This Bipolar Life: Stripped bare

I was in a relationship once where I thought everything was great. And I thought he did too. Of course, I speak in past tense now. I often wonder what happened to cause this man to walk away. He knew I have bipolar disorder. I asked him if it mattered. He said no. But I don’t know if I really believed him. He sounded sincere enough, but really? Did he honestly believe that the bipolar didn’t matter? Or was he just trying to appease me before leaving a few months later.

He had his own issues. They truly never mattered to me. Maybe he didn’t believe me-- just like I didn’t believe him. But I do believe he loved me. I certainly loved him. I tried many times to figure things out. Wondering why things ended. Could they begin again. Praying to God that He might make it all better. At least my version of better. But He didn’t.

So I feel stripped bare. Down to the raw emotions trying to find the logic in my life. Not knowing how to allow myself to love someone else. What if the next man loves me but decides to act as the previous one did? What if I just can’t get this one out of my head and heart? And let me tell you, having bipolar disorder is rough. It comes with anxiety, depression, mania, obsessive thinking, paranoia, etc. The journey has not been easy. 

I am ever grateful to this man because I am a better woman having met him. And I am most grateful to my family and friends who have helped me along this interesting, dynamic, and at times painful journey of trying to leave behind a loved one. My Faith in God has truly been my saving grace. We are all human and we all have our struggles. This is one of mine. 

'Til next time,

Arla

After stealing a car at 16, I never wanted to end up in the Bishop’s office again. Ever.

I was a good kid growing up. I followed the rules. As a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints, I only remember having to go to the Bishop’s office once. I was 16 years old. And I had stolen a car- for seven minutes- during a church youth summer trip. My bishop said I must tell my parents about the incident. I did not. I was too afraid. So I held onto my crime- crushing it into my chest- for months. Finally, I was 17 years old and my parents found out from the owner of the car at a church luncheon. My Dad took me to the police station. As I waited in the lobby, my Dad explained the situation to the sheriff asking him to teach me a lesson. Which the sheriff happily did, not understanding that I was an overall good kid, he laid it on real thick. Explaining that I was lucky he didn’t arrest me that very day! I lost my license (from my parents) for a couple months. But my chest started to feel better.  After that experience I never wanted to end up in the Bishop’s office again. Ever.

Yet at age 33 I was sitting outside my Bishop’s office waiting to see him. Scared to death. This time I had sinned and I couldn’t stop. This was not the same as a one time deal of taking a car. I felt compelled, overwhelmed with my sins. What would the Bishop say? What would he think of me? I was so embarrassed. So ashamed. I felt so unloved.

My Bishop listened and said only things that the Lord would know I needed to hear. His counsel was direct yet still compassionate. And I was grateful.

However, I still struggled. When I moved several months later, I didn’t want to see my new Bishop. I felt even more embarrassed and ashamed because I had ALREADY talked to a Bishop, tried to follow his counsel, and failed because I was not better. This time though, I knew my covenants that I’d made with the Lord were at a critical point. At the same time my local church’s Addiction Recovery Program (ARP)- similar to AA only with a foundation in Jesus Christ- had started up. So I began to attend the Saturday meetings. Sometimes I came without makeup and messy hair and other times I came dressed up because I was going out afterwards. But I always attended.

The ARP meetings weren’t enough though. I needed to see my Bishop. I was so afraid to go that first time. With a heavy heart I cried and told my Bishop what had been going on. He listened. When he spoke he said things only the Lord would know I needed to hear. He gave direct counsel full of compassion. I saw my Bishop every month for a year and a half. I reported to him my successes and my failings. I built a relationship with him. He became my mentor. My confident. My friend. He guided me through a very difficult seeming neverending chapter of time for me.

Bishops hold many functions in the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints. When we allow them into our lives, they will give the counsel and wisdom that we need to hear to right our wrongs and correctly repent of our sins. And if we’re lucky, some of them will become great friends in the process.

