Meow-y Christmas

I had an in-depth conversation with my cat today.  She sauntered to the computer desk, yawning and ohhhhh, she can't even!  She seemed to be having an existential crisis and I could kind of relate.  Somewhat, anyway.  She was like, 'oh, life is so grand as a cat.  I can sit in any chair i want and do nothing all day and I have owners to pet me and love me and take a million pictures of me all the livelong day.  But is this all there is to life?'  And I was like, 'Penelope, don't even!  Would you rather your life be filled with panic and anxiety and worry and taking crap from people and feeling like you're just floating from one job to the next for years on end?'  Suddenly, her PTSD kicked in and she scurried to safety from an unknown fear that strikes her out of the blue sometimes.  I didn't see her for a few hours, and then when she jumped up in front of the computer again to get my attention, she had a look in her eye.  She understood me and head-butted me and meowed and cooed and snuggled.  Then I tried to pick her up and she ran like she always does.  She's an independent little thing, but even independent little things need Good Bonds in their lives.

Anyway, I told Penelope today that I wanted to get rid of the bad energy faux friend bonds from days of yore and use my animal instincts to forge more of those Good Bonds in life.  She's gonna hold me to it, I think.

Les jours de decembre

Well, a few things.  Firstly, I am stressed TO THE MAX with job security issues.  There's that whole push to shop local and shop small, but I don't know if the general population really understands WHY.  Most people these days prefer to shop online, where the workers processing their high dollar transaction totals are most likely earning a minimum wage to fund those rock bottom warehouse prices.  Online shopping is not contributing to a COMMUNITY nor supporting local jobs.  So yeah.  There's that.

Secondly, I have high anxiety levels and am back to relying on Ativan to get me to sleep each night.

Thirdly, I have wanderlust and although my husband doesn't share it, I'm planning some trips as soon as I can pinpoint the best fare.  I'm even looking into airline careers to see if I can become a frequent traveler again because a fantastic trip is really the ONLY thing that pulls me out of bipolar depressive episodes.  Somehow, when I enter into a foreign country I am no longer a mentally ill career-stalled loser, but I become a happy little butterfly on a soul-enriching new journey who doesn't even think a smidge about tragedy or adversity.

Fourthly, I am fighting here to get through this life in one piece.  When the therapist talks me down from my catastrophic talks about drifting from job to job and how this crushes my core everyday, I am battling to feel WORTH and that I matter somehow.  

It's December and if my economist grandfather were still around to talk, he'd let up on me now that he understood my earlier struggles in life when I couldn't get through college.  And if grandmere Mimi were around she would cry with me and smooth my hair out of my face to let me know she understood depression and frustration.  I'm hoping they can come along to guide me some because some days I just don't know what to do.

Ativan, Turkey and Black Friday

I had to leave work early due to stomach issues.  I don't quite know where they came from.  Is it a bug?  Is it effects from my flu shot last week?  Is it Ativan withdrawal?  Could most definitely be the Ativan withdrawal.  I'm trying not to rely on an addicting benzo daily to get me by.  But I've been on it for four years.  I got off of it for a bit, experienced flu-like symptoms during withdrawal and survived it, but ended up BACK on it after a terrible time trying a new drug on the market over the summer.  Ugh.  Will it ever end?

I'm trying some essential oils, too.  We shall see.

I didn't overeat on Thanksgiving yesterday.  So it can't be that.

Nerves?  Have nerves taken me over again?  I surely hope not.  I've been sleeping fairly well and I have LOADS of experience working holiday retail.

Whatevs.  I left work early on Black Friday and came home, put on my jammies and have been resting.  Hopefully this subsides by the morning?  Otherwise I'm in for a hellish few days at work.  Because I can't call off on our busiest days of the year.  God, help me!  Or maybe I just need to take the damn Ativan again.  Ugh.

I am trying to look forward to things.  The holidays always blur by but I'm trying so hard to enjoy them this year.  My brother is arriving next weekend.  I have another concert in a few weeks, which should bring a smile on my face to see one of my favorite musicians LIVE IN PERSON once again.  As long as I can hide out and dodge the chitter-chatter.  Man, I still don't understand the chitter-chatter.  Will I ever know?

I am gearing up for a whirlwind season.  I pray the Good Stuff surrounds me, and that people exhibit kindness and joy, and that each day is comfortably manageable.  I pray that nobody screams at me and that the spirit of the season touches more people than ever before.

Whew.  Here we go.

Oh the mundane

Wake up.  Take pills.  Bathe.  Work.  Eat. Take more pills.  Go to sleep.  Start over.

If only I could figure out a way to be content with life.  I put up my Christmas tree today.  As I was hanging the garland and stringing the lights, I had this weird time warp sensation.  I was in total disbelief that a whole year has passed since I put up the Christmas decorations.  Day in, day out.  Month in, month out.  Year in, year out.  Decade in, decade out.

I need to travel again.  Comment puis-je le faire?  Is that even proper French?  

Anxiously awaiting my new passport...

Living, breathing case studies

So I try my best not to eat, sleep and breathe all this mental illness stuff.  But it's like it haunts a person, particularly when you are not able to discuss it openly in most places.  I take my medications, I check in regularly with different professionals and support groups, but I must hide my illness and go about my daily life as normally as possible.  It's like living a double life.

I love that more people are becoming more vocal about their struggles.  The more people that come forward with their mental health struggles the more compassionate society can be.  It takes a lot of courage to speak up about these experiences, but at the same time, what a relief it could all be!

The self-doubt I feel daily that I'm inferior and ill and worthless because of struggles with bipolar eats away at me.  My past haunts me.  Former colleagues have turned their back on me and my connections that could lead me to a new job or new career are thwarted by a past that has included several medical leaves of absence from several jobs.  And GOSSIP!  Jesus, the GOSSIP stabs the core of a person's sense of worth!  I am no longer taken seriously by them, and my future is dimmed because of their judgments.  Do you understand how a mental illness past can lead to deeper depression?

It is my hope, my prayer that more understanding comes with more people opening up about these struggles.  Support groups show me that I'm not alone, and I am grateful for them.  But I still have a long way to go before I feel confidence to participate the way I'd like to.

I am grateful, however, for the few friends who have stood by me in good times and bad.  The friends who do not judge or gossip or whisper about me.  The friends who bring me joy.  I'm lucky to have at least a few of those.

I was interested to hear I was not the only one who went through the hell of diagnosis.
http://www.nola.com/entertainment/baton-rouge/index.ssf/2014/11/darrell_hammond_opens_up_about.html

Dreams for an insomniac

So one of the unfortunate aspects of bipolar sometimes is sleepless nights.  I think I read some study correlating the bipolar mind with migratory birds who go without sleep for days.  It's not good.  I'm getting older and I need that rest.  One night of no sleep results in poor digestion the entire next day and if it continues onto two, three, four nights there is a potential for mania to take over.

I have a lot stewing in my mind and it just seems like it's not ready for sleep.  I'm not feeling too keen on sharing the details but it suffices to say I'm Stressed. And no me gusta stress.

I want to hideaway and work in a factory or something doing production work where my immediate peers are task-oriented, team players and efficient.  I want to clock out and roll down the brontosaurus neck and go off to enjoy an enriching life with an ideal group of friends and loved ones.  Instead I constantly feel like I have to blow off steam.  The stress of working in and with the public has me down.  I'm walking on eggshells.

I wish I could sleep tonight.  My old soul needs its rest.  I need proper rejuvenating each night.

day jobs and artistic pursuits

My paintings are all piled up in the living room, a pile of empty canvases next to them waiting for inspiration to hit.  I recently bought some supplies to start a project in which I attempt to actually SELL some paintings but I'm having a hard time getting started.  Family members have looked through my old stuff when they've dropped by and said things like, 'Uh, you need to SELL these paintings and make some money!' (sis-in-law) and 'Hey, these are pretty good.  Why don't you sell them?' (my Dad) and then, my favorite, from my mother:

'What are you gonna do with all of these!?!?!'
I don't know, Mom.  It's just my therapy right now.  (She has also lent us some money a few weeks ago and gave me a canvas with specific instructions of what she wants painted to decorate her family room for her Christmas present this year.)

A former colleague of mine who is a VERY talented artist, way better than me...one of those actual God-given talents in fact... is trying to earn enough money by selling his personal belongings AND commission some pieces to move back here from NYC.  We've always worked retail and everything else was always a hopeful project on the side.  I know how grueling retail can be and I really want some good stuff to happen for him, for a change.  He went to NYC and really tried to make something happen.  I'm hoping his return to the Midwest can provide for some new opportunities.

