confessionsofabipolarbaker

Latest Posts by confessionsofabipolarbaker

THIS!!!!!!!!!! most of us feel like we aren't doing enough because we can't physically stop a genocide but speaking helps!! pressuring helps!! boycotting helps and protesting helps!! please don't give up on Palestinians not when the entire world has turned their backs on them

here is how YOU can help Palestine

First line:

"It was a time of guilty pleasures, and I have no regrets. Our child, however will need therapy after reading this."

- my autobiography...

The Prequel

"Welcome to my sweet upside down world."

In 2013 I wrote my first blog piece. I had (have?) zero followers, I rarely posted — at one point it was 2 years between, and yet I still held on to this need to write. "Someone, somewhere wants to hear my story."

Today I’m sitting on my front porch, it’s an unusually warm October day, contemplating things that two decades ago I never thought would be in my brain — Why is my wife upset with me? When do we have to leave for our trans son’s LGBTQ group meeting? Are we taking the dog with us? What will this drive look like next week after the 2024 election?

I'm writing again, today, because aforementioned Wife (THE bestest wife everrrrr) has asked me to take time to focus on my writing - for the first time ever. My goal - share my life. Lots of people - when I share my story/ies - find it interesting. I often think it's quite ... normal? Is that the word? Maybe. If nothing else I feel like I can keep the attention of most people when I share. We shall see. I'm not sure what order makes the most sense, but I have lots of stories to tell, and I am confident they will make their way here.

Shall we?

-Yes, let's.

First blog post - May 14th, 2013:

There is a saying in yoga practice when doing inversion asanas (upside down poses):  inversions help you to see your world upside down in practice so you know how to deal better with upside down moments in life.

Let’s just say that I’ve been doing a lot of inversions lately.

Hello, I am the self-titled Bipolar Baker… And welcome to my sweet upside down word.

I was only recently diagnosed, as of May 9th, 2013… Not even a week now.  And yet, it feels like I have lived with this disease all my life.  I’m already comfortable with its company.  My official diagnosis is Bipolar I, rapid cycling, with mixed mania, and Anxiety Disorder.  Sounds like fun, right?  Actually, it is quite fun… 

When I’m in my mania, I am a hoot!  I am the social butterfly, the Carrie In The City, the best friend you just met.  I am super over productive: writing a 1,450 word paper for school in three hours — in APA format, with citations and five references, without an outline. I am the baker baking forty-eight  cupcakes from scratch, with homemade raspberry soufflé icing, individually wrapped in lace and prepped for the bridal shower that is less than ten hours away, which I then co-host with flair (constantly having to remind myself, of course, that I am NOT the center of attention for the next two hours).  I am the organizer of clothes into rainbow rows, by type, from left to right, separated by specific hangers into three sections — pants, tops, and dresses/skirts, even coordinating my underthings in their drawers by color.

Color rules my world most days.  I get caught up in feeling the deep, cellular green of the late spring leaves inside my head.  I watch the wispy feather white clouds drift in slow motion across the infinite Carolina blue sky.  I study the amber and coal and hematite hairs on my dog’s coat as he lays beside me, head on my thigh.  I see colors as moods, and as auras.  It is my gift and my burden as an empath, only adding to the complexity of my mind.  In my mania I see starbursts of yellow and honey gold following little children, chasing their worries away…  

Luckily, the downs don’t stay as long.  “The Crash” I have named it. The free fall after the mania.  It is quick and steady: a ride down the steep side of the roller coaster, G-forces pulling at my heart, then a quick upturn to baseline, stomach churning, to wait for another incline, steady again climbing up up up.  On grey days baking and my yoga pull me up.  I have never found baking difficult, which is how I know it is my “out” when I have crashed.  It is the one sweet thing where I can lose my mind, both figuratively and literally.  My yoga practice I revel in: morning yoga to invigorate, day yoga to stay motivated, evening yoga to be thoughtful, and night yoga to burn off the stored energy from the day.    Usually the night yoga involves the inversions — head stands, bridge pose, arm stands, wheel pose…  Feet high above my heart to remind me: be grounded in the air, let that which is real rise above your wounded heart, and let your heart rise above your head. 

Again, this is simply the walkway, the entry to my world.  I hope you can join me for a few trips, or maybe just one spin...  Either way, I hope it's a sweet ride.

