It started as a wander lust thru my whole rabbit, rarebit, rare be it, called a Lie fe.
UNNACCEPTABLE BEHAVIOR......
My sister was hardly dilated ready to give birth, as I was standing around the birth center, the control of reproductions, awaiting the new arrival my nephew. She was being Induced to labor, so we had time to chat.
This was almost 25 years ago.
After a particularly painful con-traction, she suddenly looked at me and seriously ordered me: "Never tell my children about your childhood!"
I felt the shame, roll, thunder down me. Rejection, dejection, all that Jazz. It was the usual for me.
It's a moment, however, which stuck, as I was "shut up" in my life something of a question mark.
Late last night, after much soul seering searching, I am READY to bare all. lol
THE STREAK
Last week, or I name these DAZE, days----Strongs---as I hold to the TRUTH of who and what I am---I asked if I was the only one who wanted to get nekked and run thru a stadium?
One kid answered the call, "YES!"
Love that Enthusiasm, I DO!
But he suddenly quashed the notion, as he got Concerned about the CON-game-sequences of such a feat of fearlessness.
"Yeah, but what if they tackle me--take me down?"
BAIT AND TACKLE SHOP
He's right, this is definitely, without questioning my own HIGH marks, on this test, an empty basket of cases who are mentally challenged to see the MISSING pieces.
"Yes, you're correct, they would." I told him truth that this world is the ENEMY of fun and Chocolate.
For example, Last Saturday, a night on the empty street, I wanted to dance to a song on the radio. It was past midnight, no other cars in sight, I checked.
It was Flash dance, and this girl wanted enough room to dance as my legs hit the car as I jumped around. Rainy weather made it an even better surface for this dancing jig, as I was up, NOT on the cheap drugs of this life, or booze, or nuttin' honey, justing feeling good CHEER!
When I hit my stride in the slippery street, two headlights appeared out of nowhere. BUZZKILLERS. lol
I was shimmying and shaking, singing, springing about, my friend's daughter ready to leap and bound with me, when the lights headed towards us. With a mind full of Con-cerns clouding my moment--the lights were on in the car? But what if the cars driver is not paying attention?? so I GAVE up my dance and got back in the car.
We drove still playing the song, but now being tail-gated. Just about at our turn, to the house, the flash dance turned into flashing lights in my rear view mirror. The Sherif of the town, Murphy, lol, has pulled me over.
LICENSE AND REGISTRATION
"What were you doing?"
"I was dancing...." (Interrupted)
"How much have you had to drink, ma'am?"
"Nothing."
This was too much for him, and he began to question his own nose, or knows.
"I can smell the alcohol."
"You can?" I wondered, how weird.
He took my license, demanding an explanation for dancing, that would have me agree that there was something UNNACCEPTABLE about my BEHAVIOR.
I gathered my registration, my insurance proof, and guessed by his attitude, we would be unduly delayed for dancing.
THEN THERE WERE THREE
One after the other came, as this officer of the ILLAWGICAL could not get it.
Girls, some of us, just wanna have fun. And it appears this is not a popular vote. With Jails full of addicts, substituting nasty habits, for true fun, they were trying to label me.
For the first time, since I am a manual BALANCE system, my inner ear destroyed by the antibiotic Gentamicin, I would face this disability. Let me explain--My inner ear supposedly, I'm told, senses my body in space in time. when I move, so does the whole environment, visually. Kinesthetic sense, lost, so when I close my eyes, I supposedly have no balance in the dark.
I offered breathalizer, and blood, but they would not accept this offer of proof. I would be required to put my feet together, close my eyes, and tilt my head back. I have been manually operating my own system, but questioned that if one day in the future, I had to test this, what would happen.
Well, since there were three patrol cars, headlights pointed at me, the light was such it helped--went right thru my eyelids. I braced, somewhat daunted still, whether or not, I could do it---I took my feet, clapped my ankles, closed my eyes, and leaned back.
With my disability, I would have Fallen, but the light was with me, as there is FALLENDARITY for the lucky ones, as I steadied and made them question there own suspicions. I simply verified that my suspicions make more sense.
If I had fallen, as I should have based on the balance system, there would have been lawsuits, as the ambulance chaser lawyers, would suddenly befriend the lowly disabled, dancing, fool I seemed to be.
TOO SMART
Another test employed to make their case that there was something WRONG with me, was follow the pen, and heaven help you that you flinch or move your head. THE pressure was on to pass with my disability not flying.
It was too funny, I readied up for this ball point pen in my car window, as I was Instructed quickly, but sternly, NOT to move my head, only eyes, and follow his pen.
Just as we got across, him trailing the rolling writer in front of me, the length of my window, I guess, he perceived I moved my head.
Trying to help him, I explained, "I may still have some nystagmus. Let me try again."
"What, what are you talking about." The Sheriff's don't have MEDICAL lingo, so he didn't know it is an eye issue associated with inner ear destruction.
In my effort, as all things this world tend to be, I attempted to explain to him the disability. Where I was cut off and con-fronted as being "too smart."
Too drunk, too smart, too happy, Forthright in answering questions, offering Proof of blood or tests, but NEVER just okay.
DISABILITY LICENSE PLATES
My car has disabled placards, and someone asked if the police were aware of my disability. I again, suggest, to the apparently "HIGHLY suggestible" that I was questioned at least three times, as to the nature of my disability.
These plates, were ordered more than 10 years ago, and the only numbers, given to me, (a natural hand, as poker lots draw it) 5150.
Sooooo, the plates, were there screaming, "DANGER TO SELF, DANGER TO OTHERS" a false representation, a POLICE CODE, allowing them to hold someone.
IF they had been able to see past their own code, and listen for the truth, as I told them I had no BALANCE system, they may have stopped the insanity.
IN THE END
My friend's daughter had a large, anxiety pimple on her forehead, and her mother had to vouche for my safer. There was a Addendumb---They didn't trust me, so they held my car at the station, until I could get even more sober, or somber, or whatever their goal was.
BuZZ Kill Light year, has a Woody for me.....I've got the stories.
Laura Hart----The Bi-Polar AMerican????
Meet our new site: AREA 5150
Update soon....lol
Wednesday, January 30, 2013
Friday, January 11, 2013
KVHD under Fire: Post Recycling
Friday, January 11, 2013
Edge A Caution: America's Academia-dementia
Now it's the schools that have learned how to make some dough and a few middle men seize the advantages of the game of "Edge A Caution": America the debt trappers.
Student Loans
Can't crack the old bankruptcy stick in case of emergency when your dealing yourself into the student loan card shark game.
Therefore it's a con game with an end game that could favor or disfavor, depending on the luck of the overdrawn.
Private schools such as the "alma doesn't matta" home of Kern Valley Healthcare District Cheif Financial officer, Chester Beedle, LaVerne University are an ever expanding franchise business opportunity. And teaching business is one of their specialties.
It appears as a do what we do. Find a gravy train and make a splash. And don't worry about mashing a few potatoes while boarding this "loco" motive.
Phoenix University rose from the ashes of a burned out system, not the elusive "seat of enlightment" but of a vocational splintered industry designed to paper train with immense paper trails.
It's costing too many who haven't a scholarship or a penthouse quorum at the top pyramid scam economy, and the students who falter for this bait then tackled proposition can expect to be hounded by the ever growing "debt collection" industry in case of late or non-payment.
They say Volume is the key, well the mirth makers of this loving society, have pumped it up.
I recieved a phone call the other day from one of the beneficiaries of these "hire than you are" education dealers.
These specialized colleges of no repute, prepackage their wares, offer two and four year degrees in heavily marketed career areas such as--Criminology-- national security-- or film making--a mutual menu of specialization.
--And they have a middle man.
His job is to size up the potential to simply get a warm human body to take a loan to pay for an education which may or may not be worth the cost--or guarantee any sort of pay or job in these industries--but will infuse money and possibly hope to those starved of either. No credit required or taken.
I asked this savvy solicitor who had been transferred from a front caller, who originally called to survey my educational needs. She suddenly dropped from the line and a male, more manipulative voice took over.
