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Me in a nutshell


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Conair. I love this movie. I love John Cusack. Nicholas Cage was even cool.

But my favorite character is the one that Steve Buscemi plays. Yes, he has committed more murders and other stuff than anyone else on board. He is the worst of the worst.

He gets away and ends up having tea with a little girl.

Little Girl: Are you sick? Garland Greene: Why do you ask? Little Girl: You look sick. Garland Greene: I am sick. Little Girl: Do you take medicine? Garland Greene: There is no medicine for what I have.

(Little girl comes to no harm in the movie.)

I am tired of being optimistic. I am tired of drug after drug after drug. Amongst three kabillion other things, I am on Depakote. And I am afraid it is going to be the worst of them all.

Depakote has turned me back into someone I used to know. Someone who actually gave a shit about the house. Someone who has the energy and the motivation to do stuff. Nothing manic or hypomanic or anything. It's just plain terrific. I am more assertive (my apologies to my best friend) and more comfortable just being me.

But the rug. Still. The rug can be yanked out from under me at any given moment, by one thought, by one word, by one vision. I end up huddled on the floor, crying hysterically.

At what point can I just say, FUCK IT? I asked my pdoc the other day, "What drugs are you going to put me on now to make my shitty life livable?" I mean, that's the point with me. My life sucks, has sucked, continues to suck. The drugs just make me happy about it.

(I would like to let a few people know, one in particular, that my friends ARE the only bright spots in my life.)

Why can't we all just admit that I am just fucked, there's nothing anyone can do, and just stick me in a room somewhere? I have had to be the responsible one my entire life. What? Starting at 8? Younger? No, I didn't take care of siblings. I took care of my drunk mother. And there has never, ever been anyone I could lean on. Who could help me. Did I mention EVER?

No, no suggestions that I ask so & so. There is NO ONE. NO ONE can do what I do. It's me, it's always been me, and it looks like it always will be me. The shitty thing about it is I was managing. Then I freaked out, got on meds, and was managing. Now, I am no longer managing. It's all spinning out of control and I don't know what to do about it. Not only can I not ASK anyone for help, they wouldn't help me anyway. They would want to. They would make noises about it. But no one does. Because no one can.

Yes, everyone is SO sorry. Oh, sweetie, your life HAS sucked. What did my new tdoc say..."You have avoided many pitfalls that would bring others to their knees." They used to say, "Oh, it's a wonder you turned out so great with all you have been through in your life!" Well FUCK THAT. I used to be those things. I used to be able to do it all. But I can't do it anymore. I am fucking mentally ill and shit is falling off of my plate at a rapid pace.

My ex-step-daughter came to my house yesterday. She was stunned. She used to stay there a lot with me and her dad when we were married. She could not believe what she saw. She was shocked beyond belief that we were using someone else's mini fridge because mine broke, the compressor is fried, and I haven't even made any effort whatsoever to get a new one. Or another one.

Seeing my house through her eyes was devastating. I know she will tell her dad. Which is okay. He knows I am having a hard time.

But anyway. There is no cure for what I have other than reliving my life and having someone, anyone. I am sure I am here today because of my grandmother. I lived with her a few years and she helped me out in college because my dad and the car thing...a whole nother depressing story. She died. And that was it.

I don't want any more drugs to make me feel like my life is not in the shambles that it is. IT IS. There IS no question. Why should I feel good about that? Yeah, I have mood swings from HELL and I have NO DOUBT in my mind that I am bipolar. Can't get rid of the hysterics, though. That is a reaction to my life that can't be changed. Well, I am sure someone could stab me with some sort of something to make me zone out, but if that's the case I might as well not be here anyway.

The better I feel, the more I hate what I see. What I have become. Ironic, too huh? Hence, the terrible crying spells. Out of control. The worse I feel, the more I don't give a shit what I see, what I have become. I am fucked either way.

Hey guys, this isn't a suicide threat or anything like that. Right now I would just like to go off my meds and let someone else deal with the hell that is my life. Of course, most of the hell is inside my head. I wouldn't wish that on anyone.

