...Wow, I haven't posted in almost a year. That's pretty hard to believe.
Sorry to leave you with such a cliffhanger. HOSPITAL! COURT! LIVING IN A HOTEL! Sounds like a bad episode of Passions, doesn't it? Alas, it was actually my life about a year ago. The joys of bipolar disorder. Heavy sarcasm inserted there.
Geez, you know what? I really have no clue where to start. How about where I left off?
Ok, court was December 17th... well, it was supposed to be. George Bush came to the town where I had court, so they postponed the hearing on assault charges for THREE MONTHS. I had been up every night having panic attacks about the trial, and then they told me I'd have to wait another three months. I was unable to spend Christmas with my family. My dad's side of the family was gathering in Florida at my grandparents house, and although I was invited, I couldn't bring myself to go.
I was still far to angry with my mother. About a month previously (a week before the angry exchange that resulted in the assault charges) I had been arguing with my mother, who was heavy into the throws of menapausal mood swings at that time and is quite intense to begin with. At one point in the argument she stormed out and got in the car, and i went out and got in the passenger seat and refused to get out of the car until she talked to me. She proceeded to turn in her seat and then she kicked me, repeatedly. I didn't fight back, and my dad watched from the garage door, doing nothing to stop her. I got out and told her I was moving out and never living with her again, and closed the door. The next week I came back with a friend, hoping to get some of my belongings and that's when I bumped into my Dad on my way out of the door and drove off. My parents called the police and told them I assaulted him so that they would stop me and arrest me and put me in the hospital for treatment. I was riding with a friend who didn't really know about the bipolar stuff when we got pulled over by a sheriff, who took me off in handcuffs, told me my father was getting a restraining order on me, and then took me to the hospital and had me involuntarily admitted to the hospital. After 3 days I was released.
I had stayed briefly with a high school friend who had a drinking and drug problem that caused her to go off on screaming rants over nothing. Combine that with my already manic state and we had a definite volatile situation. I certainly couldn't go live at home after getting out of the hospital, and didn't feel comfortable going back to live with my friend. In desperation I went to the hotel where I used to work as a lifeguard and got a room for the night. I made friends with the manager quickly, who I learned had a boyfriend who was bipolar and dying of AIDS and empathized with my troubles. We made a deal that if I did a painting for her of them together she would let me stay there in the hotel free of charge until my family and friends situation (and my mental state, of course) calmed down. She is an incredible person. I still haven't finished the painting, and I feel horribly, but we talk regularly and I hope to finish it soon. Her boyfriend died of AIDS just 3 days before my court hearing on December 17th. Needless to say, a very emotional time.
Ok, back to Christmas. I had moved into an apartment with a friend of a friend by that point, and planned to stay there alone while my family went to Florida for Christmas. My Dad felt horrible about everything that had happened and stayed behind for Xmas day and we spent the day together and he flew to Florida the next day. It was the saddest Christmas of my life, although it did mean a lot to have him there. I'm actually tearing up as I type about it.
Anyway, to speed up the story, I was pretty depressed for a little while and struggled to find a job. It was a very dark time for me, life seemed quite bleak. I had scared many of my closest friends with my manic behavior in the fall, and many of them refused to speak to me. I tried to go out a few times, but always came home in tears after awkward run-ins with friends that included strange hesitant hugs and overheard whisperings about me between friends.
I had to go to a local healthcare center for the homeless/unemployed to get treatment for my bipolar disorder, since I didn't have insurance. It was extremely uncomfortable to walk in to that building, as it was within view of the dorm I had lived in a few years before while attending college. It felt like it was a million miles away from that lifestyle. The upside is that I was on medication, and I was getting through the days.
I applied to a job at a local printshop at the beginning of March and got it, despite still feeling pretty down and unsure of myself. A week after starting training, on March 17th, I had to go to court for my trial about my assault charges with my Dad. I sat silently and listened to my public defender ask my dad and the police officer about my mental state five months previously. It seemed as though they were describing someone else, not me. Who WAS that person? My stomach was in knots, and I can think of few times when my self esteem has plummetted to such depths as it did there in that courtroom.
Thankfully, the charges were dropped, and I was told that my arrest would not be on my permanent record. My public defender told me I seemed like a completely different person than the one that she had met back in December, which I'm sure she meant as a compliment, but didn't feel that way to me. To me it solidified my total discomfort with myself and the scary thought that I really had no idea who I was. I thanked her anyway and faked a smile. It was a a beautiful day, and when my Dad and I walked outside and started down the courthouse steps I couldn't help it as I started crying. It was a silent cry... just my eyes completely overflowing with tears as I bit my lip and walked to the car. My dad gave me a quick awkward hug, and then drove me back to my apartment. We had Sonic on the way- a strange drive-thru consolation lunch.
Life has been relatively uneventful since, which I'm sure to most would seem a relief. In many ways it is, since a lack of drama is a luxury not always afforded to those with bipolar disorder.
I'm still working the same job, and I now have legitimate health insurance in my own name and don't have to walk into the homeless health center anymore. I'm paying my own rent and bills... barely, but I'm squeaking by.
I've even rebuilt many of the friendships that crumbled during the turmoil last year. I go out fairly regularly and am greeted by smiles and sincere hugs instead of awkwardness, which feels really good. Either most people have forgotten or have forgiven me, because last fall is never discussed. Just the typical things- who's buying the next round of beer, what girl's butt is too big for those pants, and whether we ought to try a different bar for once. Trivial, yes, but much preferred to the serious issues I was facing a year ago.
I really want to apply to better jobs that are better suited to my degree and skill level, but I'm scared. I'm scared that my good friend BPD is going to rear its ugly head again, and my world will come crashing down. I'm afraid to aim high, lest it be that much more devastating when it all falls apart.
I know that sounds grim, but thats what crosses my mind when I think about a better job.
I haven't had a boyfriend since my ex... almost 2 years ago now. We're friends now, which is great, because he knows me better than pretty much anyone.
I've talked to a few guys, but it never develops into anything. I'm always terrified to get in too deep and then get rejected once the wonderful bipolar issue presents itself. Someone will love me anyway, right?
I sure hope so.
Anyway, I know that was painfully long, and chronologically it was a little mixed up at times, but I felt I owed whatever readers I may have had in the past and present an explanation.
