I could scream

This blog post I'm actually writing at work. In an email. To myself. Mainly because our work computers are assholes and have to run the oldest version of internet explorer known to man which OF COURSE doesn't support blogger. So I'm writing it in an email to copy and paste to my blog. Awesome.

 

Well, now down to business. I've been a bit . . .off lately. I don't know. I'm not even sure how to explain it. J had noted that I was being neurotic and frantic about things - several things - and now that he's pointed it out, I'm becoming more aware of it. More aware of my rapid, spiraling thinking. More aware of a mild anxiety that never seems to leave. More aware of this need to get ALL the things done and do them NOW. And let's be honest - it's annoying. Couple this with my stupid cough and congestion that won't leave and my lack of sleep because of it and you've got a not-good situation.

 

And so what should we do? I know! Let's add in money woes as well! Yay!! $1100 for the timing belt in my truck with another $1000 of work still needing to be done. Then yesterday morning (at 1am no less) our washing machine became possessed and died. That's a minimum of $250 for repair (if it's something simple) or upwards of $700-800 for a new one. We just renewed my license plates ($275) and of course, Christmas is coming. Wonderful.

 

J let me know about the truck costs today and it just . . . I don't know. I was pissed and upset and depressed and worried . . .and everything in between. My thinking and mood began its downward spiral. Everything is pointless anyway. We should just put the house up for sale, buy a smaller one in the process, and foreclose on the first one - we won't be able to sell it anyway, not in this market. Our credit might be shitty for awhile but we'll have a smaller house payment. I can try to pick up as many extra shifts as I can, too. Who cares if it stresses me out  - I'm on pills, aren't I? And in the middle of all this FUCK everything else. Nothing else matters anyway.

 

This thinking . . .is bad. And I have a hard time stopping it. And what's worse? This wasn't everything going through my head. The other thing, the thing that made me feel like complete shit, is about my paintings. J said that I could go ahead and have my paintings proffesionally scanned. That way I could give copies to Dr. C and M to use in a presentation. That way I could work on selling prints and making a book with them. That way, with the help of Dr. C, I could maybe get them published in a bipolar magazine. I was excited about that. Soooo very excited.

 

The problem? It's going to cost $240 to have them scanned. $240 that, in light of everything else going on, I shouldn't spend. But the thing is, I want to. I don't think anyone understands how important this is for me. J might, I think he does, but think of how much money we're spending this month already. And I feel guilty and selfish and like a complete ass hat if I even bring it up. I don't want to bring it up for the fear of being seen as selfish. And that's how I feel. Like a selfish brat whinning if she doesn't get what she wants. And I HATE that. So much. And I sit here torn as to what to do. Do I ask J and risk him getting frustrated with me? Do I wait and lose the opportunity of having Dr. C and M being able to use them?

 

And so here I sit, feeling like a selfish tit and realizing that this whole post makes me look like a selfish tit. And so I do what I do best - I berate myself, and I fume over my shortcomings and my selfishness and my inability to NOT over react and my eventual moodswings that will arise from all of this because I can't control anything.

 

And then I cried. In the report room. And I felt like shit after. And I went about my day feigning happiness. And I don't want to tell anyone about this but I write it here because I really do. My apparent frantic neuroticism spills over into everything, it seems. I wish J hadn't pointed it out but I'm glad he did. If I'm aware of it, I guess I can learn to control it. Before I was aware I was in ignorant bliss. I don't know which is better, really.

 

So yes. I'm a selfish tit. I hate how my mind works right now - I have no idea what's going on or why it's happening. More importantly, I'm a tit. Let's not forget that.

Edit: Before posting this when I got home, I read it. And it's pretty self deprecating. And not how I should be thinking. I thought about not posting it. I thought about  rewriting it. Instead, I posted it as it was. Why? Because it's exactly how I feel. Good or bad, I'll post how I feel and what's going on. No sense in lying.

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 . . . .

Another win . . .

Yes, we'll call today a win. Because most of the day was good. Fairly good mood, no real anger, no real depression. Again, as is the case every day, what I struggled the most with was that nagging feeling of emptiness. Like I'm still a shell going through the motions. Not really sad, not really depressed . . .but not really  happy either. I hate this feeling. At least if I'm depressed I feel. At least if I'm angry I feel. Like this . . .I don't feel much of anything. Everything is muted. Shades of grey, no real color. I don't truly enjoy anything.

If only I could stay in a mild state of hypomania . . .

But, overall, we'll call today a win. I didn't break down, I got stuff done, I didn't explode in a fit of rage. I felt some mild happiness, I had some fun, I watched the Broncos kick the Chargers butts. Again.