Sunday, April 29, 2012

Crying out

I am rapid cycling.  I am falling off the ends of the Earth about 10-15 times a day.  I've been doing it for a while, but became very conscious of it the last few weeks and I can't take it.  I've tried every natural supplement, vitamin, meditation, prayer and I continue to plummet into the bowels of what feels like death and I can't get out. I finally made an appointment with my doctor.  I've been off an antidepressant for almost four years and I have been fighting with whether to go back on or not.  These weekend was the tip off.  I can't live this way with so much mental torture and I finally decided I don't have to.  The kicker was after a week of crashing into what I call 'the dead zone' and literally feeling like a walking zombie where everything felt dead, my slight mania of false hope was not worth the reward it use to be for living through this hell and I knew then and there I needed help.  I can not begin to explain the barbaric nature of these fall outs but they have played havoc with me, not to mention my family.  It didn't matter if I did something I loved and had a few minutes of great feelings the bottom would fall out immediately afterwards and I would find myself in places no person should ever have to go and I couldn't get myself out.  And I'm too tired and exhausted to try anymore, but mostly I shouldn't have to.  I should not have to spend 90% of day trying to pull myself out of the gutter, only to turn around and fall back in it.  It shouldn't be this hard or painful.  My entire life has been this painful and I not 'enjoying' it anymore.  I flip flopped all week after making that appointment and if it wasn't for my husband who sat and waited until I did, I would have never followed through.  I needed the help.  It has been making that appointment that gave me some foundation to hold onto, while I struggle and fought whether I was worth this fight or not and if it would help or not.  I'd rather find out if it works because I'm not going to make it going like this.

Oh, I suppose there will still be some reservations when I walk in that office and there is a part of me that will want to fight for my independence and not feel like a whimpering baby, my self preservation is that strong, but I don't want to fight anymore.  I can't do it without medication.  I've willingly tried everything I know and it isn't working.  It doesn't work for me.  I am one of those cases that needs a pill or I'm going to need a grave plot and I'd rather take a pill.  I haven't come this far and work so hard to nail my own coffin.

I think just recognizing I need the help and making a decision lightened half the load.  I've been on the fence for a long time.  The depressions have never been worth it, but I don't think I realized that the manias are no reward either.  And that was the straw that confirmed my decision.  Wish me luck!    

Tuesday, April 24, 2012

Crash and Burn

About three and half years ago, my body just gave out on me.  I remember walking my one dog and when we reached the house, I felt like I'd hit a brick wall.  I remember thinking that I couldn't do this (walk dogs) anymore.  It was like my entire body went limp and I've felt like I haven't had a muscle since.  A couple of months I went to the doctor for severe neck pains I'd had for the past year, he thought my overall weakness and fatigue was due to PTSD.  Nobody told me it could effect your body. 

I have been coming to terms with the idea that I am actually feeling my body after so many years of dissociating from it.  I can't seem to comprehend the lack of strength or weariness that makes my body feel fluid and sluggish.  For years my husband and I have done heavy lifting, moving, hauling and I never once had an issue with not being able to do it.  My husband trusted me more than anyone when he needed someone strong to help him.  For the last three years, it has all been downhill.  Logically I understand.  I can analyze the hell of it and everything makes total perfect sense.  The last three years have been the purge of memories from my abuse and learning to stabilize my bipolar.  I have felt like I've been sprinting a marathon all my life yet can't seem to understand this ragged, used up body that is in this skin.  I have beaten the hell out of these bones and muscles, because most of the time I never felt the depth of the pain I created, yet I can't grasp why I'm feeling it now, all at once.  I haven't been completely disconnected from my body, I still bruise and bleed, but it has been in pieces and parts and the more my mind kept coming together, my body has been following.  When I began to feel my feet actually pounding the pavement and the slamming of my heels, I knew I was beginning to come full circle.  And so did the pain from all the years of damage.  And it is causing my depression to spiral and cycle.  Limitations remind me of my abuse.  And so I flux all day long, of being OK, to depressed, to laughing and then all over again.  I feel like I keep grasping these parts of my body and put them back in only to feel the pain and rip them back off.  I'm having a hard time accepting that this is what I've worked so hard for, to come back together and yet it is so painful I tear it back off again.  One positive: these pieces are staying close and in view when I take them out, as opposed to actually completely dissociated from them again.  So I guess that is a plus. 

So I take things slow, try to be proud of any accomplishments and for the most part fail miserably.  Realize I have good days and bad days and still wish there was a way out that I haven't thought of yet.  I don't know, is that progress?  

Thursday, April 19, 2012

I feel sprawled and bleeding

Trying to use a band aid to cover the gash

My heart feels twisted

My head is twisted more

Trying to hold my guts in

At the dinner table

I don't even notice anymore

To tired to care

If there really is a tomorrow

Thursday, April 12, 2012


 Guarding "The Holes"

You know that recovery poem about falling in the same hole over and over again.  The basic gist is you keep falling in the hole, and each time you do the length of time you stay in the hole gets shorter, until you learn to walk around it and eventually don't even go down the street with the hole.  In the poem it is broken down step by step by the progress made with the goal of not going down the 'bad' street anymore.

