Lessons Learned...

Mental Disorders

Pizza toppings

Daddy: what do you want for dinner Baby?

Baby: hock dawgs. (She is only two years old here)

Daddy: say again?

Baby: Hock dawwwgs, yesh please.

Mommee (that's me): or... Do you want pizza like Mommee and Daddy?

Baby: pizzaahh yesh pizzaahh. I wan pizzaahh and baloneyos...

Mommee: ...you want what?

Baby: baloneyOhs.

Daddy: what are "baloneyOhs" Baby?

Baby: (quite disdainfully) peeeeeetza wif bah-lone-eee-Ohs!

...

...

Get it?

Pizza with pepperoni.

She calls it that to this day. Love her!

Om shanti, shanti, shanti.

running from my demons

nope. still don’t like running. 

but i had horrible dreams last night and just decided to put on shoes and go for a run. i dreamt about walking over shattered glass, flat shards that didn’t cut my feet. as i looked down at them they seemed like pebbles, i was mad they were there, i was mad i had to walk over them, i was mad someone broke glass. i picked up a piece - it was oblong, like a parallelogram i thought. i held it tight in my hand, indignant in my anger, feeling self righteous - how could THEY? 

another sleep cycle or two later, easily after 515am (i know this because i looked before i fell asleep again). i’m going in to a grocery store withe my sister and her granddaughter, we buy candy at one of those quarter clicky turny things, with the metal red lids. we are shopping, we meet a handsome clerk - i make the observation that we are all wearing denim and we laugh. i feel a hot rush of embarrassment? anxiety? i feel like i need to leave, go, run. i find a room, like a changing room in a clothing store. i try to lift my top off - maybe if i take this layer off it i will cool off, something will change, i will be settled. but i can’t get it off my torso, can’t lift it any higher than my chest. it’s tight, tighter, i can’t get my arms to move to pull it up and off or down. it feels desperate, claustrophobic, is this how i will be found- strangled by my own clothing? i try again - duck my head down, throw my arms up, the top moves over my mouth and i inhale the fiber of the fabric - i wake with a gasp to morning light. it’s 711am. dammit i have an hour more i can sleep if i try... i’m determined at that moment to get up and run today.

on my excursion today i find a walking path “now open! walking path! and scenic bridge!” it’s less than impressive, but i get a cool photo. and disturbingly i find a tree stump with pieces of glass sitting on top of it, like a forrest shrine. a green piece, a clear bumped bottom of a bottle, two others. i walk a few steps forward and find a milky shard, lightly sticky with mud from the rains yesterday. i place it on the alter. i’ll come back again.

even though i still don’t like running.

He spoke for me. I speak for him. A quote I live by now.

Very nicely done!

Another version of the pictures, less photo manipulation , I just combined them to create “Never Grey”.

I think this is a great self portrait because it portrays the duality of my emotional state in which I’m constantly experiencing . The battle within. Swinging from one extreme pole to the other. The bipolarity that is at times creative and colorful and then on the other hand devastatingly dark .

Here’s a short poem to go with it.

//Never Grey//

She is both me. She is We.

Wide-eyed , Full-hipped Bitten lip, And Naturally Unhinged On both ends.

Swaying Always Swaying In no direction At all.

Who could withstand Such colorful chaos?

I can barely Climb The wall

Two pieces ,One mouth A mirror reflection of a stranger Defeat rides translucent , upon victory’s coattail .

She slithers in silk Mostly the spine in protest, Burning in the cools where Dark and Light coexist

Finding it hard to live In the neutrals of gray

It’s easier to swim, But sinking can be more Intriguing .

Perverse And pure, Like Pressed Pain hiding Behind Pleasure.

Vulva mind, Choice words for a Lady, So wet and so Cut dry.

Within the soul Appears the sweeter of Angels, While she’s holding the Pitchfork behind .

Who is she ? When I cannot protect Me from me.

She is never grey, Colors changing From day to day.

