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.