#Bipolar #anxiety #mania #rapid cycle #writer #wlw #lgbtq

3.5.21

here we go again.

mundane.

yesterday was less than mundane. i had an actual panic attack, although at least not earth shattering. this goddam broken brain of mine has ruined so much, and yet it still manages to say loud and clear how much of a failure i am. why can’t it suck at that? instead of not letting me finish a book, or pushing me to do everything all the time and worry about all the possible outcomes.

i asked my therapist why i was so damn tired - (for a variety of reasons i’m sure) and we landed on “it is exhausting to try to control your thoughts and words and actions, and be mindful of what you say and do and think all day, every day”

the epiphany before that was that my body remembers the feelings of fear at a cellular level, so even when i can logic my way out of something the physical part of it is often out of my control. 

other therapy gems: 

manage you expectations

people show you who they are, believe them

i’m sure there are more, but i can’t think of them this morning.

mood swing- don’t feel like writing anymore. gonna go. 

new to me - love this.

Old now

3.3.21

i’m supposed to write each day, with the mundane thoughts of things i did yesterday, not in order, just as they come to me.

took my mom to get her taxes done, bought her a crown for her birthday (tomorrow) at the dollar store and took a picture of her standing on the porch wearing it - she’s so freaking adorable. sent that pic to my friend Scoop who mentioned she’s a small human so how am i tall? which led to me realize i have no clue how tall my dad is nor can i ask him since we aren’t speaking anymore.

we had taco tuesday, i made margaritas on ice - and am just now this very moment trying to justify calling sauza on the rocks with a splash of limeade a “margarita”, but meh. 

my kid woke up happy, which was huge because the night before was SO windy and i was up from midnight to 130am listening to it, thinking of my mom who would say “babies are restless with the wind” and how much i haaaaaated windy nights when they* were little. *i’m trying very hard to use the they/them pronouns, it’s still not natural but i want to be respectful of their decision, even tho i’m still not sure i fully understand the need for a pronoun change for bisexuality, i can however relate it to my last name changing when i got married and how vital that was to my identity, so i wonder if they want to change their name as well?

i didn’t write yesterday, tired from the night before. i’m doing well with my sleep, i think. bed between 1030/11 and up easily at 8/830. i’m going to have a super hard time in the fall when they both go back to school (stepson included in the they there). i worry that it will be too taxing on my kid, that waking up at 8 for an 830 class is easy, even waking up at 730 for an 8am class is easier, but having to get up again at 650/7 to put on a uniform, be awake, eat, drive to school for 750 attendance ... iiiiiii don’t want to do that.

i made a messy bun.. this has become a new thing i do since i hate my long hair and want it chopped but i’m one of those people who hasn’t left the house for anything social or personal since march 13th 2020 and getting my hairs did isn’t worth it. i’m mad about that - i feel like i am one of the last bastions holding out in desperation, alone.

i put on pants. this is a joke, but it’s also very serious. the daily habits that people do when they don’t have a broken brain still baffle me. Scoop said “self awareness doesn’t alway lead to self understanding” and dammit he’s right. 

bff invited me to come and walk with me today, but it’s probably too late in the morning now, she is up with the sun to take care of her kids and her husband and go to work, and i am left in bed here at 853 trying figure out what pants to wear.

3.3.21

I can't stress enough that people need to be aware that there are doctors who are "just okay" at their jobs. Who barely passed their boards and/or had to retake courses and/or had scores so low they even had a hard time matching at the end of med school.

Please seek second opinions. Third, even. Ask the doctors endless questions. Challenge them if something doesn't feel or sound right. Don't stroke their egos by being intimidated by their perceived intelligence.

Poe Forrest

Low Bridge, Poe Forrest 

running from my demons

nope. still don’t like running. 

but i had horrible dreams last night and just decided to put on shoes and go for a run. i dreamt about walking over shattered glass, flat shards that didn’t cut my feet. as i looked down at them they seemed like pebbles, i was mad they were there, i was mad i had to walk over them, i was mad someone broke glass. i picked up a piece - it was oblong, like a parallelogram i thought. i held it tight in my hand, indignant in my anger, feeling self righteous - how could THEY? 

another sleep cycle or two later, easily after 515am (i know this because i looked before i fell asleep again). i’m going in to a grocery store withe my sister and her granddaughter, we buy candy at one of those quarter clicky turny things, with the metal red lids. we are shopping, we meet a handsome clerk - i make the observation that we are all wearing denim and we laugh. i feel a hot rush of embarrassment? anxiety? i feel like i need to leave, go, run. i find a room, like a changing room in a clothing store. i try to lift my top off - maybe if i take this layer off it i will cool off, something will change, i will be settled. but i can’t get it off my torso, can’t lift it any higher than my chest. it’s tight, tighter, i can’t get my arms to move to pull it up and off or down. it feels desperate, claustrophobic, is this how i will be found- strangled by my own clothing? i try again - duck my head down, throw my arms up, the top moves over my mouth and i inhale the fiber of the fabric - i wake with a gasp to morning light. it’s 711am. dammit i have an hour more i can sleep if i try... i’m determined at that moment to get up and run today.

on my excursion today i find a walking path “now open! walking path! and scenic bridge!” it’s less than impressive, but i get a cool photo. and disturbingly i find a tree stump with pieces of glass sitting on top of it, like a forrest shrine. a green piece, a clear bumped bottom of a bottle, two others. i walk a few steps forward and find a milky shard, lightly sticky with mud from the rains yesterday. i place it on the alter. i’ll come back again.

even though i still don’t like running.

what is this mood? ... i think it’s longing. maybe.

feeling lost tonight.

this view is within walking distance of my house. ...also behind me is a four lane highway, but, whtevs.

me: walking and out of breath... phone rings

her: are you breathing heavy? did i interrupt something?!

me: no... just walking, and out of breath.

her: Oh that's so great! i love running, it tones up everything, and gets you so firm! we should schedule a time for us to workout together!

me: absolutely not.

her: yay! let's look at - wait - what?

me: absolutely not.

her: i thought you were going to say absolutely yes! why?

me: because you are good at it, and i hate it.

her: oh. then... okay... so...

me: how's work?

(*insert other small talk)

her: so, i should let you get back to your walking! call you later! love you!

...

and thus begins the first invasion of my peaceful journey to not hate running.

I don’t think we’re allowed to say “hindsight is 20/20″ anymore. This bitch did NOT give us clarity or vision, she smacked us upside the head with chaos and left us crying in the shower. Maybe if we learn some shit we can say Hindsight is 20/21.

When the blue shoes were new, May 2018.

12.1.2020

It’s now been another two years since I was on here. (Helloooooo hypomania.) Before I go back and fill in all the pieces, how about a rant from today?

I started a coach to 5k -ish type thing today. Because my new psych doc told me to. And I kinda feel like he’s right, and I also kinda hate him for it. Apparently running is good for overall brain health... I’m sure there’s research somewhere (feel free to share what you got). He changed some of my meds (increased and added) - which I totally agree with, no beef there. He seems like a good fit - and after a year of being without a psych, that is no small feat. 

And now, here I am, eating my peanut butter toast, and dark chocolate covered bananas, sipping a (homemade) iced vanilla latte, deciding I want to get back to journaling. Writing. Whatever you wanna call it.  Basically, I just want to have a place to vent about how much I super duper HATE running. 

There. I said it. I hate running. I hate putting on the Costume of running - too tight pants that cut in to my stomach. Do I wear underwear? Sports bras constricting my chest, too thin straps digging in at my shoulders. Who knows what top layer to wear - more too tight long sleeves, or just a racer back tee, under a puffy coat (that apparently No, I’m NOT supposed to wear that... whatever).

This won’t be ALLLLL complaining. Mostly, but not all. 

I like the bright florescent colors of my pants, that I have cool socks to wear, and my shoes are almost new. I like knowing I did it - as little as I feel I actually accomplished today - I did SOMETHING today. I liked the shower. I liked that I took time to put on face cream - oh shit, I forgot to put on deodorant. I like that for now this is my little secret - only two other adults know about this, and one I live with so hiding it would be difficult ;) The other one, Scoop - you know who you are - has been a solid supporter of this next endeavor. We’ve decided in a weird way that he will live his lost running life vicariously through me. Oh - and, I mean, this could be a thing - I like that my wedding dress will fit better if I keep this running thing up (and the aforementioned man in my life is super excited to see how it affects, um, my wardrobe... we’ll say wardrobe. 

