āI used to think the worst thing in life was to end up all alone. Itās not. The worst thing in life is to end up with people who make you feel all alone.ā ā Robin Williams
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Please note: This blog in itself will be bipolar. Meaning youāll see both sides of truth. A pendulum swinging back and forth between two extremes. The writing is as much a conflict as the subject is. Donāt try to dissect itā¦thereās no point. It is what it is. Please donāt feel sorry for me or comment sympathetically. I honestly hate that. This is a blog about something a lot of people arenāt aware of, with stories as examples. Nothing more.

āSome things are better left unsaid. Thatās the stuff I usually like to blurt out right away.ā
Year 2013
The response I had to my first bipolar blog was interesting, to say the least. A lot of you are bipolar too. Sweet. Letās be crazy together.
I feel that Iām in a unique, self employed position to tell my story and that I have a responsibility to do so for a reason. Bipolar Disorder is portrayed pretty badly to the public, usually as mental patients in hospitals who canāt function in society.
As difficult as some periods are for me, Iāve never missed a booking and Iāve been one of the most reliable entertainers in my professions even before I was on stabilizers. (Actually, I missed my first booking last month in September for Shine Wrestling because it was my moving weekend – and if you keep reading, youāll see why.) As hard as relationships have been, I have plenty of people I call friends.
(Interestingly, I lost two āfriendsā over the first part of this blog. Better now than when I need them.)
Read Part 1 here:Ā Chapter 14: Bipolar Blues and Manic-Depressive Madness. The Intro. http://wp.me/p2O0oj-8V )

Iāve never been in a mental hospital. (Yet!) Ā I work hard, I get things done and Iām extremely smart, resourceful and reliable. Iām the polar (ahemā¦polar, get it?) opposite of the stereotypical ālazy centerfold modelā which is why Iām still around after all these years. Itās purely a business to me, one that Iām grateful to be a part of and enjoy most days. I hide my ups and downs well. I put on my makeup, stand up straight, affix a radiant smile and no one notices anything. At best, on a rough day, they just think Iām a hot tempered redhead who wonāt put up with not being paid or fucked over. People think Iām strong. And I guess I am, but it gets to the point where everyone starts leaning on me – and Iām not infallible. It can be exhausting.



There are lots more people just like me out there, too. Well, there arenāt that many hard working models or wrestlers, admittedly, but there ARE people in the world just like me; ones you likely interact with every day.
I have a therapist, Iām on meds that have shitty side effects and I certainly have my moments. But I function.
And I am what bipolar looks like.
I promised you stories, didnāt I? More salt in the wounds? Well, I do try to keep my promises. In order for me to keep my word, this is a very lengthy blog. There was just no way to keep it short. If you read the entire story, HIGH FIVE.

Wonderingā¦
If youāre wondering what it feels like to have Bipolar Disorder, have you ever done Ecstasy? There you go. The mania is the high; the depletion and exhaustion from the low afterwards is the depression. Ironically enough, itās caused by the half of the same exact chemical swing; serotonin. Bipolar Disorder is just a chemical imbalance of serotonin and melatonin, which pretty much affects everything we are.

Bipolar Disorder is technically classed as a disease, as itās a chronic illness and controlled by daily medicines in order to function. It also attacks your respiratory and circulatory system. Most people with BP tend to die young (before age 50), either naturally or unnaturally.
Despite this, with other disabilities, when youāre having a bad day, youāre just having a bad day. With Bipolar Disorder the first thing out of peopleās mouths is the insultingly ridiculous comment, āDid you take your meds today?ā
My advice: Never ask that question. Never. Itās equal to asking an angry female, āAre you on your period?ā If you get something thrown at you, it wonāt be mania. It will be YOU.

The Bleedingā¦
I almost killed my dog Bella once, not that long ago. By accident. You might remember a few years ago when I talked about her emergency surgery, but Iām pretty sure I didnāt mention how it happened.
Let me prelude this story by saying that you should understand that my pets arenāt just animals. With not having children, they are furry family members. Bella follows me around, sleeps in bed with me and is my constant companion.

