Sketches of a Bipolar Girl: Tears

Despair trickles down the walls of my room.
I am trapped on an island of isolation.
Distress calls have been made,
But no savior has come.
Voices in my head are so unkind.
She is getting stronger,
Her words dig deep like daggers in my soul.
I tried to stop her, but she laughs in my face.
Working so hard to change my life.
Trying to make the days worthwhile.
Two steps forward, three steps back.
I will never be well.
Don't give up, I say, you can do this.
In the end, I curl up into fetal position.
The sound of my weeping the only sound.
Waves crashing against the rocks.
I sit and ponder my fate, my face in the wind.
As the tears slip silently down my cheeks
All is bleak.


Peace, Joy, Love - B

Sketches of a Bipolar Girl: The Art of Detachment

I've been watching her for sometime now.  I wonder what she's like, what she thinks about.  She is a quiet woman.  She can go for days without speaking barely a word.  She has a quiet way about her.  Mostly she moves silently from room to room, but her body sometimes makes a clicking noise when she walks due to a knee injury.

I watch her as she writes in her journal, or types upon her keyboard.  Her face shows little expression.  Sometimes, she cries when she writes.  I can only assume it is because she is pouring out secrets on her paper because she has no one else with which to share them.  I could be wrong.  Her eyes may be watering because sometimes she writes in the wee small hours of the morning.

I look at her face and see a potential for beauty.  She could be a very pretty woman if she tried.  She's a big woman, and her skin is golden brown. She needs a pedicure, but she is not the kind of woman who treats herself to that luxury anymore,  Her legs are scarred.  Her right leg bares surgical scars on her knee and ankle, and both her feet have scars from what look like bug bites that she scratched.  She has no waistline, having disappeared long ago with years of compulsive eating.  I have seen her late at night when she binge eats.  Again, her face has no expression as she eats for some reason only she and her God know.  Her face is not exceptional.  She has fine eyes to quote Mr. D'Arcy.  Her skin is clear, but she does have freckles across her cheeks.  Her eyebrows used to be dark, bold and finely arched, but they are no longer as grey hairs have crept in and disappear in the light of the sun.  From watching her all this time, I would have to say her mouth was her best feature.  It is a small mouth, with lips stained a dark rose color, but time has stolen their softness.  They are now dry and cracked.  She treats them constantly with balms, but to no avail. 

I know this woman quite well.  Her name is Beverly.  She often goes by Bev.  But, I am not she.  I am Babe.  I am the true self that lives inside her.  I am the woman she used to be.  I dress well, I drive a black convertible.  I have a great circle of friends, with which I love to go to dinner and happy hour.  I get my hair done weekly, and mani-pedis once every two weeks.  I have my own well appointed apartment and a successful career.  I have a Chow dog, whom I love to pieces, and family I adore.  I am not afraid of people, and I sleep well at night.  I still have bipolar II disorder, but have been stable for years.  

Sometimes, I come out when she lets me.  I take us shopping, to get our hair done, or go to the movies.  I haven't been out in quite some time.  Bev's depression has taken over our lives.  We don't do anything fun anymore.  All she does is sleep and write and cry.  She worries all the time and trusts no one.  I wish she would loosen her grip.  I want to get a haircut, but she's afraid to leave the house.

Sometimes, when I watch her, I feel sorry for her.  I try to talk to her about doing things we both used to enjoy, but I can't get through to her.  Quite often, I hate her.  I wish I could make her disappear.  But for now, I wait.  Sitting here detached from existence like a snowflake waiting for winter.

I learned to detach myself from her many years ago, starting when I was seven and I lay frozen on that musty carpet while he put his hands on me.  I've employed detachment a million times since then in order to escape any reality with which Bev was trying to handle.  The fact is she couldn't handle it, that's when she called me.  I won't leave her, she's just a little girl inside really.  She needs me.  So, I will continue to wait and watch.  Don't hurt her.  If you do, I will come after you with a box full of crazy.  Remember, she's Bev, I'm Babe.  Don't get it twisted.

Sketches of a Bipolar Girl: Faces

As you know, or may not know for that matter, bipolar II comes with a litany of symptoms.  My worst symptom, which comes with both depression and mania, is hallucinations.  I suffer from both auditory and visual hallucinations.  The auditory hallucinations don't bother me as much.  Usually, it's crowd noises and radio sports announcers.  Sometimes, it's just plain old white noise, the kind you hear when the TV goes out.  The visual hallucinations are a whole other story.

Unlike some people who see pretty colors or rainbows and butterflies,  mine are terribly frightening.  I've written about the Shadow People and the Dark Man, but my visions have started to manifest in new ways.  They are faces; horrible, gory, creepy faces.

Sometimes, I see the devil with his red skin and black ram horns.  He spews out vomit through his gnarled, blackened teeth, and he has no eyes.  I also see a ragged old hag with yellow teeth, and open wounds on her face.  Her eyes are yellow, red and bulging out of their sockets.  She has bugs in her hair, which sometimes eats.  Then, there is the clown.  He looks like Pennywise from the Stephen King novel, It, except worse if you can imagine.  Where his eyes should be are bloody sockets, and his nose is black and rotting.  You can see in bloody, razor sharp teeth when he smiles.  I think worst of them all is the dead man.  He is just a rotting head with maggots all over his face.  He has crows on his head and they are pecking out his eyes.  

This is what I have seen every night for 2 weeks.  In my rational mind, I know they are not real.  But, at night, when my anxiety is high, they are real.  I don't fall asleep until 2 or 3 in the morning because I am afraid of the nightmares they will bring.  I already have nightmares in which people are trying to kill me, will these new visions come after me too?  I am too terrified to find out.  Sleeping with the lights on doesn't really help like it does with the Shadow People and the Dark Man.  They don't like the light.  These new people aren't afraid of light, they come whether I have my lights on or not.  When I do fall asleep, it's mostly due to exhaustion.

I don't know why my brain brought them forward or what they mean.  My therapist mention a new therapy she wants to try.  Maybe it will work for me and we can finally unlock my mind and deal with all my demons.  Maybe once that happens, maybe my brain chemistry will get a little better.  Maybe my body will finally come down from flight or fight mode from the constant anxiety. 

In the meantime, I am trying to keep my head together and not freak out all the time.  I don't want to go back to the hospital or have ECT.  But, I must be honest with myself, and admit my episodes are getting worse.  I hope this doesn't mean it's progressive, but I'm scared. 

Peace, Joy, Love - B

Sketches of a Bipolar Girl: Broken Crusts

I made a pie today.  It's an apple pie and I made it from a sugar free recipe I found on the internet.  I've made it plenty of times, and it always comes out good, if not so pretty.  I wish I was a better cook.  The only thing I'm really good at is flipping fried eggs.  I also make a good cup of coffee.  The only meal I cook really well is a chicken dish that doesn't have a name.

It's made with 3 to 6 skinless, boneless chicken breast and a bunch of vegetables.  I use assorted peppers, brussel sprouts, baby carrots, onion, potatoes (if there around), zucchini and yellow squash.  I chop up all the veggies and pour over balsamic vinegar, olive oil, Italian seasoning after whisking it all together.  Sometimes, if I have bacon, I'll crumble bacon over the veggies.  I place the vegetables in a flat roasting pan, pour the oil and vinegar over it, place the seasoned chicken on top, cover it with foil, and let it bake on 400 degrees for 60 minutes.  Then, I take off the foil and bake for another 30 minutes or so until chicken is done and browned.  It usually comes out pretty good.  My family eats it, so I take that as good sign.

The reason I bring up the chicken dish is that nobody makes it like me.  I have mixture of textures and flavors, not to mention the colors.  It is picture perfect when I take it out of the oven.  That's how everything I do must be; picture perfect.  That's why this pie was so important.  I wanted it to be full of apples, and a golden brown crust with little cut outs in the center.  Instead, I had too many apples, and the edges of the crust fell off half way around.  The rest of the crust was cracked across the top.  To top it all off, I used too much stevia and made it too sweet.  My mom can't eat it or her neuropathy will flare up.  

Nothing has gone well so far the past few weeks, and I wanted just this one thing to be perfect.  My intellectual side tells me there is no such thing as perfection.  But, the emotional child in me is still trying to be the very best, prettiest, smartest girl I can be.  I am still at the age of 53 still seeking approval.  It's not from my parents I seek it.  It's from myself.  The same self who today told herself that she was fat, stupid and ugly and nobody wanted her around.  This is what my brain told me all day long.  I journalled to try and get that shit out of my head, but it didn't work.  When I washed my face today, I couldn't look in the mirror.

That is why that pie with the broken crusts was so fucking important.  I'm tired of pieces of me breaking off.  Just today, I wanted to keep it together long enough to make one of the 3 things I make well.  Tomorrow's task is to clean the bathroom.  Maybe I'll flip myself a couple of eggs for breakfast.  Peace, Joy, Love - B 

Sketches of a Bipolar Girl: Activities of Daily Living

What are the activities of daily living (ADLs)?  Quite simply, they are the things that a normally functioning adult fulfills to carry on a normal day.  It's not that difficult, but for a person with mental illness these tasks can be extremely challenging.

The first ADL I find hard is making my bed.  This is a ploy to get me out of bed.  When I am depressed, I want to stay in bed and sleep all day.  To get out of bed takes all my strength.  Making my bed is the way of telling my brain I am up and will not be getting under the covers until bedtime.

After getting up, I got to the bathroom.  It's not just to use it, but to wash my face and brush my teeth.  This is a big deal.  Washing my face involves looking in the mirror, which I hate to do.  One of the first signs I am depressed is that I stop brushing my teeth.  Gross I know, so you can imagine what shape my teeth were in before I went to the dentist.  All of my teeth have fillings or crowns.  They look fine now, just kind of stained from coffee and cigarettes.

Taking a shower is traumatizing for me.  You see, I hate my body.  I hate looking at it and touching it.  On occasion, it has taken me hours to shower, only to give up and throw on the clothes I wore for the past 3 days.  When I do take a shower, it lasts for 5 minutes, unless I wash my hair, then it's 8 minutes.

Another ADL is feeding yourself.  Breakfast is my favorite meal, and I do my best to make it healthy.  I'm on an eating plan now, and I try to eat healthy all day.  I'm having problems at night.  I binge eat, destroying my diet.  I ate a can of cake frosting the other night.  Last night, I ate 2 of the large size Rice Krispies bars.  What about my diabetes?  That's an ADL, checking my blood sugar.  But sometimes I just don't care.

I've been having trouble sleeping lately.  Either I don't sleep at all, or I fall asleep at 3 AM and sleep all morning.  I am not taking my meds on time, which just makes things worse mentally.  I've just seen my psychiatrist, and he made some adjustments to my meds.  I am also working on another ADL, my sleep routine.  I am trying to take my meds in the morning by 9 AM, and my night time meds between 8:30 and 9.  I am going to start setting my alarm for 8:30 so I don't oversleep and miss my morning meds.

So why are completing my ADLs so difficult?  Depression, lethargy, fatigue, self loathing, and lack of motivation all add up to a dirty, smelly, slob with a messy room, bad breath, and nappy hair.  I'm getting better though.  I did my laundry, changed my linens, took a shower, washed my hair, vacuumed my room, and brushed my teeth.  That was yesterday.  Tomorrow is another day.

Peace, Joy, Love - B

Sketches of a Bipolar Girl: No Rest for the Weary

My body is exhausted.  I cannot walk properly.  I can only manage a slow shuffle from room to room.  My back is in spasms and my arms are stiff.  The only comfortable position is being curled up in a fetal position with piles of pillows.

