Crazy About My Friends

I think it’s fair to say that most people are blessed with great friends. I know I am. And how do these buddies, gal pals and partners in crime come into our lives? So-and-so knows and introduces you to the funniest, coolest and sweetest person you’d ever want to meet.

And then you take that euphoric dip into the friendship pool. And it’s awesome! Intent is clear. We have got to get together again soon! Wasn’t she/he super nice? So on and so forth…

Now speaking as a proud member of the bipolar club, that euphoric dip is more like a belly flop from the space station.  Then the get together goes through the over analysis of a Lithium, Zoloft, Lamectal and Seroquel fueled brain.

I want to see them. Do they want to see me? Should it be at my place? My place looks like shit on a shingle. Damn it! My knee hurts like crazy. And the tangent goes on and on. This episode feels like its going to ride me straight to my coffin.

That said, my friends are great and I want to see them. And if I have to get a little (or a lot) manic, so be it.  Rumor has it that they want to see me too. Can’t imagine why. My house needs a turbo once-over. Maybe they just want be around me.

My Blog, Rants And Bipolar Stuff

It amazes me how much guilt I attach to writing about my feelings, past (shameful or not) and incidentals. By writing, I specifically mean this blog. Then I think about the About Me disclosure I posted before writing one word.

I am a 44 year-old wife living with bipolar disorder. My husband and I have no kids and live in Los Angeles California. I consider this blog to be an experiment. How far can I go about the truth? How far can any of us. I might disturb, shock and insult someone or possibly even everyone.  This is the truth from a mentally ill, bright and quasi-brave Latina.

All that said, tonight’s question for Monica is complex: What do miss about myself? The answer to that is multilayered, but I’ll try to summarize. Is that even possible? A bipolar Latina summarizing? I’ll try to think Gringa.

I miss the insanely altered sense of arousal within myself (partner was not required). It was the same as being high, but it produced crazed feelings of possession. In short, I wasn’t going to do well if I was dumped or ignored.

I miss living productively. I mean really productively. I was a rock star employee. A whirling dervish at home. And a super friend prepared to save anyone I remotely liked … until I crashed.

I miss my willingness to be loud, pushy and overbearing. Today, I’m a mouse at times. I don’t cuss the way I use to and it’s probably best, but I miss the up yours me.

I use to want children a lot. Now I’m so glad I don’t have them. I would make a lousy mother. A mother has to be organized, even tempered, forever prepared for anything, aware of the world and herself. I know my limits.

I have the deepest respect for all parents who master the aforementioned traits. The best I can hope to be is a good aunt and that’s not bad. Did I rant? Probably.

I Need

I don’t know anyone that doesn’t have an addiction or compulsion in some way, shape or form.

I have several (as most do) and I can name them. I can go back to the tender age of 5 or 6 years-old.

What did I need? Undying, free-flowing loving affection. My mother gave me the edited version and it hurt.

My mother was my first love. Her scent was of cajeta, coffee, perspiration and Shalimar. I was always clinging onto her.

I wanted more, more, more love. When I didn’t get it I cried as if my mother had been brutally murdered. Yes, she’s alive.

I cried to the point of exhaustion and then slept. Fortunately, Little me had a back-up plan. Mom’s not the only one.

Anyone that showed me any approval could easily replace my mother on the ‘love list’. This was dangerous and a huge red flag.

Break-ups were springboards to suicidal thoughts. If someone didn’t like me for any reason it mania’s signal to go bat shit crazy.

This mindset can be so insanely perpetual if left unchecked. Do I need love now? Of course I do. I get from family and friends everyday.

Is that all I need? No. I need likes, comments and follows from lovely strangers that I’ll probably never meet.

I confess that I constantly check my stats. At least I’m not crying into hyperventilation.

S.O.S – Comments Are Needed Badly

I am not feeling well. My body is betraying me, my head is killing me and I’m feeling a little crazy. My mind is racing and I’m struggling to type. I want to scream my head off.

I want to cry incessantly. Clearly, I’m not well. This manic episode is hitting me like a hammer. I don’t want to go to the hospital, so I go to my blog.

I know I have kind followers and friends who will pray for me. I have an appointment with my psychiatrist in 2 days. Please help me ride out this storm. I feel so incredibly desperate.