I talked to someone recently who made me realize how far I've come in the last year. This person had called to vent and I'm pretty sure they will end up with my diagnosis (I'm pretty much qualified for that now). As I talked to her and calmed her - related to everything she said and let her know she's not alone; I found myself very relieved that I wasn't in that spot anymore. I had almost forgotten how terrible it was. She was all over the place, depressed and angry, annoyed and unable to sleep. Anxious and not knowing day to day if she could handle other people. And not sure of her emotions anymore or where they even come from. I don't talk about my diagnosis very often - but I am open about it. I have Bipolar II. This is supposed to be the "lesser" Bipolar. But it really isn't any less hard to deal with.
The best way I can explain me getting better this last year is that it felt like all of my life i was someone else - like my emotions and then my thoughts would creep in and not let me be who I knew I could be. There were moments that "clicked" and I was doing great, but the in betweens were mostly me being over anxious or depressed or totally careless. It's like my whole life I was looking in at me. And now finally I feel like I'm settling into my body and being myself more and more. One would think this would be wonderful and it is, but not easy by any means. Because now I have to figure out what is me all over again. It's exhausting to change old habits - mostly how I think. It's hard to take care of myself all the time - therapy, meds, routines, thoughts, etc. And then there is the not knowing what is growth and what is my being hypomanic. What confidence is real and which is not? If I hit a low for a day - is this a sign that I"m going to spiral or just an emotional bump or is it even normal? I'm sure these things will figure themselves out as I grow. But it is a weird spot to be in. I technically have a psychological illness and I long for understanding from others about it (which I know is never completely possible for most). But on the other hand I know I'm capable of way more than a diagnosis could show and I fear being treated any differently. One more thing I have to sort through. But the toughest thing lately is dealing with stress differently. I used to get through life by ignoring my feeling and pushing through. I took control and thrived because of it. I was anxious and emotional,but just kept going. And now I feel things and I deal with them - that kinda sucks really. It's so much better than before and I feel the relief from it, but it's still new to me. Healthy coping is so much harder. But because I know it's healthier I move on. I just get heavily confused in the meantime.
I guess the intention of this blog is not to teach people about Bipolar II or somehow represent what alot of us go through. It's just what I am going through and I felt like writing it down. A tiny insight into my mind of late.
Tuesday, August 23, 2011
Thursday, August 18, 2011
Happy Tired
I've had some days to mentally break down a bit after the realizations about my school plans being on hold. I'm settling into acceptance I suppose. You see, I hate change - even good change. I also hate being wrong. So this obviously threw me off. But I've accepted that if my meeting with my adviser doesn't create some wonderful exception or answer to my "problem", I'll make it through. Jeremy is rolling with it which helps me to hold back the guilt. I've begun to reframe the whole situation as well. Perhaps this is God's way of telling me that my timing is off. Maybe I need the time to work on myself some more, to have a mental break of sorts. And perhaps the extended timing will make me a better social worker when I'm done, than I would have been otherwise. The financial bit will get figured out. I suspect I'll feel better about that in time as well. Things have timing and I'll accept whatever the universe gives me. What really matters anyway, right? The day to day joy with yourself and those around you far outweighs deadlines and salaries.
Today I not only felt all these things, but also had them reinforced. We had my oldest son's belated 'invite his friends' birthday party today. We had been at the lake on his original birthday. The whole day surrounded getting ready for the party. Baking cakes (I made a LEGO one this year), filling up water balloons, wrapping presents,stuffing the pinata, and loading up the cooler with sodas and ice cream sundae essentials. Not only was Tommy excited but Adam and Isabel were as well. "Is the cake done yet?"; "Can we hold a water balloon? Can we throw one at the dogs?" ( I of course let them). "Is it time yet? How much longer?" Although I felt busy, it was so much fun to see how excited they were for what many would consider a pretty 'cheap' party. I'm a strong believer in the fact that you don't need a fancy water park or crazy kid restaurant to make a child truly happy. Sometimes it's the simple things that us old folks did as children that are the best memories.
