Reconciling Saints

Dear Dead Husband - 

It's your birthday! So I'll be headed to Pivot and Mirror Twin with the usual suspects, just like we used to. 

If you were one to worry about such things, I'd tell you that I won't drink much. But you never cared because, HEY!, you and I were going out to celebrate as best we could. And BOY could we!

Anyway, I can't because I'm broke so I'm very, VERY limited. Yeah, it's your damn father still. The asshole wants his 25% of the WHOLE VALUE of the house ($36,000), not taking into account the fact that, as 25% owner, he's also responsible for 25% of the mortgage and any upkeep. No... he says that, since I'm living here and take advantage of 100% of the property, I should be paying 100% of the expenses. So now I keep going into the negative until the next check comes or I sell something of yours (sorry).

Please go haunt your dad or something. You know... go full Jacob Marley on his ass. Pleaseandthankyou. 

SO! You funny boy, you. This...THIS is so very like you. 

I posted what I feel is an apropos picture of us as a profile pic on FB today and noticed that you had commented on it 6 years ago when I first shared it. 

Dear Dead Husband, 

Well, you did NOT get better, as I had hoped, and I'm here trying to piece it all together, not to mention trying to stop your father from sucking me dry monetarily. Currently, he's in the lead. 

It's a long story. I'll tell you sometime. 

Tonight, I was finally able to change any profile pictures on social media to something that was just me and not us. That's pretty huge for me! I don't know why I couldn't do so before this, but I couldn't. I guess it just helped me remember the good times and not just the end there. 

But I don't want to talk about the end right now. 

I want to tell you about the progress.

Aside from changing the pictures, I've also started tackling the shows we used to watch that I couldn't catch up on because of where we left off. It shouldn't have been that hard, but it was. The books I could do as there were only a couple series... or was it only one?... that we were waiting on, and it was a solitary pursuit that we only touched on when we were both done. 

Books... 

Speaking of books, I'm reminded of the first night I spent in this house on the day you died. You had a book open to where you left off before you passed, your glasses laid down beside it on the coffee table. I had to ask Tracy to take it away while I went outside to smoke. It was too real, too soon after... a reminder of how quickly you had been there and then gone. I still cry when I think about that day and seeing the book. It still guts me. 

OK! So... ummmm... enough of that. I came here to tell you about my progress, not to tear open the wound. 

I love you. I miss you. But I do understand, and maybe we already knew how this would end. 

Love you. Truly, deeply, madly.

Ceci

Just so I NEVER forget..... April 2, 2020

I just want you to remember that I'm telling this story from the view point of two days later, so there's a lot interjected that I am able to add now that I know all of it.


Stephen had a psychotic breakdown on Tuesday.

He said he had vivid dreams that felt so real! he could feel the blood pouring down his veins and he wanted to rip them out (or at least that's how he described it to me).

He had been prescribed some antidepressants last Wednesday and started them on Thursday. This is not to say that the fault lies in that of the medication, really; there was a lot more there than we could see. I say this to highlight the fact that he knew he needed something more than how he'd been surviving up until now.

Brandy, I wish I had taken your observations as something bigger and I feel that I should have looked at it as such. Instead, I thought it was just something that would pass, something that I thought could be helped once he settled in; some fleeting byproduct.

I was never more wrong in my life.

Your observations were a sign of what was breaking down, of things to come... and I couldn't see it getting to where it has gotten now.

So, after much talking late Tuesday night, Tracy and I decided that we needed to present him with the option of checking himself in, of having himself committed.

Me? I'm just sort of... thankful? he wanted to try these other options ... and also sort of numb... and shocked... but overall glad that he decided that he didn't want to be where he currently is mentally.

But really... I just want to use all that has brought me to where I am in my life to enable him to get to somewhere better than his "here." I've been there. I've survived this. I believe he can, too.

I believe in him.


And I feel like I'm breaking up
But I wanted to stay.
Headlights on the hillside
Don't take me this way.
I don't want you to hold me
I want you to pray,


'Cause it's bigger than us.

Lyrics and images from White Lies "Bigger Than Us"

Here we go with the suicide topic again.

It's been kind of big in my life as of late. No, I don't mean me.

I wish I could tell you that it's something we had an answer for. I wish someone could tell me that there were answers for it. But there isn't.

