Do You Deserve Me?

โ€œI’m selfish, impatient and a little insecure. I make mistakes, I am out of control and at times hard to handle. But if you can’t handle me at my worst, then you sure as hell don’t deserve me at my best.โ€
โ€• Marilyn Monroe

I’ve always liked this quote by Marilyn Monroe. I don’t know if I relate to it so much, but I guess I do when in the throws of bipolar disorder. I don’t think I need to be handled exactly, but sometimes stomached is the word. Oh no, Libby you might say, who have known me on social media! You are such a sweet thing. Well, I can be. But I can be a real pip too. And the thing I wonder when I look at my husband sleeping peacefully on his Lazyboy, does he really need all this sometimes? Does he deserve me at my worst? No. At my best? Sure!

Mike, Abby and I :)

Mike, Abby and I ๐Ÿ™‚

Who wouldn’t want me at my best and even at my not so great? But at my worst, you need patience and a loyal and giving heart. Just like the man I will have been married to 34 years this July. He is what they used to call a real trooper. When I didn’t sleep for two weeks after the birth of our daughter Abby and finally told him so ~ he asked me why. I said because I can’t stop thinking. And he asked me what I was thinking. So I proceeded to tell him the rapidly increasing phobic and manic thought processes that were keeping me up day after day after day. He got paper and a pen and wrote down my thoughts for about 45 minutes. Rantings I thought they were. He calmly wrote down what I was going through. And when I stopped for a minute he said, “I think we should call Dr. Burns.” Linda Burns was my family practice doctor and the one who had delivered Abby. I agreed and we proceeded from there. I had been terrified to talk about it for fear of hospitalization and separation from my newborn baby girl and joy of my life, Abby.

Dr. Burns gathered round the wagons and said that I would see a Psychiatrist, Dr. Feldman, who would help me, and that if I had to be admitted Abby would go with me. This was to ally my fears. The last time this happened, my son David had died while under the care of my ex-husband (not his fault) when I was in the hospital for severe mania. My mother’s heart could not bear the thought of another separation and she knew it. She said this with conviction to keep me well.

Dr. Feldman kept me out of the hospital then and for the 20+ years he treated me until he retired from treating adults, and focused solely on administration and child psychiatry. He was a wonderful doctor and a wonderful man to whom I owe a great debt. So is Dr. Burns who left her practice to serve in a third world country with her husband.

Thanks to doctors like them and a husband like mine and the tenacity of my Norwegian, German, English ancestry in that order ๐Ÿ™‚ I have been diligent in caring for myself and seeking and keeping good care for the 36 years I have been diagnosed with bipolar disorder.

That is why just a day or so after writing about being in a depression, I am on my way out. I saw Dr. Meyer, my current Psychiatrist. We discussed our options, increased my antidepressant dose and I am already climbing out of that hole. Granted it’s not always that easy, but we caught things early.

I have a low tolerance for bipolar gunk. I don’t like the crap. Never have and never will. And maybe for that reason alone I won’t suffer with it much. Do you deserve me at my best? I believe you all do! I will do all I can to make sure every day to be that way. With God’s help and the people I count on, including you. Love ya! Lib


Not a Good Idea: Falling on Your Head


โ€œPain insists upon being attended to. God whispers to us in our pleasures, speaks in our consciences, but shouts in our pains. It is his megaphone to rouse a deaf world.โ€ โ€• C.S. Lewisย 

I didn’t have depression yet in this photograph.

I was tired. We had traveled up north to see our Uncle Rog for his 98th birthday. I had a mild headache which was a common aftermath of my fall the end of February. I had overcome the terrible dizziness for the most part. It plagued me a bit on the car ride but I was happy once my feet hit unmovable earth once more. It was great to see Uncle Rog, the family and my dear daughter Abby for a weekend. It was later, the next week, that the depression started. It was really bad today.

I could hardly work.

I have a calling job through my business. I set appointments for a nice sales rep out of my home. I don’t want to disappoint him. But I could hardly dial today. I hope tomorrow is better, or rather today. I have stayed up until tomorrow!

I was researching brain injuries online. I sustained one the end of February by falling and hitting my head on the ice. They don’t seem to be too compatible with two of the things that can plague me: migraines and bipolar disorder.

Well the migraines I’ve gotten used to.

Pain I can bear to an extent.

Depression I don’t care for one bit. I will resist it fiercely and am going to. I see my psychiatrist tomorrow and we will come up with an answer. I will not live in a depression for long. I will find a way out. For depression is a nasty, gripping, vise that sucks the life and luster out of life and leaves it colorless, hopeless and unbearable.

I will fight this depression with my will, my doctor’s wisdom and medicine, my faith, the Lord’s love and everything in the arsenal of anti, go-away bipolar disorder I won’t let you win, living above the madness, energy I can muster.

I cannot let the defeatist, “You are worthless” depressive thinking occupy my mind another day and will fight with all that I have in me and at my disposal to get it to stop!

And I ask for your thoughts and prayers as this battle wages. For there are only two ways out of depression and I choose Life!

Thanks, love you, Libby xxxxoo!