Howdy ya'll!! Yes, I have been away for a very long time. I did a large bit of writing (still in the works) and for sometime I was a little tired out mentally and emotionally. So tonight I will attempt to start back at things. Tonight's writing comes with a couple of warnings 1. The material is a little dark, it will involve the topic of death pretty heavily. which brings me to point 2. No, I'm not writing this as a cry for help or anything like that. I promise it is only something I have recently discovered about myself that I am simply trying to understand-I'm not going to be doing anything drastic.
For years I have wondered why I would get so fatalistic at times. One huge reason being that I'm bipolar and we tend to swing up and down, down, down often. But oftentimes it wouldn't even be that, I would be happily somewhere in the middle of moods and someone or something about my deployment would come up and suddenly I was crashing down. It confused me for a long time because while I have bad memories of Iraq I also have very good ones, and more times than not I want to go back on another deployment; so my mood swings were really weird.
Then one day I was talking with a friend about our deployment and I casually mentioned my frustration about my moods and the inability to explain the feelings to people. She asked me if I have ever told anyone about how we used to plan our deaths. I was shocked when I realized I couldn't recall ever telling anyone not even therapists about that. Now before anyone freaks out, let me clarify what I mean. We worked around hundreds and thousands of Iraqi scum who would love to get hold of an airman or soldier. Inside the compounds, we had no firearms other than some less than lethal shotguns holding anywhere from 300 to 1,000 detainees behind a cheap little fence. Most of us carried a variety of knives to cut stuff down with and I remember thinking, "This is the knife I will have to use on myself if they get free." I gradually mentally prepared myself to use this knife to make sure none of them got a hold of me, that meant dying if necessary.
There was also the common knowledge that the Navy supposedly had missiles with our bases' longitude and latitude already entered into their system. The idea was that if the detainees managed a mass escape, the missiles would be fired and hopefully stop them from escaping. Which also meant anyone in the prison was dead. Again it was just rumor but it says a lot that most of us believed the government would kill its own people in order to stop others from escaping. I remember sometimes looking into the sky and wondering if we would hear them before impact or if anyone in the prison would even be told if they were launched. I concluded that if they were shot off that meant we would probably being in the midst of fighting or already dead and thus would never feel the missile explosions.
Once I was assigned to the compounds outside of the prison proper, we were required to carry our M-9's (handguns) when entering the compounds. These compounds were built in such a way that the only way out would be where the detainees would be entering if they managed a breakout. In each of our M-9 magazines were 15 round, 14 for them and 1 for me, was the saying. Thankfully, none of these things happened and I made it back home, but the thought process left a mark. Every day, I went to work with the thought that not only might I be killed but just maybe I might have to be the one to do it. It wasn't a thought that really consumed my brain; I didn't have time to think about it much. It was just there in the back of my mind, like a small itch that I would hopefully never have to scratch but I was prepared to do if necessary.
I can never fully describe this feeling to other people probably because I don't really get it myself. I'm not suicidal, I have been that before and I know the difference, but obviously it's not a cutesy happy go lucky feeling. Maybe it's an extreme version of reality. Whatever it is, it's probably the single most frustrating feeling because I don't know how to describe it nor do I know many people who understand it.
Wednesday, January 24, 2018
Monday, July 31, 2017
Hurt/Hate
I've said in other posts that I have been busy on a different project which has pulled me away from doing a lot of blogging. Well that's still true, but in the course of doing my other project I came to realize something interesting that I thought might be a good blog. *Disclaimer, because I am writing about real people I will not be using their names. These things happened many years ago, we are all different people now.*
Growing up, I was completely involved in church and church activities. Being a pastor's kid kind of meant I had to but also all my friends were. Acquire the Fire, Christian concerts, etc, were what I looked forward to. My best friends' dad was our youth pastor, every person on the praise and worship team was either a friend or a friend's parent. Most of our church youth group had known each other for over a decade. To top it off at least four of my buddies lived less than a half block away. There was the regular drama from time to time between each other and sometimes even our parents but for the most part life was good.