Before he got too far into convincing me of my education inadequacies, I interrupted and asked what business he was in. Who was he associated with and how did he make money.
Quickly he bragged that the company calling me, (or actually hired an independent telephone solicitation firm to cold call and transferred me to them) was a Fortune 500 race car of a company.
And he added they had risen to the top quickly--an industry leader for three years, he crowed.
There must be some easy footholds when climbing the ladder made of the hopes and dreams of young, aspiring, even more so, of desperate, hungry, out-of-work, Americans.
"Wow," I asked him, "who pays you?"
These ever growing school franchises are pushing dollars at "dough" nuts who don't need much to figure out a way to push "easy loans" to the poor and "undercertifiable" and I had one of these beneficiaries of the US educational system on the phone.
Not only did I learn that his company makes millions selling a dream to an insomniac population, I imagined that with a cost of 50 thousand pyramid scam dollars to complete a Bachelor's in Criminology, that Someone should get to the crime scene of this world of "Akademonic" dollars for a look&see.
These costly, over inflated programs are backed and insured by the US Government's "Go and Get 'em" student loan collection industry thriving and driving it's own Fortune 500 mobile.
"Oh sorry you're barely making it, or couldn't find a job- or had to take any damn job in any damn industry-so sorry but you are NEVER going to escape your "Stewedint" loan. Oooo, ha, ha, ha, ha (evil laugh).
It's a new list: Death, taxes, student loans (Cal Mtg. loans to underserved rural healthcare Districts)
So we have the college with all the knowlege, along with inter-nets to hold all the fishy schools, which have some FUNding to pay for this man on my telephone making his fortune peddling "higher education monies" for his "friendors" the vendors of candy bar in the sky exams.
These college franchises don't have to do much to reduce overhead, as campus free, is "frat free," and they can afford to feed a bolemic sales force, binging and purging, for potential students. And the colleges spring into business everywhere under this government fortified bulwark of serial entrapment.
Tiny strip malls, with aged wooded siding, will do--or an office building floor--many programs require nothing special in terms of a campus or equipment, or the bothersome task of housing and counseling of students. It appears the "financial counseling" takes place in a call or two, transfer student, to the loan program.
Some more specailized University types do provide a campus with smaller satellite units orbiting their home base. And there is also a trend toward all colleges to go on-line as there are benefits and costs accounted for--But what is lost in intelligent design and human interaction is "written off" as unnecessary.
Many of these colleges are Cheap to operate, "Laptop Learning" teachers can teach in their underwear from their car, and certainly no creativity required as they are following college cirriculum or template or cookie cutter, provided then certified by another member of the gang on this chain.
With that irritating "student-teacher" relationship laid to rest, there's only some paperwork for the office workers at the college who got their own certified "AA" degrees around the corner at an old TAco Bell building.
Burdened with their own student loans, these office personnel possibly get $10 an hour to make half the country richer by shuffling the paperwork of Crony created colleges spawning bags of money for middle men and end players who have a RIGGED playing field.
The government provides, does it not, the playing field? Lol All the legislation, licensing, certifications, loan approval qualifications, classifications, designations, board and directors, all of these to make sure that American's can have a chance at....(Oh YEAH BABY, a FORTUNE 500 company with Porsche and arrogance included)
Umm, an Education?
Vocational and profanely profitable, who would have thought? Oh well the student loans for "truckers licenses" and "Medical Office Assisting" got this show of a program and industry generator up and running.
It's just been taken to "higher student loan indebtedness level."
"Wanna be somebody? Not a nasty old poverty ridden, shoe dwelling, old maid--or change your useless, disabled, "made in a China shop" bullshit existence?
Come aboard "Captain Corrupto's" titanic educational ferry across the seas of anonymity, obscurity, and poverty into the world of "HIGHER VOCATION."
What a success story! I practically want to weep.
Laura Hart--The Bi-Polar American
Tuesday, January 8, 2013
From KVHD under Fire: Clear the air...
Clear the air...
Choppers, fighter planes, cargo units--even large triangular shaped "thingys" with great mufflers to help them pass silently above our heads--criss crossing trails of smoke forming grids in the sky.
Is it the "Show me" kids from China Lake or China or wherever? I don't know, but they do seem to love their toys.
"Top gun to stun gun, come in...when do we get the facts that matter?"
Yeah, that's what I said. It's my preference to use the weapons of mass communication or what we "first amendment" types might call ourselves: "verbavoires."
Maybe some prefer the second amendment, pull a gun and shoot, type of posturing? The moment you bite on that bullet, you may get gut shot with a storehouse of government gunpowder.
It appears to me the "mili vanilli tary" lip syncs to this 2nd amendment as there is an arsenal of weapons to point at its own citizenry.
Yawn, stretch--BORED!
So what--they can create jazzy jets, zippy stuff in the sky, bomb and burn and beam, blast or blare--or just control? Woo hoo!
These are the great thinkers of our time?
Something's off, and I smell a diaper. Someone has not changed the baby in a while, and the only explanation I can possibly attribute to this mess of a world, is on the disorder of a "Lord of the Flies" scenario.
Who has the conch shell?
These "scrotums with modems" have now trained the youngest generation to "run" their toys with a handset from a desk or a coffee shop; they created an army of couch potatoes too obese to run across a physical battle field.
But these children are in the other room of your house practicing to become a militarized mind on the X box as we speak.
These flights of fancy flying machines, these displays such as a territorial mockingbird, solidify my suspicion that we are dealing with the most "IMMATURE" aspects of this errant world.
So, what about a real game?
Word processor or pen or pencil?--choose your weapon. lol
Please don't bore us with a game of drones, this most certainly a show of weakness.
The reticence of the military is well known, also called "stonewalling," but it's time to get some courage and drop the real "bomb shell" known as the TRUTH.
The focus can simply be on how to agree we DO have a problem, Houston...
The problems are pervasive, on every level of this game-- the environment, the weather, the governments, and the minds and hearts of all who live this mess.
"Boring for Dollars" is I label the pyramid scam, illusory, economy, a rudimentary game of power for beginners, where exclusive groups pull the strings, vying for top of the food chain status.
It appears to me to be an uncreative force, blocking, dividing, addicting and cruelly imprisoning those within its mindset.
There are those "special" types who are not selling out to this already "sold out" crowd. They appear to be in the minority, I sadly report.
Only the powerless would need to build up a military--an overcompensation I suggest. But for what? Is the government protecting us or protecting its own interests or protecting itself?
The KRV is also now occupied with the "Army corn of in-gin ears" as they "cell" us on the idea of how we have the most dangerous "Dam" in-the-nation.
Boring for dollars systematically breeds (greeds) these paid welfare recipients of a political bent, to do its bidding. These puppets are actively being fed dollars to go forth and expand their Waste lines and lands.
We don't have an open, transparent communication on this "Dam" the "austerity is for suckers" project. There are probably as many unique reasons as there are mouths to feed.
So we passively call these transgressions of forthrightness, elder abuse or scams, "water under the bridge." Are we conditioned to "look the other way?"
We accept, are complicit with, the lowest of energies. Paralysis of the possibility, we are more, and we are better, than we have thus far experienced.
So please, with humble, yet grumble, I seek to find answers with TRUTH and COMPASSION as to why this is all necessary.
They say the room for improvement is the largest room in the world, I say the world needs to make room for improvements in its home field advantages....
Laura Hart--The Bi-Polar American
Thursday, December 13, 2012
Bi-Polar Chic: The Bi-Polar American
The Protest
Recently, I had a moment of recognition, I understand this code of behavior I have established, chosen to abide as I ride the wild ponies of the Bi-polar world.
Bi-Polar Chic
Yeah, there is a so much to be angry about, so much reckoning, but then there is recognizing we are all victims of victims of victims of victims...etc. The blame game is drama, chasing tails, all imprisoning, not freeing.
Two weeks ago, I stepped into the Emergency room, was told I was not lucid, had a doctor who thought he had the market cornered on sanity, his answers shinier with credentials, mine, just squawks from the "defective" bi-polar, mental problem to the world.
