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.

Accepting My Mind.

This is complex for me. My mind has changed, and my understanding of it has changed. I don't trust my mind as I used to. Thinking in general seems more difficult, and analyzing is really tough.

But this is the mind I've got. I have to work with it all my life. I can try to practice, stretch my mind. Reading helps, and it gets easier when I'm in the habit.

I haven't lost my intellect. As with other skills, that may be harder to find or to recognize. My journey so far has humbled me, which isn't necessarily bad. I have to change my perception of my mind just as I am working to change my perception of my body.

I want to make my mind a brilliant, beautiful place. How can I get there? I guess I need to be careful of what I put in my mind. It's almost like a separate entity--a child sibling I'm caring for.

Craving Consistency.

This is probably important for most people with mental illnesses. I didn't realize how much I needed to know exactly what to expect even though I know details or the whole situation may change.

I sometimes want to be outwardly spontaneous and adventurous, and I may want to attract those kinds of people. But in reality, I often want to be left alone for hours with my solitary activities like reading scribbling, and various forms of scrapbooking. I like to know when I will have this alone time.

I'm similar with relationships. Spontaneity can be great as long as it is in addition to regularly scheduled quality time. On a bad day, anticipating a walk with my friend the next evening can be a great help. I need to be able to count on certain people, places, and activities. They help me gear up for the inevitable shocks and disappointments that will come.

To create consistency, Josh has made family schedules that account for each hour. Bruce and I walk on Thursday and Friday, watch a movie on Sunday, and sometimes see a show on Saturday. I think it's made our friendship stronger. It has certainly made me stronger and, I think, more reasonable and calm.

I'm thinking about other ways I can create reliable structure now that I know how important it is.

Thinking Kindly of Myself.

Mama tells me to give myself some grace. Bruce tells me to be kind to myself. My meds surely affect how I think of myself both directly and indirectly through side effects. And of course, my disease tells me lies. I want to address and reframe a few of those thoughts.

I've never been as smart as I thought I was.
I have a master's degree, and my grades were no accident. I should worry less about how smart I am and work on ways to strengthen and expand my mind.

I'm not smart anymore. The disease the meds have left me mentally weak.
Some of this will pass. I still have an impressive memory, even though I've lost some of it. I've held onto so much despite the struggle. I should love my mind for that.

I'm not pretty because of my weight gain.
Josh and Bruce still say I'm pretty. Lithium can make losing weight difficult, but I can still get strong and fit and learn to love my new body. I need to focus on what I like about myself.

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Wishes I've Not Made Yet.

It's okay to wish, to wish something will come and to wish something away. Wishes can be huge or can seem insignificant. So I'm wondering what wishes I've hesitated to make, maybe because I'm ashamed or scared or because they seem to selfish. Here are some that crept out of the dark when I let them.

• I wish to feel always useful or worthwhile, even if I end up being disabled.
• I wish to have pretty handwriting more easily. It's gotten difficult, and I sometimes don't recognize my own words. This may relate to medication or a particular mood cycle; I'll try to track it.
• I wish for survival this summer.
• I wish for pages that can handle markers and fountain pens. 
• I kind of wish I knew if I will end up in a hospital.
• I kind of wish we'd known all this earlier.
• I wish I could go swim in a deep lake.
• I wish I were a stronger reader.
• I wish I were better at tracking moods. 
• I wish my doctor were more available.
• I wish I could spend time with an expert on bipolar disorder.
• I wish I took learning about the disorder more seriously at least some of the time.

What wishes are waiting? Are they really so terrible or silly?

Love Who You Are.

I adore Papaya! Art, especially the spiral notebooks with their gorgeous printed pages. I've been writing in a rosy Papaya! journal/notebook that my mom gave me for Christmas. Some of the pages have banners that say, "Love Who You Are." This is how I reacted.

Do I love who I am? I could probably do a prompt on this, but it's also something I can continually revisit. For some reason, when I first discovered Papaya!, that line, Love who you are,  had such an impact on me. With everything I've read, experienced, and believed, this still seemed revolutionary. What does it mean? What could it mean?

• Like yourself, myself, and admire myself in specific ways.
• Nurture beginnings. Be my own mentor. 
• Be gentle with myself. Allow mistakes.
• Be careful with myself--allow for rest and recovery for illness, costly bravery, difficult decisions, and social overload.
• Cherish strange and excessive tastes as long as they are healthy.
• Move freely and fully in my body. Get strong. Get fit. Believe my body to be capable if not beautiful.
• Let others help me or take care of me. Ask.
• Next time, go ahead and buy the flowers.
• Take pride in my space. Work toward clarity. Make the space recognizable as mine. 
• Collect kisses.
• Dissect shame. Learn from it. Discard it.
• Celebrate even small accomplishments--finishing a book, not missing med doses, encouraging someone.