Waiting

23 Nov 2017 2 Comments

by Sandy Sue in art, art journaling, bipolar disorder, depression, distorted thinking, management, mental health, mental illness, mixed-media art, mixed-state Tags: , , , , , ,

Out-Out Patient Care at my mental health clinic came with pluses and minuses, like everything in life.  Was it better than going through a hospital program?  I think so.  Maybe.  It gave structure to my day, a safe place to be, no red tape or ridiculous bureaucracy, no crazy-making group therapy.  It also left me too much alone, no program except what I brought with me—my art supplies, a book about mindful depression that I never read, worksheets from my therapist on dialectic behavioral skills that irritated me in their simplicity.  Mostly, it was a different way to wait out the storm, which is really the most important skill in dealing with bipolar disorder.

I’m not right.  Not yet.  I still feel disconnected, separated from the rest of the world by a transparent, sound-muffling barrier.  People seem alien and unappealing.  The nightmares still come.  Agitation keeps me fidgeting between making my Solstice cards, playing Farm Heroes Saga or Cookie Jam on my phone, and jumping in my car to stalk the perfect binge food.  I’m not done with bronchitis, either, which adds another layer of weariness and self-pity.

So, more waiting.  And accepting each day as it comes.  Today I will do laundry, sort letters cut out of magazines, give my cats treats, watch Fringe on my bed with a cup of squash soup, sew beads.
 
And I will wait.

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Out-Out Patient

11 Nov 2017 16 Comments

by Sandy Sue in art, art journaling, bipolar disorder, depression, distorted thinking, management, mental health, mental illness, mixed-media art, quality of life, symptoms, TV and Movies Tags: , , , ,

Triggered by a traumatic event a few weeks ago, bipolar depression brought its bags and settled in for a long visit.  This past week I started going to my therapists’ clinic every morning to break up depression’s momentum and build my own form of Out-Patient Care.  I arranged the little alcove they set aside for me—a folding screen and white noise machine to make the patients in neighboring offices feel safe in their privacy plus the high table and chairs.  I brought in my art supplies and a large cushion to sit on the floor, and went about filling the tall, gray walls with words and colors that I needed.  But that wasn’t enough.

Yesterday, my therapist and I discussed how to create a real program that would help me tolerate this depression without resorting to hospital out-patient care.  I find the hospital programs themselves to be helpful, but interacting in the large group model difficult to the point of undoing any good done there.  So here’s what we’re trying first:

My daily schedule will be from 8:30-1:30, five days a week.  Daily, I will work on DBT (Dialectical Behavioral Therapy) worksheets dealing with tolerating distress, read one of Megan’s many children’s books and journal about it, and make art—either for the space or in my journal.

I feel a lot of dread and the usual suicidal litany gallops through my mind.  I’m uncomfortable and scattered.  My calendar empties out as I can’t tolerate most people or the pressure of going somewhere at a designated time.  But I did ask a friend to lunch yesterday, even though I phased out after twenty minutes.  Concentration doesn’t last long.

At home, I’ve put my TV in the bedroom, so the cats and I camp out on the bed as I try to work on my Solstice cards while half-listening to my go-to depression binge, Fringe (I just started Season Three).

I’ve also returned to Pinterest, where I can look at pretty pictures and hoard new photos of my Pretend Boyfriends.

Later today, I hope to go see the new Murder on the Orient Express and do my laundry.  That feels like a lot in my current condition, but I’ll try.  It’s really all I can ever do, keep trying, keep looking for new ways to get through the worst of the illness while waiting for the shift to come.

Some days it doesn’t seem like much of a life.  The distorted thinking makes that view darker and more hopeless.  Even then, I can see my courage at work, even when the list of obstacles grows like a Bugs Bunny nightmare.

This is my life.  Mine.  For better or worse.

The Proust Questionnaire

04 Nov 2017 13 Comments

by Sandy Sue in bipolar disorder

The Proust Questionnaire has its origins in a parlor game popularized (though not devised) by Marcel Proust, the French essayist and novelist, who believed that, in answering these questions, an individual reveals his or her true nature. Vanity Fair

My fellow-blogger, David Kanigan, posted his responses to this questionnaire.  He’s a very level, non-exhibitionist type, so I was intrigued by what kind of questions would tempt him.  Of course, this list offers a depth of navel-gazing seldom seen on Facebook or Twitter.  And, I could NOT pass it up.  So, here are my Proust answers.

♣

1. What is your idea of perfect happiness?  The moment of release when my bipolar symptoms lift.  The Relief.  The Clarity.   The Gratitude.

