I have random worries today and I am weighed down with a significant weight on my shoulders. When this happens a chain of events inevitably leads to my dreaded eyeball problem!  Inside my eye socket there is no damn blink and my eyeballs become black marbles. When I am forced to make eye contact with others I feel as if I am staring at them and my madness is transparent.

I have found that my eyeballs respond intensely when I am depressed afraid or angry. At times it is as simple as needing eye drops but most of the time it takes a while of being uncomfortable and working on the feelings.

When my eyes do not blink the look on my face is crazy or even mean looking.  I have a bug-eyed or deer in the headlights look that frightens me when I look in the mirror. I know it must leave others leery of contact with me.

I am suspicious that others are looking at me so I make sure I watch them. This only makes the staring worse. I do not dare to look down for fear I will lose my marbles and be completely in the dark.

 The thing that helps is to write. Searching for the words to explain, even if I can not find them, the process of trying some times brings back the blink and then my softened eyes trigger a deeper breath and my shoulders lighten up. I check in the mirror to see how I look. More times than not I can bring back the blink and find softened eyes in the mirror.

It is important to have an effective support system. I think it is important to have a psychiatrist and therapist as part of a support system. However, some of us have such entrenched layers of resistance that we find it difficult to let others help us. There are a number of sources that fuel resistance. It can come from fear of the unknown or mistrust of the mental health system. It seems important to listen to these feelings but also continue searching for a therapist who understands bipolar disorder.  Family and friends can be an important part of  the support system. I know this has been the case for me but I have had a problem with hiding how I feel so others will not know the extent of my illness. I am working on this part of me and I am having some success.  

It has been necessary for me to turn to the other parts of self to decipher which foot goes in front of the other so I can make it from here to there in one piece. The concept of using me myself and I  is not to be confused with having distinctly different personalities. This is very much like having a  navigation template in my brain that organizes my daily life despite the manic and depressive parts of self. This is especially important because I have rapid cycling bipolar illness. I am not advocating that those with bipolar be their own therapist. I tried often to find someone that understood bipolar illness and could help me with my particular resistance.

 Even though I lived in the Twin Cities of Minnesota I could not find a therapist. I was well known as a therapist which meant it was difficult to find the privacy I needed for therapy. After I had to leave my work, I did have a wonderful therapist for a brief time. She was helpful with the grief related to a series of losses. If I had stayed in the Twin Cities I am certain I would have benefited from therapy. But for now I turn to the sum total of one; me myself and I. The following is a brief description of how I use these parts of self as a map in daily living.

1. I describe me as the part that is the gatekeeper of emotions and perceptions and is the most fragile part of self. It depends on the other parts to keep me alive.
2.  Myself is the filter that is primarily cognitive and visual, as such it can take a situation that comes out of the blue and make sense of it. This part especially uses the mind’s eye to figure out what life brings my way. This part also tries to sort through the bull that is often present inside of me.
3. The I part of self is the part that stands upright as best as possible. I present my essence to the world with as much authenticity as possible. This part is the spiritual self that says I am. The spirit also says I am alive and struggling to find peace.  I have hope and a belief that it is possible to experience connections with others despite my people fears.  I also believe that there is a life giving force that I know as the Creator. This part is also the connection with my Cherokee ancestors.

The navigation template originated in my later childhood. I was clearly having some rapid cycling in my preteens. My parents tried to get help for me but I did not have a therapist who understood me.  I turned to myself that had made it so far and translated in childlike language my painful feelings and confusing thoughts.  The me part was often frightened and naive. The choices I made were, at times, less than adequate or should I say the illness twisted my mind and the consequences were painful. It took the combination of me, myself and I to manage daily life. The resulting pain and confusion in my adolescences defined the bipolar disorder in more distinct detail than in my childhood. I was hospitalized in a Children’s Psychiatric Hospital for several months with very little positive outcome.

I am providing a worksheet for you to complete with your therapist concerning what is happening in your life. You should take this worksheet with you in case your therapist does not provide a worksheet of their own.

Review each symptom on the worksheet. Ask your therapist for clarification if you need to know more about a particular symptom. If the symptom applies to you, rate it according to how serious a problem it is for you and how often it occurs.

Complete the worksheet prior to your first appointment with your psychiatrist. It will help your doctor identify medications that will improve the way you feel. Completion of this sheet before each appointment with your psychiatrist will provide you with a concrete way to discuss your symptoms.

