Mental Jello. I think that might be a good way to describe how I am when I’m not well medicated and am generally not doing well. You know how it is, when I’m in hell. my brain jiggles around a lot and never can grab onto anything.

I was reminded today that, as they say, “I am largely responsible for how I feel.” If I were a Normal person I would completely agree, but I’m not a Normal person. I’m a Bipolar person and controlling my feelings and thoughts are the very problem that I deal with on a day to day basis. I would reword that statement something like this, “I would be largely responsible for my thoughts and feelings, but I have a mental illness and that is often not possible.” What do you think?

As I say normally, I’m responsible for how I feel and acknowledge it is “empowering” to know this. However… I must also acknowledge the FACT that when my mental illness overwhelms me, I’m NOT entirely responsible for what I think. And, if what I think determines how I feel I’m Jello.

One of the biggest problems I have to deal with that indicate whether I’m doing well or not is way overspending. I might go into the grocery store and come out with two bags more than the one or two things I went in for and always one of them is a book or magazine. I deal with this by not going into the grocery store. And how do I manage not to grocery shop considering the difficulties presented with this since I’m single? Simple. My kids that still live at home are 17 and 20. I send them in. They only get what’s on the list. Nothing more. (Usually)

I’ve been learning that my “fix” to my overspending problem isn’t really helping me. The anxiety I’m feeling sitting in the parking lot about shopping leads to avoidance, not coping. Avoidance then leads to more anxiety and around we go in a Jello bowl. (Sorry that was really bad.)

According to this book I’m reading (Unless I’m doing very poorly I’m always reading. In fact, not reading is one of the first danger signals my brain throws at me when I’ve crashed.) negative self-talk, what I’m thinking concerning myself, is a series of bad habits. These bad habits are not something I’m born with. I learn them.

This is helpful to know and not so helpful. When I’m doing very badly I rage against this kind of thing. What thing? Being told I’ve learned to think the way I do. The truth for my Bipolar self is that I was born with a mental illness that at it’s core is negative self-talk.

My new plan, while I’m doing well, is to stop sitting in the car telling myself I’ll just blow it again and spend money we need for other things and go in and shop. But first I’m going to work on this negative Jello like self-talk and replace it with positive thoughts. I realize that pulling a spoon out of Jello is usually messy, but I can learn right now to deal with myself better. Dealing with things like grocery shopping now, in a “doing well” period, is very important. It gives me a chance, no matter how small, of not crashing as bad next time.

But hello hell. Soon the kids will both move out and it will just be me and Bailey (my service dog in training) and I’ll have to do it myself. God that just terrifies me. Living alone without my support team… My anxiety Jello is already jiggling.

Be well Friend.

Okay, so I didn’t pee on a fence today… it just bloody well feels like it. These muscle spasms are so crazy intense that it is just like holding on to an electric fence. It hurts. From the end of my little pinky (as apposed to my big pinky) to my head and my toes I look like I’m doing the hot fence dance. Know what I mean?

My son Kyle (he’s actually my only son) who is 20 has remembered how much fun it is to shock his mom by building up a static charge then touching me. Holy heck!

When will this torture end? LOL I’m seriously kidding. Get my drift?

Focusing on one thing has been a problem today. It feels like my day was dumped out of a bucket of paint and onto a huge white canvas. The paint hits the canvas and morphs into splatterings of all colors. There are so many colors that I just cannot seem to be able to get a grip on any of them. It has been helping my anxiety grow, which I appreciate eversomuch.

My daughter (the baby) who is 17 just waited an hour for the bus. She’s freezing and I worry about her standing in the city downtown by herself especially when it is dark.

I’m listening to relaxing music that’s stimulating me in such a way that I want to slap it. So much for that particular meditation music. Ew. Come on YouTube.

I’m so calm I’m an atom bomb.

I pulled a muscle and now I have a horrible pain in my butt.

I should be writing.

Television is the poison for the evening. It seems to be the safest choice.

Oh yeah, I cooked a hot dog in our new used microwave oven. Just 33 seconds. It sounded like screaming children and to my great surprise did not explode on one end. Rather it exploded on both ends and in the middle. A total blow out. Then I tried to squeeze out the mustard from the container and behold I forgot it still had the paper thingie on it. My arthritic hand really appreciated that. Kyle ate my hotdog.

Bipolar. I’m not complaining though it may sound as though I am. Remember

Dragnet the television show? No? well it was a cop show and they always said something like, “just the facts ma’am”. Well it was like that. All this randomness I’ve just coughed up are just the facts ma’am. Just the facts.

And now I’m smiling. Go figure. I feel better now. Do you ever do that too? You just need to dump a little off the top so you stay in the cup? Yup.

Be well and stay away from electric fences my friend.

The idea of living on my own with no one to check my meds over to make sure I’m on track and taking the right dose when it gets changed or starting something new….  terrifies me.

Jessica, my beautiful 22 year-old is living at the AFB in Tamp, FL. She’s about as far away as she can be and still be in the states. Years, for years she kept an eye on me. It was especially so much so when I had my first knee replacement, replaced. I was in far too much pain and the meds weren’t helping. It was so horrible. I don’t know how she managed it all. And she pretty much ran the house (younger brother and sister).

When the kids were a bit younger we made a very unusual pact. The pact was about my not reliably taking my meds and knowing how I’m doing and such. My moral compasses, that’s what they have been. My psych ones too – especially so.

This was the pact: I would live with one of them (or very near) so they can keep me safe. Let’s face it. Over the years I’ve come to admit that I could hurt myself if I let myself go. I wouldn’t. I’d been relying upon that and that makes me feel safe. And that’s super important.

Problem: Jess is in the AF, Kyle is a full-time student at UWT in downtown Tacoma and Sydney likewise is a full-time student, and has a part-time job. Sydney plans to move out and onto a campus as soon as she graduates and gets accepted at one of her chosen colleges. Kyle is a Tacoma boy and loves it here. He’ll probably do all of his Bachelor’s degree at UWT.

Jess gone and living on MacDill AFB. Syd will be gone. It will be myself and Kyle. I don’t mind living with my handsome boy (Sydney would the other two a run for their money in the looks dept I say with motherly intent), but, I don’t want him to be the college kid who lives with mommy. Know what I mean?

Kyle’s friends and I get on well generally. I don’t want to be a burden.

Then there is the pack. One of them will always “take care” of me. I don’t trust myself alone. That’s just the truth. Neither do they.

I don’t think we considered the time between high school and real jobs.

And my dad is dying. I’m getting new teeth being made at UW School of something something.

And I’m a bit terrified.

My tick reached epic proportions when last afternoon I couldn’t speak at all. If my extra dose of Diazepam had not worked we were heading to the ER. It was time to get it under control. After the long wait for these beautiful teeth… I’m going to potential be biting myself everytime I open my mouth.

Damn the stars.

These ticks really are devastating. I always hand the phone to a kid or don’t answer. Talking with my mom about other non-essential issues set me over the top yesterday. I lost my cookies and completely melted down  as evidenced by this violent inability to talk.

I’m thrilled for my kids and to get new teeth. And I’m also terrified.

Can you relate?

Your friend,

Robin