Bipolar and the Spam Man – When Anger Threatens to Pop Your Brain

As a person with Bipolar Disorder (Type 1) I have always considered my anger as a considerable problem, even a terrible liability. But you know what? I had a moment today when I harnessed that power and made it a defense, perhaps even a weapon. 

I don’t know for certain that the same uninvited man called me today, but he sounded like it. The background noise was considerable. I could hear other calls being made that sounded exactly like what the man had just said to me. It was like last week. Last week! In a four hour period the same man called me ten, TEN times. 10 TIMES!

This time I started off with:

“No, you may not speak to Robin. Who are you and what do you want?” 

“Eh, is Robin there please?”

“No. You may not speak to her. What do you want?”

“I’m calling from Website Design… blah, blah.”

“She doesn’t want to talk to you. You sound like you’re calling from a boiler room.” (I don’t think he knows what a boiler room is.) 

He stopped talking for a second and I struck like a crow stealing food from the middle of our road. Crows remember stuff. Did you know that? I mean, never throw a shoe at one or send your dog after it. Those eyes… yikes!

“Do not call again. Do you understand? Not again. Not ever. Do not call again.” I took a breath just to let him digest that a wee tiny bit, but not too much of a bit. “Do you hear what I’m saying to you? You will not call me again. Take me off your list and do not call again.”

“Uhhhh…”

“If you call me again I will report you to the FCC. Do you understand? Do not, do NOT call again. Am I being clear? Do NOT call again. You will not call me again.”

I hung up. Okay, honestly, I may have repeated myself a few more times. 

Damn that felt good. Using my “I’m really pissed off and not having it anymore,” voice at a specific person felt so nice! Yeah, yeah, he was just doing his job. Look, just take me off the list. Last week I told him I was going to come find him if he called again and smack him. 

I have a temper. Yep. A temper. Today, my anger was my own and I put it to use. It did not rule me. Today I told someone where  to get off, concisely, specifically, very firmly. If I were him, I wouldn’t call again. I’d delete Robin from the call list. 

I will answer if “robocall” does call again using any of the variety of numbers that have been used. Seriously, ten calls? Amazing, right? I will answer and I will honestly, earnestly and very firmly use my words to defend my privacy and myself. 

There are ways we can feel and be more in control of ourselves and our lives. This is one tiny example of how I’ve reclaimed my power. 

I know that sometimes those kinds of things can make us feel like victims. We can become afraid of answering our own phones. The spam filters don’t always work. We don’t have to tolerate that kind of stupid stuff. Without swearing, without yelling, I expressed the anger that I felt. Holy bananas that felt so nice! 

Don’t feel like you can’t say anything when people step on you. Speak up. Be firm. Be polite. Stand your ground and be proud. We must stand for ourselves. Today, and last week, I assumed command of my expensive phone and phone service. I called my phone carrier last week and she told me that honestly they really can’t do anything more than let my phone tell me it’s probably spam. Seriously? 

Go ahead and call me morons. Get paid to annoy me. I shall annoy you back. Hopefully my “mental illness” will reach you and scare the poo out of you. Be afraid of who you call next. Let’s get personal. I dare you. 

Redux | I want to pick my nose and other true stories from my Bipolar life.

So. I had three procedures performed on my nose in an operating room on December 30. The approval letter from my ever-reliable insurance company arrived this week, Wednesday. It said I was approved for “a procedure in my nose.” Very specific, don’t you think? Just get to the point. Approved.

It has been inferred that since my name is Robin and I have a deceptively long, narrow, and pointy nose that I must have had a nose job to make it look like a nose that isn’t such a beak.

Thanks. That’s not why I’ve had surgical instruments stick up my nose. 

I’ve always smelled things first and more potently than anyone I know. I can smell fires and melting plastic before anyone has a notion that something might be wrong.

In opposition to this oversensitive olfactory ability, when pollen follows my intake of oxygen, limited though it has always been, over my chicken like lips and on up into my greatest physical ability, and I start sneezing.

