Sketches of a Bipolar Girl: Come to Me My Melancholy Baby

 

It's been a little over a week since I got my diagnosis. I've had time to sit with it and reflect. What is my reaction to the whole thing? Mostly, it's What the fuck? I have looked over my life and how I have or have not taken care of myself. I think that my 6 suicide attempts and years of taking pills have caught up with me. I have ruined my body's disposal. 

The liver filters out all the toxins in your body. It would seem that I have overloaded the system and caused some liver damage. It's rather ironic, that now that I am content in my own skin and want to do something with my life, I may end up killing myself after all. 

I suppose I could say that the whole thing is bringing me down. On top of that, I haven't been able to keep my blood sugar under control. It's been in the 300s or even 500. I haven't been eating sugar or a lot of carbs, so I don't know what it's from. I'm tired all the time. I think I have a UTI. My bladder hurts, and I have to pee like 10 times a day. As a result, I'm dehydrated. I don't want to see the doctor again. I'm sick of doctors. 

My liver biopsy is scheduled for Sept. 16th. I have to admit I'm nervous. It's not as quick and easy as I thought. They take several pieces of the liver, not just one. Also, I'm going to be sedated. I didn't think it was that complicated. I guess I've been in a bit of denial. 

I keep telling myself that this won't kill me, but the I think of Grandmom and Aunt Berta. Especially Aunt Berta. She got sick so suddenly, and then she was gone. I don't want to die like that. I'd prefer to get killed by a lion. It's my spirit animal, so I feel it would be appropriate. 

I've had enough of this day already and it's on 6 am. Today is going to be a melancholy day. I wish I could take the day off. I just want to stay in bed. Oh, I met someone on Tik Tok. At least I think I've met someone. He may be a bot. I'm not quite sure. But that's another conversation. 

Peace - B

Sketches of a Bipolar Girl: Now I know

 

I had my appointment with my gastroenterologist today. It was my follow up to my lab tests and my Fibroscan that I had done on the 13th. The long and short of it. I have stage 2 liver disease. I am having a liver biopsy in a couple of weeks to determine the extent of liver damage. So, there it is. I have my answer to all this terrible aches and pains and the horrible fatigue. 

After six months of doctor visits and experiencing abdominal pain, nausea, vomiting and fever, during which time I was told countless times they didn't see anything, I finally have a diagnosis. So, I feel a great deal of relief. I am not crazy. There is something wrong with my body. Not only do I have liver disease, but my body is making antibodies that are attacking my liver cells. Which means I have an autoimmune disease. 

So let's add it all up, shall we? I have bipolar disease, anxiety disorder, insomnia, diabetes 2, irritable bowel syndrome, high blood pressure and now liver disease. I must tell you, I'm a little miffed. I'm not exactly sure what to do. Diabetics have a special diet, bowel issues have a special diet, and now liver disease has a special diet. I've been eating fruits and vegetables, but that's not too great for my diabetes because fruits have sugar, I can't eat a lot of protein because my body can't process it correctly. I'm just going to live on rice crispies and bananas. But I don't think I can do that. Maybe I'll just start smoking again! Sike!! I wouldn't do that. I really have to call the dietician so I can figure out what to eat. Right now, seems all I can manage is toast. I can't even eat butter anymore, I have to use Earth Balance spread. It's good so I'm not complaining. 

I think I'm still in shock a bit. The liver biopsy is just a routine procedure to get a better idea of the next steps in treatment. I have to wait until the hospital calls to schedule the appointment, which won't be until Tuesday or so, because it's Labor Day weekend. My sister, God Bless her, researched the procedure and sent me a video. It did ease some of my anxiety. I told April, Erica, Sean and Jerald about it. I also sent a text to or family matriarch, Aunt Delores. My brother asked for clarification, but haven't heard much from Erica or Sean. I'm going to call my Aunt Gloria tomorrow. I posted on Facebook, and all my friends are praying for me. So, that's nice. 

Oh well, so now I know. I'm glad I know, but with it came questions of my mortality. The doctor told me I'm on tracked for cirrhosis in 3.9 years which then leads to failure. However, the time table isn't exact. Anyway, I think I'll go watch something stupid on TV. Something to get me out of my head. I'm listening to music right now. Too bad it's dark outside already. I'd like to go for a walk. 

