Video Conference

Saturday my niece, Teresa Nichols, interviewed me about my online vision. She has an MBA and her own Cincinnatti based marketing business.

Sorry to my deaf and hard of hearing readers. I tried editing the automatic closed captioning, but found it overwhelming. The interview is over an hour long. As a writer, I found myself editing what we actually said, and decided to leave it alone.

Have I Fucked Up?

Have I Fucked Up?

Okay, so now I’m wondering, have I fucked up? Am I not writing enough? Am I not engaging with my readers? How the fuck am I ever going to get anything done? It seems like I spend all my waking hours on the computer. Well, I actually DO spend virtually all my waking hours on my laptop, iPhone, or iPad. Still, I don’t feel like I’m accomplishing what I want. I’m not writing enough. I feel like a hamster on a wheel. At what point do I simply cut back? What do I cut back? What do I continue to do? Help!

Blocked, But Why?

June 2015 I wrote this post. I no longer notice when or if I’m blocked or unfriended on social media. Perhaps I no longer inundate others with content (perhaps I still do, it’s subjective). As I’m not as active online and as my focus is not just on my self, I’ve gained some new readers and lost others.

Twitter logo of white bird on blue background. Safety @safety - You are blocked from following @safety and viewing @safety's tweets. Learn more

Yesterday I found that someone blocked me on Twitter, and I didn’t know why. It hurt and reminded me of someone else blocking me on Twitter and of yet another person who unfriended me on Facebook and actually informed me that she had done so (why, I have no idea, she didn’t say). The bottom line is: My feelings are hurt. I wonder what I did wrong. I wonder if I did something to injure the other person. I know I post A LOT. Profuse posting can overwhelm others, burying them under a barrage of tweets, posts, and links to follow. I am bipolar after all, so my hypomanic activity is partly symptomatic. I’m passionate, as well, and feel compelled to share great content over social media. In addition, I realize that medication and psychotherapy has helped me, so that someone medication-resistant may not find me a helpful support. Still, it hurts.

What Happens? Hypomania Happens

Inartful rosebush deadheading, weeds galore, must eventually break up and replant overcrowded bulbs (not the season - when in SoCal is the season?). Totally overstimulated and hypomanic. Crap.

What happens when I over-involve myself in social media? (If you are viewing this post from my lovely website, look to the right – or if on a mobile device, to the bottom – see those many colorful icons – I’m all over the place and overactive.) What happens when I engage in a protracted blog comment debate with Cabrogal of Neurodrooling over my involvement with NAMI – typing away into the wee hours of the morning and continuing over subsequent days? What happens when I participate in the Semicolon Project’s Facebook event “to raise public awareness against Depression, Anxiety, Self-harm and Suicide,” and feel drawn to reach out to as many people as possible – but my arms, my heart, my fingers, and my keyboard only reach so far? What happens when I involve myself in Tha.Speakeasy – an awesome and/but stimulating Facebook spoken word event Friday and Saturday – hosted by the incomparable T.A. (Tamara) Woods? What happens when I realize that in my focus on bipolar blogs, I have neglected reading and listening to so, so many fabulous works of writing, of poetry, of spoken word, of music, and then desperately try to play catch-up? (One of my Twitter followers thought that I’d been hacked for I tweeted out so much content.)

All this after a very busy weekend. I had spent a day and evening with others – people beside my husband and son. I went to a NAMI Advocacy training Friday, April 10th. That night I inadvertently crashed a dinner party hosted by the Executive Director and President of my local NAMI. Oops. The next day I drove an hour to and an hour from my parents’ home to do their income taxes; the day after that I finished our taxes. Finally, on Monday I managed to get my son to school after his week-long spring break, only to be called to pick him up from the nurse’s office two hours into his school day. So, in the midst of this all, my son has either been home on vacation, or home sick with gastroenteritis.

What Happens? Hypomania Happens

Oh, so my main point… What Happens? Hypomania Happens… Here’s a meme saying same…

What Happens? Hypomania Happens

Hello, Summer

Summer is here. This will be my son’s last summer before starting high school. How exciting! (I’m so proud!) Time for me to savor mothering him before it’s too late. In four short years he’ll graduate from high school and leave for college.

No doubt we’ll be hitting the mountain biking trails during the day. He’s an avid downhill mountain biker. There is no way I can keep up with him. Even before divalproex, my balance left something to be desired. (I’ve always been something of a klutz.) So I’ll leisurely pedal the gentle meandering trails enjoying the view and taking in glorious natural beauty (or cacti and dust) while he races down mountains, rocks, sand, cliffs, and all manner of life and limb threatening terrain.

To enjoy this summer, I must somehow learn how to use social media and keep in contact with my friends without gluing myself to a computing device. It’s way too easy to be drawn in all hours of the day and night when I carry my smartphone around as if it is an appendage of my body, of my mind, and of my heart.

There are so, so many gifted bloggers whom I want to read, so many comments to make, so much valuable content to share, so many souls to love. To my dear and valued friends, mental health advocates, writers, poets, artists, and kindred spirits with whom I regularly communicate throughout the day and often into the night, summer has begun, and now I must focus my time and energy on my son and on painting our house. (Oh, did I mention that I’ve successfully avoided finishing painting the interior of our house for coming up on a year now. Hi, my name is Kitt. I live with bipolar disorder, surrounded by unfinished well-intentioned household projects. Typical.)

Instead of spending this summer typing at my keyboard, I plan to be bicycling on a dirt trail struggling to keep up with my son or covered from head to toe with paint (hopefully some ends up on the walls).

Happy Summer. Not checking out entirely, just cutting back, way back.

Wish me luck.