Reconciling Saints

Yesterday, an acquaintance of mine/friend of Stephen's committed suicide.

It was sudden and hard to take. In the late morning, he had posted a picture of his dogs that he loved very much. By early afternoon, he was found dead... or rather, his note was found.

This was a man who had survived much and had devoted his time to taking care of himself and trying to help others that had battled drug and alcohol addiction through counseling. He was well respected for what he did and loved for his spirit, ever positive.

Because of that, it's tough to handle his suicide. He was an inspiration to many and had offered a hand to my boyo when he needed someone to listen and understand. So why suicide? How did he get there? It's a question I've asked a couple of times before.

The first time was when a friend hung herself back in... 2006? Not to say that there weren't any suicides - successful or not - prior to this but this was the first to make me ask this question. We had a lot of traits in common and we shared a last name of sorts; hers was given and mine via my mother. We had a propensity to get ourselves into sticky situations, to throw caution to the wind, and to crash just as suddenly. She was bipolar and took meds... until she didn't. I was not yet diagnosed.

Even then, though, I had to ask... how did she get there?? What made her do it? And scarier still, if she got there, when will I get that bad? I loved life too much to ever get there, even in the darkest of times, I told myself. I never wanted death. I knew then that there was more to what I felt, yet I still didn't equate it with Bipolar Disorder. Due to that realization, I had to wonder, when will that be me? As though I had a degenerative disease... and maybe in a sense, I did. Who knows? Unmedicated and undiagnosed, I might have. Then again, the Unsinkable Ceci may not have ever had the reasons to get there. I had survived a lot... seriously A LOT, but even when it looked so dark and I didn't think I would get out of it, I never contemplated death.

So now, I'm here again, looking at the question of... why? And to a degree, what makes me different? Will I still get there one day?

Most importantly, though, why?

People always talk about making sure you know you can reach out to loved ones, to remember that you're not alone. But... my bipolar friend, my cousin (I wrote about this a couple of years ago), and now this friend, have reminded me that it's not always about our support system. Well, the only one I can say that about for sure is my cousin but I have to extend it as a possibility to the other two. Both had people who were there for them, who they talked to... or in as much as they could, possibly keeping back the worst as we're all prone to do.

Sometimes... sometimes it's about the battle and what one can take. Sometimes they just can't fight anymore and don't want to keep living with it. Sometimes... sometimes it's about how long we can survive, I suppose.

So... there is this girl.

She used to see monsters everywhere. She battled everyone she felt was coming at her, coming for her. She gave into her feelings of distrust and anger more often than not.

Even now, she sometimes feels a shard of pain and anger growing and she reaches for it to sustain her. She feeds it so it grows because there's something freeing, something that feels good, about giving into it. The anger, once a spark, starts to blaze through in one quick flash... and the feeling both excites and frightens her.

Maybe it excites her because it makes her feel powerful over what she's dealing with. Maybe it frightens her because it excites her.

Either way, she ends up somewhat startled. Because she enjoys it and because it scares her.

This is new, though. In the end, she just ends up tired... very tired... and lost... and more than a little concerned at the anger and at giving into it. After that... she just feels... worried and rattled apart.

When she sees her symptoms in others, she wants to help but sometimes feels as though she comes across as wrong, as pushy. She wonders if she's projecting.

Other times she feels sure that she sees the symptoms in others and she gets angry that NO ONE IS LISTENING! ... just like they didn't listen before.
...
She's always had a problem with people not listening to her, not understanding her.

But what if she's right???

But what if she's wrong and is only convinced she's right because she wants to be?

Maybe this is where the anger stems from... anger so strong she feels like feeding it as soon as it sparks, wants to feel that release instead of keeping it in. Wants to make it grow.

She tried meditation.
She tried breathing.

She found that she ends up scared when she tries to let go whilst meditating. There's something scary out there and she's not sure what. Sometimes it feels like she can see answers and for that, it's worth it.

She also learned that she sucks at breathing. She needs to learn to breathe.

Today finds me chugging along and reading.

I originally found this book at the library where I work when we got it in a few months ago with the new books. I read some of it then and decided that this was something I needed in my library. It's easy to read since it's in layman's terms and I find that it keeps me mindful of what's up in my head. I recommend it for anyone that would like to learn more, whether newly diagnosed or not.

For me, knowing more/as much as I can about the demons helps me understand and cope with them better. It helps me recognize what is going on and hopefully dealing with it.



Aiken, C., & Phelps, J. (2017). Bipolar, not so much : understanding your mood swings and
           depression. New York : W.W. Norton & Company.