Life marches on, and for now, the road appears pothole-free. I'm crossing my fingers that it will stay that way.
Wish me luck readers.
Showing posts with label bipolar. Show all posts
Showing posts with label bipolar. Show all posts
Monday, November 17, 2008
Thursday, August 2, 2007
I'm watching "The Number 23" with my little sister.
We're both internet addicts and both quite ADD, so we're doing other things while watching. Good thing too, cause I'm freaked the hell out, and I'm sure I'd be even more so if I was paying full attention to it.
Okay, it's over now. Let's just say it wasn't my favorite movie ever. Reeeeally weird. All the stuff they said about 23 was pretty crazy. They claim its a real phenomenon that many people are kind of obsessed with. I'm going to try to put it out of my head, since I'm prone to semi-obsessive thinking. I didn't like seeing Jim Carrey in a role like that, either. I love him for his comedy, so I hated seeing him this way. There were several pretty intense sex scenes, and it was just too weird to see freakin Jim Carrey having intense sex. I mean, he's Ace Ventura. He's Lloyd from Dumb and Dumber. He's the crazy-ass Mask guy. I have no desire to see any of those characters having sex. Ever.
It was all a little uncomfortable, because I remembered some obsessive paranoid thoughts I had during my manic episode. I became convinced that there was some huge significance to the number 17- my favorite number, my soccer number, and the day of my birth- January 17th. I suddenly kept noticing the number popping up everywhere, seemed like everywhere I looked. I'd be driving and randomly look up at a mile marker, and it would be 117, or the clock kept saying 2:17, 4:17, 11:17, when I looked up; things like that. I realized that my first and second boyfriends both had the number 17 in their aim screen name, as I did. The guy I had really liked about a year previous had 17 in his sn too. Some Jehovah's witnesses came to the door at my apartment, and when I opened the door and didn't slam it right away, they started telling me how Christ was coming again and the world was coming to an end, citing chapter 17 of the book of Revelation. I know it was just the mania; me making connections where no connections existed, giving great significance to insignificant things. It definitely freaked me out, but of course, when I came back down from the episode, all the 17 stuff stopped. I remembered that I had been so sure of the number's significance, but I stopped seeing it and believing it.
That whole thing is more a source of embarrassment now, (although thats probably not the right word because no one knows but me, I guess "shame" is better) when I think about the kind of things I was thinking about during that ordeal. That's actually a huge part of why I was depressed for so long afterwards; not just the 17 thing specifically, but everything I thought and believed that was unreasonable and illogical. That shame, combined with my plummetting seratonin levels, kept me down for quite some time. It was really hard for me to forgive myself for all of that, and I guess I actually still haven't. It may sound weird to say "forgive myself", but I really hated myself for the mania for a long time, even though it wasn't my fault. The thought that I could -and probably will at some point- be that way again, haunts me all the time.
Geez, I have myself a little creeped out again thinkin about the 17 stuff... and now this stupid 23 stuff. I gotta snap out of it. I'm going to sleep, since my sister and I have been major insomniacs lately. She's leaving for college -the big freshman year- in a few weeks, so we've been burning the midnight oil with movie marathons and tivo'ed shark week shows. I reeeeally need to fix my sleep patterns; getting too "off" has tripped me into depression before- it may have played a part in the mania too. Add the bad sleep patterns to my less than stellar record of medication consumption of late, and suddenly I'm really tempting fate.
On that note, I'm off to bed. Gotta look for jobs tomorrow, I'm tired of being broke and bored. Surely employment will also help my self esteem rut and borderline-depression that I've been in lately. Wish me luck!
We're both internet addicts and both quite ADD, so we're doing other things while watching. Good thing too, cause I'm freaked the hell out, and I'm sure I'd be even more so if I was paying full attention to it.
Okay, it's over now. Let's just say it wasn't my favorite movie ever. Reeeeally weird. All the stuff they said about 23 was pretty crazy. They claim its a real phenomenon that many people are kind of obsessed with. I'm going to try to put it out of my head, since I'm prone to semi-obsessive thinking. I didn't like seeing Jim Carrey in a role like that, either. I love him for his comedy, so I hated seeing him this way. There were several pretty intense sex scenes, and it was just too weird to see freakin Jim Carrey having intense sex. I mean, he's Ace Ventura. He's Lloyd from Dumb and Dumber. He's the crazy-ass Mask guy. I have no desire to see any of those characters having sex. Ever.
It was all a little uncomfortable, because I remembered some obsessive paranoid thoughts I had during my manic episode. I became convinced that there was some huge significance to the number 17- my favorite number, my soccer number, and the day of my birth- January 17th. I suddenly kept noticing the number popping up everywhere, seemed like everywhere I looked. I'd be driving and randomly look up at a mile marker, and it would be 117, or the clock kept saying 2:17, 4:17, 11:17, when I looked up; things like that. I realized that my first and second boyfriends both had the number 17 in their aim screen name, as I did. The guy I had really liked about a year previous had 17 in his sn too. Some Jehovah's witnesses came to the door at my apartment, and when I opened the door and didn't slam it right away, they started telling me how Christ was coming again and the world was coming to an end, citing chapter 17 of the book of Revelation. I know it was just the mania; me making connections where no connections existed, giving great significance to insignificant things. It definitely freaked me out, but of course, when I came back down from the episode, all the 17 stuff stopped. I remembered that I had been so sure of the number's significance, but I stopped seeing it and believing it.
That whole thing is more a source of embarrassment now, (although thats probably not the right word because no one knows but me, I guess "shame" is better) when I think about the kind of things I was thinking about during that ordeal. That's actually a huge part of why I was depressed for so long afterwards; not just the 17 thing specifically, but everything I thought and believed that was unreasonable and illogical. That shame, combined with my plummetting seratonin levels, kept me down for quite some time. It was really hard for me to forgive myself for all of that, and I guess I actually still haven't. It may sound weird to say "forgive myself", but I really hated myself for the mania for a long time, even though it wasn't my fault. The thought that I could -and probably will at some point- be that way again, haunts me all the time.
