Sort of a "guest post"...

Sara Zarr posted a link to this blog post on Twitter, and it's short enough that I'm posting it here. The writer is describing bipolar disorder.

"Letter to an old friend"

Is it okay if I call you friend? I’ve known you for so long and it is time for you to be a friend. You are with me always. Sometimes you sit in the living room of my house, powerful in your presence. At other times you are like a guest taking a nap in an upstairs bedroom. I used to fight you or plead with you to leave, but I don’t do that anymore. I let you be. I’ve discovered the gifts you bring with friendship. I am grateful for the clarity you allow, for whatever energy you permit, for writing, above all for that, for the daily work of living. Who would have ever thought that we would end up being friends, that even as I do all I can to keep you gentle, I could welcome you? I accept you and limit you all at once. Come on in, there’s a rocking chair for you by the fire, but it is still my house. Now that you’re a friend, I don’t know what to call you. Your medical name sounds too formal and distant. You are more than a condition. You’re not me and yet you are a part of me. The metaphors used to describe you seem too impersonal. Darkness, grayness, the words lack accuracy. You are painfully bright at times. To call you by your symptoms is to treat you like an enemy and I don’t want to do that anymore. I’ll simply call you my old friend. I call you my old friend because I know you, I’ve seen through you. I’ve even seen compassion and hope in you. These are the things that only friends can see. I know you now, so well, and so I call you my old friend.

THESE ARE NOT MY WORDS, they belong to Francisco X. Stork. But they resonate so strongly.

mental health: it's not for wimps

This was one of my tweets this morning: "a mental health tip: if you've been morose for weeks and all of a sudden you are giggly, watch out. (tired of monitoring moods) #moods.diva"

Yep, I flipped. (It's a my non-medical terminology for I was grumpy/depressed and now I'm not.)

I can feel my skin. It's time for a bath. (I thought I wanted a walk, but that would be WAY too stimulating.)

So, movies to see if you've had the WORST day ever: I love you man. It is highly inappropriate from minute 5, so don't go with ANYONE you don't know real well/aren't comfortable with. But it was hysterical, exactly what I needed.

okay, got to go monitor the bath. Be healthy!!

another tweet: Apparently the pea soup fog is so bad that 1 car hit utility pole, another went into a creek. Blech. #glad.i.work.@.10.a.m.

Being bipolar

So a reader of this blog emailed me recently, because she saw that I had written something about being bipolar.

Not her actual words: "I couldn't believe that you were bipolar because you seem to keep your life together." She has family members with bipolar and attends meetings for family member support.

I always like to say, I have bipolar, it doesn't have me.

I like to dispel the images that people have of mental illness: images they get from the media, including the movies One Flew over the Cuckoo's Nest, Girl Interrupted, What about Bob? (just to name a few.) I can't watch them. Images in film that I find a little more palatable: the uncle in Little Miss Sunshine who was depressed because he was jilted, the mom in About a Boy that attempts suicide, the woman in Cosi who is dealing with drug issues. (Funny, all of those movies feature Toni Collette, and two of the characters in this list are played by her.)

A bunch of confessional memoirs by people with bipolar disorder have been published recently. I can't read those either. Not to be petty or snarky but they are too drama queen-ish and don't reflect my experience. Not that I only read books that reflect my experiences (I've never been a mole learning about the joys of rivers, for instance) but I find reading books about mental health issues are either full of information I already know or experiences I narrowly (and gratefully) missed by what I can only call the grace of God.

Last night, in a fit of insomnia (darn that afternoon nap) I read the entire book Ana's Story. It's the story of a girl in Central America who has HIV. She is 17, has a child, and has lived most of her life with her HIV as a secret, even from her best friends. There is such a stigma. This is one of the reasons why I blog anonymously. I want to be able to write occasionally about my mental health, but I don't want someone to be able to Google me and discover information that I do not want to share broadly.

It was such a joy to get this email, so encouraging to have someone who knew a little bit of what I live daily, but also to have someone say you seem to have a stable life. I am very hard on myself. When I look at my apartment, which at the moment is in shambles, or my kitchen, which is full of unwashed dishes, or my piles of dirty laundry, I forget to look at the small amounts of progress: I have some clean silverware. I have clean underwear, clean towels, and clothes to wear (clearly I own too many clothes). Today I went grocery shopping and pretty much stuck to the list, which means I have food in the house for at least a week. Which means I don't have to rely on restaurant food.

It was a joy to have today to myself. This week I stupidly went over to Max's FB page (WHY do I do this) and found that he wrote about me as "a woman I know that is mentally ill." It took a day and a half of soul searching to realize that it was more that HE wrote those words than the words themselves. Yesterday I ran into someone I have been interested in on and off for a couple of years. I was glad to not have to hash those two issues out with my therapist just yet.

