Your Past Has No Power

This is my first blog post in a long time. I had to take care of myself and get my health in a better state. I suffer from chronic migraines and it really took a toll on me the last year and a half. I am finally back though!

 During this time, I have also been working on my Weight loss goals, starting my non-profit, and learning more self-care. I have become more stable in my moods than I had been in years during the last 5 months.  All the hard work paid off with a total weight loss of 50 lbs last year and still dropping this year.

 By God’s grace and mercy, I am doing something I truly love as a Certified Peer Support Specialist, and even started restoring my relationship with God and my family. I have been busily blessed to say the least!

 These steps that mean so much to me and to my health were almost stolen away by the past when I was harshly reminded of the person I used to be in high school. All the hard work. The sweat, tears, prayers, and pain suddenly seemed for not in the face of that reality. All the optimism and sticky notes (the time spent doing the sticky notes), all the quotes, affirmations, and even all the advice I give to others in recovery (and their loved ones) suddenly seemed to pale against this dark figure of the past me.

 This past me: A me that I could hardly remember due to bouts of mania and depression that I didn’t even understand until I was 38 when I was diagnosed; the me that was wounded, hurt, and traumatized. Suddenly this, broken wounded past me (the one who didn’t know she was worthy because the Creator made her so) had all the power again.

 Then, this morning through a powerful prayer call from my Church, I was reminded of the tactics of the enemy. How he will use your past, say that you are not worthy, (lie, lie, and even use old truths) to make you think and feel that you are not worthy of love and of all God has in store for your future. The call was just in time and just what I needed to break out of the bondage that I’d allowed a negative reminder of who I used to be to affect the person that I decided to be today.  

I believe that while all people need to know that their past holds no power over them-I believe this is especially true for those of us in recovery from mental health issues. Whoever you were when you were ill, what ever you did when you were less stable does not define you! We have to also remember and even accept that others may not always see who you are, because all they see is the version of you that they never understood anyway (or sadly thought they did). And that is ok. We cannot be contained by their thoughts or feelings towards us. A wise man once said that what someone else thinks of you is none of your business. With the stigmas that we fight both personally and mainstream, empathy and education are the tools we need for those who have not a clue what it is like to walk in our shoes. Our present peace and future happiness however, are not theirs to add to nor take away from in the first place.

Your past, nor your illness, does not define your future; it is only part of the intricate road that has led to where you are and is currently being paved brick by brick by you…….and it is within your power to confidently lay the bricks into the direction of your dreams. #worthy #nojudgement #nostigma #dreambig

 

There’s Something Wrong With Your Head! (And the Stigma Continues……..)

So, I almost was not going to share this, but just was I was deciding not to, I was tugged by the reminder of why I started this blog in the first place. So here goes…..

Thursday, May 7, I started feeling funny at work. I am already checking my blood pressure for an upcoming visit, so I knew that it was fine. I checked my blood sugar level and it was 144. Not too bad. Yet something was wrong. I received a call and while I was talking I could not focus. What’s more, I began to be unable to make sentences. The caller was becoming irate because she thought that I was being inefficient. I called out to a coworker because that was all that I could think to do. I had numbing and tingling down my left arm and legs. I was afraid; I’d had a TIA before, though it had not effected my ability to talk or caused me to lose focus. What if this was a stroke? I used to care for stroke patients, so I knew the challenges they faced. What if I could not talk again? What if I was unable to do for myself. I was terrified. I was looking at my computer screen and I was seeing bright spots. Now my coworkers were trying to help me, but I could not voice what was wrong. I just could not get the words out. 

A Package Complete…. (Well Sorta)

So another beautiful week ushers in another mood. After being low for a couple of weeks, I am back up again. Now I am having to force the sleep and try to stay focused. I am, however, excited about some new projects that I have coming along. Yet, as you may know, it is very easy to get sidetracked and scattered all over the place, essentially accomplishing nothing. So I have decided that staying focused and being consistent with myself and my goals will actually be one of the steps I take as I weather the storm. This includes riding the weight roller coaster until it is level again.

Being consistent despite my mood swings is a real challenge. When the lows come, it is hard enough getting out of bed, let alone attempting to find the strength to do something extra. Yet, I am slowly beginning to understand something that my Psychiatric Nurse Practitioner said when she began addressing my weight in relation to my mental illness; “Once we get your moods stable, the weight will start to come off.”

Pressing Through When Bipolar Doesn’t Want to Let Me……..

