Bipolar 2 From Inside and Out

Posts tagged ‘my experiences’

Living With a Bipolar Family Member

Let’s start with this: A bipolar family is like any other family. They have good times and bad. They live with each other; they fight with each other; they care about one another. They deal with each other’s differences and problems. But they have the added stressor that one or more members of the family have bipolar disorder.

What does this mean for a family? It does mean that there are likely to be difficulties that other families don’t face. Depending on how severe the disorder is, whether the family supports their relative in getting treatment, and the resources available to them, their lives will look quite different.

My Family

My family was unprepared for me to develop bipolar disorder. They knew that I was different, and often didn’t know what to do with me, particularly when I went into depressive episodes and retreated from the world, crying hopelessly. I remember this happening in seventh grade in particular. I had been publicly humiliated at a birthday party and spent days curled up in a bean bag chair, sobbing uncontrollably. My parents knew that something was very wrong.

Nothing happened for quite a while. When I was in high school, my behavior had gotten so off-kilter that it was recommended I go see the district psychologist. My parents left the choice up to me, and I didn’t go, for reasons that now seem completely ridiculous. I should have taken the opportunity.

Later still, when I was diagnosed and medicated with Prozac, my family was encouraging, but had some issues. My mother, who got a lot of her information from TV talk shows, said she had heard that Prozac was a “ticking time bomb.” My father had no objection to my therapy as long as he didn’t have to go (which no one had ever mentioned). But they continued to give me love and emotional support throughout, though they never really understood my condition or what I was going through. I don’t think they ever did, but they never gave up on me.

Other Families

I think it’s vitally important for family members of someone with bipolar disorder to learn all they can about the disorder. This will require bravery and openness on their part. But learning all you can about bipolar disorder will help you help your family member in the best possible way.

Of course, the kind of support a person with bipolar needs will differ greatly depending on how severe their symptoms and their disorder are. If they are subject to mild to moderate depressive phases, don’t try to “cheer them up.” It won’t work. Instead, talk therapy and/or medication, or, if they’re in a more severe depressive phase, an alternative therapy like TMS or ECT may be called for. Hospitalization is definitely an option if the family member has suicidal ideation.

If they’re in a manic phase, don’t just tell them to “calm down.” That won’t work either. Instead, help them be more grounded and keep potentially harmful behaviors in check. How you do this will vary depending on how their mania manifests. If they are given to reckless driving, for example, you keep the car keys and drive them where they need to go. If they’re an overspender, keep the credit cards and PIN numbers out of reach.

Help your bipolar family member in specific ways. Encourage them to seek therapy. If needed, drive them to their therapist appointments. Pick up refills of their medications for them. Get them a pill caddy to make it easier to take their medications as prescribed.

If your family member is experiencing delusions or psychosis, don’t argue with them about hallucinations, which are very real to them. They may also be suffering from anosognosia, which means they don’t even recognize that they are ill. You may have to intervene more directly, whether that means taking them to the emergency room or admitting them to a psychiatric facility. Do all you can while keeping yourself and the rest of your family members safe. If you or your loved one is in immediate danger, don’t wait—take action!

Kinds of Support

It may seem that you are taking agency away from your family member, and that is to some extent true. But until they’re more stable and able to demonstrate agency over their own condition, helping them negotiate the practicalities of their illness is likely the best thing you can do. You can’t change your family member’s disorder or change them; in most cases, all you can do is support them.

Remember there’s help available. In addition to your local or county National Alliance on Mental Illness (NAMI) chapter, you can get in touch with Depression & Bipolar Support Alliance (DBSA), the Bipolar Caregivers website, or bphope.com, which has online support groups. That last link will take you to a page that lists other organizations and resources that may be available to help you.

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Wealth and Mental Health

It’s becoming more and more apparent that your socioeconomic status has a significant effect on your mental health. This is not to say that money buys happiness. It does mean that wealthy people can have mental health conditions related to their abundant resources, and that people who have mental disturbances often find their suffering to be greater if they are poor.

Little to No Money

It only makes sense that having severely limited funds can take a toll on a person. Finding money for rent, medical bills, childcare, retirement, or other recurring or one-time expenses can increase your worry and seriously affect emotional well-being. Financial hardship and mental distress often reinforce each other. These difficulties can be difficult—or even impossible—to escape.

But dealing with the problems of inadequate money can strengthen connections among family members and close friends. Shared hardships foster shared sacrifice, as well as negotiation and compromise skills. People with little money must work through problems and conflicts because they have few alternatives. This process can be distressing, but it also fosters trust, resilience, and intimacy. The Harvard Study of Adult Development has found that strong social bonds predict long, happy lives better than intelligence, genetics, or money.

