Sometimes talking to friends, family or a therapist can help. But sometimes there is still a shadow in the soul, an itch you just can't scratch. You feel restless, agitated. It might even cut into your sleep and eating patterns. When all is said and done, nothing cures my ills quite like the power of a good cry. Though it can be exhausting both during and immediately afterwards, I always feel like a little something extra has been removed from my conscience; like I can breathe again. I guess it's like the metaphor I always use about shaking a soda can and then opening it - there's only one thing it's going to do to relieve the pressure. It might not seem pleasant, but it will be taken care of.
I wish I could deal with my emotions, fears, and anxieties in a more sophisticated fashion, like I imagine everyone else doing - even though they're probably riddled with their own insecurities. But when it comes right down to it, I regress. I get scared, frustrated, feel alone and powerless until everything festers to the point of explosion. And then come the tears.
I always liken it to when you first take off in an airplane and there's lousy weather to deal with as you ascend. The plane might shake and your stomach might lurch a bit, but then there's eventually a place where you loom above the cloud cover and see the sun again. Even though I'm dealing more with turbulence right now, a good cry convinces me eventually I'll see those beams of light again.
Thursday, April 29, 2010
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
Gratitude
You might think my recent journey has been an uphill and sometimes bleak one, and that would be true. However, some things are much different from the past. In previous dark times, I would have developed tunnel vision and convinced myself life wasn't worth living. That is no longer the case. I don't consider myself a religious person, but I do have my own set of spiritual beliefs and think someone or something wants me here for a reason, even if most of the time I can't figure out exactly what it is. I try to convince myself that this is only a temporary situation, and there will be better times ahead. It's hard to believe that sometimes, but I think back to other difficult patches in my life and realize I had the courage to deal with them, and ultimately I can get through this as well. I talk often to God. I don't really pray in the traditional sense, it's more of a rambling dialogue like you might have with a buddy. And if there are any angels or spirit guides listening to my banter at the same time, so much the better. I figure I can use all the help I can get. But when I talk to God, I try to keep things in perspective and remind myself what I am grateful for:
- The love and support of my partner and his immediate family;
- The love of my Mom. She is my best friend, and I am thankful for her wisdom and guidance;
- Having transportation, a place to live, clothes on my back and food to eat; being safe;
- My health being stable;
- The few friends I do have and their ability to encourage me and cheer me up; and
- My cat and fish, who I not only have great affection for, but who give me something else to care for outside of myself.
It's like the old cliche goes: it could always be a lot worse. I know that, and every day, I'm thankful that it's not.
Monday, April 26, 2010
Structure
Having a bipolar brain, I not only crave structure, I need it in order to keep my sanity intact. Words that other people find offensive, such as "routine," are what I thrive on. It's the meat of my daily existence. If I don't get structure, I drift; become agitated, restless, and ultimately neurotic. That's where I am now and a big part of why I'm stuck in neutral.
I have had some experience with being hospitalized in a psychiatric unit on more than one occasion. Not the most fun experience of my life to be sure, but at the time, my condition was dire and it was the only option to stablize me. While I was in the hospital, I was amazed and more than a little irritated that the staff kept me busy from the moment my feet hit the floor 'til I went to sleep. I used to think, "Why can't they just leave me alone and let me rest?" Now, all these years later, I can fully understand their methods. To keep me distracted, engaged in other things, and out of my own head. If only I had that kind of structure now!
For years, even though I pretty much hated every minute of it, work was the main structure and focus of my life. I had a predictable rhythm and flow to my week, and I came to depend on it. It mentally and physically occupied me, and made me feel like I was worthwhile and productive. Now, I feel as if the very center of my life has dropped out. Yes, there is a little structure to my life during the week, but not nearly as much as I want or need. The community mental health provider I go to is very big on groups, and I go to three, 2-hour groups per week. It carves a little time out of the day, but what then? I can only watch so much TV, or rent so many videos, before I go stir-crazy.
A lot of my life is spent in limbo these days. Waiting endlessly for the train that never seems to come into the station. No hopes, no prospects, no opportunities. My disability lawyer has told me it will be 8 months to a year before I get a Social Security hearing. More waiting. Then, when the time comes - what? There are no guarantees, and I don't expect this fight to be easy. If I didn't disclose I had mental health challenges, you would probably think there was nothing wrong with me, and why wasn't I working? I wish I could just open up my head and show a judge the dark demons that lurk underneath. Then it would be "case closed."
I certainly don't long for the old days of the mental hospital, but I almost wish there was someone I could hire who could plan my days for me and keep me busy. It sounds odd, but it'd work for me.
I have had some experience with being hospitalized in a psychiatric unit on more than one occasion. Not the most fun experience of my life to be sure, but at the time, my condition was dire and it was the only option to stablize me. While I was in the hospital, I was amazed and more than a little irritated that the staff kept me busy from the moment my feet hit the floor 'til I went to sleep. I used to think, "Why can't they just leave me alone and let me rest?" Now, all these years later, I can fully understand their methods. To keep me distracted, engaged in other things, and out of my own head. If only I had that kind of structure now!
