old age – Page 2 – Mirrored Madness: The Monster In Me

When the Music’s Over, Turn Out the Lights

“The only truth is music.”
– Jack Kerouac

As a musician and just as a human being on a very basic level, music is a key part of my every day. I’m making no correlation between the madness and the necessity of music in one’s life, it’s just a fact: music is a key part of my life.

King of and fellow nihilist Friedrich Nietzsche said, “Without music, life would be a mistake.” Is this just another extreme observation made by the philosopher? Should we just take it with a poetic grain of salt? I don’t know. I don’t know if life would be a mistake without music, but I do know I don’t want to find out.

For me, music is an escape. I have found, compared to my wife and other peers, that I am one of the only people I know who devours and rates an album by an artist as a whole. A lot of people hit up the radio hits and go from there (I still can’t listen to Dylan’s Blonde on Blonde without starting from the bombastic beginning and plowing through all the way to the end. Every time.).

I have to say the way we ingest our music and media plays a role in the output we get. Artists and, more importantly, record labels know that all an “album” needs is a couple Top 40 hits. The rest can be filler because it’s the singles that’s going to sell the record. So, it’s a known and very-well practiced formula (unless you’re Billie Eilish and then all rules are thrown out the window).

So, what kind of music do I like?

Well, I of course have already mentioned Bob Dylan. There is a string of albums the man released back-to-back over just a few years in the 1960s that reach an almost impossible state of perfection.

I am more a predominately rock n’ roll guy but have found numerous albums and other styles of music that I add to the spectrum. For instance, The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill is definitely outside of my wheelhouse, but I honestly think it may be the last perfect album ever made. Now that’s an extreme opinion, but mine, nonetheless. With a list of “Favorite Albums” heavily clouded with Dylan, Beatles, and Rolling Stones records, the fact Lauryn Hill’s debut album cracks my Top 5 is saying a lot.

As both a musician and a fan, I have devoured The Beatles, Led Zeppelin, Aerosmith, The Doors, The Velvet Underground, etc. But still, some of my favorite albums fall outside the main party line.

Both Sufjan Stevens Illinois and Seven Swans are in my “Top Favorite Albums”. Stevens has been a folky/electronic music hero for some time, and deservedly so.

Yes, I seek out the “album’s” album. I think the Rolling Stones Exile On Main St. is perhaps THE best rock n’ roll album ever made. The raw grit of the songs, the songwriting process, and the album’s creation says it all. Check it out. You won’t be disappointed.

The White Album by the Beatles is definitely up there with Exile. It’s a perfect collection of songs, and a perfect representation of how the band was working together at the time (not well). That being said, John Lennon is a personal hero of mine and I think he’s responsible for some of the best songs and albums of the 1960s and 1970s. And, yes, I’ll take Lennon over McCartney any day of the week (Shit, I’ll even take Ringo over McCartney.).

I’m admittedly bias as hell when it comes to this next one…but The Strokes have yet to release a bad album. Just saying.

In an attempt to wrap things up, let me pause to reflect. I remember one of my grandmother’s telling me at age 13 that my interest in the 90s “grunge” movement would make me “depressed” because those artists sang about drugs and suicide. So, to prove a point, I played Roadhouse Blues by The Doors (another one of my favorite bands). Her response was immediate and positive. “Yeah! Now this is a lot better! Listen to that beat!” I guess it didn’t matter that the song is a declaration of living in the moment in as raw and simple of a way as possible (“I woke up this morning and I got myself a beer/the future’s uncertain and the end is always near”). From that moment on anyone else’s perception of my musical tastes mattered not.

So, all in all, music is a release and an appreciation process necessary for me to function. I’ve always said I’d rather go blind than be deaf, as I couldn’t live without being able to listen to or play music.

Hell, maybe Nietzsche was only half right: Life without music isn’t just a mistake, it’s an impossibility and an unnecessary evil that should be asked or expected of no one.

TOP 5 FAVORITE ALBUMS (As of this writing and in no particular order)

The White Album- The Beatles
Exile On Main St. – The Rolling Stones
Nevermind – Nirvana
Astral Weeks – Van Morrison
The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill – Lauryn Hill

a day in the life: manic monday

“If I can’t feel, if I can’t move, if I can’t think, and I can’t care, then what conceivable point is there in living?”
– Kay Redfield Jamison

It’s been a pretty “blah” week on my end of things, personally and professionally that is. My wife has been sick, so I’ve tried to pick up some extra slack around the house while also having two young boys (5 and 7 months) to wrangle. It’s no one’s fault, but it left very little time for creativity to exist in any sense, blog-related or no.

