Tag Archives: Bipolar

A Confession & Positive Med Visit


CONFESSION – Impact of Bipolar Mania – 
In the last few years, I’ve accumulated 15 websites, blogs and email accounts.

Yesterday I visited with my Med Provider Jamie. She finally heard me. She decided that my mood stabilizer wasn’t working, so she’s increased it and has me taking it twice a day instead of just once.

When I first got there, she started by saying that my counselor Arthur had told her that I really felt that she was doing me more harm than good in her treatment of me. I said yes, I felt that way. Then I explained why. I have been feeling at least as bad as I did when I wasn’t being treated at all with meds for my illnesses.

She also agreed to talk to my Chronic Pain Management guy about taking medications that it is strongly suggested that they not be taken at the same time. He didn’t agree with her stance on the subject. I want to mention that I’m almost completely off my pain meds now. (Boy am I feeling it.) I’ve done this so she’ll stop complaining that I can’t mix my meds (a Benzo and Oxycodone). The problem is, and I should have realized this before I lowered my pain meds, that at the clinic I go to they don’t want me taking the Benzo at all. I felt threatened when she informed me that some of the providers there would just cut me off right now. I responded by pointing out that she wasn’t doing anything about my super massive anxiety.

This last quarter I started having outbursts in one of my classes (4 times in one class the professor had to come and get the guy I was arguing with and myself to be quieter). It was humiliating.

I’ve also been experiencing rage. It’s been a really long time since I’ve felt this bad. I admit… I’ve been really scared that a meltdown is coming. Now that she’s adjusted my meds, I feel like things might get better.

I’m Bipolar 1-How Much Further Must I Go?


I’m dang angry. I’ve worked my agitated ass off for three years, stumbling under the nightmares of depression and raging as anxiety unleashed tries to undo all that I’ve endured. So close. One more quarter and I’ll graduate from UWT. One more quarter and I’ll have to get a job and support myself.

Listen to me dear Reader, if you have a medical professional who won’t listen to you or thinks your complaint is in your head (duh) or is in some way not treating you with the dignity and respect that your insurance dollars demand of them… stand up and say something! You do not always need to be nice. Trust me on this one.

I learned long ago to hide much of my mental crappiness that was going on in my skull. I was super high functioning. I had kids to raise. I can play the “I’m fine, I’m a great” parent game.

But you know what? Turns out that didn’t help the “me” of today. The “me” of today STILL needs something for anxiety. Go ahead moron. Yes, you Jamie, you have ignored my pleas for something to do for me what all the hundreds of hours of counseling have been unable to do… relieve my over the top anxiety.

I’ve asked this woman for something for anxiety since the first time I saw her. You know what she did? She started lowering my Clonazapam (spelling). Every time I’ve seen her, she reduces it. “It is just one less pill. You’ll be okay.” [bitch]

I went home with 10 pills for 30 days.

She increased my Ritalin dosage and made it extended length. I didn’t ask for that. What? You want me to calm down so we can finish our 20 minutes on time? Have you dosed me so that I’ll be a good woman and let you get done with me?

Well guess what? The shits hitting this fan.

Can any of you relate? Have you felt unheard and improperly treated? Guess what? You are NOT ALONE. Not by a screaming momma long shot.

I have IBSd. I had to talk to my counselor from home. Since I was in my own I felt FREE to explain again about my anxiety and graduation and jobs and money and acting out in class because I simply cannot contain the mountain of anxiety spilling … over into my phone call.

For an hour I yelled about Jamie to my poor counselor. I accused her of having her own agenda and it didn’t include my mental health. I’m done. She either treats my anxiety when I see her next week or –

Or I will hand deliver a letter I’ve been writing about our times together to the facility director. I’m done.

I’ve worked my hardest, trying to keep hold of myself while my wild mood swings tried to prevent me from my goal – getting a college degree at 55.

This, this Jamie, she can’t seem to hear, see, understand, empathize or give a rats ass whether I self-destruct because my anxiety has paralyzed me again. I sit on the sofa and I cry because I’m terrified I’ll fail. So I don’t start. Then the panick sets in as I realize I can’t write the paper.

In the name of the oath that we have been lead to believe that those in the medical profession must swear to, treat me for my illness.

