Harder and Heavier

Dear Friends and Fellow Bloggers – I hope that you are as well as you can be. From many ends, this year has been largely challenging and continues to be. I’ve gone through it waking up each morning and asking whether it was really worth it. It hasn’t felt like it. Ongoing challenges and the bleugh, ongoing mental illness which is the only consistent thing I’ve ever known. It will come, it will push you down and affect your ability to carry on. I wonder if we can just digest for a minute that I (and your) experience my mental illness every day, in each issue, all the time? If I don’t feel depressed (and other lovely symptoms), I am second guessing my decisions due to that all encompassing phrase: likely to be psychotic at any given point. It’s peachy I tell you.

I don’t have bad days all the time, there are the infrequent days of sunshine which well, in a percentage comparison, don’t make up a whole lot. When I have the sunshine it’s almost as if I close the curtains too early on the rays that come in knowing that it’s not mine to have. No use becoming used to something that I’m not likely to have or will miss too greatly again. Eyeore much. What I find disappointing is that despite your best efforts, this terror, taunting illness will come and rip the normal carpet right out from beneath you. Mine even comes back for seconds if I haven’t fallen apart sufficiently. I always advocate that you should get back after being beaten down but anyone who’s anyone knows that gets harder and heavier.

There are a couple of suggestions: chug plenty of pills, exercise, drink water, eat, properly, get vitamin D, check in with your mental health team if you can afford it and importantly, don’t research climate change. Right now pills and climate change research are clearly not doing the most. The truth is that it is hard, chocolate is appealing, and lying like a sloth in the hope for motivation happens. Happens a lot. Sigh. I am still going to say as loudly as I can each day that in spite of the challenge, the hard and the heavy, open your curtains, dance, sing and do whatever you have too to fight for you. It may never truly feel like it is worth but it really, really is. I’m still practising saying that former sentence. Let me know what works for you despite the hard and heavy.

A Time of Renewal

A weekend from now Easter will be celebrated around the world and although we may not all “celebrate” I always think there’s time to renew, refresh and be grateful for what we have.  I must however point something out that as a person with chronic “invisible” illness and a mother, I’ve been struck by the difficulty in actually telling the Easter story and admire those who have told it so well. I do not mean to be blasphemous but cousin, if I tried to explain that a dude escaped but nothing was moved and his clothes were still there back in the day with Bipolar, gesticulating wildly, pausing to try to remember my train of thought, and possibly crying a little, I can imagine the looks I would receive as I walked to the cast out / leprosy section of society.

Similarly, I have had a multitude of children under five (who my husband and I created) look up at me inquiringly, asking for clarification on different parts of the story.  What does the Easter Bunny have to do with it? Was the Easter Bunny the pet back then? Mother mumble.  Second question:  they first hurt him a lot and then loved him and wanted to be his friend? Shocked little faces. And before my philosopher but practical eldest son could unpack ANYTHING further, I looked SO excited and said guys, let’s go make play dough!  But we were still talking about… NO. Did Mom say that you can sprinkle as much flour as you want?  And we all excitedly went to the colourful muck that was MUCH better than the mess of a conversation I didn’t want to have.

My Philosopher Son is coming on Saturday for a bit of a break. To reconnect and to finally have his 21st Birthday.  My heart in preparation is so anxious, so excited, so happy and so sad.  What do you tell the most precious cargo you’ve ever had that you are so so so sorry about the times you hurt them when you didn’t mean to.   That you are equally sorry about the times I couldn’t get up, although a quiet voice inside me screamed that I should.  That he and his siblings are the most beautiful, amazing souls despite and in spite of the contributions that I had and had not made.  That I wished him the kind of happiness that would be felt and remembered in each of his cells and signed in his soul. That he deserved the kind of peace I had never truly known.  Because he had always given pieces of that to me.

In anticipation of his arrival and Pet Bunny weekend next weekend, I am doing what my grandmother did, sneak off to the room to have a little cry.  To be flooded with the memories of his life, his support, his little frown, his enquiringness.  The fact that he watches National Geographic Deep Sea stuff because it cheers me up.  That he has annoying habits like tickling me (but we signed a contract against this now) and holding me.  In anticipation of all of this, I am grateful for the opportunity of renewal, to try things again, and perhaps google answers to those pesky questions before they’re asked by anyone again.  Be part of those who support us as opposed to those who don’t.  I am 4 M’s Bipolar Mom.

