Compression.

My world is narrowing. I'm increasingly aware of what I cannot do, what I will never do or can never do again. I've broken my left foot and sprained my left ankle. Most days, I have some pain from that. I'll never really dance again. I know which movements would splinter me.

I used to believe that I could do anything. I'm different now. I've failed tremendously at a vocation that was right for me. Forget ED doctor and airline pilot.

I'm also realizing that sometimes, no answers exist for me to find. The people who, the books that, the websites that should know don't know. It's a dark and floorless feeling.

Oliver is sick with strep and won't take his regular medication. I've prayed and prayed. Still, he won't swallow the pills he swallowed so easily just days ago. He's throwing up everything, probably from withdrawal. This is the most doubt I have ever felt.

My eyes burn and ache. I press a cold, damp washcloth to them. This happens most days now. Tears aren't enough. The wet cloth fell on my notebook and feathered a list I don't remember making.

I feel pressure in my jaw, in my ears, in my shoulders, and under my collarbone. I don't know if I'm getting sick or just deep-sea diving into despair. This morning, I laughed great bubbling laughter at absurd Facebook posts. Now, that seems like a different person.

I'm not starving myself. I stuffed crisp leaves of romaine in my mouth some hours ago. I'm considering one of the eggs I boiled yesterday and the bit of spaghetti Josh left in the pot. A bone-deep tremor may signal that I need to take benztropine again. My breath seems to travel though a network of straws jammed into my throat and lungs.

I am sick in one way or the other.

I'll Feel Better When....

I've lived much of my life in a state of almost perpetual dread. I didn't think anything else was possible for me. Every class, shift, table, drive, test, visit, restaurant, discussion, new outing...nearly everything, even what I loved, set my heart wild and twisted me in chains, sometimes days in advance. Some days, it was like someone pouring hot gravel into my abdomen.

Recently, I was preparing for a parent-teacher conference. I felt fine talking to Oliver's teacher every morning, but the relative formality along with the difficult news I was expecting brought on the dread. But for perhaps the first time, I forced myself to look past the meeting. How would I feel when it was over? I might feel sad, worried, or overwhelmed, but I'd also feel relief, and I'd have some time to myself in sight. Now, I tell myself, "I'll feel better when this is over," or some such hopeful thought.

Sometimes, too much comes at me at once, and I can't see a path. My inner voice is silent, and I know I'm alone. But I can seek out companionship. I can write my way through. I'm not wired for dread alone.

What Trauma Has Taught Me.

• I have no idea what people are capable of doing.
• I don't know much more about what I'm capable of doing.
• I needed to add to my relationships because it's healthy and so I won't be alone if one or two people leave.
• I'm stronger than I could have thought possible.
• I need to cry regularly, even though my ability to cry has diminished.
• I easily forget to eat when I'm under stress.
• Josh doesn't necessarily need my help.
• People can be incredibly generous if they know what one needs.
• Varying degrees of forgiveness exist.
• My brain is not trustworthy during or soon after a trauma.
• Memory is full of holes.
• "Some hurts never heal" (Next to Normal).
• Wearing my own clothes steadies me during a crisis.
• I need something to reach for, something that is familiar, at all times.
• Sometimes, I can do my best or even get everything right, and it's not good enough.
• I have to stay alive how ever I can.

Spotlight on Symptoms: Experiments.

Early in my treatment and again recently, I've had phases of bizarre actions, usually at night. One year, we were staying with Josh's family in a mountain cabin. I remember little about that trip. But Josh told me that I tried to start laundry, tried to go in his parents' room, and fell down the stairs, all in the middle of the night.

Once, at home, I put a foaming hand soap dispenser in the dishwasher. I have only a vague, detached memory of this. That's how it usually is. Later, I couldn't figure out why bubbles were pouring out of the dishwasher.

I often wore clothes inside-out or backward, This still happens sometimes. Josh usually notices before I leave the house. I'd send bizarre text messages; Bruce got used to it.

We found my winter coat spread out on the bed. I found Josh's deodorant and gum (I don't chew gum) on my nightstand. Josh found me trying to pour soda into muffin papers. He also find me trying to drink Italian dressing. And just a few days ago, Josh woke early and found his toothbrush in the kitchen and the hot water going full-blast (for who knows how long) in the bathroom sink.

Experiments bother me a great deal once I know about them. I feel beyond my own control as with trance writing. But we try to shrug it off as silly. I think it may be part of the bipolar disorder and not a side effect of medication.

Spotlight on Symptoms: Love Sickness.

I remember my darling friend Melissa giving me a red and white, pill-shaped soap that said Lovesick.

I might feel lovesick over an experience, an object, a memory, a person. A song may grab me by the neck, and I'm lost in those words and sounds for hours or days. The words line my throat. I want to watch the same movie on repeat, search the faces and memorize the dialog.