Well, I've been jumping into this gigantic hole with the expectations that this time I will make it work for me, only to be swallowed by this hole and not finding a way out.  I've been in it officially for three days, but it has been an on going thing for years and well, today I couldn't get out of it no matter how hard I tried.  In fact by today I'd found me a huge 2 x 4 in the hole and did nothing but beat the living crap out of myself for being such a worthless person who can't even walk her dogs.  That's right, all over walking the dogs when I'm in a place of mental and physical weariness and just can not do it.  Yet I kept pushing and forcing myself and in my defeat I berated myself to what felt like close to death.  Guilt and shame began filling in on me.  I was being buried alive.  The only difference with today was I didn't dig the hole deeper.  Usually I will start tunneling to find a place to hide from myself in order to stop the beatings.  Today I stood looking at the bottom of this hole and just stared at the small puddle at my feet.  I must have decided I wasn't going any further.  It was progress.  HUGE progress.  Finally when I could take no more, I called my lifeline, my husband and told him to tell me, I don't have to walk the dogs.  And he did.  And I started to breathe as I was able to give myself permission to drop the baseball bat out of my hands.  I couldn't do it alone.  I was so far down, battling myself and the abuser in me was winning.  I couldn't trust myself anymore.  When I looked to the dogs for help all I saw was their misery and contempt for me.  I couldn't trust what I thought they were thinking of me and the horrible dog mom I am.  I was letting them down...again.  It didn't matter the reasons.  We've been down this low road before.  No energy, struggling thoughts and motivation and a killing sense of apathy.

I must have begun to do some clawing at the walls, because I found myself flipping back and forth between it was OK (not to walk dogs) and the worst thing I could do.  But I could never settle on a final decision that I could trust.  I needed someone more trusting than me to help me make that decision.  I knew what I needed, not to walk my dogs, I just needed someone to confirm it for me.  That's where hubby came in and I finally got the hand I needed to help pull me out.  It worked.

Now the question is, will I jump in next time or just fall?     

Tuesday, April 3, 2012

I just forgot

I read a meditation the other day, that reminded me, I am still bipolar and how easy it is to forget.  Last month's mania while came as a shock, I knew all the signs were there.  Red flags were waving like a parade and I thought I could handle it.  I had no idea that a true blown mania was about to explode.  Yet, I knew I was holding on to a very fine thread, I just didn't realize it had broke.  I became so engrossed with my past and healing from it, I missed everything.  I was even beginning to have the thoughts of feeling like, "hospital material," and it still didn't occur to me.  I do like I do with most things, deny or plow through it.  I still can't believe it actually happened.

It was easy to question if I wasn't the extreme bipolar that I am.  As my symptoms lessened and I began to make great strides from my past and the healing changes were actually happening, being bipolar became the furthest from my mind.  I was still sinking and rising, but they've become such a natural part of my being I didn't notice them anymore.  I had also begun rapid cycling and really didn't have much time to think about anything as my moods and thoughts shifted so quickly.  The amazing thing was that I was still tending to these quick changes and taking care of myself the best way I knew how.  Small manias and depression have been a part of my ebb and flow, even if they could be counted in minutes rather days, I just never thought any different about it.

I think another thing about this mania that threw me off was I was still on my meds.  I hadn't quit any of them and continued to take them as I always have.  Usually I've quit taking them for at least a year before having a crisis, but this time was different.  So it caught me off guard, which is why I ignored the warnings and found myself unprepared.  This past year has been building to this manic stage and most of it comes down to pressure.  Outside and inside.  As I tried to put the pieces of my damage life back together, it kept being blown apart by outside forces and I felt like one person against an army that I couldn't defeat.  Hell, I didn't think God could defeat it, how the hell was I?  All of this internal pressure finally combusted and the greatest lesson I learned was that nothing I ever said, did, or thought EVER warranted the abuse.  All of this time I had been scanning my whole life, turning over every rock because I believed there had to be a reason, ANY reason why I was hurt so badly as a child.  I kept thinking that I HAD to have done SOMETHING, for them to treat me so bad.  And so I have been hunting through ever corner of my mind, digging deep into my gut, tearing down every wall I ever built looking for what I had done, that gave them a legitimate excuse for the horror they put me through.  And I couldn't find it.  I couldn't find ANYTHING that I ever could of done, thought or said or even had an idea about that gave them the full rights to violate me any way they pleased.


And for so many years, I didn't know.  No matter how many times someone told me, there was no way to believe them.  I hadn't finished my search.  I just knew I had to have done SOMETHING and I found out, I didn't.  No matter what I found out about myself and them, no matter what I remembered or my behaviors that stemmed from the abuse, I discovered I did nothing to deserve this.  And that every time they told me that I did, 



So there is a reason I missed all the warning signs and red flags of my mania,
I was on an important mission setting my soul free.  :)