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Nothing lasts forever…

I suppose it shouldn’t come as too much of a surprise but my mood has finally turned a little sour. For the past two weeks I have been in a mixed state, dysphoric. I’m not sleeping well. For example I slept for three hours last night but I don’t even feel tired today. I couldn’t nap even if I wanted. I’m full of nervous energy. But it is a negative energy. My thoughts are dark and brooding and I’m irritable and restless. The truth is that I’m cranky and easy to annoy. I can get angry in seconds. Unchecked my mixed state can be destructive as I’ve mentioned before. The trick is to rein it in early.

I shouldn’t really complain too much. I’m not too bad. I can function normally, I just feel a bit miserable. I’ve been much worse before and severe depression is much more difficult to manage and to endure. Dysphoria is easy by comparison.

I guess I’m just disappointed that my mood dipped. No, that’s not true. I’m disgusted that my mood slipped into dysphoria. I had the best part of three months where I felt better than I had done for years. I had three months of euthymia, normality and balanced mood. I had three months where life felt easy and I was coasting. And in reality, I hoped it would never end.

I have no right nor reason to expect that my mood would stay good indefinitely. The past fourteen years have thought me that I have several mood swings a year. Why should this year be any different? In short, it isn’t. I’ve had a good patch and now it’s over. It’s time to get busy livin’ or get busy dyin’.

Like I say, I shouldn’t complain. I’ve been to see my psychiatrist already and we agreed a few changes to my medication. With any luck we will catch this mood swing early and prevent it from getting too serious. Hopefully the landing will be soft. My mixed states are almost always followed by a pure depressive phase. Hopefully it won’t be too bad but only time will tell.

In the meantime I try to do all the things that will support me through this rough patch. I’m going to work and managing fine. I try to go to the gym at least once a week. I try to socialise by visiting family and friends during the week. I’m still meditating every day and I believe that it helps. I continue to see my therapist. I’m trying to do all the right things. Sometimes it’s hard but I must avoid isolating and becoming melancholic.

I don’t know what’s going to happen over the next few weeks but I hope I get back to where I was. Where life was easy and I felt free. Nothing lasts forever, neither good mood nor bad. If I wait long enough my mood will turn again…hopefully for the better.

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Disturbed. 

I’m tired. I’m tired of struggling. I’m tired of wishing life was easier. I’m tired of putting on a brave face.

In the last two weeks my mood has changed again. I’m feeling low yet irritable, agitated and frustrated at the same time. I think I’m in a mixed state. That horrible combination of feeling depressed with concomitant symptoms of hypomania.

I spoke with my psychiatrist during the week and we’ve tweaked my medication. I’m aware of a measurable improvement even after a few days but it will take a few weeks for the full effects. Inevitably, I may start to feel a more pure form of depression. Hopefully, the landing will be gentle. Time will tell.

I feel robbed. I had been doing so well. Since August I have been enthusiastic and energetic. Two months of enjoying life. I was getting used to it. I know that Bipolar Disorder is cyclical in nature but I thought I deserved a longer break. My family deserve a longer break.

I’m trying to keep it together. I’ve been off work this week but in some ways that’s a disadvantage. The distraction of activity can be therapeutic, I find. I’ve arranged to meet my therapist more frequently for a while. The sessions are more difficult when I’m low but they bring relief.

I’ve been trying to exercise in the gym. A few weeks ago my wife suggested that I sign up with a Personal Trainer. It was a good idea. Even when I don’t feel up to it, a fixed appointment motivates me to train when I wouldn’t bother if left to my own devices.

So I’m trying to support myself as best I can. It’s not so bad, I can still function. Everything just requires more effort, more energy and the rewards are smaller. Thankfully my sleep is still pretty good and hopefully it will stay that way. Sleep patterns are my best indicator of a mood swing gone out of control.

As mentioned, when mixed I get irritable. I get angry and, if left unchecked, I get destructive. I’ve put much effort over the years in psychotherapy learning how to deal with anger. I’m still working on it but I can control it better than I used to do. I try to analyse the source and have found that mostly I am angry with myself. At something I am feeling, something I have said or done or of something I’m afraid. By understanding that most of my anger is self-directed, I can channel it and consider what I really want to happen and aim for that instead. It usually works but not always. I frequently need to apologise and mend bridges. Anger in Bipolar Disorder is well described but irrespective of the cause, I am still responsible for it and for taming it. It’s a work in progress.

I listen to a lot of music when I’m not feeling well. I find it soothing. Sometimes I find it emotional and a tune or vocals can touch a raw nerve. It can raise the hairs at the back of my neck. It can move me to tears.

I recently heard a version of “The Sound of Silence” by the band “Disturbed” as played on the Conan Show. You can listen to it here if you are so inclined. It touched me deeply. Somehow it brought me comfort. Someone knows how it feels. Something in the singers voice reminded me of the anguish of depression. The pain that is rarely talked about. Though I think that’s changing and people are less afraid to speak out.

Next week is “Mental Health Week”. Hopefully it will do some good. The key message is that it’s ok not to be ok. Talking helps.

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Day 23.

“Oh the sisters of mercy, they are not departed or gone.
They were waiting for me when I thought that I just can’t go on.”

“Sisters of Mercy” – Leonard Cohen.

—–

Yesterday was one of peaks and troughs. I slept through until 7.00am and awoke feeling refreshed and that was a bonus. But during the morning, my mood was low and my head felt heavy, fuzzy. I felt like I was overly-sedated from my medication. I tried to attend a presentation for the course I am now enrolled – the Psychosis Programme. I made my excuses and left after fifteen minutes. I left partly because I was uninterested and partly because I couldn’t concentrate on the content.

When I am hypomanic, I become restless and find it hard to concentrate for any length of time. It is one of the more irritating effects of my illness. Sitting quietly in front of a television, to enjoy a single episode of any programme, becomes difficult. Reading a book beyond a few pages become impossible. However, my span of concentration becomes an indicator of progress. In time, I will be better able to watch TV and read, play guitar or watch a movie in one sitting. Then I will be ever closer to discharge fro hospital. IMG_0609

In the afternoon, I met with my consultant psychiatrist’s Registrar. My consultant is on leave this week. It was a very useful review. I was able to attest to the facts that the auditory hallucinations and the paranoid delusions had resolved. My sleeping pattern had improved. He agreed with me that I was probably over-medicated and was feeling a residual hangover during the day. So, he reduced my regular medication slightly. This is of huge significance. The smallest reduction in medication is an admission of inching ever so slowly closer to going home for good. It is a step in the right direction.

I addition to altering my prescription, the Registrar also granted me leave to go home at the weekend as expected, but even more importantly, granted me day leave to wander about town unaccompanied. This is a huge advance on my current state of enforced incarceration.

I took advantage of my new key to freedom almost immediately. I strolled from St. Patrick’s Hospital to the Irish Museum of Modern Art (IMMA) in Kilmainham and had a look at an exhibit by Irish Artist, Patrick Hennessy. The feeling of the sun and crisp air on my face was exhilarating . I was light-headed with excitement.IMG_0611

I know very little about art but I appreciate bright colours and distinctive styles. Apparently, Hennessy was a Realist. That doesn’t mean a whole lot to me but I know I enjoyed perusing his work. It was all the sweeter because admission was free. I returned from the gallery tired but considerably satisfied.

Today is another day. I’m up early but I don’t feel tired. This evening, my wife will collect me and take me home for the weekend. I’m looking forward to it already. I must make every effort to ensure it goes well. No arguments.

I have definitely turned a corner in the last few days. Let’s hope it continues.

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Who supports the supporters?

“Someone told me long ago
There’s a calm before the storm
I know
It’s been coming for some time”

“Have you ever seen the rain” – Creedence Clearwater Revival

—–

I went public with my blog yesterday to coincide with World Bipolar Day. I thought about doing it for some time and was considering all of the associated  pros and cons. I must admit that I was a little anxious at the prospect and worried about possible negative ramifications. It turns out that I was concerned needlessly and the messages of support and encouragement have been overwhelming. I should have advertised the blog’s content from the very start.

But it got me to thinking, how important it is to have support when I am struggling with my mental illness. For me, a terrible sense of loneliness accompanies my depressions. It is crippling and stems from the belief that I am worthless. Eventually, this leads to thoughts of suicide and the illogical belief that this is a viable option to permanently resolve the situation. If it wasn’t for my family, I do not believe I would be writing this post today.

My greatest supporters are my wife and sons. My wife is a very strong woman. She is intelligent, independent and very loving. She visits me every day I am in hospital and I am truly grateful for it. Some of the other patients don’t get a visitor from one end of the week to the next. She is very resilient and has been down this path many times before. But that doesn’t make it any easier.

I am impossible to live with when I’m ill. I am agitated, restless and easily anger. I can start an argument over anything and, in my temper, my response is always excessive. I have been known to make myself hoarse from shouting so loudly. I have brought tears to my wife”s eyes.

The guilt associated with this is immense. I have said and done things in anger that haunt me to this day. I find it hard to forgive myself, hard to let go.

But at least I get to be admitted to hospital, get medicated, find recovery. Who will rescue my wife. As I speak, she is holding down her career, minding my children and running the family home. I’m pretty sure she worries about me as well. I normally play my part in these activities but now I’m out of the equation. It must be stressful for her.

And no-one is keeping her in the loop. Since my admission, no psychiatrist nor nurse had a conversation regarding my progress or lack of it. She is dependent on what I tell her and what she can see for herself. Nobody has enquired how she is coping.

My illness has affected my sons over the years. Suffice it to say that I have reduced them to tears aswell. More commonly, they recognise when I am unwell and walk on egg shells around me. It impacts on them in so many subtle ways and even determines whether they will bring friends around to the house.

All of my children have had counselling. It helped them to deal with the turmoil that my bipolar disorder visits on our home. Not every family can afford therapy for their children and I am reminded of how fortunate we are that we could.

I am aware that I need support to survive this illness but equally that my family do too. Spare a thought for them too.

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Home.

“Maybe, there’s a world where we won’t have to run, and
Maybe, there’s a time we’ll call our own,
Living free in harmony and majesty,
Take me home,
Take me home.”

Theme tune to “Grizzly Adams”

—–

IMG_0523I’ve been in hospital over a week and I was allowed out overnight this weekend. Allowed home. Allowed freedom. How quickly we forget and overlook the gifts we have until they are withdrawn.

Going home after a period of time as an in-patient can be very stressful. I become institutionalised very quickly. I am removed from the diurnal stresses of life and encouraged to accept routine. The hospital becomes a safe haven, a source of respite.When I arrive home, I am usually irritable and exhausted. What is meant to be a happy occasion can easily turn sour. I also act quite selfishly. Everyone is getting on with their daily lives and I want all the focus to be on me. But, after a few hours, I can relax back into a semblance of normality.

Mental illness gives me a window to my soul. It allows me to feel more deeply, to be more sentimental. A visit home is like finding lost treasure. I can make coffee whenever I wish. I can eat when I like. I can go for a walk. Simple things.

I crave human contact. At home, I can toss my sons’ hair, talk to them, give them a hug. I can hold my wife, take her hand, sleep beside her and smell the unique scent of her hair. These acts recharge my soul and give me hope. They give me life. They can see me through the worst depression.

Our home is such an integral part of life and yet we take it for granted so easily. Tonight I lose my freedom and return to hospital. It is a bitter pill to swallow. But, all going well, I will return home next weekend for a while. Eventually, I will return for good. My memories of home will help sustain me. My memories will help me heal.

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Day 9.

“Stuck in a moment, and I can’t get out of it”

U2

——-

 Today I feel better. I slept well last night. I was a bit sedated this morning but that’s just the increase in medication kicking in. The sense of paranoia is not as bad but still there. It’s uncomfortable but it will pass. I’m convinced it will.

It strikes me that mental illness is a very private disease. It is isolating and lonely. My family support me and know I’m in hospital. A few colleagues have been very helpful in organising time off work. But that’s it.

I use Facebook all the time in here. It is like a connection to the outside world. I’ve noticed that people will “Like” the most trivial of posts. They are often meaningless. When I post about bipolar disorder or a piece of music which is helping me to cope, I am lucky to get two or three acknowledgements. It’s very disappointing. Is mental illness not important enough, or is it just embarrassing?

I know it may be my paranoia taking over but it feels like no one cares. Not really or deeply. Loneliness is crippling and by staying silent about my bipolar disorder, I am simply propagating the stigma.

I am inclined to shout it from the roof-tops. I want to break free. I want to be seen.

If you read this post, give me your opinion. I won’t go public until I’ve given it some consideration.

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Day 7.

IMG_0345I had the best sleep in days last night. I got about six hours, infinitely better than previous nights. Sleep deprivation starts to unhinge the mind and when you add a mood disorder the result is very volatile.

I feel I have more energy but I’m going to need it. Two old friends have come to visit. Paranoia and racing thoughts.

I have touched on paranoia before. Essentially it is rooted in fear. Fear of threats where no threat exists. It is often directed at the most benign thing. Occasionally, the focus is someone I love.

The perceived threat gives rise to feelings of anxiety and panic. Tremor in the hand, pallor of the skin and even chest tightness. It is important to keep reminding myself that the danger is imaginary.

Racing thoughts are more difficult to explain. Imagine taking the verse of a song you like – say “Masterplan” by oasis. The verse gets into your head and repeats in a never ending loop in your brain. You might sing the words but it doesn’t bring relief. It is an irritating idea isn’t it.

Now, imagine every thought you have has the propensity to go around and around your head in a perpetual cycle. Imagine the thoughts are negative, upsetting or bizarre. I can’t even fall asleep to escape them. I can’t shut down my brain. It drives me crazy.

So I’m exhausted, depressed, paranoid and my thoughts are racing. It’s not very pleasant. But the reality is that this isn’t one of my worst days. Not even close.

The good news is that all of these symptoms will settle as I get better. Strap yourselves in. It’s a long flight and the Captain expects turbulence.