Left quickly, feeling demoralized. Down and out again, no help, no care, no healthy encounter. Health Care words of emptiness.
Got in my car, the 5150 mobile, and suddenly felt the word, "NO."
Drove my car in front of the ER doors, honked the horn, played music and Danced in my seat. Not sure if this was "correct" or "okay" or "palatable" I simply, continued to protest in my "Bi-polar Chic" way.
Personnel peeked out of doors, nurses helped surreptitiously, and then the ambulance arrived.
Bi-Polar Chic protestors in my world, move out of the way, not choosing to cause harm.
Harming someone is easy peasy, it's for beginners.
Creating an original Event is Bi-polar Chic.
So, I let the ambulance by, but holding strong and now it was time for police round up.
They came and said they would break my car windows and pull me out.
But, "Law enforcement Chic" happened too. I simply told them the truth, no anger, nothing more than I was doing this because I did not beleive bullying someone asking for help will do anything more than cause "Repetitive Emotional Injury."
Three hours later, several officers asking for the story of why I was doing what I was doing, and finally, they asked me if I would do them a favor and not have them be listed in the newspaper as the officers who had to arrest the bi-polar who only wanted help.
Yes, for them, who did help. Their patience with me, my chance to simply state my story, stand my ground, not harm or hurt, was revived by the hearts in law enforcement.
What happened was nothing short of awesome.
No fists, guns, harsh words, just some shake it up Bi-polar Chic style. And with kudos to the much maligned Kern Sheriff's department, who did a super job healing this bi-polar, without any ER, medication, shots or cots, they lifted me up.
Thank you.
Bi-Polar Chic recommended on every occassion.............
Recently, I had a moment of recognition, I understand this code of behavior I have established, chosen to abide as I ride the wild ponies of the Bi-polar world.
Bi-Polar Chic
Yeah, there is a so much to be angry about, so much reckoning, but then there is recognizing we are all victims of victims of victims of victims...etc. The blame game is drama, chasing tails, all imprisoning, not freeing.
Two weeks ago, I stepped into the Emergency room, was told I was not lucid, had a doctor who thought he had the market cornered on sanity, his answers shinier with credentials, mine, just squawks from the "defective" bi-polar, mental problem to the world.
Left quickly, feeling demoralized. Down and out again, no help, no care, no healthy encounter. Health Care words of emptiness.
Got in my car, the 5150 mobile, and suddenly felt the word, "NO."
Drove my car in front of the ER doors, honked the horn, played music and Danced in my seat. Not sure if this was "correct" or "okay" or "palatable" I simply, continued to protest in my "Bi-polar Chic" way.
Personnel peeked out of doors, nurses helped surreptitiously, and then the ambulance arrived.
Bi-Polar Chic protestors in my world, move out of the way, not choosing to cause harm.
Harming someone is easy peasy, it's for beginners.
Creating an original Event is Bi-polar Chic.
So, I let the ambulance by, but holding strong and now it was time for police round up.
They came and said they would break my car windows and pull me out.
But, "Law enforcement Chic" happened too. I simply told them the truth, no anger, nothing more than I was doing this because I did not beleive bullying someone asking for help will do anything more than cause "Repetitive Emotional Injury."
Three hours later, several officers asking for the story of why I was doing what I was doing, and finally, they asked me if I would do them a favor and not have them be listed in the newspaper as the officers who had to arrest the bi-polar who only wanted help.
Yes, for them, who did help. Their patience with me, my chance to simply state my story, stand my ground, not harm or hurt, was revived by the hearts in law enforcement.
What happened was nothing short of awesome.
No fists, guns, harsh words, just some shake it up Bi-polar Chic style. And with kudos to the much maligned Kern Sheriff's department, who did a super job healing this bi-polar, without any ER, medication, shots or cots, they lifted me up.
Thank you.
Bi-Polar Chic recommended on every occassion.............
Friday, November 23, 2012
The Bitch is Back and Biting mad
Hey wake up sleepy heads,
I'm making Waves and surfing a perfect storm. Oh yeah, the truth is never given a comfy seat and a cup of java, but Bucket then Fuck it, list. lol
i'M NOT kicking the bucket, but I fuck the kickers, as well as boot lickers.
Oh yeah, we got some talent, raw, and you should see them now. tAlking and walking tall, truth speak, with a bill of goods.
Thank Scooter, a well spring of wisdom, compassion, and slip from my Freudian files, X marks your spot, with a dot and you dash, and the question marks.
Time to claim your fame. Loving what I'm seeing with all my eyes. THANQS
SOON, Sacrameanto, or maybe just youngblood lust?
Laura Attlast
I'm making Waves and surfing a perfect storm. Oh yeah, the truth is never given a comfy seat and a cup of java, but Bucket then Fuck it, list. lol
i'M NOT kicking the bucket, but I fuck the kickers, as well as boot lickers.
Oh yeah, we got some talent, raw, and you should see them now. tAlking and walking tall, truth speak, with a bill of goods.
Thank Scooter, a well spring of wisdom, compassion, and slip from my Freudian files, X marks your spot, with a dot and you dash, and the question marks.
Time to claim your fame. Loving what I'm seeing with all my eyes. THANQS
SOON, Sacrameanto, or maybe just youngblood lust?
Laura Attlast
Tuesday, November 13, 2012
Just to make YOU readers Crazy, OUT OF ORDER are the posts
So sorry, but I have no more time to manage my blog. Oh my, it's been turned upsidewaysaroundthebendtothestart and the clock is set from the beginning moments I decided to Come on out with my life.
Go forth, and have fun. It's truth, it's unedited, and unfettered, and it's only a portion, a tiny dieter's portion of my WHOLE story.
This story of me, I've entitled "Unacceptable Behavior." It took me a lifetime to write and live it.
And if I return from my latest trip to the belly of the whale, I'll tell you all about it. lol
There are ways to read this blog, easier than this new configuration.
LOOK TO THE RIGHT-----SEe those stories to get acquainted. Then plunge your courageous selves into the dense matter of the three years worth of posts.
Take good care. Your Friend in Truth/The rabbit hole in the wall gang leader: Laura Attlast
Go forth, and have fun. It's truth, it's unedited, and unfettered, and it's only a portion, a tiny dieter's portion of my WHOLE story.
This story of me, I've entitled "Unacceptable Behavior." It took me a lifetime to write and live it.
And if I return from my latest trip to the belly of the whale, I'll tell you all about it. lol
There are ways to read this blog, easier than this new configuration.
LOOK TO THE RIGHT-----SEe those stories to get acquainted. Then plunge your courageous selves into the dense matter of the three years worth of posts.
Take good care. Your Friend in Truth/The rabbit hole in the wall gang leader: Laura Attlast
Your medical records reflect your medical care
I am a person who interviews and makes records of what people say and also how people appear to me. But I have never seen anything like what has happened to me in this rural community surrounding Lake Isabella.
It has to do with my medical records. Now I already knew my doctors and the whole clinic in fact, recognized my emotional volatility, or my bi-polar. But it was being exacerbated by an autoimmune disorder, called Grave's disease, which attacks the endocrine system most especially the thyroid.
The thyroid is your friend, trust me, you don't want this butterfly gland in the middle of your neck, to be altered in any way. And most especially if you are bi-polar.
But that is not the point of my story, the point is directed at the clinic which treats me for this and a roster of other problems I won't go into.
I did not check what was being observed and "written" about me. In fact, I trusted that they would be accurate and articulate. And fair and non judgemental.
No, that is not at all what happened. The people I have trusted to treat me have labeled me: bi-polar.
I found out about it at the worst of times. I had suffered a serious head injury, had a stroke about 10 days out, and was going down hill fast in weight and overall health.
So, I thought I must get to the best place for medicine, and I was told to go to UCLA.
After my own attempt to drive myself there in desperation, I became lost on the road, and found myself with a migraine in the middle of LA traffic, ended up in emergency where the strange looks began.
I wrote up my own list of symptoms and all the things I could think of which may be happening to me.
One office after another, month after month, my sister took me to different doctors at UCLA. Again, they would scrutinize me and always come up with a blank.
