Got them BiPolar Blues and no Gun

I’ve been wondering what all the fuss is about worrying about guns killing people?  Another sad shooting in a school.  A grade school.  Innocent children.   I get all that.  I feel, I scream, I weep for those people.  But, thinking about..GUNS.. being the killers.  That’s seems so lame when you separate it from the rest of the argument to be pro-gun. Does a kid with some mental health issues make the final argument to remove guns from the hands of another class of people?

I shouldn’t have a gun.

I am considered mentally ill.  I’m Bipolar.  I am plagued by PTSD.  A couple weeks ago the therapist sent me off to the crisis center to be re-evaluated to see if I were a danger to the people around me.  Yeah, they thought I was potentially homicidal.  I don’t own a gun.  Now the police have an excuse to pick me up at the bus stop for loitering. Funny. Nope, it ain’t.

I am Pro Gun.  I don’t think the government can tell anyone that they can’t possess a firearm.  Some might say that’s pretty crazy, and I would agree.   I just don’t see a middle ground.  Constitution speaks of “a well trained militia’ and I think that is what the founding fathers meant. .. organized and trained…like our military, our National Guard.  They didn’t expect the government to conscript every able body in the country to call them to arms?  So everyone need not have a gun.  I don’t feel the need to own a gun.  I don’t have any inkling to want to go kill people…and that is the argument of guns..GUNS…kill people…not People.  Pfft.

Crazy bitch pulled that trigger who many times?  Shot his Mamma!  And Mamma has .223 just hanging around the house?  Something doesn’t smell right here.  And I just don’t think it had anything to do with the laws, or the type of firearms.  Why do you think we give a situation like this so much recognition?  Why do we wonder …why?

For the last several days the TV is inundated with this shooting and now the blow back of the argument for and against gun control and the masses.  It’s making my brain hurt.

I’m one of those people who are wanting to know why a kid, whom they say suffered from ‘some mental illness’  wasn’t getting the attention and care, devotion and compassion that might have kept those guns out of his hands?

We know there is no stopping the bad guys from having guns.  We know many feel the right to have guns. We know many feel the right to restrict guns. Would somebody please look closer at the kids who are resorting to this kind of infamous mass murder and follow the patterns.  Men kill men.  Always have. Now they have bigger toys.

I don’t know who to feel bad for.  I am bouncing back and forth.  Angry and very sad. And I am already sick of seeing it plastered all over the media for the wrong reasons, and then to see it spun the other way like they are respecting the dead children.  Everybody loses until we see what trigger set this young man off the edge.  Yeah, mental illness.

Some people, just shouldn’t have access to guns.  And that is contradictory for me.  What I am certain of;  I don’t need a gun.  Well, not unless the world starts to end soon. hehe


the BiPolar Bounce

Today was the first time I have seen a medical doctor in just over a year.  I never know whether I feel inundated with the system at large, or whether I am a disappearing digit in the monstrous machine?    Having to re-recite the lifetime of physical and mental health issues gets old.  I wish they would just pull the records and review them.  I want them to know where I have been and I want to feel less like “just another patient before it’s time to clock out” patient who is more than the sum of my Birthday and Full Name.  And; “by the way..what did you say the last 4 digits of your social was hun?”

Most of the time the panic going into a doctors’ office is overwhelming.  I held my ground today.  I rode a new bus route and saw a brand new doctor.  I had blood drawn and got appropriately poked and prodded.  Everyone was wonderful, cheerful, helpful and sympathetic to my need to be under regular medical care.  That felt great.  Helped to keep me focused on knowing I was safe.

On the other hand; in filling out all the paperwork and history feels so sterile.  So wrote. So surreal.  I’m trying to condense my life and the lives of my immediate family down into a 4 minute rundown. Pop, swish, scribble, scribble..and your 10 minutes are up.  All that was before the doctor came.

Dr. Doris was wonderful, kind and gentle.  And happy to see me take an active part in my care.  I ask lots of questions.  And today, I got right down to business.  It also meant I had her ear, and time to cover my expectations and needs of being there.

So, out today for another step forward and a new bus route..yikes. then the office experience..boom freaked… boom high, boom kinda scary, boom mellow happy, boom, more bus, getting dark, safe and sound and feeling bounced.

Retiring with tea and a book comfortably medicated and feeling accomplished.

Here sits the life of being Bipolar.


Dulcimer and drum and having fun.  Just dancing.  Some days can be very god.

Dulcimer and drum and having fun. Just dancing. Some days can be very god.

I’ve been a sad excuse for being an upright being over the last summer.  Things just seemed to fly south losing my therapy hours for the Bipolar, and PTSD.  County wouldn’t fund any more hours.  Kind of lost my grip on things for a while.  I’m still swinging, and trying to make the best of it.  To go with the manic compulsions.  That was the dancing day in November.  The Harvest Faire at the local herb farm.  Love spending time there.  They are family..but…they aren’t..but yes, to me..They Are Family.  Exactly what they are supposed to be.  It was a wonderful day and I just let go. Just let it go.