This isn't exactly what I wanted for my 60th birthday. I gotta hurry and save my coins. I need to get to Italy sooner rather than later. 

Peace, Joy, Love - Queen B  

Sketches of a Bipolar Girl: If I was a Man, It'd be a Different Story

 

So, I was sick again last week. Same old Abdominal pain and nausea. I put up with it on Monday, Tuesday and part of Wednesday. I had to take off early because I was sick and pissed off at the world. My calls were suffering. I could not have cared less about those phones if I tried. 

Thursday, I ended up in the Emergency room because I felt terrible and I had a slight fever, and my fingers were slightly yellow. Anyway, after 2.5 hours in the ER, I came home no better and more pissed off. They did a urinalysis, negative. They ran blood tests, on of my liver enzymes was elevated but other than that, negative. The did a CT scan, didn't see anything. Now, mind you I told them about my family history. But, as I was told, we didn't see anything that would be causing your pain. Okay, so I'm just some lonely, crazy old black lady. There's nothing wrong with me. Okay, so this abdominal pain is nothing, my breaking into a sweat for no apparent reason is nothing. My being extremely cold and then hot as hell is nothing. My insomnia is nothing. The fact that my mother went undiagnosed for 6 months before you found her tiny adenocarcinoma in her gut is nothing. The fact that my Aunt Berta's liver just gave up and quit on her for no apparent reason is nothing. 

I know I'm overweight. I know I have diabetes, and God knows I know I'm bipolar. But I'm not just going through menopause. There is something wrong in my gut. I'm tempted to go to the Mayo Clinic and get  work up, but I can't afford it money or time wise right now. If I get a full workup and nothing is found, then I'll just chaulk it up to me being nuts. But, right now I have acid reflux. I think I some pills around here somewhere. 

If I were a man, they would have done more for me. If I had someone with me, they might have done more. But as it stands, I'm just a hysterical female. Sexism in medical care is nothing new. It's been happening since the beginning of medicine. Women were just thought to be the weaker sex, and prone to hysteria. They really and truly used to send women to the doctor and a doctor would bring them to orgasm, and suddenly the women would be released from their emotional turmoil. Until the next appointment anyway. I try to be my own advocate. But I'm just so tired of everything. 

I don't see the gastroenterologist until the 29th. so I have to wait until then to find out the results of all my scans and tests etc. She'll probably tell me some bullshit. Lose weight, exercise, blah blah. That's all well and good, but what does that have to do with this pain? I wish someone would tell me something. Shit, tell me anything. Just don't say there's no reason for my pain. If I were a man, it would be different. If I was a man, I'd have a complete workup. If I were a man, they'd listen. 

Sketches of a Bipolar Girl: Happy Birthday, Queen

 

Enough with all my aches and pains! Today is a day for celebration. Today is my birthday. I am 60 years old at 1:20 pm. I was delivered by scheduled c-section at Parkview Hospital in Philadelphia, PA. That means something to astrologers. I know that I am a true Leo. 

So, what have I learned in my 60 years of life. Well, for one thing, I am most certainly enough. In fact, I am a lot, more than enough. I'm finally doing things that benefit me, and taking care of myself. While, I still do things for others, I am no longer the people pleaser starving for attention and love. I have learned, especially the last 5 years, that I am a caring, compassionate, loving, kind and intelligent human being. I have learned to give for my own satisfaction, no longer for expectation. I have learned that kindness, even in it's simplest expression can have a real impact on someone's day. I have ;earned to share my joys with the world through actions. Don't get me wrong, I am still a dreamer and wisher of things, but those things no longer consume me. I am grateful now. 

I didn't used to be grateful. I was angry and worried. I was angry at the world for constantly throwing obstacles in way. I would wallow in self-pity and fall into depression. My anxieties would overcome me and paralyzed with fear, I would do nothing. I blamed the world for that. My worries would take me down dark roads full of fear and mistrust. I didn't trust anyone especially not myself. I hated being alone. I was waiting for the proverbial knight on his gallant steed to gallop in and rescue me from my life. Needless to say, he never came. I had to rescue myself. 

It was a hard lesson to learn, but a necessary one. Without learning to love, honor and cherish myself, I am sure I would be dead. I say that in all seriousness. There were times that I wanted to die. I tried to snuff out my existence. I was a truly miserable person. The enemy was winning. 

