Once More, With Feeling

I'm tired of the snow. I am glad to have the time off work and school, but the inability to go anywhere makes it difficult to put my free time to good use. I feel like a caged animal, and I'm afraid I'm starting to act like one too. I've been really irritable the last few days, and the weather seems to be making matters worse. I don't feel manic or depressed, just irritable. I recognize that my pre-existing irritability makes the things that are bothering me seem insignificant or even invalid, but they feel very real to me. I can list them, plainly, and they have continued to bother me over the course of the last three days, so they must be rational right? And even if my emotions are out of control, and I'm in a state of mania are my feelings any less valid?

You know what hurts the most? When the people that are closest to me, that I love more than anything, invalidate my feelings by questioning the state in which I experience them. I believe that feelings, any and all of them are always valid to the person that they belong to. No matter how "irrational", subjective or unfounded those feelings may be, they are real to that person, that is their truth and it deserves acknowledgement. You don't have to tell me that you like them or that you agree, just that you acknowledge them and that you hear me. 

That's the issue I guess, I don't feel listened to. True, I haven't said a whole lot about it, but who's gonna wanna talk more when they feel like nothing they say will be heard anyway? 

I'm stuck in my house, and I am going stir-crazy. I want the house to be cleaner, I want my roommates to be more self-directed and I want to stop being the crazy person who has unreasonable needs and expectations. 

I'm tired of the snow. It's heartbreaking that I don't have my little brothers, or sisters to play in it with me. Instead, it was three full-grown adults and a dog today, walking aimlessly around a park covered in white. Today I don't want to be a roommate, or a girlfriend, just a sister and daughter, like I know how to be. This snow storm is nothing like the last snow storm Portland saw, when I was a junior in high school. Then my family was still together. I have been trying to figure out why this snow doesn't seem to stir the same spontaneity, innocence or playfulness in me as it would have a few years ago. I thought it might be a sign that I have fully come into adulthood, or that I am depressed. But I realize now that it is easier to think of the snow as a nuisance, than to think that this is one snow storm I won't be able to ride a sled down a hill with Max, or build a snowman with Zach or throw snowballs at Maria and Lulu. 

I'm trying to make sense of my feelings, all of them.

Only relevant because it has to do with more feelings, I was watching another episode of Law and Order SVU tonight, and I found some scenes specifically difficult to watch. It may seem obvious to most that a show like Law and Order SVU would cover sensitive topic areas, and without describing the one scene I was watching, it was related to a topic that would be hard for many people to think about. With that said, I found myself being triggered by what I saw and unable to stop watching in time to avoid the feelings I am now experiencing. I am not yet ready to write about what I saw and how it made me feel, or the possible causes for my reaction to it. But maybe one day, I will be courageous enough to share that part of my life experience with my readers.
For now, please understand that right now, and many times before, I have more feelings than I know what to do with. But each and every one of them are mine, they are real, and they are important.

Not Like the Others #3/This one Goes out to my Goats

I found out yesterday that the alternative high school that I graduated from, is discontinuing its services this June, after the last senior class takes the stage for graduation. I would say my emotions were already pretty unpredictable, but when I started crying, somehow I wasn't surprised. I knew that I was sad about the news. I was grieving a loss, and still am. It feels like I have lost a person; an old friend whom I might have lost touch with at some point, but that would always be around for me when I needed them. When in fact, I have lost more than a single person. I have lost a community, a family, a tribe of people that have always accepted me for who I am, even as I continue to grow and change. We were kindred spirits, soul mates, like-minded individuals who had all come from different places and needed to belong. No I wasn't best friends with all of my classmates and no I didn't get along with the entire staff. Some I never got to know at all; but that was the magic of the school. You were only supposed to stay as long as you needed to and then you would move on. You could choose to visit regularly or never look back, but the school would always be where it was, waiting, for you or anyone that needed to be part of something. 

Yesterday when I heard the news I thought back to how I had come to belong there. I was 14 years old, had "completed" my first year of high school at a public school in the neighborhood where I lived. The year had passed, and that was the only closure I had when the beginning of my high school experience ended. I had been severely depressed, isolated myself from my friends, stopped attending my classes and had been hospitalized for self-harm. I was spending most days at work with my mom, in a cubicle in the back of her office, laying on the floor and hoping to die. The school year ended and I didn't feel like I could ever return to the school, my friends or that world. I didn't want any of them to know what had become of me, that I had even continued to exist. I was humiliated and disgusted with myself. I was crazy person, a beast. To this day, when I run into someone from that school and neighborhood, I pretend not to know them, hoping against hope they really do not know or remember me.

