Twenty Years!

So, Mike and I don't really have one song that's 'our song'. Like our relationship, the list of 'us' songs has grown and evolved over the years, and I was thinking that it'd be nice to post the top five. Or...the first five I can both think of AND find a youtube video of... :P

We're a total Disney couple, so there has to be at least one here. Mike was my prince from the start, and he has always made me feel like his princess.

By the time Mike and I were getting married, I'd already been through some things that made me a complete cynic. Mike, however, was always a dreamer, and he promised to dream enough for both of us.

We were so young when we started out, and life has not always been so easy. I tell people we grew up together, but not always at the same time or pace. When I was fifteen, Mike told me that we were going to get married one day. I laughed and told him how unlikely that was. So, when we first listened to this song, we kinda just went..."Yeah. That's it."

Okay, total 80's children here. Even before we made out to this song in a car wash one day, this song made me think of Mike. The making out thing just solidified it's place on the list forever.

And to round out this list, the latest song added to our 'us' songs is also my favorite. I stumbled across this song while flitting around on Youtube one day, and by the end of it, I had tears rolling down my cheeks, and we were clasping hands and nodding. If someone wrote a song about our marriage specifically and our life together, I don't think it could be sweeter or more ideally romantic. It would just be different details.

With that, I want to just say I am really looking forward to the next twenty years and the twenty after that...and the twenty after that....and on and on.

For Mike

Nineteen Years

It was unseasonably colder than expected with a wind that chilled us to the bone, and we were outside.

My veil blew up over my head as I came around the corner.

After forgetting to bring my stereo, we had to settle for music played from Mike's car speakers.

We barely got a bite to eat during the whole reception.

The best man forgot shaving cream, so he decorated the car with mustard, which took hours to chisel off in the freezing cold the next morning.

Our reservations didn't start until the next day, so when we got to Orlando, we stayed in a very cheap hotel room that...well, at least it had a bed.

For years, I wanted a do over when it came to the wedding.

Now, I'd just like another perfect honeymoon.

And the marriage?

Well, that's still going like gangbusters. It's better than I could have ever ever dreamed possible.

Stigma

I get it more than I ever did before. I understand why other bipolars don't tell people about their illness or their medication issues with people outside of the psych's office or support group.

I still believe that public education is the key, but I'm done with what it seems to do to my attempts at friendships.

Some things should just stay private.

Life on the roller coaster

The utter and sheer devastation that, no matter how careful you try to be, your emotions have gotten away from you again, and now, you have to apologize. Again.

Embarrasment at losing control. Humiliation that you couldn't make it stop. Anger at yourself for not being able to stop bursting into tears.

Resentment at 'normal' people for not even trying to control or apologize for their own emotional garbage when you have to try so damn hard.

Just another day on the emotional roller coaster ride from hell...

An observation about a rather sticky subject

(Disclaimer: The below article is about suicide. If this subject disturbs or triggers you, please skip this post altogether. I'm going though a hard time right now, and I needed to express something I'm going through in a safe and healthy way. I don't know if it will help anyone else, but since I believe so strongly in mental health advocacy and education, I could not, in good conscience, just relegate it to a file folder on my hard drive where it would never be seen. That being said, I hope it DOES help someone out there - whether it helps change their point of view or lets someone else know they're not alone. Thank you.)


I hear a lot about how people who commit suicide are weak or quitters or somehow horrible people, and I have to tell you that I think the people who perpetuate that kind of garbage are ignorant and, sometimes, evil.


When someone repeats these things, they send a clear message to anyone around them who is at risk for suicide that they are less than, beneath, and unworthy of help. So, guess what? They don't ask for help when they need it. They just continue to suffer in silence until the day that it's too late, and then, they sit in their room and stare at a bottle of pills or a gun or the plan that they have carefully thought out a dozen or million times until that moment where they can no longer stop themselves.


