The Next and (Probably) Last

Richard ArmitageI’ve posted the fourth and fifth chapters of Technical Consultant, my little story about bipolar author Carrie Severide and her fling as a technical consultant for actor Robert Bierce (a thinly disguised Richard Armitage).

I knew actually going to London and meeting Richard Armitage in the flesh would either kick new life into this story or kick it to the curb.  And I’m afraid it’s the latter.  My plan is to go back to an earlier idea about a bipolar heroine that is rooted firmly in reality—less fan-girl fantasy come true, more grit and hardship.  While I still love Technical Consultant for its Heaving Bosom potential, I want to do something else now.

Thanks to everyone who nagged me to keep writing this story.  I’m forever grateful for your interest and enthusiasm.  I hope these last two offerings are satisfactory.

To read Chapter 4: Out of the Frying Pan, click here.

To read Chapter 5: A Curious Roundtable, click here.

Or to start at the beginning with Chapter 1: An Unexpected Journey, click here.

Old Song

Uplifting Songs

The bronchitis has run its course, but the wake of bipolar ping-ponging still bounces me.  And I’m desperate to find some equilibrium.  Looking at my journal entries from last year around this time, I was a little shocked to see that I’m repeating myself.

From last year:

Kind of back to normal.  I’m still not sleeping well.  Just want to curl up in my chair and watch back-to-back movies.  Feels like I’m starting over after being sick.  So maybe I should look at what I want my life to be now.  What do I want to focus on?  Work toward?

I could have written that yesterday.  It makes my ass tired to think I’m back at this place.  Every time I get sick, every time I go through a long episode of mood swings, I have to pull up my socks and refocus.  I’m always battling my weight and compulsive eating, my inertia, my disappointment in absent friends.  BlahBlahBlah.  I’m sick to death of this same old song.

My TOPS membership will be due in December, and I decided not to renew.  I’m also resigning as the Weight Recorder.  Now I know that making decisions under the influence of bipolarness is unwise.  I also recognize this throwing in the weight loss towel as part of a different cycle.  I give up, say I’m going to accept myself the way I am, gain weight, panic, and go back to trying to control my eating.  So I fully acknowledge that these decisions are sick-brain-driven and, most likely, temporary.

But, I would like to accept myself the way I am.  I would like to, once and for all, let go of the fantasy that I can lose 150 pounds and be at all desirable to the opposite sex.  I’m not hideous.  I’m just an obese, middle-aged woman on the way to crone-hood.  I want to accept that and find some happiness in THAT, not wait for a body or a partner that are never coming.  I mean, I went to freaking England by my fat self and had a fabulous time.  I don’t want to wait anymore.  For anything.  Or anybody.

And I guess I’m grieving that old fantasy, both embracing the full truth of who I am and pushing it away.  But the more I can wrap my arms around myself, the braver I’ll be about going after what I want.  Like deciding to spend two weeks in Tucson this winter.  I’m renting a little house on the desert because I loved Tucson twenty years ago when we vacationed there and have always wanted to go back.  Because my allergist said I would do better in a warm, dry climate.  Because my shrink said to get out of the dark this winter.

So, I’ve been taking my cats on practice runs to get them used to being in the car for long stretches.  Because I want them with me in the desert.  And we’re figuring it out.  Like I’m figuring me out.  And we all may get car sick on the way.  And we all may cry, and mew, and protest.  But at least that’s a new song.

And Then There’s This

Once Rot Begins to Work

It’s my birthday.

yaay.

Frail and Exotic Flower

Frail & Exotic Flower

⊂  ⊃

This is one of the flavors of my depression, feeling translucent and fragile, a melancholy scrim of gossamer floating untethered in the sharp October air.  This is when I yearn for deliverance, rescue, capture by warm and gentle hands.  My weepy mind slides into fantasy to protect itself from the hard edges of the world.  It pulls Heroes around itself like cashmere.  And it tries to sleep.

I am here, now, in this place of soft sorrow.  One eye on the Hero, one eye on the rhythm of the Real.  Train whistles in the distance mourn and warn traffic.  The pumpkin colored oak tree across the street paints across gray canvas and readies for winter.  I am both hibernating in the safe corners of my mind and stepping out to do laundry, meet a friend, have a birthday meal with my sister.  I am both insulated and exposed, denying and tolerating this phase of my bifurcated moon.

But, duality is home to me, my nature, and this season will pass to the next.  All I must do is wait.  In the cashmere and in the banging drum.  Both.  Always both.

National Mental Health Awareness Week

What is mental illness?

nami 2A mental illness is a medical condition that disrupts a person’s thinking, feeling, mood, ability to relate to others and daily functioning. Just as diabetes is a disorder of the pancreas, mental illnesses are medical conditions that often result in a diminished capacity for coping with the ordinary demands of life.

Serious mental illnesses include major depression, schizophrenia, bipolar disorder, obsessive compulsive disorder (OCD), panic disorder, posttraumatic stress disorder (PTSD) and borderline personality disorder. The good news about mental illness is that recovery is possible.

Mental illnesses can affect persons of any age, race, religion or income. Mental illnesses are not the result of personal weakness, lack of character or poor upbringing. Mental illnesses are treatable. Most people diagnosed with a serious mental illness can experience relief from their symptoms by actively participating in an individual treatment plan.

Learn more about treatment and services that assist individuals in recovery.

bingo

Find out more about a specific mental illness:

Find out more about conditions sometimes related to mental illness:

What does recovery look like?

As people become familiar with their illness, they recognize their own unique patterns of behavior. If individuals recognize these signs and seek effective and timely care, they can often prevent relapses. However, because mental illnesses have no cure, treatment must be continuous.

Individuals who live with a mental illness also benefit tremendously from taking responsibility for their own recovery. Once the illness is adequately managed, one must monitor potential side effects.

The notion of recovery involves a variety of perspectives. Recovery is a holistic process that includes traditional elements of mental health and aspects that extend beyond medication. Recovery from serious mental illness also includes attaining, and maintaining, physical health as another cornerstone of wellness.

The recovery journey is unique for each individual. There are several definitions of recovery; some grounded in medical and clinical values, some grounded in context of community and some in successful living. One of the most important principles is this: recovery is a process, not an event. The uniqueness and individual nature of recovery must be honored. While serious mental illness impacts individuals in many ways, the concept that all individuals can move towards wellness is paramount.

Merely Agog

Mental illness by the numbers

Check out NAMI’s fact sheet, Mental Illness: Facts and Numbers, to find out more about mental illness.

(Thanks to Kitt O’Malley for posting the information from the NAMI website.)

Kiss Me

In my fevered state, I’ve been looping this song of Ed Sheeran’s.  Sweet comfort.

Mildred’s Grog

Mildred's Grog

Oh, for a cup of grog.  Or a hot toddy.  Just when I thought I was shaking off the annual lung crud, I’m back to being feverish and sore-throatish.  Methinks a secondary infection is taking naughty advantage of me.  I’m afraid this means a trip to the quack on Monday if this new development doesn’t skedaddle by then.  Poo.  Ah, well.  At least the first round of depression has come and gone.  That’s lovely.  So much easier to deal with one bully at a time.

Der Rapid Cycle

BrunnhildeI’m at that phase of The Chest Cold/Bronchitis Opera where initial mania (Ooo, goodie!  I get to sleep all day and eat Raman Noodles!) gives way to the longer aria of depression.  I’ve been singing this part for several years now, and sometimes the Dark Solo can go on for months.  As can the bronchitis itself.  It’s a nasty, double whammy.  Sorta like Brünhilde losing her immortality AND getting thrown on a pyre.  Heh, Heh.  That Wagner.  What a cut up.

This season, though, I’m finding the depression to be different.  Not easier—that strum und drang never gets easier—but simpler.  This time, I have the gifts my mom left me to help me through the whole Ring cycle—her almost-new Honda and a small monthly income from investments.

sisyphusI’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again—the stress of poverty kills.  The hopelessness and desperation it creates turns a person into a sack of mindless meat.  It yanks away the will to live and leaves said person on bloody knees.  It’s a weight that can’t be shucked off or reasoned with—like Sisyphus’ stone (Oops.  Wrong Mythos).

I thank my mom every day for taking away my need to choose between medicine for chest blight and gas for her wonderful car.  I thank her for taking away the stress of being squashed-flat by poverty.  Eliminating that stressor has already made a huge difference in how I deal with my bipolar disorder.  Now I have a real chance to manage it.

But I still have to manage it.  Last week, someone asked me if, since I had a little more money and didn’t have the stress of my Peer Support job, I’d ‘get over the whole bipolar thing now.’  I wasn’t sure how to answer.  It’s not like a cold sore that flares up when you get nervous and then fades away.  It’s not a case of hives.  It’s a mental illness.  I still have to strap on my breast plates and take the stage.  Every single day.  And belt out that damned song.

Don’t be fooled.  The fat lady sings because she has to, not because the show is over.  This is one show that never ends.

Alrighty, Then

Gee, You Look Old

You’re minding your own business, washing your hands at the bathroom sink, when you look up in the mirror and freeze.  Is that really what I look like now?  Holy Methuselah, Batman!  You lean in, touch the flesh, pull it tight, let it flop back into place.  You bare your teeth.  That’s not the color I remember.  Leaning into the sink gives your back a twinge, but get close and look into the eyes (not the bags around them).  You see something familiar.  Blink.  Look again.  Ah, there I am.

With a deep breath, you can straighten up.  And Ace Ventura comes out of your mouth:

Follow Your Wild Self

Follow Your Wild Self

Just a pretty while I work my way through this year’s case of bronchitis.  It’s not so bad.  I’m eating what I want (lots of Häagenn Dazs bars) and shuffling from bed to chair either watching episodes of Call the Midwife, or cruising Pinterest, or sleeping.  The weather is fine, so the windows are open and the boys enjoy the sniffs as well as burrowing under the covers with me.  Maybe it won’t take until October to de-crap my lungs this time.  Wild hope.

Previous Older Entries

Blog Stats

  • 90,184 hits
Follow

Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.

Join 964 other followers

%d bloggers like this: