Up for Air

I'm doing better. Cautiously optimistic.

It's gray out, sunless and cold, the air dripping splats of freezing rain. My window reveals a blurry view of brittle variations of green, from diseased blackberries to skeletal trees bristling with moss. Winter is here.

I don't have to be anywhere. I'd have already made my legendary pumpkin bread, but I'm out of eggs. Ah me, from all that I have seen and heard, the course of true love (baking) never did run smooth. (I'm sure Shakespeare was really thinking about baking. He was a smart cookie. heh)

Thanks to those who emailed, called and texted. I feel loved. And supported. And a little embarrassed. ;o)

So here's hoping that was an aberrant glitch and I can get back to my normal levels of neuroticism.

Rapid Cycling?

For the past few days the mood swings have been absolute hell. I go from OK to well above baseline to so ghastly depressed that I seriously start fantasizing about "falling" off bridges. Wash. Rinse. Repeat.

This is scarily similar to what was going on in Hawaii the last year or so I was there. It hurts like that and I don't know why.

Yesterday afternoon I sat on my couch, wishing I could wish myself out of existence, while my kids got increasingly grumpy and needy. I know how I'm supposed to feel and act. I forced myself to smile and cuddle and answer questions, all while the noise level in my head increased to an unbearable crescendo. Somewhere in there I managed to peel myself off the sofa and made sugar cookies with Bayba. They're her favorite. And I almost ruined the whole effort by snapping at her about putting the cookie cutters in her mouth. Poor kiddo was crushed. I apologized, but it's not like an apology really fixes anything. I think she still had fun. And I breathed through minute by minute, trying to just surface between waves without drowning. I made it through. Even made dinner.

And now I have another whole day ahead of me. I had one little jag of OK-ness in which I got laundry and dishes going. Then the wave crashed down and I'm under water again.

The shittiest thing about depression is looking ahead and seeing an endless parade of days... knowing you can't count on anything ever getting better. Sure, I know it can be better than what's going on right now. But I also know I have only minimal control over this. I've been doing all the right things - I think. I've been taking my meds, exercising regularly, meditation... and I was doing so well for so long. Now what?

Beyond the Rant

It's been a lovely day. First, I surprised G-Rex at her classroom with pumpkin muffins for her class (a collaboration with her teacher... a GOOD surprise, not an obnoxious one, I hope... it wasn't my idea!). Then I spent a day getting knocked out of my isolated ranting place.

So at the moment I'm feeling a little humbled. A little less know-it-all. Temporarily free of my inferiority/superiority bipolar swing. Nice.

So, Mrs. Warmth. FINALLY I get you to weigh in! About time! ;o)

Seriously, though - I love it when you speak up because I know you'll present different views intelligently and provide a little balance (which we both know I sometimes lack). One particular gem in your last comment: "Why do you believe scientists? My opinion is that you've had repeated good experiences with believing things scientists have written or said and so now you continue to believe them despite you not actually being present and part of the physicality of their studies. I think for Believers, it is somewhat similar." In my case, you are right - although I can't speak for any other atheistic science groupies.

The difference between the two is the method. I am not sufficiently educated to prove or disprove all the science out there. But I understand the checks and balances of peer review and that the rigors of academic thought are likely to provide the best information.

To go with the brain analogy, no I have not seen my brain. But I could. Science has provided fabulous imaging tools. A doctor can safely say I have a brain and can provide mountains of evidence to back up his or her claim. Should the evidence not convince me, my head could be cut open to provide absolute verification. No belief is actually required.

With religion, everything is based on emotion. Do you feel something is right? Do you feel something is wrong? Do you feel you can trust the person who claims to speak for God? It's all about the feeling of hope and security.

Feelings are fickle, easily manipulated things which can color and corrupt thinking. It seems most people trust their feelings to be reasonably accurate reflections of reality.

I don't.

