Hello, Old Friend

I hate saying I suffer from anxiety. I hate thinking of myself as a sufferer of any sort. It makes me feel weak. Useless. Which I know I’m not. I know anxiety is there. It’s always there. Just because I don’t always feel it doesn’t mean it’s finally decided to leave me alone. Alone is usually where it finds me. 

It used to be that my heart would beat so fast it would make my brain start whirring and then the thoughts wouldn’t stop, couldn’t stop, and I’d end up in a state that I couldn’t control. Now my body knows what’s coming and instead of my heart being the culprit my brain does it all on its own. It’s as if every single thing I see and hear enters into my head and then gets stuck there and bounces around and the thoughts just keep collecting, so that even when I close my eyes the darkness morphs from one thing to another and I can’t concentrate on any single thing. There’s too many things stuck inside and my brain can’t hold any more and it’s more noise than a circus and a concert and a train combined and it hurts. My own brain turns on me and begins driving me mad.

This is anxiety peeking out from behind the corner of my eye and waving with a grin. Did you miss me? He looks like the Boogey man and I hate him. I try to hate him. His presence makes everything inside of me collapse. It’s almost a relief when he shows up, because I know that I can’t fight him anymore. I simply resign. I pack up my belongings and move out of his house inside of my brain, hoping I can vacation there again soon. 

Psychic Readings and Green Eggs and Ham

Today was a fantastic, self-assessing, wonderful, anxious, panic-stricken day.

Today was the local Psychic Fair.

I have never been to a Psychic Fair before; I've never even seen a Psychic. My friends and I will read each other's Tarot cards here and there, but that, until today, has been the extent of it. There is something soothing in reading Tarot and seeing the things you already know you have to do laid out before you. It's affirming in a way that's almost like someone else is telling you that you're doing great at this thing called life -- and that someone else is the cosmos and life itself. Some people may balk at this, but I find a certain comfort in it. Which is why I was so excited to have my first psychic reading today.

I started the day off excited in anticipation, which rather quickly turned to anxiety toward the amount of lines we had to stand in just to get everything scheduled properly, the amount of time spent in said lines, and the close proximity to aggravated people also in said lines. Once we were scheduled (for three hours later) and out of the standing masses, there were a lot of awesome vendors to go and see. Being able to move helped curb the terrifying amounts of anxiety and panic building up inside of me, but left me in a slightly manic edge.

It wasn't until after we had left the fair and come back two hours later that I began to calm down slightly. The crowds had dissipated and no one was in a hurry. This was more my pace. One vendor was even incredibly kind and offered my friend and I some cupcakes she'd just bought. Our time slot came up, and to the psychic we went, and holy crow was I not expecting what came next.

It wasn't some flouncy, over-dramatic, guessing-vague-items presentation that I half-expected. I literally gave this woman zero information and she told me exactly what was happening in my life and how I need to approach it, and the most amazing part -- that it's okay to focus on me.

I always say I'm going to focus on myself, and to trick myself into thinking I am I do one little thing and call that focusing on me. I never actually look into the care I take of myself. I don't make sure I'm getting 7 hours of sleep each night. I don't make sure I'm eating healthy every day. I don't make time for all of the things that I love doing. I make time for things that have to be done, that are required of me, and that other people want of me. To have this woman I have never met look at the cards and look at me and tell me my cup is empty and even though I want to give, I need to be giving to myself, blew me away.

I've always taken care of other people. It helps me compartmentalize and distract myself from the emotions I can't handle. Whenever I have mood shifts and all of the other joys that come with bipolar, I feel like I'm out of control, so I reach to the one thing I always have control over -- taking care of other people. I know this doesn't sound like a horrible plight, and I actually do enjoy it, but when I stop taking care of myself it only makes my problems worse. When I stop taking care of myself it becomes unhealthy.

It's a lot to take in, being told that it's okay to put yourself first and care for yourself. So, to whoever is reading this, you may not actually know me or attribute any weight to what I say, but I want you to know that it's okay for you too. Go take long walks by the river, wander the streets at night, paint a mural on your bedroom wall, create blueprints for a machine that records dreams so you can always remember them, write a song, hop on a pogo stick, and read Green Eggs and Ham. Do what makes you happy. Always make time for that.

You are important.

Don't ever forget it.

High-Functioning

An important point was brought up to me today that gave me the most incredible “Ah-ha!” moment. I began reading Esme Weijun Wang’s blog on the recommendation of a friend. I was immediately drawn to her post on psychological disorders and being high-functioning. Esme has been diagnosed with schizoaffective disorder, but is a high functioning schizophrenic.  Usually when you are diagnosed with a mental illness such as this, or my own bipolar disorder, it is suggested that you work in low-level jobs to make it easier to collect yourself, aka fast food type environments. In her article, Esme talks about how she can’t work at McDonald’s, but she can run a business.

