Friday, April 30, 2010

Stupid cops

So a little elderly woman is sitting at a fast food restaurant, talking to Satan. The police are called, and the cop goes up to her and freaks out because she is reaching for a suitcase. She claims she is getting a cigarette. Cop tries to take her suitcase, so she punches him in the eye.

*If somebody is that out of it, just give them a goddamn cigarette, don't start grabbing and touching their stuff. Could she have a weapon, maybe - but maybe she just wanted a cigarette. EVERYBODY SMOKES, I am sure somebody could have pulled out a cigarette and stopped this.

*Dude, she was *talking to Satan*. Doesn't that tell you something? Also, she was talking to Satan, it's rude to interrupt a conversation.

*Learn to duck better.

I feel like officers need better training in dealing with the severely mentally ill. Too many people don't know what to do, or simply think it's hilarious or they go RAMBO on us.

During one of my...not so good...moments, I was flipping out about my fiance selling me to the military to be raped by zombies. Instead of listening to what I was saying (YES, I KNOW IT WAS BAT SHIT INSANE) - they decided the way to fix the situation was to call a ton of security guards (with badges= military in my crazy land) and grab at me, throw me down and start ripping my clothes off. I ended up ripping chunks of my hair out and biting myself bloody in fear.


Just. Play. Along. I bet they all had a good laugh about the crazy bitch they got to body slam, too.

During one of my stints in the wacky shack I had a schizophrenic roommate who insisted I was the only one she could trust because I was a Navy SEAL. Hey sure, why not. Then she was flipping out about the lava in our room, until I pointed out that she could just walk around it. Flip out instantly stopped. I don't know why people have such an incessant need for everyone to share the same reality all the time - sometimes there are bigger issues to worry about, like protecting EVERYONE'S safety, not just those lucky enough to be mentally healthy.

I mean, I feel bad that she punched him nevermind, I'm not even going to bullshit you like that.

Thursday, April 29, 2010


Tomorrow I am registering K (the oldest) for Kindergarten. KINDERGARTEN. I can't believe she is going to be five. H is getting put into a pre-school program, which is awesome because her birthday is in November so she misses the cut off date for EVERYTHING but is usually too smart for kids her age.

I am obsessed with something going wrong. I'll forget a form, or the school will lose the paperwork, or SOME PROBLEM WILL OCCUR. I can't handle snags. If everything doesn't go smoothly, I freak. I am so preoccupied with something possibly going wrong I cannot even enjoy this step in my children's lives. I just keep organizing and reorganizing stacks of paperwork.

Monday, April 26, 2010

More stupid fears

I have a paralyzing fear of water. Not the water itself, but more like all the shit living in the water that I am convinced is waiting to eat me. I blame this lame ass movie 100%

Ok so in this movie, that I barely remember other than the fact that it warped me for life, a bunch of piranha are accidentally released and start eating kids at a summer camp, and at the end I think they make it to the ocean. This led to fun childhood experiences like me SHRIEKING LIKE A LUNATIC AND RUNNING OUT OF THE WATER because this fish in Florida decided it wanted to get a better look at my bathing suit - naturally it was a piranha that wanted to eat me. That was the same summer I learned that flailing in hysterics and jumping around screaming PIRANHAS!!!! will make your mother slap you repeatedly in public.

Unfortunately, I just discovered a show called "River Monsters." This show is the reason that I will not even be able to scrub a toilet without freaking out that piranhas are going to come flying out and eat my face. Let em show you a list of creatures that are totally fucking unacceptable and should be extinct or at least moved to a planet I do not live on:


Technically it's called a "Payara." I call it an "OMFG GET IT AWAY."

Next up is the Goliath Tigerfish:

ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?!?!?!?!!!!! WHY IS THIS NECESSARY?!?!?!?!!!! Holy shit I almost threw up and peed simultaneously when I saw the teeth. This is completely uncalled for.

Lukily I just learned about teh candiru, so I will never pee again:

A fish that swims up your pee-hole? AWESOME!

And fucking bull sharks. Fuck.this.

The people who know me are probably cackling because for the longest time as a kid I wanted to be a marine biologist. This was before I realized that nature was scary.

I have always had ocean-phobia since the water on the Jersey shore is effing disgusting and murky and you can't see your feet - but needless to say that when I learned that NJ has more shark attacks than any other US state, I was sold on staying on the beach.

