Did you know that over 50% of Depression suffers will NOT seek treatment because of the stigma surrounding mental illness? During any given year there are 5.7 million people suffering from Bipolar Disorder. You do the math ~ that’s a lot of people who won’t even go the doctor for treatment ~ makes you wonder who they are talking to. Of course, that could give you a glimpse into why over 45% of people with Bipolar Disorder will attempt suicide.

Now that I’ve enlightened you with such uplifting information, I’ll get to the reason for this post.

Most of you know that I suffered a severe depression last year that lead to months of suicidal thoughts and a great deal of physical pain. By the time the episode had retreated I no longer had a job (not a bad thing, really). It is my firm belief that if we (the world at large) spoke openly about Mental Illness and treated it with the same compassion that we treat other illnesses, my relapse would have been avoided. Sadly, stigma about Mental Illness remains strong.

That’s why I am fighting to Eradicate the Shame, Blame and Toxic Niceness surrounding Mental Illness. I am working with the local chapter of the National Alliance for Mental Illness (NAMI) to help educate the world. Here is where I need your help.

NAMI is hosting their 6th annual Walk and I’m writing to ask you to sponsor me or join me if you can.

I have always been very open about my Bipolar Disorder but most people are not as Loud and Proud as I am and that is a shame.

Thanks for your time.

And remember, when life becomes a rollercoaster, sit in the front seat, throw your hands in the air and enjoy the ride.

Waving Wildly from the Front Seats,
Bipolar Chick

Your moods have been swinging back and forth, driving you (pardon the expression) crazy. You go to the doctor seeking answers. After lots of questions and possibly tests for other illnesses you are diagnosed with Bipolar Disorder. While having a name for the way you’ve been feeling may be a bit of a relief, the reality of having a “mental illness” can be frightening.

So, take a deep breath and relax. Lots of us have BP Disorder, you are not alone. You will have questions and this should be one of the first – which BP Disorder do you have? There are several types of Bipolar Disorder which are characterized by the length, frequency and pattern of the manic and depressive episodes. Proper diagnosis is essential for effective treatment.

I have had the unique experience of originally being diagnosed as BP 2 and then upgraded to BP 1 ten years later.

Bipolar 1 Disorder

Those with BP 1 experience extreme manic episodes or mixed episodes (mania and depression occurring nearly every day for at least one week) and one or more major depressive episodes. BP 1 is the most severe form of the illness. Psychosis, paranoia and hospitalization are all associated with BP1. Episodic depression does not have to be experienced for a diagnosis of BP1 but it usually exists.

My own experience with BP1has included a trip to the psych ward, paranoia and the inability to work for months. Mixed episodes and suicidal thoughts were also present during my last relapse.

Bipolar 2 Disorder

Since depression is what normally sends us to the doctor, BP 2 is typically misdiagnosed as major depression. Basically, once the depression slips into hypomania, you feel so much better that it doesn’t occur to you to call the doctor or to stay on your meds. Frankly, you feel just fine – maybe even better than fine, that’s because the hypomania has taken over. The elevated moods associated with hypomania are welcomed warmly after a deep depression. Most of the time friends and family simply believe that the depression has lifted and you are back to being the life of the party. The problem is that “what goes up, must come down” and usually it’s not a level mood that shows up.

My diagnosis of BP2 came during a deep depression that followed a wild hypomanic summer which was kicked off by anti-depressants meant to help me quick smoking. That’s right, I was given an anti-depressant to help me quit smoking and to relieve the slight depression caused by frequent migraines. It took only a couple of months and I was swinging high on Hypomania Mountain. I was running on all cylinders at work, I opened my own home business, never slept and spent a lot of time drinking (a form of self-medication that the hospital will consider abuse).