Mental health illnesses are cruel punishment to a person – especially in a society where it seems that the only value a person has is how much money they can make or how successful they can be or how beautiful their physical appearance is. Self confidence is hard enough to come by without the pressure of proving that one is worthy of being treated with the same dignity and respect that 'normal' people deserve by simply not being sick.


There are continuous battles to wage on a daily basis over things as small as getting out of bed in the morning. Symptoms can range from insomnia or hypersomnia to paranoid thoughts to despair to inappropriate behaviors to even visual or auditory hallucinations, and each symptom comes with its own set of effects that can affect daily life - sometimes, so significantly that life isn't just disrupted, but halted and made all the more miserable.


Mental health treatment is also harsh in a lot of ways. Those on the outside of a mental health crisis seem to think that medication fixes everything, and the person with the illness should be fine as though it's a simple flick of a light switch, when in truth, every day is a constant battle on several fronts. There's the battle with oneself to justify the burden one is on their family, and then, there's the burden of not being strong enough to overcome what so many people around them seem to think is just a matter of willpower. There's the battle to sort what thoughts and feelings are a product of misfiring neurons and imbalanced chemicals and which thoughts and feelings are based in reality, no matter where the distortion of perception originates.


There's a battle over how useless and/or worthless a life can become before it can be justly snuffed out of existence. Hell, there's even resentment when the one thing stopping one from doing it is that one's loved ones have to be the ones to pay for one's “weakness”, and the battle between that and being a burden becomes neverending.


In the end, it's not a choice. In the end, it's not about being too weak or even selfish.



In the end, it's about losing the war.

Before you ask...

You know, there are some common things that are said to me on a daily basis that I have a hard time responding to for various reasons. It's not a reflection on the person saying them in any way, but it's a reflection of where I am finding myself emotionally and of what's going on here beyond the keyboard. Right now, this moment, however, I would like to address a few of them.

How are you doing?

Now, we all like to think of ourselves as honest people, but the truth of the matter is that this question is not meant for an honest answer in polite society. It's considered polite to say "Fine" or "Okay" or "Great". (On a related note, when I ask this question of others and get one of those three answers, I tend to wonder if I should follow up with "Are you really fine or just saying that?") However, I always feel compelled to answer honestly, and of late, I am none of those things, so I find myself hesitant to answer at all.

I'm not okay. I haven't been okay in a long while. I'm miserable, frustrated, irritated, exhausted, filled with self-loathing, depressed, in pain, and holding on by the slimmest, barest thread. The biggest thing that keeps me from going to the nearest mental health facility and checking myself in is that we can't afford more debt. The second is that those places terrify me as much as hospitals do. Maybe even  more so. The rest is that it would not help anything that is going on here, but would, in fact, do the opposite and make everything worse for Mike and Caedyn.

How am I doing? In my better moments, I wish I was in a coma or a drug-induced haze that spares me from the feeling of being a giant exposed nerve that the barest breeze sends into complete agony emotionally. In my worst moments, I wish I was dead. I consider it a personal point of pride that I haven't picked up a razor blade to indulge in cutting and am very glad I don't own a gun.

Do you want to talk about it?/Do you need a shoulder?

Hell no. I am talking about it. I'm tired of talking about it. Mostly, when I talk about it to anyone but the person who I go to about these things, I feel like I'm wasting my time and yours. Things are shit. My emotions are out of whack. My neck/shoulder problem is not getting any better, and I can't get it taken care of anymore than I can afford the process to get back on meds much less afford the meds. There's nothing I can do beyond what I'm doing, and I'm feeling hella guilty for how little that actually is while I watch my husband bear the brunt of dealing with everything I can't deal with while he tries to take care of me in the process.

The last thing I need to do is talk about it anymore. I'm so tired of talking.

Is there anything I can do?

