These days a day doesn't go by that I don't see some sort of engagement ring ad on my Facebook. I haven't figured out why, exactly, they keep coming up, though it's likely because of my age/gender. I've actually seen a few ads/pages that have been "liked" by a couple of my female friends, so I guess the ads somewhat successfully catch the attention of the ladies in my demographic. For my part, I tend to delete them and hit that "against my views" option (lol) but they just come right back!
In any case, the cultural message here is that women should actively search for what I consider a wedding gift, for them, and then bombard their men with websites and pictures of possibilities, assuming that the men are actively exploring these options. The not-so-subtle message to the men is "Hey, you better be thinking of wifing me up soon, and by the way, I want this nice big shiny one!" For goodness sakes, I've heard of Christmas lists but let's not overdo it.
The problem is that weddings have become just one more symbol of materialism rather than an expression of love and commitment. It's almost like the excitement that builds up before Christmas, and the sad letdown during January when the holidays are over. That's no way to set up the spirit of a marriage.
Friday, November 2, 2012
Wednesday, October 31, 2012
Batshit Crazy, Or Just Insane?
These days when I'm not doing much of anything, I spend a lot of time just cruising, surfing the net for little tidbits. I found this gem posted on a manosphere blog, as part of a list of types of women to be avoided.
Batshit crazy: She has a diagnosable mental disorder, usually depression, bipolar disorder, borderline personality or sociopathy. She might also have one or more addictions. She hooks the man through rapid sexual escalation and universal sexual availability. Wildly unpredictable, sexually aggressive and susceptible to extreme mood swings — from loving and gift-giving to physical violence. This type must be avoided at all cost.
I won't share the name of the blog or the commenter, because those are irrelevant (though how funny that it was posted exactly one day before I ended up in the ER). The truth is that this mentality is quite common, even among social work professors. I want to write about my experience in more detail because I want people to understand what bipolar disorder is and what it is not. I will also freely admit that I knew nothing about it until I experienced it, so I actually do understand the misconceptions and stigma surrounding bipolar disorder and mental illness in general. However, I think it's important to address these stigmas, and as someone with firsthand experience, this is my responsibility--i.e., it's on me to explain myself, it's not on the rest of the world to seek out information. So without further ado, this is the story of my manic episode.
The episode probably began during spring break, though I didn't start feeling its full effects until I was back on campus about to start school again. The beginning was marked by an incredible feeling of not needing to eat or sleep. I had energy without sleeping so I'd stay up all night, or go to sleep for two hours and be fine the next stay. Eating felt like an extraneous activity, so while I ate very small bits, I avoided mealtimes, or only ate a few bites.
Meanwhile, ideas started flooding into my mind at the speed of light. One moment I'd consider dropping out of school to start my own organization, the next moment I'd be thinking about writing a book. The more warped the concepts were, the more crystal clear they seemed in my mind. At one point, I decided that every single personal conflict that ever occurred could be cataloged into the same 3-role structure, with a bully using a follower (a weak person) to attack a victim (a strong person) and push the victim out of the group. It was so clear I almost called my former best friend to tell her how I suspected it was a mutual friend who had come between us.
I didn't get that far though, because things started getting weirder. Psychosis is a symptom of lack of sleep, and I was headed in that direction. I woke up (after 1 hour of sleep!) one morning and was completely convinced that my teacher of eight years (I went to a weird private school until ninth grade) had sexually abused me, and that the only reason I couldn't remember specifics was that it had happened when I was a very small child, and that I'd repressed the memory. I was so sure that I e-mailed an old classmate to ask if it had happened to her (even looking back makes me go "WTF?"). I also called my parents, who were completely confused and doubtful. As the day went on, I started getting progressively more wacked out, to the point that they asked if I'd fallen and hit my head. I also started losing my short-term memory. I couldn't remember the day or the date, and I hadn't attended class.