The worksheet is available in two formats. You can download it as a Word document at www.therapistwithbipolar.com/Forms/Chart.doc

If you do not have Word, you can use Adobe Reader to open the pdf file at

www.therapistwithbipolar.com/Forms/Chart.pdf

Please feel free to print out this sheet and make copies of it. If you have trouble loading these forms or if you just are hesitant about doing it, leave me a note in a comment box and I will get right back to you to help.

When I have a window of opportunity to write I want to share my journey on the blog. I would like to share about my struggles and survival. The only way I know how to do this is to make it simple. I make it simple by creating pictures of how I feel. I hope it is helpful. When I am depressed my face, especially around my mouth, is drawn down as if I had a stroke. My facial muscles signal the remainder of my body to become rigid, fade into the chair and become the chair. My eyes stop blinking and I have the return of the looming black stare. I feel like a zombie from the inside out.

But today I felt a smile on the inside of my mouth as if I had a face lift on the inside. The change from the inside triggers a chain reaction that allows me to take care of myself.  This lets me know that the change in medication has lifted my mood and reignited my connection to the living. For me medication and my relationship of trust with my psychiatrist is a life line.  She works with me instead of being distant. I encourage you to find the right doctor to work with you on your medication.

When I come out of the depressive episode I try to take care of myself. I spend less time in my room and take daily walks. I talk with friends and family to restore the people connection that gets lost in serious depressive episodes. If I do not have the medication that I need it is next to impossible to move my body. However, the medication  transforms me from a zombie like creature and a resume my connection with the human race.

It is on the slightest of upswings from periods of depression that I can put words together and tell a story. What I want more than anything is to be a storyteller. When the writing dries up I feel useless and listless. I don’t want too much more but I do need a longer period of feeling less depressed.

It is a window of opportunity to improve my people contact, exercise and writing to keep the depression at bay. The things that I do for self-care may sound overly simple but it is my touchstone of recovery.

 I can’t remember a time that I didn’t have to white knuckle it to keep this illness at bay. When I was still working as a therapist I would be clenching the steering wheel as I approached my workplace. In everyday circumstances I clicked the user switch to ignite  hard working and dedicated therapist. But in some situations the white knuckling was still needed. There were various situations in which the pressure from others was as painful as the pressure behind my speaking. For example in staff meetings with other therapists, I felt exceptional tension. I definitely while knuckled it to keep my opinions under control.

While this mental white knuckling was going on at work I continued to remodel my home.  Little by little my physical self was chipped away as the manic construction worker part of me had to do demolition and construction just right. More and more white knuckling through the physical pain.

One day while on a ferryboat ride to Madeline Island, just off the shore of Baypoint Wisconsin, I began to drift and ponder the conditions of my knuckles.  I figured if I could find this place, the distant bay of wellness, I could perhaps escape the illness. My wish is to have life without my knuckles remaining forever bloody and sore from daily white knuckling it. In my time of writing I have happened upon a map and found my way to the bay. White knuckle Bay is not a peaceful place and you will find no relaxing bed and breakfast. It is a turbulent bay with jagged rocks on the shore. If I take a deep breath to imagine in my mind’s eye the bay comes in clear view. It serves to keep the very most painful parts of my life. It is not a place to reside but is a place of depositing, going away from and leaving much of the ugliness behind. Once more I search to find small pieces that will fit together the puzzle of my life that is about surviving and coping.

Today is bitter cold outside and despite the strong wind from the north I continue to be vertical. It has not dampened the warmth of my spirit . I feel blessed by this window of opportunity- free from depressive symptoms and I intend to write and call friends. I have been pondering (that is similar to contemplation but with less intensity) the various ways of expressing what this illness is like from the inside. I get bored with symptoms and would love to be able to paint a picture that was the inner me so I could walk into and feel as though I understand this illness and that I am understood by others.

When I think of how to express my experience with bipolar the symptoms seem like abstract words that primarily serve the purpose of diagnosis, medication management and goal attainment by mental health workers. It is, however, important to communicate using symptoms with your psychiatrist. Symptoms do not completely explain what it is inside that makes me in varying states of illness-wellness.

I find it easier to communicate through writing than through talking. The problem with grammar and writing has been with me since childhood and I have had to construct my own ways of learning and communicating. In my journey toward wellness I have tried to find a language that uses pictures in my mind rather than plain abstract words. Just using symptoms is at times not enough. A language of using pictures helps me understand how it feels inside from four directions. Some children use their imagination to create pictures inside. All you do is ask them to close their eyes and see the picture behind their eyes and they typically can see them there. It is also possible for grown ups to do the same thing, it may just take a little while to get the swing of it.

