Happy things to appreciate ๐Ÿ’™ (updates!)

Random acts of kindness ๐Ÿ’•

Cloud watching โ˜๏ธ

Giving something my all๐Ÿ’ฏ

The tippytap of my dogโ€™s paws as he comes to me when I call him ๐Ÿพโฃ๏ธ

Family!! ๐Ÿ‘จโ€๐Ÿ‘ฉโ€๐Ÿ‘งโ€๐Ÿ‘ง

Fairytales about princesses and castles ๐Ÿฐ๐Ÿ‘‘

Classic Disney movies ยฐOยฐ ๐Ÿ“ผ

Waking up without an alarm โฐ ๐ŸŒ…

Selfies when Iโ€™m really feeling myself ๐Ÿคณ๐Ÿป

Coffee โ˜•๏ธ enjoying that first cup in the morning ๐Ÿ™‚

Meeting up with friends ๐Ÿ‘ญ

Getting stronger ๐Ÿ‹๐Ÿผโ€โ™€๏ธ (physically or mentallyyy)โ—๏ธ

Proving my resilience โฌ‡๏ธ๐Ÿ†™

Beer with friends after a long week ๐Ÿ—“๐Ÿป

Going on a trip โœˆ๏ธ

Pretty bows ๐ŸŽ€ (and other accessories) ๐Ÿ’

Smiling for no particular reason ๐Ÿ˜ƒ

Roller coasters!๐ŸŽข the anticipation at the top!

Fruit salad ๐Ÿ’๐Ÿฅ๐Ÿ๐ŸŽ๐Ÿ‰๐Ÿ‡๐Ÿ๐ŸŒ

When it all comes together like a puzzle ๐Ÿงฉ

Old school video games ๐ŸŽฎ

Leaving love notes (or any notes!) ๐Ÿ’Œ

Gettingggg love notes (or any notes!) ๐Ÿ“ฌ

Good news in the paper ๐Ÿ“ฐ

Enjoying nature ๐Ÿ”๐Ÿ•

Karaoke ๐ŸŽค

Flowers on a spring day ๐ŸŒท๐ŸŒป๐ŸŒบ๐ŸŒฟ๐ŸŒธ

Cookies and milk ๐Ÿช๐Ÿฅ›

The smell of rain/ thunderstorms โ›ˆโšก๏ธ

Balloons ๐ŸŽˆ

Tea ๐Ÿต with honey ๐Ÿฏ

Binge watching a good show on Netflix/Hulu ๐Ÿ–ฅ

Tropical vacations ๐Ÿ

The smell of mom baking apple pie on a fall morning ๐ŸŽ ๐Ÿฅง

The sun, rising every day ๐ŸŒ…

A fresh notebook waiting to be filled ๐Ÿ““

Cute puppies ๐Ÿถ

Cute cats ๐Ÿฑ

My favorite music ๐ŸŽผ ๐ŸŽถ๐ŸŽต

A stack of books waiting to be read ๐Ÿ“š

Seeing a rainbow ๐ŸŒˆ

Photography that captures feelings ๐Ÿ“ธ

Improving myself ๐Ÿ“ˆ

The sun coming out ๐ŸŒฅโ›…๏ธ๐ŸŒคโ˜€๏ธ

Fireworks ๐ŸŽ†๐ŸŽ‡

Cosmic phenomena ๐ŸŒ™๐Ÿ’ซ -notice the miracles

Getting a good nightโ€™s sleep ๐Ÿ’ค๐Ÿ˜ด

City skylines ๐ŸŒ‡ ๐ŸŒƒ

Office supplies ๐Ÿ“Žโœ๏ธ ๐Ÿ“‹

Magicโœจ/ unicorns ๐Ÿฆ„ / etc ๐ŸŒŸ

Being alive!! ๐ŸŒŽ appreciate that ๐Ÿ‘ˆ๐Ÿป

Shooting for the moon ๐Ÿš€ ๐ŸŒ•

Hot chocolate ๐Ÿซ on a cold winter day โ„๏ธ

Making someone happy ๐Ÿ˜ƒ

Deep conversations ๐Ÿ—ฃ with close friends ๐Ÿ‘ฅ

My perfect nephew ๐Ÿ‘ถ๐Ÿผ

Learning something new about science ๐Ÿงฌ

Comfy pajamas โœ”๏ธ

Jeans that fit just right ๐Ÿ‘–

Frantically writing โœ๐Ÿป getting ideas๐Ÿ’ก on paper

Pride ๐Ÿณ๏ธโ€๐ŸŒˆ for whatever I am

Connecting w people I love on social media ๐Ÿ’ป๐Ÿ“ฑ

Self-care ๐Ÿ•ฏ ๐Ÿงผ๐Ÿ›๐Ÿง–๐Ÿปโ€โ™€๏ธ

Really appreciating stars ๐ŸŒŸ in the night sky ๐ŸŒŒ

Good fortune ๐Ÿ”ฎ

Getting into a video game ๐ŸŽฎ (or watching one)

Shopping sprees! ๐Ÿ›

Fall ๐Ÿ๐Ÿ‚๐ŸŒพ๐ŸŒผ bonfires ๐Ÿ”ฅ

Achieving something to be proud of ๐ŸŽ“

A big paycheck ๐Ÿ’ต

Late night car rides๐Ÿš™ with Andrew๐Ÿฅฐ singing๐ŸŽถ

Funny memes ๐Ÿ˜‚

The incredibleee excitement the night before a Disney trip ๐Ÿ”œ

Waking up on Christmas morning ๐ŸŽ„๐ŸŽ

Feeling lucky ๐Ÿ€

Winning something ๐ŸŽฐ

Classical music that brings back memories ๐ŸŽป

When things fit together perfectly ๐Ÿ”

Making art ๐Ÿ‘ฉ๐Ÿปโ€๐ŸŽจ๐Ÿ–๐Ÿ–Œ๐Ÿ–Š

Appreciating all the worldโ€™s differences ๐Ÿ—บ

Becoming the best version of me ๐Ÿ†

Learning ๐Ÿ‘ฉ๐Ÿปโ€๐ŸŽ“

Books ๐Ÿ“– & how so many of them exist๐Ÿ“š

Making wishes ๐Ÿงžโ€โ™€๏ธ๐Ÿงžโ€โ™‚๏ธโœจ

Things that comfort me ๐Ÿงธ ๐Ÿ˜ (my stuffed elly!)

My favorite perfume ๐Ÿฅฐ

The first snow โ›„๏ธ of the season ๐Ÿ—“ [peaceful!]

Singing in the rain โ˜”๏ธ

Checking something off my to do list โ˜‘๏ธ

Tattoos ๐ŸŒ€

Ice cream (size congruent with my mood) ๐Ÿฆ

Parties ๐Ÿฅณ

Quiet mornings ๐Ÿ”‡

Crocheting someone a hat ๐Ÿงถ

Ska shows ๐Ÿ

Facing fears ๐Ÿ•ธ

My infinite internal power โ™พ ๐Ÿ’ฅ

The journey ๐Ÿ›ค

Climbing into bed feeling accomplished after a long day ๐Ÿ›

A new haircut (or color!) ๐Ÿ†•๐Ÿ‘ฑ๐Ÿปโ€โ™€๏ธ๐Ÿ’™

Reliving memories ๐Ÿ’ญ / looking through keepsakes ๐ŸŽŸ๐ŸŽซ

Being the perfect amount of energetic๐Ÿ”‹

Finding light in the darkness ๐Ÿ”ฆ

When good things fall apart but better things fall together ๐Ÿ’”โžก๏ธโค๏ธ

Counting down on New Yearโ€™s Eve just like the entire rest of the world ๐ŸŽ†๐ŸŽ‡

Making someone proud (even if itโ€™s myself)โ˜บ๏ธ

Late night adventures ๐ŸŒ™

The fact that I kicked the fucking shit out of anorexia once and I can fucking do it again ๐Ÿฝ

Thoughts become things, so choose them wisely: a platitude that I’m finding particularly relevant lately

Bipolar and the senses

So last year, or maybe it was two years ago, I was sitting cross-legged on my bed, laptop propped up against a pillow, listening to Duel of the Fates from the Star Wars prequels on repeat. I remember it rather vividly. Iโ€™d had a huge mental breakdown the night before, where my then best friend and soon-to-be-boyfriend drove me until one in the morning as we listened to music and I alternated between crying and singing along to the loud punk rock hitting me in waves out of the speakers. I was home from work, having called out by leaving a frantic voicemail detailing how I was insane and the thought of coming in to work made me want to die. So appropriate, I know. But there I was, sitting there trying to hold on to some semblance of calm, the vague, fleeting feeling that came and went throughout that entire day. I hadnโ€™t eaten. Iโ€™d barely had any water. I was just existing, trying to write just to be doing something, thinking about something. Not one of my better moments.

And here I am now. That same Star Wars song on repeat. And itโ€™s weird because I can taste the insanity of my past. I taste the feeling of hunger, acerbic in my mouth, just like I tasted two years ago. I can feel my insides grabbing for what little bit of calm it can grab. The memory of the thoughts I thought are echoing through my head, bouncing off the walls of my mind like that someone slammed a super ball as hard as they could in a gymnasium, the ball going going going with seemingly endless momentum. Or maybe itโ€™s more like a balloon flying every which way after someone untied it and let it loose. The point is that Iโ€™m there again. Iโ€™m sitting on my bed, legs crossed, laptop in front of me, fingers flying frantically over my keyboard just because. Iโ€™m there again. Because of this song Iโ€™ve got on repeat.

Itโ€™s weird how that happens. The taste of my gummy melatonin does the same thing. That strawberry-esque flavor melting in my mouth, even now, transports me back to the nights I was plagued with what Iโ€™ll call violent, agitated insomnia.

On the flip side, I have this one roll-on perfume that calms me down. I always put it on before therapy and now when I roll it on before work, I smell the panic going the fuck away and my chest easing up. I feel full, deep breaths steadying my heart rate as I take actual air into my lungs (as much as Iโ€™m able to, at least).

I have an elephant stuffed animal that I hug close to me when I sleep at night. And I have a mini keychain with the same elephant on it. And I make a point to take out that little keychain and rub the elephantโ€™s ears when I start to lose my cool, when I feel the anxiety bubbling up from my stomach all the way up my esophagus and ultimately reaching my head, dizziness ensuing.

And lastly, Iโ€™m comforted in the best way possible when someone I love wraps me in a protective hug, sending love vibrations into my being with the pressure they put on me, squeezing my broken pieces together with a strength that can only come from true care and concern.

Itโ€™s amazing how this shit works. What our sense can do for us.

Romanticize the shit out of your life, honestly

An unfinished piece about change…

A change is gonna come

There is a vague dotted line connecting what was, what is, and what will be. This is a constant and inescapable truth. The line isnโ€™t always straight. In fact, there are probably times when the dots are few and far between, and you can scarcely follow their path. Furthermore, the transitions between past, present, and future arenโ€™t always balanced on either side of the decisions that lead from one to the other. It doesnโ€™t happen seamlessly, yet the metamorphosis happens nonetheless. Change is gonna come because thatโ€™s what it does. Change is gonna come.

Sometimes change is exactly what we need; meeting new people, exploring new places, a different routine, a different set of opportunities, it is often the solution that we know exists and we know we can make possible. But the onward march of time and the changes that it brings donโ€™t always come without fear and doubt. Stasis, more time than not, feels safer, and comfort or contentment or nostalgia pull us into its depths. It happens. And it is a trap.

Because what once was has already given way to what is. Progress has already been made. And weโ€™re here having survived, still breathing, still going. Weโ€™ve climbed the mountains and looked back on mere hills. Weโ€™ve crossed oceans and remember only nonthreatening lakes. Itโ€™s easier when itโ€™s said and done, of course, but once itโ€™s done Iโ€™ll bet you anything we rarely ever regret it. So canโ€™t we apply this logic to our futures? What exactly is preventing us from diving into the next unknown, throwing apprehension behind us and heading straight into possibilities?

I know. Accepting change is fucking hard. I also know it is our only option when it comes to lifeโ€™s one given.