Then the great, number two in the country, UCLA endocrinology department put me on a the incorrect thyroid medicine. (that's for another time)
Well, they didn't have to be too great did they, because they were reading materials I had no idea was even written about me.
Finally, in the third month of this quest for answers, I saw a neurologist. I sat in front of him and explained the injury, the pain, the eye problems, the physical symptoms of the issues.
He stared at me strangely. By this time I was actually healing on my own, and I had become more aware. His gaze was so unusual I couldn't help wondering what was going on.
When he took off to print me a list of medications to choose from, I stood up and walked to the records open on his desk.
I looked down, a tear streamed down my face, I saw the words, bi-polar.
Suddenly I knew why everyone was looking at me the way they were. It was my medical records speaking, seeped in prejudice and dismissing as a credible patient.
The doctor returned to find me looking stunned with tears running down my face. All I could say was, "is this what you think?"
He immediately said, he could be his own judge and he didn't find those records to be anything but prejudicial. He instructed me to bring my own records and only the tests not the remarks.
My sister met me and I told her what had happened. We both were in shock. After all the traveling, the traffic, the money, I had been treated like a nonhuman.
We both decided not to go to UCLA again as the well was poisoned.
When I got back home, I called the clinic and asked to make an appointment with my medical records. This was before the shift the office had to the computer version.
I took my hefty records to an examining room and began to look at every page since the day I came there the first time.
My mind reeled from the remarks. "Used the word fuck a lot." That was all my visit reflected. That was the total observation.
I heard outside in the office the murmurs of staff wondering what I was doing. And the person who wrote that statement, who I no longer see, and would not like to see again in my life, said to a staff member in a hostile voice, "what is she doing here."
Well lady, I'll tell you that was my question too after I read what you wrote.
But we all have to learn. I learned a very difficult lesson and now we are all going to be learning.
Someone recently, when I had a difficult time in another hospital, told me after she overheard me arguing with the seemingly whole nursing staff, "keep fighting for yourself, you're doing a good job."
And I want all of you to know that you have to fight. Fight this prejudice. Don't let medical records ruin your care. More on this subject, much more...
It has to do with my medical records. Now I already knew my doctors and the whole clinic in fact, recognized my emotional volatility, or my bi-polar. But it was being exacerbated by an autoimmune disorder, called Grave's disease, which attacks the endocrine system most especially the thyroid.
The thyroid is your friend, trust me, you don't want this butterfly gland in the middle of your neck, to be altered in any way. And most especially if you are bi-polar.
But that is not the point of my story, the point is directed at the clinic which treats me for this and a roster of other problems I won't go into.
I did not check what was being observed and "written" about me. In fact, I trusted that they would be accurate and articulate. And fair and non judgemental.
No, that is not at all what happened. The people I have trusted to treat me have labeled me: bi-polar.
I found out about it at the worst of times. I had suffered a serious head injury, had a stroke about 10 days out, and was going down hill fast in weight and overall health.
So, I thought I must get to the best place for medicine, and I was told to go to UCLA.
After my own attempt to drive myself there in desperation, I became lost on the road, and found myself with a migraine in the middle of LA traffic, ended up in emergency where the strange looks began.
I wrote up my own list of symptoms and all the things I could think of which may be happening to me.
One office after another, month after month, my sister took me to different doctors at UCLA. Again, they would scrutinize me and always come up with a blank.
Then the great, number two in the country, UCLA endocrinology department put me on a the incorrect thyroid medicine. (that's for another time)
Well, they didn't have to be too great did they, because they were reading materials I had no idea was even written about me.
Finally, in the third month of this quest for answers, I saw a neurologist. I sat in front of him and explained the injury, the pain, the eye problems, the physical symptoms of the issues.
He stared at me strangely. By this time I was actually healing on my own, and I had become more aware. His gaze was so unusual I couldn't help wondering what was going on.
When he took off to print me a list of medications to choose from, I stood up and walked to the records open on his desk.
I looked down, a tear streamed down my face, I saw the words, bi-polar.
Suddenly I knew why everyone was looking at me the way they were. It was my medical records speaking, seeped in prejudice and dismissing as a credible patient.
The doctor returned to find me looking stunned with tears running down my face. All I could say was, "is this what you think?"
He immediately said, he could be his own judge and he didn't find those records to be anything but prejudicial. He instructed me to bring my own records and only the tests not the remarks.
My sister met me and I told her what had happened. We both were in shock. After all the traveling, the traffic, the money, I had been treated like a nonhuman.
We both decided not to go to UCLA again as the well was poisoned.
When I got back home, I called the clinic and asked to make an appointment with my medical records. This was before the shift the office had to the computer version.
I took my hefty records to an examining room and began to look at every page since the day I came there the first time.
My mind reeled from the remarks. "Used the word fuck a lot." That was all my visit reflected. That was the total observation.
I heard outside in the office the murmurs of staff wondering what I was doing. And the person who wrote that statement, who I no longer see, and would not like to see again in my life, said to a staff member in a hostile voice, "what is she doing here."
Well lady, I'll tell you that was my question too after I read what you wrote.
But we all have to learn. I learned a very difficult lesson and now we are all going to be learning.
Someone recently, when I had a difficult time in another hospital, told me after she overheard me arguing with the seemingly whole nursing staff, "keep fighting for yourself, you're doing a good job."
And I want all of you to know that you have to fight. Fight this prejudice. Don't let medical records ruin your care. More on this subject, much more...
"Put me in coach, I'm ready to play today...but tomorrow's anyone's guess"
If you're a bi-polar family and have kids, and are thinking about signing them up for a sports team, you might want to hear a few of my stories before buying the uniform. (kidding, sort of)
I was very athletic and could play just about any sport there was or could be created in my imagination.
My parents thought I should play piano. I thought it was stupid because we had a player piano which played itself.
I loved playing baseball and was quite good at it. I could play anywhere on the field and I could hit any pitch anyone could throw.
That was all good except for the fact that I had deep emotional problems which made me the "wildcard" of the team.
I was thrown off of several teams for various things during my young sports life, like throwing the bat, fighting, breaking rules, temper tantrums: I was just a little delight out there on the field.
My parents were called regularly to pick me up as I was either benched or suspended on a regular basis.
I had a good coach for a while, got several trophies, and he managed to direct my ill temper into a passion for the game. He did that for all the kids, he was a natural at bringing out the best in all kinds.
But as I grew older I seemed to get worse and not better.
My parents, now a mother and stepfather, believed I should play golf. I liked golf, I just didn't like playing with them.
Most of the time my mother just went along on the course to get to the country club for her martinis. It was one divet after another for nine holes and it drove me crazy.
On the other hand my stepfather was a stickler for rules. I am not.
I hit a ball into a dense grove of trees and told them to take a stroke.
He decided I had to hit it from the trees.
It was so idiotic that I couldn't just take a stroke off that I began cursing, stomping around, and finally took an errant shot at the ball which hit a tree and came back and hit me squarely in the forehead, knocking me out cold.
Yes, it was always fun. Later I bent club after club, and nobody ever wanted to play me. I wonder why.
Back to the point, team sports do teach things to some people. The bi-polar may handle it a little differently though. And don't expect to drop off your irregular children into a situation they may not be emotionally able to handle.
All kids need to learn less about competition and more about proficiency. Be a part of your kids team, be there when your bi-polar kid can't handle dropping the winning ball or striking out or missing the easy lay up.
I enjoyed sports and was almost obsessed with playing. But I had that small issue of getting along with others and playing on a team.
Coaches and all people working with children need to recognize each child is different, but sports can be open to all. It's a great way to utilize that energy we bi-polars are often surging with.
But people have to be aware they are dealing with a bi-polar child/person. And then the hard part is finding out they don't even know what the hell bi-polar means and how to deal with it.
Break the barriers, talk about it, laugh about it; it effects every part of your life and that of your children. Help other people understand.
I was very athletic and could play just about any sport there was or could be created in my imagination.
My parents thought I should play piano. I thought it was stupid because we had a player piano which played itself.
I loved playing baseball and was quite good at it. I could play anywhere on the field and I could hit any pitch anyone could throw.