Sneezing. My mom tried all through my formative years. At our greatly modified Christmas dinner this year with the four of us when I ate like a starving bank robber around my black ski mask, she urged me to sneeze like a girl. That’s what it was called when I was young. “Can’t you sneeze more quietly? Like a girl?” Of course, this holiday she’d skip the socially inappropriate, “like a girl,” and shoot straight to telling me, ” Robin! Can’t you do that more quietly?” No mom, the nose… I can’t. I’m just loud.

I have Bipolar Disorder and I can’t breathe. Man, what a horrible combination. Just to continue my silent yet fervent life long quest to breathe and sneeze like a “not girl,” I have learned what may contribute to my difficulty practicing controlled yet relaxed breathing, maybe being sabotaged from the get-go by my lack of the good stuff. You know it. You use it too. Oxygen.

Apparently, breathing in through my nose, holding it, then breathing slowly out through my mouth first requires me to draw in something more than pollen and things that are burning.

Did you know that if my brain has access to unlimited oxygen it will (hopefully) better deal with itself? Meaning, that my brain meds will probably welcome the assist that oxygen will provide. That’s the learned consensus anyway and I am unanimous in that.

Naturally, the rest of me wants to help out with this breathing idea and generously and impulsively tossed in asthma via “Twitchy Lungs,” and I must not forget to mention the delightful Sleep Apnea piece of the party.

Yeah! I whistle as I struggle to draw in that oxygen stuff I’ve been referring to through my chicken-like, thin, and collapsible nose holes, while my tongue clogs my throat and I stop breathing. Oh goodie.

I’ve demonstrated to my doctors over the years this flashy trick I can do with my nose. I draw in a quick snout full of oxygen and the holes slam shut and nothing gets in or out.

Bummer. Great for swimming underwater, not for breathing actual air. 

I’ve had one or two “big brain” moments in my 57 (soon to be 58) years. I’m particularly proud to show off my solution to the “keep the water out” ability I have. You see if I could just find the perfect size straws I could fashion them into reverse nose plugs by sticking them up my nose holes to hold them open. 

Not one doctor listened to my complaining and my surely novel solution. Surely I was messing around. After all, I’m kind of expected to act (think as well) just the least bit bonkers so I was kidding, right?

No, not kidding.

Slowly racing to December 2020 because still, no air, I meet an ENT doctor who, after watching me pull my nose holes open from behind her mask confidentiality and yet without any fanfare nor pomp and circumstance that she could “fix” that easily. No problem. She paid attention and “got it.” That is, she said she could move things around and easily fix them. Again, no problem. I like her.  

Just like that, I was scheduled for nostril surgery to correct the deviation, move some stuff around, and then prop the little holes open so that the much sought after oxygen could wind it’s way to my little grey cells. 

Yeah. I have stitches, some pain, and the faith I’ll have human nose holes instead of chicken slits very soon. Oxygen I’m coming for you!

I’m in a beautiful manic/depressed/agitated/anxiety phase now. I know, seems about normal for me. This is true, but my brain is carrying on like a “stuck pig,” as someone in the family used to say. It fits pretty well. I think some oxygen might be useful about now.

Let’s see, asthma is apparently under control until the next “twitch.” My nose has been enlarged on the inside and the doors propped open. What could possibly go wrong?

Sleep apnea. Twice in the last week, I’ve woken up in a panic, gasping for air. That’s how it works, yeah? The brain gets distracted by… whatever and forgets to do its job and move the “structures” in the back of my throat so I can breathe. About 20 times an hour. Two sleep tests and keeping in line with my “no oxygen” theme… 

Well, you know how people trying to calm me down urge me to take a breath (Robin you’re holding your breath. Breathe!)… Yeah, doesn’t happen.

I’m telling myself that this is too much information, the story is out of control, but it isn’t, not in the real world. This breathing stuff is part of every moment of my life and it reaches every single hit and tittle of my being. Bipolar Disorder does as well. Can it be corrected? That’s another thing about me that gets tricky and isn’t the focus of this story. Yes, it does have a focus. 

I’m struggling. My brain needs a break and let’s face it, oxygen would help. My thoughts, moods, and emotions are busily doing the River Dance on me and on those around me. That last bit. That makes me sick. Hurting those I care about is a very hard thing for me. 

