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.

A Metaphor for Depression

At some point in this vacation/pilgrimage to the place of my upbringing, Charleston, I decided to walk from the motel to a very well-known restaurant that sits at the edge of the Ashley River.  I waited only a short time before I was seated at a window that looked out across the salt marsh to the river..and across the river to the city marina and downtown Charleston beyond.  The experience of sitting at that window has stayed with me...and now I know why.

I came to Charleston to reconnect with sensations I equate with happiness...sparkling water, sunshine, boats, salt marsh, sea birds, etc  In that restaurant, I had the perfect seat.  I was not in the glare of the setting sun, not yet mellowed.  I had the perfect view.  But, I was miserable.  It was TOO FREAKIN LOUD! Annoying music, dozens of conversations, tables being dragged and dropped.  People were having to scream to be heard.  And when I sought solace in the things I loved, I was met with a cold, hard piece of glass.  I could not hear the sea birds, I could not smell the salt marsh, I could not feel the soft breezes or hear the clinking of the sailboat masts.  It was all out there, but it was beyond my reach.  It was not for me.

I am coming up out of a near-fatal depression and I am trying to feel something, something happy, something other than anger, resentment, fear, and disappointment.

It is Sunday morning.  The restaurant is closed now.  I went for a walk in the early morning sunshine, skirting around the large, empty parking lot, beside the salt marsh, across in front of the restaurant (the music is still playing inside), and back along another marina.  I gazed across the water and caught my breath.  There on the opposite dock was a sailboat, painted varnished teak and blue. I'm not good at guessing lengths but she had only one mast.  It was so unexpected, almost hidden like an easter egg.

When you are in a serious depression, you do not really expect to come out.  But sometimes, something so unexpected, something so insignificant, can give you a little bit of hope.

Have you ever been surprised to find hope?

Going by home

I had this great idea.  I thought that after enduring a scary and life-changing depression, I should reconnect with things I know I love:  water, sky, clouds, boats, salt marsh, sea birds, ... Charleston, SC. and the surrounding areas.

When I was depressed, I no longer felt any affection for art, writing, photography, or even getting up and getting dressed.  I did dishes and laundry like a mantra.

Pulling out of the depression, I felt vacant and a little afraid of being interested in anything.  I thought a gentle trip home would help.

Well, first of all, it is Spring Break. There are so many people, and so much traffic, no parking, and so much noise.  Everywhere I went yesterday, there were festivals.  What do you do at festivals?  You eat and spend money and get overwhelmed by the crowds.  I do not need that...any of that.

I have seen the shimmering water, the changing light in the sky, lazy clouds, the salt marsh at high and low tides, watched the sea gulls surfing on the wind, and even caught a whiff of plough (pluff) mud.  Lithe, white sailboats are all around me.  It does not do it for me, anymore. It just makes me sad.

I grew up here.  I went to college here.  I went through several relationships while living here.  I have not been by the houses where I lived...that would be getting too close.  My childhood was painful and sad.  I would not do it again.  Since the crisis a few weeks ago, I have spent a lot of time writing and talking about memories of hard and disappointing times.  Being here brings up more...foolish financial decisions, inappropriate relationships, break-ups, mean neighborhoods, frustrations, and prolonged depressions.  At one point in my life I wanted to return and live here.  I can barely afford to live where I am much less live in Charleston.

I have been very critical and intolerant of the frustrations here and that is not like me.  I suspect the new medication I am on has some play in that.  However, while walking in the sand with my head down, yesterday, I struggled with my reaction to it all:  art, photography, salt marshes, etc. and decided I needed new material, new things, new places.  My set of standby's has too many negative memories attached.

I'm feeling a little fragile.  I will need to take it slow.

Any suggestions?

Whiffs

My brain is still struggling to pull out of a depression.  I am what is called a 'rapid cycler,' so this has been a long and especially deep depression, for me.  In addition to what is going on chemically in my brain, I am failing to see a purpose to my life.  I have no goals.  I have no reasons.  Folding that basket of towels is about as purposeful as it gets.  Bleak, is a good word.

Even when I am reminded of what I used to do:  paint, write, take pretty pictures, I recall that part of my life with dim interest.  For all practical purposes, I was not "successful" at those endeavors.  I made no money at it, certainly not enough to even pay for the materials.  But more than that, I received mixed messages as to whether or not I was even any good at it...my painting, for example.  Was my artwork effective?  Did it bring anyone Joy or Healing?  I doubt it.  I dragged it to art shows and dragged it home again.  It piled up in the basement until I gave it away to Goodwill last month.  I had spent a lot of time and money on it.

But I am getting off track.

The gist of all this is that I am no longer compelled to go back to what I have tried in the past...even my writing.  Even though I write here on my blog, very few people read it...and usually, no one comments.  Does that matter?  Apparently not, because here I am.


It is gloomy here in my head.  I do what needs to be done.  I take my pills, I drive my daughter to work, I do the dishes and laundry, I write the blog.

I glare out the window as if the landscape is supposed to present me with something.  But it is cloudy...the ugly, glaring, white kind of cloudy that hurts your eyes and forces you to turn away.

And then I get a whiff...like a whiff of bread baking, or fireplace smoke, or the tea olive in Charleston where I grew up.  I have a whiff of interest in what goes on...the little bird at the feeder, the cat's steady breathing, the blooming thrift at the end of the walk.

And then it is gone...as quickly as it came.  However, I know, whether I want it to or not, my brain is shifting ever so slightly, like an old train's rusty wheels being nudged to move.  I am not sure I am ready.

Coming back up (Caution: mentions s______)

I have been in a bad place for a while but now I am finally on my way back up.  This was a bad one.  I quit my job, and nearly burned those bridges, as well.   I counted pills and did research.  I told my children as well as my doctors.  I pulled out my will and printed out information on how to claim my life insurance.  It was like following a to do list.  When I felt like there was nothing between me and the edge, I put a simple post on a mental health website:  "I have discovered, that when the idea of taking your own life no longer scares you, you are on a very slippery slope," or something to that effect.

I am grateful to those who responded by asking me to please be safe.  I read those messages over and over.  They became a mantra, of sorts.  There were those, however, who wanted to argue semantics with me, that if I had used different terminology, they might have taken me seriously.  Really?

Feeling a bit better yesterday, I posted the details of what I deal with and why simply coming out of a depression will not fix the situation entirely.  I waited all day to hear from someone...anyone.  At the end of the day, when I had received no comments of commiseration, compassion, or criticism, I thanked all those who had cared before and said, "well, I guess that's it."

This morning, the web site moderators took that to be a suicide note and removed me from the system.  If I didn't feel isolated before, I do now.

I originally intended this blog to offer hope and encouragement to people who suffer from the struggles of bipolar disorder.  When I started it, I was semi-manic, lucid, optimistic, and functionally creative.  Now, I feel like the blind leading the blind.  I'm not in a place to give hope.  I struggle to understand what it is all for.

BUT...

As I have testified on this blog before, when you are down, it feels like you have always been down and that you will always be down...that the landscape will always be bleak, the road will always be uphill, and that the horizon will always be pointless.  I am taking it on faith that this will Not always be the case.  That this too shall pass.

Taking care of myself, wherever I am.

It occurs to me that I may not change.  This may be how it is going to be for however long I remain alive.  (deep sigh.)  Medications are not working like they used to.  I have been on them for too long.  I might as well not be on medication, or so it seems.  I cycle wildly and rapidly, regardless.

I can not stay in bed all day.  I do not sleep.  Even at night I do not sleep.  My hands and feet are constantly in motion.  I wake up stiff from being in motion all night.

So what do I do?

I make plans, plans of how best to take care of myself, depending on what state of disorder I am in.  For example, when I am manic, I will be careful not to start any new projects or make any new goals.  They tend to be unrealistic, overwhelming, and disappointing.  Also when I am manic, I will take advantage of the energy and get some exercise.  Long vigorous walks tend to burn out the jitters.  Walking and talking with someone makes it even better.  Manic energy is also good for cleaning out places like the basement, shoving stuff around and sweeping up dust and dirt.  Manic energy is good for mopping floors.  It is not good for filing paperwork, unless I am taking on the entire filing system.

If I had a good yard, manic energy might be good for gardening.  HOWEVER, over the years I have spent thousands of dollars at garden supply stores.  Not a good place for me.  So, I must limit my 'gardening' to raking, weeding, pruning, and sweeping.

Depression is good for inspirational reading, slow walks, writing, catching up on movies, watching the dog breathe, watching the snow fall, belly breathing, meditation, hand-washing dishes, clothes, windows.

Mixed states are tricky.  If I am depressed and agitated, it may be best to nap.  I'm not sleeping my life away, just this short phase of my life.  If I am manic and full of negative energy, I can write blogs or letters that I just don't post or mail.  And walk.

Today, I intend to look into what diets are best for which states of disorder.  In the meantime, I will head back down to the basement and work on the studio.

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.