Perhaps surprisingly, socioeconomic difficulties may also lead to alterations in the brain, particularly in children. This link seems to run through parts of the brain that keep a person awake and alert. The circuits change in children who get less sleep, face more stress, or spend lots of time on social media. All of these factors increase with lower economic, educational, and social opportunities. It’s been noted that preteens who grow up in areas with fewer monetary resources and less social support particularly show brain differences that are measurable on MRI scans. Researchers have voiced surprise at how strongly socioeconomic opportunity correlates with brain differences. Studies that link cognitive performance to brain differences without taking socioeconomics into account “may require reevaluation,” according to experts. “We need to find out how socioeconomics is becoming biologically embedded.”

Lots of Money

Many Americans believe that more money would improve their mental health. That can be true some of the time. Money can alleviate many of the problems that people on lower socioeconomic levels face. The wealthy don’t worry about where rent and food money will come from, how to get a job, or how to get to their job. They don’t have the problem of even a relatively minor illness or injury plunging them deep into medical debt.

When problems do arise, notes psychologist David H. Rosmarin of Harvard, the well-off assume that they can make problems (he gives as examples a son’s gambling losses or a daughter’s extreme depression) disappear via the application of money. “Parents with less resources would have no choice but to quickly confront the painful realities their children were facing,” Rosmarin observes.

Money can resolve most of those problems, providing stability and freedom. However, the ultra-wealthy can find themselves lacking hardship-developed strengths and descend into family conflict and emotional disconnection. Their relationships rely on control and expectations rather than shared bonding experiences.

Though they may have family, friends, coworkers, and even servants around them, the wealthy can easily feel isolated and alone. And loneliness has been shown to increase the risk of health problems such as cardiovascular disease, stroke, depression, and early death by roughly 30%, despite wealthy people’s broader access to top-quality health care.

My Experience

I grew up in a middle-class family, and local schools were among the best in the area. It seems that socioeconomic factors didn’t contribute much to the brain illness I began to develop as a child. The only time I experienced distress at a lack of money was when I was told that there wasn’t much money for higher education and that I should go to a community college. (I reacted to this with tears and distress at first, then applied for good schools and scholarships. Eventually, I went to an Ivy League school with multiple financial supports.)

When my husband and I got married, we were both out of work and on food stamps (as they were known back then). Later, we both got jobs that had good salaries attached to them. Rather than experiencing loneliness and disconnection, we had already built a basis of cooperation and negotiation as we worked through the hard times. We enjoyed each other and our families’ and friends’ love and support throughout. When we began to get ahead in our finances, we traveled, but felt the strain of not seeing each other often enough when we were home because of long hours working. All through this period, though, in bad times and good, I suffered from bipolar disorder. Money seemed to make little difference in that.

Now that I’m mentally more stable, I find that I am able to deal more effectively with financial crises, which, given the economy, arise fairly regularly. I do experience severe anxiety and worry at times, but have so far been able to work my way through them.

I’m not denying what the researchers say about brain differences in children from lower socioeconomic levels or that the wealthy have different sorts of emotional problems. But being aware of the possibilities of such problems and getting mental health assistance when necessary can make the difference between a distressed situation, whether well-funded or not, and a tolerable one.

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Remote Work: Help or Harm?

Many people recommend that people who are no longer able to work a full-time job in an office try working from home. (There are ads that say you can make $500 a day doing it, but these claims are dubious at best, scams at worst.) The COVID years demonstrated that it was possible for someone to work from home even at a 40-hour/week job. So what are the benefits and drawbacks of working from home if you have bipolar disorder or another mental illness?

Pros

The benefits of working from home are apparent. If your condition makes it difficult to deal with high-pressure situations with extended contact with other people, remote work is quite appealing. You gain independence, the ability to cut down on distressing social interactions, and time to spend with family members or doing other chores and projects. Working at your own pace without so many distractions may mean that you can complete what’s considered 40 hours of work in less than that. And Zoom meetings are generally more efficient and less stressful than the in-person kind.

When you decide to work from home, you have many more options open to you. You can work part-time, for example, or start your own business. You can even structure your days so that you work for a company part-time and for yourself the rest of the time. You can take on a job that involves no in-person contact with others, such as phone or computer-based customer service, telephone sales, or order-taking. Then there are jobs you can accomplish almost completely on your own, like transcription and other forms of keyboarding, writing articles for clients or instruction manuals for manufacturers, or formatting and editing résumés and other documents. Perhaps you could team with another person who does client contact. If so, you can make a business of graphic design, for example.

Cons

On the other hand, remote work has been blamed for increasing isolation and distress. A study reported in Science revealed that remote work “worsens mental health, particularly for those living alone. Although a large body of research finds that workers want to work remotely, our findings suggest that workers may not realize the costs of remote work for their well-being, which may take time to accumulate….Our estimates indicate that remote work explains a third of the deterioration in mental health between 2011 and 2024.”

It’s true that people who work at home generally have only sporadic contact with other people, except in emails, Zoom meetings, and phone calls. The Science study says that “84 percent of remote workers spend their workday entirely alone. Even when communicating online, people working from home receive less feedback from their co-workers and contact fewer people outside their immediate teams.”

They add, “Despite its advantages, remote work has significantly deepened Americans’ isolation and distress. Our research doesn’t suggest that work can occur only in the office. But it does mean that employees and companies should make a greater effort to prioritize face-to-face time with colleagues.” Any contact with other people seems to make the difference: “People who lived with their spouse and kids saw their mental health hold fairly steady, while those who lived alone experienced a 20 percent decrease in mental well-being.”

My Experience

I used to work full-time in offices, spending a full 17 years at one office job and some time at others. During that time, I struggled with isolation and detachment from my coworkers. I tried. But the corporate culture of “mandatory fun” such as company picnics and parties struck me as challenging and empty, and only a few coworkers included me in their lunch hours and casual conversation. I blame myself as much as anyone. My social skills have never been terrific, especially when it comes to small talk.

Before I was let go from the 17-year job, I increased my own isolation by keeping my office door closed. My job did entail some aspects that required close attention to detail without interruptions. But that was an excuse. I preferred privacy even when doing normal busy work. Although closing one’s door was not strictly forbidden, an open-door policy prevailed. My closed door meant cutting myself off from interaction.

Since leaving the corporate world, I have worked at home at a series of jobs—transcription, editing, ghostwriting, book reviewing, and the like. In most of these jobs, I set my own hours, but I am indeed alone most of the day. I get regular calls from my husband when he’s on his breaks at his outside, people-y job. It helps. And I keep up with remote friends via email, Facebook, phone, and occasional visits.

Has my mental health deteriorated? Not appreciably. I have work to do some of the time and my blogs to write, emails to respond to, books to read, and friends to chat with. I’m occasionally unfocused, and I do experience mild depression and hypomania, but the depression is not anything like the depths of it when I worked in an office.

I can’t imagine going back to office work at this time in my life. I’m happy and stable enough where I am. I don’t want to mess with that.

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Having Both a Child and a Mental Illness

The New York Times recently ran an article by Christina Caron saying that scientists have begun “to study how adults with challenging health conditions weigh parenthood.” Readers of the Times reported that “they were worried about the possibility of passing along mental illness to a child or maintaining their own well-being under the stresses of raising a family.” In one study, people who said they had poor mental health also said that they were less inclined to have children.

Here’s how this has played out in my life.

When I got married, I was in my 20s. My husband wanted children, and I figured if I had a baby, I should have it before I turned 30. Later on, I moved up that timetable. My father was terminally ill, and I thought it would be a good thing if he could see his grandchild before he died.

That was before I was diagnosed with bipolar disorder. After that, I began questioning the wisdom of having a child. My husband, Dan, not to mention his mother, still wanted one, and this became a point of contention. Dan felt the lost potential of a child for many years. When the recession hit, we didn’t have the money to have a child. (We could barely keep up with our own and our cats’ needs for food and health care.)

When my major depressive episode hit, it became apparent to me, at least, that I should not become a parent. I wasn’t able to cope well with my regular, child-free life. How could I possibly cope with the demands of being a mother? Would it be fair to be a mother who was so depressed she couldn’t care for a child properly? Would it be fair to Dan to ask him to do the majority of the many tasks associated with a child?

Even after I pulled out of that depression, I knew there was no guarantee that it wouldn’t happen again. I gave up on the idea of becoming a mother.

Why does mental illness prevent many people from considering parenthood?

There’s the problem of genetics. We know that anxiety and depression, as well as schizophrenia and other brain illnesses, run in families, leaving potential parents to worry that their child might have those diagnoses, too. If I had a child, would I be setting them up for a lifetime of mood swings and medication? Once Dan started on antidepressants, too, after an alarming spell of depression, passing along our disorders seemed even more possible.

Another question is about physical as well as mental health during pregnancy. Once I was diagnosed, I was put on a revolving regimen of multiple psychotropic drugs. Would it even be safe to take them while pregnant? Would they harm the fetus? Cause problems like too-high blood pressure for me? Make the chance of a miscarriage more likely?

