"is this how all bipolars really think? cause my biopolar boyfriend drives me crazy.....i love him with all my heart but he never can tell me how he feels about me he always acts like he doesnt what me around him theres no affection im lucky we have sex twice a month..help me to understand cause i dont plan on leaving him i just need to understand this thank you" -anonymous
My dear friend,
I don't know if you'll get this blog or not but I am writing it for you and any other loved ones out there that have people in their lives that struggle with a mental illness.
I cannot speak for every bipolar person out there, I know my own experience and I know that there are definitely certain traits that we do all share. I don't know you're boyfriend. He is probably, at the heart of it all, a good man who is just struggling with a mental illness. Many people say that there are many different types of Bipolar Disorder, I, personally, believe there are only 2: the types who don't allow themselves to be victimized by their disorder, and the types that do. I have been both through out the years. I have fallen into mania and expected my loved ones to accept and, somehow, appreciate, my behavior; submitting to the convenience of insanity and hoping that, by doing so, I would never have to look, honestly at myself. Other times I have perished into the shadows of depression, feeling terrified. Governed by my own self-loathing, I was often completely unaware, or better stated, unconcerned with the worry and frustration it caused the people that loved me. I have contemplated suicide on and off for the past 20 years, sometimes I wanted to make people worry, but other times I truly believed that I was doing them all a great big favor. I separated myself from people because it was easier then actually doing any of the work. I surrendered to depression because it was what I knew and it was familiar. I remember thinking about killing myself at the early age of 9. When I fell into manic episodes I would come alive and it felt like such a sweet relief from wanting to die all the time. I would spend money, call people I hadn't talked to in years, chain smoke and stay up all night writing. Other times I would get viciously angry and violent with people, punching walls, lockers at school, a nearby shoulder or what ever other hard surface I could hit with the hope that it would relieve me of the inner tension I was experiencing. I couldn't understand how, when only 1/2 an hour prior to this sudden fit of rage, I was hugging an old enemy.
I hurt people when I was manic and I hurt people when I was depressed. I spent my life making everyone around me responsible for my feelings, as well as my life. I was constantly engaging in insane behavior and then being unable to comprehend why people thought I was insane. I felt trapped and scared and afraid that I would never escape the hell I was always in. I was awkward around people, I desperately wanted friends and since I honestly did not believe I had anything to offer anybody (which was kind of true), erraticism and victimization was my method in achieving some level of connection with the rest of the world. I was either going to be the crazy, fun girl or the poor martyr surrounded by oppressive circumstances beyond her control. I lacked the basic tools to function on a day-to-day basis with the rest of the world. "They didn't understand me, I was different from them." Of course none of this was actually reality, and all this thinking ever did was alienate me. In the end, I always got what I asked for-separation and loneliness.
Support is good, when the person you re supporting is involved in supportable behavior. I have chosen to seek out help where ever I can get it. I have a therapist, a 12 step program and a sponsor, I actively take medication and I see a psychiatrist regularly. The worst thing anyone can do for me is try to save me or enable my behavior. The best thing my mom ever did for me was kick me out of her house and detach herself from my life. I know it hurt her but it made me realize that I am the one who has to be responsible for my disorder and any other issues I might struggle with. I may get stuck and I might struggle and I know I still sometimes get caught up in the victimization thing, but I have yet to give up, even when I really want to. Although I don't always do it perfectly and thoughts of suicide still come up once in a while, I keep doing what ever it takes to be healthy and happy. For this reason I have the support of my friends, my boyfriend and my family.
So Anonymous, if you're boyfriend has shut you out and doesn't seem like he wants you around, remember this is his fight. You don't have to support unacceptable behavior just because he has a mental illness. Although it takes a little extra work, I know today that I am just as capable of happiness as every one else is and so is your boyfriend. If he doesn't want to do the work, you don't have to stick around and watch him drown in his own sickness. These are the choices he is making, you don't have to be a part of them. I hope this helps. Good luck to you.
