[/tube]We all have to start somewhere.
This is my first attempt at doing something like this, on a lot of levels. I can be a bit of a perfectionist, and there are a great deal of things I want to change, tweak, and improve upon the next time I slap one of these together. But, here you go. The first, I hope, of many vlogs talking openly about mental illness, how it makes me feel, and how I feel we as individuals should address the battles in our own heads.
Be kind.
This is for those of you out there trying to create something new. Bucking trends. Swimming upstream. Letting your dreams come to life through one medium or another. You’re making art.
Good.
Please take care of yourself.
I know, I know. Pot, kettle. I’ve been struggling with self-care, myself. Seeing therapists, taking medication, working through issues through journaling and my Innercom Chatter project (more on that as it develops), allowing myself breaks and celebrating minor victories. Unfortunately, I have not done things like eat regular meals, get more exercise, stick to my vegan path as much as I’d like, or remain in strong communication with friends. I mean, I’m not shutting myself off, but I’m not exactly being outgoing and gregarious either. It’s usually an invitation from a friend that gets me out, not me seeking to be around friends. It’s a narrow distinction.
Anyway. Self-care is a thing you should be doing.
Whether you’re caught up in creating, berating yourself for not creating enough, or hating whatever it is you’ve created, remind yourself that it’s okay. You’re only human. You’re allowed to give yourself some breathing room, take breaks, and breathe, for crying out loud. It’s something I need to remind myself of every day, and yes, some days are better than others. That’ll be the way for you, too.
Just remember that you’re worth taking care of. And, at the end of the day, the best and most reliable person you have to take care of you is you.
Two cents from the edge.
“Everything is terrible and nothing is not on fire.”
I’m sure most of the people who read this know, but for those of you don’t, I’ve been diagnosed with bipolar disorder. This consists of cycling between two modes of thought and mood: depression and mania. In my case, as my disorder is less severe than others, the opposite of depression for me is “hypomania”. While other factors may cause me to cycle rapidly between different moods – my case worker calls this “emotional reactivity” and suggests it’s different from bipolar – the depressive state and the hypomanic state are different baselines.
I am very aware of when I’m depressed.
Hypomanic, less so.
Over the past week or so, I have had a hypomanic episode.
Maniacs do highly obvious and out-of-character things when they are in the throes of an episode. Hypomania is more subtle, and in that way, more destructive. Hypomania is unrestrained energy and attachment to joyous, uplifting, or simply distracting things. It’s a tendency to spend more money than one really should, losing track of budgets, and accruing debt. It’s ignoring self-care in favor of being out, having fun, and indulging in pleasures, vices, and ultimately self-destructive behaviors which are also damaging to others.
The problem is, these things are fun, and in the midst of an episode, I feel happy.
Please understand that, as I write this, I do not consider it an excuse for my behavior, or for decisions I’ve made. This is an explanation. Like the discovery of motive during a criminal trial, my realization of the episode explains some of the poor decisions I’ve made. Those decisions were still made by me, and I must accept responsibility for them and deal with their consequences. It’s more than making apologies and admitting I’ve fucked up. It is making an active effort to do better, act better, be better.
It begins with admitting that I am not okay.
My instinct is to run away from things. To cut ties with the people I’ve hurt and go into radio silence. To push away those who care about me. To crawl into a hole and pull it closed after me. But what would that change? How would that help me and, more importantly, people I’ve hurt? The answer is that it wouldn’t. These things are knee-jerk reactions caused by swinging back downwards into depression.
I need help. I must discuss with professionals ways to be more aware of swings into hypomania, if there is medication to give my mental state a “ceiling”, and what else I can do to establish a balanced mental baseline. I am already on medication, mood stabilizers, to mitigate some of the swings. However, since my baseline is typically low (I stay depressed for months and this hypomanic episode was a mere few days) I need to find ways to raise it. In the meantime, I need to return to more focused, more active self-care. Cleaning up my messes. Sleeping more. Eating. Looking myself in the mirror and knowing that I won’t like what I see.
I neither expect nor demand help from my friends. Professionals, yes. Friends, no. I have some great people in my life who will want to help and give advice. I’ll accept what I’m given but I won’t make a habit of asking. The last thing I want is to cause further discomfort or give the impression I’m using any of the above to manipulate the situation in my favor. I’m not a con man. This is not a game. This is damage control.
I am not okay.
And I won’t be okay until I deal with this aspect of my issues, first and foremost, before anybody else gets hurt.
So I’m going to do that.
I can’t even begin to fully articulate what the last few weeks have been like for me.
Hospital. Near-eviction. Rapid, rabid mood swings. Disastrous car trouble. More car trouble. Moving. PAX. Yelling. Broken phones. Tears.
And yet…
Here I am. Whole. Unbowed. Determined. Unbent. Successful. Unbroken.
If I can survive this, I can probably survive just about anything. And despite the best efforts of my badbrain (which can be broken down into “head weasels” as my friend Faust puts it), I survived.
I’m sitting in the new apartment with things boxed up and some furniture needing assembly and distribution to rooms, but for the most part, it’s starting to feel comfortably like home. I can walk down to the nearby transit center, getting some very welcome daily cardio, and catch a bus downtown. I work there, now, at a lovely Starbucks, slinging coffee and smiling at folks who just want to get through their meetings or finish filing TPS reports. I remember that life, and I don’t envy them a bit. Getting back into food service has been like falling off of a bike: easy, and while it might have scraped me up a bit, gravity is a good force for teaching you how to pace yourself.
After my shift, I can walk up the hill to the Seattle Central Library, and write in a secluded, quiet space. I have some new ideas for the novel, and while I cringe at the thought of going back to the beginning to adjust something, I know it’ll benefit all future revisions and edits, as well as the final product. So that’s another to-do list item to check off come Tuesday.
For now, though, I’m resting and recouperating.
PAX was fantastic, in and of itself. I’ve often said that working a show brings out the best version of myself. Being around people I love and haven’t seen in months can kick me into a bit of a manic state, and I use that energy for positive, productive ends. I ride the demon; I do not let it ride me. It’s a mindset I need to continue to maintain outside of shows, and I’m hopeful that working a well-defined job with a solid schedule can help me do that. At PAX, I’m now in a managerial position, and this last show saw me helping with a new department. From all accounts, it went quite well. I’ve now been tapped for similar work with GeekGirlCon, and I predict making it to most if not all of the PAX shows in 2016. It’s a huge part of my life and a major inspiration.
As for everything else, the darkest of my dark thoughts feel far more irrational and distant than even a week before this writing. I’ve gotten my medication adjusted, and I’m seeing therapists again on a regular basis. I’m doing my utmost to keep lines of communication open and maintain honesty, without being cruel or unfeeling. Thinking before I speak, that sort of thing. It feels like this has been sort of a ‘soft reset’, on many levels. And I plan on making the most of it.
It feels like I’ve been away. Almost as if I’ve been separated from myself. I haven’t lost sight of my goals, but after everything I’ve been through in the past few weeks, those goals no longer seem so distant, so unobtainable. I can’t pretend that I don’t have hard work ahead of me. But at the same time, it’s work for which I’m suited. Telling stories. Seeing people as people. Listening. Feeling. Thinking on a situation and giving advice that not only placates, but guides and reinforces.
I am a good writer. A good friend. A good worker. A good person.
Nobody can take those things away from me.
Not even me.
I’ve long had a great deal of respect for Sir Terry Pratchett. His novels set on the unique and impossible geography of Discworld have spoken to me for more than a decade. Good Omens is one of the best novels I’ve ever read. His prolific and unrelenting schedule of writing and releasing his works simultaneously inspired me and made me feel woefully inadequate to the challenge of being a published author.
And then, later in life, my respect for him only grew due to the following statement, made in 2009:
“It should be possible for someone stricken with a serious and ultimately fatal illness to choose to die peacefully with medical help, rather than suffer.”
For the most part, suicide has little to do with making a statement or getting attention. It’s about pain. People want to make the conscious choice to stop their pain, or to remove a perceived pain being inflicted upon others. Those afflicted with a terminal illness do not wish to become a burden to their loved ones, nor do they feel strong enough to go through a protracted, withering, slow death, especially if they suffer from a condition for which there is no known cure.
Those of a similar mindset to the one Sir Terry entertained have a desire to have a peaceful, quiet, dignified death, an opportunity to clearly and completely bid farewell to their loved ones. I can’t see anything wrong with that. Especially if someone has lived a full and productive life, and brought joy and enlightenment to others, perhaps even the world, I think they deserve to be empowered to make that choice. Our brains are how we process the experience of our lives, and in most cases, the engine that drives our dreams and our ambitions. If that is going to fail you, and you know that you must face months or years of slow deterioration of everything you and your loved ones once held dear, can you honestly say that choice should be denied to you?
Thoughts of suicide often accompany mental illnesses as well as terminal ones. There is often a perception that things are worse than they are. The result of ill-advised actions or incomplete communication result in distrust, damaged relationships, even the devastation of rejection, loss, and abandonment. Be they the victim or the cause of it, the individual feels their pain keenly and perceives the pain in others. They want it to stop. Especially in the cases of those who have been through one similar experience too many, ending their pain once and for all presents itself as a viable option.
This is not something I can objectively comment upon, save to say that help is available, and things are rarely as bad as they seem. If you or a loved one suffers from a mental disorder, and self-harm is imminent or feared, the index of suicide hotlines in the United States can be reached at (800) 273-8255. The counselors can help you.
Trust me – there is hope.
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