sketches of a bipolar girl: Blue Collar Man

If I concentrate hard enough, I can still smell my poppop. It was a mixture of baby powder, motor oil and soap. Occasionally, he smelled like pipe tobacco. I remember how strong his hands were. They were always stained with motor oil. My dad's hands were the same way. No matter how much they scrubbed with the professional hand cleaner, they couldn't scrub off all the years of working on engines. I used to go with my dad to my nana and poppop's house whenever I could. I would dance around the garage and ask my dad what different parts and tools were. I asked about timing belts, transmissions, brake shoes etc. My nana didn't want me in the garage. She didn't want me to get dirty. But, my poppop told her to leave me alone. I wasn't getting in the way, and I loved to be around my daddy. When it was time for lunch, my poppop, dad and I trooped into the back porch and washed our hands. It was this tan powder that formed a thick paste when it got wet. I thought it was fabulous stuff and scrubbed up to the elbows. Their hands were rough too, calloused from always working on engines. I was eager to soak it all in and observe the little nuances that made men. On the days when they were doing something a little more dangerous, I stayed in the house. I helped nana with her chores and we talked about family. When we were done, she would make some tea and put some Carnation sweetened condensed milk in it. Sometimes, we had pound cake too. My nana was from Georgia and my poppop was from Virginia. The food was definitely southern. My poppop used to call me "Baby girl" I miss them both. I would love to have some of nana's lemonade, and play with the train set with my poppop had. It's because of those men, my father, my poppop and my grandpop, that I am attracted to men with rough hands wearing work clothes. They are men who work hard and are not afraid to get their hands dirty. You can keep your white color jobs. Give me a blue collar with coveralls who can fix my car!!

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sketches of a bipolar girl: Nana

I want my nana. I need a little solace. She was always there for me. Nana and Poppop lived in a section of Philadelphia called Germantown. They had a nice big house, but no yard. The side and back of the house were all blacktop so that you could park the car off the street. Off the street parking is a very big deal. They had a 3 car garage. They had a closed in front porch, and had rocking chairs. We would sit on the porch talking to the people that went by on the way home. There was a butcher shop 2 blocks over. Nana would always take me with her when she went there. Once, I went there by myself to get some bacon. I remember the smells of the shop, especially when they were making the sausage. The air was heavy with spices. I remember walking up to the counter and got a ticket. I saw a tongue in the case one time. Poppop told me that people ate it. I didn't believe it at first, but Nana confirmed the story. They never lied to me, so if they said something was so, then it was so. When it was time to shop for school, Christmas and Easter, Nana took us downtown to JC Penney, John Wanamaker's and Strawbridge and Clothiers. Nana had charge accounts there. The was before women could have credit cards issued in their own names. We would have lunch at the Woolworth cafeteria. I always got grilled cheese and a Pepsi. No Coke in the Briggs house. To this day, my dad still drinks only Pepsi. When summer came, we would sit on the porch and wait for the Mr.Softee man. I always got chocolate with rainbow jimmies. Upon the sugar crash, I fell asleep. Even as an adult, I took naps at Nana' s house. We would talk about everything. Sometimes, I cried and she would hold me. She smelled like roses and body powder. She was my southern Nana and I also had a northern Grandmom. Both of them represent different aspects of home. I really wish they were still physically here so I can get some hugs and sound advice. I just wish I could talk to them, just for a minute.

