between the broken places

Posts Tagged ‘bipolar’

The Snake Pit of Shame

(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.

A Joyful Noise

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.

Weird Triggers

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.

The Ride

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

I’ve Got Your Crazy

Quiet and sneaky you crawled out of my heart

At times I can’t tell where I end and you start

When I am strong – you are weak, hard to see

But when you take over I cease to be me

No one’s sure what to call you – disease, illness, disorder

To me you are just a non-rent paying boarder

You bounce through my life from the wild to lazy

They think that it’s me but you bring the crazy

The pills help me keep you contained in a box

But when you leak out it’s my life that rocks

The friends and the loved ones you have not scared away

They no longer demand they just hope day to day

Once surrounded by scorn, fear, shame and blame

I now understand and can call you by name

No longer a victim of your evil steam roller

I shout from the rooftop – That’s Right, I’m Bipolar

A Bipolar Vacation

When I scream do you listen or do you just hear

Do you know that it’s panic, anxiety, fear

When depression attacks, leaves me deep in the well

Do you know that I’m lost; I’ve been dropped into hell

I try to escape; I long for salvation

But no exit is near on bipolar vacation

What’s Yours is Mine, What’s Mine is Yours

When your pain is my pain and my pain is yours

The windows slam shut and so do the doors

Thrown into the darkness, though never alone

We each gasp for breath as we each search for home

Sinking then drowning – what else can we do?

Would I have come here had it not been for you?

Great Productivity and then BAM, Exhaustion

The last couple of weeks have been very busy for me.  I’ve taken care of stuff around the house that had been ignored while I was recovering from the tonsilectomy.  I signed up for my local chapters of NAMI and DBSA.  I went to NAMI’s conference and went to two writing classes.  I’ve seen my doctor and my Life Coach.  I’ve worked on my website, continued to work on my book, done tons of research and gotten out of the house to meet new people.  I even found my calendar so that I could keep all of these things straight.  I still got the vet appointment wrong and let me tell you how hairy it can be taking 3 Chow Chow’s to the vet on my own.

So now I’m exhausted, not interested in much of anything today…that alone can be the beginning of a bad trend.  I was writing last night and I was just out of gas, nothing was coming out of me — at least not the way I was hoping for it to spill out of my brain.  I tried to watch tv, I love Glee but couldn’t even get into it.  I know, such a Geek.

I just want to sleep today, is that ok?  I’m not sleeping well at night, up at all weird hours and unable to go back to sleep.  It sucks.  I’m supposed to go to a support group tonight and I don’t have the energy.  Lame excuse.  I hate new gatherings. I’m not good at them. I’m always trying to hide.  When I feel this way, I just don’t want to be seen.  I’d rather hide in my room — so reminiscent of my teen-age years.  Sometimes, I feel like such a coward.

And I want to publish a book and become a public advocate for Bipolar Disorder…on days like today it seems hard to imagine.

Back to bed with covers over my head.

the insipid circle of my life

Sorry, I haven’t been writing.
I’m feeling a bit out of it and it’s causing me to sleep a lot though not well. This leaves me tired and confused and really pretty useless most of the day. I’m supposed to return to work in a couple of weeks, been on medical leave since April. Going back is both stressful and something I look forward to. Yes, I know, don’t end a sentence in a preposition but it sounds so strange to say something to which I look forward…just not the way I speak.

So, what’s been going on? I started working out a couple of weeks ago, this is really important for both my mental health and my physical health. I tend to start out too fast and hurt myself thus stopping too soon. Part of the reason I get hurt…

I broke my neck in 2005…a compression fracture that came along with a ruptured disc. This caused a great amount of pain and took the military doctors 5 (count them…FIVE) months to figure out what was wrong. The military sent me to physical therapy, luckily the same day I had an appt. with a Neurologist. The Physical Therapist didn’t even look at my MRI and told me that I would be fine in a couple of weeks. The Neurologist told me that it was the largest ruptured disc he had ever seen and that I need to see a Neurosurgeon immediately. I had an appt. with the surgeon the next day and was told that I could not go back to work, had to come off my meds and was having surgery in 4 days. As for PT? The remark that I got was…”Christopher Reeves, that could be you!”. Alrighty then! I now have a cadaver bone and a titanium plate in my neck…No, I don’t set off airport alarms.

I hate the insipid cycle of feeling like crap causes not working out, which can cause eating badly which makes me feel like crap…the friggin circle of my life.

Why A Blog?

Because it’s never too late to be who you were meant to be.

At the age of 44 (45 is next month, thank you) I have found myself wondering the age old question, “Is this all there is?” I know that there can always be more to life, that it’s just a matter of going out and getting it. But it seems I typically have just enough energy for what I’ve got and nothing more. Well, I want more.

My mother used to tell me that I never finished anything I started. That’s true most of the time – so maybe I’m just trying to prove something. On the other hand, if it’s the journey that is important am I supposed to finish? Ok, yes, I know I am but in my own defense most of my hair-brained schemes have begun to the wild beating of my manic drums. However, this scheme, idea, true calling has not been forged in the fires of mania. This dream has been stirred, added to and simmered in my life’s cauldron for many years; each experience bringing new spice to the elixir that makes up the delicious concoction of me.
Bipolar Disorder is but one ingredient in the mixture. I have survived emotional and physical abuse, childhood molestation and rape at the age of 20. My physical ailments include obesity, diabetes, high blood pressure, high cholesterol and high triglycerides. I have taken up to 26 pills a day to treat these maladies; spent endless hours and countless dollars in the effort to make myself “normal”. Thank God, “normal” continues to elude me.

My family influences include not knowing the truth of my birth until I was 28 (I’m the product of a one-night stand) thus growing up with an emotionally repressed mother and a step-father who took to causing me pain to hurt her. I married young and subsequently divorced eight years later. I then explored new territory by becoming a non-custodial mother to my two young daughters. I am the mother, sister, daughter and granddaughter of those who have survived and succumbed to cancer. And still I go on.

So why a Blog? Can’t you tell? I’ve got lots to say and the story is boiling over to be told.