Bipolar 2 From Inside and Out

Posts tagged ‘being overwhelmed’

Bipolar Me vs. DisneyWorld

Once a group of us were on a business trip to Anaheim. “If any of you want to take clients to Disneyland, I can get you tickets,” the boss said.

“I can’t even imagine myself wanting to do that,” I replied.

The others laughed, though I wasn’t trying to be funny. I get that a lot.

I have always had deeply mixed feelings about Walt Disney and his creations. How could I not? A place that bills itself as The Happiest Place on Earth vs. Bipolar 2 That Has Caused Depression Since Childhood. (To be fair, I used to like “Wonderful World of Color,” particularly the nature films, even when we had only a b&w TV. Gray Tinkerbelle is a metaphor for. . . well, something involving depression.)

So what explains this picture of a dear friend, me, and my husband being photo-bombed by a Lego dragon?

smithdragon

The first thing you have to know about Tom (left) and Leslie (the photographer) is that their inner child is, let’s say, very close to the surface. They are DisneyWorld aficionados. And they know all (well, almost all) about my mental disorders.

We desperately needed a vacation, and they offered to be our guides for an adult-friendly, non-teacup visit. Also, it was the Millennium celebration and early in December, which promised no sweltering heat, interesting decorations (as much or as little as I could stand) and other spiffy stuff, including few children, who would not yet be on Christmas break. (Ah, the high-pitched shrieks of laughter from children meeting their cartoon heroes. It cuts right through me like a knife.)

Here’s what I learned.

• The restaurants there are incredible. Eat your way around Epcot.

• I dreaded the Tower of Terror because I thought my stomach would drop out. This proved not to be the problem; my inner ear objected, though. Our friends got me on it by telling me to repeat the mantra, “Disney will not kill me. They want more of my money later.” It was one of those things that I’m glad I did and now Will Never Do Again.

• The Explorer’s Club is extremely cool.

• There are lots of nifty tiny things that aren’t rides and attraction that you can try to spot – bits of the sidewalk that light up randomly like a surprise Dance Dance Revolution, Mouse ear shapes in unexpected places, such as the wing nuts on shelves in the many gift shops, and so on. This is where knowledgeable guides come in particularly handy.

• At night, you can see the stars from the top of that mining train-roller coaster thing, something I didn’t expect, given all the ambient light an amusement park puts out.

• Also, we all won giant purple-and-red plush armadillos at one of the games. That’s one thing my inner child can appreciate.

• STAY AWAY from the teacups and It’s a Small World. They will turn you into a whimpering, burbling puddle of regret and sugar-shock. When your mother asks later, just say, “Oh, yes. They were nice. You would have loved them.”

If you go with the right people, do not try to make it into the Bataan Fun March, and rest and eat or retreat to the hotel when you need a break, it’s survivable and even – dare I say? – enjoyable. Sufficiently medicated with Prozac and Ativan, I could handle it.

I’d have to give this round to Disney, but really it was all Tom and Leslie.

P.S. Also, the Food and Wine Festival is a great experience. I spent three months in Orlando and a co-worker got us tickets. Cute guys with devastating Australian accents chatting about Australian wine. What could possibly be more satisfactory?

 

 

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Mental Health, Uncategorized

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Dear Folks: Sorry I Haven’t Written Lately

This has been the longest trough I’ve had in a while, and I’ve been spending all my spoons on work, because the cats do insist on eating.

Tomorrow begins a new adventure: My psychiatrist has prescribed Abilify. The $800/month price tag seemed a tad bit high to me. We have insurance, but the benefits don’t really kick in until we meet the absurdly high deductible. A few months of Abilify would probably do it. (We couldn’t afford the gold plan. I think ours is aluminum, or maybe tin.)

The manufacturer does offer a free month’s trial and a discount card, so at least I can see if it works for me. If it does, I’ll figure out how to pay for more. (BTW, if your meds are way expensive, check out needymeds.org. They have a database of manufacturers, discounts, requirements, and contacts. My psychotherapist turned me to that.)

When Dr. R. prescribed Abilify, he told me that it could make me restless. “How will I know whether it’s the drug or my usual twitchiness?” I asked. “You’ll know,” he said. After reading the literature, I can see what he means.

So here I am with three work assignments (not particularly tight deadlines, though) and am about to start a drug that could feel either heaven-sent or hellish. Or just “meh,” I suppose, which would leave me exactly where I am now.

Wish me luck.

And tell me if you’ve had any experiences with Abilify. I know anecdotal evidence doesn’t mean squat to scientists, but I’m interested in hearing from people who have tried it, or seen how it worked (or didn’t) for a friend or relative.

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Mental Health, Uncategorized

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Treading Water

I haven’t given up. Life is just overwhelming lately. And tomorrow I face a challenge that was a major contributor to my most recent breakdown. I keep on keepin’ on.

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Mental Health

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Ack! Ack!

Oh noes! Another business meeting/training session/lunch!

On Wednesday – not much time to get ready.

Panic? Check.

Hair appointment? Check.

Therapist appointment? Check.

Everything else? Not check.

Will I ever be able to do this again without freaking out? Guess that’s a question for my therapist.

Bonus Material (Actual Conversation)

Me (distraught): I have to find something to wear!

Husband (helpful): What about that white thing you wore last time?

Me (gently): It’s June, and that was a turtleneck with long sleeves.

Husband (no particular tone of voice): Oh.

(I didn’t bother explaining that it was actually off-white and I couldn’t wear the same thing to two of these events in a row. The seasonal thing was a big enough information bite.)

