Nice quote
Rules to Live By…
Great everyday to do list!
A Myriad of Means to an Ever Elusive End
Over the years of dealing with bipolar disorder, I’ve explored a lot of alternative methodologies. The first, and most often utilized by my peers, is drugs. And not the ones the doctors prescribe. Some staggering stat of almost half of the people battling addiction also deal with a mental disorder. And of those with a mental disorder, about 20% have a drug addiction they struggle with.
Pretty early on I knew I needed to avoid drugs and alcohol, but knowing and doing are very different. Today it’s been 10 days since I’ve smoked pot. I guess my doc had my meds a little off and I’ve been self-medicating to help “pump my brakes”. Self-medication is tricky. It’s hard to get consistency in something illegal and often coming from third world countries. And it’s all so easy for an addict to overdue the dosage.
Leaving street drugs to our jaded youth, I began a quest for more sustainable self-medication. I know it’s probably a pipe dream but one day I’d like to only swallow my multi vitamin and no other pills. So I began my search.
My bookshelf is riddled with self-help books. If you saw it, you’d think that by know, I must be a goddamn guru of self-betterment. But alas, my struggle continues. Maybe if I’d actually finish some of the books I’d be a little better off. But as per some goddamn self-help guru, I’m perfect just the way I am. I’m perfect just the way I am. I’m perfect, oh..sorry. Got lost in my affirmations.
One topic in self help-ville I really connected to is diet. Diet plays a major role, for everyone obviously, but of a more vital status for those of us searching for sanity. When I look around at the other crazies in the psychiatrist’s waiting room, all too often I see a sea of soda cans and hear the crinkle and crunch of junk food all around me. Living off Mountain Dew and Cheetos will make anyone off kilter. It will make a crazy like me go wild almost upon impact.
I read about some common vitamin deficiencies of bipolars, such as the B’s, and so I stocked up on all these vitamins. But honestly, they often upset my stomach, probably because no one really needs 3000% of the daily-recommended dosage of Vitamin B6. So the vitamins sit in a drawer holding nutrients and good intentions all bottled up.
I also read that gluten should be avoided and so that’s what I’ve been doing; avoiding it. It took me quite some time to wean myself of it and I still may or may not eat some, despite how I feel later. My poor future self is always so beat up by past and present self. We always ignore future self’s pleas, “don’t eat that!” Bahh, it tastes good! Leave us alone! Until I’m on the shitter cursing my past self for her selfishness.
I discovered Chakras and I was convinced that this was my golden ticket to normalcy. If I could just get all my Chakras cleaned off and opened up, I’d be fine. And for a while there, I was all about it. I’d try and spend a few minutes throughout the day focusing on those energy points. Seeing the light emanate out to the world. But then life happens, a Chakra gets dusty and that stability I searched for slips away, yet again.
Then I learned I needed some rocks to help with the Chakras. Healing crystals. And so I searched them out and stashed them in my pocket. But still…crazy remains.
And then I found it. Aromatherapy. Now this would be the end all for me. Just a few sniffs of some calming concoction and all my troubles would drift away. But who can sit and sniff scents all day long?
Then I really found it. I really found the golden ticket. Biorhythms. You enter your birthdate and based on factors that elude me a chart is generated to show when you have super days and when you have stay under the covers day. I mapped out my life a few years down the road and was so excited to have found a road map to live by. But, it’s not exactly that accurate.
And then I dove into exercise. Who could go on a quest for self-betterment without exercise? It really is natures high. I love taking long walks with the dog, watching the birds zip around, watching the clouds drift by. It’s my insta-zen.
One of these modalities alone can’t and won’t do the trick. It’s a fine art of blending a little of this with a dash of that and just a tiny zest of this which works for me. And that’s not to say I always remember the recipe. Ok, let’s be honest. I usually don’t. But you know the best part? Finding all these ways to make life a little easier to deal with. Like the old tools in the toolbox analogy. What’s your screwdriver?
Always Wear Your Seatbelt!
I used to sleep insane hours. Compared to most people, I still do. My defense is being bipolar, we take in sooooo much more of the world than the average Joe. I have had to train myself to block taking negative energy from other people. If I see someone crying, I’m suddenly overcome voraciously with grief and…crying as well. But the blessing of it is that when I feel joy, damn that’s some good joy. And you can tune in to happy, joyous people as well. Happiness, euphoria, it’s all emotions right? I’ve been reading that tuning in to what you’re feeling is a good way to see what your mind is thinking. Do I feel bad? Change something if you do. Do I feel great? Awesome, let’s do more of this.
