Recovering from Hypomania

Cut Back Taking it Easy

Recovering from hypomania and subsequent low energy which could be called depression. Honestly, I do not experience the fatigue following a hypomanic or mixed episode as depression. Now, rarely do I experience depressive thoughts during these recovery periods. I simply need to relax. I need to heal. The low energy, the fatigue, calls for me to slow down. My body can no longer sustain hypomania.

In January, I overdid it. I took on too much.

My Son Began College

My son began community college, which I drive him to and from.

My Freshman Experience

Yes, when I was his age (and younger), I could get myself to and from college, sometimes commuting by bus from Hermosa Beach to UCLA. Honestly, though, as my dad worked in Westwood, I’d usually catch a ride with him for summer school classes and hang out in a library or volunteer in the medical center for the rest of the day.

During the school year, I lived on the seventh floor of Dykstra Hall facing the fraternities lining Gayley Ave. I despised dorm life. Too much noise. Not enough privacy. I couldn’t sleep, went home most weekends, ended up suicidal, turned to cognitive psychotherapy, and quit UCLA.

My Son Isn’t Me

My son is not like me. Yes, we both have struggled with depression. But, ever since he was a toddler, he’s suffered severe debilitating migraines (involving headache, nausea, and vomiting). His migraines are much improved with medication, but he still gets them, just less often and less severely.  He also gets motion sick and catches whatever virus is circulating. When he gets sick, it takes him down hard. So much for taking the bus to and from college.

Going to College is a Huge Achievement

Now, it’s a major achievement for him to attend class at all. For those not familiar with my son’s struggles, his migraines, getting sick often, depression, and social anxiety, prevented him from finishing high school. He decided to take the GED, instead.

Unfortunately, he was sick last week (all three of us were), throwing up, not eating, sleeping all day… I hope and pray that he pulls himself together and gets back on track this upcoming week.

Still Visiting My Mom

Remember, I still visit my mom about once a week. Doesn’t sound like all that much. I wish I had the energy to do so more often. Visiting her or taking her out for a meal is challenging. Draining. Emotionally exhausting.

Her stroke in 2015 severely damaged the left hemisphere and frontal cortex of her brain. She has global aphasia and can no longer communicate using language – verbal, written, drawn, or symbolic. She understands facial expressions and emotions. She communicates using face expressions and pointing. She lets me know if my driving makes her uncomfortable with a simple sound, clearly expressing disapproval and warning. (The syllable clearly translates to slow down or watch out.)

Still, I to speak to her, narrating our time together, gesturing and animating what I’m communicating (luckily, I’m a drama geek, very theatrical), and treating her as if she can understand. She’s still a highly intelligent woman who knows what’s going on.

We enjoy visiting diners with photographs on the menu. She chooses what she wants to eat with my help in navigating the written portions of the menu.

Over-Enrolled, Over-Extended

Same week my son began his classes, what did I do?

Creative Writing Course

Started taking a creative writing course through our local community college emeritus program. Great class, but I need time to relax, solitude, not more demands on my time.

For me, social stimulation and demands on my time trigger hypomanic symptoms. I get “energized” in a negative way. My mood cycling begins.

I prefer and need SOLITUDE!

Qigong

As someone living with bipolar, I’ve experienced hypomania and mania with energetic, euphoric, spiritual symptoms. Enrolling in Qigong backfired.

The instructor had us visualize taking the energy of the universe (that’s a LOT of energy) in through the top of our heads, channel it through our bodies, and then into the ground.

Now this may be great for someone else, but I’m highly suggestive. I can imagine the energy of the universe, and it’s simply way too much for me to channel. Needless to say, the exercise triggered hypomania.

I experience hypomania energetically. I’ve had hypomanic and manic episodes where energy filled me up, pushed through my skin, and cleansed me, and I’ve experienced energy that was deceptive, tried to tell me that it was good for me, but felt scary, false, and threatened my sanity. Some of these experiences, I’ve framed as mystical. Some, dangerous. Because I cannot control which way the experience takes me, and because they come at a cost, I no longer seek them.

I MUST BE GROUNDED IN REALITY.

Personal Training Contract

In my hypomanic spree, I signed up for an expensive annual personal training contract with a gym. Gyms are not good places for me. Again, overstimulating.

Overspending, over-committing, over-zealous activity — all symptoms of hypomania and mania — all factored into my signing that expensive contract.

