“Some days, I feel everything at once. Other days, I feel nothing at all. I don’t know what’s worse, drowning beneath the waves, or dying from the thirst.”
– Unknown
Someone close to me recently had their first panic attack and described it as the most frightening experience of their life. Equating it to what a mental/emotional/physical heart attack might hypothetically feel like, it was evident that this person had been truly affected by this incident. And not in any positive way. This person, being aware of my “situation”, came to me to ask if I could remember my first panic attack and what it was like. I paused, struggled, and slowly accepted the realization that no, I could not remember my first panic attack.
I’ve grown accustomed to the panic attacks and the anxiety, just as I have the depression. It all runs together. Not to belabor the point, but this state of mind has become my normal. In fact, I probably wouldn’t know what to do without the highs and the lows and everything else under the sun. Isn’t it funny that the one thing in the world I would do anything to change is the one thing I would miss the most and be lost without? It’s a trap, one of God’s little jokes. And he’s the only one laughing.
I guess that’s kind of my point. For someone with bipolar disorder, learning to live with all of its manifestations and idiosyncrasies becomes an art form, and in the purest sense. I have weathered the storm long enough to not be “used to it” but be accustomed to the qualities you may see as a “hindrance” or a “disability”. It’s quite the opposite at times; bipolar disorder strips away all that you are until you are in your rawest form or mindset. From there, you simply learn to ride the wave because the waves don’t stop. They are forever, and all we can do is attempt to reach a moment of clarity and relief.
I’ve grown so used to being like this that I remain in a constant state of disillusionment. My naturally adopted cynicism never fails to make an appearance. I’m on a constant loop; I’m up, I’m down, I’m level. Up, down, level. By the time I actually do level out and can adopt some perspective, it’s time to get back on that rollercoaster and do it all over again. Never “sane” long enough to enact any real change.
So, anxiety and panic attacks are just par for the course for me. I remain suspended in a mess of pure hopelessness. The difference between us, though, is that I can manage. I can hang. I can hang and you can’t. It may sound like I’m bragging, but I assure you I am not. As it turns out I am not proud. If I didn’t approach this topic with a kind of conceited, bare bones attitude I would be a total mess, and no one needs that.
So, no. I do not remember my first panic attack. I am anxious to a debilitating point at least once a day anyway so you can’t hold it against me. It’s certainly not something I can apologize for. I live in a constant state of panic and anxiety. It’s not that it’s easy or that I’ve gotten used to it. It simply is what it is.
“When you are mad, mad like this, you don’t know it. Reality is what you see. When what you see shifts, departing from anyone else’s reality, it’s still reality to you.”
– Marya Hornbacher, Madness: A Bipolar Life
As someone with bipolar disorder, I have a lot of experience in feeling awkward or out of place because of my condition, when said condition is known. It’s nothing new, and although it never “gets easier” you learn to go along with it. Sometimes you got to get ahead of the charade before you become the charade.
That being said, I think it’s a well-known fact that there are major flaws in the modern American healthcare system, especially on the mental healthcare side. In a world where you’re supposed to feel accepted and are taught to “treat everyone blah, blah, blah”……even in a world where I’m taught that I’m no different because of my illness, I STILL have had to jump through hoops, still have had to play the game to just get by. I have been extremely fortunate for the most part, I must say. One instance (that ironically ended up happening on several more occasions), however, was centered around a time I was in just enough control to try and take the reins before something really bad happened.
I was about as manic as one can get without being totally “gone” yet was aware and knew I was going to end up in jail or worse at the rate I was going. It was a type of mania where the amount of clarity provided was too much; I was on the brink, and I knew it. It was like a bad trip, but without the total loss of one’s basic faculties. I was more aware of what was going on than I ever had been, and that was not necessarily a good thing.
So, before things got any worse, I called my psych doctor. I pleaded with her to get me into the short-term facility at the hospital where most of my medical treatment was based out of. She agreed that I was going to end up in jail at the rate of things, and would end up being involuntarily committed. So, this was my dilemma: I needed to become legally adjudicated to “need” a stay in a short-term facility. So, that meant I needed to engage in odd and/or criminal behavior – which was exactly what I was trying to avoid – just to get me a bed at the Mulberry Center.
It was then explained to me that hospitalizations of this repute were generally geared towards the “depressed” and those on that end of the spectrum. I was then told that if I wanted a bed, I knew what I had to do.
Yes. Yes, I guess I did, but I didn’t think that it would come to that. In the end, I was given the ultimatum of entry by being a “threat” to myself based on the level of my “depression”. That or go on my merry way.
So, out of fear for myself and those closest to me, I feigned having “suicidal ideations” due to “depression” – the only way I could get the help I needed (or at least to get away from the general public).
I came out seven days later (this particular go-around, that is) with a stack of color sheets and lists of coping skills and positive affirmations. I was no longer dangerously manic, but only because of yet another med change.
This is just one instance where bipolar disorder has made me feel like an outsider (even in a clinical setting where I was supposed to be receiving treatment, I was an outsider). The whole of it is just a microcosm of a bigger issue. Just another crack in the healthcare system that I, as a member of the “bipolar community”, so depend on.
If it hadn’t happened to me and if it wasn’t true, it might almost be comical. Last time I was here blogging I was describing the tranquility needed at the end of a trip of any sort. If you remember, my family and I extended our little getaway an extra day to be used only to recharge and recuperate. Which I guess in theory sounded great. It really did. That was right up until the next morning before we checked out of our hotel room.
I woke up first, showered, and packed up what I could before waking up my wife and son. My son woke up without issue, but not my wife. She seemed more groggy than usual (and that is truly saying something) and when she sat up it was clear why: her right eye was bloodshot and swollen beyond belief.
It didn’t take a genius to realize this was a case of pink eye and that we wouldn’t be going anywhere anytime soon (I do not have a driver’s license and driving was not worth the risk as far away from home as we were). My wife, however, wanted to brave it and attempt the drive. We made it one hour before having to stop for the day once again (this time in search of a different type of recuperation) to not only be safe but survive.
The next morning was not any better. Or should I say my wife was not any better after another night of rest. Her eye was just as red as the morning before, if not more so. But we had no choice but to press on and attempt again; real life was waiting impatiently for us back home. So, we went on.
The first part of the drive was a little sketchy, but it didn’t take long for it to become full-on terrifying. We got as far as we could before I had no choice but to drive. Running on a mixture of emotions, I managed, and we finally made some headway. Once my wife was feeling “better”, we swapped back and safely made it home.
