Ramblings of a Bipolar Chick

By Brandi Fulton

It hurt to write this story, but it didn’t feel like a choice. It poured out of me. I wasn’t willing to keep hiding my scabs and bruises anymore. Through my writing I gave myself permission to be broken and whole. Weak and strong. Lonely and loved. Hopeless and inspired. And I hope it gives you permission too. Bipolar has torn my life apart but also given me the space to come undone and strip away what doesn’t fit anymore.

This book focuses on depression, anxiety, hypomania, and mixed episodes but is really about how I fight through the days I want to die and celebrate the days I want to live. It delves into the symptoms that destroyed my dream. All I want to do is be a counselor. I want to create a safe space for people to fall apart and rewrite the destructive stories they built their life around. But I’m too ill to even complete my BA in Psychology. It became clear that my bipolar is stronger than my drive to reach my dream. And I’m really driven. And stubborn.

However, bipolar gives me the courage to publish this book. Nothing, and I mean nothing, is scarier than not being able to trust my own mind. I know what it feels like to hate yourself when you stay in bed because life is too overwhelming. I know the heaviness that you carry because no matter how hard you try this illness will always find a way back in. And I know how it feels to be a guinea pig with endless medication medleys and side effects. This book allows me to give a voice to those struggling with mental illness that are too ashamed or can’t name their own pain. I’m proud of this book. Not because it’s a stellar literary achievement, but because the worst part of being ill is feeling like you’re alone.

I don’t have a fancy career or impressive credentials. There needs to be a voice for those whose greatest feat is finding the strength to keep going when all you want to do is give up. That’s damn impressive. This is for those who can only work two days a week and those who feel alienated because of the stigma of mental illness. There are so many books written by really successful people with bipolar. And while it’s impressive, it just makes me feel like more of a loser. I just turned 40 and am so excited. I legitimately didn’t think I’d be able to fight this long. Staying alive is by far the most impressive thing I’ve done. That is my credential. A BA in creating a life worth living with mental illness.

If you’re looking for answers on how to fix bipolar in five easy steps, this book isn’t for you. If you want someone to skip over the hard and messy and uncomfortable, I’m not your girl. But if you want to feel less lonely, broken and ashamed, I hope you find some solace here. I don’t promise it’ll get easier, but it’s worth it. And we’re strong as f*ck.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Brandi Fulton
• Release date: Feb 17, 2021
• ISBN: 9781005869168

Book preview

Ramblings of a Bipolar Chick

Brandi Fulton

Copyright ©2021 by Brandi Fulton

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your enjoyment only, then please return to Smashwords.com or your favorite retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Table of Contents

Forward

Introduction

Hope and Inspiration

Depression and Anxiety

Hypomania and Mixed Episodes

Support and Tools

Contributing Writers

Etc.

About Me

Forward

I was there when Brandi was born. That bundle of joy filled my heart and from that moment on I adored her, still do.

I am so proud that she has taken the steps to publish this raw look at mental illness. It is an important read for anyone suffering, just to know they are not alone. Each excerpt in the book is a reflection of experience. Some experiences are horrifying, some are sad, some are manic, and Brandi shares stories of happy/funny moments too. Your journey may be different, your suffering manifesting in a different way. Just know that everyone has a story, and you are loved, you are worthy, you are a warrior and a hero.

This book is also an important read for those who want to support others suffering with mental illness. It has taken me a long time to understand how to support someone else through their terrors and emotions, and so many times I got it wrong, and still do. What is important is that I keep learning, that we keep learning. It is so very important to find ways in which we might offer the right kind of support and help when needed and welcomed. We all need to be warriors in these battles.

My heart breaks to know of the suffering, the battles, that Brandi must face. And that’s on me, not on her. This is my journey. These are the lessons I need to learn. I am so grateful she is still a part of my life and continues to teach me and make me a better person.

As you read through the following pages let the words guide you to an understanding. Recognize the connections. Allow your soul to feel what it needs to process and absorb. Come to the end better informed and better prepared to face the future. You are loved, you are worthy, you are a warrior and a hero.

