Bipolar 2 From Inside and Out

Posts tagged ‘anxiety’

Anxiety Lies, Too

There are a number of mantras in the mental healthcare field: Mental Health Matters, My Story Isn’t Over, It’s Okay to Not Be Okay, Men’s Mental Health: Let’s Talk About It, You Are Stronger Than You Think.

The most common expression, perhaps, is: Depression Lies. Lots of people say it to themselves and others. Jenny Lawson says it frequently in her blog posts and books. It means that when you’re depressed, your mind tells you things that aren’t true—that you’re hopeless, useless, bad, unlovable, unloved, incompetent, incapable of ever feeling any better. And because you’re depressed, you believe them. You have an inner critic that repeats the false messages. They’re with you all the time, whatever you do. They keep you mired in your hopeless condition. It takes a long time to turn off those inner voices and their negative messages. It takes work.

But another truism that doesn’t get as much attention is this: Anxiety lies, too.

Anxiety tells you that you’ll fail, that only bad things await you, that you shouldn’t even try to achieve your goals, that something will thwart you, that you have only bad luck and you can’t change it, that every fear you have will come true, no matter what you do.

Anxiety can keep you from doing the things you want to do, whether that’s getting on an airplane, applying for a job, or starting a conversation. The inner critic from depression has its anxiety equivalent: your inner defeatist.

And when you have something to do that by all objective standards would make anyone anxious, like having an operation, taking a final exam, or getting married, your inner defeatist won’t let you accomplish it, or at least not without immobilizing fear. When I say immobilizing, I mean that literally. You can become so anxious that you can’t move—can’t get out of bed or out of your house, stop your hands or knees from shaking, force yourself to enter a room, or even speak.

So, what can you do when anxiety lies to you? How can you defeat your inner defeatist?

I have help on this one. My husband serves as my outer realist. When my anxiety soars and I’m catastrophizing, he helps me stay grounded. He tells me when my fears are unrealistic. He goes with me to difficult occasions like visits to the dentist. He reminds me of times when I’ve gotten through similar situations in the past. I can—and do—lean on him. He reminds me that anxiety lies.

But what can you do if you don’t have an outer realist like Dan? One thing you could try is to seek your inner Mr. Spock. Ask yourself if it’s logical to fear this event. Is it logical to think you’ll get a zero on the test you’ve studied all week for? No. You may not get 100, but getting a zero isn’t likely or logical. However, this strategy doesn’t usually work. Anxiety whispers: “You’ve been studying the wrong things. You’ll freeze up.” But it lies.

Another way to try defeating anxiety is to make a list of what you’re anxious about and assign a probability to each one. How likely is it that your plane will crash? Find statistics to reach a reasonable answer. (The answer is seven fatal accidents in over 40.6 million flights.) But, practical as this sounds, it doesn’t work well either. Anxiety whispers in your brain: “You’ll be on the one that crashes.” But it lies.

Another technique is to look at your track record. Of all the times you’ve been introduced to a stranger, how many times have you been unable to even say hello? Never? Anxiety whispers: “This time you won’t be able to.” Anxiety lies.

You could also find a sympathetic support person who can walk you through your anxiety. It doesn’t have to be someone who’s around all the time, like my husband is. You may have a friend that you can call for a reality check and a pep talk, or someone who will go with you to that doctor’s appointment. An outer supporter is more powerful than an inner defeatist. Someone who has been through it themselves can tell you from lived experience: Anxiety lies.

Perhaps the most effective way to defeat your inner defeatist is to talk back to it. Say, “I know you’re lying. My anxiety is real, but I know I can do the thing, or at least part of it. You don’t exist. I don’t have to listen to you.”

And of course, your therapist and your meds can help you during times when anxiety lies to you, when you are inclined to believe what it whispers to you anyway.

Let this become your mantra: Anxiety lies. Say it whenever anxiety whispers its dire warnings.

Anxiety lies.