So, yes, we made it back to reality, and with a bang, too. I’m not altogether sure why I’m even writing about this; not only would I like to forget about the excursion, on the whole, it just sounds silly. It’s one of those things that is perhaps funny when it happens to somebody else, but not you. Maybe? Maybe it’s not funny at all. In any situation.
I’m spending just a brief, quick moment here, I guess in some silly way, to document this as proof that we’re really home. It’s a good feeling. In the end, the whole trip was great and ultimately worth it. All of it. More memories made, more stories to be told. All that jazz. I’m glad we’re safe. I do plan on taking some time to mentally unpack, though. Sometimes staying safe can be harder than it looks.
“Resting and relaxing is as important as going out there and making it happen.”
– Hiral Nagda
So, we decided to stay another night just to have a full evening of recovery and relaxation (reading for me) before we make the seven-hour plus drive home. We’ve had a full day of family fun and it seemed like a no-brainer to take a night to unwind before we headed home; no need in going home so worn out that the trip becomes something we want to forget. Also, we all seemed to be excited at the idea of just getting to sit around and read or write or color.
Tomorrow, we return to reality (my wife has to work, and we both have two other children to return to). Not some futuristic definition of reality, just back to our everyday routine. There is nothing wrong with that; reality is, I assume, preferable to the alternative.
This post isn’t going to be too long, so I won’t take much, if any, of your time (assuming you’re even reading this). We’ve all enjoyed this little trip but are also excited about a night of nothing. Even though we’re doing things we can do just as easily at home doesn’t mean we always get to. Life can always get in the way of you being able to finish the last chapter of that book you’ve been reading for two months.
So, I guess my point (other than providing another unnecessary update) is to appreciate the simple things. Real original, right? But seriously, no vacation in the world can make up for the little things that are always right in front of us.
“You’re distracted and stressed because you’re not mindful. But the statement should be in reverse – you’re not mindful because you’re distracted and stressed.”
– Unknown
I’ve never had much luck with using or finding any coping skills that work. To me, they’ve always been akin to bullet points on a piece of paper given out at AA meetings or therapy sessions. They just have never been helpful to me and so I keep my distance.
Though I’ve never found any of the generic “coping skills” to work for me, I have noticed that meditation seems to be on every list.
Just another bullet point: mediation.
For all intents and purposes, to meditate, according to Oxford Dictionaries, is to “think deeply or focus one’s mind for a period of time, in silence or with the aid of chanting, for religious or spiritual purposes or as a method of relaxation”. Well, I’m here to tell ya that I’m just not hardwired for something like that, although there is a known direct connection between meditation and bipolar disorder.
Meditation is known to provide a sense of calm, peace, and balance. It can also help carry you more calmly through your day and may help you manage symptoms of certain medical conditions.
There are many different kinds of meditation, usually all focusing on areas such as posture, breathing, attention, and relaxation
To me, meditation actually seems…daunting. Like a task or something you really dread but have no choice in doing – except you do. I just don’t know that I have the capacity to slow my brain down enough to even an begin to try to meditate.
However, more than 60% of the top health problems for which people use meditation are stress, anxiety, and depression.
It only takes a little research (and some common sense) to discover and understand the benefits of meditation.
That sounds good and all but, come on. Give me a break.
I must stress to everyone reading this that I am in no way dogging or downplaying meditation as a coping strategy, ideology, or practice if it works for you. I’m not saying it doesn’t work for people. Not at all. It just hasn’t worked for me.
It’s true, though, that meditation isn’t for everyone. There is some research that found that more than a quarter of those who regularly meditate have had a “particularly unpleasant” psychological experience while doing so, including feelings of fear and distorted emotions.
The study found that psychologically unpleasant experiences can occur during meditation. Even some traditional Buddhist texts allude to intense accounts of similar experiences.
A similar study found meditation can sometimes make people more neurotic, depressed, anxious, and can even trigger unresolved trauma.
For those who can’t properly meditate (myself included), there are a variety of reasons why including:
Racing mind
No consistency
Wandering minds
Keep falling asleep
Body aches and pains
Boredom
Having great ideas or thinking of important things
Trouble finding time
Expectations set too high
Hope of immediate results
There are, however, different methods for those who traditional meditation doesn’t work. Experimenting with personal variations, practicing in a different or a group setting, and keeping your mediations short are just a few of these ways.
Maybe I’m jealous to some extent because it sounds like an awesome concept, at least in theory; it may be difficult and frustrating in ways I haven’t even considered. In the end, you have to go with what works for you. You have to go with your gut.
For me, it’s not something I find any relief in but have not given up on. I’d like to be able to meditate; out of all the coping skills I know of meditation is the most appealing and seemingly reasonable to me. Maybe I’m just fascinated by the idea of it. I hope to one day be able to put the idea into practice and benefit from it. The science is there. Now I just got to catch up.
“In America, there are two classes of travel: first-class and with children.”
– Robert Benchley
Just checking in.
We’re on day three of what has turned out to be a nice little vacation. My wife, son, and I are in the hills of Tennessee in a nice little cabin with all the “essentials” needed to survive out here with a 5-year-old boy and yes, that means free Wi-Fi, too (it’s inescapable these days, though I do find it amazing how it’s possible to even have electricity and running water in such an isolated area – let alone free Wi-Fi).
We’ve done very little as far as “touristy” things go, to be honest, but that’s been just fine with me. I come down here enough to know that this is the part of the trip that matters. My son has been fascinated by just us staying in a place that’s not a hotel. I’ve also been able to work and mess around on a few things while here, and my wife has her endless supply of “things to do” with her, too.
So, it truly has been a getaway. 75% of what we’ve done on this trip could’ve very well been done at home, so I’m glad this hasn’t been a vacation with a lot of bells and whistles (my wife hasn’t demanded as near as many as pictures as I would’ve expected). It’s been nice to just have a change of scenery and to be able to live on a slower (though not by much) plane of existence, if only for such a short amount of time.
Yes, we will be leaving and going home tomorrow. The end of a trip, especially a good trip, is always heartbreaking. Rolling back into town can be utterly depressing. But that’s how it goes. In the meantime, I’m going to enjoy the afternoon at the arcade with my wife and son before a nice dinner and night back here at the cabin.
“Just because you don’t understand it doesn’t mean it isn’t so.”