Awesome People Plants

In our home, there are four teens, one tween, and a close to be adult who lives a city away. There is also a troll, sorry, challenging old woman (who has insisted since birth that I call her Mom) who lives upstairs and other living beings, including my growing collection of cactus that thrive in the shade. Yes. My cacti and I are all prickly, fat, and prefer languishing in the dark. The most important of my growing beings are definetly my growing brood of chickens. And just in writing that I realise how much describing them as chickens just doesn’t describe the enormity of who they are. What they’re blooming, growing into. I am at a loss for words actually. Because as much as I tear up when thinking of their amazing, step by step, aww growth spurts (ongoing), it has come with a hefty DIY catering and grocery cost (also ongoing).

When not selling a pound of flesh to keep us in house and home I do get invaluable moments and times with our many children, well, at least some of them. Our eldest son lives in another city which is to as he says: “foster a better relationship” which I read as: “I can only handle you in short, precise doses, after which we need to be seperated by land and sea”. Our next two, The Duchess, our eldest daughter, who holds the most superior rank until eldest son gets home, and The Queen (her BFF) still and regularly speak fluent flenglish to me. It’s when they talk to me using the little bit of flab they are trying to lose for their matric farewell (our prom) and they make voices and gesticulations to support. It is both frustrating and funny for example with me spending 10 minutes saying with increasing irritation instruction 1, instruction 2, and them saying in flenglish, laughing, sorry what? But it makes me smile on the inside that there are moments when they literally giggle in, out and with their bellies.

Our next son is immaculate in appearance, and a good looking guy, but less so in his immediate surroundings, particularly that which is in close proximity to me. He also adores me so much, that he takes my things and keeps them close to his heart. It’s a cute little habit that stretches my understanding of being a mother. He did however tell us that he remembered each of his school plays, and said that although he never really had a speaking part, he was amazed that my husband and I had come each time, cheered and waved in the audience and had once even taken him out for dinner (which is a treat in our house), and most importantly that he felt important each time. Our last, but certainly not least “I want to be the oldest” tween is a defiant, combination of all our entire household’s best AND worst traits. She also reguarly undertakes life threatening activity like talking back to me when I am reprimanding her. And argues, like she has a briefcase and hopefully, a TITANIUM cage to protect her from me. It’s like a good meme said: “There’s nothing like your daughter’s mouth to bring out your inner gangster”. Indeed.

So aside from all these endearing habits, languages, and moments, I concede that we are growing amazing things. That they are growing themselves. That it is usually, mostly a blessing to be part and parcel of all their development. That somehow I get to be a usually positive contributing factor to their lives (vitamin enduced I tell you). And that they don’t see me as disordered, mentally ill or broken. They see me as Mom. Momty. Someone to laugh with, cry with, inhale sweets under the blanket with. They actually want to be around me (poor kids) and know what to do when I need some space. Each day, though I don’t know how it will turn out, I know that they will be there. With kissy lips when I “don’t” want them, tissues for tears, and Mom and Me selfies even when I don’t feel pretty. And though I often prefer myself and my cacti in the dark, I always try and be in the sun for them. Also for me. Because they are awesome. Awesome People Plants. Be part of those who support us as opposed to those who don’t. I am 4 M’s Bipolar Mom.

(Thank you Pixabay for the beautiful picture).

Bottle of Bliss

Today, I think I may have found a CURE for mental illness.  Ok, that’s a slight stretch, but if I’m to go by the bottle (which I immediately bought and requested a bulk supply of) is “mood enhancing fine fragrance and body mist” which and I quote: “is a fine fragrance with a touch of essential oil to leave you elegant and poised”.  Mood enhancing.  Elegant.  Poised.  Wow.  Now you can say what you like, but my mind translated this into just spray twice – and magically – you will be elegant.  You will be poised.  And because I have neither been elegant nor poised in the longest time, I will believe this marketing.  It’s like nasal spray for your emotions and demeanour, squirt squirt and off you go.  It’s even called Lovely in Lace.

Practially, I know (from a friend) that lace is itchy and not mood enhancing, so I will send the Company feedback on that.  Sexy and comfortable have never been synonymous.  And well I’m a comfortable kind of gal.  I have been known to take my shoes off in malls / supermarkets etc. because my feet hurt.  It’s just a practical thing.  I can’t grocery shop when my feet are sore.  Not sure why, but my children don’t like this habit much.  They don’t know about my bottle of bliss yet, but if they did, I’m sure they would fire hose me with it, particularly whilst I grunt and remove shoes, quite inelegantly, seated in the middle of a grocery aisle when they for some reason are concerned about other shoppers.  Shrugs shoulders.

