My manuscript

Sometimes when I think about it, I get all excited to sit down at my computer and start writing again. Especially after receiving feedback from the few individuals who I've asked to read it. When they say it's good, that it's really good, it motivates me so much.

Then life gets in the way.

Diapers need changed, meals need to be served, baths need to be given, stories need read, little ones need to be tucked in.

And after all that, I'm usually too exhausted to open up my manuscript and write. There just aren't enough hours in the day, it seems.

Do I at least get points for thinking about it? Because I think about it a lot. Usually more than once a day.

Sometimes I think I should sit down and at least outline the major points I hope to cover in this story of living my life as a parent with bipolar disorder. You know, an intro, middle and ending. Tie it up with a neat little bow.

The last person who read it and sent me feedback {incredible, detailed, awesome feedback, let me just say} had a good point: it's hard to outline the book because it's not finished yet. I'm still living this life that I am writing about.

Speaking of not being finished. My husband and I are so incredibly grateful to have two precious little ones, a girl and a boy, nonetheless. Sometimes I think we hit the jackpot. Especially since I took medication during my second pregnancy. But I had a surprising feeling emerge after the birth of our daughter.

I don't think I'm done yet.

Surprising because I had intense morning sickness during her pregnancy. So much so, that I took Zofran for six weeks. I had early contractions that sent me to the hospital for monitoring overnight, not once, but twice before she was born. I had awful heartburn almost daily, a bladder that constantly felt as if it were going to explode, and a good night's sleep was distant, distant memory.

But the day after she was born, I knew I could do it again. My husband used to say that he always wanted to have three kids. He and I were both the product of 2-kid families, and I could see his interest in maybe adding another to the mix, but I thought I only wanted two myself. After we found out she was a girl I proclaimed we were done. Then she arrived and I instantly forgot about all the discomfort that the pregnancy caused.

I think you just have that feeling as a woman. You know when you are done and when you're not. And I don't think I'm done yet, plain and simple.

Know it or not, we're not planning on crossing that bridge yet. And so the story isn't truly finished yet. If we do go on to have another child, one thing is for sure: I will continue on Lithium during the entire pregnancy. There is an increased risk of a heart defect, but the benefit of my staying on medication - the medication that works so well for me - vastly outweighs the risk of taking the medication during a pregnancy, for me. For me, and the experience I've had thus far, it's a no-brainer.

So for now, I will go to the manuscript from time to time to tweak and write, but my focus at the moment will be this blog and reaching people through this medium. There are so many ways to reach people, and I hope one day to be in print, but right now I think that one of the best ways is through blogging about my journey.

I will blog on.

On friendship

"A day without a friend is like a pot without a single drop of honey left inside."

~ Winnie the Pooh

I remember a conversation I had with my mom about friendship back when I was in high school, probably about 16 years ago or more. I was describing to her how my relationship with one of my friends had changed, and how it made me sad.

She sympathized with me and explained that as the years go by, my friendships will evolve. Some people would remain in our lives forever, and we would grow closer and closer. And others would slowly fade away, leaving only the memories behind to savor.

Looking back now, I can understand exactly what she was trying to teach me.

I have several friends - people I have known for fifteen or more years - who I don't get a chance to see more than once a year if I'm lucky given the distance between us. The best man from our wedding and his wife are two of them. He had a work conference this week and so they came to visit and stay with us this past weekend so that we could catch up and visit with each other. We hadn't yet been able to meet each other's youngest, and our two older ones had only ever met once before that.

The beautiful thing about our friendship with them is that it's easy. We can come together after not having seen each other in a few years, and it's like we haven't skipped a beat.

Those are the absolute best friendships to have, in my opinion.

We talked and laughed and reminisced. Took hundreds of pictures and stayed up late playing board games. Our daughter was smitten with our friend and would walk over to him with her head back and arms lifted high up towards his head to be picked up. She doesn't do this to anyone other than me or my husband. We hung out on the deck and had drinks and dinner. We threw all four kids in the big tub and watched them splash around in the bubbles, smiles all around. We shared little stories about them, our favorite iphone/ipad apps, and had lots of quality playtime.

