Simple Resolutions.

• Write in pink more often.
• Give compliments and small gifts freely.
• Find new aquarium or ocean videos for Oliver.
• Forget my meds less often.
• Donate clothes and books regularly.
• Try some level of cooking weekly.
• Learn more about autism--at least one book.
• Learn more about bipolar disorder--at least one book.
• Find ways to encourage Mom when she is sick.
• Play with all my makeup.
• Take care of my foot and let it heal.
• Start a new journal on January 1.
• Set a GoodReads reading goal (55?) and meet it.
• Keep Josh's desk clearer of my stuff.
• See several shows.
• Read Alexandra Stoddard books.
• Keep my calendar on the right page and my clothes right-side-out.
• Preserve and enhance my stability.
• Use my desk for evening scribbles.
• Kiss Josh more often.
• Encourage Oliver's interest in books.
• Become and remain a strong reader.

Today's Fairy.

Today, this is the Cicely Mary Barker fairy I want to be:

https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/236x/8d/6c/85/8d6c85f3b1e58eb4056fd54a48c028ab.jpg

I'd forgotten her until I was showing Bruce my flower fairy book yesterday. Look at her gorgeous hair! Dark, unruly, and lovely. I love her serene expression and her red headband. What do you suppose she's thinking?

If you find something beautiful, like a book full of fairies, pour it into your mind and repeat.

Wonderfully Pink Objects.

I think I've been underestimating Pink. Audrey Hepburn believed in it! Color is so important to my mood and level of engagement. Monochromatic displays, ads, and search results calm me and seem to turn on a light when my mind is dark. So I'm going to try to take more notice of pink.

• My lithium and Abilify--both are pink pills. They are probably making me overweight, but they are also probably keeping me alive.
• My pink and white sparkling eyeshadow quartet, Pixie, from Hard Candy.
• The light pink lining of my big Cinderella (live action) purse.
• Pink "for her" pens by Bic. They're just so pretty.
• The pink notepad with gold polka dots along the top: home of my endless to-do list.
• My big, 1-liter, pink water bottle.
• The pale pink zipper on the fairy pouch my mom made for me.
• Sparkling pink Stardust pens.
• Mrs. Grossman's pink palace stickers. 
• The pink blanket I sleep with every night. 
• My pink ballerina fairy in our bathroom.
• Our pink towels with white polka dots.
• The pink cupcakes on the dishtowel.
• My hot pink T-shirt that says, "Fairy Tales Come True."
• Pink jellyfish. Behind glass, they fascinate and soothe me.
• My big pink and gray hoodie from Queens.
• Pink envelopes for quick letters.

A Perfect Day.

Okay, this is just one version of perfect! I can think of many more.

Mom and Shane come over early and take Oliver to a park. Josh and I would marvel at our being alone in our house. Normally, this happens for, perhaps, 3 hours a week. We decide not to use the time for sleep. But we stay in our room and talk and make each other laugh, which we can do well.

We eat cinnamon rolls from a can. We shower and put on clean pajamas. I have no trouble remembering to take my meds, we all have the meds we need, and no shadow figures blink by the corners of my vision. I watch Josh play some of an RPG.

Oliver comes back, and we all snuggle for a while. Josh sends me to the guest room and my chaise where I read an entire book (a short one) and two whole magazines. The boys go out and return with Panera. I go through my story ideas and run with one. I have a first draft in a couple of hours, and both of my first readers (Josh and Bruce) love it.

We watch a family movie and get all the way through it. Josh starts a fire in the fireplace and take Oliver to bed. I scribble near the hearth and am almost asleep when Josh comes back to give me a massage and tickles.

A Bipolar Body.

My bipolar body is mine, and my experience won’t match that of others. But bipolar disorder is a physical experience as well as a mental and emotional one, and the medications dissolving in that body leave their own calling cards. One of my greatest frustrations with BSD is my inability to distinguish symptoms of the disease from side effects of the medication.

I’ve almost always been pretty thin. My Irish Dance legs were too muscular for me to really be slender. A few years ago, I got to the point of accepting that I would never really be thin below the waist. But lithium and probably Abilify (along with a pretty serious case of self-medicating with Dr. Pepper, I’m guessing) have, in the last two years or so, bestowed 40 pounds upon me. It’s shocking. It’s a shock every day. I apologize to Josh; I don’t look like the creative writing major wearing size 3 LEI jeans. He always finds something kind to say. So far, diet changes and exercise don’t seem to be helping.

I blame another problem on Abilify because—well, the timing seems right, and my psychiatrist thought it was likely. But it could be something else. A mania doorbell ring perhaps. My whole body nearly screams with burning tension. It feels lie fire ants in my bone marrow. I can’t reach them. I stretch compulsively, constantly, trying to escape it. But another medication, benztropine, almost completely took all that away. Thank God. Something that really works! But I’m not crazy about having to stack medications to cure side effects.

When mania is coming on, manifesting itself quickly, I feel burning and shuddering in my arms and legs. The light changes, becomes more fluorescent. Things look different—did they change the wallpaper? I move more—more tapping, more gestures, more looking around. My eyes seem to bounce. I sit forward, ready. Thoughts come stacked 3, 4, 5 deep. When I try to address them, they unravel and speed away. I want to talk. I need to talk. I trip over words. I use the wrong words. I lose ideas, unsure if they were brilliance or crap. I don’t have to sleep as much.

The beginning of mania, or hypomania, can be so empowering. But mania intensifies. Visions engulf me, usually terrible tragedies that my brain thinks it must work though in simulation. How would I get my family out of a burning car? The images don’t stop until I’ve figured out what to do. My brain seems to be shredding itself. Something compulsive like shopping can numb me a little, for a while. Only sleep seems to help me in the moment. I think my brain uses my sleep to heal, layer by layer of frozen or torched consciousness.

I used to experience something like temporary partial paralysis. I call it the Tin Man. I lose the ability to move, even to turn my head, rearrange my limbs, ask for help. People close to me have noticed. Luckily, this hasn’t happen for a long time.

Even in important situations like a meeting about my son, sometimes, my body and a lot of my mind just check out. It’s like the frustration of a computer restarting because of updates you know nothing about. My mind is stressed, so the body takes over and turns the volume way down.

