Bipolar, Even in My Dreams?

"I walked in to the living room from outside. I saw the kids sitting on the floor watching TV. I looked to the couch and saw Derrick sitting there with some girl next to him. She had her legs draped over his legs and her hand on his thigh. I tried not to lose my cool, walked in and sat down next to the kids on the floor. Derrick, nor the girl, budged. When the show on the TV went to commercial, I got up, with tears in my eyes and walked down the hall to the bedroom, where I had planned on locking the door and cutting myself. Just as I was about to close the door behind me, Derrick pushed the door open and yelled at me, "You're not going to be a baby and cut yourself, are you!?" I cried and screamed for him to leave me alone and the next thing I know, the girl is coming into the room and yelling at me to knock it off.
Just then I lose it and I go postal on this bitch and I beat her ass like no tomorrow. I hear Derrick in the background calling 911 and he's telling them, "My wife is Bipolar and she just attacked my girlfriend. She's going to kill her. Please hurry." I stopped hitting the girl and walked out of the room, back down the hall to the living room. Derrick asked me where I was going and I said, "For a walk." I left and walked down the street, jumping a fence, walking along the train tracks to the station and jumped on a train. The train made a beeping noise that the doors were closing, which technically was my alarm going off...and I woke up.

I hate dreams. I easily get upset by them, especially if they're dreams where Derrick is cheating on me or abusing me. But this dream in particular left me feeling offended. Derrick called the cops on me and the first thing out of his mouth is that I'm Bipolar and dangerous. Am I? I wish I knew exactly what this dream meant. It frustrates me. But really, I'm on medications, I was in a situation where I was hurt and then I was made fun of, of course I was gunna blow up and beat some ass. Who wouldn't? But it was just a dream, right? But was it? Is my subconscious trying to tell me something? That I'm too sensitive and that I need to take things less serious? That I need to stop abusing myself? I don't know, but I wish I did because dreams like this drain me mentally and emotionally.

I woke up early today, to the sound of my alarm, to go for a jog with my mother. We did about 4 miles today, which is pretty good, considering I have shoes that are falling apart, my left foot and knee are killing me and that I was wearing the WRONG kind of bra, LOL. I knew better, but I forgot to change before I left. I also forgot to take water, d'oh. When I got home, I didn't stay very long. I ate breakfast and then headed back over to my grandparents apartment to go with my grandma and mom to pick up my grandpa's work check. We decided to stop at the 99 cent store and I bought $16 worth of groceries. I got lots of produce, like 12 bananas, a sack of plums and peaches and apples, a box of salad and a big bag of carrots. 

I didn't do much else today, just straightened up the house, trolled on the internet for a bit, researched a LOT of health and fitness articles today and read my 30 Day Jumpstart book that I'm doing this next month (tomorrow). After a protein shake for lunch, I meditated for 20 minutes, then I laid down on the couch and literally slept til almost 5 pm. I've never been so relaxed in my life. I got up and read a bit more on the internet and then I started dinner. I made Honey Mustard Shrimp and Rice Stir-fry with a side of green beans. My three year old (the PICKY one) actually ate all of her dinner and I didn't have to fight her on it at all! *Insert Mommy Happy Dance here* I get so giddy whenever I make a meal that EVERYONE likes and finishes with no problem.

After dinner, I got on the computer and logged all my food for the day. I did 1600 calories today and I'm still under my goal for the day. While on the computer, my neighbor called and asked if I'd come over for a bit. So I went over to Synthia's house and we chatted for a good half hour. She gave me some toys to give to the kids and I came home. I did more exercise research and then I decided to write this blog. We're watching Despicable Me again, love those little minions so much. The kids are playing in their room and Derrick is writing his blog. It's almost bed time, but Evelyn and I are going to practice yoga before she goes to bed and I'm going to go a strength training session before I slip away to take a bath with candles and bubbles because I totally deserve it. Here's to having a good night's sleep with better dreams.  

Fix My Feelings

I am not a rape victim, I am a survivor. I get offended when someone uses the word “rape" in a jokingly manner. Prime example, Jim Carey’s character in the Burt Wonderstone movie, Steve Gray, “Mind Rapist". I don’t know why someone who’s such an advocate for human rights, would knowingly and willingly play a character that makes light of the word rape. I was raped for the first time when I was 9 years old. It was by someone I considered a friend, one of whom I had a crush on. He was 15 and I had met him at my friend’s church. That summer I was invited by him to go swimming at the local high school. I, of course, wanted to go badly. Once there, I never had a chance to get in the swimming pool. He wanted to walk to the football field. Once we reached the storage shed in the middle of the field, he kissed me and we sat down. I was uncomfortable, but I liked him, so I let him kiss me. Then he lit a cigarette and asked if I wanted a drag and I shook my head no. He kissed me again, pushing me down and running his hands somewhat violently down my stomach, to my thigh and back up to between my legs. I tried to fight him off. Tried to tighten my legs closed, but he burned my thighs with the cigarette. I couldn’t fight anymore.

Sometimes I sit a think about me losing my virginity at the age of 9 years old and I feel so disgusted with myself. But other times, I’m brave enough to tell myself that it wasn’t my fault. I never asked for that to happen to me. But it’s hard not to feel disgusted with myself because that wasn’t the only time I was raped. I was also raped by 2 adult male cousins (whom are my mother’s age) from the ages of 12 til I was 16. Sometimes I blame my mother for the continuation of the rapes. They started when I just turned 12, my cousin “eased" my into the situation by showing me my first porno film, that left me verbally and physically paralyzed, so much so that he took advantage of that. I was raped when I was on my period. I was raped with tampons inside me. I had to go to the Gynecologist twice to have forceps help remove the tampons that were lodged so far into my cervix. I blamed my mom for a lot of the rapes because she didn’t trust her teenage daughter to be home alone during the summer, that she forced me to go on road trips with Joey. I eventually started to fall for my cousin and in some sick and twisted way, I thought of myself as his girlfriend. It wasn’t until years later that I found out that’s called Stockholm Syndrome.

