Tag Archives: bipolar

Working and Bipolar

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I am happy to announce that after discovering, waiting, researching, waiting, applying, waiting, being accepted, waiting, training, and waiting, I am now a Certified Peer Specialist Intern in mental health licensed by the state I live in.

I am going on a three-week trip to attend a family reunion and visit my parents. I will leave next week and return in early June. As soon as I return, I will start my internship at the state-run Community Mental Health Clinic here. That’s right. I have a job.

I am so grateful for this opportunity to work in the field of mental health. I want to help. I want to recover.

Blog for Mental Health 2013

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I pledge my commitment to the Blog For Mental Health 2013 Project.  I will blog about mental health topics not only for myself, but for others.  By displaying this badge, I show my pride, dedication, and acceptance for mental health.  I use this to promote mental health education in the struggle to erase stigma.

It may be a bit late in the day, as the saying goes, but I am joining A Canvas of the Minds in their quest to educate readers about recovery from mental illness.

I was diagnosed with bipolar disorder type 1 with psychotic features over eleven years ago, and nothing in my life has been the same. I have fears that are difficult to explain like driving through parking lots. At times I am quite brave however. I have experienced traumatic episodes of depression and euphoria. I hear you asking how euphoria can be traumatic. Well, the delusions of super powers really are painful and humiliating.

After many years of differing results to medication therapy and to talk therapy, I believe I am in a stable place. I have recently completed training by a government agency and am now a Certified Peer Specialist Intern in mental health. It is my life’s goal to educate all persons about mental illness and to enrich the lives of those who have been diagnosed with a mental illness by sharing the many therapeutic practices that have helped me recover.

I am pledging or inviting five of my fellow bloggers who have stood with me and have proven their mettle in my eyes as mental health bloggers. They are

Bipolar Journals

Bi[polar] Curious

Nectar Madness

RosieSmrtiePants

The War in my Brain

Working and writing together, we can show the world about recovery from mental illness.

The Jitters

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Bipolar disorder is a disease, and I can really feel it today. I am dis-eased. To put it simply, I’m uneasy. I’ve got too many irons in the fire, as it were. I’ve got too much going on.

I am leaving for a long trip in a week. I’m flying far and staying with my aging parents for three weeks. We’re also having a family reunion while I’m there. I am looking forward to the trip, but it does cause me anxiety. I am going to be revealing my sexual orientation to many of them for the first time. That’s enough to make anybody nervous.

At the same time, I have heard from the bureaucrats in charge of my internship placement that things are looking up. I should be meeting with the head of a mental health clinic here before I fly away. It will be a simple meeting and less than a formal interview. Still, I’m nervous about it.

My car needs some repairs. One required the mechanic to order a part, and we’ve been waiting for it to arrive for three months. The piece arrived, but the mechanic has not picked it up, and the repairs are delayed, and my mind is spinning.

I spoke to my mother about bringing an old laptop computer to give them. It would make sharing pictures infinitely easier. She agreed much to my surprise. I spent a lot of time getting it cleaned of all my old things that are unneeded. I’ve made it into a very simple-to-use machine really meant for the easiest tasks only. I got them an email account, and now, when I get there, we’ll only have to find them an Internet service provider. Hopefully, that will prove simple.

My stomach is churning. I can hear ringing in my ears. My feet want to dance under the desk. I have the jitters.

I am reminded that this, too, shall pass.

Breathe. Just keep breathing, and do one thing at a time.

I Still Can’t Watch Television

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Nothing has changed since I first reported my disability in regards to watching television and followed up later. I still can’t watch.

My daughters brought a DVD of a popular movie to watch last weekend. I helped them put it in the player and switch it on. I immediately had to leave. The machine repels me. It signals my brain and switches off my ability to sit comfortably. I hid in my room and paced the floor simply knowing it was playing. I emerged a couple of times to stand and watch briefly, but I always retreated to the safety of my room.

Over the past couple of years, I have talked to numerous other people with bipolar disorder, and they often report the same experience. It’s truly mystifying.

I noticed several years ago this discomfort was not strictly limited to the television. I also intensely dislike videos on the Internet and movies at the theater. My dearest friend sends me links to humorous videos, and I lie. I tell her I watched them, but I don’t. I will often click the link to see the title, but I will quickly turn it off.

I quite simply can’t sit through visual stimulation from a video source.

A good friend once told me I was missing nothing, but this discomfort is something more. It is a true disability. When the television is on in the house, I must pace. My mind races, and I can’t be calm.

I want to write that it’s bizarre, but I don’t want to demean me in any way. This disability hampers my enjoyment of life.

It’s not an inability to concentrate. I can write entries on this blog, and that exercise requires time and effort.

It has nothing to do with the flickering television tube since my unit is a new high-definition model. The computer screen, too, is HD. There is something about receiving stimulation from video that is inherently disconcerting.

Movies are a chore, and I turn down dates with friends to attend. If there is a particular one I really want to see, I often fortify my mind by taking an extremely low dose of a sedative beforehand.

I have been this way for a very long time. It’s been decades since I was able to enjoy a television show. I would like it to change. From what I can surmise, watching television is relaxing and makes people laugh. I’m excluded from that pleasure.

Emotional Sponge

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A dear friend called me this morning quite angry about a situation. I was taken aback by her words. She was not angry at me but at a person we both know, and she was fuming.

I first tried to understand her anger, and I’m still unclear about the origins of her outburst today. What was immediately clear to me was my own anxiety. Her words caused my stomach to churn and my mind to fog.

Next, I stated my perception of the events in order to diffuse her temper and offered solutions we could both pursue to work through the matter at hand. It had the desired effect; she calmed down. We agreed on a course of action, and we are starting it today.

Is the problem solved? Yes.

Am I feeling better? No.

My stomach is just beginning to settle two hours after the phone call. My friend’s anger infiltrated me and has not dissipated. Frankly, I’m a mess. I’m not the type to cry or act out in other ways when I’m emotionally upset. I bottle it up inside. It’s unhealthy, but I’m much better at displaying my emotions today than I was ten years ago.

I also have an unhealthy habit of incorporating the emotions of people around me. Others’ little anxieties can become monumental to me. It’s awful really, and I don’t know how to stop.

I recognize where my responsibilities are and what I can control. However, that realization does not negate this emotional turmoil seeping into my pores and mind. I am using calming techniques I learned at the job training I recently completed. I’m breathing slowly and deeply. I’ve distracted my mind by following up on the ideas my angry friend and I decided on. I’m writing here. I am carrying on with my day.

Still, I feel like I’ve been hit in the stomach. This incident will be something to discuss with my therapist.

Busy Busy Busy

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People with bipolar disorder often have a lot of extra time, and I am no exception. The time I have on my hands will be less in the not-too-distant future, because I will begin working as a Certified Peer Specialist Intern in a mental health clinic. The internship is only part-time and will last for just three months. Still, when one has not worked for a good many years, even a job of fifteen hours each week will probably drain me. That’s not to mention that the medication I take causes drowsiness already.

When we don’t have extra time due to not working, we have it since we aren’t sleeping. As unpleasant as it sounds, insomnia plagues persons with bipolar disorder especially during manic episodes. In any event, there is time to fill.

One of my favorite activities when I’m hyperactive yet unproductive is washing the dishes. I have a whole meditation exercise built around this seemingly mundane chore. I love the sound the water makes when I turn it on and the sight of the growing bubbles in the basin. My technique is to actually talk to myself while washing, and it calms me. I wrote about it in more detail here and here. I have heard from others it helps them feel calm, too.

I like reading, but it’s difficult when I’m in a manic mood. Walking soothes me just as dish washing does, and I have tried reading while pacing. Now, one needs skill not to bump into the furniture or even walls. Also, I can’t read dense prose while moving around. What was my answer? I found reading children’s books suitable. It distracts and entertains me. It doesn’t have to be a book full of pictures. A chapter book for young readers works perfectly.

Walking around my neighborhood is also a good idea. Weather permitting, I can stroll, enjoy the gardens, and assume I’m getting a bit of exercise. When I walk, I consciously spy on the most minute details. I notice the cracks in the pavement. I make a game of counting the colors of houses. I concentrate on my breath. What are the sights and sounds least readily apparent but present?

