*dusts off a seat*
My name is Angela Lynette Johnson. I'm 37 years old, I'm a mother, a liberal, bi-sexual, I've been married twice, I've lived in many places in the U.S., held many various positions, done many things in this world and this life. I'm a disabled military veteran; I'm bi-polar.
I currently live on the West Coast. I'm in the process of finalizing my second divorce out of the state of Arizona. I moved back to the place where the trees grow tall, where you can feel the sea spray on your face, and the sun warm your back early in the morning. But I mainly moved out here to gain a bit of perspective.
There's no shortage of it out here, perspective. Everyone you come into contact with out here is bound to give an opinion, a story, advice, some little snippet of perspective. Whether or not you want it.
Now, I didn't come here just to have someone tell me what they think of this issue or about that politician, or even when the weather was going to change. My purpose was clear, specific: I want to heal, start again, get a do-over.
I'd been thinking about doing it for years, coming home; coming back to the place where I grew up just to hang out for a while. Well, for longer than the standard usual length of time given to the working class, also known as a vacation. I want to get back to who I was, and more importantly, I want to get in touch with who I *am*.
For a while, I thought I knew everything about myself. My hopes and dreams were to be the best FBI agent in the country. It even says so in my high school year book. It also states there that I want to find a man who loves me for who I am as well as how well I do the laundry. After 19 years, I finally figured out that I kinda set myself up for failure with that one because, I don't laundry very well.
I was diagnosed as being bi-polar when I was 20 years old while serving in the U.S. Army, out of Monterey, California. I was given a large bottle of Prozac, the drug of choice at the time, and told to take it and come back again if I wasn't feeling any better. After about 6 weeks on the stuff, I figured out I wasn't feeling sad or depressed anymore, but I wasn't getting any sleep either. I had cycled from depression into mania, almost quite literally bouncing off the walls at the barracks, and engaging in many other dangerous activities. I was feeling like Superman....ok...Batman......and nothing could stop me.
After a couple of incidents which happened in almost immediate succession of one another, I was discharged from the military, "Under Honorable Conditions" for dereliction of duty. I was demoted, stripped of all benefits and told I would never be able to claim them ever again.
I was young, dumb, and hopped up on medication. What did I know? When you're a young adult, out on your own for the first time, you never really learn to question authority. Especially if it's the U.S. Government and they have direct control over your livelihood life, and they're the most powerful government in the world. I accepted what I was told, took my toys and moved away to Florida with my then-husband.
It took me 13 years, one divorce, one child, one house, many jobs and many moves later to find out that I slipped through the cracks. Somewhere. Everywhere.
I began this journal October 6, 2004, under a different name. I was trying to disguise myself from prying eyes at the time, while trying to find a place to get things out. I was very much into writing a journal when I was a kid, doing so mostly by hand back then. You know, computers were just making it big, and there's no such thing as personal security when your dad was working on his Masters in Computer Sciences in college and he's overprotective to boot.
I wanted to escape, a place to write, get my feelings out and be able to look back on them when I wanted to or when I had the time to reminisce. I hid under this moniker for many years. It took a recent conversation I had with my dad to realize that not only do I need to start taking responsibility for the things I've said and done in the past, but I need to continue to take responsibility and channel it for the powers of helping others because what I had been doing wasn't helping anyone, including myself.
This is my do-over.
2004 is the real start of my "Journey" with this journal. There are many entries within which contain countless emotions. Some will make you cry out of sadness, and some will make you cry out of pure laughter. Well, at least I know I have. But this journal will no longer be considered just for me. This journal is for anyone else who may or may not accept that bi-polar manic depression is a true illness. It's for those who want to know what it's like to be someone living with the disease, just trying to make out in the world. It's for those of you who already know and read my journal to keep tabs on me and see how I'm doing. It's open for healthy discussion, proper and polite debate, difference of opinion, and for just having a damned good laugh or two.
Living in this day and age with the advancement of our technology, medicine and vast differences in social economic infrastructure is damned tough for anyone. It really is. But living here as someone who's considered "not all there upstairs," can be even tougher.
Invite your friends, friends of friends, post a comment or two, start a discussion, even. All comments are screened. Thank you to those who've accompanied me on the journey thus far. Thank you to those who are new. Here's to the new road ahead. There's gonna be bumps, twists, and hairpin turns, but this time, I know it's going to be a much more fun ride.