Not Otherwise Specified (NOS)

Bipolar Disorder NOS, sometimes called “sub-threshold” Bipolar Disorder, is a “catch-all” diagnosis that is used to indicate bipolar illness that does not fit into any of the formal DSM-IV bipolar diagnostic categories (BP1, BP 2, or Cyclothymia-see below). If an individual seems to be suffering from some bipolar manic and depressive symptoms but does not meet the criteria for BP1, 2 or Cyclothymia a diagnosis of Bipolar Disorder NOS (Not Otherwise Specified) is given.

Honestly, I think we’re all sort of BP NOS because I’ve never met two people with BP Disorder that have classically met all requirements of one or the other types. It seems to me that BP is really as unique as its owner. And by the way, you are the owner of the BP, it is not the owner of you.

Cyclothymia

Cyclothymia is a milder form of bipolar disorder characterized by several hypomanic episodes and less severe episodes of depression that alternate for at least two years. The severity of this illness may change over time.

Rapid Cycling

Bipolar disorder with rapid cycling is diagnosed when a person experiences four or more manic, hypomanic, or depressive episodes in any 12-month period. Rapid cycling can occur with any type of bipolar disorder, and may be a temporary condition for some people.

Confusing, isn’t it?

Be sure to discuss your diagnosis with your psychiatrist. Do your own research and write down any questions you may have and then ask them. Remember, YOU own BP and it is as unique as you are, therefore, you have to write your own owner’s manual because the best anyone else can do is give you the general information. You have the specifics and you must become self-aware to find them.

Just a note – The abbreviation for Bipolar Disorder is BP even though you might think it would be BD. BD is used for Borderline Personality Disorder. I don’t know why, just thought I’d let you know.

In Hope and Healing,
Bipolar Chick

I found silence today in the form of extra sleep.  I sleep a lot sometimes but this was a conscious response to my tired brain and weary body.  I said nothing to the family, unusual for me to not ask for this gift of time or bemoan it’s desperate need.  I simply took it.  I returned to my room and curled up under the covers and let my mind wander into oblivion.

Sleep didn’t come quickly but took a gradual stroll into a vivid dream state.  I heard my husband come into our room and ask if I was okay; I opened my eyes assuredly as I muttered a convincing “uh huh”.  I remained aware of the dogs running around chasing each other,  stopping only to alternately jump up on my side of the bed to nudge me to come and play.  I let them paw and push but did not move.  Eventually, they went to sleep on my bedroom floor and I drifted off.

My dreams were alive in technicolor brilliance as I found myself in a house filled with friends.  There was a secret basement made up of rooms for each of my family to revel in.  A computer lab and gaming room for Kate; a gathering place with a small bar, televisions turned to ESPN and couches for friends for Jackie.  There were toys and Christmas decorations strewn around the warehouse like room and a wonderful desk and writing materials most certainly meant for me.  A hidden passageway lead to a backyard designed for fantastic cookouts and gatherings especially for my husband, James.  Ahhh, a sweet dream it was. When I woke, I was relaxed and hungry and surrounded by my dogs – better than the groggy start to my earlier day.

I followed the sleep with a web seminar about a life coaching course I will begin on Monday.  When I finally went downstairs I was at peace just sitting quietly with my husband.  The television was on but no one was watching-background noise and nothing more.

The day has been filled with quiet time and that is indeed a wonderful gift.  I gave myself time to reflect on the past month and it’s chaos.  I also thought about setting goals for the months ahead – mere thoughts, no real decisions today.  In between the quiet moments I called my grandmother, mom and daughter to say I love you and Happy New Year. I just touched base no need for lengthy conversations.

No one seemed to mind my quiet, it was simply accepted and graciously so.  I called for dinner to be leftovers or something of one’s own choosing.  I did not declare that I would not be cooking as I didn’t wish to defend the decision.  I just did not offer the choice.  Everyone survived and I did not stress about their capacity to do so without me.

Lessons learned:

The world still revolves when I choose to stay still and it is okay.

Depression does not have to be cause or consequence of sleeping in or tuning out.

