Spiral

handmade greeting card, collage art, grandmother, vintageThis morning marks 20 days for me without bolting.  20 days without that awful itch to climb out of my skin and run.  20 days of staying close to home instead of escaping in my truck to the distractions and comfort of the city.

And I woke up crying.

The scales tip, straighten, tip again.  Night follows Day follows Night.  Spring comes back around.  We each move along our own spirals.  If we’re willing and patient, we may feel the spiral lifting with each turn, bringing our Work with us, using what we’ve learned.  If we choose, we can see the patterns in the way we move through our lives.  If we stay awake, we see everything come round again.  Our path along the spiral is inevitable.  How we dance with it is up to us.

Chocolate Covered Cherries

chocolate-covered-cherriesSo, here I am, practicing living and accepting my life As Is, and what happens?  I’m dipped, like a juicy cherry, in chocolate fantasy.

It’s a pattern.  I see a movie (hero) that touches some core hunger, and my imagination gallops off with me hanging on by my teeth.  It happened with Christopher Reeve in Superman.  It happened with Indiana Jones.  It happened with Christian Bale in The Dark Knight.  Now I’ve been kidnapped by Thorin from The Hobbit (and his portrayer, Richard Armitage, by association).  Scenarios, stories, images spring fully formed from my fevered brow like Athena from Zeus’ forehead.  I scribble them all down to try to get them out of my head, but there’s no draining this well.  More Stories take their place.  Details, dialog, complicated plots.  I’ve been invaded.

Thorin Oakenshield, Richard Armitage, The HobbitThis manic brainstorm is lush and intoxicating, sexy and completely distracting.  I can live there instead of the Real World, which is painful and plodding. The desire to stay there is incredibly strong, but I’m supposed to be facing my reality, right?

I do the best I can, which isn’t much.  When the Stories in my head take a little break, I place myself in space and time (I’m in my truck, my hands on the steering wheel, Annie Lennox is singing about broken glass…).  I take a few deep breaths and feel my body.  Here I am.  Then the Story picks up again and I’m onto the next scene.

I’ve decided it might be better to just ride this pleasure cruise until the mania shifts.  And it will.  I’ll do my best to reorient and ground in the Real, but I don’t think I can stop my brain from doing this.  I’m not sure I want to.  I like chocolate covered cherries too much.

Mental Meltdown of the Pneumonia Mind

collage art, hand-made cards

People said I’d go stir-crazy.  Being sick and incapacitated for weeks will mess with your head, they said.

Oh, my.

I’ve officially rounded the bend.  I’ve spent all the money I have left for September, mostly on food and DVDs, which destroyed months of work at losing weight.  I charged up my credit card so that I could put storage shelves in my bathroom—a project on Saturday that left me exhausted and overrun by my own mania.  I feel humiliated, and desperate, and absolutely out of control.

I’ve tried several ways to slow the train down—walking around the track at the Y, walking outside, napping.  They help in the moment, but as soon as I stop moving or wake up, the frantic scrabbling in my brain starts up again.  Every day I start out vowing to “do it different,”  to shroud my TV and do something else.  And every day I end up too tired, too bored, too lonely, too sick.

What I’m hanging onto at this point is that my body is starting to recover.  The lungs are clearing.  The voice is coming back.  I will return to my water aerobics class this morning to splash around if nothing else.  And as my strength returns, I can shift back into my routine, which will give my bipolar claws something else to grab onto.

It’s not like this is new material.  The compulsions, the frantic behavior, the way this illness blows up my life are all reruns of my personal sitcom.  It’s just that adding physical illness squeezes all margins out of the script.  The stress, the disruption of routine, the discomfort run the lines off the page.  I’m not making much sense.

But, there’s a balm in being able to admit the insanity.  Confession always starts a healing.  Lack of insight and secretiveness are part of this illness, so naming names is a good sign.  I’ll hang onto that today.

Spontaneous Combustion

This past weekend I experienced rapid cycling (alternating depressive and manic episodes over a short period of time) for the first time since I weaned off all my meds 18 months ago.  And while very uncomfortable, I managed fine.  It did make me wonder about my stress level, though.

Losing weight is stressful for anyone.  Making major behavioral changes is very stressful for anyone.  On top of those, I’ve also eliminated two of my life-long, sure-fire methods of dealing with my bipolar disorder—TV and compulsive eating.  So not only am I under a great deal of stress, but I’ve lost the two most powerful ways of coping with it.  What’s left in my old bag of tricks is compulsive spending and sexual fantasy, which are both shouting for constant attention.

“Hmm,” I pondered, “perhaps I need a bit more support as I tear my life apart.”

So, today I went to my therapist.  Michelle said all the things I knew she’d say, but it was so comforting to hear them out loud:

All these changes are positive and incredibly stressful.

Don’t worry too much about Captain America and The Huntsman hanging out over your shoulder—have fun with them.

Keep journaling and tracking your feelings.

Try not to be rigid—if the agitation gets too big, allow yourself some TV.

Okay, then.  I’m not hallucinating when I hear Chris Hemsworth mumbling behind me.  And I’m not failing when eating my supper sans distraction makes me cry with loneliness.  No.  It’s just me ripping my life apart and feeling the effects.  Feeling, without numbing those feelings, is frightening and painful.  Many days I feel like an open wound.  But, I’m okay.  And the hunks standing behind me are okay.  However, I’m going to keep seeing Michelle for a while.  She knows how to hose me down if I burst into flames.  Everyone needs a buddy with flame retardant.

Whittling

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.

Haunted Houses

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.

Renewed Bad-Assery

So far, I’ve worked through Chapter 4 of Dr. Phil’s book, The Ultimate Weight Solution: The 7 Keys to Weight Loss Freedom, and continue to be astounded by the practical, concrete application of what I already know to be true.  I know what my bad eating and bingeing habits are.  I’ve written them down with every weight loss book I’ve ever read.  I also know when these behaviors happen—the activities, situations or people that trigger them.  I’ve carefully examined what my payoff is for continuing to eat compulsively.

All that information ever concluded for me was that compulsive eating was an integral part of my bipolar disorder, and that untangling those two would be nearly impossible.

But, Dr. Phil gave me a couple more things to consider and, maybe, a way to start slipping the knots of my compulsion.  He opined the only way to get rid of a bad eating habit was to replace it with an activity incompatible with eating.  So, I made a list of things I can do besides eat during the times when I’m most prone to bingeing.  It’s a fun list—full of physical activity, art, writing and things that need to get done anyway.

Then, I listed the ways I can adjust my eating style.  For example, I eat too fast, so I plan to stop and take a breath before starting a meal, then set down my fork between bites.  I know all about how the body can’t register fullness until 20 minutes after the fact, but my fullness button has always been much more broken than that.  I can eat for hours and never feel “full.”  And even though I’ve read about these techniques before, I’ve never tried them, because I was sure they wouldn’t work.  I’m willing to do whatever it takes now.

The last piece (so far) was to make a plan.  Oh, goody!  I’m a planning pro!  My journals are full of plans, most of which were too grandiose, too unrealistic, too stringent, too desperate to ever succeed.  Over the last couple of years, I’ve come to understand this about myself.  I’ve learned to adjust my goals to something more manageable and realistic.  I never could have accomplished this without my Bipolar Bad-Ass Training (Thank you, Xena and Linda Hamilton!).

My plan includes some radical changes and some simple ones.  The big change is eliminating TV.  I don’t know if this will be permanent, but for now I can’t watch TV without eating, so out it goes.  I also eat when I read (another way to numb my emotional turmoil).  I’m going to try some shifts with reading first, since I want to continue to work with my ECT-induced reading disability.  First, I’ll make sure to finish a meal and do some other activity before opening a book.  If I read while I eat or right after I eat, I just continue shoveling food in my mouth.  So, maybe a break will make a difference.  If not, I’ll try reading only where there’s no access to food, like at the library.  That seems drastic, but again, I’m ready to do what it takes.

Without TV I have a lot of open time to fill, especially in the evening.  My plan is to go back to the Y after supper to work on the stationary bike, or take a walk when the weather is fair.  I used to practice Tai Chi, so I will pull out the DVD (proper use of the TV) and start that practice again.  And most importantly, I plan to make meditation part of my nightly practice.  Like drawing, I’ve been wanting to get back to regular meditation for years.  Now is the time.

I know this is a huge life change.  The few days I’ve been without TV have jangled my nerves.  I can feel the habitual behavior straining to reestablish itself and throwing up flares of panic.  I also know that I have to plant these seeds while I’m stable and give them every opportunity to take root.  I need a practical plan in place and working before the next episode comes or I’ll chuck the whole thing and fall back into compulsive behavior.  I will anyway, I know that, but hopefully these new tools will give me a way to steer the compulsion off its normal target.  All I’m looking for is a tiny adjustment, a way to alter the compulsion’s trajectory slightly.

I may not be able to follow through on all these plans.  It may not be realistic to do them all at once.  But, I’ll never know unless I try.

Don’t Touch that Dial!

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.

Path of Least Resistance

Ever since I got back from vacation, I can’t seem to climb on top of my compulsive eating.  I know what’s going on—I got WAY off my routine, and I’m in the process of revisioning what my life can be—two destabilizing and anxiety-producing elements that are calling up all my old (and dysfunctional) coping mechanisms.  I’m spending too much money on too much food.

Every morning I start over with my oatmeal, the solid bedrock of my daily menu, but by the end of the day I’m emotionally ravenous and flying around the apartment ripping open low-fat pudding cups by the dozen.

Thursday, at my first TOPS meeting in three weeks, I was elated to have gained only 0.2 pounds.  I thought for sure the whole ball of wax (or chub) would have rolled back on.  So, even though I’m eating too much, too many calories for my goal, I’m still avoiding the “really bad stuff.”  Small victories—I’ll take them.

The only thing to do is to try to stay aware of what’s going on.  I know I’m nervous about how to grow my life from this point forward.  I’ve taken some action—connected with an Unitarian group that meets at the Y on Sundays, called the Animal Shelter to see if they need volunteers, got information about the Sweet Adelines here in town.  Each little step feels huge with potential, but I’m letting them pull me off center.

I have to plant my feet firmly in the Here and Now.  Do the work, make the calls, try out a group.  I can’t get caught up in speculation or fantasy about the future, just like I can’t moon about the past.  I felt myself sliding into depression yesterday, and as I watched that I saw how my thoughts also slid to missing my friends in Minnesota and my life there.  ”Ha!” my Observer cried.  ”That’s just habit!  We’re all done grieving that, remember?”

It’s true.  I am done grieving my move from Minnesota, but my depression will roll my thoughts down that rutted track because it’s the path of least resistance.  Just like my emotional discomfort rolls out my compulsions. Eating and spending money on food is the path of least resistance.

So, today, I’ll try again to watch and make good choices.  I’ll try to take the Road Less Travelled.

Time to fix my oatmeal.

Affirmations and Visions

I recently visited a new-to-me blog site and, once again, was astounded by the many things I have in common with the blogger.  Lara is bipolar, a student of Buddhism and in the middle of a huge weight loss.  Her inspiring site is full of information.  I’m giddy over my find.

One of her recent posts on creating vision boards reminded me that visual affirmations carry powerful juju.  No matter how committed we are to change and growth, we can’t escape the tapes that natter in our heads.  They become so ingrained that they play like background Muzak at Wal-Mart.  We don’t even know the music is playing until we find ourselves walking to the beat.

Unfortunately, these old tapes are mostly negative and self-defeating.  The only way to shut them up is to replace them with new messages.  Our personalities don’t like this.  Our personalities want us to go back to sleep and quit causing trouble.  Changing channels requires effort and awareness to recognize the crappy messages from the past and substitute something more truthful.  Affirmations and vision boards help reinforce our preference for Alternative Music.

My friend, Lily, used to stick affirmations all over her house to remind her of the power of love, the power of grace, and her own personal power.  I used to love reading all the Post-its around her lavatory mirror.  It made going to the bathroom a religious experience.

Last year I made a vision board, what I call a dream collage, around my goal of losing weight.  I stuck it on my bedroom door and mostly forgot about it.  But, Lara’s post reminded me of the power there.  The images and words I chose are significant now as they were then.

I recently dreamed about Bruce Willis (not one of my regular heroes, but he’ll do in a pinch).  In the dream, he looked down at me with his usual smug expression and said, “You can do it.”  In the dream, it felt like one Bad-Ass bolstering another.  When I woke up, I found a picture of Bruce on the Net, printed it out, taped him to my front door with his words nearby.  You can do it.

Now as I walk out the door every day, I’m reminded of my Bad-Ass power.

If you want to make a change and are finding it difficult, I invite you to visit Lara’s post on vision boards.  She offers directions and guidance that are superb.  Stick those ear-buds in and start singing a different tune.

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