So some several months have passed and all I can do is count the mornings I wake up and get to have another chance to do more, or maybe to do better.  I really love summer time and spending time outside, and this spring/summer I have just holed up and shut down.  Having those county hours sent me into a panic attack and they shipped me off to the Crisis Center.  Felt like jail.

Month after that I in the hospital with a hemoglobin of 4.5  They wondered how I walked into the emergency room.  So there I count some more.  Five days in intensive care getting lots of transfused blood.  And two more days after that.  Was weeks before I started making blood again and started to gain some strength.  More days lost.

So I swing.  The attitude shifts, the confusion, the sadness, just so overwhelming.  Bipolar is no fun.  Some days I can feel the weirdness and understand that I’m not reading the situation sensibly.  Do some more counting.  1,2,3…

Some things feels a bit better these last few weeks.  I’d like to get back on track here.  Really slack.  Not even reading.  Been really hard to look at.  Accept.  Admit. Really look at. So I guess counting the days till I can feel it on here instead of out here.  XX

and the Beat Goes On

I forced myself outside of my comfort zone today.  I have spent two days stressing about this day.  My mind a twirling mass of ‘what ifs?’. What great giant leap of faith did I take today, you might ask?  What astounding feat have you mastered?  How bloody uncomfortable could you have possibly been?   What the hell could be so traumatic that I spent two sleepless nights over?

A community drumming circle.

That was my terror tempted, today.

Fifteen to twenty years ago, hand drumming was one of my passions.  It was new and a different way of looking at rhythm as music.  The notes were different.  And I loved to dance.  Dance like no-one is watching, as they say.  There have been patches of my life where my spirit was free enough from the darkness to allow me to fly free.  Fly with the music and the dance. 

For several years now, I just don’t go anywhere.  Don’t do anything.  My creative, free spirit was torn into shreds with being Bipolar.  Again.  Another cycle.  The only dance I have had in me in the last 7 years is the death spiral of a broken spirit.  What if years ago, decades ago, someone had noticed the patterns?  Would there be a difference today in the way I face the music?  The way I face a crowd?

So today, I tried to step out of my zone.  I took a deep breath, and my pesudo-eX, Lou, took me by the hand and went to the park for the community drum circle. We had a nice fast food lunch and practiced our chops under the shady oaks and waited for folks to begin showing up.  When people started coming and we walked across the street to join the amassing people, I near fell out.  I was weak kneed, and tight chested.  I felt suddenly so out of place and lost. I was scared.  Flat simple scared.  I don’t even know what made me feel so afraid. I just was afraid.

Lots of drums, half dozen girls with hoops, some more with batons.  All sorts of noise makers for small and tall, alike. Children scampering bogeying to the beat being pounded out of the mass. And the music.  Not complex but, a heartbeat.  One that rose and fell as the energy shifted around the circles. 

I opened my stool, sat myself down, got out my drum and played. And I watched dozens of people with enough free spirit to lift themselves to movement and music as a common denominator. It was good. 

A beautiful evening.  Good energy.  And me among forty or so total strangers trying my best not to run away, or crumple.  I did not turn away.  I did it.  I even spoke with one or two people…briefly.  🙂  It was good to try to release through the music again.  Just to let go enough to free my mind from the endless cycle of doubt and self criticism.  And Lou, the sort of Ex, knew just when to say it was time to go.  Now I am safely back in my nest of a room.  It is still a beautiful evening.   Music is playing behind me, I am safe.  I just listen to the pulse of the music and try to keep that place set deep in me.  

So I stepped outside my box today and tried to change my dance. I made it through. Only small bits of tears or terrors.  I done good, by golly.  I survived. I can do this. I can change the dance.  I can change my beat.

friends and neighbors

I live in the middle of a very Spanish neighborhood.  There are 9 different apartments besides ours, and between all of these apartments there are over 30 children.  They play freely over all the hilltop surrounding our collective apartments.  This is good.  Children playing and being happy is good.  It is good until they play right under your front window, and the adults move their chairs and Corona’s under the shade of the tree that sits outside our window.  That absence of privacy sets me on my last nerve. These kids have over 2 acres to run and play on and can’t help but sit under the window..leaning in the window and ogling, or yelling at the dog in the window.  I can’t even take the dog, a Chihuahua, outside because their little dog tears off and bites.  I’ve been bit twice,and my eX has been bit three times.  None of the adults speak English. For a year and a half now, with all the open space around us, we don’t have the ability to sit in front of our own apartment.

Grrr, arghhh.

I know, shallow, ain’t it?

Well, yesterday they were out there again, right by the front window, and my son tried to get them to understand that it was a space and privacy issue.  The guy called the landlord and said my son threatened to call the police.  Not what happened. I was standing in the doorway as he addressed the neighbor.  It should have been all good.

Now after talking with the landlord, they have moved to their own side of the yard.  And we have been written up for causing two disturbances now.  One more and we get evicted.  That would be very bad.

This afternoon I log onto my computer and Windows locks up solid and disappears.  Silly machine wants to install a new version because it can’t find any drives.  Took two hours to find the bug that ate Windows and got it working again.  Big sweat there.  Without this computer, i would neve have contact with the world.