Another former colleague and friend of mine left behind a retail job to pursue his music full-time.  I'm rooting for him and trying to offer support.  I have absolutely no music talent whatsoever and I truly admire those who do.  My cousins in France do music and somehow get financial support to work on their projects and make a tolerable living.  I get nervous about anyone leaving steady employment to go for their dreams but, you know, taking chances and all...

That's just it.  I don't take chances.  I tried once and wound up falling flat on my face.  I ended up in a psych ward, in fact, was heavily doped up and diagnosed and shunned, and I've never gotten over it.  More than a decade later, I'm still traumatized.  I can't imagine showing my paintings anywhere, in public, for people to see.  I can't muster up the courage to put myself out there like that.  I don't have it in me, even with a never-ending prescription for Ativan.  Nope, can't do it.

And so I keep working and trying to do my best in my day job every day. 

On the flip side, I've recently gotten in touch with an artist and writer to ask him to sign some of his books we are currently selling at the shop.  His artwork took off so big and strong that he got to quit his day job and has made a successful career for himself.  He's like, famous and stuff!  I took his old job years ago at the bookstore and it's really inspiring to see someone in close proximity soar like that.  I'm so happy for him, truly.

As I coordinate details for an upcoming art show to showcase two local artists at the shop, I think about my role and life in the artistic universe.  It is a subtle one, and I'm comfortable with that.  I don't want any big things for my life, but I truly want them for other people.  I understand the depths of artistic pain and depression and self-expressionism and creativity and mania and strong pursuit.  I understand certain elements of the commercial aspects of artistic success and the glamour behind becoming a commodity to make other people rich with your talent.  I'm not that talented person who 'has what it takes,' but I'm a supporter of those who do.  In this world of harsh criticism and endless bankable marketing opportunity, I'm the good friend who will stand on the sidelines and cheer and support those whom I care about. 

I have learned that this world can chew you up and spit you out real quick (or just throw you in a psych ward and analyse you to death).  But I believe in survival, and rebirth and renaissance, and friends lifting one another up, and the good guys getting to the truly good stuff that is so well-deserved.

And as far as my writing endeavors go?  Maybe someday I can spit out a book.  I've learned, am still learning, and will continue to learn for many years.  If I could somehow formulate my experiences into a helpful tale, then I will do just that.  I put my heart and soul into everything I do, and if my vulnerabilities find a light and a connection then so be it.

art therapy group

So with the help of my therapist, I have located an Art Therapy group at a wellness center.  I was nervous as all get-out to attend my first group, but I got on that bus and took an extra Ativan and made it to the session.

The first session was odd because I was the only one to show up!  It was just me and the facilitator of the group, so we spent over an hour working on two separate art therapy projects to get started.  I spent the first half hour coloring in a mandala and discussing it afterwards.  Coloring, throwing paint on a canvas, doodling....all things I do to rest my anxious mind on my own and now I had someone to actually discuss the WHYS of how it's therapeutic.  The second project was even a bit more childlike and 'freeing' to do and I was so happy I went.

The group has been starting to build and I'm getting to know a few others, slowly.  It's hard to open up to a new group about stuff, but I love the artistic exchange of the group.  Everyone is so critical of their artwork they create, yet it is designed as a 'no artistic talent' needed group and none of us are masterpiece painters.  But they BECOME masterpieces once we tell each other what we like about each others creations and we lift each other up.  No criticism, just mutual respect of the EXPRESSIVE OUTLET in which we share our emotions and feelings.

It's exactly what I was looking for with the 'art' I create. 

I wish the real world were as gentle sometimes.

chug chug chuggin along

Still sorting out lots of things.

The weather is changing along with my mood.

I am participating in an art therapy group, which I've loved so far.  Only problem is my work schedule sometimes preventing me from making it in.  But when I can make it???  It's Awesome, and just what I was looking for in terms of my ongoing treatment.

Still see a therapist.  Still see a psychiatrist.  Still take an anti-psychotic and anti-anxiety pill.  And yep, check.  Still have Bipolar.  It's not going anywhere.

Saw a whole buncha live music last weekend.  I watched The Buzzcocks, Television, Face To Face, Afghan Whigs, Paul Weller, Wu-Tang Clan, Metric, Flaming Lips, The National, Patti Smith, Social Distortion and The Cure.  Cool, right?  I love music.  Live for it, in fact.  I love what those artists and performers can do to lift up others.  I could never in a million bazillion years get up there on a stage and do what they do.

Plus, I bought a new iPod and have been filling it with all kinds of goodies from the past and present.  So Music has been a good therapy as well.  As always.

life lesson #268

• No matter what the circumstances nor how difficult they may be, never lose a sense of positivity.  Negative thinking only leads to negative outcomes and there's no more room for that these days...

Life lesson #573

It doesn't matter if you're a good, caring boss, helping your staff reach their goals and aspirations.  It's not appreciated, even if they say it is.  People don't give a shit about anything but themselves.  

And people don't give a shit about a good, caring boss.

music (under pressure)

music (just for fun)

Wish i weren't so sensitive...

...but then again how could I keep an eye out for my fellow sensitive beings each day?

What I mean is this: I tried to go out and have a ball last night.  I went dancing.  Wore some shoes with just the right amount of slip and just the right amount of traction so I could move comfortably on the dancefloor.  I enjoyed a glass of wine, danced and chatted with some acquaintances and enjoyed the music.  I really was looking forward to the night out for a few days....as I've gone in the past and had a really rip-roaring safe time.

I mean all I really wanted to do was have some fun and not 'think.'

But I get overcome with 'things.'  I went to sit down and cool off, and someone had taken our table.  So I ended up on the edge of a crowded seat and just sat and watched the crowds.  I watched people get wasted, watched a club regular talk to my friend and surmise that he was totally wacked out on drugs.  I watched for a bit, then decided I ought to look at the time.  Found out my usual bus route had been cut and was no longer 24 hours so I decided to leave to navigate myself home.  I didn't know how long it was gonna take and I hate blowing money on expensive cabs.

I'm rarely out that late, but the things I encountered made me sad.  I felt more and more depressed as I journeyed home.  I let it all affect me so much.  The people strung out on drugs.  The homeless.  I hit my low at the train stop, where I watched a little toddler at 2am with his drugged out mom.  He was 2, and he was leading her and talking to her.  She was trying to push a stroller down to the exit and almost ran off the edge into the tracks.  She couldn't speak, was barefoot, makeup runny as it appeared she had just shot up or something.  I wasn't looking too closely.  But my heart was watchful over the little boy.  She reached the escalator and couldn't figure out how to go up.  The little boy, after a few minutes had passed, went on his own and walked up a full flight of stairs.  He made it to safety, for that moment in time.

I guess what I'm getting at is How Can I Be Happy and Carefree when there is SO MUCH of this stuff going on all around me?  Addiction and crime and kids not being in safe hands....Why Does It Affect Me and Cripple Me with Sadness?  I can't turn a blind eye and ignore it!  I feel like I need to help somehow. 

To whomever it may concern who made big grand plans for me (I'm not talking about God's plans for me...I'm talking about human creatures who meddled with my life): try to see the world as I see it sometime.  It's not the glorious world of riches and fame and glory and high society and privilege that I seek.  I'm uncomfortable with that and would NEVER belong up there!  There are a tremendous number of people out there hurting and in need of help.  There is poverty.  I haven't figured out a way I can jump in and roll up my sleeves just yet.  But I'm working on it.  I'm not trying to 'burn bridges' or 'let people down' because I am angry at your high 'artistic' expectations of me (or whatever), or your wishes for me and what I'm capable of in your eyes.  I'm trying to do the right thing.  And the right thing sometimes means walking towards the things in life that bring forth meaning and walking away from the things in life that just aren't meant for me.

I'm NOT a fairy tale princess.  I'm a hard worker, and a defender of sensitive beings.

Welp

I can't change the past.

I can't change the outcome of the game of Chinese Telephone that was played with my life.

I can't change the fact that odd, unwarranted (is that the word I want to use?) attention was cast in my direction.  

I'll never understand it.  I'll never understand why.  They all just zipped their lip, and I'm stuck witnessing the aftermath I sense or uncover from time to time.  

C'est la vie.

Music

Ways to be a friend to someone dealing with depression

I've felt extreme isolation at times dealing with mental health issues.  I've faced judgment, felt misunderstood and felt weak so I've often kept things to myself or in the confines of a therapist's office.  I wish I had more friends with whom I could feel comfortable bringing up the subject but I really don't have much of that in my life at the moment.  Loved ones I've turned to have often dismissed Mental Illness and explained it as being a temporary, situational circumstance that will pass as soon as I 'get on the right path.'  I have a strong feeling that this belief is quite common.  The fact of the matter is that many people still do not believe mental illness to be a real illness.

Here's what I wish I could tell the world:

1. I wish I could talk openly and easily about effects of my medication with a friend.  The side effects can be just as excruciating as the depression or anxiety itself at times and what a relief it would be to be able to tell a friend, 'Hey, I am feeling Akathisia with this med I'm taking and I think I need to sit somewhere quiet for a minute and do some deep breathing.'

2. When something difficult has been brought up in talk therapy, I wish I had a friend to just mention it to who would just sit with me and be present in the moment with me.  I don't necessarily need to talk about it all over again, I just need someone else to know I'm feeling really fragile and vulnerable and having someone sit with me would be of great comfort.

3.  Having a motivator who understands my limitations would be helpful and inspiring to me in my darkest moments.  Sometimes the depression is so debilitating that I cannot leave the house.  But as the depression starts to lift with talk therapy, possible med tweaks and art/group therapies, I'd like a motivator around to say, 'Hey, the sun is shining and let's take a walk outside for a bit.'

4.  When the debilitating parts of the illness hit, I wish someone would ask, 'Hey, do you need any company?  Are you up for a game of scrabble?  How about dinner at your favorite Moroccan place - Take out?'

5.  I wish the workplace could develop a safe place to explain troubles with mental health as they coincide with stressors being caused by incidents at the workplace.  Some kind of sensitivity training for an appointed supervisor of some sort.  I know of many people taking anti-anxiety medications to deal with the stressors of the workplace.

The point is: when the Mental Illness brings about an episode, most 'friends' don't realize the suffering of ISOLATION taking place.  The tendency to steer clear is pretty common.  Obviously every person living with mental illness is quite different with different needs.  But from the peers I've met through support groups and group therapies, I've heard from many how the feelings of isolation bring forth pain.  Being PRESENT in a friend's life can be of great assistance.  Even if you don't feel like you know the most appropriate things to say, offering peaceful friendship and companionship is an amazing support in and of itself.

These are only my thoughts on the subject matter, and for what it's worth, I speak with years of experience...

Bad poem #1

Shenanigans and stupid shit

Bother me sometimes

Like a pesky mosquito

Buzzing in my ear

Swatting at my head

Bam!  Got it!

But then my ear starts ringing

Hours later

As I try to sleep

Why must you buzz

And manipulate

And talkandtalkandtalk

I didn't sign up for it

I didn't ask for it

But BAM PRESTO KAZAM!

It's there

Buzzing in my ear

Driving me insane

I hope someone out there's happy

Cause I sure ain't

Blocked

Am I in The Truman Show and everything I do and say is being broadcast 24/7?

Am I stuck in the spiderwebs of a scheme?

What are people expecting me to do, say, think, feel?  

Where did I sign up for that?  

Does somebody want to trade places with me?  Because I certainly am fighting depression as I move through my circumstances each day.  It's not pleasant.

Praying for kindness and sincerity and support from the people I interact with daily.  I'm exhausted.  Absolutely exhausted.  I want to feel like myself again, not someone who is perpetually on trial with over analysis.

Peace.

Untitled

I know it's not museum quality masterpiece, and snobs won't like it, but I finished this painting I started in 1996 just this morning and I feel very peaceful with the finishing touch.

Importance of famille

Throughout my life journey, family has been integral.  We may not get along all the time, nor are we always effectively communicative.  When grief strikes and one of our leaders of the family moves on, emotional turmoil can wreak havoc.  Our structure crumbles somewhat, and sometimes the silliest fights become grudges.  Therapy sure would help a lot of people process things healthily rather than turn things into repressed emotion and anger.  But most are against therapy.  Sometimes I think it's because people might be afraid to get honest with one another.  None of us are perfect, so why must we live like we expect perfection from everyone?  We are humans.  Embrace our flaws.

When I finally had the chance to go to Europe and meet relatives for the first time, my whole world view changed.  Among all the new sites and discoveries I was exploring during that summer in the late nineties, I also learned of UNCONDITIONAL love from ma famille en France.  They were so honored that I saved up all the money myself because I wanted to know them.  It was incredible discovery that still warms my heart.  Despite our distances, family is in our hearts forever.

And I do believe they continue to guide us.  This I know is true.

PSA Número Dos

So I was at my local grocery store the other day and I hear a woman yank her daughter away and pull her to say, 'C'mon, we gotta get out of here.'  Was she implying that my presence wasn't good?

Rumors are NASTY things.  I don't know WHAT you've heard, or why you judge, or why you laugh, or why you smile, or why you choose to sit down next to me or why you steer clear.  Look at a person for the person they are, regardless of religious affiliation, ethnicity, political beliefs or lack thereof.  When people start judging another over RELIGION we will only encounter dilemma after dilemma.  As the old song goes,

Let It Be.

I'm also the type of person to try and walk in another's shoes when I can.  Our lives we lead are always going to vary from one to the next.  You have no idea what kind of pain or grief the person next to you may be enduring.  Be the Light for others, not the Darkness.  And if you engage in bullying, stalking, or, YES, JUDGING, you are contributing to the darkness of the world.

We don't need anymore darkness!  Snap out if it!  Coexist!  All of it!

Signed,

Your Exhausted Friend

Public Service Announcement

Stalking and following a person is really kind of insane.  Kind of?  No.  Truly a strange behavior.  Cuckoo cuckoo, one might say.

Stop the bullying, stop the games, concentrate on your own life and your own problems while I sort through mine with MENTAL HEALTH PROFESSIONALS.  

Stop the judging.

Stop it.

Therapy can benefit everyone at some point in their life.  It allows for INTROSPECTION to learn about your behaviors as you face the world each day.

Judge not, before you judge yourself.  Is that so cuckoo?

Meditation

I am looking for ways to meditate.  Sometimes life stressors can become quite difficult and it's pretty safe to say that with technology and the pace at which many live life, everything is quite amplified.  There is a delicate balance, and I am working professionally with my doctors, friends and some family to ensure that I can practice daily mindfulness.

When *triggers* occur, I have to step away.  I have a few personal practices that help me cope with the effects of trauma, and when I feel the overwhelming sounds invading my sense of peace I am learning ways in which to redirect my focus.  Sadly, I know of many who have also dealt with some difficulties in life and I will forever be protective of those sensitive beings.  I'm not a therapist, but I know what it's like to feel alone, to have tread some rough waters, and to have grieved like so many others.

Life can be really difficult, despite great peaks of joy.  I pray, and meditate, for a little more sensitivity each day.

A little sap

Sometimes a little sap is good.  It's calming and stilling and peace-provoking.  But not too much of it for this girl!  I have to be TUFF after all.

There are so many things from childhood that were so very difficult.  I escaped through gymnastics, tv and movies, and my Fisher-Price record player.

Sound of Music was always one of my favorites.



I had a terrible dream last night and my husband was trying to get me to talk about it and he got frustrated when I said I wouldn't.  It was scary, like a PTSD revelatory dream.  Like a detective dreams out solutions in their dreams, I know.  And only you and you and you know.  I used to get scared when my grandmere would get them in the night after enduring her traumatic teenage years under the occupation.  So I know what a nightmare really can be.

I know I'm not alone in this world when I say that our relationships with our fathers can be full of complexities.  Physical abuse and violence and rage is something pretty characteristic I've heard in handfuls of group therapies with others.  But when my dad helped me through the darkest moment of my life, I learned about the power of forgiveness via a certain Someone.  I don't like to go around evangelizing because I think every person's path is different and sometimes people use religion for strange reasons I still don't fully comprehend.

Friends in Need

I've been having a rough few days with the illness.  My husband is learning about it and I'm able to express myself in a safe place with him.  He's able to help me.  He is trying so hard to be my biggest support and I love him for that.  It's one thing to have people who 'care about you' but it's another thing to be supportive.

I have met many friends in need over these years.  I will never forget how I felt in that ER years upon years ago and how I was lifted.  It gave me hope.  I want to help my friends in need if they ever hit that point.  But I am small and there's not much I can do.  All I can do is be there.  All I can do is be a friend.

As I'm moving forward learning who my real friends are, I have such profound appreciation for those who love me when they know I have this stupid awful illness.  Moving forward, I am only going to surround myself with friends.



Friends.  Can I say it one more time?  Haha.