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Mental Health

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A Grain of Salt

This week has been pretty bad. I tried to poke my nose out from under the rock where I’ve been hiding from the world.

Bad idea. I was instantly overwhelmed by the crazy-stupid-crazy of various sorts that has been sucking up all the oxygen lately. Read James Thurber’s story “The Box.” I was safe in the box and then I tried to come out.

Mistake. The sheer volume of malignant idiocy in the world seemed to have increased exponentially in the intervening week. I tried to stay away from it, refused to dip my smallest nerveless toe into Facebook threads on topics I have strong opinions about. A friend called to see whether I was okay, and I had a mini-meltdown.

I really thought my brain was going to break again.

It wasn’t just the relentless assault from the outside, though that was more than plenty.

I also had internal stress. My work. My difficulty forcing myself to do it. My exhaustion once I had done it. My total lack of spoons, even plastic ones.

The friend who called suggested a day off, comfort food, a book, cats. All good suggestions, and I tried them all.

The problem was, when I shut off all that other noise, memories began haunting me. Ones from years ago that I’ve never been able to suppress completely. From a time in my life when my psychiatric problems were undiagnosed and untreated, my body began to be plagued with conditions I still live with, my self-esteem was nonexistent, and my soul was being sucked dry by a person who might have helped, but made all of those things worse.

Today is still rough, but I had one good memory return. My husband bought a watermelon and I sprinkled a piece with salt.

This was a thing that my family used to do in the summertime – sit at the backyard picnic table and eat watermelon lightly sprinkled with salt. (And of course compete to spit seeds the farthest.)

The combination of salt and sweet is a trend among foodies these days, with the new sensation, salted caramel. Believe me, we were not foodies. Served with the watermelon were home-made popsicles made from Kool-Aid in Tupperware molds.

But for me, watermelon with just a touch of salt was one of the hallmarks of summer that I have not experienced in years. It was right up there with going barefoot and climbing trees.

My husband tried the melon with salt, but it didn’t do the same for him. It’s not one of his childhood pleasures, and he hates to add salt to anything, even popcorn. But at least he tried it, and listened to my story.

Mostly when a memory leaps suddenly into my mind, it’s the haunting kind. But every once in a while, I get salted watermelon. And I am grateful.

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Mental Health

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How I Function (When I Do)

I recently was involved in an online discussion. I probably should have been doing something else at the time, but it caught my interest and I jumped in.

It was (or at least became, in part) about getting up, getting dressed, and doing the work (or art or whatever). One person stated that she worked at home, but she needed to get out of her pajamas and get into regular clothes as a signal and reminder to herself that it was time to work.

I work at home too, and when I can make myself do the work, I do it in my pajamas. I reserve getting dressed for when I have to go outside the house – maybe three or four times a month. Pulling myself together that way takes much effort, many spoons, that I need to invest in doing the work.

So am I high-functioning or low-functioning? Yes.

We also discussed Dale Carnegie’s admonition, “ACT enthusiastic and you’ll BE enthusiastic.” This advice comes in various forms: Fake it till you make it. You get good at what you practice.

It doesn’t work that way for me. I can pull myself together for a limited time and on the phone, talking to a client, for example. I can fake it for that long. In my pajamas. A few months ago I had to drive to a face-to-face, multi-person business meeting – all together, about a half a day. By the time I got home, I was not just fried, but extra-crispy. Even the next day, I was too exhausted to do much more than get out of bed. It did not result in my being any more pulled-together thereafter.

So I was high-functioning for half a day and low- to non-functioning for a day and a half.

I suspect that most of us go bouncing back and forth between high- and low-functioning, with an occasional pause in the middle. It probably goes with the mood swings.

There are high-functioning activities I can (sometimes) do: earn money and blog, for example. There are also ones that I used to be able to do, but now can’t: cope with taxes, travel abroad or on business, tolerate crowds. And there are things I can do for a limited time or with help: grocery shop, cook a little. Also things I can do, but not as well as I did before my brain broke: solve puzzles, analyze, concentrate.

I suppose you could count napping as something I can do better now. I am a truly high-functioning napper. Not much of an accomplishment, maybe, but it beats the hell out of insomnia!

 

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Mental Health

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Can’t Write Today, So Here’s a Cat

maggie

I have been avoiding the Internet for days (and TV news and commentary as well) because I just can’t handle it right now. Actions, reactions, reactions to the reactions, et endless cetera. I’m depressed enough without all that.

There are plenty of thoughts I have on the Isla Vista shootings, and the media coverage of it, and mental health, and gun regulations. I’m sure most of them have already been said, and probably better than I could, and everything about the subject makes me angry, confused, outraged, despairing, hopeless, helpless, and majorly depressed.

Then there’s everything I’ve read lately about bodily autonomy and male privilege and the “war on women” (why does everything have to be a war?) and politics and climate change and all of those make me angry, confused, outraged, despairing, hopeless, helpless, and majorly depressed too.

But it is TBT, so here is a picture of Maggie, a cat who saw the glowing design on Dan’s forehead that reads “Sucker.” He instantly scooped her up and brought her home. She was thereafter totally devoted to him. He could arouse her to a fever pitch of writhing and seduction with only the use of his voice. I mean, if they had been the same species, I wouldn’t have stood a chance.

Maybe next week I’ll have pulled myself together a bit and can write about something. For now, I’ll just say the best things that have happened to me today are a head-bonk, a nose-touch, and two nose-licks from Dushenka (Little Soul) with the Crazy Eyes.

Dushenkacu

Yours truly,

A Truly Crazy Crazy Cat Lady

 

 

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