That was it, I had told my mom, that was the chance I had to graduate high school and I had blown it. She refused to believe that, she refused to give up on me. I will always be grateful to her for that, and so many other things. She found Open Meadow and I applied, never thinking that it would be my home and sanctuary for the next three years. I still remember having my initial interview with Laura, the art teacher. I remember telling her that I was bipolar, when the diagnosis was still new, something I didn't know how to talk about or fully understand yet. She was the first person, other than my mom or psychiatrist that told me that I could still be anyone. That I had talents I hadn't discovered yet, that I was bipolar but it did not define me and that I would come to embrace it and have hope again. She told me those same things the second time she interviewed me, after I had flunked out of my classes. She told me that until the day I graduated, and now she reads my blog. Hi Laura! 

She is only one of the many people from that tribe, that family that embraced me and gave me hope again. I will never be able to explain to them or to anyone what those people and that school mean to me. I am overwhelmed by the kindness, compassion and wisdom this community has shown me. I used to think that I would one day be a teacher at that very school, and although the program will cease to exist, my dedication to continue the work that Open Meadow started has been renewed and is stronger than ever. I reach out to my Open Meadow family now with my whole heart. I am thinking of all of you and wish you wholeness, happiness and belonging, wherever you find yourselves.

I think all of this reminds me of where I have come from and all that I have yet to see; of the world, of others and of myself. This is a message to persevere, in dedication to those that have always encouraged me to do so. In this there is grief and loss, but also a sign that in this moment, I am right where I need to be.

Cold as Ice...Or Snow

I don't know what's going on with me.

Last night, I was inexplicably angry and needed to be by myself. Then after a while, I was watching an episode of Law and Order SVU, a pretty emotional episode, when despair overwhelmed me. All of the sudden I was crying, and not because Elliot Stabler's wife was pregnant and had been in a car crash, but just because. I went downstairs to be near Robert.

Being near me is hard sometimes. 

We fought. And I had thought I had done everything right.
I had walked away when I began to feel angry,
I asked for space when I needed it
I worked through the anger and I reached out as soon as I felt capable.

But I guess that doesn't always make it easier to be near me.

We weren't going to solve anything by being awake, so we went to sleep. Sleep was easy, with a little helping hand from my good friend Valium, and I slept well.

I woke up this morning and an angry beast was there to greet me.
He had waited patiently while I slept, but followed me around the house as an irritating reminder
that I was still angry
that I still didn't know why
and that I still didn't deserve the company of anyone.

We sat, the three of us
me
the beast
and my dog
on the couch, in the livingroom
Every once in a while looking out the window at the snow.

No one else was home
No one was around to be angry with
except for myself
No one could ever be mad at a cute little dog anyway.

I'd like to believe that on any other day, I would have gone out in the snow
and played.
I would have made a snowman,
and a snow angel or two.

Today though, the beast and I played house.
We puttered around the apartment,
trying to stay out of each others' way.
I took a hot shower, with some of my favorite music playing
He sat in the bedroom, looking out the window at the snow.

Robert came home from a long day at work
and an even longer walk home in the snow.
The beast's low and steady growl grew as Robert walked through the front door
And then Robert was home
needing things
needing space that I didn't want to share.
He had brought dinner, he had missed me.

But sometimes it isn't enough to be near me.

All of the sudden I was yelling and wanting to be alone
alone with my beast
and all of my emotions.

"You're acting like you don't have a soul," he said.
"Fuck you," was my retort.
Because the real answer was that I don't.
I'm cold, cruel and claimed by a beast.

I wish I could say I had just played in the snow.

Now You Feel it, Now You Don't

I was going to write about my appointment with the psychiatrist today. I was going to tell you how unbelievably happy I was to be given my diagnosis this time around. Just in case any of you out there were wondering, still have Bipolar II. Shocker, right? 

I was going to tell you that hearing out of another person's mouth, 

that this thing is real

it has been happening to me

and I have been calling it by the right name, 

was such an incredible gift.

I was going to tell you that I was prescribed medication today, and two out of the three I have taken before. Surprised again? Don't be. 

It's actually a phenomena familiar among mental health professionals and their patients. We take our medications, they make us feel better

we feel better and forget the medications did that in the first place.

I was going to write about all of the big things I did today and how ready I am to take the next steps in my recovery.

But?

I'm pissed. 

I'm so incredibly angry right now, and although I have many little reasons that come to mind I don't know if they actually have anything to do with my anger. All I know is that I don't want anyone near me. I got home from work about an hour ago, and have been eating ice cream and watching Netflix by myself. There are the little reasons why I think I'm angry, but even all mixed up together, I don't think they can explain how I'm feeling right now. I'm feeling scary-angry, and as much as I feel like being by myself I'm also doing it because it is the only way I can guarantee my safety and the safety of those around me.

I have cruel things I could say.

I could probably even fight someone.

I don't know where this has come from, or what I can do to stop it. I'm just sitting in my room, hoping it will pass. I don't like being this person, it's terrifying.