The next morning I had left reality. I told Popeye that my computer and phone were hacked, and that people were spying on me. My aunt arrived from a nearby town and they took me to the ER of a psych hospital, where there'd been a fatal shooting just a few days prior. This did not go over well with me, as I was convinced someone knew I was going to end up there, and that they were trying to kill me. When my parents showed up, I was happy to see them, but proceeded to freak out about my younger brother (he goes to the same school). In my mind I had some twisted idea that he'd been trying to sell me to another country as part of a secret society he worked for, and that because my parents had arrived to protect me, something horrible was going to happen to him.
The doctors did a bunch of tests and found a cyst on my brain. They wanted to do an MRI, and they gave me a provisional diagnosis of early onset psychosis and schizophrenia, but they wouldn't admit me. So my parents took me home for 3 or 4 long days, where I got much worse. Everything I read or viewed or heard took on an alternate meaning. When I looked at books or magazines, certain words and letters would pop out on the page in a mysterious but solvable code (if you've ever seen the movie A Beautiful Mind about John Nash, it was exactly like that). Everything in my life seemed simultaneously connected and disconnected.
On some level I must have understood that I was mentally ill, because my brain started bringing up every famous person or movie character I've known about who was mentally ill. Sometimes I felt like I'd been possessed by the spirit of Sylvia Plath. Other times I had this feeling that I'd killed my own children, like the woman in Shutter Island (sorry, spoilers!). When I started hallucinating, it was of horrible, terrifying images I'd only seen in scary movies. At one point, I was sitting in front of the TV, the picture flickered, and there stood the little girl from The Ring beside a well (I haven't seen that movie since I was 14--10 years ago--and I still remember that fucking well scene). After that I was convinced she'd come out of the TV, and I spent a lot of time screaming at my parents to "TURN THE RED LIGHT OFF" (if you have a newer TV, you know how the little light on the TV is red if it's off, blue if it's on). Finally, when I looked into the TV and saw my own reflection, I realized that maybe I was the little girl killing people, which, in some sort of distorted way, makes sense. Parts of the video people watch in The Ring are shots of that little girl in an insane asylum, and I was clearly insane.
When my parents finally managed to get me back to the hospital (i.e. drive me across the state), the technicians refused to perform the MRI because I wouldn't stay still (well duh). Instead they sent me back to the ER for another evaluation, where we waited for hours until my dad actually asked the woman at the desk if this was some sort of "monkey business operation." After that my mom called my cousin, who's a doctor, and she recommended a hospital that was closer to home, and one of the best in the country. So after a few more days at home (during which I started hearing voices, who were thankfully mostly comforting; one was Popeye, letting me know I could talk to him in my head anytime I wanted because we were "soulmates" lol... I don't believe in soulmates, but wouldn't that be cool??) my parents took me to the second hospital, where I stayed for nine days. I actually don't remember the first half of my stay there, but apparently I told the nurses that the psychiatrist was "the fat man" who was going to "stuff me in the oven." I'd lost a ton of weight and was probably down to between 80 and 85 pounds (I'm normally 95ish), and once the drugs kicked in I spent most of my time sleeping.
While I was in the hospital, they tested me for something called Townes-Brocks Syndrome, a genetic condition I was born with. Geneticists think TBS patients are at a higher risk for mental illness, and my case is to be included in the medical literature.
A couple of things are important to note. First, mania is not part of my normal day-to-day personality, nor is depression. I am not given to constant mood swings, nor am I constantly causing drama with Popeye. Anyone who knows me will say I'm fairly quiet and laid back, and unlike what you just read, I have a pretty firm grip on reality. I think the number one misconception about mental illness is that it's a personality trait. It can become a personality trait if someone refuses to take medicine, and I've heard that when untreated, bipolar can become much more severe (manic episodes are more frequent and last longer).
Which brings me to my next point. Many believe that mental illness is not just a personality trait but a personality flaw that can be overcome through self-improvement. I actually thought this too, for a long time. I had been medicated for depression several times, but always thought that I could work through it without medicine. I still believe that many people who suffer from depression can do this (and think anti-depressants are handed out like candy, especially on college campuses), but bipolar disorder is an entirely different animal. It's also extremely important to recognize that, in many cases, these illnesses are biological in nature. Some develop in people who have been exposed to trauma, but there is a large genetic component.