However, I had to crawl out of that deep dark hole. It took everything I had. It took years of falling backward, and crawling forward to make it out, but I finally did. It was purely by the grace of God that I am alive. I acknowledge that. I know that he has some kind of purpose for my life. So, I took a vow, I would remain here on earth and try my best. God will show me what he wants me to do, and I will follow. It's quite simply a matter of faith. I never had faith before. I do now. 

I normally have a name for the year of my birth or the new year. I didn't name 2025. But I will name the remainder of 2025 for my birthday. It is The Year of Actuality. It is the year that all of my dreams and hopes will begin to take shape and I will live my life accordingly. I am, for example, not no longer wishing I had my degree, I am pursuing it. I am no longer hoping for a promotion, but am making strides to get it. I am actually writing a book, instead of dreaming about writing. Albeit, the one book is taking a long time, I recognize that I am telling my truth, and that takes time. It will get done this year, and it will great. 

I call myself a queen. It is not out of arrogance. It is a matter of necessity. I am a queen. I have no king, but that's okay. He'll come eventually. I'm ready. I ready for all kinds of adventures. I need to get my passport. I've decided to go to Italy after I graduate. It is my gift to myself. I will probably go alone. Who knows, I might meet a dashing Italian man. HA! There goes my imagination again. Oh well, at least I haven't lost the ability to dream. 

Happy birthday, Queen. Many happy returns. May the next 365 days be all that you hope and wish for. 

Peace, Joy, Love - B

Sketches of a Bipolar Girl: Do I Really Want to Know?

 

So, I went to the doctor. This was a visit to my primary care doctor, not one of my specialists. I had my visit to my gastroenterologists a week or so ago. She had prescribed Linzess as I now have irritable bowel syndrome on top of everything else. I saw my primary doctor because I got sick for  week, and I wasn't feeling to great. She ran a bunch of blood tests. 

I got the results from my enhanced liver profile that my gastroenterologist ordered. It was not good. I had a score of 11.94. Which is a number that basically means my liver function is not good. I have something called a Fibroscan on Wednesday. 

My primary doctor ordered an ultrasound of my abdomen which I had done this past Friday. It went okay except that it hurt when they pressed down on the area of my liver. It feels enlarged or something. That part of my belly sticks out. Anyway, I started looking things up and the possibilities kinda suck. I could have liver cancer, that's the worst case scenario. I definitely have fatty liver disease. However, I may have something called MASH, which is a metabolic dysfunction of the liver. It causes all of the symptoms I've been having. I have to change my diet and lose weight. So, what else is new? It may have progressed to the cirrhosis stage. I'm sure I have liver damage. The scan on Wednesday will indicate how much. Hopefully the ultrasound I had on Friday will help diagnose my illness as well. 

I am not too happy about all this because Aunt Berta wasn't sick until she was in liver failure. A month or so later she died. Grandmom died from hepatic failure as well. So, liver disease runs in my family, so I am plenty nervous. I felt pretty good today, but I still got tired just doing some run of the mill chores like my laundry. I am feeling pretty detached lately. Part of it is the fact that I am turning 60 next Sunday, but mostly I've been thinking of my mortality. 

April finds out if she definitely has Parkinson's on Monday afternoon. She has all the markers for it. I think it's just a matter of finding out what stage she is. She's probably in middle of stage 1. At least I hope so. God only know what stage of liver disease I'm in right now. 

Life is kicking our asses right now. But still I'm trying to keep my head up. I didn't get any emails or anything telling me I've been fired, and I sent my supervisor my note from the doctor. I guess I'll find out more on Monday. I want to post for the advocate class. Arlita reminded me that I took level 1 and 2 calls when I was on the ERS team. I know I can handle it. I just have to keep my ass in the desk chair everyday. I'll post on Monday. I need the money. 

Well, I guess that's all. So much is happening right now, it's kind of overwhelming. That would normally have me hiding in bed watching the Flintstones. However, I made a promise to myself and my family that I wouldn't give up. So here I am all persevering and shit. 

I am supposed to hear about my labs this week. But with all the possible outcomes, it will most likely be bad news. So,  I ask myself, do I really want to know? Not really. What I really want is to win the Powerball. That and to talk to my mom. Mostly my mom. 

Sketches of a Bipolar Girl: Something is Wrong with Me

 

There's something wrong with me. I've been sick for the past 4 days. I had these weird red spots in the back of my throat. I started gargling with warm salt water and taking ibuprofen and cold medicine, but I haven't gotten any better. Sunday, Monday and Tuesday I had a fever of 100.5. While I know that's not trip to the emergency room, I don't get fevers. I've been so cold, but sweating like a pig at the same time, especially at night. The worse thing is the body aches and the fatigue, the overwhelming, debilitating fatigue. 

I spent all of Sunday and Monday in bed trying to rest. My throat isn't scratchy, and my nose isn't running. So, it's not a cold or sinus infection. I don't know what it is. I saw my endocrinologist yesterday, and I got a prescription for a z-pack. I've been taking it, but it is giving me diarrhea. My stools are black, so I think I've got some bleeding going on. 

I see my primary care doctor tomorrow, and I made a list of all my symptoms. Incredibly, that horrible back pain I had a couple of weeks ago has gone away. I don't know why. This keeps happening to me. Whatever is going on, I'm going to find out. I want tests run. I looked up my symptoms, and leukemia came up. So, I'll have a blood test. Maybe I have chronic fatigue syndrome. I should have gone to the doctor today, but I thought I'd be able to work today, but my throat is not right. 

It doesn't matter. The gruesome twosome will be mad at me anyway. I don't get much sympathy or compassion when I am sick. My appetite is gone. I've eaten maybe once or twice a day for the past 2 weeks. 

They probably won't find anything wrong with me. They'll just pass it of as depression or something. I mean I am crazy, right? 

I'm so tired. But I can't sleep. I took my meds last night and threw up. My head feels like it weighs a thousand pounds. 

There's definitely something wrong. I wish there was a way I could go into the hospital for a few days for them to figure out what my problem is. But that would be too much like right. 

Sketches of a Bipolar Girl: And So It Begins

 

The results of my sister's tests came back. She has Parkinson's disease. So, there it is. My sister, who just turned 65 on Wednesday has been diagnosed with a cruel, debilitating disease. She sees her neurologist on Monday, so she will get more information at that time. In the meantime, I have been Googling. The information is scary. 

I must admit, however, I haven't read too much, because I'm trying to wrap my head around this news. I have a lot of questions. I want to go to the doctor with her. I want to know what stage she is in, what to expect and when to expect it. The scariest part is the hallucinations and delusions that come with the disease. Then there is the lost of motor function, which has already started. I fear that I am watching my sister decline. It's been a quick decline. Six months ago, she was fine. 

I'm not sure how all of this is going to change things. What if her health declines faster and she is no longer able to work? Will this make me the breadwinner? Will Erica have to be her mom's care giver? How will that work? Will she have to go on disability? What happens if she does start having delusions and hallucinations? 

We need to move and pronto. I don't know when or how exactly, but we have to get out of this apartment this year. I'd like to stay in Johns Creek, but at this point I don't really care. 

On top of this, Erica's boss cut her overtime hours. She now works 8:30 to 5 pm. She used to work 8 to 6pm. That hour and a half adds up on a paycheck. They are going to be posting Customer Advocate positions at Delta, which is the level 2 position I've been gunning for the past 2 years. I told my boss that I'm ready to begin training. As soon as they open the position to internal employees, I'm posting. 

I had my phone meeting with the social security admin yesterday. It was a pointless waste of time. It took all of 5 minutes. She just told me that they wouldn't waive my overpayment and I had to set up payment arrangements. Anyway, I'm going to pay back $50 monthly. They don't bill or garnish your wages, so they will deduct the money from any future benefits. So, if I go back on disability, they will deduct it. I guess when I do or if I ever am able to retire, they deduct it from that payment also. 

I now have something in my throat. I went to the dentist for my cleaning. While she was examining me, she noticed some red spots on the back of my throat. There are about 10 red dots there. I figure that it's just an infection, so I got some cold medicine and have been gargling with warm salt water. Unfortunately, they are still there. I have some left over antibiotics so I'm taking that for the next few days to see if that helps. If it doesn't I guess it's off to the ENT. It's always something. 

I have come to the conclusion that I am just one of those people who are meant to struggle. It is a constant battle just to keep going and maintain some sense of positivity. I've been adjusting my attitude at work and it does seem to be helping. My day isn't so miserable anymore. But then again, I don't look at the future much. It's not a good thing for me. 

Right now my phone is acting stupid. I keep losing my internet connection. So, it's difficult to stream. I have to constantly reset my network. Like I said it's always something.   

Sketches of a Bipolar Girl: Everybody's Talkin' at Me

 

Seems everybody wants me to prove something lately. I have to prove to the government that I'm still crazy. I also have to prove that I can't afford to pay back Social Security the thousands that they say they overpaid me. I have to prove to the student loan people that I'm able to go back to school part-time. I have to prove to the apartment people that Kyber and Zelda are emotional support animals. Most of all I have to prove to myself that I can do this and remain focused. 

I'm always having to prove something to someone. Why does one have to keep proving disability for a mental illness? It's not like I'm going to be cured. I mean, bipolar sleeps sometimes, and then one day, BAM! You're crying hysterically in the shower trying to justify to yourself that it's necessary to wash your body. It takes me no less than a half hour every single fucking day to convince myself to take a shower. I have to talk myself into brushing my teeth. There's no one here to convince me, I have to do it myself. After I'm done, I have to take a cat nap. 

It's the same with eating. I hate eating actually. I get hungry but I hate eating. I hate cooking because by the time I finish, I don't want whatever it is I was cooking. It takes at least a half hour to decide I'm going to eat, and longer still if I am trying to eat something healthy. I think the only thing I do automatically is make my bed. I conditioned myself to make my bed as soon as I get up to prevent getting back in the bed and writing off the day as a major mistake. So, I do it. 

Everything is a chore lately. I keep trying to tell myself that I'm not depressed, but I'm lying. The truth is I'm tired. I'm tired of tryin. I'm tired of praying. I don't want to be an adult anymore. I just want to sleep late, drink coffee and go shopping. Why is that so wrong? Whose idea was this adult thing anyway? Why do we have to grow up and get jobs? Why is that the goal? Who invented society and why does society get to dictate who and what I am? 

There was a time in history when people like me would go away for a while to a nice place where they could rest away from the hustle and bustle that is life. We suffer from melancholia. I could use a place like that now. I talk to a therapist everyday, I'd take walks by a lake and rest on a lounge chair under a tree. Why can't I do that? Why does every Sunday night find me in front of my laptop typing away my anxieties about facing another day and week at a job I can't stand. When will things change? 

I have important decisions to make. People are looking at me and calling me asking for answers. I don't have any answers. I can't think that far ahead anymore. It hurts when I do. I just wish everyone would leave me alone. Stop talking, and pressuring and asking. The truth is I don't know. I don't know what, when or why. So, please stop talking at me. One day I hope to retreat into the fantasies in my mind where everything is quiet, and cool. Just a slight breeze, fragrance in the air and me by a tree next to a lake.  

Sketches of a Bipolar Girl: Queen of Pain

 

Well, another sleepless night. I woke up in severe pain this morning. My back spasms have gotten worse and I am experiencing the most pain I have ever had. It's centered in my thoracic spine. Somehow I managed to make it through my work day. I was popping Tylenol and had a heating pad for a while. I was in the bathroom when I found the lidocaine patches. I put one of those on and survived the day. It hurts to move in any way. I can sit in the chair with a firm pillow behind me. I dug out my old back brace to give me some support. It's helping a little bit. 

Right now, I'm trying to decide if I should talk to Dr. Ayer or seek the counsel of a new doctor who also specializes in pain management. I'm leaning towards calling the new doctor. She's here in Johns Creek and is supposed to be very good. Plus, she's black, which means I may not be dismissed as just another female with pain. Of course a new doctor means new x-rays and perhaps another MRI, but I don't care. The pain is quickly becoming unbearable. I can see why some people get so desperate. While suicide has not crossed my mind, I can understand why people do it. 

I have always told myself that I wouldn't take narcotics over a long period for fear of addiction, but things are at the point now where I may consider it. The lack of sleep and agonizing pain is getting to me. It hurts to walk. Every step jars my spine in such a way as to cause sharp pains in my back. I'm not sure of what to do. I hope that I don't get shuffled off for more physical therapy. The pain is so bad that I am seriously considering more surgery. I wish there was such a thing as a spine transplant. 