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mental health

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Politics, Mood, and Self-Care

It’s difficult for me to maintain a positive mental attitude when I’m troubled by bipolar disorder, especially the depression part. It’s even more difficult in today’s political landscape.

I don’t care what your political persuasion is or who you voted for. I don’t care if you’re for or against DEI or ICE. What I care about these days is what’s happening to mental healthcare in our country. But let’s leave government policies and programs for another day. Right now, I want to discuss politics and mood disorders.

We seem to be overwhelmed by politics, but also by our reactions to politics. Friendships have broken. Families have been torn apart. Lots of people suffer from cognitive dissonance when their brains try to balance their love for friends and family and distress at their views.

None of us knows what to expect next. The difficulty isn’t limited to one side or the other. People who want smaller government are learning that the cuts will include public services such as extreme weather forecasting and disaster recovery. Others with differing views are afraid to travel abroad because they fear that, even with passports, they may be detained when they try to return.

The situation is especially hard on people with mood disorders. People who have phobias or anxiety disorders can find their feelings increasingly out of control. Those who suffer from depression have exaggerated fears. Most debilitating of all is the not-knowing. Am I overreacting? Are these fears reasonable or exaggerated? Will the things I fear never happen? Should I watch the news? Should I avoid watching the news?

I’m suffering from news-dependent symptoms myself. I hesitate to discuss politics with friends unless I already know their opinions are similar to mine. And with new acquaintances on Facebook, I share memes and chat about books.

But when it comes to not getting overwhelmed, I have a few suggestions. Most of them you may already know—they’re versions of basic self-care.

Remove yourself from the trigger. Get out of the room or the house when the talk turns to politics. Offer to go on a beer run. Leave the room and make yourself a cup of tea. Tell your friends or relatives you need to get some air. The outdoors is largely a politics-free zone, aside from bumper stickers and billboards. If you walk with a friend, stay on non-threatening topics like your pets. And prepare a neutral topic to suggest: Do you think the Dodgers have a chance this year? What do you think of Beyoncé’s country album? Should I go on a Disney cruise this year or a trek to the Grand Canyon?

Self-soothing. Music is another way to distract yourself from the present chaos when you take that walk or any other time. Personally, I prefer music with lyrics, as instrumental music gives me too much time and space to contemplate difficult topics. If you wear earbuds (even without music), people are less likely to engage you in conversation.

Use distractions. If you read, stay away from news magazines, the internet, and newspapers. Instead, you may want to revisit books from your childhood. There’s nothing wrong with reading children’s books. They may take you back to a more pleasant time, or you may discover aspects of a book that you never noticed when you were young. Or try a new genre, such as a romance or mystery that isn’t likely to contain much politics. Old classics like Dickens or Austen are good choices, too.

Limit your exposure. Allow yourself 20 minutes for listening to or reading the news. You can do this more than once a day, but leave a couple of hours in between. Clean the bathroom or watch a reality show. Organize your closet. Plant flowers or herbs.

Do things that lift you up. Pray. Sing. Bake bread. Work on a journal or a painting. Do life-affirming activities that will improve your outlook and your spirit.

Oh, yeah. And remember to take your meds, especially if you have an anti-anxiety pill. You’ll need them.

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mental health

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Growth Mindset and Mental Illness

Let’s start with a little levity, a quote from Groucho Marx: “Change is inevitable—except from a vending machine.” Putting the vending machine aside, Groucho was right. Change is inevitable. Even if you think that your condition will never change, your circumstances certainly will. Friends may come and go. You may run out of your medications or your therapist may go on vacation. With bipolar disorder in particular, change is not only inevitable, it’s part of the definition of the condition.

When it comes to change, psychologists speak of two types of mindset: fixed and growth. Both have impacts on mental illness and how you adjust to it. Both mindsets have to do with how you approach the world and, particularly, setbacks in life.

