Accepting a New Normal

I suppose a life update is the best way to start this post….but wait….I just thought about the fact that I have lived out all of my 30′s on this blog….in this public forum.  Too late for judgement now.  If you follow my husband Hassan (Brown Blogger) on social media then you know that he is suffering from end stage renal failure.  I hate to say it but ironically my childhood friend’s husband is also struggling with the same medical condition.  The difference is that they are together…..fighting together as a team instead of living in different states with one talking crazy to the other on a regular basis and the other trying to not feel guilty about wanting to do things that make them happy.

She said to me the other day “Diva I’m not mourning my old life anymore.  I’ve accepted my new normal.”  That’s a big deal.  I’m not there yet.  I don’t think I’m even close to being there.  I don’t even WANT to be there!  I loved my old life…at least my interpretation of it.  I miss my husband holding my hand to ease my fears, kissing me every morning before work, dragging me around to share the loves of his city with me as it became my city.  I miss cuddling up at movies and stealing his popcorn.  I miss yelling at the tv during football games.  I miss dinner parties and game nights with our friends.  I miss ice cream night at Oberweis where I’d try to get him to teach me to play chess and then I’d focus more on the ice cream than the game.  I miss us making plans for our future.

Our new normal means we’re apart.  Regardless of whether he lives or dies we’ll be apart.  I thought I was okay with that.  Logic says I SHOULD be okay with that because we’re not that team anymore.  None of that is us anymore.  And we’re not like my friend.  We’re not fighting this together.  We’re both fighting our own internal battles right now and it’s pretty much every man/woman for themselves.  It even makes sense when you say it out loud.  My old life is over and I should focus on embracing my new one.  But I’m really struggling with letting go of it.  I love him.  I miss him.  But not the him that he is now.  The him that took me to the South Loop Club on our first date and held my hand across the table as we looked at other couples and whispered to each other our thoughts on what they were up to.  I miss the him that took me to Muvico in Rosemont on Thanksgiving night and held me as I feel asleep on the love seat 15 minutes into Jumper.

I miss him.  I love him.  And I’m nowhere near ready for a new normal.

Living as bipolar

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This is me. I am cute. I am flirty and perky. I have a smile that lights up rooms. And I get depressed. I am a face of bipolar disorder.

I remember reading a post that Danielle Belton (the black snob) wrote about money being a trigger point for her.

My trigger hit me hard last Saturday and my world crumbled. I couldn’t see any light or even an end to a tunnel. It was a dark place and it reminded me of the first time I experienced that same trigger. It was the first time I went to therapy and heard someone say “Have you ever been diagnosed as bipolar before”. The exact same situation happened again and I don’t know WHY that’s a trigger for me and I don’t know what to do to keep from experiencing that moment.

I hit rock bottom. For the first time I reached a point where I didn’t care about the people who would be left behind. I only wanted it to end. I got better. It took a couple of days but I got better. What scares me is that I didn’t care this time. People checked on me and I didn’t want to talk or type or anything.

I wanted to show someone who might not know what it looks like. I don’t know what your idea of depression might be but sometimes it’s cute and flirty and perky with a smile that lights up rooms. But sometimes it can’t see the light.

7/1/14

I’m ok.

I’m Contemplating Suicide

I used to keep a good bye note to TJ in my purse. Four years ago suicide was a daily thought for me and I had things I wanted her to know. One day I drove to the Des Plaines Metra station with the schedule and that note in my . . . → Continue reading: I’m Contemplating Suicide

Be Here For Me

This is a rough night. I have them. I don’t talk about them. There are times when I think about Joyce Carol and ask myself if I died tonight how long would it take before I was missed. The reality of the situation is that the person I am closest . . . → Continue reading: Be Here For Me