Wednesday, May 11, 2011
Monday, May 09, 2011
The Three Little Pigs and Big Rad Brandi Carlile
I just got back from a Brandi Carlile concert at The House of Blues in Downtown Disney. I have been to many concerts through out the years but she has, by far, the best stage presence of any musician I have seen. She's beautiful and tiny with a voice that doesn't fit her physical appearance. On top of that she has a level of humility up there that you don't normally see in singers. I fell so madly in love with her it may be a potential threat to Hunter.
It's funny, I was so uncomfortable at first. I really hate big crowds. The sweat, the noise, the unending violation of personal space. At one moment I thought about leaving before the show even started. I figured I would make up some excuse to my cousin-food poisoning. . .that was as far as I got. I mean, really, is there ever a good reason to leave a perfectly good concert before it even starts? I stuck out the initial feeling of claustrophobia and spent the entirety of the opening band thinking about handbags. If I had an Iphone I would have been online shopping for one well everyone around me was swaying to some trendy Seattle boy band I can't remember the name of. My current purse is a small, vintage handbag made from a gold and pink upholstery from the 1960's. It's a cute little bag with two small handles. But it's a real bitch to take to a concert. I didn't realize that of course until I was there and everyone had purses with shoulder straps. I feel I have greatly improved throughout the years. I remember never feeling properly dressed for anything because I was always so uncomfortable with myself. Now I feel pretty comfortable in my own skin, I just have yet to find the perfect handbag. Well, this thought process got me through the first 45 minutes as I stood in one place waiting for the main act to start. Once it did I forgot about my stupid handbag and found myself giggling and swaying to her voice.
I wish I could say the entire experience was a fabulously flawless evening, but there were three women next to me who had their little panties all up in a bunch over the yelling and singing going on in the audience. The one next to me was the worst. She was this little pig in a blanket, decked out in a denim top from 1988. I only belted out and sang along to one song, it was the first song I ever heard by Brandi Carlile and I must have listened to it over and over for a few weeks. I made a point to memorize every word so I could sing it throughout the day. So I sang along to that one song and for the rest of the night every time me and the girl next to her so much as gave a woohoo at the end of a song, Little Piggy Number 1 would put her hand against her ear. At one point every one was quietly singing along to Calling All Angels and the whole time she kept looking our way and covering her ear. I kind of wanted to lean over and shriek as loud as I could straight into her ear drum but I was afraid Little Piggies Two and Three would kick my ass. Honestly, isn't that the fun of a good concert? When you are surrounded by people who love the music so much they can't help but yell and sing along? And it's not like we were all a bunch of 15 year old girls screaming for 2 hours straight, just a yelp at the end of a song, a little bit of chiming in at the chorus. If I ever get to be that fat I hope to God I have a good personality to compensate for it. My anal Little Piggy friend was dull and repressed and just not a happy person. The funny thing was that half way through the night, Ms. Carlile made an observation that it sounded like there were some singers in the audience. At which point Little Piggy Number 2 yelled, "ya, some of us are!" And then the 3 Little Piggies all proceed to start harmonizing together to a note in one of her songs. I started cracking up. Who does that!? Well, anyways, aside from the 3 Little Piggies, it was a great night.
It's funny, I was so uncomfortable at first. I really hate big crowds. The sweat, the noise, the unending violation of personal space. At one moment I thought about leaving before the show even started. I figured I would make up some excuse to my cousin-food poisoning. . .that was as far as I got. I mean, really, is there ever a good reason to leave a perfectly good concert before it even starts? I stuck out the initial feeling of claustrophobia and spent the entirety of the opening band thinking about handbags. If I had an Iphone I would have been online shopping for one well everyone around me was swaying to some trendy Seattle boy band I can't remember the name of. My current purse is a small, vintage handbag made from a gold and pink upholstery from the 1960's. It's a cute little bag with two small handles. But it's a real bitch to take to a concert. I didn't realize that of course until I was there and everyone had purses with shoulder straps. I feel I have greatly improved throughout the years. I remember never feeling properly dressed for anything because I was always so uncomfortable with myself. Now I feel pretty comfortable in my own skin, I just have yet to find the perfect handbag. Well, this thought process got me through the first 45 minutes as I stood in one place waiting for the main act to start. Once it did I forgot about my stupid handbag and found myself giggling and swaying to her voice.