Time for myself is as necessary as it is a treat.

Questions to ponder:

Will I be able to do this again, even when everyone is home and thus aware of my withdrawal?

Will we all think it is a natural thing and not a “bipolar reaction” to some unnamed stress?

Are we capable of turning off the television even when it is just white noise?  Not sure about this one – there is a tv in almost every room of my house.  I do not lack external stimuli.

Actions to put into motion:

Turn off the television and find myself again and not just in a dream state, perhaps in a book or better yet in my writing.

In Peace and Quiet,

Bipolar Chick

Happy New Year!  May 2010 be even better than 2009.

I am once again stepping onto the path towards the last locked door.  I will travel through the maze of my mental illness, pushing beyond the boundaries of my bipolar disorder and defying the depths of my depression; you are welcome to accompany me if you wish (rafts and life preservers will be furnished upon request).  I had hoped to delve into this journey today, January 1, 2010 but I didn’t…or maybe I did and just didn’t realize it.  I want to share my experiences not just as a diary of daily doings but as a witness to the functioning and non-functioning parts of me with the hopes that some of my solutions for my own life will be of some service or bring some light into someone else’s life.  It’s later than I had hoped to start (10:32 pm – well into my medicated sleep pattern) but I didn’t want to miss starting on the first, so here I am.  As for my diary of daily doings…see below:

I spent the day with my husband and that was nice though by the end of the day he was not feeling well…should I take that personally???

I did not speak to anyone on the phone today, which I’m okay with.  I wished a few Happy New Year wishes to a few loved ones but otherwise didn’t go out of my way.  The way has been blocked since Christmas when a large gathering at my house was both enjoyed and endured until my very nerve endings pulsated in over stimulation.  I’ve needed sleep and silence but have not been afforded much of either.  No one’s fault except my own; I have not asked for the quiet that I long for, thus I have not received it.  Perhaps tomorrow.

This evenings promise to me:  To find purposeful silence tomorrow.

Lesson still needing to be learned and put into action:  Ask for what I want (so much harder than it seems).

Good Night for now.  More tomorrow.

Bipolar Chick

How is it that my aloneness can turn a regular day into a cold, murky place where it rains with no wind and I can’t put a coherent thought together?  I’m uncomfortable in my own skin so much so that I had to talk myself into the shower today.  I’m a water person so when I don’t want to shower it’s an issue.  I recognize this, so I jumped in quickly thus assuring myself that it was not really an issue.  Uh huh.

My below the surface, well-hidden stress has my face broken out like a chocoholic fifteen-year old.  I’ve been here before – 30 years ago – breaking out wasn’t pleasant the first time and much less so in my 40’s.  I’ve been eating crap lately – a difficult and painful task after gastric bypass.  Seems all I want to eat is French fries.  That’s some healthy stuff there.  (Think I’ll go turn on the oven)

My dreams have been really vivid lately, an additional sign of lurking issues.  The dreams make no sense but seem very real.  I sleep a lot lately; also not a good sign but a fertile ground for those vivid dreams.  I’ve told my husband that a wave was heading for the shore; not much he can do but pay attention and hope I don’t drown or pull us both under.  Unfortunately, he’s away right now and my daughter’s at school or work so there is no one around to know that I have to shove myself out the front door to get to the life boat.

But where to go once I’m out of the house?  I want to go shopping but that’s a slippery slope.  I’ve been decorating for Christmas and that keeps me busy but isn’t keeping me happy – a strange and unusual experience.  I love this time of year and it rarely brings on depression, if anything I tend to get manic with all of the hustle and bustle.   Not this year, sadness is swirling through my bloodstream, splashing on the shores of my soul and dampening my holiday spirit.  The worst part; I don’t know why.  I don’t always know why but it’s usually not so random.  I don’t do random well.  I’m on a need to know basis with my episodes and right now, I need to know.  But no one’s talking; my brain is providing no clues or maybe I’m just not listening.

