Give Yourself a Break

You know what’s weird/sad/funny? It’s so much easier to forgive another person for their transgressions and faults than it is to forgive ourselves. It’s widely reported that social media is contributing to our feeling “less than”. It’s not just one area that this applies to. We’re all feeling bad over our parenting skills, dietary choices, music likes or dislikes, bodies, sexuality and so on.

In an attempt to help myself feel better despite my chronic health conditions, I recently took up yoga. I was drawn to it not just for it’s physical benefits, but the emotional and mental benefits as well. But sadly, even in this community, which one would think would be hippie dippie zen, there is fat shaming, posture shaming and alignment shaming. It’s hard to go to classes as a disabled middle aged woman when I’m surrounded by thin, lithe 20 somethings clad in their spandex and little bra tops. So I usually just follow a yoga DVD I have here at home, where only my cat can see me.

I experienced similar issues when I was a runner. I constantly compared myself to the super speedy runners, those without health concerns. I wound up losing my passion for running because I was putting so much pressure on myself to measure up. I am a slow runner, I’ll never win any age group awards, never run a 20 minute 5k, so I gave up. And that makes me sad. Sad I let other people’s opinions of me cloud my own. Sad I didn’t realize everyone else was worried about that same thing, too caught up in their own worries to concern themselves with me.

As I mentioned in a previous post, I’m feeling bad about the weight I have gained due to my medicines and my decreased physical activity. I’m watching calories, choosing healthier foods and trying to move as much as the pain will allow. But when the scale isn’t moving, I get frustrated. I’ve always had “big” thighs- they’re muscular and got even bigger when I was running. But with all the hype around thigh gaps and size 00, I look down and feel miserable. I avoid wearing shorts, I’m self conscious about how pants fit so then I just put on sweatpants and feel bad.

I’m sure about 90% of you readers have felt the same at one point or another. I’m working hard to accept myself as I am. I may not be a size 00, but I’m certainly not obese. I understand the concept of a “healthy weight”, but I really think there’s too much pressure to lose weight everywhere you look. So I have decided that as far as my weight and my mental health goes, I’m going to start giving myself a break. Viewing myself as a valuable, attractive and awesome person isn’t easy, but I’m getting there. Rather than obsessing over how many calories I’m eating and burning, I’m going to eat foods that I enjoy that are good for me (or at least not complete junk). I’m going to stop viewing my body as flawed and ugly and appreciate all that it does for me. Instead of being ashamed that I have bipolar disorder, I am going to ramp up my activism for causes I believe in, especially mental health.

Feeling a bit more self love and self acceptance isn’t going to happen overnight, but it’s something I’ve committed to. Surrounding myself with those who build me up helps me immeasurably. I’m lucky to have a great guy friend who reminds me that while I may not completely love my curvier figure, he does. I have fantastic co-workers who let me know that my work matters and that they appreciate me listening to them. I am blessed with friends and family who never give up on me. I guess it’s all about perspective. You can dwell on the bad, or you can look for the good.

Additionally, I want to thank a beautiful young lady by the name of Britanie for showing me (and all her readers) the meaning of beauty, both within and on the surface. She’s come a long way in accepting herself and inspires me to do the same. You can read her blog (and gaze upon the most beautiful natural eyebrows ever) at beautybybritanie.com

Dear readers, if you have any thoughts or experiences you’d like to share regarding comparison, the shaming trends, or your own journey with self acceptance, please share them in the comments.

Sink

Amazing how quickly you can go from feeling pretty good to being downright despondent. Rotten bipolar. There’s a good reason I’m feeling down, but I know I’m beating myself up too much. There’s nothing more I could have done to have changed how things went.

It’s actually distressing how bad I feel right now, just full blown “hate myselfs”. Feeling lonely and angry and I just want to crawl in my bed and hide. I’m tired of feeling misunderstood, left out and alone. No amount of yoga or meditating or supplements can help me tonight. I just need to honor the sadness and start again tomorrow.

Mental Health Awareness Month 2015: Stigma and Shaming

The last few weeks have been tumultuous. Between a semi-suicidal period, gearing up for my move and learning from my psychiatrist I actually have Bipolar I, not II as we had thought (more on that at another time) and starting a new med as a result, I’m exhausted.

