Operation Start Over No. 93863428109419...

My Day This Far:

4am: Awake? What the hell for?

5am: Turn on the radio. I might as well be entertained.

7am: Geez. Still Awake.

8am: Startled out of sleep by mother calling. Ignore. Feeling drugged.

10am: Come on Butterfly, we can face the world.

10:15: In the shower. I finally rinse out the conditioner out of my hair. As I shower, I get light-headed and need to sit. It's too hot, I'm too hot. I lay down in the tub and pass out for a bit. I come to and finish with my shower. I must have gone too long without a bath. I'm now allergic to it.

10:45: Out of the shower, headed to kitchen for orange juice, Emergen-C, some tea and to write this post.

And now it's 10:50am.

I gotta have a plan today other than getting back into bed or laying on the couch under the covers. A failure to plan is planning to fail, isn't it?

Well, my body is in anxiety attack mode because I dread going outside. Yes, the agoraphobia is back. How do I feel? Well, no one can judge me at home. People will see that my skin is blotchy, I wear wigs, I'm a little fat in the tummy and notice that I act weird; and so it's safe here.

Ok, here comes the other part of the brain:

No Butterfly, you're focusing on your fears - False Expectations Appearing Real. You are much stronger than you give credit for. Remember the book "What Would You Do if You Had No Fear?"

Yes, I do.

What would you do today if you had no fear?

Ok, I would:

1. Go to three places where I want to work and try to get an interview on the spot.
2. I'd pitch my proposal to the local studio and start my modeling classes there.
3. I'd follow through with planning next Tuesday event.

Ok, so what's stopping you?

What if I don't get an interview? What if you do?
What is the studio isn't interested? What if they are?
What if I can't find a designer and models in time? What if you can?

Ok, I get the point.

It's so cliche, but I'll say it cuz you need to hear it. "Nothing beats a try." I think you are so afraid of being accountable and then messing up that you've simply stopped trying or you try and flake at the end. You are letting your bipolar disorder win.

Come on. I'll help you. Drink your juice, dry your hair and get dressed. We're going to find money.

Ready?

Not really, but ok.

On 3: 1-2-3 Let's Go!

Time 11:01am.

Stay Tuned.

Holiday Season? What?!

I struggled my way through summer.

Summer ended maybe, what, 3 days ago? Already, news reporters are talking about the holiday season!

GEEZ, can we slow down?

For me the holiday season is cause for stress.

Why?

My brain heads into overdrive:

* I should have saved more money.
* Will I have enough money to purchase presents for everyone?
* I really don't feel like being around people.
* How can I get out of the family rate your life dinner?
* This is a happy time. Why am I such a scrooge?
* I should shop early.

I know many people who wait for Black Friday (the day after Thanksgiving) to start shopping. I think I did that once, and I will NEVER do it again!

I hate crowds and lines and people!

Millions of children running around;
Parents oblivious to the havoc their kids cause;
Slow seasonal workers that need price checks for everything;

I think I'll avoid the stress and shop online. After all, why have a panic attack around droves of people when you can get Black Friday prices aka bfadsat home?

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.

Eulogy

No, I'm not suicidal, just sad.

At one point in my life, I knew that my eulogy would read like a wonderful E! True Hollywood story of fame, beauty, and ambition.

My eulogy now would be "what happened?"

I'm in a dirty, funky world. I don't leave my bedroom, won't go outside, and dread my phone ringing.

If i never knew better, I'd have nothing to miss.

But I miss my old life, the old me, my body, looks and personality.

How do I get better?

I feel like no one can help me.

The Date

I've been craving red Lobster for about 2 weeks.

I know, not exactly 5 star cuisine, but I like their bread and Raspberry Lemonade.

So I was in my office yesterday and a guy walked in. I know that he's been interested in me, but I digress.

So I shared my desire for Red Lobster, and he said "Meet me outside, and let's catch a cab."

I would have preferred to come home and lay in bed with Law & Order, but I went.

Guess what?

I had an amazing time.

No expectations.
No "why don't you have a boyfriend" questions.
Just talk about life, experiences, work and miscellaneous bullshit.

I had an amazing time, but I watched him transform before my eyes. Yup, I actually watch him go from "this girl is cool" to "this girl is amazing".

So what's the problem?

I don't know what the hell is going on in my world at any given moment, and lately I am as asexual as a ..... doorstop.

I have no romantic-ness in me at all.

I like hanging with him, but his cute text messages the day after lets me further know that he is smitten with the butterfly.

Darn.

I ain't trying to have a bip talk with him especially since my last couple "people of interest" turned out to be first class ARSEHOLES!

I just wanna hang out and laugh and have people buy me nice shoes.

Oh did I mention the little problem I have with going outside? See if I am already out its a lot easier. I still have that damn leaving problem.

Let's call him...uh, Mr. Potato Head.

I'll keep you posted.

Nike, Baby!

It's snowing in NYC.

Looks so pretty.

But why the hell do I have to go out and slosh around in it!?!?!?

Because I must go to work.

No work, no insurance, no meds, no normal.

There's that word again: normal.

Butterfly, Nike Baby.

Just do it.

Who Will Take Care of Me?

Lately I've been feeling like an unfit mother.

I'm not taking good care of myself with basic things.

My meds suppress my appetite, so I'm not eating. That's great until you learn that I also have an eating disorder.

Yup- Bipolar, with acute agoraphobia, OCD and a damn eating disorder.

I digress.

So I'm not feeding myself (although today I had a Whopper with cheese and fries.)

I'm not washing my face, bathing timely or caring about what I wear.

I laugh about it when I'm by myself, but it makes me sad.

Am I unfit?
Am I in danger of losing custody of me?
Will I be taken away from me?

If I no longer can, who will take care of me?