Geez, I have myself a little creeped out again thinkin about the 17 stuff... and now this stupid 23 stuff. I gotta snap out of it. I'm going to sleep, since my sister and I have been major insomniacs lately. She's leaving for college -the big freshman year- in a few weeks, so we've been burning the midnight oil with movie marathons and tivo'ed shark week shows. I reeeeally need to fix my sleep patterns; getting too "off" has tripped me into depression before- it may have played a part in the mania too. Add the bad sleep patterns to my less than stellar record of medication consumption of late, and suddenly I'm really tempting fate.
On that note, I'm off to bed. Gotta look for jobs tomorrow, I'm tired of being broke and bored. Surely employment will also help my self esteem rut and borderline-depression that I've been in lately. Wish me luck!
Monday, July 30, 2007
Extremely Uneasy.
That's probably the best way to describe my state of mind at the moment.
The following post is quite rambly. Consider yourself warned.
The party went well, despite low attendance by my friends. Only four of my college friends came of the thirteen who had RSVP'ed, but there were six hometown friends there too. I was tempted to feel like a loser, since my brother had a much larger turnout of his friends, but I tried to keep in mind that he has been living in the area a while, and his friends live nearby. I refused to let myself get upset- instead I let myself get drunk. It ended up being a lot of fun, so I can't complain.
The weird thing was that the ex didn't come- the ex that still talks all the time of wanting to get married and have kids and all that. He usually calls me several times a day, and gets upset if he doesn't get to speak to me all day. However, the last time I talked to him was Thursday evening. He said he was going to come late to the party on Saturday, and I expected him to be there. However, I was unable to reach him Friday, Saturday, yesterday, or today, with multiple attempts each day. I had been wishing he wouldn't try to call me quite so much, but not talking to him at all for 4 days is very out of character for him, and I'm starting to get really worried. He's not the kind to get mad and ignore me without at least letting me know he's mad first. Not that he has a reason to be mad.... very strange.
One thing that makes me wonder if something is up, is something that happened last week. He called me and told me that the father of his high school girlfriend was hit by a car and was in a coma and a bodycast. He was very upset, and said he was going to go visit him in the hospital. He always calls his ex "hell-bitch", but talks about how close he was with her father, since he didn't have a son. When I explained the situation and my not being able to reach him to my mom, she asked if it was possible that he's suddenly interested in her again. I want to think that's very unlikely, but hell, anything's possible. I mean, I don't think I want to be with him anymore, but it's still weird to think of him with someone else. Especially someone he's always referred to as "hell-bitch". Mostly, I'm just worried that something may have happened to him. We don't have mutual friends, so it's likely that I wouldn't be notified if something did happen. Hmmm. Like I said, extremely uneasy.
To add to that, I watched "My Boys" tonight- the show about the chick with all guy friends. I've never watched it before, but my guy friends have jokingly called me "PJ" (the chick's name) and have insisted that I watch it. Well, tonight I did, and the first of the two episodes that aired had eery similarities to some recent events in my life. PJ has a close guy friend with whom she has had a lot of chemistry for a while. Finally (in a previous episode) they wind up kissing, and then she kinda bolts afterwards. After that, it was weird between them, and in this episode, he actually starts dating a new girl.
my boy's season one recap
Ok, weird. I know that's a common scenario, but let me explain. I had liked this guy friend of mine for like 5 years, but he moved away for a few years, then came back. Well, ever since seeing each other at a party last year, we've had crazy chemistry and whatnot. Unfortunately, I had a boyfriend. We talked all the time, but it was always innocent talk. He talked about wanting a girlfriend, and I tried to help him find one (although I secretly wished it was me). Eventually, I broke up with my boyfriend, and soon thereafter on a night that I went out with the guys, we ended up kissing (nothing beyond that). We were both crashing at another guy's house, so when I woke up and realized what had happened, I kinda freaked. I waited for a bit for him to wake up, and then ended up just leaving. After that there was a big weirdness between us. It was not discussed. I took the weirdness as rejection and made a series of bad decisions that pretty much screwed any chances I had with him. However, there was still chemistry. Anyway, he just got a girlfriend. I'm upset about it, but I have no right to be, because I was the one who messed things up.
Ok the rambling took me offcourse, as usual, but the point is- close guy friend, kissing, weirdness, new girlfriend. Funny thing is that PJ looks much like me, her guy friend looks much like my guy friend, and PJ's guy is now dating an asian girl, as is my guy friend. I'm not suggesting anything crazy like them basing it on me, I'm just saying it made me very uncomfortable, since I had been trying to avoid thinking about it so I wouldn't get upset. It was like every time something happened on the show, I was like "Come on! Seriously stop it, you're freakin me out."
My friend and his new girlfriend had said they were maybe comin to my party, but they were no-shows. It's for the best anyway, because I would have probably been all bummed out about seeing them together- I have not yet been exposed to them as a couple.
One thing that caused my post-makeout freakout with him was something he said a while back, when we were talking about him trying to find a girlfriend. Apparently, some girl he wasn't interested in was interested in him, and he jokingly said to me "I'll just tell her I'm bipolar, that'll get rid of her". He has no idea that I'm bipolar, so I tried not to hold it against him, but it felt like a major punch in the stomach. I was pretty upset about that. After the makeout, I thought about the possibility of us actually dating, and because we're both in a closeknit group of friends (guy friends except for me), when he inevitably found out I was bipolar, the secret would be leaked to all the friends, and I'd be different to all of them. I couldn't stand the thought. So I freaked.
This is a bad precedent- I haven't dated anyone but that one ex since my bipolar diagnosis (who I had been dating before the diagnosis as well), and it appears that it's going to put a major strain on my future dating behaviors. *Sigh*.
Ok that was a lot of rambling. I had to get it out. I feel a little better, a little unburdened, but still uneasy. I'll just have to wait it out and see what happens.
That's probably the best way to describe my state of mind at the moment.
The following post is quite rambly. Consider yourself warned.
The party went well, despite low attendance by my friends. Only four of my college friends came of the thirteen who had RSVP'ed, but there were six hometown friends there too. I was tempted to feel like a loser, since my brother had a much larger turnout of his friends, but I tried to keep in mind that he has been living in the area a while, and his friends live nearby. I refused to let myself get upset- instead I let myself get drunk. It ended up being a lot of fun, so I can't complain.
