Until next time...a final post (for now)

Crazy pill count:
A lot.

Well, my friends, it's been fourteen days since my last post. Fourteen. Good grief. That's way too long considering it's National Mental Health Month. I know, National Mental Health Month, it's exciting but try to keep your pants on, people.

I'm going to kickstart this post off with a writing prompt given to me by a dear and sweet friend: "The reason I haven't blogged in years is because..."

I have been busy healing. I have been healing in the literal physical sense, with pain and ice packs to boot, since I partially tore a tendon in my right foot. If anyone wants to talk about pain, give me a call, send me a letter (I love getting mail!), or better yet come over and entertain me! I know, who wants to talk about pain? Apparently I do because I've been doing it for over three sentences now. That's my cut off point. I allow myself three sentences to wallow before moving on, just how I allow myself a five minute Woe Is Me Party before putting on my big girl panties.

This is what a "Night on the Town" looks like in a "walking boot."

This is what you get to wear because you went on a "Night on the Town"

with a partially torn tendon in a "walking boot."

So anyway, I've been thinking about healing a lot these past fourteen days. Trust me when I tell you there's a lot of thinking time when you are confined to having your foot elevated. This blog has been a great touchstone for me - a reaching out, a way to connect, and a place where I hope I have offered a bit of hope. Hey, that's two hopes in one sentence! Geeze, girl, get a thesaurus.

Maybe I have even offered a little healing for you. If I have, then you have given me the greatest gift, and that is the gift of knowing I have helped.

{Warning: Sad Part Coming Up}

What I'm about to say is sad for me, but is also full of hope. (Seriously, am I suddenly obsessed with the word hope?) I'm going to take a little break from this blog in order to concentrate on things that heal me. I fear I have been focusing too much on how I am ill, instead of on how I can heal. I hope that makes sense to you. (There's that word hope again. I am officially out of control.)

Although there are many things I love about writing this blog, I believe there are other things I need to focus on, right now, in this moment, to deepen my own healing process - namely laughing.

I have spent a lot of my "healing time" reading laugh-out-loud funny books, watching Laughter Yoga videos, and figuring out how to make a living laughing, as that would be the greatest and most healing gift I could offer to others and to myself.

So I need to focus on that for a while.
I need to focus on healing.
I need to focus on laughing.

It actually made me laugh to write the sentence, "I need to focus on laughing."

But I really do.
Seriously. Laughing is no joke.

That sentence also just made me laugh.

And hey, this guy is giving away free shrugs.

I want to focus on sharing laughter with others to heal myself and to offer a tool to others to heal themselves. But most of all, to welcome abundant joy into my heart, as that's what Laughter Yoga is best at doing.

That is precisely what I need, in this moment. And if there is anything I have learned over the years with this doggone bipolar disorder, is how important it is to honor where we are in each moment in time.

I have also learned the importance of taking an occasional

"I am Awesome Break" 

from a "walking boot," an ice pack, or just plain, old crazy life.

I have written 312 posts for you, friends. That's three-hundred-and-twelve for those of you who prefer to read your numbers. You can go back and read them whenever you want. That's a heck of a lot of words to pick from. I also pinned most of the posts on a Pinterest Board for easy access to the ones that interest you.

And I don't think I'll be gone forever. I'm sure I'll stop by from time to time.
Also, I think I might spend a little more time being silly on my other neglected blog:
My Friends Call Me Bacon.

I also, now, have a Giggle Blog on my Laughter Yoga website:

{Click here for the link}

Where I will be posting the Monday Laugh each week.

Except this week.
Because I forgot.
Because I was too busy laughing.
Oops.

I wish only the biggest and greatest laughter and love to all of you glorious, glorious
(note to self: get a thesaurus), glorious, souls!

And thank you, from the bottom of my heart, for reading my silly and serious blog.
For you, I have nothing but love.

Serious amounts of love.

Like wearing-rainbow-tutus-on-the-beach-while-making-heart-symbols-kind-of-love.

Yeah, it's a lot.

So until next time:

Keep honoring where you are in each moment...
Be gentle with yourself...
Take your pills...
And, by all means, laugh-out-loud...

Signing off (for now),
-b

Tears of Joy

Crazy pill count:
AM 200 Lamictal, 30 Cymbalta, 5 Zyprexa, 20 Adderall
afternoon 20 Adderall, 1 Ativan
PM 200 Lamictal, 5 Zyprexa, 1 Ativan

I have shared quite a few pictures of myself in distress on this blog.
You know, ugly crying pictures.

