Category Archives: thoughts

Never just accept the norms

There are three things I care more about than anything else;

  1. achieving happiness
  2. the discussion and reflection of social norms
  3. animal rights

No 1 is my goal in life
No 2 is my challenge
No 3 is my sorrow

My twitter feed is constantly making me face and reevaluate my own norms and so one of the things I’ve started doing to critically be able to see how media depicts women and men, I’ve started switching the genders or the sexual orientation of the people that I’m reading or the pictures that I’m looking. Try it, is be surprised if you don’t start reflecting just a little more.

Another good little test that’s been made on this subject:

Yes I’m strange

I’m bored of the turn this blog has taken. It’s become an open diary rather than an honest reflection of what’s it’s like to be bipolar. I need to step back and figure out how to move forward before I write more. Maybe I should do something like my hubby; have specific subjects for specific days. Another idea is to have specific days for sitting down and doing a little writing on the book, which might in turn effect what I wrote here. Or maybe a mix of both.

Planning has for as long as I can remember been a very big part of my being in the past. As a kid I found summer vacations so boring that I would sit and plan how I was going to spend my days when school started again. It would become something like
7.00 wake up
7.15 shower
7.45 get dressed
8.00 breakfast
etc

If there was one thing I loved about boarding school, it was the routines they’d set up for us. Maybe a reaction to my very free-thinking parents who never punished me and never made me do anything. They never just left me to fend for myself, always made sure I was going ok, and did their best to be there for me when I wanted to talk (I knew when to take my chances as well; when my mum was taking a bath, and when my dad was driving), but I had a lot of freedom, which ironically (hope I’m using that word right now), made me structure my days even more.

Growing my need for structure showed itself in lists. My husband would tease me and say I’d make lists about making lists. When I have too much freedom I make lists so I don’t get passive, and when I have a lot of things I find interesting going on, I schedule.

Probably a good quality to have as a bipolar person.

Since getting the job though, my lists and schedules are basically non-existent. I send myself an e-mail sometimes when I realise there’s something I really shouldn’t forget so each time I go through my personal inbox (about 2x/week) I get reminded.

But now, because there’s a lot of things I want to do again, it may be time I start making a list again so that I can schedule it all out.

Shit

I’m actually feeling nauseous from the way my head is spinning. I don’t know what’s going on in my head though. The best way to describe is that all the emotions and thoughts are spinning around so much that I don’t even get the chance to properly feel or think anything, also making it difficult to focus on anything. I guess that’s the reason why I’m writing again despite me already having written once for the day. It’s the only way to focus.

That’s actually what finally got me to fall asleep yesterday/this morning; I started thinking about how I needed a creative output to focus and distract my brain. I can’t really draw (never had the patience to perfect the art) and making music isn’t my thing. I wrote poems as a teenager but I don’t have that in me anymore (not that they were any good anyway). The only thing left was to write, and I really want to write a book. The only thing is that I’m so tired of everything being about me. As soon as I write anything it becomes an autobiography, or about my thoughts. I want to write about something completely different, to focus my brain away from the shit in my head, and trying to find what that other thing could be is what helped me to sleep, I think. It was hard as hell to focus but by having a focal point to turn back to every time my head tried to sprint, I could distract my brain enough to give it a chance to be still for long enough that I could fall asleep.

I hope today will be a quiet day. At least externally, because I won’t be internally.

To B

You can tell that I’m an only child because no matter how much I love my hubby and love to be with him, I value the time I have alone when he’s gone, which is the case today. He’s off to Copenhagen with some friends/colleagues until tomorrow and I’m stuck at home… and I love it!

My love for space and time alone, has been a part of me for as long as I can remember and, if my mother is to be believed, even earlier. I remember her telling me how I was as a little 5-year old, living with my parents in a gated community in Vietnam. Apparently I would disappear for a little over an hour during the evenings every now and then and my mom would have no clue what I was up to during that time. She just knew that I leave home and return after an hour. Living in a gated community she never seemed to worry, but she got curious as to what a 5-year old could be up to during that hour. So one time she followed me, and got more than a little surprised when she realised that I went to the nearby pool area and just sat there enjoying the peace and quite, in silence, for about 45 minutes, before heading back home.

