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.

In and Out

20 Oct 2012 8 Comments

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

hand made cards, collage art

♦ ♦ ♦

Awake at 4:00.  Panic and sinking despair.  Read email and blogs to calm, calm, calm. But the discomfort like gravel under the skin, ants in the brain.  Go! Go! Go!  Dash water on our face and find clean underwear.  Enough grooming.  Go!  Will jump in the truck and Drive.  To the Forbidden City.  Starbucks.  A movie later.

Another voice.  So quiet.  *wait.

Check billfold.  $45 to last two more weeks.  Not enough.  Check movies and times.  Ah, one we haven’t seen.  Print out the free soda coupon.  Check bank account.  Balance on the Visa is HighHighHigh.  Nothing left in checking.

*don’t do this today.

We lay on the floor to listen better to the quiet voice.  Want to bolt.  Need to bolt.  But can’t squeeze past the facts.  Have to.  Have to.  Can’t stay in town.  No proper coffee in town anymore.  No proper writing place.  Can’t come back to the apartment-prison.  Can’tCan’tCan’t.  Go now.

*wait.  can you hold the tension?

No.  Too much.  Drowning.

*think of it like an experiment.  try, and see what happens.  try one thing.

On the floor with Henry watching from the chair.  We can go to the Y.  Ride the recumbent bike.  Walk.

*yes, then what?

Then, we’ll see.

*good.

We walk to the Y.  Ride the bike.  Moving through syrup.  Pain.  Exhausted before starting.  Stumbling tired after.

*what now?

Experimenting and holding the tension of flight or fight.

*can you stay?  *can you keep from spending money today?

We will stay in town.  We have a gift card for the movies here.  Maybe go later.  Forget going to the inadequate cafe.  Make our own chai.  Need almond milk.  Forget going to the grocery store.  Too tired.  Too much pain.  Make a meal from what we have.  Healthy, but too much.  Staying, but eating.  Can only hold so much tension.  Drop into eating and watching a movie.  Then, drop into full sleep.  For hours.

Wake up like a drunk.  Out on the sidewalk with the iPod and an apple.  Walk.  Eat a proper snack.  Feel the breeze—sun-warm on the top, October-cool on the bottom.  Shuffle through drifts of leaves.  Plodding, plodding.  Still, the gravel under the skin.  Still, the ants in the brain.  Feet are platters, swollen and sore.  Body feels huge, bloated.  FeelFeelFeel.  But, the urgent voice is quiet.  Only the Other voice is here.

*breathe.  turn your face to the sun.  yes…

We miss our street concentrating on putting one platter in front of the other.  Funny.  At home, we pound a nail and hang a picture.  We need a companion for this picture.  TensionTensionTension.  Online we find one.  Not too expensive.  And we need double-sided tape.  And…and…and…  Tension stretches and snaps.  Running free.  Almost.  Remove items from the shopping cart.  DeleteDeleteDelete. $35 spent.  Not too bad.

*come back to holding the tension. be curious.  can you keep coming back?

Daylight fades.  Henry sits at the window watching the street go dark.  Time to shroud the TV.  Time to write.  Time to breathe.  In and out.  Like the tension.  Like the experiment.  In and out.

In and out.

Anger and Compulsive Eating

17 Aug 2012 15 Comments

by Sandy Sue in bipolar disorder, developing consciousness, mixed-media art, spiritual practice Tags: , , , , ,

Part of the pledge we say every week in TOPS is “I am an intelligent person.  I will control my emotions and not let my emotions control me.”  Emotional eating, compulsive eating, is an enormous problem for most people in our group.  It is an issue we all struggle with and support one another to address.  But, as someone with bipolar disorder, I knew I would be lying if I said the pledge as written.  My moods are uncontrollable.  Emotions often erupt out of thin air.  I edited my version of the pledge to say “I will observe my emotions and not let my thoughts control me.”  I felt this put the TOPS pledge in alignment with my practice.  If I could observe my thoughts and emotions, I could discern which pieces might be out of my control and which ones I might be able to work with.

I received an opportunity to Observe this week.  For the past few days, I have been enraged, and I watched myself eat everything in sight.  This sounds like I was conscious.  I was not.  I was given moments, flashes, where awareness occurred in spite of the boiling rage.  These were gifts borne of Practice.  In those moments, I could see I was suffering and making the suffering worse.  I tried to hold my anger gently.  Then, the anger would wash over me, and I would go back to sleep.

Anger is part of my illness.  It is also part of being Human.  Rage does not make me a monster or a lunatic, but it pulls me from the path I want to travel.  This morning I knew I must find a different way to work with this particular manifestation of anger if I was to continue on my chosen path.  I needed a practice.  Admitting that made me remember a book I’d not touched in a long time, a book by someone I consider my Teacher—Thich Nhat Hanh.