I’m grateful that as I prayed for courage to keep my hope and faith, I was able to continue to enter my Bishop’s office month after month until I knew the last visit was indeed the last because of hard work and trust and faith in the Lord and my Bishop. I could not have gone through my repentance process without them.

'Til next time,

Arla

This Bipolar Life: Never Ending Roller Coaster

Living with bipolar is like living on a never ending roller coaster. Sure the moods can be tamed, controlled for significant periods of time. Even the wildest roller coasters level off at times.

Bipolar is more than a mood disorder. It’s a relationship disorder. It’s an organ failure disorder. It’s a sleep disorder.

Just when you think you’ve got the mania and depression under control, you find you’ve lost friendships, some forever. You want to work harder at rebuilding friendships after the number of doctors increases because the very essential medications keeping you sane are slowly destroying the rest of your body-- and who wants to be alone at such times? All the while, sleep evades or drags you down until soon your moods begin a creeping shift-- continuing on the roller coaster ride of this bipolar life.

'Til next time,

Arla

This Bipolar Life: Mental Illness does not equate Patronizing Disrespect. You are a Valued Person

Sharing my Bipolar with the expansive world knowingly sets me up for increased prejudices and biases. It also allows me freedom to express and be oneself without the crippling fear and anxiety from hiding.

Knowing this, I find some of the most patronizing and condescending people I deal with are within the very community I must live within. When I must communicate with my physician’s office, some of the staff treat me in such patronizing ways, it is almost intolerable! None of my other medical teams treat me thus.

Why is it, when you find out someone has high cholesterol, they are not viewed as blocked arteries? Or a person with anemia as a glass half full? But when you find out someone has a mental illness, they are viewed as crazy, moody, out of control, “just like my aunt.. she was ____”, dangerous, necessary to avoid at all costs, nothing in common with, not in their right mind, etc. I could keep on going. And going.

Those with mental illness live in variating stages. The idea of treating them as though each and every person is at their worst point is repulsive and unprofessional. Effective communication stops. The encounter can quickly escalate to heated even damaging proportions. And most often, the role the medical professionals, caregivers, etc is seen as appropriate and the person with mental illness seen negative and assumed to be so.

Please note, I said Person -not patient- with mental illness. If we can all remember that no matter whether you have high cholesterol, anemia, or bipolar, like me, you are a Valued Person. And must be treated with respect, kindness, and politeness. Patronizing others in any fashion is demeaning and hurtful. May we be evermore mindful of our words and actions.

‘Til next time

Arla

This Bipolar Life: Step One Step Two

Some days it’s all I can do to just step outside my door. Because really, I don’t want to step outside my door. I’d rather stay inside. Keep the world in it’s place and me in mine. My mind can easily handle the solitude that comes adjoined with my tiny apartment. I am used to the quiet.

Yet, my mind still craves life. The sounds of life. The smells of life. So I open my front door-- inwards to the apartment. I push on the screen door-- outwards to the world. I stand there. Is it enough? Can I hear anything? Can I smell anything? No.

One step forward. Another step forward. I’m out! And I am free! Even for a few moments-- I am free from my suffocation. I stand upright. I breathe in and out deeply. I look. I listen. I smell a neighbor’s fireplace, some fresh cut grass, exhaust from an old car down the street.

And then, I sigh. Step one foot backwards into my apartment. The second foot back into my apartment. Close the screen door. Close the front door. Then find myself in the quiet solitude of my apartment again. Yet it feels less suffocating. More alive now. I hear the animals outside now.

Maybe I’ll open the door and step outside again. Later today perhaps.

'Til next time,

Arla

Grief and Recovery: Swirling, Strumming, Strangling

A friend of mine lost her husband last night. He passed away telling her how much he loved her. They had only known each other for four years, but he was the light of her life and the joy in her children’s lives as well.

I found out about it on Facebook. This was appropriate for our level of friendship. I was sitting in the doctor’s office. As I read her post I made an audible cry of sadness. And then I began to cry. Not so much outwardly. Just those leaky tears that you have to constantly brush away but don’t mess up your makeup. Yet inwardly my heart cried tremendously. How could God take her husband away from her? Why would God even bring such happiness only to take it away so soon? And so many more questions.

I must confess, part of the pain I feel for my friend is pain I identify in my own life. Perhaps that’s why this news has grieved me so greatly. Only her grief has a more final mark.

Four and a half years ago I met the man I’d come to love. We had some wonderful times. He is a wonderful man. Eventually, a few years later, however, he left one night. He didn’t pass away. He just slipped away without a word. No reason. Just gone.

Those same questions: How could God take him away from me? Why would God bring him into my life only to take him away? Swirl, Strum, and Strangle my brain and heart. And then I asked- through the Void- God, what can I do to survive? What can I do to keep going? Once I made it through the Void, I continued to ask God, How can I continue to have happiness in my life. What must I do to have Your guidance in my life?

Always, always, I feel urged to pray. Pray first for him. Then for me. I pray that he is happy- feels fulfilled in life. That he does remember me, but is able to keep going on, guided by God, Himself.

This may seem a bit odd of an entry, but when you’ve loved one so deeply and you’ve lost them, in any way, the way you process that grief is vital for recovery. Do you get stuck in the Why did this happen? Why did God take that person away? Or are you able to move forward to What can I do to feel better? Be happier? In these difficult, tragic, devastating times, this process of grief and recovery is ever evolving. We can go back and forth, up and down. If we can reach that calming peaceful state the most often, then I believe we are closest to that “recovery”. Or rather, we are most close to the love that we feel for God, our loved ones, and then the despair of grief is a hint in our lives.

God loves each of us. He knows there will be times, many times, that we may ask Him Why? Or, How Could You? Yet, He is still always there listening and loving. Our recovery can be a daily process. So today is a day that I pray for my love, and for my friend who has lost her love.

The Heavens Above
charcoal and pen, 9"x12"
by Arla Louise

‘Til next time.

Arla

This Bipolar Life: Hypothyroidism

When I started taking lithium at age 23, I only thought of my bipolar. How the lithium would help “fix” my bipolar. (I also took a couple other psychotropic medications at that time as well to create a balance. As I still do.) At age 25, I had a few health complications and was told I had hypothyroidism. Lithium induced hypothyroidism. It would never go away. I would always require medication. Take synthroid once a day. A sure and easy “fix” to the hypothyroidism.

What is Hypothyroidism? It is an underactive thyroid. What’s important is knowing the symptoms.

• Fatigue
• Increased sensitivity to cold
• Constipation
• Dry skin
• Weight gain or difficulty losing weight (despite reduced food intake)
• Puffy face
• Hoarseness
• Muscle weakness
• Elevated blood cholesterol level
• Muscle aches, tenderness and stiffness
• Pain, stiffness or swelling in your joints
• Heavier than normal or irregular menstrual periods
• Thinning hair
• Slowed heart rate
• Depression
• Memory loss**

A couple years ago I began exhibiting some of these symptoms again. Then almost all of them. My primary care doctor ordered blood work then changed my synthroid dosage. I got better. A few months would go by and I’d start feeling the same things. I’d see my doctor. He’d order blood work then change the dosage again. Around and around. I’m currently in the process of finding the right specialist.

The lithium has been, over time, the stable constant psychotropic medication that has worked for me. I do not make any endorsement of it in my writings. It is simply a great choice for me. But even if I stopped it today, I would still have hypothyroidism. I would still have gained the 35 lbs in 2 years filled with exercise and healthy eating. I have struggled with depression wondering if it is a bipolar depression or a thyroid depression. I have a support system that helps to keep tabs on me. But since I live on my own, I know it is so important to be ever vigilant in my mental health care. Luckily, my lab work tells me if the thyroid is off balance.

I admit, sometimes I feel overwhelmed and/or angry about the situation. Why did God make me bipolar? Why does lithium have to be so destructive? Why does my body have to fall apart all the time? Woe Is Me!

But let me tell you something. I am so grateful for all the times when I feel healthy and happy. Yet it’s the feeling happy that helps get through the unhealthy times. Sometimes it can take time to get my thyroid depression to go away simply because it can take time for the medication and thyroid itself to level out. So I have to be willing to go to my psychiatrist for help. I know that it’s a thyroid depression that will be gone in about a month. Or just two weeks. But do I really want to live that much longer like this? My psychiatrist doesn’t always give me a prescription. Sometimes it’s just a pep-talk and the recognition of her awareness and a doctor’s appointment within 2-4 weeks to check up on me that makes all the difference. I’ve taken lithium for nearly 14 years, and I will continue to do so. My doctors are all aware that I am bipolar. That I take lithium and that won’t change anytime soon. That I have hypothyroidism, and it’s unstable. And that I do my best to stay healthy and happy.

As to God giving me bipolar. Maybe I agreed in the Heavens Above to have this before I was born. Why oh why? Some days it’s a mystery. But I tell you this, I am grateful that if I have to have bipolar and take lithium, and if I have to have hypothyroidism, then I am grateful that God provides the many means for a healthy and happy life. Especially happy!

‘Til next time,

Arla

**http://www.mayoclinic.org/diseases-conditions/hypothyroidism/symptoms-causes/dxc-20155382

https://www.endocrineweb.com/conditions/hypothyroidism/symptoms-hypothyroidism

Crock Pot Colds

I love my crock pot. It’s a small one. And it’s cooking soup right now-- and I have no idea what it’ll taste like. I just put a bunch of things in But I know it’s super healthy. Fresh kale. Fresh red cabbage. Organic carrots (surely the organic must add something extra) I can’t even begin to tell you how healthy it is. No really. I can’t. I have no idea about all those antioxidants (a word I can’t spell correctly without auto-correct) vitamins, minerals, metals like iron. I mean this soup will be epic!

Unfortunately, I have a cold. Not a bad one. Just a stuffy nose-headache-use ½ the kleenex box kind of cold. Not the achy- I-Am-Dying kind. Thank goodness. But I can’t smell the soup to taste it properly. I just threw things in the pot and poured in some appropriate spices, and I am hoping it all works out.

Sometimes life is like the soup and cold. We throw things together in the pot hoping- with an educated guess- that things will all work out with amazing outcomes. Yet things come up that we feel hinder our progress in life- like colds. Maybe we feel just a tad under the weather- or under pressure to do certain things or not do certain things- and we hope the situation will all work itself out on its own.

For example, One day I stood in my apartment in Duluth, GA not sure what my next step in life should be. I knew nursing would no longer be my occupation, so now I had to decide what I wanted to become. What did I want to transform myself into? I knew I wanted to be an artist. I also knew I wanted to work with flowers. I knew I must create an immediate, a 2 year, 3 year, and 5 year plans.

I already had a makeshift studio set up in my apartment and was working on a commissioned painting at that time. So I focused on the floral industry. I wanted to apprentice with a floral designer. Not just work in a floral shop and stop right there. So I literally drove down Buford Hwy in Duluth and stopped at every floral shop, bringing my adapted resume, and asked if I could apprentice. They all looked at me like I was CRAZY! But I refused to give in to disappointment and rejection. I KNEW there was a shop for me. Finally one woman told me of a more “progressive” shop that I might want to check with. Floristique. Just a couple miles away. The name enchanted me and I went directly there.

Daniel Tindol, the owner, met with me that day and asked if I could come back for a more formal interview. He asked me to create a design for him on the spot. I had never done that before. However, I wasn’t about to give up. That night I came up with a design in which I drew it, added color to it, wrote an explanation for my design-- shape, color, meaning etc, then emailed it off to him. After that, I began working at Floristique.

So taking a moment to step back here, I threw in my pot the proaction to go door-to-door to floral shops on Buford Hwy-- not knowing if anyone would respond-- and then after meeting with Daniel and not being able to design on the spot, I leapt a bit and sent him a design later which secured the job. These actions would lead me to working with a wonderful floral designer Dina Tacu with Flowers by Impressions and becoming involved with the Georgia State Florist Association and Metro Atlanta Florist Association.

And what of my Artist occupation? What of my plans? I’ve had a couple colds. I’ve had to shift my focus a bit. I do not work with a floral designer at this time. I devote my time to my Art, including my personal creations as well as teaching. My “colds” have shifted my plans for the better, more focused, more achievable, and more enjoyable plans.

I love the floral industry and when the right opportunity presents itself, I will eagerly grab hold. I love my artistry and watching it evolve. There are colds that take my taste -or eye for art- away for a bit. But it always comes back. I always get better. And tonight I get to eat a really healthy soup. Hopefully it’s delicious too. Inspite of this cold.

'Til next time,

Arla

I wished I were dead. Truly dead. And then the most natural question came to my mind.

When I was 19 years old, I checked myself into a psychiatric hospital for wanting to commit suicide. I had a plan. I had a means. I wanted to drive my car into a brick building as fast as I could. I was already at the hospital for a day program. But I was overcome with this feeling that I must see the counselor Right Now. So i did. I told him of my plan. He asked me for my car keys. I did not want to give them to him. But again, I was overcome with that same feeling. So I handed my keys over. Then checked myself into the inpatient unit.

I was beyond sad. Beyond the depths of despair. I remember laying in bed one night listening to my anorexic drug addicted roommate snore, and all I could think of was how I wished I were dead. Truly dead. Obsolete. Never to exist further. Wishing I had never existed prior. I got up to use the restroom and was so tired I couldn’t even feel the anger I’d felt earlier that evening that our mirror was plastic so I couldn’t break it and cut myself deep enough to make a difference.

No. I was too tired now. So I laid back in bed and cried. Sobbed those tears that ache in your ribs. I cried big fat salty tears and wished someone were there to wipe them away. I ached to have someone take this pain away. And then the most natural question came to my mind.

“God! Where are you?”

Immediately I felt arms encircling me. As I sat in the dark, on my bed, I felt a presence. I never had to ask that usual second question “Why have you abandoned me?” Because I knew that Jesus Christ, Himself, was there holding me in His arms. I could not see Him with my eyes. But I cannot deny He was there. His gentle and tangible comfort and love were so distinct and Real. He stayed  until I fell asleep.

I had a few more days left after that in the hospital before I would go home. I kept this experience to myself  Can you imagine how it would look if I started speaking of seeing God? In a psychiatric hospital? No. This was a very special experience. Only a few know up to this point. So why am I sharing this story?

Even in your darkest moments of the very heaviest of chains of hells in the hottest heats of the most blistering fires or bitterest colds of the most frigid ices, Even when your sorrows and pains of agony leave you screaming in your head but silent as the dead on the outside. God Is There. Jesus Christ Is There. He is there not by your side, but hugging you and holding you until you sleep so you can wake to face the next day. Jesus Christ KNOWS ALL that we feel. Which is why I think I could feel so comforted that night so many years ago. He knew how I felt, so He knew just how to hold me to help calm me until I slept.

My hope in sharing this experience is that someone will regain a bit of Hope and the Strength to keep on going until things get better, Things always change-- and “better” usually doesn’t happen overnight. So I wish for all to know, you can be comforted and encouraged each night by the encircling arms of Jesus Christ. His love and comfort is distinct to your needs because He knows you and knows perfectly what you need.

Even now  in quiet peaceful moments  I can still feel His arms about me. And I know that God was there. He sent His Son to comfort me. To give me the peace and rest to make it through one more night. And now 17 years later I’m just as blessed and grateful for that experience in that small room in a psychiatric hospital where I had nothing left but a feeble cry of “God! Where are you?” And He came!

‘Til next time,

Arla

celebrating my 36th birthday!

