The crash... or a weakened battery to grieve?

If you cross a crow with a toad and a mouse it would sound something like I did today. As my body has worn thin from lack of sleep I have developed some sort of cold or sinus infection that is now attempting to steal my voice. You'd think I'd talk less because of it but I find it so funny sounding I may be talking far too much.
Fortunately for me they do not care to have toad-crow-mouse crosses teaching snowboard lessons at my Neverland (the resort I teach snowboard lessons at) so I got to back line. Which means you are the first one let off for the day if they don't need all of the instructors staffed.
So I didn't have to teach but since one of my favorite supervisors to clinic with was working  I asked if we could do a short clinic before I returned home to rest my body and prep for Italy. (* clinic meaning they take you on runs to work on teaching skills and technique)
Said clinician is very technical and his teaching style encourages you to think and solve.
We only got one run in but it was jam backed with review and technique work and reflection. I thought to do another run on my own, just for fun, but since mortality has returned to me in the form of this sickness I thought I best save my strength and return home.
I was feeling it. I was tired. And to be honest I was a bit relieved to finally be feeling tired. My heart isn't hurting anymore and I am no longer worried that I am going to morph into some alternative existences as I fight to stay okay. I am okay again just the expected tired. Still improved but tired. So I started to head home
And man was the tired starting to get to me.
I was so tired that before I even got out of the canyon I had to pull over just to close my eyes for a minute or two. I pulled over and turned the car off but it was cold so I turned the key back to the on position to keep the seat warmer working. I was asleep almost instantly.
In a little bit, not fully awake, I thought I better turn the car back on so I don't kill the battery so I turned the key... "What? it's already dead?"
How could that be? Over 45 minutes had passed. I thought it had been about 5 maybe 10. Holy crap I was tired. Much as I am now so I am going to sleep and will finish this in the morning.
It is now the next morning, after sleeping with only the aid of melatonin this time. I woke 3 times but was able to gently redirect my thoughts to places that would allow me to fall back asleep within a reasonable amount of time, since they were not full-blown-lights-all-on-(in the head) and heart-pushing-me-out wakings.
But 45 minutes I slept and while my car battery slowly died. I have so much to get done that I could have been mad about this but anger is not my emotions these days, what good does that do anyway. Besides it was funny and rather poetic that my crash would start in a car.
It may not be the crash, but I will let it be if it will let me.
However one thing had me wondering: is it the more cognitively demanding task coupled with body fatigue that brought me to a tired that was so intense I had to pull over and sleep only 5 miles from home?
Am I really going to have to grieve a loss of mental stamina?

Mourning the Loss of your Insanity

When normal starts to return it is a little sad.
Losing your insanity is a bit sad.
Yes you read that correct if you read "losing your insanity"-let me explain:
When you start to return to normalcy you miss the sensations and the fun and excitement of it all, it is really quite intense. There can be a lot of pain and anxiety and maybe the mania I experience is just coping with those feelings with equivalent force.
I tell you, I would be fascinating to study... maybe that is why I have been studying my thoughts and analyzing myself so much through this... I bet there is some sort of disorder associated with that to (that makes me laugh)
which is probably why I have always avoided diagnosis... I'd get too many or not enough but mostly because I don't like the stigma's and discriminations attached to them.
And because I don't like how people use them as excuses.
And probably a whole lot of other reasons to that I don't really care about right now
so back to my point.
Coming back to reality is a bit sad. Maybe even -wait for it- depressing. Maybe that is why "depression always follows mania" according to Am I Bipolar on webbed.com.
It feels a bit silly that I find myself here again.
...The box he opened contained so much more than I remembered...
But anyway
Reality kind of sucks compared to spirit animals and omens; to feeling so full of energy and life that you might burst; to snowboarding being an almost orgasmic experience and floating in a pool at night is so other worldly that you never want to leave. I wish I were a better writer when I try to explain the intensity of joy, passion and pleasure my seemingly simple experiences bring when I am ... well.. I suppose I should call it what it is, manic.
Is that acceptance on my part? Am I allowed to say that? I do wish that I had my best therapist to help me answer these questions... But alas he is gone from me...I'll have to mourn that loss again and again and that really sucks but I have to put as many mournful realizations as I can off for now and because he promised not to close the door on me completely I can. ..."just don't look back to check" I tell myself. But there is a new sad to that loss with this new remembering/realizing/considering. It is sad to think that this may very well be what scared him away and that it is also very likely a contributing factor to the intensity of my feelings for him these past few weeks... It's another thing to mourn and to process. and it is sad and it can be embarrassing.
...But fortunately a great guru I once knew taught me that it is okay to make mistakes and that I am allowed to be human... to bad that guru is the same guy, do you see how there can be no clean break... pull the fuel, redirect, don't isolate and don't over think- so I move on again- as it slowly morphs into just my heart speaking and my mind is a garden where I choose which thoughts to grow and which to weed out...

Back again to the mania.
I can see how people can get addicted to drugs. I'd love to go back to mania -only without the equivalent level heartbreaking. Good thing I am smart and know what lies on the other side of drugs and I am not at all interested in that place.
Fortunately for me, during those pivotal years when people usually experiment with those things, I wouldn't touch it because I knew I was already screwed up enough; I didn't need help with that.
And I still think that is funny.
Right now I am not sure I am completely back to normal, I kind of hope I never am, but I am not crashed yet and I find myself thinking that maybe, just maybe, I will be able to curb the effects of the crash the way I was able to curb the effects of the mania. I hope so. And I think so and at least one person believes in me and that is enough for me.

*So it seems I am moving my book of thoughts, processing and reprocessing to my blog.
It feels like a worthwhile endeavor for me. And as I earlier read through some old comments I was glad that I had helped a couple of people along the way -by sharing. I do not advertise this blog and don't do anything to promote it so it is buried pretty deep, I'm sure, but on one occasion someone randomly came across it and thanked me for it. That is enough for me. They are worth it for me. and I am also worth it so I've already got one person I'm helping here :) Your welcome self.

A page from my book: waking from death

12/2/18 10:28 pm


He doesn’t seem to notice that I am in some sort of trance. I see the rice crispy treats and see him and somehow instinctively know that I need to eat one and give up on the new me, give up on the me staying sane and safe.

This feels important

Important to add to my story even in spite of the internet not working.

I am not sure why it is but I am awake now. I feel a little funny. Still a little detached but here and present.

I woke up about 10:18pm.

I woke up from the abyss of nothingness. From death or nonexistence. I have been here before. I used to wake up from death in depression and it is a very unpleasant feeling. This time is different, “I am dying” My body is fighting to hold on. To wake me up. I don’t understand it as I come to but I keep fighting to wake up. My throat is dry and scratchy feeling. It wants to keep me from breathing. I notice that Kelby is still not in bed and that I hear noises. I am pushing hard to come back to life. I don’t want to give up. As I wake I somehow instinctively start to check on things. I feel so strange as I leave my bed and walk into the hall. I am still hearing the voice saying that I am dying, except I am not; I can’t be because I am walking and seeing and hearing again even if It is the sound of the blood pumping through my head. I go down stairs to the sameness. I ask Kelby about the kids being in bed. As he is watching television he doesn’t seem to notice that Joe is not and that I am asking from a different state of existence.

This is proving a bit more challenging to write and explain and I may still be waking as I hear the white background noises inside my head. But I am mostly wide awake.

I took 2 nighttime Ibuprofen pm tablets before bed and I may have forgot my escitalopram because I was so tired and my throat was starting to hurt so bad thus I was merely focused on getting a good night's sleep. This alone may account for whatever happened, the death waking

As I looked up and down the stairs feeling so weird and out of it, knowing that I needed sleep but also afraid to die, I had to make a decision. I decided I had to return to “normal” so I took a rice crispy treat then went and curled up next to Kelby with my head on his shoulder to watch the show “Schitt’s Creek” It was funny but I was lost so I asked a few questions from the other side. Much like usual Kelby barely noticed me and I started to wax and wane comfortably in and out of sleep. I then knew I needed to write about this although I wasn’t sure why. Add it to my story and with that I fully woke and I left.

Now I am sitting in bed wondering what it all means. Wondering if I will be okay leaving in one week and a day. I will because I have to be… But is that enough to keep me there? I need sleep so badly that my body is starting to get sick and yet I still can’t seem to sleep and to do so now offers death?

I have cold water and Ricola’s with me now and yet I question taking the Lexapro (generic)

A little unsure if I had already taken one.

43 lexapro left after I just took one, or one more, but at least now if I forget again, I have it written down.

Pandora's broken box

6:19
I took 1mg of Clonazepam at 8:30 pm last night and still couldn't get to sleep until about 10:00. I slept good until around 12-12:30 am and woke up to myself talking it through with Kelby. I am proud of myself this time. I really am the professional on the other side of this profession. So knowing that and now better understanding, remembering and having learned from the formally trained professionals (this time it was the lovely lady doctor I went to today) I am now new me and old me and prepared me. All very well educated in the taking care of me. I take another Clonazepam (.5mg) and 1 and 1/2 of  3mg melatonin. It still takes me a little bit to fall asleep but now my thoughts are carefree and seemingly meaningless. Now and again some part of this experience pops into my head but it is weakened in its power and I easily shift back to my thoughts of sugar plum children dancing or whatever it was only this time I slept all the way until 6:00 am.
Progress
I do feel a little funny now. But it's not anything I haven't faced before. It may be a longer more intense race but I am still a runner and I've been a runner and training for a very long time.
I've got this.
Though I do wonder if this most recent head injury has contributed. For that it would be nice to have the professional yang to my yin. But oh well I guess. I'll have to find someone to help me figure out and fix that box when we return home.
Postpone the crash: :) yay. I am kind excited about this new adventure.

