There Will Be Cake

I had big plans to get the house sparkling clean today in preparation for my son's birthday party tomorrow...but it didn't happen. I'm exhausted, and between kids, work, and emotional/hormonal chaos, I just can't be superwoman. Not long ago, this would have freaked me out. But now I just don't really care. Yes, I love having a clean house, especially if company is coming over. But it's just not my biggest priority now. I always keep my house sanitary and livable, but it's rarely ever CLEAN. There's clutter (which I hate), there's dust, there's cobwebs. You can tell people (and spiders) live here. And you know what? THAT'S FREAKING OKAY! My OCD tendencies don't like it so much, but I have come to realize that it doesn't matter how clean or dirty the house is: that part of me will never be satisfied. So I have to turn a blind eye to some things. It's not easy, but it's necessary.

So yeah, a birthday party tomorrow. We're having a very small gathering, and I am trying not to get stressed out about being around everyone. I'm just blocking it out of my head for now. I am focusing on the fact that there will be cake. Yummy, sweet cake 

Good Enough

I'm in a bit of a funk. Not necessarily depressed, but possibly headed in that direction. I feel overwhelmed and lazy. Just two days ago I was feeling so accomplished. I really can't trust my feelings, so I have to look at facts. The facts are, I have been working my butt off. I have been doing the best I can. I can't control what other people think of me. If someone thinks I am not giving it my all, then screw them! That's just the way I feel about it at the moment. I don't care who you are. You're not me, so you have no business criticizing me. So there's that. I've had a lot to juggle lately, and I don't mind that. I like staying busy. I like feeling needed and valued. Some days I really don't feel appreciated by anyone, but that's not to say that this is the truth. Again, it's feelings. And they will pass, or they won't; either way, they are not the dictator of who I really am or what I am worth. All I can really do is strive for what I know is right, whether it's a recognized effort by others or not. I'm tired of letting low self-esteem and paranoia tell me I'm not good enough. I AM good enough. My proof of this? I'm alive, and I'm trying. That's good enough for me!

What's in a Name?

Stigma is a nasty thing.  It is a personal enemy that I try to fight with every weapon I have.  I'm not exactly a stigma ninja, but I do try to inform people in my daily "real" life via conversation (when I actually pry out of my social phobia shell and talk to anyone) as well as throughout the cyber world via writing and sharing valuable information about mental illness.  Yep, stigma is a nasty bug that must be smushed.  I don't believe insects, spiders, or any other critter should be smushed, but stigma?  Stigma-Be-Gone!  Spray, spray!  Smush, smush!

Stigma is attached to a lot of words.  The tricky part is, certain words bother some people, while they don't bother others.  For instance, the word "crazy."  Personally, I don't have a big issue with that word.  I use it a good bit to describe things, e.g. "wow, the traffic is crazy today!"  "that's a crazy-looking sweater."  "My toddler is acting crazy, he needs a nap."  I even refer to myself as "crazy" sometimes, but I don't really mean anything derogatory by it.  It's a word I usually use in lieu of "silly" or "wild."  I don't go around calling people crazy because they have a mental illness.  That would just be, well, crazy!

But some people have a real issue with the word, so I try to respect that.  Yet, I still use the word around people I know are comfortable with it.  Does that make me a hypocrite?  I wonder...

For reference, you can check out Merriam-Webster's definitions of the term here.

I think each person's feelings about certain words are based on their own experiences.  Personally, I have a big pet peeve about "being bipolar."  Lots of people are comfortable saying "I'm bipolar" but I feel the need to phrase it as "I have bipolar disorder."  I believe this stems from times in my past when certain individuals accused me of "acting bipolar."  This happened long before I was diagnosed, and it is actually the reason I started asking myself if perhaps I did have a problem. I eventually sought help, hence getting properly diagnosed as, indeed, bipolar.  I spent a few years suffering an identity crisis over this term, being led to believe that everything I did, everything I thought and everything I felt, was because I was bipolar.  Gradually, I learned more about the illness, and about myself, and I realized that this was truly not the case.  While bipolar disorder affects a lot of aspects of my life and personality, it's not a description of me as a whole.  I am a person all on my own who just happens to have a case of bipolar on her hands.  I wrote a blog back in January about this concept (you can find it here) and I didn't get a very positive response. I shared it on Reddit, and oh my, what a mistake!  Nearly everyone who commented made sure to tell me how ridiculous I was being, how being PC is not all that it's cracked up to be, and basically made me feel like a loser for posting such a dumb piece of crap.  I surprised myself by actually leaving the post intact instead of deleting it.  After all, some people did actually "like" it, though they were few and far between.  Like it or not, that's just the way I feel about it.  I don't think you're wrong if you disagree.  We just see things differently.

