writing | A Mind Divided

Neurodiversity

24 Jun 2012 10 Comments

by Sandy Sue in Bipolar Bad-Ass Training, bipolar disorder, books, mixed-media art, writing Tags: reviews

As research for my next book (tentatively titled Bipolar Bad-Assery), I’m reading memoirs by or about folks with mental illness. I’m in the middle of one that is absolutely fascinating.

A Mind Apart by Susanne Antonetta comes across as a big Question. Are people with Asperger’s Syndrome, autism, bipolar disorder, and other “functional” mental illnesses (who she coins as neuroatypical) actually part of Nature’s plan for biodiversity? And if science can fine-tune gene splicing to the point of eliminating these disorders, would it diminish the human race?

Antonetta interweaves theory and philosophy with her own experiences as someone with bipolar disorder. As a neuroatypical, her thought process is different, the way she tells a story is different, and it felt so familiar. She jumps from pondering whale language when she and her small son come across a beached whale to obsessively attending the trial of a local boy who committed murder. She considers the language used to define neuroatypicals and chafes against it. She holds herself in comparison with everything—do whales and killers and lunacy have anything to say about me?

Sometimes Antonetta’s stream-of-consciousness becomes wearing, but mostly A Mind Apart is poetry written in a language I thought was mine alone.

Whittling

14 Jun 2012 8 Comments

by Sandy Sue in Bipolar Bad-Ass Training, bipolar disorder, exercise, friends, health, quality of life, TV and Movies, writing Tags: agitation, awareness, change, compulsive eating, distorted thinking, dreaming, obsessive/compulsive behavior, patterns, resistance

There are days when it seems that everything I do is aimed at shoring up my defenses. I exercise to regulate my brain chemistry and strengthen my body. I journal to catch any distorted thinking and plan my day to avoid impulse eating/spending/reacting. I work on a short story or a longer fictional piece to bleed out the fantasy thinking that collects like rain water in my barrel. I practice Tai Chi as an exercise in Will, proving to myself that I can do things that are uncomfortable or difficult.

An underlying tension runs through all this doing, a sense of glancing over my shoulder toward the horizon. Something’s coming. Then, I shake it off and get back to it.

I’m sure much of this anticipatory dread comes from making so many changes in my lifestyle. Change shakes everything up—physically, mentally, emotionally. There’s no part of us that really likes it. And those parts will fight to return to the status quo. Dr. Phil calls this instinctual drift—the tendency for all organisms to revert back to their natural or learned tendencies. It’s why all those “tame” wild animals keep mauling their owners. It’s why lost weight always finds its way back. Deeply ingrained patterns are just that—carved deep—and it will take more than a couple of weeks of tap dancing around them to make a difference.

The patterns that grew up around being bipolar kept me alive. Maladaptive and unhealthy though they were, they became the only way to survive in my world. Some days it feels like I’m jumping out of my lifeboat into shark infested water. Ooo, and I hate sharks.

But, I have a precedent. I have made a huge change before and incorporated it into my life. I went from never exercising to working out at the Y five days a week. Every week. There’s no resistance to it any more. It is simply part of my life. So, I know change is possible for me. It takes vigilance. It takes making the choice every day, several times a day. It takes carving out a new pattern one splinter at a time until that is the new learned response.

Every evening that I swim with my friend in her pool instead of watch TV is a splinter. Every time I notice my thoughts turning to food and close the book I’m reading is a splinter. Every time I walk uptown instead of getting into my truck is a splinter. They all feel unnatural and forced. My body twitches and there are parts of me that feel like I’m dying. Sharks!

Sometimes I jump back in the boat, return to the comforting and numbing old ways. But, the sharks are just a dream. There is no water. So I climb out of the rotten boat and start again.

I am shoring up my defenses—against my old patterns, coping skills that don’t serve me anymore. What’s coming over the horizon is just a scared little girl flailing against pain and darkness.

Come here, darling. Let’s whittle together.

Tumble

21 May 2012 9 Comments

by Sandy Sue in bipolar disorder, poetry, spiritual practice Tags: agitation, depression, distorted thinking, distraction, management, mixed-state, perception, routine, Rumi, symptoms, transition

I have lived on the lip

of insanity, wanting to know reasons,

knocking on a door. It opens.

I’ve been knocking from the inside!

—Rumi

° ° °

It has been a day full of tumbling—from solid to uncertain, from meadow to briar patch, from empty to brimming. The transition from Clear Mind to an itchy melancholy stretched out over the weekend and somersaulted to a stop today.

Once again, I adjust my expectations. I remind myself to stop Training and focus on Survival. I feel the despair and hopelessness, the isolation and incompetence, and I know they are products of a mind twisted dark and untrustworthy. I reach for my routine—move in the water, push the pen across the page—and reach for the tools that will help me lift my face into the breeze.

