Tag Archives: money

Ah, furlough (PG mentions cancer)

My wonderful missionary friend and her family of six are coming home to American three months earlier than they planned. Less than a year after losing her mother, her father has been diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. Also known as, “The Kiss Of Death”.

I cried when I heard the news. My feels are still mixed about the whole thing. Of course I am so happy they are coming home and I will get to see her and meet her youngest baby. I am also joyful, and reminding myself I feel that way makes me cry harder. He was active and happy and served Jesus with all of his heart. He is finally going to meet God face to face and that gives me goosebumps. Can you imagine what he will see? Nope, you can’t. Revelation talks about it, but it’s just a hint about what we have to look forward to. It would be staggering to know someone I loved so much who loved God so much was going home to meet Him. I can only live vicariously through my friend – the joy must be insurmountable.

Still, the grief would overwhelm the joy. The joy would overwhelm the grief. I understand what it’s like to have all those feelings at once: It’s what I specialize in. Bipolar gives a special kind of intimacy and work because of the depth of emotion I live with. I’ve got this unless everything in my life is perfectly balanced, which it is not often. I don’t use heroin, but I can get what it is like to think you need it. There are so many instances like that. I can’t know what it is like to lose a father; I can’t even conceive it, but I know what it is like to have to deal with so many feelings at once.

Things are coming together for them and they will be perfectly orchestrated by the time they get here. It probably won’t go like we planned, but it will happen. I wish I could get them all they need – a car – a house closer to her father – more monthly support. All I’ve got now is prayer. It sounds so hokey, but what else do I have to give? I can make them a good cake. That’s about it.

If you’re a pray-er, please pray for this wonderful family. If you’re not, thank you for reading until the end of this. That means a lot to me.


Lie Like a Persian Rug (sic) (PG)

I’m going to deal with a couple of things in today’s blog.

Lying. My dad passed on some of the stuff Uncle Donald had told his daughter, my cousin, about his experience growing up. His brother was livid. (Love that word.) He said that he got his first bike when he was twenty years old. He wasn’t the only son to receive a bike – none of them had bikes. There are other “memories” to share, but what is the point? We can be glad we don’t live close to the lying uncle and I will adjust to not believing anything he says.
B’s dad was a liar too, so when I talk to him about all this he doesn’t have comfort for me. B already endured it. Not only that, while he was pretty much his dad’s sole caregiver, his dad was lying about that. It shows a lot of forgiveness that B is over it, but we’re still uncomfortable around that side of the family because we don’t really know what he said. Ladies and Gentlemen: Stop lying. If you don’t, you suck.

Baby – First thing out of Small’s mouth this morning was asking about a baby. She asked when we would get one in the future. I’ve told her easily one hundred times that there will be no baby. I try to tell her that I’m broken and that we can’t do it. I don’t tell her that he dad had a vasectomy. (And his doctor has done hundreds and hundreds without one failing, so shut up about your friend whose did.) The only way we’ll get a baby is if someone leaves one to us when the parents die. The probability of more children is very low. I wish I could tell her we’d get a dog instead, but I don’t know if even that will ever happen, either.

This week I gained .8 pounds. That’s what I get when I eat cheetos and pie and ice cream. Oh, and a bit of three pieces of cake. I deserve it but will drop it quickly, I hope. I’ve loved yoga and so long as I’m active in my practice, my shoulder stays healed. I skipped two days, though, so I best get on it. It’s a ten year old injury and needs some attention.

$30. People like to give me money. It’s wonderful, as we don’t have a lot discretionary income and I get things that I want but don’t need. Examples would be Sonic Happy Hour where Small and I get 50 cent slushies, or hair dye. Silly things like that. B has one pair of athletic shoes so I decided to buy another pair for him. Sweet and generous, non?. Problem is that $30 was removed from my wallet. I don’t know where or when it happened but I don’t have the money anymore. It is so stupid to be in our situation. If blame for our financial situation was to be handed out I would probably deserve a lot of it. I would rather live under grace than blame and guilt though. I have every reason to suck up that grace. I will, but I still want the money back.
Baby needs a new pair of shoes.


Maybe not officially fired. (PG-13) (Short mention of sexuality)

Sigh. I made a mistake and have to return $78 to my former company.
I say former because I made another paperwork mistake. I keep making them. I need to get someone to check my work before I turn it in, but I decide that things will be fine and I don’t need to worry about it. I am wrong.
I think this is the ADD in me. I can’t get it right. Someday maybe I will be able to, but my guess is no, it will not. (By the way, my ADD med, Vyvanse, is $201.99 without insurance.)
Thanks to my spree, $78 is a huge amount of money for us. I can’t say that I will never shop like that again, but if I did it is out of naivete. Next time things get out of hand, I know what wil happen. I don’t carry credit cards, or (after last week) checks.  I hardly carry cash because I spend it within two days of holding it.  Money and I are not friends.  I met a woman once, at a child’s birthday party, and she told me, relevantly, that she is “not materialistic.”  I had never heard anyone say that before.  I would like to see that character trait in myself, but right now I believe God has other things he’s working on.