As look back, I have been in chronic pain since 2012. That's 13 years of sometimes crippling pain. I'm tired. I get at most 4 hour of sleep a night. It's taking a toll on my mental state. I'm currently dealing with April's illness, and money stress, work stress and this constant soul crushing pain. I honestly don't know how much more I can take. I don't want to be the queen of pain. I don't have time for this shit. School starts in 3 weeks. I have to be ready. I want my degree. 

Oh well, I guess that's all for now. I'm just here, plugged in and listening to my music. Right now that's Annie Lennox radio on Pandora. It's a good mix. It's stimulating and relaxing at the same time. Poor Zelda has been up with me all night. She's napping next to my computer. She really wants to be on my chest or my lap, but even her 12 pounds is too heavy for me. I've had to shove her off of me several times tonight. I'm so sorry Pud Pud. Hopefully, I'll feel better in a few hours. Time for more Tylenol. 

Peace - BB

Sketches of a Bipolar Girl: The Good Girl

 

My sister has been sick this weekend. I automatically kicked in with my old trauma response. This house is clean. All the laundry has been done. All the dishes have been washed, and the bathroom is sanitized. While I know this doesn't sound that unusual for me, the sense of urgency that these tasks have been completed is out of the ordinary. I am cleaning purely out of anxiety. I started having flashbacks.

When I was growing up, my mom was sick a lot. She had depressive episodes, and psychotic episodes quite often during my childhood. When I was little, I did my best to be a good girl and stay out of the way. When I got older, I cleaned the house, did laundry and did my very best is school. I was driven to be a very good girl and keep everything in order. It was the only way I could manage my anxiety. I figured that if everything was neat and tidy on the outside, it would help my mother maintain herself on the inside. Of course, things didn't work out that way, but what is a kid supposed to do when she's not even sure what the problem is? 

I think if we had been told, well, make that if I had been told that my mom had a mental illness I would have been better able to handle the chaos going on around me. I'm sure I would have looked up schizophrenia in the library and learned what to expect. It would have helped me recognize that her illness was not because of me, but a chemical imbalance in her brain and her symptoms were the result of those chemicals being out of whack. Instead, I was left on my own to try and figure out what was going on, and like most children, I thought that what was happening with my mother was my fault. I thought she didn't like me. I wasn't pretty enough, I wasn't smart enough or good enough. So, I went out of my way to be good, and quiet, and neat. 

Well, since my sister got sick a month or so ago, these feelings have been coming back. I have to keep the apartment clean and orderly in order to keep the chaos in my head in check. If the house  is messy, then I can't function. Things being out of place leave me discombobulated. My anxiety rises to the level of panic, then I completely fall apart. I had been managing okay for quite a while, but now all those old fears are bubbling up again. What if April gets really sick? What if she becomes disabled or worse, what if she dies? What will I do? Who will look out for me? Who will help Erica and Sean deal with the loss of their mom? I can't do it. I won't be able to. I barely made it through when my parent died. 

So, here I am again. The little girl inside woke up from her slumber and is feeling lost and abandoned once more. The only way to calm her down is to put everything away, and make sure everything is clean and organized. I guess this is something I should speak to my therapist about now that it is apparent that's what's going on. I'm so tired and my body aches. NO amount of Tylenol is helping. I'm in chronic pain. My sister will be 65 on the 30th. I hope she is well by then. I think I'll go sit in the care and cry for a while. I can't let anyone know that I am upset, it will make them upset. I must keep it together in front of others. I must be a good girl. 

Peace- BB 

Sketches of a Bipolar Girl: Am I a Good Neighbor?

 

Today is Sunday, I was having back spasms last night, so I slept on the couch again. I have not spent a single night in my bed all week. In any event, I woke up early. Zelda was on my chest, and the Lord smacked me on the head and said get up and go to early mass. So, I did. I fed Zaybra, got dress and off to church I went. 

I had my breakfast and coffee so I was awake this morning. Today's homily was about being a good neighbor. Today's reading was from Luke chapter 10: 25-37, The parable of the Good Samaritan. All that God wants us to do is love him with all our hearts and minds and to love our neighbors as ourselves. Some people ask "Who is my neighbor?" Well, to my way of thinking my neighbor is anyone I should happen to come across or speak to during the course of a day. That includes everyone. All of mankind is my neighbor. I am to love all people as myself. That's simple enough to follow. 

