I Tell, YOU!

I hate being told what to do.

Today my GM sends me an email that outlines what he wants my May priority to be.

Who the hell is he to tell me what to do?

I make my own rules!
I play my own game!
I only take orders from the owner.

He just hates that he can't control me. I try to let him in a bit, and then he tries to pull this shit.

I know what his game plan is: to give me assignments and when they're not done, to build a case that my position isn't needed.

Why wouldn't they be done?
Cuz I'm busy doing more serious shit!

I don't want to go back to February and early March, but if he pushes me, I'll be bringing him chocolate cupcakes made with EXLAX!!!!

- Stress =

Minus Stress equals?

What are my stresses?

- Money. (I wouldn't work if I had more of it. If they are honest most people would agree.)

- Health (I need "in case shit happens" aka insurance but then this could be traced back to money because if I had lots of it, I wouldn't need a job. I'd pay for my insurance out right and get the best health care?

- Making a difference in the world. (Naw, back to money. Cuz I would be able to take my time and do what I want because I would need to work.)

So it's money?

Money is my stress?

The reason I can't sleep is because of money?

The reason I'm angry, lash out etc, is because of money?

I'm not saying that I would never have another bip symptom, but if I take away the stress, I'm not the type to find something else to stress about.

So, problem solved.

In the words of Lil Kim: F*ck b*tches, Get Money. LMBO

Ctrl Alt Delete

Yup. I'm rebooting.

I'm not getting to the "sights" I want, and so I am simply starting my applications over.

How I see it, once I've reloaded my page several times, the writings on the wall - either my connection is malfunctioning or it's my hard drive.

I think it was Albert Einstein who said the definition of insanity is to do the same thing over and over and expect different results.

Like duh.

I'm not insane.

Here are my discoveries:

I tried the meds. At this point, they're doing more harm than good, so I'm off. For me to keep taking them and expecting to feel better, is insane.

I also discovered that I'm old fashioned. I want to cook, clean and be taken care of, but in today's feminist superwoman of the 21st century world, saying this sounds unambitious and lazy. So, of course I've been in denial about what I really want, and have routinely picked guys who can't do or are unwilling to do the above.

So, now it's out in the open. If I'm not honest about what I want, how am I supposed to get it?

To keep picking guys that need mothers and expecting them to turn into men that want to take care of me, is insane.

Another truth: certain people, places, songs, and things bring me down. They're like Spyware; they do nothing to improve my modem speed or mood. So they must be deleted or put in a folder until I feel like dealing with them.

For me to keep listening to the same depressing shit over and over and expect joy, is insane.

Not sure where I was going with this. I guess I am taking responsibility for my life and want everyone to do the same.

Day 2

Nausea still here.
Woke up at 6am to eat a plum and apple.
Lemon water helps.
Yogurt stayed down.
Need to eat several mini meals to deal.

Weak as hell, but my head works!
No depression. No mania!
Yahoo for me!

Swan

I've been watching the Swan; you know, the reality tv show that's all cosmetic surgery. (Oh they also do therapy and weight training.)

Well, I realized that I haven't been taking good care of myself regularly.

I only get dressed for work or an event.
Makeup also only for work, and event or if a guy is visiting. :-p

Showers? What showers? I only do it for work, and even then it's like pulling teeth.

I need to wash my hair...Hey Ash, TMI ALERT..I need to shave, and basically become a Swan instead of the ugly duckling fug ball that I've become. I'm sure being dirty and ugly and blah contributes to my mood, too.

So, this week:
- Showers (and I'm gonna like it)
- Makeup every day (I don't need it, but I feel pretty and "done".)
- Nice outfits
- Perfume
- I'm even gonna wear sandals!

Yup. I'm gonna put a pedicured foot forward this week.

I'm also gonna do something fun for me. No food, but like a movie or something.

Wish me luck!

Anger Management

Ash said that I was probably the angriest chick he knew.

He's right.

I've been angry much of my life for something and nothing, but I know this now. So, I'm gonna do something about it.

What?

Be more aware, I guess.

Try to diffuse situations before they get to kaboom!
Journal some more, and of course meditation, prayer and The Secret.

I'll keep ya posted.

My Birthday

I had a really good birthday minus the spazzing out, yelling, threats, etc.

I kinda did it MTV Sweet 16 style.

I had a swimsuit fashion show while rappers performed and a comedian.

Many friends came out, co -workers, etc.

I did 9 clothing changes.

I'd love to post pics, but then...everyone would know who I am, duh. lol!

But tot hose who asked, thank you. I had a good birthday.

More Updates

The Italian - going through his own shit. He needs time. Talk to him every day. No I don't hate him. lol.

Mr. M - Who? Just kidding. He's a child, and has hella shit to handle before being with me. Do I hate him? Hmmm, no. Not even dislike passionately. I recognize that he was so a reason or season. Lifetime? Hell no.

S - Hmmm, I might have over reacted a bit with the "she's dead to me". Still no communication. I don't know how to relate to her. Chick issues, remember?

Oh, but you know who IS dead to me?

Sea.

I haven't mentioned him a lot. He was on my hate list one day, but yeah, he is so dead, he is fully decomposed right now. Yes, I am in my right mind - not manic or depressed, just certain that I will never speak to him again.

He was a friend, but it was a one-sided friendship. So, he's history. No kidney if he needed it, no ice water in hell, no spit if he was on fire. LMBO!

I'm not even angry, just giving updates.

Me and the owner, still cool. Brought him some red velvet cupcakes on Friday.

The GM - yup he was an arse, but we communicate a bit better now that I don't answer to him.

Parents? Love my daddy. Keep mother at bay.

Hmmm.


Did I miss anything?

I Like Hugh Laurie

Not sure if you know, but he is bipolar, too.

And he's kinda cute with his accent :-)

Anyway, he is using one of his catch phrases from the show House to raise money for NAMI!

Yup, "Everybody Lies" is the catch phrase, and I am soooo buying the t-shirt.

You should, too.

Old Fart?

In other news, I have an ex that's age 54.

Recently met a guy that's 67.

Yup. 67.

What's the appeal?

Not love.

Love? Tina Turner (What's love got to do with it?)

He likes me and wants to take care of me.

Not sure if you recall, but I am an unfit mother.

I don't know.

I'm tired of working.
I wanna be a trophy wife.

Yup, I said it.

Why work when you can relax, go to the gym, walk the dog, get massages and stay in bed?

My ex spoiled me this way.

Who the hell wants to think about rent and cell phone bills?

He can worry about that stuff.

I also wanna be able to go through my bip episodes without the stress of having to perform at work.

I can work, or not.

Hmmmmm.

He's a millionaire, not ugly, and great conversation.

Do I need anything else?

Btw, not sure if you got the memo, but sex is sooooo overrated.

EUREKA!

I had a bowl of Campbell's Chicken Noodle Soup, and guess what?

I feel great!

Could it be that the reason why I feel like shit is not because of the meds but because I am dehydrated, mal-nutritioned and in need of FOOD?

What thought!

I feel like I can run a marathon!

But then again, I have been nauseous for several days and couldn't eat, so it's not entirely my fault.

Also, perhaps I feel like shit because I've got decaying food all around me.

Why the hell do I have 2 old sandwiches, McDonald's, Burger King, pizza, cheesy bread, etc all around me?

No wonder I feel like shit!
Eureka!

Off Meds I Am

I have never felt sicker.

I have most likely puked my body weight in the last two weeks between withdrawal and reintroduction of the meds to my system.

I'm done.

If depression is the opposite of feeling like shit, gimmie depression.

I have been mentally alert, clear and roaring to go, but I can't execute my thoughts because my body is too lethargic, weak, uncooperative and unpredictable.

Scents make me nauseous.
I never know when I'll puke.
TMI ALERT: I alternate between IBS and severe constipation.
Grapefruit juice helps, but counteracts meds.
I'v been enjoying a diet of prunes and peanut butter.

I'm done.

I bought Omega 3, B12, supa dupa women's vitamins, water, lotsa fruit, and charged my Ipod so I could listen to The Secret.

I'm ready for meditation, yoga, prayer and bible reading, and taking my life back from seroquel and friggin lexapro.