... but it slipped my mind.

Hi!

So, I've been busy, then not busy... and now I'm just crazy.

That is to say, I've been all over the place in my head... mostly manic but the depression has been hitting deeply. I feel like I might rattle apart most times and others I just can't help but let the world get to me. The people. The government. My friends and family. The world. I am sad for all they go through... I wish I could fix it... I wish they didn't feel that way.

This is how my mind works these days. The world and anyone's suffering makes me sad.

"I fall asleep in my own tears
I cry for the world
for everyone
and I build a boat to float in
I'm floating
away

I cant recall the last time
I opened my eyes
to see the world as beautiful
and I build a cage to hide in
I'm hiding
I'm trying
To battle the night"

I really don't like being dramatic. It's kind of not my thing... or at least mostly in my head... which sometimes I let slip into my actions. And maybe this is why I can't let it show. Most times I feel like yelling, "I'm falling apart!" but I just can't really see me do that... so I kind of crumple inside.

I've been trying to battle my monsters with what I can. It doesn't always work because, as Tracy pointed out (hi, Tracy) I'm not using all my skills. Like writing on here. Also, talks with her/basically talking about all this.

Why?

I think I believe that I can get through it on my own because I have skills. HOWEVER! It has come to my attention (again, thank you, Tracy) that I'm forgetting some crucial skills.

So here I am. Blogging again.


"I stand behind a wall of people and thoughts
Mind controlling
And I hold a sword to guide me
I'm fighting
My way."

I'm in and out of feeling strong enough to do this and feeling like I'm rattling apart... because I can feel it and I almost expect a visible tremor.

In talking to my sister today, I think one source of my problem is fighting myself to do what I want to do. I mean... let's be honest. What I really want to do is write. Currently, I'm afforded the time to write by having part-time jobs. It doesn't make much money, but I have a goodly amount of time to write. I haven't really been doing it, though because there are always a million things that "should" take precedent. I have to get over that and remember that this is top priority. It's one of my jobs. It's important to me.

I. Must. Do. THIS!

So yeah... I battle me. Self-loathing, self-doubting, ... oh and have I mentioned that I don't feel right in my own skin? I feel like I'm wearing someone else's skin... a bigger someone else. I just feel... uncomfortable. And I can't seem to shed it.

Soooo... yeah.
WHAT WILL HAPPEN NEXT?!
Hopefully a more entertaining post.


Lyrics from Warrior by Aurora

It makes me happy to see this out there alive in the world.

That one day someone will say, "You know, me too."

The other day I had an epiphany. It had something to do with meds… and feeling out of it… it had something to do with wondering if I made the right decision to have a go without meds and if I need to go back on them… and how that thought was a crutch... could be a crutch… and that proves it was a crutch. I get scared, so I want my meds… because I don’t let myself deal with this myself. I need to do this OFF of meds so that I know that I can do this on meds.

I need to be off meds so that I can find out that I can do most of this off of meds so that I can do this with them, too. I need to develop the skills concurrent with the meds… so that I know I’m ok… so that I’m not a time bomb - won't feel like a timebomb - because I know how I’ll handle it… and that I can handle it… and it won’t stop the crazy. Nothing can stop the little things that will always bother me or the how of how I see things.

Let me back up a bit.

After some discussion with some close friends and my boyfriend, I went off meds once school ended in early May to try something out. I let people around me in on it so that they could help monitor me and my behavior, letting me know if I got too bad, or even calling me out if I slide too far one way or the other.

First of all, I wanted to get back in touch with what's wrong - try to feel it and figure it out... likely see if I can figure out triggers, and how it progresses, to how to stem the flow of the thoughts that might send me into depression or a tailspin. Some is for the sake of my writing (that sounds kind of hokey to me) since I feel I have to get back to the true feeling and experience of it, not make it just something remembered and botching the truth of it.

On TV or movies, one only ever sees the worst of it... and it's not always that way - usually it's subtle. I feel that it's much like the issue I had with telling my mom about being sexually molested when I was 7 (I told her when I was 9). What is shown is soo much bigger than what I experienced that I had a hard time recognizing what they showed on TV in me. The after school specials and "very special episode of..."s usually showed kids who were truly traumatized from their sexual abuse and I always thought about how awful that must be for them. What had happened with my mom's best friend's son (he was 16 or so at the time I was 7) was definitely less than that. He got grabby and did some exploring, but I wouldn't say it was traumatizing. I mean, I'm sure there are issues from it, and I've certainly talked about it with therapists, but I was not having behavioral issues, or wetting the bed, or anything like that.

