Free Therapy, right outside my door.

I started reading a book yesterday, Tales From Another Mother Runner by Dimity McDowell, and I haven't gotten very far through it but there were parts where they were talking about why they run or why they started running. It's been on my mind since and I don't really have anyone to talk to about it so I figured I'd revive my blog.

Most people run so they can get healthy, so they can have that extra piece of cake. They run because runner's high is real and it's wonderful. They run because the sense of accomplishment at the end of a marathon is an amazing feeling (I imagine, I haven't even done a 5k). There are a multitude of reasons why people run and I'm sure if you asked every runner their reason would be slightly different than the one before.

I've obviously mentioned many times in this blog that I'm bipolar. I've talked about being in the hospital and going to therapy, about medication and maybe about the coping skills they keep trying to teach me. 

None of that is as good as running. Running is my best therapy. I go out on the road, put my earbuds in, and for thirty minutes to an hour everything just kind of fades away. I'm not a mom trying to figure out bills, I'm not a daughter worried about her sick mom and Mamaw, I'm not the woman with bipolar disorder constantly worrying when the next depression is coming or if I'm going to be hypomanic and do something I'll regret. It's me, my music, and the road. It's simple, isn't it? One foot in front of the other, breathe in and breathe out. I don't have to think about anything but when to turn and, "Are there any cars coming?" 

I used to joke, "If you see me running rest assured, someone is chasing me." Now it's a stress reliever, a way to clear my head, and yes, a way to catch that high you get after a run. Nothing touches that feeling. (Okay, maybe really good sex.) There's a very noticeable difference between my moods on days I run and days I don't. (I haven't been running lately and I've been very meh and sluggish. Summer tends to throw my running off.) I think everyone prefers the days I head out for a run, I know I do. 

I know there really isn't anyone that reads this but I'll end with a question anyway. What's your therapy? What do you do on those days when you've just had it and you need to do something to fix yourself? 

Some days bipolar disorder has me.

I'm not new to the mental health game. I've been medicated longer than I've done most things in my life. I've seen the inside of more doctor's rooms, been evaluated plenty of times, and talked to more than a couple therapists and counsellors. I know how my disorder works. It's sneaky and it steals your life little pieces at a time. 

Still there are days when I feel as if it's the bipolar disorder that has me, not I that has it. No matter how much therapy I go to or how much medication I take I feel as if I'll never have complete control. 

There will always be days like today. Days where I wake up as tired as I went to sleep but in a good enough mood. I'll get things done, the girls off to school, the dishes done. All the while I can feel my mood sliding. Nothing has to happen, I just grow ever more...weary. Then my thoughts turn gray. 

I'll begin to think about how I miss him so. To wonder why I can't just give in and try to be happy with someone? I'll remind myself I'm alone because I choose not to inflict my disorder on others. This comes with the usual realization that I will live a very lonely life. My eyes start to get teary somewhere during this process. 

Maybe I'll think of a happy memory. A flash of a smile, that look in his eyes, hearing, "You're the best mom ever!" when I manage to do something right. There they are again, those pesky tears. 

By the end of the day I'm a shaky, teary-eyed, wobbly mess. I put on a smile and I laugh for the girls but it's always there under the surface. I joke with my friends and hide my emotions. It's still there though. That feeling that everything is gray and that the darkness is close behind. 

Bedtime will eventually come and I'll fall into a medication induced sleep. Never knowing if the next day I will have my disorder or it will have me.  

But I have to make time for myself and some changes.

I didn't get around to those posts yet. They're waiting. I was waiting on one because it's about razors and you kind of need to see them in action but I haven't used one yet. I keep forgetting. Tonight! 

I'm going to change a little about the blog. The post titles won't be me finishing the blog's title prompt. It will make it easier on me to describe the post that way. I think that's about it though. It'll still be a strange mess of whatever I like at the time. 

You know what they never tell you about mental illness? Even the stable days are hard. You still struggle even when the medication is working and you feel better. You still wake up sometimes and hate yourself, your life, being alive, the idea of going through with this for the rest of your life just breaks you. Those days still happen, even when everything is good. The fight never ends when you're at war with your own mind. You never get to lay down your sword and rest for a bit because just when you do the darkness creeps in and steals your sword. 

Every day I try to wake up prepared to fight. Some days I am not successful and darkness does it's slow creep over me. It's become a comfortable thing now, my darkness. I try to tell myself everyone deserves a day here and there, it won't hurt to take a day but it's a slippery slope. I have to wake up extra ready and have friends who are also at the ready to help me fight the next day. If the darkness gets comfortable, well there's no telling when it will leave. 

And I'm a terrible blogger.

