A Head-Scratcher

11 May 2013 20 Comments

by Sandy Sue in Bipolar Bad-Ass Training, bipolar disorder, mental health, relationships, writing Tags: , , ,

handmade greeting card, collage art

♦ ♦ ♦

I don’t have the words.

This is not a problem that often comes up for me.  Lucid, delusional, manic or morbid, I can generally put words to the experience.  Not this time.

I’m not in exactly the same state as before I went to the hospital, but I’m not far from it.  The stressors that sent me scrambling for help are still in place and still unresolvable.  Tried and true tools for getting back on the Bipolar Bad-Ass track don’t work any more (or at least aren’t working now).  Instead, older, unhealthy coping mechanisms are in play, and I drift through the day in exhausted apathy.  Or my frequent blasts of anger turn me into someone I don’t recognize—defensive, bitter, paranoid, hateful.

I’m stumped.  I don’t have a map for this place.  I feel like I’m not asking the right questions or turning my face in the wrong direction.

By the time I got into the Partial Hospital Program (PHP), I’d decided solitude was the best option for me.  My people skills had deteriorated to utter confusion.  I was lonely, but the dangers and disappointments in connecting with others were too high a price.  I knew this wasn’t the healthiest choice, but I couldn’t see a way around it.

In PHP, we talked about relationships, boundaries and community.  My resolution to keep people at a distance had to be reconsidered.  The counselors said the five people you spend the most time with are who you end up becoming.  They asked us to look at who we hang out with, if they were our role models, and if not to think about who we would like to become.

I took that to heart when I came home and reached out to people I admire.  Every day I spend time with those lovely friends, or talk to them, or arrange dates for another time.  It’s incredibly hard work.

But the PHP staff was right.  My heroes lift me up.  They mirror my best back at me.  Their light and laughter part the clouds in a truly biblical way.  Still, there’s trauma in shaking loose of the folks I don’t want to become—the glass-half-empty folks.  I’m just trying to spend more time with my heroes, not reject the others.

I don’t know how to do this, either.  I’m fumbling around in the dark, banging my shin on the furniture and stepping on the cats.  Worst yet, I don’t have the words to frame this weird, new place.  I’m called to be patient, to keep moving through alien terrain until I learn the language, until I can decipher the code.  I’m uncomfortable, and frightened and angry.  But I must try to wait.  Just wait.

Back in the Saddle Again

07 May 2013 11 Comments

by Sandy Sue in bipolar disorder, mental health, mixed-media art Tags:

handmade greeting cards, collage artCozy up to the campfire and pour yourself a cuppa Joe.  We been ridin’ the range a few days now.  Time to stretch out and rest our dogs.

We’re drivin’ this herd through familiar territory, but found some new trails.  Took us to pastures we’d never seen.  Some o’them trails was mighty hard to find.  On the range long enough though, a feller gets a nose for trails that’ll lead to good grazing.

We got our old gear, molded to fit our grip with sweat, heat and hard work.  But, we picked up some new-fangled too-dads in the city, too.  Feel a might awkward in our hands, can’t quite get the gist of ‘em yet.  But if y’squint just right, you can see how they might get useful.

Had to dump the old supplies.  Too much weight, nothin’ we could use there.  Still got a few bits hangin’, but once we whet the knives we oughta get that sorted.

Had to let a few hands go.  Ijits couldn’t drive a steer if’n their momma’s begged ‘em.  That’s all right.  Found us a couple of new hands look to be the genuine article.  Put ‘em behind a thousand head with the sun burnin’ their backs, and they’ll show true colors soon enough.

We got us a long ride ahead.  Lots of territory to cover.  Best get some shut-eye now.  Sun’ll be up before you know it.

Zzzzz…

02 May 2013 4 Comments

by Sandy Sue in bipolar disorder, mental health, mixed-media art Tags: , , , , ,

handmade greeting card, collage artMmmfrph.  This is my first morning after my first night on a sleeping pill in over three years.  Erg.  Still didn’t sleep through the night, but part of my brain seems to be unaware of this fact.

Speaking of drugs, my conversation with the hospital shrink was quite satisfactory.  She was the one three years ago who told me pharmacology had nothing more to offer me, which set me on my Bipolar Bad-Ass course.  I thanked her for that, which caused some wide-eyed blinking and mention of new meds I might try.  Thanks, but no.  But after two more nights of only three hours of sleep and no opportunity for a nap during the day, I agreed that a sleeping aid was in order.

Changes is one’s sleep pattern is an early warning sign of mental distress, but I wasn’t paying attention.  It’s too easy for me to just take a nap during the day if I’m tired.  I’d been doing this for so long, I forgot it wasn’t healthy.  So now I have to retrain my body and brain to the required eight consecutive hours.  It will take a little time and tolerance for the morning hangover.