In short, it was the best weekend ever.

We're both celebrating ten years of marriage next year. The guys were each other's best man. To honor this milestone, they invited us to join them on a vacation sometime in the Spring of 2013. Adults-only. The kiddos will get some quality time with the grandparents. {get excited, grandparents} Oh yeah. We're in.

We're so in.

And although we may not get the chance to get together again before then, it won't make a difference. We'll pick back up right where we left off.

Because that's what great friends do.

"Friends are the most important part of your life. Treasure the tears, treasure the laughter, but most importantly, treasure the memories." - Dave Brenner

Two years ago today

It's been two years to the day today that I was last hospitalized for a manic episode.

And what a storm it was. I had just found out I was pregnant and thus was so excited I couldn't sleep for a week. You see, it had taken us ten months to conceive the little lady and being the impatient, total Type-A person I am, that was just way too long.

When I don't get enough sleep, it leads to mania. My thoughts race out of control, I start talking in circles, and I lose touch with reality. My husband knew the signs all too well. He knew what needed to be done.

Within thirty minutes, his mom was here to help with our 18-mo old son, and the EMT's and two police officers were standing in our bedroom trying to talk me into going with them to the hospital. When I wouldn't consent, my husband signed some papers, and they cuffed me and put me in the squad car. Luckily this time it was pitch black outside and they didn't have their flashing lights on. So hopefully the neighbors didn't see and think I was being arrested.

Crazy how far I've come in those two years. I've learned so much over these past six years living with bipolar disorder. I've learned how important my family is to me, I've learned which friends care enough to actually talk with me about what I've been going through, and most of all I've learned that I can overcome this "mental illness" to make my dreams a reality.

Six years ago I was so crippled by depression and anxiety that at times I didn't want to go on. I was being so selfish, but I saw how my condition was affecting my family and I hated that I kept bringing everyone around me down because of my mood. I felt like I had lost my identity because the career I had worked so hard to build over the past four years came to a screeching halt after my second hospitalization. I couldn't handle the pressure at work any longer - the pressure that had pushed me to work harder and smarter over the years was now causing panic attacks and driving me deeper and deeper into depression.

Ultimately, I had to resign from my job and with that I felt like I was a nobody. I was worthless. I was sad. I didn't feel like there was anything worth living for.

Looking back, it basically took me all of 2006 to pick myself up again. I went through so many weeks of crying hard every.single.night. It's hard for me to think about what my parents and husband went through during that year. I don't know if I would have been strong enough to stay positive and supportive to someone who was so incredibly sad.

But they did. And Thank God they did. I am eternally grateful to them.

I never would have imagined that I would be where I am today without the love and encouragement of my dad, mom, and husband. Along with my in-laws, brother, two sisters-in-law, and a handful of close friends, I trudged through 2006 and made it into 2007. I made it to see another day.

And now I know that there is so much to live for.

I am so thankful to have found a medication that works for me. I know that I am lucky. I take my medication religiously and stay on top of my moods to make sure I continue to stay stable. I have too much going for me to end up in the hospital again. I don't want to miss a second of this life.

Because it really is too short when you think about it.

Insta-Friday

I am officially addicted to reading blogs. I could spend hours online pouring over blog after blog, laughing/crying/screaming YES!, etc. along with the woman who wrote it, and commenting to add my thoughts/feelings and a link to my own blog in case they are interested in my story. There are so many incredible stories out there. And so many amazing women behind those stories. Pouring their hearts out to those willing to listen. My friend Kim who blogs at MakeMommyGoSomethingSomething, is one of those women. She was recently nominated for for BlogHer voice of the year in the “heart” category. . . Go check it out. I have a feeling once you read her post, you'll immediately want to vote for her. She's such a talented writer.

A new blog I recently started reading is Life Rearranged written by Jeannette, a mama of a little boy and twin girls. She does a weekly link-up series called Insta-Friday and since I have been taking a bunch of Instagram pics lately, I figured what better time than now to join in the fun?

