The Bipolar Diva

I Lost The Bet, Or Did I?

noreply@blogger.com (The Bipolar Diva) — Mon, 27 Feb 2012 17:09:10 PST

It began as an incredible night. We'd had dinner with one of my favorite couples ever and afterward decided on a moments notice to stop in at cozy, little place for dessert.

While we were there the conversation came up about me sleeping with a pillow over my head with only my nose showing. Ya know, I can't breathe in already breathed air, that's just gross. So I leave a space for fresh, clean air to circulate about my nostrils.

Jeff said he bet if I posted it on Facebook and asked people what they did I'd be the only one that has that habit. (I wasn't sure whether to put "has," or "had," in that sentence, but my daughter with a degree from U of O assures me it should be has. I really don't know but I went with her suggestion).

So I posted the question while we were still in the car. Since I have a terrible time with short term memory loss I knew if I didn't post it then I'd forget.

So I posted it and here's what I got:

So obviously I AM a freak, with a couple of others, but I OVERWHELMINGLY lost!

When Jeff saw the answers he looked at me and said, "Now you have to pay up on the bet."

I looked at him and asked, "What did we bet?" See my short term memory loss kicking in.

"Come on, you remember what we bet!"

"No, what did we bet?" By this time I was in a cold sweat. I couldn't remember.

"Jeff, we didn't have a bet!"

"Yes, we did have a bet."

I looked at him in the eye and there it was. One of his eyebrows went up. It's a sure sign he's lying!

Almost in tears I yelled out, "It's NOT nice to screw with someone that has short term memory loss!"

Then he said, "Yeah, but you're still a freak!"

Because Mama Tink Said So

noreply@blogger.com (The Bipolar Diva) — Fri, 24 Feb 2012 12:56:28 PST

So Mama Tink tagged me and since I have absolutely no braincells of my own left after that dreadful algebra tests yesterday, and need inspiration, I shall accept. Plus and I love Mama Tink.

But seeing that I can't follow rules and have such a terrible time with choosing I'm going to change it up a bit.

I can't tag people, I just can't for some reason. I feel like I'm going to leave the one person out that has me in their will and all will go up in smoke. And because I don't tag people I can't come up with questions for them to answer so I will tackle Mama Tink's other requests.

Post eleven fun facts about yourself on the blog post. ELEVEN you say? Now this is going to be difficult.

I'm a staunch Reagan Republican but many, many of my friends are, well, are not. I think they're entitled to their view as I am, even if I'm Right. Ok, that was an attempt at humor, I guess it didn't go over too well.
I have 8 kids and none have the same birth father, yet they all have the same dad.
I have to watch myself when I go to a school conference or doctor appointment with one on my kids with fetal alcohol effects. I always end up saying something like "because of their fetal alcohol effects....." You should see the looks I get. Ha. I guess I should mention they're adopted and I'm not always a sot.
I'm kind of scared of one of my aunts and there's no way in hell I'm gonna say which one. I think that in itself is funny since I'm generally fearless.
I DON'T think I'm too old to wear feathers in my hair....so there, you, you, well you know who you are.
Not sure how fun this is, but I'm having a difficult time here, but I only wear one contact to read. I use my contact-less eye for distance. The only problem is that at night if I have my contact in I have no depth perception.
My service tech at Mercedes just told me, besides just needing service on my car, my power steering pump is failing. Funny thing is that when he told me the price to replace the pump I allowed him to live. I may change my mind in the next hour or so.
I can't wait to drive to Texas in May with my 22 yr old daughter. We'll be staying two nights in Vegas and I'm excited about spending general adult debauchery time with her. heehee.
When I was a kid I was bitten by a snake and am now terrified by them. Not fun, but true.
I think I've run out of facts about me.
Last one MOTORCYCLE AWARENESS!

Answer the questions the tagger set for you in their post.

What made you start blogging? When I first began to write it was to try to understand the world that was swirling around me in the days after my parents died and before bipolar was diagnosed. Now I write because i love it and because I'd like to help shatter the stigma of bipolar.
Have you ever been to a foreign country? Yeppers, and these days America feels more and more foreign to me.
What was your favorite book? Usually the one that was the closest that I could throw at a moments notice.
What dead celebrity would you like to meet and what would you talk about? Ronald Reagan and we'd talk about everything. And maybe Marilyn Monroe about what she did to piss off the Kennedy's.
What is your current favorite musical artist/group and why? Funny enough, Hugh Laurie. I got the CD for Christmas and I LOVE it, after that it's Kid Rock, Santana, Clapton........yada, yada, yada
What was your first job? I was a candy girl at Sears.......shiver
If you could live anywhere, where would that be? Santa Barbara, if it was in another state.
Who do you like better? Britney Spears or Christina Aquilara? That's like picking a Kardashian.
Do you have a fake or real Christmas tree? Usually a fresh tree but in an ambien induced, after Christmas, half price sale I bought a 7.5 foot tall white tree for next year.
What is your favorite current TV show? Sons Of Anarchy......I'm still pissed they canceled Brothers and Sisters.....oh and I love NCIS LA, but only because I really, really love LL Cool J.
What is one thing you would change about yourself? Nothing, I'll stay the same, flaws and all.

Legislating Morality

noreply@blogger.com (The Bipolar Diva) — Mon, 20 Feb 2012 19:17:33 PST

My indignant side came out the other day, Thursday to be exact. It wasn't pretty. As I've grown older I've learned to let things slide that I never would have before. Thursday was not one of those days.

The following incident struck me the wrong way (I was in a pissy mood anyway) and because one of my kids was involved, morality was involved and teaching my kid something that I feel should be left to the parents was involved, I went into overdrive.

I guess I should preface this with I CAN, and do, see both sides of the situation, I really can. The thing is, the school does NOT know more about my child than I do, I've been a stay at home mom for 24 years, I know my kids. I get really fired up when I feel the school is trying to take on my role as a parent.

That's one reason most of my kids were homeschooled for the majority of their education. When they did go back to school they went back as socially rounded, confident, honor students. They did amazingly well except for my mischief maker.....he knows who he is.....but he did go back with an outstanding grasp on his education, his social skills and his balanced outlook on the world. He just happened to be my kid that loved fun, pranks and making kids laugh, which meant he spent a fair amount of time the hallways. But as far as academics, he had them more than down.

