Tag: cbt

Think Happy

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How many of us have heard that we need to “think happy”?

This
well-meaning idealism may come form a nice place. But it’s got to stop.
At best it is
misleading when being said to those of us with bipolar and cyclothymia. And at worst it’s dangerous bullshit that makes a bad situation worse.

Here’s where I think it comes from.

Research
into how our minds work have stumbled across a fancy notion –
neuroplasticity. The layman-friendly idea is that you  can change your
brain simply by thinking.

As often happens with breakthroughs,
this simplification gets taken outside its context. Sure, thinking
happy thoughts can improve moods. But it doesn’t mean that this is a
cure-all.

But people want simple.

They want easy. They want
something they can understand. They don’t want to spend time researching
bipolar disorder and cyclothymia. They don’t understand how important
it is for those of us living with it.

It’s not lazyness. It’s just a lack of information.

So they use the details they have to try and make what they think is a positive impact. They preach what they can understand, not realising its potential impact.

Here’s why it’s misleading.

Mindfulness
and cognitive behavioral therapy can help people. They can allow
practitioners to alter their mood by altering their thinking. From
experience, these practices deliver insight into moods and thought
patterns. And this lets me prepare in advance and react more
appropriately during a recognised up or down phase.

The practice of “thinking happy” sort of falls into this category.

But
my bipolaroid brain doesn’t always follow
the prescribes path as dictated by external and internal stimuli.

So I
can have insight. I can have control over my reactions. But these practices do not deliver a means to
control the mood itself. Meaning that for me, “thinking happy” just
doesn’t work in practice.

Hell, if we could think ourselves happy,
wouldn’t we?

Here’s why it’s dangerous bullshit.

If
I’m down, and I’m told to “think happy", it makes me feel helpless.

I
can try it. It doesn’t work. And that clear failure becomes just another
weight dragging me down. It also opens up a gap in understanding.
Suddenly, the well-wisher isn’t a bright face swimming in the dark seas offering help.
They’re yelling out “just don’t drown” from a passing yacht.

And that’s just insultingly unhelpful.

Why?
Because like many with this condition, I work for my happiness. I
stress and I measure and I build routines. I do yoga and meditate and
eat right and go above and beyond what I see others doing in the pursuit
of happiness.

I fight for my happiness every day. Every second.

That’s why
this well-wisher gets lumped in the “dangerous bullshit”  category.

Standing there with a sympathetic smile telling me that I can just
“think happy” is bordering on insulting. And that’s not something that
someone in my position needs.

Not that they know that. They don’t have to live like this.

Drowning isn’t normal. Yachts are normal.

So, what can we do?

Educate.

Talk them through the thought patterns. When you can.

Explain the actual work that
goes into becoming someone who can function as well as we can.

Try to make them understand the obstacles in our way.

Bring them into your world using analogies, and make them a champion of your daily struggle with thinking happy.

Maybe it will stick, maybe not.

But their involvement can be part of our happiness – if we can just get through to them.

The gift of presence

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YES it’s a bad pun. But there’s a truth here. As we draw away from the gift-giving season, there’s one thing I know I am glad to receive – attention.

Let’s face it, people are very busy. They may feel like there is a lot of pressure on them to get things done – especially at the end of the year.

So for me, giving my attention to my family and friends – to the people dearest to me – is one way I can show my consideration. That I care.

Just the simple act of sitting down and connecting, it can mean more to me than a pile of presents. No video game, no premium coffee, no new book can replace the value I find by focusing wholeheartedly on one person (although it’s a close run thing).

And here’s the thing – people really value this attention. Especially because it comes from me. Not because I’m some kind of magic listener – I don’t solve their problems, I just nod – but because they know it can be difficult.

People generally struggle with intimacy at the best of times, so to have someone who is known for being, uh, lets just say “temperamental” really give them the attention they deserve and need, well… it’s powerful stuff.

Give it a try sometime, and see what happens. Maybe nothing, in which case you lose nothing. But maybe…

No Measure

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There is no such thing as “sick enough”.

As I write this I am several hundred thousand kilometres and quite a few air-hours from home. No support, no back-up. Just me and my condition.

And this one truth hits home – I am responsible for managing myself.

If I need help, then I get help. I may not feel like I deserve assistance. I may loathe the idea of asking for help – I usually do – but in this case no one else is going to do it for me. Because they can’t.

They don’t know.

And why not? Because there’s no measure for when someone is “sick enough” to get help. If you saw someone bleeding, you wouldn’t stop to measure how much blood they had lost before deciding to lend a hand. That’s counterproductive – you would help, or get them help, as fast as possible. Assess their needs, sure, but not dismiss them out of hand. Because there’s no such thing as bleeding enough, is there?

And it’s the same for mental health. If I am depressive or hypomanic, then that’s reality. It is happening – it is fact. Except in my case, no one can see the medical emergency going on. It’s all internal.

It’s up to me to act.

So if you are struggling, if you feel the need for assistance, do not listen to the thought that you are not “sick enough” because that definition does not exist.

Grenade

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I love my family. My friends are a constant source of amusement and joy. My work and colleagues are fulfilling and distracting in equal measure. Life is good.

But like a certain character in a certain movie book (and now a movie), I feel like I’m a grenade. Like my only purpose is to go off, to hurl shrapnel and pain into the ones I love. And I know this is possible because I’ve done it before.

This is not an ideal way to live. Waking every day being unsure what I’ll say, how I’ll act, what events lie in wait that could pull my pin.

But there is a way forward. Yes, the feelings of inevitability and the need for vigilance are valid, real. But so is the fact that almost everything – everything – is recoverable. There may be hard work, hard words, hard times, but nothing insurmountable.

Because people are resilient. Not just me – I’m tough, and I know I’m tough – but the people around me. The people I care about, they know what I am – know about the shrapnel and the chemical forces behind it all – and they choose to stay of their own free will.

Because to them I am worth it. Plus, they’re tough too.

And if – no, when – when I go off, they are smart enough to keep their distance. And also kind enough to help pick up the pieces.

Change of pace

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So this blog is about the tings I feel, summed up into a word or phrase. The aim? Name that feel, and by naming it give it form and look at it with fresh eyes. But I think I can do more.

Reverse the Bipolarities has more followers than I thought it would ever get. It feels good. I’ve read your stories. And I’d like to give something back.

What would you say if I changed the format a bit? Like maybe list how I dealt with it, or didn’t deal with it, or whatever insight I can get that is worth sharing?

That way the blog can live up to its name – reversing the negatives of bipolar. Maybe give back some of the support you’ve already shown.

Would you like that?

Editor-at-large

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The job or an editor is disturbingly complex. Part proofreader, part lawyer, part marketing expert – but still an artist in their own right.

An editor keeps the story on track, points out the bits that don’t make sense, and asks intelligent questions that makes your content better -and makes you a better writer – even though you secretly hate the extra work.

An editor makes you more productive and able-minded by filtering out the crap and reshaping the weird into stuff that you can handle.

My editor has gone on holiday. And I’m making mistakes.

Soundtrack

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My family tells me they can tell when I’m going hypo because I start listening to songs, albums or playlists on repeat.

Heady beats, driving bass, ecstatic drops – whatever. I don’t know anything about music. I don’t even know I’m doing it. I just know what I like at the time. I know it makes me feel.

It’s weird to think that something so personal as taste in music changes depending on mood-state, as predicated by a mental illness. Being bipolar literally changes what you like – it doesn’t enhance you, it changes you.

Now I’m wondering if there’s actually a specific set of tunes that triggers hypomania, or if hypomania itself has a playlist.

Is music therapy a thing?

What about you? Do you have a soundtrack?

19 Steps

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  1. Endure a number of episodes unnoticed
  2. Act out and destroy things/people
  3. Retreat
  4. Avoid everything
  5. Get confronted by family and friends
  6. Get hospitalised
  7. Self assess
  8. Decide you need to see a GP
  9. See a GP, get referred to psychologist
  10. See a psychologist, get referred to psychiatrist
  11. Argue with the psychiatrist, because they’re shit at their job
  12. Get a better psychiatrist who gets you
  13. Do the sessions/take the meds
  14. Eat/sleep/exercise/meditate
  15. Manage your self better, and learn the signs
  16. Build a safety net of family and friends
  17. Get continually better
  18. When an episode is coming, let people know
  19. Repeat

+++++

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