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 Twenty years ago, when I was twenty-eight, and after a month with no sleep, I was diagnosed with a major mental illness. At the time this occurred,  I couldn't feel anything. My brain and heart were so completely shut down that when I was diagnosed, I had no reaction to the diagnosis and what the ER doctor was saying to me.  When the doctor told me that I had Bipolar disorder, I stared blankly and flatly ahead of me, disassociating from the reality of this diagnosis and the surreal experience of sleeplessness and mania that I was experiencing at the time. Although I had heard of the illness, I knew next to nothing about it. I certainly didn't believe I had it, no matter what this doctor was telling me. He must be mistaken. But, something was wrong because a person just doesn't stop sleeping for no reason. Years ago, when I was fourteen and got my first period, odd things began happening in my day to day life. Though the circumstances I was living in at the time were challe
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Sleepless in South Dakota

Early morning. Three thirty am. I'm awake; always awake. I spend most of my life awake and frankly, I'm not even sure how I'm alive at this point or maybe, I don't know why I'm alive.  Although I can't prove it, I have a sneaking suspicion  that I have set records for the longest time spent awake in five days. One year, I barely slept for three months.  I was pleading for death. It never came.  Today, a different day, an early Thursday morning at 2:06 am and I find myself awake after not having slept for for forty-eight hours. I'm scared inside this illness because not sleeping wreaks havoc on my system  I can't think straight, my limbs and joints hurt, I forget everything, I feel frightened by the shadows that I've crawled inside of and there's no way out and no light at the end of the proverbial tunnel. I. AM. ALONE If you, dear audience, are having trouble seeing and feeling what it's like to suffer from chronic insomnia; here is some imag
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ACCEPTANCE: How the f#*k do I do it?

   I'm a messy person in almost every aspect of my life. My car is a mess. My apartment is messy and let's not get started on my kitchen. I was raised by the patron saint of cleanliness, so it's hard to imagine where this habit derived. My dad is quite messy, but I didn't grow up with him. Still, I guess there must be some pre-disposition to slob-dom in me because I really don't like cleaning. Yet I prefer to have a clean place. Go figure. A good friend of mine was talking to me about her lifestyle prior to this twelve-step program she and I are both in. (hint.. we aren't alcoholics and we don't do drugs). She talked about laundry piles on the floor and as she painted the portrait of her house back then, I cringed internally and wondered where my purple underwear with the black skulls were.  I hadn't seen them in awhile. After having this conversation, I realized that I struggle with accepting myself as I am right now.  I am a big girl, there is re
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Words between worlds

It is a Friday night in a small town and I am feeling like heavy ball that doesn't bounce. I have Bipolar disorder and for me, that means I'm in one of two worlds, mania or deep depression. Right now, I feel as though I'm looking through a window with paint on it. I can't really see what's in front of me, but I know that there is life beyond my skewed vision. And that makes me feel worse, because I desperately want to be a part of the world around and in front of me, but my depression is a big liar and is saying "nobody wants you." Now, on top of Bipolar, I also have anxiety, mixed with a crushing insecurity that follows me around like a dryer sheet stuck to my pant leg.  As I describe this to whomever is reading, I'm not looking for sympathy. I'm writing this in the hope that someone can relate and maybe, for those with open minds, you can see the brevity of an illness that I and so many people like me live with every day.   Starting your d
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In the confessional booth and other small miracles

I hadn't gone to confession in a long time and so I went last Saturday. I was timid, all right I was scared shitless. Priests are men. I don't talk to men, but when I do talk to men, they are priests, apparently. Now before we go further, I come and go out of that church like Tinkerbell. I don't go to church every week. I detest the politics of the church and most Christian churches really. The Bible, or more importantly, the Old Testament is just full of nonsense starting with Adam and Eve. Oddly enough, in the Catholic Bible there are three or more extra books that are poetic, inspiring and just plain beautiful. So, there I was across from our parish Priest and lead Pastor of our Parish. My confession was fairly straight forward. "Bless me Father for I have sinned, It's been..... eehhhhm... YEARS since my last confession." This was awkward because there'a protocol here and I clearly didn't know it. My good friend, who had talked me into this, and w
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Hello and first post.

Hi. For anyone out there reading this, this post is an introductory post explaining what my blogs will be about. There will be more than one subject but I will primarily be exploring mental health issues, spirituality and whatever else strikes my fancy. If I have a thought on any topic, no matter what it is, I will write about it. I've never really written a blog before, so this is quite new to me.   I could say a lot about myself here, but I believe in building relationships and not giving the plot of one's life away in a few palsy sentences.  I didn't always believe in this but after bulldozing a few relationships with my intensity, I've opted for what I perceive as normal. Which, even as I write this, I don't have the faintest notion of what normal is. I wonder if anyone does?  My guess, probably not. My therapist says normal is a setting on a dryer and my therapist is quite smart.  I'll admit that I would like to be "normal" more often than not
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