Fatigue makes me irritable and intolerant.  Concentration splinters and I lose my sense of humor.  Sitting in group all day with other people jangles all those weary nerves.  I try to watch as my irritability bubbles up, take a deep breath, and wait for the froth to settle before speaking.  So far, so good.

It helps to be working with interesting material.  Tuesday we spent the day on self-esteem.  Yesterday we started on boundaries and anger management.  More on those topics today.

Here’s part of a video we watched from Jack Canfield, the author of the Chicken Soup for the Soul series. I managed to stay awake for this one.

Totally Subjective and Non-Scientific

30 Apr 2013 16 Comments

by Sandy Sue in bipolar disorder, mental health, mixed-media art Tags: , ,

handmade greeting card, collage artYesterday was my first day in the Partial Hospitalization Program (PHP).  This handout was the first bit of business our group worked through.  In Parts One and Two, we marked the items we’ve experienced in the past three months.  Then we marked the items we experienced more than three months ago.  This was to help us see patterns of distorted thinking, isolation and a victim mentality.  In looking at Part Three, we were asked to pick the one item we felt was most important to our mental health.

I think this bodes well for the week.

Steven James’ Totally Subjective, Non-Scientific Guide to Illness and Health

How to Get Sick

  1. Don’t pay attention to your body.  Eat plenty of junk food, drink too much, take drugs, have lots of unsafe sex with lots of different partners and, above all, feel guilty about it.  If you are over-stressed and tired, ignore it and keep pushing yourself.
  2. Cultivate the experience of your life as meaningless and of little value.
  3. Do everything you dread or hate and avoid doing what you really want.  Follow everyone else’s opinion and advice while seeing yourself as miserable and stuck.
  4. Be resentful and hyper-critical, especially toward yourself.
  5. Fill your mind with dreadful pictures, then obsess over them.  Worry as much as possible.
  6. Avoid deep, lasting, intimate relationships.
  7. Blame other people for your problems.
  8. Don’t express your feelings or opinions.  Other people wouldn’t appreciate it.  If at all possible, don’t even know what your feelings are.
  9. Shun anything that resembles a sense of humor.  Life is no laughing matter.
  10. Avoid making any changes that might bring you greater satisfaction and joy.

How to Get Sicker (If You’re Already Sick)

  1. Think about all the awful things that could happen to you.  Dwell on negative, fearful images.
  2. Be depressed, self-pitying, envious and angry.  Blame everyone and everything for your illness.
  3. Read articles, books and newspapers; watch television programs; and listen to people who reinforce the viewpoint that there is no hope.  You are powerless to influence your fate.
  4. Cut yourself off from other people.  Regard yourself as a pariah.  Lock yourself up in your room and contemplate death.
  5. Hate yourself for having destroyed your life.  Blame yourself mercilessly and incessantly.
  6. Go to see lots of different doctors.  Run from one to another, spend half your time in waiting rooms, get lots of conflicting opinions and lots of experimental drugs, start one program after another without sticking to any.
  7. Quit your job, stop work on any projects, give up all activities that bring you a sense of purpose and fun.  See your life as essentially pointless and at an end.
  8. Complain about your symptoms, and if you associate with anyone, do so exclusively with those who are unhappy and embittered.  Reinforce each other’s feelings of hopelessness.
  9. Don’t take care of yourself.  Try to get other people to do it for you, and then resent them for not doing a good job.
  10. Think how awful life is and how you might as well be dead.  But make sure you are absolutely terrified of death, just to increase the pain.

How to Stay Well (Or Get Better if You’re Not Well to Begin With)

  1. Do things that bring you a sense of fulfillment, joy, purpose and that validate your worth.  See your life as your own creation and strive to make it a positive one.
  2. Pay close and loving attention to yourself, tuning in to your needs on all levels.  Take care by nourishing, supporting and encouraging yourself.
  3. Release all negative emotions—resentment, envy, fear, sadness, anger.  Express your feelings appropriately, then forgive yourself.
  4. Hold positive images and goals in your mind, pictures of what you truly want in life.  When fearful images arise, refocus on ones that evoke feelings of peace and joy.
  5. Love yourself and everyone else.  Make loving the purpose and primary expression in your life.
  6. Create fun, loving, honest relationships that fulfill your needs for intimacy and security.  Try to heal any wounds in past or present relationships, such as with old lovers or family members.
  7. Make a positive contribution to your community through some form of work or service that you value and enjoy.
  8. Make a commitment to health and well-being.  Develop a belief in the possibility of Total Health.  Develop your own healing program, drawing on the support and advice of experts without becoming enslaved to them.
  9. Keep your sense of humor.
  10. Accept yourself and everything in your life as an opportunity for growth and learning.  Be grateful.  When you mess up, forgive yourself, learn what you can from the experience, and then move on.