Words like "psycho" are, to me, a big faux pas when describing someone with mental illness.  Perhaps if you have murdered people, or carried out some elaborately evil plan to torment others, then I would consider calling you psycho.  But the majority of us aren't evil; even if we have violent thoughts or tendencies, the media upstages the connection between mental illness and violence wayyyy more than what is accurate.

But maybe some people are okay with being called psycho.  Or deranged.  Or nuts.  What's in a name, really?  Maybe it's more about the tone, the context, the intention.  The English language is vast, and in many cases the same word can have more than one definition.  Crazy, eh?

I can't say that the answer is to be less sensitive about these words.  I also can't say the answer is to walk on eggshells and avoid any word that could possibly even remotely be considered offensive.  Because, no matter how careful you are, you may very well, sooner or later, step on a shell.  Crunch, crunch!

The whole case against Paula Deen: I know we've all heard enough about that, but it got me to thinking about something.  Every once in a while, someone will come under attack for using a racial slur.  The "N" word is, of course, a major no-no, though it's apparently considered acceptable slang to call yourself that if you are of African-American descent.  That doesn't mean every African-American is okay with the term, regardless of what race is speaking it.  But with some, it's okay, as long as it's not another race using the word.  The definition provided by Merriam-Webster even starts out as "usually offensive."  There are other races and other terms that are considered very, very disrespectful.  Obviously, derogatory terms toward those of another sexuality are subject to major scrutiny as well.  Oddly enough, I can't think of a single time when anyone has made the headlines or been in trouble with the law for a "psychiatric slur."  Correct me if I am wrong, but I just can't think of an instance of this.

American literature proves that there was a time when the "N" word was more acceptable, as well as certain words for homosexuals.  I wonder if our language will ever evolve to consider words like "psycho" and "crazy" just as offensive?  The mentally ill are not a race, or a different sexuality, but we are indeed different in terms of how we are viewed by society. Maybe one day there will be laws that protect our status as well.  Whether that is necessary or not varies according to opinion.  If you ask me, I just want to be accepted for who I am, and not treated differently because I have been in a mental hospital before.  I'm not a plague.  You can't catch mental illness from me (unless I gave birth to you).  Making fun of me or judging me won't make you look saner than me.  I think that, just like race or sexuality (or any other minority difference, for that matter), there is a fear of being overcome by something not like yourself.  People don't want to be mentally ill.  They don't want to be homosexual if they are heterosexual.  They don't want to be a different race; or at least most people don't, I assume.  I think differences make us stronger as a nation, but only when those differences are accepted and not considered a flaw.  The sad truth is, mental illness is considered a weakness among the general population.  We think differently, and it's not always a positive attribute. When certain symptoms overtake us, we can be difficult to manage, even frightening. We are misunderstood by society, and even by ourselves. There is a lot more information out there now than there used to be.  We have made giant steps in the right direction, but there is still a lot of unknown territory.  Some religions still view mental illness as the consequence of a sinful lifestyle, or even as demon possession.  At least most of them have progressed from thinking the same thing about being left-handed, being female or being black, so maybe in another hundred years we will be in the clear as well ;)

As long as the world still turns, there will always be ignorance about something.  Ignorance is stigma's right hand man, and he's a tough one to beat!  The ignorant are ignorant for a reason: they don't want to learn that they are wrong, so they keep their minds closed and their mouths open.  What a  fussy bunch!  But there are a few things you can do to fight stigma:

• Avoid self-stigma.  How can we be respected by others if we don't respect ourselves? Blaming yourself for your illness or putting yourself down because of it is a sure way to make yourself miserable and delay the overall acceptance of mental illness in society.  
• Talk about it!  I understand the risks of disclosing a mental illness to your boss, or even to your friends.  You don't want to be fired (or at the very least looked down upon, perhaps demoted from consideration for that promotion you were hoping for), and you don't want to lose your friends.  But look at it from every angle.  Some bosses and co-workers may be understanding.  And one of your friends may be suffering in silence, craving the acceptance that you also desire.  Obviously, think it through before you disclose to anyone that may view you negatively, but consider that stigma thrives on this fear.  The less open we are, the less likely we are to be understood. 
• Educate yourself, then educate others.  When I first received my diagnosis, I read everything I could get my hands on about my illness.  And I still don't know everything!  So I continue to learn all I can each day.  I try to keep up with the latest scientific findings, and I love reading memoirs by those who have experienced these illnesses because it helps me understand more about myself.  Never close the book; keep learning!  And spread that knowledge in every way you can.  Some will never listen or gain adequate understanding, but at least you'll know you did your part.
• Correct any misinformation you hear or read about.  This one I have trouble with, since I have severe social phobia when it comes to talking to others, but if you are more outgoing than I, then do us all a favor:  if you overhear someone saying something demeaning or untrue about a person who is mentally ill, kindly let them know. Know your facts, and be polite!  If you are making the argument that all mentally ill people are not violent while raising your voice and slamming your fist down on a table, you are probably not winning your argument.  
• Take care of yourself.  Ensuring that you are at optimal physical and mental health is the best way to show the world that you are a valuable asset to society despite having a mental disorder.  We each have something to offer those around us; we all have special talents and skills that can have a positive impact on the world; if not in the workplace, then perhaps in the community or at home. Discover your inner passions. Set goals and work toward them. Get adequate sleep and eat healthy, vitamin-rich foods.  Exercise.  Take medications, if appropriate for your condition, and participate in therapeutic activities.  Ask for the help that you need. And when you fall down, pick yourself up and carry on.  

  In closing, I would like to say that we are not defined by names.  Whether you are called "stupid," "slutty," or "crazy,"  you have the power to direct your own self-esteem and actions, and go far beyond what anyone's expectations or preconceived notions are.  That is your right, and your responsibility.  No word can take that away from you.

The Nuts and Bolts of Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder

Do you feel the need to check and re-check things over and over? Do you have the same thoughts constantly? Do you feel a very strong need to perform certain rituals repeatedly and feel like you have no control over what you are doing?

If so, you may have a type of anxiety disorder called obsessive-compulsive disorder (OCD).

What is OCD?

Everyone double checks things sometimes. For example, you might double check to make sure the stove or iron is turned off before leaving the house. But people with OCD feel the need to check things repeatedly, or have certain thoughts or perform routines and rituals over and over. The thoughts and rituals associated with OCD cause distress and get in the way of daily life.

The frequent upsetting thoughts are called obsessions. To try to control them, a person will feel an overwhelming urge to repeat certain rituals or behaviors called compulsions. People with OCD can't control these obsessions and compulsions.

For many people, OCD starts during childhood or the teen years. Most people are diagnosed by about age 19. Symptoms of OCD may come and go and be better or worse at different times.

What are the signs and symptoms of OCD?

People with OCD generally:

• -Have repeated thoughts or images about many different things, such as fear of germs, dirt, or intruders; acts of violence; hurting loved ones; sexual acts; conflicts with religious beliefs; or being overly tidy
• 
  
• -Do the same rituals over and over such as washing hands, locking and unlocking doors, counting, keeping unneeded items, or repeating the same steps again and again
• 
  
• -Can't control the unwanted thoughts and behaviors
• 
  
• -Don't get pleasure when performing the behaviors or rituals, but get brief relief from the anxiety the thoughts cause
• 
  
• -Spend at least 1 hour a day on the thoughts and rituals, which cause distress and get in the way of daily life.

What causes OCD?

OCD sometimes runs in families, but no one knows for sure why some people have it, while others don't. Researchers have found that several parts of the brain are involved in fear and anxiety. By learning more about fear and anxiety in the brain, scientists may be able to create better treatments. Researchers are also looking for ways in which stress and environmental factors may play a role.

How is OCD treated?

