Being anxious when in unfamiliar territory can really stink. It means, gritting teeth, headache, muscle twitches in my eye sometimes, and serious diarrhea of the mouth if there’s anyone with me. Yup, runaway type of crap just rolling out with no real direction or identifiable subject matter. Sad thing is, I can feel myself doing it, but am powerless to stop. I get all uptight and nervous and just can’t help it.
I wish I could be like other people and just be ‘normal’ and be able to handle things better, I mean, at my age, 49 in October, I should be able to. You would think so anyway. Especially with all of the medications that I’m taking! Nope. Runaway mouth every time. I even try to put my nose in my phone, but it doesn’t work for long. Neither do magazines.
Maybe it happens because I spend 95% of my time alone with just my dogs, so that when I am around people, I try to make up for the lack of conversation. Maybe it happens because of deep-seated need for approval (doubtful). Maybe I’m just nuttier than your average fruit cake, who knows? (We have several fruit trees in the yard, I call them “the fruit salad for the fruit cake”, just because it makes my husband laugh. Me too.)
I’m discussing this today because my father-in-law had major surgery yesterday to remove a softball sized aneurysm from his abdomen region, and to place three stints. It was a pretty stressful day, but he came through with flying colors, and hopefully will be home this afternoon. We are all counting having them both he, and his wife, around for many more years! There was a group of us that were at the hospital all morning waiting, anxiously of course, for news. I talked my darn fool head off! A poor friend of theirs, T, must think I’m really out there (oh yeah, I am )!
I’m embarrassed, and feel as if I should apologize, but that would just be awkward, wouldn’t it? I guess all I can do is hope she doesn’t talk bad about me. Can’t help what anyone is going to think, regardless. She’s such a sweet person, and has done so much for my in-laws, I hope she doesn’t judge my runaway mouth too harshly.
I do this with others too, and sometimes what comes out of my mouth isn’t very nice. For some reason, on some days, I just have absolutely nothing nice to say to anyone, about anything. Those days are bad. Those days I usually cancel appointments and stay home. Sometimes, circumstances in life don’t allow for that though. Thank goodness yesterday wasn’t like that!
On an un-related side note, I have started to work on new collaboration effort involving my Etsy jewelry business with a very special blogger here on WordPress and I am super-excited about it! I’ll keep you posted! If you haven’t checked out my shop yet, you should! ( https://www.Etsy.com/shop/CathysCraftyDesigns )
From what I have read in literature about Bipolar (I try not to read too much, as it can really influence my mood swings), it can begin at any time in a person’s life. If you know precisely when yours started, you are one up on me, because I think I have always been this way. I simply can’t remember a time when I wasn’t fearful, angry, anxious and a myriad of other symptoms that should have warned everyone around me. I just thought everyone was like that. To me, I was perfectly ‘normal’, just like anyone else. Um, yeah, right. Then I went out into the world.
My father died on September 2nd, 1977, from injuries sustained during a motorcycle wreck in which a car driver did not see him. Or wasn’t looking. Or whatever. Anyway, my dad, and the father and step-father of 8 other children, ranging in age from me, at 6, to grown, was dead. It devastated our blended family and tore it apart. It was suddenly my mom’s kids against my dad’s kids and I was the one related them ALL. I felt sort of like a piece of pulled taffy for a bit there, being pulled this way and that by various family members. Thank goodness I was too young to be involved in all that! Losing my dad was bad, he had been my everything. I was Daddy’s Little Girl. What do you mean he’s gone forever? My little girl mind didn’t really understand until a couple of years later and I had a little mini-breakdown. My first?
This is what happened my first day back at school after Daddy died.:
It was for a field trip, that’s why I went back that particular day, I wanted to go. I shouldn’t have. I was not prepared for what I saw that morning, for what happened. Could anyone ever really be? No, I don’t think so. Not at any age, much less 6. To this day, I break down talking about it, so putting it here is surprising me.
We were on the bus, on the way to where ever we were going, and I was just about to turn 7 in a few weeks. I didn’t know it, but the bus was on the very same road that my father had his wreck on, and heading right for the spot.