Did I mention the time when I was visiting my grandparents in Florida and I made friends with the girl next door, and we went to jump in her pool and there was a goddamn gigantic alligator chillin at the bottom? NO POOLS FOR ME! Even in gator-free pools, I have freaked myself out by convincing myself I was actually in a shark tank and the sharks were waiting to attack (oh mental illness, you ruin summer).

For now I'm happy in my lawnchair, holding my beer, dangling my feet into teh plastic baby pool.

For now.

Sunday, April 25, 2010

I have returned!

I know I have said it a zillion times, but this week is finals week. I just finished up a mind-numbing seminar final with a scored of 88.888888888888%...I feel like if I add enough eights it will turn into an A, but alas it's still a B. It is also completed and done with, so to be honest, I don't even care.

Now all I need to do is make it through my science final without hurling myself out a window and I will have successfully completed my first cycle of college classes. OMG, I AM AN ADULT!

To avoid the aforementioned window-jumping, I am trying to take a holistic approach to managing my bipolar to keep me as sane as can be expected.

* I have an exercise routine. Exercise is really important in general, but for me it helps me to not feel like a complete fat ass and therefore boosts my self esteem which makes me feel less like eating a bullet for breakfast, and it's also good stress relief. I have fallen in love with this:
It completely kicks my ass, and since it's a DVD I don't need to look a fool outside of my living room. As a bonus, I get to scream things like SHUT UP, YOU SKINNY BITCH!!! I HATE YOU!!!! during lunges. And really? She's too cheerful for somebody doing lunges.

*I have been eating better. I cannot handle carbs well. Actually, the only time I was successful at not totally ballooning in weight or getting all hypoglycemic two seconds later was when I was on metformin (for PCOS...why yes, I *do* have every disease). Then I got cysts in my liver and decided that was enough. Now? I am working on eating no grains. Ideally I wanted to start out with just fruit and vegetables, then add meat..but I kinda decided it was easier to just eat stuff that was in the house first. SO far, all I do is crave bread. Fun times!

* I quit smoking. This has just made me act psychotic and bitchy, but now I don't smoke. Unfortunately, I have just become addicted to eyeshadow so it's not like I'm raking in the savings, either. Naturally I am a complete spoiled brat when it comes to bath and body supplies, so my fiance recoils in horror after seeing receipts for $30 mascaras and $18 lip glosses...I will calm down eventually, I think..right? The way I see it, I work full time and go to school full time, and provide for my kids - if I want a stupid mascara, I am getting it. I got a bunch of free crap too, so the money I spent was totally worth it. I also got a sample of my new favorite cream. This? Absolue Premium ßx Body Cream - Body Moisturizers by Lancome best. shit. ever. OF COURSE IT IS, IT'S LIKE A HUNDRED FUCKING DOLLARS. Needless to say, I will just hope I can get another sample of it after this one runs out because I am not sucking dick in an alley for makeup.

*I am taking my meds. I hate cymbalta, but it stops me from killing myself, so I deal. It is still ridiculously expensive and I still run out and panic every month, but so far I haven't had to hit hardcore withdrawal before I was able to get more. I might not be so lucky this time, as I need an appointment for another prescription and my doctor can't see me until the 3rd and ugggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggh but for now, I am fine.

*I am *considering* therapy. Maybe. Probably no, but I am CONSIDERING it. Gah.

Overall school has been a big self-esteem booster for me, because I don't feel like unwed mom college dropout loser anymore. Now I'm unwed mom college student loser - YAY! I have also started to take an interest in my appearance again, instead of wanting to crawl under a rock and die. Too bad that makeup and clothing cost money!

Tuesday, April 20, 2010

Remember that time I got pregnant and nobody gave a crap? (and then the time it happened after that?)

I hate how jealous I get when I hear about people's baby showers and look at newborn pictures.

Somehow I have grown to hate happy families. Luckily for me, I run this place like a Saudi prison...

Now that that's out of the way, I will tell you about the little circle I am currently running in:

*My psych (who I hate, but I hate all of them as a rule) wants me to go to therapy
*I do not want to go to therapy, as it is useless. I do, however, what my psych to SHUT UP, so I try to get into therapy
*Nobody is taking new patients/taking patients with my insurance/taking insurance, period
*FREAKING OUT ensues (not mine), over me still not being in therapy
*School starts. I am busy almost every single waking hour of the day. Literally.
*I get a referral for therapy at someplace or another.


All I need to do is clone myself and the problem is solved. They will not stop harping on me, and it's stressing me out.