A person with a fixed mindset believes that their circumstances cannot change. To some extent, that’s true. Bipolar disorder may get better or worse, but it’s always there. There are treatments, but no cure. A person with a fixed mindset believes that they’ll never get better, their symptoms will never lessen, and that it’s fruitless to try. They believe that their traits and their limitations are carved in stone.

Someone with a growth mindset believes that change can happen. Their circumstances can improve. They may not be able to eradicate the disorder, but they can improve their functioning. There are things they can do to affect their lives and their condition. A growth mindset also correlates with resilience, the ability to bounce back from setbacks. It’s also been cited as a tool to deal with anxiety, depression, and “stress due to life events.”

It’s easy to see that for those with mental difficulties, a growth mindset is preferable. But is your mindset predetermined, or can it change? The good news is that someone with a fixed mindset can develop a growth mindset—if they try. But since the person with the fixed mindset tends to believe that positive change isn’t possible, it’s difficult to move from one mindset to the other.

But it’s not impossible. There are exercises for all ages that can foster the development of a growth mindset. For example, children can be introduced to stories of famous people who experienced many failures before they accomplished their successes. This can reinforce the belief that failure isn’t permanent; one can learn from it. They can also learn the power of the word “yet.” Instead of saying simply, “I can’t ice skate,” they can change that to “I don’t know how to ice skate yet.” It leaves open the possibility that they can still learn to skate, especially if they get instruction and practice. Teens or adults can set out to learn a minor or silly skill like juggling or sudoku puzzles. Learning purely for the sake of learning can prove to them that improvement is possible and enjoyable. Interventions that explain the neuroplasticity of the brain can also foster belief that traits are not immutable.

Fixed and growth mindsets have been studied as factors in mental health. For example, young people who had a fixed mindset were 58% more likely to experience severe symptoms of depression and anxiety than those with a growth mindset. Because they view improvement as possible, those with a growth mindset understand that anxiety is a temporary condition. Even someone with bipolar disorder can experience changes in symptoms, including positive changes. The changes may not be permanent, but they exist and can recur.

The takeaways are that a growth mindset promotes growth, change, and improvement in psychological symptoms such as depression and anxiety as well as other difficult life circumstances. That it is possible for a person with a fixed mindset to develop a growth mindset. And that a growth mindset will help a person deal with the difficulties and setbacks that mental illness so often involves.

In other words, you can get change from that vending machine after all!

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mental health

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My Two Diagnoses

For all my childhood, I assumed I had depression, though I didn’t know that it was a psychiatric diagnosis. I was always a moody child, given to bursting into tears at the slightest provocation.

My first really major depressive meltdown came when I was humiliated by another child at a birthday party. I ran home, curled up in a beanbag chair, and sobbed for days. The only thing that snapped me out of it was the fact that my mother was being hurt by it too. She was crying too and had no idea what to do about my emotional implosion. At that point, I went down the street and yelled at the girl who had instigated the incident. (I suppose this could have been bipolar rage. I was pretty incoherent.)

I still remember this event as clearly as when it happened.

Another time, some friends were making fun of the way I laughed. Without saying a word, I got in my car and drove home, removing myself from what was distressing me. They followed me home and apologized. Then, I practiced laughing until I came up with something more acceptable. I think I accomplished it, though who really knows?

In my college years, I spiraled further. I was prescribed benzos for a TMJ problem, and I was in such a bad emotional place that I supplemented them with wine. There was some risky sexual behavior, too. It was the first time I recognized that I had a hypomanic episode. After I got out of the situation, I stopped relying on the benzos. (Actually, I had first experienced benzos in my junior high school years, when they were prescribed for an uncontrollable tic.)

Eventually, I went into therapy where I was diagnosed, as I expected, with depression. I continued that way for years, being prescribed various medications but still having symptoms.

Finally, I went to a new psychiatrist who, after some time, said he thought I had bipolar disorder. Eventually, we found a drug regimen that worked to alleviate my symptoms to an acceptable point.

