Sketches of a Bipolar Girl: Close the Refrigerator Door

Every night it's the same thing.  I get ready for bed, and invade the kitchen.  I have had 3 healthy regular meals and 2 snacks over the course of the day.  But at night, my stomach turns into a bottomless pit.  I'm not even hungry.  I just eat.  

The term for this is emotional eating.  Because of my trauma, I get anxiety at night.  Sometimes, I get downright scared.  My brain, for some reason, turns on the eating switch to carbs and sugar.  I am a brittle diabetic, so this is not a good thing.  I try to eat plenty of protein, and complex carbs so I don't crave the empty food.  But, I always do.

One of my snacks during the day is to have something small and sweet.  This does the job for me until about 8 PM.  Around 8:30, I have some peanut butter crackers.  This satisfies the job of having a bedtime snack, and gives my body some fuel so I don't crash in the middle of the night.  But at the same time my brain starts in reminding me that there is cereal, popcorn, M & M's and all kinds of off limit food in the kitchen, and wouldn't I like to eat it.  Sometimes, I crave salt.  That's easy, I just have a dill pickle, instead of the bag of potato chips. 

The problem is, if I crave 1 thing, I tend to eat 5 things to avoid eating the thing I crave.  Usually, I end up eating it anyway.  Like right now, I'd like to have some popcorn.  But I already ate 2 packs of crackers and some Twizzlers.

I don't know why this happens.  I think I eat to satisfy some emotional hole. Right now, I am anxious because the bulb on my night light burned out, and I can't remember where I put the replacements.  I'm afraid to sleep without my night light.  Otherwise, the Shadow People might come.  I'll look around some more. They've got to be in here somewhere.

I started eating as a kid, when I was being bullied.  I'd go home after school and have 4 pieces of cinnamon toast.  Food doesn't make fun of you, or chase you home from school.  It's there, waiting for you, providing comfort when no one else is around.  It still does that for me.  I like the experience of eating anyway.  I like taking a bite and have the flavor explode in my mouth.  There's nothing like it really, except maybe sex.  But, I haven't had sex in 10 years.  That must be my problem.  I am sex starved.  My meds have my libido so low, I'm not really interested anymore.  I am more interested in a roast beef sandwich, the ingredients for which we happen to have on hand.  So, I'm off to the refrigerator again.  Maybe one day, I won't find the little light so appealing.  I hope I find my light bulbs.  Until then, Peace, Joy, Love - B

Sketches of a Bipolar Girl: Post-Surgical

On Thursday June 21st, I had a D & C. I have been cramping and bleeding for several months. I have had 2 vaginal ultrasounds, and an endometrial biopsy. They came out okay, but I started bleeding about 2 weeks after the last one. So, my doctor thought it would be best if we scraped my entire uterus.
I was riddled with anxiety, and started to fall into another depressive episode. I was inpatient for 13 days, and was in outpatient treatment when I started to bleeding again. So, my mood started to decline. I could have gone back inpatient, but I opted to stay outpatient. I got discharged on the 20th, and got up at 5:15 AM on the 21st.  I had to be at the hospital at 6 AM.
I woke up before I knew it, and was back home by 10. I was hungry, so I had pancakes. Then, I got in bed and slept until 4 PM. I got a snack and went back to bed. I got a couple of calls from Don, but I haven't called him back yet.
I am flat broke. I was in St. Francis in March, CCBH in May, and Patewood Memorial in June.  There is labs, doctors I have to pay. I don't have the money. I think I'll be depressed a while. I need a financial blessing.