– Lemony Snicket
A newly released study is tying people’s religious uncertainty and lack of faith in the divine to poor mental and psychological well-being.
This study, entitled Attachment to God and Psychological Distress: Evidence of a Curvilinear Relationship, was conducted by Matthew Henderson and Blake Kent. The conclusion came about based on a national survey’s worth of data from the 2010 Baylor Religion Survey.
Henderson, an assistant professor at Union University, spoke out about his perception of the end results of the study.
“A lot of research has been able to demonstrate that religious practices, like prayer and religious service attendance, can have positive effects on mental and physical health,” he said.
According to Henderson and Kent, the study confirms that people with a strong connection to God will have a significantly better psychological well-being.
Kent, an assistant professor at Westmont College, said the amount of literature tying both religion and health together is immense and is only growing.
“Attachment to God has emerged as one of the most significant, powerful influences of mental health and oftentimes more important than actual religious attendance,” he said.
It’s an interesting case to make, but one that makes sense.
Kind of.
Having just the minimal knowledge I have of the study and its findings doesn’t take away from the strength of the research. I don’t think it’s too far out of left field to see a correlation between the two. Having pure blind faith in something may seem silly to some but can offer many a sense of purpose and discipline that may have a very powerful effect on their mental and psychological well-being.
People turn to religion for all sorts of different reasons, but the reason ultimately doesn’t matter and has no negative bearing on a person’s choices. In fact, it has quite the opposite effect. So, it makes sense that having a strong faith in God (ANY God or entity) could impact both one’s spiritual and psychological happiness.
I remember asking my grandma when I was a kid what would happen if she were a “true” Christian and had been praying to the wrong God this whole time. What would happen then? Would she be damned? But her response sort of summed up, in a similar regard at least, this study’s conclusions. She told me that even on the off-chance I was right with my concern that “living by the Lord and his positive message” is still the best way to live one’s life. I thought of her and that specific instance when going through some of the research that went into this study. The positivity that can surround one’s faith and belief systems can be infectious and inspiring. So, to me it makes perfect sense that there may be a scientific connection between one’s faith and mental health.
I, however, would like to point out that I do not believe it has to necessarily be a Christian God. I think any higher power will do. So, knock yourselves out, guys.
The study does have legs and can stand on its own. So much so that two social work professors at Baylor University have received a $843,647 grant from the University of South Alabama to study faculty views regarding training students to address a patient’s spirituality in mental health treatment.
Dr. Holly Oxhandler and Dr. Clay Polson are researching this as part of four sub-projects of the university’s Spiritual and Religious Competencies Project, which aims to provide mental health professionals with the basic abilities to focus on religious and spiritual qualities in their patients’ lives.
“What we see in the research is that when clients’ religion or spirituality is ethically and effectively integrated into mental health treatment – meaning the mental health care provider assessing for this area of their lives and asking them how it relates to their mental health care or circumstances or situations, how they’re leaning on it to cope or maybe ways in which it’s been a source of pain for them in the past,” Oxhandler said.
If an uncertainty in God/Gods or a shakiness in one’s faith can have such a negative impact on one’s psychological well-being, why hasn’t someone made the connection before now? Oxhandler and Polson both feel the role of religion in one’s mental health treatment hasn’t always been addressed due to the lack of research surrounding the topic.
“Without this level of funding, I think even envisioning a project this comprehensive would be challenging,” Polson said. “This makes it possible for us to do such a large project, looking at all the disciplines.”
Both professors say the final goal of the project is to be able to help mental health professionals realize the need to integrate religion and spirituality with mental health treatment.
“We want awareness, but ultimately, the goal is to see more comfort, to see practitioners using their skills and knowledge to do this better,” Polson said.
Being aware of the power of one’s faith and beliefs may have a bigger impact on your health than you could have ever imagined. The results aren’t completely in, but they look good. Mostly. If the effects of the uncertainty of a higher power have proven to be negative and damaging to one’s mental state, it makes perfect sense. Blind faith can lay the bedrock down for a clearer and more constructive personal core. In fact, a strong faith in a higher power may very well be your best bet when trying to maintain a stable and positive psychological well-being.
If this were of any consequence and if I were a person of any significance, this one certain belief/opinion I have regarding a specific matter I hold would most likely be considered controversial or just plain ignorant. No, it’s not political, or derogatory in any other fashion. It’s a simple idea on what some may call a “philosophical” matter, but for me, it’s really a non-issue.
It’s regarding shame and regret, and simply put I do not believe anyone can truly be ashamed of anything. This is usually where the two camps of thought get together and meet to either attack my “negativity” or speak of my stunted and simple intelligence.
Now to clarify, the emotions stemming from what I would call “genuine shame” are very real: the embarrassment, the humiliation, and all the other awkward emotions. Shame tends to take form on outward reactions.
I just don’t believe people can do something they would be ashamed of, not on a primal, base-line level anyway. What I’m trying to say is that I understand why my “belief” is not of the majority and is considered to either be arrogant or ignorant. So, I’ll at least try and explain.
According to verywellmind, shame can be described as “a feeling of embarrassment or humiliation that arises in relation to the perception of having done something dishonorable, immoral, or improper”. Although I agree that those emotions exist within us at certain times, especially after that personal sense of humiliation sets in, I think they are more so interrelated with how we feel about ourselves.
Shame, however, in the minimalist and misinterpreted way it exists, can be used as a tool for both good and bad purposes.
Arlin Cuncic, a therapist and author, writes, “Since we want to be accepted, shame is an evolutionary tool that keeps us all in check.”
I agree with that ideology, but I always go back to the idea of human nature and how something like “shame” fits on Mother Nature’s “emotional food chain”. I just don’t believe people can truly do something they are ashamed of. It’s an under-the-surface issue in which I predict semantics will play a role in the outcome of said debate.
It’s a bold statement to make, I know, but here goes: I’ve never done anything I was ashamed of, and I only say that simply because I believe human nature disallows us from doing something we would be ashamed of. I don’t doubt that the emotions tied to shame exist and are real. I feel shame is like a selfish, personal Band-Aid. Being ashamed is being humiliated after the fact. Would you do that one thing that caused you so much shame again? No. You’d stifle it and hope you have the strength to keep the lion in its cage.
Regret is an “intelligent and/or emotionl dislike for personal past acts and behavior”. One may say, “Well, what’s the difference between the words?”. There is one major difference: Shame is about personal humiliation. Regrets are about guilt. It may not seem like a big difference, but I assure you it is.
Many think the words “shame” and “regret” can be used interchangeably, but that would be incorrect. They both express different meanings. To sum it up, regret is about wrong actions, while shame is about being wrong as a person.
So, although shame and its surrounding emotions do exist, it does only in a certain context. One can feel shame and its sister emotions, but, in my opinion, we can never truly do anything we are ashamed of. It’s human nature on a primal level. Regret is the awareness that you’ve done wrong, and you feel remorse for having done it.
Below is a clear example of the differences:
Regret: I did something bad.
Shame: I am something bad.
Shame is a feeling of humiliation after having done something whereas regret is a feeling of guilt after doing something wrong.
“There is a crack in everything, that’s how the light gets in.”
– Leonard Cohen
As I write this early Tuesday morning, I can in good faith look back and reflect on how good yesterday was. Not that I can sit here all “woe is me” like I never have good days, but yesterday felt like a fresh start.
First off, work is picking back up as the warmer weather is (maybe) finally starting to settle in. I work for both a lawncare and a construction company. Yards will need to be mowed; houses will need to be built or repaired. Things are about to pick up and get busy. It’ll be mornings of rushing to get the kids shipped out to whoever is watching them on that day by 6 am. It’ll be the “get-up-and-go” this household really needs.
On another note, I had my second ketamine treatment last night and the relief was immediate. No, there was no “high” or “buzz”, as I’m often asked. It takes a few minutes to wake up and come to after the infusion, but there is nothing other than that if you’re someone trying to chase the dragon. I just felt all of the stress go away. I’m less tense and uptight, and I can even handle some of my OCD/superstitions that could laughably be debilitating. But that in and of itself is proof there is something to this ketamine regimen.
I am thankful for my family and am slowly starting to realize to not push them away. I’m learning how personally devastating it is to be bitter and to hold onto those little feelings every day. Let it go. I have an amazing wife and three beautiful sons that need me. And they need me to be me, not the person I have been and will still (unfortunately) become at times.
But even after writing that last sentence I still can find some level positivity in the situation, if only by not dwelling on the issue. That is new for me. My usual moody attitude would’ve normally kicked into full gear, and I would’ve ended up dead or in jail.
It’s nice to be able to reflect in a positive sense, not having to worry about getting fixated on a topic that concerns me in no way. That’s an intense state of mind and I’m happy for the relief. At this point in time, I’ll take whatever I can get.
Just remember when you wake up every morning to find or think of a few positive things right off the bat. Easier said than done, right? But it can be done. I’m doing it as I’m typing these words right now. If I didn’t know better, I would think I’m in the beginning stages of a cycle. Fortunately, I am not on any drugs, and I am lucid and have been for some time now. So that’s a nice feeling, too.
Well, it’s early and it’s about time for work (don’t you know there are yards to be mowed and houses to be built?). I just wanted to check in and remind anyone who needed reminding that, even through the madness, there is light. You may have to look a little bit harder some times, but it’s always there.
“Death is as natural as life. It’s part of the deal we made.”
– Mitch Albom
It’s a subject as old as time, and a personal dilemma everyone experiences at some point in their lives: the fear of death and dying.
It would almost be negligent to let on that I’ve never fixated on the thought of dying and, of course, what’s to come after.
I’m not of the belief in a “Christian God” or a “White Jesus”…but on the same token I’m terrified of going to hell. It doesn’t make any sense, I know. But it’s true.
I’m not scared to die, though. I think I’d die for anybody. I would just want it to be quick, painless (who wouldn’t, right?). Don’t get me wrong. I in no way want to die, but you have to accept dying as a part of life or you’ll get too hung up on it, and that can be dangerous.
I get hung up on a specific fear of dying: drowning. I’m outright terrified of water…yet it never stops me from getting in; I’ve been in pools, ponds, lakes, and two oceans. But the entire time I am I’m in a state of anxiety and fear like no other. I hate water. I’d rather burn alive than spend my last moments in that type of fear accompanied with drowning.
The fear of drowning is called aquaphobia. In fact, aquaphobia is the irrational fear of drowning. I would say, partly because of my “condition”, most of my fears are totally irrational. For instance, I have to have the volume on the TV on an even number. I know it’s insane, but it’s a true fear. I honestly believe your shooting dice with the Devil if you have your TV volume on an odd number. I’m as neurotic as they come.
Fears can either teach or they can torture. They say you have to “face your fears” to conquer them. Most people try to avoid them completely so as to not have to even bother with the thought of it. I mean, how can the fear of death and dying be conquered? At best, it can only be accepted.
The fear of the possibility. That is a true fear I suffer from, and it can be debilitating. The anxiety that comes with just the possibility of something bad is phenomenal, except not in a good way.
The fear of death and dying is definitely a rational fear. It’s the fear of the unknown. The fear of what you have to leave behind. It’s rational, I just “handle” it irrationally.
I’ve decided to avoid the time spent on thinking about death by just never dying. I never want to die so that’s the plan. It may be irrational, but whatever gets me through the night, right?
But am I scared of dying? I don’t WANT to die, of course. but it is a part of life. And I have accepted that.
I agree the idea of not dying may not be a good plan, but it’s all I got (If I didn’t laugh all I would do is cry). We’re all going to die. And I’d like to believe we just drift off into the stratosphere, but as a nihilist, I honestly believe that after we die it’s all just black, an eternal void.
If I’m wrong, I just hope that when I die I make it to hell before the Devil knows I’m dead.
If the mind is truly like a muscle, then blogging must be the last leg of a 10-mile race. That might seem like hyperbole, but it’s actually based in some reality.
The health benefits of writing have been known for decades, but only in recent years have the specific impact of blogging been analyzed. For example, research suggests that writing in a more anonymous format, such as blogging, helps one reframe their relationship with their mental health. On the same note, however, blogging can be beneficial in the amount of self-worth it can provide by offering a public element to one’s writing. It seems convenient, but it makes perfect sense.
As bloggers, you already know how empowering writing can be and is. For us, it’s the writing that provides that essential sense of purpose.
There is also research to suggest that this type of “communal communication” has its own benefits, such as lowering anxiety by offering a constructive way to process thoughts.
I started to think about blogging last night and how I have personally been affected by both producing and consuming content. When you’re blogging, you have to give a little bit of yourself away with each post. It’s totally necessary but can still be exhausting. One can get a lot of shade thrown their way just for being open and transparent.
Yes, there are certain downsides to blogging. With social media being such a prevalent part of our collective existence, there will always be haters with their own negativity.
So, like with anything, there are pros and cons to blogging. As writers and creators and truth-tellers, we just have to decide if the good outweighs the bad.
“Bipolar robs you of that which is you. It can take from you the very core of your being and replace it with something that is completely opposite of who you truly are.”
– Alyssa Reyans, Letters from a Bipolar Mother
So, I go in for my second ketamine treatment on Monday, and boy, am I relieved!
I did my first round a few months ago and I could tell an immediate difference. But the farther apart each treatment is the less effective it will be. In fact, it’s recommended to do six rounds in three to six weeks. At $450 a pop, however, that was just not realistic at the time.
WHAT IS KETAMINE?
Ketamine got its start in Belgium in the 1960s as an anesthetic for animals. Ketamine has since been FDA-approved as a safer form of anesthesia for people, as it doesn’t slow down breathing or heart rate.
But most notably, ketamine is getting a lot of attention as a more serious, long-term treatment for depression, PTSD, and bipolar disorder. It causes what doctors call a “dissociative experience”.
John Krystal, MD, chief of psychiatry at Yale-New Haven Hospital and Yale School of Medicine in Connecticut, described what this dissociation may feel like.
“Ketamine can produce feelings of unreality; visual and sensory distortions; a distorted feeling about one’s body; temporary unusual thoughts and beliefs; and a euphoria or a buzz.”
However, the drug’s potential as a treatment for depression and antidote to suicidal ideations has piqued the interest of many researchers. It has been studied and administered to people for decades with mostly positive results.
“We’re reaching out in a new way to patients who have not responded to other kinds of treatments and providing, for some of them, the first time that they’ve gotten better from their depression,” Krystal says.
BRINGING IT BACK HOME
After my first ketamine infusion, I felt an immediate sense of relief and release. It was so nice to not even be able to remember what being depressed felt like. But if you don’t get the full recommended treatment plan up front, the effects of the ketamine ultimately wears off. And you’ll know it when it does.
It’s also recommended that talk therapy should commence as soon as the patient “comes to” after the infusion. Ken Stewart, MD, expressed this same sentiment.
“It’s my sense that this is important,” Stewart says. “When people come out of this really profound experience, they have a lot to say, and these are people who have a lot of baggage and a lot of experiential pain. A lot of times, ketamine leads to an unpacking of that baggage.”
My upcoming ketamine appointment couldn’t have been scheduled at a better time. When in the throes of mania or in a bout of depression, reality can be fragmented and frightening.
Bouncing around between mania and depression isn’t easy, and if the ketamine infusions are proven to help then I’m going to do what I need to do to achieve some semblance of normalcy and relief.
“Try to understand the blackness, lethargy, hopelessness, and loneliness they’re going through. Be there for them when they come through the other side. It’s hard to be a friend to someone who’s depressed, but it is one of the kindest, noblest, and best things you will ever do.”
– Stephen Fry
It’s been one of those days, and if it’s anything like the last half of yesterday then you can count me out.
It’s just one of those days.
I’d rather be down than manic, though. The mania can be dangerous and is exhausting on a whole other level. I in no way benefit from the mania anymore.
It’s strange because March/April is when I usually cycle and experience my mania. So, to be “depressed” or just down is unexpected and, to be honest, seemingly out there in left field.
Even my dreams lately (and I rarely remember my dreams) seem to be a place of ruin where nothing comes together, and sleep becomes a place of complete dissolution. This endless cycle is a prison, and also the only home I’ve ever known.
I have adjusted and adapted to this idea of “normalcy” rather well, but even that is not enough. In the end, it’s all just a matter of timing. Just got to wait for things to catch up.
When depressed, every day winds down to the same thing, the same occurrences, the same happenings, the same void that I go through on repeat. It returns with an almost obligatory vengeance.
My brain beats to a drum, it doesn’t tick to a clock. Still, I’ll remain on this eternal schedule of Hell. And they wonder why I don’t speak of God.
Blame it all on temperament, personality, or a chemical imbalance. In the end, it still falls back on me.
I would say I can’t be the only one with bipolar disorder who knows how well this disorder operates under the pressures of a job and in the workplace, but I already know that I’m not; it’s a topic that is often used when writing about bipolar disorder. It may seem like a tired beat, and I certainly do not have anything new to add to the conversation. My experiences are not uncommon or unique. They are just mine. But I’m assuming you already know that if you’re here reading this.
It’s easier said than done, but the words in the above quote are definitely words to live by if you suffer from the madness that is bipolar disorder. I feel this ideology is especially important to keep in mind when bipolar and on the job.
It’s not like you have a choice and it can’t be described as laziness, but on a baseline level that’s how it’s interpreted. What’s not misinterpreted, however, is when the “typical” or “normal” person needs a mental health day and it’s okay, but when a person with a mental illness needs one…well, you know.
If I sound bitter, maybe I am. All in all, though, I can’t totally blame the illness for some of my past excursions in the work force. I have to take some responsibility. That makes it hard, too: to not be able to control the decision-making process yet feel bad for how that lack of control comes across and affects those around you.
It’s especially difficult in the workplace. When it’s fine, it’s fine. But when it’s not, it can feel like the whole world is closing in on you.
Let me give you an example.
I have a degree in journalism and worked in the field for several years. I was a digital content producer for a television news station at one point. Not my dream job, but you have to start somewhere, right?
I signed a two-year contract with the station and worked diligently and on task for nearly that whole two-year period. Until two weeks before my contract was up when I told my boss I didn’t want to renew. Impulsive? Yeah, sure. But it gets better.
One week before my contract was up, I just stopped showing up. I just quit going in. I turned off the cellphone the station had provided and just cut all ties with all of my co-workers. And that was that. Five years later, I still haven’t sent that phone back.
But that’s the way it goes with me. I’m good for about two years and then I seem to sabotage myself, either because of a level of intense, paranoid anxiety, or just because of an unexpected loss of interest.
According to one survey, more than 88% of people with bipolar disorder say their condition has affected their work performance. About 58% of those people quit working outside the home altogether. This is due in part to the extreme shifts in mood, sleep, energy, and overall ability to function.
THINGS TO KEEP IN MIND WHEN LOOKING FOR A JOB:
interests
strengths and abilities
skills
personality traits
values
physical health
limits, triggers, and barriers
According to statistics, the absentee rate for employees with bipolar disorder is 18.9 workdays per year, while those without the disorder miss on average 7.4 workdays.
Stats are always daunting when it comes to mental illness, but they speak for themselves. I never wanted to be a statistic, even though I know, in many ways, I very much am. I don’t think I would be sitting here writing this right now if I wasn’t.
Like I said, however, my experiences in the workplace are not uncommon or unique. The fluctuation between sheer productivity and total incompetence (for lack of a better word) can be devastating in their extremes. So, one day you could be on top of your game and the next you may be on the chopping block.
It’s not all bad, though. I have been working since I was 16 and I’ve had more positive experiences on the job than not. Out of my 16 years of work history, I’d say 95% of it has been positive and productive. It’s that other 5% that’s the killer, though.
On a more positive note, there are some studies that suggest working can be very beneficial to people with bipolar disorder, offering a sense of structure and increased confidence.
It’s not easy to find and keep work with a mental illness that aggravates your day-to-day ability to function. However, with a little extra work it is possible to find a satisfying, yet manageable job.
“[ ] manic sex isn’t really intercourse. It’s discourse, just another way to ease the insatiable need for contact and communication. In place of words, I simply spoke with my skin.”
– Terri Cheney, Manic: A Memoir
It’s cliche, yes, but nonetheless it comes with the territory. Part metaphors, part exaggeration, “sex, drugs, and mania” pretty much sums up my personal experience with the dangerous and unpredictable nature of the madness.
I hate bullet points, but the symptoms and decision-making skills associated with mania, my mania, are about as textbook as it comes. Everyone is different, though, so mania can manifest itself in different ways for different people. No matter, the madness is still there.
For the sake of not hearing me ramble on about personal experiences I’m simply just going to hit on some points.
Symptoms of Mania
Abnormally upbeat, jumpy or wired – Check
Increased activity, energy or agitation – Check
Exaggerated sense of well-being and self-confidence (euphoria) – Check
Decreased need for sleep – Check
Unusual talkativeness – Check
Racing thoughts – Check
Distractibility – Check
Poor decision-making — for example, going on buying sprees, taking sexual risks or making foolish investments – Check
Check and mate, right?
I’m usually one of the first people who can tell I’m manic or on my way to being so, but I’m never the first person to mention it, which in a way makes it worse. It’s my fault, though, especially in the instances when I’m aware and can still acknowledge the onset of the mania. In a way, it’s like I’m waiting for some validation or something. I go from being curious as to what other people’s reaction to my behavior will be, to being embarrassed and ashamed when finally acknowledged. It’s a stupid, vicious cycle that’s on a constant loop. In moments of clarity, I can reflect and be aware of my condition and behaviors that I plan on avoiding in the future. Then, BAM! Back in the bipolar saddle again.
Whether depressed or manic, it always comes back. I can handle the depression, but the mania can take on a life of its own. And I’m far too old to worry about that.
But the bullet points are spot on. I need very little to no sleep. I’m outgoing at times, but I really step it up when manic. I would blow money like it was going out of style. And on stupid things. If it wasn’t on drugs or alcohol, it was on something equally unnecessary. I engaged in extreme risk-taking behavior (in many ways) and had no ability to see things in a rational, coherent sense. I become delusional, thinking I’m on the verge of a brilliant and great discovery or project. Other than not being able to control your emotions and mood that’s the worst for me. “Coming to” and becoming aware of how delusional I was. You believe it in the moment and then later wonder what the hell you were thinking.
I also get fixated on things. I get stuck on something while at the same time have no control of how fast my brain is moving. Cycling or not, I don’t have the ability to slow my brain down. And it can make everyday life just a little bit harder. At times, it can be totally debilitating.
It’s March and I’m a little perky (right on schedule), but I’m confident in my medication regimen. It’s worked well for quite some time, so I feel confident the mania may be lighter than usual or stifled to a certain degree.
March and April (springtime in general) are my bigtime months for the “sex, drugs, and stupidity” I can embody. However, having recently been diagnosed with a type of rapid cycling bipolar disorder I’m kind of used to the back and forth. It’s noticeable and, for my wife especially, can be very overwhelming and just too much at times. I can be over the top for a week or two and then be depressed for a week and then come back around to “normal”. Cycle continues in that sense. Wash, rinse, and repeat.
But I guess we’ll see. Hope the medication I’m on causes a subside to the symptoms.
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)
“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.
“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.
“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.
“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.
“Mental pain is less dramatic than physical pain, but it is more common and also more hard to bear. The frequent attempt to conceal mental pain increases the burden: it is easier to say “My tooth is aching” than to say “My heart is broken.”
– C.S. Lewis
I have recently (and finally) set out to work on a “bigger project” I’ve imagined for some time now. I’ve only just gotten to the point in attempting to pursue this particular endeavor after both exhaustive research and personal experience.
My blog is very much centered around how bipolar disorder has impacted my life. I myself have to take a more critical, fact-based approach when viewing and interpreting the intricacies of this illness. I have to understand on a very black-and-white level what this journey entails for me.
But knowing facts and statistics doesn’t make one understand what “the beast” is or how it likes to feed. I’ve needed to step outside the box to get a different grasp on things for some time.
In order for me to make the leap to this new “project” I needed to at least try and see things from a different perspective. Unfortunately, it’s the perspective that so plagues and saddens me. So, I decided to speak with ten different “normal” people from various backgrounds to get a better sense of at least why people feel the way they do about the disorder. Whichever way that may be.
I initially went into this task asking why before even asking any real basic questions. It only cast a huge spotlight on my own personal bias. And perhaps just a little bitterness. But that’s for me to bear.
I haven’t the time to share all ten people’s views here or even list all the questions I asked. I thought I would share a few, though. I didn’t get all the answers I wanted, but the process helped me pack up some of my confusion and maybe created a little window of understanding.
WHAT IS BIPOLAR DISORDER AS YOU UNDERSTAND IT?
FEMALE, 52: “It’s a chemical imbalance in the brain that can be treated with medication. It can be difficult to find the correct medication or combination of medications to help. This medication may need to be changed over time due to changes in the body with age and becoming resistant to meds. It becomes very important to stick to your med schedule. See a doctor before making any changes. Don’t make any changes on your own.”
FEMALE, 26: “Bipolar disorder is a mental disorder accompanied by periods of mania and depression. People with bipolar disorder cycle through ups and downs. It can be a very dangerous illness if not treated properly.”
MALE, 30: “It’s a disorder that usually rears at its peak in your 20s. Opposed to an intellectual disability that is diagnosed only before the age of 17. It usually hits women earlier in the 20s rather than men. There’s no cure but there are medications that can manage the signs and symptoms of the disorder.”
WHAT DO YOU THINK ABOUT THE STIGMA?
FEMALE, 52: “It can be scary because you don’t know what might happen especially if they are cycling and if one is not seeking treatment. It is portrayed in a negative way. I think it’s important for them to get treatment and try to stay well. Try not to draw attention to oneself and don’t forecast your information. People need to be shown as everyday people living their everyday lives.”
MALE, 44: “It’s sad that such stigma does surround mental health and it’s not right. Many people choose to not understand and hide behind that in order to not have to deal with the truth. The truth is real and can be scary, but it’s still the truth. In a world that has become so “diverse” and “accepting it’s amazing to me how we haven’t at least come a little bit further along when it comes to mental health.
MALE, 30: “It’s hard for me to say. I’ve worked around several individuals with bipolar disorder so the way I see it is pretty objective. I think more people today understand that it’s an actual medical condition that needs to be managed just like a condition that is superficial.”
FEMALE, 34: “It must be pretty scary and daunting for someone with bipolar disorder to have to face that kind of scrutiny. But you have to understand it can be scary to someone on the outside who doesn’t understand the illness the way someone with it would. Most people don’t know what to do because you never know how a person with bipolar disorder is going to react.”
HAVE YOU EVER HAD TO INTERACT WITH SOMEONE WITH BIPOLAR DISORDERDURING A CYCLE?
FEMALE, 52: “I haven’t personally, but I know it can be a handful at times. The person with the disorder isn’t always in control and you may never know how they’re going to react to anything. This is when they’re going through their cycles. It’s not always the case.”
MALE, 44: “I have friends with bipolar disorder. One of my best friends suffers from BD and you know what? He manages his symptoms and cycles and leads a very productive life. There’s always going to be the ups and downs, but they can be managed with the proper protocol and treatment plan. So to answer your question…yes, I do have people with bipolar disorder in my life and they’re all wonderful people.”
MALE, 30: “In my profession I work with people with mental health issues and they are people, too. Just like you and me. They just have to work a little bit harder than others to maintain a balance. They’re is nothing wrong with bipolar people. You may know someone who has it and not know at all.”
Well, I could keep going, but I’ve worn myself down just transcribing the few questions and answers above. (Maybe I’ll come back with a Part II and include some more). I’m truly exhausted and even maybe a little more saddened by some of the conversations I had.
The stigma shouldn’t be considered stereotypical of the illness when it stems from either an honest inability to understand or sheer ignorance, one more excusable than the next.
The point is the exercise helped me kick down the door to begin this project. After researching, blogging, and sharing my experiences I just had that moment I needed. And I hope to be able to share more on this project with all of you soon.
So, if it seems like I’m a little absent or even M.I.A. when it comes to this blog, don’t worry. I’m just out here trying to change the world.
“And once the storm is over, you won’t remember how you made it through, how you managed to survive. You won’t even be sure whether the storm is really over. But one thing is certain. When you come out of the storm, you won’t be the same person who walked in. That’s what this storm’s all about.”
– Haruki Murakami
I’m not entirely sure what the actual verbatim textbook definition of the word “chaos” is, but I know for me it can only be described as a constant state of mental confusion and disorganization that leaves me in a place of total loss.
In continuing this phase of “productive self-reflection” (at least while I can), I have to look at that word and take it seriously. It’s thrown around a lot, yes, but definitely not loosely. Chaos is exactly what it is.
To me, chaos is a much worse feeling or place to be in than that of depression or sheer mania. Chaos may be a sort of offshoot of depression and mania (or vice versa), but there is a very specific difference that doesn’t allow these feelings the wherewithal to be blurred or misconstrued.
Experiencing chaos during a cycle is a given guaranteed (I mean, duh), but that doesn’t ever make it any easier to deal with or handle. The inner chaos that accompanies a bout of depression and/or mania is blindly debilitating. Between the disorganization and the delusions, there’s nothing worse than being hyper aware that you’re totally lost. It’s an uncomfortable feeling at best.
My chaos is all encompassing, surrounding and infiltrating every little nuance in my head. It is both the storm and the aftermath.
For the sake of not sounding pretentious, perhaps self-reflection isn’t the best tool for 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.
“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.
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.
“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 25th 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…
From a short break I return! A break, for once, not brought on by my own illness, but on the one my wife and two of my sons have been afflicted with over the past week.
Yes, the dreadful and divisive covid finally made its way into my home. I’m surprised it has taken this long, with my wife working in healthcare. She’s not vaccinated (yet) because she’s been pregnant and just gave birth to my 4-month-old son, who is also, for obvious reasons, not vaccinated. My 5-year-old son is also not vaccinated. So, I’ve spent the better part of a week…well, just doing the best I can.
This is in no way meant to, or is going to be, a commentary on the vaccine. For or against. At the same time, I do not have anything in particular on my mind other than being thankful I have returned to a state of “mental normalcy”. And I’m not talking about “mental normalcy” from the symptoms of bipolar disorder.
I had to look for some mental clarity after the real symptoms of the very-real virus began to roll back their lock on my family. And I’m still looking.
I’ve spent the last two days in a complete fog of exhaustion, not sure if I would ever get out of it. I’m starting to feel better after a very much needed “unplugging” and “rebooting”. I’m still not at 100%, but the importance of self-care as a tool in maintaining all aspects of life has never been clearer.
“Bipolar is like being on a roller coaster ride. Sometimes you can predict drop offs and others you just have to hang on because the next turn sends you into an unexpected spiral.”
– Unknown
“Although the ups and down come and go, the illness never leaves.”
I’m not sure if anyone has ever actually told me that per se, but it sounds like a mantra that can create both a positive and negative outlook for someone with bipolar disorder.
Since I’ve started this blog I’ve been dreading the next bout of mania and/or depression sneaking back in on me, affecting the perspective of my thinking and thus my writing. More specifically, the writing you see here.
I’m usually not a self-conscious person (something I have some semblance of pride in), but we all have our moments. I know I’m in a safe space because anyone here reading this must want to be, but with me there’s always a downside. To everything. It’s my eternal gift.
