thing to say" away.

My personal problem is people who threaten me. I must say if you're going to make a threat, you fucking better be prepared for my reaction. You may not have much time to react either.

Physically threatening me is a whole other matter. I'm unfortunately not afraid to mix it up with someone twice my size. The chemical burst which occurs when I feel physically threatened is nothing you can buy on the streets, well maybe, PCP.

I've been beaten up two years in a row, each in December, the first an assailant and next the pseudoboyfriend mistake.

My assailant who was battling someone who has been in many battles, (but I happened to have been healthy back then), actually, weirdly, after he gave up the attempted rape/assault and the fun of trying to subdue me for five hours, complimented me: "You're stronger than you look."

Yeah fuckhead I'm bi-polar. Whatever drugs you were taking, the ones I make in my own body are unadulterated and of a higher quality.

Had I been a normal weight, all muscle, this piss ant wouldn't have been complimenting me, he would have been in the hospital.

My fighting career started early. Not that I looked for fights but fights always found me.

For the most part kid fights are one thing, except when you have older kids bullying the younger ones. I was a bully buster though and took on some big kids who thought they were pretty tough.

Nothing like being a teenage boy beaten up by a rabid seven year old girl. I'm sure they're still in therapy over it.

I remember telling my parents I would be taking Karate, not piano. I remember reading their faces before the ultimate answer of, "hell no."
They were thinking, training this force? No thanks.

However, I trained myself. I was athletic in every way, and BP chemically, truly even as a young child, mine started early. I worked on fighting moves all the time, and applied them to real life.

When my parents divorced, my Dad who never said a real cross word to me as a child, left the household, my Mother pushed him out. Then she marries my stepfather who woo's my sister and I.

I then discover all there is to know about alcoholism and the blackouts, as my stepfather, had them regularly.

We couldn't have been more a miserable mess than this family mixture, and I remember it well, my stepdad coming home from work, just getting in the door, suit and tie, and he began talking really mean to my mother.

I never heard my Dad talk like that, and something triggered.

"Shut up," I told him.

He just smiled. Then I jumped on him and grabbed his tie and let my body weight pull it tight around his neck. His face turned red and he gagged. He punched me right in the face and sent me flying across the room into the door, where I slid down and looked at the blood trickling from my face onto my shirt.

I knew not to move. My mother and my sister were screaming, and he came over to look at me. As soon as he was crouched down in a vulnerable position, I struck. I kicked him right in the balls.

The fight didn't last long as my Mother's screams got the neighbors attention.

But this would be the first fight which lasted for years until I almost killed him one night. Then he almost killed me too.

I would always try to find a way to come into my house of booze unnoticed, because there would always, and I mean always, be a problem which lead to a fight.

It's not been necessarily a want to fight situation, sometimes it happens. I crept up back stairways, climbed the garage and went into a window, used many windows in fact. I didn't want to fight, I wanted to be left alone.

So, why this sudden physical violence in my life, now so many years later? I don't know completely, but I have a few ideas.

Then I piss off Mr. Martial Arts, pseudoboyfriend, with my usual flair. But that day I had a migraine was throwing up and could not deal with his problems.

So, I said and did some things which pissed him off to the point he punched me fast, cold cocked me to the face, and dropped me like a rock to the floor. Both my hands were full, so it was a total domination, chicken shit, move.

Then he lost all control, when I was down, he put his knee in my back and started to repeatedly punch me in the head. I acknowledged I was down and turned my head to the already broken and numb side and waited for him to get down hitting me.

I passed out for a minute. I imagine he expected to have more time time to pack and leave.

I opened my eyes, realized what had happened and got up to my feet. Now there was nothing in my hands mutherfucker.

He was leaning down packing his clothes as quickly as possible, he didn't realize I had gotten up and was standing right behind, with knives within reach.

But he was a sorry lot, no control of his rage, trained in fighting, stabbing and some other gang related things, and I wasn't going to kill him or even hurt him. He needed to leave immediately and never come back.

He turned and saw me standing over him, and startled at the unexpected sight, growled, "I'm going to kill you."

I said flatly, no inflection, "better people have tried."

He took a swing at me, which I reacted to and fell down. He ran out the door, "bye pussy, chickenshit, run."

I didn't file charges against him, as I felt sorry for him: he wasn't strong, he was weak and that made him dangerous.

His father was cop who blew his head off in front of the family, so I figured he had had enough. He knew better than to come back. At the hospital where they treated my migraine and my completely shut eye, they said, "you better lock your doors tonight, he could come back."

I said, "I'm leaving them unlocked in fact, and its up to him if he would like to do that again."

That's when I realized: Beaten up, but never beaten down.

So, violence reared its ugly head in my life, somehow I got through it. But I still have the feelings that if you want to threaten me then you are really playing with fire.

Usually, I believe in an eye for an eye, balancing out the scale. You punch me, I punch you. Not, you punch me and I drive my car through your rented apartment.

So, yes, I just have issues...

what is today?

I sometimes wonder where time goes and often forget what day it is. I think I'm busy and I don't really care, because once I wake up, kill some pain, I'm off to work.

Oh, "off" to work is meaningful. I grab my computer and a whole process begins in my mind.

As I always tell other writers, there's a story in everything, but just as much a story in nothing.

I wonder sometimes how people look at my blogs after I've been to a meeting. I'm sure they wonder what I'm going to say on the blog.

But they never know, because I never know until I think about it for a while.

And some people are scared of me, oh so sad, because there is nothing safe to say around me, I can make anything into a story.

I've been asked "where did you come up with that?" Why it's the muses, they talk to me.

They have so far not asked me to kill anyone so I think its pretty safe to speak with them.

