depression. OCD. bipolar-ocity.

it's like this.....

i have everything i need. i have a nice house, an extremely hard-working husband who says he loves me to death, and two amazing, smart and loving children.

i have 2 cats and 2 hamsters that light up my days.

i'm not very healthy but i'm not completely incapable of changing that either.

i consider myself an artist because that is my passion, i want to do nothing else most days, and i think i'm ok at it.

yet i feel uncontrollably sad and hopeless.

i have really neat collections of things i love and tons of old books to absorb, but i don't pay any attention to any of it. no-one else in the world cares. i crave the existence of all of it, NEED to look at it to survive each day, then i think of how much it bothers me that it means nothing to anyone else - because it's what defines me...therefore i am invisible. 

i am so much the same as every other parent out there....homework to help with, a ton of appointments to make and keep, endless cleaning and laundry, piles of things to go through and errands to run, but i resent it all. tiniest responsibilities tie me down and make me want to close my eyes til it's all over.

every day i wake up tired - no, exhausted because all night i have stressful dreams and fight to correct things in them. they are as real to me as day. thoughts never ever stop and just the slightest daily input of a phone call or even the sound of my computer fan can be too much. how badly i wish my OCD was about checking door locks...no, i have thoughts about fights i had years ago, things people say, looks i get....over and over i relive things that took me down as i try to change it all in my head. i know it's self-abusive and i cannot stop it.

"lighten up". "move on". it's disgusting and horrible to be around me so i avoid contact with anyone who might be offended by my ugliness. then i become guilty for being antisocial and worry how my kids will turn out if i become a hermit.

"just go outside, go somewhere!". "make a schedule". very difficult indeed and i don't care. i just don't. i am at my most level when i have no schedule, nothing that has to be done, and nothing to plan or prepare for.

in truth, i would hand it all over in a heartbeat. as much as i adore my kids and know they need me, i feel incapable of giving them what they need...even just time to play. i cringe when i think of them turning out like me, and think that if they were raised by "normal" people (another whole discussion, yes) they might have a chance.

i yearn to live alone. if i never had to see another person i would be happy. i know i would slowly kill myself by overeating and hoarding, but that would be ok. i would be able to do everything i want to- draw all day, eat, collect, watch movies, sit at my virtual world and sleep. i pretend there would be no bills, endless money and someone to do the shopping.

i'm not stupid. i have a degree- in psychology and art therapy! but it doesn't make me at all able to stop the cycles and change any of it.

bipolar cycles are a joy. i can cycle ten times a day or once in several weeks. depends on how much is going on. i'm not as angry as i used to be, so for that i am grateful, very grateful. my bottom is not as deep as it used to be, also great. i don't have the energy for the mania like i did in the past- all good! but levels i have now are still debilitating and can suck the life out of me. 

"you focus to much on yourself". "life is short-just enjoy and appreciate every minute". like i WANT to be like this. i enjoy being so self-absorbed! fact is, i hate most everything about myself so that is not what the reality is.

the reality is that from the moment i wake up (technically....though i struggle all night as well), it takes everything in my power to be "normal"....to not end up in a tailspin....to not end up in bed crying until i can't breathe. or just laying there staring off into my own head. am i depressing you? try living it. people hate how negative and pessimistic i am.... if they could only see what was on the inside of my skull.

i feel better now after writing it all out - again. maybe someone who reads all this can relate. maybe there is a loved one who suffers as well, and more understanding can be had by those who get to watch. if ONE person benefits from reading this, i have done something worthwhile. 

as for me, i'm now exhausted again and need to lie down. i have been trying to get through to any one of 3 new psychiatrists to provide me with prescription maintenance, but not one of them has gotten back to me after almost a week. 

so it goes...

starting journals, hospital

i started doing art in my journals in college, and painting time was the only time i felt sane and in control.  it took me years to realize i needed this consistently. i did projects here and there, and in between was a wreck. i was in and out of therapy, on and off meds (heavy anti-depressants at this point) and basically just trying to get from day to day. i did hold down a job at a group home for autistic adults, which was the most amazing job i could have imagined. these clients were some of the most interesting people i ever met. as i did art with them, i learned how powerful it was as a communication tool. i began doing more for myself, and started a collage journal - cut and paste mostly. if you knew how many hours and days i spent cutting up magazines...it only helped part of my life.  my job was challenging and my life was getting serious.

at some point i gave up, and everything crashed down on me. i took a bunch of meds and ended up in the psych ward for 3 weeks. as i laughed at those aides who tried to coerce me into the craft room to make potholders, i found strips of embroidered ribbons and tassels. i wanted them. so i started a "pillow" of hoarded scraps which got bigger and bigger over the 3 weeks i was there. then i had my boyfriend (now my husband) bring in my journal and magazines and glue, and i was allowed to have scissors under supervision. apparently they hadn't noticed the sculpture i created out of the wire hanger i found in my room (?!). when i had my things in my hands i was strong - i had a place to hide and a means to have authority over my mind. i remember the curiosity and interest my art and supplies triggered..and wide-eyed glares from the social workers and nurses. made me smile....