Lies or DPD

So my t-doc mentioned wants to test me for DPD or Dissociative Personality Disorder aka multiple personality disorder.

Am I surprised?

Not at all. I kinda knew it. My choppy memory, invention of different people equipped with different names and signatures, losing blocks of time -yeah, I kinda suspected something was a bit weird for a while.

My memory blocks are not like the blackout after being pissy drunk. I forget people, situations, periods of my life. T-doc says that it is a coping mechanism, and that I clearly block out things I rather not recall, but her concern is on the different names and signatures.

So what now?

We're gonna try hypnotherapy. Although I am a bit afraid of what I may discover about me and things I've done, I really want to know if there is more to me and my life. I'll keep you posted on this too, ok.

Password Keeper

I have 4 email accounts, but a host of other online thingys that I'm a member of.

Lately, I've had to reset passwords far often than makes sense.

Introducing the Blackberry password keeper. It stores passwords for everything.

I can hear the angels in my brain sing.

Ahhhhhhhh.

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 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.

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.

I Tied it to My Finger

I did, honest.

Off and on throughout my adult life, I've tied a string to my finger.

I'd wear it for weeks at a time; wash my hands and sleep with it, etc. It was jewelry; a ring.

I never wore it to remember anything as trivial, as "don't forget the soy milk", it was always something more introspective, and well, damn it, I tied the string to remind me of deep stuff like "be nice to people", "turn that frown upside down", "count to 10 and get a hold of yourself".

And it would help me.

Very often total strangers would ask me if I remember what the string represents as an intro to "so, can we have lunch sometime?". The really rude ones would ask me out right - "so what are you trying to remember?".

Why the focus on memory?

Because I can't remember sh*t!

It's not just the glasses of red wine and amaretto sour or sleep deprivation; I can't remember anything.

I hate when people tell me the same damn story over and over. I would always think that they were shallow and self-absorbed, like, damn, do they really think I want to hear every freaking detail of their crummy date again?!

And now I have become that person.

I'm so aware of my short term memory loss, that before I share, I've started asking "hey, did I tell you about...?"

I'm also keeping insane notes about everything. I write everything down, refer to my notes often, and get paranoid about losing it, so I write it down in several places.

No one likes a repeater.

Hmmm, so is this me being over analytical or can I rightfully blame this on Seroquel or Lexapro?

Which came first - losing my memory and then me noticing, or me noticing that I don't remember everything, and then taking detailed notes created the environment to forget more things?

See my dilemma?