The party was great. Family that had not been at the lake with us and a few of Tommy's closest friends (not too many, cuz honestly that gets to be nuts). Although the number of attendees was low for today's standards, you never could tell from the amount of fun and laughs that were had. As parents know, parties can suck the energy right out of you - usually we fail to enjoy them very much. But today was not like that for me. I was able to be in the moment and enjoy every bit. This is another new thing for me. I've struggled with anxiety and mood swings so terribly that I usually obsess about perfection and worry about talking to other parents and worry that my kids will be happy and, and, and....
Today I was able to take in some very good memories -
Today I not only felt all these things, but also had them reinforced. We had my oldest son's belated 'invite his friends' birthday party today. We had been at the lake on his original birthday. The whole day surrounded getting ready for the party. Baking cakes (I made a LEGO one this year), filling up water balloons, wrapping presents,stuffing the pinata, and loading up the cooler with sodas and ice cream sundae essentials. Not only was Tommy excited but Adam and Isabel were as well. "Is the cake done yet?"; "Can we hold a water balloon? Can we throw one at the dogs?" ( I of course let them). "Is it time yet? How much longer?" Although I felt busy, it was so much fun to see how excited they were for what many would consider a pretty 'cheap' party. I'm a strong believer in the fact that you don't need a fancy water park or crazy kid restaurant to make a child truly happy. Sometimes it's the simple things that us old folks did as children that are the best memories.
The party was great. Family that had not been at the lake with us and a few of Tommy's closest friends (not too many, cuz honestly that gets to be nuts). Although the number of attendees was low for today's standards, you never could tell from the amount of fun and laughs that were had. As parents know, parties can suck the energy right out of you - usually we fail to enjoy them very much. But today was not like that for me. I was able to be in the moment and enjoy every bit. This is another new thing for me. I've struggled with anxiety and mood swings so terribly that I usually obsess about perfection and worry about talking to other parents and worry that my kids will be happy and, and, and....
Today I was able to take in some very good memories -
- The boys throwing rocks into the coulee despite the sign that says not too. (I'm such a rebel) Something great about seeing boys have that natural young competition and teasing about something so simple.
- Watching Jeremy and Uncle Justin trying to get the pinata over the tree limb - using Auntie Carol's flip flop as an anchor and Tommy's friend for some height. Then watching the kids jump every time one piece of candy fell out till it actually broke. And enjoying the laughs watching each other swing at nothing. Then of course seeing them all scurry and end up with more than enough candy a piece.
- The water balloon fight....You can't watch that and not laugh. Misses and bounces and hits all. We had them do it old school dual style, back to back, and count. The balloons had been scattered around the huge field so they had search out their ammo. They ran around that field so much, my tummy hurt by the time they made it through the 70 balloons (which by the way does not last as long as one may think)
Tuesday, August 16, 2011
Fricken Life...
Sometimes people tell me how strong I am because I reveal things about myself that others might not. But like everything else in life, it really it is more complex than that. I think part of it is all the growth I've done in the last year. I've worked really hard to like myself more, to get in touch with what I want in life and from others.Nothing like a personal tragedy to throw your world into a mess of self realizations. But some of it comes from a place not so expected. It comes from a place of self protection. I've come to realize that if I am more honest, with not only myself, but with those around me, that I no longer have to wonder if they like me for who I am. My self disclosure, therefore, allows me to trust more - an issue I struggle with. Of course, being the complicated creature I am, this disclosure is in itself is not perfect. I have a hard time admitting in some areas of my life that I'm less than perfect. That slowly ingrained part that has unrealistic expectations of myself prevents me at times from not only admitting my mistakes to others, but to myself as well. And this is why the last few days have been so hard on me.
A little background first: I had a very rough spring semester last year. I had of course, felt that I was invincible and could pull of the semester in the same fashion I had pulled off my whole college career. I survived an anxiety disorder, babies, miscarriages, buying a house, family drama...all life could throw at me and still stay above a B average. So naturally why couldn't I do it this time around? right? Well as life does sometimes, it said to me - yeah right, think again woman! The court proceedings over the man that killed my brother constantly threw me into confusion and grief. Keeping focused on school or anything felt harder and harder. I thought I was just being not strong enough. That was until the therapist I had been seeing weekly for a year recommended I take the step up from my Dr., to a psychiatrist for medication. This had taken some time to do as some of my mood stuff could have been connected to my brother. Not to my surprise really, instead, I was diagnosed Bipolar II. I won't go into what that is, but will say that it made sense to both me and my therapist it turns out. It explained so much of the high emotional ups and downs in my life - even though my childhood was crisis after crisis and makes some things a little fuzzy on what was at fault when. Since I have been struggling with ongoing mood swings and adjusting medication. I ended the semester taking Incompletes for my classes - I concentrated on attending classes and keeping up with content. It was all I had in me to do at the time. I even had to ask for help from my professors.