So it’s a beautiful day in the neighborhood, the birds are chirping, the sky is clear, the wind is blowing ever so softly. Inside, those around me are engaging one another, laughing and teasing. I get in on some of it here or there. We all laugh, but inside I am screaming…….Inside, I just want to curl up in a ball in my bed and be left alone.

It took everything EVERY ounce of strength to get out of the bed, shower, and then get ready for work. It took the reserves not to give in to turning around and going back to bed. Getting to work is great….I am thankful to have a job. Yet even though I am thankful, it is so hard to keep focus and press on to finish the day. So I just look at the clock throughout the day, in between my interactions with others, and think “I just need to get home. The bed is waiting. Then I can just lay there and be nothing and give in to this blah that is hanging over me so heavily it hurts. Yes, then I can cry, just because.”

When these lows come at me, sometimes it is harder than others to pull through them. First off, I get so exhausted just having to push myself through it. It may sound strange, but that is what it is. It’s using my outside me. That me has to be social. She has to interact. She has to work with others. She has to actually get out of the bed!

Inside me can give in to the lows and just LAY THERE. Nothing more, nothing less. Just lay there. Blank and blah. No strength needed.

Blank and blah can become scary, so I have started to take action when the lows hit me:

First, I answer the phone or texts that come through. Why? Because when I am low, I don’t want to talk. I almost can’t talk. I just want to sit there in my Blah, cut off from the World….total “Do Not Disturb” sign plastered on my forehead. I have come to realize that this is not healthy, or safe. So to counter, I answer the phone. And as God would have it, He always sends someone to call/text that will say something to get me to stop focusing on the blah and blank, and encourage me to get going. The funny thing is, they usually have no idea what they have just done for me!

Next, I GET UP. If I am at home, I get up and start doing something. I may still feel the Blank Blah’s, but the actions keep my thoughts in the light and away from the darkness. If I am leaving work and I feel the Blah’s, I will stop by to see a friend or family member and fellowship until the light starts to appear.

This last one is new: I start a FOR ME activity. Whether it is writing, singing, listening to Casting Crowns or Third Day, getting a massage. I do something for me and press my way back into the light. I have also started to read scripture again and these things help tremendously. It is not a fix all, and yes there are times that after all of these things the low’s are still there,  but I press my way to make the effort. I press my way to weather this storm named Cassie. #keeppressing

Remember, as far as anyone knows, we’re just “A NICE NORMAL FAMILY”!

I saw this quote tonight and a literally laughed out loud, being reminded of where my family and I were about 5 years ago, floating down that river called denial.

Our home was in disarray, and we were going through so much behind (and in front of) the seams. It was like floating through my own nightmare. I knew that deep down, I would eventually  wake up, but I couldn’t figure out how to get out.

Trying to keep a lid on what was going on with my boys, and trying to keep a lid on myself was becoming more than I could deal with. I had been raised old school. Children were seen and not heard. They spoke only when spoken to. The slightest inkling of an attitude (or the thought that you were thinking about having an attitude) was met with a trip to the woodshed. You and and your friends shared those, “but no, MY Mama is so crazy….” stories, done in fun but also a reminder to keep yourself together at all times and WHATEVER you do, you’d better not embarrass your Mother (or parents)!!!!!

So fast forward 2010, all the little warning signs that had been brushed off had now grown into full blown warning signs and my family was heading over the cliff from being so busy blaming each other for each other that the real issue of my boys (and my illness) were being left half tended to.

Oh sure, by now I had started treatment for them. Had the whole family in counceling as we were in a huge transition at the time. Yet when the psychiatrist began talking about medication for the boys I was thinking, “They don’t need that. These doctors just diagnos these kids with anything!” (Hindsight is 20/20, lol) When the therapist would recommend certain things, especially any thing extra for me to do, I would be agitited. I mean THEY were the ones with the problem. They keep doing things that are putting themselves in danger, that put us in danger, that EMBARRASS ME!!!! This is not who I had raised them to be! This is not a reflection of what or who I was! Why can’t they just get it together! They are too smart for this type of behavior!!!

The first time the word Bipolar was mentioned to me, I had no real idea what it was. I did know that it was a mental illness and was just getting used to the idea of ADHD. Now I am being told that they are Bipolar? Wait! Now you are suggesting that I get counceling on my own? For MY ISSUES? (Obviously, they were not listening when I said that it was them who had the problem, not me!)