The weird thing was that the ex didn't come- the ex that still talks all the time of wanting to get married and have kids and all that. He usually calls me several times a day, and gets upset if he doesn't get to speak to me all day. However, the last time I talked to him was Thursday evening. He said he was going to come late to the party on Saturday, and I expected him to be there. However, I was unable to reach him Friday, Saturday, yesterday, or today, with multiple attempts each day. I had been wishing he wouldn't try to call me quite so much, but not talking to him at all for 4 days is very out of character for him, and I'm starting to get really worried. He's not the kind to get mad and ignore me without at least letting me know he's mad first. Not that he has a reason to be mad.... very strange.
One thing that makes me wonder if something is up, is something that happened last week. He called me and told me that the father of his high school girlfriend was hit by a car and was in a coma and a bodycast. He was very upset, and said he was going to go visit him in the hospital. He always calls his ex "hell-bitch", but talks about how close he was with her father, since he didn't have a son. When I explained the situation and my not being able to reach him to my mom, she asked if it was possible that he's suddenly interested in her again. I want to think that's very unlikely, but hell, anything's possible. I mean, I don't think I want to be with him anymore, but it's still weird to think of him with someone else. Especially someone he's always referred to as "hell-bitch". Mostly, I'm just worried that something may have happened to him. We don't have mutual friends, so it's likely that I wouldn't be notified if something did happen. Hmmm. Like I said, extremely uneasy.
To add to that, I watched "My Boys" tonight- the show about the chick with all guy friends. I've never watched it before, but my guy friends have jokingly called me "PJ" (the chick's name) and have insisted that I watch it. Well, tonight I did, and the first of the two episodes that aired had eery similarities to some recent events in my life. PJ has a close guy friend with whom she has had a lot of chemistry for a while. Finally (in a previous episode) they wind up kissing, and then she kinda bolts afterwards. After that, it was weird between them, and in this episode, he actually starts dating a new girl.
my boy's season one recap
Ok, weird. I know that's a common scenario, but let me explain. I had liked this guy friend of mine for like 5 years, but he moved away for a few years, then came back. Well, ever since seeing each other at a party last year, we've had crazy chemistry and whatnot. Unfortunately, I had a boyfriend. We talked all the time, but it was always innocent talk. He talked about wanting a girlfriend, and I tried to help him find one (although I secretly wished it was me). Eventually, I broke up with my boyfriend, and soon thereafter on a night that I went out with the guys, we ended up kissing (nothing beyond that). We were both crashing at another guy's house, so when I woke up and realized what had happened, I kinda freaked. I waited for a bit for him to wake up, and then ended up just leaving. After that there was a big weirdness between us. It was not discussed. I took the weirdness as rejection and made a series of bad decisions that pretty much screwed any chances I had with him. However, there was still chemistry. Anyway, he just got a girlfriend. I'm upset about it, but I have no right to be, because I was the one who messed things up.
Ok the rambling took me offcourse, as usual, but the point is- close guy friend, kissing, weirdness, new girlfriend. Funny thing is that PJ looks much like me, her guy friend looks much like my guy friend, and PJ's guy is now dating an asian girl, as is my guy friend. I'm not suggesting anything crazy like them basing it on me, I'm just saying it made me very uncomfortable, since I had been trying to avoid thinking about it so I wouldn't get upset. It was like every time something happened on the show, I was like "Come on! Seriously stop it, you're freakin me out."
My friend and his new girlfriend had said they were maybe comin to my party, but they were no-shows. It's for the best anyway, because I would have probably been all bummed out about seeing them together- I have not yet been exposed to them as a couple.
One thing that caused my post-makeout freakout with him was something he said a while back, when we were talking about him trying to find a girlfriend. Apparently, some girl he wasn't interested in was interested in him, and he jokingly said to me "I'll just tell her I'm bipolar, that'll get rid of her". He has no idea that I'm bipolar, so I tried not to hold it against him, but it felt like a major punch in the stomach. I was pretty upset about that. After the makeout, I thought about the possibility of us actually dating, and because we're both in a closeknit group of friends (guy friends except for me), when he inevitably found out I was bipolar, the secret would be leaked to all the friends, and I'd be different to all of them. I couldn't stand the thought. So I freaked.
This is a bad precedent- I haven't dated anyone but that one ex since my bipolar diagnosis (who I had been dating before the diagnosis as well), and it appears that it's going to put a major strain on my future dating behaviors. *Sigh*.
Ok that was a lot of rambling. I had to get it out. I feel a little better, a little unburdened, but still uneasy. I'll just have to wait it out and see what happens.
Friday, July 27, 2007
Dammit.
I just typed a good sized entry, and pressed something random and it all disappeared. I could scream. It won't let me undo. It said it autosaved but I don't know how to find my drafts. bah!
Anyway, the gist of what I said was that it's amazing I'm up so early, my sleep habits have been horrible.
I've been searching periodically to see if my blog pops up when you search for it, using words like "an inconvenient illness", "bipolar", "sunny knoll", etc. So far, nothin. Thats okay, I didn't expect to see it yet, just thought it would be cool if I did.
When I searched this morning on a blogsearch engine, I came across this article, which reeeally pissed me off. Yes, I will acknowledge that bipolar patients can occasionally be somewhat delusional. I find it hard to believe that someone, even a bipolar someone, would entirely invent a sexual assault. It strikes me as a typical cheap shot by the defense at the credibility of the victim. If he did in fact assault her, this bipolar delusional defense is a dirty low blow. Makes me sick.
Anyway, that's all for now, I'll probably write later.
I just typed a good sized entry, and pressed something random and it all disappeared. I could scream. It won't let me undo. It said it autosaved but I don't know how to find my drafts. bah!
Anyway, the gist of what I said was that it's amazing I'm up so early, my sleep habits have been horrible.
I've been searching periodically to see if my blog pops up when you search for it, using words like "an inconvenient illness", "bipolar", "sunny knoll", etc. So far, nothin. Thats okay, I didn't expect to see it yet, just thought it would be cool if I did.
When I searched this morning on a blogsearch engine, I came across this article, which reeeally pissed me off. Yes, I will acknowledge that bipolar patients can occasionally be somewhat delusional. I find it hard to believe that someone, even a bipolar someone, would entirely invent a sexual assault. It strikes me as a typical cheap shot by the defense at the credibility of the victim. If he did in fact assault her, this bipolar delusional defense is a dirty low blow. Makes me sick.
Anyway, that's all for now, I'll probably write later.
Wednesday, July 25, 2007
Evening.
I'm a little bummed out at the moment, because the weather forecast for this Saturday is 60% chance of rain, so that could put a serious damper on the river party plans. Shit. The fact that many people have to come from an hour away- college friends- means that many will likely be scared off by the weather predictions. Plus, since as I mentioned earlier, there are 40 people who said "maybe", I guessin most will be pushed to no. I'm trying my best to keep a positive attitude that it will be fun no matter what the weather and if a small number of people come, that's okay. However, I can't honestly say it wouldn't be hugely disappointing to plan a huge party, with outdoor games and boating and whatnot, and end up stuffing people into the house on a gloomy day to drink beers on the couch. I'm trying to plan some fun stuff in the case of a house party- beer olympics perhaps. Gotta stay positive.
It's been really hard to avoid being depressed lately... I feel like I'm walking on shaky ground at the moment. I just graduated from college, and I'm staying with my parents right now. I have come to find that although I have a cum laude communication arts degree that should translate into a graphic arts or advertising job, most jobs of that nature require that you know web design, which I don't. I've gone and bought some books on how to use the programs- Dreamweaver, Flash, etc.; and I'm finding that they are going to be much more challenging to learn than I originally thought (or at least hoped). Every design job I've seen listed wants a minimum of a few years experience. It reminds of that commercial- I think its for Old Spice or something- with the sophisticated looking guy talking about experience. “If you have it, you don’t need it. If you don’t have it, you want it. You need it to get more of it. Without it, you can’t get any of it.”
I actually googled it and found it. So here it is. (sidenote: if you haven't noticed yet, I'm a google fanatic. I google everything. I should buy a google t shirt.)
Anyway, it's so true. How can you get experience when every opportunity requires that you already have experience? So maddening. I need to go ahead and apply for those jobs instead of wussing out whenever I see that in a job description. I'm scared of getting a "grownup job". I never think I'm good enough. Everyone elses says I am, but I'm the most self-critical person on the planet.
The whole thing has me bummed. I took five years to finish college because I switched majors. I was a semester ahead of schedule before that, thanks to 18 AP credits, so even with the major switch it should have been 4 1/2 years. Unfortunately, I had to take a semester off when I had my big manic episode junior year, which pushed it to five. Because of this, most of my high school friends have been out of college for a year, and either have or are on their way to getting their shit together, whereas I have no freakin clue what I'm doing. I'm in debt by 950 dollars as a result of getting a credit card and having no self control, and I have no savings. Add to that that I'm an art school graduate, and it's hard to stay positive right now.
I keep getting majorly caught up in the "what might have been"s. I got really good grades in high school- finished 19th in my class (should have been higher, but even after senioritis I pulled through with a 3.9 thanks to all of my AP credits), got a 1380 SAT, three varsity letters, NHS, etc etc etc. Everyone told me I should be a lawyer or something really ambitious, but I never doubted my desire to go to art school. I got a full ride, got good grades, and all that jazz. However, now I find myself unemployable, broke, living with my parents, and hearing of all the grand successes of my former classmates. I get really sad thinking about the "glory days" of high school.
I was going to major in advertising, but instead went for the hardest art major to be admitted to- Communication Arts- and got in. I was proud of myself and all, but it turns out that illustration is mostly freelance, which is hard to find success at, and can be a very lonely racket. Had I been an advertising major, I could be going for cushy full time advertising jobs, where I'd be guaranteed hours and steady pay, fast paced work, benefits, and coworkers. They claim that a communication arts degree could lead to an advertising job- the problem is that while they taught us the visual side, we learned nothing about building a campaign, working as part of a team, interacting with clients, or any of that important stuff. This means I'd likely be stuck as a production artist, with little input on the actual campaign- slogans, commercials, radio, all the fun stuff.
But, as I said, I'm really trying to stay positive.
I've been bad about taking my medications for a little while now. I haven't been refusing to take it, but simply forgetting to. Often. A few times a week. I know I'm playing with fire here, especially given my current situation, and I'm worried.
I caught myself having some borderline manic-type thoughts the past few days. While cutting the grass today (which takes like two hours on the riding mower) I got to thinking it would be a good idea to try to write to Maxim or FHM or other such magazine and try to get them to feature me. The idea started because I have seen where they do a feature about girls who write in- usually wanting to get back at an unappreciative exboyfriend after a bad breakup, or a guy that never gave them the attention they deserved- and the magazine does them up and takes a hot picture and writes a little blurb about them. I thought about that because I recently got out of a 3 1/2 year relationship with a guy that was very controlling, and during this time I kind of abandoned my prior life and friends to spend all of my time with him.
I wanted to break up with him for a long time and was pretty miserable for a while, but I am the least assertive and confrontational person you may ever meet, so I put it off forever. I had a lot of guy friends from playing soccer on a frat team, and I started going out with them once a week a few months before I broke up with my boyfriend, and came to realize how much I missed my old life and freedom. I finally broke up with him and started going out with the guys all the time. I became "one of the guys" to them- fun to hang out with, but more like a guy than an actual girl. It was fun but got kind of annoying, since being one of the guys means getting teased like they all do to each other. One of their favorite things to do when we were out was bring up every thing they new about my love life from freshman year, giving much tease time to the more embarrassing parts. It was funny, but they even did it in front of new people that I met, which I was uncomfortable with. Plus, since I'm tall and muscular from playing soccer, they call me "Amazon" and "Gigantor" and "Xena Warrior Princess" all the time. Again, funny, but not entirely flattering. Although they say they think I'm hot, none of them act geniunely interested, and I think it's because I'm stuck in this "one of the guys" role, and they always go for skinny girly girls.
This all leads back to the Maxim idea. I got to thinking, wouldn't it be cool to be in there looking really hot, just as a "I'll show you" to my ex and all the guys. Plus it would be nice for Maxim to acknowledge that girls that are not size 2 and 100 pounds can be hot too. I've always thought it would be fun to get all done up and get some nice pictures taken, but I'm too embarrassed to actually ask anybody I know to take them. I couldn't be serious and sexy, I'd just laugh the whole time to cover my discomfort. Anyway, the whole idea kinda ballooned, and I thought about how I was gonna write the letter and send pictures and all this stuff. I thought, of course they'd want to feature me, and maybe they'd even put in some of my art. At one point I caught myself, thinking, this is starting to sound like the sort of things I was thinking when I was manic. Grandiose schemes, inflated sense of importance, etc. I tried to stop thinking about it.
I don't think I'm manic by any means, I'm not running around with a lot of energy or anything like that. It just kind of scared me, because I realized how easily I could slip back into that state of mind. I'm not entirely ruling out the idea, but I know that there is only a very tiny chance that they'd actually go for it. That's the difference- when I was manic I was absolutely positive that ideas like that would work out. I may just send in some art- I've been doing digital work that pokes fun at celebrities, the kind of thing they often feature, so maybe it would be worth a try.
Okay, once again I've gone and gotten carried away. I always do that when I write. When I was in high school, I was usually the only one that, when given a writing assignment with a page number requirement, had to fight to keep it short enough. I always had to write really small and cramped to fit it in. I'm glad I'm doing this blog thing, because I haven't been writing hardly at all in years, and I used to really love it. That was my thing- art AND writing- and for too long it became just art. It didn't feel right.
On that note, I'm going to thank you for your patience in reading this, if you made it this far. I'm gonna do some sketching and then go to bed. Nighty night.
I'm a little bummed out at the moment, because the weather forecast for this Saturday is 60% chance of rain, so that could put a serious damper on the river party plans. Shit. The fact that many people have to come from an hour away- college friends- means that many will likely be scared off by the weather predictions. Plus, since as I mentioned earlier, there are 40 people who said "maybe", I guessin most will be pushed to no. I'm trying my best to keep a positive attitude that it will be fun no matter what the weather and if a small number of people come, that's okay. However, I can't honestly say it wouldn't be hugely disappointing to plan a huge party, with outdoor games and boating and whatnot, and end up stuffing people into the house on a gloomy day to drink beers on the couch. I'm trying to plan some fun stuff in the case of a house party- beer olympics perhaps. Gotta stay positive.
It's been really hard to avoid being depressed lately... I feel like I'm walking on shaky ground at the moment. I just graduated from college, and I'm staying with my parents right now. I have come to find that although I have a cum laude communication arts degree that should translate into a graphic arts or advertising job, most jobs of that nature require that you know web design, which I don't. I've gone and bought some books on how to use the programs- Dreamweaver, Flash, etc.; and I'm finding that they are going to be much more challenging to learn than I originally thought (or at least hoped). Every design job I've seen listed wants a minimum of a few years experience. It reminds of that commercial- I think its for Old Spice or something- with the sophisticated looking guy talking about experience. “If you have it, you don’t need it. If you don’t have it, you want it. You need it to get more of it. Without it, you can’t get any of it.”
I actually googled it and found it. So here it is. (sidenote: if you haven't noticed yet, I'm a google fanatic. I google everything. I should buy a google t shirt.)
Anyway, it's so true. How can you get experience when every opportunity requires that you already have experience? So maddening. I need to go ahead and apply for those jobs instead of wussing out whenever I see that in a job description. I'm scared of getting a "grownup job". I never think I'm good enough. Everyone elses says I am, but I'm the most self-critical person on the planet.
The whole thing has me bummed. I took five years to finish college because I switched majors. I was a semester ahead of schedule before that, thanks to 18 AP credits, so even with the major switch it should have been 4 1/2 years. Unfortunately, I had to take a semester off when I had my big manic episode junior year, which pushed it to five. Because of this, most of my high school friends have been out of college for a year, and either have or are on their way to getting their shit together, whereas I have no freakin clue what I'm doing. I'm in debt by 950 dollars as a result of getting a credit card and having no self control, and I have no savings. Add to that that I'm an art school graduate, and it's hard to stay positive right now.
I keep getting majorly caught up in the "what might have been"s. I got really good grades in high school- finished 19th in my class (should have been higher, but even after senioritis I pulled through with a 3.9 thanks to all of my AP credits), got a 1380 SAT, three varsity letters, NHS, etc etc etc. Everyone told me I should be a lawyer or something really ambitious, but I never doubted my desire to go to art school. I got a full ride, got good grades, and all that jazz. However, now I find myself unemployable, broke, living with my parents, and hearing of all the grand successes of my former classmates. I get really sad thinking about the "glory days" of high school.
I was going to major in advertising, but instead went for the hardest art major to be admitted to- Communication Arts- and got in. I was proud of myself and all, but it turns out that illustration is mostly freelance, which is hard to find success at, and can be a very lonely racket. Had I been an advertising major, I could be going for cushy full time advertising jobs, where I'd be guaranteed hours and steady pay, fast paced work, benefits, and coworkers. They claim that a communication arts degree could lead to an advertising job- the problem is that while they taught us the visual side, we learned nothing about building a campaign, working as part of a team, interacting with clients, or any of that important stuff. This means I'd likely be stuck as a production artist, with little input on the actual campaign- slogans, commercials, radio, all the fun stuff.
But, as I said, I'm really trying to stay positive.
I've been bad about taking my medications for a little while now. I haven't been refusing to take it, but simply forgetting to. Often. A few times a week. I know I'm playing with fire here, especially given my current situation, and I'm worried.
I caught myself having some borderline manic-type thoughts the past few days. While cutting the grass today (which takes like two hours on the riding mower) I got to thinking it would be a good idea to try to write to Maxim or FHM or other such magazine and try to get them to feature me. The idea started because I have seen where they do a feature about girls who write in- usually wanting to get back at an unappreciative exboyfriend after a bad breakup, or a guy that never gave them the attention they deserved- and the magazine does them up and takes a hot picture and writes a little blurb about them. I thought about that because I recently got out of a 3 1/2 year relationship with a guy that was very controlling, and during this time I kind of abandoned my prior life and friends to spend all of my time with him.
