On Living and Dying

It’s been an emotional week for me.  I’ve gotten bad news; I’ve gotten good news.  It’s been a week of death, dying, sorrow and joy.  There have been many thoughts of family.  I’ve witnessed great courage. And I’ve seen the circle of life.  It’s been a week of loss, retrospect, fear and celebration.

My Uncle died on Wednesday.  I’ll admit that we weren’t close at all, but his passing had a profound effect on me.  He was the last of my parents’ generation, and I’ve become the patriarch of the family. We may not have been close, and he did live 400 miles away, but he was always my favorite uncle. He was my uncle by marriage, and not a part of the ‘blood line’, but he was still family.  Most of my memories of him were as a child.  My family would spend a week every summer visiting my Fathers’ side of the family, and it almost always involved spending time with my Aunt and Uncle.  At the time, they owned and operated a Marina on large lake in Eastern Tennessee, and even at my young age I was in awe of them.  I couldn’t understand why, but looking back as an adult I realize it was because they were not main stream.  Everyone I knew had regular jobs working for someone else.  My Aunt and Uncle however worked for themselves.  It was a concept that was alien and impressive.  He was so different from my Father in every way.  He had the cojones to provide for himself.  He could fix things.  His personality was outgoing and confident.  I’m sure that they had their own share of troubles and struggles, but it always seemed that he was in control of his own destiny.  As an adult, the only time I’d see him was at funerals.  After my grandmother died the regular trips to Tennessee stopped, and we only went back when someone another family member passed.  It wasn’t just our trips out there either.  When my own family members started to go, he would make the trip to us; often the only one from that side of the family.  And he outlived them all.  The last time I saw him was at another Uncle’s funeral that I went to.  And he was the same as I always remembered.  He just didn’t seem to age to me.  He was in his 80’s, but just as spry and full of life as ever.

And now he’s gone.

I’ve been very aware for some time of how little of the family is left now.  Of course there are cousins, but they are scattered all over the country and I never see any of them.  And there are my children, and my Niece and Nephew.  But as far as this generation it’s only my Sister and me.  And I had girls; the family name dies with me.

But most of all, my heart goes out to my Uncles’ children and all the people I know he was close to.  He was very involved with his boys, and I think they adored him. I know what it’s like to lose a father, and as close as they were I can only imagine what they’re going through.  Their loss is immense, and even though this hits close to home for me, the real tragedy is theirs.

—

I’ve recently learned that a good friend of mine has breast cancer.  Breast cancer is bad, and it involves a great deal of fear and unpleasant and difficult treatment.  But I’ve learned her situation is much more than that.  Turns out her breast cancer was several years ago, and she had undergone a double mastectomy as part of her treatment, and it seemed like she had beaten it.  But the cancer is back.  It has metastasized to her bones and lungs.  She was so nonchalant in the way she told me I was of course worried, but not overly so.  Cancer can be treated and the prognosis is often good.  But out of concern I did a little research, and once a cancer has metastasized, its stage IV.  It’s terminal.  New treatments can prolong life, and minimize the pain and effects, but the prognosis is poor.  The life expectancy even with treatment is only a couple of years; five at the most.  She’s still a young woman; barely in her fifties, but she’s looking death straight in the eye.  To know her however you’d never have any idea.  She goes about her life as though there’s nothing going on.  The time I’ve spent with her has been full of laughter and fun.  She’s really a hoot to be around.  She’s been getting her house ready to sell, and has been working hard every night and weekend to get it prepared.  I was under the impression that she was selling just to downsize and get rid of all the yard work and maintenance of home ownership.  But now I have a different perspective.  I think she’s preparing for what she knows is coming.  I had my first clue that there was more going on than I suspected, which is what prompted me to learn more about what was going on.  She had casually mentioned that she had a three hour doctors’ appointment on Wednesday, but when I talked to her on Thursday she was obviously sick.  Her strength and energy has always been ‘normal’; but Thursday it was gone.  She was almost too weak to talk, and I could hear in her voice just how bad she felt.

But her attitude is amazing.  She’s divorced, and her children are grown and gone.  Honestly, the way she’s dealing with this I wouldn’t be surprised if they didn’t even know just how bad it is.  She has her friends, but she keeps the cancer out of those friendships.  But she’s really fighting this fight alone.  I’ve been thinking lately of my own mortality, but this is a real wakeup call for me.  It’s not imminent, but the reality is, she’s dying.  And I’m resolved that in whatever little way I can, and as much as she’ll let me, I’ll be there for her.  Her strength dealing with this is inspiring, and I’m proud to be her friend.

—

I have another friend who’s going through her own tragedies lately.  It’s kind of a different story; she has been separated for almost 10 years from her husband, but they had remained very close and still functioned as a family in many ways.  There’s no doubt she still loved him, but for whatever reason she just couldn’t live with him. When he died suddenly a month ago, she lost her spouse, just as much as a woman who had been in a marriage the whole time.  She was devastated.  And it gets worse.  Her husband died less than a week before their son was to be married.  A time of happiness was replaced overnight into sorrow and loss.  The wedding went on as planned, and they did a great job celebrating his life along with the celebration of the marriage.  He may have been gone, but he was still the best man and just as much a part of the wedding as though he were still there.  I have great respect for how they handled it all.

But there’s more to this story.  This week she was blessed with her first grandchild.  Her daughter delivered a healthy, beautiful baby boy.  She’s been anticipating becoming a grandmother with great excitement and happiness.  And I have no doubt that she’s going to be an awesome grandmother.