I cannot imagine going through the graduation ceremony in the Tacoma Dome with my freaking anxiety not treated.

I cannot imagine the day after graduation when I need to be looking for a job, but because Jamie didn’t treat my well documented illness I am instead sitting in the back yard vegetable garden pretending to being weeding. The problem with this scenario is that I have arthritis, and if I have sat in the garden without anyone home to help me up… I’m not going to getup. It would mean that I’d given up. It would mean that I’d be punishing myself for continuing to be the Bipolar failure that I’ve always been. (How I feel.)

And Jamie? Still with me? You could have prevented me from losing all the ground I’d worked so damn hard all these years to reach. And why? For what? From here it just seems you’re stupid. Some medical “professionals” are stupid you know. I’ve even taken my counselor with me on two occasions to verify what I tell her.

I’m done.

I’m saying Hell No! That’s enough of this irresponsible crap. You expect those of us with mental health issues to behave? Then treat us right. Hear us when we call for help. If we bring backup pay special attention. I’m trying to get my son to go with me. He’s a psychology major.

To all of you struggling to work with your own Jamie’s, you stand fast. Do not let them push you around. They’re there to serve your medical needs. Document what you talk about and when. Keep a clear record so if you need a new med provider you can state your case and prove that they aren’t listening.

One reminder though. If you’re really messed up you may not be thinking straight. No worries. You just take a family member or someone who you can trust with you.

You’re not alone.

Oh, and if you happen to be a Jamie, what’s your damn excuse?

Boob… oops, Bob!


This is my buddy, Bailey. She has figured out how to get the rest of the treat out of the Kong toy.

I started a post a few days ago. Then I left it, thinking the draft would autosave. Turns out it didn’t. Also turns out, it’s telling me now that it isn’t saving my draft. Maybe I should write this in Word… Good idea.

I’ve been busy. Too busy I think. My anxiety is still dancing with rage, but I’ve been able to let some of the excessive pressure off by telling every medical person I saw this week (four different people) about the trouble I’m having with my med provider and her unwillingness to treat my anxiety. Apparently, I’m hiding it really well. You know, not having the right mix of meds for my Bipolar sucks. Sometimes it feels like the woman isn’t trying to get it right. So frustrating!

Maybe I should start shouting at her. Is that anxiety? Or I could put a paper bag over my head. Is that anxiety? Hiding from the world? Actually, I’d have to purchase a paper bag from the grocery store because in my city they’ve  banned plastic bags. They make you bring your own bags or buy theirs. The paper ones are the cheapest. I’m always forgetting my bags so I just toss everything back into the basket then load it all into my bags when I get to the car. Nuts, right? I see lots of other people doing it too. So silly.)

I’m writing a literary analysis paper on a book about an Artificial Intelligent spaceship named Bob. Bob. That’s such a great name and so fun to say. Try it… “Bob, Bob, Booob.” Not “Boob,” “Bob!”

Have a good day everyone.


Angry, Raging, Bipolar



I scared the ever living poo out of my fancy beta fish a minute ago. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Victor move so fast! He hid on the bottom and refused to take his dinner from me. All I did was walk up to his tank when he didn’t see me coming.

Fish. I feel rather like a fish.

You’d think we’re fish as much as we’re listened to when time after time we beg for different medication. Something has been going on with me mentally for around 3 or 4 months. I just thought it was growing anxiety because I have one more quarter to go and then I’m finished with school. I’ll need a job. I’ve never been able to hold a job for over a year. Even my own brother had to fire me because of my behavior, and my anger.

I take that back, I have worked for longer. When I worked for myself, I was able to manage to work with the management.

This feeling that’s been growing… I told my family in December that I’d had thoughts of hurting myself, and I honestly was. I’d had those feelings on and off for most of my life. Telling them seemed to help. Maybe it did. I felt that way tonight for about 10 minutes.

Then despair, anxiety, rage. Do these feelings take your face and squeeze it till it aches with the pressure?

Anxiety. It has been growing in my mind like a pustule about to burst black tar all over my mind.

I came to understand yesterday, through thinking over the end of the quarter problems and verbally fighting very loudly with another student – repeatedly, a colonoscopy I had to have two days in a row, a painfully torn fascia in my driving foot in December that is still painful (I’m so sick of this boot thing. It causes a painful lump on my shin bone.), intestinal troubles since Christmas, and runaway away anxiety I continuously tell my med provider about (I even take my counselor with me to make sure she’s listening. Oh yeah, that’s working great.)… I get it. I’m in a rage.

I used to live every day, every moment consumed with rage. I wasn’t a good kid. I wasn’t fun for my family to be around. My mother has finally agreed with me that I was, a terrible child. I was full of hateful and blinding – rage.

I have those feelings again. The ones I fought so ineffectively to be rid of. That consuming anger. I feel like I’m about to blow up on someone who probably did nothing to me. It’s just this thing my brain does sometimes day after day, month after month til years are wasted in fury and hate or like now when I’ve been crying out in fear and pain only to be ignored by those I dutifully trust my life to.

I’m so angry. My mind burns and I want to break things and hit stupid people. But I don’t.

I am often moments from saying things that could get me kicked out of school or arrested. But I don’t.

I’m so tired of fighting all the time. I just want to have a life free of pain. No more arthritis or Fibromyalgia. No more being too big to be healthy. No more chronic back pain. This is no life for me. This isn’t what I signed up for. I’m SO ANGRY! It’s like emotional cancer that manifests in feelings that most people can say they understand, but they don’t. Not really. If you have Bipolar Disorder Type 1 and you have had violent, angry, manic episodes you probably understand.  If not, please don’t give up on me.

Question is: what’s gonna give?

Addendum: Read on, please. This changed everything.

This morning I was listening to a TED Talk called, “the role of human emotions in science and research. Great title, right? Sounds like just what I need. At the end of her story, Ilona Stengel said this: I do not suggest that we should use feelings instead of facts. But I say we should not be afraid of using our feelings to implement and catalyze fact-based science and innovation. Emotions and logic do not oppose each other. They compliment each other. And they reinforce each other. The feeling of being dedicated to something meaningful, of belonging to something bigger, and of being empowered is crucial for creativity and innovation. Whatever you’re working on, make sure that it matters, and take it to your heart as much as you like.” [I’m pretty sure this isn’t a word for exact word match.]

Suddenly I understood. All my life I’ve believed I’ve had a purpose. I thought it was within the church, but I was always told, “No, it’s not time now Robin.” And my heart would be broken and my life stripped of meaning.

I believe without meaning, we relinquish our lives to the feelings I have been feeling. For this moment, I remember the meaning of my life. It will not be easy to follow. It incurs great emotional risk (something people with Bipolar Disorder should try to avoid). But if I can remember it. If I can remember it every moment of every day, I won’t have to rely as much upon others for the stability of my mind. My mind will be fighting my emotions with logic. I’ve done it before and I’ve succeeded. I must try again. My children have left my home. They’re all grown up. That role of the parent is gone. I feel like I have no purpose.

But I do. I do. I’d just been swallowed alive by the vomit of extreme emotions that allowed rage to consume me. For this moment. For this morning. I say no.

She said: “Whatever you’re working on, make sure that it matters, and take it to your heart as much as you like.” I am taking up my mission again. I must. If I don’t, then what’s the point? 

Do you understand?

What’s your mission? Tell me.





When Sickness Meets Bipolar


Well, Barf Me Down!! Ho, Ho, Ho… omg…

barfingemojiI have embraced the not making any goals policy so far this year. However, I’m seriously considering thinking about thinking about it. Should I. Or shouldn’t I?

Right now, I’m focusing on the moment. I’ve been very, very sick since Christmas Day. I mean like they wanted me to go the ER if I didn’t pee within 2-3 hours of speaking with the nurse-on-call. Fortunately, I did and I’m SO GLAD that I did.

I then puked all the Gatorade (64 oz. over 8 hours) and a few Graham Crackers I’d had. Let me tell you, do not, do not! Puke Graham Crackers. It is very nasty.

I’ve had a few hours in a few days that I’ve felt well enough to get out and do stuff like go to the Pediatrist, classes and a movie or two. Other than that I’ve been completely housebound.

