Go To My Older Posts To Read My Whole Essay: How To Be Bipolar 1-7.
Please leave a comment on my essay on 1-7, to let me know you've been here. If you put it on my prequel, I have to keep deleting it because as new posts are submitted by me, I have to move the prequel up to the top of page. Please let me know how you found my blog, as I have gone on several bipolar sites, asking everyone to read it. Also,let me know if you suffer from this disease as well. I want to reach as many people as possible.
Let's take the stigma away!!
Thursday, June 12, 2008
Friday, May 23, 2008
Photos
My Cats Tigger and Sugar, and my friend's cat Jasmine. She's Tigger's sister. She comes by to play with him.
Photo of apex of pyramid building on Cal Poly Tech's campus. The Sun is lining up with the point.
Photo of me at age 25. I was dancing in Vegas, and decided to try CA. Been stuck out here ever since!
Photo of apex of pyramid building on Cal Poly Tech's campus. The Sun is lining up with the point.
Photo of me at age 25. I was dancing in Vegas, and decided to try CA. Been stuck out here ever since!
hi forrest~
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| tigger |
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| sugar |
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| jasmine is tigger's sister. she lives downstairs and tigger takes elevator down to see her |
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| apex of the building |
.jpg)
Wednesday, May 7, 2008
How To Be Bipolar In LA
WELL FINALLY !!!!!!!!! whew u made it. it was a lot of work for me....if u read my blog backwards, i realized, u can see how i used creativity and hard work to make myself feel better and bring myself up out of depression.........i think i am part psychic or something....u can call it the way u want to....i have decided that judging others is not my job nor should it be others.....i tried to explain that to my ill friends tonight...how u have to move on and leave all the shit that drove u crazy behind u....it has been a hard road for me....and i know i am not the greatest writer in the world or the greatest artist...i can't explain how i feel still stunted inside..how i haven't reached higher yet to fully grasp what it is i am supposed to be... i will try to learn mathematics if i can find someone that is patient enough...it is like greek to me....it makes my head hurt and i always get the calculations wrong.....i want to be einstein isaac newton smart.....cuz why everyone?????????
that's right! i have a big braaaaaaaaaaaaainnnnnnnnn! ahhahahahhahahah but u have to keep a sense of humor about it.....peace out, world! angel....xxx
if mj could turn prisoners around with his songs, he has done a lot....
that's right! i have a big braaaaaaaaaaaaainnnnnnnnn! ahhahahahhahahah but u have to keep a sense of humor about it.....peace out, world! angel....xxx
How To Be Bi-Polar In LA
LA is a hard town. A lot of people gravitate out here to make a fast buck, and have a “Get out of my way” attitude. It’s a hard place to make true friends and meet someone special in hopes of a long lasting relationship. That’s been my experience, anyway, and I’ve been living out here about 20 years. They say LaLa Land is the Land of Fruits and Nuts, but as far as I’m concerned, it’s the Land of Flakes as well. Don’t get me wrong, though. LA has a lot of things going for it, else I wouldn’t have lived here so many years.
I love all the different cultures here; I find it interesting. I’m originally from Alabama and grew up in the sixties outside of Birmingham, that and Selma being just two of the hot beds of racism at the time. I lived in the country and went to an all white school, and I remember a particular incident when I was in elementary school. I remember they tried to integrate black children into our school one day. We all watched out of our classroom windows to see deputies escorting these children inside our building. I’d never even seen a black kid before, expect on TV. I don’t know what happened to these children after that, but they never returned to our school. When I was a freshman at the adjoining high school, we had one black teacher. She taught typing. I used to look at her and wonder where she came from. My Mama lives in Mississippi with her sister. I tried a few years ago to live there when I lost my apt. and couldn’t afford LA anymore. They still wave rebel flags there. The black community there is called Nigger Town. I had to leave that place and come back here.
LA is a fast paced society, and with its “Get out of my way” attitudes, sensitive people like me are at a loss as to how to keep up. Me, I’m Bi-Polar. I don’t like to be bi-polar. It’s not an enjoyable state of being. In fact, I hate it very much. It’s ruined my life. See, I don’t get many of the manic highs that are associated with my disease. I get the other side of the seesaw. I get the crushing depression, low self-esteem and hopelessness that it entails. ‘The Black Dog’, as Sir Winston Churchill described his depressive episodes. I admire people like him so much. That he could rule a country in a time of a World War and be depressed is beyond me. He must have had a true strength of character.
