11 June 2016
Finding a name and a theme for this blog wasn't as easy as I had anticipated. Husband calls me Momma Bear, so I tried to go with something along the lines of "BiPolar Bear", but all the variations on that idea were taken. So, as a nod to my old Land Cruiser forum, Ih8mud, I finally landed on ih8mentalillness for the web address and "Ewe Have No Idea" as the blog name.
At first it was "You Have No Idea". But it occurred to me that other people, who are also bipolar, might someday eventually stumble across this blog. And they would, in fact, have a VERY good idea. So then I considered, "They Have No Idea", referring to everyone else. As a means of identifying anyone who doesn't have this condition as wholly unable to empathize. But that's not altogether true either.
This last Sunday I was sitting in the mini pews of the Primary room. The lesson was probably beautiful, but I wasn't paying attention. There was darkness within; I was remembering my episode again.
I was recalling in stark and horrid detail how the Bishop and his wife had seen me getting hauled out of the house in handcuffs. And I had to face them over and over again every week at church. Do they think about that moment as much as I do? Do they see me as a sad, sorry shell? Sure, they can smile and shake hands. Is it sincere? Are they judgmental? And I despair all over again, sinking in embarrassment with a refreshed desire to run away.
But in THIS moment of remembering, embarrassment and impulse for flight, my ears tuned into the lesson. She was talking about the Savior and all He had done for us. His pain. His decent into absolute darkness, suffering to a exponential degree beyond human ability to withstand. HE knew embarrassment. HE knew shame. Out of ANYONE, Jesus Christ, would know and empathize with my debilitating delusions and psychotic break. He suffered the way I have. He suffered the way you have. In those agonizing hours in Gethsemane He suffered. Everything. Rape, torture, murder, abandonment, addiction, abuse, disease, disfigurement, disability. He knows each victim's pain. He knows the remorse and burden of the guilty under heinous sins.
And while on the cross, under the pains of the Crucifixion (a torture from whose name is derived the word excruciating) all of the crushing weight of Gethsemane returned. Only this time there was no angel to give Him comfort. God withdrew His presence. His companions fled and friends denied Him. He was utterly alone.
And in death He continued his descent below all things (D&C 88:6). He was not received into the light by a beloved escort. He IS the Light. He IS the escort. And He followed the dark road down to Hell, entered not therein (D&C 138:20) but unlocked the gate and then turned and bridged that great gulf (Luke 16:26) between Prison and Paradise that separates the righteous and the rebellious. And rising from Hell, because Lucifer had no claim on Him, He ascended into the Spirit World to declare freedom from the bands of death (D&C 138:16).
Not alone.
I am ...NOT alone.
This is not as bad as I think it is. It's not as bad as it could be.
He knows. He knows me. He loves me anyway.
The Shepherd knows. And if He is my shepherd, that makes me His sheep. I'm OK with that. I feel like a black sheep, an outcast. I feel like a lost sheep, wandering and confused. But He is willing to find me. He is willing to love me despite my faults.
The name of this blog is "EWE Have No Idea". Ewe do not understand. The other sheep. They have no idea. Mindless, judgmental sheep. Following every pied piper that comes along. Looking at my black fleece, thinking that theirs is so perfect and white. Is that just my own imperfect perception?
You know what? The Shepherd loves them too. And if that's true, maybe I can eventually love them also. But right now I'm just going to make a positive step in that direction and tolerate the other ewes even though they don't and aren't willing to understand my broken heart and mind.
I must also remind myself again that I am also an ewe. I don't understand THEIR pain, suffering, trials or loneliness. But I wasn't meant to. I have my own burdens to bear and learn from. What's important is that we have the same Shepherd and He understands perfectly. Thank God.
Update 9/16/2020 Obviously the name of the blog is no longer ih8mentalillness, EweHaveNoIdea, or whatever other iteration of crazy play on words I came up with. Write Out of the Darkness is both the final name and a summary of where this blog took me.
Finding a name and a theme for this blog wasn't as easy as I had anticipated. Husband calls me Momma Bear, so I tried to go with something along the lines of "BiPolar Bear", but all the variations on that idea were taken. So, as a nod to my old Land Cruiser forum, Ih8mud, I finally landed on ih8mentalillness for the web address and "Ewe Have No Idea" as the blog name.
At first it was "You Have No Idea". But it occurred to me that other people, who are also bipolar, might someday eventually stumble across this blog. And they would, in fact, have a VERY good idea. So then I considered, "They Have No Idea", referring to everyone else. As a means of identifying anyone who doesn't have this condition as wholly unable to empathize. But that's not altogether true either.
This last Sunday I was sitting in the mini pews of the Primary room. The lesson was probably beautiful, but I wasn't paying attention. There was darkness within; I was remembering my episode again.
I was recalling in stark and horrid detail how the Bishop and his wife had seen me getting hauled out of the house in handcuffs. And I had to face them over and over again every week at church. Do they think about that moment as much as I do? Do they see me as a sad, sorry shell? Sure, they can smile and shake hands. Is it sincere? Are they judgmental? And I despair all over again, sinking in embarrassment with a refreshed desire to run away.
But in THIS moment of remembering, embarrassment and impulse for flight, my ears tuned into the lesson. She was talking about the Savior and all He had done for us. His pain. His decent into absolute darkness, suffering to a exponential degree beyond human ability to withstand. HE knew embarrassment. HE knew shame. Out of ANYONE, Jesus Christ, would know and empathize with my debilitating delusions and psychotic break. He suffered the way I have. He suffered the way you have. In those agonizing hours in Gethsemane He suffered. Everything. Rape, torture, murder, abandonment, addiction, abuse, disease, disfigurement, disability. He knows each victim's pain. He knows the remorse and burden of the guilty under heinous sins.
And while on the cross, under the pains of the Crucifixion (a torture from whose name is derived the word excruciating) all of the crushing weight of Gethsemane returned. Only this time there was no angel to give Him comfort. God withdrew His presence. His companions fled and friends denied Him. He was utterly alone.
And in death He continued his descent below all things (D&C 88:6). He was not received into the light by a beloved escort. He IS the Light. He IS the escort. And He followed the dark road down to Hell, entered not therein (D&C 138:20) but unlocked the gate and then turned and bridged that great gulf (Luke 16:26) between Prison and Paradise that separates the righteous and the rebellious. And rising from Hell, because Lucifer had no claim on Him, He ascended into the Spirit World to declare freedom from the bands of death (D&C 138:16).
Not alone.
I am ...NOT alone. This is not as bad as I think it is. It's not as bad as it could be.
He knows. He knows me. He loves me anyway.
The Shepherd knows. And if He is my shepherd, that makes me His sheep. I'm OK with that. I feel like a black sheep, an outcast. I feel like a lost sheep, wandering and confused. But He is willing to find me. He is willing to love me despite my faults.
The name of this blog is "EWE Have No Idea". Ewe do not understand. The other sheep. They have no idea. Mindless, judgmental sheep. Following every pied piper that comes along. Looking at my black fleece, thinking that theirs is so perfect and white. Is that just my own imperfect perception?
Update 9/16/2020 Obviously the name of the blog is no longer ih8mentalillness, EweHaveNoIdea, or whatever other iteration of crazy play on words I came up with. Write Out of the Darkness is both the final name and a summary of where this blog took me.
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