I was still having symptoms, though, before the right cocktail was achieved. I was unable to work, get out of bed, or do much of anything, unhappy all the time. I applied for disability—and didn’t get it. When I got my file from Dr. R., I saw that my diagnosis was actually both bipolar and anxiety.

That threw me for a while. But looking backward and forward, I realize that he was right. I had anxiety episodes when I was a kid, usually regarding finding and keeping friends. I was terrified when my high school counselor suggested therapy. (I declined.) I panicked when it looked like I would have to go to community college instead of a four-year school, which I had always assumed was in my future. When I did get to that college, I had a mixture of the depression and anxiety, and took a year off to work and reset my brain.

Now, years later, my bipolar disorder is largely under control. But the anxiety haunts me to this day. I am anxious about family finances (which I am in charge of). Many nights my brain won’t shut up and I can’t sleep. (Sometimes it won’t shut up about the unfortunate episodes in my past.) I had massive anxiety recently regarding a trip to Florida.

So, I think Dr. R. was right when he diagnosed me with bipolar and anxiety. One has been tamed, but the other lingers. I am now working with Dr. G. to help me alleviate the anxiety without letting the bipolar kick up again. It’s a delicate balance.

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What Was I Feeling?

It wasn’t supposed to be journaling. I thought I was writing a blog post to be called “On Happiness.” It was about the fact that, even though my bipolar disorder is well controlled, something was sucking the joy out of what should have been joyful times—our dream trip to Ireland, for example, or the fact that I just got a work assignment after a long drought. Not even a mid-winter trip to Florida lifted my spirits.

It didn’t feel like depression, though. That’s a creature I know well, and this wasn’t it. Oh, the lack of joy was the same, but there were no unexplained fits of crying or immobility. In fact, I was experiencing a flurry of activity getting ready for the Florida trip. Putting money away from every paycheck. Making sure we had enough meds for the week. Arranging boarding for the cat. Downloading directions to Google Maps. Checking the flight reservations at least twice a week. Planning what goes in the carry-ons. Juicing up my e-readers and my laptop so I could work on my new assignment and my blogs while we were away.

No, this wasn’t depression.

What it was, was anxiety. Where was this coming from?

Suddenly, I remembered. I had gotten a copy of my file when Dr. Ramirez had to prepare it for my disability application (which failed, of course). On it I read, bipolar disorder, type II, which was expected. But it also said anxiety disorder. And I forgot about that.

All these years, I’ve been concentrating on the bipolar diagnosis—keeping my moods level through a combination of meds and therapy, readjusting levels and times as needed.

But I had been ignoring my anxiety. I was taking one small dose of an anti-anxiety med, with permission to take an extra one as needed. Mostly, I just took the one at night to help me sleep. Unless I was under severe, immediate stress, I ignored the ability to take a second one. That only happened in Ireland, when we were driving on the unfamiliar side of unfamiliar roads with the first roundabouts I had ever encountered. After that, it was back to one a day at bedtime.

But then, as I was trying to write my blog post about how bad I was feeling, it occurred to me (duh) that what I was feeling was not depression, but massive anxiety. All my planning for the trip, all my worrying about our budgets and my work, were clear signs of it, even if I had somehow missed them.

By now, everything for the trip is planned, a few days early even, and my blogs are prepared to post while I’m away. I could relax. But you know I won’t, and I know it, too.

What I will do, though, is to start taking that extra anti-anxiety pill as part of my morning regimen. Unloading some of the remaining tasks like packing on my husband. And trying to distract myself by losing myself in a book.

And, of course, remembering all this for when we return and I have another appointment with my psychiatrist. Who knows? Maybe the twice-a-day pill regimen will have made a difference by then. And if it hasn’t, we can discuss it and see what else might help. (I know, I know. Breathing. Meditation. Mindfulness. Exercise. All of which are difficult for me to practice regularly. I haven’t been able to turn them into consistent habits.)