At least I’m not a serial adulterer. That sort of thing is irreparable. I feel a strong compulsion toward shopping and I can understand how that might feel when it comes to sexuality. The pull of the illness, combined with a natural sex drive can’t really be productive, anymore than have three pairs of brown pants can be productive. At least I can take brown pants back.  Even if sex means nothing to you, you can’t take it back.  If it means very little to the bipolar person, I can bet it means something to their partners.

“It is not too shocking a statistic then that 90% of people who are suffering from bipolar disorder go through divorce proceedings.”   Who can put up with all they have to put up with.  I met a married woman with bipolar disorder in the hospital.  She had a great husband and they had a great relationship, but she felt really guilty about the whole thing.  She said so many people were unhappy in their marriage, she couldn’t feel okay with her great marriage.  She was typically bipolar, too.  For example, she once bought a bedroom set for a ton of money when they didn’t need one.  I don’t know what she did to get in to the hospital but they don’t just let anyone in.

I can tell you more stories like the guy getting kicked out of his house by his wife, so he bought a six pack and slept in his car.  One time, after a revelatory conversation with my husband.   I really wanted to leave, but my parents were visiting us from out of town and they were asleep in my bedroom, so I couldn’t get my stuff and leave them alone with B.  I’d probably wind up with the police picking me up. This is probably not true, but I felt like I had no where else to go.  I came back, but suffered for many years because the story he made me pry from him.  Things would probably have been better if he’d told me years before, or was more open with it, but I can’t know for sure.  I thought that I probably would not have married him had I knew what happened.  (I am not going to tell the story.)

Anyway, if I were resourceful and not disabled, I would start pounding the pavement for more work, but I’m not in the highly motivated team.  I would like to start writing more, I’ll pouring so much into these blog entries and I could pour even more in to stories and novels.  Or if not more, the same.


Which nobody can deny (G)

We had her birthday party and it was really nice.  We had about three kids there for the first hour.  My husband asked me if I was anxious about it, and I wasn’t.  I was surprised.  It wasn’t  like  I was having symptoms of anxiety and was calming myself down from them.  I just wasn’t anxious; not at all.

Eventually a lot more kids got there.  They had a wonderful time in the cold pool and with the crafts.  There was pizza.  I could talk about how various people annoyed me, but why bother.  I’m only writing about the party so people don’t have to ask how it went.  It was good, maybe it was my favorite birthday she’s had.  Happy Birthday, Size Small!

***

I read some posts from January and I am struck with how differently I sound when I’m depressed.  There is no joy.  There is a lot of survival and assessment of the situation.  I don’t tell myself, “Okay, you’ve been through this before, you can do it again.”  I fear that I closely survived the last bout but may not this one.  If I can nip it in the bud, I recognize patterns, but if it gets beyond that, it is difficult to fight the illness.

I have a question for you, gentle reader:

You were given $35 to do what ever you wanted to.  Would you (a) spend it on arts and crafts supplies or (b) save it so you can get your poor dyed auburn/red hair with lots of gray and dark brown roots colored professionally?

I can’t decide.  The art supplies include embossing plates that say, “thank you” and “happy birthday” so they would help me bless others.  Having good hair is a way to bless others, too.


Step 3?

Someone tell me how to make amends.  I spent $260+ on clothes, shoes and a shelf.  And a few other things.  I knew how much it was and I knew I had to talk to B about it, but he got to our check register first.  He was furious.

$260 is a very large sum of money for us.  We have little to live on for the rest of the month, for gas and groceries.  (We have a lot of food in our larder, don’t send us grocery store coupons.)  He wants me to return as much as I can and make amends.  He wants me to clean the house.

From what I read on AA webpages, making amends needs to be something linked to the offense.  Returning the goods or repaying the $260 are good examples of making amends.  Asking “what can I do?” is not a good example because it shows the offender doesn’t understand the nature or depth of the offense.  B wants me to scrub the house.  I am doing it, but I am neutral.  I’m not doing it because I want a clean house.  I honestly don’t care one way or another if the house is clean.  I’m not motivated by love.  I love my husband but I am not cleaning to make him happy.  I just feel nothing about this job.  It’s true I’ve spent about an hour on the computer when I could be scouring the shower floor, but my knees were hurting.  And I hadn’t looked at  facebook all day.

He was very very very angry last night.  He didn’t sleep well and he was still angry at me when he left for work.

I thought we had arrived at some understanding.  When I go on a spree (and this won’t be my last) I move blithely through the store, picking out things I like and things I think I should have.  The later is the danger, because I don’t want to take those things back.  Sure, I’ll return the things I just like, but the things I need, like the $6.99 swimsuit, are different stories.  I got a lot of pants 70% off and I do not want to return them.  They fit me, unlike much of the other clothes I have.  And it’s only $14 I’ll get back.  It seems not worth the trouble to do so.  I am really not myself when I’m shopping.

