All Shades of Gray

I don’t know where to begin.

I’ve been thinking about returning to writing (and specifically blogging) again for a while. But while I know my topic, and I know the words that are written in my heart; it is difficult to begin again… to write with clarity and focus, accuracy and effectiveness.

My first instinct when I think about coming back to this page and writing, is to do one of two things; either share my success – how far I’ve come and how well I am doing, or to share my woes – to rant, rave, and complain about why things are still difficult… what is up and what is down. Black and white. Good or bad. Mental health or mental illness.

I think the reason I have taken such a long break this time is simple though. Over the last several months I have been focusing on my recovery and specifically on healing. I have been on a journey throughout most of my life, and I am finally at a place where I can finally sit back and see exactly how far I’ve come, and how far I still have to go. I can see the milestones, and the setbacks. I can see the hurt and the pain that still exists in my heart and my mind, and I can also share joy and peace, and stories of growth and commitment.

One experience, although sometimes more good than bad, or bad than good; no longer has the power to shift my thinking to recovery is going good or recovery is going bad.

During recent months I have been faced with the same decisions that I have faced over and over throughout my life. I have dealt with trauma and I have dealt with joy. I have lived with the consequences of my decisions and I have battled blame for decisions that were not mine. I have survived severe back pain, walking away from a job, financial insecurity, marital ups and downs, significant weight gain due to med changes, and general, everyday life.

This year has been one of my toughest yet… facing things that I didn’t believe would happen to me, living through mental and physical exhaustion, and revisiting my past. I have journeyed to the depths of my soul and I have sat and cried, yelled, argued, and thanked God for the trials and the blessings in my life. In marriage, I have recovered from infidelity and faced demons that have been haunting our relationship for decades. I have taken on a new, more confident role, and I have faced my own ability to make a decision that is right for myself and my children.

Each day I wake up and I find that I am learning something new… discovering a positive or a negative about myself or about others. I have learned to watch and listen more than I talk. I have learned to look around and maintain awareness of others and the world around me. I have ventured out of my comfort zone... in personal and in business fronts. I have formed new, valid, and strong opinions about life, love, politics, and the way that I want to live my life.

I still experience ups and downs. I still have days where I want to shout out how well I am doing with my mental health because I have learned one new thing, or discovered that I am now in more control than ever over specific habits. I still have days where I become quiet, desperate, and suicidal; days where I want to bury my head and pretend I don’t exist, or to stay in bed all day long, every day because the world is too much and my brain feels like it will implode if I have to talk to anyone.

As I head into a new year I both cringe and jump for joy. I’m terrified of what this year will bring… more change, more ups, more downs, and more general chaos… a world of unknowns. But I’m excited as well… because, well, my mental health is that… it’s health. It’s a feeling of normalcy despite the diagnosis and the work to maintain it. It is the conversations, the openness, and the candid life that I have learned to live. It is honesty, decision making, and continuous learning and growth. It is an opportunity to thrive in the good times and do more than survive the tough times. 

This is 2018. Mental health is with me... and while my diagnosis is still there, it no longer controls me. Life is moving forward, and this will be the year to move along with it. Big changes, little changes... it doesn't matter as long as I continue to grow, learn, and change... embracing the differences and the similarities... thinking in black and in white... and in all shades of gray. 

Happy New Year!

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Simply Good

Good. It’s not usually the first thing that pops into my head when someone asks me how I’m doing. I might say it… but I don’t always mean it. Sometimes telling people that you’re not okay is even more stressful than lying – than telling them that I’m okay when I’m not.

But today… today I realised that when I was asked how I was feeling – ‘Good’ was my answer and it wasn’t even a lie. I was happy, I was energetic within reason, I was feeling light - I was good.

I think it’s important to take note of these days.  It’s good to mark them on the calendar, journal about them, or to simply share them with someone else. Because sometimes ‘good’ is so far out of grasp, that I need the reminder. Sometimes good seems like a fantasy - a mythical thing that is always out of my reach.

Of course, life isn’t easy. I still struggle. Some days are still way harder than others. I had a recent bout of depression. I’m struggling with working through some things and continuously face triggers, challenges, sadness, and anger. I've had some recent physical pain. I take pills for my mood and for my sleep – they work great, but the side effects suck. My long-term mood isn’t magically better because I feel good for a day.

But feeling good for a day, or two, or three can help. These days ground me. They bring me to a place where I can learn and assess, acknowledge and forget, forgive and find peace. I can do nothing or I can make plans. I can work with ease and I can interact normally. While there is still ‘stuff’ in my head – it’s like a movie on pause for a few minutes while I take a breather.

Today, the words ‘good’, ‘fine’, and ‘okay’, are simply words in my vocabulary. They aren’t covering up some hidden depression, or internal battle, or some urge to either cry or scream.

I have to admit – that sometimes, ‘good’, is even scary. Sometimes good has been a distant memory for so long that it’s new and it’s terrifying and I even want to fight good – find something to bring me back to familiarity – even if that familiarity is anything but good.

Thankfully, today I am just good. I am not running from it. I’m enjoying the calm and the peace; the breath that I desperately needed away from the constant negativity of myself. Today I am smiling and I am laughing. I am thinking, but not overthinking. I am learning and I am growing and I am holding onto this feeling for as long as I can.

It simply just feels good.

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Meds, Moods, and (Hypo)Mania

For the past several weeks, it’s been there. Lurking below the surface, hiding behind the pills and the effort and the struggle to find a new routine – one that would work for me.

Every day I have faced the same fight – the same urge to let it go and take over filling me as I try to remind myself of the reasons why I can’t do that. The reasons why I have to stay in control and be obedient and keep putting in the effort.

Insomnia.

I’m not tired.

Emotionally I’m completely drained and yet for the most part I’m physically wide awake almost all of the time. The past couple of days it hasn’t been as prominent as I battle a sore throat and head cold – but it’s still there, taunting me at night, pulling me into a fantasy world that I want so badly to be real.

