"...Like I'm Never Gonna Heal"

I know it has been some time since I have posted a blog.  I have been working back to health both physically and mentally after major surgery.  I have been doing a lot of introspection, indulging that part of the darkness of bipolar that gives me laser insight and clarity into life aspects.  Ironic isn’t it?  The darkness renders viable fruit.  Always been that way.  It is a perk, and as there are so few with this illness, I go with it.  

“Me and Mine” have been through a rough month.  As per usual, so many issues intersected to create a Bermuda Triangle experience.  But miraculously, through it all I have mostly maintained a philosophical perspective.  Maybe it was all the narcotics post op.  I have never weathered such a physical trauma.  What was supposed to be a relatively uncomplicated hysterectomy that so many women have, turned into a four hour battle followed by infection that just kept battering away at my body’s attempt to heal.  The surgery, for me, and the process prior was really very easy.  I was treated so well by the “Same Day Surgery” staff.  And, honestly I weathered it all very well in terms of mental health and emotional acceptance.

There was really only one moment I was stopped short.  Now, this surgery was necessary.  I have been wanting such a thing to happen for some time.  My quality of life is improved exponentially as a result, but the bottom line is that I have never had children.  Chris and I decided some time ago that we just don’t want that path for the duration of our lives.  But as I sat in a little cubicle, signing papers, the paper that I had to sign granting permission for sterilization was like a slap in the face.  I nearly handed it back to the lady, telling her it didn’t apply to me.  Duh.  Of course it did, I realized.  I was forever sealing my fate with that signature.  I looked over at Chris, who was sitting next to me, made some flippant comment about making it official, and signed the paper.  But I have to say, somewhere in the depths, a part of me broke off and officially lamented such a loss of inherent nature.  

I always figured I would have children when I was younger.  But as I got older and battles with mental illness made me cynical and old before my time, I began to see that practicality should win out.  Me, having a small child that would drain me of energy and deprive me of carefully established sleep patterns that keep me on track, simply was not a good idea.  My head always grasped it, but my heart didn’t always comply, and as I went through my thirties, the desire to be a mother increased.  But as one long term relationship ended, and I found myself single once again at the end of my thirties, I began to realize it just wasn’t in the cards for me.  And, honestly, intimate relationships are hard for me to maintain.  It’s not that I’m not good at them, they just exhaust me.  There is so much control required with bipolar in order to have relationships that I just don’t see a successful outcome to having a child and a relationship.  It would have been too much.

So at the end of my thirties, I married Chris, and he had children.  I am now a stepmom, and it’s good.  I love that I get to be a part of Conner’s life and help shape him.  But it’s not the same as having one’s own child.  It just never will be the same, and while I’m grateful I get to play a role like that, I just plain missed out on something big.  It is what it is.  I had a miscarriage once, so if it was going to happen, it would have.  But as I was being wheeled into surgery, under all the medication for pre op, there was clarity as all the above thoughts scurried through my mind. 

At some point, at least for me, there comes a time where I hit resolution, and even if I don’t actually have closure, I make a decision and step into it, consequences be damned.  I had a dire need for the surgery, physically. I had committed to it and signed the papers.  I was going to do it.  There would be no miracle of life for me, no babies growing to individuals with my features.  I would have to find meaning and purpose elsewhere.

After surgery my doctor came in to check on me and asked if the resident doctor who was in attendance for my surgery under her guidance could come in and ask me some questions.  I was fine with that.  Honestly, I was so doped up, I would have acquiesced to about anything.  Both the resident doc and I were to discover pain medication makes me extremely candid.  More so than usual. 
 

