Spotlight on Symptoms: Trance Writing.

What I call trance writing has been one of the more unsettling symptoms of mania for me. My brain seems to shut off, but my hands continue scribbling, typing, texting. The writing makes no sense and does not seem connected to anything. My journal shows some struggles with trance writing and my trying to pull out of it but tripping again into nonsense.

It's okay in my journal. It's even a little interesting. But it started to appear in my teaching life. I'd have to cut (literally cut from paper) out essay comments that made no sense. I think one was about directions to McDonalds. I missed some, and my students were bewildered.

That's when I started to realize that I was getting too sick to work. I seemed to have no control over it. I had to check back over everything I wrote. Stress may be a major cause; I've rarely trance written since I stopped working. I have stress now but nothing like I had before. My brain just can't process stress normally.

I love writing. But I like to know what I'm doing.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Invest.

"Be willing to invest in yourself financially, emotionally, and spiritually." --Elizabeth Berg

I think invest was my word of the year last year or the year before. Investment expects a return but not necessarily a quick one. Scribbling I do now could become part of a memoir five years from now.

Investing financially probably means acquiring the tools and space for one's art or one's wellness. Luckily, I can write almost anywhere. Some people need a studio. I have pens, paper, and a laptop. I might invest in stamps to send off submissions, most of which will come back to me. Sometimes, I invest in something that will make writing more attractive, such as a beautiful journal.

But we also invest in our health. I have hospital bills and so many therapy and medication copays. The cost is massive, but I have to invest in my stability, even when nothing seems to be working.

Emotionally, I'm sometimes not even able to connect to characters in a book. How can I invest in myself emotionally? And how is spiritual investment different? Investing in theatre tickets is both financial and spiritual. Emotionally, I need to invest in compassion for myself--allow myself to feel. Therapy is an emotional investment too--one that does not give instant results.

Spiritually, I pray, and I use affirmations to keep me from hitting the floor or floating away.

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. 

More Six-Word Memoirs.

My main six-word memoir is "Said I wouldn't. Glad I did." But I like trying to think of new ones. Here are a few. Work on yours!

• I have got to keep writing.
• Sacks and stacks of waiting books.
• Every pen is out of ink.
• Love: closer than I thought.