On Maturity

I take many things in life seriously.  I take my work seriously.  I take mental health seriously.  I take other people's troubled times seriously.

But it's hard.  The Pippi Longstocking in me wants to retreat back to lifting up horses with one hand and doing kartwheels in the backyard.





People often mistake 'kind' people as naive.  I've seen some stuff.  Oh Lord, have I seen some stuff.  I find kindness is a more calm way of handling some of life's difficulties.  A little rebellion and no-nonsense assertiveness comes in handy at times, but I will still remain gentle.  You can't battle violence with more violence.  Games with more games.  Loving kindness seems much more mature than all that other B.S. that's out there.

It feels so good to be getting things off my chest.

I love her songs.



I hope Mr. Morrissey feels better soon.

Academia

I got a letter in the mail stating my student loan is PAID OFF.  Yooooowwww!  I think I'll frame it.

I cannot lie, I really struggled in school. I was dedicated to my French courses and really tried my hardest is Scientific Reasoning, twice!  I had a terrible time with Finite Mathematics and philosophical logic problems.  Languages were my thing.  Had I had the psychiatric medications in college perhaps I would have been able to cope better.  And I would have done even better had i met with a regular therapist to learn ways to handle a full-time management job while juggling courses.  I started to panic about accruing debt and eventually walked away from academia with an Associates Degree to join the work force full time.  Plus I didn't know what I wanted to do.  All I knew is I wanted to speak French well enough to get myself over to France.

And by golly I did just that.

After some soul searching, I reached out to an old professor about returning to school.  I asked him for advice and he told me honestly and bravely that academia isn't all that it's cracked up to be.  I don't know if I entirely agree with that, but I do know how uh, snobby or self-righteous certain highly-educated people can act.

I have learned a lot in life, often in a pragmatic fashion.  Experience can be just as an effective learning method as textbook knowledge sometimes.  Knowledge is power and obviously learning from the masters is essential.  But I do feel strong evidence of what unique experiences have taught me about sociology, the arts, and especially the ethics of psychology and psychiatry.

I'm still learning, and I will never stop wanting to learn more.  I may not have dedicated my life to university academics, but I'd be open to take a few courses here or there and incorporate life lessons with new studies.  I can't afford to not work full time to dedicate my time to a full-fledged return, but if I could manage it somehow, I would.  

If I don't get there, I've learned how to see the positives in any situation.  I appreciate my current position and the space I've been given to create a unique experience to share with others.  It's a lesson in building something good, becoming anchored with community, and while I may have to deal with an occasional judgmental personality (which is HER or HIS problem not mine), a majority of the people are kind, friendly and really lovely to speak with regularly.  I'm grateful for those people.  

Great article to share

I connected with this piece on so many levels:

http://m.huffpost.com/us/entry/5393259?utm_hp_ref=tw

I hope that link still works.

Do I have to be extraordinary to be bipolar?  The media is saturated with mental health topics right now and those who live with mental illness are either deemed a criminal or a genius.  As the writer mentions, this is a terrible illness to live with and I absolutely hate it.  Thank you for stating this.

I am not a genius.  I am not extraordinary, other than the fact that I'm working very hard to be aware every single day of how I treat others.  I am working very hard to understand the perspective of where another person may be coming from.  I am working hard as I face SOCIETY each day to recognize where people tend to unleash their own viewpoints and project them onto others.  We become conditioned by so many things in life and it takes enormous courage to face and talk about them.

When people talk about bipolar as genius, they are only talking about a small percentage, and with tv shows like Black Box and Homeland they further exaggerate the depths of this illness.  It is not wonderful and many of us are not in high paying important positions like they are.  Many don't work because the implications of this illness are dreadful at times.  Let's get serious about it.

The number one healthy endeavor for dealing with my bipolar disorder is remaining grounded.  I have had some unique experiences, but I am, like the article says, not as extraordinary as people hope for me to be.  Please get the conversation going about how serious this illness is....not the uh, entertainment value of it.

Tears for the past, hope for the future

I have been in tears at points today listening and reading the commemorations of the 70th anniversary of D-Day today.  My grandpa landed in Normandy and fought his way to find the woman he was going to marry at a victory ball in a church in her hometown. My grandma went through her adolescence living under the occupation and while she could never have told me everything, I feel an enormous profundity when I think of her strength and resilience and sweetness as she built a new life in the U.S.  There's so much to say but all I can do is look at this picture taken before their wedding in Normandy several years after D-Day.

Uplift

Yesterday morning, a customer whom I learned is a writer stepped into my store and was overjoyed and anxious.  I had to help her find something to wear for a tv interview.  She was still working out the details but we found a few pieces she felt happy with and was overwhelmed saying, 'This kind of stuff doesn't happen to writers!'  I was so genuinely happy for her.  I don't think I could handle something on such a grand scale like that!  At least not at this point in my recovery and rehabilitation.

As I plan for my twenty year high school reunion next month, I find myself very reflective.  I'm always thinking, obviously, but many things have been weighing very, very heavy on my mind.  Some rumors have circulated regarding my high school boyfriend.  We had a very turbulent relationship, filled with physical and sexual violence, rage and mania and depression.  I was too young to process everything that went down, but it has remained with me for so many years later.  I'm using different therapies to resolve the inner turmoil, but if the rumor is indeed true, I want to build a bridge to connect and forgive.  It would heal me to face him and sit together and sing Redemption Song together.

On the notion of gossip, which I have brought up in the past, i understand that I have shared quite a bit in this blog and therefore it's subject to scrutiny.  Here's the thing:  I write because I need to.  When I write, I explore.  I discover.  I reflect.  I learn.  I am by far not a perfect person and I'm going to make mistakes.  But writing my way through the complications, traumas, misunderstandings and mysteries of my life has helped me.  I'm a communicator first and foremost.  Have I been too open?  Perhaps.  But it is one of the loveliest parts of being human, in my mind, to share our experiences with one another.

Digital Bohemian

In the small talk at work, our relation to social media is apparent in our daily conversations.  I am not Facebook friends with my staff for professional purposes, except to like their creative pages.  I was finally urged to join Pinterest and ohmygoodness, it's silly fun.  I haven't really gotten too involved just yet, but one of my coworkers told me I'm a DIgital Bohemian and it made me giggle.  

In the past, I've participated in forums where people weren't exactly too kind, but sometimes an interesting conversation would pop up.  In my first foray into the internet, I befriended a group of gals on a musician's message board and who would have thunk we'd be in touch all these years later?  It's really quite remarkable that I've felt more bonded to strangers on the internet at times than I have with real life folks.  Perhaps it's the old fashioned written word that I love so well.  In college I had a group of really funny guy friends who were all talented writers and we used to write each other letters pretending we were living in the Civil War era.  We were all so funny and imaginative back then...I miss those friends.

So, having said that, I know I have a few readers here.  Why not comment every so often?  Why so voyeuristic?  I appreciate sincere human interaction, you know.  I wonder sometimes....

Endeavors

I beat myself up over not following through on all the endeavors I have going on.  Sorry if I've disappointed people with my lack of genius masterpiece submissions.  But not everyone's got it, n'est-ce pas?  Not everyone can create a masterpiece.  Some people just create as an outlet during mania and depression, but we aren't talking about mental illness in June, right?  Right.  Moving on.

As an admirer of arts of all kinds, I never feel alone when I can connect to something that finds its way into my life, either audibly or visually.  I love finding obscure foreign and old movies at the library.  I just watched a riveting, harrowing tale called The Patience Stone, where a young Afghani woman turns to her comatose husband with a bullet in his neck to reveal all of her secrets.  Wow, what an ending.  I'll have to find the book and see how it compares.

Still, I'm seeking that community again.  I'm slowly building.  I'm slowly reaching out again after years of solitude.  I've got some friends on the dance floor.  That's a start.  I've got some new neighbors to meet.  Is there that same sense of community online as well?  There can be, in the right place.  I still find the written word to be wonderfully old-fashioned.  If I set some sort of thematic goal in this blog perhaps I could participate in the blogosphere.  But it is exactly what it is.  J'y pense et puis j'oublie.  Literally, I think about it then I forget.  This strange little portal to my thoughts is something that helps me organize my thinking.  I have loads of journals written of this crap.    It's a bit more fun to put one out here instead.  Who would have thunk blogging would be a thing?

June is bustin out all over.

Its a beautiful sunny Sunday morning here and summer is almost here.  Now that May Mental Health Awareness Month is over, it's time to move forward.  Of course I may bring a certain aspect up in the future, but it's important not to dwell.

