The Days After, The Day After

Lost. A raft in the sea… drifting aimlessly while ships surround me; each one busy along it’s course… trying to reach their destinations.

It’s impossible to describe what these days feel like.

Last Saturday, I experienced a severe mental health breakdown. I did not die and I did not end up in the hospital. But I did fall backwards to a point I’ve never been before, experiencing insanity to a new degree – confusion, chaos, and fear enveloping me.

Over the course of three days, I lived in a different world… I was by all accounts, a different person. By the end of the third day, I was not only afraid of both what I had done, but also of what was to come. I was unsure of who I was, where I was, or even at times when I was.

During the crisis I had people watching out for me. Friends reaching out to me – and to their own support system for advice on what to do. Co-workers of my husbands, passing him updates when they saw me. And my husband himself… taking necessary steps, and with encouragement and support for himself, when things got bad, calling the police to find me.

Thankfully, things turned out okay.

By Monday night I was hitching a ride with a Police Officer back to my house… back to a semi-conscious state of mind and able to think just a little bit clearer. Thankfully this Officer was amazing; and I can honestly say that without his assistance, accompanied by his respectful and empathetic approach to my tricky situation, there is an incredibly strong chance that things would have ended much differently.

On Tuesday I started to come back to reality… to see the damage and the aftermath of the storm I had caused. I spent the day picking up the pieces and trying to understand what had happened, exactly how I had fallen again.

Over the course of three days I unraveled completely.

By Thursday I was back at work… back in public. Smiling. Happy. Even a little bit more energized than before my break. I looked overall good; although perhaps a little tired. To look at me, you never would have guessed that the previous evening my mind was still foggy enough that I refused to drive my car, afraid that I wasn't able to adequately assess my surroundings.

Today. Friday. I am not good.

Today, I realised that it’s okay to not be okay still.

What I experienced during my three days of madness, was both an incredible breakdown and a massive breakthrough. It was scary and it was frustrating, and it was also traumatic.

On Saturday the puzzle I had been working to build was thrown to the ground in an earth-shattering quake… the pieces scattered, some chunks together, but all of them so far apart that nothing made sense.

By Tuesday, when my senses returned and I saw the mess that had been created, I wanted to fix it. I started to gather the puzzle pieces and quickly put them back together. Some of them were broken, bent, taped, and glued… the damage caused by my breakdown significant. In frustration I began to jam the pieces in that wouldn’t fit. I needed to put the puzzle back to exactly where it had been before this had all happened… I wanted to be able to add more unfinished pieces to the picture; to look forward and pretend that this had never happened.

After all, I was okay.

I woke up in the mornings. I looked perfectly normal. I showered, I was functional, and my autopilot functions were still intact. But despite the fact that things were ‘over’ and it was time to move on to the next leg of my journey… I began to feel worse.

Today I realized that I am not the same.

Mental health breakdowns can change you. For me, I began to understand this again, from an experienced point of view as I felt the beginnings of a panic attack rise at just the idea of going to the grocery store. I noticed the change through my general fatigue, nauseated stomach, and lack of general patience. I feel it in the fear, the haze that refuses to fully lift, and the confusion if things get too loud, too noisy, or just generally too much around me.

I admit, I don’t like this feeling. I don’t like feeling ‘sick’ after the breakdown is over; and I don’t like that I am the only one who has any idea that I am still struggling so much. In some ways, I wish I had a sign on my head announcing it… letting the world know that I’m sick… that I’m not just hiding away in my house for no reason. And in some ways, I love that it’s invisible because autopilot still works to an extent, and maybe if I just push myself a little harder... everyone will believe that I'm really just normal.

These are the days after, the day after.

Learning to heal. To re-enter the world. To know that it’s okay that I don’t look sick, but I am sick at this point. Learning to respond correctly again… to talk… to feel connected to the world, and not lost and isolated, and alone; despite the people surrounding me.

These are the days where it is important to talk. To let people know that I am unwell, not for pity or for manipulation, or to seek affection... but because it can't always be seen. These are the days to seek advice and counsel, and to answer messages from concerned friends and family. To make the effort in self-care. To not push too hard.

These are the days where I want the world to know, that I’m actually worse than when I was ‘in’ the breakdown. The days after, the weeks after… sometimes even the months that follow, when work is being done, new coping mechanisms learned, when life looks normal – but your head is still a mess.

These are the days when a simple text from a friend, or even acquaintance can change the course of the day.

This week I had a person that I would consider a friend message me after I said I had been feeling rough. I hadn’t gone into detail on Tuesday morning when we were talking… and although we are not close, and we haven’t known each other long; this friend checked in later on. A message to see how I was… to encourage me for the next day. It meant more to me than I could ever explain that she knew. That she somehow got it that the day after was just as hard… that it wasn’t simply back to normal.

I want to end this on a positive note. I want to say that I know life will get better and easier from here on out… and I know, logically that it will. But I also know it will be hard. Being in this position is not easy – for me, or for those around me.

