when the stigma works for you

The marines want me to play trombone for them, which is quite flattering.

But I don’t want to do Paris Island boot camp and training and not really having a home anymore and leaving my lover and my three babies Buddy, Bushka, and Bear.

So I work the stigma to stop the recruitment officer.

“I’m bipolar, and the USMC is poisoned by stigma.”

done and done, one line zinger that instantly makes me undesirable!

I’m so sassy and bipolar and really quite stable these days.

But if you feel the stigma and you don’t want to be in that organization, FLAUNT YOUR ILLNESS.

bend and snap, ladies.

bend

and

snap

Advertisements

you know what really grinds my gears

you can’t put “I am 6 months sober”

or “I am managing bipolar disorder really well”

on your résumé or job applications.

that’s some serious stigma-ass trifling bullshit.

the end.

that awkward moment (tw ed)

when you find your perfect contour shade and you also accidentally lost 8 pounds that you really needed to keep



lol I look like a grasshopper who needs a wax and to pick a damn lip color for the evening why is wearing maroon so hard

(don’t worry wax is happening tomorrow at noon, lip & brows)

for my mental health readers I’m manic as a motherfuhhhh

I miss my tits and ass, lord bring them back to me I’m just a little white girl who once had cred

6 Months of Uphill Sobriety

Personal Rock Bottom and Lurking There a While

Six months ago today, I was drunk at a gig. I was playing at a wedding in the middle of nowhere. It was hot, I was wearing a red floppy hat, and I was drinking to avoid conversation. I was sneaking cigarettes behind the Pinterest-wedding-barn. They had the nicest free gin I had ever tasted at their open bar. Free gin and tonic after free gin and tonic and the music got blurrier and blurrier. My playing got sloppier but I thought “Hey, it’s a sloppy big band and it has got to be 100 degrees in the sun and everyone’s toasting anyway.” I had grown jaded and disrespectful in my profession. At the time I was gigging several times per week — weddings, bars/clubs, for the elderly (where I was sober and played my best).

I was getting drunk every day. Usually this would happen at my local dive bar. Or at home on my balcony. Or at a party. Or in the morning. I drank too much before, but from May-August, I was trashed. I was alone. I left the lover I write of so often in May. I was diagnosed with bipolar disorder around my birthday in June. When I wasn’t drinking, I was fucking guys who did cocaine and got off on hitting me — way too hard for kinky.

I was used to the way I woke up near every morning: in a cold sweat, with a headache, fatigued, with a stranger, naked.

My meds weren’t working for me, because I was flooding my small body with alcohol. I drove under the influence of alcohol far too many times and I am ashamed of it. I once sobered up at a bar until closing and then fell asleep at the wheel afterward. My parents assumed I was drunk because, by then, they knew me. My car was in the shop for near a month, and I ran out of my antipsychotic. Rather than ask a friend to pick it up for me, I drank to make the chatter in my head stand still. Drinking is not a good substitute for Abilify. After threatening to jump off of my balcony or take all of my meds with all of my alcohol, a good friend drove me to a shitty psych ward.

Turning Point

That psych ward is where I first attended an Alcoholics Anonymous meeting. I went because there was nothing to do. But at the speaker meeting, I started to question whether or not I was an alcoholic. I related to the speaker’s dependence, his pain, his lies, his lows and his thirst that went beyond social norms. I had already lied about my daily alcohol intake to the psychiatrist who seemed to want to pry further into my drinking. I insisted it was just me being 22 and having fun. I denied that the worsening tremor was from detox (it was).

I thought about sobriety, but when I got out of the hospital, I kept drinking. I only knew I was an alcoholic at this point. I tried to drink less at times. Sometimes I’d have rules: no liquor. Never drink alone. But I always found a way to break every rule, and I was always drinking a beer or a mint julep by noon soon after my release. Near the end of August, I finished reading Marya Hornbacher’s Madness. I read another less stellar bipolar memoir. I researched being bipolar after I accepted it with less tears. Everything said that alcohol makes your meds not work, getting drunk spins you too high or low, just skip it. I was hospitalized in July, and I decided that the last day of August would be my last day drinking.

