Woah, Woah, Woah Feelings

I have a very strong sense that I am not going back to work at my office. I am not treated well, I am underemployed, paid a pittance, treated like dirt by some of the folks there, I get stressed out. Heck, I'm not going back there. I need to get up the courage to let them know I am moving on and give my 2 weeks notice. They deserve that out of respect and I always want to do the right, honorable thing.

I know I will miss Glenna dearly, but we can meet for the movies and have our popcorn and sodas plus maybe do other things. I love Glenna so much. She has been so good to me, so understanding of my illness and so helpful. She is one of my closest friends (I don't have many left these days) and I'm going to keep that friendship going. I have her telephone number memorized -- 295-4446 -- and I find that I only have certain numbers committed to memory. Her's is one of them.

But as for Parker -- he's arrogant. Andrea is a bitch and treats me like dirt. She said all I was good for was writing and the members like me. I think she also said I'd be better off working in a spa.

I love Rich. He's one of the best bosses I have ever had. It made my day to see him happy. I could always tell when he was in a bad mood -- and I wanted to try and cheer him up. I'm really going to miss him so much, but I know he has the two beautiful dogs and his great family. He's a good man and makes me smile and laugh. I haven't laughed and smiled in so, so long...it makes me so sad that we won't see each other again (unless by chance). Great guy.

Strange Days

Up at 3:00 a.m. and only got about 7 hours of sleep. Feeling a little bit down...going through some mild mood swings. One minute I feel really good and strong; next minute I'm scared and upset. Get touches of paranoia and I really don't like that at all...also my memory isn't good. So I must really resort to writing things down in the morning when I feel the most alert and focused.

All in all, had a great day yesterday. For a moment I thought everything was going to be AOK. But I had periods of great fear and sadness and I had to do deep breathing. I guess I was having some anxiety attacks. Worried Michael thinks I'm completely fine and ready to go back to work at the office. Well, we know that's not going to happen. I'm not going back there. I'm going to have to have him relay the message because I may break down crying and I feel like I am letting everyone down. Feeling so guilty...

I cannot imagine myself in a "typical" paying job in an office ever again. Now, I could be wrong, but right now I get very anxious at the thought of it. I just want to relax and take things easy -- day by day -- because I know I'm not on a firm footing at all. Michael is not going to like this -- he will immediately think of the income that will no longer be coming in and subsequently start pushing me to apply for jobs. This will put me over the edge. I am in no way ready to go to a formal office. I don't want to be the one going around with my hat in hand looking for money...but he will pressure me, I just know it.

Remembering that strange picture inserted into my Pillsbury cookbook and how it frightened me so much that I threw all of the cookbooks out. Some of those cookbooks I really liked but I became so paranoid and upset. This is why I have gone on some of my "insane" throwing out phases because I feel manipulated. Then Michael gets mad at me and says I'm crazy. The whole thing is just so upsetting. I had some horrific experiences in past manias -- I don't like thinking about it because it gets painful and makes me feel so sad.

I keep mulling over in my head whether I have been subjected to Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome/Disorder. I think I have, but Dr. Z and Barb, my therapist seemed to indicate (?) that was not the case. Phil doesn't talk about it much either. But I disagree completely. I know that I have and I know who's to blame and it makes me so upset that no one believes me. I have no tools as to how to manage PTSD and we all know about how some people commit suicide. I don't want to be one of those people. So I am thinking maybe I a.) find an additional therapist to help with the PTSD problem or at the very least b.) Google PTSD treatment.

I really hope to have another good day today. I may stay inside because I am nervous. Michael is going flying. Perhaps I'm jealous he can go off and be free whilst I stay at home a paranoid wreck. But I like being alone sometimes. It's good for me/us to have a little time apart.

I know many wonder why I continue to stay with him. There are many, many reasons coupled with a sense of fate and destiny. Let us not forget that NO ONE in this town wanted to date me seriously; certainly no one wanted to marry me. Michael courted me like a gentleman and made/makes me laugh at a time I so desperately needed it. It's easy to look at the state of things today and point fingers and scratch heads and issue calls to action. But the truth is when I needed somebody to stand by me in a terrible crisis he was there. And no one else (for the most part) was.

The two of us have weathered serious storms together. I would wager that a heck of a lot of couples couldn't possibly handle what we've been through. Don't know that for sure, but I'm thinking it's true. I love my coffee bean.

Well, this is it for now. I'm going to relax and maybe order a book on Amazon. But funny, I notice you may buy a book for cheap but the shipping costs more...hmmmmm.....strange, indeed!

Into Action

When the financial stress is removed, I can think more clearly and get more things done. The tight restraints caused by a lack of money (thank you capitalism) prohibit me from doing the necessary work I need to do. I am going to be unemployed (i.e. not have a "traditional" paying job) for an unknown period of time and I need to be assured that this will not lead to knock out, drag me out fights with my husband and fear and stress. There is work that needs to be done on the house. It is critical. Needs to be done this summer. Michael can be a big obstacle -- that has to stop. Mom can too when I ask for money. She always says she doesn't have any, when I know she does. I am anticipating needing about the same amount of money I got from AGC of Ohio ($350/week) give or take. Don't need much. And of course help with the gutters.

We could start using credit cards, but I'm worried about debt...

I need to get on a level playing field with Michael in some respects. He has excellent negotiating skills and gets good contractors in SOME instances. And I'm proud of him for that. But I know a thing or two myself. On the deck: we need to seriously ask ourselves if he is going to finish the project or if we just bring a handyman in here to get it done. That thing could be finished in a few hours -- an afternoon. I know Michael's pride is on the line but God damn it, the thing is unfinished. It's not safe to walk on; Nell has trouble; it's an eyesore...need I go on? What blows my mind is why can't he just realize that bringing someone in here and paying them next to nothing frees him up to go flying? He won't have to stay home over the weekend laboring on the project. It's insanity, I tell you!

We work together best when it comes to ideas and I love working with him in the garden. It's a team effort. But we're not experts. There are places in the garden where things just will not grow. And I don't know exactly why, but an expert in gardening might. I am going to start pulling down the dead ivy and other dead growth and do some mulching. I am also going to try to get in touch with those guys who came in and got the weeds out and shaped the bushes and cleaned things up for, oh, $20? Why can't Michael appreciate the fact that I can make good decisions too?

I'm going to try and stand up for myself more. It's true, I get very stressed when I see my bank balance. I like it when he manages the money. When I get turned down at the grocery and other places for "insufficient funds" it is SO embarrassing and I am humiliated. Then I get angry. I'm just praying that doesn't happen, because I so rarely check my balance in my account. It just scares me if I go under $300 in there...

So I am going to start in with some of my projects. Michael gets very, very touchy about the garden so I will take the dead ivy down and start clean up when he goes to work (or some other time when he is not home). I need to go to the bank and get a small amount of cash to keep on hand if I find someone in the neighborhood who can help me.

Feeling really good about this plan that is taking shape. It's time for things to move forward.

Fleeing the Ship

Had some flashbacks yesterday but they didn't really upset me as much, which is good. I'm making progress. One thing that popped into my head was that night back in 2003 (?) (my memory isn't so hot now because of the meds) that I was wondering around downtown in a quasi-manic state in the dead of night and saw all these big-sized river rats jumping in and out of an open dumpster in the garage under the Statehouse.

I thought it was gross and funny at the same time -- and also very telling in a tongue in cheek kind of way. I wrote a brief, witty letter to the editor at The Columbus Dispatch and lo and behold they printed it. I heard recently that they are having a rat problem in Worthington -- I wonder if all those river rats that infested the Scioto River flowing through downtown for so long have migrated? Heck, they have got to have gone somewhere.

That was a strange night for me. I also ran into a male prostitute who introduced himself as "Adam." I replied, "Hello, I'm Eve." It just sorta seemed like the natural, funny thing to say. He had very bad teeth and was very skinny. Not in good shape at all. We chatted for awhile and then he jumped into a car that drove up. Off into the night he went.

