"Love all, trust a few, do wrong to none."

The Bard has always been, always will be, one of the most quoted men in history. I could find possibly a thousand quotes from him that are apropos to what I am feeling on this Sunday morning. Yesterday I published a blog about my bipolar and suicide. I don't know if it came across as emotional, but it was extremely emotional for me.  I almost couldn't post it. Making yourself raw that way, vulnerable to comments and criticism goes against everything I need right now.  Being emotionally fragile... well, it sucks honestly. It can be debilitating at times.  But it is also therapeutic to allow others into my life and share the scary stuff with them. 

So on to the purpose of my choice of memes today. I am applying it to romantic love, but I think that his meaning was meant to be applied to all of mankind in all versions of love, trust, and doing wrong. 

Love all: this is easy. I fall in love as easy as I breathe. When it happens it is strong and perfect and the expectations are high. Quite possibly way too high.  It is always early in the relationship, but it always feels right and it is always reciprocated (at least verbally.) I know a lot of people that will say, oh, that's not love, it's infatuation, it's lust, it's need.  And maybe they're right. But what if they're wrong. In addition, I do realize that I am setting myself up for disappointment. And as stated above, being emotionally fragile- well, I could easily steamroll myself right into a giant cup of depression. It's a gamble. I'm not sure it's worth it, but I'm not sure how to correct it. I do know that I will never apologize for how I feel or say that my feelings are wrong. In my opinion devaluing my emotions is just as emotionally damaging as any other disappointment that may occur. 

Trust a few: This is where I need to reign in the "love all" section.  I am pretty good at telling when someone is lying to me or evading the truth (lying) or telling me part of the truth (lying). See, what is always forgotten is I spent many years puzzle solving (essentially) and got paid for it. It comes naturally to me. My gut instinct has never let me down, I just need to listen and hear. And more than any other thing that I need to do for myself is trust ME. Trust me to make the right decisions, trust me to share honestly-even when it sucks and is hard and painful. I don't hold grudges, I have never been able to- I've even tried really hard cause sometimes you need to hold on to the frustration a little longer for the lesson to take hold. 

Do wrong to none: There are no innocent parties here. For me, there are times where I just cannot mentally or emotionally help anyone else.  For the romantic part, who hasn't snapped or taken a frustrated day out on the one person who is supposed to love you more than anyone ever could. They'll forgive you, right?  My question is, why should they? It's an epidemic. People treating strangers better than their family. I'm guilty of it.  Recently I had a difficult conversation with someone I expected to be around a lot longer than they were.  During this conversation, I was condescending and rude. Now they were too, but that's not the point is it? My actions are what I am held accountable for in the long run. In the end my actions were appropriate and the friendship ended. Basically, I did wrong to them. I apologized. If they accept my apology then good. If not, that's on them.  I don't need their approval to know that *I* did the right thing.  For clarity, I did not apologize for how I feel. I apologized for how I expressed those feelings. 

So the moral of the story is allow yourself to love, regardless of how you got to that point. Trust the trustworthy.  Follow your instincts, don't let go. In these instances, tell your heart to shut it and use your brain. And try to be the best person you can be, even during a heated, stressful conversation with anyone, but especially with someone you really care about. You can't take back words. 

Be Kind

Robin Williams is quoted as saying "All it takes is a beautiful fake smile to hide an injured soul and they will never notice how broken you really are." 

Just like so many other things mental illness is still stigmatized; people are either crazy, faking it for attention, or crazy, or maybe faking it for attention. And sure, maybe some are, but the vast majority aren't.  I'll go so far as to say that *MY PERSONAL OPINION* is that most all people in this small world we live in have some sort of psychological affliction. There are so many ways that mental illness can and does affect our daily lives. Stress, need for control, anxiety, depressive episodes or depression are all small examples of, albeit minor, of how mental illness can affect daily lives. 

For my purposes here, I'm going to discuss the give some insight of my journey to the diagnosis bipolar 2. An article on the APA (American Psychological Association) gives a brief description of the myths and realities and describes the differences between Bipolar 1, 2, and unspecified. If you have any questions about the differences and what they mean to the diagnosee, please read the link to the article on the website linked to the APA abbreviation above. 

Before I start with my own personal story, my purpose in putting my story out there is to help, to hope that someone sees the signs in themselves and gets help. Or sees the signs in someone else and gets them help before it the consequences become irreversible. The American Society for Suicide Prevention  has a great article on the suicide rates that everyone should read. It is not specific to bipolar, but I think most people would agree that suicide is a result of mental stress and illness and it doesn't care how it's classified. . 