Today, I have a list as long as my arm to get done, and I might accomplish some of it. Driving away from the house is part of the day. I wish I could drive my bed all over town.

With my pillows behind my head, a steering wheel pops up, and off I go. No need for air conditioning and I have blankets for heat.

But up here in this god forsaken valley, I'm sure the cops would pull me over.

"Do you have tags for this thing?"

"Yeah, it's on the end of the mattress don't pull it off."

"Oh."

"Anything else officer?"

"What is that under your blankets?"

"Oh, this, this is my bong. Want a hit?"

"Just get out of here and drive safely."

Yeah right...

Another day, actually a Friday, another round of whatever the universe has whipped up for me.

I'm so impressed so far, I just can't wait to see what's next. Maybe locusts in my bathroom, or rabid animals chasing me. It really could be anything, I don't count out any possibilities anymore.

When my life got this weird, I knew that it was "unpredictable" and there is no controlling it. So, I became weird and unpredictable too.

Now, I just don't care anymore, its the way it is and what will happen will just have to happen. Fuck it.

There's a manic in the neighborhood...

I'm sure it was lack of sleep, and too much expectation, or something that caused me to head to manic rage yesterday.

The day after such events, like today, leave me feeling drained and deeply depressed. I slept until this evening, got up, only to the feeling of pain probably caused by yesterdays "big scene."

My sister arrived with a trailer full of my stuff left at my father's house, which was fine.
I stayed up to wait for her in the middle of the night arrival, but she didn't get here. So, after two hours of sleep they rolled up.

After unloading and a few hours to chat, she and my nephew took off.
I understood there was a big scene at my father's house, and I had told my sister you don't want to deal with them after their five O'clock martinis.
Well, her timing was perfect as they were drunk and obnoxious. There was nothing I could do about it, so I just stayed out of it, until I hit manic rage late yesterday afternoon.

A invited a friend of mine to come over and have some ribs with me, but the timing couldn't have been worse.

I went to look thru the boxes which arrived, only to find that insane people had packed the crap. I started to get madder and madder as I opened each box.

My friend arrived, who is bi-polar as well, so the scene was not "shocking."

At least at first.

I should have walked away, but before I knew it, I was throwing things all over the yard and hitting the boxes with a baseball bat.

My neighbor looked across the street and asked me what was wrong. I couldn't answer I was too angry and the chemicals were pumped up in my brain and body.

Since I have disc problems in my neck and a nice long cut in my abdomen from surgery which has weakened my lower back, it probably wasn't a good idea to begin picking things up and throwing them.

But I did.

I'm sure it looks like a schizophrenic garage sale outside my house, but I ended up hurting myself more than the boxes I threw around.

My friend whipped up the ribs, which I could have cared less about at that point, and watched with neutrality as I spun out right then and there.

Next great thing, get mad and get on the phone. Of course, I did it, making things worse in the process as nothing I could say at that point was even remotely nice.

Yes, I cuss and yell, but I took it to a new level yesterday. Every sentence contained the word "fuck" and then just about everything else I could say contained foul language.

Could I stop? No.

This went way into the night, and my still alcoholic brother, tried to talk me down. He even mentioned the irony of the situation, as I am usually the one doing the talking down for him.

We talked for hours until I finally got tired, the chemicals beginning to recede long enough for my emotions to begin to make sense to me.

Then the depression hits. I blew off all the good chemicals in the angry rage, so the next feeling is one of embarrassment and resignation.

When I woke up this morning, I didn't really care if I lived or died. Then there's the lingering feeling of "how stupid am I?"

That quickly passed as I realized I had hurt myself lifting and throwing and swinging that bat around. The pain was everywhere which made me even more depressed.

I got up for a few minutes, long enough to make some calls, wiping tears away so I could speak.

I was told that I should get someone to talk to about it. Like a psychologist or a Preist? Whatever, they are useless to the bi-polar in this state of mind.

My sister told me not to let crazy people make me crazy. Well it seems to be an infectious situation.

So, we shall see what comes of this, as deep depression has settled in, and mania is gone for now.

I told my dog to eat all the crap I threw in the yard. He had some fun today.

I'm not having fun yet. From this vantage point in time, I feel like it will never be fun again.

It's fucking great to be bi-polar: see you around, maybe.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Welcome to the new blog, it's going to be interesting, especially for those in health care

Hello, I'm Laura Hart, I'm bi-polar, with some concommitant OCD, and I've lived my life with the condition but in the last several years it has been a true learning experience.

Sometimes one's destiny is a license plate they pick up at the DMV. After a bad round of antibiotics which took out a cranial nerve, I was severely disabled, unable to walk or see.

My doctor wrote up a note to the DMV that I was permanently disabled, and some license plates were ordered for my car.

I opened them up and looked, kind of pissed really, that the numbers across were 5150.

A 5150 is a legal hold when someone is a danger to themselves or to others. I knew this because my mother, brother and sister, cousins, aunts, oh hell, the whole family had some form of it. And some of them were on a hold, or couldn't be held, or were mislabled and put in jail.

So, when I saw this I knew what it was and was planning on asking them to take them back and give me some other configuration.

I never did.

This blog is partly expression and communication but it is also an educational tool.

I have many stories to share, but I have other voices I want you to hear too.
And we, "The Order of the Bi-Polar Disorder," have plans on bringing to the healthcare providers and the government a whole new perspective on this type of condition.

There will be many types of writers, some may use offensive language, others may be eloquent. But we want the real stories, raw, from the soul, from the great life salvaging sarcastic sense of humor, to fill this blog.

Many are artists, musicians, the creative types so be prepared for quite a motley mixture to appear.

There will be video, pictures, artwork, to go with it.

So, here we go...