Oh my soul

Her shoulders are hunched and defeated now.

Her eyes glazed and glossed from

years of staring straight ahead.

Eyes that are, for the first time, turned downward.

They stare at her tattered apron and

secondhand shoes,

but see nothing.

Her mind is far away, yet so near

A single sound could snap it to focus.

She is tired.

She aches for rest.

She has demanded it.

And so, here she is.

Her silhouette frail against the 

Northern wind

She stands along the bank of the river

and remembers being young and careless

And wades in.

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.”

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.

There and Back Again

Driving through the city at almost midnight,
and I realize for the first time how much the streetlights
look like stars and constellations,
guiding the lost souls home once again.

Speeding along the thruway I feel
as though I'm rocketing through space,
watching in awe as all of these bright beacons
float past me.

I wonder how easily lost an airplane might become
with both stars above and stars below
to guide it...
Or would it find its way more easily with two guides?

The beauty of the city captures me,
and I fall in love once again.

Hitting Rock Bottom

There is no worse feeling than watching your friend go down a path that will only hurt them and cause them to fall further than they've ever known they could, and knowing you can do nothing to stop this from happening. You know this path all too well, as you yourself have tread it not so very long ago. You watch her make all of the same mistakes, the same excuses, the same bullshit reasoning for why this is going to be the time that he proves himself worthy of her. You are watching your friend be manipulated into an abusive relationship and despite all of your warnings and voiced concerns, she assures you she can handle herself this time. You are watching her get slowly sucked into the brain washed state, the one you swore you'd never let envelope her again. You are watching her go back to re-live all the pain and struggle that has become the merry-go-round of her life these past three years. And it breaks you.
It shatters you down to your very core. She is your soulmate, your best friend, the one single person you tell absolutely everything to, and you are watching her crumble until there's nothing left. You crumble with her. You've felt heartbreak before, but none like this. This is more intense than a momma bear protecting her cub, and runs deeper than the blood in your veins. You feel every inch of your being shatter and slowly fall away. You suddenly understand the tale of Humpty Dumpty in an entirely new way, and you wonder if her pieces will ever be put together the same again or if you've lost her for good this time.

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.