But one thing I did realize, as I was writing an email back to the woman who emailed me about bipolar. I have been wringing my hands over the fact that I lived undiagnosed for about ten years. That I lost those ten years. Which in some ways, I did. But the blessing is that by the time I was diagnosed, I had pretty much developed my identity as a quirky woman who loves books. My identity is NOT wrapped up in my diagnosis. It is a part of who I am, much like the fact that I lived overseas from age 5 to age 12. But it doesn't define me.

I love the Walt Whitman quote, from Song of myself:

Do I contradict myself?
Very well then I contradict myself,
(I am large, I contain multitudes.)

Observers of this poem say that it is not so much a poem, but a list. And so I give you a contradictory list, I leave you to get some vittles.

1. I am an open book (except for when I'm tightly closed)
2. I'm low maintenance in relationships (except for when I'm not.)
3. I am a world traveler that longs for a hometown.
4. I am a de facto Pittsburgher but will never really belong as I was not born here.
5. I long to live in a place where I don't need a car, but I enjoy driving country roads on the way to my current job.
6. I believe very strongly in my beliefs, but I will fight for you to believe what you believe, even if we completely disagree. I actually prefer having a group of friends that don't exactly always agree with me.
7. I adore the show SATC and yet own very few labels and only one pair of high heels.

I'll stop there, because I need to figure out dinner. Listen to me, I need to figure out dinner, not "I'm off to microwave whatever is in there." (Which is probably still true, but I have choices!)

One last note: I had swordfish for lunch. I did the hot foods at Whole Foods. With drink, my lunch was less than $7.00.

Tomorrow is the election in Canada. They'll be voting for Prime Minister. I hope you will join me in praying for citizens there.

Type C?

Bellezza is a blogger that I met because I posted about my favorite book about friendship, A Bargain for Frances. I had a few extra copies that I had gotten at the Fox Books Bargain Bin and so I (after many months, so imperfect am I!) sent her one. She sent me the audio version of Jacob have I loved. Blog love--it's the best!

So I borrow from her for today's post.

So this post is based on her post on perfection (Impossibly Perfect):

An earlier commenter answered with this,

But he said to me, "My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness." Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ's power may rest on me.
-2 Corinthians 11:30 (I have linked the Message translation. The verse is ACTUALLY 2 Cor 12:9, but Grace's mistake got me to searching around in Biblegateway.com and actually pulling out my own tattered Bible.)

and then I chimed in.

I love that verse. It (and your post) reminds me of a verse from a song "our weaknesses become his opportunities."

I want to do it (whatever "it" is) perfect too. Few people know that about me because I give off the "Type B" aura--but my one boss has seen it in me, and I am forever grateful.

(Type B'ers are often Type A's that have seen so much imperfection in themselves that they've pretended that they've given up trying.) Maybe we should try to be Christ's Type, since HE is the Alpha and the Omega.

Working these things out alongside you,

Sarah Louise

It has taken me until this, my 35th year, to realize what my "thorn" is. (No, it's not bipolar disorder, more on THAT below.) I HAVE asked for both of these to be taken away, but...(see above.)

So a few more: "I will go before thee, and make the crooked places straight." (Isaiah 45:2)

And my favorite favorite song:

Okay, in searching for it, I found this. Which is a good detour on the way to where I'm trying to go.

[from my post about the PA Library Association Conference last fall] Yesterday it was very interesting riding the bus back to the hotel (the Rachel Simon talk was at Heinz Field--y'know, where the Stillers play!!). You could tell which women (we're librarians--we're 95% women) understood Rachel's message and which women hadn't had a situation where they were faced with a disability in someone they loved.

Bipolar isn't labeled a disability, it's a disorder. And I pretty much function like anyone else. I have an exuberent loud laugh, I enjoy life, and sometimes I get deep into the pit of the muck of my life. On the surface, I'm fine. And yet, those that know me, know that my life is hard. Harder because I have to take meds four times a day. Harder because I need to see my therapist every week. Harder because I have to deal with these inner mood swings. Harder because when I see someone who is hurting, I want to help them so badly because I know what it's like.