My past has been weighing on my mind a lot lately and it’s hard to turn it off once it starts. A trigger for me that I never told anyone for years, was living in fear and horror at my mother-in-law’s house for the first year of our relationship. She just happens to live right down the street from the place that Joey used to rape me at in his big rig, in Blythe, Ca. So every time we’d walk or drive past that spot to get into town, I was constantly  reminded of the horror of my young teenage years. I did eventually tell Derrick where that spot was, but my in-laws don’t care to know. They’ve never wanted to get to know me, they’ve never tried and Derrick and I have been together for 13 years now, married for 10 of those. I have no idea if they know that I have mental illness issues or that I’ve been raped and molested or that I had a rough childhood full of abuse of all kinds. I doubt they read my blog. I doubt they’ll even accept me as Derrick’s wife and the mother of our children. I’ll never be good enough and that’s another thought that just keeps repeating over and over in my head. Three years and two kids missed, that’s how long Derrick cut his family out of his life because of the way they treated me. Now that we’re [he is] giving them another chance, they still continue to pretty much ignore us. Granted, we’re friends on Facebook, but that’s about the extent of it. At least the kids have my side of the family. 

Then there was my cousin, who’s also my Godfather. The very first time he forced me to perform oral sex on him was in a public park, on a stairwell in a secluded part of the park. I was pushed to the ground, hair pulled and was literally orally raped. I just remember crying like crazy, trying my damnedest not to throw up. I wanted to fight back, I really did, but I knew about my cousins past, how he was arrested for attempted murder and gang violence. Plus, he’s raped his own sister at least 3 times and got her pregnant those three times. I could just image the pain he’d cause me or my family if I hadn’t complied. I was literally afraid for my life. One time I was asked to a slumber party at my cousin’s house for his little sister. She promised me that he wouldn’t be there, and he wasn’t when I showed up. But in the middle of the night, when I got up to go pee, he grabbed me when I came out of the bathroom, covering my mouth and took me into his bedroom. I was raped anally and was crying the entire time and when he finished, I ran into the bathroom and screamed for my aunt. I told her that I needed to go home. I didn’t tell her why. But I called my mom, who called my boyfriend and they both came and picked me up. I never told anyone why I left.  

I’m tired of constantly being triggered. To be forced to think about the pain that the boy from my childhood and my cousins caused me. Everything triggers me; the news, Law & Order: SVU episodes, movies, books and even my own daughter. Evelyn is the age I was when I was raped for the first time. I see her innocence and it breaks my heart being reminded that my innocence was taken away. I never had a chance to fall in love and give my virginity away, I was forced. It was taken. It was stolen. I was robbed. I don’t want to be a victim anymore, I AM a survivor, but I can’t help but feel weak sometimes. My triggers are becoming more and more frequent lately, even though I don’t tell Derrick when I’m triggered. I usually just go into the bathroom and have a small panic attack in there. I usually chew an Inderal pill to calm my nerves. And Derrick wonders why I always want to drink (and to cut). I want to drink to numb the pain. I want to drink to forget, to distract myself. I want to drink to temporarily erases those memories from my mind. I want to feel sexy and think about sex with my husband, without thinking about how my cousins used to touch me. I get insecure wearing a bathing suit, and it’s not because I’m slightly overweight, but because I have a scar on my thigh from being burned. I want to feel normal. I need to feel normal. I need to not feel like a victim. I need to feel like a survivor.  

Mi Familia es Loca

Family, you can’t live with em, you can’t kill em and you can’t trade em for new ones. I have a great little family that’s all mine. I have Derrick and together we have 4 kids; Evelyn who’s 9, Maverick who’s 6, Olivia who’s 3 and Savannah who’s 8 months. Now I wouldn’t trade my little family for the world or millions of dollars. But sometimes they do get on my nerves. Especially Olivia lately. She’s going through what we call the “Terrible Threes". Forget the liars that say it’s the Terrible Twos, no way, it’s three! Olivia is a screamer. She loves to scream for everything; when something is taken away, when she wins a game, when her favorite cartoon comes on the TV, everything. Now I don’t know about you, but having Bipolar, I have a sensitivity to loud noises and Olivia’s scream are piercing to say the least. 

I’m very close to my extended family, even though at times I want to strangle them or get a restraining order placed on them because they can be a bit smothering. But I love them and I love spending time with them, on MY terms. I don’t like people showing up at my door and expecting me to entertain them, no way. But a phone call for company or me calling them, inviting them to dinner, that I love. Some people don’t get the closeness I have with my grandparents and mother, but that’s okay, that’s for me. We can talk about anything, I can go to them for help and they’re always there when I need them. I think sometimes my husband gets jealous of how close my family and I are, mostly because his family is not really that affectionate and I feel really bad for him. I wish his parents and siblings were as close as I am to my family. I’ll tell you one thing though, my Father-in-Law’s family in Costa Rica are some of the sweetest and loving people you’ll ever meet. They are dream in-Laws to have, especially my Mother-in-Law, Ana, she’s constantly writing me asking me how I’m doing. She wants to know about ME, not about the kids or Derrick, but she genuinely cares about me as her daughter-in-law. 

I appreciate having a closeness with my family for the sake of my children. I want our girls to grow up having family that they can cherish as if they were best friends. I want them to carry on traditions that Derrick and I have celebrated for years together. I want Maverick to learn from his sisters how to respect a lady and the girls to learn to find a respectable man from witnessing their brother. I want my kids to grow up believing in God and his miracles. I want our kids to have a strong faith and belief that surpasses all possible doubt. I want our kids to be close and raise children together. I want lots of grandbabies in the future (the far, far future). I want the kids to celebrate holidays together and make plans for hanging out on random Tuesdays. I want the kids to take family photos annually. I want them to bond. I try to show all of that myself by having a relationship with my family. I want my kids to think it’s worth keeping in close contact to one another and their parents. I’d appreciate daily phone calls from them just to say, “Hey Mom, I love you."