-Dee

Being prepared

Response to below: When I read your email, I was laying in my nieces bed, in m old bedroom, in m moms house. I had stayed there for the day after getting sick three times at work. Anxiety. Had the shakes, shoulders to toes. Hadn't eaten in two days and still somehow, I can manage to get sick. I knew what would happen next- the wave was coming. I felt it in my diaphragm, the pressure, the roll staring to build. It wouldn't be long until I'd feel it rush up my chest, into my throat and I'd feel like i was drowning... And then it would be too late to really do anything but call for someone to carry me out of my classroom. I had to do something. So I set up my room for the afternoon, I wrote the lesson plan on the white board- breathe in the smell of wipe-off markers, distraction. I wrote an email to the classes, CC to the head of school and his assistant. I packed up my shoes (took off my heels, went down to flats, too wobbly), grabbed my coat. I found the second/upper school head- told him I was leaving, wasn't feeling well. He said I didn't look well... Great confirmation. And I left. I knew. I knew if I stayed there long enough that wave would roll right up over me. How I know that so deeply, innately, to the marrow of my bones I don't know. But I know when it's coming now. I didn't at first. The first one sent me to the hospital... Gurney out of my work office, unconscious, IV in arm. Next one to my doctor- I was able to keep it together enough to drive there, but, alas, a hospital stay was in my future... I had to be picked up and taken to a mental health facility. Embarrassing as it might have been, ego crushing, humiliating, the powerlessness of it all, I knew I needed it. It wasn't much longer after that another wave crashed down over me, but I was weak... It took me so hard that I have in to the words in my head. I made a phone cal, heard someone else say some words, some stranger. They told me to find a person close by and hand them the phone. I did. Soon then I'm in a car, I had packed a bag, my father in law, a Bear of a man, being as gentle as he can with his words, driving me to the hospital. I find out that last wave wasn't really my fault but a medication reaction and prescription error. I was still learning about that. Eleven drug trials in less than three months. Finally one that fits. Minor tweaks here and there, for events I know that will trigger me (holidays) or weeks or times I know I'll need an extra boost (funerals). Mostly, I'm stable. Funny. Mostly. Mostly I'm stable. Most of the time I feel the wave now and can catch it. Once or twice I've woken to it and it knocks me off my feet for hours. Now, more often I can feel it build. The shakes, the buzzing, the pain in my chest. And I know now what to do. ... So maybe that's what the past three years have been for. To physically prepare my body to recognize these attacks on my nervous system. Today I was proud of myself. I got out. I had a plan, and I got out. Maybe that's what the past two years of being married to an addict has been for me. Preparation. Preparing myself mentally, physically, emotionally, gathering my resources, my knowledge base, my evidence and conclusions. Preparing for all the possibilities of what could be, and understanding the possibilities of what might never be again. If living with anxiety has taught me to prepare, then so has living with an addict. I'm prepared to walk away. Yes, it's scary and feels horribly wrong and like I've given up or made some horrible decision and my life will never be the same. But I feel that way each time I walk away from my panic attack-- that I should just stick it out, one more hour, you can make it to the end of the day, you'll be fine, you can handle this. But I can't. And I've learned to walk away. I'm laying in my nieces bed, in my old room, in my moms house. I remember how I was so proud of this being the bigger room than my sister's. I remember hiding in the closet on the floor, taping paper rolls to the wall so I could draw on them. I remember turning my bed so the moon would hit my face through the window when I slept. I remember dreaming about how I wanted a house like this, with a real fireplace and three bedrooms- one more bathroom please, though, to have someday for my family. And now I lay here... And I don't see that happening. I don't see a house for me, with any bedrooms or any bathrooms, not one that's mine... Because I love an addict. He took that away from me. He took my contributing education from me, he took my yoga from me, my time with my family, my friends, my ability to buy milk for my daughter. All gone. So I lay here and think- havent I been prepared for this? Haven't I felt these feelings before, of longing, moving forward. Of the next step in the right direction. I am ready. I am prepared to walk away. ... Thank you for reminding me of all that I have in myself that is good and worthy and beneficial to this world. All of me that is good. I love you too, Corazon. On Jan 11, 2016 A friend wrote: When I read your email I and then you told me why you sent it to me I thought about something... I've always wanted to talk to someone that wasn't you about you without the other person giving me the, "oh but you're married" or the "I don't know but it seems like you guys something else going on" because that straight up irritates the shit out of me. Either way I figured if there's a person that deserves to know what type a person you are that person should be you. So I have this friend right? I've met her back when I worked at the shelter. I don't know how but we connected like we knew each for years. But things were going to get pretty weird. Like finishing each other's sentences and more. The thing is that at first I didn't think of her more than a coworker/nice person to talk to. It wasn't until I went to get certified to give meds to kids that something changed. I knew she was going to be there to give us a hand of a few things, but then I noticed she was going to give part of the class. Right there, with a giant stone fireplace as a background I saw her. Like I actually took notice of her, and she beautiful! And she has tattoos! When that happened I did what I always do to make sure, I started to read her. What I needed to make sure of was that I considered her a friend just because she's cute or was there something more. I felt bad. I liked other women but this one is different. It didn't start at the physical level like the type I'm used to shrug off. "I'm married... She's married... Keep your damn head together... She's just another female friend that you hardly talk to to make sure your wife doesn't get pissed. And I mean seriously?! She doesn't even have the body type! Be a damn man and grow up." Most of my thoughts would look like this when I was around her. We started texting soon after. That's when I entered the rabbit hole. We started talking about work. Then it move to subjects of interest, that's when it happened. We started talking about science , and like the dork, as she calls me, I felt something. I wasn't sure what it was but I felt wrong. "Am I falling for her?! Tha fuck is happening?!" I shoved that thought nice and deep in the subconscious and did not gave it permission to get back out. I don't know what she saw in me. She trusted me with information about her life that even I felt afraid of knowing. At that point I knew how strong she really is. How capable and educated and loving and selfless she is. Her entire life has been one of fighting and surviving. Admiration and respect grew from me to her at very high pace. At this point my mind was confused. That wrong feeling I felt earlier grew. She gave me a fair warning, actually a few of them. She told me that she has the bad habit of being a flirt, that she doesn't mean anything by it. That at any point if I saw it happening to just disregard it. What she didn't know is that I was reading her while with me and with others. She thinks she's a flirt because when she's nice to men they take the wrong message. Add to that that she's a model and is the perfect mix for problems. The truth is she's not. She's not a flirt she's a great person that so happens to be beautiful in the inside and outside. After reading her, the way she bowed her head when I walked towards her, the way she looked in to my eyes, the way she kept fixing my hair when she thought was a mess, the way she grabbed my arms, how her complete and full attention was put on every single word that came out of my mouth, how she kept looking at my lips, how she'll always find the seat next to mine. I knew. I just needed confirmation. If I'm going to worry about having feelings for another woman, might as well be sure is a real threat. Once I asked her, I think she was half way drunk, don't remember correctly, she answered. She told me how she felt. Her telling felt like when the sun hits your face on a very cold day. Then reality came through, "What the fuck am I supposed to do now? Am I wrong for feeling this? She's a great friend! You are going to fuck this up! You damn idiot!" She, being the intelligent woman she is she drew the lines. That actually helped my mind quite a bit. But still the thought of me loving another woman when my wife has done nothing wrong felt like pieces of glass in the back of my head. I care about her. She has become someone very important in my life. A great friend who I can go to when I need help. In fact she helped me with one that no one knows I have but her. I can go to her and have a conversation about theories of science, medicine, biology, engineering, space. I can trust her with anything. But what about my wife? After a very long night of all types of sex, I laid there, with her head resting on my chest. She was sleeping. I was playing with her hair while looking at the sealing, "I... I love... I love them... I love them? Is that possible?" I searched my feelings again, "fuck! It's true! I love both for all the same reasons. The way they care about me, the way they treat me, the way they care. And the best part of it? One is not taking over the other. They are both there." There is one difference though, when it comes to my friend... my best friend... her friendship, and her trust are above anything else I might feel about her. I will never sacrifice her trust or friendship over anything physical. No matter how much I desire it. And yes... I do... I do desire her. Who the fuck wouldn't?! Her eyes kill me, the smell of her hair, the taste of her skin, the shape of her abdomen, the thickness of her legs, the way she hugs me, but most impressive of all, her power, her presence, her fire. The great thing about this though, she is my very best friend. We have each other's backs. We will kick our own asses if we must. We encourage each other; and we will make sure the other becomes the person they should be.

3.5.21

here we go again.

mundane.

yesterday was less than mundane. i had an actual panic attack, although at least not earth shattering. this goddam broken brain of mine has ruined so much, and yet it still manages to say loud and clear how much of a failure i am. why can’t it suck at that? instead of not letting me finish a book, or pushing me to do everything all the time and worry about all the possible outcomes.

i asked my therapist why i was so damn tired - (for a variety of reasons i’m sure) and we landed on “it is exhausting to try to control your thoughts and words and actions, and be mindful of what you say and do and think all day, every day”

the epiphany before that was that my body remembers the feelings of fear at a cellular level, so even when i can logic my way out of something the physical part of it is often out of my control. 

other therapy gems: 

manage you expectations

people show you who they are, believe them

i’m sure there are more, but i can’t think of them this morning.

mood swing- don’t feel like writing anymore. gonna go. 

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