sketches of a bipolar girl: Discharge

I discharged today from the partial program at the mental hospital. I am a little wary. I had some really scary dreams the past couple of days. I am always running through the dark woods because someone is trying to kill me. The Shadow People showed up the night before last. At first, I couldn't see them, but I heard them and smelled them.  I think it's just anxiety about my surgery tomorrow. Everyone is telling me it is a common, simple procedure. I want to believe them, but nothing is ever easy for me. I thought I had a urinary tract infection, but it turns out I had diabetes. I thought I had just strained my back. It turned out I had a herniated disc.  You get the idea.
I have not prayed to God for healing, but only that he gives me the strength to get through it. I really just want to go away for a while. I'd like to see my father. Since I will not have any money for a long time, maybe he could come here. If he came on a weekend, maybe he could stay with my sister in Georgia.  She's only a couple of hours away. I just want to hold his hand, and lay my head on his shoulder.
We talked about journals in the 2 PM group. I shared my experience with journals. I've had quite a few. I talked about how I used my journal to deal with rape and molestation. I kept them for a while, but burned them when I was ready to let that part of my life go. This is my journal now.  There really isn't any rhyme or reason to my writings. I just write whatever is in my head. It helps get rid of the bad stuff. Sometimes, some good memories come out.
One thing that has come out of this hospitalization, is that I am dealing with my self esteem issues. Basically, I have no self esteem. I despise almost everything about myself. Although I have been putting on make-up lately, it's because I want to try and see something pretty about my face. I put it on in sections. I don't like looking at my face as a whole because I am so ugly.  But, if I just work on one part at a time, it's not so hard.
I turn in disgust if I catch a look at my body. I am fat, saggy, scarred and blubbery. I know I need to lose weight, but am easily distracted.  Besides, I would be carrying around extra skin.  I don't have the money for it anyway.  I guess I better start walking and stop looking like a tub of lard.
I hope I'm not in too much pain tomorrow. Hopefully, I'll get some good drugs.  Oh well, I better take my meds now and go to bed. I'm up around 5 AM tomorrow. Peace, Joy, Love - B

Sketches of a Bipolar Girl: Scared to Live

Well, it's father's day. I called my dad this morning, even though I just talked to him last night. I love the sound of his voice. It soothes me, and chases all the demons away. He is another safety net in my life. I know I will be safe with him around.
Don't get me wrong, my mother is my other safety net. She hugs me and all the broken pieces are put back together.  I don't know what I will do when they are gone.  I am trying my best to hone my coping skills so I don't fall apart.
I don't want to bury my parents. I would prefer that they bury me first. I never thought I would live past 45 years old. So, these past 7 years I have been at a loss on how to live my life. I would like to do something useful. I've tried volunteering, but I had panic attacks every time I had to leave the house. I even tried vocational rehabilitation, but that didn't work out either.
It is 8 years since I've had a job. I've been thinking of going to bartender school. I think I would be a pretty good bartender. Right now the only drink I know how to mix is a tequila sunrise. I haven't attended college for 18 months. I still owe them money.
I am in partial hospitalization until Monday. Then on Thursday, I go in for a D & C.  I started cramping in November, and it has only gotten worse. I started bleeding in February, and my doctor did an endometrial biopsy and vaginal ultrasound. Both came out okay, and she said we would just keep an eye on things.  Well, I had really bad cramps and bled last month. She said we should do a D & C and scrap out my uterus, and biopsy everything.
Well, I have been a nervous wreck ever since. I've been falling into a depression all week, which is kind of ruining all the progress I made since being in the hospital. To top it all off, I don't have the money to pay anyone and am currently overdrawn $100 in my checking account. I'm afraid I am going to have to declare bankruptcy again.  All I know for sure is I am scared.

Sketches of a Bipolar Girl: Childhood

Back to group today. It was good but draining. I shared a lot in processing group. I explain that a lot of my problems with negative thinking stem from childhood trauma. My mom also suffers from a mental illness, and attempted suicide 3 times that I remember while I was growing up. Since adults didn't have grown up conversations with children. I guess it was in effort to protect us. However, a child's mind will seek out it's own answers the best it can.
 I thought that it must have been my fault. I figured that my mom didn't love me enough. See, I decided that if I was prettier, smarter, thinner and had "good hair", my mom would love me and wouldn't leave me. I did everything I could to be what I thought a good girl would be, and I would fix her.
. I remember when she would lay down in the afternoon. I would be very quiet and creep into her room to make sure she was still breathing. I lived in fear of her going away. That turned into an anxiety disorder that caused me, and still does, interrogate members of my family on where they were going, and when they would be back.
 I also lived in fear of the kids in my neighborhood. I was bullied and chased home on more than one occasion. Imagine being 9 years old convinced that your mother would rather die than watch you grow up, and your classmates wanted to kill you.
 Of course I now know that my mom's illness was not my fault or responsibility to fix. As for the bullying, I am still dealing with the fall out. It took away my ability to trust. At times, I still see people as predators waiting in the shadows to attack me. I have been working on it for years, but moving to a new state knowing only 4 people was a vicious blow to my sense of security.
 I have lived here for 5 years, and the only friends I've made are fellow mental patients. I don't have to pretend with them. I am one of them, and they understand how I feel. I have to start opening myself up to people, so I have some friends to hang out with once in a while.
 We went over negative coping skills today. We talked about the most common. My 2 worse skills are sleeping too much and flight mentality. I either go to bed, hoping the problem will resolve itself, or I just let my mind take me on flights of fancy. I am a little worried that one day my mind will float off completely, but for now it gives me some relief. In the meantime, I will concentrating on positive coping skills. I'm going to start gathering my journals, and posts together so I can put everything in some kind of order. I wish you all..Peace, Joy, Love - B

Sketches of a Bipolar Girl: The Disappearing Lady

Wow, I haven't written since September 2017! Sorry about that, but I had to disappear for a while.  Don't get excited, it has nothing to do with espionage or anything. I was simple spinning in a cyclone of moods and medications. Basically, I've been in bed since last year.
I've had many medication changes, panic attacks and suicidal thoughts during this time period. My therapist recommended hospitalization quite a few times, but I refused to go inpatient.  You see, I huddled beneath my blankets and slept 18 hours a day.  I was not eating well, bathing or doing anything to show I cared about myself.
I stood out in the cold rain a few times, hoping to get pneumonia.  It didn't work. I burned myself with cigarettes a few times to focus on a different kind of pain, but that didn't work either. I spent my awake hours in my room streaming TV shows. I even ate in my room. I didn't cry very much. I just mostly stared at my computer.  I wasn't taking my medication as prescribed or checking my blood sugar.  This led to a week in the hospital because my blood sugar spiked to 800 mg/dl.  I should have been in a coma, that's kind of what I was going for, but my mom intervened. I crept out of my room on one afternoon to get something to eat, but I was weak, dizzy, and falling down. So, my uncle helped me to the car and we went to the hospital.  I could barely say my name, didn't know the day or year and I passed out.
I awoke in intensive care, not remembering much of anything. It took 6 days to get it together. That was in March of this year. I came home and had a nurse come by for 2 weeks. I got a nutritionist to help me with a diabetic diet. Unfortunately, I was still in the middle of a depressive episode that was getting worse.
I had totally cut myself off from everyone. I wasn't posting on Facebook or answering the phone. I was convinced that someone was watching me. I didn't wear any clothes without holes in them. I walked around barefoot and stopped eating again.
In May, I saw my therapist, and all hell broke lose. I was hysterical, and told her I was finished. I confessed to having a suicide plan. The office called the hospital, but I refused to go until after I saw my psychiatrist. I had to contract for safety or they wouldn't let me go home. I saw the doctor on May 17th. I agreed to go to the hospital for an assessment for outpatient treatment.  However, the doctor committed me. I was inpatient from May 17th to the 30th. I think I slept the first 2 days. I don't really remember much.  But as the days went on I felt better.  I discovered that some of the things I thought I had dealt with were still very much in my mind. 
I am starting from scratch on learning the coping skills and recognizing my triggers. I am about a 5 on the scale of 1 to 10 on depression, and a 4 on anxiety. I have been going through my Facebook posts to see which of them I want to transfer to this blog.  I am going to try to put them in some kind of order and possibly make a book out of everything.  For the time being anyway, I have reappeared and am doing my best to participate in my life.  The darkness is always nearby, so I will have to be careful not to traumatize myself with old memories and flashbacks. That's all for now. I wish you Peace, Joy, Love - B