The benefit of having had the experience of thoughts and emotions COMPLETELY out of control - and now having perceptions and interpretations of reality that generally stand up to corroboration - is knowing how faulty our senses can be. I know what it's like to hear and see things and not know until later that my brain made it all up... once I got over the terror (well, mostly... I don't know as I'll ever be totally over it... but I don't live every day with the fear of losing my grip, anymore) it was really quite enlightening. No matter how good or bad someone's intentions may be, no human can perceive objective reality except through subjective experiences.

Religious practices expect people to prefer emotional responses, and seems to consider emotional reactions to be more valuable than rational data. Feeling that something is right is more reflective of God than data. But quite often, idividuals' messages from God come at cross-purposes. Think of all the religious wars. Everyone thinks God is on their side and that the other is deluded. The truth? There is no truth because it's all subject to personal belief. God can not be proven to be or do or think anything. Why are your feelings right?

And what does it say (if anything) if something as simple as swallowing a pill changes how you feel? Which feeling is the correct one?

And what if God talks to you all the time until you take a medication that stops your hallucinations? Going from seeing bugs that aren't there and hearing conversations that aren't happening and feeling a deep, personal relationship with God to... nothing. What is the most likely explanation? Maybe the not the most comfortable, but the most likely is that the chemicals that manufactured a sense of "God" are the same that concocted all the other things that aren't there.

And yes, God/Goddess returns if meds go away and stress goes up.

So... does my subjective interpretation of that experience matter or do you want some science to explain stuff like that?

My favorite book on perception and belief is, How We Believe by Michael Shermer (really, anything by Michael Shermer is going to be good).

When Depression Isn't

Turns out I wasn't depressed, yesterday. I was appropriately wary of the situation-to-come. But I guess, instead of allowing myself that (and the admission that my kids can be a pain in the butt - hey, I love them, but they totally can!), I set myself to a well-worn diatribe of ought-tos and shoulds.

When I have the distance to laugh about it, I'll blog about the pool hijinks. Right now I just want to breathe a sigh of relief that it's over and enjoy my one day of the week at home.

Loss and Meaning

I've been thinking a lot lately about the purpose of moving my blog to this open, public format. I felt a lot more comfortable posting in a more exclusive arena where I felt I could have more control over who is reading about my life - without having to think too much about it. The problem was that keeping out the one or two people who scare me also means that I can't share my thoughts and life with my family members and others who might actually be interested in what I have to say. And who really is interested in what I have to say, anyway?

Well, one thing that seems to set me apart from many of the people I interact with on a daily basis is that pesky bipolar diagnosis I blogged about before. In normal life I rarely talk about the bipolar thing or depression or mental illness in general. For me the bipolar thing and all the drugs and behavior adaptation has kind of slipped into the background of my life. Like being nearsighted - it gets annoying when my contacts irritate my eyes or when my glasses are smeary, but most of the time it's not something I have to think about.

But many things have happened, recently, that have brought mood disorders and their relatives back to the forefront of my mind. Not the least of which was the issue with my neighbor.

Many people have bipolar disorder. I'm not terribly unique in that particular diagnosis. What is different is that I have lived 10 years of juggling meds, breaking down, messing up, and figuring out what role I have to let it play in my life. I don't know anyone else with this diagnosis, at this point, who has lived longer with it. More importantly, I don't know anyone else with BPD who is as stable as I am, with a husband and kids, a home and a rather boring and undramatic life. I'm not saying this just to pat myself on the back, but also as a musing that I might actually have something to offer the world outside my little nuclear family.

Once a father of a child newly diagnosed with BPD asked me what made the difference for me. Basically - why am I here, living a "normal" life and not wearing an aluminum foil helmet to keep the voices out while I push my shopping cart down the street to the cardboard box I call home?

It's a tough question and one I'm not sure I'll ever be able to completely answer.

