I do not whisper. I ROAR.

I do not whisper. I ROAR.

Motherhood transformed me. My identity changed. Now it changes again. I have constantly reinvented myself over my lifetime.

As a pre-med biochemistry major at UCLA, I was miserable and suicidal. Then I studied part-time at a community college, biding time to find my direction. Finding a niche as a legal studies major at UC Berkeley, I tried to reconcile my inner turmoil with very high professional aspirations.

First I worked as a legal assistant, then went to graduate school, earned a master’s in psychology and became a psychotherapist, only to crash and burn. Recovering from that breakdown, I re-entered the workforce as a temporary file clerk in the commercial real estate industry where I had ten years of success.

Trying to balance work with motherhood, I failed miserably, and ended up hospitalized in a psychiatric unit with rapid cycling and mixed symptoms of bipolar disorder. After months of partial hospitalization, I became a reluctant stay-at-home mother on disability.

What does an overeducated and reluctant stay-at-home mother with a recurring sense of calling (or a manic and delusional symptom of bipolar disorder, depending on one’s perspective) do with her mind? Why attend seminary, of course, which I did on two separate occasions and on two separate occasions had to quit due to symptoms.

Here I am writing my story again. To what end? To reinvent myself once again – not as someone who is ill, but as someone who fights and loves and writes and has hope that new chapters of her life lie ahead.

I have a voice that must be heard. I have a message to share and share it I do. I am not just my son’s mother. I am not my diagnosis. I am able. I am able to affect change. I wield power. I am a mover and a shaker. I do not whisper. I ROAR.

Writing to Discipline My Thoughts

Disciplining My Thoughts By Writing

This morning I attended an OC Writers’ write-in. I haven’t attended a writers’ group in a long time. Been isolating myself and focusing on my son rather than my writing, rather than myself. Today, I left him home in bed, then left the meeting early to get him to class on time. When I got back home, he was dry-heaving in bed. Crap.

Hate spending my mornings trying to wake him up to do his homework and go to school. He will be seventeen next month. Time to wake up and do homework on his own. Unfortunately, his private school is not within walking distance, nor would it be a safe bike ride, and my kid has no interest in getting his drivers’ license yet. So, I’m still driving him to and from school.

The first week of June, during my son’s summer break when I didn’t have to act as alarm clock and chauffeur, I started cleaning my house with help of my next-door neighbor. She did most of the cleaning and organizing. I chatted and did a wee bit of organizing. We tackled the kitchen, spending two hours on Monday and two hours on Friday.

The second week of June was my son’s first week of summer school, so I took the week off cleaning and organizing. He has a full schedule this summer. He attended most of his classes last week, perhaps because I offered him $10/class/day. He’s motivated by money. It costs more to reschedule his classes than it does to pay him to attend.

Hypomania Raises Its Head (Again)

Last Tuesday in therapy, I said I no longer felt hypomanic. At the time, I seemed relaxed, at ease. By Wednesday my mind was racing. At night, when it was time to fall asleep, to slow down my mind – instead of thinking in my usual monologue, as an orator narrating my life – I heard a cacophony of voices.

I wondered if, when those voices crowded my mind, I should have written them down to see if I was thinking in dialogue. Were the voices characters wanting to be heard, auditory hallucinations, or thoughts racing so fast, I could not make heads or tails of them? Most likely speeding thoughts.

When I couldn’t fall asleep, instead of writing, I medicated myself to sleep. I force sleep when it won’t come on its own.

As I wrote last week during the day, while my son attended school, I could not hear the noise. Instead, I focused on my voice and that’s what I thought. Writing disciplined my thoughts.

Sick with Dread

Dread background image of red alarm clock

Frustrating to parent an adolescent who feels sick chronically. Difficult to know if he feels sick because he is sick with a contagious disease, or if he has a migraine, or if he is anxious. Honestly, right now, I’m feeling sick to my stomach. Sick with dread. Dreading a summer trying to get my kid out of his bed, out of his bedroom, out of the house, and to summer school.

Silent Lately

Silence - background of clouds over Saddleback mountain range formation and trees in foreground

I haven’t written in a while, nor have I read or commented on others’ posts. I used to write brief reviews after reading a book. Recently, I’ve simply left stars on Amazon and Good Reads.

Why? Because I simply needed to recover. Recovering not from an episode of bipolar disorder – though I do live with that illness and must take care of myself – but from exhaustion, physical illness, and the demands of life.

Sometimes I need silence. Sometimes I must do less. I must NOT do.

Since my mother had her stroke November 2015, I’ve had added responsibilities overseeing my parents’ finances and care. My sister helps me make decisions and offers emotional support, but she lives in another state and has her own life to live.

I parent a high-needs adolescent who gets sick A LOT and has struggled throughout his life with migraines, ADHD, depression, and anxiety.

My husband, son, and I have all been sick.

All this weighs on me.

So, I’ve pulled back.

I’ve been silent.

I’ve binge-watched TV.

I’ve done lots of jigsaw puzzles on my iPad.

Hope - yellow hibiscus background

Starting Monday, I’m hiring my neighbor, who has been a caregiver to seniors, to help me with my chaotic physical environment. Together, we will organize and clean my house. It’s cluttered and dusty. The floors and refrigerator need cleaning. Hopefully, that will improve both our physical and emotional health.

Spring Brings Hypomania

SpringBringsHypomania

This year, as winter has ended and spring has begun, I’ve taken it slowly and protected myself from overstimulation. You have not heard from me as much, as I’ve not been as active writing here or on social media.

You see, springtime triggers hypomania in me. Now I’m experiencing mild hypomania, irritability, and some mixed features. I feel myself internally crying, and on the verge of tears. I have good reason to cry, but my feeling of emotional vulnerability and instability goes beyond my current life circumstances. Perhaps, for I’ve never experienced losing my parents to dementia while raising a chronically ill teenager and living with bipolar disorder type II. Sounds pretty stressful.

My response is to cocoon, to reduce stimulation, to take sleep meds if I must, to reduce stress. When I haven’t been busy caring for my son or visiting my parents, I’ve relaxed and let my husband spoil me.

Hopefully I’ll feel much better once tax season is over. Exhausting and stressful.

Hypomanic Episode Symptoms

By Steve Bressert, Ph.D. for PsychCentral

  • Inflated self-esteem or grandiosity
  • Decreased need for sleep (e.g., feels rested after only 3 hours of sleep)
  • More talkative than usual or pressure to keep talking
  • Flight of ideas or subjective experience that thoughts are racing
  • Distractibility (e.g., attention too easily drawn to unimportant or irrelevant external stimuli)
  • Increase in goal-directed activity (either socially, at work or school, or sexually) or psychomotor agitation
  • Excessive involvement in pleasurable activities that have a high potential for painful consequences (e.g., the person engages in unrestrained buying sprees, sexual indiscretions, or foolish business investments)

Source: psychcentral.com/disorders/hypomanic-episode-symptoms/