Molasses

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You ever had to wade through molasses?

Or maybe tar? Or glue?

Me neither. But  know what it’s like.

A single step is an effort. Raising your hand or arm is tiring. Keeping your head up is exhausting.

Now, imagine if the molasses was on the inside.

Imagine it weighing things down. Normal automatic processes are harder. Your appetite slows. Breathing is a struggle. Smiling or looking someone in the eye is a titanic undertaking. The molasses makes everything heavier.

Now imagine the molasses in your head.

It binds to thoughts, slowing them to a standstill. Feelings get sucked under. Logic gets glued in place.

Any activity is a drain. It feels like there’s no action you can take that is going to be freeing, liberating, easy. Because even thinking is an effort. And forcing action is next to impossible.

This is depression.

You can’t fight it. Your body is too heavily bound. You can’t grin and bear it, because smiling sits heavily on your face. You can’t think your way out, because the thoughts are caught.

So, how do you get out?

By waiting.

The molasses isn’t going anywhere. But it’s also not a motive force. It weighs you down, but it is static.  By struggling, by resisting, you are tiring yourself out. Forcing painful friction. This pain adds to the inertia, making you feel worse.

Be still. Be accepting.

Look at where the molasses clings. Wait for gravity to do it’s thing. Observe it as it gathers and gloops and falls to the floor.

By being patient and present, you free yourself of the painful struggle. And when it is gone, you will have an appreciation for the freedom others can take for granted.

+++++

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No Filter

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I feel everything.

I’m operating without a filter. There’s
no time to stop and think. Events are moving too slowly. And while I
feel all the things, the overriding sense is one of urgency.

I must make things happen. I have so much energy. I can’t waste time on being nice, reasonable, a “good” person.

And the people around me suffer because I can’t stop to consider how I’m impacting their lives.

How can I handle so much energy?

I make lists. I write down everything that needs doing, and everything I want to do.

Then
I cut it down. Which ones matter? Which ones are feasible? Which ones
are going to have an awesome impact? Which ones will I regret not doing?

What does this do?

Culling the list forces me to concentrate on what matters. The list becomes an external filter.

Yes, I can still feel everything, but I can choose what to focus on.

And yes, the urgency is still there, but now it’s focused. Useful. Like a blowtorch rather than a firecracker. Directed.

With
my list in hand, I can get to grips with making things happen. I’m less
distracted. More accurate. And less likely to lash out in frustration.

+++++

[shirt]

Superpowers

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I got bitten on the leg helping locals break up a dog fight.

I scraped my knuckles and grazed my chin trying to “persuade” a tourist that the object of his affection was not interested.
I got my heart broken waiting for the cutie with a pixie cut to leave with me, only to see her head off with someone else.

But I know what my problem is. I think I’m exceptional. As in, somehow the rules don’t apply to me.

Like I have some motive force that drives me on, tells me I’m special, that I can, should, need to do the thing.

Stand up straight, look death and dismay in the eye, don’t blink. I’ll be fine. I have superpowers.

But I don’t. It’s just hypomania.

+++++

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Craving

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I am experiencing a god-awful craving for closeness.

A need to touch and be touched. Held. Cared for.

It’s a creepy sensation. Mainly because it’s unfamiliar. I’m quite confident in my solitary travel ways. But this makes me feel like a creepy deviant.

I’m not sure why. All I know is that I feel alone. Surrounded by people, sure. Good people. People I have come to admire and respect. But alone.

I think that touch affirms the sense of being a people. People touch other people to show they are paying attention.

It helps me know that I am alive. Worthwhile.

But I can’t ask strangers. Can’t ask travel friends. That’s creepy. Yet the feeling’s building up.

So, what’s the solution?

MASSAGE

A solid 1.5 hour massage. Head to toe. Forget the hot rocks, hold the oil – this isn’t for improved skin tone or blood circulation.

This is about re-establishing my sense of humanity.

And man, humanity sure does feel good.

Climate Prep

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I have heard a theory about  cultures that  develop in extreme climates. The theory goes that severe conditions requires careful preparation to survive. The local communities develop routines that work around the local environmental conditions. Like collecting food and fuel to last out frozen months. Or hauling water vast distances in the gray of early morning to avoid dehydration during the furnace of mid-day.

The interesting point for me is the way the people pay attention to the signs and signals in the weather. They see a cloud on the horizon, or notice a hint of change in the air, and they respond accordingly. They have learned that to ignore the warning signs is to chance an extremely uncomfortable (and potentially short) existence.

This matters because my moods are like the weather in many ways:

  • they are outside my direct control
  • their arrival is preceded by certain signs
  • they’re impacts can be mitigated by intelligent preparation
  • the consequences of ignoring them can be devastating

For example, if i notice a certain numbness to my thoughts – like I haven’t slept enough and my brain feels sluggish – that’s a good indication of a depressive episode. OR if I get excited at the prospect of something menial – and the excitement doesn’t fade, or seems to cross into every thought – then there’s a good percentage on it being a precursor to a hypomanic episode.

Unfortunately, there are strong temptations to ignore these signs. I might try to brush of a numb sensation as a result of working too hard, or a strong flutter as a normal response to exciting news. Because the truth is I don’t want to have to face the tough times ahead. I don’t want to stockpile provisions. I don’t want to avoid the outdoors.

