Getting Unstuck

It is time to get Unstuck. I have been wallowing in my mire for some time now. No need to give you the long and perhaps boring story regarding what has happened in my life. As Les Brown, a motivational speaker  explains in this motivational video -Getting Unstuck.

It's time to get back to my dreams. I have always dreamed of being a writer. I want to write a novel and a memoir about my life. I have lost the confidence that I have the ability to write creatively and on most days I don't write on a professional basis for the clients I already have. But it is all time for that to change.

I want to share a little bit of my journey with you because it may inspire you. A few weeks ago I was watching Katy Perry's Launch Party for her new CD Prism. Music really inspires me and I absolutely love  Katy Perry's song Roar. If you would like to watch the video take a glimpse. In the song Katy sings about regaining your confidence, and during the Launch Party she explained that sometimes the bully we need to stand up against is ourselves. I understand this all too well, and I am working on finding my inner roar.

It doesn't matter that I have a kidney stone and a Lithotripsy scheduled for later this month, or that I am diagnosed with Bipolar with a antidepressant recently added to my medication regime. That I have had several infections lately. None of this matters anymore. It is time to overcome these circumstances - not physically,  but mentally.

Hello world here comes Kara.

Rolling with the Changes

I want to thank Franklin's Pharmacy for having my prescription at a deeply discounted price. I was experiencing much anxiety as I did not have any more medication and neither did I insurance to pay for my $200 medication. On our way to Walmart to purchase five days worth of medication, we stopped at Franklin's on a whim, and it was only $40.00. I had noticed the symptoms of my old friend, Bipolar, creeping up on me, insomnia, irritability, anger, and I was getting really afraid that I was beginning to tip the scales towards mania. On top of that, I had been to see my doctor and he said that I was hypomanic. I have already learned in the past to trust him. I am so thankful that I was able to get the medication I need.

Even though I have my medication, I am still watching my symptoms. Also to help me track my moods I have been using Optimism online. It can be used online, and on your IPhone, with no syncing. Check it out....https://www.optimismonline.com/login.php.

There has been a lot of changes in my life, and I have been having difficulty setting up a routine. I am currently working at home. I have a writing and editing business. I have a few clients, but I need to work to acquire more.When I am relaxing, I feel like I should be working. When  I am working, I feel like I should be playing with my daughter. Also when I am working or relaxing I feel like I should be cooking, cleaning, doing laundry, or playing with my daughter. I am fighting the voice of failure.

The fact of the matter I can write and edit very well, and I know there are companies or clients that need assistance with writing and editing and I don't know how to find them, yet.

On a good note, something peculiar happened to me. I was in the basement one evening waiting for the washing machine to finish. I pulled out a box full of old letters and cards, and I found so many from my mother. I have not written much about my mother because I was very conflicted about our relationship. Especially, after I had my own daughter 11 years ago, and realized how flawed I am. Or should I say that every mother makes mistakes. Furthermore, that my daughter was going to put my actions and mistakes under a microscope, just as I had done my mother's actions. As I read the cards and letter, I just melted. In those cards and letters she told me how much she loved me and how wonderful, special, and talented I am. So I wrote her an email, and we have been communicating on a regular basis.

I have to admit that I am very isolated. I have no car. I have not invited friends over even though I have intended to do so. Very rarely do I call friends or family, and hardly anybody calls me. They probably think I don't want to talk to them. Since I am no longer in Taekwondo, I don't see all my friends from there. I sit in this house, day after day, waiting for my husband to come home. I think about the things I could do outside the house, but when I think about walking downtown, I just forget the idea. But living like I live is not cutting it. But what do I change and what do I change first because with Bipolar all changes should be done in moderation?

Where is my Resurrection?

Dear World,

Today has been a hard day. No cross that out. It has been a hard year. It's spring the sun has been shining. The birds have been singing. Easter has passed, and I have found no Resurrection. Let me just cut to the chase. Bipolar is to blame. I was diagnosed in 2005, and have led a fairly healthy life, and held a good paying full time job after graduating with honors in 2008.

Things just kinda started falling apart last spring. Was it the stressful job, the demanding boss, or the occasional forgetfulness with my medication? And when things began to fall apart, I requested accommodations for my disability. I took some time off work and my doctor added a medication to deter a visit to the psychiatric ward.

When I returned to work, I was greeted with a poor evaluation. With the evaluation was a performance plan, and if the performance markers were not met it could lead to termination. I was devastated. I had poured my heart and soul into that job. I was so hurt.

 I left work early and became so broken up I got a migraine. I had an hour drive home and had made an appointment  to see my counselor. I had convinced myself I was going to quit. My counselor appointment  was spent discussing this option between my sobs, and my exit to the bathroom where I vomited in the sink. I had come to the determination that I would stay and fight for my job, prove them wrong. I was hard at work for several weeks, when a simple car accident literally changed my life. I had no insurance on that car; therefore, no way to fix it. The job I fought so hard for, I had to resign from.

All this leads me to where I am today working midnights, still without a car, and now without a license, and feeling very depressed.I am a  tree whose leaves have withered and died. Spring has come the other trees have bloomed while my limbs are barren.

I have no motivation to write this but I wanted to participate in blogging for mental health. I would like to consider myself a stigma buster and a mental health advocate just because I speak out in this blog.

The reason I do speak out is I want us, those with a mental illness, to know you are not alone and you do not have to suffer in silence. I want to inspire others to speak out because stigma can be erased one story at a time. Most importantly I hope my writing encourages those who are suffering to get help.

I am  in flux, and I know my future is bright, and I know I will feel better. I plan to call the doctor soon...very soon.

Please join me on my journey and visit me again soon.

All my Chances Are Over...Thanks to Death

Daddy, Gary, heck I don't know what to call you. I don't even know who you are. I want to search for you on Facebook and try to reconnect, but reconnect to what?

