Yesterday I dared to struggle. Today I dare to win.
Bernadette Devlin
I think about this often and hope that today will be the day that I win.
Christmas day! I was up until 1:30a.m. Of course I found presents that I forgot I bought. As Jim lay snoring, I had the bed covered with ribbons, wrapping paper and bows...along with all of those sharp instruments that are necessary in the wrapping of presents which can also be useful in the torturing of husbands who fall asleep conveniently at the exact moment that the wrapping of presents commences. The bright lights,the boxes banging,and the wrapping paper racket however, did not affect Jim's snoring. I love wrapping presents with colorful bows and curling ribbons covering beautifully bright paper but I usually wait until the last minute and have to use last year's left overs. This year I felt more exhausted than usual but it seemed to be both mental and physical exhaustion which causes tremors, confusion and anxiety among a host of other systems. My thoughts were so difficult to grasp and organize that I just couldn't move. There was no option however so I moved one slow thought and step at at a time, while the clock continued to move at what seemed like a rapid speed. It occurred to me at about one o'clock in the morning as my mind raced that I didn't take my evening medication... Very,Very bad! Keeping on a set schedule is vital in the control of symptoms. I knew I would pay for it on Christmas Day, which of course was the next day when our family came for dinner. I would very likely have anxiety attacks, tremors and confusion along with a number of other unknown symptoms. The holiday season is stressful for most people. You might even read this and say that you experience the same issues, which I don't deny. However, having Bipolar disorder multiplies most feelings by at least ten. Days like these are so difficult that I find completing even the smallest tasks nearly impossible. It's Christmas morning and everyone is excited about all of the new electronic gadgets. I can't attempt to use my new cell phone... a miniature computer that is confusing for most people but for me it's like being in a foreign country, not speaking the language and being alone without any help. Days like these require all the strength that I have which never seems like enough especially when I'm tired. That's when I feel imprisoned... painful obscure ideas, unorganized thoughts, and the darkness that feeds on itself causing the sensation of drowning. I try grasping for anything in the darkness, preventing what feels like the inescapable. All I can think about is the moment that I can take my first breath. Each mood swing is unique, each one having it's own path for me to traverse...I never know how many swings there will be in one week or even one day... It's said that everyone has a cross to bare in this life...I guess this is mine.
Wednesday, December 29, 2010
Friday, December 10, 2010
Building Walls
Just a Thought: Ursula K. Le Guin
They're too easy to build and they create a false sense of security but eventually they just keep out the people who matter the most... who will help support your recovery. I find that I still build my walls. If I feel embarrassed by my perceived failures I hide...or my fear of failing... I hide. Eventually I just stay hidden. Temple Grandin is an inspiration. She is an Autistic woman born during a time when institutionalization was the primary treatment. She was lucky enough to have a mother who had the strength to fight for the rights of her daughter...who taught her one small step at a time. Sadly enough her daughter grew up during a time that had little experience and no real research to provide to the medical professionals. She experienced the pain of being different in a world that is afraid of difference... is unsure... and has devised an unspoken yet visible system of boxes... labeled by society. If you're unlucky and don't fit into any of those boxes... there are societal judgements made, and there are those who stand clear because they're unsure of what to expect. Temple Grandin didn't fit so she built her own boxes. She experienced much prejudice in her life but she persevered. Since I have started this blog, I have had few of those painful experiences. I don't want pity or special treatment. I just want understanding... I wear my emotions on my sleeve like a badge which I'd rather keep hidden because the world isn't always fair. You play the cards that you've been dealt... you try to knock down the walls...to face everyone and everything that life throws at you.
The story of Temple Grandin is on HBO. It has received many awards and is one of the most powerful movies written about Autism. I think it is worth seeing even if you've watched it in the past. This time think about all of those in this world who may be considered "different"... who don't want sympathy, just understanding and compassion.
The story of Temple Grandin is on HBO. It has received many awards and is one of the most powerful movies written about Autism. I think it is worth seeing even if you've watched it in the past. This time think about all of those in this world who may be considered "different"... who don't want sympathy, just understanding and compassion.
