The gun catalog

Just now, I saw a hand clenching the side of our fence. What the heck is going on, I thought. Slowly, a head levered itself over the fence and the woman who moved in last month (next door) surveyed our yard. I tapped on the window, loud enough that she heard me, and she looked up. I then closed the window blinds. If she wants to say something about our yard, she can come and say it, otherwise I'm going to blow it off. I'll tell Ron, though, just so he knows.

So we have a nosy neighbor. Their yard looks pretty bad, too. A year ago, I would have been outside, raving loudly. I would have been enraged, livid, furious. Next step, paranoia. How long has she been watching us? Why has she been watching us? I would have gone out there screaming and definitely would have ended up with very poor relations between us, at best. Assuming I wasn't depressed; then I'd be curled up into a ball of misery.

I guess the thing that's really struck me about the difference between this year and last year - the gun catalog. In mid-August every year, the sporting goods store sends out the gun catalog. It features handguns starting about $200, shotguns starting at $100. Last year I kept staring at the low-cost shotgun page; not even articulating my fierce desire to go buy one. There's only one reason I'd ever buy a shotgun. Suicide. It scared me enough that I actually went to my doctor and eventually got diagnosed with bipolar disorder.

"I'm bipolar." I told the woman in the office today. I think everyone who deals with me on a regular basis ought to know. That way, if I'm up or down, or just acting weird people at least know why. Sometimes, like just now, it hits me. I'm bipolar.

I'm bipolar. It's not something I want, smile as I may, try to put a good face on it ("We have a tremendous creative impulse, did you know even Hitler didn't dare kill us off?"). I hate it. It makes me sad. All the "Normals" can go from day to day, with no flunctuation in their moods. They don't have to be afraid of what they'll do to themselves or other people (unless they get really drunk, I guess). They don't have to be afraid of their own brains, their own moods, their own thoughts. I'll never know that feeling; I will always question my excitement at finding a new knitting pattern or coming up with a new craft idea. "Am I really happy? Should I be this enthusiastic, or am I just sick?" I hate the whole doubting myself. I hate the way Ron looks when I'm angry for no reason and I can't stop myself, right before he retreats, muttering under his breath angrily at God. Double and triple-checking my words and actions before I do something irrevocable. Or the weird compulsions I get when I'm depressed (never acted on). The battles I fight alone in my head, and if I try to tell anyone they either get scared or angry.

"My strength is made perfect in weakness, therefore, rather, I will glory in my infirmities so the power of Christ may rest more fully on me." 2 Corinthians, 12:9

"For we have this treasure in earthen vessels, that the excellence of the power may be with God and not of us. We are hard-pressed on every side, but not crushed; we are perplexed, but not in despair; persecuted, but not forsaken; cast down, but not destroyed." 2 Corinthians 4:7-9

I'll never own a gun. Never. That's one thing.

The Sci-fi channel had a show on, some of the teasers depicted people blowing their own heads off. I can choose not to watch that. Why would I ever need to see people commiting suicide? Never.

So I hang onto my faith in God. In the Bible, it talks about the Armor of God. The shield is the shield of faith. Mine has certainly taken a fair share of blows!

I try to treat everyone like they're Jesus, and find something nice to say or think about people who've "bothered" me. That neighbor? She's nice to my cat. Thumbs up.

And I take my pills, and report any problems to my doctor. Thank God all the wierd crawly sensations (a type of hallucination) are gone. I don't have any more delusions - as long as I take my medication. Overall, life is good. I guess I'm still in the grief process for my "sanity".

I find it incredibly sad that I had this illness for over 25 years, since I was a CHILD, and remained undiagnosed, suffering, for so long. Maybe a lot of my sadness is related to that. My life could have been so different, but that's not what God wanted.

I don't see how he can use me like this, but He's the boss.