I will also tell the bliss bottle company that no matter how I’ve squirted, my transformation to elegance, poisedness has NOT transpired.  And I have tried. I’ve squirted furiously, with upside down squirts, roley-poley squirts, star jump squirts and NOTHING.  Other than riverlets of liquid not from the bliss bottle.  I’ve learned that a beautifully scented anything cannot infuse happiness when a support person goes away for a while, or a change in someone like me’s routine, environment, stuff happens.  In my experience change is well, stinky.  Uncomfortable.  Hell, maybe it’s the bottle of bliss in disguise:  makes you think you going to become awesome, and well just leaves you wet and disappointed.  Won’t be the first time I’ve found myself in a situation like that.

More seriously today I miss my husband – my ultimate support person – who literally breathes with me everyday.  He is the sugar in my coffee, the warmth in my sun, the shake of my medicine bottle at bedtime (which I forget and it’s cute not weird – no-one wants me to be medication free), the squish in the best hug, and the softest place my heart and mind have ever had to rest in.  We have not been perfect.  Our relationship has not always been good.  But it has been for a really long time.  And I think that we have found a new way to be with each other that is so lovely.  That has been bliss.  He is travelling for work, and this is his first major trip overseas.  And I’m alot proud of him, and I hope he has an amazing time and soaks up every moment.  And that he enjoys the being free from mental illness for a while bit.  That he doesn’t get a daily update on the dilemmna’s of diagnosis, and other mental health issues related mainly to um, me, with different moods changed as quickly as the seconds of the day.  And I’m worried that this will make him not miss me.

Because it’s hard.  It’s difficult to be with someone who changes, is inconsistent and spends truckloads of money they do not make.  I do not know what it’s like to live with me but I’m afraid it’s an environment that you’d like to be free from.  Be free from me.  And that makes me a lot sad.   But I need to put brave bipolar girl vibes on because I am alone with my chickens til he gets back.  I’m perfectly capable of taking care of them and me – but the fact that someone like me can say I need help from you, I need your support is alot.  Means you are an important person.  He is. Wipes secret mom  wife tears.  I think I need to give that bottle of bliss one last go.  Be part of those who support us as opposed to those who don’t.  I am 4m’s Bipolar Mom.

 

Emotional Train Stations

A few nights ago my youngest daughter asked me (while I was taking my night meds) – “Mom, does your medication have to set?”.    In my house – we usually wait for pudding to set, not people even when we take our medication, so our family laughed uproariously.  I did feel like I’d swallowed a little bit of giggly gelatine.  Like this comment, my kids point out EVERY little thing I do which seems to suggest that let’s just say I’m different, but they do so endearingly, laugh loudly and tickle or hug me, when I pretend to be hacked.  A few of the little quirks that have come to light recently is my increasing memory loss (I don’t know why) and losing my train of thought (again, I don’t know why).  And yes I do think that there is a difference between the two.

Very practically, if you had to live in my brain, my body and life – you would understand that following through on your train of thought is like going to a major subway station, internationally, when we don’t HAVE subway stations where I live, and having to find the right train and platform, when you speak a different language.  What does this mean?  You gonna ask the people on the wrong trains where the right trains are, you are gonna buy crisp and sweets on  the one platform, and after a snack and an anxiety pill (I would need both at this point), you would either give up on going or very confidently stride onto the right train with crisp remnants strewn on your chest.  This does sound like I’ve done this before, coughs, but the point is the analogy.

Re losing my memory – I simply think that this is the practical matter of SPACE.  Like I have not needed my “nailed it” origami folding skills ever.  Never. Eject I think.  But because I’m a self confessed extremist, I chuck the proverbial baby out with the bathwater,  so I chuck important information which then re-visits me when I least require it.   Yes this does happen.  So I am known for switching the topic, going off on a tangent, and then being like oh yeah, we were talking about something else.  This blog is another demonstration of just that.

But away from busy trains of thought, and the dumping of much not and needed information,  I now am very pleased to find myself in a space of love and happiness (except for my children who hurt my feelings by taking my yoghurt).  I am, mostly sans yoghurt, in a place where I am surrounded by my favourite people and they know that I am the way I am, and they don’t want to hurt me, and they don’t want to make me feel less.  They are my family, who don’t just know I live with a mental illness, but they love me more because of it.   They are even prepared to go camping with me.

