Stress is not my friend

We have completed our move into town.  We've even unpacked a substantial number of the boxes.  The moving was pretty stressful for me and for the rest of the family as well.  I don't do well with stress.  It seemed like I was doing OK until I blew up and lost my temper in front of the kids.  Well, "lost my temper" is sort of an understatement.  I'm disturbed and ashamed by my behavior, but as my forgiving counselor said, "no one got hurt and you didn't get drunk" so let it go.  In retrospect, I had been getting angrier and angrier for a couple of days during the move.  I must have been just bottling it up, not sharing about it, storing it up for a blowout. 

My outburst turned into yet another catalyst for discussion and an important life lesson for the family.  Anger happens.  Even adults lose their temper sometimes.  I had kind of been looking forward to not having my behavior be the center of the family's attention for a change though.

Bipolar folks do not do well with stress.  It exacerbates the symptoms of the disorder.  In this case irritability.  I also found my "rat brain" active too.  My rat brain is what I call the part of my brain that tries to talk me into drinking again.  It tells me I'm not good enough or not lovable or not a part of...  These thoughts lead to the thought that drinking again might be a good idea.  It's never been a good idea, but why not try it one more time, right? 

On the plus side, I've really had the opportunity to reflect on some areas of my life.  Faith, vulnerability, commitment.  You'd think I'd have these things down by now, but I don't.  Vulnerability seems to be my life lesson right now.  I've been coming to the realization that there's only a certain level of vulnerability that I'm comfortable with.  Anything beyond that makes me want to "run", and my favorite way to run is by drinking and using.  I need to break through to some new level of vulnerability without having to use to escape further growth.  What the hell,  I'm ready for change.  Anything is better than the way it's been. 

I've also started to think more about gratitude.  Maybe even starting a daily gratitude list.  I have so much to be grateful for.  I feel so blessed.  I need to remember that when my rat brain says I don't have what I want or need or deserve.

Sadness is not the same as clinical depression

I've been sad the last couple of days.  We are moving into town, have sold all the animals, and are wrapping things up out here in the country.  Not that we are moving to a New York City or anything.  Just down the road into a nearby small town.  But still, it is a huge change in lifestyle for us.  I was packing books yesterday and packed up all my books on farming, market gardening, homesteading, and animal husbandry.  I felt sad about the animals I had sold and about the goat I had to put down earlier this year.  Sad that I would not be there to watch my goats kid this Spring.  Sad that I was letting go of this chapter in my life.

But sadness is not the same as clinical depression.  It does not need to be avoided or treated.  I do not need to drink over it or use over it or even to go see my psychiatrist over it.  It's normal to feel sad when life presents you with saddening events.  It's OK.

I felt refreshed tonight at a meeting where a friend of mine celebrated 11 years of continuous clean time.  Life goes on and it is good.  It'll be a blessing to me to move into town and be closer to meetings.  Closer to my friends in recovery.  I'll be able to go out for a cup of tea with my NA sponsor without having to drive for an hour and a half.  We won't have to spend half the day driving kids into town.  And we won't spend half our income on gasoline.

As sad as it is to leave farming, it is the right thing to do.  It is the right time to do it.  I feared the change.  I feared it so much that I used it as an excuse to drink.  A pretty sorry excuse but there you go.  I'm not fearing the change as much now.  I'll find new avenues to channel my energies.  I'll certainly still be able to grow a garden.  Maybe I'll get back into soap making.  Maybe I'll make more sausage.  I'll have to buy pork in bulk rather than butchering my own, but I might have more time for crafts like that.

As much as I miss the goats, it is nice to not have to milk them every single day in sub-zero temperatures.  I've been milking goats and caring for animals every day for years.

Grieving is a part of life.  Things pass, things are lost, things change.  Yes, I am sad.  But I welcome the sadness.  At least I'm not numb.  At least I'm not sitting drunk and alone in a crappy motel room.  As sad as this change is, I still feel incredibly blessed.

How can I help?

I read an amazing article called, "No one brings dinner when your daughter is an addict." by Larry M. Lake.  It's a tear jerker but definitely worth the read.  The general idea is that when someone gets sick with cancer, friends, family, and church communities show up to support the family.  The symbol of this is the dozens of church casseroles that show up in addition to all the cards and calls.  Unfortunately, usually no one shows up when a family member goes to a mental institution or gets locked up involuntarily in a alcohol rehabilitation facility.