Sometimes an assist comes from bizarre and unexpected places. For me, this first month of 2021, aid has come via nose holes (without the straws). Nose HOLES. No more chicken beak! Have you ever studied a chicken’s beak? Next time look for those nose holes. I think you’ll agree that chicken beak nose holes just are not enough for me. Nope. Need bigger holes.

I sneeze loud. I talk loud. I even whisper aloud. I wonder if my Tarzan yell will be louder? Ooohhh, now that’s something to look forward to trying. 

And my brain having a Bipolar spike… I think it might just enjoy better nose holes too.

These nose holes are my unexpected aid in managing my illness. I’d like to know if you have nose holes that have the potential to help your brain out too. Can’t think of anything at the moment? That’s okay. You might recognize something any time now. 

Be patient. 

I wonder if Bailey could be trained to wake me up when I stop breathing…. Maybe. Oh, that’s not one of my kids. She’s my fantastic dog! 

Nose holes and chicken lips. Ew…

Bipolar Mom Takes 28 Year Old Daughter to ER

The view from here…

I’ve been thinking about you a lot. I’ve been developing an idea I’d like to try – but this isn’t the time for that. Not right this moment.

I’m at the Emergency Hospital (ER) with my daughter. I’m amped up on “fight or flight” in my brain. I’m sitting in my car because I can’t be with her. I’ve been struggling with experiencing a mixed state anxiety/depression and as always, manic (thank you ADHD).

Now, firstly I want to say that even though she’s all grown up, I still want to hold her and comfort her. But not this moment.

We’re here because an important medication didn’t arrive before she ran out. Two days after she ran out… We’re at the ER.

No Covid.

Medication.

I was here just a few weeks ago for a medication problem as well. Not Covid.

I was tested yesterday, but only because I’m having surgery on Wednesday.

I’m happy. I’m calming down. I’m breathing better.

Wait….

Sure, she’ll be out soon.

Breathe…

Breathe…

There are, there ARE times, when the mom in me is able to crush the brain shannagians.

Brain shannagians. That’s my brain. How about you?

And now – I’ve distracted myself and I have no … Wait… Nope. It’s gone. I’m sure I’ll remember when I can’t write it down.

What the heck is You Tube playing for me. I like it, but what is this?

I just want you to know that my butt has gone completely and totally asleep. Wait, wait. Man! Now I want the bathroom.

Well, I need to get out of the car and walk a bit, in the dark, at night, downtown. Uummm, I think I’ll walk in front of the ER windows, where the guards are.

Yeah, guards and, AND, hand sanitizer. Always the sani.

Wear your mask. Tell everyone you love, actually TELL them, that you love them. Tell all of them. Covid, asthma, car crash, slipping on the frozen asphalt — life is so fragile.

We, you and I, people with shannagians going on in the brain, we can do what we must. We must.

I’m struggling with my shannagians. Struggling hard. I don’t care because at this moment, which is the only moment I know, shannagians just have to step back. And wait.

At least, that’s the plan. It’s my plan for this moment.

Rejoice! You survived the holiday! Well done.

Tell them you love them. Tell them all. And if they ask you why you can always just admit the truth and say, “Because I love you. I love you.”

Be well friends.

I am so hungry.

The Stress Monster Is Melting My Brain – Today Sucks… Wonder Why?

I have Bipolar Disorder and ADHD. You will see them both in today’s post. This post will not be edited by anyone. I suspect that the door in my brain is going to try to say things a beta reader would catch. If you would like to see the bullet main points, if there are any, read on. The full story will follow that.  

Why should YOU read further? 

Reason: I hope from all the bits of my heart that you might see something of me in you and know that you really aren’t alone. You’re not. Please, LOOK at me. 

Now, here I am…. this is my version of transparency.  

Today started pretty slowly, but good. And then I left my room. Sigh, sometimes the spaghetti hits the wall early in the day. Normally, I would say that the old spaghetti trick isn’t necessarily a bad thing. Spaghetti good: encourages and stimulates my ability to see more ideas and options. Spaghetti not so good: other stuff out of my control. 

I wouldn’t normally share the specifics of a particular day with you because, well, this isn’t that sort of place for that. However, today, I think that when I talk about stress I’d like to share with you some of my own stresses. I’m going to limit it to this morning and stop right now (1:47 p.m. PST). 