When I come down from the high, I feel really guilty.  I am ashamed at what I did.  I am convicted that not lying is not the end of God’s instruction, but deception is also condemned over and over again.  I hide the things I bought.  I take off the tags.  I seek out more.

There is an embossing plate collection that I have a 50% coupon for.  It’s ten plates, and plates are usually $4.99.  After the coupon, they could be $1 each.  I want them.  I think I need them and have to have them.  I know I am wrong!  But the drive is in me and I almost feel desperate to own it.  I try and think about how I can get the $10.  Can I return something so I have the cash?  Can I take money from the community change drawer?  (If you have ideas, just let me know.)

I don’t know what I’m going to do next.  I have to go this afternoon to return the shelf and some clothes.  It won’t be enough, I know.  I won’t be “allowed” to buy anything for a very long time.  I hate being treated like a child.  People say that B can be controlling, and it’s true, but I think part of it is trying to manage a mentally ill spouse.  He doesn’t know anyone else who has a wife with bipolar, and 90% of bipolar people’s marriages fail.  He and I both are committed to our marriage.  He needs support but we’re not going to drive an hour + for a support group filled with a bunch of sick people either (a) feeling sorry for themselves or (b) 300 pounds because they take Seroquel and use it as an excuse to drink a milkshake everyday. I was on that path and want to stay as far from it was possible.

Sigh.  I wish I could fix things, and I’m sure that I can, but I’m not going to do as good of a job as possible.  I won’t blame it on the mania, I’m just too selfish.


I’m so suicidal

A couple of nights ago Mr. M and my mom (and me, sort of) had this long talk about how my diet was so important.  I agreed to a sugar free, white flour free regime.  I know it makes me feel better, but for the past couple of weeks I just ate and ate and ate sugar – candy bars, ice cream, all the good stuff.  I shocked everyone by eating a pound of See’s one day in about 12 hours and a box of Drumsticks in about two hours.  They were good, too.

After Mr M went upstairs I was treated to a State of the Union speech on how much my wedding cost, how much it cost them to keep me at Berkeley for almost three years, how muchthe house cost and how they  can’t give us any more money.  Of course they can’t!  We didn’t ask.  And now I’m carrying around this weight.

Money talk always screws up my mood.  In fact, the last time I went to the hospital, I believe, there was a direct correlation  regarding having one of those chats with my dad.  I just can’t deal with it.  At all.

Trust God, right?  Who says I’m not?  But we cannot ever pay them back for all they’ve done for us.  Should we have to consider it?  I wish I didn’t.  I wish I could change rolls with Mr. M and let him handle all the finances, things would probably get better, but he can’t do a good job.  Like I can.  Whatever.

I called the doctor and she called me back.  She asked me how suicidal am I.  I have a plan, a fantasy, of the way I would do it, but I don’t have the materials to carry out this plan.  She wants me to go to the ER to get evaluated and I am not going to do that because that will put me in the hospital for six days.  I don’t have the energy for that.  If I’m going to get my butt to school I have to learn to manage my moods better.  I’m not adverse to drugs or hospital stays, but really, it’s too much of a pain in the butt right now.

I want to go to sleep.


Doing the Love Dare when you are completely broke

We started the “Love Dare”, a book about how to “Fireproof” your marriage.  There was a very bad movie made about the book, staring Kirk Cameron.  It was based on the book, and you might have heard about it that way.  The book has forty days of challenges designed to make your marriage stronger, or to save a relationship headed for divorce.

Today we are to say nothing negative to your spouse.  So far, I’ve mostly done it.  We were talking about money, as people with none are prone to do.  We paid for Mr. Malakoa’s school this month to the tune of 1,000 dollars.  We didn’t have the savings to do it, so that means we’ve got about $XXX (I’m not that tacky) to last until the end of the month.  I’ve heard from other couples how they survived when they were young on nothing and how much fun it was to do it.  Problem is they were nineteen or twenty two when they did this.  Mr. M is almost 45, you’d hope we’d be done with it by now.

But, hey, I’m up for fun.  Maybe it will make us youthful and not keep us at each other’s necks.  Tonight I told Small we were being so silly by eating breakfast at night to be silly!  She loved it.

Anyway, we were in the middle of this heated conversation and I was going to open my mouth and tell Mr. M everything I thought about him and this whole debacle.  Then I was reminded of “The Love Dare.”  I thought, “Surely they weren’t going through the amount of financial pressure we’re under.”  But  I swallowed it.  I was “good”.

Feeling like my grammar and punctuation aren’t very good this day.  My complete apologies to my faithful readers for hanging on.

Love,

Malakoa