DRAMA: A Play or A Plague?

Has someone ever told you that you have Drama in your life? Have you ever said to yourself, “My life has too much Drama!” What of other people’s lives? Have the words “Your life is too much Drama!” come out of your mouth?

Drama is the #17 Plague* of our times. Our lives don’t slow down. Time doesn’t slow down. The clock keeps ticking on. And on. And on. Until we go mad! Or we die! Or we just admit we all have DRAMA in our lives!!

So let’s all calm down. Take it down a notch. Or two. or 5.

Drama is all relative. We ALL have drama. We’ve all heard of “The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly.” right? We all have those good and great times in life. Those not so good, bad, difficult times. And Then There’s The UGLY. Those are often the terrible times. The DRAMA times.

Some people seem to never have drama. You know those people? The ones who have it together. You see them and think “Man! I wish I could be half as much as they are because everything goes right for them!” The ones with the right job. Right family. Right home. Right circle of friends. Right everything! --- And then there are the people who always seem to have drama. The ones who always have something to say. Always have a story to tell. You might wish you could help them. Give them “something”, you just don’t know what that something is. You might also wish you didn’t have to talk to them or be near them because you feel uncomfortable. You might feel sheepishly grateful that you don’t have drama in your life. Phew!

Drama is all relative. We ALL have drama. Some people express more- use more descriptive language. Some people barely speak any large words at all. Ever. It is their way. Some have more distinct tones and attitudes towards life. Positive or negative. Sunshine vs Rainpours. Drama is more than just the person speaking about their own lives. It’s about communication. In most cases, the person receiving the information is the one who actually decides if the Giver’s information is Drama. If the Receiver is the one to make that judgment call, then how do we apply this theory to our own lives?

It is well known that the term DRAMA is fabulous when coined with plays. Theatrical endeavours are rarely made of success without superb drama! Yet when DRAMA is set against the human life, immediately lips purse, tisks and head shakes begin, and negativity abounds. So what if we look at this DRAMA from the idea that no one has Drama in their lives until someone else places Dramatic Value there. In other words, if I converse with someone who tells me of a series of events in her life, I now judge them- a quite natural human response, I might add- to be either calm or turbulent events. Positive or Negative. I must decide to be forgiving or accusatory-- all done quite unconsciously-- towards the events told to me. It is I, who decides whether this person’s life is full of DRAMA or not. Not she. So if it is I who decides, then how would I wish others to see me? See my life? Treat my events told? If I am the Giver of the information, how would I want the listener to receive my words?

Drama is all relative. We ALL have drama. It is the transfer of the information- the Communication between humans with individual minds and hearts that can create barriers and/or foster love and tolerance.

The Plague of Drama.

Communication is Key. By doing the following, each of us helps prevent the spread of this awful plague and infection as well as helps heal our own infections. Communication is two ways, so productive positive communication benefits both parties. Every time.

.

ACTIVE LISTENING

• Listen to the message-- try to relate to at least two things the person is saying
• Relax your body, especially your face. When your face is relaxed, your jaws are relaxed, and your ears are more open allowing sound to enter more fully. It is easier to hear and less stressful and less “headachey” to relax your entire face and body. 
• Make eye contact--show that you are paying attention 
• Then Pay Attention!

POSITIVE FEEDBACK

• Share how you related to the 2 things the person said while you listened
• Agreeing with statements and Supporting the Giver of information are different. Support the Giver.
• Use “I feel…” statements. These help reduce accusatory negative responses. 
• Use “I feel…” statements. These help share love and appreciation responses.

Communication is a Skill that can be difficult at first. It takes practice! So practice!  

Remember, we all play the roles of the Givers and Receivers in life. As we become better at communication, especially with DRAMA conversations, surprisingly- these conversations will seem less and Less and LESS drama and more simple conversations about LIFE.

‘Til next time,

Arla

*completely fabricated number with absolutely no references to support said statement. I merely like the number 17.