And if I stopped taking the meds while pregnant, what would that do to me? Would my fluctuating hormones combine with my fluctuating moods to make my mental health even worse? And once I had the child, would I be more prone than the average mother to experience postpartum depression? Given my history of depression, it seemed a real possibility.

The Times article also discussed societal and family pressure to have a child.

This pressure can make a woman feel guilty or unnatural if she doesn’t want to have a child. There’s already stigma surrounding mental illness. Add the stigma regarding being child-free, and you’re doubling down on guilt, shame, and denial.

Fortunately, my parents didn’t pressure us, and Dan’s brother provided the Reily family with a suitable number of children and grandchildren. But we did get the usual inquiries: When are you going to have a baby? (Note: It was when, not if.) The young daughter of a friend asked why we didn’t have children. Her mother told her that not every couple does, and she seemed to accept that without further questioning. A couple of friends talked about how we had good genes and should pass them along.

Now I’m well past the age at which I have a choice to make. My same-age friends are revelling in their recent grandchildren, and I heartily celebrate their happiness with them.

The people interviewed for the Times article said they had no regrets about their choices.

Neither do I.

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“Deprescribing” Psych Meds

I saw my psychiatrist this week for a med check and asked him about RFK, Jr.’s crusade against antidepressants. He said a good number of his clients had asked him about it. He reassured them that he was not going to cut them off.

Then Dr. G. said, “They’ll pull up to your house in a black Suburban, with face masks on, and ring your doorbell.” (He was joking.) I replied, “I have a gun.” (I wasn’t.)

Still, the fear is real. I’m not sure if Kennedy has an actual plan to curb what he considers an overprescribing of antidepressants. But those of us who need them are genuinely afraid that he will find some way to take them away from us. Maybe he’ll try to cut down the supply coming from the drug companies. Maybe he’ll invent some system by which doctors will be penalized for writing “too many” prescriptions. Or maybe he’ll put in place his threatened “wellness farms,” where people with mental illness will supposedly be cured by fresh air, organic food, no medication, and hard outdoor labor, much as he has recommended for “reparenting” children on ADHD meds.

The psychiatric community is as alarmed as their clients. At this year’s meeting of the American Psychiatric Association, doctors expressed fears that if Kennedy’s recommendations are put in force—and maybe even if they’re not—people who currently take antidepressants or other meds may decide to quit cold turkey or taper off without their physician’s advice and supervision, both of which are dangerous. Physicians also fear that patients will refuse necessary medications and relapse without them.

Kennedy has particularly targeted SSRIs (Selective Serotonin Reuptake Inhibitors) such as Zoloft (sertraline), Prozac (fluoxetine), Lexapro (escitalopram), and Paxil (paroxetine). Other targeted medications include antipsychotic medications, mood stabilizers, stimulants, weight-loss drugs, ADHD medications like Adderall, and combinations of these drugs. All these, Kennedy says, add up to a “dependency crisis driven by overmedicalization.” He has described the people who take these medications as “addicts.”

Kennedy compared coming off SSRIs to his experiences with trying to curb his heroin addiction: “You just have to steel yourself for 72 bad hours.” (He said that he had tried to quit and gone through withdrawal “a hundred times.”) He has also said, without evidence, that SSRIs are partly responsible for the rise in school shootings and other mass shootings.

The New York Times reported that at the Mental Health and Overmedicalization Summit organized by the MAHA (Make America Healthy Again) Institute, speakers were discussing “a variety of steps to address the overprescription of psychiatric medications, such as phasing out school-based mental health screenings, requiring written informed consent before starting medications, and featuring prominent, cigarette-style warnings on packaging.” It’s also been proposed that clinicians be paid through government programs to “deprescribe” patients. Too, there were discussions about changes in insurance billing and an “expert panel” with the mission to “develop clinical guidelines for deprescribing.” “This summer,” the Department of Health and Human Services says, “The Substance Abuse and Mental Health Services Administration, or SAMHSA, will release training modules focusing on the risks of psychiatric medications and on tapering and deprescribing.”

The risks of coming off psychotropic meds went largely unaddressed. People who have tried to do so without proper medical supervision have reported “brain fog,” as well as “emotional blunting, loss of motivation, suicidal ideation, and difficulty in withdrawing.” Some have also reported “shocklike sensations, flu-like symptoms, insomnia, nausea, and restlessness.”

