Tuesday, October 23, 2012

In this moment, I am...

My kids are supposed to be asleep and they are giggling those sister giggles that only happen in the secret world that opens up after you've been tucked in at night. They are here and giggling and I listen. I listen because I literally can feel it flying past me in time. I listen because it makes me giggle. I listen because it transports me to a time of sister giggles in the dark and fantasies and dreams and the world unstoppable laid infinitely before us. Even though the future was limitless it didn't matter during that quiet and secret time of sister giggles. I listen because I ache for the moment I know they will be gone. Gone in the short term, whisked away from me because of ultimate betrayal. And ache because they will grow faster than I did. But they giggle tonight. In fact, they laugh out loud. And they do it when I am not there to hear it. And that is a comfort. They are sisters. Who are currently laughing at things none of us on the outside will ever be a part of.

My dogs are snuggled on my bed. All 3 beautiful, stupid, obnoxious, precious dogs. Even the one I thought needed a new home because of my illnesses. But he, all 85 lanky pounds and growing of him, belongs no where other than sleeping at my feet right now. My cranky old man dog, 40 pounds of squatty little alpha male, is sleeping by my big precious baby when usually they are constantly at odds.  On my pillow is my baby girl. My stinky,furry little terrier that I literally found in my yard after barely escaping a head on meet up with a vehicle that surely would have ended her sweet little life. She is that dog that pees on the rug and chews on my hair. And she, like the other dogs is at peace and happily dreaming of whatever it is that causes her little paws to run in her sleep. While my real babies giggle, my dog babies all agree on sleeping peacefully in a massive, breathing pillow surrounding me.

My husband lies in the chair an arms length from my pillow. He doesn't feel well and drifted to sleep in the chair in our room. The "interaction" chair he calls it. Which causes us both to giggle those secret childhood giggles. Because calling it the interaction chair is a secret we share. A "had to be there" moment. And even if you were there, you wouldn't get it because it's our secret language. He sleeps but not without coaxing. He wanted to finish the remoding project we began together a year ago and only now have picked back up. He does this because he knows I want it done. He does this for the same reason he does a lot of things. For me. And he is dearly loved. But not because he does things. I love him without the doing things or buying things. And tonight, as my babies and my dogs,he lies peacefully asleep by me. In this beautiful room that we have textured and painted and sanded and decorated. It fully reflects me. And my taste and my personality and I am humbled that he wants that for me. I deserve none of his patience and excitement and energy and respect and private giggled and love. I don't deserve his love. But as he lay sleeping beside me, I've never been more grateful or content.

And here we are. The babies. The dogs. The husband who has restored my faith in love and future. And I am happy.

I am happy.

Sunday, October 21, 2012

Wake up...presumably because you are able to

Doctor 1: You need X meds because you are all kinds of sad and depressed and make Eeyore look like a hyperactive 5 year old.

Doctor 2: Why the hell are you taking X med?! Get off that now. It stirs up all kinds of business that nutty kids like you should not be stirring up.

Doctor 3: Why aren't you taking anything for your energy levels? You need to be back on Med X but this time twice the dose!

Doctor 4: No no no. You no take Med X anymore. You wake up dead. You take anymore and you going crazy and no wake up alive. You want wake up dead?!

Me: Well, no. No I don't want to wake up dead. Although does that mean I'm like a zombie or maybe is that what happened to Jesus? Just go on and off this medicine and finally wake up dead? Would I be skinny? Because I would agree to it if that were the case.

Anyhow, this has been my life over the last 6 months. And I have no idea what is working or not working or what is me just having brain diseases or what is just my doctors having brain diseases or pharmaceutical reps just being sneaky. I'm way up and way down and way sideways and way over here in my body while my brain is still way the hell across the room all like "what the hell? Why are you over there? Wait, where am I? Did I just wake up dead?"

It's the anxiety.

Yes. There are some extremely major events going on. Things that are stressful but necessary. Difficult but worth it. Brand new and challenging. And the ever present drama of my hysteria when it comes to leaving for an extended period of time. I get extremely agitated starting about a week before. I'd say this is major improvement considering I used to be stuck all up in my house all the time. I CAN travel now. And I actually really love to. But getting out of the house is still a big ass struggle. The house must be left in a certain order before leaving. All ducks must be in rows and also no ducks in the house because the shit too much. There are arrangements for my dogs and for my kids and packing and unpacking and packing again and washing all of the clothes and making sure everything feels just right. It's really exhausting. I feel better knowing that the dogs are going to be able to stay home. And all of those home things are under control. But it doesn't help that my anxiety is out of control. SERIOUSLY.

