My Open-Sourced Personal Tagline

#HAWMC Day 17: Give yourself, or your patient experience a tagine. Grab attention with your slogan. Make sure it’s catchy!

When I saw this prompt, the first thing that popped into my head is the title of the TLC Album from 1990-something, Crazy Sexy Cool. But then I admitted I only have the crazy part down and had to throw it out the window. 

I'm notoriously bad at names and titles, so this is a bit of a tricky one for me. I can be creative when I'm doing so in my own head, which I do hourly, but when put on the spot, I'm pretty rough at it, especially with instructions on "make it catchy".  I get overwhelmed with thoughts like "no that's corny, that's not catchy, blah blah blah. It's like someone saying "tell me a joke, make sure it's funny." Deer in headlights. My outfits are catchy (read: things many people wouldn't wear but I don't really give a *&*$ because I like them) but my taglines and titles, not so much. 

And so, I did what any good 21st century blogger would do: I open-sourced it. Specifically, I posted on Facebook asking people to describe me in one word, and to have fun with it. I specifically mentioned it was for a mental-health-related blog post, to give people the freedom to delve into that arena if they so chose. Here's what I got:

• Multi-facited
• Friend - I'm going to group this in with loyal for purposes of making them all adjectives. 
• Loyal x2
• Optimistic 
• Positive 
• Focused
• Strong
• Enthusiastic
• Inspiring
• Determined
• Motivated
• Smiley

One of my friend wrote "crackers", a joke from freshman year in college when I was eating soup and somehow ended up with crackers on top of my head, which he apparently won't let me live down 18 years later. But, it does lead nicely, on several levels, I suppose, into my own word, which is Messy.

I'm not trying to be a downer after such positive feedback. I don't believe messy needs to have a negative connotation. I mean: I'm all over the place. I don't fit into a nice square box or description or even personality type - I'm an E-I-N-F-J-P on Myer's Briggs, seriously. By nature of my cyclothymia, and it's being rapid cycling, I'm never quite sure what each day holds. Some people wake up on the wrong side of the bed; I wake up on the wrong side of the brain. Sometimes I am social and excitable, sometimes I'm in my own space in my head creating, writing, reading. While I know everyone has several sides of them and nobody can be perfectly categorized, what makes it mood cycling is the frequency and severity of the change. It's not just that I am sometimes social and sometimes not. It's that I'm sometimes hypomanic to the point of being physically unable to sit still and appearing (and feeling) frantic, and then depressed and battling social anxiety to the point that having to see people makes me panic. If you were to illustrate the path of my daily life and brain activity, it would resemble something like a product of the game Spin Art.

From SpinArt Free app - not quite the same effect but a good representation

And so, it appears, my open-sourced tagline is: Motivated-Inspiring-Determined-Enthusiastic-Smiley-Strong-Focused-Positive-Optimistic-Loyal-Multifacited-Messy-Maya. Yep, I think that sounds about right. It might not be catchy, and I guess it grabs attention if you like long-winded tongue twisters. It certainly doesn't fit in a nice little box. Which is just the way I like it. 

Life Goals and Disappointments

#HAWMC Day 16:  What’s one thing that your 10-year-old self  thought you would do? Can you still do it? How would you approach it to make it happen?

Let me start off by saying that when I was four, my goal was to be a "Dunkin Donuts Lady", I had developed an apparently very influential friendship with a nice woman named Jackie who worked at the nearby Dunkin. By ten, after a trip to Wheaten Village, I had switched my allegiances and wanted to be a glassblower.  So with all due respect to all of the Dunkin Donuts ladies and glassblowers out there (I actually still think the latter is an amazing art, I just have zero glass-blowing talent), I am not sure that my young self's dreams were exactly the most on point. 

With that said, I can tell you one thing that I was sure I'd be when I grew up: a mom. My dad has five kids and my mom has two, both of whom she had by the age of 26, and I had a big family in general, so naturally this seemed like the path that I'd follow. When I got married, all of that changed. Let's suffice it to say that my brain seemed to sense something was wrong, that having children at the time wasn't a good idea (this was true for numerous reasons, a major one being that my marriage didn't last long). 

