Singing in the shower, I'm Free, I'm Free!....or at least on my way

When I was in high school, my first real boyfriend was killed by a drunk driver. I won't go into the whole story, but it took months for me to begin to break apart and grieve.....maybe it was just too big to process quickly. I did want to....but couldn't.

So today in the shower I broke apart again....and I let myself break. I cried out, knowing a well insulated house and the sound of the water would cover the cries. I sobbed, wailed really, for another chance, a do-over, an apology, an acknowledgement of pain. I composed a long evoking blog post that was certain - in my world - to draw tears and mend fences and finally make me whole. By the time I finfished my marathon shower, I was spent from crouching under the water, and my head was throbbing.

I will never compose that blog post.

The pain that couldn't find its way into expression poured out. It still hurts. But I will survive. I felt clean after that shower...my nosed was stuffed and my eyes were puffy. But I was clean. And it is time to finish. So this final post....at least for a long while.....is my declaration, my way of shaking off the dust, leaving behind my sixth grade ways - that girl who tried so hard to make the cool kids like her.....and still does so. it's time to lighten my load and close my ears and eyes and thoughts and life to what - in the grand scheme of eternity - no.longer.matters.

I will continue. I will have friends who are friends....I already do. I will have another chance to smile into little faces, and I will succeed...AGAIN.

Goodbye to the things that broke me, and see you later to the people who are still truly here.

I
Am
Free

familiar pain

The darkness is not complete
The heart is not completely crushed
So that the shadows are easily visible
And the pain does not give way to peace
Whisperings - not audible - so not to be dismissed
"You have failed, you have failed"
Spoken in a secret language
By entities who speak, then smile,
Forgetting the power of their unrepented words
Nerve endings, straining at skin's surface
Starving for acknowledgment
Relief
The slightest pressure
The most fleeting of sensation
Tension - broken at the last moment
Only to begin to build for indefinite spans
Breathingthat is hallow
Straining within the lungs
Clausterphobic, ragged, laved with tears
That cannot be shed
Must not be shed -
For fear of drowning.
Hesitant questions asked, barely heard, "What is wrong?"
Not because the pain is hearbreaking to watch....
But because it irritates
And upsets the status quo.
And nothing changes
And the nerve endings wither
And the heart continues pumping in agony
And the lungs become thick with a tightening throat
And the stinging of the eyes
Is written off, blown away, discounted
Because it causes discomfort
And we might have to think
Or take a step beyond the path.
The first cut
May indeed be the deepest
But familiar pain
Is the darkest
Because we know it will always be our companion.
Because the other part of us
Is weary of our emptiness
And the voices
Would rather revile than comfort
And the good Samaritan
Doesn't like the color of our robes.

Lay Aside

"1Therefore, since we have so great a cloud of witnesses surrounding us, let us also (A)lay aside every encumbrance and the sin which so easily entangles us, and let us (B)run with (C)endurance the race that is set before us"
~ Heb. 12:1

"31Lay aside all bitterness, rage and anger, brawling and slander, along with every form of malice."
~ Ephesians 4:31

Lay aside...in other versions of these verses, the phrases is throw off, cast away, put away, get rid of

Get rid of every weight, every encumbrance, every sin....all bitterness, rage, anger, brawling, slander....every form of malice.

This came from a simple sermon preached in a church I visited for the first time yesterday. And it struck me. I have things I need to lay aside. I could say I didn't realize that they were there, but I did. I could say I didn't intend to hold them, but I did. Why was I waiting to lay them aside? Waiting for all of life to right itself, waiting for the pain to abate, waiting for apologies that will never come?

All of the above.

I remember reading that being bitter is like drinking poison and then waiting for the other person to die. I'm not going to drink. 2000 years ago, the sinless, perfect, holy Son of God laid aside His glory and died a horrible death on a cross for the world...knowing that many would never realize the immensity of what He had done, and that those of us who were grateful would still slip and fall. He did it anyway. He laid aside....for someone like me.

So I lay aside....every thought, every hurt, every word, every eye roll and email and discussion....the ones that have taken place and then ones that I will never hear but know will take place. "Forgive us our debts as we forgive our debtors." As I desire God to forgive me....so I forgive. As I gratefully accept God's blotting out of the pain I inflicted upon His Son, so I blot out the pain that would so easily entangle me and so easily weigh me down.

As I am free....so are you.

"And be kind to one another, tenderhearted, forgiving one another, even as God for Christ's sake has forgiven you."
Ephesians 4:32

Beware the Ides of March

I have to admit, I am a sucker for Shakespeare. Romeo and Juliet, Hamlet, A Midsummer Night's Dream....and of course, Julius Ceaser. If you will remember, the soothsayer warned Ceaser of the Ides of March. And this was the day that his own men, even his friend Brutus, stabbed him to death. I had no idea that the Ides of March held a foreboding for the Princess as well.

On the Ides of March, I woke up as usually, even though I was off work for the week. I did not pay heed to the date; I was focused on the task at hand. I had thought it through, planned it well, and was dispassionately committed to following it to the letter. So I took the dozen of so bottles of current and old medications: Geodon, Abilify, Serquel, Klonopin, Ambien, Lithium, Lamictal.....tossed them in a Wal Mart bag, told my child I was going to run some errands, and left about 8:00 a.m.

