Saturday, March 30, 2013

This too Shall Pass

This too shall pass.  Today, a close friend looked at me and said: "Two years from now, you'll either have what you're hoping for or you'll be over it.  Either way, it'll be okay."  It's what I needed to hear.  Because, Guys, I am scared.  There are cuts on my arms.  An uneasiness around my heart.  And fear, the fear is always there.   Creeping up on me.  Closing in.  Suffocating me slowly.  Often times I don't even know what I am scared of, but that doesn't change the fact I am terrified.  That I want assurances.   But that's not life.  Instead of promises, we are left with a terrible uncertainty that claws at our hearts and keeps us up at night.  The best we can do is remember: This too shall pass.

Blue Hair and Sewing Buttons into My Eyes

"Making up a song about Coraline
I will not be intimidated!

She's peach.  She's a doll.  She's a pal of mine.
She's as cute as button in the eyes of everyone who ever laid their eyes on Coraline."

"No way.  You're not sewing button into my eyes."  In case You haven't already guessed, Coraline is one of my favorite films.  The animation is beautiful.  The colors in the film are stunning.  And the storyline is enthralling for young and old alike.  Thus, in honor of Neil Gaiman's masterpiece, today, I am dying my hair blue.  Sure, part of this has to do with the fact I am manic right now, but another part of me, the saner part, likes the idea of being the only blued haired chick at church tonight and tomorrow.  Because, while I believe in Christ, I am making damn sure no one sews buttons into my eyes.  

This awesome little ditty was created by They Might Be Giants.  Enjoy!

Thursday, March 28, 2013

Keep Me: Prayers of a Mad Girl

Dear God,

Please--Keep me from cutting my arms.   Keep me from hurting myself.  Keep me from crying tonight.  Keep my anxiety at bay.  Keep me close.  Keep me cautious.  Keep me sane.  Keep my heart safe.  Keep me focused on You.  Keep the emails coming.  

Jennifer

Monday, March 25, 2013

Thursday, March 21, 2013

Make a Dot. Poke a Hole.

“We all move uneasily within our restraints. (Kay Redfield Jamison)  Guess what?  I started a new Mood Stabilizer on Tuesday: Lamotrigine.  And my Deep and Passionate desire to visit the Piercing Pagoda has been nixed by my psychiatrist. But Guys, I really want a piercing.  Make a dot.  Poke a hole.  Make dot.  Poke a hole.  I am craving the pain.   The dull burn that would refocus my mind and help me get by.  Despite that fact, I haven't given in to the temptation yet.  Nope.  Instead, here I sit in South Bend Chocolate Company typing away, fighting tears, and wishing there was a hand to hold right now.  Make a dot.  Poke a hole.  Make a dot.  Poke a hole.

Tuesday, March 19, 2013

Breaking Bad: Manic

Guess what, Kids?  Yours Truly is Manic.  That's right!  Too much Zoloft left me Revved Up and Raring to Go.  Now that isn't a problem, right?  Who doesn't want a little extra energy?  Wrong!  Here's the deal: All I want to do is Tattoo myself and Pierce Holes in my Body.  Its the Physical Sensation.  The release of Endorphins combined with the Distraction caused by the Pain Itself is Incredible.  But there's a catch.  My Psychiatrist has assured me that both of my desires will make me more susceptible to catching Hepatitis C.  Or in his words: "Your skin is an ORGAN, Jennifer.  Would you poke holes in your liver?"  No, but, then again, I cannot hang Pretty, Shining Bobbles from my Liver either, now can I? But even if I could put the yearning for physical pain aside, and I can't, I still would be struggling.  Because here's the worst part: I am a Fucking Yo Yo.  I go way up and then I get scared and want to cry.  Then I am up again, but nervous.  I never can be sure I won't be crushed.  It worries me.  Up and down we go, where she'll stop nobody knows.  There's no help for it so I guess, for tonight, I'll take a Xanax and watch Breaking Bad.  What else can ya do?

The Inner Resource Room

Here I am sitting in the "Inner Resource" Room at Notre Dame.  Its a room for Crazy People, like myself, to De-Stress.  In this Worry-Free Zone of Awesomeness there is Massage Chair and a Lamp that provides Artificial Daylight.  How lovely.  I am basking in the Artificial Daylight as I type.  You envy me right now, don't you?  You sitting there without a Massage Chair.  You with no Artificial Daylight. Muahahahaha. Well, if its any consolation, this is one of the few Perks that comes with being Bipolar. Now technically, I am only allowed to be in here for ONE HOUR.  But I unless someone knocks and asks me to leave, I will be staying for TWO.  Listen, I am the most screwed up person on this campus of Uber Wealthy Catholic Irish American Right Wing Republican Fuckers (say that three times fast) so screw them!  This room is MINE.  Back the Fuck Down! (She says in an entitled way)  Now, as I am needing another delightful massage, I'll be signing off.  Your Correspondent from Notre Dame's Inner Resource Room: Jennifer.

