Fweeeeeeee

I don't even know what that title means . . .

I'm trying not to write depressing vent posts - at least not too often. I've been slacking in my posts recently as well. Stuff going on, stuff that I'm not sure I want to share here. So let's just say that I've been mentally and emotionally drained. And so very tired. I haven't been sleeping well the past week. At all. So much on my mind.

I'm still battling my depression, and it's been worse lately. I'm not catastropizing it, I'm trying to ignore it and move on. I'm trying to stay positive and I'm changing things that I'm doing (for example, I'm not painting anymore of my Bipolar Chronicles paintings unless they're not dark or focused on suicide). Hopefully that will help stop the suicidal thoughts. I know I'll still get ideas for new paintings - and I'll write them down and then not paint them. I'm going to sew again and try my hand a acrylic painting (I've always done watercolor).

I'm frustrated, to say the least. I've taken a nuvigil (my "upper") every day this last week and I'm still below the surface. I'm still drowning. I'm functional, yes. I can fool people into thinking that I'm doing well, yes. But I certainly don't feel that way. I'm empty and withdrawn and a shell. I want to stay away from everyone. I want to be alone. But I'm ignoring this (or at least trying to), and forcing myself to stay busy, and do things, and interact with people.

I made a bad decision last Friday night (suicidal+pills=bad). Discussed it with M, and I did email Dr. C about it. I'm terrified I'll be put on another medication - I don't want that - but I don't know if there's any other option at this point. I definitely don't like how I'm feeling now and I don't need another Friday night.

We'll see what happens. I'll of course update here for the 3-4 random people who read this. Until then I'll be plugging along, telling myself I feel fine and trying to ignore how empty and sad I actually feel.

The Obligatory New Year's Post

And yes, I'm late. Sue me.

 

Not really. Don't sue me. I have no money.

 

So a new year is upon us, and this is a time that most of us make new year's resolutions, yeah? It always seems they're the same ones too: to lose weight, eat healthier, budget money. . . And it seems most of us have given up on them in the first 1-2 months. 

 

Well I fart on those resolutions and that percieved failure. Usually I don't make resolutions, but this year I did. I felt I needed to - it was almost a compulsion.

 

My Resolutions:

1. I resolve to invite more humor into my life and not take myself so seriously.

2. I resolve to be nicer to myself and not beat myself up if things aren't perfect.

3. I resolve to find at least 3 things a day to be thankful for.

4. I resolve to try and be more positive in any and every area I can.

5. I resolve to live life in the moment.

6. I resolve not to stress over or over react to things outside of my control.

7. And, most importantly, I resolve to love myself. Because if I can't love myself, how can I love anyone else?

I honestly think that these resolutions, at least several of them, will be difficult to follow sometimes. Specifically numbers 2, 4 and 6. Why? Because, inherently, it seems to be my nature to beat myself up and be mostly negative and stress and get frustrated over stupid stuff. I guess I'm a "glass half empty" kinda gal.

But I'm going to try. And I'm going to succeed most of the time. Because I have to.

As an aside, and pertaining to resolution number 4, I've been trying to stay positive. I've been trying quite hard. After my therapy session on Wednesday, I felt I needed to put my foot down and make a change. A change for the better. Take control of myself because I can't keep going on how I have been.

One thing I'm doing is completely changing my diet. Staying away from processed foods as much as I can. Eating as little sugar and refined flours as I can. No coffee, no soda (tea yes. My new addiction - only caffeine free though). Cooking as many meals at home as I can using natural ingredients. Tons of fruit and veggies. I'm hoping by staying away from the processed foods and preservatives and added sugar and salt, my mood will improve slightly and my overall health too.

I'm still exercising as often as I can and still boxing and kickboxing. I'm thinking of adding yoga - the calming, centering yoga. We'll see.

More art. Always more art. My painting is still going strong, and I'll keep painting for as long as I keep seeing the images in my mind. I'll be getting back into sewing as well.

A goal I've set for myself , that I'll start working on this year, is writing my book. It's a lofty goal, let's be honest. But it needs to be done. It needs to come out. I don't know if it will ever be published - I hope so. . . .

Thursday and Friday I worked. And I had two pretty good days. I made them that way. I stayed positive, I laughed, I joked, I felt a little more like myself. I was positive. Granted, on Friday I was starting to get a little hypomanic, going a little overboard. And I am going to need to watch that. But I was positive and I had two pretty darn good days. Proud of myself.

Today started out good. I was positive, in a good mood. J, our son and I were out and about most of the day running errands and had lunch. Driving downtown, our son, A, asked if we would be scared if we were on the top of one of the buildings looking down. J and I both stated we wouldn't be up there in the first place because it would be scary.