You know what I do? I sit and stare at TV for countless hours, inert. I have to have something to occupy my mind or I give in to endless obsessive negative self-talk that drives me mad. Either that, or I lie in bed for days on end and vegetate. I’ve been on many different drugs to combat this, and little have helped me. I’d say I’ve been on at least 20 different drugs over the years. Mood stabilizers, anti-depressants, anti-psychotics, tranquilizers (I suffer from phobias and have anxiety attacks as well), you name it, I’ve been on it, it seems. I’ve been a full-on recluse for about 10 years now, venturing out sometimes when I can’t take it anymore, only to crawl back soon afterwards like a whipped puppy when LA’s cacophony of noise and relentless sunshine beats my brow. I have no patience and am irritable a lot of the time because I’m so sensitive to everything. The endless traffic snarls here puts me round the bend soon enough. I also suffer the physical aches and pains of depression, and I get weak and feel ill when I get out. Sometimes I have to pull over in my little car and just sit, waiting for the wave of exhaustion to pass over me. Sometimes I don’t know if I can make it home, but eventually, I get back here.
LA is a hard town. A lot of people gravitate out here to make a fast buck, and have a “Get out of my way” attitude. It’s a hard place to make true friends and meet someone special in hopes of a long lasting relationship. That’s been my experience, anyway, and I’ve been living out here about 20 years. They say LaLa Land is the Land of Fruits and Nuts, but as far as I’m concerned, it’s the Land of Flakes as well. Don’t get me wrong, though. LA has a lot of things going for it, else I wouldn’t have lived here so many years.
I love all the different cultures here; I find it interesting. I’m originally from Alabama and grew up in the sixties outside of Birmingham, that and Selma being just two of the hot beds of racism at the time. I lived in the country and went to an all white school, and I remember a particular incident when I was in elementary school. I remember they tried to integrate black children into our school one day. We all watched out of our classroom windows to see deputies escorting these children inside our building. I’d never even seen a black kid before, expect on TV. I don’t know what happened to these children after that, but they never returned to our school. When I was a freshman at the adjoining high school, we had one black teacher. She taught typing. I used to look at her and wonder where she came from. My Mama lives in Mississippi with her sister. I tried a few years ago to live there when I lost my apt. and couldn’t afford LA anymore. They still wave rebel flags there. The black community there is called Nigger Town. I had to leave that place and come back here.
LA is a fast paced society, and with its “Get out of my way” attitudes, sensitive people like me are at a loss as to how to keep up. Me, I’m Bi-Polar. I don’t like to be bi-polar. It’s not an enjoyable state of being. In fact, I hate it very much. It’s ruined my life. See, I don’t get many of the manic highs that are associated with my disease. I get the other side of the seesaw. I get the crushing depression, low self-esteem and hopelessness that it entails. ‘The Black Dog’, as Sir Winston Churchill described his depressive episodes. I admire people like him so much. That he could rule a country in a time of a World War and be depressed is beyond me. He must have had a true strength of character.
You know what I do? I sit and stare at TV for countless hours, inert. I have to have something to occupy my mind or I give in to endless obsessive negative self-talk that drives me mad. Either that, or I lie in bed for days on end and vegetate. I’ve been on many different drugs to combat this, and little have helped me. I’d say I’ve been on at least 20 different drugs over the years. Mood stabilizers, anti-depressants, anti-psychotics, tranquilizers (I suffer from phobias and have anxiety attacks as well), you name it, I’ve been on it, it seems. I’ve been a full-on recluse for about 10 years now, venturing out sometimes when I can’t take it anymore, only to crawl back soon afterwards like a whipped puppy when LA’s cacophony of noise and relentless sunshine beats my brow. I have no patience and am irritable a lot of the time because I’m so sensitive to everything. The endless traffic snarls here puts me round the bend soon enough. I also suffer the physical aches and pains of depression, and I get weak and feel ill when I get out. Sometimes I have to pull over in my little car and just sit, waiting for the wave of exhaustion to pass over me. Sometimes I don’t know if I can make it home, but eventually, I get back here.
How To Be Bipolar In LA 2
Sandi Yeah, Me.