I have work to do. But I also have rest I need to take. I need to let the dust settle. I need to find the missing puzzle pieces… the ones that might have slipped under the rug, or been swept across the room. I need to heal my mind, the same way that someone sick with a physical illness needs to heal their body.

These are the invisible days of the illness. These are the days that honesty matters.

End the stigma surrounding mental illness. Talk about it. Reach out. Don't forget friends, family, or acquaintances in the days following a breakdown.

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(Hypo) Mania and Mental Health

• It’s five a.m. and I’m sitting on the couch, lamenting the fact that I can’t sleep – although I typically love to sleep in as late as possible… today I’m not tired.
• Later on in the day I listen to myself as I talk to a friend, telling a story and laughing and joking around. I notice the stutter in my speech – the way that my brain is moving faster than my lips can keep up. My words are skipping out of my mouth, fast as they tumble forward almost at a speed too quick for my friend to catch.
• When I’m home alone that afternoon, the house feels big, empty, and hollow. I want to sit and write or read, or even binge watch my latest obsession on Netflix… but I can’t. My brain won’t focus and I can’t sit still. It should be good, it should be getting me out and moving – but instead I sit and debate what I want to do, not sure, not able to stay focused on my own surroundings or even on a simple task such as washing dishes. I bounce around the house instead. I wash two dishes, tidy part of the bathroom counter, sweep the living room (but only by the fireplace… I’ll do the rest in a minute), wash three more glasses, and empty the trash but don’t quite get it out to the garage. I wanted to clean my house – but when I finally get distracted by playing with Christmas decorations – my house is still a mess, rooms partially cleaned, and dishes still in the sink.
• It’s dinner time. The ground beef is sitting partially thawed on the counter – I had dozens of grand ideas for dinner tonight; I was going to make stuffed peppers, or enchiladas, or even homemade burgers. Instead I settle for the easiest thing that I can think of – Sloppy Joe sauce from a can… and I text my husband to bring home buns because I simply didn’t get to the store like I was going to do.
• After we eat and I clean up the kitchen my daughter asks me to watch a show with her. Sitting in the living room I put my feet up, and then I put them down, and then I cross my legs. I watch the show, but I open the laptop up periodically to check out an actor’s history on IMDB or to Google a fact I heard in the show. Between that my phone is in my hands… responding to texts, adding tasks to my to-do list, and Googling how-to’s for my latest project, convinced that it’s going to be great.
• By the time that bed time rolls around, I feel like I should feel tired… but I don’t. My body is surprisingly achy and I feel shifty and flighty and like I can’t sit still. I lay down on my yoga mat and try some deep breathing and simple stretching. Eventually I head to bed, sleeping partially through the night – jerking wide awake every so often, each time taking longer to fall back asleep… but I’m never fully asleep… always in that place between wide awake and dreaming – the place where you hear the world around you, but you’re somewhat out of it.

This could be the beginning of a (hypo)manic episode... combined with constant anxiety, irritability, visions of grandeur/success/invincibility, and a belief that I’m not just okay… I’m great.

But in truth I’m not… and even more than living with these swings (but in my mood but in my personality)… I hate admitting that I do. I hate the idea that I’m not okay all of the time... or that mental health isn’t as easy as popping the pills that the doctor ordered and staying on top of counselling. I hate that I can’t simply eat healthy and exercise to put my body and brain back in order and correct my thinking. Most of all, I hate that I can’t simply have an anxious, tense, or quick thinking day without wondering if this is it… is this the beginning of the end of stability? Or am I just happy and having a fidgety day?

Was today really a sign that I’m going down (or up) the rabbit hole again, or was this just a natural cycle for a person, still within the reasonable level… graphed on chart to be worrisome but not yet severe?

Am I going to end up in the hospital again? Switching meds? What if there are worse side effects? Will I crash? Will I become suicidal? What if I become paranoid or delusional? What if I start hallucinating again? Does anyone else notice? Maybe I’m the only one that can see it coming… can I fake it? Should I just carry on and pretend that I'm fine? What if I just watch it carefully? I can slow my speech down, I can act ‘normal’. Maybe I’ll shift back down to normal tomorrow anyways… yeah… tomorrow. And if not… tomorrow I’ll call the doctor… just to, you know… make sure… but I’m fine… I know I’m fine… I feel… I feel good… like really good… this can’t be bad... in fact it’s great. I don’t need a doctor. I’m fine. Do I really even have a 'disorder'?

And that’s how easy it is. How fast it is for someone to say ‘I’m fine’… how quickly my brain can go from logical and concerned and on top of my health… to trying to convince myself and everyone around me that I’m okay, and that nothing is wrong.

