A Surprisingly Sane Blog

I always struggle with New Year’s Resolutions. Not because I believe there is nothing in my life that needs improvement, but because I always want to think in terms of positive resolutions instead of the stereotypical “I will not let people’s stupidity get to me any longer” sort that generally cross my mind at first thought.

I swear, I’m not half as much of a negative bitch in real life as my blog seems to promise. This spot is my dumping ground. You hear the worst of my frustrated fleeting thoughts right here, condensed into paragraphs of angry meditation and despair, but in my daily life I promise I’m usually smiling and looking for the positive. Like the whole resolutions business. And I don’t want them to be the cliche “I’m going to lose ten pounds,” or “I’m going to take up yoga at 6 a.m. every morning.” There’s nothing wrong with those- they’re great, in fact, but I’ve made those kinds of resolutions nearly every year of my life, and I usually manage to fall short and feel like a failure. Why? Because in many cases, those are unreasonable goals for the time and place in which they fall in my life. There’s no point in getting up at 5 a.m. to get to the gym for the ass-crack dawn yoga class. It’s not happening. I go to bed much to late and would prefer spending those morning hours with my family. It’s just not a reasonable goal.

In many ways, 2011 was both great and horrible. Did you know I nearly slapped James with divorce papers on two different occasions? Yup. And it wasn’t a mere threat, it was real. It wasn’t because I didn’t love him or because I wanted our marriage to end, it was because I couldn’t see living life and raising a family together with our priorities stuck on two very different pages. He learned a lot, re-prioritized, and realized that he was missing the best things in life because of an addiction to something rather peripheral and adolescent. I realized that my priorities were far out of whack as well. I’d spent so much time immersing myself in shit so utterly unimportant that I’d forgotten that I moved to Seattle for personal growth not just for the sake of myself, but for my husband and girls.

We learned a lot, and we have slowly removed the extraneous commitments and unhealthy constants that have just somehow pretty much become our lives since we’ve moved. Unsurprisingly, this has resulted in a much healthier relationship and life in general. And for me, it has become the key to positive mental health.

How much of our mental illnesses are circumstantial versus chemical? How do we tell the difference? For me, bipolar triggers were never really much of an issue until my postpartum depression took over three years ago. When that happened, I just plummeted into the perfect picture of mental “unhealth”. I’ve always struggled, but so many of the triggers were pieces of my life that I was aware of and failed to fix. Fear, being settled into routine, not understanding how to set boundaries; all of those accounted for poor mental health triggers.

Much of that is in my control. I get that now.

This year, resolutions for 2012 are far simpler for me to commit to because I am finally understand and implementing the whole “live life to the fullest” aspect. I have been far too selfless and focused on ensuring everyone else’s happiness to the point where I was creating my own misery and making life harder for others. It’s impossible to please a freaking martyr, intentional or otherwise. I’ve never pulled the “poor me” mopey bullshit that I’m far too accustomed to dealing with, but I have certainly allowed everyone else’s problems and issues become my own.

For 2012, I am focusing on my own goals. They’re simple. To finish school. To get a job. To backpack the Washington Peninsula and the Grand Canyon. To pull out my rock climbing gear and start using it again. To take care of my girls to the best of my ability. And most importantly, to work on my marriage so that there are no more threats of divorce.

Those are all finally doable goals. I’m excited to see them through.

Current Mood: Cool

The last few months I have made a ridiculous number of changes in my life, and by changes, I mean huge ones.

It’s like I’ve lost interest in my “old” life and suddenly had to figure out what I wanted with my “new” life. Except I realized recently that what was really happening was that I was frantically running away from my “new” life and was desperately trying to settle back into my “old” life.

That didn’t make much sense, huh. It did to me, but it’s kind of hard to follow, I think.

