The Impossible.

I'm amazed at how crippling (sometimes literally) mental illness can be. A trigger could be anything or nothing apparent at all. Who can win against that?

Some of these blows happen daily at any time, and some are less frequent but can be extreme. The scope of what's possible, what I can do or communicate or find, narrows.

Here is what often is or seems impossible.

• Showering. This often feels like a massive task involving too much of my body and too many steps. I'm in a better place with that now--music has helped. I have to reach out of the shower to find the right song, whatever that may be. And I may wash my hair twice because I'm not paying attention to what I have to do.
• Eating. I don't feel hunger pains often. When I do, I'm usually already sluggish and dizzy. Preparing food is hard, but the worst part is trying to find something that seems edible. I skip meals. Then, on rare occasions, I feel completely famished and much more motivated to eat.
• Putting on makeup. I love makeup, and I love playing with it. But some days, I can barely put on my foundation. If I have even a little glitter around my eyes, you can know that I am trying. But eyeshadow and eyeliner are the real tests. On a good day, you'll see lipstick, blush, and all-over sparkle. 
• Moving. When my symptoms are high, I sometimes experience what I call the Tin Man. I'm suddenly unable to move. I can usually move my eyes, but I can't speak or get out of an uncomfortable position. Josh will sometimes rearrange my neck or my legs for me. The Tin Man seems to leave on its own eventually. Josh thought the name meant one of us is heartless, but it's about not having enough oil, and I haven't discovered much about the oil I need.
• Gathering enough affection. Josh and I are pretty affectionate. Oliver is pretty dedicated to his own space. Bruce gives good hugs. Sometimes, I feel so hungry for love in any of the languages.
• Being with several or more people, even if I love them and they love me. I need an escape hatch. With breaks, I usually do okay. Most family is aware of that.
• Cleaning. I often don't notice what needs to happen, or the awareness almost paralyzes me. I try to do a little each day--some laundry, the dishes, picking up toys, tidying up some of my clutter. Josh takes over a lot of the work. I am trying, and I hope to improve.
• Feeling fully comfortable in my body again. I have little hope for weight loss; I'm just trying not to gain more.
• Life without meds. This is probably just true--I will take varying medications for the rest of my life. I may deal with changing meds and side effects every couple of months.
• Doing anything but sleep. My body and mind cry out for rest or escape.
• Reading. The resistance can get strong. I believe I can't do it, and I know I won't retain much anyway. But of course, reading is one of the greatest tethers tying me to Earth.
• Writing product. Luckily, I've been able to keep up writing practice most days for a long time. But I don't know if or when I'll write a product (story, poem, essay) let alone submit it.
• Living without dread. My brain seems always able to find something to latch onto. The absence of work is a massive help, and I believe I'm so much better now that I'm not working. Still, my brain wants to overload and send me fleeing or fighting nothing.
• Understanding my illness and myself. I've read books and articles and studies. I need to learn to ask questions of my therapist. How do I sort my feelings, thoughts, and actions? Do answers exist that I simply haven't come across yet? I know I need to learn more.

Taking Suicide off the Table.

Suicide is like an airborne poison. The mere mention of it, the references in film and TV, often spread the illness, even if it lies dormant. Worse is when someone close to you, a friend or family member or even a coworker or neighbor attempts suicide. Something terrible and terrifying can happen: suicide can become a possibility, even an option.

So when loneliness strips you bare, anxiety electrocutes you, and guilt breaks you bone by bone, one comfort remains: you have the ability to make it all stop.

For many people, suicide is a distant topic, a taboo, something shudder-worthy, an unpardonable sin. But once it enters your once-safe circle, suicide becomes a day and night nightmare. Every pill bottle, tree branch, exhaust pipe, and belt can seem like a weapon for the ultimate self-destruction. And you try to shut it all out when everything is screaming...or simply waiting patiently for you to give up entirely. If they gave up, so can you.

So how do we take suicide off the table? I wish I knew. I think it needs to start with family and friends healing those close circles. A few people need to know your weakness, and you need to make use of each other's strengths. Plans, both for chronic illness and crises, need to be in place. We need options. We need to commit to refusing suicide as a solution.

I will not commit suicide.
I will not self-mutilate.
I will not self-medicate with drugs or alcohol.

But here is what I can do:

• Call_____ and express my emotions.
• Call a suicide hotline.
• Take a dose of prescribed anxiety medication.
• Go for a slow walk.
• Take a nap.
• Eat a favorite food.
• Ask for help: I don't have to know what I need exactly.
• Slowly read a poem.
• Read inspirational quotations I've written down in the past.
• Watch a favorite movie.
• Ask for a serious hug.
• Make a list of what makes me special or unique.
• Doodle, draw, or color in a coloring book.
• Set up a council of about three people I trust (mine is Josh, Mom, and Bruce). Ask for their help when I need to make a decision, or when I'm feeling sick or self-destructive.
• Tell a doctor or therapist everything.
• Call 911. When the sickness is burning me and taking everything away from me, I must scream for help somehow. I don't have to know what should happen next; I just have to ask for help.

What do you do to keep suicide off the table?

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.

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.

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.