I live on Social Security Disability and I haven’t worked in 5 years. I live in a HUD Housing apt. complex that’s rented solely to residents with mental illnesses. It’s a nice, clean secure building, and we feel safe here. Sometimes, I feel like I’m an occupant of an insane asylum, because a tenant will move in that won’t take his meds, and the rants ensue. But on the whole, it’s a quiet place and we inmates are for the most part pleasant to one another and respectful of each other’s privacy. A lot of us stay to ourselves, but there’s a rec room in the lobby where we can go to socialize and commiserate. It has a TV, stereo, board games and a computer. We have monthly meetings with the management, which I always avoid, and we hold potluck dinners here on the holidays. We also have a laundry room that’s free to use.
We have a counselor that comes around once a week to help the tenants with services we need to get for ourselves, like Vocational Rehab or some such thing. That’s what I’m doing right now. I’m looking for a part time job to help pay my bills. I don’t know if I’m well enough to work, but I’m sending resumes anyway. I go to the local church to get expired Trader Joe’s food, because groceries are exorbitant. The food we get there is iffy, to say the least. Moldy and bruised fruit, and rotten vegetables. It’s a gamble I don’t enjoy taking. You have to eat it as soon as you get it before it goes off. We poor people who line up there to get it are happy for what we can get, though.
Social Security covers some of my expenses, but I’ve had to live on 3 credit cards I have as well, to supplement my income. I’m vainly trying to pay them off. My friends here in the building are in similar straits. LA is an expensive place, and we have to look for things that are free.
I’ve had the same sub compact car since 1997. My friends can’t afford a car, or are too ill to drive, so they get bus passes and get around town that way. Our rents are computed by how much we get from Social Security every month. We live in fear of the day Social Security goes bust.
I used to have a part time job at an upscale auto dealership to supplement my disability right before I moved here, and lost it because they wanted me to start working full time and I can’t take the stress of a 40-hour workweek. I was also scared to lose my benefits and my Medicare. Before that, I had another part time job at a real estate agency, but was let go one day when I had a bad reaction to all the meds I was taking at the time.
I was standing on a ladder, putting marketing material away on a shelf and I heard a buzzing in my ears, and then, boom, I passed out and fell. I came to, and had double vision. I had to be taken to the restroom by my co-worker because I couldn’t see. I immediately threw up and went into a sweat. I had to soak my face with water. My ears rang and I was very dizzy. I threw up again. They called the paramedics and those handsome guys took me to the emergency room at UCLA Medical Center. I sat there in the hallway for 6 hours and left without being seen. I forgot to get a release to return to work, so the next day, I asked the temporary Psychiatrist that had prescribed those meds to me to give me one. I was fine by then. She refused, and they replaced me. That hurt. I felt like suing, but I’m not the type.
Each time I lose a job, my self-esteem gets a little lower. I sort of gave up after losing my last job, because when you work, there’s a limit you can make and still get disability. Social Security takes money out of your check, and you have to make it up with your pay. I’ve had to pay back hundreds of dollars they said I owed with my last job. They take it out of your monthly check until it’s paid off. The auto dealership wanted to give me $11 an hour, but that would have gone over the $800 a month limit I could make and still receive my benefits, so I had to ask for a pay cut.
My rent also goes up when I work. My friends and I complain that we’re being penalized for trying to work and do better for ourselves. That the government wants to keep us down and poor. I’ve heard it a lot from other people in my therapy groups at the clinic. I always think that if I won the lotto, I’d pay it all back one day, because I really am grateful for the help I get.
The thought of trying to work full time with this god-awful depression is terrifying to me. Not only does it trap you mentally, there are the physical ailments as well. Then there is the loss of concentration and poor decision-making. Sometimes people talk at me. I say at me, because I can’t absorb a thing they’re saying. Words fly over and around my head. That’s a humiliating thing when your employer is trying to explain something to you. I forget what I’m doing and have to write copious notes to myself so I can fake it. Even that doesn’t help sometimes, because I can’t understand what’s being said to me in the first place. I liken it to having molasses on the brain. And I’m intelligent, so it irks me to appear stupid. I watch Jeopardy almost every night, and am very good at it. I’d like to go there and apply to be a contestant, but I’d have to report my winnings to Social Security! Ha. Catch 22.
