Ativan, Turkey and Black Friday

I had to leave work early due to stomach issues.  I don't quite know where they came from.  Is it a bug?  Is it effects from my flu shot last week?  Is it Ativan withdrawal?  Could most definitely be the Ativan withdrawal.  I'm trying not to rely on an addicting benzo daily to get me by.  But I've been on it for four years.  I got off of it for a bit, experienced flu-like symptoms during withdrawal and survived it, but ended up BACK on it after a terrible time trying a new drug on the market over the summer.  Ugh.  Will it ever end?

I'm trying some essential oils, too.  We shall see.

I didn't overeat on Thanksgiving yesterday.  So it can't be that.

Nerves?  Have nerves taken me over again?  I surely hope not.  I've been sleeping fairly well and I have LOADS of experience working holiday retail.

Whatevs.  I left work early on Black Friday and came home, put on my jammies and have been resting.  Hopefully this subsides by the morning?  Otherwise I'm in for a hellish few days at work.  Because I can't call off on our busiest days of the year.  God, help me!  Or maybe I just need to take the damn Ativan again.  Ugh.

I am trying to look forward to things.  The holidays always blur by but I'm trying so hard to enjoy them this year.  My brother is arriving next weekend.  I have another concert in a few weeks, which should bring a smile on my face to see one of my favorite musicians LIVE IN PERSON once again.  As long as I can hide out and dodge the chitter-chatter.  Man, I still don't understand the chitter-chatter.  Will I ever know?

I am gearing up for a whirlwind season.  I pray the Good Stuff surrounds me, and that people exhibit kindness and joy, and that each day is comfortably manageable.  I pray that nobody screams at me and that the spirit of the season touches more people than ever before.

Whew.  Here we go.

Oh the mundane

Wake up.  Take pills.  Bathe.  Work.  Eat. Take more pills.  Go to sleep.  Start over.

If only I could figure out a way to be content with life.  I put up my Christmas tree today.  As I was hanging the garland and stringing the lights, I had this weird time warp sensation.  I was in total disbelief that a whole year has passed since I put up the Christmas decorations.  Day in, day out.  Month in, month out.  Year in, year out.  Decade in, decade out.

I need to travel again.  Comment puis-je le faire?  Is that even proper French?  

Anxiously awaiting my new passport...

Living, breathing case studies

So I try my best not to eat, sleep and breathe all this mental illness stuff.  But it's like it haunts a person, particularly when you are not able to discuss it openly in most places.  I take my medications, I check in regularly with different professionals and support groups, but I must hide my illness and go about my daily life as normally as possible.  It's like living a double life.

I love that more people are becoming more vocal about their struggles.  The more people that come forward with their mental health struggles the more compassionate society can be.  It takes a lot of courage to speak up about these experiences, but at the same time, what a relief it could all be!

The self-doubt I feel daily that I'm inferior and ill and worthless because of struggles with bipolar eats away at me.  My past haunts me.  Former colleagues have turned their back on me and my connections that could lead me to a new job or new career are thwarted by a past that has included several medical leaves of absence from several jobs.  And GOSSIP!  Jesus, the GOSSIP stabs the core of a person's sense of worth!  I am no longer taken seriously by them, and my future is dimmed because of their judgments.  Do you understand how a mental illness past can lead to deeper depression?

It is my hope, my prayer that more understanding comes with more people opening up about these struggles.  Support groups show me that I'm not alone, and I am grateful for them.  But I still have a long way to go before I feel confidence to participate the way I'd like to.

I am grateful, however, for the few friends who have stood by me in good times and bad.  The friends who do not judge or gossip or whisper about me.  The friends who bring me joy.  I'm lucky to have at least a few of those.

I was interested to hear I was not the only one who went through the hell of diagnosis.
http://www.nola.com/entertainment/baton-rouge/index.ssf/2014/11/darrell_hammond_opens_up_about.html

Dreams for an insomniac

So one of the unfortunate aspects of bipolar sometimes is sleepless nights.  I think I read some study correlating the bipolar mind with migratory birds who go without sleep for days.  It's not good.  I'm getting older and I need that rest.  One night of no sleep results in poor digestion the entire next day and if it continues onto two, three, four nights there is a potential for mania to take over.

I have a lot stewing in my mind and it just seems like it's not ready for sleep.  I'm not feeling too keen on sharing the details but it suffices to say I'm Stressed. And no me gusta stress.

I want to hideaway and work in a factory or something doing production work where my immediate peers are task-oriented, team players and efficient.  I want to clock out and roll down the brontosaurus neck and go off to enjoy an enriching life with an ideal group of friends and loved ones.  Instead I constantly feel like I have to blow off steam.  The stress of working in and with the public has me down.  I'm walking on eggshells.

I wish I could sleep tonight.  My old soul needs its rest.  I need proper rejuvenating each night.

day jobs and artistic pursuits

My paintings are all piled up in the living room, a pile of empty canvases next to them waiting for inspiration to hit.  I recently bought some supplies to start a project in which I attempt to actually SELL some paintings but I'm having a hard time getting started.  Family members have looked through my old stuff when they've dropped by and said things like, 'Uh, you need to SELL these paintings and make some money!' (sis-in-law) and 'Hey, these are pretty good.  Why don't you sell them?' (my Dad) and then, my favorite, from my mother:

'What are you gonna do with all of these!?!?!'
I don't know, Mom.  It's just my therapy right now.  (She has also lent us some money a few weeks ago and gave me a canvas with specific instructions of what she wants painted to decorate her family room for her Christmas present this year.)

