About a month ago I moved from the country to a lovely home in the city. It has occupied my time and energy but I am now ready to return to my blog. It is a trade off to have left the rolling hills of my country home for the small city that I now call home.

I live in a university town with all the benefits of that culture. The city is large enough to have all the activities, shopping and restaurants that I can enjoy and small enough to not have hectic traffic. At this point in my life it is a good combination.

I am spending part of my time writing an ebook on Mental Health Wellness. It is gratifying to write about the topic and share it with the readers. It is not personal like my blog is and I think I will enjoy the balance of writing.

I am better grounded in my own wellness and there I have a balance where once there were mood swings. The medication I am on has helped me stabilize and my own efforts to find my center have blended together to help me feel good most of the time.

I hope my blogging friends will return to share my posts. I also look forward to reading and commenting on yours.

I look forward to hearing from you!

Peace, Annie

The sunshine is a welcome sight after 8 days of rain and thunderstorms. A soft light enters my window at dawn and I am typically awakened by my sweet old dog Petey. It is 6:25 on the dot every morning that she greets me with a frisky wag and a demanding bark. Petey is a pugadoodle and is almost 20 years old. She touches my funny bone and helps me enter the morning with a smile and a sense of relief that she is still alive.

I am blessed of late to have had more days filled with gentle smiles and laughter than in past months. The medication that I take does not tickle my funny bone instead it helps to see the lighter side of life. It is with a keen eye that I observe my days and make choices that help me free of depression. I remember a few months ago when I was unable to experience pleasure.  An inability to experience pleasure is a key symptom of clinical depression. It not only robs me of happy times but contributes to a decline in an interest in living. When there is an absence of pleasure a cycle kicks in that can spiral down towards a pit of depression. When it is not possible to experience pleasure it is a direct connection to helplessness and hopelessness.

I encourage those of you who share this inability to experience pleasure to be gentle with yourself and understand that it may be part of the depression itself. It may be helpful to talk with your psychiatrist about your options. But equally important is to do something different than what you are doing. If you are sitting in your chair stand up and if you are passively watching television or playing computer games you may want to do another activity. Moving your body is especially important and takes minimal effort to change the pattern so you can experience small pleasures. I know this sounds oversimplified but sometimes it is all that you can do because of feeling frozen. It is the small things that can make a difference.

One of the things that have helped me is to smell different aromas. I find some aromas comforting and others stimulating. These are small efforts but may just be the trigger to awaken the senses that lead to pleasure. Lavender for example is a pleasant aroma. I can’t help but feel the corners of my mouth turn up a little bit when I am around Lavender plants, oils or other products.   Lemon and Lime seem to perk up my spirits and my eyes open up a little bit wider. Cinnamon is a comforting aroma that sparks fond memories and makes a subtle shift that leaves room for a moment of pleasure. When these memories and sensations are attended to on a regular basis it allows the experience of pleasure to slip in to my awareness. It is not a cure but is a miracle!

There are days when humor takes its leave and quiet introspection resides inside my minds eye. For the most part I do not fear the return of a depressive episode but rather sit with the breeze coming through my window and write another brief post for my blog. Sometimes I want to share about the last three years and have some of the pain and sorrow fade into the words on the screen. I do not want the experiences to stay alive nor do I want to delete them as soon as they are on the screen. I will have to see what is most helpful as I write this draft.

It is another bittersweet recollection to note that I am more stable than at any other time in my life but that I am no longer able to be a therapist. I enter the last half of my life with the glass half full. I feel blessed that I have a well trained and sensitive psychiatrist who has gradually worked with me to find a balance of medications needed to manage the rapid cycling of symptoms that have become so severe over the last three years.

I was on Paxil for several years and for a long period of time I had a huge disconnect from my feelings. I made poor choices that impacted my life in devastating ways. I have heard other folks speak of this same disconnection of feelings on Paxil. It progressed from being “low key” and mellow to not caring what happened to me. I was not overtly reckless at first but as a number of major stressors occurred I became self destructive and careless.

I had two surgeries for a broken leg, ankle and another for a severely shattered wrist. This was the result of remodeling my house and doing the work myself. My mother died, my partner had terminal cancer and I had to declare bankruptcy. This was all within a year and I struggled to overcome the losses but found it overwhelming. At the same time I was remodeling an old house and was getting very little sleep. I worked 50 hours as a therapist and came home only to work until midnight on the construction of the house.