I come here as a “blogger” to decompress in a very matter-of-fact sense, as well as to offer knowledge of my circumstances and experiences and how it relates to this illness. I don’t know if I benefit from it any more than anyone else, but it sure can make me feel better at times.

The past week has been one of what I call “stifled mania” (medicated mania), where the unwarranted energetic part of things has been there, but common sense has somehow miraculously prevailed.

Until now.

We’re coming to the close of the first full week of March, and it was not only expected but planned for. However, it feels a little bit different than usual this go-around. Perhaps it’s just psychosomatic, or because I’m on a different medication regimen than last spring. I don’t know. But I feel not only more aware, but also in more control. This latter observation could very well be a part of the delusions that can be expected to come in the next few days or weeks. But it’s a different form of mania and, I’ll be honest, I’m not a big fan.

We’ve still got time, though. By this time next month I may be crashing the walls and bouncing off the ceilings. I sure hope not, but only depending on what the alternative may be. And I hope it’s not this.

But I mainly wanted to check in. I’ll be back a little later this week if not with anything but an update on this strange state of boring mania.

Happy Monday.

Old Age, or Something Like It

“Some people with memory loss really need to start writing down the stuff.”
– Anonymous

You know that expression “You don’t know what you got until it’s gone”? Well, boy, is it true! And applicable to damn near ANYTHING!

If the name of this blog (and literally all of my previous posts) didn’t give it away, it probably is no secret that I suffer from bipolar disorder. Not meaning (or attempting) to be funny, it’s a topic us mad ones have to laugh at or else we’d spend all day crying. Or worse.

There are many negative aspects to being bipolar. Believe me, I know. At the same time, I also feel (sometimes) that there are some good aspects of suffering from the illness. They’re not always obvious, but they are there.

But does the good outweigh the bad? Or is it the other way around? Ask me tomorrow and I’ll tell you something different.

“The older I get” has become a new, oft-used phrase of mine, almost a sad mantra of some sort. But over the last year alone I’ve experienced such a cognitive decline it’s more than noticeable. If only by me.

This is one of those instances where the good doesn’t outweigh the bad. There’s no other way to spin it, and it’s scary.

As someone famous once labeled themselves as being “well under the 30”, I cannot….but only by a little bit (the elders of the tribe would scoff if they knew my real age). Which makes it scarier! I shouldn’t be dealing with these types of things this early in life. Or so you might think.

I don’t mean to sound abrasive or whatnot, but it’s been a problem that scared me enough to keep it a secret. Until I couldn’t.

Before the forgetfulness got severe enough to scare me, I started having problems with basic motor skills. Just loss of coordination and perception. This went on for a couple of months before I got “busted” by my wife. After a few times of falling and losing balance one day, the jig was up.

It was strange having to discuss the issue like I had been hiding an affair or something equally dreadful. Of course, my wife wasn’t too happy and it actually kickstarted my deep personal fear of the problem. I was slipping, it felt like. You can take a hand. Hell, you can take the whole damn arm. Just don’t take my mind.

I then started forgetting what I was talking about mid-sentence. I’d forget the whole conversation, the whole subject even. I would get so embarrassed when this would happen with anyone other than my wife that I could almost cry. And sometimes I did. It’s like walking into a room and forgetting why. Except now I was forgetting to even walk into the room. It’s a metaphor, but accurate nonetheless.

I of course went to the doctor and got in with a neurologist. I’ve had at least three MRI’s, one suggesting there were two spots of white matter in my corona radiata and another suggesting there was no white matter at all. Things have been ruled out, just not ruled on.

I’m to have an even more extensive MRI done to hopefully determine something. It’s weird to want to know something is wrong rather than experience this type of loss and there be no cause to its effect.

Fortunately, upon doing some research, I’ve learned that bipolar disorder takes a toll on the ol’ brain. That’s what it is. Has to be. I’d almost bet the farm on it. Especially when it comes to loss of coordination and the cognitive decline.

Now this isn’t an everyday hindrance; 95% of the time I’m fine. Bipolar still, but fine. It’s the other five percent that’s troubling.

I can’t sit around and count the days until I’ve totally lost myself, though. But I’m still not excited about it. And maybe I won’t have to deal with it on a real serious level, but it’s the type of decline that’s been real gradual. Thankfully (knock on wood) I have not had any serious or even real noticeable “moments” in the last month or so. But it comes and goes. Which makes it even scarier.

I go back to the neurologist in April, and I don’t expect there to be any more of an answer than there was a few months ago. I’m not being negative, just reacting to what I’ve learned about this from the doctors so far: not much.

I’ll wrap this up before it turns into even more of a whiny, “woe is me” type of post, which was not my intention. But if I ever seem absent, and to a fault, fear not. I probably just forgot to remember it was blog day.

Again, us mad ones have to laugh or else we’d go crazy.

a day in the life: dreams to remember

“Let your story go. Allow yourself to be present with who you are right now.”
– Russ Kyle

I wish I was blessed with the great gift of eternal memory. I see autobiography and memoir sections in bookstores (yes, they still exist) and wonder to myself how anyone could put their lives into any form of chronology. I can’t even begin to formulate any kind of clear, rational picture of what my life has been so far.

I sometimes wish I had kept a journal or diary of some sort when I was younger so I could remember more. I do feel, however, that when people begin writing in that specific stylistic narrative, personal truths get twisted and extremes get embellished. Once submerged into the re-creation of one’s life, journals and diaries often become fictionalized accounts of reality.

My life, though, for the sake of only a little bit of remembrance, appears to me in broken, fragmented passages of cloudy polaroids. But I do think there is something special in the knowing – the remembrance – of one’s life.

I consider myself lucky, though, because I have learned that with the “madness” comes a resounding, yet empty silence. And that’s okay. The older I get the less I can remember about the “madness”. It’s not completely necessary to know what happened to know that it happened, though. There is always a beginning to everyone’s story, no matter how fictionalized it has become over time.

It’s true. The older I get, the less I remember. I think that’s how it goes, though. I’m not atypical in that regard. But I have to wonder how much of this loss of remembrance is due in part to the “madness”. I know it plays a role in these types of things. I know that. And that’s terrifying.

I won’t get into statistics this time around, but they are also terrifying. They make it hard to be able to enjoy the moment. You’re definitely living in the moment, though. Living in the moment going 100 mph on the edge of a razor blade. It comes with a tragic intensity that can only be described by the gods for there are no words that could adequately sum up the hell that is the “madness”.

Now, that may seem a little extreme, but it’s not by much.

We weren’t built to last. Apparently, we weren’t built to remember either.

Hell, now even I can’t decide which is worse: knowing and remembering, or the alternative.

March Only Comes Once a Year

“I’d rather feel the benefits of the flames and risk everything, than not feel them, and risk nothing at all.”
– Daniel Lyddon

Having bipolar disorder is like standing on the edge of a cliff in a thunderstorm: there’s an intense beauty about it, but ultimately in the end it’s just not a good idea. And that’s okay. It’s a well-known fact that if you play with fire, you just might get burned.

As I’ve put certain things in my life on the backburner (including this blog, for instance) to try and tackle another project, I have definitely spent more time in my head than usual. It’s been both eye-opening and frightening. The wheels are always turning , and even when I’m still being “productive” it can become exhausting on a dangerous level.

So, own it. You must own it. If you don’t own it, it will end up owning you.

Realizing that some of the worst aspects of having bipolar disorder are also some of the best ones makes it easier to use the illusion of ignorance to take advantage of it. You may love it, you may hate it, but you must own it.

It does get easier, though, but not because you get used to it. You just learn to try and brace yourself in a kind of frenzied preparation. No, it doesn’t always work, but you must take advantage of the times when you have some semblance of control. Sometimes you just have to grit your teeth, brace yourself, and hope for the best.

I’ve spent a lot of time lately (more time than usual) trying to be purposefully self-reflective for a bigger project, and although I am thankful for the temporary gift of impulse control and the like, it’s still not hard to get lost in the internal chaos of my mind. And that’s what it is: an intense state of internal (and eternal) chaos that if it’s not completely debilitating, it controls and ultimately destroys you.

I’m going to return to this blog, not daily, but at least a couple days a week. This is an outlet that lets me share my experiences to help spotlight the topic of bipolar disorder. I hope I’ve done that without coming across as abrasive or pretentious. But I can’t worry about that now.

If all remains the same, March and April will be when I become manic. Maybe it’s because Spring is my favorites season. I used to look at it as a kind of personal beauty, accompanied by an intensity that can only be described as exquisite and capacitating. It ends up zapping you of everything, though. You become drained to a point of complete depression. The cycle is always the same, just like the directions on a shampoo bottle: Wash. Rinse. Repeat.

It’s almost March, and if I continue to share on this blog during this upcoming “event” or period of time, there’s no telling how it’s going to come across. I may be rambling about anything or I may not. We’ll see.

