Wednesday Reflections #8 - The Joys of Mental Illness

After Christmas, unbeknownst to me, I went into a six week long manic episode. It wasn't of the reckless, overspending, drinking, drugging, fucking variety - it was one wherein I felt like I was goal oriented, on task, and acting like an adult. I was oscillating between obsessions: Duran Duran, Christian Slater, and someone who should remain nameless as they are a real life acquaintance. I was writing a lot, and it was in this time that I decided to go back to school for my teaching certification. I was looking forward to starting school, beginning the spring semester of Deep, working with our new writing workshop, and continuing on my Couch to 5K program. I felt very motivated and in control.

Don't judge me.
Larry belonged to Central Florida
before he belonged to the world.

All of that came crashing down on February 15, at approximately 8 PM. After a very long day of lesson planning with my Deep co-teacher and attending an exclusive Deep Fellows Only lecture by Claire Cook (author of Must Love Dogs) I spent a couple of hours with j^C and That Sprout before heading to the first post-deployment FRG Social Event: Pot Luck and Pottery Painting. I was feeling kind of overwhelmed after the long day, ashamed for not having cooked anything for the pot-luck (I brought hummus and pita chips), and I was feeling sort of guilty for being the only one there who's husband had not deployed. (I later found that last one not to be true, but still, it's not a nice feeling to be in a room where everyone is kvetching that their man is toiling in the sun and sand while yours is at home drinking beer and tending to your kid.)

Even still, I was excited to get to meet some of the other wives. I was still in "super motivated mode", so I was hoping we could discuss some events or projects I could host or help organize. I was also looking forward to seeing the people who own the pottery shop, as they are two of my myriad sundry business owner friends in town. I painted a lot of pottery when I was pregnant.

I got to the event and realized that 1) my owner friends were not there, 2) me and the girl running the shop were the only people who had ever been inside the shop before and knew how things worked, and 3) I really didn't want to be there. I tried to make myself useful by telling people where the pottery prices were and how to get their paint. I began to feel paranoid. I'm still not sure if it's true or not, but I felt like I sounded like a snotty know it all. Then there were several instances wherein I stuck my foot in my mouth. I didn't feel very included in the conversation. It was like being an interloper at the cool kids table. Once again, I was a square peg.

The Paint is over there! Source

I left feeling very dejected. Depressed. Overwrought. Anxious.

The next day, I stayed home with That Sprout while j^C played rugby in the rain. I read all of John Fowles' The Collector. I tried to assemble Carl-os' care package. But mostly, I just felt really terrible. I kept replaying things over in my head. I began second guessing things that had nothing to do with the FRG.

The anxiety persisted into the next week, but I tried to stay on top of things. The straw that broke the camel's back was on Thursday when I realized that the serial killer I was going to write about didn't exist. I snapped. I was done. I didn't care anymore. I more or less disengaged for 2 weeks.

That would have been fine and well and good under normal circumstances. If I hadn't set up so many commitments for myself, I could have let the depression run it's course. There was only one problem with that: teacher certification courses have due dates, and mine were fast approaching. On the last day of February, I completely lost my shit and went into a full on panic attack. I had not been to sleep because I worked on my classes all night long. I had to lesson plan that day with my co-teacher, I had a meeting about the workshop, and then I had to try and make it to workshop that night. In between, I had a therapy appointment, wherein I cried and cried. I don't even remember what was said or if anything was resolved, I just know that I have felt much better since then.

Yes.

I am slowly getting back to where I feel like I am in control. To quote one of the Deep Kids from last semester "I am a young, productive lady for the future". I know it sounds cheesy, but I am really trying to focus on replacing negative thoughts with positive affirmations. I am listening to my body. I am still abstaining from meat. I am counting calories. That last one makes me really bitter sometimes, but I am seeing weight loss, so it must be working. I am working to make more time for meditation and movement, two things that are seriously lacking in my life. I started Deepak Chopra's 21 Day Meditation Challenge on Saturday, and I feel like it's doing some good. I striving to find balance. I know that without mood stabilizers mine is destined to be an up and down life, but I believe that lifestyle and attitude changes can make the ride manageable instead of unbearable.

Me on a good day. Source

It is my sincerest hope that I can finally get Carl-os' package in the mail this week, as well as some things to Mojo Jojo and Captain Tesla. In short, the above was my explanation of why I've been absent again. I was depressed. I was panicking. I couldn't hack it. I'm back now, hopefully for a while this time.

For more about what this feels like for me, see This is Why I'll Never Be an Adult the comic from which I stole that last picture (Allie, if you see this and are mad about the pic, let me know and I'll take it down. It just perfectly illustrates me right now. I'm even doing laundry today!). Allie Brosh also suffers from depression, although I am not sure if it's Manic Depression or not. I know that she is an amazingly talented web comic writer who made the brave decision to walk away from her comic/blog Hyperbole and a Half in order to better treat her depression. I have only been completely immobilized by my problems once, and it was for a very short time. This was a result of too little sleep and too much to do, and thankfully I was sent to a facility. I wasn't cured when I came out, but I was keenly aware of what my problem was and how to try to start addressing it. It's a struggle. My heart goes out to Allie and all the other incredible, kind, funny, beautiful, and crazy talented people who struggle with mental illness. To Allie in particular: I hope you are doing well, that you are getting better, and that we will hear from you again some day. Until then, take care of yourself. Know that I, and most of the internet it seems, love you.

Also, if you weren't aware, This: