Online Posts, Canceling Plans, My Struggle is Real

"Stop exaggerating how you feel, I see your Facebook page. You're going out--clearly you're fine." Or: "You seem fine on Facebook." I think you get my point.

What you read, what you see on the internet is not always indicative of my symptoms, of my illnesses, or of my life. Yes, I am fairly open about my mental illnesses, but everything doesn't always go on Facebook. No one would want to read every single time I wake up from a panic attack, or start going manic or have suicidal thoughts. Sometimes, I like to post about the complete opposite--a type of opposite action--to show that I'm 'okay,' which is how I want to be perceived.

I also have a life outside of my mental illnesses, which I like to showcase from time to time. Not all of my posts are about my struggles, a lot of them are about fun things, like my friends, the ridiculousness of my students, Baby Yoda memes, etc. But even that being said, I often get statements such as this:

"You said you were too sick to go out. But you went to work--I saw you posted a student interaction." Yes, I often go to work, like most other people, when I feel like garbage. I don't always choose to post how miserable I feel--again I try to choose to post something funny that's happened. Hell, if I used a sick day every time my mental health was off, I would have been out of them in September. When I cancel plans, I've canceled them for a reason.

Sometimes I need a night of self-care just to help me regroup from the day or the week. Sometimes, I cannot physically stand being in a group of people because I've used all my energy for that during my workday. Sometimes my emotional reserves are out and if I don't cancel the chances of me flipping to either manic or depressed are really good. I tend to use "I don't feel too hot" as a catch-all because that is always true. I often have great friends who will follow up and ask what's wrong, then I'll give more details. But just because I don't feel well enough to keep plans, doesn't mean I don't feel well enough to share a Baby Yoda meme or a picture from perhaps the night before when I did feel good.

With any illness and any mental illness, things can change on a dime. I can be ready to run to keep any kind of plans, and then my brain or body says NOPE! Then I have to scramble. Can I use skills? Will these skills make it possible for me to go and just be late? Or can I just not do this right now because continuing on this path will cause me to go into some kind of spiral? My fingers hesitate always above the keypad to send a text, and I start to shake, and start to cry. Every. Single. Time. Trust me, I get just as frustrated as everyone else, I feel completely worthless and angry at myself. In fact I hate myself. But sometimes, I need to act in my best interest, and then I feel selfish, like I've failed because it feels like I'm not taking into consideration everyone else's feelings. So I send the text and anxiously await the response. Trust me, I read more into "Okay," than most people could. And sometimes I'll post something funny or an event that happened just to take my mind off, just to make me feel normal, just to make me still feel like part of a group and not the outcast I feel like I am.

So please, before you judge me, or anyone else, on posts, or canceling plans, or the discrepancy that is often between the two, take a second to think. Could this person be having an off night that they don't want the world to see, but posting something "positive" instead to try and feel better, or let the world think they're doing okay? Instead of judging, send a follow-up text or email, just checking in. I know I'd feel a lot less awful and a lot less judgy of myself. Empathy goes a long way in life, and it needs to include mental illness as well as physical illness.

Aren't Therapy Sessions Private? Then Why Post About Them?

I had a very interesting conversation with a friend of mine about therapy. She's not an advocate of it and believes I can be better healed by going outside into nature--listen to music, go for a run, that sort of thing. She went on for a bit of a ramble about Freud and sex, and all that stuff, and I just let her talk. When she finally paused, she looked at me and said: "Besides, aren't therapy sessions private? So why do you post about yours?"

That's a good question, and it was one that I had to think about before I answered. I told her I'd put my answer in this blog, because I needed time to fully articulate my thoughts.

Did you know that when you google therapy, 2,050,000,000 hits come up? I didn't either until I started writing this. I surfed through a number of hits, on various pages, (not all two billion so I'm certain I missed a lot of information), and I saw three main motifs: pro therapy, anti-therapy, and a mix of pro and anti with a strong focus on doing other things instead--yoga, breathing, etc. I saw posts that spoke about the pros and cons of Freud, that demonized and praised CBT and DBT, and a host of definitions, opinions and alternatives. There were not a lot of personal posts, especially posts that gave a sneak peek into a client-therapist interaction. (Many of the ones who did were negative). Some also gave a theoretical, but not personal, look into it, discussing the potential leather couch (I'm not knocking psychoanalysis, I've heard it works well for some people).

So, like with everything else in my blog, I like to give a window into my journey, into my therapist appointments and conversations, to not only see some of the stuff I deal with, but also to show that not all therapy is a cut and dry, leather couch with a blank slate therapist. I'm not saying my therapist is the world's greatest, but for what I need right now, she's a rockstar and the best for me. She's human, she shares things with me, I feel cared for as a person, she challenges and tests me, she pushes me, but also supports me and is one of my biggest cheerleaders. She gives me a space every week to be me, fully present, fully Kelley without masks and without a role to play. She's compassionate, sarcastic, friendly without us ever being friends, and she helps me untangle the biggest puzzle of my life--me.

My posts allow others to take a peek into this private world--to see another part of mental health treatment that isn't always readily accessible unless you're in the room, to quote the musical Hamilton, where it happens. Yes, all our session work is private, along with all of our emails and texts. I very rarely use my therapist's name, never state where she works, and I never discuss the heart of our sessions--everything I say stays firmly between us (you can see how heavily I've edited out the personal stuff within this post). But I do post moments that are meaningful and highlight the triumphs and compassion that I sometimes find in our work.

So I hope I have answered why I often post about my experiences in therapy to social media. I want to give a window into all facets of my journey, allow for a glimpse of the client-therapist therapeutic relationship, celebrate my own successes and sometimes failures, and also to continue to break the stereotypes that surround mental illness. Going to therapy is no different than going to a doctor for a cold. I hope, in my own little way, that my posts, and this blog, help to normalize that idea.

If you are contemplating therapy, I urge you to do your homework, research types of therapies and therapists and find one that is right for you. Most importantly, don't give up. If you don't click with one therapist, you will click with another. Therapy is hard work, but the results are well worth it. Trust me, I wouldn't be here without it.

Why Am I so Open About my Mental Health?

"Why are you so open about your mental health?" It's a question I get fairly often from friends, and also from people I don't necessarily know that well. I've even gotten facebook messages from well-meaning people asking this question with a follow up: "Why are you so open about your mental health? You shouldn't be. Aren't you worried your job will find out, or that you'll never get another girlfriend or you'll lose friends?" 

The truth is, I have not always been open at all with my mental health. In fact, I was more closeted with that than I ever was with my own sexuality, and anyone who knows me well can attest that I was pretty deep in that one too. For a number of years, no one knew about my Bipolar I and my ADHD diagnoses, including my own family. I held that secret like it was the most shameful thing, and kept it hidden. No one knew about my suicide attempts, or my doctor's visits, or my endless supply of ever-changing medication. 

I used to hide my medication like it was some kind of illegal contraband. I remember going out with friends, my pills wrapped in a tiny piece of foil stuffed in my pocket. Surreptitiously, I'd peek at my phone, and then at the right time, I'd disappear into the bathroom and toss down my meds with tap water from a bathroom sink. I'd be sick almost immediately after because they were not taken correctly at all, but at least they were taken and I could fight through the sickness. Bipolar Disorder is frequently stigmatized in the media, and I did not want to lose friends because I was "crazy."

If you've ever been in a closet for any length of time, you know that there is nothing more exhausting than hiding who you really are. And I too felt that fatigue and broke down my lesbian closet door. The mental health one, though, was still firmly locked. More people knew than when I was first diagnosed, but it was still a shameful secret. Something to be feared instead of embraced, or at the very least understood. 

And to be fair, if shit didn't hit the fan this summer, I don't know if the psychiatric closet door would have ever been smashed down. But now that it has, I feel better about myself than I have in years. I can admit why I don't feel well, instead of having to create and then remember some insane lie. I can freely advocate for myself, I can explain to friends when I need to cancel a plan, instead of lying. And I can say "Tuesdays and Wednesdays generally are hard for me because I have a therapist appointment." The fact I no longer have to lie is a great weight lifted off my shoulders, and the fact that I finally accept what I have, has been more liberating than anything. I can finally admit when something is off, but I can finally celebrate the successes I have made. I graduated Gen Psych, and posted a blog and Facebook post about it. I never would have done that a year ago. I would have been too terrified. But even before I started seeing N. as an outpatient, she said something that stuck with me and prompted my coming out, so to speak. "Even flatworms have judgments. Everyone will have a judgment. The question is, do you let those judgments define you?"

And I did, for far too many years. But I am doing so no longer. So when you ask me am I afraid--the answer is no. Stigma will always be there, but that does not define me. I'm good at my job (at least I like to think so, and the kids more or less seem to be learning), and my diagnoses do not impact that. I push through bad days for my kids, same as every other teacher. Am I afraid to lose friends? No, not any more. I've got an amazing group, and if you want to leave because of my diagnosis, then I don't need you in my life.  Am I afraid that I'll never have another girlfriend? No, I think somewhere out there, if it's meant to be, there's someone who will love and accept me for who I am, Bipolar and ADHD included. 