More negatives, for funsies: 

I hate that I clench my jaw when I run. Since I started running back in 2009 I used to say “running is bad for my teeth” because I would clamp them down so hard I was afraid I would crack them.. I cannot tell you how many times I have bitten my tongue whilst running. The taste of metal and "working out” go hand in hand in my brain. 

I hate that I forget to bring things. By that I mean I am always surprised at how woefully underprepared I am when I head out the door. Tissues- forgot. Earbuds that fit in my coat - nope. Charge the phone - totally did but then forgot to put it on low battery mode and it died only ten minutes in. Headband ear warmer - again, nope. Left that in my car, that I walked past on the way. Ah- deodorant. Yep. Forgot that too. Not that I need it, I have that weird gene that my sweat doesn’t smell bad - look it up, it’s a thing. Warm up stretch - shit. I mean, I stretched in bed before I got up, and had to bend over to put on my shoes - that counts for half, right?

I hate the headache I get after. I don’t drink enough water, that’s on me. But for as long as I can remember I’ve always had headaches after exercising - whatever form it may be: swimming, yoga, sex, hiking, roller skating, dancing... always a headache after strenuous physical activity. Water. I’m sure water is the answer. Also 

I hate water. And I know I need it. blahhhhhhhhhhh. This has nothing really to do with starting running, but I thought I’d throw it in there.

I’m having a hard time understanding the “runners high” concept. I don’t ever remember having that. Even with two 5ks behind me, and all the practice runs leading up to them.... I was proud of us for DOing them (me and the kiddo), I was blissfully happy to have them BEHIND me. The endorphin rush I’ve heard about and read about doesn’t ever seem to come my way. I wonder if that’s related to my botched biochemistry, my headaches, my bipolar.... or am I just not doing it right?

For now, one day down. I sure as hell hope my Fitbit tracked today. Shit. Imma go check.

Later peeps.

-Me

He spoke for me. I speak for him. A quote I live by now.

two years...

my last post was January 2016... okay, so more than 2 years. A hell of a lot has happened, and changed, and stayed the same. Reading old posts. odd. 