Late Trains

26 Apr 2013 18 Comments

by Sandy Sue in Bipolar Bad-Ass Training, bipolar disorder, mental health, TV and Movies Tags: , , , , , ,

Nathan Fillion, Malcolm Reynolds, Serenity, FireflyI’ve been waiting a week now for help, waiting for my therapist to return my calls, waiting for the hospital’s day program to accept me, waiting for the mental health professionals to save me.  I’m beginning to think like my Firefly friend, Malcolm Reynolds.  He tells Shepherd Book, “I ain’t lookin’ for help from on high.  That’s a long wait for a train don’t come.”

Even if Mercy calls today, I wouldn’t start partial hospitalization until Monday.  That’s three more days I have to get through.  The prospect of spending three more days holed up in my jammies is unacceptable.  If I have to work my way out of this by myself, then I’d better get started.

There’s still a Bad Ass inside me, still a part of me that fights to live.  I can’t just forget all the training I’ve gone through, all the work and effort I’ve made to come to terms with this bipolar business.  I’m tired just now from the fight, and resentful of how hard I have to work every day.  Every gorram day.  But waiting for help that may never come isn’t the answer.  It’s up to me.  It always has been.

So, impossible as it seems, I’ll get dressed.  I’ll go to my water aerobics class and reassure my friends there.  I’ll take myself to breakfast and journal my way through this strange situation.  I’ll take back the DVDs I’ve watched and get a few groceries.  I’ll take care of myself.

I never much cared for trains anyway.

Well, That’s Different

24 Apr 2013 18 Comments

by Sandy Sue in bipolar disorder, mental health Tags: , , ,

We had a saying when I lived in Minnesota (Minnesotans being the masters of understatement).

Well, that’s different.

This declaration is reserved for things like two-headed chickens or grown men rollerblading down the sidewalk in neon-orange short-shorts.  It slipped out of my mouth today—a knee-jerk reaction, I guess.  My closet Scandahoovian jumps out at odd times.

And it has been an odd week in Lake Wobegon.  I was in trouble, and finally admitted it.  My illness had rolled over me, and I couldn’t cope by myself anymore.  So, on Monday I put a call into my therapist, saying it was time to check into the hospital—preferably the day program I attended three years ago.  I waited all day for her to call back, white-knuckling the panic and galloping moods.  For distraction, I rented the first season of Downton Abbey and watched it all.  By 8:00, I gave up and went to bed.

My therapist called while I slept.  Her message was breathy, fractured.  She said she’d call on Tuesday at 11:00.  Tuesday came and went.  So did Season Two of Downton Abbey.  I didn’t know what to think.  My clinic is usually prompt in responding to distress.  I decided it must have burned down or my therapist eaten by zombies.  It’s hard to be charitable while chewing the walls.

This morning I wondered if I could call the hospital myself.  Medical protocol is weird—referrals, chain of command, secrecy and double-sided red tape.  You need a law degree and fluent Klingon to really figure it out.  But, I thought it was worth a try.  The guy who answered at the Help Desk told me to come in.  No problem.

Huh.

I was proud of myself for bypassing the loud absence of my clinic, but also wondered why I had to do that.  I drove the hour to the hospital and gave an honest interview.  The nurse was friendly and concerned.  ”You need to be here,” he said.

But I have to wait for the Day Program to call with an opening.  ”Probably tomorrow,” the nurse told me.  But it’s 11:00 and still no call.  I’m beginning to think there’s an alien telephone virus infecting all mental health lines.  Or it’s a test.  Lay on the bed.  Breathe.  Wait.  And find a TV series to watch that’s longer than two seasons.

Scuttled

22 Apr 2013 5 Comments

by Sandy Sue in bipolar disorder, exercise, mental health Tags: , , , , ,

handmade greeting card, collage artI spoke too soon the other day.  Not up from the deep just yet.  A common mistake.  This rapid cycling is tricksy, let’s a person break the surface for a bit, enough to gulp air, then the waters close over the top before a soul can recognize the drag back into the black.  An odd feeling this time of being altered, alien, apart.  Of moving in a different time zone than the people around me.  Of speaking a different dialect.  Again, that sly bipolar brain working its funky alchemy.

Another day of doing what I can, when I can.  Moving through the water with goggles and the sound of my breath bubbling underneath—yes.  Packing up chai and journal to sit next to the big library windows—probably.  Acting like a normal consumer by checking Staples and Wal-Mart off my list—maybe.  It all depends on the Sturm und Drang playing in the background—the bipolar soundtrack can hurt the ears sometimes.  And a body pillaged by fractured sleep and rusty nails in the joints.

But the bed is made, the litter boxes clean, the dishes washed.  It could be a start.  It could be enough.

