Nothing too profound...

Well my fortieth birthday came and went a couple of weeks ago, and I have to say it was pretty nice. It didn't hurt as much as I expected, except for falling off of my tall shoes and pulling my quadriceps!

I am now working on diet and exercise. I have two 5k run/walks to do in the next two months. One is the "practice" 5k for the Girls on the Run, and the other is the "real" 5k. I know I can walk them both with a respectable time, but I would like to run and not hold my child/running buddy back.

I am busy making all sorts of goals.

I officially and regretfully weigh 266 lbs. I would love LOVE love to be under 200lbs for my cousin Melissa's wedding on September 2nd, but even if I am not--any and all fitness and weight loss is a success. I will not beat myself up for being human.

I want to find my inner hottie and let her out.
I want to look okay in a bathing suit. I don't have to look sexy, just not like the blob.
I want to be comfortable in my own skin. I used to be.
I want to live to see my children graduate high school and college, marry, and have children.
I want to be the grandma who is the life of the party.
I want to fit into jeans that are not a plus size.
I want to stop snoring.

I think I have a lot of work to do!

Off to the treadmill! :D

On Information Overload: A Piece of Therapeutic Writing...

Having Bipolar Disorder means that I often have to check myself.

I have to take how I feel (I often over-feel stuff, if that makes sense) and I have to do a mental weighing process as to why I feel that way, and I have to consciously decide if it is appropriate to feel the way I do about something, or if I feel the way I do about something because of the disorder.

This extra mental processing makes me question the legitimacy of how I feel about things. I acknowledge that I do feel things sometimes that are not legitimate. I also feel many things that are very legitimate, but I may overreact. Sometimes the legitimacy and reaction are completely appropriate. The gut check is vital, though. I want to keep getting better and doing better in my life.

In my past, I have reacted without this internal check, and I have burned bridges that I should not have based on a skewed perception of whatever the issue was.

The mere fact that I understand this process and that I actively participate in it is a BIG DEAL. The shrinks call it insight into my disorder. I call it a survival technique. Bipolar Disorder can kill you, and I am not even joking when I say that.

Anyway, let me continue...

This skewed perception, the weird world view from my perspective, is sometimes the hardest part of the disorder.

It is the skewed view that lead me to deciding to start taking the Xanax when I overdosed in June 2005. Now, it was the lowered inhibition of the medication that was the foot on the gas pedal that kept me taking the pills--two at a time--'til I ran out of pairs of pills, but the skewed view was driving the bus.

My skewed view at that time was that I was powerless to change myself (I was struggling hard with the swings of the moods) and I felt powerless to handle my mother's illness at that time as well (she was well on her way beyond hypermania to psychosis, and her shrink wouldn't listen that she needed to be in the hospital).

I had a huge meltdown, thanks to the skewed view. Not the first meltdown, but definitely the worst. I nearly ended it all!!

Thank God it wasn't my time, and I truly believe I had a Guardian Angel looking out for me that day. That's another story entirely that I may share sometime...

(I really like to go off on tangents. Pulling it back to get to my point.)

Issue #1

I am having very strong feelings at the way people are discussing Charlie Sheen and his very public meltdown.

I am angry, appalled, saddened, frustrated, sick, astonished, and about a hundred other verbs. If you have never experienced a breakdown, or if you have never watched a family member slip into the blackness of a psychosis, you cannot possibly know what it is like for Charlie Sheen and his family.

You cannot know what it is like for the ordinary person to experience these things.

And to poke fun, and joke? How absolutely fucked up are people? Never mind, I don't need an answer to that because I all ready know.

Mental illness is not funny.

Sometimes the things people DO when they are sick may seem funny, and sometimes it IS funny when your loved one is doing weird things when they are sick and laughing is better than crying or screaming (I have TONS of stories!)

...but the disorder itself is NO LAUGHING MATTER!!

I am sick and tired of people using the psychiatric diagnostic terms when discussing ordinary things. It is ignorant, and no better than calling someone a racial slur, or calling someone out for their sexual orientation.

No, your cat is not schizophrenic because it does weird things.