This pace went on for a year and a half. It was clear to my family that I was self destructive and they urged me to be hospitalized. I had a very wise and sensitive psychiatrist who gradually tapered me off of the Paxil. It was extremely difficult but I had confidence in her treatment and made it through the hospitalization with new and more balanced medications. It was clear to me that a balance of medication was needed for me to remain stable. It was however also clear that  I was not able to work, especially as a therapist and my psychiatrist recommended that I go on disability.

No matter how sad I am at the loss of a thirty year career as a therapist, I know it has been the right thing to do. I also agree with my psychiatrist that I have entered a chronic phase of the illness and need to have time each day to keep myself from regressing . I follow a similar recovery plan as a 12 step program. I take one day at a time to do what I need to do to remain stable. I am currently on several medications all of which are very helpful.

Reflection helps process the grief of the losses over the last few years. I used to fear contemplation and that I would become overwhelmed and stay in a place of darkness and depression. It is reassuring that  I can spend time processing the past and touch the painful feelings and yet shift back to my everyday routine. It is a combination of balanced medication, writing and spending time with others that helps make life worth living

It came to me today that there are brief snippets of humor spontaneously popping out with my friends and family. Much of the time I make wise cracks about myself or innocently poke fun at my loved ones. I figure that to truly mend my funny bone I need to know more about it. For instance where is the funny bone located in my body? For a long time I have imagined that it is situated in my heart space and connected to my rib cage. It seems that the sense of humor radiates from this space and is connected to laughter in my belly.

But then I think the seat of humor may actually be somewhere near my minds eye. A twinkle typically comes to my eyes when I laugh with other folks. There is also a blend of my life being ironic with my life being one big joke. I pause for a moment to check my manic-meter to measure what I call my “bull shit factor”.

For the last several years I have experienced symptoms of rapid cycling bipolar. When there was an internal momentum of energy building, especially humor and joking around I would begin to build on that energy with silliness and nonsensical word play that left me embarrassed and made a huge disconnect with others. It became difficult to pull in my chatter and it left others shaking their head and seeing me as a basket case. The final result was that I had a high level of the “bull shit factor”.

This rapid cycling became more difficult to manage at work and staying present with clients in therapy was at times more than I could contain. It was as if I could see it happen and watch as a particular version of word play and noises made their way into the conversation despite my desire to be what the client needed. This was in part what led to me having to leave my work as a therapist. These problems along with periodic depression that left me in a trance resulted in me being unable to work and going on disability. I vacillate between feeling shame about this part of me and feeling compassion for myself for the loss of a work that I loved.

How bittersweet it is to need my funny bone to be alive and thriving and yet have a moment of hesitation. I fear that I might crank up my joking and fall into a pool of silliness. Then what was predictable in the past was the death grip of depression blackening the pool of silliness. But then I just may be healthier now and can sit back and enjoy my funny bone in action!

For most of my life it has been an effortless delight to tune into my funny bone. While I am not ticklish my funny bone has easily reverberated and laughter has flowed like an old friend. Even when depression resided in my gut, humor was the cloak that kept others from being sucked in by my darkness.

I could never remember jokes unless you count some corny jokes that were based on word play from Jr. High. When I was captured by the rhythm of repetitive word play I would get caught up in the way it sounded in my mind then I would tell more and more. Ok I will share one of the “jokes” just for the purpose of making my point. I promise I will only tell one! The joke would go, “So have you heard of the new book in the library?” “It is the author’s first published work, Rusty Bedsprings by I.P. Nightly.” Can you believe I actually told these jokes in professional meetings? But I never told just one, they came in a series of three.

I love to make repetitive noises and sounds. I channel my desire to make noises by doing bird calls. The Mockingbird is my favorite because there is an exchange of sounds. The sounds I made would wake up my funny bone and I would smile and at other times laugh out loud. Yes, I recognize that noise making can be a “symptom” of manic energy. It is sad how quickly some folks are to judge and label. I was silenced by friends and family members by them asking that I stop making the irritating noises. Little did they know that I simply turned my noises inward and made the purposeful sounds in the back of my mind? I also made quiet whistling sounds that were typically remnants of tunes.

Despite the fact that my funny bone struggles to be present on a daily basis I celebrate that I am on the path to mending it. I recognize that it takes more than simply telling jokes to know that my funny bone is awake. I do work each day to experience things that bring a smile or a laugh. It also means letting go of the pain of past losses and the shame of mistakes that I made in the past. While I have not completely let go of the past I am embracing the precious moments of laughter that come my way each day.