On to now: It's hard to admit, but although I've had the entire summer to work on my missing work, I haven't done much at all. It's hard to look back and say it was one thing or another. I could say it was that one hypomanic phase I had where I drank a little too much and was a little too social and wrapped up in doing things that were fun - but that lasted only two weeks. No the truth is that I just didn't. And now I'm approaching deadlines with a fury of studying. Just when I start to think...ok. I can still pull this off, my instructor in charge of my internship hands me the crappy news. I can't enter into my internship with the Incompletes still left unfinished. If I do everything by September sometime I still get the grades, but I can't intern. So now my putting things off throws all my plans out the window. The next internship that would be possible is not until summer again he tells me. How can my family survive two semesters. We had been living on excess aid and an awarded stipend, only one more semester would have been fine - now what? It's so hard to admit that I really messed things up. That much longer till I get a good paying job and even worse now I have to find a crappy job in the meantime. It's a scary thing not knowing how much financial strain I have put on the family now or how things will turn out. I think about Christmas for the kids, doing the rotation of payments to bills (just enough so they don't get really mad), having to be unhappy with whatever work I can get. It feels terrible. And I cried alot over my stupidity.
Just as much as I have these feelings, though, I have another set of feelings that set in for a moment or two. The feeling that says "fuck it! I've worked way harder in my life than most people ever have to think of. I've had to be responsible way too early for not only myself but for other people too. I've done good with my life till now and never messed it up. I deserve this mistake. " I start to think about all the stories that are wrapped into those few sentences. And for that moment I think I'm one hundred percent right. I had the kind of childhood that may not have been filled with physical abuse, but that really messed up how I see the world. Plenty of emotional and psychological abuse done so cleverly at times, it took me a long time to even call it that. I was forced to be an adult incredibly too early and take care of everyone else - when all I needed was someone to take care of me. I was never taught to do things from a place of empowering independence or for my own need's as the family needed me to do whatever I could for them.I'm scared of success because I don't know what it looks like. Even today I never trust what a family member says to me fully. "I'm going to get you this for your birthday" - not going to happen. "we had to move again because the landlord has some college kids willing to pay more for the house" - not true. And these are the smallest of lies I dealt with. Although I'm finally learning to separate myself from all that madness that was my raising and to create healthy boundaries with my family - the truth is that all of that still sits in me somewhere,. Sure I've gotten over most of the specific incidents, but not the effects it has had on me, And this is where the "I'm due" shit comes from. Not only was it hard to survive childhood and somehow be strong enough to do well at the time; but it has remained hard (even in a good marriage) to do all the normal things in life since then. I know now some things were a struggle because of my mood disorder (again a present from my family - gotta love genetics) but I know so much more was due to the garbage I carried around from them. As a result, my adult life has been a very hard road, as I've had to struggle with the smallest steps to create the bigger successes. From making friends, to college, to balancing a family and work, all of it seemed to have to come from so much internal work and courage. I've been constantly scared and unsure of what I was doing, and scared to take any credit for the successes. This brings me back to the "fuck it" moment. Why should I, in all I've had to do, be the one to struggle again? Why can't someone save me? Why can't I just take some time and not think, not deal with the harder things in my life like expectations and deadlines? When do I get to just be!? I want to walk around with a big sign telling everyone how hard it was for me, what I've lived through, so they get it - get why it would be called a success for me to have come this far.
The facts are that crappy childhood, hard lessons, diagnosis, or bad hair day - it doesn't matter. It's still my responsibility to pick up and try again. I still have to admit that this time it was my own doing and I must get myself out of it. I also have to do it in a way of self acceptance (this is the hard part) and allow myself this human mistake and grow from it.
Thanks for "listening".