I have gone 2 nights without sleep this week, and the other nights I have been up until 3 AM.  It's the depression and anxiety.  My depression begs for sleep, but my anxiety makes me afraid to close my eyes. 

Sometimes, I lay in the dark, my brain alive and purculating with thoughts of all kinds.  Other times, I have to turn on the lights to keep the Shadow People at bay.  All of these sleep difficulties have thrown my medication schedules off, which in turn have made my symptoms more active.  I am hallucinating, crying, having anxiety attacks, sensitive to light and noise and extremely lethargic.  I don't go out unless I have to.  I only go as far as the porch to smoke.  If I have to take my mom out, I stay in the car because it is one of my safe places.

I have taken to chain smoking.  If I could drink, I would.  But, I can't drink with my medications, so I fight that temptation. I have taken extra sleeping pills, sometimes they work, often times they don't.  I saw my doctor yesterday, and he adjusted one of my meds.  I started it today.  I hope it starts working soon.  Sometimes, I feel like I'm going to pass out from exhaustion.

I know why I am afraid of the dark.  I've always feared monsters in the dark.  When I was little, every creak on the stairs was Frankenstein coming to get me.  Then, the molestations were in the middle of the night.  I just lay on the musty carpet and let it happen, while my brain shut off and took my to magical places.

I wish I could go to magical places now, but I can't get my mind to shut up long enough to meditate.  It's getting harder to get my mind to shut up.  I do all the things I'm supposed to, except exercise, and I know the reasons behind that.  I really have to get over it.  Exercise will do me a world of good.  I'm just not up for it right now.  I'm just so tired.  Just a few nights of sleep.  That's all I want. 

Peace, Joy, Love - B

Sketches of a Bipolar Girl: Running from Inside

How do you run from what's inside your head?  Some people take pills.  Some people drink.  Others, like me, take to our beds and sleep hoping for quiet.  When my family says to try and think of something else, or just put those thoughts out of my head, I am not sure of what to say.  Sometimes, the phrase "fuck you" comes to mind.  However, most of the time I just tell them they don't understand.
I'm tired of explaining that my mind doesn't work that way.  People don't seem to understand that my brain is sick.  These thoughts I have are organic.  I don't sit around and plan on sleeping all day.  I want to go out and socialize, but no one seems to truly comprehend that people scare the shit out of me.
I have been on a diet for 1 month.  I gained 2 pounds.  The biggest reason I haven't lost any weight is, I don't exercise.  Silly I know to expect the pounds to drop off by themselves.  But, in order to exercise well, one must go outdoors or to a gym.  This is difficult for me, since I believe there is someone trying to kill me.  Who would make up such horrifying shit as that!!
The reason I brought up the diet issue, is that I want my body to be smaller.  I want to find myself attractive.  I am all for the full-size model and curvy girl movement, but I will never look like them because I am 5'2" and 250 lbs.  I just want to be what I see myself as beautiful.  However, the problem is that other people might find me attractive too, particularly men.
Don't get me wrong, I like men as a species.  But individually, I see them all as predators.  This has to do with past trauma.  My problem is, I want to fall in love with a man and get married.  Wherein lies my problem.  How do I get rid of my man phobia in order to get a boyfriend?
I have found ways to temporarily escape some thoughts.  There is mindfulness, meditation, journaling and positive self talk.  But, as soon as I let my guard down, the rubbish heap comes flooding in the back door of my psyche.  It triggers off an emotional waterfall in my brain, and I can't swim.
So, there is no way of successfully running from what's inside your head?  If that way is ever found, I will be the first on board.
Peace, Joy, Love - B