See, there was a point where I really thought that my only options were going to be the streets or suicide. Melodramatic? Yes. But accurate. My life was totally out of control. I was totally out of control. I was living a wild life that probably should have killed me, even if the suicide attempts didn't.

There are a few things that I can point to in my life that made it possible for me to climb back out of the abyss. Without them - who knows?

First and foremost was (is) my mother. I can only imagine how watching me self-destruct must have hurt her. Thinking of how she must have felt, throughout my darkest days, when she would go months without hearing from me or having any way to contact me - only knowing that I was hurting and out of control - breaks my heart. I feel so bad for what I put her through. But, through it all, she was there for me. She made sure, when I lost my job, and would have lost the health insurance that went with it, that my COBRA premiums were paid. Every month. She made it clear that I was loved. That, no matter how I was living or what I was doing, she was there for me. She's given me that kind of support my whole life - even when I didn't realize it.

Secondly, I've been incredibly fortunate to have very good friends. Not just nice friends, or pleasant acquaintances, but true friends who went through hell for me - and often because of me. In fact, the event that inspired me to start moving my blog in this direction was the death of one of these close friends, this past August. He, too, was bipolar, and the only one who had been consciously dealing with it as long as me. He, too, was completely dedicated to wrestling his demons in such a way that he could effectively live and grow and parent. So he was particularly helpful when it came to dealing with this stuff. He knew. And now I don't have that. It's a tough loss.

I needed this broad platform of support to be capable of doing what I needed to do to be healthy. I don't think I could have survived the long search for the right meds, or the longer process of accustomizing myself to how I need to think and behave, without the great people in my life.

But, even with all that - knowing it's more than many people ever have - I wouldn't have made it this far if I hadn't had a very important reason to make the huge behavioral and environmental changes that make personal stability accessible. For me, that was getting pregnant with my first child.

And this is a tricky point. I would never suggest that an unstable person ought to get married and start a family. Things could have been very, very bad.

In fact, they almost were.

Like alcoholics and drug addicts, I think many out-of-control people go through a "rock bottom" moment before they can commit to changing their lives. For me, this moment came when I was five months pregnant with my first daughter.

One of my self-destructive coping mechanisms had been cutting and/or burning myself. In fact, that had become my preferred way for dealing with stressful situations. Even though I wanted to be healthy for my baby, there came a moment, one day, when my husband and I had a very bad argument and he left. The truth of the matter was that he went for a run to cool off, but at the time, I was sure that I'd driven him away and that I'd lost my best friend. I'd thrown away all my favorite cutting tools months before, so I broke apart his safety razor and began hurriedly slashing at the veins running through my inner elbow. Unfortunately (or maybe fortunately), I didn't have the practiced control with this razor as I'd had with my preferred tools, and one cut went too deep. Seeing my arm laid open woke me out of the "zone" I'd go to when doing things like that and I nearly panicked, realizing that if I bled out my baby would die, too. Not being able to reach my husband, I called a very good friend who rushed me to the ER. Lying on the bed, getting my arm all stitched up while the nurses monitored and worried about my unborn child, I was horrified by what I'd done. I was scared that I might have hurt the baby. And even if I hadn't, I imagined how devastating it would be to a child to see her mother cutting or burning herself.

That was it.

A deeply entrenched approach to life that I hadn't been able to conquer with medications or counseling was done. I knew I would NEVER, intentionally harm myself again.

As time has gone by, I've been fortunate enough to be able to transition from all the bad stuff I have to avoid to focus on habits to embrace in my life to make it the best it can be.

(Incidentally, back to the mother thing, I think one of the main forces that carried me into responsible parenting was the fact that I had been raised to be a good parent. I was raised to put the welfare of the kids first. I grew up thinking that the only way to parent was to be very involved and loving. I internalized my mother's habits of playing, cuddling, and singing to my kids. She taught me, by example, how to cook and sew and make a warm and loving home... I rebelled against these things for years, but when I needed it, I had the knowledge. I owe her so much, it's overwhelming.)

