Rae Rose

Elro is 9 months old so we paint with our hands every Sunday. Sunday is my official craft day — as in I definitely will be making something— and I like the idea of her creating things, too.

But what do you do with all the art? I’m going to go ahead and guess that my father’s favorite gift from me was Elro’s first painting. He framed it. It has grass in it because we paint outside but because he loves her, it meant something to him.

So making things with her artwork will be awesome for family members, but I also like reminders throughout the house of what is currently working in my life. This bitty vase reminds me of our Sunday in the garden.

1. I cut the artwork into triangles with a variety of sizes. I cleaned a spice jar, but you could also use any glass bottle. 2. I used Mod Podge to adhere the triangles to the jar. 3. I filled up all the space. 4. I painted the jar with Mod Podge and let dry.

I really dug the way it looked when it dried. You can see our finger prints!

The only thing I didn’t like was the glass at the top (where the ridges are on a spice container) so I braided some twine and used a glue gun to add it to the very top of the jar. I dig it!

I recently met a person who is at the beginning of their journey. They were just diagnosed as bipolar. A (correct) diagnosis is Awesome because it means there is a reason you’ve felt the way you felt and now there are solutions.  This person expressed a desire to know what to do when having a mood shift. The truth is you figure it out as you go and when the drugs kick in it will be even easier.

I believe medication is the most important aspect of bipolar disorder. If I didn’t have the right medication, the rest of the things I’m about to mention wouldn’t matter. I’d be manic doing yoga — that’s not helpful.

Here is what works and doesn’t work for me:

Meditation

I wish meditation worked for me but so far it has not. I’ve tried it so many times in so many different ways. I would love to put it in my routine but I’ve never had success with it.

A Routine

Ding ding ding! For a lot of people like me, having a routine is a key to happiness. (Seen Benny & Joon?) Doing stuff the same time every day might make me boring (and I’m sure my daughter is going to rebel because it’s probably annoying) but I love remembering to take my meds, eating well, drinking enough water and all that good stuff that I take for granted if I don’t work at it.

Yoga

Yoga has definitely helped in the past. Now that I’m taking care of a 9 month old, I think I’ll be adding yoga — for free on youtube — to my routine. Should I do it with baby when baby is up and include her, or should I do it during a nap? Hmmm.

Aromatherapy

This works for me SO much. It’s ridiculous how much this works for me. I feel like it shouldn’t. It should be one of those things I shrug off like acupuncture — acupuncture obviously does work for a ton of people — but aromatherapy is my jam. The minute I smell jasmine I calm the ef down. I use orange and fir during the day to brighten my spirits. I don’t know why the hell it works but It Works. For me. (As does having flowers and twinkly lights around!)

Treats

Treats work! Treats come in all forms and are usually free.  They could be a library book, felt from Benzie Designs, tea, lemonade, warmed pajamas from the dryer, new fluffy socks, making a scarf out of an old outfit that will never fit me again — these get me through the stuff I do not want to do. I don’t like taking my pills at night. I get a terrible reaction from one of them but the thing is, sanity is more important than how terrible the drug makes me feel. So, I make that time a time of luxury. Usually this is a time for brain storming for my next craft project and drinking some amazing mocktail while watching terrible TV. For some reason, this works for me.

Terrible TV

I’m talking Kardashians, 90 Day Fiancé, The Bachelor, any of the Real Housewives, any Dr. Phil in which someone is getting catfished. I don’t know, you guys. All I know is that in 2011, after my brain surgery, Keeping Up With The Kardashians was the only show I could understand. (It’s repetitive af and it’s not about annnnnything. It’s perfect for a traumatic brain injury.) And now when my brain is overloaded with things I’m anxious about, Terrible TV calms me down faster than any benzo I’ve ever taken. For real.

Making Things

If I am not making something — a memory, a blog post, a recipe, a wall hanging, a doll, a poem, a letter, an email, a story for my daughter — I am not happy. Not sure why that is my personality, but it is. I need to create something or be planning to create something or I can’t cope with basic, daily things. Making is a way to be open and not ruminate. Perhaps making things is the way I meditate.

Taking A Walk

Works! Works even better if I put on makeup first. Works even better if I take pictures of the things I see, my dog, my daughter, etc.

Exposure Therapy

I’m not sure if this works yet because I started it today. Here is a picture of me after my first exposure therapy: and then a picture of WHY I’m doing it: This is my point: I was diagnosed when I was 18. I’m 35 and I’m just NOW trying exposure therapy with my amazing therapist.

If you were just diagnosed — congrats on your diagnosis! You will now be getting the help you need and deserve. There are so many things to try, so many drugs to that could help, there is just so much to do about your particular illness. Try keeping a journal of what works and what doesn’t.

I didn’t expect to miss my tree so much. Maybe it’s because I made 90 percent of the ornaments or because Elro loved it — whatever it was, there was a tree shaped hole in my heart that I’ve started to fill!

I bought this canopy on amazon, decorated it with paper and felt —from Benzie Designs, as usual! They are the very best! — roses. This creature came in the mail — I still don’t know who it is from but he’s perfect! I added a mat, some lights and books to make a little reading nook.

Now I’m researching what to make next! ❤️ Ohhhhh it’s going to be so fun!

I recently had a pretty difficult morning and it left me a little shaky as I did my errands around town. At one point I felt like crying. I immediately pointed Elro’s stroller in the direction of a florist shop.

When I lived in Portland, my roommate was diagnosed with MS. It was a difficult time for her and she found herself crying in public a lot. I also cried in public a lot so I had some advice — buy yourself flowers. You don’t have to spend a lot, just get some flowers. You’ll feel like you have a bit of a shield annnnnd no one will ask you what’s wrong or, worse, tell you to smile. They will assume there is a reason for your tears, and the flowers are to consolidate a family member or friend.

It worked for her. I hadn’t had to use it for years but wow, it still works.

Plus maybe Elro will think when you’re sad it’s appropriate to buy flowers for yourself. I don’t mind that as a life lesson!

❤️

Despite my upbeat and colorful Instagram, I am reminded daily that I have a severe mental disorder. I am disabled af.

I notice it the most when it’s time to go to sleep. It’s not just lugging out my pills (which are in a lock box) but it’s the worry that they won’t work — that something will happen — that my sleep will be disrupted and I’ll be one step closer to crazy. One night of bad sleep and I’m weak and grumpy. Two nights and I’m in pretty bad shape. Once, when I was living in Portland, on three nights of bad sleep, I walked into traffic. By day four of that week I was totally insane.

I was starting to notice something was wrong. Last week I spoke to an after hours nurse.  The woman on the phone was frantic. She said she couldn’t get ahold of my doctor but she had left five messages. She said that if she couldn’t get that doctor, she’d get another doctor, and all of the sudden I realized I was on the verge of going to the hospital. I told her I was fine, that she didn’t need to bother, I could wait until Monday when my doctor was back in his office, I was fine. “Are you SURE?” She asked. “Yes, thank you.”

Then I read about the holocaust for an hour — specifically how some Jews fought against nazis by finding ways to remain spiritual in the worst circumstances imaginable.

Every night, for those five nights, I would take my medicine at 8, fall asleep and awaken at 2:30 AM — wide awake. I knew why.  The first “night” it happened I told my husband, “I bet it’s 10 days until my period.” I checked my period tracker. Sure enough, my period was 10 days away. My PMDD, which shows up 10 days before every single period, is a much bigger problem than any health problem I currently have.  The worst part is insomnia, but the depression and anxiety is also pretty brutal. I’m supposed to increase my klonopin dosage to 2 mgs for those 10 days. That’s a lot of klonopin. I’m basically a functioning high person for 10 days — and I’m really hungry. But! That’s better than being insane.

So, I took my huge dose of klonopin. Went to bed at 8. Got up at 2:30. Klonopin. 8 PM. 2:30 AM. Klonopin. Every day it was the same thing. I was exhausted. A typical person might get cranky or — well — I don’t know what typical people are like when they lack the sleep they need. I go crazy. The last time it happened was my last week of pregnancy when I started to have closed eye visuals, which are hallucinations behind your eyelids. They are usually full of blood, gore and horror and you can’t turn away — so you try and keep your eyes open for relief.

The time before that I saw people falling from the ceiling. What I’m getting at it is very obvious when a lack of sleep makes me crazy — there is a zebra in the hall and I have to go to the hospital.

This time, however, there were no zebras. No gore. No people falling from the ceiling. On the fifth day I was writing to my dad and wrote, “I’m having trouble with the concept of time, I should probably call my doctor.”

I stopped. Looked around. Was I having trouble with the concept of time? I tried to think about time — and couldn’t. Not as a linear process. I looked at a paper rose I had made and realized I had no idea when I had made it — was it last night or three days ago? When did I make bread? Was it this morning or a year ago? Or did I imagine the bread? Where was the bread? Why was I even thinking of bread? I looked at my baby. I couldn’t remember changing her or feeding her, but she was dry and happy. And then I couldn’t remember NOT changing or feeding her — it was a steady flood of images but I couldn’t make out the day or time.

I called my psychiatrist who was on a mountain in a cabin with his family. I didn’t know when I’d talk to him next, if he’d get my message, if he could even help me from where he was. So I sat down and read about the holocaust. It seemed like the right thing to do.

I remember my goal being to not get a 51-50. (A 72 hour psychiatric hold.) I knew I wasn’t a harm to myself or anyone else, but I wish that wasn’t how I felt. I wish I could tell you that I knew I was in trouble and that if I needed to go to the hospital, I would. But the truth is, I would have lied and lied and lied to get out of a 51-50.  They are scary! I was dead set against it. I hate admitting that and I’m going to work on that aspect of my disease.

My psychiatrist called me, said that five days without sleep was way too long, what was happening? I told him it was the PMDD. He said, because of course he didn’t have his notes, “What are we doing for that?” I said we were prescribing 2 mg of klonopin. He asked what else we were doing. The question seemed completely out of left field. What else? Eating right? Standing on my head? What do you mean what else?

And then I understood. “Prozac. I’m supposed to take 40 mgs of Prozac a day in the morning. I haven’t been doing that. Oh MAN.” He said alright, start the prozac, take extra seroquel if you can’t sleep in the night, let’s see if that stabilizes you. Call back if you need me.”

I forgot the prozac. I forgot the prozac! How did I forget an entire drug? I’ve been taking pills for 17 years. I’ve never forgotten an entire dose, an entire medication — FOR DAYS before! But I know exactly what happened.

That first morning, when I woke up at 2:30 and told my husband my period was in 10 days? The first thing I did was take 2 mgs of klonopin. Every time I woke up I took 2 mgs of klonopin. It made me so loopy, so stoned, basically, that I didn’t remember the other HALF of how to treat my PMDD.

After taking my prozac I slept through the night. I was so grateful. The next day I was still having some trouble with time, but I knew that sleep is cumulative and that it would get better. The weirdest part is I thought it was a day from a year ago — my husband’s 40th birthday in San Francisco. Every so often I would ask myself what I was going to wear to the park or if we were meeting our friends Brent and Sarah at the bakery. Every so often I thought I was in a museum bathroom. This had all already happened, but I was convinced I was in those moments. I smelled the bakery and I could hear the trees rustling.

The reason that I can tell this story in my Burts Bees pajamas in my heated bedroom is because I have support. I have so many people to turn to. And I hope that if I DO need a 51-50 I will be brave enough to get the support I need. But these seemingly tiny things are what create real tragedies. People without good health care or emotional support can trip over something like forgetting a medication for 5 days and instead of it being a story on their blog, they fall into madness and lose everything. That’s why it’s so important to stay on your meds, keep your meds updated, have family and friends help you. see doctors and therapists and go to your support groups. It’s the best time in history to have bipolar disorder because there are meds to treat it — but we have to TAKE the meds, and take them correctly.

Take care of yourself!

Flora is my brothers’ grandmother. I never met her but I knew her clothes because I could play dress up in them when I was a girl, because Flora was a tiny woman. She also dressed fabulously. There was one robe everyone in my family loved. When I started transforming my maternity clothes  I began looking at all clothes as opportunities. When I looked at Flora’s robe I realized none of us were ever going to wear it. Too small! But what if there was a way to give a piece of her robe to everyone on the family? I made myself a headscarf.

Elro got a bonnet.

My brother got a Christmas tree ornament (in the shape of a horse because it’s his awesome girlfriend’s favorite animal) — as well as an ornament I made from a picture of Elro in her bonnet — and I’m working on a tie for my other brother right now! All of these items feel extra special because we’re all able to have a piece of the robe. It’s kind of magical and I highly recommend it!

❤️ Rae