I love my kids very much and they’re growing so big everyday. SO much so, it’s hard to keep up. Remembering their birth-dates is as hard as a Final Jeopardy question. They’re all three years apart and I think that’s a miracle and a blessing by God. Granted, all the kids were conceived on different forms of contraceptive, but they’re meant to be here for some reason. And part of me believes it’s God’s way of answering a prayer I had long ago when I was a child. “Lord, please bless me with lots of babies, so I can love them like a child is supposed to be loved. Amen." Only back then I wanted two girls and I wanted to name them Amanda Morgan and Destiny Ann Marie. Boy did things happen differently. I’d never change whom I had my children with, Derrick is the prime example of what a good father is. If I had a choice to do my life over again the way I wanted, I’d have a father just like Derrick. I’ve never met a man more loving, supportive, fun and creative with children. Another plus for him in the good dad department; he good to the kids’ mother and that is one of the BEST examples he could set for our kids.

Simple Kind of Life

I’m getting really frustrated with the insurance company that supposed to be paying Derrick his TTD benefits. They were supposed to cut us a big check days ago and we have yet to receive it in the mail. It’s getting rather annoying, them not following the rules and paying him like they’re supposed to. We have bills to pay and promises to keep. We’re bored and want to get out of the house for the summer, but we can’t do that if we don’t have the income. We’ve been waiting a week now, tomorrow it’ll be day eight, they have at the most 10 days to respond/send a check. Hopefully it’ll be here before this weekend because there’s a trip to the mall that the kids keep bugging us to do. We promised them $100 each, for being good and supportive and patience children throughout this whole insurance mess, and other than us buying them new clothes and shoes, we’re giving them their own spending money to buy whatever they want because they deserve it.

Today wasn’t that exciting of a day. We stayed up til 1 am and didn’t get up until about 8 this morning. Which, with 4 kids, is totally sleeping in. We had cereal for breakfast and I trolled on the internet for a while because I woke up bored. It’s torture wasting all these hours til the mailman comes at 4 pm. Finding things to do around the house is starting to get rather maddening. It’s to the point that I’m going to reorganize the pantry and kitchen drawers…again. Tomorrow I think I’ll do the hall closet. Anyways, after breakfast we got the kids ready and we walked to the park. While they were busy playing with Maverick’s flying helicopter, I walked the baby in the stroller around the whole park for four laps, getting in my 10,000 steps. By then it was 11:00 am and the kids were hungry. In our neck of the woods, the schools provide free lunch every week day at the parks, during summer, for all kids 2-17. It’s pretty cool. The kids sat in the grass and ate their lunch and I stood there drinking water in the 90 degree heat. Afterwards, we walked home, nearly dying of heat exhaustion.

The rest of the day was, thankfully, a blur. The mailman came and went, no check. Nothing good in the mail. We took a nap. That was delicious. We had lunch. We cleaned house. I made dinner. I invited my mother over to have dinner with us. She loves my cooking and that makes me very proud, cause my mother is kind of a foodie. After dinner we all sat on the couch and watched Jeopardy. After it was over we decided to play Jeopardy on the Wii for more fun. I beat Derrick. We played Scrabble with a “Food Related Words Only" Challenge and Evelyn & I won against the boys. Mom went home at 8:30 and the kids took baths, brushed teeth, and are in bed as Evelyn is reading them a bedtime story. Clancy (Derrick’s mom’s ex-husband) is over using our shower. I made myself some tea and am sitting here writing this. I’m watching the news and am so proud that DOMA was beaten and that California’s Prop 8 was stricken. Today is a historic day! 

Fix What's Broken, Don't Throw it Away

I was 14 the first time I laid eyes on him. He was a gorgeous German God at 6’3”. I had lust in my heart at the time but I had to get to know him better. I never got the chance to talk to him, every time I got up the nerve, he was distracted by something else. Eventually my lust turned into a crush and I really had a thing for this guy. He was tall, handsome and had a great ass and pretty green eyes. I never did get up the nerve to talk to him, except once. I asked him to play a KC & Jo Jo song for me. Yes, he was the DJ at the local skating rink and I was enamored. He was good with his hands, had great taste in music and hella talented on the quad skates. I wanted to be with him so bad, but I never had the nerve to ask him out. Two years went by of me coyly flirting with him from afar. But after two years I finally had his attention.

I truly believe that God wants us together because our paths have crossed so many times, but we just didn’t have the timing right. We both lived in Grand Terrace, within blocks of each other, at different times. He went to RCC and I was taking extra credit classes at RCC, but at different times. He lived in Blythe while wee’d constantly stop a block from his mother’s house at a rest stop, but we were never there at the same time. Chance, fate, God, whatever, decided to finally intervene and Derrick and I finally met. Thanks to both of our bestfriends; his was Dave and mine, Ashley. They were dating at the time and I didn’t know it. But anyways, Dave and Ashley needed a ride for a date one weekend and Derrick was their driver. Now they didn’t want Derrick to be a third wheel and lonely, so Ashley begged me to go on a blind date with this guy named “Derrick” even though I was technically dating Kenny at this time. 

Eventually I gave in to the insistent begging and they arranged the date. Derrick pulled up in this loud, overbearing POS of a Ford and parked. Ashley jumped out and ran towards me and I to her, passing Derrick without giving him a look. It wasn’t until her and I were done hugging and squealing like little girls, that I pull away from her and turn towards Derrick. And there he was, MY Derrick. My crush. The guy I so desperately wanted to notice me, to ask me out, to be mine. He was standing right in front of me and was here to date ME. I couldn’t speak for a few minutes, I was literally speechless. I didn’t let anyone know that that was my Derrick, I tried to play it cool. And as I suspected, Derrick didn’t remember me. He had no idea who I was. But he wasn’t very incognito when it came to checking out my rack. Dude couldn’t take his eyes off my boobs. We went on our date, it was rather exciting. We got shot at while on the freeway. It was crazy.

The power of “3” is very special to us, because things always happened in threes. Three days after we met, Derrick asked me to be his girlfriend. Three weeks later we said “I love you”. Three months later he proposed. Three years later we get married, in 2003. Three months later, I find out I’m pregnant with our first child. So the number three is very special to us. It was a special moment when we said I love you. We’d just woken up and I rolled on top of him and I said “I have something to tell you, but I’m scared to.” Derrick looked me in the eyes and said, “Do you want me to say it first?” I knew right then that he was the guy I was supposed to marry. When Derrick proposed to me, we were actually at the mall getting our first “Couples” photograph taken. One, two, three poses and on the fourth, he bent down and pulled out a ring. The photographer captured my surprise. 