Now, I’m trying to cancel it…

Invested Too Much Money in a Venture

In my hypomanic state, I invested WAY too much money in my friend Sarah Fader‘s publishing house, Eliezer Tristan Publishing (ETP). I’m a HUGE supporter of Sarah and the work ETP does. Sarah did not solicit the money from me.

Riding the high of hypomania, I offered an angel investment that was ten times what she thought I was offering. Think of that. Someone thinks you are generous offering an investment of x. Then you say, “No, I meant x times 10.” For those not algebra inclined, move the decimal point over once to the right:

If x = $100, x times 10 = $1,000.
If x = $250, x times 10 = $2,500.
If x = $500, x times 10 = $5,000.

She was thrilled with an angel investment in the hundreds. I made an investment in the thousands! Yikes!

Honestly, though, Sarah and ETP need the money more than I do. The money is going to good use. It’s doing good things for the writers published and for the world.

ETP’s co-founders, Sarah Fader and Sarah Comerford, are mental health advocates. The publishing company specializes in publishing “nonfiction and fiction works largely focusing on survival, in its many iterations.

Still… Didn’t think it out. Was impulsive.

Yes, I’m impulsive, especially when hypomanic.

Oh, well.

Trying to Do the Right Thing

All these activities, in and of themselvs, seem to be good. I was trying to do the right thing. Writing. Relaxing, meditative exercise. Exercise to improve my health, my cholesterol and triglycerides, which are high in spite of taking medications for them. Still, none of these things were, in fact, good for me. Maybe, if I had taken just one on. Maybe, if I wasn’t exhausted by caretaking responsbilities.

But, as I age, I find more and more, that solitude suits me.

Solitude is Not Isolation

Solitude is not isolation. I am not lonely. I am not alone. I am very much a part of a family. I am very much a part of a community. You are part of my community.

I am loved.

I love.

Grief — Moving Forward

An Irish Toast: May you be in Heaven a half hour before the Devil knows you're dead.
In Loving Memory of My Father. No Doubt He Made it through the Pearly Gates.

Wednesday my mother gave me artwork and books to remove from her room, the room she formerly shared with my father.

My sister and I grew up with this prayer prominently displayed. I will give the original to my sister to remember our father.

The Arabian horses graced the wall above my father’s desk. I plan to reframe and put them a place of honor in my home.

Green-blue rubbing of three Arabian horses
This rubbing of Arabian horses hung above my Dad’s desk

Yesterday my mother had me take my father’s clothes home with me. She is moving forward.

Dry-eyed, I hugged my mother, articulating what she can no longer say due to aphasia from her stroke. “I miss him, too, Mom. He loved us all so well. We loved him. We miss him.”

More and more lately I’ve cried, both alone and over the phone with my sister.

We are grieving.

 

 

Happy Holidays!

Peace & Love KittOMalley.com

I have not been up to writing recently. Just been binge watching TV and doing jigsaw puzzles on my iPad. This season is emotionally fraught for me, starting with my mother’s birthday in October, Thanksgiving, my father’s birthday in December, then my husband’s birthday, then Christmas, finally New Year’s (which we sleep through).

Never much liked the holidays, for they usually involved my parents getting drunk. Arguments often ensued. But they were better behaved at our homes, as we created new rituals with our own families. My parents didn’t want to risk not seeing their grandchildren. Thanks to my sister for putting her foot down and clearly defining that boundary.

Years ago, I would host Thanksgiving. Believe I quit about the time I was hospitalized for bipolar disorder. My sister has taken on the role of hostess, which I appreciate. Her sons are the closest thing my son has to siblings.

Now that my parents are both in memory care and not able to join us, I miss them. Sounds odd, but even alcoholic families can be loving. Our illnesses do not define us. I miss communicating with my mother who since her stroke has severe aphasia. She doesn’t understand language, cannot speak, read, or write. Carrying on a conversation with my father, who cannot remember what was said two minutes ago, takes patience. My parents live in a lovely community. They seem happy together. But I miss them both. They are simply not the same. Dementia, both alcohol-related and vascular, and aphasia have taken so much of them away.

I’m a Good Daughter, I Promise

Okay. I pulled into a parking lot to adjust the camera. I like driving with the windows open. So we’re going to get a lot of, we’re going to get a lot of noise. I guess I could close the windows, but I love the windows open. I close them when I’m with my son because he doesn’t like the windows open, so we have air conditioning. But, when Kitt drives [alone], we have the windows open.

