Talk About Your Sky

This hits too close to home. I’m crying and covered in chills. “She wasn’t well enough to know how sick she was” is a 10 word summary of my life since 7th/8th grade. I started cutting and being suicidal in 8th. I had full intentions of killing myself in March 1997, at the ripe old age of 14. This didn’t come to me as an illness or symptom of an illness. This was: I’m a terrible person, everyone hates me, and it would be a favor to everyone if I just died. This carried forward til present: it still happens. I finally know symptom versus reality, but it has taken so much work to find that truth. I can’t even say medicine is how I found it. Therapy wasn’t either. It was finding myself, my true self, and seeing I was beautiful and worthy of love. Most especially from me.

People don’t understand that mental illness robs you of the capacity to experience love because it tells you no one loves you. It tells you how awful you are. People say always to “believe in yourself” but what if yourself says everyone hates you? You are evil? No one loves you. You don’t deserve love. God hates you? I believed until I finally learned my brain lies.

This is the analogy I use to explain bipolar. Imagine someone who sees the sky is pink. They call this sky blue, because everyone else says the sky is blue. You don’t know what blue looks like, because blue is pink for you. You don’t know to call it pink, you’ve never known it was a color other than blue. It’s always just been how you see your sky. How can you make someone understand their Sky could be a different color? How can I make you understand I don’t see your blue? How can we ever understand that I don’t have any capacity to understand other skies or that my sky is different? And even if my sky is different, it’s beautiful too.

Life changed when I realized my pink sky is the most beautiful one In the world because it’s mine. It’s me. My challenges made my strengths, and my pain made my beauty. This mother, lost to us forever, fought similar battles as me, and she lost, her husband lost, and her children lost. It’s stories like this that make me care for myself more, and speak louder. Everyone has different skies, none of us see the same blue, but that makes you beautiful not broken. Because all the broken parts of me are all the best parts of me too. My mind works differently. I am a genius, and I am also a person who suffers in her mind.

Bipolar affects every aspect of my life and my relationships. I have lost so many people because of this illness including the man who was my world. I can understand the pain Jon Davis in right now, because I remember the pain Evan and I have been in. Jon Davis and his wife divorced in 2016, and it’s so difficult to convey what it’s like to love someone who can’t love themselves. Medically and chemically can’t feel love. It’s like water in a holey bucket trying to get a drink when you’re dying of thirst.

Mental illness was what tore our marriage apart, and healing mental illness is what brought our marriage together. But not before I almost killed myself – either with my addictions or by my own hand. And Evan helped save my life. I hope Jon doesn’t feel the guilt that he couldn’t save hers. I could have left my kids motherless, even though saving them my pain was what started me realizing I was not well enough to realize how sick I was.

Rest In Peace Deven. You’re an angel who graced the world with beauty, until your broken wings took you home for peace and rest.

If these words resonate, start talking and don’t stop. Don’t keep this pain inside. The most beautiful part of you is everything you hide away, because the people who struggle are the people who are admired for overcoming. Talk, please. Share your story. Share your struggles. You will quickly see how many other pink skies there are. None of us are alone.

From Fear to Love: How my muses saved my writing

Inspiration comes to me like a flash. If I’m not prepared with something to write, I typically end up dropping everything and typing it on my phone. I’ve lost too many good epiphanies otherwise. The tough ones are when I am getting inspired out the wazoo as I’m trying to go to sleep. My muses don’t seem to have a circadian rhythm.

There are three muses in my life who similarly aren’t big on the concept of letting me sleep: my kids. Their inability to give me quiet time or an extra hour to sleep in notwithstanding, they are my everything. They are the reason I write and have been since I started. It was the mantra “My children will never cry my tears.” that started this journey.

I knew deeply if I did not stop my shit, I would pass it on to them. I remember thinking how they couldn’t know what I was doing when I was purging or starving, but the look of relief on my daughter’s face when I suggested we stop and get some food proved me dead wrong. I know how I speak to them will become their inner monologue. I’m human, I screw up, I get angry, I say dumb shit. I’ve always feared I was ruining their lives, I was screwing them up, etc. etc. Hurt people hurt people, and I was so terrified of hurting them. My pain radiated to my marriage until it imploded, it’s a natural assumption to fear what it could do to them.

All of that fear was the impetus to write, because I knew I could figure it out if I just wrote about it. I could have never expected the journey my writing has taken me on, but the more important reality is how much healing my writing has brought. I am world’s apart from the woman who started writing 2 years ago, and thank God for it.