I haven’t been in that kind of environment for a long time.  In effect, I have moved from an environment where they talk about me, not to me, where they think someone else is more capable of thinking what’s best for me ALL THE TIME, when I’ve through blood, sweat and tears, proven that I am more than enough.  From a place where they used me to where they love me, from where I’ve had to “hide” how I really feel and how things affect me to not.   I have moved into a place where I can dwell on a train station platform, have snacks, whatever I need to do.   Most importantly, all of this has made me realise that people who do the hurtful stuff, are the kinds of people you should stand up against, shout loudly if and when they do hurt you and don’t stop until you move into a place that’s better for you.  After that, get on the right train, and move swiftly along.  Be part of those who support us as opposed to those who don’t.  I m 4 M’s Bipolar Mom.

 

 

In Sickness and in Health

Today I, my significant other, my children, my mother, my sister, my brothers, their partners, my besties and other “close” family have been married for fifteen years.  Fortunately, we have not all shared one bedroom, but we might as well have, because people where I live, that I know are, ALL extremely NOSEY and get INVOLVED.  And if they’re not asking you inappropriate questions and queries, they will, at random, provide information you do NOT need.  All parties to the marriage as described above, feel that they have an equal if not important say, in how things should be run, how you raise your kids, spend your money etc.  And sometimes its fun to chew the fat over a cup of tea, and then sometimes people can just go too far, and in my opinion there is a very fine line in between.  And I may flip between smiling and scowling very quickly, and could articulate that change of mood in very colourful language, rapid fire.

However, perhaps the greatest participants, gifts and good things about our marriage are our children.  And there are a few things that I confidently know “we” created:  intelligent, beautiful, critical thinking, emotionally intelligent beings, who stand up for themselves, who speak for themselves, who fend for themselves (ok the last one is utter BS.  They do think WE are their joint cleaners and caterers).    And not all parents can say they’ve brought about that, but we have.  In demonstration of this, I decided this year to hand-make my husband’s anniversary card.  So I drew (doodled badly) many things significant about our marriage – the length in weeks, days, hours, minutes, our home, my blog address, our children’s ages.  This picasso like drawing was placed on the front of the card, a picture of us inside the card, and then there WAS a space for us to write “new promises”.    But he ticked me off when I was supposed to finish that part of the card, so almost crumpling it up, I suggested to the kids they write us little anniversary messages and paste it in the past new promises section.  Thought they’d be positive.  Thought they’d be encouraging. And I soon learned I should have rather thrown it away.

Their messages from ages 11 – 17 were basically a very sarcastic version of YOU GUYS NAILED / are nailing IT.    For example:  you’ve had your ups and downs, and ups and downs again, and again, but you MADE IT.    It made me feel like a survivor of the The Hunger Games, with mouthy offspring to show for it. And I’m not a pretty and thin, whistling a song about under the tree, arrow shooting someone.  The only similarity would be that it could be said that I’ve tried setting myself on fire (smoking in my sleep) but it hasn’t looked or felt nearly as glamorous as fire skirt yielding Katmus and Co.  Clears throat.

My husband – not always lovingly referred to on this blog (ya um, NEVER) – is however my family.    And he’s my innermost in family.  I’ve never ever let anyone this close to my heart, which is why I constantly um, speak to him in a determined fashion.  We laugh that our marriage is the process of him getting to know the man I would preferred to have married.  Jokes aside, he is also the man that has lived with ME.  And that me has changed, writhed, learned, fallen, gotten back up, everything ME.  It has tested that in sickness and health definition GREATLY.  I have been the you not gonna know who you gonna come home to me.  The sometimes I don’t get up, and the dinner isn’t made me.  He’s not the kind of person that wants me to make dinner – but when you have kids who are at school, need to do dinner and homework – it’s not about gender, but getting it done.  And he does the doing, when I cannot.  And sometimes that doing is A LOT.  And I really really wish one day he’d see that I see, love and so appreciate every do, and that it’s like replenishing vitamins for teary eyes, a busy brain and sometimes aching heart.

It is true that he has also hurt me, but I have also hurt him.  And it’s even more true that I am seriously scared that he will walk away again, or think I’m too much or too extra, or I don’t know.  Because I am, and I am all those things A LOT.  Because as much as I’m pretty self-absorbed in being me, I imagine it must be really, really hard to live with someone like me.  If he was let’s say different, I would find him the nearest possible home where they push him out in the sunshine regularly, and make him an awesome birthday cake once a year (LOL).

