A Letter To My Son’s Therapist: Sorry, Not Sorry

songtothesirens:

Therapists ought to be required to work in prisons before they can work with the general public. Mine worked in the prison system fro 10+ years before going into private practice, and let me tell you, she is one tough lady. If you have to apologize to her, look out, you will probably end up in tears and feeling as humble as ever. Congratulations to the mother who wrote this.

Originally posted on Yes, I Really Did Just Say That.:

To My Son’s Therapist,

I do not pay you to placate my son. I do not pay you to be his best friend. I don’t pay you to “be on anyone’s side,” not mine or his. I send him to you because he needs to talk, or I need help with something.

Autism, ADHD, Aspergers, blah, blah, blah, they are all a real bitch. And, frankly, we need some help. Hell, it’s 2014, who doesn’t?

I found a way in my budget and schedule to bring my kid to you over the past 3 years, because I thought you might be of the right frame of mind to be reasonable with someone who is otherwise quite UNreasonable about 90% of the day, not just from ASD/ADHD, but because he’s a raging, pre-pubescent, hormonal mess half the time, too.

I sat there today and listened to my kid say some pretty…

View original 954 more words

The Silent Treatment Plays on Your Fear of Abandonment

songtothesirens:

This article makes my childhood and many of my subsequent relationships make sense….

Originally posted on Let Me Reach with Kim Saeed:

Woman Holding Onto Man's Leg

gettyimages

Fear of abandonment.  It can destroy your life if left unchecked; especially so if you are in a relationship with a suspected Narcissist.

Narcissists use this fear to keep you in a perpetual cycle of anxiety, causing you to crave their return when they give you the Silent Treatment, knowing they can do whatever they please and you will take them back with little opposition.  You might verbalize your dislike of their choice and explain how hurtful it is, but take away words and the fact is that they insert themselves back into your life with barely a hitch.

What many victims of narcissistic abuse confuse for love is really a manifestation of their fear of abandonment, which has been magnified by frequent silent treatments, as well as the devalue and discard phases carried out by their abusive partner(s).  As a result, they remain in a constant state of…

View original 757 more words

Although I Have Posted This Before……

I ran across a picture that I know I have posted before, but it seems to sum up how I am feeling (or not) today. It is not directed at people in general, but rather, myself in my odd non-mood state. There has to be a name for that…..

Is there a name for what's wrong with you?

Is there a name for what’s wrong with you?

No Waves On The Ocean Today

 

Dead Calm Sea

Dead Calm Sea

 

Upon being awakened by my very sweet and well meaning cat this morning far earlier than I would have preferred, I did my normal rounds of turning on lights, opening blinds and making coffee (can’t wake up without it, the light thing was my psychiatrist’s idea to clear the Seroquel fog I experience every morning), I find that I am in no mood state. I am neither depressed nor am I manic. I do not know if this is comfortable or not as I do not experience the lack of mood very often. I am not sad, I am not happy. I am not satisfied, I am not dissatisfied. I am not motivated, but I am not unmotivated either. I do not know what to do with myself. I suppose some people would think this state of being to be preferable to the normal ups and downs of a rapid-cycling bipolar who lives in mixed-episode world. However, somehow it just isn’t. I feel like someone gave me Haldol or Thorazine, and I just do not care about a damn thing because I have been sedated. I feel like I could easily spend the day staring at the wall thinking random and rather unimportant thoughts.

I think this feeling is described well as feeling “meh”. Although I have looked outside, and it appears that it will be another beautiful Indian summer kind of day, I have no feeling about that either although it would be a great day to go bike riding, or sit outside and read. Is this what feeling “normal” is like? If so, I do not like it. I feel like someone lobotomized me in my sleep. I want my gently rocking sea back. This flat calm just won’t do. I am too used to going a little bit up and then a little bit down. I have no idea what to do about this. I want my sine wave back; I like the gentle ups and downs of mixed-episode world. Most people that I have met personally would welcome this feeling of normalcy, but I have never felt normal, and therefore, it is not a place I want to be. Everyone else’s abnormal is my baseline. Maybe as the day progresses, feeling will return. Perhaps, I should just enjoy feeling no emotional ups and downs. They’ll be back anyway.