My husband helps me with my moods. I check with him when I start feeling manicky. He gives me loving attention when I start sliding into depression. He has proven that he can recognize extreme anxiety in certain unusual situations and recommend that I take that second anti-anxiety pill. What I plan to do, at least until my next med check, is not wait for that extreme anxiety to hit and work the second pill into my routine to see if it helps. And ask Dan for help in remembering to do that.

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Why Can’t You Just Get Over It?

That’s a question we all get—and we all hate. It implies that we can just get over it, but haven’t, for whatever reason.

The questioner may believe that we just aren’t trying. That we can pull ourselves up by our metaphorical bootstraps or choose to be cheerful. That we aren’t doing all we can to “regain our sanity.” That we haven’t tried the right diet, the right exercise, the right supplements, or the right therapy. Everyone has an answer.

Parts of their answers may be part of our answer, sort of. Diet and exercise are important, to be sure. But one food, like apple cider vinegar or acai berries, is not a secret remedy. A healthy, balanced diet of meat, veg, fruit, and grains is ideal. But many of us are simply not able to cook like that. I’ve had days when all I could manage to eat was Cocoa Puffs straight from the box or peanut butter straight from the jar.

Exercise and fresh air are good, of course, but again many of us are simply not able to accomplish it. Some can’t leave the house except for absolutely necessary errands and appointments. Then we bustle back to the safety of home. Or, if we have someone to help, they can do the errands for us. My husband can sometimes get me out of the house for a meal, but usually not a healthful one. If a friend invites me over for dinner, it’s a very special occasion and I make sure to hoard my spoons for it. Those are times I’ll even take a shower and get dressed for. As for exercise, I just can’t. I have severely arthritic knees that need to be replaced, so I can’t even do yoga or tai chi. Plus the whole getting out of the house thing.

Another common comment is, “Get some therapy.” I have and am and most of us are. What people who say this don’t realize is that therapy doesn’t work quickly, even if you can find the type that’s right for you. Personally, I can’t handle group therapy. I’ve tried. I have problems with the idea of CBT and DBT, currently two of the most favored forms. Talk therapy is the one I choose, and that helps, but I’ve had to go to the same therapist sometimes for years. A quick fix is not what I need or can get.

Also, there’s “Have you taken your meds?” which really pisses me off. First, there’s the assumption that I’m even on meds (I am, but it’s rude to assume that), plus the idea that a layperson can tell me when I need them.

No, I can’t just “get over it,” and neither can most people with depression, anxiety, phobias, bipolar, PTSD, or schizophrenia. They’re just too complicated.

Think about it. There are three causes considered likely to be the cause of brain illnesses: genetics, psychological trauma, or brain chemistry. None of those is something that can be gotten over by choosing happiness. If the origin is genetic, pulling yourself up by your bootstraps is not even a possibility. It will likely take years of therapy and medication to achieve stability, if that’s possible. If the cause is trauma, you can’t just forget about it. Imagine all your worst nightmares hitting you suddenly, asleep or awake, as though you’re experiencing the triggering event just as you did when it happened. Think about how it would feel to have grown up with repeated abuse that you couldn’t escape because you were a child. And if your brain chemicals are out of whack, there are dozens of meds that might work and dozens more that won’t. Finding the right combination is a lot more complicated than just popping a pill.

When you get hit with the question of why you can’t just get over it, you might be able to take ideas from this discussion and try to educate the person who asked it. Or you can print out the whole post and give it to them. (I give you permission.) They probably won’t realize they’ve just insulted you. At the least, you can tell them that they have. Maybe that will stop that one person from coming at you with the same question over and over.

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Overthinking Night and Day

Like many people with SMI, my superpower is overthinking. In fact, even as I write this, it’s 2:30 a.m. I can’t sleep because I have hamster brain, a phenomenon I’m sure will be familiar to most of you.