I’m clumsy. I trip. I walk into walls and corners. I get dizzy. I have trouble with physical multi-tasking like walking and talking at once. A few months ago, I fell hard outside Dean and Deluca.

When I was on a high dose of lithium, I threw up almost every night. Even now that I’ve been on a lower dose for about 2 years, I still randomly throw up about once a month. Why does the body want to get rid of the medicine? The disease is smart, smarter than I am sometimes.

Depression makes me feel sluggish in every way. The part of myself that wants to go live, to do what I love, is in a dungeon, and I can barely hear her. Tin Man happens sometimes. I feel that I’m worthless, that I don’t belong, that I’m all wrong for my family and everything else. Thoughts float by, some about self-harm, splicing images between ordinary thoughts. Sometimes, I get scared. My face is vacant. Josh calls it the thousand-mile stare. The depressed bipolar body could sleep for days. It’s trying so hard to get better. But it’s like lying on my back in a swamp. Even if I get up and get out, I’ll still have to remember who I am and find my way back home.

I take 6 different medications to be stable. They don’t save me from everything, and they sometimes make me exhausted or make me throw up, but I know I have to stay committed to them.  I have to do all I can for the body and the brain.

Amazing Occurrences.

• I went to a psychiatrist, and with the psychologist's notes and about 20 minutes with me, he arrived at my diagnosis. I could believe something like that could happen so immediately. But with a couple of diagnostic codes, my life made more sense, both for my past and my future. I felt fear but also liberation.
• Josh. Just everything.
• When the NICU nurse brought Oliver to me hours after his birth and my surgery, Oliver looked at me with amused love, as if he wondered why I got so afraid. 
• Lying on my side when my blood crashed again, I was sinking from the air mattress to the hard frame beneath. I felt sure I was going to die. I'd done all I could for Oliver, and he seemed to be okay. Josh would have Oliver. I didn't tell Josh or my mom--I didn't want to scare them. I prayed to God, "Remember me." But I didn't die.
• I can go right back to the L&D room. So many vivid memories.
• I'm mostly stable. How? How long will it last?
• I walked into a deep friendship and haven't tried to escape (lately).
• We've been slowly getting Oliver everything he needs to deal with autism. So far, the seemingly impossible has somehow happened, so I'm trying to hold onto that.

My Healing Backpack.

I like stories in which special or magical objects or tools come to characters, often as gifts, and help with the battle or quest at hand.

I remember watching some fairy tale on TV or a video when I was a child. A girl was on some journey, and a magical character gave her, apparently, everything she would need. One was a blanket that, when she spread it, would suddenly hold a fancy picnic. Another was a pair of scissors that, instead of just cutting fabric, would produce and shape fabric. I can't remember the last one (If you know the third items or the name of the tale, please comment!), but I loved the idea of objects arriving as gifts or discoveries and being exactly what one needs.

I'm experiencing a journey with my mental health. It's going to continue for the rest of my life, and maps will change under my hands. I'll find rest and then one day, wake to ruin because the sanctuary has been moved without my knowledge.

Meds are one of the most powerful tools I carry with me. Others are therapy and, of course, the people who go with me and never give up on me. But back to tools, I'd need a Mary-Poppins bag to hold books, writing materials, music, and maybe some makeup just for fun. All these help me heal and heal again, often on a daily basis.

Writing and Madness.

I began keeping a journal seriously when I was 15. 16 years later, with some stops and restarts, I'm still keeping a journal. Writing can be a great treatment; it can also be an indicator of moods or cycles.

As a teenager, I wrote compulsively for long stretches of time at home and school. I think I was showing signs of mania then. At work, to-do lists bubbled and frothed into notebooks, legal pads, sticky notes. Coworkers teased me about it.

But I can see now how all that could have been a product of my brain losing control and losing hope. I used to keep a "work journal," usually a composition book or a small spiral notebook, to write while my students wrote or to take notes during visiting writers seminars. Looking back at those work journals, I can see the racing thoughts and the total confusion. I wrote nonsense on student papers. It was mortifying.

I'm a little afraid to look at old journals--would I find madness creeping in then, long before it began in earnest?

But writing is also a way to leave a faucet on until the water runs clear. Sometimes, I can get some of the crazy out of my brain and onto paper, where I can better contain it. Those quick scribbles at work held me together for those hours.

Writing was my haven long before I knew what was happening inside me. I didn't even know what questions to ask. My journal is a consistent part of my day. It grounds me, so my mind doesn't wander too far into confusion, fear, or despair.

I feel anxious when no pen or paper is right next to me, as I feel when I realize I forgot to bring my inhaler on a long walk. If I'm not writing, I may be getting depressed, or my thoughts may be too quick or too flammable for paper as I start showing signs of mania.

The writing is important in so many ways.

Another Kind of Teaching.

I don't see myself ever teaching the way I used to again. But I can imagine leading a group meeting or teaching a class on mental illness for consumers, families, and friends or the general public.

So many misconceptions exist, and they keep spreading, even for the consumers themselves. I knew so little about my own disease--all I had were stereotypes and some anecdotes. When facing mental illness, people often react with fear (because it's so alien an because TV and movies often depict people with mental illness as

• out-of-control, 
• violent, 
• or soulless

or with anger

• "Grow up." 
• "You're just lazy/moody/deceptive." 
• "Treatment is for people who are really sick." 
• "You're just like a typical teenager.". 

So with any class, I would start with those misconceptions, see where they come from, and see how we can replace them with true statements, which may reveal fear more than anything else

• "I acknowledge that you have a real illness even though it scares me." 
• "I'm afraid because I don't know how to relate to you or take care of you." 
• "There's no way I'll get all my questions answered."

But we can get close! It will just require a lot of forgiveness and a lot of courage all around.

Bipolar Traps: Self-Neglect and Punishment.

Anyone could probably tell that I was depressed as a teenager and even before that. Many would say I was just a sullen, typical teenager. Maybe. I remember hating myself and thinking others hated me too. I was not kind to myself. Thoughts of self-harm seemed to keep me steady in situations that might make me explode.

16 was a pocket of joy: I grabbed a hold of the identities of writer and reader. My writing and reading speed were a bit astonishing, and now, I think I can safely say that I was manic. But this mania had long stretch of beauty before it turned on me.