Hell, feeling like shit for meds, just isn't worth it to me.

So for the sake of this new journey, I've added a new label OFFMED.

I Like Him.

Some feel good stuff.

Shame on me

Believe it or not, my kitchen, bathroom and living room are spotless.

I Can't See My Floor

Do you know where I can find Thing 1 and 2?

No Call

It's Friday.

Pdoc has called.

She's a liar.

I Wanna Tell

When I can no longer be held captive by the fear of revealed truth what remains is freedom absolute.

I am captive by the fear of people finding out that I'm bipolar.

When I am no longer afraid, then I am free.

I wanna be free.

Bath House

For our 1st official date, my ex boyfriend had us go through a bath house ritual.

We fasted together.
We prayed together.
We release negative energy.
We released toxins.
We had a massage.
We slept & awoke refreshed.

We did all of this for a fresh start to our relationship.

I want to do it this on Sunday.

Just for me.

You may say it didn't work because he's an ex, but truth is, what I learned from him and our relationship is invaluable and stays with me to this day.

He taught me a deeper level of spirituality and on many occassions healed me from physical pain. He's wise beyond his years and truly possesses God's power.

Anyway, I respect him immensely and still love him.

This time, I want to do it for me;
to clean my air, my aura, my body.

May sound like hocus pocus mumbo jumbo, but what's loonier than the condition of my bedroom.
I'll keep you posted ok.

Too Full

I feel full.

full of shit
full of anger
full of meds
full of anger
full of bitterness
full of energy
full of ideas
full of anger
full of shit

Just full.
Too full.
Wanna get rid of the bad stuff in me.

Going on a raw food diet for the month of may. Well, not exactly raw food; I'm gonna eat only fruits and vegetables & water.

Don't wanna be so full.

From Scratch

I was doing good.
Mixed all the ingredients.
Poured it in the pan.
Had it in the oven.
Then my pdoc opened the oven door.

Yup. No blue ribbon for a floppy cake.

I'm starting over from scratch.

In the last week:
Haven't listened to The Secret.
Haven't read my bible.
No medition.
No water.

Been too nauseous and weak to do anything.

Darn.

She's Back

Yup. She's Back.

1 Dominoes pizza box w/ 2 slices inside
1 Dominoes cheesy bread box w/ crust inside
11 strawberry stems & butts
9 Malta bottles
2 Grapefruit juice bottles
1 plate/ fork from meat pizza
1000s of granola crumbs
4 Sandwich wrappers w/ remnants
1 Bruger King meal bag w/ remnants
1 McDonalds meal bag w/ remnants
1 cup of old Protein shake
1 plate w/ stale bread & honey
1 Breakfast Panini
11 water bottles
6 Gum wrappers
2 Bottles of Ginger Ale
1 sweedish fish bag
2 empty pineapple trays
2 empty green grape bags

How the hell do I NOT have roaches or mice?

Damed if I do...

Nauseous as hell.
Grapefruit juice helps.
Grapefruit juice affects my meds.

To be nauseous or depressed?

Lexapro Be Damned

I have it.
I took it.
It's making me sick.

I've been throwing up since Saturday, and have been sucking mentos all day.

I think I rather be depressed.

Father vs. Mother

There is something fundamentally wrong with my mother.

I went to help them on Friday only because my father asked. (Never returned mother's calls.)

Upon walking in the door:

Father: Hey wuts up. Thanks for coming.
Mother: Why do you look like that? What happened to your makeup? You need to put on makeup before the kids come in.

Me: What? (Didn't put makeup on)

Upon leaving:

Father: Thanks for coming. I put together some lunch for you. He hands me a bag with 2 chicken wraps a fruit & juice.

Mother: (after makeup) Now you look like a human.

So, I did good, right?

I rolled my eyes and ignored. I didn't spaz out! Hooray for me!

Pdoc Update

So, I've given her a glass of water with ice, and have put in the request to move her from the red ant filled seat in hell.

I called her this morning and asked if she received any of my ranting messages.

She did not because she's been phasing out clients from that office and was almost certain that I had her cell number.

She apologized profusely and remedied my funky mood with a 2 month supply of all my meds, her cell phone number, and by placing my cell number in her phone right before my eyes.

She was deeply bothered that I had to go to the ER, and said that she thought I was the more stable of my sister and I.

Hmmm.

Anyway, she made me take the Lexapro while in her office to ensure that I have zero choking fits enroute home.

She promised to call me on Tuesday to meet. (We'll see about that.)

She said if I still sound/ appear as I am, she will want me admitted.

I ain't going in, and so it's Oscar time.

I Bite!

When I'm enraged very few people can calm me down.

In my family, my sister, father and brother can calm me down.

Usually who I'm dating can also.

So here's the deal, any other muthaf*cker that wants to dare try to calm me down, YOU WILL GET WHAT YOU GET!

I spit.
I bite, and I will spaz out on ya ass if you ever try to calm me down or ask me about meds.


Who the hell are you to tell me what is an appropriate reaction to my anger?

F*ck you and your judgmental, holier than thou ass.

But heed the warning because I promise to fuck you up if you get in my way.

Get it?
Got it?
Good.

Cake Man Mooned

My cake was supposed to be ready at 1pm.

I received a call at 12:30pm that it wouldn't be ready for pick up until 2pm.

I arrived to 2:45pm no cake and a suggestion that I pick it up at the warehouse a 30 minute drive away!

I pulled my pants down (figuratively) and showed my ass!

Yup. I spazzed out in the bakery and demanded that it be delivered to me.

3pm
4pm
5pm

No call, no cake.

6pm
6:30pm
7pm they call and said something but I couldn't understand anything because it didn't include "your cake will be delivered by:"

So, gasoline was poured on the fire. Had to let them know that if my cake wasn't present for me to cut it by the time my show was over, they need not bring it because I will be in the bakery the next day showing my ass!

So, I'm trying to get to the point with the person on the phone and people are trying to calm me down. No! I got this. Watch it, I Bite!

I passed the phone off.

Cake gets here at 7:30pm didn't have to pay for it; as if my ass would have.

HR Block Moron Part 2

I had the HR Block grandmama do my taxes. She moved slow as hell and made me want to do it myself.

I told her several times to press "enter" instead of slowing down to grab for the mouse.

I also dictated the info to her because she couldn't memorize more than 2 numbers at a time.

But here's the best part: I'm wondering why my refund wasn't deposited to my card. Well, she called me yesterday to tell me that my taxes weren't done because she forgot to have me sign some paperwork.

So, wait, are my taxes late?

Yes, they are.

You dumb muthaf*ckers! I came to you to avoid the stress of doing it myself and to ensure I wouldn't be late, and now you have stressed me out and made me late!

There's more.
I had deductions made so I could get the return on the same day. I didn't receive it same day, so my taxes need to be redone, correct?

You all set me up with the most incompetent arse on your staff and now want me to go out of my way to get it done with you? F*ck you, pay me! F*ck you, make it right!

Not sure what I'm doing, but I'm calling my Fox TV anchor friend. I'm sure there's a "Shame, Shame, Shame" consumer report segment in here some where.

Withdrawl

I still hate my pdoc.

I am going with severe withdrawal.

I'm sweating like a linebacker and now carry deodorant with me.
I am cramping in my tummy severely.
Too hot so I open the window.
Too cold so I use the space heater.
I'm a cry baby
Think the "s" thing again.
EXTREMELY anxious.
Extreme Fatigue.
Migraine.
Something that feels like sciatica and making me limp.
I need more Seroquel to combat the insomnia.
Some scents makes me wretch.
Laxative and enemas have returned.
HIGH agitation and irritability.
EXTREME Aggression.
Nightmares.
Hallucinations.
Diarrhea.
Memory Loss. Can't remember sh*t.
Lethargy.
Weakness.

I hate her for real.

Smashing Their Fingers

The following people are hanging on to the edge of a cliff by their fingers.

I am also smashing their fingers with my steel cleats so that they leh-go and DROP!

1. The Italian for not calling me on my birthday YET. He should so know better.

2. Mr. M for cancelling dinner for a stupid ass work deadline. Work is NEVER more important than me on my birthday!

3. The stupid ass pdoc who STILL has not called me back. There is a special red ant -filled seat in HELL for her.

4. The ER pdoc who cared more about being sued than ensuring I was ok. Maybe if I turned over the EKG machine and busted it to pieces, they would have given me meds.