We moved to Arizona in the beginning of 2003. Derrick was accepted to an art college and we moved to Phoenix. We bounced around from apartment to apartment til eventually we moved in with roommates from Derrick’s school. On a random Tuesday, I looked at Derrick and I asked him, “Do you love me?” and he answered, Yes. So I said, “Why don’t we just go get married?” And so we did, on April 1st, 2003. I wore a $10 Old Navy dress and said my wedding vows to my Derrick in front of a Judge and 6 friends from school. Three months later, I find out I’m pregnant with our first child, Evelyn. Our little family was well on it’s way to becoming something great and special. Fast forward to 2013 and we now have 4 children; Evelyn Rose, Maverick James, Olivia Autumn and Savannah Grace. 

Derrick and I have fought to keep our marriage strong. He’s been there for me when I told him about the repeated rapes and my promiscuous past. I was there when his family assumed he was gay because he never brought any girlfriends home. He was there for me when I told him I was a self mutilator. I was there for him when he got hurt at work. He was there for me when I quit my jobs over my anxiety. I was there for him when he developed Rhabdomiolysis. He was there for me when I was diagnosed Bipolar (and everything else) and had to take tons of pills to be “normal”. We’ve been car-less, homeless, food-less and helpless, but we never gave up on each other. We’ve never given up, period. When so many couples would break up and move on from each other, we’d “fix” whatever was broken and be stronger than we were before.

The hardest part, but the best part of our relationship is the forgiving of our trespasses. And believe me, there’s been a lot of them. From me being physically abusive to me having affairs to him having an inappropriate relationship with my “best-friend” for three months while I was pregnant to him spending far too much time on video-games and not his family. We love each other enough to not walk away from the troubles, but to work on them and to forgive each other. Granted, it wasn’t easy, it was no cake walk, but it was something worth fighting for. And no, we’re not just staying together for the kids, we genuinely love one another and we think our marriage it worth working hard for. He’s my best friend and I his, truly. There’s no one is the world I’d rather stay up late talking to than him. There’s no one I’d rather share wealth and fortune with than him. He’s my everything. He’s the love of my life.

Does it Ever Go Away?

How much longer will the fear last? I’m sick and tired of being sick and tired. I’m exhausted from the constant hype of panic and anxiety. I’m tired of worrying all the time. I’m tired of stressing over things not going as planned. I’m tired of plans constantly changing. I’m tired of people not honoring their promises. I’m tired of my hopes rising, only to fall flat on my face. How much longer do I need to be afraid of everything? Especially failure. How do I get over the fear of failure? This feeling is ridiculous and unnecessary and unwelcome. I want to be normal, loving, hopeful and optimistic. But the constant self-beratement isn’t making things any easier for me. It used to be a voice talking to me, a male voice, who was mean and degrading. But now it’s my voice. It’s me. I’m scared of myself.

I can’t remember when I became scared of myself, at what age or where I was when it happened. But I stopped taking risks. I stopped having fun. I stopped hoping for a bright future. I think I’m most scared of my potential. What I could be, what I could become. Something more in this life, other than a wife and a mother. I love writing, but do I want to do it professionally, I don’t know. Would I be good at it? Sure! But I write for me, for my peace of mind, for my entertainment, for my digital memories. One day my kids will read all that I’ve left behind and I hope they’re proud of most of it. Especially when I write about how they’re my proudest accomplishment. Even though they’re noisy pains-in-the-butt. I love em for forever. 

One of my scariest moments happened last year. I was scared of my own bathroom. I literally thought it was trying to kill me. I kid you not, I was deathly afraid of being in there alone, Derrick would have to sit on the toilet while I shower so he could fight off whatever was trying to kill me. The water would turn scalding hot as I put my face in the stream. The shower head would jump out of the holder and hit me in the head or in the face. I sipped a few times. The shower curtain tried to smother me. There were poisonous spiders in the bathroom every time I went in there. I’ve cut my foot, my hand and broke numerous nails in the bathroom. And I lose handfuls of hair. I thought someone put Nair in my shampoo bottle at one point, I was so paranoid.

I used to be such a smart student. So talented and bright. I had amazingly good grades, was constantly on Honor Roll and brought home perfect Report Cards. I loved school and my teachers and the school work. I loved learning. But somewhere along the way a fear built up in me and I hid from everything. First it started with my school work, I began getting intimated by things. My grades reflected it. I couldn’t handle my classes anymore. I was a sophomore in advanced Spanish 3 and I had no clue what I was doing, but with the last name Fernandez, you better know Spanish. I failed a lot of my classes because they were too hard, but I was afraid to speak up, I didn’t want to disappoint anyone. Then eventually I began skipping a class and taking a double lunch. When I started getting F’s in all my classes I just stopped coming to school all together. I was humiliated that I couldn’t keep up with all the advanced classes I’d work so hard to get into. At 27 years old, I finally graduated from High School and got my diploma. Fear made me take all those years and I missed out on a lot, like prom, grad night, walking at graduation and getting a real diploma. 

I have irrational fears about everyday situations too. Other than my bathroom killing me. I have a fear of a stray bullet coming through my window and hitting me in the head. I have a fear of cars hoping the curb and hitting me as I’m running. I have a fear that the food I order while out with my husband is poisoned. I have a fear of being bitten by a shark, so much so I refuse to step foot in the ocean and I’m from California! I have a fear of a pair of scissors going through my eye because my husband likes to walk around twirling them on his fingers. I have a fear of an earthquake shaking the ceiling fan loose and it killing me. I have a fear of slipping in the kitchen and hitting my head on the counter and dying. And so many more fears that constantly run through my head on a daily basis. I’m constantly in fear about being hurt and dying. I’m constantly thinking about my death. How, when, where and why. I can’t turn it off and it’s ridiculously frustrating.

So, does the paranoia ever end? Does the fear ever go away? 

Someone Save the Savior

I made a post a few days ago where I said I have a Savior Complex and there’s nothing I can do about it. Well, I don’t know if it’s a personal thing, an Aquarius thing or a Borderline thing or a Bipolar thing, but I have the urge to need to save people and it’s frustrating. I am a good listener, and I’ve been told I give good and reassuring advice. I can be an awesome cheerleader or an honest bitch, depending on the conversations need. But this “Savior Complex” is probably gunna be the death of me. Eventually. I’m not suicidal, but the thought is always there and eventually guilt is gunna catch up to me and suffocate me. How can someone poor, on Welfare and as a SAHM help the world?

