There is a battle raging within me. I feel like I am in chaos. It is so hard to focus.
This is what I'd described in the hospital years ago that the doctor thought might be a manic episode. I can tell as I sit here awash in the feelings that it is not. A very good friend stopped by today because she was concerned and I liked her description of mania versus what I am feeling.
Mania, she said, is GO!
What I am feeling is not linear. It spirals, swirls, but trapped, contained. Like vegetables in a pressure cooker and I don't know how to release it without spraying carrots and potatos all over. I feel like I am about to crawl out of my skin. I have felt like this for two days now.
Every sudden sound makes me jump severely. I am so self-conscious that I feel embarrassed to even take up space. I feel that I must apologize for my existence. I am certain that everything I do or say somehow detracts from everyone else.
I want to be distracted, to focus on something other than what I'm feeling. The TV writers' strike is not helping. I am reading but sometimes even focusing on the words and what they are saying is too much. I am constantly figdeting, using my hands, and I scratch and pick and rub without even being aware of it.
Sunday night I took a bath to relax but somehow I zoned out or something and I scratched parts of my shin until they bled. The pain and scabs now remind me that I am, in a way, disconnected from my body. I know this is dangerous. I know this is where the urge to cut can become so strong just so that I feel something on the outside, so that I can show others exactly how much it hurts inside.
Last night I managed to redirect this energy and gave myself a sort of manicure. It got me through an hour and now my nails look neat and shiny. But once I was done, I had to figure out how to get through the next hour. And the next.
Today I spent the day listening to the same six songs over and over again while cleaning my kitchen. I mopped a very dirty part of the floor and then I had to wash the walls and the baseboards in that corner. It is as if the only way to channel this chaotic energy is to focus on smaller and smaller detaisl. First it was the floor. Then the walls. Then the baseboards. Then I was on my knees scraping the tiny cracks where the floor meets the baseboard and the baseboard meets the walls. I was just shy of searching for a used toothbrush and a handful of toothpicks to do an even better job when my friend stopped by.
She asked me to try a yoga pose with her called Mountain. I tried. I managed to get myself to stand up straight but I couldn't relax my shoulders or keep my hands down at my sides. When she asked me to take a deep breath, I couldn't. It physically hurt in my chest. I was so self-conscious I was almost in tears. My hands won't stop shaking. My chin trembles when I try to be still.
Curling up into a ball feels comfortable, wrapping my arms around me and tucking my chin into my chest. My husband calls it 'turtling.' I still cannot tell if I am too hot or too cold. I seem to bounce back and forth between the two.
Sunday I increased my Prozac from 50mg/day to 60mg, as the psychiatrist's assistant recommended--when I saw her last she said if I needed to before she saw me again, I shouldn't hesitate to go up to 60. I don't know if I caught it in time. It will take a week or so for me to start feeling a difference, two weeks to really notice it.
In the meantime one of my children has a program at school and I will have to get myself together enough to go out and be in public. That terrifies me.
And I know what is coming next. Something small, insignificant will happen. I will hear something said or see someone look at me and interpret it all wrong and then will come the crash. All this spiraling chaos will turn into a maelstrom, pulling me down until I am submerged and drowning. I can hope that I increased the meds in time to avoid this or that it will be less severe but I am not convinced that hoping will do much good.
My husband wants me to call my counselor but I am so certain that there is nothing anyone can do. All I can do is ride it out, take it hour by hour or minute by minute and focus on what I can do--but not too much focus on too much detail--and keep taking my meds and try to be aware of my body and hold back the urge to scratch or cut. I am so certain of this that I see no point in calling.
It is what it is and I can't see how anyone can help.
Showing posts with label Mania. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Mania. Show all posts
Tuesday, February 5, 2008
Sunday, May 13, 2007
I don't even know where to start (good post)
I would never in a million years have guessed what has happened over the past two months.