My town sits by the water, so I can walk there, taking in the smells and even talking to the fishermen. They are a garrulous bunch when I ask the right questions about weather conditions, fish, and bait.

Libraries hold treasures of reading material and people. They are an excellent place to volunteer, even if the only thing one contributes is dusting the books and shelves. All help is appreciated.

I write this blog and read dozens. It’s a small thing really. I’m not famous, nor will I ever be. I write as meditation. Crafting sentences pleases me. Thinking of words makes my mind click. It’s fun plain and simple.

There are so many ways to keep occupied:

  • Cooking new recipes
  • Listening to music
  • Learning a musical instrument
  • Cleaning something
  • Writing poetry
  • Studying a foreign language
  • Drawing a picture
  • Reading jokes
  • Searching the Internet for interesting pictures
  • Learning a new word

I am grateful to live during the dawn of the Internet. Information pours out of this machine at a rate incomprehensible even a few decades ago.

The world is literally my oyster.

I realize many items I’ve listed here are impossible for those suffering bouts of severe, chronic depression. I hope those people will not feel forgotten or excluded. I chatted with a good friend today who lives with major depression. My suggestion to him never changes: do one nice thing for yourself each day. When I was at my lowest, brushing my teeth was often the only nice thing I could accomplish.

We are all worthwhile. We can all do just a bit to help us. We can start loving us and reach out to those around us to share it.

Bipolar Dating Ideas

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Can it be so very hard to date when one has bipolar disorder? If the disease is untreated, then daily life is hard and not just relationships.

Is it so very hard to date a person with bipolar disorder? Again, if untreated, then everything is going to be a struggle.

Relationships are difficult for all of us regardless whether one has a mental illness or not. Conversing, listening, deciphering body language, and understanding are not easy with a veil of worry cast over one’s eyes. “Is she listening?” “Does he care about this topic?” Our internal dialogue bounces with questions and conceptions.

Add bipolar disorder to the mixture, and a cauldron seethes boiling and popping. Let me speak from experience.

I once saw a drama depicting a man meditating. Actors moved slowly behind him reciting lines of his wandering thoughts, distracting him. It raced to the forefront of my mind that I thought in an entirely different way. My thoughts never wandered in and out. They charged. They bombarded me. I could simultaneously hold a thought and understand I was conscious of the thinking, and I knew on five different levels my brain was electrified with inspiration, thinking about thinking about thinking about…sigh. It tires me now to remember.

Yet, I’m very lucky. With my prescribing nurse practitioner, we’ve found a regimen that works. With the job training and WRAP, I’ve found a written system I use to calm my racing thoughts. I found help, and I believe it’s out there for all of us.

Getting help was the first step for me. I’m stable, and with that knowledge, I can reach out to friends and associates, searching for a mate. That search is exciting. The Internet is open with a plethora of sites waiting for us. Some cost. Some are free. Our local areas have many places we can volunteer our time, opening the door to meeting many new people.

What to do then becomes the question. How do we spend time getting to know someone? How much of ourselves do we reveal and when? Those questions plague people with bipolar disorder. I started slowly with my current beau. So far so good, but so far is so far.

We’ve met for coffee. We’ve lunched together. We’ve sat by the water and strolled through the park. We haven’t seen a movie together. We haven’t done many things together. He’s busy and far away. I’ve been busy with job training. Life happens. We’ll see where things go.

I enjoy imagining free or low-cost things for us.

  • Walks along the seashore.
  • Casual days in the park.
  • Picnicking.
  • Driving on country roads.
  • Taking in scenic spots.
  • Visiting free museums.
  • Meeting at the coffee shop.
  • Sightseeing like tourists.
  • Roaming a bookstore.
  • Leisurely meandering through the local library.
  • Reading aloud together.
  • Sitting in the sun.

Really, the list is endless. There are so many joys of life to be gained by exploring the ordinary world around each of us. The artist Andy Warhol once said, “Once you ‘got’ Pop, you could never see a sign the same way again.” Finding beauty in the ordinary is what I strive for. Making a date of the usual turns any day into magic.

Looking for magic in a relationship turns any couple into a happy one.

Let’s make magic happen. Let’s be open to the warm touch of another. Let’s recover. Let’s do it together.