In a fit of rage, I dumped Jordanās desk. Heās a costume designer. I never realized that the puppy would think the pin-cushion was a toy. The next morning, Jordan found the cushion under my desk with chewed up pins all over. I opened her mouth and found some bruising around her tongue. I fed her bread and peanut butter to coat her stomach and immediately took her to the vet. An x-ray showed there was a pin lodged sideways in her stomach and could pierce through at any moment. A very costly emergency surgery ensued.
I remember the nurse asking, āDo you want pain meds for her? Theyāre extra, butā¦ā
āGive her whatever she needs.ā Her brown eyes looked up at me as if to ask what was going on.
I was devastated.Ā Still – I didnāt fix anything.
Thatās not the only time Iāve hurt her. When I was trying to housetrain her, she would take forever to go and every little noise scared her. She preferred to pee on the carpet in the warm comfort of the apartment. One time – I think I was late to leave for something or just hungry ā I Ā snapped. She had been taking ages and I started pulling her towards home. She flopped down on the concrete in protest and I dragged her body along by her leash. Sheās forgiven me, but I havenāt forgiven myself.

I have zero recollection of what the desk flipping episode was over. None. It could have been stubbing my toe. Ā These are semi-blackouts. I do remember flipping the desk. I remember being crushed over Bella. Thatās it. Nothing else. This is normal, because I donāt remember any of episodes, or at least not in detail. Iāve actually sat and tried to search my brain to remember things and cannot. Jordan says he wishes he could video me & play it back. Iām grateful he doesnāt.
As a rapid cycling manic, I was up to several episodes a day at one point. It was bad.
The thing is, Iām not a terrible person. But I can do terrible things. Itās not only horrific and damaging, but afterwards the realization leads to the depression that comes after the mania.
There is nothing worse than realizing how badly youāve hurt someone or something you love. Itāll gut you. Imagine thisā¦over and over and over again.
Ā 
Crossfade āCOLDāĀ
āWhat I really meant to say is that Iām sorry for the way I am.
I never really wanted you to see the screwed up side of me, locked inside of me so deep, it always seems to get to me.Ā
I never really been wanted you to go, so many things you should have known, I never meant to be so cold.Ā
What I really meant to say is that Iām sorry for the way I am.ā

The fights are horrific. I have a vague awareness that Iām getting out of control when it starts, but almost nothing can stop it. Jordan used to be able to. He would use humor. That would almost always disable the explosion. But after a while, he changed. The man I admired so much for his kindness and patience became me. He stooped to my level and everything about him I wanted so much to be, to learn from, admiredā¦it was no more.
Itās like fighting with a 12 year-old version of your worst self. You canāt get through to him, nothing gets resolved, because thatās how youāve trained him to fight. The fights escalate to another level. One time the police showed up when I was screaming at him in the parking lot. A neighbor called because they thought he was abusing me. Embarrassing. The damage and cruelty and violence you canāt come back from. Ā Thatās just on the inside. Never mind the wreckage around you. Broken plates, holes in the wall.

And, it never ends. In your moments of sanity, you realize that youāve ruined another life. Just like that. If itās someone whom you know is a good person, a decent person – but theyāre now biting, angry, defensive, unable to say anything without sarcasm and eye rolling, mimicking – living with this fact, knowing youāve turned him into that, itās enough to make you die inside.
Medication didnāt completely solve us, because Iād come back to Florida from my Mom and Grandmoms after he had held everything down smoothly at home and completely take it out on him that I had to come back, when they clearly needed me in Philadelphia. They werenāt eating most of the time and my half-blind grandmother had started falling and hurting herself – and there I was in Florida every other week having to work and be at home trying to save my marriage when I should have been taking care of them. No matter where I was, I was in the wrong place, and wracked with guilt.
Iāve pushed Jordan so close to the edge, he actually turned to me and said, āYou know what? Why donāt you just fuck off and leave when your mom dies?āĀ Hurtful, but not undeserved – I had shoved him from behind into the door frame. Everyone has their limits and Jordan has always been very good to me. If you can make a calm, cool and collected Canadian snap, you know youāve pushed pretty damn far.

Iām torn between wanting to love people and wanting to save them from me. That season finale of Dexter that everyone hated? I got it. I understood it. Itās my life. I push people away on purpose if I like or care about them and try to keep them at armās length.