I've gone off track a bit here...

Back to what this has to do with the bipolar. I want to write about an experience that's subtle, at least for the most part... and I have to remember how these things start... and that they usually come from nowhere and build. It's tough!

There's also the part of my... experiment... that has to do with making sure that I have my skills and that I can also learn to pinpoint what's coming on - be it triggers or how to tell if I'm a little off. I had a year off of meds when I first moved to KY because of lack of insurance and I feel like I was very good about using everything I had to make sure I was ok, especially since it was a tough year. My support group was not with me, for the most part. I had 2 people here that I could trust, so it was...scary. I was also newly officially separated from my ex of 10 years... with a pending divorce, at that! I mean, it was perfect for a meltdown and I had only been officially diagnosed for a little over a year! Still, I got through the year gloriously! I used all of my skills and the people around me for help.

However, I found that once I went on meds again and was with a therapist... I got worse. Well, not bad, but I wasn't as good as coping with things on my own, or paying attention to triggers and what went on in my head. It's like I got lazy and expected to let the meds do more. Well, that's my theory anyway. Also, I've been questioning adding medication since the psychiatrist I saw here was pushing to put me on lithium, which seemed excessive. Plus, she always wanted to add something if I had a bad day or if things were just a bit off and I didn't feel like anyone was really working with me to work out what was going on, like my therapists in Portland and California used to. It didn't and doesn't feel right to me.

So I wanted to focus on skills... and in order to do so I wanted to do it while I was in control of things and with a great network of people that can call me out and have learned what to watch for. I want to make sure I get this... and understand it, and with that learn about what happens to me and how to help it.

Woman on a park bench in Central Park, New York, 1957. Photo by Yale Joel

It scares me, not being on medication. Not because I feel out of control and not because I know that I'll go out of control. I don't. I don't know that. What if I can control it mostly, or maybe even keep it to minimum medication with the help of understanding my problem? I feel like I've become afraid of myself because I was told that I have to have medication, if not it would all go very badly. It's like... being the incredible hulk. It's not that I hate medication, and I do believe that it's very handy and necessary... I just... don't know that it's the only answer. I want more insight, not just medication. However, because I've had it drilled into me that medication is and always will be necessary, it's really scary to be without it... but in that scared-of-the-monster-under-the-bed kind of way. When you're a kid you're convinced it's there and you keep waiting for it to pop out.

Not that I'm saying that medication is imaginary/all in my head... just that... I want more than that, I guess. I want more than a blind belief that meds are the answer. I've a sneaking suspicion that it's both meds and skills, but really, I just wanted to know, you know? I also want to know how they work... what they do, and I feel like people are never really told. I'm ok with accepting the meds on faith when first diagnosed to get things right again - that is the time to simply act and get things back to normal. Shouldn't we - I - learn more about my condition and how to live with it now that it's a done diagnosis?

So... that's where I'm coming from on this meds business. When I will go back on them, I'm not sure.

Why I haven't told you has to do with being told that I always have to be on meds; I feel like a five-year-old that's snuck out of bed to sneak a twinkie. Would I have gotten the twinkie if I had asked for it... maybe... but no one was around to ask, so... there's that, too. Also, I constantly question when I should start up again and how. At this point, I think it's something that I would like to discuss further with Dr. R at the University of Cincinnati's division of bipolar research, whom I started talking to a month ago, and Dr. B, my general doctor.

It's something I felt I had to do in order to know more. I know it's risky, and many will frown upon it, but I felt I had to explore this, and I feel I'm going about it pretty safely.

Let me tell you what I know about having an episode or how a breakdown begins... at least from my experience.

You see, it's not how you'd think, and it's not like what you see on TV.

Dear blog,

I'm sorry I've been too wrapped up in things to update. August was ridiculous and busy... and September has jumped in with school and its own craziness! I promise I will remedy this soon, especially seeing as I have a few posts already waiting in the wings.

In the meantime, I leave you with this pic that a friend sent me as something to think about.

Yours... truly,
_c_



*also I'd like to leave you with this song that's been in my head and is kind of tied to the title of this post. It's a pretty good song, maybe you know the rest... 

I hate it when people sigh OH SO LOUDLY in a "woe is me!" sorter way. You know, the kind that begs you to ask what's wrong... really, desperately begs you!

I especially hate it when I'm the one sighing!

I can't help it, though! I'm hoping that my coworkers can't hear me. And if they have heard me, that they don't think I'm doing it for attention.

