I discovered that my car has a moon roof. Which is funny (me discovering it, not the fact of the moon roof), because it has always had one, it had it when I bought my car 13 years ago. Which reminds me, my car was not A Total Loss, not in any way, shape, nor form, not to anyone except the insurance adjustor. After a month or more with a wonderful auto body place (so wonderful, I need to remember to write them a thank you note), she was returned to me, beautiful and better than she has been in years.
Last night I woke up in the middle of the night, so I went out and christened her (then came in and went back to sleep 
). I had been thinking about the fact that I hadn’t done this for a couple of days. When I first got her, I gave her a name, but I didn’t do anything special, I just looked at her and saw it and said it. So I wanted to do something a little more special this time, given our history and all that we have been through together and all that she has come to represent for and mean to me (and how fortunate and grateful I am just to have her!).
I thought about how they christen ships by breaking champagne bottles on them, and then I thought about how I am not breaking anything against my car, and how champagne is expensive and I didn’t have any on hand. So I came up with a more suitable alternative, both for her and apropos to me and my life, and last night, around the-middle-of-the-night-it’s-dark-out-here o’clock, I came out with a Smiley mug from Eat’n Park full of Grey Goose vodka (along with a bottle of Fiji water, just because I wasn’t entirely sure if letting the alcohol sit would be bad for the paint) and baptized her anew. Grey Goose and Fiji water. Nothing but the best for my baby!
That’s the Smiley mug which was more, which was a vessel for a short time (for those of you not familiar with Smiley, the Eat’n Park mascot). I love it when I do things so meaningful, yet at the same time patently absurd. There’s a lot I could say about that.
Back to my moon roof. For the record, that’s how it was sold from the dealer and what it says in all of my user information – which of course I still have. Not that I would have begrudged my ~ (she has a name, my car, but it’s mine alone to hold) a sunroof, but a moon roof is much more me.
I loved having that on my car. The breeze that would blow through her when you opened up all of the windows plus the moon roof, wow. And I could feel the sun coming down and landing on my head. . . But somewhere, some when, somehow, I forgot. I just stopped thinking about the moon roof. I stopped thinking about a lot of important things.
This post is actually two days in the making. I started writing it shortly after awakening Sunday morning, but then an amazing opportunity came to me, so I did something completely unprecedented in the history of this blog. I stopped what I was writing mid-sentence, closed up shop and left it. I don’t know how others write, but there has only been one other time (out of 184 posts I’ve written to date) that I didn’t just sit down and bang the whole thing out, and even that time I typed myself some detailed notes before I saved. I don’t save drafts and finish later. It all comes out in a rush, or it doesn’t come out at all.
Something amazing happened, lovelies. Sunday morning, I woke up, and I was me. I was not a mentally ill me, I was not a struggling or scared me, I was not even a medicated me – okay, technically I was and I am and I shall remain medicated, but it doesn’t feel like it – I was just me. Me ten years ago, before I had ever heard the words “bipolar disorder” associated in any way with myself, me when I could balance it all and do everything in my life so beautifully and flawlessly and it wasn’t an effort, not really at all. The best version of me that I have ever been, but even better now because I have gained so much wisdom since then, and so much appreciation for everything. I’m back, Ruby, the kid herself, which is more than I had hoped for.
Could it all fall apart? Of course, sure, at any moment in time. But that’s something I’ll deal with if it happens. If.
That’s something else that changed for me. I’m not living my life in fear anymore. I’m not putting into place backup plans that are only marginally better than the state they would get me out of. Less miserable is still miserable and I refuse to live my life accepting the presence of that spectre. Un-uh. Not me. Not anymore. Not ever again.
In the four days between 29 February and 4 March, so much went on inside of me. This incredible realignment took place, via twists and turns and battles and metamorphoses in my mind. And it’s eerie, because you can see it around my eyes. There are lines that I didn’t have for all of my years of fighting and struggling, you can see them now, forever etched around my beautiful, bright, blue, sparkling and shining once again eyes. And they appeared in those four days. Believe it or don’t, I have photographic evidence.
It’s okay. I’m actually a bit fond of them. I earned them. Without question I earned them. And they are mine and belong to no one else.
Sunday morning this post was dropped so I could go spend the day with my Babygirl.* She’s 12 now, can you believe it? As I stretched on the grass on Sunday, untangling kite string, singing Simon and Garfunkel songs and when Babygirl could stand those no longer, Taylor Swift, we were laughing and I was thinking, If I had to live through it all again just to get to this day, I absolutely would. If this is all I get, that’s alright. I would do all of it again just to have this day.
And I would. I finally let go of so much. And I know I had to live through all of it – all of it, savvy, and that includes the electroconvulsive therapy and the post-traumatic stress which resulted – I had to live through all of it to get to where I am now.