In the past few years, I think I may have become Pollyanna Positive. I’m always looking for the silver lining, the blessing in disguise. Cause you know it’s there. It’s always there. When you look back on some shitty times when some shitty things were happening in your life often you see that that shit made some damn fine manure. It made something change so that now you had some good times when good things were happening. A flower grew right up out that shit, huh? All right Polly, I’ll knock it off…
As usual, when I write these, I get way off track. And for that I do apologize. I really wanted to talk about sleep. So now, when I sleep sans alarm, don’t hate, as I pretty much always do, I sleep 9 hours. But only about 2 months ago, I’d sleep 11, 12 hours in one laying and take a nap as well. And I’m not talking a 20-minute power nap. Usually 1 to 2 hour nap. It’s easy to look back and realize how depressed I was. To me, my life was better in my dreams.
But now I don’t even take naps anymore. I’ve kind of always taken naps over the years. Sometimes I’d sleep less. Sometimes more. It’s the fun sleepy train of bipolar. But this not napping thing, it’s got me kind of hmmm…excited! Oh, I’ve laid down a handful of times over the past 2 months. But to no avail. I’d be tired from looking at the computer screen for too long and think a nap would refresh me. Yet I was like a little school kid just pretending to sleep but way too excited to sleep. And then I give in, get up, and go organize the Tupperware drawer.
I’ve been smoking pot because it turns out my docs actually don’t have the meds just right. I’ve got a new drug I’m supposed to start taking. Well, I was supposed to start 2 weeks ago. But I figured I’d run through the last of the pot first and then go to my pot in a pill formation. I’m almost out so it’s almost time.
I’ve quit before. I’m a professional quitter, actually. And I’ve known for a long time that this love affair has gone on long enough. Mary Jane doesn’t love me as much as I’ve loved her. It’s been a one-way street for some time now. It’s time for me to cut my ties. Say my goodbyes. It’s been a fun time. We’ll always have the memories, right sweetie?
Although, as I just reread what I wrote up there, it’s easy to ascertain I’m a little manic now. But who doesn’t love that? Oh right, the people around me. The dog doesn’t either since she just follows me around from one room to the next. Dog can’t get a good solid nap in that way. But I love it!! I know, I know, what goes up must come down. I said this in another blog that I’ve been excited but have this seatbelt feeling from my meds. Oh right, my seatbelt is broken. Damn it. Time to fix the damn seatbelt.
Loving the Library, right here in the Now
Out here in Boonieville, we don’t have a library. Sticksville does but Sticksville is far from here. I grew up in the library. I worked in the local library in 2 different cities. Dewey? Library of Congress? I got that down. Ask me any topic and I bet I could tell you the general area where you’d find it.
My last library, as if they were my past lovers, used the Dewey so I may be a little rusty on LC but I bet I’d still get you pretty damn close. I had been going to my local library, a simple 5 minute drive, for the past 3 years. I lived in the same place for 3 years and 1 month. You don’t know me but 3 years is a shockingly long duration for me to remain in the same place. Only place that trumps that is growing up with my parents.
As a young child growing up in the city, my father took my brother and I to the library almost once a week. We could pick out whatever we wanted to read. My father taught me to read at 3. I’ve been reading, sometimes voraciously, sometimes passively, ever since then.
But being who I am, I am currently reading probably 37 books. Well, that might be a slight exaggeration but I do get easily distracted. Who are you? What am I doing? Oh right, blogging.
Without easy access (hehe) to the people’s library, I’ve been forced to actually read the books on my bookshelf. I started reading “The Charge; Activating the 10 human drives that make you feel alive” by Brendon Burchard. I keep seeing ad’s out there to get the book so I would suggest it. I got my ad from Inc. I paid the shipping and they sent the book for free. I just made $1 mil for that statement, thank you very much. Jk
Burchard had a near death experience that woke him up to life. Now he’s all about living life enthusiastically, passionately, boldly and all kinds of other positive “-lys” out there. Funny thing though is that while I was reading it, I felt like I was already living what he was describing as the goal.
I’ve done what I wanted. I’ve walked away when it was time to walk away and I toughed it out when toughing it out was what needed to be done. I’ve been saying this for the past few years, but if I were to die, I’d be happy with the memories I was blessed to experience. Or perhaps alter some just slightly not so pleasant things with a little gloss. Give the ugly memories the Disney effect.
I’ve only just begun “The Charge” but the 1st of the drives is Control. Are you in control? Are you in the Driver’s Seat? Whenever I’m being codependent and rah rahing a friend, I always use that Driver’s Seat bit. Because it’s fucking true. You make the decisions. You call the shots. You take control and get in that Driver’s Seat!
But you know, I’ve been thinking. I think there is a superior place to Driver’s Seat. Driver’s Seat is great, don’t get me wrong. It’s an awesome place to be. But what about “Dialed In”? Where you tune in to what’s really happening, NOW. The slight breeze on your left cheek, the ache in your lower back, the annoying dog barking down the street. It’s when I Dial In that magic happens.