In my mid-20s, I had a time of confidence, hard work that reminded me I was worth something, and building myself instead of tearing and ripping.

But bipolar disorder is sneaky. I got increasingly sick. I couldn't do my work. I didn't love myself anymore, and I certainly didn't trust myself. I didn't take care of myself. I thought my delusions and hallucinations were ridiculous. I lost almost all faith in my intelligence and capabilities. Though I figured someone could help me, I didn't think anyone would. So I waited. I had my typical expectations of myself, and I shamed my inability to meet them. Some of that self-loathing returned.

Bipolar disorder is a part of me, so it knows just how to hurt me and lie to me. Taking that power away from the disorder is an almost-daily task.

Some of the Most Important Events in My Life.

• Moving to NC from TN had a huge impact on me. I imagine I'm quite a different person because of that move.
• Participating in children's drama during my pre-teen years. It gave my theatre obsession an outlet and helped me be less shy.
• Being close to Nick. When I was a younger teenager, he saved me over and over in different ways. He encouraged me to write all the time. 
• Seeing Phantom for the first time. I was 8, I think, and it changed my world forever. Music became magic.
• Going to ASU because I got a B.A. in English with a wonderful concentration in Creative Writing. And because I met Josh. 
• Teaching. I don't see myself doing it again, but 5 years taught me a lot about being an adult, interacting with people, and using my creativity.
• Going to a psychiatrist at my mom's insistence and getting two diagnoses.
• Taking meds. They have made life seem possible again.
• Being consistent, or trying to be so, with my meds, and being very patient with side effects, even when that meant throwing up almost every night.
• Waiting tables. I mostly hated it, but it taught me a lot about interacting with others and making sure never to treat servers the way some customers treated me.
• My parents' divorce has impacted me in ways I can't describe, but James and I did get two kind, brave stepparents. Thank God.
• Marrying Josh. I still think we are right for reach other. He's kind, generous, and loving during all my personal and familial trials.
• Oliver's birth. Mostly, this is important because it changed our lives and pried open our hearts. But it also made me believe that I could endure unrelenting pain and follow shocking instructions ("Don't push,") to save my child. It was also just a personal arena once Oliver had gone to the NICU. He was out and safe as I could have made him, but the battle wasn't over for me. I never could have imagined all that happened. But now, I"m pretty sure I'm courageous.

Good Habits to Form.

• Mentally link something to my morning dose of meds. Maybe I can tie the thought to the first time I pick up a pen each day.
• Do one load of laundry and put away one load a day as needed.
• Put away clothes right when I take them off.
• Do more art time with Oliver.
• Read aloud to Oliver, including long books.
• Learn something new about my disorder and Oliver's.
• Try the Daily Bible.
• Read enough often enough to keep reading easy and thrilling for me.
• Clean my face every night.
• Touch Josh when I pass him.
• Light candles more often.
• Know when a book should stay or go to 2nd and Charles. Keep a box for this.
• Keep exercise sessions a week. 
• Find other mood-stabilizing exercise.
• Try for regular naps, so perhaps I won't be so tired all day.
• Tell other people when I have nice thoughts about them.  

Choices I've Made to Take Care of Myself.

The first choice I remember making to take care of myself was not to drink alcohol. I'd seen people change. Over the years I became more an more aware about how badly alcohol, drugs, smoking, etc. would affect me and that my obsessive nature would kick in if I weren't careful. This seems to offend some people, but the judgment is on me: I know I can't handle it. I was blessed to find one of the few men in existence who not only had never tried anything but also agreed to join me. This was to make me feel safe and to avoid encouraging a breach. If alcohol were in my fridge, I'd probably reach for it eventually. Now, I know that drugs and drinking are especially dangerous for people who have mental illness, and I feel good about the choices I've made.

I've also chosen to remain compliant with my meds. Unfortunately, I forget a dose fairly often, My friend texts me a reminder every night, and I still miss it sometimes! But I have every intention to take my meds and let them help me. If I feel well, a lot of it is probably thanks to meds.

I've decided not to let books and writing slip away from me. They define me more than any disease can.

Frightening Questions.

• Am I mourning my intelligence, or am I mourning mania?
• Has my "real" self always been kind of lukewarm?
• How much has mania influenced or controlled my work as a teacher?
• Is mania what people actually liked about me?
• Has my Myers-Briggs personality type changed?
• Will I ever lose this weight?
• How much has bipolar disorder shaped my personality?
• What might I have done or tried so far if I didn't have panic disorder?
• How many of my decisions have come out of fear?
• What does my therapist think of me?
• Am I, fully revealed, lovable?
• Without mania, would I have made so many mistakes?
• How much do I want to keep of my manic self?
• Was "going public" the right choice?
• Why do I have such trouble reading?
• Can I be healthy and keep the interest of my favorite people?

Two Major Issues: Accept or Fight?

Since before I had my diagnoses, I have felt intelligence dripping out of me. I'm simply not as smart or capable as I used to be. I'm blessed to have kept up with paperwork and appointments for Oliver. I can hardly handle anything else.

I've been taking lithium for over two years and Abilify almost as long. I have gained an astonishing amount of weight in that time. I've had to buy several articles of clothing to supplement what still fits.

I can either fight or accept these problems. I can read widely even when it's difficult. I can ask Josh to explain what's going on in the world. I can do crossword puzzles! I'm on the treadmill twice a week, and I've cut back on soda, but I can do more.

Maybe I need to have a temporary acceptance as long as I keep trying to fight. People I love still say I'm smart and beautiful, so I also just need to believe them.

Reasons to Celebrate.

I have been stable for about 3 months. I still have some troubles (anxiety, major short-term memory problems, occasional racing thoughts), and I don't always know the difference between symptom and side effect, which frustrates me. But I don't have soaring-then-crashing moods or deep darkness. I get confused but not as much. I'm usually able to read and write at least a little I'm well enough to reach for the people and things that make me feel like or at least imagine a whole and well version of myself.

My stepdad, Shane, visited recently and asked to watch Riverdance. It reminded me of the joy and the sense of control dance gave me. My mind slowed down and rested in contentment.