2. What is your greatest fear?  One by one, I’ve experienced all of them (except being eaten by a shark), and carried on.

3. What is the trait you most deplore in yourself?  The inability to follow through.  However, as I work on accepting it, I find small ways I can follow through.

4. What is the trait you most deplore in others?  Acting out from their fear and hatred.

5. Which living person do you most admire?  Jimmy Carter

6. What is your greatest extravagance?  Art Supplies

7. What is your current state of mind?  Cautious.  I’ve been going through big mood swings as of late, and I wake up on guard.

8. What do you consider the most overrated virtue?  Hope.  It is full of expectation.

9. On what occasion do you lie?  I used to lie when people asked, “How are you?”  Now I answer, “That’s a loaded question.”  Mostly, I lie with silence.

10. What do you most dislike about your appearance?  Being obese.

11. Which living person do you most despise?  No-one.  I don’t understand a lot of people.

12. What is the quality you most like in a man? The ability to take action.

13. What is the quality you most like in a woman?  Self-confidence.

14. Which words or phrases do you most overuse?  All versions and permutations of “fuck.”

15. What or who is the greatest love of your life?  My grandmother

16. When and where were you happiest?  In my childhood room, drawing.

17. Which talent would you most like to have?  To play the guitar well.

18. If you could change one thing about yourself, what would it be?  To be at a healthy weight.

19. What do you consider your greatest achievement?  This blog and the short fiction posted in it.

20. If you were to die and come back as a person or a thing, what would it be?  Someone with loving and genetically healthy parents.

21. Where would you most like to live?  At this moment, Des Moines.

22. What is your most treasured possession?  My grandmothers’ photo albums.

23. What do you regard as the lowest depth of misery?  Someone unable to alter their perspective.

24. What is your favorite occupation?  Arting

25. What is your most marked characteristic?  Others say my laugh is unique.

26. What do you most value in your friends?  Availability.

27. Who are your favorite writers?  Stephen King, Wally Lamb, Tana French

28. Who is your hero of fiction?  Stu Redman in The Stand by Stephen King

29. Which historical figure do you most identify with?  Virginia Woolf

30. Who are your heroes in real life?  I have lots of heroes.  The most flesh and blood one is Barak Obama.

31. What are your favorite names?  Rachel, Declan, Wyatt

32. What is it that you most dislike?  Noise—auditory or visual

33. What is your greatest regret?  My PTSD makes regret into a terror.  I regret many things I did when I was very ill.

34. How would you like to die?  Quickly, by my own hand.

35. What is your motto?  No matter where you go, there you are.

 

I See You

22 Oct 2017 10 Comments

by Sandy Sue in art, awareness, bipolar disorder, gratitude, mental health, mental illness, mixed-media art, relationships, video Tags:

Sometimes it takes a shock to wake up.

Yesterday I was slapped into a deeper appreciation for all the kind, generous and courageous people in my life.  I see you, and I’m so very grateful for you.

Thank you for doing the hard work with me of untangling our misperceptions so that we can see each other more clearly.

Thank you for sticking with me when I’ve scared you.

Thank you for teaching me what kindness looks like.

Thank you for understanding when I disappoint or fall short of your vision of me.

Thank you for being a role model of Not Taking Things Personally.

Thank you for your humor and making me laugh out loud when I need that most.

Thank you for coming to me when I’ve hurt you so that I can make amends.

Thank you for hugs, and Kleenex, and open invitations.

Thank you for all your cumulative years of wisdom that guide and level me.

Thank you for accepting me as I am, sane or crazy, smooth or rocky, gentle or snarky, and loving me anyway.

Thank you for a depth of kindness that touches me so deeply I can’t help but weep.

Thank you for reminding me of all the beauty around and within us.

Thank you for giving of yourself to save me from myself, and reminding me that It’s All Good.

I am truly blessed by an abundance of Love and Light that shines out from those who love me.

Thank you.

Emma and the Leaky Gut

14 Oct 2017 16 Comments

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

While this may sound like a new Judy Blume novel, it’s really just my latest batch of experiments.

In August, when I met with my Case Manager, I was a bit weepy about the verdict of my pulmonologist (Obesity is the root cause of everything), trying and getting sick on a ketogenic diet, and the increasing pain in my knee.  Depression had trundled out the “Hopeless” cart, and I had climbed in.

My Case Manager is a lovely, up-beat, supportive darling, so when she suggested I see a hospital dietitian I felt instant betrayal.  Visions of scales and tape measures goose-stepped through my brain.  But, she asked me to think of this dietitian as someone I might add to my small support system—someone I could talk to and have on my side.  Framed that way, I agreed to meet with her.

In the meantime, I had been visiting my chiropractor for my knee and recurring TMJ.  Over the summer, she heard all about Dr. Obesity, my binge eating disorder, and all my other mental and physical woes.  For good measure, I came down with bronchitis a few weeks ago.  Along with prescribing additional protein powder to my morning shake while I’m sick, she also wondered if I might not have a Leaky Gut.

Basically, this syndrome is caused by a loosey-goosey gut allowing too much junk to pass into the blood stream, setting off an immune response that never shuts down.  Chronic inflammation of the gut follows.  Treatment involves getting rid of foods that irritate the gut and adding foods that soothe and heal it.  Dr. Ash has a quick take on Leaky Gut here.

Being sick with bronchitis turned out to be the perfect time to implement these changes.  Since I’m already lactose intolerant and get a gut ache eating bread, going dairy and gluten free was a no-brainer.  I can add bone broth to my gluten-free chicken noodle soup, eat a little kefir as a snack, and alternate my Breathe Easy tea with a variety of kombucha teas.  And my gut has stopped aching all the time.

I started to wonder:  What if obesity isn’t just a cause, but also a symptom?  What if Binge Eating Disorder isn’t just a mental illness, but also has a physical component?

These are the questions I took with me to the dietitian.

Emma is a sweet, young, cheerful professional, but had no answers.  She had heard of Leaky Gut, but knew nothing about it.  She knew about Binge Eating Disorder, but knew nothing about that either.  However, she was absolutely willing to learn.  She took all the information I brought with me and made copies for herself.  Our weekly sessions focus on what I want and my goals, not weight loss.  She is, as my Case Manager predicted, a wonderful addition to my support team.

My bad knee and intermittent TMJ turned out to be arthritis, no big surprise since my dad was a Bionic Man of joint replacements and—you know—that obesity thing making everything worse.  Whenever I think of arthritis, Mammie from Gone With The Wind pops into my head.

Arthritis waits in its web, swooping in after an injury.  An opportunistic little shithead.

Oh, well I’ll think about that tomorrow.  I have sauerkraut and wild salmon to eat now.  And tomorrow is another day.

Making A Home

19 Sep 2017 17 Comments

by Sandy Sue in art, art journaling, bipolar disorder, gratitude, mental health, mental illness, quality of life Tags: , ,

This summer I spent some time considering a move to Des Moines, but after talking to a realtor (what was I thinking?) and finding out how impenetrable the subsidized housing process is there, I changed my mind.  Instead I opted to work at making Marshalltown my Home.

I grew up here and have been back for ten years, but I never really thought of it as home.  Growing up on a farm, “town” was a place to get groceries, a place the school bus dropped me off and picked me up.  After going through electroshock, losing my job, my home, and my husband coming back to Marshalltown mentally ill was a personal failure and a punishment.

I left Minneapolis with its liberal politics, diversity of culture and a townhouse I loved for a conservative rural backwater where I lived in my friends’ spare room with a curtain for a door.  I didn’t want to be here.

My life became richer over the last ten years.  I learned how to manage my illness better.  I moved into an apartment I loved.  Our eco-conscious public library and busy YMCA became part of my daily routine.  I embraced our Aquatic Center by water walking in the silky summer evenings.

But I still despised the town.  I hated the trains blasting at 5:00 AM along with the barking dogs and screeching kids next door.  I hated the yahoos who barreled along my street with their woofers blowing out my eardrums and their muffler-less pickups rattling my windows.  I hated the decrepit meth-lab houses and the soul-sucking poverty evident on most every street.  I still didn’t want to be here.

The work of Making a Home, I’ve discovered, is much like the work of Gratitude.  Instead of focusing on what I’m grateful for, I purposely seek out what I love about Marshalltown.  I quiz others about where they like to eat and hang-out, what they like to do here.  I’ve started reading the newspaper to look for events to attend and to get a better sense of the community.  I plan to take a class at the art center or with the continuing education program at our junior college.

Another part of making a home is practicing forgiveness, not just accepting people, places and circumstances for what they are.  The first target of forgiveness must be myself—for all the ways I let myself down, abandoned my dreams or my safety, and let the negative voices of my illness tell me how horrible I was.  Acceptance of my whole self took decades, but I feel like forgiveness can’t be that far away.  Whenever old resentments or regrets surface, I open to the possibility of forgiveness.  Whenever I turn my attention to the negative aspects of Marshalltown, I open to forgiveness and pull up my list of “Marshalltown Love” on my phone.  It’s startling how many times a day this happens.  It’s equally startling how long it’s taken me to be willing to forgive myself and others.

Forgiveness, like gratitude, requires a change of perspective, a change of heart. Sometimes those changes are a long time coming, so I’ve adopted an “act as if” attitude until it makes a home in my bones.  But, I’m determined to forgive.  I’m determined to find all the hidden spots of beauty and compassion in Marshalltown.  I’m determined to be my authentic self and thrive here.

Because, I’m still on an Adventure.

Hypomania: The Eye of the Hurricane

14 Sep 2017 18 Comments

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

After several weeks of mild to turbulent depression, my brain offered up one day of halcyon hypomania.  No slippage into rabbity anxiety or irritation, just a blue sky-mind with energy and focus.

Where the garbage used to be

New Spot for Garbage

I ran errands put off all summer, caught up on chores, oiled the squeaky lock in my door that’s bugged me for seven years, found the new space-saving solutions that had befuddled my depressed brain.

When this perfect combination of mood and drive pops into my life, I know to use it—partly to clean up any mess or stockpiling from the depression that came before, and partly to lay in supplies and prepare for the next storm.  There are the tasks that need to be completed—like grocery shopping, scrubbing the toilet, and scheduling health care appointments—and tasks that can be started so my depression has something to do with itself.

Spruced-up Studio Space

This time I started collaging new storage boxes and painting parts of my studio.  I put together a facilitator’s kit for my SoulMatters group (which meets for the first time this Sunday), and gathered all the materials for a piece of birthday art I’m making for my nurse practitioner.

It was a lovely day.  And as expected, I moved out of that calm center into more stormy weather.

It’s my nature, and I accept it.  Debris and water damage with a smattering of blue sky.

Learning

02 Sep 2017 Leave a comment

by Sandy Sue in art, art journaling, bipolar disorder, depression, distorted thinking, management, mental health, mental illness, mixed-state, poetry, spiritual practice

Learning how to write with watercolors

 

Learning how to use my Wanting

 

Learning how to stay when all I want to do is go.

 

The Unclenched Brain

24 Aug 2017 4 Comments

by Sandy Sue in art journaling, bipolar disorder, mental health, mental illness

Marking that moment of release in my art journal.

Breathing

22 Aug 2017 25 Comments

by Sandy Sue in bipolar disorder, death, family, gratitude, mental health, mixed-media art, quality of life, relationships Tags: , ,

I had a whole other blog post half-written, but when I came back to it, none of the bipolar drama mattered any more.

There was a theme of WANTING this summer, but we all know wanting comes from believing there is a hole in our soul that needs filling.  The cure for wanting isn’t changing our bodies or our location, it isn’t filling that hole with stuff or people.  The cure for wanting is to sit with it, cup it gently in our own two hands, breathe it in and out.  Then, we remember we are whole where and when we are.

I’ve been thinking about turning 60 in a couple of months.  I don’t usually pay attention to birthdays, but this is kind of a milestone for me.  See, I never expected to live to see 60.  In the back of my mind, far from consciousness, I think I was marking time until I made a decision to exit this world.  Turning 60 means I’ve made a different kind of decision.

At first I didn’t think I’d created much of a life—it certainly didn’t look like the life I imagined for myself when I was a girl.  But when one of my mental health gurus said, “I’ve always thought you were good at living,” I reconsidered.

My sister’s husband died three weeks ago after a long illness.  She had been preparing for that eventuality—buying a home in Oklahoma where her son and his family live, clearing out sheds and closets—but the last six months of constant caregiving along with Hospice drained her life energy.

I supported her the best I could.  When the time came, I stood beside her as her husband died and when some of his family members got ugly.  I stood at the graveside with one arm around my tall, cowboy nephew, and the other around his little son, and I felt alive with love for my family. Last week, my sis and I packed our vehicles with the last of her things and caravanned to her new permanent home.

Yesterday I returned to my home of geriatric (and complaining) cats, art projects in progress, the last week of water walking at the Aquatic Center before it closes for the season, watching the addictive drama of Big Brother with my friends, coffee and movies and lunches with other friends, meeting the interim minister at church and volunteering to lead a SoulMatters group.

I think it’s time to give up my hair shirt.  It’s time to embrace the good life I’ve created and allow forgiveness to become part of it.  Today, all I want is to be content, to be grateful.

Breathing in, I choose the Adventure.

♥ ♥ ♥

P.S. Happy Birthday, Richard.

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