I want to make a difference. I want to cheer people up. I want to end sadness and make everything roses and rainbows. I get frustrated by all these groups and websites with their forums of people complaining and venting about their days and situations and I read them all, going from being happy about being alive, to being brought down to earth at crashing speeds into a deep depression after reading the sadness, bitterness and anger that is most of their lives on there. How does one deal with that? How does one rescue people, when one can’t even rescue themselves first? I continue to be a member of these groups for myself to ask questions and to become informed; about symptoms, medications, side effects, etc. But people are now using the groups and forums as personal vent space and it’s rather maddening. There are blogs for that—GO write! Leave the groups for advice, not arguments, not guilt, not frustration all on the part of the reader. 

Please reassure me that I’m not the only one who thinks like this. There has to be others that go through the Savior Complex as well as the frustrations of not being able to rescue others because you can’t save yourself. I can’t be the only one. Though sometimes I feel alone. Sometimes my husband gets the S.C. too and it stresses him out like it does me. He gives up doing things for himself, just to be there for others all the time. But in my head, I feel like I’m the only one responsible for the world and all the sadness and anger in it. Sometimes I feel like I was meant to be here for that specific reason and nothing else. To take people’s pain away. It’s constantly on my mind, I need to help, I need to save, I have to give the best advice I can, I need to talk them down from suicide, I have to make them smile, I have to make them happy, I have to solve their problems, I have to, I have to, I have to! Maybe it’s part of my OCD. I have no idea. Do you? 

What Else is There to Do?

I’m not in the mood to write today, but I’m gunna do it anyways. I had to take a ten minute break after that first sentence to go clip and file my nails. They had gotten too long for me to type comfortably. So I clipped em all to a nice petite length and filed them squoval (squarish oval). I have no idea why I’m avoiding life at the moment and solely talking about my nails. It’s not like today was a bad thing or anything. But it wasn’t really an exciting day either. My OCD got the best of me once again and I HAD to rearrange the living and dining rooms furniture. I had to, there was no fighting it anymore, it had to be done. If not for the change, but just to vacuum under the poor couch. We have 4 kids, there was a whole grocery store under the couch. The grossest item? A rotten tomato slice. Ugh. Kids. 

Today was a baseline day for me. I was sleepy when I woke up and ended up crashing on the couch for a couple hours after I’d gotten up. I had horrible sleep last night, my teeth were keeping me awake for most of the night. That, or I’d gotten hot or I’d gotten cold, or tangled in the blankets and sheets or Derrick pulled the blanket off of me. If it wasn’t something, it was another thing. I tossed and turned and kept looking at the clock. The baby woke up and started screaming just before 7am, so we got up. Derrick took care of her and I laid on the couch. Derrick asked me what I wanted for breakfast and all I could muster the energy to say was “Oatmeal” and I was drowsy. After breakfast, I totally fell asleep on the couch for a couple hours. During that time, Derrick made coffee and occupied the kiddos. When I woke up I had some much needed coffee and browsed my social sites on my laptop. Derrick was watching his WWE Raw recording and so I watched Awkward on my laptop until his show was over.

It took us a little over an hour to rearrange the living room the way I wanted it. And suddenly, when we were done, I wasn’t satisfied like I thought I would be. Rather I was frustrated. It looks fine. But there’s something I don’t like about it but I can’t figure out what it is yet…The best thing I love about rearranging rooms, is that you’re forced to reorganize everything. I LOVE to be organized and have order. I love it! So my favorite part of the afternoon was cleaning out and organizing my desk. What I need to do now, is take all the recipes I’ve pulled out of magazines and type em up in Excel. It’ll take a while, but I’m one of those weirdos that actually loves data entry. I also save health and fitness and stress relieving articles of which I should type up as well. I get told I do enough “research” that I could totally write my own Self Help Book. But how does a certifiably crazy person write a self help book? 

Anyways when I finished organizing everything, I got some quality relaxing time on the couch and flipped through 4 magazines! No kids bothered me—wow! I know! Then my grandfather called and said he was bringing me a box of food. Food that my mother and grandmother got for volunteering at a Senior Center Food Pantry. They give us this “shelf stable” milk, that we hate the flavor of, and use it in the bath water. It makes the skin super soft. For now I’m just making dinner (Pork Loin Chops, Baked Beans and Herbed Rice) and writing this and listening to Spongebob on the big screen. I’m kinda irritable today, only because the kids have been loud and destructive. But I can’t wait til it’s bed time for them. Because Derrick and I are gunna do some yoga, then read in bed with some Chamomile tea. Hopefully all of that will help us sleep better tonight. I have to rise pretty early, I’m going for a 5 mile run tomorrow. 

Paranoia, Paranoia, Everyone's Comin' to Get Me

So I had to give another Intake Interview this morning to begin the process of therapy. This is about the 12th or so interview I’ve done in my life. I’ve been in and out of therapy since I was 12 years old and the last time I saw a therapist was back in 2010. So I’m long over due to see someone for all my “issues”. The interview itself only lasted about 2 hours, relatively shorter than what I’m used to. Which was nice. I think I overwhelmed the poor woman with all that’s happened to me. Being a ward of the state at 11, being abused as a child and being raped repeatedly from 9-16. I’ve endured abuse nearly half my life, from 4 to 16. Ridiculous. Isn’t it?

The bad news about my interview this morning, is that my therapist won’t be able to see me until the end of July because she’s on vacation. Why they couldn’t give me someone else, I have no idea. But her name is Tiffany, thankfully it’s a woman! I can’t handle male doctors. No judgement, but my body, my thoughts, my emotions are all very vulnerable and I want no man to take advantage of that ever again. Especially since I have a tendency to be hypersexual, I don’t need some sicko doctor convincing me to do something I don’t want to. Plus I don’t need any fuel in the delusional fire, if you know what I mean. I have totally anxiety about situations that haven’t even happened yet. I’m totally paranoid too.