For years, even though I pretty much hated every minute of it, work was the main structure and focus of my life. I had a predictable rhythm and flow to my week, and I came to depend on it. It mentally and physically occupied me, and made me feel like I was worthwhile and productive. Now, I feel as if the very center of my life has dropped out. Yes, there is a little structure to my life during the week, but not nearly as much as I want or need. The community mental health provider I go to is very big on groups, and I go to three, 2-hour groups per week. It carves a little time out of the day, but what then? I can only watch so much TV, or rent so many videos, before I go stir-crazy.
A lot of my life is spent in limbo these days. Waiting endlessly for the train that never seems to come into the station. No hopes, no prospects, no opportunities. My disability lawyer has told me it will be 8 months to a year before I get a Social Security hearing. More waiting. Then, when the time comes - what? There are no guarantees, and I don't expect this fight to be easy. If I didn't disclose I had mental health challenges, you would probably think there was nothing wrong with me, and why wasn't I working? I wish I could just open up my head and show a judge the dark demons that lurk underneath. Then it would be "case closed."
I certainly don't long for the old days of the mental hospital, but I almost wish there was someone I could hire who could plan my days for me and keep me busy. It sounds odd, but it'd work for me.
The Void
It has always been hard for me to make new friends, even under the best of circumstances. I am a naturally introverted person and I suffer from social phobia, which loosely means I think people are constantly scrutinizing and judging me. So it's a tough situation. And when I hear (usually) extroverted people rattle off ways to go out there and meet people, I cringe inside.
I still have a few close friends in Northern California who I email and speak with on the phone. I miss them terribly, but having contact with them definitely helps put me in a better mood; it doesn't make me feel so isolated. I wracked my brain to try and figure out why I was suddenly all alone and without any friends here, and I realized that a vast majority of my friends were made through work. And now that I don't work, that common interest is gone. And let's face it, when you're not working, people's interest in you goes down. Way down. It's not necessarily fair, but it's true. I've experienced the discrimination firsthand.
People tell me "sign up for a class." All very fine and well, but that costs money I don't have. I live below the poverty line and barely squeak by every month. I'd love to study art again, but even a little cash is a lot for me.
People say "volunteer." Well, I do. For the past 3 years I have participated in a program through NAMI (National Alliance On The Mentally Ill) called In Our Own Voice where myself and a co-presenter speak out about our experiences living with mental illness out in the community. I am the coordinator of these talks in my area which gives me a great sense of accomplishment, and genuinely enjoy getting out there and presenting. While I like the people I meet through NAMI, I feel these associations are more of a businesslike than friendly nature. I try to think about other volunteer work I could do, but at the same time with my depression and anxiety, I don't want to overwhelm myself - which would be a very easy thing to do.
I'm not married, and not a mother, so that strikes down a lot of potential friendships. People tend to talk to you more if you have a dog, but I don't have one (our apartment is too small). I feel the people in my therapy groups are merely people I have a few things in common with from a mental illness perspective, but I don't see them as friends. Moreover, that might upset the group dynamic if we were to become friends, so it doesn't even cross my mind.
I'm not the kind of person who can just walk into a room and start up a conversation. While I consider myself approachable and generally nice to others, I am a bit quirky and can be hard to know. Online friendships were really a boon to me a few years back. I used to write a lot of poetry and blog them, as well as other random thoughts, on a once-popular social networking site. I welcomed the feedback and support I got from others, and considered it a real shot in the arm. Then writers' block came and my thoughts turned negative, and I lost my readership. Ultimately, a lot of people defected to other social networking sites, none of which, to me, were as satisfying as the original. So it seems it's become more challenging for me even to make new online friends. I want something more than someone merely updating their status and proclaiming "I had cereal today!" I'd like a sense of connection, a kindred spirit. I know I've had it before, and I want it again. People didn't give me the time of day for the most part in real life, but when I relaxed and became myself on the computer, it was like a whole other world emerged. And I miss that.
So here I stand in the desert of near-friendlessness. I'd like to think I'm a good friend. I'm loyal, consistent, and a good listener- and that's the short list. It would really be disheartening if this is as good as it gets. I know in my heart I deserve more.
I still have a few close friends in Northern California who I email and speak with on the phone. I miss them terribly, but having contact with them definitely helps put me in a better mood; it doesn't make me feel so isolated. I wracked my brain to try and figure out why I was suddenly all alone and without any friends here, and I realized that a vast majority of my friends were made through work. And now that I don't work, that common interest is gone. And let's face it, when you're not working, people's interest in you goes down. Way down. It's not necessarily fair, but it's true. I've experienced the discrimination firsthand.