Also, my office is getting audited next week. The same week as finals! More stress.

Did I mention stress is a huge trigger for bipolar freakouts?

This month sucks.

Thursday, April 15, 2010


If you've been playing along at home, you know that I work full time and go to college full time. I am out of the house from 10 am until 6pm Tuesday through Saturday, and then I spend every other waking moment doing class work or homework - I go to school online because I do not have time to physically "go". Internet college is awesome because you get to study in your pajamas (while drinking wine), but it sucks because they pile on twice as much work.

Before I started college, I cleared it with my fiance. I wanted to make sure that I would have his help around the house and with the kids so that I can devote my time to completing my Bachelors and eventually move on to my Masters. He was super supportive, so I went for it.


My house looks like a hellhole. Laundry that I washed weeks ago is in a heap (I folded it, asked him to put it away, and it has been sitting there for going on three months now. I refuse to touch it out of principle.) The dog doesn't get taken out. The kids eat garbage all day. NOTHING GETS DONE. NOTHING.

I asked him to go grocery shopping *last week*. It's now an hour til Friday and half the list still needs to be purchased.

Did I mention he got laid off and is HOME ALL FUCKING DAY?

I understand that he is home with two children, but it isn't hard to sit them at the table with some crayons and do *anything*. WASH A DISH. PICK UP LAUNDRY.

I can't take it anymore.

He plays video games 24/7 while everything goes to hell. It's totally not fair to expect me to come home, cook and clean, study til 2am and then do it again the next day.

Why are men so goddamn useless?

Tuesday, April 13, 2010


Well, this is not helping me take notes.

Et tu, google ads?

Google Ads keeps taunting me with ads for tubal reversal surgery.

Well fuck you, too.

Fun stuff for OCD

I obsess about everything, so naturally when I found out I was pregnant/had children, it gave me a whole new list of stuff to freak myself out about: breast or bottle, vaccinations, schooling..and clothes. LOTS AND LOTS OF BABY CLOTHES. I was super excited to have girls because now I have my very own living dollies I can stuff into princess dresses! The coolest thing I found? Cloth diapers! I loved having diapers that matched my kids' outfits (because yes, I am that crazy). Another plus was that both my children had super sensitive skin, and regular diapers made it look like somebody had been putting cigarettes out on them. A win/win, if you ask me. It was a lot easier than I thought it would be!

I wanted to show you guys some cool stuff today: longies and shorties. These are wool pants that you put over a fitted cloth diaper so...well...pee doesn't go everywhere. Most of my oldest daughter's longies (long wool pants) came from Mizzy. Check her out, she does beautiful work!

Her stuff even looks good in my patented shitty cell pictures

Baby K inspecting her shorts. She approved.

Snoozing in cargos WITH SHEEP POCKETS! These were my favorites of all time.

My friend Aimee also makes really badass yarn: be careful, hyenacart is like crack. Only Esty has been worse.

A lot of knitters will do customs if you send them your yarn, or you can knit them yourself from a pattern. I suck at knitting and after attempting to learn a few times, getting aggravated and throwing a fit, I said "fuck this" and just bought yarn and sent it out or bought ready made products.

I am pretty bummed out that I don't have any more babies because I miss shopping for new diaper stuff.

Cloth diapering was like an illness, but such a fun illness. Joining different cloth diaper forums also allowed me the chance to make a ton of new friends and interact with other moms since being a stay at home mother was pretty lonely. It was overall a very positive experience and I'd do it again in a second.

I mean seriously, how cute is this butt?

It made changing diapers slightly less craptastic.

Sunday, April 11, 2010

Tardy to the party as usual...

I just read about the Ultimate Blog Party and thought it was a cute idea so I hopped on the bandwagon as it gives me something to do as I sip my wine and outline my next two chapters for school. Naturally I should be doing more reading and less blog party but whatever...

Ultimate Blog Party 2010

So here is my intro post - which comes at a good time since my blog is still brand new and I never really put much effort into introductions until right this second.

Well, I'm Sandi and I'm 27. I am currently stuck in the hellhole know as Northern New Jersey. I keep moving away, and this black hole keeps sucking me back in. I've got two children, K and H, and a great dane:

I also don't own a camera, so be prepared for shitty cellphone pics.

