Waiting room

The burning in my chest and pins and needles in my shoulders mounted for weeks, my feelings completely mute. Little things like doing the dishes or taking the bus somewhere were quickly become much harder to do. I felt on edge all the time, stiff and uncomfortable. It entered my mind to go to the hospital, but it didn't seem called for. My therapist asked me, “What's the feedback from all this anxiety? What is amiss?”

So I put that question forward to my anxiety. When I sat down in front of the computer I was numb and paralyzed; when I did anything else the anxiety made me feel I wasn't in the right place. The nervous energy was familiar and before I would've drowned it in booze or, at least, turned on the television and zoned out. For once, I was just sitting there listening to my heart pound in my chest and asking it, “Why?”

Finally, I couldn't take the constant waiting anymore; waiting for it to get better, for it to get worse, I had no idea. I went to the emergency room and told them I was bipolar and having a lot of panic attacks. They said they would get me into see someone as soon as they could. I waited for four hours, all the while my chest exploding and subsiding with what I pictured to be white flames, until I was finally exhausted and started to let my guard down and close my eyes.

A nurse woke me when he called me back into a room. I waited on the hospital bed for just a few minutes when the social worker came into see me. She was an older woman, round in a just-baked-some-cookies kind of way. I wondered if she had kids of her own. If she didn't, she might be more apt to take care of me.

“Well, I looked at the chart, but tell me, what seems to be the problem tonight?” she asked cheerily.

“I have bipolar disorder and this anxiety has been building up for weeks and now I'm having panic attacks. I've never tried to responsibly manage my bipolar disorder before, so I don't know how long I have until I completely fall apart. I noticed the anxiety is starting to impair my functioning and I've even fallen back on smoking marijuana so I thought I would come in and see what you could do for me,” I heaved in one restless, expansive rant.

“Ok, that's great,” she nodded. “Tell me, are you suicidal right now?”

“No, just the opposite. Right now I feel like I wanna get through this.”

“I'm really glad to hear that,” she said as she smiled at me warmly. “And you're not homicidal?”

“No.”

“Are you hearing voices?” she asked calmly.

“No,” I hesitated. “Not really. Not like I used to.”

“Well,” her voice hinted at regret, “you don't meet the criteria for acute care. We might be able to get you into respite. But it sounds like you're doing everything correctly and that you're okay. I think you're best off trying to take care of yourself at home.” She obviously had kids of her own.

There was a stab in my chest that was sharp, like both disappointment and relief. I went home, smoked a bowl, and sat down in front of the computer.

Morning Ritual

Figure out what time I need to be getting up (and by default going to bed) everyday.

right now it's 6:54 in the morning.  so far i haven't been to sleep. another bout of insomnia? this time i willed myself stayed awake consciously.  am i trying to induce a manic episode? no, i'm just trying to figure out my sleep schedule.  i wonder what time sunrise and sunset are and if it's just cloudy in the mornings and really shadowy at night.  well anyway, i was obviously up before sunlight this morning.  i did stream of consciousness journaling.  then i did a tarot card reading.  then for "what i'd love to become" i got the Sun.  And I'd like to read that reading every morning for at least a week because the things i need to relinquish and the things I need to develop are good advice.  Really good advice.  I would love to become the Sun.  I would love to find a spiritual practice that suited me.  that's what i should have put down on my list of things to do.  but i did call my whole list of things to do my Soul Pact with myself.  But still the pot use has got to get under control.  mindful codependency.  we are as mindful as we are codependent.  i'm as mindful of my pot use as my desire to get stoned.  motivation to control my use, so I CAN KEEP USING. Whenever I want that is.  So I have to really want to not smoke pot.  I've gotta not really want to smoke pot is how it is.  It has to be for my own reasons.  That makes me want to smoke it right now.  How long will it take me to find my own reasons?  Why do I need respite(Explain.)?  Or do you just want to get into respite really badly but you're afraid you won't, so you're trying to stress yourself out to the point of breakdown?  well, almost breakdown.  Or can you avoid that on your own for a little while longer?  And is it always gonna be "When's the other shoe gonna drop?"

Had three cups of coffee.  It's 7:09 am.  It's still not sunny enough to say I need to...well, I don't know.  It's bright enough to get up.  It would take real effort to get up this early though.  I don't know when my writing schedule is or what it looks like.  Sleeping would be a great way to stave off the loneliness and the boredom of being home by myself at night.  Anxiety: about being lonely and bored.  Besides, I can handle the anxiety of being lonely and bored a lot better when I'm doing it by choice and not just out of self-pity and thinking i'm worthless.  That's what I was gonna say before was about this time not having a mania that convinces myself wonderful things about myself but spends a season disproving all the bad things I think about myself.  That would be more realistic.  And I would be really realistic of what I'm capable of by consequence.  It's funny that a silly little thing that simple is blowing the fuck out of my mind right now.  Where is Keith when I need him? 