I kept wandering around and for some reason, started picking up trash under some bushes along the perimeter of the Statehouse. A cheap Vodka bottle, empty bags of chips, cigarette butts, all kinds of discarded things. I put it all into a trashcan. I had this overwhelming urge to clean things up, and this has been a re-occurring theme in my manias. Like my dogs, for example. I saw them as angels that had to be kept clean at all times.

Seeing as we're on the subject of cleanliness and rats today, we've had two run-ins with rats at my household. There was that time my dear, beloved Basset Big Lou tried to bring a dead, frozen rat into the house -- probably to hide it away and eat it later. Michael stopped him at the door, somehow got the rat out of his mouth, and threw it into the street.

Then we once had a rat actually in our house. Now I didn't see it but my husband did. That rodent got in here somehow and got himself into the basement. My husband told me much later that he heard something making a noise down there and opened the door to the basement and there was the rat -- halfway up the stairs, just looking at him defiantly. I'm not sure how he responded. I'll have to ask him. That would be very telling.

There's not too much in our basement right now, given a constant, reoccurring sewage line problem. I do keep the leftover pieces of my manic artwork down there and I think some mold is forming on them. That reminds me: I wonder what happened to that artwork of mine that I threw away in my trashcan during one of my manias? Who has it? That was quite a bit of stuff -- some of my best pieces. Where did it go?

Come to think of it, lots of things have "gone missing" from my house. I'll have to sit down and make a list. I can't find some of my journals, for instance. I planted a rosary in my tire planter one year and that's gone. Michael would never throw something like that out. I liked that rosary because a beautiful yellow flower soon grew in the tire. I always thought it was a special message. Now nothing grows in that tire. I planted bee balm last year and it doesn't look like it's coming back. I'm going to try again this year.

Pleased to report I'm feeling good today. Really stable which is so relieving. Almost calm. I like it. Onward with my day I go.

Wanna Be

Woke up this morning feeling a little dejected. I was recalling my days as a fledgling journalist in 2000-2001 working for a small newspaper in a county adjacent to Columbus. I loved working there and I believe I thrived there. This was of course all before I got sick, and I could easily manage the high stress of deadlines.

When I took the job at the paper, I interrupted my studies at The Ohio State University to obtain a Master's in Journalism (my second Master's degree). I had a 4.0 GPA and was teaching undergraduate classes and I could have stayed, but I didn't think women were treated particularly well there, and I believe there are lots of harassment claims (but I haven't dug deeply into this to be sure). I remember meeting a woman in the park who had been in the Master's program in Economics at OSU and she was harassed so terribly it emotionally scarred her. She of course left. I don't blame her.

I chose to follow a career in journalism because I wanted to move into Public Affairs reporting. I had the undergraduate degree in Government from Smith; the international study at the London School of Economics; the Master's degree in Public Management from the University of Maryland and solid experience working in the Executive branch of the federal government at the U.S. Department of Energy. I knew (and still know) how "the game" was played, and I wanted to (as objectively as possible) look at and analyze things through another lens.

Now of course, objectivity is something one might strive for but it is difficult -- if not in some cases impossible -- to obtain, because we all have different past experiences like how/where we grew up, what gender we are, how old we are, where we went to school, etc. It's so easy to become subjective. Indeed, does true objectivity even exist?

But as a policy analyst at the Department of Energy it was my job to just look at both the pros and cons of a proposed policy change and not choose one option over another. That was a task for others to do. So I believed public affairs journalism was a good "career move" for me. And I do love to write, after all. When I was really dreaming big, I hoped to one day have my own column. God, I would have loved that. But as you know that did not transpire.

I know they say let bygones be bygones. Honestly, I'm not bitter things didn't turn out the way I had planned. I guess everything happens for a reason. I try real hard not to dwell in the past or live in the feared future, rather live in the "precious present." That works for me. Dream big, I think. Then you won't have regrets later.