I'm also trying to learn how to give people opportunities to show me love I can feel or register. I'm trying to be kinder and more generous. I'm constantly praying, "Let me only have kind thoughts," and I have been trying to start speaking those kind thoughts.

Taking Care of Myself.

My husband Josh and my friend Bruce often tell me to take care of and be kind to myself. And it isn't in a vague "Take care" way. They have taken classes and read books and articles to understand what I'm facing. So when they tell me to take care of myself, I take them seriously. But it's not an easy task. Here is some of what I can do:

• Talk with close friends and family about my illness. Even when I'm stable, it's still a part of me. I know isolation and denial are dangerous.
• Have a fact checker. If my thoughts seem feverish, dark, or just off, I have a few people I can trust to walk me though the troubling thoughts and help me see reality.
• Rest. Even now that I'm mostly stable (and we hope it lasts!), Josh often takes a look at me and tells me to go lie down. The quiet and dark calm me, and naps seems to heal parts of my brain.
• Laugh. This breaks some of the tension I almost always feel. I have some wonderful people around me who can make me laugh and blow apart my sorrow like it's a condemned building.

RCTs: Reduce Chaos Tasks.

Normally, I barely notice a mess, but it still probably makes me anxious. Then, sudenly, the mess is unsettling or unbearable. I may feel panic rising from my chest to my throat. This is unfortunate because I make a lot of messes (projects!) an because bipolar can damage my ability to clean and organize (all that planning and problem solving). But there are a few ways I apply my commitment to reducing chaos, an important goal for anyone with mental illness) to the work of cleaning and organization.

• When I leave or enter a room or have decided to tackle a mess, I try to put or throw away 10 items. It's bearable, and it usually makes a noticeable difference, so I'm less afraid of the mess.
• I light a candle and open window or sliding doors to freshen the apartment.
• I set out a bowl of vinegar when a room smells stale.
• I have a designated rack spot in the closet to hold empty hangers. I don't have to search for them, and they take up space and crowd my clothes.
• I make use of decorative boxes (millions are at Michaels!) for anything that doesn't fit elsewhere, such as letters, scarves, or anything that is a duplicate or an extra I'll use later. I have these boxes on top of the kitchen cabinet, in my closet, and in my nightstand. 
• I use under-the-bed boxes for sheets, gift wrap, and journals.
• I ask for help. If something is really overwhelming me and I have no idea how even to start, I ask Josh to do it or help with it. He's usually just happy to know that I trust him with a task and that he can make my life a little easier...which, of course, he does every day.

 And that's a start.

Tasks That Could Soothe Bipolar Disorder Symptoms.

• Frame and display a photo of people who have loved and supported you. Seeing the photo will remind you that you are not alone.
• Play with color. Color a page in a coloring book (for adults or kids), arrange your books by color, or put together a few colorful outfits for coming events.
• Dress to feel empowered. Clothes influence us and others, which is why they can be well worth your time, money, and consideration.
• Take one of your favorite childhood books and read it alone. If you don't own your favorite childhood books, buy them--not for your children but for yourself. 
• Rearrange the blankets on your bed. A smooth bed is so soothing.
• Buy a new book. Invest in your future relaxation and happiness (and get to them as quickly as possible).
• Take a bath. I know that even a 5- or 10-minute bath can reset me.
• Read poems aloud. You don't have to "get" them. Just give your brain something to chew on besides itself.
• Go for a brisk walk. Don't think about weight loss; think about where and how you want to be strong.
• Remove as many small discomforts as possible. Tags in your clothes, underclothes that are too tight, mediocre pillows...They are a big deal. Fix them.
• In every room of your home, be sure something reminds you of what you love. I don't just mean your kids; I mean something connected to your life-sustaining passion. By the way, I think it is wise to have a life-sustaining passion that is not connected to or dependent on one's children. 
• Use sunshine. If you're at home and the sun is out, try to move your activities with the sun. My guest room gets great afternoon light, so I sometimes write or read there in the afternoon.
• Go public (when you're ready). I recently "came out" to most of the people I know--they all know I have bipolar disorder. It's a relief. Those closest to me already knew. But I even extended it to Facebook and made this blog public. I didn't want to hide it if it might help someone.
• Just say, "I love you." Do this for someone who has never heard it from you. Who knows when he or she last heard it at all?

More Time, Please.

I’ve been stable for 3 or 4 more months. I haven’t had much to say on this blog in that time. Instead, I’ve journaled, read several books, worked on my other blog, and bound myself more tightly to those closest to me. Mom said that this was the most stable she’d seen me since Oliver’s birth. 

I’ve also been focused on my son Oliver, who will start attending special education preschool on August 31. Getting to that point involved meetings and so much paperwork; it was like having a job again.

But last night, I felt a sadness that had no object. I was lethargic despite an irritable energy. And today, I began to tremble all over, physically visible only in my hands. Thoughts became difficult to catch.

These are small symptoms and may simply come from normal weariness and anxiety. My child will go to school for the first time. I’ll have to teach myself how to be alone, how to stay active and connected to what matters. 

How will I do that if I’m sick?

I want to read. Scribble. Write down others’ perfect words. See movies. Clean up. Cuddle. Smile involuntarily. 

I’m asking for more time. I want to experience enough peace and contentment that I can remember and reach for them when illness bites into my neck and shakes me hard. 

I’m not asking for a cure—I know it’s not possible, not yet. I’m just asking for more time.

Things That Shouldn't Be Scary.

• A person braiding someone else's hair in fast, distorted motion. White knuckles quick as spiders.
• Josh with a full beard.
• What I see out of the corner of my eye. 
• Pool toys that have sunk to the bottom.
• Dragonflies.
• Sunken boats in aquariums.
• Memories of giving birth.
• Staying overweight.
• People drinking.
• Not having a surface to write on.
• Certain extremely long books.
• The possibility that I am permanently no longer as smart as I was.
• Small gaps in my short-term memory.
• Chores to which I have a strong resistance that borders on fear.
• Mannequins (museums, not malls).
• The thought of teaching again.

Dealing with Pain.

"I did the only thing I could do to deal with my pain." --Alexandra Stoddard

What can I do to deal with my pain? What have I done? I hope I'm not holding onto it. It lifts sometimes.

