Where I've Been

I can't believe I keep forgetting to fill you in on my latest news!  A few months ago a friend asked me to join her team and become a blog contributor on her website, Real Imprints.  I've only written a few posts, but I'm really excited about this new opportunity to contribute to those speaking up about mental illness.

I'm not sure if I will be posting here any more, but you can sign up to receive daily or weekly emails from Real Imprints if you want to be updated on my postings there.

In the meantime, here are the links to what I have written thus far:

https://realimprints.org/people-arent-peanut-butter/
https://realimprints.org/trigger-awareness/
https://realimprints.org/guessing-game-advocate/
https://realimprints.org/guessing-game-advocate-learning-trust/
https://realimprints.org/guessing-game-advocate-going-natural/

Thanks for the support you've given me as you've followed my meanderings throughout the past several years.  I hope you'll keep following me in my new adventure!

Cheryl

One Size Fits All (But Not Really)

That seems to be the way of most mental illness diagnoses.

However, my experience has been more along the lines of a woman with large hips, a small waist, an extra small bust, and extra large arms trying on clothing at a department store.

Some things fit in some places.  But nothing fits all over.

I may have looked cute in this big boots, but there's no way I was going to get very far in them.

I find myself a bit detached from the bipolar II diagnosis because it was never a perfect fit and seems even less so over the past year.  My psychiatrist and I recently discussed another diagnosis with pretty much the same conclusion--some key aspects are spot on for describing my behavior, others are completely absent.

While I am grateful for the absence of these different mood and behavior issues--none of them are qualities or problems I wish to possess--it is frustrating to feel out of place even in the realm of mental illness.

I want a well-fitting diagnosis so I know how to treat it!

That was a koala bear back pack.  If it had fit better, maybe I wouldn't have lost it at the playground... :(

Sometimes I feel like whatever is wrong with me is like something from a scary artificial intelligence movie.  You know, where the AI learns faster than the humans and eventually takes over and its rate of progression is faster than the humans can control?  It seems like once I think I have something figured out, it either changes or never happens again.

At risk of alerting the potential AI parasite within my brain, here are the things I'm trying on for size right now:

• Doubting and distancing pretty much all of my thoughts and emotions.  Instead, I am forcing myself to take some deep breaths and look at the facts.  i.e., HH continues to stick around and support me.  Therefore, he probably doesn't hate me but actually loves me and is gaining some benefit from our relationship.
• Finally (hopefully!) maintaining a regular sleep schedule.  To bed by 10 pm, awake by 6:30 am (hopefully 6 eventually.  The morning person in me seems to be in deep hibernation).
• Stopping the crazy anxiety-driven thought cycles.  This is kind of like the first bullet point, but it is specific for all the times that I ruminate over something I said or did forever, telling myself what a stupid thing that was to say or do and that now everyone who witnessed it not only thinks I'm a complete idiot, but is also telling everyone else they and I know that I am a complete idiot.  And other things along those lines.
• Continuing to place one foot in front of the other in all of the areas of my life I have felt I should make progress in.  Even though right now, progress seems irrelevant and everything feels pointless and hopeless much of the time.

And the other big thing I am doing differently right now is trying to spend less time figuring out what is wrong with me.

Three people in three different settings told me last week that I seem more like myself than I have in a very long time.

That really took me off guard because I feel so decidedly not like myself when I'm on my own trying to sort through what is wrong with me and how to fix/cope with it.

At first I thought I should correct each of them and let them know that I am still totally not okay with scary and inappropriate thoughts plaguing much of my time.  But, this was not a very pleasant task.  People want to believe that I'm doing better.  It is disheartening to tell them they are wrong.

And after that third person I began to wonder if maybe I'm the one who is wrong?

Maybe I've just become so used to focusing on what is broken in me that I have failed to recognize the parts of me that are finally in recovery.

Blurry, but you can clearly see that I was not cut out for a profession in business.

Going back to school has changed a lot of different aspects of my life.  For six weeks it got me out of the house interacting with different people.  I made friends relatively quickly and I cannot tell you what a boost it gave me to find people with absolutely no obligation to me (not family, not church, not neighbors, etc.) seeking my company.  Of course, I had a panic every day on my drive home that I had said or done something that offended or bothered someone or everyone.  But, as part of my final grade my professor actually commented on the relationships and leadership position I had developed within the class.

Which brings me to the next point--going to school has provided a place where I get official feedback.  While there is nothing that can compare to sloppy kisses or a "Dude!  Mom, this tastes yummy!" from Darling A, it is also really nice to get consistent positive commentary on my work.

Going back to school has also really helped combat my confidence issues.  I am slowly overcoming my fears about not being able to commit to this.  I received an A in one class already and am on track to receive an A in the other one I'm taking this semester.  I am feeling more competent all the time.

And most importantly, it's helping me to feel hopeful in the future.  Consistent social opportunities are where I am found to be "more like myself".  School provides that (except for right now when all I have is an online class.  Boo.) and will lead to me having a career that will continue to provide that.

This does not fit the way I planned on, but somehow it is still a good fit and the most comfortable thing in my life.

So, maybe I really am more like myself than I realize.

Or, maybe I'm just more on my way to getting there than I have been in a long time.

Feeling like I am a good fit within myself would be a really nice thing.

I don't know if that made much sense to you.  But, that's the thing I'm trying on right now and although it's not a perfect fit right now, I'm really hoping I can grow into it eventually.

On Being Afraid

So, I'm back in school.

It's been an interesting journey.  Just a short three weeks, but full of so many things.

Let me back up first.

About a week before school started I facilitated a DBSA group meeting.  The before, during, and after of that each deserve a post of their own.  But life has been so busy, I have written many posts for this blog in my head, but they've never made it to the computer.

So, a quick sum up.

Before:  I was sick with anxiety for about a month leading up to the meeting.  I mean, really really REALLY bad anxiety.  But, after an appointment with my therapist, he helped me see that it was my perfectionism at play again and advised me to begin the meeting by telling everyone how nervous I was and why.  I knew that would be scare in and of itself, but I also knew it would help tremendously.  And that knowledge and plan gave me enough peace to survive the next two weeks until the meeting.

After (I know I'm jumping around here, but there is a reason):  I was on a high.  It had just gone really well.  Everyone had been so kind and positive.  And I was so proud of myself for doing it!

During:  We talked about relationships and commitments.  For the most part, this was good.  But there was one part in the conversation where pretty much everyone who has been dealing with this mental illness for longer than I emphatically gave me the same statement, "Just don't commit to anything.  Ever.  It's too hard to know if you'll be able to follow through or not."

And that was it.  We were mainly talking about commitments to other people, like babysitting someone else's kids, or something.  But, we talked about commitments in general as well.  And this statement was something they applied to pretty much everything.

So, I tucked that in my back pocket, forgot about it, and rode my post-facilitator high for the next couple days.

Fast forward a couple weeks to school starting.

It turns out that being a student again has brought my perfectionism to a heightened state.  I feel like I have to do everything and do it all perfectly.  My online class has several optional assignments.  They are optional because we don't have to do every single one, but we do need to do a certain amount.  I am having a hard time not doing everyone for fear that the teacher will think I'm lazy and a poor student.  Even though she specifically set it up for us to NOT do every assignment.  I missed 1.75 points on the first quiz and I was devastated.  There goes my chance at 100% in the class.

And then there are a few "big" assignments due at the end of the semester, but it's making me crazy that I haven't completed them yet.

I just want everything done.  Done perfectly.  And done now.

But (obviously), I can't.  And so I'm constantly fighting the feeling of being a failure at school.

And that statement from my peers keeps just runs around in endless loops through my brain.  "I never commit to anything ever."

And I just keep feeling like this whole thing is a mistake.  How could I possibly presume to commit to two and a half years of school when I myself avoid commitments as small as "sure, I'll watch your kids for you!"  I'm never going to be able to see this through.

And it's not just the school work.  It's the rest of my life that I was already failing miserably at before I decided that going to school for 10 hours a week, plus at least 3 hours of studying a day seemed like a good idea to add in.

My house looked like a bomb went off and then someone let loose a whole clan of baby chimpanzees to play in the rubble.

Dinner planning happens about 15 minutes after we should have begun eating.  If we have real food on hand, we eat that.  Otherwise, we eat out.  Bleh.

And I'm having to say, "Hold on.  Just let me finish this (fill in the blank) and then I'll listen to your story" waaaaay to often to my kids.

And for the first two weeks I was more of a monster than a mom or a wife or a human being.  I think the only reason I was nice last week was because HH was sick for the first half of the week and it was his birthday over the weekend.