You have to understand, this decision wasn't made lightly. In short, I was worth more dead than alive. A failure as a wife, a failure as a mother, and a failures in my career, it made more sense for me to give what I had left. I was off work for a week. The proceedings, the funeral, all could be neatly taken care of, and life would go on. I wasn't pitying myself; that was over. My greatest pity was for those who still had to endure me. I felt nothing. I knew those who loved me would mourn; those who did not love me would continue as normal. But it wouldn't matter because I would not be there to see it, to hear it, to sense it everywhere I turned.

At about 3:30 my spouse found me at the hospital. I knew he was hurting. I couldn't connect. All I knew was that I would have to continue living. And I was angry. More angry than I could ever remember being. Ever. I was also afraid. I don't remember a lot about that day. I remember feeling dead inside, I remember the guard posted outside my room so that I wouldn't try to leave, and I remember being wheeled to place where I would spend the next....who knows.

At my first meal, I was accidentally given real silverwear. I don't think I have ever seen a nurse move so quickly. When my family member brought me some clothes, they were first inspected for buttons, zippers, and drawstrings. My toothbrush, comb, and small bottle of baby shampoo was pocked up except for shower time. Each day the beds were checked to make sure no one snuck out a plastic fork or knife. Medicine was given in a little plastic cup and blood was drawn each morning. There was group therapy, individual doctor visits, and lots of dead time. It was the longest four days of my life. But by the end I believed again that living was preferable to dying.

It is not uncommon for a person with bipolar disorder to attempt or succeed at suicide. In fact, bipolar disorder carries the greatest risk. But even with BP, a trigger or triggers are required before the trip over the edge is taken. I had many triggers. Some are gone, some I will soon leave behind. But the triggers for living are greater and more important. So I will live.

A Modern Tribute to Agatha Christie

One of my children is reading And Then There Were None, the Agatha Christie novel that explores one man's sense of karmic justice. But that novel was set in the past, so here's a modern day version:

Ten little idiots feeling just fine,
A computer erased one, and then there were nine

Nine little idiots thought they were great,
A Prada stomped on one, and then there were eight

Eight little idiots thinking of Heaven,
A rosary strangled one and then there were seven

Seven little idiots with problems to fix,
A camera stole one's soul, and then there were six

Six little idiots spreading some jive,
One OD'ed on Rogaine, and then there were five

Five little idiots all keeping score,
A sandwich board squashed one, and then there were four

Four little idiots off on a spree,
One got deleted, and then there were three

Three little idiots stirring the stew,
It got too hot, and then there were two

Two little idiots thinking it's fun,
They lost the game, and then there was one

One little idiot starting to cry,
Shook off the dust and then said goodbye.

Remembering how to believe the best

I just returned from helping to facilitate an annual arts conference. We sang, danced, banged drums, read music, and learned how to implement it into the classroom. I have had the privilege of teaching with several wonderful ladies for seven summers now. But I realized quickly that I had grown uncomfortable with something.....praise. They were so thrilled to see me...to hear ideas. So quick to recognize enthusiasm and effectiveness. One of them sat for a few moments in my first session and hugged me as she detailed the things she saw me doing. At the end of the day as we read the participant comment/evaluation forms, I read comments in dozens of styles of handwriting that said, "music was my favorite today," "I will be able to use the note reading lesson in my math classes," "The music facilitator was enthusiastic and knowledgeable." In many ways it looked light a foreign language that what vaguely familiar but not quite intelligible.

Participants stopped during lunch and in the hallways to ask questions, to clarify web sites I had shared with them, to ask me if I might come to their school to share with their faculty. They asked if I had a blog or web site bout music integration they could explore (note to self - work on that) Then a former colleague came to share with our organization. He was singing my praises to the ladies I work with and the participants, even referencing me in the remarks he made to the whole group.

And then, the most precious and sometimes the toughest audience of all...the children. It was like a tall class of cool water on a long hot day. I have not taught a group of children since May 26. It was time! They laughed, and danced and occasionally just couldn't contain themselves, though thankfully there were no casualties. They sang and danced and performed original lyrics and original poetry. Took Carl the puppet along for the ride.

All in all, the women and men who had spent 3 days with me and/or seven years with me were quite emphatic about my essential role in their organization. I was a success....with no buts.

So why would this make me so uncomfortable? Because it was so contrary to what I have learned to experience. So opposed to what heard when I listened very closely and invisibly, when I watch looks back and forth when a dear 4th grader stumbled over a line...one line out of dozens of lines. The trust in my competence, my creativity, and my honesty I experienced this week was in juxtaposition to the unsettling feeling that somewhere in my life a clock was counting down. But in the end...I remembered. And I believed the best. I believed those teachers and ladies and children when they I was creative. When they say I was effective. When they said I was relevant and had expertise and helped them to become braver teachers. They said it with great specificity and sincerity. And I believed them. I believed again what I am.

There is s song from the Musical rent, that issues a challenge. It is a challenge I take up within myself and those around me. It does have one harsh word, but it makes the point well:

Take me for what I am
Who I was meant to be
And if you give a damn
Take me, baby, or leave me.

When it's time to change, you've got to rearrange!

I am embarking on a journey. I know the destination, the timeline, the names of a few we will get to know. The only major directions left off the map were the guarantee that we will enroll our kids successfully into the preferred school The guarantee that any job I get will help to make what we need. The age old question...who has to (gets to) ride with LADY???

So wee will hire some help, pack, load a large truck and our cars. Drive southwest until we reach our destination. We will unload boxes, set up beds, place furniture, fill cabinets in a logical manner, Hang pictures in a pleasing manner, hook up the internet, cable (or satellite). Then we will pull our cars (for the first time in 10 years) UNDER the carport.