Yes, I am still pregnant, baruch Hashem! Four and a half months and counting. Baby seems to be doing well and I should start feeling movements any time now. I have developed gestational diabetes for the third time in as many pregnancies, and while I have to inject insulin twice a day so far, and test my blood sugar four times a day, I'm doing okay with that. I don't enjoy the needle pricks, but I do like knowing that I'm taking care of myself and my baby by doing so.
That isn't the zinger though. The event that blew my mind is this:
Apparently, I am not bipolar and have been living with the wrong diagnosis for 13 years.
Here is the background. Remember when I was really depressed in January? I was referred to a psychiatrist and a psychiatric physician's assistant back then, but didn't get an appointment until April. I guess a lot of people need psychiatric help. I had an in-depth intake and several long appointments. They reviewed my psychiatric history over the past 17 years and had one question: how did I get the bipolar diagnosis?
I remember that part well. It was 1994. I was hospitalized for the second time in six months and my doctors convinced me to begin medication. To determine what meds I should be on, I had to answer a ton of questions about my moods.
Did my depression last for more than two weeks? Yes.
Did it interfere with my ability to live life? Yes.
Did I ever feel like I had a lot of energy? Yes.
What did I do with that energy? Clean, organize, shop.
Did I find it hard to sleep when I had this extra energy? Yes.
Did this extra energy alternate with the depression? Sort of. I never had the extra energy during my deepest depressions.
And so on.
There was no question about episodic depression, and one doctor suspected bipolar. So I was put on an anti-psychotic, a mood stabilizer. I was told that if this stabilized my moods, I was bipolar. If I didn't react to it, then I wasn't.
It stabilized my moods. Sort of. I wasn't sad but I wasn't happy either. I was just mildly depressed all the time. I lived life like a zombie. I did this for two years and finally couldn't stand feeling like I was just taking up space. I weaned off the meds and found that exercise, avoiding sugar, and a strong spiritual/religious life kept me pretty grounded most of the time. My depressive episodes slowed to two bad times per year--October and January--and two more mild episodes in April and July. My psychiatrist at the time told me to keep doing what I was doing, and eventually ended treatment.
Fast forward to April 2007. I was asked more detailed questions about these energy surges.
Did I ever feel invincible? No.
Did I ever take risks that put me or others in harm's way? No.
Was this excess energy goal-directed or generalized to everything? It was always goal-directed. That's why I couldn't sleep. I was so excited about my grand plans for whatever I was about to do (as in finding that perfect clock radio), that I couldn't wait until morning.
Then they asked other things:
Do I ever feel anxious in social situations? Yes. Always.
Do I ever worry about something that may or may not happen in the future? Constantly.
Do I ever have physical symptoms from my worrying? Yes--lack of sleep, headaches, stomachaches, sore muscles.
What do I do when I feel anxious? Clean, organize, shop.
Aha.
There is nothing here, the psychiatrist said while patting my very fat psychiatric file, to indicate mania. Episodic depression, yes. Anxiety, yes. And a high likelihood of Seasonal Affective Disorder. Even indications of Obsessive Compulsive Disorder--a type of anxiety disorder. But not mania. Every episode I had where I had to clean my kitchen until it sparkled, or shop for the perfect clock radio, or reorganize all the bookshelves? Anxiety attacks.
After a month of appointments, they are about to toss the bipolar diagnosis. My new diagnosis is Major Depression, General Anxiety Disorder with Obsessive Compulsive Features, and Seasonal Affective Disorder. And the reason for the recurring depressive episodes--roughly every three months? Most likely a hormonal imbalance.
As it turns out, the Prozac I'm on is what they'd first recommend for the depression and anxiety. And I don't have to worry about triggering a manic episode. Come September, we will develop a plan for when the baby is born, since I have a documented track record for severe postpartum depression. After that, probably after the baby weans, we'll look at other options, and both have said that I will be a full participant in deciding which option to try in what order. But medication may be some combination of an antidepressant and hormones.
This has completely changed my identity. Here I have worried, sometimes excessively, about triggering a manic episode, and the worry itself is part of what's wrong.
