• Basic Bipolar Dilemma

    October 20, 2019 Author: NuttyLizzy
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    So I want to go off the medication again… this time because I feel flatlined. I was nervous again about meeting up with my therapist and it seemed like for no reason, but then when I got home and decided to start writing in here again, I started to think. Then I started to get upset. Then cry. So I composed an email and sent it to my therapist thinking I should probably get in sooner than three weeks.

    “I think I know why I was nervous about meeting with you on Friday… I want to go off of this medication, because I feel like its flatlining me, and I am overall doubting whether or not I even have an illness to be on it. I realize this now since you mentioned me skiing this winter and I forgot that I liked to ski. I’ve forgotten all of my likes. I’m just coasting, which is what these drugs do, so I’m questioning if I really even needed anything like this to begin with. I’ve gone back and read my journals which tell me yes, defiantly I need medication, but I’m wondering what you think about all this. This is probably what we should have discussed. I also feel like it’s hard for me to be around people again on a daily basis as far as work and I need to address that too. I think my co-workers are going to figure out something is wrong with me so going off the medication is out of the question. I feel trapped and afraid. sorry to be contacting you on a Saturday but today has been a bad day for me and I will talk myself out of this by Monday. Can we meet next week sometime?”

    So that’s what’s going on now. Basic bipolar dilemma.  

  • The Shrink

    November 8, 2018 Author: NuttyLizzy
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    So I had to go to my shrink yesterday. I have to check in now before he will refill the antipsychotics he put me on. I haven’t been so sure about them anyway. I’ve had some side effects that I don’t like, mainly the nervousness that I feel all of the time. We discussed it, and after an hour of going over everything in my history and what has been going on medically at this point, he decided to up my dose to twice a day with the Klonipin. Now, at first he wanted to wean me off of that all together, that was in the beginning though. Then he talked about going off the new drug (Abilify) all together, but then I’d just be right back to where I started, Lamotrigine, which seemed to have stopped working. So, now I’m taking anti-anxiety medication at 9am in the morning!

    Back to the nervy feelings though. After much talk, in which I did reveal that I was even nervous to go and see my therapist, who I do like, he came up with an interesting theory. Abilify is designed to make one focus more effectively. If, for the past two years lets say, the Lamotrigine was not working effectively, then my mind was operating on a rather scattered arrangement. Like, having several projects going on at once that were all in the “incomplete” state. Many different ways for my mind to go at all times throughout the day perhaps. Now with my mind clear, settled and able to focus on one thing at a time, well… that in and of itself could be making me feel uncomfortable. Too much clarity, especially since he thinks that I personally have more of an awareness of my bipolar anyway.

    That theory could also be carried over onto my therapist and those four walls as well. I tell him I feel uncomfortable because he knows too much about me and I’m a very private person, but what if its more along the lines of me now knowing that he knows. Like being more aware of what he thinks about all of this, of me, because he is just a person as well, he has ideas….My shrink said we were probably just getting into areas that I didn’t want to talk about and when I denied that his response was, “well you are uncomfortable just having him view your mood chart.” That was as close to a joke I’ve ever heard out of a psychiatrist, but it was an effective one.

  • Cared For and Loved

    October 1, 2018 Author: NuttyLizzy
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    It was an interesting session this past Friday. I still don’t understand what I am doing there sometimes. Last time I asked him if it was okay to just sit there and chat back and forth for an hour, sure, but then two days ago I wanted answers. Why exactly was I still in therapy? Why did he want me there? What was this all about? What was my problem? He said that most people come into therapy because they think something is missing from their life, and it could be better, not really a specific problem. Ha, I wanted progress notes. He asked if that was an open invitation as to how he thought I was doing, and I assured him yes it most certainly was. You see, I have no clear perspective. He does. Somewhat. So, he said something along the lines of me having made great strides over the past 10 months… etc… etc, but I still didn’t get the point of it all. It still seemed so one-sided, which is ridiculous, because it’s designed to be that way. So, in short, he told me that I was a “caregiver” and that somebody had to care for me. This was my hour to come in, sit down, talk about my needs, be heard… and feel safe, cared about and loved. That was what he was providing. He cared about me and loved me. Never heard that from a therapist before. Needless to say, I’ve had a lot to think about the past few days. Do I think of myself as unlovable or something? Why do I find those words, that concept, to be so confounding? Am I a caregiver to such a degree that I feel rude in being the one to talk all the time? I have a lot to think about.