That was all good except for the fact that I had deep emotional problems which made me the "wildcard" of the team.
I was thrown off of several teams for various things during my young sports life, like throwing the bat, fighting, breaking rules, temper tantrums: I was just a little delight out there on the field.
My parents were called regularly to pick me up as I was either benched or suspended on a regular basis.
I had a good coach for a while, got several trophies, and he managed to direct my ill temper into a passion for the game. He did that for all the kids, he was a natural at bringing out the best in all kinds.
But as I grew older I seemed to get worse and not better.
My parents, now a mother and stepfather, believed I should play golf. I liked golf, I just didn't like playing with them.
Most of the time my mother just went along on the course to get to the country club for her martinis. It was one divet after another for nine holes and it drove me crazy.
On the other hand my stepfather was a stickler for rules. I am not.
I hit a ball into a dense grove of trees and told them to take a stroke.
He decided I had to hit it from the trees.
It was so idiotic that I couldn't just take a stroke off that I began cursing, stomping around, and finally took an errant shot at the ball which hit a tree and came back and hit me squarely in the forehead, knocking me out cold.
Yes, it was always fun. Later I bent club after club, and nobody ever wanted to play me. I wonder why.
Back to the point, team sports do teach things to some people. The bi-polar may handle it a little differently though. And don't expect to drop off your irregular children into a situation they may not be emotionally able to handle.
All kids need to learn less about competition and more about proficiency. Be a part of your kids team, be there when your bi-polar kid can't handle dropping the winning ball or striking out or missing the easy lay up.
I enjoyed sports and was almost obsessed with playing. But I had that small issue of getting along with others and playing on a team.
Coaches and all people working with children need to recognize each child is different, but sports can be open to all. It's a great way to utilize that energy we bi-polars are often surging with.
But people have to be aware they are dealing with a bi-polar child/person. And then the hard part is finding out they don't even know what the hell bi-polar means and how to deal with it.
Break the barriers, talk about it, laugh about it; it effects every part of your life and that of your children. Help other people understand.
Telling others you are bi-polar, just don't tell the editor of the Kern Valley Sun Newspaper in Lake Isabella
So, you know you're bi-polar and everyone in your family knows and probably has some form of it or another.
But what do you do when you tell friends, intimate partners, or people at work?
First, I think you have to use some judgment when deciding who to tell and when. Some might be relieved to hear you're not in denial while others may call it an excuse for being an asshole at a higher rate than the rest of society.
There is always the risk that you will be discriminated against just like any othe minority or group of "different" people.
But let me tell you, for some reason I have had the great opportunity to meet some incredible bi-polar people. They are extremely intelligent, artistic and sensitive.
However, they have notably low self esteem.
This comes from depression. Depression is a liar and you need to make that clear to yourselves. It tells you, not to go on, you're not good enough, you can't get up to do anything: all lies you don't have to listen to.
We will talk soon about what I call, "staying in the eye of the storm," you don't have to act on every thought that crosses your mind. Nor do you have to be afraid of the thoughts either.
Back to telling others. Once you're diagnosed or you are pretty damn sure of what is going on, you've got to let somebody know.
You do need to talk about it with others you can trust. Truly this doesn't have to be a psychologist or psychiatrist, it means a friend with an intelligent mind and open heart. Someone who will show you empathy.
I've just burst out the door with this revelation recently, but it was something that seemed to be calling me: my destiny.
It's not been easy, as people are still digesting or imagining what a "bi-polar reporter" is all about.
But I've made mistakes in the past where I trusted and things didn't work out. One particular misjudgment I still deal with.
I worked for a newspaper who had an assistant editor with her eye on the editor job, and she was using the excuse that the paper was not covering the "news" properly. I bit.
She needed support and I always believed in covering the news and the fluff.
Once she took power at the Kern Valley Sun in Lake Isabella, things weren't quite like she had said they would be.
We had a series of viscious arguments which were about our differences in the way things can be covered by the media.
Well, one day, after I had stayed up all night with a story, a spot was supposed to be left open for the story and a unique chart.
(Bi-polar types know that if we don't sleep we will go into "automanic." Sometimes we use that to cure a serious case of depression.)
I yelled and was so intent on getting this story right, I pissed her off very much.
Feeling bad about being so focused and myopic and not caring about her feelings, I called her to talk to her.
She wasn't open to the idea of talking to me at the time, but I apologized, as we all have to do regularly, and then told her that I was bi-polar and that my thyroid levels were aggravating the situation.
That seemed like the right idea, but the truth was, we were and are, two different kinds of people.
She shared with me at the time that she suffered from depression and was taking medication. Usually when people share they are doing it to help themselves feel better.
I thought it was all well and good, and moved on. This person became an enemy. We hadn't talked anything out like I thought we had. In fact, it came to my attention after we parted ways at the paper, that she was telling other writers and community members about me and my "mental" problems.
So, the untrustworthy usually show themselves at some point, but you don't let that stop you. If, like this person, labels you "crazy," "mental" or many other epithets, realize they have the problem.
It is not you at all. When it is you, you take responsibility for your actions. But that is what you have to do to keep your balance.
But what do you do when you tell friends, intimate partners, or people at work?
First, I think you have to use some judgment when deciding who to tell and when. Some might be relieved to hear you're not in denial while others may call it an excuse for being an asshole at a higher rate than the rest of society.
There is always the risk that you will be discriminated against just like any othe minority or group of "different" people.
But let me tell you, for some reason I have had the great opportunity to meet some incredible bi-polar people. They are extremely intelligent, artistic and sensitive.
However, they have notably low self esteem.
This comes from depression. Depression is a liar and you need to make that clear to yourselves. It tells you, not to go on, you're not good enough, you can't get up to do anything: all lies you don't have to listen to.
We will talk soon about what I call, "staying in the eye of the storm," you don't have to act on every thought that crosses your mind. Nor do you have to be afraid of the thoughts either.
Back to telling others. Once you're diagnosed or you are pretty damn sure of what is going on, you've got to let somebody know.
You do need to talk about it with others you can trust. Truly this doesn't have to be a psychologist or psychiatrist, it means a friend with an intelligent mind and open heart. Someone who will show you empathy.
I've just burst out the door with this revelation recently, but it was something that seemed to be calling me: my destiny.
It's not been easy, as people are still digesting or imagining what a "bi-polar reporter" is all about.
But I've made mistakes in the past where I trusted and things didn't work out. One particular misjudgment I still deal with.
I worked for a newspaper who had an assistant editor with her eye on the editor job, and she was using the excuse that the paper was not covering the "news" properly. I bit.
She needed support and I always believed in covering the news and the fluff.
Once she took power at the Kern Valley Sun in Lake Isabella, things weren't quite like she had said they would be.
We had a series of viscious arguments which were about our differences in the way things can be covered by the media.
Well, one day, after I had stayed up all night with a story, a spot was supposed to be left open for the story and a unique chart.
(Bi-polar types know that if we don't sleep we will go into "automanic." Sometimes we use that to cure a serious case of depression.)
I yelled and was so intent on getting this story right, I pissed her off very much.
Feeling bad about being so focused and myopic and not caring about her feelings, I called her to talk to her.
She wasn't open to the idea of talking to me at the time, but I apologized, as we all have to do regularly, and then told her that I was bi-polar and that my thyroid levels were aggravating the situation.
That seemed like the right idea, but the truth was, we were and are, two different kinds of people.
She shared with me at the time that she suffered from depression and was taking medication. Usually when people share they are doing it to help themselves feel better.
I thought it was all well and good, and moved on. This person became an enemy. We hadn't talked anything out like I thought we had. In fact, it came to my attention after we parted ways at the paper, that she was telling other writers and community members about me and my "mental" problems.
So, the untrustworthy usually show themselves at some point, but you don't let that stop you. If, like this person, labels you "crazy," "mental" or many other epithets, realize they have the problem.
It is not you at all. When it is you, you take responsibility for your actions. But that is what you have to do to keep your balance.
Relationships and the bi-polar
Talking about the subject of bi-polars in relationships and the kinds of relationships we have, turns out to be a long round of conversation.
