The Face of Wellness.

After my diagnosis a few years ago, I felt both enlightened and deeply confused. Part of me said "At last! I understand why I'm different and why so much of life has been so difficult and painful." But the rest of me only had questions:

• At what points in my life have I been sick?
• What does mania look like for me?
• What choices of mine were illness-driven-and for which choices can I forgive myself?

But though I had many questions about illness, I had even more about wellness:

• Am I capable of wellness if I do everything right? And am I capable of doing everything right?
• What does wellness look like for me?
• When have I been well in the past?
• What's me, and what's illness--and to what degree are these the same? Who will I be when I am well?

I know these are difficult questions. But I'm trying to identify symptoms, this time, of wellness.

• Low anxiety about ordinary actions like driving or checking out with a cashier.
• Engaged, happy reading.
• Moderate energy.
• Remembering to take my pills.
• Occasional, special shopping without compulsion.
• No desperate sorrow or exhausting happiness.
• Appropriate crying.
• Connecting with Oliver.
• Fluid thought.
• Fluid story telling.
• Regular writing.
• Smoother handwriting.
• Seeking laughter.

Wild.

I love the word wild. I think that started when I was little-ish and watched a movie or show in which a guy sang "Wild Thing" to a girl. I think being wild must be pretty awesome.

As I've grown up, I've embodied the word in many ways. When I was 16 I was wild with creative energy. I wrote wildly whenever I could. I practically ate books. I think this was one of my first rounds of mania though of course I wouldn't get a diagnosis for over a decade. This was a sparkling mania--a great joy and wild belief in my uniqueness and worth, probably grandiosity. I still think of it as one of the best periods of my life.

I was wild at 17 too, but this mania was like metal, shining but dangerous. I made terrible choices. And after that, I went wild trying to escape my life (and probably myself).

I've been wild about water and swimming. My eye makeup is often wild (a sign I'm feeling well or working toward wellness). I've loved people wildly. Sometimes, my teaching was probably wild, with wild expectations. I feel wild when I see a show that stuns me.

Some wildness is good, and I hope I will keep some of it. It's not just the disease; it's also me.

Wet But Thirsty.

No rain is in the forecast. The earth looks wet but thirsty. How often have I been that way? I may be knee-deep in blessings but unable to absorb any of them, soaked with love but unable to feel it. Depression does this. Someone can say, "So and so loves you," and "So and so needs you." A depressed person may well know this intellectually, but it doesn't penetrate the love-proof walls depression puts up.

I was deeply depressed for about three weeks. One of he worst parts was that I couldn't read (I'm still struggling). I was surrounded by good books but couldn't read them. I was surrounded by evidence of my personality (every last fairy art print!), but I couldn't gasp any sense of identity. I was wet but painfully thirsty.

I don't know the answer. I just hope that someone reading this feels less alone.

What Could Reduce Chaos?

In February, I journaled about reducing chaos in my family. I decided to revisit those ideas and see what has or hasn't changed.

I'm going to consider small changes since my family and I have major disorders, and imagining those away doesn't help any of us.

• Having a second car. Life would be easier if Josh could drive himself to work, and Oliver didn't have to be out past 8 p.m. But we're made one car work pretty well.
  This has been a little easier in the summer because Josh doesn't go to campus every day, and he's not teaching night classes. Still, I do a lot of driving. Oliver and I listen to music. I don't see our getting another car for a few years at least. When we pay off the car we have, we'll probably just enjoy the absence of the car payment for a while. We could certainly use that money elsewhere.
  
• My being better at picking up the house. It's a major struggle for me.
  I'm just terrible at keeping up with the house. Josh has been really patient with me, and I am trying. I've learned that motivation has much less influence over people with bipolar disorder. The motivation has to be much higher (like a child out of clean underwear or an overnight guest on the way). But I'm working on it.
  
