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.
February 24, 2012
February 22, 2012
February 21, 2012
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.
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.
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.
February 20, 2012
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.
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.
February 19, 2012
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.
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.
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.
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!!"
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.
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 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'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.
February 18, 2012
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.
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.
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