{from top left: Hubby and little man built a block garage for his Mater truck, Easter sugar cookies baked & decorated, baby Girl's Easter dress courtesy of Grandma, little man's Easter suit, Easter eggs filled & ready to drop off at church for the egg hunt, cooking up some din-din, first time baby girl sported piggies!, Rice Krispies as an afternoon snack, little man setting up a tea party}

Things my kids can teach me

My kids can teach me to appreciate the little things. That it can be really fun to:

• Enjoy a cool fruit popsicle on a hot summer afternoon. {Or better yet, an ice cream sandwich.}
• Build a tower from wooden blocks. {Then promptly knock it down. Repeat many times.}
• Splash around in a warm bubble bath at the end of the day.
• Run around the playground without a care in the world.
• Chase and pop bubbles floating in the breeze.
• Get super excited for holidays like Valentine's Day and Halloween; the excitement surrounding the big ones is just out of control.
• Walk around and admire {and smell} animals at the zoo.

But most of all, each and every day, my babies can remind me that pretty much everything can be fixed with a hug and a kiss. {Mostly thanks to sibling spats that I am constantly breaking up every fifteen to twenty minutes, every day of every week.}

But hey, it's the little things. Right?

Linking up with Kathy of Mama's Losing It!

Secret Mommy-hood Confession Saturday

I haven't seen my therapist in probably nine months or more.

Husband took a new job {yay, nice pay jump! shorter commute!} back in June of last year, and when our health insurance benefits changed, I got lazy about looking into the coverage we had for therapy. Plus, I have been doing great, so I didn't think we needed to shell out the moo-lah just for me to sit and talk about myself for 45 minutes every month.

But, I secretly miss it.

I enjoy talking about myself. {does this make me a shallow person? God, I hope not. I like to listen to other people talk about themselves too. This is why I am a blog addict.} And I think it's fun to bounce ideas off my therapist. I had dinner with a friend of mine earlier this week and felt so bad afterwards because I basically chewed her ear off for almost three hours. {Note to self: need to work on being a better listener. friends are not a substitute for a therapist.} Hence, I have realized that maybe I should make that therapy appointment so that I don't wear my friend's ears out.

And so, I am going to call my therapist's office first thing Monday morning to get an appointment. Who-hoo!! I'm excited about therapy! (As an added bonus, she gives a good hug at the end of each visit. She's sweet like that.)

Oh, and I'm also excited that this is my first link-up with Kim. She rocks. I *heart* her. Read her blog. This gal has a way with words. Plus, she's freaking hilarious.

Happy weekend everyone!

{Husband graciously took the kids to their favorite nearby farm to see the animals so that I could write in a quiet house this morning.  He texted me this picture. I love him to pieces.}

I remember when I lost my mind for a reason

I remember when, I remember

I remember when I lost my mind

There was something so pleasant about that place

Even your emotions have an echo in so much space

~ Gnarls Barkley: "Crazy" lyrics

Whenever this song comes on the radio, or "Unwell" by Rob Thomas for that matter, I think of my the time I spent in the hospital. Having to be committed against your will, to get well because you cannot help yourself, is a very humbling experience.

I remember some significant moments about the last hospitalization. Specifically, how when my husband had to call 911 to have them come and take me, I pleaded with the EMT's and police officers to let me introduce my son to them. I was so excited for him to get to meet an actual police officer in person. He had such a fascination with police cars, fire trucks and ambulances. Such a typical little boy. My mother-in-law was in the nursery with him, trying to get him to go back to sleep. He had been sleeping, but woke up to all the commotion I was causing in my fight to not go to the hospital. My baby, at only 18 months old, was so sheltered from what was happening to his mommy. My other baby, the one that was just a tiny little miracle in my belly which we had found out about only the week before, would never know that her mommy needed to get well before she would ever be able to take care of two little babies.