There's a lot of negativity pent up inside of me right now, but it pretty much just boils down to one thing.

fear

I'm so so very afraid.

I'm afraid that taking this on is going to result in the exact opposite of what it's supposed to.  I'm afraid I'm not smart enough, don't have the time, don't have the willpower to make it into and then through the program.

I'm afraid I'm failing my children by not being as available to them and by being so short on patience lately.  I'm afraid they'll take this as a sign that I don't want to spend time with them.

And when I'm being totally honest inside myself, I admit that it's nice to get a break.  To get away and associate with other people and to not deal with their tiresome fighting, whining, and incessant questions.  And I wonder what kind of broken mom feels that way.  And I feel guilty for bringing them into this world if I'm just going to waste these years by trying so hard to get away from them.  And I hate myself for not want to just be with them and soak up every moment of this privilege that I have of raising four beautiful children.

And then I look up from my textbook and see my house and my chest gets so tight I can't breathe.  It's so messy!  What happened to me?!  I used to be obsessive.  I used to have a cleaning schedule that included vacuuming at least twice a week, all of the laundry being done in one day, dusting at least once a week, cleaning out the fridge at least once a week, cleaning out the dryer house regularly, etcetera etcetera.  Now it's whatever HH has time for.  After he cleans up dinner and puts the kids to bed.

So, you can probably guess how I feel I'm doing as a wife.  Epic FAIL.  Not only is he doing everything I'm supposed to be doing, but I'm super mean to him about it too!

Our diet is a mess.  My workout routine has completely fallen apart.  I'm supposed to do a triathlon in 10 weeks and the last time I swam laps in a pool was during the triathlon last year!

Everyone keeps asking me how things are going.  I just put on a smile and comment that school is definitely hard, but I'm loving it!

Because I should be.  Right?

I mean, so many people have sacrificed to help me.  Not the least of which is HH.  And he has so much invested in this beyond his time and money.  This is his ray of hope.  His light at the end of the tunnel.  This is what is giving him the strength to persevere through all my nastiness and drama.

Because he thinks this going to fix things.  To fix me.  (My words, not his.  He is much more delicate and politically correct.)

But every day I'm hearing that voice in my head, "I don't commit to anything.  Ever."  And I'm wondering what on earth I think I'm doing.  How can I possibly do this?  I'm so afraid I'm going to fail.  And think of all the people I'll disappoint.

Everyone.

But even more than that, I'm afraid of what comes next.

This feels like my last chance.  Like if I can't do this, then I'm destined to a life of endless cycles of misery.  With frequent stays at the hospital.  And all of the other mess and madness that comes with my decent into that dark abyss.

Sorry, this one is a bit of a downer.  Maybe that's why I haven't posted in so long.  I've been wanting to have something to say that is inspiring and uplifting.

The best I have is this.  Yesterday, I was driving the kids home from their counseling appointment and we were talking very candidly about life.  I was telling them why I wanted them to go to counseling in the first place.  So they can learn that life is about learning and about making mistakes and about trying again.  And I found myself using me going back to school as the example.  And asking them if it would make any sense for me to drop out of school just because I didn't get a perfect score on my quiz.  Or because it feels hard and I'm afraid to submit an assignment because then the teacher might judge it to not be perfect quality.

All of this kept tumbling out of my mouth effortlessly.  All the while, inside my head I was thinking, "What?  Yes.  Yes.  This is right.  Why is this so hard for me then?!"

So, at least the concept is there somewhere inside my brain.

There may be hope for me yet.

But For The Grace of God

I hope you know that, for your sake and mine, I really try to stick to topics that are either useful to you, or something I need help and reassurance on.  This is by nature a very personal blog, so I am constantly second guessing whether I've been guilty of over-sharing or not.  I am sure that at times I have been.

I keep a personal journal for the things I need to write down either to remember, or to sort through that are more private and not really appropriate for worldwide viewing.  But sometimes after recording something there, I feel quite strongly that I should also share it here.

Such is the case with my journal entry from last night.  All morning I've felt this pressing prompting to share it here.  So, hopefully, this is useful to at least one of you readers.

"I have felt empowered by the grace of God so much this week.

Every day has had challenges--many of them testing my mental and emotional resiliency.  I've had a lot of anxiety.  I've gotten down and I've gotten angry and frustrated.  I've wanted to turn to the coping skills that are easy and familiar, but harmful in the long run.

But instead, I've read my scriptures and the *Ensign.  I've listened to *Conference talks as I make dinner or clean the house.  I've asked for help (so hard!), I've prayed for help to stay patient with the kids and HH.  I've prayed for help in general.  And I've tried to take care of myself by exercising (might've overdone it a bit when the anxiety was really bad) and eating well.

And I've been blessed one hundred fold.  I've been able to stay patient, to return to a positive and cheerful mood, and even to be able to honestly say to HH that not one part of me doesn't want him to go on this "guy's hiking trip" he's leaving for.  I'll miss him and I'm a little worried about being on my own, but he needs this break in so many ways.

And the Lord keeps reminding me that I have enough--because He has given me all that I need."

That's it.  Short and sweet because I was in a hurry to get to bed. :)  But, I've had some amazing experiences this week and have been able to recognize some real personal growth that has been so gratifying and reassuring.  And I know that these steps I've taken are directly related to this added strength I've felt.

*Click these links for more information about the Ensign and General Conference.

Theme for 2015

Remember how instead of New Year's Resolutions, I do an individual theme for each year?

Yeah, I didn't remember that either.

Until I came across this post that I started writing back in January:


So, in 2014 I pretty much forgot that I had a yearly theme instead of New Year's Resolutions.

I looked it up and guess what my theme for last year was?  Hope.

Haha.  That's sort of a slap in the face.


And that's about as far as I got with that post.

But, it was a good reminder.  Mostly, because it reminded me that I had already come up with a theme for this year.  Or, more aptly, I knew what my theme for the year needed to be.

But back in January I was having a really hard time coming to turns with it.  It was so scary, it hurt.

Now it doesn't feel so hard.  And I can see why it is what the Spirit had prompted me to choose.

My theme for 2015 is Learning to Love Myself.

Darling A likes to play a game with me where I ask who I love and lists off everyone, usually ending with herself.  Today she switched things up and added me onto the end.  It gave me a moment's pause, but then I was really happy to realize that I could answer her question in the affirmative, without any doubts.

For someone who has spent a lot of time as a professional self-loather, that is a really big deal.

With the current changes and goals I have set in motion, I have to work on loving myself.  I haven't done fabulously well with our new diet the past few days.  But, I'm okay with that (and even willing to share this "failure" here) because I'm working on loving myself.  And the main reason I let myself slide on the diet is because it was creating more stress than benefit the way I was doing it and it became a matter of what I needed to do to really take care of me.

The funny thing is, my motivation for getting back on the diet (in a new, less stressful, modified way) is because I love myself.  And I love myself enough to not eat the sugar that gives me headaches.  Even though it sounds so good!

More importantly, I'm having to learn to love myself enough to believe in myself.  Because going back to college is really hard and really scary.

And I haven't even registered for classes yet!

So, I know it's going to get harder.  And I'm going to have to remember why I'm doing it--because I can do this and it's going to be the path to a different, better future for me and my family.

Today I worked on loving myself by not getting frustrated when I wasn't the fastest or the strongest in my class at the gym.  I got to the place where I felt good and the workout was putting a smile on my face and then I stayed there.  I didn't pick up an extra weight plate, even though the instructor had two.  I stuck with my one because I knew that it was workout enough for me today and it wouldn't make me so tired and sore that I would be a grump for the rest of the day with my family.

Winning.

More on Acceptance, Or Why I Want to Be a Currant Bush

First, I have to share a video story with you.  Many of you have probably seen it.  It's told by Elder D. Todd Christoffersen, an apostle of the Lord.







I love this story.  The very first time I heard it, I knew I'd just learned an important lesson for my stubborn heart.

And no matter how many times I hear the story, it's the same experience over and over.  It makes me want to weep, as I so fully understand how the currant bush is feeling.

Even in this very moment, I am frustrated because the word I really wanted to use in that previous sentence is not coming to me--something I experience frequently in my writing, ever since ECT messed with my brain.  I always considered myself to be a pretty talented writer.  But now, I feel like my ability to express myself has been reduced to the quality of a child.  And I find myself asking, "Why, God?  I know that through your guidance and grace, I have been able to help uplift and inspire others through my writing.  Why can't I have that ability still?"

The day before my most recent stay at the hospital, I sobbed into HH's arms, an utterly heartbroken lament, "I could be so great!"

I don't mean that in a conceited or arrogant way.  What I mean is, I know I have been given talents, as we all have.  And I know that I could accomplish great things, if given the capacity to develop those talents.

I have a willing heart!  I want to do so many things!  I want to do good!  I want to help others!  I want to be strong!

What I lack is the opportunity to focus on developing those talents.

Instead, I spend much of my time surviving.

At the worst of times, this means finding the strength and desire to keep placing one foot in front of the other, to walk away from the dark abyss my thoughts desire to lead me to.

But even now, when things are not so dire, I am rebuilding.  Learning how to be an engaged wife and mother again.  Trying to clean my house without wearing myself out and becoming a rage monster.  Struggling to remember how to make the recipes I've made for my family for years, but that ECT has now mostly erased.  Relearning how to become and be a friend.

And enduring the days when depression welcomes itself back into my life.

People have come into my life who are doing the very things with their lives that I want to do with mine.  And they are doing them very well!  As I believe I could.

And sometimes, it is hard to watch them and keep kind feelings in my heart.  As if their talents somehow detract anything from me and my life.

So, I keep coming back to this story about the currant bush.

And reminding myself that I am shortsighted.  As the Lord is not.  And He knows what I can be.  And what I can be great at.

And that what He wants for me is most assuredly greater than what I can imagine for myself.

For what He wants for me is to be as absolutely great as I can be.

And I can't do that on my own.

And I need to be cut back and trimmed on occasion.  Or maybe, all the time.

And I need to remember that the Lord is not only doing these things because He knows they will prune me into what He created me to be, but that He also knows I will survive every cut.

He knows that what I am learning as I navigate life with a mental illness is ultimately of greater worth, to me and those around me, than what I could be doing without it.

My brother recently told me that he is impressed at the burdens and trials the Lord allows me to have.  My brother is so wise and insightful.  And that new perspective was something that I really needed that day, and has stuck with me since.

The Lord prunes us back so we can grow into what He knows we are created to be.  He allows us to carry the burdens we have so we can develop the strength we need to be whatever that is.

He knows I have a willing heart and He is shaping it into what will ultimately bring me greater happiness than I can imagine.  In His garden, I am not a great big tree.  I am a currant bush.  He sees the big picture, of how everything in His garden grows and comes together and who is needed where.  He is not content to let me just grow haphazardly, as fast as I can.  He knows that becoming something truly useful takes time, care, effort, and patience.  He is the Gardener, not me.  Sometimes I get anxious and frustrated and I think I want to be the Gardener.

But, when I remember this story, I know I don't really want that.  I want to become what He knows I can be.  And that require faith in Him and His plan.  And more willingness to see the growth that having Bipolar II provides.  And less resentment for what I think it is taking away from me.

In life, I am His daughter, with infinite capacities.  I need to trust in Him.  That He knows how to shape and prune me.  And to allow Him the time that requires.  And that I don't have to be a great big tree to be happy.

I can be happy as a currant bush.

Big Deal

So, first things first, I have to share today's exciting news:  I met with my psychiatrist this morning and (drum roll, please) my next appointment isn't for 8 more weeks!  For the past several months (pretty much since I started seeing him), he's been setting up my appointments pretty much every 1-2 weeks because he felt so uncertain of my safety.

So, eight weeks is a really big deal.

It means that we're both feeling optimistic that whether this is just a phase, or whether I've actually turned a corner--it's going to last.  At least for a little while.

In the interim, we're doing a 4-week "detox", of sorts.  No gluten.  No dairy.  No sugar.  It has to do with stuff I've been reading about leaky gut and the GAPS diet.  It's not an exact science.  And it isn't following anything I've read to a 'T'.

It's just following my gut.

No pun intended.

The other main big thing is that I'm looking into going back to school.  Either for my Physical Therapy doctorate, or as a Physical Therapy Assistant.

That's proving to be more complicated than I initially expected.  I have a ton of questions about how to get started and answers are difficult to come by.

But nothing worthwhile was ever easy, right?

At least, that's what I'm going to tell myself.

So, I still don't know if I'm feeling better because of the changes and effort I'm making, or if it's just a phase.  But, I'm going to stick with believing the former and hope that these two big changes will help the goodness continue.

Acceptance, Reality, and Perspective

These are the concepts that have been mulling around inside my head of late.

Several weeks ago my therapist was trying to convince me of the merits of "Radical Acceptance".  In dialectical behavioral therapy (DBT), this method is used to just sort of determine that where you are right now is okay.

And I actually started writing this post a couple days later to try and sort out my feelings.  Because mostly my feelings were all involving a lot of anger.  A LOT.

This is how my post continued:

"That may be oversimplifying things for a bit, but as far as I am concerned, that sums it up.

And I recognize the merits of such thinking.

I mean, how else can I find peace in my situation?  If I am constantly feeling the need for something better, how can I be happy?

I get it.

The problem is, as far as I can see it, my current circumstances are inherently devoid of peace.

It doesn't matter if I accept that things are the way they are and they are just going to be this way.  Because things are pretty awful right now.  I'm constantly battling dark thoughts and desires.  And the idea of accepting that this is just "who I am" now, is even more depressing!

But, I think my therapist was suggesting that if I accept this as "who I am", those dark thoughts will dissipate.  That perhaps, they are a result of my constant fight to get back to who I once was.  That if I accept this as my new reality, I will find peace.

The problem is, I'm not sure how much of all of this I'm supposed to accept.

I feel like I've accepted that I have Bipolar II pretty well.  And I know that means that I won't always be happy."

And that's where I quit because I was just too frustrated and annoyed and frustrated.

And I ended up in the hospital a few days later because those dark thoughts wouldn't leave me alone and HH couldn't stay home to keep a constant watch on me and I told him I didn't think I had it in me to keep myself safe any longer.

The hospital stay had its pluses and minuses, as they always do.  Way too much to write about, really.  The main thing is that they actually agreed that most of my meds haven't helped and took me off of all but one.  It's a mood stabilizer and the ones that I think have really been bothering me are in a class called "atypical antipsychotics".  That's a fun one to throw out there.

So anyway, about two days after they took me off my last one of those, it was like my head cleared for the first time in longer than I can remember.  I'd just had a really upsetting phone conversation with someone I love and the dark thoughts started coming fast and I could feel them piling up and all of the sudden, I had the strength and the motivation to stop it.  I knew where that path leads and I didn't want to take it.  So, I stopped those thoughts and replaced them with rational, more positive thoughts.

It's not like I haven't tried that before.  But, for the last long while, I couldn't.  I just couldn't.  I don't know how to explain the inner workings of my mind better than that, sorry.

But now I could.

I can.

I've been home for a little over two weeks.  And they haven't been perfect.  I had a significant crash last Monday.  And a few bad days following.

But, I've been able to stay above that line.  Where the dark thoughts rarely come.  And when they do, I can stop them and move on.

And that's a pretty big deal.

But, I'm still stuck on this idea of acceptance.  And what my reality is.  Because I don't really know.

HH and I are feeling optimistic.  I'm making some significant changes in my life (more on that to come) that are supposed to really make a difference.  I fighting hard to stay happy.  I'm making myself smile every chance I get.  Even while typing a post on my computer.

But last week my therapist made sure to remind us that the thing about Bipolar II is that it goes in cycles.  3% of the time in hypomania, 50% of the time in depression, and he didn't specify the rest, but I think it must just be in stability.

So, I've been second-guessing all my happiness and my hard work at finding it and keeping it.  Maybe I'm just in a good phase of my "bipolar cycle" and my "hard work" really isn't all that hard.  Like when I tried hypno birthing with my last baby and I thought I was rocking it and at least dilated to a 6 or 7, but when I got to the hospital I was really only at a 3.  And then when the real contractions hit, I about gave up on the whole natural birth thing.

But, those second-guessing thoughts are part of the thoughts I'm trying to keep myself away from.  They don't really help.

Except that I am just trying to figure out how much of all of this I need to accept.  Am I really going to just have to endure the cycles of this illness?  Or, do I have the power to make things better in one way or another?  I have to believe that I do.  I can't accept that I'm going to just be depressed 50% of my life.  Especially not when that depression brings such scary and disastrous thoughts.

Now I just have to see if I have the stamina to make the big changes I'm working on and to maintain them.

Guessing Game

Sorry for leaving things with the previous depressing post for so long.  I kept meaning to write something that was a little more hopeful, but I just never could.

