Fuck the pain away. I mean fuck it, drink it, shoot it, smoke it, snort it, cut it, binge it, purge it all the fuck away. Get high. Relapse. That’s what we do.
-Nic Sheff

Continue reading

Brush your teeth, Take your meds.

Love is messy. It’s not perfect. And I think sometimes it just comes out wrong.

So last night, I pretty much just told my boyfriend I was still offended by what he said. He asked me if I knew why he said it. Well, no, not exactly.. He said that at the time he was thinking, “So I’m just going to let her not take her meds and then in a few days she’s going to be stuck in bed or yelling at me for no reason or just not well and it’ll be my fault for not being more insistent right now that she take them.” He said he was just frustrated that I was being so stubborn about not doing something so simple as telling him which pills to get me, opening my mouth, and swallowing. He said he realizes now that I was right, taking one dose of meds a few hours late isn’t going to affect my mood nearly as much as the amount of alcohol I had consumed that night and that he didn’t need to push it. But at the time he felt like he did. And now he feels like shit because he said one stupid comment that turned out to poorly affect my mood for nearly three days. He takes it back.

Okay. I’m not an easy person to love, I knew that long before we’d met. But I guess I’ve gotten so comfortable with him now that I forget that sometimes. I forget that he worries about me. And I forget that sometimes he feels at fault for my moods.

It’s an interesting thing to have to take care of yourself for someone else’s wellbeing in addition to your own. I think I’m still trying to figure it out.

P.S. He actually said to me, “And it’s not like just not brushing your teeth.” Lol. You think he read my post? 😛


Work out your own salvation, do not depend on others

Image

I came home last night pretty drunk. Smoked with my boyfriend, got into bed, and was absolutely ready to pass out. Mindset: I haven’t brushed my teeth, but who the fuck cares because I’m fucked up and about to sleep forever and it’ll be great and I’ll brush and floss in the morning. My boyfriend was laying with me and asked if I took my night meds. I told him no, but whatever I’m going to take them in a few hours.

So I don’t fully remember what happened next, something along the lines of him being a bit stern in telling me to take them and me going into don’t-tell-me-what-to-do mode, which probably came out as, “If you push it then I promise you I will never fucking take them.” Whatever.

And, again, I can’t remember where exactly this fit in, but I guess he was slightly angry with me for not taking them and said (this I do remember exactly), “Don’t fuck me over,” which translates to, “don’t let me plan my future around you and then have you go and kill yourself or stop taking your meds or something and fuck me over.”

THE FUCK?!

We’ve known each other and been together for 3+ years. In that time, I’ve been hospitalized ONCE. I had a manic episode, recognized (after independently calling my doctor) that I wasn’t safe, needed to go inpatient to stabilize, and I voluntarily checked myself in. Yes, my boyfriend was there to drive me to the ER to go through the finding-a-bed process, but, realistically, if he wasn’t there, I would have taken a cab. My point is, I have bad times. This is a chronic illness that can be treated, but not cured. I know that and he knows that. However, I have NEVER given him a reason to not trust that I can and will take care of myself.

He apologized this morning after realizing I was holding a grudge. I haven’t accepted it yet (hence the angry rant). I’m still so mad that he said that. I’ll find a way to get over it, obviously, but FUCK. I’ve pretty much just been hiding in my bed all day and he’s been out in the living room or whatever. I don’t even know.. I’m just so mad he said that.


World Bipolar [yester]Day

Image

To those stuck in bed, stuck in their heads, stuck on a rollercoaster… Keep fighting xx

 

Taken from namimass.org:

“The vision of World Bipolar Day is to bring world awareness to bipolar disorders and eliminate social stigma. Through international collaboration, the goal of World Bipolar Day will be to educate the world population about bipolar disorders and help improve sensitivity toward the illness.”

 

I don’t know how to educate you on bipolar disorders without reciting textbooks and statistics. Honestly, I don’t think that’s the best way to go about it. I can, however, educate you on my illness. (Note: Educate you on my illness, not me. There’s a difference.) I hide it. You won’t see it so much unless you’re really, really close to me. When my [medicated] illness is showing, you’ll see me quiet. I may seem a little “out of it.” Other times I may be talking too fast. You may think I’m a little drunk or high. In a way I am, but the substances are supplied by my brain and I never asked for them. Sometimes I may seem irrationally irritable or annoyed. I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be. When things are bad, you won’t see me at all. Finally, sometimes, occasionally, you’ll just see me.


Confessions of a depressed comic

“It’s hard to talk about so much so that no one is talking about it.”


I am a millenni…

I am a millennial. Generation Y; born between the birth of AIDS and 9/11, give or take. They call us the global generation. We are known for our entitlement and narcissism. Some say it’s because we’re the first generation where every kid gets a trophy just for showing up. Others think it’s because social media allows us to post when we fart or have a sandwich for all the world to see. But it seems our one defining trait is a numbness to the world. An indifference to suffering.
I know I did anything I could to not feel; sex, drugs, booze. Just take away the pain. Take away my mother and my asshole father and the press and all the boys I loved who wouldn’t love me back. Hell, I was gang raped and two days later I was back in class like nothing had ever happened. I mean, that must have hurt like hell, right? Most people never get over stuff like that and I was like, “Let’s go get Jamba juice!”

And that’s the rub of all this, isn’t it? I can’t feel shit. I can’t feel anything. We think that pain is the worst feeling. It isn’t. How could anything be worse than this eternal silence inside of me. I used to not eat for days or eat like crazy then stick my fingers down my throat. Now no matter how much I binge I can’t fill this hole inside me. I can’t take it anymore. I think I’m going batshit. I need to do something.

Madison Montgomery, American Horror Story: Coven


10 Things I’ve Learned Along the Way

  1. Health and safety comes before everything. If you’re not healthy and safe, it’s just a matter of time before you fuck everything up anyway.
  2. Work with your doctor. This is the number one person you always need to be honest with. If you can’t, find a new doctor.
  3. Be consistent. When I switched doctors I explained that I frequently skipped or lowered doses of my lithium because it made me nauseous. He immediately recommended coming off of it, something I didn’t even consider possible. He said, “If you’re not properly taking a therapeutic dose, how does that help you?” Duh.
  4. Sleep. And this may mean you need more than the “recommended 8 hours.” To be at my best, I usually need between 10 and 12. You call it lazy, I call it healthy. Whatever.
  5. Recognize your triggers. Even if you can’t stop it, at least you can know “I feel x because y.” And you can work on it.
  6. Save up sick days. It’s a lot easier to allow yourself a mental health day if you don’t have to worry about that day you took off last week because you wanted to “clean up” your DVR.
  7. Stay aware. I keep a sort of mental checklist. I know my symptoms and if things start to add up… well, things start to add up. 
  8. Sometimes we can’t do everything everyone else can do. I know we want to think we can, but honestly: no. I can’t pull three all-nighters in a row and not end up in the ER. I can’t live alone. I can’t keep firearms in my house. I can’t get drunk every weekend. I can’t drink a venti americano. Those are some of my limits; they may not be yours, but I’m sure you’ve got some.
  9. Keep condoms. Three years ago I defied the laws of the universe and met an amazing man and joined the monogamy club. Before that, I could be unshaven with orange hair in church yet somehow I’d still find myself in some rando’s bed. If “expert in promiscuity” is on your resume, make sure “STD and baby free” is, too.
  10. Breathe. “You gotta remember to breathe or you’ll die.”

Now someone remind me to follow my own advice?