Defeated **Warning...contains thoughts on suicide"

I have already written on how this winter has been hard.  The medical treatment of my bipolar disorder is falling apart; I am suffering from side effects of having been on the meds for so long; I have other medical problems like Fibromyalgia, degenerative eye disease, and tooth/sinus infections; I'm just not doing well.

For a while I was manically throwing everything into feeling better:  getting on a healthy eating kick; following a walking training plan for the intent of running one day; changing doctors from a trainee to an internal medicine specialist; cleaning up my studio with the intent of painting again; getting back on the dating site in hopes of meeting someone; ...writing this blog.

None of it has worked.  And as bipolar disorder would have it, I am no longer manic but hopelessly depressed.  Looking back on the past week or so I see I have been getting my affairs in order; I quit my part time job; I gave away most of my paintings; I plan to give away my photography; I do not want or need it anymore.

Down through the years I have tried painting (never went anywhere), writing (never went anywhere), I was a programmer for 22 years (career aborted due to severe depression), I raised two children (but I have given both of them bipolar disorder.)    One person has commented on my blog (bless her heart.)  I am defeated.

Last night I gave my son my bottle of Lorazepam for safe keeping.  He did not take it.  I think he felt by not taking it he was diffusing the situation.  I felt not only defeated but dismissed.  I do not blame him.  He is young and not a professional at handling such situations.

This is not good.  I am alone in the house.  The bottle of pills is back in the bedside table drawer.

It is raining and cold.

I could call my psychiatrist or a friend or one of my children.  Or I could just check out the emergency room.

I do not want to die and cause all that trauma to my children and friends.  I just want to feel better.  I do not want to live this life anymore.  I want it to change.

The Morning After

I've been manic for about 6 or 7 days...until this morning.  I knew it was coming.  My brilliantly productive mania had slid into a chaotic, unfocused mania for a day or two.  Now I am sliding further into malaise and depression.

I hurt all over...particularly my joints and belly, identified as Fibromyalgia and Irritable Bowel Syndrome (IBS).  Unexpectedly, my tongue and jaw are still hyper-active (Tardive Dyskinesia) which I was suspecting was accompanying my mania.  Maybe not.  Maybe it is all the time now.

Always trying to make the best of things, I will look on this mood change as a welcomed time of rest.  My to-do list is still nearly a page long...it exhausts me to read it.  There are items that are still considered critical...pay bills, reconcile budget (what went wrong?), etc.  There are items that would benefit me...call Sue, read, go for a walk, do yoga, meditate, make a pot of tea, etc.  More than likely I will spend some time standing at the window, staring out.

I've been doing this long enough to know how this goes...it doesn't last for ever, I haven't died from it...yet, I can go with it a use it to my advantage.  I do some of my best thinking and writing when depressed.  I take the time to appreciate the work I accomplished when I was manic.  This is what is.

Breathe deep, move slow, this too shall pass.

I'm cycling again

I am cycling again.  We have lowered my dose of Lithium again to try to get rid of the tardive dyskinesia, dry mouth, metallic taste, and bitter tongue.  Those problems are better but not gone.  Problem is, I am cycling.  I have been manic for a few days...obsessively tackling the mess and clutter that has accumulated over the months and years of depression and denial.  Note, I think Abilify can make you feel like you are doing better than you really are.

So, I am manic, for now.  I am up at 5:30 am making my to-do list.  When I am going in four directions at once, the children make me sit and listen to music or do nothing for a while...which is painful because there is so much that needs to be done.

I have no life.  I am a human doing.  And depression will come soon enough.  I am overdrawn and it is only the 15th of the month.  The sewer has backed up into the basement.  My only joy is feeding the birds and I am out of seeds.

I am searching for new coping skills.  I have cleaned off my overflowing book shelf and isolated a dozen or more books of inspiration.  I have moved my chair over by the shelf and read random selections in the morning and at night.  I have downloaded a long series of stretching and strengthening exercises for my core and hips hoping that that will bolster my commitment to walk...and my dream to run.  And I watch the snow, waiting for Spring.

At least I am desperate to feel better.  A month or so ago I was considering the alternative.

Aftermath

All is well but now I fall. I've been up and down for days depending on circumstances. At this moment, I just feel spent, worn out from the turmoil. I could try to nap but I won't sleep. My mind will spin around thoughts and images and desires related to the past few days.

This too shall pass...but right now I need relief of some sort. I'm trying to paint but the process moves too slow. I've done laundry and dishes and that is good. I suppose I could benefit from a little structure...lists and requests. I try to write but nothing brilliant comes.

Tomorrow will be a better day...