I just have to learn and accept that sometimes to stand out it’s better to just blend in.

They Didn’t Break The Mold With Me

“The biggest gift of being unambiguously mentally ill is the time I’ve saved myself trying to be normal.”
– Mark Vonnegut

In our modern day and age it can be easy to get wrapped up in oneself under even the most “typical” or “normal” circumstances. But when graced with a mental illness, any mental illness, those of us afflicted can sometimes really get lost in our own slanted egos.

I know I’m just as guilty as the next person in this department. It’s not a conscious decision, though. Honestly, it’s like being the last person to know something about yourself when you should really be the first.

I’ve been trying to stay as reflective as possible lately, hoping against hope I remember my own lessons in self-introspection the next time some unpredictable phase begins to take the wheel. Never the case, but I can only do what I can do.

Many people who know me consider me a “pessimist”, and I no longer argue or adopt the “realist” angle; I find it’s too time consuming and usually scoffed at. I, more or less, consider myself to be a true cynic. And when I say “cynic” I mean it in a strictly philosophical sense.

“Cynic” may not even be strong enough of a word. The approach and viewpoints I have towards all things is more nihilistic in nature. I suppose the ideas could be considered interchangeable to some degree, but I’m not trying to mince words or argue behind semantics.

I guess my point is no matter what, my mental illness always defines me to some extent. Just not always in the same way. I’m either the elite outcast to a fault, or I stay crouched in the shadows, hoping no one will even know I’m there.

I’ll always be different because I technically am in a certain way. But so is everyone. Sometimes we just have to accept that in order to let go of what can at times be an overwhelming sense of delusional entitlement.

I don’t want to keep playing in extremes if it means I lose sight of reality. But my reality exists in extremes. There is no denying that. All I can do is try to be aware of what I can be and use that awareness to my advantage. And in the times that I lack a personal self-awareness I have to just manage. There is no cure or recovery from what ails me, only management. That’s depressing enough as it is, but I’m not the first nor will I be the last person to know that sense of lonely desperation.

One thing is for sure, though. I’m no better than anyone, even on my best/worst of days. Though perhaps unique in my own personal way, they most definitely did not break the mold with me.

a day in the life: mind over mania

“You know how most illnesses have symptoms you can recognize? Well, with manic depression, it’s sexual promiscuity, excessive spending, and substance abuse—and that just sounds like a fantastic weekend in Vegas to me!”
– Carrie Fisher

It seems the older I get the less I enjoy the mania. At one point in my life, though, I would have clung to it up until it completely fizzled out, but not anymore. The mania…well, whatever being or entity is in control of things can just keep it.

“Mind over mania.” It’s almost an oxymoron of a mantra as there is no such thing. At least not for me. When in the full throes of a severe manic episode I have control over none of my mental or cognitive faculties. When manic, I exist only on an island of delusions.

It is nice to be able to look back and reflect on a period of mania and have a true perspective on things. That’s not always the case, and the lines between awareness and disregard can become pretty blurred at times.

When I usually try and look back on how a manic phase has affected me and/or those around me, I always end back up to the “bullet points”. I love the “bullet points” just about as much as I love the lists of “coping skills”. I know. I sound pretty cynical and bitter, but I’m not meaning to. The clarity genuinely makes some past chaos all the more meaningful.

Looking back on a period of mania without the type of clarity I’m trying to describe is like trying to look through a dirty window into another: you can get the gist of what’s going on, but as a whole it’s never really quite clear.

So, today I hope to remain productively reflective for as long as I possibly can. If “first thought” really is “best thought” then I’m going to go ahead and stop now.

SPOTLIGHT: Kurt Cobain

“The sun is gone, but I have a light.”
– Kurt Cobain, Dumb

Not all days are bad days, and sometimes I have nothing in particular I need or want to say. So, I started a little “Spotlight” segment in which I talk about someone of cultural prominence who suffers from bipolar disorder. The idea is to use a “poof”-style piece to shine a light on said chosen person. It’s a personal exercise and challenge, and also helps make this illness just a tad more relatable. This is my second “Spotlight” piece, the first of which was on Vincent Van Gogh.

This one is on Kurt Cobain.

Kurt Cobain was born in February of 1967 in Aberdeen, Washington. As a child he was diagnosed with ADD and developed bipolar disorder later on in life. Never pursuing treatment, though, Cobain struggled with severe depression throughout his entire life, often turning to drugs to self-medicate.

Cobain is best known as the front man and main creative force behind the rock band Nirvana.

Nirvana began playing together in the 1980s but would undergo countless name changes and at least four other drummers before permanently sticking with Dave Grohl in 1990.

Although their debut album, Bleach, was recorded and released in 1989, it was their sophomore effort, Nevermind, that really cemented their place in history. Driven by the hit song “Smells Like Teen Spirit”, as well as a slew of other rock radio staples, the album knocked Michael Jackson off the top of the charts and catapulted the band to near-overnight fame.

This really didn’t sit well with Cobain, though. He never intended or wanted to become as popular as he ultimately became. He was labeled the “Voice of his Generation”, which also did not sit well with him.

As mentioned above, Cobain often turned to drug use as a means to handle the sudden onslaught of fame, along with other various personal issues. Cobain’s drug of choice was heroin, and he became extremely addicted to the powerful substance, even to the point of overdosing around family and friends.

Nirvana went on to release only one other official studio album, In Utero. It was a drastic departure from the material on their previous album, and was the album Cobain was most proud of.

Cobain’s songwriting skills are his most notable and spoken of talents, as he is often lumped into many “best songwriters of all time” lists. He was moody, bright-eyed, and honest in his writing, creating a mass appeal in all he did.

Ultimately, though, between his severe depression, his inability to handle public pressures, and his extreme dependence on heroin, Cobain committed suicide in 1994 at the age of 27. He left behind a wife and daughter.

One thing I must express is that you don’t have to use drugs or suffer from a mental illness to be creative or productive. Suicide isn’t the answer, either, yet I have no room nor am I in any position to even speak on that.

I only add this little tidbit because the subject of the last “Spotlight” piece, Vincent Van Gogh, also committed suicide. There are many amazingly creative and genius people out there who do not follow the same path as either of these two men.

I promise we won’t end this series on a “Van Gogh” or a “Kurt Cobain”, if only just to prove my point. Sometimes it’s best to just stay in the light.

Until next time.

Stuck In The Middle With Me: The Crash, Burn, and (1st) Revival

“Even if you are on the right track, you’ll get run over if you just sit there.”
– Will Rogers, humorist

So, I’m not entirely sure where we left off, but I know it was somewhere around here:

From the ages of 15 – 25 I was in a total tailspin without being aware that anything was wrong (there’s a lot in that 10-year period that could act as a general testament to human stupidity, so we’ll save that for another day). However, it was right before my 25^th birthday that it was more than clear that I needed help.

My girlfriend at the time, the mother of my oldest son, finally confronted me on my behavior. Prior to this meltdown I cycled pretty regularly. March to April was always a pretty manic time for me (perhaps because I love the spring) and had been for a solid 10 years; my girlfriend at the time put up with a lot over that decade and God love her, she did her best. By the time we had gotten to this bottom-of-the-barrel period of pure mania, however, the final nail had been put into the proverbial coffin of our romantic relationship.

No matter, I had totally missed the mark this go-around. March became April. April became May. And so it went until the great crash at the end of July.

Again, this was new territory for me, except I had no idea it was happening. I was on top of things. I had finished up my journalism degree at SIUC in Illinois. I worked for my college newspaper while also interning at our regional newspaper. On top of that, I worked a retail job and am a father. I stayed busy and was on top of my game.

This proved to not be the case, however.

My girlfriend and grandmother staged the closest thing as humanly possible to an intervention, which is why I will never take part in one. I was pretty much told that I wasn’t “invincible” and was going to lose everything or die if I didn’t “go somewhere”, which I might add was more than offensive at the time. Go where? A hospital? And why would I want to do something like that?

But I was going out and drinking all the time. Four to five days a week, if not more. Still somehow able to skate through my day-to-day life, managing my personal and professional obligations better than anyone else I knew. Again, I was the only one who saw things this way.

I was unravelling. I was climbing up on my roof for no logical reason, sober. I attempted to pressure wash my house at 3 a.m., sober. Etc., etc., etc. It was acts like these, along with all the other manic and delusional behavior, that began to scare people.

Ironically enough, the crash was almost precipitated by an actual crash. After agreeing to “seek help” by means of “hospitalization” I must have changed my mind because I jumped out of a vehicle going about 55 mph and took off running down a side road off of the highway. I was miles away from home and so my trek on foot lasted only as long as it could. I called my ride and got picked back up soon after.

There was no need for hospitalization at this point. I was aware that this was the crash, and the depression would soon be on its way. But first, I needed the crash. And that’s exactly what I did.