sketches of a bipolar girl: Divorced Children

These two dazzling people are my parents, Evelyn and Arlington Briggs. They have been divorced since I was 22 ( to the best of my recollection). A lot of my 20's have been lost to side effects of ECT (shock treatments). ECT is not that bad, it's not like they show on TV and movies. They knock you out for it. Most common side effect is a throbbing headache. It got rid of the killers and the shadow people for a while. I may need to get a reboot since I am hearing sports radio announcers again, and see bugs everywhere again. The shadow people popped in to say howdy the other night. Who are the shadow people? The best description I can come up with is the dementors from Harry Potter, except you can hear them whispering, and they smell like death. But, I digress. I wanted to talk about my parents. I am 51 years old now, but the child in me blames myself for the dissolution of their marriage. I keep thinking, if I had been prettier or smarter, they would have stayed together. I have no idea why they parted. No one talked about problems then, I guess they thought they were protecting us. It doesn't matter much anyway, they are happy with their lives. But for a child, it brings up a lot of anxiety. Who do I see over the holidays? What if something happens to me? Will they both come to the hospital? Part of me is still seething when I think about it. I want to see my mom AND my dad you know, in the same room. They get along pretty well and they love us. So I guess that will have to enough. Sometimes, when my mom is cooking, I pretend my dad is in some hideous lounge chair watching the news, my sister April Briggs Cirwithen and my brother Jerald Briggs are in their bedrooms listening to Commodores and Pink Floyd respectively. I was lost in a book somewhere taking another trip to Narnia. Why do things have to get so complicated? Right now, I am streaming #GameofThrones on Amazon. On that note I will say good night. May God bless us all with very good things.

sketches of a bipolar girl: The Woman in the Mirror

I don't like mirrors. I never did. I am always awestruck by the reflection. Who is that? Why is she wearing that outfit? I think a lot of my difficulties come because my sense of self is bitterly divorced from the reality of who I actually am. I don't feel my age, but yet I see gray hairs on my head. My body betrayed me years ago. I am walking around with my head in a cloud thinking I still have time to correct the serious mistake that were made when I was created. I am at a loss of what to do next because I wasn't supposed to live this long. Every once in a while, I catch that woman in the mirror staring at me. The first thing I notice is how tired she looks. I also see all the freckles on her face. The eyebrows are out of control and she cut all my hair off. Where is the pretty, perky, clear-skinned woman that I know myself to be? I have come to the conclusion that my body has been snatched. Someone or something has stolen the petite, funny, shapely person that I am and replaced me with a short, pudgy, sad, unlovable blob. I know that I am responsible for this attack on my person. I lost myself several times along the road of my life. Well, I really can't say lost. I know where I was. It was in one of the nation's finest mental wards. While my stays were needed, they also stole time. For example, I have to look at my phone or laptop to check what the date is. I spent all this weekend thinking it was Sunday. Imagine my shock at finding out that June is almost over. I decided earlier today that I was taking the whole thing too seriously. So, I did the only thing that made sense. I got a chocolate ice cream cone. I see both my therapist and doctor tomorrow. I have a lot to say. I just have to remember to talk. That's another issue with me. I don't like talking about myself out loud. I don't want to bother anyone. You all have so many other important things to do. Hope you all had a good day! Peace, Joy Love - B

sketches of a bipolar girl: The Ladder

 went to see my psychiatrist and my therapist today. We are all in agreement that I have wandered off path again, and find myself in one of the black, twisted corridors of my brain. The doctor increased one of my medications and placed me back into the acute care schedule. So, I will be seeing him every 2 weeks instead of 4 and more. My therapist wants to see me once a week, but I can't afford that. I will be seeing her every 2 weeks as well. Mary asked me why I wasn't looking at her when I talked. I told her what my depressed self thinks is the gospel truth. I don't look at people when/if I talk because I don't want people to see me. On this particular day, my disease has me convinced that I am one of the ugliest creatures that has ever been. My rational self knows this is not true, but bipolar is not rational. Right this second, I have a serious headache from trying to put my thoughts in order. I had to let go of one of the rungs on the ladder of my life so I could get a better grip. When I did that, I slipped farther down than first anticipated. I am still on the ladder, to let go completely would involve a complete psychotic break. Let me tell you, I have been tempted to let go. But, I promised my mom that I will hold on as long as I have breath in my body. I need to take a shower. I need to wash off this sticky feeling of crazy that has enveloped me. I'm thinking it may be another chocolate ice cream day, something to help my serotonin levels. Take care of yourselves, and have a great afternoon. Peace, Joy, Love - B