I also make really stupid faces in pictures

I started this blog to show people what being a bipolar parent is *really* like, as there is so much stigma it's ridiculous. I also use this as a sort of self-therapy. Common topics I whine about are being bipolar, stupid crap people say to you when you are bipolar, my miscarriages, and my recent go-round with cervical cancer and the resulting hysterectomy. Exciting, right? I also go on and on about my fiance. He was in the Air Force for a zillion years and has seven flavors of PTSD and I think our crazy compliments each other nicely so I keep him around.

I posted this picture for no other reason than I love it.

Ta ta for now, back to outlining.

Tuesday, April 6, 2010

The bright side to bipolar parenting

One of the fun parts to having a bipolar mother is getting to break out into spontaneous dance numbers for no real reason other than mommy decided to start bumpin rap music at full volume while doing homework.

Sometimes my lack of impulse control is a great stress reliever. At least I got my burst of energy at three in the afternoon instead of trying to rock out at three am, right?

I am still knee-deep in my interpersonal relationship assignments for class, and today's focus was on barrier to intimacy and ways to overcome them. One of my largest barriers, apart from my bipolar tweekiness and sometimes strange behavior, is definitely pas trauma. I mean, if every time you try to pet the dog you get bit, how many times are you going to keep sticking your hand out? (Assuming you aren't into pain, or something.) The majority of my interpersonal relationships are formed during my hypo-manic phases. I'm a rock star! I'm friendly, confident, cracking jokes and outgoing and friendly. I meet friends quickly and since I am an honest and compassionate person, I tend to form deep bonds with people in a short time.

Unfortunately, a few months later my personality changes ans I'm back to wanting to hide from humanity while curled up into a ball of anxiety. At this point, other people decide the party is over and the friendship/relationship crashes and burns because I'm just not "fun" anymore. After the zillionth time of having to start making friends from scratch, it has become very difficult for me to want to put myself out there as being emotionally available for others. One of the other factors is that my personality type on the Myers-Briggs scale is that of an INFJ, or "the counselor". This is a fancy way of saying "Congrats, you are a doormat!" I relate well with others and am extremely empathetic and nurturing, but it is hard for others to interact on the level I crave because they are just too different. It's difficult to feel like your own species all the damn time and it has given me a sort of "Can't win don't try" mentality. Unfortunately, being a human and therefore an inherently social being, this is like shooting yourself in the foot. It's hard to want and need interpersonal relationships when they scare the beejezus out of me.

I find myself constantly attracted to the monkey experiments of Harry Harlow, although he is kind of like the Mengele of Monkeys and well, I'm not a big fan of torturing shit. One of the most relevant to the way I feel is called "The Pit of Despair" (charming, right?) In this experiment, Harlow took baby monkeys away from their mothers, stuck them in a box with sloping sides, totally isolated them, and determined that they went batshit insane. Although he sorta discovered the obvious (social animals are social? WHO KNEW?) - when asked wtf he was trying to accomplish with these isolation chambers, he was quoted as saying "Because that's how it feels when you're depressed."

And yeah, it IS. In my case, I'm not stuck in a physical BOX, but I am definitely all up in my own mental one. It yields similar results... Although I don't consider myself psychotic and totally incapable of relationships, and I don't sit around biting my fingers off, I don't thing that this level of social anxiety is something you ever really come back from. Stuck in my box, with light at the top, but the sides are too slippery to crawl out. The best I can do at this point is try to find people who can "get it", and try to slowly invite them down here with me.

Pit of despair party, anyone? My only requests are that you bring booze. Top shelf only, please, as I do have SOME standards.

Another Monkey Mengele experiment I refer to as the "Rag Monkey". Here's a little more info if you are looking for something a bit in depth, but I can sum it up as "Monkeys will pick a cuddly statue over a statue with food but made of wire." So does Sandi! During a phase of overall acting the slut after the nasty breakup between myself and the father of my children, I decided bed-hopping and false affection was well, better than a wire monkey. Feeling loved is just so important to me, I'll take what I can get. This always ends up with me back in experiment #1, but for the few hours I could pretend somebody loved me and I was "normal", it was like getting a little peek over the side. And it was nice. Although it was destructive, I think it kept me alive - or the closest I can feel to it.

I'm in a wonderful relationship with my fiance, don't get me wrong...but my little pit causes me to keep trying to sabotage things and run him off before he can kick the ladder out from under me and I'm back at the bottom, like I'd be able to cling on the edge with my fingertips if it ended on my own volition. I need to keep reminding myself that "At least I'm honest" and "But I really do love you" don't give me a license to act like an ass. It's slow going, but the past two years of him putting up with my bullshit have taught me a lot. I'm starting to feel like I'm moving forward, and for the first time someone I've allowed into my pit hasn't created a "crabs in a bucket" scenario with someone else grabbing my ankles and yanking me further down.