He came in and we exchanged pleasantries.  I told him he could ask me anything, and I think he really just asked basic questions.  My surgery was unique because it was complicated and I had tumors larger than any they had seen, so I was an anomaly, and as such, a person of interest.  When he finished he asked me if there was anything I would like to add.  I responded accordingly:

“I hope that if this is what you want to do, take uterus’ from women, that you remember to really think about what you are doing (His eyes widened).  You are not just taking something that needs to go.  When you take out such parts of a woman, you are taking away any possible ability for her to bear children.  You are taking away the foundational physiological aspect of significance that is uniquely woman.  Now, I went with a woman surgeon, because she is the best, but more so because she appreciates what she is doing when she takes my uterus, and when I tell her to save my ovaries, she is going to try her best, because she has been through menopause and she knows I’m too young to have to start that.  I can trust that she appreciates she is changing my physiology, my biological purpose in life forever.  I cannot say that I could trust you with that.  You are a man, and whether or not you are great at what you do is irrelevant.  It is about whether or not you can somehow empathize with the different species you are altering, that concerns me. So, I would say to you that if you want to have worth as a surgeon, you remember what you are taking when you open up a woman and go after her reproductive system.  Remember that she will never again have the ability to have a baby, that even if doing such a surgery will save her life,  she is going to have to come to terms with what you took from her while she was sleeping. If you can remember that throughout your career, you will be the best surgeon you can be”.  

He sat stock still staring at me from the end of my bed.  I smiled and said, “Bet you didn’t think you would get that coming in here.  I’m drugged but not retarded...and you maybe picked the wrong room...I’m a psychologist.”  He smiled and thanked me for my candor.  We exchanged a few pleasantries, and he went on his way.

For me, the experience with that young surgeon gave meaning to something that cost me dearly.  I suppose it may be arrogance on my part to think that with every experience I have to have a deeper meaning in order to accept it.  But you know, whenever I ask Abba for rhyme or reason for an experience, he always answers me by providing me with a lesson for someone else, and by sharing it with them, I’m the one who truly learns.

“Sometimes I feel cold as steel, like I’m never gonna heal...I see a little light, a little grace, a little faith unfurl...all the empty disappears, I remember why I’m here...just surrender and believe, I fall down on my knees”  (Hello World...Lady Antebellum).  I’m not sure where I am in the sequence referenced above.  I think I’m healing both physically and emotionally.  I was off lithium for a few weeks, longer than I have been in over 20 years, so there has been damage done mentally.  Lithium is hard on kidneys, so urinary tract infections do not allow for its use.  I am now trying to get it back in my system.  I’m amazed at how I’m managing, considering there is nothing to corral the errant brain chemicals.  I just keep going through each moment of the day, telling myself with every mood storm that it will pass.  I clench my teeth and try not to talk or move until the chaos subsides in my mind, and I keep telling myself it was worth it.  The loss of purpose, the loss of mind, the loss of health, and the loss of goals I had nearly accomplished before the surgery.  I am paying into the future.  That is what it was for.  And so I trust Abba to get me to that point.  I surrender any fear or confusion and I just believe...come what may.  I may never give birth or hold a child of my own, but that is just the way things turned out, and as I told my niece the other day, one must let go of the past and firmly march into the future.  So that is what I’m going to do.

Blessings,

L

*Blog title from Lady Antebellum's "Hello World"

For My Funny Valentine

I am not a simple woman.  I am low maintenance, but any relief a man might get from that knowledge can be easily neutralized by a 24 hour period of moods swings, the combination of intelligence and sharp tongue, and reflex to shoot from the hip.  I have had lots of years of being single to become more the way I am, and for the most part, I am okay with it and have made peace with my issues as I have chipped away at them, but my husband has not had so much time as all that.  And though I have a relatively good perception of myself, I am fully aware that life with me is difficult, so I figured I would spend my life single and maybe take on a few cats.  Then along comes Chris, and here we are.  Simple as that.

My husband is tough; tougher than any man I have met.  He  also has a heart the size of Texas, and I’m amazed he has invested it in loving me.  I am a growly bear much of the time, and he puts up with it and me.  I love his tenderness, his ferocity with anything he perceives as a threat to me or the boys, and I am so thankful to be married to an intelligent man who spends time contemplating, for we have great conversations as a result.  He makes me think beyond myself.  