Which is true.

And guess what my mind did. Suicidal ideation. Exactly what would it feel like to jump? That free fall before you hit the pavement. Would it indeed be scary? Liberating? Thrilling? Nothing? I pictured myself jumping . . . .over and over. My mood darkened. I ignored it. I tried to stay positive. I pushed those thoughts away and tried to bury them but they persisted. They stayed. And my mood darkened. I became very irritable and snapped at both J and A. And I felt bad and I beat myself up over it. I don't deserve them. I'm a moody, unpredictable bitch and a burden. My mood darkened.

When we got home I went into the bathroom and cried. I cried the ugly cry where you have snot dripping and your makeup runs and you make inhuman, guttural noises. I cried and I cried. I cried until my eyes were bloodshot and swollen and I had used almost an entire roll of toilet paper as kleenex.

J came in to check on me and hugged me and gave me the time I needed. When I felt okay to leave my sanctuary next to the toilet, A gave me a huge hug and told me he loved me and J did the same. And then acted inappropriately to make me laugh. And my two best friends must have sensed something was up because they both texted me right after and they were random silly texts that made me laugh. Then J went to the store and bought me pie because I wanted pie.

And the point of this, this rambling, is that after I felt so bad and cried and was full of despair and sorrow . . .I felt okay. I feel okay. And tomorrow I'll try to be positive and I'll make it a good day. Part of living in the moment is accepting that sometimes I'm going to feel like shit. Some days I'm going to cry and feel empty and hopeless and like I want to die. And at those times, it's okay for me to let myself experience it and cry and get out whatever I need to get out (as long as I'm not a threat to myself). That's okay. It doesn't mean I'm a failure. It doesn't mean that I'm always going to feel like that.

And likewise I'm allowed to revel in and enjoy myself when I feel good. I'll be living in the moment. Each moment is different and they constantly change. Today I was good, then horrible, and then pretty okay again. I didn't let the horrible ruin it.

Completely changing the subject, I'm hoping to bring more humor to this blog as well. More examples from my life of the stupid shit I do and say. Expect more sarcasm and overall silliness. No more constant doom and gloom and suicide and cutting. There will still be posts like that - this is my personal diary - but it needs humor and spice. And hopefully a larger readership.

You've Dreamed A Thousand Dreams, None Seem To Stick In Your Mind

And all the people who've seen it all before
And all the people who really understand
Know they're right, and have done it right, could I get to be like that
I'll know what I don't know, it's harder everyday
Can't lift a finger, can't hurt a fly
I've found I always move too slowly
One things for certain, I'm insecure
I never knew till someone told me that....
If that's all you will be, you'll be a waste of time
You've dreamed a thousand dreams, none seem to stick in your mind
Two points for honesty
It must make you sad to know that nobody cares at all
Nobody cares at all
They never care at all
- Guster

So much in this painting. And in this song. So many dreams, such indecisiveness. What do I truly want? What's important in life? Why do I have so many racing thoughts? What is this painting even about?

8X10, watercolor

I'm up WAY too early

It's 0430, Thursday morning. I don't actually need to be up until 0540. But I can't sleep. The night before last, I got a whopping 3 hours (probably less) thanks to my congestion and inability to breathe. My congestion was better last night (though I still had to get up numerous times to blow my nose and baste myself in Vicks Vaporub). But I've been awake since 0300. Part of the problem? My bed is being taken up entirely by my hubby, son and dog. But the main reason is that my mind is racing. Going over scenario after scenario of just about everything. It's frustrating and I can't turn my brain off.

I'm especially fixated on my artwork. With Dr. C and M wanting it for a presentation, the dim hope on the horizon of having some pieces published in bp Magazine, of making my own prints and books to sell online . . .it's overwhelming. I want my art to be published. I want my art to be seen. I want my art to help others understand the illness, the struggle, and to show people they are not alone in how they feel. That would be the best gift ever - if somehow my work could help another person.

The first step to all of this, is having my work scanned - professionally. In doing this, I ensure a high quality, high resolution digital image to make prints, etc. with. The problem? It costs money. J found an art gallery that does the scanning for $15/sq. foot. For my size paintings, that's around $15 each. Which for my 22 paintings thus far is $330. And honestly? That's an amazing deal! (We found a couple places charging $60-75 per painting).  If I have my way, and hopefully (most likely) I will, I want to just have all of them scanned. Now. No waiting. Put it on the credit card and let's go. We did leave one piece with them to do a trial scan and print to check for quality, but from the look of other scans they had just finished, it's sure to be good.

