Mental Illness Literature (the real stuff)

Bored? Nothing to do? Why not read a mental illness work of fiction or nonfiction? Below are some suggestions:

Try Forrest Gump, Of Mice and Men, Like Normal People and Flowers for Algernon to get a handle on developmental disabilities. For depression, read The Bell Jar; Night, Mother (play), Catcher in the Rye and Darkness Visible (autobiographical memoir). To bone up on bipolar illness, you might try Sights Unseen; Sky Writing: A Life Out of the Blue (Jane Pauley’s discussion of her life, which includes bipolar illness) and Brilliant Madness: Living with Manic Depressive Illness (Patty Duke’s discussion of her bipolar life) as well as An Unquiet Mind: A memoir of Moods and Madness. A good, but dense biography that discusses schizophrenia is A Brilliant Mind. A great book that examines the connection between madness and racism is The Bluest Eye. Finally, for texts that look at mental illnesses in general read One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest and/or Girl, Interrupted.

Safety Cages at Ringling Brothers Circus

We went to the circus today in Clevelend. I've never been to a circus, mainly because my mother did not like circuses.

This one was really good, and the best part was the huge safety cage they erected around the tigers. They brought the cage out and set it up, and then they let the tigers loose in it.

I loved how they first set the cage up and then let the dangerous animals in.

Don't you wish life were like that? Wouldn't it be nice if there was a safety cage around all dangerous things?

I'd love it if there were a little cage around the man who was going to cheat on you. You'd see the cage and know he was dangerous, and you'd avoid him.

I'd love it if there were a portable cage around the car that was going to hit you.

What about a cage around the person who was going to torment you and play with your head because you're mentally ill?

Alas, there are no such things as safety cages around the people and things in day to day life. We must face these people and things without the protection of a cage.

Our only salvation is that we get a little better at spotting the unsafe, as we age.

Oh, God. At this point, I can see no disadvantages to all the visitors to my blog. Could keeping this blog be dangerous? Only time will tell.

Danger, it's everywhere.

Stay safe.

Miss Bipolar USA

What if there were a beauty contest for bipolar girls and/or boys?

What would the talent part be like?

Best tantrum? Best medicine swallow w/o water? Longest time spent prone in bed? Most cigarettes smoked in one hour?

Would the contestants have to be beautiful or just have inner beauty?

Would there be a bathing suit portion?

Would they sing "here she is...Miss Bipolar America?

Well, I know if there were a contest like this I would have a great chance of winning.

When they'd ask me a serious quesion to see how articulate I am and how wise, I'd pipe up and deliver a hell of an answer. I'd say, "I operate a blog online, and almost every other day, I deliver fascinating opinions on bipolar illness. I want to post every day, but sometimes life gets in the way, you know how it is, now what was the question?"

I'd at least be third runner up because I'm special, so special, and the judges would see that. I'm not much to look at, but I shine inside...I have been through hell and back, and I could tell you some stories that would curl your toes...

If there were a Miss Bipolar USA contest, would you enter? Would you win? How about a Mr. Bipolar USA?

Taunting

Why is it that when someone finds out that another person is weak in some way, he decides to taunt him?

Bipolar people are taunted all the time.

Life can be pure hell.

Is the trick not to let them know you're ill?

In the secrecy of the internet, I confess that I am ill.

But I know that I am stronger in my weakness. So are you. So are we.

Are bipolar people less quick to taunt. Because we know what it feels like? I would hope so.

Keys to Good Mental Health

When I was 27, I lived in Pennsylvania and taught college. I had this marvelous bathtub in my apartment. The back of the tub sloped down perfectly so that it was comfortable when I lay in it. At that time, I didn't have bipolar illness, but I still did things to maintain good mental health. I loved to take long bubble baths by candlelight. I'd light two dozen tea lights, darken the bathroom and slip into the tub. It was my number one mental health activity.

Yesterday, I did another mental health activity. I attempted to make a new friend. I called this woman out of the blue and started in to talking to her like I'd known her for years. I thought my familiarity would work, but it didn't. When I told her I worked part-time, she didn't inquire where I worked. She was, simply, not interested.

But what is important is I TRIED TO MAKE A FRIEND. I reached out to humanity! What a better mental health activity is there?

I also righted a wrong I had committed about a year ago. I said something bad about someone to an acquaintance. It bothered me that I'd "dissed" this woman to another woman. Well, I got on the internet and wrote her an email and told her that I was wrong about said person. The person who I had believed was a jerk was really O.K.

Righting an old wrong is certainly a positive mental health activity.

What are you doing to perfect your mental health. Sometimes, the simplest, friendly gestures can really brighten your mood.

And now, I'm off to take a bubble bath...

Wired

I work with this person who is what I called "wired."

She will probably never loose her mind.

Life is explainable to her, understandable. She is punctual. She is articulate. She is a team player. She is fair. She is, above all, appropriate.

Do I envy her? Would I want to be her?

Not a chance.

I'm set in my ways. I like the intensity of feeling that comes with bipolar illness.

I guess I would not want to be "wired."

Would you?

The Audience Factor

This blog gives me what every writer, whether sane or not, wants--an audience. I am so grateful for you all who come to this site and read what I have to say.

I am first and foremost a writer. I was a writer before I was crazy. Or bipolar, for those more gentle types. I went to a creative writing college and an even more prestigious creative writing graduate school. I started out writing fiction, and then, evolved into writing nonfiction. I have been very successful writing nonfiction. You readers, you know the truth about me. When I write to mainstream publishing venues, I don't mention the bipolar illness. Why do they have to know? It's like I have a double life.

I'm not going to give this address out to just anyone.

Oh, I'd love it if this web site would take off.

I want to help people by my experience. Even if I'm TALKING about my experience.

I love being high. How about you? You feel that you can do anything! Except sleep.

For years, I was consistently manic. No depression. but finally, the depression caught up with me. after we got our adopted son. i had a real good run of post-adoptive depression. i started to see my psychologist at this time. she's wonderful. she had a building named after her. she's a really great psychologist, and i love her.

so, spaghetti dinner beckons. lots of garlic bread. salad. and meatballs!

Advertising

I looked into Astra Zeneca, the drug company that makes Seroquel, the anti-psychotic, to see if they wanted to advertise on this blog. I spoke with a very nice woman who handles the Seroquel account. She told me that I had to have about 1,000 hits a day before the drug company would be interested in my little blog.

So, tell all your friends. Come and hit my blog. Read what I have to say. I'm a reasonable sort. Oh, that medication issue I was dealing with last night--i think i really need the meds. it's not an issue any more.

it's exciting to know that people come to this blog and read about the adventures of a crazy woman. my husband told me he married me because i had an interesting life that could spice his up.

i would absolutely love it if Astra Zeneca would advertise on this blog. I'm going to start taking Seroquel after my childbearing years, which means sometime soon. Does anyone take this drug? Care to weigh in with a comment?

Should I Be a Hero?

I'm on a higher dose of meds than usual.

I feel like I should go down on my medication.

Like I'm a better person if i can live on less meds.

Where does this come from?

I guess it comes from years of living w/o medication.

Should I be a hero and go down on my medication?

Part of me feels like I shouldn't feel this good. Maybe I should start flogging myself.

Medication is so easy to forget. You take it once a day and forget it. Idon't like to remind myself that I'm medicated.

It's kind of a cheat. All those other people survive w/o meds.

I have some issues with meds.

But I am completely compliant.

Should I be a hero?

Maybe I'll be fine. Maybe I won't.

Should I find out?

My doctor gives me the power to slightly adjust my meds. I am in the driver's seat. Afterall, I'm the one who knows how I feel.

I think it would be easier if there was a guy who said, "Go down." or "go up." I don't necessarily like making the decisions.

What a baby I am.

I'm never happy.

I guess i'll stay where I'm at. Why shouldn't I feel great?

Who in the hell cares if i'm up on my meds?

(i do...)

Pittsburgh

We're in Pittsburgh. We came up for the weekend. We're staying until Monday.

Tonight, we're eating at a sports bar. It's so nice to be able to travel again. I used to get what I call "traveling disease," which is complete disorientation somtimes mixed with delusions.

I don't get it any more.

We took Tommy to the zoo. He loved the fish.

It's nice to get away. Just lying around doing nothing. Napping.

Steve just asked if the sports bar has "cubans." Cuban sandwiches we get in Tampa.

I wanted all of my blog entries to deal specifically with bipolar illness, but this one is kind of breaking the mold. It's kind of a mismash.

Maybe it's because I'm on vacation.

The good thing is: no signs of traveling disease!

New Magazine

The people who produce BP Magazine (bipolar magazine) and the schizophrenia magazine (can't remember name) are coming out with a new magazine. It's targeted toward people with depression and anxiety.

I really recommend these magazines. They're full of up-t0-date information about these illnesses. Reading them puts you into a disability community. If you write, they also offer writing possibilities.

I'm proud to say that BP is featuring one of my articles in this current issue. It's about medicine compliance.

The other (new) article they just accepted is about bipolar issues and marriage.

If I'm not mistaken, these magazines don't come in brown paper, so if you don't want the mailman (or anyone who might wander into the house) to know about your illness, you might rethink the issue...

What do we really have to be afraid of?

Not being taken seriously, being suspect, being feared, being harassed, teased, ignored, passed over

it's a hell of a fight. each day, proving yourself over and over. you are capable. you are cogent. you are capable. you are more creative than the average bear.

let us be thankful for what we have...

sleep tight...

My current, great psychiatrist

My current doctor is tall and skinny. He's extremely smart. He smokes. I remember I loosened up a bit when I learned that he smoked.

My doctor is empathetic.

My doctor likes mentally ill people. He wants to help them.

He's extremely popular.

My doctor is not taking new patients.

The Crazy Doctor

One of the symptoms of my mania in 1991 was extreme fear.

I remember I was hospitalized promptly when I got back from New York. I was in my room shared with a woman who tried to commit suicide after botching up an eyebrow plucking job. I was minding my own business. This doctor, whom I didn't recognize, came in and began to touch me. I think he was feeling my pulse.

He noticed the total fear in my eyes. I remember his hands tightened their grip on my arm. He was squeezing my arm.

I remember the sadistic look in his eye.

He was loving terrifying me.

To this crazy doctor, much more crazier than I, I say "Fuck you."

ps in 1991, I was beautiful, unlike now. the whole game seemed to be a bit sexual.

The Open Suitcase

All the Ohio people know that the weather has finally changed. I'm sitting outside, barefoot, with my new laptop and my baby, who's playing with trains. It is a joy to sit outside and work, with the sounds of birds and blowing wind.

At the height of my illness in the summer of 1991, I was in New York City. So disoriented and delusional. I thought I was Jesus.

I was in LaGuardia Airport, and my suitcase happened to burst open. Clothes and shoes went everywhere. People walked on them, tripped over them. Now, as Jesus, how to pick up the mess? I remember the process was very hard. I remember people watching me, the crazy spectacle, mumbling prayers to myself. Piece by piece, my wardrobe ended up back in the suitcase. Then, I latched it shut.

I will never forget this moment. It was truly one of the most dramatic moments of my life. I knew that people were watching me, and I had more important business to attend to.

When I'd get home, I'd set about saving the world.

Depression is Odd

Depression is odd. You can be feeling fine, and then, something turns inside, and you begin to sink down. Those in-between-days produce a helpless feeling. You know you're going down, and you still feel kind of good, but you're going down and there's nothing you can do about it.

What I hate is the irritability that comes with depression. I could chew off my mother's head.

Prozac is my medicine of choice. It brings me up to a level where I can function, but I still feel rotten. Prozac never makes me tremendously happy. It has its limits.

After we adopted Tommy from Guatemala, I got a kind of post-adoption depression. I wasn't sleeping well. I was overwhelmed. The baby always had to be fed or changed. The laundry. The dark winter. Thank God for prozac.

My father died of depression. He spend literal years in bed. He also had OCD. Oh, the black nights of sadness.

I can write about depression now because I'm not depressed. I'm not high either. I'm not even hypo-manic.

Mrs. Normal.

That's me.

What's depression like for you?

BP magazine

Sold a story to BP Magazine. It's so good that we have our own magazine. We're living in an age of useful media, good drugs, excellent doctors. It's a great time to be crazy.

When my father was sick in the 70s, there were no good OCD medications. I think that's what really got him. Obsessions. Now, there's Anafranil. And other meds like it.

It looks like some people are coming to this blog finally. Welcome, people. Welcome, readers. I'm a 44-year-old Midwestern, Catholic mother/wife/bipolar human.

I hope you enjoy this blog.

Feel free to leave a comment or two...