It’s true that many medications, including some psychiatric medications, have been overprescribed. But they’ve been judged safe enough to be prescribed by primary care physicians as well as psychiatrists. Targeting and demonizing SSRIs and ADHD medications will leave patients with few ways to get the treatment they need. NPR reports that Dr. Theresa Miskimen Rivera, president of the American Psychiatric Association, has said, “It really is an oversimplification. And it really ignores the larger reality, which is that too many patients really cannot access timely, comprehensive care that is much needed for our nation.”

Personally, I have been taking various combinations of these medications, including SSRIs, for decades. My psychiatrists have never recommended stopping them, and I have never wanted to. The medications and the dosages have changed over the years, as needed. Psychotropic medications have literally saved my life as well as my sanity, and allowed me to function well in my relationships, my career, and my other activities. I don’t consider them cure-alls; I still have occasional symptoms of depression and hypomania. But being told by a government agency to quit them, or even to taper off them, scares me. I hope Kennedy’s ideas are never instituted, but given all the other recommendations he has proposed, I’m far from sure that they won’t be.

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The Importance of Apologies

When my mother was a young woman, she had the chore of cleaning up her parents’ bedroom and emptying the trash. She came across a condom and asked her mother what it was. Grandma gave my mother an innocuous but wrong answer, claiming it was where Grandpa spit when he was chewing tobacco.

Later, of course, my mother learned about condoms and what they were really for. She told me this story much later in life and expressed disappointment and hurt that her mother hadn’t told her the truth.

When I was a tween, I asked my mother a question about my body and asked her not to tell anyone what I had asked. Minutes later, I heard her telling my sister, “She thought she was developing, but she’s not.” I was disappointed and hurt.

Neither my mother nor I said anything about these incidents at the time. My mother only told me her story when I was an adult. I don’t think I’ve told mine until just now, in this post. I’m sure both of us would have felt better if our mothers had apologized to us.

Neither of these incidents was earth-shattering. They were just that—lone incidents, not part of a pattern of untrustworthy behavior. We didn’t feel we had to break off all contact with our mothers. We still loved them. I know it just goes to show that they were human and therefore imperfect. But I know I was a bit let down, and suspect my mother was too.

The Guardian recently printed an article about Lindsay C. Gibson’s book Adult Children of Emotionally Immature Parents. The author of the article, Emline Saner, chose to highlight a story from that book in which a mother apologised to her child, then seven, for being too harsh while potty training her as a toddler. It let the child know that the child had done nothing wrong—that the mother was admitting that she had fallen short because of circumstances in her own life. In this instance, the daughter burst into relieved sobs.

I wouldn’t call my mother or my grandmother emotionally immature. Our parents were human. Both of them fell short in communicating about difficult subjects. Later on, we felt that we had deserved the respect of being told the truth and being listened to. We weren’t significantly harmed by their lapses. But they were something we remembered into adulthood.

Saner’s article says, “Gibson’s idea of emotional immaturity is not an official diagnosis. It has been criticised for being too broad, for shifting blame onto parents, and for tempting readers to pathologise fairly benign, if irritating, traits alongside more obviously abusive ones. But it has also clearly deeply resonated with people who recognise the deficiencies of their parents, the effect it had on them growing up, and the present struggles they are dealing with.”

No parent is perfect. They all do some things that upset their children, especially when the parent is stressed by circumstances outside of the child’s comprehension or control. But apologizing for those lapses takes a lot of self-knowledge, empathy—and yes, emotional maturity. It gives a child a role model, too. Children learn that parents aren’t perfect, that they can do things that upset the child without meaning to. They also learn that apologizing is the first step in making right something that was hurtful.

My husband (and many other former children) have had trouble apologizing because they’d been told, “Say you’re sorry,” when they didn’t feel sorry. Maybe having an adult who modeled apologizing to a child would have helped them feel more comfortable with making apologies when they were needed.

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Was My Family Dysfunctional?

Clockwise from left: my father, my sister, my mother, and me

Leo Tolstoy said, “All happy families are alike; each unhappy family is unhappy in its own way.” Nowadays, we don’t talk about happy and unhappy families. We talk about functional and dysfunctional ones.

If you ask, most people will say that all families are dysfunctional. They differ only in the degree of dysfunction and the ways that dysfunction presents.

But is that true? Is there really no such thing as a functional family?

First, we need to look at some definitions.

What Is a Dysfunctional Family?

According to certain stats, 70% to 80% of families are dysfunctional. But what does that mean?

Fortunately, the term “broken home” has been retired, and single-parent families are no longer considered automatically dysfunctional. In fact, a dysfunctional family can result in a separation or divorce that makes the remaining family structure much more functional.

In addition to dysfunctional families, we talk of “toxic” families, “traumatic” families, and “estranged” families. (There’s obviously considerable overlap.)