I have to have surgery.  It all started out as trying to find out about a stubborn rash and has ended up in a hysterectomy along with a watchful eye based on a mammogram.  No cancer...just watching...My husband works at the hospital, and has been on me for some time to get certain things taken care of, so finally I did.  Right now the anxiety disorder I have, agoraphobia, fights to keep me hostage in the house.  It happens every year when I am dealing with depression from bipolar.  So, adding a trip to the doctor for ANYTHING that requires an open-backed hospital gown is not going to go so good with my mental state.  

First it was the doctor’s office, which then morphed into an ultra sound and mammogram...I’m thinking, “Okay I can handle a little machine going over my abdomen and the mammogram...I can deal with that.”  The doctor didn’t bother to explain the type of ultra sound I would be getting.  So, a few mornings later I head in to get blood work, and then on to the waiting room for the ultra sound.  My husband, who is running around fixing everybody’s IT issues comes by and says, “I’m not sure you understand the type of ultra sound this is babe.  You are too calm.”  So he explains it to me, and I immediately go into a panic attack.

So hubby not only has to wear his IT work hat but has to put on his “calm the neurotic wife” hat as he holds me telling me it will all be okay.  He waits until I get things under control, telling me,  yes I can do it, and no I cannot bolt from the waiting room.  Once I have a tenuous grip he leaves telling me to text him.  

I won’t go into every sordid detail of the day, but my guy was on top of it all whilst doing his job.  He made sure a friend of his, whom he says is the best, read the radiology reports for my test.  He was busy talking to fellow workers about courses of action.  He got all my tests and consulted with everybody involved, all while I was at home, getting groceries, and going to the boy’s basketball game.  And when he texted me panicked, it was because he had read my mammogram result and was sure I had cancer.  Then he went to the radiologist and she told him exactly the situation and that it was not cancer.  

I cannot imagine the anxiety he was dealing with and how much interference he ran to protect me, how much fear he experienced, while wondering what to do.  Through that whole day he was a buffer between me and revelations my body had been keeping.  My guy has been more than I could have been for him if he were dealing with pending surgery and life changing events.  I’m thankful he is okay with what is going to go on here in the near future, and I’m so glad we are both on the same page about not wanting any more children than the two he has.  He has supported me at every turn, championed my education, supported us while I get my doctorate done.  He has not allowed other people’s views about the role a woman should play impact his own views, and he just works so hard. 

Everyone I ran into in the hospital that day told me how much they love and appreciate my husband, that he is a great guy, and that I am lucky I have him.  I looked directly at each of them and said, “I know that.”  He goes above and beyond in his working and is always kind, even when he gets calls at 3:00 in the morning from some computer illiterate individual who assumes because he or she is working at 3, everyone else it too.  He is not obligated, but he does it, because he has integrity and empathy.

So for this Valentine’s Day, I want to just put my husband up as the example for what loving someone is all about.  His wit and humor sooth me.  His kindness and empathy assure me I’m not alone and that he loves me just as I am.  His practicality and ability to know me well calm me, and his love heals me. 

He is my funny, smart, practical, strong, flawed and wonderfully unique valentine.  I am not a big fan of Valentine’s Day, but that does not mean I am not glad to have a valentine.

Edwin McCain is my all time favorite male vocalist.  Diane Warren wrote this song with him in mind for “Message in a Bottle”.  It was 1999 when I heard the words to the song, and  I remember wondering if I would ever find someone I felt that way about.  In 2011 I married him.

Babe, you enrich my life.  I couldn’t write it better than Diane or sing it better than Edwin, so here is my “singing card” to you. I so love you.

L

January...Here Comes the Sun

January is not a favorite month of many.  There are the blahs that occur after the holidays, cold and bleak weather in many areas with more dark than light, flu season adds to a negative perspective, and for many there is the chemical component added that makes January a volatile month.  

I wrote in my last blog about changes coming down the pike for those dealing with mental health issues.  But with this one I’m bringing things back to a personal level, or an individual level, anyway.  Depression reigns supreme during this time of year, with many individuals who fall within “normal” on the mental health spectrum spiking a bit in the area of the depression.  But for those who fight chronic depression due to bipolar or clinical depressive disorders, this time of year is quite often and quite literally a killer.  

Personally, I am currently in month three of severe depression that is indicative of my particular experience with bipolar.  Every year I go about seven months with depression with it varying from mild (chronic down in the dumps) to fairly extreme.  I have to be very sparing with antidepressants as they tend to cause mania and usher in a mixed state that feels like my thoughts and emotions are fragmenting and fighting for supremacy, a download of multi-moods fueled by excessive aggressive energy.  So, I have had to come up with non-medicinal ways to keep the circus under the big top.  I think that the following is adaptable for any level of depression, chronic or no.  I’ve found these methods to be tried and true, but you should determine such for yourself.

First, I continually remind myself, no matter how things look or how I feel, that my mental state is temporary.  And when I can’t do it for myself, I have a husband, sisters, and a mom who remind me, that, no I’m not dying, that it will get better, that I am loved, that I am in fact not as ugly as I see myself, and that my life does have meaning even though I don’t see it.  But no matter what they say, even if they say nothing, I have to enter into this time of year with the mindset that what I perceive as reality is jaded through the lens of depression.  And I have to make myself accept that what I am thinking and feeling is most likely not reality.  I HAVE TO BE WILLING TO ACCEPT THAT WHAT IS POSITIVE HAS A PLACE, AND WHAT I AM THINKING IS REALITY, IS IN FACT DISTORTED AGAINST ALL I THINK AND FEEL.

Second, I have to minimize expectations of myself.  If I expect myself to perform at the level I do when I am not depressed, I am going to add to my depressive state.  And I have to not look at what others are doing and expect myself to compete.  I know, after years of dealing with this, that I cannot.  I give myself grace.  I must.  I know that my sleep requirements increase dramatically.  That is just the way it is.  My body and mind have to have much more sleep to combat physical and mental stressors that ensue with this time of year.  I GIVE MYSELF GRACE TO UNDERACHIEVE AND SLEEP.

Third, I take time for myself.  As a person who was single for the majority of life, I have a very firm grasp on the importance of time for self.  As a mental health professional, I know the value of inner reflection and time with Abba.  As a person with mental illness, I know the necessity of quiet and reflection to check on functioning ability and stamina levels.  I have put yoga and mindfulness practice back into my exercise routine as main events.  I have no desire to do either, being extremely low on both motivation and energy, but I find they contribute significantly to clarity, something that is necessary to the mood storms that tend to blow through.  I TAKE TIME TO INVEST IN MYSELF.

Try these three things.  If they are not practices you normally employ, you will find you have a full plate, with just three.  And the whole point here is to NOT have a full plate this time of year, so try one at a time.  I will add one more thing here to keep things real for you and for me.  Depression is a very selfish illness.  You have to feed it for it to grow.  Now, don’t get me wrong.  There are chemicals that create it, but if you are continually focusing on all the things that make an environment conducive to being depressed, you will find it will thrive, like a well-fed parasite.  I know from personal experience that trying to see the good, the bright, the hope of things is like trying to drive against a 60 foot wave, but the point here is to not let it get to 60 feet.  

Right now, I am battling physical and mental illness.  Fatigue is the order of the day for me from morning to night.  I know I cannot realistically maintain what my mom terms as ice cream thoughts rather than pickle thoughts throughout the course of my day, but I make it a point to catch myself a few times a day to reframe what appears as bleak into what is positive.  Right now I’m thinking how very tired I am, that I have no energy to finish laundry, get the intellectual work done I need to, and still have time for my man and my boy when they cross the threshold.  STOP.  I don’t have to do all the laundry, just the load I’m working on now.  I only have to get this blog written and set up a couple interviews.  And if I get some yoga done, it will help me have focus and stamina to welcome my two guys home.  I may not be a stellar conversationalist, but I can welcome them, tell them I love them, and let them know dinner is in the works. Oh yeah, dinner.  Hmm...One thing at a time. 

On the spiritual front, I confess, Abba is close to me even when I don’t communicate much.  He and I have traversed severe depression for decades.  He knows me better than I know me, and there is great comfort in having one in my life I can go to for directions about me.  You either understand what I mean here, or you don’t.  I can explain no further except that I have a comfort in that that no medication, practice, or amount of sleep can provide.  

If you are struggling with the darkness of depression, light gray or black as night, you are not alone.  I am right in it too.  I have given some ideas here that work for me.  They are referenced professionally and personally, but they stand on their own merit and are the very foundation for fighting depression.  Sunny days are on their way...Wait for them.  You will not be the only one.

 

Blessings ,

L

Mental Health America All Excited...Really?

So I received an email from Mental Health America.  I am a member and receive their updates and breaking news.  Of course with all the proposed legislation going down with what I affectingly term “weapons and insanity,” there are big changes proposed.  If you are on board with everything going down in legislation right now, you may want to quit reading this blog, as I am likely to offend you.  I am not interested in changing anyone’s mind.  I am simply expressing my thoughts on what is happening in the mental health sector.  You may agree or no.  There is room here for either view.  I’m just expressing from a view point you may not have encountered.

So, Mental Health America is excited and is applauding the President for finally getting on board with mental health by extending access to services and making mental health a priority through the “GUN VIOLENCE ACT”.  So, if you are just falling off the apple cart here, and you see that you, as a person off your nut (forgive the mixed food metaphors...I’m on a diet and food is uppermost at present), can get services through an act that addresses guns and violence, would not you pause for a brief moment before skipping to your nearest health care provider, assuming you even have insurance that covers healthcare issues?  

Hmmm.  I gotta tell you, as a person who has a gun and is also mentally ill, I am a bit reticent about the ACT these new expansions are falling under.  I can honestly tell you that I have never, in my most insane moments, considered taking a gun and killing a group of individuals.  But I certainly fit the requirements of those being addressed in this act.  Oh, except I’m not in my twenties and am not male (a general and vague profile of those perpetrating these horrific crimes).  Moving on...

According to the new link I was sent, a task force has been established (sounds ominous) and is going to provide a “sea of change in the way we view mental health in this country.”  That makes me a little nervous, as someone who is mentally ill, since the impetus for a new view started with heinous shootings by individuals termed mentally ill (though more likely personality disorders).  I ask you, if you are from a culture that has gone from being largely ignored to suddenly becoming a pariah, would you want to have it shown you are a part of that culture?  

They (being unnamed sums who are now invested in addressing mental health, after decades of ignoring it and being told by those of us in the mental health care profession that things were getting worse), are now going to swoop in an “fix” the issue.  So, even though the general population of those who are gun carrying mentally ill persons do not fit the profile of the individuals who have committed such horrific crimes, there will be ramifications for all of us.  Greater good?  Hmmm.

And here is another thought to consider.  Now, we are going to start addressing mental health in schools, something I have long been saying needs to be done as 75% of mental illnesses present before the brain is fully developed by the mid twenties.  Prevention is the way to go, but I wonder who is going to do this educating?  And where is the funding going to come from to do so?  Teachers are maxed out, frankly, and their funding is as well.  Mental health doesn’t even have enough funding to treat those individuals who actually pursue treatment.  I know because I have been through the system.  So, who is going to educate on mental health?  Who is going to screen?  And with what?  Oh, I know.  We have not worked out all the bugs yet...

I think it is a good thing that mental health is being addressed, but if the powers involved think they are going to address and eradicate stigma on one hand with “conversations and talks” about it, whilst screening and then providing personal information that could eliminate 2^nd amendment rights on the other, they are living in a fantasy world.

My perspective on this comes from a couple different scenarios and a knowledge base about human behavior.  After years and years of working with individuals with severe mental illness, I have uncovered a couple of patterns.  One of those patterns is that it seems more likely that men will be more unwilling to address severe mental illness than women.  I’m making a generalization here from my own observations, so don’t quote me.  My theory is that so much about men has to do with their feeling of strength whether physical or through work, and mental illness attacks both, leaving the individual powerless.  The men I have talked to over the years just cannot accept their mental illness, and they have expressed to me that accepting it makes them feel impotent.  So, you have a population of men (I am not leaving women out here, because women also fit these categories I’m stating, just sidelining them).  

Another generalization here, but I would wager to say men tend to carry guns more than women.  You also have more men serving in the military (another generalization).  You have this particular population getting out of the military, having mental health issues (namely PTSD), and not receiving treatment prior to implementation of this new ACT.  What do you think the likelihood will be now of them getting treatment?  Before it was stigma.  Now with Biden’s new task force, a person who receives treatment and is perceived by a mental health care professional as unstable or a threat can be flagged to have his or her 2^nd amendment rights revoked.  HIPPA anyone?  And that is a tremendous amount of power for one individual to wield over another.

So, given my theory, let’s look at our military.  You have a person trained in lethal combat, who has done his (or her) time for the country.  Having done so, damage is done in a mental capacity.  The person has PTSD.  Do you think that individual is going to go get help with this new legislation coming down the pike?  I sure wouldn’t.  So, we have the potential of someone trained in combat with a mental health issue...Based on the legislation, a prime candidate to be flagged as not being able to have a gun, don’t you think?  Never mind they have the illness due to service to their country and the freedoms therein, which include (for now) the right to bear arms.  

Here is what ticks me off.  This ACT is not really targeting the population that is committing such crimes.  Hello!  Just as gun control will really only serve to restrict those who already abide by the laws of the land, so new mental health care legislation will really only impact those who are trying to live healthy lives with mental illness in tow in a negative way.  It will ameliorate bridges established to get people in to get treatment, and it will further establish stigma in society as a whole, but more importantly and more severely, in those individuals who actually have severe mental illness.  

I know Mental Health America is excited in part due to the parity bill being passed which has a lot of good things in it for helping individuals will mental illness, but what is the trade off?  The President did state that mentally ill individuals are far more likely to be victims than to perpetuate crimes, but you do not have to be a sociologist or anthropologist to see where this could go.  So what to do?  

For my part, I’m watching.  That may sound passive, but I’m waiting to see which way the wind blows, and I’m attempting to remain realistic.  Personally, I’m in danger of losing more than my right to bear arms.  I’m in danger of losing my privacy.  Professionally, I can see possibilities opening up as demand for those involved with abnormal psychology increases.  But I’m not as concerned for me as I am for those individuals for whom this ACT may be a death toll for mental health. 

I’m praying some wisdom shows up on the scene, along with some intelligence.  News flash, a person who is unable to carry a gun is certainly able to find other ways to perpetuate a horrific crime.  We have multiple past bombings as support.  AND if a crime is pre-meditated, there is an indication of rationale, which would exclude many mental illnesses and throw such individuals in the category of personality disorder which is NOT mental illness per the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual. 

So, I would challenge those who deal with mental health issues, to really look at what is going on around you.  Do you have a support system?  Do they believe in you and would protect your right to privacy as they are scrambling to protect the 2^nd amendment.  It is valuable to look at all involved here to ascertain who all could be losing what and what will be gained.

Thanks for reading as I expound on my 1^st amendment right!

L

http://www.nmha.org/index.cfm?objectid=456FA181-9254-EBC8-DEE8622F0010A206