Yes, that's all for now.

May they have a painful drop and hit many jagged rocks along the way.

Mother 4 Sale

Let's play Jeopardy:

Answer: You're acting like a spoiled brat. Do you think you are her only patient? You're acting really entitled.

Jeopardy Music On.
.
.
.
.
Jeopardy Music Off.

Question: What was the stupid arse shit my mother told me after hearing about how my pdoc has been MIA?

I had a f*ckin breakdown and was ok with checking myself into the ER! Is that entitlement, or is it me trying to avoid cornrows and orange jumpsuits?

I swear, she knows how to dial my combination to get me to spaz the fuck out!

I'm done.

HR Block Moron

I'm beginning to look at all people as being retarded. It's the only way I can justiify all the people who truly seek to piss me off daily (despite what Ash says. Lol).

Why else would someone close their line after their current person without telling anyone, during rush hour?

Why else would the hr block lady ask me if I have "forms" and then give me the stupid arse "duh" face when I ask her what forms?

Her: You know, your taxes forms.

Me: Uh, isn't that what you prepare for me? Could your ignorant arse be referring to my w2 and 1099 etc?

Her: Yes.

Me: Well, why don't you say that you bloody moron!

As long as I think everyone is retarded, I won't notice that they truly are the residue on the inside of a pot when all the water has boiled out, and the pot is still on the flame!

I'll Break the Pen!

Can we abolish all those pens with the annoying clicking tops!

I'm on the train, greatly irritated thanks to my arse of a pdoc, and this moron is clicking his pen.

Can I be held responsible for stabbing someone with the same pen that they are using to repeatedly click and annoy me?

Stop the bloody clicking!

We made eye contact.

You are aware the it annoys me!

Wait, if I take his pen and smash it to bits under my shoe, but then give him a non-clicking Bic, haven't I brought good to the world?

Crash

Had a breakdown.
Scared parents.
Mental Health Network wanted to send ambulance.
4.5 hours in ER.
They wanted to admit me.
I wouldn't give my blood.
They didn't give me meds.

I said I'd leave.
They said I was a danger.
I said I'd leave.
They called ER police.
I ran away and hid

Tomorrow is my birthday.
Happy Birthday to me.

Can I sue my p-doc for malpractice?

Burn Bitch!

I hate my muthafuckin doctor!

What the hell good are you if I can't get in touch with you to give me my meds?

2 weeks ago you said you'd call me back so I could give you the Duane Reade number to call in my prescription. Not only did you not call me back, but you haven't responded to my calls or the gazillion fuckin messages I've left!

Is this some kind of muthafuckin experiment?

You said I needed it.
You told me it would help get my life in order.
You saw that it was working, and now, when I called you BEFORE I was out, you don't even call me back?!

I built up my business only to watch it erode before me because of your unprofessional ass. I can't plan, sleep, focus, follow up or be productive.

I did what I was supposed to do.
I called BEFORE I ran out.
I called and called and called.

You know what, give me meds or my muthafuckin file so I can find another dr and get you the hell out of my life!

This Is Why I Spaz Out

This is why I spaz out.

I'm on the train, tired as hell because I didn't take Seroquel last night, so, yes that meant no sleep.

I've got my Ipod on, head leaning on the train wall thingy, and then I open my eyes to see some dude staring at me.

Then he smiles.

Its too early for this shit.

I close my eyes only to open them again and see is dumb arse still staring at me.

I'm a f*cking woman on a train early in the am with only 2 other humans in my train car, both of which are men!

I close my eyes again. Guess what? Dumb arse is still there.

I take a drink of my fruit punch Chrystal light to calm down and he starts shaking his head and licking his lips.

I'm on the defense. Smile at me again with your ugly arse and its on! (Yes, things would have been different if he was cute because good looking people have life easier.) I don't give a flying f*ck if you think I'm cute; speak or turn your stupid arse head.

Anyway, what does dumb arse do?

Continues staring and then smiles again! How stupid can you be?

So ipod ear buds come out.

I don't even go through the "is there a problem,can I help you" bullsh*t.

I get right to the muthaf*ckin point with my 3rd degree screw face: "Listen, you staring at me makes me uncomfortable and is also pissing me the f*ck off. I'd appreciate it if you spoke or stopped."

Arse wipe takes this as an opportunity to ask for my name!

What was it about me rolling my f*ckin eyes, my ipod, my screw face & me being far away from everyone that made you think I'd be interested in a conversation with your social skills lacking arse?!

By this point, my blood is bubbling and about to boil. I exit the train car and go to another car.

Progress.

I didn't hit or spit or spaz out.

Stupid ugly arse moron! Before you stare at people, pause to think if they took their meds today.

Enough

I’m so drained.

When is enough, enough?

Do you ever get sick and tired of being sick and tired?

It’s important to note that this isn’t a whiny rant. I know that the only reason I feel this sh*tty is because I’ve been off the Lexapro. Trust me, I will be certain to hunt my p-doc down tomorrow, or there will be NO PEACE in the world.

Apart from not being able to focus, I feel great.

So what prompted this post?

Vicious Cycles.

I’ve noticed that I’ve done the same thing over and over or have engaged in the same type of destructive behavior repeatedly, and I’m trying to end it.

Am I callous for being frustrated when everyone doesn’t pause to pay attention to their issues and cycles?

I give you a pass until 21, and then I expect you to fix your sh*t or at least have a desire to fix your sh*t. Maybe that’s my elitist, perfectionist, judgmental side talking. For example, hooray for me that I noticed that I was the one causing problems at all my jobs, and I chose to SMASH the cycle by changing my perspective on how I interact with my bosses.

My last 4 jobs ended by me being "certain" that my GM was out to get me. A couple of those ended in court cases.

You see?

Cycles. I’m trying to detect and fix mine.

Why won’t everyone pause, notice the routine, cyclical sh*t that they do, and change it?

Yeah, yeah, blah blah blah... I know, people are on different stages of their evolution. Well, I am all for making changes in my life for the better. I’m all for trimming the fat, making the changes and ending all this up and down bullsh*t.

I’ve cut people off with no regrets. Why should I regret not being friends with someone who is a self –absorbed arsehole?

Why should I be near anyone who brings me grief whether they know it or not?

Wait, do I have a responsibility to tell people why they're cut off? Cuz I really don't care to.

I justify it by saying that people grow apart. I grow apart from people. They were in my life for a reason or season. It’s not my responsibility to keep them around with all their dysfunction because they were nice to me once.

Still it's not my responsibility to keep them around after they fulfilled their purpose. Yes purpose; ever hear of friendships of utility? Especially with chicks; their feelings get hurt because they chose to ignore my disclaimer -"Butterfly subject to change at any moment without notice or apology".

Callous?

Maybe, but so what. I expect people to treat me the same way. I stopped putting my trust in people a long time ago. I trust people to be people which means they will do whatever they want to do whenever they want to do it when they feel it suits them best.

And that’s ok. Wanna know why?

Cuz I’m gonna do whatever the hell I want to do when I want to do it with no regrets.

Anyway, here’s some sh*t I want to fix:

- Why do I start and then destroy friendships with chicks?
- Why do blow throw money so quickly with nothing to show for it?
- Why do I strategically permit my anger to flare?
- Why do I wreck my own sh*t?
- Why do I attract married men?

The last one is a big one for me. I swear there is a sign on my forehead that reads “Married Men Welcome.” It irks my nerves. I want to scrub the sign off my head with a brillo pad!

I swear, if there is an unhappy married man within a 5 mile radius of me, he’s gonna find me and feed me his muthaf*ckin sob story. In the past I entertained it; you know, everyone needs someone to talk to, someone to vent to. Well, guess what? Your vent buddy, doesn’t have to be me! CALL DR. PHIL with your trifling arse!

I’m all about ridding my world of people that need not be in it.

Like who you ask?

- Married men
- Whiny and needy arse chicks
- Parasitic morons who want to use me as a stepping stone to fame.
- People stuck in the past.
- Jackarse men that sap my energy and creativity.