  • This Says it All –

    July 10, 2017 Author: NuttyLizzy
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    The Truth about Single Motherhood.

    Via Rebecca Lammersen
    on Oct 28, 2015

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    Writer’s Note: This is an excerpt from my journal. I’m sharing it so other single moms know they are not alone. For those of you who know a single mom, give her a little extra love and understanding today.

    There is always this empty space that sits across from me

    Emma’s on one side, Ruby’s on the other and then there’s this hole that follows me everywhere, from the dinner table, to the bedroom, to those nights free of obligations when I actually want to talk and rub feet and have my feet rubbed, too.

    That empty space is there when the hummingbird pecks at the window and there should be a witness, or the girls put on a dance show and there’s no echo to my clap.

    That empty space haunts the kitchen as I cook for four, even though there’s only three of us. They never really like what I make, so I make something else for them and always end up with leftovers, and every time I open the fridge there’s this stinking reminder, I’m alone.

    I don’t have a partner. I don’t have someone who has my back, or someone’s back to have for that matter. I love that, being the bulldog, protecting.

    There are the days when it feels like the whole world is caving in and I don’t even know why I do what I do with no appreciation, or reciprocity, or compensation. When I have to make every decision on my own. When there’s no one to consult about the mundane things like:

    What type of sauce do you want on the chicken tonight? Or, can you swing by and pick up her medication since I’ve already driven back and forth five times today?

    That’s when I’m reminded that I’m a mother doing it on my own.

    My heart feels pruned and shriveled like my fingers do when I’m in the water too long. My spirit is burnt like those sailors lost at sea with no shade, and when they’re fished out of the water, they’re mistaken for a net full of lobsters.

    Some days I’m okay. Some days I’m great, and some days I’m miserable. That’s just how it goes. I’ve accepted that.

    Like today, I feel like I can’t do this one more day. This. This “single mom I can still do it all” bullsh*t.

    “Do you need help, honey?” My mom asked me on the phone this afternoon.

    “No, no I can do this. I’m about to turn a corner, I’m trusting that.” But, I’m freaking out because tuition is due and I had to put money into the house this last month.

    Graduate school, write a book, help heal people’s bodies and raise two children all on my own. I can do this, but I’m exhausted.

    This scenario is not natural or sustainable.

    I understand why so many women glob on to the first man who seems loyal and well off and willing to help, because, this is awful at times, but who am I to complain?

    I’m one of the lucky ones. I have an ex-husband who is a present father, amicable, and pays alimony and child support.

    I have no reason to be complaining about my circumstance. I don’t. I sound like a whiny b*tch, but the truth is, this sucks.

    Being a mother and single is like being air dropped into tundra with nothing more than a fleece jacket and a Swiss army knife. I’m getting to that point, where I don’t know how I’m going to survive this for the next however many years.

    Every week, I lose them. This empty nest syndrome isn’t supposed to happen for another eight years. This is premature and wrong. They lay their precious little heads on a different pillow in a different zip code two nights a week. I hate that. I hate it. I hate that I walk past their bedrooms and there’s no life, no sound, no mess, just gray—blue gray, pink gray. Vacant. Dead.

    Nights are harder than days. Days are doable—I’m busy running around, but I always come home to an empty house. Unless I have a sitter, which is infrequent, I don’t know what it’s like to come home to the glow, to someone whom I love with his feet up and a sweating glass I have to wipe up and get annoyed about.

    Oh, and dating, my goodness. I can’t talk about what I really want to talk about because it would be inappropriate—Ruby’s learning Mozart now, she went a key farther today! Oh, and Emma, she spun five times instead of four!

    That’s my life, but it’s off limits because it’s faux pas to talk about my kids when I first meet a someone for coffee on a Tuesday at 1:00 p.m. when what I should be doing is studying—but I’d like to meet someone so this is what I have to do.

    Or, we meet in the evening on my one night off when I really want to be breast deep in a steaming hot bath. Instead I’m faced with figuring out how to strategically and kindly bypass any sexual advances because I’m not in the mood—I had to get up with the kids extra early because of choir practice and I have no energy left because I’ve spent the last hour drinking watered down whiskey while having to recount my story.

    My story.

    My story is dark and twisty, and then luminous, and then ominous, and on top of that, I’m not just a regular gal and I never will be.

    Who will want me? This life I lead? Possibly no one, ever.

    I’m too tired and old for all of this.

    Where’s the steady hand and the eyes that have seen it all and still love me?

    These are the times I summon nostalgia and I think about my last love and for a moment, I miss him. Loving someone I can’t be with is a cruel joke—he’s dead, but not really dead, and that’s what makes it excruciating sometimes.

    Our relationship is dead, but he’s alive and well and probably f*cking someone or laughing over a glass of Shiraz and steak, and here I am, alone.

    I just finished prepping for breakfast tomorrow morning—the bunny eared plates are all ready to go for the gluten free waffle and Nutella sandwich I’ll make for them and then I’ll sit in the blue chair watching their bed heads bob up and down as they sprinkle crumbs all over the counter and the floor. The dog will jump up, begging me for another biscuit, and he’ll cause me to spill coffee down my white nightie as I try to finish up an article.

    It’s all my responsibility to clean and tend to as I start another day, pruned and burnt, with ironclad determination to make something of myself, even if there’s no one to celebrate with me when I do.

    Today may have been miserable, but maybe tomorrow will be an okay day, or even better, it’ll be a great day.

  • The Trade

    May 22, 2017 Author: NuttyLizzy
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    The Tarot keeps telling me that I’m repeating old patterns which is why I am miserable and cannot move on. No job prospects (actually I’ve been turned down by 8 within the past five months), no boyfriend. Had a lover, a great lover, but it was time for me to move on. He had some pretty big problems, bigger that mine maybe, and I’ve got some doozies, as you well know if you’re reading this.So, I began to think of these old behavioral patterns and thought of “The Trade.” You see… it’s what I do. And it works. It works well.

    With my husband I traded my youth, my looks, my dynamic personality and I know perfectly well that I can do this. Men have always noticed me. When I was in my 20’s I was a traffic stopper, a pretty girl, and its still darn easy for me. I wanted to sail around the world, and he had just the boat to do that. He pursued me relentlessly! So after he crossed the Atlantic I put in a message for him to call me. The next week I was on the plane to Palma de Mallorca. We sailed for four years together, crossed the Atlantic and I logged 10,000 miles in deep ocean waters. It was a fair trade, so it seemed…

    For my fiancé, I also traded my looks and youth because I wanted a replacement family from the one I just lost. What I really wanted was someone to help me raise my son. And that’s just how it started, our two boys meeting at The Children’s Museum.” It seemed like kismet, and we stayed together for 5 years. It was a long distance relationship. He lived three hours away, but I didn’t mind, I’m pretty sure that was just what I wanted. He put a ring on my finger right away because of a serious jealousy issue. Should’ve seen that one coming. But we also had fun. A Lot of Fun! With the boys. By ourselves. Heck, he flew me first class to Thailand for 2 weeks. We were always on the move…

    Now I just ended what I would call a “transitional relationship.” I needed to get back in the game and he was lonely. I knew this guy, since he was a friend of my brother’s from years back. I remember as a young girl having a huge crush on him. So he asked me out when I got back to Michigan, and then the texting began… oh, how I love the texting game, (always make them text first and never be the one to text last!) I let him pursue me for 6 months then he finally called me and asked if we were ever going to have that drink or not? So, I said yes to dinner. We texted then nearly every day after that. Then there was New Year’s Eve….. the notorious one night stand! But I was still okay with this, after all he was what I considered in the safe zone. My family new him, thought he was a nice guy, but I knew it would never go anywhere. It did. For five months…

    These trades have consequences though. There are definitely red flags all along, but I would ignore them for the trade off. For example: my husband turned out to be verbally abusive and threatening. By the time that 10 years was over I was just a shell of who I once used to be. It took me years to return to myself, but I’m not sure I ever really did. My so called fiancé turned out to be manipulative and controlling, eventually (once I was diagnosed with bipolar) blaming every argument or tiny disagreement on my illness. This last guy, as much of a connection we shared and all of the mind blowing sex we had, turns out he met his first wife in AA, and his second wife left him unannounced one day while he was at work and forced him to have a psych eval. Turns out he was an alcoholic and sex addict.