Manic Mondays # 4::Carving Order into the Chaos

I have adopted a flexible routine. It keeps me grounded. It enables me to focus on following the inspiration to creative production. I have decided, also, to reject negative energy, in favour of positive light. I do not need to get the last word. I have come to see that I am not my mind. I am soulful, I am spirit. I am light. I found a fabulous website last night called The Happiness Project. It led me to devise my own person commandments. And my own framework for happiness.

I remain committed to myself, in continuing my own Project 365. I have come to see that one must commit to oneself on a spiritual, personal level, before one can contribute in any meaningful way to others, to society at large. This realization makes me feel alive inside, and stable/grounded on the outside. I do choose ~ it does start with me.

Manic Mondays # 3::Tempering the Centrifuge

Welcome to Monday. I have created a new feature for Monday's post I am calling Manic Monday. Its an opportunity for me to explore my bipolarity and lifestyle changes I can make to bring stability and serenity to my inner self.

Imagine trying to live your life while some unknown spirit thrusts you repeatedly into and out of a centrifuge. The centrifuge never stops spinning. Instead, it vacillates between super-rapid spinning and somewhat sluggish spinning. You never know and can never predict the speed of the centrifuge. But still, you must pass through it at the whim of this evil spirit ~ enter ... exit ... enter.

The G forces weigh you down. And the volatility of an unknown renders you inert to the vibrant activity of life going on around you. Slowly, gradually, bits of you get sheared away ~ eroded by the chaos of existing in a centrifuge. The centrifuge sucks you in and spits you out, at random. And you feel eroded ... you begin to feel like nothing. You lose yourself in all that spinning. Slow down. Dance faster. Can you imagine? That's what it feels like, living with and through Bipolar Disorder.

I wrote this in my journal about a week ago, following a particularly horrid and raging manic episode. The raging mania I endured for those few hours became a lesson for me, an experience that led me to work harder at improving myself, and my response to life and the people around me. It sparked me to seek positive, healing energy and influences. I started by setting goals for myself every day. At first these goals involved organizing, tidying, decluttering my flat.

By the end of last week, I had completed the major task of making this flat look and feel like a home. I felt so good, inside and out. Its amazing how one's physical surroundings really rouses one's spirit. Getting rid of useless stuff, organizing that which remains ~ this removed such a heavy weight from my inner self. It filled with me with good energy, and that energy acts a talisman against the evil force that wants me to live my life at the whim of his centrifuge.

My task then became finding a way to hang onto this good and positive energy. I made that visit to the doctor that I had long procrastinated. I told him I wanted to add a mood stabilizer to my med regime. He granted my request. I now commit to myself to take my medications daily and to complete my mood diary daily. With this, my mind began feeling strong and balanced. My soul still cried out for sustenance, for a way to manufacture and grasp hold of positive energy.

The universe must have heard my cries, for then I stumbled upon a group of bloggers that sparked the creative light that had fizzled over the past few months. I've made a commitment to my creative muse ~ to express myself creatively, each and every day. My spirit feels healthier, more content, more balanced. I begin to feel a joy that emanates from within me, not from outside of me. My daily affirmation to myself ~ be the change you want to see ~ reminds me each day that I choose, that it starts with me, that changes effected on the inside will manifest themselves on the outside.

And so, I commit to myself, each and every day, to adhere to a routine, to make order a sacred priority in my daily existence. Further, I commit to myself to express myself creatively each and every day ~ through Project 287, and through a structure of daily creative challenges I have devised for myself in this blog. I have committed to myself to share with others the riches of inspiration and ideas that flow into my river.

Manic Mondays # 2 :: Mixed Episode and the Darkness of Mania

For details on Manic Mondays, please see this post.

Mixed Episode. That's what they call it in the psychiatric world when you feel insanely stimulated and darkly depressed all at one. Degrees of intensity vary from person to person and instance to instance, of course. Irregardless, it feels disconcertingly removed from ... everything and everyone that's supposedly real. It plain hurts, really. Its like trying to drive your car around the busy city whilst flooring the accelerator AND slamming on the brakes ~ like, at the same time.

