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.

"We Write to Escape Our Prisons." Alice W. Flaherty

This is from Flaherty's book Midnight Disease. The book explores neurological connections to hypergraphia and to writer's block.

This was one of the first quotations I marked. What are our prisons? For me, some are

• Grief over terrible events several years ago. Unprocessed grief.
• Crippling anxiety with our without cause.
• Trouble reading.
• Trouble speaking--speed, the wrong words...
• Chronic pain

I can also see this applying to addiction and to literal prisons. Writing allows one to unearth shame, guilt, and fear and pour them into the paper container (or the blog, etc.) where it loses power over one even as the vessel stays warm in case one can make creative use of the mess someday.

The more I write, the freer I feel. I need that anytime outlet.

How to Flourish.

Isn't flourish a lovely word? I wonder how much difference I could find between existing and living, between surviving and flourishing. I suspect that the distance is shorter than it seems, and that though large changes may be necessary, tiny changes can have a major impact. Here are a few ways I've learned to help close the gap.

• Don't just think kind thoughts; speak them! I've been working on this. Gratitude and compliments flow from me more easily. It probably does more good to me than to the listener.
• Don't just read the minimum. Read a little extra--say, a few poems. It's like dessert.
• Don't just read poetry (or fiction, or a sacred text, or anything!) aloud; perform it! I've been trying to read poems more expressively, and I think it helps with my moods.
• Put ice in water. It takes a few seconds, and I think water tastes better cold.
• Dress to express or to shift moods. I know how I feel with certain clothes, colors, and accessories. I can show how I feel or try to influence my mood--green and glitter on a blah day make a difference.
• Take time to touch. Josh and I try to touch often: just something like a hand on a shoulder as we pass each other at home. It's soothing and keeps us close when life is hectic.

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.

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.

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.

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. 

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.

Ways to Invest in the Soul.

This can include prayer, religious reading and study, or organized worship. Even reading an unfamiliar sacred text can be edifying or soul-lifting.

Music is a great way to invest. Listen to what you love, but also try something new. See what music carries your soul around like a baby, what music makes you determined to be a better person, and what music makes you grieve or long for another person--a friend of some kind.

Theatre can be music plus the visual. I feel fulfilled, excited, and positively overwhelmed in a huge theatre during a show.

Reading in general is another way to invest. Though it's also an escape, reading can sharpen the mind, add color to the imagination, and provide company when one is or feels alone.

Sometimes, the perfect movie for the circumstances is right on your shelf. The beauty of a movie can stay with me  and enrich me.

Arts and crafts are also brilliant ways to invest. I don't do much of this, but my mother does, and I can tell it helps her.

How do you invest in your soul?

What Opens Me to the World.

Books do. I go to another world, but it sometimes makes my old world seem...better than it was somehow. But a book will often fill me with questions and ideas, and typically, I can't find someone with whom to share those questions and ideas. That's another way of opening to the world--talking when it's risky.

Shows do it. I think about the lives of these touring actors. I speculate about someone other than myself. And shows me give me new ideas about the world and new ways to interact with it. If people can be so talented...what's their story? What do they do every day to improve? How does this affect the rest of the family? These talented people are gifts.

Music does this because I can pack an experience or problem into a song, and it's contained, though precariously. Music is so eclectic, so I can always find something I need. The memories or problems stay in the song until I'm ready for them.

What Do I Avoid? Does It Deform Me?

These are questions from Natalie Goldberg.

I used to avoid showtunes because I didn't want overwhelming feelings. I do think I missed it. Now, I listen to showtunes every day. I think they are good for me and for my family. Avoid them meant depriving myself of something essential. I missed out on that joy. But now theatre and showtunes are priorities for me.

I avoid laundry. So it gets bigger and more overwhelming. No time seems right for it. It causes stress and clutter. Today, I asked Josh for two hours when he gets home, so I can hit the laundry hard.

What else? I avoid some books I want to read. Usually, this is because the books seem intimidating. But I need to give my brain a workout sometimes. And I don't have to understand everything.

I have avoided watching movies alone. I deprived me of movies that didn't interest Josh. But recently, I watched a movie every evening for a week! It felt great. Now, I know I can just go on Amazon  and watch something if it grabs my attention. I don't have to rely on someone else.

Great Truths of My Life.

I am a writer. That may not mean that I publish often or that I write for other people, even friends and family. But I'm always writing. A writer is someone who writes and takes the practice seriously.

Water is vital. My medication makes me extremely thirsty, so in the last two years, I've learned to appreciate water in a whole new way.

My basic Christian beliefs are intact. It's one of the simplest parts of me.

I believe that reading is essential to my health--mentally, emotionally, spiritually. A good book nestles up to my soul. If I stop reading, parts of me begin to rot.

I believe that Josh and I are supposed to be together. We approach each other with general affection, interest, and forgiveness.

How to Feel Less Lonely.

A disability can feel incredibly isolating. A room full of people may be wildly overwhelming and still not meet the need for conversation (especially about the illness), connection, affection, or intimacy. Here are some ideas for pushing through the loneliness.

• Connect more deeply with characters in a book. Always be reading something with characters you can bond with, even if you're also reading other books or magazines that have no such thing.
• Casually visit your bookselves. Remember the experience of reading a particular book. Remember that book for which your imagining was so expansive that you can revisit that setting in your mind. 
• Happen upon an exciting book you've been saving for no good reason. Begin. 
• Write letters. If letters are too ambitious, find some lovely postcards (a museum gift shop?) to send. This may rekindle a relationship or at least bring you a response.
• If you're not actually alone and if it's appropriate, ask for hugs. Josh and I realized we were barely touching during the day. Now, I just walk into him for hugs. 
• Communicate (letter, call, visit, chat, E-mail) with someone you have neglected, such as an old friend or an inquisitve relative.