Being prepared

Response to below: When I read your email, I was laying in my nieces bed, in m old bedroom, in m moms house. I had stayed there for the day after getting sick three times at work. Anxiety. Had the shakes, shoulders to toes. Hadn't eaten in two days and still somehow, I can manage to get sick. I knew what would happen next- the wave was coming. I felt it in my diaphragm, the pressure, the roll staring to build. It wouldn't be long until I'd feel it rush up my chest, into my throat and I'd feel like i was drowning... And then it would be too late to really do anything but call for someone to carry me out of my classroom. I had to do something. So I set up my room for the afternoon, I wrote the lesson plan on the white board- breathe in the smell of wipe-off markers, distraction. I wrote an email to the classes, CC to the head of school and his assistant. I packed up my shoes (took off my heels, went down to flats, too wobbly), grabbed my coat. I found the second/upper school head- told him I was leaving, wasn't feeling well. He said I didn't look well... Great confirmation. And I left. I knew. I knew if I stayed there long enough that wave would roll right up over me. How I know that so deeply, innately, to the marrow of my bones I don't know. But I know when it's coming now. I didn't at first. The first one sent me to the hospital... Gurney out of my work office, unconscious, IV in arm. Next one to my doctor- I was able to keep it together enough to drive there, but, alas, a hospital stay was in my future... I had to be picked up and taken to a mental health facility. Embarrassing as it might have been, ego crushing, humiliating, the powerlessness of it all, I knew I needed it. It wasn't much longer after that another wave crashed down over me, but I was weak... It took me so hard that I have in to the words in my head. I made a phone cal, heard someone else say some words, some stranger. They told me to find a person close by and hand them the phone. I did. Soon then I'm in a car, I had packed a bag, my father in law, a Bear of a man, being as gentle as he can with his words, driving me to the hospital. I find out that last wave wasn't really my fault but a medication reaction and prescription error. I was still learning about that. Eleven drug trials in less than three months. Finally one that fits. Minor tweaks here and there, for events I know that will trigger me (holidays) or weeks or times I know I'll need an extra boost (funerals). Mostly, I'm stable. Funny. Mostly. Mostly I'm stable. Most of the time I feel the wave now and can catch it. Once or twice I've woken to it and it knocks me off my feet for hours. Now, more often I can feel it build. The shakes, the buzzing, the pain in my chest. And I know now what to do. ... So maybe that's what the past three years have been for. To physically prepare my body to recognize these attacks on my nervous system. Today I was proud of myself. I got out. I had a plan, and I got out. Maybe that's what the past two years of being married to an addict has been for me. Preparation. Preparing myself mentally, physically, emotionally, gathering my resources, my knowledge base, my evidence and conclusions. Preparing for all the possibilities of what could be, and understanding the possibilities of what might never be again. If living with anxiety has taught me to prepare, then so has living with an addict. I'm prepared to walk away. Yes, it's scary and feels horribly wrong and like I've given up or made some horrible decision and my life will never be the same. But I feel that way each time I walk away from my panic attack-- that I should just stick it out, one more hour, you can make it to the end of the day, you'll be fine, you can handle this. But I can't. And I've learned to walk away. I'm laying in my nieces bed, in my old room, in my moms house. I remember how I was so proud of this being the bigger room than my sister's. I remember hiding in the closet on the floor, taping paper rolls to the wall so I could draw on them. I remember turning my bed so the moon would hit my face through the window when I slept. I remember dreaming about how I wanted a house like this, with a real fireplace and three bedrooms- one more bathroom please, though, to have someday for my family. And now I lay here... And I don't see that happening. I don't see a house for me, with any bedrooms or any bathrooms, not one that's mine... Because I love an addict. He took that away from me. He took my contributing education from me, he took my yoga from me, my time with my family, my friends, my ability to buy milk for my daughter. All gone. So I lay here and think- havent I been prepared for this? Haven't I felt these feelings before, of longing, moving forward. Of the next step in the right direction. I am ready. I am prepared to walk away. ... Thank you for reminding me of all that I have in myself that is good and worthy and beneficial to this world. All of me that is good. I love you too, Corazon. On Jan 11, 2016 A friend wrote: When I read your email I and then you told me why you sent it to me I thought about something... I've always wanted to talk to someone that wasn't you about you without the other person giving me the, "oh but you're married" or the "I don't know but it seems like you guys something else going on" because that straight up irritates the shit out of me. Either way I figured if there's a person that deserves to know what type a person you are that person should be you. So I have this friend right? I've met her back when I worked at the shelter. I don't know how but we connected like we knew each for years. But things were going to get pretty weird. Like finishing each other's sentences and more. The thing is that at first I didn't think of her more than a coworker/nice person to talk to. It wasn't until I went to get certified to give meds to kids that something changed. I knew she was going to be there to give us a hand of a few things, but then I noticed she was going to give part of the class. Right there, with a giant stone fireplace as a background I saw her. Like I actually took notice of her, and she beautiful! And she has tattoos! When that happened I did what I always do to make sure, I started to read her. What I needed to make sure of was that I considered her a friend just because she's cute or was there something more. I felt bad. I liked other women but this one is different. It didn't start at the physical level like the type I'm used to shrug off. "I'm married... She's married... Keep your damn head together... She's just another female friend that you hardly talk to to make sure your wife doesn't get pissed. And I mean seriously?! She doesn't even have the body type! Be a damn man and grow up." Most of my thoughts would look like this when I was around her. We started texting soon after. That's when I entered the rabbit hole. We started talking about work. Then it move to subjects of interest, that's when it happened. We started talking about science , and like the dork, as she calls me, I felt something. I wasn't sure what it was but I felt wrong. "Am I falling for her?! Tha fuck is happening?!" I shoved that thought nice and deep in the subconscious and did not gave it permission to get back out. I don't know what she saw in me. She trusted me with information about her life that even I felt afraid of knowing. At that point I knew how strong she really is. How capable and educated and loving and selfless she is. Her entire life has been one of fighting and surviving. Admiration and respect grew from me to her at very high pace. At this point my mind was confused. That wrong feeling I felt earlier grew. She gave me a fair warning, actually a few of them. She told me that she has the bad habit of being a flirt, that she doesn't mean anything by it. That at any point if I saw it happening to just disregard it. What she didn't know is that I was reading her while with me and with others. She thinks she's a flirt because when she's nice to men they take the wrong message. Add to that that she's a model and is the perfect mix for problems. The truth is she's not. She's not a flirt she's a great person that so happens to be beautiful in the inside and outside. After reading her, the way she bowed her head when I walked towards her, the way she looked in to my eyes, the way she kept fixing my hair when she thought was a mess, the way she grabbed my arms, how her complete and full attention was put on every single word that came out of my mouth, how she kept looking at my lips, how she'll always find the seat next to mine. I knew. I just needed confirmation. If I'm going to worry about having feelings for another woman, might as well be sure is a real threat. Once I asked her, I think she was half way drunk, don't remember correctly, she answered. She told me how she felt. Her telling felt like when the sun hits your face on a very cold day. Then reality came through, "What the fuck am I supposed to do now? Am I wrong for feeling this? She's a great friend! You are going to fuck this up! You damn idiot!" She, being the intelligent woman she is she drew the lines. That actually helped my mind quite a bit. But still the thought of me loving another woman when my wife has done nothing wrong felt like pieces of glass in the back of my head. I care about her. She has become someone very important in my life. A great friend who I can go to when I need help. In fact she helped me with one that no one knows I have but her. I can go to her and have a conversation about theories of science, medicine, biology, engineering, space. I can trust her with anything. But what about my wife? After a very long night of all types of sex, I laid there, with her head resting on my chest. She was sleeping. I was playing with her hair while looking at the sealing, "I... I love... I love them... I love them? Is that possible?" I searched my feelings again, "fuck! It's true! I love both for all the same reasons. The way they care about me, the way they treat me, the way they care. And the best part of it? One is not taking over the other. They are both there." There is one difference though, when it comes to my friend... my best friend... her friendship, and her trust are above anything else I might feel about her. I will never sacrifice her trust or friendship over anything physical. No matter how much I desire it. And yes... I do... I do desire her. Who the fuck wouldn't?! Her eyes kill me, the smell of her hair, the taste of her skin, the shape of her abdomen, the thickness of her legs, the way she hugs me, but most impressive of all, her power, her presence, her fire. The great thing about this though, she is my very best friend. We have each other's backs. We will kick our own asses if we must. We encourage each other; and we will make sure the other becomes the person they should be.