Exactly how many times have I contemplated suicide? Oh, more than you and I can count together. More so as a way to end the suffering. End the fact that Iāll be on meds for the rest of my life. End the fact I destroy the ones I love, who love me. End the fact that Iām self destructive. The way I see it, someoneās life is her own to choose what to do with and when there really is no way out, when no matter where you go or what you do, it wonāt change anything in the future.Ā Sometimes your options are limited. You either live or die. Thatās purely your choice. Yet, I go on. I know that life is a gift. So, I try to live each day with gratitude for what I have. Because at the end of the day, I do know Iām fortunate and I am grateful.

I have never really had much for patience. I move, think, read, drive and talk faster than most people, so I tend to get annoyed with the slowness. My Mom had Aspergers Syndrome (high functioning Autism) and it wasnāt a good combo. We had a very rocky relationship my entire life until I got on meds just less than two years ago, about eleven months before she died.
Our relationship changed for the better once meds were in the picture, thankfully. As before meds, I had little patience with her, took a lot the wrong way and in turn, treated her badly. I flipped out on her after she was diagnosed with stage-four cancer. I stopped talking to her for several months over believing (what I now know isnāt true) that she favored my brother. āFine! I hope you die alone!ā
Yes. I said that. If there is a hell, there is a special place waiting for me there because of those words. Iāve also called her āthe worst fucking mother in history.ā That hurt her until nearly the day she died.Ā I stayed up late one night, feeling awful, and wrote a long letter about how sorry I was for saying it and recalling all the excellent Mom Moments that she did for and with me. Only then did she get over it, and asked me to print out a copy. Iām extremely grateful that she was very forgiving and I learned a lot from her in that way. But the fact that I ever said any of it is terrible. Seriously, when I play these things over in my now stable mind and read them on my screen, it makes me cry. How the FUCK could I have done these? Ā Iām a horrible person. What the fuck is WRONG with me? Who does this shit? The worst part is that it can and probably will happen again one day. The guilt I feel makes me feel sick at the pit of my stomach and will never, ever go away.
When I think it over so I can try to learn from it, I donāt know what I was thinkingā¦well, I wasnāt thinking. I was reacting to what I emotionally PERCEIVED a certain way. This is what it is to be Bipolar. We perceive things differently, react more emotionally. Even if what I was reacting to was correct (and it was – there was a valid issue I wonāt go into), any normal person would wait and try to calmly talk it out or give space or whatever it is normal people do. Ā I wouldnāt know.
Not me. I blew up, called everyone everything, backed it up with abusive emails and told everyone to never talk to me ever again. And then I didnātā¦for a long time. And meanwhile, my mother was dying from cancer.
Not that Iām blaming all this on BP, but you can see how having this BULLSHIT DISORDER can really mess with you and those around you to the point where it ruins lives?
I knew it was wrong, but couldnāt stop it from escalating. Thereās a difference between losing control and being out of control. Ā When the mania takes over and is going 100 mph into psychosis, it doesnāt matter if itās my mother, my husband, my dogā¦itās like, āterminate on siteāā¦and the worst part for me is just a few short hours later, itās like it didnāt happened. I canāt remember all of it. But to them, itās like they barely survived an assassination attempt.
Ā 

Interesting Fact: In the late 1800s, Jean-Pierre Falret, a French psychiatrist, identified “folie circulaire” or circular insanity – manic and melancholic episodes that were separated by symptom-free intervals.
The Miseryā¦
I fucking hate the fact that this controls every aspect of my life. Work. Sleep. Breathing. My energy levels. How much money is left over after getting my prescriptions. How Iām treating those around me. If Iām inspired to work or if I have to drag ass and force myself. Iām very guarded, wary of letting people close to me. Iām afraid to make friends or have real relationships, I donāt want them to see that side of me, knowing theyāll end up shunning me. People always SAY theyāre tolerant until they see something they donāt like, and then they forget all about that so-called tolerance. Itās ridiculous how many uneducated idiots claim ātoleranceā. Not to mention insulting, considering how most think ābipolarā simply means moody.

If you want to know what itās really like to live with the physical aspects of BP, read Spoon Theory (āBut you donāt look sickā¦ā). Itās written about Lupus, but can be applied here as well: http://www.butyoudontlooksick.com/wpress/articles/written-by-christine/the-spoon-theory/
Iām afraid to get into relationships, knowing Iāll end up ruining it. Becauseā¦whatās the point? Or, if they do stick around, Iām afraid Iāll hurt them in some way. I feel completely broken inside. Defective might be a better word. Itās not a good feeling. How is there any kind of future when this is how life is? Itās genetic, so I dare not have children. Iām pretty much destined to be alone for the rest of my life, so facing that hasnāt been an easy pill to swallow. Or five per day. Sure, with meds you can control it. But only so much.
So, how I feel at this moment is that itās mostly eradicated me as a person. I find Iām more and more isolated to protect myself and others from me. This, of course, is depressing. I have to force myself to go out and do things. Perhaps this will change in time, but itās my current frame of mind. (However, Iām bipolar. Attitudes are mercurial around here.)

The Fucked Up Accoladesā¦
When I write manic rants or flip out on twitter and say what I really think about things, I get SO much positive feedback, and now I know why. Because Iām crazy and able to say and do the things that most people WANT to but cannot or wonāt.
Like the time I went to the outdoor rock and wrestling fest to support Jordanās show. It was 98Rockfest, a big deal in the Tampa area. Each high-end band was to do a 20-minute set, with a wrestling match in between over at the ring. Then back to the stage. The band going up after Jordanās match did āmic checkā¦check, checkā all through his match and their post show promo, which was being taped for TV. It was irritating and disrespectful. At the end, Jordan actually asked him politely on his microphone if they could give them a few minutes just to finish up – and the band responded with āI donāt think so! Fuck you!ā The crowd cheered for the band side.Ā I had been hot before, but at that point, I saw RED.

Once that happens, I donāt have much control left and I have no fear. I walked over to the stage in my sundress and platform sandals, scaled up the back of it, walked right on stage right up to him and ripped the mic right out of the guysā hand. (Note: this was the warm-up roadie for the act, not the band.) He got in my face and told me to get off stage. āOr what? Youāll hit me? Go onā¦do it. All the guy asked for is a few minutes to finish up – this is the wrestlerās time right now, not yours. A little professional courtesy would be nice.ā
āGet the FUCK off the stage.ā
We were nose to nose. Actually, I was a bit taller than he was. āSure thing, fuckhead. And your mic is coming with me.ā I jumped down and took the entire apparatus with me, stand and all. The wrestling side of the crowd started cheering, everyone had whipped out their cell phone cameras and then I realized I was probably in deep, deep trouble. Iād just lost my shit and jumped on the stage to confiscate the Marilyn Manson, Shinedown, Alice in Chains mic. Surely the police would be coming in a minute for me?
The venue wanted to shut the wrestling show down immediately. It was a very hot, long day and half the guys hadnāt had their chance to perform on what was the biggest show of the year with more press attending than ever. I was the most hated person in most of the locker room. The rest couldnāt stop thanking me enough. One of the guys said, āFuck, youāre my fucking hero.ā The others just stared at me then looked at the floor like I was missing my nose. Orā¦my mind. Including Jordan, who gave me an earful, then avoided me like I was a plague that he might catch by association. The remainder of the day was completely strained.
I didnāt get arrested and the show went on. Howard, the well-respected wrestling promoter, talked some sense into them, they watched the tape back and saw what was going on and made a deal with the venue for more time (and respect) next year. The band Adelitas Way, whose roadie it was, publicly apologized to all of the wrestlers while on stage and tweeted me: āWeāre very sorry. That was someone who worked for us, not our singer. We apologize.ā Howard actually invited me back this year, but I think Iāll sit this one out.
Maybe these things arenāt right, but they certainly donāt feel wrong or undeserved at the time.
I never bullied anyone. I never started a fight. Iād end the fights or be the one who stopped the bullying. I have absolutely no tolerance for bullshit. Ā My nephew was groped by an older boy in the woods on the way home from school. My family couldnāt do anything about it since the boy was underage and his father was a higher up on the army base. My dad asked me to handle it. I went to that kidās class and said the principal wanted to see him. As soon as he stepped into the hall, I slammed his head against the wall. It took three times before he split open. I was suspended. My dad picked me up and got me ice cream. The kids name was Jody. Who names a boy Jody? My nephew was never touched again. My brother got the piss beat out of him and a concussion in Philly when two boys cracked him with a bat. I gave it some time and waited for them. I beat them both badly and broke one kids nose; they never came near us again. I saw them while out with my brother a few years ago at a movie theater and we had half a laugh about it. They knew they deserved it. Being military, we moved a lot. Kids would fuck with us. Always. You either learned to fight back or you got bullied and tortured. I never started trouble. But I found out fast that as soon as I cracked someone in the nose – in front of the entire school – the testing stopped.Ā Suspension was a small price to pay for being able to walk down the halls in peace for the rest of the year. Or, until we moved again. Whoever coined the clichĆ© āviolence doesnāt solve anythingā clearly didnāt remember what high school was like.

