This View Is Within Walking Distance Of My House. ...also Behind Me Is A Four Lane Highway, But, Whtevs.

O.M.G. This just made my decade... Seriously, I love Graham Norton, and Wiil, but Carlton... Cannot. Be. Beat!

When the blue shoes were new, May 2018.

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

what is this mood? ... i think it’s longing. maybe.

feeling lost tonight.

I can't stress enough that people need to be aware that there are doctors who are "just okay" at their jobs. Who barely passed their boards and/or had to retake courses and/or had scores so low they even had a hard time matching at the end of med school.

Please seek second opinions. Third, even. Ask the doctors endless questions. Challenge them if something doesn't feel or sound right. Don't stroke their egos by being intimidated by their perceived intelligence.

The Prequel

"Welcome to my sweet upside down world."

In 2013 I wrote my first blog piece. I had (have?) zero followers, I rarely posted — at one point it was 2 years between, and yet I still held on to this need to write. "Someone, somewhere wants to hear my story."

Today I’m sitting on my front porch, it’s an unusually warm October day, contemplating things that two decades ago I never thought would be in my brain — Why is my wife upset with me? When do we have to leave for our trans son’s LGBTQ group meeting? Are we taking the dog with us? What will this drive look like next week after the 2024 election?

I'm writing again, today, because aforementioned Wife (THE bestest wife everrrrr) has asked me to take time to focus on my writing - for the first time ever. My goal - share my life. Lots of people - when I share my story/ies - find it interesting. I often think it's quite ... normal? Is that the word? Maybe. If nothing else I feel like I can keep the attention of most people when I share. We shall see. I'm not sure what order makes the most sense, but I have lots of stories to tell, and I am confident they will make their way here.

Shall we?

-Yes, let's.

First blog post - May 14th, 2013:

There is a saying in yoga practice when doing inversion asanas (upside down poses):  inversions help you to see your world upside down in practice so you know how to deal better with upside down moments in life.

Let’s just say that I’ve been doing a lot of inversions lately.

Hello, I am the self-titled Bipolar Baker… And welcome to my sweet upside down word.

I was only recently diagnosed, as of May 9th, 2013… Not even a week now.  And yet, it feels like I have lived with this disease all my life.  I’m already comfortable with its company.  My official diagnosis is Bipolar I, rapid cycling, with mixed mania, and Anxiety Disorder.  Sounds like fun, right?  Actually, it is quite fun… 

When I’m in my mania, I am a hoot!  I am the social butterfly, the Carrie In The City, the best friend you just met.  I am super over productive: writing a 1,450 word paper for school in three hours — in APA format, with citations and five references, without an outline. I am the baker baking forty-eight  cupcakes from scratch, with homemade raspberry soufflé icing, individually wrapped in lace and prepped for the bridal shower that is less than ten hours away, which I then co-host with flair (constantly having to remind myself, of course, that I am NOT the center of attention for the next two hours).  I am the organizer of clothes into rainbow rows, by type, from left to right, separated by specific hangers into three sections — pants, tops, and dresses/skirts, even coordinating my underthings in their drawers by color.

Color rules my world most days.  I get caught up in feeling the deep, cellular green of the late spring leaves inside my head.  I watch the wispy feather white clouds drift in slow motion across the infinite Carolina blue sky.  I study the amber and coal and hematite hairs on my dog’s coat as he lays beside me, head on my thigh.  I see colors as moods, and as auras.  It is my gift and my burden as an empath, only adding to the complexity of my mind.  In my mania I see starbursts of yellow and honey gold following little children, chasing their worries away…  

Luckily, the downs don’t stay as long.  “The Crash” I have named it. The free fall after the mania.  It is quick and steady: a ride down the steep side of the roller coaster, G-forces pulling at my heart, then a quick upturn to baseline, stomach churning, to wait for another incline, steady again climbing up up up.  On grey days baking and my yoga pull me up.  I have never found baking difficult, which is how I know it is my “out” when I have crashed.  It is the one sweet thing where I can lose my mind, both figuratively and literally.  My yoga practice I revel in: morning yoga to invigorate, day yoga to stay motivated, evening yoga to be thoughtful, and night yoga to burn off the stored energy from the day.    Usually the night yoga involves the inversions — head stands, bridge pose, arm stands, wheel pose…  Feet high above my heart to remind me: be grounded in the air, let that which is real rise above your wounded heart, and let your heart rise above your head. 

Again, this is simply the walkway, the entry to my world.  I hope you can join me for a few trips, or maybe just one spin...  Either way, I hope it's a sweet ride.

#Bipolar #anxiety #mania #rapid cycle #writer #wlw #lgbtq

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.

Where am I?

*SI trigger warning Just in a weird place lately... I'm pretty sure I'm not High, and I know I'm not Low. But, this is a weird place. I said that, my bad. So anyway. Maybe still in a state of confused mourning?... Had a dear friend pass away, and it was super hard... Harder than I thought it would be. Harder not because of who he was, rather, who he hid he was. And then, how he passed. I couldn't believe it. None of us could. But then, to be there, among friends and coworkers and family... And I'll bet you I was one of maybe three that had any clue what he felt like ...before. I could sense in one friend. He felt it too close too. And another, he couldn't even go to the front to say goodbye- like he would physically be too close to "it"... The Event. The End. I did it... I went up. To the small, granite box, with his name engraved on it... I placed a dime on it- he always called me a Ten. It made me smile. So instead of a penny, which I used to do for all the old"er" people, it was a dime. I believe they should go whoever they are going feeling rich with simply a penny and their soul... Just me. Anyway... After a while, it was too hard to be inside. Fresh air. And a friend. Old friend. When we went through the service... There was a part... I just didn't get why it made me so angry. I hate religion in general, hate is a strong word, dislike immensely... But the pastor... I'll never forget it... "He was chased by demons. The demon is in this room. And today, we are going to give this demon a name. It is Suicide.".... And my heart stopped... More like cracked. Broke. Split apart, leaving a gaping serrated edge of a wound. Angry and angry, and what is a better word for angry?! Furious? Painfully angry, hurt, wounded. How dare he? How dare that man, who calls on the name of his god say that a demon took my friend?! It took me a good solid day to figure out why I was so mad. It wasn't a demon. It never was a demon. It's not a demon that does it... That makes us think those thoughts. ... It's hope. Hope that when we go we leave behind all the good we were in the world and don't leave the ugly, terribly, horribly wretch of a person we were at that moment. Hope that we get to move forward instead of sink. Hope that we can be done with all the feelings, all the not even kind of good feelings. Hope that there is love... Somewhere. Because at that moment, it's not a demon that possessed us.. It was hope... So yeah... I'm not sure where I am right now. Between the reality of thankfulness and the reality of what-could-have-been. Surreal. Is that a place? It should be.

My Drishti.

Drishti (yoga) Drishti (IPA: [ dɽʂʈi ]; Sanskrit: दृष्टि; IAST:dṛṣṭi), or focused gaze, is a means for developing concentrated intention. It relates to the fifth limb of yoga (pratyahara) concerning sense withdrawal, as well as the sixth limb dharana relating to concentration.

Theory

The source of dṛṣṭis in yoga is limbs five and six from the eight limbs of yoga. The fifth limb of yoga pratyahara concerns sense withdrawal. The sixth limb of yoga dharana (concentration), includes maintaining dṛṣṭi during yoga practice in order to ensure dhyana meditation will occur.

. From Wikipedia