A little background first: I had a very rough spring semester last year. I had of course, felt that I was invincible and could pull of the semester in the same fashion I had pulled off my whole college career. I survived an anxiety disorder, babies, miscarriages, buying a house, family drama...all life could throw at me and still stay above a B average. So naturally why couldn't I do it this time around? right? Well as life does sometimes, it said to me - yeah right, think again woman! The court proceedings over the man that killed my brother constantly threw me into confusion and grief. Keeping focused on school or anything felt harder and harder. I thought I was just being not strong enough. That was until the therapist I had been seeing weekly for a year recommended I take the step up from my Dr., to a psychiatrist for medication. This had taken some time to do as some of my mood stuff could have been connected to my brother. Not to my surprise really, instead, I was diagnosed Bipolar II. I won't go into what that is, but will say that it made sense to both me and my therapist it turns out. It explained so much of the high emotional ups and downs in my life - even though my childhood was crisis after crisis and makes some things a little fuzzy on what was at fault when. Since I have been struggling with ongoing mood swings and adjusting medication. I ended the semester taking Incompletes for my classes - I concentrated on attending classes and keeping up with content. It was all I had in me to do at the time. I even had to ask for help from my professors.
On to now: It's hard to admit, but although I've had the entire summer to work on my missing work, I haven't done much at all. It's hard to look back and say it was one thing or another. I could say it was that one hypomanic phase I had where I drank a little too much and was a little too social and wrapped up in doing things that were fun - but that lasted only two weeks. No the truth is that I just didn't. And now I'm approaching deadlines with a fury of studying. Just when I start to think...ok. I can still pull this off, my instructor in charge of my internship hands me the crappy news. I can't enter into my internship with the Incompletes still left unfinished. If I do everything by September sometime I still get the grades, but I can't intern. So now my putting things off throws all my plans out the window. The next internship that would be possible is not until summer again he tells me. How can my family survive two semesters. We had been living on excess aid and an awarded stipend, only one more semester would have been fine - now what? It's so hard to admit that I really messed things up. That much longer till I get a good paying job and even worse now I have to find a crappy job in the meantime. It's a scary thing not knowing how much financial strain I have put on the family now or how things will turn out. I think about Christmas for the kids, doing the rotation of payments to bills (just enough so they don't get really mad), having to be unhappy with whatever work I can get. It feels terrible. And I cried alot over my stupidity.
Just as much as I have these feelings, though, I have another set of feelings that set in for a moment or two. The feeling that says "fuck it! I've worked way harder in my life than most people ever have to think of. I've had to be responsible way too early for not only myself but for other people too. I've done good with my life till now and never messed it up. I deserve this mistake. " I start to think about all the stories that are wrapped into those few sentences. And for that moment I think I'm one hundred percent right. I had the kind of childhood that may not have been filled with physical abuse, but that really messed up how I see the world. Plenty of emotional and psychological abuse done so cleverly at times, it took me a long time to even call it that. I was forced to be an adult incredibly too early and take care of everyone else - when all I needed was someone to take care of me. I was never taught to do things from a place of empowering independence or for my own need's as the family needed me to do whatever I could for them.I'm scared of success because I don't know what it looks like. Even today I never trust what a family member says to me fully. "I'm going to get you this for your birthday" - not going to happen. "we had to move again because the landlord has some college kids willing to pay more for the house" - not true. And these are the smallest of lies I dealt with. Although I'm finally learning to separate myself from all that madness that was my raising and to create healthy boundaries with my family - the truth is that all of that still sits in me somewhere,. Sure I've gotten over most of the specific incidents, but not the effects it has had on me, And this is where the "I'm due" shit comes from. Not only was it hard to survive childhood and somehow be strong enough to do well at the time; but it has remained hard (even in a good marriage) to do all the normal things in life since then. I know now some things were a struggle because of my mood disorder (again a present from my family - gotta love genetics) but I know so much more was due to the garbage I carried around from them. As a result, my adult life has been a very hard road, as I've had to struggle with the smallest steps to create the bigger successes. From making friends, to college, to balancing a family and work, all of it seemed to have to come from so much internal work and courage. I've been constantly scared and unsure of what I was doing, and scared to take any credit for the successes. This brings me back to the "fuck it" moment. Why should I, in all I've had to do, be the one to struggle again? Why can't someone save me? Why can't I just take some time and not think, not deal with the harder things in my life like expectations and deadlines? When do I get to just be!? I want to walk around with a big sign telling everyone how hard it was for me, what I've lived through, so they get it - get why it would be called a success for me to have come this far.