Um. Driving back from visiting my parents. Totally intense. Um. My mom refused to eat their mechanically separated food, which is like an aphasia diet, not aphasia, dysphasia. Anyway, swallowing problem diet to prevent her from aspirating her food, which is swallowing her food and liquids going down not the esophagus, but the trachea and into the lungs. Not a good thing. Leads to aspiration pneumonia. Not good. So, stroke, you know, can cause dysphagia, this swallowing problem. So, she refused that and she wanted the lasagna. So after lunch, or as she was eating lunch. Well, when I was done. She started coughing up her food. So I brought her to her room. Told the nurse. So the nurse listened to her lungs. Said her lungs sounded good.

My mom continued for the next couple of hours to cough up liquid and food out of her lungs. Because [sigh], it’s so horrible. Stroke, you know, makes it so the brain isn’t telling the throat muscles what to do. This is like the non-scientific explanation of post-stroke swallowing difficulties. I think it’s dysphasia. I think that’s what it’s called. Anyway, food goes down trachea to lungs. Not where it belongs – food and liquid. Rather than esophagus to stomach. She coughed it all up, which is good.

And then she wanted to talk to me, and I thought, you know,… She also has aphasia. [Actually, I was told recently that she has apraxia. She may have both. I’m no speech and language pathologist.] She’s not able to communicate very clearly. So, um, she’s thinking, but not able to get those thoughts across because she’s not always able to write the words she means or say… She’s not always able to say… very few of the words she means.

And, my parents have been isolating in their room, and not participating in the activities that are designed for, you know, vascular dementia and other dementias at their memory care facility. Memory care is a little bit of a misnomer, because they care for all sorts of brain injuries that lead to dementia. And, dementia isn’t always memory loss. Or, maybe it is. I don’t know. I’ll have to look up that definition.

What Is Dementia?

While symptoms of dementia can vary greatly, at least two of the following core mental functions must be significantly impaired to be considered dementia: Memory; Communication and language; Ability to focus and pay attention; Reasoning and judgment; Visual perception]

But, anyway, brain, you know, they have people with temporal lobal [Frontotemporal Dementia (FTD)], you know, anyway, brain injuries [Traumatic Brain Injury] from being football players, brain injuries from surgery, Alzheimer’s, alcohol-related dementia, which my dad has. I’m an heir to alcoholism. I can feel it in me. And, I have to be very careful not to drink regularly.

Um. And, my mom had the stroke. My mom had been the caregiver of my dad. And, she had a problem with blood pressure, a-fib, and, um, well, needing blood thinners. Now, she’s on a variety of medications to prevent another stroke. Her stroke was pretty severe, and she now has what’s called global aphasia.

So, OK, so we met with the social worker. She has a background [MA] in psychology, but she’s getting her MSW. Anyway, met to go over, um, to communicate with the three of us. My dad’s like Dory. He remembers for like a few minutes and then forgets, so he’s always having to be reminded. You can’t blame him. You know, you can’ t control it. He’s like Dory.

So, my mom got out the word “family” in terms of where she wanted to be. And we had to explain to her that I couldn’t take care of her because of my bipolar disorder, I would end up hospitalized. I hardly have my life together, as it is taking care of…this might be a bit too much wind. I can hardly take care of myself, my kid, and my husband, and my house. I mean, it’s a mess. Um, and my mom’s, she can be challenging. In fact, she’s challenged several different places. A lot of places have had trouble with my mom because she’s a pretty strong willed woman. Um, should have been a CEO or something. Anyway, she was the CEO of our lives. She was a mom.

Anyway…  [sigh] I’m… I’m spent. She wanted to continue to talk to me after we had met with Sheila, the liaison, social worker, but, um, I just said I had to go. That it had been, that we had done a lot, and that that was, that was enough. That was enough. I kissed her. When she said.. Oh, she said the word “family.” Did I say that already? She said the word “family.” Clearly, and I hugged her and kissed her for saying the word, and said, “I can’t.”

I know she wants to live with family. Yeah, I know. Wouldn’t be good for her. Wouldn’t be good for us. It’s hard making these decisions. I feel so… I don’t know. I’m not even going to say. Say, like, I feel like I’m betraying my mom. I feel callous. I feel selfish. I’m working so hard as is. I mean, really. Even with all of these professional resources at my behest. Using my parents’ savings, selling their house which I know they don’t want us to do, but we’re doing in order to care for them. I know it’s breaking their hearts, but it’s what’s best for us all. I visit them regularly. I’m a good girl. I’m a good daughter, I promise. See, that’s like my thing. Being a good girl.

[Sigh] Oh, God. This is so hard.