I don’t know if the bus driver (a long forgotten blurry, male figure) knew I was on the bus, or even who I was, but he slowed down to look closely at the leftover blood in the road, and the chalk outline of my father’s body. Especially the area where his arm and half of his leg had been amputated, found, and outlined. Both sides of the road were literally a bloody mess. One glance, and I knew what they were looking at. I just sat back down, looking at my hands in my lap. Every kid on that bus crowded to that side so that they could all see the tattered remains of my life, in a bloody, chalky mess in the middle of the road. I can still see their faces, hear their whispers, “That’s where her dad died….”, as they stared at me. It was horrible. I’d lost my whole world, and now my pain was out there for anyone and everyone to see.
Not one of those kids or adults spoke to me during the entire rest of the day. I told no one about this until many, many years after. The pain is still fresh, some 42 years later.
But life had to keep going, right? Boy did it. In a very bad direction.
Yup, Me Too
Yes, of course I was molested. It started the same year my dad died, that Fall in fact. I feel like a faceless statistic admitting it nowadays, but I was. By different people, at different times in my life. Yes, it sucked. No, I didn’t report (I was a child – enough said). I told no one until I became an adult. One of the guilty is an older brother. No, my mother never new this. I only told two of my my sisters about 10 years back, and another recently. I still have nightmares, muscle twitches, personality glitches, and PTSD from these incidents, but I manage, just like anyone else does. It’s not about being strong, tough, getting therapy, having support, medications, or anything else, it’s about not having that choice. You move on, or you don’t. Life is just that freakin’ simple. A person ‘manages’ however they can, whether by getting up and pretending it didn’t hurt, or by crawling into a corner and hiding. I kind of did both at the same time, outwardly moving on, but inside, I was stalled out where I was, stuck in a loop of terror and pain and fear. I couldn’t get out. There was no help, no understanding friend or relative to which I could turn. I was alone. Everyone around me was so lost in their grief over the loss of my father, what was my little pain?
No details, some of the people involved are still living, some are not, but in either case, they have family to be protected. I will say that the first happened when I was 6, and the last attempt was made when I was 11. It was so long ago, who or what would it serve now? They are never going to serve time, or be prosecuted in any way, the time for that is long past. When I look at the lives they led, and where and how they passed, I realize that karma did it for me. Or God, I prayed enough for Him to.
Well, this is how it all started. This thing called ‘my life’. It didn’t get much better, I always seemed to be in the middle of some drama or another. It’s been a bumpy ride. some would say. Bumpy? Not even close. I feel as if my entire life has been spent in a mine field, dodging one disastrous occurrence after another.
I finally have the quiet, no drama life that I always wanted in the past. My (2nd) husband, S. is just like me in that regard, keep it out of our lives no matter what. Drama is a toxic, corrosive, and dangerous force that breaks us all down, tearing us apart.
That’s all for today. This hurt. I need to decompress now.
To be totally honest, it has never been particularly hard to ‘tick me off’. For as long as I can remember, I have been opinionated and loud about it. The medications that I have been on for the last 20 years have toned me down to some degree as far as the loudness, but they can’t do squat about my opinions! And people still tick me off! It’s not as bad as it was because I rarely leave the house anymore, but I still have to go out in public sometimes….
The Parking Lot – It begins
Do you know that parking lots of large department stores have speed bumps? I do. I’m sure that you know this too. There are some people, however, that either don’t know, or maybe don’t care. These people, usually with loud, obnoxious music blaring through open windows, are driving so fast that poor old people, or anyone else for that matter, making the trek to their car are barely able to get out of the way! Yes, this is illegal. No one seems to do anything about it.
My Bipolar Mind: if I’m in a position to, I will yell, holler, scream, whatever you want to call it, for them slow down. This always gets me a surprised, then dirty look from the driver if they can be seen at such speed. Eh, no, I couldn’t care less if one of these people were to stop and confront me, I’ll tell them even louder then! As we say here where I live “I ain’t skeered.”
Mean Kids – Not Going There
I’m really don’t want to delve into this too far, people get very sensitive where their children are concerned, but I have said ‘my piece’ to a few out of control un-accompanied pre-teens, and given some stern looks to some deserving children while in this store, with not only good results from the kids, but support from some (not all) of the other adults. My husband, however, should I speak in reprimand, is absolutely horrified, and makes a quick escape as far away as possible. It would be nice to have his support, by I have learned not to need it.
I find most babies and children to be beautiful in that they are the future of our society. They embody Hope to me. A level of innocence that is never experienced again. When I see a mean, ill-behaved child it reminds me what the world is now, ugly, greedy, power-hungry, and how it is only going to get worse.
Walking the Aisles – UGH!