Logically I remind myself to take my pills daily – and I manage to make myself obey. Every morning I take what I need to without a second thought, never even thinking about disobeying that one. But in the evenings as the house is winding down, the kids are in bed, and my husband tells me that he is turning in as well – the battle begins.

I’m supposed to take my mood stabiliser at night – it also puts me to sleep. And every night I do take it… but not before a battle of wills takes place. Because every night I can feel it, the hypomania that is hovering just below the surface. The creative energy that is flowing – the ideas, the ambition, the beginnings that happen when I am in that state beyond appealing to me. It’s a feeling that I honestly love. And it’s there right now… waiting for me to miss a pill, to forget… or to simply choose not to take it. But every night I do.

Every night I lie awake and wait for the pills to make me drowsy enough to want to close my eyes. Sometimes it’s an hour, sometimes it’s three. And then I do sleep – the kind of sleep that I can only ever get if it’s induced with the help of a med.

And now, several weeks in to this mess in my mind, I’m starting to feel the effects – I’ve been staying up later and later, waiting to take my pill until I know I have to get at least a little bit of sleep. I’m agitated because I’m tired of the fight – I’m tired of fighting what in a way feels natural to me, what my body wants to do. I’m angry and I’m bitter that I can’t just take my pills regularly and forget that I have this illness that can take over at any time if I’m not careful.

I want to say screw it.

I want to just give in and let whatever will be, be.

But more than that – I actually want stability.

I want the kind of stability for myself where I don’t have to argue with myself to take the medications that I know keep me level.

I want the kind of stability where I don’t have to think about my illness every day, and include it in every decision that I make.

I want the kind of stability where I feel ‘normal’ or at least as close to it as possible.

I want the kind of stability where I don’t have to try and figure out which part of me is right – the logical part or the wild part or the emotional part.

I want to be able to sleep without medications.

I don’t want to worry about manic episode which when over could plummet me into a depressive episode.

I don’t want others to constantly worry and question my behaviour – to doubt what I’m saying and refuse to listen because I’m just the ‘Bipolar Woman’.

But this is who I am.

These are the things I think about constantly.

This is the way that I have to live my life.

This is the only way for me to be stable.

I need to think things through. I need to be strong and determined and willing to pit my logical side against the creative or the emotional one. I need people to remind me why. I need to remind myself.

It isn’t easy.

But some days… days like today where it’s 5:00am and I have yet to close my eyes… I wish it was. I wish there was a simple fix. I wish I wasn’t like this. I wish I could focus on the kids - on the Birthday we're celebrating today. I wish I was just normal.

And yet, here I am. Still awake. Still wondering what it would be like if I just didn't have to deal with this every minute of every day. 

And then I know. I know I'm not alone. I know it is difficult at times. But I also know I've made it this far. I can make it one more day - everyday.

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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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World Suicide Prevention Day 2016

** Trigger Warning **

She looked into the mirror - her eyes were blank... hollow, her heart was heavy, and her hope was lost. She was tired of struggling and of fighting... She was simply exhausted and had lost her ability to cling to life.

She had heard it all and she hated the words, their voices of encouragement, and their stories of recovery; it wasn't worth anything... she couldn't feel anything. Once the pull of death's comfort, peace, and ease had infiltrated her mind - there was no going back... No other way out... Nothing could change her decision.

She sat in the tub, filled to the brim with water and with a hair dryer in her hand: she crouched in the darkest corner of her room with the razor at her wrist: she sat on the patio with the pills poured out into her hand. Once death had claimed her mind, it was far too easy to know what came next, to follow through.

She didn't expect the moments of clarity that would take her breath away... It would be a few seconds at most as remnants of light blasted through the darkness - pieces of conversations surrounding recovery and hope and life, bits of memories filled with love and joy, reminders of hands reaching out - showing grace, friendship, support, and acceptance.

It was only a few moments and then the light vanished, the darkness and despair returning to cage her mind, filling the space, consuming everything except for one tiny speck... A glimmer... A sparkle.

Maybe, just maybe those moments of clarity were enough and still shaking she takes one last chance. She drives herself to the emergency room or she picks up the phone to call a trusted friend, a hotline, or emergency services.

She will be questionned - it will feel like an interrogation on why she is in crisis and she will have to repeat her story and her history to every person who walks into her room or tries to help her. She will fade to darkness and wish she hadn't made the choice to open up and let them in.

But that speck. Gradually it will grow a little bit brighter and so she doesn't fight them. She decides to stay, to muster any ounce of strength that she can find, to fight for that light one last time.

At her weakest point in life, she has become the strongest she has ever been. She faces anger, shame, guilt, and humiliation... She is stripped of her clothes, her freedom, and her choices. Still she sees that sparkle hanging there and she chases it, speaking up - revealing truth and suffering, voids and failures, grief and loss.

And as she does - that light, that bright speck, it becomes a star which gradually reveals the other stars, and suddenly the sun is shining and the world, her world, is brighter again; illuminating even the darkest places in her mind.

Once she is stable, she holds onto the light like a security blanket. It shimmers and flexes, fades and boldens as she mives forward, one small step at a time. She chooses to continue to speak about her experiences. She speaks and she listens, she accepts and she prays, and she helps and she seeks help. She becomes the glimmer in another person's darkness while she gains more sparkles to hold onto herself, in case the darkness ever threatens to return.

September 10, 2016 is World Suicide Prevention Day. Find your speck of light - it is never too late to find hope in the darkness as long as we never fall silent in our pain and our light, in our support of friends and family, and in sharing our own experiences.

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A Million Little Lists

I read a lot of posts online that go something like this:

• 5 Things to never say to someone with Bipolar Disorder
• 10 Things every Borderline person needs
• 15 Ways mental health is misunderstood
• 20 Things to do for someone in crisis
• 100 Things you need to know about _____

There are thousands of posts like that out there and many of them have been accurate for me upon reading them. But many of them haven't. The reasoning isn't complicated or difficult to understand; just like anything else in life it depends on individual circumstances, reactions, and thought processes. 

Thankfully, I'm an individual... unfortunately this also means that my behaviours have often times developed based on my history and personal life circumstances - these things combined with my genetic make-up and brain chemistry make everything that I experience, think, and react to unique to me. It is something that makes mental health different than any other kind of medicine - it makes what physically should be a simple diagnosis, complicated and unpredictable. It's something that could have any number of results, with hundreds of factors to always consider.

So I won't write you a list today - I won't tell you a million and one little things that you can do to help me when I'm in crisis or angry or manic. I won't tell you that this is what all people who are diagnosed with bipolar or borderline personality disorder want you to know, and I won't tell you what to say or not to say to your loved ones. 

What I will say is this: I am loud and vocal. I have gotten to the point where I can (usually) speak openly about my illness and what I want and/or need from friends, family, and professionals. I know my own cues and I know my own emotional states; I also know that I am my own best advocate. I want people to understand and I want the stigma surrounding mental illness to end. I can also say that there are times when I am well, times when I know that I make the most sense and can verbalise my experiences much easier than when I am sick - and I know that those times are vital to my health, because those times are times my loved ones are able to listen, are able to hear me out, are able to put together some of the pieces and know what I as an individual need (or don't need) from them. 

Lists, like anything, can be useful tools - I use them all of the time. They are especially useful when you or a loved one are suffering and it is impossible to express the things that are needed in the moment. Education - learning about an illness or a diagnosis can make the world of difference in understanding and in recovery. But as helpful as they can be, they are tools that need to be worked in, personalised and made to suit an individual. Know yourself, and get to know your loved ones... let's end the stigma - the things we put on ourselves and the things that others put on us. I am not defined by an illness that can't always be perfectly, statically, consistently, defined itself.  So I won't worry about the million little lists that I've read that tell me what I ought to know and what you ought to know and what a future being mentally ill entails. I will live with hope - I will live with a recovery centred approach - I will live with the individuality that I was born with, and I will keep talking and fighting through the struggles. I will be strong, I will stumble, I will laugh, I will cry, I will do what works for me, and I will simply be the uniquely created human that I am. 

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In the Mirror

In the quiet of the morning I stare into my reflection in the mirror. Like every morning, I see a woman staring back at me – strong, confident and happy. I see the blue in her eyes and the way she smiles as she fixes her hair, chatting over her shoulder to her daughter who has come to ask for help choosing an outfit. I see the strength that she has exhibited in simply getting up and beginning a new day, in getting out of bed, and continuing with the routine and the system that she has placed around her. I see her confident as she goes to work and appointments, as she attends groups and writes in her journal. I see happiness as she greets her children and her husband, as she meets friends for coffee, and works towards her goals. I see a person. Complete. Healthy. Able.

Sometimes it surprises me. Sometimes I think that I should look in the mirror and see the opposite… see the cracked pieces that have been carefully glued together. Sometimes I think I should see her past – the times of instability, the pain, the emptiness, the highs and the lows. Sometimes I think I should see the person that she believed that she was for so long – broken, flawed. She has an illness – two of them – that should show in her features, prominent, out where the world can see them. Sometimes I think she should have labels affixed to her skin – bipolar and borderline – the words that define who she is and the struggles that she has faced. Sometimes I close my eyes and count to three.

When I open my eyes I see who I am. I see the person who is on a journey of recovery and the person I saw before the invasive thoughts began to permeate my mind. The strong, courageous, determined person that is not only surviving, but living her life. I think about one of my favourite quotes from one of my favourite books – in Alice in Wonderland, Lewis Carroll wrote : “It’s no use going back to yesterday, because I was a different person then.” This is something that couldn’t be truer, I am a different person than five years ago, or one year ago or even last month – each leg of my journey has propelled me forwards in more ways than I could imagine. There have been setbacks throughout, and it has not been linear in nature – no, recovery is cyclic, a spiral of sorts that continues forwards even after a step or two in reverse.

Again I close my eyes and I remember, because I know the difference between remembering who I was and seeing the difference to who I am now, and trying to become that person who no longer exists. I now know that it does no good to label myself, and surround my image with the stigma that I used to allow to cover me. It is neither true nor useful to degrade myself and think that my scars – whether visible or not – should define me and make me less than the person I deserve to be.

The difference, the change, the life is because I am in recovery; it is because I see hope and a future and worth.

I don’t get angry with myself for thinking about the past, for remembering the decisions that I made and the paths that I took to get myself to this place. I don’t smash the mirror or storm away, I don’t chastise myself for the brief wondering and the surprise I felt at my normal appearance. No. I open my eyes and I walk away, I continue with my routine and there’s a smile on my face because I know that I am different. I am healing and I am strong, I am able to see the change and the growth and the emergence of a new person. I am healthy and I am in recovery.

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Undone - One Step Backwards

“Bills, money, cars, repairs, house, home, kids, Halloween, Christmas, stop it, leaves, cold, work, second job, hair, getting out, working out, be quiet, eating, groceries, tired, not allowed to sleep, keep going, don’t stop, laundry, dishes, homework, snow, tires, shut up, doctor, dentist, get moving, too much to do…, I said stop it, get control, hospital, manic, depressed, mood stabilisers, anti-depressants, side effects, police, suicide…”

The thoughts were racing through my head, swirling on repeat and speaking over each other without pause. I was in the shower, a little late in the morning but trying to get ready to accomplish the day’s tasks when I realised I couldn’t shut down the thoughts. Trying harder I squeezed my eyes shut, willing my brain to stop, to slow down and to let me think rationally.

“You can’t do anything right.” The thought began as the rest of the words, the rest of the stress of everyday life continued to yell in the background.

“Get a grip!”*“Loser!”*“You do nothing all day… you can’t even control your own thoughts, your own emotions!”*“You can’t stay stable, you will always have to watch out for highs and lows and dysfunction.”

The negative thoughts came faster, reminding me of what a failure I was and I always have been. Soon I was arguing with myself… as a negative thought screamed internally at me I yelled loudly right back. I know, at this point I sound full of crazy, right? Well surprisingly, arguing with my own mind didn’t work and I found myself having trouble breathing. It was too hot, I was still in the shower and my chest felt heavy trying to breathe. Yanking the shower door open I stumbled out and into the bathroom, wrapping the towel around me awkwardly and moving into the bedroom. My head was now pounding, the thoughts still blaring as I struggled to catch my breath.

“Too hot. Stop panicking. Knock it off. Focus. Stop. It’s just a panic attack.” I reminded myself as I gripped my now aching chest while I struggled to get it under control. My heart was now pounding relentlessly in my chest and everything that could pop into my head did. Fear, crowding, anxiety - all of it was crashing down on me and I felt like I was going completely insane. Remembering some of the things I’ve learned I focused on the breathing, the feel of the air as it entered and exited my body… counting as I inhaled and exhaled, trying to keep my mind from speaking to me. I grabbed my cheat sheet (Yes I have a cheat sheet for panicking!) and looked down at it, picking several simple things off the list that I could do in the moment.

Finally I got my breathing under control, barely. I lifted my head and realised I was lying face down on my bed in a pile of laundry, my face soaked with tears. Gripping my dripping wet hair I wanted to scream and I wanted it to stop; I wanted my brain to simply shut off for five minutes. Continuing with the tools I had available to me, I eventually came out of it; my body aching and tired but under control again.

This particular panic attack happened just this morning and I’ll admit I’m still a little shaken up over it. For me, it isn’t necessarily the difficulty breathing or the physical pain that bothers me as much as it is the complete lack of control – my inability to always stop it before it gets out of control like that.

It’s also why I feel that sometimes being in recovery and treatment with a mental illness can sometimes be even more draining than going untreated. Because every panic attack, every bump in the road, every single time there is a slight shift and you feel a little happier, a little too angry, or a little too weepy you have to watch it. You have to be aware of the miniscule changes to your emotions and the way you react, you have to analyse every mood you are in and every choice you make. Others do it too, they watch you closely and at the slightest sign they question you worriedly – ‘You’re playful today, are you sure you’re not manic?’ or ‘You have a mood disorder, can I trust your opinion and that it isn’t just your emotions making that decision?’ And then… occasionally it still sneaks up on and you feel like you have accomplished nothing in the months of stability. One outburst leaves you feeling completely naked and vulnerable, useless and stuck in a cycle of hopelessness. You wonder if it will be like this forever, if the guilt and the shame that you can’t get it under control will always be with you. And you just want to be normal.

I’m in recovery from a mental illness, but panic attacks and emotional dysregulation still happen from time to time.  I’m safe, and I’ve got support – I know what to do now… but it doesn’t make it any easier when you feel like you have worked so hard to be level and all it took was waking up one morning for the sea to begin churning, throwing you overboard and letting the waves carry you wherever they may.

I’m sharing this because it’s easy to forget. It’s easy to see someone and know that they have struggled but not to see the internal battles that they still face to stay somewhat stable. It’s easy to look past their eyes and the fatigue and think that it means that the fight is over. It’s easy to get down on yourself if you are that person that is still struggling. Everyone has bad days… but it doesn’t mean we are weak or failing or succumbing to our illness again if we have to struggle, if we ask for help or if we simply need to take a breather. 

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The Truth

The truth is:

I'm just a girl.

The truth is:

I struggle with Mental Illness.

The truth is:

I'm fighting back.

The truth is:

I'm not alone.

It's absolutely amazing what the mind can convince you of. Once I let my mind convince me that I wasn't worth it, that I was just a nobody who was undeserving of love and compassion and understanding. I was in the darkness and couldn't see the light... not only that, but I didn't even believe there was a light. 

Some of the things that I am learning seem so simple, such basic principles that you must wonder how I didn't 'get it', how I didn't understand. I'm learning to accept who I am... mental illness and all. I'm also learning that I am worth fighting for, worth loving, and worth living for. I'm also learning that it isn't easy, but it is possible. I might be different. I might experience emotional roller coasters that are at an intensity that I can't even explain and that most people couldn't fathom. But I am worth it and I'm not the only one. 

The inside of my mind is a battlefield between truth and lies, reality and deception. Logic thinking becomes skewed, the truth twisted into an ugly mess of lies that are so convincing that you not only believe them - you live them. 

In the past, my mind has convinced me that I'm not worth it. That I should kill myself and end my misery, because life isn't worth it. There is nothing worth fighting for. It has convinced me that it is alright to mutilate my own body, to pull my hair and bang my head against the wall; to cut my arms and legs and hips and shoulders with a sharpened razor to simply feel something other than the emotional mess inside my brain. It convinced me that it was what I needed to do to cope. It convinced me that I should leave my husband and that my marriage was over, that my kids were better off without me and that I was no good at anything. 

My mind hasn't always been on my side. And that's why I fight against myself. That's why I need to constantly remind myself of the truth and work hard to appear 'normal' on the outside. Inside my mind is chaos. 

The truth is:

I might always struggle with Mental Illness.

The truth is:

I'm fighting back and I'm winning.

The truth is:

I'm not alone and the only way to help others understand and to reach out to others who are suffering, is to talk about it, write about it and be transparent. 

The truth is:

I've given up on caring about the stigma and the fear that stops us from talking. 

The truth is:
As much as I'm not alone, neither are you!

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World Suicide Prevention Day 2015

Today is World Suicide Prevention Day. I've been thinking about what I would write all week and about the words that I could use to inspire someone to reach out and to save a life. But I don't have anything like that, I don't know if I am in a position where I can give that sort of advice.

What I can do though, is be open and transparent. I can tell you that I have been on the verge of suicide and I have been to the place that is so dark, it feels like there is no way out, except to end it all. I can also admit that even though I'm in 'recovery' and I mostly enjoy my life now, there are still days where I think about it.

Yesterday was one of those days.

It's taboo though, isn't it? To talk about the fact that the idea of suicide popped into my head just yesterday, to admit that there are still occasional
days where I have to fight myself and remind myself of who I am and that my life is worth living. I don't usually talk about it. Out of fear, and stigma, and shame and embarassment I don't speak out about the depth of what I am going through. I don't admit that I'm tired of it all or that I can't see the light for a moment or two. Partly because I know it'll pass and partly because I now have the skills to slowly pull myself up and out of the darkness.

Yesterday I didn't commit suicide... but the thought passed through my mind. I had suicidal thoughts, but I'm not suicidal right now and I wasn't yesterday. (Having passing thoughts of suicide and being suicidal are completely different things.) But I know that I have been there, and if I don't keep on top of my moods and my illness's that I could get to that place again.

It's lonely. It's terrifying. It is a place without hope, without love, without life. It is the absolute worst place I've ever been in my life and it is very real.

When I was suicidal I was empty. I was done. I was exhausted. I was finished with everything and I truly believed that everyone was finished with me, better off without me. My thinking was skewed but I couldn't see it. I tried to think of my husband and my children, but I could only see the pain I was putting them through, the ways that I was making their lives miserable. I believed that they would be happier, more complete, without me in their lives. I couldn't see the happy. I couldn't see the positives. As far as I knew, they didn't exist.

When I was suicidal, the people around me were either unaware or worried sick. My boss, my co-workers and my friends didn't have any knowledge of what was going on. They saw me leave with a smile and a wave and the next thing they knew, I was in the hospital for a suicide attempt. My family however, they were faced with making the tough decisions. Trying to talk me into rationality and trying to decide how to get me home and helped. Faced with these decisions, my husband called the police - several times, he didn't sleep and was faced with comforting the kids who didn't know what was going on but could sense the distress. As more family and aquaintances found out, there were phone calls and texts, worried emails and social media messages. The stress and worry didn't end once I was hospitalised. It took time, and it took honest effort from me for things to get back to more of a normality.

Even still... I know that people worry, including myself. It's something that will always be with me... not as scar, or as a definition of who I am. But of what I have survived, what I have fought against, and a reminder of how precious life is and how easy it is to lose sight of.
And that is all that I want today. For World Suicide Prevention Day, I want this to be okay to talk about. I want my friends and family and everyone else I come into contact with, to see not a person with a mental illness and suicide attempts scarring her history, but a survivor. I want those who are suffering and who are in the same place that I have been, to know that they are not alone and that they can get through this. I want people to talk mental health and suicide.

Love someone with a mental illness. Talk. Listen. Be there. Be open.

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Small Things

(Small stones can appear much larger based on the lens they are viewed from.)

** Knock off the tears.
** Stop crying.
** Why are you over-reacting?
** What's the issue?
** Stop being so dramatic.
** It's not that big a deal!

It seems innocent enough to say one of the above phrases, and most of the time I'm sure that nobody would think twice about using one or all of them - especially if the person standing in front of you was reacting in a way that seemed ridiculous in comparison to the situation.In fact, you might look at such a person and have thoughts that go as far as to compare that person to a toddler throwing a tantrum, unable to see the reason that you try repeatedly to explain to them.

Let's make up a random example.
A couple make plans to go out for the evening, the babysitter arrives and they arrive at their destination restaurant to find that it is unusually booked up and full. One spounse thinks okay, that's fine - let's go find another restaurant, or something else to do. But as he looks at his wife, he realises that she's already gone. The tears have started and she's choking back a sob and as much as she struggles to hide it and push it down, it pops back up. He tells her to relax, it's not that big of a deal and yet, she can't help it. Before long she's not only crying but she's angry, he attempts to take her to another restaurant, to distract her but she's already become another person, vicious as the anger begins to take over. Soon there is an argument and he becomes frustrated because he doesn't understand what the big deal is, she becomes lost in her thoughts. Her black and white thinking has taken over... the night is ruined because the original restaurant is booked, he hates her because she's emotionally sensitive, and who knows, he probably didn't even really want to go out with her in the first place - he hates her.

It all sounds so ridiculous, and very much like a toddler throwing a tantrum... doesn't it? That's because, from my experience and my research it is.

Emotional Dysregulation. People with Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD) don't have the same internal process for dealing with difficult or negative emotions. The thought process is actually quite simple - either you love me or you hate me, it's good or it's bad, life is awesome or it's not worth living at all. Small things are not simply small things. The daily events in life are overwhelming and unmanageable and set off chain reactions in the mind that convince you that everything is against you. And most of all, you can't see it. As far as you can tell, there is nothing wrong with your behaviour - I know, personally for me it was easy for me to admit that I'm a little more sensitive - but that was always as far as I could admit. Everything else, my insane over-reactions, angry rages and bouts of intense emotion were always someone else's fault... they were completely justified to me.

One time that particularly stands out to me, was several years ago. I was baking a cake - just for fun - and as it came time to turn the cake out of the pan and onto the platter I was going to be using, the cake stuck to the inside of the pan and basically only half the cake came out. Did I have a reason to be a little upset - yes, baking a cake is a lot of work and it's frustrating when it doesn't turn out. But how I reacted was completely inappropriate - I instantly felt frustrated and felt the anger begin to bubble. When my husband attempted to calm me down, told me to stop over-reacting and calm down, convince me that it was okay - I lost it. I started yelling (I don't remember exactly what I said, but I know it wasn't very nice!) and the incident ended with me picking up the glass platter full of broken cake and slamming it on the ceramic tile floor. It took hours for me to calm down and before now I've never admitted fault or apologised for my behaviour. At the time I was so out of it, so convinced that my actions were justified that I saw nothing wrong with it.