On the way back from my gin drinking gig, I thought about what a bore it all was. How I became such an introspective, existential, quiet wallflower when I was drunk at a social event. (At a bar, it’s another story.) New months inspire me, and September was a successful one. I quit drinking and, at the end of that month, quit smoking. I knew I had to quit both, because they fed each other. They made me feel pleasure in killing myself.

At first, I was so thirsty for a beer. Advertisements still get to me, and I have to look away or turn the radio station still. I find them offensive. I wanted to go back to my bar where every bartender knew my usual — or the bar across the street where I played trombone often. I wanted to go in one person and come out a little bit gone. Because I did not accept my reality and my lack of control. I still struggle to accept what reigns are in my hands and what factors guide my life (I’m looking at you, bipolar disorder). For the first two or three months, I was quite bitter about my sobriety. I was always making self-deprecating jokes about the monster I used to be and my lack of self-control. Now, I rejoice in it and the clarity I have found. Triggers are easier to blink my eyes and forget about. I must, however, remember that I am never invincible to them.

Now?

But 6 months later, I no longer wake up and think of opening a beer. I don’t dream of whiskey for dessert.

I often have nightmares that I get drunk and everyone becomes disappointed in me, or I drink and ruin everything. I always wake up and look through my texts to see if it happened. My sobriety still feels so, so painfully fragile, and that is why I have started to attend AA meetings recently. I want my sobriety to feel like a brick foundation, not something that I will wash away anytime.

My sobriety is my proudest possesion, but it constantly humbles me. I know that I can’t forget about my lows, because with one sip, I’d be lower still.

This journey has inspired me to take better care of my mind, body, and spirit. I now recognize other addictive behaviors before they become poisonous and swallow me. I could not have done it without the help of my psychiatrist, my father, my sister, my mother, my lover, and my closest friends.

Reward? I think so.

When I come into a bit of money, I intend to splurge on a fine piece of jewelry. I did that for the first three months to keep myself focused, and six months is a very worthy milestone.

My lover, with whom I reunited upon the start of my sobriety journey, is taking me out somewhere nice tonight to celebrate.

I also snatched up some Mario Badescu deals on Hautelook as a little treat to myself. Reviews on the rose+herbal facial mist and glycolic acid toner coming soon. 🙂

Thank you for reading something that is very close to my heart.

xoxo,

Martha

bloglyfe

Sorry I have not been commenting as much, my life has become a lot busier! In a good way (see yesterday’s post). I hope to catch up on reading when I am through with my training. I love the blogosphere and don’t want to leave!

I am LOVING my job at the veterinary hospital. It brings me such joy to care for peoples’ sources of joy. I take good care of them if they are sick, old, need a bath, need physical therapy, need a place to board, or just a checkup. If the dog or cat is nervous, chances are the owner is nervous about being away from his/her baby for the afternoon, as well! And it is such a nice thing to see the owner smile with relief when you bring a happy dog or cat up to the lobby. And when one of our animals gets adopted, that is also a wonderful feeling. Animals are happy in the hospital, because we take really good care of them and give them lots of individual attention, but there is nothing like a home. A tuxedo cat named Earl went home today. He squirms when he gets his one eye drop at mealtimes but other than that, he is very happy-go-lucky and in your face looking for love! I have fallen in love with a chihuahua named Fritz who doesn’t yip, he just dances in circles when he’s excited (which is often). He loves his walks and his toys and his teeny belly rubs. I never thought I’d like a small dog too much, but he won me over on the first day! Of course I called my parents to see if they would take him in, haha. But they have their hands full at the moment.