And I think that the meds are playing a serious part too. I'm on new things, I'm off old things, I'm off the new things and on all kinds of herbal supplements to make me quit being fat. So I keep having these intense stabs of adrenaline. Sometimes just for a few minutes. Sometimes all damn day. It's...well...it's exactly how I used to be all the time. And I'm freaking out a little.

I always had this idea that maybe someday I would try and go med free. But this is intense, and I'm still on all kinds of stuff. I'm funny and then mean and then crying and then laughing and then eating like 4 whole pizzas.

I don't know how I'm going to get through it this time. It feels insurmountable this time. It seems like I woke up a sleeping giant. Or maybe the giant woke up dead and is super pissed. Either way, I don't like it. I don't like how crazy I feel. I don't like the idea that lowering meds makes me this bad. I don't like the idea that I am petrified every single minute that these illnesses are going to cost me more relationships and more friends and cause me more pain and more disappointment. Hopefully, I'll find the way to level out like I always do. Then I will be back to spouting off unsolicited life advice like "Everyday is a learning opportunity" and "Even if it's a mistake, have no regrets because you've lived life" but for now I just want to stop getting buzzed with startling life or death chemicals all day long.

And hopefully, I won't wake up dead.

I don't have a door on my bathroom. This violates one of my primary rules of living. Bathroom time is alone time.

I guess I just figure by now that finishing my "100 things" project is just not going to happen. I'm OK with it. The list tends to change every time I look at in anyway. And not in the hey-I-just-remembered-all-this-other-stuff-I--appreciate! kind of way, although that does happen...mostly I look at it and I'm all "the fuck?" I don't appreciate that at all anymore. In fact, I kinda hate that. So I will go about living as if I did complete the task I set out almost a year ago to finish. There. All better.

Moving on...I moved into this house one year ago next week. And next week I'll be on a Caribbean cruise celebrating a belated honeymoon. And this cruise is for sure not going to end like the last one. Cause that sucked balls. Anyhow, a year ago. This house. And finally today we got around to painting the bathroom in our bedroom.

I peeled about half of the paper off that very week of moving in. Then a couple months later a tried to texture it. Which turned into a massive wallpaper/texture FAIL and ended with me cursing at the drywall and chopping at it with my texture spreader-on thing. A bit after that, the shower just decided to be a little bitch and quit working. And there it stayed until a few weeks ago when I suddenly became overwhelmed and obsessed with finishing that damn room. Like, obsessed to the point of bloody fingers picking at the walls. And staying awake at night just staring at it. This is probably highly uncoincidental that this occurred right around loony bin time. Hello. I'm Angela. I do crazy obsessive things now and again and require medication and trips to the crazy house to get my chemicals all back on their best behavior again.

A week ago, the door came off the bathroom. This was so I could paint it. But living without a bathroom door is a MAJOR uncool deal for me. Bathroom time is alone time. Yes, there is another bathroom in this house, but I am an adult damn it and I bought this house all on my own damn it and I want to pee in my OWN DAMN BATHROOM. Oddly, peeing my pants in the mud probably prepared me for this moment in my life. Everything is a learning opportunity, right? As of today, the doors and trim are painted. Most of the walls are painted. The shower is fixed and the crappy frosted glass doors are gone and the new shower curtain is ready to be hung. The shower has a new head and runs water and has be re caulked. There are still terrible light fixtures and places to texture and painting to be done, but I figure this will get us by for at least the next 4 months or so...

Which is good, because I am intensely having serious issue with serious mental illnesses. More to come...

Tuesday, October 16, 2012

That one time I peed myself. Again.

SO we did this Dirty 30 zombie run. I loved every second of the mud and the icy water and the obstacles and the crazy ass zombies chasing us. I loved it so much that I literally peed my damn pants. Yep. My body was frozen solid and my feet were bricks of mud and I was already covered in soaking dirty water head to toe and it was cold and I needed to pee. And the pee just came out. Not like on purpose. I just didn't have the energy to hold it back. And also I think my vagina muscles froze up. But then peeing made me laugh and I started peeing more so it was like "run run peeeeeeeeing run run little more pee" And I seemed like even more of a crazy person because now I'm laughing uncontrollably trying to run and just daring zombies to grab at the flags on my belt. Near the peeing. And so then Dual is laughing because the whole thing is so ridiculous and I got distracted and became zombie food. And also fell on a cactus. You haven't lived until you are still pulling little stabby shards out of your boobs two freaking days later. I mean, they were every where but my boobs?! Really, cactus? You got all the way past two t-shirts, long underwear and my sports bra? OK, you win cactus. Slow clap.