• Getting ready being easier. Sometimes, I don't even want to do the fun makeup part of my routine. Music helps some.
  This has not bothered me as much lately, though again, without the motivation of somewhere to go, I may struggle. Music has made a huge difference long-term. I listen to show tunes while I shower, apply makeup, brush my hair, and get dressed. I'm clued into the music, and the work of being human is a secondary thought. When I'm not wearing makeup, that's usually not a good sign for my mental or emotional state.
  
• Having a better reading speed and attention. I could gather more information on our disorders. I could dive more deeply into reading as a great joy.
  I have struggled terribly with reading. I can barely make myself pick up or open a book, and I know I suffer for it. I don't understand the problem unless it's another motivation issue. I know I need books; they are essential to my life and self. Somehow, I've got to push through.
  
• Having more money, of course, without any of us losing our minds in pursuit of it.
  This is worse now, especially since Oliver is now in ABA, and bills of $600 a month will start arriving soon. I can't imagine how we'll manage, even though we've already had some great help with medical costs. Getting a side job has been more difficult for Josh than we expected. And so far at least, everyone has held to the idea that my getting a job is too risky. We'll see.
  
• My being more proactive when I'm worn out and need a break.
  I'm not so good with this. Josh will usually tell me to go nap or be by myself for a while. I'm not very communicative when I reach that point. I need to continue working to communicate about all that in advance when I'm relatively well or at least able to analyze my own reactions.
  
• Knowing for sure that the people in my close family are safe and okay.
  I ask after my family, but I know that I'll just never know for sure about how everyone is. People have all kinds of reasons for hiding how they are, including their just not knowing.
  
• More energy. That would probably help with some of the other problems.
  This has not improved. I'm terribly sleepy. I can nap right where I am. Naps seem utterly necessary but don't seem to help much. If I had more energy, I might read, journal, clean, and blog more and be more present for my family. I don't know what the solution is.
  
• My clothes and accessories being more organized. I'm working on this now.
  I've made progress. I've nearly divided my clothes into what fits now in the wardrobe (my body on lithium and Abilify) and what doesn't fit now (but hopefully will after meds adjustments and some work) in the closet. I'm not done, but I can easily find something to wear.
  
• A better understanding of what my child is facing every day.
  I have books to read about autism. I spend time with Oliver and talk to his doctors, therapists, and ABA technician. I want to get it and be there with him. In some ways, we are alike. Our struggles intersect, so we can be close.

The Approach.

I can feel the crazy approaching. I'm under a lot of stress. I'm getting a lot of love and support, but the struggle, in both the physical and the mental world, continues. The anxiety and uncertainty (despite my faith) are ringing the dinner bell for the crazy. I'm vulnerable. Conditions are perfect.

I'm forgetting things. Insane things kind of make sense. I play solitaire to both engage and quiet my mind, and the cards almost seem alive--hiding, revealing, plotting. When I doodle, the words and shapes are dark.

Each day lately, I feel like God is throwing hope at me--some financial help, a donation for Oliver, a just-right gift. I try to catch the hope and hold onto it. But much of me is shivering cold and so, so sleepy. And I feel guilty because I should be better, stronger, more supportive, more resourceful.

But the guilt only incapacitates me further. The conditions keep improving for the approach. I'm not the girl who goes down the basement stairs, but I feel like the one who goes into the tent alone and waits for what's coming.

The Deepest Pond.

A few nights ago, I had a complicated dream that had many beautiful and creative moments. But the intensity came from the end of the dream, in which I drove aimlessly through a parking lot and then backed my car into a deep pond. As my car tipped, I wondered how I thought I'd get the car door open with the pressure of the water. I realized, of course, that I didn't intend to. I also realized that I had done this before but somehow survived and repressed the memory.

I think I know where this part of the dream originated. I've been thinking lately about my hallucinations. They've returned recently though a new medication is quieting them. My most recent one was auditory, which I don't experience often. I was sitting in my chair with my back to Oliver's room. I heard someone approach on the level of a child. I heard breathing and then a snicker. It didn't sound like a child. I had thought that perhaps Oliver had gotten out of bed, but that clearly wasn't so, and when I turned, nothing was there. I felt--waterlogged. I realized that this feeling is common when I have hallucinations: I feel as if I'm underwater--not clean, clear water but green, murky water. Everything feels slow and labored even as my brain does something it shouldn't be able to do. And when the illusion ends, I feel as if I'm coming out of water, my hair plastered to my face, my ears and mouth full. And I can't escape quickly from the hold of what happened. Thinking of this metaphor may have sent me to the pond in my dream.

Care Package.

If I had the money, and I heard about a girl who had recently been diagnosed with bipolar disorder, I'd send her a care package with some of these items that have helped or could help me.

• Hand cream (lithium dries out my hands terribly)
• Bath and Body Works Mini Candles, which are so cute (not necessarily to burn but to smell when she needs a calming distraction)
• Sugar Free cinnamon mints--another great distraction. Ice Breakers are best but hard to find)
• Bubble bath
• Irresistibly lovely notebook and pen
• Related book such as An Unquiet Mind
• Comfortable pajamas or robe
• Hair ties (for when everything is in the way)
• Simple coloring books
• Scraps of fabric in various textures
• A handful of tiny bells
• A blanket in her favorite color
• $10 card to Michaels to start a little craft
• Bracelet or necklace that makes soothing sounds or has soothing textures
• Pacifica roll-on perfume

Most of these would distract and soothe, resetting the brain a little. That's my experience, anyway.

Terms: My Mania.

Bipolar disorder seems to affect people in different ways that may not be clear. At first, I had trouble matching my experience with the terms for symptoms.

Sometimes, my thoughts turn joyful or terrifying, either way running over me, over and over, until I am fragile and exhausted. I can quickly forget what I was pondering, and other ideas push to get through. But I didn't call that "racing thoughts."

Sometimes, pouring out some of these thoughts by talking to someone for a long time, jumping among subjects, leaving ideas incomplete, and generally confusing the listener can give me some relief. Over the phone and in person, I sometimes feel desperate to keep the conversation going as if I will lose the person if I let the words end. But I didn't see that as "pressured speech."

There's also risky and impulsive behaviors. I took risks growing up, but that just seemed like teenager stuff. After Oliver was born, I began shopping online, mostly for work clothes. More and more and more. It made me happy except for the bit of guilt that squeezed into my throat and chest. It was definitely risky and impulsive even though I wasn't buying cars or having affairs.

All these are still with me sometimes in various forms, though the medication sands down the edges. But I'm glad to have names for my symptoms. I know more about who I am.

My Flaws.

Flaws are inevitable, but recognizing them can give us awareness of and power over our faults. We can learn when to be extra careful. I think I'm aware of most of my flaws, but I'm sure others could add to the list.

• I can be self-absorbed. I'm a decent listener, but I'm often talking about myself or trying to get insight about myself from someone else. I'm deeply reflective on my own experience, and I"m always trying to learn new ways to take care of myself and handle my disease.
• I have trouble pronouncing words, sometimes even when the words are familiar.
• I can appear cold, especially if I'm using a persona as a shield.
• I can be cold and avoidant if I'm hurt to trying to work out a problem.
• I can be a bad friend. I can disappear for years with no explanations--I may not even know why. I sometimes feel ill-equipped to bond with and help or encourage another person.
• I have a tendency to be mean. I've worked hard on this as Josh could tell you. Of course, this mostly comes from fear.
• I don't cook. I got into cooking a few things for a while, but it's not a talent of mine.
• I can be a terrible house guest. I'm not very helpful because I feel totally lost in other people's houses, especially in their kitchens. I also may disappear suddenly and nap or lie down in a dark room when I get overwhelmed.
• I can be obsessive. I'm actually always obsessive; the object just changes. Luckily, my recent obsessive have been healthy (swimming) or at least not especially unhealthy. I will research the object and talktalktalk about it. 
• I'm susceptible to extremely rare health problems like HELLP syndrome. I also just have a pathetic immune system. 
• I can be jealous. This was much more of a problem before I began therapy and medication. I can also be possessive, but I think that can be positive in some ways.
• I can be insecure or clingy. The clingy part isn't necessarily related to insecurity. I can be highly affectionate. But yes, I have a hard time believing that a person loves and values me, so I need frequent reassurance (which is better than the constant need I had before my diagnosis). 
• I have a slightly shattered sense of self. After many terrible experiences, I still crawl around looking for who I am. I seek reminders--in my apartment, in my clothes and books, and in the people who love me most. I need people, as Madeleine L'Engle said, to "name me." This is related to the self-absorption or to what a kind teacher once called introspection. 