So, things have been bad for a while now.  I'm just so sick of it.  And I'm back to lying frequently when asked how I'm doing.  Sorry if you've been the recipient of one of these lies.  I just get so tired of constantly bringing everyone else down.  And, even though I know they're offered with good intentions, I get tired of the sympathetic looks and comments.

And I feel like other people are getting tired of it too.  Like, come on, you can't seriously be that down for that long!

So, instead I tell people that I'm doing better and then the conversation moves on to something else.
And it's just easier.

But, the other night while HH was praying (we pray together just before bed each night), my mind fixated on something he said about me and it might have started to wander a bit.  But, I think maybe it was inspired wandering?

I started to think about how awful I've felt for so long and how it's been forever since I really felt like "myself".  And how it's been forever since we had a period of stability, when everyone could just be themselves without worrying about how it might effect me.  When I could try to host something in my home and everyone else wouldn't freak out (we can't let Cheryl do that--the stress might put her back in the hospital!) and come up with all these excuses why someone else should host.  (This keeps happening, lately.)  When everyone (myself included) trusted me to be a "normal", functioning human being.

And then a little flag went up.  You've felt this way before.  So, I kept racking my brain (memories are still a serious challenge to pull up).  Until I hit it--every time I took anti-depressants, I eventually went off because this is exactly how I felt!

When I found out that I had bipolar II disorder, I was kind of excited.  I thought that now I'd be able to find a medication that would help instead of hurt.  And it explained why I always felt so yucky on anti-depressants--because they weren't made to treat what was wrong with me.  And so, I have been open and willing to take all of the different medications they've prescribed.  I've given every single one of them a good run, in spite of side effects like dry mouth (resulting in bad breath) and dry skin, serious tremors, confusion, so tired I can hardly get out of bed or accomplish anything during the day, hungry all the time, never feeling full (consequently, plenty of weight gain),  etc.

I kept trying the meds because I kept feeling awful and I had faith that something would eventually help.

But when I had that epiphany the other night, it occurred to me that perhaps I feel so yucky because I feel so yucky.

The lethargy that I feel nearly all the time makes it difficult for me to do the things that I love that normally help when I'm feeling down like working out, cooking and baking, and even playing the piano.  I've actually reached a point where I HATE working out.  HATE IT!  I do it because I keep gaining weight and every time I get dressed or walk past a mirror I tell myself I'm getting fat--even though I know that's not actually true.  But I feel it and I hate myself for it.

So, these negative aspect to these side effects just keep perpetuating more and more negativity in my life.

So....  I'm going to go off all of my meds.

This is kind of scary.  But, it feels right.  I'm going to at least try it.  I'm not saying I'll never try meds again.  I freely admit that things weren't exactly peachy before meds.  There's a reason I wound up in the hospital multiple times.  There's a reason I was so willing to take meds when we changed my diagnosis.  But, nothing is working.  I have a hard time believing that the medication is doing any good.  I mean, HH is debating taking me to the hospital at least once a week because things are so bad.  So far, we've managed to find a safety net and keep me home.  But, we're really not all that far from things being as bad as they can get, so I doubt the medication is what is keeping me safe.

This is going to be a hard sell for my psychiatrist though.

He's already told me he couldn't ever support a plan that doesn't include so meds.  And I understand where he is coming from.  And I have a lot of respect for him and his plans for treatment for me.  A part of why I'm writing this is so my thoughts on the matter are written down and more solidified in my mind.

But, he is a doctor.  And he definitely knows a lot more about all of this than I do.  So, how can I convince him that my reasoning is justifiable?  That something in my gut tells me that for some reason these medications don't mesh with my physiology.  Sometimes I wonder if maybe they're all designed to treat bipolar I?  Because that really is a different beast.  And since I've been on the meds, I don't often experience the hypermedia side to bipolar II.  Other times I wonder if it's just me?  If for some reason, medications just don't sit well with my body.  I've always had pretty strong reactions to medication.  For instance, I can only take a half dose of night time cold medicine (and even then I only take it when straits are dire) because even that much knocks me out for 24 hours or more.  So maybe, I just experience the side effects so strongly, I can't ever feel if the medication is working?

It doesn't help that there are so many options when it comes to medications to treat mood disorders.  And countless combinations of all these drugs.

But, right now, it just feels right to at least take a break.  Maybe this won't work either, but starting fresh could be good, right?

Ugh.  I just wish I knew.

For now, I'm going to give it a go.  If you're a praying person, please offer up a prayer on my behalf.  I had to go off of my meds temporarily during ECT and I don't remember it, but HH said the withdrawals were pretty rough.  Which scares me a little.  That and venturing away from what I know my doctor will want me to do.  But right now, this is the only path that I can see that is lit up by the light that hope brings.

And I could really use a little hope.

What Now?

I decided to stop doing the day thing since my posting is so very sporadic--both in timing and in subject.

I'm not really sure where to begin with this post, as is so often the case.  I just feel on the tip of some new bit of clarity and I felt prompted to try and sort it out here.

The thing is... I'm not doing very well.

This comes after having three totally stable days last week (no extreme ups, no extreme downs, just able to function like a "normal" person) and one 95% stable day.  It was fantastic.  I was able to get caught up on so many things I've fallen behind on over the past couple of months.  And HH had a bit of relief from worrying about me all the time.  And I got to help my kids with their school work and carry on normal conversations with them and even host a few playdates with their friends.

And then it all came crashing down.  Big time.

And I keep thinking I'm on my way back up.  And in some ways I am.  I don't feel overly depressed, or anxious, or any of that stuff.  For the most part, I feel okay.  Not great or happy, but okay.

But the problem is, the darkest of my thoughts just keep coming.

And I'm getting so tired of fighting them off.

In some ways, it's even harder to keep fighting when I'm doing *mostly* okay than it is when I'm severely depressed.  Because right now it just feels so unfair.  And inexplicable.  And I don't understand it.  And it scares me because it feels like this fight will never end.  Not even pause to give me a brief reprieve.

I'm exhausted from finding things to do to keep myself busy and distracted.

But, I've been thinking a lot about faith.

If you've read my prior posts, I hope you know that I most definitely have faith in Jesus Christ.  Somewhere I remember hearing or reading about the difference between believing in Jesus Christ, versus simply believing Him.

And I think that is where my struggles currently lie.  I believe in Christ and all of His promises.  But, I think there is something in the way of my believing that all of that actually applies to me too.  He says that He gives us weaknesses so we will humble ourselves and turn to Him, so He can make us strong and so we can sit down with Him in the place He has prepared for us in the mansions of His Father (Ether 12).

I believe that.

But, it's harder to believe in it.

Because believing in it means that I have to keep fighting.  It means that no matter how hard things get, I don't get to say that I'm quitting because I'm just not strong enough.  It means that I have to trust that I've been given the strength I need to keep fighting, no matter how dark or how scary or how much I want to just give in and give up.

And even though the alternative of trusting and persevering is pretty unthinkable, it still means I would finally get a break from all of my demons.

But I know that the reasons to keep fighting vastly outweigh the reasons to quit.

So, I choose to have faith.  The kind of faith that means truly trusting those promises.  That is the kind of faith that brings about hope.  I think that hope is what gives us the strength to face the challenges we'd rather not face.

Today HH told me that I'm a fighter and that he's grateful I keep fighting.

I don't feel like a fighter.  So, I'm going to start out by having faith in his faith and hope that that's enough to give me the strength I need to get through today.  And I'm going to be grateful that I have a man like HH in my life who never gives up on me and always believes in me and is often the source of strength I need to keep fighting.  And always encouraging me with the hope that tomorrow will be a better day.

Day 104: Personality Shift

I have to begin this with a bit of a disclaimer:  I am manic today.  I've been in what's called a "mixed state" for over a week now.  That means I'm both manic and depressed at the same time.  Which means it's just the miserable parts of mania going on.  I feel miserably down, hate myself, and can't sit still or calm down.  And I'm really angry and irritable.

Pretty much all things awesome.

But, today, I've left the depression behind and I've just got the mania.  Before you go feeling all sorry for me--Don't.

Being manic has its upsides.  Today I just feel really happy.  And excited.  About life.  About my future.  About my date with HH tonight.  It is really easy to get angry when I'm manic though, so I've had to reign myself in when my kids were not listening and obeying this morning.

But, I did.  For the most part.

And now, I'm back to being happy.

The problem with being manic and attempting a post, however, is that my mind is kind of all over the place and it's difficult to follow one train of thought to its completion.  But, you were all very kind in overlooking the numerous typos in my last post, so I'm trusting you will do the same if this post is a bit jumpy.

I just hope it makes sense.