And I know I'm impatient, and I know J is going to point out that we're spending $800 next week on getting my timing belt done, and Christmas is almost here, and all the other countless things that cost money. I know that. I get that. But I am impatient. And? This actually is very important to me. I feel like I need to get this done. Not want - need. I feel pressured, frantic, like it's now or never. And I'm not quite sure why I feel so sure and so strongly about this getting done. But it needs to get done. And I think I'll continue to feel anxious until it does.

I have other things to write about, but I'll save it for my next post. And I figured I ought to post a painting with each blog entry I write.

"Catch and Release"
14X5.5

Do you see, how the wind in your hair now feels differently?
Catch and release, the lure above.
     - Silversun Pickups

This painting is about being caught - either in or out of depression - only to be released. For me, I'm typically in the depression, caught, and being pulled up, only to be released back down to the depths. What's the lure above? Anything you want it to be - family, friends, God, willpower . . .That part is up to you.

OMG it's Monday!

Well, it is. Yesterday? Mainly a win. And J managed to wow me with some insight. Insightful insight. Yeah. That kind.

All kidding aside, he pointed out some behaviors I wasn't aware of. For example, my neurotic thinking/behavior when it comes to working out and eating. Normally, one works out to feel good. And that's what I did. Operative word being did. It's become so that I don't work out to feel good - I work out so I don't feel bad. I beat myself up if I miss a day at the gym. My mind cycles: I missed a day, now I'm going to gain weight, I'm going to gain back the 25 pounds I lost and I'm going to gain more and I'm going to be fat and I better work out harder and  I better restrict my diet more and oh crap I had a cookie and now I've done it I'm such a failure why do I even try . . . That's what I do. With a lot of things. Apparently. Having J point it out made me realize that. Forced me to identify it. I do that with my workouts, my diet, my artwork. All or nothing. If it's not all, I screwed up and I berate myself for it. And hey, what might that do to my already unstable mood?

I have a very strange way of thinking as well. For as long as I can remember, I've had to have something to look forward to to keep me going. As a kid maybe it was a new book, or going to my dad's house, or a new pet (I had lots of rats, snakes, spiders and lizards). As I got older, it was who I was working with on a specific day, something I was saving up for, buying a gift for a friend . . .any countless number of things. I've always needed that. Something to keep me going.

Now . . .I find myself struggling with this. Trying to find something to look forward to. The past year . . .it's been harder. Last January, I looked forward to being alive. Then I looked forward to appointments with M, or a stretch of 3 days off in a row. Small things to keep me going week to week. In June and July, I looked forward to our vacation in California. When we got home I looked forward to fall, to Halloween. But still I needed the little things too - seeing M weekly, having dinner with friends every week. Something, anything to latch onto. And I'm struggling so . . .freaking . . .hard with this. What am I looking forward to? This week? Seeing Dr. C, seeing M, a tattoo touch up on Friday. Next week? I don't know. I need something. And therein lies the rub: I can't do this forever. No one can live like this and be happy. Only empty. To live like this is to be empty and dark and hollow inside. Which is exactly how I've been feeling. Most of my life.

And the revelation from J: I haven't always been like this. No. While we were dating, I wasn't like this. After we were married, I wasn't like this. Up until 6-12 weeks after A was born, I wasn't like this. There was a period in my life, however brief it was, that I was truly happy. Not hindered by my mental illness (unless you count my manic episode and subsequent depression that almost ended my marriage, but that's a story for another day). The point is, I can function without having that thing to latch onto. I've done it before, why can't I do it now? J had a good analogy: there's a hiking trail here called the Incline. It's a mile up, and a 41% to 68% grade. It's a steep bastard. Anyway, when J was hiking it, there was a guy with a stick. He'd throw the stick up the hill, and hike up to it. Just gotta make it to the stick, just gotta make it to the stick. He'd get to the stick, pick it up and throw it up higher. Gotta make it to the stick. Oblivious to everything else.

That guy with the stick? I'm him. I'm so focused on these small goals or achievements or things to latch onto that I'm missing everything else - I'm chasing that goddamned stick while being oblivious to my own family/life/self/happiness. What the actual fuck, self? And now, now comes the difficult task of fixing this. How? How do I fix this? I've only not done this for 7 years of my life! Perhaps this insight is the first step. Probably it's the first step, let's be honest. But that doesn't make it any less daunting. And add in the fact that I have absolutely no idea what to do, and you have a recipe for . . .not success. Guess I know what I'll be working on for the foreseeable future.

