Unwell, but you probably knew that

I haven’t been feeling myself for a while. There has been this nagging voice that something is just not right. And no matter how quiet it is or how much I try to completely silence the voice. I can still hear it and it is working itself into a louder and louder sound that is getting harder to ignore.

I am not quite sure what it is exactly that I am feeling. I tend to lean towards the fact that it is probably some sort of depression. But I feel like it is much more than that.

No signs of mania or even hypomania. I just feel emotional, sensitive, down, and I feel taken for granted. I feel hopeless, and tired, emotionally tired, my soul is tired. And I wonder so much if there is even any room for me. There is not enough space for me to peacefully occupy. (I am NOT suicidal)

I am sleeping, might be some weird hours, but there is sleep. I am having some anxiety and some sense of dread.

I feel like there is something coming towards me at full force but I just cannot figure out what it is, or care enough to step out of its way, that I am insignificant enough and don’t matter enough to even step to the side so the collision doesn’t happen.

I know that all these signs point to something. They tell me that something is wrong. This is not my ‘normal’ thought process.

#SelfCare

Writing has always helped to untangle the web of chaos inside my head. I write and form thoughts on paper when I feel like I am unable to form coherent thoughts inside my head. Somehow as my pen works its way across the paper my writing takes shape and makes much more sense than any of my thoughts ever could.

I have often said or written about how I write faster or type faster than my conscious mind can think, I sometimes re-read things and wonder when I wrote it, or where the thoughts came from.

When I write or read things I can feel the words. I feel the depth of my thoughts after I write them unto paper. Only after I read what I have churned from my mind and written into sentences do I begin to understand my tangled thoughts.

For me writing is my biggest form of self care. It is what I do when I am down in the dumps or soaring in the heights of mania and anywhere in between.

Self care is not just for people with mental health issues but is very important for everyone. Practicing some form of self care can ensure that you are not running on empty and can help your wellbeing and happiness.

There are different types of self care and there are many different things that you can practice in each category. Self care should be geared individually.

For example: If you love to read, reading would be a good form of physical self care, but if you hate to read it would not make sense for you to try to use reading as one of your self care activities.

Almost anything that you find enjoyment in can become something that you do for self care. Just taking a few minutes to read a book, write something, listen to music, exercise or even taking a bubble bath can be forms of self care. Other things can be taking a minute to laugh, share a joke, talk to a friend on the phone, have a cup of coffee or tea.

I asked my readers and fellow bloggers what they did for self care and here are their answers:

Angela says “I light my favorite incense, desert sage, while I journal about things that are weighing heavy on my heart. I journal until those things lose their power over me. Sometimes I watch my favorite movie, Wonder Woman, to remind myself that I am a powerful woman who has taken my power back.”

Robert says “I’m setting good boundaries with other people and getting enough sleep.”

Becky says “I am writing to confront things that used to hurt me. It’s a mixed bag, but in the end it does help.”

Julian says “I’m reaching out to people. I figured it’s been a while since depression has got me in a very lonely lifestyle. But, chances are, I’m not an introvert by nature. I tried finding purposeful things to do by myself, but nothing came to my mind. Maybe it’s not the things, but the people I do those things with. The engagement. Admitting that I’m not a monk, that I need a social life is actually tough. But I guess that’s the way to go. So, I’m reaching out.”

What do you do for self care? Do you find that taking an active part in self care is beneficial to your wellbeing and over all health?

Zoloft Crazy?

That moment when…

the depression is so bad you feel like you have failed everyone and everything and as much as you want to go to sleep and not wake up you have to keep on breathing.

Such was me a few weeks ago, me before coming off the Zoloft.

The Zoloft that made life worst.  The Zoloft that made me feel crazy.  The Zoloft that made me want to harm myself.  The Zoloft that made me put the breaks on while driving because I thought someone was crossing the road and when I blinked no one was there (among other stories), The Zoloft that made me dream dreams that I thought were real, absolute. The Zoloft that did not mix well with alcohol.  The Zoloft that did not let me sleep but yet made me feel like I wanted to go to sleep and not wake up. The Zoloft that made me paranoid.  The Zoloft that changed me.

