Bipolar, but still Christian : Just Another Challege

As a kid I watched my parents fight about different things. I don't really have any other parents to compare them to so I can't really say whether they were normal fights couples have or not. I couldn't even say what most of them were about except the ones that were about me. We only ate as a family on holidays. My father came home late so we kids ate without him. I do remember spending time with him in the evening before I went to bed so it couldn't have been that late. My own husband gets home a little later because of his job commute so we eat late every night. But home schooling has given us the ability to be more flexible than my Mom was able to be. We had school early the next day. As I got older, I remember my Father being home less and less and the fights seemed to intensify. I remember one night when I was thirteen. I could hear them yelling through the wall. My mom found me crying and I told her I didn't want them to get a divorce. She told me

Having watched my parents marriage fall apart growing up, and been at the journey myself for ten years; I want to say a few things about marriage and divorce. First of all, I have loved my husband every day of our marriage. That doesn't mean gushed with warm fuzzy feelings. That isn't love. Love is an act that does for the other without expecting anything in return. Have there been times when I didn't do that-sure. Have there been days when I didn't like him all that much -absolutely. On those days, I choose to love him anyway. After all, he puts up with me and I'm no picnic. Second of all, divorce is not an option. It never can be or one day one or both of us is going to give up. I know that sounds really bad put like that. What I mean is that marriage is hard work. Having watched my friends and loved ones struggle and fail in their own marriages ... I'm not foolish enough to believe that anyone is immune. The good news is that each time my husban

On the off chance there are some out there still reading this, I just want to be sure my last post was not offensive. I have very little experience with cancer and I don't pretend to be able to even imagine how difficult that would be for someone or their loved ones. Someone close to me does have it now, but she lives far away so I'm not living in the reality of it everyday. I know it will one day take her, but for now I'm trying not to dwell on it. She means the world to me and she has been so strong. In the beginning she was not, but when she is down she keeps to herself(don't we all). She doesn't want her loved ones to see her that way. As horrific as cancer is, She is thankful for it. I am as well because I know it has brought much needed healing to her family.

There I was holding on my own little pity fest and I was shot with a dose of reality. Not once, but twice. In church I got that familiar tugging that spoke right to my heart. I heard the words, "Don't lose hope." Hope is a pretty big deal. Hope keeps us going from one day to the next. It's funny cause I already logically said all this stuff in my mind, but it hadn't totally reached my heart. If the first reminder wasn't enough to get my attention, the second one was. Let's just say I heard what I could sound like if I continue to feel sorry for me. It isn't pretty. It is almost like nails on a chalkboard. I don't want to be that! Honestly, it has just been an emotional time with a lot of things hitting my family at once. I want to fix everyone, but I can't. I know they are hurting right now and it breaks my heart. My pity party was thinking cancer would be easier.( Not really easier, but more accepted. ) People don't like to hea

When I was a little girl, I can remember times(many) when I would get happy and excited and begin to laugh enthusiasticlly . Then someone(usually my Mom) would tell me to ,"Calm down." Also, she would let me know that I was being too loud whether she said it or not. The part that stands out is the, "Calm down." I never understood that. I was happy having a good time and boom...I was a naughty child being loud. It sounds silly put like that, but that is how it felt to my young mind. I just did not understand. What did I do that was so wrong and why did she or whoever have to steel my joy. I am not a little girl anymore. Now I know that I can indeed be too loud when I get excited. There is a time and place for everything. Last of all, sometimes, I just don't follow all the social rules. When I am manic, I talk a mile a minute jumping from topic to topic. Most people just ignore it. I can also get quite intense when I am manic or insistant . I guess

Although I was told in 2000 that I had bi-polar tendencies, I did not have an aggressive psychiatrist and I was able to go of medication completely when I was ready. I felt this pressure to hurry up and get off the pills because it was drilled into me how bad they were. I have been a Bible believing Christian since I was little and I have no desire to do anything that would displease God. Having said that I could not and still have not found a Biblical argument for NOT using the medication if I need to in order to stay healthy. In 2004, after Matthew was born, I got the official stamp...I have bi-polar disorder. I hated the label because I feared the response I would get from other Christians. I grew up in old school Bible church where people didn't have psychological problems unless there weren't trusting God. The old "the only pill is the gospel." I have actually heard that from the pulpit more than once in the last few years(by different preachers). God was

Forgive me if I stop talking about poor me (just kidding) for a bit to talk about my Grandfather who died Saturday morning. When I was a little girl, I remember sitting on my Grampy's knee and listening to him tell me stories about when "he was a boy." Honestly I was so young I don't remember any details. I remember him saying he had to walk and walk like many older folks claim. I remember laughing at his jokes. We used to tease each other and he would call me "Ugly" but he didn't really mean it. He would say, "You're not really Ugly, You're beautiful." The truth is the real hero wasn't him, but my Grandmother. The sweet woman who never complained about anything and put up with all his cantankerous remarks. But he did love her. He loved her enough to leave his home and live in a place he hated to make her happy. Maybe it isn't all about the things we say. There is probably a whole other side to who my Grandmother was too, b