Welcome Back

I've really stunk at posting lately. I think I've felt good so I haven't felt the need to post anything. Strange, really, because this has been such a necessary exercise in my health for the last couple of years. Nonetheless, here I am today with a new tale to tell.

I'm back to not feeling so great. As of today I'm feeling a touch better than I was but I am still not quite up to par. I have been in the throws of a pretty deep depression for a couple of weeks now and I'm just ready for it to be done with.

Depression is such an odd thing, at least in my case. Sure I get down sometimes because of situations or stress, but most of the time I get completely despondent for absolutely no reason. I have every reason in the world to be happy and yet I'm sad, despairing life itself. It makes no sense to me. This time around has been no different.

Two things are helping. I say helping because things are getting better everyday. First off I have friends praying for me. Whether you are the type that believes in such things or not, there is great relief in knowing someone cares enough about me to lift me in prayer. Whether or not you believe a higher power is doing something is up to you, but the knowledge of deep concern they have for me is as comfort from a higher power. Second, my medications have been adjusted. The medication adjustment takes longer to work than the prayer, at least in my experience, but between the two of them I am starting to turn the corner.

I move on from here, knowing each day will likely be an improvement. If you would pray for me. I'm praying too and would love to pray with you.

Discomfort

My wife is far away, literally. Distance, whether emotional or physical, makes us uncomfortable. Thankfully this is a physical distance (she is in East Africa), nonetheless it adds a level of discomfort in our lives.

I have been thinking a lot about the things that make me uncomfortable. I'm pretty good with physical discomfort, but emotional discomfort is tough for me. Thinking about abstract things, while something I enjoy in principle, often brings me discomfort. There are times I feel myself pushing away from the things I love the most just to avoid emotional discomfort.

In the physical realm I have been enjoying more muscle workouts lately. I have moved away from the cardiovascular routine I used when I was losing weight to more weightlifting. This type of exercise brings a lot of pain, both immediate and longer lasting, but makes me physically stronger. I am seeing the fruits both in my strength and body shape.

Applying the idea of physical exercise to emotional is another thing. I generally have not equated the two, but I am starting to think I need to apply the principles of my physical routine to emotional things. Possibly, instead of running from the things that make me uncomfortable, maybe I need to sit in them and build my strength. Maybe the discomfort of emotional work is the strengthening of the soul.

On another note, I passed another birthday this past weekend. Last year I spent the day in Kenya with some really beautiful people. It really helped me search my soul and gain strength. This year I spent it alone, working in my yard and watching racing. Both were good experiences for my spirit, and I can only look forward to continued strengthening in the days to come.

The Next Step

I had an exciting opportunity yesterday to sit in training with my counselor. No, it wasn't more counseling in the traditional sense, it was counseling on how to better help other people who face many of the struggles I have, and still, face. It was a fantastic afternoon.

To say it was non-traditional would be a definite understatement. We focused on getting outside of moving from bad behavior to good to a place where true forgiveness and reconciliation are preexisting. A place where we realize God's love for others no matter the circumstance.

So often when I try to help I either focus on listening or fixing. To realize my wrong-headed thinking on this was really enlightening. I realized, going through the training, my approach often leads me to take sides and empathize with one over another. Yesterday afternoon I realized I don't have the answers or the perspective to change anything, this is God's job. I realized my sole job in helping is to love as God loves.

Loving as God loves is easy to say. Loving as God loves is not easy to do. If I really think about the implications of that, it means I have to get outside of myself and let God work. It means love is completely forgiving and without satisfaction in my own accomplishment. It means I am simply a worthless vessel unless God is filling me and pouring His love.

I am truly excited about this continuing opportunity. This is the next step, certainly not the last step, in a journey to love well.

A Wild Day

Saturday evening I started having a pain in my right side. Nothing too bad, but with my history I tend to pay close attention to these things. Anything with my abdomen is worth my noticing, but I didn't have too much concern. It lingered into Sunday and then Monday.

Monday morning, around 11, I thought I'd call my surgeon to run it past him. He was in surgery so I talked to the nurse. The nurse immediately started asking a bevy of questions and sounded a bit concerned. She then asked me if I still had my gallbladder and appendix, to which I answered affirmatively. She had me go to the emergency room immediately.

Mind you, I was paying attention, but I wasn't too concerned. I thought it was nothing, but now I'm a little worried. My pain level is telling me Tylenol, the doctor's office is telling me ER. I'm thinking minor, they're saying CT scan. I'm perplexed and anxious now.