The outside of the house will have two cars. If I can wing it, it will have a flag flying. The outside of the furniture, the floors, the bedding, the curtain in the bathroom. The delicate wallpaper will ad to the decoration. How things look will cause a smile.

And that will be step one. After step 1, the real, vulnerable, eternal work begins.

excerpt - Heart Disease: The Leading Killer of the Smile

It begins behind the sternum, just below where the ribs meet. Sometimes it is a dull and growing ache; other times it is more like a sucker punch. The heaviness that can steal the breath spreads to both sides of the chest, filling the cavity with a painful hollowness that exaggerates the intensity of the heart's pounding. Sometimes there is a burning or tingling, sometimes it is a seemingly unbearable pressure. It moves to the throat and neck, tightening them, as the arms become heavy at the sides. It aches, and something within screams and wails in protest.

Have I just described a heart attack? Well, in a manner, yes. But not an attack IN the heart. It is an attack, an ambush, a starvation OF the heart. One that needs its own type of intervention, much different from a call to 911 or the administering of CPR. This disease is sinister. It may lie dormant. It may come without warning. But in its most deadly form, it is always present, always looming, and any relief from its pain is short lived. In some ways, even a moment of relief is welcomed. But then, when the relief wanes, the returning pain is that much more crushing.

I am not sure how long I have suffered from this disease. Like many, I did not immediately recognize the symptoms. They came on slowly and intermittently and gradually grew in intensity. Then I thought I had encountered a miracle. But it was only a false remission....and then my disease slowly overtook me again. There are treatments. There is even a cure. But they are hard to reach, inconvenient, and require consistent and daily attention. And my doctor has lost the prescription pad.....or perhaps it is just hidden inside his desk. I am afraid to ask.

So I feel the ache, struggle to breathe, and die a thousand little deaths. I know the life span of those who continue in this sickness of the heart. Without treatment, the prognosis is negative. So I will endure the disease a little longer. And then I will write the prescription myself.

The best relationship analogy ever

My youth minister was a big believer in discipleship and having a daily, walking relationship with Jesus Christ. He used the following analosy often:

Let's say I call you or talk with you and say, "I want us to have a relationship. I really like you and care about you, so I'd like to get to know you and have a relationship." Now, you like me too, so you are very happy, and you say, "That's great! What kind of dates will we go on?" I say, "Well, see, I am really busy, and I have lots of important things to do. So I'm not sure how much time I can spend going on dates." You're a little disaapointed, but you understand. There are more things going on in life besides one relationship, right? So you respond, "Okay, I understnd. Do you need my phone number?" I clear my throat for a bit..."I'm not that much of a talker. It's just how I am. I don't really feel comfortable talking on the phone a lot." Again, you're a little hurt. But you really do care about me, so you try one more time. "Well, I like letters. I'll be glad to just write letters when you're busy." I finally get a little defensive. "You know, honestly, I don't really DO letters. But I told you I cared and wanted a relationship. Isn't that enough?" I apologize to Jeff Noblit for fancying up his analogy a bit :)

Do you know why this analogy is so powerful when illustrating the relationship Christ wants with us? Because if you have ever been in a normal relationship or seen one modeled, you KNOW that the relationship illustrated above is NO relationship. And you know that you would not be satisfied with that kind of relationship....it's built on selfishness and laziness. It made a lasting impression on me with regard to the kind of spiritual life I wanted to have, and even when I haven't stayed true to that level of closeness with God, I have known in my heart of hearts that it is what He wants and what I need.

So what IS the point of this analogy in a blog 25 years after I first heard it? I guess I just wanted to clarify again in my own heart and life what makes a relationship - any relationship - an actual relationship and not just something to pass the time, give us fire insurance, or change our last names. So look at your own relationships. Are they relationships in word or on paper or in theory? Or are they relationships is action -- regular, ongoing, unselfish action?

ponderings, philisophies, and poetry

I have done many things in my life, both before and after my diagnosis of the disability, Bipolar Disorder. Some things have been good things. Some things have been not so good. But here is a list of things I have never done as a bipolar woman:

1. I have never committed a crime
2. I have never been violent
3. I have never taken illegal drugs or become inebriated
4. I have never hallucinated
5. I have especially NEVER hallucinated about harming anyone (my personal favorite)
6. I have never taken an overdose
7. I have never been disrespectful or insubordinate to anyone professionally
8. I have never claimed to be perfect
9. I have never dealt with a personal problem by speaking ill of others without their knowledge. After all, I am not the boss of them.
10. I have not made any choices that would forever change the course of someone else's life

I wrote this poem several years ago. It is not pure or godly or kind. It is raw and honest. And sometimes....that's just how life is.

For All

For all those who
Contributed to my pain
I say thank you
For reminding me of
What is sure.

For all those who
Contributed to my pain
I say screw you
For throwing me away
Is your own loss.

For all those who
Contributed to my pain
I say bless you
For without you
I would not have become as strong.

For all those who
Contributed to my pain
I say I pity you
For an open heart
Is always more fulfilled.