Writing is my primary outlet. If it's on paper, it rests, at least for a while. I can coach myself through the pain. Pain can also help me build something new. I build little castles of words where the pain can live.

I let others hold it. Being on the phone with Mom calms me down. Josh watches me closely. Bruce listens endlessly.

When I'm hurting, reading is nearly impossible. But if I try and don't let frustration (and then pain) win, I can usually experience a reader's peace. I focus away from the pain or fear. I feel constructive. I give my mind something new to gnaw on.

How to Reset.

Reseting is an important skill for anyone. It helps the body and mind heal from internal pain or struggle. It also helps one face the world again.

Some people might do this with a glass of wine or a long drive. But for people with bipolar disorder, the reset may be much more complicated, and it's more critical because one can only bear the darkness so long. One might need multiple resetting techniques. Here are some of mine. I was diagnosed two years ago, so I'm just getting started.

• Listen to music and pace or dance. 
• Clean something (this can help take the energy out of a rage).
• Go to or watch a movie. I get totally distracted.
• Take a nap or just lie alone in the dark.
• Make happy lists like goals and wishes.

I'm Glad I Finally...

• Went to a psychiatrist. He (along with the help of an impressive notetaking Psy.D) quickly gave me the answer to the question I'd asked since I was ten or earlier. I still wouldn't have gone if my mother hadn't insisted.
• Got on track with my meds. My lithitum level is just right, and I'm having fewer side effects in general. 
• Found a good therapist (just by luck or blessing) and invested in therapy--I invested thought, trust, emotions, and hope--much more than the copay. I've been seeing my therapist for two years!
• Had a baby. Josh and I had major worries and never seemed to consider the idea for a long time. But if we had waited any longer, it might have been even worse than the ordeal we endured together. 
• Dyed my hair (thanks to Mom). I love the black dye.
• Communicated to figure out how I can help Oliver more.

Stop Being Dashed and Do Something!

This is from My Fair Lady. When a character goes missing, all one other character can do is say, "Well, I'm dashed!"

I've certainly felt dashed a number of times, as has my family. I think we tried to stop being dashed and start doing something, especially as the dreadful situations mounted and multiplied.

A couple of months before my diagnosis, I realized that I almost certainly had bipolar disorder. I was dashed. But then, when the report and diagnosis came, the surprise had passed, and I wasn't ready to face some of the realities about the disease--taking medication forever, deadling with side effects, and constantly changing prescriptions...and the fact that nothing would ever cure me. But I did something.

I checked out books, both nonfiction self-help and memoirs. Books were probably my best option for learning about my illness. Josh went to a class for family members. I set up a council of 3 (plus professionals) to help me make decisions. I went to therapy.

I tried to do something every day. I need to get back to that! And I'm open to ideas.

 

Digging the Dread out of Life.

I've struggled with dread for many years. When I was a child, I wrestled with guilt. Before I left my job last year, I felt dread over it every day. I might feel dread over almost anything: a chore, an appointment, even just getting out of bed. It's sickening and almost paralyzing. Medication and therapy have helped a lot, but I still find myself dreading even activities I know I'll love.

I don't often delve in and question the dread. What could it be about? Often, for great chunks of my life, I have seen the world as a generally good place where things work out. That belief has been bruised or worse in recent years. I'm glad to know now that at least some of this is due to bipolar disorder and panic disorder.

The best ways I've found to deal with dread so far are preparation and distraction. If I have to take Oliver to an appointment, I gather all the paperwork I could need, figure out what to wear, and go over directions with Josh the day before. I've also found that showtunes distract me as I get ready or do a dreadful chore. Any other structure or routine, like posting on my blog first thing in the morning, can help too. I keep looking for small solutions.

What Am I Afraid Of?

• Being alone--the council betraying me somehow and my being unable to reinstate them. I don't think this would every happen, but it's an irrational fear I have.
• Insurance not paying for what we need (a more realistic fear!).
• Seeing things, animals, and people that aren't there.
• Hearing voices that don't just mock me but tell me what to do. That hasn't happened. I hope it won't.
• Objects in water--shipwrecks, corpses, and more benign objects such as deck furniture and towels.
• Stinging insects--only since I had an allergic reaction.
•  Being trapped with nothing to read and no way to write.
• Wide spiral staircases, especially the one at the Biltmore. My knees almost get too weak to climb.
• Oliver's falling out of his window.
• Losing more of my intelligence to disease and medication.
• Losing more of my memory.
• Offending one of the people I love most.
• Doing strange things in my sleep.
• Hiding items without remembering.
• Being away from Oliver for more than a night (I've only done one night twice!).
• Being a mediocre mother.
• Someone's or something's stripping me of my sense of identity, which could happen in so many small and large ways.

Tying the Ribbon Anyway.

--M. Moezzi

I don't remember the context of this, but I like its sound. It makes me think of wrapping  a gift. And even though the intended recipient is suddenly injured or worse, you finish tying the ribbon before rushing out. Maybe it's a way of preparing--a tiny moment of calm beauty.

Small, pretty things, like a curled ribbon or a wide satin ribbon, can calm or re-energize me. But if I don't pay attention, I don't always notice.

Glints of beauty are worth the effort even when and maybe especially when I'm quite ill. Even when everything seems pointless and dark, I can still tie a metaphorical or literal ribbon and plant a seed of wellness and contentment.

What I Need to Accept about Myself.

For the last few weeks, I've been so absorbed in Oliver's special needs that I've barely considered my own. I almost forget it's real, and I know that's dangerous.

• I need to accept that I have a serious illness. I have to stay aware and informed, learning all I can.
• I need to accept that I will sometimes have doubts about this.  Doubts are okay, but I have to keep going.
• I need to accept that I will almost certainly be on medication for the rest of my life.
• Worse, I need to accept that medication won't work perfectly. Frequent, frustrating changes and adjustments will be part of my life. 
• I do need friends. And they can help me with the rest.

In Life's Backpack.

This is Diana Sidorevich's thought.

I think a strong sense of self and purpose need to line the backpack. This may grow out of religious or spiritual practice.

Literacy is next for me. I think that if I could still keep and use my literacy, I could bear a lot. Besides, reading is one of the best ways to learn. Reading is always required and always available.