Let's just call it what it is

When you haven't slept for more than 2-4 hours at a time for 3 weeks you know your body is not going to hold up for ever. You know their is going to be a crash. When your heart has literally and physically hurt for 3 weeks you start to feel yourself wearing thin. Now I am getting sick, trying to keep a cold at bay, Airborne, Ricola, water, tea, whatever you can to try and stay well. But still your heart is broken and your brain is in hyperdrive trying to process what happened and any new bit of information just starts a new cycle of analyzing.
He said not to try and solve this, not to over think things. That is very good advice, and I keep trying to refocus but then something else pops uninvited into my head. This is so very complicated and I can see why he would not want to have anything to do with me. It is a recurring theme confirming my knowledge that I am too much. I complicate things too much and I am hard to be around.
I am returning to old thinking patterns... It is why I couldn't loose him but I have lost him and it is because of all of those things. Can't blame him, can't blame any of them.
But it sucks and its shit
I went to the doctor today because I need to make sure my heart really is ok, and I need to be well for our trip but mostly because I need to sleep. As I went through the process of explaining everything (and I will be grossly oversimplifying this story) I started to realize another reality I had packed away,  but taking a new form, a much better form... No wait? Is this better or is this terrifying?
The omens
the symbolism
the way everything connected
dreams
"have you had hallucinations?" asks the nurse... "maybe," is all I can say as I think of the feelings and sensations, the thousands of lives lived in days.
The book that is somehow writing itself
the laughing
the energy
no need for food
the spirit animals
the connections...

"I just worry about what you will be like two weeks from now," says my husband about 2 weeks ago.
The doctor asks if I have ever been diagnosed with bipolar... I honestly don't know
I kind avoid labels and diagnosis. Is this something I need to face? I suppose there are some similarities.

Thank God I have worked so hard to figure myself out and to solve me because -congratulations self You just walked yourself through- (by definition) a manic episode... and what problem have I been trying to solve this whole time, deep down inside knowing I only have myself to rely on?
The Crash
I want to prevent the crash, especially since I have never experienced anything quite like this before. My heart has never hurt for three weeks straight... except for maybe when my brother died. But especially I have never felt so much pain, peace, and excitement all a the same time or anything like this before... at least not that I can remember.
"I have complete faith in you," he says
I hope his faith holds as I keep turning logs away from the fire that so badly desires continued life.
I hope the doctors recommendations for sleep works
but I am still not asleep
and I am so tired
this is very confusing

Body Language

As I was trying to explain; to help him feel more comfortable with acknowledging what we both already knew, but that I needed to hear to know that I had no logical reason to question my sanity and stability I found myself grounded by body language as I looked at his feet. Then I noticed something even more fascinating, mine mirrored his exactly. His right, my left were pointed directly at each other, his left and my right were angled about 30 degrees off to the side at equal proportions of an open stance. It was really funny as I remember reading that the feet -and especially the lead foot- point in the direction the person wants to go. So the desired direction was apparent but there was obviously the other direction that things maybe needed to head also.

Later he had his legs crossed, but both feet very forward facing, which also happened to be pointing to exactly where I was sitting. I felt I was either weakening or strengthening his resolve to close himself off to me completely and I did not want to intentionally do either, so it was time to say goodbye (for now) but at least I knew that he really was sincere in the things he had said and that he really could not allow himself to be “vulnerable” with me because his heart had in fact been touched as much as he could handle and allow at this point in his life and under the circumstances. And I can work with that. I can leave him because I love him and I do not want to break him.
We both have plenty of love in our lives. His job was to help me see that. I hope that I can keep him in my heart, he said I could, and continue to love myself and others with the steadfast commitment that he taught me by being who he is. He is steadfast and deeply committed to his job, his values, and his kids. I would not wish to destroy that in a million years; instead I can learn from it and let it be exactly what it is and what it needs to be.

A teacher does not teach by what they say, they teach by how they live.

A dying light...

12/4/18
1:36am after laying awake for 45 minutes confident that I would fall back asleep naturally, I gave up and decided I’d better write it out should I ever hope to get back to sleep.

I am thinking on his advice about not feeding the fire… Letting it burn out. It is a very sad but beautiful analogy and I envision sitting under a starry night sky watching a campfire slowly burning out the last little bits of wood; red glowing embers eventually cooling and fading into black. Now and again a piece of missed fuel will ignite causing a temporary flame to spark back to life but only for a moment... soon choked out by the lack of new fuel. When all the fuel is burned to embers, for awhile, there is always a low intense flame that is almost invisible. It is the hottest moment in the fires life.
The whole process is truly beautiful and mysterious and I think the analogy is very fitting.

But as a camper watching the fire die you have to make a decision: Do I sit and watch it die slowly until it is all the way out? Do I push and stir all the remaining fuel into the core heat in order to burn any missed fuel pockets so that it burns out more quickly and the risk of something reigniting while it is unattended is minimal? Do I poor water on it and stir to make sure it is completely out for the time being? Or do I just leave it to burn itself out believing that there is no risk of it causing a wildfire?

The decision made will be influenced by time and location. Sometimes we are tired or impatient so we put it out quickly leaving little bits of fuel for the next fire. Sometimes we have the luxury of being able to sit and savor every last moment of it; feeling the cold calculatingly creep into our body as the fire fades away. And sometimes, when we believe we are in enough of a windless desert that there seems no risk of igniting anything outside of the fire pit, we just leave it to do its thing.

Right now my mind is watching the fire die and it is the bittersweet end to an adventure filled day…

Dear Perri and All Other Therapists

I did get the chance to talk with him, one last time, though he did refuse to be my therapist any longer which is a little sad because he really is the best and I will miss him. But still I know he is right. I do feel like I got the closure I needed and now I can continue to let go... That does make me a bit sad but my heart has settled some and thinking it causes no added surges of cortisol, so that is good.
Progress.

I was able to say a whole lot in a short period of time and I feel better knowing that I was able to clarify a few things and help him to see that he really didn't know me so well as he thought. I am the other side to the profession, I have as much experience or more, just from the other side of the mask. Through the process of learning, trying and growing for so many years I have picked up a lot and had unknowingly created my own reflective mask. ...And to further complicate myself I thought I was transparent. It's comical really.
But there were a couple of things I didn't have the chance to say. I am not sure if he will remember that I told him about this blog or if he will remember the web address or if he will ever allow himself to check it out anyway but I'd like to say it for my own sake and for the sake of anyone else who may stumble across this.
First, and this is a little silly, I was bummed I didn't get to tell the story of my shirt. I got it in Lisbon the day we returned home from our Spain and Portugal bike trip. Because we had weird vibes with the friends we had originally come with, Trump had just been elected president, and it's basically the story of my life; it made me laugh so hard I had to buy it. It reads: "The future will be definitely confusing."
It always will be but that doesn't bother me. I enjoy the adventure. So it fits for me and it was so fitting for the situation. Though I knew I had to move on I could not bear him shutting me out completely. I am fine with things being what they are and whatever they need to be. I can leave him alone because I love him and respect him but I still need him to be part of me for awhile longer and the goodbye forever is more than I can physically handle right now.
Which transitions perfectly into my next missed topic of discussion. Though I had told him that my heart had been physically hurting for the past 3 weeks I did not get to ask him about it -get his professional thoughts on that. And I especially wanted to ask if he knew anything about waking up from death... More on that later but I had intended to ask today if he could explain the physiology of what was going on with me since it was starting to take a physical toll.
It turns out there is such a thing as "broken heart syndrome" where all the extra cortisol from stress causes physical heart problems and can lead to cardiac arrest of some sort. I had no idea until I looked it up this evening since I still feel a little week in the heart. But no time and no more time to write tonight either,
but therapists be advised; 
if you have a client/patient that you know is forming an attachment to you please be very careful in how you break that bond, it really can cause physical harm.
But even more important: thank you for helping me to write that very transcendent chapter of my life.

Reprocessing: so much to do... so little time

11/30/2018
2:24 am

I am thinking on reprocessing as I become semi-conscious through the natural cycles of sleep. It wakes me completely as I recognize that these thoughts are new, and they are forward moving in the direction I wish to head. I know that I will not go back to sleep easily now because my mind will not easily give up the processing of them and I make a quick and decisive decision to get them out now, as they are coming, so that I may return to sleep -the very thing I need- quicker… and as I type this I remember that even going to sleep I recognized that I was not likely to sleep well since I was feeling certain emotions before I went to sleep. Not terribly overwhelming, but emotions that needed to be felt and a very natural part of the “grieving process.” Emotions that I am familiar enough with to know that they would affect my sleep.