I'm not so great at the remembering to blog thing. As you can tell by the fact that there's been no post since May, I think. I'm not sure anyone even follows or knows this blog exists. That's ok, I'll talk to myself. 

I'm stable now. Ever since I went to the hospital I've been doing mostly ok. A little on the hyper side but I'm not sure if I'm hypomanic or not. I can control myself in some ways but in others, I just can't. It's hard to tell. 

I have a post or two to make. Probably today or tomorrow. Not personal posts. 

As far as health goes, I'm still in pain all the time. I went to try to get injections for the pain but there are a bunch of tests I have to do first. I really should have known it wouldn't be easy. I keep doing things that cause me to have fibro flares but they're things that are fun for me so when I weigh the pros and cons, it's worth a day in bed. I need to do things that make me happy to keep my mood stable. It's a wicked trade off. 

I reconnected with my old best friend and that was good for my heart. Hopefully she sticks around this time. She's a little flaky. 

My girls are beautiful, smart, quirky, and keeping me on my toes. They are so amazing to me. They've discovered this Musical.ly app and the videos they make are adorable. I love watching them. 

I won't talk about dating. It's a terrible thing. 

I haven't been running much. My motivation just isn't there. I need to find it again. It's hard when I'm always in pain. I'm hoping when I get that taken care of it will get easier. 

I'll be back around with another post I think. I have to find what I want to review. It's time to go to the bus stop!

But I needed a break and I couldn't wait.

Some things are hard to talk about and some things you feel really embarrassed to admit. Some things are both. This is both. 

I recently spent a week in the hospital in the "Behavioral Health Unit". That's a politically correct way of saying the Psych Ward. I had a breakdown and my thoughts took a dangerous turn. For once I not only wanted to go to sleep and not wake up, I seriously considered a way to do it. I had the means, I have lots of medication in my home and I could just go to sleep and not wake up. 

These thoughts scared me. I reached out to my mother and told her I needed to go to the hospital. Then I went to sleep. When she got off work she and my aunt came to my house, my aunt took my girls and my mom took me to the hospital. 

It was very late when I got there, my first night I was examined for tattoos, scars, and bruises. My phone, purse, and shoes were taken from me. I was given a room and I went to sleep. 

I was scared my first day. I didn't know anyone and as someone with social anxiety, I was pretty close to terrified. There were some very nice people there who talked to me and included me even though I mostly sat and listened. 

My experience in the hospital wasn't what I thought it would be. There was a lot of free time where we sat around talking to each other, watching TV, playing cards, reading books, or talking on the phone. There was some group therapy and we got to go outside to an enclosed area a couple times a day. The food was basic hospital food (I lost a pound over the course of my week in there.) 

We were told when to wake up, when to eat, we had to ask permission to shower, our medication was handed out to us at certain times a day and our moods were tracked at medication time we were told when to go to sleep too, although most of us had gone to our rooms by that time already. 

There were two visiting days and only one when you could bring children. I saw my mom on both visiting days but no one else came. I was glad the girls didn't come. I didn't want them to see me in the hospital. I missed them so much but I didn't want them to have that memory. I talked to the oldest Princess on the phone while I was in there but the youngest princess didn't know where I was. I just told her I was somewhere trying to get healthy. How do you explain it to a 6-year-old? 

I spent 5 days in there. I was so happy to get out but I'm still having trouble adjusting. The structure was something I need in my life but it's something I'm not good at. I feel like my family looks at me differently now. They seem to look at me like I'm fragile, like I'll break at any minute. 

My relationship with my now ex-boyfriend fell apart. We have split up because I couldn't reach out, because I feel so different now. My emotions are so strange to me and I don't know how to handle them. I feel like I'm lost and I'm searching and searching but I'm not sure what I'm searching for. 

Depression and Bipolar Disorder are scary things. They can completely turn your life upside down. They can lie to you and make you feel the deepest despair. Bipolar Disorder can make you feel the highest of highs and then crash you down to the lowest of lows. It's a hard life and many of us don't survive it. If you know someone suffering from these disorders please reach out. You never know how you could change their lives with even the simplest gesture. It's real and it hurts, that's all we want you to understand. 

and I can't even think of a title.

You know readers, some days I think my brain doesn't even bother to wake up. It starts with not being able to unlock my phone in the morning. It's like a game, How Many Tries Will It Take To Turn The Alarm Off? I have a program on my phone that takes a picture when you input an unsuccessful passcode and emails the picture to you and saves a copy to the camera roll. Some morning I have 5 or 6 of these pictures. Let me tell you, they're lovely.

Then I can't find clothes for the littlest princess. Nothing matches but everything is clean. Socks? Pfft. Keep dreaming. "Where are your gloves?!" In her pocket where I put them of course.