Tuesday, December 7, 2010
Freshly Brewed Coffee
I'll never forget the first house that Jim and I purchased. It was a townhouse on a street with other townhouses that were all the same dull shade of brown. The road curved back around to the main road of the development so that it made the shape of a horseshoe which I hoped meant good luck. The beauty of the house was not its color, its layout or even the road that it stood on but rather the pine forest with its maze of trails and the sounds of the wildlife that lived there. We sat on our deck whenever we could just to enjoy the sounds of the birds and the shade that the trees provided in the back of the house. Of course the aroma of french vanilla coffee brewing added to the sense of peace and calm that I always felt there. Those forest sounds and that first sip of coffee were soothing even during my worst bipolar mood swings. It is often said that remembering an event in your life is directly connected to your memory of the senses that were experienced. The vivid memories that I have of that small townhouse help me recollect the more difficult events in that period of my life. It was a few years after we bought our house that I was diagnosed with bipolar disorder. It was a frightening diagnosis at the worst possible time, as Jim and I had just started the paperwork to adopt our son Jake from Korea. The diagnosis could affect our chances of adoption since mental illness is often an immediate dismissal in regard to foreign adoptions. My illness was not in its worst state at that time so my psychotherapist and my family doctor felt that it could be managed with medication and that it was unnecessary to share that information with the adoption agency. I was so grateful to them for seeing me as a person and not a medical form, which rarely happens with mental illness. I had a very different experience when I had to find a psychiatrist to dispense medication because my family doctor and my therapist didn't feel qualified to give me the care that I needed. Finding a Psychiatrist who treated me with respect and listened to my concerns was a difficult prospect. My first session with my Psychiatrist lasted all of 15 minutes. At the conclusion of this brief and disturbing visit he informed me that our meetings will not consist of therapy just evaluating medications "because that's how Psychiatrists work". My understanding of my rights as a patient and my need to advocate for myself was limited. I realized shortly after that visit that I needed to take charge of my own care. Unfortunately my experience with that Psychiatrist did not end there. After my family moved to a new city about 45 minutes away from my little townhouse I continued to remain under his care since I was unsure of how to find another doctor. On one occasion I failed to ask for another refill of my medication. I was in a state of panic and anxiety, my heart was racing as I called my psychiatrist to request an immediate refill of that medication. He responded by yelling at me on the phone because I didn't get the script during our last visit. It became evident that I needed to find a new doctor. This was the worst experience that I have had but there were several other psychiatrists, therapists and even pharmacists over the years that "stopped working" for a variety of reasons. One doctor spent most of our sessions telling me stories about his family. A pharmacy that I chose to use due to its convenient location, were often rude to me and treated me as if I were crazy. When Jim went to pick up the prescriptions, however, he was treat with a smile and the respect that I was not given. I left that pharmacy and found most people that I dealt with spoke to me with kindness and often engaged me in simple conversation not related to my medication and most importantly, there was always a smile. There are few words to describe how those short conversations mean to me. I am finally under the care of a few doctors and pharmacists that work as a team to provide me with the support that I need. The "moral" to this absurdly long tale is to advocate for yourself and to "move on" if someone stops "working" for you. Don't worry about hurting their feelings because this is all about you. Advocate for yourself in any situation in which you feel you haven't been treated with respect, including pharmacies, nurses as well as on-call-agencies that some doctors use. I have been lucky enough to find a wonderful team of professionals who treat me with respect and who think of me as a person first and then as someone who suffers from Bipolar disorder. They never refer to me as bipolar because that implies that I am my illness not that I have that illness. Don't worry about hurting the feelings of a professional because this is about you and finding the best way to treat your illness. Remember to keep trying to find the small corner of peace in your world where you can hear the birds sing and you can smell that first cup of coffee brewing.
Just a Thought: By Walt Whitman
I exist as I am, that is enough,
If no other in the world be aware, I sit content
And if each and all be aware,
I sit content
Just a Thought: By Walt Whitman
I exist as I am, that is enough,
If no other in the world be aware, I sit content
And if each and all be aware,
I sit content
Tuesday, November 30, 2010
Books to Share
The Depression Workbook-A Guide for Living with Depression and Manic Depression By Mary Ellen Copeland, M.S., M.A.
The workbook is lying in my lap and I feel its weight, and the pressure to write, to share my experiences. I have put this post off for a while because I just can't start. The beginning is supposed to jump off the page and grab its readers. This beginning seems like it just wants to creep in hoping to go unnoticed. I keep waiting for some divine inspiration... but that hasn't happened... so this is how I see it.