I took that theory a step further once I grew up. In several different cases of road rage where someone has messed with me, Iāve gone out of my way to make sure they think twice about ever doing it again. Iām that psycho thatās been fucked with on the road, follows that person and pulls them out of their car at a red light or in their own driveway. Iāve pepper sprayed a car ful of guys following me home on various occasions (once managing to pepper spray myself in the process Ā – horrible!), kicked out two different windshields, ripped a car door off its hinges. It doesnāt matter to me. When Iāve turned into the Incredible Hulk, itās too late. Shit is getting smashed.

The REASON I get the positive feedback was already stated. And the REASON people donāt say or do what I do is because people arenāt supposed to do or say these things outside of Hollywood movies. They value their relationships, jobs, marriages and donāt want the repercussions of āspeaking freelyā. Whereas I bear the brunt of that with every outburst.
“That which does not kill us makes us stronger.” ā Friedrich Nietzsche

The Side Effectsā¦
People who are bipolar generally loathe admitting anything is wrong. Meā¦I couldnāt wait to get fixed. As a holistic practitioner and advocate for natural meds and diet choices, I wasnāt so eager to get on western prescription medications, howeverā¦until there was no longer a choice. Admittedly, they serve their purpose. I now make clear decisions, not emotional ones. My walls no longer have gaping fist holes covered by photos and no one gets shoved into a door frame unless I wish to shove them. In other words, I have choices now, which is a first. However, I knew there would be side effects and there are. Some big ones.

First: Loss of memory, cognitive issues, lethargy, brain fog and speech problems. I just do dumb things like put the salt and pepper in the refrigerator, go into a room and forget why Iām there or dump my protein powder into my glutamine container instead of my protein shaker, even though Iām looking at both right in front of me. As for my speech, I canāt recall words. I know what Iām trying to say, the words are right there and Iām gesturing, but theyāre not coming to the surface. Itās utterly frustrating. When you earn a living doing things like live promos in the ring or having to think on your feet, it can cause serious anxiety. Every live show, I go through a mini panic attack and pray Iāll be able to remember my spots. I feel like a once sharp knife whose blade has gone dull. In āHomelandā, Carrie stopped taking her meds because she felt she missed the attack due to her senses becoming sluggish. I can relate.
Second: Numbness, vertigo, back and joint pain, migraines so bad I vomit and now have to take ANOTHER medication just to prevent them.
Third: The meds are expensive. I mean, EXPENSIVE. And while they work, they donāt work quite right.

Fourth: Iāve lost the passion for things I love. For me, this is the biggest issue. I could tolerate the others, but this one is killing me. I used to read a book a week. Now I can barely concentrate on one and I struggle through it for four or five weeks. I love music – and forget to play it. Iāve always enjoyed photo shoots to the point of scouring online portfolios for new photographers, finding ones with talent and being willing to shoot for trade to get them started just so I can try something creative. I havenāt done that in ages and almost cringe at the thought of shooting. It mostly feels like work.

Yoga. Crossfit. Spanish classes. Going to the pool. Driving to the beach. These things all feel like work now. Documentaries and movies have always been my escape. I no longer have the attention span to finish them half the time because the drug mix has caused a form of ADD that is driving me insane. More insane than my normal insane, anyway. Iāve tried to offset it with natural supplements like magnesium and GABA. Itās lessened, but not by much. Iāve always been creativeā¦and now Iām not. This is bothering me beyond words.
The only things I still enjoy is spending time with my pets, writing, TV series I can get absorbed into and learning. Iāve always enjoyed learning something new every day and still spend time researching anything that interests me. But I feel like a shell of my former self. And I donāt like it.
For someone whose motto is āYou only live once ā and life is meant to be LIVEDā, this is really fucking hard to deal with. Watching my Gram and Mom die slowly and losing my dad in a plane crash has all changed me dramatically. If Iāve learned nothing else, I know that we can die at any moment and no one wishes theyād worked more in life when on their death bed.