I wish I could say that this wasn’t a real example that I used. Unfortunately it is, and unfortunately I know my own cycles all too well. Thankfully, this isn’t from today… but the truth is, I have noticed that I am talking a little faster, and I’m feeling a little more awake than usual – despite the shorter day and lack of daylight. I’m not in the extreme and I am continuing the routine I’ve put in place. I know better now… I know not to stray and I know that I need to be kind and gentle and yet firm to keep myself in check. I know that if one more symptom shows I need to get to a doctor as soon as possible, I also know that I need to call anyways to check in and adjust some meds – just in case… the sooner the better.

This is why my mental health is my priority… my ups and my downs could literally kill me. This disease that supposedly has no cure, simply management; it strikes at any time. Winter, summer, spring, or fall, with little to no warning, and always trying to consume me in one extreme or another.

But I refuse to let it destroy me. I have suffered enough – and although I may live with constant worry, stress, and check-ins, I am winning the fight. I am becoming more aware with each and every day, I am sharing my struggles so that others can step in and help when I need it, and so that in turn, I might also help others who struggle.

For tonight though… my routine is calling and so off to bed I go, knowing that as long as I’m not alone in this fight, I will not just survive, but I will thrive. 

** I just want to clarify that I am not at this time manic (although I am as always, watching for any symptoms that indicate that my mood could destabilize).

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Amid the Quiet and the Darkness

I should be asleep right now. Eyes closed, mouth open, snoring softly and dreaming deeply. I should wake up in the morning rested and energized, ready to face another day, fight another battle, and smile another smile. I should be able to close my eyes without my mind racing a million miles a minute – ideas and sparks of restless energy plaguing me as a tiredness sweeps into my brain, just out of my grasp.

As is typical, I laid down to rest tonight – electronics shut off, calming thoughts, quiet, and darkness surrounding me. But I did not fall asleep… could not fall asleep. My mind has been going non-stop for several days now, my heart racing constantly, my brain flipping around like a fish out of water. I’m exhausted but I’m wide awake.

It’s one symptom of bi-polar disorder and for me it is one of the earliest warning signs of a massive shift in mood occurring. It started with a mild depression and some anxiety following Christmas – my sleep becoming disturbed and then I began the upswing. I noticed it one night suddenly… the way that my brain changed complete direction. I couldn’t stop talking – I couldn’t stop thinking – and I felt good – really good. I suddenly felt like showing off – spending a little extra effort on my appearance, working a little harder, taking on a little more. I dove into some work on mental health – on my history, on recovery, on management and skills. I tackled each thing I did with a newfound energy and a vengeance. Most of all, I completely stopped sleeping at night – struggling to get an hour here and an hour there.

A couple of days passed. I saw my family physician who prescribed me something to help me to relax – something that had absolutely no effect on me whatsoever. Finally, I became agitated, the lack of sleep getting to me even though I had all of this energy and I knew it was time. If I didn’t get it managed quickly, it would blossom out of control... it was better to catch it early so that it didn't get too far out of my hands.

Taking a risk and facing a nervous anxiety I took myself to the emergency room – not an easy task when you are frustrated and tired, and you have an irrational fear of (being kept in) the hospital. Thankfully it was a good visit – speaking to the crisis worker and the ER doctor on call I was given a prescription for something to help me sleep – something I had been on in the past and that had usually worked well. Going home with a scheduled appointment with the psychiatrist I was almost excited to get to sleep and get back into a ‘normal’ routine. I should have known better.

That first night, I did sleep. It was broken and I awoke several times, but it was something more than I had experienced in several days. The next night I wasn’t so lucky.

It’s a tricky thing – a mood disorder. You want to live simply – take your meds and get better. You don’t want to have to think about whether you are too close to depression or too close to mania all of the time – but you do. You want to be able to fall asleep like everyone else… but you also have your best thoughts and ideas amid the quiet and the darkness – when the rest of the world is asleep.

I’m thankful for the doctors and nurses, the psychiatrists and the counselors, the crisis teams and all of those people who advocate for better mental health care and knowledge. I am thankful that they take me seriously now when I say I need to level out – when I can recognize the symptoms before they get too severe, and I am thankful that the good ones will work with you for a treatment plan that works for you.

Tonight I’m still struggling with Insomnia and I still worry about entering a full blown manic phase. I’ve seen the psychiatrist and we are upping a medication to hopefully get me to sleep before the insanity begins to set in. I wish I didn’t need meds for that – I wish I could sleep – I wish that sleep wasn’t a requirement so that I could act on all of my great ideas – I wish that my mind wasn’t built this way. But wishes aren’t reality.

And the reality is that sometimes life just sits you down on an out of control roller-coaster and you learn how to hang on tightly at all of the important hills and valleys – knowing that eventually it will slow down and you’ll be able to take control back again.

Until then – I’ll control what I can, pray for what is out of my hands, help end the stigma by talking about it, and rely on the support from friends, family, and professionals to help me get back on track.

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Let's Keep Talking

January 25^th, 2017 was the annual Bell Let’s Talk day sponsored by Bell Canada to promote mental health awareness and raise money for mental health initiatives across Canada. It is a great cause and an easy way to spread the word and share stories about mental health, different statistics, and social issues relating to the world of mental illness. The only problem was that after a bombardment of posts and messages and snippets across various sources of social media – today my feed was  almost silent. No more stories being told. No more statistics or awareness being spread.

But I still want to talk about it.

I don’t care about the hashtags or the re-tweets or the acknowledgement. I don’t care about the branding behind the initiative.

I care about sharing stories – telling mine and hearing others. I care about opening up communications within my social circles and beyond so that those currently suffering in silence, know that they aren’t alone.

I want to talk because today I am suffering.

I want to talk because today I was shrouded in a big black rain cloud – covered in depression, anxiety and panic attacks – and yet I forced the mask into place and I forced myself to carry on.

I want to talk because I know the feelings of loneliness and despair. I know the isolation and the twisted thinking that comes with it. I know the push and the pull – to both try to find help and yet shove anyone away who tries to help.

I know the anguished cries, the curled up ball on the bed, the prayers that feel unanswered. I know because today that was me.

I know the guilt over taking time for self-care and trying to do what you need to feel better. The tiredness of trying to keep up with everyone around you, feeling like a snail in a cheetah race. I know the looks you get when you say you had a nap - again. 

I know the confusion. I know the chaos. I know how it feels to be spinning in every direction while the world around you appears to walk in straight lines.

I know the anger and the sadness and the betrayal that work their way into your heart, that taint the way that you see your friends, your families, and your loved ones.

I know the insanity. The way that nothing makes sense, but it all makes sense. The way that you try to explain it and it sounds like gibberish – like back and forth, and up and down, and drama and despair and nonsensical nothingness.

I know the efforts to help – the hurt in their eyes as they wonder why. Why you feel this way when things are so good. Why you can’t figure things out. Why the usual coping strategies suddenly stop working. Why you are hurting again. Why nothing they can do can help you.

I know.

I want to talk about it because I know I’m not alone. I want to talk about it because I have a voice – because I know what it is like to feel the stigma and the self-condemnation due to a chemical imbalance. I know that it is important.

I want to talk about it... and I want to listen. I want you to know that you are not alone and you don't need to suffer in silence.

Today was a bad day.

I’m not afraid to talk about it. 

Because a bad day can look like any one of these: 

 

So Let's Keep Talking. 

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The Key to Mental Health

Some days I curl up in a ball on my bedroom floor –the bed behind me and the wall in front of me, a big blanket covering me up and weighing me down. During those times I am no longer the person that can work and function and make important decisions – I can only sit there, sometimes crying, sometimes staring at nothing as the anxiety impedes my life.

Some days I can’t sleep. So I’m up all night and my mind races and I write beautiful stories and poems and jump from topic to topic. Sometimes the anger takes hold and I storm out of the house in the darkness and I walk from one end of town to the other, uphill both ways. Sometimes I feel on top of the world and I’m super sensitive to touch, and sound, and smells.

Some days I get out of bed, only to fold into the most comfortable chair in the house, wrap a blanket securely around me and sleep the day away. Those days I can barely drag myself to the washroom or make dinner for the kids – and forget leaving the house. Sometimes I can’t feel anything – my arms and legs are dead weight, my mind is shut down to only basic function, and feeling – it’s all or nothing – pain so deep that it feels as though I’m splitting in two, or nothingness; I don’t know which is worse.

Some days I wake up wrong… skewed. The world is tilted and everything is set to annoy me, the little things, the big things – everything sets me off. I’m explosive –not just angry, but filled with rage. I see things and hear things with a filter that makes everyone hate me. It hurts and I feel jaded, even though I’m the one making things worse. I’m the one losing my temper and yelling and out of control. I’m the one that is making a big deal out of a miniscule look, or word, or touch.

And some days… I’m normal, level, rational, and logical. Things make sense and although triggers and stressful events happen, I can still handle them with grace and dignity. On those days I wonder who the other people are that kidnap my body and take over. I feel humiliation over the ways that I have acted and the things that I have done. I apologise but it never feels like it’s enough. I strive to change who I am and I vow to never let anxiety, or mania, or depression, or anger take a hold of me again. I become determined to be somebody different the next time, and I work a little bit harder on the daily exercises to train my brain, the physical exercise, the healthy eating plan, and the maintenance of my routine. I take the medications I’ve been prescribed and tell myself that I am more than a disorder and that I have got this.

I continue to work, and parent, and live my life and I move on because that statement is truth… I AM more than a disorder and I AM capable of not just surviving, but of THRIVING.

Two years ago I was a different person. I accepted my disorders but didn’t know that there was so much more to it than a diagnosis. I was told they were lifelong conditions, to take my meds, and to go to therapy. At times, I’ve used the terms anxiety, depression, bipolar, and borderline as a crutch… an excuse… a reason for why I am the way that I am. But over the past year I have made a change in the way that I have used those terms and I didn’t realise just how it would begin to change my life.

By refusing to accept that I can’t be level because of my diagnosis, I have fundamentally changed how I now deal with life. I refuse to believe that I am defective, damaged, or simply unable to deal with triggers and the stress of life. I have bad days, but through hard work and training my brain, I am able to push through and remain present in my own mind. I am able to say ‘I need help’, and determine when things aren’t quite right. I am able to face my anxiety and fear and tackle things (slowly and in my own time) that had previously been off limits to me. I am able to say to myself – I know you’re tired, let’s get through this and not give in while the new meds kick in.

I no longer believe that I am broken. I no longer need to use the term ‘I can’t because I’ve got anxiety’ or ‘It’s not my fault I’m (depressed, manic, borderline)’. I no longer need to feel wrong, guilty, embarrassed, damaged because it is what it is and I am slowly getting better. I might never be cured of these lifelong conditions, but it doesn’t mean that I can’t live a good, healthy life. I might need help now and then… support from family and friends… doctor visits to maintain… or even a brief hospital stay to put me back on track, but I’m here and I am not simply a diagnosis. I am the key to my own mental health. I will keep working, and fighting, and most of all winning.

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Victory Through the Struggles

It’s not euphoria or hypersensitivity or the darkness of a deep depression. The spikes are no longer as severe as a freshly sharpened pencil, now more rounded, curved and easier to pass over. The waves have not disappeared – there is still sadness and happiness, anger and excitement. But they are easier to steer… they are no longer run-away trains, reaching the tipping point and about to spill off of the tracks.

Level. Stable. Manageable. In control. It’s almost terrifying – a great unknown and after another depressive episode, it is an entirely new world to feel this way. It hasn’t been easy to reach this place and there have been some detours along the way. But right now, in this moment – my mental disorders are not winning.

Recently, I spent a week in the hospital. I was at a low point and drove myself there; I fought through what felt like interrogations and some criticisms, and I was admitted so that I was in a safe place where I could be monitored and so that my medications could be adjusted again.

I did not want to be there.

But I was… and it was a massive victory.

Taking myself into the hospital was not easy… I felt like a failure and like a fraud. I was low but I was highly functional. I was depressed but few people knew about it. I was struggling but I felt like I should be okay. I was angry because it was such a short journey from managing my triggers and being able to work through my emotional surges, to feeling as though I had fallen down a rabbit hole and knowing the world had morphed into a much darker place.

Again, I did not want to be there. I did not want to admit my weakness. Throughout the days leading up to and during my stay, it was often a fight within myself… a heated and intense battle for control… for my life.

But it was also a testament to the changes I have made, the way I have grown within my diagnosis, and my ability to identify with and help myself. It was days of reaching out and seeking help from trusted sources. It was days of self-care while doing things that bring me joy, it was using the resources that I have collected and learned to use, almost as though they have become second nature from the practice and continuous learning that I have done. It was keeping to my routines and it was remaining functional while recognising that I was falling, and doing something that I had never done before. It was stopping when I knew that I was in danger and taking myself in before I was past the point of no return, before I was able to fall further, before I tried to end the suffering or before the police were called. It was calm and without the drama of past experiences. It was me never letting go of the reigns and steering myself to the help that I knew that I needed. It was being aware of and able to hang on to one single spark of light and let it spread as I stayed safe, quickly illuminating the darkness and letting me recover faster and easier than I ever have before.

It was a success.

I was hospitalised, but I don’t regret it. I will continue to grow. I will continue to strive to remain level. I will continue to hang on to those sparks of light when the darkness begins to close in on me. I will continue to learn and remain aware of myself, my triggers, my weaknesses, and my spikes. I will get the help I need, when I need it. I will embrace stability – even when it frightens me.

I will continue to share my story. I will continue to be open and honest, to let everyone know about the struggles and the victories. I will continue to talk and to listen. I will continue to grow stronger and I will keep going. I will continue to be a success. I will continue to change the game, and I will win.

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Changing the Game

It was a typical day… perfectly in routine. I was up at 7 and was drinking my morning cup of tea, waiting for my day to begin, the first day of my summer vacation. I was stable. I was level. I was tired. But I was happy. I was okay… Until I wasn’t.

It was a single moment that changed everything, that sent me on a path of watching and waiting and seeing. Like a quickly darkening sky with sudden rotation, a tornado waiting to touch down in my life and send everything – especially me – spiralling down a dark hole again. It was easy to see… I had been down this path before – several times – and it was easy to predict the path that I would take, the way that a trigger of this magnitude would rip the control I have so carefully constructed away from me again. It would be disastrous – I would fall down the rabbit hole of depression and the thoughts of darkness, and desperation, and escape would inevitably hit… I would end up in the hospital again… forced into isolation and psychiatrist evaluations. This was my life. This was what always happened.

Until it didn’t.

Just over three weeks ago I was hit with a major trigger in my life (a crisis of sorts), and just over three weeks ago I began another journey in my life with Bipolar Disorder/BPD. Just over three weeks ago, I panicked in the moments immediately following the hit of the trigger and I felt like I would crash, the feelings rushing back to the surface and my mind working in overdrive and immediately beginning to envision the worst case scenarios – suicide attempts, police cars, hospitalisation, mania, or a psychotic episode. I knew my past and while I knew the stability I had forged over the last two years of dedication and hard work, I also knew how easily it could all crumble again.

I haven’t written much over the last several months – I have been busy and life has moved forward as it often does. Since last Christmas I have experienced stress and triggers, ups and downs, as well as one hospitalisation and one day trip to the emergency room. I have worked to return to a balanced diet and better exercise regimen, to live a balanced life, and maintain the ever-important routine… and overall, I have been extremely successful, finding a new sense of peace and the ability to identify and work on some of my problems and maintain stability with my mental health.

Three weeks ago – for just a few moments – I knew it was all for nothing. For a few moments, I lost myself and returned to the fragile state that would leave me vulnerable and susceptible to another episode. And then, I remembered the months and years of work I've done.

I remembered the steps, and the pages, and the writing, and the distraction, and the help available to me. I remembered to grab my phone and reach out to let someone I trusted know what was happening. I remembered all of the success I have worked towards achieving and I began to put a plan (simple, one step at a time) into place, to maintain my own mental health in a situation that could very well have been catastrophic. I remembered over the next several days to head off a slip up by taking care of my basic needs and maintaining the routine I desperately need to function – eating properly, continuing daily chores/work/plans. I remembered to take the damn sleeping pills when I couldn’t sleep… and to have someone hold me accountable when it took nearly a week to begin sleeping properly again; and I remembered to have a plan in place to seek help if I didn’t. I remembered to take care of myself and to keep my plans, my work, and my support firmly in place - even if I didn't exactly want to.

And I didn't fall down.

And now, three weeks later, I still catch myself watching and waiting for that stumble at times… that sign that I am weak and that I am nothing but my mental illness. At times I wish it would just happen – an episode of some sort - because it is strange to react in a normal way, within an overall normal range of emotions. And at some times, I just sit down and smile, amazed at how well I am doing. I smile because every struggle, every step I have taken to get here, and every experience - both positive and negative - has been worth it to get to the place I'm in right now.

I know that my battle with mental illness isn’t over. I know that I might have episodes of mania or depression or intense emotional outbursts in the future. I know that they aren’t always caused by an obvious trigger in my life. But I also know that I have worked hard at identifying signs, maintaining my support system, knowing my own personal limits, and seeking help when needed to ensure that I stay healthy and strong.

I know that today, I am doing okay. One day at a time, one episode at a time. I am changing the game, I am challenging myself, and I am winning in my fight for stability in a Bipolar/Borderline mind.

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Looking Through Lenses

Over the last couple of years - but more so within the last several months - I've been slowly learning how to properly use my camera and I've been teaching myself the art of photography. I've come a long way from where I began and it has been an amazing 'wellness tool' for the times that I begin to slip or am not feeling my greatest; picking up the camera has become a comfort to me. When someone asked me why it is a good tool or why it brings me joy, the best explanation that I could give was that the world looks different through the lens of the camera. It's amazing how you can compose a shot to allow it to give a desired impression, the final output different than what your eyes might actually see. 

Using the photographs below it is a little bit easier to see what I mean: the first image (the original in this case) shows a closer to realistic view of some deer I captured yesterday morning. I've used photoshop to demonstrate some of the changes I can choose to make to give a desired outcome - usually done directly at the camera. 

In the second image I have straightened the photo, cropped it down slightly to zoom in on the subject matter. 

Next, I chose to brighten up the image and change the white balance and the saturation - the amount of colour used.

Finally, I adjusted a few of the other settings - highlights, shadows, etc... to make the image appear the way that I would like it to look. 

Like I said above, I generally try to adjust all of these settings directly at the camera, By straightening the camera body - setting the white balance, the shutter speed, etc, it allows me to control the output, the final image and what I see when I look back. In the same way, there are a dozen different things that the camera can't capture - the kids screaming at me in the background as they try and get ready for school, the biting cold of the wind as it whips around my hair and causes me to shiver, the sun as it peeks over the horizon, or the sound of the cars racing down my street. Instead, the final product leaves a peaceful, quiet, maybe slightly chilly impression... much like mental health.

I think this is why I like photography so much. When you have a mental health problem - the world seems different at times, like you have applied a filter to your lens and the white balance is off and the exposure is a little too dark or light, and the colours seem skewed - too brilliant or too montotone. It is impossible to see the picture the way that everyone else does because the settings in your mind, just aren't quite right. As we process - sometimes we can adjust those settings, make our output seem a little more 'normal', but the input is still off, wrong somehow.