You get it?

Enough is enough for me?

I’m taking responsibility for my own sh*t. I have no time to deal with the world's.

Dear World:

If you can, can you go to someone else with your issues, problems and drama?

It’s not that I don’t want to care; deep down, I actually want to care, but I just don’t have the time, energy, patience or desire to care or help you out right now.

See, I’m busy dealing with and handling my own sh*t. I know a couple people you can call, but I truly don’t have the desire to pause and get the numbers for you.

I know, I sound really callous, but if you were in my shoes, you’d see what I mean.

I feel like I have an 18 wheeler mack truck racing toward me, with a cliff behind me, and my brain is scattered trying to weigh the pros and cons of moving to the left or right instead of just getting the hell out of the way.

I am preoccupied trying to reclaim my sanity, salvage my self –esteem, and preserve my reputation before my issues leak all over my pink bubblegum world.

I am trying to relate to a family that doesn’t get me, friends that I simultaneously want close and some where on the coast of “behind God’s back”.

I have an amazing job, but I haven’t mastered being successful at work and giving a damn about you. It’s tough to hear this, I know, but at least I’m honest. I didn’t wait until you were ready to give me a kidney and walk down the isle to tell you.

So here’s what you can do while I handle my sh*t:

- Figure out how to handle your own shit instead of depending on me.
- Find a t-doc.
- Adopt a dog or get a foster dog like me
- Write in a journal
- Get a hobby
- Go to confession

Hell, I’m for whatever will keep you away from me so I can handle my sh*t.

Hey, cheer up; you’ll be okay.

Drowning w/o Lexapro

I’m up to my eyebrows in work; particularly because I haven't had Lexapro to keep me focused long enough to be productive.

But I recognize what’s happening, and I am fighting through it. I am almost finished cleaning my bedroom, dishes are done, and bathroom is ready for me to wash my hair. (I’ll also do laundry while the conditioner is penetrating.)

So what’s the issue?

I didn’t get the above done easily. I’ve got the Itunes going, TV, blogging, cleaning, Crystal Light, etc. I can't concentrate and have had to take frequent breaks. I recognize how much work I’m gonna have to put in to get all I want done, done tonight, so I am pushing through the fog, lazy haze and feeling like I felt pre-meds.

I'm kinda mad.

I feel that my pdoc should have made it her business to ensure that I had my meds!

What if I was having a serious episode?
What if I hurt someone or myself?
It would be HER fault.

I know, I know. By virtue of me being able to "say" it would be her fault, presupposes a clear enough mind.

Translation: cornrows and orange jumpsuits.

It’ll be a big day for me tomorrow, and people are depending on me to get things done and to keep them in the loop. I so wish I knew a Lexapro pusher.

Scatterbrain

I've been off my Lexapro since last Wednesday.

It's not entirely my fault; I haven't been able to get in touch will my p-doc to call in a prescription. She said she would last Saturday, and it hasn't happened.
I'm mad.

I wanted my sister to get a prescription from her yesterday because I was too sick to go, but she wouldn't do it.

I'm mad.

I am 3 days away from my birthday party, and can't get anything together. I can't focus.

Just ate 5 slices of dominos pizza. Gonna finish the pie and start to work at 3:30ish.

Do you have my marbles?

Worst Case Scenarios

So I live in fear of stupid sh*t.

I've lived my life that one day I will run for president and my nasty opponents will leak things to the press.

So, if I out myself first, I have one up on my future mud slingers, right?

I actually have nightmares about things that would be embarrassing to me. I have no reason to think these thing could happen, but it doesn't stop me from stressing.

The worst nightmares include the following pictures:
- Nude or topless
- Me throwing up in public
- Doing #2 on the side of a road
- Skirt blowing up to reveal hole-y panties

I also think of things like:
- an ex revealing a "sex tape"
- chick claiming we had a "relationship" and planned to adopt
- secret baby I gave up for adoption
- Wilt Chamberlain style book that claims I slept with thousands of men

I know that they're weird and far fetched, but this goes back to me feeling/ living like a celebrity. I live a very "on" life. I feel like the paparazzi are just waiting for the right time to launch "Butterfly Uncovered".

I don't know, I kinda live life like I'm perfect, and I'm told that alot. Maybe that's why its hard for me to envison a life where people would know for a fact that I'm not.

Hmmm, I guess I need to decide now if I will be able to live with a tarnished image of me, and to recognize that people before me have overcome embarrassing sh*t, and so can I.

The Whys

I don't know how many people are genuinely interested in the why's of their world, life, interactions and behavior, but I am.

I want to know why like Jadakiss.


Why do I like being by myself?
Why do I need meds?
Why do I get enraged?
Why do I strategically lose control?
Why can my father do no wrong?
Why do I wish my mother was far away?
Why do I wish my niece was mine?
Why is my deceased dog my screensaver?
Why do I faint when stressed?
Why do I wish my parents would divorce?
Why don't I like female humans?
Why can men do no wrong even when they do?
Why do I start issues with GM's?
Why am I afraid of dumb sh*t?
Why must I always be the best?
Why am I so hard on myself?
Why do I talk to myself?
Why does God seem far some days?
Why can't I return to church?
Why can I cut people off so easily?
Why do wreck what is mine?
Why is it hard to forgive chicks?
Why won't I trust?
Why am I apathetic?
Why am I bitter?
Why does everyone love me?
Why don't I completely love myself?Why?

Why?
Why?
Why?

Truth Questions

Who do u confide in when you're afraid to trust?

Do we need someone to confide in?

Is that my estrogen talking or do all humans need interaction?

Ok, so next question: what is my issue with women? Why is it so easy for me to talk & gush with men? And even if I do talk & gush to a woman, why to I regret it shortly thereafter?

Why do I then "rewrite" history and feed then the version I want them to believe?

Its like damage control PR.

I hold a press conference and release the statement that I want chicks to believe.

Is this the "I-hate-women-because-I-hate-myself" thing?

Is this the "if-any-woman-is-close-to-me-&-know-my-secrets-she-can-use-them-against- me" thing?

Seems more complex than that.

Is this the "I-have-issues-with-women-because-I-had-have-issues-with-my-mother" thing?

Hmmm.

See this is the stuff my dumb ass t-doc didn't get to. She sucked, and now I search for a new therapist & anger management as a condition of my release.

You know what's also weird: I don't even give the whole truth here because at least 5 people know that I have it, and so I filter what is written.

I know what you're asking: how do u expect people to know the real you if you don't show the real you?

I don't expect people, just men.

Therein lies my issues. I really don't like or trust women. I want to know why, and I want to fix it.

I have good women around me- flawed, but who isn't? Don't they deserve to get back a little of what they give to me?

Hmmm.

Did I Mention....

My anger issue?

So here's how the night ended, progressed etc.

Mr. M wouldn't go away. After punching him a couple times and him subduing me, I gave in and listened.

Here's how the conversation kinda went:

Mr. M: What's going on? You're mad at me, why?
Me: I don't wanna talk.

Mr. M: This is me. Talk to me?
Me: Why is your shirt ripped? You know what, I don't even want to know. You left me. Everyone left me.

Mr. M: Listen, you think I was out banging some chicks? I was in a fight. Listen to me.

Apparently someone got too drunk and a fight started. To ensure my party remained in tact, he subdued them. I was downstairs doing my breathing exercises so I didn't know what was going on.

I was downstairs for at least an hour alone. With no reception, I never received any of the "where are you" messages.

So people cared.

Hmmmm.

Mr. M: You see?
Me: Oh.

His friends were there to check on him. He got me some water, I took my meds, and laid head on his shoulder.

Mr. M: Take off your shoes and go get in the bed.
Me: Ok.

Ok, so I'm not angry at the world or planning on setting people on fire so I can light a joint, but my feelings stand on S and chicks.

Maybe I overreacted a little.

I am NOT a Twin!

I've been doing a lot of thinking lately; particularly about how I interact with women.

Growing up, I had female friends; actually, if I'm honest I'll admit that I was THEIR friend, but I didn't necessarily count them as MY friend.

As I got older, I really didn't like girls much. I thought they were whiny and clingy, and something weird always happened with our "friendship" - They all became single white females. If you haven't seen the movie, one girl morphs into another by dressing the way she does, etc, and becomes very dangerous.

I swear, this would happen with every girl I became "friends" with in grammar and high school. I'm not sure why it happened, but they would all become my clone. At the point where I recognized what was happening, they were history.

So how bad could it be?

Well, they would:
Braid their hair b/c mine was braided.
Wear the same nail polish.
Use my words and phrases.
Want to shop together, eat together, do laundry together, live together, etc.

I hated this.

I know, I know. Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, but really, I hated it then, and I despise it now.

I can't stand it.

I need autonomy.
I need to be the "only" me there is.
I need to be an individual.
I need to be the only Butterfly around, and anyone who threatens my individualism is in danger of being cut off.

When chicks start morphing into me, I want to vomit and then I bale.

This post has nothing to do with being bipolar except that I regret telling some women that I am bipolar. I hate that they know.

Also, since "coming out", S is looking at herself and questioning if she's bipolar, too. I forgot to tell you that, and yes, she is still dead to me.

Do I create bipolar chicks?
Am I some how contagious?

I hate that I can't make then un-know.

My sister told me today that on some level, I MUST welcome certain women into my life, and by virtue of the Law of Attraction, she's absolutely right.

She says that there is something about me that draw women in need of an identity, and I enjoy having them morph into me. I want to nurture and make into mini me's. She says that I love the adoration and worship, initially, until they try to take away my spotlight.

My sister is pretty darn smart, and she's one heck of a counselor. In fact since I fired my social therapist, I might just give her my copay for an hour of gmail IM.

So what brought this on?

Definitely S. I look at her and how she's tried to morph into me, and I'm mad as hell because its a bad imitation.

Also, I feel like every female that I have revealed my condition to, has exhibited similar symptoms. I'm not sure how I feel about that.

Are they mirroring me, and if so, then I don't like what I see.
Are they like me? If so, then what are the odds of me running into 4 other bipolar chicks?

Am I holding on to being bipolar as a badge of honor that separates me from the masses, and now that others may be bipolar too, I feel that I am no longer unique or that I will no longer be special?

Hmmm.

I have the keys

He's going by a friend.

2:18am

I took 100mg of Seroquel.

I drank tap water mixed with chrystal light.

I'm scrolling through my Sprint bill to find Mr. M's number because of course i deleted it when I decided to give him walking papers. I need to sleep. F*ck him. I'm tired, I'm inconvenienced, screw waking him up.

There are a lot of numbers.

I look at one, and then MY F*CKING PHONE RINGS!!!!!!

IT'S HIS ASS WANTING TO MUTHAF*CKIN TALK!!!!

Talk? Wtf is there to talk about?

GET ME IN YOUR APARTMENT SO I CAN SLEEP BEFORE I SPAZ THE F*CK OUT AND BASH YOUR HEAD IN WITH MY SPACE HEATER!!!!!

I DON'T WANT TO TALK!!!!

GET THE CHICK YOU WERE WITH, TELL HER TO WAIT, GIVE ME YOUR MUTHAF*CKIN KEYS, AND THEN GO THE F*CK BACK TO HER!

Screw nice. People don't deserve nice any more.

He asks me if I'm upset.

Naw, I aint upset, but if this Seroquel kicks in and I am not on a couch or bed, I will SPAZZ THE F*CK OUT!!!!!

Kiss my ass and give me the f*cking keys!

Take a Cab Home?

Can't.

Planned for the Italian to take me home.

I f*ckin cleaned because he was meeting me and coming over!

I would go by Mr. M, but I don't exist any more.

I left my debit card at home so I wouldn't spend money, so I have a train pass and $3 in coins.

Pretty f*ckin pathetic.

I need a new life, cuz mine is so getting muthaf*ckin old.

Could they have any fun with out me?

I AM the fun?

They are nothing without me.

How muthaf*ckin dare them forget about me!!!!!!?!?!?!?!?!?!?

2:04am

Not a text.
Not a call.
Not even one?

Did they plan it?

They had to have planned it. How does everyone forget about me?

They don't like me any more. I guess I'm no fun to be around any more because I get aggressive.

I tried to let people in.

I tried, and now I am at work, and no one gave enough of a damn to ensure that the person responsible for their free drinks, free food and grand ole time, was ok.

F*ck them all. One big bonfire with many bodies.

Wanna Check Myself In

Things are moving too fast.

I need a break.

Work is going too well to mess up, but I can't deal.

No one noticed I wasn't around. I could be dead, hurt, in need of help, and no one would know.

I never abandon me.

Please everyone, just let me be.

1:48am

I'm at work instead of in my bed.

What stops me from taking the Seroquel in my bag is that I really want to cry. I'm trying to make myself feel now, so I won't have to deal with it tomorrow.

How am I going to work if I stay here all night?

Why won't I just go home?

S said that she would call to get a cab with me, she never did.

Do you see why I don't keep b*tches around me? I can't trust what the f*ck they say!

I was waiting to see if she would actually walk her ass back over there and get me a cab. After all that's the least she could do. But you now what, God may have intervened because we would have been alone, and there's no telling what I would have done.

What do you do when you're afraid of you?

I've never been in a fight and in the last week, I've put my hands on 3 people. Where is this aggression coming from?

I like work.
I have a bday party coming up.

I don't know what's wrong with me.

I Want to Cry, but....

I'm numb.

It might be easier for the tears to fall and then I could just feel it and get over it, but no tears fall.

Italian didn't call.
Mr. M didn't notice I was missing.
Everyone is having fun in their world.

I hate S. She's dead to me. In fact I don't want any muthaf*ckin chicks next to me. Get away. I hate everyone.

I hate that I can't trust.
I hate that I can't feel.

Everyone says "be real, butterfly". Then I let people in and they start flirting with the guy I'm talking to. I open up and let people in my world and they ask me if I'm on meds.

Are you the f*ck on meds?

Kiss my ass and go to hell.

May you die a f*cking slow death for being such conniving sons of b*tches!

People don't want me. They want my representative.

Me will have you by the throat and banging your head against a wall.

Me will force your face into a toilet with my foot on the back of your neck.

Me will grab the back of your head/ hair and slam you down backwards into the concrete floor.

Me will set your ass on fire and then light a joint from your burning flesh.

Me will kick your face in until you spit your teeth like pieces of Chicklet gum.

Me will scratch you until you bleed and pour alcohol on you and watch your ass squirm.

Is that the me you want? Huh?

That's the me you beg for, but you don't know what the f*ck to do with me once you have me.

This is the me you bring out each time you do some deceitful , evil, trifling, low down, whore-ish shit!

You know what?

F*ck you!
Kiss my ass.

i am tried of being disappointed. From now on, everyone just back the f*ck up. Stay the hell away from me. I don't need anybody.

All of you can take a short jump off a long ass cliff.

Invisible

It was my event.

Everyone had a great time, and then I went downstairs to cool off and get my head right after spazzing out. The downstairs area is a lounge. I was the only one down there, and I was doing my breathing exercises.

I came upstairs and everyone was gone. Only the bartender remained.

Did they not notice that I wasn't around?
I was the life of the party.
No one called to see where I was or if I was safe.
It's been 2 hours. I sit at 1:30 and no one cares.

Were they all drunk, or is Butterfly no longer fun to be around?

So muthaf*ckin hurt :-(

Everyone can kiss my black ass and go to hell.

I am Messing Up

I have never acted out publicly.

In one week, I've done it twice.

There is no excuse. I wasn't drinking and wasn't on meds, but I am sure I had enough meds in my system not to wild out like I did.

I don't know what's making me angry or why women are the target of my rage. I don't get this.

I took some laxatives yesterday. As in control as I feel at work, I feel like I am unraveling personally. What is going on? It's really not supposed to be this way.

Bloody Knuckles

Didn't want to gross you out, so I didn't post a pic of mine or any others person's bloody knuckles.

I've been boxing a lot lately. I stared over 2 years ago and lately its perfect for releasing aggression. Only thing is that with Beyonce in my ears and anger coming out, the pain to my hands take a back seat. When I took my gloves off, raw, red, bruised knuckles that burn like hell when I had to wash my hands.

Hmmmm.

Not gonna stop boxing, so I might need better gloves.

The Italian

The Italian came to see me at work yesterday, and spent the afternoon in my office watching me work, making and taking calls, and talking.

We've never had any internal issues. All of our problems were external.

He's still beautiful (not handsome, he is past handsome...really). He can still make me smile, and he will be coming to my event tonight.

How about that for some "Butterfly Behave" insurance...as if my drunken rage wasn't enough.

Anyway, Mr. M will also be there tonight.

How about that for a deodorant tester?

But I wear the Degree that promises to adjust to your bodily needs, so I BETTER NOT HAVE SWEAT STAINS!!!! lol.

The Italian makes me smile, laugh; he understands me, and likes me baseball cap, no makeup, sweats, unbrushed mouth and all. :-)

Drunken Rage

Remember my drunken last Wednesday?

Well, I went off meds because I knew I would be drinking (no Anna Nicole here). One of the things I found out was that I went into a drunken rage and had Mr. M by the throat, banging his head against a wall because I thought he was trying to talk to some other chick.

Apparently, he recognized that I was "not myself" and was able to calm me down, get me away from everyone and I was ok for a little bit, but then I saw the girl and went over to her.

From what I was told, I threatened to hurt hurt, begged her to test me, and then told her if I saw her near him again, I would wreck her life, and she would have no peace.

A co-worker was present.

Totally ashamed.

No one really knows what I was saying unless the girl told.... damn.

I quit my therapist, but I am gonna look into anger management classes. I guess Mr. M knows for sure now that I'm bipolar and what I can be like off meds and on alcohol. I've since banished him from my life not out of embarrassment, but because I think I like him and I don't want to like him any more.

Truth is, I'm not sure I've learned my lesson.

Today is Wednesday, another event, and another 5 hours worth of opportunities to drink. I'll keep ya posted.

Commando Pt 3.

Didn't take Seroquel last night.

I wanted to be up early to plan my hair and clothing for today's events. I also wanted to clean up.

The Italian wants to come by later, and my apartment is a mess, but my bedroom? ooooooo-weeeeeeee.

Bottles everywhere, clothes everywhere, and Smart Start crumbs on the floor. He got me this apartment so I can't have him see it looking like day old hell!

Anyway, as expected I tossed and turned and had some weird dream/ thought thingies.

Finally got up at 3am and read my sister's blog and Ash's blog.

It's 6:29am, no clue what to do with hair or what to wear. I'm not tired, but hmmmm, we'll see.

Not So Good Surprise

I have 5 appointments/ meetings today.
I have a major event tonight.
I'm out of Lexapro.

I forgot to call my pdoc to have her call in a prescription.

I NEED to get in touch with her today.

Scattered

So I am a bit scattered today.

Lately, I've been trying to be aware of the way I feel, and then getting to the root of the feeling before acting.

So, I am at work, and feeling like a snow globe - thoughts floating around every where. Usually when this happens, it marks that I'm tense or anxious about something. At closer look, I am anxious about my birthday party and lack of preparations. I am also anxious about what promotion I will do in May. I had an awesome one from April, the entire company is talking about it, and now I will need to top that.

Not major ohmigosh drama, but in the at times soft and chewy bubblegum world that I live in, running into a piece of rock candy, makes me scatter.

So, calm down Butterfly. You have everything you need to succeed.

Sigh.

Bad Habit vs Bip

Bad Habit:
Sleeping til noon cuz I drank too much
Bipolar:
Sleeping til noon cuz i od'd on Seroquel to forget a drunken stupor.

Bad Habit:
Not cleaning cuz I'm busy.
Bipolar:
Not cleaning cuz I find comfort in the mess.

Bad Habit:
Checking my purse for my keys.
Bipolar:
Checking my purse for my keys 5x and then throwing them onto the floor outside of the door to ensure they aren't left inside because I might forget them and be locked out.

Bad Habit:
Yelling at a driver that cut me off, with the windows up.
Bipolar:
Yelling at a driver that cut me off with the windows down and then laying on my horn because they are fundamentally stupid.

Bad Habit:
Rolling my eyes at slow people walking up the stairs in front of me.
Bipolar:
Rolling my eyes at slow people walking up the stairs in front of me, then brushing past then hurriedly and rudely and I complain about slow, inconsiderate arseholes.

Bad Habit:
Eating 3 bags of Swedish Fish and enjoying them :-)
Bipolar:
Eating 3 bags of Swedish Fish and enjoying them, then taking laxatives cuz I feel guilty about eating an extra bag only because I had a bad day. (more eating disorder)

Bad Habit:
Punching a bf that lied.
Bipolar:
Punching a a bf that lied and throwing my Treo at him, ripping a chain of his neck and trying to kick him in the groin.

Bad Habit:
Not answering my phone.
Bipolar:
Not answering my phone or checking voicemail because people's voices annoy me.

It's the "why" and the intensity that makes the difference.

How's Your Spending?

I make pretty good money for being solo chick in NYC.

So why am I not able to see my money?

Now let's separate poor budgeting from bipolar disorder.

Truth: I've never really had to budget until now. Even when I had bfs paying my rent, utilities, hair and nails, I still couldn't find my money.

So where does my money go?

Good question.

I don't shop for clothing or shoes. I'm not living in the spa or hotel as I used to. I'm not even renting cars. My money goes to food. Not groceries, just food.

Snacks
Lots of snacks
Many, many snacks
Sandwiches
Lots of apple juice

I think of how much I could save if I actually cooked. But I'm so spoiled; I never had to. If my parents weren't cooking, then one of my siblings did. As I got older, I dated guys who loved cooking, or took care of me enough to purchase breakfast, lunch and dinner.

I'm about to have a birthday.
I'm gonna be a big girl.
Bipolar aside, I first need to learn how manage my money, and then I need to manage my moods to ensure I don't have a manic or depression filled spend to binge fest.

NYPD Took My Seroquel

So my car
was towed and in it was my duffel
bag with my meds.

Know what that means?

No sleep.

Sleep would have been my solace as I still desire to drown out the voices in my head that replay exactly how drunk I was, over and over.

I had it all planned - 100mg of Seroquel and sleeping til noon. By the time I would wake up, it would be time to hit the ground running for another day of superwoman at work.

Now I'm left to my own thoughts, and it scares me.

I don't have any water. Only Chrystal Light mix.

I'm sad, but so damn afraid to feel.

Hurt Hurts

I send my representative.
I keep people at bay.

Why?

To know me is to hurt me.
To hurt me is to set me back.
To set me back is to be something I must survive.

As of late, men have become less human, and more of a blur. Still, it seems that with each one that enters my life, I am left wondering wtf happened.

I have a good thing at work. The owner called today and is so pleased with me, that he wants mt to think bigger as in rep 2 locations instead of just 1. In order to do that, men and hurt cannot be a part of my life.

So now, a quick detox. The guy I'm seeing must go.

I've deleted his numbers and emails, I don't want to see or speak to him. My office will remain locked and is no longer available for his chatting pleasure. He knows 2 of my secrets, and so he is the enemy.

I hate him, and although I write almost with the intention that he might possibly read this in the future, I will still give raw emotion. He must understand that this is how I feel right now:

Pins under your fingernails as your limbs are stretched apart. Hot oiled poured over your torso; I can smell your flesh sizzle.

For every 1 moment of discomfort you've caused, may your eyelids betray your desires for sleep, and may slumber forever elude your grasp.

I am the BUTTERFLY, the muthaf*ckin BUTTERFLY!
I am the alpha chick, all others bow down to me!

The F*ck Up

I can't deal with an unfavorable me.

A bad me?
A mean me?
An unpopular me?
A sub par me?
A less than perfect me?
A me that is wrong?
A me that disappoints?
A me that does something wrong?
A me that no one likes?

I don't know that me, but a couple people tried to introduce her to me tonight.

I took the tips, had a few chuckles, but the laughing stopped after my car was towed. Let's just say I had a lot of time to think about this "her" on the train ride home.

Truth is I don't know her. I've never let her out to exist, breathe or be.

I've never confirmed her existence until today, and I am scared to death of her.

She knows all my secrets and can shatter my perfect image by opening her mouth. She, she is the question mark on the end of superwoman.

The "yeah right" on the end of "she's in control".

The roll of the eyes right after "what a woman".

How would you handle being faced with the reality that who you think you are, isn't you at all?

I need help.

After the smiling, grinning, and extreme sarcasm for laughs, I am left to accept that within me is a f*cked up f*ck up.

Oh Shit!

Yes, I left the "i" in instead of putting a "*" because that's exactly how I feel.

I was drunk, and now that I know how drunk, I feel like shit, and y'all this has nothing to do with bipolar.

Even if I wasn't bipolar, I'd still feel like shit.

People have been asking what is life like with bipolar. So, here's the difference between regular life and living life with bipolar disorder.

In regular life, I'd go home, cry, delete numbers and email addresses, eat 2 jumbo packs of Swedish Fish, I'd cry myself to sleep and then be up for work in the am.

When living with bipolar, I'd go home, cry and cry until I hyperventilate, then i have an asthma attack and use my inhaler 3 or 4 times. Then I'd delete numbers and email addresses, tear up pictures and set everything on fire with an incense in the middle. I'd then eat 2 jumbo packs of Swedish Fish, a Twix and have 2 wine coolers. I'd feel bad and throw it all up then cry. By this point I'm too far gone to remember to take my meds, or I take 2 extra to ensure that I sleep and forget what I was told. I'd sleep well past 10am, and wake up at 2pm hung over, dizzy and absent from work once again.

Do you see it?

Bipolar is an exaggerated state of regular emotions. It's like we have a defective shut off valve; we go too far in either direction.

And right now, because I am afraid to go too far in either direction, I'm numb. I type and dread the moment when reality will sneak up on me and "make me look" or when truth with hold my chin and make me look her square in the eyes.

F*ck.

There was a point when I was proud to be me, and when I want to be "on" and give everyone my representative, I make everyone feel that my life is wonderful and damn good to be me.

In those instances, I'm perfect, the picture of a successful, beautiful, well-adjusted, strong woman.

Every man wants me, and every chick wants to be me.

Today, I'd like to walk away from everything and start a new life where no one knows my name, my face, or anything about me.

I now know why I have a bruised knee, a 6 inch scratch and way less money in my Commerce account. Quite frankly, I feel like shit and too ashamed to ever tell anyone the full details.

It's my fault, not bipolar's fault.

I had a negative emotion.
I drank to counteract it.
I drank too much.

And now, I'm ashamed.
I'm disappointed.
I'm embarrassed.
I'm annoyed.
I'm angry.
I'm hurt.
I'm f*cking nauseous and want to throw up.

But I don't feel this way because I'm bipolar.

I feel this way because today, I'm a f*ck up and because of my bipolar disorder, I don't have the luxery of feeling completely and whining and wallowing in my agony because I've got to ensure that I can get an Oscar when I face the real world, tomorrow.

There. Do you know how it feels, now?

I'm On

I feel great, today.

Wishing you a wonderful evening. Time to update my other blog :-)

Cure vs. Manage

So, from what I’ve read on a couple of these bipolar sites, bipolar disorder isn’t something that is cured, but rather something that is managed. It’s like diabetes, there’s no cure, so take your insulin; or like asthma, there’s no cure, so carry your inhaler and use your nebulizer.

I’m not over the whole “I’m-gonna-cure-myself” thing. I truly believe I can, and when I do, I’m gonna help everyone; but until then, let’s talk about managing.

How are you managing your bipolar disorder?

By definition, manage means: to pull off: be successful; achieve a goal; cope: come to terms or deal successfully with;

Are you successful in coping with this disorder? How do you cope?

Here’s what I have been doing for the past week:

- Reading my bible on the train ride into work (Psalms)(A-)
- Listening to The Secret audio book (A+)
- 1 hour of meditation daily (broken up in am, midday, pm)(A+)
- Avoided negative thoughts about my body, relationships, etc. (A-)
- Refocused when judgments about others popped into my head. (C-)
- Avoided negative conversations (C+)
- Took meds (A-)
- Went to bed early enough (A+)
- Thus far, 2 days of for real exercise (A+)

Guess what? I’m not even gonna deduct points for my Swedish Fish, Twix, Kit Kat or the alcohol binge fest.

Why?

Cuz I enjoyed very moment of them!

This is the lifestyle cocktail that's working for me. See, the thing is that we’re not all cookie cutter bipolar endure-ers; some are manic, some are depressed, some are 1, 2, rapid cycling, ultra rapid cycling, etc. I’m doing what's working for me right now. The Secret and reading my Bible has helped me a lot.

May you all find a lifestyle cocktail that helps you do more than cope; live, happily.

I Guess I Was Drunk

I forgot to tell you.

My right knee is bruised and I have a 6 inch scratch on my leg.

I discovered them after my date with Mr. Toilet. I took a shower and it burned like hell. That's how I discovered them.

So, what the hell happened?

Why is my knee not only bruised, but bruised to the point of having a scab on it?

What scratched me?

Can't remember sh*t, and yes, I get the point.

I Worked out

30 min treadmill at 15%incline, 3.0mph
Total Lower Body workout.

Heehah!

Voicemail Cleared

Hooray for me!

I finally checked my voicemail; 23 messages in all!

Now, I promise to check and clear them each day.

Cheer me on - But-ter-fly, But-ter-fly, But-ter-fly!

Flaws and All

I'm a train wreck in the morning
I'm a bitch in the afternoon
Every now and then without warning
I can be really mean towards you
I'm a puzzle yes in deed
Ever complex in everyway
And all the pieces arent even in the box
And yet, you see the picture clear as day.

[Chorus]
I don't know why you love me
And that's why I love you
You catch me when I fall
Accept me flaws and all
And that's why I love you [3x]

I neglect you when I'm working
When I need attention I tend to nag
I'm a host of imperfection
And you see past all that
I'm a peasant by some standards
But in your eyes I'm a queen
You see potential in all my flaws
and that's exactly what I need.

[Chorus]
I don't know why you love me
And that's why I love you
You catch me when I fall
Accept me flaws and all
and that's why I love you [3x]

Flaws And All - Beyonce
Uploaded by vindiezel

New Rules

I need to do everything I can to stay positive.

Posts like A Question can not be. Okay, suicide is a sad reality with bipolar disorder, but it won't be a reality for me, and I am henceforth no longer mentioning it.

Not only did I not get to work until 5:30pm yesterday, but I felt like crap once I arrived. I was able to get things in perspective by 7pm, but I know better, and so I must do what is necessary to ensure that I am always equipped to do better.

With that said, here are the new Rules of Engagement. They are essential to my recovery, my healing, to my existance. I won't be any good to myself or be able to help others if I fail to do the work and lay the foundation for my stability.

These are now the rules for everyone around me. They may not seem fair, but they are so necessary for me to be whole right now.

1. Don't ask me if I took my meds.
2. Don't ask me if I slept.
3. Don't bring up being bipolar unless I do.
4. No negative energy.
5. Back up. Give me space.
6. Mirror my mood. If I am not speaking, leave me alone.

A Tale of 2 Blogs

I have 2 blogs.

This one, where I interact with people who have bipolar disorder, and another one where I am me devoid of the "Butterfly" moniker.

Why?

Cuz people really can't handle both me's, and quite frankly, I don't want anyone knowing all of me any more.

I'm not trying to be negative, I'm merely realizing that just because I am comfortable disclosing and I am ready to disclose, doesn't mean that other are ready to receive or handle my disclosure.

I'll keep it simple.
I'll keep it separate.

Speaking of Disclosure

If you haven't told, take it from me, don't say a damn thing.

Keep your bipolar on a "need to know" basis; when someone "needs to know, then you'll tell.

Why?

What caused the change?

Well, people now see me as a diagnosis and ask me stupid questions like "did you take your meds" and "did you sleep last night"?

Pre-disclosure, when I was having a bad day, the suggested remedy was shopping, candy, going out to a club, meeting a new guy, etc.

Post -disclosure, the remedy for everything is medicine, and if I'm not snapping out of my funk fast enough for them, then the next question is "maybe you should call your psychiatrist; maybe you need a stronger dose."

Go to hell!

What the hell do you know about my dosage?!?!?!

To be "normal" we need people who reflect positivity, and normal living. To have everyone around you treat you like a science project is to increase the likelihood that you'll be sitting in a padded room sometime soon.

I feel like I am in a damn petridish and everyone is looking to see if I grow a tail or wild out.

Well, guess what?

I am about to wild out. Stay tuned!

Did You Take Your Meds?

I am so pissed off that I told people that I am bipolar because now every time I do anything, say anything, or act in any way that is not 100% chipper Butterfly, the first muthaf*ckin question out of their mouth is "Did you take your meds?"

I am NOT a 5 year old!
I have a brain; a fully functioning one at that!
I don't need a baby sitter or a nanny!
I am capable of taking care of myself!
I don't need anyone checking up on me!

Effective immediately, if I do or do not take my meds, it's my muthaf*cking business!

Damn!

Want me to spaz out, then ask me if I took my meds!

You'd think I had Down Syndrome or muthaf*ckin Autism.

I have Bipolar Disorder. I am not muthaf*ckin mentally retarded!

Don't ask me sh*t!

A Question

Which came first - symptoms or did the knowledge of bipolar symptoms cause additional manifestation?

Stay with me on this one.

The Italian

I first told you about him in 1,2,3 Breathe.

Spoke to him today. We had a long chat. His divorce is final and he's going through the motions. The only issue we ever had was with external shit.

I still love him, but hate everything right now and really want to be left along. S asked me who I'd choose - The Italian or the other guy. Two days ago I couldn't decide. Today The Italian wins, but then again, I'm not sure if I'm over reacting with the other guy.

Didn't take my pills today cuz I had 4 beers. I know, I know.

No more talking.

Fight or Flight

It may be nothing, really, nothing, but I am ready to bale the guy I'm seeing.

Here's the dilemma: am I overreacting?

I can't gauge, and truthfully, as much as I want to fight, it would be so much easier to bale. I know that I need to face some challenges head on and to have difficult conversations. However, when I am really trying to remain positive, and focus on that which will bring me out of the house daily; when I'm trying to stay on top of work, the last thing I want to do it fight.

Damn.

3 "light beers", 1 Twix, 1 Kit Kat and 2 bags of Swedish Fish.

Don't feel like talking about it right now.

Brb.

Trying

A Question

How do you not slump when you've been run over by a truck?

A Question

I can be perky when all is well, but how do you keep bip at bay when bad sh*t happens?

Mr. Toilet

3 Shots of Petron Café (yum)
1 Glass of Champagne
4 Cups of Sangria
2 Glasses of Cranberry Juice

I swear, I was not trying to get drunk.

I had an amazing day at work.
My event was a major success. (I’m a publicist.)
I was with great friends
The music was right, and I was making money as I partied.

Got home at 6:20am, woke up at 9am, and then it hit me.

Whoa, Butterfly, you’re drunk like a skunk!

But I’m still smiling!

I wasn’t on meds (cuz I knew I would be drinking).

I was me, Butterfly. Not a diagnosis, just me; Loving life, enjoying great company, and being on.

Oh, I digress.

Yeah, I had a date with Mr. Toilet. Hell, the alcohol had to leave my system one way or the other, and once I worked my abs a couple times, I was ready for Thursday. (Lol)

Yeah, maaaaan!

Sweet Escape

Yup.

I gave her the boot.

I've said it before, Blogger has been some awesome therapy for me without all those annoying pauses and "hmmm, so how does that make you feel?"

I ain't going back!

YEEEE-WHO!

Music Video:SWEET ESCAPE (by Gwen Stefani)

Music Video Code provided by Video Code Zone

White and black

I had a childhood friend name Bonnie who was born on April 3rd.

Every April 3rd I always think about her and where she is, what she's doing, etc.

I went to a public school for 8th grade while she stayed at the Catholic School where we met.

She's white.
I'm black.

She was my best friend, and in the place where we lived, friendship trumped race EVERYDAY.

Before I am bipolar.
Before I am black.
Before I am anything, I am me, and me is wonderful, quirks and all.

Mr. M's Jacket

So he left it in my office on purpose.

So I took it home to smell it. I wasn't smelling it in a "oooo, I-love-me-some-him" kinda way, but in a "he-is-so-silly-he-makes-me-laugh-so-hard" kinda way.

His jacket smelled like Burberry cologne (which reminds me, I am returning the Burberry rain boots tomorrow).

I took his jacket home.
Laid it on my bed.
I smelled his jacket.

April 1st

Where am I, today?

Well, I'm shaping my reality.

I've been a staunch believer that "another's opinion does not have to be your reality." Whenever someone questioned my ability, I reminded myself that their opinion meant nothing unless I embraced it as my own.

Well, in the last month, it was not someone else's opinion that knocked me off my rocker, but a dysfunctional, apathetic, opinion that I created for myself - one that I subconsciously allowed to become a badge of honor.

This opinion was that I was defective, deserving of pity, need to be handled with care, incapable of helping myself, doomed to a life of blah.

I lived it.
I blogged it.
I wore it.
I went to sleep with it.
I took it to work.
I spoke about it.

I allowed being bipolar to consume my thoughts, interactions, conversations for the last month, and quite frankly, I'm sick of it.

I’m sick tired of being sick and tired.

So what am I saying?

I'm saying that me, Butterfly, is so much more than a muthaf*cking diagnosis. I am more than my meds, mood swings, haze, drowsiness, nausea, depression, weight loss and gain, and irritability. Yeah, I have them, but I don’t want these things to be a part of EVERY CONVERSATION.

It’s my fault because February marked the beginning of my meds, and I had so much frustration to get out. I needed to vent, I needed to be angry, and I will most likely need to be angry again. But for today, I need something other than anger.

I've long said that as a model, I was more than my body. Well, today I declare that I am more than a diagnosis.

Bipolar is something I have, but I am determined NOT to allow IT to HAVE ME.

What does that mean?

It means being proactive instead of reactive.
It means being responsible.

It means taking my meds and when they don’t work, holding my pdoc accountable for finding me the best cocktail.

It means getting to bed at a reasonable time instead of taking my meds at 4am, and expecting them to work without drowsiness by the time I need to get up at 9am. I can't expect my meds to work if I'm not taking them.

It means eating right, taking my vitamins, drinking water, exercising, and most importantly, it means saturating my life with positivity.

Now, I’m not saying that bipolar disorder is caused by being positivity deficient. However, I am saying that an infusion of positive energy can’t help but to produce positivity.

It means that I will only watch certain shows, listen to certain types of music, only be around certain people, and only expose myself to certain things.

I know my triggers, so I need to stay away from them.

One weepy Mariah Carey song, and I am curled up in the fetal position with tear filled “why’s”. Why put myself through that?

I know that some people sap my damn energy. Being proactive is placing distance between me and people who are sources of negative energy.

It means not eating things that I feel are bad for me because they will increase my desire to purge.

It means making the time to meditate because it helps me to relax.

It means, not calling myself names like weird, strange, dumb, silly, crazy, odd, etc.

It means that I see myself as normal because I am. Yes, even with bipolar, I am normal. Normal for me, and you know what, Normal to me is the only normal that counts. Why am I using the rest of the world as a yardstick for me being normal?

I know how a normal Butterfly is – THAT is my yardstick, and I will get to her. I will find her. I will be her because she is still in me.

I don't want to whine or lay in bed feeling sorry for myself.

Some people think I’m “nuts” for saying that I will heal myself but that’s exactly what I believe, and what I know. I have too many things to do, too many places to go, too many people to help and influence to be curled under my table, or hiding under my bed because it’s safe.

I have to journal, give myself enough time to get ready, get my clothes together at night, be patient with myself when thing are tough, but for peace sake – literally- I can not live life as a diagnosis. I absolutely refuse.

Does this new stance make me perfect?
Does this new stance make me better than others with bipolar?

Absolutely not. It just means that what I was doing wasn’t working, and while I’m feeling good, coherent, normal, I want to establish a systematic way of living, thinking and interacting that will permeate every facet of my life and enable me to live not at a bipolar chick, but as a chick who just happens to have bipolar disorder.

Inspired by Onemeanmutha.