And yet it's a relief. It feels more right than the "atypical bipolar II" ever felt. I don't have to explain how my manic episodes aren't like everyone else's manic episodes. Now when I get the urge to clean (and it's not just prior to Pesach), I ask myself if I'm anxious about anything. So far, I always am. I try to deal with what I'm anxious about instead and that helps a lot.
The best part is, I feel like I can finally get the help I need for what's really going on with me, and that, I believe, will better my life not only for me but also my entire family.
Yes, I am still pregnant, baruch Hashem! Four and a half months and counting. Baby seems to be doing well and I should start feeling movements any time now. I have developed gestational diabetes for the third time in as many pregnancies, and while I have to inject insulin twice a day so far, and test my blood sugar four times a day, I'm doing okay with that. I don't enjoy the needle pricks, but I do like knowing that I'm taking care of myself and my baby by doing so.
That isn't the zinger though. The event that blew my mind is this:
Apparently, I am not bipolar and have been living with the wrong diagnosis for 13 years.
Here is the background. Remember when I was really depressed in January? I was referred to a psychiatrist and a psychiatric physician's assistant back then, but didn't get an appointment until April. I guess a lot of people need psychiatric help. I had an in-depth intake and several long appointments. They reviewed my psychiatric history over the past 17 years and had one question: how did I get the bipolar diagnosis?
I remember that part well. It was 1994. I was hospitalized for the second time in six months and my doctors convinced me to begin medication. To determine what meds I should be on, I had to answer a ton of questions about my moods.
Did my depression last for more than two weeks? Yes.
Did it interfere with my ability to live life? Yes.
Did I ever feel like I had a lot of energy? Yes.
What did I do with that energy? Clean, organize, shop.
Did I find it hard to sleep when I had this extra energy? Yes.
Did this extra energy alternate with the depression? Sort of. I never had the extra energy during my deepest depressions.
And so on.
There was no question about episodic depression, and one doctor suspected bipolar. So I was put on an anti-psychotic, a mood stabilizer. I was told that if this stabilized my moods, I was bipolar. If I didn't react to it, then I wasn't.
It stabilized my moods. Sort of. I wasn't sad but I wasn't happy either. I was just mildly depressed all the time. I lived life like a zombie. I did this for two years and finally couldn't stand feeling like I was just taking up space. I weaned off the meds and found that exercise, avoiding sugar, and a strong spiritual/religious life kept me pretty grounded most of the time. My depressive episodes slowed to two bad times per year--October and January--and two more mild episodes in April and July. My psychiatrist at the time told me to keep doing what I was doing, and eventually ended treatment.
Fast forward to April 2007. I was asked more detailed questions about these energy surges.
Did I ever feel invincible? No.
Did I ever take risks that put me or others in harm's way? No.
Was this excess energy goal-directed or generalized to everything? It was always goal-directed. That's why I couldn't sleep. I was so excited about my grand plans for whatever I was about to do (as in finding that perfect clock radio), that I couldn't wait until morning.
Then they asked other things:
Do I ever feel anxious in social situations? Yes. Always.
Do I ever worry about something that may or may not happen in the future? Constantly.
Do I ever have physical symptoms from my worrying? Yes--lack of sleep, headaches, stomachaches, sore muscles.
What do I do when I feel anxious? Clean, organize, shop.
Aha.
There is nothing here, the psychiatrist said while patting my very fat psychiatric file, to indicate mania. Episodic depression, yes. Anxiety, yes. And a high likelihood of Seasonal Affective Disorder. Even indications of Obsessive Compulsive Disorder--a type of anxiety disorder. But not mania. Every episode I had where I had to clean my kitchen until it sparkled, or shop for the perfect clock radio, or reorganize all the bookshelves? Anxiety attacks.
After a month of appointments, they are about to toss the bipolar diagnosis. My new diagnosis is Major Depression, General Anxiety Disorder with Obsessive Compulsive Features, and Seasonal Affective Disorder. And the reason for the recurring depressive episodes--roughly every three months? Most likely a hormonal imbalance.
As it turns out, the Prozac I'm on is what they'd first recommend for the depression and anxiety. And I don't have to worry about triggering a manic episode. Come September, we will develop a plan for when the baby is born, since I have a documented track record for severe postpartum depression. After that, probably after the baby weans, we'll look at other options, and both have said that I will be a full participant in deciding which option to try in what order. But medication may be some combination of an antidepressant and hormones.
This has completely changed my identity. Here I have worried, sometimes excessively, about triggering a manic episode, and the worry itself is part of what's wrong.
And yet it's a relief. It feels more right than the "atypical bipolar II" ever felt. I don't have to explain how my manic episodes aren't like everyone else's manic episodes. Now when I get the urge to clean (and it's not just prior to Pesach), I ask myself if I'm anxious about anything. So far, I always am. I try to deal with what I'm anxious about instead and that helps a lot.
The best part is, I feel like I can finally get the help I need for what's really going on with me, and that, I believe, will better my life not only for me but also my entire family.
Tuesday, February 6, 2007
What would I want my congregation to know? Part II
If there's a book called The Care and Feeding of Your Depressed Friend, this should be a chapter. The following are taken directly from my experience. Unfortunately.
What not to say to someone who is depressed or bipolar:
What not to say to someone who is depressed or bipolar:
- Snap out of it / get over it
Believe me, if I could, I would. In a heartbeat. Or less. - You're too sensitive
Maybe, but that doesn't change the fact that I'm struggling with an emotional disorder. - Everyone gets depressed
Everyone can have situational depressions; far fewer have chemical depressions when nothing is wrong in their lives. - What's wrong? What do you have to be depressed about?
Nothing, and that's the point. I endure terribly low depressions even when life is quite good. - Stop whining. Nobody likes to be around someone who is sad/cries/complains all the time
Which is exactly why I don't want to tell my friends or ask for support. And then it's even harder to get better. - Lighten up / you need to toughen up
Thicker skin will not change how I feel inside. - Get over yourself already / Why is it always about you? / You're just trying to get attention
There are far less painful ways to get attention, if that's what I wanted. I withdraw and isolate because I don't want attention. And it's about me because this is what's going on with me. This is my reality. Comments like this also contribute to my not wanting to ask for support. - This again? Didn't we go through this a month/year/whenever ago? / I'm not your therapist
That's the problem with episodic, cycling depression, the problem with bipolar: it always comes back, no matter what I do. I can find tools to cope, control the worst of it with medication, but it will always be there. Many people are happy to help--once. But for those of us with cycling depression or bipolar once usually isn't enough. I know that I may need extra support as often as 2-4 times a year. And when people ask, this again? it further reduces my willingness to ask for the support I need. - It's not Jewish to be depressed / It's a mitzvah to be happy
Believe me, if I could, I would. I'd much rather be happy. But being happy is not one of the 613 mitzvot, and calling on G-d for help from the depths of despair seems to me to be exceptionally Jewish. Besides, where or when--ever--in our history were Jews always happy? - You owe it to your family/husband/children to ignore this; they need you more than you need to be depressed / You could feel better if you only tried hard enough
Again, it's not a choice. It's not something I can ignore or put behind me. It's not something I can control any more than someone can ignore their asthma or diabetes or irritable bowel syndrome. It is my reality and I have to work within it. And sometimes that means I have to take care of myself before I can take care of my family. - I know what you mean / I've been depressed, too
I don't know how to take this. Lots of people have had situational depression, feeling down because of a trauma, unemployment, death, financial problems, divorce, infertility, terminal diagnosis, war, etc. Far fewer really know what it's like to have a chemical imbalance: major depressive disorder, bipolar disorder. How do I know you really know what I mean? Until I do, I'm more likely to see this as patroizing, even if it's entirely well-intentioned. - This too, shall pass
Yes, that's true. And I remind myself that in a few days or weeks or months, provided I don't harm myself, it will eventually get better. But eventually doesn't help me now. And now is when I need help. - What can I do to help? ** See comments, please. I will be writing more about this.
This may be the most-asked question and the hardest to answer. If I'm already in a depression, I won't know what you can do. I simply can't think. It's better to find a time when I'm stable and create a written plan for the next depression: this is what you can do, this is how you can help, this is what I need. Maybe it's child care for a few hours or going to the grocery store for me or making some telephone calls or helping me to clean my kitchen or maybe it's just sitting with me while I bawl my eyes out.
I know people who have done training in bikkur cholim, visiting the sick. One of the things they learned is not to ask, what can I do to help? because quite often the sick person doesn't know.
Instead, offer something you know you can do: run errands, babysit, cook a meal (beware of kashrut issues), help clean, visit, make phone calls, enlist other support, walk the dog, check out books from the library. Think about things you would want help with when you're sick.
Finally, please be understanding. I may be too embarrassed for you to see my house after a week or more of depression where I can't clean. I may not want to impose. When you offer to do something, I often see it as a trade, even if you don't. You'll do this for me and then when you need something, you'll call in the favor. Of course, I would do everything I can for my friends, if I'm able. But I can't guarantee when I'll be able, and I dislike feeling that I owe someone something. So I may say no because I want to avoid the debt. If you offer, and if you mean it, make sure you offer with no strings attached. - I know your plate is full, but can you help us with this / We could really use your help / I helped you when you were depressed, now it's your turn
When I'm depressed, I can't. I simply can not. And guilt trips will breed resentment. Besides, I self-guilt myself better than anyone else can. When I'm hypomanic, I will absolutely help, but at a cost, because I tend to overcommit when I'm hypomanic. And my emotional cycles work such that at the height of my hypomania, something insignificant will happen and trigger a crash. Within literally minutes, I can go from laughing extrovert to sobbing negative self-worth. I do my best to hide it. If I'm in public, I find a restroom and ride out the initial crash there. If you know I have a lot going on, please consider not asking me to do something more. Or ask me to do it when I'm in a better emotional state.
Depression and bipolar sites
I'd written here that one of my commenters had a good site "with lots of references and links to others writing about depression and related mental health issues." Ayelet noticed that I didn't actually say what the site was, so I'm doing so now. It's From La La Land and lists its intent as
Another site I found through a comment to an article on bipolar linked on this site is specifically on bipolar disorder and creativity. I'm glad all these famous people can go public with their disorder and be respected for it. I wish I could. Then again, I'm not famous.
There is also an entry on the worst things to say to someone who is depressed, and I thought I would make my own list based on things that people have actually said to me. It can be part of my What I would want my congregation to know series.
Finally I want to mention this site for those who are unfamiliar with what bipolar disorder even is. Most people when they talk about bipolar are talking about Bipolar I, characterized by low depressions and very high mania. This is not what I have. I have Bipolar II which is very low depressions and mild (hypo) mania. I think this may be why the antidepressants work some for me. But they obviously don't work completely. And I don't want to go back on the bipolar meds I used to be on. That was a nightmare. I may write more about that some other time.
"For those who suffer from depressive disorders, as well as for their loved ones, to share thoughts, frustrations, joys, research, treatments, articles, books, studies, etc."There is an entry on this site about the effect of depression on creativity from CBS Cares. I linked to CBS Cares earlier though a different article. I thought this was interesting because I find that I'm most creative when I'm just going into or coming out of a depression, but rarely when I'm in the middle of it and rarely when I'm in a hypomanic state because I'm too busy volunteering for things I can't say no to when I'm hypomanic. I get a lot done but little of it is creative.
Another site I found through a comment to an article on bipolar linked on this site is specifically on bipolar disorder and creativity. I'm glad all these famous people can go public with their disorder and be respected for it. I wish I could. Then again, I'm not famous.
There is also an entry on the worst things to say to someone who is depressed, and I thought I would make my own list based on things that people have actually said to me. It can be part of my What I would want my congregation to know series.
Finally I want to mention this site for those who are unfamiliar with what bipolar disorder even is. Most people when they talk about bipolar are talking about Bipolar I, characterized by low depressions and very high mania. This is not what I have. I have Bipolar II which is very low depressions and mild (hypo) mania. I think this may be why the antidepressants work some for me. But they obviously don't work completely. And I don't want to go back on the bipolar meds I used to be on. That was a nightmare. I may write more about that some other time.