As I've said numerous times before, many times when I begin a serious writing project, it ends in melancholia.  I know positive thinking goes a long way, but somehow past pains creep in and seem to grab hold.  I hate that.  I've been reaching out to the support group realm and the longstanding depression seems to take hold of so many others.  I really feel for the people whose depression has crippled them with suicidal thoughts.  It's no laughing matter.  I have not been that low for awhile, but I have reached that crucial point of despair in the past.  Perhaps by continuing my participation in these support groups I can lend my compassion and patience.  Sometimes all a person needs is a stranger to say, hey, I've been there, I get it.  Obviously it's more complicated than that but baby steps are key when someone has reached that depth...

I don't know what my calling in life is.  I feel like I got caught up in a lot of bs early on and I had to backtrack to be able to survive from day to day.  I'm surviving, but I'm not fulfilled.  I thought parenthood might bring me the fulfillment that I craved, but that's not going to happen.  I felt like marriage would suit me well, but the mister is suffering depression, too.  My job?  Eh, sometimes.  I have to deal with a lot of bratty, self-centered behavior but I try and make the best of it.

Hopefully by reaching out to others I can gain a better perspective on what I'm meant to be doing to feel that fleeing thought of fulfillment.

Here's to new beginnings...

Pills and silly poems

I gots me a free month supply of new meds!  Just like my free pack coupons from American Spirit when I used to smoke, they'll get me into it and lure me in with free product then BAM they'll be making lots of money off of me.

Oh well.  C'est la vie.

I'm not as cynical as I sound, really.  I just like to remain aware of things.  I'm so much happier not having to take four different psych meds at a time.  The mono therapy works so much better for me.  I can actually feel my emotions again and I am better in tune with my body.  Whew!

So the Latuda is supposed to help with bipolar depression.  There is no proven study that it helps with mania.  If I were a guinea pig, I'd like to be called Mabel.  If Mabel starts to turn into Manic Mabel, well, then we'll cross that bridge when we get to it.  I wouldn't mind a mild mania every once in awhile.  As long as I sleep each night, I can handle it.  As long as I sleep normally, I can function just fine.  It's the depression, that lousy rotten depression, that I truly despise.  And if I could just earn a little bit more money to be a bit more comfortable and be able to afford insurance and doctors and drugs and therapists and dentists and the fancy groceries and essential oils, I'd be doing even better.

Here's my limerick for the day:

I'm starting a drug called Latuda

It will probably make me feel Gouda

Like a fine cheese

And the bees' knees

Look out for my new Attituda

Hahahaha.  I always like to write dumb poems and odes to my medications.  Hopefully one day it will come true!

Things I have learned...

Opening up about mental illness this month has taught me a few things.

- Dwelling on it is depressing.  Having reached out to support groups this month, I have learned I'm not alone on this.  Whenever an emotion or frustration comes up, some professionals or even friends or family automatically leap to the fact that You Have Bipolar Disorder.  Not every mood change is part of an illness, and sometimes it's up to us to figuratively smack those people and tell them we are HUMAN.  We are, uh, going to have emotions.

- There are always going to be people who presume the worst of mental illness and see those who have it in a bad light. So, the ignorance is always going to be there.

- The push for medication is strong.  I'm still not 100% sure the medication is appropriate for every single person.  All I know is I can't get off Seroquel.  A friend told me her old roommate went into rehab to get off of it.  I'm starting Latuda next.  Swallow pill number 2973 and hope for the best.  And I guess I'm going to just keep taking Ativan.  I'm reliant on it.  Oh well.

- Akathysia is a very serious side effect.  And it should be taken seriously.  I just saw on the news the other night that a local man jumped in front of a train because he started taking Paxil and it gave him such severe inner restlessness that in a split second he ended his life over it.  I remember being in a grocery store trying to pick up some things with the Mr. and my akathysia became so severe that I had to go out in the parking lot and pace like a mad woman.  I got into the car and rocked back and forth in my seat and had a severe panic attack.  That was from Geodon, and when I described several of these incidents to my psychiatrist she insisted I continued the drug because it's best for my cognitive function.

- Dancing is an amazing therapy.  It's a little difficult when sedated, but the right music is therapy for our emotional souls while the movements create physical balance to a racing mind.

- For me, personally, writing is NOT the best thing for me to concentrate on during moments of mania.  My mind starts up like a freight train and it won't stop moving, thinking or pulsating.  I make myself sick as I put pressure on myself to be disciplined enough to write a book, or something.  Short, concise writing works best for me.  Sorry if that disappoints everyone who says I'm not disciplined enough, but every time I start any lengthy writing project, it ends in deep, dark depression.  I don't get it.  So instead I paint.

These are just a few things for now.  More to come, I'm sure.

Mental Illness and Loved Ones

I've been reading so many articles concerning mental health this month.  It's great to see some information out there and to hear people sharing the way they have been.  It makes me know that I'm not so alone, and it also validates the reality of bipolar disorder for me.

My family doesn't really think much at all of this illness.  They've helped out on a few ocassions, but for the most part they really have no involvement.  Sometimes I try and reach out to them to talk about it but they don't really have any helpful words or support.  I told them about starting a new med on Friday and just got crickets.  One brother always says he'll talk to 'someone he knows' about the psych meds I'm about to try, but I've learned after following up with him over the years that he never ends up finding any information for me.  Maybe he's embarrassed to ask, I dunno.  I have thought on ocassion that my parents don't think my illness is real and they shove it under the rug.  I have one aunt who tells me I'm 'fragile' all the time, and other aunts who have been there for a brief moment in time but then disappear to their own lives and issues.

My grandparents were supportive.  My grandma knew depression and sometimes she'd just cry with me out of the blue.  Pain.  She understood my pain. Her dad had la depression nerveuse and was hospitalized for it in his later years but she didn't know much of the details.  I spoke about my depression with her family in France last time I went to stay with them for a few months.  My cousins also suffered depressive bouts and sought treatments.  They were very supportive.  It's too bad that part of my family is so far away.  French family is very loving and warm and communicative though.  In the States we don't do that much.  At least in my family.

I read an article about marriage and mental illness this morning:

http://m.ksl.com/index/story/sid/29912734?mobile_direct=y

It's very helpful information, but I kinda cringed at the use of the word 'caretaker.'  That puts a lot of pressure on a spouse to take on a role like that.  I remember meeting the spouses of my fellow patients during several hospitalizations and saw firsthand what a tremendous support they were.  But it takes a really strong person to deal with all that.  I guess it's one of those things that someone can either handle or they can't.  The Mr. is trying his best, so I'm grateful for that.

Hope

I suppose you could define depression as a lack of hope of any kind.  Well at least that's how it works for some people.  I get really really down.  It's like a cloud of BLAH just overcomes me, even with medication.  The kids on Facebook are all trying to get everyone on board for our 20 year high school reunion.  I keep procrastinating buying my ticket and making up excuses.  I don't think I can bring myself to attend.  I am not happy, I am embarrassed for the last twenty years of my life and what this stupid illness has done to my self esteem.  I am overweight, I can't seem to make small talk and I don't want people asking me why I don't have kids.

Part of me just says go, the part of me that is a curious writer who lives for new experiences and building memories.  But the other part of me is so hesitant and afraid.  High school wasn't exactly the best for me.  I had friends and was involved in a few activities, but there was some bad shit that went down to and I think it might be best to leave it back in the past.

I don't know.  I can't decide.  I am starting my new medication on Friday and maybe it will be better for me.  Gotta have hope, right?

Only a few days left of Mental Health Awareness Month. 

Regulating Mental Health Treatments

So I'm sitting here halfway listening to the news and they're talking about the most recent shooting by some crazed mentally ill person.  Yes, there needs to be something done with mental health treatments.  There are some really bad people in those hospitals.  I've had to sit next to them during hospitalizations.  I've sat there and played cards with them.  I've eaten meals alongside them.

But not everyone in a mental hospital is bad or evil or scary.  The media is still putting that fear out there and I'm listening to it in this restaurant and there is a whole room full of people watching and listening.

Yes, I agree there needs to be a steady monitoring of people in mental health care who could potentially be dangerous.  You can sense violence in a person by the things they're saying.  But then you raise the question of Who Is Doing The Judging?  Also, speaking from experience, these powerful psych meds can really mess a person up if not taken properly.  Do you listen to the disclaimers on the tv ads?  Some of them cause suicidal thoughts.  These pills are not to be taken lightly.