The thing is, I think I've noticed some fairly significant positive changes in myself as I've started to "come back to life" since ending my ECT treatments.

You know I've always been a perfectionist.  To the extreme.  How I would go to any lengths to be perfectly in shape, have a perfectly clean house, be the perfect wife and mom, live my religion perfectly, and so on.  Or, at least to appear to be perfect in each of those areas.

And then I'd hate myself for falling short.  And for being a fake and a hypocrite.

So, a friend gave me an audio book just before I moved, called Daring Greatly.  I'd only just begun listening to it shortly before ECT began.  Which of course means that I completely forgot everything I'd read.

So, I picked it up again this past week and just started over at the beginning.  While I don't really remember having read it before, I do remember the feeling I had while listening to it.  Mostly, I just remember cringing with shame and fear as I listened to it the first time.

The author talks all about the value of being vulnerable.  And of letting go of the feeling of "not being _____ enough".

It was like she had been watching me go about my life and she was talking straight to me.

What she said made sense.  I knew she was right.  And that my life would be better if I made the changes she was talking about.

And it terrified me.

And then I went through ECT and completely forgot everything.  But, as I've been listening to it over again this week, I'm remembering those feelings and discovering that they aren't there this time.

Last week, while I was out for a run, I had a little epiphany.  It was as cars were driving past me while I ran at my current about-45-seconds-slower-than-before pace and I realized that I didn't feel the desperate need to speed up, so they would know how fast I can be.  I mean, the thought to do so briefly popped into my head, but then I had this little conversation with myself:

"If they stopped and I told them what I've been through over the last month and a half, they would not only not judge me for being slow, but they would think I am totally awesome for all that I am doing."

A little conceited?  Perhaps.  But, it's actually a conversation I've had with myself numerous times before and since that moment.

But, it was while I was running that I gave pause to acknowledge how incredibly out of character that is for me, and then to ponder why it's happening and why I am okay with all of this.  And the truth is, I haven't really come up with a satisfactory answer yet.

But, I think a part of it is this--for one reason or another, I've found myself opening up and being honest about how I'm doing and what's going on with me since we decided to do ECT.  I think that is in part because we had to tell so many people what was happening because it required so much help.  And then my friend asked me to write this post for her website, and suddenly, it seemed like everyone knew.

And not one person judged me poorly.

No one came to me with any negative feedback.  No one questioned why I was so messed up.  No one told me I was wrong in any way.  No one was mean.

Not one person.

Instead, I received this overwhelming outpouring of love and kindness and support.  And, this is something that still baffles me, I received an overwhelming expression of admiration and even appreciation.

Whoa.

And I think that (plus, the epiphany shared in my last post) is a big part of why I'm finding it easier to be kind to myself.  And to let go of the need to constantly impress everyone.

And now that I've begun being honest and everyone knows that my life is not perfect, I feel like I have to continue being honest.  Because no one is going to believe that all of the sudden my life is magically okay and I am doing everything perfectly again.  So, it's kind of like I'm being forced into this vulnerability.  And I'm not going to lie to you and tell you that being vulnerable is awesome all of the time.  It's still scary.  I still come away from most social situations questioning much of what I said and did.  But then the feedback comes in, and it's still positive.

So, my plan is to just keep on keeping on.  Because, even though it's still scary (I'm hopeful that it won't always be), it's also still easier.  I get to spend my time focusing on the things that I need to be doing, that are most important in my recovery, or for my family.  I used to have to spend my time working on all of those surface issues, so that it would appear to everyone else that everything was perfect with perfect me.

I have to tell you that this way of living is so much more comfortable.  And I am pretty sure it also leaves a lot more room for finding happiness and for sharing that happiness with the people I love the most.

I like this personality shift.  Wherever it came from, I'm grateful for it.  Maybe ECT didn't work the way it's supposed to, but it would appear that it's made a difference in my life for the better anyway.

A difference that is good enough, it's even worth losing the last several months of my life to amnesia.

Day 103: Reluctantly

I'm not sure where to begin today.  I feel like I have been going through a very personal experience and broadcasting it to the world all along the way.  For the most part, that has been because I have felt prompted too, or because many people have been asking questions.  Sometimes though, I think it's just because my new meds are making me a little manic, and I don't have much of a filter when I'm in this state.

So, I am frequently worrying that I have shared too much.  That I am making some people uncomfortable and sharing things that no one really wants to know.  But then, someone approaches me to thank me for being courageous and honest and expresses some way in which it has helped them.  Honestly, this surprises me every time and I don't really understand how it is helping, but I am grateful for the opportunity to help anyone else going through a hard time.

That being said, what I am about to share is something that feels very personal.  I shared it with HH this morning, bawling the entire time, and then oddly enough, which actually discussed my sharing this with someone else.  I told him I couldn't.  It's just too close to the heart.

And then I was sitting in church a couple hours later and I felt so strongly that I need to share it.  However, I think I can do that without sharing the part that is most personal that I think actually would be too much.  We'll see how my filter does. :)

I have really been struggling the past couple months with the issue of faith.  Not in the way I typically would.  Usually, under my current circumstances I would be doubting everything.  Thinking that God might exist, but He can't possibly love me or He would never allow me to wade through so much struggle, or make HH be stuck with so much misery and stress.

But, I have surprised myself by remaining faithful.  I know that God exists and I know that He loves me.  I know that He has a plan for me and that this is a part of it.  I know that I am learning and growing things that there must be no better way for me to learn than to go through all of this mess.

The problem arises when I feel that no progress is being made.  That in a lot of ways, things are actually getting worse.  So, my conclusion has been that I must be lacking in someway.  I felt that my even though my faith is intact, it must still be incomplete because I have had so many blessings (in the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, we believe in Priesthood blessings just like those given by the Savior and His disciples, and His prophets throughout the scriptures), prayed so many prayers, and had so many prayers prayed on my behalf--and yet, things are not improving.

So, I have been praying the past couple of months, asking what more I can/should be doing.  How I can increase my faith and what actions I can be taking to make things better.

But, the answer hasn't really come.  I've just felt confused and frustrated and inadequate.  And discouraged.  So discouraged.

Fast forward to this morning.  HH and I teach the 12-year old Sunday School class at church.  Normally, we prepare well in advance.  But, lately HH has been so busy taking care of me and everything else, he doesn't always remember.  And I just plain don't remember, plus this week I've been manic, so every time I think about preparing our lesson, my mind has moved on to something else within about 45 seconds.  So, we were doing our last minute preparations of putting it all together, this morning.  This paragraph was me trying to assuage my guilt--can you tell?

Anyway, as a part of it, I was reading Elder Jeffrey R. Holland's talk from October 2013 General Conference, "Lord, I Believe".  I strongly encourage you to click on that link and either listen to or read his address.  It hit me profoundly the day he first delivered it and it hit me profoundly today.

It was the answer to my months of pleading and praying.  He shares the account found in St. Mark, about the father of a young boy who I am convinced has a mental illness of some sort.  He is constantly putting himself in danger and it is terrifyingly stressful for his parents.  His father pleads with the Lord to heal his son, or to at least help them in any small way.  (I was reading this talk out loud to HH, and I was bawling already by this point, as I have prayed the same prayer so many times.)

“If thou canst do any thing,” he said, “have compassion on us, and help us.

“Jesus said unto him, If thou canst believe, all things are possible to him that believeth.

“And straightway the father of the child cried out, and said with tears, Lord, I believe; help thou mine unbelief.”¹

And that was my answer.  Elder Holland goes on to use this example to teach us how we should handle our faith and our questions.  He teaches that it is completely okay to have limited faith.  I could seriously just quote his whole talk here.  I'll just share the quotes that helped me the most this morning.

 "In moments of fear or doubt or troubling times, hold the ground you have already won, even if that ground is limited...When those moments come and issues surface, the resolution of which is not immediately forthcoming, hold fast to what you already know and stand strong until additional knowledge comes. It was of this very incident, this specific miracle, that Jesus said, “If ye have faith as a grain of mustard seed, ye shall say unto this mountain, Remove hence to yonder place; and it shall remove; and nothing shall be impossible unto you.”⁶ The size of your faith or the degree of your knowledge is not the issue—it is the integrity you demonstrate toward the faith you do have and the truth you already know."

"...Be as candid about your questions as you need to be; life is full of them on one subject or another. But if you and your family want to be healed, don’t let those questions stand in the way of faith working its miracle."

"...So be kind regarding human frailty—your own as well as that of those who serve with you in a Church led by volunteer, mortal men and women. Except in the case of His only perfect Begotten Son, imperfect people are all God has ever had to work with. That must be terribly frustrating to Him, but He deals with it. So should we. "

And in that moment I knew that what I am doing is enough.  My faith is enough.  I don't need to feel frantic, or stressed that I am somehow failing the Lord in His expectations of me.  I am so far from perfect.  And my efforts to live the gospel the way I normally strive to and to serve others have fallen very very short of what I would like, or even what I have managed in the past.  But the Lord is satisfied with where I am at right now.  The fact that my struggles are not finding a resolution is not a reflection on lacking on my part.  He knows that things are hard and all He wants right now is to comfort and carry me through this.  But He can't do that when I am keeping a distance because I feel inadequate and undeserving.

The truth is, I will always be inadequate and undeserving.  Even if I was capable of living the way I would like to be right now, I would still fall hopelessly short.  But that is irrelevant.  He loves me and He offers His love and acceptance and approval, regardless of whether I deserve it, or not.

I am enough.  My worth is 100% separate from the status of my mental health and the progress (or lack thereof) at finding wellness again.

And I can have peace in the midst of the most awful and horrifying circumstances.  I can wade through darkness I could have never imagined possible and know that somehow, someday, somewhere it will be okay.  His hand is outstretched, waiting to take mine, and to walk with me through it all, even at the scariest of times.

And my faith is enough that I can take His hand.  I can turn to Him when I feel confused and hopeless and scared.  I can say to Him, "If thou canst do any thing, have compassion on [me], and help [me]...Lord, I believe; help thou mine unbelief."  And I know that He will.

The answer to this prayer was painfully long in coming.  But I'm so grateful for it.  I was reaching a point where I didn't know how I would be able to continue.  But now I have what I need to keep pressing on.  And it is enough.

Day 102: Remember Me?

Because I don't.

Not really.

I've forgotten just about everything that has happened since we moved back in May.  For real.  I keep discovering new things in my house.  And I have to re-meet people who live around here.  And the kids have to keep reminding me of things that have happened in our life.

Yesterday, I discovered that we have a swing set in our backyard.

So fun.

And we're not sure how well the ECT worked.  We think it still needs to clear out of my head a bit and then we'll notice more benefit from it.  But, I haven't made the drastic turn around that some people get.

It has been a neat experience in that I have never felt so cared for and connected to the rest of society.  Everywhere I go people are asking how I'm doing and telling me they are praying for me.  And I truly have felt all of the prayers.  So, to those who have been a part of that, thank you.

It's also been nice because we've just kept being honest and open about everything.  No more secrets. And as awkward and uncomfortable as that can be, it's also nice to just be open.  It's easier to laugh at where I'm at that to cover up the pain and pretend that my life is perfect.

But, I am really looking forward to getting all of this anesthesia out of my system, so I can tell how much the process worked.  So I can stop forgetting everything the moment after it happens.  And so I can stop needing a long nap in the middle of every day.

I am just really ready to be a capable person again!  At least somewhat.  I want to not be totally overwhelmed by the prospect of being a mom to my kids.  Or making dinner.  Or laundry soap.  Or grocery shopping.

But mostly, I just want to be happy.  So, I'm trying really hard to practice patience.  With my life and myself.  I'm trying hard to tell myself that it is okay to be this new me.  To be flawed and to not get everything done.  And this is all going to be just fine, right?  I am going to get through this okay.  Because I have this amazing support group behind me every step of the way and, miraculously, they don't appear to have any intentions of giving up on me.

How did I get to be so very blessed?

Day 101: 10-12 Seizures This Month? Sign Me Up!

You may have noticed (but probably didn't because I unintentionally do this all the time) that I skipped a day.  That's because I've been working on a different post for a month now.  But, it's a really... I'm not finding a word to describe it.  It's just that it's not something I'm sure I want to share.  Not because it's awful or horrifying.  Mostly, just because it's not happy.  In an irreconcilable way.

On to this post.

And seizures!

Induced seizures!

There.  I just wanted you to read something enthusiastic on this blog for a change.

Here's the nitty gritty of it:

Medication isn't working for me.  I've been on a quite a few.  It's pretty much somewhat informed guesswork.  There are so many meds and every individual is so different and usually it's a combination of drugs that ends up working--it's just a matter of finding the right cocktail for me.  Since this is a relatively new ride for me to be on, I was assuming that I was traveling the normal path, headed the right direction, and there really wasn't an alternative, so we had to just keep adding, dropping, and switching doses around on my meds.

Don't get me wrong--this has been a lot of fun.  We found out (through, surprise, guesswork!) that two of my medications taken at certain levels caused my limbs and extremities to go numb and tingly.  So bad that one night I woke up to go to the bathroom and fell on the floor because my leg was gone completely.  After the blood panel and MRI turned up normal, we decided to adjust the meds.  And honestly, I'm grateful it was such a simple fix.

There have been a lot of other fun side effects.  But, I won't make you all jealous by going into detail here.

All the while, my actual bipolar symptoms seem to be getting worse.  We don't know how much is circumstantial and how much could be from meds, because this is all guesswork, in case you didn't know.

My last few appointments with my psychiatrist were interspersed with several pauses of him just looking at me for a while before saying, "I'm really worried about you."

Which pretty much just made me feel awkward.  And I always feel that most things said by psychiatrists and therapists (except my current therapist who is anything but typical), are kind of meant to make me think or feel something that they think will fix me.

I'm pretty sure I'm a really fun patient to treat.

Anyway, it turns out that he actually meant it, and he started to push for something called ECT.  I told my therapist and he thought it was too extreme and tried to kind of persuade me against it.

Fast forward, and apparently everyone agrees that I really need it.

ECT is basically induced seizures.  3 times a week for around 4 weeks.  Because someone somewhere noticed that people with epilepsy frequently experience an elevated mood after the worst of the aftermath is over.

Who knew, right?

I'll be under general anesthesia and given a muscle relaxant, so I'll be spared the worst of it.  But, I'll have really bad headaches and feel nauseated.  And I can't drive.  And I'm supposed to have round the clock care.  Even on my off days.

Oh, and I probably won't remember much of the month of October.  And other memories from my past might become hazy, as well.

A part of me is desperate for this and sad and scared that I have to wait until this weekend to begin.  Medication has about a 40% success rate, while ECT has a 70-90% success rate.  It won't cure me, but it will take the worst of it away and possibly make me more receptive to meds.  I can't imagine how great it would be to feel better than I do right now.  And to not have to fight so hard against dark things.

But, I'm also sort of totally terrified.  Not really of the seizures themselves.  But, what if it doesn't work?  What if I'm in that 10-30% who don't respond?  Where do we go after that?  There are a couple other procedures, but they sound freaky.  As in actually inserting stuff into your brain, freaky.

And I don't want to disappoint anyone else.  People are making some really big sacrifices to help us be able to make this happen.  I don't want it to be a waste.

And HH has had his hopes pinned all over this pretty much since he found out about it.  I don't know how I'll handle his disappointment if this doesn't help as much as he's hoping it will.

Day 99: Lethargy

I've written so many blog posts in my head over the past month or two.  But I would have had to write them from my phone.  And I never felt up to that effort.

And now that I'm here, I'm not sure what to write.

But I feel like I have to because I've wanted to for so long.  There's something about typing it all down that just helps.

It's been a long road.  I guess it will continue to be.  And maybe it is for everyone.

It's been so many ups and downs.  Well, mostly downs.  But, it's been kind of a crazy ride since I left the hospital.  They've changed my meds a few times and I'm learning that that can be a difficult transition.  I just got put on a medication that kind of knocks me out.  Which is awesome at night (I've slept through the night every night since I started it--that NEVER happens.  Usually I'm up several times).  But I have to take it at morning and noon as well.  And that's rough.

It's been building every day and the past couple of days it has left me completely lethargic.  I don't want to get up.  Showering is a chore.  And doing my hair and make up?  Bleh.  Forget cleaning and cooking, too.

It's kind of a mess.

We have a few really big things going on this week and I just don't want to have anything to do with them.

I just want to do nothing.

There's not much of the depression involved in this.  Which is a good thing.  Because that would probably push me over the edge.

But I feel the depression creeping in.  And I'm worried what will happen.  I talked to my doctor about it, and he said I can switch up how I take it--more at night, less during the day.  I forgot to do that today.  And at some point, the benefits of the medication will kick in.  And the sleepiness factor might lessen.

And maybe I'll be okay.

I did have a few good days last week.  Not really the hypomania.  Just normal, stable happiness.  I don't really know how to describe how fabulous it was.  I'm so sad it's over.