Life is like a game of chess.  Aaron and I got a No-Stress Chess set and a deck of cards from Toys R Us last night.  Aaron and I need to create a spiritual practice for ourselves.  But I don't know what Aaron's side of it is.  But he's right.  Life is like a game of chess.  Well, sometimes it's like a game of rummy.  I guess.  There are so many things I would like to write about.  BUT WHEN IT COMES DOWN TO THE WORK OF IT I'M SCARED.  And my computer broke.  How freaky is that?  Last week was all about "getting to the page"  and this week has ben all about amusing myself while I can't write.  Until I finally have to write a little.  I should read that chapter about passion and committment.  (Stages of the Creative Process, Stage 2).  That book may be able to help guide my path on that.  I might reread discovery and encounter, too.  Aaron says he doesn't doubt my ability to find happiness maybe even an income in writing.  I have a hard time believing that because I feel like I'm such a shitty writer.

7:26 Now I'm running out of things to do for my morning ritual.  I could go put in a load of laundry.  there a load of laundry is in.  I have another 28 minutes.  It's 7:36 right now.  I feel like pot allows me to access my subconscious as well as my superconscious.  I don't even know if i can access my superconscious that much.  I'm gonna go smoke a cigarette.  it's so cloudy. i ended up taking more than just a cigarette break.  and decided to add some really brief form of meditation in there. on the tarot card reading, i guess.  i need to set up a new alter not in the bedroom.  aaron needs to get to the library more though.  like we said.  exposure.  to places that remind him of unhappy things.  i don't know why i think that'll be good for him.

Going to work

How can I get You when I want You and how long will it take to achieve that state of mind sober?

I'm just gonna start writing. Try to set a pace. I notice my heart speeding up. Well, now that I said that it's slowing down. Starting to get a little wobbly. No God yet though. Wondering what to do if Aaron or Janet call me. Typing slow but making few errors. Errors becoming more prevalent. God, if you do show up I really intend to write this conversation down.

Going to smoke more. Startle response is becoming acute. Feeling a little “stoned”, staring more. A fart building up. Ha ha. Gross.

EVERYONE,

I'M NOT ADDICTED TO POT. I'M ADDICTED TO PSYCHOSIS.

Psychotic Features of Bipolar Disorder

Psychotic features are often present during the manic phase of bipolar I disorder. Aspects of psychosis may also manifest during extreme episodes of depression. They are also present in schizophrenia and schizoaffective disorder. These features include delusions (false ideas about what is taking place or who one is) and hallucinations (seeing or hearing things which aren't there).

http://bipolar.about.com/od/psychoticfeatures/Psychotic_Features_of_Bipolar_Disorder.htm

Delusion of Reference-Delusions of Reference refers to the strongly held belief that random events, objects, behaviors of others, etc., have a particular and unusual significance to oneself.

Delusions-Delusions are false beliefs that are firmly held. They are one aspect of the psychotic features of bipolar disorder, schizophrenia and schizoaffective disorder.

Are they hallucinations, though? I'm going through the list of symptoms on the website up there and then trying to pull out the relevant symptoms. Relevant to me, I mean.

And I don't know. Are they hallucinations?

The PARTS OF THE BRAIN is what I was interested in. I feel like I'm addicted to a part of my brain. I just can't find a picture anywhere. PictureS...to compare, say of the delusional brain and brain high on marijuana. I want to know if that is in fact the same place in my mind. And I want to know how to access and control it sober and on anti-psychotics. Because I am trying my hardest, but I can't live without it.

That's why I'm sad in group when I say my mental health issue is simply bipolar disorder (and not "with psychotic features"). I feel like my mood is pretty good, all the time, especially when you put it up against the grieving process. It varies predictably and still stays pretty positive with episodes of acute depression and anger. Acute meaning comes on suddenly, lasts a few hours, and moves on again. Meaning episodic. I don't know if I'm explaining any of this. I learned to talk like this from TV. Anyway, it varies along the patterns of stages of grief. I don't really know, I haven't looked that up yet, but I would predict. And since I can't find or don't have access to journal articles and there's just these google ads that come up, I'll have to consider running with the idea. But the idea is what if I could follow the movements of mind? I mean, yeah, maybe that's possible for everyone else as it is, but it's never been possible for me. My mind is this ancient removed monster.

Still, no God though.

Anyway, as I've gotten less and less psychotic, if that's what you call it, more and more sober, both, either, or...I've identified with the psychotic features, and before that I identified as having schizoaffective disorder, less and less. And I've done so in a sad and confused way, like I'm getting used to just having bipolar disorder, which really doesn't even make sense anymore. I mean, I know my mood fluctuates but I'm just not an unaffected person. Some men are. So men tend to be called schizophrenics. But what if you had a schizophrenic girl with mood that was present and relative in size to the type and amount of trauma and stress she were experiencing, good stress or bad. Affective instead of what they call negative, I think. Just two poles on a scale. I mean, calling me bipolar does also still makes sense, though. Yeah, you have to slow down while you're writing. And choose your words. I've literally wanted it to go fast. And it's not like it goes all that slow. But still. I didn't want to have to work at it at all. And now here I am.

