its only tuesday

I wanted to drive off the Broadway bridge tonight.

I didn't.

I'm running out of skin.

I think I'm going to throw up.

how

Here's an idea. . . drive to a park, pull out a journal, turn on Mark Shultz He Will Carry Me. . . and write.

Page after angry page.

Mostly questions...still unanswered.

There's the obvious question of "why?"
But after that echoes into empty silence, then come the "how?"

How do I keep going?

How do I speak about the goodness of God while my own live shows no trace?

How do I explain to my family and friends? And how do I accept it when they can't understand?

How do I praise God and still accept how much anger I have toward my Creator?

How do I speak of hope to others while constantly feeling doomed?

How do I learn to feel sorrow over tragic stories, instead of envy?

And sometimes, how in the world do I stop crying and live despite the pain and uncertainty?







I've got new (old) meds. . . going back to the last thing that worked.

October 23rd

my view: 9:30am




my view: 11:30am



How did I go from one to the other in a matter of hours?


The Story:
Being bipolar means (in very loose terms) swinging from highs to lows. . . Well I'm not bipolar, but I have my swings. Instead I go from normal to very low, very quickly. . . very, very low. At my lowest point today I talked to my doctor and he reccommended I go to the ER at UAMS and at least have a psych consult to get a second guess on my med situation. So I did. Well, insert Joe Cocker music here.

Going in, I wasn't a fan of hospitals, but UAMS is ok. They did what they had to do, they treated me incredibly well, and when I wanted to go home, I got to. There was a lot of waiting around, but its a hospital and to be expected.

Now for the plan. . .
My thoughts: Let's go back to the last thing that worked. So the EMSAM patches and dexedrine begin next week. It will still talk some time for my body to adjust, but I'm going to try my best to deal with it as it comes.

I've been without employment for nearly a month and a half. Thats gotta change. But first things first, and that means my mental health.

So let's hope and pray that November brings better weather, cause its been a stormy year from the start.

Gary

Monday I was supposed to have a feeding-the-ducks date with Melissa, but who knew the unemployment office took not only your soul but your time? Meanwhile I decided to grab a book and find a bench to read.

I sat down on what is close to being the most uncomfortable bench ever and read maybe a page before Gary sat down. I was later informed that Gary was drunk, but he seemed pretty normal to me. He starts asking me the basics, do I live nearby, do I come there often, was I married...(maybe "basics" was too loose a term).

He commented on my long fingernails, then he noticed my scars. I didn't have a good lie ready so when he asked if I was suicidal I could only say "not right now." For the next eternity (ok maybe 30 minutes) he tried his best to tell me not to do that. He even included phrases like "treat it, or beat it" but I'm not really sure I want to delve very far into that one. . .


All this to say- Everybody wants to fix me.

I know its out of genuine care and concern, but you can't fix me. I can't fix me. Only God can, and apparently he's not in any hurry.

I'm in one of those places where I can hear God saying "and where were you when I created the world? Nowhere, so back off and shut up." Except he doesn't mean to shut up completely, which is what I've pretty much done. Its just, the only things I know how to say are "why?" and "when?"

The waiting and not knowing eat away at me. Thats why I've been up since 6am. My brain refuses to shut off, and the result is this verbal vomit that leaves me no further than I started.

diphenwhat?

I had more fun tonight than I have had in a long time.

The EEEs were fantastic, the whole show was great. How about the Chiotes? They've come a long way from cavemen. I giggled at the creepy tiger blasters "preshow," but I think it creepy my friend Ellen out.



Xanax + diphenhydramine = serious sleep. Just ask my friends from church who resorted to yelling through my open window when I didn't answer their calls (I slept right through 'em...thats some good stuff) (not that I recommend it).

But thats what its about...community...yelling through windows, checking in on people, phone calls, faxing resumes, etc...

I don't think I knew what I was looking for when I showed up at Epoch, but I knew it when I found it.



I'm still wearing pants. Its 3am.

blood and tears

Why is it so hard for me to be in a room full of people who, at the moment, have nothing but superficial cares? Their biggest concerns are how late the food is or who won the game. . . but I'm there, in the middle of it all, feeling so much pain all I can do is cut myself for relief?


When some people die its a tragedy, but for a few of us, its more like an answer to prayer.


I wish I could be happy for my friends, but the ugly, honest truth is I'm not. I'm bitter and jealous and mad and. . . scared. That's the hardest to own, but the truth is I'm absolutely terrified.

its all relative

It seems like the good times only serve to make the bad ones worse. The better they are, the harder I fall.

I see the doctor tomorrow. I don't know if he will ask me to continue to wait, or if he will try a new concoction of drugs. Neither will offer immediate relief.


When



will



it




end





?

questions

I knew I couldn't make myself not believe in God, so I tried to believe He isn't good and doesn't care. . . but that didn't really work either. So if God is good, and He cares about us, is this my fault somehow? The answer is still no, and I'm left with a lot of unanswered why's.

It doesn't make sense.

Its like, if I can answer why, then I'll know how to fix it. But I can't do either. Its out of my hands. . . I have no control. . .

How much easier would my life have been if I didn't feel the need to control everything? I've always been independent, wanting to do everything for myself, but in my darkest despair I find myself aching for someone to take care of me. Is this what it takes for me to come to the end of myself?


When will it end? When will things turn around? I sit with my small group and listen as people share prayer requests, and I'm always amazed when someone doesn't have anything. Is it conceivable that a life can really be problem free? I'm so tired of being that girl who's life is always falling apart.

I know, I know, I'm blessed beyond belief and I shouldn't whine, but walk a day in my Pumas before you think that.

latest

might be something to this...

indexed

ba.

The Prodigal Son...such a familiar story. Lately I've been trying to figure out where I fit in, or rather, what God wants to teach me through it. A lot of people have depression stories which climax at a come-to-Jesus moment when everything gets better...a prodigal sort of ending. I, however, don't feel far from my Father's hand (although I do question it and sometimes wish to doubt it). So, am I the older brother? No, thats not quite right either...

Maybe I'm spending too much time digging for something that isn't there instead of considering the lessons that already challenge me...i.e., the parable of the Lost Sheep and realization that I'm the One rather than just one of the ninety-nine.

The weekend was nice in that it provided much distraction and quality time with friends. I feel somewhat better today...the new dark clouds are a little bit lighter, but some of the old ones returned this evening. I haven't felt creative lately so I don't feel quite right...plans for a halloween costume might alleviate that some.



I rode in the rain tonight. Hard rain. It was beautiful. I is something I wish everyone could experience. I was soaked before I even got on my bike, but magically my mp3 player stayed dry (safely tucked in a sport bra). I rode down a deserted Main Street to Wires by Athlete and for a minute, riding was all that counted...

I feel like this year, this month, this week have all been culminating to some anti-climactic moment that leaves questioning things I've taken for granted.

For example, is God good? Does he care when we're in pain? Can and does he intervene on our behalf?

At what point do I say enough is enough? I've tried being strong, I've tried faking it, I've tried all the positive mind tricks, I've tried it all. . . and all I've got left are tear-stained cheeks, raw and bloody skin, and a drawer full of medicines leftovers, offering me an out.