Mini-Post Mondays: Blah, Nate, Spam

mini post


I haven’t felt very well lately. I’m coming down with a serious case of the blahs, which I really hope don’t turn into depression. I’m thinking about taking yet another break from continuous blogging and/or reading because honestly, I just don’t feel like it.

Now that I’ve identified one of my mania triggers, I need to work harder on identifying my depression triggers. Is it bad that I’m even thinking of giving in to the holiday mania just to avoid the depression?

Anyway, if I’m MIA for a bit, this is why.


Nate doesn’t know I’m on Suboxone. Scratch that, he didn’t know, until today. I guess I just never told him. I remember in the beginning not wanting to tell him because I knew he’d overreact, but I really thought I mentioned it between then and now. So when I mentioned it today, I didn’t think he’d freak out like he did.

But he did, and I hate fighting with him because there’s literally nothing I can do. I don’t know if he’s going to do something dumb and I can’t prevent it, and now that I’m so blah I’m not the best with my words so I don’t even think a letter will help. I’ll try, though.

But really the point is that I’m sick of people getting freaked out when they find out I’m on Suboxone, and I’m really not keen on fighting with Nate. The end.


Last week I had a spam comment that simply said “You are nothing like us.” This week I have one that reads:

Dream: there is a purse left next to me in a restaurant, i start rummaging through it looking for cash and realize it my a. I don actually take her cash, but i know in the dream i had every intention of cleaning.

I don’t know what it means, but I am really interested. Is “my a.” really “my aunt“? Does the person have “every intention of cleaning her out?” or just cleaning? I’ve been thinking about this comment all week. What do you think it means?

*  *  *  *  *

Don’t forget to link up your own Mini-Post Mondays!

Manic Holidays

The last time I was really, truly experiencing a full-fledged manic episode was about this time last year.

Since my diagnosis I’ve been able to look back and understand what was going on. Back then I had no idea.

There are “yard sale” pages on Facebook. It’s kind of like Craigslist, but some are only for certain towns, other for certain items, and it’s just all much easier and more legit and less murdery than Craigslist. I adore yard sales and good deals and secondhand items, so of course I started doing all of my holiday shopping on these Facebook Yard Sale pages.

I got really into it. Really, really into it. I spent every waking moment scouring through the postings trying to be the first one to comment “INTERESTED!” so I could get my son everything he never even dreamed. I got a scooter for three dollar. Three dollars. He still rides it.

Things were going splendidly. I mean, Jack and my dad weren’t exactly happy that I was spending all my time online and all my money on shit my son didn’t really need, but I found such good deals they were also somewhat proud of my mad bargaining skills.

Then I became increasingly aware of families in need. You may not recall, but there were a lot of fires in South Jersey last winter. So many unfortunate families lost everything right before the holidays. There were posts begging people to give anything they could, even just a pair of socks. I gave what I could, when I could.

Then the posts got more specific. Eight-year-old girl, four-year-old boy, nine-month-old baby; girl likes this and that and boy likes that and this and baby needs whatever. So I started searching not only for me, but for them. I found a great deal on a shitload of The Littlest Pet Shop pets and homes and case for ten dollars. I bought it for one of the little girls. I went to Five Below and bought one of the boys a toy train for five dollars. I gave away all of Holden’s baby stuff I had held onto for no apparent reason.

In the midst of all this, a friend of mine reached out. She had been having a very hard time financially and was afraid she wouldn’t be able to provide a proper Christmas for her children. I went into full gear at this point. I made post after post about how I knew families in need; I started collecting donations; I would drive up to an hour away to pick up a bag of clothes or a box of toys. Now I was spending every waking minute online, driving, and sorting through the mountains of crap collecting in my basement.

I was obsessed. I would stay up until 4am searching for the perfect postings on the Facebook pages, afraid to miss anything good. I would then wake up at 9am and immediately rush out the door to meet someone. One time I had the car so packed I was literally sitting on top of a bag to make enough room for me.

Holden never saw me. Whenever I was home I was in the basement, sorting through all the donations I had received, separating clothes by size and toys by family. I was supposed to be attending college at the time, but my self-made / self-run charity quickly overtook any responsibility I had to anything else.

My best friend’s mom also experienced a fire, and I drove several towns away in the middle of the night during a snowstorm to pick up a couch for her. I then kept the couch in the bed of my truck, covered with tarps, for weeks until she was able to move it into her apartment.

I cared about everyone else far more than I cared about my own well-being.

After Christmas, once most of the families had everything they needed, I crashed. And I crashed hard. I didn’t get out of bed for two weeks. I didn’t check my computer or play with my son or do my homework or even make food. There was no point to my existence.