I’ve got plenty to overthink about. I’m starting a new writing assignment and am confronted with a big, messy outline that I didn’t write and have to make into a coherent book. We don’t have the money to get a plumber, only the downstairs toilet works, and there’s only a trickle in the showers. Between the two of us, over the next six weeks, we have a total of six assorted doctor appointments coming up, for everything from nail fungus to heart meds to psych meds to test results to steroid shots. There’s the trip we have booked in January to see Dan’s 96-year-old mother. There’s our senior cat whose health is holding for now, but who knows? Pick any one. Or two. Or more.

If only overthinking were productive. Wouldn’t it be great if all that thinking led to creative problem-solving? But no. The problems remain and continue rolling over and over.

Overthinking is tied to anxiety, at least in my case. I do have an anxiety disorder, so my overthinking is something prodigious. And, as exemplified by the hamster brain analogy, it’s cyclical. Anxiety causes overthinking causes anxiety and so on and on. The more out-of-control your problems are, the more out-of-control your thoughts become.

Overthinking is also a symptom of other mental disorders, such as PTSD, OCD, and depression. Another perhaps related phenomenon is intrusive thoughts, the ones that seem to appear spontaneously in your mind for no apparent reason. Perfectionism can be involved, too, if you obsess about doing everything just right. Catastrophizing and all-or-nothing thinking can also contribute to overthinking.

But those are facts. And overthinking has little to do with facts. Take that upcoming trip, for example. The flights are booked, the accommodations are arranged, the rental car is reserved. All three are already paid for. All this was taken care of months ago. But I still overthink. I check the airline reservations to make sure they haven’t changed (they did at least once, with a layover in a different city). I hope we can get an accessible condo. I worry about paying for gas and food. I feel panicky about getting to the next gate during layovers. I have done everything I can think of to make sure the trip runs smoothly, but still…

It’s exhausting, so it’s ironic that I can’t sleep.

How to stop overthinking? Mindfulness and meditation are often recommended, but those don’t work for me. I just can’t shut off the over-thoughts long enough to accomplish them. Distractions are another recommendation, and I try that, but they only provide temporary relief. Reframing negative thoughts is yet another suggestion, but I don’t know how to reframe having to go downstairs to pee in the middle of the night. Self-acceptance or self-compassion, forgiveness, and gratitude—nothing seems to work.

I do take antianxiety meds, and I do have permission to take an extra one if I have more than usual anxiety. I have a prescription for a sleeping aid, but I don’t like to take it very often. More often I just say the hell with it and get up, read or write or watch TV. My sleep-wake schedule is off for days, along with my meals, but if I can just stop the thoughts for a while, I’ll take it.

For me, overthinking happens mostly at night, but it doesn’t have to. There’s plenty of fodder for overthinking during my waking hours. Perhaps I just don’t notice it as much because during the daytime I’m usually doing something that distracts me from my thoughts. Today I was overthinking how to get an accessible room at the condo where we’re staying in January. I made phone calls and stayed on hold, but I got put off until four weeks before the trip. That started me overthinking about what to do if we can’t get an accessible room. I’d have to get one of those shower substitute wipes they use for people who are bedridden. Then I started looking those up online. Maybe I should order some, just in case. Or, I thought, I could wash up in the sink every day. Or some combination of the above. It’s ridiculous how long I spent contemplating the possibilities. All I really have to do is request an accessible unit when I show up, and they’ll tell me whether one is available that day. But do you think I’ll be able to wait until we show up? No, I’ll keep overthinking it. And get the wipes just in case.

Because that’s just what I do.

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Sleeping or Not

Sleep is one of the most problematic aspects of bipolar and many other brain illnesses. With bipolar disorder, you tend to sleep too much when you’re depressed and not enough when you’re manic. For adults, the recommended amount of deep, restorative sleep is 7–9 hours. That allows someone to have the proper proportion of REM sleep, which is when you dream and when your brain consolidates memories and experiences.