Sandi Yeah, Me.
I live on Social Security Disability and I haven’t worked in 5 years. I live in a HUD Housing apt. complex that’s rented solely to residents with mental illnesses. It’s a nice, clean secure building, and we feel safe here. Sometimes, I feel like I’m an occupant of an insane asylum, because a tenant will move in that won’t take his meds, and the rants ensue. But on the whole, it’s a quiet place and we inmates are for the most part pleasant to one another and respectful of each other’s privacy. A lot of us stay to ourselves, but there’s a rec room in the lobby where we can go to socialize and commiserate. It has a TV, stereo, board games and a computer. We have monthly meetings with the management, which I always avoid, and we hold potluck dinners here on the holidays. We also have a laundry room that’s free to use.
We have a counselor that comes around once a week to help the tenants with services we need to get for ourselves, like Vocational Rehab or some such thing. That’s what I’m doing right now. I’m looking for a part time job to help pay my bills. I don’t know if I’m well enough to work, but I’m sending resumes anyway. I go to the local church to get expired Trader Joe’s food, because groceries are exorbitant. The food we get there is iffy, to say the least. Moldy and bruised fruit, and rotten vegetables. It’s a gamble I don’t enjoy taking. You have to eat it as soon as you get it before it goes off. We poor people who line up there to get it are happy for what we can get, though.
Social Security covers some of my expenses, but I’ve had to live on 3 credit cards I have as well, to supplement my income. I’m vainly trying to pay them off. My friends here in the building are in similar straits. LA is an expensive place, and we have to look for things that are free.
I’ve had the same sub compact car since 1997. My friends can’t afford a car, or are too ill to drive, so they get bus passes and get around town that way. Our rents are computed by how much we get from Social Security every month. We live in fear of the day Social Security goes bust.
I used to have a part time job at an upscale auto dealership to supplement my disability right before I moved here, and lost it because they wanted me to start working full time and I can’t take the stress of a 40-hour workweek. I was also scared to lose my benefits and my Medicare. Before that, I had another part time job at a real estate agency, but was let go one day when I had a bad reaction to all the meds I was taking at the time.
I was standing on a ladder, putting marketing material away on a shelf and I heard a buzzing in my ears, and then, boom, I passed out and fell. I came to, and had double vision. I had to be taken to the restroom by my co-worker because I couldn’t see. I immediately threw up and went into a sweat. I had to soak my face with water. My ears rang and I was very dizzy. I threw up again. They called the paramedics and those handsome guys took me to the emergency room at UCLA Medical Center. I sat there in the hallway for 6 hours and left without being seen. I forgot to get a release to return to work, so the next day, I asked the temporary Psychiatrist that had prescribed those meds to me to give me one. I was fine by then. She refused, and they replaced me. That hurt. I felt like suing, but I’m not the type.
Each time I lose a job, my self-esteem gets a little lower. I sort of gave up after losing my last job, because when you work, there’s a limit you can make and still get disability. Social Security takes money out of your check, and you have to make it up with your pay. I’ve had to pay back hundreds of dollars they said I owed with my last job. They take it out of your monthly check until it’s paid off. The auto dealership wanted to give me $11 an hour, but that would have gone over the $800 a month limit I could make and still receive my benefits, so I had to ask for a pay cut.
My rent also goes up when I work. My friends and I complain that we’re being penalized for trying to work and do better for ourselves. That the government wants to keep us down and poor. I’ve heard it a lot from other people in my therapy groups at the clinic. I always think that if I won the lotto, I’d pay it all back one day, because I really am grateful for the help I get.
The thought of trying to work full time with this god-awful depression is terrifying to me. Not only does it trap you mentally, there are the physical ailments as well. Then there is the loss of concentration and poor decision-making. Sometimes people talk at me. I say at me, because I can’t absorb a thing they’re saying. Words fly over and around my head. That’s a humiliating thing when your employer is trying to explain something to you. I forget what I’m doing and have to write copious notes to myself so I can fake it. Even that doesn’t help sometimes, because I can’t understand what’s being said to me in the first place. I liken it to having molasses on the brain. And I’m intelligent, so it irks me to appear stupid. I watch Jeopardy almost every night, and am very good at it. I’d like to go there and apply to be a contestant, but I’d have to report my winnings to Social Security! Ha. Catch 22.
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