I wanted to break up with him for a long time and was pretty miserable for a while, but I am the least assertive and confrontational person you may ever meet, so I put it off forever. I had a lot of guy friends from playing soccer on a frat team, and I started going out with them once a week a few months before I broke up with my boyfriend, and came to realize how much I missed my old life and freedom. I finally broke up with him and started going out with the guys all the time. I became "one of the guys" to them- fun to hang out with, but more like a guy than an actual girl. It was fun but got kind of annoying, since being one of the guys means getting teased like they all do to each other. One of their favorite things to do when we were out was bring up every thing they new about my love life from freshman year, giving much tease time to the more embarrassing parts. It was funny, but they even did it in front of new people that I met, which I was uncomfortable with. Plus, since I'm tall and muscular from playing soccer, they call me "Amazon" and "Gigantor" and "Xena Warrior Princess" all the time. Again, funny, but not entirely flattering. Although they say they think I'm hot, none of them act geniunely interested, and I think it's because I'm stuck in this "one of the guys" role, and they always go for skinny girly girls.
This all leads back to the Maxim idea. I got to thinking, wouldn't it be cool to be in there looking really hot, just as a "I'll show you" to my ex and all the guys. Plus it would be nice for Maxim to acknowledge that girls that are not size 2 and 100 pounds can be hot too. I've always thought it would be fun to get all done up and get some nice pictures taken, but I'm too embarrassed to actually ask anybody I know to take them. I couldn't be serious and sexy, I'd just laugh the whole time to cover my discomfort. Anyway, the whole idea kinda ballooned, and I thought about how I was gonna write the letter and send pictures and all this stuff. I thought, of course they'd want to feature me, and maybe they'd even put in some of my art. At one point I caught myself, thinking, this is starting to sound like the sort of things I was thinking when I was manic. Grandiose schemes, inflated sense of importance, etc. I tried to stop thinking about it.
I don't think I'm manic by any means, I'm not running around with a lot of energy or anything like that. It just kind of scared me, because I realized how easily I could slip back into that state of mind. I'm not entirely ruling out the idea, but I know that there is only a very tiny chance that they'd actually go for it. That's the difference- when I was manic I was absolutely positive that ideas like that would work out. I may just send in some art- I've been doing digital work that pokes fun at celebrities, the kind of thing they often feature, so maybe it would be worth a try.
Okay, once again I've gone and gotten carried away. I always do that when I write. When I was in high school, I was usually the only one that, when given a writing assignment with a page number requirement, had to fight to keep it short enough. I always had to write really small and cramped to fit it in. I'm glad I'm doing this blog thing, because I haven't been writing hardly at all in years, and I used to really love it. That was my thing- art AND writing- and for too long it became just art. It didn't feel right.
On that note, I'm going to thank you for your patience in reading this, if you made it this far. I'm gonna do some sketching and then go to bed. Nighty night.
Tuesday, July 24, 2007
Ok, so here goes my first actual post. It is now 2:45 in the morning, and I am just now getting to this part. This is because I spent forever working on the design and whatnot- that's the artist in me. There's no way I could put up a white page. ha ha.
Anyway, the whole reason I decided to do this is that several hours ago I felt compelled to Google movies with bipolar characters. I don't know why I bother, I only get frustrated because every bipolar person I've ever seen in a movie or TV show is portrayed negatively- violent, irrational, unstable; someone to be feared. I am bipolar, as is my brother- he actually has bipolar 1 and has had much more severe episodes than I have- and neither of us are scary, mean, or violent people. In fact, we're both big jokesters who love sports, comedy, and the company of good friends. We're not nutjobs, we're just ordinary people who happen to be faced with challenging circumstances that most people don't understand. The media sure doesn't help.
Anyway, while searching for movies I somehow stumbled across a blog written anonymously by a woman with bipolar disorder. Not only did I find myself identifying with much of what she said; following her posts I read comments by numerous other bloggers, giving her support, praise, and encouraging feedback. Holy crap, I thought, you mean there is actually some way for me to talk about this without being judged or ridiculed? I had to get in on the action. So, three hours of photoshop, illustrator, and a new gmail account later, here I am.
It sucks that I have to be so anonymous about this whole thing. The stigma surrounding mental illness is so... disheartening. Telling people about my disorder feels like I imagine people feel about coming out about homosexuality. The sad part is that homosexuals can increasingly embrace their identity publicly, and at lessening degree of damage to their reputations- while the mentally ill largely suffer in silence and shame. You don't see a whole lot of flamboyant "BIPOLAR PRIDE" parades taking place, now do you?
My diagnosis at 21 dealt a devastating blow to my self esteem. My whole life I have been a high achiever and perfectionist. Good grades, athletic excellence, artistic achievements, popularity, etc. I always sought to be better and go farther, always sought perfection. It may sound stupid, but being bipolar, to me, meant that I was flawed. I would never and could never be perfect. This wasn't something I could train or study my way out of. To be told that I would have to take medication for the rest of my life was the hardest. To me, I was being told that the way I was naturally- the way God made me- was not socially acceptable; that I did not possess the strength and ability to be a normal, healthy person. If I'm always medicated, how can I possibly cultivate a sense of self esteem and self worth, or even personality? How do I know if what I'm feeling at any given moment is how I truly feel, or a result of meds? How can you tell me that I'm an amazing person, when I have this one huge, blaring defect.
This isn't a physical malady- this is mental- how you think and feel and react to your surrounding is "YOU". It's your entire reality. I may not have had a major manic or depressive episode in over a year- but I can't help thinking that it's because I'm always "under the influence". I'm constantly drugged. That's a hard thing to swallow. Other people can be so insensitive about this, saying "if it makes you better, why would you not want to take it?" They don't even try to imagine what being forced into medication feels like. It's telling you that you can't do it alone, no matter how hard you want to.
With this always in the back of my mind, it has become harder to believe in myself to accomplish things- things totally unrelated to bipolar, like career goals and financial success. It's as if the air has been let out of my balloon. I'm so afraid to do anything now- it's crippling. I am an artist, and although I know I am talented, I'm fearful of becoming well known- what if I become manic, and publicly embarrass myself and expose my secret? The idea of everyone knowing- even people who don't know me personally- is absolutely terrifying. The fact that it could happen at any time without warning scares the ever-living shit out of me. I'm not worried about hurting myself or others, but I'm damn sure worried about hurting my reputation and that of my family.