            There are so many different levels of mental illness, and this article really made me think of how we need to treat each individual as just that. If you meet five people on the street who all have the same college degree, will you immediately think all of them will act exactly the same and end up in the same exact career? Of course not. So why assume that those with mental disorders, despite some being low functioning, some being high functioning, and some unable to function at all, will all have the same limitations?

            I am stuck inside of my brain every single day. It can be the hardest challenge to even get out of bed some days, but when I have a job that challenges me and holds me accountable and demands that I put this brain that won’t shut off to good use—I can function. I can contribute something to society. Currently I’m working five different jobs and I’m going back to school. I am a teacher, a tutor, a writer, and an entrepreneur.  I’m also a sales associate at a retail store. My job in retail causes panic and anxiety attacks before every call in and every shift. Once I am there, it is busy enough to distract me from myself, but my symptoms are still going on to the point that I end up sick by the end of the night. This low-level job that is supposed to be simple, easy-on-the-brain income has become my main source of triggers and anxiety.
           This is my second attempt at a retail position in the past two years, and I had originally thought it was a break down in my mental state that was holding me back, as years ago I loved working retail. Since then I have found ways to cope with my inner self and a couple of medications that help significantly, so I decided to give retail another shot. It disappointed me that I was having the same reactions that I had when I was without medication, and I felt as thought something was wrong with me until I read this article. It made me realize that not everyone is fit for the same things, and though most people use fast food or retail as an entrance to the work force, that doesn’t mean there’s something wrong with me when I can’t handle the environment.  To quote Esme’s article and Andrew Solomon’s book Far from the Tree, “Intermittently, I have little things trigger here and there, but they only last a day or two… Some people get stressed and their back goes out. I get stressed and my mind goes out. But then it comes back.”

Shake it Off?

It won't stop.

No matter how many medications I take,

no matter what I do to try and keep myself busy,

It. Won't. Stop.

It's as if all of my thoughts are reverberating down my spine and exiting through my limbs. My right side has always been worse than my left. Sometimes it speeds up my typing, but now it's so bad it makes me cautious and aware of each key that I press, taking care to press the right ones as having to delete is more time consuming than usual. 

The house is quiet. 

All of the animals sleeping peacefully around me as my head spins and my eyes bulge from the energy and the whirring of the thoughts inside my brain. I feel like an hourglass, just waiting for the time when the sand empties and the shaking stops, living for that brief hiatus when it needs to be flipped -- for the moment that my head, my body, is at peace.

It can't come soon enough.

I feel the drugs working on my heart. I can't take anti-depressants as they have a reverse effect on me, so instead I use a low dose beta-blocker to slow my heart, slow my thoughts, and, eventually, stop the shaking. 

But today it's no use. 

I've been shaking for hours.

The headaches come and go, and worsen each time they return.

The worst part is, I don't even know what brought this on. It may be residual from the other day, it may be a different trigger entirely. Whatever it is, it has my body more worked up than I've been in almost a year. Times like these, the only thing I can really do is write. 

I can relate to the aggravation of mild Parkinson's sufferers. 

Fingers don't fail me now.

Peek Through the Blinds

The initial hit
the unexpected transition
from overflowing, childlike joy
to anxiety, anger, frustration.

Sometimes you feel it coming.
creeping its way into your thoughts
you cling to the last shreds of happiness
bolstering yourself up against the oncoming storm.
Other times it hits you like a brick
and it's hours before you realize
the change that took place.

But I've only been riding a high for TWO WEEKS
you scream into the surrounding empty spaces.
the previous low lasted over a month.
you're unsure you can do it again.

needing a reason to wake up every morning.
needing an hour just to pry yourself from those soft flannel sheets.
needing the reminder that a world is out there if you'd only
peek through the blinds.

Swing Low

Do you ever have those incredibly surreal moments when you realize: This is my life...?

I don't fully know how else to explain it, but pulling into my driveway after dropping off my younger sister, this is the feeling I get. I suppose I feel like this because I hope this is not how she will end up. She had her first string of anxiety attacks today.
That's how it started for me.
Maybe for her if things do get worse, the medications they have will work. Then she can feel a base level of normal instead of going through the manic ups and depressing lows that I do.

This is part of why I don't want children.

I love children, and the majority of my work is with them. Heck, the first book I wrote was a children's book. But biological children? Nope. I don't want them to have to face what I'm going through right now. I don't want them to have the potential of the future that I had from ages 18-24. Parts of it are bright, yes. There are lessons to be learned, yes. I am a stronger and more resourceful person, yes. But the pain of it all...A lot of times I'm not entirely convinced it was worth it.

There are things that I feel I appreciate and enjoy more than others. The smooth touch of keys on a keyboard, a faint cello in the background of a symphony, the look of the stars at night, the feeling of a brush on a canvas and the ability to lose hours and days in a painting, the ability to lose myself completely in a story -- becoming it, feeling it, living it...this is why I am so attached to The Giver by Lois Lowry. A world devoid of color, devoid of music, devoid of true emotion and feelings. A world where babies that are colicky or deformed or different are killed. A world I never would have been able to exist in.

There are other things I feel more than others. Depression, loss, exquisite sadness, weariness, fatigue, failure -- the list goes on and on. There are plenty of days where as I look at my surroundings I envision different ways I might die and be found. So far everything has been too messy, too dirty, and too ugly.

So here I sit. Realizing in a brief moment of clarity exactly where my life is, and hoping I will continue to enjoy living it.

My Best Day Ever in 8 Not-Necessarily-Easy Steps

So you know how when you're young they always ask you in school to write about the very best day you've ever had?

I'm having one of those moments, so bear with me.

I've very recently been advised that I may be bipolar. Its not a full diagnoses, but it puts a few thoughts in your brain as to what your life really is. Its kind of funny actually because when you watch all of these "chick-flicks" where something dramatic happens and you find out who your true friends really are, that actually happens. And I wasn't expecting this outcome necessarily, mainly because I've always felt I would be a burden to people I suppose, but all of the friends I've stayed close with through the years stood right up beside me and told me this was something I could handle. Its pretty awesome to have the amazing friends that I do. They were amazing before they told me that, of course, but them having my back like that was an incredible thing to witness.
So with these wonderful people, comes more wonderful people. If you think about it, when all of your close friends are like that, chances are their other friends will be very similar as well. All of this being said, let's go on to my best day ever.

It starts how it ends: with people.

My friend and her fiance know what's been going on in my life and asked me to come to the art festival with them last weekend and meet some of their friends, just hang out and have a good time. The day starts as an average day: Step 1 - Get my ass out of bed. This is a more difficult task than one might imagine what with depression and insomnia asking you to never leave your comfortable pillow top, but eventually the heat of two sleeping canine bodies gives you the need to remove all blankets--and once that's done you may as well go to the next step of getting out of bed anyways.
Step 2 - Shower. Cleanliness is necessary. Especially after a night with two dogs in your bed.
Step 3 - Panic Attack. Daily recurrences of these beauties are what gives me a perpetual shaking in my right hand. It almost never stops, but the days that I am still are a fleeting oasis that I do not take for granted.
Step 4 - Heart Pills. Since anti-depressants have the reverse effect on me, the only way to make my daily panic attacks come to a screeching halt would be through my fabulous friend Propranolol. This merciful drug makes my heart stop trying to barrage its way through my chest with the power of the angry mob in Beauty and the Beast, and instead sings it a lullaby all the way back down to its gentle, steady rhythm.
Step 5 - Shit. I forgot my Heart Pills. My panic attack begins when I am almost to her apartment. Once I am there I rummage through my purse to discover I left them on my nightstand after having a panic attack in bed in the middle of the night, (insomnia will do this to you).
Step 6 -- Alcohol. Luckily my dear friend is in a frenzied mood as well this morning and suggests a light cocktail to start the day. Have I mentioned how wonderful my friends are?
Step 7 - Drugs. As we walk to meet more of her friends, we discuss the goings on in our brains. As the fiance to this lovely lady suffers from mental disturbances as well, he offers an herbal remedy of which I am very well acquainted, and my mind begins to find its balance. You see, many people smoke to get high. I smoke to stay sane. My brain can be a beautiful and terrifying thing, often all at once. If you've ever seen a computer writing code line, after line, after line, after line, after line, after line...you have seen my brain at work. It starts with one tiny thought and just. keeps. going. I don't smoke to get high. I smoke because it takes my brain from a coding machine to an Instant Messenger conversation in which both you and your friend are busy, so conversation is consistent, but not hurried.
Step 8 - People. Now that my brain is calmed down and ready to handle average-speed conversations with multiple people instead of one ridiculously fast-paced conversation with itself, I am introduced to a new friend group. And let me tell you, these people are extraordinary. Since my depression began I started changing from a social butterfly to a hermit to someone who gets so anxious they are terrified to even go to the grocery store. Meeting new people can be fun when I'm on an upswing and feeling good, but on a down swing the last thing that I want is people. Usually. Thank God for these friends. Have I mentioned how wonderful my friends are? Because their friends are just as equally amazing. I know two of the thirteen people I am with, but even with my morning panic attack and my social anxiety and my deep desire to whither away in my own bed, they make me feel comfortable. I don't know if you caught that so I'm going to say it again: They make me feel comfortable. So comfortable, that even after the two friends that I know leave, I stay for another four hours. I get all dressed up with the girls. I stay another 3 hours. We go out dancing. I danced the night away with a handsome fellow I just met that day. I just met these people and they care enough to make me 100% part of this group, enough to make sure I make it back to my friend's apartment okay, enough to offer two couches and an inflatable mattress and spend the night, enough to give me a number and make me swear on my life I will text them the second I get home to let them know I made it back safe.

Finding friends like this leaves me speechless. Leaves me with a smile I can go back to any time I am having the worst day of my life. Because to me, being surrounded by this number and quality of exceptional people, this, will always be my best day ever. And I plan on having plenty more.