On another note, my artwork. Ahhhh, yes. My one painting that turned into a series of 22 (with 5 more ideas in the composition stage). I brought my paintings to my appointment today with Dr. C per his request. He couldn't quite get past the first 5 or 6. I guess, I had kind of thought my artwork was powerful, but I don't ever get to see people's expressions first hand - only written responses on Deviant Art, or facebook. I know some of my work is disturbing, but it's nice to have someone actually look at it. And I mean look. Not just see it and become worried about my mental state or wonder what's wrong with me. There's nothing wrong with me. But to have someone look, to see, and to ask intelligent questions or allow me to explain the meaning behind the pieces . . .it means a lot. So far, the only people who have have been J, M, and Dr. C (aside for some friends and random people on Deviant Art). I think most people, when they see it, they only see the obvious without looking for the meaning. My work is powerful. Especially if you know me. Especially if you know someone with bipolar or depression. Especially if you are someone with bipolar or depression.

So I appreciate any and all feedback. I'll be scanning all of my works onto a thumbdrive to give to Dr. C. I'm looking into having my art professionally scanned to make prints and art books. I'm looking into possibly getting my work into a bipolar magazine. Possibly into an art show. Hell, I don't know. I want my work out there - this more than anything I've created before. Maybe it can help someone going through what I've been through. It's nice to know you're not the only one.

"Just Another Day"
11X7, watercolor
I'm dreaming again / Of life underground
It doesn't ever move / It doesn't make a sound
And just when I think--That things are in their place
The heavens are secure--The whole thing explodes in my face
It's just another . . . . . . . It's just another day
It's just another . . . . . . . It's just another day . . .
(but) There's a smile on my face . . . For everyone
There's a golden coin . . . That reflects the sun
There's a lonely place . . . That's always cold
There's a place in the stars . . . For when you get old 
     - Oingo Boingo

The important line, well, one of them, is "there's a smile on my face, for everyone". Because despite what I feel or what I hear, I have to have a smile on my face. Otherwise, people might know something's wrong. They might know I'm different.

I'm getting down with the sickness

I say that because I'm sick. Mentally, yes, but I have a wicked cold (that was a joke by the way, we all know I'm mentally deranged :P ). Delightful headache, nausea, chest congestion, runny nose, sore throat . . .all the fun stuff. Oh, and the trots. I've got that too.

Awesome.

Surprisingly though, it hasn't done too much to my mood. Which is pretty nice. I'm annoyed with being sick, I'm cranky because I'm sick . . .but I'm not necessarily down. So even though I feel like crap, I'd still chalk today up as a win.

Yesterday was a bit of a roller coaster mood wise. I worked yesterday. It started fine, I was in a pretty good mood. Just tired. Going through the motions. By early afternoon my mood plummeted. I was feeling depressed and angry for no reason. I couldn't figure out what triggered it. When I got home I felt withdrawn and tired. It was just . . .frustrating. If I had a reason for feeling the way I did, that would be one thing. But I had no reason, other than being me. And that's obnoxious. And stupid.

Anyway, in this post I thought I'd share what is arguably my most disturbing painting. Most people who have seen it truly don't like it. And tend to worry about my safety and sanity. Again, click for a larger view.

"A Clean Execution"
11X7, watercolor.
Now, most people see this as simply my suicide. What I'm planning, what I'm thinking or seeing or wanting. And surprisingly, that's not it. It is about suicide, yes, but only a little. The figure is more the embodiment of my depression. And it's blowing its brains out. And what emerges from the chaos is hope: in the form of 2 sparrows representing my hubby and son.

Not as disturbing now, is it? But some artwork is about shock value and is done in order to make you think. Maybe this contains both - I don't know. As disturbing as it is, this is one of my favorite pieces I've done.

More tomorrow, hopefully. I'm tired and my cold medicine is wearing off.

Oy Vey

Let's start with yesterday, shall we? Yesterday was a win. A fairly solid win. Worked out, had a doctor's appointment, got a tattoo, Christmas card photo shoot, painted. All in all I felt pretty good. A wee bit cranky at times, but good.

Today was difficult. Woke up in a bad mood. I exercised, which helped, but I couldn't shake the black cloud over my head. Not only that, I was feeling a bit down. I think the problem lay in what the day had in store for me. See, Thanksgiving means that we go to J's aunt's house to eat. Which is fine, except there's a lot of people there. I mean, a lot. As in 20 or so. And that many people talking, and moving around everywhere and in general just being there . . .no. I'm having a hard time dealing with situations like that. I don't want to deal with situations like that.

So I did the only thing I could do - I put on a mask. I smiled, I joked a little, even a couple of genuine laughs. But it was a mask. At times it was hard to keep up the charade. There were so many people and I didn't want to be weird. I didn't want to be strange. I wanted to fit in and seem normal. Notice the word I used? Seem normal. Because I sure as hell didn't feel that way. I felt tense and nervous, withdrawn and shy, tired and anxious . . .but I had to look happy and normal. No depression. No feeling like I was crawling out of my skin. Not a hint of my anxiety. Keep that mask on tight. No one can look underneath it. For what lies beneath, some wouldn't like or accept.