Ridin' The Storm Out

The weather switched this week from quite hot to rainy and cool. And I noticed my mood was slightly affected -- I felt happy and "whimsical" early in the week and now more contemplative and brooding(?) as we move into the weekend.

I am reminded of some of my terrible depression periods, which I have blessedly been free from for years. Dr. Z found the right depression med for me (Lexapro) years ago and I couldn't be happier. Literally. Throughout my teens and 20s, I suffered from painful, clinical depression episodes, filled with suicidal ideas and heavy drinking to make the pain go away (it didn't). I refused (stupidly) to take medication, mostly out of pride, and weathered awful periods of physical and emotional pain. I'm so relieved to not have to experience today this side of bipolar disorder.

What's interesting is I only suffered from depression -- not mania and psychosis -- for years and it was not until I finally agreed to take medication in my early 30s that the manic side of my mental illness came out. The depression medication was Lamictal, and I found out later that if one has bipolar disorder, Lamictal will trigger mania. This is what happened to me in 2002 when I had my first mania, and what led to the ultimate diagnosis of my bipolar mental illness.

Now at this point, let's step back and ponder things a bit. First, if I continued to not take any prescription medication for my depression, would I be free from that horrible mania that scares me so much? Or second, if I was introduced to Lexapro from the get go, would the manic side of my illness continue to lay dormant and not be an issue for me?

I believe I asked Dr. Z about this at some point and I don't recall what his answer was. Maybe there is no answer. Does it really matter? What I have decided to do is see my psychiatrist regularly, have my talk therapy once a week and take my medication. This is the treatment plan for bipolar disorder prescribed for me so I follow it.

This is not to say I like what I have to do. Oh no, not at all. For instance, to keep any sign of mania at bay this Spring, as you know we increased my Depakote by 1,000 mg/day. I have gained (I am guessing) roughly 20 lbs. and I'm furious. And my psychotherapy is going slow right now. I was testing the waters, trying to be more assertive about my needs at home and at work and that didn't go over too well. In other words, I ended up going back into my shell.

I guess what's important is I am stable mood-wise today and that's always a blessing. Although we don't have children so I am "technically" not a mother, we are celebrating Mother's Day today and my husband is taking me out to brunch. This is a special treat for me, as I would normally be cooking brunch at home today for husband (and the Basset Hounds, who inevitably get their fair share).

So it's rainy and gray this morning but I'm happy. And that's what is ultimately important. Get out the umbrella. I'm going out!

Soul Survivor

I awoke this morning feeling calm and serene. It's quite gloomy and cold outside, which normally would bring my mood down quite a bit, but I feel rather optimistic about the day that lies in wait for me. I have my (huge carafe of) coffee brewing and my two Bassets have been watered and fed. I think that this will be a good day for me.

It's Thursday and I have my weekly talk therapy session today. We have been spending a great deal of time over the past three years helping me get over this re-occurring, debilitating fear I have of getting manic again and having to be shipped off to the loony bin. It's frustrating, slow-going, and I talk like a broken record. I keep repeating, "Yes, I know I'm fine now...but..." It's getting rather tiresome. Bless my therapist for putting up with me.

The other key issue we cover is my horribly low self-esteem, something that prevents me from living a happy life, feeling confident, interacting with others, being assertive and setting boundaries. This is something I have battled for most of my life. My therapist does a great job reminding me of all my talents and skills, my wisdom, my intelligence. Sometimes I believe him, sometimes I don't.

What I'm thinking this morning is if I dig deep, deep down into my soul -- maybe go look in a mirror because I can see through the window -- I can find that Melissa who is indeed doing fine, who is functioning well, deserving of praise, someone who will always be a survivor. I've been knocked down hard by this mental illness, but right now I'm standing and walking. I may be deeply embarrassed and ashamed of my bipolar disorder, but it's not something I asked for and I'm getting pills and skills to manage it.

Now, I wouldn't call myself "awesome." That's a little bit of a stretch for me right now. But I feel pretty comfortable with a tag of "survivor." Deep in my soul, I know this is true. And that's pretty uplifting for me to know. So onward with my day I go. One step at a time.