Self-expression is the other side of literacy. My backpack would, at the very least, hold a pen and a notebook. Of course, expression will take different forms for different people. My mom might have knitting needles and yarn in her backpack.

Medication: for some people, this is vital. It's not perfect--it's just another tool. But without it, items may begin to disappear from the backpack.

Staying Healthy.

What I'm Doing to Stay Healthy

Right now, I:

• walk twice a week
• read daily
• write daily
• listen to music
• cuddle with Oliver
• talk to Mom regularly
• cuddle with Josh
• cultivate a powerful friendship
• continue to avoid smoking, alcohol, and drugs completely
• practice trusting others
• go to therapy every other week

And What Else Can I Do?

I can also:

• read another book about BSD
• read another book about ASD
• watch uplifting movies
• walk 3 or 4 times a week
• swim
• get another case manager through health insurance
• finish my BSD workbook
• clean and pick up more (reduce chaos!)
• eat better
• cuddle more

My Best Reasons for Joy.

• Oliver is alive despite our terrible birth experience.
• I'm alive.
• My mother and I are close friends.
• My husband is kind, gentle, and patient with me. 
• He also seems genuinely to adore me.
• I got some good step parents.
• I have most of what I want, abstractly and concretely.
• I have a wonderful friend who is sensitive to my needs and challenges and who makes me feel good about myself.
• I have family friends who encourage me and my writing. They treat it as more than a hobby.
• Books! They exist, and I have access to them. 
• Easy access to clean water, especially since lithium makes me so thirsty.
• Easy access to movies ($3 on Amazon)
• A good ten years' worth (or more) of paper and pens.

I WIsh I Could.

• French braid my hair
• Play the piano
• Sing in a rock band
• Understand my illness
• Understand what is happening with Oliver
• See more clearly what should stay and what should go (clothes, books...)
• Talk to Mom on the phone every day without bugging her
• Make money as an at-home editor
• Read more quickly with more focus
• See my therapist every week instead of every other
• Use my chaise more
• Give up on a book without feeling guilty
• Make Josh feel more secure
• Have a more open heart
• Sew clothes and bags
• Go on a road trip with Mom
• Have a closer relationship with my brother
• Enjoy each day--make joy the strongest element

To Write:

"Be awake, curious, and ready to share." --Elizabeth Berg

Awake. How often do I avoid something or turn away from someone? It's probably unconscious most of the time. It's like sleeping through life. I do often want to sleep through an internal or external problem. I feel that sleep helps me heal my burned brain. But. Sleepwalking does not make a good writer or even much of a person. Literature calls attention to realities (even if it's fantasy) I hadn't quite noticed before. A write must pay attention and stay awake for the work.

Curiosity is such a great quality. Josh and Bruce, the two people I talk with the most, are highly curious, especially as readers. I wish I were most curious in general, but I guess I'm always curious about my obsessions...and sometimes about my illness. Why does a write have to be curious? Without small discoveries of characters and art and the world, one's writing may not be vibrant and empathic.

"Ready to share" probably does not apply to me often--though I do talk far too much when I'm with Bruce. So what do I have to share in writing? In writing practice, I share almost anything, but no one is likely to read that. Another difficulty is that some stories--some of the most impactful ones--are not only mine to share. I don't know how to handle that. I'll have to play around with fiction, whether or not I ever show it to anyone.

Awake, curious, ready to share. I will work toward these and see how my writing (or life) changes.

The Most Beautiful Version of Myself.

--Sarah Addison Allen

Audrey Hepburn said that the prettiest are the happy ones. Happiness probably looks good on me. I have a photo I keep framed on my desk (It's also at Mom's house and in Josh's office--and it was in my office) because I look happy, and I do like the way I look in it.

Tension and fear probably age me. If I take Xanax when I need it, maybe it will help with that. For a long time, I couldn't relax my brow. It was furrowed even when I smiled. Now, it's smooth much more often.

I think my other blog expresses or draws out some internal beauty. That kind of writing soothes me, and according to the few comments I've received, soothes and inspires readers as well.

Josh is always enamored of me when we are at Michaels. Maybe marveling at and daydreaming about all I could do with those supplies makes me look pretty. Yes, it's hard to imagine someone who busting with marvel and wonder not looking good.

I feel beautiful when I make the people I love laugh.

I feel beautiful when I go somewhere with Josh or Bruce because they both seem pleased to be seen with me.

I feel pretty when I dress up for the theatre. I feel pretty just writing that sentence. And writing makes me feel like a carrier of beauty. Some strings of words are beautiful, and that feels like enough.

Wearing fun, sparkly makeup and lovely costume jewelry make me feel pretty.

When I feel pretty, I'm a little better at facing the world.

What Paralyzes Me.

This is a difficult topic. Sometimes, I feel heaviness or numbness in my limbs or whole body. Moving is nearly impossible. Josh has sometimes helped me unfold myself and get to bed.

• A sense that I have completely misjudged a person--believing him or her to be better in some way.
• A sudden change in major or important plans. Even some smaller changes (like going to a different movie) challenge me. My internal structure is so fragile, like a dollhouse made of icicles.
• Jealousy. It can freeze me.
• A phone conference (which, luckily, I don't have to do now).
• Money troubles (which can paralyze my mind if not my body).
• Fear of losing my family (my darkened mind is quick to provide scenarios).

I've been on a good mix of medications lately, and the paralysis ("the Tin Man," as I call it) has not happened for a good while. I'm grateful for that.

Ways to Grow.

Isn't this part of the Reading Rainbow song? Okay, how can I grow?

• Listen to Josh and to my brother James...and to both having a conversation. I usually don't know what they are talking about.
• Learn about the disorders, especially autism and bipolar disorder, that affect my family. Read the books. Ask the professionals questions. Pass on the knowledge or books to other family members or friends. This will make the disorders lose some of their power because we'll (at least sometimes) be ready.
• Plow through a long, difficult book. Don't worry about all the vocabulary and allusions; just read it. I'll become and feel like a stronger reader.
• Figure out how to get more intimacy in my marriage. We're so busy with work and medical issues, but without intimacy, our partnership will weaken, and everything will suffer for it.
• Vary the kinds of books I read--poetry, essays, short stories, novels, memoirs, and other non-fiction. But at least every other book should be for simple enjoyment--though I know that will help me grow as a reader too.
• Give myself challenging writing prompts. It's a good stretch.
• Be brave and open up about myself, maybe finding more allies on the way.

Invest.

"Be willing to invest in yourself financially, emotionally, and spiritually." --Elizabeth Berg

I think invest was my word of the year last year or the year before. Investment expects a return but not necessarily a quick one. Scribbling I do now could become part of a memoir five years from now.

Investing financially probably means acquiring the tools and space for one's art or one's wellness. Luckily, I can write almost anywhere. Some people need a studio. I have pens, paper, and a laptop. I might invest in stamps to send off submissions, most of which will come back to me. Sometimes, I invest in something that will make writing more attractive, such as a beautiful journal.

But we also invest in our health. I have hospital bills and so many therapy and medication copays. The cost is massive, but I have to invest in my stability, even when nothing seems to be working.

Emotionally, I'm sometimes not even able to connect to characters in a book. How can I invest in myself emotionally? And how is spiritual investment different? Investing in theatre tickets is both financial and spiritual. Emotionally, I need to invest in compassion for myself--allow myself to feel. Therapy is an emotional investment too--one that does not give instant results.

Spiritually, I pray, and I use affirmations to keep me from hitting the floor or floating away.

What Is Grace?

Grace is undeserved forgiveness or credit. In AP English during my senior year of high school, I was extremely distracted. I turned in a paper and got it back with a low but passing grade and the word Grace (written with the sparkly pens she always used for grading--I had to admire that). I always think of that when I hear or see the word. Many time, I wanted to write that on my own students' work.

But grace is also a quality people have--a way of moving and interacting. Cinderella descending the staircase at the ball and then remaining calm when the prince arrived. One of the best compliments I've received was "Were you a ballerina?"

I like the sound of the word. It would be a lovely name though a constant reminder could be maddening for an awkward girl.

I guess we can also bestow grace on people...the small or medium annoyance or mistake that I choose not to mention. The hurtful comment that I just let go. Thinking about this makes me want to find a rubber stamp with grace in beautiful script and then go around stamping things.

Even in the most painful situations or ongoing realities, grace is present. I've seen it with my son. The grace that glows around him isn't just for him--it's for us as we remember how blessed we are to have him. And we know that every challenge can make us better parents for him.

Avoiding a Life of "Quiet Desperation."

This was Thoreau, yes? Do most people really live that way? Do I?

I'm not especially quiet. I probably tell nearly everything to Mom, Josh, and Bruce--at least, I tell one of them. I scribble, which is private but still powerful. I have two blogs, and most of what I need to say fits into one or the other. Sometimes, I'm too good at hiding how I feel. Now that I'm not working, though, I don't try so hard to hide. I'm also not always as good at acting as I think.

Desperation. Sometimes I'm desperately tired, as if I can't do another thing. I can be desperate for affection, sometimes suddenly. Maybe people would be different if they got more hugs. I can add more hugs. Simple, but maybe effective.

Affection, words, and rest. If I have too little, I falter. I need hugs and hand holding and such. I need books stacked around me (my internal structure seems to start decomposing rapidly if I'm not reading--some book, any book). And I need to rest. Sometimes I need an actual nap. Josh and I think it helps my brain heal itself. Sometimes, I need a social break. Being social drains me, so I need dark and quiet and stillness to recover.

These three categories are non-negotiable. I can't let go of them. Josh sometimes demands that I go nap. I've been requesting more hugs from him. Asking is often the most difficult part. I need to learn what I need and how to get it or ask for it. Often, the offer is better than I'd hoped. I have people who are willing to help me get better and stay stable. I need to be brave about asking.

All I Want Is.

• A psychiatrist who is always available and helpful.
• A bathtub full of Gelly Rolls.
• A 10-year anniversary date with Josh.
• For my brother to be safe and happy.
• Better reading stamina.
• To meet my first babies in heaven.
• A sticker store within walking distance.
• To sticker and stamp shop with Nanna again.
• More general energy and motivation.
• A better relationship with God.
• To lose 30 pounds.
• To watch more movies.
• To have writing dates at Coffee Scene.
• To have clear skin.
• To stay home without problems.
• To help Oliver effectively, whatever his struggles may be.
• Healthy hair.
• To go help my younger selves somewhere.
• An easier time with hygiene.
• Getting my self-worth some way apart from a job.
• A representative to set up all the appointments and do all the paper work.
• For  Prozac to work.
• Love I can feel.

Metaphorical Muscles I Should Tone.

Hmm. I guess I need to tone my heart. I need to feel and show my love more. I think I'm still holding back with everyone to varying degrees. I can work on it with small gestures, thinking about what the other person needs to hear or experience. I need to heal and get fit again in my heart. If I can't connect enough to the people closest to me, how can I connect with fictional characters in my reading or, more importantly, in my work?

I need to tone up my right arm--my writing arm. I don't have much of a callous on my middle finger, which suggests that I haven't been writing enough. I write down prompts and interesting phrases--ideas I can return to when I feel up to it. But I need to get stronger. I should be writing more...becoming more literary in every way while staying faithful to myself.

I need to tone my ten fingers. I do personal and practice writing by hand. But a keyboard means product focus--working toward a piece...story, poem, novel pages, blog posts. I haven't been writing for product at all. I need to get back there. Will I have to wake up super early for that kind of workout?

I need to strength my mind. That may mean beating my head against an uninteresting, difficult, 600-page book. The attempt will sharpen my mind. But insightful, inspirational, and magical books are good for hope and recovery.

Unrestrained Delight.

This phrase is from something by Janis Owens. Wow. This is not something I experience often.

When I was going through a manic obsession with swimming, I seemed to fall in love with water. I sometimes swam twice a day. I loved colls showers, and I put water on my wrists and arms when I was overwhelmed. When I couldn't sleep, Josh was drag a wet washcloth over my back. It was a frenzy. Of course, lithium was also making me insanely thirsty. So water was magical all around. I needed to be in it, and I needed to fill myself with it.

I've had other manic delights, such as buying work clothes. I hunted for absurd deals online. I waited for the packages. The guilt was not enough to fight the delight.