My son that was "forced" into this objectionable, to me, program is an eighth grader. I approved most of the curriculum for his health class. Evidently I dropped the ball and didn't read the fine print before I crossed out what would and would not be acceptable for them to teach him in health, or in any other class.

The cause of my, now kind of kind of embarrassing unleashing, is a program called RealityWorks. That's where school kids are given a choice, complete a HUGE packet of work or take a RealityWorks, real life, simulated newborn home for the weekend. What kid is going to choose to do a HUGE packet of what they see as voluminous work over a baby doll?

Not so bad you say? I agree on most fronts, especially after seeing the doe eyed girls in the class claim "their" baby, naming them, and cuddling them like the dolls they are. I remember those days, the days thinking a baby would be the answer to everything. I also didn't have parents that dared mention such things. Nor did they explain how a baby would complicate my life. So maybe Realityworks would have been good for me, a child that had very little parenting and very little parental direction.

BUT ( see how big a "but" that was), as a VERY involved parent with my kids' morality and sex ed, it pissed me off that the VICE PRINCIPAL admitted to me that it was indeed a morality program. She got quite the earful from me. It's for me to indoctrinate my kids, haha, not them!

No one legislates morality to my children. They learn that from what goes on within the walls of our home and within the confines of our conversations. They learn from our mistakes and our triumphs. I don't appreciate the assumptions that are being made by the school.

I can see the doll as a tool used to educate about child abuse, I can see it used as a tool for teaching children that have no concept of the reality of a how a newborn changes lives permanently, kids that have uninvolved parents or at risk youth.

In this program kids are fitted with an electronic bracelet, they are given a bottle, two diapers with sensors and the creepy baby that always has it's eyes open AND following you.

What I have a problem with is the school system legislating morality to kids. That job belongs to the child's FAMILY.

Yes, I've had kids that have made mistakes, yes I've made mistakes. But when someone else steps in to take my place as a parent I get a little pissed off.

This has nothing to do with the lessons the simulated baby teaches the children, but it should be my choice, not the school's.

Also that damned baby cried ALL WEEKEND and, as we all know, I am SO over babies!

You know what my kid learned about the baby? He learned that new parents NEVER get a hot meal. Another thing he learned was how to prop the bottle up so he didn't have to feed the screaming plastic Nero, well, I guess we've all done that at one time or another.

Even though I can see the benefit, don't shove your morality, cloaked in "good intentions," on my kid....let me do that.

The Loss of Love

noreply@blogger.com (The Bipolar Diva) — Sun, 12 Feb 2012 21:19:21 PST

We've all had, and have, friends that we love, that we really connect with. Ones that are just incredibly special to us.

I lost one of mine last night. He was in a motorcycle accident on Tuesday. I haven't been able to get a hold of family yet but through our circle of friends I have heard a car ran a light and hit him.

They did surgery and amputated his leg. Evidently his injuries were too substantial and his ventilator was removed last night.

I'm in shock. I think I always will be. My heart is broken, shattered.

Jay and I were close, close friends and will always have a huge place in my heart for him that can never be filled.

Please people, please, watch for us out there. Don't be in such a hurry that you run lights and hit innocent bikers. Watch when you turn left. We watch, we're hyper vigilant, more than you know.

Jay we love you and always will.

The Stronger Force

noreply@blogger.com (The Bipolar Diva) — Thu, 09 Feb 2012 23:00:04 PST

The fog has lifted, the clouds have fled

And with them went the barrier that had prevented

The radiance of the sun from being impressed upon my soul

Its essence able to reach the innermost depressions of my being

While being anxiously absorbed by my parched and trampled spirit

Benefits of this new found energy are difficult for my mind to recognize

Instead it fears that the strangeness brought forth may instead singe my naked soul

Logic and heart will bond and the perfect balance Intended by the Creator will be experienced

One day surely the haze will come again but its grip quickly loosed by the brilliance of this radiance

And this light shall remain the stronger force.

BUSTED!

noreply@blogger.com (The Bipolar Diva) — Wed, 08 Feb 2012 00:23:23 PST

It was seeing the red ladder on top of the work truck that brought back the memory. It was a memory long ago filed away, but one never forgotten.

I was sleeping soundly one Sunday morning when my husband, Jeff, came and gently shook me.

"Teri, is there any reason there would be a ladder up to the boys' window? Is the window broken?"

I turned over and pulled the blankets over my head as I said, "One of the boys must have climbed down in the middle of the night. I don't want to deal with it now." With that I tried to go back to sleep, but my mom alert wouldn't allow me to do so.

I kept going over the facts in my head.

24 foot ladder out of the second story window
four boys sharing a room
narrowed down to two suspects
now I'm down to one
15 year old Taylor must have had a midnight excursion

I drew in what I hoped would be the breath that would propel me through what I knew was going to be one long ass day.

As my kids grew up there was one word that put the fear of God into them, "office." When they heard that lone word they knew they were toast. They were going to be in the office with one, or both, parents until they broke and it wasn't going to be pretty. They always thought since they grew up with so many kids there might be a slight chance that we could never be 100% sure which child actually did the deed, and sometimes they were right. But not that day. Taylor's fate was sealed. I just had to get the confession.

Taylor was a hard one. He was tough to break, but it could be done, after all I was the master at getting to most of the truths behind the lies of teenagers. Lies like, "oh, my hair smells like smoke because the people I was with were smoking."

"Oh yeah, give me your hand." I'd smell their fingers. If they smelled like smoke or smelled freshly cleaned they were B.U.S.T.E.D.

I pulled on my jeans and threw on a t shirt as I thought through my line of questions. I walked to the boys' room and said, "Taylor, office, NOW." I turned and walked through what Taylor would think was the hallway to hell.

When we got to the office I sat in the comfy swivel chair and Taylor sat in a hard wooden chair brought in by Jeff. All I needed was a bright light to shine in his eyes, a cigarette and a bag of rice for the, "are you lying or not," rice test.

Here's a little trick. Think the kid is lying? Tell them the answer is in the rice. Give them a spoon or two full of dry rice, but don't tell them what you're looking for. Just say it's an old lie detector test, one used for decades by detectives before lie detector machines were invented. If they're lying, or hiding something, their mouth will be so dry from nerves the rice will be dry too when they spit it into a bowl. Works every time.

But back to Taylor's tale of terror. I always start with having the kid in question raise their hand to swear to tell the truth. You see, the closer the fingers are together, the more likely they're trying to hide something. If their fingers are tight together AND bent over...you've got 'em. Taylor raised his hand. His fingers were tight together and barely off of his palm. The kid was going to be nailed.

We were in the room for hours. He had questions coming at him from all directions. I wasn't really sure where I would go with the questions until I heard a few lies first. The lies always lead to knowing what to ask next. I had the boy so confused he didn't know if he was coming or going.

He refused to break, he stuck to his story. The screen had broken on the window and they were trying to fix it before Jeff got home. The funny thing was that I was in the backyard that evening and there was no ladder up to the window. And why were they messing with the screen in the first place?

I continued to pelt him with questions and with each question I watched his body language. I watched as he swallowed, I watched as he squirmed. With each swallow I knew I was closer to the truth. With each squirm I knew he was closer to breaking.

But damn, after about two hours I was tired but there was no way in hell I was giving up. That's another little trick. As a parent you can't back down when you know there's a rat in the woodpile. It only makes it more difficult to get to the truth the next time.

I called for Jeff to bring me something to drink. Taylor got nothing, yes I'm the bad cop when it comes to the kids. Jeff likes to give them the benefit of the doubt. I, on the other hand, know the ropes. I know the lies, I know because I lived that sneaky teenage life.

During hour three I knew we were getting closer, did I mention no bathroom breaks for the offending child? The pressure was building in more ways than one. I was asking questions, pointing out inconsistencies and getting closer to the truth. Kid's mouth was getting dry, and I knew that nerves were making him want to pee. Everything was going my way, but damn it was taking F.O.R.E.V.E.R!

This kid was good. He was wearing me down, but I refused to retreat and he knew it. Just when I was about to give him a five minute break, after about 3 and 1/2 hours, he all of the sudden blurted out, "I did it! Lindsey picked me up at midnight and we went to a party on the hill. She made me walk the three miles home. I didn't get home until 4:30."

He was sobbing at that point. He explained there was drinking, partying and general teenage cahooting going on. Then I got the little nugget that the mom of the house was there and told the kids to "do what ever, just not wake her."

Great, just great. I was going to have the whole conversation again with a less than responsible parent, and possibly a cop or two.

Finally the questioning was over, the truth was out. I called all the parents involved and all the kids were busted. I let another irate parent question the irresponsible mom.

All this happened because a kid was too lazy to climb into the window, walk out of the back door, put the ladder away and go back into the house and get into bed.

Moral of the story.....finish what you start.

Freedom

noreply@blogger.com (The Bipolar Diva) — Sun, 05 Feb 2012 21:24:34 PST

When I think about it I guess we're all bound by something, but there are times I want to go back to the days before I was diagnosed with bipolar. I want to be free of the label. I want to just be me.

I want the carefree times of not having to count out meds, of not having to make it to psychiatrist appointments. I want the freedom to be what I thought was me, impulsive, daring, and outgoing.

Most of the time I felt I could conquer the world. I felt so good I knew if I had been younger I could have done back flips. I liked the adventure and the ever changing scenery of my life.

My psychiatrist would call those times "hypomania," and they came with a price. They came with the price of being chained to deep bouts of depression. They came with relationship problems. They came with bonds of the lure of self harm, of destruction.

Today, even though sometimes I wish I was in the days before the term bipolar entered my life, I realize I truly am free. I'm free of the bondage caused by the carefree times, the impulsive times, the throw caution to the wind times. I'm free of the depression that consumed me at times, that kept me in bed and away from the people I love.

I'm free to make my own decisions, not ones marred by an emotional roller coaster. I'm free to enjoy my life without damaging others or myself. I'm free in knowing my demons have a name and I'm free to conquer them.

Now I am free. Truly free.

It Better Not Steal Another Life!

noreply@blogger.com (The Bipolar Diva) — Mon, 30 Jan 2012 22:29:31 PST

I have a daughter, The Bipolar Princess, that's sick. She's really, really sick, life threatening sick.

Not only is she fighting worsening symptoms of bipolar, she got another MRSA infection. This one's not like the last ones. This one is consuming her body. Her immune system is gone from fighting the infection. Today she got the news from her doctor that she will probably need surgery to rid her body of the invasive infection. She sees the surgeon tomorrow.

The MRSA began on her thigh and now the doctors fear it's reached the bone. She's been on IV antibiotics as well as oral ones. Nothing's helping. It seems surgery is inevitable and in her weakened condition, both mentally and physically, it's very, very dangerous.

She called me in hysterics today after she got the news. There was nothing I could say, nothing I could do, but listen to her sobs. All I could do was listen and cry with the girl that will have another huge scar added to her collection of scars from dozens of surgeries.

I cried with the girl that's afraid, that's sick of being sick, that's trying to fight the curve balls thrown her way at each and every turn in the road. It's no wonder she feels like giving up.

Bipolar we can deal with. The possibility of losing her to a virulent staph infection scares the holy hell out of me. Losing my cousin to a staph infection several years ago only heightens my fear. This is serious folks, and this mama is scared.

My Three Girls

Ambien Hangover

noreply@blogger.com (The Bipolar Diva) — Mon, 23 Jan 2012 15:40:45 PST

Have you ever had one of those days when you couldn't get motivated and just wanted to go back to bed for a week or three? Well hello to today.

I ended up taking my meds way too late last night and feel like I'm dying here! Plus the new bed is so plush and comfy I just wanted to turn over, pull the covers over my head and take yet another ambien.That coupled with a new change in my medications is killing me today.

I'm sitting in Starbucks, as usual, reading blogs and I came across a new one called"Confessions From An Impulsive Addict." I loved her title so I had to check her out. She had a few questions on there and since my brain is in "no go" mode I thought I'd do them, like you don't already know everything about me. But, as I've said before, this is my blog and I can do what I want. So here goes. I'll see if I can even remotely entertain you. sigh, shrugs, and give me a little sympathy here.

How I named my blog.
Well, that's kind of obvious to everyone that knows me and, but I did do a post defending the "diva" part a couple of days ago. But if you don't know me, the title says it all. "Bipolar," and a tad, well a whole lot, spoiled, hence Diva.

What my least favorite exercise is.
That would be the exercise of putting my credit card back in my wallet. But if you're talking gym, that would have to be anything that requires me to use a piece of sweaty equipment.

What would my last meal be if I were on death row?
I really don't see the point in a last meal for those on death row. Plus I'd never make it to death row, John Walsh would never find me.

11 Random Questions

1. What's your most embarrassing moment?
I've yet to write about that, but I shall in a day or two. That is IF I can get the nerve up.

2. Why do you live in your current city?
We were transferred here by a rather unscrupulous company. It was the only time my husband has worked for someone other than himself in years and proved to be a great learning experience as well as a nightmare. As for living in the PNW from Texas, we were following work and wanted a new lease on life, a totally selfish and a not very well thought out, move on our part. Even though we adopted six great kids here, we destroyed many lives as well. But now that I have all these great kids I wouldn't change it.

3. Did you/Will you have sex on your wedding night?
That was 24 years ago, I don't think I can remember, plus it's a little foggy due to an abundance of champagne.

4. What is one household appliance you can't live without? the minions are about the only ones that know how to use the appliances in my house. I guess for me it would have to be my blow dryer and straightener.

5. It's your birthday dinner and you can order whatever you want. What is it?
anything that allows me to enjoy the carnivore in me, oh, and creme brulee

6. Have you ever enjoyed a Captain and Diet Coke?
Never have

7. I should give up ______but I just can't do it yet.
Buying shoes and lingerie. Won't happen, never will. Now that my 18 year old is out I'm thinking knocking out the wall between my closet and his room to make a brand new, huge closet!

8. Approximately how many pairs of shoes do you own?
probably over 100 or so, and I just got rid of a ton!

9. Have you ever sucked a toe?

All the time. I have grand kids and it makes them laugh. They laugh, I laugh.

10. Do you have a secret talent?
If I do it's a secret to me.

11. Are you really answering these silly questions?
Of course, they're getting me out of my funk, these and a few shots of espresso.

Ok now off to the mall in search of black matte nail polish and considering actually writing about my most embarrassing moment. I think it was "Two Chicks and Their Peeps," I told it too already?

Diva? Why Not Diva?

noreply@blogger.com (The Bipolar Diva) — Sun, 22 Jan 2012 19:49:54 PST

There's a girl I follow on Twitter that had a tweet come through that said, "you're NOT a Diva." So natch I had to read it. You know, with the paranoia that sometimes comes with bipolar, she HAD to be talking about me, right? After all, she does follow me too.

My, oh my. Girl is seriously pissed about people calling themselves "Diva." She states the word itself "annoys the shit," out of her and that she would love to "punch them in the throat," and "I sure as Hell won't take anyone seriously that calls themself a diva." Wow.

First of all "themself," is not a word. "Themselves," if you're wondering why I used that word in the last paragraph, is a word and is used when a compound subject has been used in the sentence to show that it refers to the same group.

Furthermore why is the mere word so annoying to someone? I guess it could be poor self esteem or envy maybe. Still can't figure that one out.

I kinda felt I had to defend myself, then I thought, "Would a Diva do that?" Hell no, she'd hire someone to do that. So I decided to pay a kid to transcribe this for me.

Fact is there are really a lot of reasons people may use that term. Mine is tongue and cheek. I mean, HELLO, I'm freaking CRAZY, how on earth could I be perfect? It's called an OXYMORON, ya know when you combine two contradictory terms? Kinda like "bipolar," and "Diva."

It's also a nickname I've had for years for trying to keep it together and look ok on the outside while I'm fighting this insidious disorder. Fact is I kind of act like it to cover for the insecurities in my life, over compensate I guess you can say.

I did write a post a while back comparing the two terms, "bipolar," and "Diva." I think it's pretty explanatory. Truth be told, the two terms do have a lot in common: grandiose ideas, spending, self absorption, etc. I think my psychiatrist would call those traits "psychosis."

I don't think a "real" Diva, whatever that is, would write a post basically telling the world what a failure she was. Yep, hand up. That was me.

Yes, I hide behind a lot of materialistic things, but I know why I hide. I hide because to look myself in the mirror and realize the hand I've been dealt, and passed on to my daughter, is a bit too much to handle most of the time.

But that's just it, I hide from myself. If you've read through my blog, even sporadically, you'll see I'm open and honest with the world about my short comings.

She has a right to her opinion, as we all do in this great nation of ours, but seriously, try to figure out if it's really just a play on words before condemning someone.

Now, I'm off to have a bubble bath drawn for me and my pinky toe nail re-painted because I chipped it when I was trying on Louboutins this afternoon.

And before bed I'll down my hand full of anti psychotics with nice glass of Cristal that has been delivered to me in a crystal glass on a silver platter by the white gloved minions.

It's All Going To Change

noreply@blogger.com (The Bipolar Diva) — Mon, 16 Jan 2012 21:40:20 PST

Nikki and Joshua


Joshua and Dad

Tomorrow's the day we've been waiting for forever. Joshua leaves for Job Corps. He's my kid with autism/aspergers and has been a challenge from day one.

He tries his best, but sometimes his disability gets the best of all of us. He's really excited to be leaving and beginning his new life.

He's never been away from home and I'm afraid he'll be scared and homesick and I'm worried about bullies. He's all gung ho and knows it's going to be hard, but he seems determined to make a go of it.

His area of study is Culinary Arts. If he does well in the program there, he'll be transferred to San Francisco to take advanced Culinary Arts for a year.

After that year Job corps will work with him for another year transitioning him into a job and into independent living. He'll also have the opportunity to have two years of college paid for.

The program is a God send, especially since he was found ineligible for our County Developmental Disability services for his autism. We're hoping he'll listen more to the counselors at the center than he does his parents.

Job Corps is an incredible opportunity for him. The first two weeks he will have a counselor that will work getting him acclimated to the program. The second two weeks he'll be in training 8 hours a day working on independent living skills, budgeting, paying bills, finding housing and making it on his own in the world. After that he plunges full force into his area of study.

Here's to Joshua, here's to us and here's to his new beginning!

