I’ve been slacking.   Part of living my life transparently is blogging and I haven’t been doing that.   So today, I’m gonna blog.    And try to get better at this.  No promises though.

But anyways, conversations on twitter have gotten me thinking and there’s only so much I can say in 140 characters or less.   So, that means it’s time for a blog entry.   Some of you know that I’m bipolar.   Those of you that didn’t, know now.  Recent events have me wanting to talk about this.

Most of the time, I’m pretty level.   I’ve got meds on board now and things are good.   I have my ups and downs, but they’re little waves, not dramatic spikes like they once were.    But even with it under control, it’s something that I always have on the back of my mind.   Every little mood swing, every sleepless night…..is this normal, or the bipolar…   But it’s so much better than it used to be.

It took a long time to get my diagnosis.   After all, I never talked to my doctor when I was up.   Only for the depression.   So, initially they thought that I had unipolar depression that they just had difficulty treating.   They’d put me on antidepressants, I’d swing up and down and up and down with just a wider range to the ups than before.  I was diagnosed with ADD for the manic symptoms (inability to sit still, focus, etc.)   The ADD meds helped, but didn’t solve the problem either.

Initially, the depressed episodes were the worst part.   The mania was short lived and short peaked.   It manifested in the ADD symptoms and sleepless nights.   I could live with that.   I didn’t know what it was at the time.   The depressed episodes grew intense.   I was tearful and felt hopless.   Anxiety set in and I turned to self injury.   I ended up flunking out of my first attempt at college because of the depressive symptoms.

Eventually the manic symptoms got more intense and the depressive symptoms lessened.   The best way to explain it was the world was spinning faster and faster and I just wanted a moment to sit down and catch my breath, and nothing was allowing me to do that.   This finally culminated in a suicide attempt at 22.  Nothing anyone could have said would have changied my mind.  This attempt wasn’t about depression.   It was from mania.   It wasn’t really an attempt to die.   It was an attempt to slow the world down, to sleep.   If I ended up dying, I ended up dying.

The scariest thing I’ve ever experienced was the hospital.   I have fragmented memories of the initial hospital experience.   I remember moving, pain and bright lights.   I assume, they were the stretcher, trying to get the IV in (judging by the bruises) and coming in and out of consciousness.   I remember waking up in Intensive Care and not knowing where I was, not knowing what happened.   No one told me what happened for 2 days, until I was transferred over to psych and met with the psychiatrist.

I was then diagnosed as bipolar and first introduced to mood stabilizers which have been my saving grace.   I won’t ever go off of them.   I tried to go off antidepressants and eventually asked to go back on them.   I realize that this is a life long journey for me.   I know that the scars on my arms are permanent, and I don’t like to look at them every day when I get dressed (I never wear just a tank top for that reason).   But, I’m here to still look at them.   And that counts for something.

And closing with Alanis again:

You see everything

you see every part

you see all my light

and you love my dark

you dig everything of which I’m ashamed

And you’re still here (I hope)

I’ve always been the tough girl.  Not much scared me.  Growing up, I was the one climbing to the tops of trees…and falling out of said trees.  (My middle name would be Ann, not Grace.).   I was the one who begged for a pet snake and loved flipping over rocks to see what critters lurked underneath.  In fact, the list of things that scare me is pretty short: centipedes (too many legs), and people messing around with my ears.   I was scared of water, but I jumped in a lake to get over that.

I’ve had issues with Eustachian tube dysfunction for years.   And it’s finally getting to the point where I can’t take it anymore.   All the other remedies…the antihistamines, steroids, decongestants are not keeping the ear fluid away.   The ear drops are failing to work for the pain because, guess what, they no longer go down the Eustachian tube.  In short, I’m miserable.   It’s also affecting the hearing.  In my good ear.  And when you only have one good ear, you get a little bit protective of it.

So, I’m faced with facing my fear.   I’m going to have to go back to the Ear, Nose and Throat specialist, which I said I’d never do because they poke around way too much in your ears and that freaks me out.  I end up with a panic attack which I HATE.   But, I need to do it.   I need to change.   A good friend of mine and I toss the following quote back and forth, “People change for 2 reasons: they’ve either learned enough that they want to, or they hurt enough that they have to.”   Well, I’m in enough pain that I need to do something.  I’m also learning.  I’m learning that this could affect the hearing in the ear that doesn’t have hearing loss.   That I’m going to get more ear infections.  That this isn’t going to resolve on its   So, I want and have to change.   I have to face this fear.

I have to go in, and let someone poke around in my ears,  go through another hearing test (which I hate), and then, in all likelihood, get tubes placed in at least one ear, which involves them cutting in my ear.   I’m scared.  I don’t want to do this, but I know I can’t live this way either.   So, it’s time to be brave.   It’s time to channel that girl I was so long ago and face this.

I think I’ll keep centipedes on the list though.

A picture that makes you laugh:

Nuff said.

A picture of your most treasured possession:

The green rosary is one my dad bought me on a trip to Washington DC. I am a Marian Catholic and my faith is the cornerstone of my existence. It’s what’s kept me alive through some of the darkest times in my life. My parents may not totally share my beliefs, but the are supportive.

The red chaplet is the Chaplet of the Precious Blood that I inherited from my grandmother when she died. She had showed it to me once before she died, and that night in the apartment,no one knew what I was talking about. At first, no one could find it, and then I asked for guidance as it was the only thing of hers I wanted and then was able to open a drawer straight to it.

These are two of my most treasured possessions because my faith has been encouraged my whole life by those around me, whether the believe it as strongly as I do or not.

Someone You Wish You Could Trade Places With:

Lindsey Vonn:

I grew up on skis as you can see from a previous entry.  I also used to race.  I loved racing.  And I was stupid about it.   I got into a fight with my dad over the pressure of it and how he said I’d never make it anywhere.   And I quit.  For 3 years, I only skied recreationally and refused to enter a single race.  Then, I got over myself and started racing again.  After that season, I got sick and was eventually diagnosed with Fibromyalgia and Chronic fatigue immune dysfunction syndrome.   Every year since then, something has kept me from getting out there, whether it’s been health issues, work, or injury issues (damn post concussion syndrome this year).

So, Lindsey Vonn gets my pick.  I had my dream.  I gave it up, was starting to get it back and got sick.  She’s living it.   My hope is just to make it back out there again now.