Every conceivable issue or problem has occurred in a bi-polar relationship. I thought I had heard and done it all.
I've listened now for hours and shared my own nightmares with my bi-polar friends, and I think sometimes is it really possible to have a relationship.
Now we have the potential of having bi-polar/bi-polar mixes. Yeah right.
That's like just bringing the gasoline in with the match. Boom!
Another bad mix is the manic and the depressive. Oh, good god, the long hours of arguing black and white.
The bi-polar and the controller is a no win situation. The bi-polar likes to have big, colorful, sails on a light craft to journey out to sea. Controlling types stay docked in their thinking and structure their lives out of fear. Fear is just a bump in the road for the bi-polar.
Most of us bi-polars get along with each other as long as we understand we are going to piss one another off at some point. There has to be trust because we're so damned sensitive that our itty bitty feelings get hurt quite often.
My last relationship was with a depressive, with tons of depressive, self-destructive, self-loathing, self-absorbed energy.
I was, on the other hand, in constant motion flying around looking for more creative outlets.
He chose to hide in his depressive state and look for sympathy, which I could only supply for a short time as I don't believe any of us are victims.
The ill fated relationship only really happened because of my lack of impulse control. Hey, he was walking around in his skivvies, and I saw toys.
That happens to be another subject entirely. Sex and the bi-polar. Basically, it's about survival, sex, food and water. The rest is uninteresting.
Bi-polar sex is unique too, we'll talk about that in another post.
Every conceivable issue or problem has occurred in a bi-polar relationship. I thought I had heard and done it all.
I've listened now for hours and shared my own nightmares with my bi-polar friends, and I think sometimes is it really possible to have a relationship.
Now we have the potential of having bi-polar/bi-polar mixes. Yeah right.
That's like just bringing the gasoline in with the match. Boom!
Another bad mix is the manic and the depressive. Oh, good god, the long hours of arguing black and white.
The bi-polar and the controller is a no win situation. The bi-polar likes to have big, colorful, sails on a light craft to journey out to sea. Controlling types stay docked in their thinking and structure their lives out of fear. Fear is just a bump in the road for the bi-polar.
Most of us bi-polars get along with each other as long as we understand we are going to piss one another off at some point. There has to be trust because we're so damned sensitive that our itty bitty feelings get hurt quite often.
My last relationship was with a depressive, with tons of depressive, self-destructive, self-loathing, self-absorbed energy.
I was, on the other hand, in constant motion flying around looking for more creative outlets.
He chose to hide in his depressive state and look for sympathy, which I could only supply for a short time as I don't believe any of us are victims.
The ill fated relationship only really happened because of my lack of impulse control. Hey, he was walking around in his skivvies, and I saw toys.
That happens to be another subject entirely. Sex and the bi-polar. Basically, it's about survival, sex, food and water. The rest is uninteresting.
Bi-polar sex is unique too, we'll talk about that in another post.
Some poetry by "Polar Man"
(Everybody wants a bi-polar name to write under, so I have no problem with that. I guess mine would be the bi-polar reporter, so that one is taken for good. We have seen King Arthur, Polar Man, Depolarized, and others will follow.)
Stay
If I were to sing the sorrow Of a melancholy dream
Would you listen come tomorrow
To the echo of my scream
And if I meant to end my life
Would you find it hard to care
Could you watch my soul leave in strife
Consumed by my despair
I know not of your true belief
And what you are doing here
But sit it through and share my grief
Since your absence is my fear
And then one day you may look back
At what we went through today
To learn that you set me on track
By caring enough to stay
Misunderstandings
To whom it may concern
Yes, your lesson has been learned
But you think that you know me well
How is this, pray do tell
When you have things so very wrong
You think I am weak when I am strong
And you think that I don't understand
How you feel and where you stand
If you took just a moment to
Realize what I mean to you
And likewise, only tried to see
That you are a special part of me
And even if I have strange ways
Thoughts of you still fill my days
But you can't do any of this
Because your thoughts are amiss
And your heart has strayed from home
To painful places it can roam
Why not just believe my words
And soar with me among the birds
Alas, I know not what to do
But say once more that I love you...
Stay
If I were to sing the sorrow Of a melancholy dream
Would you listen come tomorrow
To the echo of my scream
And if I meant to end my life
Would you find it hard to care
Could you watch my soul leave in strife
Consumed by my despair
I know not of your true belief
And what you are doing here
But sit it through and share my grief
Since your absence is my fear
And then one day you may look back
At what we went through today
To learn that you set me on track
By caring enough to stay
Misunderstandings
To whom it may concern
Yes, your lesson has been learned
But you think that you know me well
How is this, pray do tell
When you have things so very wrong
You think I am weak when I am strong
And you think that I don't understand
How you feel and where you stand
If you took just a moment to
Realize what I mean to you
And likewise, only tried to see
That you are a special part of me
And even if I have strange ways
Thoughts of you still fill my days
But you can't do any of this
Because your thoughts are amiss
And your heart has strayed from home
To painful places it can roam
Why not just believe my words
And soar with me among the birds
Alas, I know not what to do
But say once more that I love you...
Just thought I'd slip over to my other blog to complain, my dog doesn't want to hear it, but hey
I know that most of you I have invited over here are in the mental health fields and are probably not shocked by anything I've said so far. I'm sure you've heard it all.
Today, I'm complaining. In fact I'm really pissed off at myself right now. My body has its own way of fucking with me, and when I woke up this morning to take a jaunt out of town, the pain was too much even to get out of bed.
I don't really like pain, though I work with it everyday. I use it to carry me through a rough day.
But days or mornings like these really make me wonder. I'm in pain from head to toe, my heating pad hasn't been of much use, and even the pain medicine isn't doing anything. FUCK! I will only take a small amount of pain reliever because I want to stay functional and alert.
After an hour of crying which sometimes actually helps, I crawled onto this fucking computer to have at it again. I don't know though, I may have to just go to bed and hope that the pain will be more tolerable later this afternoon.
Being the bi-polar I am I have two problems with this condition. First, pain triggers mania and then depression. Pain killers are so touchy I have to be very careful as to how much to take. Medications are my nemesis as I have had so many problems over the years.
When the neurologist treated me earlier this year for my squishy neck condition, (I'll call it whatever the hell I want to call it) they put me on steroids. Oh, so bad.
The first couple days were wonderful as the inflammation obviously was subsiding, then the problems started.
I can't even drink coffee, I am a stimulant myself, but the steroids were like an espresso IV. I couldn't come down and then my personality became inflamed. I thought I might hurt someone so friends kept me at their house for a few days until I began to be able to handle things, like "hi how are you?" My answer was "fuck you."
Steroids are now off my list. The only thing I can say about them is they make you eat. I ate so much that week, all my food, and raided other people's fridges too.
Unfortunately, had I taken one more of those pills, I and this community would have been the top story on CNN.
And other drugs are blackouts for me, I don't even remember, but yet people have told me that I talked, was seemingly lucid, and yet I haven't the slightest idea who was in charge.
A friend of mine came over during a crisis which got me my first 5150 of my life last December. The idiot guy I was seeing didn't realize I was not there. I had had a colonoscopy that morning and I warned those bastard doctors that they needed to watch me closely with their drugs that "everyone else" seems to tolerate. (I guess I'm just not everyone else assholes)
The last thing I remember was walking out of the clinic. Then a blip of crying and yelling on the canyon road. But then I was at our local hospital being threatened. I imagine they charged up enough adrenaline in me that I was able to remember they were wrestling me. Threatening me to the point I have the memory.
How I know its a true memory, was that I didn't know the nurses who were doing this and went to the hospital to find them. Yes, it was a true memory.
But my friends were called in on this finally, and she took one look in my eyes, and told everyone (I guess the house was full of cops and paramedics) that I was not there. She knew.
I came out of it the next morning at KMC. I was sitting in a chair in the hallway and suddenly thought, "how did I get here?"
I looked down on my wrist and there was a black hospital band. "Am I a pirate?"
The security guards watched me stir, and came running. I don't know what I did to so concern them, but apparently it wasn't good.
