Hello! Happy New Year and Happy February – how did it get to be February? Wasn’t it just Christmas or do I just think that because there are a couple of Santas still hanging around in my living room? Hmmmm, perhaps I should get them back up in the attic.
I’m sorry I’ve been away – some of you have written and checked up on me – thanks! I’m okay just a little all over the place at the moment.
I’m back in college, getting my degree in graphic design. I know, last time I was here I was a Life Coach – I still am, it’s just that I’ve gotten lots of requests for business cards, stationery and other design media from other Coaches so I sort of fell into the ink well and figured I should add on to my natural talents with the technical stuff. I like school – a lot!!! It gets me out of the house and I’m good at graphic design so that’s always a good ego booster.
I’m changing the Bipolar Chick website – it had started getting old and my first attempt at changing it was a little too “fluffy & sweet” all flowers and pinks and purples. I’m sweet and soft but I can also be strong, stubborn, single-minded and a little sour and I think the site should reflect that more.
So I’ve been wandering in the woods of “no motivation” but I can see the exit from here and I’m thankful that there is no snow out there – just a little rain.
I hope that my readers will return and that my new and hopefully improved musings, resources and information will bring a giggle, smile, heady conversation and strong debate.
There’s a lot going on in the states and a lot of it has been blamed on “crazy, mentally ill folks”, we need to talk about these things – we need to change these things.
I hope you’ll hang out and share your thoughts!
Peace and Power are ours for the taking – let’s grab some!
I have been coping with chronic pain for some time now and it has left me with a low level pervasive depression. I think I would rather have full blown depression – this nagging, lethargic feeling sucks! I saw my Psychiatrist a week and a half ago and we upped some of my meds, in hopes of lifting this wet, wool coat thrown over my head feeling. It may be starting to work but I can’t be sure yet. There are good signs – I did not take a nap on Saturday; I tried to take a nap on Sunday but didn’t fall asleep – so I got up and cleaned a little; I woke up this morning – courtesy of Finn (the Chow Chow) – at 3:45 and when I didn’t fall back to sleep I got up and cleaned some more – and I’m not tired. So maybe I’m starting to feel better.
Ooohhh…another sign – I’m writing this. Ever since I heard Jackie Chan tell Jaden Smith, “Your focus needs more focus” I’ve been itching to use the phrase – so here it is. And I’m not using it lightly – my focus does need more focus – so that’s what I’m doing (eyes closed) – focus, ommmmm (deep cleansing breath); more focus, ommmmmm (deep cleansing breath)…maybe Fox News shouldn’t be on in the background…focus, ommmmmm (deep cleansing breath).
So, in an effort to give my focus more focus I will (like Alice in Wonderland), ‘believe in six impossible things before breakfast.’
1. Brushing my teeth and showering before 8am
2. Decide what is for dinner for the next week and create grocery list
3. Will go to the grocery store
4. Lunch with a girlfriend
5. Gym – maybe, but definitely working out today
6. Write and write some more
I’m off to deal with #1. I hope that you have a wonderful day and that you too can believe in six impossible things before breakfast.
19th Century French Poet Charles Baudelaire once said,
“There are moments of existence when time and space are more profound, and the awareness of existence is immensely heightened.”
11 years ago, the universe and bipolar disorder converged in such a way that awareness of my illness was unavoidable. The rapid cycle of depression, mania and depression again took place very publicly at work. It’s hard to dismiss hiding under my desk and banging my head against the wall as just another typical bad day. I worked in the accounting department of a large company in Alexandria, Virginia. I managed the corporate credit cards of 4 offices – that’s a lot of people trusting me to pay their expense reports. Ultimately this meant that almost everyone witnessed my meltdown.
But here’s the thing – once I was diagnosed it never occurred to me to keep the information private. People asked and I answered, truthfully. It seems being surrounded by the creative energy of authors, artists and musicians was to my benefit – they simply saw bipolar disorder as par for the creative course. Where I had once been known at work as Research Girl, I was forever researching their purchases – I had become known affectionately as Bipolar Chick.
The awareness and acceptance of my friends and co-workers made my recovery an easier task because I didn’t go through it alone. I spoke openly and frequently about my illness – with anyone who would listen, especially my young daughters.
My family’s openness and many questions expanded not only their awareness of mental illness but also my own. I quickly became an expert in my triggers, my needs and my maintained recovery.
When my then 12 year-old daughter became depressed and began cutting after being treated for cancer, her knowledge of the hereditary nature of mental illness gave her the courage to ask for help. Managing my illness provided my husband and me the skills to assist her doctor’s in her recovery. It also equipped us with the awareness of when I needed to step away for self preservation.
There is no doubt that my mental illness affected our children.
In 2009 our middle daughter, Jackie, graduated with a bachelor’s in Psychology – apparently I had proven an interesting case study. Now 23 she volunteers with NAMI in her home state of NJ.
I’m proud to say that Kate, our brave cancer survivor is now 20 and healthy both physically and mentally. She’s a junior in college pursuing a degree in culinary arts. She specializes in baking and pastries.
Over the years I’ve helped many friends seek the mental health assistance that they needed, some were diagnosed with a mental illness – some had situational issues to manage but all were comfortable coming to me for my thoughts and information.
In 2009, I have left the corporate world of finance and became a certified life and wellness coach. I work with many people, some who suffer with mental illness some who do not. I share my experiences and the tools that I have learned in an effort to help them find their own path towards awareness and recovery.
Helen Keller once said, “Walking in the dark with a friend, is better than walking alone in the light.”
As for my nickname, Bipolar Chick has evolved into my way of owning my illness. It makes me feel strong and not a victim of heredity or circumstance. It has become no different than calling myself a red head or a writer or an advocate. I wear the name proudly.
In closing, I’d like to share a poem written by my daughter Kate when she was 13.
Dear Mom:
In all these short years I’ve lived – We’ve gone through many things
Things we many not speak of – Things we did enjoy
Days when we both thought we’d break – Bright memories that we share
All those time I cried – You were always there
No one can replace you – No one can come close
All the help you’ve given me – I treasure you the most.
What’s not to like about me? Seriously! I’m nice and caring. I enjoy helping people. I love animals – how can there be something bad about a dog lover? I’m at a loss and my hair is on fire over it. Over what you ask? A person in a group I belong to does not like me.
This person is a pretty big and important (must remember to genuflect when I see ‘em – hmph) part of the group. We’ve only met once. Yet, they have put out the word that I do not “present” myself well. Really? That’s some impression I managed to make by saying hello, stating my name and answering one question. After that question I was never called on again for input. We spoke briefly either at lunch or at the end – I don’t really remember – and I don’t remember much of anything being spoken about.
I do wonder if my alter ego of Bipolar Chick got under this person’s skin – they are a very “Person First language only” kind of person. Honestly, I don’t have any issue with the whole “person first” idea – If you don’t know what that means, it is a consumer saying “I have bipolar disorder” – basically, I’m a person not my illness - Okay, that works for some and my way works for others, I actually use both – am I being too sensitive? I know everyone doesn’t have to like everyone else but this person is rude and dismissive towards me and I don’t like it.
I do have to say that I thought the meeting where we met was useless – a bunch of people complaining and stating what they would like changed with virtually no idea or plan on how to change anything. Everyone spoke over each other and since it was my first – and last – meeting I had no idea what was going on so I listened and attempted to decipher. They discussed a lot of issues that I have not ever had to deal with – extended hospitalization – I’ve only been to a psych hospital once and refused to let them keep me; insurance issues – I’ve got military insurance thanks to my husband and I’ve never had a problem with it regarding my mental health; I’ve never been arrested, never beaten anyone up or brandished a weapon – something many have done. Maybe I’m not mentally ill enough.
Groups like this talk about being inclusive and welcoming – as long as you fit into their mold, – you know the whole “misery loves company” crap.
Well, I spend enough time with myself feeling miserable – why the hell would I want to hang out with a group that simply perpetuates the feeling? Why is it some groups feel the need to only piss and moan? Frequently, I find that these groups meet in hiding and only show their support when they are with others just like them. I do understand that not everyone can be as free wheeling with their issues as I choose to be. And maybe this s group just isn’t for me. I know not everyone wants to be open about their illness but I do think that those of us who have accepted it and don’t really have a chip on their shoulder should get out there and reach out to those who don’t have an understanding of mental illness. I don’t carry stigma about my mental illness – that’s right – I’VE GOT A MENTAL ILLNESS! <sorry, that was me being a bit loud>
Ugh! I hate feeling this way – I feel judged and I’m offended, I feel the need to justify my position and I shouldn’t have to do that. On the other hand, why do I care? I don’t have to see this person and frankly, I thought they carried a rather large chip on their shoulders and I didn’t think they were very nice, inclusive or welcoming.
Hey, I don’t like them either!
So I say, there is plenty of room in the world for the “person first” people and the Bipolar Chicks of the universe – there are more of us then previously suspected.
I’m having a Bipolar Summer and I want it to be over now. It’s September and I need it to be Autumn but I live in NC and it feels the need to be 90 some degrees here —Grrr Arghhh – let me share how I feel. Thanks for listening (reading…you know what I mean).
September 15, 2010
I love September with its crisp back- to- school mornings and breezy open-windowed evenings. There are nights when I would prefer to just sleep outside, the temperature and the smells of autumn are very calming. Maybe that’s why I seem to eat better during the autumn something about the apple cinnamon and crunchy leaves makes me quiet and introspective – not in a summer rush. And yet the rush of summer still lingers as I try to slow down and accomplish something, anything.
I spent my day working around my office – it’s a mess, sometimes I wonder if hoarding is just around the corner. After a long day I went to physical therapy. I like working out but I’ve got to tell you, PT sucks. Let’s face it, at the gym if it hurts – I don’t do it but in PT – tough cookies if it hurts – push through. Ugh. At least I like my physical therapist or I did – seems some weird restrictions from my insurance doesn’t let me see two of the therapists in the office but I can see the other two – ??? Sadly, I really liked my last therapist, the new guy is fine but last guy is better. So I got beat up for an hour and now I’m sore. Did I mention I had a minor car accident last week?
It was so stupid; I was rushing for a 10 a.m. appointment and bamm. But wait; let me back up a couple of hours. My day began with an online check of my cell phone bill, my account had been broken into to the tune of $3,000 and I’ve been working with the fraud department for three weeks – so trust me when I say that spending yet another hour on the phone with them as I changed passwords and user ids for the umpteenth time was not making for a bright morning. Once my daily cell phone issues were handled I was running about 10 minutes later than I’d planned but wasn’t yet worried. I ran upstairs to hop in the shower and blew out the electric to the entire bedroom – we’d been having an issue and hadn’t had time to deal with it, I flipped a switch and darkness. I went downstairs and flipped the breaker, nothing, I called my husband and found out the secret trick to resetting the breaker – all the way to the left, then back to the right and viola – light, more accurately – blow dryer.
Now, I was running about 20 minutes later than expected so I jumped in my car, plugged the address into my GPS and proceeded to back up. I never saw the garbage can – and it’s big and I knew it was trash day, but I was late. Aggravated and blaming my husband for his placement of the trash can (never mind that it had already been picked up and was in the middle of my driveway courtesy of our local trash guys), I pulled forward, slammed the car into park and jumped out to move the can. I had just passed the driver’s side passenger door when I realized that the jeep was moving backward and headed down the very steep hill I live on. I could hear the trash can being scrunched and I knew that my neighbors park behind us across the street, so I did what anyone would do – I grabbed for the door and tried to make it stop. No, it didn’t work. The passenger door flew open and managed to slam into my shoulder as I scrambled to the open driver’s door and flung myself in – head first – to pull the emergency break. I pulled the 4 wheel drive instead. Still hearing the crunching of the garbage can and certain I was going to hit something soon – I catapulted myself into the car and slammed on the breaks! The whole incident probably took 30 seconds but the searing pain and swelling on my left side started quickly – the bruises would make their multi-colored appearances later in the day.
Once the car was back in the driveway and turned off, I retrieved the trash can to find that neither it nor my car had sustained any evidence of the incident. I, however, was shaking and sweating and really running late. Somehow, I managed to make it to my meeting only a couple of minutes late – it was a good meeting.
So here I am, a week later telling you that – Yes Virginia, you can run yourself over with your own car. My physical therapist asked me why I would do such a thing – ‘I needed some drama’ was all I said. And then the work out and pain commenced.
Okay, enough bitching. I really just wanted to say that I’m excited for the fall – the colors, the smells, the food – it all makes me very happy. Now all I have to do is slow down enough to enjoy it.
Oh, and today was trash day…I moved the trash can before even opening the garage, thus locking myself out of the house – sigh. Thank goodness my daughter slept through her first class!
There are certain comments/questions that I never want to hear when I am in the midst of a depressive episode. Need a few? How about – “Pull yourself up by your bootstraps.” Another? “You don’t look depressed.” Still not shaking your head, try – “Have you given your life over to God?” Okay, I’m not making any kind of religious statement here, I’m comfortable with my belief system and my religious views aren’t really important here. And, my sister would readily admit that she has asked me that question. My response – doesn’t matter and because her words didn’t help.
So there you have it – please don’t try to cajole me with lame platitudes when I can barely get out of bed. It’s just one of the many complicated and sometimes contradictory rules in the world according to Deb (as my mom would say) and speaking of my mom. Hmmmmm, where to start? To be fair, I have to state that while I know the pain of the losses she has suffered in the last 18 months, I cannot say that I understand. It’s much like when the doctor asks me, “on a scale of 1 to 10, where is your pain”; my number on that random scale of pain really means nothing to him unless he is able to understand my definition of pain. I rarely give a number anymore – I just remind the doctor that I’ve had gastric bypass, two cervical spine surgeries, a spinal tap and the migraine to go with it – I’ve been unable to walk while seeing dead people – my scale of pain is a little skewed. But I digress…
My mom…(let me take a deep, cleansing breath), in the last 18 months she has tirelessly cared for and lost both her partner of 23 years and her beloved baby brother. My uncle’s death was extremely difficult partly because he was younger than her but also because his dying from lung cancer was slowly brutal. When Joe, her partner – they never married – passed away, Mom broke a little. That was when I began to see my mother disappear into deep grief, ever flowing tears, confusion and lack of focus. I brought her home with me after his funeral, just so she could be far away on her birthday – it was only a couple of days later. Four months after Joe’s death, my grandmother’s partner of 35 years – they never married (I’ll address that family tradition at another time), John, passed away after a long fight with bladder cancer. At one point, mom was caring for Joe, John, my grandmother, and my nephew all at the same time – so many would crumble under the pressure but she carried on strong. A month after John’s death she got the news from her brother – stage 3b lung cancer. And still she hung on – dutiful sister mode which is a mode no one should ever underestimate. Mom would run up to Connecticut (from NJ) to visit her brother and help out his wife. In NJ she was taking care of my grandmother – a difficult task complicated by a difficult mother daughter relationship. Mom also took care of my eldest nephew (a story for another time). I began to notice Mom’s need to be part of her brother’s care even at a time when she was only holding on by her fingernails. Mom’s emotional trek into end of life illness began in June of 2008 and came to a heart breaking end with my uncle’s death in April of 2010. The mom I knew slipped away during those 22 months.
After April Mom threw herself back into work (she retired several years ago), she forgot things – like my nephew’s high school graduation – she made excuses about not being able to help out her mother. She did lots of things that made her sound like a petulant 17 year old. And here’s why I should be slapped…I got angry with her. I couldn’t understand the things she was saying or doing so I stopped calling, I pulled away the way people tend to pull away from the erratic behavior of those slipping into the abyss. But here’s the difference – I’ve slipped into the abyss – hell, I’ve jumped into it – I should have seen what was happening, I should have recognized the behavior but I didn’t – I stopped talking to her instead.
I finally spoke with her a couple of days ago and I said the things a daughter might say – “Mom, are you getting enough help? Do you realize you’re in major depression? Why are you having such a hard time?” Yeah, that last one was the kicker. She cried – a lot – during our call, she expressed her guilt over the fact that she had not “gotten over” her losses as quickly as everyone. She cried some more. I made suggestions – tried to tell her what she needed to do (wrong move). I don’t think I came off as angry just sympathetic. Oy vey – sympathetic – ugh! When I’m depressed I don’t want your sympathy. Sympathy has a way of making me feel guilty for feeling bad, empathy is what I desire. What’s the difference? Sympathy is the ability to understand someone else’s pain with compassion and sensitivity. Sympathy tends to lead those giving it to say things like, “I know how you feel” (no, really, you don’t) or “It’ll get better soon, I promise” (how the hell can you promise that? How? I’m drowning in a tar pit – better is nowhere on my radar!”) Get it? For me, sympathy can sound dismissive, demeaning and it can produce internal guilt and then anger.
Empathy is the ability to “put yourself in one’s shoes”, to suffer with me. Okay, I don’t really hope that my loved one’s can truly empathize with my situation but empathy to me means that you know me and you recognize that I’m in “that” place again, which may mean you need to leave me alone and say nothing or get me to the doctor – also saying nothing, not trying to “help” with words – empathy is an unspoken feeling between two people who are close to each other. Sympathy is what you feel for “that poor person” and I don’t want to feel like, “that poor person”.
So there it is, I reacted the same way lots of people would react – “poor Mom”, but I know better and I could have done better. Now I’m trying to figure out how to express this to my Mom, that I should have done better – I need to call her, to tell her that I’ve been there, to empathize with her – I’m just not sure how to do that with my own mother.
Hey, sorry it took a couple of days longer than I thought to get back to the blog. So, where did I leave you hanging? Oh, April – good times.
In the days since I last wrote I decided that overly explaining the last three months might just dig up more dirt than I like to deal with – so here’s a quick recap (I’ll do my best to keep it short – no promises).
May 2010: Physical Trauma
EMG: electromyography – needles stuck into the muscles of my right arm (yes, the arm that hurts constantly) causing them to contract, therefore, measuring the electrical activity or lack thereof. The first time I had this done the doctor told me that he’d had patients pass out from the pain – whoo hooo.
CT Myelogram: doctor’s deceiving way of scheduling a spinal tap – scary and very painful
Spinal Headache: began the day after the spinal tap – it was, without any doubt, the worst pain I have ever felt, I actually hallucinated, seeing my dead uncle – it went on for four days before I was sent back to the hospital.
Blood Patch: the medieval torture device used as a diversionary tactic. Another lumbar puncture that is filled with your own blood meant to clot thus “patching” the hole that was leaking spinal fluid that they (the doctors) caused five days earlier. Headache was gone in 20 or so minutes but the patch did something to the nerves in my legs leaving me unable to walk or stand up straight for three more days.
Results: I’m a medical mystery – doctor has no idea – my mind is starting to bend around the edges.
Further Tests: Since the trauma of the last week or so netted no new information it’s time for me to move on from the orthopedic doc and on to the neurologist. I’m told that I may have anything from fibromyalgia to multiple sclerosis. It’s been 8 weeks and I’m still waiting for the physical therapy that was ordered (insurance and idiots can’t be pushed to work any faster than they can).
June 2010: Emotional Trauma
This month remains filled with physical pain. My right side hurts all the time and no one really seems to understand how the constant pain wears on my fragile sanity. And then the unthinkable…
On June 23, 2010 my beloved dog, Sam – who would have been 2 yrs old on June 25, died in my husband’s arms on my kitchen floor. I’ve written about this already and honestly all I can say a month later is that the pain in my heart has been worse than any pain I’ve felt – I’m still dealing with it. The hardest part has been the feeling of isolation as no one else has been as affected.
I went to Mississippi with my husband to see Sam’s breeder, he was so devastated by Sam’s death that his daughter called me and said that they had a 15 week old cream boy that had not found a home and we could have him, all we had to do was pick him up. Finn was home with us in six days.
July 2010: Some healing begins but then my mom steps in
I ran around a lot at the end of June and the first two weeks of July – any time I stopped moving I was filled with grief, so I kept moving. I ran to the Vet, the pet store, worked at training Finn. I got things ready to go and spend a week at the beach with the girls. I did laundry, packed and repacked. I ran everywhere and nowhere just to avoid having time to feel.
But we can’t outrun our grief and mine found me sitting on a beach at 9 a.m. I had planned to just chill out with my ipod but I had let it die and there I sat – no music to drown out the crashing waves. The breeze gently whirled through my hair as the already hot summer sun beat down upon my body. I was frozen in my chair, no muscle willing to move – sometimes your body knows better than your head – the tears were slow and heavy when they began, the rock in my chest caught each time a breath forced its way into my lungs. I called out Sam’s name as the tears became a steady downfall. For the first time in three weeks my world became quiet and the pain of losing Sam crashed over my heart with the waves.
I came home from the beach on my birthday – I love my birthday. I like to be remembered on my day, with cards and phone calls, emails and text messages – I don’t need presents – I’ve got stuff, no need for more. Every year I have a good birthday week that is almost always shattered by one person – my mom (aka Supreme Leader of Triggers). For 46 years she has done what must be accepted as her best – sadly for me, the late cards, the phone calls from her car and the very strange gifts are interpreted by my 17 year old brain as just her way of telling me I’m just not that important. I’m sure she’d be shocked to know how I feel and would refer to it as the rules according to Debbie (I hate being called Debbie). Oh well.
August 2010: New Beginnings?
August starts tomorrow; I’ve got my fingers crossed for a better half of the year. I have my first physical therapy appointment on the 3rd as well as an appointment with a new neurologist. I have several appointments that are business related and I’ve joined a gym – with a pool – squeal. I am taking steps to feel better – too bad I still just want to stay in bed.
Wow, that was longer than I expected – it just sort of poured out. I’ll be on my way now but hope to be back soon and with better news. Bipolar Chick is kicking and screaming to burst out of Deb’s pity party.
I’ve been gone from my social network since the middle of May, I’d love to say that I was doing exciting and rewarding things but mostly I’ve been trying to dodge the tornado of pain that has wracked my mind, body and soul – very dramatic stuff, I assure you. Actually any one of the life experiences I’ve had so far this year would not be such a big deal had they occurred one at a time instead of a whirling dervish bent on knocking me over and keeping me on the floor. Sure they would hurt and a couple of them would have been as painful as they were even if they had happened alone but I’ve been stuck in a wind tunnel stuck on high and wild.
Here’s a recap of the first seven months of 2010.
January: My husband is laid off from work for the first time in his life – his depression presents as argumentative, boiling anger and self-loathing – good times. As for me, I was shipped off to an orthopedic doctor with hopes of finding the cause of neck and arm pain that had plagued me since August 2009.
February: Husband’s depression becomes darker as his nerves become more sensitive to everything. Our youngest daughter struggled with choices of college majors – for the umpteenth time – she dropped out of the semester at the end of the month – we lost all of the cost of that semester, not a financial issue I really wanted to have with my unemployed husband. As for me…I found out that I had adjacent disc degeneration with a bulging disc and would need surgery to alleviate my arm and neck pain. I did get to spend a wonderful weekend in snow encased DC to celebrate a friend’s 50th birthday – of course while I was there (in DC) I was called by my doctor’s office to schedule the Anterior Cervical Discectomy with Fusion that I would be having the following Friday – buzz kill. February ended with my surgery.
March: Six weeks of recovery. Boring, stay in bed, take my meds and sleep kind of recovery. I felt really good¬ – something different then the first ACDF that I had in 2005. Feeling good created a problem – I wanted to get up and move but when fusion is involved you can’t lift anything heavier than a gallon of milk and movement should be limited at least for a couple of weeks. I forced myself to stay in bed for seven days and then I went back to life. Unfortunately, my neck and arm pain didn’t seem better – at all.
April: Husband still unemployed and starting to really feel the pressure of financial instability – I still have pain killers so I’m not caught up in the financial reality that would usually have me running to the grocery store to stock the house with food (it’s a weird thing I do when I feel broke). When I went back to the orthopedic surgeon my lack of recovery from pain hurts his pride as he is certain that he did all that his godly hands could do. According to him I should not hurt – sorry to disappoint. The doc schedules a CT Myelogram because now that I have two titanium plates in my neck an MRI won’t show nerve compression – he also schedules an EMG (it involves long needles shoved into my muscles and moved around to register nerve damage – I had it twice before – fun stuff). As all of these tests are being scheduled my uncle succumbs to lung cancer. Approximately 30 hours in the car while wearing a neck brace, several days with way too many family members and just the shear emotional exhaustion of a funeral leaves me teetering at the precipice of depression.
Okay, I don’t know about you dear reader but I’m finding all of this stuff a bit depressing so I’m going to give us all a break and cut it off here for now. I’ll finish in a couple of days and I promise there is more crappy stuff to come – it’s been a helluva year so far.
I’d like to share a coping skill that I use when I feel that depression is sinking into my heart and soul.
I know when it’s coming, the signs may be unseen by others and they are surely quiet and sneaky to me but I’ve learned to see them from a distance; sleeping in the middle of the day (I work from home – so I can take a nap), slowing down in my movement and thinking, and a desire to listen to sad music (I have a play list – it’s a BIG sign). So what can I do to take control of this situation and stave off the oncoming pain? I use music therapy and here is how it goes:
I play my sad song play list – these songs include: “Hurt” by Christina Aguilera, “Little Rock” by Colin Raye (I can’t really explain that one), “Wild Horses” by Charlotte Martin and more.
Once I have adequately driven myself into my pain the music changes to angrier stuff: “Bitch” by Meredith Brooks, “Breaking the Habit” by Linkin Park, “She Hates Me” by Puddle of Mud and “Break Stuff” by Limp Bizkit – this is awesome “get my ass out of bed” music!
Now, once I am significantly annoyed with myself for letting depression in the door, I listen to my empowering and sunshiny music: “Ain’t Nothin Wrong with That” by Robert Randolph, “I Don’t Need a Man” by the Pussycat Dolls, “It’s My Life” by Bon Jovi and “The Prayer of St. Francis” by Sarah McLachlan.
And now my day can continue, I have taken control, allowed myself some time to wallow and then moved on to angry and finally and most importantly I become empowered to take back my day. This may not work for anyone else and I would suggest if you wish to try it that you put all the music on one CD as you may not know when to move to the angry stuff. Let me also suggest that you create your CD when you are in a good, stable mood – it allows you to monitor the music you choose, falling off the cliff is not permitted.
So here is my thought for the day – Bipolar Disorder doesn’t mean I’m broken ~ it means I’m AMPLIFIED (and so is my music)
Oh, one last note: when my husband hears the sad music, he knows what’s happening and he is on alert to make sure the angry music shows up- he’s a great guy!
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