Speaking of paranoia, I see my psychiatrist today too. (Yay for days full of mental health!) I have to tell her about me being paranoid about the medications being placebos and I’m getting better only because I think I’m getting better. Plus I think I’m thoroughly convinced that I’m not sick, that it’s all in my head and that I could stop it if I wanted to. I feel guilty about being “sick” in my head, which is why I think I’m so convinced I’m not sick. God, I hope that makes sense. I am totally paranoid now after watching Side Effects. (Good movie BTW). Especially the scene where Jude Law’s character gives Rooney Mara’s character a drug to make her sleepy and it turns out it’s only saline. What if my pills are only “sugar pills” and my doctor is laughing at me behind my back because I’m faking all my symptoms? 

I just so desperately want to be “normal” or baseline, with a random hypomanic episode here and there. No mania, no depression, just happiness and hope. I feel so hopeless at times because I’ll have to be on medication for the rest of my life to have some sort of stability. I can’t really see a light at the end of my tunnel. I have no idea why the urges to cut are coming back so strong. It’s been such a reoccurring thought for the last month or so. My scars are fading and it makes me sad. Like real, physical, hurting on the inside sad. Like a part of me is disappearing. I’m becoming invisible again. A nobody. I want to feel again. Just a reminder that I’m alive, a somebody, with feelings and I bleed just like everyone else does. I don’t want to commit suicide like I did last month, no, I just want a release. 

I have no idea what I’m talking about anymore. I don’t really believe anyone reads these anyways. What’s so important or meaningful about a self abusing housewife with lots of mental health issues? I feel like I’m just rambling on and on, hoping someone will tell me that I’m not Bipolar, it’s not my life, it doesn’t control me, but nope, no one is there. No one calls me to check on me. No one writes me an email to ask how I’m feeling today. No one asks about my psychiatric appointments. It’s lonely when you have an illness like this. Everyone wants to be your friend when you’re manic because the money and the good times and the alcohol are flowing, you’re on a high, life is GOOD. But the “friends” disappear when you’re depressed, when you need them most. When you just need a friend to say, Can I stop by for coffee and to see how you’re doing? Where are those friends?

My Mental Illness Merry-Go-Round

I’m tired of questioning myself every single day, am I sick or not? Do I have mental illness or is it all really just in my head? I’m tired of being so paranoid that I question whether I am sick or it’s just a game I’m playing with myself. I was just questioning in the groups on Facebook the other day, wondering if all the psychiatric medications that I’m on are placebos and I’m getting “better” all in my head. But a lot of people brought up the point of side effects, especially the bad ones, and that got me thinking—the doctor or pharmacist advises us about what the side effects are, we research the side effects ourselves and then what if, our greatest fears in regards of side effects start manifesting from paranoid thoughts to mentally induced actions or symptoms?

I’ve been rapid cycling in and out of hypomania and depression over the last couple months. I’m not sure if it’s the medications or my nerves, or what the factors are, but I’ve been keeping track of my moods, hours of sleep and medication doses and looking at the chart, I’ve had 3 highs in the last 2 months. This leads me to believe I’m Bipolar Type 2 with Rapid Cycling and Mixed Episodes, but the PDoc specifically said she diagnosed me Dual Diagnosed Bipolar Type 1/Alcoholic with Mixed Episodes. I experience psychosis during certain episodes. I see things when I’m manic and I hear things when I’m depressed. I make up grand delusions in my head about these “friends” I swear I have or the people that are in love with me because I’m the prettiest thing on the planet and I KNOW they’re delusions, but for some reason I really fall for the faux reality. 

I have no friends, at least none in real life. I talk to people online, but I suck at maintaining relationships offline. I’m nervous, anxious and sarcastic and that sometimes comes across as rude. I don’t mean to be but Derrick understands me and I assume it’s safe to talk and joke with people like I do with Derrick and I’m totally wrong. When I make a new friend, I become slightly obsessed. I want to talk to them as much as possible, treat them special, buy them presents and take them out for lunch or dinner. I spoil them and when I don’t get the same attitude in return, I feel totally rejected and I begin to pull away from that friend and normally, I’d cut myself. See, I even rapid cycle my friendships. I do too much, I try too hard, to impress, to gain admiration and respect and in reality I’m making people feel uncomfortable and pressured. I hate myself for doing this, but I do it time and time again. Thank you Borderline Personality Disorder. 

My OCD got the best of me today. I woke up with the insistent thoughts of cleaning and so I detailed the kitchen and then I had the urge to rearrange our bedroom. And that’s no easy feat, we have a lot of very heavy furniture in the room. But I feel restless if I don’t move around the furniture at least every once in a while. I hate it when it bugs me over and over again until I finally do it and even sometimes after I finish, I’m never satisfied. My biggest thing I’m obsessed with is that way things are stacked. I hate it when things are stacked all messy and it doesn’t make sense for things to be mixed together, like junk mail and important medical papers, kids drawings and receipts. Everything has a place and when my children or husband clutter my system, it irks the hell out of me. I become hella irritable and get pissed off at the world.

Today was Father’s Day and it really depresses me, in a different way than Mother’s Day depresses me. For those of you that don’t know, I’ve never met my birth father. I know his name. I know what high school he went to. I know his birth date. But the only Kenneth Joe Harmon, Jr. I’ve found via internet research, is dead. I don’t know if that’s him or not, but either way, I have lots of brothers and sisters, aunts and uncles and grandparents, I’d like to meet. I’d like to meet my father, but I doubt that’ll ever happen. I don’t think he wants to be found. Otherwise, I’m sure he’d have a Facebook, because he KNOWS I exist. So Father’s Day depresses me because I’m one of the bastards who doesn’t have a father. Sure, I had step-dads, but to be honest with you, they were both abusive pricks. I don’t like or miss either of them. 

Overall today was kinda blah for me. The kids made me kind of irritable because they’re loud, noisy and bored too damn much. These kids of mine are overstimulated I tell you. They have too many toys and electronic companions to keep them company and then they have no idea how to use their imaginations when the electronics are gone. Man, they totally could not handle the 90s, when I was a kid. We totally had to solely rely on our imaginations to have a good time. I was a welfare child, from a broken (and broke) family and we couldn’t afford toys, unless they were broken, missing parts and only 50 cent at a yard sale. I don’t know how I’m going to handle these kids for 2 & 1/2 months of summer. Just thinking about it overwhelms me. Plus I’m so dependent on them eating two meals at school, so I can make our food at home stretch. But now everyone is eating here, 3 meals and 2 snacks a day. It’s overwhelming. I get anxious and panicky thinking about taking care of all four of them. I know Derrick is here to help, but he gets overwhelmed too. Two overwhelmed parents don’t equal a right. 

