December 30, 2017

Alright. So, I finally made an extra email for an extra Instagram account. With that said, I may also still make a Twitter from the extra email account.

I joke on here about my mania side wanting to be famous for my writing, but I feel the need to emphasize that’s not the purpose of all these accounts. I don’t keep daily written journals by my beside and inconsistent blog posts when I’m overwhelmed, and hundreds of iPhone notes, and pictures saved from Snapchat with captions of the places and feelings that went with them at the time just because I want someone to like it. I keep everything documented in all forms and compartments of my life because I know without writing it down, I will probably (98% sure I will) forget it. Depression consumes a majority of my days, and even when I’m me I still have a poor memory. Blame it on lifelong bipolar or antipsychotics or anxiety or whatever you’d like. Regardless, I have a poor memory, and I hate that quality about myself.

I love rereading journals from college and on (I threw away all journals from middle-high school, though I desperately wish I didn’t). Every little day or crush that I thought I would remember forever has to be jogged back, but it’s a welcome thought to review all my previous stresses or obsessions or frustrations with a different mind. It’s comforting to know those experiences weren’t lost or forgotten. That each little day mattered.

And I love getting the words out of my mind. Thoughts that won’t leave me alone do so once I put them in words on a page or screen.

So, I now have just one hardcopy journal that sits on my nightstand. I have one blog that I try to be completely honest on, and in extreme situations have made those extra honest posts into private status because they’re just kind of too awful for another human to read. I have two Instagram accounts, but only one of which I actually post about my bipolar and bisexuality and general tendency to be a complete asshole; on the other, I try and convince the world I am a high functioning heterosexual adult foodie without any sexual partners or self-destructive tendencies…

Maybe I’ll get a Twitter, or maybe I’ll put all extra effort into the Instagram to make sure all little iPhone note posts or blog entries get transferred directly to that account.

I think the most exciting thing about the extra Instagram account is that it’s public and honest. I can talk about anything on there and anyone can read or like or follow me and it’s all just out there. It reminds me of being a nude model in college and that surrender of control and worry about other’s opinions or judgements. I would undress, keep my eyes open, and settle into a position for 3 solid hours. That job taught me to let go of my physical insecurities and be vulnerable. Sometimes, the vulnerability scares me more than the fear of failure.

 

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December 18, 2017

I went to the DBSA group therapy meeting tonight for the first time. I plan to go again when it starts back up in January.

Therapy like this is important and incredible to be apart of, just as it’s a solid reminder to be compliment with treatment. You need support with any major illness, mental disorder, mood disorder, loss, abuse, etc. You need counseling, you may need medication, and with some of those situations; you may be willingly seeking the treatment. I write about the things I have had or currently experience because those are the subjects I know. As much as it’s right for my family to know I have bipolar and panic disorder, it’s more important for my actual support system to be made up of friends, counselors, or therapy friends who can relate and understand what I am going through. Pity, worry, or disappointment aren’t emotions that help me correct my depression/hypomania because those emotions don’t make any difference. Correction, they make me feel ashamed of something I can’t help.

Just today, I locked in a January appointment with my psychiatrist to discuss medication and get a new prescription. Tonight, I attended the community DBSA group therapy at the hospital. Tomorrow, I plan to call back about setting up a counseling appointment with one of the local psychologists. I’m back on medication with the intention of long term use. Granted, right now I’m feeling good. This is all a different story when I am depressed or eventually get tired of taking such calculated care of myself. (I feel like I’ve talked in other posts about how strict my weekly exercise schedule and gain-weight-diet-plan is.)

So, I’m nervous that someday in the future I will be non-compliant with treatment again. I’m also nervous walking into the spring semester because some of my most severe depressions have started around January. But, I have to emphasize on here and mostly to myself just how drastically different I am today compared to one year ago. At this point, I have so much hope and confidence back in myself. I feel strong and at ease with the diagnosis, which is a feeling I never thought I would get to. For the longest time, I was still making up speeches in my head how I would propose to my psychiatrist that I was wrong about the symptoms I’d described and that I was actually probably just depressed not bipolar, so could he just give me a new diagnosis so I wouldn’t have to carry this one with me forever?… It’s taken so long to get to this point of acceptance, and I have to remember how important that is.

December 17, 2017

My world seems so much wider after I come out with a huge truth.

Going home for the holidays this time last year was painful and confusing because I was going through a breakup and coping with a recent bipolar diagnosis. I lashed out at everyone and silent cried at night almost half the time I was there.

Weird family dynamics I’d rather not explain make it impossible for me to cry or show any great emotion in front of my parents. I hid the breakup, the diagnosis (which was the worst to hide), and oh, the ongoing questioning of my sexuality. It was just a lot to keep inside, and I hadn’t had a good moment to debrief with Liz.

I feel so much relief thinking about going home this year to a family that knows and has had time to process it. I know I’m not going to get a bunch of questions about it or any dramatic emotional breakdowns from my mother about all her failures contributing to my mental illness, or anything.

There’s still the sexuality I eventually need to come out with, and man is that a heavy secret. And I’m still not solidly stable, but I’m comfortable and proud of my current treatment plan. I’m thankful I told my family about the bipolar and panic disorder and they took it on well.

Also, I’m back on meds as of December 9th 🙂

November 29, 2017

Monday – Ran 3 miles with the group

Tuesday – Accomplished nothing, anxiety attack then guilt for the rest of the night

Wednesday – Finished 1/2 of grocery shopping, went to the fancy yoga class

Tomorrow I need to finish the last 1/2 of my grocery shopping and go running again with the group (3-4 miles). Friday is cooking/baking/cleaning night.

Was supposed to drive down and spend the weekend with Nicole, but Liz texted and asked if she could come up and spend the weekend to talk and get away from her life for a bit. I’m regretting the relationship with Nicole and happy for an excuse not to go down. Regardless; Liz comes first, always.

 

November 24, 2017

I had a lot of crazy dreams last night (rich food always throws it off). One of those dreams I was walking across a long, windy, skyscraper-like bridge behind a long line of women. We were all wearing the same uniform and my general feeling was unease and worry with what would happen to us when we reached the other end. Very suddenly, the woman in front of me turned around and held onto my shoulders and I felt a wave of love and belonging and strength. Her face morphed into my own face, like a mirror (my dreams always morph), and she/I said to my point-of-view, “You are ready to have sex again.” The words were so shocking to me they actually woke me up completely. LOL.

I think I’ve been kind of waiting for a sign or a feeling from inside that I was ready to go back to sex from this year long break. That dream felt so real and so much like permission, like my heart telling my mind, “I trust you again.”

The dream was serious, but with it waking me up so suddenly, I was laughing at the weirdness of it. Honestly though, sex is both meaningful and irrelevant all at once. Like, I don’t care how many people I sleep with, or which gender I’m sleeping with. I don’t care if my sex preferences are kinky or how my body looks when I’m performing them. I don’t think sex with one person, your partner, or multiple, non-monogamous partners should mean anything strange. Sex can be so physical and so pleasurable without reading too much into what it says about you or what it means that you sleep with so many people, or sleep with a same-sex partner, or sleep with a different person each night, etc.

And then there’s that point where sex loses it’s meaning completely. I hit that point slowly, dully. Sex became less pleasurable. I began to use it to fill a void so I slept with dozens of people, multiples per week. I stopped being adventurous in bed, so much more insecure. I began to only sleep with men because the sex was faster and there was no cuddling afterwards. My final sexual partner was a fwb, who I’d invite over late at night by leaving my front door unlocked and falling asleep naked. He would come in, we’d have sex with me mostly motionless or feigning to be too tired to move, then he’d get dressed and leave. To no ones surprise, he eventually stopped texting back. The last time he came over was on December 9, 2016.

On December 8, 2016, I was unofficially diagnosed with Bipolar 1 with anxious tendencies by a local counselor. And on December 12, 2016, I was officially diagnosed with Bipolar 2 and Panic Disorder by my first psychiatrist.

I’ve mentioned it before, but this year has been a whirlwind and a much needed break from where I was on December 9, 2016. I haven’t figured everything out, but I’m much healthier and have much better coping mechanisms in place than I did then. Having Nicole has been enjoyable, but I don’t think having a monogamous partner means I’m anymore healed than I would feel now if I was still casually dating. Still, it feels good to walk back to sex (semi nervous and still a little insecure) healthy and proud of myself. I am excited to get back to that point where again where sex is a fun activity, not a product of my mania or depression.