Rachel (Simon, author of Riding the bus with my sister) talked about "curism" and how a lot of folks in the disabled world hated Christopher Reeves before his death because he was so hooked on getting a cure. (They didn't so much hate him after he died.) But how his relentless search for a cure--well, some of us know that we are better people for the broken places. We are more sensitive to others with disabilities or disorders. We understand the human condition just a little differently than someone who doesn't have a disability or disorder. If someone could cure me of bipolar disorder, I'm not sure I'd take that cure. I have developed a social network because I am one of those lucky people that need people. When I hit my hard roads when the future is bleak, I have to look at my life and see where the patchwork has unravelled. I don't know that I would work that hard at my life if I didn't have the mood swings to manage. Rachel shared a wonderful phrase that I'll share with you: she is a woman who happens to have...as if it was one of a myriad of qualities. Which it is. I am a woman who happens to love pink. I am a woman who happens to love country music. I am a woman who happens to love the city of Pittsburgh. I am also a woman who happens to have bipolar disorder.

Others who broke my heart they were like northern stars
Pointing me on my way into your loving arms

(Rascal Flatts, God Bless the Broken Road) [end of post on PALA]

I've been thinking about broken roads.

Pittsburgh sidewalks are a bit like that. Broken, they trip you up. Okay, I don't know where I'm going with that. For another time....

Weather report brings laughter--"it'll warm up today, expect 33 degrees F": Sarah Louise catches you up on everything and much much more!

And the Post Gazette front page that is in my car's backseat says, "What happened to winter?" (It's an old front page.) (My back seat is where things go to die, and books go to become overdue.)

Sitting at the Take Care Nurse-in-a-Box two weeks ago (right before I was diagnosed with the double ear infection) I read an editor's letter in a magazine that said, "Readers reading this will be saying this was the winter that wasn't." (not an actual quote, but from memory.) You'll forgive me for tossing that magazine aside.

Yesterday we had 1-3 inches of snow in the morning. We got winter, it just was a little late.

I got more antibiotics, this time for a sinus infection. Things I learned:

• Throw out your toothbrush! (I sort of knew that.)
• Warm vaporizors are great at harboring bacteria. The cold vapor ones are the way to go. That cost me $50 yesterday. This is counter to a magazine article I read, but as seen above, magazines LIE! Nurses, however, are smart!
• This one surprised me: guaf and decongestants might actually be detrimental if you're not drinking enough liquids, because they dry you up.
  

I came home, had the lovely leftovers of General T's chicken*, lay down for a nap around 7 pm, and woke up at 11 to take my bedtime meds. I was going to do a load of laundry, but nixed that idea and went back to bed, sleeping until 7 this morning. The news tells me it's around thirteen Fahrenheit. Yahoo tells me it's about 20 degrees Fahrenheit. Duquesne Light (call for the time and temperature: 412-391-9500) says it's 16 degrees. One of these days I'll figure out how to make the degrees symbol show up (tell me if you know, in the comments?).

I have no committment to be at work until 1 pm, but since I was all petered out at 3:45 yesterday, the plan is to go in today 9ish or 10ish (I'm not rushing!!). I was actually at work for six hours yesterday--a veritable record!! (I worked four hours on Tuesday.)

The Pens might go to Vegas? What would they be, the Las Vegas Pens? I mean, blech!!! I had planned to go see them at the Igloo (yes, the Mellon Arena) this season but it hasn't happened yet...

Oh, and Happy International Women's Day!!

And since my last post, folks have been clamoring for other bipolar symptoms.

So here's a "Could it be Bipolar?" test sponsored by Seroquel, a drug used for bipolar disorder. The last bipolar book I took out of the library (I don't even remember the name, it was that bad) was written by a doctor who was convinced that most of the population of NYC has bipolar to some degree. That Bill Clinton exhibited bipolar leanings. And a number of other people. Forgive me for not remembering--the book was trash!! The book sort of glorified the manic portion of what used to be called manic depression. As long as it was hypo-manic (the energetic feeling you get before it's really dangerous), use it. Well, if you have bipolar, you sort of know that, and that is when you clean the house, but seriously, if it goes to manic, then you get the "what goes up must go down"--depression!! The higher the high, the downer the down.

That pause was a call from my work-a-holic mom. Yes, she has a two hour delay, but she was calling me from the school parking lot. "It's like a gift of two hours!" I am grateful for Mary, over at My Vast Veranda**, for showing me that teachers do and can have actual lives. Over the weekend, my mother crowed, I work and then it gives me more energy to do more (extra stuff) (work). She claims it's because there's no one to do stuff with (that she puts so much into her work.) I cannot fix my mama. It's really good that I'm NOT living down there right now. I told her, I'll come down to VA and make you play Scrabble with Daddy!! No one in that house communicates with each other. I go home and stir the pot. Yeah, I think I'll stay up here in Pittsburgh for a while. My need to FIX THINGS could really get out of hand if I moved down there right now.