 You were always like a brick wall, never giving anything back.  So rigid, so unloving, I don't understand how my sister got the other side of you, the side with smiles and a relationship. I don't know what I did wrong, if anything.

 I don't know how long I would search for you-maybe until I could erase the image of you lying in the coffin, or until the past was erased, but  the past can not be erased or changed. What's done is done. I can see the stark image of you lying in the coffin, and I know all my tries are over.

What I have left are scraps of memories, your obituary, and 2 Polaroids that somehow get plastered to the fridge, no matter how many times I take them down. In one of them I am kissing your cheek and your just beaming. You would have thought it was a beginning of a beautiful relationship, but I just couldn't let go of the past. That kiss, that moment, that high transformed into a dark valley, and that picture may be the only proof I have that you loved me.

I remember we were sitting at the bar at Applebees. You wanted to learn about my life, my husband, and my baby. All I could think is how ironic it was we were sitting at a bar, while all I could think of was transforming into a little girl, so I could finally sit on your lap and cuddle with you. I just couldn't let go of the past, and I asked you if you loved me. It may have been the millionth time you mentioned that the past is the past and it was just a soap opera. You abruptly paid the bartender and told me you were driving home to Buffalo tonight.

I begged you to stay. I promised I would be good. Promised I would tell you about my life, but you told me it was too late. I am so angry how could you leave? You were driving me back home and I just screamed, "I just want to know if you love me?" And you screamed back, "Of course, I love you." You said it like it was a given in a geometry equation. I sobbed all the way home, and I sobbed as you left. I begged you to stay. You left me crying on the doorstep. I stood there and watched you leave.

Did you drive all the way through to Buffalo? Did you get a hotel? Did you cry too? These things I can never ask you.

We didn't talk for years. When my sister got married, I called you and asked you if we could spend some time together alone. Your response was, "Haven't we tried that already?" When you became ill, you began calling me. I didn't know you were sick. It was my mom who mentioned to me that when people think they are dying they try to reconnect. I was so ecstatic to talk to you. I was going to invite you to my college graduation, but instead I had to settle for your class ring around my neck.

Did you know I missed the first few days of my last semester to be at your funeral? I would have rather made the trip to tell you goodbye, to tell you I loved you, and to hear the words," I love you, Kara."  You knew you were dying, even a phone call would have sufficed, but you just gave up and died.

If we really want to face the truth, you were ill, incapable of showing emotion, incapable of showing love. You were crippled by depression. You were punishing yourself, slowly killing yourself for letting us be given away, for allowing another man to give us his name. You have been killing yourself with drugs and alcohol for years, and that is the one thing that you succeeded with.

You just gave up. You stopped drawing or making anything artistic. You just sat on your leather couch with your cat and drank yourself to death. Good job Daddy, you did it. I wish you would have fought, if not for me, for yourself. No Daddy you didn't fight, you became entangled with your emotions. You let them strangle you, and you tried to drown them. You just laid down and fucken died.

Now I can search out my family tree, and see that beast, and I see it devoured you, and I vow it will not devour me. No matter how many times my emotions cripple me, I realize over and over again that even if I do not want to live my life for me. I have a child who needs me and loves me, and the time to break the cycle is now.

I have to be present and accessible for her. I have to take my medication to keep the beast at bay. I have to seek out help when I need it. I have to connect with her, and others. She needs me and I am not going to stamp her with my rejection.I need to show her how to live, especially if the beast comes and visits her.

Not only that I have to live for me. I need to be more than a shell that eats and sleeps. I am not going to give up and slowly die, slowly commit suicide because I am too much of a coward to end it quickly. No Daddy; I am going to fight.

Fighting to be Sane

The beast  is swirling and rising, trying to devour me, again, but I fight back. I have too much to live for, too much to fight for to let him win. As I sit on my bed sobbing, I feel so lost and utterly alone. I sob uncontrollably and loudly, I know I am losing control.

The beast is bipolar. Most days there are slight reminders of my disability, while other days the beast wrangles me to the floor, and I wrestle to break free.

It is Easter and my stepson dropped by to get some lasagna, while I thought he was staying for dinner, yet another miss-communication. He wanted to discuss his plans for the future, and one of his plans included living in my home. I just told him he couldn't live here.

We fought. He yelled. I screamed and sobbed. The argument ended with him sitting in the dining room ignoring my sobs. Shortly thereafter, he left.  My husband gave him a ride. I kept on crying. I was still crying when my husband returned home. I was hoping for someone to help me reason through my thoughts and emotions, someone sane, but my husband was too busy eating his lasagna and pretending nothing was wrong, his usual M.O. I really really need him.

I run upstairs and slam the bedroom door repeatedly. Then I run downstairs and scream at my husband. I declare my spiteful regret for ever loving and taking care of his hateful son, and I tell him that I feel like dying. I pick up my phone and scream that I am going to call a hotline, and talk to someone who cares. Someone who can help.


I hate, hate, hate myself;  I can do nothing right.  I want to die, and if I wasn't a coward I would do more than just have the extreme need to die.There are just some things that just rock my core. I have heard many call them triggers. I was literally brought to my knees by a visit by my 19-year-old stepson. Someone I dearly love. Yes, I have to look back at photographs of his youth to dissolve the anger and bitterness to see and open the love I have for him, but it is still there hidden.

I am so angry. I love him! I have loved him, and as he was growing up, I did my very best to be a mother for him. Maybe that is what the problem was, but I am not going to argue the dynamics of what a relationship between a stepmother and a stepchild should be. It is just so difficult loving someone as your own, and it isn't reciprocated.


I don't know maybe you have felt like everybody hates you, and nobody understands. But this pain was multiplied. My stepson has just told me the most dreadful words that I never wanted to hear. "But Kara, she's my mother." And it just wan't just the words, it was the tone.  What I really want to know is what am I? Did I imagine all those years I took care of him?