Finally, psychosis was probably the most terrifying thing I've ever experienced. The problem with living in an alternate reality is that all your worst fears that "could never happen in real life" can be realized. I would not wish it on my worst enemy, and I will do everything in my power to make sure I never experience it again. That means keeping my life stress- and drama-free, taking my medicine religiously, and following up with my doctor. It is only when stigmas about mental illness are perpetuated that mentally ill people try to hide or ignore the problem, or deny it exists, which is when it becomes worse. It is only with acceptance and honesty that these issues can be addressed appropriately, and I will always be grateful that the people around me are supportive and understanding.
Batshit crazy: She has a diagnosable mental disorder, usually depression, bipolar disorder, borderline personality or sociopathy. She might also have one or more addictions. She hooks the man through rapid sexual escalation and universal sexual availability. Wildly unpredictable, sexually aggressive and susceptible to extreme mood swings — from loving and gift-giving to physical violence. This type must be avoided at all cost.
I won't share the name of the blog or the commenter, because those are irrelevant (though how funny that it was posted exactly one day before I ended up in the ER). The truth is that this mentality is quite common, even among social work professors. I want to write about my experience in more detail because I want people to understand what bipolar disorder is and what it is not. I will also freely admit that I knew nothing about it until I experienced it, so I actually do understand the misconceptions and stigma surrounding bipolar disorder and mental illness in general. However, I think it's important to address these stigmas, and as someone with firsthand experience, this is my responsibility--i.e., it's on me to explain myself, it's not on the rest of the world to seek out information. So without further ado, this is the story of my manic episode.
The episode probably began during spring break, though I didn't start feeling its full effects until I was back on campus about to start school again. The beginning was marked by an incredible feeling of not needing to eat or sleep. I had energy without sleeping so I'd stay up all night, or go to sleep for two hours and be fine the next stay. Eating felt like an extraneous activity, so while I ate very small bits, I avoided mealtimes, or only ate a few bites.
Meanwhile, ideas started flooding into my mind at the speed of light. One moment I'd consider dropping out of school to start my own organization, the next moment I'd be thinking about writing a book. The more warped the concepts were, the more crystal clear they seemed in my mind. At one point, I decided that every single personal conflict that ever occurred could be cataloged into the same 3-role structure, with a bully using a follower (a weak person) to attack a victim (a strong person) and push the victim out of the group. It was so clear I almost called my former best friend to tell her how I suspected it was a mutual friend who had come between us.
I didn't get that far though, because things started getting weirder. Psychosis is a symptom of lack of sleep, and I was headed in that direction. I woke up (after 1 hour of sleep!) one morning and was completely convinced that my teacher of eight years (I went to a weird private school until ninth grade) had sexually abused me, and that the only reason I couldn't remember specifics was that it had happened when I was a very small child, and that I'd repressed the memory. I was so sure that I e-mailed an old classmate to ask if it had happened to her (even looking back makes me go "WTF?"). I also called my parents, who were completely confused and doubtful. As the day went on, I started getting progressively more wacked out, to the point that they asked if I'd fallen and hit my head. I also started losing my short-term memory. I couldn't remember the day or the date, and I hadn't attended class.
The next morning I had left reality. I told Popeye that my computer and phone were hacked, and that people were spying on me. My aunt arrived from a nearby town and they took me to the ER of a psych hospital, where there'd been a fatal shooting just a few days prior. This did not go over well with me, as I was convinced someone knew I was going to end up there, and that they were trying to kill me. When my parents showed up, I was happy to see them, but proceeded to freak out about my younger brother (he goes to the same school). In my mind I had some twisted idea that he'd been trying to sell me to another country as part of a secret society he worked for, and that because my parents had arrived to protect me, something horrible was going to happen to him.
The doctors did a bunch of tests and found a cyst on my brain. They wanted to do an MRI, and they gave me a provisional diagnosis of early onset psychosis and schizophrenia, but they wouldn't admit me. So my parents took me home for 3 or 4 long days, where I got much worse. Everything I read or viewed or heard took on an alternate meaning. When I looked at books or magazines, certain words and letters would pop out on the page in a mysterious but solvable code (if you've ever seen the movie A Beautiful Mind about John Nash, it was exactly like that). Everything in my life seemed simultaneously connected and disconnected.