As hard as it was for me to expose such an unflattering and vulnerable side of myself, I did it because of my deep desire for you to feel understood and not alone in your own pain. I also shared some manic and mixed pictures in my little two minute video, "The Faces of Bipolar Disorder."

What I realized this morning is that I don't think I have ever posted a picture of real joy.

Even when we are crazy we still experience joy. We still have many moments and times of having an authentically joyful life. It can certainly be easy to forget on bad days, which is why, today, I am posting joy.

It is  reminder for those really dark days when we have forgotten what the sun feels like warming our shoulders, no matter how hard we try to remember.

It is a reminder that joy will return.

Even if you're a Smurf.

The fabulous Kim, whom I have grown to love so dearly, even though I have never met her in person, left a very simple comment on my last post about my new altered dream and what I hope to do in this world and with my life. It is a realization that took many years (I'm talkin' like thirty-three) to be able to put into form, and thought, and then have the courage to say and proclaim out loud.

Her simple comment:
"I love your new dream. You are living it, you know."

This comment threw me right over the edge of joy.
Tears of joy.

Even though I knew it was true, sometimes we have to hear things from others before they feel real. Life is funny like that. This is what it felt like to realize I am actually living my dream:

Joy. It felt like...joy.

This is my reminder of joy.
It's a reminder for you, too.
That joy returns.
That joy is possible.
That joy is, sometimes, just a simple realization of what we already know.

Wishing you joy, my sweet, sweet, friends.

Tears of joy...

Until next time...

Dreams Bite: Bite Back

Crazy pill count:
AM 200 Lamictal, 30 Cymbalta, 5 Zyprexa, 20 Adderall, 1 Ativan
afternoon 20 Adderall
PM 200 Lamictal, 5 Zyprexa, 1 Ativan

I participate in a LinkedIn writing group that provides daily writing prompts. I realized a prompt from a few days ago can have a lot to do with bipolar disorder and so I thought I would share it with you. In fact, I found that I was writing it for you.

The prompt: Dreams bite...

And that they do.
At least when you are crazy they can and have, at times, for this crazy girl.

Vampires also bite.

He can bite me whenever he wants.

Bipolar disorder means we have to adjust some of those dreams. Sometimes, some of those dreams may not be that big of a deal like, for example, my dream to make animal crackers in the shape of yoga postures with a few Om's thrown in. My overzealous manic belief system had me thinking I could create a Yoga Cracker Empire. "Trader Joe's would want these for sure," I thought. I believed.

I called every patent lawyer's office in town and all my cracker recipes were a bust. I lost interest. I soon began to refer to it to myself as, "My Cracker Episode." That dream wasn't too hard to let go of.

But what about the dreams that are? What about the dreams that keep you awake at night, whispering into your ear, as you try to count sheep? Those dreams you can almost taste if you allow yourself to swim that deep. These are the dreams that bite your heart and nibble at your soul while saying, "Me. Me. Don't forget about me."

What do we do if that is a dream we must give up?

For me it was film. Cinematography to be specific. I got bit hard by that bug. I moved to L.A. when I was nineteen-years-old. I sent out zillions (seriously zillions) of resumes begging for looking for a nonpaying job where I would be honored to sweep the floor or make a 3:00am "wonder bread run" because famous-so-and-so had a hankering for a PBandJ on white bread and craft services only had wheat. I would do this so I might meet just the right person anyone who could help my dream materialize into something real.

If only there was an easier way to get protein 

than eating eight slices of bread every day...

Like maybe eating one piece of meat?

I even sent a black and white photograph I took of my best girlfriend's naked butt, frozen in the middle of a cartwheel, claiming, "I will put my ass on the line for you," with each resume. Yes, that is a true story. As you can imagine from that pitiful true story, out of zillions of resumes (seriously zillions), I only got one phone call...from Agent Bambi. She was, at the time, an agent to some of the most sought out cinematographers and production designers in Hollywood.

Not this Bambi.

She was a real person. I swear.

My entrance into Hollywood was so glamorous I'll never forget it. I sat through the interview answering her questions while she sat in the next room where her daughter was throwing up into a bowl. Yes, that is also a true story.

Obviously, I took the job.

I worked there, outrageously long hours, for free, for quite a while when I just stopped showing up. I was experiencing one of the most debilitating depressions I had ever had. I couldn't get dressed, open the curtains, or eat more than three saltine crackers a day. (You know what probably would have been really helpful? A cracker shaped like the symbol for Om. Someone should really get on that.)

