New Medication

About two months ago, I started taking a new medication. The hope was that it would reduce one of the side effects I've been experiencing. Unfortunately, that didn't happen and I've become emotionally unstable.

I had been taking Adderall, which is an amphetamine. What I've noticed about taking this medication is that it causes me to sweat profusely. In the hopes of curbing this, I was changed to Vyvanse, a new medication that extends release over a longer period of time. Adderall hits the system all at once, so there is an immediate burst of energy which then tapers off. Think of it like a sugar high. Vyvanse is an extended release medication which lasts throughout the day, doling out small doses throughout the day. The thought was that by going for the longer acting drug, the effects would not be as extreme.

You might wonder what the big deal is about sweat. This isn't the usual sweat that happens as I go about my day and differ my exertion. Nope, this is walk five feet after showering and getting dressed, only to have rivulets running down my spine and drenching the back my clean shirt kind of sweat. And, it is happening in the freezing cold of a Minnesota winter! Summer brings its own special kind of hell, with wet hair, sweat dripping from my face, and clothes so soaked that they feel like they've just come out of the washing machine. It is disgusting and I don't care for it one bit.

Changing medications did not work. In fact, quite the opposite has occurred. It feels as if it has stopped working completely. I'm still sweating profusely, and I haven't been sleeping well. I can't seem to quiet my mind and relax. I'm teetering on the edge of wakefulness, unable to tilt myself towards the dark abyss. Along with this, my emotions are cycling like crazy.

I don't know what to expect from one minute or hour to the next. Last night, I was excited to go to a friend's place for dinner and minutes later was frustrated and angry, lashing out at Jen because I couldn't find my shoes, which were in the closet where I was looking. Mere seconds later, I was crying and blubbering like a baby on her shoulder. Today wasn't any better, crying off and on, I hid in the bed with dogs so as to minimize any interactions with Jen. I know it's hard on her too and it makes me feel like crap when I hurt her in the process. Swinging rapidly between mania and depression is a struggle I'm not up to right now. I would really like it to go away, but that won't happen soon.At least I see my psychiatrist and therapist in the next couple of days to help me cope with this situation.

Here's to meds that work and better days ahead.

Awake

How can it be that I miscalculated the necessary medication I need for sleep? Or that I can easily take a mid-morning nap, be stumbling tired at bedtime and not be able to fall asleep? Well, I went to bed early yesterday, but the new year still made it here. Now tonight I am wide awake while my fiance sleeps soundly in bed. It is crazy to think that a single medication can have such an effect on one's sleep.

The holidays always seem to mess me up. Strange sleep patterns, irregular work schedules, and dealing with family dynamics is enough to make me run to the bed and hide under the covers until it is all done. It was no different this year, except that we've added a wedding ceremony and the planning of said event to our to do list. Then, of course, in the midst of all this, I screw up my medication regime. I guess I need a personal assistant, no not Siri, a real live person, who says, "hey, you need to go get those meds today, unless you want to be awake for a couple days straight." Who am I kidding? I've got the meds set up in containers for the week, set the low or empty bottles on the counter to call for a refill, refill by phone/internet, get reminder calls when they are ready to pick up at the pharmacy, and have it in my phone's scheduler, yet I still manage to forget.

It's not as if I don't know the consequences of missing my medication. Sometimes it just seems as if my brain drops the call and then tells me there's no signal. I call them "brain farts", but actually it feels like temporary amnesia. Whether you remember again remains to be seen, and the more it happens the more I lose, which leaves frustrating memory gaps and things I know are there and should be able to recall, and are tantalizingly out of my grasp.

Right now, that's how it is with sleep, within reach of my fingertips, and oh so elusive, like trying to grab hold of a cloud. I can hear the pups, quietly wup, wup, wupping, running after some sort of prey, and Jen lightly snoring along side them in the bed. All of this is happening without me, as I sit in my 1960's corduroy swivel rocker writing this post. What I wouldn't give to be tucked under the blanket snuggling one of the pups.

It never gets easier, each day is its own struggle. There are times when you think you've finally gotten a handle on an issue and another pops-up out of nowhere. If you don't keep trying then you're dying. So, on I go...better at least attempt to sleep, I've got a busy day ahead.

Ah, to sleep, perchance to dream... - Shakespeare, I believe.

Christmas Eve

It dawns on me, as I sit here in the lobby of a church, that I was hoping and expecting more from this holiday season. I guess I should have been more specific in that request.

I did get more than I asked for. I've been able to see my friends and family and celebrate with them. What I wasn't looking for was to become the lead matriarch, taking care of my parents and getting them ready for a move out of their home. That's a lot of stress to add to the already stressful holiday season. I'm not quite ready for this next step, but know it has to be done for the health and welfare of my parents. I’m glad that this doesn't have to be done immediately, but within the next couple of months, which is still a crazy time-frame.


So, here we are, me writing on my new kindle, enjoying the peace and quiet of the church lobby, people watching, and reflecting on the events of the past week. And you, dear reader, listening in on my thoughts and fears. Soon a new year will be upon us. Many changes are about to occur in my life and I don't feel prepared for any of them. Jen keeps telling me that as long as we're together we can get through anything. I have to believe that this is true as we have been through and dealt with a lot of crap, and are still together. She's usually the planner and worrier, but I seem to have taken that role over, at least for the time being. So, I'll try to remember that this is only temporary and to breath. I've been told that not breathing is bad and I'd have to agree with that sentiment since most of the dead people I've known don't do it anymore.