Sketches of a Bipolar Girl: The Prodigal Girl Returns

It's Sunday, the day we set aside for God and family. This is my first service since November. I was angry, I'm still angry. I blamed God for my disease, my disappointments and the pain of every day living. So, I cursed Him, used His name in vain, and stopped speaking to Him. I hurt no one but myself. I am the one who sent me into the riptide. I stopped talking and held back my feelings. Whenever I hold things in, it festers like an infected wound. My brain chemistry gets way out of balance and the voices come. My anxiety and depression build inside me and then the Shadow People come. They are always there, standing next to me, coaxing me to go with them in to the all encompassing darkness that is my custom designed hell. Jesus is there too. He doesn't say anything. He stands there surrounded by a warm light with his arms outstretched. He leaves the choice up to me. So, why do I always seem to choose the darkness. I have no idea. I guess it's because I am familiar with the pain. I am, for lack of a better word, addicted to darkness. It is the light of Jesus that scares me. In His light there is no place to hide, nothing can be denied, and my secrets are revealed. At my last confession, I was told that God chooses some people to suffer so he can work through them to save others. This time he reminded me that nowhere in Scripture did God promise us a easy life here on earth. He promises us happiness in the hereafter if we live by his Word. I guess that it seems that I am one of the chosen. I must suffer so I can testify of God's love and mercy. Maybe, there is someone out there like me who is suffering from a mental illness and needs to know he is not alone. I don't want this burden. I want this cup to pass from me. It has been exactly one week since the dog ran off. I am still crying. I find myself making bargains with God. If he returns Toby to his dad, I will do such and such. But God doesn't make bargains. The only thing I can hope for is my uncle's forgiveness, and that he still loves me. I have learned a hard lesson. God does not stop the world because I have a problem. It continues to rotate on it's axis as it circles the sun. I can either reach out and take His hand and go with the rest of the world, or I can freeze in place and be blown off the surface as it goes around. Today, I choose to take His hand. I know He will never let go. It is my choice. I must remember that God is always there, and He wants what is best for me. Enjoy your Sunday. Peace, Joy, Love - B

Sketches of a Bipolar Girl: Grandpop Scott

Grandpop Scott was my mom's father. He stood about 5'3", he had a small frame but he was strong. He was pretty goodlooking and had a "high-yellow" complexion. From what I remember that was talked about around the dinner table, he was from NJ. I don't know how he ended up in Ambler, nor do I remember much about his mother (Nanny). She lived at 331 Woodland Ave with Grandmom and Grandpop until I was 3 or 4. The Scott family started out at #4 North St. I believe my grandpop worked at the asbestos mill in those days. He came home covered in the stuff. They moved to Woodland Ave when the family started to grow. They raised 7 children, all but one still living. My grandpop was a hard working man. He placed high value on education. He read voraciously. He got the Philadelphia Bulletin and Philadelphia Inquirer. He got educational magazines like National Geographic, New Yorker and Smithsonian, just to name a few. He liked to talk about current events. He was always ready for a conversation. He did not medically qualify for the armed services during WWII, but served on the Civil Defense league. He took his responsibility very seriously. When there was a drill, he was one of the men that patrolled the streets and made sure that people put down the blackout shades. He worked at the Ambler Movie Theater as a janitor. My mom remembers getting to see movies for free after she helped him clean up. I believe my grandpop's rules for life included getting a job to help out the family no matter how old you were. Another doctrine was after high school you went in the service or college. At least that's how I saw it. He was very big on historically black colleges and universities. I should have applied at Spelman. Instead I applied and got in to Wellsley. I should have gone to Spelman, I'm pretty sure I would have got in. I know that he loved me and wanted the best for me. We used to talk about life in the family room. Once, my picture was in the paper and it earned a spot in the family scrapbook. I got to interview him for my modern American history class. The assignment was to interview 2 people in the WWII era. I interview cousin Greenie Flowers for military service as he was in the Navy, and my grandpop for the homefront. Both of them told me stories, and it was from Greenie that I learned that the military was segregated until 1948. My grandpop pulled out all of his press clippings and read me the section about the Japanese were in negotiations with the US right up until Pearl Harbor. He said that's why they weren't ready. My grandpop was rough-handed man too. I miss his kisses and the way he would tickle me until I couldn't breath. I've always felt guilty for dropping out of college. I felt like I let him down. I am working on remedying that now. I want him to be proud of me. I could use his advice too. 

Sketches of a Bipolar Girl: Hey God

Hey God! Yeah, I'm taking to you.  All I want to know is why.  Why don't you hear me? Why don't you do something to help me and my family?  Yeah, I know I haven't been praying or going to mass like I should, but that quite frankly is your fault. I have come to you in deep sorrow, panic, humility and love.  I have prayed to you for things that are needed, yet still I hear nothing, I see nothing.  Are you really there or are you just a myth made from the minds of men in order to control people.  I am not so sure anymore. I am tired of crying, begging and pleading for you to help me. It is said that you help people in your own time.  Well, I've been waiting for 30 years.  When is it my turn? Where is my breakthrough?  I am so angry with you right now, I can hardly stand it.  All I want is a well paying job that will allow me to support myself and help my family.  I ask for blessings, you throw rocks. I'm not asking you to perform a miracle. I'm just asking for help!!! PLEASE

