Hanging the fuck on

In order to love and be loved, I must choose to live.

I found these words I had written on a crayon drawing I made in a random art therapy session at mood disorder camp.

Out of context it seemed like a cheesy inspirational saying, to really experience and feel love you must “live out loud.” “be in the moment,” etc. We are told by motivational speakers and bad romantic comedies that we don’t want to passively live life, we want to be in the thick of it, and they are probably correct.

Yet for some of us, we are just trying to hang the fuck on, so we sit in a room of other people trying to hang the fuck on, or balance the fuck out, or feel like they can get through the day without breaking the fuck down and we write on a piece of paper anything that will help.

So I sat there staring, being told to draw a picture about what makes me happy and peaceful. Ending life came to mind, but I sensed that was not what the art therapist was looking for.

So I wrote a thought that comes natural to most people. If you’re dead you can’t love people or feel their love, and for a few hours, on that day, that was enough to keep sick me alive.

And I am healthy now, but as I looked at the piece of paper last night, I did not think “Duh, of course.” No, for a minute I remembered, with too much ease and intensity, what it felt like to need those words to stay alive and what it felt like when even those words didn’t seem like enough.

And then I thought of this weekend, being surrounded by those I love and those who love me, celebrating another year, and I felt grateful.

And that’s what life is for someone like me, feeling grateful and safe and healthy and loved, and in that same space also sensing the “ending it all” instinct and knowing it will probably always be hanging out in the background, a little too close for comfort. And so I do what I need to do, what I am healthy enough to do, I equip myself with the coping stuff I need and, every so often I look at the camera and yell “Munroe!”*

*A reference to the 80s sitcom Too Close for Comfort, if you didn’t get this, good for you for liking books and being outdoors, more than you do bad tv. If you did get it, we’re soul-mates.

 

 

 

 

 

The crashing seems to have stopped. My mood is uneven but manageable.

I am grateful, appreciative, realize how lucky I am, framing things in the best light and so on and on and on.

Let’s get that out of the way so I do not have to couch every sentence with one of those sentiments.

A few months back I went to the OB/GYN cause I was having hot flashes and night sweats. According to the cute old man with a fun accent Dr. guy, I am either having estrogen issues because of my poly-cystic ovaries or I am beginning early onset menopause. I am thirty-fuckin-five, by the way, so yeah that’s early.

But honestly, if this was not effecting my mood, I probably would be good with it, I have no reason to delay menopause, so, sure, let’s get that out of the way.

But hormones off-kilter equals mood off-kilter so back to the psychiatrist I went. To help with the hormones I can take a birth control pill, said birth control can make one of my meds, the med that helps me the most, less effective

So it becomes wait and see. 

Will these pills even things out or swing things in the wrong direction?

Wait and see has not worked well before.

So, I find myself angry.

Angry that I might be a patient again. I am so sick of being a patient.

Angry that others might feel the need/actually need to take on some semblance of a caregiver mode. The idea of that makes me want to jump out of my skin. I am so not comfortable with needing any sort of caregiving.

I did the hard work. Over a year of it. I took it more seriously then I ever did school work, and now there is a chance that could get messed up, and that sucks.

So I get to make the choice to continue being pro-active, to hope the meds stuff balances out quickly, and to every now and then, get angry, cause, in my view, angry beats sad everyday of the week and twice on Sunday. (A Few Good Men reference!)

Letters from Mood Disorder Camp:A journey from last year
Dear supportive person:
First of all, thank you for being a supportive person. I know you care about me and that means a ton.
Camp has been a very positive experience so far. I can relate to my fellow campers and that has made me feel a lot less alone. The Head Psychiatrist is really really good and has already made what will hopefully be helpful medication changes. The program also stresses cognitive behavior therapy which has been both helpful and fun to mock, so my needs are being met. I still have a ways to go but I am feeling hopeful with is a pretty amazing thing. Okay off to do some lanyard-ing.
Deena
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Dear Supportive People,
First of all thanks to all of you for your kind, supportive, and generous words. Back when I was an 8 year old camper at sleep away camp, I sent my parents the following very earnest letter:
 
Dear Mom and Dad,
I fell off a horse, I fell out of a boat. I have poison ivy. I’m having a great time.
Love,
Deena
 In this same vein, I present this letter from camp IHOP:
Dear supportive people:
I am not sure how well my meds are working, I’m having trouble sleeping, I am depressed quite a bit. I think Camp IHOP is great, 
Love,
Deena
PS. I think it is great mostly because everyone there can relate to these same struggles and I am being given the tools to get better.
Leon and Rafi have been in Florida for five days and I am very appreciative of the single parenting Leon has been doing. I miss them terribly but have used the time to focus on getting better.

Okay, gonna go audition for the camp play, You’re a Good Man Charlie Brown, wish me luck.

———————-

Dear Supportive People,

Thanks for all of your continued support. Well, camp continues to be a challenge and a mix of ups and downs and struggling mostly with the amount of time it will
take for the medicine to work. And if it will work. I am cautiously optimistic, I think.
Some of my fellow campers came to my improv show and laughed a lot, which is a nice triumph when your audience comes from a mood disorders program. Though in hindsight they could have just been manic at the time.
Love,
Deena

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Dear Supportive People,

Like any good camp, I am about to have my first field trip. On Wednesday, I will start  ECT treatments.
My Dr. assures me it is nothing like Jack Nicholson in One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest. While this is comforting, it also feels like telling someone being a best-selling author is nothing like being James Caan in Misery. I am hopeful though that this will provide the much needed relief.

Thanks always for your support.
Love,

Deena

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Dear Supportive People,

My first treament went well and I am relieved to have tackled one and to know what to expect. I am having quite a bit of head and jaw pain, but that is to be expected and my knowlewdge of 80s TV trivia is still completely intact so I am feeling good about my memory holding up.
 

Thanks for all your continued virtual support.

———————-

Dear Supportive People,

I am about to have my fifth treatment. I am noticing quite an improvment and feeling better than I remember feeling in a long time. No memory issues either, which means I will most likely remember how boring the Oscars are this Sunday

W00t, as the kids say.

Love,

Deena

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Dear Supportive People,

Rafi and I read “Life Doesn’t Frighten Me” a children’s book by Maya Angelou, for his nighttime story. The moment was not lost on me as the words felt true for the first time in a very long time.
 
Thank you all for your support during this particularly challenging journey.