I look at the cover with its bright yellows, greens, deep purples and blues. There is a simple painted landscape that is supposed to be relaxing and nonthreatening to the user but the title says that inside is a subject that most people would like to ignore in the hopes that it will disappear.
I look at the cover, feeling its smooth surface knowing that this copy has not been opened. Before buying a book, I skim through the pages of the first book on the shelf or the top of the pile. The one everyone else has held, opened and wrinkled. I read the first page knowing that the first words will either capture or disappoint me. They will be the first words of the tale. Then before purchasing it I carefully reach for the book in the very back of the shelf or at the bottom of the pile. I want to be the first to open it. I always feel the cover of a new book. It tells me there's a story inside waiting to be told. The spine is untouched and perfect. I wait, not yet wanting to crease the binding, or wrinkle the pages. The magic of any book starts when I first hold it in my hands. This tale is not unlike other books except this one tells a different kind of story. It is my own.
The workbook walks you through all of the basic questions that you should consider once you've been diagnosed. It is organized into five Parts (chapters) with each part broken up into smaller sections that are written with clear, understandable and specific concepts. They are even understandable if you are in a manic depressive state, as I was when I started this workbook. There are sections that have thinking exercises and ways to challenge your own thinking patterns. When you are ready, because this book can be read as you need to in your own way, you will develop a WRAP: Wellness Recovery Action Plan. This is a written plan that you develop as you answer questions and use checklists in each part of the book. The use of charts and checklists sold me right off the bat, because they are quick and easy but you still get the same information. The WRAP is completed by looking back at your answers. It is really important to understand that this is not a course that you will be graded on because you are writing your own story at your own pace. The plan is placed in a binder so that you can remove or add to it any time you'd like. The binder has a lot of blank pages that you can fill up, so don't think of this binder as a report. I found this book to be easy and painless. I read and completed some exercises over and over a number of times because I often needed help or I was in a state of stress.
The workbook helped me create an organized place to put my thoughts. It helped me create a WRAP by exploring my triggers and recognizing the warning signs that tell me an unstable mood is around the corner. It helped me feel empowered and it gave me direction. It is my "go to guide" when I am unsure of where to go and what to do next.
The workbook is lying in my lap and I feel its weight, and the pressure to write, to share my experiences. I have put this post off for a while because I just can't start. The beginning is supposed to jump off the page and grab its readers. This beginning seems like it just wants to creep in hoping to go unnoticed. I keep waiting for some divine inspiration... but that hasn't happened... so this is how I see it.
I look at the cover with its bright yellows, greens, deep purples and blues. There is a simple painted landscape that is supposed to be relaxing and nonthreatening to the user but the title says that inside is a subject that most people would like to ignore in the hopes that it will disappear.
I look at the cover, feeling its smooth surface knowing that this copy has not been opened. Before buying a book, I skim through the pages of the first book on the shelf or the top of the pile. The one everyone else has held, opened and wrinkled. I read the first page knowing that the first words will either capture or disappoint me. They will be the first words of the tale. Then before purchasing it I carefully reach for the book in the very back of the shelf or at the bottom of the pile. I want to be the first to open it. I always feel the cover of a new book. It tells me there's a story inside waiting to be told. The spine is untouched and perfect. I wait, not yet wanting to crease the binding, or wrinkle the pages. The magic of any book starts when I first hold it in my hands. This tale is not unlike other books except this one tells a different kind of story. It is my own.
The workbook walks you through all of the basic questions that you should consider once you've been diagnosed. It is organized into five Parts (chapters) with each part broken up into smaller sections that are written with clear, understandable and specific concepts. They are even understandable if you are in a manic depressive state, as I was when I started this workbook. There are sections that have thinking exercises and ways to challenge your own thinking patterns. When you are ready, because this book can be read as you need to in your own way, you will develop a WRAP: Wellness Recovery Action Plan. This is a written plan that you develop as you answer questions and use checklists in each part of the book. The use of charts and checklists sold me right off the bat, because they are quick and easy but you still get the same information. The WRAP is completed by looking back at your answers. It is really important to understand that this is not a course that you will be graded on because you are writing your own story at your own pace. The plan is placed in a binder so that you can remove or add to it any time you'd like. The binder has a lot of blank pages that you can fill up, so don't think of this binder as a report. I found this book to be easy and painless. I read and completed some exercises over and over a number of times because I often needed help or I was in a state of stress.
The workbook helped me create an organized place to put my thoughts. It helped me create a WRAP by exploring my triggers and recognizing the warning signs that tell me an unstable mood is around the corner. It helped me feel empowered and it gave me direction. It is my "go to guide" when I am unsure of where to go and what to do next.
Monday, November 22, 2010
My Earliest Memory
Although I 'm not sure which birthday that I recall, my 7th or my 8th, it is still etched into my memory as a painful reminder that my illness goes much farther back than my early twenties when I was diagnosed. It was a Saturday in early October when the leaves hadn't started to change color yet and the temperature was still warm enough for the kids in the neighborhood to play outside in the evening. But this Saturday was a special day... it was my birthday party when my father's family came to our house with all of the usual presents and fanfare. I loved my birthday because it meant that everyone was there just for me. I grew up in a very happy home and I was lucky enough to have two parents who cared more about us than any material possessions. I recall that we didn't have many toys but we didn't really know anything different. So we found ways to amuse ourselves with the few toys that we did have or the games that we played outside with our friends. But on my birthday everything was different, because I knew that my cousins would come over to play and of course that I would receive gifts from my whole family. It didn't really matter to me what presents I was given, just the idea of getting gifts was exciting.
I remember that day and all of the sights and sounds and smells of the kitchen that was the hub of the house where the adults gathered, talking and laughing. It was jam-packed with people in spite of the fact that we had a very small house. That seemed to be where everyone wanted to sit, instead of in the living room where my mother preferred the headquarters of the party to be located but it never worked out that way. I always remember the smells of the kitchen too... my great-uncle was smoking a cigar, which drove my father crazy, and my great-aunt always smelled of too much perfume. My father's cousins and their own children were there also to add to the chaos that was my birthday. But all of that chaos made for a great party.
On this particular birthday all of the playing was in our basement instead of outside where we would usually run around playing tag. The basement consisted of a cement floor, cement walls, and a small corner for the washer and dryer as well as a work area for my father's tools. There were other unfinished walls too that would eventually become a separation for the work area and the "play-area".
This is where my happy memories begin to change into darker ones. I recall standing at the top of the basement stairs looking down as everyone had fun playing hide and seek with the lights out. Even the adults were busy laughing and talking in the kitchen. I just remember feeling left-out and alone but also angry because no one seemed to notice or care that I wasn't part of the fun. After all, it was MY birthday. My feelings seemed to be one jumbled mess that were difficult to understand. I was unable to stop the rage and sadness and confusion that I was feeling. I started to cry in an angry rage. Then my party just crumbled... I didn't have cake or candles... I didn't want anyone in my house anymore. My parents asked me to sit in the living room for awhile so that I could get "myself together". The party that I looked so forward to was over because I couldn't calm myself. Then the sadness and loneliness took hold and I was truly out of control. Added to all of those emotions was embarrassment because I "knew" in my little 7 year old mind that everyone was laughing at me and thinking I was a little bit crazy. I also started to think that they might be right so I locked myself in the bathroom and no amount of cajoling would get me to come out... until my father used a screw-driver to unlock the door and at that point I just remember crying myself to sleep. This was not the happy birthday that I had expected. No one at the party knew exactly what had happened. I too had no idea. It would be many years before I would even have a name for depth of despair that I felt on that day.
Just A Thought:
Faith is not a storm cellar to which men and women can flee for refuge from the storms of life. It is, instead, an inner force that gives them the strength to face those storms and consequences with serenity of spirit.
by Sam J. Ervin, Jr.
I remember that day and all of the sights and sounds and smells of the kitchen that was the hub of the house where the adults gathered, talking and laughing. It was jam-packed with people in spite of the fact that we had a very small house. That seemed to be where everyone wanted to sit, instead of in the living room where my mother preferred the headquarters of the party to be located but it never worked out that way. I always remember the smells of the kitchen too... my great-uncle was smoking a cigar, which drove my father crazy, and my great-aunt always smelled of too much perfume. My father's cousins and their own children were there also to add to the chaos that was my birthday. But all of that chaos made for a great party.
On this particular birthday all of the playing was in our basement instead of outside where we would usually run around playing tag. The basement consisted of a cement floor, cement walls, and a small corner for the washer and dryer as well as a work area for my father's tools. There were other unfinished walls too that would eventually become a separation for the work area and the "play-area".