That all changed the summer going into my junior year. First the youth group leader got mad about something and left the church. My best friend and I could now only talk on the phone (no cellphones yet). It was hard but it also wasn't the first time this guy had done this so I was pretty convinced they would be back soon enough.
Then one Sunday no one from the praise and worship team was at church, well except me and I was the sound chick. Not the pianist, drummer, guitar players or any of the singers, none. It seemed shocking to me, but my parents must have known because they just took everything in stride. Apparently there had been some issues brewing that I was unaware of and honestly it's been so long that I really don't care what they were. Throughout the school year ( I went to a school at the church) there had been some tension between the administrators, one of whom was my father, but again I really didn't need to know, then or now. But suddenly (or so it seemed to me) I woke up, went to church, and had not a single childhood friend was there. The youth group was gone, I mean empty, the closest kids to my age were at least 3 years younger, most of them even more.
Throughout the next week, almost all of my friends talked with me about what they knew, which was mostly, "Mom and Dad said we are going to try another church." Most of the parents were cool with me hanging out with their kids like normal even, except one particular family. It just so happened to be the person from the school that I had had quite a bit of run ins with. This family wouldn't let their kids hang out even if we were at a mutual friends house; if I showed up, their kids had to leave. For years I hated these parents! Just hearing their names would bring back these awful memories. It wasn't until I was in Iraq and I learned what true hatred was, that I realized I didn't hate them at all. I was just terribly hurt. I couldn't understand why they dislike me so much or what I had done that made them not allow me to speak with their kids anymore. Now I realize, who cares? It was so long ago I bet no one remembers why or who did what. And really it doesn't matter anyhow. But finally understanding that I didn't hate them, allowed me to forgive them and let go of the past. I had been holding onto it for so long that I didn't even realize the weight anymore.
While this was such a hard and depressed time for me, I found I wasn't alone. I had some new friends who quickly became close- Amy Young, the whole Overstreet family, you guys will never know how much you saved me. And my old friends, some of them have faded with time but we are still friendly, and others are still incredibly close, even more so than before; I won't use names because I said so early on, but I'm pretty sure my little "sister" knows who I mean!
It's weird what things a person remembers when they grow up, for some reason that summer never fades fully away. Maybe it was because that was when I first learned that things would never be always the same or because I started to painfully grow and do different things. The next year I went to public school for the first time, I started making friends outside of my church, and I stretched my wings a little in the theatre department.
Sometimes I can still feel the old hurt and bitterness try to creep back in; mostly when I'm having a down phase. I just remind myself that it's old, the scars have already faded and it won't hurt anymore unless I start to scratch at them. Instead of being upset over the one terrible summer we had, I remember all the great memories from the years and years of friendship we had before and the new memories we've made since.
Growing up, I was completely involved in church and church activities. Being a pastor's kid kind of meant I had to but also all my friends were. Acquire the Fire, Christian concerts, etc, were what I looked forward to. My best friends' dad was our youth pastor, every person on the praise and worship team was either a friend or a friend's parent. Most of our church youth group had known each other for over a decade. To top it off at least four of my buddies lived less than a half block away. There was the regular drama from time to time between each other and sometimes even our parents but for the most part life was good.
That all changed the summer going into my junior year. First the youth group leader got mad about something and left the church. My best friend and I could now only talk on the phone (no cellphones yet). It was hard but it also wasn't the first time this guy had done this so I was pretty convinced they would be back soon enough.
Then one Sunday no one from the praise and worship team was at church, well except me and I was the sound chick. Not the pianist, drummer, guitar players or any of the singers, none. It seemed shocking to me, but my parents must have known because they just took everything in stride. Apparently there had been some issues brewing that I was unaware of and honestly it's been so long that I really don't care what they were. Throughout the school year ( I went to a school at the church) there had been some tension between the administrators, one of whom was my father, but again I really didn't need to know, then or now. But suddenly (or so it seemed to me) I woke up, went to church, and had not a single childhood friend was there. The youth group was gone, I mean empty, the closest kids to my age were at least 3 years younger, most of them even more.