I learned the stress and demands of the entertainment industry was too much for me - for a girl just becoming officially acquainted with her mental illness. That dream didn't just bite, it bit me in the ass.

I don't regret it anymore. I know myself now and know what I can and can't handle - and Hollywood falls into the can't category. But I felt like a failure for a long time. Knowing my dream, the dream that kept me awake at night, for all of my teenage years, was something that was "too hard" for me. Well...that just bites.

That is what I think of when I hear the two words dream and bite together.

But this is not a sad story, friends. I have found a new passion. A new dream that sweetly whispers me awake in the morning like an alarm clock. At age (almost) thirty-four, my path finally seems so obvious to me I want whack my nineteen-year-old self on the side of the head and say, "Duh."

What I want at (almost) thirty-four is really quite simple.
I want to witness and create beauty...

Through words. Through art.  Through helping others.
And all it takes is keeping my heart wide open so that beauty can easily come and go.
Oh, and to actually write and make art - yeah, that too.

I wish I could sit down with my nineteen-year-old self and say:
"Girl, dreams bite. But you'll be okay."

But since I can't tell her, I'll tell you instead:

Dreams can bite. But bite back.

Wondering how?
By recognizing and accepting our limitations and making new dreams.
Not selling ourselves short, but honoring ourselves.

Always bite back. Always.
Take a huge honkin' bite out of life.

Then take a bite out of crime.

We can attain our dreams like everyone else.
Who cares if we have to make some alterations. (details, details, people)

The trick is to never stop looking for those alterations.
The trick is to never stop fashioning new dreams out of them...dreams that honor who we are in this moment.

Oh, and to never ever, ever, ever give up - yeah, that too.

Until next time...

The Bipolar "Wish Away"

Crazy pill count:
AM 200 Lamictal, 5 Zyprexa, 30 Cymbalta, 20 Adderall, 1 Ativan
afternoon 10 Adderall
PM 200 Lamictal, 5 Zyprexa, 1 Ativan

Do you remember when I called the bullshit button on bipolar disorder? 

I found myself in that ugly place again this morning.

That's the thing about bipolar disorder - you can move from beauty to ugly, from hope to anger overnight. Sometimes from morning until noon. It's exhausting. I'd by lying if I said it wasn't. And frankly, I've had enough. I'm sick of the earth shattering tears. I'm sick of the endless cycle of extremes.

But guess what?
It's not up to me.

I can beg and beg for it to stop. For it to go away. For peace and stability to grace me once and for all. But, sweet friends, that's just not how it works. For me or for you. I want to be a liar. I want to lie to you and tell you we can wish bipolar disorder away, but we just can't.

Even if we apply this nail polish.

So what, for the love of Apollo, do we do about this?
What do we do with the anger?
What do we do with the earth shattering tears?
How do we get back to the place of acceptance and grace when we find ourselves in such an ugly place? (hey that rhymes!)

Poor little guy.

Well, it's not easy. It's work. Hard work. But it's work worth working for. Because we are worth it. Each day is a new day, each hour is a new hour, each breath is a new breath. And with those beginnings we get to begin again. We get a chance to inhale peace and exhale acceptance.

Sound a little too new age-y for you? Maybe it is, I don't know. But it works for me. It worked this morning anyway. Oh, and turning that really sad song off repeat did wonders too.

{Warning}
Do not get stuck in the disastrous place of a sad song on repeat.
Take my word for it - it's not effective for stopping tears. I'm living proof of this.

Having a few laughs help too.
Feel like laughing? I know I do.
Let me offer you a chuckle:

hee hee

Did you laugh a little?
At least smile, maybe?

Oh, and that smile of yours is beautiful, by the way.
Because you are beautiful - earth shattering tears and all.

Let's not stop working at it.
But let's not stop smiling either.
Let's just stop that damn sad song on repeat...

Until next time...

The Beauty of Hope

Crazy pill count:
AM 200 Lamictal, 30 Cymbalta, 5 Zyprexa, 10 Adderall, 1 Ativan
afternoon 20 Adderall
PM 200 Lamictal, 5 Zyprexa, 1 Ativan

When I am depressed, like I have been so much lately, I remind myself of all the beauty in this world.

Of beauty created by people:

"Spring" by Rick Casali (my brilliant art teacher)

Of beauty captured by people:

"Away" by Carl Christensen

And I remind myself that Spring will always come after a cold winter.
And one day, I will ride in a hot air balloon.

There is so much hope in beauty...

Until next time...