It's time someone finally spoke the truth, and it appears that only one that is going to speak up for myself is me. When his father wanted to run away, and reinvent his life, who was it that encouraged him to stay? Who explained to him the effects, pain, and heartbreak of divorce on a child? Who emphatically stated that weekends, holidays, and summers do make a difference in a child's life?

It was me. I have felt the lack of a father two times over. I was the engine in their relationship. If there wasn't a me, there wouldn't have been a them. I drove an hour each way to bring them together.

I had done this and so much more. And yes as the years wore on, and he moved in with us. I have never felt that he loved me. I have felt his anger bristling to the surface. I have felt his rejection when I asked him to eat a family dinner with my daughter and I. I have felt hurt after I pulled into the driveway and I saw his shadow ascend to the stairs so he could burrow in his bedroom. I suppose I have always wanted more, but maybe there is nothing more to attain.

Since my argument with my stepson, I vowed I would never go to his wedding, if he ever got married. I feel so displaced in his life, so much like a third wheel. Many people have taken the time to explain to me and my husband how I should have nothing to say about anything in his life. I fear going to the ceremony just sitting there. Not being invited to be part of any of the symbolic rituals because I am nothing. I am not his mother, and therefore I guess I am nothing.

I suppose that if he gets married i'll go; I am not heartless, and yes I love him. But I don't know how to take the rejection that I am sure to experience.

All I can say a week later after this experience is I am still raw, and yes I am sane. I could give you the boring details of how my husband and I finally discussed the argument, but instead I wanna know how would you react? Is any of your loved ones mentally ill? How do you handle it when things begin to fall apart?

Running with scissors...

This is a post I began after being released from the psychiatric ward late this summer. I went through a horrifying experience of my throat, tongue, and mouth swelling up. This swelling caused a 5 day hospitalization on the general ward. To relieve the swelling I was given steroids which resulted in a bout of mania, and a hospitalization in the psychiatric ward...

September 2011

Running with scissors...maybe that is what they thought we would do.

 While I was in the hospital all I could find to write with was a nub of a pencil and crayons.It amazing the freedoms we take for granted.Writing on this computer is such a privledge. Somethings we take advanatage of so much. I really wanted to take this time. To talk about these things while they are fresh. A wise social worker told me just because I was in the ward didn't mean I was no longer well that I just needed some help. I needed to slow some things done and help myself, not my daughter, me. His wisdom really shined through as I was crying. I was here for me, and there is no shame in getting help.

April 4, 2012

Hi.... readers. A lot has been going on with me the past 6 months and I am sorry I haven't been here to share it with you. A lot of things have held me back from writing, let alone blogging. Mainly I have been gripped by anger and fear of failure. I will do my best to  share my journey with you. Some posts may only be snippets. I can only offer what I have. What I have come to realize lately is that writers write.

My goal is going to write everyday - regardless if it is in my journal, on my blog or on scraps of paper - writers write and that's it. The only way I can truly fail, is to not write at all. If I am so talented, now is the time to test it. Living in this stagnation is getting old.

Please enjoy the ride.

I almost quit

It has been one of those break down days. I was gonna quit my job. I am not. Going in tomorrow. Just need to vent a little as the melatonin kicks in. amazing to go from crying to having difficulty sleeping. Good night all.

Published with Blogger-droid v1.7.2

Today was a good day

Since my last blog post. I have been experiencing very blurry vision and extreme tiredness to the point where I could not make my 1 hour drive to work and called off friday and tuesday. Also hate to mention gained 10 pounds. Afraid the symptoms were as a result in a increase to my blood sugar I visited my primary doctor and he suggested cutting my pill in half until I see my doctor tuesday. So happy I went to go see him because my symptoms disappeared. Vision normal. Not tired. I do indeed think the worst is over. Hopefully I have stabilized and no more meds will be needed.
I am so thankful. This upcoming week is very significant for me. 7/4/05 I was beginning to unravel. I still remember the days events pretty clearly. My husband made homemade pizza with my daughter we enjoyed fireworks @ packard park. But things got worse as the days continued and on 7/10/05 I went to the emergency room and I was hospitalized for 5 days.
My birthday is 7/11 but honestly a diagnosis an answer to what was wrong the best birthday present I could have ever gotten.
If I had not paid attention to the symptoms that prompted a change in meds I may have spent another birthday in the hospital. Instead I am happy, smiling on the inside, enjoying the holiday, enjoying my daughter. Enjoyed a sleepover with a bunch of awesome girls. Went to a health food store with my daughter. Made a healthy lunch. Awesome.
Just knowing I am going to be okay makes me smile. Knowing that I have a doctor that listens to me, keeps any concern at bay because he has worked with me for years keeping me well. Enabling me to graduate college (something I attempted several times before my diagnosis) with honors. Get a
job. Now helping me keep that job by keeping me well.

Our partnership will allow me too move on to the next goals in my life -black belt. And my first mini goal for that is to practice running.

Well happy fourth!

Published with Blogger-droid v1.7.2

Why be silent now

Today was my third day back @ work. Hasn't been so bad.

It turned out I went to my doctor a week earlier than planned. I had to miss a departmental meeting, but my health, my sanity is much more important than that. My doctor put me on an additional medication. I was so nervous about the adjustment period and how it would affect work. I remember how long it took to get adjusted initially. I think back to my doctor's appointment smiling, I feel so much better now, but if I would not have gone and got the help I needed
I would be really bad right now. My thinking was getting confused. I was do Angry and sometimes felt like I was in a rage. If I would have ignored the warning signs it if very likely I would have had to go to they hospital.
My doctor had me take time off the medication laid me out. I ended up sleeping the majority of the day, oh it was so hard. I felt stripped of my job, my dignity, and my sanity but I made it through. I have been doing well. Well that's all for now.