I wish I could say the entire experience was a fabulously flawless evening, but there were three women next to me who had their little panties all up in a bunch over the yelling and singing going on in the audience. The one next to me was the worst. She was this little pig in a blanket, decked out in a denim top from 1988. I only belted out and sang along to one song, it was the first song I ever heard by Brandi Carlile and I must have listened to it over and over for a few weeks. I made a point to memorize every word so I could sing it throughout the day. So I sang along to that one song and for the rest of the night every time me and the girl next to her so much as gave a woohoo at the end of a song, Little Piggy Number 1 would put her hand against her ear. At one point every one was quietly singing along to Calling All Angels and the whole time she kept looking our way and covering her ear. I kind of wanted to lean over and shriek as loud as I could straight into her ear drum but I was afraid Little Piggies Two and Three would kick my ass. Honestly, isn't that the fun of a good concert? When you are surrounded by people who love the music so much they can't help but yell and sing along? And it's not like we were all a bunch of 15 year old girls screaming for 2 hours straight, just a yelp at the end of a song, a little bit of chiming in at the chorus. If I ever get to be that fat I hope to God I have a good personality to compensate for it. My anal Little Piggy friend was dull and repressed and just not a happy person. The funny thing was that half way through the night, Ms. Carlile made an observation that it sounded like there were some singers in the audience. At which point Little Piggy Number 2 yelled, "ya, some of us are!" And then the 3 Little Piggies all proceed to start harmonizing together to a note in one of her songs. I started cracking up. Who does that!? Well, anyways, aside from the 3 Little Piggies, it was a great night.
Saturday, May 07, 2011
My Love Affair with Berkeley and How to Survive Natural Selection in the Modern World
Hunter and I arrived back into Long Beach late last night after spending 2 full days exploring Berkeley. We both fell in love with it instantly. I have to admit, I was starting to get a little nervous in regards to my disdain for the Orange County/L.A. area. I was beginning to wonder if it was more a symptom of my own inability to find contentment rather than an honest assessment of who I am in relation to the world around me. I felt more at home up north, walking around the streets of Berkeley, than I ever did in Long Beach.
It's kind of strange how different northern California is. The dead palm trees that shed their skin along the streets are replaced with huge, sweeping trees, covered in rich shades of green. I was amazed by how clean the city was and by how everything was in walking distance of one another, unlike the cities surrounding Long Beach, where everything takes at least 35 minutes. The Bay area also has great public transportation, which I'm really excited about, since driving and parking in major cities is quite a liability. On top of that, I was amazed at how kind everyone was. It took me off guard after spending the past 3 years down here where the vainglorious sourness of its people have left me a little jaded and bitter. Any how, I'm very excited.