The need to just have some space to just be, may not have changed very much as I got older, but I get a little surprised at how much everything else has. Especially in the past few years since meeting B. I used to be that emo kid, a wanna-be goth, and with (according to B) dark rings under my eyes, and a lot of anger and sadness behind them. I didn’t really have any interests and I watched tv all day. My idea of food was a meal a day consisting of frozen meatballs chucked in the microwave with some ketchup (or something else that worked with just ketchup, melted cheese or, if I was feeling fancy, some pasta) and a pack of cigarettes. Wind forward a few years and you instead have someone who’s wardrobe has all the colours of the rainbow, has no dark rings under her eyes, eats breakfast lunch and dinner (even has freshly pressed carrot juice for breakfast!), quit drinking and smoking, has signed up for a one-mile run through town, and hasn’t owned a tv for over 3 years.

To be honest, I think I’ve wanted some kind of change for so long, which is probably why I kept changing friends, saw each move as a new beginning (which I guess I still do), and dated a completely kind of guy with each “round”. B, I think, was the same. I shouldn’t, of course, speak for him, but I think that he was instead that good solid guy that people liked, behaved the right way, and did his best to fit in. Basically the opposite of me in all aspects other than also wanting change, looking for something better, and be a better version of what he was. From the start we complimented each other and became intertwined with each other as a result us constantly helping the other be a better version of ourselves and strive to be everything we can be. I’ve already written my “love letter” to my parents. This, I guess, is my love letter to my hubby.

update:
Apparently the story my mum told me (or the way I remembered it) was a little faulty as I moved from Vietnam at 4. As such, I’m not sure which part of the story is true or not, or which country I was in if it is. Oh well, it would’ve made sense if it had been true, considering my state of being since.

Don’t judge

It’s funny how one thing that works for one person, is expected to work for another. Or, that if one person doesn’t get it, the whole idea is silly. I can never understand why we all do that.

Let’s, for example, take this whole thing about getting a personal trainer, just to give an example of something that isn’t a matter of life and death. This is something I really want as I don’t always have the motivation to actually do the things I need/want to do. Many, it seems, don’t get what the point is to pay someone quite a lot of money just to get bossed around. I rather think of it as a more personalised (and granted, more expensive) form of group training where the training leader actually forms its training according to ones own needs, instead of according to a groups’ needs. At least let me try it, before judging it, and especially don’t judge it because I want to try something other than that which fits your point of view about what’s unnecessary and pointless. We are not the same.

Let’s take another example, where the consequences are a little bit more serious, like choosing to take pills to help me stabilise my mood swings. Why do I have to defend my choice in taking these when you know nothing about my needs and difficulties, when you know nothing about how I for years have been struggling to deal with it on my own? Again, we are not the same.

I can think of so many more examples, and that’s what makes me so sad, because in the process of having to (feeling like one has to) defend oneself from being judged by others is why so many conform and make choices that don’t necessarily fit them personally.

Now, I don’t mean that one should never discuss the how’s and why’s of a decision that’s about to be made, but that’s the key word, isn’t it; a discussion, to help the decision maker to make a choice, where the the discussion partner, without judgement, gives constructive thoughts and perspectives.

I think I’ve been spoiled by my parents, because no matter what choices I made in life, they barely ever judged me, they let me make my mistakes and learn from them. They let me become my own person, without having to conform to that which has been right and correct for them. I hope, that if I ever get children, that I will never give them reason to doubt themselves, or try to make them conform to my concepts of right and wrong.

Basically; guys, leave your judgements outside the door, before entering my little space of reflection. At least if you want me to value or listen to anything you have to say.

Update: It seems I’m not the only one (although I never thought I was) who thinks its better to not listen to the norm, just because that glove fits for others.