Redefining Crazy

I hate that I have all these stupid problems that make me more likely to commit suicide. I hate it because it is too damn real and I understand too well why that is true. I hate it because I want to quit and give up and in addition to that people treat you differently.
Maybe that is why people with bipolar, TBI and who have had a family member commit suicide are more likely to,
because people treat them different
And not usually in good ways.
In fact it is too often kind of crappy
so then I get scared of everybody and I isolate myself to protect,
which really does not work so well,
but the alternative can be so very painful.
Especially when people poke.
It's like the friends that have really been bad friends. They want out because they don't want to be burdened by the extra burden -or they don't know how to handle you now -or they are just plain ignorant and stigmatizing cowards. So they start doing things to push your buttons and then if you react they say "see" and feel fully justified in being a jerk to you.
Employers do this too.
If they find out you have any kind of mental health struggle they often start looking for reasons to fire you. Or they pass you over and avoid you, making it impossible to be promoted or get anywhere. And all this in addition to the isolation you already feel. Then if you say anything or react they say "see" and you will be let go for far lesser offenses than you have seen your unmarked peers make and are not even chastised for.
Even medical providers and psychologists will use it against you.
And the worst part: even if your reaction falls well within normal, you will be accused of overreacting. Even when your reaction is under-reactive. Then you might be accused of not reacting when you should have... and you are stuck in a lose lose scenario. If you react at all you lose, if you don't react you lose.
So, as if it is not hard enough, let's add all of that to it and then expect our genuinely psychologically challenged people to behave better than everyone else.
It is asinine and maddening and no wonder people behave so badly in this country.

My kids and I witnessed a contrast to this in Rio de Janeiro, Brazil.
We decided to go shopping in a popular shopping area that was in a very tight part of the city. I am sorry I cannot remember the name. It is a very busy area and there are shops and people everywhere. When we got there a man noticed us and started talking to us. Our Portuguese was not great, so we were gleaning and using context clues. He seemed to be about my age and he seemed to be trying to help us. He was especially watchful of my son who was 10 at the time, although he looked to be no older than 8.
The man was trying to guide us to different places and was trying to tell us stuff but since our Portuguese was very limited we were not understanding him or his intentions very well. We did gather that he had a son and it seemed his son had passed away. He was with the angels; we understood that much. He brought us to a vendor that spoke English. We asked him who this man was and questions that would help us understand this man's intentions. The English speaking vender told us, "it's okay, he's just crazy." Another vendor told us the same thing. They both knew this man, were happy to see him, were kind to him, and they assured us we were in no danger; "he was just crazy."
I was not so assured and after visiting a few more places with the assistance of our happenstance escort the stress of the area was getting to me so we asked him where the subway station was and he took us there. I gave him some money thinking that was what he was really after. He looked at me, unsure of what to do. I was not sure if he was offended, hurt or just surprised by the offering. We thanked him and left to catch the sub-train as he stood there with his hand still half out, confused as he looked from me to the money and back. 
In the quiet and less chaotic spaces and in the places that we new better, where we felt safer and more comfortable, I had time to reflect on the series of events and this man.
It was then that I realized just how stigmatizing, ignorant, and fearful I was of mentally ill people.
In America when we say a person is "crazy" it is usually a condescending and degrading remark. Even in cases of true biological mental illness, here, it is a justifiable reason to treat the person labeled as such in any terrible way. Examples: "he divorced her because she was crazy," "OMG, he's crazy, don't even talk to him." We ostracize and easily excuse comments like "get away from me you crazy b*@#" etc.
Is it any wonder that some of our crazies end up doing horrible things?
Meanwhile in Brazil, they have a saying, "we don't have natural disasters so God gave us all the crazy people," or something to that effect. But they don't treat their crazy people like a natural disaster, at least they did not in that shopping district we went to.
We encountered other mentally ill people in  Rio and we saw how they were treated in contrast. It was really beautiful and refreshing.
That day, with the man that was really just being protective and helpful, when I had a chance to reflect, I felt pretty bad about being afraid of him and for not being nicer. Not that I was terrible to him but I was not as kind as I could have been nor as kind as I usually am.
Just imagine how much kinder a place our own country would be if we stopped treating "crazy" like it was a plague and people with mental illnesses as less than human. Especially since every one of us will face mental illness or psychological struggles at some time in our life. Depression is the common cold of mental illness and our culture breads and feeds so many different varieties of mental health problems; anxiety, gender confusion, depression, narcissism etc, what do we think is going to happen?
When we label crazy as "bad" and we stigmatize people for the traits that make them different; when we make their struggles taboo and forbidden to talk about; when we won't even give them a chance; we isolate and encourage the darker sides of people to come out.
So there are my two cents for the day.
I did not want to come on here at all
but when I found myself fighting to reset suicidal thoughts again, after once again having the stigmatizing and ostracizing a bit too in my face, and I could not go to sleep (often a great way to reset) I decided this might be a good option. And it is. Written out, I feel reset again.
Please have a lovely day and try to love the crazies in your life because when crazy is nurtured with love it can be a really beautiful thing. I mean seriously, think Disneyland, theater, and sports; those things are just crazy, and often created by people who are "crazy," yet it is obvious how truly beautiful, exciting and fun they can be.
XOXO

Adjustments.

Yesterday I had to help with fencing before teaching snowboarding. Fencing is putting up the net fences and taking care of other tasks that need to be done to prepare the ski resort for the day. Yesterday's fencing job included shoveling out one of the magic carpets. It hurt my bruised ribs... But still I worked knowing I probably should not. I eventually told the other two I was working with that I could not go any longer. The job was almost done, I was the only biological female (biologically weaker in physical strength), and the other two are much younger anyway so I didn't feel too bad.

After that I taught snowboarding all day to a higher level kids group -which was better for my ribs especially considering the heavy (albeit awesome fun) snow conditions of the day. Then I finished the work day by helping take fences down. 

I was pleasantly surprised, driving home, that may ribs did not hurt as bad as the day before and my emotions held despite the fatigue. Yet still tired, I pulled into my driveway around 4:45 pm and shut my eyes for a minute; a little rest before unloading my gear. With my eyes closed I felt so heavy and tired I thought I might pass out right there. The degree of heavy-swaying-tired I felt reminded me of my youth. It reminded me of skiing with my day when I was a kid.

My dad, I have mentioned before, is hard core, and not in any kind of trendy, "I'm hard core," kind of way but in the genuine workaholic, push yourself beyond the limit, tougher than nails but still thinks of himself as wimp kind of way. Though he knows he is not a wimp, my dad is not large in stature and he knows he is not as tough as an old western cowboy so he does not think of himself as being as tough as he really is. He can be very hard to keep up with; which can be a challenge but also, I love how much his toughness and his work-hard-play-hard ethics and livelihood teach and inspire me. 

That said, I hope this helps illustrate how skiing with my dad would have been when I was a kid. I loved it. And then, because we were active young stock and of his bloodline, we could kind of keep up... actually, not really, and that is probably why I often got to go with him as the free-child-with-paying-adult; because often my siblings did not enjoy skiing for as long and hard as my dad liked to... anyway, days on the slops with my dad meant: up at the crack of dawn to get there as soon as they opened and skiing nonstop until the resort closed -some stayed open for night skiing, by-the-way, and that made for a very long day. When I say nonstop the only exaggeration is in the occasional bathroom break (probably less than one a day) and maybe a stop for a quick sandwich and drink at the car or no stop for lunch because we could carry a sandwich in our pockets and eat them on the lift. 

It's hardcore. And I remember being so tired when we got home that often I didn't make it out of my base layers before falling asleep. I'd lay down on my bed, just for a minute, for a little rest before changing and going to bed for real. Of course, on those days, I was so tired that I'd feel heavy and swaying and I'd not make it back up to change into pajamas or brush my teeth. I remember, as I would start to fall asleep, I could still feel my body moving form side to side as if I were still skiing down the mountain. It was such a thirst quenching kind of tired. 

That is how I felt in the car after work yesterday. It's a good feeling and I am glad I get to feel it. 

But 

...and now I move again into the processing, writing out, and trying to figure out how to accept the realities that are different now -of my new norm.

...but

it is sad, frustrating, annoying, hard, sometimes discouraging, etc, that my stamina is so much shorter than it used to be. 

I know this a normal part of aging and I am glad I have the health and physical abilities that I do have. I am glad that I can still teach snowboarding at all (just to clarify, it was skiing as a kid and I switched to snowboarding as a teen, but I can and do both. And though I am snowbadextrious, currently I only teach snowboarding). 

I am very grateful for a husband that supports our family well enough and loves me enough that I can have these hobbies and low paying jobs that allow me that freedom, fun and ability. 

Please know, I am so very grateful.

But it is also hard. It is hard to loose healthy functioning parts of your self too soon and it can be hard to adjust. 

Like today, I went and had my blood drawn (again) at about 9 am and fasting. Not a big deal but I could feel, in my tiredness, the blood draining from me and I felt even more like I was going to pass out right there than I did in the car the yesterday day after work. I did not pass out but the prevalence of the tiredness and the draining can be a bit disheartening.  