NO, I can't fucking do that either. Because I have kids. I have responsibilities. I have shit to do. I KNOW that. That is what makes it suck so fucking bad. NO WAY OUT. I bet my hysterics are the only outlet I have. Maybe that is why things are the way they are.

Heh. I am taking a lot of your suggestions away. Assuming there are any.

Okay, venting over. I must go get ready for work on a holiday because I have to get ten thousand things done before the end of the month.

Sam

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Shit, Sam. You just expressed my whole life. And don't let anyone kid you, it's reality, not just some pessimistic whining.

I don't know how you fix it. A lot of what you're (and I'm) going through has nothing to do with bipolar. It's not being able to count on anyone to help. You're the strong one. You're the one who's in control, the one who keeps it all from spinning apart. When you've learned as a 5 or 6 year old that it is unsafe to trust your own mother, unsafe to express emotion, unsafe to be the weak one, I don't know whether that can ever be learned.

I take the drugs. I do the therapy. I get through.

Hey guys, this isn't a suicide threat or anything like that. Right now I would just like to go off my meds and let someone else deal with the hell that is my life. Of course, most of the hell is inside my head. I wouldn't wish that on anyone.

NO, I can't fucking do that either. Because I have kids. I have responsibilities. I have shit to do. I KNOW that. That is what makes it suck so fucking bad. NO WAY OUT. I bet my hysterics are the only outlet I have. Maybe that is why things are the way they are.

And that's the rub. Wanting to stop, wanting to say, "It's too hard and I can't do this anymore". But, you can't. There's the kids. And the one and only parenting vow I made to myself when I decided to go forward with the pregnancy was to not follow the path of the parents and grandparents before me. So I can't give up, I can't make him take care of me, I can't drink myself into a stupor every night and then lash out at everyone around me, I won't turn it all the fuck around and make it his fault that I'm not happy. No. I'm the parent and he's the child. He is not responsible for my wellbeing.

I'm responsible for my own wellbeing and I don't know how to get there. I refuse to suck it out of other people and I don't know how to give it to myself.

Hey, Sam, I'm sorry I don't have any answers. All I can say is that there are times that are bad and times when it's not so bad. I've learned to limit my expectations of life and take advantage of the good times to get things organized and taken care of so that when it all turns to shit again many of the neverending obligations are on autopilot.

More later, people are home now.

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  • 2 weeks later...

Heya Sam,

Oh.

No good advice or suggestions here. Halfway to mixed myself I fear.

Hey that rhymes.

Hang on and be as okay as you can.

(CLS = crappy life syndrome = not in DSM)

--ncc--

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Heh.

I had forgotten that I wrote this tirade. Gosh. This was the day I went to the hospital. Stayed there a week. Yeah, ncc, apparently it was this huge mixed thing. I didn't know.

And people DID help me. A LOT of people helped me. It was really awesome. I feel like I let a LOT go, and I feel a lot less burdened. How I feel about the past is greatly improved. But the here and now is sort of scary.

My friend once went to the hospital, and when she got out, I called her daily, but I didn't realize how hard it was to come back to real life. With a new attitude but the same old problems.

I think I came back sort of some manic flavor, because I had like a mini-crash yesterday. And now...not so happy. Not really LOW, but I don't have....I don't know. Maybe this is the real me. Can't figure that out.

Anyway, decided to give an update.

I really liked the hospital. The people who didn't have a lot to do irl didn't like it. The people who were overwhelmed by real life liked it. I thought it was fantastic.

I DO recognize that things can get better now. So that's good. I just don't see how!

That post was just the worst. I'm better now.

Sam

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Hey Sam,

I just wanted to say that I am totally with you on the "waking up" and feeling worse, because you see what your life has come to when you've been sick. It's depressing and so overwhelming. You don't know where to even start, people see it and are shocked, and then all you can do is freak out.

But you know and I know and we all here know that one step, one thing at a time will save us. And goddamn doesn't it feel so fucking good to get that first thing done?

