When Erratic Energy meets with Despair

This is where it gets dicey.  If you are familiar with bipolar disorder, you have probably heard the term 'mixed states.' You probably also know that suicide is attempted more often when the sufferer is considered 'agitated.'

In terms of energy, the state of 'mixed state' can best be described ( in my view) as rapidly changing and erratic.  Think of problems with the power lines when the lights flicker or glow brighter than usual, power surges cause appliances and electronics to pop and trip breakers, and computers don't know what to do and often shut down.

If you are attempting to monitor your energy, in conjunction with circumstances, it is nearly impossible to gauge.  At times like that, the state of your circumstances governs what you should do.  For example, if circumstances are okay, walking or meditation may be helpful to even out the energy.  Avoiding problematic situations (shopping, conversations which can go awry, or dealing with potentially stressful issues) is probably a good idea.

If circumstances suck, the combination of that with erratic energy can be dangerous.  Psychiatrists use the term "agitation" to describe the feelings of confusion, despair, hopelessness and panic...and all kinds of red flags fly up. Inappropriate outbursts at just about any frustration are likely.  Poor concentration and the inability to put things in perspective can lead to suicidal thoughts.

It is my suggestion to first 'table' all concern for the circumstances, if possible.  My table of choice is at the feet of Jesus.  Then get thoughts about the circumstances out of your head.  Write them down if you feel the need to keep track of the details but do what you must to quiet your mind.

Then, address the energy.  If it is intense, find a way to release some.  I listen to music that makes me cry...and I usually listen to it really really loud.  The first audition of Charlotte and Jonathan singing "My Prayer," does it for me; or Samuel Barber's "Adagio for Strings" (The premier performance by Arturo Toscanini, if you can find it); or "Bring Him Home" (Colm Wilkinson or Alfie Boe); Nessun Dorma (Pavarotti or, a personal favorite, Alfie Boe "warbles a bit").  I even cry when listening to "NASA's Orion Space Launch set to Interstellar Soundtrack (the 1st one listed)"

But, I digress.  The idea is to expel some energy in a safe and healthy way...and I think crying is healthy.

Before picking the circumstances back up, if you must, you should assess your energy.  If your energy is too low to deal with the issues, and if they can wait, let them wait.  Napping is good.

If circumstances are dire, you need to establish a safe situation for yourself.  Call someone who has experience with such matters.  Let someone, someone who will respond with compassion and strength, know what you are going through. Do not go through it alone.  Being aware of His presence will help, but if your thinking is distorted, your perception of His voice may be, too.

If you do not feel safe, take yourself to the hospital; let someone else do the thinking for a while.  You need to build up your strength so you can see things clearly again, so you can accurately assess your energy and your options and make good choices.

Jesus is there; help is available; you are not alone.  I know what of I speak.

Throwing away my life...Caution: mentions suicide

I am throwing stuff out...lots of stuff.  I know it is risky.  One of the warning signs of suicide is giving away prized possessions.  And some of these are prized possessions.  Dozens of oil paintings.  Dozens of photographs, matted and framed.  Watercolor prints, matted and framed.  Boxes of them.  These represent stages of my life and my creative endeavors during those times.  All failed attempts to share my creativity. These pieces of artwork have languished in gift shops, craft fairs, and on restaurant walls.  I even have many of them posted on the internet. www.flickr.com/photos/kitsy_1955/

These items are doing no one any good in boxes or piles in the basement.  And, yes, I am aware that it is a cardinal sin to give away (or lower your price on) something you have previously sold.  So sue me. What is more, they remind me of my failures, my manic efforts with perhaps unrealistic expectations, and a lot of money ill spent.

So out they go to Goodwill, The Salvation Army, and the dump.  A lot of that stuff represents what I ought to have been.  Getting rid of it is, in that way, liberating.  No more should's or ought's.  But it brings up the question, "What the hell am I, if not an artist?"

My mother was an artist.  She always took home first prize in the local art show because her style was so unique.  She was also a hoarder, not so much like what you see on TV but a hoarder of memorabilia, dishes, pots and pans, furniture, newspaper clippings, books, and her art.  She was also bipolar and obese.  When she died, the minister struggled to find something positive to say about her life.  He focused on her outlook, that her hoarding was an indication that she felt she would live forever, that she looked to eternity. Whatever.

I am not sure what I am doing this for...this clearing out.  I do not want to be a hoarder.  I know I have, at best, 20-25 years left to live.  I have no thoughts toward living forever.  Perhaps I did once.  Not any more. Furthermore, I no longer want to be burdened by unimportant options like knitting and sewing.  But where will it end?  How will it end?  What gets to stay?

This morning I was pulling out the camping gear.  I loved camping as a child.  Unfortunately, because of my mother's condition, camping was a chaotic affair with lots of blankets and sheets of clear plastic.  After my husband left, when my children were still young, I built a camping system of matching, hard case boxes filled with everything we would want on a camping trip: cast iron frying pans, enameled plates and mugs, table cloths, matching dish towels, candles, enamel-handled flatware, clothes lines, tarps, lanterns, a cook stove, the whole nine yards.  There are sleeping bags, mats, folding chairs, tents, and a car-top carrier to carry it all in.  It was used maybe once or twice.

Pulling it out this morning, I was overcome with incredible sadness.  I had put such hope and happiness into those hard case boxes.  Clearly, I was manic at the time and had disposable income.  But, more than that, I had a vision of happiness for my children.  By God, I was going to give them the experience that brought me such joy, with or without the help of another adult.  Sadly, it was more than I could handle.  Camping was very difficult for my daughter.  She did not like it.  My son did not like it, either, at the time.  He has since been through Boy Scouts and camps with his friends.

In fact, it was my son who saw I was so distraught this morning, and pulled me out of the dive, offering that we can go camping, once it warms up a bit.

So, I have put on the brakes a bit.  The treadmill and workout equipment stay.  The gardening tools stay, I think.  The paper making supplies, I'm not sure.  The grill/smoker, we'll see.  The darkroom equipment stay, for now.

In other words, it is not over.  There is plenty left to attach me to this earth with hopeful expectations.

What a difference a day makes

I had a rough day yesterday.  It had built up over the weekend because I had decided on Friday that I was going to quit my very part-time job.  The manager is a tyrant.  Actually, he is more like a petulant playground bully.  The secretary would spend hours crying on my shoulder, telling me what mean things he has said and done, instead of standing up for herself.  I finally said, "enough."  When she related that he "didn't know what he was paying me for," that he had "paid me for nothing,"  I wrote him a letter and told him I wouldn't work for him any more.  I delivered it in person yesterday morning.

I was already in a really low mood and it got worse as the day wore on.  I wrote it out on this blog (see yesterday's post), spent an hour or more reading web pages on the warning signs of suicide, put on a movie, pulled a comforter over my head, and slept.  I haven't behaved that way in years.  After I woke up, I went out for the mail.  There is was, the letter from Social Security that I have been waiting for for two years.  They finally reinstated my disability.  I celebrated by going to the grocery store.

I am going to a class tonight on basic photography.  I took 2 -3 years of photography back in 1998 - 2000.  At that time, I bought an enlarger and enough supplies and equipment to set up a darkroom in my basement.  In fact, I did set it up in my laundry room and used it once or twice.  I loved it but was pretty manic at that time in my life.  Things became pretty crazy after that.  The enlarger got covered with dust and laundry, the equipment was packed away in various locations.  I haven't touched it since.

But I will touch it today.  I plan on spending the day taking inventory, cleaning off the equipment, finding the two old manual Canon cameras, and going out for batteries and film.

What a difference a day makes.

From one extreme to another.  That's the name of this bipolar game.  Which reminds me, I need to be careful and take my time.  This up mood won't last either and my biggest failing when manic is spending money, particularly on creative projects.

I want to thank the two ladies who commented on my post yesterday when I was in crisis.  The letter from SSA was great, but their two comments pulled me out of a dive, just by letting me know I was heard.  thank you.