Later when the idiot came to pick me up, I had a good repore with the staff, and brought them out to see my car. They couldn't believe my license plates read "5150."
It took two weeks to get over that whole situation. I was embarrassed, depressed, and wanted to give everything in my life up. I ditched the idiot but not the lesson. Again, somehow, it made me stronger.
That was the week I began accepting myself as bi-polar. Oh, I wasn't happy at first, but then, I thought, hell yeah. It's freeing to just be yourself sometimes even if it is usually a sordid tale.
Okay, I'm done. Going to bed for a bit.
I had a sagacious 12 year old tell me last night I needed to take breaks while I work and take care of myself. I laughed and she thought I was laughing at her. No, I realized that a prepubescent knows more about life than I do.
Today, I'm complaining. In fact I'm really pissed off at myself right now. My body has its own way of fucking with me, and when I woke up this morning to take a jaunt out of town, the pain was too much even to get out of bed.
I don't really like pain, though I work with it everyday. I use it to carry me through a rough day.
But days or mornings like these really make me wonder. I'm in pain from head to toe, my heating pad hasn't been of much use, and even the pain medicine isn't doing anything. FUCK! I will only take a small amount of pain reliever because I want to stay functional and alert.
After an hour of crying which sometimes actually helps, I crawled onto this fucking computer to have at it again. I don't know though, I may have to just go to bed and hope that the pain will be more tolerable later this afternoon.
Being the bi-polar I am I have two problems with this condition. First, pain triggers mania and then depression. Pain killers are so touchy I have to be very careful as to how much to take. Medications are my nemesis as I have had so many problems over the years.
When the neurologist treated me earlier this year for my squishy neck condition, (I'll call it whatever the hell I want to call it) they put me on steroids. Oh, so bad.
The first couple days were wonderful as the inflammation obviously was subsiding, then the problems started.
I can't even drink coffee, I am a stimulant myself, but the steroids were like an espresso IV. I couldn't come down and then my personality became inflamed. I thought I might hurt someone so friends kept me at their house for a few days until I began to be able to handle things, like "hi how are you?" My answer was "fuck you."
Steroids are now off my list. The only thing I can say about them is they make you eat. I ate so much that week, all my food, and raided other people's fridges too.
Unfortunately, had I taken one more of those pills, I and this community would have been the top story on CNN.
And other drugs are blackouts for me, I don't even remember, but yet people have told me that I talked, was seemingly lucid, and yet I haven't the slightest idea who was in charge.
A friend of mine came over during a crisis which got me my first 5150 of my life last December. The idiot guy I was seeing didn't realize I was not there. I had had a colonoscopy that morning and I warned those bastard doctors that they needed to watch me closely with their drugs that "everyone else" seems to tolerate. (I guess I'm just not everyone else assholes)
The last thing I remember was walking out of the clinic. Then a blip of crying and yelling on the canyon road. But then I was at our local hospital being threatened. I imagine they charged up enough adrenaline in me that I was able to remember they were wrestling me. Threatening me to the point I have the memory.
How I know its a true memory, was that I didn't know the nurses who were doing this and went to the hospital to find them. Yes, it was a true memory.
But my friends were called in on this finally, and she took one look in my eyes, and told everyone (I guess the house was full of cops and paramedics) that I was not there. She knew.
I came out of it the next morning at KMC. I was sitting in a chair in the hallway and suddenly thought, "how did I get here?"
I looked down on my wrist and there was a black hospital band. "Am I a pirate?"
The security guards watched me stir, and came running. I don't know what I did to so concern them, but apparently it wasn't good.
Later when the idiot came to pick me up, I had a good repore with the staff, and brought them out to see my car. They couldn't believe my license plates read "5150."
It took two weeks to get over that whole situation. I was embarrassed, depressed, and wanted to give everything in my life up. I ditched the idiot but not the lesson. Again, somehow, it made me stronger.
That was the week I began accepting myself as bi-polar. Oh, I wasn't happy at first, but then, I thought, hell yeah. It's freeing to just be yourself sometimes even if it is usually a sordid tale.
Okay, I'm done. Going to bed for a bit.
I had a sagacious 12 year old tell me last night I needed to take breaks while I work and take care of myself. I laughed and she thought I was laughing at her. No, I realized that a prepubescent knows more about life than I do.
The rubber band man...
"Would you just fucking go! Are you going to do anything?! FUCK YOU, YOU FUCKING COCKSUCKER PIECE OF FUCKING SHIT!!!"
One might think that these words be fightin' words...and I patiently waited for the archaic and VERY slow computer to respond with at least half of a comeback for my friend Laura but it never did...it just sat there like the annoying, inanimate object it is.
But this entire scene led me to ask myself, why do seemingly harmless little things like a slow computer tend to set us bi-polars off faster than a disgruntled postal worker during the holidays? Well I think I may have thought up an analogy that might at least shed some light on the whole subject and if not at least give the rubber industry (not the condom industry) free publicity.
So imagine, if you will, that you are a rubber band. I know it's difficult to get past the rubbery smell, but humor me here.
Now imagine that the entire world (and all the idiots in it) is two clumsy, bumbling hands constantly stretching and pulling you...and often times in directions that you do not wish to be pulled.
You are tense, either way you look at it and there really is no way to avoid this tension no matter how much Yoga or bird watching you do.
Well you're inevitably going to get to a point where either:
A. You're released in a direction you had no problem with going in, or
B. You're released in a direction that sucks for you AND anybody else who has the potential to piss you the fuck off.
Oh wait, there's also
C. Which would basically be snapping...but let's not go there.
Going in the direction you wished to go in leaves you happy and manic...
Yippee!!!! Life is wonderful! Life is grand! Optimism explodes out of every fiber of your being and it all seems like a fucking Zappos commercial!
However, going in the opposite direction can make you angry and full of rage, sad, suicidal, and with the worst feeling of hopelessness anyone could or should ever have to endure...I know, I know, couldn't we have just gone with A.?
Now perhaps the toughest thing of all is to find ways of dealing with the tension so that when you do launch it is away from everyone else (and at inanimate objects like, say, computers instead).
I have found that seeking a balance to deal with the constant pulling is actually one of the keys to living the bi-polar life on a somewhat normal level, not that I really know anything about that word.
What does this mean? Well for some, finding equilibrium might be through writing or music or playing video games and for others it might be this or that yadi yadi yada... The point to be made here is that I think it needs to be something the bi-polar person is truly passionate about.
All of us have to do things and be around things we don't want to deal with from time to time and there is no exception to this rule...but forceably put a bi-polar person in this predicament and, well, that damn rubberband is going to be on the fucking verge of snapping EVERY fucking time.
People with bi-polar disorder are just like everybody else with the exception that we wind and release on a much shorter scale of space and time than the average person and this can mean high intelligence, intense creativity, and unfortunately, also an inherit destructive nature...but if we can just find those little alleyways in life that we lose ourselves in and are able to pour this immense amount of unused creativity and energy into...we are truly capable of beautiful things.
So listen up all you slow computers out there, pulling on all us hapless bi-polar "rubberbands", we don't usually mean any harm by our trash-talking and cutting you down but come on now, if it takes you 10 fucking minutes to do a mediocre task that can be done in 2, HOLY SHIT WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU?!!!!!
Oops, I just meant to say, ahem "Please bare with us we're bi-polar."
One might think that these words be fightin' words...and I patiently waited for the archaic and VERY slow computer to respond with at least half of a comeback for my friend Laura but it never did...it just sat there like the annoying, inanimate object it is.
But this entire scene led me to ask myself, why do seemingly harmless little things like a slow computer tend to set us bi-polars off faster than a disgruntled postal worker during the holidays? Well I think I may have thought up an analogy that might at least shed some light on the whole subject and if not at least give the rubber industry (not the condom industry) free publicity.
So imagine, if you will, that you are a rubber band. I know it's difficult to get past the rubbery smell, but humor me here.
Now imagine that the entire world (and all the idiots in it) is two clumsy, bumbling hands constantly stretching and pulling you...and often times in directions that you do not wish to be pulled.
You are tense, either way you look at it and there really is no way to avoid this tension no matter how much Yoga or bird watching you do.
Well you're inevitably going to get to a point where either:
A. You're released in a direction you had no problem with going in, or
B. You're released in a direction that sucks for you AND anybody else who has the potential to piss you the fuck off.
Oh wait, there's also
C. Which would basically be snapping...but let's not go there.
Going in the direction you wished to go in leaves you happy and manic...
Yippee!!!! Life is wonderful! Life is grand! Optimism explodes out of every fiber of your being and it all seems like a fucking Zappos commercial!
However, going in the opposite direction can make you angry and full of rage, sad, suicidal, and with the worst feeling of hopelessness anyone could or should ever have to endure...I know, I know, couldn't we have just gone with A.?
Now perhaps the toughest thing of all is to find ways of dealing with the tension so that when you do launch it is away from everyone else (and at inanimate objects like, say, computers instead).
I have found that seeking a balance to deal with the constant pulling is actually one of the keys to living the bi-polar life on a somewhat normal level, not that I really know anything about that word.
What does this mean? Well for some, finding equilibrium might be through writing or music or playing video games and for others it might be this or that yadi yadi yada... The point to be made here is that I think it needs to be something the bi-polar person is truly passionate about.
All of us have to do things and be around things we don't want to deal with from time to time and there is no exception to this rule...but forceably put a bi-polar person in this predicament and, well, that damn rubberband is going to be on the fucking verge of snapping EVERY fucking time.
People with bi-polar disorder are just like everybody else with the exception that we wind and release on a much shorter scale of space and time than the average person and this can mean high intelligence, intense creativity, and unfortunately, also an inherit destructive nature...but if we can just find those little alleyways in life that we lose ourselves in and are able to pour this immense amount of unused creativity and energy into...we are truly capable of beautiful things.
So listen up all you slow computers out there, pulling on all us hapless bi-polar "rubberbands", we don't usually mean any harm by our trash-talking and cutting you down but come on now, if it takes you 10 fucking minutes to do a mediocre task that can be done in 2, HOLY SHIT WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU?!!!!!
Oops, I just meant to say, ahem "Please bare with us we're bi-polar."
Welcome "Sean Time"
We have a new writer/artist aboard, and he is going to show off some of his drawings for you along with his macabre stories which are funny as hell.
Look for pictures of our new protege and hopefully many more stories to come.
Sean is also one of the people featured in our movie, "The Order of the Bi-Polar Disorder."
Of course, he's bi-polar.
Sean has a physical ability much like Jim Carey to change his face and physically act out comedy, so our movie will be more interesting because of him.
This young BP has a thing for zombies so get ready for some really off the wall humor.
We are creating a whole new genre for our books and movies, all bi-polar, but instead of finding our materials in the "mystery" "fiction" "thriller" sections, we have our own section: "The unpredictable" genre.
Thanks Sean. And look for his posts, pix and artwork.
Look for pictures of our new protege and hopefully many more stories to come.
Sean is also one of the people featured in our movie, "The Order of the Bi-Polar Disorder."
Of course, he's bi-polar.
Sean has a physical ability much like Jim Carey to change his face and physically act out comedy, so our movie will be more interesting because of him.
This young BP has a thing for zombies so get ready for some really off the wall humor.
We are creating a whole new genre for our books and movies, all bi-polar, but instead of finding our materials in the "mystery" "fiction" "thriller" sections, we have our own section: "The unpredictable" genre.
Thanks Sean. And look for his posts, pix and artwork.
No answers, just more questions...my alcoholic brother
The waste of time and money
Are people are waste of time and money or are they salvageable?
It's a question you ask yourself everyday as people all around you are spinning out of control and others pretending to help though their whole premise is to make money.
My brother has been drinking for more than two years straight, it can't go on much longer, or it could, but his bi-polar disorder won't let it.
His chemistry will eventually degrade to a point where he can't think and will likely do something to himself or some phantom thoughts he has about the world.
The bi polar chemistry so easily rattled, needing so much vigilance, and when the breakdown occurs and the person finally has the strength to say, "I need help," there is no help.
I'm talking to you Alcoholics anonymous and all the crapola put together by government agencies who could be doing such a great job if they knew how to spend money and use it wisely. But as we know it doesn't happen that way.
Having my own struggle with these prescribed pharmaceuticals which the doctor puts their stamp of approval on, and your out the door, with your pills. You hope you're not in the small percentage who will have side effects or even deadly side effects, or permanent ones, but you take the chance because illness is worse than trying nothing.
Then there's the addicts, alcoholics, and one being my brother whom I love and can't even begin to help. And phone call after phone call i can't find anyone to reach out and find us some help.
It isn't there, he has the wrong insurance, he will have to travel, he has to have a felony, he has to qualify to get help.
I've tried not to get super mad about this, because it's so freaking ridiculous I can't believe it.
What I can't believe is the stupidity which created the safety nets. Big holes in those nets and people are falling through.
Not the people who want to fall through and have even planned out the trip, knowing they have nothing left, feel as though they will not be contributors to the big plan, or can't be counted on to think about anyone but themselves.
These people have a choice to some degree. There are those looking for a choice or an option and that is where we let them down.
My brother is an alcoholic. His drug of choice can be obtained anywhere, the store, the bar, at a party, restaurant, and even your kitchen cabinet.
He said he doesn't understand why he can't stop drinking. My sister and I reassured him he is an alcoholic, and that might have something to do with it.
Where do we go?
I don't know what to do next, I've dialed the phone asked questions, and came up with little or nothing hopeful. Even if my brother could ask for help, where would he go?
I can't find it?
Is it time to think this thru and find a way to actually help and not squander time and money?
He's worth the time, he needs to know he's okay and can live without all the chemicals, which for a bipolar, is never easy.
I'll update as we work on this. Bakersfield AA, I'm about to call you back...
Are people are waste of time and money or are they salvageable?
It's a question you ask yourself everyday as people all around you are spinning out of control and others pretending to help though their whole premise is to make money.
My brother has been drinking for more than two years straight, it can't go on much longer, or it could, but his bi-polar disorder won't let it.
His chemistry will eventually degrade to a point where he can't think and will likely do something to himself or some phantom thoughts he has about the world.
The bi polar chemistry so easily rattled, needing so much vigilance, and when the breakdown occurs and the person finally has the strength to say, "I need help," there is no help.
I'm talking to you Alcoholics anonymous and all the crapola put together by government agencies who could be doing such a great job if they knew how to spend money and use it wisely. But as we know it doesn't happen that way.
Having my own struggle with these prescribed pharmaceuticals which the doctor puts their stamp of approval on, and your out the door, with your pills. You hope you're not in the small percentage who will have side effects or even deadly side effects, or permanent ones, but you take the chance because illness is worse than trying nothing.
Then there's the addicts, alcoholics, and one being my brother whom I love and can't even begin to help. And phone call after phone call i can't find anyone to reach out and find us some help.
It isn't there, he has the wrong insurance, he will have to travel, he has to have a felony, he has to qualify to get help.
I've tried not to get super mad about this, because it's so freaking ridiculous I can't believe it.
What I can't believe is the stupidity which created the safety nets. Big holes in those nets and people are falling through.
Not the people who want to fall through and have even planned out the trip, knowing they have nothing left, feel as though they will not be contributors to the big plan, or can't be counted on to think about anyone but themselves.
These people have a choice to some degree. There are those looking for a choice or an option and that is where we let them down.
My brother is an alcoholic. His drug of choice can be obtained anywhere, the store, the bar, at a party, restaurant, and even your kitchen cabinet.
He said he doesn't understand why he can't stop drinking. My sister and I reassured him he is an alcoholic, and that might have something to do with it.
Where do we go?
I don't know what to do next, I've dialed the phone asked questions, and came up with little or nothing hopeful. Even if my brother could ask for help, where would he go?
I can't find it?
Is it time to think this thru and find a way to actually help and not squander time and money?
He's worth the time, he needs to know he's okay and can live without all the chemicals, which for a bipolar, is never easy.
I'll update as we work on this. Bakersfield AA, I'm about to call you back...
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