For all those who
Contributed to my pain
I say see you (CU)
For I cannot be held here –
I am free.

out of the mouths of babes

Tonight I watched a special called Bipolar Mysteries on Discovery Health. It followed four families that had children with bipolar disorder. The eleven year old, Kelsey, was wise beyond her years. She was able to articulate what that rising, pressing, anger and frustration feels like...when the walls are closing in and your brain feels as if it is pressing against your skull, and you know that the fight or flight instinct is about to take over. And the despair that she shared with her other, being surrounded by people she had known for so long and yet never feeling a secure connection to them. Feeling as if she was walking a tightrope of acceptance, and she dare not miss a step. She talked about the things she said and did and felt when manic, things she wasn't even aware of and didn't always even remember until after the mania was gone. Being so very sorry for how grossly she disappointed those around her, but feeling helpless to say "I'm sorry" because the words were so weak, and she might do it again sometime. I watched these kids rage and cry and scream and throw things. I watched their parents talk about all the sometimes well-meaning and often condescending parental advice they got and tried, but to no avail. One boy was in the middle of a meltdown and began to cry, begging someone to make him stop. It was heartbreaking.

As an adult, I have more life experience, more tools with which to control my reactions and moods, and a thicker skin. I can easily discern the friends from the foes -- usually, sometimes they change teams. I am blessed that my illness was not triggered until I was an adult. I am also blessed that my husband loves me - all of me, and my children are mature and compassionate and intelligent. And that I have friends who have told me more than once (and mean it) that I can call them at 3:00 a.m. if I need to. In many ways, having a mental illness streamlines your life. It takes a lot of focus and energy to be who I should, so I have to trim the excess of my life. Regrets and Guilt? Blame and Shame? Gossip and Judgment? Too much baggage. Christian, wife, mother, teacher, sister, daughter, friend....that is what really counts. I have to get those right.

So tonight I am thankful that I have so many things to be thankful for.

mirror mirror on the wall

I have always had a love hate relationship with my mirror, mostly hate. At a very young age I began to question and sometimes fear what that large rectangular piece of glass had to say.
I remember when I realized I was ugly. I was in first grade, and one of my friends was to have a very special birthday party. A local television station had a cartoon-oriented show that they aired on Saturdays. Cartoons would be shown, and in between the cartoons the host would talk with children who sat in rows on bleachers. Caroline’s dad had managed to book a show for her birthday. I was so excited. It was a show I watched every Saturday, and I couldn’t wait to be on television. I even practiced: “Hello, my name is Laurie, and I am 6 years old.” It was going to be wonderful.
We arrived at the station, and one of the stage managers told us to sit by height. Lucky me, I ended up sitting on the top row of the small risers, directly in the middle. The host always talked to kids in the middle. After we were all seated, we waited quietly for the host to come in.
He looked even better in person. He wore a blue suit with a crazy tie, and he smiled a lot. But then I saw him wrinkle his brow. He looked at me for a long moment and then turned his gaze toward Jane, who was sitting on the end of the first row.
“Sweetheart,” he said to me. “Could I have you switch with that young lady over there? I think it would look more balanced.”
You should know something about Jane. She was petite with a very small nose, and her hair was cut into the latest Dorothy Hammel haircut. You should also know something about me. I was the tallest, skinniest kid in my class. My teeth were crooked, and my pointy glasses sat solidly atop my…generous nose.
So, at the host’s request, I switched places with Jane and tried to smile as he talked with her during the show. A few weeks later, I watched the episode, and Jane looked great. Me? I wasn’t even there.
There have been times in my life when I have made peace with the glass, even embraced it. But now, as medication has wreaked havoc with my weight and my complexion, and as I begin to see the evidence of my forty-one years, once again I avoid the glass. And once again, I wish I was Jane.

a woman's perogative

This blog was intended to focus on the experience of having bipolar disorder during the month of May. May is over, and I have chased a few rabbits here and there. However, as I see it, that is the bipolar experience...the experience of being human, of changing one's mind, of being more than a diagnosis or the sum of one's successes or failures. The "bipolar experience" is really just the human experience. Good days and bad, pleasant memories and unpleasant memories, decisions and directions. So for today I will simply share a poem.

What do I remember…
Eating my first sausage ball the day after a New Year’s party
Trying to decide between my dog and my brother
The strange Tony the Tiger dream I had when I was three
Caroline getting nosebleeds ALL THE TIME when we were in kindergarten
Winning 2nd place in a swimming race
Watching a scary movie that my parents told me not to watch and regretting it for weeks
Being the first one to hold Jon at the adoption agency
Being on Mickey’s beat-up list in 2nd grade
Being afraid of sunflowers
Spending summers hiking around the neighborhood with Bill
Having a crush on Brent
Foam rollers
Getting bitten by my own dog
Writing in that cool notebook with the different colored pages
Mr. Gardener
Piano lessons with a metronome – thank you Mr. Thomas
Wanting to be a brownie
Going to the Anchor Club sleepover when my mom was the sponsor and playing Old Maid with the high school girls
Typing stories at my dad’s office and being allowed to use the mimeograph machine to copy them
Starting my own magazine to send around the neighborhood
Being afraid of dogs and bees
Making homemade peanut butter and picking okra
How tall a horse seems in the second grade
Watching a dog break my brother’s arm by running into it
Not eating for two days because I was afraid to pull my tooth
Thinking my third cousin was cute and then feeling really bad about it
Getting hit in the head with my brother’s cast and pretending I was dead
David making me a Barbie Doll bed for Christmas in the third grade
“Publishing” a book of poetry instead of doing math in the 5th grade – boy was Mom mad at the teacher!
Kickball – God how I wish I could forget
Playing the part of a nurse in our 1976 bicentennial play
Allergy shots
Getting lost in a mall because I was looking for some puppies we had seen
Fire ants
Yarn hair bows
Metallic drinking glasses
Yellow
Falling asleep with a book in my hand and my glasses on
And dreams

chapter 1...foreshadowing

My vision was blurred, and even as I shook my head to clear the fogginess, I knew I wasn’t going to make it. There were 18 first graders in my classroom, and I was doing my best to stand and sing with them, moving to the beat of the simple song as my eyes rolled in my head and my body screamed its desire to curl up and disappear. Yes, I tried to keep going. But I was going down; it was that simple. I called over the intercom for their classroom teacher. I knew that if I fell asleep or fell apart it would not be good. She came to pick up her class, sympathy and questioning in her expression. Once the room was empty, the tears came in a torrent.