Off to the bus stop, kisses! Time to relax. Nope, what did I walk into this room for again? I know I was looking for something but what was it? It wasn't this brush but the brush doesn't belong in this room so I'll take it where it belongs and maybe I'll remember.

What should I make for dinner? Well obviously not this hamburger I put down 4 days ago and now it's brown. I've got to stop buying that stuff. Why won't this cat stop meowing? You've got food and water, dude, what's your problem? Well, MEOW right back at you too.

Where was I supposed to go today? Better check both calendars...

Oh hell. I've got to get out of here. Time to get therapized.

and even when I do. I don't post.

You may have noticed by now, blog, I'm terrible at updating. My posts are sporadic at best, sometimes coming in spurts then not coming at all. Is it a symptom of my disorder or just downright laziness? Is it because the girls always have the computer and I don't like posting from my phone? Maybe because I don't really think I'm interesting enough to create the journal-like entries and I can never think of things to review. Sure I could review e-juice but I'm not like some people who can find different flavor profiles and such. To me it's either good for one reason or another or it's not.

I had surgery on my nose and let me tell you, it was not fun. I'm still sore and it's been almost a month. There are still stitches in there too. I'm supposed to be able to breathe better but I feel congested today. I could be getting some kind of head cold or other sinus related problem or my body could just be telling me what I've always known: it hates me. No matter what I do to fix it it's always going to laugh maniacally and find another way to make me miserable.

The holidays were wonderful. Thanksgiving (It's very hard not to type Thanksgibbing as is tradition with my cousin and me) was full of delicious food and a lively game of Trivial Pursuit until 2 am with my family. My team lost but I got a few good answers in that no one expected.
My girls loved Christmas, they got everything they wanted and a few things they didn't expect. The littlest princess has been so excited to ride her bike she can't hardly stand it but the only day it was warm enough for them to go out, it rained on her. Her poor little heart was broken. Christmas dinner was another night where we stuffed ourselves and then fought our way through a game of Trivial Pursuit. Our game is a mismatch of three or four different games but we were unable to find a new version of the game within a 40 mile radius.

I've become what I never thought I would be, blog. I'm a coffee drinker. Not a "give me coffee or give me death" kind of drinker, just a regular drinker. I never liked coffee before, it was always too bitter. I've found that I can drink dark roast if I doctor the heck out of it. Lots of sugar, lots of creamer...flavored please. I can't just go into Starbucks or McDonald's and order a coffee. Their's is still too bitter for me but the stuff I make at home and the stuff that comes out of the gas station cappuccino machines works pretty well for me.

My girls are doing amazing in school. I couldn't be more proud of them. One is getting all A honor roll in advanced classes and the other is splitting her time between Kindergarten and first grade. They're on winter break now. I think I'm the only one ready to get our routine back. They're content staying up all hours of the night and watching random YouTube videos all day.

So far, I think I've managed to get stable as far as my bipolar goes. I still have my bad days, my can't get out of bed days. Pizza Roll days. I've had a few manic days where my thoughts race and get obsessive and days where my thoughts seem to just be black clouds. Overall though, I'm getting the girls to school, making sure they're fed, homework is done, baths are taken, clothes are washed, and love is handed out. I think that's the best I can hope for right now. It might not seem like a lot to you blog, but compared to me a year ago, two years ago, it seems like I've climbed a mountain. The next step is getting myself healthy. It's hard. I'm fighting bipolar disorder, hypothyroidism, possibly fibromyalgia. Some days there's just no motivation to be found.

This has gotten long blog. I'm not sure anyone is even reading. If you're out there, leave a comment. I'd love to hear from you.

but sometimes I need to take the time to just shut down.

I'm not having a good week readers.

First, I've got shingles. Shingles, Not Just For Old People. Apparently my grandmother, aunt, and uncle have all had them. I was lucky to catch a fairly weak version but it still hurts and itches and I'm uncomfortable and WAAHHH.

Second, I think the medicine the doctor gave me has thrown me into a depression. I just can't shake it. There's nothing outside of this bed that interests me. I really hate the way taking a medication to help one illness can throw off months worth of progress. I haven't been this down in a while. The worhtlessness, the hopelessness. The wanting to check myself into a center for a while but fearing losing my children. I really hope it's the medicine and not something creeping in. I don't want to spend weeks under this.

In the interest of making this a happy post, I've quite smoking. I've started vaping. I love it. I love the flavors, the ease. I love shopping for flavors, looking at the mods, learning new things about it. I feel so much better. No more coughing. I still have trouble breathing but I blame that on allergies (I start allergy shots next week).

