A Surprisingly Sane Blog

I’ve been spending the last few weeks in a state of almost grasping potential happiness, but watching slip by before I can leap high enough to catch it.

THIS HAS SERIOUSLY GOT TO FUCKING STOP.

I am far too much of a smartass, badass, intelligent human being to be continuously victimizing myself to depression and to all the bullshit that happened during my most recent several-month manic episode. Yes, I made HORRIBLE judgment calls and choices. Yes, I slept about as much as a crack addict. I hadn’t done a damn thing to decorate the interior of my house since last year, and I’d pretty much forgotten about the fact that I once loved doing things and making a life with my husband and girls.

I told Dr. T that I’ve been struggling with moving on this morning, and his insight was so helpful.

Anything that happened months ago during my state of clinically unsound and manically altered state of awareness and sense of self is done, gone, and in the past. With the Lithium, which controls manic symptoms better than just about any drug out there, I don’t need to live in fear or yearning anticipation that the mania will happen again. It’s not going to.

Mania is not a real world, and the crap that happened during it- both good and bad- did indeed happen, but my actions and reactions to everything are nothing more than part of the illness. When an illness is cured, you may be left with scars, battle wounds, and plenty of emotions that need to be worked through. It’s the same with the manic and severe depressive episodes I survive. Except those battles wounds are internal, and I can’t just turn out the lights to ignore the scars.

Dr. T has been working with me on how to not see myself as a victim or anything- be it people or my illness- and understanding that I don’t have to look at a horrible situation and see it for what my first reaction is has been helpful.

For instance, my first reaction when I think of The Manipulator is: Gosh, I was so stupid to let him befriend me. I’m a horrible judge of character. He made me feel so awful and uncomfortable, and I just don’t know how I can move on. But see, Dr. T told me to look at it from this perspective: I’m SAFE. I am an adult and can choose my friends. Someone cannot make me feel uncomfortable, however I can allow them to make me feel uncomfortable. Keeping this in mind, it makes my reaction of The Manipulator take on a very different path: That guy may be manipulative and controlling, but he has nothing over me. I am safe, I have made the right choice to cut off communication with him. I understand that I can easily allow him to be a damaging person in my life, however he is not a part of my life and, therefore, he cannot hurt me.

There. The control over how I feel is back to being mine. Manipulative and controlling people feed off of weak people and persons with mental illnesses because not only are we easy to victimize, but we don’t know any better and we allow ourselves to be victimized. We don’t realize we’re leaving ourselves wide open for it.

I’m not going to lie to you: this is not easy. At all. And seriously, the whole meditation thing Dr. T prescribed for me to work on is a bit out of my comfort zone and has never been my style.

Well, except in Jujitsu. While practicing and working out and competing, etc., meditation was a part of the state of being. For me, it was the movement and the act of being aware of everything around me. And the physical exhaustion that accompanied that intense of a martial art. I haven’t been able to reach that state in years; having kids has made the probability that my body could handle that sort of art again pretty slim.

But if I could somehow achieve that state of self-awareness again, them maybe Dr. T’s task would be easier. Perhaps I should become Buddhist. Those doodes really know how to focus.

And hopefully, hopefully with this new understanding, I can stop letting this depression consume my life. I kind of miss my spunky humor and quick sarcasm. You probably do, too.

I’ve been quiet this week, I know. Been doing a lot of thinking.

Last week in therapy I kind came to several realizations, and I’ve just been trying to figure out how to go about life since those epiphanies.

1. I bake the best cookies and treats IN THE WORLD, but I’ve slowed down on making them because I’m going to get FAT with a CAPITAL ‘F’ if they continue to hang out on my counter.
2. I might just be a really big weenie who needs to curl up with my blanky and go suck on a bottle.
3. I am doomed to have 20 more kids because even if James’ balls go cut off and I had all my parts removed, kids would still pop abundantly from my va-jay-jay simply because ALL ODDS ARE ALWAYS AGAINST ME.

Now for the real stuff:

1. I’ve been really depressed since January. Looking back though my manic-depressive life, it’s pretty clear that after every several-month manic high, I have a horrible, several-month depressive episode. I am currently stuck in the second part of that equation. Usually, after the “depressed state”, my mood balances out for awhile before my brain decides to gun it into high gear again. Lucky fucky me.
2. I feel like I’m sloooooooooowly starting to come out of that depressed state. Some days I feel pretty good for most of the day, and I haven’t felt “good” since my last manic episode. I’m guessing it’ll take a month to lift out of this fog?
3. For the first time in my life, I haven’t gone to church in about 9 months. And I used to be the ultra-religious-virgin-goody-goody girl. What does this mean?
4. I could never have an eating disorder. I tried not eating to lose weight, but I failed at it every time. I like food way too much.
5. I learned that I did indeed have at least one full-blown psychotic bipolar episode in my early twenties. I was literally hallucinating during that event, but I never equated it to a true mental health issue until now.
6. I’m really worried that my brother not only has Asperger’s syndrome, but schizophrenia as well. I thought he might just be really severely bipolar, but after talking to Alice about his symptoms, I’m worried it’s much, much worse.
7. I have rapid-cycling Bipolar Disorder I. A third of people with this illness commit suicide. Will I someday fall victim to that statistic? When I’m “well”, I say no way. When I’m not well, the answer scares the shit out of me for my family’s sake.
8. I have to learn to separate how I’m feeling about things from who I am. My fear, anger, frustration, etc. are used to being in control, so I am in the process of learning how to see them for what they are and recognize I am, in fact, safe and separate from them.
9. My therapist uses a very traditional Freudian approach to psychotherapy. At first, it kind of scared me. But now… I’m seeing that it works for me.
10. I need a job. Like, really, really need a job. And I’ve been applying for shit geared towards pleasing everyone but myself. I really need to apply for what interests me.

Current Mood: Alarmed

A while ago, my therapist basically told me to stop being a pushover. I am too nice. I let people walk all over me, apologize much too often, and have a nasty habit of putting every single person’s needs in front of my own. If I get into a conflict with someone, I’ve pretty much always been the one to step forward and try to work things out.

It’s a common error, and as “nice” as this seems, it is unkind and unloving to myself to be this way.

So, I’ve been working on this. Standing up for myself more, calling out bullshit where I see it, and refusing to back down regardless of what kind of manipulation is pulled to try to make me surrender. This is not an easy task, but my therapist said something to me today that made me stop and think: “Stop passing judgment on yourself and your actions, and see yourself the way you look at someone you love.”

I didn’t know how. I didn’t know how to not look at myself critically when put on the spot. I’m constantly seeing myself for everything I do wrong. But when I look at my girls and my husband, am I eyeing them critically? Am I saying, “No, April. No shitting in your diaper. That’s bad!”? Heck no! I’m saying, “Look honey! You ate all those Cheerios with a spoon like a big girl! I’m so proud of you!”.

So today, I’m starting to try to see myself in the same way. Instead of thinking I’m a horrible, selfish person for saying what I need and being honest about how I feel, I am looking at it from the perspective of someone who loves and cares about me. Suddenly, that doesn’t seem selfish and terrible. Instead, it seems like I am taking care of my own mental health.

What a concept.

Looks like I’ll be working on this one for awhile.

Current Mood: Surprised

Today I had one of those therapy sessions that included tears, tissues, and a nice lunch with my hubby afterward.

I have been struggling- really struggling- lately to come to terms with the fact that I’m bipolar. The rapid cycling of my illness makes it difficult for me to determine what decisions are an impulsive result of manic moments, and what’s just me feeling excited about something. Or which moments are a result of a depressive episode and which are of a normal “down” time.

Before I had any clue about the bipolar disorder, I just thought I was awfully moody. I’ve never dealt with PMS because, shit, who the hell has PMS when they’re all over the place every other hour on a daily basis? But now knowing the truth, well, it makes it hard because I really need to be aware of when it’s the illness talking versus when it’s actually a legit emotion I’m feeling.

Why does it matter, you ask? It matters for my relationship. The only way for James to know what’s real is by being able to differentiate between the different times. It’s helpful for him to be able to avoid engaging in a bipolar conversation with me, which only goes in a circle and ends up leaving me worse of that when I started it. And I’m a fucking rock star when it comes down to the bipolar conversation.

Luckily, one thing that we have determined is that despite the fact that I have such a severe form of the disorder, I do incredibly well in a structured environment. Work is a great example. My classroom, though stressful, was a safe haven from my illness. With 30 other little people to worry about, state standards to teach, and expectations to meet and exceed, I did extraordinarily well. Same thing with the studios at which I worked- I loved the structure, my students, and the professional environment. I excel in the working world.

Therapy is much the same way.

Everything I have been struggling to say or unable to express seems to come out when I’m put on the line in front of a counselor, and today really was one of those times.

Ever since I told James I wanted a divorce, it’s been some hard work getting back on track. I’m glad we had the drive to work to save our marriage. This weekend I was a little worried we were going to stop fighting to make things work, but this morning’s therapy proved otherwise.

We’ll make it. We just have to keep fighting this illness and add more structure to our lives to help combat it. When the Bipolar is not in control, we do pretty darn well.

I had one of those therapy sessions today that left me feeling ready to throw up the white flag and step out with my hands up. It was intense, and anyone who’s been to therapy before probably knows what I’m talking about. And if you can’t relate, well, then you’re gonna have a pretty good idea of what it was about by the end of this post SO HELP ME GOD.

Now, on the forefront of what’s going on with my bipolar disorder and medication and how I’ve been feeling, I’m actually doing quite well today. Exhausted because I did happy-hour sushi-girl-time in the middle of the night and got up early, but I feel pretty… alive and kickin’. And a bit sassy. I was even joking with my therapist during today’s (INTENSE) session.

So since the Lithium appears to be starting to have a positive effect (although I think I’ve got another pill or two to go before I hit my right dose) Dr. T seemed to think it was a good day to start digging out some of the broken inner pieces of my psyche, force me to face them, and beat ‘em in the head with a stick until green puss oozed out of their butts.

It was frustrating.

Intense therapy is like learning to walk all over again. It’s baby steps. Re-learning how to channel my thoughts towards positivity instead of the constant you’re not good enough, you fail at everything you try, you will never be worth a damn thing, you’d be better off dead that my thoughts generally turn toward when I hit a rough patch or one of my “triggers”.

Today’s question revolved around dance. Since Seattle Easter Swing, I haven’t been on the dance floor or had the desire to dance with the exception of working with my students on their lessons. In fact, the mere thought of going out social dancing sends me into a bit of a panic, I start dreading the whole “social dance” atmosphere, and I have these thoughts of dropping dance altogether plaguing my mind. That last competition happened right at a manic peak for me, one that ripped from the bottom of the bubble I was dancing on and dropped me from insane heights. That manic crash sent me spiraling completely out of control nearly directly after the performance. I had to get away from the ballroom, my head was spinning, and I felt like I wasn’t really there. Despite having a babysitter watching the kids, I called it an early night and skipped the late night dance, which is usually the best part of a convention.

The next morning, after fitful, awful sleep, I was irrationally angry and pissed off at everything around me, especially myself. There was no cause, no reason. Just the unexplainable hatred toward the world. Following that massive crash was my decision to divorce James, and a serious of blog posts that never made it to publication. Even through my dysphoric cloud, I knew they weren’t written with a logical mind.

It’s been three weeks since that all happened. Three weeks since I’ve danced at all except for teaching. Three weeks since I’ve really fixed my hair, dressed in something other than a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, three weeks since I’ve looked in the mirror and cared what I saw.

Tomorrow, my parents are flying in for a weekend visit, and James and I have plans to take the babysitting opportunity for a night at one of our favorite dance venues. When I told him I was stressing about it, he said it was something that needed to be brought to Dr. T’s attention. And boy, was it ever. Dr. T jumped at that opportunity, sunk his teeth into it, and ripped it to shreds. There is clearly way more to the story than just my desire to not dance. “Avoidance” being the key word, but why?

The entire session was based around Tamra’s lack of desire to face the pink elephant in the room: acknowledging those awful “You’re not good enough” voices, stand up to them, and shut them down. In other words, I need to ignore my natural reaction to say “but…” and seek out the solution instead. I have to somehow find a way to be strong enough to help that inner Tamra know that she is worth taking care of and give her the same treatment I do to my dance students: point out the positives, and crush the negatives that constantly fight their way to the forefront of my mind.

Dancing is something that this “inner Tamra” loves, enjoys, excels at, and desperately wants to continue to improve. Avoiding it is like living my life in a bubble, according to Dr. T. Life is pointless if you’ve stuck yourself in a bubble, and therefore, so is a life without dancing for me. I didn’t want to accept this because the truth kind of sucks. I desperately want to avoid dancing because doing so resurrects all those “you’re not good enough” thoughts, but also because now I know I have to face them and fight them to move forward in my life.

And thus, there will be no freaking white flag because that wouldn’t be a solution. From now on, I have to work towards finding a way to work with the bipolar disorder… otherwise I will only surround myself by a smaller bubble.

Current Mood: Confused