Present Day, April 6th, 2020

FURLOUGH – day 7

This is where it started: Thursday, August 25th, 10 a.m.

133 entries ago I launched this blog. And it started by recounting a mental breakdown and subsequent hospitalization I underwent, brought about by the lack of management of my bipolar. Three and a half years ago I began to tell my story in hopes that someone, somewhere might find it helpful.

Now, as we all find ourselves homebound and with time on our hands, I thought there might be individuals who would like to hear from those early days of my struggles. So I have provided a link above to that first blog. If you scroll to the bottom of it you will find a link for the “Next Article”. That will allow you to sequentially follow the story as it unfolded. Reflections of what it was like to be hospitalized. Reflections of what it was like to journey forward upon returning back home. Reflections on how the struggles do not just abruptly come to an end.

I thought this might be a good time to introduce other features of the blog as well. On the right side is a thought cloud called “Train Stops”. By clicking on one of the items in this section, the blog will pull all the entries (from newest to oldest) with that tag. For example, you can click on “medication” and pull up entries where I talked about issues surrounding medications.

Another filter tool is located further down the right side: “Catagories”:

  • Back Home blogging about life back home post-hospitalization
  • Brain Tracks thoughts from inside the bipolar mind
  • Music for the Road songs that speak to life with a mental illness
  • Out of Town posts related to my escape and subsequent hospitalization

Take today’s entry as a shameless plug to delve further into the blog. To see what has been left in the past. To see what is the foundation for the present. To see why the future holds the challenges it does.

Share some thoughts and comments as various writings speak to you.

And continue to stay home, stay healthy, and stay safe.

 

Present Day, April 5th, 2020

FURLOUGH – day 6B

What is the difference between a bad person with Bipolar, and a person that Bipolar makes bad? Surely there are pitiful excuses for human beings who also happen to have a mental illness, just as well as there are people with a mental illness that turns them into a pitiful excuse for a human being. But how do I know which one I am? You know, am I an asshole at my very core who carries the added burden of being Bipolar, or does having Bipolar turn me into the asshole that I am so often perceived as?

Is there a difference? Or does it even make a difference if there is?

There is no doubt that whichever the case, we are just nine days into quarantine and I have worn out my welcome in my own home. My wife and I just completed an argument that concluded with my declaration that “this will be the end of us.” Not like a sarcastic, tongue in cheek, laugh it off because we all know we will get through this kind of declaration. More of an authentic, there does not seem to be any other way around it, things are rapidly disintegrating type of declaration. And that is because the general tone of the argument was the same as it has been for years: I am the problem. Or I have the problem. Which one it is I do not know or am unwilling to admit to myself.

There is an inherent danger with second marriages, of which this is mine. The danger is that arguments and disputes will reveal faults in you that have always existed. Behaviors, attitudes, actions that are not new to marriage number two. These revelations can ferment over time, and leave you aware that no matter how much you may have ascribed the break up of your first marriage to your spouse…you were the problem all along. You were the one with the character flaws. You were the one with the personality problems. You were the one with the issues that broke things apart. And then you are left back at the question, am I just a dick with a disease or a decent person with a disease that is causing me to behave like a dick?

Honestly, I think the answer to the question is irrelevant. People have expectations for my behavior regardless of any mitigating factors, and I suppose that is fair enough as there are only a handful of people in my life who even know I have a mental illness. They have no basis for compassion or understanding. They just see me as I am and draw their own conclusions.

But even with the people that know. Even with the people who love me. Even with them, there is a limited ability to understand what it is like to live inside my head and to act out life as a grown adult operating with this mind. There is a limited ability to differentiate the parameters of the question. To decide if I am just a “normal” person who is being unkind or someone who has lost the ability to function as a “normal” person. Even with those closest to me, there is a limit in either their choice or ability to accept that not everything that comes from me is by choice. At least, not by my choice.

So where does that leave me? I am an individual whose behavior is found to intolerable by those closest to him. I am an individual with a mental illness that is difficult at best to control and almost impossible under current circumstances. I am an individual who feels incapable of being the person I wish I could be.
Again, I think the answer is irrelevant. Because in the end, I am just the bad person. I am just the dick.

Present Day, March 27th, 2020

 

FURLOUGH – day 1

Yesterday my workplace presented me with a furlough letter. I was officially laid off. Another financial victim of Covid-19. The company hopes to bring us all back and hopes that happens in three or so weeks. Time will tell. I think that is quite optimistic, but I am fairly heavy on the pessimistic side of the teeter-totter, so that is not saying much. 

For the immediate future what that means is that I have time on my hands. Like an amount which I have not had in quite a long time. This morning I woke up, did an exercise video, enjoyed a cup of coffee, tackled a couple of home projects, filed for unemployment, showered, and realized it was barely 10 a.m. I need goals. Daily goals. Maybe getting back to blogging should be one of those. It seems to be worth a try anyway, though I hardly remember how to do this. If it is supposed to be like riding a bike…I’m pretty sure I’m about to crash. 

As one might guess, a pandemic is difficult for everyone. And not to act like we are somehow more special than the rest of the world, but this is only exponentially compounded for people with mental illness. It is one thing to have the concerns of a disease (Coronavirus…not the Bipolar), but then on top of that, you have the concerns of a disease (Bipolar…not the Coronavirus). It is like having cancer, and then getting the flu. And if you do not think so, it is just because you are likely one of those who have yet to grasp the correlation between mental illness and physical illnesses. Yes, it is a real thing. 

I do not know where you live, but my state is currently a “stay-at-home” state. Probably would have shut down my place of employment in the immediate future anyway. At least this way I have access to income assistance. Such an order is in and of itself not totally devastating as I am not the most social of beings to begin with. Though that was a part of my 2020 goals that I was working fairly aggressively on. Well, aggressively for me. I do already miss my bi-weekly coffee gatherings with my best friend, and might even find myself missing the banter of the office before too long. 

I will not unload all of my stressors and concerns in this initial post, but I have a daughter living all alone in one of the epicenters of this whole thing. A son who lives with his girlfriend in another city. Of course I worry about them. I have a wife and two step-daughters joining me in this house for our “stay-at-home” experiment, and I think all three of them are concerned that I’m the wild card in this whole thing. A legitimate concern. Hell, I’m pretty sure that I’m the wild card in this whole thing. 

So here is what this will and will not be. It will continue to be what it has always been…a look inside the mind of someone struggling with bipolar in the midst of day-to-day life. Granted, a day-to-day life which has been radically altered over the past few days and weeks. It will not be an update on Covid-19 (well…unless I actually come down with it). There are more reliable places to obtain information on that and you are probably overloaded with it anyway. However, if you struggle with a mental illness or know someone who does, you may find this insightful. 
 
If nothing else, what else do you have to do? It seems like we all have plenty of time on our hands!
 

Present Day, March 13th, 2019

Last night I attended a Munford and Sons concert with my wife. The tickets were a Christmas/Birthday gift that I had anticipated enjoying for almost three months. The concert far exceeded my expectations, and that is saying a lot. At today’s ticket prices, I set the bar very high. However, the point of this post is not a concert review, so I’ll get to the point.

I cried. A lot. Pretty much from the moment they entered the arena to the crashing crescendo of applause until the final exit. Not an all-out bawling. Just a steady welling of tears and overflowing down my cheeks.

There are a number of reasons for this. One of which relates to the aforementioned applause. But that is an explanation for another post on another day. I promise to get back to it soon.

In a collective sense, the tears were generated by the reality and presence of music. Music has always played an important part in my life. It was prominent in my childhood as my mom taught myself and all my siblings piano. We were each expected to try another instrument as well, and I choose the trumpet. I was moderately successful through high school and into college (and greatly enjoyed the horns incorporated into Munford’s music!).

The tradition continues to build today as my son just completed his Master’s recital in classical guitar, one daughter just performed on the flute in a high school All-District Honor Band and the youngest continues to develop as a percussionist. So music stirs my emotions. It has a past and present in my life. It is an active piece of my life.

Then there are the lyrics. I know they are purposefully written to strike a personal note with us. But for me, Munford’s do on a very deep, emotional level. More so than ever would Kanye or Two Chains.

“I really fucked it up this time.” (Little Lion Man)

“I will wait, I will wait for you.” (I Will Wait)

“Cause even when there is no star in sight, you’ll always be my only guiding light.” (Guiding Light)

“This is never going to go our way, if I’m gonna have to guess what’s on your mind.” (Believe)

“I will hold on hope, and I won’t let you choke on that noose around your neck.” (The Cave)

These tie to my story. My personal story. Maybe in a way that is emotionally overstretched, but it is what it is. And that stirs a passion. A feeling. Something that expresses itself through tears.

Because crying is feeling. And I haven’t felt much in recent years. Everything has been so drugged and numbed. It has been so difficult to be stirred. Moved. To feel.

But last night everything was so alive. I cried a lot because I felt a lot. And feeling is life. And last night I loved being alive.

Present Day, September 25th, 2018

Almost five and a half months. Still the blogging screen is blank.

Retreats. Books. Life events. All the usual, reliable prompts. But nothing.

It isn’t really a writer’s block. That’s for people who write for income, or entertainment, or pleasure.

I write for therapy. For reflection. For healing.

So it isn’t really a traditional writer’s block lacking inspiration and creativity. It is a lack of medicine. A lack of progress. A lack of health.

And it is one of many signs to be mindful of. There are others.

I have no desire to do…well…just about anything.

A weight loss plan that was highly successful through the first four months of the year has stalled out. Even begun heading the other direction. The self-discipline…self-motivation is gone. Again.

Ironic, because I’m not truly hungry for anything. Restaurants disappoint. Grocery shopping is merely requisite. I can eat the same food night after night after night after…well, you get the idea.

Stamp collecting. Sports watching. Camping. Hiking. All of it. Just motions.

Truth be told these are the spells that grip those of us who suffer from clinical depression. Sure, everybody to some extent, but these are not just periods of feeling down. They are extensive valleys. Valleys that can turn from days to weeks to months. Valleys that can rob us of energy, enthusiasm, enjoyment. Valleys that can black out a computer screen for five and a half months.

Which brings me to this moment. This moment that is called forced blogging. Push the keys one at a time. Put words on the screen. Run sentences together until a paragraph is formed. Then another. And another. Paragraphs that may serve as stepping stones for climbing out of the valley.

Not for income, entertainment or pleasure.

For therapy. For reflection. For healing.