Back Again

I keep promising myself that I will be more consistent with this blog. Maybe it is a promise I can keep this time. I truly do appreciate those who read and comment. I would love to be here enough to create a sense of community. I think so many of live fairly solitary lives due to our illnesses. 

I've been writing fiction again. I was writing like a maniac without the mania. 

It was as if a switch flipped in my brain and said, "Okay, you can write now."

Well, write I did. I even posted my stories to a popular site and received a lot of high ratings and some positive feedback. I found myself miserable every minute of it. I couldn't believe it! 

I talked to my therapist about it. Her theory (and I agree): I've spent the last couple of years waiting to write again. At first the block seemed related to the break up with another writer. Then, with the psychosis, I felt like God did not want me to write. I fought that feeling, not believing that God would want such a thing. At the time, Gale told me I should trust the feeling and let it go for the moment. When it came back so suddenly, I thought God had changed His mind. Well, now I'm not so sure. Gale (my therapist) put it this way. Sometimes God has to let us do things to realize they are NOT a part of our path, or not such an important part. 

I've been so miserable, like a prisoner writing letters from her jail cell; it is not hard to admit. I don't enjoy writing fiction now. It is a chore, and I think your life's work may be hard at times, but it does not feel like a chore all the time. Does that make sense?

The thing that brings me true happiness, and has since I was a child, is art in general and painting in particular. Gale wants me to focus on this and to look into communities of artists I could become a part of sooner or later. 

All that said, I thought I would discuss my treatment plan with you. We are trying to lay it out in specific actions now. 

1.) Get involved in art and art communities again.

2.) Attend the Unitarian Church, even if I do sit on the back row and refuse to talk to anyone, lol. 

3.) Study from a couple of spiritual books that I am attracted to now.

4.) Swim and/or do yoga at Associated Therapeutics 2-3 times a week. (I was going more, but I have begun to isolate more and more again.)

5.) Work out a realistic financial plan where I can move out on my own once my long-term disability comes through. I am hoping to get an answer soon from the work-related one. Who knows when I will hear back from social security.

6.) Allow myself to be open to the possibility of a relationship. This one surprised me, but Gale insisted that I consider it, not put it off as a long-term, no-date goal.

7.) Be a vegetarian, as that is where my heart lies. I am now down to fish and vegetables. I have to learn to cook vegetarian meals, and I am working on that. 

It seems like there is more, but that is all that comes to mind right now. If you see a therapist, do you plan out these sort of goals, or is it only talk? Im just curious. I like this way better, although there is some pressure involved. I don't want to disappoint myself or Gale, although she would never admit if I did. 

The Courage to Create

Not all artists are insane. I'll give you that, but there a fairly large number who lived with a mental illness of one stripe or another. 

Creative types are notorious for refusing to either get diagnosed or for refusing to take their medication if they have been. I am beginning to understand why.

I have two half-finished paintings, a novel and a number of short stories running around my brain with nowhere to go. And, yes, I am going to blame my meds. 

I'm a big advocate of people taking their pills. You don't stop just because you feel better. You talk to your doctor if you're not feeling better. I always preach this to myself and, in the past, to my patients. 

But, when it comes to creativity, I think they might be eating that alive. It takes courage to create. Let's think about courage. The base of the word itself is "to rage." In Old English, it had a connotation of vengeance. In French, it has a history of meaning "to have heart." It takes some of both of these characteristics to dare to lay your heart and soul and mind on the line, creating something new from thin air. It requires an openness, a trust within yourself. 

I think the meds are killing that part of me. 

Granted, I hear voices. I'm not emotionally stable. I can't go into many public places without having a panic attack. I also can't write or paint or even do the less courageous crafting. I am too calm inside to do that. I am too guarded to let go. I need pills to make it through the day instead of a paintbrush or a pen. 

Are there any creative types out there who understand this dilemma? Have you ever quit your meds so that you could be creative again? Do any of you function just fine in this department while still on all your medication? 

