Plateaus 2

For people dealing with Bipolar II, what is a plateau?  A plateau is where I am right now.  It’s a combination of being in limbo and purgatory.  While I don’t have manic episodes, I do have periods where I am able to concentrate and focus and be productive.  Unfortunately, these episodes are typically followed by extremely depressive episodes.

Well I’ve been out of the depressive episode right now for a couple of months, but I can’t seem to reach higher…thus the plateau.  It’s a place more of complacency than actual contentment.  My doctors and I try various methods to enhance this plateau and move me higher, but alas, it is not to be right at this time.  But I will continue the work while hoping not to backslide.

For those uniformed who think that this condition is a “choice”, let me be clear that no one wants to be in this position.  I could and would never choose to be in this place.  And yet here I am.  I am doing the work and trying to make progress…baby steps though they may be.

And I am so very fortunate to have a wonderful support system of friends and family.  My world sometimes is a very tenuous and virtual existence.  My friends stand by me when I can’t communicate or interact in person.  They understand that if I could change this, I would.  But still they are there for me with love and communication to get me through each day while I try to celebrate the small victories on my road to overcome the plateau.  For these people, my heart is filled with love.

The rabbit hole looms in the distance, and I am determined to not go down.  I know that it is not a choice, but it is a fight I have to fight, nonetheless.  This is for those people in my life who encourage me and support me and love me and share my hopes and continue to walk this path by my side.  I am forever grateful for your patience, laughter, and inspiration that I, too, will make it to the other side.

Shame, Guilt, and Addiction

Shame, Guilt, and Addiction

Even though I am “stable” now, I can’t quite reach up to find “happy.”  Don’t get me wrong…I’m glad that my depressive cycle is over for now.  I just can’t figure out how to take it to the next level.  Regardless of the medication cocktail my mood stays in the 3-5 range on a scale of 1-10.

I read some things earlier today that rang true to me.  The first thing I read talked about the shame and guilt that many of us with Bipolar Disorder feel.  Shame over our illness and guilt over the things we have put our loved ones through.  I know I feel both constantly.  I am no longer in touch with the “happy” side of my emotions, only the negative ones.

The other thing I read also made a lot of sense.  Depression can be addictive.  When you have lived with it so long you feel like it is your sense of self.  The thought of being happy, or trying to be, makes me feel guilty, like I don’t have the right to any positive emotions.  The depression, although debilitating, feels more comfortable inside my own skin.

I’m just mulling these over right now.  Definitely things to bring up at my next therapy session.  I’m going to need some help with this.  While I feel these things, I don’t know what to do about them.  I don’t even know where to start.  I would love to hear from anyone else about their thoughts on this.  Meanwhile I need to ponder this and see what I can come up with on my own.

End of My Rope

End of My Rope

Right now that’s where I am.  The end.  Of my rope.  I’ve been down for so long that I have forgotten what it’s like to be up.  For no reason other than my fucking bipolar.  Like that’s not enough of a reason.

On top of that I have had some situational things involving car problems, money problems, hurtful things from two of my children, my daughter/best friend losing her job and having trouble getting pregnant.  Most of these types of things I have no control over, and I understand that.  But the basic, underlying depression just permeates everything inside me and won’t go away.  I’m even thinking of cutting and having suicidal thoughts.

My medications are fucked, and that’s a fact.  I have a doctor appointment on Monday, and we are going to have it out.  She is going to have to listen to the things I want or I will find a new doctor.  Some of her decisions don’t even make sense to me.  Since I’m bipolar she refuses to put me on an anti-depressant since she thinks it will make me manic.  It won’t.  And even if it did, I could go off the med, and it isn’t going to be worse than I am now.  I am going to insist on an anti-depressant and will not continue with her without one.

On top of that, last month she started me on Rexulti, which is a booster for anti-depressants.  The problem, of course, is that I’m not on an anti-depressant to boost so that makes no sense at all.  This is going to be questioned thoroughly.

There are a few other medication changes I want to make, and she may actually agree to them, but it’s going to be a battle of an appointment, and I have to gear myself up for it since I feel so horrible anyway.  I can’t let her beat me down again.  As much as a pain in the ass as it is, this time I am ready to find a new doctor if she won’t listen to me.  I’m that frustrated.  The time that I have invested is just taking me too long, and I have nowhere left to turn.

I have no more strength to write and nothing much left to say.  I’m done.  I’m just trying to survive until Monday when I have my appointment.  It’s hard thinking that I probably won’t even leave my bed until then.  Thanks for reading.  Hope this one wasn’t too much of a downer.

The Sad Clown

The Sad Clown

My daughter has been slowly getting me to come around to doing my makeup sometimes.  I bought all new product (my old stuff was years old).  I was looking forward to doing something she was excited about that we could share.

The thing is that I feel kind of silly putting on a full face of makeup when I’m not going anywhere and nobody is going to see me.  I know it supposed to be good for my self-esteem, and I can see that I look way better.  I need a lot of practice, though, to really master the techniques and trends so I look more current.  Not an easy thing when you are 51 years old.

And the other thing is that I feel sometimes like it’s a mask.  Like a sad clown.  I still feel depressed.  I still feel down.  I want to feel like I look.  Maybe if I keep trying I will get there.  I’ve been feeling really down a lot lately, and nothing seems to bring me up for very long.  I need another med change.

So until then I’m going to keep trying with the makeup just to see if it makes me feel any better.  At least I get to share it with my daughter who is gorgeous with and without makeup.  I want to be as excited about it as she is.  Maybe I will get there.  I hope so.

