A few months ago, basic tasks and chores took me so much longer than usual. I couldn't decipher the manufacturer's expectation and that some where on the end of this path lay money. I was embarrassed; what was wrong with me?
As this continued, I started thinking about my family's mental health. It's not so good. A dozen or more relatives on either side had bipolar disorder. They were exciting, intelligent people. I realized that I'd had a stereotypical view of was BSD really meant. But the more I read symptoms, the more I began to recognize myself now, in college, in high school, and back even further to preschool. I was starting to see myself in the way qualified authors and others describe actual experiences. I thought, "Oh. Is that racing thoughts?" and "Is that pressured speech?"
So as is common, I found out what was different about me at 28, which meant I was without treatment or with the wrong kind. But I had waited ten years for the validation, the tiny explanation that was the tiny key to everything of me and in me.
But it didn't make me better. Tasks still seemed insurmountable. What if someone interrupted me to chit chat? What if a student needs something right that second? I didn't want to risk letting the students see what was happening.
Because everything was so difficult and because I wanted to get away, I started playing 10 Things (which ought to be objects or tasks but alas, it's Things). I tell myself, okay, I'm going to start on this and do at least ten things. Sometimes these are big if I'm stronger, Today, I counted every room from which I took the trash and then every room for which I put in a new grocery store bag. This felt like a big accomplishment, and I'm so glad about that because I couldn't have done more then.
So an explosion of a room can turn into 10 things. And if I can't do that much, I ask for help, and I write down what I've done--it's like a reverse to-do list, and it's much more encouraging. Then, I can leave the task for a while or go back to work on my second set of 10 things. That limit really seems to help with my anxiety. And I end up being more productive!
Five Goals is something I started during once I came out of a trance and realized I was in a hospital ward. Each day, I would write 5 goals in my journal. I could write around them as long as I was trying. The goals can be large or small, like setting the table without command, take a walk in the sun, get an A on that test.... This way of thinking works for me. It makes me productive as I often am when manic. But even if I can't handle this situation, I can go to my car, find and remove 10 things, and put them away.
It seems to fall under the semester-long goals to reduce chaos and create beauty.
Tuesday, January 27, 2015
Wednesday, January 21, 2015
A Leap.
About three weeks ago, I decided to take a major risk. As my mom said, it isn't practically right, it isn't financially right, it isn't career right. But it's still right. Mom said we hadn't been doing a good enough job of treating a mental illness as we would any other disease. I wonder if other consumers (apparently, this is the selected term for people who have mental health issues) struggle with that--treating themselves as they want others to treat them.
I took a semester off of work. The structure of a semester doesn't really allow the faculty to have extended leave (such as the twelve weeks for FMLA or the six weeks for a birth), so I didn't know what to do. I spoke to my HR director in general terms, and she seemed uneasy about it, which didn't surprise me, especially since I wasn't telling anyone.
But a series of minor and major screw ups at work (problems that would have been shocking even a year ago) and my new experience with sleep writing (ridiculous words and sentences that made no sense at all or made no sense in context) and sleep walking and talking, all while appearing awake. It seems more like some kind of trance than sleep. I've grown accustom to Josh's nervous-kindness face as he tries to figure out to whom he is talking. I've been mean a couple of times, but Josh said he could tell it wasn't me, and he remembered one of the books we'd read advising people to avoid talking to the disorder. This makes me think about...Dax? on Deep Space 9.
Anyway, I knew I could not go on when I spoke to three people in my office and then realized none of them were actually there. My boss always says I'm always trying to prove, to myself and everyone else that I can do everything even if it kills me. So at the end of winter break, we spoke on the phone. I told her what had been happening. I told her my ideas for solutions. She said, "Do what is best for you. If you need to take a semester off, do it." Whoa.
So I wrote a letter requesting that leave of absence. The president of the college sent me a kind and concerned approval letter. I only have about three weeks of sick leave, and that's probably gone now. I've requested voluntary shared leave, but only staff can do it, and they spend as much time around me as the faculty do. Dr. N filled out the paperwork for FMLA quickly, and he checked that the absence was medically necessary. I wondered why he did that so readily. But later, I saw the diagnostic code on the lab slip, and I saw a different number, which indicated that my recent episode was severe mania with psychotic behavior. My interacting with the hallucinations or delusions must be the behavior part.