I knock on Rumi’s door and feel knuckles rapping inside my chest. I stand at the brink and am the feet lifting into the air and the grass left behind. I hold both worlds in my two fists and will not let go.

Not-So-Shameless Self-Promotion

16 May 2012 2 Comments

by Sandy Sue in blogging, writing Tags: fiction

Going through my old journals, I discovered a story I’d completely forgotten. It’s a fantasy/science fiction novella that, for once, is not a piece of fan fiction. As with Callinda, it needs lots of work, but the first chapter is done enough for me to share.

It was a delight for me to stumble across these old friends and pull them out into the light. I hope you enjoy this little taste.

To read Part 1 of The Juggler’s Hand, click here.

Remembering in Dark Water

05 May 2012 17 Comments

by Sandy Sue in bipolar disorder, health, mixed-media art, writing Tags: awareness, delusion, depression, distorted thinking, electroconvulsive therapy, fear, memory loss, psychiatric medications

One thing I’ve learned about my particular flavor of bipolar disorder is to never take myself seriously—especially during an episode. The musings, scrambling for Meaning, revelations, decisions and planning that go on while I’m the throes of my illness are, at best, untrustworthy, and, at worst, dangerous. Like the other, darker thoughts that crowd in, these milder delusions are just flotsam—the foam churned up by my brain’s tidal changes.

So, I’m a little reluctant to pose anything my brain has spit out over the past few days. These ideas always seem rational. They feel reasonable, even helpful, but I know my judgment is faulty. I won’t be able to see how much until the episode passes.

With that very large caveat, here’s the thought taking up space in my head.

I need to keep journaling.

During this episode, I’ve tried to do a little research for my next writing project. Mostly, I’ve been reading my journals to get a sense of my illness before it was diagnosed. Aside from the shock of seeing how ill I was, I was struck by my retroactive memory loss. The months or years when I didn’t journal are gaps in my memory. Sometimes I can conjure a vague image or touch a ghost of an emotion, but mostly the gaps are flat blanks. That, I’m used to. I’ve requested my medical and therapy records to try to piece together those times. I’ll dig out photo albums and talk to people who knew me then. I’ll be able to place something in those white spaces.

But even more disturbing to me is that I can’t remember the things I did journal about as recently as two years ago. Some of the images are a little clearer, some of the emotion easier to touch, but the details of my life continue to slide into oblivion. Once my days and nights leave the Now, they march like little lemmings off the cliff of Recall.

It’s hard for me right now to keep from making up stories about that, to refrain from following my Dark Brain’s search for the reason why, to not obsess about the possibilities thrown into depression’s sea-foam—electroconvulsive therapy, drugs, genetics . . .

In truth, it doesn’t matter why my memory is so damaged. What matters is how I deal with it now. And aside from keeping my brain as healthy as possible, it seems keeping a record might be helpful. If I ever thought journaling was self-indulgent, I don’t anymore. It may be the only way to hang onto my days once they’ve passed.

While this current episode washes through, I’ll try to hold this idea lightly, try not to be frightened by what I’ve found, try to just breathe and wait. If it still seems important on the other side, then. . . well . . . we’ll see.

Shifting Sands

25 Apr 2012 8 Comments

by Sandy Sue in bipolar disorder, developing consciousness, mixed-media art, writing Tags: agitation, anger, anxiety, awareness, delusion, distorted thinking, drawing, management, mixed-state, Observer, resistance, routine, self-worth, symptoms, transition, triggers, volunteering, work

What I’ve found as a student of my own bipolar disorder is that I function best with a routine and a minimum of stress. I can surf change and surprises if they remain small and limited, but pile on too many or shake up my world too much and I become symptomatic.

Over the last few days, I’ve watched my agitation grow—both motor (feeling like I have to keep moving) and psychic (intense inner tension). I’m quick to anger, and I’m finding it difficult to focus on tasks. At the same time, I have a nagging premonition of doom, like I’m forgetting something important. My thoughts are heavy, self-defeating, distorted toward darkness. This is all classic mixed-state bipolar disorder.

Stress is different for everyone. I’ve thought about this a lot as I considered volunteering at the public library. The biggest, most consistent stressor in my life has always been work. Before my mental break in 2006, I changed jobs almost every seven years. That seemed to be my limit. I would get physically sick, or quit on the verge of getting fired, or later, suffer anxiety attacks.

After moving home in 2007, I tried several times to work. I’ve always said my problem was that I couldn’t be consistent, that holding to someone else’s schedule was impossible for me. But, I’m not sure that’s the issue. All I know for sure is that working causes me enormous stress, which makes me sick.