This is where my happy memories begin to change into darker ones. I recall standing at the top of the basement stairs looking down as everyone had fun playing hide and seek with the lights out. Even the adults were busy laughing and talking in the kitchen. I just remember feeling left-out and alone but also angry because no one seemed to notice or care that I wasn't part of the fun. After all, it was MY birthday. My feelings seemed to be one jumbled mess that were difficult to understand. I was unable to stop the rage and sadness and confusion that I was feeling. I started to cry in an angry rage. Then my party just crumbled... I didn't have cake or candles... I didn't want anyone in my house anymore. My parents asked me to sit in the living room for awhile so that I could get "myself together". The party that I looked so forward to was over because I couldn't calm myself. Then the sadness and loneliness took hold and I was truly out of control. Added to all of those emotions was embarrassment because I "knew" in my little 7 year old mind that everyone was laughing at me and thinking I was a little bit crazy. I also started to think that they might be right so I locked myself in the bathroom and no amount of cajoling would get me to come out... until my father used a screw-driver to unlock the door and at that point I just remember crying myself to sleep. This was not the happy birthday that I had expected. No one at the party knew exactly what had happened. I too had no idea. It would be many years before I would even have a name for depth of despair that I felt on that day.
Just A Thought:
Faith is not a storm cellar to which men and women can flee for refuge from the storms of life. It is, instead, an inner force that gives them the strength to face those storms and consequences with serenity of spirit.
by Sam J. Ervin, Jr.
Sunday, November 21, 2010
Finding My Balance
I found this entry embedded deep in the "far reaches" of my messy journal. I have put this entry away knowing I would share it when I was ready. Most people who are plagued by mental illness but lead their life as normal as possible would agree that this feels too private to share. I know that pressing the "post" button will be more difficult than all of those that precede it. So here it is in plain truth...
Depression grabs hold of me quickly and unexpectedly.The sadness covers me like a heavy woolen blanket. I can't see through the darkness and I feel like there will never be a way out. There are no tears just emptiness. My thoughts are frozen. I can't leave my house or my bedroom and I can't even lift my head off of my pillow. I need someone to guide me through the blackness by pulling on that golden thread and holding on tight. The people in my inner circle help me find my balance and safe zone.
I think of myself as a traveler, on a journey that never ends...but I know I will never walk alone because I will always have that golden thread. I'll need to pay attention to the sign posts along the way because it's easy to get lost and they'll help keep me on track when the storm rises.
Just A Thought: Limitless Faith
"Faith is a sounder guide than reason. Reason can go only so far, but faith has no limits." by Blaise Pascal
Depression grabs hold of me quickly and unexpectedly.The sadness covers me like a heavy woolen blanket. I can't see through the darkness and I feel like there will never be a way out. There are no tears just emptiness. My thoughts are frozen. I can't leave my house or my bedroom and I can't even lift my head off of my pillow. I need someone to guide me through the blackness by pulling on that golden thread and holding on tight. The people in my inner circle help me find my balance and safe zone.
I think of myself as a traveler, on a journey that never ends...but I know I will never walk alone because I will always have that golden thread. I'll need to pay attention to the sign posts along the way because it's easy to get lost and they'll help keep me on track when the storm rises.
Just A Thought: Limitless Faith
"Faith is a sounder guide than reason. Reason can go only so far, but faith has no limits." by Blaise Pascal
Thursday, November 18, 2010
Journaling: Seamlessly Slinking in Unafraid... Losing My Balance
Journal writing is the most personal form of writing and is the most freeing as well. But lately, more often than not, I find it difficult to write because the thoughts are just out of reach. These elusive ideas, cause my frustration and anger to seep through the fragile layers of my self confidence destroying it one small layer at a time. The anger creeps in with the silence of a cat. Its movements are sleek and deliberate while quick and demanding... or it can remain hidden... just waiting for the right moment to take a quick peek from its hiding place... seamlessly slinking in unafraid. It catches me off guard and by the time I notice its entrance, I have already lost my balance.
When my journal is feeling less burdensome and lighter to carry, I feel the power of the written word. I feel strong and confident and in control. I imagine the words just flowing easily onto the pages. I look forward to sitting down with my favorite pen in my favorite writing spot. I always have a journal that is beautiful... I have a collection of journals that I have gathered over the years, with the best of intentions, to fill with my amazing and boundless flow of words. Of course there is more to writing than that but I feel energized! It is during those moments I might be on a manic high but it is usually harmless... since all I have to lose are a few pages of a journal that might now be filled with nonsensical words when later scrutinized. I start however ready to write... the world at my feet.
