bipolar

Seven Sentences for Sunday: The 48th Birthday Wish Edition

  1. Our neighbors had a baby so I dropped off flowers and a Panera gift card and today they flagged me down to give me a thank you note. Ezra noticed the note when they got in the car and said, “Who sent you a message via carrier pigeon?!” I guess they don’t see handwritten letters very often. Haha.
  2. In my twenties I used to be paranoid that people would know if I’d just had sex, like I somehow radiated the JBF look. Now as I’m in my late 40’s I have no qualms about a quickie in the morning and then running carpool an hour later. I guess being 47 means realizing that people really don’t know or care. 
  3. One of my simplest pleasures is learning something new from one of my engineering articles and passing that tidbit on to my mom. She loves receiving those texts and is always enthusiastic with her replies. I hope I have 25 more years of those exchanges!
  4. I hit up Kroger this morning for their $5.99 sale on seapaks as well as their 33% off Halloween candy. Got stocked up on salmon, cod, and tilapia as well as bags of snickers, Twix, and skittles. Had to get in before the crazy church crowd terrorizes the public. 
  5. Sundays seem to be my catch up day with my BFF. We text over football about our weeks and all the progress we have made toward our goals. It’s nice to have a sympathetic ear when the world gets to be too much. 
  6. I’m not sure if it’s my bipolar or my neurodivergence, but I have half a dozen active projects in various stages of development and at least 50 more simmering in my brain. My brain can be a lot sometimes. 
  7. It’s the start of my birthday week! I’ll be 48 on Wednesday and my birthday wish this year is for it to be the year I start menopause. It’s about time and I’m about done. Let’s just finish it already. 

I love you all, some more than others. 💜🌻

Heart of Fool’s Gold

As the seasons change from summer to fall and then again from winter to spring, I tend to get a little manic. Not full-blown, Destiny! of yesteryear psychotic manic, but my mind goes a little fast and I have to battle some demons that are resurrected at that time of year. I thought I handled this season’s change marvelously, deftly telling the demons to quiet themselves, and allowing my brain to create a flurry of thoughts to be used as future essays, blog posts, book ideas, or just facebook anecdotes. I have a lot to work on this winter. I also realized that I might not be completely through this season of mania, as evidenced by an internet interaction I had today.

This morning during a break from editing physics, I opened my facebook to find a notification that someone had commented on a comment I had posted on a public page 3 days ago. My comment, which was in response to a news article, said simply “Pritzker is going to take the president to the United States Supreme Court and after that, The Hague,” received several likes and had honestly been forgotten because the days just replace each other when they consist of carpool, editing physics, engineering, and law, and maintaining a relationship with The Mayor. I clicked on what would then consume me for the next hour. Some random woman whom I do not know posted, “You all need to step away from the Pringles” under my comment. I was aghast. What the hell was this attack about? I thought, do I handle this with grace and say, “Jesus loves you, even if no one else does…”? But she attacked not only me but my kids. So I responded quickly and said, “Is this supposed to be a fat joke? Because I can lose weight. You unfortunately can do nothing about that face, those teeth, and that ugly personality.” That’ll show her, I thought. Ugly is as ugly does.

I went back to physics and finished my article; before switching to engineering, I took a peek at my facebook again (what can I say, it is a ridiculous addiction). Another notification. This time she said, “Aww, so you guys choose to be fat.” Well, she can just eat a satchel of richards. Lady, you do not want to fuck with a wordsmith. So I unleashed a tirade that would make any venomous teenage girl cringe. “Oh you poor thing…And you choose to be hateful. I’m sorry your kids hate you and your parents are disappointed in you. I hope my name flashes through your mind when your doctor gives you your diagnosis. Bless your precious heart.” Was I proud of this outburst? Admittedly, a little. Fuck with me and my kids, I will fuck with you so hard mentally that you won’t know what hit you. I pushed post and waited… Soon I was rewarded with a little red bubble. “Who is hateful now?” So I quickly replied, “You come after me unprovoked and when I bite back, you are offended. Go cry in a pillow.” Another quick notification with a simple, “You are crazy.” Your goddamn right I am, tell me something I don’t know. So I sealed our interaction with a kiss and simply replied, “Oh dear. Did someone learn the hard way not to pick fights with strangers on the internet? Have a “blessed” day. I’m sure you will.” A southern lady threat, how I learned growing up.

I rode this little high into thrifting with Ez and relayed my interaction to them, which they agreed she deserved it, even if I did cross the line with my threat of a “blessed” day and an unknown diagnosis. As the day wore on, I expected the little guilt pangs that normally come from one of my outbursts, but they never came. I might still be a little manic, but more astutely, I am pissed. I am so pissed that they (and they know who they are) can spew hatred from their mouths and when they get the first inkling of a pushback, they play victim. I am so pissed that our country takes an already marginalized community that constitutes 1% of our population and villainizes them from their positions of power. I am so pissed that truth no longer has a place in our media.