And then the burn. Nearly two weeks of picking myself back up just to be hit with the realization that yes, I needed to, at the very least, schedule a doctor’s appointment.

It took another couple of months to get in with a psych doctor, but I didn’t have time to let that be an issue. I was still operating on autopilot after this most hard comedown. Once I got in, though, I took every second of it seriously.

My relationship with my girlfriend was over and had been for some time, but she still wanted me to be okay. If only for our son. Ten years had taken its toll.

But I started seeing a psych doctor and a counsellor regularly. I got on my first of what would be countless medication regimens. And things began to stable out and make sense. I was initially worried about the medication game, but hey, if you need them, you need them.

After several months into my treatment, I accepted a job as a digital content producer at a tri-state television news agency and began to move forward.

I was picking up the pieces and moving forward and that’s all I could do.

It wasn’t too long after that I met the woman who would steal my heart and totally change my world forever…

To be continued.

a day in the life: hope(ful)

“For too long we have swept the problems of mental illness under the carpet… and hoped that they would go away.”
– Richard Codey

Whoever said “hope springs eternal” never offered me any sound advice on the mantra.

Despite being someone who operates from a place of hopelessness, hope seems to be all I have at times.

Though it’s always been the case, I’m finding it harder and harder to accept. I don’t feel like I could ever know what “true” hope is without being phony on a level I could never be okay with.

No known cause. No existing cure. Just managing the in-between areas of the highs and lows. The aesthetics of the situation are dull, even repulsive at times.

That being said…there do seem to be more “easy” days than not. I’m doing my best to hold out hope that that remains to be.

As a husband and a father, I continue to hold out hope just for hope’s sake.

Even in times of sheer hopelessness, there is always some sliver of something, I’ve learned. If not hope then a mild form of something similar, and I’ll take it.

So, even when the darkness seems to be all encompassing, I’ll at least try to stay aware that hope exists somewhere outside the scope of my current field of “vision”.

I truly do hope that mantra is more than just an acquired confidence. But if not, it’s one I hope to acquire.

Me, Myself, & the Genetic Connection?

“Can I get a reprieve?
This gene pool don’t hurt me.”
Pearl Jam, My Father’s Son

As I’ve mentioned before, there is no one, direct cause when it comes to bipolar disorder. However, it is known that approximately 80% of the cause has been traced back to genetics. And with the heritability rate of bipolar disorder being off the charts, it’s only natural for me to wonder who is responsible for passing this on down the line to me.

Right?

It’s a joke, yes, but one that I stumbled upon honestly.

I have been on this journey of “true” self-knowledge for more than 15 years so I’ve learned to pick up on my own cues for the most part. But if a major part of this affliction is hereditary then I feel I deserve to know a little more.

I’m not being facetious in wanting names or anything. I just feel if genetics plays a major role in my particular “predicament” I deserve to have AT LEAST a vague outline of things.

Sometimes…most of the time…I have no idea whether I’m coming or going so a little clarity couldn’t hurt. May not help, either. In fact, it probably wouldn’t so I’d just be happy with another shot in the dark or just some more hope.

Now before I begin to sound any more pretentious or whiny, I know I’m not alone in having to deal with this process of acceptance and self-awareness. At this point, however, I just assumed I was past this part of the process. But as with the bouts of mania and depression, the process of “figuring things out” on a higher level is in of itself a big cycle. A vicious cycle. And one that has enough “lessons” to last a lifetime.

I may never get the answers I want. Or like. We in the bipolar community may have to just get used to it, but it doesn’t mean we have to like it.

I may never learn the direct cause of my bipolar disorder. But I do know there are many effects. These highs and lows are all effects. The way my behavior affects others around me is an effect. But so is my fight onward.

Cause and effect. There’s a cause to every effect. I just ask that, for the sake of myself and millions of others, you don’t take the effect and make it the cause.

Even if it is in your genes.

New Year, Which Me? Resolutions for the Unstable

You hear it at the beginning of every year. “New year, new me.” It hardly ever seems to work out that way but it’s a nice thought. If you are one of the lucky ones, though, then good for you. I say that with no condescension. Honest. But for approximately 5.7 million Americans it may not be so black and white.

New year, new me. For me, part of that expression has always been just the opposite. The expression “New year, SAME me” is a little more on the spot. And “SAME me” is not someone I have always been proud of.

To break it down even further, “SAME me” is not always the “same” me. Sounds complicated, right?

Let me try and clarify.

Those who do not suffer from bipolar disorder may not understand exactly what I mean by that, but I’m sure anyone with the disease can relate.