"Just Missing Jack Nicholson"

noreply@blogger.com (The Bipolar Diva) — Sat, 14 Jan 2012 15:42:13 PST

That was the Facebook status update the other day from my daughter. Karli, A Bipolar Princess, entered an intensive all day (home at night) hospitalization this past week. She goes in at 8 AM and leaves about 3:30. It will last for several weeks. She's not being admitted because she's been deemed not to be harmful to herself or to others. She can go in on the weekends, but doesn't have to.

She's in several group therapy sessions, some private sessions and lots of medicinal juggling in the hope of finding the "magic" cocktail all of us suffering from bipolar search for.

I gather from a conversation with her that she's doing lots of self preservation and keeping her distance from others.

She made a rather strange comment. She said that being in there makes her grateful for how "crazy" she's not. Evidently there's lots of head banging and a woman living in a world of grandeur. She's in a full length, gold sequined, ball gown with perfect hair and way too much make up.

Karli met with the on staff psychiatrist that told her since she was "used to living with hallucinations," they would only address her PTSD and help her grieving process over Isaiah's death.

Come on! Who in the hell would be "used to living with hallucinations?" Who would want to continue having them in their life. That's the main reason she went there in the first place.

The hallucinations are always present and terrifying. I can't imagine, since my bipolar isn't at the level as hers is, having to live watching frogs and spiders hop and climb on everything all of the time.

Her hallucinations have increased to auditory ones. She said she Jakob was sitting on the couch with her the other day with her having a normal conversation when she realized that he had been in school for several hours.

I hate this for her, I hate it for her kids and I hate it for her husband. Mostly though I feel guilty for passing on something to my child that has put her in a terrible position. I feel badly for being frustrated with her because of a situation she can't has no control over.

My only hope is that the hospital and the intensive therapy will give her some relief and that she'll find the path to recovery.

Not So Cool Anymore

noreply@blogger.com (The Bipolar Diva) — Fri, 06 Jan 2012 16:00:00 PST

The adventures of a wandering son. Here's the first part.

Cole called me today. "Mom, how do I get an epi-pen?"

Oh this was not going to be a good conversation. We found out Cole was severely allergic to bees when he was in first grade. The school had called. He had been stung by a honey bee and his face had begun to swell. By the time I got to the school, which was across the street, he was going into shock. We raced him to the doctor's office and they whisked him away. I wasn't aware of it at the time, but my son was dying. His system was shutting down from the allergic reaction. He hasn't been without his trusted epi-pen since. If he gets stung again he removes the stopper from the vial and jabs the pen on to his thigh. The pressure releases the needle and epinephrine is released into his system giving us enough time to get him to a hospital.

"Cole, you have to have a prescription for one. You need to go the doctor and ask for one before you go."

He informed me that he thought that was stupid and that he had an old one he could take. I'm imagining this fast-food encased, gunk covered, shattered epi-pen. Ok so now I'm going to get hives.

"Oh, and by the way, our plans have changed."

Stay calm, I tried to remind myself. Oh this isn't sounding good. My mom instincts are telling me to sit down and hold on to something, anything, it's gonna be a bumpy phone call.

"We're hitchhiking to Vegas instead!"

I was right, it's gonna get worse before it gets better. Seems Smart Boy and his sidekick, Brilliant Kid, are leaving tomorrow. Hitchhiking to Vegas. Through the desert, Death Valley to be exact. My suburban raised son and his friend in the desert with desert creatures like rattlesnakes and scorpions scares more than just a little bit. This is a kid that stole acorns from a wild squirrel, and was attacked by one pissed off nut-less animal.

Then he tells me the best part. When they leave Vegas, they're going to go "up through Arizona.” Just like that train he thought was going to California he had once jumped that was actually gong to Montana. Oh Good God! I think I did a pretty good job at remaining calm, partly because I couldn't speak and partly because he's going to do it anyway. This way, he'll call me when, if, there's a problem. He did agree to call me at every major town and then he left me with the spine-chilling phrase "that way you can call the police if we don't call when we should.” Great thing to tell a mom, especially one that fights anxiety under the best of circumstances.

On one hand, I am excited for him. It'll be an incredible once-in-a-lifetime experience. On the other hand I have this feeling that I'll see him on a new Las Vegas episode of "COPS,” and I guess that would be a good thing compared to all the other dreadful things a mom's mind can conjure up.

He said he'll be gone for about 4 weeks. I hope I can last that long, and I hope he takes a camera.

And He's On His Way

noreply@blogger.com (The Bipolar Diva) — Thu, 05 Jan 2012 16:47:48 PST

No, that's not his hair. It's his coon-skin cap. Appropriate I think.

I wrote this in 2008 when my son informed me of an adventure he had decided to take. Watching him with his baby now I realize just how far he's come in the last 3 and 1/2 years.

JUNE 2008

My oldest son, Cole, has been out of the house for a few years and is trying to become his own, uh, well ya know, grown up person I guess.

Cole's 6'3”, handsome, charming, has great personality, is so funny and well, he's a 23 year old of the male persuasion. Cole was born an adventurer, an absolute incredible baby and he was so much fun to raise. Fun and exploration were on the top of Cole's list the entire time he was growing up. There are entries and entries that could be written about the experience of raising such a child. Jumping from, and climbing buildings in down town Portland, fires, running away and sleeping under a bridge downtown with 5 friends with only one blanket, as well as being terrorized by “little people,” that’s a story in itself. He is covered with scars from fights or being pushed through windows, and he decided to explore the bomb shelters hidden in the dark maze of the old Clackamas High School. So there's Cole in a few words.

Anyway the child that inherited my sense of adventure was not blessed with common sense, he has my impulsivity. Just one tiny example: when you run away from home and want to go to California, don't hop on an eastbound railroad car, Montana's not far off when you don't know shit about directions!

So Cole came to see me today. He had that "mom I have something that's really gonna freak you out smile.” Now that I think of it, it's a lot like his " I want something" smile. Anyway, here's the plan. He's leaving Wednesday with his friend. They're going to hitchhike to California, part of the way they'll be in a canoe and part on a "homemade Huck Finn" raft. I'm just looked at him, what could I say? He's been talking about this for years. He and his friend are so excited. They're taking a small amount of money, they want to "live off of the land,” I think it’s more that they’re totally broke. I have a feeling by the second day they'll resort to road kill over an open fire for dinner. They're going to camp along who knows where. The first question I asked was if they'll have a camera. I know them, it will be an adventure, if they don't get killed or accidentally kill each other before they get back. He's 23, I can't stop him and I don't think I want to. He needs to follow his adventurous heart while he's young and can. Oh I'll be freaked out until I hear from him, but I have a feeling they'll come though this just fine. I hope it's more than wishful thinking.