These moments are when I feel the most like a monster, the beast and I become one and the same.

Oh, how quickly the beast senses the threat and pulls me back to him. He's not going to make this easy, the fucking bastard.

Not Like the Others #2

The last two days I've felt strange. Not manic, or depressed, which you'd think would be states of being I'd refer to as odd. I guess I've just grown so accustomed to cycling between those extremes, it is uncomfortable for me to exist somewhere in the middle. So this must be what it feels like to be Isabel, eh?

I'm not sure if it makes for a good blog, but it definitely is a bit of a relief. I have been so tired, all of the time lately, that I went to bed last night and slept for the longest I have in quite a while. Except it wasn't the kind of sleep that I have when I'm really depressed and just don't want to be awake. This was sleep that filled me up, rejuvenated me, was whole. It was so complete that I was able to dream.

I had to have my therapy session over the phone, rather than go into the office which was a bit of a disappointment. But I didn't feel the usual sense of failure that I so often do when I can't execute my plans as I had foreseen them. Instead, I recognized that I couldn't get the amount of sleep I needed and get on the bus and go to my therapist's office. So I compromised. I slept, and when it came time for my appointment, I called in.
I found a way to be flexible, I dabbled a little in gray. And I survived. The world didn't end, I hadn't failed and I was safe.

Even further still, when I got off of the phone with my therapist to give myself enough time to get ready for class, and realized that I had gotten the timing of my bus wrong, I continued getting ready.
I wouldn't make the main part of the class, and that was disappointing.
That was not as I had planned.
But I could make it to the mentor session afterward. It would be better than nothing. It would be something gray.

I told myself the same thing as I sat down to write this entry. Am I in a fit of mania, full of creative ideas and insights to share? Am I depressed and in need of help, or a lifeline? Most certainly not.
I am myself today, and that is probably the scariest place I could be. After all, who is this person? I am not well acquainted with her. She could be anything, anyone. All of that possibility is unsettling, but it tells me that I am doing something right.

“Stepping onto a brand-new path is difficult, but not more difficult than remaining in a situation, which is not nurturing to the whole woman.”--Maya Angelou

The Higher we go, the Harder we Fall

Yesterday, I didn't study for French class like I was supposed to.
I sat, wrote, sat some more.
Let time pass as though it wouldn't cost me anything.
As though I had all of the time in the world
As though things wouldn't come crashing down on me.

I had a choice I could make.
I could study before work
at work
or after,
work.

I let time pass until there was no more time,
and I had to go to work.
That was my first choice.
Rushing out the door
I was in Robert's way, and he was in mine.
So I yelled.
I yelled and slammed the door
and I was gone.

He didn't chase after me either.
Not that I really expected him to,
only wished hard
that he would.
That the bus would slow down
that time would stop passing
and that Robert would catch up with me.

I had chosen to leave my books at home.
My second choice.
I didn't want to study,
and I didn't feel bad about it.
Not even a little bit.

And then time sped up and
work was over
work was done
and I was home.

Robert and I were yelling more
about the yelling that had happened earlier.
"I'm not going to say I'm sorry
'Cause I'm not even a little bit sorry
And I don't give a fuck
that you think you deserve it"


The beast was awake, and he was pissed

Maybe it was the beast
and his rage
that helped me to make my third choice.

I was going to do homework.
I was going to start something
and then finish it.

Robert went to sleep,
and I wrote.
I wrote a paragraph
and then another
and another.
And then I was done and it was great.

I turned off the lights and lay in bed,
buzzing, beating, pulsing
until I fell asleep.

That was at 2am.

This morning I woke up and I went to work. I got the grande white chocolate mocha that I get every Sunday from the Starbucks down the street. A little reminder to myself that a week is over and another one is on its way. I hung up my coat and started working. On any given day, I work hard at my job. I do the best I can with what I have at my disposal. Yes, it's Dairy Queen and yes it will not be the job I have for the rest of my life, but it is my job and I am capable of doing it. Some of you will never understand how important it is, when you feel so unbelievably out of control, to be reminded of what you can do. My co-worker Chelsea would chuckle each time I passed her in the kitchen, with something else in my arms and another task in mind. I didn't stop working until there was nothing left to be done, and then I studied. I have no memory of the time as it passed, or of the things as I did them. I noticed my hands shaking slightly, and my heart beating a little faster than usual.
When work was over, I sat in the cold waiting for the bus. It was cold, and I'm glad I was able to feel it. It is important that when I am manic I can feel my body, I am connected to my surroundings and I am aware of what is happening. I stopped at the store on my way home to pick up ingredients for dinner, and as I walked down the aisles I thought to myself, "Why can't everyday be like today?" I had been productive, I had been positive and it had lasted.
It is the hardest thing to remind myself that even though there are so many parts of mania that feel good, ultimately the result is disastrous. Mania is deceptive, because often it is when I'm manic that I am the most creative, passionate, outgoing, confident and full of life. It sweeps me up and out of the dark place I get stuck in, with my beast. It helps me to feel again, and I always welcome the change. I lose myself in it, and for a while the distraction is not harmful, if maybe just a little bit unnecessary. I let it carry me, like a current or strong wind. It is good, only until it isn't. Bipolar doesn't leave room for the in between. And often, there is no warning, no chance for me to prepare or circumvent it. I'm in the middle of full-blown mania, the eye of the storm, and then it catches me up in it and pulls me down farther than I ever want to go. And sometimes, farther still. Depression is my usual state of mind, and it is easy for me to forget there is anything else. But don't be happy for me when I'm manic, don't be relieved as I so often am. Hold your breath and hope that I'll be alright.