My oldest turns 11 next week. I'm prepared to cry like a baby. I know I will. Just not when anyone is around. We're camping for her birthday the week of the 18th. Hopefully I remember to take a lot of pictures that I can make a happy post with. I owe my blog a happy post.

and sometimes, I disappear completely.

I'm a terrible blogger. When I was younger I always had half started journals lying around waiting for me to pick them up again and begging me to finish them off. To give them some kind of closure. I rarely did.

I've thought of this blog a time or two. I told myself I needed to post something; even if know one read it I would know it was there.

It's been a hectic couple of months. Maybe I will turn February and March into a post. The Great Bed Bug War of 2014. That was a miserable couple of months. Lesson learned, never accept furniture from anyone. Not even family (or step-family as was my case).

School is winding down and it's time for amusement parks, zoo trips, and days spent at the aquatic center being lazy and soaking up vitamin D. I have some things to review, I should have some pictures to post. I have some bipolar related posts I think, although things have mostly been on the up side. Not level by any means but I haven't reached the darkest side in a long time. That's a very good thing. I'll take gray over black any day.

I've also switched from smoking cigarettes to vaping. Not a complete victory but a small one. I've won a small battle in the war. Maybe I'll do some posts about that too. I'm no expert by any means but I can give my amateur opinion.

I guess this is my way of saying I'm back, although I'm not sure anyone knew I was gone. See ya around, blog.  

...but sometimes my medicine decides to give me time.

Today was one of those days. I woke up easier than usual and that should have been a sign. My body still hurt, like always, but my brain was ready. Anyone who has been down the bipolar road knows that your body often wins. 

I managed to get the girls ready and off to school. Score one for functioning like a normal adult! I got to Medfit okay and even made it (slowly, mind you) through my workout. My blood pressure was high and that's abnormal for me. After picking up my sister and my youngest, drinking some hot chocolate and eating some food I could feel a crash coming. I set my sister up for babysitting and prepared. 

The crash lasted about 3-4 hours. I can't stand it when they come on. Having to out everything on hold so my brain can try to figure out what the nerves, chemicals and other vital functions of my body are supposed to be doing and try to get them all back in line is not awesome. I try to avoid not awesome things. 

Sometimes I think, "I want my body back." Then I remember I'm 29 and was diagnosed at 14. I never had my body to begin with. More than half of my life has been spent trying to figure out how to clean up the aftermath of the crashes. 

I called my psychiatrist with complaints of breast tenderness and the medication she suggested is currently settling and going through lawsuits because it caused men to grow breasts. I believe I'll pass, ma'am. This is strike one. She gets three and I request a new doctor. 

I've seen bipolar disorder referred to as a roller coaster. Let me tell you, I usually don't like those either. 

...but sometimes you make time for things you need.

Ah, the dreaded introductory post. That empty white box, the blinking cursor ticking away the time as you try to come up with something true, witty and interesting. Everyone says how terrible they are at these things, then somehow when they start they can't stop. First I'll tell you about this blog, then I'll tell you about me.

This blog has no point. Sorry dear readers but I don't have a mission. It will be a few parts personal, a couple parts reviews, maybe some crafty things here and there, and probably no business. Business and I were never very good friends. It probably will not be a regularly updated blog as I'm not very regular about anything. 

I also have no point. I don't have any dreams or goals for this blog. I just need an outlet. Somewhere to put the things that are floating around in my head with nowhere to land. I can be annoying, I will vent about things that are serious first world problems. I will LOL and LMAO and probably WTF quite a lot. I curse! stop clutching your pearls ladies, I don't wear them. I am annoying, I am silly. I'm a teenaged girl trapped in an almost 30 year old body sometimes. 

I am the mother of two girls. One is 10 and one is 5. I will use their names. I will use my names. I don't have any cutesy nicknames for any of us. I may throw out a nickname here or there that I actually call them in real life but it will be mixed in with their real names. 

I have two cats. I would ADOPT ALL THE CATS! if I could. Sadly, I hate litter boxes and food isn't cheap. My cats are both boys and are both monsters! I love them to pieces. You will see them, I'm sure. 

I am bipolar. It's a recent diagnosis, but not a recent issue. I was diagnosed with Major Depressive Disorder at age 14. I struggled through medications and therapy. I cried and fought my way through two pregnancies unmedicated. I've seen doctor after doctor. Finally a doctor spoke up and said, "You know, maybe if the depression medication isn't working it's because you're not depressed. Maybe, you're bipolar." And finally something I had been telling my mother since I was 17 years of age was confirmed. I'm now on my way to finding a medication and therapy combination that works for me. You probably will hear about this quite a bit, it is a large part of me.

I don't know how to end this, I've always been terrible at ending things (just ask my exes!) so I suppose I'll just say, see you next entry!