Throughout the next week, almost all of my friends talked with me about what they knew, which was mostly, "Mom and Dad said we are going to try another church." Most of the parents were cool with me hanging out with their kids like normal even, except one particular family. It just so happened to be the person from the school that I had had quite a bit of run ins with. This family wouldn't let their kids hang out even if we were at a mutual friends house; if I showed up, their kids had to leave. For years I hated these parents! Just hearing their names would bring back these awful memories. It wasn't until I was in Iraq and I learned what true hatred was, that I realized I didn't hate them at all. I was just terribly hurt. I couldn't understand why they dislike me so much or what I had done that made them not allow me to speak with their kids anymore. Now I realize, who cares? It was so long ago I bet no one remembers why or who did what. And really it doesn't matter anyhow. But finally understanding that I didn't hate them, allowed me to forgive them and let go of the past. I had been holding onto it for so long that I didn't even realize the weight anymore.
While this was such a hard and depressed time for me, I found I wasn't alone. I had some new friends who quickly became close- Amy Young, the whole Overstreet family, you guys will never know how much you saved me. And my old friends, some of them have faded with time but we are still friendly, and others are still incredibly close, even more so than before; I won't use names because I said so early on, but I'm pretty sure my little "sister" knows who I mean!
It's weird what things a person remembers when they grow up, for some reason that summer never fades fully away. Maybe it was because that was when I first learned that things would never be always the same or because I started to painfully grow and do different things. The next year I went to public school for the first time, I started making friends outside of my church, and I stretched my wings a little in the theatre department.
Sometimes I can still feel the old hurt and bitterness try to creep back in; mostly when I'm having a down phase. I just remind myself that it's old, the scars have already faded and it won't hurt anymore unless I start to scratch at them. Instead of being upset over the one terrible summer we had, I remember all the great memories from the years and years of friendship we had before and the new memories we've made since.
Sunday, June 18, 2017
Dear Dad
Dear Dad,
I keep rewriting this over and over trying to make it sound just right. I want to say Happy Father's Day but in a way that let's you know how much I really care for you. I hope this gives you just a little glimpse into how much you mean to me.
My birth Dad- I'm so glad to be your daughter! I have your dark hair, slightly crazy humor, and stinky farts! Ok the last one was for laughs, but the first two are very true! You had to make an incredibly hard decision years ago when you decided to allow another man to raise me. You made the right choice; I say that because I know you did what you thought would be best for me no matter how hard for you. I'm so glad we are able to have a good relationship and get to know each other better. I love you.
Dad- You are the man that chose to be my father. I can never correctly describe the joy I felt when you asked if you could be my dad. I felt so thrilled to know that you wanted me to be your daughter. As I sit here thinking back some of the memories that pop up are you teaching me how to ride a bike, climbing that tree next to our house on Thayer St, and hunting for used flares on the ranges after your military maneuvers. As I got older there were board games, math homework (ugh), the DC Talk concert, and driving practice, you're a brave man for that! You are one of the constants in my life; whenever I need you, you're there. I'm proud to be your daughter. I love you dad.
So now have a great Father's Day and hopefully the rest of the family got you something other than a blog post!
I keep rewriting this over and over trying to make it sound just right. I want to say Happy Father's Day but in a way that let's you know how much I really care for you. I hope this gives you just a little glimpse into how much you mean to me.
My birth Dad- I'm so glad to be your daughter! I have your dark hair, slightly crazy humor, and stinky farts! Ok the last one was for laughs, but the first two are very true! You had to make an incredibly hard decision years ago when you decided to allow another man to raise me. You made the right choice; I say that because I know you did what you thought would be best for me no matter how hard for you. I'm so glad we are able to have a good relationship and get to know each other better. I love you.
