Minnesota is in the grips of another arctic blast. Today the windchill will be around -40 and tomorrow won't be any better. Schools and businesses have closed for safety reasons, but others are still carrying on as usual. The only good things about it are that there are a few science experiments that can only be done in this weather (using a frozen banana as a hammer and throwing boiling water in the air and watching it evaporate instantly) and the sun is shining.
Winter is always a tough time when struggling with depression or bipolar. There isn't enough sun and we tend to isolate ourselves indoors because of the cold weather. Hibernation isn't a great option, as it tends to separate you even farther from your support system, you lose your job for being absent, and really, no one can sleep that long besides Rip Van Winkle and bears. Note, I didn't say I couldn't stay in bed that long, just sleep.
To try to offset the effects of winter, I boost the amount of vitamin D I'm taking, drink a lot more water and juice, and try to eat more fruit/vitamin C. This doesn't always help, but at least I feel like I'm working on ways to better the situation. The next thing I'm going to look at doing is getting some full-spectrum lights.
Full-spectrum lights contain more light waves than regular bulbs. They mimic sunlight and are used for those with SAD (Seasonal Affective Disorder). My understanding is that they help with the replenishment of vitamin D and K, those that are lost when the sun is farthest away from our hemisphere. Although I'm not a lights on type person, I prefer quasi-darkness, this is one thing that I think could make a difference during these long winter months.
That's it from here. How do you cope with the cold, loss of sunlight, and being stuck indoors for long periods of time?
Showing posts with label Symptoms. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Symptoms. Show all posts
Monday, January 27, 2014
Friday, November 22, 2013
The sound of silence
Today I am enjoying the first day of blissful silence. The roofers have finally finished. They hurried to get it done before it started to snow yesterday afternoon. The noise was so awful because they were working right above me that my skin was crawling and I was getting agitated. Even earplugs didn’t help to curb the cacophony. When I couldn’t stand it any longer, I took the car out for a drive. It took a while to settle down, but then I was able to go back home and quiet the dogs, who were also agitated.
It’ll be good to get back to normal and onto my regular schedule again. That always throws me off.
Wednesday, November 13, 2013
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?
Saturday, October 26, 2013
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
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
Thursday, October 24, 2013
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:
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:
Tuesday, October 22, 2013
Sensory Overload Part II
Hear no evil...
I have found that this is the latest sensory attack that I struggle with and it has gotten worse quickly. When going shopping, I try to stick to early hours when few people are around. The same goes for my working hours. There is less chance of running into an issue with sudden and loud noises.
Working in a kitchen, there is a lot of chaos and noise: pots clanging, people yelling, doors shutting, and the steady thrum of the dishwasher are just a few that are encountered daily. When I first started in the business, these were some of the most calming, reassuring sounds that I could hear. All was right in my world. After being hospitalized, I tried to go back into that environment and found it was a nerve-racking, anxiety-enducing cluster f***. How had I worked in all that noise?! Within minutes I was shaking, unable to put together complete sentences because I couldn't think clearly, and felt as if I had been run through a washing machine. No more! I needed to find another line of work and I needed to find it quickly. (*NOTE: after talking with my therapist about this, we were wondering if this is actually because of the noise OR if the thought of going back into the kitchen and being unsure if I could do the job caused anxiety and panic attacks. Either way, it signaled the end for me.)
Now, I stock shelves in the early morning hours when there are few guests around and very little noise. While I really enjoy my co-workers and the job I do, it is tough to think about where I was and where I am now. I know that I am being hard on myself and that it hasn't been very long since my hospitalizations, but it is a bitter pill to swallow when the thing I loved doing most is now the thing that can trigger events that could send me back into the hospital. My previous life doesn't seem real, more like something from a bad dream.
We had several issues with the fire alarm at work. Talk about freak out moments! Like a well-placed knife to the eardrums it becomes head-splitting. The first time I went running out of the store holding my ears shut on the verge of tears. It was so obviously distressing to me that several of my co-workers actually came out to check and see if I was okay. That was embarrassing and a bit comforting too. We've had a few times where the alarm malfunctioned and went off for most of our shift (4 hrs). Sudden alarm tests throughout the month send over the edge and out the door, no matter where I am. Since then I've gotten smarter, I keep ear plugs in my work bag and head for them at the first sound of the alarm.
When kids come into the store or if I go shopping where kids are present, I try to stay away from them. Their squealing, screaming, and crying drills right into my brain. It makes my skin crawl, I sweat, and need to make a quick exit to another spot or leave altogether. Don't get me wrong here, I really enjoy children. I adore my nieces, nephews, and friends' kids. My life would be far less colorful and fulfilling without them. It is the chaos and noise that comes along with them that is hard for me to deal with. Generally I leave the area or plug in a set of headphones and listen to music to get me through what I need to do.
Sometimes the noise will be so bad in the middle of my shopping trip, I will leave a partially-full cart in the aisle and leave the store. I feel bad for those workers who encounter a cart of semi-thawed items, but I have to keep myself sane. That is my primary directive, to stay sane and healthy.
Well, this has been fun. We should do it again soon, although it seems as if I've done all the talking. How about you? Have any smells or sounds that give you problems or send you over the edge? I'd like to know what they are and how you deal with it.
I have found that this is the latest sensory attack that I struggle with and it has gotten worse quickly. When going shopping, I try to stick to early hours when few people are around. The same goes for my working hours. There is less chance of running into an issue with sudden and loud noises.
Working in a kitchen, there is a lot of chaos and noise: pots clanging, people yelling, doors shutting, and the steady thrum of the dishwasher are just a few that are encountered daily. When I first started in the business, these were some of the most calming, reassuring sounds that I could hear. All was right in my world. After being hospitalized, I tried to go back into that environment and found it was a nerve-racking, anxiety-enducing cluster f***. How had I worked in all that noise?! Within minutes I was shaking, unable to put together complete sentences because I couldn't think clearly, and felt as if I had been run through a washing machine. No more! I needed to find another line of work and I needed to find it quickly. (*NOTE: after talking with my therapist about this, we were wondering if this is actually because of the noise OR if the thought of going back into the kitchen and being unsure if I could do the job caused anxiety and panic attacks. Either way, it signaled the end for me.)
Now, I stock shelves in the early morning hours when there are few guests around and very little noise. While I really enjoy my co-workers and the job I do, it is tough to think about where I was and where I am now. I know that I am being hard on myself and that it hasn't been very long since my hospitalizations, but it is a bitter pill to swallow when the thing I loved doing most is now the thing that can trigger events that could send me back into the hospital. My previous life doesn't seem real, more like something from a bad dream.
We had several issues with the fire alarm at work. Talk about freak out moments! Like a well-placed knife to the eardrums it becomes head-splitting. The first time I went running out of the store holding my ears shut on the verge of tears. It was so obviously distressing to me that several of my co-workers actually came out to check and see if I was okay. That was embarrassing and a bit comforting too. We've had a few times where the alarm malfunctioned and went off for most of our shift (4 hrs). Sudden alarm tests throughout the month send over the edge and out the door, no matter where I am. Since then I've gotten smarter, I keep ear plugs in my work bag and head for them at the first sound of the alarm.
When kids come into the store or if I go shopping where kids are present, I try to stay away from them. Their squealing, screaming, and crying drills right into my brain. It makes my skin crawl, I sweat, and need to make a quick exit to another spot or leave altogether. Don't get me wrong here, I really enjoy children. I adore my nieces, nephews, and friends' kids. My life would be far less colorful and fulfilling without them. It is the chaos and noise that comes along with them that is hard for me to deal with. Generally I leave the area or plug in a set of headphones and listen to music to get me through what I need to do.
Sometimes the noise will be so bad in the middle of my shopping trip, I will leave a partially-full cart in the aisle and leave the store. I feel bad for those workers who encounter a cart of semi-thawed items, but I have to keep myself sane. That is my primary directive, to stay sane and healthy.
Well, this has been fun. We should do it again soon, although it seems as if I've done all the talking. How about you? Have any smells or sounds that give you problems or send you over the edge? I'd like to know what they are and how you deal with it.
Monday, October 21, 2013
Sensory Overload Part I
One of the things I deal with on a day-to-day basis is sensory overload. I have an especially difficult time with sound and smells. Getting too much of either triggers anxiety for me. In mere minutes I will shut-down, easily break into tears, and be headed for the nearest "safe" zone I can find.
A rose by any other name...
Aisles that I avoid while shopping are ones with coffee, perfume, candles, or any other area of heavily scented products. My partner loves, loves, loves coffee, I on the other hand get headaches just from the smell. For us, there has had to be compromise in this area, but it took years to reach. Coffee was off-limits in our home so there was no coffee maker. She would get her favorite beverage from the nearest barista. It wasn't until we tried a Keurig, which didn't give off much smell, that I allowed it in our home. When shopping I avoided the coffee aisle like the plague. Jen will walk right into the middle of the aisle and I wander into another area waiting for her to catch up.
Neither of us wear perfume, so that isn't as big deal. We do have friends who wear it and that is where I have problems. Two of the most intense scents for me is patchouli and musk. Both bring about headaches and I get a feeling much like being claustrophobic. It is almost as if I am enveloped in it and cannot get away from it. This of course brings on a feeling of anxiousness, terror, and the urge to flee. It also makes me unreasonably angry. I think this is because I feel trapped and want to get away, but can't.
Where we get into real trouble is in the candle and plug-in scents. Jen really enjoys lighting candles and changing the scents in our house throughout the seasons. For me it is a sure-fire way to set me on edge. As we are shopping she'll bring up different scents and tell me to just smell it. I've learned to keep it far away and take a light whiff because we don't always see eye to eye or nose to nose. Those nice flowery scents that she enjoys so much tend to start me sneezing, bring on a headache, and have me headed for fresh air. I made the mistake of bringing a new plug-in scent into our home. In the store I thought it was one that I could handle. Boy was I wrong. Jen had plugged it in, unbeknownst to me. When I started to realize that I was getting antsy and that there was a new smell in the house, I finally asked. Within the next 15 minutes I must have asked Jen about it 20-30 times. We finally had to unplug it and spray citrus NuetraAir to clear out the smell.
A rose by any other name...
Aisles that I avoid while shopping are ones with coffee, perfume, candles, or any other area of heavily scented products. My partner loves, loves, loves coffee, I on the other hand get headaches just from the smell. For us, there has had to be compromise in this area, but it took years to reach. Coffee was off-limits in our home so there was no coffee maker. She would get her favorite beverage from the nearest barista. It wasn't until we tried a Keurig, which didn't give off much smell, that I allowed it in our home. When shopping I avoided the coffee aisle like the plague. Jen will walk right into the middle of the aisle and I wander into another area waiting for her to catch up.
Neither of us wear perfume, so that isn't as big deal. We do have friends who wear it and that is where I have problems. Two of the most intense scents for me is patchouli and musk. Both bring about headaches and I get a feeling much like being claustrophobic. It is almost as if I am enveloped in it and cannot get away from it. This of course brings on a feeling of anxiousness, terror, and the urge to flee. It also makes me unreasonably angry. I think this is because I feel trapped and want to get away, but can't.
Where we get into real trouble is in the candle and plug-in scents. Jen really enjoys lighting candles and changing the scents in our house throughout the seasons. For me it is a sure-fire way to set me on edge. As we are shopping she'll bring up different scents and tell me to just smell it. I've learned to keep it far away and take a light whiff because we don't always see eye to eye or nose to nose. Those nice flowery scents that she enjoys so much tend to start me sneezing, bring on a headache, and have me headed for fresh air. I made the mistake of bringing a new plug-in scent into our home. In the store I thought it was one that I could handle. Boy was I wrong. Jen had plugged it in, unbeknownst to me. When I started to realize that I was getting antsy and that there was a new smell in the house, I finally asked. Within the next 15 minutes I must have asked Jen about it 20-30 times. We finally had to unplug it and spray citrus NuetraAir to clear out the smell.
Friday, October 18, 2013
Boundless Energy
One of the great things about manic episodes is the endless amount of energy I have. There's no need for sleep, only things to do, places to see, and ideas to share. For those of you who haven't had the fun of experiencing this yourself, I'd have to say that it is kind of like being strapped to jet engines with unlimited fuel. Ready, set, GO!
One of the most notable things I've done while in a manic state was redecorate our second bathroom while my partner slept. You read that right. I redecorated the second bathroom overnight. While my partner slept! Now, it isn't a large bathroom, but it was in need of an overhaul. And we had finally agreed on a color and bought the paint.
Jen usually heads for bed later in the evening, 10-11 o'clock. I am usually in bed between 8-9pm. It was a Friday night and I just was not able to sleep; thoughts were running through my head of things I should do, I was restless, and tried everything that I knew to calm myself and fall asleep. All to no avail, so I got up and decided to do something. We live in a split-level and to be nice and not wake Jen I decided I would find something downstairs to do. No sense in both of us not being able to sleep.
This bathroom was all white: white walls, floor tiles, shower surround, and ceiling. It was like looking at a painting that is all white and then being told that the title is "albino cow in a snowstorm". I took off all the trim and outlet covers, sanded the walls and wiped them down, painted said walls, replaced the mirror, painted/stained the trim and outlet covers, fixed the vanity, removed & recaulked everything, put it back together again and put decor on the walls.
As I stood back to look at my handiwork I hear from upstairs, "Sherry? Sherry!?". For the record, I'm usually the first one to bed and the last one out of it on weekends. I called out that I was downstairs (still admiring my work and wondering what to tackle next) and that she should come on down.
Eyes still clouded with sleep, Jen comes down around the corner to look at me covered in paint, sitting on our step stool with tools and rags around my feet. Hey, I was excited! I had gotten a lot accomplished in those wee hours of the morning while she was sleeping and was ready to show it off.
With wide eyes, she looks at me as she realizes that I have been up all night doing Heaven-knows-what, and asks if I have been up all night what did I do. Like a proud Mama, I point to the bathroom and said, "I got it all done!" "What did you get all done? The painting?", she asks. "Nope! The whole bathroom!" Her look said it all: it was part horror, part astonishment, and relief. Her only words after looking at the bathroom...
Go to bed!
One of the most notable things I've done while in a manic state was redecorate our second bathroom while my partner slept. You read that right. I redecorated the second bathroom overnight. While my partner slept! Now, it isn't a large bathroom, but it was in need of an overhaul. And we had finally agreed on a color and bought the paint.
Jen usually heads for bed later in the evening, 10-11 o'clock. I am usually in bed between 8-9pm. It was a Friday night and I just was not able to sleep; thoughts were running through my head of things I should do, I was restless, and tried everything that I knew to calm myself and fall asleep. All to no avail, so I got up and decided to do something. We live in a split-level and to be nice and not wake Jen I decided I would find something downstairs to do. No sense in both of us not being able to sleep.
This bathroom was all white: white walls, floor tiles, shower surround, and ceiling. It was like looking at a painting that is all white and then being told that the title is "albino cow in a snowstorm". I took off all the trim and outlet covers, sanded the walls and wiped them down, painted said walls, replaced the mirror, painted/stained the trim and outlet covers, fixed the vanity, removed & recaulked everything, put it back together again and put decor on the walls.
As I stood back to look at my handiwork I hear from upstairs, "Sherry? Sherry!?". For the record, I'm usually the first one to bed and the last one out of it on weekends. I called out that I was downstairs (still admiring my work and wondering what to tackle next) and that she should come on down.
Eyes still clouded with sleep, Jen comes down around the corner to look at me covered in paint, sitting on our step stool with tools and rags around my feet. Hey, I was excited! I had gotten a lot accomplished in those wee hours of the morning while she was sleeping and was ready to show it off.
With wide eyes, she looks at me as she realizes that I have been up all night doing Heaven-knows-what, and asks if I have been up all night what did I do. Like a proud Mama, I point to the bathroom and said, "I got it all done!" "What did you get all done? The painting?", she asks. "Nope! The whole bathroom!" Her look said it all: it was part horror, part astonishment, and relief. Her only words after looking at the bathroom...
Go to bed!
Tuesday, October 15, 2013
Stigma
Having a mental illness/disease is difficult in and of itself. When it comes to dealing with others there are often more issues at play. It is not as if you can see what is going on when someone has Bipolar/Depression/Anxiety. If we had a heart attack, stroke, diabetes, or a broken bone it is easily identifiable. We usually don't display any outward signs of our disease/illness, so it makes things difficult for those around us to recognize and understand. Unfortunately, ours is a hidden illness and a minute-by-minute struggle every day.
Some may think that we are "mentally unstable", "deficient", or "too sensitive" in some way. This is untrue, most of us are very intelligent and creative people. We have a verifiable chemical imbalance in the brain that affects our thoughts, emotions, and actions. It is not something we asked for, just something we were born with. What we want is a bit of understanding about our situation. Being asked things like, "how ARE WE today?" or "are WE FEELING okay today?" is degrading and demeaning. There is no "we", only me; I don't have multiple personality disorder like Sybil, nor do I have any clue as to how YOU are feeling today. I can only tell you about me and how I am feeling.
Questions like this and pandering to us as if we were children are part of what separates us from others and creates a stigma around mental illness. Why would we want to fake a mental illness? Most of us wouldn't wish this on our worst enemy, much less ourselves. I don't know anyone who wants to be locked in a Psychiatric Facility, called "Crazy" or "Psycho", or willingly go through EST treatments ( electro-shock therapy). All I want is someone to TRY to understand what I have & am going through, and to be treated like anyone else. I don't think it is too much to ask. I also know that it will take a lot of discussion and learning to change the mindset around mental illness.
My hope is that this blog will be a starting point for others to learn more about me and my disease and to start the discussion about mental illness/disease to demystify and acknowledge it.
Some may think that we are "mentally unstable", "deficient", or "too sensitive" in some way. This is untrue, most of us are very intelligent and creative people. We have a verifiable chemical imbalance in the brain that affects our thoughts, emotions, and actions. It is not something we asked for, just something we were born with. What we want is a bit of understanding about our situation. Being asked things like, "how ARE WE today?" or "are WE FEELING okay today?" is degrading and demeaning. There is no "we", only me; I don't have multiple personality disorder like Sybil, nor do I have any clue as to how YOU are feeling today. I can only tell you about me and how I am feeling.
Questions like this and pandering to us as if we were children are part of what separates us from others and creates a stigma around mental illness. Why would we want to fake a mental illness? Most of us wouldn't wish this on our worst enemy, much less ourselves. I don't know anyone who wants to be locked in a Psychiatric Facility, called "Crazy" or "Psycho", or willingly go through EST treatments ( electro-shock therapy). All I want is someone to TRY to understand what I have & am going through, and to be treated like anyone else. I don't think it is too much to ask. I also know that it will take a lot of discussion and learning to change the mindset around mental illness.
My hope is that this blog will be a starting point for others to learn more about me and my disease and to start the discussion about mental illness/disease to demystify and acknowledge it.
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