But I won’t let my exhaustion keep me from writing this post, which has been swirling around for a while and I’m just now figuring out which words to use to express it.

According to the Americans with Disabilities Act, mental illnesses such as schizophrenia, bipolar and major depressive disorder are, in fact, disabilities. This means that people who are mentally ill are protected under certain rights, both in the workplace and in “real life”. However, it doesn’t seem that that always happens. There is still so much stigma surrounding mental illness that it impairs a person’s ability to get treatment, acceptance, or both.

Case in point: as a society, we rally against those who bully kids with autism, transgender teens, down syndrome afflicted persons and blind and deaf persons. But if you have mental illness?…not so much. Sadly I do not see Facebook “lit up blue” for mental illness, as it was for autism. Should I choose to mock my ex fiancee’s girlfriend for the little bit of weight she has put on, I would be deemed a bully, anti-feminist. I would receive angry emails about “fat shaming”. Weight struggles are not a disability 85-90% of the time, whereas mental illness is 100% of the time. However, I have received mistreatment as a result of my bipolar disorder and major depression which are, in fact, disabilities that I was born with.

So, why are somethings taboo to mock, but not mental illness? The answer, of course, is stigma. There had long been an impression that people with mental illness choose to be sick. That with positive thinking and exercise we could “shake it off”. We have made so many discoveries regarding the actual organic nature of mental illnesses, but those old beliefs have not disappeared. I am aware that due to a chemical imbalance in my head, I have bipolar disorder and major depressive disorder. It’s kind of like having shade on one side of the street and sunshine on the other- it’s just not evenly distributed. But because of this, I am seen as dangerous, unpredictable, unreliable, unworthy of respect or trust, “crazy”. People shouldn’t let their kids near me, or let me drive or vote or reproduce.

I hope that one day we will see a world in which we respond as swiftly to the mistreatment of the mentally ill as we do to the mistreatment of other disabilities. I hope to one day be able to tell people of my illnesses without fear of losing a friendship, a job, a relationship. Some of the finest people that I have ever had the privilege to meet have been disabled- be it with MS, Down’s Syndrome, Schizophrenia or Bipolar Disorder. Each one of these people has had an impact on my life and challenged me to look at my own internalized stigma and prejudices. I’m not perfect, I still have stereotypes in my head that I work on, but I am opening my eyes to what it is like for other people, and I am open to continuing to learn and grow in that respect.

Finally, I want to thank my amazing,beautiful blogging community- both the mental illness and chronic illness writers I’ve gotten to “know”- BPNurse, Dyane Leshin-Harwood, Kat Galaxy, Kitt O’Malley, Jenn Marshall of Bipolarmomlife.com, YourBipolarGirl and so many others. Through your words, I have learned so much, both about you and your illnesses, your lives and the ways you cope and find joy in everyday things.

What Does Mental Illness Look Like?

I came out of the bipolar closet to a work friend today. I knew he would be supportive and non judgmental. But his response kind of irked me, which I know he did not intend. I told him I have bipolar and he said “Oh I wouldn’t have thought that at all”. While he meant nothing wrong with this response, it bugs me. I mean, is a mentally ill person supposed to look a certain way? Are they supposed to have a big neon sign floating above them screaming “BIPOLAR!!!”? Should I be crying more or getting in more arguments to fit a particular idea of mental illness? Should I be writing massive essays about government experiments and chemicals making us sick?

I know I’m probably just being overly sensitive but this is part of why I am careful of who I “come out” to. Stigma and incorrect perceptions of mental illness make me want to hide, to change who I am. Every day I fight to appear “normal” and “pleasant”. It’s exhausting. 1 in 4 Americans suffer from some form of mental illness, which means, undoubtedly, someone in your family or circle of friends is mentally ill.

It’s time to start changing our ideas of who is mentally ill, and just what that means. It’s time to end the stigma and allow people to live their lives as they are, rather than pretending to be something they are not.

OK, end rant.

Downswing

It’s terrifying how quickly dark thoughts can swoop in at times. I’ve been battling with my own body of late, between a stomach virus and migraines and my fibromyalgia. I am pondering filing bankruptcy and things just stink right now. I am willing to admit suicidal thoughts have popped into my head quite a bit of late. I fight them and do something uplifting. I know I’m just in a depression now, that it’s part of the cycle of bipolar. Admittedly I have lapsed on taking my medicines regularly, mostly due to all the physical illnesses I’ve been plagued with.