We checked out an apartment near the campus that had been lived in for the past 6 years by a bachelor musician who very well had never washed a dish a day in his life. There was literally food running down the inside of the kitchen cabinets. I can't understand how people can let themselves get to that point. There was a bowl of black pasta in the sink and I still am not sure if it was black on purpose or if it evolved into that color after sitting out for months on end. The landlord told us that they were going to do a bunch of work on the place, including install hardwood floors and replace the kitchen and bathroom tile. When he told us that, mine and Hunter's mood towards the apartment changed instantly. We started to get a better image of what the place could be. But when he told us he would need the deposit immediately I got a little nervous, seeing that there was no guarantee the work would be done and we would not be able to see it before we moved in. So we went home and did some research on the properties management company that he worked for and it turns out the family that runs it (take note, in case anyone is thinking about moving up to Berkeley, the name of this company is Everest Properties) has gotten in various levels of trouble for Human Trafficking, Sexual Molestation of Minors, and there was also a death in one of their units due to carbon monoxide poisoning. I then yelped the company and read about 30 of the most awful reviews I have ever read about them from past tenants. Even after that, Hunter called the guy and asked about lease flexibility and the landlord hung up on him. So that answers out question. But we are remaining hopeful. I'm just grateful we never put down any money. Thank God for Yelp! I don't know how people survived on instincts alone before the Internet came along. I suppose prior to the web, lousy instincts were a form of population control. Maybe Yelp alone is the reason this country is so overpopulated. Too many people are avoiding shady situations that would normally be a threat to their safety and financial security. Charles Darwin would have renounced the entire Yelp movement due to it's fortuitous nullification of his theory on natural selection. Oh well, I would have been the first to go, not necessarily because I have no instincts, obviously this apartment situation proves that I do, but simply because I doubt myself too much to actual use them. So Darwin can kiss my ass. . . .oh and so can Everest Properties, but I think that's what got them into trouble in the first place.
It's kind of strange how different northern California is. The dead palm trees that shed their skin along the streets are replaced with huge, sweeping trees, covered in rich shades of green. I was amazed by how clean the city was and by how everything was in walking distance of one another, unlike the cities surrounding Long Beach, where everything takes at least 35 minutes. The Bay area also has great public transportation, which I'm really excited about, since driving and parking in major cities is quite a liability. On top of that, I was amazed at how kind everyone was. It took me off guard after spending the past 3 years down here where the vainglorious sourness of its people have left me a little jaded and bitter. Any how, I'm very excited.
We checked out an apartment near the campus that had been lived in for the past 6 years by a bachelor musician who very well had never washed a dish a day in his life. There was literally food running down the inside of the kitchen cabinets. I can't understand how people can let themselves get to that point. There was a bowl of black pasta in the sink and I still am not sure if it was black on purpose or if it evolved into that color after sitting out for months on end. The landlord told us that they were going to do a bunch of work on the place, including install hardwood floors and replace the kitchen and bathroom tile. When he told us that, mine and Hunter's mood towards the apartment changed instantly. We started to get a better image of what the place could be. But when he told us he would need the deposit immediately I got a little nervous, seeing that there was no guarantee the work would be done and we would not be able to see it before we moved in. So we went home and did some research on the properties management company that he worked for and it turns out the family that runs it (take note, in case anyone is thinking about moving up to Berkeley, the name of this company is Everest Properties) has gotten in various levels of trouble for Human Trafficking, Sexual Molestation of Minors, and there was also a death in one of their units due to carbon monoxide poisoning. I then yelped the company and read about 30 of the most awful reviews I have ever read about them from past tenants. Even after that, Hunter called the guy and asked about lease flexibility and the landlord hung up on him. So that answers out question. But we are remaining hopeful. I'm just grateful we never put down any money. Thank God for Yelp! I don't know how people survived on instincts alone before the Internet came along. I suppose prior to the web, lousy instincts were a form of population control. Maybe Yelp alone is the reason this country is so overpopulated. Too many people are avoiding shady situations that would normally be a threat to their safety and financial security. Charles Darwin would have renounced the entire Yelp movement due to it's fortuitous nullification of his theory on natural selection. Oh well, I would have been the first to go, not necessarily because I have no instincts, obviously this apartment situation proves that I do, but simply because I doubt myself too much to actual use them. So Darwin can kiss my ass. . . .oh and so can Everest Properties, but I think that's what got them into trouble in the first place.