Thursday, January 18, 2007
Money is the root of all anxiety
In my all too rare barely manic episodes, I have to be very careful about money. It ceases to mean anything to me and if I'm not vigilant, I can get in a lot of financial trouble. Three main things happen when I'm what's called hypomanic (a low level mania): I don't sleep much, I develop distinct obsessive/compulsive tendencies, and I go shopping.
Now it's funny, but one of my worst episodes involved a clock radio. I wanted to get a new clock radio for my husband. His had broken and he relied on his watch alarm to wake up in time for work, which didn't always succeed. The new clock radio needed a digital display that did not glow red, because red glowing things in the dark freaks me out. Guess how many that eliminated? Bear in mind this was before Internet shopping. I had to go out to the store and physically look at all the clock radios. On a sane day, I would have chosen a store with a good selection, picked out the best for my needs, and gone home. But it wasn't a sane day.
So, my mind buzzing and whirling from lack of sleep and whatever else goes on when I'm manic, I got out the telephone book and made a list of every electronics store in the city. I had about two dozen stores listed. Then I organized them so that I could visit one after the other in a largish circle rather than driving haphazardly around. I started this at 7:00am and timed my departure from my home so that I would arrive at the first store when they opened at 9:00am. I had a spreadsheet I'd drawn by hand (and ruler - to get the lines straight because what good is a spreadsheet with crooked lines?) so I could "comparison shop."
Yes, that's right. I was going to visit every single store and evaluate all of the clock radios and once I'd seen every available one, I'd choose the best and go back and get it.
Do you have any idea how long it takes to visit two dozen electronics stores over a ten-mile radius? I finished, exhausted, well after dinner. I had ruled out every clock radio I'd seen for one reason or another. But I did come home with a new answering machine, a new telephone, and a really nice mini-cassette recorder. None of which we needed, and none of which we could afford.
I love the energy I have when I'm hypomanic; I hate the behaviors. And I use the word hate sparingly and purposefully.
On the flip side, when I'm anxious or depressed, I'm constantly stressing about money. Constantly stressing that we never have enough. I know probably all of you stress about money too, but I really think this is different. At the first sign that we might not have quite enough money to meet our financial obligations, I am immediately certain that if we spent less on food, we'd come out ahead, or at least break even. So I will solve that problem by not eating. If I don't eat, that's one less person to feed and that much more money for our other commitments.
I've been doing this for over twenty years and I can't stop. As a teenager, when my depressions first started and were severe, I had to be force-fed because I'd lost 25 pounds in two weeks, dropping me to 80 lbs. My relationship with food is completely messed up, because it's both a luxury (when I think I can afford it) and a consolation (when I'm so tired and depressed and I detest myself anyway so who cares if I eat an entire pint of ice cream?).
The fear of not having enough money, even before I sit down and figure out the numbers, is enough to drive me to panicked tears, feeling overwhelmed and hopeless and looking for any reason - any reason at all - to punish myself for not making sure we had enough.
My youngest (so far) is ready for preschool. More than that, he needs the socialization and physical and mental stimulation preschool can give him that I simply can't at home. During the day, it's just the two of us. We looked into preschool and as anyone who's sent a child to preschool lately knows, it's expensive. Even the most accommodating cheders are still not free and I wouldn't want a charity education even if it were available because, in part, I know there are others who need it even more than we do.
We will work the numbers and try to make it fit and meanwhile I will try to do everything I can to not panic or starve myself or bawl my eyes out unnecessarily. It is hard. It's hard for anyone; it's a real feat when wacky brain chemistry turns a financial challenge into a feast or famine, walking that thin line between inner peace and inner punishment.
I try to remind myself of the hopes, the promises. I try to remember Yaakov avinu, whose story strikes such a chord in me. He left home under less than desirable relations with his family (like me), and years later found love, wealth, and reconciliation. His encounter with and promise from G-d is profound, and his realization that G-d is here and I didn't know it - these at least open the door to me for accepting that all will be okay, if only I let it.
