Tick, tick, tick...

BOOM!

So, today really shouldn't have happened. I would have been happy to go from October 26th straight to October 28th. Kind of like how tall buildings skip the 13th floor.

I woke up on the wrong side of the bed. Like, Antarctica wrong. I don't know why, I just did. Then, as I was getting ready for work, I could feel the pressure building, albeit slowly. Now, normally I'd stay home when I feel like that because I know myself and how bad it could get, but I decided to go in anyway. I mean, it's only four and a half hours, right?

At work, I fought, I suppressed, and I managed to keep it hidden despite the near bursting pressure inside. My students didn't suspect a thing and the teachers I work with just thought I was unusually quiet. I found things to do that kept me away from pretty much everyone, but working in a school, human contact is inevitable.

When I got home, I had to call the Department of Workforce Services about my Medicaid application. As usual, the woman I talked to was what I've come to expect from years of government training. I actually hung up on her before I really lost it.

I had to let off steam, so I called my mom. Talking usually helps, but not this time. Then my dad came upstairs. He still hasn't learned that when I say, "don't talk to me," it's for his own protection. To be fair tho, most people haven't. But he didn't listen. He kept talking, and he said the one phrase that will make the pin strike the balloon... "calm down." I was literally screaming "STOP TALKING TO ME!" That was 6 hours ago... My throat still hurts.

This pressure had been building for a few days. I've released bits here and there by crying when nobody can see (again, I'll deny that with everything I have), but I can't seem to get this under control lately. I want to cry at least half the time, but nobody knows. The pain actually makes it hard to think so I have to work extra hard to understand things. The thoughts in my head have been getting darker and scarier. I'm actually afraid of myself. The only thing that keeps me from hurting myself is how much it would cost my family for a funeral.

A letter to a kid

Today, in therapy, my therapist had me talk to an empty chair. Why? Because it wasn't empty. Things from my past were there and I could say anything I wanted to them, but never could. My bully and Bryan. I couldn't shut up when it was the bully, but I couldn't find words for Bryan. I finally did.


Dear Bryan,

You're such a great kid. You're kind, friendly, and helpful. You're a friend to everyone in the class.

I wish I could say more than that. I can honestly not remember the last time I talked to you or even saw you because we were so young when you were taken from us.

One thing I won't ever forget is the day we found out. My mom walked me to school, just like any other Monday, but when we got there, we knew it was no ordinary day. Two girls, a year older than we were, came up to my mom and me and almost sounded as if they were laughing while saying, "Bryan's dead." After that, my mom and I went into the classroom where our teacher was sitting on her desk, crying. You wanna hear something weird, Bryan? That year was her first year teaching there, and she was 27. You'd be 27, almost 28 now. But that amazing teacher who wept for you is up there now. Can you find her and thank her for me? She was a great teacher.

In just your ten short years, you left a hole bigger than you may have realized. There was a hole in the class that eventually got filled, but the hole you left in our hearts, well, that's something that will never heal.

I hope you know we still think about you.

Charmaine

Sarcastic? Me?

I've seriously lost count of how many sarcastic things I've said today...

So, I'm a naturally sarcastic person anyway (if you couldn't tell), but when I'm tired or cranky, it's pretty much a constant. This is a bad thing for more than one reason.

1~ Kids do not understand sarcasm. They will take you literally.

2~ Most Utahans don't understand it either. A lot of people here live with rose coloured glasses. They see the good, and only the good, and take everything so literally! But that's a whole other rant.

3~ I use sarcasm as a way to hide how I really feel.

So, lately I've learned that I have a problem with feelings. Not having them, because I'm sure everyone around knows that I have them. I have a problem expressing them. Some of my students will come up to me and say, "I love you," and I'm just like, "you're cute." I can't actually say it. To anyone, really. I mean, people say it to family and friends all the time, right? And it's not that I don't feel it, it's just that I can't say it. Then there are the not so fun times in therapy where I get started talking about something emotional. Yep. Out pours the sarcasm and the tears get fought back.

I can't even call myself "broken" because that would entail that nothing is held back. I guess I've just told myself "tough as nails; cold as stone" too many times. Either that or my ex ruined me forever. Ooh... I like it. I'll just blame him!

(insert clever title here)

So, I just put a hole in my wall...

No, I'm not being metaphorical. I literally just kicked a hole in my wall. In my defense tho, it's a weak wall.

Why am I so upset? I wish I had the answer to that question. For the last couple of days, I've been seriously agitated and rather volatile. Today, however, I just... exploded. I guess it's like Old Faithful. The pressure builds and builds until... KABOOM!

This doesn't happen very often (thankfully), but when it does... watch out! Not gonna lie, it's pretty stereotypical. Hollywood has put this type of episode on the big screen more than a few times. What they don't get, however, is how truly rare it is for someone with Bipolar to explode.