Sketches of a Bipolar Girl: Big Sister

Today is my sister's birthday. She is 5 years older than I am. We shared a bedroom until I was 11. I don't remember too much about it except I was forbidden to touch anything the belonged to her. I think we used to fight a lot. Nothing too harsh, just normal sibling battles. I remember she always had the latest fashions, the hair done. She had tons of friends. They thought I was cute. But who wants to hang out with her baby sister. We didn't have much money, so when my sister wanted a new record or clothes, she earned the money for it by cleaning my nana's kitchen and bathroom. It paid $5. It's not a lot, but $5 went a lot farther in the 1970's. Sometimes, when she was feeling especially generous, she would take me with her when she went to the record store. I was definitely not allowed to touch her albums. That risked the penalty of death. She introduced me to some good music; Stevie Wonder, Jackson 5, Isley Brothers, Parliment Funkadelic, Prince.
When I was old enough to stay home alone, I used to play her albums. I was Behind the Groove with Teena Marie, and Dancing in Boogie Wonderland with Earth, Wind and Fire. I made sure I polished the albums free of fingerprints, and put them back in order. She probably knew anyway. I've always been jealous of her. She could talk to anybody, she was funny and had great hair. She was more beautiful and stylish than I could ever hope to be. 
We started to get along well when I was 15. The 5 year gap wasn't so bad, and I wasn't quite as nerdy. I would go out with her and her friends. I was with my sister the first time I got drunk. That was fun, but she cut me off before I got totally plastered. She looked after me a lot of times, and has been with me when the dark times come. I wish I was with her today. I could go for a frozen pina colada. Raise a glass to the woman who knows all my joys, all my fears, and I love with all my heart and soul, April 

sketches of a bipolar girl: Adventures of a Vet Tech

I was just laying here on my bed, thinking about how much my body aches today. I kind of feel ashamed because I haven't earned it. I didn't work out or anything, I just ache. It might be my new medication. I hope it's not, otherwise I may have to try something new. I know what a hard working body feels like. You try and convince a 150 lb Rottweiler to lay down for a chest x-ray or getting a cat out of a carrier when he's pissed off at the world. That's hard and can be quite dangerous work. Most people think that being a vet tech means you play with cats and dogs all day. Nothing could be further from the truth. A vet tech is an animal nurse. We just don't get the pay or recognition. Most vet techs have to have a second job to make ends meet. They work 10 to 12 hour days regularly. The biggest thing is they must work with owners who haven't a clue what is going on with their pet. Vet techs aren't like human nurses who can find out history and symptoms from the patient or EMT. Vet techs hear things like "he ate 2 days ago". Veterinarians and tech have no idea what's going to walk in the door. The cost could be a $45 office visit or a $400 dental cleaning. I've done a lot of cleanings. It astounds me the condition of the teeth I've seen. They do have toothpaste for pets you know. The reason it cost so much? Anesthesia. In order to clean Rover's teeth, I have to do pre-op bloodwork, any necessary x-rays, knock him out, monitor his condition while asleep. All this in a specific amount of time to get the cleaning, polishing and scaling. If something has to be removed, I have to get the vet. People should appreciate their vets and vet techs. They are part of your family's medical team too. This concludes my public service announcement. Scroll on!

sketches of a bipolar girl: Panic at Publix

ok, I knew things weren't right for me today. I just came from the Publix to get a sandwich for dinner. I got my sandwich without incident, but while I was looking for the grapefruit juice, I had a panic attack. I managed to keep my composure while I checked out, and got to my car. Then, I just lost it completely. I couldn't catch my breath, heart racing, palpitations, and my insides were boiling.  My car is one of my safe places. so I sat there for about 20 minutes weeping and tried to calm myself down. Anyway, I got home in one piece, hugged my mom for a long time. That's it for this girl. I will pray to God and ask for the intercession of St. Dymphna, the patron saint of those with mental and emotional problems. Hopefully, I will be able to sleep tonight and go to mass tomorrow. I hate it when I feel good about something, then my body is like "no you don't girlie" and I feel like somebody hit me with a bat to my head. God help me, I am so tired. Peace, Joy, Love - B