All I know is that sometimes you can't save someone from themselves no matter how much support they have. Sometimes being there for that person, letting them know how much you love them, or how much you listen and try to guide them just isn't enough for them. All we can do is hope that the message gets through and that it's enough for them to keep up the battle to find the light they're not seeing.

It's scary. Even knowing all this, it's more than I can bear.

We always end up asking ourselves, is this something that I could have helped with? Unfortunately, the answer isn't always yes.

Nothing new, right?

I guess mainly I had to write this for me so that I can work through everything in my head in a sort of... logical way. It helps when I write. I may not come up with any answers and it may not help me feel happy again but it does help put it into perspective, I guess.

However, I have to remember that sometimes we are enough... friends, family, our support group... sometimes it does make a world of difference. Right now, I just hope it's enough.

Good luck out there guys. Life is brutal.

Today in Ceci's world, I'm trying to get everything in order for a course I will be teaching in the fall at the university.

That's right, I will be an instructor for a course on information literacy and critical thinking through the College of Communication and Information.
Seriously.

I never thought I'd be asked to be an instructor, really, and this sort of just fell into my lap. Having the time and trying to gain experience in more than... well, more than what I have experience in (which is actually a lot of miscellaneous things)... I decided, Sure! Why not?? 

Well, it's a face-to-face class that meets Tuesdays and Thursdays and starts the day after I get back from London.

THE DAY AFTER I GET BACK FROM LONDON!

Soooooo this girl has to be ready to hit the ground running on the 24th of August for something she's never done before. I have to be able to stand up in front of a class of 18- to 20-year-olds and teach them stuff. Also, lecture them about something... and figure out a way to spend about an hour?? doing this. I guess there should likely be some discussion in there somewhere. Or not. I mean... it's my class, right???? heh.

Bizarre, no?

Well, at least that's how it seems to me. Bizarre because a lot of the time I don't know how I end up where I end up. Things just sort of... happen!

Hey, look! The girl who just kind of Lifes is teaching a course at a university!

I guess this blog that's currently been about mental health and my writing is now going to add a bit on my adventures in teaching.

This... should be interesting.

Ten years ago I started this blog as The Bride. I started it because, despite it being my second marriage, I was going to have a wedding. Like... get-a-dress-and-book-the-reception-hall wedding. Never thought I'd do that. In fact, I never thought I'd be a bride in that sense, or a bride at all again after the first marriage. So the blog was to sort of chart my way through it.

Well, guess what? That marriage didn't last. Ten years together (funny, that), 2 of them married, and it didn't last. As the couples therapist put it, we all change every 5-7 years (give or take) and sometimes we don't change in the same ways. So that's what happened, the ex and I could no longer communicate; our boy and girl Legos no longer fit. The therapist pointed out that we had had a good run - 10 years was a good run, really. We just had to look at it as a new phase that we can't move forward to together. That actually made sense to me and still makes sense. We evolve and hopefully for the better. 5-7 years is forever for the person that you were at that time. So that's what happened to The Bride.


A little less than a year after I started The Bride (but before the end of the second marriage), I changed the name to its current one. I believe it was during the Exile that the blog changed... because times had changed. I was traveling a lot, I had gotten myself into a very sticky situation (that is quite the understatement), and I was moving from Long Beach, California to Portland, Oregon. Life was... everything. This was also pre-diagnosis so things were quite amped.

I wrote about dark times, wonderous wandering, new adventures, and interesting/exciting things.

Then... there was a long darkness. Then a mad shake up during the dissolution of my second marriage and moving across the country to Lexington, Kentucky.

Then... then... well, I guess I just didn't know what to do with this blog.

Now it's sort of where I post about Bipolar Disorder and other mental health stuff. Some of it has to do with the novel I'm writing and some of it has to do with writing about my own struggles in order to be honest and open with it. I try to advocate for the... destigmatization of mental illness. I mean... as I've often said, it shouldn't be any different than anything else that affects a person; heart condition, diabetes, etc. There are things in our bodies that don't always work like they should so we have to do things to make it right... or at least make it something that doesn't impede our living. You know?


I think it's necessary to write about my ups and downs with Bipolar Disorder. However, I really miss the adventurous, funny, and surreal life. Perhaps I need to get back to that because this... what's going on here in my head and having to put myself back into the Bipolar mode to write the main character in the book... it's not helping. I have to remember the words of Saul Bellow:

In seeing the news about the morons who make the rules meeting about our healthcare and what they came up with, it really hit me that the healthcare I rely on (which isn't the best, mind you) might go away in... what? Less than a year?

How long, really, will it take them to totally get rid of the Affordable Care Act? If they do, that is. I know there's a chance if we all speak up and some of those morons get their heads out of their asses.
Asking for a friend.

Well, let's say that they have it out by 2018... that's less than 6 months away which isn't really a long time.

As I see it, I have two choices: I either have to find a job - any job - that offers healthcare OR I need to get ready for The Battle. Honestly, I'm going for the latter. I'm tired of getting a job just because of something like health care or money (by money, I mean more money).

This morning's run was powered by getting ready to do battle. because I know that I have to battle every day... and it's a bit scary to know that the tools and medication that I have right now could likely go away. I know I can't stay in this head space forever... and, frankly, I've already lost touch of some of what I know to do.

Thinking about it is scary. No meds. I know I can do it for a while, I've done it before when I didn't have health care, but I don't think that being unmedicated in the long run (for most of us) is a good thing.

In high school, you wouldn't have caught me listening to a band like Blink 182... or Blink 182, for that matter. Generally, you'd find me listening to whatever obscure thing I could find, Industrial music, Goth music (especially since my cousin had a goth band and I was invited to a couple of shows), and any mainstream thing that I found acceptable. Not to mention what was once correctly labeled as alternative music (it was SO alternative to the mainstream stuff you'd hear). I know I definitely took an interest in anything my older cousins (early 20 somethings) and other adults were listening to.

By college, I was a little less... elitist, shall we say, as I didn't feel as much of a need for trappings that marked me as other (because I was SO not you and I really liked what I was into). I was unique, I was plugged into the lifestream, and music made me live. So that was not quite as necessary in college because you made your friends and the things that worried you in high school, the constant having to be around others and the judgment, was no longer there. So I let myself be.

In fact, I gave Blink 182 some credit; they had some catchy songs with funny videos (which always kind of upped it for me since I like their tongue in cheek bit). Also, there was something that they captured in spirit that was so very high school... you know, the part you didn't want to admit to, the being so earnest and needing everyone to understand all the things!  I was starting to take a step back and kind of remember that from a place removed. Little by little I was still learning.

So it's no surprise that these days I will find myself copping to all sorts of "uncool" things for adults and people with an Industrial/Goth bend.

Which brings me back to Blink 182.

I recently had a friend say she thought it was silly that bands like them were still writing songs about high school shit... or something like that. About crazy girls they fell in love with and juvenile mistakes that were made. These guys are in their... what? late 30s/early 40s? And here they are writing the same old thing.

Well, here I am, far removed from high school and guess what?! I'm writing about high school shit. Partly because I think we need some more honest and real books in the Young Adult genre and partly because I'd like to advocate for mental health via this medium. Lastly, it's because sometimes I still go through these things and it helps.

I feel like you might be lying to yourself if you say that you don't... that you don't sometimes regress to the teen angst and emotion that you had because of something that hurt you or really pissed you off. I'm trying to channel these feelings in writing a book for that age range so there's that, too, and the music really helps.

What's being an adult, anyway? Who doesn't at some point have some sort of emotion that's akin to their teenage self? Maybe being an adult is being able to feel these emotions and know that they're part and parcel to growing up... evolving/ever learning or whatever. Maybe it's all part of being attuned with who you are and the many things that come with it. I don't know.

I just know that sometimes it's not knowing what to feel and if it's ok. I know that we just need to ride the waves of it all, learn what we're feeling and how to handle it... and sometimes not... because that's ok, too.

In closing, hahhahahhaa, I would like to add the argument that I think the bands know who their audience is and how to keep it going. I think they might even use the music as a channel for their own feelings. I mean, I could be ridiculously wrong and everyone might be childish. Still, I'd rather they channel what they know, what they're good at, and what reaches their audience than cross over into adult contemporary. *shudders* I've always wondered when and how that happens... Sting used to be cool, U2 used to be less... mega and more raw. They were a thing when they began... a new thing in the music scene. So what happened? Should they have tried to still channel some of their teenage angst?

Maybe.

I know I'd be able to relate to them more.