But unrestrained delight doesn't come only from illness. I often feel great delight as a show begins--the house lights go down, the orchestra tunes up. Usually, I have no idea what I'm getting into. But often, the delight continues through the show. I used to have unrestrained delight just over showtunes and programs full of bright photos.

I feel unrestrained delight some time in a bookstore, paper-rich gift shops, unexpected favorites like fairies and Disney princesses--so much to see and ponder.

I usually feel joy when I start a new journal or new book. So much possibility is there. I feel that delight when I open a gift--who chose this? Why? What wonder can I do with this and the love in it?

The Life I've Made.

I have made a life in which books are valuable. Oliver sees Josh and I reading every day. Josh and I respect each other's need to read, and we encourage each other though our tastes are different.

Writing is also valuable. If one of us needs to write something, everything else is immediately on hold. I have journals and notepads everywhere. Pens are plentiful and easy to find. Having the tools at hand is useful and inspiring.

I've made theatre a big part of my life through season tickets, single tickets and showtunes. I know I expand when I'm in the audience, taking in all that sound and color. And Bruce and I bond over each show.

I've made a life in which two gentle, kind men give me a great deal of love and attention. I know they will watch over me. I hope that I enrich their lives in return.

I've made a life in which fantasy--fairies, mermaids, fairy tales--has an important place. My illustrated books, our movies, and our decor all show that. They are like a map back to myself. Josh has always supported that.

I've also made a life in which it's okay to be sick--at least, I've encouraged that in small ways through books I've read and conversations I have. I always tell someone what is going on with me. All those close to me have accepted my illness.

As much as seems possible right now, I've made a quiet, safe, rich environment and life. I'll think about what else I can do. 

WRAP: Wellness Recovery Action Plan.

A group Mary Ellen Copeland led created this plan. It reminds me that I should work on the Bipolar II workbook. I'm sure it will help even if I have Bipolar I.

I like that it's an action plan--not something philosophical. I wonder if a template exists.

I'll start with what I think Wellness and Recovery mean for me.

Wellness

1. 8 hours of sleep with little interruption
2. Normal weight (not over)
3. Three normal meals 
4. Regular exercise that gets easier as I get fitter.
5. Dental work
6. Regular quality time with Josh
7. Regular therapy

Recovery

1. Little heavy resistance
2. Knowledge about my disease
3. Feeling more able to tell my story
4. Better ability to manage or debunk stress
5. Pliable sadness--not the anvil of depression
6. Ability to engage in my favorite activities and enjoy them. 

So how do I get there?

• Resume abs and other exercises
• Walk more. Walk to Bruce's for walks and movies
• Complete bipolar workbook
• Read another book on BSD
• Schedule time for Josh and me
• Push myself to read or write even if it's just a little
• Soothe stress with music
• Schedule appointments well ahead

Love and Fear.

"There are only two emotions, love and fear." John Green

I think these are probably the two basic emotions, the base on which other emotional experiences build. I probably wouldn't agree were it not for a therapist I saw years ago. I was talking about someone's anger; she said, "Anger comes from hurt. Hurt comes from fear." I've thought about her words often since then. When I feel angry, I ask myself--how am I hurt? How can I address that hurt, and will that change my anger? Then I ask--am I hurt because I'm afraid? What raw fear did this touch? How can I address this fear directly?

Unless I figure out the fear, the anger or hurt can hold me too tightly. I think my main, basic fears are

• self-contamination (substances, toxic relationships...)
• self-haram (that I may get too sick to know that it won't help)
• rejection, especially from my parents
• not being able to find my family (apocalyptic movies are too scary for me because of this)
• people's  not believing me over something vital
• actually plunging into madness

Do other emotional experiences sprout from love? I can't dig into it the same way. I can see how admiration, need, desire, and hope spring from love. I guess the mission is to fight fear and its offspring and to recognize and nurture the love. That makes life seem simpler than it is. Or maybe life is simple--just not easy. I look at a situation and say, "Okay. Am I going to address this with fear or love?"

She Designed a Life She Loved.

I saw this on a piece of wooden wall art at Francesca's.

I don't think I've done a lot of this. Mostly, we've reacted to what has happened, so we get a degree, move, change jobs.

We've lived in our current apartment for almost 4 years. Our second longest stay was about 1 1/2 years in a cute duplex. For some reason, I smell cinnamon when I think of that place. Cinnamon and hot carpet. Choosing where to live is a huge part of designing a life. It affects every detail, day and night.

Job is another massive design element, one that relates to finding a home. Not working is sometimes an option. I think this is something I will love, especially if it eventually gives me some alone time to keep up with the house and uphold my creative practices.

Simple, reading (and, for me, writing) has a massive impact on the depth and courage and beauty of daily life. Days are often flat without a book.

Stability, for me, will probably include scheduling. Josh and I use our synced Google calendars every day. I need to see what it coming, when I'll need the car, when something will interfere with my routines. It helps me know and feel where I am.

Relaxation, Comfort, Leisure, Self-Expression

I read somewhere that these were essential for people with bipolar disorder. Of course, they're also important in some form for anyone.

These seem similar, but I guess they aren't really. I like taking a good look at similar words to see their subtle differences.


People with bipolar disorder probably need Relaxation to calm anxiety and to make sleep easier. Relaxation may quiet racing thoughts and pressured speech. But it's hard to get motivated to relax. It might have to be a scheduled activity, something that one does regardless of mood state. Closing one's eyes in sunshine. Lying down and praying. Meditating or doing yoga. Allowing someone else to do a pressing task. 

Comfort is a path to healing, and it can make mood states more bearable. A warm aromatherapy bath . Cool water on one's wrists and arms. Soup with a big spoon. Snuggling into a corner with a generous blanket. Rereading old letters or special E-mails. 

Leisure is a break from work. Since many people with bipolar disorder have trouble with executive functioning, work and house and family management may be especially exhausting and depleting. Leisure is a chance to connect to onself and one's interests. Depression kills connection and passion. But a stretch of time may awaken a person, whether he or she is ill or stable. When we have time to do whatever we want, we get to see what matters. 

Self-Expression makes good use of maddening energy. The bipolar mind is wild--both dangerous and fascinating. It needs at outlet--probably more than one. A person with bipolar disorder needs at least one patient listener who will hear racing thoughts yet also be comfortable in silence.