Sick. I’ve been on a roller coaster of mild health issues the last few months. This weekend, I have a nasty cough and am stuffed everywhere. I’m sick of being sick. This week is going to be busy at work with a big deadline. Fingers crossed I’ll feel better tomorrow.
I don’t have any bipolar thoughts today. Pretty much thinking about how much I take breathing for granted. Nyquil up and heading to bed early.
The new Paul Dalio film “Touched by Fire” popped up in my Facebook feed as a suggested post. The title is from a book by the the first person to show me that someone with bipolar disorder can succeed (Kay Redfield Jamison). It looks like a beautiful movie that could help people understand mania better. I will probably watch from the safety of my home. From the trailers, it looks like it could be very painful. Having been hospitalized and tied to a table (quick piece of the trailer), I’m pretty sensitive to the idea of reliving these things through film. I read some complaints that this romanticizes the disorder. It looks like it represents it well. I have hope that the director has the disorder and will provide an honest portrayal. It cannot touch the worst offender in my opinion — Mr. Jones tragically romanticizes the disorder. He cures himself with the love of his therapist (maybe doctor). I saw it a year after my diagnosis and have tried to forget it. In an article in the Huffington Post, the director states that he hopes closeted sufferers will hear other people’s thoughts on bipolar disorder and come out. I’m still very reluctant. People seem more accepting of an artist with bipolar than an accountant. Madness can feed art, but I’ve never produced better office work when I’m manic. Before I was diagnosed, my 4.0 exams turned into wild, meandering, nonsense. My Mom assumed I was on drugs, which incidentally, can assist in producing art, too. My brother is an amazing artist, and if he shares my disorder, I imagine the manic phases can drive him and open up his brain for even better works. Depression, too, can bring out some of the most wrenching and beautiful works. I may be sacrificing art for sanity, but returning to psychotic manias terrifies me enough to stay on the lithium. I do enjoy art immensely. I currently live by an art museum, which has been a dream. I’m drawn to artists in my life, and I take great pleasure in supporting and admiring them.
I’m pretty sure my low mood last week had to do with getting sick. Everyone at work is sick, and I thought I was outsmarting it by bathing in Purell. Nope. Nope. Nope. Thursday, I remember looking at a poster about stroke symptoms by the copier. That night, I had a terrifying dream about having a stroke. I woke up with a nasty headache and googled strokes. I also checked in the mirror. It’s amazing what I’ll believe in the middle of the night. Babadook had me running to the bathroom for several days. I went back to sleep and woke up extremely dizzy. The walk to the bathroom was a challenge. When I was in college I used to get labyrinthitis like other people got the sniffles, and it felt a little like that. I fought through it and made it to work. By the afternoon, I felt like it was 30 degrees in my cubey, but the thermometer said 72. Merde. Went home and immediately to bed. Yesterday, I dragged myself out to Deadpool with my Hubby (and loved it). A pretty low key Valentine’s Day here. My head hurts too much to think about my mood today. Back to the heating pad and Netflix and not chill.
I’m pretty low this weekend. After over a month of high stress, I just feel wiped. I’m cranky. I’m sure that digging into past abuses is a big part of it. I’m reading a book called Courage to Heal. I think I need to take it slowly, so I’m putting the book down for the rest of the weekend.
On the physical front, I’m using an app called Lark. I love numbers and stats, so when it told me my movement was really low, that helped kindly kick me in the butt last night to go to the gym at 10pm. It felt good to blast the music and shut off my head.
Today I started worrying because I’m losing weight. What a messed up conundrum. I’m unhappy when I’m overweight, and I worry when I lose weight. When I’m manic, I can lose double digits in less than a month. My coach is happy that my weight is going down, but I can’t help worrying that I’m getting sick. Logically I know that it’s cutting out sugar in my coffee, eating healthier and walking an hour or more every day, because I live downtown now. I just get so sad and frustrated that this disorder causes me to question positive things in my life.
I just realized I started writing about depression and slipped into fears of mania. I’m not sure where my head is right now, but I’m trying to stick with weekly blogging as a way to take care of myself and talk through the feelings I keep hidden. Maybe next week I’ll feel clearer.
Behind the Mask: A Bipolar Blog 