Events and life were just right for me that I could make the choice to live better. Some people never have the support or the timing right to be in a position to choose life and health. Some people have all they need, but when the time comes, they choose comfort and habit over change (which is almost always difficult and uncomfortable).

One thing I never had, early on, was an example of someone who was dealing with the mental/emotional issues of BPD who was living the life I wanted. So, in loving memory of Brett, who would be so proud to see me reach out like this, I'll be blogging about this (and lots of other really mundane stuff) and hoping that maybe my thoughts will be useful to someone.

Evangelism

This is a c/p from my last MySpace blog. I decided to move it over directly as a jumping-off point for changing to blogspot. At MySpace, access to this post was limited to a very select list of people who know me well. Here... well... equal opportunity offense, I guess. As an aside, update, whatever: yesterday I spent the day chilling out with a close friend (who is Christian and reads my blog) and was able to let go of most of the hurt and negativity, so I'm feeling much better today. Thank goodness.

October 4, 2007 - Thursday
Rant Category: Friends

I'm so frustrated and angry, right now. I'm actually shaking. So this probably isn't the best time to be posting a blog for all to see, but I need to let off some steam - and cursing out loud on the phone to a friend or to my husband would be overheard by the kids and they've already heard enough.

This is what happened: about two hours ago I went out to the minivan to haul in some groceries. I'd taken some Benadryl while at a friend's house, today, so I'm feeling really tired and a little out of it (so please forgive any typos). Anyway, the neighbors were outside. They said Hi. I responded in kind, and went back inside without furthering a conversation.
So my neighbor, a woman with whom I've been developing a tentative friendship, dropped by a while later to check on me because she said I was looking tired and pale and she wanted to make sure everything was OK. How sweet and wonderfully neighborly, right?

Despite being dead tired, I invited her in. Right away she started in on the Jesus talk. OK. Whatever. She asked what I thought of her and I told her I thought she was a good person. No, she clarified, knowing that she's Christian, how does that change my opinion of her? I laughed a little and said hey, one of the joys of being atheist is that I just don't care. I consider religious beliefs just one facet of who a person is. What matters to me is the whole person. Are you a good person? Yes? Then I like you well enough, whether or not we agree on everything.

Then she asked me if I was still on medication for depression. I tried to change the subject, knowing that she's a faith-heals-all person. She pushed it. I got sucked in. She kept telling me how if I'd just try to have a little faith, I wouldn't need to take these evil drugs.

I pulled out all the tried-and-true tricks to just deflect and move on. It's been 10 years since I was diagnosed with bipolar disorder and I've been dealing with it since childhood. Coping with people who don't believe in biologically-based mood disorders and those who are just ignorant in general is old hat at this point. But she kept pushing - actually having the gall to tell me (in front of my kids, no less) that I only need the meds because I think I do and that I should quit taking them.

I didn't blow up at her. I don't know as I visibly reacted at all, but I wanted to pick her up and physically remove her from my home.

Instead I told her more than I should have. I tried to explain where I've been and what I've been through. I told her that she had not lived my life. That, if it weren't for psychotropic regulation, I would be dead.

Because that's the bottom line. I don't like taking the pills every morning. I don't like that I spend nearly as much on the stupid pills every month as I do for food for the kids. Before I had kids who depended on me, I regularly quit taking meds because I hate them so much. But I can't do that now. My kids need me and it's unlikely I'd make it more than a few months before taking off for "exotic new life adventures," leaving behind everything I love. And I probably wouldn't last a year before jumping off a bridge or blowing my head off. This isn't drug dependence. It's a simple (if ugly) truth. And people who don't have experience with mental illness usually can't grasp that.

Basically I concluded by telling her that if I took her advice it would destroy my family so I didn't think this was a subject we should discuss again. Visibly upset, she reassured me that she was only seeking the best for me and that she'd pray for me. I told her it wasn't necessary. Apparently this offended her because she got up to leave, saying that she'd never bring up religion again. I told her that would probably be a good idea.