Published with Blogger-droid v1.7.2

Can't climb Everest in a Day

Today there is a mountain. It begins at the foot of my bed. I look across the horizon and the mountain peak crests within the clouds, beyond my sight of vision. Either way I look there is this huge obstacle seemingly impassable. Logically, my brain beckons me to escape into the bed and hid within my covers. It would seem logical wouldn't it? If the task in front of you seems or feels impossible, avoid it. Except, I know the consequences of avoidance via sleep. It isn't a good idea in the slightest. It will affect me, my children, and my spouse. And realistically perhaps at first glance was skewed by the sun. Maybe the mountain isn't so steep or huge. Tentatively, I step on foot onto the floor, it's flat and smooth. Now I try my second. It is flat and smooth. I pick up the tools I need, and mark a distance in the mountain that seems passable, and begin climbing to my goal. I smile and think nobody said you could climb everest in a day.

These demons are doing Jumping Jacks

My yearly self evaluation is due, Tuesday. I hate doing this. Many people with bipolar have grandiose ideas about them self, not me, typically not. I am very critical. There are so many things going on at work that I just don't think is wise to divulge here.

I can say for the first time ever I am requesting work accommodations. Something that has become necessary but I don't want to do it. my supervisor signs it and will work with me. The human resource department, hopefully only the director will sign it, along with the CEO or COO or both. That's a lot of people knowing the intimate details of my life.

You know about two years ago I pursued a denial in social security disability because everyone is denied. My lawyer reviewed my case and told me that college and working has kept me well, and if I had been at home it would be necessary to pursue my claim. I left his office feeling good, knowing he was right.

I remember being at home not working or going to school, memories I don't want to repeat.

I was told one time when I was talking to my supervisor, about what I don't remember. But she asked me if I was going to be like so and so. Someone who abuses accommodations, if she has any.

That infuriated me!!! How dare she. Have I ever been one to take advantage of anything in my years of employment. And I am concerned about any accommodations I choose, that requesting them will change perceptions probably will!

Along with that issue my child has ADD and things aren't going smoothly between us. I am concerned she may have something more than ADD, Bipolar.

If she does, that is a whole other country (Forrest Gump). Another battle with my husband fought against her diagnosis of ADd for aprox a year. Will medication be necessary, will I choose to give it to her.

I feel so much anger right now! For everything, as I am sitting there talking to the doctor requesting documentation for my accommodation, trying to explain franchessca's issues. He tells me he wants to do something different with my medication - that's like a god damn m***** f******* death sentence. When I was experiencing tremors in my hand he convinced me that I should stay on the meds I am on. There is no secret formula for what drug works. Trial and error and extreme hell!!!!! If he is concerned and wants to do something different, Houston, there's a problem.

Almost 6 years until my first hospitalization. I could sit here and try to figure out what went wrong, what I did wrong, etc!!!! Buit it will do no good when it comes to struggling with this difficult time.

Changing my meds may lead to a lot of things and the absolute worst is what happened last time - zombie city. Slept tons, the sun hurt my eyes, blurry vision, I couldn't read, couldn't stay awake. Thank goodness that happened during the summer, and I was miraculously able to return to school, but I work now, and there is no summer vacation. I support my family, and if. If my PTO runs out and I am on FMLA it's unpaid. That is the worst scenario staring at it in the face, while it is terrifying and an extreme stress builder just needs to be recognized. Because while what I mentioned isn't fun, it ain't the end of the world, and damn it I will be okay. My appointment is not till june 14. I have to find a way to cope between now and then and relieve stress.

I got to get up and live my life and not let these fears hoLd me back from life. It is a holiday weekend. I am seeing family today going to a baby shower. I got two children here- one grown to spend my weekend with. I am going to make it a good one, exercise this bipolar demons. I am sick of their m***** f****** manic jumping jacks. They need to chariat and sit the f down, or better yet die!

Who's Super Woman - It Ain't Me

Feeling fizzled out. It's my lunch break now. I delayed taking a lunch break at noon my regular time, and soon it became too late to go out and get something to eat.Contributing to the fizzlement I am in.

I am frustrated about a circumstance at work. Let me tell you I am strarting to realize I generally get frustrated when I am not perfect. I want to do everything right. So not possible.

For the past couple of years I have been reading Seven Habits of Highly Effective People, off and on, and I just couldn't come up with a mission statement. I was able to list all of my goals, but a goal is not a mission statement. A mission statement is an anchor that steers you on a course to reach you goals. Finally I do have a mission statment- Progress Not Perfection.

I still want to be perfect.

Perfect Mother

Perfect Wife

Perfect Employee

Perfect Volunteer

Perfect Martial Artist

Not only that, I want to do everything perfect. Can't be done, but I still want to do it.

Right now and the rest of my work day, I am going to try and focus on my accomplishments. My laziness and stubborness cries out, oh don't do that, and if I listen, I know I won't feel any better.

Please humor me while I complete this task:

Career Woman

Mother of 10 year old, and soon to be 19 year old

Married for 17+ years

Orange Master in Tae Kwon Do, will test for Black Belt in 2012

Writer

Good Friend

Resourceful

Well Lunch is over and work beckons, and looking at my list I feel better

I Am Not Afraid...

I Am Not Afraid  by Eminem is my anthem. It is one song among many that gives me inspiration.

I am not afraid, or am I? But I am. I am truly afraid of failure.

Talking about Eminem I respect him, and his honesty. Everyday I question my decision on being so open about my life on this blog, and posting almost every entry for my Facebook friends to see. Then I think about Eminem and how public he is about his life and what rocks him to his very core. While I am sure it has gotten him flack for being so honest about his drug addiction, and many other things in life. If he can do it, why can't I?

One thing music does is inspire, and inspiration comes from music, books, movies, life. Eminem's honesty has inspired me to look at my life, and be not afraid. If he can conquer something like conquer a drug and alcohol condition, why can't I accomplish my goals.

Last year on my commute from work every time Eminem's song came on the radio I cranked it. I decided I wouldn't be afraid.