The facts are that crappy childhood, hard lessons, diagnosis, or bad hair day - it doesn't matter. It's still my responsibility to pick up and try again. I still have to admit that this time it was my own doing and I must get myself out of it. I also have to do it in a way of self acceptance (this is the hard part) and allow myself this human mistake and grow from it.
Thanks for "listening".
Friday, August 12, 2011
And the Grief goes On...
What got me today was what I like to call a "Jimmy moment". They often come out of nowhere. Sometimes they are almost predictable - like on the anniversary of his death, but more often than not I think I'm stronger than I am and they catch me off guard. Today I delivered a card from my Tommy to a service for his friend's mom. She had died unexpectedly from an unknown health condition. As I walked into the funeral home, I didn't think it would be hard as I had been to a number of funerals since my brother's death. His wake and funeral both had to be at St. Mike's however, as the funeral home couldn't hold the number attending. But as quick as I could make the card delivery, it still was enough time to throw me right back to my only memory in that place I'd like to forget. The moment I first saw my brother after he died. They had cleaned him up a bit so we could see him. I remember thinking that this would somehow make it more real. I knew I had to see him - I couldn't wait to. But looking back it wasn't real at all. It confirmed to me somehow that it wasn't a case of mistaken identity. For the most part, however, it just wasn't that real. I couldn't even cry - just tell him that things wouldn't be the same, touch his hand, put my fingers through his curly hair, and tell him that I love him and glad he hadn't cut it like he had wanted to. Needless to say, seeing him in my head that way...thinking of the whole process of my grief..made me drive home in tears.
Wednesday, August 3, 2011
Cemetaries
My usual post therapy routine (yes mental type and I think everyone should go) is to stop by the cemetery and give Jimmy a visit. I think I started it because so much of therapy surrounded his death for so long. Now it's more about allowing myself a moment to clear my head. I find cemetaries so peaceful. It's one of the rare places where I feel closer to God. Being there gives me a sense of comfort and clarity about life. It's about the people that are there. Those that have been put to rest and those who come to visit. I think about how each stone has its own story. I wonder how they lived, how they filled their time, who they affected in life - no matter its length. And I think about the people who come to visit. So much emotion comes with them. Even in the sadness of the burial there is something beautiful about realizing how precious and unpredictable life is. It challenges a person's thought about not only the person who passed, but how one feels about life and death itself. It provides a small moment of clarity about who we are when we attend the burial of a loved one. Those that visit later bring with them emotions as well. A place they can think fondly of the person who affected them. Perhaps a visit like mine where you try and channel some heavenly connection to help process life's problems and celebrate life's milestones. Residual emotional energy, at least for me, floats around and connects me to human nature and faith.
Obviously my weekly visits are very much about connecting somehow to Jimmy. I know it may just be some made up connection I still feel with him. Something to make myself feel better about his loss. Regardless, I choose to believe in it, because there is no harm in what it provides for me. My faith gives me reason to believe that it's possible to connect on some internal or emotional level with those that leave. My God allows us to have some peace with it despite not having all the answers about life. Today I couldn't help but think about how Jimmy left just when he was supposed to. It's hard to say as I know I'd give anything to have him here. But it some ways it just fits now that the heavy grief has passed. I never could imagine him as a "grown up". I couldn't, as hard as I tried, make a prediction on what he'd do in life, if he'd get married, have kids... And I thought about how he was the one normal family member to me, all that he was that made me love him so much, everything he gave to people in life, and what he's "given" in his death. Although I feel like I lost the one person in my family I could trust fully (thus far) and grieve about the loss of that...I wondered today if his early death was a gift in that realm. I can not be sure that we'd always stay so close. It's certainly possible we would have grown apart, that he or I would have caused some sort of fight that broke down our trust. That didn't happen, instead he died at a time where all his wonderfulness was at a peak. He left at a time where his life left me and hundreds of others with a great sense of fondness and love for him. I'd be so lucky to have affected so many people. So now he will always be that person to me. He will always be the one family member I'm close to. That's a gift, however twisted it may sound.
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