And no matter what happens next, right now I would not be anywhere else. Okay, maybe floating on my back in the Caribbean. . . ;)
Moral of the story: Don’t ever stop fighting. And don’t ever accept a life of second best.
*Babygirl is what I have decided to call my oldest little girl for the purpose of her having a name here. My girls need names. Lots of the people in my life I can refer to in a more abstract way, but my girls (and a few others) need names.
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What an uplifting post and I am so happy for you……..not living your life in fear anymore is a good part of the battle, I think! Here’s to many more wonderful days, months, years…..here’s to a wonderful life for you.
Janet, thank you. Not living life in fear is something big, something I’ve missed. I won’t say something new, because I never used to. For me, fear has absolutely been a learned response.
And again, thank you for your good wishes. My life, if it ended today, it has already been wonderful, it has been extraordinary. It only will get better from here.
Thank you. That was a story I needed to read today – you actually gave me hope, I thought I was all out!
Seriously though, it means so much to hear such an amazing, inspiring story. Thanks and, yes, (raises a glass) here’s to a better future and never, ever, giving up xx
I’m so happy I could help you find that hope inside of yourself. I am so happy right now for what I have been given, being able to pass the good along to someone else fills my heart. Don’t ever give up, don’t ever settle, don’t ever let the monsters win. You are so much stronger than that, sometimes you just forget. You finding this post and it bringing out hope inside of you is proof positive.
And (raises glass in return) I wish that you may find all of the peace and happiness I have one hundred times over.
You remind me of what I have forgotten, myself! Thanks so much, can’t tell you how much it helps right now
I wish you all the best 
x
Thank you, your words mean more than I can tell you, because myself was exactly whom I had lost somewhere along the way.
You’ll find her again (if you haven’t already), and she’ll stick around this time. I believe it with all of my heart!
Inspiring! have an awesome day!
Thank you, I’m so glad you enjoyed. I wish you a wonderful day, too!
I just found your blog – it is a very good read – thanks for sharing. I’ve been blogging for a year, but have only just started talking about my illness – its a bit scary to put myself out there.
sometimes when I wake up me I’m hypomanic… but that’s okay too if its just for a little while… and doesn’t leave me blue.
Thank you for the compliment, Laura. It is scary to put yourself out there, I applaud your bravery in doing so. I’ve bookmarked your blog and I am excited to start reading what you have written.
My very best to you.
I am overjoyed for you! But, I wanted to point something out. You didn’t christen it with Iron City. Yuengling would have sufficed. LOL. Wait, you guys probably don’t even have those as an import beers, do you?
I knew this day would come for you. I held firm in my belief that you would work it out, because you are the kind of gal that does. When you want something, you go for it, and you’re right. You won’t settle for second, or an imitation of something that you really wanted. You’ll go get it. And I’m glad you did.
And if there comes a point where you feel like you’re slipping, you know I’m always here, Lovely. Because all I want is the best for you.
We actually can get those Here, from time to time, but I have never been a beer drinker (funny aside – my parents’ wedding toast was actually made with Iron City; someone had dropped the ball and they had no champagne). When I did drink, Grey Goose was my particular favorite variety of alcohol. Also, I happened to have some still around the house in the middle of the night.
Lulu, your faith in my recovery brings warmth to my heart and tears to my eyes. Incidentally, I want you with me in my life through the good as well. You’ve certainly seen enough of the bad. I want you to meet the girl I used to be when I was so beautiful, the woman I have become now (and speaking of meeting, April is not so far away, we should be back again then).
And don’t for a minute think I won’t be here or around or still as much as a presence in your life as you will let me. I may have gotten to where I am, but the road and all that I traversed will stay with me forever. Never will I forget what it was like for me, what it may still be like for you, for others. You can’t shake me that easily!
Oh, and you forgot about Rolling Rock. Latrobe, not PGH, I know, but it’s easier to obtain, and my father went to college at St. Vincent’s, which is of course in Latrobe. Five commas in that sentence, and all properly placed. Nice.
Yes, Rolling Rock. How could I ever forget? A little trivia for you, Iron City has never paid a water bill. They get their “water” from the river and do their own filtration there. How about that? When you are drinking Iron City, you are literally drinking Pittsburgh!
I actually knew that (via my grandfather and his keeping us always in the loop about all things Burgh), but I never thought of it in such a lovely way. Thank you!
We are probably the only people in the world that think drinking river water is awesome. LOL.
I’m – what’s the appropriate adjective? Hmm. Elated. Yes, I’m elated that I could be a part of your life, and a bright spot at that. I don’t exist in many people’s lives as such. And I am more than delighted to continue with you throughout all terrains of the Ruby Realm. LOL. Beautiful beaches, turquoise oceans, rocky mountains, probably more like Appalachian, LOL. It is a gift for me to have you as a presence. I have never known anyone as full of life and as wonderful as you.