Sketches of a Bipolar Girl: A Case of Melancholia

Attention Please:  I seem to have lost my mojo.  Has anyone seen it?  I would describe it as a sparkle of the eye, the enthusiasm for life, and the zip in my doo da.  I don't know what happened to it.  I just got it a month ago.  I picked it up for a mere $1600 at the hospital.  As it was rather expensive, you can understand my concern. 
Of course, it may have been a case of hypomania, which fades after a time.  If that is the case, I have been hoodwinked!  I spent 7 weeks in the hospital learning coping skills and sharing my most innermost feelings for a temporary fix!  I will write the complaint department, as soon as I figure out whom is to blame.
Here I am, going around, stating to the world that I have never felt better.  I proclaimed that I am a fierce warrior woman, who is strong enough to handle life's adversities.  Yet, here I am feeling tired and listless again.  I have insomnia again.  The negative thoughts are churning in my mind, and despite all my efforts, I cannot get rid of them.  I cry for seemingly no reason, and despise the mere sight of myself.
If this were the 1800's, I would be diagnosed with melancholia and shipped of to a sanitarium.  I would be given sedatives and ice baths.  Or, if I could afford a psychiatrist, I'd be diagnosed as hysterical and treated with orgasmic therapy.  In any event, I'm glad I live in the 21st century.  Now, they just give you drugs for being melancholy.
I see my doctor at the end of the month, but if this feeling doesn't pass in a week, I am supposed to call him.  I know what the problem is.  Lack of exercise is the problem.  When I walk for 30 minutes a day, I feel good.  My head is clear, and I have more energy.  So why don't I do it?  I told you;  I lost my mojo.  I lack all desire for anything pleasurable.  I even tried masturbation the other night.  But, I lost interest, and got a bowl of cereal instead.  My libido is such, that if I were propositioned by a very sexy man, I would turn him down to watch something on Amazon.
What is the next step?  I don't know.  I guess I just need to keep posting, journaling and blogging until I find the right words to inspire me to pick up my warrior's sword and start cutting down those obstacles.  I wish I had some friends.  It's more fun to have a whole group of warrior women working together.  If I could afford it, I would go somewhere with other people to join their army. 
Oh well,  if you see my mojo, please let me know.  In the meantime, I'll try my best to muddle through.  Peace, Joy, Love - B

Sketches of a Bipolar Girl: Out of the Blue

It's funny how the mind works, especially if one is bipolar. It can turn on you in an instant, no warnings, no symptoms. One moment, you feel good. The next moment you can barely move, cursing the universe for your very existence. Suddenly, you hear the voices in your head, telling you how worthless, stupid, ugly and grotesque you are. They are voices from long ago, reminding you they will never go away.

 The trick is you must learn to turn them off. You must replace those old tapes with positive thoughts. You must constantly remind yourself that you are stronger, beautiful, smart and tough. Remind yourself that you have been here before and you made it through the flames. You held onto to God's hand, closed your eyes and walked passed the hordes of demons sent to destroy you. 

In the end, you open your eyes and find yourself in a field of wildflowers, a gentle breeze caressing your skin. You are yourself, the person that lives in your soul. For the moment, you are free. Feel it, live it, love it, because the darkness will come again. 

But, you know how to cope now, and maybe it won't last as long. You know how to love yourself now, and you like the way it feels. The next time the dark thoughts come, you will be strong and rebuke them. Maybe one day they will stop coming altogether. Then all will be well and so will you.

In the meantime, you must be vigilant, always on the lookout for that unexplained churning in your gut.  Is the headache from a physical cause or a mental one.  If one day you feel great, you must pay attention to the feelings in your body.  Are you restless?  Do you feel the need to clean everything in the house at 11 PM?  Have you unconsciously spent your rent money on a new pair of shoes?  

If that's the case, then your brain has sent you on the wacky, wild world of mania.  Sometimes, mania can be dangerous, as it causes one to be uninhibited and do things without thinking.  For some, mania is just a feeling of unmitigated joy.  

