HOPE

it's cold...dark
this place...is hard
no happiness. no sunshine
fear lurks in the corners
leaving no escape

memories, like bullets, drive into my mind

can't run or hide or fight back
the cold, the dark, the terror...

reach for something to heal from the horror
there is something there...a small sliver of hope
but when broken...shattered
how to trust the contentment it offers?

have i grown too dependant on only myself?
have i become the woman who is too afraid?
will the haunting of past demons keep me locked away?

fear circles me...pokes at my sides, tugs my hair
i wish i could leave here, find warmth, comfort...safety

hope beckons me and pleads with me to let it lead me from this place
i want the warmth to surround me and keep the darkness away
i'm scared because what if i find only a new darkness?
i let my eyes find the center of this new hope...search it for signs of evil

hope reaches for me...and i reach back

Today's Pondering

"Trusting in God involves the loss of our agenda, our flaming torch, so that we die to our inclination to live a lie. It requires forfeiting our rigid, self-protective, God-dishonoring ways of relating in order to embrace life as it is meant to be lived: in humble dependence on God and passionate involvement with others." ~Dan Allender

My inclination is toward isolation, for self-protection, due to lack of trust. This is challenging me. And it goes on...

"Do I believe that God is a loving Father who is committed to my deepest well-being, that He has the right to use everything that is me for whatever purposes He deems best, and that surrendering my will and my life entirely to Him will bring me the deepest joy and fulfillment I can know this side of heaven?"

Thunderstorm of the Mind

A thunderstorm just blew through. Beautiful, frightening....a relief and a terror. The highs are sometimes beautiful, a relief from the despair of the depression. Why would anyone CHOOSE to come down from that? Because the next step is the paranoia, the poor choices, the eventual loss of reality. The pacing all night long and the obsession with projects.

So friends, let me say that my closet is organized, my paperwork is systematically filed, my bathrooms are spotless, there's food for weeks in the freezer, the laundry is completely done and put away and I've slept only 6 or 7 hours in the last 3 days. Loving this! And truly angry that I have to call the doctor tomorrow and see what I have to do to reign it in.

The last 3 months have been drenched in darkness and this feels so good! What a shame that my brain doesn't understand "normal" anymore.

if an illusion is an illusion, can you prove it was there? if a delusion is never there, how was it there to begin with? if the mind can open doors that are not there, do they really exist, or do they exist as an illusion?

when does reality become imaginary and imaginary become reality? if the door opens to the realms of complexity and multiple realities, then each existence must be real....from each opening to the next, inside every person's imagination. from imagination reality can develop, then reality can be changed to illusion and maybe people think it was a delusion

so....is it real, an illusion or a delusion? who's to say....

Walls and Nightmares

I hear that those who have bipolar tend to get manic during the warmer months. That has not been my pattern...maybe later, in the summer. But springtime ushers in the ache of depression. I'm not alone in this, I know. I've talked to others. The PTSD is worse as well...whether related to BP or therapy...I don't know. Nights are the hardest so I write what I feel and see:

Walls feel tighter every day,
falling in downward spirals,
losing hope.
 
Holding my head in my hands;
nights get darker, like the breath of winter,
chilling with the ghosts screeching from the closet….
 
Going crazy, going crazy, going crazy
a little more each day.
Push the ghosts away but they never stop coming….
flashbacks trapping me in this room.
 
Walls squeezing air from my lungs.
Loss of breath as breath breezes my neck
kicking and screaming throwing blankets to the floor
till the room is empty, airless.
 
Sitting crumpled on my knees in cold reality.

Friday Night

House quiet, drinking detox tea, hoping it will cleanse the poison from my soul. Neck aches. Hate myself. Impatient with everything. Restless, energized but unfocused, sad, little, alone, overwhelmed, exhausted.
 
I want to ask for myself back. I believe this is not who I was supposed to be. I've seen too much of the other side to believe this is who I was created to be. I want better. I am afraid in this moment that it's not possible. I am weary of the poison identity.
 
I want to hurt myself just so I can feel something else. Mute screaming. Not panic, just a girl looking for a fight. I don't want to be soothed in this moment. I want to spit back at them.....every bastard who has ever shown contempt for me....tossed his head and said foul words to make me feel cheap, told me lies to get what he wanted, taken what was not freely given.
 
How can I know when I am practicing self-determination or when the conditioning of abuse endured is running the show?
 
Is my life worth it to me to do the work of healing?
 
Imploding. Tonight grief crashed in waves so fierce I could not stay on my feet.
 

Dark Water - 2010

I'm swimming alone in a pool of dark water, and feel it pulling me under. I try to yell for help but no one is close enough to hear. I begin to see the water at eye level and I kick and flail, fighting to stay above the darkness.

The darkness won't let go and water fills my lungs.

I stand at the boundary between light and dark. I have neither strength, nor courage. I slip below, undetected by the occupants of the world. I don't want to fight anymore.

My new ride

From roller coaster to this:

Flashback

The house changes from the safe haven I know into a strange, eerily familiar time and place. Visions flicker to my left and then to my right. Footsteps creek. A presence is felt. My heart is hammering and my mind is racing. I talk to myself out loud to remember it's not real. I grab a blanket and crouch in a corner so that no one can sneak up. My skin crawls and panic builds from a slow simmer to a bubbling fury. I flinch at the phantom touch.

Sometimes

Sometimes when I awaken in the gray light of sleep leaving and the warmth of dawn, I know my life is a gift and a blessing. A thought will bring me back to a happy time. I feel my heart lift and stretch like a bird longing for the sky.

Sometimes when the day is gray and cold, I stretch myself between sleeping and waking, between conciousness and the soft hands of slumber.

Sometimes when I view my scars, I touch them gently and shed the tears that I've held too long. When the veil between now and then falls away I can reclaim my heart that I've hidden so deeply.

Sometimes I know without a doubt that I am loved and that what happened to me did not defeat me. That I will live long enough to learn to love again.

Sometimes comes more often now.

Sans Meds

I've been told that this bipolar thing didn't happen suddenly. I've spent years living with the symptoms that are like....well....like my personality. According to the experts, hyperness is a symptom. They say I'll feel better, but never be better. That I have to take medication for the rest of my life. Can you imagine?

There's no blood test, no x-ray or CT scan, no MRI....nope. They ask me questions. I answer to the best of my recollection and there you go....I am the fine new owner of a mental illness.

Have I had pyschotic episodes? Yep....or I just have an in with, you know.....the "other" world that you don't get to see. You have to be special to see it. You know...like me.

I digress.

Wanting to learn everything is a symptom. So is wanting to write everything, restlessness,racing thoughts, insomnia, pacing, standing outside in storms....all symptoms of my manic states. So what's left that is me?

I've tried to find out with the medication. And then I'm in limbo, in the land of the mundane getting fatter and lazier as these drugs wreck my body to save my mind. I feel like I need a t-shirt that says, "failure to thrive". The drugs keep me from thinking what my brain wants to think. I wonder how soon a bipolar brain sans meds begins to make up its own rules. I wonder if I'll notice.

What I've been listening to as I write

Raw - present day

I don't know what's worse. Being overmedicated or feeling so raw that every sideways look, unusual tone, kind word or gentle rebuke makes me cry. I guess, for now, I'll take the emotions.

My dark mood worries me. There's this voice that speaks to me and tries to tell me things. I try to block it out. Sometimes I even cover my ears and hum, but it's still in my head. There's no running from it.

You probably don't know this, but madness will push you anywhere it wants. It never tells you where you're going or why. It tells you it doesn't matter. It persuades you. It dangles something in front of you, shimmering like a water patch on the road up ahead.

Darkness - Journal entry from April 2010

I feel it building, always trying to break out. Everything seems too tame. I feel alone and raw. Don't rest! Not even for a minute; or face living under scorn. So,I curl under the broken shelf of confusion, struggling with the inner girl.

Is there a tunnel to freedom? Is it all just self-inflicted pollution? Will it really end in the cold binding shackles of conformed lies? Wishing for moments of contentment, free from the constant anxiety. Sustained happiness is a fairy tale, but moments would give life a chance.

I feel that time. When I crawled, fumbling on my hands and knees, bleeding--trapped by painful, crushing gasps of air--knowing that any last glimmers of hope for the future were dead, cold--gone.

Excerpts from March 2010

1) I'm so confused. Words strike at my heart even while my brain is trying to understand. I look around me and wonder, "When did it all start to go so wrong?" Was our whole marriage a lie? When the children are gone to his house-that sounds so strange, I awaken in the night and the emptiness is suffocating.

2)One page at a time is filled with my words...my words. No one else can claim them. One day there will be an end. One page not written, left blank. Some days these words are my only comfort. Not an escape...it never allows me to escape...but a place to put down the words that are racing in my mind.

3)No dreams tonight, only nightmares. I'm too unsettled to go back to sleep. I've checked on the children. I've swept through the house turning on lights and re-checking locks. Everything seems as it should, but the images were sharp this time. They'll not be easily filed away. The shadows and shapes may be in my head, but they're real. Lying back, visions of the past won't fade because the darkness is in me, not just a product of the night.

Beautiful Women

I never fully experienced the beauty of the body of Christ until the last two years. I didn't let anyone in before. I felt damaged and deficient,for reasons I haven't yet disclosed. I still do. But women who love me have cared for me in so many ways when I literally couldn't manage alone. With no hesitation, no judgement.

I almost said countless ways, but to be accurate, I can count them. Most of them. Their acts of selfless love stand out in my mind and their stories merge with mine on the pages of my journals. You ladies know who you are.I hesitate to use your names on my blog without your permission.

Except Tory. I know Tory won't mind. She is the sister I never had...until I did...in her.

The precious gift of your willing hearts and open hands has changed me in ways I am only now beginning to realize.

Scripture

II Corinthians 1:9

My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.

