Would You, If You Could…..?

Started thinking again the other day on what it is like to be “normal”. Every BP person that I know (including myself) hates the word, “normal”. Is anybody “normal”? But, for lack of a better word, I’ll use the “n word” right now.

I had just left the medical center where my pdoc is located. I had to go pick up the written scripts for my meds and get them filled. As I carried my little white poke out of the pharmacy and headed to my car, I felt kinda sad. I thought to myself that this is my life……every month carrying that damn white paper bag out of the pharmacy. At that moment, I hated this bipolar shit more than ever. I could just picture myself at 80+ years, probably still driving myself to get my drugs/fix. I worry about that sometimes since I for the most part an “in the closet” bipolar in real life. The only time that I feel free to discuss it is when I’m writing somewhere online. Here’s a fact that will shock ya. I’ve been back in treatment for around five years now. 60 months. At least 60 visits to the doc and the pharmacy that my husband knows nothing about. It’s not that I hide my little brown bottles. Hell, there right up there in the kitchen cabinet over the microwave. I don’t know if he just doesn’t see them or he just doesn’t have the balls to mention them. He is actually pretty clueless about a lot of stuff in my life and the lives of his daughters. Ain’t that a hellova note? The last time we had any kind of conversation about me being bipolar, he made a shitty remark that cut right thru my soul. His words were, “I don’t wanna hear nothing about that bipolar shit.” So, he pretends that it doesn’t exist in this house. He pretends that I’m either being bitchy, really happy, or have had a bad day. He pretends a lot, I guess. I dunno. It’s weird. But, in a twisted way, that kind of helps me. It makes me fight to act “normal”. Normalisacycleonawashingmachine is what I hear every-time I use the “N” word.

Drug Research….Spiders on Drugs

Since we’ve been talking about drug research, I just had to share this with ya. Which spider are you?

Look At That Wrinkle-Free Body In The Morgue!

The bipolar chicks (including moi) were in a posting frenzy last night. We were on our regular (and very legitimate) rant about the lack of substantial treatment for bipolar and other mental disorders. Medical treatment for BP is almost at third nation level here in the United States. Sure, we hear about all those great, fantastic breakthrough in treatment being reported in the news and in medical journals. Any bipolar who has been treated for the last 10-20 years will tell you that this is a bucketload of crap. What’s new? Nothing. Researchers in the field are just repackaging old, useless drugs. Or, even worse, passing off to us the anti-seizure, Parkinson’s, and other diseases’ meds that don’t work. Same old meds-recycled-with the same old bad side effects. The only thing that has changed is the price of the drugs have increased. And many people do not have insurance and cannot afford to buy them. Maybe, they are better off not being able to get the meds. Just a thought. At least, they are not walking around with Lexabutt or Effexothighs. They don’t have a Topolackofmemory or Zolofolackofsexlife.

Life would be easy… if it weren’t for other people

Especially those who find my buttons and continue to push them. Don’t ask me why i’m ticked off when i asked you to be ready at 6 and it’s now 6:15 and we are still at home. I can’t stand being late for stuff. Stop calling me unflexible. Or is that inflexible. Fuck it. Stop asking me to change. I can’t.

Will Somebody Please Hit Stop on This Friggin’ Roller Coaster?

Every good bipolar person knows that life is a roller coaster for us. We learn to listen for the bar being closed on our car. We hear the click-clackity-click-clackity of the car straining to move. Moving slowly…..very slowly at first….upward. We hold our breathes waiting. Waiting. Waiting. Waiting to get to the top where we can throw our hands up in the air and enjoy the ride for a few thrilling moments.

Self-Medicating? Or Self-Preservation?

Dopamax is squeezing out what little intellect I have left…. I drop an “l” here, add an “i” here, lose a word here, add an adjective there…. I “appear” to be halfway intelligent… afterall, I AM still partially redheaded/brunette… with a minimum of gray sprinkling my curls… but a bit of blonde highlights endangers the persona I’ve fought to maintain for the past five or so years since my battle of the “boo-boo’s” has threatened to take away any semblance of order my thoughts have attempted to maintain.

Why I love my friends…

Got this in email today…

Friends are like butt cheeks.

Crap may separate them, but they always come back together.

Thanks for being my butt cheeks.

What The Hell is A Corned Beef Brisket Made Of?

It’s been one of those days. One of those lousy, crappy days when nothing goes right.

I woke up feeling turdish. My muscles were stiff and achey. Probably from lack of sleep. I’m in a very strange cycle. At least, I think that’s what it is. My mind is manic but my body is just not keeping up. Haven’t been able to sleep a full nite in a couple of weeks despite the constant intake of Tylenol PM and occasional prescription sleep med. I try to sleep. I really do. But, every nite around 10 or 11, my mind rebels. I lay on the sofa doing relaxtion exercises. I even try a form of “The Secret”………ya know, think you are sleepy and you will be sleepy. But, none of that works. So, I haul my ass off to bed, try counting sheep, chickens, unicorns and any other real or fantasized animal that I can think of. But, inevitably, I get back up about 30 minutes later and start all over again. Last nite, I finally fell asleep on the couch in the middle of “Robot Chicken”. My muscles are burning and tight. I’m in desperate need of a full bottle of Flexerill or maybe, a big giant doobie.

Bipolar Ebaying and Selling Big Ol’ Panties to Men

My friends and family know that I am addicted to eBay. More selling than buying. But, just like everything else in my life, my ebaying follows cycles, too. When I’m in a high-in-the-sky cycle, I am constantly thinking of ways to do things different, improve myself, or….MAKE MONEY to pay off the mountains of bills my husband constantly makes. And, I get some pretty far-out ideas that actually WORK sometimes.

Ow! Ow! Ow! My Poontang Hurts

I know what you are thinking D (D’s my partner in crime here)……..she’s not doing a poontang post!!!!!! But, my hoo-hoo hurts and I gotta complain somewhere. My only other choices were to call my mother-in-law or my pastor. I didn’t figure that would go over too well.