I am getting used to waking up at 5am pretty well. I leave my house by 6:30. My skin is freaking out a little bit at this lifestyle change, but it’ll get over it. I see my derm soon, anyway. My dog isn’t quite used to his new schedule, but he’s only 1 year old and will adjust soon enough. He’s used to me sleeping in. My cats love that I am awake with them at dark:thirty. They are eager to help me (or derail me) as I get ready in the bathroom each morning. No one complains about an earlier breakfast except for me. :p

I have been having a very hard time eating. I learned why. I have extremely bad acid reflux, and that is why it hurts to eat. It feels like someone is stabbing me under the center of my sternum, and the pain takes my breath away. I’m not too much of a complainer, so I didn’t look up this symptom for a long time. I also experience horrible headaches due to grinding my teeth because of my psych meds. For the headaches, I have been taking 33% more of an NSAID than I should’ve been taking every day for about 3 months. This led to my esophagus getting holes worn in it from stomach acid (acid reflux) (stabbing feeling).

So now I’m on ANOTHER medication. It is slowly helping. I need to see a dentist about grinding my teeth, a chronic pain doctor for my headaches and physical therapy for grinding my teeth, and hopefully not a specialist about the acid reflux, unless the OTC meds and herbal supplements don’t help by the end of the week. Good thing I’m insured (thanks mom and dad).

If I weren’t so happy about my job, I’d be pretty down about the stomach stuff and my favorite headache medicine (naproxen) being taken away from me. But I am so happy that I just do my job, and it distracts me. I realize I am a little hypomanic and that is helping most things. I’m trying to take it easy and slow down so I don’t fall too hard later on.

I hope all of you are well!

Catch up soon,

Martha

brrrrr makeup and I’m really crazy

2015/02/img_3145.jpg

Well I got all dolled up to pay rent and see if I could find any deals anywhere. Wearing acid-wash jeggings (when I thought I fit into my skinniest jeans, I find I fit into skinnier jeggings. life), white t, black pleather jacket, matching combat-esque boots, and a faux fur hat. Because it’s fxcking cold today– below freezing. Never eating doesn’t help.

Boyfriend tried to make me eat a handful of cereal last night. I negotiated the number of blueberries I would eat from 5 to 10, and no cereal.

Because I really have my shit together, guys.

I’m supposed to take one of my meds with 400 calories 2x per day. Or it doesn’t absorb correctly. Jesus.

Do you (for my bipolar readers) ever feel more bipolar than other times? I had a serious moody moment last night. I came home from a rehearsal that went well, and as soon as I put my stuff down, I became an inconsolable rain cloud. And quite mean. Sorry, lover. An hour later, I was hyper and having a mini-tantrum over blueberries and the evils of Dr. Pepper* (get that shit away from me).

*I have a very legitimate reason for hating Dr. Pepper but I will never discuss it, just trust me and don’t fucking buy it.

Like, I am fucking insane and I don’t know if my sex is the bomb or something but my lover just won’t leave me no matter how weird I get. Thanks for not leaving me.

makeup deets-

face- Maybelline fluid whatever foundation in the palest they offer, nars laguna, milani luminoso, becca champagne gold

eyes- tarte palette that I don’t know the name of but it’s limited edition and neutral-brown-with-gold, maybelline full and soft

brows- anastasia dipbrow in dark brown

lips- Revlon lip liner in rose, Rimmel showoff liquid lipstick thing in luna

I gotta say, my cats and dog were way too shocked when I got my tired ass off the sofa today.

I might even go to a rehearsal tonight for a group I haven’t decided to join yet. Feeling ambitious.

I’m loving this Rimmel peachy-nude liquid lipstick. It matches my blush super well. Also, I forgot what wearing foundation looked like. See ya, hyperpigmentation.

Stay warm.

Oh, I’m also trying to volunteer with NAMI. Hopefully the mysterious ~they~ respond to my email.

blah blah blahhhh

not eating — not absorbing meds — probably leading to my totally irrational way of life right now

but I am scared to eat

please excuse my derailed makeup and mental (poor) health post

at least my face looks decent I think unless I am totally delusional in that aspect of my life as well