My Meds . . .
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
Necessary. Important. Responsibility. Costly. Life-Saving. Side Effects.
Those words come to mind when I think about my medication for bipolar illness. The first I have agreed upon. Oh, and the second one too. This past year I have been learning that my medication is a responsibility. To myself and others. It keeps mania at a far away stay. Going off because “I feel fine” is not responsible, destruction will follow. Costly I see each month. Do I buy those shoes I want? No. I have to get my medication. Plus, shopping is a no-no. It either is triggered when I a manic or it triggers mania. I still can’t figure that out.
My medication has saved my life many times. There are three times I know, for sure. Once from the highest level of mania ever experienced and twice from the dark hole of depression. I think everyday it keeps my life going. But side effects? I hate them. From shaky hands to a mouth with no moisture, they are part of my life.
My meds are there. I love them and I hate them. Life saving or side effects, I know just which one I choose.
Metaphors
Saturday, July 18, 2009
In 11th grade English Composition I learned how to use metaphors in my writing. I love hearing them. They are engaging. For instance, when we see lines as . . . “Life is like driving a long nail into a thick piece of wood, you just keep tapping at it.” I can picture myself with a plank, like the ones used in building docks. I have a tiny hammer. I stare at the nail, then at the wood, and keep going. (Sometimes, I see myself looking for one of those super-powered nail guns.)
If you ever go to one of those large home and garden chains, you are bound to find a million shopping carts- all with some sorta of dysfunction. The wheels either screech, wobble, stick, or bump over the flooring. We are like the carts. All with problems, dysfunctions and issues. Our situations are unique. We never know exactly how we and others will respond.
So that’s the metaphor I was thinking of today. I am like a broken shopping cart. I probably can’t be fixed, but I can keep rolling.
Alive With the Senses
Tuesday, July 14, 2009
The book, “The Things they Carried” by Tim O’Brien, is an outstanding account of the struggles of war, specifically the Vietnam War. The author not only retells the conflict, he shows what can only be a glimpse into a soldier’s reckoning with possible death. He writes, “You are never more alive than when you are half dead” (pg.81).
I have never been in the military and I know expanding my story to include one’s account of their war experience appears indulgent. So it is with humility I say the author’s words filled me with familiarity.
From a war only with myself, I have felt half dead on several occasions. Mine came from the consuming emotions of my illness. I attained from the O’Brien read the mental aspects of war most often catches it’s goal much faster before any sight of injury to the body. I learned it was a silent killer, most often not discussed. From fear of death or wishing death, to it’s dooming appearance, we are always more alive. Our senses are engaged and we feel all with more magnification.
So, for the times when dying has overwhelmed me and I have felt half dead, I can take comfort in believing I really am alive.
Bipolar and a Long Flight
Wednesday, July 8, 2009
My first reality break occurred 12 years ago while on vacation. Thus every vacation forward from that event, has been met with much anxiety. It has gotten easier. I have learned some healthy skills to cope and I try to only travel where I would feel comfortable. Last year was a troublesome one and I was not able to travel at all. Now better, I was looking forward to this year. I had been invited by a friend to Hawaii and it was her treat. My first feeling was exhilaration. On a whim I accepted.
Then came the doubts and the what ifs. My biggest concern was my medication. The flight to Hawaii is quite long. Flying has always been a bit unsettling. Plus, I did not know if I could keep on track with my medicine. My daily takes are my life line. Last year I was sent another psychotic episode, I am currently on more medicines that ever. These medications are bound by time. Taking them as prescribed has kept break-through moods from silent.
Well, I did it. The plane trip was terrific. I took enough books and magazines my carry-on could hold. I brought things that were familiar to me such as: a small pillow, my favorite water, and a blanket. I kept myself organized. The flight back from Hawaii, not as equal to the beginning one, still went without incident. A sense of fatigue hit me when I was back home. I reasoned it came with sticking to my medicines regardless of the change in time zones.
While there, the trip was lovely. In the last 12 years since my diagnosis, I only had a great flight and trip one time. It was this time.
Writer’s Block
Thursday, July 2, 2009
I have been writing for most of my life. There are probably atleast a dozen journals hidden within my bookshelves. I have even more in my attic. Small notebooks with scribbled phrases are tucked here and there waiting to be formulated into a story. Expressing myself with words takes me to a special place. It is my gift to myself and my gift to others. I cast myself fortunate that I am able to verbalize the words in my head. Communicating in written word as well as oral, provides me with comfort. I happen to feel they are both for me. If someone else finds my small utterances significant, I receive even greater pleasure.
Lately, academic writing has kept away other intentions. I’ve had hours of research time invested in my products. Now, with my time being released from this genre, it is hard to find where my creativity left off. Finally, I just took a break. When I woke up this morning, I decided to return, yearning to “bang the keys once more.” It is almost as if I have kicked the block down. Returning to the place I know best.