Before I had April, I wasn’t plagued by postpartum depression or a serious mental disorder. Yes, once bipolar, always bipolar, and am fully aware of the fact that I struggled with the illness long before recent days. However, I felt like there was more of a balance in my life that kept the illness under control to the point which I could enjoy the majority of days. I had hobbies. I loved to scrapbook and always had some kind of new art project or crafty-schmafty thing occupying the dining room table. I went rock climbing every week with James and my brother- up until I was 5 months pregnant, in fact. I dabbled in the thought of taking some artistic photography classes to accompany the “regular” classes I took in college. I had hopes and dreams that my therapist was helping me identify and I was excited to make happen. Dance was a weekly part of our life as a married couple, which caused a ton of problems, but I felt like there was a solution somewhere around the corner. I seriously considered getting back into martial arts, which I have a second degree black belt in and love the physical challenge. And I had a job. A great job as a 4th grade teacher, which I was laid off from due to the recession and budget cuts.

When we moved to Seattle two years ago, I went crazy. No, literally. It’s not completely my fault. I was taking Prozac, which was great for postpartum depression but terrible once my hormones were “under control” because I wasn’t depressed… I was manic, and that kind of drug shot the mania to a psychotic level. When we moved, I was hoping that we were leaving the world of teaching dance, being part of swing clubs and all their drama, and going out social dancing like it was a life staple back in Tucson. Dance is not a bad thing. We love it. It’s the atmosphere, addictive and carefree, that is not and never will be a healthy part of our lives as a couple and family. I wanted to leave that behind, find an awesome new career, and fulfill those hopes and dreams that I moved here for which to make some headway.

Insert Epic Fail here.

I did none of that. I went sprinting into the opposite direction. Dance. Depression. Mania. Baking too many cookies. Gaining and losing 12 pounds from those manic binges. Drugs (only legal ones, mind you). Medication nightmares. Feeling so out of control and out of touch with reality that I didn’t think I was going to make it out alive. Making friends with people who weren’t good for me. Nearly divorcing, mostly due to dance and its strange grasp on James and me. Spending too much money during manic crazes. Thinking everything was under control when, in fact, it had flung so far out of control that it’s amazing I could sill function. Crazy makeup. Accutane. Spiraling. Wondering why I have a closet full of eccentric clothing that I would never wear off the dance floor. Why why why? Pretending to hold it together to ensure my girls felt secure and happy. Putting a smile on my face in public when I was teaching, making everyone believe James and I were just fine even though I had a divorce lawyer in mind. Planning escape routes instead of hopes and dreams.

Then, about two years after our move, K died. I will probably never know why her death hit me so hard, but I assume it was because her life paralleled mine so closely.

Suddenly, I had to stop living life the way I had been. It wasn’t a conscious decision, though. Back to school. Actually thankful that the arthritis in my feet gave me the perfect excuse to stop teaching dance. Closing out our Friday night workshops and dances, which I never really blogged about but were a HUGE deal. Focusing on Julie’s awesome school more and volunteering my time to help out with her class. Considering going back to church and not shuddering to think of organized religion. Spending far less free time on the computer (I was kind of addicted). Planning another backpacking trip to the Grand Canyon for several people. Getting gear for that trip and trying to figure out an easy trip on the peninsula on which we could bring the girls. Making friends outside of the dance world… successfully. Actively searching for an entry-level position as a legal assistant for the duration of my academic program to help with the success of becoming an actual paralegal after I have graduated (wow!). Peeking into the backpack holding my climbing shoes and harness and chalk pack and realizing I am itching to get back into rock climbing. Trying to stop biting my nails and cuticles and getting better at it.

All these things and more- so many changes- and James and I are doing so much better. I married an amazing man. It’s sad that we’ve been missing all of this as a result of our relationship and lives being saturated by the effects of the “dance world” and dealing with “my illness.” But as of this week, our commitments to dance have ceased forever, a I cannot explain to you just how amazingly relieved he and I feel that starting tomorrow, we will not have to run to the ballroom and teach and DJ and dance for hours and stress about whether or not we have enough people to pay our rent and other overhead. We are no longer slaves to what was supposed to be a hobby. And maybe, one of these days, I’ll be able to go to a dance without having an anxiety attack and actually enjoy myself. Maybe.

My psychiatric nurse practitioner retired a couple months ago. I backed off on my medication significantly to stretch the amount of pills while I search for a new doctor. I’m taking half of what I was using before, and physically and mentally, I am gradually doing much better. What the hell? Those pills were supposed to work magic. Have they gotten to be too much, are they part of the cause of all the upped insanity these last two years? I feel far less sluggish and I actually have been scrubbing the house. My homework is easier to finish. Now I’m a little hesitant to continue with medication at all, at least for the short term. I made an appointment with a doctor who does this thing called “neurofeedback.” We have a friend who is just as nuts as I am who did it and swears by it. He is doing a million times better than he has in years, and it gives me hope that maybe this may be one of the best solutions for me.

The winter solstice was yesterday, today the sun is alive and shining, and in two days I will have a house full of people I love. I am cautiously optimistic that things may be looking up.

Current Mood: Happy

Still alive. Just had way to much going on. In the matter of a few weeks, all this managed to happen:

1. I slipped and fell on our hardwood floor, knocking myself out and banging the crap out of my right hip and shoulder.
2. April jumped up and broke the bridge of my nose in the middle of Target. I had two black eyes for a week. It’s still a little sore.
3. I almost died at an ungodly, comical hour of the early morning from the most horrendous cramping I’ve ever felt. I could hardly breathe, and next to back labor, it was the most painful thing I have ever experienced. James and the kids were on a plane to Arizona, so I was alone. I debated between calling 911 and calling my friend. I called my friend. I felt far too stupid calling an ambulance for myself, even though I really did think I was probably having organ failure or SOMETHING. Our assumption is that I either had 1) an ovarian cyst rupture, 2) a kidney or gall stone pass, or 3) some kind of janckity awful reaction to one of my meds. I survived.
4. I went to Tucson for Thanksgiving and had such a wonderful time I started second guessing my choice to move away. As much as I DESPISE the weather and obscene heat and sunshine, I just really miss my family like crazy.
5. I came back to Seattle and worked my ass off in my classes.
6. I announced to the dance community that I am retiring. You saw that right: RETIRING. And furthermore, we announced that we are no longer hosting and teaching at our Friday night dance after… well, tonight.
7. My backpacking pack arrived from Amazon. That was my Christmas present from my mom, and I am SO EXCITED to pick up hiking and camping and backpacking again now that I’ll actually have weekends starting on Friday to do the outdoorsy shit that I love! What does Surprisingly Sane do in her non-dance life? I’m the thrill-seeking, rock-climbing, hiking, backpacking, traveling, adventurous person wearing a handkerchief over my head and covered with a can of bug repellant while posing for a smile in front of the ocean. I am so at peace returning to that ME.
8. James made this massive discovery that he enjoys life outside of dancing. That means, sniffle, that he actually prefers my company to that of the dance floor again. He picked up his guitar again, he’s taken an interest in hanging out with non-dancers, and he bought us tickets to see Rammstein at the Tacoma Dome. This means that he and I have been doing MUCH better than we have since dance took over as the priority in our lives several years ago, and he was relieved to be putting an end to our massive Friday night dance commitment. Long story, but that’s all you need to know to kind of “get it.”
9. Finals. FINALS. FFFIIIINNNAAALLLSSS.
10. We’ve been working a ton on getting our house prepared for the invasion of my family at Christmas- mom, dad, Kath, Scotty, and my bro… five adults under our roof. We had one guest room with a king-sized bed already that people stay in all the time, but we needed a separate space big enough for three other adults. So what did we do? We converted our dance room into an awesome study/guest room, and it is turning out great!
11. We’ve converted to pseudo-vegans. Well, in the process of. And by pseudo, I mean, I’m never giving up my leather, and it is NOT about animal activism in any way shape or form. I don’t like meat, and I’m lactose intolerant. It just makes sense to actually eat what is healthy for me rather than trying to force it. However, also pseudo because I’m not going to balk at the occasional bite of cheese, holiday dinner at some else’s house (when in Rome…), or the infrequent sushi. The majority of the time we practically eat vegan, anyway, but now we’re just moving a little further in that direction. There’s no statement here, just a minor dietary shift that you’ll probably never hear me speak of again. I’m just not the extremist sort in any matter.

Would you believe those are just the highlights? We have had so much stuff going on here that I just haven’t had the chance to sit down and blog or hardly even check Facebook in weeks. I’m not being antisocial or lazy, just… busy.