Funerals, Memorials, Death, on and on

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Clouds

I’m thinking about my dead friend and past lover. His memorial service was yesterday. It was lovely, being held in a small theater space where he had performed and helped out backstage.

Another friend provided pictures. They were very large and easily seen from every seat. There were lit candles, and flowers strewn about the tables and floor.

My heart is quite heavy writing these words.

A friend spoke eloquently about the kind man who chose to leave us so soon. Colleagues from his work shared their grief, and a regular of the theater spoke graciously of his last role. The director of that show brought a prop used by the departed man. He told us how he and my former lover drove the streets of our town singing with each other, and then he sang a hymn.

The father of the deceased spoke about the boy he had been and read a letter from a life-long friend.

I sat.

We all sang a group song, which I joined.

I returned home and distracted myself with mindless browsing on the Internet. I wrote an entry on this blog. I read other blogs. I chatted online with a distant friend.

This morning, I have been harassed by a fly. No amount of hand waving chases it away, and my mind – my easily amused mind – assumes it is the ghost come back.

Yet, I need no ghosts. I have text messages we sent one another to pour over. There’s even a picture of him. Our flirtations are right there in little bubbles. They are short bursts of yearning with a mixture of silly faces made from punctuation marks.

And there’s a long message from me telling him our sexual relationship was over, imploring him to seek care for his bipolar disorder. Quickly following that one were his questions, followed by my silence.

Today, I hear birdsong outside my cottage. Music plays over my computer. Cars rumble by on the street. A dog barks. There is no silence.

I sit.

I play no what-if games. I am simply sad. My heart aches.

“Suicide is not chosen; it happens when pain exceeds resources for coping with pain.” My friend hid great pain. His questioning eyes and smile masked a soul full of angst.

Now, I’m left with pain, but it will pass. Time heals.

My friend is dead. I am here.

Water

Winning the Liebster Award

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Friends, I have been nominated for the Liebster Award, which is given from one blog to another. I would like to thank Rose over at RosieSmrtiePants for the honor. I am tickled pink.

It seems the only rule is that the recipient’s blog must have fewer than 200 followers, a number I certainly fall beneath. Some of the award’s origins can be read about here.

I either accept or reject the award. Who am I to turn down something so prestigious? I accept, and I do it with a smile.

There are a few things acceptance requires. First, I must disclose eleven things about myself. Please, be aware I keep this blog very anonymous for various reasons, so I won’t be revealing any skeletons from my closet today. In any event, here is my list:

  1. It rains buckets where I live.
  2. I live near the sea.
  3. I feel connected to the literal ground I call home.
  4. I classify my house as a cottage.
  5. Fragrant flowers grow near my cottage.
  6. My neighbor grows the most succulent fruit and vegetables next door, and he shares thankfully.
  7. I am spiritual but not at all religious.
  8. I read tarot cards for myself and others.
  9. I can’t watch television.
  10. My beau is awful about returning calls.
  11. I sometimes wish I had the fortitude to be a vegetarian.

I doubt that list lets any cats out of any bags. However, there is more. I have to answer eleven questions Rose posed.

  1. If you could wake up tomorrow and instantaneously change one thing, what would it be? That my friend would be alive.
  2. Coffee or tea? Tea of all varieties. I am a connoisseur of enjoying tea from selection of the leaves to selection of the pot to adding honey or sugar.
  3. Worst bad habit? I am learning that there is nothing bad about me.
  4. Your best quality? My intelligence.
  5. How many hours do you get and how many hours of sleep do you need each night? I get and need nine hours of sleep.
  6. Best piece of advice you’ve ever been given? “If it’s worth doing, it’s worth doing right.”
  7. Book you’re reading right now? Blue Coyote by Christopher Moore – very funny and recommendable.
  8. What do you think about the Kindle or Nook? I have a Kindle and like it very much.
  9. Resolutions at New Year’s? No, I don’t think I need the burden.
  10. What is in your garden? Grass and fragrant shrubs.
  11. Do you think your current treatment regimen is working? Yes, at long last.

Answering those was not as simple as I’d first thought. Thank you, Rose. You gave me plenty to pause and think about.