The whole time we were there, I wanted to leave. I wanted to curl up somewhere, anywhere, and hide. Pull a blanket over my head, block it all out - the noise, the light, the sights - block it all out and sleep. But you can't do that. Not with 20 family members around.

I made it through though. And when we got home, I realized, again, how utterly exhausting it is to keep that mask on. How bloody tired I was, mentally and emotionally. How much I wanted to hide away and be left alone and isolated from everyone, if only for a short time.

And I hung up my mask, with my many others, for another day. Who knows - I may need it again tomorrow.

"Which Mask Today?"
One of the paintings in my series. It's a self portrait, of course. All those masks to choose from. Which on shall I choose? My true self, the expressionless self, who may be depressed or manic or happy or anything but often changes on a whim for no reason, that's the mask that no one wants to see. The one that singles me out. So, which mask makes me seem normal?

Not quite a win today

I didn't write last night. I was too bloody tired. Spent the night before up with my son - poor guy is sick, so I got a whopping 3 hours of sleep. I worked yesterday, and I actually had a good day. Yesterday was definitely a win.

Today though . . .not so much. I called in sick to stay home with my son - he didn't go to school, still sick. It started okay. I was cranky, irritable. Lack of sleep I assumed. We went to Target to find some pajamas. Nothing wrong with that. Perfectly normal. Until we were driving home. I broke down. Bad. And I had to be quiet so my kiddo wouldn't hear, wouldn't know. Do you know how hard it is to sob quietly? While driving?

I got it under control until a block from my house and it started again. Where did this come from? I've had several good days! And it was for nothing! Nothing at all. I composed myself. I have to be strong after all, no matter the pain inside. So, into the house, blow my nose, wipe my eyes before my son could suspect anything.

He wanted to play with his army men with me. I had him set them up while I folded laundry . . .and cried. Silently. I'm strong, remember? Only I'm not . . . But I was okay. We played army. J came home from work early, we took my truck in for an oil change. I put on my happy-everthing's-fine face. But that emptiness inside was back. I hid it. I ignored it. I told myself it didn't exist. I almost convinced myself. Almost.

I went to the gym this evening, which usually helps clear my mind. It did, for awhile. Ate dinner, started working on my latest painting. Well, finishing it is more accurate. And, joy of joys, I almost broke down again. This is getting old, to say the least. And discouraging. Obviously I'm doing much better than I was even a week ago . . .but this has got to stop. I can only cry so much. Surely I have no tears left. And every time I think that I break down crying again.

I don't know what to do anymore. Keep plugging on I guess. It's all I can do.

Might as well share one of my newest paintings with you. It's titled "You Think I'm Strong . . .You're Wrong"

You definitely need to click on it to view the larger version to read all the little words on there. This is one of my favorites of the 19 I've done so far.
This is what's written on the back:

And you know and you know
Cos my life's a mess
And it's starting to show so before
I'm old I'll confess
You think that I'm strong you're wrong
You're wrong
I'll sing my song my song my song
      ~~~~
Life's too short to be afraid
So take a pill to numb the pain
You don't have to take the blame
  - Robbie Williams

And it's so true for me. I'm not as strong as you think I am, as I let on to be. I'm fragile, I'm weak, I'm small. My state of mind over the last 3-4 months has worn me down, people notice now. Notice something's wrong. Possibly very wrong. I know there's chatter. I try to ignore it. And I do take my pills to numb the pain . . .

. . . .God bless us everyone . . . .

Today is a win?

I ask tentatively. It was better, yes, but still I had mood issues. My main issue, the one I seem to struggle with the most, is the feeling of emptiness, of hopelessness, of worthlessness. As if nothing in this world truly matters and I should give up trying.

That being said, today actually was a better day. I didn't feel as depressed. I wasn't constantly on the verge of tears. I joked and laughed a little. Annoyingly though, I was rather irritable. Quite a bit irritable, lets be honest. Very snippish. Very annoyed with everything. I hate that feeling. The slightest thing can set me off. I kept it mostly under control, thankfully.

Again, the big problem is that feeling of emptiness, that life and everything is pointless. Thinking back to middle school and high school, I think I've always had this feeling. I think it's always been there. It doesn't let go for anything. I remember always having to come up with something to look forward to. Maybe buying something, maybe getting a pet (I had lots of pet rats and lizards). But I always needed something to look forward to, to keep me going.