On some level I must have understood that I was mentally ill, because my brain started bringing up every famous person or movie character I've known about who was mentally ill. Sometimes I felt like I'd been possessed by the spirit of Sylvia Plath. Other times I had this feeling that I'd killed my own children, like the woman in Shutter Island (sorry, spoilers!). When I started hallucinating, it was of horrible, terrifying images I'd only seen in scary movies. At one point, I was sitting in front of the TV, the picture flickered, and there stood the little girl from The Ring beside a well (I haven't seen that movie since I was 14--10 years ago--and I still remember that fucking well scene). After that I was convinced she'd come out of the TV, and I spent a lot of time screaming at my parents to "TURN THE RED LIGHT OFF" (if you have a newer TV, you know how the little light on the TV is red if it's off, blue if it's on). Finally, when I looked into the TV and saw my own reflection, I realized that maybe I was the little girl killing people, which, in some sort of distorted way, makes sense. Parts of the video people watch in The Ring are shots of that little girl in an insane asylum, and I was clearly insane.
When my parents finally managed to get me back to the hospital (i.e. drive me across the state), the technicians refused to perform the MRI because I wouldn't stay still (well duh). Instead they sent me back to the ER for another evaluation, where we waited for hours until my dad actually asked the woman at the desk if this was some sort of "monkey business operation." After that my mom called my cousin, who's a doctor, and she recommended a hospital that was closer to home, and one of the best in the country. So after a few more days at home (during which I started hearing voices, who were thankfully mostly comforting; one was Popeye, letting me know I could talk to him in my head anytime I wanted because we were "soulmates" lol... I don't believe in soulmates, but wouldn't that be cool??) my parents took me to the second hospital, where I stayed for nine days. I actually don't remember the first half of my stay there, but apparently I told the nurses that the psychiatrist was "the fat man" who was going to "stuff me in the oven." I'd lost a ton of weight and was probably down to between 80 and 85 pounds (I'm normally 95ish), and once the drugs kicked in I spent most of my time sleeping.
While I was in the hospital, they tested me for something called Townes-Brocks Syndrome, a genetic condition I was born with. Geneticists think TBS patients are at a higher risk for mental illness, and my case is to be included in the medical literature.
A couple of things are important to note. First, mania is not part of my normal day-to-day personality, nor is depression. I am not given to constant mood swings, nor am I constantly causing drama with Popeye. Anyone who knows me will say I'm fairly quiet and laid back, and unlike what you just read, I have a pretty firm grip on reality. I think the number one misconception about mental illness is that it's a personality trait. It can become a personality trait if someone refuses to take medicine, and I've heard that when untreated, bipolar can become much more severe (manic episodes are more frequent and last longer).
Which brings me to my next point. Many believe that mental illness is not just a personality trait but a personality flaw that can be overcome through self-improvement. I actually thought this too, for a long time. I had been medicated for depression several times, but always thought that I could work through it without medicine. I still believe that many people who suffer from depression can do this (and think anti-depressants are handed out like candy, especially on college campuses), but bipolar disorder is an entirely different animal. It's also extremely important to recognize that, in many cases, these illnesses are biological in nature. Some develop in people who have been exposed to trauma, but there is a large genetic component.
Finally, psychosis was probably the most terrifying thing I've ever experienced. The problem with living in an alternate reality is that all your worst fears that "could never happen in real life" can be realized. I would not wish it on my worst enemy, and I will do everything in my power to make sure I never experience it again. That means keeping my life stress- and drama-free, taking my medicine religiously, and following up with my doctor. It is only when stigmas about mental illness are perpetuated that mentally ill people try to hide or ignore the problem, or deny it exists, which is when it becomes worse. It is only with acceptance and honesty that these issues can be addressed appropriately, and I will always be grateful that the people around me are supportive and understanding.
Tuesday, October 30, 2012
A Quick (Boring) Update
Well this new blog has turned out to be one big fail. Not for lack of trying though... I've started writing posts at least 10 times before deciding they weren't good enough. Though the quality of my writing has been compromised, I'm still quite the perfectionist; not a great combination.
As for my personal growth, well, can't say there's been much progress. I dropped out of school about two weeks ago, which shouldn't be a surprise; I didn't really feel ready for it, and only went back because I felt pressured by my doctor and my academic advisor, and because I wanted to get out of my parents' house (love my parents, but at the age of 24, living at home isn't exactly exciting). Anyway, now that I'm out of school, my main mission is to find a job, which is a really daunting task. I'll likely end up getting a crappy retail job to pay the bills while I look for something more related to a permanent career, but these days I'm not sure what my career goals are, so that certainly doesn't help.
In the meantime, I've been spending a lot of time sitting on my ass. My days and nights are all mixed up because Popeye works the night shift, and when he's not here I have a really hard time sleeping (chalk it up to terrifying flashbacks from my week of hallucinations). But the nights by myself are relatively cheerful and are mostly spent cleaning, knitting, and watching the food network. I'm currently knitting myself a comfy wool cowl for the winter, and I think my next project will be a baby hat for someone in Popeye's family who is expecting. Popeye actually said he'd wear a sweater if I made him one, but my skills aren't quite there yet. Maybe gloves though!
Speaking of Popeye, he hasn't been having a very easy time either these days. He's working two jobs that are pretty beneath him, and he hates having to interact with nasty customers and idiotic coworkers. He only has one semester left of school and he's a STEM guy, so once he finishes he'll be in a much better place, but getting back is a financial struggle at the moment. It's funny though... in terms of actual relationship dynamics, things have never been better for us. Living together has gone really well so far; we've found a nice balance of spending time together and giving each other space. Granted it's only been a few months, but I have a very positive feeling about it. It's interesting that last year the only thing that wasn't going well was my relationship, and now that's great but everything else has gone to crap. :-/ I've weathered some rough spots before (I actually took a year off between high school and college after a nasty personal crisis) so I have faith that this is not permanent and that things will improve. But if not, I told Popeye this morning that I'll go live with him in a cardboard box if necessary.
I know people say that it's important to gain confidence in yourself and find comfort in being alone, but life really is much better when you have someone special to share it with.
As for my personal growth, well, can't say there's been much progress. I dropped out of school about two weeks ago, which shouldn't be a surprise; I didn't really feel ready for it, and only went back because I felt pressured by my doctor and my academic advisor, and because I wanted to get out of my parents' house (love my parents, but at the age of 24, living at home isn't exactly exciting). Anyway, now that I'm out of school, my main mission is to find a job, which is a really daunting task. I'll likely end up getting a crappy retail job to pay the bills while I look for something more related to a permanent career, but these days I'm not sure what my career goals are, so that certainly doesn't help.
In the meantime, I've been spending a lot of time sitting on my ass. My days and nights are all mixed up because Popeye works the night shift, and when he's not here I have a really hard time sleeping (chalk it up to terrifying flashbacks from my week of hallucinations). But the nights by myself are relatively cheerful and are mostly spent cleaning, knitting, and watching the food network. I'm currently knitting myself a comfy wool cowl for the winter, and I think my next project will be a baby hat for someone in Popeye's family who is expecting. Popeye actually said he'd wear a sweater if I made him one, but my skills aren't quite there yet. Maybe gloves though!
Speaking of Popeye, he hasn't been having a very easy time either these days. He's working two jobs that are pretty beneath him, and he hates having to interact with nasty customers and idiotic coworkers. He only has one semester left of school and he's a STEM guy, so once he finishes he'll be in a much better place, but getting back is a financial struggle at the moment. It's funny though... in terms of actual relationship dynamics, things have never been better for us. Living together has gone really well so far; we've found a nice balance of spending time together and giving each other space. Granted it's only been a few months, but I have a very positive feeling about it. It's interesting that last year the only thing that wasn't going well was my relationship, and now that's great but everything else has gone to crap. :-/ I've weathered some rough spots before (I actually took a year off between high school and college after a nasty personal crisis) so I have faith that this is not permanent and that things will improve. But if not, I told Popeye this morning that I'll go live with him in a cardboard box if necessary.
I know people say that it's important to gain confidence in yourself and find comfort in being alone, but life really is much better when you have someone special to share it with.
Friday, September 21, 2012
Girls Are Like Apples
I found this quote via Stumbleupon.
"Girls are like apples on trees. The best ones are at the top of the tree. The boys don't want to reach for the good ones because they are afraid of falling and getting hurt. Instead, they just get the rotten apples from the ground that aren't as good, but easy. So the apples at the top think something is wrong with them, when in reality, they're amazing. They just have to wait for the right boy to come along, the one who's brave enough to climb all the way to the top of the tree."
Needless to say, I "disliked" it.
"Girls are like apples on trees. The best ones are at the top of the tree. The boys don't want to reach for the good ones because they are afraid of falling and getting hurt. Instead, they just get the rotten apples from the ground that aren't as good, but easy. So the apples at the top think something is wrong with them, when in reality, they're amazing. They just have to wait for the right boy to come along, the one who's brave enough to climb all the way to the top of the tree."
Needless to say, I "disliked" it.
Friday, September 14, 2012
A Happy Relationship
About a year ago, right around the time I found Hooking Up Smart, I started experiencing turmoil in my relationship. I had moved in with Popeye's mom (and her boyfriend, and her sister) and was having trouble knowing how to interact with them. Then Popeye learned he couldn't afford to go back to school, with one semester left, and shit hit the fan. He wasn't getting along with his mom's boyfriend, I wasn't getting along with his mom, and for a couple weeks I seriously considered breaking it off.
Things got better when I moved out of his mom's house and Popeye started spending all his free time at my new apartment. It almost looked like it might be okay, and then BAM I got sick. This was not your normal sickness; this was psychosis (and yes, the doctors tried to diagnose me with schizophrenia at first... who knew bipolar disorder had similar symptoms? I didn't). If I had seen Popeye in that state, I'm not sure what I would have done; I would have been alarmed for our future.
But he stuck by me the whole time. He helped take me to the ER, he listened to my crazy-person rantings over the phone when my parents took me home, he drove across the state to my parents' house and helped them take me to a different hospital (a better one!), and about a week after I came home, he drove across the state again in between working night shifts to surprise me for my birthday. And it wasn't just the sickness; the medicines took a huge toll on me. I wasn't myself for several long months after the episode. It's hard to explain, but it's like I had no emotions or feelings, or even a personality, and I couldn't focus on very basic tasks (it's no wonder I stopped blogging). Popeye still talked to me on the phone everyday, and he visited me a few times until I had the strength to visit him. I'm sure some of it scared him, but he never gave any indication that he was having second thoughts about us. It's easy to say "well obviously, it's not like you were purposely making yourself ill," but mental illness is alarming in a way that other illnesses are not, and it comes with a stigma. Even now, when I see people at school that I knew last year, I just tell them I had a "medical emergency." And these are social workers!
Anyway, it's a sad truth that it took such a traumatic event for me to realize how lucky I am, and understand that I shouldn't have let family drama come as close as it did to ruining my relationship. But once I came out of the hospital, all I wanted to do was see Popeye. The happiest time of my day was those 15 minutes when he would call me between jobs, and all spring and summer I constantly talked about how much I missed him (I drove my parents crazy!). My mom said that once I moved in with him, I would become fixated on something else, but the truth? That hasn't happened. I'm just happy for his presence, even if he works the night shift and spends most of his day sleeping. Finally things are smooth and we're slowly moving towards creating a life together.
Things got better when I moved out of his mom's house and Popeye started spending all his free time at my new apartment. It almost looked like it might be okay, and then BAM I got sick. This was not your normal sickness; this was psychosis (and yes, the doctors tried to diagnose me with schizophrenia at first... who knew bipolar disorder had similar symptoms? I didn't). If I had seen Popeye in that state, I'm not sure what I would have done; I would have been alarmed for our future.