The Bad Mother

The Bad Mother

Sometimes I feel like the worst mother in the world.  Many of you know that I have a daughter, Kassi, who is 22 and the most precious thing in the world to me.  What you may not know is that I have two other kids.  They are 30 and almost 28, a woman and a man.

My older two children are not in my life, and it breaks my heart.  I think the problems came from both sides.  I am bipolar with all that brings.  I have pushed them away at times and not always been the best mother.  My daughter is a narcissist, and my son has borderline personality disorder.  So the problems come from both sides.

It’s been over 4 years since I’ve had a relationship with my daughter.  My son has been back and forth but his BPD caused numerous problems, and I haven’t seen him in a year and a half.  Between them they also have my 5 grandbabies who I don’t get to have any contact with, and that also breaks my heart.  These children are growing up not even knowing they have a grandma who loves them tremendously.

I continue to reach out to them regularly via email, text, phone, and facebook.  They have me blocked, but I still try.  I just want to open communication and try to figure things out, but they are absolutely unresponsive.  I get nothing in return.

I’m crying as I write this because I have nothing left to try.  I admit my faults and take responsibility.  I can forgive theirs, but they won’t even have any communication with me at all.  They ignore every attempt I make.  My heart is broken.

There’s nothing left to say.  I can’t and won’t stop trying.  Maybe someday.  That’s my hope.  Maybe someday.

I Am Worthy

I Am Worthy

I was reminded today that I am worthy.  Something I have not felt in a long time.  In this context I was reminded that I am worthy of not just feeling good but looking good.  Again, something I haven’t felt in a long time.

Since I’ve been on medication I have gained a lot of weight.  That has been a big hit to my self-esteem, a self-esteem that has already taken a beating.  Since I’m not working I have really let myself go.  I don’t leave the house that often so I don’t even get dressed half the time, let alone shower, do my hair, or wear makeup.  It’s gotten really bad.  Someone reminded me that all of this probably makes me feel even worse about myself, and they’re right.  This fucking illness has robbed me of my sense of worth and my desire to look my best.

Starting in a few days I am going to make an attempt to change this, at least some days.  I need to get up the energy and motivation to shower and get dressed.  I can also put some product in my hair and make it look a lot better.  I can get dressed in regular clothes instead of staying in my pajamas all day.

And then let’s talk about makeup.  I used to wear makeup every day, and I actually loved the way I looked.  Now I haven’t worn makeup more than two or three times in a year.  My daughter, who is a wiz at makeup has decided to make me her pet project.  We shopped together online the other day and ordered enough makeup to cover all of my needs and wants.  We had such a good time doing it together, and we bought from some low-priced stores so it didn’t break my bank.

Now comes the hard part…actually putting it on.  I don’t even really remember how to do any of it.  This is again where my daughter comes in.  She’s going to give me lessons, and I definitely need them since I’m starting from scratch.  And the fact that I will get to spend a lot more time with my daughter is further motivation to get myself together.

So I am worthy of looking more like a well-groomed, dressed, and made up woman, even if I’m not going anywhere or meeting anyone.  I just need to change my mind-set, and that’s where the trouble has been for me in the past.  But I have some determination and a daughter who is excited to do this with me.

So wish me luck on my new grooming and dressing venture.  And remember that you, too, are worthy and worth it.

I Miss Me

I Miss Me

I miss me.  I miss my old life.  It’s nowhere to be found, I guess.  I used to be happy (well, hypomanic but didn’t know it), I used to drive a car, I used to meet people and friends and make plans.  I used to smile.  I used to get dressed and take care of myself.

I’m not exactly unhappy.  I just feel stuck in this limbo between contentment and sadness.  There is no happy to be found.  Maybe glimpses of it sometimes.  I almost wish that I didn’t remember my life before 2012 because then I wouldn’t compare this somewhat empty existence to what I was before.

I started to do my hair and makeup today just for the hell of it.  Not long after I started it I realized that it was just a stupid idea.  Nobody is going to see me except my mother.  I’m not going anywhere.  Hell, I’m not even going to get dressed so what is the point?

I try (as much as I can actually say that), and I hope that this won’t be the end just slowly creeping up on me.  I used to be pretty.  I used to have a swinging sex life.  I used to go do things with my friends.  All of that is gone, and I feel helpless to bring it back.  Is it the bipolar or is it inertia or is it the meds?  Who knows?

I guess I’ll just wallow in my own little pity party for a while and hope it goes away soon.  There doesn’t seem to be anything else to do about it.  What a waste.

Remember The Titans

Remember the Titans

There’s one movie that always makes me cry.  Remember the Titans.  If you haven’t seen it, I highly recommend it.  It’s not just a football movie.  It’s about overcoming differences (in this case race) and working together for a common goal.

Today when I watched part of it, I started comparing it to overcoming the differences or stigma of having a mental illness.  We are a community, those of us who have some sort of mental illness.  And then there’s the “well” community who don’t necessarily like to come into contact with those of us who have an invisible illness.  They don’t know how to treat us.  They don’t know what to say.

We all need to work together to break down those barriers between us.  We are not contagious, or stupid, or lazy.  We work just as hard, if not harder, than those without any illness.  We need a way to bridge that gap to break down the wall and not have two sides.  Both sides need to reach out to each other for education and learning about reality.

That’s really all I have to say.  As someone who has bipolar disorder, I want everyone to know that I don’t choose my friends based on disability or not.  Do you?

Agoraphobia

Agoraphobia

Today I am writing about agoraphobia.  For those who don’t know what it is, it’s a fear of open spaces, crowds, and (especially for me) fear of leaving a safe place.  In my case it’s not just that my home is safe, it’s my bedroom.  It sounds a lot less scary than it really is.