Mr. Tinkerbell tells me, in the aftermath, that its seems like some evil demon possesses me ... 'its not you ... when you're like that.' Indeed, he's so right. Its sort of not me ... but it is my chemistry and physiology at work. And ... that's what plagued my Friday evening and night ~ a mixed episode. I know the trigger that provoked this latest episode. Just, well, I'm embarrassed to admit the foolish act I committed to trigger my behaviours. But, dear reader, I will.

Its like this ~ I fell off the cocaine abstinence wagon. Yup. Go ahead ... tell me how dumb ... ask me WTF possessed me to do such a dangerous thing. Still, berating myself doesn't alter the reality that I did cocaine again ... even after saying I never, ever would, several months ago! For those of you who don't know ... cocaine feels fabulous ... like an orgasm for the neurons. However, one hit never satisfies the internal monkey. The cocaine monkey, once awakened, wants more and more and more and more and more. She's a greeeeeedy monkey. And she only ever thinks about getting the next banana. Grrrrrrrrr.

Sooo, yeah, I fell off the wagon. And the monkey got pissed off when I cut off her banana supply. Add the stress of being broke and between paydays ... the stress of overcoming marriage strife via form of reconciliation ... the vulnerability that descends in times of unsurity and physical illness ... and the confusion of trying to decide what's right in life. Let's not forget the aging parents that live far away. That's quite a recipe for collapse of some kind.

Angry. I felt possessed by such rage. The kind of rage that makes a person turn normal, household objects into ballistic missiles. The kind of rage that makes a person say vile things to their loved one. The kind of rage to makes a heart race. And, yet ... I felt such despair ~ the despair that deludes you into believing its eternal. I could not reason. I could not negotiate. I could not relent. Self righteous ... lacking insight. Unable to concentrate. Mr. Tinkerbell did the wise thing he always does when I get like this ... he disengaged, silently. In the height of such agitation, one rarely takes time to think about how this behaviour affects persons present. He did not leave. He stayed. And said nothing. How painfully difficult!

After steaming myself into near heat stroke via shower, I turned on my Acer laptop and focussed on the internet ~ my blog, and various sites I have wanted to check out of late. I stayed up until 5 am. But, the internet did provide my brain with the diversion it needed to redirect itself. And, in the process, I discovered the fun of icanhascheezburger, I pimped this blog on various blog directory sites, I discovered psychcentral and I researched some meds I'll need to take.

A misty, sporadic sort of rain fell throughout the day Sunday. Its the sort of weather that makes me feel the dampness in my bones. As night drew closer, the wind picked up, and I could hear the cold howl of the wind, and the angry patter of rain drops hitting the front door. Its early, early Monday morning as I write this. The wind and the rain have settled. Its calm now. Quiet now. I can rest, soon.




Image Credit: Dark Matter by Mary Mattingly

Manic Mondays # 1 :: Suicide and Stigma

Manic Mondays, my attempt to devise a vehicle for myself through which I can write focussed posts on what it feels like, looks like, tastes like, smells like to live with mental illness.  First and second experience will inspire these posts. I want to make these posts deeply personal, rather than clinical or medical.

A good friend of mine who was bipolar recently hung himself. He had struggled for awhile, following the holiday season. I think he reached that point that some of us reach, where we know we need something ... some sort of relief. But ... something keeps us from reaching out and grabbing it. Fear, perhaps, of the exhausting stigma and judgmental attitude one faces, when one seeks the so-called help the mental health system offers its victims. We get tired of hanging on to the rocky cliff. And we let go. And they blame us ... for feeling the feelings, for having the thoughts, for seeking relief. Its almost as though, because we cannot see the wounds of those afflicted with mental illness, we blame them for their illness. Like, c'mon, snap out of it, stop being depressed! How many have heard that one before?

