Be yourself; Everyone else is already taken. — Oscar Wilde. This is the first post on my new blog. I’m just getting this new blog going, so stay tuned for more. Subscribe below to get notified when I post new updates. Advertisements
I have been struggling with Bipolar 1 for years. The last few years I’ve been struggling to fall asleep & stay asleep and with anxiety. I have trouble taking medication. I always get some bad side effect from any medication that actually works and the ones that don’t give me bad side effects do not… Read more
Hello and Welcome!
I am so happy you are here! Where to begin lol. I am a 48 year old wife and mother of a teenager. My life is crazy! I homeschool all year, I volunteer with Hospice patients and animal rescue and have 6 pets of my own and to top it all off I suffer daily with Bipolar Disorder, Borderline Personality Disorder, Anxiety, and PTSD.
My story is probably not unique. I come from a dysfunctional family. Born to a 16 year old mother and 18 year old alcoholic father. My mother forced to marry this alcoholic because her poor father didn’t know how to raise her much less his soon to be granddaughter. My mother’s mother ran away years before. That’s a whole other story.
Anyway back to me and why I have decided to share my life with you and hopefully some tips on how to deal with and treat our mental health.
My childhood was a nightmare. Remember The Nightmare On Elm Street movies? Well that was my life only I was awake through it all! My dad had an old girlfriend he couldn’t stop seeing and my mom was just too young to have a baby much less care for a husband and child. She had to drop out of school and get married and put up with Dad’s side piece for 11 years. Every day my dad was drunk. Most days he never even bothered to come home but those days he did look out! Every day was the same thing drinking, fighting, beating on me. Mother blaming me because she was too dumb to keep her legs closed and got saddled down with a baby she didn’t want and with a man who was in love with someone else.
Eventually came baby #2. A sister that was wanted and was so special she never ever got the brunt of all the abuse and chaos. She was special and sheltered and loved. I on the other hand to this very day have never known 1oz of love in my life from a human being.
So when I was 4 years old my earliest memory was the worst memory of my life. My father came home drunk and started his daily fist fight with my mother after being with his girlfriend for a few nights. Nothing out of the ordinary except this time my mom spoke up about the girlfriend and how she’d had enough. It was too much at the time because my poor sweet wonderful grandpa ( Mom’s dad) was dying from Black Lung. He would die just a few months after this memory I can’t get out of my head. The memory that has plagued me for 44 years and was the catalyst for my future full of disgust for myself and hate beyond measure for my parents and special sister.
This particular night was different than all the others. I remember the red lights all up and down the street. I remember my mom wasn’t in the house. She had ran away and left me there to fend for myself. At 4 years old I was not mentally prepared to ward off a drunken maniac with a shotgun. I remember trying to use the phone to call my grandma Betty but that olive green dial up phone was yanked out of the wall. There was no way to call for help. It was me, Dad, and his gun directly pointed at me.
This has played over and over in my head my entire life. It happened. I know it did, but my dads parents have lied and covered it up all these years.
I don’t sleep not often not with out pills to knock me out. I go to bed really late every night because I’m afraid to sleep. Afraid of the nightmare of that night returning in my mind as I sleep and not being able to escape yet again.
My whole life everyone denied that my own dad did that to me. I believed for a long time that it was only me. Finally I asked my dads sister. I told her I remembered it and she and my uncle told me I was not imagining it. It really happened and my uncle was the only person who could talk my dad down and get me out of the house. In my dream though it doesn’t end that way. In my dreams today my sister was there. That special loved baby sitting in a punkin seat. In my dream the only one my uncle rescued was her. I was left inside with that monster who wanted me dead so he could have his life with his girlfriend and not have to pay for me.
I’ve lived with this inside my head for 44 years. It has eaten me up. I don’t do well with others. I was 34 when I had my son and 38 when I finally married his dad. After many failed relationships I settled not for love but for security and to keep my son. Another long story.
This blog is a way for me to get my story out. No more lies! I’m an open book my family not so much.
I want to talk about my struggles with mental illness, multiple diagnosis, treatments both pharmaceutical and alternative. I can’t wait to get this all out and maybe find someone or more that can relate. Honestly I think I might be the loneliest person on this earth. Thank God for dogs!
Until next time love, hugs, and peace to you.
It’s almost 3 am and as usual I’m still awake. Sleep comes slowly sometimes not at all. My mind is so full, full of junk. My mind races at night keeping me awake with thoughts of the past, the present and the unknown.