Our days and nights were such a wreck, police at the house two to three times a week, school suspensions every week, going in and out of acute care for the boys….Still, I could not bring myself to think the words MENTALLY ILL in relation to my boys. Nothing that the therapist, the psychiatrist, or even a few teachers had said to this point had moved me to believe anything but that all they needed was a trip to the woodshed. We were just a NICE NORMAL FAMILY! They were just acting out. It was hormones. It would pass.

Then one night after my oldest had run off yet again, we had him taken to the closet ER to be admitted to the local acute mental health hospital. The therapist thought that it would be best, and by this point, I was at my witts-end and thought it might be too.

We made it to the hospital after my son, as we could not ride in the ambulance. I will never forget the next few hours. My son’s eyes were bulging. He was excited beyond anything that I had ever seen. He was talking so fast, you would have thought you were listening to the “Chipmunks” and not a live person! He was laughing at nothing, talking to both of us at a time and jumping from subject to subject like it was a race. He had been drug tested….it was not drugs. This was all him…this was my baby! And then just like that, HE PASSED OUT COLD AND WENT TO SLEEP. The therapist looked at me and explained that this is what she and the psychiatrist were talking about. This was not just ADHD. This was Bipolar Disorder. The nurse came in and began to tell her story. How she had a mentally ill daughter at home who had fought them, run away, hurt herself, and so on, and so on. She knew what I was going through….it would be alright.

I looked at this child of mine….This child of mine that was so much like me.  And it all hit, like a ton of bricks. The words Bipolar, Mentally ill, my baby, my family. I broke down right there. We were just a nice normal family. We had been in Church. I had done what I knew to do to keep them out of harms way. Where did I go wrong? Weren’t we normal anymore? What would people think and how would they treat him if they knew????

I decided, that they would not know. That I would only share with those that had to know. I wanted to protect him and us too. I did not want him to judged by this thing. I would refuse to let it define him.

When he had to go to inpatient treatment and people at Church and other places would ask about him, I would say that he was just visiting and leave it as that. He was visiting after all, right. He would be home soon. Then we would be normal again.

We continued therapy and what I found out was there was no “normal”. That everyone and every family has their own issues. No, they may not have to deal with Mental illness or specifically Bipolar Disorder, but they had to fight their own battles. I realized that there were other families going through the same thing that I was. They felt like I did. They were tired. They were afraid for their kids/loved ones. They were afraid for themselves. And they felt all alone. I realized that by starting to share and allowing others who were going through this journey to share with me, that we were not alone. We were not weak. We were strong. And we were normal! We were changing the face of normal because the word normal in relation to people and families was just like the “Matrix” “there is no spoon”. There is no normal. We define our normal.

So here in 2015, this is my normal. I have Bipolar Disorder and now know that I have had it for many years. My boys have Bipolar Disorder. My family loves us in spite of and cares about us staying healthy mentally and physically. My real friends don’t shun me or shy away when I bring up issues that we may have or medications or treatment. Our normal is who we are and what we make it. I can be a part of helping others cope and define their normal or I can sit in silence and suffer alone. I choose to help others discover their normal, and thus help me to cope with mine along the way. What is your normal? Whatever your normal is, what will you do with it? The choice is yours.

Changing the things that I CANNOT accept……

So here I am today, 04/26/2015 writing, my first blog post. To be honest, I am terrified to do this. Why do you ask? Because putting myself out there is not a favorite thing of mine. Also, because since my diagnosis of Bipolar Disorder I in December of 2013, I have been realizing so many things that are real about myself that I could not change. It is often said that while people may grow and blossom, the core of that person….that is, who they are deep down inside, does not change. I had to wonder if Bipolar Disorder was a part of that core. Is this a part of me that I cannot change?

I was 38 years old when I received my diagnosis. To be honest, I did not have the freaked out reaction that I may have had many years ago. To be real, by the time I received my diagnosis, it was more a of confirmation than a revelation. Both of my teenage sons had been diagnosed by this point with Bipolar I and as I am their common denominator, I had begun to wonder myself, if it had stemmed from me. Through family counseling and eventually my own therapy (at the urging of my boys therapists) I had many revelations and insights as to not only why my boys were functioning the way that they were, but why I myself have functioned the way I have for the latter part of my teen years as well as most of my adult life. So when my psychiatric practitioner diagnosed me, it was like, “Ok. I get it now.”

So back to the reason why I am nervous about putting myself out here on the World Wide Web….

I live in the Deep South. Also known as the Bible Belt. For many years I was led to believe that mental illness resulted from one of two reasons:

1. It was a demonic spirit from the devil himself

2. It was punishment from God for having rejected His Word, after having known Him intimately.