Thankfully, things are changing now. I will keep stressing that I am not perfect... that a few months of therapy and new meds haven't completely changed me and made me totally normal yet. But I'm working on it. Unfortunately as I said in my last post, my actions have had effects that have probably reached further than I even know, and some relationships have been permanently damaged. Having BPD and Bipolar, finally having a diagnosis, is not an excuse for my previous actions and I am in no way, trying to continue justifiying them. I treated people in a way that makes me amazed that I have anyone left in my life who cares about me. But while it isn't an excuse, it does clear things up... it does give me a place to begin working, examples from my past to help me not make the same mistakes in the future.

Now, with work and with therapy and with practice - the small things aren't always massive events in my life now. I am learning to regulate and can
see the destructive behaviours, recognise the emotions and accept them without losing myself. Without harming those around me. It isn't easy. I still slip and I might struggle with this for the rest of my life - and I accept it. My husband accepts it. And we aren't giving up.

One small thing at a time, we are working through it.

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Vicious - How BPD Affected My Relationships

I hate you. I hate this. I want to die, I'm going to kill myself and I hope you're the one to find my body. - I said these very words once, not that long ago.

I grew up with the mantra, 'Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words can never hurt me.' but as I've gotten older, and thrown many words around myself... I realise just how untrue that saying is, especially when it comes to those around me that I love.

My husband - we met when we were only fifteen and began dating. When he was seventeen and I was sixteen, we had our first child, a baby boy. Less than two years later we had our second son, and soon after that we were getting married. Having two more children in the years that followed led our family into a chaotic period. 

Growing up, I had always been the more emotionally sensitive child. I cried easier than anyone else in my family, got angry - with my parents, my sister and my friends which was often released in outbursts. As a teenager I began to self harm - first by banging my head against the wall, hitting or pinching myself and eventually leading into cutting. But it wasn't all the time and I was able to hide it well, not letting anyone find out about it, especially since a lot of the time, I was perfectly normal.

Once my husband and I settled into the daily rush of our lives, things started to show through. My husband and I fought. I can't really say whether it was more or less than other couples, but it was quite a bit. At the time I had almost no knowledge of mental health whatsoever, and didn't know that I would one day in the future be diagnosed myself. As a result, triggers were common and looking back now, I can identify many of the early warning signs that existed but neither of us could recognise at the time. 

Over time, our fights became worse. Something would set me off and I would almost disappear completely, become a totally different person. Unfortunately this is common in someone with Borderline Personality Disorder - emotional dysfunction. Things become black or white. Yes or no. Good or bad. Love or hate. 

And while, for the most part, I was fairly normal to the outside world, at home things only got worse. The smallest thing could trigger me and I would get mean. My husband, who isn't perfect but pretty darn close most of the time, put up with a lot from me. If it was a bad day, I would become borderline verbally abusive, slinging hatred and insults faster than I could think them. And then, eventually when I calmed down, oftentimes I didn't even remember the horrible, vicious things I would say or my brain would justify them, make my words seem perfectly logical. 

As a result, I damaged a lot of relationships - many friendships were completely destroyed by my black and white thinking, my fear and anger and silent frustrations at things that I could see in the relationship but they couldn't. It wasn't only friendships that I damaged though, it was also family relationships - my mother, my father, my sister, my grandparents - there were throughout my life times when I simply swore that they hated me, or were wronging me, and I pushed them away, refusing to let them be close to me for fear of being rejected. 

Most of all though, I damaged my marriage. Neither my husband or I could understand what was going on, why I would get so angry and lash out at him. We kept fighting. I would get simply vicious.

And then one day, my husband told me he had had enough. He left. It wasn't amid a fight, but following a blowout that I had thought at the time we were recovered from. He moved out that day, went to stay with a friend, and I was angry. As far as I was concerned, I had done nothing wrong. 

During his time away, a lot happened. But eventually, through a series of events we came home. We decided to keep trying to work things out. Looking back, although I had always shown signs, it was through all of this that I really see my illness taking a dive, things would be up and I would be fine; happy, alive, energetic. And then I would get down, depressed and angry. I became unpredictable and several months later I hit a low... or rather a high. My husband and I were still fighting quite regularly, and during this particular time, I stopped sleeping. I was on a high and for the first little while I was okay. But then the lack of sleep hit. I became angry and cold, and vicious again. I left home, several times in the night. I would walk the streets of our small town and return home where I would be up and down from bed, sleeping an hour here or an hour there. This went on for days, which turned into weeks. Occasionally I would crash, sleep for 3 or 4 hours and then I would be up again. 

One night, my husband and I fought hard. I was exhausted and running on empty and I was flinging every insult and bad decison he had made into his face. I hated him and everything about my life. I left the house and began walking. I walked through our subdivision in pajama pants, tank top, a jacket and boots. No socks, no warm shirt - in the middle of January. My husband called our friend who also happened to be the Pastor at our church. Not only was I angry, I was threatening suicide and had even written him a letter. When the Pastor arrived, I was just returning home and I turned on him. I don't recall what exactly I said but I know that I was nasty towards him before I ran off again. That night ended up with me in the hospital overnight for my first Psych evaluation. By the time I was able to see the crisis worker the next morning, I was perfectly calm and able to talk my way out of the hospital.

A few months later, the same thing happened again. Only this time I was desperate for sleep and began using sleeping pills, while at the same time I regularly threatened to hurt myself. This time I was completely out of control. One day I parked my car in our church parking lot and laid the chair back to try and sleep. 35 sleeping pills later, and being found wandering around by the police and I was once again taken to the hospital. This time it was a 3 day stay and anti-depressants. 

But unfortunately it took visits with my family doctor, and follups with the Psychiatrist before I was finally given my first accurate diagnosis of Bipolar Disorder. Pills. Medications. Follow up with my family doctor every few months and that was all. They expected me to be fine, to stay on the pills and continue on with my life with almost no information and no follow up care from Psychiatry once I was diagnosed. 

The problem with that is that I have level times. I have periods where I feel perfectly normal and am highly functional in my life. 