A former colleague of mine who is a VERY talented artist, way better than me...one of those actual God-given talents in fact... is trying to earn enough money by selling his personal belongings AND commission some pieces to move back here from NYC.  We've always worked retail and everything else was always a hopeful project on the side.  I know how grueling retail can be and I really want some good stuff to happen for him, for a change.  He went to NYC and really tried to make something happen.  I'm hoping his return to the Midwest can provide for some new opportunities.

Another former colleague and friend of mine left behind a retail job to pursue his music full-time.  I'm rooting for him and trying to offer support.  I have absolutely no music talent whatsoever and I truly admire those who do.  My cousins in France do music and somehow get financial support to work on their projects and make a tolerable living.  I get nervous about anyone leaving steady employment to go for their dreams but, you know, taking chances and all...

That's just it.  I don't take chances.  I tried once and wound up falling flat on my face.  I ended up in a psych ward, in fact, was heavily doped up and diagnosed and shunned, and I've never gotten over it.  More than a decade later, I'm still traumatized.  I can't imagine showing my paintings anywhere, in public, for people to see.  I can't muster up the courage to put myself out there like that.  I don't have it in me, even with a never-ending prescription for Ativan.  Nope, can't do it.

And so I keep working and trying to do my best in my day job every day. 

On the flip side, I've recently gotten in touch with an artist and writer to ask him to sign some of his books we are currently selling at the shop.  His artwork took off so big and strong that he got to quit his day job and has made a successful career for himself.  He's like, famous and stuff!  I took his old job years ago at the bookstore and it's really inspiring to see someone in close proximity soar like that.  I'm so happy for him, truly.

As I coordinate details for an upcoming art show to showcase two local artists at the shop, I think about my role and life in the artistic universe.  It is a subtle one, and I'm comfortable with that.  I don't want any big things for my life, but I truly want them for other people.  I understand the depths of artistic pain and depression and self-expressionism and creativity and mania and strong pursuit.  I understand certain elements of the commercial aspects of artistic success and the glamour behind becoming a commodity to make other people rich with your talent.  I'm not that talented person who 'has what it takes,' but I'm a supporter of those who do.  In this world of harsh criticism and endless bankable marketing opportunity, I'm the good friend who will stand on the sidelines and cheer and support those whom I care about. 

I have learned that this world can chew you up and spit you out real quick (or just throw you in a psych ward and analyse you to death).  But I believe in survival, and rebirth and renaissance, and friends lifting one another up, and the good guys getting to the truly good stuff that is so well-deserved.

And as far as my writing endeavors go?  Maybe someday I can spit out a book.  I've learned, am still learning, and will continue to learn for many years.  If I could somehow formulate my experiences into a helpful tale, then I will do just that.  I put my heart and soul into everything I do, and if my vulnerabilities find a light and a connection then so be it.

art therapy group

So with the help of my therapist, I have located an Art Therapy group at a wellness center.  I was nervous as all get-out to attend my first group, but I got on that bus and took an extra Ativan and made it to the session.

The first session was odd because I was the only one to show up!  It was just me and the facilitator of the group, so we spent over an hour working on two separate art therapy projects to get started.  I spent the first half hour coloring in a mandala and discussing it afterwards.  Coloring, throwing paint on a canvas, doodling....all things I do to rest my anxious mind on my own and now I had someone to actually discuss the WHYS of how it's therapeutic.  The second project was even a bit more childlike and 'freeing' to do and I was so happy I went.

The group has been starting to build and I'm getting to know a few others, slowly.  It's hard to open up to a new group about stuff, but I love the artistic exchange of the group.  Everyone is so critical of their artwork they create, yet it is designed as a 'no artistic talent' needed group and none of us are masterpiece painters.  But they BECOME masterpieces once we tell each other what we like about each others creations and we lift each other up.  No criticism, just mutual respect of the EXPRESSIVE OUTLET in which we share our emotions and feelings.

It's exactly what I was looking for with the 'art' I create. 

I wish the real world were as gentle sometimes.

chug chug chuggin along

Still sorting out lots of things.

The weather is changing along with my mood.

I am participating in an art therapy group, which I've loved so far.  Only problem is my work schedule sometimes preventing me from making it in.  But when I can make it???  It's Awesome, and just what I was looking for in terms of my ongoing treatment.

Still see a therapist.  Still see a psychiatrist.  Still take an anti-psychotic and anti-anxiety pill.  And yep, check.  Still have Bipolar.  It's not going anywhere.

Saw a whole buncha live music last weekend.  I watched The Buzzcocks, Television, Face To Face, Afghan Whigs, Paul Weller, Wu-Tang Clan, Metric, Flaming Lips, The National, Patti Smith, Social Distortion and The Cure.  Cool, right?  I love music.  Live for it, in fact.  I love what those artists and performers can do to lift up others.  I could never in a million bazillion years get up there on a stage and do what they do.

Plus, I bought a new iPod and have been filling it with all kinds of goodies from the past and present.  So Music has been a good therapy as well.  As always.

life lesson #268

• No matter what the circumstances nor how difficult they may be, never lose a sense of positivity.  Negative thinking only leads to negative outcomes and there's no more room for that these days...

Life lesson #573

It doesn't matter if you're a good, caring boss, helping your staff reach their goals and aspirations.  It's not appreciated, even if they say it is.  People don't give a shit about anything but themselves.  

And people don't give a shit about a good, caring boss.

music (under pressure)