The Moody Snow Bird

Crazy pill count:
AM 200 Lamictal, 30 Cymbalta, 5 Zyprexa, 10 Adderall
afternoon 5 Adderal, 1 Ativan
PM 200 Lamictal, 5 Zyprexa

Holy smokes it's been quite a while since I've blogged, again.
I promise I didn't forget about you but rather time just slipped away from me.

Apparently, I've become an amateur snow bird because I took another trip to Florida making it my fourth trip in 2013. The funny part is that I'm not even particularly into Florida or anything, it's just worked out that way. I will be going to Florida, again, in June for a wedding of one of my nearest and dearests. (Hi Michelle!) I mean let's see if I can get my Florida visits into the double digits before the year's end.

I went through my 2nd degree Reiki training which makes me an official Reiki Practitioner. I'm pretty excited about it. As are my cats. Man, are they little Reiki junkies. Level two training has given me the ability to send distance Reiki. I know, it sounds weird, and I was a nonbeliever myself, until I experienced it first hand. But now that I have experienced it...I'm telling you it's real, friends. If you need the healing light and love of Reiki, let me know and I would be overjoyed to send you some.

This is Iris patiently waiting for her multi-daily Reiki treatment.

I've been in the process of making an official Reiki business - whew, who knew there were so many parts that go into that. Not this girl. The website is almost finished and the business cards will be coming in the mail any day. All the rest, the legal smegal parts are still to be taken care of.

I've been taking painting classes and painting really God awful paintings. But I'm learning a lot and it is very therapeutic for me. I have noticed, thanks to moodscope, the mornings I have painting class tend to be some of my best days.

Speaking of moodscope, I have now been tracking my mood for thirty-two days.
Enough time to get an overall feel for my moods.

Here is my chart.

I know it's pretty tiny,

 but I'm not cool enough to figure out how to make it bigger,

but I think you can still get a feel for it.

I had three days at 0% which were really awesome days, you can imagine, and my personal best was a whopping 61%. I know that's still a D, not even in the C- range, but I assure you I felt pretty great those days.

Either this system doesn't work very well for me, or a D feels pretty damn good to me. Geeze, I wonder what a 100% feels like. I still recommend trying moodscope, after all, it is free and you might get some insight into your moods. For example, for me, I didn't realize that every single time I scored high, with the exception of once, it was always followed by a not so good day.

I don't know, exactly, what I will actually do with that information, but smarty pants, Dr. Crazy, might have some ideas.

This has got to be Dr. Crazy's daily breakfast.

If you would like to give moodscope a try here is the link: Click me!

Oh, yeah, and take your pills. 

Well, my, isn't he a handsome pill. 

Until next time...

Doogie Howser's Got Nothing On You

Crazy pill count:
AM 30 Cymbalta, 10 Adderall, 1 Ativan, 5 Zyprexa, 200 Lamictal
afternoon .5 Ativan, 5 Adderall
PM .5 Ativan, 5 Zyprexa, 200 Lamictal, 25 Topomax

When I see stuff like this it makes me want to punch someone in the face. When depressed, which I have been so much lately, I get so sick and tired of people telling me to "try harder."

"Just get out of the house and you'll feel better."
"Meet up with some friends, that will cheer you up."

But it's just not that easy. Depression isn't a case of needing to be cheered up. It's a case of messed of neurotransmitters and a bit of bad luck when it came to the spin of the genetic wheel.

No, genetic wheel...not hamster wheel!

But then again, I haven't actually tried to just stop being sad and start being awesome instead. Maybe Doogie Howser has a point. Maybe that is the secret...just be awesome.

Perhaps I'll give it a try.
I mean why the heck not?
It seems a little silly that I've tried twenty-five different crazy pills, but haven't just tried to be awesome. Maybe you can give it a try too and tell me how it goes.

And if it doesn't work...

You are loved just the same. 

And truthfully, you already are awesome, even when you are lost in the dark.
And that darkness...it is only temporary. Pretty soon you'll be back to feeling as awesome as you are. Deep in my heart, I know how hard that waiting to feel better can be.

But you will.
I promise.
And until then, take comfort in knowing you are way more awesome than Doogie Howser.

then OR now

Until next time...