Introduction

Mental illness is a bitch, but we’re strong as f*ck. I see your loneliness, pain, and shame and feel this in my bones. When it hurts so much, I can barely breathe, I’d love to give up. Give up the exhausting, goddamn fight and just make everything stop. There are days, weeks, or even months that are impossible to claw our way through, but we always do because we’re pretty bad ass. We’re compassionate because we live the shame of stumbling through life with our broken pieces exposed and genuine because we just don’t have the mental space to create Instagram worthy perfection.

After 25 years of battling bipolar I’m learning that, while it has the power to burn my world to the ground, I’m just as relentless in creating the kick ass life I deserve. I’m finally starting to recognize that I’m worthy of love that embraces all the parts of me I hate. And always, always deserve the Cadbury Hazelnut Mini’s I munch on when my serotonin levels take a nosedive. I’ll bet you the cabin in the woods I’ll buy once my sister and 3 friends spring for this book, you deserve these too.

Nothing in this book though, no matter how inspirational, is meant to invalidate your struggle. The fight can be ruthless. It may be different than mine, but the differences make your struggle just as valid. My mixed episodes can invoke the urge to run in front of a semi-truck and depressions that threaten to tear apart the pieces I’ve desperately been trying to glue together with 9 pills a day and precarious coping skills. These pieces create images of a New York Times Best Seller sticker center stage on the cover of this book and a selfie in front of the delicate brush strokes of Adam and Eve on the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel.

When I just can’t anymore, I reminisce on my flawless moments. Cackling with a friend about that time I dated an actor who wanted to go dumpster diving, then asked if I’d drive him to New York, and still there was a third date. Or throwing my head back in laughter when Kevin presented me with a black and white kitty mustache straw at our wedding because I was heartbroken that my sister had just died. Savoring Ferrero Roche gelato and dreaming of gondola rides in Italy because the greatest freedom I’ve found from bipolar is not being home.

Laughter is an amazing coping mechanism. I have this friend who makes me laugh until I get winded. We howl from the same depths as we’ve suffered and that gives me hope. It proves there’s humor in the horror. We laugh about the cranky nurses in the psyche ward who take away our shoelaces because that’s considered a dangerous weapon, and how there’s a direct connection between the number of cat pictures colored and level of boredom between hospital meals. Our war stories become less shameful when followed by a punch line.

The following blogs are ramblings of a distressed and vulnerable mind. A snapshot of a messy, lonely, and lovely life that hopefully gives a voice to those too afraid or ashamed to share their own tender scars. Some are brief because I was too exhausted to string together any more words and others sound like my thoughts were channel surfing from Gilmore Girls to Girl, Interrupted. One portrays a blade that quiets the obsessive chatter chewing at the inside of my brain while another honors the simple joy of watching worms do gymnastics. Most aren’t edited, polished, or nicely composed, but neither is the struggle.

I’m sharing my mess because it’s ok not to be ok. You’re a warrior and really, truly, not alone. Whether you’re hiding in your bed with a family size box of Oreo’s or just realized you can’t afford that rad car you bought, I hope this is a safe place where you can be exactly who you are. I hope this inspires you to share your own mess because it’s going to take a village to heal our collective shame around mental illness.

I have spent a ridiculous amount of time longing to be someone else. A fearless, unbreakable woman who storms into life, grabs her dreams by the balls, and commands them forward. Someone who accepts all their broken parts because life is too damn short for self-loathing. A peaceful soul, sitting on a terrace in Tuscany, weaving together captivating prose for an editor eagerly awaiting the next draft. But I’m done with wishing. So, I’m taking this book by the balls and publishing it, forgiving myself for hating myself, and planning a trip to Italy in 2022. The editor may never show up, but you did, and really, that’s the point.

Hope and Inspiration

You. That’s who inspires me. The heroes who keep going when they can’t and those who care for them.

The mentally ill parents fighting their damndest to just get through one more day. I can’t imagine how hard it is to raise kids, let alone when you’re really unwell. I’m in awe of the warrior who hasn’t changed his sweaty PJ’s or brushed his teeth all week but drags himself out of bed to make toast sans crust. Or the bad ass mom who’s terrified of leaving the house. She cries all the way to the store but swipes away those goddamn tears and buys the potatoes, wire, and light bulbs needed for tomorrow’s science fair.