The Bipolar Diva: Constraints

noreply@blogger.com (The Bipolar Diva) — Wed, 04 Jan 2012 19:25:51 PST

The Bipolar Diva: Constraints: Somewhere between consciousness and the darkest shadows of sleep lies a parallel universe where dreams and reality are melded into one. It i...

Constraints

noreply@blogger.com (The Bipolar Diva) — Tue, 03 Jan 2012 22:46:11 PST

Somewhere between consciousness and the darkest shadows of sleep lies a parallel universe where dreams and reality are melded into one. It is a place where we are not bound by earthly constraints and our innermost fears and desires are lived out in the most amazing detail. We, as well as those that came before us and those who come after us, are free to enter and leave as we wish.

It is to that altered existence I find myself increasingly drawn. In that ethereal plane most responsibilities and difficulties of life are released and I am free to discover inner most truths and to follow the whims of my heart. These are times I have grown to treasure and my visits to this reality occur with greater frequency.

Judgment is not passed and assorted relationships can be explored without fear of discovery or retribution. It is during these precious few hours that those connections that have been severed can once again be enjoyed. And those that have yet to form are brought to fruition.

After hours of indulgence I find myself reluctantly being pulled back to the bonds of this terrestrial plane. I am left with only vivid memories and cannot help but wonder about the authenticity of these times and if I alone participated.

A Dose Of Testosterone

noreply@blogger.com (The Bipolar Diva) — Mon, 02 Jan 2012 22:44:36 PST

It takes a lot to shock me, a mean, ya know, after raising a ton of kids, dealing with all kinds of people in business, and just basically everything that's happened in my life in the last 49 years has me pretty well prepared to handle most anything.

I say most because tonight I saw something that actually made me scream from sheer shock. It was like coming face to face with a chupacabra.

My son has graciously allowed me to post this tonight. I think he took some sort of sadistic delight in hearing my shriek.

We began having said son tested this past year for what began as a low thyroid condition, which led to testing for a brain tumor, that then led to testing for Cushing's disease. I know what you're thinking. "What in the hell is wrong with her family? They ALL have some weird thing going on." Am I right? Of course I'm right.

While testing for all of the above conditions the endocrinologist decided to run a genetic test on a hunch. And it paid off. My son has a condition called Klinefelter's Syndrome. She hit pay dirt. My son has this syndrome which means instead of having the normal XY chromosomes, he has an extra X. So he's XXY. It actually explains a lot of what's been going on with him.

Having the extra X means his body doesn't produce enough testosterone on it's own. He'll be 21 in May and was shaving maybe once every month or two, he still has eight baby teeth, and the list goes on.

He's been on the treatment for about six months now. The treatment consists of applying a testosterone gel to his shoulders and chest every day for the rest of his life. I asked him if he noticed any difference besides his facial hair growing in thicker and at a much faster pace. He said, "As a matter of fact yes. I'm growing a little hair on my arms."

"You mean under your arms?"

"No Mom, I mean ON my arms."

"Let me see."

"Ok," he said as he smirked and pulled up the sleeve of his shirt.

I'll let you be the judge of whether my gasps of horror were justified or not. Here's a pic of my smiling, handsome son. Click the pic to see what scared the holy shit out of me.

Delusions, Hallucinations and Beautiful Minds

noreply@blogger.com (The Bipolar Diva) — Wed, 28 Dec 2011 21:14:31 PST

My daughter's condition has weighed heavily on me today. Maybe it's the reason I've taken so much valium today. I usually only take it at night to help with sleep, but I'm on my fourth for the day.

My husband and I decided, on a friend's advice, to watch "A Beautiful Mind," again. Wow. I see my daughter with her hallucinations and realized that she very well may have to live with them. In John Nash's fear I saw her fear. In his reality I saw her reality. Her hallucinations may have to become part of her "normal."

I hope not, but if so, I hope she can deal with them the way John Nash learned to over time.

I don't know what else to say tonight. I'm drained. I have a headache and I need another valium.

I'll try harder tomorrow. Good night all.

It Started With A Text

noreply@blogger.com (The Bipolar Diva) — Thu, 09 Feb 2012 23:13:53 PST

For years on Christmas Eve all of my kids, with their kids and spouses, have gathered at my house for a night of gift exchanges, games, food, and laughter. While I was in the midst of last minute preparations for this year's party the kids began to arrive. I had no idea how drastically the night would change, or how fast.

The Bipolar Princess was the first to arrive with her family in tow. She looked good, the kids and her husband were happy and I took in a long, deep breath of relief in light of how difficult the past week had been with her spiraling behavior.

While we were sitting around the living room talking I got a text that read:

"I feel like I'm losing my mind mom. All I can focus on are the frogs jumping all over everyone. I'm not going to let it ruin my night though. I'm just praying."

Things quickly spiraled out of control. The frogs became too much for her, the disassociation too great. She jumped at every sound, she heard ghostly voices calling her name. Tears begin to fill her eyes before spilling over her lashes and rolling down her beautiful face giving away her torment.

It was time to get her out of the chaos of children, laughter and frogs. Back in the familiar comfort of my bedroom she told her father she only wanted the pain and confusion to end. She wanted out of life and the hell that she had been thrust into by no fault of her own.

An emergency call was made to her doctor. She talked about checking herself into the hospital. We were resolved to keep her home and stand watch twenty four hours a day until the psychotic break eased if that was what was needed.

The doctor called back quickly. He called her pharmacy and ordered a massive dose of an anti psychotic and increased her mood stabilizer. I went through my pharmaceutical collection in search of something to calm her, to sedate her and to take away the suicidal thoughts, until someone could get to the pharmacy. I had a strong sedative that she had been on before. I filled a glass with cold water and handed it to her along with the mind quietening drug.

We waited until she calmed. We told her she couldn't leave us. We told her we needed her. We tried to change her thinking.

