Day 97 My BP Group

Hello.  I’m still here.  Just living life one day at a time.  I just had an ergo evaluation so I’m coming from a much more comfortable place.  It started with a sharp pain in my neck and it started when I started typing this blog.  At first it was just a pain that only lasted as long as I was typing and then it would go away.  Slowly, as I grew more ancient like the planets in the solar system, the pain started to linger.  Then it was just a persistent pain.  Dang, I’m not loving getting older.  But now that my stance is much more acceptable to the ergo gods I do believe that I can type pain free for a time. YAY!  I’ll take it.

It seems like days go by and nothing happens but when you think about it in terms of blogging, a lot has happened.  Not only in terms of blogging but just life in general.  I went to my sister’s house the other night to play cards and that was a good night out!  We played 2 games of cribbage and the rubber match is in the wings for championship rights between us.  I like it to be me just because I’m a cribbage dick but we can‘t all be perfect.  She’s been kicking my ass lately so I have to come back to the top eventually.

On Wednesday’s I go to my bipolar support group and it has been influential for me these past several years.  The last Wednesday before this one it was an intense session.  We asked each other why.  First there’s the safety factor.  We’ve all experienced the challenges of mental illness at its worst and have fought back.  We’ve suffered the demons of stigmatism from everyone, including family.  When we’re in the room we are finally in a place where we don’t have to explain ourselves.  We just share a slice of our life and everyone is nodding their head, yes, yes, I know, I know.  A person was talking the other week and she was relating about being in an outside hospital group and she couldn’t understand why all of those people weren’t thinking about suicide every day.  I get it.  Depression, the great leveler of men and women.  It followed that everyone else was telling their secret life out loud.  Feeling deeply misunderstood, unloved, lonely and unwanted.  Wanting to be more of a man, wanting to not run from relationships, shying from people because once they find out about our mental illness it will be too much.  Stigma is the number one burning cross for us.  The reactions we get range from the ridiculous to the sublime.  But it’s there.  So in group we don’t shy away from telling our story for fear of any of that stigma. 

The church that we meet in has such a stigma to the stigma that they have never charged us a penny for using their rooms.  Some nights we crowd into 4 rooms.  That’s a blessing.  We mainly have 2 rooms and the culture is so different from room to room.  Our room we let you share and say not a word until you feel you’ve finished your piece.  We try not to offer advice as what’s one path is not the other’s path at all.  We do offer support and experience of what it was like for us when something similar is stated.  For that almost 2 hours we share love and caring and I walk out of there feeling hope.  No matter what I’ve shared I always try to end on an optimistic note.  I may not have such negatively charged weeks but I want to express hope that you too can get better.  I’ve done my snot sobbing in time in those chairs and I’ve gotten better.  Time, medication, therapy, desire to get well, kicking my ass to get out of bed to fight the day, whatever it has taken, I have gotten better.  And if I can do it with the black cloud that hung over me, I know my fellow group members have the same opportunity. I made a decision that I was good and not defective and started with that crumb to climb out of that deep hole of despair.

Yesterday I told somebody that I was five minutes away from crazy again despite all the work I’ve done.  I don’t think I believe it.  I’ve had my meds changed up recently and it has wreaked havoc on my sleep.  If there is one thing that can throw you into mental madness its lack of sleep.  It can screw anybody up but if you’re wiring is already sensitively laid out, beware the beast of non-sleep.  The tones of conversations start to have undertones that I didn’t realize at the time.  Seemingly innocent incidents start taking on malicious intent.  I’m not trusting my thoughts as plainly as I used to.  I stay home more and have reasons for not going out.  Everyone starts to seem happier and have their shit together better than you.  It’s relentless the thoughts that start to collate in your head.  That’s a good reason for me to go to my group.  When I lay that out on them it sounds different and less menacing.  Other people nod and have been there, still there and some have left that behind.  It’s a good club to be a part of but not one that you want to join.  I love it.

1.       I’m grateful that my illness has been in “remission” for quite a while.

2.       I’m grateful for the courage of the members that do show up.

3.       I’m grateful I didn’t end my life over the depth of my depression.