So I had mixed feelings when the librarian took my name, but said she didn’t have any work for me at present. Relief mixed with irritation. I recognize the irritation as part of the agitation pool I’m paddling in right now. Relief is the proper response. I don’t need to add another stressor right now.

Working on a new writing project, one without a clear form and direction, is very different from rewriting a piece of fiction. I’ve learned enough about my writing process to know it will take shape eventually. But, for now it slips through my fingers. There’s no path to follow. That’s very disconcerting and fodder for the distorted thoughts crowding into my head.

I knew that challenging myself to draw every day for a month would bring up old wounds to be healed, but I never anticipated the level of resistance I feel in my body. Part of that is the agitation itself. I’m genuinely shocked at the comments readers have left about the sketches I’ve posted so far. They look like crap to me. So, I Watch those thoughts, try to remain curious about where the distortion comes from, try to feel the anxiety in my body. I hold the possibility that the sketches are fine, that the self-criticism is a product of my illness and a distorted view of my history. I wake up a little bit and breathe.

Today, I will comfort myself as best I can while holding the tension—work out at the Y, go to Panera where I feel successful as a writer and can afford a couple of meals (both money and calorie-wise). I’ll listen to my music and sing while I drive the half hour to Ames, take in the spring greens and count the baby animals (lambs are so clean!).

Seeing what’s going on, bringing awareness to my symptoms and lifting them up out of the shadows makes the process so much easier. It drains off the fear and shame. It helps me identify the delusions. With awareness, I can place my steps more carefully in the shifting sands of my illness and keep moving forward.

A Bad-Ass Review

23 Apr 2012 9 Comments

by Sandy Sue in Bipolar Bad-Ass Training, bipolar disorder, exercise, health, quality of life, writing Tags: awareness, compulsive eating, diet, distraction, fatigue, pain, resistance, routine, surgery, TOPS, Unitarian Universalists, volunteering, Will

A page has turned.

Or, maybe, a season is done.

Whatever the metaphor, I’ve put closure to a few major events in my life—healing from surgery, Callinda, and celebrating Callinda. Now it’s time to regroup, refocus and point myself in the next direction.

To do that, I turn to my Bipolar Bad-Ass Training, which seems odd since I’m not coming out of a bipolar episode. But, the last six weeks threw my normal routine out the window, and Bad-Assery is all about putting routine back in place and setting focus.

Clean Eating

I was thrilled that I got all the party left-overs out of my apartment before I indulged in more than one binge. Saturday night, I was exhausted after cleaning and schlepping. All I wanted to do was self-medicate with food and go numb in front of the TV, which I did. But, the next morning I gave away the rest of the left-overs or threw them in the dumpster. Better in there than in me.

Getting too tired, too emotional, or too rigid are guaranteed triggers of my compulsive eating. I’m pleased that I minimized the damage and am back to Paying Attention in this area.

Stamina and Strength

I’ve returned to my 6:00 AM water aerobics class. I can still feel some soreness, and I’m not as fast or strong as when I left six weeks ago, but I’m back. I know that a huge part of my quick recovery is due to my level of fitness going into surgery. That feels wonderful. Me? Fit? Who woulda thunk it?

The next physical issue to address will be my shoulder, reinjured when I swam laps in December. My chiropractor suggested I get an MRI to check for structural damage, so I have an appointment to see my medical doc in a few weeks.

Set Priorities

My basic priorities remain the same—Write, Make Art and Make a Life. Today I started working on what I’m calling my Bad-Assery manuscript—my experience as a bipolar warrior. Lots of work to be done, lots of research to explore, but today I started.

For the next month or so, I’ll be devoting my art time to drawing. I can feel a big boulder of resistance in my gut over this, but just like I pushed through my fear of writing, I can push through my fear of drawing. Each time I pick up my pencil, I will feel the resistance and push back, just a little bit. Holding this tension will strengthen my Will and give me more energy to push back the next time. Growing my Will is important. It will help me to push back against my compulsive impulses when they rise. Anyway I can do that deserves time and attention.

For me, making a life means finding ways to be in the community. Tutoring kids was too stressful and helping at the Animal Rescue League was too sad. So, I stopped at the library today to see if they could use a volunteer. I’ll talk to the person in charge about details tomorrow. There’s also my involvement in TOPS and the Unitarian Universalist group. A Life is definitely being made.

Lay in Supplies

There are chores and maintenance items to attend to, things I let go because I either wasn’t strong enough after surgery, didn’t have the time while planning for the party, or didn’t have the money. It’s time to take care of those things.

Refocus. Regroup. Take stock. And take the next step.

I’m ready.

Callinda Launch Party

22 Apr 2012 17 Comments

by Sandy Sue in bipolar disorder, celebrations, family, friends, quality of life, relationships, writing Tags: community, gratitude, love

Outside, the day was a little gloomy with patchy rain. Inside, love burned bright.