To this, many of us say, “Hah!”

Right now, I’m torn between the two extremes. I’ve been having mixed episodes, so there are days when I want to stay in bed all day. On other days, I can’t get that restful, uninterrupted sleep. I wake up at around 2:00 a.m. and can’t get back to sleep until at least 6:00. I take a nap in the afternoon, and then can’t get to sleep until around 2:00. Or I’m so exhausted that I go to bed by 8:00 and again wake up at 2:00. Once in a great while I go to bed around 9:00 and wake up in time to see my husband off to work at 5:30. Those are the good days.

It’s true that I’ve had a lot of stress lately. Financial, legal, health, and emotional problems have been piling up for both me and my husband. I read at night after taking my bedtime meds, and I feel sleepy in about half an hour. But when I put down my book and try to sleep, I get racing thoughts about every impending disaster—and there are plenty to choose from. The anti-anxiety med I take does nothing, even if I take a second one (which my doctor allows).

If and when I finally do get to sleep, it’s not restful and restorative. I know that I do enter REM sleep, because I dream. One night recently, every single impending disaster combined into a vision of ultimate dread. It wasn’t just that everything that could go wrong did. They all were over the top, all my fears taken to the extreme with vivid color and sound. Worst of all, I couldn’t talk to my husband about my disturbing dream as I usually do. He was dealing with the same fears and facing the same disasters. It seemed unfair to dump my terrors on him. Although he was involved in the dream, I didn’t want him to think I was blaming him.

Along with the terror dream, I’ve had the normal variety of unpleasant dreams that express frustration or inadequacy—missing a plane, losing a competition—the kind that I can generally shrug off. Now, however, they seem to linger in the back of my brain all day.

There is one thing that helps, but I know I shouldn’t do it. That’s taking a sleeping pill. I don’t currently have a prescription for it, though I did in the past. I stopped taking it when I learned that I slept okay without it. But I still had half a dozen pills and didn’t get rid of them. I thought I might use them if I needed to sleep on a long flight. Instead, I remembered I had them during the current series of crises. And they work. But I have to dole them out carefully. I don’t see my psychiatrist until next month, and he doesn’t prescribe over the phone. I tried to make an appointment to see him earlier, but I don’t have transportation on the days he sees clients.

My best bet at this point is to hope that some of the crises resolve before my appointment and I don’t need the sleeping pill anymore. There’s a chance that some of them will, but then again, they may not resolve in our favor. It looks like more hamster brain for me.

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Meltdown

I haven’t had a meltdown in a good, long while. And I’d prefer to keep it that way. But this week, I had one.

What brought it on? As usual, too many crises all hitting at once. One of every kind—financial, legal, emotional, work, medical, and family. The kind with no obvious solutions.

Individually, I’ve had versions of all these crises before, and gotten through them somehow. I’ve developed any number of coping mechanisms that I can pull out of a hat if I need to. But the hat holds only so much. I can’t keep pulling things out of it if there are no more in there. Hence, the meltdown.

I often turn to my husband when I have a meltdown, but this time I can’t. He’s having a meltdown of his own. It isn’t identical to mine, but they do overlap. Neither one of us has much to offer the other. We do try to support each other to the extent of our abilities. But there’s no denying that we’re both depleted, with not much ability to soothe or strategize.

One thing I could do, and did, was call on a friend so I could let it all out. I’ve known him for years, and he’s seen this happen to me before. And, wonder of wonders, one of the first things he asked was whether I needed advice on my problems or just a listening ear. I chose the listening. What I needed most at that point was to let it all out. And I did.

Once that happened, I was able to pick myself back up and start coming up with solutions. Moving money around. Getting a lawyer. Gathering phone numbers and making calls. Taking notes. Helping my husband calm down when he was having a panic attack and a meltdown of his own.

