Just One Day.

I wish everyone could spend a day in the mind of someone manic and cycling. My world and the world of so many others would be so different if they knew what a daily struggle I feel everyday. What a reward it is to lay your head down at night unharmed and think . . .

I’m a survivor, I’ve been surviving and kicking ass for a lot of years now. There have been times, many times between that I’ve slipped and my mental illness came out on top for a bit, but I get right back on and I kick ass a little more.

From the age of 4 to 8 I survived sexual molestation. My entire life I survived verbal and physical abuse one or the other sometimes both; from 10 on I’ve fought type 1 diabetes, and from 13 on I’ve fought and survived Bi-polar disorder, borderline personality disorder, and ODD. Excuse me while I pat myself on the back; I’m a survivor, I’m a fighter, and I’m pretty fucking FABULOUS and AWESOME!

I wake up most days without the manic thoughts. I’m pretty well under control with my illness these days with a wide combination of prescription drugs including the birth control shot to help control PMDD. Let me leap of the path here just a second and say PMDD is a whole other raging bitch in and of itself.

My triggers aren’t as frequent, but when I trigger damn do I do it well. 6,9, even 12 months of progress goes flooding down the drains. The thoughts start. The thoughts that are so hard for others to understand. A person without mental illness can’t seem to understand and grasp the fact that you’re fine one moment and then in the next you’re triggered and on a suicide mission, or at least thinking (none stop) about it. I’ve tried to explain it, I’ve broken my thoughts down for my sister, my father, my husband. They all seem to think it’s something I can turn on and just turn off.

I’ve explained how on a normal day I know they love me. I know it as much as I know I sit here typing this out. But on a manic day the entire world hates me, they hate me most because they deal with me, they would be better without me, I’m a burden, the world would be a better place without me, I’m broken and I cannot be fixed and even though my family might hurt a little while in the long run things would be better.

They can’t hear the battle, the war that rages on inside my head. The thoughts that are my own but aren’t of my own. Unless you have a mental illness you probably won’t understand the above statement.

I DO NOT HEAR VOICES. Not that there is shame in it if you do. Many people confuse the above statement as hearing voices though and I just want to say that isn’t so.

When you are in a bi-polar manic raging state your thoughts are so crazy and jumbled, and make so little sense, and thoughts that never cross your mind on a normal day are suddenly there and are SCREAMING as loud as possible inside your mind the aforementioned things from above. I’ve come to the point in my life, and my illness that I know they are within me, BUT they are NOT of me. These thoughts that come to me in this state are in no way mine; they are of my illness and I’m finally able to distinguish this.

My family, my friends don’t understand this illness; hell I don’t understand this illness most days, but sometimes I wish they could just spend one day in my mind cycling. Just one day feeling broken, just one day falling to pieces, just one day feeling completely and utterly worthless, just one day feeling hated, just one day feeling better off dead.

Just one day.


Wrap Me Up In Your Lyrics and Song

I find myself alone again, wondering aimlessly with no destination.
Songs from my playlist go on and on; a lullaby my momma never sung, the sweet sounds of how everything will be ok; Songs about changing, songs about being afraid to change, songs about something more, songs about desperation. They sing to me, they coax me along, bring me back to center and make me thank God for music and the impact it has in my life. Thank you God for the words of these songs wrapping me up tight when I have no others to do so.


I Tell Her Stories But I Do Not Lead By Example

I can remember it plain as day, laying in my pretty white day bed, the one with rose globes, pink ruffled bed skirt hanging down. My daddy would come in and tuck me in careful to make it just right. “Snug as a bug in a rug” he would say; he’d kiss me goodnight but before he’d go he’d tell me a story. Stories of princes and princess’s, men riding in gallantly on white horses, women with mops and terrible chores, horrible step mothers, fairy God-mothers, but mostly Prince Charming on his big white horse. He was only just Prince Charming though, no characteristics given he was just always the saving grace for the maiden. He rescued her from whatever rotten circumstances she faced and brought her home to become his Queen, where she would bare children and most likely resume her role at mopping and scrubbing only now those chores included diaper duty as well. Daddy always left that part out.

I guess I’ve become very cynical over the years. You see I tell my daughter stories too, but I don’t tell her the magical fairy tales that consumed my childhood. I don’t want to lead her on. Life isn’t that fairy tale that I bought into so long ago.

I tell my daughter stories of suitcase toting power woman. Woman who can hold their own, woman who make their own choices, take their own path, woman who marry when they are truly ready. I tell her all the characteristics that I wish I had heard. Prince Charming is a fraud. Look not for the handsome man who can be “your savior?” Be your own. Look for a man who will not just call you his queen but treat you as one. Look for a man who will build you up rather then tear you down. The man who always uses kind words, and kind hands, he needs to be a Godly man, and will not be afraid to take the reigns lead his family in worship and prayer. A hard working man, but not so hard working that he can’t see past the over time, a man who puts GOD first, FAMILY second, and all else comes next.