Let’s just say that you are inside the store – from groceries to auto parts, ya’ know? – and you are in the grocery section with your cart going up the aisle. No problem, right? Right. Until the middle of the aisle, where there are several people, and two or three carts, just stopped there, chatting away like they are at a church social. You have places to go, and things you need to do. For a few minutes, you wait patiently, hoping that they will notice you standing there. They do, a couple of them actually look straight at you, and continue chatting away! Nope, you don’t exist. What on Earth made you think that they would move for little old you? is the look that you receive. What would you do?
My Bipolar Mind: I tend to snap and say “EXCUSE ME!” quite loudly as I begin to push my way through them, forcibly hitting carts (only) if I must, in order to get by. I do not look back at these groups, because they really do not need to see the look on my face for such rudeness, but I do hear their huffs of outrage, and they sound very satisfying to my ears. If you must gab, chat, catch up, gossip, or share a recipe, while in the aisle, please move elsewhere! Don’t block the aisle. Please.
The Checkout Line – Almost Out!
How about when you are actually standing in the checkout line? Oh, I think I could write a book length blog on this one alone! I’ve had people flat out start talking about me while standing directly behind me, bump into me several times – as if I could make the line move faster, try to date me, and pick political arguments!
I am a pretty thin woman now, at 5 foot 4 inches, I weigh 107 pounds and wear a size 2. I wasn’t always, but in recent years, my health is doing some odd things to me. While walking through the same store as above, a couple of ‘men’ began talking about how thin I was. These same ‘men’ ended up behind me in the checkout line and were still discussing the fact that I must be on meth or crack, or some other really bad drugs to be so thin! Folks, I’ve NEVER done EITHER of those drugs! I was not amused.
My Bipolar Mind in this case, was seeing bright fireworks and explosions and red spots and wanted to explode right in their ugly, toothless, pimply faces. This time, I was able to control it (by measures not yet legal where I live) and simply shoot them a look that told them I had heard every word. They appeared shocked that I was angry, but they hadn’t been whispering or trying in any way to talk softly! The person behind the counter heard them and knew why I was upset, why didn’t they?
Had I not controlled myself that day, things would have escalated to violence on my part almost immediately. They could have made no excuse that would have pardoned that behavior in my eyes. It wasn’t what they had said, it was the fact that they had had the nerve to stand directly behind me and say it out loud, so that I could clearly hear them! The level of rudeness in this just astounded even me. I was speechless enough that, to get my feelings across to them, I would have had to slap them both as hard as I possibly could. Landing myself in jail for the first time ever at almost 49 years old. Um, not me, I like clean air and freedom, thank you very much!
Rude People – Am I Outta Here Yet?
People that are rude to the checkout people really tick me off, and make me sad. The women and men that work those checkout counters deal with so many people each day, don’t you think they get enough crap? I mean really, they make somewhere around minimum wage to stand, or sit, in the same spot and deal with person after person trying to figure how the darn card machine works, or their card got refused, or they don’t have quite enough cash, or their kids are loud and raising you-know-what, or they are griping about the length of line, or can’t you go faster, or a million other things that they see and listen to ALL SHIFT LONG. If you’ve never done it, you are one of the lucky few. Think about that the next time you have a bad day at the office.
In these cases, My Bipolar Mind simply shoots nasty looks at the rude person until they shut up, sometimes they just don’t get it though. At this time, my heart is reaching out to the checkout person, and I feel this overwhelming need to make them feel better. So that’s what I try to do. A joke, a compliment, a simple comment on how rude some people can be (said loud enough for said rude person to hear as they walk away usually), just anything at all to illicit a small can make all the difference in the world. Not just for that day either, every time they see you! As much as I have always said that I truly dislike people, it’s really what people do to each other that I’ve always disliked. Having been on the receiving end of so much meanness and rudeness in my own life (and, yes, in some instances the giving end, regrettably), I have since tried to be the one rooting for the underdog, for I am usually among them.
Back to the Parking Lot – Wait Already!
As anyone who has ever been lucky enough to get a close parking spot at one of these stores knows, people get followed to their cars. It’s creepy people!! Especially in the evening, when it’s dark, or if I am walking alone with a cart full of bags. Tolerating it is really tough for me, my instinct is to panic and run, or prepare for a fight. When I get to the safety of my car and lock all the doors, the fun begins!
My Bipolar Mind then takes over completely and I do get mean. I think to myself that, if they want to follow me like that and creep out a little middle-aged woman alone, I’m going to teach them not to. I sometimes feel it’s my duty to show people the stupidity of their ways, since obviously no else ever has. How else will they ever learn? SO, I sit there and ever so slowly set up my phone and music to the radio, sometimes I make a call, rearrange my hair a couple times, do whatever, until they get annoyed and move on sometimes, but usually only about 1-2 minutes, enough to make a point I guess.
THERE ARE EXCEPTIONS! I do not do this the elderly, disabled, or people with lots of kids in the vehicle. I feel that they need these closer spaces more than I do and will actually get out of them faster. I’m Bipolar, not unnecessarily mean. I don’t normally get close parking spaces, and don’t try to if it’s not raining. I am disabled, I could get the disabled plates, but my legs are just fine. It’s my head that’s all screwy!
Finally, I leave the parking lot, and go home, where I am safe. Also, where people are safe from me, and My Bipolar Mind.
*Coming soon, My Bipolar Mind – The Chaos of Music in My Head
My tangled mind tries to think in a straight line, No, it says, not this time.
Please, just go away, not now, not today.
But the thoughts push though, making their way.
They hit me hard, bring me to tears,
These things that happened over the years.
Will they ever stop? These intruding thoughts?
Can they be erased, bribed, or bought?
NO, they say, We’re here with you always,
From days at home, to the miles of highways,
We’re here with you,
Popping up unannounced and undue.
You’re doing what? Going where?
We’ll be right here, to make you aware,
Of all that could go wrong, and the dangers there.
Are you sure you should go? Just stay here.
Just the old stuff here, nothing new,
Just us thoughts, and you.
Mary Catherine Wilson, March 17, 2019
The anniversary of my mother’s birthday is coming soon (March 31st), and I find her in my thoughts quite a bit again. Good times, bad times, the relationship that we had versus the relationship I wish we had, the lack of closeness that some mothers and daughters feel, the love, arguing, indifference, just so many old emotions and feelings that the intruding thoughts that have always been with me, get MUCH worse. The one good Therapist I had, Lisa, told me when my mother died, that I wasn’t mourning her actual death, but the death of the relationship that we should have had, and any possibilities of it ever happening. That resounded within me. Very loudly. So loudly, I think it shook me. She was so very right!
I will go more into this odd relationship with my mother in later posts, but slowly, and very carefully. I’m sure you understand, but if you don’t, just follow me and you will begin to.
My sister and I went for nice, long drive in the country yesterday during which I stopped to take a few pictures. I’ve always loved photographic art and have wanted to take classes but I never have. All I used was my phone (it’s a Samsung S7 Active), and the filters it provides – I haven’t even downloaded any different ones! I’ve left a bit of a “riddle” I guess you could say at the end with two pictures. The situation depicted has baffled some of the locals in the area for years. Perhaps you can answer it.
An Abandoned Barn
We came upon this beautiful barn that has obviously seen more useful days. Thinking that it must be in rougher shape than I thought since it was abandoned, I went inside hoping to get some photos looking up into a ceiling full of holes……only to be quite surprised by the solid wood structure I stood in. I didn’t take a picture looking up because the second floor is actually still there! I didn’t venture up there, my sister was waiting patiently for me to finish my picture taking, or I certainly would have! Here are some pictures of the barn and its contents.
You just never know what you might find in an old barn in the country. This one didn’t have much in it at all. A few critters scurried about when I walked in, but they were too fast and hidden for a photo. Maybe one day I will sit quietly in a corner for a few hours until they come out…..I would most certainly do that for a good picture or two!
Directly across the road from this barn, was a little shed hiding in the trees:
OK, here’s the riddle. We happened upon this tobacco barn in the middle of this open field. For those that don’t know, this is where tobacco leaves are hung up and smoked. It’s a wonderfully sweet and pleasing smell in the country air that most have come to love. Unless of course you work in it – that is a different story!
A view across the road from the barn so that you can see that there really is NO HOME to receive this mail.
A couple of interesting close-ups.
After speaking to my brother-in-law, who has lived in this area his entire life, I was told that this barn has always had a mailbox. But, why? No one seems to know. I suppose the folks that own the land know, but finding them and simply asking would take all of the fun out of it wouldn’t it?
If it’s mail for the farm, why wouldn’t it go directly to the people?
If it’s personal, why at the barn?
For that matter, why at the barn period? No matter what kind or who’s mail it is, WHY AT THAT BARN in the middle of BFKentucky?