Now, if your cat has auditory or visual hallucinations, perhaps you need an animal psychiatrist.

My point is that it is highly stigmatizing for those who truly struggle with the diagnoses when people just toss the terms about without truly knowing what they are talking about.

For the record, most psychiatric disorders are first organic brain disorders or are triggered by chemical alterations in the brain due to medications, self-medication, or injury. Many are hereditary. Some onset due to trauma. All are medical diagnoses first, with mental manifestations.

Should you taunt or joke about someone who has seizures? Should you laugh at the person undergoing chemotherapy for cancer? OF COURSE NOT!!

Nor should you joke about or judge a person with mental illness.

Everyone hits bottom in different ways. My bottom was nearly ending my life.

I love life, and this rocked everyone in my world. It was SO out of character and the last thing anyone expected. I didn't even expect it. I found my bottom. I am one of the fortunate ones.

Who knows what Charlie Sheen's bottom will be, before he has the ability to accept help? I hope for his sake, as well as for his children and family, that they somehow get him the help he needs and he finally gets to a place where he has the mental capacity to understand and accept the help.

Like diabetes, cancer, and car accidents--mental illnesses kill people.

What is so funny about that??

I do not think I am out of line in my feelings on this issue. I have been treated differently by those who are ignorant because I was not afraid to talk about my family and our experience with mental illness.

I have also been embraced by those who were too afraid to speak, until they saw how open I am about it all. I have helped others going through the same experiences. Isn't that what life is about?? Helping others through??

No I will not shut up about it.
(Yes, I have had people ask me if I would.)

I am going to jump up and down, shouting it from the roof tops, continuing to be a vocal advocate for those like me, those who are like my family. I am also going to continue to do well in my life so I can be a positive example--a survival story.

Issue #2

The budget issue in Wisconsin--

Yes, we are all passionate about it. We all believe we are right and the other side is wrong.

But, we are all involved and will all be affected.

To degrade the debate into baseless name calling is unproductive and ignorant.

I have had some great discussions with those who do not believe as I do, and I have learned some things. I will not judge or hate just because you believe that the other "side" is right or the best way to proceed. My friends are still my friends and things will end up however they end up. It is much bigger than we are anyway.

I am directly impacted by the health care issues in this budget. I am directly impacted by the educational cuts in this budget. I have decided not to worry about it yet. Things have not played themselves out.

If you are my friend on Facebook--and we have had a discussion on this issue--note that you are still on my friends' list.


Issue #3

I am saddened by the disaster playing out in Japan and the Pacific rim. God bless all of those who are affected by this tragedy. The pictures are very hard to take. :(

Issue #4

My mortality is bothering me today. To learn we have lost two classmates in a years' time, and eight that we know of...well, it is really grinding on me.

I am fortunate to be here today.
I almost wasn't.
That bothers me, what I almost put my family through. What I DID put my family through. Fortunately, I am loved and they have all forgiven me.


All of my issues do tie in together. On the surface, maybe not. But if you peel away the layers, it is obvious.

Today, my feelings are valid and my responses are appropriate.



My conclusions today:

Life is precious.
We all do not know when our time on Earth is up.
Love and respect each other.
Ask questions.
Therapy is good.
Live well.
Don't sweat the small stuff.
Somehow, the big things always work themselves out.
Ask for help if you need it.
Be yourself.
Be forgiving.
Be interested.
Just be.
Live like there's no tomorrow.
Worry should never consume you.
Dream.
Really keep in touch.
Pray.

Peace.

Ongoing debates inside my head...

I suppose the title could be interpreted to mean that I hear voices in my head.

I assure you, gentle reader, that I do not.

That said...

I do have several things going on in my head at the same time, nearly all of the time. I always thought everyone had several different "channels" going at once, but most people look at me like I have lost my mind if I talk about it. I guess this phenomenon probably falls into the category of 'racing thoughts'--one lovely 'symptoms' of the Bipolar Disorder that I prefer to think of as a gift instead of a curse.

I enjoy the high energy from the disorder as well, as long as I can keep it in check.
But, I digress...