Stress is a constant ANXIETY feeder in my brain all the time. Constantly. It never stops. I never feel “at peace.” What has been happening today demonstrates exactly what happens when it passes over an imaginary thresh-hold beyond which I flounder and may crash and bury my head someplace where the world stops for a moment. 

I clicked on the Word icon and waited for it to launch. I was planning on writing to you. Then Office said it was updating Office. Then it said I was dumb and that it wouldn’t play and was taking its ball and locking me out. This was the last straw. It was the “break the camel’s back” sort of straw. (What does that mean anyway?) 

I became aware that my breathing was very shallow and quick. My throat tightened and my forehead and eyes scrunched up in emotional pain. I began to cry… So, I texted my support team which includes my kids Jessica and Kyle whom I share a home with. We have a group text for things like who is going to making dinner, where we are, grocery list items, giving voice (expressing) to great things and crappy things in our days. Oh, and loads of funny pictures of our pets. 

This is the text I sent them: 

Ok, keeping it brief:
– Word keeps trying to update, fails, then refuses to open
– one the boys in the big boy tank is visibly sick [Fancy Guppy]
– twitch won’t run, so no escape in minecraft
– my anxiety is way past healthy
– only 2 chill pills left
– I am going to blog/write but I guess it will be on paper or Google docs
– I’m soooo frustrated
– I still want to get some new guppies to not kill. To put where? With Banana boy.
– insert much foul mouth swearing
– and… Son of [Some content removed. Sorry.] crispy cracker with toilet exploding hot sauce
– So I can’t play, I can’t write…
on the flip side:
– We did get back from a walk just as the weather freaked out again
– I’m not dead
-I have you guys
– my hand feels better, mostly
[during a wind storm a few days ago I dropped a heavy sharp corner of a bookcase shelf on the scar of the thumb I just had the joint replaced last December 17th. I have RA and OA.]  

I followed that up later with:

I’m struggling

What brought me to this state, besides the obvious? I’ll bet you may have experienced this yourself. (Wait. How can I “bet you may have”? Anyway, on with the.. Uh… show.)

Bailey and I escape the house to walk around the block walking as fast as we can to beat the wind and rain. And… home dry!! That was fun.

I take multiple mood stabilizers. I have Bipolar Disorder Type 1 and run manic most of the time. I experience mixed states and enjoyably also cycle rapidly. Fun! Additionally, (sounds like a speech) I also have the stimulating ADHD. Yippie! We’ve elected not to treat the ADHD with medication. Who needs a stimulant to stimulate an already over-stimulated brain? Not me, thank you very much. 

FYI: I’ve recently, after years of refusing to do it, switched over to having a pharmacy send my medications to me in bubble packs. One of the major reasons I wouldn’t do it is because brain meds can be changed fairly frequently when we are trying to find the right combination that works for me and keeps me from driving everyone around me to the point where they want to duct tape me to a chair in my room and shut the door. 

Anxiety. Remember that? Unless a person has Bipolar Disorder they simply cannot understand what having it is like. They just can’t. I’ll try to sprinkle in a few things to help explain what’s so important about this stuff.

That’s the setup. 

I take:

1. Mood stabilizer in the morning (A)

2.The same mood stabilizer in the evening only double the dose (A)

3. I take another mood stabilizer in the morning (B)

4. I take the same mood stabilizer in the evening (B)

5. I take a “chill pill” (one in the “benzine” family) ( C) 

6. I take one before bed (D)

Fine. I do that. Only at the moment, I’m completely out of

1. A in the evening

2. B morning and evening

3. C (OMG)

4. D

These are ALL MOOD STABILIZERS! I don’t have any of them. 

Remember my mentioning my thumb. The next day I fell on that thumb and while it saved my face from planting itself in the garden at the Vet’s office. ALL my weight landed on that hand. I weigh over 50 lbs. I’m sure 50 lbs would have hurt a lot. I weigh over 100 lbs above that. My thumb/hand has been hurting, but only when I use it, touch it, or put pressure on it – think ice pack or heating pad. 

I called the bubble pack pharmacy again (did it yesterday as well) and practically begged the poor lady to tell me that my missing FOUR brain meds would be here yesterday. She couldn’t. 28 minutes later I came away with a USPS tracking number and the medications that should be in it. ALL of the medications [A, B, C, D] are in that box. 

