Tag Archives: bipolar II

coming alive in the cold

At the end of 2016, instead of a predictable year-end time capsule, I explained my year in Rocky gifs, with the main thrust that in 2017, I wanted to catch my chickens, find my place. (That blog had to be removed as about 3/4 of the gifs I used disappeared). If you’re unfamiliar with the reference, I’ve got you covered.

I have so much to say, but it requires words I can’t formulate right now. Someone close to me recently, and “helpfully” suggested a make a “gratitude list”. I winced over-dramatically as is my way and filed it deep in the recesses of “yeah, no”. Over the last few days when I’ve gotten out of my way, yeah, I am grateful indeed for a few things this year, as demonstrated below.

Being invited to participate in my first exhibition.

Falling in love with this joker & bringing him in.

Putting myself back in treatments & thereby back on medication.

Meeting with The Kid’s mom & finding some resolution to 20 years of plaguing questions.

The move that changed our lives in ways we couldn’t even imagine.

Chronicling some of my angst with this broad

I don’t know where I’m going with any of this, which is almost awful because as I’ve said before, I lose my mooring without a plan. But maybe learning some flexibility would be a fine start.

Just gonna keep catching my chicken.

Hope 2018 brings you good stuff & new opportunities.

 

*hat tip to my favorite band, The Afghan Whigs,  for the title of this blog, from their song “Birdland” on the album “In Spades” that came out this year. Also a high point in my 2017.

Symbiotic Salvation

As you may know, I’ve been feeding/caring for a random cat that’s shown up at our apartment. I can’t help myself, and to be fair, Chris can’t either.

While we’d seen him strolling around the neighborhood regularly, we first “met” him in January, when he marched up to us while leaving the house early one morning, chatty & looking for attention.

We named him Vic (Very Important Cat). And then we didn’t see him again until March, when he started appearing at our place on a regular basis, wearing a collar that was a bit too tight.  So we continued to feed & care for him, and he returned regularly, one day without the collar. He started spending so much time at our kitchen door, we bought a collar & attached a note, asking his “people” to call or text us if he was their cat. Within 12 hours, the breakaway collar was gone — and no calls, despite our best hope. Whether or not a human removed it, we’ll never know. He’s a great cat. Affectionate, chatty, handsome. Content to just be “around”. But he deserves better, as he’s clearly domesticated, but uncared for — at least in recent weeks, as evidenced by some wounds that could use a vet’s attention.

Caring for Vic has been a lifeline for me in some regards. Over the past few months, I’ve been falling down the rabbit hole of mental health issues. Again. It started with what I considered run of the mill anxiety & I found myself in familiar, unpleasant territory. I couldn’t focus on everyday tasks, regular duties & responsibilities were overwhelming, additional projects sent me into a full-blown panic. The harder I tried to rein it in, to maintain a level of “normal”, the worse it became.

When the physical symptoms of chronic neck pain & headaches arrived, with the new addition of auditory issues, I knew it was time to schedule an intake again at My Therapy Institute. It’s been about 4 years since I’ve been in treatment, and I’ve found myself here again, back in therapy & on medication. And a new diagnosis of Bipolar II. The diagnosis isn’t “new”, I just wouldn’t hear it last time. I had previously fought against it, saying it wasn’t me, it didn’t apply. But the reality now is that it does apply, and I’m okay with it.

Over the past few weeks, caring for this random cat has given me a little light while I navigate these waters again, armed with a compass & spyglass this time around. I’m taking care of him, taking care of me.  We both deserve better.