When I got diagnosed, I was told that my condition was very genetic. Basically, it doesn't just "show up", there had to be a family history somewhere. I consider myself a relatively bright person, and I therefore know that means that if it was passed down to me, it could be passed down from me.  This was confirmed, and it was also confirmed that the severity of it may change generation to generation - as in a child of mine could battle not just hypomania and depressive cycles, but full blown mania, depression, delusions, hallucinations, and basically anything else that could possibly be a symptom of any type of mood cycling disorder. I was also told if I ever wanted to have children, I'd have to work very carefully with doctors because I couldn't be on my meds and we know by now this could be pretty disastrous to me. I've been hospitalized once. I don't want to be there again. Long story short, I decided not to put myself, or more importantly my future children, through this, and I decided I would not be passing along my genes, the messy ones or the awesome ones, to a future generation. I got an IUD put in (fun fact: oxcarbazepine messes with hormonal birth control) and decided when that was "up" I'd probably do something more permanent. 

It's heart breaking. I don't ever think it will not be heart breaking. I look back on my 24-year-old newly married self and realized that probably, somehow, I knew this would all come about even though I wouldn't be diagnosed for another 6 years. It's the only reason I can think that I intuitively and so decisively put the breaks on something that had been my life plan all along. But there are still times I wonder, if I had had children during my marriage how would I have fared? How would the children have fared? But I can't think on it too much. I believe, when all is said and done, I would make the same decision again, knowing what I know now.  

Could I still achieve this goal? Well, possibly. I've never particularly tried. How would I approach it? Well I think we're all adults here and know how one goes about "having a baby". How would I approach it with my condition? Work closely with doctors, meditate on it (I'm Buddhist) and hang on tight for the ride while hoping that everyone around me doesn't want to strangle un-medicated me with their bare hands? I really am not sure. I could adopt. I've considered it. I still do sometimes, and maybe one day that will happen. 

But in the end, this is one challenge in life I have to say I did not meet, at least not the way I planned. Perhaps I should have just stuck with Dunkin' Donuts Lady. 

I'm So Excited, and I Just Can't Hide It!

#HAWMC Day 15:  Get Excited!  What revs up your internal engine? When you see, hear, feel this it gets you excited and ready to face what comes next. Tell us what it is!

I have hypomania and a generally excitable personality. Lots and lots of things get me excited. It get excited when I get a new shade of mascara or a new flavor of Keurig. This morning I heard the Rocky Theme (AKA Philly's unofficial theme song) and Bad Medicine by Bon Jovi back to back on my drive into work. That was exciting, in a 1986 type of way. I love to celebrate the little things in life. There are so many setbacks, especially in life with chronic illness, that if you don't savor the tiny moments, it's going to be a long damn life, and not in the best of ways.  If I can't enjoy the get excited over fun day to day things, no matter how small they are, how the hell will I get through the depressive cycles? 

But if I had to pick something, and this is tough with a brain that goes in 20 directions at once, I'd say creating gets me excited. When I create something from scratch, either on my own or with the help of others, I feel accomplished and in control. For a person who's condition often results in a lack of control over....err.... everything... the ability to create something of my own and see it through is thrilling. 

Some examples: my novel. I'll probably be the only one who ever reads it, but it's exhilarating. I'm writing a novel! I created a book, a whole story, out of thin air, just using my imagination and power in my messy brain, and I've seen it through - I'm almost finished the first, very rudimentary draft. 

Another example: the mental health work I'm doing. With the help of a couple of friends, I created Go the Extra Mile for Mental health, and with the help of loved ones, we held a charity hike and raised money for brain and behavior research. I'm also working with another friend to create a mentor program for youth with mental health conditions. This one is still in the "discussion" stages, but the ability to partner with someone and even consider putting this together is exciting. What's extra cool is this is a person I met via twitter because of our mental health awareness work, and now we've become friends and are combining forces in something that we're both passionate about and that we feel there's a great need for. I feel like I'm using my brain and my condition for good, to help others, and that most definitely gets me revved up.

Creating also allows me to get out of my "everyday brain" and reach into another part, a part I generally keep hidden because I believe my constant desire to create probably annoys people (read: I think my continual brainstorm of ideas and my desire to talk about them is akin to an excited kid asking "are we there yet" constantly over a long car ride). But for me, it's a solace. It's a place where, I'm not cyclothymic or depressed or hypomanic, but just me. It's a place where I can reach into the part of me that's so interesting to explore, that makes me truly, perhaps for the first time ever, at home with myself. It's the part of me I understand best, even if others understand it least. Perhaps, it's finally finding that part of me at all that's really what gets me excited. 

I Feel Best When I ....

#HAWMC Day 14:  Write about moments you feel like you can take on the world. Where, when, and how often does this happen?

This is an interesting question for someone with mood cycling, as this can very greatly depending on my mood state. If I'm hypomanic, I feel best when I'm planning or organizing something. Whether it be a trip, or an event, or a goal/dream for the future, it helps me feel in control, despite the ironic fact that it might well be my thoughts and brain running away from me.

When I'm depressed, or less than hypomanic, I often feel best curled up with a good book or writing my novel. In these cases, the inner calm I'm able to produce even in the worst of lows gives me a feeling of strength. I enjoy the introverted side of myself in these times. My ability to be self-sufficient, to not feel I need or desire external input and validation helps me keep my head above water. I feel myself wanting to shift to a quieter, more serene lifestyle. During depressive cycles my "big plans" include goals like meditate every day, finish writing my novel, do yoga three times a week, eat clean and give up alcohol to cleanse my body and brain.  In these times, it's an inward focus that brings me some peace, if I can manage any peace at all.

When I'm towing the middle line, I find myself happier with loved ones.  My family has known and loved me for 35 years. That's a really long time. They've gone through ups and downs with me, and they know the truest version of me - at least the truest that anyone sees, for I'm often still trying to figure myself out. With them, I can let my guard down completely. It's not weird for them if I talk about mental health and if I have to suddenly stop and take my meds, or if I'm too tired to do much more than sit on the couch. I can openly tell them when my symptoms start to appear, and they calmly ask how to help. My time with my family brings me back to the more innocent times (i.e. pre-"cyclothymia as a major force in every day life" times) of my youth - sitting around the table playing board games or cards, laughing and talking like when I was a kid. The years roll away, and for a few moments or hours, I don't know I have this condition.

Where, when, how often does this happen? It depends on my cycling. If I'm rapid, it can change every day, every few hours. If I'm in a long hypomanic phase, it can last for a week or so. The tricky part for me is discerning what's actually "me" and what's my condition. Do these goals really make sense? Do I actually want to do yoga three times a week and give up alcohol? When do I really feel best? Am I being influenced by my experiences, or the sodium alterations in my brain? It can be, at times, very difficult for me to tell, and I'm sure exhausting for those around me, who have to adjust to my changing needs. To be clear, it's not that I suffer from delusions or hallucinations (neither of which are part of my particular cycling condition). It's that at times I'm ill in one way, and at times I'm ill in another, and I need to treat each time accordingly.  I guess the up side of this, no pun intended, is that I'm constantly expanding my brain and myself in directions I didn't think to previously. I'm learning more about myself every day, and I any time that we're opening ourselves up to new possibilities, I think we're doing something positive.

The Perfect Comeback - Accepting Myself

#HAWMC Day 13:  Tell us about a time when you felt marginalized or stigmatized by someone because of your health condition. Maybe at the time you didn't speak up, or maybe you did – what did you say or what would you have said to take back control and let them know they were out of line. 

A time when I felt marginalized or stigmatized? Oh, ya know, how about every day? Yes, that's correct, every day. Now, I want to be clear - many, perhaps the majority, of these times, this isn't intentional. But it happens, because I don't, I can't, live by society's rules for "normal". 

I recently read (and shared) a meme/Facebook thing that said, "I'm that person that goes to a party and plays with the dog." I can relate to this 100 percent. I do, in fact, go to parties and play with the dog. When I manage to go to a party at all. Why? Because I think the dog understands me more than most people. It's not their fault (the people). I'm just, in many respects, different. Others are trying to drink and de-stress and chat and be social. I'm trying to not let the walls close in, hoping I don't cycle into a hypomanic episode and frantically talk everyone's ear off to the point of embarrassment, or cycle into a depressive cycle and burst into tears for no reason in the middle of the party. Others don't have to intentionally exclude me... I'm naturally marginalized by the difference in our thoughts, emotions, and actions. And trying to include myself and act like everyone else just feels fake - I think people can see right through it, and in my opinion, being fake is worse than being excluded. 

Then there's the times when I have to, for the third week in a row, turn down plans with friends because I'm so mentally, physically, and emotionally exhausted from rapid cycling that I can't possibly do anything but read a little and get to bed early. And if I do manage to get out, I worry the whole time about getting home and getting to bed because I am doctor ordered to get eight to nine hours of sleep per night to keep cycling to a minimum. If I start to lack sleep, I'm going to be ill. I will cycle badly and it could take quite a while to recover - all from a couple of nights less sleep. I know, when my friends are all out having fun, not concerned with getting to bed at the right time, that I'm out of place, worrying about my "bedtime" like a 7 year old or a 70 year old. I can't relax because the anxiety is too much. It's not needless worry, or me having a pole up my ass, unable to have fun. I can't just chill out, it's legitimate anxiety that rakes at me the whole time. And so I often choose to just stay home instead. 

Then there's my hobbies. When people ask what I do for fun, there's always an awkward pause before I say, "Oh I like reading, writing, and organizing mental health awareness campaigns. I run a mood disorders online support group." Nothing says barrels of fun like introspective, solitary hobbies. "So, let's talk about mental illness!" isn't exactly a great icebreaker at social gatherings. While I do have other hobbies, outdoor activities in particular, I generally like to do them with one other person or by myself. Big groups make me feel anxious and tend to maximize my differences... and the fact that I feel anxious in groups and can't relax further maximizes my differences. It's a vicious cycle. 

How do I take back control? I accept all of this. I accept who I am, cyclothymia and all. I have acknowledged that I will rarely be the cool, fun, life of the party. Most of the time, I won't even make it to the party. And that's ok. I've accepted that  my group of friends may be small, but they're loyal, and that sometimes, my best friend has to be myself (or my dog Cinn).  By understanding that much of my "extroverted" tendency of the past was actually hypomania, and now that I'm on meds for it a lot of that has disappeared, I've allowed myself to embrace my more introverted, creative, reflective self. It's a very different side of me, but I'm enjoying learning about it, exploring the deeper levels of me. Ironically, it's the unintentional marginalizing, the feeling out of place, that's helped me to truly understand accept myself, possibly for the first time ever. 

Chillin' Out Maxing Relaxin' All Cool

#HAWMC Day 12:  Kick your feet up! What is your ideal day in?When you’re having a bad day, or a long week – how do you relax, recharge, and reset yourself?

Relax? What is this thing you call "relax"? I'm kidding, kind of, but I've always been notoriously bad at relaxing. Part of it is my general Type A personality. Part of it is my cyclothymia. In a hypomanic state, what's "relaxing" for me doesn't fit the traditional definition of the word. In this mood cycle, relaxing often involves some sort of planning or active activity (is that redundant) - something that's not work, but that measures up to the level of energy in my body. It might be a shopping trip with my mom, or doing a day hike, or going for a bike ride. It may be brainstorming for the mental health initiatives I want to role out. But I'm generally doing something. If I don't, I sit around anxious, jittery, pacing, obviously uncomfortable and unable to quell the energy running through my brain and body.

When I'm depressed, relaxation seems equally as impossible. It might look like I'm relaxing, not doing much of anything, sleeping more than normal, expending little energy. But let me set the record straight here - being emotionally paralyzed and therefore unable to drag yourself from the bed/couch, feeling so worthless and numb that you can't possibly care about anything, and therefore unable to bring yourself to do anything is NOT relaxing. It's down right terrifying and painful. Is someone who's blacked out, lying on the ground unconscious relaxing, because they aren't moving? It's kind of like that.

I have realized lately, though, that I must learn how to relax. I physically, mentally, and emotionally will break if I don't. I cannot blame myself for the times I'm depressed and unable to do much. I can't force myself to be active and productive every minute that I'm not in a depressive cycle, to make up for the times that I am. This seems obvious, but it's taken me years to get to this point of understanding with myself. I have found, through trial and error, that the key to teaching myself how to relax is not so much learning to do so physically, but to do so mentally and emotionally. Lately, I spend a lot of time writing and reading. When I'm working on writing my novel, or reading someone else's, I'm able get out of my own brain, figuratively out of my own life and into someone else's. There, I don't have to focus on the mood cycles, the anxiety, the frustration with myself. I don't have to worry about the argument I had with this person, or the disappointment I caused that person for once again not being able to make plans due to depression. I can just be. Just focus on the moment. No tug of war in my head. 

Sometimes, choosing to physically remove myself from my usual atmosphere helps. A drive (myself or riding shotgun) or a trip to the beach - particularly a quieter one where I can just sit back and enjoy the warmth and sun. It could be visiting a garden. Nature is a wonderful source of calm for the soul and mind. Or if I'm feeling energetic, I might go to a street fair with food and music. It could be coffee with a good friend in a little neighborhood cafe, or coffee on the back deck watching my dogs run (aka mosey slowly with frequent bathroom stops) around the back yard. The key is that it gets me out of my own head. It doesn't have to be physically un-taxing. It has to be mentally and emotionally renewing. That will, in turn, help me to renew physically. I guess that's as close to relaxing as I get, and for now, it will have to be good enough. 

Pet Pal - An Ode to My Cinn

#HAWMC Day 11:  Write a thank you letter to your furry, feathery, or fishy friend for always being there for you. How have they helped you cope with your health condition?

Yes! A prompt about animals!  If you know me, or read this blog at all, you know how much I LOVE animals, and specifically, my dog Cinnamon, or Cinn for short (also, obviously, elephants, but I think that's kind of a gimme). I've written about Cinn before, such as this "happy birthday" post, in which I tell a bit more of "our story". Since the possibility of singing Cinn's praises are virtually endless, for this post I'll focus on specifically how she's helped me with my condition.

First off, I honestly think I get along better with animals than humans much of the time. We just seem to have some sort of understanding of each other that I can't manage with most people. I'm one of those suckers who has to turn off the Sarah McLaughlin commercials because otherwise I find myself in tears, wanting to adopt every dog on the screen, physically hurting for the animals, even though I know they're intentionally choosing extra pathetic-looking images for marketing purposes. So right off the bat, Cinn has my almost empathetic understanding of animals going for her. 

Furthermore, we have history. I got Cinn when she was 8 weeks old, while I was still married to my ex-husband. We had another dog at the time, who I liked ok, but Cinn just stole my heart. When I left my marriage, she was the only demand I made. I literally would have walked away with nothing else as long as I had Cinn (luckily my ex is a decent person and didn't allow this). She's been with me through heartache after heartache, and every happy celebration and momentous occasion. When I was diagnosed, I wondered how to tell everyone. Would they look at me funny? Treat me differently? But not Cinn. I knew I could tell her anything, and she'd just sit next to me, letting me pet her, putting her forehead down and leaning into me for a "hug". When I started my meds and was sick as a... ahem... dog... she would be by my side as I lay on the couch, dizzy, nauseous, and disoriented. When I didn't have the energy, or equilibrium, to take her for the longer walks she was accustomed too, she never complained (nor did she have one accident in the house).

The days I cry through my depressive episodes, she senses that I am upset, and is even more loving than usual. She lets me pet her and hug her and hold her, even if it makes her uncomfortable (note: dogs don't like to physically be encircled in a hug, but sometimes I just need it). After days or weeks of depression, Cinn never says "mommy, geez, pull it together, I need to get outside more." When I'm too exhausted from cycling to go out on a Friday night, I don't feel like I'm boring, letting her down because suddenly I went from fun to "grandma" (no offense to actual grandmas out there).  She probably thinks "sweet, I'm staying home to sleep too! Now I have a cuddle buddy!"

Even when I'm having a horrible hypomanic episode in which I'm freaking out, frantic, and generally scaring the humans in my path, Cinn doesn't react. She may wander out of the room to not be underfoot, but her memory is short. If I go to pet her ten minutes later, she doesn't recoil like there's something wrong with me. She's happy to be petted and loved. 

In a life in which there's so much uncertainty for me, with an illness that is so unpredictable that I don't know how I'm going to feel from one day, or one hour, to the next, Cinn has been my rock. Friendships have come and gone. Relationships have come and gone. But not Cinn. She's 10 years old now. I know that dogs don't live forever, and I watch her slower step, sloping back, and graying muzzle with infinite sadness. Some day, she will no longer be able to sit or stand by my side, through no fault of her own but simply the laws of nature. I dread that day. I tear up just thinking about it. Until then, I will spend every chance I get letting her know how much I love and appreciate her, for how much she's loved and appreciated me. Thank you, Cinn, for the unconditional love. No matter how gray or slow or aged you get, you'll always be my precious baby girl.