Then Along Came YOU...

To My Long Lost Pen Pals,

My insides are empty or too full and I just had to write you guys about it.  First I guess I should say that its not everyday or every life time that you find friends as good as you.  True, I know some great people. People with beautiful hearts but they tend to take a back seat to you all.  Our hearts are the same.  They survived some horrible and hard things, separately but they started aching less when we found each other. I love you guys like no other.

Now I'm not being creepy or weird or however this sick world would want to twist my feelings, I love you in the purest of ways. We were made to love people that just get us so much, they almost become an extension of ourselves. We aren't whole until we are together.

How did we end up so broken at the same time?  I find some days I scramble to find the right words to help you because, often, I don't even have right words to help me.  But some how, together, we make it through a whole day, every hurdle, and we pick up all the tiny broken pieces that fell at our feet. 

I've heard it said that not everyone that you love can love you the way you need.  I think, between you and me, we slowly found each other, and we found exactly what we needed in each other. We used to think we had to live broken, with not one soul that felt like us.  Then along came YOU. 

You saved my life.  I don't say it enough.  I don't ever say it maybe.  But my heart was shattered and starting to sink.  My mind held on to so many ugly  and scary things.  I had a enough friends but I didn't have ones that I could voice my terrible train of thought to. Then along came YOU.

My dear friends, In this system we are going to struggle.  We are going to fight.  We are going to need fixing.  We are gonna need ambulances and doctors.  Medicines and mediators.  We are gonna need a place to sleep, a place to collapse.  We will need a shoulder to cry on and a hand to grasp so tightly.  Then along will come YOU.  I know that.  I sleep better knowing that in fact.  

But we will also have anniversary parties, and craft shows.  Sleepovers and matching clothes.  Growing babies and vacations.  Girls night and double date night... Painting and distressing.  beautifully scrolled words and big giant bows.... Facetime calls and very late night chats...cuz along will come YOU...

I asked dry shampoo more than it was capable of....

Today was gonna be a hard day.  Nothing un-ordinary was going to happen.  In fact it was going to be a very,  very basic day.  And those are my hardest.  For so many reasons, but thats not where I'm headed to day. 

I asked my dry shampoo to do more than it was capable of, I needed to save 5 day old hair and make it epic.  Today my brain told me, if I could just get that one thing right, my day would be good. Possibly even great. At first I thought that about my lipstick(which is a new love of mine).  But once I got that reddy-orange lip on I thought, Well, who are you kidding lady.  So I took the next five minutes and three baby wipes to get that off.. Hence, NEEDING the dry shampoo to fix me.

Well I combed and I sprayed and curled and sprayed and combed... and so on.  But Here I was.  Stumped that it wasn't fixing my day.  

Its like when your whole life is messy.  In complete disarray, and you think, If I could just get my home to show home status, my inner issues would be tidier too.  If I could just arrane the cutlery to look like a magazine article I once read, all would change in my life and we'd be on the right track.

But, do you know what guys.  Its not really ever gonna work.  If you think I tidy kitchen will make for a tidy mind, your set up for failure.  like, Im saying, I know Chip and Joanna Gaines, gots it goin' on but we have no idea the shape of their minds.  I dont even know how much dry shampoo chip uses.  And even if I did, it STILL doesnt mean hes OK.

Ok, Ok. I got off on  a tangent.  I dont want you to think I'm preaching here.  Im more trying to convince me.  Its not the perfect kitchen that looks like Oprah Winfrey's country cottage in the Hamptons thats gonna change your day.  And its definitely not the dry shampoo that Taylor Swift uses.  (unless Im buying the wrong kind) Its either is or isnt a good day and thats all up to you.  

And maybe just a little tidy kitchen and dry shampoo...!?

And it made me think of You...

Dear Tousin,

I had to write and tell you that I had to retire our favorite mug.  The pink and cream one with blue on the inside.  And it made me think of you.  That place is are happy place and where our minds have gone when we are tired. Or defeated.  Sometimes, (and these are the best times) we go there to remember the happy times.  But what happens when we retire that mug?  But I tucked it somewhere safe and I can look at it everyday.  I might not get to use it, but all the same thoughts are there.  Why do they make those mugs so fragile?  When I hold it, it keeps me above water.  It makes breathing easier. Makes my whole heart happy.

How's your heart been since we last spoke?  You said it was fine the last time, but as I always say, we've "changed a few times since then", and to tell you the truth, I never believed you anyway.  If money were never the issue, Id come, just for a little weekend, share a couple cups and maybe a glass or two.  Sometimes I think we start repair our cracks one sip at a time, one truth at a time. Why do they make hearts so fragile?

I know you been thinking lots about your health lately.  I know its part that number your reaching and part this time of year.  I can almost feel all those stitched up cracks pulling and making you just so uncomfortable.  I cant help but wonder if your taking a few more sips, just to seal up the hurty parts.  Use that mug.  I bet yours is stronger than mine.