I can't see me not taking my pills, but there must be some way to do both. 

Emotional Neglect

Do any of you feel like you've neglected your children when you were depressed?

I don't have kids. I talked to my therapist about that today, the possibility of children one day. She said that I had all the qualities to be a great mom, but she also said that studies show that bipolar parents tended to emotionally neglect their children in times of depression. I still have mood swings despite all the mood stabilizers I take. 

I told my best friend about this part of our conversation, and she tried to assure me that I would never do that. But, the truth is, I don't know. It would never be intentional, but I know how I feel when I get down. It can be down on the floor in the fetal position, a position where I am no good for anybody. Is it a risk worth taking? 

Then, there is also the thought that there is a genetic component to this illness. Do you bring a child into the world knowing you might well pass on misery and pain? 

I asked her the question about men, too. Her answer surprised me. She said he would be kind, compassionate and probably have a family member or close friend who lived with mental illness. It made sense. She said if he didn't have those qualities, he was probably a predator looking to feed on the weak, my paraphrase there. 

All in all, it was a good session. She encouraged me that my attempt to go to the class was progress in and of itself, whether or not I had a panic attack. She also said that my thinking about a future relationship meant that something dead inside of me was coming back to life because I had NO such desire before recent developments. 

At noon I have my therapist appointment, same time every Monday. It hasn't been a satisfying experience lately. There's been too much talk about disability and not enough talk about what's going on inside of me. I understand the necessity of this, but it doesn't make me feel any better about it. 

I've been thinking about the future. I've been thinking about the past. I've been thinking about how the two collide. I want children, but I don't think I will end up being a mother largely because of my own childhood. I need to talk about this with her. I don't want to talk about it at all. Those are usually the things that I need to talk about the most. 

I'm frustrated by my lack of progress lately. More than one person has said I am expecting too much too fast. It's been 7 months since the first voices came and changed my life. 7 months sounds like such a long time to me right now. I want to be better. I want to be able to read a book again or sit through an entire movie. I want to paint and write. I want to finish the things I start. 

I don't have much to say tonight other than that. I don't understand why this has happened to me. I don't know what else I can do to make things better than what they are now. Frustrating. 

Panic Attacks

Do any of you live with panic attacks, too?

I tried to go to a small class at a herb farm this morning. It was about growing your own tea garden. I love tea in a slightly obsessive, I-have-more-than-I could-drink-in-a-year, kinda way. And, I keep buying it! Anyway, this class seemed perfect: small, a subject that interested me, out in the middle of nowhere. Needless to say, the old panic attack kicked in less than half-way through the class. I felt like I was suffocating. The room was spinning a little. It felt as if I would die if I didn't get out of there right then. I snuck out as much as you can sneak out of a small crowd. I walked around outside, but the feeling wouldn't pass. I left and went to the car to cry. 

I take my medicine, do what I'm told to do, but I still have them. And, I can't stand it. It's so frustrating to feel like something inside of me is sabotaging my life. Do you feel that way when you have them?

Following up on yesterday's post, I started making a list of the things I still want out of life, again. I did my best to really listen to my heart and soul. I was surprised by the things that I listed, at least some of the bigger ones. There are a couple of things I think I had given up on when I was diagnosed with bipolar disorder, before the psychosis and panic attacks, etc. 

I'm not ready to list them here yet, but I will someday, probably soon. I want to show the list to my therapist on Monday, watch her jaw hit the floor and listen to what she has to say. I'm curious if she will be supportive or not. And, I'm not sure where that leaves me if she isn't. My therapy lately has revolved so much around getting my disability, adjusting to living back at my parents house, etc. Necessary subjects, but not getting to the heart of what I really need to talk about: the things on this list, my purpose. 

I'm just gonna throw this out here with the preface that I know I am nowhere near ready for any kind of relationship. Could you date someone with a mental illness who lived at home with her parents? Neither of those situations will change for me, even when I am healthier and doing better in general. My house is being sold. My income will be too limited to move. I'll still have bipolar disorder and its complications. So, I just wonder, in the future, will there be a man who can see past that and see me?