And I find myself doing this now. I can look forward to getting my sparrow tattoo touched up this Wednesday (and adding one to my collar bone). After that, silly as it may sound, I'm looking forward to my appointments with Dr. C and M. After that? I don't know. I'll have to come up with something. But there in lies the rub: it's as if I can't truly push myself on without something to look forward to. This is more than little goals for motivation, like meeting mile stones in weight loss. These are things to keep me living. To keep me moving forward so I don't sink back into that black, black hole.

I wish I knew why I do this. Why I can't just truly be happy and content. Maybe I'll never know. Maybe I'll have a breakthrough in therapy. Maybe this is just how I am and I might as well deal with like I always have. I don't know. What do I know?

On the plus side, between yesterday and today I finished 3 paintings. My one original painting idea has blossomed into 17 paintings so far. I have another one in the works right now. Who knows how many more ideas I'll get. As long as I keep getting them, I'll keep painting them.

Dots and Dashes

Today was a bit of a challenge. I was cranky, irritable, and depressed. All for no good reason. No reason at all. I don't know what it is, what made me feel like this today. I had no real motivation. Not to do anything except for paint or sleep or workout - the only three things I seem to be capable of doing any more. Which truly makes me feel horrible. I should be cleaning the house. Putting away laundry. Doing something useful with my time. But I don't. I workout, I shower, I paint. I try not to nap. But oh how I want to nap. Especially when I feel like this.

I also feel bad, I know, because I've had several bad eating days this week. I feel guilty. I feel fat, despite my 23 pound weight loss. I feel as though I'll gain all the weight back overnight because I had a few bad days.

Maybe these things are contributing to my mood today. I don't know. I was near tears most of the day. Tonight, I started getting giddy and laughing at nothing - crazy manical laughing - and I think it came out instead of me crying. Like my body was looking for an alternative release of emotion because we're both so sick of the other route. I just really hate this.

Anyway, here's one of my latest paintings, "Dots and Dashes"

Inspired by the lyrics in a song by Silversun Pickups:
See you in the room next door
Your feet float above the floor
Dress torn above your knees
Like you've owned it for centuries

Dots and dashes on the wall
You tell me about the falls
Of kingdoms and champions
You've seen a thousand times before

The painting is slightly about suicide, as I have suicidal ideation more often than I like to admit. But it's also a statement about bipolar disorder. You see, bipolar disorder often controls you, dictates your actions, your feelings, your thoughts. It has a way of molding you its every whim or desire. You become like some macabre marionette, dancing around with no will of your own.

Those dots and dashes on the walls? They're actually Morse code. They spell out "help me" over and over again. Pleading for someone to stop the control and power that bipolar disorder has over me. Lest the unthinkable happen.

Don't worry - I'm not suicidal. Thoughts from time to time, but not actively suicidal (yes, there's a difference). But this . . .this is how I feel. Like I'm being controlled. Like I have no say in what I do or how I think or how I feel. Not all the time - but enough for it to be bothersome. Enough for it to affect me. Enough for me to plead and reach out for help.

Tomorrow is another day. Maybe it will be better. Maybe I can cut some of those strings controlling me.

What is this I don't even. . .

Today was . . .annoying. To say the least. Which I think is probably true of every day with bipolar disorder, but anyway. I was just. . .down again. Not terribly depressed, no, but not myself. Not happy. Not enjoying anything. I was irritable and cranky. All I wanted to do was paint but I had other things I needed to do. The necessities of life, if that's what you want to call it.

I went to the gym of course, and probably pushed myself too hard. I was going to get an oil change but the shop wouldn't have my truck done in time for me to go to a meeting. So that got scratched. And my meeting. Ugh. It lasted way longer than it was supposed to. And involved lots of petty bickering between coworkers. I sat, mostly quiet, only rarely offering my two cents. I'm often overlooked anyway.

So I didn't have much time to paint. I did the background for my next two, and let them dry while I picked up my son from school and then ran a couple of errands (I paint almost exclusively in watercolors). My kiddo went outside to play with his friend which gave me an hour of uninterrupted paint time. When he came in, we played a little, I made him dinner, and he played with his army men while I finished one of my paintings (I'll share it after I get pictures).

And even though I painted, and finished a painting, I was restless and unsatisfied. Unhappy and frustrated. Down and withdrawn. I stared off into space for awhile, unable to focus on anything. Not that I wanted to. I wanted to disappear. And I still do. To have several days with nothing and no one around. To do my own thing and not worry about responsibility. To workout or paint or read or sew or sleep or stare at the wall with no interruptions, no judgement, no expectations. Will that help me feel better? I have no idea. Maybe it will only isolate me further. . .

