I curve my feet to
this path of rocks sharp roots, loss
I stumble fall rise
by 
Oh Yeah
Two words. They were in a text I received and felt like a splash of cold water in my face. For the second time in less than a week, I was experiencing one of those “oh yeah” moments. It’s so easy at such a point to turn and berate myself for losing sight of something (2 somethings, actually) so integral to my wellness. But I am human and I forget and get distracted and carry on as expected, until I can’t. Then, I remember.
This time though, life itself sent me reminders before I found myself in a full blown free fall.
A few days ago, I had a hard conversation with one of the few people in my life I feel safe enough to have hard conversations with, my husband. Afterward, I found myself on the sofa because it had been a long day and my pain was front and center. Within about 2 seconds I found myself weeping and lost in the grief of life. I am learning to let my emotions be present and move through me (that’s the hope anyway), so I continued to rest and cry, as memories of one hard thing after another rolled over me like waves. I wasn’t crying from the physical pain, but I think it’s often the vehicle for stripping me of my very last “I’m ok” mask- the one that feels so familiar I usually don’t realize I’m wearing it.
Later, as I was catching up on some reading, I found myself reading an article about a woman’s experience with Bipolar 2 and that’s when it happened: “oh yeah, I have that.”, and then, “Maybe it’s contributing to my current emotional chaos”.
Now this particular writer just happens to have what’s commonly referred to as Rapid Cycling, which I also have. Plus, she put her finger on what it’s like to live in Mixed States, another nuance of this disease that applies to me. As I read, I felt so much relief. I mean, so much! First, just the reminder that I’m not alone in this living with mental Illness thing. But more than that, it gives me a hook to hang my life experience on, a container it fits into, and that helps my brain to rest. Believe me, my brain at rest is highly sought after yet seldom experienced.
So for those of you who may be thinking something like, those words (Bipolar, Rapid Cycling, Mixed States) are just labels and labels cause damage or add shame, or something similar, let me clarify. Labels are just words, and while I do believe strongly in the power of words, I think the “power” attributed to mental illness labels has more to do with stigma and shaming that comes from culture. In my opinion, a label is an explanation not a definition. The labeling words I use to describe my own experience of mental illness help me in the process of self-understanding and self-acceptance, and they can make it more likely that I will get the help and support I need.
My second “oh yeah” moment occurred yesterday and involved the text message I referred to earlier. The two words? High Functioning. In this particular text, those words were not about me, but they are. I have a friend who has a similar struggle with Bipolar 2 and is also considered “High Functioning”, and we have had many conversations about the consequences of being so put together and capable. Really! We both agree that showing up and doing life as expected (and often more) day after day, month after month, while you simultaneously feel like you’re dying inside or going crazy because your brain is in overdrive, makes it really hard to get the help and support needed to maintain stability. Looking good on the outside turns out to work against us.
I’m grateful for these reminders. Please don’t hear me say I love having this illness, as if I’m trying to silver-line this cloud. But, as the saying goes, “it is what it is”, and my life is much better in every way since I have (mostly) accepted my diagnosis. I’m enduring my least favorite season with a little less dread and a little more medication rather than suffering through it like I normally do. That only can happen because I accept my illness and work within its parameters to be as healthy as I can be.
Bipolar Disorder is not who I am but it is a part of me. It brings gifts of many kinds and my intention is to keep my hands open. I don’t want to miss the gifts.
by Stories From Childhood, Part 7: Canal
I loved to play among the icy wonderland of the canal in winter. I spent the hours from stepping off the school bus until dark, creating frozen imaginary worlds. My nose runny, fingers numb, I squatted in the bottom of the ditch, protected from the fierce wind- outside and in The House- in a world of my own.
by Stories From Childhood, Part 6: Mean Man
We think he shot our dog. At least dad thinks so. I’m not sure he had a wife but sometimes, some woman or other, lived there. He had 2 girls; one was friends with my sister but the younger one was mean like her dad. Maybe she was just scared. Rumor was he was cruel to his horses. His place was run down and surrounded by old run down cars. And his goats were always getting out. One day, a mean old goat butted poor Mrs B. (who dad said was “big as a barn”), all the way from her mailbox at the end of the road, home. When riding my bike by his house, I pedaled extra fast.
by Stories From Childhood, Part 5: The Hill
The Hill was where the rich people lived, I guess. But most of all, The Hill was for careening down, on bike in summer and sled in winter. Once in 5th grade, the boy I liked called me the “B word”. Affronted, I ran home to tell my big brother. He promptly accompanied me back to the scene of the incident. Confronting my would-be love, my brother wrested the sled from his hands and shoved it, sideways, down and over the nearest post. I can still feel the shocked look on my face.
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