Don't Get Your Bipolar Panties in a Bunch

Crazy pill count:
AM 10 Adderall, 5 Zyprexa, 200 Lamicatal, 30 Cymbalta, 10 Viibryd, .5 Ativan
afternoon 5 Adderall, .5 Ativan
PM 200 Lamictal, .5 Ativan, 5 Zyprexa

I got ambushed on LinkedIn this morning in the NAMI group. If you are not a member of LinkedIn I highly recommend it. You can connect or "network" with people for professional purposes, but you can also join groups with some really great discussions and links to fascinating articles. I am sort of a group slut. I belong to the NAMI group, as mentioned, but also two different bipolar groups, a woman's mental health group, a Reiki group, a laughter yoga group, several writing groups, and several art groups. Told you - total group slut.

Now, had I not been without coffee this morning, (meaning had I responsibly gone to the grocery store yesterday) perhaps I wouldn't have been so sensitive to my "ambush." Perhaps it would not have felt like a "personal attack," because it probably was not intended to be a personal attack, but without that damned coffee, it sure felt like one.

I asked the group:

Has anyone decided not to have children due to having bipolar disorder? Or bipolar parents do you or your children have special challenges due to your bipolar disorder?

Apparently this was a very offensive question.

The response:

I struggle with casually interchanging the terms "crazy/insane" and "bipolar" in any discussion. Bipolar disorder does not equate insanity. There are different spectrums of the disorder (as with many other disorders) bipolar I, II for example, but also a wide variance with individual symptoms. To continue to use the negative verbiage of "crazy" "mental" "psychotic" "insane" etc...only further exacerbates the stigma we fight to eliminate. If we don't start to make changes, regardless how big or small they may appear, then please tell me how or when will things ever improve??

What? I mean did she not have her coffee this morning or why are her panties in such a bunch? I think it's because I used the term "bipolar parents" but I can't know for sure since I'm not a mind reader. I apologized for offending her, but told her that bipolar is the medical term to describe my illness.

Many people have a problem with saying, 

"Someone is bipolar." 

verses 

"Someone has bipolar disorder."

Now, I say I am bipolar zillions of times on this blog because I am. Bipolar disorder doesn't define me, as another panties in a bunch person pointed out, but it does define a part of me. Bipolar disorder colors the way I see and experience the world. The same as being a female, or being in my thirties, or being a cat mom colors the way I see and experience the world. How is this offensive? I'm not sure.

I am not ashamed of being bipolar. And I hope you are not either. There is nothing wrong with being bipolar, so what's so wrong with saying that I am?

I know I am more than my diagnosis.
Just as you are more than your diagnosis.
But I think failing to recognize that our diagnosis is part of who we are stunts the process of acceptance, and embracing who we are...bipolar and all.

Let's not be ashamed.
Let's not shy away from who we are.
Let's celebrate.
We are bipolar.

And we are damn awesome.

Until next time...

I Have Inexhaustible Love For You

Crazy pill count:

AM 30 Cymbalta, 10 Viibryd, 5 Zyprexa, 10 Adderall, 200 Lamictal, 1 Ativan

afternoon 1 Ativan, 5 Zyprexa

PM .5 Ativan, 5 Zyprexa, 100 Lamictal, 50 Topomax

I don't remember where this came from.
It's been in my "crazy blog folder" for quite a while.

Did I see it on someone else's blog?
Did I see it on Pinterist?
How much do I love that Pinterist, by the way? A lot. Like a lot, a lot.

I think this mystery sentiment, wherever it came from, whoever wrote it, expresses what we all desire, not just as crazies, but as human beings - to be loved and accepted for exactly who we are, in any exact moment in time. Not just the good times, but those staying up all night crying times, and those needing to take extra pills times.

I know I personally worry that I exhaust people I love. I worry they are not stronger than my lingering depressions or braver than my nagging loneliness.

But guess what? That happens to be who I am. I am bipolar. That means I'm going to fight depression sometimes. And sometimes I am going to need help with that battle. I'm going to need to call in the troops who are stronger and braver than I feel and hope I don't exhaust them. It's a chance we must take.

Will we exhaust some people?
I hate to say it, but we will.

Will some people say:

They might...

But that doesn't mean we quit reaching out when we need it. That's where our bravery comes in. We need to be brave enough to say, "My strength is vanishing, I need some of yours to get by for a little while."

And there are people who can do that for us.
So don't you dare quit reaching out.
Don't you dare give up on yourself.
Don't you dare ever consider yourself beyond help or a lost cause.

Because you are magnificent and worthy of that complete all accepting love. But we have to reach out to receive it. In a perfect world it would always be automatically offered, but in the real world, our world, sometimes we have to ask. I know it's scary, but don't be afraid to ask. Give yourself the gift of support in the tough times.

And I promise you...you will never exhaust me.
Ever.
Scout's honor.
I love you too much.

Until next time...