And the circle of life continues.  The loss of her husband hasn’t diminished, but she has the joy of the family continuing.  And with the baby boy, the legacy continues.  One life ends, another one begins.  This is nothing new of course, but the short time this has all occurred has made it very poignant.  But in the sadness, there is great joy for her.  And as her friend, I feel her pain, and share her excitement.

This is my blog.  It’s been all about my personal feelings, the way I’ve dealt with things good and bad.  It’s always very selfish and self centered.  It is all about me, and my life and how everything relates.  Now is when I bring all this around to how all of this has affected my attitude, or provided a time of reflection on my own existence.

But not this time.

These people have their own lives that have meaning that only they can experience.  And these are just three people who I have in my life.  Everyone has their own suffering and sadness, happiness and joy.  My Father used to tell me that no one’s pain was greater than your own.  For him, my broken leg would never hurt as much as his hangnail. I can only know my only feelings.  Everyone has their own and only they can feel them.  It’s not up to me to judge another life or think that mine is any worse than theirs.  I can only accept that we all have our own perspective, and I marvel at the ways people rise to their own challenges.

This time it’s not about me.

It’s a matter of choice

I’m not bragging, but I’ve always considered myself an intelligent man.  I’ve been able to accomplish many things beyond my experience and education based purely on hard work and smarts.  I think I’m a reasonable person too.  For the most part I’m very tolerant and understanding of others.  I’ve spent so many years gaining insight into my own life I’ve learned how to apply that insight to others.  With my jobs I’ve held positions of responsibility and influence.  I’ve been able to contribute to the success of the companies where I’ve been employed.  And these experiences have given me the ability to be responsible outside of the workplace too.  I know what it takes and I have the skills to be just as successful in my private life as well.

So why do I continue to make dumb decisions?

Okay, I know.  I’m bipolar.  And there are no good decisions when in the middle of an episode; especially a manic one.  And boy have I made some bad ones!  What I’m talking about is when I’m not having an episode.  Lately I haven’t been having any extreme episodes, but my decision making still isn’t on par with what it should be.  I’m making decisions (Or not making them, which is just a bad) that I know I shouldn’t.  I know better, but it just happens in the moment.

It may be simple things.  My car registration expired in November.  And yet I didn’t renew it until just this week.  I can make the excuse that I only thought about it when I was in the car (And couldn’t do anything about it), but it’s something I should have taken care of.  It was the lack of a decision that it didn’t happen.  Fortunately, I haven’t gotten a ticket for it, and it’s finally been taken care of.  I hate checking my mail box.  It’s rare that I get anything other than junk mail and flyers, but when there is anything else, it’s usually bad news.  So I don’t check it, and ignore what does come in unless it’s an absolute must to take care of.   My water bill is one of the few that I don’t get electronically, and I’ve chronically been late because it gets left in the box.  I’ve been late on my rent too.  When it’s time to pay it, instead of sitting down and getting it done, I keep telling myself that I don’t feel like it at the moment, and that I’ll get to it later.  That’s a dumb decision, and I’m lucky my Landlord doesn’t complain.

Some of the things I do are more serious.  Even when I was making decent money, I never put away any into savings.  I haven’t contributed anything towards my retirement either.  I have no reserves at all, and I’m one paycheck away from financial disaster.  It’s not a conscious decision, but I just don’t decide (and stick with it) to be responsible and plan ahead.  I’m in my 50’s now, and where I am right now I’ll never be able to retire.  I’ll be working until I die.

It’s obvious that I’ve made some really bad choices when it comes to relationships.  My four ex wives will attest to that.  Getting into the marriages seemed like such a good idea at the time, but if I’m completely honest with myself, there was a little voice in the back of my head saying “You’re making a mistake”.  But I decided not to listen, and got married anyway in spite of my misgivings.  Surprisingly enough, they all failed.  Bad relationship choices haven’t always resulted in marriage either.  I’ve gone out with women that I knew I didn’t really like, or ignored red flags that I knew were there.  And of course none of them worked out either, and there has been a lot of pain inflicted, both on myself and others.

I think I’m doing better now.  The mood swings seem to have stabilized, and I do not have to deal with the fallout of the really dangerous decisions that I make when out of control.  I’ve been working very hard to stay conscious of my responsibilities and make deliberate, thought out choices.  I’ve been very careful when it comes to relationships, and have forced myself to not follow my instincts and do things that in my experiences have been harmful or resulted poorly.  I’m spending a lot of effort to make healthy decisions; surround myself with healthy people; and keep myself out of situations where I’d be tempted to do anything I’d regret.

But here’s the problem.

My whole life has been a long string of mistakes and poor decisions.  My head may know better, but my actions disregard my common sense and intelligence.  I don’t really know how to differentiate between the two.  I think I’m doing the right thing at the time.  Or I don’t think about it at all.  My life just happens, and all the lessons I’ve learned, all the insight I’ve gained, all the tools I’ve developed don’t seem to get applied.  So, now that I feel like I’m doing better, am I really making better choices and decisions?  Will I continue to improve over time?  Or am I just convincing myself that I’ve taken responsibility and doing the things I ought to be doing.  I guess only time will tell. I guess that over time I’ll just have to learn to trust myself; because at the moment, I don’t.

And it scares the hell out of me.

When I was a child…

When I was a child, I spake as a child, I understood as a child, I thought as a child: but when I became a man, I put away childish things. (1^st Corinthians, 13:11)

I couldn’t disagree more.

I may be a 52 year old man, but there’s still a lot of child in me.  In many ways I still speak like a child; it’s just in my own head.  My thinking isn’t always like a grownup either.  And emotionally, there are a lot of immature feelings.

And I’m not alone.  How many people do you know that still act like children?  They get their feelings hurt over the silliest things.  Grudges are held instead of acting like an adult and letting things go.  I believe that we should try to understand others’ point of view, and respect different opinions, but not everyone feels that way and (including myself sometimes) and we can get angry because someone thinks differently.  People still have temper tantrums.  (Think of all the times you see road rage.)

There are many things that I still do that are childish.  There are times I find myself pouting when I have a bad day.  I have plenty of pity parties.  Oh, woe is me!  Harumph.  I’m not usually a dramatic person, but even so there are times when I get overly excited and act out in an immature way.  “I can’t believe she turned me down again…See if I ask HER out again”.

My temper tantrums are legendary.  Of course a lot of this stems from being bipolar.  My mania is often full of rage.  But even when I’m not manic, the smallest of things can piss me off.  There have been times I’ve left a grocery cart full of food and walked out of a store, because someone cut in front of me and the cashier didn’t do anything about it.  I’ve done my best to cut off other drivers when they tried to pass me, because they came roaring up behind me flashing their headlights for me to get out of their way.  Just try to get past me you bastard!

I like to play with my toys too.  I loved my matchbox cars as a kid, and could spend hours setting up tracks for my hot wheels (Both American toys).  I still play with my cars; they are just a little bigger.  I few years ago I had a BMW Z3.  What fun I had with that!  Even though I’ve moved into a four door sedan, I enjoy working on it and keeping it clean.  And then there are my tools.  I used to build all kinds of things growing up.  And I still do.  There’s a lot of excitement when I get a new tool to play with.  It’s not just the big thinks either.  There’s my computer tablet and my cell phone.  I just HAVE to have the latest greatest technology!

It has been many years since my mother passed away.  But I’ve never outgrown my need for a Mom.  Whenever something happens, good or bad, I find myself reaching for my phone to talk to her about it.  Even though I rarely took it, I still want her advice.  I miss talking to her.  The funny thing about that is, my Mom was not maternal at all.  There were no hugs or comforting when I felt bad.  I never felt nurtured, and sometimes I felt like she didn’t even like me that much.  It seemed that she was never really available when I needed her.  I remember one time when I was a teenager I got into a fight after school and I got my butt royally kicked.  I called her at work, humiliated and crying, but she had to go to a meeting and didn’t have time to talk.  She never took off work when I was home sick; it seemed her job always took precedence.  But in spite of that, I still need my Mom.

When I had my overdose last year, my Psychiatrist told me that when we were talking on the phone I sounded like I was a three year old.  My conscious thought had already shut down, and I have no memory whatsoever of talking to him at all.  But apparently, in my condition I reverted back to a needy little boy.  When we talked about it later, he seemed to be somewhat disgusted by my behavior.  But I think it’s a natural reaction.  I was approaching death, and wanted someone to be rescued and taken care of.

But no matter how old I get, I still think the way I always have.  I still have many of the same insecurities and fears that go back to my earliest years.  I worry about what others think of me; I want to be liked.  Sometimes I feel like I should pass a note to someone I’ve just started dating; do you like me?  Check yes or no.  I want to be noticed…Look mom, no hands!  I don’t think you ever outgrow the need to be nurtured.  I’ve become much more comfortable being by myself then I used to be, but I still want to be cared for.  Not pampered or waited on hand and foot, But it feels good to have someone do nice things for you.

I’ve told the story before, but it bears telling again.  I spent a lot of time with my father as he was in the hospital waiting to die.  He knew he was deathly ill, and that he was never going to leave the hospital alive.  He was lucid up the very end, and we had many conversations about a great many things.  Just a few hours before he died, He said, “Where did it all go?  I’m going to die; probably tonight.  How did this happen?  I still think like I’m 18 years old.  I have things I want to do and look forward to.  I don’t feel old, but I am.  Where did the time go?”  Shortly after that he slipped into a coma, and died several hours later.  Even in the last minutes of his life, he was still thinking like a young man; like a child.

For the most part, I don’t think my ‘inner child’ has anything to do with being bipolar or personality disorders.  I’ve talked to many other people who say that they feel the same way.  A good friend of mine recently retired as a Director for a major pharmaceutical firm.  It was certainly a position for a mature and responsible man.  Yet, he still acts like a kid telling me about his new jet skis, tells the dumbest jokes and stories, and laughs at the silliest things.  We’ve actually talked about not wanting to grow up, and he admits to the same childish thinking that I have.

Yes, I’m an adult now.  There are jobs to do, bills to pay, houses to take care of and countless other responsibilities.  But deep down I’m the same person I have always been from early childhood.  There are base feelings that don’t change and my thinking will always have a little bit of kid to them.  There have been enough books written and even entire psychological philosophies based on the ‘inner child’ that I believe it is something in all of us.

It’s something we never outgrow.  And we never should.

And the point is?

I’ve been trying to wrap my brain around something for a while now.  There’s this vague feeling of unease and discomfort.  Something is just not settling well.  I haven’t been able to put my finger on it, but it’s been growing in size and intensity inside me.  I’ve had glimpses and flashes of insight from time to time, but haven’t really gotten hold of whatever it is that’s bothering me.

It’s not like things aren’t going really well for me now.  While it’s not the best job I’ve ever had, I am gainfully employed in an economic time when so many others are not.  I’m doing my job well in a very stressful and fast paced environment.  Social life has been going well also.  I’m spending time with friends old and new, having some really good times doing things I enjoy, and working on being healthy and positive in relationships.  But being alone isn’t a problem anymore either.  I can be just as happy at home watching television or listening to music as I am spending time with others.  And probably most important of all, I seem to have the bipolar illness in a manageable state.

So why am I uncomfortable?

My weekday activities have settled into a regular routine.   I’ve never required much sleep, and I always wake up early; usually an hour or so before my alarm goes off at 5:00am.  I spend that time in the mornings on the computer; checking email, reading the news, and exploring interesting sites I come across while I drink my coffee.  Then it’s time for a quick shower, I prepare my lunch for the day to take with me, and make my bed and put away my clothes from the day before.  Then I make one more cup of coffee to take with me on the 45 minute drive to work.  Once there, I spend thirty minutes or so returning emails and organizing my work day.  And some days, I write.  Then it’s off to the cafeteria for another cup of coffee and I throw myself into the days’ tasks.  We’re so overwhelmed with work now I usually don’t get up from my desk except for the occasional trips to the restroom or to other parts of the building to interact with other departments on whatever project I happen to be working on.  The days are long, and it’s not unusual to put in 10 to 12 hours before I can make myself go home.  Then it’s another 45 minute drive back to the house, where I respond to any emails again and microwave my dinner.  (I’m a bachelor, I don’t cook).  A glass of wine is poured, and I sit in my recliner with my cat and watch television until it’s time for bed.

Then I get up and do it all again.

Weekends are a little different.  I still wake up before the chickens, but after I’ve gone through the emails and coffee it’s back to the couch for some more sleep.  Lately that hasn’t exactly been the case as I’ve gone into the office on Saturdays just like any other day, but Sunday’s are always the same.  I spend most of the day napping between doing things that have to be done around the house like laundry and cleaning.  I do get to play some though.  Evenings are when I socialize, both during the week and the weekend.  And some Sundays are cookouts and wine; enjoying good jazz, watching an old movie or just enjoying someone’s company.  I’ve been fortunate enough to go to some fabulous concerts lately too, which is something I really enjoy as music is paramount to my life. I have nothing to complain about. It’s all good, and it’s what I’ve strived for.  Normalcy.

I’m living a balanced, even normal life.  I’m doing all the things that I’ve worked for to maintaining my health, both mental and physical.  I’m changing the way I see myself and how I interact with others.  I’m working on relationships and applying lessons learned not to make mistakes I’ve always made in the past.

But something is not right.

I’m becoming more and more aware of my age.  I have several friends who have completed their career and moved into retirement.  I’m being offered senior citizens discounts at restaurants and hotels, even without asking.  My hair is quickly going from gray to white and my body is definitely getting older.  I can’t go and do like I used to, and I’m tired most of the time.  My children are grown and having lives and careers of their own.  I don’t think old, but I’m living that way.  I’ve become my parents.

But that’s not what is really bothering me.

The feeling that has been nagging at me is starting to jell.  There’s no point or purpose anymore.  When I was starting out in my career, there was drive and a strong will to succeed.  In the past there were marriages to work on, children to be raised, houses to maintain and all the things that go along with growing up and being an adult.  Every day brought new challenges and there were things to be excited about and look forward to.   And of course, there was dealing with being bipolar.  It wasn’t always fun; in fact, it was a lot of hard work and misery, especially dealing with my illness.  I can’t look back and say it was a fabulous time.  There were also many hospitalizations and drug after drug trying to control my symptoms.  I have spent most of my adult life in one type of therapy or another, and gone through some unbelievable pain.  There were good things of course.  I got great joy from my children.  There was a lot of satisfaction to be had from being successful at my work.  The days were filled with happiness, crises, passion and pain.  The days were full.

My days are no longer full.

I stay busy.  I have many times that are enjoyable.  I do well at whatever I do.  Every day I get just a little bit better at making myself healthy.  I’ve learned a great deal about myself and have applied those lessons to improve myself.

But to what end?

The older I get, the faster the time slips away.  When I was young, it seemed like forever waiting for the next day, or the next Christmas or Summer Vacation.  Now, the weeks just fly by.  Weeks turn into months, and months turn into years.  It used to seem like I had a lifetime ahead of me; now I only see the end of a life.  And what’s the result?  I’m here today, I’ll be gone tomorrow.  And in time it won’t make any difference at all.  There are millions of people living the same life as I.  We go through our motions, we do what has to be done, and we sometime touch others and even make a difference to some.  But they will pass too, and then there’s nothing left.  We don’t cure cancer, affect world politics, entertain the masses or write a bestselling novel.

In the grand scheme of things, it’s all inconsequential and absurd.

The problems that I deal with, the happiness that I enjoy, the progress that I make really don’t matter.  I’m only important in my own little world, and that world will soon go away.  I have nothing to leave behind to show that I was here.  My life will have no lasting impact or meaning.  I try to keep a positive outlook, but honestly, one day just bleeds into the next.  And I’m feeling the finite number of those days.  I don’t expect to go tomorrow, but in the blink of an eye it will all be gone.  The successes, the fun, the pain and the suffering will all be for nothing.

So in a nutshell, that’s what has been digging at the back of my mind.  I’ve become aware of my mortality.

And the pointlessness of it all.

It all depends.

“I can be happy, I can be sad.  I can be good or I can be bad.  It all…. Depends… On you!
(Written in by Ray Henderson, Buddy DeSylva and Lew Brown)

I think that this song is accurate for a lot of people.  How many do you know that are dependent on others to try to make themselves happy.  Be honest with yourself; how much do you depend on it?

I’ve always had a tendency to fall into this category.  I’ve never really been happy with myself, and have spent a lot of effort trying to make others happy.  I’ve felt happiest when I know I’m pleasing someone, and often take on their likes and dislikes, interests and activities as my own.  Over the years I’ve ‘gotten into’ country, hip hop, pop, and folk music depending on the preferences of people I’ve been involved in.  My political views have varied (to some point anyway) to agree with someone.  My background and persona have adapted from the simple country boy to the sophisticated, suave executive.   My own personality can be suppressed so that I’m interesting, attractive and desirable to whomever I’m with.  That’s because I’ve not been confident enough or happy enough to stand on my own.  I’m just not worthy.

When it comes to women, I consider myself to be a true gentleman.  I was raised in the southern United States, and being a Southern Gentleman is a tradition; it was how I was raised.  And I get a lot of enjoyment in treating a lady like a princess.  Doors are to be held, packages are to be carried, opinions are accepted, consideration is given, and I always – always – put the toilet seat down.  There are valid reasons for being like this.  Like I said, it was how I was raised and I truly believe that women should be respected and treated well.  But there’s another side to this too.  If I make someone a princess, that makes me a prince.  Others notice when I open a car door for a lady and I revel in their reaction.  People think I’m sweet and caring.  And I am.  But I also know that perception helps define my appearance.  I’ve actually had women who take offense at this though.  They’ve picked up on my enjoyment of being recognized as a gentleman and felt that it was my only motivation for such behavior.  That’s simply not true, but it is a byproduct.  I can be good, but it all depends on you.

I think this comes from the fact that I really haven’t liked myself my whole life.  I’ve felt like my own opinions are stupid and uninformed, and really aren’t worth sharing.  I don’t think I’m very likable as a person, and if I show anyone what I’m really like that won’t want to have anything to do with me.  I see myself as unattractive and am very self conscious of my physical flaws and appearance.

I feel like damaged goods.

Of course a big part of this comes from being bipolar.  I have very outrageous behaviors that most people don’t understand.  My depressions reinforce my view I have of myself as a loser and failure.  Being manic scares the hell out of people.

I’m crazy;  who could like that?

But that’s not the only reason.  In general I’ve been ‘different’ from others.  I’m definitely not mainstream in any way.  I’m quirky, have a warped sense of humor, and just see the world differently.    My quick wit and intelligence tend to put people off.  I’m laden with insecurities and have alienated myself as a way of hiding them.  Being OCD, I get negative thoughts that repeat over and over.  From a very early age I’ve felt inferior which only feeds into my perception of myself and compounded over the years.

So I depend on others to make myself happy.

But, that’s a reason I’m in therapy.  I’m recognizing that no one else can really make me happy.  There are a lot of reasons to like myself, and I have many strengths and attributes that I can embrace.  I’m learning that in many ways I’m no different from anyone else.  Most people have their own insecurities and self perception that are as poor as my own.  And in many ways, I find that I’m more secure than I think I am, and better equipped to deal with life.  Years ago I knew a guy that I really looked up to, and was very intimidated by.  He was well on his way to a successful career.  He was financially secure.  He had lots of friends and was well liked.  He was everything I wanted to be and what I felt that I could never attain.  One day, he comes to man and says “I want to be just like you”.  His perception of me was the same as mine of him.  At the time I just thought it was an aberration, and that he was just being nice to tell me that.  But I’m learning that others do see me a lot differently than I see myself.  I’m learning to like myself and accept my flaws for what they are.  I’m facing my illness and working hard to manage it and live a normal life.  I need to make myself happy, and I will.

It all depends on me.

I often wonder…

I’ve always been a kind of a ‘go with the flow’ kind of guy.  Even when I’m not manic, things just happen and I go along.  Of course, when I’m manic it goes over the top.  But if it feels good; do it. If it’s fun, enjoy it. If asked out, go.  If I want to go out, ask.  If there are any offers, take them.

But that’s really not healthy.  And I’m working very hard to be healthy.

The funny thing about drifting into things, it seems to be totally unconscious.  If I were to think things through I’d be making different choices.  But there’s a part of my brain that just goes on autopilot.  There is no thought of consequences in the moment, I just dive right in.  It doesn’t matter what the risks are, I just live in the moment.  Like driving home drunk; that was a really stupid decision, but at the time it never crossed my mind to do it any differently.  It was time to go home, and I went.

But I usually regret doing things like that, and I feel terrible about myself when I do.  I should really know better, but it’s like my brain shuts down when at times like that.  It’s almost like a split personality.  I have my ‘conscious’ life where I take care of things like work.  But even then I have my ‘automatic’ moments.  When I’m talking to coworkers or even on the phone with customers things just seem to fall out of my mouth that really shouldn’t be said.  And then there’s my social life.  This is when I’m probably the most true to myself.  I may not always admit everything (Like being bipolar) but how I interact with people is genuine.  And then there’s the thoughtless person when it’s just stimulus / response.

And then there’s the OCD.  That is a combination of the conscious and unconscious.  I am aware of what I’m doing; it just seems that I’m powerless to stop.  It can be something totally innocent and simple.  A number of years ago, I got it in my head that I wanted a dress hat.  I’ve always loved that look, and even though it’s not the style anymore, I had to have one.  I spent weeks going from store to store and traveled to four or five different counties trying to find just the right one.  But, when it came right down to it, when it came time to actually buy something, I’d get embarrassed (I have no idea why) and I’d bolt from the store.  Then I’d be on to the next store to try again.  I never did get that hat, but I spent months obsessing about it.

But this is one of the reasons I’m in therapy.  I guess that’s kind of a fourth persona there.  I am more aware of my different behaviors and really focus on understanding the why’s and how’s, and learning how to deal with them.   One of the things my therapist has suggested is that the way I suppress my feelings is why I get into that mode.  I have more or less always pushed any emotion down and not allowed to feel much of anything.  The only real except to this is after my fourth wife and I split.  I was unemployed, spending my time alone seven days a week with nowhere to hide and no distractions to keep me from thinking.  I couldn’t avoid all the agony and pain.  The funny thing is though, dealing with it that way helped me get over it and put it behind me.  Go figure.

I often wonder how it is for others.  I wish sometimes that I could get into someone else’s head just to see how they really think.  Do they have the non-thinking behaviors?  What does it feel like to actually feel?  Are my obsessions more common than I think they are?  How does their brain really work?  What’s a typical day for them?

And then there’s the flip side of that.  How would someone not suffering from a mental illness do if they were living my life?   Would they freak out at the way my thoughts flow?  Would it be scary when the dark thoughts came?  Of course I’ll never know, but I’ll bet that if a ‘normal’ person knew how hard it was to be bipolar it would be completely overwhelming.  It’s only because I’ve had a lifetime to deal with it that I’m able to deal with it myself.  And even that’s questionable.

But it’s been said, and I’ve said it before too; the definition of insanity is doing the same thing and expecting different results.  I’ve spent most of my life doing the same things over and over, and surprisingly enough, the results haven’t changed.  But maybe I’m getting a little wiser as I get older and will continue to get these reactions under control and work on my feelings.

Because I may be crazy, but I’m not insane.

Rainy days and Mondays….

It’s said that April showers bring May flowers… well the weather here today should bring plenty of flowers come May.  It’s a miserable rainy day.  And I’m in a miserable, ugly mood.

I know it’s circumstantial.  Dark rainy days are never good for me.  I think I must be solar powered; without the sun I feel slow and lethargic.  It doesn’t help that I didn’t get enough sleep last night either.  The short night was for a good reason, I spent my evening with a friend watching old Bogart movies.  And drinking wine; we drank a lot of wine.  Too much wine.  But I made several really bad choices.  Staying out too late is going to make today that much harder.  And I decided to drive home after drinking too much.  It’s a miracle that I didn’t end up in jail, or killing myself or others, or both.  The rain had already started, and it was a long, dangerous ride.  Thankfully, God takes care of fools and drunks.

It seems like once things start off bad, everything just makes it worse.  My normal 45 minute drive to work turned into almost an hour and a half.  You’d think people have seen a car slide off the road before.  But apparently, based on the 3 mile backup it’s still a novelty.  There’s nothing like sitting dead still on a 70 mile per hour highway to improve a mood.

Work isn’t starting off any better either.  In spite of the fact I came in over the weekend to do what I could to catch up, there’s still an overwhelming amount of work on my plate today.  My anxiety level is through the roof just thinking about it.  I shouldn’t be writing, but I just can’t motivate myself to get going.  And on top of everything else, the battery in my mouse died.  I have a touchpad on my laptop, but it’s a royal pain to use.  It’s an aggravation.

Speaking of aggravations, it seems I have a stalker.  Several months ago I met a lady through a dating site I’m on.  She lives 120 miles away, and I thought I’d made it very clear from the beginning that, primarily because of the distance, I was only interested in a casual, pen pal kind of relationship.  There were never any romantic advances on my part.  But apparently she thought differently.  Even though I only saw her twice, and it was completely platonic interaction, she’s decided we have developed a very special relationship.  She emails me several times a day, texts almost as often and constantly asks me to call her and plan on coming back down to see her.  I’ve been as blunt as I can, even to the point of getting ugly about it, but she just doesn’t quit.  And I stopped responding to her weeks and weeks ago  But I’ve already had two emails from her this morning.  Thank goodness she lives so far away.  That makes it much less likely that she’ll show up on my doorstep.  It’s less likely, but still a possibility.  I hope I never have to deal with that.  I guess with internet dating it was bound to happen sooner or later, but it’s still a pain.  And it’s just a little bit disturbing.  I’ve seen Fatal Attraction.

So I’m feeling very ugly today.  I don’t know whether I should scream or cry.  Honestly, I feel like doing both.  Or I’d like to find a deep dark hole to crawl into.  If I wasn’t so bloody behind with work I’d take today off and hide on my couch.

But it’s one bad day.  Bipolar or not we all have them.  And I know that in spite of the way I’m feeling at the moment, it doesn’t mean I’m getting depressed or should expect to stay in this funk.  The sun will come out, I’ll make progress with work, and I’ll look forward to spending time with others.  Today will be a good day to practice some of the skills and tools I’ve gained to keep from losing it.  I’m breathing deep, stopping every few minutes to relax and release the physical stress, and focusing on one task at a time.  Thanks to the years of therapy I’m probably better equipped than most to get through this kind of day.

And I’m writing.  That always helps.

It can happen to you…

To those who have followed this blog for a while, it’s obvious that I’ve had my share of struggles.  Being bipolar is devastating and touches every aspect of your life.  Bipolar disorder is a mental illness, but it’s an illness that’s a result of a physical condition.  It’s not just chemical imbalances either; the brain of a person with bipolar disorder functions differently.  It’s well documented that different parts of the brain are more active than someone without the disease.  Synapses as different and there are chemical imbalances in play.  It just so happens that these physical attributes affect mood and personality.  It’s not the only illness that can do this either.  Have you ever been around someone with Diabetes when their blood sugar gets too low?  They can get really cranky if not downright mean.  And so forth and so on.

The good news about this is that, being physical, it’s treatable.  The medications are designed to affect brain function not just adjust mood.  One very effective drug is an anti-epileptic treatment.  One with epilepsy doesn’t suffer from a mood issue, it’s a physical illness.  And the medications are designed to address the physical condition.  That’s not to mean that being bipolar doesn’t have emotional components though.  There is a facet of this disease that is purely behavioral.  That’s why therapy is an important part of overall treatment.  But the bottom line; it IS Treatable.

(I’m on a soap box today; can you tell?)

But back to what I was saying.  I have had a lifetime of pain and suffering.  I’ve caused myself a lot of self harm, and I’ve harmed many others as well.  I have been completely incapacitated at times, and out of control other times.  Over the course of my life there have been very few times when I was functioning in a healthy and symptom free way.  I have experienced the absolute extremes of the highs and the lows.

I remember one time when I was hospitalized through the Christmas Holiday.  I had taken an overdose of Lithium during an extreme depression.  It should have been fatal; my blood level was over 3.0.  But I survived, and ended up hospitalized again.  It’s never good to be in the hospital, but missing such an important holiday is especially difficult.  My children were still small, and it must have been just as horrible as it was for me.  I did get a 4 hour pass on Christmas day, but I was still so distraught it might have been better if I hadn’t gone at all.

I spent almost 7 years when I was completely unable to work.  The ‘official’ story is that I had sold a business I owned and was able to semi-retire.  But the truth is I was just too messed up to continue running the business.

The mania has taken its toll too.   There was the time I was out at 3:00am frantically trimming the bushes in the yard.  Of course a police cruiser happened by, and it was only some really fast talking that kept him from bringing me in for a psyche evaluation.  (Which I probably should have had)  Or the time I rear ended another car, jumped out of mine screaming at the other driver for being an idiot, pounding on his car then getting back in mine and driving off.  (The ‘hit and run’ was never solved)  The insane anger, the self violence (I’ve never been violent with anyone else, thank goodness) and destructive, risk taking behaviors I’ve acted out.

There’s no reason I should be able to function at all.  There’s no reason I should even be alive.

Yet I am.  Somehow I’ve managed to recover from all the craziness and pulled myself back into a manageable place.  Maybe it’s not been ‘normal’, but at least manageable.  I’ve managed to earn a living and take care of myself and others, in spite of everything.  I never expected to live past 40, yet here I am in my 50’s and still moving ahead.

And I’ve had a breakthrough.

For me, it was the admission that I was bipolar.  I always knew that there was something wrong with me, but I wouldn’t acknowledge to myself that it was as severe or life controlling as it really was.  I have been on a multitude of medications over the years, but they were mostly dealing with the symptoms and not the cause.  Acceptance however changed that.  My treatment is now focused on the source instead of just covering up symptoms.  The medications I’m on are specifically for bipolar control.  My therapy is learning how to deal with the disease.

For the first time I can remember, I’m stable and healthy.

I’m not naive however.  I know there will be setbacks and adjustments as I go through the cycles that will always be there.  But I have the power now.  I have the understanding of the factors that are responsible for my feelings and behaviors, and the importance of maintaining my therapies no matter how good I might feel.  This is a lifetime illness, and it has to be treated as such.  I will prevail.

So what’s the point?  I think the moral of this story is, no matter how severe the illness may be, no matter how many therapies have failed, and no matter how hopeless it might feel it can be beaten.  It’s sure to take a lot of trial and error to find the right combination of medications and therapy, but it can always happen.  You just can’t give up.  But there is always hope.

If I can do it, anyone can.

On Being Normal.

I’m finding it more and more difficult to find the time to write.  It’s really upsetting to me, but I have to earn a living, and my workload is just too much to leave me any time.  My job is very stressful, and I’m working many long hours these days, but I’m handling it!  I’m even finding some time to have a little bit of a social life.  A very little bit unfortunately.  In the past however, by now with this much stress I would have either been pushed down into a depression, or lashing out in a manic rage.  But not now; I come to work, I do my job and roll with the punches.  That in itself is very satisfying.

It’s not just my job that I’m handling well now.  I’m not going out dating every night of the week; in fact I don’t go out weekdays at all.  But the time alone at home isn’t a problem anymore.  I’m completely comfortable with just being by myself.  What a difference!  I might not even go out on the weekend either, and if I do, it’s just been one date.  The dates I have been on have been casual and fun too.  I don’t feel pressured to find the next ‘great romance’.  It might be enjoying a concert, or sharing a home cooked meal (always a pleasure) or just hanging out.   Not that I wouldn’t turn down something long term, but taking things slow and easy and enjoying being in the moment.

I would say that I’ve finally stabilized and gotten the mood swings under control.

Therapy is going well too.  Now that I’m not dealing with the extreme moods, we’ve turned our attention to understanding and improving certain unhealthy personality traits.  There are some negative aspects of my life that aren’t related to being bipolar, and I’m learning to recognize and deal with these appropriately.  Things like the overwhelming urge to be in a relationship.  There are some serious commitment issues that have resulted in bad decisions, both in jumping into relationships too quickly, and my new fear of commitment after being burned.  I have anxiety issues that I’m learning to manage.  It’s actually kind of nice to be dealing with something that’s not bipolar, and I feel like I’m getting to be a better person overall.

There is a downside though. I feel flat.

I’m not depressed by any means.  My mood is good, and my thoughts are positive and upbeat.  There are activities that I can enjoy, and I do.  I’ve really gotten back into music again, particularly jazz which is something I’ve not been able to enjoy for some time.  I love to dance, and have had a good time with the TV show “Dancing with the stars” which has not been holding any interest for me at all.  But there’s something missing.  While I enjoy my activities, there’s no excitement or anticipation.  I am where I am at the moment, and it’s very pleasurable while I’m there.  But the sense of adventure and joy isn’t a part of that anymore.  It almost feels apathetic.

I just don’t care.

If I have plans to do something fun; great!  I’ll have fun. And if there’s nothing to do, well that’s great too.  I’m just as happy laying on the couch napping as I am taking a day trip to someplace I’ve never been to before.  I’ve always enjoyed playing my guitar, but I just don’t feel like it now.  I’m an avid reader; now I just read a few pages of a book I’ve read many times before while I’m eating dinner.  Then I don’t touch a book again until the next meal.  When opportunities come to do something interesting, I take them.  And those things are interesting to me while I’m doing them.  There just isn’t the motivation to find interesting things to do.  I’m dependent on others to provide the ideas.  I have no motivation for much of anything.

My therapist thinks that it’s because I’ve never really been in this place before. The fleeting moments when I was between extreme cycles never lasted long enough for me to learn how to adapt.  Being even hypo manic provides a spark and excitement about everything.  And when I’m depressed, absolutely nothing matters at all, and there isn’t anything enjoyable to me.  So my latest challenge is to find ways to generate excitement and interest without being driven by an elevated mood.  Never having been in a place where I’ve had to generate enthusiasm on my own I don’t really understand how to.  Mood wise, I’m doing very well; but it feels like I’m in limbo.  I miss the energy and zest for life that I’ve been used to in my manias.  There’s a large temptation to cut back on my medications and try to trigger just a little bit of mania.  But I know that this is typical of the disease, and I’m not about to mess around with my dosages.  It’s too easy to lose control, and that’s not something I want to do ever again.

My therapist calls this living a normal life.  This is something I’ve been striving for as long as I can remember.  And now that I’m not dealing with the ups and downs I’ve always been used to, my focus is on adapting to this new reality.

But I’ve got to be honest.  Right now, normal isn’t all that it’s cracked up to be.  I don’t like it.

A summer to remember…

Springtime is here!  Winter gave its last gasp last week, and it’s beautiful and warm now.  I absolutely love the spring.  The trees budding out, the grass beginning to grow, the warm sunshine; it always helps my mood improve.

This year though, it’s just a little sad.

It’s not that my love of spring has diminished in any way.  I’m still ecstatic that winter is over.  But the thing is, I had an absolutely awesome spring and summer last year, and it makes me a little melancholy that this year is going to be different.

Last spring started with a new relationship.  I really wasn’t looking for one, and didn’t think I was ready.  But we had been emailing for a while and finally decided to meet.  Wow.  She absolutely swept me off my feet.  Not love at first sight or anything, but she was absolutely beautiful, and we sat and talked (and laughed) for hours at our first meeting.  Neither of us wanted to leave.  And we quickly became the best of friends.

Then it started to change…

She invited me over to her place for some dinner, and later a fire in the fire pit.  The stars were shining, and a full moon was peeking through the trees; how could it not be romantic?  I can still remember the sweetness of the first kiss, and the electricity that shot through my very core.

But this is not a story of lust.

I was having the time of my life.  We took a trip to the mountains together.  We laughed so hard on the drive up, that I missed an important turn and we ended up taking an impromptu tour of a little town off the highway.  The weather was gorgeous, and so was she.  Walking around the little town we stayed in, holding hands, visiting the little shops and walking through an art show that just happened to be there.  It was magical.  And the laughter continued…  Trying on silly hats, making fun of the other tourist (I know, not cool) and just generally cutting up.  We had dinner in a little romantic restaurant, and spent most of the night sitting on the deck and talking about anything and everything.  (And so on…. But enough of that)

And so it went.

As spring moved into summer, we became more of a couple.  I began spending time at her house in the country.  We picked blueberries from a huge bush in her yard, watched the grapes mature, cut the grass together and just enjoyed each other’s company.  Nights were spent cuddling together on the couch watching a TV Series we had gotten into, or even just relaxing and watching her ‘push a needle’.  (She knitted like a fiend, LOL) There were still fires outside, and as it got even warmer we would play in the kiddy pool she had for her son.  As silly as it sounds, sitting in 8 inches of warm water under the stars, splashing and laughing is more romantic than you’d think.

We still took our trips together.  A day at the beach; nosing around antique stores; hanging out with friends; it didn’t matter what we did, as long as we were together.

And the passion.  Suffice it to say that I’ve never known anyone like her.  But again, that’s not part of this story.

But good things can come to an end.  My disease began to creep out and, in spite of the fun I was having I began to get depressed.  Summer was coming to a close, and my annual fall depression began to take over.  I fought it hard, but it was just too strong.  I have to say, she was great about it.  She understood what it was like to be bipolar, and was very supportive of me.  But things begin to go downhill fast, and my summer ended in an absolute disaster.

This time, the illness won.

She was still supportive and understanding.  But she had a family to protect, as well as herself.  As painful as it must have been, she decided that we were better off as friends.  (At least that’s how I see it).  Whatever her reasoning, I don’t blame her a bit.  Being with someone who is bipolar is difficult at best and impossible at times.  And so, we moved on.  It was very difficult at first, for both of us I think, but really better in the long run.

I still miss her though.

The good news is, through it all we have remained friends.  New relationships have developed, jobs have changed, new places to live; but still we can talk and share as we always have.  I’ve never been able to remain friends with anyone after the end of a relationship, but the connection that brought us together was strong, true and deep.

She is my truest friend to this day.

So yes, the beginning of spring brings back all the sweet memories of last summer.  Who knows what the future will bring; no doubt there will be other summers ahead that bring just as much joy.  Even with the sadness that this summer is different, the memories I have make me smile.  And as I move ahead, the wonderful time we had is always something I’ll be able to carry with me.

As an aside… This is my story.  She may have a different view and perspective.  I can’t and won’t speak for her.  She knows that I write, and if it hurts her or makes her uncomfortable in any way, I have to apologize.  I hope she understands that this was an important part of my life, and as I share, anonymously, it’s a celebration of experience.  I mean no harm.

It was the summer of a lifetime, and I’ll always treasure the time we had together.