Tag Archives: spree

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.


Humility (humiliation?) in the free breakfast line

It is my fault we have very little money until payday.  I did it with buying mainly art supplies and snacks.   To the tune of more than $300.  It was probably more than that because I got some birthday money last month that I didn’t add to my spending report.

Yesterday I had to ask the doctor’s office for credit.

I knew we were behind in paying for Small’s hot lunch.  Yesterday she and I packed a lunch for her and I was in the midst of packing one for today.  She told me she wanted to eat the cafeteria food.  I told her that we couldn’t until next week.  She wanted to know why and finally I told her we didn’t have the money to do it.  She offered up her money.  We got it out and counted it.  She had about three dollars.  I showed her what she could give to Haiti if she bought lunch today.  She changed her mind because she wanted to send it all to Haiti.

We have plenty to eat in our house, by they way.  She could have had bacon or toast or fruits, but when I offered to take her to the school’s free breakfast she jumped at the chance.  We waited in line and soon enough she had made a friend.  When they walked through the line the cafeteria lady told Small how much she owed.

I hate that.  Why would they tell that to a five year old?  It just embarrasses them and they usually forget to tell their parents anyway.  Breakfast was free anyway.  Why bring up money at a time like that?

She munched happily away on her freshly baked cinnamon roll and milk.  I waited with her so I could walk her to class.  I looked around at the kids, all makes and models.  I thought about my own prejudices.  Did I used to feel “better” than these families because I fed Small breakfast at home?  Were they really broke all the time, whereas we’re just going through a rough spot.  Did I feel guilty because it was my work that put us here?

Well, it obviously was not a punishment to either one of us to be there.  It may have taken my pride down a few notches, and I need a bit (just a tad) more than that.  Small was super excited to be there, eating, at school.  We left only a few minutes earlier from home than usual, so no skin off my back.

I wished I had the $6.50 we owed, but I don’t.  I’ll make her “snacks” for her to carry to school and eat with the other kids and she can eat with me at home after that.  None of that is really bad news.

But it still feels like it is.  I have a tightness in my throat.  Part of me wants to remember this feeling so I won’t sneak off and go spend $3.50 on an ice cream cone, $12 on a 40% off pad of art paper, or $4 on a thrift store sweater.   Spending feels so good.

Generosity is not that I’m talking about.  Our giving has continued and increased despite all that I have put us through.   If we are so blessed to treat you, please be gracious to us.  We want to.  With Mr. M at the reigns we can afford to do so, too.  I really want to learn how to be frugal, not cheap.

Luke 16:10 says:
He who is faithful in a very little thing is faithful also in much; and he who is unrighteous in a very little thing is unrighteous also in much.

So, make me faithful, God.  I want more of everything.

All that to say.  I don’t know.  No inspiring words from me, again.  But the goodness is that I’m almost through feeling sorry for myself!


Women be shoppin’

I am woman.  I am bipolar.  I can blame myself on the female bipolar diagnosis, but to do so would not be fair.  Would it?!?

I talked in my last post about self-control (or temperance).

Let’s look at it again:  Galatians 5 says: But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, longsuffering, gentleness, goodness, faith,  Meekness, temperance: against such there is no law.  And they that are Christ’s have crucified the flesh with the affections and lusts.  If we live in the Spirit, let us also walk in the Spirit.

I’m  really impulsive right now.  Sort of.  I find,  I buy.  I am thrilled and excited about it.  My psychiatrist said it was okay so long as I took it back.  So, I made myself buy things at stores that I can’t return things to.  Or I wait a very long time to take them back so they won’t let me do it.  I bought a sickening amount of paper.  And other stuff.  It’s a way to assuage the pain.  It makes me feel even keeled.

Pain is not necessarily a bad thing.  I read a wonderful book that I whole-heartedly recommend to everyone, “The Gift of Pain” by Dr Paul Brand and Philip Yancy.  Dr. Brand made some brilliant discoveries in his studies on leprosy.  He argues that pain is necessary and helps preserve our lives. C.S. Lewis says that, “Pain is God’s megaphone”.  I agree.  I need pain.  I am safe because of pain.

I am also dangerous.  Not only do I shop, which is innocuous, in the big scheme of things.  What is dangerous is the bottles of pill I have squirreled away.  They are deadly.  I thought I had given them, away after a relatively long spell of health, but I stumbled across some others.  A pill bottle stuffed to the top with Seroquel and two other drugs.  Even though I thought I got rid of them, they are in the medicine box.  If and when I speak to my therapist he will tell me to throw them away.  If you have such a stash, I am telling you right now to get rid of them.  Right now.  These things are required if we are going to heal.

Well, I just talked myself in to getting rid of my pills.

Another issue:  I try to watch my language.  I could destroy my marriage, my friendships and my whole life.  I have a new friend that said she needed to “scold” me because of something I said in conversation.  I couldn’t remember it, of course, but she understood that.  I was having one of my “spells,” which is probably an accurate description of what I go through.  My father initially told my brother, “Malakoa is in the nervous hospital”.  Fifty year old diction, it makes me giggle.

I’m spotting tonight, you can probably tell.  I’m over doped.  I am going to go read a book or three to my child, and check back with you tomorrow.