The extreme highs and lows accompanied by the bouts of mania and the depression all play a role in what kind of “person” I, we, come across as.

So, dramatic? Maybe. Inaccurate? Not entirely.

I wish I had the complete ability of control and awareness when in the moment, but it’s usually not until later when I realize how my behavior caused me to look and come across as.

I was once told by a family member that they didn’t reach out to me more often because they never knew how I was going to “react”. I wasn’t angry after hearing this, surprisingly. Not at all. I was embarrassed. It put a spotlight on something I wish would’ve remained hidden in darkness.

I know enough to know (even if a little too late at times) that I am not always the way this particular family member was referring to when making that comment, one that was perfectly honest and harmless.

Despite it being innocent enough, the comment offered me more perspective than I ever had on the matter. Once again, I became aware of my behavior and attitude just a little too late.

Awareness.

Being aware. Being aware and staying in control of one’s faculties at the same time. I’ve always described bipolar disorder as knowing completely and fully the difference between right and wrong yet having no control over how you react no matter the situation.

According to the Mental Health Foundation, nine out of ten people with mental illnesses say that stigma and discrimination have a negative effect on their lives. With that being said, this fear and shame makes it harder for one to be in control of the “person” who is coming across.

Unfortunately, those with bipolar disorder will undoubtedly encounter someone who will judge or determine their character based off of their interaction with them. Or off just their diagnosis alone.

An APA report shows that a majority of Americans believe that mental health is just as important as any other health concern. According to the report, 87% of Americans said having a mental illness is nothing to be ashamed of. 86% of Americans said people with mental health conditions can get better.

Which is great to see in 2022. Yet the stigma still exists and also plays, I believe, a subconscious role into how one with a mental illness reacts in any social situation.

So, new year, new me? I don’t know. New year, SAME me? I sure hope not. But here’s to putting my first foot forward every day, 2022. That’s my resolution.

Just remember: one day at a time. Even if it is only the first.

Lithium: Bipolar disorder’s gateway drug

“I’m so happy because today I found my friends, they’re in my head.”
– Nirvana, Lithium

There are dozens of different medications available on the market for the treatment of bipolar disorder, yet one has remained the main go-to for nearly a century.

I’m talking about lithium. For more than 70 years, lithium has been the “gold standard” drug usually prescribed after getting one’s initial diagnosis. After all this time it is still considered to be one of the most effective medications for the disorder. But like everything else concerning this disease, the benefits can always come at a cost.

Lithium, a naturally occurring element, was first used in the 19th century for the treatment of gout. Scientists believed the element helped to naturally break down uric acid. However, the level of lithium needed to do so was toxic.

It was then discovered lithium was a good treatment for episodes of both mania and depression, but particularly mania. It has been used as a treatment for such ailments since the 1870s.

However, it was Australian psychiatrist John Cade, who in 1949 wrote one of the first papers on lithium as a treatment for mania, in turn making it a more widely prescribed medication.

Although used regularly since Cade’s discovery, the FDA didn’t approve the drug until 1970. Despite being one of the main drugs prescribed for the treatment of bipolar disorder, lithium, like any other drug, still has many possible side effects including:

nausea
shaking
dry mouth
frequent urination
diarrhea
weight gain
increased thirst
loss of appetite
kidney trouble
lowered activity
fatigue
emotional numbness or a dull feeling

There are, however, more serious side effects from taking lithium than those listed above. It is important to stay hydrated and get regular lab work done to monitor and prevent lithium toxicity in the blood.

Signs of lithium toxicity include:

trouble concentrating
confusion
fatigue
vomiting and diarrhea
poor coordination
muscle weakness, twitching, and tremors
an abnormal heart rhythm
seizures

Doctors will also check creatine levels to monitor kidney function. This is another long-term effect of the use of lithium. If creatine levels are too high this may be a sign of improper kidney function and can cause kidney disease.

It is still not completely known why lithium is so helpful in the treatment of bipolar disorder since a decreased level of lithium in the body doesn’t increase one’s chances of developing bipolar disorder. It is known, however, that lithium positively interacts with a number of neurons and neurotransmitters in brain cells.

Described in one 2017 study as “an oldie but a goodie”, lithium continues to be one of the more reliable mood stabilizers used for the treatment of bipolar disorder.