I haven't heard anything from HR, so I don't know what happens next. But I've been spending more time with Oliver and even having conversations or cuddling with Josh. I have books on deck to teach me more about the condition. I'm scribbling again. I'm doing well establishing a sleep schedule. My vision is still so blurry that anything is a struggle. My purple reading glasses are dorkycute though.
So the greatest fear, obviously, is money or insurance. We just barely scrape by most months anyway. Josh has applied for a few full-time positions at community colleges. I can't even fathom how to make this work. Tax season is here, so maybe we'll get a refund. But basically, I try to call on faith and let it open into hope. I've had so little hope these months. Mom says that if you do the best you can, God stands in the gap. So I'm just waiting to see what he'll do, both for our practical survival and for my torn up mind and spirit.
Right now, it's just nice to experience days that are not brimming with dread or hopelessness. It's still there, but I think my mind really wants to be well. I see my brain as the cruel one and the one that responds to medication. Mind is my awareness, emotions, all that. Medication is working hard on my brain, but I think healing the mind is something I'll have to do myself, with help from the council. Maybe that's what these few months will be: time to take better care of myself. And many aspects of BSD are so discouraging that I think I'll still in denial to some extent.
So pray, burn incense, go for a midnight drive, or whatever feels like compassion and hope to you. Contribute to hope that we will have what we need and that we'll be better, whatever that ends up meaning.
I took a semester off of work. The structure of a semester doesn't really allow the faculty to have extended leave (such as the twelve weeks for FMLA or the six weeks for a birth), so I didn't know what to do. I spoke to my HR director in general terms, and she seemed uneasy about it, which didn't surprise me, especially since I wasn't telling anyone.
But a series of minor and major screw ups at work (problems that would have been shocking even a year ago) and my new experience with sleep writing (ridiculous words and sentences that made no sense at all or made no sense in context) and sleep walking and talking, all while appearing awake. It seems more like some kind of trance than sleep. I've grown accustom to Josh's nervous-kindness face as he tries to figure out to whom he is talking. I've been mean a couple of times, but Josh said he could tell it wasn't me, and he remembered one of the books we'd read advising people to avoid talking to the disorder. This makes me think about...Dax? on Deep Space 9.
Anyway, I knew I could not go on when I spoke to three people in my office and then realized none of them were actually there. My boss always says I'm always trying to prove, to myself and everyone else that I can do everything even if it kills me. So at the end of winter break, we spoke on the phone. I told her what had been happening. I told her my ideas for solutions. She said, "Do what is best for you. If you need to take a semester off, do it." Whoa.
So I wrote a letter requesting that leave of absence. The president of the college sent me a kind and concerned approval letter. I only have about three weeks of sick leave, and that's probably gone now. I've requested voluntary shared leave, but only staff can do it, and they spend as much time around me as the faculty do. Dr. N filled out the paperwork for FMLA quickly, and he checked that the absence was medically necessary. I wondered why he did that so readily. But later, I saw the diagnostic code on the lab slip, and I saw a different number, which indicated that my recent episode was severe mania with psychotic behavior. My interacting with the hallucinations or delusions must be the behavior part.
I haven't heard anything from HR, so I don't know what happens next. But I've been spending more time with Oliver and even having conversations or cuddling with Josh. I have books on deck to teach me more about the condition. I'm scribbling again. I'm doing well establishing a sleep schedule. My vision is still so blurry that anything is a struggle. My purple reading glasses are dorkycute though.
So the greatest fear, obviously, is money or insurance. We just barely scrape by most months anyway. Josh has applied for a few full-time positions at community colleges. I can't even fathom how to make this work. Tax season is here, so maybe we'll get a refund. But basically, I try to call on faith and let it open into hope. I've had so little hope these months. Mom says that if you do the best you can, God stands in the gap. So I'm just waiting to see what he'll do, both for our practical survival and for my torn up mind and spirit.
Right now, it's just nice to experience days that are not brimming with dread or hopelessness. It's still there, but I think my mind really wants to be well. I see my brain as the cruel one and the one that responds to medication. Mind is my awareness, emotions, all that. Medication is working hard on my brain, but I think healing the mind is something I'll have to do myself, with help from the council. Maybe that's what these few months will be: time to take better care of myself. And many aspects of BSD are so discouraging that I think I'll still in denial to some extent.
So pray, burn incense, go for a midnight drive, or whatever feels like compassion and hope to you. Contribute to hope that we will have what we need and that we'll be better, whatever that ends up meaning.
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