The oven just beeped – French fries are ready.  Gotta go.

(I don’t know why I wrote this – it just sort of wrote itself)

The snake pit of shame is where I retreat after my manic brain releases me from its clutches.  Most certainly, I have screwed up again; said or done something I should not have, surrendered when I should have been strong.  As the anxiety becomes overwhelming I spot the hidden door.  My self-hatred conceals the secret password until I am too far beyond resistance.  And with the mere thought of that loathing, the door opens and the pit sucks me into its deep, black belly.

The dead weight of me slams onto the cold, concrete of the circular room.  A whirling dervish of confusion, I am uncertain where to go in the room filled with so many doors.  So many options, so little time before someone notices I’m gone.  My eyes scan the room for a place to rest but one does not exist; this is not a place of comfort.

I crouch on the floor as winter’s wild breath whips through the cracks of the room.  My bones have turned to icicles, my heart temporarily to stone; I will break more easily now – all the better.  A vague thought whispers the promise of torment. I creep forward in the dark, not certain which misdeed has brought me to this hell.  Slinking towards a door an evil scream cackles out the name of some past transgression – bad mother, bad lover, bad me.

I do not have to force myself to reach for a doorknob; I recognize the need to feel this pain.  There will be no escape until punishment has been served.  It is shame and depression and I am to blame.  I have lost control; slowly given in, thrown in the towel and now I must make restitution in full.  I wallow in the snake pit as long as I can.  Lying to those around me; I’m fine just a little blue; I’ll get out of bed soon – if only they knew.  But understanding completely is lost on those who do not suffer mental illness.  Their imagination cannot find the road to this dank well and for that I am content.  I journey on alone; eventually finding the way out and sometimes no one is the wiser.  Secrets are important to my survival, what others don’t know can’t hurt me – much.

Do you remember when you were a kid and you could play without reservations?  When you still recognized your own sound and the rhythm of your body?  And without a second thought you would make a joyful noise every day.  That is exactly what I did during lunch today.

I have a friend named Annalies, she is one of the most amazing women I have ever had the pleasure to meet.  She and her man, Gregory are  the owners of Conduit, Center for Creative Change (http://www.conduitforchange.com/conduitforchange.com/Welcome.html)  They have classes to help people discover their creative potential in the art of play, music and movement.  I am on her mailing list and though I have always had an interest in joining one of her groups I suck at doing new things.  I am prone to opt in and then talk myself out of attending.  This is a bad habit that I am working hard to change ~ but change is difficult for me and my bipolar brain.

To help myself along, I emailed Annalies and told her that I was hoping to make her class (how very non-committal of me).  She wrote back and genuinely seemed excited that I might show up ~ way to hit my ego in the sweet spot.  So I was determined to not skip out on her or me.  And I did it.  I got up, took a shower, dressed and headed out.  I was even the first one there.  Annalies greeted me with a big hug and introduced me to Greg.  They are such a wise and creative couple that it’s hard to not be hypnotized by their sheer joy and positive energy.  They began the class with an ice breaker which had each of us turning to our neighbor and greeting them as a long lost friend.  We went around the room and hugged and chatted as if we’d known each other for years.  This was an excellent way to put everyone at ease.  Next we did a sort of egg toss which resulted in copious amounts of laughter.  We then got up to move, listening to music but also to our own rhythm.  We were each provided a drum and all joined in a drumming circle ~  something I’ve always wanted to do but was worried that I would not do it well so I just didn’t do it.   Silly girl, doing it well is not the point.  There were other activities that continued to open my heart and mind.  I was so happy that I didn’t talk myself out of going.  I went and I loved it.

