Reasons to Celebrate.

I have been stable for about 3 months. I still have some troubles (anxiety, major short-term memory problems, occasional racing thoughts), and I don't always know the difference between symptom and side effect, which frustrates me. But I don't have soaring-then-crashing moods or deep darkness. I get confused but not as much. I'm usually able to read and write at least a little I'm well enough to reach for the people and things that make me feel like or at least imagine a whole and well version of myself.

My stepdad, Shane, visited recently and asked to watch Riverdance. It reminded me of the joy and the sense of control dance gave me. My mind slowed down and rested in contentment.

I'm also trying to learn how to give people opportunities to show me love I can feel or register. I'm trying to be kinder and more generous. I'm constantly praying, "Let me only have kind thoughts," and I have been trying to start speaking those kind thoughts.

Taking Care of Myself.

My husband Josh and my friend Bruce often tell me to take care of and be kind to myself. And it isn't in a vague "Take care" way. They have taken classes and read books and articles to understand what I'm facing. So when they tell me to take care of myself, I take them seriously. But it's not an easy task. Here is some of what I can do:

• Talk with close friends and family about my illness. Even when I'm stable, it's still a part of me. I know isolation and denial are dangerous.
• Have a fact checker. If my thoughts seem feverish, dark, or just off, I have a few people I can trust to walk me though the troubling thoughts and help me see reality.
• Rest. Even now that I'm mostly stable (and we hope it lasts!), Josh often takes a look at me and tells me to go lie down. The quiet and dark calm me, and naps seems to heal parts of my brain.
• Laugh. This breaks some of the tension I almost always feel. I have some wonderful people around me who can make me laugh and blow apart my sorrow like it's a condemned building.

RCTs: Reduce Chaos Tasks.

Normally, I barely notice a mess, but it still probably makes me anxious. Then, sudenly, the mess is unsettling or unbearable. I may feel panic rising from my chest to my throat. This is unfortunate because I make a lot of messes (projects!) an because bipolar can damage my ability to clean and organize (all that planning and problem solving). But there are a few ways I apply my commitment to reducing chaos, an important goal for anyone with mental illness) to the work of cleaning and organization.

• When I leave or enter a room or have decided to tackle a mess, I try to put or throw away 10 items. It's bearable, and it usually makes a noticeable difference, so I'm less afraid of the mess.
• I light a candle and open window or sliding doors to freshen the apartment.
• I set out a bowl of vinegar when a room smells stale.
• I have a designated rack spot in the closet to hold empty hangers. I don't have to search for them, and they take up space and crowd my clothes.
• I make use of decorative boxes (millions are at Michaels!) for anything that doesn't fit elsewhere, such as letters, scarves, or anything that is a duplicate or an extra I'll use later. I have these boxes on top of the kitchen cabinet, in my closet, and in my nightstand. 
• I use under-the-bed boxes for sheets, gift wrap, and journals.
• I ask for help. If something is really overwhelming me and I have no idea how even to start, I ask Josh to do it or help with it. He's usually just happy to know that I trust him with a task and that he can make my life a little easier...which, of course, he does every day.

 And that's a start.

Tasks That Could Soothe Bipolar Disorder Symptoms.

• Frame and display a photo of people who have loved and supported you. Seeing the photo will remind you that you are not alone.
• Play with color. Color a page in a coloring book (for adults or kids), arrange your books by color, or put together a few colorful outfits for coming events.
• Dress to feel empowered. Clothes influence us and others, which is why they can be well worth your time, money, and consideration.
• Take one of your favorite childhood books and read it alone. If you don't own your favorite childhood books, buy them--not for your children but for yourself. 
• Rearrange the blankets on your bed. A smooth bed is so soothing.
• Buy a new book. Invest in your future relaxation and happiness (and get to them as quickly as possible).
• Take a bath. I know that even a 5- or 10-minute bath can reset me.
• Read poems aloud. You don't have to "get" them. Just give your brain something to chew on besides itself.
• Go for a brisk walk. Don't think about weight loss; think about where and how you want to be strong.
• Remove as many small discomforts as possible. Tags in your clothes, underclothes that are too tight, mediocre pillows...They are a big deal. Fix them.
• In every room of your home, be sure something reminds you of what you love. I don't just mean your kids; I mean something connected to your life-sustaining passion. By the way, I think it is wise to have a life-sustaining passion that is not connected to or dependent on one's children. 
• Use sunshine. If you're at home and the sun is out, try to move your activities with the sun. My guest room gets great afternoon light, so I sometimes write or read there in the afternoon.
• Go public (when you're ready). I recently "came out" to most of the people I know--they all know I have bipolar disorder. It's a relief. Those closest to me already knew. But I even extended it to Facebook and made this blog public. I didn't want to hide it if it might help someone.
• Just say, "I love you." Do this for someone who has never heard it from you. Who knows when he or she last heard it at all?

More Time, Please.

I’ve been stable for 3 or 4 more months. I haven’t had much to say on this blog in that time. Instead, I’ve journaled, read several books, worked on my other blog, and bound myself more tightly to those closest to me. Mom said that this was the most stable she’d seen me since Oliver’s birth. 

I’ve also been focused on my son Oliver, who will start attending special education preschool on August 31. Getting to that point involved meetings and so much paperwork; it was like having a job again.

But last night, I felt a sadness that had no object. I was lethargic despite an irritable energy. And today, I began to tremble all over, physically visible only in my hands. Thoughts became difficult to catch.

These are small symptoms and may simply come from normal weariness and anxiety. My child will go to school for the first time. I’ll have to teach myself how to be alone, how to stay active and connected to what matters. 

How will I do that if I’m sick?

I want to read. Scribble. Write down others’ perfect words. See movies. Clean up. Cuddle. Smile involuntarily. 

I’m asking for more time. I want to experience enough peace and contentment that I can remember and reach for them when illness bites into my neck and shakes me hard. 

I’m not asking for a cure—I know it’s not possible, not yet. I’m just asking for more time.

Things That Shouldn't Be Scary.

• A person braiding someone else's hair in fast, distorted motion. White knuckles quick as spiders.
• Josh with a full beard.
• What I see out of the corner of my eye. 
• Pool toys that have sunk to the bottom.
• Dragonflies.
• Sunken boats in aquariums.
• Memories of giving birth.
• Staying overweight.
• People drinking.
• Not having a surface to write on.
• Certain extremely long books.
• The possibility that I am permanently no longer as smart as I was.
• Small gaps in my short-term memory.
• Chores to which I have a strong resistance that borders on fear.
• Mannequins (museums, not malls).
• The thought of teaching again.

Dealing with Pain.

"I did the only thing I could do to deal with my pain." --Alexandra Stoddard

What can I do to deal with my pain? What have I done? I hope I'm not holding onto it. It lifts sometimes.

Writing is my primary outlet. If it's on paper, it rests, at least for a while. I can coach myself through the pain. Pain can also help me build something new. I build little castles of words where the pain can live.

I let others hold it. Being on the phone with Mom calms me down. Josh watches me closely. Bruce listens endlessly.

When I'm hurting, reading is nearly impossible. But if I try and don't let frustration (and then pain) win, I can usually experience a reader's peace. I focus away from the pain or fear. I feel constructive. I give my mind something new to gnaw on.