Maybe its time for you to plan a new adventure.  Rent a car, head to Niagara. Or pass it and go straight to New York.  Go somewhere that helps you breathe. Somewhere that gives you a life line.  Some place that gives a floaty and keeps you above water.  A place that doesn't necessarily make you forget the time of year, or the numbers, but a place that  gives you fresh air and another happy memory.

And bring me back a mug while your at it...:)

Love you, as always,

Me

You eat, We'll evaluate you...

For as long back as I can remeber I knew my emotions ruled me.. I didnt know what that meant or if it had a name.  I dont know if I ever even thought it was a "something". 
But I knew the control I had over them was limited and I knew, given the right (or wrong) set of circumstances I had the power to break someones heart, or make them
the happiest person in the room.  I didnt like that power.  I loved that I could make people laugh.  Or that I could sense a sad heart and it didnt make me uncomfortable.
But i knew if i was ever angry enough I cut cut someone to the ground.  And that was someone I didnt want to ever be.  But my heart of hearts knew, I had little
control over that. 

I've heard it said that the highs that bipolar experience sound kinda good.  You can get things done, accomplish all of the tasks, all of the time.  Your charasmatic and funny and
unstoppable.  Yes, they say, the lows must be awful, but, oh, Those highs.  And YES even people with bipolar have said that.  Maybe even me in jest.
But its not the glamourous ideas that you read about in the books.  We dont ever like to tell of our lowest of lowes.  Or baddest of bad moments.  None of us do.  Bipolar or not.
We tend to keep that stuff close to the chest. But I live in this constant (yet subtle)fear, that I wont be able to hide one of those moments.  Or that the low will take
me so low, that I wont see a way out.

Three years ago (or was it 4?) I had a nervous breakdown.  I was 28.  My world crashed to a grinding hault and I was almost literally immobilized.  All that was good in my
life turned grey.  Looking after my 4 year old was all but impossble.  Id lay in my bed and cry because my insides ached on a menatl level. And there were never the right words
to get that point across to those that loved me most.  I told next to no one.  I was emnbarrased or scared or maybe too depleted.  I dont know. But every night I begged Jehovah
to take that way from me.  Please dont let me wake up one more day like this. WHATEVER that meant.  I could find not one piece of relief.  Everything that made
me happy was broken.  And I was left will this empty shell.  I almost kept that hidden from everyone.  Except for a rare few, I fought that battle alone, inside my head.  What a hero.  What a stupid, stupid hero.

One day, half way through a Sunday meeting, I looked at Geoff and said, "I'm done".  We left my daughter with my sister, got in our car and went straight to emergency. There, they immediately put me in pysch part of the ward, under observation for a few hours. They grilled me with questions under fluorescent lights, cameras on the walls and my lone bed.  A security officer stood watch outside my room.  After hours of be watched on the cameras, they released me with nothing more than a "come back tomorrow and see the psychiatrist."

I went home seething.  I begged for my life and they gave me a referral.  I wasn't going back when I put my head to my pillow that night.  I woke up at 8 a.m. and made Geoff skip work to take me to that psychiatrist.  How can you beg for your life back or even relief, but not do the leg work.  There I went through all the same questions as the day before and then some. Then was sent away to have lunch.  You eat, we'll evaluate you.  Well ask you gruesome, gut wrenching questions, then give you an hour break.  It was as fun as it sounds.  What I'm trying to convey here I,s that, it was hard.  It hurt.  It was almost unbearable. It wasn't glamourous. And all that I normally got to keep tight to my chest was out there for a perfect stranger to assess.  But I do love cafeteria food and hospitals.  So that part was ok.  (If I don't have my humour, I got nothing some days.)

That day I walked away with a cocktail of meds that really really ended up working once they were in my system.  But what I really noticed was, there was a storm in my head and once it poured, the clouds cleared and I was left without heavy bricks on my shoulder.  I went home and slept.  In the coming months, My husband got his wife back and my daughter her mom.  And I could breathe.

You might think, well here you are again, struggling.  But you're kinda wrong.  Okay, yes I'm in an all out battle with my head.  But this time I was quicker for help and I have one, very effective reminder.  I survived, what I once thought was stronger than me. And that's something all in itself.

Best Pancakes Ever!...

It's funny, you know, this world.  Yesterday I needed to google a pancake recipe. So I input "best pancake recipe".  This first one that came up was labelled "best pancake recipe ever". Well, move over Paula Dean, I'm making pancakes.

I glanced at the recipe to see what made it the best. 2 different types of sugar? In my very limited modest abilities that can barely be called cooking, I thought, "yup, this is the one!" TWO SUGARS, GUYS!!

So I whipped that up with Anna screaming/crawling around my legs. No worries. It's gonna be worth it, it is the best ever, after all! Well once I figured the recipe made them too runny and burner was up too high and I should of waited a little before flipping it(although it made for some interesting looking pancakes)we had 5 BEST EVER pancakes, hot and ready to go.

Well let me tell you, they were nothing to write home about. They were very standard and maybe a teensy bit burnt. Two sugars? Pfft. No difference. They just didn't live up to their label. It was kinda disappointing, given what I was expecting.. But we ate them, and even had 2 leftover for my middle of the night snack. Fuel, so I could write this. And I actually think they were better this early morning. Especially with the right toppings!