And oh, there are more!

Signs of Stability.

Sometimes, I'm not sure if I'm seeing myself clearly, so I asked Josh for a little help with this. When I'm stable,

• I laugh. Full-bodied. Josh calls my laughter "jolly."
• I read. Reading helps me feel healthy, and when I'm healthy, I'm more able to read. Reading defines me, so if I'm not reading well, I feel almost fraudulent in all I do. But when I'm well (a bit beyond stable), I can devour books and store up their best words in my composition books and their joy of words in my heart.
• I write. I write a lot when I'm hypomanic too, but when I'm stable, I do a lot of scribbling, but it isn't frantic. And I tend to blog regularly.
• I can watch scary movies! Up until a couple of years ago, scary movies wrecked me. Now, they don't haunt me afterward, so I can enjoy them--sometimes even by myself.
• I feel more secure (or less insecure) in my closest relationships. I'm better able to read situations and ask for what I need.
• According to Josh, I seek out what makes me happy. I wear more makeup and have fun with it. I watch movies by myself--no need to wait for someone else to be interested. I have fun getting dressed. I play with stickers. I seek the people who make me laugh.

Ready for the Cycle.

I'd love to know how to preapre for the mood bycle when it returns. Right now, I seem to be on a good cocktail of medications. But a couple of weeks ago, I felt myself approaching hypomania.

I was experience increased need to be alone with my somewhat overwhelming thoughts. I was waking early and in the night. I was seeing things at the edge of my vision. My obsessive nature was switched on (this time, for a movie), and I felt a low buzz in my chest--something I could call excitement--but it had no apparent object and made me feel a little sick.

I've not experienced mania in a long time, and I don't think I've been fully hypomanic since I became stable several months ago. So maybe what I've experienced has been medicated hypomania or even medicated mania--the parts that will get past the meds, the parts I will still live with. I think I can learn to deal with that.

I need to learn to recognize it and work through it. Walking in silence on a treadmil lets me invite all my thoughts to come at me, and I can deal with them in a controlled space. I know I have to be careful about sleep. I want to know what to expect and accept and how to be ready.

I Love Myself For...

I should love myself all the time by staying healthy, being gentle, and being kind. I probably don't do this as I should. But sometimes, I do something that affects my near-future self, and I'm amazed. Here are some examples.

I love myself for

• Spreading tiny heart-shaped confetti in a future journal. I just found it, having forgotten all about it.
• Writing down where and how I got a journal, especially when it was a gift or I bought it while traveling.
• Putting a new box of Puffs on my nightstand.
• Placing my Cinderella doll at eye level on the bookshelf by my bed.
• Collecting great pens when I'm able.
• Reading some 560 books so far (not counting adolescent series). I'm sure they have shaped and changed me.
• Building a great relationship with my mom. 
• Going on a Friday breakfast date with Josh.
• Every poem and story I've written. Each one of them means progress.
• Ending up with Josh. 
• Getting season theatre tickets--I always have a show to look forward to.
• Getting specialists and therapists on Oliver's health team.
• Breastfeeding for 13 months.
• Taking my meds.
• Going to therapy regularly.
• Restarting and keeping up with my blogs.