This ultra distracted thought process could almost be a symptom of undiagnosed ADD, except I don't feel like I have any sort of deficit, and I certainly do not have a problem focusing on one thing. I just focus on several things at once. I wonder what the DSM-IV would say about that? That may be a good question for the shrink next time I see her...

The ongoing debates in my head today are:

Do I want to minor in Journalism instead of Psychology with my chosen major?
Maybe I want to consider a dual majors: Communication Sciences and Disorders/Journalism?
Should I try to find a part time job so I have something to do in the summer, because I am not going to take classes over the summer?
Do I want to work while I am in school, knowing that when I spread myself too thin that I cannot always keep the BP symptoms in check?
Can I balance less than 20 hours a week along with my coursework, and still excel at both?
Will I be able to make my little dabblings on eBay into a moneymaker in this economy?
Is the world going to end in 2012, voiding all debates?
Do I want to have some rice and mixed vegetables for lunch, or do I want to chance it on the cold pizza?
Have I bored everyone else with this drivel?? (LOL)

My worst fear, with the whole budget flap in Wisconsin, is that my educational goals will be derailed because I won't be able to continue to afford classes once I get to UWEC.

For the first time in my life, I have set a goal and have made excellent strides toward that goal. Usually, I start out really well, but let myself be discouraged by my own negative thinking, or by hurdles that seem to large for me to overcome.

For the first time in my life, I am more stable than I have ever been mentally, and I have been working very hard in school. The hurdles do not feel as high as I had imagined them to be.

For one of the first times in my life, I have a positive outlook on my future.
The view right now, is fantastic.

I just hope it continues to be...

39 Forever

(The following is an essay for my English Composition class. While originally I was going to write my descriptive essay on a place, it soon became evident to me that this subject matter was not going to leave me alone until I wrote it. This is a true story.)




39 Forever


Getting older has always bothered me.

I look around at those who are my age, and I see women who do not look as I do. I see no flaws in their skin while the injustice of bumpy middle age acne has taken a toll on my complexion, my once creamy and youthful skin now battle scarred and pocked. Their hair doesn’t show the silvery gray that seems to scream from the top of my head. Their bodies--while having similar experiences as mine--have shrunk back to a youthful shape, while my weight keeps hanging on as if it is afraid to let me go.

Of course, I do understand that many of these women who share my age have cheated it somehow with diet, exercise, hair dye and surgery. Sometimes it is hard to remember that while these women have busted their behinds in the gym for hours at a time, and suffered through wheat grass shakes, tofu this, and no-flavor that, I have enjoyed food that tasted good and was less self absorbed about how I looked. I am certain that the love of my husband has not helped my cause either. I am somehow cursed to have a man who thinks I am beautiful and young, in spite of the extra weight or the gray roots in my hair. Actually, I know how lucky I am to have him, but his blindness to my faults makes it easier for me to just let myself go. Poor me, that I am so loved.

The year I turned thirty was excruciating for me. I sunk into a deep depression. So deep, in fact, that I often would lay on the sofa squeezing my eyes so tightly shut that I would start to have a headache at my temples. I would lie so quietly and still, holding my lungs full of air and with my hands clasped below my breast, imagining what it would be like to be dead and on display for everyone to view. I could almost hear the sounds of a funeral—the soft music playing in the background, almost drowned out by the murmurs of mourners whispering and crying. I could feel the occasional person peering right at me, poking my body or touching my face, while I lay on silk and in my finest clothing. I could even imagine someone saying how good I looked, even though it is ridiculous to say. No one looks good when they are dead. It is not a good way to be.

I would lay there for hours, sometimes falling asleep to forget the morbidity and absurdity of the ritual. Other times, I would wallow in my self pity, allowing my left hand to eventually slip from the prayerful grip of the right hand, to fall to the side of the sofa and have my fingers graze the floor.

My two children were small when I was thirty. Fortunately for them, they had no idea their mother was on the razor’s edge of sanity at times with worry about getting older and having death come knocking on the door. They just wanted their mommy.

Sometimes the quiet of the funereal ritual would be punctured by the cries of a small child waking from a nap. At those times, I often abandoned by self pity rather quickly and could forget for awhile what it was that had me so low. I could go to my child and function as a mother. The beautiful thing about children, even as they get older, is they love their mother unconditionally. My kids never let me point out my shortcomings, no matter how true they may be.

