Less is More

February 15, 2020

On top of going makeup-less (except for the odd concealer to cover up any zits and blush when I’m extra pale) for 2020 I have also decided to go bra-less. 2020 is the year of authentic me. Tired of hiding. This is me. No apologies. I have begun the year with a total breakdown that still haunts me. I may have to change my antipsychotic from olanzipine to another one because I am hearing women yelling at night when I'm in bed again. 
Listen. From an FB post:
"Sigh. For those at the back:

Your brain is an organ, correct? And organs like your liver, kidneys etc they can get sick and malfunction right? Then why can’t your brain get sick? Why is still looked at as different? Because, one would say, you ARE your brain. Your habits, your manifestions of experience, your thoughts and ideas. And that’s more than any of your other organs do.
Well, sort of.

Your brain does not dictate who you are intrinsically and innately. Rather, the brain takes external stimulants, experiments, and ideas and converts them into a pattern unique to each individual, and then dictates how they will be conveyed by you. And that’s what we call a ‘mind’. It’s a complicated system, a beautiful and gobsmacking system, but to say ‘you are your mind’ is erroneous. ‘You’ are what your brain dictates based on your past experiences and your brain’s health.
A malfunctioning brain will take that stimulus and translate it into something other than how it should be translated.

And that’s how you-‘your mind’ can get sick"

It's ok to be sick. With a mental illness you must rest and treat yourself the way you would a close friend. |Be kind to yourselves.

The next few posts will be about my journey through the past 6 years. Hold tight. It's quite the ride. I also need to find a new platform because apparently nobody uses blogger anymore. 

I'm (sort of but isn't that always the way?) back

February 14,2020
Bipolar, the 'Bi' that's way less fun than the other one.

Hello potential readers. It's been a slice. My first blog post since 2014. Wow. ok. I'm writing this for several reasons. As Leonard Cohen said in one of his songs "I hope you're keeping some kind of record". One of the reasons I'm doing this is because a few choice friends told me I should. But secondly and most importantly I need to keep a record of my illness and medications. That's right, my illness. I have Bipolar I Disorder. The big sea change since beginning this blog in 2014. The drugs I need to be on are going to make me less articulate, less alive in my prose than I was in previous posts. (read the "Ahem" post and you'll get a sense of what I mean). And that's ok. Another reason for writing this came from a friend who thought that maybe someone out there is in the same boat as me, stretching their arms out to grasp hold of anything tangible. Because things in our bipolar world aren't tangiblee. They're just nebulous cycles of a heavy heart.
Let's see. Where to begin where to begin. Perhaps I should just begin by getting a readership. If you're interested in the mad stories of addiction, mania, medication, self-mutilation and destruction, and failings (so many failings) then let me know in the comments. This won't be a blog about those terrible things listed above only. I will talk a lot about compassion and self care. I'll probably keep writing anyway but it's nice to know that people are reading it, taking in the delicate balance between compassion and rage.
I suppose my first (first after all this time) should be my most recent status on |FB because apparently that's where I write my feelings now:
"On Tuesday morning I broke.
It started with me throwing up. A lot. But there was nothing in my tummy. I felt like I was throwing up the last of the happiness I would ever feel.
Then came the brick of overwhelming sadness and desperation. Now, I’ve been desperate before. You don’t let docs electrify your brain 21 times without being desperate. But this time was different. This darkness had a shape. It was omnipotent. It had teeth, sharp claws, with no hint of recourse, respite, or relief. I’ve been here before, standing on the edge of that abyss, and I’ve always had my feet firmly planted on the ledge, but this feels like I’ve fallen; still clinging to the edge with white knuckles, gritted teeth, and feet dangling looking for a step up. I’ve been in bed since the darkness came, only to emerge if the hunger pangs are relentless. I’ve been taking my sleeping meds during the day just to be asleep while the abyss keeps drawing me in. But I’m slowly crawling out of it. Slowly. As I always do. I keep trying to treat myself tenderly. Like a figure made of matchsticks and just as combustible. I’ve never in my life felt the way I did on Tuesday. Now my gauge on how depressed am I has widened which doesn’t make it easier when trying to seek help; my rock bottom now has a rock bottom.
If you’re at rock bottom know that I am here too. I see you. I hear you. You are loved and you are necessary. And I’m right down here with you holding your hand."