Puzzled

A Course for Nowhere, originally uploaded by Wetsun.

Did I mention that the government turned us down? We are in that in between place where we have too much income from unemployment assistance to get other aid, but too little income from unemployment assistance to live on.

And this week I transferred the last of our savings into checking to cover our bills.

I'm depressed now. Not the chemical kind. The sad kind.

I'm depressed and puzzled. Where is Father taking us with all this?

Characteristics of Introverts

I found this article today here and it described me so well (see below) that I wanted to share it. I feel strongly that pushing myself to act like an extrovert for many years contributed to my eventual meltdown. Mental illness is exacerbated by stress, and it is stressful to try too hard for too long to be what you are not.

"Here are 20 characteristics universal to introverts.

Introverts ...

1. love to read

2. have a few close, true friends

3. are excellent listeners

4. do not like to contribute in class

5. give people energy (extroverts take energy)

6. love to go to their room and close the door

7. may be exhausted by the social interaction required during a typical day at school

8. do not like group work

9. do not learn by repeating things out loud

10. like to connect the dots and insist on turning information in to knowledge

11. are very territorial

12. like to know about expectations well ahead of time

13. suffer from feelings of humiliation if they make a mistake in public

14. are intense

15. hate small talk

16. prefer to write rather than talk and especially don’t like talking on the phone

17. have a private and a public personality

18. say what they mean

19. prefer not to say anything unless it is significant

20. need time alone to recharge their batteries"

Do you see yourself in this list, too? If you are an extrovert, does this help you better understand someone you love?

A thank you to dsorine for sharing the photo at flickr.

Guest Post: Bruised

Forehead Bruise, originally uploaded by Daniel Paquet.

A reader asked me to post the following in her behalf, in hopes that it would help others, in a similar situation, to feel less alone:

Part of me thinks that if my husband were hitting me, things would be easier. At least then I would know what to do and I could have a plan of action. I would leave him, and feel completely justified knowing that I just protected myself and my child from physical harm. But, my husband doesn’t hit me. He doesn’t ever lay a hand on me except when he’s being affectionate.

My husband suffers from bipolar episodes of depression that leave me feeling battered and bruised mentally and emotionally. One minute he tells me that he loves me, and the next minute he tells me he doesn’t want to exist. When he gets in his depressed mood, he often tries to tell me that he feels cooped up, stuffed, contained, and that he wants to be free.

He used to tell me that he needs “more time with the guys to do guy stuff.” Over time, his complaints evolved to needing more “things to do” and “man time alone.” He’s complained about our finances, his responsibilities, and told me that he wishes he were single but couldn’t imagine being alone. He often dreams of being young again, having vitality, and youthful excursions of strength.

When he is gone all day and doesn’t make any effort to engage in conversation or enjoy my company when he returns in the evening, it feels as if I am invisible. He takes time to help me take care of our son, but his efforts are not based on love, they are based on his compelling need to control the situation since I take too much time doing things.

When he is not depressed and in his best of moods, I feel elation, love, and adoration for this man that I married. He can be the best of men, and he can be the worst of men. I love my husband, but I also fear him. I know that his mood can set a tone in our home that affects my emotional and mental well being. More importantly, I know that it can affect our son, and that is what truly bothers me. I don’t want my son to be a on that roller coaster with his father. I don’t want him to suffer through the ups and downs simply because his father has a problem with depression.

When my husband seeks to tell me why he is depressed, his evolving excuses always hover around how my son and I are limiting him in some way. He thinks that he is telling me that the solution to his problems is to have more time to do “whatever seems to fit at the moment”, but what I hear is that my son and I are a burden, and that we keep him from being happy. That he loves us but doesn’t want to be with us.

And that is where I am left to wonder what to do. I am an independent woman, and would not fear being a single mom if it were necessary. Yet, I know that marriage is sacred and that we are to do all that is possible to keep our marriages together. Too many marriages end in divorce, and I do not want to be divorced. I am fighting tooth and nail to save this marriage because I care about my commitment to God and to my family.

If he were hitting me, I would have a bruise, and a sure sign of abuse. No one would question my need to have a dramatic intervention in our lives, but I am not bruised on the outside, I am bruised inside. Some of me thinks that I have the victim mentality that commonly comes when a person is abused. I keep thinking of ways that I can be more loving, more kind, and a better person to stop the hurting and to stop the depression and its accompanying critisms. I blame myself for these problems even though I really know that they are completely out of my hands. I have to battle the automatic thought that “I am not suffering any more than women that put up with husbands who are less perfect than they had hoped.” Deep down inside, I am not healing from these episodes and the things that are said during depressive outpourings of emotion. I am no longer capable of keeping calm and feeling in control. I feel sad. I feel angry, and I want peace instead of turmoil in my home.

I need a plan of action, and I am out of the answers that I hoped would work. I feel resentment for this roller coaster I am asked to ride over and over again, day after day. It needs to end. But, what do I do? I am praying for answers and hoping someone will be inspired to say the right thing at the right time, because I can use all the help I can get.

Driving on Overload

Here is a picture of how I'm feeling lately. Thank you for asking.

Manic again.   Lots going on inside this brain.

A thank you to maxw for sharing this photo in Creative Commons on Flickr.com.

The Need for a Predictable Life

A thank you to _aeb for sharing her drawing in Creative Commons on  flickr.

From Matters of the Mind*:

     "Some suggestions for helping others cope with bipolar illness include the following:

          "Create a low-stress, comfortable environment.  Keep sensory stimulation, such as noise, at a low level.  Keep life predictable." 

I guess it is no wonder that I am feeling depressed again, with a lay-off notice looming over our heads, scheduled to show up this Friday.  Kind people are helping in every way possible to keep it from happening.  I feel blessed so much, too, for savings in the bank, for food in the pantry, for the help of friends and of heaven.  

But I do think that I will be healthier when life is more predictable once more.

*Matters of the Mind:  Latter-day Saint Helps for Mental Health, Edited by Marleen S. Williams, Ph.D., W. Dean Belnap, M.D., John P. Liningstone, Ed.D., Deseret Book, Salt lake City, Utah, 2008, page 164.

Proceed with Caution

Warning:

Depression may be exacerbated by too much time outside the home.
Do not attempt to go grocery shopping two days in a row, even when accompanied by supportive family members.
Pushing limits even slightly may result in dizziness and anxiety upon entering a crowded chapel on the Sabbath.
If this reaction occurs, expect to be unable to function well the following day.

The Invisibility of Some Disabilities

Am I awful for envying those whose disabilities are visible? The sorts of folks represented in this picture are the only people who qualify for a seat on a bus in Bergen. I would have to stand. But then again, I would never board a public bus, let alone one so crowded that there were not even enough seats for all the passengers.

While others were jostling along viewing the delights of a beautiful city, I would be thankful to be safe at home, dealing as best I could with my invisible disability.

A thank you to Jill for sharing this photograph on flickr.

False Alarm

false alarm....
Originally uploaded by JustUptown

The rash is fading.

A thank you to JustUptown for sharing this photo on flickr.

Today

Call of the Raven (formerly Nature's Special Effects)
Originally uploaded by Walkabout Wolf

Today I am:

anxious
guilt-ridden
worried
sad
teary

But I am grateful, too.

Thank you, family, friends, God, for giving me so much to be grateful about.

Thank you to Walkabout Wolf for this picture from the Snoqualmie National Forest here in Washington State.

Anxious

Anxious
Originally uploaded by Delphien Experiences

I do not know this gentleman, but I feel the way he seems to feel in this video, as he anticipates a big event coming up in his life.

I am in such a condition pretty much all of the time.

Dunes de Merzouga

Dunes de Merzouga
Originally uploaded by Alexbip

I have become hawkishly aware of shifts in my being. With each shade of alteration I eagerly wonder if I am headed toward healing, or if the shift is merely a shift.

It seems stupid to look for meaning in every little change, but I look for meaning in every little change.

One thing persists: Anxiety is the enduring landscape of my current life.

"It is not very easy to take pictures of dunes, especially under a very strong light."--Alexbip, the photographer of this beautiful picture.

Down the Halls

Down the Halls
Originally uploaded by Nocternal Oxide

Visit this blog post for one young mother's detailed description of an anxiety attack.

(Click on the picture for credits.)

