Artful, Conscious Living with Bipolar Disorder
13 Aug 2018 6 Comments
in bipolar disorder, mental health, mental illness, poetry, video
≈
I awaken in sips
as I breach the cold dark,
undulating through the mind’s long slumber.
Above the surface, sound pierces
colors blind
details sharpen.
One sip
to orient
before sinking
into a darkness that must not remain home.
I angle again toward the light.
≈
08 Apr 2018 10 Comments
in art, art journaling, developing consciousness, poetry, quality of life Tags: art journaling magazine, authentic, David Whyte, moving
I waver over the line of leaving and arriving, trying to come back to today where they meet. This David Whyte poem spoke to me before I even contemplated moving and became a part of the art journal that will be published in July. I tore this spread apart three different times, trying to find my true connection to the poem and my authentic voice in it. It was one of the first spreads I created in the journal and one of the last I finished. It seems fitting—the struggle of leaving and arriving—to a place and to ourselves.
13 Mar 2018 9 Comments
in art, art journaling, bipolar disorder, mental illness, poetry
Sunrise turns the derelict house across the street
golden.
I am inside watching.
There is nothing golden here.
05 Feb 2018 13 Comments
in awareness, bipolar disorder, blogging, creativity, management, mental health, mental illness, mixed-media art, quality of life, spirituality, symptoms, writing Tags: birthday
For A Mind Divided’s seventh birthday, I thought I’d look up my very first post. Hmm…somehow this seems so familiar…
♥
When I was first diagnosed with bipolar disorder, I thought my life had ended. And in a very real sense, it did. Parts of my life fell off like flesh off a zombie–my home, my job, my friends, my ability to support myself, my ability to live independently. In the months and years that followed, the lessons of living in the NOW and letting go of attachments kept repeating. Living with bipolar disorder (BP) was like living in a constant fire. It burned away everything I thought I knew about myself and how the world works. But with fire comes new growth that could never happen otherwise. I’m finding that to be true in my life as well.
While I always considered myself a writer, I also became an artist because of BP. I needed a way to express the chaos I felt and the wild shifts from despair to joy and back again. My study of the world’s religions deepened. I explored the science and metaphysics of the brain. I also fell in love with “Criminal Minds” and “Fringe.”
I invite you to journey with me into the overlapping realms of mental illness, creativity and spirituality. There will be fire and ice, but also miracles.
Of that I’m certain.
05 Jan 2018 9 Comments
in art journaling, bipolar disorder, distorted thinking, mental health, mental illness, poetry
This morning’s art journal spread.
(Click on the image and it will get big enough to read)
28 Dec 2017 37 Comments
in Bipolar Bad-Ass Training, bipolar disorder, gratitude, management, mental health, mental illness, quality of life, spirituality, video, writing Tags: First Unitarian Church, public speaking
Our Social Justice Minister, Erin Gingrich, asked me to participate in her service a couple of weeks ago. Her topic was “Hope Rekindled,” and she’d heard enough of my story to think some version of it might add something “powerful.”
I loved crafting a speech to fit the theme and metaphors we chose—visions of high school speech competitions made me smile as I worked. Even better was the opportunity to pull out parts of my story that could be told in an uplifting way. I wasn’t nervous that Sunday, just honored.
The third member of our service team that day, Martha Shen, crocheted a huge doily for Erin some time ago. She included a poem with her gift that became our service’s central theme.
a single strand
masterfully intertwined
whose beauty is defined
as much by the empty spaces
as by the strand itself.
Here’s my Reflection. If you’d like to hear Erin’s homily, you can click here.
26 Nov 2017 6 Comments
in art, art journaling, bipolar disorder, depression, mixed-media art, poetry Tags: despair, hope
Trust is completely paradoxical:
The thing with which to begin when
you have nothing.
The end point, which
somehow you must find first.
The smallest of present moments,
measured haltingly into a past.
Both question and answer, when every
word of your acquaintance has fled.
♦
You think the arc of the horizon
should split, one side jaggedly askew,
one forever gone.
The horizon doesn’t split.
Its edges remain.
You think the ocean should dry to sand because
all the tears it held, you have used up.
You have stolen water even from the clouds.
But the ocean is not dried, nor the clouds
gone, though you have cried them both,
multiplied, and more.
You rub your eyes that grains still ripen,
plums turn blue, still the moon increases.
You thought all of this was gone.
Such is the unimaginable you have lived.
You thought everything was gone.
♦
But,
without your doing, the world is fashioned
in this way: moments
become other moments; steps
lead somewhere; all things breathe,
even without remembering.
One day, after a very long time,
without rubbing your eyes you see
the arc of the horizon still
an arc; the ocean, full.
And you are not betrayed, but glad.
♦ Nancy Shaffer ~ Instructions in Joy
♦
02 Sep 2017 Leave a comment
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.
18 May 2017 7 Comments
in art, art journaling, bipolar disorder, mental health, mental illness, poetry Tags: acceptance, self-compassion
◊
Distortion, history, fear and self-hatred
steal our clarity, our compassion, our strength, and our presence.
The task is not to go to war with ourselves,
but to allow the stolen seeds to take root in their chaotic prison.
They are where they need to be.
◊
04 May 2017 17 Comments
in art, art journaling, bipolar disorder, cats, creativity, depression, distorted thinking, health, mental health, mental illness, mixed-media art, mixed-state, music, video, writing Tags: anger, Binge Eating Disorder, fabric collage, therapy
…because I have no more fucks to give.
Oddly, my bipolar and binge eating symptoms hibernated while I was sick with bronchitis, sinus and ear infections (Can my body not multi-task? Is my brain too small to hold it all?), so the return of mixed-state depression/rage must mean the other stuff is on the way out. Yaay (?)
While being physically sick is no fun, the vacation from mental shit-storms and out of control compulsion is heavenly. It’s like being normal, only full of snot and really, really tired.
I’m still tired and semi-full of snot, but yesterday I rode sad anger back to bed and built a nest of portable projects around me to keep the yammering in my head at bay.
Henry and Emmett attended, but even they knew not to poke the bipolar bear who had no fucks left to give.
One of the hard things about coming back to my normal state of mental abnormality is that I’ve done so much cool art stuff these past two months. When I could barely breathe, I read a bit in Susan Wooldridge’s Poemcrazy about collecting words, then made Word Cookies out of old art magazines.
I carry them in this little bag that fits nicely in my purse, and offer them like Fortune Cookies to whomever I’m with (which has mostly been people at the drug store, my therapist’s staff, and a few civilians willing to chance my germs).
I’ve been brave about drawing in my journal.
And I created a spread that fell together like a story. Poor Tom Hiddleston, dumped by the harlot Taylor Swift, gave a heart-wrenching interview in February’s GQ that reminded me of Sting’s song Why Should I Cry For You? A little research gave me details I’d missed just listening to the song, like “under the Dog Star sail,” which refers to Sirius, and “north, northwest, the Stones of Faroe,” which led me to the tiny cluster of Faroe Islands off the coast of Iceland. I loved the metaphor of a broken-hearted sailor on the bleak, Arctic seas. And I loved pulling together all the elements for the collage.
The wall quilt I started before I got sick is turning into a fabric collage—a place to try new skills like painting and stenciling on fabric. Tearing apart my old art magazines for the Word Cookies, I found wonderful tips and examples. When I gave a fuck, the possibilities thrilled me.
The materials to make three new art journals came out of my cupboard. I finished two. The third now languishes on my table, waiting for the fucks to come back.
The Buckaroo Banzai journal
My favorite quote from the movie by evil Emilio Lazardo.
Art by Andrea Matus DeMeng
I took a class with Andrea at ArtFest.
One week in therapy, Megan and I looked at commitment, not just making commitments to others, but also keeping promises to myself. I realized that my longterm goal of writing a book to be published carried no joy for me anymore. In fact, working on it was often painful. Why was I doing this again? So people at my funeral could get a party favor? Morbid, bipolar-based reasoning.
I don’t have to prove myself a writer anymore, or leave something “of substance” behind. I can spend my life pleasuring myself with weird art that practically falls out of me, instead of grunting over tortured prose. So, I let that ancient goal go. There are, my friend Sue tells me, only so many fucks a person can give.
Yesterday, in my Nest of Apathy and Rage, I emailed Megan, just to whine. I knew, eventually, that the anger and depression would shift, but it was big and ugly yesterday. Even if I had none, I wanted someone to give a fuck.
Have I mentioned that my therapist is awesome? And funny? She wrote back later:
I hope a fuck ton that you feel better soon.
The Adventure Continues.
SandySue Altered