Now I am off the Zoloft, and in just a couple of weeks I already feel a ton better, not ‘normal me’ better, but not Zoloft crazy.

Back one one of my old faithful medications, Tegertol.

Bipolar Whispers is 2

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Bipolar Whispers Blog is 2.

I cannot believe it has been 2 years since I first started the Bipolar Whispers blog.  I started this in a Manic high to let out frustrations to write to my hearts content and to express things I could not even begin to express in my ‘real’ life.

This past year was a lot slower than the first 6 months or so of the blog, but lately I have been trying to get some content out.  Thanks to everyone who has been reading for the past two years and thanks to all my new readers.

Be sure to read through my older content, you will find a lot of good information and a lot of soulful and heart felt writings there. 

Lets hope that I can get back to the basic reasons for starting this blog and make year 3 fantastic.

Sometimes.

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Sometimes the despair and destruction and chaos inside is more real than the conversation or situation that I am in.  To the point where I forget things because of the devastation that I am going through at that particular time.  Such is the story of Friday/Saturday.

I know it was bad, horrible, I know I bared my soul, but I cannot remember most of it.

Drowning

I am underwater.  Looking up I can see a dim filtered light but I am unable to break the surface.  I am suffocating, water leaking into my lungs.  I am drowning. Sinking deeper and deeper beneath the surface.

I am only just admitting to myself that I am depressed.

It has been coming for a while, maybe it has even been here for a while.  But I would not admit that there was a problem.  I have been hiding it from everyone, including myself.

I don’t want to do anything, I don’t want to go anywhere and I am not sleeping well night time, and am tending to somewhat sleep in the late morning early afternoon, and even then its not good sleep.  I do not want to drag myself out of bed when I wake up.  Even when I am awake I just want to lay there and not do anything.

I feel like a failure of a mother and wife because I feel that the things my children are going to remember about me right now is the fact that I am doing these things. I should be more present.  I feel like a failure of a friend because I don’t give a shit if I go anywhere or do anything, I am letting the people closest to me down and I am so frustrated with myself.

I feel like a failure because I have went the past 9 months without medications and for the most part I was doing well.  Don’t get me wrong I am not naive, I know Bipolar disorder does not just disappear, that it would rear its ugly head at some point.

I look in the mirror and I hate the person I see.  I curse her.  She is nothing…. I am nothing.

Bipolar Whispers is 1

I have been blogging here for a year. A whole year.

I started Bipolar Whispers in a manic phase.  A time when I was full of possibility.  Another grand idea was formed because of mania.

A time when my ability to write came back.  Back after years of dealing with horrific writers block.

There were days when I wrote several articles, days when I published more than once.  Days when I did not publish at all.

Days when what I was writing made total sense, and days when I wrote in gibberish.

There were days when I was stuck inside my head, days when the words were screaming to be written but I couldn’t form more than a few coherent sentences.

I wrote with passion.  I wrote deep truths.  I wrote about pasts.  I wrote about futures.  And I wrote about right now as the words were forming.

I wrote with questions, and I wrote looking for answers.

Sometimes I found the answers, and oftentimes I found many many more questions.

I wrote when I was manic.  I wrote when I was hypomanic.  I wrote when I was depressed.  I wrote when I was flat and I wrote when my mood was ‘normal’.

Sometimes I didn’t write at all.  Because whatever I may have been dealing with at that time was bigger.  Bigger that I was able to deal with, bigger than I was able to write about, bigger than I was okay with.

But Bipolar Whispers became so much to me.  It became a haven.  A place to go and not worry about anything to bare it all and let it all out.

I met great friends through blogging.  I have read other peoples stories, their life stories and understood.  I related to them.  I understood them and they understood me.

Even when I disappeared for a bit because the medical issues in our family was more than I was able to deal with, you were all here when I got back.  You continued to embrace me and hold me up.  You held my hand, and you gripped my heart.

Some of the most understanding people, some of the easiest people to write to, some of the easiest people to relate to have been the blogging friends I have made because of Bipolar Whispers.

And I thank you from the bottom of my heart for being here, for reading, for listening, and for hanging on.

I love you all,