In that last year, my mother went from a boring caterpillar afraid to go anywhere to a butterfly who couldnāt spread her wings wide enough. She lived more with cancer than she did in her entire life while healthy. I pushed her into that, not giving her a choice. Tired or not, we got on boats, drove into the city and went to museums, took pictures, visited friends, got on roller coasters, took horse and carriage rides, went on a whale watch and stayed at a B&B in Cape May.
Iāve always lived like this and feeling like a caterpillar fifty percent the time just isnāt me.
I donāt have much of a choice either. Live out of control like a hurricane – or live in a fog as half the person I once was. Those are my options. Itās the reality of being bipolar.

Not one to just accept things, Iām trying to find another way to both stay balanced but feel better. Iād like to back down the dosage of Lamictal a bit, but Iāve heard itās very dangerous and causes all kinds of neurological issues if you donāt do it in tiny increments. Screwing it up can bring on full rage, seizures, sleep disruptions and constant vomiting. Who has time for this? Iām self employed and have to work. But again, what are my options? So, I guess Iāll do site updates ahead, find a couple of weeks between travel dates and lock myself in my house to do this chemical experiment and hope for the best.
If youāre bipolar enough, you can qualify for disability, because many canāt hold a job. For me, I canāt work for anyone else. I need to be self employed. Thatās why I still do what I do. It allows me freedom. The issue now is NOT being able to. How can you write if you canāt remember? How do you work if you canāt concentrate? How do you create if you donāt feel creative?
So my quest is to find enthusiasm for life and function again while staying balanced, even if I have to endure seizures and puking to do it.

The Realityā¦
Take a plate and throw it on the floor.Ā It shatters into little pieces.Ā So you tell the pieces youāre sorry.Ā You might feel better, but the plate is still broken. Even if you manage to glue it all back together, it cannot be unbroken; ever.Ā This is what my relationships have always been. I cannot figure out how to stop breaking the goddamn plates.

My psychologist has advised (or prescribed) living alone for a while. I guess I really AM fucking off after Mom died. So thatās another thing Iām going through as well. Eight years of marriage (and the part-time loss of one dog) will be on hold with a trial separation.
I have no family left and Jordan has none in this country. The stress and costs of getting two places and buying double of everything from furniture, car insurance and dog food has been absolutely brutal. He got the Christmas Story leg lamp. I kept the Achmed-The-Terrorist bobble-head.
Our moving weekend was the same as the Shine Wrestling, and this is why I missed the pay per view. We were just overwhelmed with cleaning, packing, IKEA trips, setting up two different places, hiring movers – and then trying to factor in traveling and shows? Something had to go. Luckily, my boss at Shine is a good friend and an understanding person who has been aware of everything for a while.
I decided to finally buy a house and found a very small place in a cute neighborhood with a fenced in yard for Bella. Iāve been keeping busy with planting things and fixing it up. Itās my first house. Admittedly, itās comforting to know where Iāll be living next year. This is something Iāve never been sure of, having grown up military and been a nomad my entire life.
Much of the house was in need of updating and the outside was completely neglected. Iāve become obsessed with fixing up the yard since I hope that will be where I can spend some serious time. Huge, thorny bushes running rampant, dead grass, a half-collapsed fence, a deck thatās seen better days, overgrown trees. But it has potential, and I’ve always really wanted an “outdoor room” kind of space; a retreat. Overhauling a yard is very expensive, Iāve found out. Shockingly expensive. Iām spending my paychecks at Lowes. But itās keeping me busy and the improvements are incredibly cheering.