In me-ville, where he is a resident, imagine this as your average day:  Whatsapp messages I send him: it starts at 08h00:  Love you, have a great day (he’s probably getting his coffee, starting is laptop, normal things for the day).  Then I’m like: 09h00:  Oh, it’s great that you answer me immediately.    It’s great I’m a priority.  09h01: I’m filing for divorce (and continue in this fashion until we leave work).  Then I realise I’m going home and get to see him, and have him cuddle me and encourage me to blog etc. and I get into the car CHEERFULLY and wonder why he looks irritated.

So I do think that as much as I’m not sure he’ll stay, I’m sure he’s like YEAH, Let’s see what we’re gonna be taken through today.  A rollercoaster of EVERY THING I’ve done wrong EVER, or a little teacup ride of loving, missing you til we go home ride.  Minimally, we can agree that in our marriage, we have both possibly been thrill seekers.   Away from all that, he holds me, he cooks for me, he fetches my medication, and tries not to sigh when I ask him for the millionth thing when he too is lying down, feigns interest in my hobbies (but so I believe it) and loves everything I create.  His safe word when he doesn’t like something is saying “it’s interesting” and a sort of a half smile, which I know is neither a lie nor the truth.  And I sorta like that he tries his best (mostly) to not hurt my feelings and that really, really helps. This makes me think of a quote (I don’t know the source which sums up our marriage and the way I feel about him and what he does for me):

To love is not to possess the other person, or to consume all their attention and love.  To love is to offer the other person joy and a balm for their suffering.  This is the capacity we have to cultivate.

Babes though you don’t need to, I think you are in a process in cultivation.  You are my joy and my oh-so-needed balm.  Happy Anniversary everybody.  Be part of those who support us as opposed to those who don’t.  I am 4 M’s Bipolar Mom.

 

 

 

In the pursuit of happiness

When something major happens to you when you live with a mental illness – it can be happy or sad – you can be thrown the heck off kilter.  When you have Bipolar you can become manic – not eat, sleep, have flashing thoughts – or you can become depressed.    Deeply, darkly, depressed.  Dangerous depressed.  And no-one wants to be there.  Stay there.  Feel there.  It hurts, hurts to the point where you can’t uncurl yourself from your bed in the morning, or stop the tears from falling, or your heart and mind from following suit.  But that’s not where I am – or what I’m planning to do.  I have instead committed my heart and mind to the pursuit of happiness.

What’s interesting though is that I have no clue how to go about this.  Happiness and I have not previously been friends – or even acquaintances. Rather I was standing on the seashore of my life being hit by waves that either left me standing laughing, or swept off my feet in surprise.  If you were observing this spectacle – you would have seen this Bipolar dinghy being washed in and out, up and down.   What can we learn from this?  I was a spectator in my life as opposed to a participant.  I was a victim not a survivor, things happened to me not I to them, and I relied on others to throw me a life rope.  I relied on others to haul my dinghy back to harbour, while I sat deflated inside, bemoaning my state of being.  I looked and felt like a deflating dinghy clamouring for dear life through the waves.   Happiness was rare, akin to streaks of sunlight in a mostly stormy sky. NOT. ANYMORE.

I have decided to start my pursuit of happiness with not using this kind of language to understand or describe myself.  I have decided that I will make a determined effort to see the good in situations, the good in people, and most of all the goodness in me.  I have decided that each day will be an emotional decision to do something different, something that makes me feel better, especially when the thunder clouds threaten my new-found bright being.  I have decided to stop blaming myself for everything – because really, I’m actually not all that is bad in the world.  In fact I’m quite the opposite.  What’s the common thread in all of this?  Determination.

Now determination is a funny concept for someone with mental illness.  Imagine it as an amplifier switch with levels that go up and down.    Some days you can be on a high level – and others not.  BUT we can still have a little bit, even on the bad days.    That little bit could be a weak smile, crying one less cry, sitting outside in the sun for 5 mins, laughing quietly at something funny.  Yes, I have been in a place where even those things are hard.  But friends, nothing is impossible.  So I’m amping up my levels, I am decidedly determined, and I plan to pursue happiness every day.  Watch this space.  Be part of those who support us as opposed to those who don’t.  I am 4 M’s Bipolar Mom.