Tag Archives: guided visualization

Coping with Anxiety

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Yesterday was not an easy one for me. It was busy with emails flying about and doctor appointments and phone calls. The emails were unfortunately very confrontational, and they caused me a lot of anxiety.

Over the years of therapy I’ve been grateful to have, I’ve come to recognize negative emotions in my body right from the very beginning. For me, they start in my stomach. When I feel it churning or burning, I know that I’m experiencing anxiety or fear. When my chest tightens, then I’ve already missed the early warning signs, and the situation grew. If my face muscles clench or I have a headache, then things are out of control.

Thankfully yesterday, I caught my emotions while they were still in my stomach. It was extremely unpleasant, and I was relieved to have two appointments with health professionals. I saw my psychiatric prescribing nurse practitioner and my psychologist. Both are very competent women with many years in their fields, and I trust them fully.

The nurse practitioner and I had a good opportunity to discuss the situation, and she had some great feedback. She suggested that I begin to disengage from the volunteer organization that I spend so much time and energy giving to. She didn’t tell me to quit, but to let others in the group step up and do much of the work. I have been doing this since the beginning of the year, and I’m continuing it.

My psychologist had even more concrete ideas about easing the trouble causing my upset stomach. I had been insulted by one conversaion, and she suggested I write a very short note to the friend who had hurt me. I did that. I wrote clearly that my feelings were hurt. I did not write in anger. I did not express any either. I stated simply what words hurt me. Just discussing the idea of writing the note eased my churning stomach. Actually doing it and hitting the send button on my computer gave me more satisfaction. Later, I received a simple and heartfelt apology. All was well.

My psychologist paid me a great compliment. When I began counseling with her many years ago, it would take us many sessions to dig up my emotions. Yesterday, I entered her office and immediately explained my upset stomach and what was causing it. We came to a good conclusion, and I followed through. All that was accomplished in one sitting.

I have learned to pay attention to my body. It doesn’t lie to me. If something is wrong in my environment or with a situation that I can’t put my finger on, I can trust the sensations my body is giving me. I did not learn this overnight. It took many years, and I am still perfecting it. I will always be a work in progress.

Anxiety is awful. It robs us of clear thinking and overall enjoyment of life. Causes of anxiety are as numerous as grains of sand on the beach. I used to be terribly frightened to drive in parking lots. Life is not simple, and I needed a coping mechanism to allow me to park with minimal fear and greatest safety. I learned to plot my course. I visualized entering the parking lot from the same spot and turning down the same lane each time. My decision was to park in the first available stall regardless of its distance from the store’s entrance.

It worked. I learned to practice this visualizing and planning technique with many other situations in my life. Whatever gave me fear would be met by clear thinking and discussions with caregivers and planning.

I am not alone today. I have people who care about my success at daily living. They help, and I am learning to accept help.

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.

Taking a Trip

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I’m flying tomorrow, and I’m terrified. I saw my therapist today luckily, so we were able to talk it through. I was able to picture it one step at a time.

A friend will pick me up to take me to the airport. I’ll check in at the counter. I only have one carry-on bag since it’s a short stay. I’ll make my way through security.

Argh. Security. That raises fears in itself. I am only taking enough medication for the two days, and I’ve put them in one pill bottle. The little bottle is a mixture of medicine. If they open it, there will be some surprise, or maybe there won’t be any surprise. Perhaps, they’ve seen it all.

Perhaps, my fears of x-rays and beeping machines and being told to “stand over here, please” and hearing the question “Is this your bag?” are all nonsense. My magnificent magnifying mind fears being singled out, searched, and found wanting. I am simply afraid.

Interestingly, before my diagnosis, I flew a lot internationally. I had a high status on an airline’s frequent flier program, and I often sat in a class other than economy. I took everything in stride.

Then came 9/11 followed a year later by my breakdown and diagnosis. The world shattered, and my world shattered with it.

But I’ve done in this writing just what my therapist warned me against. I’ve lost my concentration on the next step. Breathe.

Ah, the next step, or as I hear often in the rooms of A.A., “the next right step.” So, I will make it through the security checks, I’m sure. My fears will prove unfounded, however real they feel now.

Next I’ll find a seat in the waiting area, board the plane, fly, arrive, go to my hotel, and find some dinner.

All will be well.

A Forgotten Prayer

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I have a friend who used to live near me but moved in the last few months. We kept in close contact when he lived here, and we still send emails often. He’s quite depressed. I want to share with you a small portion of the last message I sent him:

When I was first diagnosed bipolar, I was furious with god. I was livid. I had to face the fact that what I viewed as my greatest asset (my intelligent brain) had become my darkest enemy. Through that time, I didn’t stop my daily prayers. In fact, they went something like this:

Dear god, please help me to think that it might be possible that I could begin to wonder if it would be imaginable that I might want to have your will done in my life.

It was a very long phrase asking god for help. Today, my prayers are to the one or just to the universe. I share this long phrase with you, because I think you might be able to begin to wish that you could possibly in some way apply it to your own situation.

I share it because it reminded me vividly of that prayer I used. It was a long phrase I used when I first discovered there was a name for my mental illness. That phrase got shorter over a period of about three months, until finally it was simply “may god’s will be done in my life.”

It’s been a long time since I thought of that prayer. It makes me feel so good to know I’ve come so far that I don’t need that kind of rambling phrase lifted up to god. Today, I simply talk to the universe. I’m open. I feel full today.

More Meditative Dish Washing

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When I was newly sober, my concentration was nonexistent. Guess what? Over twelve years later and with a diagnosis of bipolar disorder, it is still not good.

Today, Sunday, was a lazy one spent on the computer and catching up with family members on the phone. I made a quick run to the store for milk and tea, and all the pretty things on the shelves kept me sidetracked. On the computer, it was so easy to open eBay and browse the fun things to bid on. I can get lost in the world of books on Amazon, too. Did you know they have over 15,000 free books there? (Check the Kindle free collection.) Project Gutenberg has twice that many, and there’s openlibrary.org with a million. There is so much to look at. My mind boggles.

Feeling frenetic, I threw together a sandwich and salad for dinner and wolfed it down. I began clearing the dishes in a frenzy and knocked about the kitchen. I had the kettle on. I had the water on, heating up for washing. I had music coming from the living room. I had my mind racing about things utterly unrelated.

Suddenly, I stopped. I could feel my heart racing, and I was doing nothing strenuous. I had worked myself into a lather.

I took a deep breath and another, in through the nose and out through the mouth. I paused.

I filled the dishpan with hot water, and I began a familiar exercise. Out loud, I said, “I’m picking up the silverware. I’m dumping it in the water. I’m reaching in the water. I’m scrubbing the spoon. I’m rinsing the spoon. I’m putting the spoon in the drainer. I’m reaching in the water. I’m scrubbing the…”  With each motion, I announced the action.

I call this meditation.

Like sitting still and releasing, the act of pronouncing precisely what I’m doing as I’m doing it clears my brain. All I can hold in my mind are the words. I lose the racing thoughts. The rampant desires of shopping are forgotten. The million books lose their place. It’s all replaced by warm, sudsy water engulfing my hands.

My mind becomes filled with the actions, and I am free of turmoil. It seems ridiculous at first. Talking to yourself is frowned upon by most people. When it’s done with a purpose, however, it works wonders.

After the final, “I’m rinsing the plate. I’m placing the plate in the drainer,” I came away calm. Gone was the stress and the racing heart rate.

I’ve used this technique to calm myself down on many occasions, and once when I was particularly distressed, I even took clean dishes out of the cupboard just to have something to wash. I’ve used it performing other tasks, too. It forces focus and clears the mind. It’s wonderful.

Keeping busy

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If there’s one thing that helps this bipolar person, it is keeping busy. I stay out of my head and stay in the here and now. I’ve been trying to keep busy the past several weeks since I wrote last.