I get so sick of taking so many medicines. I get sick of not sleeping well. I get sick of never feeling well. I get sick of so many parts of my illnesses. I loathe going into work most days, and being at home isn’t much better. I miss being a kid, of being able to shirk responsibilities and just hide.

What gets me through? prayer, my family, my cat. The online community, music and soft snuggly things all help, too. But it’s still so hard. I am so tired of having to constantly fight. I’m jealous of people who can do what they want physically with no repercussions. I’m jealous of people who can shrug off criticism and bad memories.

I’ve heard that allowing yourself to admit when things are not okay is just as important as recognizing when things are. So that is where I am right now, sad, tired and hurting. But I have survived so much and I know I will survive this rough patch.

A Little Progress

Yesterday’s outing with dad was tiring, but fun. I’ve been a bit depressed but it seems to be clearing up. Not sure if it’s the sun finally appearing, if it’s me taking time to take care of myself or both, but I’m feeling a little better. One of the first signs I’m getting depressed is I just stop caring what I look like. As you might remember, I used to review green/natural/beauty products and I really enjoyed it. It just got to be too expensive and when I didn’t care what I looked like, I felt like a fraud talking about looking good. I don’t know I’ll be starting to review the items again, but I am at least using them again. For months, it was basic shampoo and soap in the shower, not even putting lotion on in the frigid cold, which dried my skin out something terrible. I simply felt too exhausted and didn’t care. I didn’t wear makeup, even to work and I wore my hair in the same simple style day after day.

I’m sure my crush at work has something to do with my renewed interest in looking good, but it also feels good to do something selfish, like pamper my skin and hair. So, I found a few new organic beauty lines with affordable items to try and I’m back to taking the time to look like a lady. I updated my hairstyle a few days ago and started using real, actual facial cleansing balm. Taking the effort has improved my self esteem a little bit, I was told yesterday that I still pass for a teenager!

I’ve also started to use my essential oils again. I purchased some doTerra oils from Jenn over at bipolarmomlife.com and the lavender is really helping me sleep. Anyone with chronic illness or depression knows that sleep doesn’t come too easily, so glad to say applying some lavender to my feet before bed is definitely helping. I believe I will be taking the lemon with me to work to help me find focus during that midday slump. I am also looking into the Bach Rescue product line for other relaxation aides. Big thanks to my darling Jenna at jenna-kahn.com for her post on aromatherapy items/other non medication sources of help a few months back!

Still struggling with the pain of fibromyalgia, but I think the key to this is to learn to pace myself. I’ve become very good at removing myself from stressful situations, and saying no when something isn’t helpful for me. But I tend to move at about 1000 mph, and I need to learn to slow down or I’ll wear myself out and bring on another flare. I’m also stretching nightly and intend to get back into my full pilates sessions once I finish titrating up on my fibromyalgia medicine.

So, readers, what non-medication sources of relief and relaxation do you use to help cope with mental/physical illness? And how can you tell when things are starting to take a positive turn? Please share in the comments!

A Wrench in the Works

I was diagnosed bipolar nearly two years ago. In the time since then, I have carefully crafted a routine to follow to keep my mood swings to a minimum. My psychiatrist and I changed up my medicines a couple of times, but I’d been on the same doses/drugs for nearly a year now. Things weren’t ideal, I still had a lot of depression and a few mixed episodes, but for the most part, I was doing pretty well. As any of you who regularly read my blog know, I’ve been in a pretty bad depression for months. I’m isolating, skipping showers (good thing no one can smell me) and wallowing. I hurt and the aches and pains just won’t stop and I can’t sleep. My migraines are also pretty bad right now, nothing seems to be working for them. In short, I’m miserable. Flat out miserable. But I figured my bipolar was “OK” because I hadn’t had any bad swings into mania for some time.