Dream

Dream Jan 7 night Passed out drunk, gagging, Meem drove me home<? Peg took my car. Where was I? I remember making a list of words or funny sayings through the night, then waking up sore and tired and it felt like days had gone by. I was in my old bedroom at Meems. I had a suitcase- which peg and tif had packed for me. I unpacked most all of it, especially my makeup- they put it in all wrong in my kit, and my clothes were in all wrong. I have no idea if I was packed to go somewhere or to stay there. I remember meeting some guy and thinking he was so nice and he kissed me, and it was okay but nothing special. We hung out for some of the party<? I remember later then another guy came in-- it was Ben Kiner <<I think?! From freaking kindergarten/high school ??wtf. There was an instant connection, not sure if it was just familiarity or infatuation, but we were stuck together for the rest of the night, up until what I remember. The dream skipped from there, seeing the list, remembering the one guy and the other guy and the house- like a beach house, and people there for some kind of party? To the waking up part. I got in a fight with peg and rig about planning togo to the beach this year, and to Georgia?... I yelled at them that I couldn't even buy my kid bread why the fuck would I be able to afford a vacation?! I was pissed... I think that was during the unpacking. It was almost like I felt like they were trying to move me, like, get me to move away. It was very long, very vivid... I woke up in the middle of the night when I woke up in the dream- totally confused, but fell back to sleep and the dream kept going from there.

Too long

It's been too long since I've been here. I have so many journal entries I want to put on here- things that made so much sense. I want to revisit, relearn, revive the words. Maybe my time off will be good for me. This is the first time in what seems like years that I have looked forward to time with my daughter... It doesn't scare me. Maybe we are becoming less intertwined, less co-dependent, more understanding of each other's need for space and closeness, distance, separation, fusion and fission. I want to come back and fill in the blank spaces. I always promise this, but be back soon...

A sliver of silver moon.

Partial hospitalization is weird

You're not IN but your stuck. You have things to do every hour, break, lunch, talk BLAH blah blah ... But you're NOT stuck either. You leave at the end of the day. I'm not sure how to take this. I keep asking myself- What do I wan to get out of this? What are my expectations? What do I hope to learn?... And I absolutely have no idea. I want ... I don't know what I want.

Where I am... Where am I?