I don't know. This question makes me uncomfortable, because I don't want to be in the position where I ask for help. I feel guilty when someone helps me, but I honestly appreciate it so very, very much. I say "Thank you", and it seems like such a tiny, insignificant response for how grateful I truly am. One day, I hope to be able to do something in return to show it better.

I know that in the face of seeing someone suffering, it frustrates the hell out of me if I can't do something to help them, so I know why you ask this question. However, on this end of the question where I'm supposed to come up with an answer, it's not just frustrating. It's humiliating and embarrassing and makes me want to run away and hide until all the pity stops making me feel all the more guilty.

If you can't think of anything, there are people who live in other parts of the world who can't get clean water and live with horrible medical conditions that are all but unheard of here. If you want to do something for me, please do something for them. Buy a five dollar gift card from Burger King and hand it to the next homeless person you see, so they can have a meal. There are hundreds of worthy causes out there that I have always wanted to contribute to, but have never been able to.

Are you alright?/Are you going to be okay?

Not in the immediate future. I don't want to speculate on it farther than that. I trust in Mike and God's guidance to work on the necessary steps between here and the place/time where I can be helped. I need my neck/shoulder treated so that I can be of actual help around whatever home we end up in, and then, I need to be under a psychiatrist's care. Both at the same time seems like an impossible dream. But before any of that, there are a number of things that need to be taken care of, and none of them are in my hands.

So, for now, I feel useless. I feel defeated. And, even if I had a solid timeline of how things are going to progress from where we are now to that point, I'd still be waiting for it all to happen. And if there's anything life has taught me, it's that plans are what life seeks to derail.



So, if you find yourself being directed to this page, please do me a huge favor. Just say things like "I'm praying for you" or "You're in my thoughts" or **hugs tight** or even "I'm here if you need anything."

Believe it or not, those things make me smile a little, because it means you understand. It means I'm not as alone as I feel. It means all the things the above questions are meant to portray, but in a more supportive way that makes me feel a little less like I'm dragging the entire world down with my despondence.

Thanks,
Lela

Just Float

There have been times where we all get overwhelmed. You know the days. Too much going on, too much stress, etc. I liken it to drowning when it starts to really push all the right depressive buttons to send me into a never-ending spiral of negativity and/or exhaustion.

A few years ago, while describing this to Mike, he reminded me that I have a tendency to fight hard against everything I'm feeling or experiencing. And, in the case of drowning - for those of you who get a good swimming reference - he reminded me that the worst thing a drowning person can do is fight and thrash, because it makes you sink faster. The safest thing to do when you realize that you're drowning and the undertow is dragging you underwater faster is to stop fighting and relax so that you begin to float toward the surface. Once you reach the surface of the water, you can start treading water and get your bearings to find the right direction to swim. He was right, too. He's known me all my life, and he's watched me do this time and again.

So, in the face of that rapidly worsening depression, Mike gave me the best tool in my coping mechanism toolbox - he suggested that I stop fighting and let myself float.

Ever since then, when I realize I'm beginning to sink deeper and deeper emotionally into that place, he reminds me that I need to float. It may take a day or a week - and by no means is it a permanent solution - but it helps a lot.

This entire summer has been hell on wheels, and it's ramping up into a huge undertaking that requires a bit of a leap of faith that making the changes mentioned in my last post can only be better than what we're facing if we don't make those changes. And I'm on board. Part of me is very excited to be moving forward and looking forward to throwing myself into my part of the big moving plan.

But, today, I woke up in a state of mind that I just can't shake.

I need to float.

-Lela

Things that suck (Random bitching session)

Buyer's remorse after a manic shopping outing.

Blister pill packaging that makes you break the pills when you try to get them out of said packaging.

Switching back to the 4 row pill tray after using the two row for months.

Inviting rejection from a father you already gave up on, knowing it will still hurt just as much as when you actually cared that he constantly rejected/disapproved of you.

Saying goodbye to the good parts about being off your psych meds and subsequently welcoming the forthcoming side effects. 

Over-stimulated

I should note that there is no point to this, but to just write an observation, I guess.

When you have a young child (or care for one), you'll see them experience what moms tend to call "over-stimulation". It's generally a result of a very busy/hectic/active period of time and exacerbated by missing a nap or bedtime, going off their normal routine, or even an excess of sugar. For example, you take them to another child's birthday party, and there are games and activities and lots of cake, and they spend a couple of hours running around with a bunch of other kids and having a grand time of it. Get them in the car afterward, maybe even get them home, and something in them wants to keep going and going, but they've long passed their mental and/or physical capabilities of doing so. They're irritable, cranky, tired, over-reactive, emotional, and they don't know yet how to stop, take a breath, take a break, etc. (much less recognize what's going on).

At this point, the adult steps in and finds a way to help guide the child to a calmer state so that they can catch up with their senses. We make them sit down. We remove further stimulus by turning off the tv or moving them to a different environment. We soothe them and help them transition from this frantic state of being to one of quiet and peace. It takes a lot of damn work, too, because they're almost locked inside that vibrating, buzzing, stimulated mindset even though they really can't take in anymore input. They're a computer that needs a defrag, for crying out loud.

Somewhere, over time, we can handle more stimuli, and we learn how to recognize this moment for ourselves as we grow up. We reach that point of over-stimulation, and we give ourselves our own version of a time-out by changing rooms or putting on some soothing music or a hundred other things that adults call "me time" or "down time" or "taking a moment".

Sometimes, I drive myself into that state without realizing it's happening until the anxiety symptoms are signalling that it's too late, and I've driven myself off a proverbial cliff. I was getting better at recognizing it while I was on medication, so it happened less often, but it still happened.

It's like cycling through a mini manic episode. There's a rush of emotional upheaval (good or bad, depending on the circumstances) amidst events or circumstances that are often unexpected or unplanned, and throughout it all, from beginning to end, I'm up, I'm down, I have multiple trains of thought careening around my head at once, and I'm acting on most of them either through actions or conversations or both. There's an intensive pace to it all, and I'm in the moment and of the moment, and the moment is bigger than life.

But just like that kid at the party, it goes too far, too fast and wants to keep on going long beyond the moments it was meant for. There's an abrupt end to things, an end to the bridge, and I forgot that my brakes need time to slow me down before stopping. So, I try to continue onward to the next thing. After all, I have momentum now! I can't stop just because whatever was going on has stopped! I must do the next thing and the next and the next!

And somewhere along the way, I realize that my hands are shaking or that I've tensed up to the point that my muscles are strained and aching. I went into fight or flight mode and my nerves are humming and raw. My heart is racing, and I can't catch my breath, much less draw in a deep one to slow it all down. And if something isn't done soon to stop it, there's a complete seizing that leaves me curled in a ball, shuddering and shaking, fists clenched so tight that there are half-moons in my palms, and I just. can't. breathe.

And here I am, still trying to continue on with "the next thing", because that's what I've locked myself into doing. I'm over-stimulated, and somewhere inside my mind, there is no way but onward. I've forgotten that simple need to stop, take a breath, change my environment, turn off the now far-too-loud sounds. Sometimes, I recognize this is what's going on, but just can't switch gears to fix it.

That's where Mike steps in if he's around. He's learned to recognize it when he sees it, and I've learned to try to ask for help when I realize it's happening but just can't stop it. He becomes the adult while I'm the over-stimulated child. He pulls me away from that "next thing" and hugs me tight or sits me down. He gives me half a Xanax and runs his hand over my back, keeps me from curling my hands into fists, strokes my hair. He soothes, helps me remember how to breathe.

Some Observations from the Land of Crazy

Once upon a time, I wrote 3 blogs: one for family updates and just plain sharing, one as a personal journal, and one for RP-related things. Between the three, I wrote fairly regularly, and while none of them ever gained a significant "following", I liked writing in them and expressing the sides of myself that each blog represented.