More of my wife’s art

songtothesirens:

Paintings from the quite talented wife of Opinionated Man

Originally posted on HarsH ReaLiTy:

20141022-104312-38592074.jpg

20141022-104312-38592636.jpg

View original

Having A “Severe” Psychiatric Disorder Is Lonely Business

This is something the doctors do not tell you when you are diagnosed. Being, or rather, having Bipolar Disorder is a lonely thing to have. I do not know if I have chosen solitude because I have no problems with telling people I have Bipolar, or if people just sense something is off about me, and choose not to get to know me. I do not date anymore due to the lingering negativity from my marriage to the psycho porn freak. I have no idea what could be worse than that, but I am almost 100% positive that it is out there somewhere and with me being me, I will stumble headfirst into it. I realize that you have to talk to people to get to know them. It is kind of an obvious given. It is the same with going places where people congregate, and no, concerts with your mom and her husband and your niece do not count. 

I let all my walls down with my ex-husband, and I had them in place for good reasons. However, he made it through my massive defense mechanisms, and then stomped on what remained of the walls I had spent years erecting. When someone lets you in, that is something to be respected because chances are you may be one of the few who ever gets to see inside the madness, the weirdness, and the normalcy that is you as a person. They get to see the “real” you because you felt comfortable enough to let them see. It is a horrible thing to have that kind of trust betrayed. The new walls are simply taller, thicker and more heavily fortified than the old ones. At least that is the experience that I am having. I trust very few people because my life experiences have taught me that, given the chance, most people will turn on you. They can’t hang on for the ride never realizing one very important thing: they can get off the ride of they choose. I cannot. This is my life, and while I do not relish the idea of spending it alone, if that is what happens, then it is what it is. 

I would go out, but all my former friends are married with children of their own (I would have a 27 year old and and a 17 year old right now had things been different.) And, going out by myself just does not appeal to me, and you really can’t meet someone unless you leave the limited and comfortable sphere you have created for yourself. Add a little dose of paranoia to that, and everyone now suddenly has ulterior motives, or they want to hurt you, or you are one of the unlucky few who actually run into a serial killer. That would be me. I could be dating someone like BTK, and never know it. I just attract weird and odd people, and not the good kind of weird…..the scary kind of weird. The kind of weird that can freak someone like me out, and I have been in some really strange places in my life. I have been in some really dangerous places in my life, and these folks are scarier than that.

I guess I just really miss the companionship, the having someone to talk to, eat with, get along with and fight with. I miss the stability that comes out of a good relationship (notice the qualifier “good”). My ex-husband and I did not have a “good” relationship…..at all. And, the thing that gets me, and gnaws and chews at me is that I gave up one of the purest loves I had ever had in order to marry the jackass that my ex turned out to be. And, it is highly likely that I will never see this man again. He did not try to change me. He knew who and what I was from the beginning, and it didn’t bother him in the least. There has only been one other person like that in my life. We have known each other for some 27 years. He gets me. Yes, I know I am throwing myself a pity party. But, I am in a funk. A deep blue indigo funk. And no one wants to hear it. People ask “How are you doing?” They don’t expect an honest answer. They expect, and, in fact, assume that you will lie and they can go on their merry little way. No wonder there are so many shrinks in this country.

This Was Inspired By A “Comment Discussion” About Music And Memory

When I was small, like about 3 or 4, my father frequently played the banjo. He was, in my little girl opinion, very good at it. Now that I am an adult and having tried the violin in school, I have to say my father is musically inclined in a major way. But, anyway, I got involved in a “comment” discussion about songs remembered from childhood, instruments that were tried, singing in general, and memories of those songs. One of the songs my father was trying to tackle was “Dueling Banjos”…..yes, I realize you need a second banjo for this song, but he was working on both parts. So, this post in the category, “Music on Mondays” from the blog Russel Ray Photos reminded me of this one bluegrass song that I have dearly loved since being a little kid when things were simpler and happier. So, here is “Dueling Banjos.” See, Bipolar people aren’t scary. We are just a little more eccentric than other people :) This was a hard video to find…but maybe that is because I am picky…..the kid in this video can pick. So, “Dueling Banjos” by Glen Campbell and Carl Jackson from 1973.

