If I have no dreams but I am at peace should I consider myself blessed? If I laugh at the wind blowing in my dogs face am I being too trivial with life? If I sense a tear inside but never cry what is wrong with me? You will notice all of my questions are about me, my life and other self centered themes. But to make it to my 60’s with the life I have lived  seems to make it ok.

At my stage of life reflecting on the meaning of life could be helpful in finding a purpose in the next part of my life. It seems to make sense that it would help to get out of myself, open my eyes and contemplate what there is beyond my nose. But what if my purpose in life has come and gone? What is next? It is interesting to finally have the time to ponder such things and yet struggle with my fears and insecurities.

When I was working as a therapist I have to admit that most days were a struggle to just keep up with the bipolar part of me. It was all consuming and after work I was completely exhausted, so much so that I had very little left for my family and friends. I did get feedback that I was a good therapist but I didn’t tell any of my co-workers about the bipolar. Now everyone knows and at times they are watching to see if I am truly healthy and for the most part I am. They would say I deserve the rest after 30 years of work. My mind works and I am writing again. Perhaps I will be able to answer some of my own questions

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

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

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.