I work tomorrow and I'm not looking forward to it. One, I know it's been busy. Two, I'm charge in the nursery. Three, I'm not working with whom I would like to work with. And four, it means I have to interact with people. I'm not in the mood to interact with people. Maybe that will change tomorrow. Tomorrow is a new day, a fresh start, so it may very well be alright. I'll assume it will be alright. Everything will be alright.

And maybe the more I tell myself that, the more I'll believe it. And the more I believe it, the more likely it will come true. And if it comes true, then I've solved the problem of bipolar disorder and unhappiness, and other mental illnesses. There's no sarcasm there, by the way. None at all. I've told myself that I believe that.

Anyway, my moods are being a fickle bitch on the rag who has seemingly run out of chocolate. Somebody get this bitch some chocolate! STAT! I know we're still working on my meds and that maybe - just maybe - we'll get the dosing right and it will help. And that maybe - maybe - things will fall into place and I'll feel normal again. Crazier things have happened.

Now, does anyone have any chocolate?

I think I'm okay?

It's been a few days since I last wrote and I'll tell you why: I'm emotionally drained. Here, let me tell you. Remember in my last post where I was all "fuck you depression"? Yeah . . .that was Thursday morning. And things got bad. Very bad.

I was eating lunch, feeling pretty okay when I started crying out of nowhere. It turned into uncontrollable sobs and thoughts swept into my head about hurting myself. I pushed away my plate and headed to the basement where my heavy bag is. If I had thoughts of hurting myself, I might as well dissipate them with boxing and kickboxing drills. I beat the shit out of that bag. Burst a blood vessel on the top of my left foot. Bruised my knuckles, my shins. I went at it hard. And then? I collapsed. And I cried. Harder than I have at any point in my life. Horrible sobs and wails escaped me. Everything went black, it consumed me, took control. All the sorrow, the emptiness, the pain, my God the pain, the anger, frustration, hate . . .it came pouring out of me. Pouring out in tears, in screams, in sobs. All that pain I felt, that hollowness at my core . . .in that instant, I wanted to die. To truly die. Not ideation, not wishing it would stop. Dead. I wanted to be dead. And I was down the hallway from the gun safe. I had pills. I had razors to slit my wrists.

But I didn't have the energy. Instead, I curled into a ball on the floor and cried more. I must have been a sight. I was thankful no one was home. And when I felt safe, safe enough to move and not do something stupid, I got up. I went upstairs and cleaned myself up. And I painted.
This is what I painted:

It's called "Rainy Day". If you click it, you should be able to see it bigger.
It's dark, yeah? Yeah. My art is cathartic. It helps me vent. It helps me release the negativity. There is symbolism in this piece, and song lyrics that go along with it. I'll include them at the end of this post.
I broke down again Thursday evening in my bedroom. J came in and held me. Talked to me. Told me what he was noticing in my behavior, my patterns. And you know what? It helped. And I could smile a little.

Friday was a better day. I was very hyper-emotional, but it was okay. Dinner with friends and I didn't have to excuse myself to cry. Saturday and Sunday were even better. I worked, and I felt more like myself. I joked, I smiled, I laughed. J even (half) joked that he thought I may swing hypomanic. All in all, I had three pretty good days.

Today. . . today has also been alright. Went to the gym this morning (which was stupidly busy by the way. Apparently all the New Year's resolution people are joining earlier this year). J sent me an email that made me cry. A lot. A good cry, but I want to be done with crying. I'll include that email later on in another post. Had therapy with M, which, as always, lifts my spirits. Showed him my latest six(!) paintings which we discussed a little (including the above painting). It's early though, and who knows what the evening will bring.

I'm not certain of anything anymore. Not when it comes to my bipolar. And especially not right now. I know I'll make it through to the other side. I've shown that much by not killing myself, by painting, by being here to write this. . .and by having better days. Maybe I'll still be living moment to moment. Maybe soon it will switch to day by day. But I'll keep plowing on through because that's all I can do.

It's all any of us can do.

Not the full song, but the pertinent part:
Rainy Day

Try wearing my insides out
I don't even try, I know I have seen the best I'll have
I don't even try
Never been one to take my chances
I don't even try
Clouds are comin
Air get's heavy
Looks like trouble on a rainy day
Sun starts sinking
Can't see my shadow
Looks like trouble on a rainy day
Holes uncovered
Walls will crumble
All spells trouble on a rainy day
       - Guster
Italics added by me.