Not afraid to:

• Eat a healthy diet
• Lose 100 lbs
• Become a Black Belt
• Pursue my dreams

Writing this blog is pursuing my dreams. I am writer, and dammit writers need to write. Writing is cathartic it frees me,and sometimes provides perfect clarity. Writing help me sorts my thoughts. This is just one step towards my dream of writing and publishing my work.

 My point is ..... I am afraid.

 I need freedom, freedom to be me. Freedom to say what I need to say without apology.

I began this blog on the premise of no holding back. This is the Real Me.

You have no idea how many times  I have had those bipolar moments, and sometimes my first impulse is take something large and ram it into a tree, and the first thing that comes to mind is my car. Not because I am suicidal, but because I am sooo angry at the situation, whatever it is. Of course this choice isn't logical and hitting my spouse, boss, or child would just result in worse problems than what I have already.  I try to find another solution. Of course, I could resort to my old tactics of throwing items, but items break and I would have to clean them up, and I HATE to clean. 

So my first logical move is to explode on my Facebook status, but who really cares about that crap. While I still use facebook to vent a little I have decided I to use this forum. I do not have to tread lightly.

Remember I warned you if you don't want honesty and my straightforward real thoughts, whatever it may be that day. Don't read on. If you are offended it is your own fault.

So what am I really worried about, read on and I will tell you....

A very successful teacher marketing teacher telling me not to tell my boss about my disability. Only share this information if I came close to getting fired.

My husband telling me, even if my boss would wanted to fire me, they wouldn't because of my disability, and a chance of a lawsuit.

I am worried of one day losing my job, and my prospective employer doing a thorough job of researching me and finding this blog, and not hiring me, only because I have bipolar. And they would only know because I shared it willingly on this blog. My own undoing.

I want to be hired and fired because of my potential and level of ability not my disability and the potential for a lawsuit.

I am terrified of being considered a plague, that no one wants to employ. That is a hefty concern and perhaps a valid concern, but then I think of the following.

After being hired in with at internship, I shared my disability with my supervisors. I was welcomed with open arms and it was one of the best experiences I have ever had in my life.I was even asked to write a letter to the Mental Health Board, and I did.

I think about Bipolar Magazine. It's revealing stories about famous people with the disorder such as Carrie Fisher, and prime minister's wife, and why did they decide to share their story..... to help someone else... so someone else does not have to suffer in silence.

This is why  I do this,  first to help me, and second to show what bipolar is, educate,  and remove the stigma from mental illness.

I will reap whatever my honesty has sowed, and hopefully it will be the intent to help others, not hurt my relationships, or career.

So I make a solemn vow to notice the affects my honesty can have on my career, but not concentrate on it. Focus on being me and writing what comes to mind. Sharing from my  heart, and hopefully someone else, someone  going through a rough time, who doesn't think the bad times will ever end, will know it is going to be okay.

I want them, you to know, even tho you feel so alone, you  aren't.

 Even tho you feel like absolutely no one can understand what you are going through,  I do, I know. I struggle too.
And after every hard day, the sun always rises the next day. Bad times while they often last longer then a day, end, and the sun rises on the other side. There is always hope for another day, a brighter day.

I am not afraid.

Bipolar Ugliness

I am just so frustrated with myself right now....

After a fight with my daughter, I was reading the bipolar magazine online.  A story about bipolar in your family tree. You know thinking about in my family, thinking about who may have it, who has been diagnosed, if my daughter will ever be diagnosed.

And I am so irked with myself. I am trying so hard to be a good mom. To make sure my daughter does her homework.

Well see today just not a regular day. Today is one of the few days in the month when I can turn into Roseanne. If you ever watched the show, you will instantly know what I mean.

Today is one of those days that I hate. A day when I realize my disability, and I wish so much I wasn't like this.

I skipped my regular routine today. Halfway home from work, I convinced myself that I didn't feel well enough for kick boxing. I was excited at the fact that Franchessca and I could go home, and have some extra time alone. She would have time to complete her homework, and I could begin on my mounting to do list.

None of that happened. I been to feel  powerless when looking at all the homework my daughter was to complete. Some of it that should have actually already been started since she is not to take the second martial art class.

She has a project due Wednesday. Another project due next Monday. Two pages of math, Sentence Completion, and spelling words three times each.One top of that in her homework folder are unfinished papers, and homework that was to be turned in last Friday. My daughters getting lippy. I am saying I statements, but I am also getting increasingly angry. I threaten her with bed. I threaten her with a phone call with to her father. But I feel all so alone. My negative voice telling me her won't help me anyway.

I go into the kitchen to throw her old papers away. She follows me and  takes the papers out, and out them back into the trash. She takes them back out. It happens again and again, and I slap her.

Of course she isn't injured. I didn't make a mark. But you and I both know full well that words sometimes injure more than a slap. It was just when my hand hit her face. I realized I was out of control.

It has been an hour, and I just don't feel any better. The tears are still fresh on my face, and I feel like no one can help me. I wonder if I should take the three pills my doctor recommended.

He told me I was hypo-manic

"What will happen if I don't, " I asked.
Dr. Maiden responded, "People won't want to be around you. You could become depressed. You could become maniac, and develop risky behaviors"

Ah shucks.... I didn't care. I have never been promiscuous. Never spent money too unwisely ( but never really had any money in the first place), never done drugs, and I don't think I have ever been drunk."

Is this behavior, these thoughts, these tears, are the blows to my daughter's self-esteem, and mine a result of my noncompliance?

I don't know, but tonight I am taking three. I don't want to be like this, and I don't want to feel like this. Days like this I feel cursed for having Bipolar.

Mother's Day

My family just gave me their Mother's Day present. So Sweet

KJFallucco: PR and Marketing & My Writng Goals

I have a gift.... I am not being vain, or boastful, but one should know their talents, and I know I am a good writer. Essentially since I was in Junior High I wanted to write a book, and in High School I did begin to write a book.