My husband and I went to breakfast after. Then to Costco to get some prescriptions refills. By then my head was hurting. Right side, pain actually coming from the same region as the damaged temporal lobe. That is where my headaches seem to always be since the car accident (the last TBI). Today it was the kind of headache that pushes on my eyes making it hard to keep them open. 

Now my husband is going up to the ski resort to get a few runs in, I want to go too, but I need to lay down and rest my heavy head... I think I can go and be tough... but getting back up my head starts to hurt again. He doesn't want me to go, he wants me to recover. It is not like him to be concerned and I know if he is worried about me then he is not going to have as much fun so I listen to him and my body and stay home. 

But not without breaking again as evidenced by the stream leaking from my eyes.

I am not tough enough. I want to be stronger. I want to push myself... but I also know better

And, to be perfectly honest, I am kind of afraid of that seizure like activity that the EEG found and that I have been a bit suspicious of... I don't want to push into or beyond that limit.
Adjustments.
They can be difficult
even when they are invisible.
or
maybe
especially when they are invisible. 

tired broken brains

Blah blah wah wah

I hate this shit here on this page and I am tired of being second class. Why am I still nice to lousy friend that is shameless in replacing me and I know will say shit about me to relieve her own conscience? I am nice because that is who I want to be and even though she is a shitty friend to me I know that she is mostly a good person and I do know she has a lot of her own shit and baggage. I reminded myself of that, so that I can be nice and not so hurt.

But it still hurts.

and I don't know how to expect to be treated better by people. 

And I am crying and fighting damned suicidal thinking again and it is pissing me off because that is not what I want and not what I am going to do. 

SO I get that out of my head ...

but somehow find myself pushing into reckless.  

And WHY???

What the hell is going on with me now?

WHY???

I am stable 

I say 

but I am also tired, physically and mentally after teaching snowboarding and being around so many people and having it in my face how much of an outsider I am. 

And my stupid ribs hurt. The damn ribs that cover my heart. 

because I had an oh so graceful endo onto a box slide when a divot caught my snowboard just before mounting the railed box. 

Oddly while driving home the pain in the region of my heart brings back memories to my tired dejected brain of a time when my heart hurt like hell until I got back in... and it catches me off guard

When will this hell end?

I think

as my the tears start to stream.

It's annoying as hell

but I also know that I was not in hell a few hours ago and that I am still very enthusiastic about life, really. So I remind myself that my broken brain will wear out a bit faster than others and faster than it used to. I remind myself that it was fragile before anyway. And I remind myself - nope, I stop on that one- don't remind yourself there. But I know my emotions go when I do too much or push too hard and I know that is an unfortunate reality of my injuries. So I can cut me some slack and allow the tired and know I will be okay again after some rest. 

Yet there is still a truth: It is so damn frustrating to have this low of cognitive stamina- I am tougher than this-

and yet I am not.

SO that makes me kind of mad and the cycle starts all over again

Except for this time it doesn't because I am writing it out and in doing so I see the comedy of it and my tired brain laughs. 

Good night.

Time to rest this heavy burdened head. 

Bipolar blood

Blood draw today.
The girl has me poked and needle in as soon as I sit down. I am kind of glad for this because I really don't like needles.
It was a bit of a problem in my younger years. My heart rate would shoot way up and I'd have some sort of panic attack. I wonder if this was a form of PTSD because the fear and anxiety did not start until after the 1st TBI and the hospital stay. As a kid, of course I did not like getting shots but reactions like that did not happen. Needles did not scare me when I was little.
Regardless I have learned to manage. I usually use a form of meditation through it. But this lovely young lady had the needle in so fast I didn't even have time to worry about it.
So I was happy she was so quick.
But
The funny part was on the 5th or 6th vile; she makes a comment about how the blood is flowing.
I ask if it is slowing.
She says it is weird because it is like nothing is coming then suddenly it is fast.
I tell her is must be the bipolar in my blood.
And I am glad she finds my joke funny too.
Because I really don't like to offer up that kind of info so easily

Shades of grey... the colors of yesterday that just don't stay...Black and white; much more air tight.

I'm feeling things. Things that are really angering. I want to speak out. I want to stand up for myself... to people who don't want to hear, people who don't care. So I come here, to save myself from the pain I will inevitably feel in my rejected efforts to be heard.
Those friends that are being, and/or have been, kind of shitty friends through all this,... it is causing my brain to relive shit again.
Mainly the stupid comments of one friend with his narrowed suspicious eyes, "what are you up to?" he asks, wanting me to question my motives. I tried to explain, but he just kept at this weird suspicious therapist bs. Believe me, I have questioned my motives. It is why this is taking far too long. but since said conversation with x-friend
I have realized
#1 he had already decided whatever it was he had decided and no matter what I said he was not going to hear me
#2 I could not really address his concern very well because I actually have no freaking idea what it is he thinks I am up to that he claims is out of line with his "core values."

