Peace In Fire Form.

Seroquel side effects

New to this med- Seroquel XR… I have rotten heartburn, I think. If feels like a pill stuck in my throat… I drink, it doesn’t move. I eat, it doesn’t move. I lay down, it gets worse and feels like the “lump” moved up higher. Is this actually heartburn? I should be lucky, I guess, that I don’t know.

"Any resemblance to persons living or dead should be plainly apparent to them and those who know them, especially if the author has been kind enough to have provided their real names and, in some cases, their phone numbers. All events described herein actually happened, though on occasion the author has taken certain, very small, liberties with chronology, because that is his right as an American."

The memoir A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius, by Dave Eggers, because of its autobiographical nature, features the above play on the usual disclaimer... If you believe I have used your character without proper recognition, please feel free to sulk about and stew on the idea that either 1) I didn't know your phone number, or 2) I didn't know you well enough to notify you of said use of your character, or 3) that I believe that you are mature enough to get over it... Consider that last one a compliment. Thank you!

12.1.2020

It’s now been another two years since I was on here. (Helloooooo hypomania.) Before I go back and fill in all the pieces, how about a rant from today?

I started a coach to 5k -ish type thing today. Because my new psych doc told me to. And I kinda feel like he’s right, and I also kinda hate him for it. Apparently running is good for overall brain health... I’m sure there’s research somewhere (feel free to share what you got). He changed some of my meds (increased and added) - which I totally agree with, no beef there. He seems like a good fit - and after a year of being without a psych, that is no small feat. 

And now, here I am, eating my peanut butter toast, and dark chocolate covered bananas, sipping a (homemade) iced vanilla latte, deciding I want to get back to journaling. Writing. Whatever you wanna call it.  Basically, I just want to have a place to vent about how much I super duper HATE running. 

There. I said it. I hate running. I hate putting on the Costume of running - too tight pants that cut in to my stomach. Do I wear underwear? Sports bras constricting my chest, too thin straps digging in at my shoulders. Who knows what top layer to wear - more too tight long sleeves, or just a racer back tee, under a puffy coat (that apparently No, I’m NOT supposed to wear that... whatever).

This won’t be ALLLLL complaining. Mostly, but not all. 

I like the bright florescent colors of my pants, that I have cool socks to wear, and my shoes are almost new. I like knowing I did it - as little as I feel I actually accomplished today - I did SOMETHING today. I liked the shower. I liked that I took time to put on face cream - oh shit, I forgot to put on deodorant. I like that for now this is my little secret - only two other adults know about this, and one I live with so hiding it would be difficult ;) The other one, Scoop - you know who you are - has been a solid supporter of this next endeavor. We’ve decided in a weird way that he will live his lost running life vicariously through me. Oh - and, I mean, this could be a thing - I like that my wedding dress will fit better if I keep this running thing up (and the aforementioned man in my life is super excited to see how it affects, um, my wardrobe... we’ll say wardrobe. 

More negatives, for funsies: 

I hate that I clench my jaw when I run. Since I started running back in 2009 I used to say “running is bad for my teeth” because I would clamp them down so hard I was afraid I would crack them.. I cannot tell you how many times I have bitten my tongue whilst running. The taste of metal and "working out” go hand in hand in my brain. 

I hate that I forget to bring things. By that I mean I am always surprised at how woefully underprepared I am when I head out the door. Tissues- forgot. Earbuds that fit in my coat - nope. Charge the phone - totally did but then forgot to put it on low battery mode and it died only ten minutes in. Headband ear warmer - again, nope. Left that in my car, that I walked past on the way. Ah- deodorant. Yep. Forgot that too. Not that I need it, I have that weird gene that my sweat doesn’t smell bad - look it up, it’s a thing. Warm up stretch - shit. I mean, I stretched in bed before I got up, and had to bend over to put on my shoes - that counts for half, right?

I hate the headache I get after. I don’t drink enough water, that’s on me. But for as long as I can remember I’ve always had headaches after exercising - whatever form it may be: swimming, yoga, sex, hiking, roller skating, dancing... always a headache after strenuous physical activity. Water. I’m sure water is the answer. Also 

I hate water. And I know I need it. blahhhhhhhhhhh. This has nothing really to do with starting running, but I thought I’d throw it in there.

I’m having a hard time understanding the “runners high” concept. I don’t ever remember having that. Even with two 5ks behind me, and all the practice runs leading up to them.... I was proud of us for DOing them (me and the kiddo), I was blissfully happy to have them BEHIND me. The endorphin rush I’ve heard about and read about doesn’t ever seem to come my way. I wonder if that’s related to my botched biochemistry, my headaches, my bipolar.... or am I just not doing it right?

For now, one day down. I sure as hell hope my Fitbit tracked today. Shit. Imma go check.

Later peeps.

-Me

Panorama at therapy...

Poe Forrest

Where I am... Where am I?

