The Cure

If you could be completely "cured" of your oddities — your moods, your tics, your dysfunctions — would you?

In the past, I have fought against reining in my moods because I didn't "want to lose my creativity or lose my real self." I was in my early 20s then and felt that having large mood swings were integral to who I was and that losing them would make me dull and boring. I fought my therapist on this point and, after a particularly bad phase agreed to consciously control my mood swings. Guess what? They weren't integral to my personality and losing the extremes didn't make me dull or boring. 

I fought going on medication for my depression, because I didn't want drugs and I was afraid they would tamp down my personality, make me dull. Neither happened in that case, either. It took years, but I finally accepted that I would need to be on some medication for my whole life. I became okay with that.

I have not come to terms with the amount and levels of medications I am currently on. I have good reason to be against this on a long-term basis because last year at this time I was on just two of these meds, and at significantly lower dosages. It's my belief, thought, and opinion that once I've healed to some specific extent, or once I've dealt with enough trauma through therapy, or once a fairy drops enough pixie dust in my hair, I will be able to drop back to last year's medication regimen! 

Last year, I felt good. I felt right. I've always had and always will have mood cycles — we all do, but most people's don't affect how well they function — but they were controlled both by the medication and by me. My anxieties — free-floating, social, PTSD-related — were controlled, probably almost all by the medication. Or else, enough was controlled by the medication that the rest of any anxieties became insignificant, maybe weren't even there because the big stuff was fine. But I felt Just Right. The way I would feel if I hadn't had to struggle with this mental and emotional crap.

I'd love to be cured of needing medications. I'd love to be fully functional for the rest of my life without wondering if and when another bomb will drop me into the Abyss again. But would it be good for me to be entirely free of them? And would being free of my "cycling mood disorder of unknown origin" and my PTSD and other anxieties also "free" me of my idiosyncrasies and quirks? I know that I've always been afraid of losing myself and all my quirky bits. So afraid that a "cure" will cure me right into being just like "the norm" rather than the endearing little statistical outlier I have always been.

I've learned self-discipline (which I always seem to forget about) when I began to control my mood swings. I learned self-awareness by becoming aware when my moods were becoming negative; I could use the discipline and skills to dampen the intensity. Maybe I would have learned them some other way, but maybe I wouldn't.

However, there is no reason to stay handicapped if you don't have to be. My mental and emotional turmoil have handicapped me for months, keeping me from being able to even look for work, thus taking me to the very brink of absolute poverty (I'm not kidding here — I need money NOW). I would agree to be cured of my mood disorder and my anxieties, but not my personality or my way of looking at things from my own special perspective or even those times when I think I'm being perfectly normal and everyone else is looking at me like "and how long have you been visiting our planet?"

I'm pretty sure that no one knows where mood disorder stops and personality quirk begins. Maybe it's all just about how well you function.

Karen the Wonder Therapist wants me to not define myself as "mentally ill" or by my mental and emotional problems. Sometimes I do and sometimes I don't; it depends on how they are affecting my life. I have felt terribly ill since my mom died and have been barely functional for most of the time since then. Insurance isn't paying for my therapy — they obviously have decided I'm not sick — but I'm not exactly well.

I'm just me, swimming around in the Sea of Life, looking for hospitable land and trying to not drown in the meantime. I really could use a life preserver about now.

Turtling

Turtling is a term I use for when I close in on myself in a self-protective mode. I guess some people might call it nesting, but I avoid surrounding my areas with lots of clothing and blankets (I've done this in the past). Instead, I feel as if I've pulled into a shell and don't want to come back out.

I think it's different from agoraphobia (my BFF thinks differently, of course). Agoraphobia generally results from having panic attacks at different places until even leaving the house causes them, leaving you stuck. I don't feel as if I'm afraid to leave (although there is anxiety). I just feel safer inside my home.

When I do leave, I enjoy being out. When I've been out for a couple of hours, though, I start feeling like I need to be home. Luckily for me, it isn't the compulsion it was about 15 years ago. It's merely an urge.

The big problem seems to be making myself get out of my little womb.

I think part of it is the problem introverts can have when they've been excessively introverted, away from almost all stimuli. They become more introverted. When I read The Highly Sensitive Person, it changed my outlook and I learned that I'm not "too sensitive." But I do have to watch out for becoming so introverted I have difficulties having any stimuli at all. I don't even listen to music anymore.

Having reasons to go out, having people to see, having things I want or need to do: these would get me out and expand my stimulation threshold once more. Yes, it's been suggested I do some volunteer work that requires my physical presence. I forget to look for it. My current state of mind (or medicine) messes with my short-term memory. A lot. So I forget these ideas I have for helping myself get better. 

I forget to do stuff I really love to do, such as write and other creative things. Here I am, more time than money, and I fritter the time away not creating a thing, not walking in beauty, not going to a museum or the zoo. I waste it huddled in my self-created womb, my shell, my bomb shelter.

I need to remember to look outside and see that there is no bomb, the sky isn't falling, and the sun is shining invitingly. I need to reclaim my authentic self and surrender my turtle self, because I can protect myself in other ways and do not need a hard shell to hide inside. I must remind myself that I gave up barriers when the walls of my keep broke into ruins inside my mind and my heart a few years ago when I felt great pain.

Vulnerability is the new strength. Try it on, self. I think it looks very good on you.

Starting from Scratch

Depression devastates. It devours. It consumes your life and, if it goes on long enough or is bad enough, it can consume even your life skills.

I've been battling depression and anxiety directly for about 27 years; I've suffered from anxiety since I was a child. For a long time, I managed to hold on to the usual life skills of cleaning, cooking, staying organized, but during my worst periods have seen those skills erode. Since my mom's death, the anxiety and depression have taken me all the way down to the ground. 

I don't pick up. I don't clean. I don't fix meals ... I just buy stuff and it goes bad. I don't pay my bills on time. I don't look for work. It's not laziness. I don't do any of these things because I am overwhelmed by it. I sit on the couch and when I think about doing any of those tasks, my anxiety flares up and I'm even more stuck to the couch than before. The depression weighs me down and makes me feel vague and weak. Days pass by in a haze and I am constantly surprised by the end of the day.

I'm at ground zero and around me lay the ruins of my life. Not only do I not do basic life tasks and routines, I don't do the things I love other, such as write and go for walks.

The depression and anxiety have shown signs of clearing. I finally want to live again, which is rather new since Mom's death. But I have a lot of work to do before I am doing anything other than surviving.

I plan to continue to use this blog to talk about my therapy, but I am also going to use it as a journal of learning to live all over again. None of my therapists have offered me any way to do this; all we do is talk about ideas. Obviously that hasn't worked. I'll be making this up as I go along, cobbling together solutions and motivations and simple "how do I drag myself along" functions from other people's suggestions, from things I read, and from whatever I can dredge up a brain that's had most of its creativity smothered in muck for a very long time.

The things I intend to concentrate on first are

1. Basic routines & habits: moving the morning routine along faster and to somewhere other than the couch; putting the dishes away when they are clean; putting out the garbage in a timely manner; going to bed at a reasonable time and with a dependable routine.
2. Cleaning: first, clearing out the detritus that currently covers every surface, sorting, that overall declutter that needs to take place before I can even develop routines. I think I'll have a cleaning person come in and do a deep, thorough clean after I get all the clutter handled. Then develop habits and routines.
3. Money & paperwork: get my check register up to date; get my bills scheduled on my calendar so I can pay them on time; get that bankruptcy info; stay on top of my check register by actually entering all my debit card purchases (what a thought!). Truly concentrate on decreasing expenses. Do my 2010 taxes. Clean up existing files and start new ones, such as my 2011 tax files, now that we are halfway through the year. Develop a routine for handling paper that comes into the apartment.
4. Physical activity: daily activity such as walking or doing exercises; refraining from sitting so much.
5. Meals: fix actual meals for myself. I don't need four-course feasts and I am fine with having the same food frequently, but I do need more stability than cereal with berries for breakfast. Start small with easy stuff.
6. Stuff I love to do: make time to write and do other things I enjoy on a regular basis. Another habit/routine maneuver — makes habits of these things so I remember to do them.
7. Look for work: look into the things I need to do to find or make work; look at job boards, redo my resume and portfolio and all the rest of that; and do it all regularly.

Well. That's a lot of stuff to start with. But each of those sets is very important. Maybe I'll cut it down, start a couple of essential things every 2 - 3 weeks. Even figuring out how to start is something I need to relearn.

So check back. This could be very interesting ... or it could be unimaginably tedious. Just as long as it eventually succeeds.

The balance between gravity and flight

Tonight, I and several friends spent time on Facebook accomplishing a group project and it spawned a great deal of activity; double-, triple-, and quadruple-checking; and laughter. It has also left me with the jittery feelings that come when I let loose the dogs of hypomania, to completely destroy a phrase. The feeling is the same as when I was in college and didn't know about mania and mood swings and crashes as anything other than the regular feelings I experienced and assumed that many others experienced as well. 

In my 20s, I always encouraged and followed that emotional arrow as it flew up and up, past the birds, then the clouds, sometimes clear into the lower Earth orbit. The arrow would halt there, for a moment, balanced almost perfectly between both up and down forces, and that moment of balance was better than alcohol, better than pot, better than sex. However, gravity always won and the emotional arrow would plummet down, faster and faster until it achieved terminal velocity and crashed into the solid Earth, leaving me exhausted, in a vicious mood, confused, and often ill. 

When my first therapist first talked to me about controlling my highs in order to control the crashes, I was ferociously against it. I was convinced I would lose my personality, be some dull drone. I knew I would lose my creativity and my whimsy and spontaneity. It was another 3 years or so before I gave in and, tired of the crashes, began to recognize and control the arrow as it flew upward. I was relieved beyond words to see that it didn't kill my creativity or those parts of my personality that I valued so much. In fact, I think it made those facets better by virtue of my achieving some control. Later, when we decided to go further and add a medication layer of control, I wasn't so dead set against that. I'd grown accustomed to and grateful for control and the loss of those crashes.

In the past few years, I've also learned that I do have a cycling mood disorder and that the medication doesn't remove the cycling, it only dampens it. The rest is still up to me. I didn't have any awareness of those cycles until a friend who had gotten to know me very well and who has a keen perception pointed out to me that I fell into these phases where I would feel as if rabid hamsters were running on wheels in my mind and I couldn't control them. During those times, I would become dramatic and sure that the very worst thing that could happen would happen. These phases happened, he pointed out, every three weeks. Nothing I could lay to female hormones. 

Now that I've become aware of those three-week events, I've been able to perceive and control them. Over the  years I've come to appreciate control. So do my OCD and my PTSD and my hypervigilance and my regular anxiety ....

"I had a good day," she said with surprise in her voice.

The day was sunny, but the sunshine is not the reason I had a good day. I held few expectations for myself — just a small list of things that must be done —, but keeping my expectations reasonable was not why I had a good day. My period hit flood stage, which is definitely not why I had a good day.

The day was sunny; I accomplished all my tasks; my period almost I survived being away from home for over three hours with a heavy period; I bought a few snacks and ate all of them (two steps forward, one step back); my brain whirred — the  title for this post came to me, I imagined a potential title and signature graphic for another blog if I choose to illustrate and sell greeting cards and other of my works, and ... I should use my digital recorder in the car because I have forgotten for the moment; my body sucked in the heat and the Vitamin D; I posted comments on blogs, I read blogs, I emailed, FBed, and Tweeted with friends; many ideas for all the writing aspects of my life ran in rivulets through my brain, just behind my eyes (where they are running now, like visual music tracks in color and motion).

None of these things is the reason I had a good day. Not one single thing made me feel better — it was the gestalt of all of them combined that lifted my spirits and the corners of my lips. On my mood spreadsheet for today, I will actually go positive on my Depressed/Happy axis. (Yes, I do keep a spreadsheet of my moods and any typical things that might have an influence on them. Then I create charts to see if there are obvious relationships. Thank Gates for something useful!)

I feel potentially productive. What this means is that my mind is churning on all the projects that I have to do and all the projects that I want to do. I can see them and hear them and feel them. (This may be my own form of synesthesia.) 

Tangent — A previous therapist of mine was quite concerned that I was wasting too much of my energy on a fantasy life I imagined every day. Finally I told her all about it, in the same amount of detail that I used in imagining this life and she was astounded. "I understand now," she said. "This is why you need to leave, to go somewhere more stimulating. If you can run your normal life and a whole yet imaginary life, your mind isn't getting anything close to the amount of stimulation and outlet that it needs." Which was entirely true, and which has continued to be true off and on — few jobs can occupy my mind fully for any great length of time. I get bored and wander off to something else. At least I give two weeks' notice before wandering off.

What this tangent means is that my mind was more awake today, more alive, and thus able to begin creating and reaching out for what it needs.

I endeavor to avoid becoming too excited over singular positive changes — they are too easily overset. I will save my excitation for an actual upward trend. (But I will continue to feel optimistic!)

I wanna walk like you, talk like you

I've been singing lately. Well, I often do. The latest song that keeps coming to mind is from The Jungle Book (Disney animated, many years ago).

Oh I'm the King of the Swingers

The Jungle VIP

I want to be a man like you

and that's what's botherin' me.

Oh you-u-u

I wanna be like you-u-u

I wanna walk like you, talk like you

....

And that's where my memory runs out. I like that the song is bouncy and energetic and silly. Those are qualities that I would associate with myself, if I were myself.

I want to get back to myself.

As a child, I was happy, cheerful. I was extremely bright and creative and was always creating something, whether it was doll clothes or stories or artwork. If I'd had LEGO, I would have been building things. I had a toy where you poured plastic liquid into molds and cooked them until hot; you could burn yourself, but you learned not to. And no, my parents did not supervise, even tho' I was only 8. I'm not sure if that was laziness on their part or trust that I could handle it. Same with my chemistry set when I was 12. Fun times!

I was fairly solitary as a child, unfortunately. There were no girls close to me in age in my neighborhood and the boys didn't always want to play with a girl, especially once my younger brother got older. Sure, he was lots younger than the other boys, but he was a genius when it came to sports, and I was pathetic. Who do you think they wanted to play with?

All my friends from school lived a fair distance away and no one arranged play dates back then. You were just stuck with whoever was nearby and if no one was nearby, you were out of luck. Except on those rare times when you could arrange an after school play time. Those were some of the most memorable times of my childhood.

I'm still unfortunately and involuntarily solitary. I guess it's just one of the curses of my life. But I want to get back to being able to occupy myself pleasurably, be creative, and able to play and be happy alone. I skated, ran, climbed all on my own. No reason I can't do that now. Once I get through the crap in my head that forms the brambles and walls separating who I've become from who I am and could be.

I wanna be like me.