My new therapist (I have a new new therapist) is an expert on bipolar and bipolar II.  This is fantastic because he is teaching me so much and it's amazing to understand why I think and behave the way I do, and to learn ways to mitigate the negative to some degree.

But, sometimes the information is hard to take.

Like when he told me that someone with Bipolar II typically spends 90% of life in the depression phase and 10% in the hypomanic.

So, I'm hoping that my good days aren't really over yet, but that they're just being overshadowed by my new med.  I don't want to be headed down again.  I just came from there.  And I don't like it.

I better close this super cheery post because it's almost dinner time and I'm the only one here who can make it.

Day 98: Fake It Till You Break It

I can be really good at faking it.

And sometimes, that faking leads to making it.  Just as the adage says.  Sometimes, I fake a smile and go out with friends or family, and after a while, I really do feel happy and like smiling.

Sometimes, I fake it till I take it.

Okay, I'm not actually sure what that meant.

But, sometimes, I fake it until I just get through what ever "it" is.  The faking is just enough to allow me to keep my head above the water until the thing comes to a natural conclusion and, at some point, the waters recede and I discover that I survived.  Maybe not cheerfully, but I did survive.

And then there are the times that I fake it till I break it.

And that's when everything falls apart.

I know, I've spent a lot of time in therapy learning the pitfalls of that mindset and working hard on coming up with strategies to avoid it.  Having my safety plan with a list of people I can (should) call when the going gets tough.

But it's hard.

And most of the time, I can just have a private crash with a few days of feeling sad and despondent and then HH helps me pick up the pieces and pull through.

But, right now, we go back and forth between our parents' homes.  There isn't really a place to have a private crash.  At least, not with my few days to mourn whatever brought on the crash, and the following sadness.  I don't know how to really explain it, but that's what it feels like.

So, things have been getting worse and worse, as far as my mental state, but I couldn't bring myself to have such a public crash.  I didn't want people to worry about me.  Both for my sake and for theirs. 
So, I kept pushing it aside and telling myself I just had to get through until we moved into our new house.

But, I haven't really been sleeping well.

And I don't know if it's the mono, or the stress, but my physical health is deteriorating and I can barely exercise any more, even when I do find the time, which is rare.

And life away from home and after a move is stressful in general--for me and the kids.

And HH is working some longer hours, plus has an hour commute each way.

And then a week and a half ago, my grandpa died.  I was there when my dad found out.  And my mom was out of town at the time, so I felt like I needed to take care of him.  And I was really worried about him.  I still don't think I've sat down to deal with my own loss in this.

And then we drove out to the funeral, got to bed late, held the funeral,  I sang a duet with my sister (something I'm not really comfortable doing--the singing part, I'm happy to hang out with my sister), spent some time with my dad's family, and then we turned around and drove home.  I was feeling guilty because other people stayed to spend more time together, but we really needed to get back.  And we did, but in the wee early morning hours of Sunday.

And I was supposed to sleep in, but I barely slept at all, so that didn't happen.  I was so ridiculously tired.

But, we were throwing a birthday party for Darling A that evening.  With both sides of the family.  Because that's what you do when you live close to so much family.

I had spent quite a bit of the week prior stressing over it.  And then when I realized I was going to have a funeral right before, my stress went into double time.  And when one of the cakes came out of the pan in multiple pieces, I just about cried.

But, thanks to some help from my sister-in-law earlier in the week with some fondant cows plus a lot of frosting, the cakes actually turned out pretty cute.

Then my husband's grandma (who offered to let us throw the party at her house) got really stressed out and upset because of some poor planning on our part.  Which is kind of the story of my life right now.  There are so many things going on, I feel like I'm never organized enough to plan anything right.  I felt so guilty about causing her stress, that was when things really started to unravel for me.

I think the party went okay, but I felt like it should be perfect.  And it wasn't.  At least, not in the way I had hoped it would be.

And on the way home, HH and I began a discussion about my therapy and then kind of my prognosis.  And HH expressed some disappointment with the fact that he keeps thinking changing my circumstances will improve my mental health, but it really hasn't yet.  He wasn't saying this to hurt me, by any means.  I know being in his shoes must be a terrible place to be.  And sometimes, he allows himself to express that.  And I hate that he pretty much always feels guilty about it afterward.

The problem this time, is that that goes right along with a vein of thinking I've been following myself quite a bit lately.  Just that I'm never going to get better.

And I'm not talking about being cured from bipolar.  I'm just talking about rising above the pervasive depression that has been hanging over me (us) for the better part of the last year.  I don't think I've been stable for more than a week or two at a time, and even those have been rare.

I've been down so much that it's hard for HH to see that I'm trying to rise above it, and not just wallowing in it all the time.  It's hard for anyone who doesn't deal with this to understand what an effort it can be just to survive the day.  And that, these days, that's really the best I can do.  Having fun or laughing are sometimes luxuries that come at too high of an effort for me to afford.  And the art of "positive thinking" is just a distant dream.

And so Sunday night, I lost the will to keep trying.  I just couldn't do it any more.  The suicide ideations that drove me to the hospital last October had been slowing creeping back in over the past couple of months and I just grew too tired to fight them off.

I didn't sleep well again that night, so they were my constant companions.

I just happened to have a therapy appointment set up for that day.  And my therapist had requested that HH come with me so she could meet him.

For the first time, I actually cried in a therapy session.  I blame HH because he cried first.  And that's all I'll say about the session.  It was very painful.

My therapist knew I needed to go to the hospital.  I knew I needed it, but I didn't want to.  And HH knew that going to the hospital might just make things worse for me as it did when I went for a few days back in 2012.

But, I couldn't get myself to a place where I felt safe to be alone.  So, I had him check me in.  It's a long story, but we didn't get to the hospital until late that night and it was after 1 AM by the time I was shown my room.

It was a really nice facility.  Not actually a hospital.  The first day and a half I was on a very secure floor with patients who struggle with mental illness a lot worse than mine, but then a bed opened up for me upstairs and I was with people I had more in common with.  A lot of people with bipolar mostly.

And it was kind of really nice.  Except the nights.  And the not being able to shave my legs (razors were at the top of the list of everyday items that were now termed "contraband").

But, here were all of these people who understand me perfectly.  They know how even a great life can't stop bipolar depression.  And the pain of watching it hurt those you love.  And that we can't control it, no matter how hard we try.

Some of the conversations we carried might have been disturbing to those free from mental illness.  But, it was nice to be able to share and learn from each other.

It was also easier because when one of us was struggling, we knew how to offer support and when to give space.  I had a bit of a breakdown one night and into the next morning, and it was amazing how these friends of only a couple days were able to tell me what I needed to hear.  And then just allowed me the time to be by myself to work through the rest on my own.

It felt so safe there.  The suicide ideations were completely gone.  Replaced by peace and actually, happiness.

It helped that there was very little stress.  No meals to cook or clean up.  No messes.  No one needing me at all, really.  I didn't even have to remember when to take my own medications.  They took care of everything for us.  It was just a bunch of group therapy sessions which ranged from discussing coping skills and self-esteem, to making a rose out of clay and playing Name That Tune.  And then some free time to read a book or talk with friends.  Time to walk outside with a couple of friends.  And the occasional appointment with my arrogant but intelligent psychiatrist.

I wanted to leave Friday so I could join my family on an outing to Lagoon we'd planned weeks ago, so we could go with my sister's and my brother's families on Saturday.

Friday morning I woke up very depressed, so I all but made up my mind to stay another couple of days.  But, I sorted through the problem and started to feel better bit by bit.  Plus, the thought of my leg hair growing any longer was making me crazy.  Sad, but true.

So, I convinced everyone I was ready to go and we went back to Plan A.

The rest of the day was really great.  My new-found friends were so kind and complimentary and I began to feel like a total rock star.

I didn't realize it until I was on my way home with HH, but I had gone to the other extreme and was now hypomanic.  It felt so great.

Then we got back to my parents' house and all of the kids wanted my attention (understandably so) and everyone was talking and I couldn't focus.  I would blank out for minutes at a time.  And I felt so lost and terribly overwhelmed.

And I crashed again.  And rapid cycling like that is exhausting and painful.

I know this has been really hard on HH.  He wants to make me happy and when he can't, it tears him up.  But, I think it's all the worse when he sees that something else has made me happy, and then it doesn't last when we're together.

And I can see how painful that must be from his perspective.  But, I could never really have been happy in the hospital for long.  Because he wasn't there.  Cliche as it is, I really do feel incomplete without him.  As nice as it is to have someone understand me so well, I would never want him to experience the dark places my bipolar takes me to.  Never ever ever.

