Challenge: STEW ON THIS for Monday, December 12, 2011: "Whenever I come across clutter, the energy field is unmistakable. It presents an obstacle to the flow of energy and has an unpleasant, sticky, unclean feel to it, as if I'm moving my hands through unseen cobwebs. This is what made me realize clutter causes problems in people's lives. [Clutter] creates stuckness and/or confusion in the lives of the occupants." Karen Kingston, "Clean Your Clutter with Feng Shui: Free Yourself from Physical, Mental, Emotional, and Spiritual Clutter." Describe cleaning your clutter.
My apartment is cluttered. I am not disorganized, lazy, or a procrastinator. I simply do not like a perfectly clean living area; it freaks me out. Why? With all of the research done today showing that a clutter free living space leads to a clutter free life, why would it be the opposite for me? Well, the answer is as complex as it is simple. The trauma I endured as a child was inflicted by someone who was a complete neat freak. Her house smelled like Lysol everywhere and all the time. "A home for everything and everything in its place". I still can't stand the smell of Lysol, it sends me into panic attacks. Unfortunately, I spent a lot of time at that house, and since I was only a child, I tended to forget to put away my crayons right after using them, I'd forget to take my shoes off when I came in from outside, etc. The result was not pretty, and I'm not going into details now. I don't want to think about them, and I'm sure you don't want to read about them.
So now, on the rare occasion that I do have to get everything put away and make my apartment nice and tidy and looking as though no one lives here, I feel like I'm six years old again. I find myself afraid to set anything down in the "wrong" place. I can't sleep until I've straightened everything up. I have nightmares about my abuser.
Don't get me wrong, my apartment is not filthy, just messy. I dust and throw out my garbage and I shuffle things around so I can vacuum the carpets. I don't trip over anything except my cats when I walk around at night. And as for books, if there is any chance at all that I will read them again, they stay. Torn covers, food stained pages, and broken spines show that a book is cherished; a bit like the Velveteen Rabbit.
My apartment is cluttered; which is exactly the way that I like it.
When I was 17 I was diagnosed with anorexia, bipolar and PTSD. They started me on meds and I got started in a comprehensive eating disorders outpatient program. We struggled with different meds, some would work for awhile and then quit, others did nothing. My insomnia was not officially diagnosed, although they did give me some mild sleep aids (not much help; I started smoking pot at age 18 to get to sleep).
Anyhow, in February 1994 I had just turned 19 and was back living with my parents. They accepted the anorexia, but didn't understand the bipolar and PTSD. The conditions they laid down for me to move back home were: I had to continue at my part-time job, find another part-time job or find 1 full-time job, start college classes, and do all of the laundry, dusting, mopping, sweeping, vacuuming, etc. I also had to pay rent. I lasted 1 month. One night I went out and got drunk with some friends, which was strange for me because I rarely drank, and when I did I usually did not get drunk. I was smoking pot but only enough to get to sleep. I stumbled in at 4am and sat down to wait to call in sick to work.
My mom came into the living room about 5:30am and asked me what I was doing and I told her...I was going to call in sick to work. She could smell the alcohol and asked me if I had been drinking. (Duh) I said yes, and to leave me alone. Mom said that I was not going to call in sick. I said I was. Back and forth until she finally said "I don't know what the hell is wrong with you. You're lazy. What are you going to do with your life if you insist on being lazy?" I screamed back "You really want to know? REALLY? My plan is to wait for all of you to leave the fucking house so I can kill myself". She stared at me for a minute and then said "I'm going to take a shower".
After her shower, she came back and said she was taking me to the hospital. Fine by me, I needed a break from being her slave. So we get to the hospital and they ask what is going on, I told them I was suicidal and struggling with my anorexia. I said that I still could not sleep. So they did the evaluation, which included questions about drug or alcohol use. I was honest (stupid, stupid!) and said that I smoked pot a little at night so I could sleep, and that I drank occassionally. The psychiatrist (whom I had never met before) decided that I was an addict and an alcoholic. When I disagreed, I was told that I was in denial. WTF? This guy hadn't even looked at my file yet, and he'd only been talking to me for 15 minutes.
So they put me in locked psych, and they were giving me librium to "help with the alcohol withdrawals". LOL, I wasn't having any withdrawals, but that librium sure was nice. They were getting me high; fine by me! After a couple of days the psychiatrist asked how I was doing, and I told him that I was still suicidal. He said I needed to be transferred to the recovery unit. I asked if it was an open unit, and he said it was, and I told him, I TOLD him, that if I could find a way to die, I would. He transferred me anyway. The second day on the unit I went up to the desk, asked for a razor to shave my legs, and took it to my room and slit my wrists.
Back down to locked psych. Can't say I didn't warn them! A week there, and then back to the recovery unit. I kept telling them that I was not an alcoholic, but they insisted that I was in denial. We had to write an essay about all the things we had done to get in trouble when drunk or high. I didn't have anything. I'd never gotten into trouble. I was put on restriction "until I was willing to face my problem and tell the truth". I was on restriction for the next 3 weeks, and they finally said they couldn't help me. They told me that I was being sent to a half-way house for women alcoholics. I told them I wasn't going. They told my parents that if I didn't go willingly that they should have me commited.
I was in the half-way house for 3 months. During the second month, I finally started to make up stories about how alcohol was ruining my life and that I could "see the light now". It was the only way I was ever going to get out of there. Finally, in July, I was released...back to my parents. I switched to a new therapist and a new psychiatrist, and explained all that had happened. They both agreed that I was NOT an alcoholic or an addict. I was finally diagnosed with chronic insomnia and put on better medication for sleep. My therapist helped me file for disability, and although I was denied the first two times, at the hearing after the second appeal (with the help of a lawyer), I was accepted in October 1995. I moved an hour away from my parents the day I got the back-pay check.
And now it's time for intermission...thanks for sticking with me.
So here I am at my parent's house for an oh-so-fun family dinner (belated birthday dinner for me and an early birthday dinner for my mom). My friend brought me here yesterday and my anxiety is through the roof now...I am hoping to be home in 5 hours at the latest...
So last night my parents were talking about how I was such a bad kid...I WAS NOT A FUCKING BAD KID!!
So why would they say that? Okay, well I didn't get straight A's on my report cards, I listened to heavy metal music, I got into a fight in high school (some guy attacked me and I fought back, oh yeah, that makes me so terrible), I skipped 1 half day my senior year, I wore concert t-shirts and a lot of black clothing (this is in the late 80's and early 90's when rock and roll was at it's peak), I refused to be confirmed to their church because I didn't believe in the crap that their church was selling as truth, I had a messy room, and I didn't hang out with the cheerleaders and jocks. Yep, I was just such a BAD kid. I always came home by curfew, I did not get pregnant, I did not do drugs (well, except for smoking, okay, that's not great), I never swore at my parents, I never failed a class (even the ones that were hard for me), I graduated high school, I was never in trouble with the law, I never skipped class except for that 1 half day, I only had detention twice in my whole school career, I did my homework, I worked as soon as I was legally able and by my sophmore year I was paying my own car insurance and paying for my own car repairs and gas and was buying most of my own clothes, I turned down the music or television when asked, I got up and got ready for school by myself with no arguments even though I hated school, and I helped around the house and on the farm. Wow, was I bad or what?
What a load of crap. I can't wait to get home. These people are driving me fucking nuts.
Update: I made it home without losing my temper...I am so happy to see my cat and my bed ;o)
My husband and I met in 1997, were married in 1999, and separated in 2003, but we remained best friends. Basically we decided that we still cared a lot about each other but we just could not live together for a lot of different reasons.
So until recently we were completely there for each other as friends. We talked once or twice a day and he would always be there if I was having problems with my bipolar II or anxiety disorders (among other diagnosis). It was hard when he was working full time but if I left a message for him he would always call me as soon as he got the message; he would even come over after work if I was feeling really down. He was my only friend and although I get along well enough with my family, they really don't understand the depression and anxiety and hypomania and everything so I can't really talk to them about those things. I also don't have a car so I counted a lot on C. to take me to the store for groceries or whatever, since my family lives about an hour away.