My cousin, Janet, was the first to arrive as she was on her way to work. We grew up together, her family’s farm a mile away from mine. Life happened, and we lost touch. But, here she is—the same loving, hilarious, take-no-prisoners force of nature she was when we were kids. Janet is the perfect example of what I’m trying to do with my life now—pull together past and present to open a door for the future, leave nothing behind but hold it all lightly.

The gals in my meditation group encouraged me to do a reading from Callinda at the party. They were a little surprised I hadn’t planned on it, seeing as how the whole shindig was about finishing the thing and getting it “published” on this blog. So, I dug out my glasses and tried to find the most hair-raising section—just to tantalize those who hadn’t read it yet. Look how attentive they were—even the kids listened! If I hadn’t already felt surrounded by love, I surely did then.

All the party details fell into place like a jigsaw puzzle. Kris Davison prepared wonderful, tasty food, my sister took over as dish washer/photographer/hostess so I could mingle and visit with all 35 guests, we almost had enough chairs most of the time, and I’d made enough Quote Plaques for everyone.

For me, this party was a way to thank everyone who supported me while I worked on Callinda—and, at the same time, struggled to manage my bipolar disorder. These folks gave me perspective, laughter, money, coffee, hugs, meals, shelter and cheerleading. They took care of my Dad, exercised with me, meditated with me, accepted me as I was, invited me into their homes, paid my way, gave me work, introduced me as their friend, took me on dates, cheered when I lost weight, and stayed when others left.

I wanted to thank them, and yet they brought flowers and gifts along with their support and love.

Whenever I would wander into a conversation or plop down next to someone taking a break from grazing the food table, they would say, “What a neat bunch of people.”

Yes, they are.

Echoes of Another Life

16 Apr 2012 9 Comments

by Sandy Sue in bipolar disorder, celebrations, mixed-media art, relationships, writing Tags: awareness, compulsive spending, gratitude, obsessive/compulsive behavior, poverty, self-worth

I went shopping for my party today. I don’t remember the last time I stepped into a liquor store or a fancy gift shop. But, I did remember the feeling—picking up and sniffing pretty candles, recognizing wine labels, touching lush fabric. It was as if ghost images of my old life bled through today’s snapshot. But, they were someone else’s memories—a very different me.

And while I enjoyed myself—found pretty napkins and nice Champaign for the punch—I don’t miss that life anymore. Living 200% below the poverty line has made me much more careful and practical about money. Even with my propensity for compulsive spending during bipolar episodes, I can usually live within my means now. I’ve learned there’s very little I must have.

I thought celebrating the finish of Callinda in style meant spending enough money on a party to feel normal (i.e. not poor and not crazy). I’m grateful to my mom for gifting me with the funds to make that party a reality. But, I discovered today that part of that drive, that need, was an echo from a life that no longer exists. I really could have been happy with M&Ms and cheap punch, because that’s who I am now. I am poor. And I am crazy. I don’t need to prove that I’m anything else. And the party would have been just as joyful.

Somehow, this understanding makes me feel sweeter and expansive about the party coming up on Saturday. My gratitude seems to spread out like melting ice—a slow seep dampening everything around me. In this moment, I am perfectly content with my life. With the poverty, with the challenges and gifts my illness gives me, with the support and love of my family and friends, with my sore fingers from crafting presents for those who want to celebrate with me. In this moment, I’m most grateful for the fading influence that those ghost images hold over me. Slowly, slowly, I’m setting myself free.

Feeling Human

14 Apr 2012 12 Comments

by Sandy Sue in art, poetry, quality of life Tags: beauty, joy

April is National Poetry Month. Who knew? Congress obviously has other fish to fry than announcing such news to the country. But our local library knew and sponsored a wonderful event the other night.

A retired English teacher from a nearby school district gave a program on Robert Frost. He told about Frost’s life and struggles as a poet and a man, then sprinkled the talk with performances of Frost’s poetry. I say performances because these were more than readings or recitations—they were dramatic expressions of Frost’s words and emotions. I was moved to tears during every poem, and now have a whole new appreciation for the man and his poetry.

As I walked home under a star-laden sky, I felt like some empty cup inside me had been filled—the part of me that loves theater and folk music from other countries, the part of me that dances and chants, the part of me that seeks out museums and art festivals, the part of me that lives in color and moves in rhythm. I couldn’t put my finger on it. What was that expansive feeling that had been watered by Robert Frost? Then the stars told me. I feel human.

• • •

A Minor Bird

I have wished a bird would fly away,
And not sing by my house all day;

Have clapped my hands at him from the door
When it seemed as if I could bear no more.

The fault must partly have been in me.
The bird was not to blame for his key.

And of course there must be something wrong
In wanting to silence any song.

Robert Frost