In addition to those loss and grieving emotions (before I went to sleep) I was thinking on how he just let me go. How, somehow, in my mind I felt a switch from him that I did not see coming, at least not like that and not just then. I knew therapy would have to end with him and I had scheduled appointments for the next four weeks in a row when I realized that I needed to get this therapy stuff done so I could move on and not grow so attached to him. An ironic paradox. It really did seem to me that the moment I started to utilize him as just my therapist is the moment he turned on me and this was so confusing to me. And my research confirmed that this was confusing. I now long to talk with him human to human, preferably friend to friend, but even if he can’t be friends with me for a moment to resolve this, I hope and so intensely desire that he can at least talk real person to real person with me, without the walls, without the masks, and outside of his confining office where his Jedi mind tricks would not have power over me and he would be less tempted to use them.

The new thoughts that are attached to the old thoughts that I know... I need guidance in reprocessing if I am going to do it correctly… or at least more productively and heading down the happier healthier path that (therapist) had started me on. The paths in my thinking that I had become excited about ...and grown quite fond of.

These are the new thoughts that are coming. Something feels different about this time. “It’s not an uncommon theme with me,” I say, “ I fall in love with just about everyone, but this is a little different, you are something special.”

…-it’s not a sexual thing...maybe I needed to add that?

I have so many things that I need to reprocess that I do not want this to be another one. But it is confusing to me, as I see repeats in my patterns that I believed he would have seen, been aware of, and sensitive to as my therapist and as “the best.” I know that he is going through some personal stuff, I sensed that, and I am aware that this could have thrown him off his game… but why would that happen ...especially to me? With me? Why the timing? It was far too familiar of a pattern so I came to questioning myself and at the same time wondering if I could believe anything he had said and that I had felt. Wondering if my perceptions were so completely off. Questioning. And feeling like a fraud in both my sanity and insanity again. A very challenging thinking trap to escape. His actions seemed to confirm everything I hated about myself; the mysteries of myself that everyone else hated about me too but would not tell me (so I could fix them.) I had been here before, but this time is different. I am gaining ground. Making progress and I will not let my mistakes or someone else’s mistakes, real, projected, reflected or perceived derail me this time. I AM more solid and I WILL make it through and I AM finding my power to do that.

So, and this is what woke me up, the new thought in this process, the thought that I knew could keep me on my path to full healing and my full potential:

“I can admit that I am wrong.”

I want to be able to compartmentalize and store my thoughts, hurts and experiences more effectively and efficiently so that I can live the best and most productive version of myself. There is more to my story than he knows (so much more), whether I was hiding it from him -very well- or whether he failed to see it doesn’t matter so much as I know that he does have the knowledge and training that fits my scenario and he knows how to direct me -he really is very good. I know deep down inside that he can still be helpful for me with this if he is willing to.

My pride says "No! since I told him I would not see him again as my therapist." My ego says no because “you don’t even know what the truth is and what is the lie with him.” But my heart says "it will hurt no matter how you see him again but forward movement is what you need and you are going to continue to love him either way, besides it might be good for him as well." And my logical brain says, "umm yeah, admitting that you are wrong and utilizing his skills to help you in the right direction of reprocessing this is a good idea even if it does mean you have to admit you were wrong about coming to see him as your therapist again and even if it is painful for either of you. It is paradoxically a step in the direction of becoming that person you have been working so hard on becoming for so long."

It is now 3:21 am and I feel like I have gotten it all out -I hope I have as I’d like to go back to sleep. “How are you sleeping?” He would ask regularly … because he knows that I am going to be extra sensitive to not getting enough sleep.

I broke my therapist

It's been awhile. I had been working so diligently to create my illusion that I almost had myself convinced.
And this morning, at 5 am, I believe in my realization that I had my neuropsychologist convinced.
It's such a funny irony, paradox, hypocrisy whatever and a million other things that I have struggled so much with my sanity, to keep it in check, and yet somehow I feel neither here nor there in the land of crazy and the sane. I can't accept that I am *crazy and I can't accept that I am sane -as if I am perfectly at home as a fraud in both spaces.  (*have any type of medical diagnosable mental illness)

I somehow have the ability to look at myself scientifically and rationally even when chemicals are raging through my system and there are mystical signs and omens at work on me. I don't know that I always recognize it as well as I think I do, but I do a pretty damn good job.
My therapist, who I had been seeing for several months, has been helping me to uncover my buried story, bring it to the surface, and to learn to accept and love my perfectly imperfect self.
I had my story so far buried I had forgotten why I had buried it; how I had gotten to that point. I figured I was just there to deal with PTSD from a car accident, that involved a concussion, thus it also meant dealing with the head injury of my youth, which seemed to be contributing to the problems I was having while offering reliving style memories and feelings from my teen years that I was not realizing were in fact head injury related and that I had been left to handle alone.
There are so many ironies, repeats and parallels in this
That is probably why the spirit animals came into play.
I do in fact need some other worldly comforting.
But back on track. I was also aware of recent painful experiences with friends and an employer. I do certainly scare people, but my therapist didn't believe I was scary; because I had him fooled.
Yesterday I remembered my blog.
I revisited you (blog) it's been years and I have to say it is a bit sad that it lacked sharing of some of the happier sides of my beautiful crazy life.
Ironically I feel it easier to share the depression stuff, I think it is safer to share and I often look back with embarrassment at the other. ...and I allow my self to digress again ... but back on track
You see the problem is that I fell in love with my therapist. It is not an uncommon theme with me, I fall in love with most people and it's not a sexual thing, it's just love. But because it is coming from me or is channeled through me it is a deep and intense love that I struggle to handle myself. Forget expecting other people to handle it.
What if you saw God, or Jesus, how would that effect you?
This is a deep confession and not where I expected to go with this, but I am going to let it continue, because my box is broken, my therapist is broken and I am tired of hiding, it never felt quite right when my parents told me it was something I should not share freely.
I wasn't crazy then. I didn't even have a damaged brain. I was a young child and it was a dream, but as sure as I was that I was alive and human, that my parents were my parents and that anything tangible really existed I knew that I had seen Jesus. I knew it because I had felt his love. A love so intense and so powerful that it changed me, it shined out of my little blue eyes as I proclaimed to my mom "I saw Jesus." It shined out even without me talking about it.
As an adult, as a teen, I questioned it, questioned if it was just a dream. I often tried to tell myself that it was just a dream, but that was a destructive lie.
When I was around 17, in a religious studies class, in order to illustrate some point, my teacher carelessly asked for a raise of hands from anyone who had ever seen Jesus; In that moment I became the damned as I tried to convince myself that it had merely been a dream despite the fact that I knew better. It likely scarred me more deeply than I know. I had just denied seeing God.
This was not what I came on to write about, but sometimes it is best to stopping fighting with ourselves and our egos and just go with the flow.
And  just like that my mind is empty again. Ready to go back to sleep.

“I think I am struggling a little with depression.” I say as tears well up and then silently slip down my cheek trying to escape to the dry ground before anyone notices their presence. 

It’s just me and my husband on the trail at this point but that is enough and I am exposed.

“You probably will your whole life,” he says.

“Nope” I say flatly and I mean it even as more tears escape.

“Good” he comments with a slight sense of pride.

He reassures me that I have done a good job at keeping myself out of depression. He praises me for my efforts to beat it. And I am glad for this.

I am glad that he understands and is supportive of my intense desire to beat it. To change that aspect of me so that I don't have to struggle with it my whole life. It has been many years that I have struggled with depression and it has brought me very near to breaking points... Or I may have broken many times but I am not beat by it 

and I can proudly and confidently tell you that it is not a struggle for my whole life. 

I have beat it because I know it. I know what it looks like, I know when it is coming, and I know what to do about it. I know how to take care of myself and I know how to beat it again and again until it is not a struggle and it is not a burden of my whole life to wallow in. 

I am a better and stronger person because of it but eventually I will lose touch. 

I will forget what it is like to go through and I will be yet another person who just doesn't get it, not because I never have like most who don't get it, but because I have lost touch. I have healed, I have beat it, I have outgrown it and I have moved on.
I am happy to know that and I feel better already.

my five senses.

A good early education will move from concrete to abstract to make sure the student has a solid conceptual understanding of the subject.
I think so much of our lives has become so abstract that we often forget how to live concretely. How to live in and enjoy our real life physical surroundings and existence.

Often we want answers. I often find myself praying. Then I find myself looking for the answer. Wondering where and who to turn to to get the answer I am looking for.
...Because God is silent.

But what if He wasn't?
What if he gave solid answers.
I have been trained to believe that he does and yet it is a code you have to decipher and while no one else can receive revelation for me I am supposed to turn to certain books and people for answers. Who have been trained and conditioned in the same way. and sometimes they are wrong.
So why isn't God himself giving me answers that I know are actually coming from him? That I know I can trust? I am sure I am not the only one to feel this way.
I am not one who likes to believe down the line. I like to go directly to the source or at least as close to it as I can get and then figure out and decipher for myself how to interpret that data.
There is so much data out there.
And data can be changed, tweaked, manipulated for what ever purpose people have.
It's exhausting.
No wonder there are so many crazy people.

I once rolled my car by over correcting.
My metaphoric mind was thinking about all those "crazy" people who tout loving and forgiving yourself, and all the good karma ideals that occasionally frustrate me. (We can include at least one of my alter egos among the tout-ers.) But I think the thing that can frustrate is when I see those who fully love and forgive themselves all the time instead of changing the offending habit. I feel a bit apprehensive to fully accept myself as a good person when I am not yet.  It's tricky.
On the one hand I realize the power of forgiveness and that I'll not be capable of change if I don't forgive myself and give myself some credit and yet I don't want to excuse my own bad behavior. To correct is good.
...But to over correct can be just as bad and at times even worse.
I rolled a car once because I over corrected.