Driftwood Downturn

This week I dared to take a drive with my husband to visit the Pacific Ocean, just ninety minutes from home. The ride down was nice, and I thought I was going to be relatively okay. And I was--until we parked at the dunes and got out of the car.

I should have felt in good company. The people in the parking lot seemed to be as crazy as I, albeit a different kind of crazy. They were Westport surfers, donning wet-suits in preparation for hitting the waves in 50-something degree weather. Their minds were completely focused on surfing, so I found them to be oblivious to our presence, which was comforting. Trouble began for me when I started to the beach with a climb up the slopes of the dunes. I had to keep my eyes focused on the sea grass and flowers, as I felt I somehow didn't have the mental capacity to look up as I climbed. As we topped the little hill and saw the beautiful ocean and sandy beach before us, we were blocked from them by a massive pile of driftwood, much like that pictured above.

I have navigated many a pile of driftwood over the years of my life, and I usually very much enjoy the game of picking my way through. But this time, I felt my mind darkening at the sight, and I wondered if I was going to pass out. I became nauseated and was fighting back tears. It was all I could do to concentrate on each step made by my husband, and to follow precisely in his footsteps. He was very kind, and offered a hand, each time it was helpful, to step down from one log to the next.

Once we were through the driftwood, I collapsed on his shoulder and sobbed.

Soon I was removing my shoes, though, and sinking my feet deep into the soft sand. It felt so good, so calming. We walked together barefooted, and put our toes into the cold ocean water, then walked back. I loved the experience of feeling the sand getting softer and warmer as we walked with our backs to the sea. There was a healing benefit in being there, feeling the sand and hearing the ocean's roar.

When it was time to navigate the driftwood again, I felt as ill as before. This time, however, it came to me what the problem was: too many decisions. I began the walk to the beach having to decide which of a web of trails to take. (My husband was being polite and letting me choose.) That weakened me, and by the time we got to the driftwood, I could not think any more. Heading back, I had not replenished my emotional reserve--as nice as the beach experience was--when I had to face the driftwood pile the second time. It has been years since I have come so close to vomiting.

I'm kind of extra-wrecked now for a while. No sitting on the front porch in the lovely weather for me today. There are people walking by.


(Thank you to this photographer for the driftwood picture.)

Recommended: Me!

It was very tough waiting among other people, and all I could do was cry when the Stake President came and shook my hand and asked kindly how I was doing. But I had my second interview last night. The counselor to the Stake President was very understanding.

I have my new Temple Recommend. I feel so much the love of the Lord. I am very blessed.


Thank you to this photographer for the beautiful picture.

Buoyed Up by Love

I am feeling lighter, buoyed up by love.
Thank you to those who left the kind comments on my "Dead Little Birds" post.

Thank you to this photographer for the "Love is in the Air" picture.

A Rose, a Thorn

I ventured out last night for dinner and live music.

My son played his trombone with a jazz band, and sang scat solos with a choir. I was so glad I was well enough to be there. At the end of the evening I got to be part of the "congregation" while jazz artist Louise Rose sang and played and talked and-- well, ministered. I was genuinely blessed to spend an hour in her presence. Her performance had a healing power for me.




Today, however, the resultant clouds of depression are gathering. There is a price to be paid for pushing my limits.

And so it goes.





Credit goes to her website for the picture of Louise Rose and to this photographer for the thorn.

Temple Recommend Interview: No Snags

I had a temple recommend interview with a member of the Bishopric last night. Anticipating this visit, I did not feel particularly apprehensive about meeting with just this one kind man, but I did fortify myself with anti-anxiety medication for the inevitable interactions with various other people at the meetinghouse. I did all right, and was able to hold myself together until business was done, but I broke down afterward, and had to wait in the car for my husband to finish his interview and quickly drive me home. (He was very kind to drive me, rather than have me drive myself, as he had to turn right around and go back for meetings which he needed to attend.)

As I anticipated the recommend interview, I was blessed with the Lord's witness to my soul that He considered me worthy to attend the temple. All that troubled me was just how I would answer one particular question, the one about whether I attended all of my meetings. That would take some explaining, since I currently don't attend anything, due to the state of my mental health. Like so many, the Bishopric member attributed my lack of ward attendance as necessitated in the fulfillment of a stake calling. He was not aware that I was released, due to illness, many months ago.

The questions came, and I was able to answer each in the affirmative, with conviction. But, in the back of my mind as the interview progressed was: How would I answer the one about meeting attendance? Just how much would I have to explain?

The question finally came. It was not what I had remembered. In my healthy state before, an essential word had been expressed time and again without my ever noticing. The question was not "Do you attend . . .?" but, rather, "Do you strive to attend . . .?"

I was once again touched by the awareness of the Lord. That question I could easily answer in the affirmative, as much as the others.

I continue to marvel at the often subtle nuances in the operation of the church, which time and again testify that the Lord loves each and every one of us, and understands our many challenges, and sees our hearts. I become aware of this again and again as I study the scriptures. My exposure to handbooks and manuals has proven that such awareness permeates their pages as well.


(Thank you to this photographer for the picture.)

Mother's Day and Imagination Run Amok

When I was a little girl, I was easily frightened by imaginary things. I couldn't handle watching even the old "horror" films with Bela Lugosi or Lon Chaney, Jr. I couldn't watch without repercussions The Wizard of Oz. My imagination ran wild. This episode of Twilight Zone, depicted above, terrorized me more than anything else. The very worst moment (oh, why was I watching it?) was when William Shatner's character, who has closed the curtain of an airliner window after being frightened at the sight of a gremlin out on the tip of a wing, pulls the curtain back to take another look and the monster has his face pressed up against the window pane! I was terrified, and remained so, lying awake in bed night after night, imagining a monster lurking, with his face against my bedroom window pane, just on the other side of the closed curtains.

So, obviously, I have a vivid imagination. I have known that for a very long time. Why, then, did it take me so long to realize that I imagined a lot of things about people with whom I have relationships? Bad things. Things that were no more based in reality than the old television shows and movies I used to watch. Simply imaginary things.

I have such a strong desire to see things as they really are and as they really will be. This hope is one of the strongest motivations I hold for seeking the Spirit in my life.
. . [For] the Spirit speaketh the truth and lieth not. Wherefore, it speaketh of things as they really are , and of things as they really will be; wherefore, these things are manifested unto us plainly, for the salvation [and the joy] of our souls." (See Jacob 4:13.) (Italics added.)

On this Mother's Day, I am thankful that, pulling back the curtain from where I now sit, my imagination has been quelled and-- in the light of truth-- I see the grateful and loving faces of my children. I am thankful for them. I am thankful for the gift of The Spirit. And I am thankful--and this has not always been so, perhaps due much to that which was only imagined-- for this day of reflection we call Mother's Day.

Mock me if you will, but here are clips from shows which tormented me in the past. First of all, this scene from Jerry Lewis' otherwise hilarious Nutty Professor. I have been ashamed about my fear over this one until this very day. Watching it again as an adult, I found myself tearing away at my fingernails. It is no wonder to me now that, as a little child, the night after watching this movie at a drive-in, I awoke in terror and forced my nearly-paralyzed-in-fear legs to take me to my parents' bed to crawl in between them. This compilation of scenes with the wicked witch in The Wizard of Oz still scares me as well. And these clips, no longer scary, but now clearly related to apprehension about mental illness and the loss of personal will: Lon Chaney Jr. as The Wolfman; Bela Lugosi as Count Dracula; and William Shatner (and could that be Raymond Burr in the furry suit?) in Twilight Zone: Nightmare at 20,000 Feet.

(Thanks to www.tvcrazy.net for the "Nightmare at 20,000 Feet" image at the top of this page.)

Where Am I? Bipolar 2 Self Assessment

I feel well today. I feel quite well. I am thinking that maybe I am really getting better. Scary. What if I think I am well, and I find myself out and in over my head? How do I know how I really am? Where is here?

(Scroll down the left sidebar for more about Bipolar 2.)

(Thank you to this photographer for the great photo.)

Anxiety

I drove one-and-a-half miles through our lovely community to drop my son at work this morning. Then I drove the one-and-a-half miles back. By the time I got home I was shaking with anxiety, and I went upstairs and cried. It was so hard.

(Not ready to return to church yet.)

Thank you to this artist/photographer for the representation of what I am feeling.