You can do it! *shakes med bottles as impromptu pompoms* *then realizes I forgot to take morning meds and has to sit down to count out the pretty pills* Good for you, Sam.

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Greeny:

When you've learned as a 5 or 6 year old that it is unsafe to trust your own mother, unsafe to express emotion, unsafe to be the weak one, I don't know whether that can ever be learned.

I am guessing you meant, "unlearned", and if so, I identify,

Every day, my mother let me play in the back yard alone. Sounds good - sort of.

The thing was, this little yard ended in a six foot cliff, created by a retaining wall. Below it was a row of sharp foot-high cracked rocks. They made a neat border to bedding plants.

One day, of course, I fell, landing head down on the sharp rocks, Fractured skull. When I came to, I lay there, in and out of consciousness. I waited for rescue after what I knew was a calamity. It never came. Finally, I realized I was going to die, if I kept lying there. I 'd never heard about death, but I knew I was going to end.

It took all my will (and then some), but I made myself crawl inch by inch through the blackness about to swallow me. It was over a hundred yards not counting stone steps. I don't remember how long all this took, but I do remember that every move forward required a new decision. Should I give in to the darkness or should I fight to stay awake, and struggle forward? It looked like forever to the back door.

Being awake meant feeling terrible pain, and I wasn't even sure I could make it all the way. Why bother?

I kept going.

When I finally reached the back door, I somehow managed to attract attention.

I wasn't even two years old! What in the world was she thinking?

Anyhow, that's the story of my life (yes, Sam, "in a nutshell". ) At that moment, I was born to my reality. Trust her? Trust anybody? Not on your life!.

I never trusted anyone after that. Oh, some maybe - but always with a back up plan. Something froze in me. There wasn't any safety, and no comfort in my world. In my world, toddlers were sent to play on cliffs, It's not as if this was a freak accident. It was a way of life.

And no, I sure in hell couldn't start trusting anybody now - not if my life depended on it. Wait, that was just the point! Haha.

rt

PS Functional or not, Sam (and that's your tragedy), you turned out to be a decent human being (that's your triumph). It may not bring you the joy you deserve, but it's still a victory for the powers of light - and for you too. Can you imagine turning out like - her?

And BTW, everyday I too wake up to my post-Katrina house - and life. I look at magazine photographs sometimes and try to imagine living in a clarity like they show, and then...I look around me.

I'm stlll trying to pick myself up and keep going, but somehow it's gotten even harder over time. Don't know exactly why. It's almost as if the weeds have gotten taller and the rocks sharper, even though I grew up in between. I always thought if I could just make it to adulthood, I'd be safe, but no.

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You can do it! *shakes med bottles as impromptu pompoms* *then realizes I forgot to take morning meds and has to sit down to count out the pretty pills* Good for you, Sam.

Okay, now that's a good one. But I don't think I could fit all of my pill bottles in two hands to make pompoms! *runs off to take am med that was refilled this afternoon but not taken*

The more I do, the more I realize how much there is left to do. I will keep plugging away because I don't know what else to do.

Thanks, Bella.

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Every day, my mother let me play in the back yard alone. Sounds good - sort of.

One day, of course, I fell, landing head down on the sharp rocks, Fractured skull. When I came to, I lay there, in and out of consciousness. I waited for rescue after what I knew was a calamity. It never came. Finally, I realized I was going to die, if I kept lying there. I'd never heard about death, but I knew I was going to end.

When I finally reached the back door, I somehow managed to attract attention.

I wasn't even two years old! What in the world was she thinking?

Neglect. And you actually remember all of that from being 2? Yeah, I guess traumatic events like that would sort of stick in your memory.

Anyhow, that's the story of my life (yes, Sam, "in a nutshell". ) At that moment, I was born to my reality. Trust her? Trust anybody? Not on your life!.

I never trusted anyone after that. Oh, some maybe - but always with a back up plan. Something froze in me. There wasn't any safety, and no comfort in my world. In my world, toddlers were sent to play on cliffs, It's not as if this was a freak accident. It was a way of life.

So, explain this whole trust/non-trust stuff. What does it mean to

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