Once I went back online, I had several livid messages from people who I had told I might be able to help. When I first felt the crash coming on, I had told mostly everyone that I was dealing with personal stuff and would do the best I could, but would be dialing it back for a while. They didn’t care. One of them attacked me for trying to sell some of my own stuff, instead of giving everything I own to needy families. Another cyber-yelled at me for hours because I wasn’t able to help a family she knew. More and more people were coming out of their hiding places blaming me for all of their problems.

That’s when I decided to stop. By this point I could barely handle my own thoughts, let alone others unloading all of their crap onto me.

Now I still have a basement full of stuff and, a year later, haven’t managed to sort through any of it. When I said my crash was hard, I meant it. I suffered the longest depression I have ever known, and am just now beginning to pull out of it.

And now I know. I know that the holidays are a trigger that can send me into mania. I know I can go overboard and I know I’ll put others before myself and I know I’ll crash again, and I can’t afford to do that anymore.

Big Brothers, Big Sisters is coming to pick up some of the bags in my basement next Saturday. I’m slowly chipping away at the pile of mess, at my own pace. I’m still offering to people in need, so long as they do things on my terms. I want to help, but I sometimes have to put my own health first.

Sometimes I have to be the one in need.

Hair Cuts and M&Ms

I cut my son’s hair today and now it’s super short and I’m kind of mad but also very happy because now I don’t have to deal with those ungodly knots.

But it made me think about Bipolar parenting and how it affects our children. Other than depression, I haven’t had the chance since my diagnosis to sit and really see any cases in which my illness impacts my son. Until now.

Supposedly I’ve been hypomanic for a while now. I’m so confused I didn’t even know I could be hypomanic because I have Bipolar I and I thought that meant I only got full-fledged mania, but I was wrong. I can get hypomania and I have it, but none of the good aspects that come with it.

I mean, I’m getting shit done so that’s cool I guess, but I’m always anxious and irritated and making such rash decisions. Like, did I tell you that I am meeting Married Online Man? (Well we’ll obviously have to come up with a better name for him because that acronym is MOM and that’s just weird. And “Online Man” would be OM which is also “Other Man” so that’s out. Maybe just “Married Man”. My delightful M&M. Which I still don’t like because I don’t like to think of him as only married because there’s so much more to him but I guess it’ll have to do for now.)

Anyway, I’m meeting him soon. I probably won’t write about it much, but it’s happening. And while I’m fairly positive he’s not a crazy murderer, Luke seems to think otherwise and Nate is slightly uncomfortable with the whole thing but doesn’t want to tell me what to do so really I can’t know for sure. And either way, it’s pretty damn impulsive for me to meet someone from the internet. Even if I feel like we know each other because we talk every day.

Anyway anyway, Bipolar parenting. Cutting my son’s hair. It was so impulsive. I was giving him a bath and BAM I just couldn’t handle the knots anymore and got my rusty, dull kitchen scissors and chopped that shit off. And what if my son didn’t want his hair cut? What if I have a mini-meltdown once reality kicks in and I notice it’s really gone? What the hell have I done?

I mean, I know it’s only hair and it’ll grow back and it’s not a big deal but what other selfish, impulsive decisions could I make regarding my son’s life that my illness helps fuel that could actually harm him? Would I ever make such decisions? Will I be in the right mind enough to realize how idiotic I’m being?

This is the shit I get to think about now. I hope it will never come to that, I don’t think it will ever come to that, but something is absolutely going on. And I just had to write about it.

(p.s. Don’t forget to check out today’s guest post!)

Also he was not feeling getting his picture taken but this is the best I could do:


Today I woke up to my boy cuddled up in the covers next to me watching nursery rhymes on the iPad.

Then we went to his best friend’s house and played and laughed and had a good time.

When we came home, I dug a plastic drawer organizer out of the shed, rinsed and dried each drawer, and sorted all of the paperwork, mail, coupons, receipts, and miscellaneous items from the kitchen table into each of the drawers.

Then I did the dishes while dyeing my hair.

Productive-as-fuck, meet Tempest Rose.

Anyway, after all of my doing all the stuff, Adam and my dad got home so I ran out to get them (and me) some food. I stopped to get milk at WaWa, and got in line behind an adorable little boy. I’d say he was about 10 or so, definitely no older. He was just standing there staring sadly at a pile of change in front of him — the cashier had the same sad stare at a 12oz cup of hot chocolate.


Continue reading


So this is what’s been going on.

The last week has been weird.

I randomly decided to chop my hair off. Really, I just gave myself bangs, but it was super random and I just chopped them off. The next day I chopped them shorter, and the next day shorter still. I think I like them now.

I planned an affair with one of my friends, who shall remain nameless and genderless. Nate gave me the okay and this person isn’t married, but they are in a relationship, so it was not a good idea. I even messaged my other friend telling her how not good of an idea it was, but I couldn’t stop. We talked about what we would do and when we would do it and how we would do it, and it ended in me sending a topless pic and masturbating because of how worked up I got.

Continue reading