Annalies and Gregory are on an amazing path helping others find their way.  Their ideas flow through the room as they encourage others to chime in.  I felt warm and accepted from the beginning of the class.  This type of gathering is perfect for everyone but especially so for those of us with bipolar disorder.  It’s important for our brain to take a break from the constant chatter or the lonely silence.  It feels wonderful to let go and not worry about what others are thinking ~ because they are struggling to let go as well ~ so there is no judgment.

Be sure to check out Conduit’s website there is lots of interesting information.  And remember to “Dance like no one is watching!” Remember how to listen to your body’s rhythm and make a joyful noise (it doesn’t have to be perfect ~ I said noise, afterall!)  This is good medicine for the soul.

I have some weird triggers.  They are small occurrences that send me over the edge and can lead me down a dark path of anger, anxiety, and guilt very quickly.  This may or may not be a “Bipolar” thing but it creates many of the same feelings that can last for weeks during an episode and if I’m not careful it can trigger rapid cycling.

One of my stranger triggers involves dinner.  Yes, that’s right, I hate dinner.  I have no problem eating dinner and honestly it’s not the making of dinner, it’s the deciding what’s for dinner.  Can’t stand it.  Who died and left me in charge of what everyone else in the house wants to eat?  I don’t want someone else deciding what I’m going to eat, so I don’t want to do it for others.  Yet, society states that it’s my job; my J.O.B.  I did not apply for this job and I don’t want it.

But who else is going to do it?  What happens to these people I live with when I’m away?  Do they stop eating?  I don’t think so.  Do they just scrounge for food? Probably.  I can hear the conversation now.

“Hey Kate, are you hungry?” My husband would yell up the stairs.

“Yeah, a little. “ Our youngest would yell down the stairs.

“What do you want to eat?”

“I don’t know. What do you want to eat?”

“I don’t know.”

And so it would go, back and forth until Kate would make her way downstairs and the two of them would begin to forage through the kitchen.  Eventually, some decision would be made and dinner would be eaten and viola, I would be nowhere to be found.  However did they manage?

I’ve explained this dilemma to my family.  I’ve done my best to make them understand that constantly picking out the dinner menu makes me crazy.  And yet the expectation still exists and it still makes me nuts.

Tonight my husband, who sometimes works from home, came downstairs around 5:30 and asked what we were doing for dinner.  I was on the computer, working on my website and my writing – my new job.  I told him that I hadn’t thought about dinner because I wasn’t hungry.  He began to bang around the kitchen, digging around for food and small containers so that he could consolidate the leftovers already in the fridge.  And that’s when my anxiety kicked in.  I could feel his annoyance at my lack of interest in dinner.  He grumbled; I panicked.

“If you’ll eat something small, I’ll make baked mac and cheese.” I tried to placate.

“I’ve got it, don’t worry about it.” He retorted.

Ugh, ‘don’t worry about it,’ the words that meant I should worry about it.  Shheesh.

I need to interject here because I’m making my husband sound like an ass.  He’s not and we’ve got an awesome relationship.  This is just one of those issues that he forgets bugs me and I can’t help but get bugged.

“Do you want me to run to the store and pick up a chicken?”

“That would be ok, but I’ll go get it.”

“Don’t worry about it, I’ve got it.” I grabbed my keys and stormed out.  I popped him the finger once I was in the garage.  Coward.  I grumbled the whole way to the store.

When I returned home I tossed the food on the counter, began to bang around as he tried to apologize.  He said he’d been grumpy and he was sorry.  Too bad I was pissed off now.

I have learned to reel in the anger; deep breathing.  I’ve also figured out that I can avoid the full onset of craziness by simply letting go; forgiveness.  And I do everything I can to not be so hard on myself; no guilt.

Now wait until I tell you about the joy I experience when my daughter asks me to go to the fabric store.

It’s not just a relapse, it’s déjà vu

Suicidal again, too dark to be blue

Dreams jumbled in nightmares,

or no sleep at all

Standing right on the edge,

trying hard to not fall

Unable to run, there’s nowhere to hide

Better hang on tight, just enjoy the ride