Does trust negate fear? Does belief overcome doubt? Can reliance upon G-d eliminate so much dependence on money in today's world?
Now it's funny, but one of my worst episodes involved a clock radio. I wanted to get a new clock radio for my husband. His had broken and he relied on his watch alarm to wake up in time for work, which didn't always succeed. The new clock radio needed a digital display that did not glow red, because red glowing things in the dark freaks me out. Guess how many that eliminated? Bear in mind this was before Internet shopping. I had to go out to the store and physically look at all the clock radios. On a sane day, I would have chosen a store with a good selection, picked out the best for my needs, and gone home. But it wasn't a sane day.
So, my mind buzzing and whirling from lack of sleep and whatever else goes on when I'm manic, I got out the telephone book and made a list of every electronics store in the city. I had about two dozen stores listed. Then I organized them so that I could visit one after the other in a largish circle rather than driving haphazardly around. I started this at 7:00am and timed my departure from my home so that I would arrive at the first store when they opened at 9:00am. I had a spreadsheet I'd drawn by hand (and ruler - to get the lines straight because what good is a spreadsheet with crooked lines?) so I could "comparison shop."
Yes, that's right. I was going to visit every single store and evaluate all of the clock radios and once I'd seen every available one, I'd choose the best and go back and get it.
Do you have any idea how long it takes to visit two dozen electronics stores over a ten-mile radius? I finished, exhausted, well after dinner. I had ruled out every clock radio I'd seen for one reason or another. But I did come home with a new answering machine, a new telephone, and a really nice mini-cassette recorder. None of which we needed, and none of which we could afford.
I love the energy I have when I'm hypomanic; I hate the behaviors. And I use the word hate sparingly and purposefully.
On the flip side, when I'm anxious or depressed, I'm constantly stressing about money. Constantly stressing that we never have enough. I know probably all of you stress about money too, but I really think this is different. At the first sign that we might not have quite enough money to meet our financial obligations, I am immediately certain that if we spent less on food, we'd come out ahead, or at least break even. So I will solve that problem by not eating. If I don't eat, that's one less person to feed and that much more money for our other commitments.
I've been doing this for over twenty years and I can't stop. As a teenager, when my depressions first started and were severe, I had to be force-fed because I'd lost 25 pounds in two weeks, dropping me to 80 lbs. My relationship with food is completely messed up, because it's both a luxury (when I think I can afford it) and a consolation (when I'm so tired and depressed and I detest myself anyway so who cares if I eat an entire pint of ice cream?).
The fear of not having enough money, even before I sit down and figure out the numbers, is enough to drive me to panicked tears, feeling overwhelmed and hopeless and looking for any reason - any reason at all - to punish myself for not making sure we had enough.
My youngest (so far) is ready for preschool. More than that, he needs the socialization and physical and mental stimulation preschool can give him that I simply can't at home. During the day, it's just the two of us. We looked into preschool and as anyone who's sent a child to preschool lately knows, it's expensive. Even the most accommodating cheders are still not free and I wouldn't want a charity education even if it were available because, in part, I know there are others who need it even more than we do.
We will work the numbers and try to make it fit and meanwhile I will try to do everything I can to not panic or starve myself or bawl my eyes out unnecessarily. It is hard. It's hard for anyone; it's a real feat when wacky brain chemistry turns a financial challenge into a feast or famine, walking that thin line between inner peace and inner punishment.
I try to remind myself of the hopes, the promises. I try to remember Yaakov avinu, whose story strikes such a chord in me. He left home under less than desirable relations with his family (like me), and years later found love, wealth, and reconciliation. His encounter with and promise from G-d is profound, and his realization that G-d is here and I didn't know it - these at least open the door to me for accepting that all will be okay, if only I let it.
Does trust negate fear? Does belief overcome doubt? Can reliance upon G-d eliminate so much dependence on money in today's world?
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