The Deafening Wails of Motherhood

I’m irritable today. Everything is getting on my nerves. My kids not listening. My baby screaming all the time and wanting her dad and not me. My grandparents not paying attention to the sermon. My grandfather asking the choir director for her phone number because he “needs someone to talk to about his sex life” or the lack thereof. My mother is trying to turn the church into a marketplace once again by trying to sell her crocheted butterfly magnets. And it’s all getting on my fucking nerves. I’m really ready to explode, emotionally. Which would be kind of welcomed right now, because I can’t remember the last time I cried. 

I spent a few hours online this morning, again checking my favorite sites and chatting on Facebook Group Pages for a while. Made some new friends. Chatted about my insecurities and how I’m afraid and intimidated by the regulars in the group since I’m technically a newbie still. It’s depressing when you make a post in a group, hell even on here, and no one likes it nor comments on it. It’s “seen” by people, but not acknowledged. That hurts. A lot. I don’t care what that makes me sound like, but I don’t like how it makes me feel. So I posted that in the group and I got a lot of positive feedback and two new Facebook friends.

The sermon at church today was about not being perfect, but how God’s grace is. How we’re all broken, damaged sinners but we’re all forgiven under grace when we have faith. God knows I’m not perfect, I wrote a blog about it the other day, about being a Doomed Christian. I think it was God way of telling me to hold on today. I was also given a book called the Purpose Driven Life and the quote on the front is “What on Earth am I here for?” That was also a post I made on Facebook a few days ago. I love when He gives me little signs. It’s little things like that that keep my faith as strong as it is. It’s not perfect, I question God a lot of the time, but it’s still faith.

After church they had a chili cook off and I was bummed I didn’t get to participate or help, even though I left a comment card saying I wanted to volunteer. But we all stayed and ate lunch. It was pretty good, a big variety of chilies, both vegetarian and meat, plus hotdogs, nachos and pasta salad. Cake for dessert. We stayed for a little while after lunch so the kids could play on the slip and slide and with waterballoons, but the 3 youngest ones were becoming irritable and that’s a sign they need a nap. So we came home and Derrick gave Maverick a shower because he had grass all over him and I changed Olivia and gave Savannah the rest of her bottle. Derrick laid on the couch and took a nap and I watched two episodes of Awkward on my laptop while everyone slept.

Even though it’s the Sabbath, I HAD to clean the kitchen. We didn’t do it yesterday (see I’m not perfect, I leave dirty dishes in the kitchen sometimes. Yes I do have OCD, but it’s not that severe, LOL). I had thawed skirt steak for dinner. I wanted Derrick to make his delicious fajitas and so I had to clean the kitchen to make that possible. I’m still struggling with this Sabbath Rest Day thing. It’s hard when you’re in a family of 6, with 4 very young children and the house gets messy everyday. You have to clean every day. Unless we’re dog tired and just go to bed when we send the kids to bed. I wish I could say that’s what happened last night, but last night I got sucked into Derrick’s soap opera aka WWE SmackDown. 

Now that we’ve finished dinner, I’m sitting here, writing this and watching Miss Congeniality. I’m not hearing much of the movie because the baby will not stop her insistent screaming over nothing. Literally nothing, she knows not what she wants. Not food, not a drink, not to be talked to or held, nothing. It’s rather maddening, I’ve never had one of my kids act like this before. It’s frustrating. She screams every time Derrick walks away from her. Every single time. And just like that I get a craving for hot cocoa (thanks air conditioner for freezing my ass off) and  to watch more Awkward episodes. Maybe I’ll make me some, go lay in bed and watch my show while the kids watch Sanjay and Craig. Whatever I do, it’ll involve earbuds or earplugs.

Temper Tantrums

My 3 year old toddler, Olivia, is having an emotional meltdown over her sparkly pink rubber band snapping and breaking in daddy’s hand. She dropped herself to the floor and said “I’m too sad to do my hair. I just can’t.”

I couldn’t help but wonder, do I look like a screaming toddler when I have a meltdown?

The Mask

I don’t feel like wearing makeup today when I go to church. I don’t know why. Normally, I never go to church makeup-less, but today I feel different. Almost like I don’t need to worry about impressing anyone because those I do worry about, have already seen me at my most vulnerable. But this morning I just don’t feel like putting forth the effort of a mask to hide behind. To me my makeup is something beautiful to hide behind, to put forth a beautiful face, so others can’t see the pain in my eyes. But today, today I don’t feel like hiding. 

Love is...

Love is…taking away the scissors, razor-blades and knives

Love is…telling her nothing is more important than her life

Love is…wiping away the melting mascara under her eyes

Love is…saying good night rather than saying goodbye

Love is…gently asking her today how she is feeling

Love is…is making sure she’s not hurting, but healing

Love is…dealing with the manic episodes and impulses

Love is…reminding her she’s beautiful and not repulsive

Love is…sitting quietly next to her, not saying a word

Love is…build up her spirits, not leave them injured

Love is…being there for her in her deepest depression

Love is…knowing when not to ask her a question

Love is…paying attention to her needs

Love is…kissing the cuts as they bleed

Love is…telling her scars are beautiful like her

Love is…wiping her eyes when her vision starts to blur

Love is…holding her hand 

Love is…holding to your promise of always being her man

Love is…accepting all her flaws and insecurities

Love is…complimenting her awesome boobies

Love is…not taking her sarcasm to heart

Love is…avoiding an arguments start

Love is…calling for help if you know she needs it

Love is…being there once the meds hit

Love is…comforting her when she gets home from the hospital

Love is…not knowing what to do at all

Love is…caring for her during her most difficult moments

Love is…accepting her guidance

Love is…knowing she’s damaged goods but still loving her

Love is…and this is hard, not being an enabler 

Love is…holding her when she cries

Love is…not letting her die

Two Questions on Bipolar Related Issues

So two questions I've seen posted around the internet involving mental illness are; if you have children, do you worry about them being bipolar? and do you drink and take your psych meds? I decided to throw out my two cents about how I feel about both subjects and why. These are MY opinions, no one else’s and I’m not forcing my decisions or beliefs on anyone. Honestly, I’d like to know how others feel about these topics too!

First up, if you have children, do you worry about them being bipolar?

In a nutshell, the answer is no. I know what signs to look for, which numbers to call and which doctors to see. If it’s mild enough, I’ll keep them away from medications, and just have them do DBT/CBT therapies. But if it’s a wildly strong episode that is reckless and dangerous I have no problem suggesting medications for my own children. Even though, I myself am paranoid that the drugs aren’t really working, but are placebos and the “curing” is all in my head.

Secondly, do you drink and take your psych meds?

Yes I drink alcohol and take my medication. I have yet to miss a dose of any of my medications. I don’t drink daily. Maybe 3-6 drinks once a month. Some might consider me to be a sporadic binge drinker. I haven’t been told the side effects of drinking while on the medication, so I do drink. A friend on another site recently shared an online forum post about developing Rhabdomyolysis from drinking and skipping psych meds, a story of which I do not believe. My husband had Rhabdo in 2009 and his Nepherologist never mentioned psych meds and alcohol causing it and Derrick was on Zoloft and he drink, but the cause of his condition was working in the heat on an injury. 

Am I a Doomed Christian?

2 Corinthians 6:14 “Do not be yoked together with unbelievers. For what do righteousness and wickedness have in common? Or what fellowship can light have with darkness?”

My husband and I both believe in God, but in our own ways. I’m more wicked than righteous and he’s more righteous than wicked. Together we make the perfect yin and yang, but totally up are sins, I’m further down the stairway to hell than he is. I worry about us being unequally yoked mostly because of my mental illness. Especially lust. I’m a very hypersexual person and have many sins to prove it. Though I’ve asked for forgiveness, I can’t help but to still bear the guilt of my actions. I’ve done it all, I’ve take every commandment and have broken it, every single one. So, as a Christian, am I doomed to a eternal life in hell? And if so, what’s the point of me trying to be a better person now?

Who Am I?

I could be an actress. I'm good at hiding my true feelings. Hell, some people are shocked to find out I have mental illnesses. Others, like family, know I can be a crazy bitch sometimes. I've been thinking a lot about how I save face a lot. I don't wear my heart on my sleeve like I used to. I've literally done a one eighty. I'm nice and happy to people who don't know me, the real me. And I'm a complete bitch to those that do know me. I don't know what's wrong with me, why I treat some people one way and others another.

I've been reading the BPD for Dummies book a lot lately, okay, I've been flipping through it and reading what pops out at me and I've seen that it's normal for a person with BPD cling to new friends, try their damnedest to impress them and then drop them if they don't show the same interest back to us. I totally do this. But with all friends, not just new friends. I love people and I always give them the benefit of the doubt, always go out of my way to earn their love and get 1000% offended if they don't reciprocate. 

Which ties in to me feeling abandoned. When friends or family members don't respond to me, in what I feel to be a timely manner, I feel abandoned by them. No gray, it's either black or it's white. Either you're my friend when I need you to be or you're not my friend at all. There's no in between for me. I also worry about Derrick leaving me because of this. I put a lot of pressure on him to respond to me as quick as possible and I know that gets on his nerves. I push his buttons. It's almost like I'm constantly finding a reason to make him leave because I feel like everyone will leave me, it's just a matter of when...

Another thing I've been blogging about is my lack of emotions. I feel so empty, bored and lonely. I don't do much during the day. In fact I can't really remember what I do. I have flashes of the chores of done and taking care of the kids, but honestly, at the end of the day I couldn't tell you one conversation I had or what I did online. I don't remember. I'm scared that I'm losing my memory and I wonder if it's the medications doing it to me. I want to do something with my life so I don't feel so empty, bored and lonely, but I'm good at so many things, I don't know what path I should choose. I just feel so out of touch with life.

One other thing I've been talking to Derrick about lately has been abuse. Not necessarily the abuse that happened to me, even though it's a lot, but we're talking about the abuse I've caused. To Derrick. I used to be an extremely violent person and I'm not proud of it. I'd lash out at Derrick for everything; from arguments to him ordering the wrong meal off a menu because I didn't like it. First it started out as play fighting, then it progressed to me hitting him because I KNEW he wouldn't hit me back. Whenever I was hurt, angry, pissed off or PMSing I took it out on Derrick. I've come a long way, I don't hit Derrick anymore, but sometimes I playfully give him a shot in the nuts, especially when he smacks my ass and it hurts. 

The problem I've been having lately is thoughts of self harm again. I'm trying really hard to fight the urges, but I really want to cut. Like I said, I've been feeling rather numb lately and I need something just to feel once again. I'm tired of being a zombie and just floating by in life. I'm not asking for attention, because if I do decide to cut, I refuse to blog pictures of it like some "cutters" do. I'm not an attention whore in that fashion, I'm not looking for sympathy votes, I'm looking for emotions within myself. I haven't cut since I was 23 and the deep scars are nearly faded away, even the gashes on my thighs. It's bittersweet. It's reminder of a time when I was on the verge of suicide but rather I made myself feel. It reminded me that I was alive and had a purpose and that the blood in my veins was there for a reason and to not give up. 

It's really hard having Mental Illness because you're two people at once. One you want to be a voice of awareness, an advocate for the mentally ill. The other side you hid your mental illness because of the stigma, you don't want to be known as the local "crazy" and be constantly questioned if you've taken your meds today. Having mental illness is totally a catch 22. At times I get embarrassed that I have mental illness because people question my sanity and then bring up my kids. I might not be the best parent, but I'm a damn good one. Other times, I'm a huge advocate for Mental Health because there shouldn't be any stigmas or embarrassments about it. I'm not perfect. I sometimes question my medication. I'm barely starting therapy. And I've been hospitalized and humiliated by my daughter telling the whole school that I was in a mental hospital. But hey, what doesn't kill you, makes you stronger, right?