Off I go to the ER. I see the triage nurse and she's immediately concerned. They send me straight back to a room and I see a nurse practitioner in less than five minutes. Next think I know I'm drinking fluid for a CT, getting blood drawn, and being shot with pain and nausea medicine. I'm less anxious, because I no longer care about much of anything, but I'm still pretty perplexed. I was thinking quick once over and tell me to go home and take some acetaminophen and rest. An hour later I'm having a CT.

After the CT I'm enjoying my high and waiting for the news. At this point I figure I'm in for the long-haul, probably about to have my insides opened or something. Mind you I still don't care, the pain medicine was that good. I wait in silence for another hour.

The hour passes and I get the news- CT was normal. Good deal, I think, but they still want to talk to my surgeon. I'm waiting in silence for another hour.

The nurse practitioner strolls in and tells me the next news- nothing to see here, go home. I popped a couple of Tylenol and went back to the office.

What a weird day.

Of All the Things I Wish I Said

It's been 18 years since I talked to Tracy. Most days I just remember him, some days are so busy I feel like I never knew him. This time of year I wonder if I could've said or done anything differently. I know so much more now, but I still feel like I don't know anything at all.

Tracy, who my youngest son is named for, was my friend. He taught me to ski, he taught me to catch bass. Tracy turned me on to night fishing with a fly rod and running the flats for trout. Tracy was passionate, but if you weren't close to him you would never know it. He loved the Georgia Bulldog, his old dog Winston, and being a dad. He thought all babies were cute.

Most of the time when I cry I think about Tracy. Usually when I think about Tracy I smile and cry. I never saw Tracy cry, but that doesn't mean he didn't. I'm pretty sure, if I'm as much like him as I think, he cried when his son was born. I know he had a lot of heartbreaks, so I'm sure he cried then. A lot of the time I saw him smiling, sometimes he was a little pissy. Tracy could be pretty moody.

Sometime early in the morning on March 15, 1994, Tracy took a rifle and ended his own life.

There are no days I don't miss him. Some things you can't take back, some things you don't get a second chance to do. I only wish I could have let him know how much I loved him.

My little experiment

Medication is a funny thing. Anti-depressants help prevent panic, anxiety, and depression, but they can cause you to go too far the other way sometimes. Because of that, you may need another medication to keep that in check. Of course there are the panic attacks that still happen, even with the anti-depressants, so you need another medication just in case. Those medications are called benzodiazepines.

I've been having panic attacks lately, as I've said, so I've needed my benzodiazepines. The benzo my doc changed me to is Xanax and I like it. It works much faster than the one I was on previously. The problem with any of them is they make me depressed. I can have panic attacks and get depressed from those or I can take a Xanax and get depressed from it. Neither option is good, although I detest panic attacks so I go with the Xanax.

Over the last week I have gone for the Xanax at the least little hint of anxiety. It keeps me from having an attack, but I don't know if I might have avoided it altogether if I just used some therapy techniques.

That had me concerned I might be getting a bit hooked on them, so I decided to do something. This week I have stopped reaching for the Xanax. So far no panic attacks and today, my third day without them, I'm starting to come out of the haze. I didn't realize quite the fog they were putting over me. I'm really feeling a lot better.

I'm not going to toss them out. I'm not saying I'll give them up completely because they really do work to break the cycle, but I do like coming back to life. Now if I could just get a normal night's sleep instead of too much or too little.

History Lesson

It really shouldn't be a surprise, but all of my demons have chased me around for longer than I care to admit. Thus far I have admitted to you and myself that I have had panic attacks since I was at least 16 or 17, but I've really only been coming to terms with the other parts of my story for the past year. This weekend I find myself admitting those pieces were there all along.

Nearly eight years ago I started writing a song that I have fought with ever since. I picked it back up and, for the first time, admitted the depth of depression it took to write both the music and those few lyrics. That was an admission that I have been working through this for a lot longer than I even thought.

I knew when I first wrote it I was depressed. I knew, in that moment, that is where I was. What I didn't understand is that it was more than just a moment. When I looked a the lyric again, though, I realized it was much more than a moment- it was a daily thing. I was, even then, being consumed by these monsters.

So yesterday I understood the place where I was, the place where I am, and how to control the circumstances. I wrote more, I enjoyed it more, and I played it through a couple of times. I was comfortable with where it came from and where I am today.

The song is now finished. The story that put me in the place to start writing the song isn't over.

Two Weeks

It's been two weeks since I last posted anything. I guess when I don't have anything to say I just keep my trap shut like Mom always told me. You know, if you can't say anything good don't say anything at all.

Last time I wrote I was dealing with panic attacks again. That's still no fun and, yes, they are still hanging around. My doctor changed my emergency medicine from Klonopin, which starts slowly and works longer, to Xanax, which starts quickly and doesn't last as long. Of all the stuff I've taken over the years, I had never taken Xanax prior to Monday. Let me say it works quite well, just makes me very sleepy.

Tuesday afternoon I was starting a panic attack just as I got home from work. I popped a Xanax and killed it off before it got into full swing. I guess it had been a longer day at work than I recalled, because the sleep hit me within thirty minutes and I was gone for the night. I was out by six o'clock. Shelly tells me both kids got in bed at different times that night, and I usually am the one to deal with them, but I have no recollection of it. That stuff really put me out.

I'm hopeful, still, that once I can get the cycle broken with the Xanax I'll be done with panic attacks for a while. Better yet, I'll continue to pray God will take them from me. Whether, one way or another, they go away I know there is something for which this is useful. I'll continue to persevere, hoping some day this trouble will be over.

I (still) Hate Panic Attacks

For seemingly no reason I have started having panic attacks again. I have been mostly free of the stupid things for close to a year, but in the last week they've become daily. Thankfully they aren't debilitating like some of the attacks I've had over the years, but they are still and extraordinary nuisance.

I haven't had one today, yet, and I hope I don't at all. Yesterday's came from just as an irrational thought as any other. It is weird how my brain just throws me something completely out of left field and I grab on to it so tightly that it takes me over. I think anyone can relate to an oddball thought, but to become so completely engrossed you begin to panic over it is a weird feeling.

I'm a little bit conflicted on what to do. I've done the counseling and know what to do when they come, I've got the medicine to take if I need it, but I really would prefer not to have them at all. Is it time for some fresh counseling sessions? Maybe my other medications need adjusting. I have no clue.

Thankfully the God of all grace has a clue. I'll trust that, for now, He's got me going through this to show me yet another thing. I suppose when it's time to do what needs to be done to stop it things will become more clear.

Medicine Time

I take way too many pills. There are two medications I take daily for mood and one I take as needed. One of the daily medicines I have to split over three doses because I don't have enough gut to take time release pills. That means I take at least four pills, spread out across the day, everyday. Don't even bring up what it was like after my surgery a few weeks back.

It could be worse. I could be taking a lot more pills for something else. There are lots of people who have to take a lot more pills than I do every day. It could also be that there were no pills to treat any of this. Thankfully neither are the case, so I'm not complaining. I only raise it because I get lost keeping track of what I take when.

Some time ago I considered one of those little weekly pill cases. I looked at them and it wasn't really a good solution for me. After surgery, my wife started writing down what she gave me and when she gave it to me. That got me thinking about medication administration records (MAR) that are used in hospitals. I thought that was a pretty good idea. I've decided to work with that for a while.

My version of a MAR is a bit less savvy than what is used in a hospital. Being a hospital IT guy, I know the sophistication of our electronic medication delivery and recording. There are bar codes, fancy dispensing machines, automatic flags to the pharmacy, etc. Obviously I don't have anything that fancy going. What I have is a little corner of my office whiteboard where I write the first letter of the medication followed by the time in 24 hour notation. This way it looks like some fancy project information I'm working on and no one ever questions what it is. It is working beautifully.

So it doesn't bring world peace or solve famine, but it works for keeping track of my medications. If you have trouble keeping track of the medication you are taking, consider it my gift to you.

Today I'll just Whine

Some days are gems and some aren't. The beauty of the disease is that it's treatable; the bad part is that some days even that isn't enough. Yes folks, down times happen. Frankly, they happen way more often then I usually admit. Today is one such day.

On a scale of antipathy toward life and pretending to care I'm somewhere just past, "I did get out of bed today." So it's probably not a good day to ask for much from me because I really don't care. Nothing against anyone personally, I'm largely apathetic today- maybe just pathetic.

I'll not belabor the point. This one's just one of those posts to remind folks that even when it gets better things still happen. We'll just hang in there together on those days.

I Want to Sleep

One thing I remember from my early days dealing with panic and depression was the odd sleep pattern. Sometimes I just didn't sleep, sometimes I couldn't sleep enough. It was frustrating at best, especially when I was in college and fighting to make early morning classes when I was only finally able to sleep at four or five AM- and it had nothing to do with staying out too late partying.

Even prior to treatment I had a period when that went away. I could sleep, mostly fine, most nights without any issues. Just before my first shot at treatment I was having some issues of, mainly from panic attacks in the night, of interrupted sleep but it was not too awful. At that time I didn't have too many issues of sleeping all the time.

In late 2010, when things got really bad, all I wanted to do was sleep. I didn't find that too frustrating, well except the whole idea of being a productive member of society, but I knew it wasn't right either. The other part of that, especially when everyone close to you can see in your eyes just how much you're hurting, is I still wonder just how often my wife was checking to make sure I was still breathing. The sleeping too much was probably harder on everyone else than me.

Today I am in this season of not sleeping. Thankfully I am not too tired to function, but I am literally sleeping three or four hours a night. This is every night.

It doesn't matter when I go to bed either. I can go to bed at 8:30 or 9 and be awake at 12:30. I can go to bed at midnight and be up at 3. It isn't making me too tired to function, it isn't even fogging up my thoughts, but it is frustrating. I'm fairly big on doing things when I am awake but it is awfully hard to do anything at 2 in the morning without bugging your whole family. Its something that leaves me sitting around bored for hours a day.

I guess all this was was a gripe session. I don't mean for it to be that, but sometimes that's what you need and all you can do. I would welcome any ideas on how other folks with bipolar sleep. When you just can't sleep do you role with it? Or is there something I might try to sleep more. I'd sure love to try something.

Back to Work

I really haven't felt up to posting since the surgery back on the third, but today things are getting back to normal. I'm back at work this morning, which is code for too much coffee and stress, and back in a button down shirt. To say I'm back to comfortable would be incorrect, as I'm still pretty sore, but things are looking better each day.

There is now a scar across my middle that is located in about the same location as a c-section but it is a whole lot wider. It actually runs almost to my back on both sides, so I look like a man who just gave birth to a small elephant. Thankfully the placement is just below my natural waist, so it won't be seen, but of course I'm so swollen that wearing anything other than sweatpants sucks. These khakis will be going as soon as I get home.

Mentally the thing wasn't too terrible. I didn't have a ton of anxiety going into the surgery, just a little anxiety and depression in the three or four days after, and a whole lot of boredom once everything balanced out. You must understand, being bipolar, when I'm not in an episode of depression, I must have something productive. Laying around when I know I have lots of things I could be doing is not something I do well.

I guess I should get back to work now. I'm sure I'll have something more insightful to say in the days ahead but this is what you get today. I'm still alive and getting better, that's all I could ask for at the moment.

Another Page in the Story

I haven't shared one part of my story that some may relate to also. In addition to mood disorders, I have spent the better part of my life battling weight issues. In February of 2009 I had become so ill and tired of fighting the weight battle that I had bariatric surgery. Since then I have lost as much as 190 pounds, which was a tad too much; as of today my weight loss is around 165 pounds, total, and I am very comfortable and healthy at my current weight.

As you can imagine, mood plays into weight issues quite a lot. You really have to commit to life changes, even with surgery, or you will not maintain a healthy weight. I have seen too many patients gain back large amounts of the weight they lost initially because they didn't internalize the healthy lifestyle. Making health a lifestyle is critical to being healthy.

Secondarily, and a bigger issue for me, are body image issues. I can look in a mirror and see the once 6'5", XXXL wearer standing before me in a large T and 36" waist pants and see nothing but a fat guy. It's frustrating, and a big part of it is that I have some leftovers that only I know about. Clothes are amazing at hiding things, but they don't make them go away.

Tomorrow, after many times of my wife telling me to shut up and do something about it, I am having reconstructive surgery to remove the excess skin and fat from my abdomen. I'm excited and anxious, no more than I would expect, but anxious nonetheless. I'm anxious about the procedure, anxious about how much it is going to hurt, and anxious about how it will look. They're all normal things, so I'm thankful not to have any anxieties that are disorderly.

Anxiety still bothers me. I know it is normal to have it in certain situations but, when you have lived with panic for many years, there is an element that makes me sad to be having any anxiety at all. I want to medicate it away completely, so today I really need strength and busyness so I don't do that. Self-medicating over years-past has been a big part of what got me in this to begin with, I sure don't need to start back.

I guess I would pray today to be contently anxious.