Eventually, the journal got moved to an undisclosed location, then abandoned altogether. I'd started taking medications and going to therapy, and it felt as though I really didn't need that outlet anymore. The RP blog is still there, and I still post occasional stories and character profiles to it. Truthfully, it's probably the most active blog I've kept over the last few years.

And then, there was this blog - the "main" blog - which was relegated to family updates and pictures from vacations and announcements of important family-related information. Once, I was fairly vocal, but it became clear that a lot of what I said had offended this person or that one, so I stopped expressing my opinions and views so as not to upset anyone else.

Most often, when I first wake up for the day, it's a lot like being what I think I'll call "emotionally naked" - lacking in the usual trappings of emotional armor that one wears throughout the day to safeguard ones own feelings. Every thought, dream remnant, and memory that begins to fill my mind seems like an assault - too bright light turned on in a darkened room without warning so that the eyes water and burn to the point that you're holding your head against the sudden ache. The things that come to me are varied and rarely the same, so that examples are useless, because today, it could've been leftovers from a vivid dream about being in a car crash or the once distant (and now all too easily accessed) painful childhood memory, and tomorrow, it could be remembering that I need to get up and check on the crockpot. Because of all this, it can take me a while to get from "waking up" to actually being "up and awake".

I've been off my medications since October, and these "waking up" sessions seem exponentially harder. Well, hell, it seems like everything's harder. Medications don't make the symptoms of Bipolar and Anxiety go away so much put a leash on them to make them more manageable, so this is not all that surprising. During today's seemingly endless process of getting myself on my feet, I asked myself the question I have found myself asking a lot since October: "How did I DO this before medication?"

The answer - for this at least - was surprisingly simple. I wrote.

I wrote about my feelings, and I wrote about what was going on in the here and now, and I wrote stupid little stories for RP that tapped on the insecurities and fears and frustrations I was feeling. I channeled so much of it into that. And it didn't matter if it was good or if anyone else read it. It only mattered that it was out. A little steam escape hole on a pressure cooker.

Why did I stop writing? Well, someone got upset, and the last thing I ever wanted to do was hurt anyone.

So, here I am some 5 years later, give or take, pushing 40's doorbell. There are some significant differences between now and then. My circle of close family and friends is much smaller, much tighter. Those are the only opinions of me that matter now. I've learned that whatever anyone else takes away from what I say or do is their responsibility, not mine. If I write something that offends them, that's their offense, not my responsibility. If anything, this all makes me more honest and will likely make me more blunt.

I've spent a great deal of my life trying to figure out who I am and trying to be accepting of the answers (and trying not to hate that person). I don't fit into any one category and the labels people have assigned me keep falling off. Occasionally  someone sticks me on a pedestal which prompts me to take a jackhammer to it. All in all, however, I keep having to break down things from my past that inform the person I've become, but have no business doing so; I have had to understand that I don't fit into societal norms or religious norms or even my father's expectations of failure; and in truth, there is no reason for me to live up to anyone's expectations but my own.

So, I think I'll go back to this silly little outlet of mine - to write whatever is floating around in my head and let some steam out of the pressure cooker. I won't make another blog or go back to the journal, though, because I just don't see the point. I write in this one so rarely anymore that it seems like it's sitting here dusty from lack of use, so why not just use it? I'm not going to put any rules into it or push to make sure I post every so often, because in the end, those requirements I place on myself become shackles that I resent.

Hell, I don't even know if I'll keep writing once I'm back on my meds in a month or two.

I only know that this is something that I want to do, and that this is one of those things I'll be doing for me. The difference this time has to specifically be that I'm doing this for me.

For your sake, however, I will be labeling these posts under "Lela Emo", so that you, the reader, can feel free to skip them. I will be disabling comments for them, because they are a matter of self expression that I don't wish to debate or defend. I suppose you can consider this my disclaimer and warning.

--Lela