Half empty

Well, I pulled out of yet another crash with my soul intact so far.  But it seems like every time I fall down it gets harder to stand up.  Luckily the falling hard hasn't happened that often.  Instead I have been living in this in-between space.  Where I reside - I feel the darkness like a membrane that could rupture at any moment.

And I' m looking for work.

It does seem like my life is half-empty.  I  know it would help to reframe it, but I'm too tired.  I feel exhausted by what I've been through, what I am still going through, what I have to live up to.  I feel hopeless and beseeched by problems and hurdles.  I haven't found my sanctuary.

Instead I'll ask all of you to look closely at your life.  I wish I had realized how lucky I was in times past.  I think we all grow complacent and don't remember to thank, God, the fates, or whomever your higher power is.   Do you have good solid relationships?  A job?  Your health? 

Thank your lucky stars, because it can all go away in a heartbeat. 

It's not fair

It's not fair. Why did it happen to me?  Why can't I be like everyone else?  Why can't I think like everyone else?  Why do things hurt me over and over and over again?  How can I stop them from hurting? 

How?

It's Baaaack

The darkness.  The vice grip on your insides.  The total lack of hope.

The inability to get through simple things.  The inability to function without crying jags in bed in fetal position.

And the self-loathing.  Bloated and gaining weight from the medicines.  I look absolutely awful. I'm back to not washing my face or flossing my teeth.  

And I must be an awful person to have this happen to me.  In fact, I'm probably making myself sick.  If I was just different none of this would hurt.  If I was really sick medicines would work.  So it must be me.  The people around me would be better off because I can't help them or care for them the way they should be cared for.  Something is just wrong with me and I should be able to make it better.

But I just can't.  I don't know how.

1000 hits

Time for a little celebration. Today my blog got it's 1000th view! (Actually it's at 1003) Wow. That's a lot of folks willing to read about bipolar disorder.

Thanks all of you who have been walking along with me. I know it's been helpful for me. I hope it's been at least a little helpful for you.

It's a slippery slope

Here's the thing. My mood is a fragile beast. Just getting it's sea legs back, so to speak. After being in total despair for months and months, it's starting to come up a little tinsy bit.

But life has normal ups and downs. And I'm too newly born to handle them. Being sad still touches that dark place even though I know it shouldn't. But it does. So I get sad, and then I REALLY get sad. Like I can't be a little sad. It's not in my make up at the moment.

Which is a very precarious place to be, since being sad is a part of life. I don't know how to avoid it. If anyone has a magic cloak that would deflect all that was troubling in life, let me know. We could make a mint, and I wouldn't have to worry about finding another job.

Until then I will try and tip toe around life, trying to stay on this high wire. Trying not to fall off to one side or the other. Trying to keep my courage.

Stability ain't what it's cracked up to be

I have been stable about 95% of the time for the past several weeks.  That means I generally know that my mood will be close to the mood the day before.  Although I still have mood swings, they now look like little waves.  What does this mean?

I'm productive.  I can organize and stay on task.  I can work.  It is highly unlikely I will fall apart in public (but never say never).  I can make social engagements and know that I will be able to go.  I don't spend any time on the floor and very little crying in bed.  There are days in a row where I don't cry.  There are stretches of time where I don't ruminate (but never a whole day.)  I can function like a normal member of society.

These are better.  Generally, these are good things.

But stable doesn't mean happy.  It hasn't brought joy back into my life.  My life still feels empty and meaningless.  I still don't understand why this happened to me.  I am still upset, scared, angry, sad.  But really, I miss joy.  I miss giddy.  I miss frivolous.  I miss a good belly laugh.  I miss bliss.

I had one very tiny interaction with joy recently.  Notable because it is the only one I can remember for months and months and months.  I was with my youngest daughter.  She, admittedly, is rather charming and has a real zest for life.  We were in the kitchen and had spent most of the day together (older daughter off doing older daughter things with friends).  She was on a chair and I - for no reason and totally spontaneously - picked her up and swung her around.  And she laughed that good belly laugh.  Joy peeked up at me a tiny bit.  Then everything snapped back to normal. 