But honestly, when I look at posts and tweets from the last few months, you can see hypomania and aggression in them. You can sense the self loathing rising up. I was (and am) continuing to go to my therapist as regularly as my finances will allow and during therapy, I managed to be positive and really focus on using the tools I learned to improve my situation. And then there would be the post therapy letdown. I always feel better after talking to my therapist, she has a great personality and I am very comfortable tackling any subject with her. But I’d always end up feeling even more down in the dumps after a session. I would think I’d feel at least kind of hopeful afterward. It finally occurred to me that even in therapy,  I was guarded. I was afraid of my therapist judging me or saying something I didn’t like. Newsflash:that’s not what therapy is about. You are going to hear things you don’t like, but it’s necessary to move on.

I was lucky in that I was able to get an appointment with my psychiatrist (he works in the same practice as my therapist) however, it was a bad day. I had a headache, I called off of work again, the traffic was bad. I walked into the waiting room in a bad mood, and having to sit next to someone who reeked of cigarettes was making my headache worse. To top it off, my psychiatrist was running a half hour late, which seems to happen every time I see him. By the time I got in to his office and sat down, I was ready to blow. The first thing he said was that I seemed agitated and he apologized for being late. I didn’t blow up at him, but I did admit I wanted to yell. I went on to tell him about how poorly I had been doing, about my inability to make myself go to work, about the aches and pains, all of it. In short, I finally properly communicated in a therapy setting. He suggested changing up my medicines, which I figured would happen. Because I work with medicines daily, I know the medicines and their side effects. I was shooting down suggestions left and right…”no, that will give me diabetes” “no, that’s for REALLY messed up people, I don’t want that”. We finally were able to agree on a few more meds and to discontinue my risperdal. I have mixed feelings about that, I feel like the risperdal was a help, but it clearly isn’t doing the trick any more. But another part of me says “heyyy they took you off the antipsychotic, that’s good, right?”

Sorry, I’m going off the rails here.

I find myself really upset about the medication changes. Like, unreasonably upset. I went in taking two meds for bipolar, two meds for my migraines and a vitamin. So 5 medicines daily. I am now taking two for bipolar, one for anxiety/sleep, two for my migraines, one for my fibromyalgia-like pain and my vitamin. 7 medicines daily. That’s depressing. My grandparents take less medicine than that. I also have to change the times I take some of them, which means altering my every day routine. I know the important part is to focus on the new routine, to know that these medications are here to help me. I know I’m truly not upset about the medications, I am upset with myself, with my faulty brain, my whacked out nerves.

After my psychiatrist I went to the grocery store (so not a good idea) and I promptly had a meltdown, complete with sweating, hyperventilating, rapid heartbeat, the whole 9 yards. It was all I could do to get home. It was Lisa and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day.

There were positives, I suppose. I got a new pill container to fit everything and I bought myself Valentine’s Day candy. Sad when a new pill container is a treat. I might trick it out with washi tape or something.

Now that I’m a few days removed from the whole fiasco, I feel more at ease. Yes, I’m upset about the medicines and changing my routine, but it will be old hat before long and perhaps I will feel better. Honestly, if only one migraine were taken away, it’s worth it. I hope you all are in better spirits than I am! Thank you, as always, for reading my word vomit.

A Day to Recharge

I did very little today, and it was great. I was kind to myself as lately I have noticed I am not caring for my chronic illnesses (bipolar and migraines) as I should be. I can’t quite put my finger on exactly what needs changed, but I will figure it out.
I notice I continue to have trouble with my bipolar diagnosis, nearly two years later. I understand this is common, but it is still troubling. So I chose to care for me today. It involved coffee and sweatpants and fuzzy socks and Netflix and naps. I got my medication planner ready for the week and sat with the heating pad on to combat depression related aches.
I am not sure where to go from here, treatment wise. I know I must accept my diagnosis before I can make any further progress. But it’s hard to change 30+ years of beating yourself up. It’s hard to change the soundtrack in your head.
But I have hope. Praise be to God, I never lost hope.

Hope you all had a great weekend.

A Mother’s Perspective

Yesterday, my mother and I had a candid conversation regarding my mental and physical health. Of late, I am struggling with just how much both my bipolar and my migraines are affecting me. I’m missing work, my finances are suffering and I find that I just don’t care. I take a couple of baby steps forward and then I get knocked back a yard. I’m trying to step up and take control, start really and truly taking care of myself, as I always should have from the start. In discussing several options as far as work and finances go with my mother, she told me what it is like for her to see me suffering:

“It’s like you and I are out hiking and suddenly it starts to rain. It’s raining so hard the ground immediately turns to mud. I make it to cover and dry land, but you slide in the mud and fall down in a ravine.I try to grab you and catch you, but you fall so fast I can’t do it. I can see you from where I am, I’m throwing a rope to you to pull you up. The harder you try to get the rope, you can’t reach it. When you do reach it, I am able to pull you up a short distance but then the mud gets too much and you fall back down. Sometimes you just stop trying and I can’t get you to move. Eventually the sun comes out again and you walk back up the hill on your own power. But while it’s raining, you are miserable and nearly unreachable.”

Needless to say, I was pretty overwhelmed by what she said, and it added to the guilt I already feel for being a less than perfect kid. But she is true in that she never stops trying to reach me, to help me. She never asks me to be perfect, she just asks me to love myself. I wish I could, but I don’t know how. I’ve been battling myself and the things within me for so long I don’t know how to stop, how to accept that I am flawed but still worthy of love. I’m figuratively becoming paralyzed by the struggle, unable to work, to eat, to treat myself well. I’m either going to quit or get fired or wind up in the psych ward. But you can be sure the first person there to help me will be my mother, as always.

Giving and Receiving

Disclaimer: I’m smack dab in the middle of a mixed episode, so this post is probably going to go off the rails here and there. Regardless, I’ll let it go, hoping typing my thoughts out will calm me.

I worked today, which was nothing shy of a miracle. My migraines have been unbearable and I am again looking at my list of possible solutions, figuring out what specialist to call next. So, kudos to me for even making it in to work. The early part of the day was pretty good, I felt halfway decent, was able to complete all my tasks in a timely manner, I even got into the door that hates my ID badge on the first try instead of the 7th try. During lunch, I remembered to fax over documents necessary to receive reimbursement on my therapy visit co-pays. I was feeling really quite OK. Then I went back to work and the day went to hell in a handbasket.

At first I felt hyped up, like I do when I am sliding into hypomania. All I could think about was going home and crocheting. That’s how boring my life is! No, really I am well into a crochet project that is a gift and I wanted to get closer to finishing it. No sooner had I thought about that then I just wanted to hide. The idea of being around people suddenly became too much. I was really chatty and jovial, and then when that feeling hit, I promptly shut up. This lasted maybe a half hour and then I was feeling irritable. The irritable feeling can be traced back to a co-worker, who apparently expected me to help her with something, and when I didn’t, she got very huffy. The help in question was just that, help, not a part of my actual duties and to be honest, I was put off by the fact that me doing her a favor every so often has now become an expected thing. The irritation kept going and later in the day, I saw my co-worker who fixed my mistake last week talking to someone. my face instantly got hot and I was just so, so sure that she was talking about me. I couldn’t hear her, I don’t know what she was talking about, but my mind instantly flashes the message “people don’t like you, She’s talking shit about you and your mistakes”.My heart rate actually picked up and I had to remind myself that not everyone is out to get me.Finally, I slid back into that wanting to hide feeling. I’m still there now. I had to run an errand on my way home from the hospital and all I could think of the whole time was how much I wanted to go home, I did not want to be there, I did not want to speak with people. I just wanted to be home, in my favorite thrift store hoodie, curled up on the couch with a cup of coffee.

Today was a day I really “felt” bipolar. Most days I am just depressed and fighting through physical and emotional difficulty, but today was truly a bipolar day. I hate the way my mind works, I hate going into a panic or bad mood because of something someone said, or something I think someone said. Fortunately, using some of the skills I am learning in cognitive therapy helped. I talked to my mom for a while about my feelings and I’m back to feeling a little less on edge. I still want to cocoon, but at least the nasty message machine in my head has quieted a bit.

I’m also grateful to Kitt O’Malley, who messaged me some kind words of understanding and listened to me whine a little bit. I am at a point where I am realizing just how much my illnesses are impacting my life. My pride in being “high functioning” and appearing to most people as “normal” is taking its toll. I’m stuck in a place of not wanting to admit how sick I am. I don’t want to go from giving care to receiving care, but isn’t taking care of yourself a kind of love? Why am I so reluctant to love myself?

It’s been a tiring day, my crochet project sits untouched, but I’m giving myself a pat on the back for being able to use the cognitive therapy skills successfully today, though I sure do need to work on them.