It was at this point that I made what was possibly one of the worst decisions of my life. I got myself together, and then I walked to the school office and asked to speak to one of the administrators. Add this to a long list of things I would undo if I had a time machine.

It had begun in January. I begged my doctor to change one of my medications because of weight gain I had experienced. It took a little convincing, but I left the office with a prescription for a different drug and another med to alleviate the temporary side effects. I was hopeful that this new med would manage my manias while allowing me to lose weight. That evening, I started taking a small dose of the new medicine while lowering the dose of my old medicine. Changing meds and doses is a tricky business, and I knew I might not feel immediately positive effects. But again, I was hopeful. At the end of three weeks, my old med had been completely replaced with the new.

The first time I noticed a problem was during a church service one Sunday morning. I had trouble focusing on the pastor’s words, and I felt groggy. I hadn’t slept well the night before so I shrugged off the strange feeling. I took a nap that afternoon and felt somewhat better. The relief was short-lived, however. It became harder and harder for me to get up with the alarm each morning. I began setting it later and later, taking my shower at night and getting up with just enough time to dress and throw my hair up into a quick ponytail. At first, the grogginess eased by around 9:00, then 10:00, and the progression continued. I felt like a walking zombie.

By the beginning of March, fog was my closest companion. It took everything I had to even show up for school, much less be any kind of teacher. Some days I just couldn’t and would call in sick. Somewhere in the back of my mind I knew I was headed for trouble, but I was in survival mode, as they say. I stopped going to church because I couldn’t even stand up in the choir. I stopped talking to friends on the phone because I was afraid that half of what I said wouldn’t make sense. And then one Thursday at school, I fainted. The police, fire department, and ambulance all responded. In a town our size, a 911 call apparently means excitement for everyone. I saw my two administrators standing in the hall as the EMT’s wheeled me out of the school building. And I wasn’t sure the expressions that I saw were those of concern. I missed school on Friday, came back on Monday, and the incident was never mentioned. I just kept going more and more slowly each day, wondering how long the “temporary” side effects were going to last.

So, here we are back to that fateful day that I lost it in the middle of a class. I am not sure why I thought going to the administrators to actually tell them the truth was a good idea. I should have told them I was sick, that I was vomiting, that I felt faint; I should have told them anything but the truth. Looking back, I cannot believe that I couldn’t see the obvious. But then again, it is hard to see through fog and think through sludge. I went to the office, asked for administrators, walked with both of them to a conference room, and immediately broke down and wept. I know I saw concern in their eyes, and because of that, I felt comfortable letting down my guard. I am not sure what I expected, but nothing could have prepared me for what took place.

I remember my head administrator asking me what was wrong, what was going on to upset me so much. I tried to explain to them the medicine changes, the depression, the grogginess. They looked at each other with inscrutable faces.

“Laurie, it is obvious that you are not doing very well. Have you considered a leave of absence?”

I had considered a leave of absence. I considered it impossible. My husband was a student and graduate teaching assistant. My disability insurance would not even cover half of my paycheck. I simply couldn’t afford to take time off from work. I tried explaining this to my administrators.

“I can understand your concern about your family’s financial situation,” Mrs. Jones said. “But, Laurie, you are missing a lot of school anyway. It is affecting the students and it is affecting your teaching. We have to think long term; we have to think about your future at this school.”

She wasn’t straightforward, but I knew what she meant. I was speechless. In the teaching world, having tenure meant your job was supposed to be secure. I knew she was threatening that security, but I pretended not to catch her meaning.

“Then I am so glad I am tenured so that I can get through this problem with my job and my family’s welfare intact.”

“Well, Laurie,” Mrs. Jones replied slowly, “Sometimes tenure can come into question when the children or the school suffer due to the teacher’s teaching or excessive absences.”

Let me say first that I did understand her position. I knew the children were being affected by my absences and inability to focus. But I also knew that my condition was considered a disability. At that moment, I knew that if my job was directly threatened, I would do everything in my power to make sure I remained employed, even if it meant legal action. I knew that if it came to that I might lose, but I wasn’t going down without a fight.

“I know my attendance and my teaching have been sporadic lately, and I am troubled about that and how it affects the students. I really believe that the medication change is to blame. I was not experiencing any of these problems with the other one. I probably just need to see my doctor as soon as possible and have her start me on the old meds again. That should bring me back into focus.”

The administrators looked at each other again. I wondered if all of this talk was a formality. Was my job already gone?

“Laurie, I do think you need to see your doctor as soon as possible. Why don’t you go ahead and leave for the day. Try to see that doctor. And let us know if you need time off from school.” Mrs. Jones looked me squarely in the eye. “And when we return, we need to sit down and discuss some things.” And with that, they both stood up; the meeting was over.