As part of receiving the award, I get to nominate eleven other bloggers. This will be tricky given that I follow few that fit the requirement of having fewer than 200 followers, but I’ll see what I can come up with.

Nectar Madness

Bi[polar] Curious

Walk the Self-Talk

Jet Black Living

Making Space

I realize that is only five and not eleven, but we’ll have to accept these as what I can come up with. It was interesting that two bloggers I follow have already received the Liebster Award.

To those I’ve nominated, should you accept the award, please, tell us eleven things about you and answer the following questions:

  1. What makes you stop in your tracks?
  2. When was the last time something took your breath away?
  3. Do you wear shoes in the house?
  4. Where are your feet right now?
  5. Where do you wish your feet were right now?
  6. Why do you wish to be there?
  7. Plane, train, or automobile?
  8. When was the last time you yelled “whee!”?
  9. Riding a roller coaster or a day at the seashore?
  10. Do you have time to smell the roses?
  11. What is the air speed velocity of an unladen swallow?

After answering, ask eleven more questions of eleven eligible bloggers.

Once more, thank you, Rose, for the award. It’s an honor and a pleasure to participate.

The Good News

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Followers of this blog will know that I have spent some time in mourning recently for a former lover who took his own life. I can report that I’m well on the way to healing. The initial shock was tremendous, but as with all things, time heals. There will be a memorial gathering for him in a week, and I will attend. I doubt I’ll share anything, but I will be there supporting my other friends.

On the job front, I can happily and loudly report that I passed my written and oral exams, and I am now a Certified Peer Specialist Intern in mental health. I can also shout out that I will start my internship at a local mental health clinic in early June.

I am going to a family reunion at the end of May, and I’m taking the opportunity by stretching my stay to have a nice long visit with my parents and family. When I get back from that trip, I’ll walk straight into my internship.

Things are really moving along quickly.

Things are not moving quickly in my romantic life. My beau lives two hours away, and I haven’t seen him since January. I was traveling too much for job training, and his job schedule keeps him very busy. We’ve spoken on the phone a number of times, and we’re still interested in each other. However, being apart does not make this easy. There’s no cuddling, and that makes me sad. At the same time, it makes for wonderful dreams of reuniting.

Through the statistics of this blog, I can view how people find me. One of the highest ranking terms is bipolar dating. To those searching for love and acceptance as a person with bipolar disorder or with a person who has it, I can safely assure you that it is possible to find a partner.

There is no magic pill to swallow that will make your perfect match appear, but then that’s true for everyone and not simply those with mental illness. While having a disability can add a layer of difficulty to the mixture, it’s not necessarily the defining factor. No person is solely defined by any one particular point, and we with mental illness are not either.

I truly believe in the tried and true formula of finding a mate the old-fashioned way. There are people in clubs who have similar interests and are also looking for companionship. Volunteering is a great way to meet others. The secret – and it’s no secret – is finding a way to get outside one’s head and open up to the possibilities  that abound all around us.

Opening up is easier said than done for some of us. I had my own long, dark period. It lasted for years, and every aspect of life was a chore or nearly impossible. I have been in that deep despair when simple acts of self-care like brushing my teeth were close to impossible. I clawed my way out with the help of loving caregivers, medication, and therapy. I did not do it alone.

All the time, I wondered where the right man for me was. It’s just a thought, but now I believe my focus should have been on being the right man for someone else.

When I take the focus off me, I win.

It is paradoxical, but it starts with loving me and spreading that. I give love more freely when I love me. I give more of me when I take care of my simple daily needs.

I no longer believe in countering negative self-talk with positive affirmations that I find unconvincing. I have no evidence from my past that looking at my reflection in the mirror and reciting clichés ever made me feel better. What worked? A lot of time and effort put into finding the right combination of medicine, meditation, exercise, and therapy from many loving caregivers.

This thought that I start from a place where I love me first is new. I was taught long ago that I had to ignore my inner voice and my feelings and only concentrate on the needs of others. I have no evidence that action ever helped me.

Today, I have abundant evidence that loving me allows me to then reach out and give. I struggled with guilt and shame for decades. Today, I live openly and honestly.

Today, I live in truth.