Dad- You are the man that chose to be my father. I can never correctly describe the joy I felt when you asked if you could be my dad. I felt so thrilled to know that you wanted me to be your daughter. As I sit here thinking back some of the memories that pop up are you teaching me how to ride a bike, climbing that tree next to our house on Thayer St, and hunting for used flares on the ranges after your military maneuvers. As I got older there were board games, math homework (ugh), the DC Talk concert, and driving practice, you're a brave man for that! You are one of the constants in my life; whenever I need you, you're there. I'm proud to be your daughter. I love you dad.
So now have a great Father's Day and hopefully the rest of the family got you something other than a blog post!
Saturday, May 20, 2017
Memorial Day
I made it thru at least half the month before I saw the first commercial. Big huge letters and bright patriotic backgrounds telling me what a bundle I can save on Memorial Day weekend. But let me start from the beginning.
I dislike May. Maybe one of the few nice things my Iraqi vacation did for me was mash the most shittiest of my experiences into to one approximate 40 day period, starting in May and ending after the first 10 days of June. I don't know if giving pauses in between each thing would have helped or not, so I will choose to look on the positive side and say at least it all kind of happened at once.
For one, the riots were unending, the detainees knew that soon it would be too hot for them to riot so they made sure to do it almost daily. If it wasn't riot, it was escapes, or windstorm/sandstorm patrols; either way nobody got down time from work or even sleep really. Once we did get back to our living areas, hopefully the A/C worked well because the tents and especially the metal pods would bake you will you slept.
Then I found a childhood friend had been killed up north, less than a week later a sergeant from my home base was killed too also deployed up north. In between those two dates, Mother's day came and went and I am positive I did not get to call my mom. It was probably a good thing too, I was pretty full of rage by that point. And work went on, more detainees, riots, and escape attempts; most people now slept an average of 2-3 hours, it was too hot even with the A/C.
The final fun filled day literally exploded into the hottest day I have ever been in. Thankfully no Americans were killed but watching a good friend start exhibiting classic TBI signs is a little scary. The later part of the day was 135 degrees, I gave up worrying about rockets and thought I was dead and living in hell.
I'm not whining and I know many other vets have much more difficult experiences. I'm just explaining why I'm not a fan of May. Even now, most of the month I'm more agitated, angry, and my dreams are filled with Bucca. According to my doctor even my blood pressure spikes during this time. Weird. Compounded with my difficulties for this time period is the fact that Memorial Day is right at the end of the month.
Memorial Day is the day where we honor those who have died in service to our country. It is a day set aside to remember those who gave everything, their lives, their futures, and their safety, to ensure ours. How many children never knew their dad, mom, aunt, uncle, grandmother, or grandfather because they fought in France, Holland, Vietnam, or Korea? How many miss brothers, sisters, cousins, daughters, and sons, who left to fight in Afghanistan and Iraq? And so often this solemn day is smashed into a great day to get 25% off a new Ford or Chevy with a special 2.77% APR; or a 5 for $5 t-shirt deal at any store! Is that showing respect for the price that was paid for our freedom?!
I am sure that those who are gone would want us to live, that is what they fought for. But we can live and still remember and honor them. Have a family bbq, hang out with friends, live and laugh. But don't forget, please don't ever forget that those names on gravestones and memorials all over the world, were people who lived and who died to keep us safe and free.
“When you go home
Tell them of us, and say
For your tomorrow,
We gave our today.”
John Maxwell Edmonds
I dislike May. Maybe one of the few nice things my Iraqi vacation did for me was mash the most shittiest of my experiences into to one approximate 40 day period, starting in May and ending after the first 10 days of June. I don't know if giving pauses in between each thing would have helped or not, so I will choose to look on the positive side and say at least it all kind of happened at once.
For one, the riots were unending, the detainees knew that soon it would be too hot for them to riot so they made sure to do it almost daily. If it wasn't riot, it was escapes, or windstorm/sandstorm patrols; either way nobody got down time from work or even sleep really. Once we did get back to our living areas, hopefully the A/C worked well because the tents and especially the metal pods would bake you will you slept.
Then I found a childhood friend had been killed up north, less than a week later a sergeant from my home base was killed too also deployed up north. In between those two dates, Mother's day came and went and I am positive I did not get to call my mom. It was probably a good thing too, I was pretty full of rage by that point. And work went on, more detainees, riots, and escape attempts; most people now slept an average of 2-3 hours, it was too hot even with the A/C.
The final fun filled day literally exploded into the hottest day I have ever been in. Thankfully no Americans were killed but watching a good friend start exhibiting classic TBI signs is a little scary. The later part of the day was 135 degrees, I gave up worrying about rockets and thought I was dead and living in hell.
I'm not whining and I know many other vets have much more difficult experiences. I'm just explaining why I'm not a fan of May. Even now, most of the month I'm more agitated, angry, and my dreams are filled with Bucca. According to my doctor even my blood pressure spikes during this time. Weird. Compounded with my difficulties for this time period is the fact that Memorial Day is right at the end of the month.
Memorial Day is the day where we honor those who have died in service to our country. It is a day set aside to remember those who gave everything, their lives, their futures, and their safety, to ensure ours. How many children never knew their dad, mom, aunt, uncle, grandmother, or grandfather because they fought in France, Holland, Vietnam, or Korea? How many miss brothers, sisters, cousins, daughters, and sons, who left to fight in Afghanistan and Iraq? And so often this solemn day is smashed into a great day to get 25% off a new Ford or Chevy with a special 2.77% APR; or a 5 for $5 t-shirt deal at any store! Is that showing respect for the price that was paid for our freedom?!
I am sure that those who are gone would want us to live, that is what they fought for. But we can live and still remember and honor them. Have a family bbq, hang out with friends, live and laugh. But don't forget, please don't ever forget that those names on gravestones and memorials all over the world, were people who lived and who died to keep us safe and free.
“When you go home
Tell them of us, and say
For your tomorrow,
We gave our today.”
John Maxwell Edmonds
Sunday, May 14, 2017
Ode to Mom
Dear Marmie,
I have started this three times and each time sounded more stupid than the last. How do I appropriately wish you Happy Mother's Day? I mean you are the giver of my life in a pretty literal sense! There is a lot I could say about you but can I show you instead some of the lessons I learned from you?
Do you remember living on Debra Drive? Of course you do, but I do a little bit too. I remember watching The Man From Snowy River over and over, learning a whole new not so good four letter word and singing it out for the whole neighborhood! You were not a fan of that! What I can't remember is ever going without. How you made everything balance on just your salary from Pizza Hut, I'll never understand. But you did. We never went hungry, the heat worked, and the lights and water stayed on. You came home from long days on your feet and still had time to play and be with me. You showed me what a driven mom can do to provide for her child.
I remember when we left New York. I was devastated, but I never really thought how much you must have hurt too. You were leaving your mother and father, almost all the family, everything and everywhere you have known and loved. You were leaving it all behind for a new future, husband, and a military lifestyle that you couldn't have possibly been totally ready for. Not once did I hear you complain about this (the Missouri weather and insects were another thing!), you took it in stride and even tried to make it fun for a sad, pouting 6 year old. Plus a 1,300 mile roadtrip before DVDs, Ipads, and such; all with a curious 6 year old who asked A LOT of questions! How did you and Dad survive? You showed me how to accept new challenges and adventures with humor and flexibility.
Not many people nowadays can say their mom taught them the three basic R's. I can! Just attempting this you had to have the courage of a bomb technician! Or insanity, whichever word you choose. The reading was fun enough but remember trying to teach me math?! Boy, weren't both of us glad when dad came home from work! But I also remember some of the looks, and attitudes of the neighbors at times; it wasn't popular to homeschool and people were pretty rude about it at times. Remember when "someone" called DCFS and the guy had me read a paragraph for him? I still remember the look on his face when I read the whole paragraph and he said I read it better than his daughter! Thank you for showing me that doing things different from the norm is ok and to never let others opinions change what I know is best. Also thank you for letting me got to the ROA and finally public school; we would have killed each other after a while!