Sometimes, I have to stop myself from squeezing and kissing Oliver as much as I may suddenly want to. He's little, but his boundaries still matter. I ask for hugs, ask if he wants me to pick him up if he's scared or hurt.

I check out my husband and seek his touch. I wrote all about it.

None of this is bad, but I can feel the cross over when I suddenly can barely breathe, and what ever I love expands in my mind.

It's different from obsession because obsession is for something I seek out. Love sickness happens to me. Electricity down my arms. Pliers at my heart. A gaping, exhausting need for connection.

Love sickness usually comes or at least begins when I'm manic. It's a symptom. But I've experienced it in the dark too. Maybe it's worse then.

Love sickness burns. I try to reshape it, make it something that warms me.

A Glimpse: Strange Thoughts.

Josh took Oliver to therapy, which gave me some quiet time in bed. I've needed that so much more lately...just time to organize my thoughts or simple accept them. I don't know why that has become so important lately.

It's like floating on my back in a lake. Stars surround me, but they're not real.  The think seems to start automatically. Some of the thoughts--supposed memories, bizarre plans, and imagined conversations--slip through and seem fine.

My thoughts are already getting weird.

Turning a Coping Mechanism into a Coping Strategy.

I think of a coping mechanism as something that a person does not really think though. It's an automatic response to stressors. I think of coping strategies as pre-meditated, deliberate, healthier ways to deal with stressors. Using strategies requires a lot of self-awareness, courage, and practice. I'm thinking about some of my mechanisms and how I might change them to strategies.

1) Excessive silence and stillness. This can come over me suddenly, and I often can't break it. I call it the Tin Man--a sort of paralysis. Since it's not in my control, I have to build practices that will makes my body stop thinking that it needs the Tin Man to keep me safe or sane. So what can I do?

• Read. If only a poem or a piece of flash fiction. It will engage my brain and distract it.
• Talk. I need to tell someone that I'm getting frozen and why (if I know). 
• Trance writing. This was highly problematic when I taught, but at home, I can let myself write desperate nonsense until some clarity comes to my writing and my mind.

2) Soda. I love soda. I could chain-drink it all day. But I know I have used it as a distraction far more than is healthy for my body and my teeth. If I'm stressed or shocked, I reach for a Cherry Coke.

• Quit. I've done this a couple of times, hoping to break the habit and lose weight. I didn't lose weight. Right now, I buy the tiny 8 oz. cans.
• Substitute. I don't like diet sodas. I have milk, apple juice, and sometimes iced coffee. They can cause their own problems, but having beverage options helps.
• Drink more water. I can have as much water as I want. I like that feeling of abundance and gratitude.
• Have Icebreakers Cinnamon Sugar-Free Mints. They're good for when I just need some flavor.
• Take a Xanax. Sometimes, the anxiety is too strong, and I really need help that nothing carbonated can give me.

3) Shopping. I love shopping. I'm not indiscriminate unless I'm quite manic (buying three sets of coasters when we already have coasters. Buying almost identical T-shirts). I love finding new treasures that can become part of my life. I like seeing what people have made or dreamt up. I'm calmer when I know I have plenty of what I need (especially writing tools, books, and comfortable clothes). So how can I keep it under control? 

• Shop my house. I have some pretty decorative boxes above my kitchen cabinets, and I don't know what they hold. Stationery, letters, rubber stamps? I can take them down and see what I can use right now. My desk holds notepads, pens, and stationery. Again, I can dig around and find something to use right now. I can explore my wardrobe for clothes I've forgotten. 
• Window shop online. This one can be dangerous, but it can also help me have fun as if I'm shopping without actually spending any money. I go to a favorite site (Loft, Target, Amazon, Papaya!) and search it thoroughly and fill my cart, adding discounts I find (a bonus satisfaction). Then, I close the page and let it go.

If I have some money, the issue is not so much whether or not I spend it but how I will avoid buying something that isn't all that special or necessary. So I have some guidelines.

• Enjoy buying useful basics like a plain black T-shirt.
• Buy beautiful items. If the work, designs, colors, or details grab me hard, be it a sweater or a notebook, I'm going to pause. If it's also useful, I may make it mine. 
• Buy what's rare. If it's on sale at Loft with an extra 40% off, and I love it, it's probably going to happen. If I see something special and just know I'll never see it again (or never be able to afford it again), I may buy it. 
• Buy what will enrich life. A candle I burn while I take a bath. A pair of unbelievable theatre tickets. A big pink robe to wear when the boys want the AC on.
• Hold it. If I'm someplace like Target or Michael's, I'll hold my favorite items as I shop. I sort of feel out what owning these items would be like. Then, I put away the items that don't speak to me.
• Let it simmer. If I see something special at the mall, I'll continue shopping. When I'm ready to leave, I may go back for the item if I kept thinking about it. If not, I let it go.

I'm always trying to find and develop coping strategies. When almost every moment is a struggle, I need all the mindful coping I can manage.