Building Character

Lately, I've had a lot of opportunities to build character. I actually feel my character getting taller, adding inches in the right places and toning her physique.

I build character when I set limits on the access that unsupportive people have to me. I build character when I emotionally disengage from people, however loving, who cause me stress and cause my symptoms to be exacerbated. I built character last night when I told my good friend that I had to go home and go to bed because I needed some down time. I build character when I run through my depression, through my mania, when I run like the act of putting one foot in front of the other is my new lifeline. Over the last few weeks, I've built character by getting up in the morning and going to work. I've built character by letting each hour follow the previous one, without disaster.

Two years ago, the last month would have put me into crisis mode. I've had a very intense and long lasting (for me) hypomanic period and then a crushing depression. There's a lot of change, and consequently stress, on the horizon, which makes my typically narrow bipolar tightrope shrink to thread-like proportions. But I survived. My psyche didn't disappear behind her symptoms, my body didn't get sick or shut down, and my mind remained focused and cognizant enough to complete the tasks needed to keep me moving forward. I kept moving forward, and now I feel, for the first time in a month, that a fog has cleared, that I am happy but not too happy, that I am tired but not too tired, that tomorrow will be a little bit easier than today. Two years ago, I fell apart, but today, I survived. I built character.

I'm currently reading "An Unquiet Mind," and it is having an unbelievable impact on me that I'm not yet prepared to discuss. I'd like to highlight one passage, though, that sums up my current sentiments, with that bit of humor I try to inject into these conversations: "[This was] character building, no doubt, but I was beginning to tire of all the opportunities to build character at the expense of peace, predictability, and a normal life". After a tough month of training, I think my character could use a taper.

What Prescription?

Every month, I pay $35 for three prescriptions for pills that make my life better. I have been going to the same pharmacy for the same three prescriptions since September, and there are three pharmacists who work there. I'm not asking that they remember me, but I would have expected better than the following.

Sweet Dreams

We tend to like things that we're good at, and I've always been good at sleeping. I fall asleep on airplanes before takeoff and wake up as we touch down. When I get emotionally overwhelmed, I get tired. When I faced my first real professional disappointment about a year ago, I overcame it by sleeping 10-12 hours a night for a week. Sleep hits me like a ton of bricks when other things in life are getting me down and I'm always grateful to seek solace in its chubby, lazy arms.

Last night, I slept for 10 hours, passing out fully clothed on my bed at 8:30pm and waking up groggy at 6:30, dozing for another hour. Today, I felt so sad and depressed at work that I took two small breaks to cry, for no apparent reason, in the bathroom. I felt overwhelmed by the smallest of problems and had dark, scary thoughts. Looking back, my desperate need for sleep was a harbinger of my depression, an indicator of the switch from one mood cycle to another.

Sleep is one of the most reliable predictors of my moods, and one of the best ways I have to regulate them on my own. Last week, I slept an average of six hours a night, and this week I will average ten and crave more. Inexplicable, during both weeks, I will be tired most of the time. I'm staying up tonight because I know that if I limit my sleep, I'll feel more awake tomorrow, that adrenaline will kick in and help avoid those bathroom breakdowns. This is arguably not the best long term strategy, but it's tremendously effective.

I Can't Read

FIRST, some boring housekeeping matters:

1) I'm not sure if my RSS feed works, but I know that if you subscribe via email, you'll get an email everytime I post. So I encourage you to do that if you want to follow me - it's quick, easy, and unobstrusive.
2) I appreciate the comments, emails, etc. that both help me improve the blog and motivate me to continue writing - so if you read and appreciate this effort I'd love to hear from you.

One of the themes I've noticed as I look back over my blog is acceptance. How and when does one accept, and even embrace, her mental illness? When is acceptance giving up and when is it the ultimate victory? When is it a crucial step in recovery and when is it a paralyzing blow?
I've been thinking about a simple question: If I could go back in time and undo my bipolar disorder, would I?

Run Run Run

Two nights ago, I decided to make a dramatic life change in the next three weeks. I was so certain it would work out and I knew I would make the right decision and I just knew and everything inside of me knew and it was so exciting and the world was so exciting and et cetera and et cetera. Hypomania was terrifying, a voice inside my head pushing me over the edge, to places I wouldn't normally go, lurking in broad daylight with theories and beliefs and worldviews quite unlike those I hold in a less manic state. Thankfully, I recognized that I was hypomanic. I feel sad, reflective, and angry when I have to censor myself in these moments, as though part of me will always be Peter Pan, flying off to Neverland with no wings and inadvertently leading the Darling family straight to a gang of pirates.