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I woke up this morning at 830-I had to pee.  Then I layed-lied?-back down and May came in to snuggle with me so I got up about 9.  I checked emails and blog posts.  I checked clash and messages.  I took my morning meds and decided I wanted to treat myself to lunch.  Kid free weekend, and as a reward for busting my ass the last two days around the house with my parents.  The yard looks GREAT!  The house looks AMAZING!  The dishwasher-you can’t fucking HEAR it when it runs!

I FINALLY showered all the bug spray and sage and basil off from last night-I smelled like a freaking pasta dish-MMMM PASTA!-and then I decided I WANTED pasta.  So I was going to take myself to Carrabba’s, my favorite restaurant.  I showered and scrubbed and shaved and plucked and lotioned and primped and preened.  I looked good.  I FELT great walking out the door.  I didn’t speed on my way to lunch.  I enjoyed the ride and listened to my music, thinking a little bit about where my life will go now.

Scary.

I read Blah’s post from longreads, and I read Number 2.  And I freaking cried into my pasta.  This was the only one I read on the list.  I know what it’s like to have your life taken away from you by mental illness.  Not in the severe aspect that Natalie did, but all my hopes and dreams I had BEFORE Bipolar are gone.  Disintegrated to ash and blown away on the breeze.  Not even a PROPER cremation.  They were fucking incinerated in nanoseconds.  FWOOMP!  Gone.  And it got me thinking about so much.

“You don’t LOOK sick”  “You don’t LOOK Bipolar”  Is there some kind of poster person for Bipolar I missed in the pamphlet handed out at Bipolar 101 Orientation Class?!  WTF do YOU know about any Invisible Illness, asshole?!  “Be glad you don’t have cancer.”  WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU?!  At least with cancer there are two things-you live or you die.  You can go through treatment and radiation that zap your system and make you LOOK sick.  You lose your hair and weight and you throw up.  In the end, you either beat it, or it beats you.

Now with Mental/Chronic?Invisible Illnesses, if it were ONLY so easy.  The LOVELY Undiagnosed Warrior said it BEST in THIS post.  THAT’S what it looks like.  A fucking CATALOG of binders and notes and calendars for dates, times, reactions, tests, meds meds meds meds. The history of hospital stays. The emergency med pack kept in a bag.  The safety plans carried by those we trust to help us when we can’t do it ourselves.  If cancer were so lucky, then why do they get the out?!  WHY?!  I’m not knocking those with cancer.  I’m knocking the ignorant assfucks that stigma consistently trains that because we don’t “LOOK” sick, we aren’t sick.

And I’m fucking sick to DEATH of that.  Stigma can but my white ass.  Because I am tired of feeling like I am not good enough because I have a fucking label of Bipolar.  I’m feeling like I’ll never BE enough because of my mood swings that can be unpredictable even on meds.  I’m fucking TIRED of having to explain to every Tom Dick and Jerry that I work fucking HARD to make sure I don’t lose the few marbles I have left.  And it’s never good enough because of fucking Stigma.  My Brother In Law is a great man, and he has MS.  You can’t see that.  He’s not in a wheelchair and he works his fucking ass off and hands and fingers to the BONE to take care of my sister and niece.  And it’s starting to show.  The fatigue is starting to set in.  And I asked my sister if he was mad at me, and she said he just doesn’t understand what I’m going through.  Because you can’t see it.  YOu can’t see my Bipolar being treated-and being treated well*FINALLY*-and now this fucked up shit with my shoulder.   Even my own family has Stigma issues.  Because they’ve never walked in my shoes or been in my head or my body when I’m on Whack-A-Do Island.

No one will EVER understand unless they have a Mental/Chronic/Invisible Illness what it’s like to struggle every fucking day with little shit.  I get 12 sporks a day.  What do I use them on??  Today I used 2 getting out of bed-because I got up twice.  I used 1 checking things on the computer and I used 3 or 4 when I showered and got ready for lunch. Right there is 7 out of 12.  I used 1 driving to my grandparents grave and sitting and then crying and thinking-thinking requires sporks, people!-and another to get back here and change into cooler clothes.  9 sporks.  I have used 9 sporks out of 12 and it’s 5 pm.  My shoulder is killing me.  My brain is in overdrive and I took an extra klonopin because I’m noticing around 4-5 I’m gritting my jaw.

And no one sees this because it’s in my fucking head.  No shit, Sherlock, I have a MENTAL ILLNESS.  It will NEVER go away.  It may never get better, and I have accepted that I may get worse over time.  I don’t get the fucking luxury of chemo and radiation to blast this shit out of my body.  I will be on the medi-go-round (thank Morgue for that one) for the rest of my life.  I have accepted that.  What I DON’T accept is sub par mental health treatment because I don’t “LOOK” sick.  Fuck you asshole.  I have a list of meds that I have tried with so many ass trash side effects that I present a particularly difficult case to treat.  I’m honest with my psychiatrist.  I’ve become med sensitive.  JOY TO THE WORLD on THAT one.  What may work wonders for others *LATUDA* turned me into a fucking zombie for four months.  And GOD FORBID Big Pharma learns about THAT consequence from their “One size cures all” miracle drug.  Bullshit.  Utter fucking BULLSHIT.  I want to beat the fuckers at Big Pharma with barbed wired dildos and then the fucking drug reps for pushing that poison on the docs and then the DOC for the kickbacks they get for pushing their drug!  Fucking trickle down effect.

So you know what?  I’m gonna take their Jenga puzzle and pull the pieces out from the bottom and watch it all tumble to the ground.  Because I’m sick of Stigma.  I’m sick of Big Pharma on their Pharmathrones touting the “latest and greatest” when TWO of their latest and greatest sent me to Zombieland and the Suicideville.  FUCKABUNCHOFTHATSHIT.  This needs to end and it needs to end NOW.

this-is-jenga_o_2710843

There should be no fucking reason we are treated like sub par human beings because we don’t “LOOK” sick.  The same with our returning Veterans.  They serve our country and they wait MONTHS, sometimes over a YEAR to get a doctor appointment for a combat related injury.  That’s fucking ridiculous bullshit.  The healthcare system has failed so fucking many of us and it’s all because the assholes at the top keep shitting on us at the bottom.  Well, you know what?  I’m not getting shit on any fucking more.  I’m gonna start pecking eyes out and taking fuckers down because there is absolutely NO reason we should be treated as lower class citizens just because we are fucking different.  Yes, I have Bipolar.  I am also a mother, a daughter, a sister, an aunt, a friend, and above all, I AM A FUCKING HUMAN BEING.

Fire

AND THIS BIPOLAR BITCH HAS A VOICE AND SHE WON’T BE SILENCED.

Blade

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