Some day, this has to get better.  This cloud has to life.  Right?  He can't always keep me from falling apart.  But, he helps me pick up the pieces and put them back together.  I wish we could make them fit in the way he wants.  The way that means I'm stronger and happier.  But, neither of us knows how to do that.

In the meantime, hopefully, I've learned my lesson and I actually will reach out to one of the many kind souls who tell me to "call anytime" I need someone.

I don't know.  Honestly, I can't really picture myself doing that.

But, I'll keep working on it.

Day 98: Let's Face The Facts

Trying to be a consistent blogger while I'm staying in someone else's home is not going to happen.

There are just too many other things and people going on around here.

Good things.  And good people.  But not conducive to, well, anything consistent, really.

Hopefully, that is more attributed to the whole house hunting mess than just not being in our own space.  But, we really don't have any sort of consisent routine.

Except looking for/at homes for two hours every night online.

It's the most fun thing ever.

Oh, wait.  It's not.

But I did have a thought the other day.  And I can feel its real world application, though I'm still sorting through that part.

Basically, I've noticed that the way I consider and value a home has evolved.

When we first started looking at homes, I had a very difficult time seeing past the most obvious things in a room:  furniture, color of the walls, dirty surfaces.  A home might have been passable, but if there was a bunch of grime around the knobs on doors, I just wanted to leave.

Then I started paying more attention to the items listed on the spread for each home.  So I could remember that a home has 5 bedrooms even if the kitchen cabinets are a little dirty.

But now, I've become much more proficient of taking all of the above into account while also considering the space and potential of a home.

Finding the beauty within, so to speak.

Does that mean we'll end up with the big house that has great potential, but requires quite a bit of work?  I don't know.

But, it is teaching me that I can make the same changes in how I see people.

I'm not proud of this, but I do get very uncomfortable around people who aren't "pretty".  I put that in quotations because I don't mean the typical definition of pretty.  I mean people who don't fit in (that one weird looking house in the neighborhood, you know?), are a little grimy, rough around the edges, or maybe just need some extra work to find their true potential.

There are exceptions to this in my life, thankfully.  I have been able to "overlook" the above mentioned "shortcomings" of some people I've crossed paths with.

But, I really want to get past that whole mentality.  I want to see people for what they really are--just like seeing the structure inside the run down home.  And I don't want to feel like I'm "overlooking" any part of them, but to accept them for who they once were and can become.

And when you're looking at the "floor plan" of an individual, there really isn't much of a difference between those two things.  We have always been and always will be children of God.  He created each of us, as a unique masterpiece for Him.  We will always be divine because that is where we came from.  Becoming more like our Father in Heaven may require knocking out a wall here, or there.  Or, maybe even gutting the kitchen to start fresh, but fundamentally, it's still the same house.  Just better.

As I type this I realize that I'm not just talking about other people.  Maybe it's just me.  If I could look past my dented walls, broken blinds, missing door knobs, and the weeds that have overtaken my backyard, and see the daughter of God that I have always been and the divine inheritance He has promised for what I can become, maybe I could see that in others as well?

Maybe then I could make peace with who I am right now.  Because I would know where I came from, what I started out as, and where I am going and can become.  Where I am now is a product of both the maintenance I've let slip and also the improvements and upgrades I've invested in. 

Even the most perfect home still needs maintenance to stay in great condition.

I am a work in progress.

Day 97: It's That Space Thing

So, I'm out of the habit of doing this.  Obviously.

But, I also like to be on my own when I type these posts.  They're kind of personal.  In case you didn't notice.

And by the time the computer is all by itself, it's time for bed.

But, tomorrow is HH's birthday, he's out for a run, and I'm up baking cupcakes for him to take to work tomorrow.

Apparently, that's what all the cool bosses do.

But, it has afforded me some one-on-one time with the computer.

So, Friday actually brought a few Joyful Moments.  Most of which happened on a date with HH.  A very random and fly by the seat of your pants kind of date.  It was fun, though.  We were in our old stomping grounds from our dating days.

And I think that made us forget that we are no longer college students and going to the late movie, after a full date of dinner and a walk and not one, but two desserts, is a bad idea.  We are too old to stay up past 11 PM.

Still so fun and perfect to just hang with my HH and forget about all my worries and sadness for a few hours.

Saturday, I was a little impulsive and joined a gym.  I've been doubting the wisdom in this (since pretty much every detail of our lives is up in the air until we buy a house).  But, if I would have typed this post on Saturday, I would have said that was a Joyful Moment.  I've been missing my gym.

Other Saturday Joyful Moments included:  Meeting up with my sister and her family at a super fun indoor pool.  It had so many fun playscapes and a lazy river and a big slide and we all had a great time.  And then we got to go celebrate her little man's birthday.  It was really fun to hang out with everyone.  And to see that he was pretty pleased with our gift.

Sunday I got to spend time with both of my sisters.  Unfortunately, not at the same time.  But, I really like my sisters, so this was full of Joyful Moments.

And I made my favorite chicken recipe.  And you know how much joy I find in good food.

Monday was kind of rough.  Mostly, because Sunday night was really rough.  A lot of details came together at about 10 PM Sunday night creating a crazy and stressful Monday for me.  One of those days that starts early and is just one thing to the next to the next to the next.  And asking favors of people.

I know I'm supposed to be happy to let other people help me.

But, that's one area I still really struggle with.

I kind of hate it.  And it makes me grumpy.

But, right now, it's a daily, unavoidable part of my life.

Plus, I had an appointment with my new therapist.

This was very hard.

I never blogged about it because everything was so nuts and also because I still feel weird about it, but leaving my other therapist was really hard.  Maybe a little traumatic.

I think I felt weird about it because he's a man and (after a lot of kind wasted time trying to get his help without really telling him much) I've really opened up to him.  And he knows more about me than anyone besides HH, God, and myself.

And I just feel weird about that.

But, it freaked me out to think about having to move on and start over with someone else.  It took me forever to build that trust with him.  It's so hard to be open and vulnerable and share the darkest parts of me and trust that I won't be judged.

So, I was stressed and scared and dreading it.

But, I really liked her.

And, just as my therapist said it would be, it was so much easier talking to another woman.  Plus, ever since I was in the hospital last year, I've been much better about opening up.  At least, in therapy settings.  Still working on this with people close to me.

So, I guess you could say that was a bit of a Joyful Moment.  But it was still hard.  So, I'm undecided on whether that counts or not.

The rest of the day was spent looking at homes.  Either on line or in person.  I hate both ways.  I know it's only been a week, but I'm so done with the process.

That's how I spent most of Tuesday (yesterday) as well.  Fortunately, a family friend was in town and he entertained the kids and played games with them all morning.  They loved it and hardly noticed that I was unavailable most of the time.  It was especially good for Baby B.  And I'm so grateful for our friend for making his day better.

I took the kids for a bike ride last night.  We ended up just hanging out in the church parking lot.  It was perfect because they all go different speeds and I had Darling A in the stroller.  Everyone was happy.  That was my for sure Joyful Moment yesterday.  It mostly felt really good to spend time with them.  Without my phone.

Today was mostly good.  I woke up knowing that I would have control over my schedule.  That has been seriously lacking since we got here.

Because of the whole house hunting thing.  Bleh.

Anyway, knowing I would have that today made a huge difference for me.  I went for a swim at the gym this morning.  I'm still not at my fastest, but it felt good to be in the water.

And then I took the kids to Target to pick out birthday presents for the plethora of June birthdays in our family.  Shopping with all four of them is always a little stressful and nuts, but it was fun to have their help in picking out presents.  Darling A actually picked out her own birthday present.  Without knowing it, of course.

And Darling A started doing "official" Time Outs today.

This may seem like a strange Joyful Moment.

Let me explain--at Baby B's behavior program they taught us to do time outs with the child sitting crisscross applesauce, hands on their knees.  After sitting this way, quietly for 30 seconds, you ask the child to stand and then give 3 more directions (i.e. touch your nose, head, tummy, etc.), to ensure they are in a compliant and cooperative state.

Darling A hurt Baby B this morning.  So, I put her on Time Out.  Usually, that just involves me holding her still for a short bit.  For whatever reason, today I tried it the other way.  Her chubby legs looks so cute crisscross applesauce.  And she had the biggest, proudest smile on her cute face the whole time.

She was so dang excited to be doing a "real" Time Out.

Sweet P told me today, "I'm really glad you had Darling A, Mom."

I couldn't agree more.