I would love to go to sleep at a decent hour and wake up early feeling wonderful full of energy and ready for ever day. I want nothing more than to go to work at a job I love, spend time with friends going out to lunch , shopping maybe even a few drinks or a Canvases n Corks ( painting & wine). I’d love to have a wonderful loving devoted man and a kid that didn’t despise me.
Nothing but pipe dreams. The things I think about because the Bipolar Brain won’t shut down. I dream while awake all those things. All those things I’ve never had. I have no true real friends. No one that would do for me even though I’ve gone out of my way for so many people just to be shit on time and time again.
I guess I’ve done things for so many people trying NO begging silently for them to love me but alas it has never come. I’m unlovable.
There was a time when I’d go to a doctor and beg for antidepressants. I thought I was just depressed because this boyfriend or that boyfriend broke up with me.
Once I got sleeping pills along with antidepressants trying to get much needed sleep. Then finally giving up and taking them all. I was about 26 then. I was dead. Dead inside so why not just be dead and so it was. For several minutes I was technically dead. I know one thing those paddles they shock you back to life with leave you bruised like you’ve been run over by a bull moose. I spent a few days on the psych ward of the local medical hospital. I woke up to my mother staring at me. She wasn’t called. She was a hospital employee otherwise she wouldn’t have shown up.
My dad actually showed up to my apartment seen me and seen I’d taken 20 sleeping pills and instead of picking up the phone in my apartment and dial 911 he chose to go home. That POS cared so little for me he was going to let me die. I don’t know what’s the saddest part my own dad letting me die or my boyfriend cheating on me with some nasty hoe in an apartment directly across from mine while I lay there dying in the back of an ambulance as he and his hoe watched from an upstairs window.
It wouldn’t be until I was 36 years old that I would finally be diagnosed with Bipolar Disorder and Borderline Personality Disorder. I was pregnant at the age of 33 with my son. I was so anxious and depressed and just totally scared to death that I would fail him the way I was failed that I sought out a counselor. I saw this female counselor 3 times. I guess even “ professionals “ don’t want anything to do with me because she missed our 4th appointment with no explanation no notice. She called me 3 days letter to apologize and claimed she was stuck in an airport. She rescheduled our appointment and again left me hanging. She never came back to her office. Vanished into thin air just like my last 2 boyfriends. I was devastated. I had no one to talk to. I had to stop seeing my OBGYN specialists because my crappy job wouldn’t let me take time to go to her and she was way up in the city so I had to get a closer OBGYN. I had a horrible pregnancy. I almost lost my son when he wanted to come 2 months early. Then I almost lost us both when I had a placental abruption. It only got worse from there when my baby was put in the NICU at a hospital 50 miles away from my home and I couldn’t see him. I got turned down by the Ronald McDonald House without even speaking to them. My son was there for 2 weeks and I couldn’t see him had never held him and I was desperate to be with him. My moods were everywhere at that point. Because of that my fiancé told the NICU that I was nuts and to not tell me anything about my baby. So I never knew anything I was told to quit calling about my own child. I was certain I was cursed.
Eventually I got a pediatrician to get my son out of that crazy hospital and home. I was happy to have him home but he had issues and screamed all the time and then I just started screaming myself all the time and I haven’t stopped. My son is 14 now. I’ve been screaming for 14 years. The littlest things set me off. I went to several psychiatrists and counselors to be diagnosed all sorts of different things . No one got it right until my fiancé threw me and baby out late one night in January in the cold and snow and in an old car with barely enough gas to get me to that old bastards house and beg him to take me and baby in. At this point I didn’t remember the hostage situation not really I thought it might have been a dream and not real. But then again I just knew it I was remembering and the family was in denial. Getting pregnant and having a sick baby brought out my true mental illnesses. After being thrown out I had to see a different Psychiatrist per Child Protective Services because my fiancé called them and told them I was beating my son which was not true. I screamed and I screamed a lot but I never touched him. I was diagnosed with post pardom depression, Borderline Personality Disorder,Bipolar Disorder unspecified and anxiety. Put on medication. It took 5 weeks to get my fiancé to let me and baby come home. That whole ordeal had a lot more issues but the good thing that came out of it was I finally got a diagnosis, 4 in fact. Those first medications didn’t work. The second, the third even the 33rd didn’t work. I can not find a medication or a combo that works for me and the 1 medication that did made me gain 20 pounds in a month. I couldn’t keep gaining weight my husband by this point had already been sleeping in the basement since I had gotten pregnant. It would be 15 1/2 years before he moved back upstairs.
I think I will try and rest now. Until next time.
Peace, light, and love
Well this is certainly a bust! I’ve made several blog posts and none are showing up but the first 2. Of course they’re not, nothing works for me.
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