What a shock to open his book and find the first chapter devoted to consumption.

We all need to know how to handle and take care of our anger.  To do this, we must pay more attention to the biochemical aspect of anger, because anger has its roots in our body as well as our mind.  When we analyze our anger, we can see its physiological elements.  We have to look deeply at how we eat, how we drink, how we consume, and how we handle our body in our daily life.

I expected my Teacher to offer me a way to take care of my anger so I could stop compulsively eating.  How ironic, how very Buddhist, to discover that Mindful Eating is the way.  At least, the first step of the Way.  So, today I will start.  I will follow the Mindfulness Training on consumption…

…to cultivate good health, both physical and mental, for myself, my family, and my society by practicing mindful eating, drinking, and consuming.  I vow to ingest only items that preserve peace, well-being, and joy in my body, in my consciousness, and in the collective body and consciousness of my family and society.  I am determined not to use alcohol or any other intoxicant or to ingest food or other items that contain toxins, such as certain TV programs, magazines, books, films, and conversations…

Today I will slow down and try to stay conscious about what I take in, not feeding the anger, not building more energy for my anger to use.  I will breathe, and practice, and try to be open to what rises in me.  The path is before me.  This is the first step.

Excerpts from Anger—Wisdom for Cooling the Flames by Thich Nhat Hahn.

A Cautious Step

22 Jul 2012 4 Comments

by Sandy Sue in Bipolar Bad-Ass Training, bipolar disorder, exercise, mixed-media art, money, music, relationships, writing Tags: , , , , ,

Collage art, greeting card artA cautious optimism seems to be creeping up on me.  The last couple of days moved through with less frenetic, spastic energy; less explosive mood changes; more moments of quiet joy; more tolerance.  It’s too early to tell if this is a shift out of the mixed state rapid cycling I’ve been experiencing, or just another variation of it.  When all the bipolar symptoms get thrown in a bag and shaken up, moments of relief are bound to stick together once in a while, too.  So, the practice is not to name it, not to grasp it, but simply Observe.  And then take appropriate action.

“Appropriate” is a moving target, just like my symptoms.  What I’m capable of doing changes with each shift.  So, just when I sit down to make cards, I’m suddenly unable to tolerate being in my apartment.  Or when the urge to eat bends me over the bakery goods at Panera, I feel the compulsion vanish in an instant.  I guess it’s not surprising that I’m experiencing a lot of vertigo.  These jumps from one state to another to something combined make me a little loopy.  Lots of starting and stopping.  Lots of whipping around and muttering, “What?”

Even in this weird, stuttering place a few constants remain.  I can always exercise.  The pain that comes with the depressive symptoms may make weight-baring exercise more difficult, but there’s always water and my new friend, the recumbent bike.  And there’s always writing.  No matter how crazy I get, I can always write. It may be crap, but I’ve learned that crappy writing is a gift.  It starts the trek to the real story.  A crappy first draft or hideous turn of phrase marks where the story isn’t.  It’s a pushpin in a map.  With enough pushpins, I can see just where the path leads.  Even if I’m crazy, I can still read a map.

Exercise and writing give me a little foundation.  Whatever else I try to do with my day starts and ends there.  So, today I’ll stand on my foundation and cautiously pick up my Bad-Ass Training, knowing I may have to drop it if this moment of relief ends.  I’ll check to see where I’m leaking energy or money.  I’ll reach out to my support network.  I’ll take care of chores that have been abandoned.  I’ll shroud my TV.  I’ll do what I can in each moment to get ready for that moment to shift.

And while I’m getting ready, I’ll listen to my music.  Because that makes everything easier—like Eurythmics’ Miracle of Love.

13 Miracle Of Love

Haunted Houses

10 Jun 2012 15 Comments

by Sandy Sue in bipolar disorder, family, friends, quality of life Tags: , , , , , , ,

It’s here.  The next episode.

The elevator doors opened, and I rode it down into that familiar darkness.  Time to see how the training, and planning, and digging in play out when all the rules change, and I turn from Jekyll to Hyde.

I felt the change start on Friday while I did my laundry.  I’d identified my mom’s house as an eating trigger already, so I had a plan.  While my clothes sudsed, I’d get my bike out of the garage and ride around town.  I even brought a little tire pump in case the tires were flat.  They were.  And the pump didn’t work.  I put the bike away, went back into the house, and saw the Fiddle Faddle.  The rest was a blur of food.

I broke the surface occasionally during my feeding frenzy.  I told myself, “You don’t have to do this” as I reached for the container of cookies in the freezer.  But, that voice was wee and far.  In retrospect, I had choices.  I could have taken a walk or gotten in my car—anything to get away from the house.  But, those weren’t choices then.  They would have been inconceivable.

I drove from Mom’s straight to another trigger house where I lived with my friends for two and a half years while I was at my worst.  Whenever I visit, I feel the shades of those years gather around me.  I feel that other me wanting to rise up.  When my friends go out of town, I take care of Gracie, their dog.  Again, I had a plan on how to dodge the ghosts.  Instead of “keeping Gracie company” I’d let her outside, take her for a walk, check her food and water, then get out.  No hanging around with the big screen TV and the pantry full of trigger food.  Uh uh.  Get in, take care of business, get out.

All plans flew out of my head when I walked in the back door.  All the old behaviors reared up and took over.  Yesterday, I even brought over my own food to try to keep the ghosts at bay.  They just turned out to be appetizers.

Even while I berated myself for being possessed, I could still watch with curiosity.  I watched how the exhaustion inherent in depression seemed to grease the compulsion’s skids.  I watched how all the self-talk that worked while I was stable made not a dent in the compulsion now.  I watched as the compulsion suddenly stopped, the frenzy ended, and I quit eating.  The good news was that in my own apartment, I didn’t feel the compulsion to eat.  At least for the time being, “that house is clean.”

Curiosity and information will lead to different strategies.  It seems clear I need to stay away from these haunted houses for the time being.  Perhaps I need to do my laundry at the laundromat this summer.  Maybe I can’t take care of Gracie for a while.  The eating rituals that have developed in these houses need to be broken and the ghosts exorcised.  That will be my homework.

In the meantime, I have one more day with Gracie.  Once again, I’ll try to stick to business and get out of the house before the specters find me, before depression and compulsion conjure phantoms too strong to escape.

I’m on an Adventure.

Don’t Touch that Dial!

19 May 2012 12 Comments

by Sandy Sue in Bipolar Bad-Ass Training, bipolar disorder, developing consciousness, mixed-media art, TV and Movies, weight loss Tags: , , , , , ,

My initial plan for living without TV was to see how it went for three days (until weigh-in at TOPS).  I realized unplugging completely would be another case of Black or White/All or Nothing thinking, a pattern of mine that is usually unrealistic and breaks down fairly quickly.

Balance has always been elusive.  Perhaps being a Libra with bipolar disorder tips the scales (so to speak), and I overcompensate to aim for that center line.  Or perhaps with so much that is unmanageable in my life, I clutch at ways to take control.  Whatever powers may be in play, pathological or cosmic, I’ve learned this about myself and try to loosen my thinking and actions from their rigid, polar leanings.

The statistics for those three days didn’t really surprise me.  I took in 1000 calories less each day and ended up losing 4 pounds for the week.

I still went to my friends’ house on Wednesday night for our Criminal Minds date.  It was the two-hour season finale, and I watched closely as my desire to eat woke up toward the end of the first hour.  My thoughts kept sliding to what I could forage from my friends’ kitchen.  As the show continued, I started planning my attack on the Kwik Stop on the way home—Cheetos or Chips?  I watched and pushed against the compulsion, fell into the dream of the show, watched the desire rise, pushed against it.  This is what Ouspensky calls strengthening the Will as opposed to exercising will power.  Tomato, tomah-to…

So, now what?  TV is definitely a portal to my compulsive eating.  Do I use it as a tool or chain it up and toss it onto oblivion?  Can I hold the awareness it would take to work with it?  What about when the next bipolar episode arrives and I need a cheap, easy form of distraction?

I journaled about this for several hours and found no easy answers.  Of course.  If it was easy, someone would have written a book about it by now.  I think I’ll leave the TV off for now, not shun it, not cast it into the Fires of Hell.  If I need it, it will be there.  Along with a little notebook to record my Observations and help me hold awareness.  Maybe that will help me push against the compulsion when it rises.  Maybe not.

In the meantime, I have a lot of my own Programming to Watch.

Shifting Sands

25 Apr 2012 8 Comments

by Sandy Sue in bipolar disorder, developing consciousness, mixed-media art, writing Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

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.

Waking from the Dream

12 Apr 2012 8 Comments

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

I woke up this morning after a dream about my high school boyfriend.  It’s a version of how I start the day full of regret in different parts of my bipolar cycle.

I used to dream about him regularly.  He and my ex-husband were interchangeable in my dreams—the men I loved and hurt deeply.  They were casualties of my illness and fear.  I wanted so to make amends to them both, and to believe that they could forgive me, but neither would respond to my letters.  And they had no reason to.  I knew the best thing to do, for myself and for them, was leave them alone.