Do we, as a society, think and believe we're doing all we can to stop this from happening? When did we last hear about a revolutionary breakthrough in psychiatric treatment? How much of society's resources goes toward R&D of mental illness and psychiatric treatment? Not enough, I fear, particularly when one considers the invisible virulence and life-threatening nature of diseases such as bipolar disorder and schizophrenia.

my polarity

~ september 22th ~

It’s happened. After 9 months of separation, living under the same roof, He has moved out. I feared, even just a few weeks ago, that the dissolution of the partnership would dissolve me. For … who have I been these many years? Someone’s wife. Someones’ mother. Someones’ nurse. An employee. A student. A patient. A victim. A fuck. An income. Defined in relation to others. Defined by a role I assume in daily life. Defined by an affliction. Defined by an action. Valued for the pleasure others can derive from their interaction with me.

I feel liberated. I feel relieved. I feel renewed - like I have the energy to sort through all these material things and purge, purge, purge. An external activity and process that mirrors my internal processes. Scatter and gather.



~ now ~

I have decided to revert back to my maiden name. I even purchased the letters to place on the mailbox ... to replace my married surname. I sleep alone ... I awake alone. Except for a grey feline ~ a female feline. She likes to wake me up by sitting atop me ... and kneading my hair with her paws. Personally, I prefer this method of wake-up to manipulative demands for sex. Making myself a man's prey quite hinders my sense of self worth. I'm no man's fucking pleasure vessel. I'm me. I don't know what exactly that entails yet, but I think I like it.

I have learned that it really doesn't benefit anyone to remain in a sparkless, lifeless marriage. No one ends up a winner when one sacrifices one's happiness for the longevity of a marriage. When life becomes a series of habitual scenarios and people strung together, as opposed to a mindful challenge, we've lost. And ... do we need to exist solely in pairs? Who says?



The other day, I drew the Death Tarot Card. For those of you unfamiliar with tarot, this card symbolises transformation and rebirth. And, so ... the end becomes the beginning. I see my life and the people in it thru an entirely different prism. Soon, I will mark a year of separation from my husband. No chance of reconciliation exists. He has chosen another path. A dark path. He has become a stranger to me. He's stolen from me [yeah, cleaned out my bank account, days before rent day!], and then told me prefers living on the street, where he gets robbed, than 'get fleeced by [me]' ... and he constantly insinuates that i am faking this depression and mental illness stuff. Yes, I do not know this person. And ... he does not know me. Irregardless, I forgive him. And, when he appears at my door, seeking food, I always share what I have. That's turning the cheek, ain't it? And, FUCK, it's DIFFICULT!

I have overlooked myself in favour of others for far too long, now. Its time for me to look after me. I have felt suicidal for the past 2 years. No kidding. My doc diagnosed me with Bipolar disorder. And, until very recently, I have suffered so from sleep deprivation. I had no idea what a solid 8 hours of sleep felt like ... really. The Seroquel works ~ within 30 minutes of taking it, I am passed out, sleeping. I take care, now. I monitor ~ what surrounds me, what enters me, what passes through me. I avoid the drama of others. I feel easily overwhelmed. I remind myself feelings demand me to feel them, and not fight them. My disappointment at how Martin has turned out has devastated me ... I fantasized about self-harm quite a bit over the past week. My meatspace friends, thankfully, will not leave me to my own devices ... they challenge me to forge ahead. Joy defines pain and pain defines joy.



Only the dead fish always swim with the current.

... a strange pain inside ... ?

imagine if, when you started your car each morning, it would either rev up really high, just racing, racing ... or not start at all. in each case, you'd find it impossible to use this car to transport yourself reliably to your destination, wouldn't you? such a car seems non-functional, really.

well, if you can imagine ... that's what bipolar feels like ~ no baseline, just red-lining it, or inert. confusion, and cloudiness, linger. can i really, objectively, analyze the workings of my own mind and its chemistry? there's the rub.

somehow creative genius and madness seem to hold hands, in some dark shadows of existence. does the force of creative genius create a strange pain inside ... leading the individual to madness? or maybe creative genius and madness exist as siamese twins, inseparable ... fused to one another?

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Bipolar Type 2 - I am