Life in the Bipolar Lanes: The Seeds of Guilt

Guilt. It is a powerful emotion isn't it? At least in most people. I am often amazed by the lack of guilt some people seem to feel. You know the ones...people sitting stoically in a courtroom as a verdict is read that proclaims them guilty of murder, child abuse, or some other heinous act. And yet, there they sit, seemingly without any remorse. It boggles the mind. 

I myself have the opposite problem. I can bring up memories over 45 years old and feel the guilt as if it was only yesterday. That is a lifetime of guilt, and it is a heavy burden to bear. A lot of time and therapy went into vanquishing some of this guilt. Some I have simply learned to keep at bay...most of the time. 

My first experience with guilt occurred at the tender age of 3 years old. Yes, I have memories of my life at this early age. Remember, memories are kept because they hold significance for us. The significance of these early memories are for the most part because they focus on my grandfather, Frank. Frank was actually my step-grandfather, but I do not believe I even knew that at the time. To me he was simply Grandpa Frank, a wonderfully kind man who loved and doted on me and gave me Dentyne gum when I came to visit. And the visits were often. See, Grandma & Grandpa Frank lived in a trailer next door to us, so I saw them at least once a day, and usually much more often.

My memories of Grandpa Frank are memories I have clung tightly to over the years. His smiling face, things he gave me, the time he took his teeth out for me! He was the perfect Grandpa. Unfortunately I only had 3 years with Grandpa Frank. During that time my Grandma was a shadowy background figure in my memories. Grandpa Frank took center stage. Grandpa Frank's death would change all of that.

It was fall, and my mother told me that Grandma wanted to talk to me. Grandma took me outside to the front yard. She asked if I had noticed that Grandpa Frank had been gone for a few days. She then proceeded to tell me that Grandpa Frank was never coming back. He had died. The remainder of the conversation was to be seared into my 3 year old brain for the rest of my life. Me, "Why did Grandpa have to die?" Grandma, "I don't know, probably because you were so mean to him."

~Marla

Life in the Bipolar Lanes: Early Childhood Memories

My Family

Early childhood memories. The wispy bits and pieces of our 2, 3, or 4 year old selves that continue to live on inside us. We all have them to one extent or another. For some they are easily recalled, others find them elusive or nonexistent. Often they are attached to events of significance. Events that were significant to the child we once were, not necessarily significant to those around us. These memories mold us in incredible ways, at times shaping us into the person we will become…or at least the person we perceive ourselves to be.

I learned something important in therapy as an adult. The past can indeed hold the key to the present. My childhood memories were skeletons that needed to come out of the closet and be addressed before healing and change could ever occur. As I write about my journey I will need to talk about my family. I want to do this honestly. If you are a family member you may recognize yourself in my memories. Please understand these are memories through a child’s eyes, not an adult’s. Additionally, some of my extended family may learn some unpleasant facts about someone they looked up to and loved. Just because this woman was unlovely to me does not mean she was a bad person, but understanding her role in how I perceived myself was a key part of learning to cope with those feelings and overcome them. Writing this will take time. It is difficult for me to write about without bringing up old feelings. Something I do not want to do on a daily basis. Please be patient with me.

There are many, many, children who have had childhoods more difficult and unhappy than my own. Not all these people end up with a mental illness. I do not believe my childhood led me to become bipolar. What I do believe, is that it exacerbated certain symptoms and made coping more difficult.  Anxiety has been a part of my life for as long as I can remember, and that very definitely had its roots in my early childhood. Guilt and feelings of worthlessness were early companions as well. These were set in place as early as four years old, and not addressed until many years thereafter. By that time the negative reel in my head had been looping over and over for a very long time.

You are too shy, you are mean, you are a liar, you are lazy, you are stupid, everything is your fault, you only think of yourself, you are afraid of everything, you are unlovable, you are selfish, you just want attention, you are ugly, you have no self control, why can’t you be like “them.”  You are a bad person.

~Marla

Simply Overwhelmed

I haven't been writing much lately as I have been too overwhelmed to sit and put my thoughts into coherent words. I realize there are many people who thrive on stress; I am not one of them. Too much stress has the opposite effect on me...I simply shut down. That has been the last few weeks of my life. All the hoopla of getting the house on the market and beginning a search for a new home has made it difficult for me to function. When it gets to be too much a nap seems the best solution to me. Bipolar and Anxiety Disorders tend to go hand in hand...and it is not a happy partnership.

So today I am just reaching out for a little help from my friends. If you have a moment to spare, please say a little prayer for me. I would really like to have this entire move behind me and perhaps begin to function a little better again.

~Marla

Life in the Bipolar Lanes: Part 1

It is hard to talk about your mental health issues in a public forum. Want to know about my back issues? No problem, I can comfortably talk about that. Want to know how I am coping with Diabetes? I'd be glad to share with you. Want to talk about what it is like to live with a mental illness. No way, much too uncomfortable. But that is in fact what I feel called to do. I am going to step out on faith here and share my story. I will try to share as much detail as possible, beginning today with an overview. 

Though our society is far more accepting of mental illness than it was 50 years ago, it still carries a stigma. Everything from crazy to lazy gets thrown in there. I write this to be an advocate for others who struggle with mental illness. I want people to understand the profound struggle that it can be to appear "normal" when "normal" is the last thing you feel. Additionally my hope is that others will not wait as long as I did to seek help.

My first inklings of problems came as a child. By the time I was 10 years old I was seeing a child psychologist. At that young age I already had profound feelings of worthlessness, guilt, and self hate. I don't have any idea if my 5th grade classmates knew where I went when I was dismissed from class for my appointment every week. But in my mind I was sure they did. I did not know of anyone else, adult or child, who saw a psychologist. Instead of helping, I felt even more an outsider looking in at all the "normal" kids. 

By my early twenties I had changed my primary doctor and hid my mental illness with lies. Though by this time the Bipolar symptoms were full blown, I had learned to live a lie pretty well. Probably only family were aware of my issues, and much of it was put down to simply having a temper. What they saw as anger or being energetic or talkative was actually a manic state being played out. And when the depression hit? I was simply moping or being "sensitive." If any of them suspected mental illness they kept it to themselves.

By my thirties I realized I had to get some help. My illness was affecting my parenting in a big way, and my rages were scaring even myself. My doctor was more than happy to prescribe Zoloft for PMS symptoms. Once again the lie to save face...after all PMS was all the rage, and my issues were worse at that time of the month. For some reason I had this incredible need to look as if I had my act together. Though how many saw through the charade I don't know.

I was in my forties when it all came crashing down around me. I no longer had children or parents to care for. Nothing to stay strong for. Finally the bottom dropped out. The visit to the ER was not pleasant, but for the first time in my life I told someone everything. No lies, no excuses. I was broken.


~Marla

Stepping into the Light

My house is dark. Very dark. It is filled with dark wood and is surrounded by large trees. A covered patio shelters the main windows on the back side of the house. A covered porch runs along the main windows on the front. It does wonders for our cooling bills…but it is definitely dreary. Sometimes I get so used to the dark that I forget how good the light feels. This morning I went outside and sat in the sun for awhile. The weather was perfect! Finally I decided to go back in…the darkness was almost overpowering! Funny, when I am inside all day I don’t notice the darkness as much. It is not until I step into the light that the difference is magnified. I don’t notice the heaviness of the darkness without the light.

This holds true in two other areas of my life as well. I struggle with depression, and I do not use the term struggle lightly. Actually, my diagnosis is BipolarType 2. Few people know this, so this is my coming out party of sorts. Yeah, me and Catherine Zeta Jones…wish I looked like her as well! At any rate, the depression side of this can be overwhelming. Oddly enough, I often don’t see how bad the depression is until I look back from the other side. Then I see that cloud of darkness that was practically suffocating me, and sometimes I am amazed at the strength it took to survive it! My daughter is probably my biggest help during those times. She is there to champion me along, helping me to see the promise that the next hour, day, or week will hold. I truly believe that God gave me the gift of her, to be my life boat, to cling to in the storm of depression. Just as God equipped me, as a nurse, to care for my own mother with all of her physical issues.

Sometimes as Christians, we can have the same experience. In the ups and downs of our life we may not notice ourselves drifting further and further away from God. It isn’t until we come back that we notice how far we had drifted. We need to be the light for others when this happens to them. A beacon, shining in the darkness, to help them find their way home. A life boat they can cling to when they have drifted so far from shore that they just can’t swim back by themselves. And we need to surround ourselves with Christian friends. Those who will be there for us, when the tides of life pull us out to sea.

There is a candle in every soul

Some brightly burning, some dark and cold

There is a Spirit who brings a fire

Ignites a candle and makes His home

Carry your candle, run to the darkness

Seek out the helpless, confused and torn

Hold out your candle for all to see it

Take your candle, go light your world

Take your candle, go light your world

Blessings ~Marla