But he stuck by me the whole time. He helped take me to the ER, he listened to my crazy-person rantings over the phone when my parents took me home, he drove across the state to my parents' house and helped them take me to a different hospital (a better one!), and about a week after I came home, he drove across the state again in between working night shifts to surprise me for my birthday. And it wasn't just the sickness; the medicines took a huge toll on me. I wasn't myself for several long months after the episode. It's hard to explain, but it's like I had no emotions or feelings, or even a personality, and I couldn't focus on very basic tasks (it's no wonder I stopped blogging). Popeye still talked to me on the phone everyday, and he visited me a few times until I had the strength to visit him. I'm sure some of it scared him, but he never gave any indication that he was having second thoughts about us. It's easy to say "well obviously, it's not like you were purposely making yourself ill," but mental illness is alarming in a way that other illnesses are not, and it comes with a stigma. Even now, when I see people at school that I knew last year, I just tell them I had a "medical emergency." And these are social workers!
Anyway, it's a sad truth that it took such a traumatic event for me to realize how lucky I am, and understand that I shouldn't have let family drama come as close as it did to ruining my relationship. But once I came out of the hospital, all I wanted to do was see Popeye. The happiest time of my day was those 15 minutes when he would call me between jobs, and all spring and summer I constantly talked about how much I missed him (I drove my parents crazy!). My mom said that once I moved in with him, I would become fixated on something else, but the truth? That hasn't happened. I'm just happy for his presence, even if he works the night shift and spends most of his day sleeping. Finally things are smooth and we're slowly moving towards creating a life together.
Monday, September 10, 2012
Continuing the Journey
I started blogging last winter, when I stumbled upon the Manosphere and felt this unavoidable urge to write; I had so much to say and process, and the more I wrote, the more thoughts came to mind. But just a few months later, in March, I had a life-changing experience in the form of a severe manic episode. I was hospitalized for nine days and drugged to the point of oblivion. When I left the hospital I was basically sleeping 20 hours a day, a side-effect of the medication. But even as I was weaned off some of the more heavy-duty medicines, I couldn't get back to writing. It was like all my ideas and thoughts had been sucked out of me. Since then, I've tried desperately to find a way back to my first blog, but have finally decided that my attempts are and will continue to be futile.
But that does not mean I plan to stop writing; it just means that the nature and theme of my writing will change, so I found it appropriate to start a new blog. While my first blog definitely had a personal bend to it, this one will be more like a diary. I feel sure that I will touch on relationship/gender issues, but I do not plan to make them the primary subject, especially since I am, on the whole, far more scatterbrained than I was before the episode (this does not bode well for my graduate school papers, but you know, one day at a time and all that).
So, what will I write about? you ask. Geez I don't know, stop asking questions. :-P In all honesty, I have a lot more personal growth to do now than I did when I started blogging. First, school is going to be a huge hurdle, and I'd actually decided to not go back before my doctor gave me a really hard time/my financial aid came through at the last minute. It's going to be a big psychological challenge, something I'll write more about later. Second, I just moved in with my boyfriend (hereafter referred to as Popeye), which has been a really smooth transition so far but will bring its own set of challenges I'm sure. And finally, I'm always struggling to find good female friends, so I won't stop writing about that.
Anyway, that's all for now!
But that does not mean I plan to stop writing; it just means that the nature and theme of my writing will change, so I found it appropriate to start a new blog. While my first blog definitely had a personal bend to it, this one will be more like a diary. I feel sure that I will touch on relationship/gender issues, but I do not plan to make them the primary subject, especially since I am, on the whole, far more scatterbrained than I was before the episode (this does not bode well for my graduate school papers, but you know, one day at a time and all that).
So, what will I write about? you ask. Geez I don't know, stop asking questions. :-P In all honesty, I have a lot more personal growth to do now than I did when I started blogging. First, school is going to be a huge hurdle, and I'd actually decided to not go back before my doctor gave me a really hard time/my financial aid came through at the last minute. It's going to be a big psychological challenge, something I'll write more about later. Second, I just moved in with my boyfriend (hereafter referred to as Popeye), which has been a really smooth transition so far but will bring its own set of challenges I'm sure. And finally, I'm always struggling to find good female friends, so I won't stop writing about that.
Anyway, that's all for now!
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