My visit to my prescribing psychiatric nurse practitioner went well, and she gave me some samples of a new medication to add just for the time being, just until the mania passes. It’s called Geodon. I took it for a while many years ago, and it had some serious side-effects. One of them was drowsiness. I couldn’t stay awake. I’m glad to say I’m not having that reaction this time around. I do have to take it with food, though, since it gives me a bit of indigestion otherwise. It is having one possible side-effect that I don’t like, and I’ll get to that later.

The nurse also increased one of the other medications I’m taking. It’s called Depakote, and it has a horrible side-effect of increasing a person’s appetite. There’s a lot of weight gain associated with it. I can tell you for a fact they’re not kidding. I swear I could eat nothing but grilled chicken breast for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, and I’d still gain weight. I hate it. My regular doctor hates it, and there’s nothing that can be done about it except stop taking it.

There’s my medication in a nutshell at the moment, but I promised to talk about one possible side-effect to the medication Geodon. It’s a sexual one, and it’s not pretty. While I can still get an erection, I can’t ejaculate, which is not only embarrassing, it’s downright painful. Thankfully, the Geodon is temporary, so the problem should be the same. If it’s not, all my health care advocates are going to hear about it loudly and strongly.

Keeping busy shouldn’t seem like a problem to a manic person. The difficulty lies in keeping busy doing things that will be healthy in all ways. I’ve spent some time hunting for sex. That’s a common occurrence during mania. This time I was sure to keep it safe and enjoyable, even if one attempt did end or not in the way it was supposed to. I spent time reading a play that I’m going to direct. It’s a Christmas play, and I’m very excited about directing for the first time. I’m relieved that it’s short and should be a lot of fun for all involved.

I’m also keeping busy with my kids’ busy schedules. It seems like they all have to be somewhere at the same time, but it’s a joy to help out. I’m very lucky to have people in my life who need help.

If you’re reading this and you think you have nothing to do, I can recommend what I do. I have volunteered at the library. They need help even if it’s just dusting the books. I read. I study about bipolar disorder online. I read other blogs written by people with the illness. I write to friends. I go to A.A. meetings, which may or may not be an issue for you. I meditate. I daydream.

But I try not to think too much. That’s never been helpful for me.

Fright

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Last Saturday evening, I found myself pacing in my room. Next, my thoughts were racing, careening out of control. They were dominated by doom and gloom and worst-case scenarios, all flashing before my eyes. “Would this person be okay in their present predicament? Would that person die unexpectedly?” Then the uncontrollable crying started along with the thoughts that I have worked so hard to get rid of. The negative self-talk. The self-loathing. The hatred directed at me.

My heart raced. My breathing was shallow and ineffective.

All this angst culminated in a certainty that I was simply going completely insane, and thoughts of suicide were present. I wondered if I could drive myself to the emergency room at the hospital. Would I be okay behind the wheel of a car at that point? I was sure I was losing my mind.

“A panic attack” flashed across my mind. “I’m having a panic attack.” While this thought didn’t calm me, it gave me something to hold on to. It also gave me a way out. I knew what to do. I did a very quick guided visualization exercise that I use as meditation and gained a moment of quiet, which I used to walk to the bathroom for the medicine my doctor has given me for just such emergencies. I took one and went back to my room to wait.

I told my therapist about it today, and she was quite dismayed to hear the news. She said something I hadn’t thought of. She said, “You’re having to work too hard to feel good.” Having someone I trust explicitly means so much. Relief washed over me with those words. Someone else saw my hurt and acknowledged it. I didn’t feel judged or wrong in any way. I’m so lucky to have people in my life I can turn to at times like these.

I see my psychiatrist tomorrow, and I will tell him about the incident as well. Keeping all my caregivers up-to-date with all my symptoms is an important part of staying as healthy as I possibly can.

Hitting the Wall of Depression

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At the edge

To jump or not to jump

I am not ashamed to say that I spent today in bed. I’m depressed.

