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.

I'm not happy...

It's been some time since I've written, and dear me the changes that abound. I've officially taken steps into the adult world and found, dare I say it, my career. I have finally begun a job that I want to do for the rest of my days. It's funny to say, but even though I'm in a low swing and depressed and at most times close to tears, this is the happiest I have ever been in my life. No, the most content.

Being content is an interesting concept. We usually always talk of being happy, being frustrated, depressed, dissatisfied--but we never usually mention content. My life has seen an intense upheaval with many pitfalls of trial and error over the past six years. It has constantly changed and evolved and I have become someone I never knew would be possible. I never thought I would pine so much for the comfort of being content. The comfort of being still.

And here I am six years later with an eclectic little apartment that appropriately reflects my own eccentricities, with bills that I can afford to pay, a car I can rely on, pets that are well fed and taken care of, a partner who supports my every endeavor, two jobs instead of six--both in the literary field that I love, and over a 3.0 GPA. I have all of this and an amazing counselor to help me finally address my bipolar disorder, OCD, and psychosis. I am constantly pinching myself to make sure this is real.

My mood might be stuck on depressed at the moment, but I am a different level of happy; I am content.

ObsessiveBiCompulsivePolar Disorder

     There are so many thoughts buzzing around in my head, I can't seem to even write one down before another begins and takes its place. My moods today have been all over the place, ranging from "Is this what it feels like to begin to go insane?" to "I'm so alert and aware of my surroundings my eyes may fall out of my head!" to "I am completely at peace." and back again. Unfortunately it wasn't the first time that I've felt like I was quite literally losing my mind, and I am coming to expect that it won't be the last. Imagine having ten people's thoughts inside of your head. Now, those ten people's thoughts are intermingling with your own and beginning to have conversations, which in turn lead off to other thoughts, which lead into more conversations, and more thoughts, and...you get the picture. Unfortunately, no one can quiet what goes on in my head. Sometimes I like the thoughts I think and appreciate this personality effect (not defect) in its entirety, but in my depressive lows I cannot keep them a low whisper; instead my head transforms from a study library to grand central station.
     My hands have regained their tremor, my heart its incessantly rapid beating, and the feeling that I'm crawling out of my skin and need to rip it open to release my thoughts that are begging to come out is becoming all too constant yet again. I know that I can't. I know that I shouldn't. I know that there are other people counting on me. I know that I am quickly losing my grip.
     Smoking has a tendency to calm me. Pipes or cloves more-so than cigarettes. I don't smoke like a normal person. I am not addicted to the nicotine, I'm not actually addicted at all. I only smoke when my mood swings make me incredibly anxious. Smoking makes me calm down and gives me something to focus on. It makes me sit still. The crackling of the tobacco and paper as I inhale, a sound that soothes. The smell of vanilla pipe tobacco floating throughout the room something that reminds me of simpler times. Adulting while bipolar is one roller coaster I did not sign up for. Hell, I hate roller coasters.
     When smoking alone doesn't do the trick, I exercise. Today it was a three hour hike through the Niagara Falls Gorge down through Devil's Hole. How appropriate. There is nothing like the quiet expanse of the gorge and the rushing waters of the falls. Here I am home. Here, I am at peace. This peace lasts a mere hour after leaving before anxiousness again creeps in. I need to move. I need a more permanent change of scenery.
     I'm not entirely sure if this is other bipolar people too, or just my OCD tendencies I have about everything having its neat and orderly place, I need to change things every so often. I rearrange furniture once a month, change the cupboards out once every six months, rearrange the order of my books or the medicine cabinet sometimes weekly. I am in a constant state of re-order.

Everyone's a little Holly Golightly

I wish I could be a character in a book.

Everything would be laid out for me. Even if my path was a bumpy and unhappy one, I would have just that - a path. All of my actions would lead somewhere and I would have a definitive purpose.