Money starts coming in I forgot about. The Green Lights. The Parking Spaces. The flow is so easy, and isn’t that the way life is really meant to be lived? Easy? Abundant? Go with the path of least resistance, like water babbeling down a hill. Nature is by nature (had to do it) abundant. When we Dial In to that web that connects us all on a cellular level, you can reach a higher state, no drugs required. Well, Ok, I’ve got to take the drugs the doc prescribed but still, the euphoria, the joy, the bliss experienced in the present moment. Dialing In. I think I’m going to put Now on speed dial.
We’ve evolved beyond hate
In my new fabulous apartment, with 10 ft. ceilings and utilities included, I live in downtown Boonieville. The post office is a five minute stroll from the house. I have a P.O. Box there so today I thought I’d pay it a visit.
This would be the third time I walked there, with the dog of course. As we go up the hill to the highway, there’s three dogs that live to our left. One is a cattle dog, the kind that spins in circles when they’re all fired up. Then there’s two others that look the same but one’s just a smaller version of the other d-o-g. I don’t know what kind of dogs they are but they’ve slobbery looking lips and gums and are built rock solid, big guy’s easily over 100 lbs. Short light brown fur.
The dogs make a huge ruckus and my Pup just strolls along with me, all chill and nonchalant. We get to the highway, I put the Pup’s leash on and we pass the front entrance of the three dogs estate. The gates are open, but the dogs know our scent by now and know we’re heading to the P.O. The dogs barrel down a hill into the arroyo and I cross a bridge, usually jogging since it puts the Pup and I closer to the semi’s, etc. traveling through these hills and valleys.
I take the leash off the Pup, stroll through the parking lot and into the P.O. I have some magazines, a book and some vistaprint shwag. No bills! Hah! How cool is that? In Pup form, she’s sitting at the door waiting eagerly for my return. Slightly bummed about having to haul all the former tree product back to the casa, I decide to figure it can build some muscle.
We cross the bridge again and this time walking past the front open gate, the cattle dog is sleeking along behind us slowly gaining. It seemed friendly enough, just curious about the Pup. Well, no, that bitch wasn’t curious. She was mean! She bit the Pup on her leg, I yelled at the bitch and we went on our way. The Pup was quite shaken. I was annoyed.
But then I started thinking. I bet she’s a bitch and those other too big goofy dogs are boys. And my Pup is a bitch, to be technical. I bet she only bit her because bitchs do that.
Back when we lived in Lake Tahoe, a friend, his new girlfriend, myself and all of our dogs went down to the beach. My Pup ran in the water and then got all fired up just like she always does when wet. She came barreling up to the rest of us and this Rottweiler bitch reached out and bit her. 14 stiches. The other dog was a boy who my Pup actually lived with for a few months and had been on many walks with. The Rotty got jealous and took a filet of my dog out. Seriously, it was like she fileted her. No blood came out at all. She just had a big hole in her side.
Point of all these bitch tales as that bitches across species have been hating for so long. It’s time to change that. Ladies, we need to realize we’re all sisters. If we work together we can create so much more. Ladies bring so much to the table but some, you can just feel the vibe,; hate. And what a sad state to live in hate. For certainly what you see is what you get. See hate? Get hate. See Love? Get Love.
It’s so simple. Taking one moment to breathe, center yourself, feel your energy pulsing through you. Realize that energy is truly limitless so share your energy with others in need and refuel through whatever refuels you. Nature does it for me. Also remembering that energy is flowing out of the earth all the time and I can just dial in whenever I want. Realize we have advanced to humans to be above dogs and other simple minded creatures. Hate is useless. Love is priceless.
Is it possible to be connected and disconnected?
Now that I live in the boondocks, I don’t talk to many people. Some days, no one at all. I need to reach out to you, the world wide web crawlers. My dog isn’t the best conversationalist and I’ve been trying to scale back the talks we already do have. So now it’s like I’m entering this new force, this new consciousness, this connected yet so far apart thing. I must admit, I’m more than a little intimidated.
It’s silly that I am so nervous about the inter web. I used to be a chat room junkie when I was a teenager. I loved how you could always find someone to chat with about whatever you felt like chatting about!! I pretty much only wanted to talk about drugs. Now, I don’t know what to say. I’m also being torn by a concept clash.
I am a self professed tree hugger. In fact, I hugged a tree a few days ago, literally hugged it. I read a book on energy sources and according to the author, trees are like a nuclear power plant of love energy. They are. Go hug a tree. Press your chest up against the rough bark, slip your fingers gently around the tree, lean your face against the tree and feel the tree against your cheek. Against your finger tips. And against your heart. Pretty powerful stuff, that tree huggin’ is. I get off track easy…So the torn thing, right?
