Showing posts with label travel. Show all posts
Showing posts with label travel. Show all posts

May 31, 2010

The Courage to Change

It has been quite a while since I have posted anything on here so I must apologize.  With all the work we have been doing the blog has fallen a bit behind. I would also like to let you all know that I have been given the honor of creating and manning the brand new BringChange2Mind blog (http://bringchange2mind.wordpress.com/) so when I am not writing here, please check the BC2M blog to see if I am posting there. I will try my hardest to stay loyal to both.

And now a quick update... In the last month since I wrote I have been to St. Louis, Chicago, and New York, and been the team leader for two NAMI Walks, one in Seattle and the other in Portland. It has been an extremely inspiring, energizing, and exciting month as I made new friends (the Close/Pick family, Kitty and her mom, the Francolini family, and so many more), learned about new research and treatments, and met and listened to new and old heroes (Glenn Close, Jessie Close, Calen Pick, Kay Redfield Jamison, Marya Hornbacher, and Rosalyn Carter). If you don't know who some of these people are please look them up as they are all heroes in the mental health awareness (and women empowerment) world. I have had the honor of attending fabulous events in cities I had only dreamt about ten years ago. But it has not been all easy and joyous.

As I present and speak publicly about my illness and my (relative) stability I feel as if I need to always be happy, and if not, always act happy. I had gotten to the point where I found myself presenting a false image because I feared that if I let people know that I still get depressed sometimes, or still feel unsteady sometimes, they will feel there is no hope. I felt that if I am going around the country telling people that there is treatment and stability for people with mental illness, my hiccups in stability would prove this false. I have talked about this before in a past post so I won't go into it completely now other than I promised myself that I would always be completely honest, so, here it is...

The last month has been extremely hard as well. It has not only been the anniversary of my first hospitalization and the exhaustion of five national trips in one month followed by two 5K walks, but meeting so many people with one's same story is very difficult. Meeting so many people that share your story and hearing their struggles not only feels comforting as you are swiftly pulled from the aloneness of a diagnosis, but it also reminds you of all the pain you experienced. It reminds each individual of how lonely you really were and how different your life would have been had you just had this new friend(s) with you from the beginning. It is strangely validating, empowering, and comforting, and yet, it is often painful to meet people with such similar stories of agony, near suicide, self-harm, self-medication, etc., etc., etc. It is beautiful because everything is suddenly okay. You have found yourself on solid ground. But you can't hep but remember how terrifying it is to dangle from the cliff.

The last month has been more than exhilarating. It has reminded me of how much I love my family, how happy I am that I am alive, and how honored and lucky I am to have the opportunity and the health to do all the things that I do. It has once again reminded me why I need to continue to speak and share my story. People should not be alone in this fight. People should not have to feel pain when they finally find community years after their initial diagnosis. People should feel comforted, cared for, and loved from the very beginning. Feeling the ups and downs of this month has made that fact even more present in my mind. We need to change things now. We cannot let this continue to happen. We cannot let so many of our children end up on the streets, end up incarcerated, end up losing their lives by self-medicating. We cannot let a treatable enemy like suicide claim so many victims because they are alone and scared. We need to talk about this. We need to change things fast. Please help us change things by sharing stories, by letting people know that they are not alone. In my mind the biggest way to fight stigma is to talk. Share your truth. We need to remind the nation that 1 in 6 adults suffers from a mental illness by sharing real stories from the heart. Please have courage, for all of us.

February 26, 2010

I'm back!

Pardon my brief absence. Having gone to the conferences and a week of excitement and adventure (five airports, 2 conferences, 1 keynote, four break-outs, and five states) I came home to a leaking bathroom ceiling and wall and a large photography midterm. So, now I am back and ready to roll and keep on bloggin. The problem for now is that I am minutes away from bed and have to leave you with this short little check in. I promise however, that by the end of this weekend you will feel fully satisfied with a (hopefully) inspirational and powerful post brought to you by none other than me, Linea. So, as I leave you tonight I will provide you with this, some conference pictures and my favorite learnings from the conference (and yes, I made up a new, poorly phrased word to explain the brilliant and insightful lessons I was taught).

When asking a group of amazingly brilliant, powerful, and to some, "severely disabled" young people, "would you want your parents to tell you you were paralyzed/autistic/cognitively challenged?" The answers?  A simultaneous "YES"! "It's my body". "I deserve to know because its me". "I have to deal with it, not them". "Let me know so I can move forward".
Here are a few of my favorite pictures:
The most important the I learned: listen. Listen and learn.

February 03, 2010

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.

September 02, 2009

winged things

The Swans of Coole. Well, actually they are the Swans of Galway, (but they're close enough to Yeats' swans...)
















A friendly heron just hanging out on people's boats. The head in the background belongs to a sea lion in the Galway bay.

June 05, 2009

tree

I haven't written in a while because I have been swiftly falling towards finals week. And now, its here. So, I can't write but I will leave you with this tree.

March 27, 2009

back in my day...


A few weeks ago I was given the opportunity to visit the town I grew up in: Manson, Washington. A tiny apple farming town on a beautiful lake, surrounded by snowy mountains. I have found my mind going back to Manson quite a lot lately. I remember how simple everything was and how easy it was to be happy. I am not sure if it was the town itself or my wonderfully enjoyable childhood, but I am beginning to realize it may not have been as simple and easy as I thought.

When I first moved to Chicago I thought this is where I belong. The big city. I thought I was cut out for a world of "culture," art, music, constant movement, noise, and people. I thought that I would never be happy in a small town again. I actually forgot Manson existed. Until this last year. I'm not sure if it is the fact that I am once again living in Washington or if I am maturing to the point where I am seeing my youth through a new lens, but I can't stop thinking about it.


Going "home" was an interesting experience for several reasons: the first being that I hadn't been there for about five years, the second being the fact that I hadn't been there with my sister in thirteen years, and the third being that I had the opportunity to bring my one year old nephew with me. It was a strange mix of youthful memories and startling realizations of maturity. I am not a child anymore, and it became blatantly clear the moment I started driving my sisters sleeping child past my old house. I felt very emotional, happy, sad, overwhelmed at the fact that I was not the kid asleep in the backseat waiting for my parents to get me home. I thought about how much I have been through since that moment. I thought about how much things have changed and whether my parents thought the same thing when they were driving me around their home towns.


I think one of the things that struck me was thinking about the complexities that I never noticed. I drove around a place that was so full of memories, yet with the feeling that I had never seen any of it before. I saw the poverty, the small shacks that generations of families lived in, and realized for the first time what it meant to live there. When I was a kid I didn't understand what it was like for the families of the kids I went to school with. I didn't understand the extent of the poverty or the wealth of the tourists that juxtaposed it. I am amazed at the things I never noticed. I was amazed at the beauty that I took for granted. I was upset by the new wealth and "summer homes" that surrounded my old house and playgrounds.

I suppose the point to this is that I'm still young, but I think for the first time I really understand what it feels like to be getting older. It was that moment where I could hear my eighty year old voice saying, "back in my day..."

March 14, 2009

like mother like daughter and other things...


It has certainly been a while since I posted anything. I am nearing the end of finals, and prior to this have been busy writing, editing, and rewriting everything from poems to long non-fiction essays to articles for some teaching magazine. I have one class left for the quarter so I'm beginning to feel a little less pressure. Tonight I have been glueing, folding, and sewing chapbooks which has been fun. I find it nice to make something visually artistic to go along with the words I write.

Tomorrow I head off to a conference on Washington's Hood Canal. It is at quite an amazing hotel on the water. Sometimes I feel spoiled traveling to all these hotels to speak, I hope that it is making some sort of difference worthy of all this luxury. I am looking forward to speaking at this one because I was lucky enough to accompany my mom last year as a guest, and I know a lot of the people putting it on, so it will be amazing to present to them! The picture was taken out of my hotel room last year.

It is really weird when I think about what I am actually doing. I mean, ever since I can remember I have gone to conferences with my mom. I remember coloring in the back of the room, playing "my little ponies" in the lobby, swimming with my dad in the pool. I always tagged along, meeting all kinds of amazing and important people. And now I present to them. It's really funny how sometimes life seems to put you in the last place you expected but the one you feel the most comfortable in. I can't even remember how many people have said, "the last time I say you you were this high..." Its an interesting position to be in, on one level I of course feel natural and comfortable because I have seen my mom do it so many times, and because I know so many of the people, or kind of people, listening. On the other hand I can't help but feeling like a child. Like the child that is still tagging along, just three feet taller.

It's really funny how life puts us in these positions. I never thought I would want to speak at conferences. I never thought I would want to do anything other than play music. Even when I was first diagnosed I never wanted to talk about bipolar, let alone become somewhat of a spokesperson for it. But now I am. And I am going all over the country talking about my illness and the need to help other people learn how to take care of themselves and maybe eventually speak to others as I am.

I don't know where I'm going with any of this, I think I'm just rambling because I'm still in finals mode and a little out of my head. Just thought I would drop a line to say hello. And tell you I'm not dead. I will write more from now on, hopefully when my brain is a little clearer. Goodnight.

July 14, 2008

the dungeness spit





there are certain things that accentuate our existence: a 5am 5 mile hike on dry sand, a bald eagle ten feet from your face, a dried otter on the beach, smiling flirting seals