Chronic frustrations of chronic illness

I’ll likely never reach a point when I don’t feel embarrassed about the bipolar outbursts I have from time to time.
 

You’ll notice I said “outbursts” and not “episodes.” A depressive or manic episode can be awful, don’t get me wrong. The progressive lows that lead you further and further into depression and the unpredictable flights of thought and paranoia of mania, can certainly leave one paralyzed. But it’s the outbursts that occur in the midst of these episodes that I find truly embarrassing.

It’s the little things that put me over the edge. Most recently my husband complained because I bought a spicy chicken sandwich from Wendy’s for dinner and didn’t bring him back one. One small comment about how he didn’t appreciate my fend-for-yourself attitude toward Sunday dinner sent me off on a tirade.

You might just chalk this off to normal female hormones. But it’s not. When I say I began raging like a lunatic, I’m unfortunately not exaggerating. Imagine Daniel Day Lewis in There Will Be Blood.

Fortunately no one was physically harmed in what I am now referring to as the Spicy Chicken Tirade, but its still not much of a laughing mater. When you experience depression, mania or a mixed-state your frontal lobe doesn’t function properly. The frontal lobe is the part of the brain that enables one to think rationally and see beyond the current circumstance. Without a fully-functioning frontal lobe, I’m left with no way to see beyond my most recent rant and the memory of me raving like mad, un-medicated women.

 

According to my most recent lithium levels, I shouldn’t be surprised by this weekend’s outburst. For reasons that I won’t go into on this blog, the level of lithium in my blood had decreased despite the fact that I was still taking the same dosage. My levels were too low to be therapeutic.

My doctor had told me this. She told me that I would need to increase my lithium levels soon, and yet I waited until I had symptoms that showed that I needed more lithium in my blood. This may seem silly. Why not just trust the lab work? Well, because it’s summer in Kansas and with heat indexes edging toward triple digits I struggle to stay hydrated on 900 mg of lithium a day. Adding an extra 300 mg in the summer scares me a little. In fact, many things about bipolar disorder scare me a little.

 

But the reality is that I need a therapeutic dose of lithium. An extra pill a day washed down with lots of Gatorade and water will get me back to normal. For this I feel truly blessed.

The thing about having a chronic illness is that you always have to be monitored and adjustments will always have to be made. That is, after all the definition of chronic.

 Realizing that I am in need of chronic care is humbling. Accepting that I am in need of chronic care is life saving.

 

Power of a Powerless Prayer

I’m a planner.

I’m the kind of person who has a one-year plan, a five-year plan, a 10-year plan and a slew of contingency plans in case anything unexpected that may “disrupt” my plans occurs.

But as the saying goes, “if you want to make God laugh, tell her your plans.”

Sometimes life throws curve balls for which even the best of us can’t prepare. When you suffer from mental illness or addiction this happens more often then not.

In those times when life seems to hit me with a sucker punch, I find myself crying out to God in the most primitive sense. I don’t seek God to take away my pain, or fix the injustices of my life. That would be great, but when I pray to the unseen God in which I believe what I really want is to know that I am not alone.

What I really want, is to know that there is source of energy out there that is bigger than myself, bigger than my circumstances, and yet capable of entering into my pain, capable of being present during my suffering. What I seek through prayer is not a solution, but solace in knowing that I am not alone.

In times of turbulence and stress I often calm myself through prayer. When I do it’s as though I can hear God’s still small voice saying, “this too shall pass,” and reminding me that I am never alone.

And that is when I see the power of my powerless prayers.