Modern Mommy:

The Things We All Might Want To Say But Do Not

Today's Post is not here, it is There.  On my other blog.  The one where I say all the stuff no one wants to hear.  Be back tomorrow, in rare form, as usual.

Romantic Error in Judgement

So, what's the problem, ever, with being whipped?  You know, head over heels, need them to breathe, grow old with, never wanting to be apart from, in love?  When did all this other stuff about being your own person, independence and self worth suddenly become an either or?  I need, love and depend my husband or wife therefore I have no identity, no self esteem?  I have struggled this past year to understand the differences between romantic love and unhealthy, self destructive love.  As many of you know, some of you may not as I do not often come right out and write about it, I am just a tad bit bipolar.  Which is say that a person is a tad bit pregnant or slightly dead.  I am better medicated than half the Betty Ford Clinic and most of LA, have a good psychiatrist, a great therapist and have recently had a Walgreens named after me.  But along with all the glitz and glamour comes the expected family and marriage fallout.  You see roller coasters are usually only fun for the people who have paid for a ticket, waited in line and chosen to get on.  Not so much for the mental illness crowd.  Now you know, and all your suspicions have been confirmed.  I am in fact, crazy.  While I am comfortable with the term the reality is that nothing makes me feel happier or healthier than poking fun at myself... my illness, my character flaws and my hilarious ideas of life, love and parenthood. 

So what I need to know is when did love get this complicated?  I am certainly a product of too many happy endings, too much Pride and Prejudice and the hopeless pursuit of the real life Rom-Com = romantic comedy.  Thank you LA Daddy for letting me and a hundred or so other readers in on the cool Hollywood screenwriter lingo!  The idea is this: getting to know someone on this kind of personal level is supposed to bond and seal the relationship.  Not so much in the way you might bond and seal dentures, although a relationship lasting long enough to explore such subjects is appealing in and of itself.  But here is the catch.  Getting in someone's head and under their skin also means that you offer yourself up to the possibility of being hurt, right down to the cellular level.  Illness had a way of drawing that kind of line in the sand.  Isn't that why people say the opposite of love is actually indifference?  Because hate is too passionate and powerful to really be that far from the other extreme sport emotions, like love, lust and simultaneously snoring while stealing all the covers.  Game on.  Too much information so far? Buckle up.  Not everyone experiences the magnification of emotion and passion in the way only an emotional ride like bipolar disorder can provide.  It's all bigger, stronger, scarier and much more dangerous.  For said patient and all others in orbit of the illness it may be a tad less romantic.  If this were a poem or a song, I would be the heroine.  Embracing life in an admirable way.  Loving and living with the force of gravity itself.

Long before there was a name for what I experience and the way in which I do, there was a nagging feeling that i existed on an emotional plane slightly out of reach for the people in my life.  But with the bad comes the good.  I love Modern Hubby, Modern Toddler and Modern Pre-schooler with a fierceness unrivaled.  I hope we all feel that way about our families.  For my girls this is fantastic, all encompassing and 24 hour mommy-hood.  As they grow i will have to learn how to rein in the emotions a little and allow them to grow and discover life along side of me, and not in my shadow.  i would like to think that some of what I experience is shared by mothers everywhere.  It is maybe my personal view that is different. 

What holds me back, what hurts the ones I love is the way in which I pull objects, people, time, space and all matter as we know it, into this emotional vortex.  Willing into submission the relationships i should be handling more carefully.  No one can function at this level all the time, and sheer exhaustion knocks off the weaker and less interested of the crop.  Accepting the extremes, which are folded into the everyday, normal day to day details, and being willing to go along for the ride is a choice my loved one must make all the time.  Not a single act of loyalty, love or dedication.  Not a solitary and life spanning promise or vow can suffice.  This comes on and hits like a train, sometimes the red lights flash and you have time to slow down - even stop.  Other times you just hope the airbags work.

So I am whipped.  Hopelessly and desperately in love with Modern Hubby and the Modern children.  I need them in a way that can feel like the slow smothering of a thick black smoke.  What I want to know, is it really possible to co-exist with love?  Tell me what you think.

Beyond Distraction

I cannot seem to settle on a thought. My mind is jumping from idea to idea, and taking me for a ride today. Nervous energy, restless mind... I can’t get comfortable in my own skin and I have this feeling that I am supposed to be somewhere, doing something else. So I left the kids with daddy for the afternoon to be alone, recover from a long two weeks with little or no time to myself. I have been in and out of most of my favorite places the last few hours, none of them were right. Even walking the floor at Archivers, I still felt off. How can rows of American Crafts ribbon sets not set your heart beating? Literally neck high in Bazill card stock and i was still trying to put my finger on why I could not relax. I do tend to struggle to fight off a little guilt when I am alone. I suppose I have a harder time than most shifting gears out of mommy mode. I certainly have plenty to do, a library of thoughts to catalog and organize. My mind swims when I focus in on a idea, and I so look forward to a little time on my own to execute some of these grand plans. The current distraction is the design for my blog banner or masthead photo shoot. Oh the details. Feng Shui meets motherhood. Part Pottery Barn, part OCD anonymous, this layout is inspired mostly by things already in my home, and all say something about me. I am hoping to convince a great photographer friend of mine to marry her artistry and my manic plotting to coax this image out of my head and on to film. I am a bit consumed by this layout, and I am hoping my scavenger hunt today for additional items will calm the frenzy and I can get back to counting the dust bunnies who have taken up residence on the blades of our ceiling fan, growing hair and otherwise wasting my already unproductive time alone. In this case a picture is worth about 10 words, and having said them all, I best move on. The photo should be up soon enough and there will be, I am sure, much more analysis.

Stop Interupting Me When I am Asking Rhetorical Questions

Dear Illness, Don't stand so close to me. We both need our space. Match my pace instead of being so damn determined to be right on my heels, or just a few steps ahead. First and foremost, I need to tell you that bipolar disorder, while it is one of the most thrilling, terrifying and claustrophobic rides of my life, is not a willful act. It's not like I am careless, or cruel. As in "Can you please stop being bipolar, you are blocking the TV!" or "If I wasn't so normal today, I'd swear I was bipolar." Actually that one works both ways. Here's my point, don't look at me and assume you know what I am thinking. Don't doubt me when I appear serious, strong or confident. I am. Don't be so careful with me, I don't break as easily as I look. Don't turn my friends against me, don't scare my family. They do not know you like I do, they cannot feel you lurking in dark corners, hear your whispers, or turn down your shrieking. Don't look at them, focus on me, let me handle the rest.

Get out of my head, I was here first. Do not forget, I am still here. Don't laugh when your subtle nudge slides me just a bit left of center. I know my way home. When I crack, when the pressure must find release, when the sky is dark and road ahead is silent - do not be foolish. Remember shape-shifter, I kept you quiet many times before, and it is only a matter of time before this moment passes. I learn more about you each time. You. My mirror, my other self. I learn how to be heard above you. To shout loud enough into your bright light, that might blind others, but so loud that my children can hear me, that they might find me beneath you. It's just you and me, leave them out of it. Walk at my side, partner with me. Do not try to measure, to quantify, to understand or empathize. Just walk. It is all we can do, it where we are. Hear me: "Hope... comes unannounced and then thankfully intoxicates us and innoculates our feelings with an irrational sense of joy..." Hope is the immeasurable force. The place you cannot set foot. So walk a while in silence, with me.

Life On The Outside

Each day, as the bipolar planet swiftly turns my head and sets me spinning, I search the faces in my life looking myself in their recognition. Wondering, out of all the brief spells of normal happiness, if one will finally take strong enough root to match the pace of the storm. I am in the game, although I cannot always say with certainty for which side I play. I am rumored to be my own worst enemy, and I gather strength with each battle. How utterly exhausting I am.

I have gained much ground of late, collecting experience, incorporating each puzzle piece to build an impenetrable barrier. Life always finds a way in, this much I know. The current happiness and safety I feel comes from another vantage point. I may not always be able to slow my thoughts, rein in my temper or ascend out the shadows of depression. All of which will continue to be a companion through out my life. I do not believe we ever completely close ourselves off to the influence, what I know now is what waits on the other side. Happiness. Peace.

So you slow down the good days. Lingering a little longer in each moment, savoring the details, and silently cataloging them. Putting some aside for a rainy day. You brace yourself and fall head first into another perfectly normal day. A few more of these and I might know what is possible. A few more came, and a few after that. So, I know. It comes quiet and faint. A small battle won, maybe not even noticed. Several more hits of strength and I feel a subtle elevation. Then...

"Hope, like dread, often comes unannounced and then thankfully intoxicates us and innoculates our feelings with an irrational sense of joy and optimism."

Moments, hours and days pass as I continue in this irrational joy. I am caught off guard less often, I am prepared when it hits. The same old feelings are there, whispering, sometimes shouting to feel the pain, let loose the anger, give way to the depression. But, for today, they are just voices. Mine is louder.

Nothing That A Few Swift Blows To The Ego Won't Cure

I took a few hits today. I am still standing. I still feel strong. Also some fried chicken and rice crispy treats were involved. Do the first 3 statements still count? Of course, but we all know the chicken helped. There is something pretty great about the days when you can take what life dishes out, get right back up and ask "Can I have some more, please?" I'm just saying Bring It. And you better come at me with more than this, cause I am so done with hitting the mat hard. Don't get next to my fire, cause you'll get burned. Seriously. Humility bites.

What happens when the very last of your illusions are shattered? Ego, heal thy self. Here was my brilliant "strategery" for the day's events. First, pout. This is healthy and a requirement for me. There must also be some devious planning to hit "them" where it hurts. Smell that? It's revenge. Tasty huh? Second, rethink step one. Three, slowly find some clarity. Was a harsh truth spoken, or were you dealt a raw deal? If the latter, revisit step one. But if you can come to terms with the truth and overlook the method (you are way the hell ahead of me) then move on to... Four, admit you might want to consider another perspective. Five, pull out the big guns, self esteem, confidence, a little chicken and maybe some Van Morrison to prepare for what lies ahead. Please forgive me for number... Six, Be the change you want to see. I know, I know. The ink is barely dry on my post about cliches and tacky motivational phrases but as I have stated, I am a master at the perfected art of contradiction, manipulation and triangulation. Confused? Seriously. Read aforementioned post. It's a rough prescription I realize, but here's the thing people do not tell you: This how you get back what you lost. This is where you take it back. Control, humility and peace of mind. It's all here baby. Let's Play, Master and Servant. It may not be the flashy maneauver you are used to (I was SO not) but at the end of the day, it is about your choices. And soft, chewy, rice crispy treats. Two little things. Choices and treats. Oh, and one more thing, sports metaphors. It's about three important things: Choices, Treats and Sports Metaphors. Also well timed movie quotes. Really it's like four things, Choices, Treats, Sports Metaphors and Movie Quotes. Some people are medicated so maybe it's more like five...

Creative When Angry

Have you ever noticed that incredibly talented writers, artists, musicians and more of the like, pay the highest price for creativity? Unless there is a fair amount of strife, I cannot even write a birthday card, let alone compose anything of which I can be proud. Seriously, who wouldn't cut off a a small piece of their left ear lobe and put it in an envelope in exchange for artistic greatness. I am not saying Van Gogh could not have simply taken his mood stabilizer with an anxiety chaser, and then painted some lovely flowery meadow scenes that could be tastefully bolted to the wall of the local Super 8. I am just saying the lobe thing might have been a sign that there are a few drawbacks to genius status. Crazy sells people, I have explained this before. I can't say I see a career with Hallmark in my future, unless they bust open the previously overlooked bitter and resentful market and tap into the mind of today's average "I'm angry and thinking of you" consumer . We are so oppressed.

On a slightly more culinary note, Modern Hubby masterfully prepared the famous home-made chicken noodle soup tonight, and I managed to pull off some last minute scrapbook and stamping projects. I am left feeling empty and confused over last night's season finale of Grey's Anatomy. Sorely disappointed, and yet strangely taken in by it's superior writing and chemistry between characters. Damn it.

Hopefully, I will have some good anger, resentment or other such creative enablers to share tomorrow. Mostly I am just hoping for the Universe to forgive me so I can move on with the business of writing crappy, boring posts with little or no recognizable value.

This Won't Hurt A Bit

So I am having a little out patient brain surgery this week. Nothing serious, just removing a few unwanted parts of my brain. The angry part, the depressed part, the lazy part (that will be a medical miracle) the part that makes me frustrated and resentful. Ok, so basically a full frontal lobotomy. It is supposed to be pretty painful, but they do serve lunch afterwards - so thats a plus.

I am completely exhausted, mentally and physically and i can barely move my fingers across the keys tonight. I have never looked this forward to sleep. Hopefully I will have the energy to get back to my usually groove tomorrow. Sweet dream internet.

Maybe I'm Not Getting Enough Ketchup...

These are the good times for me and Modern Family. Modern Toddler (AKA Modern Pre-Schooler) inquires if there is a pharmacy available in each store we enter and yells when she sees one from the car. Modern Baby (technically now also a Modern Toddler in her own right) is just beginning to say her first words, Mama, Milk and Medication. Maybe I am not adding enough Ketchup to my current regimen. You know, ketchup contains natural mellowing agents that compliment any antidepressant/mood stabilizer cocktail.

Lately I have been feeling like I need a new plan. More organization and structure to my life. Less opportunities to waste time or leave a task incomplete. It's all about "Strategery" really. I have considered hiring one of those life coaches. You know, someone really qualified, with relevant experience in the industry, financial know-how and integrity. One of those FEMA types. And my concern, Internet, is several...

The bipolar workbook tells me: "This workbook is organized so you can start with general information about bipolar disorder in chapters 1 and 2 and then begin to put together your own personal history of symptoms and treatment..." (skipping ahead a few lines) "Chapter 10 will help you cope with poor concentration, difficulty organizing your thoughts, decision making and mental over-stimulation."

Do I even need to say it?

Bipolar Touring Edition

I'm a little bit bipolar, which is like being a little pregnant or a little dead, only there is no healthy glow or bright light beckoning me forward. When I first started learning about bipolar, apparently there are just a few books published on the subject, I was completely overwhelmed - but also strangely relieved. It is comforting to find out that, although you have a lifetime of management, medication and mania in your future, that somehow all the dots are really connected. That kid you slugged on the playground in 5th grade? Impulse control, ding: not your fault (it's the illness) A string of lost jobs and destroyed relationships? Ding again, not only is this not your fault, but you should actually be pitied for how painful this all must have been for YOU. I am quite obviously not to the chapter on taking responsibility for your illness and the resulting behaviors.

Mood swings, stress, anxiety, negativity and depression, mania and loss of focus and memory, (I am not going to stoop to the bad memory joke here, but I will tell you that many an amusing idea for a post about bipolar have fallen victim to my confused and foggy mind, never to be remembered again. Such irony.) many of these come standard on any model. But if luxury is what you want and you have time, relationships and money to burn, the Touring Edition is for you. I am talking about cycling back and forth between furiously racing manic thoughts and feelings, bouts of paralyzing depression and something resembling normal, all in a matter of hours or days. You name the symptom, the Touring Edition will exceed your expectations every time. Inactivity and hyperactivity available at the touch of a button, or as I like to call it, a trigger. Confused, forgetful, poor judgement and indecisive? All included. You may also want the convience of negative, hopeless, self-critical and paranoid thoughts? Done, just sign here. Planning on doing some real traveling? Here are a few other options you will not find on any other model. Happiness, euphoria, elevated moods and the highest of highs. Creative, optimistic and positive thoughts.

Ok, Ok. Point made, metaphor exhausted. There is no real way to explain what it all feels like, or the thousands upon thousands of unique ways this illness will affect any given individual. It's not like a size 8 shoe, you can't walk around in it first to see how it fits. Also I am a size 11.

For me, this is all new. Our family just thought it was normal that I would burst into tears at the dinner table. Everyone would go about their business of refilling their water glasses and passing the salt. But after the seven years my husband and i have been together, the mental patient routine has worn thin and we find our selves at a critical point, a bit of a go/no go situation. Enter stage right, my bipolar diagnosis. You might think that naming this monster, feeding it good pharmaceutical grade chow, and allowing room for lots and lots of therapy, would really get the ball rolling. In some ways it has. But in a very profound way it has also sent life to a grinding halt. Basicly it is this: Illness meets patient. The two of you have come here today, before God, family and friends to join your lives to one another. Illness, do you promise to confuse, depress and attack your patient each day for the rest of your lives together? And patient, do you promise to medicate, manage and monitor each day for the rest of your lives together? It's like good news, bad news, worse news. The good is of course that you are not an awful, angry, cruel person who has no hope. The bad news is that you will still have to play one on TV. The worse news... while there method to your madness, there is and always will be the madness. I have written here before about hope and it's dangerous and intoxicating draw. I choose hope. What else is there?

"There are no shortcuts... in life, or in love. This pain must be felt, the alternative is much worse. It's what makes us special, what makes us beautiful, what makes us worthy. The pain of how we love. But that pain is accompanied by something else, isn't it? Hope. With your pain, there is hope. And that is where you are. Somewhere between agony and optimism and prayer. So, you're human. You're alive, and that's what we have."

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Overheard in the Midwest:
Modern Toddler while examining the photos from our visit to the Zoo this weekend, "Mommy! You are the bestest! This is my favorite lion picture ever! Oh my gosh, mommy! This is the bestest rhino in the world!"