I left the meeting in a fog; but this time it wasn’t medication induced. This time the fog was full of two emotions: abject fear and anger. I was terrified of losing my job because I knew what it would do to our family. Not only would the money be a problem, but I carried our insurance. I needed medication and a doctor’s care. My husband has type 1 diabetes, so he needed all of his medication and supplies. There was no way we could take care of our health without insurance. I was also angry. Would we have even had that conversation if my affliction was cancer or multiple sclerosis or something else that was more tangible than mental illness? I suspected not. My mind and stomach churned as I drove home. I knew the doctor wouldn’t be there on a Friday, but I hadn’t told my administrators. I went home, made an appointment for the following Monday, and collapsed onto the couch.

That Monday, the doctor agreed that my medication should be changed, and returned to school on Wednesday. I did have a conversation with my administrators, but I’ll save that wonderful tidbit for later. I think it’s time to start from the beginning.

blinding darkness, blackest light - prologue

“Everybody’s Bipolar”

This remark was made by a friend and colleague one Monday after a meeting. I am sure she was trying to make light of an earlier comment that she realized had offended me. How could she have known that this nonchalant remark was almost as offensive? I tried to laugh it off with her, but inside, the old frustration was churning.

Everyone is not bipolar. Mania is not cleaning the baseboards or the oven or managing to multitask. Depression is not feeling down. Having bipolar disorder does not just mean you are “moody” or “sensitive” or even unpredictable. These things are called being human…unless of course you are cleaning the baseboards with a toothbrush at 2:00 am after not sleeping for two days straight, or you are so “down” that you have already figured out the best pill combination that will kill you without making you sick. The idea that “everyone is bipolar” is just, well, ludicrous.

Then there is the other extreme. “You can’t be bipolar because…” First of all, no one really knows what goes on inside my brain and body except for me and the people or person I choose to tell. I was not diagnosed because I was tired or because I had just made the worst choice of my life or because I am more moody than my husband. I was tired because I never slept. I made the worst choice of my life in part because I was manic. My moods fluctuate infinitely more than my husband’s because I have bipolar disorder.

So what does all of my ranting really mean? It is simple. Not everyone who has energy has bipolar disorder. Just because someone manages to hold down a job and put on a brave face does not mean they do not have bipolar disorder. And, finally, my name is Laurie, and I do have bipolar disorder.

shake, rattle, and roll

My hands shake, my heart rattles around in my chest, my stomach rolls. Add to that sweating and ear ringing.....and what exactly is that? This has happened quite a few times over the past several days, and I was wondering. Lithium toxicity, low sugar? But then I remembered. It had been awhile, but I remember. That's what it looks like when I have an anxiety attack. I don't pant or thrash or pass out. I shake, get disoriented, my heart pounds, I sweat, I get this "fight or flight" impulse, and I feel nauseous. I also feel a strange claustrophobia. It isn't because I am in a confined space; it is because I have no space, when there seem to be all sorts of faces just inches from mine. No, I am not hallucinating, I am just surrounded by a group of people whose sense of personal space isn't quite refined.

Add to the above paragraph a throbbing headache that hasn't abated since Monday, and I am caving to my body, brain, and fragile spirit's own pressure today.

Maybe I need to hire a posse and some peeps :)

26.2 miles of pure bliss

The typical, offical marathon length is 26.2 miles. That's a lot of miles. Running a marathon requires training, healthy living, and much preparation. But what happens DURING the marathon?

Now, other than the initial urst, most runners will tell you that running as fast as you can for as long as you can is a bad strategy. There is no way to keep that pace for 26.2 miles, and the goal is to keep running. It also isn't realistic to expect that you will choose the perfect pace at the outset and not deviate from that pace - we are not machines. And for those who run a variety of marathons...they know that the twists, turns, and terraines vary from marathon to marathon.

But here is one thing I wasn't aware of: I wasn't aware of the number of people who ALMOST finish a marathon. They run 24 miles.....and they just can run anymore. How silly, we think. I mean, it's only two more miles. Suck it up, get the lead out. But when the body gives out, the body gives out. That is one reason why having a big crowd cheering through the last leg of the marathon is so important. Those cheers, rather than jeers, can make all the difference.

I am in the 24th mile. It's turning from drizzle to rain. My legs, my chest, my head, are aching. The pounding of the pavement echoes every slower in my ears. Some of my fans have dropped their flags and turned to foes because I am not running with the vigor of mile 6. But I will keep putting one foot on front of the other, listen to my own breathing, and focus on the pavement instead of the people. And when that tape breaks, I will fall to my knees just like they do on television, and pour my cup of water on someone else's head :)

question for the day

What are the requirements for being the Invisible Man? I'll expound later.

refills, refills

I type with trepidation today. I opened the bottle of anti-depressants, only to discover that I needed a refill. So They'll be taken in the afternoon today. Now, for anyone bothering to study pharmacology, anti depressants are not like tylenol or benadryl...they build up, so a few hours will not derail me. That is scientific fact. Still I hate when I do that. It is so important to me for so many reasons that I take this medicine exactly as outlined....to the letter.

There is a little part of me that has been holding up a wall for awhile, and I find myself letting it fall little by little. Now, I won't let it crash to the ground until the time is right. But there will come a time when I will proverbially release the hounds, and I am sure I will find it quite satisfying. I don't expect the hounds to make any type of impression, but releasing them is something that must be done. What is it they say? The truth shall set you free. My friends hate it when I write this way, vague and cryptic. But alas, it must be for a little while longer. How much truth I proclaim will be entirely dependent on what my life looks like when it is time to proclaim it. For those who may find themselves engaged in hand-wringing, do not worry. I am my mother's daughter. I know the meanings of tact and grace, and I will always be a Southern lady regardless of where I live. But it is 2010, and I will not hide.

So now that all of that follery is out of the way, I must say I am happy that the weather is warm, the flowers and blooming, and the calendar is progessing nicely. I think it's my turn to dream.

notes for the doctor

I am both concerned and amused by my memory problems. I opened a page this morning and was greeted with a message I do not remember writing...again. And more wrappers. I did some reading (this I do remember), and in addition to medication, these memory problems can be triggered by stress. That makes sense. My stress level is high. Oh, there are aspects of life that are wonderful and flowery.....but there is also stress. There is so much I want to say, want to write, but I can't. Not yet. The present is still present, and the future is uncertain. And besides, those who would be moved by the baring of my soul already know what is there.

So today while I am with the doctor, I will let him in on this new development that has me sending messages I do not remember and eating midnight snacks I do not taste. Which will probably mean another medication change. I hate medication changes almost as much as I sometimes hate medication. weaning off the old, bringing in the new, side effects, will it work? The blessing is that it is almost summer, and the physical disabilities that a change in regimen may briefly bring will not affect my life in profound ways.....except for those who live with me. Sorry guys! Time to strap in again for another ride!

data-driven acceptance

This blog was conceived as a way to commemorate Mental Health Awareness Month, so here are a few facts and figures about bipolar disorder.

1. It is estimated that 3 million Americans have either BPI or BPII.

2. BPI is characterized by episodes of depression, episodes of hypomania, mixed episodes, and at least one full-blown manic episode.

3. Of all mental illness sufferers, those with bipolar disorder are most likely to attempt and/or succeed at suicide.

4. Episodes can be brought on by disrupted sleep, medication problems, other physical illness, excessive stress, or a traumatic event.

5. A treatment-compliant mentally ill person is actually LESS likely to commit a crime than a non mentally ill person.

6. Bipolar disorder is legally recognized as a disability, which means those who suffer from it are entitled to the protections of the Americans with Disabilities Act, Section 504, and PL94-142.

7. Emerging research suggests that a triggered severe manic or depressive episode in someone with bipolar disorder may cause brain damage.

8. Because treatment/medication for bipolar disorder alters the brain chemistry, the bipolar disorder sufferer may experiences differences in personality or activity. This is one of the main reasons cited by patients for going off meds.

9. The research is limited, but their are implications that their may be a link between intellectual capacity and development and the ability to accept and look past the stigma of mental illness. In case that sounds like I may be implying that it's stupid to judge a person based on their illness or its affects....I kinda am.

Mid-week Mantras

Mantra #1 - Do not cast your pearls before swine

Mantra #2 - I am made in God's image

Mantra #3 - Will it matter tomorrow? Will it matter next week? Will it matter next year? Will it matter in 20 years?

Mantra #4 - The Word became flesh and dwelt among us....and died for our sins.....because He loves us

Mantra #5 - God created my inmost being, nothing about me surprises Him

Mantra #6 - Sometimes you must be healthy instead of perfect

Mantra #7 - A friend loveth at all times

the irrelevance of pros and cons

In bipolar world, medication is a trade-off. These are some personal pros and cons:

Pros
1. No more mania - hopefully this means no more rage, no more family destructive choices, no more overspending, no more thoughts that race faster and more obssesively than I can catch them
2. Less mood swings and more predictability
3. Thinking and speaking more rationally
4. Sleeping through the night

Cons
1. No more hypomania - no more creativity that flows easily, no more boundless energy to do all sorts of things, no more jogging or not caring how many hours of sleep I got
2. Less moods - notice I didn't say mood swings, I said moods. In some instances, no more feeling
3. Wanting to sleep through more than the night
4. Wondering who this woman is who sits with no inclinations
5. Clothing sizes I fear will become higher than my IQ

So it's a trade off. To become better in one area of my life, I must lessen another. I am committed to medication. I must be committed to medication. And, if I were not me, then going through life without truly feeling it might not seem so bad a proposition. But I am me. I will be me until my last breath. But I have made the choice, and I have made the trade, and it has come with its prices.

memory? I can't remember

I realized at some point yesterday that my last two posts were almost identical. I posted yesterday because I had not had time to post Sunday evening...except that I DID post Sunday evening. This happens more and more frequently. It is actually a physiological response in bipolar disorder, not only to medication, but also to high amounts of stress. At least I think that is what I read...I can't remember. Yes, I know, bad joke.

I bought a Mental Health Awareness ribbon in March. Actually, it is a small green pin shaped like a ribbon. I had great aspirations of wearing it each day in May. I haven't. And not just because I can't remember. If someone were to ask what the ribbon meant, could I say? Could I answer? Would that somehow be inappropriate, and if so, does that mean I am inappropriate? What if I had a different illness? Would it be appropriate to wear a ribbon for that? How far have we progressed in erasing the stigma? is mental illness now fine and perfectly understood.....as long as no one talks about it? There are other questions in my mind, but they are too pointed, to specific. And because the answer to the previous question is no in so many ways....these are questions that I truly cannot ask.

Ah, well. Time marches onward. I will be 42 in a few days. I will never be 37 or younger again. I will only be who I am now and forward. So that will be enough...or it won't. All I can do is be the Laurie that time and 2010 allows me to be. Thank you to J, K B, J, K, J, M, S, Mom, Dad, MIL, SIL, BIL, FIL, niece, nephew, son, daughter, and the God who created the universe....for saying that that is enough.

Let It Be

I composed the entry in the car last night, in my head. "Let It Be" was recorded by The Beatles, and whether you are a Beatles fan or not, there is some profound wisdom there. So I am not going to talk about bipolar disoder in this entry. In fact, I am not going to talk much at all. I'll let others talk for me as I assemble some quotes that have recently gathered in my head.

"The evil men do lives after them. The good is oft interred with their bones."
~ William Shakespeare

"If God is for us, who can be against us."
~ Romans 8:31

"Most people don't want to hear how you are doing; they want to hear you are doing well."
~ M. L.

"Pretty is as pretty does."
~ M. L.

"Nobody is normal because everybody's different."
~ Kelsey Gilbreath, wisest daughter

"When people say, 'Think outside the box,' they mean think outside MY box, not think outside THEIR box."
~ Me :)

"God may not change things for you, but He changes you for things."
~ Susan Morrow

"Never Be Angry At Stupid People"
~ Erasure

"God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference."
~ The Serenity Prayer, which I never paid much attention to until recently

Thank goodness that in a conditional world, we serve an UNconditional God.

"Let It Be, Let It Be"

"Let It BE" was recorded by the Beatles, the British Invasion. It's more than just a song. It's a philosophical view of much of life. Let. It. Be. So in that spirit, i let be all of the thought and emotions, and manipulations of words I had envisioned...some word noble, some words futile. I will simply leave those words to others.....

"The evil men do lives after them; the good is oft interred with their bones." ~William Shakespeare

"People do not want to hear how you are doing; they just want to hear that you are doing well."
~M.J.H.L.

"There is Therefore now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus." ~ Romans 8:1

"For if God is for us, who can be against us?" ~ Romans 8:31

"nobody's normal, 'cause everybody's different." ~ wise daughter

"Doesn't matter, it's in the past" ~ Lion King

"God grant me the SERENITY to accept the thing I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the Wisdom to know the difference." ~ Serenity Prayer

Speaking words of wisdom, let it be, let it be........

May Fourth

Today was the kind of day that a normal person hopes for...it was normal. Well, maybe not all of it. But there were no unnecessary events, no extraordinary circumstances.

I had trouble waking, as I seem to often these days. I wonder as I prepare my face each morning if others notice the painstaking effort I make to hide each blemish. The habit I have developed up keeping my hair up and out of the way. I dismiss this thought as I swallow the synthroid I must take each morning because the lithium has decimated my thyroid and the effexor I must take to ward off the darkness that so nearly took my life not long ago.

It is easy to smile and mean it when I focus on the smaller faces. Children are so open, so willing to give others a clean slate. Not so with us older folks. Marc Antony was correct in his famous speech: "The evil men do lives after them. The good is oft interred with their bones." I often wonder why we take such delight in the failings of others. Why we feel pride rather than shame when we glory in the humiliation of our peers. But the children smile.

The day is smooth, serene. Except for those infernal inanimate objects. Modern technology is a wonderful thing....providing it works. But then the day is ending, and I breathe a sigh of relief that I have not been privy to the thing which makes me less productive, less enthusiastic, less of who I want to be. I fully understand that I am not what I was three years ago, five years ago. That is the price of sanity, of health, of a family that is intact. It is a price I am willing to pay. But I am aware that others are not so generous.

And now supper sizzles, and I have a quiet moment to reflect on the day. I have it better than some, than many. The exchange, of course, is that whatever ill health I do have must be shrouded in the shame of misunderstanding. But perhaps it will not always be so.

May Third

Today I saw some vibrant flowers. They were a wonderful contrast to the colorless, rainy weather. It made me think of a line I remember reading from one of my lit classes..."a flower in a mud puddle." I don't even remember who wrote it.

I have many thoughts today. It's no different from any other day, really, except that I have not had the distractions today, the required activities that refocus my mental ramblings. I am troubled by a dream I had. I used to dream so vividly I could remember each detail. The lithium has blurred the lines of my dreams so that they are only brief clips and images of a bigger picture I will not see no matter how hard I try to remember. I remember being in court, testifying on my own behalf. I was wearing a strange shirt that closed on the side. When I opened the shirt in a dramatic, sweeping move, a gaping wound covered my abdomen. I remember thinking that when they jury saw my wound, their hearts would be pierced with empathy and even shame. Instead, they rolled their eyes and began texting. Funny, it's mid-afternoon, and my side hurts from the imaginary injury.

My life is changing, which is bound to happen from time to time. What will those changes entail? I do not know. But I know that what has always been real will remain, and what has never been real has already crumbled. And the only things of value are the things that are real.

The Day Before

In honor of Mental Health Awareness Month, I have to decided to journal each day during the month of May...the good, the bad, and the "crazy," to coin and slightly alter a phrase. If you would like to crawl inside the mind of someone who remembers mental illness each day, all twelve months of the year, here's your chance. But a word of caution: if you have decided that it is more beneficial to remain in a comfort zone of assumptions, reading this might just change your mind, and you might be tempted to view those who struggle with these very real illnesses with more compassion and understanding. Consider yourself warned. Blogging begins tomorrow.