Sometimes I think I just might say "depressions a #@*$^*" but I think the censored word is quite offensive and degrading toward women and it bothers me that there isn't a term as equally degrading to be directed toward men.  Or maybe "man" is offensive enough. Kidding, that is my super-feminist alter ego trying to overtake.  I'd really rather the world just be less derogatory toward women. But I digress.
Those thoughts weren't even on my radar when I logged in to write about my bouts with the depression and anxiety that are recently trying to overwhelm the system.
Depression is a beast and it's not easy.  It seems to lie patiently waiting for any break in the system. Pressing on all sides just waiting for any little crack to open up so that it can ooze back in and slowly, or rapidly depending on the size of the gap, attempt to drown out all hope, ambition, light and joy.
A sinking ship.
But I've come up before and I will again. My ship will not go down today nor tomorrow. And it most certainly won't go down without a fight.
So to repairs before all sides collapse against the weight!

 :)
(and the little iconic friend is the first patch)

Sometimes I feel as if locked inside of me are the secrets to the universe.  Deep, deep down lie all the answers I am searching for. Just don't know quite how to tap into them and utilize my enlightenment.  Should I ever access those reserves...

Rational?

A punching bag.  At sixteen, that is all I wanted for Christmas.
My dad tried to convince me that I wanted a little speed bag.  He said "you'll get out more energy and aggression with that."
He may have been right but it was not what I wanted. Not what I felt like I needed.
I wanted to hit something.  But I wanted to hit it hard. I wanted to be able to hit and kick and punch and tear it a part with all of my pent up fury.  I could punch it, kick it, push it and even body slam it.
I couldn't do that with a speed bag.
I got a punching bag for Christmas and my dad hung it in the basement for me.  One of the last unfinished rooms in the house.  It was my dads old work room, so-to-say, full of wood for the construction and completion of our house that he and his brothers had built.  There was a tall black and wood table for a large radial arm saw (or at least I think that was the type of saw), a couple of five gallon buckets, various tools, a few hidden treasures left from us kids when we'd use it as a play room, several spiders no doubt, and who knows what else.  Now in the center hung my punching bag.  A large blue bag suspended from shiny silver chains with the word "Everlast" stamped on it.

I'd bloody my knuckles on that bag.

Sometimes my aggression would result in a black and blue hand, or two.  I didn't have gloves but I eventually got some wraps. I had to learn how to keep my thumbs in and hold a tight fist.  Little things like that.  Then I could unleash and beat the crap out of that bag, the blood scars evidence that I had won... And yet I didn't feel any less defeated.

Sometimes I feel that same pent up aggression. Fury.  The desire to tear something apart and roar like the Hulk as he turns green with rage.

In the car I felt like ripping the steering wheel right off and throwing it through the window.  I didn't because I understood the consequences of my actions. I knew that would mean no car to drive and a pricey repair or replacement.  But I really wanted to unleash.  It would be so satisfying to just tear it right off and hear it crashing through the glass as it shattered into a million little pieces of sparkling satisfaction. But I wouldn't even try because I knew I didn't want to cause damage that would later be regretted.

At least I have learned that much.

...But I'm not strong. This hadn't occurred to me before.
Then the thought, "I probably couldn't actually tear the steering wheel off... really."  Probably I wasn't actually strong enough to get it all the way off.   I realized I have never actually tried. Always resisting because I didn't really want to deal with the damage.

Then my scientific nature set in and I wondered if I really actually could (How come I had never considered this?).  I still was reluctant because really I didn't even want to cause minimal damage. "I'll just give it a little tug," just to satisfy curiosity.  It was completely resistant to my effort. Not the tiniest bit of insult. So I decided to give it an honest yank.  Completely solid.  No tension on it at all.  My best effort could not yield even the slightest stress on that steadfast steering wheel...

What me should I entertain?  What me should I develop?
Currently I find myself all dressed up for church and I actually look pretty good. But having such a hard time making myself go.

Sometimes so much of it feels like superstition.  Sometimes I seem to have an overactive imagination and lately I am feeling the need to break free of superstitions.

I'm not so sure that reflecting on the unknowns of supernatural settings is a good thing for me.  I find myself trying to attach meaning to everything but logically trying to remember that is probably not accurate.  So I decide it might be a good plot for a story and that maybe I should develop that idea.  But somehow in the developing of the plot for what is sure to make a good novel or movie, or something, I find myself trying to attach meaning and symbolism that again connects me to some supernatural, spiritual, transcendental, or psychic phenomenon.

aaahhh... sigh

And here I am all dressed up not wanting to go.

Ever Plagued by Ghosts of the Past and Love that does not Last.

"Anxiety girl"
That is how I was labeled in my high school senior yearbook by a cute well liked boy who had barely started allowing himself to speak to me again after my hurting his heart just before our junior year.
I couldn't understand why he hated me so badly for not wanting to be in a committed relationship at sixteen.  (Which suggests it may have been his ego that I hurt more then his heart.)
Why anxiety girl?  Did he know me that well though he didn't speak to me or be even remotely friendly for well over a year?  Was I transparent?  Was that what others said of me?

It's been many many years since I've last encountered this boy and yet he haunted my dreams the other night.  He's haunted them before.  Too sensational and very romantic causing a deep pain upon waking that is not to my liking.
A hundred or so years ago when I "broke up" with him I really truly did not want to hurt him.  I still like him quite well.  In fact there were things about him that I liked so much it frightened me. And I couldn't restrict my repertoire to one flavor when there were so many to try.  Especially knowing that I could easily find myself getting into trouble over indulging in a flavor that agreed with me when my senses were so new to these tempting treats.
As high school progressed and I watched this flavor develop I was sad that it was not a flavor that I was any longer allowed to even flirt with.  He wouldn't have anything to do with me.  He seemed angry and cold toward me ever after.   I was not good enough for him then but why did he have to hate me for it?  It hurt me.  Then he deemed me anxiety girl. Is this why he haunts me?  He saw what I was and since it hurt me that I was no longer worth his time or energy I feel compelled to work out my feelings of inadequacy via some mystic connection to the vain imaginations of my heart and soul?

This is nonsense. The imagery is quite romantic but it is merely symbolic.  Logically I recognize this.  But symbolic of what? Symbolic of  lost time and my own shortcomings and lack of accomplishment.  Back when I was 16 I hadn't figured out what was worth holding onto and investing in.  My own sense of inadequacy has ever thwarted my attempts to pursue dreams.   Maybe it is my lack of faith in myself that hurts me.  Maybe it hurts others. I don't know if I have figured out yet what is worth investing in and holding on to.  What is worth working at or through and what is worth letting go of.
...or how
I am trying to change my course.  Trying to "make" something of myself in order to open the doors to dreams and possibilities.  My insecurities have not vanished. My flaws seemed to have, if anything, more deeply rooted themselves over the years.  It would be nice to feel that security of passion and possibilities cuddled up next to an icon of handsome success.  To feel desirable and worthwhile.
Nail is this the head?

And yet here I am Anxiety Girl through and through.

I feel blah.  Tired.  No motivation.  No energy.  Confused about life and how to live it.  Not sure where to go.  Who to turn to. 

I want change. 
I just want to feel happy and positive.
I want to be easygoing.
I don't want to be so hard on my kids.
I think sometimes I take things too serious.
I am tired and truly I want to call in to work.

... It is tempting...

I want happy, but I don't know how.

Have you ever looked at a person and felt as though you were looking into a mirror?
 Not that the person looks just like you but rather something about them seems to reflect something about you. 
You can't quite put your finger on it but you know you are seeing just enough of you in that person to wonder exactly what it is they are reflecting that you truly relate to. 
I wonder if they ever feel the same way?

Who's who and what is what

Have I ever said that I hate taking medication?
I decided to try going off the old lamictal. I've been taking it for about two years now. It has been good. I would say definitely what I needed.  But now I'd like to detox.  That and I never can tell exactly what is what. I have impatience. Is that medication or is that nurture or is it the old scar from a head injury?  I don't know.  I have been so unmotivated and there are acne issue's.  Could this be related?  I don't know.
I quite taking the antidepressant months ago and other then some anxiety that seems to have mostly subsided, I have been fine. ...No wait there have been a couple of times that I have experienced a little darkness, but nothing to concerning and nothing that has lingered.  I am OK there.
I quite taking the antibiotic I had been on for acne for the past year and a half because I just don't like the idea of it and it was not completely wiping it out anyway.  I think I could probably control that better with diet if only I could relocate that motivation and will power.
So there is just one left before I can completely detox my body.  But that is the scariest to try to go completely off of.  And as always any little change will have me wondering and guessing what is what. I suppose it is good that I don't just go off without thinking about it and am concerned with keeping myself in check.  No, not I guess- it is good. The thought of some of my previous feelings and being is pretty horrifying really.

And that is just it... It is horrifying.  I am starting to have tears well up and my throat is getting tight as I once again realize that my brain has the ability to get really screwed up.  That it has been very screwed up and it really can suck bad. 

I was down to half the dose of lamictal.  After a week of being pretty much fine, things got tough for two days.  Just an intense tired and the world was looking a bit stranger then it has in awhile.  A couple of times over the past week-and-a-half I have felt some intense excitement, something that used to be quite common for me, swelling up inside my body. It is the kind of excitement that if it continued to rise (like bread dough) it would explode from my body and I don't know that I could handle it.

I've heard a romantic ideal of letting go of all inhibitions... What a terrifying thought.

Thing is we just did the daylight savings switch, the season is changing (and in a hurry) and I've been trying to stay away from the Halloween candy that I have allowed myself to over indulge in.  All of these things could attribute to my slight changes in brain function...
But I still got scared and jumped my dose right back up to the previous increment.  Am I a chicken? Or am I being smart?

I don't know.  I just want to be me and not have to always be guessing what is what. 

Lately I've liked the idea of blaming some of my negative traits on my adolescent head injury.  It might help blaming some of the intense anger and impatience that I can be prone to on brain damage. 
The other day when I was overly angry with my husband for a miscommunication, that I was likely just as guilty in, I was able to allow myself time to settle down without saying as much and venting as much. The feelings can be so intense that in the moment I am sure I will never get over it. That it is a gross injustice and possibly the end of the world as we know it. But I let it sit.  this time reminding myself that this just might be the irrational thinking of a scarred old brain.  Before long, and with out inflicting damage to my husband I actually did settle down and was able to realize it was OK and I was in fact feeling some rather irrational and extreme feelings for the situation. 
That is another thing. I don't have the extremes in excitement, spirituality and depression (Heaven AND Hell) with lamictal but I've got the intense anger and impatience still. Then there is memory and focus... Focus was bad before, maybe worse not sure on that one.  But the memory, though it was not great before, now I feel like I am getting Alzheimer's.

So once again what to do? Dropping a bit seems like it has been good.  Maybe I should just stay here for awhile.

Nomads

"Hello darkness my old friend. I've come to talk with you again." "Somewhere over the rainbow, way up high...why oh why can't I?"

Depression seems to be peaking it's ugly head again. Yesterday I had a lot I wanted to write and say. Today is just another day those thoughts all blown away. But I am tearful.
I wish to disappear.

Yesterday I saw myself on a street corner with all of my belongings. My long blond hair radiated the highlights that only days spent in the sun can achieve. My skin had formed a protective layer of tan against the sun. I was not alone but had a travel companion. A man equally as unassuming but unshaven and nicely weathered.

It was not actually me. The couple did not appear to be unhappy. They did appear to be somewhat vagrant or maybe nomadic would fit better.

I noticed the lady most.
She was unlike your typical obvious vagrant person in that her hair was somewhat neatly pulled up into a single ponytail appropriately placed, much like mine so often is. She, at least in observation while passing, seemed rather clean. Neither had visible tattoo's or cigarette hanging from lip or limb. There was no card board sign visible. They both looked strong and healthy. Enough healthy mass that you had to be confident they were not starving. They most certainly lacked the emaciated look of drug depleted addicts. But it seemed obvious by their somewhat tidy mass of belongings and there weathered skin that they have not been home for awhile, nor spent much time indoors.

I felt a longing.
Though they were weighted down by a few belongings they did not seem to be weighted down by the world.
Maybe my perceptions were skewed by my own discontent but oh what a wonderful way to live.
If I were to allow myself I could make up a million stories to attach to this atypical pair, but I do not wish to bind them to the negativity's of my realizations of reality nor limitations of my imagination. I want to keep the vision in my head of this couple pure and simple.

I would have liked to have driven by again.

lafindumond post comment

I like this statement. "but an all consuming force, as natural as the body’s drive to heal itself; your soul must put right that which threatens it."
It explains better then people realize.

This type of depression/suicidal disease is not about "wanting to kill myself" From the mind of one so afflicted it is about having the "guts" to "fix" the problem. The diseased minds default mood. The body ever fighting to keep that mind from winning. That mind that wishes to move on, to be healed of it's infirmity, knowing that the only healing is in death, that mind will win.
But hope.
Hope that it is an ailment and not "me." Realization that sometimes only medication can give, that such a mind is not the "normal" workings of a physically healthy brain/chemistry. There is hope that can bring back life and aid those who are fighting so hard to live and be alive, against there own mind.
thanks sister

Lost in Mental illness.

Yesterday I got to have lunch with an old dear friend with whom I do not get to see much. Some things that we talked about made me think and I am feeling "inspired" to post.

This dear friend was expressing some concern and frustration with a family member who had broke down and is dealing with some serious mental health issues. In talking, my friend said one thing that made so much sense and I think happens so very often. She said
"it's like she is lost in mental illness."
She totally hit the nail on the head.

This friend said another thing at a different point in our conversing that day that in retrospect made a nice connection.

She asked what it was like for me. How I was different with and with out medication. She was interested because I have always been "functional." It's logical that one would wonder the difference.

It is hard not be frustrated and sometimes critical when we know someone who seems to fair better through something similar. And especially if we have endured some seriously hard hardships in our own lives.

That is human nature and it can be (in my opinion) a productive coping and building strategy.

However it is important to note that we are all different, have had different experiences and have different levels of, well, everything (various chemistry of the body noted here) that cause us to react differently. There is so much going into a persons mental health.

Going back to the conversation. I was explaining some of the things that she, and most, would not see unless I hit a breaking point. A point at which I no longer could keep my insanities hidden and/or myself "functional" in the public eye.
One thing I mentioned was the intense anger and sometimes violent feelings and urges I would have to fight. She responded "and that's not you."
She is right THAT is NOT ME.
We were roommates in college. And when I say roommates I mean we shared a room more close in size to a closet then a room. It fit a bunk bed, barely, and not much else. We were close friends, we shared just about everything and knew each other well. It is nice when there are people in the world who know who you are and were for just that and not for a degenerative disorder that changes things.

She is absolutely right, that is not me.

I am an optimist but I struggle with a very dark, negative and hopeless depression. I am a deep thinker and quite logical, always have been, but there are times when I can be quite irrational and ridiculous. A black hole of open-minded-ness. It's incredibly embarrassing to look back at. It scares people away and there is often no recovering- no winning them back.

One thing I do know is that I have been fortunate enough to have felt "normal" in my life. At least what I like to think is normal.
I think I likely had a head start on dealing with mental health issues when I was put away for a day, against my will, by some one in authority, and I had to face something I knew little about, did not understand and did not know if I accepted anyway. I was also put on a medication that was not only extremely hard, if not impossible, to get off of but worked. It took a year to get me there, but it worked well enough.
I also had good influences and accepting friends. This dear friend being one of those. My family loved me and though they did not (yet) understand and did not know if they accepted it as a true ailment, they tried. They did not abandon me but they also DID NOT enable me or excuse bad behavior.

This dear friend is right that is not me.
"That" was MOSTLY mental illness, some the result of an old head injury (brains don't heal and head injuries change things).
But I still had options. I am not a victim of my chemistry, my disorders, my illness, what ever you choose to call it. Or even my injury.

I realized in those little grains of wisdom from my friend that if we do not want to become lost in our mental ailments then we have to know and/or decide who we are.

devloping identity

Two posts today. Read the first posted first and this will make more sense. But I think this post needed to be split.

I am happy.
I am easy going.
I love to do things.
I love to play.
I love adventure.
I love people.
I am intelligent and rational.
I like having a family and home (usually)
I believe in humanity.
I am friendly, though I can be shy and reserved.
I am not super neat and tiddy.
Sometimes I say stupid things.
Sometimes I don't want to fight.
Sometimes maybe I hide when I should not.
Sometimes I avoid things.
I am a bit lazy.
And I am NOT crafty.

...and many other things.
that is me and I am ok with that.

But I am also hypersensitve and I have to watch that closely. My deep thinking can get me in trouble and I have to watch that. I can be over the top, angry, slap happy for no reason at inappropraite times, and ridiculous. Darkness can creep in. I can have some serious anxiety...
...and many more things.
But that is not me.
And when those things start becoming me, when it takes all I've got to keep myself in check. When I become too affacted by every song, picture, movie, book, dialogue, I am exposed to then I can know that I might be loosing myself in my chemistry.

I don't think everyone has had that opportunity to develop their identity. I don't think everyone has been able to feel "normal" and if you don't have that to go back to then how can you? If you have never had a rational thought in your life then is there hope?
I don't know.
I suppose my ideal would be that people with mental ailments might be able to at least identify who they want to be and then do what ever is necessary to get there. Comprimisses will likely be necessary and we are likely, in our less-then stable and rational states, to have an unrealistic picture of who we would like to be. But maybe there is at least some hope for some of us in treating the issues at hand.

It is easy to say and believe it is possible from this side of the glass anyway.
And yet that statement could at least give hope to those who are not yet on this side of the glass.

Holiday Blues.