Another thing I did was reconnect with my therapist. I hadn’t had a session in a few years. She had moved to another practice, I was fairly stable, and our sessions had gotten shorter and shorter because I just didn’t have issues that needed addressing. I had sensibly put the new practice’s number in my phone, just in case. I used it, and within a day heard back from her. I have an appointment scheduled for next week.

I know I’ve done the right things, the things most likely to help resolve the problems, but somehow that doesn’t help yet. I need to get all the assorted crises worked out or at least put on hold before I can return to something resembling stability. Next week will be a rough one, and my phone friend may just get another call. I don’t want to overburden him, but honestly, it’s been years since he’s dealt with me in the middle of a meltdown. I anticipate that Monday will be particularly difficult, with two crises, one major and one relatively minor coming to a head then.

I’m trying to shut down my emotions as much as possible in order to get through all this. I know that’s not ideal, but honestly, I don’t see how I’ll manage without doing that. Of course, that makes the meltdown afterward more likely and potentially more severe. I need to make sure that all my meds are refilled and try to establish a better sleeping schedule, which has been eluding me lately.

Time to make phone calls now, and more later. Wish me luck.

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mental health

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An Irrational Thought

I just bought a laptop because the air conditioner isn’t working. If that seems like an irrational thought I acted on, it is. It’s also a measure of my anxiety. And a consequence of my current mixed state.

Let me explain.

Our central air conditioner puts out a tiny bit of coolish air, but not enough to make the house comfortable. The weather has gotten up into the 80s, and the temp in the house is sometimes higher than that. And I know that July and August are coming, so temps over 100 degrees are likely. I’m afraid I’ll have heat stroke and die or at least have heat exhaustion and be incapacitated. I spend most of the day working at my desk, with fans on and cold beverages readily available, but still the heat gets to me. And I really need to do the work. We need the money, modest as my pay is.

So why (I hear you ask) don’t we call an AC repair service? My anxiety plus hoarding mean we don’t let people in the house. I suppose there’s a chance that they would only have to look at the outdoor unit, but I can’t count on that. There’s still a possible solution my husband can try. He’s going to get a tester and check the fuses. If that’s the problem, it’s easily fixable.

There’s the anxiety. What about the mixed state?

When I get hypomanic, one of my behaviors is online shopping. And there was just a sale at Best Buy on Apple computers that lasted three days. I ordered a laptop. I made sure it was a refurbished one to keep the price down, but I also bought the mouse, the subscription to Microsoft Office, and a carrying case. It was a tidy sum, money that we don’t have because of car repairs, but I put it on our Best Buy credit card. I also told myself that it was still cheaper than air conditioning repair. (A quick Google suggests that it’s likely a wash.)

How does this solve the air conditioning dilemma? If I have a laptop computer, I can take it to Panera, McDonald’s, or some other air-conditioned place and do my work while sipping on iced tea. (Panera has plugs and outlets conveniently located, I know.) Work accomplished. Body temperature regulated. Achievement unlocked.

Of course, I realize this is a slightly ridiculous plan. I know that my anxiety and hypomania are largely responsible. Ultimately, though, I’m responsible.

There’s still the chance that Dan can get the AC working again, if the fuses are the problem. If that happens, I can return the laptop (within 15 days after I receive it). So I have options, which I love.

I’m still left with confusing feelings. Maybe I’m too fearful of the heat or too dubious about being able to do my work in an overheated room. (I don’t think so, because I’m older and have had bad reactions to heat before. Computers also have bad reactions to heat.) Maybe I was too impulsive when I ordered a new laptop and all the fixings. Maybe even with the money I earn, the credit card expense will strain our finances further. I fortuitously just received a raise at work, so maybe that will help make up the difference.

I’m not asking for advice. I’ll work this out on my own somehow or at least with the help of my husband. He knows I’m in a mixed state, but the family finances are my responsibility and he usually goes with what I think we should do.

Things should be clearer by the time I post this.

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mental health

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