The best part is that I seem to have somehow really effed up my inner ear. So I've been dizzy for like a week now. Like really really couldn't-pass-the-drunk-test-even-though-I-have-only-been-drinking-water-for-days dizzy. It was kind fun at first. Now it's getting seriously difficult to function. Two nights ago I tried to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night and crashed right into the wall. Then, I fell in the bathroom and knocked the toilet all sideways off its resting place or hole or whatever you'd call the place where your toilet is NOT supposed to be mobile. Maybe I should just go back to peeing where I stand. I fell down at walgreens when ironically I bent over to look at some medications to help with the dizziness. Right on my ass. Very glamorous. Yesterday I tried to wear my favoritest blue platform pumps and couldn't even get down my hallway. I was like a pinball bouncing off the walls.

In less than two weeks we will be on a big ship in the middle of the ocean. The big wavy ocean. And I plan to wear heels. And drink a little. I predict much bruising. But hopefully no more involuntary pee or toilet destruction.

Meeting someone you've always known for the first time

Friday was the birthday of someone very awesome. He won't be able to read this post for a couple weeks I suppose. So I sent him a letter. And then got one back, and then again repeating that process. It is honestly like I have forgotten how to write notes or letters. Anyhow, this is a person who in a very very short time helped pull me out of a hole and has made me different.

There are people in my life who are supportive. People who listen and try to give me advice about my disorders, my choices, my life. There is my irreplaceable husband and I love him everyday, all day. And he loves me like nobody ever has...But when you find someone who has lived it from the inside out, it feels like the whole world is lifted off. It feels like, finally, someone can literally understand what I mean about obsession and depression and wildly impulsive choices, and mania, and the battle that rages in my head and my body and the feeling of medication trying to reign me in from inside out. There aren't a lot of people who have ever been able to actually understand. And I wouldn't wish this on anyone. OCD, Bi-polar, agoraphobia, meds and meds and meds and endless therapists and doctors and panic attacks and self medicating and distracting behavior. But finding an ally has changed everything for me.

I have to be accountable now. We met in that unlikely house of crazy. We are both fighting demons and REALLY want this time to stick. We met there in that house of crazy and bonded over a philosophy textbook. We might be crazy but we aren't stupid. We met there in that house of crazy and a lifetime of already knowing each other fell into place. A lifetime of being the only one treading water and trying to keep my fragile life together but I feel like a failure every time I lose a battle to one of the diseases. Now someone was treading water with me and telling me to keep swimming. I was saying keep swimming. And now I am accountable. Two old souls who have lived more life than we should have at our ages and seen/heard/felt/experienced lifetimes worth of pain and death and abandonment and being a disappointment and disappointing people and fighting and fighting with our brains and our lives and just trying to survive. So now I am accountable not to let that friend down. Because I damn sure expect to kick his ass if he quits trying. Not anymore quitting.

The funny thing is that meeting someone doesn't mean you haven't met them before. It turns out that we had "known" each other for 15 years or more. But not really, because we never knew the old versions of ourselves. I only know him as a fighter and intellect and possessing a creepy ability to cut through my bullshit in words that only seem to make sense to me. I don't know him as the cumulative sum of his bad decisions and struggles and failure. He doesn't know me as a defeated and helpless and sick victim of my circumstances. And I don't plan to let him meet that old me.

SO the moral of the story is give everyone a chance. Even if you did know the old them. Maybe we are trying to change. Accept the unknown and maybe the universe or karma or coincidence or whatever will reward your effort with a person you've known for years but you just hadn't really met yet. Be that person for someone. And let them be that person for you.

Happy Birthday to my friend. And don't make me kick your ass.

Sunday, October 7, 2012

All day. Every day.


To live is to suffer; to survive is to find some meaning in the suffering.
Friedrich Nietzsche

Yesterday I kicked ass. Yesterday I ran in the mud and played hard and laughed harder and got scrapped and bruised and I have sore muscles because I was running. I was breathing hard and soaking wet from crawling through mud puddles and climbing over walls. Yesterday I was strong and in control and beautiful and powerful and had my best friend by my side. Yesterday my husband who is also my best friend and I ruled the world. We were the only people in it. And we lived and had experiences because that is what people do.

Today I am mentally ill. Today I cry and I am manic. Today I picked wallpaper until I was bleeding and sweating and there wasn’t anything left in me to even raise my arms over my head but I couldn’t stop because I am compulsive and confused and my thoughts are wrong and my voice sounds funny and I want to stop but my mind won’t let me and I am fat and ugly and tired and lazy and sick and expensive and boring and I can’t do anything productive because of the damn wallpaper and all I want to do is be Angela again but I can’t find her. Today my best friend stood beside me and tried to help me break the mania and I was argumentative and angry and hurt and it had nothing to do with him. It’s my broken brain and my broken heart and my broken spirit and he is still there same as always. All day. Every day.

Today my mind was flooded with the memories of what used to be my life. “He” is the X that used to fill the role of husband. “He” was at my home to drop off my children and the mere presence of “his” energy makes me sick and weak and angry and hurt and so fucking angry that I can’t see straight and so fucking sad that I have no idea how I ever let myself get tricked into believing I was loved and so fucking angry at myself for letting them hurt me. I was flooded with the memory of my world crashing when “he” never loved me and he still to this day is with her and she hurts my mind and my soul and my body and my spirit. I am fucking angry that they wasted my trust and my innocence and my truth and my faith on their affair and their love and their life and all of the people who I used to see as friends followed them down the path of betrayal and apparently I was the only one who didn’t know that I wasn’t loved or even worth the dignity of not being lied to. Today every feeling happened simultaneously. And then I was literally sick over how these thoughts invaded my time with my best friend who was still standing beside me. Because that is what real men do.

Yesterday I was here. In reality. Today I was there. In mental illness. Yesterday I was strong. Today I was broken. Yesterday I was a survivor. Today I am a victim.

The worst part is that I don’t know how much of this is mental illness and how much is grief. I don’t know where bi-polar I and OCD take over the anger and sadness of humiliation that is still so strong. Maybe if I were normal it wouldn’t be so hard? Maybe if I were normal I could devote the full and proper attention to my best friend and my true and real husband that he deserves? Maybe if my brain wasn’t broken I wouldn’t feel so wasted and broken and dumped out and laughed at and I wouldn’t begrudge the years that “he” stole from me? Maybe I wouldn’t be filled with absolute rage that “he” stole life from me that I will never ever get back and in its place “he” left the equivalent of an emotional nuclear bomb that “he” just casually strolled away from and never looked back while I am left trying to find the pieces of my identity that are real and clean them up and heal them?

Maybe if I were normal I would have realized that I deserved much better than “him” long before he decided to show “his” true colors. Maybe if I were normal I would have kicked “his” ass to the curb long before “he” forced my hand by doing the most cowardly thing a “man” can do to a wife. Hell, it’s a cowardly thing to do to the other woman too. “He” called me greedy and told me that I wasn’t capable of doing the right thing. Today I wondered how normal people deal with this. How do normal people do anything, especially handle things like this? And all of these thoughts happened simultaneously and my real husband, the one who deserves all of my mind and my heart and my soul, stood by my side. All day. Every day.

Yesterday I was strong and my best friend made me proud of myself. Yesterday we were strong together. Today I am weak and sad and rapid cycling and obsessive and compulsive. But without days like today I wouldn’t be able to have days like yesterday. Every time I purge more of that anger and outright hatred and hurt and humiliation there is a little more room to fill with surviving. And every time I find another piece of myself that is burned and shattered, I pick it up and clean it up and make more room for surviving. Every time my mental illness latches onto my brain and fucks up my strength and my weakness it gives me a little more experience in surviving. Every time my mental illness turns my head into puddles of crazy, I get to feel things that normal people can never even fathom. Every time I remember my hurt through the filter of my insanity I get to face the challenge of having a yesterday, or a today or a tomorrow. Every time I am with my best friend and my love and my real and true husband I remember that without the pain and the humiliation and even the sicknesses that plague my brain, I remember that I wouldn’t have us without all that past.

Tomorrow I don’t know if I will have a yesterday or a today. I only know that I will have a day and it won’t be like normal people. It will be like me. With all of my pain and crazy but also with all of my laughing and strength and power and I will know that normal people don’t always have the balls to crawl and claw and slog their way through mud and fury and blood and memories. Tomorrow I will have a best friend that I love. All day. Every day. And that is all I need. Well…that and a shitload of psychiatric medications…