Barely in control: Losing a Piece of My Life

Barely in control: Losing a Piece of My Life: Before I was diagnosed with bipolar I led a sort of ordinary life. I had friends. I worked. I dated. I actively volunteered with my local ch...

Losing a Piece of My Life

Before I was diagnosed with bipolar I led a sort of ordinary life. I had friends. I worked. I dated. I actively volunteered with my local church congregation. I mothered my daughter.

Before I was diagnosed with bipolar I didn't suddenly wake up one day with my world turned upside down. It was a gradual thing that started slowly and then spiraled quickly out of control. I can remember things I did that I'm embarrassed to admit to now. The time my daughter "helped" me rearrange my bedroom and broke a bunch of things on my dresser. I freaked out. Total overreaction. Out of proportion with the situation, and and almost out-of-body experience.

Then there were the times I couldn't go to work. I would plead headaches, and since I got migraines it seemed logical. But the truth was I just couldn't get out of bed. I would have days I could force myself to work, then one day I wouldn't be able to move. Then after a few days I could get out of bed and force myself back to work. I lost a few jobs because of my "headaches."

The times I drank too much. Self-medicating is the term used in the profession, but at the time it simply was a coping mechanism. I embarrassed myself more than once because of this, usually because of the depression, but at times because of the mania. I would get crazy and do things I would normally never do. Flirt with lots of men. Go out and party until really late, then come home and talk til the early hours. Just staying up with a rush of energy that wouldn't slow down.

I lost friends, especially once I was diagnosed. But that was my own fault. I was ashamed of my diagnosis, and I didn't want anyone to know about my weakness. So I hid. I slinked back to my parents house, no job, no car, no more me, it seemed. I didn't know what to say to all these people who knew me when. When I was fun. When I was "normal." When I was me.

What I didn't realize is that I was still me. And I hadn't been normal for a while. And my real friends had been my friends through all the craziness and would have stayed my friends if I'd let them. But I was scared. Scared of an illness that I didn't understand. Scared of something that sounded like the end of my life. Scared that everyone would think I was a failure. A loser. A crazy person.

And partly that was based on reality. I had people who, not knowing my diagnosis, would say things like "when I get depressed, I just pray and it all goes away." Suggesting that a person who is struggling with depression isn't trusting enough in God.

Or another good one: "It's all in your head. If you were willing to work hard enough, you could pull yourself through it." Yes, it is in my head, but I now know it's a physical thing going on in my head, not a thought process that I can just change and make better.

I didn't tell these people I had bipolar. But I also didn't tell the people who said things like "depression is a difficult thing to understand unless you've been there." I didn't tell my friends who said "you have a problem and you need help, and whatever I can do to help, I will do." I ran away from everyone, including myself.

I ran all the way to California. As if that would make everything better. Funny thing is, wherever you go, there you are. You can't run from yourself. And I was just as sick as I was in Illinois, but without any support network. Thankfully, I met my husband, who helped me though a lot of it. But sadly even here there were people willing to be my friends that I couldn't open up to, couldn't allow in, and it made me alone here.

I missed two of my close friends' weddings. I will forever regret that. I have a once very close friend that has three kids close in age to my kids that I'm no longer close to, and I will forever regret that. I don't remember going camping with a group of friends when I first came to California, a shared memory that could make us good friends. I wish I could have that.

But along the way I've learned--slowly--to open up. To let people in and see how they react. To start trusting people when they like me that they will accept me for who I am, and that includes my illness. And I've learned that there will always be people who don't understand, but that's not my problem. I can't fix the world's problems, and that's just one of the world's problems: people have a hard time accepting what they can't understand or see for themselves.

And I've learned that more people are willing to learn about mental illness if given the chance. They want to know more, to understand, to listen and learn. And I've learned that having a mental illness doesn't preclude an ordinary life, unless you refuse to accept it.