The Diagnosis

In Winston-Salem I was diagnosed with major depression.

It was considered situational and not much background was asked for. They prescribed an anti-depressant....a really strong one. They sent me home after 4 days, with the antidepressant and 90 Xanex.

To say the place I'd just spent 4 days in is sub-par in the behavioral health community, is a bit of an understatement.

Fortunately, my therapist had the foresight to ask me to hand those Xanax over. He has been the one constant in this story. He keeps me anchored and is my biggest advocate. I could not ride this roller coaster without him.

So I took my pills and went to a psychiatrist for the first time ever. I was feeling pretty good by then and just kept feeling better and better and better. I didn't need sleep, I had tons of energy. My house had never been cleaner. At 3am one morning, I decided that I must go to Walmart to buy Draino....my sink wasn't draining fast enough for me.

And then it began to get ugly. I was quick-tempered, talking faster that the speed of light, spending money I didn't have, unreasonable.

My next behavioral health stay was in Charlotte....exactly 19 days after being sprung from the first one. I honestly don't remember the details of how I ended up there....but I know there were hallucinations involved. I'd been awake 7 days....straight. The first day or two is a blur in my memory.

Day 3 I remember rather well. I was pacing. I did a lot of that. The doctor asked if I'd like to sit down and I didn't want too. I felt that it was impolite to refuse, though. I was raised in the South, I didn't want to be impolite. :-)

He asked me to listen carefully, which was next to impossible to do, but I somehow I managed. He clarifies a diagnosis for me. "You have a disease called Bipolar Disorder. It used to be called Manic-Depression."

My response was a calm and mature,

"I DO NOT!!"

How did I end up in a place like this?

As long as I can remember I have been affected by deep, dark, seemingly inexplicable periods of depression. When I became a believer, I was 18 and I thought that would make it better. It didn't. I felt guilty. I was told that my life is good, I have no reason to be depressed. It will pass. It always did, eventually.

I almost didn't survive some of those times...but no one knew that part.

My depressions were always preceded or followed by periods of significant productivity. I was alert, full of ideas, confident, fun....and wow! I could get a lot done. Everyone likes this "me". Whenever I fell back into the darkness, I withdrew, kept my distance...tried to hang on until it was over.

So how did I end up in "that place" I described below. "That place" is in Winston-Salem, North Carolina and it took a violent tear in my reality to get there.

During my adult life, I had cocooned myself in as much safety as I could. I tried to find salvation/safety in my own strength. I married a big strong guy and I gave birth to my 4 beautiful children primarily because I wanted the family I never had. I homeschooled to keep us together and truth be known, so I could be watchful over them. I read books on being an excellent wife.

I tried really, really hard.

Guess what? That family blew apart. My big strong guy left. The shock and depression set in with a vengeance.

A cold winter night, an empty field and two bottles full of pills are what ultimately found me locked in that strange and terrifying place.

The Next Step

The Names Have Been Changed

Sunday, January 24, 2010

It's 3am and a nightmare woke me. Nothing new....except this is not my home. Where am I?!

I remember.

I want to go home.

I am afraid here.

I'm here with Richard, a homeless older man with a foul mouth and disposition. Richard is the keeper of the remote. The only place to be during the day has a television controlled by an old man who doesn't hear well. The noise is unbearable.

Maurice is a homeless black man who resembles Kramer from Seinfeld. He talks off his head. He tells me he's going to Mars because it's red and that's his favorite color. He will begin a new world and it will be beautiful.

Lane is an alcoholic being treated for depression. He is a bit of an oasis because he seems reasonably sane.

James doesn't talk...at least not to us.

Regina is here because her son committed suicide and she wants to join him...she is so sad and cries all the time.

Georgia is Bi-polar and an alcoholic. They call that dual-diagnosis and understand that the alcohol is self-medicating. She's on meds to help her with withdrawals and is what I now refer to as "zombified."

Finally, there's Audrey Rose, my roommate. She arrived last night...my second night here...unless you count the night I arrived...it was 3:30am. She is young and tough....but not really tough...if you know what I mean. She's a devastated child in a young woman's body. She's a cutter.

I'm beginning to get used to it here, but the fear has not left. There are men here. The room doors cannot be shut and the bathrooms have only curtains. The mirrors are nothing more than polished metal.....there are no pictures and no windows.....and yet, they gave Audrey Rose a "Patients Bill of Rights" booklet with staples in it. I know what she can do with staples.

It began here...

Writing for Healing

A new beginning...preparing a place. Writing as part of healing. Much healing is needed and putting it out here is terrifying.

My hope is that my journey, ugly at times, will encourage....give courage...to someone else.

It will be difficult. It will not be linear, but it will be truth. My truth. This will be my place where I will be free to be a glorious mess and I pray, to come out on the other side....

Warning. If you are linked to my blog....this will not be a place of family events and smiling pictures.

Those are part of my story.

However, this will be an uncomfortable story. Uncomfortable because I will open my heart and reveal the pain and a story that would rather stay hidden.

The time for hiding is over.