He's a really good guy. And he's cute too, which helps.

Monday, April 5, 2010

Intimate relationships, or "I just did my homework"

Mondays always mean new discussion topics at school, and this week we are covering "intimate relationships." Mondays are also my day off, which means I get to stare longingly out the window at the beautiful weather while I wade through my required reading and finish my assignments. Sigh...

Today's discussion point was "Why is forming an intimate relationship risky?" I guess to really be able to answer, you need to look at the aspects of an intimate relationship:

Intimacy: The ability to share feelings
Social integration: The ability to share worries and concerns
Nuturance: to have someone to care for and be cared for by (pretend that is grammar)
Assistance: to help during times of need
Affirmation:to be told that you matter as a person

Awwwwwww, right? That sounds just ducky. One of the points brought up is that the ability to form intimate relationships is as vital to wellness as proper nutrition.

Perhaps this explains why I'm also fat...

As I was outlining the above information, I was thinking of a more realistic view of my intimate relationships, or rather, the fact that I can't actually form them or this would happen:

Me: "Ugh today at work was such shit. And why do I have so many stupid toes? Where are the pliers?"
Boyfriend: "Uhhhhhh....what?"

social integration:
Me: Sure! I'd love to go to that party with you!! Wait, are there going to be people there? I'm pretty terrified of people..Will they be drinking? Drunk guys will rape me. What if You go to the bathroom and I get kidnapped and raped and left in the woods with my head cut off?!? WHAT IS YOU LEAVE ME THERE??? YOU WON'T LEAVE WITHOUT ME, RIGHT?
Boyfriend: ...why don't we just order Chinese instead?
Boyfriend: "Uhhh....what?"

Boyfriend: Marry me Plz.

***several months later***
me:I just found out I'm pregna- hey??? WHERE ARE YOU GOING????
boyfriend: PEACE OUT!

I don't have any banter for this one. Usually what happens is I get symptomatic and seek help for myself, and while I'm adjusting to new meds and unable to work, or in the hospital, everyone forgets I ever existed. The absolute SHITTIEST part of bipolar is people using you until there just isn't anything left, and then being tossed out with the trash.

There is no affirmation for bipolar people once we get symptomatic. Then instead of being told "Oh well you aren't *REALLY* bipolar, you're so normal!" we get told things like "Kill yourself already," or "You are just a bipolar psycho bitch" and other fun phrases.

I think one of my biggest problems with intimate relationships is that I genuinely don't find most people WORTH a friendship. Other people are backstabbing and petty, and they always seem to WANT something. My relationships always turn into me doing everything and getting nothing in return. Conversations where I'm bearing my soul leave me feeling like I'm banging my head on a brick wall. There is also the 100% chance that they will bail when I need them, as time has shown over and over. Oh, and then they will turn themselves into the wonderful martyr that was SEW IN LUV with the mean evil bipolar girl who should be burned at the stake and they deserve a parade. My favorite have been abusive boyfriends whose excuse was "She's crazy" AND IT WORKED.

So really, what the eff is the point?

In the past two years I have pretty much devoted myself solely to my children, with my fiance coming in second and the rest of the world held at bay with a friendly smile and a casual Hello while I find any excuse to walk away.

Strangely, I feel much healthier with next to zero face-to-face time outside of what my job subjects me to. I am almost wondering if the MUST HAVE LOADS OF FRIENDS AT ALL COSTS that I have had beaten into my head by therapists wasn't just adding to the anxiety...and the constant rejection and betrayal didn't do all that much for the ole self esteem, I can tell you that much.

I'm much happier living in my own head. Other people can't get in here.

My marriage is going to be very, very interesting.

Sunday, April 4, 2010


They let you put dumb shit on their heads for pictures.

Buona Pasqua

My Easter started with me eating a vanilla ice cream cone for breakfast, and then taunting my Great Dane into gouging my thighs with her talon-esque toenails that I keep reminding myself to cut. Note to self: Do not hop up and down in the living room squealing IT'S THE EASTER DANE!!!! It only makes said "Easter Dane" flatten you in tail-wagging glee, resulting in bloody thighs. Phrases that also result in bodily injury are BABY DANE!!! FANCY DANE!!! and WHERE IS MAH BAYBEE?!?!