First, talk to your doctor about your symptoms. Your doctor should do an exam to make sure that another physical problem isn't causing the symptoms. The doctor may refer you to a mental health specialist.

OCD is generally treated with psychotherapy, medication, or both.

Psychotherapy. A type of psychotherapy called cognitive behavior therapy is especially useful for treating OCD. It teaches a person different ways of thinking, behaving, and reacting to situations that help him or her feel less anxious or fearful without having obsessive thoughts or acting compulsively. One type of therapy called exposure and response prevention is especially helpful in reducing compulsive behaviors in OCD.

Medication. Doctors also may prescribe medication to help treat OCD. The most commonly prescribed medications for OCD are anti-anxiety medications and antidepressants. Anti-anxiety medications are powerful and there are different types. Many types begin working right away, but they generally should not be taken for long periods.

Antidepressants are used to treat depression, but they are also particularly helpful for OCD, probably more so than anti-anxiety medications. They may take several weeks—10 to 12 weeks for some—to start working. Some of these medications may cause side effects such as headache, nausea, or difficulty sleeping. These side effects are usually not a problem for most people, especially if the dose starts off low and is increased slowly over time. Talk to your doctor about any side effects you may have.

It's important to know that although antidepressants can be safe and effective for many people, they may be risky for some, especially children, teens, and young adults. A "black box"—the most serious type of warning that a prescription drug can have—has been added to the labels of antidepressant medications. These labels warn people that antidepressants may cause some people to have suicidal thoughts or make suicide attempts. Anyone taking antidepressants should be monitored closely, especially when they first start treatment with medications.

Some people with OCD do better with cognitive behavior therapy, especially exposure and response prevention. Others do better with medication. Still others do best with a combination of the two. Talk with your doctor about the best treatment for you.

What is it like having OCD?

"I couldn't do anything without rituals. They invaded every aspect of my life. Counting really bogged me down. I would wash my hair three times as opposed to once because three was a good luck number and one wasn't. It took me longer to read because I'd count the lines in a paragraph. When I set my alarm at night, I had to set it to a number that wouldn't add up to a 'bad' number."

"Getting dressed in the morning was tough, because I had a routine, and if I didn't follow the routine, I'd get anxious and would have to get dressed again. I always worried that if I didn't do something, my parents were going to die. I'd have these terrible thoughts of harming my parents. I knew that was completely irrational, but the thoughts triggered more anxiety and more senseless behavior. Because of the time I spent on rituals, I was unable to do a lot of things that were important to me."

"I knew the rituals didn't make sense, and I was deeply ashamed of them, but I couldn't seem to overcome them until I got treatment."

This article is offered as public domain by National Institute of Mental Health

Children Are a Blessing, Among Other Things

This evening I asked my eleven year old daughter, Emily, to sweep the floor. A fair and simplistic contribution to the household, I believe.  After a few sighs and groans, she gets the broom and dust pan and sets to work. I try not to be a nag, despite my OCD and control freak tendencies, but I did tell her she should move her brother's toys and her flip flops from the area she was sweeping to make it easier. She mumbles "okay" and continues sweeping around those items.

"Emily! Pick the stuff up and move it out of your way."

Apparently to an eleven year old "pick the stuff up" means to kick it across the room, scattering the dirt (mainly cracker crumbs from my toddler) along with it.  Still, I remain calm...okay, kind of calm.

"Emily! Now you have an even bigger mess to clean up."

"Ew, I have dirt on my feet now!"

"Maybe if you had picked the stuff up instead of kicking it..."

"You're the housewife. Why am I doing your job?"

"Emily, if this is any indication of what the rest of your preteen and teen years are going to be like, you may not survive."

Ahhh, I love my children. All three of them.  They are all so different. So precious.  So perfect.  At certain moments, it's a little harder to remember that. Sometimes they take on a personality more reminiscent of devils than darlings, but I still love them.

My two year old, Jacen, loves to sweep.  I hand him the broom and dust pan and he has a terrific time!  So terrific, in fact, that when I go to "help" him he produces a death clinch on the broom handle and screams like I am trying to take his soul.

The floors here stay dirty a lot.