But I can tell you this; this questioning- that has led to reliving again- is shedding more light on the reality of the bullshit Dr. He fed me and how he manipulated me merely to protect himself.
It is not and was not me that people should be asking that question to. It is him. "What was Dr. He up to?"
What were the rest of them up to?
What are they up to?

It is extremely fishy and suspicious and Dr. He knew all to well how to manipulate things to his favor, how to get me into trouble for trying to protect him.

My middle fingers go up as I am once again reliving scenarios and hearing the words replay.
I know what your are up to... I did even when I was broken, even when I was fading, even when my heart loved him so very much that I could not and would not believe it. I caught him, in his trap, and he was terrified of me.
My guess
it was likely all three:
he played with me,
he broke me,
and he loved me
because I
could keep up
and maybe even stay ahead of him
and since he is a coward
he chooses to hate me for it
...because I just might be smarter than he -even broken-
and he wanted me
but he couldn’t have me.
At least not so easily
and not as the obedient toy he intended me to be

so he has to hate me

That is what I think just may be the reality
I don't want it to be. I want to be wrong. I hope I am wrong.
I don't think that highly of myself anyway
...but the evidence and behaviors, the way things were handled, the way they are still being handled
very strongly suggest otherwise. I don't want to be right... but I think it is more important to say these things and be wrong then to not say them and be right. If I am wrong we can talk and set the record straight... But they won't. Why?
If I am right... these things need to be brought to light and he needs to be stopped. The machine that is protecting him, the machine that may be frauds in the entirety, needs to be stopped and changed.
Sometimes I really hope I am wrong... but very often I am right.
...and sometimes I really hate when I am right...

The scrutiny
Where should it really be?
And yet I feel it doesn't really matter because they own the shoulds and hold all of the cards.
... I post this blog entry and then pull down at the slightest slight from a different source
...because I know some will think I need to be humbled
while others are just tired of hearing about it.
and yet others will most certainly use is against.
I am tired of thinking about it
I am tired of knowing what I know
but not knowing what to do about it and how to handle it
and feeling powerless.
I am not a victim
but yet I am
... yet so many others have been through so much worse
... so I should just shut up?
but my friend who has been through so sooo much more and so much worse is right;
others would not fair so well
they would not survive.
so it's back up it goes
so others who may be going through or have gone through similar may know
it is not you
 it is them and
you too deserve to live too.
I'll keep speaking for the voiceless and those who have been abused by the systems and the people in them that they have trusted so completely.
https://qr.ae/TmRzyx
This problem is real and I am not an isolated incident, nor am I to blame. It is bigger than just this incident. it is bigger than just me...