After dinner, I was finishing up an engineering article and Neil Young’s “Heart of Gold” came on Spotify. I heard the lyric “You keep me searching for a heart of gold…” and I wondered if it was my angels saying they were disappointed in me today. Should I have responded to that stranger with love? Maybe. Did I tarnish my heart a bit with my tirade? Perhaps. But gold is malleable and soft. I am not. I will fight for my kids rights. I will fight for the rights of marginalized communities. I will fight for truth. And if Stephen King has taught us anything, you best not come after a wordsmith, because we will decimate you. A heart of gold, perhaps not. But a living, beating heart filled with blood that bleeds my truth. You’re goddamn right.

The Little Joys

Around here, when the seasons change, our bipolar tendencies rear their ugly head. In spring, it’s mania central. Projects get started, big ideas happen, we get a little agitated. In autumn, we are more subdued as our depressive nature kicks in and we struggle with the harsh realities of the world. I have seen this cycle in myself for the past 12 years. I’ve only begun noticing it over the past few years in my kids.

Ry is particularly hit hard by the depression in the fall. We sat in my car talking the other day and she just crumpled. The tears flowed and she talked about how she didn’t know how to break the cycle. She has been maintaining a regular schedule of showering before bed, going to bed before 10, and waking up around 8. Now that Will is over COVID, he is cooking again, so she’s eating healthier. She has a bike that could get more use, but don’t we all have one of those? So she’s checking those boxes. I tried breaking it down into moment by moment, just making it through, but that didn’t resonate. Finally, I suggested “little joys.”

“Little joys” is not a novel concept, but it is an effective one. It’s simply having gratitude for the brief moments in our lives when all is good. It can be as simple as hearing your favorite song on the radio, seeing a beautiful leaf dancing in the wind, a whiff of your favorite lotion when you take your mask down to take a sip of water…the list is as infinite as the mind’s ability to dream. At first she scoffed, but as I pressed her for ideas, I could see “it” start to flicker. Her inner spark, her drive, her willingness to dig deep and make it one more day. 

The truth is, we are all struggling. With the news cycle, the pandemic, the soul crushing, more, more, more basis for American capitalism…add teenage existentialism in the mix and it’s enough to break you. I wanted to tell Ry what I was really thinking–and that was that life is hard. It sucks big hairy moose balls a lot of the time. But if you reframe your mind to accept that the universe has balance and with every crappy thing that happens to you, a beautiful  thing will come along to counterbalance it, you can start to look for the little joys. And you hang on to them…because in this life, it’s all that fucking matters.

On the 10th anniversary of my breakdown

I am coming up on the 10 year anniversary of my mental breakdown, my psychotic break, my come apart. The details of the weeks leading up to the day I was found walking down I-75 barefoot with three children under 6 in tow are sparse. I know I didn’t eat for around 7 days prior, and I didn’t sleep for 5, so a psychotic break was inevitable. I remember the details of being picked up by a stranger in a black SUV and transported to a police station where they were finally able to get a hold of my ex-husband to come and get me.(The privilege is not lost on me there.) I remember every single minutiae of that day, as the details haunt me even to this day when I feel like my life is spiraling out of control. But one big difference between Destiny 10 years ago and Destiny today is a sense of self and a sense of purpose.

The 18 months after my come apart were literally spent trying to put me back together. My brain chemistry was all out of wack, I had a diagnosis of depression then PTSD then finally bipolar 1. I had taken a sabbatical from my job in September of 2010, a month after my breakdown, and was living on alimony and child support. People have done it on less, but raising a family of four on less than $1700 a month means you are barely making ends meet. I relied on government assistance as I tried to figure out what was wrong with me.

As anyone with any familiarity with bipolar 1 can attest, if you’ve broken once, you’re gonna break again. And I did. In February 2011, I was back in the hospital. I was put on the gamut of medications all while trying to regulate my cycling. My mania would throw me into psychotic episodes where I would be a divine being, a werewolf, a movie starlet, or an alien ambassador just to name a few. I managed to eke out some semblance of sanity for me to get hired back on as a copyeditor for my old journal in November of 2011. 

Another trip to the hospital in May of 2012, thankfully work was understanding and Will took the kids. I was so doped up I don’t remember much of 2012-2013 other than trying to stay sane enough to keep my job and keep my kids. I couldn’t put in many hours at work, so I was still just above the poverty line, but I had a boyfriend at the time who helped keep me afloat. After that relationship ended, I threw myself into work to try and make a decent living as a copyeditor. In 2013 I no longer qualified for government assistance, so my diligence was paying off.