Long-term effects of bipolar disorder

“Life is like a piano; the white keys represent happiness and the black show sadness. But as you go through life’s journey, remember that the black keys also create music.”
– Ehssan

Although the exact cause of bipolar disorder is still unknown, it is also unclear at times which is more important: finding the root cause of the disorder or determining how to treat the effects and symptoms. One would probably argue the first, but some of this disease’s symptoms and the extremes one can experience can, at times, outweigh the immediate need to know why.

Being a lifelong disorder there are bound to be some effects only noticeable and problematic over time. I have already addressed many of the general statistics relating to bipolar disorder in this blog so I’m not going to be focusing on those here.

Time takes its toll on everything, and the main changes bipolar disorder affects involve the brain. Research shows bipolar disorder damages the brain over time and can affect one’s memory, attention and ability to concentrate, and impulse control.

More research is needed, of course, but it is believed those with bipolar disorder have a higher likelihood of developing dementia later on in life. One study also showed bipolar disorder may cause progressive brain damage due to a lowered level of amino acids occurring over time in the brain.

Another study suggested a long-term effect is the frequency and severity of both manic and depressive episodes. The research showed the more time spent in a depressive state increased the likelihood of staying ill longer. The research showed those who spent more time in a manic state had increased chances of hospitalizations.

Research has also shown bipolar disorder can reduce gray matter in the brain over time. Gray matter helps you process information and thoughts, have better impulse control, and overall better cognitive and motor skill function. The greatest deficits found were in the frontal and temporal lobes, the regions of the brain responsible for cognitive function and thought process.

Interestingly, the results of a 2016 study suggested the blood of bipolar patients is toxic to brain cells, seriously affecting the connectivity ability of neurons.

Another major reason bipolar disorder can wreak havoc on one’s body isn’t because of the disease itself, but the medication used to fight the symptoms and stave off both manic and depressive episodes. There are a variety of types of medication prescribed for bipolar disorder including:

mood stabilizers
antipsychotics
antidepressants
combination antidepressant-antipsychotics
antianxiety medications

All medications cause side effects of some sort, but those acquired by lifelong use can be different and more serious.

Lithium is the main go-to medication prescribed for bipolar disorder and one I myself take. It is a mood stabilizer and can be extremely effective for those with bipolar disorder yet damaging to the kidneys over time.

Other medications prescribed can have less serious side effects, but still be damaging in various ways over time.

Those with bipolar disorder also have an increased risk for developing the following illnesses:

thyroid disease
migraines
heart disease
chronic pain
diabetes
obesity

It is also important to note that any type of bipolar disorder left untreated is dangerous and detrimental to one’s overall health.

A disease with lifelong effects like bipolar disorder requires lifelong management, usually involving a medication regimen and some sort of therapy. Although no one has all of the answers, those of us with bipolar disorder can still apply what is known to our lives in hopes of managing our illness in the best way we can.

Stuck In The Middle With Me: A Brief Introduction

“I grew up in this kind of fishbowl existence and I figured, if people were going to say it about me, then I was going to say it first and I was going to say it better. It’s my way of trying to own a situation.”
– Carrie Fisher

I couldn’t have said it better myself and I won’t sit here and try to pretend I can.

My personal battle with the big, bad bipolar disorder has been a long one. Seventeen years, in fact. I was 15 when I was first diagnosed. I was 17 when I was diagnosed for the second time. But it wasn’t until I was 24 that I first started to seek out treatment. And by then enough damage had been done.

I love the above quote because it was with a similar attitude that I initially approached my openness about my disorder. I didn’t care. Everyone else seemed to know I was bipolar before me and it didn’t appear to be bothering them too much. So why should I care now? Why should I try and change anything now?

I, to my sad misfortune would later learn, was first diagnosed with bipolar disorder as a teenager — a prime time for such a discovery to be made! And then, for some reason, I found myself content just sitting in the soup for the next ten years.

I was “diagnosed” for the first time at 15. My parents and the doctor were not in agreeance, however. So, at 17 my when my parents kicked me out, I was diagnosed again. Two years had passed, though, and I no longer cared how my behavior affected anyone else. Not even myself. It’s not that I was angry or acting out of defiance or anything. I truly didn’t care what people thought about me, which at the time seemed like a good thing.

Looking back now, not so much.

Someone once told me that not caring what people thought about me was one of my best, and worst, qualities. Once I became aware of that, however, it became a game to me. I went out of my way to make people feel uncomfortable when they were around me.

This went on for years with me thinking the feelings and behaviors I was exhibiting was just an inherent part of who I was.

Which, in a way, I guess ended up being somewhat true.

Carrie Fisher said it best, though: own your situation, don’t let it own you.

To be continued…