More recently, I remember how shocked I was that you guys where actually moving to KC! I couldn't believe you would just pick up and move after 15 years! How dare you teach me that it's ok to be unpredictable! Plus you now run a small business! I remember when you were too scared to fly, now you jump on a plane with or without dad (preferably with I know, but he doesn't go to all your tea stuff), a true world traveler you are!
Marmie, I could go on and on, but you might get tired after a while. I just wanted to say I remember the lessons you taught me but I even remember the ones you didn't even realize you were teaching me. I love that we are finally in that place where we are friends as well as mother and daughter! It's amazing to me that I still get so excited to visit with my mom but also with my close friend, I'm not quite sure when the transition occurred but I'm truly happy it did. I love seeing how you are going through each stage of life with grace, courage, and joy! I'm proud when people tell me I'm funny because I know I got my sense of humor definitively from you! I love you and hope you have a great Mother's Day. I'll be calling later!
I have started this three times and each time sounded more stupid than the last. How do I appropriately wish you Happy Mother's Day? I mean you are the giver of my life in a pretty literal sense! There is a lot I could say about you but can I show you instead some of the lessons I learned from you?
Do you remember living on Debra Drive? Of course you do, but I do a little bit too. I remember watching The Man From Snowy River over and over, learning a whole new not so good four letter word and singing it out for the whole neighborhood! You were not a fan of that! What I can't remember is ever going without. How you made everything balance on just your salary from Pizza Hut, I'll never understand. But you did. We never went hungry, the heat worked, and the lights and water stayed on. You came home from long days on your feet and still had time to play and be with me. You showed me what a driven mom can do to provide for her child.
I remember when we left New York. I was devastated, but I never really thought how much you must have hurt too. You were leaving your mother and father, almost all the family, everything and everywhere you have known and loved. You were leaving it all behind for a new future, husband, and a military lifestyle that you couldn't have possibly been totally ready for. Not once did I hear you complain about this (the Missouri weather and insects were another thing!), you took it in stride and even tried to make it fun for a sad, pouting 6 year old. Plus a 1,300 mile roadtrip before DVDs, Ipads, and such; all with a curious 6 year old who asked A LOT of questions! How did you and Dad survive? You showed me how to accept new challenges and adventures with humor and flexibility.
Not many people nowadays can say their mom taught them the three basic R's. I can! Just attempting this you had to have the courage of a bomb technician! Or insanity, whichever word you choose. The reading was fun enough but remember trying to teach me math?! Boy, weren't both of us glad when dad came home from work! But I also remember some of the looks, and attitudes of the neighbors at times; it wasn't popular to homeschool and people were pretty rude about it at times. Remember when "someone" called DCFS and the guy had me read a paragraph for him? I still remember the look on his face when I read the whole paragraph and he said I read it better than his daughter! Thank you for showing me that doing things different from the norm is ok and to never let others opinions change what I know is best. Also thank you for letting me got to the ROA and finally public school; we would have killed each other after a while!
More recently, I remember how shocked I was that you guys where actually moving to KC! I couldn't believe you would just pick up and move after 15 years! How dare you teach me that it's ok to be unpredictable! Plus you now run a small business! I remember when you were too scared to fly, now you jump on a plane with or without dad (preferably with I know, but he doesn't go to all your tea stuff), a true world traveler you are!
Marmie, I could go on and on, but you might get tired after a while. I just wanted to say I remember the lessons you taught me but I even remember the ones you didn't even realize you were teaching me. I love that we are finally in that place where we are friends as well as mother and daughter! It's amazing to me that I still get so excited to visit with my mom but also with my close friend, I'm not quite sure when the transition occurred but I'm truly happy it did. I love seeing how you are going through each stage of life with grace, courage, and joy! I'm proud when people tell me I'm funny because I know I got my sense of humor definitively from you! I love you and hope you have a great Mother's Day. I'll be calling later!
Thursday, April 27, 2017
Spring!
I love and hate this time of year. Everything is alive, trees blooming, baby birds, and yet the creepy bugs haven't quite arrived yet. Spring is such a fun time! It's finally nice to be outside again; taking a walk doesn't require wrapping up, of course here in AZ it rarely ever does. But you all get my drift, at times I think I can feel the earth inhaling after its winter. I love the feeling of new life, the energy of earth gearing up for the summer!
But this is also the time that my mood starts to spiral. I feel so alive and also crabby that everyone can't keep up with me. I want to spend money, getting my taxes back is somewhat of a life saver. I have only bought about half of a new wardrobe so far, I'm quite proud of myself. I want to be a little crazy, live a wild life! And I get so frustrated because I know I can't. I can't allow myself to let loose, at least not the way I want to.
This is the time of year that occasionally my medications don't work, as if life isn't difficult enough now I get to try new meds or different doses. Last year, I went through two different medications, one of which wasn't even supposed to be used as a mood stabilizer. It was a lovely anti-psychotic that was a very small dose and I didn't care about anything! It was quite relaxing, but not the best for someone in a job that occasionally has aggressive interactions. But at the time I thought I was really going nuts, and was freaking out at the doctor's office. Thankfully he told me that med changes are not uncommon and that many bipolar people have certain times of the year that are more difficult.
My brain wants all the alive feelings that bipolar me can create! I don't want to sleep at all and when I do I dream of all the fun things I could be doing when I'm awake. I actually dreamt about going on a bender the other night, I could literally taste the alcohol. I woke up feeling guilty as hell but also wanting to have it again. I can almost literally hear my brain whispering to me that one drink wouldn't be so bad. Then I think I'm going even more crazy because I can now hear my brain!
As always in the back of my head there is the fear that if I do go all in, the crash is patiently waiting to strike. It's like I'm playing Truth or Dare, using only Dares and I'm playing against myself. It would be so tempting and right now it looks so fun but do I really want to pick up the pieces after I wake back up? I have finally gotten to a place of trust with friends and family, and (some) respect at work, do I really want to piss it all away? Rational me says of course not, but crazy, albeit more fun me says, come on, I dare you! Damn you, Springtime!
But this is also the time that my mood starts to spiral. I feel so alive and also crabby that everyone can't keep up with me. I want to spend money, getting my taxes back is somewhat of a life saver. I have only bought about half of a new wardrobe so far, I'm quite proud of myself. I want to be a little crazy, live a wild life! And I get so frustrated because I know I can't. I can't allow myself to let loose, at least not the way I want to.
This is the time of year that occasionally my medications don't work, as if life isn't difficult enough now I get to try new meds or different doses. Last year, I went through two different medications, one of which wasn't even supposed to be used as a mood stabilizer. It was a lovely anti-psychotic that was a very small dose and I didn't care about anything! It was quite relaxing, but not the best for someone in a job that occasionally has aggressive interactions. But at the time I thought I was really going nuts, and was freaking out at the doctor's office. Thankfully he told me that med changes are not uncommon and that many bipolar people have certain times of the year that are more difficult.
My brain wants all the alive feelings that bipolar me can create! I don't want to sleep at all and when I do I dream of all the fun things I could be doing when I'm awake. I actually dreamt about going on a bender the other night, I could literally taste the alcohol. I woke up feeling guilty as hell but also wanting to have it again. I can almost literally hear my brain whispering to me that one drink wouldn't be so bad. Then I think I'm going even more crazy because I can now hear my brain!
As always in the back of my head there is the fear that if I do go all in, the crash is patiently waiting to strike. It's like I'm playing Truth or Dare, using only Dares and I'm playing against myself. It would be so tempting and right now it looks so fun but do I really want to pick up the pieces after I wake back up? I have finally gotten to a place of trust with friends and family, and (some) respect at work, do I really want to piss it all away? Rational me says of course not, but crazy, albeit more fun me says, come on, I dare you! Damn you, Springtime!
Thursday, April 13, 2017
Drumming on
For as long as I can remember, I have always been a little bit "different." Not weird, per se, but not like most other girls. My mom used to say that I marched to the beat of my own drum, heck some people might say I made a totally different drum too! I'm not upset about being a little untraditional from female stereotypes. Actually I think it's this reason that has helped me become a strong, out of the box individual.
As a young girl, I rarely played with dolls, I thought it was too boring. I did play with army men, GI Joe, and toy guns though! Once my grandfather gave me the Happy Birthday Barbie as a gift, you know the collectors item one. I took her up to my room, tied on a homemade parachute and threw her out the window! I just wanted to see her float....She didn't.
I always disliked putting on makeup, actually I still do. Not that I have anything against it, I just don't like doing it. It takes a lot of time and feels weird on my face. In middle school, a bunch of girls in my school ganged up on me and held me down while trying to put lipstick on my face. I'm not really sure where they got the idea from but they never tried it again. As soon as the lipstick got close to my face, I bit it and then spit it out on the ground! Ahh, victory!
Prom, many people wish they could redo their prom night or go with someone else. I hated my prom. I was so bored! I could have had so much more fun staying home, eating pizza, and playing football in the house with my brothers! I mean actual football, not a videogame, we didn't have one in my house. Seriously, my biggest prom regret was actually going to it. I was so bored and uncomfortable in my dress.
These memories hopefully gave you a chuckle, I laugh every time I think of them. For a long time though I thought being feminine meant being girly. Which is why I'm in my thirties and still learning to cook! Really it's not my parents fault, they tried but I was stubborn and defiant against learning.
The more I look back on this stuff, I see more and more how being a little odd, different, whatever you call it has helped me in my job now. I work with kids who have problems, real issues like drug abuse, criminal actions, abuse, no parents, the list only gets worse. They are what society call "different." They don't conform with 99% of their peers, they are the odd ducks and all they want is to be treated just like everyone else. Of course, my growing up was nowhere near as traumatic as theirs, but I understand being odd and not quite fitting in. So I don't regret being a little "different," many times it actually helps me build a report with the youth I supervise. And if it helps a few of them realize that different doesn't mean damaged or that they can recover from setbacks, than I will be more than happy with being "different."
As a young girl, I rarely played with dolls, I thought it was too boring. I did play with army men, GI Joe, and toy guns though! Once my grandfather gave me the Happy Birthday Barbie as a gift, you know the collectors item one. I took her up to my room, tied on a homemade parachute and threw her out the window! I just wanted to see her float....She didn't.
I always disliked putting on makeup, actually I still do. Not that I have anything against it, I just don't like doing it. It takes a lot of time and feels weird on my face. In middle school, a bunch of girls in my school ganged up on me and held me down while trying to put lipstick on my face. I'm not really sure where they got the idea from but they never tried it again. As soon as the lipstick got close to my face, I bit it and then spit it out on the ground! Ahh, victory!
Prom, many people wish they could redo their prom night or go with someone else. I hated my prom. I was so bored! I could have had so much more fun staying home, eating pizza, and playing football in the house with my brothers! I mean actual football, not a videogame, we didn't have one in my house. Seriously, my biggest prom regret was actually going to it. I was so bored and uncomfortable in my dress.
These memories hopefully gave you a chuckle, I laugh every time I think of them. For a long time though I thought being feminine meant being girly. Which is why I'm in my thirties and still learning to cook! Really it's not my parents fault, they tried but I was stubborn and defiant against learning.
The more I look back on this stuff, I see more and more how being a little odd, different, whatever you call it has helped me in my job now. I work with kids who have problems, real issues like drug abuse, criminal actions, abuse, no parents, the list only gets worse. They are what society call "different." They don't conform with 99% of their peers, they are the odd ducks and all they want is to be treated just like everyone else. Of course, my growing up was nowhere near as traumatic as theirs, but I understand being odd and not quite fitting in. So I don't regret being a little "different," many times it actually helps me build a report with the youth I supervise. And if it helps a few of them realize that different doesn't mean damaged or that they can recover from setbacks, than I will be more than happy with being "different."
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