Fear Can Do The Worst Things

I need new walking shoes. Mine squeak when I walk, making sounds like I'm walking on a mouse. It's not really loud yet, but I know it will get louder, because it's happened before--several times, and it definitely gets louder. I solve the problem by putting baby powder in them, but I think we're past that. Plus they hurt my feet.

I need new shoes because I've been walking more. My girlfriend Stephanie ran a 5k marathon recently, and that has given me motivation to get moving more. So I've been walking around our lake. But I can only walk a mile and my left foot starts to hurt. Which is a bad thing, because I know I can go further. I could easily do two miles, if I weren't limping the whole time.

So my next gift to myself is going to be new walking shoes. And the two (maybe three) miles that go with them.

But enough about walking. What I really want to talk about is this weekend. I spent this weekend watching tv, hiding from the world. I didn't go anywhere, didn't talk to anyone, and didn't do anything that involved any effort (although I kept my kids from killing themselves or each other while Erik was at work, so I guess that counts as something).

Anyway, my point is, it wasn't a good weekend. And I've been having many good weekends, so it was especially hard to have a bad one. I really wanted this to not happen, and I didn't know why it was happening. I had gone to Six Flags with my family on Friday, and that was a bit overwhelming, so I thought maybe I was recovering from that. But it was more than that. It went deeper than just a day of recovery. Plus, Friday was not a good day for me, which I realize as I look back, so something was going on even then.

I always wish I could write during the time I'm going through my depressions and down times. It would be so helpful to be able to see what's going on in the midst of it all. But when I'm going through it I can't seem to focus on anything, let alone write about it. So I do it after, like I'm doing today. And today I think I have it figured out.

I've  been frozen with fear.

I have my NAMI Connections meeting tonight, and I'm expecting someone to come unlock the door tonight so I will actually have to lead the meeting tonight. But while that is scary, that isn't the biggest thing.

The biggest thing is something I haven't told anyone because I'm afraid of being judged for it. Of someone thinking I can't handle it. Or someone thinking, oh, if she can handle it she can't be as sick as she thinks she is.

I've become president of my daughter's school's PTO. There, I said it. I'm PTO President. And it scares me. I am capable and competent to do this job, but I'm afraid that others will see me as someone who is weak and sick, and shouldn't have this kind of responsibility. I have bad days and there are times I will be unavailable for a day or two, and I'm afraid that my illness will now be judged as not a big deal.

I am doing so well, and I have made a lot of progress. I am doing what my doctor told me to do: get out and have a life worth living, and don't let the bad days take over your life. I'm making a routine and working to stick to it because that's what helps keep me on track. And I'm planning for my down days so that I can have a sick day when I'm not available just like any other normal person. Nothing will fall apart if I'm not available for a day or two.

I was immobile with the fear of what others thought of me, and I didn't think about what I thought of me.

Well, I think I'm doing well. I think I'm capable, competent, personable, organized, and skillful in many different situations. I think I know how to handle problems that arise with diplomacy and tact, and I can lead with grace and dignity.

I think I just forgot for a few days how far I've come. And I think I'm not going to let that happen again.

Jeanna

I know I mentioned that we had a stillborn daughter in September of 2005. She's been on my mind a lot lately for some reason; maybe getting it out will put whatever's bothering me to rest.

I'm not sure if it's that my girlfriend Jenna's daughter, who was born about six months after Jeanna, just graduated kindergarten, that had something to do with it. I don't think so, although it did remind me that Jeanna would have also finished kindergarten this spring.

Maybe it's that my kids are getting a little older and I'm wondering how she would have fit in. What place she would have held in our family. Would she have been the quiet one? The drama queen? The funny one? I have no idea.

She was my easiest pregnancy. I relaxed and enjoyed it, didn't have a lot of stress during that pregnancy until the last month, and it was fun. My pregnancy with Julianne was traumatic because I was still mourning the loss of my older daughter to my ex-husband. I wasn't ready to have another girl, I wanted the girl I already had, and there was a lot of emotional stress during that pregnancy.

Julianne was three when I was pregnant with Jeanna, which was the perfect age. She loved feeling the baby move, loved talking to the baby, loved talking about the baby, loved seeing and playing with all the baby stuff. She was ready to be the big sister, and we talked a lot about what it would be like for her to have a baby sister.

The last month of my pregnancy was really difficult. We were supposed to move to Nebraska, then we weren't. We gave notice on our townhouse, so we had no where to live. We ended up staying with friends in Bend, which was about a 2-1/2 hour drive (I think) from home, and my doctor. I made the drive every week, and every week I wished he would just let me have that baby and be done. But I kept focused on the fact that it wasn't good for her to be delivered early, especially just for my convenience.

We got a house and had to wait 10 days until we could move in, so we went ahead and rented a hotel room for the last bit, because the driving was killing me. Jeanna was scheduled for c-section on September 26, and we were moving in on October 1. Fun, right? But I didn't care, I was so ready to move and be done.

Early the morning of the 23rd, Erik came home from work and I was awake, because I could sense that something was wrong. All I had to drink was Coke, so I drank some of that and couldn't get her to move. Erik asked if I wanted to go to the hospital then, but I wasn't ready. Somehow I knew the news wouldn't be good and I wasn't ready to hear it.

The next morning I called my doctor's office and they had me come in to be checked. First they did a non-stress test, where they hook you up to a monitor that listens to the baby's heartbeat. Nothing. Then they did an ultrasound in the office. Nothing. She said she wanted me to go to the hospital for an ultrasound there, because they have newer, better equipment that will give them a better picture. Got there, did the ultrasound, heard the bad news. Nothing.

I remember Erik crying, but I was calm. I already knew and wanted to know what would happen next. We decided to induce labor and I was taken to labor and delivery. I got an epidural with that labor, which helped me relax and sleep, which was a relief. Everything between that and the delivery is a blur.

I do remember holding her. How perfect she looked. She was beautiful. She looked like she was sleeping, like at any moment she would open her eyes and look at me. It was so unfair. The cord was around her neck four times, a simple accident that, had she been delivered a little earlier, would have been prevented.

I've thought about that so many times since that day. How if only I'd pressed for an earlier c-section. It was such a stressful month, driving back and forth, and I'm sure my doctor would have found a reason to do it. But because it was safer for her to stay in I didn't push. I laugh at that: safer. How clearly I can see in hindsight which was the safer choice.

My next two pregnancies were considered high risk and were closely monitored. I was very anxious during both, and both were preterm babies. I know it was due to my stress. I was scared it would happen again. Now I knew: Anything could happen, you can't know for sure.

I miss that little girl, the one I only had for nine months. I know I'm going to see her again, and that helps ease the pain. But my heart still has a hole where she belongs. My family has a gap and I see it often. And I feel echoes of her in my mind occasionally, in the silences between my kids' laughter.

What keeps me going, though, is knowing that one day I'll be able to know the answer to the basic question that I have always wondered: What color were her eyes?

My Time as a Mom

Last Sunday we all went to Great America. We had a really good time, especially because the park was practically empty. It was great being able to get on the rides with almost no waiting; my kids are going to think that's the way it always is and are going to be shocked later in the season!

Anyway, it's been five years since my last visit to an amusement park and I've definitely changed. Last time we went, Bear was a baby and we visited Disneyland. While I was tired from recently having a baby, I still wanted to ride the rides, and even the ones the kids couldn't go on were on my list. I enjoyed watching my kids ride, but I wanted to ride just as much.

This time, I was mostly there for my kids. I still wanted to ride, but I did it more to enjoy Julianne's reaction to the thrill. I had more fun standing by watching the boys ride the little rides, laughing as they laughed in pleasure. I didn't care if I missed out on a ride because the boys were getting tired and it was time to go home. We were there to have fun with the kids. That was the priority.

In short, I've truly become a mom.

I think I truly got sucked into it after Carter was born and Erik and I were outnumbered. Gradually, I stopped being able to stay awake late enough to watch my tv shows, and my main source of entertainment became Nick Jr. My living room went from being tastefully decorated to haphazard disaster. Even our meals went from being quiet times over lovingly prepared, thoughtfully selected recipes, to a variation of chicken, broccoli and pasta and loud conversation punctuated by things like "sit DOWN,  Bear", or "get your hands OUT of your food, Carter."

It is chaos. And most of the time I love it. It won't last forever. One day I'll look back and miss it terribly. One day our kids will want to go to Great America with their friends, and Erik and I will be wandering the park alone while the kids keep in touch by phone until it's time to go home. One day the kids will be gone all day and the house will be quiet most of the time, the rooms staying neat and tidy. And one day they'll be all grown, and we'll have adult conversations around adult meals.

But those days are far in the future. So for now I enjoy the days at Great America, ignore the messy rooms, and try to find new ways to dress up chicken. I accept the fact that I know more about what goes on in the cartoon world than in the real world. I focus on teaching my children my values so I raise competent, responsible adults. And I remember that my job as a mother is one of the most important jobs in the world.

These Crazy Days of Summer

Can we just say it's been a crazy few days and leave it at that?

Okay, first off my co-facilitator, and only local contact for NAMI, is very sick, to the point that she is unable to help me at all. So I had to find phone numbers to other members in our affiliate to get information that I'm going to need to do my first meeting on Monday night. That was a big stress for me, because I need to have everything planned out ahead of time so I feel comfortable to do something like run a meeting. Fortunately, the state office was able to get in touch with a local person, who got in touch with me and I'm now off and running.

BIG SIGH.

That was Wednesday. On Thursday, Julianne had an assembly where she was being presented an award for academic achievement. Thankfully, Melinda offered to stay home with the boys, because it turned out to be a month, trimester, and end-of-year award assembly. So to say it was long is an understatement. Oh, and there was entertainment. Yeah. Thank you Melinda, it would have been torture with the boys. But the big surprise was that Julianne made honor roll! This is a huge accomplishment for her, because she has been struggling in school for the last few years.

You know, in second grade I suspected she had ADD. Not the hyper kind, but the kind where her mind wanders off to who-knows-where and she forgets where she is. Kind of like that dog in the movie Up, where in the middle of a sentence he would suddenly say, "squirrel!" The school district had this elaborate test they did, which concluded that she didn't have ADD. So we struggled through the rest of second grade, all of third grade, and most of fourth grade with her having the attention span of a gnat. I mean, seriously, we would put her at the dinner table and send the boys into the bedroom, and her dad and I would distract her. We would put her alone in her bedroom and the air would distract her. Her dad would sit with her and try and keep her focused, and his breathing would distract her. It was awful.

Finally, in desperation I asked my psychiatrist, who also works with kids, if he could offer any suggestions. He sent me to a simple (and free) test I could download and have filled out by her teacher and myself and bring to him for evaluation. I'm telling you, if this test was done in second grade she would have been diagnosed then. But anyway, he brought her in and talked to her himself, decided she definitely has ADD-I something (inattentive something, I can't remember the rest) and put her on a medication that has saved our sanity. Hers included.

So being on the honor roll was, as I said, a huge accomplishment.

And today, Friday, was my last day of IOP (intensive outpatient program). I finally graduated from my hospital program. It's been a roller coaster for the last few months, and I really feel like I'm finally well. I still have my down days, but it's days, not weeks. I'm in a good place mentally and emotionally and I'm very proud of my hard work. I'm better than I've been in a long time, and that's saying a lot.

So this afternoon I'll go have my nails done and celebrate the first official day of our summer break. We get to sleep in a little later now, and go to the pool and hang out with friends and just have a nice time being together.