How do you handle the stress of the holidays? Is it hitting the Tom & Jerry or Eggnog a bit hard, lots of mulled wine, a book and earplugs, loud music, a warm fire and your pets? I’d love to hear your ideas of how you keep yourself sane.

Enjoy the peace and quiet of your holiday season. My wish for all of you is that you find joy and solace in your family and friends during this coming year.

Happy Holidays

NOTE: These are my own views and observations. While I don’t voice them often, I do when I see that there is a disconnect in the thinking and conversations going on around me. We need to focus on what is really important in our own lives because change comes from within. If you don't like what I have to say, well then don't listen. I’m to the point in my life that I don’t and won’t deal with that childish BS anymore. If you are still with me, then please read all the way to the end, but be warned it is long.

I've seen a lot of posts saying that we need to “bring Christmas back to America”. We don’t need to bring it back, its been here all along. What needs to happen is that we need to acknowledge that it is only one of the many religions practiced in America today and one of the minority religions on this planet.

Here’s a bit of history that maybe we have all forgotten; our nation was built on a foundation of religious and political freedom. Our forefathers were fleeing the persecution of the English monarchy when they rebelled, settled, and became an independent nation. Why should we suddenly decide that America is only for Christians? On the boat with those Christians were people with different religious views like the Quakers. They could be considered Christians, but their religion and social views are different from Catholics and Protestants. How about the Amish, Mennonites, and Mormons do we discount their views also? Do we try to abolish all religions besides our narrow definition of Christianity?

It is true that we may have become too politically correct, but that is a sign that as human beings we are continually evolving. Eventually we will find a balance, because it all works itself out in the end. It is the middle struggle that is the hardest and shows us how far we have come from our origins. That being said, it is important to understand why many of us have turned to the phrase “Happy Holidays” instead of “Merry Christmas”. Our country is known as the “Melting Pot”; there is a diverse population celebrating many different events starting at the end of November and ending the first full week of January. No one is trying to get rid of Christmas, they are just trying to be more inclusive of those around them who celebrate different holidays during this same time-frame. Below is a list of just a few of the holidays that are celebrated alongside Christmas. (My sincere thanks to Wikipedia, Huffington Post, and a couple more helpful university blogs)


Advent: four weeks prior to Christmas (Western Christianity).Chalica: A holiday created in 2005, in the first full week in December, celebrated by some Unitarian Universalists.
Saint Nicholas' Day: 6 DecemberAshura: the 10th day of the first month on the Islamic calendar. Sunnis, the largest group of Muslims, remember that the Prophet Muhammad fasted in solidarity with Jews who were observing Yom Kippur, the Day of Atonement. Shiites recall the death of Muhammad's grandson in battle, an event that led to their differences with the Sunnis.Festivus for the Rest of Us: If you don’t celebrate any of the above holidays, but don’t want to feel left out, you could start commemorating Festivus, the December holiday invented by Frank Costanza on Seinfeld. Instead of a Christmas tree there is a pole, which is central to the “airing of grievances” between family members. There is also a “feats of strength” component, which could be fun. You can see clips from the “Festivus” episode on You Tube.Bodhi Day: 8 December - Day of Enlightenment, celebrating the day that the historical Buddha (Shakyamuni or Siddhartha Gautama) experienced enlightenment (also known as Bodhi).Eid al-Adha: The Festival of Sacrifice: this Muslim holiday honours Abraham’s willingness to sacrifice his son to God. One of the two most important holidays in Islam, it follows the Hajj (pilgrimage to Mecca). People who observe this holiday dress in their finest clothes, visit family, eat festive meals, and children receive gifts and treats.Our Lady of Guadalupe: 12 December - An important honor of Mexico's Patron Saint before Christmas officially begins on December 16thLas Posadas: 16 December -24 December - procession to various family lodgings for celebration & prayer and to re-enact Mary & Joseph's journey to BethlehemSaint Lucia's Day: 13 December - Church Feast Day. Saint Lucia comes as a young woman with lights and sweets.Winter Solstice: 21 December-22 December - midwinterDongzhi Festival - a celebration of WinterSoyal: 21 December - Zuni and HopiYalda: 21 December - The turning point, Winter Solstice. As the longest night of the year and the beginning of the lengthening of days, Shabe Yaldā or Shabe Chelle is an Iranian festival celebrating the victory of light and goodness over darkness and evil. Shabe yalda means 'birthday eve.' According to Persian mythology, Mithra was born at dawn on the 22nd of December to a virgin mother. He symbolizes light, truth, goodness, strength, and friendship. Herodotus reports that this was the most important holiday of the year for contemporary Persians. In modern times Persians celebrate Yalda by staying up late or all night, a practice known as Shab Chera meaning 'night gazing'. Fruits and nuts are eaten, especially pomegranates and watermelons, whose red color invokes the crimson hues of dawn and symbolize Mithra.Mōdraniht: or Mothers' Night, the Saxon winter solstice festival.Saturnalia: the Roman winter solstice festivalPancha Ganapati: Five-day festival in honor of Lord Ganesha. December 21–25. Celebrated by Hindus in USA.Festivus: 23 DecemberKrampusnacht: 24 DecemberChristmas Eve: 24 DecemberDies Natalis Solis Invicti (Day of the birth of the Unconquered Sun): late Roman Empire - 25 DecemberChristmas: 25 DecemberTwelve Days of Christmas: 25 December through 6 JanuaryYule / Midwinter / Alban Arthan / Winter Solstice (Pagan, Wiccan, Druid): The longest night of the year followed by the sun's "rebirth" and lengthening of days. In most traditions, Yule is celebrated as the rebirth of the Great God, who is viewed as the newborn solstice sun. Some pagans consider Yule to be the beginning of the new year. One of the eight major annual sabbats or festivals. General Practices: Burning the yule log (which was traditionally part of last year’s yule tree) is an act of faith and renewal that, indeed, the light, and the warmth will return.Anastasia of Sirmium Feast Day: 25 DecemberMalkh: 25 DecemberBoxing Day: 26 December - Gift-giving day after Christmas.Kwanzaa: 26 December - 1 January - Pan-African festival celebrated in North AmericaSaint Stephen's Day: 26 DecemberDec. 26, Zoroastrians observe the death of the prophet Zarathushtra, known in the West as Zoroaster. Tradition says he lived in what is now Iran in about 1200 B.C. His teachings include the idea of one eternal God; seven powerful creations: sky, water, earth, plants, animals, humans and fire; and that life is a struggle between good and evil.Saint John the Evangelist's Day: 27 DecemberHoly Innocents' Day: 28 DecemberSaint Sylvester's Day: 31 DecemberWatch Night: 31 DecemberNew Year's Eve: 31 December - Last day of the Gregorian yearHogmanay: Night of 31 December - Before dawn of 1 January - Scottish New Year's Eve celebrationHanukkah: A Jewish festival celebrating the miracle of oil.Gantan-sai (Shinto): Gantan-sai is the annual New Year festival of the Shinto religion. General Practices: Practitioners pray for inner renewal, prosperity, and health, as well as visiting shrines and visiting friends and family.Epiphany / Twelfth Night / Three Kings Day (Christian / Roman Catholic and Protestant): This date is also known as Befana Day; commemorates the revelation of God through Jesus Christ and marks the time the three wise men arrived in Bethlehem and presented gifts to the baby Jesus. General Practices: Prayer, festive meals, offerings, gifts.Christmas (Eastern Orthodox Christian): Christmas is an annual celebration commemorating the birth of Jesus of Nazareth, the Messiah whose message and self-sacrifice began the Christian religion. General Practices: Many celebrate this holiday by attending church services, holding celebratory meals, and visiting family. Date details: Eastern Orthodox Christmas is determined by the Julian calendar which regulates ceremonial cycle of the Eastern Orthodox Christian churches.