sketches of a bipolar girl: Tiny Victories

Well, I managed to do some adulting today. I didn't do such a good job at first. I'm wearing the same clothes I wore yesterday. I did make my bed and have a good breakfast (Belgian waffle). I didn't take my meds on schedule, but I got them on board. I made phone calls to both my doctor's office and the insurance company for a fun game "I'm Sorry But We Don't Cover That Drug!" I did not freak out when they put me on hold and my pharmacist gave me an emergency refill to hold me over until everything works out. Since I'm there all the time, my pharmacist at Walmart treats me well. I did a little grocery shopping, and managed my anxiety. I had lunch, called the office to have the hot water heater checked, and am now getting ready to take a cat nap. I hope you all are having a successful Hump Day. Peace, Joy, Love - B

sketches of a bipolar girl: Morning Light

Mornings aren't pleasant for me. Each day I wake up and have to decide if life is worth living. I'd rather not think about it today, thank you very much. My head hurts, my heart broken, my future looks bleak. I think that I will disappear into the world of Westeros. #GameofThrones on Amazon. Perhaps I'll rejoin reality tomorrow, although I don't see any reason to rush back. Lord HELP me, I am so tired. I can't see the light right now. So many tears in my eyes. I can't just feel my way out, there are monsters out here. Please take my hand or call out my name. In case you don't remember, my name is Beverly . I live in Greenville, SC. Please come get me, I am hanging by a very fine thread. I am scared and alone. Please

sketches of a bipolar girl: Flowers

I had a flashback triggered by a smell. I was walking past the bushes in front of our apartment and I caught the scent of flowers. It was really sweet. I was instantly transported back to my grandmom's garden. She had all kinds of flowers around the house. She planted some of them under the windows, so when you opened the windows in the spring or summer, a fragrance floated in the air when the wind would blow. I thought about the summers in that house, and how we went without central air. After a nice bath, my mom would pat me down with baby powder and we went to bed in just our undies. We would fall asleep to the sound of the window fan and the smell of freshly washed bed sheets. You can get the smell in a candle or air freshener now-a-days. Nobody irons sheets any more. Nobody hangs clothes on the line anymore either. Those are the best smells. I love the smell of freshly brewed coffee, bacon and eggs with buttered toast. I can remember Sunday morning with Mary Mason playing on WHAT. I remember the whistle of the tea kettle and the taste of the shortbread cookies or cinnamon toast. These are the things I want to remember. Summertime at 331 Woodland Ave was simple but oh so special. I hope you all have a wonderful day. Peace, Joy, Love - B

sketches of a bipolar girl: Mental Health Day

I am taking the day off from adulting today. Call it a mental health day. I got up, threw some clothes on and walked the dog. I had a light breakfast and have spent most of the morning in the bathroom. My new medication can cause diarrhea. Oh joy and rapture. If it's not one thing it's another. While I was outside, I decided it was entirely too hot and noisy. Apparently, so did Toby. He is currently curled up in his bed in my room. We are boycotting today because we can. I have to adult tomorrow. I have a meeting at Vocational Rehabilitation, bills to pay etc. I hear The View in the living room. I can't take those women today. I hope everyone is having a good Hump Day. I'm going to take a nap.

skeches of a bipolar girl: Noninvasive TV

I am doing the very best I can. Most of the time things don't work out, but at least I am not giving up. I treated myself to a long overdue hair cut and eyebrow wax. I did win $20 on my Powerball ticket, but I need it for gas. Right at this moment, I am drowning is shame, guilt, and anxiety. I can only hope that help is just around the corner. I'm tired of treading water. I guess I will float for a while. Tonight's viewing is "Father Brown" on Netflix. It's about a crime solving priest set in 1950's England. It reminds me of "Murder, She Wrote". All this crime and murder takes place in this tiny town, and Father Brown is never far from all the hubbub. It's entertaining, and doesn't give me nightmares. Hopefully, I will feel better in the morning.