Life went on, and I never did that much with it. And honestly I am afraid of rejection. But I am beginning to get over this fear. I want to write a mystery or a crime mystery, or a story like Wally Lamb has written ( all his books have made me cry in a good way, and left me thinking months and years later).

I want to write a memoir. I have had an interesting life, I would like to write just about my grandmother. I have just gotten to know her. I am learning about my father's side of my family, after he has died, and learning about so many things.

But my main goal right now is to begin my business. I even have a name
KJFallucco: PR & Marketing
I really really need to work on a Business Plan, it is the only thing holding me back. But for some reason I just haven't done.

After driving 2 hours to work, Tae Kwon Do, homeowrk, etc. I just don't wanna do it. I just have to find a way.  I need to generate more income, and I am sitting on a goldmine, me.

I just have to find a way to do it.

That's why I created my own  mission statement: Finally it took me two years
Progress Not Perfection

The Demon

Please enjoy this essay I wrote years ago.

The Demon

It is the end of the semester. I have been hanging on by a thread.  Several times I have contemplated how simple everyone’s life would be without me.  Every moment that passes is another chance that my emotions can be swirled and remixed from being sane, to deeply disturbed.  I am a swirled yogurt of cherry and vanilla.  The red sweet cherry symbolizing the pain swirled in with the regular plain part of me.  There has been a demon inside of me since childhood, a silent demon that has quietly preyed on my soul and sapped the life out of me.   Maybe it would be better to call it a virus or a thief because it has stolen countless years of my life.  Its personality is sneaky, hidden.

The realization of its existence began last spring when my doctor prescribed two small green pills. I trusted her; I drove home from the doctor’s office questioning my sanity, but I filled the prescription.  I went home and sat at the kitchen table, I read the medication information, and I took the first two pills.  The demon, the virus, the thief still wasn’t fully identified to me.  I wouldn’t unmask it for another twelve more months.

Even though the medication helps, it is a daily battle between getting out of bed, bathing, dressing, and leaving the house.  It would be easy to curl into a ball and entangle myself in my blankets, and sob myself to sleep, only to wake up groggy, desiring sweet sleep again.

At one of my check-ups my doctor asks me, “Are you depressed?”  I answered, “No. I am just angry, tired, impatient, and bored.”  Regardless, she referred me to a counselor. I began seeing, Marc Witte. At the time I didn’t think I was depressed. My husband and I were having extreme financial difficulties.  I thought it was just a rough patch, nothing more than just situational stress that would pass when the circumstances changed. I later realize that the demon, the thief, the virus’s name is depression.

According to McMan’s Depression and Bipolar Web‘s site.  Depression affects 19 million people. “Depression is a mood disorder characterized by a range of symptoms that may include feeling depressed most of the time, loss of pleasure, feeling of worthlessness, suicidal thoughts, as well as physical states that may affect eating and sleeping and other activities.”

According to the American Psychological Association’s Diagnostic and Statistical Manual there are nine symptoms of major depression; five or more symptoms must be present over the same two-week period.

 Major depression must include including one of the following two symptoms

ü      Feeling depressed most of the day, nearly every day

ü      Markedly diminished pleasure

Other Symptoms of Depression

ü      Significant weight gain or loss

ü      Insomnia or hypersomnia

ü      Psychomotor agitation or retardation

ü      Fatigue or loss of energy

ü      Feelings of worthlessness or inappropriate guilt

ü      Diminished ability to think or concentrate

ü      Recurrent thoughts of death, suicidal thinking, suicide attempts

 In fact I was depressed, and seeing Marc helped me realize this. I went to counsdeling for over six months, and soon I felt better, that was two years ago. This semester I am an honor student. I have two honor classes.  Two honor classes too many. The semester begins shakily. A few days before the semester begins; my husband starts a new job.  After a few days, he wants to quit.  He could make $100,000 a year if he just applied himself.

I feel anxious and I wonder how we will survive financially. My anxiety steam rolls out of control.  It’s happening again, I’m in speech class, I hear the students laughing, and I know they are laughing at me. I’m fat, ugly, and awkward.  My hair is wild, and my backpack is large. I can see outside of myself and hear people’s thoughts, thoughts that seep through their body language. I hate how they strangely glance at me. I feel awkward, awkward like a teenager.  . 

Where did my thick skin go? Last semester I felt wonderful. I had a 3.8 GPA.   I knew I could do anything my heart desired.  I visited my old counselor; I told him my doctor gave me Prozac, and I felt wonderful.  He said, “It isn’t the medication. It’s you, the medication helps, but you are applying what I taught you.”  I didn’t believe him, but now I believe him. 

When I was in the bathroom at school, I realized I was battling depression again.  I couldn’t stop crying. My advisor told me I should go home and rest.   I did.  I considered quitting school, but I have quit so many things in my life.  I refused.

Last semester I was doing so well, because I was applying the things Marc taught me, like the glass is half full instead of half empty.  I stopped sorting through my emotions, and I shoved them deep within a hollow part of my soul. Only to vomit them out at an inconvenient time, a time when I need to be sane, together, and getting good grades.

 I am so stressed out.  Marc told me that some people have a predisposition to depression and they never get to the point where they have “a significant amount of stress to trigger depression.” With others stress kicks off depression.   They “learn unhealthy thoughts,” or they learn inappropriate ways to handle stress, and they “move away from happiness.”

Marc was talking about me; stress allowed my depression to break through, but going to counseling taught me many coping mechanisms. At one time, I was an emotional jellyfish.  I thought my emotions controlled me.  I learned that no one makes me feel anything. I choose to be happy, sad, or angry.  At the time I didn’t understand.  How could I choose to feel happy, sad, or angry?  Doesn’t it happen automatically?

Sigmund Freud believed that our emotions governed or controlled our thoughts; but Marc believes that it is our thoughts that control our emotions. If we think healthy thoughts, we will have healthy emotions.  He taught me how to slow down my emotional reaction with ABCDE, a concept taught by Albert Ellis.

• Antecedent
• Belief
• Consequence
• Dispute
• Evaluate

                     ABCDE helps me to sort out my thoughts. When I am feeling overwhelmed, I take time to think about the situation.  What led up to these feelings (antecedent)?  What is my belief about the situation?

In counseling I learned an irrational belief such as no one emailed me today, so no one loves me, can cause the consequence, or feeling to be pessimistic. If I am feeling overwhelmed, I should reexamine (or dispute) my belief.  Is there is a healthier belief that will reframe my emotions? If so the last step is to evaluate my emotions, and clearly establish a new belief.

Now I know depression lived inside of me for a long time, plaguing me. I didn’t even know of its existence in me.  I don’t know when it began. Did it begin when I was two and my parents divorced?  Was it a few months later when my father allowed another man to adopt me (My name changed from Kara Joy Perkins to Kara Joy Emplit.)?   Did it begin in third grade, during my mother’s second divorce?  Was it when we discovered my brother’s brain cancer, or did it happen a year later when he was hit by a car? Did it begin when my forty-year-old father married and eighteen-year-old, or was it when I waved goodbye to my father and his new family as they left for Florida? Did it begin as a teenager when I realized I was utterly alone, and wrote my first poem – a suicide poem?

It could have been any of these circumstances, but I think it was the day my father (my mother’s second husband) told me they were getting a divorce.  I was in the basement; my father’s part of the house.  We were watching Knight Rider.  I can see my father’s beautiful face, his perfectly groomed mustache and beard, and his shiny black hair.  He is leaning towards me as he talks.  I understand what he is saying, but all I can see is an image of a heart being jaggedly cut into two.  It is my heart, and it was being split between my mother and my father.

The months following weren’t much easier.  My father moved us to Florida; my four siblings and I moved into my grandparent’s trailer.  My father wouldn’t allow us to talk to our mother. We were there for several months; without seeing or speaking to her.  I remember taking the bus to school, fighting back tears. One time I sobbed loudly and without restraint in front of the children in my class.

One humid night my mother and her boyfriend drove from Ohio to get us.  Since that humid night a black cloud surrounded the years that followed, a black cloud that hovered and followed me.  My body worked without me, walking, talking, eating, sleeping; was all done on its own.  I just existed within its shell.

I remember being a high school student, during lunch I would sit with my head down.  My only escape was writing about the circumstances surrounding me. My senior year in high school, I took the SAT.  I didn’t read the questions; I just filled in bubbles. Because of my poor SAT scores, my freshmen year at Kent State University, I had to take college prep classes in college.  In college, I lived with four roommates on campus. We didn’t get along. My sophomore year I lived in a single dorm room.  It wasn’t a good choice. I ended up being invisible.  I didn’t even know my next door neighbors name.  I couldn’t wake up for my classes, and I was terribly tired and irritable.

 That was thirteen years ago. Now, I am sitting in the boardroom that Marc and I sat in during counseling.  My daughter is playing with her toys. Marc and I are talking about the faulty core beliefs you have when you are depressed.

During my visit, Marc told me that if you are feeling depressed “you should try the least restrictive approach first,” which is counseling, or therapy.  He said that counseling is not a long-term thing.  He usually sees clients for a short period until they are able to “see their therapist in them.”  They don’t have to travel to him, they can just look inside.

If after counseling you are still feeling depressed, you should consider medication. “Medication makes the brain normal but it doesn’t ensure happiness.”

 And if after counseling you need a “booster shot” its ok to see your counselor and take a refresher course.

I tell him I found my core faulty belief, it was that I was not worthy of anyone’s love. My father, Gary rejected me, so I thought there was something wrong with me. Now I realize that my father never took the chance to get to know me, how could I have been the cause of him abandoning me? If my father doesn’t want me, a wonderful woman, as his daughter, it is his loss.

Since that conversation with Marc, I have found more faulty core beliefs. Daily I fight these beliefs.  Beliefs that I shouldn’t bother asking for help because I don’t deserve it.  I am worth nothing, so I should suffer alone.  Everyone’s life would be much simpler, if I didn’t exist. I am a failure, because I have failed at everything I have tried, and I will continue to fail.  So I should stop trying, and just quit.  I feel like my existence is futile and unnecessary. I am just a nuisance to everyone I encounter. 

These thoughts are a constant daily battle.  Deep down, I know that I am loved.  I have a wonderful husband, beautiful children, and sincere friends.  I am not a failure. After tomorrow, this semester will be finished, and I didn’t quit.  True, I still have some unfinished coursework, but I didn’t quit. I have to realize that it is truly amazing that I am even a college student, let alone an honor student, getting A’s and B’s.

 My existence isn’t futile. There will be people who dislike me and think I am nuisance, but their opinion does not govern who I am. My opinion governs who I am. If I choose to see the cup as half empty, it will be half empty.

My life is full of people who love me. When I think about how easy it would be to disappear, not just from my home and marriage, or from college; but how easy it would be to disappear from life. I think about my daughter. Every time I look at her, I know that she loves me, she wants me, and she needs me.  Where would she be if I cease.

Thank you Franchessca for getting me through those hard times (April 16, 2011)

Marc Witte: An Unsung Hero, It's National Mental Health Counselor Month

Well, who is Marc Witte?

An awesome mental health professional

I could say tons and tons and tons about Marc and how awesome he is, but I know exactly how he would reply if I was to give him accolades. He would turn it around to me. You see wellness is a choice. You can choose to be whatever you want to be, and I am talking about emotions too. Absolutely no one has control of your body, not even your mind.

What I just said, he taught me. I was born an emotional jellyfish. Always, always, always crying, and I thought there was no hope for me no purpose, why bother being positive like my mother begged me. Nothing is positive, nothing is good everything sucks. There is absolutely no way I keep from feeling the way I feel, and he hurt my feelings, or she made me mad.

So glad to have empowerment.

A Precious Gem he taught me:
Medication, while sometimes necessary, does not make you well. You determine your own wellness. It is like an equation 60% percent you a practicing good mental health, 40% medication. What he truly felt was that it was 80% me, 20% medication, but I always opted for giving my medicine more credit.

But you know what, he's right. I wouldn't be doing so well if it wasn't for me working at it. Sure I can take my nightly medication and quietly chant to myself work, work, work. Lay down for the night, and not get up in the morning, and when I get up stay in my pajamas. And if I get out of my pajamas don't take a shower.

Or get up lay on the couch all day, watch tv or sit on the computer all day, eat nothing but junk, ignore my daughter, refuse to help her with her homework.

But no I am out of bed most days at 5:30 am draaaaggggging! Some days don't wanna move. My mind and my body will itself back to bed. But if you didn't already know, I am a fighter. I may get knocked down, but I will get up, and I will not quit. I get in that car, drive one hour to work, and some days I still feel like shit, but I work anyway.

The majority of my days are good, but when I have a hard day. I have a HARD day!

You think I am talking about myself, nah, if it wasn't for walking into his office July 11, about seven years ago. I don't know where I would be today. I have an idea. I wouldn't have finished college. I would be sitting in my home with my daughter, cleaning the fricken house all day. (Sorry she was a toddler then and it was just me and her all day. Props to all the Stay At Home Moms. It is the hardest job one could ever expect to do. )

I wouldn't have a job, not even a minimum wage one. I convinced myself after being fired twice that I was not fit keep a job, and I was destined for failure.

See it's people like Marc that keep the world going round. Keeps my world going round.

I love him, and when I hear him talk about his children and grandchildren. I wish he could adopt me. You can say all kinds of negative things, like you have to pay someone to love you and care about you. No not exactly, I had to pay someone to teach me to love me. And that is worth all the money in the world. You can't say nothing worse than anything I have  ever said to myself.

There are times this year. I have left his office balling. And I want to stay so bad, but when my time is up, it's up. Times like when I leave crying, and he wonders if he even helped me at all. I promise you he has. it is all about choices. My choice to take that last tissue and compose myself. When I need to cry cry. Give my pain a little hug, recognize the difficulty I am going though, but let that pain go. Let that problem go.

Have you ever observed storm clouds churning into a storm? The clouds build and mix and build into an angry mass of rage and turmoil. That was me. Revisiting something over and over again, mixing it up, churning it together, building myself into a ball of rage, pain, and turmoil.

But I don't have to live this way...... Nope.... I know how to settle my storm because Marc Witte gave me the  tools.

8 hours of sleep per night
No naps during the day
Exercise at least 5 times a week for 45 minutes
Eat Three healthy meals
Follow a routine

Common Sense Huh? Whatever it is ... it's a foundation to wellness.

He has taught me coping skills, social skills, told me simple things that just stick with me.

Once he told me that he only knew so much, and if I came to see him enough he would begin to repeat himself, and the purpose of therapy was for me to find my counselor inside of me. When I have a problem I just can't take or cope listen because inside I can find the answer.

He showed me the importance of friends and that I will have more success if my circle of support extends outside from my immediate family, that having a relationship with my siblings and parents, while I may find it stressful it is beneficial to my health. To reach out and repair that relationship that I think is too much trouble, will benefit me in the long run. And when there comes a time when I need to talk to someone i will have a friend, and they will have me if they need a friend.

He taught me one of the simplest things, but one of the most divine in my book. How to make and keep friends. I don't have to dump on someone all my problems. I share something small, and maybe they share something too. I can share a little more, and perhaps they will too. The ideal way to respect boundaries.

He has taught me soooo much, and helped me help myself in ways I can't even verbalize. I just hope to put it into practice more.

He has empowered me to be a healthy functional adult because Bipolar is not a death sentence, just a diagnosis. Please do not become a casualty of mental illness. Keep searching for a solution there is one.

1800-273-Talk Suicide Hotline

http://www.lifeline-gallery.org/?pid=38612286

Kara signing off.

I like making friends. Friends are important. I like being a friend. I like helping out.

This probably sounds so like nate the first grader but I am trying to state a point. Friends are important everyone of them.

I am frustrated right now because I have made some friends recently and things haven't been all smooth sailing between us.

There is a song that oftens comes to my mind. I'm a b***h. I'm a lover. I'm a child. I'm a mother.

And I am all of these. I can be a b***h. But it is never intentionally. I believe in certain principles. And if I believe in something strongly. I will stand up for what I believe.

I think right now I am coming across as a b****h.

I got married at 19 I had to learn to fight for what I felt strongly about. My husband is not an unreasonable man, but some ideas I have had he has just thought they were a waste of time. I proved him wrong time and again. I pursued a certificate in nonprofit and he thought it was a waste of time and it took me away from my family unnecessarily. But you know what I work at a nonprofit and have for over two years.

You know the godfather's famous line. It isn't personal. Its just business.

Right now I am fighting for something I believe in and its just business. It isn't personal. Not fighting with fists but just standiing up for what I believe. Doesn't matter what it is. Make it whatever you think it is.

And this is what is happening between a friend and I something that's business is spilling over into my personal life and I think it will affect a friendship.

I wanna work together and hold hands and sing kumbayah. I wanna compromise, but there are just some issues I will not compromise on.

Maybe I am the problem. I don't know. But I don't know how not to be so involved.

Let's toast to friends, drama, meditation, relaxation and coming to a solution. You gotta take the good with the bad. And let's hope for unity. It is really what I want. But maybe its time to remove my rose colored glasses, but I like them so much


Sent via BlackBerry from T-Mobile