You know that feeling of foreboding?... I mean, if you're bipolar or depressive or anxious or have panic attacks you get that feeling, like, the other shoe is gonna drop... Any minute now. I'm there. I think. I don't know. I wish there was a guide book for the emotional roller coaster that is my life. Not your life or her life but MY life. I wish I could look into the future and see Yes Dammit, I'm headed in the right direction... You'll see, you'll get there. But no. No book. No instruction manual. I split our account two weeks ago, into a hers and his. It was my first step at "detachment with love" they call it. I took my name off all the credit cards, which I already regret... What if I need to buy medicine or pay for a copay?... I suppose I will have to figure that out. Right now, I'm paying for myself and my daughter to live without fear of not having money. So. Yeah. No credit cards. Dammit. I was High as a kite on Friday, not sure why. Probably just the excess built up passive aggressive anger coming out in a ball of misplaced energy. I was singing and laughing and felt like I was in a good place. I don't know where i am now. This bipolar thing for me was pretty stable there for a long time, but the past month or two I've been rapid cycling ... Like sometimes morning to afternoon cycling. So strange to have the Black thoughts at ten am, then be Rainbows at two. I don't get it. I suppose there will be years of learning ahead. For everything. Learning how to lean on myself and still love him. Learning how to cultivate a relationship between my daughter and her father, but not allowing her to get hurt. I'm inpatient. Learning should come to you like math facts - 2x2=4. Got it. Done. Never changes. This learning curve is so long and twisted and it dives off cliffs and parachutes to rolling greens then skids you off to an iceberg. But no map. No instructions. And that other shoe- it's hovering. My break downs are minor compared to losing my ever loving fucking mind two years ago. But no less scary. A panic attack three (3?) weeks ago was enough to rattle me for days. I don't wish them on anyone. I felt it coming, like now. I felt it in my skin, in my ears... It was humming, right there in my brain. The vibration that stirs all the shakes and tears and cuts off my voice. I felt it coming. I tried, honest, I did... I washed my hands and face. I plugged in, loud as I could get it. I sat on the floor- what can I see? what can I feel? what can I smell? what can I taste? Grounding. And it didn't matter. The wave swept me up, the whole stick of a human I've become, and tossed me over its shoulder into the rolling ocean ... No lifeguard. No raft. Just deep, drowning, tumultuous waves of ... Of what? It wasn't truly sadness. It was this odd combination of relief and terror. Finally, FINALLY it was here and I could drown. Who wishes that they could drown?... I suppose only those of us that are most scared of the water. Because if we come up for air We've won.

The Slide

So my sister took my kiddo and hers to the pool yesterday. Showed me pictures of them there, going down this gigantic slide. One picture showed my niece I mid air- out of the shoot, floating above the water, before the splash landing. I look back, think about that picture today. My body is starting to wind down, untwist the coils so tightly wound, I'm remembering what deep breaths feel like, yawning. High is fun. I like High. But the Slide. The Slide is never quite just a straight shot down and out. Like my niece, she came down, whoooosh! And in to the water below. My Slide is twisty, curvy, sometimes I get stuck on a spot and have to scoot, scoot, scoot forward to get going again. Getting stuck is okay- it means another hour/day to be not all the way down the Slide. I'm going to be okay this time, I can feel it differently in my brain, I've accepted that I can't be High all the time... As much as I've loved it. Now I will have to somehow find the fight in me that I know is there... The fight to hover- right above the big splash.

Love him

Best of Felix Dawkins

Mental Disorders

Sad epiphany

It was a rough conversation today with a friend... We talked about why I'm still where I am- with Him, he who is supposed to be my provider and my beloved and the man that my world revolves around... And yet... He will always be an addict. How do I somehow combine my promise to never leave-til death do us part with I can't live with the fear of what could be... So we talked. And I can't listen. I hear it, it's riiiiiiight there. The answer. But I walk away, and stand outside, looking for answers in the clouds, in the leaves of the trees, in the electric transformer- if nature and invention can coexist, why can't I just be with Him?... And my heart says bc I want to fix him... I want him to change, to be better, to care enough about us to change. A young boy rides by on a bike, sees me standing there, staring at the sky... And, a complete stranger, asks "are you okay?"... And I hear You can't fix someone who doesn't think they need fixed. ... So now what.

Rapid cycle

Ever just have one of those days where you simply cannot get your shit together?... Well, duh, look at my audience here. You get it.