But then reality set in. The fact of the matter is I’m still terribly ill, and I fall asleep in the middle of writing. My brother the attorney warned me today that I shouldn’t even be driving because I could get arrested for driving under the influence of medication. I’m awfully tired all the time, and I think I perhaps made up that 2 1/2 hour window to make myself feel better.
I have countless flashcards to be sure to know before April 29th. Even though it’s only volunteer work, it’s still work, and should be treated as such. I want these children to get the very best experience of Maybury Farms they could possibly come away with. I’m not hoping for perfect; that’s not what I said. I said I would give them my very best. That’s all any of us can do, and it’s all that should be expected of us.
I wish that I was better. I wish that I could do everything. But I know that if I try to do everything, something will inevitably fall through the tracks. I’m not as young as I used to be. I used to pull all-nighters and be just fine the next day. But I’ll be 52 this year, I have arthritis pretty much all down the left side of my body, and this….this damn bipolar.
I’ll still be blogging. Just not on a scheduled pace.
So. A tout a l’heure. Adios. See you on the flip side.
Peace out. Take care o’ you. xx
Goals are so crazy popular, aren’t they? I mean, I went looking for one quote on goals for this post, just one, and they were all so contradictory. Some said set your goals high and don’t stop ’til you achieve them. Others said it starts with the spirit, and if that wasn’t true, forget about it. Then there’s the one who says to set small goals and build upon them. So even the meaning of the word goal is somewhat sketchy.
I know of a famous, at least famous on my terms, writing website, which has a whole board (forum) dedicated to the topic of goals and the achievement (or not) thereof. I belonged to it at one time. I did find it somewhat useful, but mostly I felt bad about myself for not achieving the goals I’d set out for the week. I might or might not have been the only person who felt that way, but it’s interesting to note, don’t you think?
Now, I know I could be feeling this way because I’m still coming off a manic phase and it’s hard for me to focus on any one thing. At Goodreads I’m reading five books at a time still, one of which is a book I’m reviewing for Netgalley. If you haven’t checked out Netgalley, you really should. And then there is Optimism, and the six month’s study I voluntarily upped for. Don’t forget the origami cranes. 😀 My brain also recently lit on zentangle, because it’s supposed to be so good for stress. I bought books and everything. I’ve only made one so far, but my mind is studying and learning (which I think is the opposite of what it’s supposed to do). How is a brain like that supposed to do anything except make it through the day? LOL
With the above thought in mind, I took myself to the gym yesterday morning at 4:00 a.m. I just did it. My goal was to get in there, to buy a pair of headphones, sit on a cycle, and ride for at least fifteen minutes. My biggest worry about achieving the goal was, of course, the stares I might get. But–surprisingly–people didn’t even look at me; even when the gentleman behind the counter had a hard time getting the cash register to work and it took what seemed like an eternity. No one stared at me while I fumbled with the outer packaging of the headphones, or while I figured out how exactly the cycle worked. In fact no one seemed quite otherwise occupied. Such a monumental surprise for the fat girl who expected finger points and taunts.
I had planned on going later that day (6-7 was a great time, because people were eating dinner) and every day after that. Then I got sick. Really suddenly, like wham, you had enough fun, no more fun for you. I know my thinking is distorted because I’m sick, so I’ll try not to take that too seriously.
Here’s my point. In between setting goals, life happens. So we need to become as flexible as a Gumby toy. Things can change in an instant. So, what am I saying, that I’m not going to the gym anymore? Heck no! But I couldn’t go today, and my body feels like I got hit by a Mack truck (Say, did you know there’s a r/l thing as a Mack truck? I saw one when I was driving a while back!). I’m saying sometimes it may be two steps forward one step back, but there’s always that one step forward.
Don’t forget to loveyourself intensely during this process. It’s hard. You’ll want to rail against everything. But don’t. You’ll be okay. Hang in there, and trust God. Trust your friends.
Now, I can joke about this, because I’m the one in the mixed state. Not that it’s funny to be in a mixed state, but you know the saying “If you can’t laugh about it you’ll go crazy.”
But this experience, I think, helps me to know a little about what may be more appropriate and productive as opposed to—well inappropriate.
Without further adieu, here are five things so not to say to that poor sap in a mixed state:
1. It’s all in your head.
2. You really need help.
3. Do you speak to your mother with that mouth?
4. You’re making a mountain out of a mole hill.
5. I need to take a step back in our friendship.
There ya go. I’ll be the first to admit mixed state bipolar is a whole lotta crazy, but I also know it’s not voluntary. It’s a sickness. I look back on the days in June of 2013 when all I had to deal with was severe depression with tender fondness.
We’re all in this screwball thing called life together, and we only get one go around. I think we need as many mates as we can get.
That said, take care of you. If you really can’t deal, you can’t deal. Some people, I’ve learned the hard way, can understand a manic episode, but they can’t stick around and deal with it. Those are two very different definitions, and it doesn’t reflect badly on the person at all.
I’ve been trying and trying to write this blog, wanting it to be gentle and light, to bring you good vibes so you’ll come back and keep reading. But my mind and heart are heavy with all the colossal blunders I’m making that I keep wanting to slough off onto my illness. A mixed episode of bipolar disorder is nothing to laugh about. It’s like a modern version of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. My loved ones never know who they’re going to be speaking to from one minute to the next.
Until I got into Al-Anon, I used to get so mad at my sister when she wold blame her absurd or borderline abusive drunken behavior on her disease. Even after becoming a regular around the tables, it took me a long time to get that being a drunk is a disease and not a choice. I know, ridiculous right? Who in their right mind would choose the humiliation and shame attached with being an alcoholic? She is responsible for any fallout, and she has to try to amend as much as she truly can, but she has to love herself first and foremost. That’s why it’s called a selfish program.
I wish there was such a thing as a teleporter, so I could teleport myself to a tiny, solitary island far, far away from any living people until I Get Better. Until then, I keep apologizing, then praying and trying again. I’ve started taking my Flexeril (20mg per pill, a muscle relaxant), which I had a WHOLE bunch left over from when I initially hurt my back years ago along with 3x daily dose of Xanax. It makes me sleepy, and a little loopy, which is a weird trip to be on with all the racing thoughts and flighty ideas in my brain. But it makes me a little less prone to blurt out the first thing I’m thinking—I would do anything to not hurt my mom or my sister. Go ahead. Let me have it. Tell me I’m using, that I’ll become a drug addict. I’m already addicted to prescribed Xanax, what’s a little Flexeril thrown in?
I better stop now, because I’m very tired, and I know I’m not making sense. I guess the take-away from this is: be very careful when we go to judge or feel resentful of someone else. We never know when we’re going to be the one struggling with a problem which can easily be judged and resented. But only when we accept ourselves and love ourselves where we are can true change begin to happen.
When I talk to my sister now, and I hear her go into “beat up on Carol” mode, I try to jump in and get real logical with her. She did the best she could at that time with the information that she had. Now she knows better, she can do better.
This is my first ever dysphoric mania episode. I feel so lost at sea. And it’s super hard to take that same advice and apply it to myself. All I keep thinking is “Idiot. Stupid. Mean. Jerk. Way to go, jackass.” It is probably the reason that I still have suicidal ideation and that many with this type of mania attempt suicide.
Argh. I’m blabbing and I’m getting totally incoherent. Please be gentle with yourselves today, no matter where you are on your journeys.
When I saw this cartoon it made me laugh so hard, and I was drinking coffee at the time. 😀 Then I realized it’s all about expectations and how what we think about things make them difficult. I hope that makes some sense. We dive into recovery and expect so damn much from ourselves from day one. God forbid we don’t meet those expectations. So when we can learn to laugh at ourselves it’s f***ing fantastic!!
When I told the brilliant Dr. Walker this morning (therapist) that it wasn’t fun making paper cranes anymore, and I told him the whole story about how everyone on Facebook (yes I have that much power) knows about my promise to make 1,001 paper cranes in the memory of an old cherished professor. So now it felt like a crushing burden, and it wasn’t a joy any longer. I kept putting it off each day until I was too sleepy. So he said “Why does it have to be 1,001? Why can’t you just make as many paper cranes as you want, keeping the fun in it, thinking of your old prof while you’re making them? The gift is not in the quantity of the cranes, it’s in the gifting of them, it’s in the meaning of them.”
How’s your mood lately? Me, I’m ever working on irritability. 😦 I’m a work in progress. Mania is still at an all-time high, so it would be better if I could be in a rubber room right now, but it’s not an option. LOL
Not so happily, I got in an argument with my sister again on the telephone this morning. Two bipolar people trying to both be right at the same time is so not good. We made up a safe word for when either of us feels things are getting out of hand: orange. Yes, orange. As in: “Orange you glad I asked you to stop talking?” 😉
After that conversation I got off the phone and just wept. But post-therapy, I decided the conversation belonged right here, along with my bad feelings, because I was being way too hard on myself: Then I walked away from the crap, literally turned my body away, wiped the stupid tears from my face, walked outside and looked into this:
I guess what I’m trying to say is this: no matter what you are recovering or healing from, it’s a tough process. To borrow a phrase, Rome wasn’t built in a day. We didn’t get damaged in a day, and we’re not going to get stronger, healthier, more empowered in a day either.
The biggest take-away I want for you to keep in your head with this post that took me forever because I kept nodding off (It’s so not you or the subject matter! Lack of sleep and problems adjusting meds is all. It’ll pass.) is this:
Be careful who you give your power to. Peace out. xx
7. When you wake up, startlingly wide awake after just a couple hours of sleep at night, don’t listen to your brain when it tells you you’ve had quite enough sleep. Do perhaps drink a glass of water and try to lie back down. If you can get it, this is a most excellent investment: Delta Sleep System. I think Jeffrey Thompson must be some kind of genius, because this puts me to sleep every time, even when I don’t stay asleep because of being manic.
6. Don’t get up instead, lurch over in a drug-induced stupor to make coffee and get onto Facebook. FB is a never-ending loop of “shiny” from which one never escapes. Not good for the manic phase. Do try guided visualization. You don’t have to buy these. There are plenty super great ones available on YouTube. Here’s one that I try to stay awake to, but her voice is so soothing it conks me out every time:
5. Don’t go onto sites where you know you can read books for free in exchange for reviews. (I have 13 books in a queue because of such a dilemma. “Oh look, another book that would be perfect for me to review!”). Do try, hard as it is, to have no more than two books going at one time.
4. Don’t announce to the world a huge almost impossible to fulfill goal if there is a chance in hell you may not fulfill it. Case in point: I announced on Facebook that I would make 1,001 origami paper cranes for the family of a favorite professor who passed away last year. The deadline is May 16th. My goal was 14 cranes a day, which started out doable. I’ve made a total of two cranes. Two. Which means if I want to catch up, I have to make 54 cranes today, or recalculate completely so that I make more than 14 cranes a day to make the goal. Do find something both meaningful and meditative to occupy and burn up all that excess energy you have.
3. Don’t drink tons of caffeine. I know, I know. Your body is exhausted and your mind is racing. Don’t drink more than 1-2 cups of coffee/tea in the morning if you need that jump start. Any more is just asking for a train wreck. Do drink lots of nice cold water. Sleepytime tea is fine too. Hot water with lemon is good, so I’ve heard, but I’ve never tried it myself. Any other decaff tea/herbal tea you can find is wonderful, but make sure it’s decaff. Your body is a precious, precious vessel and it needs as much rest as it can get, even during the day right now. Napping at this point is fine.
2. Don’t take your aggression out on your family, or the ones you live with. Right now, they may be your biggest supporters. Do tell them you need space right now, and don’t be afraid to leave the room physically if you need to be alone. Picture Marlene Dietrich, the blond beauty, saying, “I vant to be alone.” <grin> Be prepared to apologize, and make amends.
1. Don’t speak whatever comes to your mind to strangers! This is difficult. I am learning it the hard way. Part of mania is that it can make you want to tell people they’re “doing it wrong.” Do keep your thoughts to yourself. Count to five, because right now ten is too hard. Walk away. Fake-smile (you know what I mean, the kind that doesn’t quite reach your eyes). Pretend you’re the fictional heroine of your favorite book. Just do what you need to do to get through the moment, because you don’t know how every stranger will react to confrontation.
My sister and I are more alike than we are different, and sometimes this makes us competitive, even—I have recently learned, in our respective illnesses.
We each grew up with an abusive, hard-working, hard-drinking father. My shostra (sister, in Polish) is 13 years my senior, and she grew up in the 60’s, a turbulent, changing, experimental decade. The way we each dealt with our abuse was different. Carol turned to drugs and alcohol. Me, the ever helpful codependent, did my best to help her stay sick and keep the rest of the family intact until I was in my late 20’s and got help for myself (by way of a major depression and 1st hospitalization). Not to say that I didn’t do my own share of rebelling. When I was in grade school I was famous for getting into actual physical tumbles (a.k.a. fist fights) with other girls (girls can be so mean to each other), and once, because I had short hair, when a boy called out to me (as a safety girl) whether I was a boy or a girl, I shouted back, “That’s for me to know and you to find out!”…and he promptly chased me all the way home.
But I was always the writer. Writing was my way of coping with the chaos around me. Starting at around age eight, I kept “chapter stories” of the perfect family, in my eyes. Yes, the kids in the chapter stories misbehaved, and yes, they got in trouble, but they weren’t called names and they weren’t given the silent treatment, and so forth. Everything was always talked about, so very “Brady” like. LOL
My shostra was always the other type of artist, the kind that would make you so jealous if you could see her work. Clay and steel sculptor, mixed media, painter, you name it, she’s done it. She has taught at Center for Creative Studies in Detroit, which, if you don’t know, is a major, major feather. Part of me has always been so proud of her, and part of me has watched her, casually draw up a sketch of something or other and had to fight back this evil, jealous side that couldn’t make a straight line to save her life.
When my dear shostra was dx’d with bipolar I disorder, her doctor told her that she probably had it from a very young age and if she’d been diagnosed earlier, she may not have become an alcoholic. I have been dx’d with everything from major depression to borderline personality disorder to now finally, two years ago, bipolar II disorder. Though I may have been borderline, I very possibly “aged out” of it, which sometimes happens.
I never experienced true mania until during these–what is it, three now—past hellish weeks. I must have had something like hypomania during a hospital stay for a doctor to diagnose me with bipolar II. And I’m pretty sure this episode started out hypomanic. If it had been caught properly by the first doctor who saw me before I went back to my previous shrink who diagnosed me correctly last Friday (I think. I’m losing all sense of time), it would most likely NOT have turned into full blown mania. Mania, for me, is not fun. My sister enjoys when she has an episode. She gets tons of stuff done, loves not sleeping and on and on.
But–the whole point of this post is to say, when I told her Dr. Sack said I’m in a manic episode, she was all like, “You’ve got to be kidding me. What—are you trying to be manic now? Do you want to be like me or something?” I was floored. It was like all the air got sucked out of the room, or gravity ceased to exist. Who would want to be manic? Oh. Good. Lord. I pray, even though all that I can manage ceaselessly is “Help please God,” all the time, for this to just go away.
So. Yeah. LOL Competitive even in sickness. And now guess what? She’s writing. So not only is my perfectly creative shostra a talented mixed media et al artist, now she’s writing a memoir of her alcoholism. Oh, but I’m not supposed to say, “Hey, that’s my territory.” But I feel like the shadow. Always the shadow.
Still, although she can make me cry, she makes me laugh in my belly. I love her…..all of her, not just the easy parts. I hope she feels the same about me, prickly and all.
Just for fun:
Peace out. xx