Yes, I am on my journey, but I do not believe that there is a journey’s end, for me, anyway. There is no house at the end of the long winding road, so to speak. I have come to the conclusion that I will be doing this for the rest of my life. And do you know what? It’s liberating, in it’s own way. It’s kind of exciting, and it gives me a reason and purpose. I’m not working on “getting better”. I’m working on being more like me and less symptomatic. If there are some things that are one in the same, then I don’t mind keeping them.
You’re right. It is almost April! I’m so excited now!
Angel, you are not only a “bright spot”, you are a shining star that helps me to navigate my way, a candle in my darkest nights that refuses to go out, and the warmth of the sun on my shoulders on a beautiful Spring day.
Journey’s end, no journey’s end, you will make the trek with panache, aplomb, and Lulu-ness (that’s the only adjective to properly complete that sentence). I’m so glad you feel that sense of liberation, it’s so important in all aspects of life, especially this one. I like how you put it as not getting better, because you are so wonderful as you are. I hope you can become less symptomatic, too. From what I have seen of you, I like you very well, and I know I would like you so much when you are more like you. . . hmm. . . You know what I mean! Mostly, though, I just don’t want to see said symptoms making your life difficult. I know that you can (and will) handle them, but it won’t stop me wishing for them to go away.
(I’ve been counting down till April since. . . November, I think!
)
Such an elating post. And Babygirl is, indeed, a very nice name. She does need a name. I wonder if the same thing also crossed my grandparents’ minds when they decided to call me their Babylove from day 1.
Thank you, Addie. I want to share my joy with my blogging/online family, who have been privy almost exclusively to my struggles, especially of late. Babygirl is special to me. My other two girls have names for this blog as well, and they fit them and they will be introduced in turn. Babylove is absolutely beautiful. There’s a song, I think, maybe The Supremes, but I’m not sure. It is so lovely, no matter from whence it sprung.
Tallulah “Lulu” Stark said: We are probably the only people in the world that think drinking river water is awesome. LOL.
Well when you put it that way. . . I like the idea of it. Maybe not so much the actual doing!
Well, I’ve got a bet going on with someone. Recently, a local man went missing. I know he went to my high school, but he was too young for me to have actually known him. He was last seen at Stage AE on the Northshore. About a month later, they found his body in the river.
When he first went missing, I told everyone, “He walked into the river and drowned.” He was incredibly drunk. Nobody believed me. That’s what seemed to have happened. Others still don’t believe me.
So, this summer, we’re going to put it to the test. I’m a pretty good swimmer, so we’re going to get me drunk, and I’m going to walk off of the riverwalk. (It’s very shallow at that point). I want to see exactly where the river drops off, and can I swim it while intoxicated. Don’t worry, I will have people there to jump in and fish me out if there is a problem. There shouldn’t be. I just want to prove how easy it would be to fall in that river.
No! Nonononono! Lulu! I will tell you, my grandfather was a fire captain, and he tells stories of having to fish people out of the rivers (usually attempted suicides from various bridges). Even in the summertime, that water is cold, and it has a strong current, and a million things can happen to take you away in an instant.
Don’t. Please, please don’t even think it.
I’ve survived the undertow of the Pacific Ocean. Nice warm water, but really strong undertow. Unlike any water I had ever been in. Don’t worry, I’d do it at the furthest part of the river walk. Others have done it, I don’t see why I can’t. The worst that could happen is that I’d be carried too far down the river. But, there’s plenty of docks and banks. I’m not too worried, LOL.
You know, I’ve always wondered how many people attempted suicide from Pittsburgh’s bridges. Just curious. Even more morbidly curious is how many people succeed. I doubt few. There’s a joke around here about not jumping off of bridges. You’re more likely to hit a barge than you are water.
Where in the Pacific? I have been in some mild water there, I have been in some rough, and my mother’s friend’s best friend was killed by a riptide in the Pacific not too many years ago. I know, riptide does not exist in the rivers, but one way or another, not a good idea! You have a little boy. Mommies are not allowed the luxury of unnecessarily risking their lives. Ever.
(Incidentally, I know a much more morbid joke about bridge suicides in Pittsburgh; so morbid, in fact, that I’m not sharing it. I don’t want the potential weight of that on my conscience!)
Outside of LA. I didn’t expect such a tug! I’ve been to the Atlantic so many times, I was used to cold waters with soothing tides. Not the Pacific!
You’re right. Mom’s don’t have the luxury.
Email me the story about the bridge. Don’t worry, I’m too lazy to walk over to any of the bridges from the city anyway. And the West End Bridge is enclosed with fencing. While fences have not usually been a problem for me in my life, this one curls over to make a cage.
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