Of course, I jumped on Jessica’s computer (now not trusting my own) and looked it up. [Insert creative bad words developed while growing up on a ranch. Use your imagination.] They appear to all be in the same package. The package took 24 hours to leave OH. (Uh…) 

See – things progress. I don’t pop on Facebook to visit friends. Rarely. It is now 4:08. While I sent myself that text message from my phone (SMS) to FB messenger, copied it, and pasted it here I saw an ad that indicated it might lower our energy costs. Stupidly, I clicked it. Ten minutes this sales guy calls me. Seriously. I had just been trying to find out if they were legit (I couldn’t) when this name pops up on my phone, “Blah Blah Solar Company.” Oh hell no. No, no, no, no. Nuh-uh. Having been in businesses I and my family have owned I can tell you that this ad clearly misrepresented themselves and what they were offering.  

I am known in my family as the one to go to if you need someone to kick-back. Meaning since I think I know more than they do I will explain to them what exactly I think about whatever-it-is and how it’s going to be. I shot of pic of the ad from the monitor and was getting ready to send it to my city utility company to see what they knew (and probably to show them something possibly fraudulent – no, I have no idea what I’m talking about. 

Remember how things are going today and that those precious lost medications for anxiety, that’s part of mood stabilization, are completely out of my system. Blotto. 

Blotto. I don’t know what that means, but I like to say it. [Use Google Mom!] Google says I was spelling it wrong, but it essentially means “extremely drunk. ‘we got blotto.’”)

When I use the word “blotto,” which I do, I mean something like “the shit hit the fan.” Yes, I think that works. Or maybe more gently, “Crap.” But sometimes I just say “blotto” just because I like the way it feels when I speak it. Weird. Right. 

Can you see anything? Yes, of course, you can. Bipolar mania. ADHD. 

How is my day? Blotto. But, it’s getting better. 

4:35 p.m. Kyle get’s home from work. He asks me how I’m doing. I say, “Fine.” (More abbreviated chit-chat. I hate it when I talk like that.) “I’m not making dinner. Can you two deal with it?” He says they will. I make licorice tea (decaf). Set a five minute because I always forget it. Put on headphones. Stop writing this for a few minutes while I get ready for music. The playlist I made to help me hold on has been “misplaced,” so I’m making a new one. Bluetooth. Headphones. Volume is very high. Kyle comes back in and gets my attention. He didn’t know I’d plugged my head in. My tea, it was done. Oh yeah. Yeah! Headphones die. Kyle sets them to charge. He loves me. “Mind if I play music, uh, loud?” Sure. :0)  

YouTube playing. Right now. Breath… out. Imagine with me just that. Breath… out as the music draws me in. Eyes close. Head embraces the sounds. Nods. Taylor Swift. Gretch Wilson. What??? 

5:00 p.m. “Redneck Woman.” I sigh and begin to relax. “Fight Song.” (“…. cause I still gotta lot of fight in me.”) 

Hours remain before bedtime and I’ve lost focus. I’ve written all this down (thankfully skipping all the interruptions like talking for 28 minutes to the new pharmacy and all that stuff) for just two reasons. 

Reason 1: In some crazy way I hope you focused a little on my day and not your own. Maybe this you were entertained? ;0)

Reason 2: I hope from all the bits of my heart that you might see something of me in you and know that you really aren’t alone. You’re not. Please, LOOK at me. 

5:15 p.m. Pink “Just Like Fire.” The music helps. First deep breath. Thank goodness. 

…… And now the med provider has called to try to rescue me!!! I’m talking to you while I listen to him type out “emergency” orders for my local pharmacy. So funny.  ADDENDUM: The pharmacy received the orders. Insurance denied. The pharmacy says  I can pay cash. No, I can’t. Called the med provider and left another message as he asked me to do if there was a problem. There is indeed a problem. Further TRANSPARENCY: Thankfully my kids kept bugging me to try cannabis (legal here) just like my MD has been trying to get me to do for over ten years. 

Alright. I think that covers the majority of my day. I hope I haven’t bored you or convinced you to head for the hills. This, this post, is me being “transparent.” I’ve wondered what a day in the life of a “stable and normal” person is like. I see them posting about how I can conquer my anxiety and depression and they know because they’ve done it too. I’m sure some have and are doing great. The problem is that I’m reading what they say from a bunch of clean whiteness with sharp letters that make up clean looking lines containing words. What? It looks, with the eyes, clean. Life isn’t clean. It is so messy. I’m messy. I’m guessing you can see that. I just always want to know something of their story. What were they like before they were able to write this logically layed article with bullet points? 

Robin, STOP. FULL and or HARD STOP. 

Okay, geeze. 

Always honest. Always trying to be better. Always here, even when I’m stuck inside my head. Please reach out or feel free to leave comments. How are you as we head into more stressful days. I don’t know about you, but this Thanksgiving especially is going to be more stressful than the normal stressful. We don’t want to give or get the covid. (That’s what we call it now. Just, “the covid.”) It gets complicated. 

I’ll be back. 

A question I was asked today: 

Do you have any desire to harm yourself?   [something like that]

No. No, I do not. 

(This is what transparency looks like from me.) 

My Bipolar Brain is the Not the Typical Brain. Is Yours?

Mood swing in 6 minutes

Today began, as most days do, with the Anxiety Monster meeting me as I swung my feet off the bed. So far so good. So far so good, right? Looks sunny outside. Bonus!

I found Jessica eating oatmeal (barf) at the kitchen table, getting ready for work. Immediately I wanted to nag at her. I wanted to ask, beg her to do some of the “very important” things on my “anxiety” list. I started to do that. I wanted to try to “get” her to fix the anxiety-inducing things. Some things on the list are legit, really truly legit I tell you, and the kids (Jessica and Kyle) should do. In my incredibly stressed-out brain, I’m of the opinion that they ought to do them. They don’t.

I honestly don’t want, and I don’t mean, to send any of my kids off and into the world (You know what I mean. For example, going to work.)  after I’ve driven, their stress levels up. I don’t “want” to make them not want to spend time with me. {Maya, was that a double negative? That’s what I was shooting for.} It’s especially important because we actually live together. Like actually in the same house. On the same couch, sharing one bathroom, no personal space type living together. No problem. But still, it’s small enough that even what passes for a “normal” family would get on each other’s nerves. But that’s not my point. 

It is not, it is NOT normal to wake up with the Anxiety Monster sucking on my head, stimulating my brain, and switching on my flight… not fight… just flight response. 

Not normal. Not healthy. 

I have a med provider (a psychiatrist who prescribes my medications) and a counselor who works hard with me to help me be “myself.” In other words, we’re not trying to make me (gasp!) “normal” like everyone else. What we are doing is working every day, every single F’ing day, to help me attain my goals. 

Isn’t that weird? I’m not working to better or fit in with “normal” people. I’m working very hard, when I’m able, to put into place as many things stacked in my favor as I can so that I can meet MY GOALS and have a LIFE. Does that make any sense? 

My life needs to be MY life. Not what other people expect of me. This can be very hard when my thoughts are hammered constantly by emotions that are out of control. A stampede. That’s what it feels like. A stampede rushing at me as I run in circles around it winding myself up tighter and tighter with every uh… wind?  

So much of the time I’m paralyzed with anxiety, fear, depression, hopelessness, anger, etcetera. 

What then? How do I pull up before I smack into the fir trees across the street? Fir trees are very big trees and not something to be casually crashed into. Nope. Not good. So, what did (do) I do? Well, the first thing I did was take my meds. Then I had my ritual coffee with sugar, powdered creamer, and liquid French Vanilla Coffee-mate. 

Next, I ate breakfast – a banana and a peanut butter and jelly sandwich with some water. I then headed for the shower. Bringing Bailey (my trusty dog) with me… okay, honestly, she’s just following me because I always give her a Greenie teeth cleaning bone while she’s waiting. Why? Because she’s my emotional support buddy. Also, I’d flip out if she barked and barked while I was in the shower. So, she comes with and gets her Greenie. 