sketches of a bipolar girl: Don't Go Breaking My Heart (again)

I was walking down a pretty country road and stepped on a land mine. It was hidden under a rosebush. It had the most beautiful fragrant flowers. I reached out to touch it and that was it. My feelings of self-worth and stability were once again blown apart. My ladder of life was not made of steel like I thought. It was made of sugar and melted in the rain. I ask that you pray for me. I need the intercession of St. Bernadette, St. Dymphna, and the Blessed Virgin. I cannot make it on my own. My heart is once again torn to pieces. Quite frankly, I am tired of putting it back together. I will not offer it again. I'm done

A New Day Begins

Someone turned on the lights. I hear a voice calling my name.  Sleepily, I turned over and squinted into the light.  I couldn't see the face, but I heard the voice.  It was man.  "I need to test your glucose level, dear," he said.

"What time is it?", I muttered.

"It's 5:45 in the morning." was the reply.  I was a little perturbed at being awakened so early, but I stuck my hand out from under the blanket.  The was a small painful prick of my index finger and it was over.  At least, I thought it was.  No sooner than the nurse left, another person came into my room.  It was the phlebotomist, or as most patients call the, the vampires.  It seemed that the blood they took the night before showed elevated levels of something, so they needed to run more tests to evaluate my liver and kidney functions.

After she left, I was awake.  I looked around my room trying to take it all in.  My walls were beige, and the floor was a sickly gray color.  There was another bed in the room, but it was empty. All of my belongings were put into a closet.  I didn't have any of my toiletries. It was all at the front desk. I was overcome with a need to urinate.  The bathroom was beige, and the mirror above the sink was some kind of plastic bolted to the wall.  The shower curtain was connected to a tract on the ceiling.  Te shower itself seemed decent enough, although there weren't any shelves to put my things.

I put a hospital gown over my night shirt, and walked to the front desk,  I had to wait a few minutes because it was time for a shift change.  The daytime nurses and techs were going over last night's events.  One of the techs gestured in my direction.  I heard him tell the nurse that I wouldn't be any trouble.  When they finished talking one of the techs came up to me.  "What do you need, Miss Beverly?"  I told her I needed my soap, my toothbrush and toothpaste.

"May I also have a towel and washcloth?"  I said.  I hadn't bathed in over a week, and felt rather grimy.  She, Melanie was her name, got me my things and I said "Thank you."  I turned and noticed that some of the other patients were up.  I shuffled back to my room, closed the door and got undressed.

The shower was not hot, it was about body temperature.  But, the water felt good running down my back.  I washed up quickly and stepped into a puddle on the floor.  The shower curtain didn't keep the water in the stall like it was supposed to do.  I dried off, and put lotion on my body, which was covered in goose bumps.  I had to admit that I did feel a little more human.

I made my bed as I was supposed to do, and gathered up my wet towels and walked into the hall. This wasn't my first time here, so I remembered how things were done.  I found the bin for dirty linens and put my towels and washcloth inside.  I walked a little further down the hall to the common room.  One of the male techs said that breakfast would be up soon, and went up and down the hallways like the town crier announcing his news.

Breakfast consisted of scrambled eggs, bacon, oatmeal, orange juice and decaffeinated coffee.  The eggs were lukewarm, and the bacon was soggy from being in the steamer cart, but it wasn't awful.

I really missed my coffee.

After breakfast, we were allowed to go to the smoking room to have a cigarette.  The cigarettes were kept locked up, and you can only have 2 maximum.  If you didn't have your own, you might get lucky and get one from the community pack.  I packed mine, so I got 2 cigarettes and shuffled my way to the smoke room.  It was a dank little room where the walls were stained from the years of smoking/.

I didn't do any talking, I just looked down to the ground.  We had group therapy after this, so I would have to say something then.  I didn't want to talk to anyone about anything.  I just wanted to go back to bed.