After a warm and at times smoldering Oklahoma Summer I  have had far more times of being well than being ill. I have spent time “embracing” the illness that has robbed me of my Funny bone. “Embracing” has been a way that I explored  the intricacies of mental illness and helped me be a more caring therapist.

My Grandmother would challenge the act of embracing the illness and say, ” all you need is a come to Jesus moment!” Meaning, “don’t feel sorry for yourself and just get on with your life the way it is”.  While I never challenged my Grandmother as a little girl, I did have at times this summer that I had a talk with myself about the  balance of how I am spending my time.

As the dog days of summer come to end I have put into place an active and structured routine. I have begun to recognize how to step lightly around my depression so as to not awaken the dark eyed image of my somber self. Setting aside this time has made it possible for me to stand full force in the blast furnace winds of summer and face the issues of grief that has crippled my Funny bone. I have decided to write about some of the mending that I have done to heal my broken Funny bone to its former glory.

One of the things I have liked about me is my laughter and corny sense of humor. My Funny bone was passed down and planted in my soul by my Aunt Lulla Belle.  Laughter was one of the more satisfying times I spent with my deceased partner. She made me laugh even during the painful times as the cancer was consuming her health.

To my friends, welcome back to a more honest and straightforward sharing of my healing process!

Peace, Annie

I have found that it is more and more difficult to write on my blog. I agree with many of you who say it is often discourageing to write about bipolar. Even though I am writing about nature I still view it through my illness and wellness.   I am doing other writing that does not relate to bipolar and it is gratifying.

So I will say goodbye for now and perhaps I will start another blog. I will post my decison after consdierable thought. Bless each you !

Annie

This is  the second day of “popping”! Of course, it’s spring the colors are glorious fresh new buds of green and the red bud tree. So far it dosn’t cover the tree but laces it with patterns changing by the minute. Two male cardianls in the trees down by the creek. It makes my heart sing, my eyes twinkle and my mouth smile. Simple? A year ago or two the brightness of the neon green burned my eyes,shades were drawn and my spirit was asleep.

Is it a miracle? I think not. Is wellness and rebirth of spring possible for the ordinary? I pray yes!

The breeze through my open window with the sweet smells of spring filling my mind with wonder – My windows are full of the images of the tree tops that defy gravity and reach toward the sky. Some plants crawl along the ground, content to bear fruit while stretching outward on the earth. Some bushes and shrubs reach skyward but do not hold the myriad of questions that trees inspire.

We remain with our feet firmly planted and in most situations are incapable of reaching the height of the oak, maple or evergreens. What are the lessons to be learned from our relative, grandfather the tree? Could it be that the miracle of the trees is for us to ask our questions individually  and retrieve the answers on our own. In our own way with our ear close to grandfather tree surely wisdom will come

The tiny green buds popping on the branches are pulling the new growth of the tree skyward. The swaying back and forth and first the gentle breeze and then the forceful winds of an impending storm These are the lessons taught by the tree saying- change with the changes.

There is new growth on a brittle old grand father branch falling to earth as it returns to the earth to complete the pattern of change and growth. Lessons are there for us to learn. We listen and the wisdom comes our way. If we just question the tree and learn the nature of – defiance of gravity.

As I ponder what I want to write I realize that my expereince with nature has been amplified by looking for my stories. Since many of my stories have a theme from nature I find I am a participant in all that there is instead of simply observing it. This process takes me away from myself and my illness and encouarges me to reach out. Nature is safe and at times safer than people.

Perhaps this is one of the healing quallities of writing.  Even if I were to merely describe a cricket or think about the purpose of a crow; I am taken away from the days of endless pain. Searching for the words can be an adventure in itself. Since I have reading and spelling problems I turn to the dictionary for help. It is  simplistic for me and helps me stay grounded with my writing. It also helps me explore expressions and at times the process is delightful. My head turns to the left when I write. Ijust realized that it also turns to the left when I am participating in nature.

What if I were to write about people? Would I become more of a participant? Would it be healing? I have not been a people person or a people watcher. But since leaving work I have extra space in my mind and  in my mind’s eye. I look at people from a different perspective. I am still bored with chit chat but better understand it’s soical function.

I encourage you to write and search for the simple things in life.