Moving. Med adjustments. Separation. Trying to hold down some kind of work. Finally realizing that both my Mom & Gram passed away last year (they died within 6 months of each other) because I have no one to talk to about any of this who understands the whole story; what itās like to live with meā¦itās been challenging. To say Iām shattered is an understatement. I feel alone and lonely. They are different. One I enjoy. The other, not so much.
And Iām tired. Very tired. Iām tired of everything being harder than it needs to be. Itās been years straight of taking care of Gram with dementia, Mom with cancer, fighting to get the rest of the family on the same page and failing when I wanted to help her holistically instead of just medically and the volatile home. Itās all been too much.

I barely had the energy to pack and move. I think right now, I need to hole up and do nothing, unless itās fun for a while, like comic cons or lunch with friends. Just sleep and be left alone to recuperate and find out what I love again. This is part of the reason I decided to do the blog. Itās cathartic. I really do have no one to talk to about these things, so now Iām talking to you. If youāre still reading, that is.
I hide things far too well. Iām a master at it.
Emotionally: I’m done. Mentally: I’m drained. Spiritually: I feel lost. Physically: I smile.
Crazy isnāt stupid, and I know I just need some time.
Despite feeling terribly isolated for stints, Iām just stupidly hopeful enough to look to those silver linings.
Que sera, sera.
“The world is perfect. It’s a mess. It has always been a mess. We are not going to change it. Our job is to straighten out our own lives.” – Joesph Campbell
Ā 
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COPYRIGHT APRIL HUNTER. NO PART OF THIS BLOG MAY BE USED WITHOUT WRITTEN PERMISSION.
On a final note, I want to say that Iām extremely grateful to many of my friends and fans, who have been helpful, and wonderful with my housewarming registry. Itās appreciated more than you can imagine, and I could not do all the repairs, updates AND downsizing dĆ©cor without you. Thank you to Jordan for encouraging me to start this blog last year. Other than my Mom and Gram, he is the only person in my entire life who has never abandoned me no matter how many times he may have wanted to and he’s one of the best and kindest people Iāve ever met.
Ā 


The Next Bipolar Chapter: Ā https://aprilhunterblog.com/2014/01/30/chapter-16-bipolar-for-life-alone/
Some Really Cool Stuff ā
WATCH THIS. This doctor does an online YouTube blog on how to control your “inner hulk”. His info is REALLY good. Bipolar Advantage Youtube Channel: http://www.youtube.com/channel/UCOYYpJ2lAJwcBonFRin_PyQ

Watch this amazing documentary preview: Of Two Minds – http://www.oftwomindsmovie.com/Ā
If you want to see more, it’s available on both Amazon and itunes.
A book you might want to read is āAn Unquiet Mindā by Dr Kay Redmond. Ā She is bipolar she knows firsthand what sheās talking about.

Here is a BP newsletter you can subscribe to thatās also full of info about various things relating to dealing with the disorder. http://bipolar.about.com/?nl=1
Top 10 Misconceptions about Bipolar Disorder: http://akorra.com/2012/06/04/top-10-misconceptions-about-bipolar-disorder/
Ā Hopefully these things help. I know they have for me.

Lastly, Iāve read about Nuvigil and Provigil working well as a BP drug. Itās not approved for this use, so getting insurance to pay for it would likely be a huge hassle, but if youāre up for the challenge, itās supposed to eliminate the exhaustion and make people feel alert and clear. I canāt afford it and wish I could. I understand itās around $510 a month. Even half of that would be too much with all the other prescriptions, but itās supposed to work wonders. If you can, more power to you, I hope it works. Let me know if you try it.
I think the way America is the only country that runs a For-Profit healthcare system is very sad. Too many canāt afford the medicines and therapy they need to feel better and simply function. Over half our incarcerated have mental illnesses. Access to proper medical attention and affordable meds could prevent so many problems. Sadly, we are not likely to change anything soon. Since medication for life is an issue, retiring to another country is definitely a serious consideration in the future.
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www.AprilHunter.com
Ā 
She said
Thereās a difference between
Ā
Starving
and
Staying hungry
Ā
Loving a memory
And
In loving memory
Ā
Living your dreams
And
Daydreaming
Ā
Struggles in life
And
Struggling to live
Ā
Screaming at me
And
Screaming my name
Ā
Doing time
And
Running out of time
Ā
Being damaged
And
Being broken beyond repair
Ā
Losing control
And
Being out of control
Ā
I said to her
There is a difference between
Ā
Loving that I know her
And
Knowing I love her
-By Kirk Olsen

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