During my manic episode I made a very public fool of myself at work- I said some things that didn't make much sense, and got worked up and yelled at my boss, who had been an unfair asshole to me for no reason for a long time. Afterwards, though I had considered myself fired- my Dad called the manager and explained about my bipolar disorder, and I was back at work the next week. I reluctantly returned, but it was evident from the moment I walked in the door that everyone knew; they were all looking at me differently, acting funny around me and not talking to me much. These were coworkers that I had been very cool with, laughing and joking for 30 hours a week for a year, and suddenly they were all treating me like a crazy person. I had to leave- I went and sat in my car and just cried and cried. It makes me cry to think about it now. I didn't want to be bipolar. It wasn't fair- I was a good person, I worked hard and loved my family and friends, why was this happening to me? After that day, I was very depressed for months. I withdrew from my classes that semester and went to stay with my parents- I just wanted to crawl into a hole and stay there for a long time. I didn't talk to my school friends much- they didn't know what was happening- the semester was in full swing and they had their own lives to think about.
I pulled myself together and returned to school in the spring, acting like nothing had happened. I blamed my withdrawal on "family problems" and didn't speak of it beyond that. To this day only a handful of my friends know, and my immediate family. I'm terrified every day of a relapse. I keep smiling and joking and pushing on, but I don't feel secure.
Well geez it's late now. My sleep habits are horrible lately since I am jobless, I need to change that. I'm sorry this post was so long; bless you if you sat through the whole thing. I figured I should lay out some backstory right off the bat so we can move forward from there.
I'd love some feedback, so feel free to leave a comment. It's off to bed for me....
Anyway, the whole reason I decided to do this is that several hours ago I felt compelled to Google movies with bipolar characters. I don't know why I bother, I only get frustrated because every bipolar person I've ever seen in a movie or TV show is portrayed negatively- violent, irrational, unstable; someone to be feared. I am bipolar, as is my brother- he actually has bipolar 1 and has had much more severe episodes than I have- and neither of us are scary, mean, or violent people. In fact, we're both big jokesters who love sports, comedy, and the company of good friends. We're not nutjobs, we're just ordinary people who happen to be faced with challenging circumstances that most people don't understand. The media sure doesn't help.
Anyway, while searching for movies I somehow stumbled across a blog written anonymously by a woman with bipolar disorder. Not only did I find myself identifying with much of what she said; following her posts I read comments by numerous other bloggers, giving her support, praise, and encouraging feedback. Holy crap, I thought, you mean there is actually some way for me to talk about this without being judged or ridiculed? I had to get in on the action. So, three hours of photoshop, illustrator, and a new gmail account later, here I am.
It sucks that I have to be so anonymous about this whole thing. The stigma surrounding mental illness is so... disheartening. Telling people about my disorder feels like I imagine people feel about coming out about homosexuality. The sad part is that homosexuals can increasingly embrace their identity publicly, and at lessening degree of damage to their reputations- while the mentally ill largely suffer in silence and shame. You don't see a whole lot of flamboyant "BIPOLAR PRIDE" parades taking place, now do you?
My diagnosis at 21 dealt a devastating blow to my self esteem. My whole life I have been a high achiever and perfectionist. Good grades, athletic excellence, artistic achievements, popularity, etc. I always sought to be better and go farther, always sought perfection. It may sound stupid, but being bipolar, to me, meant that I was flawed. I would never and could never be perfect. This wasn't something I could train or study my way out of. To be told that I would have to take medication for the rest of my life was the hardest. To me, I was being told that the way I was naturally- the way God made me- was not socially acceptable; that I did not possess the strength and ability to be a normal, healthy person. If I'm always medicated, how can I possibly cultivate a sense of self esteem and self worth, or even personality? How do I know if what I'm feeling at any given moment is how I truly feel, or a result of meds? How can you tell me that I'm an amazing person, when I have this one huge, blaring defect.
This isn't a physical malady- this is mental- how you think and feel and react to your surrounding is "YOU". It's your entire reality. I may not have had a major manic or depressive episode in over a year- but I can't help thinking that it's because I'm always "under the influence". I'm constantly drugged. That's a hard thing to swallow. Other people can be so insensitive about this, saying "if it makes you better, why would you not want to take it?" They don't even try to imagine what being forced into medication feels like. It's telling you that you can't do it alone, no matter how hard you want to.
With this always in the back of my mind, it has become harder to believe in myself to accomplish things- things totally unrelated to bipolar, like career goals and financial success. It's as if the air has been let out of my balloon. I'm so afraid to do anything now- it's crippling. I am an artist, and although I know I am talented, I'm fearful of becoming well known- what if I become manic, and publicly embarrass myself and expose my secret? The idea of everyone knowing- even people who don't know me personally- is absolutely terrifying. The fact that it could happen at any time without warning scares the ever-living shit out of me. I'm not worried about hurting myself or others, but I'm damn sure worried about hurting my reputation and that of my family.
During my manic episode I made a very public fool of myself at work- I said some things that didn't make much sense, and got worked up and yelled at my boss, who had been an unfair asshole to me for no reason for a long time. Afterwards, though I had considered myself fired- my Dad called the manager and explained about my bipolar disorder, and I was back at work the next week. I reluctantly returned, but it was evident from the moment I walked in the door that everyone knew; they were all looking at me differently, acting funny around me and not talking to me much. These were coworkers that I had been very cool with, laughing and joking for 30 hours a week for a year, and suddenly they were all treating me like a crazy person. I had to leave- I went and sat in my car and just cried and cried. It makes me cry to think about it now. I didn't want to be bipolar. It wasn't fair- I was a good person, I worked hard and loved my family and friends, why was this happening to me? After that day, I was very depressed for months. I withdrew from my classes that semester and went to stay with my parents- I just wanted to crawl into a hole and stay there for a long time. I didn't talk to my school friends much- they didn't know what was happening- the semester was in full swing and they had their own lives to think about.
I pulled myself together and returned to school in the spring, acting like nothing had happened. I blamed my withdrawal on "family problems" and didn't speak of it beyond that. To this day only a handful of my friends know, and my immediate family. I'm terrified every day of a relapse. I keep smiling and joking and pushing on, but I don't feel secure.
Well geez it's late now. My sleep habits are horrible lately since I am jobless, I need to change that. I'm sorry this post was so long; bless you if you sat through the whole thing. I figured I should lay out some backstory right off the bat so we can move forward from there.
I'd love some feedback, so feel free to leave a comment. It's off to bed for me....
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