Mirrors

 

I'm not going to lie, I am very self-conscious. I occasionally have paralyzing attacks of insecurity where I don't even want to leave the room or let anyone see me. So what is the best thing to do in these moments? Sit in a windowless room full of mirrors and make funny faces with a friend. 

Works sometimes.

Linea's Treatment Story

The first thing I like to say when I hear people struggling with a new diagnosis of anything is: "thank god you can now start figuring out a treatment to help you feel better/to help your life get put back together/to help you stop hurting so much". In my previous post I ended saying, "why do we love the diagnosis..." because we can finally start getting treatment. I have been reading a lot of bipolar memoirs lately (Kay Redfield Jamison' An Unquiet Mind: A Memoir of Moods and Madness, Lizzie Simon's Detour: My Bipolar Road Trip in 4-D, and Marya Hornbacher's Madness: A Bipolar Life.) In each of these, and from many individuals I have spoken to personally, I hear the pain that accompanies the diagnosis. The questions of "Does this define me?" "Will this be forever?" "Where is the separation between my personality and the illness?" "Am I going to have to be on meds for the rest of my life?" These were the questions I had. These were the worries I had, but at the same time I felt the relief of "at least now we know what we're working with..."

So, let's now imagine the you have a diagnosis. You know that you are bipolar (or fill in the blank). You know that prozac/other medications do not work for you because they make you manic/etc. And now its time to figure out what does work. In order to give you an idea of the process from diagnosis to treatment I thought I would give you a little glimpse at my slow path towards treatment:

When I was first diagnosed I was in a hospital having willfully checked myself in after a near suicide attempt. I was at the point where I was having psychotic suicidal ruminations that lead me to have a one on one aid that watched my every move. In the hospital I was told that I was bipolar II. This seemed very strange to me having only repeatedly experienced extreme depths of depression. I thought, where are the manias, or hyper-manias? I knew however that there was something more, something deeper than just being sad. It was a constant sadness to my core, and I knew it was something that needed fixing, that needed soothing, before I did something drastic. So I drank, a lot, and I started cutting, and I smoked pot, and tried drugs I wouldn't have done had I not been trying my hardest to fight off the seductions of suicide. At the time, I assumed these were my treatments prior to the hospital. These proved inefficient when I found myself blindly checking myself in with those magic words, "I don't feel safe".

In the hospital I was very unresponsive to all types of treatment. I fell into such a dangerous place that extreme measures had to be taken. I could not be left alone for one second because they knew I was watching, searching, for anything I could get my hands on to end the pain. This is when they offered me two options. They said, "we can send you to the state institution where you can wait until you find the right drug, which may take several months, or you can try electro-convulsive therapy". Now at this point I was beyond any other options, and taking the extreme route seemed like the best idea. I told myself "well, ECT will either kill me or fix me" so I begged my parents for the treatment (they of course did not know this thought process at the time) but eventually, full of uncertainty and fear, agreed. I am not going to go into details at the moment about all my experiences with ECT right now. It is a very controversial thing and I want to make sure that I do it justice and help people truly understand more about it, so I am just going to tell you two things: it is much more humane now, (no more One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest), and, it saved my life. After the first treatment the "thoughts", that urge to hunt down anything I could to kill myself with, were gone. Gone. I was still very veryvery depressed, but I eventually got to the point where I lost the constant eyes watching me and even got to shave my legs (a very big deal at the time).

After the hospital I went back to my normal college kid life, still feeling slightly blue, but on the whole much better. It was at this point that I was prescribed my 5th or 6th pill, that miracle drug, Prozac. My first day with Prozac was amazing. Suddenly everything was so much better. I did a much better job at work, I got all my house work done, I went for a run...and then everything sped up. Suddenly I was spinning beyond control. No amount of running could help me. No amount of anything could help me. At first the high was addicting, I started drinking more, partying more, spending more, doing drugs I wouldn't do. I started cutting again. I was starting to have very strange, un-Linea, thoughts ("maybe I should jump off the roof" "I wonder if it would hurt if I chopped off one of my fingers...") I was not suicidal, just very very manic. The addictive beautiful high that I experienced in the beginning was gone. I was no longer super-woman, but a paranoid, anxious, agitated child. I was breaking things. I couldn't have a conversation because my thoughts were going to fast to spit out.

Knowing something was very wrong I finally called my doctor. He told me to stop taking the Prozac immediately and prescribed me some anti-anxiety pills. Still being very impulsive, and having increasingly scary thoughts I took one. Just to calm down. Just to make things stop. To keep myself from doing something stupid. Just to keep my mind from accidentally killing itself. And then I kept taking them. I think there was a point where I told myself "I need help. It's time to go to the hospital." And then I took them all. Thirty something pills. And then I walked over to school, turned in my homework, told my teachers I wasn't feeling well and wouldn't be at their classes, and nearly passed out waiting for an ex-boyfriend/best friend to get out of class and take me to the hospital. I knew who to go to. I knew who would take the best care of me. This was not a suicide attempt. I did not want to die. I just wanted the thoughts to stop. I wanted to keep myself from jumping off the roof or in front of a subway train.

After this incident my diagnosis changed. I was not bipolar II. I could not take certain pills. Out of the hospital I made a decision to take care of myself. I decided to get the treatment I needed and though I had a few bumps along the way, (trying to cope through bulimia), I eventually committed myself to finding, and following, a healthy treatment plan. This plan incorporated close work with doctors, psychologists, and psychiatrists. It involved trust in my doctors to find a medication that made me well enough to try other treatment options. It involved asking for help when I needed it, telling the truth about my feelings, and knowing that hospitals are not shameful, but needed at times. It eventually involved a healthy change in lifestyle--no more drugs, alcohol, no more staying up all night, exercising, eating healthy, meditating, and a regular sleep cycle. I will go into my current treatments in a future post, but I felt it necessary to discuss the difficulty finding, getting, and sticking with healthy treatment. Had I not found the treatment I  have now I would be nowhere close to where I am today. I may not even be here at all. In conclusion, the diagnosis is indescribably painful, finding treatment seems impossibly hard, but with perseverance, a little bit of luck, good resources, self advocacy, and at times, pure trust that things will work out, people can find a better life and get the help they need and hopefully end those terrible statistics involving extremely high rates of homelessness, incarceration, and suicide for those struggling with a mental health conditions. Treatment works, and I will also give you some resources to find good treatment in my next post.

Treatment

My story continued...

To follow up from the last post I want to once again say that we are making February our "share your story month". Because of this it is probably appropriate that I continue to share my story in February not late January. After sharing my story last week I know many people are wondering where I am now, maybe not necessarily occupationally because you can follow that on our website, but emotionally.

So out of my commitment to be completely honest to my readers here is my story now, today, in all its emotionally exposed glory:


Yesterday I went to see my psychiatrist. I told him that I am feeling slightly moody and find myself creeping into these unintended, uncontrollable moments of frustration, hyperactivity, or utter exhaustion. We talked about the need to "tweak" my meds, and we talked about the likelihood of changing one out completely sometime in the near future.

Now, I have been stable for a long time, aside from a small yearly depression that comes around the anniversary of an overdose, a depression that lasted slightly longer this year, but was still completely manageable. I still consider myself stable. But I continue to have these little hiccups of symptoms. Moments where I would feel much better jumping on the bed for hours than I would trying to attempt even a partial night's sleep. Moments where I feel so exhausted after having lunch with someone that I come home and pass out in seconds. And worst of all, moments where I find myself furious over the thought of doing dishes (and I am not an angry person by any means).

I tend to freak out about such hiccups. I think, is it coming back?! Oh my god, what if I have mixed episodes again! I'll have to be locked up! All the work I'm doing will be ruined! And then I spin off into these worry tangents until I either hit a wall, cry hysterically, or slap some sense into myself and tell myself to knock it off! These are hiccups, nothing terrible is going to happen. I am not going to suddenly loose it with all the safety nets in place, and all the lessons I have learned.

And so I go through this, I have this constant conversation with myself every time a little bump comes about. But then my common sense kicks in and reminds me that:
1) every time I felt an episode coming in the past I told my doctors immediately
2) I have learned healthy, safe coping techniques if things do go wrong
3) I am aware of the most minute movements towards any episode
4) I have an amazing support network

When I go through these hiccups, these "tweaks" in my meds I am always scared to tell people. I travel the country telling people my story, telling them horrifying things but making them feel better by saying "but I'm stable now" at the end. And I am. Just maybe not perfect. And I fear telling people, "I'm great but I have been having issues with my meds", or "I'm wonderful, but have been having small worrisome mood swings lately", because I'm afraid they won't get it. I'm afraid they will still be afraid for me. So I often tell them I'm fine no matter what.

But that's not truly telling my story. That's not being authentically honest. So I have made a promise to myself, I will always tell people exactly how I really feel. And if they worry I will remind them of all the things I remind myself. I will tell them how I feel in order to show them that when you are bipolar you have small bumps sometimes, but they don't paralyze you. You have to keep going on with your life. And you can with all the safety nets in place.

So, here it is, here is me right now, at this moment:
I am Linea. I am bipolar and have been having small mood swings lately that are causing me to have to make small adjustments to my medications and it makes me anxious. However, I am completely fine. I am capable and happy doing all the work that I do because I know how to take care of myself. Things will not happen as they did in the past because I know how to handle my stress levels, how to keep myself from coping in unhealthy ways, and how to ask for help when I need it. I am stable. I have bumps. And it's okay.

little things

On Friday I was forced to think about my future as I met with my college advisor regarding my upcoming graduation. Still being in a somewhat sensitive state I became extremely, overwhelmingly anxious. It was at that point that I remembered the importance of family (whoever that may be: friends, community, etc.) and support when it comes to stress, and especially when it comes to complications pertaining to one's mental illness. So, I went to my sister's house because I know that she (almost) always makes me feel better with her "get mad not sad" attitude that is so opposite of mine. (To learn more about my this, read my mom's blog entry, "Where's Sister"). I think the thing that made me feel the best however, was also the fact that we made cookies with my twenty-one month old nephew. It was in the moment when I looked at his flour and oatmeal covered head that I began to feel better. As he "helped" stir the flour, sugar, salt, and oatmeal by putting it all over his high-chair, body, face, and the floor I couldn't help but smile. His flour covered body was a reminder of the little things in life that are important. Just watching his mischievous little face and observing him as he tested us with his toddler-ness was a reminder that sometimes it helps to focus on the little moments, (and in his case, the little things). When I'm at my worst, I often find that the only way to get by is by focusing on the small moments in each day, each hour, each minute. In doing this I can get out of my head and remember that the earth is still spinning, and that joyful, (and even hilarious), things are still happening.

My Bipolar Checklist

This is something I wrote a long time ago after my first panic attack in months. Thought it might be something useful to share...

Okay Linea. Here we are. Here we are again. You on the bathroom floor. Your boyfriend tired and worried. Your mind numb. Now, given that this hasn’t happened in months and months we must figure out where this came from. It’s time to use the skills that you have gained in this "vast journey" of yours.

     First. Your “Am I Depressed” checklist:

     Within the last week have you been staring a lot? Been unable to read/clean/get important things done? Have you been drinking alone? Do you spend hours sitting at the computer doing nothing? Have you been unable to cry? Do you have a need to harm yourself?

     No.

     Second, “Am I manic?”

Within the last few days have you been pacing, shaking, or cleaning excessively? Do you have a lot of repetitious thoughts, words, or phrases? Have you started the mantra of “I need, I need, I need…”? Has there been excessive spending, partying, anything?

No.

Third, in general, have you:

     Had an upset stomach?

     Been throwing up?

     Been cutting?

     Been eating excessively?

     Been drinking excessively?

No. No. No. No. No. 
Everything checks out fine. 

This is not a bipolar episode. I often find myself checking these lists daily. If it is none of the above then I know that I am simply having the same normal feelings of pain that every other person on earth experiences. If it is none of the above then I simply need to see where the pain is coming from and then just breathe it out. Just sit with it knowing that I have been through worse. I can get through this.

Time to Breathe

Being that I am getting closer and closer to the end of this six year bachelors degree I am suddenly having that future focused, world ending, life-crisis that every college grad eventually feels. Well, that most every grad feels. I tell myself, if I would have been working harder towards a specific goal, i.e. grad school, I wouldn't be feeling like this. Or I say, if I would have chosen a degree that fed right into a job I wouldn't be feeling like this. But then I say, how? How could I have done these things when life is so unpredictable? When and how could I have chosen a degree and grad program that would have included several hospitalizations, a diagnoses, and what seems like millions of medication changes? How could I have planned for this? And though I may talk some sense into myself at this point, the cycle continues going round and round: panic, intellectualizing, sense, relief, panic...

So, in a time when I am feeling more overwhelmed then usual, (though I am almost always usually feeling overwhelmed,) I find myself having to be extra good to myself, both mind and body. When I present around the country people always ask what I do to help myself stay stable in times like this, so in order to truly explain I will just give you a run down of my day today...

I woke up and made myself breakfast. Having recently bought some new cookbooks that focus on the importance of healthy food to our mind and body's overall health, I took extra time preparing a breakfast that was nutritious with all the vitamins and minerals my body needs. Being a vegetarian, and a person easily susceptible to all sorts of colds, viruses, etc., I find it especially important to get a healthy diet.

After breakfast, (and a bit of light reading,) I stretched and did some strength training exercises. I find that even if I do a very minimal amount of exercise, my body and mind feel so much better throughout the day. I feel best if I do between twenty minutes to an hour and a half of good cardio, stretches, and other exercises. I prefer running, yoga, pilates, and a little weight lifting. If I am feeling depressed running is better, but if I am feeling manic yoga and stretching is best.

After I exercised I did a small meditation. I try to do a little meditating each day because I feel it helps me refocus and organize my brain. I feel that by allowing my thoughts to calm and settle I can find relief from stress, worry, anxiety, agitation, and lots of other emotions that I can't manage if I continue to multi-task at break-neck speed. Though it is sometimes difficult to meditate, I find that it is very important to my wellbeing and I find that the more I do it, the more I begin to feel it in the rest of my life.

The last thing that I do is to allow myself breaks throughout my work. Because I always have a million things going on I try to allow myself small breaks and small rewards to make the work easier and more manageable. When I have a chance to do work outside (or in a different atmosphere then I would usually work in, such as a coffee shop,) I try to take the opportunity. Though I may feel like I work slower, I find that it is important for me to have a change of environment. Today, for instance, I worked by the lake. I also like to give myself small breaks from really difficult work by allowing myself to do things I normally wouldn't do, like watch a little television or buy dinner out.

Well, these are some of the things that I have been working on that I thought could be both beneficial for me to remember and useful for others to see. I will continue to work on these and hope that others might integrate them into there own lifestyles. And as that terrible cliche goes, I need to "stop and..." well, you know...

sometimes i feel...

like I'm in a Francis Bacon painting.

to sleep is to dream

(Image by Chris Applehands)

I have been thinking a lot about rest lately, (if you haven't already figured that out by my last rant about doing too many things.) But I have been thinking about it even more because I haven't been getting very much of it in the last few months. I'm not quite sure what has gotten into me, maybe it is my medication, (lamictal and trileptal,) or maybe it is a small case of PTSD and my fear of something going horribly wrong, again, but I have been having horrible dreams, and horrible anxiety when it comes to falling asleep in the first place.

My dreams are almost amusingly obvious when it comes to symbolism, they have to do with me protecting an innocent child, (probably myself,) or me being attacked or gunned down, or murdered. It is amazing that my body, (though it was me in the past that was close to murdering myself,) remembers and almost prepares itself for some reoccurring trauma. When I think about how I am doing today I don't think about any fears regarding any sudden feelings of wanting to harm myself, but when my sleeping mind thinks about how I am doing it always seems to think otherwise.

Again, I think it is just my continuous process of recovering from the horrible things that I did, and wanted to do, to myself in the past. As for now, however I am keeping a look out for any new symbols or feelings in my frantic dreaming. I am also aware of the increasing pace of my thoughts and the increasing number of dreams, so being aware of past patterns I am also keeping an eye out for any increasing signs of manic behavior.

There is one form of comfort in all of this however, I know what to look for. And I'm not afraid! It's really quite amazing to be comfortable enough in myself and my ability to know my symptoms that I am not in the least bit afraid of mania. In the past I would have made myself manic just by stressing over becoming manic.

an attempt to reconnect

I have been feeling extremely overwhelmed lately. I find it funny that I always wonder where the stress or anxiety comes from, when all I have to do is consult anyone I know. I have the ability to tell myself that I am not doing enough or that I am not working hard enough when I am in fact doing a million things. I think it is my natural process and patterns that leads me to detach my mind from my bodies physical and mental activities. I think I have just been doing so many things for so long that whenever I am doing one less activity than normal I see my life as slow or see myself as lazy when I'm still maintaining the same pace and attempting to uphold the same standards.

In light of all this I am always and still attempting to let myself slow down. I am currently only taking ten credits, working on one and soon two articles for peer reviewed educational journals, rewriting and organizing things to send to an agent in New York, adding new sections to the already 400 page unpublished book, writing poetry, writing a piece about the human spirit and people's ability to recover from tragic life events, attempting to exercise, attempting to have a social life, attempting to spend time with family, and attempting to spend more than an hour a day with my boyfriend (even though we live in the same house.) When I actually write this all down I realize how much I am doing, but I also realize all the things I am not doing that I want to do. The things that are important for my soul, and the things I keep telling people I do to calm down. These are things that I keep trying to do, but never manage to make a daily part of my life. These are my goals for the month:

run at least four times a week, floss daily, meditate at least every other day, play the piano at least twice a week, cook good healthy meals at least three nights a week.

We'll see how I do, but at least for now it's in writing.