I was the textbook definition of "crazy", and needed the medical attention I could only receive in the hospital to be able to come home and focus on my health so that I could be the best mommy to my little boy. I like to think that I retain some of the clear memories that I have from my hospitalizations so that I remember how important it is to stay on my medication and see my doctor and therapist regularly.

These days, I like to sing those songs when they come on over the radio.  They remind me that bipolar disorder is just a part of who I am, and it doesn't define me as a person. I think I experienced those four hospitalizations for a reason, and I am a stronger person because of them.

Just a few thoughts on stigma

{From wikipedia} Social stigma: a severe social disapproval of personal characteristics or beliefs that are against cultural norms.

Sometimes I wonder if other moms would think differently of me if they knew I was living with a Bipolar Disorder diagnosis.

I read a brief article online last night about a woman writer who is Bipolar, but she strongly advises people who have the same condition to not reveal their true identity online for fear of being looked down upon by their employers, discriminated against, and ignored - simply because they are living with a mental illness.

As much as it saddens me to do so, I guess I would have to agree with her. Just makes me so frustrated to read those words, and know that so many people probably think and feel just as she describes.

I also get upset when I see so much - I mean so much - support online for women who have suffered Postpartum Depression, but not nearly any support for people like me whose moods tend to lean more heavily on the complete opposite end of the happy/sad spectrum. (Please, please don't get me wrong - I think it is incredible that there are so many resources out there for women dealing with PPD and so many amazing women willing to share their stories in order for others to see the light at the end of the tunnel.)

I guess I'm just a bit sad that A) there isn't nearly as much awareness for PPP than there is for PPD and B) there is such a negative connotation about the diagnosis "bipolar disorder" in general. Makes me really scared to ever reveal myself to anyone other than my family and my closest friends.

One of the biggest things I've been turning over and over in my head lately is that I didn't ask to be diagnosed with Bipolar Disorder. It's just like someone being diagnosed with a brain tumor or breast cancer. They didn't ask for it to happen to them. It just did. And now it's their life and they have to learn to live with it.

And people who are diagnosed with brain tumors or breast cancer sometimes start campaigns to raise awareness about their conditions and they do fundraisers to donate money to organizations fighting for cures for their diseases.

But if I tried to do that - even just the awareness part - I could be ostracized and looked down upon, and maybe would never be hired to work in my previous profession again.

How is that fair???

That's all for now. Yawning non-stop here and need to hit the sack. I guess I'll sleep on it.

Checking in with the doc & Kony 2012

Had a checkup with my psychiatrist today. I brought the kids with me since it's only a 30 minute appointment and it was right at 12pm, so I fed them before we left and brought the ipad to try to keep them occupied. She brought in a few toys for my little man to play with and my daughter sat in the stroller happily tapping away at the ipad. A tiny bit distracting, but nothing a mom of two toddlers isn't used to. I like how my doctor asks about my writing. She knows it is important to me and she supports my voice. My last psychiatrist didn't read my book draft since I became emotional during the one appointment when I told her about it, handing her the draft to read. She told me at the next visit that she hadn't read it since I became so upset. The fact that she didn't read it (or so she said) made me sad. I was handing her a glimpse into my thoughts, feelings, and emotions having lived with bipolar disorder and she turned around and told me what felt like "you're not worth my time outside of paid appointments."

I would have stopped seeing her, but didn't really have a choice since insurance was covering my visits at almost 90%. So I stuck with her until our insurance changed and I was forced to find a new doctor. I was lucky enough to find a very good one whose office is only 5 minutes from our house.

We talked about my mood during today's visit and I admitted I've had some hypomanic periods over the past two months, but they are manageable. I always have a good sense of awareness about my moods and when I feel an elevated period, I know that I need to get more sleep and nap when the kids nap. I take Ambien if my mind is still buzzing when I know it's bedtime. I'm also fortunate in that my husband stays on top of things too and encourages me to get rest when he knows I need it. We work as a team to keep me healthy and I like that.