An Unwanted Pet
Wednesday, June 3, 2009
So, I have this coworker that bugs me. She gets away with the least amount of work. Always says she will do things and never follows through, and really looks out for the best things for herself. I sometimes get so frustrated with her I want to knock her block off. She think she is the boss. The boss doesn’t see it. It has to do with her doing “little nice thingees” for the boss that she is able to constantly continue. Okay, so she’s the bosses pet. How does one get to be the boss’s pet? Is there a place where you can sign up or pay money to get it?
I work hard and I dedicate myself to overcoming the million different moods that want to manifest themselves at any given moment.
Everyday I watch her and others. I try not to. I know by watching her and those like, it will just frustrate me even more. I really don’t want the unnecessary energy depletion looking at someone else causes. I must choose to look within.
An anonymous person once said, “If you chase two rabbits, both will escape.” I have enough trouble chasing myself.
When it doesn’t go my way
Monday, May 25, 2009
As the title names, oftentimes things don’t go the way I want them to. I am faced with a responsibility and a choice. The responsibility is to myself and others. The choice is whether I allow it to intrude on my recovery. The later is usually the result. The keen ability to separate what is happening now from my continuing illness, is not characteristic. I am getting better. As my bipolar becomes remiss, more success occurs. When I am inflamed with symptoms, it all seems like a huge myriad of feelings. Sadness, anxiety, anger and other moods occur normally when life doesn’t happen the the way one wants it to. When you mix a mood disorder with that, it gets icky.
I have often wondered what it would be to respond normally to life events. Is there such a thing? I doubt it. I can, however, work through all the feelings with some of the strategies I have learned. Like to recognize what is a normal response. Especially, when I am over doing the feeling thing.
Anyone with their share of hurt has trouble when things don’t turn out the wanted way. The obvious thinking that life is sticking it to us again is most prevelant. Instead of allowing things to unfold naturally, we try and force it to occur our way. We just don’t want to be let down, to have another thing to add to our list of dissappointments.
Trying to respond healthier is a learning process. Forcing feelings, good or bad, always turns out badly. While I know I can let things occur naturally, I don’t always want them to. It is like drying a load of clothes, you throw everyting in the barrel together and hope it tumbles out the right way.
Gives a newer meaning to the whole life xxxxx (can’t bring myself to type that word) then you die.
Favorably
Sunday, May 17, 2009
Relaxing outside with a friend recently, I got a word to think on. My friend remarked, “How fortuitous your life events have been.” With extreme puzzlement, I responded, with the predictable “what?”
I don’t consider myself a person who is filled with opportunity. I learned in early adulthood that if I needed something to happen, I was going to have to work hard. Equally, I learned that oftentimes hard work is not enough. My thinking evolved from early experiences. My life has consisted of much loss, trauma, and victimization.
And that is without the diagnosis of bipolar riding along. Fortuity would not be how I would define my life events. I asked my friend to give reason to her offerring. She said, “You don’t get to choose the things that happen to you, they choose you. The past now years ago (and healed through years of therapy) have positioned you to be the person you are. Equally, the current distress you undergo, places you in your path for the future.”
Maybe, my life is becoming more aggreable. Not because one excellent thing after another is happening. I have found peace with the past, acceptance of the now, and hope for my future. The look of all, is a bit shabby. I just work hard at it. As I perfect my abilities, more favor comes.
Fly
Sunday, May 10, 2009
At a ceremony I attended this week, an eagle was released over the stadium. I stood and watched, almost feeling the wind from the downward flight span of the eagle.
I felt still inside.
Later, I longed to move. Like the eagle, I wanted to fly overhead and decide where I wanted to land.
My moods are more acceptable now. My largest grief is the time I have lost. The time I could have used to soar.
Playing Safe
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
My therapist and I were discussing my social life or rather lack of. We decided that I was being careful or “playing safe” as my title infers. I have learned through this journey there are people I can’t be with. It takes a knowledge of what is best for me and the discipline to follow through. I liken it to the kid who gets hurt by another playing in the sandbox. He or she gets up an moves to a different sandbox. The thing is I can’t just move, I have to leave the playground.
Being in the transition from bad relationships to better ones is hard. I think I can’t let my gaurd down. Yet, I know if I don’t bring my shield down a bit, I will stay reclusive. Not allowing others in is appealing, however, it is equally bad for continued healthiness. In my mind I think I will just take life alone to avoid the feelings I might incur from relationships. I remain alone and the loneliness becomes a faucet for unwanted feelings.
My only option is to play safe. I have a working knowledge of what characteristics of a relationship need to be present. I don’t need anyone who drains me, is reckless, harbors toxic feelings, and is basically incapable of a relationship. My relationships don’t need to know about my illness or even understand it. They do, however, need to be neutral at least in their view. I can’t relate with someone who has a negative view of mental illness.
I know I am safe inside my world. As I reach beyond it, I trust I have the skills to seek and find relations that help me. I remember the words of AA “Do no harm.” Me to others and others to me.