I'm not sure if it is too much sugar, not enough veggies, lack of exercises and sun or just me (OK I know better it is linked to all of that).
But I feel a bit low. Sometimes I feel "depressed" at the prospect of being "depressed" and that is just stupid.
I still DISLIKE taking medication. Sometimes I feel a bit numb and I often wonder do I really honestly need this? And WHY?
I think I can fix it on my own... even still and probably more and more as I am "normalized." My smart little brain knows that there is really no such thing as "normal" so why am I medicating.
I'll be honest, I greatly dislike the depression and I think I am probably more willing to continue on medication to keep those nasty feelings away. Every now and again I get a little wave of it, and I can tell you that it is most certainly physical. I've waken with that dark, anxious, nastiness and just thinking about it makes me want to cry. I hate to say it and I know that life is not fair and also that I've got much that I am so blessed with (my list would be too long to publish) but my mind still is thinking it at the moment... it's not fair. I said it... I know that one really never knows but it is easy to know that some really do not know those demons of death and darkness.
blah blah, this my whining for the day.
But sometimes I feel sad at the prospects before me and some of my beloved family members (like my very intense five year old son who has already made references to death as an escape, and no, he has not heard it from us. He will be an entry focus another time). What will happen to me in the insanity of the world and my own mind? Must I be medicated? I just want to be free. But I am sure that is the desire of most people in this world, just for different reasons and trails.
I guess that is where some of the longing for death comes from. Though I don't feel it now, my logical brain recognizes it. It also recognize that though we have all sorts of religions and various beliefs of the after life we really don't know what awaits us and "freedom" in death could be nothing more then an illusion.

I feel better writing.
Thanks to anyone who cares to listen. Thanks even more to anyone that feels what I am saying.
I quite liked my blog background today... Maybe it will stay awhile after all.

The other side of the glass

I remembered that I really don't like pink that much. I liked the design but it was just too pink and hurt my eyes invoking a tiny bit of nausea whenever I'd return to my blog. So I had to change my blog background.

Probably if I was really cool I'd create my own thing, but I'm not. So I pick from what is already available and that works just fine for me. There is always something that goes well with "Am I crazy" anyway.

So though I don't love the one I picked and it does not seem to be super reader friendly I picked it anyway because it reminded me of a time (not so long ago) when I felt very detached from life. I had explained it to my doctor as feeling like I was watching life through a window or from the other side of the glass.

I'll probably change it again soon.

the realities of life

On another note. I miss my brother. The suicide aspect is a bigger struggle for me now then the first year. It may be because my mind and chemistry is straightened out enough that I am no longer relating so well.
I feel angry about it. It is helpful to know that is a normal and expected stage of grieving... considering my delayed development I may be angry at the forces that be for awhile.
Mostly I am sad, extremely sad about it.
I miss him and I hate knowing that he is not coming back. My heart aches because of how he died and that it was at his own hand.
I am having to face that it was not just a bad dream. I went through an extended period where I must have been half awake and half asleep because it really did seem like just a bad dream. I am pretty sure in my awake life; if it was just a bad dream then my asleep life would confirm as I dreamed about this bad dream that really wasn't so... I know, it's confusing.

But reality sinks further and further in. And my eyes well with tears often as I realize this new reality. I am so sad that I do not get to see him for the rest of my life. I am sad that even the dreams of him have become few and far between. They may just be dreams but it is always nice to see him. I was allowed a dream of him the other night... I woke myself up I was so excited to see him and hug him. I was sobbing as I woke and lost that moment.

I don't want to forget my brother...
I don't want him to get farther and farther away.

"I like munnee"

I like to write.
I find it to be a good outlet.
Sometimes I write big ol' long e-mails. Sometimes they are answered and sometimes not. I am ok with either (usually) because I like to write anyway.

Sometimes I write random notes here and there.
Sometimes I write in journals
and sometimes on the computer like it's a journal.
I jot down ideas and epiphanies in random places to better hold on to them.

I like to read.
I sometimes like to read the things that I wrote.
I can see in the things that I wrote how I was feeling and who I was at the time of my writing.
I like to read the level me writings just fine. Sometimes they are interesting and sometimes dumb but they are easy and sometimes fun to read.
Sometimes my writings are very down and depressing. Sometimes they are angry or dark. I don't mind reading those. It often helps me feel good about where I am and the progress I have made. I can enjoy and appreciate life more knowing that I am not down like that.
Then there are the overly excited happy or anxious writings... The up writings (a bit of a manic undertone... or would it be overtone?)
I can't even make myself read those.
They are incredibly embarrassing... Though I find it hard to destroy or dispose of writings or pictures (it just feels wrong) I do occasionally throw those out in a thousand tiny pieces or even burn them.
...
And yet I felt so hyper, happy, obsessed, excited, spiritual and/or alive when I would have written such things.
...
That is all I have to say about that.
Except that sometimes I am an idiot and I hope that people can be patient. Maybe even understanding.

huh? (is it God versus mania)

So I don't write so much lately. That would be due to the fact that I am now officially pretty darn boring. My smiles are week and my eyes hardly glow when I want to radiate that smile that helps people realize they are some one special. My angry reactions are mild and easy to recover from. And that intensity that people can't help but see written all over my face is seldom there and only a blush of a transcript when it is there. I hardly have any good stories to tell or much to talk about at all other then the weather, my jobs and the kids.
... so I am boring I guess, although very busy.

Now I hope that I don't sound to disappointed because the reality is that I am pretty darn OK with it. I've said it before and I will say it again, It is a fair trade off.

I feel rather stable and sane. I might even be kind of normal.

But still at times it is a struggle to figure out what is what.
And today I am really only writing for a hurting friend from a forum (I still think everyone should be friends, at least in some form).

The forum subject mentioned is titled "Is it God... or is it Mania"

I recently googled bipolar and religion (though I do not claim bipolar, my Dr. is treating me for that but he has yet to officially "diagnose" me with anything... Which is probably why I like him so well. I hate diagnoses and have done much to avoid such things. Things are going well so really, truly there is no need.)
Back to my point. I googled the afformentioned because my most recent struggles have been with religion.
I care not to mention my religious affiliations, but I am seriously at a loss, once again trying to "figure" that whole thing out... again.
I am not so sure what I believe or what I should believe. God is no longer speaking to me and when He was I was going crazy (literally). I don't feel those spiritual highs and eternal truth of understandings but I can't entirely discredit the "light and knowledge" I was inspired with. I find that when I really start trying to "understand" it all (especially in regards to doctrines of religion) I start feeling pretty crappy about a lot of things and there is so much confusion that it almost always turns to frustration. It is not my lack of intelligence that causes this. I do in fact understand that one plus one equals two. Rather it is likely due to one plus one not always equaling two in some religious aspects and literature's (and that is not just in my current religion) as well as the idea that that is all now due to a lack of faith.
SO when God is speaking I am crazy and when he is not I am not good enough or not doing/being good enough as well as lacking in faith.

I dare not let my thoughts delve to deeply. I'd hate to undermine the current balance of medication and chemistry that I am so happy with. The balance that allows me the liberty of restricting my thoughts. Though depth has attracted me some attention, it is at a price and I am just not willing to pay that at this time in my life. Sometimes I wonder if that is "right." According to much of what I have been taught it is not and there in lies the perpetuation of the problem.

In summary. I have no idea who God really is and sometimes I am not sure if I want to know. However, I see absolutely no point in NOT believing in God and that can be explained if you wish but not now. I believe strongly and solidly in being good and having high standards and values. I see the importance of those very traditional core "family values" and I in no way wish to deviate from those. I would also like to see more of it in the world and I am quite confident if people would stop letting go of those and get back to some solid (old fashioned) values then we would have a much happier world. For that I am confident that religion is a good thing. But where do I draw the line and how do I know what the real answer to my prayers are?


What has been me and what has been God?
Well now, this turned into some rather guarded confessions of my heart.
Good night Big Big World of the Web.

This is a response that I gave on a forum I found online awhile ago. I did not publish then because I do not like to label myself as bipolar especially since, as I have stated before, I have gone to great lengths to NOT be "diagnosed" (even if it is just that the Dr. I see knows that I don't want it so he won't outright say it)
But anyway here it is:

"I just googled bipolar and religion because I am going through very similar to what you are (or were) going through. I wanted to know if that was normal.
It is nice to hear that I am not alone. I am glad you posted.
It gets hard when some serious instability has some religious/spiritual roots. Stabilized on medication I no longer have the spiritual highs and divine inspirations/understandings that I once did, sometimes I miss it, but I also do not drop into the depths of Hell either. So I also tend to relate it all to mania. It is hard for me to know how much religion has played a role in that, especially being born and raised in a very strict religion that has extremely high expectations of it's members (not that that is "bad" it just has been a struggle for me personally in dealing with a disorder that I don't want to accept anyway).
It is hard to know what God wants of me.

I have also found some comfort in Buddhism, coming across it before medication this last time, but I to can still see links to that and some manic issues.

I am having some serious aversion and I am actively involved in my religion. Sometimes I find myself thinking "they are all a bunch of crazies" and yet I can't deny the good that being raised with high moral standards has been, which I know have helped me and saved me from a lot of pain (especially being mental the way that I am).
Anyway, I guess my point is that I appreciate your question and your own concerns. I also appreciate the comments that people shared, especially manic faith.

So I relate to your aversion, only since I have stayed actively involved in my church I am just finding it harder and harder to keep going. I just want to break away for awhile and try to come to terms with what I feel and not with all things that are swimming in my head of what others feel and believe and their convictions and fears... and yet my whole life I have been taught how dangerous that is so I am wracked with turmoil. But at least with the help of medication it is tolerable and I likely will not go "crazy" thinking about. I guess I just need to decide what is right for me right now and be OK with that. Who knows what the future holds.
I also agree it is not "all bad" but rather there is a lot of good maybe it is just hard to find the balance (especially coming from such an imbalanced state).
So thanks again and good luck to you."

suicidal default 101

It's one of those mornings. So many thoughts have been swimming around in my head that I'd like to write about but I just can't find the time. Plus I am a bit unorganized and chaotic...
And today when I feel such a pressing desire to write I can't think of the things that I really wanted to write about anyway.
So I'll just start writing.
...The other day I was chatting (on-line) with an old high school friend. Conversation came around to my mentioning that my brother had died of a mental illness (I still don't know how I feel about that term). The friend asked "how's that?"
Now I was chatting online which means I could not really read the question or the friends understanding of what I had just said, but the particular wording later got me thinking.
"How's that"
I think that it is likely what many don't know or understand that a mental illness or even disorders can be fatal, can actually be the cause of death.
Totally a hard concept to wrap ones brain around.
But when I think of my friends from high school who lost their dad in a very dramatic and tragic suicide. When I think of my friend who I worked with when my brother died and her dad that committed suicide when she was very young. And especially when I think about my brother I know that though technically it was their own hand that would have been the cause of death that their physical chemistry was the cause more then anything else.

My brother was a good person (and the other two men mentioned). He loved life even though he despised it. He was loving, kind and generous. He was so fun and very intelligent. But he had a suicidal default that is not "normal" and, just like a cancer that is not being treated, can only be fought for so long. We don't know who gives up and who gives into death when fighting an illness but many die from things that are not considered major or serious illness's, while some "fight" for a lifetime (or what we culturally and socially accept as a lifetime and a fight).
However in such cases chemistry/physiology over whelm either the body or the soul or both and it is time to let go. In a sense Pain trumps. And with a suicidal default (I believe I have previously written  a definition to that self coined term) one can easily commit a fatal offense with out really meaning to "kill them self."

Here is one silly little simple personal example that I can give (and I may have given before) about how an out of whack chemistry that seems to cause said default can cause a fatality.
Once, just a couple of years ago, I was driving along the freeway while my beautiful little mind was racing through my newest brilliant life plan. But it was not just formulating a plan of how to achieve a goal that my mind insisted on working through but imagining the course of my whole life in addition. When I got to the end, which took a matter of seconds to maybe a couple of minutes at the most (racing minds work quick), BAM I was done and slamming my high speed car into the cement barriers on the side of the freeway was a flash that was almost overwhelming in the quickness and intensity of such a delusion.
I didn't, but I have experienced varying degrees of intensity and dellusion (I am sure most people have really), but had my chemistry been that much more off I could have easily and instinctively responded to the demand before I realized what I was doing and where I really was.
I was not down and there are many fortunate things to my situation but a suicidal default is something that can over ride the sensible systems and truly has to be attributed to a screwed up chemistry. Because, seriously, it is just stupid to think that under a healthy and properly functioning brain chemistry my body and mind would do that to me. Wait, they don't, when I am on an even keel. Which as of recent, has once again, had to be achieved with the assistance from the miracles of modern medicine. But I do know first hand the reality of the chemical difference.

Long post, I know, and I don't know that it makes any sense at all but I suppose I occasionally feel the need to defend my brother because we all knew (he had even promised us) that despite his intense and prolonged struggles with a suicidal default he would never do that.
P.S.
I don't think we realized how intense his struggle really was until he passed and then read his journal. There, it is very apparent that it was not just depression or a fascination with death but a default and a constant struggle, likely the only thing that made any real sense to him.

Which came 1st the chicken or the egg?

???

I am a giraffe

The night before last I was telling my husband that I think I would be fine to go off medication. I told him that I'm really fine and I really probably don't need it. That I really don't want to take medication so I was thinking about going off. If you have read any of my blog you would gather that I really do not like the idea of "needing" medication one bit. I want to be fine on my own.
I know that it is a typical response for many that take medication to get to the point where they feel fine and have enjoyed some stability to then think that they really don't need medication and stop taking it. I know this but still my response to my husband with all that he would say when explaining that he really didn't think it a good idea was that I was really just being a hypochondriac of some pathetic sort and that's all. Really I am fine it was just due to this or that as to why I was such a freak before but now I can see it for what it was and I am fine.

Well you'd think that I'd have learned by now.

But then yesterday I had an appointment with the psychiatrist. It went well and he was very happy with the result and how I was doing (I like that he was happy for me, not just for the results)....
But then we got to my giraffe patches.
What are giraffe patches you ask?
Well no one really knows.
I'll do my best to explain. In about March or so I noticed a circle on the side of my torso. It looked like some one had stuck a suction of some sort (you know how it works, suction on the skin and leave the red circle. A common gag that people will pull leaving a red embarrassing mark on the chin or what have you). I thought it weird because I couldn't figure out where it came from. So I watched it. It didn't go away. Then I started noticing other "circles" only some were oblong and they were various sizes. At that point I believe there were five ranging from about an inch in diameter to one that stretched from my shoulder blade to the center of my chest in front. They are a very faint red outline. They are not elevated, scaly, itchy, or anything else. Just a faint red outline. Oh, and they grow. As they grow there shape does not stay so circular but change to shapes that resemble something more like the shapes of a giraffe spots (not the color, color stays the same). But unlike a giraffe they will actually converge with each other. Now these lovely spots are rather faint and limited to being only places hidden by clothing on my torso. Like I said, they do not itch or bother me in any way. I did call the psychiatrist office when I first noticed them (per the medication disclosures request) but they did not recognize them as symptoms of any major problems due to medication but strongly suggested I see a dermatologist. Which I did and he was baffled (though he was a seasoned PA) but not super concerned. So I haven't worried. However they are reproducing and I have quite a few more.

Back to my appointment with the psychiatrist. He was concerned. Something about it possibly being an indication of other potential problems, I don't know. But he suggested that I go off the Lamictal very slowly, stay off it for a few weeks and see if the "spots" go away. I guess said drug can effect the skin and apparently he is concerned about it if it is obviously getting worse.

You might assume that I was happy to have permission to taper off. I would have assumed it. But after having the conversation with him about how well I was doing and the conversation with the husband the night before, I suppose I recognized a thing or two and I was not supper thrilled with the idea of going off... just yet. Rather I was quite nervous about it. I like the way that I feel these days and I guess that outweighs my desire to not take medication.
But the doctor said it would be the prudent thing to do.
He concurred with me trying to go off the antidepressant first just to see if it might be a combination of the two that might be the culprit. Though he didn't seem to think it was too likely I think we are both hopeful that maybe just maybe that will work (and I will loose my giraffe spots).
Well I guess we will see.
Here is to a new adventure!

a high schoolers longing for death

Sometimes when I start cleaning and going through things, finding new homes for stuff, I find junk from my past. Today I found a binder containing some Jr. high and high school English papers and other writing assignments.
In one particular high school project I mention death and dying at least three separate times. All three are obviously in reference to me dying and one specifically mentions my desire to die.
I know that nothing ever came of this but I wonder how common it is for high school students to write about death and their desires for it that it would not raise some concern suggesting to the teacher that maybe they should recommend the child to someone or at least mention it to their parents?

To Write or not to Write?

Not

I mean to write more on this thing more often then I do anymore. Honestly lately I lack the motivation and desire, mostly because I do feel so normal. But I am being a bit of a bum right now getting sidetracked by the computer so I might as well write something right?

Though I know that I am really truly not normal and never will be (I say this with presumptious sarcasm because I know there is really no such thing as normal anyway) I must say I rather like feeling so "normal."

I like that I am stable. I am curious about my "lack of spirituality" but I am glad to not be floating so far off into outerspace and sinking down into the depths of hell as well.
Really I am rather boring any more and yet I am totally ok with that.
The other day I awoke to the slight feeling of darkness that I used to know so well. Then didn't realize how crappy it really was. It was slight and likely due to a few days of not going to bed when I should have and some of the stresses that are not ussual daily stresses.

It was a good reminder.

I visited my parents and the room that my brother died in recently.
It was hard.
It is hard to think about my brother and how he died. In my current mental state I have less comfort about what happened. I forget that I understand how and what can happen so easily. That little shadow of darkness helped me remember.
I know that what if's and I wish I had's accomplish nothing... Uneless you do something that may be able to help someone else suffering somewhere else with or from something similar. For that I really really wish that I could have somehow let my brother know how bad it was and how good it really could be. How some of those feelings and darknesses that we accept as part of who we, are and often attempt to self medicate in so many other ways, really are something else that we really don't have to tolerate or suffer through. I wish he could see, feel and know how much better, happier and so much easier life could be...

... it is sad to know that I can't.
It was heartbreaking to read his diary and see how much he really was suffering. To see the signs that now, knowing what I know, would seem so very obvious.
It had been such a long time that he struggled that he could not seperate it from who he was. Our lack of understanding and acceptance of mental disoders and illness's really did cost him his life in so many ways, more then just the physical end. He was not a depressed person but he did have depression and battled it tenaciously. And his pendulum would swing, whether that was due to a very strong solder who was fighting just depression or if it was something altogether different who really knows but he did fight the lows and he did still find ways to enjoy life and he most certianly had highs. He also had ruminating, possibly obsessive, thought patterns that were very obvious as well. But he tried so hard to be all that he could be and yet in the end he had no idea how bad his own illness/disorder was even though he was aware of it. He had no idea how bad it was becasue he had never come completely out of it. He had not had the opportunity to experience what I am now enjoying. He never got to completely loose touch with that suicidal default and realize how foriegn and strange such a mental state of being really is.

what more can I say?...

identity

Everyday, before I really start my day I take a pill. Every night before I go to bed I take another (different) pill.
Sometimes I am unsure if this is really who I am "supposed" to be or who I am. I have to look back and remember who I "was" and then I am mostly OK with it again.
I have lost some intensity. I care a lot less about many things. I have gotten lazy in many ways and my brain seems slow and more forgetful... But then again...

Yesterday a friend told me that I think creatively. That I seem to look at things at all angles and I can analyze things form inside and outside of the box. I told her that I felt like I was losing that. But the consensus was that though it has in fact lessened (the depth, frequency, and intensity of my thinking and analytical skills) she reassured me that I still think "creatively."
To me it is nice to hear people say "I never thought of it that way." Especially if it is ended with a "thank you."

Not what I thought I would write today but sometimes our lives, our hands and our minds take us places we did not intend to go and sometimes that is OK.

oh the places we will go

I feel inclined to write often. I intend to write on very good days, but that rarely seems to happen. It seems that I manage to make time and make it a priority on the not so happy days anymore...

So I suppose it goes without saying that I am not so up today (but I'll say it anyway).

I am over all fine and happy enough most of the time. I am glad to have rather steady and much more consistent moods and personalities (yes, that is meant to be plural). But sometimes I wonder and sometimes I am not sure if this (my metal state) is where I am meant to be. Sometimes I feel anxiety sneaking in, trying to reestablish it's regular presence. Sometimes I miss the more intense ups in their various forms. Sometimes I am not sure if "this is normal" or do I need to up a dose before my brain gets too far ahead of me.

Over all I am glad. I think it very likely that my shorter hours spent sleeping and the way that I have been able to safely let my guard down in so many ways is starting to catch up as I may have let it down a bit too much (as it so often goes), but only a bit . I suppose things are always going to be a bit more complicated. But then again I think the psychology of every individual is very complicated and in that I am no different. I must say that, if anything, I am lucky to be so aware of mine and how to handle myself realizing my weaknesses and knowing the boundaries and when I am getting to close. I think in many ways I am probably ahead of the game. Maybe I am overly confident but I have had a lot of practice...
Yet, then again, who knows what age has in store for me.

Life is always an adventure. One Grand Adventure

and I intend to enjoy.

here today, gone tomorrow

I feel like writing, though it has been awhile and likely nobody reads this anymore anyway. that is the beauty of this world wide web, you can write to your hearts content, pretending there is someone out there listening, and hoping that maybe just maybe you will make a difference somewhere to somebody...
What a great outlet we have in the Internet. See I feel better already.

I have been thinking as well as not thinking and at times trying not to think. Anxiety is creeping back in. It may be that I am a bit tired. It is nice that I can stay up much later and not crash (or explode) multiple times the next day... but then maybe that is how it sneaks up on one. Hypersensitive at least keeps things from sneaking.

I am feeling rather hollow...
I think about my brother everyday. I went for awhile with out. There was a bit of time where when I did think about him I believed he was fine and when I would remember that he had died I was sure it was just a weird dream. It wasn't real and I liked it that way... Until I'd see the plants in the living room and the few little things that I have out, like the little framed picture my other brother gave each of us of him (deceased brother) as a boy on one of our family camping trips in a dry field holding matches (that was (name with held)him) and then it has to be real. Though I still really didn't believe, sometimes certain the plants had come from somewhere else. When I found the picture and poems that were a tribute to him for his funeral that is when I lost it. I put that out. I suppose I should live in the "real world" and remember what really happened. But I don't want to.
It bothers me.
Once a doctor said something about religion/my beliefs keeping me alive (instead of actually killing myself when that was really the only thing that made any sense at all). He said something about others of the similar backgrounds claiming that. But I am bit different (the Dr. has also told me that) and truth be known I believe it is said religious convictions that contribute as much as the detract from the desire to die. Sometimes religion bothers me. I see the need and understand and all that, I even agree with much, but lately I am tired of feeling like we live only to die.
I am tired of everything being about an afterlife. I am tired of feeling like I have to do and be so much more then I am.
I wonder if my brother ever felt any of these things. I wonder how much feelings of, being a failure and/or wanting to be done with it because we are merely living to die anyway and since he knew he was so far from "perfect" then what is the point and he felt done, contributed to his current condition.
I am not done. I am just tired of living to die.
I am mad that my brother shot himself in the head.
I am annoyed that I take drugs everyday just to feel like this and yet not taking them is so much more annoying or at least difficult.
I want to run away to my warm sunny beaches with mountains behind me and forget about everything and everyone...

well I suppose I feel a bit better now pretending that my voice and heart might be heard.
good night sweet Internet world.

Oprah and Bull@#%*

E-mail to friend turned therapy blog entry:

I read an article in Newsweek about Oprah. The title was something to the effect that "Oprah may not be so good for your health." I really liked it and was impressed that any one in the media would dare breath even a remotely ill word against the omnipotent Oprah. The article was basically about how all things on Oprah are not always completely accurate. They hit on the "Secret" crap she has pushed and endorsed and it was refreshing to hear that others out there realize that just because Oprah says it does not make it gospel and just because someone successful can market an idea does not make it true. I wish that we really could be and have whatever we want just by vibrating positive thoughts but unfortunately it just doesn't always work that way, no matter how hard you believe and practice and all the bull... I get annoyed any more at having that type of "conviction" shoved down my throat and held over my head telling me that all negatives in my life are a result of my lack of putting out positive thoughts, beliefs and energy. It is just the re-packaged idea that "you only have problems because you are a sinner" or "you lack faith." And if that be true then I suppose I really am just a pathetic sinner of a thing. But it is also quite possible that these ideas, when taken too seriously or held onto with extreme conviction can result in some interesting sanity issues for some of us...

I totally just broke into a "write for therapy" session. I think it is the relief that you are well coupled with my Oprah experience of the day that led me down the path to express and confront the feelings and idea that I think it bullshit that we are completely responsible for all the troubles ourselves and/or families may have. That and I still hate to take medication. It is always very tempting for me to think "all I need to do is think more positive." when the reality is that was kind of a huge part of the problem, thinking that I could think myself out of "it." Though I really believe in energy work and the power of positive thinking and so many more things all I can say is; can't we be realistic about it people? seriously.

and that is all I have to say about that.

PS, two and a half plus months and counting on what has seemed to hold as an even kill.
mood stabilizer appears to be helping.

out with old in with the new... over and over and over and over... again

Though December was OK, I think, once again, I thought I was doing better then I really was... though no shrimp in the closest. definitely on the high side of moods.

Christmas snuck up on me and was hard.

I found myself abandoning my in-laws a few times (in the three days we were there) just to wonder into the red rock.

Christmas day was melancholy for me. I went to find batteries and just couldn't head directly back and found myself driving aimlessly in the direction of the most uninhabited red rocks in the vicinity. I found a beautiful area with a canyon that was just a bit of a walk from the road. I had to hop a fence to get there. I tore my pants going between the barbed wire, then headed to to the hills...

I stayed for what ended up being a few hours. I found a nice little secluded canyon where I stayed talking to people who weren't there, God and Jason, the mountain and myself... I didn't feel that anyone but the mountain was around to listen. I felt as if Jason was aware of me but not close... it was OK though. Sometimes we need alone time.

I found a beautiful picturesque piece of sandstone with rough circles of different beautiful colors. Though I knew this was it's home it seemed so overlooked and unappreciated in it's surroundings so I accepted it as a gift from the mountains and/or higher powers.

I struggled. feeling flat, dull and boring for a couple of weeks. Realizing that I have been floating off into outer space and embarrassing myself many many times this past year.

I started having dreams about my decieced brother that were vague and distant (though it is still always nice to see him).

In one dream, probably the only one that I remember any detail about, he was alive. It was the past, before he had gone. We (his family) were all unsure what to do, what we could say, how we could stop what we knew was coming and yet hoping that by not mentioning it we could somehow do something to change the outcome... It was heartbreaking.



Since then I feel like I have finally woken up (though that has been much longer then just the past year). I feel grounded. It is nice to feel like I am part of the world and not like I am watching life and the world from the other side of the glass.
I am on a mood stabilizer now and it has just been within the last few weeks that I have increased to an amount that would make any significant difference. I hope that this will help me stay grounded a little... no, a lot, better.
Though it was filled with many grand adventures, I am glad that the past year is over. I am not a hundred percent sure where I am at in the grieving process, maybe a bit in denial, or maybe I am just accepting of it/about it. I am really not sure... Either way, they can both be productive coping strategies. I am sad, I might be a tad angry, and it is bizarre, but I am done with living to die. I am ready to live to live. I don't want to be worried all the time about how fragile life is and consumed with thoughts of the after life and what it may look like. I want to live today for today, for myself and whom ever may cross my path that day. I want to live for the adventures and enjoy all of them, big or small.

I hope that I may stay here a while... though one really can not know where life will take them...

And though I have likely been here before it all seems new... I suppose that is a bonus, it keeps life interesting if the same old things always seem new.

Cosmic Realms

Here's the thing...
Sometimes I float off into outer space
(you might call me a space cadet)
and when I return back to earth I am often embarrassed...
I have been going back and forth for awhile now...
Sometimes I am not sure who is feeding whose insanity.
I hope that people will not take this personally,
what ever that may mean.

I am finding the ground again.
I hope I will stay here awhile.

I am tired of living to die.
I am alive,
and that is where I want to be,
in the here and now.