Full of Stories.

I think about stories in two ways: short stories I could write or read, and stories that grow out of life, of significant memories that I spin for someone (often more than once).

Since my mind began to heal with medication and therapy, I began to get ideas--a plot thought, a title, a bit of dialogue, and most often, a first line. I write them on the end papers of my journals. I used to copy them onto colorful pieces of cardstock. I can't see very far beyond the snippet there, but I feel the charge.

I've never gotten ideas this way before the last 18 months or so. I've usually felt like a dead end because I wrote well but lacked stories to write, so what good did it do? Now, though, they are mostly below the surface, but they are in me. I envied people or characters who were full of stories (such as Jo March), but I think that I may be too.

I've certainly learned that I'm full of personal stories. Some have become essays. Several could become a memoir. For now, I practice the telling. Sometimes, I retell a story to see if I can keep it interesting enough. But I know I'll always have others, story after story.

Calm Joy.

I think this is a good name for what I want to reach. I want joy like blowing a dandelion wish rather than like a bubble machine or disco ball. If I have calm joy, I don't think I can be ill. Mania is never calm, and depression is never joyful.

I like the joy that, at a thought, makes me smile involuntarily. My face seems to change.

When I'm calm, I feel as I do with a few people who put me at ease immediately. Calm is like a big comfy bed that gives joy a chance to be still and whisper gratitude into the pillow.

Some people walk with such grace; I wonder if that comes from calm joy.

Odd Little Actions That Soothe Me.

I'm learning that particularly with bipolar disorder, I have to grab anything healthy that will give me peace or joy, even for a few minutes.

• Reading the names and descriptions of Urban Decay eyeshadows. 
• Reading the names of nail polishes.
• Going to Target's website, searching for a color (pink, teal, violet...), and scrolling through all the monochromatic items, letting the color and consistency wash over me.
• Sometimes turning the shower on cold.
• Getting ink stains and a callous on my middle finger.
• Reading Wikipedia summaries of horror movies (though I sometimes actually go to the movies now!
• Stealing mini Oreos from Josh.
• Downing half a water bottle at once.
• Writing with the same pens I loved when I was 14.
• Organizing my clothes by color.
• Flipping through expensive art journaling magazines at Barnes.

What I Admire Most about My Husband.

• He's such a courageous reader. He's tackled terrifying books like Ulysses and War and Peace with curiosity and an open mind.
• He is also a courageous husband and father. He now knows what makes me different and what makes Oliver different. No denial. He has made us feel safer and more loved despite the fact that more challenges will come.
• He's so talented at genealogy research, and he's helped people find out much more about who they are.
• He grew so well into being a daddy.
• He has been determined to protect my unusual friendship.
• He works so hard at his job, and he sees and treats it as a calling.
• He keeps track of my complicated prescriptions.
• He has never raised his voice to me.
• He gets excited with me over little things, and he pays attention to my interests. 
• He is a soothing yet invigorating presence, which is just right for students.

Radiate Joy.

These words were inside a decorative box Mom gave me for Christmas. I wonder if I've ever radiated joy. Maybe during a show. Or at a concert. Definitely when I held Oliver for the first time. Maybe on certain moments of Josh and my wedding day. Giving my mom a Madame Alexander Sleeping Beauty doll. Maybe just a little in front of Valentine's Day displays.

I'm probably more likely to radiate anything when I'm manic. Everything starts boiling over. But early mania, or hypomania, flood me with awareness--heightened everything. It can be thrilling or torturous.

But when I'm well? I can smile. I can keep my head up and make eye contact. I can use the moderate light in me to write, read, love. When I do that, it is visible. It burns just enough.

Ways to Sweeten the Day.