As I said, I did get out to see the Pediatrist. I have officially torn my fascia on my right foot. I use that foot to drive. So, I drive to class in my slipper, then put on my boot, then bobble across campus to my first class. Then I hobble back up campus to hang out during my lunch. Then I hobble up to the top of campus to my last class. Friday, it was a nightmare. I couldn’t in any way go to class. Nope. My body wasn’t having any of it.

I was beyond feeling desperate and it just kept going on and on.

For a few days… I was so frustrated and tired and sore that I forgot that I had this thing that mickey’s with my brain. You know what I mean. I have Bipolar Disorder of the highest order. Oh… I might sing- nope. It has passed.

I’m struggling to find something good that came of having been (still am) sick for so long and not doing any of the things I wanted to do over Winter Break. I didn’t want much. I just wanted to do some writing and get ahead on some assignments for school mostly. I don’t usually handle the stress well. Okay honestly, I never handle stress well. Anxiety spoons my  Bipolar. Makes me sick.

Anyway. I was thinking about when I had my first baby, back in 1992. She’s beautiful, and she’s alive, and she’s my best buddy, and she lives really close. Yes, there is a “butt” coming. When she was born she tore me from stem to stern. My friends wouldn’t let me tell other women about Jessica’s birth. It has traumatized every woman I have ever told the tale to. Why mention that now? Well, although the pain hasn’t been as bad, it has been sick along those lines. It has been horrible. It has been embarrassing. But, it’s a part of life. We all bear our personal burdens, you know what I mean? Sometimes they feel unrighteous or ill-mannered. Sometimes they feel like the world has a personal vendetta against me. Sometimes I just feel the need to scream and cry and do the stereotypical shaking-of-the-fist-at-the-air and shouting, “It isn’t fair, damn you!”

And then I snap back to reality, having just puked into the Kool-Aid container. Again. Shit. Again.

So here’s the thing. I’ve finally settled on a company name to cluster all my endeavors under in one happy little shinning thingie. I’m planning (Sounds like I’ve set a goal. Don’t get your hopes up just yet.) on building my projects around it, under it, over it, and so on.

Right now, I’m taking the Bailey out to do her bedtime stuff outside. A doggie has to do what a doggie has to do. She’s been so loyal and loving (but not too loving) and staying with me even when I holler. I’ve had to apologize over the last weeks though. She’s not partial to the raising of voices.

I’ve noticed I don’t have my email address anyplace on the blog. I want to invite you to leave comments in the “Comments” spot. Or, if you’d rather, you can email me directly. Send me a note at theBoss.bpdcomm@gmail.com. Like that name? “theBoss.” I’ve got to get some ego boosting someplace when I’m locked inside. I might as well manufacture my own. Gives me a giggle. ;0)

Be well my friends,


New Year’s Eve, Goals?


Part 2 – Deep into the night

Reset, No, not yet….

It isn’t quite midnight here, not just yet. Almost.

That’s what this last year, 2017 has been a lot of for me, a lot of almost… but not yet. I say this will all honesty and not even a little bit of melodrama – I’ve done a ton of doing “almost” all year long and tonight is more of the same. I’m so consistent.

I’m not posting what I intended on posting tonight but I still have something to say, I always have something to say. But is it worth reading? For much of 2017 I have worked so hard to get ready for life after graduation in June. I have all kinds of anxiety, information, plans, excuses, blah, blah, blah, ad nauseam… ad infinitum*.

I’ve been super sick today. I’ve been sick since Christmas day, but today has turned into one of the worst days. I even called the after-hours clinic. No help there. I’ve found that being sick for almost all of my Christmas break is giving me the opportunity to be grouchy. Like the Cookie Monster, only more so. Way more so. I had plans. I had a goal of what I wanted to write in this post. Goals. Yes, the New Year and setting goals! Yes!

No. Reset. Some days I have to accept and then adjust to the fact that things happen the way they happen.

My body pretty drastically made sure that I wouldn’t have the time or energy to write about what I really wanted to write about. Or did I? Think Robin, think.

It is almost midnight here at my home, December 31, 2017, what do I wish to say to you, now that I have no time left this year to say it?

2017 was better than I am remembering it right now, at this point in the day my judgment is exhausted. I can remember years where I was so sick I that took almost no part in the lives of my kids. I remember points in many years where all is horrible. They say I should focus on the positive things. I have usually said that this is something that is harder to do than most people would imagine.

Look, my cousin and his family were in a horrific car accident this morning. They were all injured badly. The five of them were spread to two hospitals. Pam’s condition is grave (my cousin’s wife). If you combine that with how sick I am you’d think I’d be all ready to pontificate forever on setting goals that are positive and motivated and … and… No.

All I want to tell you is that I’m not going to throw down any goals or resolutions that are emotionally charged and not based upon how well I know myself and what I want my future to look like. I’m out of time for that. Also, it has never worked for me. No.

Instead, tonight I am resolved (and resigned) to wave goodbye at 2017, then turn around and wave hello to 2018. That’s it.

No resolutions. No goals.

Tonight I am willing to acknowledge that there are things that I have learned from my past, and there are things that I would like to do/be/learn in the future. I’m going to commit, yes commit, to thinking about them both and do it with an open mind. And then, I will think of what to do next. I’ve always meant to think before I act. This seems like as a good time to start as any.

What do you think? Sound like a plan you could get behind?

I hope you’ll come back again soon. I’m interested in finding out where this goes next. I have an inkling of a plan. But then, yes, I had a plan for today and that didn’t work out so well. Tomorrow? I’m “planning” on thinking about what I should do before I start setting goals or making resolutions. Let’s just leave it at that and see which way the wind blows. Bonus: the longer I think about it, the better it should come out, right? ;0)

Be safe everyone.

(*Ad nauseam is a Latin term for argument or other discussion that has continued – to the point of nausea…. ad infinitum – to infinity.)

Winding Things Up


How to set and actually reach
your goals… for once.

Part 1

sunrise 463785425“Strength and growth come only through
continuous effort and struggle.”

Napoleon Hill

Congratulations, You’re sitting here right now and maybe you’re considering the new year and are thinking of setting some goals… maybe. Or, maybe you’ve got some stuff you’d like to accomplish and think if you would just set some goals to achieve that somehow the magic New Year fairies would make them happen. Maybe.

Or, maybe you wish achieving your goals was as simple as setting them, so, every year you set them, hope they’ll magically come true, then promptly forget about them. Well, accept for all those times that you remember them and then remember how far you are from achieving them. You’ve been thinking about one or two things you’d like to accomplish this new year and you’d really like it if they came true for once. Now what? Failure? Again?


Part 2 will be here shortly. Please come back and learn about setting goals and seeing them come true as an honest to goodness bipolar person… Or for any person with a mental struggle (ah, mental illness) actually… Or for any person at all interested in reaching goals.

SILENCE vs Mental Illness


Can Silence Improve Mental Health?

broken consol tv

I have been terrified that if I have a moment when my brain is not distracted, I will become consumed by all that is wrong with me. To that end, I have religiously employed as many ways to stay distracted as I possibly can.

I have my television on all the time. Even when I am engaged in complicated readings for my college classes, I’m able to look up and connect to my TV. I’ve made it easier to do this by doing my school work on two TV-trays that I have my laptop and notebooks on in front of my sofa and my TV. I eat my meals there too.

When I walk my dog, I run my workout app on my phone and listen to podcasts or audiobooks via earphone.

Driving in my car, I do the same things as I do when I’m walking, minus the earphones.

When I’m doing housework, I ask Alexa to play classical or country music or songs from artists like Pink, Katy Perry, Lindsey Stirling, Bond, and others.

When I’m doing my “best” to write the all-important papers, short stories, and essays for school, I have the TV on, and I’m parked in front of it… on my semi-comfortable sofa, using my TV trays… I’m keeping my mind full of junk and nonsense.

I’m Never Really Alone

My complete immersion into the labyrinth of digital media plays with far too many triggers that activate my mental illnesses. Bipolar (type 1) fires up igniting anxiety, depression, and mania. As deadlines loom closer and closer anxiety paralyzes my higher brain functions, and I watch TV, unable to focus. The Ritalin I take for ADHD seems ineffectual, even impotent. I don’t know why I still take it… for hope, I suppose.

Today I thought positive, even inspiring thoughts about myself and my future, for a few minutes. I smiled, and my anxiety began to be replaced by hope.