Just like a photographer learns how to use a camera - to adjust settings as they go to get the picture right, we learn to use tools to adjust our internal settings. Therapy, medications, exercise and nutrition, relationships - they all adjust something within us, help the camera to work and to get a clearer image. Sometimes, the external settings change - triggers happen or the surroundings change - sometimes the camera body needs updating... and so we adjust. We try new tools, new medications, and new therapies to continue to adjust ourselves. Sometimes we slip. Sometimes we can't get the image in focus no matter what settings we change - there are too many factors, maybe there isn't enough light, or too many filters attached to the front of our lens. That's when we need help the most - when we need relationships and support to help us to see clearly through the fog, the layers, to take control and manually adjust the settings.

The good news is that even though things need to be adjusted from time to time - we aren't broken. It might appear at times as though there is a crack in the screen, splintering out and distorting things, but fixing it is possible as long as we (with help as needed) remove the broken filter,

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Different, Isolated, Unique

Glancing around the room I felt a little lost. My house hasn’t changed – my things are all pretty much where I’ve left them, but it feels different. I feel different.

I was in the hospital for a week this time. Unfortunately as much as I tried to avoid it, and as much as I used every method and every skill I knew to keep myself level, depression still managed to sneak in. I wasn’t in a good place and while I didn’t want to go (and even fought it); in the end I forced myself to give in and let myself be taken in as I began to reach the crisis point.

Coloring I Did While in the Psych Ward

Two days in lockdown (Psychiatric Intensive Care Unit) for assessment and then 5 days in the open unit for medication adjustment, sleep patterns, and re-stabilising. It wasn’t the longest stay I’ve ever had. There was nothing spectacular about my stay. I’ve come out and while I’m still not to one-hundred percent, I’m still much better than I was when I went in. However it doesn’t mean that things feel the same as they did before. I feel different and isolated. It’s a kind of feeling I can’t explain very well to someone who hasn’t been there and experienced it.  It’s the feeling of going from the isolation of a psychiatric unit to regaining your freedom and independence.  It’s the feeling that for you, while you were recovering from an invisible but terrifying illness, the world stopped – and yet it didn’t. It’s the feeling that you are different from the rest of the world, that you can understand once again what makes you act oddly… sometimes not making sense to yourself. It’s knowing that you have this thing, this unseen illness that you will always carry with you, that people may know about but assume is better simply because now you’re out of that uncomfortable unit in the hospital. It’s feeling like you aren’t a part of the same world as everyone else because you feel, react to, and experience life uniquely.

The thing about all of that above though, is that it isn’t necessary. I don’t have to feel that way. I am unique… but so are you. Everyone has a story and just because mine involves the way that my brain works, it doesn’t make me abnormal. It doesn’t make me any less important or worthy or strong than anyone else. I can let it feel different. I can choose to isolate myself because of what I go through on a daily basis, the exhaustion that it causes to deal with my illness at times, and the fact that the stigma surrounding it all is still so huge; or I can be brave. I can embrace my differences and while I am learning to deal with it and recover, I can talk about it. I can write about it and stop hiding it. I can live without shame, or guilt, or embarrassment and I can be who I am without feeling the need to be accepted.

So right now I’m home. But last week I wasn’t. I was in the hospital. And this week, I’m taking care of myself – I’m still adjusting to the change in medications and I’m getting my routine back in check, making sure that I maintain my diet and exercise patterns and overall just take care of myself. I will not be ashamed and I will not hide what has happened or the fact that I sometimes need a little help. I will help end the stigma against mental illness. I will maintain my hope, I will be honest – with my supporters and with myself, and I will continue my recovery journey with the support and encouragement of my friends and my family. I will maintain my hope.

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Mind Over Matter

Mind over matter. It’s an excellent mantra for when you need to get through certain aspects of life, lift your spirits or convince yourself that something is or isn’t right. But for me, it’s more than that and it’s one of those phrases that can even be dangerous when taken out of context.

It’s not a secret that I sometimes wish that I was ‘normal’. That I didn’t suffer with uncontrollable mood swings riddled with extreme highs and scary lows, or a personality disorder that can make me turn from a happy elf, singing and dancing, into the Wicked Witch of the West within an instant. And throughout most of my late teen years and early adult life, I have lived out the phrase – mind over matter – I wasn’t sick, I wasn’t crazy and I wasn’t abnormal in the least. If I worked harder, changed myself into what everyone else was and wanted me to be, and kept quiet, kept telling myself that it wasn’t who I was; it would all go away.

But that’s not how life works.                         

Sometimes you have the power to completely change things… and sometimes you need a little help, a little love and a little acceptance to overcome those obstacles. Sometimes you need to be open and honest and experience life the way it is – not the way you want it to be. Sometimes you need to accept your limits and work within them.

I’ve tried using the mind over matter method – refusing treatments, medications, and therapy because I thought I could convince myself to get better – I could change what was, simply by thinking it. Doing so almost killed me, but even still, it’s easy to slip back to that mantra, to let it convince me that I can do it all alone. But it’s also devastating when you can’t; when you believe you have failed and are a loser and are worthless and that you can’t even be ‘normal’.

So much of the stigma behind mental illness – especially mood/personality disorders – is because we have been taught this lie that we should be able to overcome everything. We should be able to pick ourselves up and move on, that depression or anxiety or mania are all controllable and those that can’t get a grip on it themselves are simply weak.

But we are not weak. We fight every single day to remain level – to find the therapy and the treatment plan that works for us – to not get caught up in the mind over matter attitude, and seek out help. We fight behind closed doors and with whispered words because mental illness is still taboo – can still cost people their jobs, their friends, and their lives. And then we are told to fight it harder, to stop being mopey or sad or manic… they roll their eyes behind our backs and call us overdramatic, overemotional or plainly exaggerated. We see the look in your eye that says ‘just knock it off already!’ and we wonder what is wrong with us, why we can’t just be like everybody else.

Most days I want to be the way that everyone else appears to be… until I remember that each and every person out there has their own battles that they are fighting. I only know as much about them, as they let me in to glimpse at their lives… and people only know me through what I allow them to see. Once I remember that, it’s easier to accept what I am – what I’m working towards and the challenges that I have already faced. It becomes part of me, open to expression and honesty and willingness to share, to not let my experiences hinder me – only help me. It reminds me that sometimes, in some areas of life – using your mind to change your circumstances can work. It also reminds me that sometimes there is nothing wrong with needing a little help, to use your mind to seek advice and treatment and support.

I’m level right now – in a recovery phase of bipolar disorder/borderline personality disorder – and as much as I tried, it was not because I simply convinced myself that I was stable. It’s hard work, dedication, tons of support and a lot of trial and error that have brought me to this place… my mind: it’s here, it helps – it reminds me why I need to keep going – but it didn’t magically change my circumstances, and it won’t magically heal me. But I can work towards healing, fight the stigma that comes along with the illness and change who I am, in time and with patience, with love and with support, with success and with setbacks; I will be stronger. 

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Getting Back to Normal - Self Care

For the past two-three weeks, if you asked either myself or my husband how I'm doing we would probably tell you that I'm doing okay. And that is the simple, least complex way to describe it. Okay.
The more complex version is a little more like this:
I'm feel like I'm in a tough spot right now... perhaps even a little bit tougher than when I'm not doing well at all.
To begin with, my mood has come up quite a bit. I'm not manic, nor am I in the darkest pits of depression that I was in... most days my mood is actually fairly level right now. Here's where things get tricky though because while my mood itself is level, it comes with a whole new set of problems.
First of all, there are the nightmares. This is nothing new to me, because I generally have a lot of nightmares... but now that I'm a little more level I tend to remember, care and analyze them a little bit more. It's also frustrating when I feel level through the day, but my nightmares remind me of where I have recently been. It's incredibly difficult when they play on repeat the scene from the waterfall and I wake up in sweats because of what almost happened, or the nausea that hits after I face myself and the choice of suicide methods. The difference between now and a few weeks ago? Now I can let them go throughout the day and while they bother me, its more of a grief, a sense of what could have happened. When I was in the pits of depression they were welcome fantasies.
The second thing that I'm finding tough is the awareness. When I'm manic or depressed or in the midst of a BPD rage, things tend to get hazy. My reality becomes skewed and there are times that I can't see how or why the things that I say or do are not right. In the depression and rage I tend to be in survival mode and the only things that make sense are the things that I do that I think protect myself - even if they don't. Now that I'm 'back' I'm much more alert and although I try not to dwell in the past, I can now see the things that I did or that I said that hurt both myself and those people closest to me. With that knowledge comes a slight sense of guilt because even though I know it was out of my control at the time, it was still me that did it. It's nearly impossible to separate the 'normal' me from the 'sick' me.
Today was a particularly rough day.
I woke up feeling normal, smiling and going about my day as usual, keeping up my daily routine (a huge part of what helps me remain level!). Then I picked up a book that my husband is currently reading on Borderline Personality Disorder and flipped through it for a few minutes. The problem was that I started seeing all of these traits of BPD and comparing them to myself in recent months. It was a definite trigger for me, bringing my mood down and convincing me that I am a horrible person because of the things I have said/done during my episodes.
Thankfully some of the work I've done has paid off and after a brief cry and chat with my husband I was able to take a deep breath and put things into perspective - something huge for someone with this disorder - and it didn't spiral out of my control. Something else I've learned though is that during recovery, self care is vital. Although my symptoms are decreasing, I'm still not at 100%... I don't know if I ever will be perfectly 'normal'. But I know that on the road to a stable life I may have setbacks and I might have a hard time adjusting to being level, to being aware and awake. So today I've decided to take a few hours this afternoon to devote to my well-being, to bring myself back up by doing things that I enjoy doing. I've watched a favorite movie. I've had a large cup of tea. I spent time going through pictures of my children.
I've typed out this blog post. I've talked about the difficult feelings I had.
I'm not back to my normal yet. But I'm getting there. Step by step, day by day, with a little self-care in the mix.

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