I just really feel there is a lesson in here somewhere.  Often in life we have these dreams and they are often quite "promising".  you look close at them and they seem to have all the "ingredients" to make a perfect life.  Even enough variety to be unique. Your own kinda special. You don't for see all that could go wrong or all the distractions along the way that make it tricky. You get busy dreaming, you forget you might have to dial back the" temperature" abit, because too many things can burn you out.

But, you guys, that's not to say you can't have "the best life ever".  Your not hooped before you even start. Everything we do, with the right attitude is a good story- even what might seem mediocre. Really hard, horribly gone a rye, "misshaped" obstacles, can can make for a funny/fun life.  And you never know when, in the middle of the night or in a dark time, something you made/dreamed/planned, gets you through, fuels you, if you will, to the next day.

Or maybe the lesson is, don't google "best pancakes" and expect that to be what you get, haha...

Make Believe With Me...

We are taught from a very young age to "Make Believe".  Everything put before us was colorful and beautiful and shiny.  It still is for my girls too.  Every movie we watch, so full of make believe, I end up wishing the world to be that colorful too.  I still get the appeal in those movies and lets be honest friends, I bring my kids to see those movies, but I bring my little ol' damaged heart too.

So I'm hoping and hoping that I can "make believe'" to a day where I understand the balance of my whole life.  Does that sounds depressing or funny?  If you know me, you know I mean it funny but I think your all coming around to the idea that all my humour has deep seeded sadness.  HAHA.  But all the good ones do, am I right?

But really, all the movies, these toys and games, they all try to make you see the positive.  Be your own hero.  (you don't need no man, haha), know one day you'll make it, even if your not sure how.  Every terrible step that makes our feet ache also makes our heart beat a little faster and makes you feel a little something.  Relentlessly pray that your feet can take the pressure and your heart wont give out. 

And heres the thing, Friends, Those little tiny bodies we take to see to those bright, glitzy movies, are always watching us from the corner of their eyes,(and sometimes even more obviously ha) They are the most hopeful for these make believe worlds that we have built around them.  They are a lovely thing.  Keep them up for as long as we can.  Because I don't want it to be me that topples those dreams.  Not the way I act or what I say or ESPECIALLY how I make them feel.

Look, I know I'm 32 but I think I'm gonna make believe, just a little longer...I have a couple of good reasons...

The Pattern of Me

When I walked in to that Doctor Office that day, I knew who I was.  I had a handle on me.  I knew when I went to bed at night, what made me, me.  But I walked out gone.  The person I knew to be me, had up and disappeared and I was left with what felt like a stranger in my heart.  To you maybe, that seems impossible.  Or dramatic. And I guess maybe its both.  But its also true.

Going in there that day, I was looking for help, for a new med, maybe a break. But mostly help.  At least I went in for the right reasons. Because coming out, I needed to be ready to take on a monster.  My own head and sadly, I guess, my heart.

Since having Anna, my moods have been all over the place. Which is expected post partum. But for some one like me feels all the normal "feels" are much more extreme.  But I knew and expected that, in all honesty.  So the day came where I recognized that I needed to see my doctor and I needed to be better for my family and for me. So in I went. But out came a stranger.

The diagnosis?  Bipolar Disorder.  Now you might think, C'mon, someone like you never thought of that possibility before.  And truthfully, I had. Many years ago.  But long enough ago to know, I wasn't likely taking an honest evaluation of me. Sure I knew I had ups and downs, but I thought the ups were me as a person and the downs were depression.  It wasn't until walking out of that appointment and slept on it, that I truly looked back on my timeline and seen the very clear pattern of "me".

The "me" I know, when she is happy, was/is the life of the party.  I'm fun, out going, happy, energetic, spontaneous.  I have a total false confidence.  But sometimes, mid day, mid evening, or mid-night, all that slips away in a matter of time. Seconds, sometimes.  And I am left with the "other me".  My future feels bleak in those days or hours or whatever.  I have not one tiny hope in my very tired body.  All my goals of yesterday are insurmountable. Unattainable and mostly- unimaginable.

Through a night I can clean my entire home.  Organize the pantry.  Wash, dry and put away the laundry.  I can meal plan for a week.  Budget.  Plan my life.  Water the plants.  All while my family sleeps.  Then I can get them up and do all the things I need to do that day. And repeat,  until who knows when.  And then as fast as my mind races, I'm back to bed barely able to feed my kids, let alone me. And repeat, until who knows when.

So here I am.  2:16 a.m. two coffees in and processing this stranger I came home with.  You know that saying, "I knew who I was this morning, but I've changed a few times since then."  It rings in my head over and over.  I guess it doesn't have to be a bad thing.  And properly cared for, I can be a good mom/wife/friend. And I'm no stranger to mental illness but I'm in a foreign field, it feels like, and I'm so tired of the ups, because of the downs.  But mostly, I'm just tired...