I turned off my TV. I sat in silence. My mind embraced the stimulation that the quite brought. I began to think.

I was thinking, in silence, and I loved it!

I recalled my productive manic times, and I realized I was being touched by the power those times brought.

I Can Think In Silence

I was thinking for myself – and the terrifying anxiety that had been stabbing me for days, as I struggled to find classes to take at the last minute subsided. I had been ready to give back my financial aid and get a job making minimum wage while waiting for my mind to explode.

But then, I came upon the silence, and it was beautiful, and I felt free. I felt astonishingly free.

I will nurture the silence and learn to be its companion. It will take time. I know this. Silence has broken through my anxiety when pills and talking could not.

I know I am not healed and that I will still suffer from all the horrors that my mental illnesses bring, but I have hope. I have learned that sometimes I can be surprised by the excitement and the inspiration that something small and unexpected can bring.

I have learned something new, and I am grateful for it.

Silence – my new obsession… except when I forget about it.

I’d like to invite you to comment on my ideas in this post in the comments section or email me directly. I’ve enjoyed hearing from some of you. Thank you for visiting my blog. I’m glad you dropped by.


Brain Scan


brain This morning I’m going to the hospital for a brain scan. It’s for the facial tic I’ve been having forever and because I’ve been falling asleep suddenly and for no apparent reason. I did a sleep study last year and it came out normal so it isn’t sleep apnea. Between this stuff and my Bipolar, ADHD, PTSD, FM, anxiety, RA, OA, chronic pain and all that malarkey I can tell you with all honesty… I’m a bit MORE anxious than normal. I’ve been trying to get all the mental stuff undercontrol by staying on my meds, going to counseling, learning mindfullness and trying to learn to meditate, but it’s been slow going. Oh, and I’m too heavy for my knees. One has been replaced twice and the other one collapses without warning. I’m pretty sure that’s because of the weight and lack of muscle. I’ve been walking my dog Bailey all summer for 1-2 miles all summer 3-4 times a week and I’ve gained weight. Maybe it’s muscle, maybe not, but it’s more weight.

So I’m having my brain scanned. They have me coming in sleep deprived. That’s fun.

Well, I guess I should get ready to go. Wish me luck. May the force be with us all. ;0)

Bipolar – Secrets


secretsIf I were to describe depression using a color, I would say it is black. Red would fit nicely with the mania and perhaps green or yellow might be anxiety. It would be nice if things were distinct like that so that I could easily identify how I’m doing. It might even be nice for those who are part of my support system to see those colors so they can know how I’m doing. It would be easier than trying to explain how I am when I can barely breathe.

Speaking of people in my support system, sometimes there are thoughts or moods or things I’ve done or thought about doing that I am afraid to speak of, things I think are better left never spoken of.

I try not to think about those things or those thoughts. They bring with them pain and even humiliation.

I would not want my family to know parts of the person I was during some of my manic times. They are not aware of some of the more horrific behaviors that I experienced.

As much as I don’t want to revisit these horrible moments in my past I can’t help but wonder if they now contribute to the over state of anxiety that lives with me each moment of my day.

The tick I developed as a result of medication(s) I was taking seems nearly gone with one major exception: whenever I am in anyway anxious it comes back and I can hardly talk. It seems to those I’m talking to to be a violent case of stuttering, only I know it isn’t. I feel embarrassed when it overwhelms me. No matter how much I try to relax when it starts, the only way I can stop it is to remove myself from the situation or to stop talking. Imagine yourself working with your physical therapist and trying to explain how your therapy at home has been going and suddenly not being able to talk.

Is it possible that dealing with some of the long-buried moments of horror might enable me to experience less overall anxiety? In my current state, I must say “no” because to deal with those secret things terrifies me far too much. I hope that I can use the tools I’m learning to deal with these hidden anxieties. I hope I can use them by myself to find healing from my past. If I can’t do it myself, I hope one day to be able to deal with them working with someone who can help me walk through them.

Today, that’s what I’m choosing to believe: I can deal with them myself. Just because I’ve got a mental illness or three doesn’t mean I must air all my dirty laundry. Some of it I must learn to deal with on my own.

Some secrets… I choose to remain as secrets.