So it's true, once I was diagnosed, things got normal in my life for a while. My husband and I began to attend marriage counselling in the midst of all of this and life went on as though nothing had happened. 

And then I noticed that I still raged despite the meds and eventually the side effects became unbearable in comparison to what I felt the meds were doing. So I went off the meds, I kept busy. I became physically active, worked alot and mostly kept things at bay. But the angry rages kept coming. Not as severe, but always there, just bubbling under the surface. And then our lives changed.

It was a simple move, but it was the event that catapulted me back into the thoughts, the rages which led to the waterfall. 

And through it all, I have treated people - specifically my husband like crap. Until I received the second diagnosis in November of Borderline Personality Disorder, nothing made sense. I never understood how I could love my husband with every ounce of my being, and yet treat him so horribly. Now, after decades together it's all alot more clear. I'm not perfect yet, but with the correct diagnosis and a ton of actual treatment - the right meds combined with therapy - I'm learning. He's learning. We are both doing far better and understanding far more about why I am the way that I am. It isn't easy, change never is. But we're slowly coming along. I still get angry and feel myself getting out of control - becoming emotionally charged and feeling like at any moment, emotional me might take over, become a monster. And it might happen again. But I also now have tools to use, weapons to combat myself and become more self aware when it's happening. 

We've identified many of my triggers and several early warning signs that something isn't quite right, and strategies to keep me level. Right now it's working. But I owe my husband a heck of alot. He has loved me through it all. Despite his frustration with me, despite the vicious person I can become, he has been my rock. And he's not the only one. I still have family and friends who have stuck through me despite the way I have treated them and I will never be able to express my gratitude and how lucky I am to have them all in my life. 

For years I thought I was simply just a bitch, incapable of maintaining friendships or any relationships. Now I know that it isn't all true and I am fighting to change my behaviour, to not let my mental health conditions dictate my life any longer. I don't just want to be a better person... I want to be a better daughter, sister, friend... and most of all wife.

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Beyond the Horizon

   The sun is setting on this chapter of my life. Just over the horizon I can see a new me. A happy me. A me that isn't struggling anymore, that doesn't have a disease of the mind. 

   From now on I can handle it. It won't be a daily fight to keep negative thoughts and emotions out of my head, to convince myself that I'm okay and that I am worth loving. I'll be able to manage myself without difficulty, without the work it has previously taken to consciously change the way my mind works and the way that I think.

   I'll be able to stop all of the pills and the therapies and the groups. I won't ever have to talk about it again or let anyone else know about the things I've struggled through during the past few years. 

   And everything that I just said is a lie. 

   As much as I want it to be true, it isn't... and it never will be. 

   Over the last couple of months I've taken a bit of a break about talking about it, instead focusing on me. I've been in recovery - I still am in recovery - and I've been okay. I've stuck to my schedule, kept all of my appointments, attending therapy and groups, and spent some time making decisions about the medications I was on. There have been no suicide attempts, no hospital visits and very little drama in my life. 

   But that doesn't mean that I'm recovered, that once the sun sets on this chapter of my life, that it's over, never to return again.
   Because the truth is, that I will never be fully recovered. I can and I will work towards reclaiming myself and not letting my emotions and thoughts control my life or lead me down the darkest path. But it will always take effort, conscious decisions and careful assessment of myself. It will take the support of my family and friends to remind me once in a while of who I am and how far I've come. It will take time and continually checking in with myself and others, of keeping grounded. 

   It won't mean that those thoughts will never pop up again, that I will ever feel the clouds of depression sneaking in, it will mean though that I can acknowledge it and move on, remind myself of the positives and fight a little easier. It will mean that when I think thoughts of suicide that they will remain thoughts and not spiral into darker plans, or worse - actions. 

   So while the sun is setting on the last few months of my life, it's rising on the other side, a reminder that it will always rise again, and so will I. 

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Taking Time

It's taking me a long time - at least it feels like it a long time. Five months since before. It's kind of how I've been referring to things lately. There's now, five months since the day I tried to kill myself and then there is the period - my entire life - before that day. In a way it feels strange to define it that way, after all, I have lived with mental illness, experienced other events throughout my life that have made their mark in my journey, but for some reason this time has effected me more than any other. It's changed me.

Change isn't necessarily a bad thing, but it is hard. Especially when you are changing yourself, changing your behavior and the way you have both acted and reacted to things throughout your entire life. You see, I didn't wake up one day and suddenly have bipolar disorder. It's something that when I look back, I can see affecting me as far back as high school and my teenage years. It wasn't as obvious, but when I was younger I definitely experienced milder forms of the same symptoms. I didn't know it at the time, but I spent years battling myself, not understanding why I would slip into depressive episodes and then shoot back up into highs. I didn't understand why I would start projects, ambitious and motivated only to come back down from a high into a low where I could barely keep up with the day to day tasks of life. I didn't understand the borderline traits that would cause me to see things in black and white thinking, pushing aside those who I cared about because I was scared of losing them. Even back almost four years ago now, when I was first diagnosed with Bipolar Disorder after an overdose on sleeping pills that caused me to wind up in the hospital, I didn't fully understand it. 

So it makes sense that it's taking a long time. Because really, five months isn't really that long after all. Five months to repair a lifetime of behaviors, of ups and downs and explosive tempers. Five months to adjust to the way it feels with the new meds, with tools in place to help me deal with things in a healthy normal way. It also makes sense that there are still up days and still down days, days where I feel like I'm never going to be mentally healthy and days where I get so frustrated with things that I can't control. Because really, five months out of the last thirty years isn't really that long at all. 

So it's okay. It's okay that it's taking time for me to adjust and to find the new me. It's also okay that my mental health is one of my priorities right now, that I'm learning new ways to both fight it and live with it and that it's probably going to take time. It's okay that I still get tired and frustrated and up and down on my way to level. It's okay.