I know, at least in my experience, that there was very little outside support for my wife and kids when I had troubles of this sort, although to be fair the pastor showed up at my hospital bed once when I was drunk and suicidal. 

I'm not trying to say that anybody's being mean or anything.  It's mostly that people haven't the faintest idea what to do or say.  We are not prepared, by our experience or education, to deal with mental illness in our immediate families or communities.  We are taught that addiction and mental illness are a family's "dirty laundry".  We are taught that we ought not talk about it in public.

OK, so assuming we are at a place where we can acknowledge that we don't have a clue, what can we say or do?

We can offer assistance to the family who has a loved one ill or hospitalized.  Card, calls, prayers, and, of course, casseroles.

We can ask the family if they care to talk about it.  One could say, "I understand that Russ is ill, but I don't understand mental illness.  Would you like to share with me what is going on?

We can confront our own fear and confusion about mental illness and addiction.  Get it out there.  In the light of day.  Out of the closet.

Brokenness

I've been contemplating the idea that we are all broken and that somehow, someday maybe we become whole.  Or maybe we never do.  This is certainly not a new idea.  It definitely fits in with my neo-Catholic world view. 

Maybe the first step in coming to accept that we are broken is to see that we are.  Some people limp along their whole lives thinking that they are OK and that this is as good as it gets.  There is no doubt that with my addiction I had to first see that I was addicted.  The same was true with mental illness.  For a lot of years I just didn't see the elephant in the living room.  I couldn't see that I was ill...seriously ill.  Then for a while longer I thought maybe I had a bad case of Seasonal Affective Disorder.  That seemed somehow better than coming to accept that I actually had bipolar disorder, which is really a nice way of saying MANIC DEPRESSION.  Even after I was diagnosed with bipolar, I really didn't accept what that meant.  Among other things it would mean that I would have to change my entire life around.  It meant that recovering from addiction and mental illness would become the two most important things in my life.

So how do we become whole?  First, we realize that we are broken.  Then, through a series of seemingly unrelated actions, we begin to heal.  It started with not taking that first drink or that first drug.  Then I started hanging out with some scruffy drug addicts in church basements who said they had an answer.  Then I started examining my life.  Then I came to believe that I had something I could offer others.  I could help others stay clean.  Somehow, this led me back to a connection to a God of my understanding.  Whether I prayed in church or on the trout stream I began to feel some kind of connection to something greater than myself.

The same is true of my journey through mental illness.  First I came to accept that I was A MANIC DEPRESSIVE.  When I accepted that, I was able to turn outward for help.  First to a doctor.  Then to medication.  Then to lifestyle changes.  Then to a God.  And somehow I came to believe that I could be of service to others again.  I could carry a message of hope, not just about recovery from addiction, but also about recovery from mental illness. 

Somehow  this combination of returning to a life of faith and hope, coupled with the sense that I can be of service, is leading me on a path towards wholeness. 

Teaching

An unexpected rush of feelings has sent me into a tailspin for the last couple of days.  The first bout of depression I've had all summer. 

I put on a suit and tie and went looking for some tutoring work at the local school districts.  I thought I might just introduce myself to the special education teachers and drop off my business card.  Somehow I ended up meeting the superintendent who practically begged me to get on the substitute teacher list and get my name known around the district.  Maybe it was the suit and tie.  Maybe it was being asked.  Maybe it was the feeling having my services being needed in a district again.

I was a good teacher.  A lot of the time I was a great teacher.  For many years I felt as if teaching was my "calling".  Problem was, near the end I just couldn't show up. Sometimes it was just short term bipolar symptoms that knocked me out for a day or two.  Sometimes it was a more significant episode that took me out of a week or month long medical leave of absence.  I couldn't keep doing that.  It wasn't fair to the students, the district, or myself.

It took me a few hours, but eventually I realized that I just couldn't get back in the game.  I thought I had accepted my bipolar disorder and most of the time I have.  I thought I had accepted my disability diagnosis.  Maybe it was that we could really use the money right now.  Maybe it was the ever present societal pressure for men to work and provide.  Whatever it was it knocked me out of commission.

I just couldn't accept that I wasn't going back to teaching.  I'm out of that game.  I thought I'd been through all of that years ago. 

A couple of things snapped me back into focus.  My wife and I spoke about what I am really "called" to today.  It's not playing superhero as a public school special education teacher.  It's not bringing down the salary.  I think, or rather she thought, that it was something else.  It's raising these kids.  It's taking care of these animals on the farm.  It's volunteering.  And maybe it's carrying the message of Narcotics Anonymous to the still suffering addict and alcoholic.

And as for the finances, well, it was pointed out my a fellow NA member that I really have what's called "luxury problems."  My car may be a piece of crap, but hey at least I have a car.  It's paid for.  It runs.  I have a driver's license today.  And I even have a full tank of gas.  Yes, I have a lot to be grateful for.  I am truly blessed.

Meaningful Work

My family and I went to a fundraiser for a local school that serves children with psychiatric diagnoses.  The benefit was fun and the food was great.  Watching the presentation about the school, however, made me feel nostalgic about teaching special education.  As I've mentioned before, I no longer teach.  I am currently on Social Security Disability.  My teaching licenses are still valid though and sometimes I miss teaching.  Being that special teacher that can reach tough to teach kids.  My specialty, over the years, was working with the toughest of the tough.  Severe emotionally and behaviorally challenged youth.  I've worked in juvenile corrections, locked psych wards, and treatment centers for adjudicated teens.  Anyway, part of me misses it.

One of the facets of working with teens that was so rewarding is that it was always clear that I was doing Meaningful Work.  What I did mattered.  What I did made a difference.

Since I've left teaching, I haven't had the same sense that what I am doing is somehow of service to my society and to my community.  I still need that connection to meaningful work though.  I've had to re-think what it means to be meaningfully engaged in the lives of those around me.

On one level there is my family and my farm.  I am a husband and a father.  I am raising four boys, homeschooling them, and mentoring them.  That is certainly meaningful work.  I also care for my animals.  That involves meaningful work.  Feeding, milking, and caring for the animals.  As part of the "feeding" of the animals we moved 16+ tons of hay this summer.  That was most certainly a lot of work.  It's been three weeks since we finished and my arms still hurt.

But how can I make that connection to being meaningfully engaged in my community if I am no longer playing super-hero as a special education teacher?  The answer to that, for me, lies in something I mentioned in last nights blog post.  I carry a message of recovery from active addiction and from bipolar disorder into the wider community.  A message of hope and a promise of freedom.  Lord knows I'm no super-hero at that either, but it is through the service of carrying the message that I am able to be of service to my community.  Today that is my meaningful work.  Whether I am volunteering to share on an informational panel at a local treatment center, participating in a local Narcotics Anonymous meeting, answering the phone when someone calls for help, or writing this blog, I am engaged in meaningful work in my community.

Tonight's presentation on the therapeutic day school made me nostalgic about teaching, but I don't think I'm going to jump into contracted teaching again just yet.  I think I might seek out a volunteer opportunity though.  Maybe I could be a volunteer tutor in a local literacy program.  I could probably manage a couple hours a week doing that.

self-examination

"We examined our lives and discovered who we really are.  To be truly humble is to accept and honestly try to be ourselves...I can experience the freedom to be myself, the person my God intended me to be."
Just For Today

Accepting that I am an addict and always will be, accepting that I have bi-polar and always will has been a long process.  I was like going through the various stages of the grieving process as proposed by Elisabeth Kubler-Ross.  The steps are, denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance.

I spent a lot of time in denial of both my addiction and my bi-polar disorder.  In some ways it's like peeling the skin of an onion.  I thought I had accepted my bi-polar disorder completely until I applied for Social Security Disability and realized that I may never work as a teacher again.  I had so much of my identity wrapped up in my teaching that it was really hard to admit to myself that the bipolar disorder was ending that career.  As for addiction, we all have heard about denial related to the acceptance of addiction, and I certainly went through that as well.

The long process of accepting myself and learning to love myself has been a journey I've been on my entire adult life.  When I say that I accept myself today and am free to be the person God intended me to be, it sounds like I've arrived at some cosmic, spiritual plateau.  This is certainly not the case.  I have a lot more to learn and accept about myself.  There are many things about  myself I'd like to work on and improve on. 

Learning to live a fulfilling life with bipolar involves learning to accept that it is a part of who I am.  I learn to accept the help of a psychiatrist.  I learn that I will be on medication for the rest of my life.  I learn that I have to structure my life in a way that minimizes episodes of bipolar symptoms.  It means accepting my limitations...and my strengths.

And there are strengths.  I am happy with who I am and the life I've led.  And that life has been born out of my personality as a recovering addict with bipolar disorder.  I've had some incredible adventures that have come as a result of my bipolar spontaneity.  I wouldn't trade it all for a life of...of what?...sanity?