Now, though, fear has no place in my life. Anything brought from a place of fear can only bring forth more fear, which is what happened when my mind shattered under the weight of my own pressure. This obsession with being well took me far, far down a rabbit hole of my psyche and shadows. It was a wonderful blessing wrapped in a curse. Carl Jung said, “Nothing more profoundly affects the mind of a child than the unlived life of the parent.” What he’s saying is we all project our fears on each other, most especially our kids. I didn’t want to project me not following my dreams on them. But, on my road to recovery, I connected with the reality: my writing will never be what it must be if it’s not born from a place of love. It’s only within the past month I’ve been able to write like I used to. Raw, honest, Me. I feel as though the words fall out of my fingertips and it’s meditation in action.

The shift was so simple, I don’t know why it did not occur to me sooner. Before, I wrote to save the children from my biggest fear: myself. Now, I write to save the children from their biggest challenges: themselves, society, and all the well meaning fools that will tell them now to follow their dreams. Then, as my kids get older, the instructions to chase dreams will be recanted and they’ll be told to get a real job. How many of us had our dreams shattered by a well meaning loved one? How many of us have an artist inside begging to come out while we sit behind a keyboard at a job we wish was anything else and make someone else rich, or make someone else’s dream come true?

My kids don’t listen to me worth a damn. I used to think talking about how they can do anything, etc. was enough, but the simple evidence of asking them to clean their rooms shows how well they listen. The same reality spurring my fear is the reality spurring my love: Kids watch and learn by example. If I am secretly starving myself, my kids are learning to hate their bodies. If I am sitting and writing, promoting, and actively pursuing my dream, my kids are learning to believe in themselves, their gifts, and their dreams.

This, to me, is my sacred duty as a mother. There are too many children trapped inside adults who were told they couldn’t cut it. There are too many of us full of doubt, remorse, regret, and confusion. This is probably going to sound weird, but it’s like killing Santa Claus over and over again. We tell our children there is magic in the world, we tell them Santa can do all of these incredible things. Then, when they’re old enough or when a kid on the playground decides to, we tell them it was a lie. We kill magic. Likewise, we tell the kid who wants to be an astronaut, firefighter, or artist they can do anything they set their minds to. When the chips are down, and it’s time to graduate high school, we encourage practicality and mortgage sized student loan debt.

If we starve our inner artist, or our inner child, look at the suffering we bring into ourselves. Depression and anxiety: how much of this is repressed dreams and gifts? I get so much anxiety if I am not writing, especially if I am having lots of ideas and I’m “too busy” to do anything with them. I write as much as I do just to stay on top of myself. Otherwise, I get overloaded, and I start panicking, and I’ll slump in depression. I mean, Christ, depression and repression sound pretty damn similar no?

Why are so many artists diagnosed ADHD, Bipolar, anxious, or depressed? This is our gift manifesting the wrong way. The sensitivity we have to life is our gift wrapped in a curse. We cannot express the mysteries, beauty, and perfection of art without feeling it immensely. We all know words are a pittance to reality, when we express pain or love, it’s nothing compared to truth. Yet our words come close, because of our gifts. If showing my kids the paths to their dreams, self worth, and self love is my sacred duty as a mother, writing about the beauty of reality is my sacred duty to life. Being completely authentic and truthful me, free of the bonds of people’s opinions, free of the bonds of fear, and free of repressed expression is my sacred duty to myself – my true self.

I can’t and won’t put my kids through a journey of trying to reconnect with something that was once crystal clear. When I was in 8th grade, I promised my teacher I’d dedicate my first book to her. There was not a shred of doubt I’d be a writer then. 21 years later, I’m finally “hey I should do something about that writing thing I liked to do…” I had so many dreams when I was younger. I was going to be POTUS, too. Dreams beget more dreams. I’m living my first dream now: I’m (technically) a stay at home mom raising 3 kids. I always saw that, I just didn’t understand the timing. They didn’t need me as a SAHM when they were babies, they need me now. Divine timing works that way, and it’s necessary to trust that. If you make your dreams known, worlds move to make that dream come true.

The people strong enough to step into their dream are the ones who make their dreams come true. The people who repress their dreams are the ones who have the shadows of regret and remorse. The only way I can be an example to my kids is to step into my dream and be a writer. It doesn’t matter the scale, I trust the universe on that one. They just need to see and hear me being a writer. Today. Not tomorrow, not one day. If I want to be a writer, I am a writer. Every time I press publish anywhere, I am a writer. That’s what they see. When my brain starts telling me I cannot, I picture the three of them, and I say of course I can. I have the best inspiration in the world. I have the best fan base in the world. My children.

How many of us are starving artists inside? I’m not talking financially. I am talking we have a muse, we  have a vision, we have a gift, and we are starved for expression. We take that gift, and shove it in the back of our psyche because it’s not practical.  Thank God for my children, otherwise I never would have started trying. I would have lied to myself to my deathbed and wondered where my life went. I have only truly experienced life to its fullest when I saw my dreams were already coming true, and all I had to do was step into them.  I hope, if you are struggling with your dream or believing in yourself, this inspires you to take the first steps. That’s how every journey begins.