Time to Simplify

I feel the need to simplify my life. I'm not exactly sure what that simplification will entail just yet, but I am in desperate need of securing the last threads of sanity I have.  I spend too much time on the mediocre things in life and too little on the important things (and people). My mind flits from one aspiration to another, getting too caught up in small details to the point that I am exhausted and overwhelmed before I even begin. I lose sleep over this. I lose valuable time with my family. I lose minutes, hours, days, months, years. I need to learn focus, and it can only be self-taught through practice. I am too distracted to practice, however. I've been a lifelong perfectionist, and of the worst sort, because if it is a task I have any doubt in my mind about achieving to the utmost degree then I back away and give it no effort whatsoever. And I doubt everything. So I make excuses. I dawdle. I ignore. And then I wonder why I feel so uprooted and fainthearted. I am my own oppressor. I stand in my way, and I pile up as much useless baggage as I possibly can to make that wall sound and secure. Grief, regrets, anger, fear. And I'm really tired of it all.

I'm so thankful for Douglas and my children. I constantly fear losing them (every known accident and natural disaster has come to mind), and I also fear dying myself. Religion is a big gooey clump of confusion for me, and it is not from lack of research. What once seemed so simple to believe has increasingly become more fiction than faith for me over the past years. What started out as a purposeful detachment from God due to shame for past actions has progressed into something just shy of complete disbelief. And yet I still pray. I pray several times every day to a God that I am unsure even exists any more. If that's not enough to give one a complex I don't know what is. But I can't NOT pray. I've tried, and I just have to pray. It's programmed into me. So I pray for protection for the ones I love and for anyone I feel needs a little extra help in life. I pray about my doubts. I pray about a lot of things, actually. And I really don't know if it does any good or not; whether coincidence or rhyme and reason are the only gods floating about out there, or if there really is an all-knowing Father who is still in control of this terribly malfunctioned earth.

So simplify, yes. It must be done. How? I really, really don't know. I will be giving it a lot of thought over the next few days. I have goals in mind, and I need to figure out what, besides my long list of inadequacies as a human being, is preventing success. These changes won't come overnight. It's taken me 34 years to even acknowledge the problem with enough determination to actually make a difference. I just don't want to be that foundationless person anymore.

Sins of the Mother

I have slept most of the day away. There is always such a pang of grief that overwhelms me after one or both of my daughters leaves to go back to their father. Even though he's a great father, and he provides for them, both mentally and financially, much better than I could ever do.  It aches, this part time parenting thing. It used to be that, although I only saw them every other weekend during the school year, I always looked forward to summer because that was my time with them. But now their summers are packed full of exciting trips and camping and other things that even if I could afford to do for them my anxiety would cause me to be anything but fun to be around. I want them to experience all these great things with their dad. I do. But I miss them. I'm not whole without them, and I know this is a consequence of my illness, and part of me even feels that I deserve it. Because, bipolar episode or not, the choices I made years ago were, in a word, crazy. Crazy decisions that I would not have made in my right mind. I would have never left my children. I would not have left my husband. But that's what happened, and I pay for it every day. All the things I miss in their lives, that's payment. All the times I cry myself to sleep after they leave my doorstep, that's payment. There's nothing I can do to change it. I'm not a segment of Doctor Who. I can't go back in time and do things differently. And even if I could, then I wouldn't have my son and his father in my life. It's a gamble of fates, to wish anything different than the way it is now. 

A Need For Structure

I have been very anxious ever since I woke up this morning. I'm trying to fight it, but I just want to be left alone. That's not possible with kids, and I am trying to not take my irritability and antisocial mood out on them. I am always like this after a day of social stimulation. Yesterday was chock full of it. Baby & Me class, a crowded restaurant (that didn't bother me at the time thanks to a nice strong margarita) and then the rest of the day spent with kids. I had trouble getting supper made last night because of storms and power outages. All of this I handled quite well and I even got a good night's sleep. But upon waking this morning, all the residue of stress (both good and bad) have grown to make me a complete grouch!

I am going to try to take it easy today, but I do have one project that desperately must be completed today. I think my whole family could benefit from a little more structure in our lives, and I am going to write out a daily schedule to help us stay more on task. It will of course be lenient in certain areas, but the major issue is my fiance's need to have adequate study time for his classes.  While I appreciate his love and support more than anything, I feel a lot of guilt over the fact that he was unable to complete two of his courses due to having to help me through a major mental breakdown that lasted a couple of weeks. I feel like if I could just keep myself together on my own, I wouldn't have to be such a burden to him! He says he doesn't mind, but still. I wish I could be a stronger person for him. I take my chosen traditional role of housewife and mother very seriously, and I feel like I should be helping him when he gets home from work, not the other way around. The degree of my illness prevents me from driving, from making important phone calls, etc. The man works 50+ hours a week, goes to college full time, spends time with his son, does most of the errands on his own, and does his best to keep me stable and out of the hospital. He's a real life Superman. He may actually be able to fly, I've never tested it. And then there's me, the one who's always needing saving. Well, the least I can do is try to clear out his schedule for him a bit. I want him to have more success with his next semester. He's already having to take two classes over because of me. I've got to find a way to make our lives more productive. So, that schedule is my first step. 

Who Matters Most?

Let me begin by saying that my mental health has improved drastically in the past three days. A small circuit of people knew about the struggles I was having; an even smaller circuit knew the severity. My last blog post indicated little hope of things getting better, but they did. Quickly after those words were penned, in fact. And I know who I owe that to. Sure, the adjustment in meds helped, but having my fiance there to support me, to hold me as I sobbed uncontrollably, to listen to my irrational thoughts, to love me despite it all...that's true healing power. To have my children love me and care about how I am feeling and to encourage me, just as I try to do for them...that's true healing power. The encouragement I received from online friends and fellow mental health bloggers, people who know the struggles firsthand and believed in my ability to push through like I have done countless times before...that's true healing power. To all of you, I want to say thank you. Thank you for saving my life.

Not everyone I know is as helpful. Most don't know much or anything about what goes on inside my head or how it affects my daily living. I try to be a lot more open about my illness than I used to; I stopped being ashamed a while back and consider it my duty to help others realize there is nothing about mental illness to be ashamed of. It opens my life up to a lot of scrutiny, from strangers, family, so-called friends, etc. I won't lie; people can be really hurtful at times. They're the ones who like to judge me for things I've done, things I haven't done, things they think I have done that I actually have not done; they basically just judge me for anything their little "perfect" minds can think of. I'm not like them, therefore something is wrong with me. Well, I think something is dreadfully wrong with THEM. So, who wins?

And then there are the people who only want to be around me when I am well. If I can do something for you, if I can make you laugh, if I can keep all my scribbles inside the lines and not do anything "weird" or "crazy", then I'm a swell family member or friend. As soon as I go a little "crazy", all bets are off. Lock your doors, Amy's gone bonkers again. Let's pretend she doesn't exist for a while. Maybe she will start acting normal again and then we may talk to her. Right now let's just stay far, far away. Thanks for nothing, folks!

I hate being hated. I hate when I lose friends. I hate when family walks out of my life. I hate when I have to distance myself from certain people because they do nothing but add pain and insecurity to my life. I miss people who I thought loved me, who I thought accepted me but for whatever reason, sanity-related or not, chose not to associate with me anymore. I really hate when they don't even tell me why. I'd really like to give them a questionnaire to fill out. Give me some pointers, eh?  I'm all about self-improvement.

But, if I spend time wondering about the unhelpful people in my life, I lose valuable time with the ones who are helpful. My true family. My true friends. If you know me, you know I go out of my way to do good things for others when I am well. When I am unwell...I am a bit useless, I admit. But my chances of wellness are a lot better around the people who accept me well or not. I give my all to them. I love them. I don't take them for granted. I'm about as loyal as a puppy, minus all the slobber and chewed-up shoes. I know who matters in my life. And I won't trade one more minute worrying about the ones who don't.

Depression is horrible.

Psychotic depression is wanting to write/scream what is really going on inside my head but I can't because I will be put away in a state funded asylum because I don't have insurance.

So I keep quiet and still and hope that no one can read my thoughts. The shadows do but they only laugh. They are of no use to me.

Meanwhile I just want so sleep 24/7 so I will have a break from these nonstop thoughts (though they almost always find their way into my dreams).

It's getting worse instead of better, I know it is. I hope we all make it out alive.