I started the day in a most excellent mood, despite being atrociously hungover. The sun was shining, it wasn't snowing, it seemed like Spring could actually be here, and I was happy. I was thankful for my range of moods even, because even with the lows I get to experience some of the most amazing emotional highs... then the low came.

It always hits below the belt. That gremlin in the back of your mind bringing up every fault and flaw you find within yourself. Finding every point on your timeline in which you didn't succeed as you had planned. Mood swings are a bitch.

Pulling the stereotype sitting on the bathroom floor a cigarette in one hand, the other holding a glass of wine, I did something different than my usual wallow in my sorrows. I told someone how I was feeling. My friends are incredible, beautiful people. We might be the most ragtag group you could think to bring together, but if they aren't the most understanding and supportive people I've ever met then I'm not bipolar (and boy do I have an official diagnosis to prove it).

So you buck up, pour another glass of wine, light another cigarette, and throw on Breakfast at Tiffany's. After all, I won't let anybody put me in a cage. Not even me.

A Day in the Life of Wonder Woman

     Being bipolar I occasionally have delusions, i.e. things that I see, hear, or feel, that aren't necessarily there. For example, when I am in a high and feel the need to be clean (Did I mention I have slight OCD as well that comes out in cleanliness and organization? No? Oh, well, I have slight OCD that mainly takes the form of a need for cleanliness and organization, among other things.), I see bugs. Everywhere. I don't mean horror movie style bugs crawling over everything while a 1950's housewife howls with fear, I mean in the corner of my eye I will see a few realistic bugs crawling/flying/spinning a web. Usually I can tell when these are delusions by the fact that my friends don't see them (when I ask them if they're there). When I can't tell, I clean more vigorously. Lately, thanks to the beauty of Trazadone, my highs and lows have been less intense, though I can still feel them, and these delusions don't happen as often.
     Instead, other forms of delusion have begun to take their place.
     I now have incredibly vivid dreams. I've always had my fair share of crazy dreams, but as of late they are an intensity even I had been unfamiliar with. If I dream about someone, they end up calling me within hours--usually in reference to what we were discussing in my dream. I'm beginning to feel like Karen from Mean Girls. I have ESPN.
     There are times when being bipolar can be very tiresome, aggravating, depressing, and downright a pain in the ass. But then there are other times when you almost feel like you've got a super power. This little secret gift that you have, bestowed on you as a gift for dealing with the inner workings of your brain every day of your life.
     Today, I am a super hero.

Roadtrip Therapy

     The pull and release of emotion is all too familiar. I suppose I've had a good go of it, it's been a few weeks after all. Eventually the insomnia associated with my bipolar highs catches up with me and the world begins to dim. Colors less vibrant, edges less crisp, happiness more subdued and anger and depression more easily accessible. My low is coming.
     I never know just how long they will last. I can attempt a guess based on the last cycle, but there's no true tell. I do know my triggers, and avoid them for now. My divorce is one. You'd be surprised at both how much and how little that comes up. It comes up and matters less than you think it will when it's fresh, yet comes up more often than you'd think once it's been a while and you think you're over it. I'm basically over it, I'm just sad when I see young twenty-somethings in healthy marriages, celebrating their 5th year of marriage with their high school sweetheart. I wanted that to be me.
     As odd as it might sound, a road trip is the best time for me to hit a low. As much anxiety as I can sometimes get just preparing myself to go to the grocery store, somehow, road trips make me just as equally calm and happy. Driving along the highway gives me so much peace, exploring new places, taking in the scenery, falling in love with places I never would have imagined to be half as entrancing as they are. For me, it is Missouri.
     Missouri is the state I least expected to fall in love with, but as love stories go, it was head-over-heels love at first sight. The rolling hills and mountains with their hidden caverns and cliffs, covered in trees and bushes and appearing in a time all their own. It's breathtaking. I'm glad I'm hitting my low now, if you can ever be glad to hit a low, because of just how much tranquility and joy well up in my heart and, no matter how difficult it may seem, begin to curl a smile across my lips.
     I am in love.

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.