Welcome to lyfeinmyhead.
I currently live on the West Coast. I'm in the process of finalizing my second divorce out of the state of Arizona. I moved back to the place where the trees grow tall, where you can feel the sea spray on your face, and the sun warm your back early in the morning. But I mainly moved out here to gain a bit of perspective.
There's no shortage of it out here, perspective. Everyone you come into contact with out here is bound to give an opinion, a story, advice, some little snippet of perspective. Whether or not you want it.
Now, I didn't come here just to have someone tell me what they think of this issue or about that politician, or even when the weather was going to change. My purpose was clear, specific: I want to heal, start again, get a do-over.
I'd been thinking about doing it for years, coming home; coming back to the place where I grew up just to hang out for a while. Well, for longer than the standard usual length of time given to the working class, also known as a vacation. I want to get back to who I was, and more importantly, I want to get in touch with who I *am*.
For a while, I thought I knew everything about myself. My hopes and dreams were to be the best FBI agent in the country. It even says so in my high school year book. It also states there that I want to find a man who loves me for who I am as well as how well I do the laundry. After 19 years, I finally figured out that I kinda set myself up for failure with that one because, I don't laundry very well.
I was diagnosed as being bi-polar when I was 20 years old while serving in the U.S. Army, out of Monterey, California. I was given a large bottle of Prozac, the drug of choice at the time, and told to take it and come back again if I wasn't feeling any better. After about 6 weeks on the stuff, I figured out I wasn't feeling sad or depressed anymore, but I wasn't getting any sleep either. I had cycled from depression into mania, almost quite literally bouncing off the walls at the barracks, and engaging in many other dangerous activities. I was feeling like Superman....ok...Batman......and nothing could stop me.
After a couple of incidents which happened in almost immediate succession of one another, I was discharged from the military, "Under Honorable Conditions" for dereliction of duty. I was demoted, stripped of all benefits and told I would never be able to claim them ever again.
I was young, dumb, and hopped up on medication. What did I know? When you're a young adult, out on your own for the first time, you never really learn to question authority. Especially if it's the U.S. Government and they have direct control over your livelihood life, and they're the most powerful government in the world. I accepted what I was told, took my toys and moved away to Florida with my then-husband.
It took me 13 years, one divorce, one child, one house, many jobs and many moves later to find out that I slipped through the cracks. Somewhere. Everywhere.
I began this journal October 6, 2004, under a different name. I was trying to disguise myself from prying eyes at the time, while trying to find a place to get things out. I was very much into writing a journal when I was a kid, doing so mostly by hand back then. You know, computers were just making it big, and there's no such thing as personal security when your dad was working on his Masters in Computer Sciences in college and he's overprotective to boot.
I wanted to escape, a place to write, get my feelings out and be able to look back on them when I wanted to or when I had the time to reminisce. I hid under this moniker for many years. It took a recent conversation I had with my dad to realize that not only do I need to start taking responsibility for the things I've said and done in the past, but I need to continue to take responsibility and channel it for the powers of helping others because what I had been doing wasn't helping anyone, including myself.
This is my do-over.
2004 is the real start of my "Journey" with this journal. There are many entries within which contain countless emotions. Some will make you cry out of sadness, and some will make you cry out of pure laughter. Well, at least I know I have. But this journal will no longer be considered just for me. This journal is for anyone else who may or may not accept that bi-polar manic depression is a true illness. It's for those who want to know what it's like to be someone living with the disease, just trying to make out in the world. It's for those of you who already know and read my journal to keep tabs on me and see how I'm doing. It's open for healthy discussion, proper and polite debate, difference of opinion, and for just having a damned good laugh or two.
Living in this day and age with the advancement of our technology, medicine and vast differences in social economic infrastructure is damned tough for anyone. It really is. But living here as someone who's considered "not all there upstairs," can be even tougher.
Invite your friends, friends of friends, post a comment or two, start a discussion, even. All comments are screened. Thank you to those who've accompanied me on the journey thus far. Thank you to those who are new. Here's to the new road ahead. There's gonna be bumps, twists, and hairpin turns, but this time, I know it's going to be a much more fun ride.
Welcome to lyfeinmyhead.