Anyhow, he lost his job last Feb due to downsizing at his company and still hasn't found a job. During the fall he started playing that online sim game Second Life and met a girl named Joss, but she lives in England and we live in the USA so she is 6 hours ahead of us time-wise. At first I was really happy for him that he met someone new. But over time, from the things he was telling me it sounded like she was playing a lot of mind games with him and he seemed to be getting hurt and upset a lot. She also didn't like him hanging out with me, even though she is still living with her husband (they are supposedly separated). So he started spending about 10 - 16 hours a day online with her, trying to do anything to make her happy. He started to not take phone calls when he was online with her, and would not call anyone back until after Joss went to bed at night. And she has insomnia, so sometimes she was up until 10pm or later our time. Basically it didn't matter how depressed I was or anything, he wouldn't get back to me until 4 - 10 hours after I left a message since she didn't like it when he talked to me if she was online. She told him if they have a relationship she should ALWAYS come first, even if his friends or family needed him.
I did try to get along with her for C.'s sake, and we corresponded by email a few times, mostly me reassuring her that I was just his friend and there was no chance we would ever get back together. Then she hacked my computer and told C. that someone she knew did it. I contacted the police and the cybercrimes unit told me that Joss had to have been the one to do it since she was the only person I had contact with. They said she installed a program on my computer when I opened one of her emails that allowed her to get into my internet history and favorites menu. C. refused to believe that she did it and continued to believe her friend did it. So I was done trying to make nice with her. I had to reformat my computer to get rid of the program she installed.
Okay, so I was getting really frustrated and all because of that, and then it got to where I had to basically make an appointment to see him. Remember, he is out of work so he is free all day long. Since I wanted him to be happy, I agreed and so we would set up a day and time for us to hang out and watch tv or whatever for a few hours. The last 3 or 4 times we were supposed to hang out he was either late because he was online with her (like 45 minutes late, not just a few minutes), or he cancelled because Joss didn't want him to come over.
I really started to wonder if he still even wanted to hang out with me anymore and I asked him about it. He started crying and said that he really wanted to be friends with me and that he didn't want to lose our friendship but Joss made him feel bad whenever he made plans with me or called me.
So on Jan. 21 we had plans to go to the movie "The Lovely Bones". He was supposed to be here to pick me up at 3:30 so we wouldn't be late. He called me at 3:35 and said he was running late because Joss didn't want him to go offline, but he was on his way, and could I just meet him outside so we wouldn't be late to the movie. So I did and tried really hard not to get annoyed or upset about it. Then, during the movie his cell phone started ringing (he forgot to turn it off I guess). After the movie I offered to buy us dinner at McDonalds so we headed there and he went to the bathroom. I waited and waited, took him almost 20 minutes. I was about to send someone in to check on him when he finally came out. I asked him if he was okay and he said he was fine, he had checked him messages and Joss had called so of course he had to call her back, even though it wasn't an emergency or anything, she just wanted to know where he was and when he would get home.
So that really ticked me off I guess. I was trying so hard to accommodate him since I did want him to be happy and I didn't want to lose our 13 year friendship. But it seemed like I was just getting hurt all the time. I was also worried about him because this girl is really controlling and like I said, she keeps playing mind games with him. My insomnia got worse and my mood swings got worse and my depression got worse and my anxiety was a LOT worse.
I felt like I could only be his friend if/when Joss was asleep or if she gave him "permission". He is 45 years old and he is letting this 25 year old tell him what he can and cannot do. He even lost his unemployment for a few weeks because he forgot to call in his claim because he is always online with her. He has almost completely stopped looking for a job. He only hangs out with his brother and sister-in-law on Sunday mornings for brunch, even though he is living with them. He stays in his room online with her all day every day.
I feel bad for him because he seems to be trapped in this alternate world and because he is starting to lose everything because of this girl that he has never even met in person. But on Jan. 29 I finally made the decision to end things with him. I don't deserve to be treated like that from someone I've been close to for 13 years. I wrote out a long letter and asked him to come over and I read it to him. I told him that I could not be friends with him any longer, it was hurting me too much and he was treating me like crap.