I just don’t get it. But I’m the ‘crazy’ one? Um, YEAH. LOL
I rarely share personal things concerning my husband or myself, or our personal battles and experiences on social media because we are such private people. I use social media mainly for my Etsy shop promotion and easy, direct communication with family far away.
This Blog is a whole different ballgame though isn’t it? I started it with the hopes of not only helping myself to get these feelings out, but also in the hopes of helping others. So I kind of have to share my story. I have to warn you that I will not share all of it – that would be much too difficult for me.
I Was in Therapy for Years First
After being in therapy for years with one therapist that I really liked, Lisa, she got married on me and moved to Florida!! I was pretty devastated really. I had come to count on our sessions when she would just sit and listen to me rant and offer the occasional suggestions for me on breathing, new thinking paths, or just leaving a situation. She was amazing. She knew my story in detail. My whole story was all in her notes in my file -everything folks! This is the only place where it is all detailed out.
Assigned a New Therapist
I am a Veteran, so I see V.A. doctors and they assigned a new therapist. To protect her, I’m not going to put her name. What a difference between therapy styles!! This one, instead of actually READING MY FILE, she wanted me to recount my entire story. In detail. Again. Those of us with any type of mental health issues that can be traced back to specific circumstances in their life, rarely do this. It can mean actually reliving the emotions as we tell it. It’s as if we are actually there again. The weeks spent recovering after this reliving of an event are horrible for me and for my husband! I am angry, depressed, fearful again, moody, the whole gamut, except for happy.
My new therapist refused to read my file and Lisa’s notes. She is the type of therapist that wants me to continuously relive and go over the things in my life that ALMOST destroyed me (I say almost because I am still here folks, I am here and closer to happy in my life than ever before!). I guess she feels that this is the path to ‘dealing’ with it all. As far as I am concerned, that will not work for me. Most people consider dealing with it to include forgiving. I have forgiven some, but others? NEVER – and they need to stop expecting me to! Yes, I love God. Yes, I know what the Bible says about forgiveness. I am not God, or God-like, I feel some things are not to be forgiven, ever. So sue me.
I No Longer Need It!
If you are in therapy and it helps you – STAY THERE!!! Do not quit simply because I did. I simply found that, after years with Lisa, and just a couple weeks the ‘other’ way, that I really can handle this ‘on my own’ so to speak. Instead of ranting to Lisa, I write. Honestly, my rantings for years have been typed in, then deleted right away. They are really unfit for human consumption! Still so angry and bitter and full of the familiar hate and need to inflict pain on others……very painful stuff to read and write. Poor Lisa all those years!
Now, instead of writing and deleting my feelings and rants, I am going to try to ‘clean them up’ and make them a little more public-ready I guess you could say and post them here. I’m hoping you won’t all hate me before I get too far in! Sometimes I still do. I find forgiving myself for the things I have done in my life to be the hardest, and if you follow me for long, you will too. I can only hope to give you some insight into the thought processes of screwed up (and now old) woman.
Again, I cannot stress enough that if you are currently in therapy, and it helps you, STAY THERE!!! This is simply my own personal experience with two therapists, and their different ways of ‘helping’ me. One worked for me, and one did not. There are MANY other ways that therapists can help us in our daily lives, I am simply one person that has found a way around it. Whether I did this for the reasons above, or out of a deep seated need to stop leaving the house so often, I am still sort of unsure about. What I do know is that what I have been doing since stopping therapy four years ago has been working for me.
**Not at all related to today’s post, but I feel I have to say this. We went to a fast food taco place last night and mistakenly received an extra bean burrito in our drive-thru order. We didn’t notice it until almost halfway home so we just gave to the dog, Bear, as we do not like them. He was thrilled!! WooHoo! – As I sit here NOW though, his belly is rumbling and rolling and making some extremely odd noises with the occasional output of noxious clouds with the ability to melt nose hairs. If you get one of these things – you have been warned of what it will probably do to your dog. Don’t give it to them. LOL
The Following paragraphs below were in response to a question Via Quora A women asked if there was any way someone with Bipolar Disorder could lead a healthy normal life (BTW What is Normal anyway?)The women had told me that her boyfriend was up and down, and a few times physically abusive Below is my response. […]
~You point out all the reasons to not be depressed. I see clearly the things you so readily direct my attention to. What you can not see is for all the positives you see, there are negatives waiting to consume the positives you point out to me. With brittle faith, and frailty of the mind, […]