However, some people make it very difficult to love them. There are some people in this world I would not miss or bat an eyelash if they were to suddenly keel over dead. That's not a kind way to think, I know, but it is true. Additionally, the world is so chaotic and so cruel, that most people mind their own business. This results in people not coming to the aid of their countrymen. This is especially true of the homeless. So many are on the streets, and they are avoided as if they have some dreaded disease. Which in a sense they do. The have the disease of poverty which strikes fear in the hearts of most people. I know I should help, but it is fear that keeps me away. I know this is fear, because it is one of my greatest fears. I am but 2 paychecks away from the street. I could live in my car I guess. But there it is. Instead of showing compassion and thinking there but for the grace of God go I; I walk right by avoiding eye contact. That is my sin. 

I do help my neighbor when I can. I rarely have any money, but I try to help. I've given blood, platelets, donated to a few charities. However, when it comes to giving myself in person, I am lacking. I keep trying to find something to do, but I just don't put forth much effort. So, I guess in some respects I am a good neighbor, but I could really do better. I have to schedule another platelet donation, and find somewhere to volunteer my time. 

Deacon John closed his homily with the theme from Mr. Roger's Neighborhood. It's a beautiful day in the neighborhood. Won't you please be my neighbor? It struck me that Mr. Rogers was truly talking about the good Samaritan. He's asking us all to be good neighbors, to look to each other with compassion and love. So, will you please be my neighbor? 

Peace, Joy, Love- BB

Sketches of a Bipolar Girl: New Chapter

 

They say that your life is like a novel. Each phase is a chapter of your life. So, if that's true, the gothic novel that is my life is entering a new phase. I am going back to school. I know I have said this before, and I have gone back to school on a few occasions. However, this time I did not go with the intent of starting a new career or learning something totally different. This time I decided to pursue a degree that actually means something to me and I'm good at it. 

I will be attending Georgia Southern University starting on August 13th. I am seeking my bachelor degree in English believe it or not. Why English? Well, for one thing, it is a lost language to my way of thinking. To hear people speak nowadays is horrifying. The lack of basic grammar and pronunciation is astounding. Vocabulary is staggeringly absent. If you ask most people what a synonym is, they will say it is a sticky bun. It's astonishing. 

But it is not only my love for proper English, which I admit I don't always use, that calls me in this direction. I love to write. I love putting my words together in a cohesive manner that stimulates the imagination. I love making my stories sound lyrical and intriguing. I am an English nerd. I owe it all to my high school English teachers, Diane Fimiano, Barbara Speece, and Dr. Betty Falkensten. Those three ladies opened up my mind and spirit to embrace a nicely constructed sentence, and the obscure vocabulary word. However, I can't go without acknowledging my 5th grade teacher Mrs. Robinson who introduced me to the Chronicles of Narnia. Blew my mind!! We had a story hour then, and she would select a book to read to us. The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe is the first book that ever set my mind on fire. I was ignited to a love of reading. I would spend hours in the library reading the synopses of books to see if they stimulated the colors of my imagination. If they did, I would check them out and take them home for a week of reading. Some were classics and award winners. Others were just novels that captured my interest. I would take out 5 or 6 books a week. 

As I grew older, I still spent time at the library. I would sit and read a chapter before checking the book out. I don't know what reading level I had, but it was pretty high. I read young adult, adult and like I said some classics. I never made a list of the books that I wanted to read. I just started at the beginning of the alphabet in the fiction section an worked my way through until I found my 6 books and took them home. 

This continued until the bipolar got the better of me. It ruined concentration and comprehension for me for quite a while, and sometimes I still struggle. I don't go to the library anymore. It got to be too overwhelming. But lately, with school on the horizon, my interest in reading has risen once again. '

I have 2 classes this semester, English 2100, and History 2110. We'll be reading some classics in my English class and writing essays, etc. I'm looking forward to it. It may actually be fun. Plus I will have something to do in my spare time. I should graduate in about a year. I think so, anyway. I'll need to check my schedule.  In the meantime it's back to the old grind at Delta. 

Peace, Joy, Love - BB