I've been busy

With painting, that is. I posted my first in what apparently has turned out to be a series of paintings. I have 3 more completed with the 5th one almost finished. All are vent art of some sort, and all have meaning behind them. I also have inspiration for a 6th. I guess that's the one good thing about depression - it usually inspires me.
As to how I'm doing, I don't know anymore. I was trying to live day by day but that's not working. I truly need to live moment by moment, because my mood can change so rapidly. I might be plugging along, feeling pretty good, and WHAM - sudden mood shift and I feel hopeless and like crying. It's so very frustrating. It's annoying too because I'm doing everything right. I'm eating healthy, working out (religiously), doing my positive readings, NOT isolating myself from friends, taking my meds, going to therapy, utilizing my creative outlet . . .and still the depression hangs on. So I do the only thing I can do - I push on, blindly hoping that things will get better, that I'll find that light at the end of the tunnel.
For my paintings, I'm debating on putting them all in one post, or spacing them out over several. We'll see. At any rate, they'll be up soon.

When I Fall

I wish I could fly
From this building, from this wall . . .
And if I should try
Would you catch me, if I fall . . .
When I fall . . .

Lyrics from one of my favorite Barenaked Ladies songs, and the inspiration behind my latest vent art. I heard this the other day and an image popped into my head - one so powerful for me, that I nearly started crying in the gym (I was working out when it came on). I had to paint it. It captured so perfectly how I've been feeling - like I'm on the edge looking down, contemplating that final jump. Do I jump? Or do I press on?

It's a simple painting, highly stylized, but it came out exactly how I pictured it. There is symbolism in there, the drab greyish colors represent my mood, that blue balloon, more vibrant than everything else, is depression - at the forefront of everything I do - and the sparrow, my hope, my salvation . . .is it leaving me? Or guiding me?

I had therapy today, and again I cried. I feel so lost and frustrated and hopeless. I feel like nothing is getting better and nothing ever will get better. It's a horrible way to feel. A horrible way to be and to live. I just want the nothingness and the emptiness and the despair to go away. But it doesn't. It hangs on like a stubborn parasite that I'm powerless to shake loose.
M though, he's wonderful. So wonderful. He helped me see that there is hope. I've been through a worse depression than this, and I made it out alright. I'll have good days and bad days, moments of happiness in the midst of the hopelessness. I'm doing everything right. I'm doing what I can and what I should to beat this. There is light at the end of the tunnel, however faint it may be.
I do hope M is right. I hope I feel better. I hope my sparrow is guiding me.

Yep, That's a Cat Alright . . .

Ren and Stimpy plug. Ignore that.
It's Tuesday. Haven't written since Saturday. Last 2 days were boring, actually. Sunday I was at work and sick, but luckily I was able to go home early. Napped for a couple of hours. A little down but nothing bad. Yesterday I pretty much hung out at home. Not really sick anymore, just weak and tired. Drew a piece of vent art which is always helpful. J and I had a talk about everything that's been going on and what I write in my blog and how he feels about it. I think it was a good talk. Insomnia was my friend last night, sadly. I didn't take anything for it. Eventually I fell asleep.
Today I had therapy with M. Topic of the week? My sexual assault at a certain grocery chain I used to work at. It was surprisingly easy for me to talk about, though there were snippets of malice under my lightheartedness. M saw through my humor, of course. Though, truly, the assault is way less traumatizing than my abuse and rape. Mainly, I think, because I actually did something about that. I told people, people who I trusted, and got the guy fired. I didn't press charges because I was too overwhelmed to deal with talking to the police (at this time, the physical and sexual abuse in my relationship was starting to skyrocket).
We also talked about my moods over the past week and what I've been doing to counteract them. It was a good session (they always are!), but I was a bit giddy and distracted. M had to focus me a couple of times, which was fine  - I just hate being that way. Stupid hypomania.
I think what I'm struggling the most with right now is finding meaning in life. Which I'm sure sounds stupid. Great husband, awesome son, amazing friends, career . . .how can I not find meaning? Well, there's the rub. That's the depression bit trying to come back, gain a stronghold. Strangle hold is more accurate, actually. It makes everything seem worthless and pointless. It's not all the way there - not yet. And I intend to keep it that way.
But this, the depression, coupled with my hypomanic tendencies lately are a problem. I'm giving it time, seeing if it will pass in the wake of everything I've been working through the past 3 weeks. I'm hoping it will. If not, I'll do whatever needs to be done to be in control again.
It's interesting, as I reread this post, it sounds very flat and emotionless. Maybe because that's how I feel at this moment. I don't know.
Still weekly sessions, support group next Thursday, same meds . . .probably more vent art. And reminding myself of all the wonderful things in my life.
I hate this disease.

Hope

My latest piece of vent art. Figured I'd share it here. Painted it about 4 weeks ago - colored pencil, coffee, and ink.
Because with desperation, comes hope.