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

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.