 

Still Feeling Maudlin

His Main Bike Looked a Little Like This ~ 1937 HD Knucklehead

There is something that I want to write. I can feel it forming in my brain, I can sense it coming out the tips of my fingers, but I can’t seem to find the words. Anyone who knows me well knows that me being at a loss for words is a rare occurrence. It all started this morning before I woke up. I was dreaming of someone whom I love very much, and will probably love in absentia for the rest of my life. It was not the greatest dream. I could see him, but I could not reach him or talk to him. Something was preventing that. Space, time, maybe? I have not seen him since I got married, and to this day, considering what happened in my marriage, I do not know why I chose my ex-husband over this man who never judged me, never had total losses of temper regarding my mood swings (he just held me, and made things okay)….pardon me, I have to stop and cry for a bit. Damn tears came out of nowhere, I am going to have to buy some waterproof mascara for days like these.

Okay, tears dried up. I have no idea exactly where that came from. It is like the chances of rain in my city; it can thunder and blow and have lightening breaking across the sky and the incredibly dark clouds, and not a drop will fall, or the downpour will be so torrential that flood warnings are issued and we are warned to stay out of the arroyos and run-off ditches. That’s what feeling melancholy is like for me. Sometimes not a tear will come to my eye even when by all rights they should, and then sometimes they come out of nowhere to leave black streaks beneath my eyes (hence the waterproof mascara.)

I am lamenting a bad choice. I think that is what it is. I made the wrong decision, and am now regretting it as it was a decision that left me open to a man that did not really care about me (both as a person, period, and as a person with an affective disorder), was abusive in very subtle ways that left me questioning everything about my self as a woman and as a person, was incredibly critical and considered it constructive while I considered it simply criticizing for the sake of being contrary. The man that got left behind was never abusive, never critical, never judgmental, didn’t need to understand my mental issues to be a kind and loving friend; he just inherently understood me, and that I was different than other people. He loved me because I was me. I would wager he still does as he does not strike me as someone who loves easily or lightly. That is something we have in common; I do not love (or trust) easily or lightly. To this day, I wonder how my ex managed to pull the wool over my eyes until it was too late, and I was stuck with the creature he became after marrying. I did see my lover-friend once after I made the mistake of getting married. It was at a bike run that I drove four hours to get to just to see him one last time. 

There is something that bound us to one another that I cannot put in words. It simply was. I told him one night after we had been out drinking beer and listening to live blues at some seedy bar that I needed to tell him something and he wasn’t allowed to think I was crazy. I told him late that night that I loved him, and his response (here we go with the tears again) to me was ” I have loved you for a long time.” That was the only time we said “I love you” to each other, and it never had to be said again. It was just something that was understood. I do not remember my ex ever telling me straight out that he loved me. It was always round about in some way, but it never came out as “I love you.” It was never to the point. I think that he loved the idea of me, but that he didn’t really love me as a real person with strengths and flaws and quirks. 

The odd thing is the two men were fairly close in age, but they could not have had more different outlooks on life. Whereas one told me the last time he had use for a tie was in 1967 to tie his bedroll to his bike before taking off for Mexico, the other lamented the fact that he had no real reason to wear any of his extensive and expensive collection of ties. How did I make the choice to abandon my true lover-friend for my ex? Or maybe the question ought to be how did my ex convince me he was someone he was not; that he was open-minded, quirky, silly, serious, funny, liked the same things I did, had a similar sense of humor, liked to make me blush with some comment that usually took me a while to figure out completely, liked to tell me when I was walking to “stop fast”, wished he could play blues on the guitar and had since he was a boy, and was basically a complete pervert (but in a good way, not a damaging way?) That’s the question I cannot answer, and that is what I ponder frequently when I wake up dreaming of my lover-friend. 

Old Lovers Enjoying s Quiet Time by the Lake

Old Lovers Enjoying s Quiet Time by the Lake

Feeling Maudlin

Old Friends

Old Friends

“Bookends” ~ Simon and Garfunkel

“Time it was
And what a time it was, it was
A time of innocence,
A time of confidences.
 
Long ago it must be
I have a photograph
Preserve your memories
They’re all that’s left you.”

This Is What Happens When I Get Bored (Created With Gnofract4d and GIMP)

A Many Layered Starfish on LSD

A Many Layered Starfish on LSD

Follow

Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.

Join 378 other followers

%d bloggers like this: