unmedicated

welcome to my life. the life of a bipolar, crazy, unmedicated woman. the blog is public again because i've vowed to attempt to keep my bitter rantings out of it. that's not why i created this blog. ((don't worry, i saved all of your email addresses for when i decide to recoil and make it private again...)) ya never know.

i've been off my meds completely for 2 weeks now. lemme tell ya, it's not a pretty thing. i have an appointment with an md/psychiatrist who specializes in mood disorders. i've been on the waiting list for 2 months now, and they called the other day to push it back another 10 days. august 10th. d-day. i am going in armed with 8 years' worth of medications, treatments, and other failed methods (aka church, prayer, etc). mark and the kids couldn't be more ready for this change. ((no the kids don't know about my doctor visit, medications, or gory details of my disease)) they're ready, they just don't know how ready they are. mark is ready and DOES know how ready he is. poor bastard deserves a trophy at this rate. or maybe just a 'normal' partner. yeah. that would probably be best.

i have only my parents' support and love to thank for this amazing opportunity. as i filter through the issues in my past i've had with them, as angry as i may get, i always break down in mark's arms begging for my parents. i miss them and they truly are so dear to my heart. they are me. i am them. i miss them. i love them deeply. if i keep writing about them, i'll cry. and i swore i wouldn't cry tonight.

so what's it like being off medication? oh you know. piece of cake. i don't get out of bed before noon, i lay in bed staring at the ceiling for hours at a time, the kids run out of milk for their cereal, i cry while begging my son to just.leave.me.alone. i resist the urge to find that long lost razor blade, just to prove i'm alive and that i can feel. i focus on how dusty the house is, or how dirty the curtains are, or how empty the walls are and busy myself cleaning, projecting, and crafting.

i make a strong drink when i'm ready for sleep, because if i don't, i won't. my brain spins all day and night. why am i here? what good am i? why is this the hand i've been dealt? why can't i just grab the kids and love on them like i want? why can't i get out of bed? why can't i just feel something? anything? besides guilt, anger, and hatred for myself. i'm spunky! i'm fun! i'm cheerful...for fucks sake my name means 'cheerful hope'! and i so am. i SO am. it's in there, but i can't get it out. it burns through me. i sit there staring at my messy pile of shoes and clothes on my side of the closet while i hold one of mark's worn shirts, sobbing into it just waiting to feel normal. to feel different. 'cry it out' is not something i can do anymore, not unmedicated.

this is my life. this is me. all i can do is embrace it. fight it. fix it. this is my cancer, my sickness. this is mine to deal with in this life. not mark's, not my five kids' issue. mine. a weaker person would have crumbled by now, right?

oh but i feel so weak. i'm getting through my days minute by minute. sometimes, second by second. but i claw through them. because i'm stubborn. because this damned thing is not going to take me over. because i'm better, stronger, and way fucking more awesome than this.

this internal struggle is absolutely exhausting. some days i don't come out as on top as i'd hoped, but i haven't given up yet. and i won't. i'm so close. maybe one day this will be a blessing. i know myself internally more intimately than i ever knew someone could. that sounds weird. but everything i do is so spontaneously calculated. so randomly explained. to me. i know me. more than anyone ever ever will. when i have mood snaps, i know why. i know what caused it. i know how to counter it. i just don't know how to make others understand it. i don't always have the strength to control it, but i know it.

i truly love my life. i just can't wait to fully live this life that i love. and to show the people closest to me just how amazing it all is. soon, soon.

this is my therapy. thank you all for the love and support.

love love love.

bland? bitter? bitchy? you choose

so apparently my thankfully ex-husband has dropped out of college (with only 6 years and well over $80,000 invested) ((or was kicked out because of failing grades)) (((or had a divine intervention...all are equally possible))) and is back in our home town living with his parents working at a grocery store and joining the marines as previously planned...except he's enlisting instead of going in as an officer. whoops. sad i missed out on that part of our "journey". oh and if that wasn't bad enough, he hasn't called his children in over a month. WHOOPS. ((although i will give him credit for that last phone call mid february which lasted 3 minutes and 24 seconds))

so don't judge me for not giving a shit about his dumb ass, and don't you dare judge me for loving that my children have a true father figure in their lives every.single.day. who loves them as his own, and unconditionally. but don't think we have EVER said anything negative about him to the boys. i actually enjoy how non existent he is from all of our lives. minus that measly check i get at some point every month. that helps a LOT.
ok pissy-dead-beat-dad-rant over.
onto more personal and bland things.
i've been doing a lot of gardening and crafts. i upped my meds, which has really balanced me out. i still have terribly vivid dreams/nightmares. some days i can't sleep, some i can't get enough sleep. some days i get a thousand things done, others i am useless and actually create more mess than i eliminate. getting outside helps a lot.
wow that really was bland. and difficult to write. because i'm trying to sound...normal? calm? i don't know.
i'm contemplating making my blog private again. not because i'm ashamed of who i am, and what i deal with, and not because i'm afraid of sharing my life. this is such a total outlet for me and i absolutely LOVE the support i get, and i truly do enjoy being challenged by the criticism as well. the grown-up-criticism that is. the messages calling me names and breathing fire at me are more comical than anything else. my favorites are the emails and messages telling me things about myself or my past that i never even knew! who would have known, better than me, why i chose to do what i did?! apparently there are a LOT of people who have lived my life instead of me, and like to fill me in on things i must have somehow missed. to my utter disappointment, they never do laundry.
meanwhile, i'm teaching my kids to ride bikes. i'm taking my puppy on walks. i'm loving my partner. i'm laughing, and completely enjoying my life. (they pretend all they see is the sex i have with horses on saturday nights (only for money to FEED MY KIDS for fucks sake), and the devil worshiping we do as a family every sunday afternoon, and the incredible amount of liquor, tattooing, and bondage we engage in, and consume weekly)
yall should see this shit. total carnage.

i mean seriously?! who wouldn't want this life :)

attacked

these past few weeks have brought me back to feeling a need to be overwhelming self-preserving. i've felt this way before, of course. throwing up walls and shit.

once, when i was 17 and raped by a close family friend who was 26, but was too scared to tell anyone except my (then boyfriend, later husband, gratefully most recently) ex-husband, a mere 6 months later when i found out i was pregnant january of my senior year at a christian school by my (then boyfriend, later husband, gratefully most recently) ex-husband.

then, when i planned to abort my fetus (now, my sunshine)

then when i was forced by a christian adoption agency and my parents to adopt him out. how irresponsible it would be, for an 18 year old, to become a mother.

then by my family, claiming i was on my own should i choose motherhood at 18.

then by the christian adoption agency, the adoptive family, my family, and basically everyone in my life except for a precious handful, when i chose motherhood 10 days before the birth of my sunshine, aidan.

then again, when i conceived my second (which was "legitimate"...so it confused me a bit)...i believe my mother's exact words were, "oh i'm so sorry hilary, what are you going to do?!" and my dad said "...congratulations" in the most depressing way ever.

then again when i told my family of my rape and ....nothing.... was done. well, a discreet meeting with elders and prayer groups happened...but that didn't benefit me in the slightest. i was hoping for a castration. instead i got prayers and doubt.

then, when i realized my (gratefully) ex-husband was scared of my disease, of my depression and bipolarism, and ran away from me dropping me in a ditch to fend for myself in the dark. with an infant on my tit and a 2 year old on my hip.

then, when i was at the point of taking the babies in the car with me on drives at night for the sole reason i wouldn't run my car off the highway into a tree and would keep them safe, even if i couldn't/didn't want to keep myself safe.

then, when i stood up to everyone. and i mean everyone. and left my life in texas to start a new (and unplanned! oh the horror!) life in tennessee.

i had no consistent supporter, no one who stood by me all that time, no fairy in the sky who held my hand, nothing. but myself. and my own strength. and my will to survive. it wasn't graceful, or pretty, or easy. it was gut wrenching, excruciating, and raw. it was nasty, and at my lowest point i was barely holding my head up, slumped in the corner of the bathroom wishing for death with a razor blade in my hand.

but here i am. here WE are. because that free spirit in me that my family has always cursed, came out when nothing else would. because i'm stronger than all that. because life is for living. because i'm not a coward, i'm not willing to live a half-ass life and be miserable. god doesn't inspire me anymore. my children do. the sun does. my wonderful partnership with the most amazing man i've ever heard of does. colors do. stolen giggles behind closed doors do. this is life. this is MY life.

well now that we're current...back to the past few weeks. the first incident...well the information i can tell you is very limited pending a man twice my age growing a ball or two. i should lend him one of mine. if he ever does, i'll explain in detail. it'll be comical at that point. right now it makes my ears burn and my heart explode in anger. anyway, in once sentence, he works with the same fire department mark works at, and his wife went off her fucking rocker and came to my house, attacked me and threatened my family over about 10 text messages and a few exchanges of (accused, NOT EVER proven) googly eyes. so far, he has yet to sprout even the slightest hint of a silver chest hair and deal with this situation.

second incident. my puppy, my boy, my joey, attacked me. in a more literal sense. here's what i typed up for animal control:

February 15, 2012


I was sitting in the living room on the floor painting my nails. Joey (our 90 pound, 10 month old Great Dane) kept sticking his nose in everything and wouldn't lay on the couch, so I said “Joey, let's go outside.” He started bounding in circles from the kitchen to the living room. He has done this before but always stops after one or two circles and sits in his corner because he knows he's wrong. He continued to go in circles despite my verbal commands. I caught him and grabbed his collar and told him he was going outside, and he turned and latched on to my left forearm. I was startled and let him go. I then knew he wasn't playing and I knew I had to get the kids back. I had all 5 of my children at home, one at the kitchen table doing homework (age 6), one outside (age 5), two in their room (ages 11 and 9), and one upstairs (age 4). The one doing homework at the table got up to try and help me and I told him to sit and not get up. Joey lunged at me and was jumping up at me with all of his teeth bared. I caught him again by his collar, and pulled it off because it's loose. He continued lunging at me. At this point I was crying, shaking, and very scared. I grabbed him by the back of the neck, and attempted to drag him upstairs to where his kennel is. He turned and bit my left leg and tore a hole in my pants. I knew I couldn't get him upstairs, so I tried to drag him to the back door. He got away from me, and I was trying to catch him, and he came up behind me and jumped on my back, pushing my shoulders with his front paws and I fell down. He then grabbed my pony tail and pulled it. My adrenaline kicked in, and I somehow flipped him on his back and basically body slammed him to the ground and he knocked into a shelf and knocked a bunch of things over. I had him pinned to the ground and nearly strangled him. I then held onto his neck as hard as I could and tried to drag him to the front door, desperate to get him out of the house. He got away from me, and I called the 9 year old to stand in the doorway to help me catch him. He lunged at her and I caught him from behind. I grabbed his neck and he bit down on my left forearm and held on tight, gnawing at it. I just let him hold on and got him out the back door. I yelled at the child outside to come in and held onto Joey until he did. I then let him go and shut the door. He tried to follow me back in but moved his head just in time. I called my husband, who was at work, in a panic. He came home immediately and put Joey in his kennel. We let him out only to eat and go potty. I have never been so terrified in my life. I felt like I was fighting for my life, and for my children. I know if he wanted to he could have easily killed me. This act of aggression is inexcusable, and for the safety of myself and my children, my husband and I have decided he needs to be put down.

and he was put down on saturday the 18th. we had a behaviorist come to our home on friday after the attack. she has 25 years experience and travels to train k9 units for police departments, and specializes in aggressive dogs. she said joey is the third scariest dog she's ever encountered. she got a total creeper vibe from him the second she walked into the house. which really disturbed me...we knew nothing. but we're looking into another great dane. we just love the breed. he was mentally ill, and needed to go. but one bad one doesn't mean the whole breed is bad. he was such a sweetheart before all this, and exactly what we wanted out of a dog. the kids took it better than mark or i did. resilient.

so all this word vomit to say....i'm strong. you're strong. when you're at the bottom of your world, you're strong. not because you choose it. not because you roll up your sleeves and fight. because you survive. which is all it takes. just survive. life is good. love is good. everything changes.