Just a Thought: (to myself):
"True eloquence consists of saying all that should be said, and nothing more."
Francois De Le Rochefoucauld
When my journal is feeling less burdensome and lighter to carry, I feel the power of the written word. I feel strong and confident and in control. I imagine the words just flowing easily onto the pages. I look forward to sitting down with my favorite pen in my favorite writing spot. I always have a journal that is beautiful... I have a collection of journals that I have gathered over the years, with the best of intentions, to fill with my amazing and boundless flow of words. Of course there is more to writing than that but I feel energized! It is during those moments I might be on a manic high but it is usually harmless... since all I have to lose are a few pages of a journal that might now be filled with nonsensical words when later scrutinized. I start however ready to write... the world at my feet.
Just a Thought: (to myself):
"True eloquence consists of saying all that should be said, and nothing more."
Francois De Le Rochefoucauld
Monday, November 15, 2010
Worry-Stone
My worry-stone is in my hand... its smooth, shiny surface is soothing so that I can focus on breathing... thinking about each breath...in and out... relaxing. I feel the slowing of my heart as it beats in my chest. The smell of the lavender candle permeates the room and it seems to float on the sounds of the ocean music as I sit in the darkness. When the world starts to take over my thoughts again I bring myself back to the darkness of the room by using the word stop silently and continue to think about the crashing of the waves. I say that word as often as I need to in order to keep myself grounded in this space. It sometimes feels impossible to stop everything that spins in my head... but I keep going until I am at peace.
Just A Thought: Traveling with Pomegranates by Sue Monk Kidd and Ann Kidd Taylor
"Help me hold the losses I feel, in my heart and in my soul, and not run away. Show me the ways of being."
Just A Thought: Traveling with Pomegranates by Sue Monk Kidd and Ann Kidd Taylor
"Help me hold the losses I feel, in my heart and in my soul, and not run away. Show me the ways of being."
Tae Kwon Do
It is not for the perfectionist... you will fail simply because of your own unrealistic expectations. I am that perfectionist. Walking in the door... bowing to the flags and stepping onto the mat sometimes feels like a big leap of faith... I hope I'll remember my kicks, "stationary-hands", (defensive and offensive hand moves), and the dreaded "form", the seamless flow and power that is the sport of martial arts. It is as if you are playing an instrument in which the form is the music... if you hit the wrong note you change the song. You can keep going and get back on track or you can freeze and forget what note to play next. I just can't start again...My thoughts race... trying just to move in some direction even the wrong one. But I'm lost and the anger, frustration and sadness take hold. All of this happens in front of an audience which in my confused state of panic, anxiety and paranoia causes racing thoughts: Are they thinking that I'm inadequate and wasting their time, or are they busy waiting for their turn and thinking about their own form or feeling relieved that their turn is over. I can't think clearly in this state of anxiety which weighs on me one heavy brick at a time. Successful completion of even one skill means at that moment I have conquered my fears and one small battle in the fight with this disease.
Saturday, November 13, 2010
Bins, Boxes and Baskets
Sometimes manic behaviors and anxiety happen when I have't reached my very unrealistic expectations of myself. I want to clean my house so that every room is spotless and there are "bins, boxes and baskets" with labels for everything. I love containers and labels because they create order. What I need most in my life, besides understanding, is order. I want perfection every moment of every day... but this will never happen.
My youngest son, who is in 7th grade, came home with a project that required him to gather notes on a chosen topic in preparation for a research paper. He was typing the notes on our computer, which was in our family room near the kitchen. My husband was cooking dinner while I talked to my son about the ideas he came up with. He excitedly told me his topic was stress. He shared with me the concept of Type A or B personality. He decided that I was a Type A personality while he was Type B. He read the description of each one and I was excited to find that he was correct. I told my husband Jim about my find and he looked at me with surprise and replied with a smile, "really?". I thought about his reaction and realized there are so many things I don't understand about myself until someone tells me. I realize as someone with Bipolar Disorder that I have obssesive-compulsive behaviors. I expect my world to be in containers with labels. I really do mean my entire world. When I think about that it makes me calm.
When my family finds me pulling everything out of a dresser, closet or even an entire room, they don't even ask me what I'm doing... this is a part of my illness that they understand and have learned to deal with.