So, when I say, “Happy Holidays” to you, what I am actually saying is, “Whatever Holiday you choose to celebrate during this season, I hope that it is a joyous time for you and your family.” My friends are from different ethnic and religious backgrounds and this is my way of including their holidays with the Christmas season. In the end, what we need to remember is “the reason for the season”. It is a time of renewed hope, joy, thanksgiving, love, and spending special time with our family and friends.

To all of you still here,

I wish you a joyous, safe, and beautiful Holiday Season whatever your beliefs. May you enjoy the little moments as much as the big ones for that what our lives are made up of.

Happy DohlstiChrismaKwanakahal-sai to each and everyone!

One day

I know that one day, my Dad won't be here anymore. I keep this mantra in the back of my mind when things are getting rough. You see, he's been through a lot in the past 20 years and his health is in serious decline. The hard part is that cognitively he is also headed downhill.That same vibrant guy who was my Dad, isn't anymore, now he is a grumpy, stubborn old man, much like his father.

My Dad has been put through the ringer. Most of my life he was as healthy as an ox and as stubborn as a mule. He's got Non-Hodgkin's Lymphoma, prostate cancer, peripheral nueropathy, diabetes, and atrial fibrillation, and that's just the start. There have been several rounds of aggressive chemotherapy and radiation to slow down the growth of the cancer. Unfortunately, all of this has had an effect on his health; causing heart deterioration, decreased blood flow to his extremities, lowered immunity, and memory issues. He's had half a foot amputated, a pace-maker/defibrillator implanted, and seen more doctors, specialists, and hospitals than most people see in their entire lifetime.

All these have health issues have adversely affected him. I remember in elementary school, he would sit in his recliner and I would sit at his feet and we would go through the Readers Digest Word Challenge. He'd read the word and the three possible definitions and I would try to figure out which was the correct one. I learned how to navigate anywhere and know where the car is parked innately because of him: instead of the directions uphill is North, downhill is South, right turn is East, and left turn is West. Now, he doesn't remember what he said five minutes ago and isn't able to get us to the car from a store in the mall. Dad is always tired and spends most of his time in the recliner napping or watching TV, that's when he isn't at doctors appointments.

Dad has also gotten more stubborn and grumpy. He used to have a great sense of humor and was pretty funny. Now, he's the only one who thinks his jibes are humorous, the rest of us find them mean-spirited and ill-timed. Little by little, he is becoming a child again, throwing tantrums and pouting when he doesn't get his way.So, its difficult to temper the person I see in front of me with the father I grew up with.

I know he isn't coming back, but in some form my Dad is still here. Each day I will try to remember that it is the illnesses and not him that are causing these unfiltered reactions. I'll remind myself that he is struggling in his own way as much as we are in our dealings with him. And above all, he is still my Dad, so I will do my best to make the most out of each moment we have together.

Migraines suck

There are few things that make you feel as horrible as a migraine. It is one of those whole body events, like the flu, that makes you feel like crap even after its gone. Everyone who suffers from them has different symptoms and triggers.

I didn’t get migraines until I was well into my 20’s. Who knows how or why they started, but they did. The first time I thought it was just a horribly bad headache. It was definitely that and so much more. I took some ibuprofen to get rid of it, but that didn’t even touch the migraine.