The first half of 2014 was full of horrible relationships and I had just about given up when I met the Mayor in July. A relative neophyte in the world of relationships, he instinctively knew what I needed and has supported me from the moment we met. In October 2015, I put our relationship to the test and was admitted back to Good Sam’s psych unit for a week. Just another case of going off my meds. Thankfully that was the last time because the formulary that they put me on after that trip seems to be the magic cure. Since 2015 I have had only a handful of depressive episodes and a handful of seasonal manic episodes, but no mania to psychosis. My meds have no side effects, other than requiring 8-10 hours of sleep at night, something I can do now that my kids are older. 

In May 2016, I had saved enough to buy my house. Since then I have been working on paying down the nearly $40K of debt I had accrued. I’m halfway there, and every week I eagerly hop on Credit Karma to see how my score has changed with each additional credit card payment. My days are long as I put in long hours at work to try and pay off my debt faster. But I try and balance out the long hours with quality time with the kids. Especially as they are getting older and J will be out of the house soon. I am constantly running the kids somewhere for something, as any mom of teens will attest to, but I honestly would not change this season of my life for anything. The Mayor and I are in a good place, the kids can come to me with their problems, I am still working on moving beyond waiting for the other shoe to drop, but I am happiest when I can live in the moment.

Today I look back on how far I fell and how I scraped by to make it where I am. Thanks to W, I don’t think the kids have ever wanted for much. They all know we have to wait for payday for any major purchases,and we have had our share of mac and cheese or ramen nights. I still have the scars from being under the poverty line. Every time I hand my debit card over, I cringe just a bit as I pray it goes through, even if I have plenty of money in my account the dread is still there. I wonder if that will ever go away, or if that’s my own brand of PTSD.

So on this 10 year anniversary of my come apart, I think it’s important to recognize all the people that helped put me back together. My parents, my siblings, my boyfriends along the way, W—I couldn’t have picked a better father for my kids, I wouldn’t change that for anything. D, my rock, my bff. The Mayor, my partner, my true north, the one I want to have coffee with forever. It’s been a long road to get here, and I know I still have a ways to go, but I feel confident in who I am as a mother, lover, friend, child of the stars.

I love you all, some more than others.

Seven Sentences for Sunday: The Here We Go Again Edition

  1. The Mayor and I gifted ourselves with the DDP Yoga workout package–we did the first instructional this morning and are pouring with sweat.
  2. DDP has so many success stories from people who have changed their lives, we can’t help but be inspired. If that 500 lb man can drop 315 lbs and touch his nose to his knees, then I can no longer use my medicines as an excuse for my extra pudge.
  3. How do you get your child to stop asking for stuff? I think R asks for stuff just to ask for it–she certainly doesn’t need it. She got a hand sanitizer and a body spray and Bath and Body Works just because her sisters had gift cards and got something for themselves–a he didn’t want to be left out. And not 10 minutes later she asked for a new book from Barnes and Noble. Sometimes it seems like it’s never enough.
  4. Following up on #3, I have grateful kids who appreciate what they have, but it doesn’t hold their attention long. Drives me crazy.
  5. J is no longer allowed to hang out with one of her best friends because her friend’s parents are afraid that J is going to turn her gay. I never thought J’s open mindedness and self-proclaimed pansexuality would be used against her in this day and age—so disappointed in other people.
  6. Ez knows the difference between figuratively and literally and how to use them correctly. I am so proud of her–and impressed with the Language Arts program at her school.
  7. The bright side of the new medicine? I’m not tired all the time and don’t require 11-12 hours of sleep at night. I can now get by on 9-10–which seems like bragging to some people, but I can still do a lot with my day if I’m up by 9:30 instead of 11:30. Hooray for small victories.

I love you all, some more than others.

Seven Sentences for Sunday: The Shh, It’s Monday Edition

  1. I feel like I was suddenly thrust into adulthood this past week when we plunked down $12K for a new HVAC system because our last one was a fire hazard—thank goodness for 60 months same as cash. Practically like buying a car!
  2. I took the kids and J’s friend, Ava, to see Sing! on Tuesday before school started back. A welcome relief from the stressors of school.
  3. J is on restriction from her electronics for the rest of the month—this hurts me more than it hurts her, I think. Or at least as much so.
  4. I totally meant to sit down and write yesterday but the rush of three kids smothering me with hugs and kisses got in the way and I forgot. At least I’m my own editor and can only chastise myself so much before shrugging it off and writing on Monday instead.
  5. Switching meds again is no fun, but at least this time wasn’t met with ridiculous weight gain like the other times.
  6. The med switch does have me hearing the crackles and pops of the Universe in a whole new way–it’s comforting.
  7. It’s snowed, which means I am officially done with winter now and spring can come soon. How am I going to make it through the next two months???

I love you all, some more than others!