I'm bipolar. I blog about it. I also blog about sex, theology and atheology, funny shit and sad shit, books, music, feminism, and love. Mostly love.

Thursday, April 19, 2012

Those of you who know me, like in real life

know that I've had a pretty rough week. I've just sort of let my anxiety take over and the panic take over. I always describe my perfect peace as flat (which scares mental health professionals, I know). When I'm anxious or upset, the information in my brain stacks up higher and higher and higher... until I can't see the top anymore. But when things are good, it's flat. I release a warm, wind of relief, and everything is flat--spread out on the floor of my mind.
I'm not there right now. I get paranoid. No one will love me. I'm going to fuck something up and everyone will hate me. I'm going to fail and lose my scholarship. No one really likes me; they tolerate me. I'll be too fat to do what I want to do. I'm not really that interesting, or if I am, I don't exactly portray it--because I'm scared, which makes me weak. <--this is junk that rattles around in my head and makes it kind of hurt to feel... and then I go numb. Sometimes even sound is muffled, my limbs fall limp, my head sways. Bliss. But for only a moment. Back in the game.
I'm kind of hoping that when school is out, everything will be right again. I had found a kind of stable comfort, and it's slipping away... but it's not gone. I just can't quite get a good grasp on the whole thing, that happiness thing. I am kind of excited for therapy tomorrow. I feel like he really likes and respects me. I know that's his job, but dammit, I don't care if it's a face--it feels real enough to get me by. I don't really feel liked or respected. And I'm not saying this for a guilty trip or a pity party, because clearly if you're reading this you like and respect me enough to take an interest in what I have to say. Thanks for that, friends. But you're few. You're the people who caught just enough depth in me to dig a little deeper.
Nothing is as it seems. That bitch in your English class was molested. That dickhead just lost his dad. The professor you hate, hates himself even more... I know that better than anyone. Because I was raised with that information. But also because I'm in there. Everyone thinks I'm super friendly and happy, and it wasn't until people pointed it out that that is the image I portray. We all know that isn't me. I do care about the scum of the earth, but I judge rather harshly those who judge them. And I have my dells. Deep deep dells.
But I just don't share that with people. I share it with you guys. With the people I trust I share EVERYTHING. Y'all know too much, I'm sure. But with the world? I am whoever I am. I don't even really know what I'm giving. I'm so worried about people liking me that I give this pathetic, desperate version of myself up. I'm just too scared. I don't cry in public. I don't talk about Tier Fours. I just don't. And if people expect that from me, or if they expect the depth I share rather privately, then they will have to give something up themselves. I'm in the business of the barter of secrets. It's insurance. If I know your dirt, then you can know mine because you know that if you tell I can ruin you.
This has been a rough week. I'm ready for it to be over... only to enter the hell of dead week and the cold fear of finals and then... worry. I'll make it because I must. This was hella negative. I thought I would turn it around at the end. Clearly I didn't. Sorry folks. Ich werde ihre immer lieben. <3

Wednesday, April 18, 2012

Personal Blogging--sorry

Word vomit, fosho. I'm going to try to bring this back around to some universal message because I promised not to journal on here... here goes.

This has been so busy. It's really my own fault, because I didn't plan ahead for sorority stuff and now I'm getting last minute points so I can go to Formal. Formal, which I didn't have a dress for. Finally, I just tried on my junior year prom dress. Fits me better now than it did then, so I have a dress *thank God*. Today I have a ton to do because I have 5 classes plus a committee meeting, a President Scholars' meeting, and recruitment practice. And I need to eat at Lonestar for a point. Tomorrow I have Union Board, I'm meeting to practice my Fusion routine... because I don't know what the hell I'm doing. I also wanted to meet Sydney to work on the Chi Omega Alumnae Newsletter. Because I have a feeling she's going to be better at it than I am. Then FRIDAY is Formal. I'm pretty sure there's other stuff going on... but I'm too tired to look at my schedule. And Saturday I teach two Zumba classes, then I have the Chi Omega Alum luncheon in the main suite. THEN prelude is that night. Sunday morning is initiation. Okay, that I'm pretty excited about. I am ready to be on the other side of that. And I'm not sure if I'll make it to choir that day or not... I don't remember how long initiation was. And then of course we have Chapter that night. Then starts dead week, with fusion on the first day of the week. Oh, wait. THEN Fusion at 7:00 am the next day and on Thursday. The Showcase is Friday. I'm performing at old folk's homes with choir on Monday and Wednesday. Vagina monologues is that Thursday too. And all week I'll need to study for TWO German finals... and a honors final that I'm way less worried about. THEN finals. I'm pretty sure I have one Monday and Friday. <--Kill me now. But after my last one, I'm opting to take a road trip to Waycross. Pretty freaking please. I may take like... three people with me. I'll see if I can stay (for freesies), if not I'll just leave that night. Don't care. I just need a little taste of freedom, you know? I should probably call Natalie soon to see if that's like... allowed. And tell her what training I want to lead. Mhm. My life never stops. I feel like I'm on a freaking freight train (okay, the allusion there was completely accidental, but it's clever, right? Long-term blog followers?).

