Wednesday, March 28, 2012

How far?

I always hated the terms or ideas of "victim," "suffering," from bipolar or any other mental illness. I've always held the belief that if someone holds onto those idealizations they make themselves weak. That they see themselves at the mercy of what has a hold of them.

But until here recently I have begun to see things differently. And it has all been as a result of my own life and how it continues downhill. I still don't see myself as being weak or at the mercy of my bipolar. However, witnessing it to continue to worsen and become more unpredictable only leaves me to believe that more has to be done than what already is before everything I have is gone.

Recent job loss, almost lost my wife, another black out, another blow up fight, loss of friends, the suicidal depression and mania. All of which occurs while fully compliant with my medications.

I think one of the things that hurts the most is when people know you are bipolar and they believe they are ok with it until they actually see it in you. That's when they leave.

I have less than an hour then I will check in at the psychiatric hospital in my town. It's definitely not the first time I've been hospitalized. Not the first time voluntarily either. Think this is my eighth time. Honestly, my hopes are not up because the only goal is to become stable and then get out. It happens every time.

The problem is that my bipolar continues to get worse. So I could get stable in two days, get out on the third, and on the fifth be psychotic.

My actual goal: To get ECT, electroconvulsive therapy. It's not done here in my town. Just a larger city a couple of hours away. I know it's not a miracle. Nor magic. Or even a cure. I hear wonders about it. And I'm tired. Tired of fighting every day.

Thursday, March 22, 2012

Some of my poems for you


What difference does it make?
That I am Different.
So what, I ask you, what is so bad?
Aren't we all Different? Or are we all the same?
Don't you prefer to be Different?
Doesn't your soul cry out for it?
Maybe it just happens. It happens I am Different.
It happens you are not. If you are not Different then you are the same.
The same as everyone else?
Then I must be  wrong because I am Different?
I am Different! Therefore I am wrong! Right?
You would feel better if I wore more like you.
I can't be more like....But I am exactly like you.
In every way I am just as unique as you.


I'm comfortable with my insanity, at least. I can live with it. I flaunt it. Can you live with yours?
I'm used to it and know it well, we've been together for a long, long time.
I'm not afraid of it, we co-habitat extremely well, it fits, it's mine.
It is part of me like the skin I wear, it's always with me.
No one will ever understand me, I accept that. Not everyone will accept me, I understand. My craziness is at times a friend, other times an enemy. Angles keep me with reach, my demons keep from being bored.
My head runs over with activity, it literally almost never shuts off.
Insomnia has me in is its rein. It is isn't going anywhere.
I've learned how to take to advantage of it.
It's a part of me also. It's mine. It isn't going anywhere.
I'll never be free but I am the freest soul I know. I'm captured, but I'm the butterfly. If you walk away with a though to my insanity. I hope you smile I'm not normal, but I'm fine. I hear a waterfall of laughter of all around me. I'm good company, It's mine. It's my insanity.

Am I real?

I never meant to come on so strong
I never meant that you were wrong
Just sometimes it's so hard to speak
Straight from the heart, I feel so weak.

My words don't flow as others will
I hide behind this wall so real.
I speak at times without my mind.
Take risks of losing the truly kind.

I fear what most have come to see.
They're braver than I'll ever be.
Trust is but a heavy load To me a long and scary road

Should I reveal my heart to thee?
Remain a stranger, a mystery?
Reach a stronger, a mystery?
Reach out to you with soulful desire?

Give me a certain power?

For should I be who you choose?
And must accept who's in the shoes.
Your key to leave if not in my...
But within our hearts as an entity.

Now I must ask
Once you've touched my heart
Will you close the door?
Tear me apart?

All these leave me afraid
for many times my heart was paid
Not to see a bitter cold
For with my "dream" will I grown old

I need one who can sense the "whole"
Go beyond the surface of my soul.
To know that life's not what we see

Yet more, what it can truly be

For am I real to you, you ask of me?
Though I am in your dream
With a need to be free.

Not free from commitment
Nor bonds of devotion.....
Though free to show
My true self and emotions

Sunday, March 18, 2012

When Bipolar Meds Work

I have spent hundreds of pages, over the past ten years, reading and writing, talking about what it's like to be sick. Before that I had also spend years keeping my mouth tightly shut in privacy. I've talked about side effect hells and horrible doctors and an illness that tries to drag you, kicking and screaming, into endless darkness on a daily basis.

I have a lot to say on matters of mental illness. Both good and bad.

But when things aren't worse than you can possibly imagine, when the knives are down and the tissue box is full, what, exactly is that like? What does it feel like when the psych meds work? What is it like when the voices are silent? The shadows no longer move? The irrational thoughts are clearer? The financial decisions make sense?

For those of you who know what it is when psych meds work, it is like being freed from sleep paralysis. To put it lightly, it's like waking in the middle in the of the night with a fierce demon sitting on your chest sucking the very breath from your lungs.

Monday, March 12, 2012

I am not my own hero

I recently went back to work from taking a leave of absence for a week. Before taking off I debated over the idea in my mind for a few days before discussing it with my boss. Taking and off and admitting I need it is not easy for me to do. For me, it's like saying, "I think I need a few days to lounge around my house and watch TV."

I'm grateful to have bosses who are understanding and who will go out of their way to accommodate me when I need something regarding my mental health. Even more grateful for who are understanding, patient, trustworthy and non-stigmatizing.

But I could feel my depression sink deeper and deeper and sense the need to be hospitalized. I know being hospitalized at some point in time is inevitable with bipolar. But if I can avoid it then I rather would. Besides, being hospitalized would have required more time off from work. Not to mention time away from my family. Nor are those psych hospitals like spas either.

Thursday, March 1, 2012

I want to be "Normal"

I'm slightly broken.

No, I'm majorly broken. At least that's how I feel.

When we are born we are given a name. As we grow that name becomes entwined with our growing identity. Young adulthood brings with it its share of challenges as we struggle to figure out who we are.

But if you're diagnosed with a mental illness you're given another name. Contrary to what many people want us to believe, that it is not who you are I honestly believe that a person's diagnosis is a part of who they are. And as they struggle through the challenges of adapting to this new identity it becomes entwined with who they are. One of the greatest challenges of being bipolar is figuring out where one ends and the disorder begins.

I have written about many different topics in my blog. I have shared my opinions and thoughts. A few I have devoted to my struggles with being alienated from my children, my eating disorder, and yes my bipolar. But none like I am about to share with you now. Or even at the least if no one reads it, it is for me. I hope no one is discouraged from reading by the site of its length.

Bipolar undermines everything you ever thought you knew about yourself. Your successes, yours, or your mania's? Your failure's, yours, or your episodes? Are you accountable or do they owe their existence to your new identity?

Where my inspiration comes from

A Recycled-Dad with Bipolar & Parkinson's, reflections on fathering and family life and other stuff thrown in'll love my Soap Box Rants

Blog with Integrity\\ Auhor Lupe Picazo

Why I call myself a Recycled Dad

I call myself a Recycled Dad because of the struggles with remarriage and being a step-parent and weekend dad. This is also about my life living with bipolar and how it affects me personally, my family and my job. It also reflects on the grace God has poured out on me throughout recovery from alcohol and an eating disorder. Recycled Dad is about my reflections on the wisdom God teaches daily on fatherhood and being a better husband in spite of being bipolar.

Please feel free to leave comments. I welcome them