Last year, my high school sweetheart’s mother died.  She was someone who cared about me and made me feel safe as a teenager.  I took a chance and offered my condolences.  He responded, and we started a hesitant correspondence.  I offered my apology and regrets and, while he never responded directly to them, I felt I had been heard.  My dreams about him stopped.

The dream this morning might have started another flood of regret, but that old wound is healed now.  I know these dreams are a well-worn path my mind travels down when I’m slipping into depression, not necessarily a photograph of old sins.  I can observe the reactions that rise because of the dream and disengage.  I can watch how my thoughts want to twist into self-recrimination and loathing without riding with them into the dark.

I can wake up from the dream, send blessings into the ether to my two exes, and start my day.  Today, at this moment, I am awake.

Too Much of a Good Thing

05 Apr 2012 15 Comments

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

There’s no doubt about it.  I am in a manic phase.  The flood of ideas and potential projects keep washing over me, each one more brilliant than the last.  What I’m trying to do is stay aware and stay focused.  I’m journaling to capture the ideas and get them out of my head.  When the mania lets go of me, I’ll be able to look at them objectively.  Often I find the ideas are still good ones, but not practical or timely or worth pursuing.

For example, yesterday I envisioned a new soft art piece—a Winter Solstice banner using a cloth-charring technique and quilting with used dryer sheets; revisited an idea for a novel about a bipolar woman living with her gay best friend in a conservative small town; and party favors for my Callinda party using cloth, beads, stamps and quotes from the story.  Swirled among those ideas are the details of the day today.  Get to the Y. Remember to take my food journal to TOPS.  Remember to take items for the silent auction at TOPS.  Strip the bed to do laundry.  All thoughts, all details, carry equal weight and flash in and out of my mind.  So writing them down and making lists helps to drain some of the wildness out of them.

I’m also trying to watch what the giddy energy brings up in me.  So far, I’m not feeling the compulsions.  Yesterday, I went shopping with my friend, Cheryl, and only indulged in a magazine (The Writer, for research purposes, of course) and craft adhesive (which I needed).

I have less of a desire to eat than usual, which may be part of the mania and the energetic spin.  Since I don’t have mania nearly as often as depression, I’m not familiar with this symptom.  Or I don’t remember it.  I’ve always been so identified with being a compulsive overeater, that the idea of not being hungry or even caring about food seems freakishly alien.  So I will watch this and mark it.

But, there is definitely an urge to GO, and I catch myself spinning around starting to do one thing, stopping, starting another, stopping.  I feel the nervy, acidic churn in my stomach.  Last night at our weekly Criminal Minds get-together, I noticed that Tom turned up the volume on the TV several times, so that told me how much more I was nattering.

Management today will be a constant returning to my breath, reminders to stop and relax.  Thursday is a busy day for me, and that will help use the energy my mania generates.  So will more exercise.  Our TOPS group plans to walk around a lake after our meeting today, which is perfect.  As always, the Observer must be in the forefront, monitoring the impulses and flurry of thoughts, creating a space between them and me where I can find myself, creating a space to rest and slow down.

It’s all part of the Bipolar Dance.  One cha-cha at a time.

Double Whammy

19 Mar 2012 11 Comments

by Sandy Sue in bipolar disorder, family, friends, mixed-media art Tags: , , , , , , ,

I didn’t really think this whole surgery thing through.

I planned on the discomfort, and the limitations, and the loopy effects of the pain medication.  I stocked my cupboards and laid in supplies of crossword puzzles and movies.  I lined up folks to help me with chores.  But, I really didn’t consider the possibility of having a bipolar episode during this recovery period.  Oops.

This morning I woke up with depression. It exaggerated all the ickiness—my belly hurt more, the narcotics spun me in tighter circles.  But, worse than that, it blew apart my Zen space.

Even though I’d been nervous about the surgery, I purposefully cultivated peace going into it.  As a result, a solid level of acceptance and compassion came home with me, a restfulness in the Now of each moment, gentleness in acknowledging my limits.  Pain was simple and easily tended to.

The depression turned all that calm into suffering.  It twisted my thinking just enough to introduce feelings of abandonment and isolation.  It made me doubt my family and my friends.  It did what depression always does—focused on the negative and took me prisoner as it dove into the dark.

I’m working with it this afternoon, using my mantra to get some distance between me and the faulty thinking (It’s the illness talking, not me.  It’s the illness thinking, not me…).  I’m making cards and cutting bits out of magazines to keep the forebrain distracted.  And each time the depression shoves me into the future or wallows in the past, I come back to This Moment.  Right now, I am comfortable enough and safe enough.  There’s nothing I need to do, no one I need to answer to.  I’ve got a hankering for cherry pie.  I’ll call a friend and see if they can take me to Perkins later.  One step, one need, one healing at a time.

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