Better News

I was moments away from losing myself to the oblivion of a good night's sleep last night when the phone rang. My heart sunk to the floor as I thought 'I just don't have any words left...'

It turns out I didn't need any words. All I had to do was listen.

"Guess who I just talked to!?!!" my mom's exhilarated voice rang over the phone line. I didn't have to guess. I knew. She had just spoken with my uncle.

"How did you know?" was Mom's second question. "I could hear it in your voice" was my reply.

Our hearts have been heavy with concern over my uncle these past few months. He has been hospitalized for over six weeks and we really have no idea how much longer he may need to stay.

He has been climbing up a slippery slope and for each hard earned step forward, it seems he has slipped backwards until he hits a precipice which stops his fall. Then he has to work forward from that new starting point.

The last time I spoke with him was three weeks ago. He may or may not have been at the top of his slow slide down that slope when we spoke. At that time, he said they were talking of letting him go home in about a week.

It was over a week later when I heard the next update. I could not have been more shocked and surprised.

Mental health is something of a mystery to me. The brain is a complicated and intricate organ which dictates 'who we are' to ourselves and the world around us.

It has been a worrisome time as we heard the updates to follow. My uncle's reality was skewed and he was (to put it mildly) 'not himself'.

When things went from bad to worse, a cloud followed me wherever I went. "Is this as good as it is going to get?" were the words that echoed within the vacant chambers within my own brain.

I processed how I felt about my uncle's 'broken brain' and compared it to Dad's brain injury (due to lack of oxygen). It wasn't the same. Dad's brain was physically unable to recover. My uncle's symptoms (while more mysterious and perhaps with the mystery came a brand new fear), were psychological. He could recover. Couldn't he?!

I chided myself for feeling like the naive 22 year old I was when Dad was first hospitalized. That was back in the days where I believed anything was possible if a person's body survived the first (near) fatal blow. If the body survived, miracles could happen.

A miracle did not happen for Dad. Could his brother suffer the same fate due to circumstances which were completely and totally different? No!

I couldn't believe it. I wouldn't believe it. I would allow myself to become that naive young girl again and hope. One can always hope!

The last update I heard was five days ago. He was able to hold a conversation with my cousin and she was over the moon.

It seems that I was right to be hopeful.

My uncle called my mom last night. While things are still far from where they need to be for him to take another forward step towards regaining his independence, he is 'back'. He is still with us. He still wants to reach out and talk with us. He is still here!! In body and in mind.

My cousin (who has been walking at my uncle's side every step of the way) called me after I talked with Mom last night.

She talked for an hour. She said so many comforting words. Though she is now expecting the unexpected and has told herself 'one step forward; two steps back' is quite likely the way things will continue to go (at least for now), he is taking that one step forward. Again.

I knew hope was the way for me to go. I knew it!

My heart has felt heavy as I wondered what in the world I could do when almost two thousand miles separate us.

Then I thought of what I always think of at times like this. A letter. And pictures. I packaged up my little bundle of 'hope' and mailed it off last week. I felt better the moment I let that envelope slide into the mailbox. It wasn't much. But it was something. And it was all I could do.

My cousin said she told my uncle to just reread that letter any time he needs to. I can't remember what I wrote but she said the way I put things down in writing made sense to him. She told me he has been showing everyone those pictures. She could very well have been telling me that just to appease me and make me feel a little bit better. Whatever spin I decide to take on that, I just know I did all I could do and the reality is that my uncle has something to have and to hold no matter what.

It is not much. But it is something. Just as my uncle has those pictures and that letter to hold onto, my cousin, my mom, our family, anyone my uncle has been able to talk with and I ... we all have those words to hold onto.

Words. Spoken, written, sung or even those we have wafting through our minds ... words hold such power.

The power of those two conversations long after I thought I was ready to call it a day last night will sustain me until I speak to my uncle again. Which if all goes according to plan, should happen this upcoming weekend. Even if all doesn't go as planned, it means the world to me that he is asking to talk with me. His wish is my gift.

It was much better news than I dared to hope for. But I hoped for it anyway. "Thank you!"

Back on Solid Ground Again

Last night my body overruled my brain and came in for the win. I was in a dead-to-the-world and in a what-time-is-it-what-day-is-it state of mind when I woke up on the couch at approximately 7:40 p.m.

I gave our cat a (very) early dose of his 9:00 p.m. medication and was in bed and fast asleep before 8:00 p.m. Normally, this sets the stage for a very wakeful night. Not last night. I woke up five minutes before my alarm went off this morning. I felt like I had run the victory lap. "And the body slides in for the win!!!"

This time yesterday morning, I was still on hyper-drive. I was running on adrenaline and glory. I was hyped and excited about where-I-was-at with our family book project. I was trying very hard not to go into planning mode for our upcoming family reunion. My brain was flying at high speed and my body was rebelling. As I wrote about this yesterday morning, I described the sensation as "Light and Energized". Perhaps a more apt description would be "Exhausted and Manic".

When I woke up this morning, I was elated to simply feel 'normal' again. When this hyper-drive started slipping into high gear before I went to bed the night prior, all I could think is "I can't keep this pace until our reunion (two months from now)". I was fairly certain I would wake up feeling neutralized (and exhausted) and all would be right in my world. But when I woke up feeling like Speedy Gonzales on caffeine, I was a little nervous.

When my normal state of being returned after a good, solid nights sleep I was grateful. I was beyond grateful. I wondered how a person could go on, day after day if the body didn't win over a super-powered brain.

That endorphin high that I was running on was intoxicating. I was getting things done. I felt creative and excited and happy. Oh! So happy!!

What if I had gone into this mini-manic phase feeling the depths of depression first? Would I want to hold onto the hyper-drive and energy and happy for fear of slipping back down into an abyss of a sadness and despair when it was over?

I felt consciously aware that I had been just given a glimmer of insight. I could understand one very small piece of the dilemma a person faces, who may need to take medication to take the edge off the highs and lows.

I have often felt that I have some of the characteristics of those who suffer with depression (I also feel I fall into the spectrum of dissociative disorder, schizophrenia, obsessive compulsive, and simply a watered down version of every anxiety, mood and personality disorder out there). I wonder if all of us fall within the spectrum of many of these definitions.

I often wonder how I may feel if I didn't feel a connection with each of these personality 'disorders'. Writing and 'creating' come from a place that is other-worldly for me. I talk about this often and I like to believe there are spiritual reasons behind this. But what if it is simply a mild case of un-diagnosed mental illness? Would I want to take medication to alleviate these 'symptoms', when these very symptoms spur on creativity, words, thoughts and dreams that fuel and invigorate me? NO way!

I was so relieved my body kicked in and knocked out my brain last night. A good night's sleep was all I needed to relieve the pressure of running on all cylinders. I am grateful I don't need medication to take over when my body doesn't. I am just as grateful to feel that state of euphoria, the energy and creativeness that precedes the 'fall' back down to earth. I am eternally grateful that the fall is not too far.

I am back at 'sea level' once again. Perhaps in my case, it is more 'see level'. I see where I was, I see where I am, I see where I am headed. It is a hilly ride but it is not dangerous. More importantly, I see where others may be coming from in their own personal journey. My own experience gives me a glimmer of perspective.

I am grateful to be back. It was a short ride and there was no crash landing. Thank you 'body', for overriding my hyper-active 'brain'.

When everything 'works' we are so fortunate. We are so very, very fortunate so many days of our lives. And we simply don't realize it. Because we have come to expect things to just keep on working the way they have.

Each and every day I wake up and my day unfolds (more or less) the way I expect it to? I am grateful. I am so happy to be back at "see" level once again.

The Slippery Slope of Mental Illness

I wrote this post many, many months ago but did not post it. My thoughts upon waking this morning led me back to reread this. Something is compelling me to post it today. 

I have always identified very closely with those who suffer with mental illness. I honestly thought that I was crazy during my growing up years so why wouldn't I find myself drawn to the many facets of my personality that I didn't understand?

When I was a teen, I felt a dissociation between my body and mind that unnerved me to my core. I would look down at my hand or my arm and not feel the connection. I can remember digging my nails into my skin to feel the association between the action that my brain told my fingertips to do and the pain that my body felt. I was 'one' but I felt like two. Why would I not believe that I had a dissociative disorder? Except back then, there was no way to put a name to my feelings. I had no idea that I was not alone. In fact, I just-this-moment googled my teenage symptoms to find a name for what I had experienced.

I remember wondering if there were cameras in my room watching me. I felt an ominous presence of a Big Brother figure looming over me at all times. I remember a friend of our family speaking  her truth about those-inside-the-television-set that were watching her. I listened closely because I related so well with what she felt. She was later diagnosed with schizophrenia. Did I have what she had, my teen-self wondered? There was consolation to the fact that I knew that I was not alone. This would be the first time I experienced that feeling when it came to matters-of-the-mind.

I never thought that there was a thing wrong with being compulsive in the way that I organized my world. Each and every item at my work station or desk at work had to be where I put it. Day after day after day. My home was modelled after this work of perfection. It is a little bit harder when you live in a house with many but my compulsion for a place for everything and everything in its place was a game that my children learned to play. Was I over the top about it? I am not sure (but I still can't walk by the towel that hangs on the oven door without straightening it and wondering why others don't see what I see). This need for order in my world. Obsessive compulsive? Or just 'me'?

I have been known to let myself sink into the murky waters of depression. I teeter on the edge of it and peek in, knowing that it would simply be easiest to let myself free fall. But something always, always saves me. Is it an inner strength? A power greater than myself? Or is it the knowledge of the high that follows the low that shakes me out of the low points and points me in a direction of euphoria? My lows used to be lower. My highs used to be higher. But it shook my foundation when different members of my family told me that they can see the precursors of my fall before it happens. You mean it isn't just me that sees/feels this within me? Maybe I'm sicker than I think!

When I listen to the symptoms of mental illness in its vast variety of forms, I can always identify with some facet of everything that I hear. Is it because I am human and we all feel these things to some degree or am I bordering on a diagnosis of all-of-the-above?

Heavens! I just googled mental disorders and I think that I have a watered down version of every anxiety, mood and personality disorder out there! Or do all of us fall somewhere on the spectrum of these psychological disorders?

The difference between me-as-a-child feeling fear and isolation and me-as-an-adult seeking sense and answers is the knowledge that I am not alone. There is a diagnosis, a word and assistance for what I feel.

I could slap a label on one particular part of my personality. It may take me on a voyage of self discovery, it may take me down a road of healing, it may make me recoil and back-track for a while, it may just take me wherever my next forward (or backward) step goes.

This is not a plea for help. I am absolutely no different than I was yesterday or last week. Yesterday was a great day. Last week was hard. That is 'life'. It bends and curves, it is steep and hilly, it can change in a New York minute.

I think that my multi-faceted self is better prepared to handle whatever life doles out because I expect the highs and the lows. I know that I am equipped to handle both sides of the spectrum.

I can disassociate myself from intense emotion when I need to keep my footing to deal with life's harshest blows. The emotions follow. But they come when I feel safe enough to deal with them.

I still feel the power of 'someone watching over me'. This is not all bad. I feel safe and protected at times, conscious of how I am acting from the outside-looking-in, at others. I call it my conscience. I also call them my guardian angels.

When my world feels chaotic, I know that I can go to a kitchen cupboard or closet or a room and put it in order. It is good to have something to ground a person when so many other things feel like they are spiralling out of control.

Do I think that I am any different than anyone else? Of course I do. We are as individual and unique as snowflakes. It is when we open ourselves up and expose a piece of us that is 'real', that we become more human, more reachable, a better friend, and a non-judgemental ally.

I look within and I see all of the broken pieces within myself that have pieced themselves together within my body and mind. The way I feel it, I have created a broken glass mosaic from all that is not in perfect running order. I think that my passion stems from my brokenness. I feel a connection to people because I find bits and pieces of myself within those that I get to know. I feel compassion for those who are not perfect. Because none of us are perfect. We are perfect in our imperfection.

I feel all of this. I see the world through my twisted version of reality. Yet I still function. I am very fortunate. In my opinion I work well (enough) within the spectrum of mental illness diagnoses that I see, hear, read and relate to. I know that if I felt any one of the above acutely, that I would need to reach out and find the answers that I need to help me function within my world. Or would I??

What do others see when they look at a person from the outside, looking in? A person's internal reality could be light years away from what another person sees when they look at them.

Sitting inside my own body, I 'know' that I am perfectly fine. Yet ... I have a friend who is seeking help for her child who (in her opinion) suffers from mental illness and she cannot force her adult child to reach out and get help.

Mental illness is a slippery slope. The plea for help must come from the one who is suffering, yet the mere fact that they are experiencing life in a way that they have come to know as their own state of normal, makes it seem that another person is defining their reality and dictating their definition of the right answer upon another. So who is to say what defines 'normal'?

**Note to my family: Do not read too much into this! I am fine. I am better than fine. I just woke up feeling that gratitude today. Others are not so lucky...**