On one hand I’m consciously moving myself to live with less impact on the planet. I know that every bit helps and it’s all about being present. I want to set up a compost and do it all. I’ve lived in cities and towns, and always right downtown. Now? Middle of nowhere. I got land. I got room. Bring it. On the other hand, my current stumbling block, is learning how to incorporate and act on the inter web. That’s what they call it, right? Just teasing. But I know there’s an etiquette to it all and I need to learn it. I guess I just need to spend more time in front of my laptop.
Laptop. Nature. iPhone. Compost. I guess I should just realize that now, the world is on the web. To be of service, you must be where the people are. I am making a conscious effort to accept the fate that I must visit this web, crawl this web, and inhale this web. I only recently realized the beauty of social media. It’s about the collective, the group. That the world all chips in what they know about something, what they experienced somewhere and so much more is mind boggling. In some religions, they believe the next Buddha or Mohammed will be a group, not an individual. Between the members of the group, their consciousness will be raised to a level unavailable as an individual. It is only through the power of all the minds dialed in together on the same mission, same goal, same thought pattern that makes a super brain from the many.
So listen up, Inter Web. I see you. I see what your about. And I’m liking what I’m seeing. I’m really liking what I’m seeing. I see this as a new relationship, and damn if I don’t see my future babies in your eyes! Oh Snap!
Oasis
I’ve moved to an Oasis and have found some peace. In the fall, the trees along the river fill with migrating birds who make such a ruckus you’d think you were in a windy storm! Stars like I’ve only seen in foreign countries.
But now…now it’s so quiet. Just me and the dog…for days. I’ve become a little manic though. So many thoughts, so many ideas, so much to do.
But it’s another gorgeous day in paradise and this day, like every day, only brings us blessings…albeit sometimes disguised…but blessings none the less.
And so the adventures begin…
I’ve been searching for sanity for sometime. Some days, I feel like I’m pretty darn close. Other days, it’s blatantly obvious I’m miles away. The majority of the time is just learning to accept that I have a mental health condition. In fact, that’s the hardest part.
The messes always get cleaned up, the debt gets reduced, the apologies get said. But the acceptance…that’s a whole different ballpark. Who wants to accept that they’re crazy? Who wants to accept that for the rest of their life they need to take medicine every single day? Who wants to accept that the belief that you’re invincible is…well, just a belief? Who wants to accept that when you don’t get what the point of living is that neither does most of society though they don’t wallow, mope, and contemplate taking that last gulp of life…tonight.
There’s this voice inside me that thinks, maybe they got it wrong. Maybe I’ve just been tagged bipolar and stuck in this track that isn’t even for me. But then, a simple reflection on the past twenty years of my life provides some reassurance, (reassurance? More like eesh, did I really do that?), that the docs got it right.
I’ve battled addiction since I can remember. As soon as I first started smoking pot, I knew this was the drug for me. I plucked a seed out of the crap 13 year olds smoke from the Midwest and stuck it in a nice planter box on my windowsill. A few days later, my dad asked what I was growing. “It’s for science class”. He went away. Next day he tells me we live in the city and you can’t just grow that in the window. “You’ve got a day to get rid of it”. My hopes of growing my own supply died in the city park. I haven’t smoked in a couple weeks. I guess it exacerbated my conditions. Never realized it, but that’s what the experiments are all about.
I don’t drink much anymore either. I found that every two months or so, I’d get a wild bug up my ass. I’d want to get down right wasted, go dancing, socialize with the whole world, drag a stranger home and fuck his brains out. And most of the time when I got this way, being only about 110 pounds, I’d black out after so many shots and well, you tell me what happened cause I sure as hell don’t remember.
Lately I’ve been feeling energized. Like there is new life inside of me. I feel this buzzing, this force…but like I have a seatbelt on. The meds. The meds have become my seatbelt. I can’t go too high, can’t go too low. The damn meds.
You can read that there are famous people out there, diagnosed or assumed to be bipolar. Vincent Van Gogh, Virginia Woolf, Mozart; geniuses of their chosen fields. They didn’t take meds and they created masterpieces. Sure, they may of all killed themselves but they’re immortal through their work. It’s the drive to make masterpieces that makes me want to flush the white pills, the blue pills…all the pills down the drain. It’s that urge to renew that direct connection with the Universe so that all I touch is gold, all I think is gold, all I do is gold. But alas, I need to remember that I take my meds to avoid another suicide attempt. For the seatbelt effect. I take my meds for the damn seatbelt effect.
My Experiments with Sanity 