Wondering why I'm so addicted to pot. Is it cause I'm so... I mean, where does the NEVER-ENDING SENSE OF URGENCY come from?

Alright God, I'm to where I need you on the line. Or someone.

Dear Aaron, the other God of my consciousness. No I should say the God of my Other Consciousness. Yeah, that puts it way more correctly. Anyway, I just wanted to say that no one is gonna get hurt and by that I mean lose their job or go to prison or the hospital while I smoke a little bit of pot and figure this thing out. Trust me, there's an easy way in and there's an easy way out. It just takes a little bit of work but I swear I'll write a really amazing book from AND LEARN TO DO THE WORK OF A WRITER IN THE MEANTIME. AND I'LL TALK TO NICK FOR AN HOUR AND A HALF EVERYDAY IF I HAVE TO.

No, I mean, he doesn't have that kind of time. Anyway, I mean, I just know that this book is gonna take a lot of research. Well, more the second one would... there are three books in the series again this time. I don't know what God or the universe or whatever likes so much about the number three.

I mean, maybe that's just the stage that I'm at where I can only imagine three books. Isn't it all the same difference? That the universe contains three books for me to write and God commands me to write and I can imagine three books to write. And is it impossible that I can believe all three things co-occurring at the same time? It's just three different ways of seeing the world at three different times. I'm just a shift-a shift in our consciousness. Literally, like imagine a wheel that would have to grow treads in order to start moving at a good solid pace where, like you said about riding your bike, you could just go forever. Well, we're about to grow a new tread. And I can't quite figure out which tread we are. Maybe all shifts feel this incredible. It seems like a pretty quiet one if you ask me. But I don't know where I get an idea of one to compare it to. I am human after all. I don't have two delusions about two different lives. I just have the one about this one. And I seem to be one of few, but I am not the only one. There are many others like me. Many of them are addicts in recovery. They all seem to be gardeners of their own sort. Man, how I would like to write about the addiction movement from the inside. Now it's the addiction and maladaptive behaviors movement. Already it's dividing its meaning into parts. A duality. Not yet a marriage. That's it. That's the three. First there was this one idea: US then there was this other idea: YOU AND ME. Then the third idea: YOU AND I ARE ONE.

"THAT'S A BIG SHIFT!," This surge of adrenaline screamed up my spine. "HI THIS IS GOD." A tear in the universe that sounds like a child's giddy belly laugh after he just said "BOO!!" and you dropped your coffee mug...ripped through the air in my head.

"I'm going to go smoke a cigarette first so that I don't have a heart attack," I said as I sat still and listened to the heart beat in my chest. "I'm afraid," I say to the still air of the room.

"I'LL BE BACK," God said in a poor Arnold Schwarztenager imitation.

"That's not funny, God," I laughed. "No one cool says that anymore."

See Aaron: you and I have one thing in common and you and I have another thing about that thing not in common. And it all has to do with the stories we told ourselves growing up. Our self-delusions, which we both have. Actually, we don't believe any of the stories we had to chose from. We don't just believe in society or we just believe in ourselves or both. IN. OUT. UP DOWN. It's that we don't believe in society and we don't believe in ourselves. Both. That's four total by the way. So this is like ourevolution.

"Our REVOLUTION!"

Right. God can see the word in my head and he corrects me.

"The wrong picture for the right thing. Words are pictures. Just pictures. A finger pointing to the moon" God corrects me again.

"I fucking hate that saying."

"Why?"

"Cause I don't get it."

"Except, when..." he sort of grumbles like a dad who's already coached you a million times what to say when he cues you.

"I do." I sigh resignedly.

"Right."

"Yeah, alright, God, that's very funny. You are Right." I show him in my mind. Hoorah! I get it.

Another giggle tears through my belly and in my mind. God is always very pleased with himself. "Then whose story of Me are you believing is right?" he asks affectionately. I want so desperately to find my own story of Him, It, Whatever.

"I can see it in every single one of them." I reply exhausted.

Aaron, when we met that was five, or the fifth revolution in this cycle but creation speeds up in a very predictable way. I think. If you can feel it. I'm a little confused now. Anyway, “stories we told ourselves” is significant too, because it used to just be stories we were told. Feelings were very simple cause we knew who caused our feelings. They did. With the advent of co-dependency came the realization that we are more than just two halfs. We are the conscious co-creation of

"TWO HAVES."

God definitely wants the credit of that one all to himself. I write as I listen to an echo of already a ghost of a laugh.

Yeah, when it's me writing...

"SHE'S THE CONFESSOR."

The Schwarzenegger voice again. Great. Yeah, God, you really can play on words. Ha ha ha. I'm not a writer as in I invent stuff. I'm a writer as in I type what I think. Unless I can't, then I say it. And there are a lot of weird reasons that I can't, but... they're all becoming more clear now.