Morning Affirmations

The sky woke up with a dull, gray covering this morning. And although I usually prefer when dawn chases the night away, forcing it to retreat while purples become pinks become oranges, Iโ€™m trying to view this rainy, stormy day as a potential adventure. The heavens are open, life-giving water is pouring into the earth, and the sound of rolling thunder is somehow calming. Iโ€™m at my favorite coffee shop. The meditative, chattering background noise along with the raindrops pitter-pattering against the large window in front of me soothes my mind โ€”which is fairly quiet this morning compared to a typical day in my life. Iโ€™m taking slow, full breaths, inhaling the deep aroma of freshly brewed coffee and positivity. Exhaling thoughts of todayโ€™s potential chaos. My insides are expanding to allow space for observation; today I will watch my emotions flow back and forth, melting into one another, as an impartial judge. I refuse to contract, to fold into myself. I refuse to decrease in size, to shrivel into fear, to let myself tighten when I neednโ€™t let myself tighten. I am vast and all-encompassing. I greet this day with a curious disposition. And as I sit here in contemplative stillness as the world and I wake up, gaining conscious preparedness, following the tried-and-true routines that keep us safely secured amid the rush of life, I know I can retain the cozy comfort of this rainy, stormy morning.

How are names, a Harry Potter quote, exorcisms, and mental health related? Well Iโ€™m glad you asked…read on:

I think itโ€™s obvious to anyone reading this that I have a natural affinity for words. Finding vocabulary that fits certain feelings I want to convey, finding phrases and linking them with other phrases that capture the essence of a particular topic, grouping sentences that are applicable to certain experiences together with one another…I fucking love that shit.

I like metaphors, I think in terms of them often, but still, whenever possible, I strive to call things what they are. Thereโ€™s always been a particular kind of power in doing so. There always will be.

Yet calling things what they are can be scary in some situations.

Which brings me to a certain Harry Potter quote, naturally: โ€œAlways use the proper name for things. Fear of a name increases fear of the thing itself.โ€ Said by none other than the wisest of wizards, Albus Dumbledore, it refers to calling Voldemort (a dark wizard, a totally evil-as-shit kinda dude, if you havenโ€™t read the books) by his actual name as opposed to โ€œhe who shall not be named.โ€ When I read the books growing up, it never occurred to me to question the fact that everyone and their mother was afraid of saying his damn name. It drove the point home about what a scary, inhuman motherfucker Voldemort was. As I got older it definitely seemed silly and almost childish to dance around calling him his real name. But as I was coming to such realizations about Harry Potter, I was simultaneously struggling with calling my own shit what it was.

As I began to develop the anorexia that ultimately had me in its grasp for three years, I truly didnโ€™t realize what I was doing had a name. I was just stressed and nauseous and upset and anxious and overwhelmed and sad. And therefore, couldnโ€™t eat. The disorder gathered speed slowly at first but gained momentum rather quickly once I came to understand that, โ€œholy shit, there IS a name for what this is.โ€ I remember the exact moment. I was standing on the scale in the bathroom on December 23rd, 2007. I remember sneaking in there to step on what would define my self-worth that day, I remember that Iโ€™d faked my way through eating half a bagel with my parents, sister, and grandparents who were visiting for the holiday. I remember gently putting the scale on the floor, ever so quietly so no one would know what I was doing. I remember stepping on, I remember what I weighed. And I remember when truth knocked the innocence out of me, stepping off the scale, and staring into the mirror at myself, looking gaunt and pale and fearful. There was a fucking name for it.

I spent two more years hiding the name and accompanying behaviors from anyone and everyone. I didnโ€™t say the name, I didnโ€™t write the name, I tried not to think the name.

When I eventually had no choice but to acknowledge said name (and subsequently be hospitalized and treated for anorexia, something that literally saved my life), it was revolutionary. There was a certain freedom in saying it around other kids and teenagers like me. It was phenomenal to say it and be heard saying it and to be proud of saying it, all while trying to rid myself of it. To top it off, I discovered the language behind it. The medical terminology, the psychological terminology. Even slang used by the other patients, my friends. There was power in saying those names and those words.

Because by saying them, by naming things what they were, I regained control. I wasnโ€™t afraid of it anymore. Or, I wasnโ€™t more afraid than I had to be; yeah, it was pretty terrifying to have to face this brand new concept (recovery), but I didnโ€™t have the additional fear of a simple fucking word. And furthermore, I had the language to explain it all and described it so it would be understood. I had the tools to fight it.

For some reason, that had always reminded me of exorcisms. Go with me here. If youโ€™ve ever seen a movie about that nonsense, you know that the priest always tried to get the thing thatโ€™s possessing the human to say itโ€™s name. I just checked it out in some religious website, so look:

“Naming something (the demon), or knowing its name, means having power over that thing. In fact, God gives Adam the power to name things. At the instant that the demon reveals his name, it shows that he has been weakened; if he doesnโ€™t say it, he is still strong.”

Now, Iโ€™m not religious. But I like the analogy here. Because as I said, naming things puts the power back in my hands.

When I call my anxiety what it is and just allow the use of its name to settle, I feel like I have at least a sliver of an ability to make it go away. Itโ€™s anxiety, thatโ€™s all. Itโ€™s real and itโ€™s there and it sucks, but it has a name and other people know its name. Itโ€™s okay.

If I call my depression what it is, if I declare that Iโ€™m in a bipolar depression, it isn’t as scary bc at least it’s a legitimate thing that has some potential to be managed. If I call my hypomania what it is (if I make myself acknowledge that Iโ€™m going a mile a minute and itโ€™s not because Iโ€™m superhuman), itโ€™s a real thing that Iโ€™m going through and it has an end, because it is defined, and Iโ€™ll make it to the end without seriously attempting to fly.

If Iโ€™m suicidal, I have to call it that. I have to label the sinister desire within me with a word that matches it in strength and character. I have to call these things what they are.

Iโ€™m not saying this naming business is the end all be all for recovery and mental health management. Iโ€™m not saying emotions and behaviors without names arenโ€™t legitimate. Iโ€™m not even saying you canโ€™t pull yourself out of a dark spot without being honest about it all (although I wouldnโ€™t advise going that route). I just mean to say that there is so much fucking good that can come out of naming things what they are and not fearing what doing so may mean.

Still some fight in me

My car has always been a sort of limbo;
I wait here, time passing.
I am not patient but still content
to stay here listening to classical music
(some of which I remember playing, years ago)
that reminds me I have a past
that was full of pain and torment but
also of
music and its reverberating explosions that send shockwaves of unimaginable hope through my being,
out my arteries, down through my fingertips,
and carried back to my heart with triumph.
I cannot always hang tight into that hope
(I donโ€™t know anyone who has a right to blame me).
I cannot always see a way to weather the storms
(that come fast and hard, quicker than ever now, gaining intensity and ferocity)…but
I am intensity. I am ferocity.
I cannot always know this, see this, understand this, feel this.
But it doesnโ€™t change that I am.
So I sit in limbo. Waiting, time passing…
Minutes march on,
thank some sort of god that they do,
and Iโ€™m surviving
(though not always actively).
How often have I sat here in the in-between?
Does it even matter?
Does anything?
I donโ€™t have to know.
Iโ€™m wearing makeup and earrings
and a shirt that says โ€œhello sunshine;โ€
I clearly have some sort of fight left in me.

A poem about my daily life that ends far too optimistically, but whatever…

She woke before seven, excitement abundant, still groggy but ready to thrive.
She sprang out of bed (or did something like that); it was morning and she was alive!

With a handful of pills and a few sips of water, she began with a plea to stay stable.
Then came washing and dressing, while counting each blessing…the gratitude made her feel able.

The birds started chirping, the world started waking, the sun started brightening the sky.
The quiet was punctured, (perhaps that was better), and then the thoughts started to fly…

With resolve she stayed focused on what she thought mattered: the good that this new day would bring.
Because in only one hour, or probably less, she had felt her moods climb, fall, and swing.

“Come ON,โ€ she thought loudly above all the chaos, โ€œyou got this, just sit and calm down!โ€
But would sitting there help when annoyance was rising and rage on her face put a frown?

The always-there need to be NOT sitting still then took over. She got in her car.
She wanted to drive fast, away from confusion, away, anywhere, near or far.

She wound up (surprise!) at the cafe in town, as if the paths toward it were paved.
And soon coffee was brewing, her passion renewing. Just maybe the day could be saved.

For her mug full of love was symbolic of passion and all the excitement it brings.
With sugar and milk added for extra goodness, the winter outside became spring!

โ€œAlright,โ€ went her brain-talk, โ€œyou know now youโ€™re able to change your emotional state.โ€
Deep inside, though, she knew her bipolar disorder would get her, would always checkmate.

What was she to do, this mess of a human, when life brings such her up, down, and up?
She takes all the meds and she thinks the right things, she forever fills her coffee cup.

Though the grand fluctuations are now less intense, though the coaster-ride invokes less fear,
The daily uncertainty, constant unsureness, make it hard to know โ€˜normalโ€™ is near.

Yet for all she knows, โ€˜normalโ€™ is just as dramatic, confusing, and full of such flux.
So honestly, why should she bother? She shouldnโ€™t! She shouldnโ€™t give so many fucks.

Now tomorrow is dawning, itโ€™s come to forgive her, to show her a new chance to live.
And yes it will test her, and also will bless her, will prove to the girl it can give.

Because that is tomorrow and that is the next day, thatโ€™s life in a nutshell, you see.
The crazyโ€™s expected, can even be fun, once you realize this you can be free.

Youโ€™re at the edge…do you climb back down, or jump?

Iโ€™ve often described my moods as โ€œprecarious.โ€ I am forever teetering on the edge. I am always as the word is defined: likely to fall or collapse, not securely held in position, dangerous. One wrong thought, one random situational annoyance, one person who treats me unkindly…and I may very well be pushed off the ledge where I am forever perched.

The cliff on which I sit, then, can be thought of as a kind of precipice: a very steep rock face, especially a tall one. It is a hazardous circumstance. It is being close to potential disaster. And the precipice is where I spend most of my time.

A precipice isnโ€™t inherently negative, I donโ€™t think; being on the precipice of change is often a good place to be, but the word โ€˜changeโ€™ is the qualifier that matters here. Itโ€™s the key factor in displaying that the precipice isnโ€™t necessarily always terrible.

I guess what Iโ€™m saying, or asking, or trying to figure out is: must a precipice be precarious? Say that three times fast. But really…

I read a poem recently, and it was titled โ€œThe Precipice.โ€ Itโ€™s author describes her troubled state, detailing how rescue from it is unlikely. Her situation is overwhelming and frightening. But she then comes back with a counter-thought, explaining that she is โ€œa girl with a street education in disaster management and talking [herself] off a ledge.โ€ Iโ€™m not certain the author feels particularly confident, as she ends the poem with โ€œsomethingโ€™s gotta give before I do,โ€ but I interpret this work in my own way. I heard a message in these words, and itโ€™s one that I find useful.

Constantly talking yourself down, using conscious energy in nearly every moment to manage the dangers of imminent disaster, is first and foremost a major accomplishment. I also believe itโ€™s something that gets easier over time. Working on calming down or dealing with chaos, it must change your brain connections, right? Neuroplasticity is a thing. Itโ€™s like positive self-talk, it is powerful. Itโ€™s like working out a muscle, it gets stronger with repetitive use (although itโ€™s probably important to keep in mind that rest is a necessary part of building muscle appropriately).

My next thought is somewhat pessimistic. In my life, with my bipolar disorder, Iโ€™ve learned that the longer you go while experiencing episodes, the more extreme they get. Iโ€™ve read about it. Iโ€™ve experienced it, witnessed it. Itโ€™s been proven to me. So, Iโ€™m left to wonder, will the logic I explained earlier even apply? Is it true that the higher you go the harder you fall?

The optimistic counter argument is an idea Iโ€™ve felt to be true since I hit rock bottom at age 17, when I very nearly gave up the fight against the eating disorder that had me in a choke-hold. I was rescued and subsequently worked hard to get better, and I succeeded, and I internalized the notion that we need to hit an ultimate low in order to trampoline back up. We need to fall, kinetic energy turning into potential energy, to be allowed to bounce back up.

Which perspective is better? The latter is obviously more helpful. But maybe the former can be useful still, so long as you use it as motivation. If I use the facts I learned about bipolar disorderโ€™s progression, if I let it fuel my fire, maybe Iโ€™ll end the dramatic episodes, or at least improve them, and I wonโ€™t see myself descend further into it.