Sunday, May 01, 2011
The Artist's Way
I've been taking a class for the past 8 weeks called The Artist's Way. It's been incredible but has kept me so busy that I haven't had time to blog lately. It's a 12 week course and my friend Sark has been leading it at her house. Every Sunday night, myself and 2 other students, Dick and Decent, go over to her place to discuss the prior week and read the chapter for the following one. It's a spiritually driven course to help people to cultivate their creativity, through weekly tasks, daily journaling and urging artists to overcome fears and blocks that might be holding them back from doing things they have always wanted to do. It's been a pretty awesome experience. Every week I have to journal 3 pages a day, do a variety of tasks that are assigned to help you get back in touch with your creative side, and take myself on one "artist's date" (a date with just myself doing something, anything, that could be inspirational, last week was my chocolate covered strawberries-Billie holiday-inferno experience, not my best artist's date to be honest). A lot of it does sound hoakie and cheesy. We're constantly reading about how to "nurture" ourselves and I have just always hated that word. Other terms come to mind when ever that word is used, such as self-indulgence, chick soup for the soul, and Oprah. I always envision some middle-aged rich yuppie in white linen pants and some $200 blouse from J. Crew hugging herself at the beach as she mourns the loss of her child hood summer home while reading The 7 People You Meet in Heaven. I know that probably sounds incredibly jaded and judgmental but I really think the term "nurturing yourself" needs to be replaced with something such as "you need to Harold and Maude the shit out of life", or "try some spiritual masturbation today". So I have been spiritually masturbating and Harold and Mauding my way through life the past 2 months and it has been quite the experience.
I do have a little trouble with one of the students in the class, Dick. I felt like Dick was a good name for him, as there are so many dense, rotten, half-witted Dicks in the world, in fact, every time I look at him, all I see is a big, problematic Dick. He's like a character in one of those sappy t.v. shows, like Saved by the Bell. He's Zach Morris except he's in his 40's, has a gnarly comb over and no real mojo that makes him cool. He comes to class every week and when it's his turn to talk about what he did last week he always says, "I didn't do anything, what were the assignments, could we go over it again? I just didn't do it, but I don't feel guilty or anything, I feel pretty good about myself, I'm not going to beat myself up, I'm just really trying to nurture myself, by not being so hard on myself." Then as the rest of us share he goes over the chapter and tasks again and asks if he could have another turn sharing because there were things he did without realizing it that related to the homework. He has repeatedly asked us to change the times and the days of the class because he's too tired. He recently wanted to change the day from Sunday to Monday because he has to come to Artist's way with only a half hour in between the class and the end of his AA meeting and it's tiring for him. I said Monday doesn't work for me because I have a regular meeting Monday nights. He responded by asking if I can miss it for the next 2 months because this "back to back schedule on Sunday nights really wares him out". When I suggested we meet at 7:30 instead of 7 he said that didn't work because then he doesn't get home until 9:30 and he gets sleepy (initially the class was at 7:30 but Dick demanded we change it to 7 so he would get home sooner). He repeatedly asks us to change things around to accommodate his needs and it's like nails on a chalk board. Last night he even suggested that well Sark is away on vacation for the next 2 weeks, we take that time off of Artist's way so that he can catch up. And it's not like the man is busy, he even said himself last week that he doesn't read, listen to music, watch t.v. or really even go out. That he works an easy job and then goes to about 2 meetings a day. I have absolutely no idea what he is doing in the class. There are times when I just want to bitch slap him and say "maybe if you spent less time trying to cover your bald spot and hiding behind your weekly 75 Co-Dependents Anonymous meetings you might find yourself with a little more time and energy!" Once when we were talking about cutting out activities in our day that are unproductive he actually told us at that he believes he lives the ideal life and that there is nothing he would change. Honestly, I think I would kill myself if I lived his supposed "ideal life". One meeting, he said he wanted to count going shopping for some "new hip clothes" as his artist's date, it took everything in me not to say "dressing like Danny Kaye from White Christmas doesn't make you a dam artist." Of course, the good AA that I am, I said nothing and smiled at him. Last week he said he went to the hardware store by himself and that kind of counts as an artist's date because he likes tools, I think he failed to see the relation. 4 more weeks with the guy, I know I can do it, at least i hope I can. Tonight he told us that he doesn't feel the homework is necessary because he is already living a spiritual life and he believes that God's will for him is to go about his day and the creativity will come when God wants it to so he is not going to push it by doing the recommended weekly tasks. Oh well, Sark says we need to show him compassion, that he's obviously in a lot of pain. Hunter even pointed out that if a middle aged man is suffering from that big of an identity crisis, then he needs more sympathy and kindness than any of us. So my goal for the next 4 weeks is to try and love Dick.
I do have a little trouble with one of the students in the class, Dick. I felt like Dick was a good name for him, as there are so many dense, rotten, half-witted Dicks in the world, in fact, every time I look at him, all I see is a big, problematic Dick. He's like a character in one of those sappy t.v. shows, like Saved by the Bell. He's Zach Morris except he's in his 40's, has a gnarly comb over and no real mojo that makes him cool. He comes to class every week and when it's his turn to talk about what he did last week he always says, "I didn't do anything, what were the assignments, could we go over it again? I just didn't do it, but I don't feel guilty or anything, I feel pretty good about myself, I'm not going to beat myself up, I'm just really trying to nurture myself, by not being so hard on myself." Then as the rest of us share he goes over the chapter and tasks again and asks if he could have another turn sharing because there were things he did without realizing it that related to the homework. He has repeatedly asked us to change the times and the days of the class because he's too tired. He recently wanted to change the day from Sunday to Monday because he has to come to Artist's way with only a half hour in between the class and the end of his AA meeting and it's tiring for him. I said Monday doesn't work for me because I have a regular meeting Monday nights. He responded by asking if I can miss it for the next 2 months because this "back to back schedule on Sunday nights really wares him out". When I suggested we meet at 7:30 instead of 7 he said that didn't work because then he doesn't get home until 9:30 and he gets sleepy (initially the class was at 7:30 but Dick demanded we change it to 7 so he would get home sooner). He repeatedly asks us to change things around to accommodate his needs and it's like nails on a chalk board. Last night he even suggested that well Sark is away on vacation for the next 2 weeks, we take that time off of Artist's way so that he can catch up. And it's not like the man is busy, he even said himself last week that he doesn't read, listen to music, watch t.v. or really even go out. That he works an easy job and then goes to about 2 meetings a day. I have absolutely no idea what he is doing in the class. There are times when I just want to bitch slap him and say "maybe if you spent less time trying to cover your bald spot and hiding behind your weekly 75 Co-Dependents Anonymous meetings you might find yourself with a little more time and energy!" Once when we were talking about cutting out activities in our day that are unproductive he actually told us at that he believes he lives the ideal life and that there is nothing he would change. Honestly, I think I would kill myself if I lived his supposed "ideal life". One meeting, he said he wanted to count going shopping for some "new hip clothes" as his artist's date, it took everything in me not to say "dressing like Danny Kaye from White Christmas doesn't make you a dam artist." Of course, the good AA that I am, I said nothing and smiled at him. Last week he said he went to the hardware store by himself and that kind of counts as an artist's date because he likes tools, I think he failed to see the relation. 4 more weeks with the guy, I know I can do it, at least i hope I can. Tonight he told us that he doesn't feel the homework is necessary because he is already living a spiritual life and he believes that God's will for him is to go about his day and the creativity will come when God wants it to so he is not going to push it by doing the recommended weekly tasks. Oh well, Sark says we need to show him compassion, that he's obviously in a lot of pain. Hunter even pointed out that if a middle aged man is suffering from that big of an identity crisis, then he needs more sympathy and kindness than any of us. So my goal for the next 4 weeks is to try and love Dick.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)