Artful, Conscious Living with Bipolar Disorder
28 Jul 2019 2 Comments
in art journaling, bipolar disorder, mental health, mental illness, poetry Tags: agitation, distraction
Discomfort.
My mind is itchy, scabby, oozing where it’s scratched itself raw.
My body aches and pinches, the hollow parts filled with vinegar and steel wool.
Gravity increases.
Distraction telescopes out of reach, leaving only the rote movements.
My hands do them anyway, a prayer, a coax, a thing to do
when there is nothing to be done.
17 Oct 2018 11 Comments
in art, bipolar disorder, depression, mental health, mental illness, mixed-media art Tags: agitation, irritability, Penny Positives
(Okay, I have to admit I want to punch this jolly clown in the face today. Just a typical downswing, but it sure makes me growly.)
02 Oct 2018 4 Comments
in art, art journaling, bipolar disorder, cats, depression, mental health, mental illness, music, triggers, video Tags: agitation
I don’t know why I’m always surprised by how awful this illness can feel. There are episodes that seem like the first time (though I don’t think this is what Bryan Adams had in mind).
Little annoyances pile up and become life-jettisoning disasters. This morning, after fighting with my shower curtain and flooding the bathroom floor, I collapsed on the bed and bawled full-volume. I didn’t try to stop, hoping the release would activate some mysterious brain juice. But all it did was scare the cats.
While Emmett huddled in the corner, Henry leapt to the rescue, yowling and circling my body. He’d pause to sniff my face, then circle again. Or pause and grumble at the window to make sure no predators attacked while I was in this weakened state.
My boys. My old, grandpa cats. Saving me from myself. Again.
Eventually, I wound down and started pulling together a plan for how to get through the day. And the boys went back to their naps.
28 Jul 2017 10 Comments
in anxiety, art, art journaling, bipolar disorder, distorted thinking, health, mental health, mental illness, mixed-state, music, triggers, weight loss Tags: agitation, Binge Eating Disorder, ketogenic diet, mindfulness
So, nobody said I was particularly wise.
In my desperation to tame the Binge Eating Disorder beast, I regularly cycle around to doing stupid things—things I know in my adipose-caked heart won’t work. Like diets. But when an authority figure (aka my new doc) blamed all my physical woes on obesity, and my trusted nurse practitioner suggested a ketogenic diet, I jumped like water in a skillet of hot bacon grease.
I learned two things:
So, now I’m back to mindfulness and paying attention to my triggers.
All this food-stress didn’t help my bipolarness. I’ve been roiling, inside and out. My thinking is still in desperation mode, so I need to be careful not to jump on every thought-train that pulls into my station. Another train will come. And another. Sooner or later, this anxiety and agitation will shift. The urge to hop a train out of town will ease. Eventually, I’ll be able to leave the station and go home.
But, I’ve got this ticket in my hand…
29 May 2017 23 Comments
in anxiety, art journaling, bipolar disorder, distorted thinking, mental health, mental illness, music, quality of life, triggers, video Tags: agitation, crisis, empathy, holidays
There’s nothing like being brainsick over a holiday weekend to remind me of my demographic status. I’ve struggled for several days with vicious, distorted thoughts, but holidays add more stress with regular support services closed, carefully constructed routines disrupted, and human support unavailable as they enjoy time with family and friends. Long weekends are difficult, and I’m not the only one who feels it.
So far this weekend, emergency vehicles have visited my ten-unit complex five times. That means half of the residents have been in such a state of crisis that their only option seemed to be 911. And the day’s only half over.
To try to calm my own agitation, I went to our common room this morning to do laundry, sit in the quiet, and maybe journal. I found one of the window latches broken. In the bathroom, the toilet seat was broken in half with feces on the floor. I cleaned that last bit as best as I could, weeping at the level of distress that person must have felt. Afterward, I emailed the apartment manager with the details, knowing she wouldn’t read it until tomorrow because it’s a holiday.
I’m fully aware of how lucky I am to be “high functioning,” to have friends I can text most anytime, to have a sister who would come to my aid if I needed it. I don’t interact much with my neighbors, because some of them can’t follow a conversation. Others are quite shy and introverted or belligerent and aggressive. I keep to myself.
But I understand all of it. I am all of it—at times introverted or belligerent, unable to translate my thoughts into words, unable to concentrate on what someone might be saying to me. I understand being in crisis and feeling like there are no options.
I live in an apartment complex of mirrors. It makes me more human to look into them from time to time.
08 Nov 2016 16 Comments
in anxiety, art, art journaling, bipolar disorder, mental health, mental illness, mixed-media art, mixed-state, relationships, triggers, TV and Movies Tags: agitation, anger, Binge Eating Disorder, irritability, partial hospitalization, PTSD, support group, Vyvanse
My computer is in the hospital, gasping its last, I fear. So I’ll try to create a post with my phone. Technology–heh, heh–ain’t it sumthin’?
I finished the outpatient program and am trying to figure out what’s next. How do I re-engage with the human race? Aside from that being psychologically required, why would I want to?
No more Vyvanse, for one thing. It may have curbed some of my binge eating disorder, but gave me headaches and aggravated an old TMJ injury. Aggravated seems the operative word here. The general consensus is that it also upped my “All People Stink” core belief, which may have contributed to a crankier-assed attitude this past year.
All I know is that it took weeks in group therapy before I could sit through the whole session. It was either bolt or punch some sap in the mouth. Not violent by nature, this impulse scared me a little. But I’d be lying if I didn’t say it also felt good. Which was scary in a whole other way.
Everyone in the group had issues with irritability (a common symptom of just about every mental illness), so we worked with it. A lot. So now I have a folder of “anger management” handouts in my Bipolar Badass arsenal.
Speaking of which, I designed myself a business card for my art show in December. Quite happy with the results.
Another “what next” was asking two of my friends who also suffer from depression and anxiety to form a Sanity Support group. We met last week, and the prognosis looks good for more get-togethers. This one stone could kill so many Crazy Birds for me that it’s hard to keep my WANTING in check. Patience, Grasshopper.
And since my computer is likely on its way to the Tech Morgue, I treated myself the day I discharged from the hospital with a 32 inch TV and a DVD player. No more incantations, Reiki treatments and uncomfortable yoga positions to get a disk to play in my wheezy computer. Now, all I need do is push a button. Pure Heaven.
The final “next” for now is working through the book Seeking Safety: A Treatment Manual for PTSD and Substance Abuse with my therapist. I’m sure the next “next” will rise from that.
25 Jun 2014 16 Comments
in bipolar disorder, death, family, mental health, music, triggers Tags: agitation, mindfulness, rapid cycling
Up at 2:30 this morning, awake but toting sludge for brains. Is this grief?
Yesterday I felt proud that I could stand with my family and greet everyone that came to Mom’s visitation. Two and a half years ago, when my dad died, I had to sit in a quiet room apart from the others. Like a bipolar queen, I held audience for my closest friends and family so that I wouldn’t explode from the over-stimulation. I felt then like I do this morning—dumb with exhaustion.
I don’t know what I need. I don’t know what could help. The idea of going to the pool makes me want to cry and crawl back into bed. But, I know that’s not the answer. So I’ll go to the pool and bleed some of this weirdness into the water. I’ll feel better afterward. I always do.
Then, I’ll go with my brother and sister to Mom’s lawyer and try to stay present in all the talk about insurance and trusts. I’ll try to watch my anxiety and keep breathing. I’ll try to keep stepping back instead of stepping up. I’ll try to remember that everything will settle without me pushing it.
So, it’s a little easier to carry, this grief/exhaustion/bipolarness, now that I’ve named it and slopped it out in words. I breathe and let my Pandora station hold me. All that pretty music. Like the water in the pool, it supports me.
Pillows and cushions are everywhere. Like this lovely song by Mat Kearney. I can lie down anytime I need.
31 Jan 2014 10 Comments
in anxiety, art, bipolar disorder, cats, mental health, mixed-media art, money, triggers Tags: agitation, IPRS, Mental Health Redesign, poverty, stress
I’m breaking one of my Golden Rules by not telling you how crazy I am at the moment.
Honesty. That’s what I pledged.
So, okay.
I went to a presentation today about some of the new programs rolling out with ObamaCare and the Mental Health Redesign in Iowa. A program called Intensive Psychiatric Rehabilitation Services (IPRS) focuses on reducing a client’s stressors. Because (this is radical, now) reducing stress will reduce symptoms, which will ultimately allow someone with a mental illness to function more independently.
Thank you, People in Suits, for finally getting it.
Last week, I wrote that I had $11 in my billfold, and that I was determined to still hold that $11 when my Disability check came. Well, I didn’t make it. If I was only going to do laundry every other week ($15 at the laundromat), I needed more socks. So I bought socks. And a 89¢ notebook to keep track of grocery prices and specials.
Then, the landlord tacked up a sign that said Radar, the bedbug-sniffing beagle, was coming for his quarterly inspection the next day. That meant packing up the cats (which they hate), their litter boxes, food, and anything Radar might get into and hauling everyone out to my Mom’s for the day. She’s only marginally tolerant of animals in the house, so the boys had to stay in the basement, where Emmett promptly found a hidey-hole that he refused to leave. Cut to seven hours later, and he sashayed past me with thirty-year-old dust bunnies stuck to his fur. Finally, we got home, but I’d lost my only winter hat and my phone.
This is the danger of stress—breakage, forgetfulness, locking myself out of the apartment or truck, falling on the ice, losing stuff. One flat tire turns into a fifty-car pile up and a long discussion with the tire store. And with each incident, my capacity for navigating and problem-solving shrinks. I liken it to a teacup. Stress shrinks the cup. Too much stress flattens the cup into a saucer. Then, the slightest bump sloshes out the tea. And if the saucer empties out completely—hello, Psych Ward.
So, I talked to the caseworker at the presentation today and will be getting a referral for IPRS. Mom found my hat in her driveway. My phone was under some sacks in my back seat. And I don’t have bedbugs.
Today was a pretty good day.
17 Aug 2013 10 Comments
in bipolar disorder, exercise, mental health, writing Tags: agitation, mania, Mom, TOPS, walking
It’s always a shock when reality stubs your toe—especially when you thought the path was clear. Oops, where was I when the sidewalk heaved?
I was managing this Week of Ultimate Change like a boss. Before the Y closed for its annual week of maintenance, I called around to find another pool. But with the rise in parasitic infections in public pools and school starting soon, all the pools I called were closed or closing. So, instead, I parked my truck and walked everywhere. I thought putting new inserts in my old sneakers would be a good idea, but ended up getting blisters. Oh, well. That’s what Band-aids are for. The weather was mild this week, and I loved tramping all over town with my iPod.
True to my word, I followed up on the referral my group counselor gave me for Peer Support information. What I got back were more referrals, so I fired off more queries. I have a feeling I’m knocking on doors still under construction, but I’ll keep at it. At the same time, I made sure my mental health records transferred to my new clinic and got an intake appointment scheduled for September. All the ducks started lining up.
I checked on my mom, coordinated schedules with my sister to share duties, paid attention so as to not over-extend myself.
At TOPS, I neither gained nor lost, which seemed miraculous with all the change swirling around me. But, I chalked it up to lucky brain chemistry and tried not to eat to celebrate.
And writing came easy this week—bits and pieces of my current story in Shitty First-Draft form (that is a technical term). I can feel the words pulling me now, which is the pay-off for putting butt to chair and pen to paper every day. I spent several hours everyday on my memoir as well, sorting through 800 pages of rough copy.
I knew I was enjoying one of my respite phases, a break in the bipolar Push Me-Pull You, but I started to take credit for it. All this work I was doing, being all responsible and productive, must be good for me. I know better than to take ownership of my brain’s haphazard chemical stew, but ego is a determined little bugger. And its voice is so lovely. Look how easy this is, it said. Look how you’ve cleared the path…
So, of course, there came a day when I tripped. I completely forgot about my meditation group. Only after my friends called to make sure I was all right did I really stop and Look. I felt the agitation, the ramping up of ‘productivity” into spinning, the push to quiet it with food, the antsy itch to bolt.
Sly, sly Mania! It knows I’ll ignore it as long as I can, because it feels so good. But it gives itself away eventually, whether by grandiosity or giddiness or obsession. The energy of it won’t let things stay tidy and organized. Cracks break open in the sidewalk. As Yeats said, “the centre will not hold.”
Being manic doesn’t discount the work I’ve done this week. It’s just a reminder to not get cocky and to watch where I’m going.
14 Mar 2013 20 Comments
in art, awareness, bipolar disorder, developing consciousness, mental health, mixed-media art Tags: agitation, dance, patterns, spiral
This 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.
SandySue Altered