For the first time in YEARS, I don't have a crush. It's sort of a bizarre feeling, but I feel good. (Although, the first coupla weeks were HELL, as folks that I email to can attest.) I had hoped something might happen with the guy I met at the Jubilee dinner (from Annapolis) but there was nothing on his end, no "What's your phone number," or "Gosh, I hope to see you when you come down to see your Mom in a few weeks." Which I didn't. Sunday, I went to the fellowship where I had initially met him and he was nowhere. Oh well. And at breakfast, Friday, with one of my truth-teller friends, Sasha, when I told her about playing "Dutch Bingo" with the guy when I saw him at Jubilee, she said, no, that just means God is telling you there are guys out there. Oh. So I don't think I'm heading for lifelong singlehood, if God is telling me there are guys out there, but WHERE IS HE***???

Anyways.

Hmm.

So.

So, it's International Women's Day? What will YOU do to celebrate? bobbie, of Emerging Sideways, one year celebrated by giving her and her daughter red plates (a celebratory tradition in their house.) I think I'll celebrate by GOING TO WORK for seven hours!! I think I could actually do it! Be home to watch the Office? Hey, it sounds kind of fun...

*My local Chinese restaurant is great: for about $6, I get tea, soup or egg roll, water, and an entree. AND, the portions mean I get two meals. Chinese for lunch, Chinese for dinner. YUM.

**Okay, a bad choice for a post to show that teachers have lives. But she has time to blog. And she has pets. And if you read this, you'll see she has time to read, and watch TV, two things my mother doesn't do. (Gee, do I have issues with my mother loving her job?) My mother works 24/7. I-am-not-kidding. (It actually reminds me of my father, when he was fixing the economy in Poland, in the early nineties. Hmm, do you think work-a-holism can be contagious?)

***(Charlotte, from SATC. The actual full quote is: "My hair hurts. I've been dating since I was fifteen. I'm exhausted. Where is he?")

"I'm fine, but I'm bipolar..." (Carrie Fisher)

Bipolar disorder can be a great teacher. It's a challenge, but it can set you up to be able to do almost anything else in your life. (Carrie Fisher)

By now you know I get a devotional every day from the Purpose Driven Life. This was in today's:

"Eugene Debs, who ran for president of the United States as a third party candidate in 1912, had this to say while campaigning:

As long as there is a lower class, I am in it.
As long as there is a criminal element, I'm of it.
As long as there is a soul in prison, I am not free." (John Fischer)

It made me think about the former vice presidential candidate that just died. Good old whats-his-name, the one who had to resign his candicacy when he revealed he'd been admitted to a mental hospital for depression.

Thank God I live in a time where even Newsweek magazine thinks depression in men is important enough that they have a cover story on it. (Not that I've read it, but I think I will now, and I hope that guy is mentioned in it, for historical reasons.)

Yesterday on the bus, I worked on a few surveys for a study I was in a while back. When I finish them, I'll get $45. That will pay for the bus ride yesterday, thankyouverymuch. I am forever frustrated at the literature on bipolar that comes across my desk to review DDC numbers. Which is probably why I'm not out there looking for information, since what I see is so pedantic, so not helpful to ME. BJ keeps telling me I should write a book, and I will, eventually...

Anyways. I've been diagnosed with bipolar for over seven years now and was very surprised to see these as options on the survey, and thought, wow, are these bipolar qualities? Because they sure are things I suffer from, and had I known that was a bipolar quality...well, if you don't know why you do what you do...

Here are the statements:

It is important that people admire me.

When I get new ideas, I must tell people at once and at length so that they admire me.

If I notice something new, I must make every effort to think about how it connects with everything else.

There might be more, I still have at least three more packets left to work on. But wow! It is important in my tiny mind that I am admired. I do go on about new ideas. I do make every effort to connect things in my life to each other. All these things are crazymakers in my life.

I'm still on the therapist hunt. There's a possibility with the place downstairs from where I see my psychiatrist. It would combine group therapy and individual therapy, depending on how well you were doing. (If you're doing better, group. If you're not so good, individual.) I have never really liked group therapy, since I've never met anyone with bipolar that I liked. Isn't that horrible? It makes me feel like I must be this prima-donna that thinks she's better than everyone, which I suppose is sometimes true, but I hate that it could be...

They say that if you don't like a person, it could be because you see yourself in them.

This post is losing its steam. But I had to at least, you know, get these thoughts out, since I have to see how new ideas connect, etc. etc.

Go, and have good mental health!

And ugh, I've come back to an apartment that is so cluttered it's shutting me down, and I'm still taking decongestants every four hours.