Anyway. I don't know if I have a universal theme for this. It may legitimately be word vomit... with no positive end result. But here's the wrap-up in 4:

1) I should stop procrastinating so at the end of the semester I don't want to die.
2) I need a break.
3) I may just break down here soon.
4) Watch out...

Tuesday, April 17, 2012


I love the blogging community. I love everything it stands for and the environment it provides. I love that blogs prove to the world that the internet can give the world substance--rather than emptiness. When I first started blogging, when I was 14 (choke-gasp), I wanted a place to express my Self. <--that's on purpose Nazis. When I was little, I'd always wanted a website. Now I know that's way too much work for me, and I'm not actually that technologically proficient. But a blog? I can blog. Aunt Betsy blogs. Kyle blogs. (I'm not putting my other friends because you have neglected it.) And I've even come across people I like by reading. Cypress. The Bloggess. This is reading. It's informational. It's reflective. It's art. It's humor. It's everything social networks aren't giving us. Don't get me wrong. I love Facebook and Twitter (too much). But it serves a specific purpose for me, and does not fulfill my need to observe and create art.


I really want to go on a hike today. Sunday. Sunday someone will go on a hike with me. Who's willing?


I'm seriously missing camp right now. I wore Keens, cargo shorts, and a Waycross T if that doesn't tell you something. I didn't even wear makeup. I'm so over school and so ready to work with those kids. Waycross is the place I feel I make the most difference. I always loved camp because I felt included and accepted, I felt important and useful, and I HAD FUN. And my whole goal is to recreate that for other kids. For kids who were just like me, for kids who come to me with far bigger problems than I have the power to fix, and even for those kids I hated. I've got one week. I've got one week to make them feel like they can do anything. I've got one week to make sure that even if they aren't particularly religious, that they feel spiritually fulfilled, from the 8 year-olds to the 18 year-olds (even though I'll be 18 the first couple of weeks. Shut up.) I've got one week to facilitate the forming of bonds among children that will last into adulthood. We've got one week. And we do it. The Waycross staff does it every week, again and again--we give kids the safest, most-incredible place to find themselves and to find God. Through music, through nature, through reflection(s ;) ), through their peers, they find that it's acceptable to love yourself and then given the tools to do it.
I can't wait. I can't wait to be in a place that make-up is more than optional--it's a little bit of a joke. I can't wait to be in a place that prizes bruises as battle wounds and going a week without showering--success. I can't wait to hold the hands of a homesick camper and say "only two more sleeps before you see your mommy," or to sit next to an embarrassed little boy who's wet his sleeping bag and say, "you don't have anything to be ashamed of and no one has to know. You'd be surprised how many people have done it here. Camp is a new place. It's just fine." I can't wait to be in a place where high-fives are music and music is the God within me. I can't wait to be in a place that the staff and campers respect the maintenance crew as much as the executive director.
I've loved sharing my world with my younger family members. Julian and Kaleigh love Waycross (duh) and I love having them there. Sometimes I have to learn to take off my Aunt Dede hat and just let them have their own good week. (I get a little paranoid and protective.) But then I remind myself that I didn't have an Aunt Dede there to ask my counselors how I was doing and if I needed anything--and I still loved it enough to be there as a (quasi)grown up. So I take a deep breath and let them have the time of their lives. And when they do, sometimes it makes me cry a little. To see Jude jumping up and down and singing, or to see Kaleigh holding her counselors' hands. It's so perfect. They are so perfect.
This is freakin' Utopia. And for however hard I try to bring the light back into the world, it's never quite the same. First week of June, first week of June... it's my mantra until I get out of dead week, out of finals, out of here... It's my mantra as I figure out seizures, bipolar disorder, and addiction within my family--something no one ever really does figure out. I can't let it go. I'm going to keep holding on until I get there to the perfection that is a culture, that although is not perfect, never stops trying to create a family built on love.

The summer camp stories we told made us laugh
but a campfire song made us cry...