• If you microwave frozen meals at home, after preparing the meal, transfer it to a real bowl or plate rather than using the flimsy tray.
• Keep a cup with pens in your favorite colors on the kitchen counter. Quick messages, scribbles, or doodles don't need to be in business blue or black. Do this for your bedside table too.
• Use foaming hand soap. It doesn't drip or clog like other soaps do. It's also much easier to get the last bit of soap.
• Go ahead and give away the outfit that doesn't fit...or never did. It's not worth the tangle of hope you give it. Something else needs your hope. Find out what it is.
• Have a colorful blanket folded on every couch and armchair. It's cozy, and guests who are always cold won't be embarrassed about asking for heat.
• Create traditions--Don't wait for them to develop over decades. Eat Panera outside on Sundays. Wear a certain necklace when you're in a certain mood.
• Color coordinate something and see how it makes you feel. Monochromatic outfits. A shelf of red books. A large pot of pansies in shades of purple.

RC: The Clothes Plan.

RC, Reduce Chaos, is what I call efforts to make my life like stressful, mess, disorganized, and unpredictable. Even when I'm stable, I can feel the seething chaos in my mind. Waiting. When my external life is more serene, beautiful, and consistent, that chaos inside me quiets down.

One form of chaos, unfortunately, came largely as a consequence of my being compliant. Since I started medication, I have gained a massive amount of weight. Two medications in particular are probably the culprits. But those are the meds that limit suicidal thoughts and limit hallucinations. Not really optional. I also self-medicated with soda, which I've now quit doing.

Though I'm sad and uncomfortable with this change (my body seems like a stranger to me), I'm having to accept that at least for now, it's just the reality.

Over time, I've bought a few pairs of pants and several tops in my current size. Some of my older clothes do still work too. But our closet is dim and crowded. When I taught, I kept work clothes in my big white wicker wardrobe and play clothes in the closet. But even with color organization, finding something to wear can be difficult.

So I have a plan, and I hope I'll follow through on it (and that it will work). The guest room closet has some clothes--Josh's cold weather items, some suits, and some dresses. I need to narrow that down first.

Then, I want to move all my work clothes to the guest room closet. As I do that, I'll watch for items that need to go to Twice or Goodwill. I'll put aside shirts that fit and that I want to wear now. Those can stay in the wardrobe.

Next, I'll go through my everyday clothes in the master closet. I'll take out items that need to go to Twice or Goodwill. Then, I'll take out everything that fits now and put it in the wardrobe--my current wardrobe, which gets better light and easier access.

Ta-da! Everything else can stay in the closet for now since I do intend to lose weight. I'm hoping for the near future but trying to work with the present reality.

Word of the Year.

Yesterday, I asked my therapist if she had chosen her word for the year. She hadn't heard of this. It's basically a single word that helps you focus on who you want to be or how you want to experience life this year. I told her that a couple of years ago, my word was Invest. She said she knew I had invested a great deal in my wellness. I told her about other words people close to me are using: Intent, Advocate, Be. I told her she should think of one.

My word of the year is Delight. This year, I want to delight in all I can, and I want to delight the people around me. I want to cultivate that wonderstruck state and seek delightful learning and experiences in the space of freedom I have.

As I left, my therapist told me to have "a delightful day."

Today's Happy Thoughts.

• I have glitter on my nails.
• My beautiful faux opal ring.
• No extra appointments today.
• The crackling candle beside me.
• Feeling brave enough to go out alone.
• I've been stable for over 6 months.
• Letting go of the grammar and word choice obsession.
• I seem to have somewhat broken my addiction to soda.
• I've been draining pens, which means I've been scribbling a lot.
• I found several books at home for my new "Children's Lit Winter" plan.
• I'll see my mom soon. 
• Josh loves his job.
• The living room is warm.
• I filled my pill box last night, so I don't have to worry about that for a while (I hate doing it).
• I remembered that I ordered some good books on writing for the library when I was teaching. I hope they reach the hands of those who want to write.
• Oliver is getting so brave.