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...