They know from my pressured speech, talking fast, the containers surrounding me or the fiery look in my eyes. My hands usually shake, my heart races, and my thoughts are usually so confused that I can't stop and have a calm, clear conversation. It would seem that this "racing, cleaning, organizing" would be a great way to clean your house... but then with the same intensity, when I can't do it all I swing into a manic depression, and worry because my world didn't fit into all of those boxes.
Just a thought: Positive Quotations by Steve Deger
I release my worries and permit myself to rest. I will focus on my breathing and remember that tomorrow will bring its own solutions. *(learning to breathe deeply to relax seems simple but it really helps.)
I need some routine in my life. Not only do I need to meet my own basic needs I also want to include a few reflective activities that lift my spirits and keep me inspired.
My youngest son, who is in 7th grade, came home with a project that required him to gather notes on a chosen topic in preparation for a research paper. He was typing the notes on our computer, which was in our family room near the kitchen. My husband was cooking dinner while I talked to my son about the ideas he came up with. He excitedly told me his topic was stress. He shared with me the concept of Type A or B personality. He decided that I was a Type A personality while he was Type B. He read the description of each one and I was excited to find that he was correct. I told my husband Jim about my find and he looked at me with surprise and replied with a smile, "really?". I thought about his reaction and realized there are so many things I don't understand about myself until someone tells me. I realize as someone with Bipolar Disorder that I have obssesive-compulsive behaviors. I expect my world to be in containers with labels. I really do mean my entire world. When I think about that it makes me calm.
When my family finds me pulling everything out of a dresser, closet or even an entire room, they don't even ask me what I'm doing... this is a part of my illness that they understand and have learned to deal with.
They know from my pressured speech, talking fast, the containers surrounding me or the fiery look in my eyes. My hands usually shake, my heart races, and my thoughts are usually so confused that I can't stop and have a calm, clear conversation. It would seem that this "racing, cleaning, organizing" would be a great way to clean your house... but then with the same intensity, when I can't do it all I swing into a manic depression, and worry because my world didn't fit into all of those boxes.
Just a thought: Positive Quotations by Steve Deger
I release my worries and permit myself to rest. I will focus on my breathing and remember that tomorrow will bring its own solutions. *(learning to breathe deeply to relax seems simple but it really helps.)
I need some routine in my life. Not only do I need to meet my own basic needs I also want to include a few reflective activities that lift my spirits and keep me inspired.
Friday, November 12, 2010
My Safe Zone: flow and rhythm of my days
My routines are my order and my guide through life. I find chaos disrupts the flow and rhythm of my days. I am often alone in my safe zone, which helps bring peace and reflection to the disorder. My safe zone is like a warm blanket with a cup of hot chocolate and my favorite movie. It can be my bedroom or my couch with no one around where my wild thoughts and the physical exhaustion that comes from fitting into society's expectations, can be released. In this place there is no fear of embarrassment from meltdowns, from bipolar episodes or from the stigma that society still puts on mental illness... no expectations... only peace of mind.
Just a thought:
The Nightly Book of Positive Quotations by Steve Deger
I don't need to keep picking up old burdens. Today is all I need to be concerned about. I'll have a more focused mind for tomorrow's challenges if I haven't tired myself worrying about them today.
Thursday, November 11, 2010
Misunderstood Mania
Manic behavior is misunderstood and portrayed on T.V. and in books at the most extreme end of the spectrum. Most of the Bipolar population don't suffer from psychosis which is extremely debilitating and requires consistent support and extreme intervention. My behaviors require monitoring and intervention to a lesser degree but still produce anxiety, panic and at times paranoia. It usually happens during a stressful situation such as a loud, confusing environment, during a presentation in my role as a teacher, or performing a Tae Kwon Do form in front of a group. Teaching requires too much multitasking and causes a combination of depression, and manic behavior. I don't, however, avoid all situations that may cause stress. This would essentially be avoiding life. Tae Kwon Do helps me to perform at my own pace with direct support from instructors while practicing stress relieving strategies. This is not an easy path to take to practice strategies but it is very important to me. It also helps build my self esteem, which has been beaten down by this disease. For most people this is the most difficult part of the disorder to understand.
I also wanted to say that walking on eggshells is not necessary or possible because I don't throw eggs on the floor :)
Please ask me if you have questions. I am not at all embarrassed to answer them.