My next fun dilemma for the day was to find out that the local circle of friends was having a pig picking tonight and we, ex and myself, weren’t invited.  He and I have figured out how to be separated and still hang out together..why can’t they live with that?

I am cranky and feeling deflated.  Doubting whether I ever really had a friend in the world at all.  Am I that despicable?  That cold, mean, and random?

I am going to ease my grief tonight with a giant rice crispie treat and a glass of root beer. Then crawl into bed with my pink fuzzy bunny rabbit and read myself to sleep reading “Death of the Liberal Class”.

Outside Looking In

It has broken into a mid-afternoon thunder shower.  It smells so fresh and new outside.  The sky is the perfect grey, tinged with pink as the clouds race.  I went outside and sat in the rain for a bit.  Just to let it wash away some of the fuzz in my head. You could taste the salt from the ocean in the drops.  Smell the sea in the breezes and it calls me home.

The beach is the only place in my entire life where I have escaped the family drama, found grace, and for a while put away all the hurt.  The hurt runs so deep. So deep that it burns like fire inside my body.  Fire that is straight from the pits of hell.  It scorches my every dream.  Devours my moments of peace.  Smolders, even when I am drenched in the rain.  The rain from the ocean.  I can hear the waves on the shore in the thrumming of the rain and I am trying to breathe it in. I want that feeling back again.

This weekend, some friends here in Raleigh, are having a Memorial Day cookout.  At least, I thought they were friends.  They were friends until I left my husband of 35 years.  now I am a pariah.  I have no place in their circle even after more than 20 years of friendship.  What’s worse, is they have isolated my eX, too.  They don’t invite him to events either.  And I really want him to have their support.  I want him happy.  Then there is this part of me that is pissed off that neither of us were even told about, let alone invited, to this party.  Is it rude?  Am I overly sensitive?  Probably some of both.  What good is it to call them friends..when…they are not?

Then, I think about the people I have left at the beach.  I miss them so much.  They have always accepted that I was a total nutcase, although they were never sure why I am the way I am.  And they would tell me when I was out of line.  Hell, several even got really pissed off at me a couple of times.  Made for several stressful months.  But, we always found our way back to friendship.  Now, that I am away from them, I appreciate how much they have always meant to me.  And I can see the difference in the ‘circle’ that I am running around the outside of, and the ‘circle’ where I belong to, within.

Guess you never know what you got, til it’s gone….pave paradise and put up a parking lot.

I’m glad we can choose our friends, unlike our families. And today, I am glad the rain brought my true friends to me on the breeze.




For the last couple of weeks I have just been trying to wrap my head around the thought that my state funded hours for therapy have run out.  I don’t have a therapist anymore.  And that scares me.  She had become my greatest supporter.  She helped me to stay on track.  Showed me how to recognize some of my triggers and how to find ways to fight them. So, I worry what will happen to me now.  I still got meds management.  At least that is good.

But, I am distraught.  I have lost my ground control.  I have lost one more reason to step outside my door and venture out into the world.  I don’t have to face riding the bus everyday and feeling the building anxiety of incoming panic attacks.  But I rode that bus to prove to myself that there was at least one trigger I could conquer.  Even that is not totally true.  A few weeks ago I totally freaked out.  I saw someone, and it triggered a flashback.  The panic set in fast.  The cold sweats, the quaking, the nausea, and the fear.  I heard the ding for a bus stop and I dove off the bus to the curb and vomited until I was spent and empty.  I had no idea where I was.  All I could see was ‘that man’ hovering over me…starring..oogling.  And it wasn’t real.  Noone was there.  Just me.  If I opened my eyes, there he was.  I crawled my way over to the bus stop bench and curled into a ball sobbing, waiting for it to stop.  A couple of buses came and went.  I just lay there, paralyzed.  Afraid.I don’t know how long it took me to gather my hour at least, and then I got onto another bus.  I was determined to get to my therapy session.  The same thing happened again.  Triggered.  Again I lay on the side of the road with traffic zooming by, bicyclists rolling by, and a jogger, too.  Noone stopped.  I staggered across the street into the shade and lay down.  I drank some water.  And I quaked, eyes squeezed shut against the panic and terror.  I found my cell phone, and thank goodness for speed dial.  My therapist is #1.  Pretty easy.  Then I called my husband at work.  He came and got me and took me to my therapy session where they called an ambulance.  The mental health hospital wouldn’t take me.  The crisis center told me to take a clonapam and go lay down somewhere quiet.  I was hallucinating!  I couldn’t open my eyes without seeing his face looming over me. A face that had molested me, harassed me, and made me afraid on buses.   This time I just can’t seem to get past it.  There is noone to sort it out with. No therapist.  No funding.  No insurance.  No hope.

I just want to sleep tonight.  And I can’t.  Tonight I am haunted by that face….still.I’m afraid to sleep for fear of dreaming.  The night terrors are horrible.  I feel pressed into the bed, unable to open my eyes to stop the terror.  Helpless.  Suffocating.

I sometimes think I just want to sleep and never wake up.