My first divorce took place in my late 20's. As amicable as it was, it was stressful and intense as all divorces are.  Being alone after 8 years and being solely responsible for, well, everything can be really a wild ride for someone like me.  At the time,  my anxiety and unreasonable stress levels were not understood by me. I felt like it was normal. I did not pay attention to the people surrounding me that handled their lives with significantly more grace and fluidity.  

I worked second shift (3-11:30pm) and so had difficulty sleeping and subsequently functioning.  I was constantly grumpy and rude and my friends and family were understandably frustrated with me. I loved them and wanted to be a better person, so I went to my primary care physician (PCP) and she prescribed me lexapro and gave me a sleeping pill.  Two and a half-three weeks later I was better not 100%, but functioning so well that it didn't matter that it wasn't really that significant of an improvement.  Small steps forward feel like large ones when you don't know better.

Fast forward to Spring 2010.  My light, my heart, my soul is born. Everything felt fine until I went back to work. On the way in that morning, I pulled my car over and vomited on the side of the highway.  I did this every day on my way to work for 3 weeks. It was frustrating and hard to understand, but of course it was postpartum depression. They stuck a bandaid on it (increased medication strength) and called it fixed.

Fast forward to 2014, any month...

I cry. I cry a lot. I cry for no reason and I cry for every reason. I can't control it. Once it starts it won't be stop. I cry at work. I cry at home. I cry in the shower. I cry in the car. You've gotten the drift by now. I called it "idiopathic crying syndrome."

If I think about some of the external causes, they are normal, typical reasons.  A big part was isolation.  Working nights, driving an hour to and from work, being home alone, when my husband and child did come home, getting out of bed was torture and when I did manage it, I was mean, grumpy, sad. Sad to the point that my son, the love of my life, thought that I cried because of him. He's 4, he doesn't understand, hell, I didn't understand. I begin to notice that things like crowds and traffic and loud noises and bright lights, they make my heart race and my head to pound. The contribute even this to working nights and being alone all the time. This life goes on and on and on  just like this for what feels like an eternity.

Let's fast forward again to March 2015. I'm in Norfolk, working for the red cross, some training or whatnot.  I have too much to drink, not enough to eat. All I can think about is how much easier it would be to not be here.  I don't think of it in terms of committing suicide, I really didn't. It was just going to sleep. Not feeling so fucking sad all the fucking time.  I think I want my head to SHUT. UP. So much noise.  I hold the bottles in my hand, the ones I think will help me sleep and stop me from hurting. I stare at them, crying.  And even through the haze of tears and the buzz of wine, it occurs to me... I can't miss Quinn's first day of kindergarten. I can't miss Quinn's graduation. I can't miss it all. His wedding. His baby being born.  My mom missed out on Quinn and there's not a day that goes by that this isn't sad to me.  So I take just the one pill and I sleep.

The next morning I wake, embarrassed for myself, pissed off that I even allowed myself to get to this point.  I still don't know though, I don't know about the bipolar, I just know something is wrong and, yes, it scares me. I don't tell anyone for a long time. But I do make an appointment with a therapist. For me, but more for my family. I think maybe it's not too late to save us.

The therapist encourages me to see a psychiatrist so I do. I talk to him for almost two hours and he thinks I might have Bipolar 2.  He gives me homework, literature to read, to write down when I'm sad.  And medication. Plenty of medication. Weening off some, starting somethings new. One of the drugs is something I will end up taking for the rest of my life.  The others, he hopes, I will be able to do away with.  It's been close to six months.  I'm a different person. A better person. I can love better, I can be loved finally. I'm starting not to hate myself for what I put my now estranged husband and my wonderful son through.  I don't think I can put my family back together.  I'm not sure it would be a wise choice even if I could.  Maybe I've changed too much, maybe not enough. Who knows what the future holds.

Here's a few things I do know.

I found some faith: myself, friends/family, God.
I also found Peace: head, heart, soul.
I found endurance: life, body, love.

I leave you with something I read every day. It's on my wall at work, at home, in my wallet, in my car.  It helps, more than any other words I read.

  

Name all the things you love

When I decided recently to use prayer to help bandage and heal my heart I began to write them down.  I do not have long, cathartic talks with God, but I would say what was heavy in my heart in that moment.  Usually in the form of a list, what I would like to see better or receive extra blessings. 

Down the road aways from that way of thinking I came across the above meme.  I laughed, other friends laughed, other FEMALE friends laughed.  There are so many people who we come across in life and they need touch, they need love and compassion. As a person who is highly sensitive to others emotions, I give them what they need with all the ability I have to do so.  Every woman in my life, every single one, is the same way.  It's like it's in our DNA. I see someone who needs something, I try to give it to them. At the detriment to me.  Here's the thing, the part that women like my friends and I need to get, we don't realize it's to our detriment.  We keep going and going and at the end of the day, we've given all of ourselves away. To strangers, to coworkers, to neighbors, friends, lovers, children, husbands, family.... it's all gone. We are used up.  On that list, the list above, we come in dead last.