You know that feeling of foreboding?... I mean, if you're bipolar or depressive or anxious or have panic attacks you get that feeling, like, the other shoe is gonna drop... Any minute now. I'm there. I think. I don't know. I wish there was a guide book for the emotional roller coaster that is my life. Not your life or her life but MY life. I wish I could look into the future and see Yes Dammit, I'm headed in the right direction... You'll see, you'll get there. But no. No book. No instruction manual. I split our account two weeks ago, into a hers and his. It was my first step at "detachment with love" they call it. I took my name off all the credit cards, which I already regret... What if I need to buy medicine or pay for a copay?... I suppose I will have to figure that out. Right now, I'm paying for myself and my daughter to live without fear of not having money. So. Yeah. No credit cards. Dammit. I was High as a kite on Friday, not sure why. Probably just the excess built up passive aggressive anger coming out in a ball of misplaced energy. I was singing and laughing and felt like I was in a good place. I don't know where i am now. This bipolar thing for me was pretty stable there for a long time, but the past month or two I've been rapid cycling ... Like sometimes morning to afternoon cycling. So strange to have the Black thoughts at ten am, then be Rainbows at two. I don't get it. I suppose there will be years of learning ahead. For everything. Learning how to lean on myself and still love him. Learning how to cultivate a relationship between my daughter and her father, but not allowing her to get hurt. I'm inpatient. Learning should come to you like math facts - 2x2=4. Got it. Done. Never changes. This learning curve is so long and twisted and it dives off cliffs and parachutes to rolling greens then skids you off to an iceberg. But no map. No instructions. And that other shoe- it's hovering. My break downs are minor compared to losing my ever loving fucking mind two years ago. But no less scary. A panic attack three (3?) weeks ago was enough to rattle me for days. I don't wish them on anyone. I felt it coming, like now. I felt it in my skin, in my ears... It was humming, right there in my brain. The vibration that stirs all the shakes and tears and cuts off my voice. I felt it coming. I tried, honest, I did... I washed my hands and face. I plugged in, loud as I could get it. I sat on the floor- what can I see? what can I feel? what can I smell? what can I taste? Grounding. And it didn't matter. The wave swept me up, the whole stick of a human I've become, and tossed me over its shoulder into the rolling ocean ... No lifeguard. No raft. Just deep, drowning, tumultuous waves of ... Of what? It wasn't truly sadness. It was this odd combination of relief and terror. Finally, FINALLY it was here and I could drown. Who wishes that they could drown?... I suppose only those of us that are most scared of the water. Because if we come up for air We've won.

Scared.

I renamed this post three times... Petrified. Terrified. Frightened. Just plain scared. I am just plain scared. I am supposed to go back to work on Tuesday and I am just plain scared. I don't know that I'm ready. I know I'm not ready, who am I kidding. I can barely read a menu let alone the two hundred plus emails I have to go through and all the changes that I am sure they have made in two months since I've been out. I'm basically going back ready to fail. Ready to get fired. And guess? I don't care. Can you tell where my mood is? Yup. Still down. But I think this is what they call a mixed state- I can't keep a thought in my head, but I just don't have any energy to care. I have one more day of therapy in group to go to before Tuesday and I'm not terribly confident that I can express myself the way I want to... When I say I'm scared, I mean, I have spent the past three days with diarrhea, no appetite, and picked out three outfits to wear on that day back... No four. Changed my mind. I want the green striped sweater, my comfy sweater, to go back in... I can't seem to find a comfortable place in my own skin. My clothes irritate me, my stomach irritates me, my face irritates me, my house irritates me, even my kiddo- and i hate that the most. Everything I come I contact with bothers me in some way. I'm not ready but I don't feel like anyone is giving me a choice- even when they say they are... I don't know... Guess we just have to jump in with two feet and hope the water is deep enough that we don't break a leg...

...she talks to angels... ...on our fridge.

Very nicely done!

Another version of the pictures, less photo manipulation , I just combined them to create “Never Grey”.

I think this is a great self portrait because it portrays the duality of my emotional state in which I’m constantly experiencing . The battle within. Swinging from one extreme pole to the other. The bipolarity that is at times creative and colorful and then on the other hand devastatingly dark .

Here’s a short poem to go with it.

//Never Grey//

She is both me. She is We.

Wide-eyed , Full-hipped Bitten lip, And Naturally Unhinged On both ends.

Swaying Always Swaying In no direction At all.

Who could withstand Such colorful chaos?

I can barely Climb The wall

Two pieces ,One mouth A mirror reflection of a stranger Defeat rides translucent , upon victory’s coattail .

She slithers in silk Mostly the spine in protest, Burning in the cools where Dark and Light coexist

Finding it hard to live In the neutrals of gray

It’s easier to swim, But sinking can be more Intriguing .

Perverse And pure, Like Pressed Pain hiding Behind Pleasure.

Vulva mind, Choice words for a Lady, So wet and so Cut dry.

Within the soul Appears the sweeter of Angels, While she’s holding the Pitchfork behind .

Who is she ? When I cannot protect Me from me.

She is never grey, Colors changing From day to day.

-Dee

Rapid cycle

Ever just have one of those days where you simply cannot get your shit together?... Well, duh, look at my audience here. You get it.