I Need a Do-Over!

If there were a re-commitment ceremony for bloggers, I would have to have one. 

I have my excuse in thirty, yes, thirty pages of paperwork I've filled out for social security these last two weeks, along with the phone tag I've been playing with my long-term disability claims examiner for my work disability. They told me this would be a frustrating, tedious process; they didn't lie. 

While I was slowly muddling my way through all the questions, I kept thinking about the other people with serious mental illnesses who need this, too. How in the world would a schizophrenic with no help ever make it past page one? If I weren't medicated, I'd never have made it. And, the meds make me much slower than I normally would be. Frustrating. And, it's not set-up for mental health at all. What difference does it make how much weight I can lift?!

Just had to get that off my chest. Maybe I should write an article for Bust magazine about it. I love that magazine. (Sorry, guys, no naked women there!)

I've done a lot of thinking while playing twenty questions with the government. Nothing better to make your mind wander than endless paperwork. Mostly I've been thinking about a purpose. 

I'm a fairly young woman, 38, almost 39. What is my purpose now that I am not a nurse, now that I am no longer defined by my career? It would nice to say, "You can be anything," but the truth is that I have serious limitations. If not, there would be no need for the disability. I cannot function in public, with other people. Stores and other crowded places cause panic attacks. I often have a hard time overcoming my agoraphobia at all during a week. I have to give up sleep to go swim before the sun has come up because there are fewer people at the pool at 6 a.m.

That's just one feature of my illness. So, anything is not really an option. But, there are options. I just don't know which road to take. My therapist calls this psychotic break of mine a life "do-over." She says that now is the time to find my true purpose, my true calling. I don't have a clue how to do that. I've prayed, made lists, cried, prayed some more, tried to paint, write...you can see how this isn't working. 

Maybe this is my mid-life crisis and psychotic break all rolled up into one big bundle. I'm curious how other people have faced this. Did you feel this way when you became disabled, for those of you who have gone on this journey already? Is it okay to live life without a grand plan or big dream? (Somehow it feels empty to me that way.) Let me know what you think. 

I apologize for the long break. I will try to be a more committed blogger, as long as no one commits me! (Just a little mental health humor, lol, a very little!) 

An Entry about the Dark

Last night was a bad night.

The demons returned to my dreams, and I could not go back to sleep. It is so frustrating. I take my medication, get some exercise, do creative work, go to my therapy and try to stay hopeful, but there are still the dark times. 

I dream of demons and hell. Explicit, graphic, horrifying nightmares. The dreams took on a life of their own about the same time I had the psychotic break, the time when the voices began. Neither has ever gone completely away, despite a thousand medication changes and combinations. They are less frequent, but they are not gone. And, I guess I need to accept that they may never be. 

I can remember reading how mentally ill people where a part of the tragedy that were the witch trials during the crusade period of history. I still today hear people say that the mentally ill may be possessed. Now I can appreciate that. At times, I've had to fight those ideas myself. Imagine an even less enlightened period today when people battled these symptoms without the benefit of medications and a better understanding of brain chemistry. I'm not excusing the atrocity, just understanding better how it occurred. 

Even today, there is such a stigma still attached. There is great research into other illnesses, i.e., cancer, diabetes, heart disease. Is anyone doing any real research into mental illness, aside for one more experimental pill they can stuff down our throats, pills with a thousand horrid side effects. Again, it's frustrating.

I want to know where the Walk to Cure Mental Illness is. I want to know who would put a little magnetic ribbon on their car saying, "Support A Cure for Mental Illness." Where is our telethon? Instead, we are told that there is no cure and there never will be. Is that true? Why is that true? 

It's daytime now, and I hope I can get some sleep. Does the nighttime make hallucinations worse for you? Do you think there are triggers? Or, do they just happen? I'm curious to hear your thoughts.