I guess now would be a prefect segue... I've been wanting to talk about this for a while.

I've watched a few movies lately that have a character who supposedly has Bipolar Disorder, and they infuriate me. Here's why...

Manic: Joseph Gordon-Levitt (swoon!) has been committed to a treatment program after beating a kid near to death. One kid in the centre has Bipolar. He seems pretty normal on the scale. Ups, downs, etc. But who winds up being the homicidal one? You guessed it! The kid with Bipolar.

I can't think of the others right now and it's going to drive me crazy! But the character with Bipolar Disorder is always the homicidal one! This is far from reality. More often than not, if someone with the disorder is going to kill someone, it is going to be themselves.

NEWS!!!

Just a couple of quick updates.

1~ You can now sign up for email notifications when I post a new blog. Easier than checking it every day, right? I mean, I love that you come here, but it's kind of a time saver for you.

2~ There is now a Facebook group with the same name as my blog! It's a place for open discussion for people with Bipolar as well as those who know someone with it, and anyone wanting to learn more.

And now a quick reminder... Please, please, PLEASE share this blog! On Facebook, Twitter, email, or whatever! Again, I don't make any money off how many people view this, I just want people to know that there are others out there who know how they feel.


Thanx!!! I love your faces!

FYI...

How to infuriate me in 3 easy steps!

1~ Compare my problems with somebody else.

"Well I know Suzy was feeling the same way last week."

2~ Pass off the things I say as unimportant.

"Oh. That's nice."

3~ Continue to talk to me when I'm obviously upset.

DO NOT, I REPEAT, DO NOT TALK TO ME WHEN I'M ANGRY!!!

I hold my emotions very well compared to others I've met with Bipolar Disorder, but that doesn't mean I don't have similar feelings. Some people take this for granted and that is not okay. Sure, to them I'm calm and collected, but they don't see that when I get to be alone, I'm neither. I'll deny this with everything I have, but, I cry... a lot.

A note to my friends and family,
When I'm looking down and either giving short responses or no verbal response at all... stop talking!

A Team

"D.A.R.E. to say no!"

So, I've always had an issue with people who drink or toke their way thru mental illness. Alcohol and crack are not medication (just in case you were wondering). It's just something I've never understood, and here's why...

I've had some horrid pain in a tooth that desperately needs a root canal. The usual over-the-counter meds didn't cut it, so I broke down and took a narcotic-based pain killer. Now, when I'm in pain, I'm less than pleasant, so, to everyone around, when the narcotic starts to kick in, it's a lovely reprieve (grammatically correct run-on sentence #1). But it doesn't just boost my mood to pleasant... I keep climbing into a full-blown mania (a little different from natural mania, but hard to explain).

It's great (ish) when I'm up there. My room gets cleaned and organised, blog posts (sometimes) get done, and everything is puppies and sunshine. But after about 4 hours, when the pain killer starts wearing off, watch out. It's a hard, fast crash.

So, it's easy for me to see how the addiction starts (taking another just to keep from crashing), but it's not a good feeling all around. I honestly hate it. I will do anything in my power to keep from having to take any narcotic-based pain killers.


Just in case you didn't quite understand the title...

P. Sherman 42 Wallaby Way, Sydney

"Just keep swimming."

Great advice from Dory, but not really practical. I've been scrambling to simply tread water, and lately, I can't seem to keep my head above water. **Side note: This is really freaking me out because water covering my face gives me the serious creeps** So, needless to say, I've been pretty useless lately.

For four years, I worked in a high school and I never had any problem. Ever since then, I can't seem to hold a job for more than 3 months, and even that's pushing it. It's not because I'm a princess and feel like I shouldn't have to work, it's because being out in public and having to think on their schedule is incredibly difficult for me. It's not so bad when it's like, 3 days a week and those days change each time, but when it's Monday thru Friday, 9-5, it's not going to go well. Don't get me wrong, I try, but I know my limits.

I have a job in an elementary school now, and it should be easy. I mean, I've never particularly liked kids under 12 years old, but these kids are (mostly) pretty amazing! Best part: I work 4 hours, 4 days a week! Sounds perfect, right? Wrong. I'm struggling to even get out of my bed in the morning. I'm practically using hooks to make myself smile anymore. It's not just wearing me out, it's wearing me down.

I don't even know what to do now. I'm on meds, I've got a therapist, and I still can't function like a normal human being. It's been so difficult lately that I've kind of given up. I've been fighting this my entire life, and I really just don't want to fight anymore.

Fun story: I had the worst day a couple of days ago, and I blew up on Facebook (mature, I know). Well, I got texts and messages from 3 people (one of whom wouldn't let me hide out...). Just those 3 people asking if things were alright for those few minutes changed my entire compost-filled week.

One of them was watching Glee, so it made me think of this.

(I'm trying to put a song on every blog now because, well, I want to!)