I also wanted to say that walking on eggshells is not necessary or possible because I don't throw eggs on the floor :)
Please ask me if you have questions. I am not at all embarrassed to answer them.
A Midnight Walk
My thoughts race and keep me awake... they are rarely linear and cause anxiety and panic. I can't sleep and it is currently 1:30a.m. I can only think in bits and pieces. My sentences are short and my thoughts are difficult to compose. I often write short posts because that's how my brain works. I can only try to keep up with all of the confusion in my head. I took medication to calm me down but I don't like the way I feel the next morning. The medication makes me slur and stammer and I become clumsy... I spill things and I feel like my muscles aren't working. The side effects of the medications are frustrating to deal with but they are the lesser of two evils.
My thoughts are slowing down. Racing thoughts are like a symphony with every musician playing different music at the same time, sometimes in the wrong key, with the doors to the theater locked and I can't get out... no one hears the music the way I do.
Thoughts are often disconnected. My posts might not be written in an organized plan but what better way to let you see what bipolar is all about.
It's the morning after my midnight walk and I carefully check my post to make sure that it makes sense. When my thoughts race, which is a manic episode, while I'm writing I think that my writing is clear and concise... but sometimes the sentences are unorganized and my ideas are repeated several times in one entry. I need lots of coffee to escape the side effects... going out for coffee now... to be continued
My thoughts are slowing down. Racing thoughts are like a symphony with every musician playing different music at the same time, sometimes in the wrong key, with the doors to the theater locked and I can't get out... no one hears the music the way I do.
Thoughts are often disconnected. My posts might not be written in an organized plan but what better way to let you see what bipolar is all about.
It's the morning after my midnight walk and I carefully check my post to make sure that it makes sense. When my thoughts race, which is a manic episode, while I'm writing I think that my writing is clear and concise... but sometimes the sentences are unorganized and my ideas are repeated several times in one entry. I need lots of coffee to escape the side effects... going out for coffee now... to be continued
Wednesday, November 10, 2010
The Golden Thread
My inner circle is my lifeline back to safety. The "inner circle" includes family, friends, doctors, and my therapist who encircle me just in case I begin to fall. They're always connected to me by, what's been called, a golden thread. It's easy to see and shines in the darkest of places... in the fast paced mania, panic and anxiety and the deepest depression. My inner circle know the highs and lows of this disease and they never waver.
Tuesday, November 9, 2010
Mile 0
I'm not sure about my blog entries. My mind is racing as it usually does when I start something new. I think I should look in my stack of "Bipolar Books". I think of that stack as a "refresher course". So I gather the 5 text books, 2 workbooks, one book on positive quotations and my writing journal. I stare at them, not sure how to start, but I realize that the books can't tell my story. They sit unmoved in a stack on my bedside table along with my colorful bag of medications and the book I'm currently reading... there are always piles of books. They help quite my mind. My journal is always there too just in case I need to slow myself down. Reading and writing are my weapons. A journal doesn't make judgements, it doesn't matter what you write, it is your own space to fill... where the world can't see.
Friday, November 5, 2010
The Beginning
Hi, my name is Kathy and I have Bipolar Disorder. I think I have to begin there. I need to release the burden that I have been carrying around with me for many years. In the beginning I was able to quietly, inconspicuously live with this disease with the help of medication. This is no longer possible. I now live in fear that some one will find out and judgmentally, yet quietly, walk away. I am no longer able to work as a teacher, a profession that I was good at and really loved. My disease has now taken over, and no amount or combination of medications will take this horrible disease away, but this blog is my struggle to find the courage to share my experiences with others.
From: Loving Someone With Bipolar Disorder
When I get anxious I can feel my heart pounding in my chest and I know that if I'm asked to do even one more thing I'm going to cry and run from the room and just hide. I just feel this whirling feeling of being sucked into something I can't control.
Projects often seem overwhelming and, to the person with Bipolar Disorder, the brain can feel like it's not making connections or that it's going in all directions at once.
From: Loving Someone With Bipolar Disorder
When I get anxious I can feel my heart pounding in my chest and I know that if I'm asked to do even one more thing I'm going to cry and run from the room and just hide. I just feel this whirling feeling of being sucked into something I can't control.
Projects often seem overwhelming and, to the person with Bipolar Disorder, the brain can feel like it's not making connections or that it's going in all directions at once.
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