For me, the whole process of planning to leave is painful.  Yesterday, for example, I had had enough of staying in my safe place and wanted to do something different.  I wanted to go out of the house my mom and I share and go to our complex’s pool.  It was a beautiful day.  But the act of putting on a swimsuit, knowing I was going to be leaving the house, was scary.  I knew that I would be out in public, around people, people who don’t know me.

But I did it anyway for an hour.  That was more than enough.  I was proud of myself for going but exhausted over the argument in my head that I needed to get home versus my need to try to stay outside for a while.  I’m very lucky that my mom gets it and does what I need her to do.

Most days the thought of leaving the house is paralyzing.  And it really sucks.  I’m fortunate to have friends who stop by occasionally, and like I said before, I always have my mom here with me so I’m not as lonely.  But I never just pick up and go without an army in my head telling me to try to do this one simple thing.

Some of my friends just don’t get it, and in a lot of ways I have come to live a virtual life.  I don’t know what I would do without my phone and iPad.  I can talk on the phone, FaceTime with friends on my iPad, chat on Facebook.  Those are my lifelines to the world.  I do have a world, just a smaller one than most people.

So if you have a friend or family member who is terrified to go out of their safe place, please understand.  It’s crippling.  It’s misunderstood.  It’s devastating in that it robs you of your freedom.  It’s not something you can just struggle through.  You have to wait for days when you feel strong enough to do something small.  Please be kind to us.  We want nothing more than to run around with you doing all the fun things in life.  We miss those.

Memory - Where Did It Go?

Memory – Where Did It Go?

What is life except a collection of relationships and memories?  I don’t have Alzheimer’s or Dementia.  But there are days where my memories are probably not much better than those with these diseases.  And I’m not just talking about things like not remembering where the car keys are.  I’m talking about serious memories of events, happenings, conversations, experiences.

I had a head injury a couple of years ago and then was diagnosed with Post Concussion Syndrome.  I also have Bipolar Disorder II and am on numerous medications.  I am pretty sure that the head injury caused my memories of that specific time in my life to disappear, but I don’t think it still causes me to have difficulty with my memory.  Instead, I think it’s either the Bipolar or a combination of the Bipolar and medications.

I probably have one of the most detailed calendars and journals of anybody you would ever meet.  I put every detail of my life in one or both places just so I don’t forget.  The calendar helps me remember where and when I am supposed to do things, and the journal is almost like reading a somewhat familiar book when I go back to look at the past, especially when someone in my life reminds me of something that I have forgotten.

It’s almost like my brain has a limited storage space like a computer, and when new information gets added, older things get erased.  I hate it so much.  I hate when someone will talk to me about a shared event or experience, and I have to say, “I don’t remember.”  I’m afraid it makes the other person feel like they aren’t important enough for me to remember when that is definitely not the case. 

Here’s an example:

My daughter is my very best friend, and we tell each other almost everything.  She has, by now, gotten used to my memory problems, but it still makes me feel like shit when she tells me something that I have forgotten.  She was talking to me about her friend being in a car crash and the airbags deploying.  My daughter said she remembered how that felt.  I asked her how she would know what deploying airbags feel like, and she reminded me that she had been in a car crash only two years ago.  Even when she reminded me I could only summon a vague memory of the time.  It was only two years ago, and it was a BIG DEAL.  How could I forget something like this?  And why?

So to all my family and friends who I have forgotten (I have no clue) to tell…I’m sorry when I forget things we did or conversations we had or events that were important to you.  I don’t ever want to do that, but the wires in my brain must be crossed somehow.  You are important.  The memories we share(d) are important.  I just can’t always access them.  So thank you for understanding and for not losing your patience when I ask you to tell me about things again.  I ask because these things matter to me, you matter to me, and I wish I could help us all to understand why I can’t remember.

The Search Is On

The Search Is On

My psychiatrist (who is actually a nurse practitioner) has been making me feel a little crazy and a lot dismissed.  She’s good  with med management but bad with her people skills.  She has even called my anxiety/panic attacks “temper tantrums” like I’m a 3 year old who can control them.  I am not happy with the way she is treating me, like I am wasting her time and should be grateful to get to see her.

Another reason that I am veering away from her is that my SSDI review will be up next June.  I already have extreme anxiety about it.  So what does she do?  She tells me that I will feel better if I get a job.  Hello?  Does she even know me?  I have to take Xanax just to walk out of the house.  There’s no way I can hold a job.  Luckily my therapist strongly agrees.  But I don’t know if the SSDI people will put as much weight into a nurse practitioner as they will an actual pdoc.

So I have begun the quest to find a new doctor.  It’s a real pain in the ass.  Finding doctors, going in to meet with them for that first appointment, seeing if you mesh well.  It’s expensive and can be a big waste of time.  I hate it, but I feel that it is necessary.

I went to an intake yesterday for a doctor.  It was long.  Turns out this practice does “telemedicine.”  That means I will see the doctor on their TV screen, and he will see me, but not in person.  Not sure how I feel about this, but I will give it a try.  They seem to be very responsive to any needs, so that is a big plus.  I also have an appointment with a different doctor tomorrow.

One of my big things is that they don’t start fucking with my meds.  I’m relatively stable now so I’m open to tweaking things a bit but not any big changes.  The one medicine I think will be a problem will be my Xanax.  Docs just don’t like prescribing it, and I really need it to function.

I wish these new docs could just read my whole history file and understand what my problems are without me having to explain every single thing.  It’s so tedious.  But if that’s what it takes.  I’m willing to do it to find a good provider.

So wish me luck on my quest.  I’m still seeing my old pdoc…the nurse practitioner until I am sure that I have found a new doc that I can build a relationship with.  So here I go…off to the great unknown.

Broken

Broken

Everything about me is broken right now.  Relationships especially.  I even feel like I’m walking on broken glass.  Everything hurts.  How can one conversation take me from feeling in a sort of up cycle down to a broken, dark pit?  Probably because that argument happened with the one person I counted on to always be there and not be hateful and spiteful and just plain mean.

I’m no saint.  I played a part in it, too.  We probably both feel that we are in the right and justified.  Right now I don’t care about that.  I care about my angel face.  I must have hurt her for her to lash out so badly.  I didn’t mean to.  I was just trying to get a point across.

And then she decides to take away something that affects my budget even though my budget is so tight that any little deviance can throw it off.  All because of her thinking that she is doing me a “favor”, and I feel like I’m getting thrown a very cheap bone for services rendered.  Let her do it herself.  It used to make me proud and happy to make her life easier, but now she can do it for herself.  Maybe now she will see what it’s like, but she will never do it as good as I have.

Is she still there for me?  I don’t know.  The morning phone calls, the long talks about everything and nothing.  For all I know those are gone, too.  That is something else that is broken.  Something I looked forward to every day.

Just a dark day with no sign of reparation.  That’s what has me broken and hurt.  I need to take some drugs to go to sleep and try to sleep away this pain of yet another thing that is broken…my heart.  I truly feel like my heart is broken.  It’s a day of breaks, and this is the hardest one.  Will this ever be repaired?  Can you mend a broken heart?  Can I climb back out of this broken pit?  All I see is despair with nothing to look forward to. 

I really wanted to write a happy blog, but I guess I waited a little long to do it.  This will have to be it for now.

The Return

The Return

So it feels like it’s coming on again.  It’s been a little while since the cloud has descended on my world.  I was slightly up, better than I had been in a while, and today I have noticed a definite decline.  I didn’t even get a chance to enjoy the sunshine while it was there.  I kept waiting for the other shoe to fall, and it looks like it’s going to drop on my head.

Even though I know it will come around again, I always wonder why or when.  I know the easy answer is that I have bipolar.  But I am pretty stable on my medication so it just confounds me that it can come around again so quickly.  It’s so damn frustrating no matter how many times I go through it.  I guess I should be glad that it’s just at the frustration stage and not at despair.

I reached out today to my family and friends, but most were not available.  Luckily my best friend has been around most of the day to help me talk through what is going on.  She’s listened to me more times than I can count, and I don’t know how or why she doesn’t get sick of hearing about it, but she never does.

Gray.  I guess that’s the word.  Not yet black, just a fuzzy gray.  Like a rain cloud blocking out my hazy sun.  I want that sun.  I’m fighting for that sun.  At least I’m trying to.  And I know one of these days I will find it again, and I hope it is brighter and as sunny as the summer.  I need it.  I deserve it.  And I have to believe that it will come again.  I have to believe that to get through the fog.

The Things We Say

I guess I just feel like writing today.  I’ve joined a few bipolar support groups online, and I’m reading some things that are really hitting home to me.  People talk about the things they do when they are manic or hypomanic or depressed.  They talk about the absolutely horrible things they say and how they treat their loved ones.  It’s very sad.

I was not diagnosed bipolar when I was younger, although it seems very clear now.  I’ve kept a journal for more than 15 years, and in it I have written all of the terrible things I have said and done, primarily to my mother and children.  It’s shameful.  I now realize that this mostly came from the episodes I was dealing with, but that is no excuse.

I guess all I’m trying to say is that, to all of the people who I hurt along the way, I am truly sorry.  I don’t have an excuse.  I try to exercise restraint, but that seems to go away when I am in one of my bipolar states.

My older two children have completely disowned me.  They don’t want to even hear about my bipolar.  Hell, they haven’t responded to my requests for communication for years.  I have to live with that consequence.  I am thankful every day for the love and support of my baby girl who never judged or judges me.

So today is me saying I’m sorry and hoping that I don’t have to repeat this as a regular blog post.

A Little Lost

It’s been a long day, but I’ve been up since 3:30 a.m.  I had to see my mom off to the airport.  She’s on a long overdue visit back to where I grew up to see her grandchildren and great-grandchildren (and my sister, of course).  Since my mom and I live together, and I have terrible agoraphobia to go with my other diagnoses, that pretty much leaves me home with my puppy.

On top of that, my daughter, who is the sunshine in my day, every day, is heading out for a long weekend, too.  She won’t have a lot of time to talk to me, and I totally understand that.

I am not down by any means.  I am actually a little up.  And I have my good friends to keep my spirits up through these trips and my alone time.  I just wonder what you do…those who live alone with bipolar…and how you struggle being by yourself so much.  I don’t work since I am disabled, and I don’t drive, so I live a very virtual existence.

Give me some of your thoughts and strategies.  I would love to hear them.  Or just tell me your stories.  I love to connect with people who can help me learn.  Have a great day!

Out Of The Darkness

Out Of The Darkness

I’m getting there again.  It’s been a while buried deep in depression.  Finally, I can see some light.  Not a blinding light, just a glimpse to let me know that it’s there.  Something tangible to reach for.  When I’m buried in depression, it’s hard to remember that the light of stability will be there again someday.  It may be a long time or a short time, but the light eventually finds its way in.

My family and friends stand by me during these dark times, never pushing or questioning, just showing their love and reminding me that I will have better times again.  They are strong for me when I am weak.  They are what I cling to when I have am lost in the fog.  And this time was the same.

People who don’t know me well ask me what brings on the depression or the hypomania.  There’s no answer for that, at least for me.  Either mood can come out of the blue.  There are no specific reasons for it happening.  I have triggers for my anxiety and my panic disorder, but I don’t seem to have triggers for my mood disorder.  The cycles just start, like a rollercoaster from hell sometimes.

But enough of the dark talk.  Today I am feeling good.  Regardless of what some people think, I attribute a lot of my mood stabilization to my medications.  Some people I know think the drugs are just an easy out.  Trust me…they are not.  To find a therapeutic cocktail of medications sometimes feels like playing darts blind.  You just pull together your options and under professional guidance throw the darts/meds at the problem.  Sometimes you hit the target, but other times you have to keep throwing.  I feel grateful that this time the darts are at least somewhat close to the bulls eye.

I want to thank all of my family and friends who have been there for me through this cycle.  Even when I isolate myself, they have learned by now how to be there for me when I need them.

As for stability…well, it’s stable.  Not really up or down.  Better than being down, for sure.  But I’d like to get to a point of feeling really up.  It’s been a long time.  But I will take stable over depressed any day and every day.  I will continue working with my doctor to tweak my medications so that maybe I will get to a point of feeling up or at least feeling the normal ups and downs of a person who does not have Bipolar.  It’s a slow process.

That’s all for now.  Just me feeling happier than I have been for a while.  Feeling grateful that my medications seem to be in balance and helping me to feel again.  Feeling love for my family and friends for not giving up on me.  Feeling back to my old self, at least to a certain extent.  Just feeling thankful.

World Bipolar Day - I'm Still Me

World Bipolar Day – I’m Still Me

I am proud to support the awareness for World Bipolar Day and to try to do what I can to erase the stigma society has towards this disorder and most mental illnesses.  It saddens me to know that so many people come from a place of ignorance and uneducation on mental illness and people who struggle with mental illness.  I can’t share everyone’s story, though, just my own.

As someone with Bipolar II Disorder, I am still who you think I am.  I’m still me.  The person you have always known.  I’m bossy and sarcastic and a smart ass and friendly and loyal and smart and honest and moody and bitchy.  Those things have nothing to do with me having Bipolar.  Those are parts of my personality and traits that I have.  They don’t go away just because I have Bipolar disorder.

Having Bipolar disorder doesn’t negate or change who I am as a person.  It doesn’t mean that I am different.  What it means is that, at any given time, I am riding a wave of cycles that may run from hypomanic (happier, more focused, more social, more productive) to stable/flat/plateau (kind of business as usual with no particular elevated or depressed mood) to depressive (my most severe problem with periods that are dark and intense and isolative and withdrawn).  These cycles may last days or weeks or months.  But throughout these cycles, I’m still me.  I don’t want my family and friends to forget that.  I’m still here.

I call these cycles my “up” cycles or my “down” cycles.  In between is just flat.  Up for me is great.  Life is good.  Down for me is hell.  Life just sucks.  Stable cycles are where I spend a great deal of time.  It’s stable, like I said, but it’s also a bit unemotional and not a lot of fun.  It’s not bad, just not good.  But no matter what cycle I am in, I am still the friend that you know.  I don’t change at a basic level, just maybe how I am able to present with my current “mood or cycle.”

My medication regimen has the goal of leveling out my cycles (or moods) so that I am stable but still happy and productive with little of the depression.  It’s a work in progress always.  Medications stop working or side effects happen or combinations aren’t positive.  It’s a moving target.  That’s something I deal with every day, trying to monitor what is working or not and how to change that so that I can be the best “me” that I can be.  But still, I am the same person I have always been.

I know it can be confusing to like or love someone who has Bipolar disorder.  We can confuse ourselves, too.  Maybe just try to recognize that I am working constantly to stay level in my cycles and moods, but I need to have my friends and family understand that I really am the same person regardless of what cycle I am in.  I still need to reach out to you and you to me.  I need your friendship not really your help.  I just need to keep it real with the understanding that sometimes, during my “up” or “down” times I may act or feel just a little different and my reactions may seem a little more extreme.  I’m still in here, and I still need those who love me to see me as the person I am.

That’s really it.  That’s what Bipolar Awareness means to me.  Just to be aware.  Understand.  Be patient.  Be kind.  Know that I am still the same person…not different, just walking on a path that you may not always understand.  But I don’t change who I am.  My actions may be different, my emotions may be extreme, but beneath it all, I am still the same person you have always known and don’t want to be treated differently.  I am still me.

An Open Letter To My Friends

An Open Letter To My Friends

I think the question I’ve been dreading has finally been answered.  What would be next?  An up cycle (hypomanic) or a down cycle (depressive).  I’m at the edge of a down cycle, hanging on by my fingernails, staring into a pit of darkness, hoping that I don’t fall.

It’s difficult to talk about.  It’s scary.  It’s sad.  It’s frustrating.  It hurts.

I know you (my friends) have reached out to me, trying to get me to share what is going on, and I have brushed you aside with platitudes while inside I am crying out with pain.  I want you to understand, but I don’t want to have to be the one to explain it.  I feel like there is so much to try to explain, that if I ever start, it will never end, so I don’t even want to begin.  I just try to keep it in.  I’m not trying to alienate you.  I just don’t know how to do this.

Aside from the down cycle, I am dealing with many outside concerns such as doctors, medications and changes, financials issues, and many other things which all heighten my anxiety and panic.  My mind runs in cirlces trying to find a way out only to find more questions.

So when you ask me how I’m doing, sometimes that simple question can make me cry.  I don’t want to.  But sometimes that’s all it takes.  And then the panic sets in and I can’t breathe or speak.  I want to share, but I can’t.  I’m not trying to pull away.  Please believe me.  I love you for your support even when I feel I don’t deserve it.

Just know that I love you all, and please don’t give up on me.  It may be tough going for a while.  It’s scary thinking that I may never again be the person who I once was who can enjoy going out with my friends to dinner or a movie or just to hang out.  I want to be the social person I used to be.  I want that more than anything.  But more than anything right now I need to feel safe, and safe to me means a safe place, and the only places that feel safe to me are my house and Kassi’s house.  Those are simply my boundaries for now, and I have to learn to live with them and hope that they can grow sometime in the future.

This was longer than I meant for it to be.  I wanted to explain where I am and where I am coming from to those who have reached out to me and why I may not respond in the way you expect or hope for.  It’s not that I don’t want to.  I’m just trying to hold things together right now.  But knowing that I have you as my support system even when I’m not being the best friend in return means so much to me.  I love you all.

It's The Little Things

It’s The Little Things

Usually when I write blogs, they can be full of angst.  Even when I am not in a depressive state, I tend to be more introspective, and that can bring on feelings that aren’t always joyful.  So while I’m still in a state of limbo (neither up nor down) I’m feeling pretty good in general.  I’m appreciating the little things, which during this time are really awfully big things.

I have a family who loves and supports me and friends who do the same.  I have a daughter I love more than life itself.  I have a puppy who is my spoiled little baby who showers me with unconditional affection whether I want it or not.  I bought a comfy new bed which is amazing! I have a (sort of) job with one of my best friends which gives me purpose and satisfaction.  I have pizza!  I actually get out of bed now, at least on most days.  I’m trying to believe that my panic attacks are not actually going to kill me.

And even though I’m stable, I’m ready for a change.  I want to try to be a better version.  I want to try to move forward and maybe even hope for the beginning of an upward trend in my bipolar.  To that end I’m going to talk to my psychiatrist about making a couple of medication changes.  I’ve been doing a lot of research, and I think there are two medications that I haven’t tried that sound very promising.  Although it will be a slow process I’m willing to give it a try for the potential positive outcome.  I’m looking forward to it.

I may have bad days.  I may have ok days.  I may have better days.  Today is a better day.  That doesn’t mean tomorrow will be, but I will take it a day at a time and try to remember the small things.  After all, small things matter…a lot.

Accepting Reality

Accepting Reality

I’ve worked very hard my entire life for everything…in college, my career, mostly as a single mother.  I say this as a precursor, as if I need to justify my current life to everyone, including myself…and maybe I do, or at least I feel right now like I do.

I’ve been disabled (Bipolar II) for about two years now.  Before this most recent diagnosis I was pretty fucking successful in most aspects of my life, certainly when it came to my career.  I took great pride in my success, my ambition, my competence and capability and skill.  I didn’t really know what it was like to fail in this arena.

For the past month I have been working at an (unpaid) job with one of my best friends.  She has her own company, and I asked her if she could use me in some way.  Together we created a position that would be tailor-made for my particular skill set and limitations.  I was able to use my knowledge and expertise in the sales, marketing, and social media fields to help with her brand.  At the same time, I was able to work from home, at my own pace, on my own schedule, with no defined hours or deadlines.

The first couple of weeks were amazing.  Not only was I having a great time working with my friend, but it felt so good to be back in the game again.  I was still there!  The education and talent that I had built and honed for so many years hadn’t left me after all.  I was able to be productive and useful, and I felt like I was a part of something that I had been missing for such a long time.  My friend was also very appreciative of my help and made me feel very good about myself and my performance.  I had energy and motivation and purpose.  Not all of the time, but more than I had had in a while.  I was full of ideas and plans.

A couple of weeks into the project I noticed that I wasn’t able to stay focused for as long or as frequently as I had been.  My mood began to shift.  I doubted myself and my decisions.  I began to unwind a little bit.  Then things would pick back up.  I was losing momentum and needed a break.  How did things dip so quickly when nothing had changed?

I had an appointment with my therapist at this time, and I talked this through with her.  I came to a few really stark and harsh conclusions that left me shaken.  Over the past two years I know I have become comfortable referring to myself as disabled.  But did I truly accept that?  Was there a small part of me that still believed that if I truly had to that I could return to my former high powered career full time?  There must have been.  But seeing that I couldn’t manage this perfect-for-me job for even a month without folding gave me a serious fucking reality check.  I was fucking disabled.

I really thought I had accepted that.  I truly did.  But it hadn’t sunk in until now, when I realized that I couldn’t do a job that I should be able to shine at for even a brief period of time.  I did not have the option of working again…ever.  That chair had been pulled completely out from under me…for real this time.  There was no going back.  There would be no going out on top.  I had let myself down, and I was ashamed.

So that’s my new reality.  After two years of being disabled, guess what?  I’m fucking disabled.  I had talked the talk, now the hard part was going to be to walk the walk…and it was going to be a long walk.  I had never grasped what being disabled would truly mean to me until now.  All of the things that I worked so hard for that made me so proud now had no place to go.  That education, those skills would go unused, unnoticed.  I would go unused, unnoticed.  I would be irrelevant.

That’s my new reality.

Frustration

It’s one of those fucking days.  Everyone has them, I know.  This day, though, has lasted for quite a few days.  Sometimes it’s big things.  Sometimes it’s just one small thing after another that leads to a feeling of frustration so profound that I feel that I’m going to explode.  If just one more thing happens…and then it’s one more thing, and then another.

I guess the thing that set this whole thing off is medication and healthcare.  I have been uninsured for the last year since I can’t afford insurance…don’t even get me started on the fucking farce that is Obamacare.  That means my doctor’s appointments are out of pocket, and so are my prescriptions.  My doctors and pharmacies try to work with me, but being on full disability, I have limited resources, so it’s a challenge every day.

I’m at a relatively stable point with my medications, and now one of my prescription patience assistance programs have decided to be assholes and have fucked up my whole medication situation.  I was getting the medication for free, and now I am going to either have to pay the full cost ($400 a month, which of course I can’t afford) or change medications.  Unfortunately, my medication balance is very tenuous.  I have been on pretty much every medication for bipolar that is out there at one point or another, and it has only been in the past year that we have reached a delicate combo of a variety of medications that has seemed to work. 

This medication that is going to have to stop is the key component of this cocktail.  Now I am going to have to plan an unscheduled (and unbudgeted) trip to my doctor to start a whole new plan for a new medicine regime change, and these things are excrutiatingly slow.  You have to wean off of medications then add new medications one at a time in small doses to see what is and is not effective.  In the meantime, you are dealing with some very nasty side effects.  I don’t know where and how to begin, and I feel so fucking defeated already.  I have no idea what this is going to do to me.  I’m already having nightmares of heading back down the rabbit hole of black despair which causes a whole new set of medication problems just to regain some semblance of normalcy.  The cycle never fucking ends.

Then the panic, anxiety, and stress set in, and of course every little thing seems monumental.  Things that, taken individually, may not seem like major stressors, nuisances then aggravations then stress…then the anxiety takes over…then the panic starts.  And these little things keep adding up, and the next thing you know, you’re in full blown panic mode.

And once I’m in full panic mode, everything starts spiraling out of control.  It doesn’t matter how small the situation, it isn’t manageable.  It’s cumulative.  The brain is in overdrive, and focus is impossible.  There is no solution to any of it.  I try to breathe.  I try to remind myself that I’m not dying.  But the thoughts keep racing, and there is no end in sight.

With this type of panic, I can’t even talk.  I can’t talk to family and friends because I can’t even make fucking sense.  Hell, I can’t even sort it out in my own brain.  I just talk incessantly from one topic to another, never finishing a sentence or a thought, and I’m impossible to follow…all the while trying to just breathe.  It really fucking sucks.

In the heightened state of extreme anxiety I need answers and actions.  I need to DO.  I need ANSWERS.  I need the people who are causing the anxiety to help me down from the ledge and work through solutions.  But their time frame is not my time frame.  They are busy, and my meltdown is not their immediate priority.  The longer I sit and wait with no help, the worse I get, the stronger my panic attacks become, and the hopelessness overwhelms.

I try to have some hope that some of these things may start getting resolved, but right now they are jumbled in my brain, running rampant with no logical process, crashing into each other, and my head feels like it will explode.  There are no distractions.  I can’t cope.  It’s one of those times when I just want to say fuck it all.  Fuck the medications.  Fuck the doctors.  Fuck the illness.  But I know what the other side is like, and it’s not pretty.  But guess what?  It’s not fucking pretty right now, either.

Discouragement

What is one of the overall goals of a person with Bipolar II?  To be managed?  To be stable?  To be handled?  To be leveled out?  Some may see these as lofty goals.  Others may view them as achievable steps in coping.  Still others may look at them with disdain.  Maybe it depends on where you are in your treatment plan and your outlook towards the future.  A matter of perspective based on your particular phase of illness, perhaps.

I have led this up and down life for many years.  I have known the intense highs (different from the mania of Bipolar I) where I could focus, participate in life, be social and active and productive, even feel somewhat “normal” for short periods of time…or at least as long as that phase lasted.  And then I have known the debilitating lows.  The horrendous blackness that consumes me and everything around me, where I know that surely I will never rise again. 

In between the two I have known the relative calm, the lackluster, the dreary, the hope, the worry, the anxiety, the isolation, and the discouragement.  On this day I feel that I am relatively stable, thanks to medication and therapy and the support of family and friends.  That is a very positive thing.  What that means today is that I am not experiencing the depression and hopelessness that can come on so quickly.  

On the other hand, while I am stable, I have no feeling of true happiness or joy except for very brief periods.  I am discouraged.  I embrace the hope of no more depressive episodes at the same time that I feel discouraged that I may have exchanged this calm for no longer having the ability to feel the high periods.  I have traded the worry, the anxiety, the isolation, the hopelessness for the dreary, the lackluster, the discouragement, and the possibility of hope.  With no more “downs”, does that mean no more “ups”?  I think it’s a fair trade because I never want to go down that dark path again, but it is so discouraging to think that I may never feel that high period again.  It gives me an understanding into why people who have Bipolar go off of their medications when they feel stable.  They tend to forget about the lows and want desperately to feel the highs again, to feel normal if only for a short time.

I can no more make myself feel “up” than I can make myself feel “down” or just “pull myself out of it” as some people like to think.  It just happens when it happens.  When you have Bipolar you tend to live your life in three stages.  The first stage is in a hypomanic stage – where life is good and productive and happy and you hope things will continue as long as possible while waiting for the inevitable change.  The second stage is depression – where life is horrible, where you feel suicidal, where it feels that you can never recover or be human again.  The third stage is the “stable” – this is the in-between stage.  The calm before the storm, or before the sun.  For me it is not an emotionless time.  I can have happy days or sad days.  But neither are pervasive.  My concentration is elusive as is my motivation.

But the overwhelming feelings during this third stage are hope and discouragement and fear.  Hope that someday I will once again be “up” and enjoying life for as long as I can.  Discouragement that maybe I will never again get to that stage.  And fear that I may return to the “down” stage and this time not be able to pull myself back out.  It’s a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions all in a single day, sometimes all in the same hour, and it’s exhausting.  And as much as I try to hold on to the positive feelings, history plays its part, and today I’m just feeling discouraged.

Plateaus

For people dealing with Bipolar II, what is a plateau?  A plateau is where I am right now.  It’s a combination of being in limbo and purgatory.  While I don’t have manic episodes, I do have periods where I am able to concentrate and focus and be productive.  Unfortunately, these episodes are typically followed by extremely depressive episodes.

Well I’ve been out of the depressive episode right now for a couple of months, but I can’t seem to reach higher…thus the plateau.  It’s a place more of complacency than actual contentment.  My doctors and I try various methods to enhance this plateau and move me higher, but alas, it is not to be right at this time.  But I will continue the work while hoping not to backslide.

I am looking forward to Christmas with the people who mean the most to me in the world…my mom, my son-in-law, and my precious angel face who remains my beacon of hope.  That is the shining hope in my resigned condition.

For those uniformed who think that this condition is a “choice”, let me be clear that no one wants to be in this position.  I could and would never choose to be in this place.  And yet here I am.  I am doing the work and trying to make progress…baby steps though they may be.

And I am so very fortunate to have a wonderful support system of friends and family.  My world sometimes is a very tenuous and virtual existence.  My friends stand by me when I can’t communicate or interact in person.  They understand that if I could change this, I would.  But still they are there for me with love and communication to get me through each day while I try to celebrate the small victories on my road to overcome the plateau.  For these people, my heart is filled with love.

The rabbit hole looms in the distance, and I am determined to not go down.  I know that it is not a choice, but it is a fight I have to fight, nonetheless.  This is for those people in my life who encourage me and support me and love me and share my hopes and continue to walk this path by my side.  I am forever grateful for your patience, laughter, and inspiration that I, too, will make it to the other side.

Motherhood and Bipolar

This story begins like all fairy tales with “Once Upon A Time.”  Once upon a time I was a good, maybe even great, mother.  Once upon a time, I felt it was my greatest accomplishment of my life.  Once upon a time I knew everlasting love.  Once upon I time, I believed in forgiveness, but that fairy tale still weighs heavily on my heart.

I came to bipolar late in life or maybe earlier but wasn’t aware of my own destruction.  My abusive, even destructive, childhood,  even after years of therapy, is still a struggle with those scars.  And, unfortunately those scars, they carried over into my mothering in later years.  I was medicated, dealing with toxic relationships with others that were simply a repeat of my childhood.  But my history is only an explanation, not an excuse.

I have three children, the first two much older than the third.  I think, I hope, that I provided the first two with everything I could.  The support, encouragement, time, and unconditional love with every fiber of my being, to help them become happy adults.  And as they grew into the amazing adults I knew they would, my life changed.  I don’t know the how or the why and may never know, but it did.

My shining stars, the pride of my life, as adults became people I could like as well as love.  My third child, my angel face, bore the brunt of my illness since she was only an adolescent while the older two were, by then, adults carrying their own baggage of my making.  Happy in their own lives, but tired of the pain I brought with me.

My angel face, at a time when she needed me most, did not have me to support or rely on.  It is shameful to admit.  My good mothering became a thing of the past as I sunk deeper into the dark.  And it was so very dark.  But never, never did the love die for them all…it was pushed aside as I fought for my very survival and hoped that I could once again understand and be the mother I so badly needed and wanted to be.  My relationships with my two older children/adults suffered greatly.  I couldn’t explain, couldn’t reach out for support or give it, and retreated even further into my isolation, pushing away the only people who brought light and joy into my life.  I didn’t deserve the light or the joy.

While the older children, adults, felt resentful and even disgust, for how could I explain something that I couldn’t, at that time, even understand myself?  I was rejected, as I had rejected them, though the love was and will always be a part of me.  Their rejection was something I could understand, and the dark overcame me with devastation, misery, and hopelessness.  The guilt was overwhelming, and yet I could do nothing about it.  I could feel it swallowing me whole.

But my baby, my angel face, stood by my side, carrying me through with the weight of the world on her shoulders.  She didn’t waver even though, at her age, I was not able to provide the things she needed from her mommy.  And that love and support is the only thing that pulled me from the abyss and still does to this day.

Lately I’ve been thinking a lot about forgiveness.  And I cannot forgive myself for the person I had become, regardless of any reason or justification.  How can you justify these things and the unwitting choices I had made?  You can’t.  I relied on my angel face as my sole beacon in my diminishing world, and it was monumental that, at her young age, she carried me through.  The strength of her character both made me proud and shamed me for needing to borrow on that strength to give me hope.  She refused to believe I was hopeless when I felt despair.  Her beacon of light gave me the will to carry on.  And I still felt so unworthy.

My angel face is now the happy, strong, amazing woman that she is, and I can really take no credit for that, even as I take pride in her and her accomplishments.  Not only did she do it because of me, she did it in spite of my actions.  And she forgave.  Today I would give my life to be worthy of that love…and it is something I strive for every day.  She understands, and she forgives me when I simply cannot forgive myself, at least not yet.  Through her I am navigating the steps toward my own forgiveness.  I am needy, but she says I am her best friend, and I try to provide everything she missed out on in her younger years.

And with my older two?  I said before that I apologize with no chance for forgiveness.  Forgiveness is not something I deserve.  Someday I hope for acceptance within myself to be able to move on.  It is something I think about and regret every day of my life.  But understanding and acceptance and love is not in my future from them.  How to move on without that chance?  I move on with the beacon of love that is by my side, in the darkness and times of light.

Forgiveness and understanding?  Never from the two who will always be a beloved part of me.  Moving on?  Maybe someday.  But my angel face beacon?  She takes my hand and heart and brings me to a place of love and peace, and I am grateful beyond belief for her compassion, love, and true forgiveness.  For now, that is the light for which I am eternally thankful.