no straight lines

I am so very emotional today. I feel like I have regressed months as the tears just keep flowing. I find myself feeling a bit angry and annoyed with myself for this. I felt like I had made and was making so much progress. I even felt I was gaining some confidence...
But maybe sometimes I try to run faster than I am really capable of. sometimes I feel like I know the right answer and I know what to do but then it still hurts and is hard.
Like burning bridges.
Some bridges, I feel, really just need to be burned so I can't keep going back to them.
So I do the right thing, give people what they want, but then my stupid mind still goes back and I second guess.. or maybe I just hurt at the cold harsh realities of it, that it really is what they wanted or were pushing for, and they really don't care to understand; the harsh realities that come to the forefront during difficult times.
I am also still very much dealing with backlash. I have many people who witnessed me in mania and the mess that followed and they are now deciding if I am worth their time, effort and concern. They are deciding this now that I am not appearing to be in immediate danger/crises. Many were not there but were at least kind in their avoidance. Now I feel things from them that I am not understanding, I think it is reluctance.
I have one friend that I now work with. I actually got her the job. She is one of those strong personalities, quick whit type of person that everybody loves. She is and can be a lot of fun. I have known her a very long time. We were roommates in college, and, while she can be a lot of fun, I know some other sides of her. For one, she can be a pretty lousy friend. She almost always backs out of plans last minute and she is pretty shameless about replacing you. I also have had a sneaking suspicion that she may be saying crap about me to relieve maybe justify her being such a crappy friend when I have really needed people. I tell myself I am being paranoid... But then again, I know this friend and I know how she works... and then today at lunch she joined our clinic group. As all eyes lit up and I could feel the enthusiasm for her, I felt further lonely and rejected... I figured I was maybe just jealous...
but then over the course of lunch she proceeded to tell about an experience when we were roommates and their is certainly an air of putting me down. Is it an attempt to make me look bad and her heroic? I respond with numb down playing of her comments that were making me sound irrational and foolish while I solidly own the punching of a boy that was being a jerk. Maybe it was my attempt to make sure they all knew I am tough enough not to mess with and I will not be a victim. But I feel annoyed with how she is telling the story. I don't like  the tone she is using and the direction she chooses to take it.
I have heard her tell this story and others with much more enthusiasm and a very different tone. I am not sure why she is telling it al all and especially with this somewhat condescending/pitying tone.
As I am feeling so many things form people, I feel my suspicions may have just been confirmed. I try to ignore it. I try to down play it and I try not to be hurt by it.
But it hurts.
It hurts.
I am not the same person I was a year ago. I am not the same person I was 2 years ago. I am not the same person I was when she and I were college roommates... I am no longer okay with being the sidekick to fair-weather friends. I am not okay with them putting me down to feel better about how they are or are not treating me.
I'm done.
But it is not so easy as I would like it to be.
It still hurts.
And I don't know how to break away from the things people hold you too, the me they want to keep me pegged as.
"Once there was a little bunny who wanted to run away..."
...and as I assess my emotions and where it is all coming from I also feel sad and scared as I can guess the reality of people utilizing me and sharing my story; they very likely won't because I offended one of their board members by trying to understand, and I am not welcome by people they want strong ties to. I am too risky once again, even though I am not and should not be seen that way. I  fear I will be discarded once again by an institution that is where I belong.
I hope this is not true... but I see it coming and the writing is on the wall.
And it hurts.
It hurts knowing mistakes made, when I was so very broken and vulnerable have been used so harshly against me and attempts to reconcile and/or to understand, my attempts to help them understand, my misunderstandings, even my faith in humanity and so many things were used against me and will be used against me. Even my kids' choices and desires to understand and/or help have been used against me.
He will, and they will, use whatever they can against me
...for loving him and for believing in them.
And it hurts.
It hurts.
It hurts that family is handling this about the same as how they handled the first TBI; it's too much so they don't.
Sometimes, somedays, it is just too in my face.
And I suppose that is what today was.
It would be nice if I could run away and start over...
But alas...
I stick around. Because my husband has been pointing out for years, when I have felt ditched and hurt by the above mentioned friend, that she is not a very good friend to me
and because my kids still believe in and need me. They even look out for me.
And because some friends are still friends and offer words of encouragement
and actually try to understand
and because I can still process my emotions and face whatever it is that is hurting me.
Today it hurts. Today the backlash was too in my face. Today I cried and cried as I tried to ignore and avoid the reasons why. Avoiding, trying not to think about it, just trying to forget did not work. It brought back the suicidal thoughts, the feelings of worthlessness...
So I once again looked at it as a symptom and then I allowed myself to analyze the why of the symptoms.
Why?
because the harsh realities of life can be pretty damn harsh at times.
Why?
because I make mistakes
Why?
because other people make mistakes
but also people can be serious jerks and behave really stupid to feel better about being a jerk.
Why?
because I have a lot of broken pieces that I am working to hold together and striving to fix what I can and accept what I cannot fix.
and also because even though people hurt me I still give them credit -which I want to continue to do- but sometimes it makes the hurt cut extra deep.
So I'll be a cutter by cutting myself some slack and cutting some ties
and as I do
I remember what Dr. She said about how healing, recovery, learning how to live with these new norms and realities is not a straight line.

refusing to die, because I am the bad guy

More and more I feel like it was intentional grooming. Subtle and sly in his methods, he was setting me up, manipulating for a desired outcome.
On paper I am a prime target for it.
Prime target also means the effects will be much more devastating.
And I am trapped
back in the dysfunctional marriage, friend and family relationships.
I am burning many of them down
because I am tired of hurting
I am tired of the dynamics that hurt me.
My head is confused
my heart is broken
but I have no way out
I am dependent
and beat down
but I am supposed to keep being so considerate and aware of the burden that I am. I am supposed to be there to meet their needs and to make sure they are okay and feel okay about being a jerk to me...
And in the event that I say something that makes someone uncomfortable or expect some help with my shit, I will often take a verbal beating about it...
And here I go, feeling sorry for myself again.
Only the good die young, which must be why I am still alive...
Maybe that is why
I refuse to die, to kill myself, to relieve them of their burden.
Because really I am bad
...for not killing myself.
So maybe I will keep burning down bridges as I head on over to the dark side
in my attempt to hold onto my immortality