There have been a handful of sighs escaping from me intermittently today that carry with them the air of one that is depressed and tired. Perhaps just Depressed, with a capital D - the kind where you don't have to add the and tired because it is implied with that kind of depression.

I'm not exactly sure where these are coming from, I just know that they're here, and they are making sure that I know it! I wouldn't say that I'm Depressed with a capital D so much, but I can feel it around the edges somewhere. It's hanging out, and it's threatening to swoop in.

So I'm taking this time to figure out why because, really, things aren't bad. In fact, it could be said that things are actually pretty good. This is a little trick of mine, this "talking back" (as my therapist liked to call it) when the Bipolar Door is swinging in the negative direction. The talking back can help stop it, or at least lessen it a fair amount.

For some reason... and I'm sure it's something in how it's being translated in my head... for some reason I suspect that people think I'm annoying. Well... thankfully not everyone! Friends are currently excluded from this, surprisingly, but that might be just because it's only slightly on the periphery of everything. I see it is as The Negative monster that's hanging out right outside the circle of light that my little candle is illuminating, so it hasn't been able to touch the real things within.

Perhaps it's had to do with delving back into 16-year-old me for the book, but I've this overwhelming feeling of being disliked and wondering if I really am annoying! Why? Well, I wonder if maybe I get just a bit too excited about things, gushing and posting about it like I'm 12. I could see that this might be annoying, especially if you're in a surly mood. OR!  Maybe I'm a bit too emotional about things. Sometimes, sad things make me really sad, bad things make me really mad... steaming even! These tend to come out ALLLL over the page, and can get ridiculous. So then it's ridiculous... and just stop it, really, she's just embarrassing herself!
But I don't stop it.

The Negativity monster that's pacing on the periphery is saying that the denizens of the internet are judging me, and no one has a damn thing to say to me about my silly little words and silly little projects. In fact, it's been concluded that I'm quite a dork, and mainly a nuisance, so I should just shut up and go away!

Well, when you do this for yourself and your friends mostly anyway, it really shouldn't matter, so I keep on keepin' on. Still, sometimes... sometimes, the little Negativity monster (he's actually quite little), likes to stick a toe in to test the boundaries and I find myself wondering if it is true... and if I should just stop.

But it's not really based on anything substantial, and I'm not doing this for you.
No. I'm doing this for you, and me, and my friends. That's really quite good enough. I just have to remember that.

From the New Yorker © 2014

You're awesome! Try not to forget that... 

Life is short, guys. Too short. I've had plenty of reminders of this in the past... few months? I mean, I always do, but...

There is not going to be any time later that's better to do x, y, or z. There's only now.

This might not necessarily be true, and yet it kind of is. What's so different from then... now? What will you learn? If anything, perhaps you should ask yourself, what won't you learn.

You won't until you do, so do it.

I'm writing a book. NOW. Right now. I keep thinking that this book idea I have is something I'll write later when I have a better idea for it, a clearer picture of it, have become a better writer. It's not gonna happen if I keep waiting, and really, what am I waiting for???? This is what I want to do, this is part of my passion. So I want to do what it is that I want to do, now. It seems to me the only time I really have is the present; everything else is merely borrowed, gambling on a future investment.

I've recently learned that I'm quite passionate about talking about mental health issues... specifically about bipolar disorder because that's what I know. It was devastating to me when I was diagnosed, and now I find that it's not so bad. Why is it that they make it sound so horrid, like all of a sudden you're one of the walking dead? Abandon all hope, ye who enter here!!!

Yes, there are meds. Yes, there are therapists, psychiatrists, and doctors. Yes, you have to relearn how to do certain things.

BUT! But you get to stop being totally out of control all the time, and you get to take a break from what you're used to that has gotten out of hand and is maybe no fun anymore. You get to learn new skills for life, and listen to yourself in a different way. This way, maybe after a while you don't need all the therapists, psychiatrists, and doctors, maybe you won't need all the meds. With these new skills - by learning your own tells, noises, and signs - you can start doing more on your own so that you're more like the you that you were used to, but smarter... and with mad skills, yo!

Bipolar really isn't so bad, and one can learn to live with it without ALL OF THE MEDS! and ALL OF THE DOCTORS, SHRINKS, AND THANGS! 

That is what I wish I knew in high school, and it's something that I wish I had found a book on at that age. I found so much understanding through my books, but I didn't find this. Don't worry, though, it's nothing that I knew to look for or even  knew I was missing. Still, I want to write the book I wish I had in high school, that book that opens my eyes and makes me feel that someone out there gets it, someone out there understands.

