Category Archives: mania

In Good Company…

I have openly written about my bipolar disorder many times before. I even had a separate blog for it once upon a time. I still utilize that blog now and then when I just feel like seeing my random, skewed thoughts in black and white but not necessarily form a blog post about them. I think the last time I was there was October of last year. (2009).

Anyway, it seems to me to separate that part of my life is to pull out a big chunk of who I am and put it somewhere else, further perpetuating the stigma of mental illness. Fact of the matter is, I find a certain beauty in being beautifully fucked up. Crazy beautiful. That’s what I like to call it.

While surfing around these interwebz, I found myself in pretty good company. Want a list of other fucked up famous people? Here’s a few of my fav’s:

Buzz Aldrin, astronaut. Yes. We put a fucked up person on the moon. Then again, how do we actually know he was there? Maybe he just pretended to be while he was off his meds and his full account of being there was just a figment of his imagination.

Jim Carrey, actor. This should really not surprise you. Jim’s has had well-documented freak outs over the course of his career. Plus, I really don’t think he’s an actor. He is just being Jim. If he weren’t bipolar, he probably wouldn’t be nearly as funny. Bipolar people, for the most part, are pretty creative and funny. At least, that’s what we tell ourselves.

T S Eliot, poet. Okay. This dude wrote an entire ode to a Cat. Or, rather, a bunch of cats. For some reason, crazy people are often associated with cats. You don’t make fun of the crazy dog lady. No. It’s always the crazy cat lady who shares the Nine Lives with Fluffy and Waldo. Dog people don’t get our special brand of crazy.

Sigmund Freud, physician. *blank stare* Yeah. This one sort of speaks for itself. Next?

Marilyn Monroe, actress. Ah, Miss Marilyn. The quintessential poster child for the manic depressive. She’s up, she’s down. She’s high. She’s low. She’s pristine. She’s promiscuous. This is one of the more tragic cases of crazy on my list, because she really did have the world by the balls once upon a time. A big trademark of someone with manic depression is an over-sized ego that basically masks low self esteem. Oh, and large breasts. And a desire to sleep with the President. Barack is kinda hot now that I think about it…

Edgar Allen Poe, author. You’re seeing a lot of poets/authors and actors on this list. That is because really talented people are generally fucked in the head. Where do you think our creativity comes from? Life experience? Certainly…OUR life experiences which are vastly different than those of you “normies”. Poe writes about sex with corpses and black birds and tolling bells and Nevermore’s. He’s a scary bastard. Not Charles Manson scary…but the gentle scary of a person with bipolar disorder. We generally are not violent people…unless provoked.

Margot Kidder, actor. Another actor with a well-documented history of losing her mind. For four days, she roamed the streets of Hollywood, disheveled, dirty, homeless, without her teeth. Then again, she kind of sounds like my grandmother. Ah, but she has bipolar as well, so it’s all good. History of drug addiction. Another problem with we manic depressives are our addictive personalities. Sex, drugs…and obviously, Superman.

Vincent van Gogh, painter/artist. Yeah. Four words for you. Ear in a box. Which, of course, should not be confused with THIS which was epically funny but not at all related to mental illness. Well, maybe just a touch of borderline personality disorder with a dab of narcissism and a side salad of histrionic.

So, as you can see, I’m feeling pretty good about the company I’m keeping. And sure, someone will flame me for making light of the disease. But, keep your blood pressure in check. This is MY disease too. This is my life. I live and struggle with the wonders and the agonies of bipolar disorder every single day. I, however, choose to make light of an illness that nearly brought me to my knees once upon a time. Sometimes, you have to laugh…lest you never stop crying.

Lastly, let me leave you with a quote from someone with bipolar disorder that I admire greatly. Princess Leia. What can I say? I’m a sucker for chicks with cinnamon rolls on the side of their head. Plus, she has a Wookie.

But, seriously?

Bipolar disorder can be a great teacher. It’s a challenge, but it can set you up to be able to do almost anything else in your life.

Truer words were never spoken and this time, I’m not laughing.

Facebook Conversation with the Hotband.

As some of you may or may not know, my husband works in another state in the country four days out of the seven day week. This means that we rely very heavily on social media to stay in touch. Cellphones, computers, web cams and of course, Facebook. We spend a lot of time on there talking to one another and more importantly, staying connected to keep the love alive.

Yeah. Like we ever had a problem with THAT! Heh.

My husband loves to post bizarre pictures on Facebook. This works well, because I love to SAY inappropriate things on his Facebook wall. I do this for a couple of reasons. A) I know the things that I say utterly disgust my sister in law and her friend who are friends with my husband. This is my passive/aggressive way of saying “fuck off, dogfaces”. B) Any woman from my husbands past will VERY rapidly figure out that the Hotband’s wife is, in fact, mentally deranged. There will be no sweet, rekindling of the past love notes sent to my husband so long as they realize I am a danger to myself and others. Especially others.

Try me, bitches.

Anyway, my husband posts a picture of a fucking mountain goat, or maybe it’s a ram. Or a friggin’ ewe. Whatever. But, it’s dangling off an electrical wire in someones backyard. Obviously a photoshop deal (Yes, Blogger….photoshop IS a word. Be gone, red squiggly line!). My husband finds this picture to be a riot and posts it on his page. The following hilarity ensues:

Pee Ess: Names are obviously changed/blocked out for privacy. Most people don’t want you to know they are associated with me. Click on the pic to enlarge.

Tony B. likes this.


LMFAO, I don’t know but would have loved to witness it

kinda reminds me of the dead squirrel I had hanging from my porch rafters…. two grown men in this house and I had to go scoop it out with a Walmart bag…lol… I’ll post the pic

Ha! Nice

a squirrel weighs what? 1 pound. This thing has to weigh like 40=60 pounds

Could be a photoshop

posted the squirrel and trust me it was real…

i wish someone would hang me naked from an electrical line. then pinata my ass a few times until i shit candy. that would be fucking sweet.

Hotband, now you’re gonna make me break out my CSI Orlando kit.


fuck man. i just laughed so hard my tampon dislodged…*ROFLMAO*

Well, I guess it’s close enough to candy out of your ass

oh shit. i’m not even wearing a tampon.
wtf was that then?
*dials 911*

Maybe it was that candy after all?


i dunno. should i taste it? what if it’s sticky…and catches on the roof of my mouth? i may choke. i dunno…it’s really pretty suspicious looking. maybe i spontaneously aborted my liver through my vagina.

I say you freeze it and wait for me to get home, I’ll have a look at it first. If it’s edible, we can serve it up when your mom gets here.

omfg. banner day. for once, i am without words.

*bows to the master*

omg omg omg omg……

i think i may have tourettes!

I have a very foul mouth. Don’t know where I got it or when I got it, but somehow, I cannot control the things I say. This is most prevalant on facebook. I tend to say things in peoples threads that are simply vulgar and tasteless. Then, I get other people on that same list saying “Oh CP, you are so disgusting!” I can’t apologize for it because I have been like that since birth.

My father (my biological one) was named Stephen. When Stephen and Esther were married, all they did was fight…ALL the time. They would hurl the worst kinds of profanity at each other. So one day, when I was two years old, my mother was selling my crib. A couple came over to buy the crib. Their names were Steven and Ruth. My mother said “CP? This is Ruth and Steven. They are here to buy your old crib!” First words out of my mouth?

“Fuck you, Steven.”

No hesitation. Just blurted it out, much to the chagrin of my parents. What the hell do they expect from me? You’re going to scream fuck you at each other all day long and don’t expect your child to pick it up? Bitch, Please!

Now, I say filthy things on Facebook. I have started talking to people I don’t even know just to say nasty things to them. There is a friend of a friend on Facebook that I find myself saying really filthy things to because I know he gets frustrated and embarassed. I can’t help it. The more people tell me to stop, the more I insist on doing it.

I like to tell people to suck my tits all the time. Even if I don’t really want them to, I still need to say it to them.

My high school reunion is next weekend, and I know I am going to find myself saying that to people I went to school with. It’s my answer for everything.

Hey CP? How are you?

Suck my tits.

Hey CP? What are you up to?

Nothing much. Suck my tits.

Hey CP? Anything going on?

Yeah, you. Sucking my tits.

See? It can’t be helped. And I have tried to stop it, but it simply doesn’t work. Could it be that I have a mild form of Tourtette’s? I don’t know. For those of you who don’t know what Tourette’s is, allow me to school you:

Tourette syndrome (also called Tourette’s syndrome, Tourette’s disorder, Gilles de la Tourette syndrome, GTS or, more commonly, simply Tourette’s or TS) is an inherited neuropsychiatric disorder with onset in childhood, characterized by the presence of multiple physical (motor) tics and at least one vocal (phonic) tic; these tics characteristically wax and wane. Tourette’s is defined as part of a spectrum of tic disorders, which includes transient and chronic tics.

Tourette’s was once considered a rare and bizarre syndrome, most often associated with the exclamation of obscene words or socially inappropriate and derogatory remarks (coprolalia). However, this symptom is present in only a small minority of people with Tourette’s.[1] Tourette’s is no longer considered a rare condition, but it may not always be correctly identified because most cases are classified as mild. Between 1 and 10 children per 1,000 have Tourette’s;[2] as many as 10 per 1,000 people may have tic disorders,[3][4] with the more common tics of eye blinking, coughing, throat clearing, sniffing, and facial movements. People with Tourette’s have normal life expectancy and intelligence. The severity of the tics decreases for most children as they pass through adolescence, and extreme Tourette’s in adulthood is a rarity. Notable individuals with Tourette’s are found in all walks of life


And don’t send me any hatemail saying “You know CP, that’s not funny. My _________ has Tourette’s and you shouldn’t make fun of it?