I tried my little releasing ritual, but there was no magic bullet there. Still, if there’s one thing I’ve learned over the years of having this disease, it is that this too shall pass. I will feel better. Who knows maybe tomorrow I’ll wake up right as rain.

I feel alone. I feel worthless. I feel ashamed of my sexuality, and this after 11 years out of the closet. I feel ashamed of how I use my sexuality.

I’m tired. I’m sick of fighting. I’ve got layers of internalized self-loathing that are only beginning to surface.

I’ve stopped walking. I’ve stopped meditating. I say only the most rudimentary prayers.

Ugh. I can feel myself sliding into the pit, and I refuse to go easily. If I’m going to be depressed, then people are going to know about it.

I can tell you exactly when this started. It began with the comments of a friend on a social web site. I’m gay, and this friend posted a link to an ex-gay therapy group. The whole idea of ex-gay therapy has been widely discredited, but the post sent me into a tailspin of old tapes playing from my childhood about abhorrent homosexuals. The problem is that I can’t shake them. This time, they’re playing repeatedly. They make me feel worthless and actually sub-human.

I’m so sick of homophobia I could vomit. I’m sick of hating myself.

So, do I jump in the lake and revel, or do I jump and drown?

Conscious Release of Depression 2

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I saw my therapist today, and she liked my little ritual I performed yesterday to release negative emotions.  That’s the one where I lifted my hands and said out loud, “To the Universe, I release the old feelings that are surfacing. I release the old fear. I embrace the love the Universe gives me. I bathe in the light of good.”

She had a great suggestion. I had done it sitting in my chair, and she thought it would be even more effective to stand, raise my arms, and say the words. I tried it in her office, and I have to say that stretching upward really seemed to work out a lot of kinks in my back. That has to be good.

When I’ve been in the deepest, darkest pit of despair in the past, I’ve used positive affirmations even when I didn’t believe a word I was saying. I didn’t fake any special voice. I took the negative thoughts streaming through my mind and turned them into positives.

When “I’m worthless” popped into my head, I turned it into “There are people who love me.”

When I thought, “I wish I was dead,” I turned it around and said out loud, again lifting my hands and face upward, “Thank you for my life.” There were many times I really didn’t mean it, but I forced myself to say the positive.

I remember being so low once that all I could manage was to lie on the couch and sing, “La la la,” over and over again for about a minute. I say I was singing it, but trust me, it was not in a pretty voice. Still, it helped. I don’t know why, but it did. I was able to sit up and breathe and say to myself that this too would pass.

Depression is a disgusting thing. I hate it with all my might. It sucks out the core of my soul, and I will try any means necessary to keep from slipping back into its grip.

Conscious Release of Depression

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I’m not feeling too swift today. I’m down. I’ve got old tapes playing in my head causing low self-esteem, feelings of inadequacy, and plain ol’ blue.

It started when one of my “friends” on a social web site posted a link to an article about ex-gay therapy. There was a picture with the link supposedly of a man who used to be gay and is now straight. He didn’t look happy. He looked like a wet, cornered cat ready to pounce to protect itself.

I grew up in a house that was rabidly fundamentalist in its Christian beliefs, and I was told directly that if I ever came out of the closet as gay I would be thrown out of the house. Those are tough words to hear as a teenager, and they caused a lot of fear.

Dutifully, I remained in the closet for 20 more years and put myself and those around me through hell. I am living proof that a gay person can’t be straight. Trying to be straight warped my world. I abused alcohol because of the tension. I abused my relationships with others. I hurt people and myself.

So, today I feel crappy. What am I doing with those feelings? How am I winning against the onslaught of depressive emotions?

I practiced a very simple ritual. I lifted my hands upward and said these words, “To the Universe, I release the old feelings that are surfacing. I release the old fear. I embrace the love the Universe gives me. I bathe in the light of good.”

Did I instantly feel uplifted? Hell, no. But then I got the notion that my small ritual needed to be shared, so I came to my blog. Sharing makes me feel a little better. It’s a small step.

Now, I think it’s nap time.