My husband was aware of my despair, though he knew nothing of me lying on the sofa for a good portion of the afternoon. He was helpless in his quest to try to make me feel better about my age, so he gave up discussing it in hopes that my obsession with my age would vanish into thin air. Eventually, it did take a back seat to life in general. Thanks to the unyielding love of my little family, somehow I got past those dark days at thirty.

In my thirties, I eventually abandoned the ritual, and was able to work, play, and enjoy life. My kids were growing and changing, and I threw myself into life with gusto. So much so that I got nominated to chair our class reunion committee and plan our 20th reunion. The reunion was amazing, and went off without a hitch. Life was pretty good for awhile.

As I began to face forty, I had a bone crushing fear in my heart that I would once again succumb to the darkness that nearly swallowed me whole a decade earlier. I started to assess my life, trying to figure out what proactive steps I could take to be able to outwit my crazy imagination and be able to live through another milestone birthday.

I did what everyone does when they are facing a mid-life crisis and I impulsively decided to quit my job and head back to school. I had been working in healthcare as a nursing assistant for seventeen years, and just could not face another year of being stagnant. I did love the people I worked with, but with no desire to become a nurse, I felt that the toll the job had taken on my body over the years was enough. I was beginning to feel my age with the herniated disc in my back howling at me to quit, and the arthritis in my neck and shoulder flaring up to remind me that I wasn’t twenty anymore. I needed to do something with my mind, to prove to myself I could still do it before it was too late.

School has been a blessing and a curse for me. While it has made me even more aware of my age, it has shown me that old dogs can learn new tricks. I have gained some self respect because my brain is still intact and working very well. But, I am continually surrounded by those young people who are just out of high school, all youthful and carefree. I find myself wishing I had done more to retain my youth when I am in their presence. I find myself feeling out of place and uncomfortable with my age at times, in spite of my intelligence and experience. I thought that school would help me get over the problem I was having with getting older, but I was dead wrong. It would take something more severe for me to realize that aging is okay.

I got a text message from my best friend from high school on a recent Friday morning that said a classmate of ours was killed in an accident. While I was not friends with this woman, she was a member of our class and we do have some common friends. Of course, my reaction was “OMG!” and I wanted details so that I could pass them along to other members of our class so that they may extend their condolences to her family.

I remember looking at this lady’s Facebook page over the years. She was even more beautiful than she was in high school. She was still very athletic and fit. While I didn’t share those qualities with her, we did have things in common. We were both married, and our children are about the same age. We both were very active in our children’s lives, and in our communities. While I felt unattractive in comparison with this lady, I felt a kinship with her as a mom and wife. It seemed very unfair that in our fortieth year, we would have to say goodbye to this vibrant woman. It was very poignant and sad, and really hit close to home for me, and a few of my friends. I realized that she had attained something that I was wishing for, by dying. She would be 39 forever.

I attended her funeral to pay respects to her family, and to represent our graduating class. As I began to sit through the service, I was very uneasy. I was so uncomfortable that my arms felt like they were in the way. I tried hanging them limp at my sides, and when that felt unnatural, I crossed them over my chest, which seemed out of place. I really could not figure out how to even just sit on a pew in a church. I felt as if I was intruding on something very private and sacred, and I thought I could feel people staring at me. Of course, no one cared what I was doing. They were all there to support her survivors and pay their respects.

Once the service got going, I felt like I got to know her a little bit more through the stories about her that her cousin shared. I felt sorry that I didn’t know her better. I watched her husband and her two children seated several rows ahead of me. The pain on their faces was evident. Her husband looked so empty and older than his years as he attempted to console his children as their mother lay dead in the box before them. I could not imagine how to comfort a child in the loss of her mother, when he surely must have felt cheated at the loss of his partner and best friend as well. There are no words in the world that could make it better for any of them. In that moment I could easily imagine my husband and my children sitting there instead of this other family, and the destruction it would cause in their lives if it were me in the coffin. A chill ran down my spine, and I felt relieved for having the ability to continue aging.

Instantly, at a funeral, the revelation that I get to be present for the celebration of my life at forty cast aside the gnawing fear of growing older that I carried around for so long. I feel bad that it took attending a classmate’s funeral to figure it out, but I am choosing to see it as a gift from this lady I barely knew. Even though I still carry the extra weight on my frame, my skin and teeth are not perfect, and my hair is not my natural color anymore, I will embrace my life and every day that I have to live it. Life is too short to wallow in the what-ifs, and comparisons to others. I am grateful that I was able to figure it out before it was too late.



(Thank you to Amy Nelson Rogers, for making me see the light...God Bless and Rest in Peace)

Life just happens to you when you are busy making other plans...

Thank you to the late John Lennon for the title of this post...

Life does just happen, and it gets really busy when it does.

Lately, small things make me sit back and really reflect. Things that seem insignificant enough, but somehow warrant more attention to them than what one might think...

For instance:

I met some good, old friends for dinner/drinks a week ago on Thursday. Now, they are not OLD--at least,not older than I am--but I have known these women for better than twenty years. I have not been in constant touch with all of these women in the last twenty years because life does just happen. That said, we have been making more of an effort to try to get together in the past couple of years thanks to our 20th class reunion. I hope the dinner/drinks thing happens even more often now, though, because I really enjoyed spending time with these ladies. I can be myself around all of them. That is definitely a good thing.

And I haven't laughed like that in a very long time!!

How does this go to my "something that warrants more attention" you may ask?

Well, I have been reflecting on it this past week.

I spent much of the last twenty years after high school trying to figure out who I am and what I want to do. I have wasted a good portion of that time hiding out. What I mean by that is I often do not step out of my comfort zone and let myself just be ME. I worried too much in the past about what others may think about me and my life.

The conclusion I have drawn from this is that I am not that much different from these old friends. Sure, we have had varying life experiences, but I do belong and matter.

I will say that again. I do belong and matter.

In my past, I have felt worthless. I have felt shame for who I am and things I have or have not done. This was not imposed on me by others, it was an internal thing.

Sick, sick...sick.

We definitely are harder on ourselves than other people are.

In this one dinner/drinks "girls nite", I realized that I often do not give myself credit and I guess I forgot how it felt to be a part of a group. I had a pretty active social life when I was in high school and into my twenties. Somewhere along the way, life happened and I did lose that "social" piece of me.

Once upon a time, in spite of some of the trials in life, I was basically a happy-go-lucky person. I have determined I want to be that person again.

Life happens, but it is too short to wallow in the hard and bad times. Yes, you must acknowledge them, and you must learn from them. But, you also must move on.

I guess 2011 is that year for me. Growth, change...moving on.

Of course, I am still going to ponder, and process...because I am a work in progress. But I have decided it is time to just have a little more fun. Enjoy my family, my friends, my classes, everything.

Here's to more girl's nites and to other fun things to remember why life is so good.

Me? A positive attitude?

Sure, with a side of sarcasm. After all, I am trying to be more genuine! ;)

Todd...

Well it has been awhile since I have written anything last. Thanks to a rigorous college schedule, I have been reading textbooks and writing essays and such. Not a lot of time for therapeutic scribe.

In my English Comp class, we are writing narrative essays. We are to draw from a personal experience of some sort to write about. While I have oodles of experiences I could write about, none are speaking to me for a five page paper. It seems like a lot of pages. I am not that interesting.

So, I am blogging this morning before I head to campus to see if it will spark anything.

I have been thinking about my friend Todd lately.

Todd was a man I met while I was a Home Care CNA. Todd was my client. He was just months younger than my Dad, and was diagnosed with ALS (Lou Gehrig's Disease).

Before I went in to start working with Todd, the agency had a little "training" about ALS. It didn't prepare me at all for working with him.

The very first day I went to Todd and Judy's, I walked in through the living room (as I was instructed to do) and when I rounded the corner into the kitchen, I found Todd sitting in his power wheel chair at the dining room table.

I walked up to him, introduced myself and shook his hand. He looked at me and didn't say anything. He just sort of nodded his head at me.

On that first day, I was to make sure Todd got his medications, make sure he ate, and just get acquainted with him and the house.

He didn't say a word to me that first day. I was there two hours and he didn't say a WORD.

Now, they had told me that he had speech issues due to the ALS, but I expected some communication. Nothing from him.

So, as I worked I kept up my cheery chatter. I was starting to irritate myself at the end of the appointment. But, if Todd was irritated, he didn't say anything.

When I left that day, I was trying to figure out a way to communicate with this person. I wanted to know likes, dislikes and so on so I could better help him.

The next day, I came in and did my duties. I chattered less, simply because I figured it was annoying. I was getting on my own nerves, I couldn't imagine what this man was thinking about me.

Day two? Still not a word out of Todd.

Day three went by much the same way. I was beginning to think that maybe it was too exhausting for him to talk, or that his ability was gone. I felt like I was settling into a routine there, and was getting more comfortable. He responded to verbal cues and didn't seem irritated or frustrated with me.

On day four, I walked in and greeted Todd. I started to get busy working on his breakfast and the other duties I had to do.

When I served Todd his breakfast and sat down to make sure his meds were set up, he looked at me, half-smiled and said "you're okay". His speech was a little mushy from the ALS, but it was clear enough.

This man was testing me. From day one.

I heard later from my RN Supervisor that this man ate and spit out several other CNA's. He was a tough one to please.

It was later that I found out they sent me in as a last ditch effort with Todd. He had been so surly and difficult that the agency had discussed referring him elsewhere for care. The RN Supervisor thought he was someone that I could handle, and she thought he might like me.

As it turned out, Todd and I became much more than an aide and a client. We became very good friends.

I learned more in the year or so I worked with him than I ever did in any other setting.

I am not sure if it's the ALS, or if it's just the human spirit in some people...but with Todd and every other client with ALS that I worked with later...there was a spirit, a spark--these people were not going to let the disease win. Or at least they were going to live life for as long as they were able.

Todd used to say that he had a terminal illness, but he was a procrastinator, so he was putting it off. He did, too. He lived for nearly nine years with a disease that claims many of it's victims in two years.

I am not sure why I have been thinking about him so much lately. In his darkest hours, he was an inspiration to me. Maybe I am trying to be inspired by him again.

Maybe I just miss my friend.

Distance and Perception

I was thinking about distance today, on my drive to Black River Falls.

I have to admit, I often isolate and distance myself from others. It is a coping mechanism when my moods are "off". I sometimes can't deal with myself, let alone anyone else in the outside world.

It is rarely about other people. Occasionally, it is. Mostly it is about me trying to get a grip on myself to be able to function like a normal person.

Perception can be a funny thing. I know my perception of things in the past has been flawed and skewed by the moods. It is a realization I came upon a few years ago, when I was in therapy. I actually have to take a step back from things sometimes, and sort of take the temperature of the situation and my gut perception of it. I have been way off base before. I mean WAY off.

I have worked over 30 jobs in my 39 years on this Earth. Mostly left each one because I felt slighted, or perceived I had done something wrong.

I also was not functioning well a majority of the time. Oh sure, on the surface I could do my job. I am a very bright person.

But the roller coaster of the moods and the panic when it sneaks up on me--well, life isn't very fun when things are chaotic in my head.

How am I today? Right this very minute...pretty darned good, thanks for asking! But the moods wax and wane, and tomorrow I may be having an issue with the ups or the downs. Can never tell which way these things will go.

I am trying to continue on a therapeutic path. I am finally doing some things for myself (and in turn my family) by going back to school. This is one of those things that I have seriously self-destructed on in the past. I mean, I really blew it up. I don't want to do that this time. It is very important to me.

I have to prove to myself that I am capable of following through.

So far, I think I have.

I have been goal setting:

My overall big prize--the Master's Degree--my ticket out of this frozen wasteland.

My smaller carrots--each successful semester--one down, thirteen to go. It actually doesn't sound that bad to me when broken down like that.

Then I have each semester, broken down into weeks. Sixteen even smaller goals. Check 'em off the calendar as I get through the work.

My perception is working right now. It was a good weekend.