People tell me "sign up for a class." All very fine and well, but that costs money I don't have. I live below the poverty line and barely squeak by every month. I'd love to study art again, but even a little cash is a lot for me.
People say "volunteer." Well, I do. For the past 3 years I have participated in a program through NAMI (National Alliance On The Mentally Ill) called In Our Own Voice where myself and a co-presenter speak out about our experiences living with mental illness out in the community. I am the coordinator of these talks in my area which gives me a great sense of accomplishment, and genuinely enjoy getting out there and presenting. While I like the people I meet through NAMI, I feel these associations are more of a businesslike than friendly nature. I try to think about other volunteer work I could do, but at the same time with my depression and anxiety, I don't want to overwhelm myself - which would be a very easy thing to do.
I'm not married, and not a mother, so that strikes down a lot of potential friendships. People tend to talk to you more if you have a dog, but I don't have one (our apartment is too small). I feel the people in my therapy groups are merely people I have a few things in common with from a mental illness perspective, but I don't see them as friends. Moreover, that might upset the group dynamic if we were to become friends, so it doesn't even cross my mind.
I'm not the kind of person who can just walk into a room and start up a conversation. While I consider myself approachable and generally nice to others, I am a bit quirky and can be hard to know. Online friendships were really a boon to me a few years back. I used to write a lot of poetry and blog them, as well as other random thoughts, on a once-popular social networking site. I welcomed the feedback and support I got from others, and considered it a real shot in the arm. Then writers' block came and my thoughts turned negative, and I lost my readership. Ultimately, a lot of people defected to other social networking sites, none of which, to me, were as satisfying as the original. So it seems it's become more challenging for me even to make new online friends. I want something more than someone merely updating their status and proclaiming "I had cereal today!" I'd like a sense of connection, a kindred spirit. I know I've had it before, and I want it again. People didn't give me the time of day for the most part in real life, but when I relaxed and became myself on the computer, it was like a whole other world emerged. And I miss that.
So here I stand in the desert of near-friendlessness. I'd like to think I'm a good friend. I'm loyal, consistent, and a good listener- and that's the short list. It would really be disheartening if this is as good as it gets. I know in my heart I deserve more.
Sunday, April 25, 2010
How Did I Get Here?
Once upon a time, I held two college degrees, had great friends to hang out with, and was successful by society's standards. I say it that way because even though my undergraduate and graduate degrees were in psychology and counseling, I had built a career as an insurance claims examiner. Don't ask - it's a long, weird, and ultimately boring story. But at least my schooling made me very good at customer service.
There were those who hadn't expected me to get to that point in my life. Having battled Bipolar Disorder off and on since age 20, it was a minor miracle I'd achieved anything of much importance, really. And here I am again, stuck in neutral. I wonder every day, "How do I find a new normal?"
Change has always been something I've been allergic to - when things change, I freak out. I was born and raised in Northern California, and spent 38 years there. Then I met someone and moved to Washington State. I thought I was being really smart - I even had a job lined up. Then I was unceremoniously let go from the position 3 months later when they said I wasn't learning the (complex, multifaceted) job quickly enough. I had no friends or family to connect with, and never felt so terrified, or alone. It was my descent into a slow hell of depression and anxiety.
I applied for state disability, and they have deemed me too "incapacitated" to work. I am in the Social Security Disability process, after years fighting the fact I am too sick to work. I have been diagnosed with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, Panic Disorder and Social Phobia and have reached the point where leaving my home to do something is a big deal. I feel I am a mere shadow of the person I once was, and that my life has little to no meaning. Still, I play the game - I go to my therapy groups, see my psychiatrist, take my medications. But something's really off. I am, as I said, stuck in neutral, and trying to navigate my way to "drive." Join my journey as I try to get the engine revving again.
There were those who hadn't expected me to get to that point in my life. Having battled Bipolar Disorder off and on since age 20, it was a minor miracle I'd achieved anything of much importance, really. And here I am again, stuck in neutral. I wonder every day, "How do I find a new normal?"
Change has always been something I've been allergic to - when things change, I freak out. I was born and raised in Northern California, and spent 38 years there. Then I met someone and moved to Washington State. I thought I was being really smart - I even had a job lined up. Then I was unceremoniously let go from the position 3 months later when they said I wasn't learning the (complex, multifaceted) job quickly enough. I had no friends or family to connect with, and never felt so terrified, or alone. It was my descent into a slow hell of depression and anxiety.
I applied for state disability, and they have deemed me too "incapacitated" to work. I am in the Social Security Disability process, after years fighting the fact I am too sick to work. I have been diagnosed with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, Panic Disorder and Social Phobia and have reached the point where leaving my home to do something is a big deal. I feel I am a mere shadow of the person I once was, and that my life has little to no meaning. Still, I play the game - I go to my therapy groups, see my psychiatrist, take my medications. But something's really off. I am, as I said, stuck in neutral, and trying to navigate my way to "drive." Join my journey as I try to get the engine revving again.
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