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if Carrie Fisher can survive bipolar disorder and still lead the galaxy’s most successful rebellion, SO. CAN. I.

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i thought of this in the shower the day i was diagnosed

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I can't think. I can't feel my breath. 

I feel I'm entering the abyss without anything to prepare me for it.

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i wish issues with daily hygiene due to mental illness were talked about more. i feel like it’s the elephant in the room when it comes to symptoms of debilitating disorders.

so i’m proud of everyone who brushed their teeth, washed their face, showered, and/or put on fresh underwear today. and it’s ok if you haven’t done all or any of those (i know i’ve only done the first two); i’m still so proud of you for managing and surviving another day. keep going you’re doin good.

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When someone bothers you during your 2am ideas that will change the world

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You deserve love, peace and happiness.

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JOURNAL ENTRY: March 23, 2017 @ 1 pm. AT THE SHRINKS.

I don’t know what is wrong with me.

I’m sitting in the lobby at my psychiatrists’ office, and its crowded as fuck. There’s an annoying kid here. Maybe 4, or 3? And everyone is laughing at everything he does. He's like a dumb lion in a circus, creating havoc among all who came to watch him.

A man is hugging his purse. I wonder what brand it is. It’s brown leather. A pink Ralph Lauren button up or so it seems. My craving to shop has put me on edge about all things fashion.

i switched seats now, so i can see everything and remember this day clearly.

Theres a BBW in front of me. She’s magnificently bald and has a ton of jewelry made of crystals and stones. She's so beautiful and radiant.

A woman was staring at me like if i were the Whore of Babylon. She doesnt give a fuck if i noticed her or not, she's still staring like “Who the fuck?”

yeah, I'm the fuck. (!!!!!)

i am in such close proximity with these people. I can smell their hot cheat, subway stank-breath. (Being tat subway is just around the corner, AKA right next door AKA everyone has the shits.)

It’s so cold, a guys hiding in his shirt and all i can see is the top of his head. he is as comfortable as i would want to be.. Next to him theres a cop, a father-cop, reading a depression survey out loud to his daughter, expecting her answers. She says yes to most of the questions, yet her dad writes other wise. And suddenly I'm scared for her. Either she's here for no reason since her dad keeps writing no to all her yes’s, or having to explain to your dad how to feel is just as shitty as trying to explain how you feel to some person you've never met. How is it that someone has a degree to tell you: you've never been who you thought you were, you're someone else entirely more psychotic than you that. And the feeling overwhelms me. I stare at this girl and internally scream, i feel you, FUCK this shit.

the oxygen is so limited here. There is 30+ people in a room for 20 and i can't explain this feeling. Just imagine yourself being an astronaut in a group session and suddenly, everything goes wrong and the space shuttle begins to open in the middle of nowhere, in space, and you're fighting with a bunch of know-it-alls for the last suit. “THE SUIT!! THE SUIT!! ITS ALL I NEED TO STAY ALIVE!”

Like the pills they keep feeding me, keeping me from going insane.

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I wish to escape myself, even it's for a couple of seconds.

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ME.

I couldn’t hear my cries over the sound of the water running. It was freezing, and it felt like it pierced every part of my skin as it ran down my spine and crept it’s way through every crease on my body. Crouched on the tub floor, holding my knees and swallowing my tears along with snot and bath water, I kept looking around the walls, asking, “what the fuck am I doing? What the fuck is wrong with me?” Death was roaming my mind, over and over again like a vulture hovering over a dying dog. I was afraid I was going to be a victim of self-inflicted death. Something I always struggled with growing up, but didn’t think about then, especially not now that I had just given birth to a new baby boy, was a newly wed and was just getting settled into my own flow.

My husband, Eric, forced the door open and pushed the shower curtain aside. He mouthed my name as he reached over to console me, but I couldn’t make it out. My heart was in my ears and I was in too much distress to answer to any of his demands, but seeing his face in such despair made me feel worse. His honey glazed eyes I always took solace in now cast with a shadow of hopelessness because he didn’t know what else to do to help my cause. That’s when it all felt real to me.

The first diagnosis I received was ���post partum depression”, something that 50% of new mothers experience after birth due to extreme fluctuations of hormones. It seemed like a reasonable excuse to why I was feeling what I was feeling at first before it got worse.

I was an insomniac, but I thought it was normal especially for someone at the age of 19. You’re young, you go out, you hardly sleep, but I wouldn’t sleep for days. It started off for a couple of hours, then a day, then I wouldn’t sleep up to 5 days or a week consecutively, and if I slept at all, I would only sleep for an hour or two and the whole cycle would start again. The insomnia was so intolerable, but I could not find the ability to sleep and I did not want to. I had so much energy and a mind full of ideas that could not escape me. I would stay up all night painting, drawing, writing, cooking, cleaning, researching things of interest, dancing, etc. All the while I was impulsive, agitated, irritable, insanely happy about things I shouldn’t be insanely happy about. Dancing and singing in public, talking to animate/inanimate objects, doing the wrong things at the wrong times, letting things slip out of my mouth without caring about consequences, but I loved the whole feeling entirely and I continue to be in love with it. Some people claim to be addicted to it, and I can see why. I call my mania, my personal brand of cocaine.

Then, this incredible, “on top of the world” feeling would pass, and my whole world would start swallowing itself like a sinkhole. My own personal hell would appear from the inside out. My chest cavity would ache, a pain like no other, a heart ache that felt like death mixed with misery and anxiety all at once and you can try to run and escape, you can drink the pain away, take an extra Ambien and hope the next morning you can forget the way you felt the night before, but it will not leave. Waking up took hours to be able to do, getting out of bed took more than just a push or a shove. Simple day-to-day things like brushing your teeth, showering, putting on deodorant, changing into clothes; I did not do for days in a row. I had crying fits that I would come in and out of throughout the day and I could not explain why. The thought of suicide passed my mind so easily, and felt nostalgic and scared about it all at once. Why did I feel like I could just die and be relieved of all the heart wrenching pain that was causing me so much turmoil? How was I so capable of causing my loved ones so much pain and worry? It was all so unexplainable, yet I understood.

I call my depression, my leech.

(both of these things I will talk about in depth later)

Finally after 8 months of battling for my medical rights to see a psychiatrist, I was diagnosed with rapid cycling bipolar disorder type 2 on December 15th, 2016. My moods fluctuate so drastically within a couple of weeks, sometimes within a couple of days, depending on stress. I am not sure how long I have been bipolar, but what I do know is that I want to take charge of my life and gain control over my illness by inspiring and helping others with my story to take charge of their lives as well and whatever they may be struggling with and to remind them that its never over, it is only the beginning. :)

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WELCOME TO MY HUMBLE ABODE!

i hope you will make it yours too.

the purpose of this blog is to not only talk about my personal experience with Bipolar Disorder but to provide a safe haven for people who want to express themselves to relieve their own mental illness/stress/thoughts/feelings.

this blog is not just for people with mental illness, everyone is welcome. 

i plan to be 100% honest about anything that is asked, posted and pictured. and to be able to do that i would need your help too! :)

LET’S END THE STIGMA TOGETHER!