My Son January 31, 2008

My oldest son will be twelve come July.  Since he was born he has either been laughing or crying.  Now that he is almost as tall as I am and wears the same shoe size I have to be very patient with him when he looks at me and says, “No, I won’t.”  When he was a baby it was easy.  I could pick him up, put him in a “time out” and let him cool off.  Two days ago he wanted to skip his martial arts class in order to go to the basketball game of a very special girl.  I did not give him permission pointingout that he needed to honor his prior commitments.  But Mom!!!!  No.  But Mom!!!!!!!  No.  But Mom!!!!!!!!!!!!!  NO.  When I didn’t give in (which incidentally I would have done in the past out of exhaustion) he kicked a hole in the wall.  So I pay for his martial arts classes and this is how he shows thanks!  I was proud of myself because I did not react.  In stead I handled it very well.  I remained calm, yet firm and consistent.  Amazingly it didn’t seem too difficult compared to my pre-medication days.   The stakes are definitely getting much higher when it comes to parenting.

So, now he and I get to take a trip to Home Depot for some dry wall, tape, mud, lots and lots of sandpaper and a mask or two.  As his punishment he gets to pay for the items out of his own savings.  Most importantly he gets to fix the wall himself.  For my part I will supervise him while he patches, lets dry, sands, patches, lets dry, sands, patches lets dry and sands over a four day period.  I absolutely detest dry wall.  Once I ripped out a door, casing and all between two rooms to open up the space.  (Ripping things out or otherwise “remodeling” was a common activity for me prior medication.  I would start out with energy and intention only to abandon the project.  The following day I would colapse exhausted, confused and overwhelmed.  Unfortunately, I started way more projects than I finished.)  Anyway, for this particular project I ended up with one side that was exposed down to the stud.  I naturally had to cover it up.  When I was done, I must say, I was very proud of myself.   The most difficult part was making the corner!  

My tendancy when I ”go livid” is to throw things:  Plates, clocks, books, you name it, whatever is closest at hand.  Luckily I never turned my aggression on anything living.  But I am sure that my odd behavior wasn’t the best example.  So, at this point, my son is still young.  I am going to assume that it is a bad behavior he learned by watching me, rather than assume it is a symptom of manic-depression.  Never the less, I must be vigilent.  The last thing I want for any of our children is to suffer needlessly for 16 years like I did.   I will assume/pray that he got his brain chemistry from his father.  Unfortunately, of our three children, he would be the one I would most expect to be bipolar.  (Incidently he is also by far the most creative.)

Mama’s Wrath? November 14, 2007

My 6th grade son, who is turning in to quite the artist recently brought home the above art project. It is a ceramic mug. I am really impressed by his ability to see details. When he showed it to me he said, “See the vein going down the middle of the tongue?” I can’t help wonder if it isn’t his interpretation of me when I am angry. ???

Aggression November 4, 2007

 In the past, when extremely agitated, which as Bipolar II is more common than full-blown mania, I always threw things:  plates, alarm clocks, books, the nearest inanimate object.  I never hurt my children, thank God.  Nor have I wanted to.  In fact, I am more likely to turn my wrath inward and hurt myself like Vincent van Gogh  and his ear.  Once I was angry and driving alone.  Suddenly I had an overwhelming urge to drive straight off a cliff.   Obviously, I did not follow through.  At the time my second thought was for my children and the pain that I would cause them.  I considered that it would be better for me to be institutionalized rather then dead.  It would be easier for my husband to explain to them that Mommy was sick.  I am positive that at least three times thinking of them has saved me from taking my own life. 

This last week I got frustrated with my children for breaking something that I had been working on.  They couldn’t control themselves because they just wanted to help and wanted to eat what I was making (sugar skulls).  Their behavior was nothing out of the ordinary.  Any child would have done the same.  After they ignored me and intentionally damaged my work, I got upset and threw the crumbling skull from 2 feet away back in to the mixing bowl.  Both Marco and Elena instantly got quiet, held their breath and wide-eyed ceased their bad behavior.  Since I started taking medication, it has becocme rare for me I lose my cool like this.  I consider myself a very patient person if it weren’t for my illness.   Unlike in the past my logical brain was able to regain composure.  I appologized to them and reassured them that my behavior just then was not normal or acceptable for anybody, especially an adult.   Pre-medication the frustration would have just been a catalyst that spun me off into an uncontrolable rage.   The best way for me to describe how it feels is “possessed.”  A part of my brain knows that I am over reacting, but the other side can’t control the body.

Before my diagnosis and subsequent study of the illness I couldn’t understand how some people could commit sensless and terrible acts.  I attributed my own occasional rant to lack of patience and some character flaw.  Every time I went to confession I felt guilty for my behavior.  Now I understand how things quickly get out of control.  For example, in middle school,  high school and college I had a good friend.  Her older sister was the same age as my brother and they were also friends.  My brother and I went to the older sister’s wedding and saw her become a mother twice.  One evening when the sister’s first boy was a newborn, my friend and I visited.  My friend, the sister of the mother, and I ogled over her new nephew and his tiny little features.

Fast forward three years:  One evening after work I return home and turn on the 10 o’clock news.  A young mother of two had killed her two children.  Even though the media give no names, I knew from the neighborhood and the descriptions that they were talking about the sister of my friend.  In shock I called my friend for confirmation.  Yes, it was true.

It turns out that the husband of my friend’s sister had consistently been cheating on his wife since the day they were married.  After four years my friend’s sister purchased a hand gun intending to shoot her husband.  She tried to shoot him one evening when he returned home but missed.  He escaped in to the street.  The mother, knowing that she would be lucky to see her boys after that moment did not want her boys to grow up to be like their father.  She shot each of her boys and then turned the gun on herself.

The funeral was the saddest I have ever experienced.  Three senseless deaths.  I could not understand how someone who loved her children as much as she did could do something so heinous.  Obviously, she was in great pain.  The woman I knew loved her boys.  In retrospect I believe that she was bipolar.

I Don’t Miss October 14, 2007

Things I don’t miss about manic depression since going on medication:

Being irritable most of the time.  The restlessness.  The headaches. The anxiety.  Feeling like I am constantly overwhelmed (Isn’t this just what being a parent means?). Over analyzing everything.  Distorted thoughts.  Irrational logic.  Being unable to work efficiently because I’m having trouble concentrating.  Looping or thinking the same thought over and over again.  Feeling exhausted.  Being unable to sleep well on a regular schedule either because of insomnia or because I wake up too early and can’t get back to sleep.    The  bleak attitude about myself and my circumstances.    Lack of enthusiasm for anything.  The nagging unhappiness.  The crying spells.  The suicidal thoughts.

Annoying side effects of the medicine:

1)  A dry mouth, which I counteract by drinking more water and chewing gum with xylitol.  (I never used to chew gum because I felt like a cow.) A dental hygenist recomended this to me when I participated in a study at the University of Washington.  2) Having trouble with my word choice and occasionally stuttering while my thoughts catch up with one another.  Saying things like, “Don’t forget to put the milk back in the cabinet.”  Very vivid dreams on occasion.  (This is only a problem when the dreams are nightmares.)   

As you can see, in my case the pros are much greater than the cons.