Additionally, other people can’t see the weather. It’s not real for them. And I don’t want to look dumb in front of my friends by throwing on a heavy jacket indoors, or chugging ice-water when everyone else is sipping hot chocolates.

But this is dumb. It’s like standing in the snow without clothes because you don’t believe in blizzards. The weather exists whether you believe in it or not.

Besides, I’m not doing this preparation for them. I’m doing it for me.

Nope

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I woke up today and found it was raining nope. Up into the sky, behind the sunshine and chirping birds were great big rolling clouds of nope. As they passed, they dropped massive sheets of nope all over the landscape.

Great big walls of liquid nope dropping out of the heavens, smashing into the ground with torrential force. Going outside was impossible.

This was weird because no one else sees to notice. They were walking around in the nope. I watched as it cascaded from their clothes, over their faces. They were wading through the nope like it wasn’t even there.

Soon the nope pools ran together, becoming lakes that submerged the landscape. From my window I watched as a moving wall of nope started rising up the side of my building, washing away even the slightest chance of doing anything.

Bridges went down. Communications were cut off. Before long, I was stuck on an island made of blankets, with limited energy reserves and precious few fucks to give.

I hope rescue turns up soon.

+++++

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Guilt vs Shame

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I don’t feel guilt when I’m depressed.

Guilt is knowledge. Guilt is a deliberate, conditioned response to a deliberate, considered action. If I steal the last cookie from the pack, I feel guilty, because I know that’s a dick move. Society has taught me this is wrong, and so when I do wrong, then I become guilty. It’s just information.

Shame is a state of being. It is an emotional state of crushing force. Shame shuts down my ability to do even the most basic things. It diminishes my sense of honour, worth, and self esteem. Anything that removes or diminishes these ideal is shameful, and thus I feel ashamed. It’s a feeling of diminished possibilities.

Here’s the rub. I can do a thing that makes me guilty but not ashamed. If I sleep with someone and don’t call them back, that makes me guilty of being a crappy lover (or a great one-night stand, your choice). I may experience guilt because it’s not what you’re “meant“to do, but I don’t feel shame, because it’s not a shameful thing.

On the flip side, if I’m late to meet with friends, I feel shame, because my mental state tells me that I’m a horrible human being for not respecting their time. It’s my sense of self that gets judged, not just the action. I’m not guilty per se, because it was not deliberate.  Besides, they were late anyway and forgave my trespass.

That’s what friends are for, right?

But depression doesn’t let me see this distinction. It robs me of the insight into the difference between an external judgement and an internal state. Guilt becomes shame. Shame then creates more shame, because it stops me from doing. And because I can’t do, I feel more shame – and so the cycle starts.

However, you can stop the cycle before it begins.

Firstly remember that everything that happens to you is not your fault. You did not cause it. You do not control how the world works. You can only ever choose how to react to it.

And secondly, remember that depression, bipolar – and mental health issues in general – impact your ability to react. In the same way as an external force acting on your body. You can’t choose how to feel. And that counts as an external force.

Remember: guilt relates to deliberate choices and is determined mainly by society, while shame is an internal judgement. Bipolar and associated conditions are not a choice, nor are they internal judgements. They are things that are happening to you.

So they can’t be given the label of either guilt or shame.

+++++

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The Good Fight

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Today was not the right day for things to go wrong. It felt like fighting an uphill battle. Against giants. While armed with waterpistols.

I missed out on saying goodbye to a food friend by mere minutes. Then the taxi went to the wrong address. I lost money through carelessness. Got mad and tried to drink my feelings away. Turned up late to a dinner with friends. Yelled about my crap life in front of strangers. Got lost on the way home. The air conditioner broke down and it hot as hell.

Yeah it was a tough day. Made worse by the fact that I know it’s actually not that bad. Everything on the list is annoying, sure. But in the real world it’s recoverable. I know I’m durable. And I will survive. Which makes the guilt at feeling bad even worse.

How to beat it.
There’s no simple solution. When the monster wants me it comes and takes me. Repressing or refusing to acknowledge an episode – no matter how minor – just makes it worse.

So the best thing for me is to stand up (or at least sit a bit higher on my bed) and declare loudly (mumble into my pillow) “I am experiencing a bout of depression. It’s not me, I am not the cause. Anymore than I’m the cause of rainy weather. Bad things happen. But I will be smart about this and stay out of the rain as much as I can.”

I will fight the good fight. And it becomes a good fight when I stop fighting by taking the blame away from the circumstance.

New paint

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It’s amazing how much my sense of identity is tied to this meat suit.

I mean yeah, my body is me. I know this. But usually I’m focused on other things – how to pay bills, working on relationships, picking what to have for breakfast. I lose sight of the fact that I am inseparable from my body.

Sure it drives me wild sometimes – I mean, who would choose to be bipolar? You wouldn’t choose a car you knew would occasionally refuse to start.

But it’s all I have. And honestly I kind of like it now. I’ve put in a lot of work over the last few years and it’s better now than I think it’s ever been before.

So I’ve decided to show it I like it the best way I know how. Just like a car owner might get their wheels a new coat of paint – I’m getting a haircut and dressing fancy.