I’ve learned over time it’s important to stop and appreciate things, to take advantage of personal awareness. However, I end up spending my moments of clarity dreading the next round of delusional thinking and whatever else decides to tag along. All of my little “flaws” usually end up on display. Now there are just new members of the audience.
I joke about it only because I have to. The alternative is spending too much time in a place where getting lost is inevitable and dangerous: my head. I’m there enough as it is, but when cycling I’m a permanent fixture.
I’ve grown past the age of being able to milk my mania and “handle” my depression. I can’t use the illusion of things anymore, so I feel justified in being a little self-conscious.
I’m going to be brief here because life is too short for me to get stuck on something when I have the wherewithal to not do that. But there’s never a real break in this game. There’s never enough time to catch one’s breath. Which makes it impossible to always be able to take advantage of every moment of personal awareness. Even when the moments may be few and far between.
The struggle is real, as they say, and the truth is ugly. This really is my own personal war. So just bear with me when it becomes completely impossible to read between those lines.
“For me, the first sign of oncoming madness is that I’m unable to write.”
– Marya Hornbacher, Madness: A Bipolar Life
It’s funny how certain traits and talents go when in the throes of either a manic or depressive period. And it’s funny how others become amplified.
Well, as someone in between cycles and bracing for a bout of full-on depression, it really isn’t that funny. Just an interesting observation.
For me, as both a journalist and someone who is just passionate about writing, it is one of the first of my abilities to go when I’m cycling.
I have what is known as rapid cycling bipolar disorder. So, although I know when I’m “high” or “low”, I have very little down time in between cycles. And sometimes both the mania and depression even coexist.
Everyone of us is different, but I totally lose all faculties that stem from the root of my creativity.
No, I’m no James Patterson or anything, churning out material like it was ticker tape. But I like what I have so I’d like to keep it. It’s impossible, however, for me to even rhyme-scheme when manic or depressed.
I know for others with bipolar disorder it’s the complete opposite. Mania can be like throwing fuel on a fire for some. It used to be like that for me; I’d use the mania to my advantage for every little possible thing. Those days are long past, though. These days when I try to create during a manic phase the results are (no pun intended) depressing.
I don’t even try to create when I’m in a depressive state. When I was younger and tried to write when depressed, all that would pour out of me was pretentious poetry that, to this day, I still cannot revisit.
So, although this post is nothing extensive or special, it displays some degree of clarity so I must be operating at a somewhat “normal” level.
If anything changes, you guys will be the first to know.
“Every man has his secret sorrows which the world knows not; and often times we call a man cold when he is only sad.” – Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
I’ve touched on the statistics surrounding this issue in a past post, but now I feel the need to express myself on how it makes me feel on a deeper, more personal level.
Suicide is a very serious and polarizing topic for many. It almost seems that some people make a conscious decision to avoid the issue. It’s something that takes a lot of people out of their comfort zone. No matter, it’s a reality that needs to be able to be addressed.
This applies to those with bipolar disorder ten-fold. The stats are frightening, and the illness is already scary enough.
According to the National Alliance of Mental Illness, 19% of those with the disorder will commit suicide and at least 50% will attempt suicide at least once in their lifetime. I don’t mean to belabor the point with numbers, but I am deeply bothered by these statistics on a personal level.
There are approximately 5.7 million people in the United States with bipolar disorder, and 19% of those afflicted with the illness will “successfully” commit suicide. 1.14 million people out of 5.7 million people will eventually commit suicide. 3.42 million people out of 5.7 million people will attempt suicide at least once. If those numbers don’t shock or affect you in some way, then all hope for us may be lost.
There are many negative aspects of having bipolar disorder, but only a few that I take seriously anymore and this one of them.
I am shocked and baffled by the numbers. Not because I don’t understand where people with this illness are coming from. I am extremely saddened for my fellow man.
I am shocked. And I am confused as to why there is such a stigma around this disorder and mental health in general when we have these kind of numbers.
In 2019, approximately 12,000 people with bipolar disorder committed suicide, and between and 3 % – 14% of all suicides are committed by people with this specific mood disorder. It’s frightening to the point of almost being unbelievable.
I know that stating these facts is like beating a dead horse, and if that’s the case, well, I say beat away.
The idea of committing suicide is not something I’ve had to deal with on a serious kind of level so it feels like I’m on the outside looking in most of the time. I do have my moments, but I’m more of a spectator than a spectacle.
I could go on and on about how upsetting it is to know the reality of this specific aspect of having bipolar disorder, but I’m getting upset just trying to explain how upsetting these facts are to me.
Maybe one day things will be different, but I think as long as there isn’t a more consistent and manageable treatment plan for all these numbers will only rise. It’s hard to accept that, in some ways, I too am a statistic. However, I am not my diagnosis and I work hard to continue to believe that.
No matter how upset I can get over the facts, I’m not so unstable and fragilethat the issue cannot be addressed.
“Depression is being colorblind and constantly told how colorful the world is.”
– Atticus, Love Her Wild
Most people know that bipolar disorder is a mental health condition characterized by extreme mood swings. That’s about as much as they know, though; the rest is just assumed. But anyone with bipolar disorder knows the feeling of the crash and comedown that comes after a bout of mania or hypomania. It is a literal crash-and-burn scenario. It’s like falling from the sky and colliding straight into the dirt at warp speed.
But it’s not the crash or the burn that hurts the most. It’s the period after where I feel nothing but loneliness and despair. This is the beginning of a major depressive episode.
I am admittedly hypocritical when it comes to depression. My depression, specifically. I seem to only understand how brutally severe it can be unless I’m in that state of mind. Otherwise, I just don’t get it.
I know, I know. It makes little if any sense coming from someone all too familiar with the affliction. But it’s true. I think that’s partially why it hits so hard. I have no understanding of the intricate design of my depression until it happens.
I sit here now in a “level” state of mind and am wondering why I’m even trying to accurately describe the torture of it. I’ve read other people’s testimonies on depression specifically and can both agree and relate. But there’s still something about my depression I can’t even understand or describe. The words just aren’t there.
So, as I’m sitting here, still in a “level” state of mind, I wonder why I’m even trying to find the “right” words to describe my depression. They can stay missing for as long as they want.
Looking for answers to the wrong questions can be dangerous, and there’s nothing more frightening than getting stuck in one’s head.
Mirrored Madness: The Monster In Me 