I came home and did the dishes. And it might be over, I can feel myself slowing down. I felt it as I sat down to write, and I feel it still.

I just hope I can study more for my test tomorrow.

Trigger Warnings

Yesterday, after I missed another class I was feeling really disappointed in myself. I think my body reacted to that disappointment and shut down. I flat-lined, felt numb, went comatose. I found myself sitting on the couch, looking at and thinking about nothing in particular. In those moments, I try to call myself back, but sometimes it is too hard and I am too comfortable resting in space.
I have expectations, I guess is what it comes down to. I have an idea about what I should be doing in a day, what I want things to be like and how I want to feel during that time. But when I woke up in the morning and the Valium still hadn't worn off, that threw everything out the window. I had fallen asleep in the shower, and I had missed my bus. I had missed yet another class, and I had failed at that day. It seems like a long distance to go, for one to be disappointed in themselves for missing a class and then suddenly not want to live out the rest of the day, but I've always thought that way--black and white, two polar opposites with no compromise or in between. It's something I'm continuing to work on, and sometimes I can get past the disappointment roadblock and salvage a day but other times I can't.
I don't know if I'm willing to credit myself for salvaging yesterday, and that is probably something I should look into sometime, but I do know that I was very lucky to have Katie tell me that the day wasn't going to be over and done, whether or not I stayed home, or stayed numb. And then my mom came and picked me up so that I couldn't find any reason not to go to my tattoo appointment that I made six months ago.
Before she came to pick me up, I was looking for other people who are writing through recovery, specifically mental illness. The minute I hit the search button, I got thousands upon thousands of places to search, telling me that this was something that other people do. That I'm not alone. And I was suddenly so excited to become part of a community, part of something bigger than me and this illness and my beast. The first one I looked at was written by a thirty-something in the U.K. Her blog was recognized as one of the "Best Bipolar Health Blogs of 2013" according to healthline.com. Her blog was a record of her life over the past four years, as well as a resource for others suffering similarly.
I read her most recent post, dated December 17th 2013. The first thing she included was a trigger warning, and that should have been the first time I doubted whether I should continue reading or not. The 17th was close to Christmas, and the holidays prove to be a very difficult time for most people, but especially those that struggle with mood disorders. She wrote about her parents, the place she lives and shopping for loved ones. And then pretty suddenly, she was talking about self harm and the feelings attached to the urges she was experiencing. Although I do not have a lot of experience with self-harm, those urges were all too familiar and the thoughts she was having could have been the voice of my beast. I finished reading and was trying to be very aware of my emotional reaction to the post. I scrolled down to the comments, curious to see what her readers may have been experiencing as a result of reading. There were only two, and they were from the same person. The first, a warm message of understanding and encouragement. The second, a goodbye. The author of this blog had taken her own life, she had lost her battle sometime in the last month.
I didn't have time to process it. I didn't have time to notice how I was feeling about this information. My mom had shown up, ready to take me to my appointment. I am again, so very lucky that my mom asked me how I was doing, or I wouldn't have had to think about my answer. I am so very scared that one day I will lose my battle as well. I'm frightened that I won't be able to do all of the things I want to be able to do, and instead with the knowledge of my passing people will say "She was so young, had so much potential and so much life to be lived." I hurt for her, this complete stranger that was so young, had so much potential and so much life left to live. I hurt for her readers that found comfort in her words. I hurt for all those that have lost their battles and their lives to their illnesses.
I sat for three hours in my appointment, needle to my skin and was glad to be salvaging what was left of my day. I was glad to be feeling something, particularly pain, and felt even better knowing that the pain would give me something beautiful. Ganesha is my warrior and remover of obstacles. He is beautiful, and he is mine and he is my reminder that battles can be beautiful.

I will do my best to include trigger warnings with my posts, to be sensitive to the experience of others. If you read anything that does not include a trigger warning, and you believe it should, please let me know. If you do not know what a trigger warning is, or would like clarification as to what topics of discussion may require a trigger warning, please follow the link below:

Trigger Warnings