I grabbed the last (ugg!) clean bath towel from the cupboard and threw it over the top of the shower curtain which immediately attacked me (mumble, mumble, mumble words I shouldn’t put in print). So…. Shower? I’m maybe 5’ 3” on a good day when the atmosphere is causing gravity to take it easy and let me stretch a bit. You know, be a little taller. That’s a thing, yeah? {Yes Robin it is a thing and that ¼” can make all of the difference some days! – Maya}

Small bathroom. Dog taking up most of the floor. Shower curtain everywhere but where it should be and… where’s my bathrobe? Not with me, that’s where. 

And then it was lunchtime. 

I can’t tell you that I’ve figured out how to have a better day or how to stop freaking out all the time. I will be honest and tell you that last week my counselor and I did that test thing that indicates loosely what my current emotional state is. You know, am I moody? Anxious? Depressed? 

I passed with flying colors!! Severely depressed and enough anxiety to make me barf. Literally. 

I have ADHD and I have Bipolar Disorder Type 1. We’ve decided that I’m stuck on being manic pretty much all the time. I mean that. I never stop. I might stop talking, sometimes, but my brain is screaming at me whether I’m talking or not. 

Again, how have I made it through this or any other day?  Firstly, I’ve been writing this all day. I set a timer for 15-20 minutes then dash around cleaning the house, doing the dishes, and housey kinds of things. I play a game or read a book (a page or so). Again, the timer is going. Then I write. Rinse. Repeat. Shake it out. Repeat. Do it all again. Kyle came home, and I took a break. Now I’m back at it. 

Am I depressed? Yes. Am I having stress that shouldn’t be found in a “normal” person? Yes. Am I still alive and able to carry on? Right now? Yes. Over the weekend the answer was no. That’s no with all caps: NO!

Some days it just doesn’t seem to matter what I try to tell my little grey cells. Just won’t listen. Reminds me of a kid of any age. Listening might not happen. 

I try to find a way to maintain, but I want more than to just exist. I want it all. Have I worked out how to have it all? It depends upon what I mean by “all” doesn’t it? And when. And what. And other stuff. Okay, it’s all relevant to whatever. I’m here. I’m pretty satisfied – for the moment. 

Viktor’s light is broken again. He’s staring at me. He’s shedding. Molting? No, that’s chickens. Anyway, life goes on. There are things I HAVE to do. The dog needs to toilet. The fish need to be fed. The cats, all four of them, have to eat. I have to eat.….. and so on…. And so forth. 

I can honestly tell you that for me to make it through the day I take it as it comes. Do what I must. Find something to do that I WANT to do. And goof off. Truly. Goofing off really helps. 

I also have taken my meds. That’s extremely important. TAKE MEDS. A few months ago, my psychiatrist told me to “utilize my chill pill.” I was shocked. The clinic has the policy to try to keep people from becoming addicted to benzos, so we’ve been trying to find ways for me to take fewer each month. Now, during these very additionally stressful times, she wants me to take it. I can take it every day. I do take it every day. Still, I struggle. 

If I can keep my eyes from trying to see what the opposite ear is doing, I’m a happy girl. 

What about you? How have you been doing? Can you identify with anything I’ve shared about my day? If you can, I want you to remember always that you are not alone. Never alone. I, we, others just like you and I, we understand. 

The wrap up:

Managed to shower without getting water everywhere! 

Fed animals and so on. 

Um… what else? (This is where I space out and have to reread everything for the eighty-second time.) Skip it. 

Sometimes it’s best to not worry about stuff and move on. So, I’m moving on and I’m sharing pics of Viktor hungry and Viktor’s dinner as it tried to make a break for it! It didn’t make it. Just sayin’. 

Hold on. Tomorrow will be here soon enough. Dang. I’m rambling. 

“Hey, Maya! Can you make this shorter or something?” (Maya is my awesome friend who thinks I’m funny. I’m not sure if that’s funny looking or funny as in laughing. Oh. I guess I might look funny too. I’ll just leave it as she thinks I’m funny but not funny looking. OMG! Just stop!!!)

{“Robin you have a funny looking brain that makes you HaHa funny, just to be clear. Then again mine is a bit funny looking too. hmmm…”}

I hope you have a safe and day and that I’ll talk with you again soon. Please feel free to leave a comment, go to the contact page and email me or share this post. I would love to hear from you.

Robin