It's been hard since then, but now I only talk to him if we need to discuss something regarding our divorce. The first set of papers have been filed, and we will have to talk again early in April to fill out and file the next set of papers. If all goes well, I'm hoping our divorce will be final by the end of summer...it just depends on when they set the date for our final hearing.
So that's the story...if you've been reading my posts you know that I'm working on getting a new support system in place. My mom has been helpful, she comes here every week or two and takes me out to get groceries or run errands. I've reconnected with a friend that I had lost touch with and my sister's best friend and I have been talking a lot (she lives in a town that is close by). I also applied for that program, I hope I get accepted! A group that I'm in on facebook has a lot of great people and I've been able to chat with them about things as well. So I guess I'll survive :o)
The video below is the song I used to dedicate to him...hopefully someday I will find someone else who fits the bill.
I wonder who the first person to have bipolar disorder was, and when they were alive. I mean even before there was a diagnosis for it. I wonder how other people treated that person. We are treated badly enough today, even with as much information as there is available to read. Was that person sent away to live in solitude? Were they burned alive? What was the culture and religion of that time and place? Was that person as creative as many bipolar individuals of today are? Are some of the cave drawings found by archeologists his/hers?
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I wish I could be Judge Judy for one day. I would love to sit there and tell the stupid people off.
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For some reason I cannot remember second grade. I can remember my parents bringing my sister home from the hospital after she was born, and I was not quite 2 years old. I can remember kindergarten and first grade, and third grade and beyond. Although I'm curious as to what happened in second grade, I still hate it when people bitch about having a bad memory. I wish I could forget some of the shit that has happened to me. Time does not heal anything. Time can only put a scar over the wound. Sometimes only a scab. And unfortunately it's in my nature to pick at scabs and cut open scars, even unintentionally. My mind does not let go of things, and my body does not stop feeling the pain. That doesn't mean that I'm just going to roll over and let life kick my ass, but I still have to deal with it and live with it. "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger". Sometimes. But sometimes you wish that those things had killed you. I'm capable of forgiving, but I don't seem capable of forgetting.
When I was eighteen, my mom and I didn't get along. So after a particularly nasty argument, I left a note explaining that I was going to stay with a friend for a few days so that we could have some time away from each other. That was on a Friday night. The next Thursday, I ran into my mom in the grocery store. She started crying and begged me to come home. So I went home. I went to check on my dog; she wasn't there. I asked my mom if she ran away, or if she had taken her to the pound. "No, I had your dad shoot her. You weren't here to take care of her". Huh? Seriously? WTF? So I said to hell with you, and went upstairs to get the rest of my things from my room. It had been repainted and my brother's things were in there. My things were boxed up and piled in the hallway. I started to grab some boxes and my mom stopped me and said that as the owner of the house, she had the rights to any property I had left behind when I had "moved out". Again, WTF?
So I left. I moved in with some stupid guy I barely knew so I wouldn't have to sleep in my car...I had overstayed my welcome at my other friend's house. He left me after 2 weeks. I couldn't afford rent by myself so my cousin moved in. He left for work every morning. When rent was due, I went down to pay my half after my cousin told me he had paid his half. The landlord told me that he had not paid her anything. So I asked him about it...he started crying and said he didn't really have a job, he just needed a place to live and he was pretending to leave for work every morning. Kicked him out. Got a loan from one of my uncles.
A girl from work moved in with me. Things were fine for about a month, until we both got our hours cut in half at work. I had to beg my mom to let me move back in. The stress of living there got to me in less than a month and I was hospitalized. Got falsely diagnosed as an alcoholic because I drank occasionally. Got put into treatment. Tried to commit suicide. Kept denying that I was an alcoholic (um...because I wasn't, which was later confirmed by another doctor). Got put into a half-way house for 3 months. Finally got to leave, but I couldn't work and while I was waiting to be approved for disability I had to go back and live with good ol' mom and dad. Got my first disability check in October of 1995 and moved an hour away from my family the next day.
My parents have both changed dramatically since then (for the better); they are like totally different people now. But all of that shit still hurts. I think it always will.
Well, enough tripping down memory lane for now...more fun stories to come ;o)