I may have already told this story here before but I'll tell it again.  During my last hospitalization, there was a total jerk in his 50s or 60s across the hall from me.  He was argumentative in every group therapy session and made me so uncomfortable.  He was angry because he was going to lose his job over this hospitalization and he possessed a bad energy I just knew didn't jive with me.  So one morning before a group was starting, he was talking aggressively and really openly about sexual violence and all the things he'd like to do to some woman.  A hyper bipolar girl was really into his conversation and it was the only thing you could hear in the room.  I was really sedated and could barely move, but it was a trigger for me and I went over to him and told him to shut up and told him he was an asshole.  I wanted to cry, but I couldn't because of the meds.  A fellow patient brought me some water and I decided to leave group and go back to my room.  As I was walking back I could hear him enraged and yelling.  And they just let him.

So a few minutes later as I was shivering in my bed, a worker comes into my room and scolds me for calling someone a name.  It was like preschool.  She wouldn't even listen to me when I tried to describe the content of his conversation.  And then a few minutes later a doc came in and pulled down my pants and shot me in the butt with an antipsychotic.  I slept for two days.

I am not dangerous.  Most of the time I'm frightened in those places.  There are scary people in there, probably avoiding prison.  The people talking about mental health reform are damn right, there needs to be CHANGE.  But can the good patients be heard every once in awhile?  Are our thoughts totally pointless and worthless?

Music!!

Sunday mornings while I'm getting ready for work I often listen to Breakfast with the Beatles. It's a marvelous start to the week, and for so many, MUSIC is such a lovely therapy for those living with mental illness.

In acute states of mania, however, certain kinds of music can be a hinderance.  The lyrics get to be TOO much, and for those of us who have experienced auditory hallucinations, music can actually create a kind of panic.  I've been there, and I have to shut it all off.  I have to shut off TVs as well, and go to my own personal peace and quiet.  The world of broadcast gets too loud.  I usually turn to jazz.  Miles Davis and John Coltrane.  It's hard to explain, but if memory serves me well enough today, other patients had some similar experiences and I know I'm not alone on this.

Still, certain songs provide such incredible solace, and I'm grateful for those who create them.  There's a healing art inside some of those songs.  And then there are certain songs that seem to chime in at just the right times.  They may have been written by the artist from one perspective, then they reach the ears of another in different circumstances.  One such universal song for me is Modest Mouse's Missed the Boat.  It popped on the radio as my husband was driving me home from the hospital with my white box from the March of Dimes on my lap.  The box contained all the keepsakes of the baby I had just delivered who didn't survive this world.  For some reason it was just the perfect song at the perfect time.  When music reaches a certain universality, it's a really special thing.

I am grateful for the music.  When it gets to be too much, I shut it off.  But when it helps, it works wonders.

Participating

I seem to go back and forth with my feelings toward bipolar support groups.  They are helpful during acute mania states and in the depths of depression, most definitely.  They are helpful in providing a place to talk about really strong medications and their side effects with people WHO ACTUALLY TAKE THEM AND KNOW FIRSTHAND.  It's great to have people around who understand hospitals and stigma and how difficult it is maintaining relationships.  Talking with fellow patients makes me feel like I'm not so alone.

However, I usually tend to walk away from these group supports after time because I want to get back out there in the world again and be like everyone else who doesn't wake up everyday worrying their mind might do something abnormal that day.  Still, I'm trying out support groups once again and hoping for some balance between my ill self and healthy self.  It ain't easy, that's for sure.

The hospitalizations weigh heavy on my mind when I'm participating in conversations with others who know what it's like.  I totally understand the importance of keeping patients in acute states sedated.   But let's treat them right.  Minds are capable of more than people can widely speak of.  And you never know what people are going to do with that, uh, odd thing called a brain.  I'm not going to get all sci-fi here, but man!  Some of the things I've witnessed!  Whew!

I don't have the answers.  I'm going to try my best to talk and walk and write my way through the corridors of mental health.  Sometimes I think patients' tend to get stuck on that word mental ILLNESS, when in fact, so many are also mentally GIFTED as well.  If we could somehow reach for that light, that gift within those suffering from depression maybe we could help out a few more people.  Not everyone, but a few more.  We've got to dig for that hope.

Mental Health Marathon Mania Spree

As this Awareness Month starts to wind down, I hope I can keep on truckin' along and get through this really shitty illness.  It's totally shitty.  I hate it.  I'm reaching out to support groups to try and find some freaky friends.  It's nice to have someone to talk to about all the side effects of these medications.  It's also nice to have someone to laugh with about all the crazy manic moments of our pasts and all those things we saw that weren't really there.  There are loads of people fighting this thing everyday, and I'm determined to connect with them.  I'll continue going dancin' at the club when I can with my fellow maniac friends I'm slowly making on the dancefloor.


I can't predict what the future holds.  I've got this weird sort of intuitive psychic thing at times, but I'm not always in touch with it.  It comes and goes, and it seems to be tied to my 'mania.'  I can't explain it.  And I certainly know now to keep my mouth shut about it in the presence of certain Mental Health Professionals.  The mind is a CRAZY POWERFUL thing, so full of mystery, kinda scary at times yet so full of potential.

 I often joke with my staff that I feel like I hold a sort of honorary degree in social psychology having worked in customer service for over twenty years now.  One time I helped a certain someone with a particular song he was looking for at my old book&musicstore job.  He said to me, with an omniscient sort of incredulous demeanor filled with lots of disbelieving shakes of the head:

"I bet you get all kinds of crazy questions asked of you all the time."

And I was like, yes, my friend, nobody would ever believe me in a million years.  He was a cool dude.  I hope our paths cross again someday down the road.  I think he might 'get' me a little bit more than the Mental Health Professionals might.

Depression: A Feminine Perspective

Uggggh.  I'm feeling sooo soooo loooow.  I have cramps, I'm afraid of a new medication and I'm sick of talking about how much I hate it.  I'm a loner.  I ride alone.  I'm going to try a support group next week, and I am on a mission to find some bipolar peers.  Someone I can talk to openly about these damn meds.  The other night I was standing at a bus stop and it started pouring rain.  I was the only one with an umbrella, and when I offered to share it with the others, they each turned me down.  They would rather get drenched and stand in a downpour than stand under an umbrella next to a weirdo like me.  What am I, a girl CHARLIE BROWN?!  Do I exude weirdness?  Am I the Charlie Brownest?  I posted about it on Facebook and one of my aunts commented:

'Youre a kind person!  That scares people!'

Anywaaayys, I just ate a giant piece of big goopy chocolate cake and I think I'm just going to sit here until menopause hits.  Maybe I'll write a few more bad poems, journal more of my depression, go for a few walks, and venture out to a few rock shows here and there to watch all the kids having fun.  Maybe when I'm standing all alone in those big crowds I'll find a new group of bipolar kids so we can talk about what our meds are doing to us today and maybe we'll laugh together about our most embarrassing things we did while manic.  Maybe if we can come up with enough money between us we can really live it up and splurge for some tacos.  

I'm so depressed that I cannot even bear to read all those inspirational 'follow your dreams' things everybody's flooding Facebook with every day.  I have to shut it off!  Get those things away from me!  Those just make me feel a bazillions times worse when I take a look around at my reality I'm living.  

And BOY do my cramps make me angry!!!  Men have NO IDEA what it's like to be a woman.  To live a whole long life in a woman's body.  We put up with this pain every month for so many bloody years and what a waste of my time it's turned out to be.  I know I know I know.  Focus on the positives.

But dude, how can I not GET ANGRY sometimes?!?!

I'm gonna go put on some Cramps music and call it a night.

Happy Mental Health Awareness Month, kids.

talking about the void

While windexing some bell jars at work today, I thought about writers and depression.  I often think of chronicling my own experiences, fictionalizing as needed, and putting it all in one place: a book.  But every time I sit down to start it, I know it's not what I'm supposed to be focusing on.  I'd rather write shorter pieces somewhere else, like in a magazine piece or a blog or something.  It's just so....permanent to put something in a book.  And my opinions on certain facets of mental health are still developing.

During this Mental Health Awareness Month, I have been reading a plethora of articles.  I have been reading stories from experienced patients opening up and sharing their thoughts.  It seems there are a few different philosophies or approaches to mental health out there:

1.  There are those individuals who are not ashamed of their mental illness and openly engage about how wonderful medications are and how happy they are to have found their cure.

2.  There are angry, troubled individuals who have had really bad experiences and want to voice it every chance they get.  In the nature of a whistleblower of sorts, they talk about flawed mental health care coverage by insurance and Medicare, poisonous medications, and the link between prisons and the lack of proper medical assistance.