So in while talking, again, with my friend Angel about prayer and God and healing, she mentions something a mentor said to her in passing about praying for oneself.   It sort of scorched me. I've never done that. I pray for my son. I pray for my sister and dad and extended family, for their health and happiness. I pray for friends struggling with pain, be it physical, emotional, or mental.  I pray that the person holding the sign saying he's out of work gets enough money to feed himself, even if he does only buy booze with it. But not once did I ask for help myself.

The things that hurt my heart and weigh me down are the people I love that struggle. I like to use the term "mom guilt" a lot. I use it sort of tongue-in-cheek, because I laugh when I say it, but it's so very real. 

(Side note: as of this writing, my son's father and I have excellent communication and are attempting to maintain the friendship that we have cultivated through the decade we have known each other.  Even through the probable ending of our marriage I will maintain that he is a good man. He is a great dad. I am lucky to know him. I will never put him down intentionally either in these writings or verbally.)

This morning before I went to work I went to see my son and, truthfully I was almost as happy to see the dog and cat too, at his dad's house.  We all chatted and my son showed off and the dog showed off, even the dad showed off. I watched because, I'm the mom that's what mom's do. We watch, approve, and appreciate the people around us. After the visit was over and it was time to go to work, in procession, I hugged the dog, I hugged the cat, I super hugged the boy, and yes, I hugged the dad.  My son feels very proprietary towards me and I guess I hugged the dad a tad bit longer than I hugged my boy. My boy says, "Mama loves daddy more than me." And ran off. **crickets**

What do you say to that? This is the very definition of mom guilt. Not only does my son think I love his dad, that I am separated from, more than I love him.  But he still says stuff like "Mama loves daddy." Earlier in the visit he said I was the princess and daddy was the prince.  

So you people that wonder why I cry all the damn time, this is it. This is the hardest part of my life. Subsequently, I pray for my son to have patience and understanding and to mature just a little so this will be easier on him.  I pray that the boy's innocent words don't hurt his dad and that his dad will have patience when our son is challenging (he's always challenging.) I pray for his teachers that they realize he is just acting out because he doesn't understand. 

What I don't pray for? What I have never prayed for?  Me. The strength I need to be there for them, hell to be there for myself. For healing in my heart when my boy says those innocent words that cut like a knife.  If I can't be healthy emotionally, mentally, physically, how can I nurture and help them to do the same?  I need strength. I need nurturing too. Who is there to help me with those things? No person is. They can't be they're already split so far apart themselves that they disappear by the end of the day.  So, I'm told God is there.  I keep wondering when my prayers are going to kick in. When will I see the healing for my son and family that I beg for? I won't. I'm not there to see it. I'm so busy taking care of everything and everyone that I can't see the forest for the trees.  So here is the hypothesis.... Ready? If I stop and breathe and pray for the healing inside me to happen first, if I let God in and give him the control that I cling to with my every fiber... won't that take away some of the heavy load and let me see the forest of my life?

I don't typically, here or in real life, get so philosophical about religion. But I want things better. I need things better. In a lot of ways they are. I have significantly more control on my reactions and emotions. I am not so lonely being alone.  I am easily able to stand up for myself and say no, this is not right.  6 months, 9 months, a year ago? This would have been an impossible task.  Now it's right as it should be. And it's easy.

I remember a time, a time when I really liked myself. I have a good sense of humor, I have normally, in life, been easy going and fun to be around... and that girl has been lost.  But guess what, friends, I'm putting her back together again. And, honestly, it's going to be great!

I didn't need you to fix me....

Why does everything always come down to love? I moved out of my home because I couldn't love myself enough to be a good mom or a good wife. I've isolated myself from family and friends for the same exact reason.   I find now that putting myself out there, be it meeting new people or dating, is not only difficult but can be very painful. Even worse? Just when I think, ok, I got this. This is good. My bad days aren't bad weeks, my bad weeks aren't bad months. Sometimes the "bad" part only lasts a couple hours.  Then something or someone triggers that self-deprecating mechanism embedded deep in my head that says (literally, I suspect), "haha, joke's on you, babe!"

What I should be thinking is, don't call me babe.  Followed closely by a firm, but well placed, fuck off gloomy cloud, I don't want you!  But what I do think is "Hey, welcome back, how long are you here to stay? Would you like some tea?" I don't want to be that girl anymore. I want to be the one that says "Fuck off."