Ok, time for my daily World of Warcraft break. heh.

In trying to write the book I'm trying to write (following me?), I keep restarting.

Why?!

Well, it's quite simple and yet not.

The book I want to write is complicated in that I want it to convey truth... errr... emotions? experiences? correctly and well.




The first idea seemed too contrived. The second idea was too planned out and the emotion was sorter... dragged out causing it to be overdramatic. The third was too "afterschool special." So this fourth one... and fifth.... and sixth? are kind of me throwing darts to see what hits.

Is it the idea? Is it the writer? Is it the way I'm trying to tell the story?

Je n'ai aucune idée.

I don't want to force it and I can't seem to proceed any other way because it just doesn't feel right. To plan or not to plan? I've done both including the former in greater or lesser forms and I just can't hit it.

Yep.

This is where I'm currently stuck as I stare at my manuscript on Scrivener.

Yesterday, an acquaintance of mine/friend of Stephen's committed suicide.

It was sudden and hard to take. In the late morning, he had posted a picture of his dogs that he loved very much. By early afternoon, he was found dead... or rather, his note was found.

This was a man who had survived much and had devoted his time to taking care of himself and trying to help others that had battled drug and alcohol addiction through counseling. He was well respected for what he did and loved for his spirit, ever positive.

Because of that, it's tough to handle his suicide. He was an inspiration to many and had offered a hand to my boyo when he needed someone to listen and understand. So why suicide? How did he get there? It's a question I've asked a couple of times before.

The first time was when a friend hung herself back in... 2006? Not to say that there weren't any suicides - successful or not - prior to this but this was the first to make me ask this question. We had a lot of traits in common and we shared a last name of sorts; hers was given and mine via my mother. We had a propensity to get ourselves into sticky situations, to throw caution to the wind, and to crash just as suddenly. She was bipolar and took meds... until she didn't. I was not yet diagnosed.

Even then, though, I had to ask... how did she get there?? What made her do it? And scarier still, if she got there, when will I get that bad? I loved life too much to ever get there, even in the darkest of times, I told myself. I never wanted death. I knew then that there was more to what I felt, yet I still didn't equate it with Bipolar Disorder. Due to that realization, I had to wonder, when will that be me? As though I had a degenerative disease... and maybe in a sense, I did. Who knows? Unmedicated and undiagnosed, I might have. Then again, the Unsinkable Ceci may not have ever had the reasons to get there. I had survived a lot... seriously A LOT, but even when it looked so dark and I didn't think I would get out of it, I never contemplated death.

So now, I'm here again, looking at the question of... why? And to a degree, what makes me different? Will I still get there one day?

Most importantly, though, why?

People always talk about making sure you know you can reach out to loved ones, to remember that you're not alone. But... my bipolar friend, my cousin (I wrote about this a couple of years ago), and now this friend, have reminded me that it's not always about our support system. Well, the only one I can say that about for sure is my cousin but I have to extend it as a possibility to the other two. Both had people who were there for them, who they talked to... or in as much as they could, possibly keeping back the worst as we're all prone to do.

Sometimes... sometimes it's about the battle and what one can take. Sometimes they just can't fight anymore and don't want to keep living with it. Sometimes... sometimes it's about how long we can survive, I suppose.

"She has saved this town and its people from countless monsters countless times. That the battles are usually in her head does not lessen the bravery of it. The hardest battles always are.”"




from "Jackaby" by William Ritter


Thanks for the quote Leigh. 😊

So... there is this girl.

She used to see monsters everywhere. She battled everyone she felt was coming at her, coming for her. She gave into her feelings of distrust and anger more often than not.

Even now, she sometimes feels a shard of pain and anger growing and she reaches for it to sustain her. She feeds it so it grows because there's something freeing, something that feels good, about giving into it. The anger, once a spark, starts to blaze through in one quick flash... and the feeling both excites and frightens her.

Maybe it excites her because it makes her feel powerful over what she's dealing with. Maybe it frightens her because it excites her.

Either way, she ends up somewhat startled. Because she enjoys it and because it scares her.

This is new, though. In the end, she just ends up tired... very tired... and lost... and more than a little concerned at the anger and at giving into it. After that... she just feels... worried and rattled apart.

When she sees her symptoms in others, she wants to help but sometimes feels as though she comes across as wrong, as pushy. She wonders if she's projecting.

Other times she feels sure that she sees the symptoms in others and she gets angry that NO ONE IS LISTENING! ... just like they didn't listen before.
...
She's always had a problem with people not listening to her, not understanding her.

But what if she's right???

But what if she's wrong and is only convinced she's right because she wants to be?

Maybe this is where the anger stems from... anger so strong she feels like feeding it as soon as it sparks, wants to feel that release instead of keeping it in. Wants to make it grow.

She tried meditation.
She tried breathing.

She found that she ends up scared when she tries to let go whilst meditating. There's something scary out there and she's not sure what. Sometimes it feels like she can see answers and for that, it's worth it.

She also learned that she sucks at breathing. She needs to learn to breathe.

Today finds me chugging along and reading.

I originally found this book at the library where I work when we got it in a few months ago with the new books. I read some of it then and decided that this was something I needed in my library. It's easy to read since it's in layman's terms and I find that it keeps me mindful of what's up in my head. I recommend it for anyone that would like to learn more, whether newly diagnosed or not.

For me, knowing more/as much as I can about the demons helps me understand and cope with them better. It helps me recognize what is going on and hopefully dealing with it.



Aiken, C., & Phelps, J. (2017). Bipolar, not so much : understanding your mood swings and
           depression. New York : W.W. Norton & Company.

So I'm going to read, keep up the running (adding yoga on days I can't), keep up the Tracy therapy/hangouts (is it therapy if you're hanging out with a friend??), embracing everything that scares me, and holding on to Stephen (he's a good cuddler).

... but it slipped my mind.

Hi!

So, I've been busy, then not busy... and now I'm just crazy.

That is to say, I've been all over the place in my head... mostly manic but the depression has been hitting deeply. I feel like I might rattle apart most times and others I just can't help but let the world get to me. The people. The government. My friends and family. The world. I am sad for all they go through... I wish I could fix it... I wish they didn't feel that way.

This is how my mind works these days. The world and anyone's suffering makes me sad.

"I fall asleep in my own tears
I cry for the world
for everyone
and I build a boat to float in
I'm floating
away

I cant recall the last time
I opened my eyes
to see the world as beautiful
and I build a cage to hide in
I'm hiding
I'm trying
To battle the night"

I really don't like being dramatic. It's kind of not my thing... or at least mostly in my head... which sometimes I let slip into my actions. And maybe this is why I can't let it show. Most times I feel like yelling, "I'm falling apart!" but I just can't really see me do that... so I kind of crumple inside.

I've been trying to battle my monsters with what I can. It doesn't always work because, as Tracy pointed out (hi, Tracy) I'm not using all my skills. Like writing on here. Also, talks with her/basically talking about all this.

Why?

I think I believe that I can get through it on my own because I have skills. HOWEVER! It has come to my attention (again, thank you, Tracy) that I'm forgetting some crucial skills.

So here I am. Blogging again.


"I stand behind a wall of people and thoughts
Mind controlling
And I hold a sword to guide me
I'm fighting
My way."

I'm in and out of feeling strong enough to do this and feeling like I'm rattling apart... because I can feel it and I almost expect a visible tremor.

In talking to my sister today, I think one source of my problem is fighting myself to do what I want to do. I mean... let's be honest. What I really want to do is write. Currently, I'm afforded the time to write by having part-time jobs. It doesn't make much money, but I have a goodly amount of time to write. I haven't really been doing it, though because there are always a million things that "should" take precedent. I have to get over that and remember that this is top priority. It's one of my jobs. It's important to me.

I. Must. Do. THIS!

So yeah... I battle me. Self-loathing, self-doubting, ... oh and have I mentioned that I don't feel right in my own skin? I feel like I'm wearing someone else's skin... a bigger someone else. I just feel... uncomfortable. And I can't seem to shed it.

Soooo... yeah.
WHAT WILL HAPPEN NEXT?!
Hopefully a more entertaining post.


Lyrics from Warrior by Aurora

I'm not always sure what the point is.

I told myself that I could have this cookie with some tea if I started writing as opposed to binge watching House. So I'm sitting here eating my cookie while I write this.

I'm not sure what the point is of writing this today is. I'm also not sure what the point is of doing anything today that won't give me some pleasure or relief from my pains.