The worst thing about being bipolar is you never know how you are going to feel.  You can learn some of your triggers, but most of the time feelings come out of the blue.  You then have to decide how you are going to cope.  Will you stay in bed, or will you go for a walk.  Your path to wellness is completely up to you.  It may take years to find that peaceful place, but just keep pushing through.  One day you will find that field of wildflowers and then you can just breathe.   Peace, Joy, Love - B

Sketches of a Bipolar Girl: The Quest for Stability

On August 27th, I will be post-hospitalization for 1 month.  It feels like it was just yesterday that I walked out of those doors with a new attitude.  I have settled back into home life rather easily, and no longer feel like a guest in my own room.  I still am actively trying to do my ADLs (activities of daily living).  I am doing pretty well with that, although there have been a couple days when I spent most of the day in my pajamas.  But, what about now?  How am I doing as of today?

I am still making daily goals, and meeting them.  For example, today's goal was to see my doctor and take my mom out to run her errands.  I know that doesn't seem like much, but if you know anything about me, you know that only a few months ago, I was terrified to leave my house for any reason.  I was convinced that there was a man out there trying to kill me.  I didn't want anyone to see me, even my own family.  I tried my best to disappear.

Since getting out of the hospital, I go outside freely.  Granted, I am still cautious, but I am out of the house.  This past Tuesday, I started going to a place called Gateway House.  It is a facility that has day programs for the functional mentally ill.  You have to be referred by your doctor or therapist.  My therapist and doctor both thought it would be good for me to have something to do during the day. Gateway doesn't offer group therapy, but they do have certified staff on hand in case you need to talk.

There are jobs to do to keep the place running, and those jobs are done by staff and members.  We are called members, not patients.  It is not a medical facility, but just a place to go so you're not alone.  They keep attendance, so if you are not there one day, they call to make sure you are okay.

Gateway, my therapist, my doctor and my medication is all a combination to keep me stable.  My doctor told me today he can't consider me stable until I go a year without a medication change.  I am only 7 weeks into the changes made at the hospital.  That means that my medication isn't fully in my system yet.  Most meds take anywhere from 8 to 12 weeks to be fully effective.  The only complaint about my meds that I have is that they make me sleepy, and it is difficult to get up in the morning.  But, I can put up with that and adjust my schedule accordingly if it means I get to feel good.

It's been kind of weird to feel this good.  I am so used to being miserable, that I forgot what happiness felt like.  But, I promised myself that I would do all I could to chase the demons and monsters away.  They've popped in, don't get me wrong, but I learned how to get rid of them.  

I journal a lot on paper.  It helps me analyze my feelings, and my responses.  It's become a very important part of my day.  Blogging is important too, but there are some things I need to keep a little closer to the vest for now. So, I have been feeling good for almost a month.  That's another goal met.  Now, it's onto the next month and the adventures it holds.  Let's hope for the best. 