So, while I'm concentrating on this new way of talking to the confusion in my head, people try to help.  For some of you reading this, and you know who you are, I am *NOT* talking about you. Some of you have quite literally all but saved my life. I don't mean you. Please trust that.  But the others, the ones who don't know what I'm feeling, what I'm talking about, the ones that still believe that bipolar means you've flown over the cuckoo's nest.  They give advice. Lots and lots and lots and lots of advice.  It's hard to remain gracious. It's hard to nod and smile and say thank you. It's better though, than arguing with them, than listening to them defend themselves when you really already know? They're just trying to help.

I like the above quote quite a bit because it is honest and simple. You can't fix me, I have to fix me. Just stand by and lend a hand when I need it.  It doesn't need to be in terms of love, though that is nice, but if you like someone, are friends with them. Or just a compassionate person. Just be there. Just reach out a hand to hold, give a hug to help metaphorically hold me up while I deal with the demons (depression/anxiety), because you can't do for me.  And tough love? That never works. It'll piss me off, but it won't work.  

Honestly, it can't be done alone and the battle is lifelong and undeniably difficult. Medication helps, at least for me, but it's a bandaid while I learn what triggers me and how to either avoid that trigger or react to it in a different manner so it doesn't hurt me. 

For those of you out there are dating someone who is bipolar. Accept them, love them, as is. /discussion



Someone who really cares...

Everyone has flaws. Everyone. Not everyone recognizes their flaws, but I do. They're easily enough to spot. I'm not embarrassed by them, not really.  I deal with them the best way I can. The best way I know how.  I have many many different ways I use to alleviate the depression or anxiety that I am occasionally plagued with.  

Here is the thing you need to know while dealing with anyone who has emotional or mental troubles. Be nice. Please don't assume that because we wake up without being chipper, smiling, or laughing that there is something wrong, or we are depressed or anxious. Perhaps take the big picture into consideration.  Did we stay up too late, drink a little, and need coffee to clear our fuzzy heads?  Did we not get enough sleep? Are we hungry?  There are so many reasons we aren't standing there smiling constantly like a loon that have nothing at all to do with the chemical imbalance in our heads or hearts.  Don't automatically assume we're having a bad day. Give us a chance or just ask. 

And while I'm on my soapbox, telling us to smile, telling us to be happy, telling us to cheer up if we are having a hard day? Does not work. DOES. NOT. WORK.  You can't change the person you're with, you have to allow them to change themselves, to work on themselves.  If you don't, if you push? Well, I can only speak for myself when I say, I won't be there to see what happens next.. 

If you love us like you say then reread the above statement. "Someone who really cares about you will take one look at your flaws, shrug, and love you anyway."  Don't tell her/him/me that you love us/me unconditionally, just as we/I am and then judge us unfit. It just makes you look like an asshole. 

"Love is my gift to the world..."

One of the most difficult challenges in life is remember that how others treat you is a reflection on them, not you. How you conduct yourself when you encounter a difficult person is the reflection on you.  Reactions are choices you make. Defending yourself in the face of a supposed wrong is a natural reaction to conflict. Holding your ground and remembering who you are and what you're made of is not, at least not for the gen pop. 

I have a coworker, we'll call her Angel, she seems utterly unaffected by the chaos that shadows our daily work life.  She comes in, she does her job (very well, may I add.)  She is professional and gracious and all the minutiae, all of it, just rolls right off her.  So naturally I ask her, "how". Simple question, not a simple answer, or is it?  

So first she basically said "Let go and Let God". Well, for me, this is an overused, simplified answer to what feels like a complicated question.  So I asked more questions. How? When? What? Why? Her answer was that I had to figure most of it out myself. She gave suggestions of some passages that might assist in my search for... what? Integrity? Conflict resolution? I read them, but skeptically I kind of felt like, what does this have to do with being able to remain peaceful during a challenging time. 

So, much to the chagrin of my family and friends, I began to search out memes to post on Facebook, inspirational, life changing, rewarding, mind spinning words that tell you- oh hey, you can do this. They weren't hard to find. And truthfully, the majority of them were fluff.  I posted them anyway. Anything that stirred any emotion in me that wasn't negative or self-destructive or ego crushing. 

After a couple months of this, I finally drank the koolaid and I started to believe.  So I went back to the passages that Angel gave me and I reread them and, yeah, not only were they pertinent, but they made complete sense to me. I knew what I needed, why I needed it, how I needed it, and when. 

Changes are difficult to make. The older you get the harder they hard. Humans are inherently bred to avoid changes, to be scared of them.  Who isn't scared of the unknown? A better question is, Why aren't we scared of the stagnant?