Surviving Soberly

I found out today that my psychiatrist has me not only diagnosed as bipolar but also as psychotic. Quite upsetting, to say the least. It had a great deal of effect on me the whole day. Even scarier? My first response inwardly was happiness. I thought to myself, "Hey! I'm psychotic!" Which is psycho in itself. Then the rest of the day I was sad. Later, after work, as I lay in bed trying to sleep, I thought, "Who's going to want to be with me now?" Not that I was some great prize anyway. My eyes are wide open now, having called so many people psycho up till now. Not that they weren't, mind you. How many episodes of "Dateline" and "48 Hours" have I watched about people who were psychotic and thought for sure I was different. Well, I'm not a serial killer. But, there it was in black and white - psychotic. And yet, on my meds I feel so normal. Of course, I do. Three years ago I found out, much to my shock that my fourth

It seems my fifth medication I'm on in addition to my other four isn't working any more after a month. Well, that was a fun ride. My sponsor says I'm just a garden variety drunk but to me a garden variety drunk is one who quits drinking and that's their only problem. They don't have to be on meds. Their only problem is not drinking. I'd kill to just be one of those. But that was never the case with me. I've give anything to not have nightmares every night, some about my deceased dad who still haunts me from the grave, who got away with abusing me and my sisters all his life. Who never paid in this life. Instead we paid. And paid dearly. One of my nieces paid, too. And is still paying. I wish I could exhume my dad, then bring him back to life so I could kill him. Instead five strokes killed him. But he didn't suffer. I know because I asked some doctors if a stroke is painful. And it's not. He never suffered. Oh, he had some depression in

Tonight the meeting I went to was on honesty. I arrived a little late and didn't share although later I wanted to and didn't get to which happens often. Instead Miss AA spewed her usual trendy words she likes to toss around that everyone oohs and aahs over. She loves looking and sounding good. It's awfully important to her. Meanwhile, across the room, a mutual friend of ours who relapsed the other day and is struggling to stay sober, shared, and what does she do? Starts texting. I couldn't believe it. But then again, why should I be surprised? I feel so bad for this guy. My heart breaks for him. Meanwhile, she has no compassion. She's truly heartless. But, of course, she's never relapsed so she has no heart for it. She doesn't know the depths of hell relapse takes you to. I'm really worried about this guy. I can't stopped thinking about what will happen to him if he doesn't get a bed at this treatment facility where he's on this wai

The older I get, the more I mourn my youth, which I know is normal but being dually diagnosed I grieve for the carefree person I once was. I happen to be listening to a song right now that came out when I was 15. I wasn't exactly carefree then but I was naive and I thought that love was everything, that it was enough; etc. I had no idea that I had been diagnosed bipolar the year before because my mom hadn't told me. I wasn't diagnosed bipolar on my own till I was 27 and didn't find out that I was originally diagnosed at 14 till I was in my 40s. My mom told me that back then there was no treatment for teenagers. I pray my daughter doesn't wind up bipolar. I've always said I'd rather her wind up alcoholic than bipolar. Last night I was watching the season finale of one of my favorite shows and was watching someone dance so  effortlessly and carefree - prescription-drug-free and I almost started crying because I was wishing that I could be that way. I was r

http://writingcontest.thenovelette.com/terri-rimmer/

I actually met this guy in the program. I've met quite a few cons in AA. http://www.ehow.co.uk/how_8720166_identify-con-artist.html

This past New Year's Eve was the first time in seven years I didn't spend the holiday crying in a chapel. Well, that only took several years! New Year's Eve 2005 my boyfriend, Ruben passed away from liver cancer only two months after being diagnosed at the age of 53. He worked for his company 18 years and they didn't even put up a plaque. Nothing on their website, no acknowledgement that he even existed. He had been promoted to supervisor also while he was employed there and even continued working after he got sick until he couldn't. New Year's Eve 2008 my dad died, too. But that's another blog. Needless to say, I haven't celebrated the holiday since 2004 though many have tried to get me to. I tried once but couldn't do it. Not only did I not feel like it but I felt guilty. Of course, everyone said the usual,"They would want you to celebrate/be happy" sentence which only made me feel worse. I remember as Ruben lay dying in the hospi

http://www.psychologytoday.com/blog/adoption-stories/201004/one-womans-truth-placing-her-baby-adoption

"We are undisciplined people" - so it says in the Big Book (also known as Alcoholics Anonymous), our Bible/the Big Big Book. Guess that would explain why, since 1988 when I first started coming around the program I've never been able to go to 90 meetings in 90 days as suggested by sponsors, strongly suggested by rehab program directors, and often, with a sharp-edged tongue by other members in the fellowship: "If you jump out of a plane, it is strongly suggested that you have a parachute." Despite my years of sobriety, I have never been able or willing to attend 90 meetings in 90 days. I've been sober for quite awhile now and yet cannot do that in a row. I envy the newcomers through the years that I've seen that do it without blinking an eye. I've always said I need to be one of those people who need to get a piece of paper signed like so many on probation or parole have to, to prove they were at a meeting. Then I would be forced to attend 90 in

http://redpubmagazine.com/article.php?id=165&section=14

When I think about how much things have changed since I first was shown the door to recovery, I can't help but marvel at miracles in my life. I never thought I would have a teenage daughter, have won a Florida Press Award, worked for several newspapers and some magazines, been a mentor to a young girl and earn a volunteer award for it, volunteered for Child Advocates, served as a volunteer at a children's home after living in such a place as a child, been interviewed by Psychology Today Magazine, and the list goes on and on. And all in sobriety!

http://terri-rimmer.blogspot.com/

http://terri-rimmer.blogspot.com/

1988 Justine’s therapist once told her, “You sure know some interesting people.” It wasn’t a compliment. It was Oct. 20, 1988; Justine’s last planned drunk, the night before she was going into treatment for the first time for alcoholism at 22. Twenty-two. That was way too young, she thought. But she was doing it for her sister who was also “in the program” as it was called. So Justine’s last drink was appropriately enough later at a George Michael concert in Atlanta, GA and she didn’t even get to get drunk because she ran out of money. So unfair. Justine’s friends dropped her off after breakfast following the concert where she almost got stampeded back at her garage apartment where she lived alone. The next day she would drive several hours to her sister’s house in Florida where she would spend the night then be taken to Charter-By-The-Sea in St. Simon’s Island, Georgia. Justine loved the beach but dreaded the trip. After trying to get arou