But the most important thing I tell her is get an education. Don’t stop at high school and marry the first man you meet who treats you decent. That’s what I did. Good enough isn’t good enough. And most importantly you want and need to be INDEPENDENT. Don’t trap yourself in a situation you can’t escape from. A situation identical to my own, three children, a terrible marriage, no education beyond the 1 year of college I completed before becoming pregnant with my second child and deciding school with two children was near impossible; especially with a husband who wouldn’t help with the care of his own children, and a family who wasn’t much help either.
I don’t expect her to wait around until her ovaries have had their last hoorah, but I sure hope she gets her ducks in a row and never depends on a man.

You see I tell my daughter stories, but I do not lead by example, and for that I can’t forgive myself

I tell her she is valuable, her worth is like no other, and unless the man knows this he isn’t good enough for her. I tell her she must be respected, and loved in a way that our Father in heaven would see fit. I tell her she’s beautiful, all of her inside and out, but most importantly inside. I tell her she is smart, and that she can do anything. ANYTHING. I tell her I will always be there. ALWAYS. And I will do my best not to let her down..

I tell her all the things I wish someone had told me.. . ..


Unhappily Ever After.

June 25, 2005. . . So young, so naive, so full of life, butterflies, wonder. I had so many things built up in my mind. We’d had a near perfect dating experience. For the last 3 years we’d rarely fought, and when we did it was a silly bicker-fest that we quickly put behind us.
Greg was perfect for me in all the imaginable ways… I’d thought this through over and over again. He was hard working, he didn’t talk to me like Princess but who didn’t call their wife or girlfriend a bitch every now and again? Greg was safe. . . I knew he loved me. He must; he treated me just as I had seen my mother treated all those years ago. Besides who else would want me?

I got ready that morning, butterflies full affect. Sick to my stomach with question and concern. At 1:30 I was walked up the stairs of the church where my daddy waited and grabbed my arm; I almost fell off my heels. “Last chance to run for the door my daddy said”. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t have a glimmer of thought run through my mind. How embarrassing that would have been. Everyone was gathered for this big day for me, everyone was waiting. All that money, all that hard work, and besides how far would I make it running in heels; and my car? Where was my car? I couldn’t even escape to it.
I grabbed my daddy’s arm and whispered please don’t let me fall. . .
I said I do…
Flash forward 9 years. I sit here on my Anniversary and wow… Things sure weren’t what I’d expected. No rainbows, no butterflies, no roses just to say I love you, no “hey I’ll get those dishes for you take a second for yourself”. 9 years later all I can think is YOU SHOULD HAVE RAN. Why didn’t I run? I could have. People would have understood. We were so young. I was just barely 20. I hadn’t had but a glimmer of a moment of life to live.
I wouldn’t have these 3 beautiful gorgeous children that keep me waking up in the morning, yet then again I wouldn’t have known better either.
I think about leaving but then again the same old thoughts come rushing back “who will have me? Where will I go? Do I even deserve better?”
And so I am pulled back to real life I have nothing, no one to turn to, so I’ll spend the rest of my life unhappily married.


Stay Together For The Kids??? What?

I know it’s Father’s Day and I should be confessing my love without end amen for my daddy, but honestly I can’t help but feel hurt and jipped. Don’t get me wrong. I love my dad. He’s a great man, he provided sufficient enough, he loved just enough, he was there just enough. Equal to my mother who did just enough to get by.
I’ll tell you what has my bowels all up in an uproar here.
Friday night I drove around half the evening in my car pissed off with nowhere to go, no one to turn to. I had a heated blow up with my husband, and decided it would be best to go have some time to myself.
As a drove around for hours. HOURS.
I realized I have no “Home”. Nowhere for me to always come home to. No safe haven. That doesn’t exist for me. I suspect this is something fairly common in people from my generation.
You see I come from the “stay together for the children generation”. My parents did the “just enough” until they felt their children were grown, and then they flew the coop. My mom ultimately made the decision, she cheated on my father. It’s something I struggled with for many years. I blamed her for everything that ever went wrong in life and childhood for a very long time; then one day I grew up and I got over it.
This isn’t what this is about though. I’m not trying to finger point and call out names.
My point in this idea of stay together is beyond ridiculous, and though you may think it is better because then the idea of split/shared custody is out the window; ultimately it leaves the “adult grown or near adult grown child” feeling homeless and lost.
My dad and mom both went on to remarry. Both live with their new spouses in different homes then I grew up in, and I just don’t feel like I have a place.
My mom and dad both I’m sure would welcome me with open arms, but not growing up with their new significant others I honestly don’t feel welcome on their parts. Not that my step parents aren’t great.. ok my moms husband not so much… But the point is if my parents had split up early, my childhood would have been much different. My adult life would be much different, but maybe when I’m pissed off at my husband, and driving around at 1am I might feel like I had a place to go, a place to lay my head, arms to hug me, hold me, tell me he’s a jerk, it will be ok tomorrow, then give me a swift kick in my ass and get me on my way.
Don’t stay together for the children and do just enough to get by; stay together and REALLY REALLY work at it.