Sigh.

I don't know how long it will take to come back.  I worry never. 

But I can function.

The courage to suffer

My therapist has me doing some amazing reading on finding meaning in life.  In one book there is the idea that it takes courage to suffer.  This concept really resonated with me.  

It takes courage to endure suffering.

Because it does.  Because it is hard.  Because it takes more out of you than you can imagine.  Because it would be so easy to not get up again.  To find a way around the suffering.  To mask the suffering with substances.

So, I've been telling folks that I know that are suffering how courageous they are.  Because I don't remember being told exactly that when I was at my worst (friends and family, don't feel bad and if you did tell me and I forgot - that's the memory issue).  Sometimes it seems to surprise them.  I'm not telling them that they will feel better soon, or how sorry I am that they feel this way.  I am applauding them for something they didn't realize they had.

Courage.

How did I get here?

Now that I'm starting to come into the light, so to speak, I'm looking at the debris around me and saying, "Holy Shit."  I don't have much memory of the past year, being medicated and mentally ill can do that to a person.  I also haven't really been myself - so to speak.  Or at least the self that I used to be.

I've made some major decisions in the past year, and in the immortal words of the Talking Heads. "How did I get here?"

I've got a lot of catching up to do.

Relationships

Someone remarked this weekend that one person can't make another happy.

To a certain extent that is true.

Another person can't heal your wounds. Can't undo heartache. Can't rebuild broken dreams. Can't cure bipolar disorder.

However, they can salve the wounds. Pour kindness and caring on them. Wrap them in a blanket of love and understanding. Hold their hand. Help them build new dreams. Help them believe there is a future. Help them by giving them something to lean on when they can't stand by themselves. Let them know they are worthy and lovable, even when they are bipolar. Accept them. Try to understand them. Ask them what they need. Cradle them when they cry. Be present and witness their suffering, even though seeing them upset causes you grief. If you feel grief, cry with them. Don't shield them from your pain.

For Christ's sake, take them out to Starbucks and make them talk about the weather.

But the ironic thing is the extent to which another person can harm someone else. In big and little ways. It just doesn't seem fair.

Classified Ad

I quit my job. I'm pretty sure I've mentioned that here.

Now I need to find a new job. I'm stable enough, if not the life of the party.

I'm having a really hard time figuring out what to do, what I would find satisfying, what I would be a decent fit with. One of my magazines recently had an article where you are supposed to picture yourself as 95 and on your death bed. What would you tell your younger self about what they should do? If I knew that, I wouldn't need to go through the exercise.

And let me just say that being bipolar isn't exactly a self-esteem booster. So I got to thinking, what if I was to write a job sought ad? What would I say?

Bipolar chick in need of a position. Highly honed sharp sense of humor from time down in the dumps. Endurance well beyond the norm. Appreciative of normal, stable supervisors who do not judge a person by their disabilities. Challenging intellectual work a plus, as it serves as a good distraction. Compassionate of those who are in pain. Strong empathetic streak. Intolerant of passive aggressive folks or other indirect behavior. Likely to call a spade a spade. At times there is a high potential for uber-productiveness. At times, person may seem a little low. Bipolar individuals are known for their creativity. Looking for a stable environment without triggers. Presence of other treated mentally ill folks or recovering addicts welcome.

OK - what does that lead to? Anyone know?

Road to Recovery

The road to recovery isn't smooth and it isn't straight.  It doesn't always make sense. Sometimes it feels like the scenery never changes.  It feels all uphill - both ways.  

Sometime you know you've walked a certain stretch before, but have magically transported backwards to walk it again.

Sometimes it's so dark you can't see your hands in front of your face.

But somehow, as you keep walking, you eventually make progress.  Not dramatic, not overnight.

But you look over your shoulder and are amazed that you actually have walked farther down the road.

But, as always, you have a long way to go in front of you, and there is no rest for the weary.