And 3) people like me who are kind of in the middle.  I am happy for the people who have found a great medication and are pleased with where they are in life.  Mental illness has not limited them in any way and the future is bright.  I have empathy for the people still looking for the right medication, for those who have gone through the trial and error of every new medication on the market, for those who keep trying to find the perfect combination.  And I understand the anger held by those who have attempted mental health care and had a terrible experience with it.  Because of a terrible experience or hostile treatment from a professional, they resort to never comply again and therefore never get needed treatment and often get into trouble down the road.

I am still reading, learning and developing my views.  It has taken me years to find my own intuition again between all the medications, mind fucks (for lack of a better phrase) and words exchanged.  When I'm ready to participate, I'll do so.  Until then, there will always be fingerprints on the bell jars at work to clean.  It'll give the Sylvia Plathish depression a chance to escape so people don't have to resort to tragic, destructive means.

Friends and their importance

When I watched my mom battle stage four breast cancer, I saw the impact of friendships from all angles.  People were coming out of the woodwork in support.  It was amazing.

When my grandma battled leukemia, her room was always overflowing with love and support from everyone whose life she had touched, which was many.  I scheduled phone call times with all her family back in France.  Even when she was too too weak to even speak, I held the phone to her ear and her sisters spoke softly to her and tears would flow as her heart filled with a plethora of emotion.

Our human nature always jumps into Pure Love Mode when the battles we face become too much to bear.  Friends love and surround us as best they can and offer continued support in our recovery.  

When we are sick with a cold or flu or broke a leg or had surgery, conditions aren't so grave, but we still jump in to bring over some food, chicken soup, run errands for our friend while he or she is recuperating.  Our roommates and partners run to the store for more Kleenex, run to pick up prescriptions, make appointments for us.

It is my experience that this same kind of support is not as present when someone is suffering an episode or mental health break.  Friends and family tend to stay away, probably out of fear or discomfort in not knowing what to say.  I remember my husband first visiting me during family hours on that awful 3rd floor and a team of workers shook his hand and thanked him for coming.  Once I was moved to a floor with more freedom, he coordinated some visits with two other friends.  All it took to give me HOPE was to see some friends who would play scrabble with me or sit in the common area and watch dumb tv with me.

Friends often back off from mental illness, and I wish it weren't that way.  It's great to have peers to lean on and develop temporary friends with those in treatment alongside you, but these relationships don't last after life returns to normal.

Monday

Well, I think I'm about tapped out sharing my mental health experiences.  You know there's no cure for this, right?  I think there are people who think it will go away eventually.  Sure, things get better from time to time.  But then there is relapse whether it be caused by a stressful life event or the medication doesn't work anymore.  Also, sometimes difficult talks in therapy come up and it takes a few weeks to get over releasing something difficult.

I don't have a lot of energy.  I am sleeping a lot.  When I pop an anxiety pill it usually does the trick to help me when I'm feeling panicked with stress, but then I sleep.  A lot.  I guess I'm going to try the new medication on the market, and so I must prepare for some tough days.  

The positive talk surrounding mental illness is that it's treatable and people can go on to live full, meaningful lives.  I do believe this is true and it's great to be optimistic, but let's face the facts here: Not For Everyone.  I forget a lot of stuff and can't remember what I wrote where, but I remember writing about a woman I had met in the hospital once who was a lifelong sufferer of depression and her wrists were bandaged up.  She said to me, with a smile, "I really hope you make it."  It was as if she believed she would 'not make it' and was putting her hope out there for me to take.  It was devastating.  I know conversations with people living with mental illness don't hold much merit most of the time, but I still think they are important voices.  

I hope I can 'make it' someday.  And by 'make it,' I mean, in this order:

1. A strong support system.  I finally have medical support I'm comfortable with, but I still need friends.  Vague, anonymous well wishes from strangers on the internet aren't really very helpful.  I need friends to hang out with, go for walks with, talk to over coffee.  I don't have any of those.

2.  Better meds that don't make me more insane.

3.  A job where I'm respected, paid what I'm worth and earn enough to make a decent living.  I have $10 in my bank account right now.  Again.

4. Understanding and empathy.  Pipe dream, that one.

These things will get me started, at least.

Facing the stigma

There are absolutely people out there who judge others with mental illness.  There are people out there who don't think it's 'real,' and others who think ridiculous beliefs regarding mental illness as some sort of punishment from God.  I guess we have movies to thank for that.  It's archaic, outdated and completely cruel to hold this belief.  The statistics of adults who will have battled a mental health issue in their lifetime are astounding.  I've most recently heard 1 in 5 adults will have such an experience.  We have a long way to go until respect becomes part of this conversation.

Regarding religion, I am not comfortable writing about it at this point in my life.  I leave that to theologians.  I have encountered some terribly judgmental people in my life and I don't agree that religion should be used as a way to scold and scare people if they hold a different belief than you.  Unfortunately, this is done everyday.  I can say that I have been treated by mental health professionals of all backgrounds, I have held friendships with people of all backgrounds, and I am a better person for being made aware and respecting people who are different than me.  

I saw a play recently at the Goodman Theater called The White Snake where a powerful monk tried to destroy a young woman whom he believed was a 'bad' person.  He was someone who could 'recite all the Scriptures but had a villainous heart.'  For some reason this line stuck with me.  Sometimes the most judgmental of all people never stop to reflect on their daily treatment towards others.  It saddens me that there is sometimes little empathy in the world.

All this mental illness talk wears me out!

How does one live with a mental illness but not be his or her mental illness?  It's a balancing act, especially when it comes to relationships and, in my case, dealing with daily stress trigger situations.  I know my limitations in the workplace as far as stress levels are concerned, and I suppose knowing is half the battle.  The bigger the paycheck, the higher the stress.  So I've learned how to live with being poor.

Building personal relationships with people has been my biggest challenge.  I don't like to disclose much information about my mental health history to new people, and as a result, I am holding back from being my true self.  I try not to even think about it and relax in my own skin and just have fun in the company of others.  Dancing at a club has been good for me.  I have a few pals on the dance floor and we don't even have to talk about heavy stuff to enjoy each other's company.  But I cannot lie, locating new friends with whom I can talk openly about anything on my mind has been very, very hard.

One of the biggest 'delusions' of my life has been a person whose path crossed mine many, many years ago.  I've tried to talk about it with certain people, including my husband all these years later, and everyone says the same thing:

 "What?  You're crazy.  He doesn't even know you exist."

"Honey, that's not real.  That's part of your illness."

"Why would he be interested in talking to you?  He's a celebrity.  You are in two different worlds."

And many other things.  I tried to dive into an art communication to try and allow myself to understand and I failed epically and wound up in a psych ward with my deluded self.  I tried to talk about it in therapy, three times with three different therapists, and each time I became overwhelmed and couldn't speak.  'That's why it's art,' said my current therapist.  Art is that which overwhelms us, I guess.

There have been several occasions where I thought I even saw him.  At the bus stop, the train station, passing by.  I immediately heard all the words from the past in my head telling me it isn't real, it's a delusion, what would he want with you of all people.  So I ignored it, because I certainly didn't want to go up and talk to someone who really wasn't there again.

I will continue to try and go forth and make new friends.  I know living in a lonely world is no fun.  I also know good friends are hard to find.  But still somehow I try and connect.  Somehow I have to not feel confined by my abnormalities and try and be my true shining self again.

Medication

The question of medication sure does evoke a lot of bickering.  There are mental health care workers and pharmacists who SCOLD those living with mental illness regarding medication. They don't even know a patient's entire story or situation or medical history and yell at patients to exert their power over someone.

So here's the thing with the medication.  I have talked to different doctors over the years, more than a few in fact, to try and get more clarity on possible treatments.  One doctor in 2005 took me off all medication and I went on to live a full, happy, productive life for about six years. I traveled Europe, worked hard at my job, got married, found out I was pregnant and then miscarried and fell into depression again.  I eventually got back in treatment and went through trial and error medication cocktails again and again.  I made psychotherapy a regular part of my treatment and continue all these treatments still today.

As I mentioned before, I worked closely with my current psychiatrist to see if I could attempt another pregnancy and have tried, WITH HIS PERMISSION, to try and be med-free.  It's not working.  I stopped thinking about a pregnancy, ceased hope for one, and I am working in therapy to come to terms with this reality.    This is big life stuff here, and the professionals scolding me on this stuff don't know the full story.  

So what I'm saying is there is more than medication to consider.  Some professionals neglect that each patient differs and has a different, complex history and they need to take time to get to know patients as individuals.  Also, each medication affects each person differently.  I found a new psychiatrist after two years of one psychiatrist wouldn't listen to me about the terrible side effects I was having with a certain medication she swore by.  

The antipsychotic meds are so powerful. I'm pretty certain that once you go on them you can't get off of them.  I am trying to explain this to my regular doctor who treats my blood pressure and hypothyroidism.  She does not believe in this medication and is convinced I would do better off of it.

Contradictions everywhere.

Delusions and hallucinations

Since I have the day off work and my original plans with a friend were postponed (and I'm not feeling my creative energies pulsing through me at the moment) I thought I'd talk about one of the more complex effects of certain mental disorders:

Delusions and hallucinations.

Now everybody is different and our experiences vary greatly from one person to the next.  And of course there is always that wacky Hollywood filling people's imaginations.  So I'm going to list just a few of my experiences.

1. Jésus the Mexican janitor.  The first time I landed in a psych ward and was loaded up on four different pills, I was seated in a common area and was carrying on a conversation with my first Person Who Is Really Not There.  Whether it is my mind producing this stuff or I'm like that kid in The Sixth Sense who sees dead people, he was totally real to me.  He talked about nothing good ever coming out of Mexico.  He worked as a janitor in the hospital and people didn't notice him much, that he was invisible to everyone.  But he asked me if I knew why I was talking to him.  I asked him why and he pointed with conviction to the name on his plastic name tag on his shirt.  Jesus, it said.  I told him my friends were worried about me and I somehow ended up in this crazy place.  We talked about art and he told me he decorates wedding cakes on the side.  There was one other (real) man in the room staring at us (well, me talking to nobody there) and then my friend Gretchen came to visit me and Jesus the Mexican janitor just disappeared.

2. A group of dozens of men in black suits standing outside the Ritz-Carlton as I walked to work one morning.  I felt fear, that they were after me or staring me down and judging me.  I rushed past them and told a coworker what I just saw.  He said, 'There's nobody there!'  I ran back out of the office to get a cup of coffee and sure enough there was nobody there.

3. A man in a white tshirt and jeans walked into my department at the bookstore where I worked.  He had dog tags around his neck, put his finger to his lips to tell me not to speak and pointed to his ears.  I kept my mouth shut.  Actually I don't know if he was real or not.  I immediately knew he was a war vet suffering from PTSD.  I felt a connection to him for some reason...

4.  An African-American girl in a hospital was trying to talk to me, trying to get my attention and when I spoke to her, a nurse yelled my name and asked me who I was talking to and told me there was nobody there.

5.  Years into my mental illness when I realized that I was seeing things that weren't there, I went back home to my parents for a few days and asked my mom about a few people I remembered from childhood:

5a: When I was riding my bike down our country street near home at about age seven or eight, a man drove past me in a car and drove into my path, pushing me off the road and laughed an evil laugh at me and said something evil to me I didn't  understand.  I just knew he was a Bad Man.  I sped off into a field to some dirt trails I knew.  I don't know if that really happened or not.

5b: I was in Kmart with my dad when I was about ten and I saw an abducter man staring at me who looked like a man from the made-for-TV movie that had just aired called 'I Know My First Name Is Steven.'  I told my dad and I don't think he saw what I saw and I had to go outside because I was too terrified.  That was surely tv playing in my head.  Remember those scary TV movies when they'd state at the end that the criminal was still on the loose and if found, call the FBI.  Yeah.

5c: I asked my mom about the Indian that was sitting on the chair on a trip we took somewhere when we were visiting my grandparents.  I couldn't remember where in the US we were, but it was near a coastal area that had a rocky beach.  I was four or five and spent a lot of time with adults.  I would usually sit on the floor behind a chair, too shy to talk, and would play with my dolls or color.  I remember looking up to an Indian man, a Native American, with a flannel shirt and two braids on each side of his face.  He sat sternly with his arms crossed.  He looked down at me and nodded once in my direction.  I never forgot that.  I wasn't afraid of him.  He was reassuring to me.

And so there you have it.  Did I have paranoid schizophrenia as a kid?  Was my brain chemistry wired differently than everyone else's in the seventies and eighties?  I'm sure if I would have grown up in a later decade I would have been put on the autistic spectrum and things would have been handled differently.  It's really odd stuff.  Schizophrenia was a diagnosis given to me at certain points.  But bipolar episodes can produce hallucinations and delusions as well.  I also heard voices at times, and one episode I felt caught in all the scary parts of the Bible and had weird voices and flashes of visions racing through my head until the pills sedated me again.  The name 'John' kept filling my head too and offered this strange comfort to me.  The presence took away my fear.  The religious part of mania is a mysterious thing.  I can't talk much about that stuff because it's way too powerful to discuss.  I've tried.  

There was other stuff I 'heard,' 'saw' and 'sensed' as well, but the stuff above is enough for today I think.  The medication stops all that stuff, stifles it and all, so that's why it's important to dope up on the stuff.  It's too scary otherwise. 

Wallowing

Because it's Mental Health Awareness Month, I will continue speaking about my own mental illness and its implications in my life.  But ultimately, I know that I am not my mental illness.  I know this.  There is much more to me than bipolar disorder.  Some days it doesn't feel like that.  Some days I feel engulfed by its grasp it has on my life.  But I try and persevere as best I can.

I think about attending a regular support group at times.  I sometimes think it would be good for me to have a place where I can go talk with others who live with this illness.  I've done it in the past.  I attended weekly meetings, sometimes more than weekly, and I got to know some others through the group and was able to learn more information as I was first being diagnosed.  My dad even went with me to a few meetings so he could learn about it.  I didn't, however, continue attending group because I began to feel as though I was wallowing in mental health issues.  There was nothing else going on in my life except being a mentally ill person.

I go back and forth on my feelings toward peer resources.  They are most definitely helpful as I'm finishing up a hospitalization, adjusting meds, or participating in outpatient therapy.  After an episode, I feel strength from my peers.  But once life has resumed back to normal, I try to move on.  I don't want to live in fear of another episode, and I tend to get anxious if I think about what happens during an episode.  I still believe environmental factors trigger much of those episodes, but I now feel a deep awareness of those anxiety-inducing days where major stress walks into my life.  I feel I have a better handle on it now.

I still feel anxious about moving to a new medication.  I figure summer is probably the best time to give it a try.  I can hopefully find some sunshine and a quiet park to relax and quietly focus on my breathing to still my mind and body as the new chemicals enter my headspace. I am preparing for 

Tardive dyskinesia

And

Akathisia

which are my most problematic side effects of antipsychotic medications.  I tremble involuntarily and I have terrible inner restlessness where I can't be still and have to fidget constantly or walk around or tap my foot or move myself somehow, which can be very difficult to manage when someone has to sit still at work or on a bus to work.  It's very uncomfortable.  I've also taken pills for Parkinson's and epilepsy in conjunction but they didn't really help to minimize those symptoms.   But I'm going to try dealing with those things on my own this time so I can get rid of Seroquel forever and its awful dreadful weight gain and subsequent oversedation.  It's the lesser of two evils with these medications.  I have to choose, and it's hard work.  Do I have to go the rest of my life trying the new drug recently developed and hope for the best each time?  I've heard lithium is the best, but I can't take that because I have thyroid troubles.

Wish me luck.

Success Stories

I love reading about success stories among sufferers of mental illness.  It all boils down to having a strong support system, I have grown to believe.  Obviously one needs good medical partnership.  But beyond that, family and friends need to offer support.  This can be the most frustrating part of dealing with mental illness because it's not an easy thing to find...

I talk a lot in therapy about building strong relationships and partnerships and finding that ideal support system.  It's frustrating.  I try very hard at maintaining relationships, but it's been a long time since I've found a peer in mental health or a loved one strong enough to stay by my side during the more debilitating moments of my bipolar disorder.  Sometimes the frustration of not having established a helpful network brings about a really deep, dark depression.  Walking around every day having a dark secret to bear can be rather cumbersome, especially because there are few places to unload its weight.  I keep trying.  I do I do I do.  But it sure ain't easy.  

I hope one day I can be a success story, too.  But as the woman who once checked me out in the ER said after pounding questions at me and looking at my pupils and also after someone injected me with their little truth serum or whatever moments prior:

"You're ok.  But you've got a long way to go."

Gee, thanks.  Way to pound hope and optimism into a person.  I'm not going to be OK until I find some friends.  Friends don't grow on trees, you know.  Unless someone can tell me where Bipolar Forest is so I can go build myself a treehouse and live among my people.