Saturday, March 16, 2013

Uniquely Like Everyone Else: Bipolar

Okay Kids, Here's the Deal!: I want a Rook and Nose Piercing.  I think they are Cute and Sparkly and I plan to drink plenty of alcohol before the said "Piercing Artist" attacks me with a needle. Now, if I were writing this Three Years Ago, I would have confidently told You: I am getting these Piercings as an Expression of my Truly One of Kind, Unique, Super Exuberant Personality.  But then, like Bird Shit falling from the Sky, reality hit me smack in the face!  After last year's horrific depressive episode (that I am still recovering from) which left me suicidal and psychotic, I learned my Personality is Not that Unique and Definitely Not Special. I have a Mental Disorder, and its not Unique Either.  In fact, thousands of People are Bipolar and I'm sure most of them fancy themselves Artistic, Dye their Hair Wild Colors, and Pay People to Poke Holes in their Face and Ears.  I am Uniquely just like Everyone Else.  And that's the thing: Do I want a piercing because I really think its cute or is this just a moment of mania?  A brief obsession that will pass with time?  I wish I could be sure of my answer.

Tuesday, March 12, 2013

What Meds Are You On?

Are you sitting down?  Okay, good.  Now, watch this Clip from Silver Linings Playbook.  DO IT!  If you have finished, than you may continue reading.  Here's what I love about this scene: It's honest.  This IS what its like for Bipolar and Depressive patients still struggling to stabilize to hang out with Uber Normal People.  Normal People feel bad.  They stare at their salad.  Wait for you to stop talking and then change the subject.  Thus, if you're on a Shitload of meds, like me, than what you learn real fast is that admitting that fact often leads to uncomfortable situations.  I mean, its one thing to say "Oh, I just take zoloft."  But it's a whole other when you say: "I'm on 5mg Abilify, 300mg Wellbutrin, 300mg Zoloft, NAC, Synthroid, and Xanax as needed."  Yeah, that's right.  I'm a walking drug counter.  And here's the other thing: Often times, I do say more inappropriate than appropriate things.  Stuff just pops right out of my mouth.  I don't mean for it, too.  Thankfully its rarely unkind.  Just awkward.  I'm awkward.  I rarely attach to People, but when I do its too quickly, felt too deeply, and stays with me for far too long.  And that's the thing, Guys.  Sometimes being Mentally Ill is so lonely and isolating.  Because even the people closest to you don't always know what to say.  And if I were stronger and more courageous, I might tell them: Just talk to me, like you care.  I'm still me.  I'm still here.  I'm just struggling right now.  

Friday, March 8, 2013

Floating: The Difference a Year Makes

Last March, Yours Truly was in the Depths of Despair.  No, seriously, I scored a 25 out of 26 on a Depression Test and routinely imagined myself "Floating Away."  Thankfully, all my plans for said Floating were unbelievably Irrational and Less than Viable (my favorite involved a flight to Paris, a bottle of pills, and a trip to Notre Dame) but the Floating was definitely part of the plan.  Yet, here we are, a year later.  And I'm improving.  Noticeably.  And, slowly, here a little, there a little, things are getting easier.  No drama filled moments...at least none outside my own head.  Yeah, sure, I am still terrified for my Poor, Old Heart.  But, each day, even that gets a bit easier, I think.  Its not just the drugs finally kicking in.  Its that, over time, I am learning how to trust again.  Because, honestly, Guys, I might always be frightened of being jumped on, like Nero with Pompeia.  Up and Down!  Up and Down!  Until I'm crushed beyond repair.  But the only way to assure that never happens is to lock myself away.  And If I keep everything and everyone special from happening to me then nothing ever will happen to me.  Scared or not, I'm praying something does.

Tuesday, March 5, 2013

I is for Ida

"I is for Ida who drown in a lake."  We are having a meltdown.  We were fine.  Got our haircut and colored purple.  Ate a late lunch.  Then took a nose dive.  Now, we are drowning in self-doubt and fear.  On this Gorey afternoon, we need reassurance.  Hugs.  Pats on the head.  A cookie for good measure.  Because there are no promises, Friends.  No sure fire way to know our heart won't break.  No promise we won't cry.  No help for us when I do.  We are scared.  "I is for Ida who drowned in a lake."