But are those the only kinds of dysfunctional families?

A 2024 article by Kaytee Gillis in Psychology Today says, “Having one or two unhealthy behaviors crop up occasionally is usually not cause for concern. Traumatic dysfunction involves patterns of behavior that are harmful and pervasive, such as emotional or physical abuse, neglect, or extreme manipulation that occurs over a long period of time. This type of dysfunction creates an environment of fear, instability, and ongoing emotional pain, leading to significant psychological scars and lasting trauma that likely impacts you today.”

In a 2023 article, also in Psychology Today, Gillis identified five different kinds of dysfunctional families.

• The family that believes they have no problems because they project them all onto other people.

• The family that worries about what others think of them and carefully controls appearances.

• The family with one “scapegoat” member who is blamed for any and all problems.

• The unpredictable family that changes based on traumas like mental illness, addiction, or abuse. (This is what most people think of when they consider dysfunctional families.)

• The family that faces challenges from extreme conditions such as generational poverty or violence.

Nidra Nittle, in VeryWellMind, lists three kinds of dysfunctional families:

• The emotionally unavailable family.

• The family of addicts and enablers.

• High-conflict and abusive families.

Soulaima Gourani, writing in Forbes, says “subtle issues such as the inability to give unconditional love, … and poor boundaries contribute to dysfunction. Regardless of what the cause is, the outcome is the same. An unhealthy emotional connection can lead to the breakdown of the family unit and residual shame.” She adds, “I believe strongly that the concept of family is up for discussion. We can define family for ourselves and break the cycle of dysfunction. How we do this depends on our resolve to make a different choice.” Many people these days are creating new family structures that they hope will be less dysfunctional than the ones they grew up in. “Chosen family” is edging out “blood kin” as a preferred family pattern.

Was My Family Dysfunctional?

I didn’t grow up in a ’50s television family, though my parents took the roles of breadwinner and homemaker. They never had loud arguments or violent behavior. We had an alcoholic uncle and a “bad girl” cousin, but neither of them lived with us, so we weren’t exposed to their behavior much. My parents weren’t very outgoing, but my father did have some friends in the neighborhood and at his work. He was part of the gun culture, but deeply law-abiding and a stickler for safety. My mother was quiet but creative, exchanging crochet patterns with friends around the world. She also had a strength that most people never noticed. And we had at least one “chosen” family member, a friend of mine whose parents were divorced and who became an acknowledged sister to me.

All of that says that we were pretty darned functional. I can’t identify us as any one of Gillis’s five types or Nittles’s three types of dysfunctional families. But there was mental illness in the family (mine, undiagnosed at the time), which no one had any idea how to cope with, and some devastating health problems that directly or indirectly affected us all (cancers and a heart attack). My sister and I are now estranged (by my choice), so that likely indicates some dysfunction somewhere. I’m not in touch with uncles, aunts, or cousins either, and have surrounded myself with people I have chosen to be close to.

Put all that together, and I’m probably the closest thing my family had to a dysfunctional member. The family structure seems to have been as functional as anyone’s ever is.

All in all, I’ll take it.

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When Journaling Doesn’t Work

If there’s one thing people tell you to do when you have a mental health issue, it’s to start a journal. They may not call it that. They may say it’s a place to write affirmations, or things you’re grateful for, or aspirations. But what they really mean is a journal, a written record of what’s going on inside you.

But sometimes that doesn’t work. You may not be in touch with your inner feelings yet enough to know what your dreams mean or whether you need to explore your inner child’s trauma. It may simply be too soon.

Writing isn’t a bad idea, though. It just may be a mistake to call it a journal or to try to make it a way to explore your inner life. But there are other things you can do while you’re waiting until journaling is right for you.

One avenue you can try is other forms of writing. Don’t even think about your difficulties and how to solve them. You can get to that later, probably with the help of a therapist. For now, just write poetry. About anything. Your cat. The tree outside your window. The guy you just met at a party. Literally anything. Don’t try to be deep. Don’t try to write something meaningful, something for the ages.

Just put words on paper. Lord knows, they don’t have to rhyme. And don’t show it to anyone. The idea isn’t to impress anyone with your innate poetic talent. It’s just to get used to the idea of putting words on paper. Sure, it will feel weird at first (especially if you do try to make it rhyme). You don’t have to set any kind of goal like writing a poem every day or even every week. Just every once in a while, sit down at your computer (or, if you must, sit with a legal pad under a lilac bush) and write a poem. Or revise one you wrote the week before.