It's not easy breaking out of a closet, especially in a world like ours, full of stigma and judgment. And I more than understand that. But breaking out has allowed me, for the first time in 33 years, to say and own my own name: Kelley Blessing. Because for the first time, I fully accept my medical condition, that it's part of but not all of who I am, and I know that Kelley Blessing is far more incredible than her diagnosis. If you are willing to look beyond it, no doubt you'll see that too. 

I promised I wouldn't preach in this blog, and I'm not. But I will end this entry with a word of advice. If you ever find yourself trapped in a closet, think long and hard about why you are there. Know that you are an incredible person, and don't let any closet doors shut out your light. In time, when you are ready, break that door down, realize the amazing person that you are and proudly let others see that too. That is my wish for you. 

Teaching with ADHD

I have been asked many times by friends and other people: "How do you teach with severe ADHD? It must be hard holding any job, but teaching you need to be so on things." So, I've decided to write a blog post dedicated to that topic. I'm going to preface it by saying this is MY experience, I cannot and would not ever speak for other teachers with ADHD. My blog, my personal experience. That being said...YES IT IS VERY HARD!!! But also is VERY AWESOME!

See, I love teaching and I love my current district and job. So I'm motivated to do well, I want to get rehired, and most importantly I want to show up every day and be the best possible teacher I can be for my students and to continue to inspire them in theatre.  That being said, I also know from years of teaching and dealing with my brain, that there are a lot of challenges I need to deal with on a daily basis that some other teachers don't. That's cool. I'm not jealous, we all have our own little invisible backpacks, but I just know I need to work harder than sometimes I'd like. How do I do it? Here're the steps:


First...my therapist is beyond amazing. I met N. this summer, there are other blog posts describing that, but I told her when I first graduated IOP and she agreed to take me on as an outpatient client, that I wanted to "get it right, be successful, and be a rockstar teacher." Challenge, on her end, was accepted. She quickly realized organization and routine were non-existent in my life and would be an uphill struggle. Enter: Our three-step organizational planner. We both know I'm busy, we both acknowledge I'm busy with more than just teaching. And this planning system helps. I spit draft ALL THE THINGS that are on my plate, and then through the new few pages, narrow ALL THE THINGS into four to five manageable goals, and a very simple and easy to meet daily To-Do List. This is literally something we've stuck in a binder, what teacher doesn't have a million binders, I keep it open on my desk, and reference it throughout the day. It keeps me on task knowing what it is I need to actively get done.

Two: Routine. I'm bad at this--so bad in fact that I have multiple post-its from N. all over the walls of my room. Bedtime routines so I can get at least four hours of sleep, morning routines, med routines, medication alarms in my phone, class schedule alarms in my phone, laundry routines--if there is a routine in life, I guarantee N. has thought of it and created it for me and stuck it on a post-it. These Post Its are hung around my room and not only can I keep up with everyday tasks, but I can get out of the house on time without leaving things behind (well mostly. My wallet still does get forgotten). My roommate who is also one of my best friends has also jumped on the N. train and gave me a designated spot in our apartment for my wallet and keys. (I'm proud to say they make it there 85% of the time).

Three: Disclosing and being open with my immediate supervisor. This sucked to do, but I tend to get overwhelmed with tasks I don't fully understand, and that's generally how I get myself in trouble. So, after talking it over with N. I decided to "come clean" and disclose my ADHD diagnosis. It has worked wonders. I'm more successful in faculty meetings now that my ADHD behaviors are known,  it's been easier to schedule multiple meetings to break down complex tasks into easier to understand pieces, I have a chance to fix disorganized paperwork, and the general check-ins have been amazing. It's nice to hear someone say: "The kids love you and your class. Thanks for telling me. We can both do our parts to ensure you're as successful as possible."

Four: In school friends, and a support system. My colleagues are FANTASTIC! In my last school I only made one incredible friend (yes, we're still friends even though we are in different district-she keeps me sane). But here, I really fit with the staff. I have made a ton of friends, and they are all beyond incredible. They know what's up with me, and we all help each other out. It's really a school where teamwork makes the dreamwork. We go out, we hang out at work, we jump on each other's projects to help, we share resources, and we keep each other sane during faculty meetings (I even share my self soothe kit and fidgets so we can all survive). I wouldn't be nearly as successful without them.

Five: Always knowing what I have to do ahead of time. I know myself. I know I forget everything, even if it's on my To-Do list. So, things I know must always be done, I set my own deadline. All of my lesson plans must be done by EOD Thursday, with no exceptions. This way, I can assure myself, that I will not forget about them over the weekend. I also have time, then, if I managed to forget! N. calls it a "Cope ahead" skill. I call it: "Trying not to screw myself over." Both the same thing.

Six: Incorporate things I learned in therapy into every lesson I can. Doing acting--Emotional Regulation! Kids are being hyper--Mindfulness! Can't decide on a play topic? Walking the Middle Path. Tempers flaring? TIPP. By doing this, I have given myself tools that I can automatically depend on to help me out, and my kids have adapted to them and like using them. They like the DBT method of accessing emotions, they enjoy TIPP and they sometimes ask for a minute of mindfulness before or after class. They have also grown accustomed to me having fidgets, which they use during class if they're finding their own attention wavering or if they're struggling to sit still. We have a fidget culture which is awesome!

Speaking of students, seven: My students. They motivate me more than anything or anyone else. They come every day ready to do their best, and so how can I not do mine? If they bring their best, how can I not bring my own? N. suggested that when I'm having a rough day, to be open with them, and I have. I'll tell the kids, "I'm giving you the heads up. I'm having a really bad day today, just like you have really bad days sometimes. You can call me out if I'm being grumpy, but I'm just letting you know and asking for a little bit of understanding." And they are absolutely fantastic! Now they're more inclined to tell me when things are off with them, and in doing so, I've finally managed to create the ensemble feel in my classroom that I've always wanted. Together, we've been able to create a safe, brave, space with support and empathy.

So there you have it. How do I teach with ADHD? A ton of supports, love of my job, and a ton of GRIT, TIPP and DBT skills. I hope this post gave you some insight into my life as a teacher with ADHD and some of the struggles and rewards.

The Health Insurance Waiting Period

I'm very fortunate that I have a full-time job doing something I absolutely love. I am even more fortunate that my job offers a comprehensive health insurance plan that includes psych. I'm the most fortunate that my therapist and a handful of psychiatrists (they're just hard to find) take my insurance.

What I'm not fortunate with is the waiting period. I'm at the point where my medical insurance from my previous job ended, and although I am enrolled in my new insurance, it is not active for a little while. So I came to the dreaded point--my medication ran out. And that struggle has been real.

In my world, a lot of people don't seem to understand just how dangerous and difficult it is when meds run out, and in this post I hope to shed some light and show just what this perilous time looks like.

For me, it looks like this:

I looks like not sleeping in 3 days other than an hour a night.

It looks like getting up at 5:15 every morning, dragging myself into the shower, and getting ready for work.

It looks like driving to my job, my mind in a complete fog, GPS is the only way I can get there, and mentally pulling out my theatre training.

It looks like becoming an actor and acting like my brain is perfect, and my body isn't breaking down under the strain. The performance, for over 8 hours, is beyond exhausting.

It looks like forcing a smile and small talk with co-workers.

It looks like locking myself in my classroom to have silence, and attempting to complete the checklist system my therapist put in place for me.

It looks like teaching, and fully enjoying part of my day. Being fully in the moment, educating my kids and loving every second of it. A moment of respite from the misery.

It looks like closing the door after my students leave and collasping in my chair drained.

It looks like taking deep breaths and somehow finding the strength to teach again, and again.

It looks like texting and emailing my therapist daily, and her getting back to me every single time.

It looks like not eating and hating the concept of food.

It looks like staying late at work, and knowing if I let myself go for one moment, give into the siren call of my brain and body, I will lose everything.

It looks like for the first time realizing how much I'd have to lose and how much I am willing to fight.

It looks like crying in my car after work, riding the wave of anger and sadness, letting the exhaustion take over for just a minute.

It looks like popping an icepack and practicing a TIPP skill so I can safely drive home.

It looks like being in constant motion like a shark, walking for hours on end just to expel the excess energy.

It looks like apologizing to friends for being out of touch.

It looks like shaking hands and fuzzy thoughts.

It looks like curling up in a ball, crying.

It looks like collapsing in my therapist's office, my head in my hands, too exhausted to speak.

It looks like N. sliding a cup of coffee to me, and smiling. "This must be so hard for you, we'll get through it. I'm here for you."