The amazing people I met in the psychiatric ward who had the courage to ask for help. On our good days, we made Christmas cards with 1980’s magazine cutouts and binged on Big Bang Theory. On the harder days, we dry heaved into broken toilets - because side effects are a bitch - and turned in our shoelaces to stay safe. But what I remember most was the laughter. There were smirks all around when this young guy swaggered back into the ward, escorted by a security guard, proud he’d finally outwitted the crotchety nurse and escaped. The day my roommate and I erupted into giggles realizing how excited we were to win a full-size chocolate bar from bingo. We just couldn’t eat another runny, tasteless pudding at dinner. And the hilarity that ensued when we’d try to play Trivial Pursuit. Not only were we too stoned from meds to remember the answers, but we couldn’t even remember whose turn it was. It was impressive that they kept playing Craps, Meds Addition. They knew that at some point this would fail, and they’d have to pack up their disorder and check back into the ward. They rebuild themselves knowing they would fall apart again and again. That’s resiliency.

My sister, Terri. She wasn’t mentally ill, but she fought a crippling battle of her own. I always thought she lost, but maybe it wasn’t as simple as that. Her death changed people. It changed me and the way I experience life and understand death. I was angry because she was finally becoming the central character in her own life story and sad because she’d never snuggle her grandbabies. But mostly, I was scared. If she died at age 49, who’s to say I won’t? So, I quit my job and became a writer and plan to roam through Italy in 2022. I discovered that blending nouns and verbs helped stitch together my broken parts and that I wanted to hang with Michelangelo in Tuscany. Losing someone I loved dearly was devastating but not appreciating the gifts they left would be worse.

Our loved ones. The patience, compassion, and sheer determination to get us through an episode, knowing there’ll always be more, is inspiring. Kevin is an amazing support that gives me as much solace and hope as I can absorb. One night, he came home from work to find me surrounded by guitar chords and knives carefully placed in a perfect clock formation. I was preparing to stab and strangle the monster in my head that demands I swallow all my pills. Kevin walks in, not missing a beat, calmly takes the knives away and just holds me until the monster disappears. He stays with me knowing that one day the monster may win and respecting that I’ll fight as long and hard as I can. I’m not that brave.

March 26, 2013

And There Shall Be Fun and Laughter

I wasn't going to write today because I feel unwell and anxious. I didn't want people to think that I never have fun or enjoy myself because that’s not true. Then I thought about who this is for and remembered it's not all about me and my feelings. Many people with mental illness go through periods (could be days, months, years) where most days are a struggle. If I want to help those affected by mental illness, I need to be able to be honest about how much of my time is spent not feeling well. Sadly, there are more days than I'd like to think about where I struggle to get off the couch and shower.

It is almost 2pm and so far, I've only worked up the energy to eat breakfast. I’m really not looking for pity or concern, this is just how it is.

It's a struggle right now to think about what to write. I wrote and erased that previous sentence like three times. I don't want people to think that those who live with chronic mental illness do not have anything else in their life or don't have fun. I actually have quite a bit of fun and laugh a lot. I've just learned, and am still learning, to live my life around the symptoms. Until I started writing this blog, I didn't actually realize how much I do this. Bipolar has been part of my life for so long that what I believe to be a normal day may not be considered that by others looking in. Tonight, I'm going for a walk and then out to dinner so in the scheme of things this is a good day.

I know it sounds weird that I feel unwell yet in the larger picture it’s a good day. But, I guess, when one has a chronic condition, they adapt their life to it. Just knowing that I can continue to have a life worth living, even after being diagnosed with a mental illness, gives me the strength and determination to create a fulfilling existence. It may not be the life I had planned out, but hey, who really has the life they dreamt about when they were younger.

April 3, 2013

Today Sucks But There’s Hope

Kevin is typing this entry for me because I'm doing really bad today. I had a really bad