Peace, Joy, Love - B

Sketches of a Bipolar Girl: Birthday Girl

On August 17th 1965, on a sunny Tuesday afternoon, a little girl was born.  I was delivered by scheduled C-section in a classy part of Philadelphia.  This itself was unusual. You see my parents were poor, but my father had a decent job with low pay but good benefits.  So, my mother saw a private doctor throughout her pregnancy.  My parents named me Beverly Ann.  I was a tiny baby, only weighing 5 lbs. 7 oz. at birth.  I myself think I could have cooked a couple of more weeks.
There are no formal pictures of me.  I was the baby of the family, so the formal pictures had to go by the wayside for the sake of food and utilities.  There are some snapshots of me, which I treasure because they show a happy little girl.
We celebrated birthdays at my nana and poppop's house.  They bought the gifts, and my nana made the cake.  I loved them so much.  Anytime my dad went there to work on the car or help poppop with something, I was right there.  I used to play with the string mops sometimes while my dad was in the garage.  I pretended it had hair. I braided it and put it in pigtails.  Nana didn't mind, as long as I put everything back when I was done.
Birthdays at grandmom's house were good too.  We moved out of Philly when I was 5.  My mom would make me a chocolate chip coffee cake.  It's still one of my favorites.  She doesn't cook as much as she used to, and that makes me sad.  My best birthday gift was a 1969 Mustang that my father got for me.  My brother took it without permission, as per usual, and wrecked it.  My brother used to give me gifts, but I could never be sure if it was stolen.  He was a horrible teenager.  He got his life together after serving time, I am so proud of him and love him to pieces.
This year, I will be 53.  I feel good about it now.  4 weeks ago it was a different story.  I made the 4th attempt at taking my life.  I had to go to the ER.  I got medical clearance and off to the mental hospital.  After a 19 day stay, and journaling 2 to 4 times a day, I finally got a very clear vision of myself.  I loathed myself to the point where this disease was killing me.  I slowly found out that some things about myself weren't too bad.  I began by speaking to people.  I shared my story, the good times and the darkest of days.  I shared about my hallucinations;  The Shadow People and the Dark Man.  I told the stories of my night terrors, and how people were trying to kill me.  All of it.  They all told me not to worry, and that my doctor would figure out which meds would work for me.  It was very soothing to hear those words. 
Normal people don't understand how a person can be tortured by her own mind.  I am still quite vigilant about my moods.  I journal to understand what my moods mean, and what is the root cause.  Why can't I just be happy and celebrate my birthday?  Well, when you have bipolar, you don't choose the mood.  It chooses you.  I could be perfectly content and then something triggers me and I wind up lost in a sandstorm of feelings not able to find my way out.  I can't calm down, I can't concentrate, words don't make sense.  At least, I journal about it now.  Before, I would take to my bed, pop a couple of pills and sleep.  That behavior is now verboten.  Now, I find something to do to clear my brain of negative thoughts and behavior patterns.  For example, I have discovered the adrenaline rush that exercise brings.  I walk for 30+ minutes a day, and some weight training.  This is a recent event, so I am still in baby steps, but it's working.
So, what will I do for my birthday this year?  I will meet this months goal of getting some work on my car.  It's part of my promise to myself to take better care of myself and my possessions.  I will have a nice meal with my family, and have some cake.  I will go to Mass and thank God for saving my ass once again.  Then, I will sleep a night feeling safe and loved.  I realize that my existence is worthy and will tell myself that I am beautiful, kind, loving, and I will keep saying it to the hateful mirror until I believe it.  Peace, Joy, Love - B

Sketches of a Bipolar Girl: Are You Mad At Me?

I was supposed to see my friend Don today. But, I had to take my mom out to the hairdresser and then grocery shopping.  So, I called him and told him I couldn't make it.  I think I hurt his feelings.  Anyway, my mom changed her mind about going to the store, so I called him to see if he still wanted to get together.  He said no, and he had made other arrangements.  I asked him about tomorrow and he said he would let me know.  I am now racked with guilt, and my gut is roiling with anxiety. 

Feeling this way is an old pattern, and I'm not exactly sure what to do.  I HATE when people are made or upset with me.  It makes me feel so bad about myself, like I am a big fat disappointment.  In my mind, I am still a little kid who desperate tries to get everyone to like me.  I know it's not rational, but that is a pattern of thinking that I am working to change.

I am writing about it, so that takes care of journaling.  I want to eat something.  I guess I will take a walk to burn off my anxiety and get my exercise in for the day.  That's the healthy coping skill I learned in the hospital.  I don't know why I am fighting it so hard.  I need to walk.  I went on a diet the other day.  I'm trying to get down to 160lbs. by this time next year.  I'm currently a round 246 lbs. Gross isn't it?  My body mass index is 44.6.  Half of me is fat.  I am trying to improve my self esteem, and it is a work in progress.  I am hoping it will get better as I work toward my goals. 

I met my goals for the week;  sorting and filing my papers.  Maybe after my walk I will go to Walmart and buy a scale.  Not much of a reward I know, but I do need one.  After that, I think I will take a nap.  It's been a week since I got out of the hospital.  I am feeling better.  I am fighting to practice my coping skills, and not let the negative thoughts creep into my head.  I better go before it starts raining again.  Peace, Joy, Love - B