I want to let people know that I get it. Maybe it'll be one of the nieces or nephews, who knows! I want them to know that I get it, and I'm here to help them figure out the why and how of it, if only by leading by example.

So there's no time like right now! For me, because who knows! For them... the kids out there that I understand... because... well, also, who knows?! I'd like to give them a little more time if I can.

1. I promise to never go home early/ not do something just because I'm concerned as to whether or not my boyfriend is having a good time. I would stick around if it was the other way 'round. When I have before, I've generally found that I can enjoy it, especially by just letting go and letting be. I mean, Hell! I put myself in the situation!*
2. I will stop working myself into a tizzy.  If I'm not happy with it, I need to talk about, get over it, or say no. Simple.
3. I control me. I have final say on what I choose to do… or not do… and what I am willing to put up with. PATEOTS!**
4. I will remember that I know I am self-reliant. I am not some damsel in this dress,*** therefore I will not feel dismissed if I don't get the help that I never asked for (see also work-myself-into-a-tizzy). I can do it myself; I didn't want, ask, or need the help. Just because person A doesn't offer to help me do B does not mean one should be second guessing their loyalty/ reliability. If I haven't asked for help when I do need it and I don't get it, it's no one's fault but my own; people can't read my mind no matter how well they know me.****
5. I will be wooed and I will be loved. Anything less is inexcusable. I need to love me enough to know that I'm worth someone loving me just as much as I love me… and them... if they're lucky.
6. I'm not a doormat.
7. I promise to hold my partner responsible for the other half of the partnership, illness and special circumstances excluded (limited time offer).
8. That being said… I promise not to try to hold up all of the partnership. I will ask for help when I need it and not just expect it (see the bit about people not reading my mind).  One cannot and should not do it all by one’s self… not in the long run, anyway.
9. I promise to keep the knowledge of how awesome I am with me at all times. Certain exclusions apply for humility when necessary and/ or called for.
10.  I promise that the one thing I know is that I don't know everything. I will continue to learn and remember that learning can come from anywhere, even the person that seems to be the dumbest person I know.*****

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The Nightmare Book is a journal I have where I write  down the negative thoughts in my head. I try not to spew them out into the ether, but today, I'm going to use this to put up the emotions I feel some times... the ones who are special guests at the Pity Party.

I have a routine.

It starts with waking up.

Some days I never want to and I feel like I can sleep for ages, but I know I have to. I sit there for a few minutes savoring the comfort of my bed, the feel of Stephen beside me and negotiating with myself for just a few more minutes in bed. Finally I get out of bed; I know I just have to do it.

After comes the morning routine of getting dressed, washing my face, brushing my teeth and getting my lunch for the day.

This part is easier.

Once at work I grab my coffee and settle in. It's comfortable there, sitting with my coffee, reading my emails while idly chit chatting with the 2 gals that work in my office. Next I make a list to have a visual of what needs to get done that day, taking note of those with high priority.

I like lists.

At some point during the day I lose focus, which can be bad. All of a sudden I need a break, some sort of diversion or inspiration, something that will help me get on with the day. This can go one of 2 ways. The first is just that I get a little distracted for a moment and it slows my productivity down. If I'm lucky, this is the way it goes. The second is the toughest one to handle. I don't want to be there, don't want to worry about the things I need to and that that is somehow supposed to take priority in my life. Basically it all becomes sorter meaningless.

Work ends, no matter what, and I go to the gym. I go because I have to, because it helps combat the icks. It's VERY difficult to do when I have the feeling that it's all meaningless, but I somehow still can convince myself that, especially then, it's important.

Gym is done and I go home and shower. Once I'm done, Stephen is usually on his way or already home.

Dinner.

Hang out a little with Stephen, which can be fine or can go wrong... it just depends on both of our head spaces.

Then I start all over again.

I learned how to go through my routine when I was first diagnosed. I learned that sometimes it's just as hard as putting one foot in front of the other and hoping that it'll get simpler from there on.

It's how I survive in life when things are tough. Looking at it now, written here, I can see where improvements can be made, where things I do might be making it worse, where I could replace certain bits with something more creative.


If ever this schedule is thrown off on one of my off days, though, I get especially moody. I really hate that. If I can see that I'm doing that, I try to breathe and tell myself that it's ok that things aren't going the way I had them laid out. It's like Rainman... and Judge Wapner. Serious freak out, yo.

It's not always like this. Sometimes I have great days where everything is spontaneous. However, inevitably, there are times when I'm a little weaker.

So I stick to the routine... and that gets me by.