But...

But I also want to do some of the things I should be doing. I want to listen to and index the interview that I sat in on for the Oral History project as part of my fellowship. I want to research the topic I've chosen for my proposal, the topic of archiving the personal blogs and scholars in order to get a better sense of their work and research articles. I even want to write.

Lately, I've been going through... a mental down. I've had anxiety attacks that incapacitate me,  some depression, and a strong knowledge that I am not well... and I mean not well in a very worrying sense. I'm tired a lot... but twitchy... my heart races... I can't stop thinking until I just... do... and then I can't do anything. I know what the cause of it is, and it's a situation that I'm trying to get out of, but for the moment, I had to get extra help to cope with it. I talked to my doctor and got some extra medication - Klonopin to take as needed for anxiety, Lexapro for depression, and Trazodone to take as needed to help regulate my sleep.

I'm not one to go straight to medication as a cure. I learned a lot in therapy and I've done research on what helps my condition and moods. I know that exercise helps (but not strenuous exercise), that therapy/talking to someone helps, that making lists of the positive to combat the negative thoughts helps me visually see what's real, and I know that putting myself on a schedule and regulating my sleep when things are at their worst can set my mind on the right road. I tried all of my skills, had done everything I could to take care of me, but my mood stabilizer and these things I learned to do just haven't been cutting it. So I asked my doctor for some extra medication... because learning to ask for more help is what I've learned to do.

What I've learned to do is what I have to do to live... and take care of myself through the bipolar episodes, up and down. Because I want to live.

I want to live and I want to live fully. So I have to do the work, even when it's hard.

But... I can understand why someone wouldn't want to live like that anymore... if they had to deal with that all the time... if they had the realization that they were not well in a very worrying sense. I can understand how they would not want to live because they couldn't live... because they didn't know how, or couldn't get past the knowing how to the actual doing of the living.

A year ago today, my cousin Adrian lost his fight with Schizophrenia. He was 35.

It was horrible and it was messy. He had been off his meds for a while because he said he felt better, that he was better. But then he had a bad week... and on the morning of the 26th of March, 2015, he took a knife from the kitchen, ran into his room, and locked the door.

From my understanding of the events of the day, my aunt pleaded with him to unlock the door, to talk to her, to not harm himself. I was told that he said he didn't want to go through this anymore, that he just wanted it all to stop. My cousin, his sister, tried to talk to him and get him to open the door. My aunt called the police in an attempt to get someone, anyone, to help her.

Once the police arrived, I was told they tried to talk to him, ordered him to open the door, said they were going to go in, and then... They say that he opened the door, throat already slit and bleeding, and charged at the police with the knife. So they opened fire.

I have to wonder how the police felt after that, knowing that he was just a suicidal guy who was likely making the suicide inevitable... definite. I wonder if they had hoped to save him, thinking that it may have been possible to save him... maybe. Who knows. But since he charged at them with a knife, you know they had to open fire, effectively finishing what he started.

You have to admit, one must really want to die to make the decision he did. It's a rather foolproof way to do it, if a little messy, not to mention mentally scarring for those left behind who already have to deal with the fact that their loved one is dead.

On the anniversary of my cousin's horrible suicide, I want to commemorate his death by telling everyone that it's not weak or bad to rely on medication and there's nothing wrong with getting help by using them. There's a key to not being a zombie (a common complaint), not gaining weight, or not having sexual side effects because of the medication. One can try to find the right pill, attend therapy as often as necessary, and learn the skills that can help mentally battle the demon. Mainly, though, the key is knowing that you need to get help and to get it no matter what, even if it means medication.

We can't do it alone. None of us, mentally ill or not. We all need to learn to get help... medically, emotionally, and even financially. Some things are easier to ask for help with, although there are those that hate to ask for help with anything. But... asking for help is ok.

We live in a world that thinks we should believe in science, but medication is wrong. We're told that we're strong enough to get through anything with the right mental attitude and the right habits. Well, sometimes we aren't strong enough... and that's ok. And sometimes it's ok to live a medicated life because we aren't strong enough; some of us have oddly wired brains. But, some of us have heart problems, or diabetes, or any other medical problem and have to live medicated lives. So why is that so different?

There's no difference. All of these people are just doing what they need to do to survive and live healthy, normal (whatever that means) lives. That's the point.