Trying to change the thought pattern of someone having a bout of psychosis it difficult at best, but we tried. Gradually it seemed to work.

After the medication began it's magic she was able to re-join the family for a bit. We finished the night early so her husband could get to the pharmacy to retrieve the medication called in by the doctor.

About an hour after she left I received another text that read:

"Just so you are aware, I made my husband let me go to the pharmacy alone to get my meds with the intention of buying a knife to end my life. I kept seeing the kids and hearing their laughs. I couldn't do it. NO way would I intentionally take my kids' mom from them. They NEED a mom. Anyway, I'm going to make a contract with you, my husband and my sister. I want everyone to know when someone needs to come pick up the kids. There are behavioral changes I have that need to be addressed immedieately, etc. I'm going to wait until after Christmas but it's something I feel needs to be done. Thank you so much for your support tonight. I love you. I'm so sorry for ruining the night and making it all about me."

Then another text:

"I'm feeling a lot better now, suicidal wise at least. I could NEVER EVER take the kids' mom away. It would ruin their lives. But that doesn't mean that those thoughts aren't frequent and intrusive."

I spoke with her several times today. She has a contract made for her closest family members to sign, so we know the signs to watch for that mean a break is imminent, so we'll support her and so we'll be able to get her help.

Hopefully it will never come to that. Her new psychiatrist is one of the best in the area and is diligently working to identify the correct cocktail to stabilize her.

She's signed releases with him so he can talk to us if an emergency arises. She's making progress. She'll slip from time to time, as we all do in so many areas of our lives, but she's on the right track. This Christmas the greatest gift received was the awareness she gained during some of the darkest days of her life.

Guilty As Charged. I Wish I Could Take It Back.

noreply@blogger.com (The Bipolar Diva) — Fri, 23 Dec 2011 22:27:40 PST

You all know of my disorder......if you don't try reading the title of my blog, it'll give you a clue.
I have eight children. Six of which are adopted, two I gave birth to.

Bipolar is genetic. Two of my kids are predisposed to the disorder. When I was first diagnosed I wondered where it came from. I mean, my parents seemed normal enough. Then I remembered my father's alcoholism and his drug seeking behavior. Hmmm, could he have been self medicating?

His mother was a total lunatic. Sorry, there's no other word to describe her. She was a mean spirited, awful woman. She also had this deep seated paranoia.

Then, after re-connecting with my dad's sisters, stories of bipolar came out. I have cousins with it, cousins I've never met because my grandmother farmed all of her kids out except for my father. I wish she had farmed him out too. He would have had a much better life. But that's another story.

What I really wanted to write about was my daughter, Karli, and her struggle with Bipolar I. I have Bipolar II. It's not as severe as Bipolar I. I have no hallucinations, no psychotic breaks, but she does.

I know I'm not to blame, but I can't help but feel terribly guilty of the defective gene I've passed on to my princess.

She wrote a post of her hallucinations tonight, a very brave move on her part. I'd like to ask you to read it, to try to understand the terror she lives with and maybe encourage her.

Her blog is called "A Bipolar Princess." She's a wonderful, loving girl and I'm lucky she's mine. I just feel terrible I'm the one that's made her suffer.

The Ambien Virgin Meets The Swinging Elf

noreply@blogger.com (The Bipolar Diva) — Thu, 22 Dec 2011 08:45:41 PST

In a palace far, far away in a village called Happy Valley, go figure, in a time long, long ago there lived this Ambien Virgin, I know, hard to believe these days right? Everyone that hasn't taken ambien please raise your hands....see no hands. I win.

This is going somewhere but first I have to make a side note: I was reading this new blog I found, or found me, well, somehow in bloggy land we connected and, well, I can't explain it, you're just going to go check it out for yourselves. It's called SSS Porch Party, and I so want to be a part of these people!

Anyway a post there reminded me of this yet unnamed, but totally known, Ambien Virgin. It had been a bad night. I'd like to say it was a dark and stormy night, and it was, only not with the weather. See, the Ambien Virgin and her King were arguing.

Not just "I'm gonna sleep on my side of the palacial bed with massive down pillows separating us," kind of argument. It was more like "I'm sleeping in the other chamber with the Bipolar Princess," type of argument.

This was after the Bipolar Princess had lost her youngest prince, the Ambien Virgin's grandson, to a horrible disease. The Bipolar Princess was staying in the palace trying to regain her sense of self and right her terribly wronged world.

The Bipolar Princess listened from her chamber. She heard slamming doors and loud voices. The Bipolar Princess had been through this drill before. She rolled her eyes, turned over and tried to sleep.

During the argument, and the huffing and puffing that ensued, the Ambien Virgin took a couple of ambien. Only one had been prescribed, but see, this Ambien Virgin sometimes plays fast and loose with the rules, kinda like Craps only with pills instead of dice. Then she stomped off to the chamber of the Bipolar Princess.

At this point in the story there are only flashes of memory of conversation with the Bipolar Princess. The Ambien Virgin was seeing things, specifically she was seeing an elf. Not just any elf, but an elf that lived in the wall and was swinging on the limb of a tree that was growing in the wall. Oh yes, bring on the ambien hallucinations.

The Ambien Virgin kept trying to get the Bipolar Princess to look at the elf, see the Ambien Virgin was amazed by the elf that lived in the wall. She wondered why, after all the years she had lived in the palace, she'd never before noticed the swinging elf.

The Bipolar Princess wanted nothing to do with the elf, but seemed annoyed with the Ambien Virgin's requests to look at the little swinging guy.

Finally out of a desperate need for sleep and a desperate need for the Ambien Virgin to close her mouth and go to sleep, the Bipolar Princess said, "Mom, he's always there. He comes out at night. Now SHUT UP about the damned elf and go to sleep!"

For some reason those words worked, and the Ambien Virgin didn't even scold the very naughty Bipolar Princess for swearing in her presence. The Ambien Virgin turned over, covered her head with a pillow....the elf might try to get her after all, and fell into a deep slumber.

The elf never re-appeared, although his presence is always felt.

A Pile Of.....

noreply@blogger.com (The Bipolar Diva) — Tue, 20 Dec 2011 12:58:34 PST

I've been in trouble a lot lately, which is nothing new....remember the Ambien misadventure? That was just one misadventure in a long line of misadventures. Oh well, I'm me and that's just the way it goes. I'm damn near 50; it's not likely my personality is going to change 180 degrees any time soon.

But today I made another realization, something my husband has been trying to get me to realize for years now. He does this by leaving a three and a half pile of shoes in front of the bedroom door so I have to step over them or trip on them and break my neck. I guess I could move them, but I have mentioned I'm stubborn too?

I have this really bad habit. Yeah, I know, who would have thought right? Well I have this habit of taking my shoes off when I come in the house. I don't know why. I'm certainly not trying to protect my carpet, it looks like I've raised a freaking cattle farm in my living room, and in a way I guess I have. It's probably just the Texas girl in me and I can't stand shoes on my feet any longer than need be. The problem is that I leave them where ever they happen to come off.

Every morning I search the entire upstairs for the shoes I knew I left in my bedroom. HA! I never leave my shoes in my bedroom. And my closet, well forget that. I have a PILE of shoes that I frantically search through every damn day. I pick up and throw shoe after shoe only to realize the ones I want aren't there.

This morning on my daily hunt I realized just how bad my habit was. So you know what I'm going to do? I'm going to show you. So ready or not here we go and remember, just remember, this is on a good day.

Just one. That's odd.

Oh, there's the other one in a pile of some more.

Love these.

Not sure why I didn't put these back in the box?

Rainboots, this is Oregon, remember?


Gross, wear everywhere sandals

But on my way out of the house this morning after looking for the shoes I wanted:


Finally found them under a table and a chair in the living room.

Anyway after I found them I was out of the door in a whirlwind to make my doctor appointment and I saw this:

None of these are mine.

Neither are these.

These were all in the entry way. I guess the difference is that I leave mine ALL OVER THE HOUSE.
PLEASE tell me I'm not alone!

Lingerie And Trees

noreply@blogger.com (The Bipolar Diva) — Tue, 20 Dec 2011 20:14:36 PST

The very first thing I do when I wake up is reach under the pillow and grab the remote to turn on the news. Yes, it's under my pillow I'm that obsessed.

The next thing I do is check my phone for texts, emails and Facebook, once again I'm that obsessed.
The worst mornings, the ones that give me that queasy, OMG, feelings are those that have a crap load of emails in my main account.

I open the mail app with one eye closed as if I'm opening a letter from the IRS, yes, I've done that too. I'll go on record here on my blog and in full public view saying I think the IRS are nothing but glorified mob men out to break your legs, even if your bill is only $16.08, but that's another post.

Back to the flood of email in my main account. Usually that means ambien shopping, and boy I seemed to ambien shop last night.

The first one I looked at I seem to have flashes of memory of. It's a 7 1/2 ft white Christmas tree with thousands of white lights. I saw one the other night and thought it was really pretty. I guess I thought it was REALLY pretty 'cuz one is gonna show up at my door in a few days. That'll be in storage for the next year.

Then there was one from Bare Necessities. Evidently there was some Aubade lingerie I couldn't live without, I mean, who could, right? I can always send that back, maybe.

Everything else seemed to be presents for the kids, that's ok. Oh I hope I didn't pay any $99 overnight shipping fees. I was too afraid to read the emails all the way through. I did, however, click them all as read so I didn't have to stare all day at my iPhone seeing 37 new emails waiting for me.

Speaking of getting things in the mail, you have to go read throughbrowneyes latest post. She always make me laugh. I LOVE the way she writes. When I first met her I would have never guessed she would be so funny. I don't mean that in a judgmental type way, it's just that she presents herself as a cultured, athletic and all around great type of person. Thinking about it though, why wouldn't she write great? Greatness seems to follow her. Check her out. There's something mentioned in her blog I need, only for the bathrooms and my closet though. Well, come to think of it, I need it for the entire house. If you stop by tell I said hey.

Once again, back to my midnight shopping. From now on I'll turn off the computer, turn out the lights, put a pillow over my head and dream of one day waking up with no more ambien shopping notices.

All Too Real

noreply@blogger.com (The Bipolar Diva) — Fri, 16 Dec 2011 02:00:03 PST

It's like nothing I've experienced before

oh I've experienced fear

it's knocked on my door from time to time

fear of losing the house

fear of being manic

fear of the possibility of two of my grandchildren dying

fear knowing I would watch another one perish

fear of my children being affected by my defective gene

fear of being me, living in my skin, living in my world

however I've never experienced fear like this before

it's all encompassing, enveloping yet elusive

I know it's real

I know it has a face

I know it has a name but I'm not sure how

I feel it
I smell it
I sense it in my heart
it's beyond my grasp, but it's seared into my soul

its dark heaviness surrounds me
it's consuming me
taking my air
stealing my existence

I wait knowing any day could be the day

any moment, the moment

it has an all knowing smile, a twinkle in its eye

it has me in it's grips, its talons piercing my flesh

It's become my reality
my world

I sit, I wait

and I know there's nothing I can do

Yes, He's Real

noreply@blogger.com (The Bipolar Diva) — Mon, 12 Dec 2011 20:47:54 PST

After my last post I received a ton of emails saying that they didn't know I even had a husband. Well, I haven't written about him on this blog for a couple of reasons.

One is that for the last several years things haven't been that great. We were both walking the fence during our daily lives as partners and in our marriage. We've both made mistakes, but in our time away from family, kids, business and every other chaotic aspect of our lives we do great.

The other reason I haven't written about him much is for his privacy and the fact that I didn't want anything I might have written taken out of context by anyone (as it has been far too often) and having more hot coals heaped upon our heads than we already have.

We have enough going on without the whispers and gossip of others that don't know the full story. If there is any couple out there that hasn't had problems I'd be really surprised. If there's any couple out there that thinks only one partner has been wrong, they're delusional. People have tended to read things into what I write without knowledge of the full situation. To those people I'd say, judge not lest ye be judged and let him without sin cast the first stone. Point being, none of us is perfect. We've all made mistakes. My husband and I are still here, we're still one. We love each other despite the flaws.

I've put together a slideshow to show you all that my husband, and my marriage, is indeed real. He's not an imaginary guy, but a real, live, breathing, tattooed (go figure), Harley riding, wife loving, Texan.

So here we are, and here we'll stay.