Have you ever felt like your skull has been run-through by a piece of rerod and then part of it would burst? I have. It started with a sort of kink in my neck on the right-side just below the skull. As it progressed I felt the searing pain of that “piece of rerod” being shoved slowly up and forward until it exited directly above my right eyeball. That meant that I could now feel throbbing in the right-side of my head with every beat of my heart. Added to this was an intense sensitivity to light. At one point I remember taping a folded washcloth over my right eye in an attempt to stop the fiery sword from blinding me. I’m sure I looked like a bad imitation of a pirate, but at that point I didn’t care what I looked like. This “bad headache” was torture and I would have done just about anything to get rid of it.

It only got worse from there. I ended up putting on the darkest pair of sunglasses I could find as that fiery sword had started to scorch the sight in my left eye too. I also settled a baseball hat low over my eyes to shade them more (a loose one), closed the blinds, and pulled the curtains. There was still too much light, so I ended up crawling into bed and dragging the covers over my head still wearing the “eye-patch”, sunglasses, and hat. This was much better except that it hurt to lay my aching melon on the pillow. I don’t know how long I stayed this way but it felt like a lifetime and I still wasn’t done yet.

I finally managed to shuffle out of bed and noticed, to my delight, that night had fallen. I shed the eye-patch but kept the hat and sunglasses as I turned on a lamp for a bit of light. I was hungry and although I didn’t have much energy to make anything, I thought I could handle a bowl of soup. Campbell’s was the choice. Thank goodness for modern conveniences, nothing to do but open, heat, and eat. What I didn’t know at the time was that I was also hypersensitive to smells. So, as I am heating and smelling the soup I am also getting more and more nauseous from the smell. Off to the bathroom I ran. Oh darkness, my old friend, we meet again and I see you have brought a welcomed guest, the cold porcelain god to greet me. Bless you both. It was awhile before I left their comforting arms and attempted the kitchen anew. When I got there, I promptly sent the soup down the drain. I found and ate a few crackers, and headed back to my cozy bed to await my fate.

It took over a day and a half for the migraine to abate. After that I was wiped out, physically and mentally drained. Getting over this part took the better part of a week. Then, as suddenly as it had arrived, it was gone.

I know now that two of my triggers are stress and a messed-up schedule. While there are times that I can’t help but adjust my itinerary for different events or appointments, I do try to stick to a regular timetable in an attempt to keep migraines to a minimum. Also, one of the added benefits of taking Bipolar medication is that many of them also act as migraine blockers. This is just an extra buffer to help reduce migraines and their effects.

Suffer with migraines? What do you do to get through?

In Lock-up

My first experience with "lock-up" started with a trip to the hospital emergency room. I was ushered into an observation room and given aqua-colored scrubs with a big "BH" to change into. This is very different from my other emergency room visits as usually I'm given a hospital gown or can stay dressed. The other big change is that there was a security guard posted outside my room watching me and trying to be inconspicuous about it. Nice try but I wasn't buying that Happy Meal.

Because there was no Behavioral Health Unit at the hospital that I went to, I got to wait for several hours, being watched by the guard, while the staff worked at finding a place for me to go. It was a very long wait and I couldn't have done it without Jen's waiting there with me. When I finally got a room, it required a 30 minute transfer in an ambulance to another hospital. I figured, alright, I can do a transfer if it means that I'll get treatment and be safe. What I wasn't prepared for was being wrapped in blankets and strapped down from shoulder to foot. This was ostensibly for the paramedics' safety and my own. All it did was freak me out more than I already was.

Once I was admitted to the Behavioral Health Unit at the new hospital, they put me on a 72-hour hold, 24 of them separated from everyone else. This was to make sure that I wasn't a danger to myself or others. It was a rough transition because while I had a bedroom, I was confined to a small communal area with only three other people. The lights in the communal area were on 24 hours a day. In my stark private room the lights were also on most of the night, until I begged to have them turned off. Its weird to know that they were checking on me every half-hour. After awhile I didn't really care, I had been crying all day long and had a major headache; all I wanted was some peace and quiet and some sleep.

The next day, I was allowed to move into the main group. I shared a room with another gal and we were located right across from the staff station. Everything that was brought in was checked. Contraband items included clothing with ties (hoodies), tie shoes (like tennis shoes), balloon bouquets, plastic bags, cell phones, laptops, iPods, and headphones/earphones were immediately taken into the station to hold until the visitor left to take them away. It was hard for me to be without music; too much chatter going on in my head that the music could've drowned out. There was an ancient pair of radio headphones (you know, the huge ones that you see people wearing to keep the noise out at NASCAR races?). What good were they?  It was just another voice wheedling its way into my head to join the others along with static as the station signal faded in and out.

My days were highly scheduled with meals, group meetings, therapy sessions, crafting, more group meetings, standing in line to take medication, and visitors. That was my favorite part of the day, seeing visitors. Sometimes it feels as if we had fallen into an informational black hole. I know this is so we would focus on ourselves and getting better, but that sudden deficit was rough. Visitors were very important to me, it meant I had support from the outside world and hadn't been abandoned or forgotten. Jen was there almost every day. Other friends arrived bearing gifts and much needed conversation. I looked forward to hearing about their days, knowing that life was still going on.

My stay lasted a week. While this isn't considered long, it was enough for me. Medication was adjusted to give me better quality of life. I learned some coping skills and how to recognize when I start to spiral out of control. Strange that being in that environment felt safe. The thought of being released to home scared the crap out of me. But, finding out what a great support base I had was one of the things that made getting discharged easier.

Before I could officially leave, I was given a day pass to see how I handled being out in the world again. For those who don't know, a day pass is just what it says; one day (8 hrs) or evening (4 hrs) out of the BH environment in the care of a family member or friend. Mine was a 4-hour evening pass and although I was nervous, Jen made being out and about much more comfortable. She took me to one of my favorite restaurants and home to see our dogs where we sat and talked until it was time for me to go back.

It took a couple more days before I was discharged. Everything had to be in order: scripts for medication had to be written and picked up, appointments set-up with a psychiatrist and therapist, groups to attend, and daily support to coordinate. Once this plan was in place I was allowed to go home.

So, that was my experience with being in a "mental facility".  Have you been "locked-up" in the looney bin? What was your experience like? How did it differ from my experience? I'd really like to hear from you.

Happy Halloween

Halloween. It is one of my favorite holidays. Why? Because I can pretend I am anyone, anyone but myself. This is the one day that I can put on a mask, actual or imagined, and be someone else. Someone who doesn't have Bipolar and struggles through her days. Instead, I can be a famous star, an obscure monster, a superhero, an inanimate object, or anything I can think up in my head.

It's all smoke and mirrors, not real. Many times people do not understand what it is like to have Bipolar: the highs, the lows, the effort to make it through the day. Putting on a show for people is easier than being the real me. Growing up, that is what we were taught. Life is pretty, life is good, there are no arguments, only sunshine and roses. Always show the world your bright side. Never expose what's in the shadows, this is private and should be concealed, even from the family. And it was not up for discussion.

Reinventing myself was a part of my day-to-day life. I needed to be the consummate daughter, giving the world the performance I thought my parents' expected. When I was disconsolate and we went to an event, I assumed the role of a carefree butterfly, flitting through the crowd, connecting, and making conversation. What I really wanted to do was crawl into the darkness under the covers and pretend the world didn't exist. I got very good at putting on masks. There were times that even I believed my own pretense.

My Halloween costumes have never been elaborate. I think of things way ahead of time and then tend to forget all my great ideas when it comes time to make them. For instance,  I was Charlie Chaplin four years in a row. It wasn't that I hadn't thought of other ones, I had, cool ones too. Basically, it was easier than putting effort into a new one. I knew what it took to make the Chaplin costume and had most of the stuff already. Besides, I am also kind of a perfectionist. A different costume leaves room for errors, but using one that I had already done eliminated that problem from the equation. I also adored him and his body of work.

At this point in my life I think I am finally learning that the people who surround me appreciate me for the person I have become; not for who I could be. This is a concept that's taken a long time for me to understand. My habits of shutting people out are very ingrained, but little by little I am peeling away those masks.

So, this Halloween, have fun being someone else for a bit, but never forget who you really are. YOU are unique. There will never be another YOU, so savor your "you-ness".

BH stands for...

There was another woman who had been transferred from the same hospital that I had come from. This was one of our short conversations.

Her: These scrubs have BH on them. Do we have to give them back to the hospital? How are we going to get them back to "Branson Hospital"?

Me: Uhm, I think we can keep them, and "BH" doesn't stand for "Branson Hospital", it stands for "Behavioral Health".

Her: Eyes get large and mouth drops open. Oh.

Its all in the name

By now, you are probably wondering about the name of my blog. Why and how I chose it? Well, that is a short but funny story. 40 Pair of Sox is about not being able to make a decision. It is also about trying not to make a mistake and making another person happy. As you well know if you have been reading my blog I have issues with excessive spending. I also trend towards the manic side and am a perfectionist at heart.

Jen and I had not been together for very long, maybe six months. We were living in separate apartments at the time. Both of us are hopeless romantics and liked to get each other gifts for no reason other than "because it was Thursday." Well, one day she mentioned that she needed a new pair of white socks (Sox). While Jen likes to accuse me of not listening to her, I am acutely aware of what she says when we talk.

About a week later I decided that I would get her a new pair of white socks so I headed to Target (our local "superstore"). I got into the store and went directly to the intimates section, 'cause duh, that's where socks are located. Once there I perused the selections, but began to wonder what kind of white socks did she really want? Too many selections to choose from: crew, 1/4, trouser, no-show, ribbed, smooth, translucent, cotton, polyester, cotton-poly blend, nylon, thick, thin, knee-high, the list goes on and on. And I kept asking myself, what kind of socks does Jen really want.

I could not make a decision. What should I do. I didn't want to disappoint her, I wanted to make her happy and bring her joy. Seeing her eyes light up at the sight of the new socks, that's it, no pressure at all. Except there was pressure and it all came from me and from the budding relationship. So, I did what any good girlfriend would do.

That's right. If you can't make a decision, cover all your bases. I bought 40 pair of socks. I bought lavender ones with butterflies, black and grey with white flowers, brown ones, multicolored striped ones, tan ones with geometric patterns, tall ones, thin ones, anything that I thought she would like went into that basket. I headed out of the store with my purchase, proud of the fact that I had made a decision and bought her socks. She would be so surprised. I was excited to give them to her. Boy was she ever excited as she pulled pair after pair of socks from the bag. Until she got to the bottom of the bag and gave me a perplexed look. Oh no, what had I done? I was filled with dread. I had gotten her everything but a pair of white socks.

We had a good laugh over that faux pax. How I overlooked that one detail, I'll never know, but it doesn't matter. She loved me because I thought of her and bought her socks.

Now you have the whole story about the name of the blog. Hope I've brought a bit of laughter into your day.

I'm not angry anymore

Have you ever been angry? How about unreasonably angry, so much so that you see black or red, want to lash out and hurt anyone around you, then want to kill yourself? Rage, they call it RAGE. It is one of the emotions that I have had the most trouble with throughout my life. Where it started, I don't know, I mean, I think I know, but am not positive. The one thing that I do know about rage is that it led to my first hospitalization. But it also led me towards introspection and changing how I lived and interacted with others.

You know how it is when you get a sliver or thorn stuck in your foot? Maybe you can see it and maybe you can't but you know it's there because you can feel it. The longer it sits under the skin the more it festers. It is irritating, niggling away until you just can't stand it anymore. At that point you can try to dig it out yourself or have it lanced by a doctor. Either way, it has changed how you walk, how you think, your attitude, and how you act & react to those around you. Once it is opened the bile that has been building around this tiny piece of nothing shoots forth into the universe. You are just sitting there, staring, dumb-founded that such a small thing could bring forth such malignancy and leave such a huge hole. That is what rage is like.

The sliver
For me, it started out as annoyance. I was irritated that my dad had missed a bunch of my birthdays and my high school graduation because of work. It offended me that I was frequently compared to my younger brother. The rest of my family and I didn't get along very well; my dad and I were much too similar. I felt like the black sheep of the family: the odd gal out. It didn't help that I didn't fit in at school either, I drifted between the various cliques, never settling in any group. Of course, there were people that I was close to: some neighbors, classmates, and members of the church youth group, but I stuck to myself much of the time.

Festering
This I think was where the anger first started to show itself. Not so much as an elementary schooler, but it definitely escalated once I hit junior high. I would fight with my mother. There was one time while she was making Monster Cookies that she got so mad at me (I'm sure I provoked her, but don't remember that part) that she hit me with a wire fly swatter and bent it. I laughed and shouldn't have. That only proved to infuriate her more, so she took her favorite wooden spoon (cookie dough and all) to my back-side. She broke it! She was so incensed and flustered that all she could say was, "Wait until your father gets home!" I went to my room until he came home. My punishment was a size 11EEE square-toed cowboy boot right to the tailbone. I didn't sit easy for quite awhile after that.

Our rides in the car to the relatives for the holidays was no picnic either. It was an hour and a half of sheer torture for me. I knew that no matter what I said, my dad and I were going to disagree about something, usually trivial, and get into a fight. Moreover, neither of us was willing to change our point of view (can you say stubborn?) so there ended up being tense, dead silence for a lot of the drive. I was raised to have an opinion and speak my point of view. Unfortunately for me, I didn't realize that I needed to censor myself until much later in life and by that time irreversible damage had been done to our relationship.

My parents were and still are to some point perfectionists. The same can be said about me. I'll buy a journal and then won't write in it because I don't want to misspell a word and make a mess in the book. I have several btw, all blank, though there are plenty of thoughts in my mind, I can't get up the nerve to put pen to paper. Using a laptop is easier for me, even if I screw-up, it is reversible and doesn't show. I'm afraid to disappoint others and that in turn makes me cross. Not with those around me, but with myself. Why can't I just get the balls to go for it? To blunder in front of others and show that I am human just doesn't work. I need to be perfect, I'm expected to be perfect (only by myself, such an irrational thought). Failure means defeat and humiliation, and increasing anger. It builds, staying bottled up inside until the pressure is so great that I explode.

Lancing
I've already told you about how I tried to strangle my brother in the introduction (first post). It was a form of release and I felt better after I did it just not about the act itself. There were several times that we went through this process, my brother and I, but that one was definitely the worst. He wasn't the only one to feel the brunt of my pain either.

Many plates, glasses, bowls and other objects have been severely damaged at my hands. There have been dents in made in cars, items toppled, and sports equipment bent and broken. I've bitten myself, dug fingernails into my skin, and slammed my head into wooden and brick structures hard enough to leave indentations, bruises, and draw blood. To say that I was a danger to myself was an understatement. I was my own poison, being eaten away and killing myself from the inside. Comprehending what was happening was beyond me. I had been taught to hide any emotions that were negative and only show my "good" side. I was a human doing, a walking husk, living from one emotion to the next.

The breaking point came when Jen asked for a glass of water one night. I saw red, then I saw black spots. What the hell was I? Her servant? There for her every beck and call? F%#K NO! Did I say any of this to her? No way! Instead, like a petulant child having a tantrum, I stomped into the kitchen, whacked a glass on the counter, filled it with water, plodded back into the living-room with said glass, slammed it onto our end table and stormed away. She was confused, all she had done was ask for a glass of water, not for world peace. I on the other hand was enraged; filled with hateful, crazed wrath that she had asked me, actually dared to ASKED ME!, for something so stupid when she could have gotten it herself. It took everything in my being not to shove my fists and feet through the closet door. The desire to lash out was immense, my vision was blurred and colored, and Jen was walking right into the path, about to become collateral damage. I screamed I think, I cried I know, I was hot, so very hot that I knew my face was bright red. There were no words in this place, no way to express what was going on, only complete and total fury, the urge to cause destruction. It took every last smidgen of control that I had not to harm her. I pushed past her, ran down the stairs, grabbed my keys, and headed for the garage.

Now, my car has always been a place of refuge for me. A place of safety and tranquility, I had the music I enjoyed close by and the comfort of the steering wheel in my grip. I loved going on trips, despite the awful rides of my youth, watching the scenery go by and stopping to investigate new places whenever the whim hit. When I got in the garage all I could think about was driving away and NEVER returning. And by never I mean suicide by car. I saw and felt myself driving as fast as I could down the interstate and crashing into a concrete bridge abutment, leaving nothing but a tangled mass of metal, plastic, and flesh. It was the only way out that I could see. This was my waking nightmare and I knew if I got in that car I would be dead. I sat on the hood as derogatory thoughts blared in my head. "Your no good. You don't deserve someone like Jen. Jen deserves better than you. What a loser. You're worthless! Nobody loves you. What a pile of crap you are. You and Jen would be better off if you were dead. You're a coward and a failure, a real disappointment to everyone. You piece of shit just do it and get it over with." I kicked the chest freezer, threw stuff, shoved the car keys into my thigh, anything I could think of to get rid of this torment, and keep myself from getting in the car. If that happened all would have been lost. I don't know how long I stayed out there crying, listening to those evil thoughts. To me time had become irrelevant, only a struggle with my inner demons. When I thought I had enough control, I went back in the house, straight into the bedroom, and went to bed. There was no acknowledgement of the damage I had just caused Jen, it was all still too raw to be able to admit. I slept fitfully that night.

The next morning I knew that something needed to be done. I was suicidal and worst of all I had wanted with all my being to hurt Jen, the love of my life, my rock, my soul, my partner in everything. That was something that I just couldn't live with and someone I couldn't live without. I needed help and I needed it badly. As I sat bundled in the fetus position on the couch I admitted to Jen that I felt unsafe and needed assistance and to actually be hospitalized. Not once did I look her in the eye. I was ashamed of myself for what I had thought and done. On that very day, May 18th, I was admitted to the locked Behavioral Health Unit. I stayed there for a week. It was strange because once I got there I felt safe. Hard to think that such a sterile, rigid environment made me feel that way, but it did.

I've been through a bunch of different groups to help me deal with issues better and they have helped immensely. Words are now my shield and I try to use them first to avoid another disaster. Also, there isn't the same build-up of frustration and rage. I still get upset from time to time but it is a far cry from where I was before. It took me a long time before I was willing to drive my own car. It scared me to think that I had been on the edge and peered into the abyss. No need to tempt fate more than I already had.

So dear reader, you and Jen will be learning about what was going on for me at the same time. Right now she is sitting just a couple of feet from me, an arms length at most, totally unaware of what transpired, from my side, that day. I have never shared nor volunteered this information. It is only now that I have started writing this blog that I have had the courage to own up to what I did and tell her what happened.

If you see yourself in this narrative, don't wait like I did, get help now. Please, if not for you, then do it for those around you.

Jen, 
This is for you. You are my rock, my safety, my heart, and my home. I am a better person because of you. 
I love you to the Moon and back!


Monster Cookie Recipe

Excessive Spending

When it comes to spending lots of money, people in the manic phase of Bipolar are kings/queens of their domain, unless of course you count those with a gambling addiction. This may sound trivial as we all overspend to some extent. Many of us with Bipolar take it to an extreme level (think extreme hoarding or couponing). In my case it was a $40,000 spending spree that changed the way I lived and looked at money.

Forty-thousand-dollars, the sound of it rolls off the tongue, forty-thousand-dollars. It is a number that doesn't make sense to me because I can't even picture what it looks like. Spending all of that dough within six months time is something that I still cannot fathom. But I did. Every. Single. Penny. Was it worth it? I thought so at the time. It made me happy, I gained some material goods, and enjoyed time with my friends. Now when I look back I think, "what the hell was I doing? That is one of the most bone-headed moves I've ever made." Besides that, I have no 401K savings for retirement and I got in big trouble with the IRS.

It all started when I left the job I had been working at for eight years. I know, right?! Eight years, that is unheard of especially for someone suffering with Bi-Polar. We aren't well known for being able to hold onto jobs for very long, but that is another story for another time. Back to the excessive spending thing. So, I left my job and was contacted by HR via snail mail and sent a check for the amount of my 401K minus state taxes. This money was supposed to be rolled over into another 401K or otherwise reinvested. Is this something that I knew or knew how to do? No way, I just saw it as free money that I had earned and could spend. And so I did.

I can't tell you everything that I spent the money on. The memories aren't all there. I will tell you about the couple of items that were important to me and I remember very well. And there was the pesky detail about the IRS.  All I can tell you about that is that without Jen's help I would have continued to ignore their mail and gotten into a heck of a lot more trouble. As it was, there were still thousands of dollars that needed to be paid to the Feds to clear up my credit and get a lien removed. 'Nuff said about that, on to the fun stuff.

Every gal needs a great stereo system so she can listen to Dolby Surround Sound while watching movies in the comfort of her own home. Never mind that DVDs hadn't been invented yet, we only had CDs and cassette tapes for music and VHS tapes for movies. I did enjoy my movies and music though, it was one of the things that took me to my happy place. It still does and most of that system is in working order on our downstairs TV system. Money well spent, I guess.

All expense paid vacation in Hawaii anyone? Me please! And, of course, two of my besties. I only paid for one of my friend's flights, but did pay for most everything else on the trip for the three of us. It was a fantastic 7-day, 6-night stay near Waikiki Beach in Honolulu. Did I mention that it was during the week of the Pro Bowl? When the Pro Bowl actually meant something?

There were Cheeseburgers in Paradise, rainbows every day, food-tasting for my cousin's new restaurant, a fair to wander through, Waikiki Beach to walk along, blow holes to watch and photograph, whales to spot, the Wyland Gallery to visit. What I didn't anticipate was how good it felt to actually let go, relax, and spend some quality time with friends and family.

Pearl Harbor was in incredible experience. To learn more about what happened there and all the men who lost their lives was emotionally moving. It was such an unexpected attack with so much loss of life. The cost was immense in both military equipment and human lives. I can't really adequately put into words the feeling of being there, out on the water, knowing that people had died right under where we stood. It is something I will never forget.

We got tickets for the Pro Bowl on the spur of the moment. Actually, about 15 minutes after we got off the plane. We hadn't even left the airport, just called from a payphone (remember what those were?) and got tickets. Crazy! It was Randy Moss' first Pro Bowl and N 'SYNC was the half-time show. As if the game and half-time show were't enough, we had a beautiful view of Pearl Harbor from our seats.

There were other sights to see and places to go. See and go we did. Off to the Polynesian Cultural Center. It only took 15 minutes to get there by motor coach, 15 Hawaiian minutes that is. We enjoyed the guy/comedian who climbed coconut trees, the parade of warriors float down the river, and were fed and entertained at the Luau. The Samoan and Tongan cultures are very fascinating. Interesting that they were thought of as savages, when it was the invaders themselves who were in actuality the savages.

Next up, a day at the beach. Off to Hanauma Bay with my cousin. There was lots of excitement about being able to swim and snorkel with the fishes. On the walk down she pointed out a sea turtle cruising around the bay. When we got down there we swam with red-lipped parrot fish, which are beautiful and a bunch of other cool fish. That was just in the shallows. We were battered by fish as they went after food that was cast into the water by a group of Japanese tourists. Way too cloudy and being hit by a school of frantic, hungry fish really isn't that fun. I took my friend, who didn't swim well, out into deeper water. We paddled around cool coral formations in the crystal clear water. It wasn't until we rounded one such mound and I came face-to-face with a yellow-spotted Morey eel that we realised our peril. OMG!! All I could do was back peddle screaming, "Eel! Eel! EEL!!" with my snorkel still in my mouth. My friend didn't understand a word as I came flailing out of the water backwards and right on top of her, nearly drowning her in the process. As I finally got the snorkel out and screamed, "EEL!" again, she finally knew what my problem was. When we tried to touch it was a no go, uh-oh. We were in about 20-30 ft of beautiful blue water. It was now, after I had been scared out of my mind, shaking, and peed in the ocean that I needed to be able to swim, dragging my half-drown friend along behind, and get us back to the beach. Obviously we made it, but that encounter is one that neither of us will forget, and she will never let me live down.

Well, that's it. It was a great adventure. One that I won't forget, I don't think, especially the eel incident. Weird how some memories can be so clear, indelibly etched on my brain, but others are forgotten or foggy at best. Oh well, money well spent. Although I still wish that I hadn't been such a doofus and spent it all.

Got a story about a spending spree? Let me hear it. I know I'm not alone in this, it would be nice to hear it from someone else though.

Night


Me with a rainbow coming out of my head:

In the beginning...

The beginning. Hmmm, seems like a pretty good place to start.

From a very young age I remember knowing that there was something different about me, and my parents noticed it too. There were mood swings that came out of left field and just as quickly receded. I was unpredictable and very emotional. My parents noticed a pattern, when I was "high-strung" and they would give me a piece of candy I would settle down. They thought this was strange so took me to our family doctor who had me tested for diabetes. It was the only thing he could think of that could be causing the reaction. Turns out I didn't have diabetes. That also meant that there was no diagnosis either.

I wasn't an unruly child by any means. My brother and I were polite, used our manners, and were expected to respect and obey our elders (which we did). There was rarely a moment when I wasn't in motion, bouncing around from person to person and activity to activity. We were latchkey kids and I regularly got in trouble because I stole from my parents' Snoopy bank. I would get bored, take some money, go down to the 5 & Dime, and buy little trinkets; putting together model cars was a favorite past-time. Energetic was one word used to describe me, I was perpetually moving and doing, even while watching television. Looking at my elementary school report cards gave me insight into how I learned and interacted with others.

In school, I was the class clown, other kids liked me because I was always happy and entertaining. For teachers, I was a challenge; my test scores were good, when they asked me a question about the homework I could answer it, but I was disruptive in class, usually didn't finish my homework, and struggled to pay attention.

Getting me to go to bed was often a chore because I wasn't tired. Instead of sleeping I would sit in my room and play, listen to music, or read. Sometimes I would open the bedroom door a crack and listen to the TV and my parents talking or go so far as to sneak out of my room and sit behind my dad's recliner to watch TV when I should have been asleep in bed.

At this point in my life I can clearly see that I was living in a manic state for most of my childhood. Oh, that doesn't mean that I didn't have awful days, there were plenty of those too. I would get unreasonably angry and lash out at those around me, usually my brother. I once throttled him so bad that I left bruises on his neck and threw a salt shaker (Tupperware) so hard it embedded salt into the fabric of our electric organ. There were also uncontrollable crying fits and struggles with depression. When I was depressed, many thought I was sick as it was so outside of my bubbly, active personality.

The signs for Bipolar were all there and easily readable. Unfortunately, the knowledge, pharmacology, and technology were not available until much, much later. It still amazes me that I made it through childhood and adolescence.

Introduction

This is my first attempt at blogging, so please forgive me as I learn the ropes.

Hopefully, reading this blog will give you some insight into the mind of a person with Bipolar. On the other hand, maybe it will also enlighten me as to my own inner workings. Either way, it is a journey that we will embark on together with all of us learning something in the process.

Those of us with Bipolar are often a quirky bunch and generally frustrating to those around us, but that in and of itself is what makes us who we are. People with Bipolar do not like to be labeled as such. We are chefs, firefighters, engineers, artists, mothers, brothers, aunts, and cousins. Bipolar is something we have, not who we are.

Sometimes poignant and other times hilarious, living with someone who has Bipolar is never a dull moment. Buckle up, keep your hands and feet inside the car at all times and enjoy the ride as we hop on the Bipolar Express.