I don't think that was the response she was looking for.

I hate being cornered like that. Why couldn't she just lay off? I know she had good intentions (and I told her that I knew it), but somehow that just makes it worse.

I get so tired of the same old assumptions. I think I'm going to start a list to print out and keep on me (I probably won't actually print it, but I'm in need of some serious catharsis, so I'm going to keep ranting until I feel better.

Assumptions I Regularly Have to Address Every Time I Have Any Sort of Relationship with a "True Believer"

1. I don't know anything about your religious tomes.
Untrue. With few exceptions, I have found that I'm more familiar with your holy writ than you are. When happening upon the few exceptions, I often end up forming a real friendship. After all - I don't hate religion or religious people. I hate ignorance. I hate liars. And I despise hypocrites. If you haven't read your Bible when you start thumping me with it, I will probably not bother to correct you. I've learned that those who preach what they have been too lazy to research are not worth the time it would take to offer corrections.

2. I was not raised in the right religion.
This may be partly true, as I have rejected the religion in which I was raised. However, the monkey on the back of this particular assumption is that you have the right religion and if I just opened my heart to doing things your way, I'd be converted. The reality is that I am probably as attracted to magical thinking as any other human, but the line of reasoning that brought me to where I am absolutely rejects the idea of preferring belief or faith over logic and skepticism. If you are true to yourself, I will probably develop respect for who you are (part and parcel with your spiritual beliefs). If you can't reciprocate, back off. We will never actually be friends because I will know that you have no respect for who I am. And by the by - mocking the religion or beliefs of those who raised me loses major respect points. If that doesn't bother you, make fun of the LDS all you want. But know that I'm sardonically appraising the irony. After all, to me the Judeo-Christian pantheon is no different than that of the Ancient Greeks, Phoenecians, Assyrians, etc. Listening to you bash Mormons is like listening to two Asatru get brutal over whether Thor or Odin is mightier. Except, in this case, you are denigrating people I love. Not cool.

3. I don't believe in God because I never wanted to badly enough.
It's not easy to slough off the sacred beliefs of the society in which you were raised. I wanted to believe. Heck, I still feel a little sad about the acceptance I'll never have. It hurts that I'll never quite fit in with my own family. Who would want that? I would so love to believe that there is a benevolent being out there, just waiting to love and bless me. That's such a comforting concept. If there was any way I could possibly believe, I would. However, I have come to the far-less-comfortable conclusion that I can not believe in a god or gods, no matter how much I'd like to. Assuming otherwise is so off-the-mark and personally hurtful that you'd probably do a service to your evangelistic hopes by simply not discussing religion with me at all.

4. If only I would pray, I would find Jesus.
This is really the same as 3. I've prayed my little heart out. I've prayed while reading the Bible. I've prayed while reading other religious works. I've prayed prayed prayed prayed prayed... That ended about 15 years ago. At this point, telling me to pray is pretty much the same as insisting that I try to have a conversation with your imaginary friend. I could go through the motions, but it would be no different, for me, than when my then-three-year-old insisted that I set a place for Harry Potter at the dinner table and tuck him into bed at night. Except that I love my daughter unconditionally and I knew she'd grow out of it.

5. This is the first time I've been exposed to what you're preaching.
I've gone through all the same crap so many times. Your spin is not unique. You will not be the person to finally get through to me. If, deep down, you ultimately hope that offering me friendship will convert me and save my soul, I will know. If you can rise above that and actually love me for who I am (you know who you are), I will probably find your hopes for my spiritual well-being endearing. If our friendship is fundamentally balanced on me eventally coming around, please move on. You're wasting your time. And, even worse, you're wasting mine.

I'm sure I'll come up with more, but right now my husband is home and my family is eating dinner while I sit here and seethe. Time to go chill out.