Oh yeah? Suck my tits.

Where I have been…the dethroning of a Princess.

This is a very hard thing for me to talk about. It’s going to be even harder to write about. I have always prided myself on being brutally honest on this blog. I am not going to lose sight of that while I post now.

One year ago, this week, I was fired. No, this isn’t the first time I have ever been fired. It’s hard to have bipolar disorder and not lose a few jobs along the way. I am very bad with authority and tend to come and go as I please. It doesn’t make for happy bosses and it certainly doesn’t fly while being a nurse.

Here’s my story. *deep breath*

On June 8th of last year, I diverted narcotics from my job. In layman speak, I stole prescription drugs from my medcart. I did not steal these drugs to take these drugs. I stole them simply to see if I could “get away” with it. I wanted to see if I could buck the system. I stole 11 vicodin from patients who HAVE a prescription but generally don’t use their meds. I never took a pain pill from a patient who was having pain issues…just from the cards of those who rarely or seldom took pain meds.

Why did I do this? Can’t say really. I know I was in the throes of a manic episode. It felt exciting to me. Like I was getting away with something…

Obviously, I didn’t get away with it. Three days later, I was called into my bosses office and questioned as to why patients who don’t normally receive narcotics got them. They also wanted to know how on earth 11 different patients were having pain issues all on the same night. I knew I was caught…and even being caught felt exhilarating. It was so edgy, like a drama that was playing out in my mind as opposed to it being a reality. I confessed what I did. I even went home and got the 11 pills back. They were sitting in my top drawer. I have no need for them.

The boss was a bit taken aback that I still had these narcotics. I drug tested negative. Like I said, I wasn’t taking them…I was just having “fun”. And yes, for someone with bipolar disorder who is having a very bad manic episode, what I did would be perceived as fun. We thrive on risk taking behaviors. It’s simply the nature of the beast.

Well, as I expected, she reported me to the Board of Nursing. They suspended my license. This is where things got hairy for me. Eventually, you come down from manic episodes and it is back to reality. When reality hit me, it hit hard.

My husband has a prescription for percocet. I took some of his pills for a bad migraine and realized “Wow. These make my problems go away!” Two pills a day eventually turned into three which turned into four…etc. In one week, I had finished a bottle of SIXTY pills. ONE WEEK. I called my husbands doctor and told the doc my husband was having pain. He gave me an Rx for 120 more. Those were gone in a heartbeat. This continued for many months.

A year has gone by. A full year. I spent it in bed.

I told my psychiatrist what I had done. She adjusted my medications accordingly. I enrolled myself into a program that helps impaired nurses get their licenses back. As of today, I am one full month sober. Sounds pathetic, doesn’t it? It is. But, we reap what we sow, baby. I am no exception to the rule.

I am taking it one day at a time. First and foremost, I am trying to better manage my bipolar disorder so that I own IT instead of it owning me. I used to make light of the fact that I had BPD. It was almost amusing to me…

it’s not so funny anymore. I could have killed myself or someone else.

As of next week, I enter into a contract with an IPN program, a program for impaired nurses. They will monitor me with weekly drug tests and expect me to go through intensive outpatient therapy. I have no problem with this. Actually, I am lucky not to be in jail. I am too cute for jail. I’d be someones bitch in no time.

When I complete the two months of intensive therapy, my suspension will be lifted and I will be permitted to go back to work BUT I will continue to be monitored for the next two years. I also have to let any prospective employers know that I am in a program for impaired nurses. Yes. This should make for EXCELLENT job interviews.

The irony here is…I wasn’t addicted to the drugs at the time that I stole them. It was AFTERWARD, when I lost my ability to work. It’s crazy, I know. I should write a book…

or a blog.

So, that’s where I’ve been for the past year. Losing my grip, slowly regaining it.

I have celebrated my newfound sobriety in a few ways. I got a faboo haircut while in New York visiting Esther (see post below). I got my nails done again…first time in a long time. Tomorrow, I fall into a tanning bed. I started caring again and it is beginning to show. I don’t spend my days in bed anymore. I don’t feel sorry for myself. I have a disease. My bipolar disorder is no different than cancer. Left untreated, it will run rampant. I allowed myself to get so bad that I lost control. I didn’t take my BPD meds the way I should have taken them. I skipped doses because I didn’t like the way they made me feel. They made me feel sluggish and boring. Lord, some of the most fabulous posts I ever made on this blog were in the midst of manic episodes. I go back and read them. I wonder…where is that girl? She was so crazy and full of reckless abandon.

Now? I’m so…normal. And to be honest? Normal terrifies me.

I came really close to the edge. I didn’t fall. Teetered a bit, might have even bent…but I didn’t break. I’m here. I have a second chance to make this okay and I am going to run with it.

I hope to take some of you along for the ride.