All the King’s horses & all the King’s men

It seemingly comes as a surprise that when my thoughts are expressed in a disjointed manner, when my ramblings do not make sense, when my prose is aloof and fractured that some are instantly alarmed, as though Bipolar disorder is a condition in name only, without any visible repercussions and when I am told, that I am nonsensical, that my writing is drunk as though composed on a liquoured whim, it is expressed with genuine surprise, a dog eared memory attached of the old me, pausing for it to be fixed accordingly and the words to be reprimanded and put back in their correct, sensible order.

He ain’t heavy, he’s Bipolar

Reflecting as I pen my thoughts, I am still uncertain as to whether I am comfortable with the word “burden” as I think it certainly does not describe our (my life partner and I) bipolar disorder/mental illness. Burden to me implies that there is one person doing all the work in a relationship with a weighty imbalance of disproportion. It also implies negativity, resentment and regret on one person’s behalf.

It never crossed my mind when my husband was diagnosed with Bipolar disorder a few years ago that he together with his newly found diagnosis was or could possibly be considered a “burden”.

Resilience: its about us.

I posted this piece of writing on my Bold & Indie Blog and thought that perhaps you may be interested too.  Its about resilience, its about strength, its about ownership, its about us.

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When I think about resilience I think about my mother.  She is currently standing at the round, faux marble top kitchen table, her hand made apron fastened to her blouse with two bobby bins, rolling out the pasta with her “laganaturo”, a metre long handcrafted rolling pin.

Defining disability

Sorting through a pile of old letters sitting in the dusty document holder on our bookshelf, I happened upon a slightly wrinkled letter from Harvard University dating back to 2003 and was really taken aback by my instant feelings of overwhelming sadness, grief and loss of identity.

This letter written in my 20’s seemed to accurately sum up who I was and I was so fiercely proud of my abilities and talents as a student and as an academic. It was a time when I felt academically invincible and I could do anything I set my mind to, and I did.

Collateral damage – It is what it is.

Late last year when it all hit the fan – how we learn to see situations for what they are, finally reaching acceptance and the courage to rebuild your life, sometimes not the way you want it, but the way you need it to be.

“I cannot heal, move on and grow if I do not remove myself from the garbage.”

Coming out of the Bipolar closet

This post is from my blog prior to Bold & Indie.  Speculation was rife as to what was happening to me.  Family tried to make sense of it and friends were too afraid to ask.  This is how I stepped out from the shadows and into the light.

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Over the past three months I have been fighting a private battle that has been tumultuous, challenging, life threatening, hard, insightful and inspiring.

The Gifts of Bipolar Disorder

As a rule of thumb, a writer should never run out of words. Yet when it came to explaining what was going on throughout my journey into madness I could not find the words to express my inner turmoil.

In 2011, I was diagnosed with Bipolar Type I disorder with psychotic manifestations (visual and auditory hallucinations). The diagnosis and the surrounding experiences were certainly life changing. Two years prior however I also had another life changing experience. I was diagnosed with an Epitheliod Trophoblastic Tumor, which falls under the general heading of Gynaecological Cancer.