Next time? I get a chihuahua. My pets end up as neurotic as I am, and I need a less formidable opponent as our current boxing score is Agnes: over 9000, Sandi: 0

I'm not begin a very good mother this Easter. I am not a huge fan of the Easter bunny, since a 6 foot tall rabbit in a pastel bow tie just seems like pedobear's "special" cousin or something and it just creeps me out. Since my fiance was laid off recently, I didn't have money for Easter baskets or presents either. My solution has been to act as if today is just another Sunday, only we are dressing extra nice. It kinda blows. It would be different if people would stop asking my kids "WHAT DID THE EASTER BUNNY BRING YOU?!" - He brought them jack shit, but thanks for asking!


You see what I just did with the little star thingies up there? It means I'm randomly changing topics. My next topic sucks and is depressing so go eat some ham or something and come back tomorrow, or at the very least don't bitch to me later if you join me in wanting to open a vein.

A friend of mine that I met through my internet journal made a velor bunny for my oldest when she was little.

Photobucket This was the best picture I could find - my daughter liked to wrestle with it, but you get the idea. This thing came EVERYWHERE yet still looked brand new 15 months later when my youngest was born. They both adore this rabbit.

I was in Marshall's and my oldest and she found this beat up ratty stuffed bunny on the floor ( I'll just call her "K" from now on since I am already sick of typing "my oldest" all the time. The younger is "H". Get it? Good.) I actually felt sympathy for this grubby toy, so I brought it home, cleaned it up, and it joined the other rabbit as COOLEST TOYS EVER. The girls would regularly drag them around by the ear and insist on bringing them everywhere.

Getting to the point, since I've been babbling about dolls for way too long now - I miscarried right before my hysterectomy, since having crotch cancer wasn't enough fun or something and the universe decided I needed ONE MORE THING. It feels like a forever long time ago but I'm nowhere near as "over it" as I let people think. Actually, the majority of people in my life don't even know it happened (they eye roll over my "alive" children, I really don't want to see wtf they'd pull over a dead one). So yeah, bunnies. I guess being slapped in the face with rabbits for the past few weeks has just rubbed in the fact that this is the end of the line for babies that will drag this stuffed animal around everywhere. I am probably way more upset than necessary, but that's kind of my "thing."

I'm just skipping Easter this year. I just feel like somebody's missing.

Jesus rises from the dead, to punch me in the gut.

Saturday, April 3, 2010

Fear and Loathing in NJ

From the minute my children were born, I was convinced terrible and frightening things would happen to them.

Actually I take that back - in the beginning I was convinced I was being stalked and someone would club me over the head in the park and drag me off into a ditch and cut my fetus out with a car key or something (WHY DID THAT STUFF END UP ON THE NEWS ONLY WHEN I WAS PREGNANT? ) At any rate, I avoided any DIY c-section attempts and managed to make it to their births.

...At which point I flipped out because they were going to be kidnapped from the hospital, a nurse would drop them, they would catch a drug resistant staph infection, they'd get injected with HIV by accident, I'd be given the wrong baby and not find out for like 15 years, my babies had horrible birth defects that we didn't know about yet and would die any minute.... Yeah. The nurses probably loved me. It has only gotten worse.

Now that my girls are pre-schoolers, and gorgeous ones at that, in my totally unbiased opinion, I am convinced some strange man is always lurking in the shadows to kidnap and rape them, or something equally awful. I am the epitome of a helicopter mother. My children are never out of my reach, just in case I need to snatch them away from a pedophile or karate-chop a stranger with candy in the Adam's apple. Part of the way my bipolar manifests itself is with irrational and obsessive fears...but it could happen, right? I wonder if "normie" moms secretly feel like I do, but they just don't want to admit it. Or maybe I'm nuts. Six of one, who really cares.

Moving along, today was an absolutely beautiful day. During my last hour of work or so, I decided it would be fun to take the girls and the family dog to the park for a hike. A little fun, a little sun - wholesome family good times!

But's 5 o'clock. It might get dark soon. It's going to get dark while I'm in the middle of the park. It's going to get dark and I'm going to be alone in the woods with the kids and the dog. There are rapists in the park. Rapists looking for women with children. In the dark. Alone. The dog is going to attract wild animals. Wild animals and rapists. Bears will eat us. Bears will eat us all. And raccoons. Raccoons with rabies. And werewolves. Werewolves in the park. I can hear them howling. They are going to eat me. They are going to eat me and the kids OH MY GOD IT WILL GET DARK IN THE PARK!!! ZOMBIES!!!!!!! - isn't my head a funny place?

So yeah, I worked myself into a mental frenzy over effing ZOMBIES AND WEREWOLVES, of all things. I am 27, I thought I'd outgrow this boogieman shit, but no. I have a "thing" with zombies...

Needless to say, we went for ice cream instead. Well, we were GOING to go for ice cream , before I decided it would be poisoned and kill me and I'd vomit blood and die, so we bought ice cream at the grocery store, I inspected the carton for hypodermic needle marks, and THEN we had ice cream. After using hand sanitizer.

I know this just sounds totally ridiculous and over the top, I do. But it's true. Can I tell you how humiliating it is to be 27 and ranting about zombies? Flipping out because the ceiling fan might cut your head off? Running screaming from anyone using tinfoil (SHUT UP, IT'S DISTURBING. OK????)

This. Sucks.

Of all the wacky crap I do, this is actually one of the things I am most afraid of passing onto my kids. I want them to love life, explore nature, travel the world, and follow their dreams - not talk themselves out of doing simple things. I want them to genuinely enjoy being outdoors and meeting new people, not planning an escape route the entire time.

But when the apocalypse comes? At least I know I've trained them well in zombie survival tactics.

That goes for something, right?

Friday, April 2, 2010

How is babby formed?

I never actively made the decision to have children; to be honest I kinda just suck at birth control. Another fun part of mental illness is having people discourage you from having children (they feel it is their right to say *lovely* things) while also encouraging you to have AS MANY BABIES AS POSSIBLE. Human beings are an endangered species, and therefore it is my womanly duty to pop out babies like a Pez dispenser, or so my doctors would have liked to believe.

I never took psychiatric medicines when I was pregnant, and to be honest my complete birth control fail might have had something to do with me frolicking around med-free. But whatever. Sperm happens. At any rate, I became inseminated with baby #1. When "normies", as I oh-so-lovingly call you sane people become pregnant, they are met with hearty congratulations, baby showers, and parties. When crazy people become pregnant, we get asked when the abortion is. I never got congratulations, I got eye-rolls. The complete lack of basic decency I had to deal with on a daily basis greatly added to the hormone induced depression I was dealing with, so I spent nine months wanting to crawl into a hole and die. Thanks again, by the way... When I was around 8 months pregnant, I made the decision to have a tubal ligation. I felt like crap, I got treated like crap, and I never wanted to be pregnant again.

Did you know there is a WAITING PERIOD for a tubal? I didn't either. Hence baby #2

I didn't even bother telling the majority of people in my life I was pregnant because I got treated like complete shit the first time, but rumors travel fast. This time I even got offers to have my abortion paid for! If only all pregnant women could know the joy of unsolicited abortions, the world would be wonderful, wouldn't it? (But I'm crazy, and therefore have no feelings). This time I walked into my Dr's office at like 30 seconds pregnant and demanded a tubal. I got offered birth control pills. I demanded a tubal. I was offered an IUD. I DEMANDED A TUBAL, and I was told I didn't have enough children. I DEMANDED A TUBAL, and explained that I was on my second high risk pregnancy, mentally ill, and already had an infant at home. I was told to go home and think about it.

So I demanded a tubal. Once it became obvious that my ass wasn't waddling out of the OB office without my tubal form, they finally let me sign it.

After my youngest was born, I had extremely heavy periods that would have me bedridden for a week out of the month. I asked for an ablation. An ablation is basically...well..having boiling water poured into your uterus to burn the insides so you don't bleed anymore. Lovely, right?

I was told no, because I might want more children. I was offered birth control pills AGAIN (did I mention hormonal birth control makes me totally flip out?) After a TUBAL (to avoid pills forever), I was told that I might want more kids. Was "permanent birth control" not enough of an indicator that I DID NOT WANT TO BE PREGNANT? I guess not. It took me three doctors to find one who would agree to it.

Naturally after the ablation, I was diagnosed with cervical cancer. Of course. Hysterectomy, here I come! (Well, went. That was last Easter.)

I can barely stifle my laughter when people launch into rants about how evil mentally ill parents are for subjecting our poor wikkle baybees to ourselves - has anyone pointed out how difficult it really is to AVOID children? On top of the "pop 'em out" mentality that the majority of OB/GYNs have, once you have a psych diagnosis they assume you are too stupid and crazy to know if you even want kids anyway. My desire to have a tubal was brushed off as "depression" or "not being rational", when really?

I kinda just wanted to avoid subjecting kids to me.

I also wanted to avoid subjecting myself to another 9 months of rude remarks. There are no baby showers and cards when you are bipolar. There is no "happy."

The only happy memory I have from two pregnancies is having complete strangers from the Internet (readers of my online journal) send me flowers to my hospital room after my youngest was born. It still amazes me that total strangers could be so kind.

Thursday, April 1, 2010

The "Oh" factor

Having an invisible disability is both a blessing and a curse. I like the fact that on the outside I appear "normal', so for the most part I get all the opportunities that any other 27 year old white woman would be granted. I consider it a curse because 1)my disorder can cause me to totally screw up said opportunities, like the great college disaster of 2000, and 2) the "oh" factor.
Although I am not ashamed of my bipolar diagnosis, I tend not to wave it around like a flag because...I just don't see the point. I've never been one to rush up to a group of strangers and say "Hi, I'm Sandi, AND BIPOLAR!!!" - because really, what sort of weirdo acts like that? Unless mental illness comes up in conversation, or a situation presents itself where I feel the need to disclose, I just keep it to myself. The "Oh" factor is what I call the reaction when people find out that me, the 27 year old "normal gir,l" has bipolar disorder.

I used to find it almost funny, but it has become more and more annoying lately. One of the most infuriating times was during my pregnancy with my oldest daughter. Early on in my pregnancy, I was diagnosed with "hyperemesis", which is a fancy term for "you puke all the fucking time and hope for death." All day, every day, I was curled up on the bathroom floor vomiting out my mouth and nose or too nauseated to function. As this is extremely unhealthy, I brought it up at my first OB appointment. Rather, I TRIED to bring it up at my appointment...
During the list of intrusive health questions the nurse was asking me, I discolsed I was bipolar as she asked me if I had any mental health history. The second "bipolar" came out of my mouth she sad "Oh", and then looked at me as if I had suddenly sprouted wings and was flying around the room breathing fire. The rest of our conversation turned into her dramatically explaining the importance of psychiatric care, and hammering into me how important it was that I informed my OB about my diagnosis. I agreed, and waited until I was called in to see the Dr.
I was in with the Dr just long enough to change into my lovely paper gown and introduce myself when the door comes flying open and the nurse announces "DID SHE TELL YOU SHE'S BIPOLAR?!?" No, I hadn't, but I hadn't actually made it through my "hello." I then got the "Oh!" response from my doctor, who also began to look at me like I had just eaten a puppy. It was obvious from here on in that nobody was going to give a shit about my constant vomiting. And I was right!

Fast forward two days, and I'm in the ER, totally dehydrated from *drumroll*...vomiting. Nobody saw this coming, right? LUCKY FOR ME, the nosy nurse was working that night, so the first question I got to answer was "DID YOU KEEP YOUR PSYCH APPOINTMENT?!" Here I am, shaking and about to pass out while throwing up blood everywhere, and she is concerned with a psych appointment. Oh, ok... And I vomiting because I'm insane? Is it hallucinated puke? Fun stuff, let me tell you.

It also happens with friends and in relationships. You get annoyed? IT'S BECAUSE YOU ARE INSANE. You are crying? INSANE. You raise your voice? INSANE. Getting annoyed that your fiance just dumped a Coke in the center of the brand new bedroom carpeting has nothing to do with the fact that he is a slob, and everything to do with the fact that you are INSAAAAAAAAAANE!! Bipolar disorder seems to give other people license to act however they want, and treat you however they want, because if anything happens or if you don't like it, they can just call you crazy and they are miraculously absolved from any personal responsibility. The best part is that if *I* blamed everyone else for my issues, they'd call THAT "insane," too. Ya just can't win!

I am currently dealing with the "oh!" factor at work, which has me seeing a new job. Due to medication issues I needed time off, and I disclosed my bipolar diagnosis to my boss because I wanted to be honest and as she is a recovering addict I thought she'd be sympathetic. I THOUGHT WRONG! Every issue I have with anything, from misplacing a stapler to misunderstanding a question is now met with "I don't know if it's your medication or something but..." and "I don't know if this is something you need to talk to your doctor about, but"...

Lovely. Just lovely. My stressful job is now OH SO MUCH BETTER when I'm being talked to like an insane infant.

It's a hard thing to deal with. Disclose your diagnosis and get treated like Godzilla, or keep it to yourself and feel alone.