Brain fog

I have been reading a lot lately about "Brain Fog." It's a symptom of bipolar disorder. Feeling scatterbrained, at a loss for words, trouble concentrating, memory loss are all some of it's hallmarks. I have experienced all of these symptoms and more. It's debilitating and frankly annoying.

When I first heard about brain fog, I laughed and dismissed it. It kinda sounded ridiculous and somewhat humorous, like the cartoons depicting a cloud hanging over a depressed person. The more I read however, the more I recognized it's symptoms in my own experience.

I went through a period of time after my latest episode where I had went quiet. I groped for things in conversation and preferred to stay silent. I retreated into myself as my depression grew worse. It was a nightmare. It was as if the words were blocked by an invisible shield and I had to make a herculean effort to get them out. I remember visiting a friend and having not seen her in a while, had so much to say, yet I was at a complete loss on how to communicate. The words just weren't there.

When you are depressed it's like the whole world goes gray. It's like you are drowning but don't have the energy to kick to the surface. When I go silent it feels like my speech is forced. Not only is a cognitive problem but an emotional one as well. I just don't think I have anything to offer to the conversation. Sad and angry at the sadness, I become the ultimate introvert, staying inside the prison of my own mind. The weird thing is I know it's happening and although frustrated and embarrassed I can't stop it. I's disconcerting for me and confusing for those around me. My best friend had the best description of my state at these times. She said I was like a snow globe and had to be shaken every once in a while! It's true , in those moments of absolute silence I feel motionless, stuck and still. I don't like the feeling and maybe the term brain fog fits.

As I engage in life again I have found one advantage to my time of quietness. I have become a better listener. I relied for so long on the abilities and participation of others in conversation that I reflectively listen. What I mean is that I put great importance on what the other person is trying to say. That has turned out to be an asset. I also appreciate the clarity that comes when the fog lifts. It is like seeing , hearing or tasting things for the first time. Life is worth the living again. Once out of that funk nothing is taken for granted. Most especially I am grateful for the people that didn't give up on me while I was in the throes of depression. They made up for the silence by initiating and carrying the conversations that eventually brought me back to myself.

The Donna I want to be is an engaged and vital one. I hate being in a fog and resent that it is apart of my disorder. I will continue to stay on the right medicines to combat it and strive to engage regardless of how I am feeling. I think that one of the neglected aspects of recovery is the idea that a life worth having is worth fighting for. It has taken me many years to recognize that mental illness is a formidable foe and will destroy your life if not managed. It can be overcome though. It takes hard work, perseverance and the help of others to see you through those soul sapping depressions. I do believe though that you can co
me out on the other side stronger and a better human being. The world has so much to say, now I am part of the conversation and for that I give thanks.

Words that matter...

Last night I did a stupid thing. I wrote about mental illness when angry at the very illness itself. Not good policy for a blogger who is trying to help others gain insight into a bipolar disorder. Thank God it only got two reads before I deleted it!

The subject of my blog was whether words matter when discussing mental illness. Words like psycho, crazy disturbed, nuts, are all being singled out to be eradicated from our speech so as not to stigmatize mental illness. I get it. I have been extremely hurt by these words in my own journey with bipolar disorder. I too think they should be removed from the conversation. However, I don't think some things should be changed. It is being suggested that we say a person is "living with"mental illness instead of suffering from it. I beg to differ. I suffer from mental illness. In every sense of the word my life is affected by bipolar disorder. I suffer from extreme depression. It is debilitating. I feel like I am swimming in mud, trapped in a pit with no light and no way out. I feel like everyone else is breathing and living their lives out while I am gasping for air. It is suffering at it's zenith. I think that if others get a glimpse of how painful it is they will respond with empathy and understanding. Isn't that what stigmatization is all about? The misunderstanding of the impact and nature of these mental illness with the result of labeling us with words like psycho and crazy?


The new vernacular when discussing mental disorders is confusing. Another suggestion has been to change the word Schizophrenia to a more socially acceptable name. I don'r know what that word would be. I do know that bipolar disorder used to be called manic-depression. Perhaps it was thought that manic was too controversial of a word to describe the experience. Mania conjures up images of bizarre behavior and out of control actions. Perhaps the word mania in labeling the disease was more stigmatizing than "bipolar". I have even read recently that we should take the "mental" out of mental illness" and seek a more holistic moniker. I can see how these attempts are being made to make mental illness more acceptable to society but are we losing something in the process? We quibble over words when so much else needs to be done.

I think the most effective way to fight stigma is to put a face to the diagnosis. If a person sees a living breathing person behind the label, they are much more likely to be open to their experience. The more that people come out and share their stories the better. It's hard to stigmatize when given a lot of information on the plight of a person.

Mental illness is like any other disease, it affects people, living breathing human beings! We are not our diagnosis. I am not a bipolar. I am Donna. It is important to make that distinction. I believe that if we get to know the people behind the diagnosis we will be less apt to discriminate and to label. If you know me as a mother, a daughter, a sister,a friend you will not see me as someone consumed by a mental illness. Yes, I suffer from it, it takes it's toll, but it does not define me. I hope I am defined by more than just mania and depression! Like everyone else on a journey to become a fully realized human being, I want to be seen as compassionate, kind, loving and gracious. These are all qualities that I need to work on, just like everyone else. I am much more than my diagnosis and I hope that the more people hear stories like mine,
the closer we will be to a true picture of what it's like to be mentally ill.

Why I stopped feeling sorry for myself...

When I initially received my bipolar disorder diagnosis I was very young and didn't realize all the implications of having a mental illness. I didn't think dealing with it would be too hard. Just take the lithium and I would be fine. I didn't realize how hard the journey would be, Now that I am 25 years into it, I can see how difficult living with a chronic illness can be, but I don't feel sorry for myself.

There are times when this illness has been devastating. But I went on mostly out of stubbornness. I wouldn't give in to an opponent that clearly had the power to impact my life. I didn't feel sorry for myself because I knew that the illness could become an asset. It didn't have to be a death sentence. Quite frankly I could see how people around me were affected so much more.

When I was in the hospital I shared a room with another bipolar woman. She was completely manic and decided to vent her rage on me. One night when I was reading she jumped on my bed and proceeded to try to choke me. I cried out for staff and they had to pull her off me. She was taken to the most restrictive ward and I was left alone in my room for a night. As sick as I was I remember thinking how fortunate I was to be lucid. I moved on from that experience because I never wanted to be in that vulnerable position again.

It's funny what changes a person. From my terrible experiences in the hospital I gained much insight into my own illness. I determined at some point that I would get well and roll with whatever circumstance and fate presented to me. I am still of the same mind. I don't think that my illness can win over what the promise of what is  in front of me. The future need not be tainted with the fact that I have a mental illness. In fact I have been given a sort of advantage over most. I have been to the rock bottom and survived. Nothing scares me now and no situation seems insurmountable.

I have been given a great gift. I have learned how precious life is, and how fleeting a moment can be. My father has always quoted a verse of Thomas Paine to me when things get tough. "Catch the joy as it flies and leap into eternity's sunrise." I believe  the lesson of this quote to be true. It is in my power to choose to be joyous regardless of the circumstances. I can choose life, even a bipolar life. So Ive quit feeling sorry for myself and am viewing my life as one filled with blessings. I may be mentally ill but I can over come it with persistence and the help of professional, friends and family.

So here is to a life without pity. I don't accept it from myself and won't expect it from others. I am bipolar ,   but I am strong and willing to fight. It's easy to fight a fight when you are sure of winning. It takes pluck however to fight when you are not sure of the outcome. I have to believe that the struggle is worth it, and winning is a possibility. So I will not engage in a pity party just because I have a mental illness. Better to bipolar than a lot of things! I will continue to fight the good fight and let the chips of my life fall where they may.

Mother's day musings...

I should have written this post on Sunday. Mothers day however is a mixed bag for me. I am so grateful for my two sons and the interaction I have with them but I still experience grief at the loss of so much in our lives. So it's a hard day to come to grips with how I am feeling about being a Mom. Especially a Mom with bipolar disorder.

My divorce was finalized 15 years ago. In it, my ex was awarded custody of my two sons. At the time I was very ill and a resident at a board and care where I was trying to recuperate from several episodes of depression and mania. There was no way I could care for Danny and Jake. So because I was ill with a mental illness and suffering the financial, emotional and physical consequences of that, I was given joint legal custody but lost physical custody. It has taken a long time to get over it. I know that the possibility of caring for two young boys was out of the question for me, and I could reconcile it in my mind. The problem was, and is, that I have never reconciled the loss in my heart.

So on mothers day I try to focus on the relationship that I have with the boys despite not seeing them everyday. I make the phone calls necessary to keep up on their lives. I go to the big events whenever possible and celebrate all the holidays with them.  Mostly, I try to stay connected even though I am separated physically from them. It's hard. I have missed so much and still struggle with the parameters of our relationship.

On Mother's day I want to do all the things that "normal" mothers do. I want to wake up to groggy boys who protest going out for brunch. I want to receive goofy cards and silly presents. I want I want I want! I am not neglectful by design but I am limited by circumstances and that has been the problem. It's like I have this valve in my heart that turns on the pain whenever I have to say goodbye after a visit. When I am with them the joy I feel is tempered by the knowledge that I am an occasional physical presence in their lives and not a constant one. It's hard and the thing is , is that it hasn't gotten easier over time. I "got over" the divorce, I have dealt with my mental illness but I have not fully recovered  from the losses associated with my motherhood.

Therapy helps somewhat. I am learning that I need to  stay in the present and stay connected. when I am grieving and in pain I retreat into myself. So in order to stay focused on what's happening now I need to acknowledge the pain and press on anyway. It's hard. There are times when I feel like giving into the grief and quitting. I know however that I can serve as an example of resilience to my sons. Maybe that is my mission, to show them that you can go on even after such a stunning loss.

We are celebrating Mother'
s day this weekend because of scheduling issues. It's a week late but I don't care. Just to see my boys is enough for me. I relish their smiles and cherish our moments together. Danny is becoming a young man. He is 15 and going through all the teenage angst. Jake is 22 and trying to find his way in life through trial and error. Whatever. What's important is that they come to me when life is hard. I think they feel like I understand and can commiserate.

Motherhood sure has turned out different for me than I anticipated 22 years ago. Yes, I still get a twinge of heartache whenever a visit is over or an event is missed. Yet I have to console myself that I am achieving what matters most. My sons know that I love them because I am there. I tell them constantly that I love them. I think I have opened up to them so that they feel comfortable talking about anything and everything to me. That is rare, bipolar or not. In short. although my mental illness has taken it's toll, I have not let it consume me. I am a mom. I hope for them, I pray for them. I hold them deep in my heart.

Staying stubborn...

I am without a doubt the most stubborn person I know. Maybe I am thick headed, but I honestly believe that if I keep trying to get my life back I will.

Three and a half years ago my world fell apart. I had a manic episode that landed me in a sequence of three hospitals in 9 months. I lost everything. When I got out of the last hospital I was just recently emancipated from being conserved by the state. I was considered gravely disabled and put into a program that would help me find housing and provide me with health care. That was it . My re-entry into my life was at the survival level. Food, shelter and medication were the basics that I needed help with. It had gotten that bad.

I left the hospital with 150.00 and a box of clothes. My program took me shopping at Target and I got some of the basic hygiene and clothing necessities. I was placed in  a board and care called Scandia in Long Beach. It was awful. My roommate was a former homeless woman who had a knack for hoarding. The tenants walked around like zombies and while not bumming cigarettes sat around a filthy courtyard doing nothing all day. Cigarettes and soda were like gold. Since I had the 150 I had both so I was pestered constantly. Luckily there was a library close by and I delved into reading again, a skill that I had lost in the hospital. I started writing this blog. There was a woman there that I made friends with and the two of us took buses all around Long Beach. In short, I started to recover.

I moved from Scandia to a home. It was also a board and care but had only six tenets as opposed to  72. I lived with four men and one other woman.. We all had a mental illness and were all very sick. We were cared for by a Philipino caregiver named Mai Ling. What I remember about her most is that after dinner she snuck away to the backyard to smoke cigars! We all shared one bathroom and tried to get along. I was only there six months before moving to a sober living house.I don't have drug and alcohol issues but the 16  other woman who did shared the small house with me. After 6 months with two roommates I moved again, this time to a room of my own. It was a t Cypress House where I waited to get placed in the apartment I have now. With each housing situation came new levels of recovery.The last year though has been the most remarkable and I have flourished in my own place.

Like I said I am stubborn. It occurred to me to give up and several times I did only to pick up the pieces and start all over again. I put my head down, and in survival mode, bullied my way through recovery. Just this last year I have been able to look up and assess what has happened and where I want things to go.

Where I want to go is further into recovery. What I mean is that I want back the things that mental illness has taken away. My sense of self respect, the ability to think clearly and attain attainable goals. I have to believe that there is life after a mental health crisis and maybe I can pass on that hope to others.

I have been to the bottom of the well. My 9 months in mental hospitals were beyond life altering. They proved that life is fragile and we best take care in how we approach it. I remember being closed in for 9 months. There were no windows on the unit and I only saw the outside during smoke breaks. That absence of light, such a fundamental part of everyday life was missing for so long that I still breathe in the air when I go outside. I take it in in long breaths, grateful just to be out, free and able to consume air.. It's funny what you take for granted. Hospital life made it very clear that there was life full of blessings "out there."

So now I am out there.When I get discouraged I remember the hospital and the housing situations I have been in. I breathe in and remind myself of the losses I felt and of the tremendous sense of release I felt when out of the hospital. I count my blessings everyday. I am curious to see how it all turns out. Most of all I see in my minds eye the people who I love and those who have helped me come so far. I know that there is much to accomplish , But I think I am up to the task. Life moves on and me with it. Bipolar I may be but I will face it and see it through.