I use the phrase living metaphors to help organize my creative process about symptoms. By keeping my messages alive it allows for changes in my brain chemistry due to illness, aging or both. Sometimes I have a brain fart and do not know the definition or spelling of basic words so I look in the dictionary for help. Let’s go to the dictionary so we are on the same page with the word metaphor-a word denoting one idea in place of another to suggest likeness. When I use metaphors to describe how I am feeling, thinking and sensing throughout my body it seems as if the words come alive(at least for me). This is quite different than speaking in terms of symptoms. So for me living metaphors create an anchor that as much as possible keeps me in touch with what is happening inside. It also exercises my mind to articulate what is happening so I can make it better.

Think vertical defend against too much horizontal – peace. Pete

I began thinking about doing a blog a few months ago. I was encouraged by my family and friends to venture out and connect with others in a new way. I have problems with spelling and grammar but my sister suggested I do the best I can and leave the flavor of my writing as is, even if it may be difficult for some of you. Listen between the lines and take what you can and leave the rest for others. Know as well that it is at the very least helpful for me.

For over 30 years of my life I was a respected psychotherapist. However, I also struggle with rapid cycling bipolar disorder. I am a 59 year old woman and I find myself living on disability. I am not writing as an expert on bipolar illness, therapy or anything other than myself. There are some days when I am not even an expert on myself. Sometimes I will write about experiences from a therapist’s perspective and other times about my own journey with bipolar illness.

I worked with children and adults many of whom had bipolar disorder. I loved my work and it filled my life with joy. I held the title of Psychotherapist with dignity until my brain spun me in side out and shattered my judgment and self respect. The “psycho” part of my previous title irritates most ordinary folks but psycho-therapist is an accurate descriptor of what remains of my professional self.

I do not have the pain of depression or the racing thoughts of the mania all the time. I have respite for weeks at a time but have very little sense of humor. The other day I had a brief talk with my sister. I wondered why I have no sense of humor. I currently live in Oklahoma, my homeland but just recently moved back from the Twin Cities of Minnesota where I lived for 20 years. We figure it may be that I am in culture transition if not culture shock (this is not to be confused with shock treatment) I have had enough jolting events in my life that if shock treatments worked I would be as steady as a rock. In any event my ability to be humorous is suffering. I would say my humor is somewhere between dry and corny. Although some of my writing will be dark I hope I can spin some humor now then so I do not contribute to the pain of others.

There is an enormous expanse situated in my gut and at other times in my upper chest. The expanse is void of any feelings or sensations other than a vacant body part that is not hungry and is never full. It is the physical manifestation of the grief and loss of my precious work as a therapist. In the final days and nights before I had to take my leave from work and live on disability the polarity of my emotions resembled a tight coil. The coil itself had control of the rapid cycling that had been haunting my brain stem for over a year. I held on tight to keep from spinning off from what little reality remained.

While I have had one professional career I have always had two full time jobs. Therapy filled my days with warmth and compassion. My other job was keeping the bipolar disorder at bay. I understand that this illness is chronic and I spent my career fooling myself that I “had it under control”. Perhaps the mania wanted me to believe that even though it was chronic it would not necessarily be progressive. Unfortunately in my case it has gotten progressively worse and to a point where depression is forever on my heels. The mania is illusive and just plain sneaky. It resides just behind the pictures in my eyes and when I close my eyes I see back to my history of acting out. I also see a small pool of energy swirling that becomes a raging current. There is an invitation to jump in and place my eyes straight forward with carefree days and nights. For now the mania is contained by the shame and emotional pain I caused my family plus a butt load of medication.

I earned a doctorate in psychology and counselor education despite the fact that I was essentially a non-reader. I now wonder if the distractibility and racing thoughts have been the culprits of my learning problems instead of dyslexia. I have a “lazy eye” which means my eyes do not work together. I did not discover the problems with my eyes until I was working on my doctorate at the University of Arkansas. I had so much reading to do that I would read as I walked the hills of the campus. I soon found it much easier to read while I walked because I had to use peripheral vision and it made my eyes work together. I got glasses and soon found it much easier to read. My eyes still jump and loop over sentences as I try to read but it is better than in the early years. Despite my funky eyes I am fairly ok at reflecting inside my minds eye to ponder the next step to take. My eyes are understandably weary and are often in need of rest.