Sand

20 Apr 2013 10 Comments

by Sandy Sue in Bipolar Bad-Ass Training, bipolar disorder, developing consciousness, mental health, quality of life Tags: ,

∞

Better now.  There’s a familiar, bittersweet sense of starting over—relief in being able to return to simple, daily activities; sorrow in seeing all my little ant-hills of effort scattered.  A collective sigh heaves out of my body.

This is the Work.  To keep coming back.  To pick up one grain of sand and start building again.

I take inspiration from the monks who build their beautiful mandalas in the sand and, when they finish, sweep them up.  The juice is in the process, not the product.

I want results.  I want to change my life.  I want.

But, wanting is tangent to the door before me.  I walk through.  I squat.  I look for the sand.  My finger reaches for a grain.  I start again.

The Not-So-Good, the Bad and the Ugly

18 Apr 2013 23 Comments

by Sandy Sue in art, bipolar disorder, blogging, mental health, mixed-media art Tags: ,

Evidence of Insanity

ο ο ο

My mood tanked a few days ago.  That’s why I’ve been posting videos.  I’m at that place where I’m sure no one could possibly tolerate my whingeing or have any interest in my detailed suicide plans.  Such are the torqued thoughts that needle into my head.  But, when I started this enterprise two years ago, I promised to be transparent—the Good, the Bad, and the Ugly all laid out for inspection like a mental yard sale.

This would be the Bad.  Okay, maybe also the Ugly.

I’m labeling this a Severe Depressive Episode, so severe that I considered asking my therapist to get me checked into the Day Treatment Program at Mercy Hospital.  But, she was completely booked today, so I didn’t see her.  And I was too exhausted and brain-fried to ask to see another therapist or to declare an emergency.  I just ate Ben & Jerry’s, watched a couple of episodes of Firefly, and went to bed.

Or, I will go to bed as soon as I post this.

I’m trying not to think, just find a warm hole to crawl into until the worst of this passes.  All the usual symptoms are in play.  Wikipedia lists them if you’re curious.  Just scroll down to Depressive Episodes.  That’s me.  Except for hallucinations.  I haven’t rung that bell yet.

Okay.  That’s all I can manage.

A Small Life

11 Apr 2013 11 Comments

by Sandy Sue in bipolar disorder, friends, mental health, mixed-media art, money, quality of life Tags: , , , , , ,

handmade greeting card, collage artI met a friend the other day for coffee.  It’s a rare occurrence these days what with my Zero Money Initiative.  I felt rather posh, actually, pumping the Sugar Free Vanilla Syrup.  Simple pleasures.

My friend was in town with the sad task of attending to his late mother’s estate, so we talked about executor duties and sorting through a lifetime of accumulated stuff.  But, he needed distraction from all that, so we quickly moved on to other topics.

What I discovered while talking to him is that I don’t know much about the wide world anymore.  I don’t read the newspaper or watch TV.  The only news I see is what zips by on Yahoo as I scroll through to my email.  To keep my stress low, I avoid unpleasantness such as last week’s discussion topic at our Unitarian Universalist gathering on Human Trafficking.  I have enough horror in my life as it is.

As my friend and I talked about Illegal Immigration and The Economy, I wondered for a bit if I was failing in my duty as a citizen, if I should try harder to keep up with current events.  But, really, does anything change that much?  There’s a war somewhere—probably more than one.  There are groups and individuals doing horrific things to other groups and individuals.  Congress must be fighting over something or other.  And I’m sure we’ve discovered new and exciting things in space and in scientific research.  People carry out kind and inspirational acts in obscurity.  The environment is still threatened.  Babies still get themselves born.  I don’t think I’m missing all that much.

Talking with my friend did show me how the parameters of my life have shrunk.  I move mostly within a few blocks of my apartment, with occasional excursions farther afield, and the now-rare trek to The Big City.  I spend most of my time alone, with a daily dose of polite chit-chat at the Y or the library.  I facilitate my two meditation groups and plan one or two deeper interactions with friends or family a week.

I exercise, eat, write, make a little art, watch some DVDs from the library, and read.  I talk to my cats.  I put gas in my truck and get groceries.  I look at the stars at night, and I listen to the rain on the sidewalk.  I don’t really go anywhere or do anything.  And that’s just fine.

I used to miss doing stuff—going to concerts and plays, eating at interesting restaurants, taking classes.  I used to worry about being “productive,” about contributing to society and finding meaningful work.  I used to gobble up information.  I used to crave interesting people with views and lifestyles different from mine.  I used to want a lot more.

With a small life, much of the wanting falls away.  At least it has lately.  And without the wanting or the stress of a larger life, my rapid cycling seems to find equilibrium a little easier.  The cycles still happen, and the symptoms are just as rabid, but I’m granted a little more time to breathe between swings.  Who knew that simplifying to the point of nothing might be the best strategy?

Well, I guess those Zen monks knew.  But, who wanted to listen to them?

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