If you feel so inclined, try setting your poem to music. Strum that old guitar you haven’t dug out in months, or noodle around on GarageBand. Don’t make it a chore. Try it, just for the heck of it. Or you can decide to scrap the poems and just play around with music. There’s nothing that says you have to write poetry. What you’re doing doesn’t have to involve words at all.

Or, if none of that appeals to you, pick up a pencil and doodle, the way you do when you’re on infinity hold on the phone. Start with boxes and squiggles. If one of them starts to look like a pirate chest, go for it. See if your doodle turns into that, or something else. Draw a cartoon face. Then draw a setting for it. Is this your pirate? Is it a bartender? Is it an astronaut? Or take an empty candy wrapper and tape it to a sheet of paper. What can you make of it? Is it the body of a bird? Does it remind you of a ballet dancer’s costume? Does it begin to look like the tree outside your window? Just keep doodling.

The point of all this is not to create Great Art or to spur Great Revelations about your inner life. The point is simply to let yourself play—with words, with sounds, with sketches. Or pottery. Or katas. Just get used to the idea of letting something inside you come out. It doesn’t have to be important and meaningful. If it’s meant to be, that will come later.

I tried to start a journal once. It was pathetic. I recorded my daily activities, which at the time consisted largely of deciding whether to get out of bed that day. I recorded what I felt (depressed). Each page, each day, was the same. It was boring and no help at all. I was a dud at journaling.

Instead, I started this blog. In it, I was free to write about myself, but also about what I saw and heard in the world around me—what other people thought about mental illness and whether I agreed with them. Things I’d heard in the news and how the stories made me feel—outraged or comforted or confused.

It wasn’t journaling. I learned a lot from it, though (primarily that journaling wasn’t for me). No affirmations. No dream analysis. Over the years, though, it’s given structure to my week and a place to say things that aren’t necessarily profound. To ask questions and grope for answers.

Go thou and do likewise. Or go thou and do something else. The medium doesn’t matter.

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What Is Intimacy?

The first thing you probably think of when I say “intimacy” is “sex.” That’s natural. Most people do. Sex is a particular kind of intimacy, but it’s not the only one. Others can be just as intoxicating, fascinating, and compelling. They can be a great way to bond with another person and provide fulfillment.

You may think that treatment for mental illness will take intimacy away from you. I’m here to tell you that you can still have intimacy with another person. It may or may not be sexual intimacy, but it’s valuable all the same.

Intimacy is a bond between two people. While it can be caused by sexual attraction, we all know how quickly a sexual bond can fade or disintegrate. Sometimes, a couple can have another form of intimacy once sexual intimacy is no longer possible. And, of course, there are couples who can maintain sexual intimacy until quite late in life.

Another way you can bond in a kind of intimacy is through shared trauma. As the saying goes, shared pain is halved and shared joy is doubled. The trauma doesn’t have to be a natural disaster, though that can certainly bond people who show kindness to each other. Once, I was sitting next to a man at a concert when a song touched a deep nerve and made him dissolve in tears. I reached for him and held him until the song was over. That started a deep friendship that has lasted for decades.

I’ve also found that shared symptoms can lead to a kind of intimacy. If both of you find your legs twitch when you’re not paying strict attention to stopping them, if you’re taking the same medications or have the same adverse reactions to them, or if you’ve both been gaslighted, you can find yourself exclaiming, “Hey! You too!” It helps to know that you’re not alone in your pain.

Humor, especially dark humor, is another way of sharing intimacy. It’s that shared joy principle. One way that’s worked for me and others is to use quotations from funny movies or songs—Young Frankenstein, Monty Python and the Holy Grail, Buckaroo Banzai, and Weird Al Yankovic are among my go-tos. Puns. Bad jokes. A good, shared belly laugh is a powerful bonding experience. It can lead to endless conversations that reveal lots about another person.

Some couples who have explored these alternative kinds of intimacy find they can live without traditional sex or can find sexual fulfillment solo. Those are valid choices, too. Even people who have sex with a partner can use sex toys and other aids from time to time. They’re easily available on the internet, so you don’t even have to go to a potentially embarrassing sex shop.

Of course, you might point out that these kinds of intimacy require meeting people, and going out may be something that frightens you. Fortunately, technology provides answers. With telephones, computers, and the internet, you don’t have to be in the same room with another person to develop intimacy. You can even turn off your computer’s camera so your new friend won’t see you. I’ve corresponded with a kindred soul via old-fashioned snail mail. And it’s something you can work on with your therapist if non-sexual intimacy is your goal.

If sexual intimacy is what you want, however, you can start with these techniques and work up to the big event. Having a solid foundation for touch, foreplay, and sex will make the process go more smoothly. Leaping into a sexual relationship without exploring other kinds of intimacy can leave you open to disappointment, a mismatch of sexual styles, and a devastating ending. Taking your time and finding a partner who doesn’t pressure you for sex will help you achieve sexual fulfillment when you are truly ready for it.

Intimacy with sex? That’s another topic for another week.

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Off My Meds, But Not by Choice

I’ve been off my meds for about a week now, and it’s really getting to me.

I didn’t go off them on purpose. It was an accident. I tried to get back on them as soon as I could. But I kept encountering roadblocks.

It happened like this. My husband and I flew down to Florida to pick up a car that his mother was giving us. We drove it home to Ohio, stopping at a nice hotel in northern Georgia. When we got home, I discovered that the bag I keep my pills in was gone.

Replacement Pills

Let me start by saying that yes, I am an idiot. I had simply taken the bag of pills and put it in our travel duffel. I know I should have one of those pill caddies so I could divide up my meds and take with me only as many as I need. But I didn’t, so when the bag disappeared, so did my entire supply for the month. I had to start replacing them.

My non-psychotropics were no problem. I simply went on my PCP’s patient portal, explained what happened, and requested new prescriptions. The doctor’s office sent them promptly to my pharmacy. I called the pharmacy to let them know what was going on. They sounded like it was no big deal. They did say that, as I was basically asking for a refill before it was time for one, my insurance company likely wouldn’t pick up the tab. That was fine. All my scripts were generics, and the pharmacy had a discount card that they applied to the costs, so it wasn’t a big financial hit. The next day, I had my physical medication needs restocked. No big hassle.

The psychotropics, not so much.

Hassles

We arrived home and discovered that the bag of prescriptions was missing late on Friday. I called the hotel we stayed at to ask whether the bag had been found. They said they would check with housekeeping the next morning. It actually took until Monday for them to determine that no, housekeeping denied all knowledge of the bag of pill bottles.

I called our pharmacy Saturday morning to find out what the process would be to refill them. I had a hunch it wouldn’t be as straightforward as the other prescriptions had been. I was right.

I would have to see my doctor to get new prescriptions ordered. They worked me in on Tuesday, the first day he was in the office. I was also told that I would need to make a police report. Two of my prescriptions were for controlled substances, an anti-anxiety med and a sleep aid. I naively thought those were the only two I’d have trouble refilling.

I tried to picture myself calling the police four states away, saying that I most likely left my medications in the hotel room, and could they please investigate. Maybe police departments are used to this kind of thing, but even if they do it all the time, I assumed that the wheels of justice would grind slowly, and they wouldn’t make it a priority. Not when it was likely a case of stupidity, not a crime.

I went to the doctor’s office on Tuesday. He listened to my story, agreed that I should have a pill caddy, and sent new prescriptions to the pharmacy over the computer. I saw him do it. I thought that would be the end of it.

Phone Tag

That was not the end of it. When I called the pharmacy to see when my meds would be ready, I was told that they couldn’t fill the prescriptions because it was too soon. I explained again about the missing bag of prescriptions and was told that I had to get new prescriptions and file a police report. I told them that I had seen the doctor just that morning and had watched him send the new prescriptions. And that the doctor had not told me I had to file a police report under these circumstances.

The pharmacy told me that the doctor had to verbally authorize filling the prescriptions early. Fine. I thought that the pharmacy would reach out to the doctor’s office, as they do when there are no refills on a prescription. But no. The doctor’s office would have to call them. By that time, the doctor’s office was closed, and Dr. G. wouldn’t be back in until Thursday.

Wednesday was spent alternately making calls to the pharmacy and the doctor’s office. The pharmacy said that speaking to the medical assistant would be good enough. But, of course, again, they didn’t mention that the office would have to call them. I spent the day trying to get the two entities to talk to each other. Each time I called the pharmacy, I spoke to a different person who had no notes on what had gone before and started all over about it being too early to refill and needing a police report. Each time I called the doctor’s office, I was told they had spoken to the pharmacy or had just left for the day.

Thursday, I had been unmedicated for a week. I wasn’t sleeping more than three hours a night, and my anxiety was working overtime. I was mentally dizzy from all the runarounds and explanations. I couldn’t remember whom I had talked to last or what I’d told them. I didn’t have enough executive function to write everything down, with a timeline and names. My voice as I spoke to the various parties was rising in pitch and lowering in coherence.

At last, I called late Thursday afternoon, and my prescriptions were ready. But only the controlled substances. The mood stabilizer and SSRI hadn’t been filled. It was too soon, I was told. Oh, they were new prescriptions? Had I filed a police report?

I’m going online right now and ordering a pill caddy.

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