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The Best Day of My Life

I'm currently fighting off a cold. Yesterday was an all around shitty day that had me wishing for the comfort of my bed, waiting anxiously for the time I could finally just fall asleep and put the day behind me.

And yet somehow I woke up in an okay mood this morning, only getting better by the minute. By the time the kids were off to school and the hubby to work, I was hitting play on my phone letting my playlist run through and further brighten my morning up. And then suddenly the song "Best Day of My Life" by American Authors came on and I found myself smiling and singing along while I, wait for it... danced in my living room. I love this song. But more than that I love this feeling. This light, happy feeling that for once isn't being overshadowed by the last couple of weeks of depression, this break that makes it feel like it is the best day of my life.

Last week was not a great week... but I made it work, I kept up all of the work I have been putting into taking care of myself and gaining some control over my emotions. It hasn't been easy and days like yesterday nearly made me give up and just quit because it is so far beyond hard - one of the most difficult things I've ever tried to do. 

But I'm not giving up. And I'm grasping at days like today where I don't have to fight as hard and I am going to give them everything I can. Even if it's just today - I'm level. I'm happy. And the more often I can pinpoint these days, make the most out of them, put the most attention into them; well I'm hoping the more often they will come up. 

These little slivers of happiness that make up the best days of my life. 

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A sliver of happiness

Sometimes I need to remind myself it isn't all bad. Even in recovery, there are days that seem darker than the rest, shadowed with unspoken thoughts, negativity and anxiety.
So I'm learning to remind myself.

Winter is a difficult time for me right now but even if I weren't still recovering from a serious bout of depression, it isn't my favourite time of the year. The air is frigid, I feel more isolated, and the world just feels darker and less friendly. With the thick layer of snow and the temperatures that haven't reached above zero (Celsius) since January, it feels like it's never going to end. It's starting to really trigger me. Thankfully I've made a friend recently who invited me out this week for a coffee date and an opportunity to explore a new hobby - my camera. It was with my friend, looking out at the same blanket of white stuff, with the icy wind chilling me to the bone that I was able to remind myself... find something positive. It wasn't the easiest task, but I managed to find the beauty, find a way to remind myself that it isn't all bad. It's something that I need to work on with every other trigger in my life, but at least for now it's a start.

I'm glad that I pushed myself to see the beauty, to find one positive thing to focus on to get me through the next few weeks of winter. Slowly I'm finding happiness - a sliver at a time.

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Those Quiet Moments

I'm curled up in the corner of the sofa, a blanket spread across my lap and a mug of hot tea beside me. It's 10:00am on a Thursday and the kids are in school, my husband at work. Aside from the sound of the laundry tumbling in the dryer, it's silent in the house.
I pick up my book, read a couple of paragraphs and then set it down because I can't focus on it. I open up my computer and pull up the writing I began months ago, hoping that I can lose myself in the words and yet, nothing happens; my fingers are frozen over the keys, unable to type a single word. I put the computer away and stand up, I move to the kitchen and inspect the cupboards to see what I can bake - I've always loved baking - but the minutes tick by as I stand there until I eventually close the cupboards again and turn the kettle back on. I'll have another cup of tea. While I wait for the kettle to boil I look at the stack of dishes in the sink, the toys scattered around the living room, the dust collecting on the bookshelf. I think I should do something, clean something and I start. And then I stop. And then I just stand there, utterly overwhelmed as the tears build in my eyes.
I can't do this. I don't want to feel this way any longer.
I feel the familiar feelings as they creep over me. I feel frustrated by my inability to make a decision, to simply complete tasks, to do something - anything. I feel overwhelmed by the to-do list that's getting longer. I feel guilty because I should just do it and I force myself to try again before I return to my spot on the sofa and close my eyes because I'm suddenly exhausted. And then I feel lazy and useless and worthless and a mess - like a complete failure at life.
But I'm not.
I've forgotten that I am still recovering from a severe illness, a complete breakdown.
I've forgotten that it takes small steps and perspective.
I've forgotten everything I have done.
I took my medications. I got out of bed this morning despite the weight on my body that told me to just stay there and sleep. I showered and dressed. I got my kids and husband off to work/school and I went to the local hockey arena and went walking. I stopped at the grocery store on the way back home and picked up a few things. And that's just today. In the past few months I have gone from wanting to kill myself to wanting to live - and to live a good life.
I'm slowly learning that I need to stop comparing myself between what I was like 'before' and what I'm like now but it's not easy to do, especially when it comes to my expectations of myself.
But I'm working on it. And when I get overwhelmed I try to remind myself of where I've come back from, and where I'm heading. It won't always be easy, especially in the quiet moments when my mind has too much time and not enough focus, but eventually I'll get there.
So for now, I sit and I drink my tea. I make a list of things that must be completed and I tackle them one thing at a time, resting in between. And I write about how I'm feeling because I have to remind myself. Things will get better, they're already getting there. In these quiet moments I just need to remember that it takes time. That I am strong and worthy and going to beat this. It just takes time.

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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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Moment by moment.

I woke up this morning.

And my first thought was; Oh my gosh, how am I going to get through today, and tomorrow and this week and this month... and... and... and...

My mind immediately went into overdrive. I began to panic, my pulse started to race, my thoughts soared out of control and I wanted to shut down. So I did the best thing that I could do in the moment:

I got out of bed.

I focused on the small task of climbing out of bed and making it (so I wouldn't crawl back in) and moving out to the kitchen. And then I put all of my attention on the task of making myself my morning cup of tea. After that I focused on having a shower and getting dressed, next it was starting the laundry, etc... 

It isn't an easy pattern to pick up and when you are feeling overwhelmed it might seem nearly impossible. Thankfully, I have a wonderful husband who is an amazing support person and who can remind me that I don't need to panic, that I can calm down and live in the moment. Our basic needs are met. We have food and clothing and a house to live in and so I don't need to panic at the thought of what next week, tomorrow, or even later today will bring. 

I only need to live moment by moment.

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