Category Archives: Bipolar Disorder and More


Self Flagellation started as a form of discipline in some Religions obtained by flogging or whipping oneself for a period of time.

There is another definition that has evolved from this meaning, excessive criticism of oneself.

This one I know all too well. I do it often. I can’t tell you the exact reason. I can say I don’t believe it is all associated with Bipolar Disorder or mental health issues. Self-esteem probably plays a role also.

I do know that when I am in a Depressive Episode or there is a “trigger” I will do certain things to feel worse. I almost take comfort in the misery and pain. I’m more familiar with those feelings so it’s easier to exacerbate them and stay there. I often use the same tools to accomplish this.

My Emotional Self Flagellation

I have the same ways of accomplishing and inflicting immense emotional pain on myself.

I will watch the video for Blue October’s “Hate Me”. It is almost exactly like my mom and I were right down to a majority of lyrics. In the video he visits a cemetery something I can’t bring myself to do often. I’ve only been 4 times in almost 9 years.

I will look at pictures of my mom, of when my sister and I looked happy together, when my dad was healthy and happy and when my mom had oxygen on all the time, was bloated, pale, and dying.

I replay the phone call we received at 9:11 p.m. to come to the Hospital and what we witnessed when we arrived unnoticed.

I listen to Elvis, Brenda Lee, Patsy Cline, The Big Bopper, Kenny Rogers, Connie Francis, Tammy Wynette, all of my mom’s favorite songs that she would sing around the house. I know all the words to most of the songs from the 50’s and 60’s. My mom had a good voice and could really dance. I inherited none of these traits but I like to think I can sing when I’m in the car.

Then I have my own songs. Pantera’s “This Love” and “Hollow”, Pearl Jam’s “Black” and “Release”, Corey Taylor “From Can To Can’t”, Aerosmith’s “You See Me Crying”, “Cry Me A River”, “What It Takes”, “Amazing”, and “Seasons of Wither”, Skid Row’s “In A Darkened Room”,  “Wasted Time”, Sebastian Bach still sings these songs amazingly.

Then there’s the movie reel on replay. Every unpleasant conversation, event, or action in my life is looped in my head without a pause or stop button. I’ve been told by too many doctors that I can’t be helped any further.

How would you feel after 20 years of alcoholism, suicide attempts, numerous hospitalizations, and a too late diagnosis, only to be told by some of the best doctors that you are “beyond help and have to deal day to day”.

You are told that you will only get worse as time goes by. You have already lost any friends you had, family members have distanced themselves from you since your diagnosis, you have trouble leaving the house as each day passes, the only human voice you hear most days is a telemarketer. You are afraid to talk to anyone in the “outside” world because they might notice that you are “different”. Even though the family that does speak to you says you sound “fine” but then asks “have you taken your meds because you sound funny”.

Where do you put all of these feelings? What do so called “normal” people do? I don’t even remember what “normal” is. I watch TV and everyone that’s stressed or upset has a drink at the end of the day. What does that tell us?thwip0mkkg

Other Mental Health Blogs And Distractions

I really enjoy having my Conversion Disorder set off by 10:25 in the morning. It’s now getting to the point where I find myself cringing at my father’s voice. A man I once respected and loved with all my heart. He’s growling into the phone about his tires being put on wrong. Now he’s headed down there. I tried to stutter out that he needed to calm down but was told to “stay out of it”. If the police are called I will not go to the police station that they will have to take him to. I’ve had to stay overnight there when I was younger. It wasn’t pleasant. Not that being in jail should be pleasant, but they knew who I hung around with and made it worse. It’s a very small state.

The African Grey Parrot is now saying “Goddamn! Goddamn!” repeatedly in my father’s voice. What joy!! I just got off the phone with my sister who had nothing in the way of comfort for me. She just wanted to talk about her stomach, the kids, and her stomach. I must have sounded like I may have thought about crying because she said “Don’t get emotional or I’m hanging up”. So no emotions were used during that conversation.

I want to run. I want to run far away. We all know this. My guilt and sense of responsibility keeps me here.


There are one or two bloggers of mental health that more than annoy me. When I read about Bipolar Disorder I want to read the truth. I want to read how people have struggled with it.

I don’t want to read how someone has meditated or done a rebirthing class and was cleansed of their illness. I don’t want to read about how a plant based diet cured them.

One “blogger” at the very beginning says she is an award winning writer, speaker, and social media consultant. She works to bring quality, insightful and trusted information on bipolar disorder and related illnesses to the public while engaging with the mental health community.

  1. Her sentences sound off. The punctuation and grammar are wrong. I do it when I’m blogging but not in a professional capacity.
  2. How nice of her to “engage” with the mental health community considering she’s Bipolar.
  3. She doesn’t mention she’s Bipolar until way, way, down the page.
  4. She is for HIRE to speak professionally about Bipolar Disorder and Mental Illness even though she is not a Doctor or a Therapist but did write a book.
  5. She once responded to me that my feelings and symptoms “didn’t quite sound like hers or anyone else that she knows with Bipolar Disorder” and that was the extent of her “help” when I was at my lowest.

I’m not saying that anyone should give medical advice. I am saying that I have personally talked privately with people from here who were struggling and hurting and I have listened to them, prevented one of them from hurting themselves, all by LISTENING AND RESPONDING. Sometimes all it takes is showing up and being there.

That’s all I want. I want to know when things get so bad I would rather end my life than see another ocean view, that someone will be there to remind me, who I was, who I am.

Some Quotes I’ve Picked

Here are some quotes that have touched me in some way.

The Art of Crashing

I feel it creeping up on me, casting it’s dark shadow. My thoughts are already wandering to places I don’t want to go. I go anyway. I have to, it’s a form of self punishment I think I deserve. I never stop to question it. The questions start. I ask myself “Why doesn’t my sister call me back?”, “Am I that bad?”, “Why does my dad leave the room when I’m in the middle of a sentence?”, “Why does it hurt so much to be ignored?”, “Why am I trying so hard when no one sees it and I feel the same?”. The mental pain turns physical. My chest aches like there’s something missing. An emptiness that can never be filled. Sometimes I can occupy myself so I don’t think. Lately this doesn’t work as well. I told my doctor no more new medications. I’m tired of being an experiment. The last one was so horrible I thought I was going to die. It’s brand new to the market and begins with a B but I can’t remember the name. They haven’t even done all the studies on it. I’m too tired to do the withdrawal from the Viibryd. It’s almost as bad as heroine withdrawal. These meds are all the same.

With me having severe malnutrition and kidney problems I’m probably not going to absorb much of them anyway. My white blood cell count is very low throwing everything off. Yet no one can tell me why. I’m sad, unhappy, grieving, and I have to pretend I’m not. If I don’t my family will get mad at me. I’m not trying hard enough. If anyone thinks I want to live this way, lonely, scared, disregarded, than they are the fools. I would give anything for a world of sunshine and kindness. A hug I have not had in years. Human contact. I tear up at the hair dresser because I’m not used to someone touching me with kindness. But again I have to pretend. No one wants to be around a sad or negative person. The mask goes on.

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