What about you? Are you living your dreams? Who inspires you to live your dreams? If the answer is no, are you going to change it? 

Let’s connect! Follow me all around the web

Daina (OurBeautifulLies):

 

 

Take Time To Listen To You

Lions Gate Eclipse – Aluna Ash Clairvoyant

This is a fantastic listen. If you’re feeling wonky, astrology may just be influencing you. I’m definitely getting so much of this. So many old yucky feels are coming up and out.

Even if you’re not into astrology, but you are feeling wonky: what are you not doing that you want to? Have you been feeling pulled to write? Color? Paint? How do you express yourself and how are you not expressing yourself?

Quality is not a factor in this question. You could be the worst writer or painter in the world. If you feel the urge to do something – do it. The best way to connect with your intuition and your true self – the person you are when no one is looking. The person you are when you lay your head on the pillow – that person needs to get shit off their chest. And the only way that happens is creative expression.

Think you’re not creative? What worst case scenarios do you create for yourself? What negative stories about how others think about you or things you want to do but can’t – what stories are you inventing. What excuses do you create to not take care of yourself? All of that is misdirected creativity. Listen to yourself and let yourself come out of your mind somehow; some way. Whatever works!

Not sure where to start? Lay down and meditate for awhile. Don’t worry about postures, mudras, straight spines, just lay down and listen to yourself breathe. Then listen to your heartbeat. And just breathe. Don’t worry about what you are or aren’t doing. Give up trying for as long as you can and just be still. Think of it as a do not disturb for life so you can hear yourself breathe.

If you’re interested in more guidance, I am an excellent

tarot reader and would be happy to read you! Email me (roseroared at yahoo.com)

Would Buddha Take Medication?

This has been a question I’ve been ruminating on for well over a year. I am curious if there are others in a similar spot: for me, my alphabet soup of diagnoses led me to spirituality as did working through various addictions. Yet, I’ve found myself in a conundrum of: can I be spiritual and take medicine? Would Buddha have popped pills?

I began studying Buddhism when I realized modern psychology is basically renamed Buddhism. I figured I’d just go to the source. Buddhism is not a religion; it is a philosophy. The focus is disciplining the mind.

When I started meditating, I lived in fear of my mind. It was noisy, chaotic, nasty, and full of should have/would have/could have. I had always felt there were at least 2 me’s in existence. The mask and the fucked up girl behind the mask. When I came to meditation, my life had become a confusing blur of lies. I didn’t know who I was anymore because I lost track of the lies and reality.

In this journey, I’ve flip flopped between believing I am seriously ill and in need of help and believing there is nothing wrong with me, it is society making me sick.

The psychosis I had over a year ago was the great leveler. In that, I am forced to accept both answers to every question. There are things I saw and experienced that are so real to me even today, I shudder at the memory. Yet, no one else saw or heard these things. No one saw melting faces, or had any reason to believe the weird weather was all my fault. I can’t find the things I read anymore, yet I swear I read them. It’s a case of accepting what is: I cannot explain this, but it happened all the same.

The harder thing to accept is this absolutely started with meditation. I experienced something that I can not describe in words, and from that point on, my life was turned upside down. I did believe I was God, so it could be full delusional grandeur and mania. I also believed I was here to help people, and that too could be mania. I don’t know. The problem and solution always is: I don’t know. I’ve researched it endlessly. Kundalini awakenings resonate with what happened to me. Jung’s concept of the shadow is almost a verbatim account of the 3 or so weeks I was in psychosis. Everything, and I mean everything I was afraid of, worried about, hiding away, etc. came into my reality. It was as if my life was a Stephen King novel.

I still struggle talking about this, because I couldn’t write out everything that happened in those weeks if I had a lifetime to type. If I can one day, it will give Mr. King a run for his money.

After begging to be taken to the mental hospital, knowing if I didn’t go, I was going to kill myself: I’m still left with fear. There’s still a part of me worried I was wrong. On bad days of depression, I can worry I should have killed myself then, because at the time, I was convinced someone was going to kill my kids if I didn’t kill myself. I’ve never been more terrified of my mind. Yet, I had two choices, I could either get back on good terms with myself, or spend the rest of my days terrified of me as I had been.

It took me a long time to come back to meditation. Buddhism obviously teaches meditation, but I learned in the mental hospital. No one told me about needing a guide or a teacher. No one told me what meditation could unlock. The experience I had is very similar to what has been described as Kundalini awakenings, and there are warnings abound that this should not be undertaken without serious inner work to clear your demons. Me? I was obsessed with meditating because it made me feel good. I didn’t really know chakras or anything spiritual then.

Was it spiritual? Was it psychological? Those questions have plagued me for so long.

In reality, the only thing that did happen is all my worst fears did come true, and all the things I repressed came to the surface. I was terrified I was crazy, so I went crazy. I lost my mind. It doesn’t matter what was real or not real, because in my world, it was all true. In others, it was not. For me, I created a self fulfilling prophecy. I believed I was crazy, so crazy is what I was.

This is the nature of life. My truth is something only I have. No one sees the sky the same way, and we have no way of proving or disproving it because we can’t describe blue. This leads me back to my question. The Buddha taught how to discipline the mind to alleviate suffering. I believe he used the complete power of his focus, by watching his thoughts and choosing where he gave his focus.

The Buddha believed all suffering exists in our minds. We cling to the past and reject change, we chase the future and lose the present. We create huge expectations to bring disappointment. We live in extremes and reject reality. I have to wonder, though, how would Buddha deal with now? Look at the world we are in. He’s long gone, and many follow his way, yet does it resonate now? Ancient wisdom is wise, but does it make sense in a culture so vastly different? Would he need Effexor and Latuda to stay centered?

The world is so obsessed with labels and words. Everything has to be specifically characterized and in a box – we’ve turned ourselves into nouns and forms of grammar instead of living breathing constantly changing verbs. God is now an iPhone, I think. It’s very different from a monastic lifestyle in India. In the present, I think suffering is caused by our obsession with the word “or”. My suffering with the puzzle of my psychosis is an easy example of this. The reality is “and” not “or”. That is to say, everything I experienced was completely real, completely caused by meditation, AND bipolar. Why must they be mutually exclusive? Does mania make it false? I used to believe mania made my happiness a lie, and I would use analysis to rob myself of joy with the fear of being crazy.

In reality, to me, bipolar is a description of a particular form of suffering: attachment versus non attachment. I flee the bad days and run for the good days. Medication has helped, meditation helped, yoga helped. I don’t fear my bad days, and I enjoy the good days as they last. Non attachment.

The psychosis is forcing me to accept “and” because it’s the only plausible answer. It’s all of the above. Yet, strikingly, this is precisely what the Buddha taught in non duality. Everything in this life is a process. Sadness is necessary so that happiness is experienced. Rainy days are needed to grow flowers in the sunshine. All of the cliches. But it is truly everything. All the mental anguish I go through attempting to pick a side can easily be avoided by accepting both and sticking to the middle. Any extreme is bad for our minds. Moderation is key in everything.

If you can think about the most painful situation in your life, I am willing to bet there is an “or” you are struggling with. “Did he cheat on me because I wasn’t good enough or is he a shitty person?” Both. It’s both. He believed you weren’t good enough and that does make him a shitty person. It can be everything because it’s all part of one unified process. It’s up to us to decide and move forward. Obsessing with the why, and trying to label it disconnects us from reality and keeps us in fear of the unknown. The reality is: it is all unknown and known. Every moment is exactly as it’s meant to be, and suffering comes from constant ruminating and questioning thoughts. The only reality is action.

The rising diagnoses seem to flag this problem. As we all attempt to force ourselves in one particular box at the loss of another, trying to encapsulate ourselves in neat words and labels, we are losing our minds. Our sanity. Our obsession with words and thinking is making us insane.

Isn’t it interesting that modern psychology and Buddhism are so closely aligned? Why is meditation so crucial? Why did meditation help me go crazy? I appreciate it now, because now I have the opposite – I know what it feels like to lose my mind. I no longer need to analyze myself for crazy indicators.

Meditation is the art of doing nothing, because we all do too much. It is rare we have that counter balance. Like pushing do not disturb on a cell phone, meditation can create the space for truth and reality to shine through. The truth that we always need both. We need activity and we need stillness. We cannot be healthy in any one or the other situation.

What is the truth? What is reality? I don’t know anymore. I think that’s the most truthful I can get. This journey started whether I wanted to or not, but I’ve been holding myself back by shifting my fear to medication. I finally connected I’ve been so stifled in everything because I’m terrified the medicine I am on is changing my brain.

When I started meditating, I saw colors. So many colors. It was like hanging out in a kaleidoscope. Now, I can tell you this is called a siddhi and means very little. Since I started the medicine, I stopped seeing colors. I’ve been worried about this for so long. Yet just last night, I asked that question: if Buddha was here now, would he take medicine to help with the journey?

The answer is: why do I care what Buddha would do? This is what I keep missing. At the end of the day, it’s only me that can move my feet on this path. Buddha may be a guide, Watts may be a guide, but I’m the only one who can choose. If I believe the medicine is hurting me, of course it will. Self fulfilling prophecies are reality. I take supplements and I take medicine. Why not both? Both help me. I have a stigma against myself with the medicine, and I’m tired of bullying me about it.

No sooner did I come to peace with this – after 1.5 years of struggling and fighting with this choice to medicate, I saw colors again. Brighter and more vivid then I remember before.

The Buddha taught me to stop fearing my mind by embracing the beauty of my mind. Meditation taught me how powerful all minds are. They can create beauty or suffering, depending on your focus. In each of us is this power to create or destroy our worlds. Most of us need to destroy before we learn to stop creating our destruction with the stories we tell ourselves.

Are you pondering similar questions? Let me know in comments, I’d love to pick some brains.

If there’s no solution, it’s not a problem.

The hardest part of any challenge is thinking about it. The way I see it, inside my mind is very small relative to the world. The world is expansive and limitless, but my skull isn’t. When I get caught in ruminating or anxious repetitive thoughts, it can feel like a cacophony in my head. And whatever problem

Seems so insurmountable, and I couldn’t possibly handle it.

The simple act of writing it on paper, saying it out loud, or just tackling the problem inevitably shows my problem was far bigger in my head than reality. The mind creates the problem, action always diminishes problems. Sometimes, I make a list of what I’m

Anxious about and I pick “low hanging fruit” i.e. the easiest thing I can do to handle something. And I work my way through it.

The most powerful thing I learned with my psychosis came from a random encounter:

If you don’t have a solution, then it is not a problem. Later, I found a Buddhist quote: “why worry? If you don’t have an answer; you cannot solve the problem, and if you do have an answer; your problem is solved!”

My mind loves to say can’t. I can’t handle this that or the other thing. I used to try to change it to can. The problem with can is, it’s still future state. I will and I am are much more effective in retraining the brain. I will do this, I am doing this. Your mind calms and becomes focused on the present as opposed to dancing in future and past.

But at the end of the day, suffering comes from thinking about problems. Life comes in action. Life, experience, love, God, and humans. We are all actions, not nouns. We are beyond words, so don’t let the words in your thoughts control your limitless potential. I will. I am. The two things to change your life.

At least it’s not a rash…

I’m at an interesting point in my mental health journey. One of my biggest problems with medications is always side effects. Lamictal and topomax gave me a drug rash. Lithium made me constantly tired and I gained 40+ pounds and didn’t notice much beyond more depression. Prozac gave me crazy anxiety. Abilify, haldol, seroquel turned me into a robot or almost drooling mess of drugged human.

Effexor is the only anti depressant I’ve “liked” and Latuda is the only mood stabilizer that hasn’t ruined my life. However, side effects are so bizarre. My jaw locks, my muscles have started randomly clenching and spasming, and I’m getting restless legs. I also have a weird neck/head jerky twitch. By now, I would have cold turkeyed off the drugs and argued I’m fine.

But I’m not fine. Without something, I can’t find a baseline. My moods swing so quickly, and not in an orderly fashion. I’m never manic or depressed, it’s both, anxious, and cleaning obsessively or freaking about cleaning because I can’t clean because I cant stay awake. I’m not doing anything or I’m doing everything or I’m having a panic attack about both.

With Latuda, I’m calmer. I respond more than I react. A lot of this is helped by meditation and yoga, but without medicine, I struggle to perform these things on my own which makes it all worse. But the side effects suck.

What doesn’t suck is my doctor, who is listening to me, confirming these are side effects and actually changing stuff around rather than telling me I’m wrong or just want to be manic all the time. The funny part is I guess all of this work to stabilize my moods is just to get me on adhd medicine. This past month wasn’t good. Lots of depression – more than usual. But I got through okay. I have a lot of stress right now – I am a mom of 3 lol. My life is crazy as a baseline.

But I’m not quitting the medicine. I promised myself after the psychosis I was going to figure this all out. My doctor is adding another drug to stop the side effects and either lowering the Latuda and increasing the Effexor or just increasing Effexor. There are a lot

Of benefits to taking these medicines and unfortunately I’m sensitive to medicine (ask me about my NyQuil experiences lol) so this is really hard.

I’m sharing all this because I think it might be helpful if anyone is struggling with doctors/therapy/medicine. A lot of doctors treat statistics, not people. Some of these side effects are rare, and because of that, many doctors are dismissive. Or, they say the benefits outweighs the drawbacks. But everyone needs to be really educated about their diseases and medicines. Reading side effects, tracking side effects, speaking intelligently about symptoms and frequency. Journaling is an amazing way to understand yourself and what’s going on with your body.

I usually read my journal for the past month and read a journal from an earlier time period (say 6 months to a year) before aby appointment. I can then tell if I’m improving or not, I can see where I was at before and where I’m At now, and how frequently these things are occurring. I track my period in my journal and I note every day I have it in my journal so I can see how the anxiety and depression was. I make notes on my moods and anxiety levels all the time. I note if I forgot a medicine and what happened. I’m my own psychologist kind of.

Because I know the drugs and my body, I’m able to be an active part of my treatment plan instead of just sucking it up and dealing with it. The muscle stuff I’m describing is a big deal. I could end up with long term problems like tardive Dyskinesia. It was because I started noticing these muscle spasms and took notes that I could talk about it with my doctor.

It’s never enough to just take the medicine. A journey of mental health is a journey of self awareness too. I’ve stopped medicine a lot because the side effects were too much and no one was listening. It took a lot of doctors to find one who did. The only difference now is I fight for me, I speak up for me, and I’m an open book with everyone especially my doctor. When i went to the mental hospital

The first time, all I said was I get sad and anxious sometimes. No mention of eating disorders, obsessive cleaning and other compulsions, I said my brain was telling me to hurt myself because I didn’t even know what intrusive thoughts were. Frankly, at that time, I didn’t know what was Wrong with me.

Now I know nothing is wrong with me, I just need support. I care about myself now, so I take care of myself.

Me vs. me

The most frustrating aspect of bipolar or mood disorders (including ADHD) is there are essentially at least two diametrically opposed personalities in your life. There’s the person who can handle it and the one who can’t. They’re both you, it’s not multiple personality disorder, but one you is on the ball and trying to improve and the other you is overwhelmed, anxious, and wondering how the hell to get half of what was done before done now.

This has been an ongoing battle in my life. When things are good, I’m on the ball, organized, house clean, and dotting all my lower case j’s. When things are not, I don’t even know where to start. I call it going down holes. It’s frustrating because as far as I can go up is as far as I can go down. Most of this year has been me trying to teach myself baseline. An area where I can manage and cope without too much pressure either way. Things that are easy on good weeks are difficult on not good weeks. I make commitments on good weeks that are impossible on bad. And then I have to dig myself out of the holes my moods can go to.

Buddhism taught me impermanence and to relieve myself of expectations. The largest part of my suffering was in comparing myself to myself and to others. I am not the person I was five minutes ago, let alone last week. This frees me to just do my best every day. It doesn’t matter what I did or didn’t do previously. It’s also okay to be overwhelmed, because I have a lot going on. Carving time to meditate creates space to just be and allow myself to be however I am without fixing me.

I am not my house or my to do list. Some days, I just need to cope with my Newtonian moods watching me go up and inevitably come down. Ram Dass said his stroke is a grace from God, because he finally learned to ask and receive help. He is paralyzed on his left side saying this is grace. I’ve been pondering his beautiful words for a month, and I agree.

Bipolar is my grace from God. If I had not gone into full blown psychosis, I would never have started asking for help. If I hadn’t started seeing my mood swings, irritability, and suffering, I would never have turned to Buddhism for help. I would have followed the path others laid for me, and never become me. I would have never accepted me. I would never have expressed me. I look at the weeks I go down in the hole as me just needing rest. Does it suck to have to dig out and try to get back to baseline? Sure. But I have a baseline now. I know when I’m off, and I know what to do when I’m off.

And I know how to ask for help now. I’m not ashamed for needing help. I am not ashamed that I can’t do it all. I’m not ashamed of myself. None of this would be possible without the grace of bipolar. My creativity, problem solving, personality, empathy, and compassion all come from being “batshit crazy” as I called myself before. There are kind of two or more me’s in here, and at least we’re all playing nicer in the sandbox. Even if I gotta pick up my slack sometimes.

I believe our greatest challenges are our greatest strengths. This becomes apparent when we stop fighting with ourselves and love the good, bad, ugly, and all in between.

Everyday Miracles

I’ve been reading A Course in Miracles for the last week or 2. I’m absolutely loving it. I’m also loving reading again. I think in the last month I read more books than the last year combined. After I finish this, I have an Alan Watts book to read.

I think what I love about A Course in Miracles is how it’s helping me frame a lot of what I’ve intuited or connected on my own between the studies of Eastern philosophy with my Catholic roots. There are many who warn westerners from attempting to adopt eastern cultures because it’s such a dramatic shift from our upbringing. The Dalai Lama even said to use Buddhism to enhance your traditional practice, not replace it.

ACIM is kind of like this. It’s written from the perspective of Jesus talking to us now and explaining all the things we misunderstand. I’m also listening to Bill Donahue on YouTube explaining the Bible in these terms, asserting Jesus had learned his path from studying Buddhism and Hinduism, and his references are to heaven being inside, ala nirvana and meditation being the key. That when He says “I Am the way, the truth, the light” he was not referring to himself, but the concept of God as in I Am that I Am, or as Krishna described in Bhagavad Gita: the eternal Brahman that rests in all of us. The interconnected spirit that unifies us all. Or the great Tao, which is translated as The Way.

ACIM talks about miracles being an everyday occurrence. Jung talks about synchronicity being a confluence of events that places you exactly where you were meant to be. Ever run late and bump into the right person at the right time? Think of someone and they contact you? Think of a song and hear it? Call it what you’d like, but these are always present if you’re observant. Constant reassurance that life is working for, not against you: if your perception is attuned. If you believe everything is terrible, you’ll also prove yourself right.

I could go on forever. Philosophy is my passion. It was about a year or so ago now I stumbled on my dead husband, Alan Watts and my life changed completely. A big part of my psychosis was this ever present fear that I was going to hell because I did not follow Catholicism appropriately. This actually was described by Carl Jung in his observations of his patients, and he postulated many mental illnesses are manifestations of spiritual crises. There’s actually a tick box when you’re admitted to the mental hospital for spiritual crisis! It was checked for me last January.

Oddly enough, or cool enough, I realized just last night that when I was in the hospital, there were a number of patients experiencing the same break as me. All of us were released rather quickly after being able to sleep for a few days and regain our bearings. When I was in the hospital, I had a homeless woman tell me (she didn’t know who I was or anything about me) that my sense of humor and way of expressing myself would help a lot of people. She said it was time to stop Doubting myself and get to work.

Miracles do happen. We often overlook or forget them in the absence of rational explanations. Me connecting with Watts started this journey into philosophy and the journey back to wholeness. It was a random YouTube auto play, and yeah, I definitely think it was a miracle.

Happy Anniversary?

I haven’t shared this pic in a few years. Evan and I have been (in all technicality) married 12 years today. 3 years ago, but really probably 5, our marriage disintegrated. Or exploded. All of my worst nightmares and fears came alive. I didn’t want to be a single mom, I didn’t want to have a failed marriage, Christ, back then, I couldn’t fail period. I had to be perfect. In the last five years: I have been to the mental hospital 5 times, I cheated on my husband with a man I met in the first mental hospital, and our marriage became an exercise in masochism and sadism. Evan and I turned what once was overwhelming love – reading our posts for all our anniversaries could make me cry if I wanted to – into overwhelming hate. Our lives were the manifestation of misery: internally and externally. In the course of those years, in addition to my hospitalizations which were usually 2 or more weeks at a time with 3-6 months out of work for recovery, Evan lost his job for 3 months, I had to be out of work with no disability or pay of any kind, oh right and we have 3 kids. I don’t know how we survived the amount of stress we endured.

When the fight happened, I was relieved. Things were so bad, I was thrilled our marriage was over, but embarrassed about how it all went down. I was embarrassed about the affair, I was embarrassed about all my dirty little secrets not being kept anymore.

Sitting here now, I don’t have a single shit to give. Everything in those paragraphs are the past, and it is the vehicle that brought me to the present. In the present, I am back living with Evan and our family is together. I could say that’s a failure too: I “couldn’t handle” being a single mom, I went batshit crazy, etc. But failure is a beautiful part of life that puts you in the present. The present is always where we need to be, and it is always perfect.

Evan was there for me in the darkest nights of my soul. I was screaming about demons on my radio and people on the internet coming to kill me. He was there. He told me to come live with him when I realized I didn’t trust my own mind anymore, and I couldn’t afford my place while being out of work on disability.

How many couples could go through the hell our marriage went through? How many could come back to being each other’s best friend and support system? When we separated, once the emotions calmed down (and the court orders lifted – it was that bad) we promised each other we would figure this out. I couldn’t spend the rest of my life raising the kids and hating their daddy. I couldn’t conceive of holding on to anger that long. We promised each other we’d be friends for our own sanity and the kids. We didn’t want them seeing anymore fighting or anger. Our family suffered enough. We never divorced, we did all the custody and everything between us, and we let ourselves heal.

I never stopped loving Evan. He never stopped loving me. A year ago, we were terrified. I was moving back in and we were both scared it would be terrible. Things had gone so badly, what if….? I have a storage unit full of my stuff from Brookside, because what if I had to move out? A month ago, we started moving some of that into the house and getting rid of old stuff like our 12 year old couch. Because everything is great. A year ago, I couldn’t see me typing this. I couldnt see me happy and glad I moved back in. I couldn’t see Evan and I talking about a future or even an us.

Then I see my face in this picture. I see how blue my eyes are. I know how nervous I was to be getting married, I was 5 months pregnant with Tyler. This is my favorite picture of me. This was the happiest day of my life, and I was marrying my best friend. One thing the last 12 years has taught me is an expectation is a built in disappointment and this can work both ways. I expected my marriage to fail, because I focused on the negative. I expected my life to go to hell, because I fought everything I am, because I hated myself.

The girl in this picture is beautiful, but she wasn’t actually happy. Her insides were tortured, her mind was tortured. She loved Evan a lot, but she also thought Evan was going to make her happy. The woman typing this exceedingly long memoir is beautiful inside and out, she still loves Evan, and she knows the only person who can make her happy is herself. So her smiles are bigger, her words are truthful, fearless, and without judgement. She doesn’t give a flying fuck what anyone thinks about her, because she used to think a lot worse, and she made her life a living hell hidden behind masks and lies.

12 years ago, I married my best friend. It was the best decision I ever made. Today, I am raising my kids with my best friend, and through the insanity of this journey, I have found my other best friend: me. There are no words to express my love and gratitude for this life. It’s beyond my expectations – thank God. A lot has changed in 12 years, but the one constant has been love – even if sometimes it was standing upside down as hate.

We Are All Warriors

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My brain did not want to go to yoga tonight. My brain was a mess. Thursday and Wednesday I had two “phase six” panic attacks. My really bad panic attacks culminate in me stuttering (“i … i…. I… I can’t …I can’t..I can’t…breathe) and twitching. I haven’t had this scale of panic attack since probably January of last year. Part of my anxiety lies in hormones, and part lies in my ability to manage life. I am easily overwhelmed by just about everything. If you talk to me, you will smile and laugh – because I smile a lot and I am funny. What you will not often see is me twitching and stuttering. I do. It haunts me, if I allow my brain to dwell. When I talk to people, I find myself scared sometimes that they will see the “real” me. The real me that sometimes can lose an entire day to sleeping through depression, or an entire day in a crying anxious fit.

Do you see the woman in the pink shirt down there? That woman was stuttering yesterday. Yet today, she went to yoga. Why? Because she did not listen to her brain. Because she knows that these problems are temporary. These problems aren’t her. The easiest way to see her is when she is breathing through her discomfort – in warrior II or a phase 6 panic attack. The real me is both calm and a chaotic mess. I love all of me, because the chaotic mess brought me to yoga today.

Shanteel brought me to yoga today. If I was practicing at home, I could have talked myself out of it. I have friends there now, and I wanted to see my friends. I didn’t need to tell them about my panic attacks – I was overjoyed to see them, hug them, and gush about Alan Watts to them. I got to be strong with them.

I cannot be anything that I am without the strengths and weaknesses that make me who I am. If I did not have those crippling panic attacks: attacks which have hospitalized me a literal handful of times, attacks that have pushed me to the verge of nearly killing myself…I would not have found yoga. I would not have found meditation. I would not have found that I am not my panic attack. I am not my anxiety. I am not my depression.

I am a human being. I have highs and lows like everyone else. No one sees the mess but me, and no one can love the mess better than me. Chaos creates balance. I would not come to my mat if I did not know I needed to find myself on my mat.

It is not often you find a psychiatrist who is supportive and encouraging of holistic health. My doctor was thrilled when I joined the studio, saying “This is everything you need to help you find your footing and your way forward.” I have had no end of issues with medications between side effects, reactions, and feeling as though my soul itself was turned off and I was a fleshy robot. My doctor is trying to find a medicine to support me without changing me. He is also encouraging me to try supplements and be mindful of my diet: Tumeric for anxiety/depression, Fish Oil, Magnesium (Epsom salt baths or a topical oil), and I’m going to add B12. (Note: do your own research, talk to your own doctor, I am a woman wearing Pilsbury Dough Boy pajama pants relaying my personal supplement path. I am not a medical professional – I am a pajama professional)image

He says, “everything you do affects your mind. Many doctors think only medication can work, but let’s say diet and exercise offers 5% better results, why wouldn’t we get you that 5% too? I do not want you on medication your whole life. My job is to help you find stability.”It can take anywhere from 1 to over 2 years to recover from psychosis, and no doctor has technically stabilized me yet.

However, I am stable. See me in that pose? My diagnoses are one facet of my life, and it’s a big facet: this affects relationships, day to day life, etc. I have felt isolated and scared most of last year until I found support. “It takes a village” does not apply to only children. We all need community.

The community I have found is helping me stay out of the hospital and on my mat. How does one express gratitude for that? By coming to your mat. My mat and this community are helping me see the light and strength in me.

Strength is not hiding the mess. Strength is awareness of the mess and loving her. Living her. No matter what her brain says. I’m not my brain, either.

I am a warrior because we are all warriors. We all fight battles we don’t see. We don’t share. We don’t sometimes even know. We will only know it if we stare at the chaos in stillness and breath. Every warrior has scars, and I’m so grateful to never, ever be ashamed of those scars. Look how far we’ve come.

Thank you to anyone who reads and shares my journey with me. Writing always makes me feel like myself. Calmly Chaotic 😊

Namaste.