It looks like N. realizing I don't actually want to talk, so she launches into a mini-monologue.

It looks like me admitting to wanting a pet hedgehog and beginning to speak.

It looks like N. working hard to make this session go somewhere--even referencing Sherlock Holmes so I'd at least try to engage.

It looks like N. trying to discuss my manic activity, and me getting embarrassed to admit I almost drove four hours for a Tinder hook up.

It looks like her helping me come up with better alternatives that "won't get you dead or arrested."

It looks like silence.

It looks like N.'s eyes narrowing--she's figured something out.

It looks like her mentioning the play I've written, and beginning to bring up the source of nightmares I always have when I'm like this. Nightmares we've never discussed.

It looks like a moment of pure compassion that brought me to tears. "It's not your fault. It never has been, it never will be. Perceived hindsight--I made up the term--is when you think that choice A was shitty, so choice B would have been amazing. Your life would have been so perfect if you had only chosen B. That's bullshit. There is choice A and choice B but there's also choice C, D, E and so on. This happened to you--it was shitty, he's a fucking shitty person, and I'm hurting for you. But it's not your fault. If you leave here and have listened to nothing else, take away the fact that this was never your fault. You were a child. And then you were an adult who made the choices you needed to make to survive. Anyone would do that--we want to survive. It's not your fault."

It looks like my shoulders sagging, a weight coming off them I didn't know I had. "No one has ever truly said that to me. Not like that."

It looks like N. smiling. "Well now someone has."

It looks like N. realizing how desperate I am for meds, and advocating for me to get them ASAP.

It looks like sitting in silence, my mind starting to slow.

It looks like me driving home, tears in my eyes, but feeling somehow lighter.

It looks like broken promises and dreams, that circle my head in the dark.

It looks like a countdown on my calendar until my meds arrive.

It looks like whispered prayers to a God I stopped believing in long ago.

It looks like missing my mom more than anything else, and wishing beyond measure she could lay next to me, and hug me in the tight way that only a mom can. I'd feel safe then.

]It looks like too many deadlines and not enough time.

It looks like numbing myself with X-Box at 2:00 AM.

It looks like losing all hope, and yet hanging on. Dialectics--life is shitty AND it will get better.

It looks like wanting to give up, but finding that one glimmer to hold on to.

It looks like realizing living is a choice and making the choice, no matter how hard it gets, to stay.

How I Learned the Importance of Therapy

I was never one to give therapy a chance. I went to a few one off's, but never really found any that were helpful. So, for years, I poo-pooed the very idea of therapy, deciding it wasn't for me at a very early stage of my illness, so I just moved forward relying on medication alone. After all, no one knows me better than me--so I got this.

After being in this IOP (Intensive Out-Patient) DBT therapy program for the past 6 weeks, I will humbly admit I was completely wrong. I hadn't quite understood how incredible and helpful therapy could be until I met T. N. and D--three amazing therapists I will be extremely sad to leave once my time in IOP is over. Each one of them brought her unique skillset to my therapy and has helped me to both grow in the understanding of my own illness, and also as a person. Each of them has had such compassion for me at my worst, helped me through by teaching me skills, acknowledging when I have been successful and helping me to continue moving forward in a positive direction.

T. has been a rockstar in just dealing with me. She's been a real champion of me, listening to my

medication concerns, nagging my psychiatrist to meet with me, advocating my own medication desires to my psychiatrist, and waiting for an appointment for me, even though it meant sacrificing her own break. T. also has like this amazing 6th sense to know something is wrong whenever I entered the building--even before I said a word. "Kel, come with me real quick." And we'd go to her office, even when I didn't know why, and she'd say: "So what's up? Talk to me, I can tell there's something wrong." And then I'd explode, and we'd talk through the situation, and find some kind of solution.  T. is always ready, and if I knocked, and she wasn't in session, her office door opened, she smiled and said: "What's up Kel?" Sometimes I'd just need to talk, or sometimes just deescalate in her office and play with the kinetic sand. She's also one of the most empathetic people I know--which makes it so easy to talk to her.

N. is literally the deescalation guru. I've never met a single person, save for the few OTs I know,
to have such a deep understanding and compassion for sensory issues, and have such an ability to deescalate and treat a sensory meltdown. She's also brilliant at non-verbal cues in a group setting, never calling me out on my shit and just offering help when needed without bringing attention to my own struggles. I was having a brutal day before group, she saw it, and breezed into the group room with all the things, for everyone.  "Looks like today's a rough day. I've brought mints--because they taste better than cotton or rayon--and I've brought rocks, take one-throw it back and forth, up and down, hold it, I don't care. Just use them. If you need a break, take one, just be quite about leaving. Okay? Okay." Or the day I was running without meds, without sleep, because of my dad's medical stuff. "Need something from my office to get through today? Go get it. (In reference to her stuffed elephant). Get whatever you need from in there, come back, and be ready to work."  N. is also brilliant at not just validation but sincere acknowledgment of a job well done. "Great make do skill," she said when I replaced my shirt with a chewy. "It's 11:30 AM and you haven't yet been in my office melting down. Keep it up." Or the one that was the best: "You're so, so together today. I think you've finally crossed the threshold. Proud of you." It's amazing what a few small words or actions can do to help change behaviors. N. is a great example of the kind of teacher I want to be this upcoming school year.

D. always has an ever-ready coloring book and crayon, and always willing to chat after DBT, to make sure all was okay with me. She is always really amazing at keeping it real, and sharing her own struggles so I didn't feel isolated in mine. She repeatedly fought and fought with my psychiatrist when she didn't agree with the medication adjustments and kept nagging her when she didn't see a change in my hyperactivity. She's also a pro at bringing fidgets (like dry erase markers) that were inconspicuous in a group setting. 

These three women have completely changed my life for the better, have given me skills to get through my toughest time, have also given me tough love when needed. They've pushed me harder than I have ever been pushed before, have forced me to look at myself in ways I have never before done so, and made me a stronger person because of it. I know I have done the work, as N. says: "That's all you," but their guidance has made it completely possible.

I started six weeks ago, completely against therapy. As I leave this IOP program on Friday, I can say, wholeheartedly, I am a proponent of therapy and a complete advocate of its place in treating mental health. These women have not only helped me to grow, but opened my eyes to seeing the huge therapeutic value of therapy in conjunction with medication. For all of these things, I am sincerely grateful.

Insomnia--Part of the Uphill Battle and Dangerous Symptom.

Insomnia. According to Webmd, Insomnia is "a sleep disorder characterized by difficulty falling and/or staying asleep" (https://www.webmd.com/sleep-disorders/guide/insomnia-symptoms-and-causes#1). Apparently, I have secondary insomnia, defined by webmd as: "a person is having sleep problems because of something else, such as a health condition" (ibid). And there you have it. This is my 5th night in a row where I haven't been able to sleep, and I'm starting to get worried.

See, I've been "up" for a few days now. Not manic, not quite yet, but because things in my life are starting to turn around, my brain can't quite handle it. See, the problem with Bipolar Disorder One is that any kind of anxiety, good or bad, can trigger mania. And this not sleeping thing is certainly an area of the gravest concern.


When I don't sleep a few things happen, I get very creative, which stimulates my mind even more. I feel the effects of my medication more so than usual. Lithium has pretty much killed my short term memory, and since I haven't been sleeping, it's getting worse. I'm feeling the gaps in my brain, and can actually visualize little wires short-circuiting. I'm not forgetting important stuff, but small things, my debit card, my wallet, my keys, what I just was thinking, ideas, books, character names, people's names, and so much more I can't remember. Not sleeping makes that worse.

I'm also exhausted--my body is pretty much done. And I've been working my ass off at controlling my thoughts (I can't get in to see my doctor, so I'm not able to get the anti-anxiety meds that I need to knock the fuck out). When I don't sleep, I get all kinds of intrusive thoughts, and I'm opposite actioning the shit out of them (DBT skill for another entry). It's why this entry is being born, I'm trying to use a positive behavior to change the negative thought (I'm useless and can't really do things. Opposite thought: I'm useful and can get things done). I've been treating my thoughts like a highway with cars racing. Cops stop each car (thought) and if it's not something that I can use, he sends it back. I probably should use a calmer image, but I like this one.

I'm starting to feel like I'm that guy who walked on the tightrope between the Twin Towers. If the wind takes me and I go too far, it's death. Keeping my eyes and fighting for my balance is life. I'm right in the middle of the fucking wire, and it's getting harder and harder to combat the wind (mania). I'm supposed to see my doctor on Thursday, so I hope I'll get the meds I need, and a med adjustment, and I'll be fine. I want to make it to the other side.

Thank God for Simon Cowell and the nine million videos of him on youtube. If I ever get a book published or a play produced on Broadway, he's a person I'd love to meet. Thank God too for Jeremy Brett videos. Two Brits to keep my somewhat fucking sane in the dark recesses of the night.