My doctor and I discussed the recent news of the Kony 2012 movement and how Jason Russell, the filmmaker who was the voice of the campaign, was recently hospitalized in California under a 5150 psychiatric hold. He was trying to raise awareness about a horrible war that was going on which most Americans probably knew absolutely nothing about until news of the viral video his organization created hit the evening news. When I first watched the video two weeks ago, I'll be the first to admit, I was kindof shocked by the message of "Making Joseph Kony famous". But then it hit me. What better way to slap the world in the face to get them to realize how much shear devastation this one person has caused to so many innocent children? The campaign had a call to action too. They want to get the word out to have Kony arrested and put to justice. By the end of the 30-minute video I was a follower. I even shared it on my Facebook wall, encouraging my friends to watch it.

And then the story broke on Friday about Jason's detainment by police after he was found naked on the streets shouting obscenities and pounding the pavement with his hands. The first thing I did was remove the share post of the Invisible Children Kony 2012 campaign from my Facebook wall.

How incredibly narrow-minded and judgmental of me to act in such haste. I immediately didn't want to be associated with the guy just because he had suffered a public mental breakdown? Wow. Talk about needing to have an introspective weekend.

All I could do was think back, all weekend long, about how his story has some similar characteristics to my own. Not nearly on the same scale, of course, but in small part, similar. At the time of my first psychotic episode, I was under a great deal of stress from my career and the goals management had set for me in the coming year, in addition to being in the midst of an emotional affair with a co-worker and mid-way through building a brand new single-family house with my husband. Talk about having a lot on my plate.

I feel so blessed to have had the support I did when I went through that most trying time of my life (and theirs, I'm sure.) My husband did not abandon me, my parents and in-laws wrapped their arms around me in support, and my closest friends were there to listen to what I was going through whenever I needed to talk. I was so lucky that I didn't have to suffer in the public eye like Jason is right now.

I'm sure there were things said behind my back by people wondering what the heck was going on with me. But I didn't have to read about it online or hear about it on the news like his friends and family are doing right now. I pray that they don't read or hear the negative words being thrown about on the Internet and news talk shows, and that if they do, that it only strengthens their defense for him and their efforts to help him get well. I'm praying for him. He's done so much good work. He does not deserve all the hate. Not one bit of it.

I am not proud of my initial reaction to what happened to him. I wanted to write about it here to help teach myself, someone who suffers from a mental illness which caused four psychiatric hospital stays, not to turn my back on someone because they are going through a trying time. Let this be a learning experience to myself and the other 83 million people who watched the video. Don't turn away because I believe that some people come into our lives as blessings, and others come into our lives as lessons.

Making the most of time

Do you ever wonder how much time you have left? Not to sound morbid, although there isn't really another fitting adjective, but I tend to think fairly often about life and our time on this Earth. I often wonder if I'm making the most with the time I've been given. God, I sure hope so.

I mean, of course, I am first and foremost a loving (and often nagging) wife and mother to the three most important people in my life. I'm also a daughter, sister, granddaughter, aunt, cousin, and friend to so many special people who I love. And I love these roles with all of my heart and then some. But yet, there is still a part of me longs to be something more. To do something incredible with my life.

I guess I want to be remembered for making a difference.

I'm reading an amazing book right now - A Million Miles in a Thousand Years by Donald Miller. It's all about how he learned how to edit his life to create a better life for himself simply by using the tools storytellers use to tell great stories. Early on in the book there was a part that struck me. It talked about how we have so many memories that we create throughout our lives, but how many of them actually stick with us? I know that for many of us, the memories that stand out are probably the unique experiences we've had and the people we shared them with. And I also know that life can't always be full of extraordinary events such as skydiving or swimming with dolphins or the birth of your children or the loss of a dear friend to cancer.

In my reality it's full of diaper changes and messy breakfast dishes in the sink, rushing off to preschool mid-week. There is laundry to be washed and folded and groceries to be unloaded from the car while sleepy babies doze in the backseat. After naps in the afternoons the kids bring me books to read and they both plop down on my lap, one on each leg until my foot falls asleep, and we read Goodnight Moon and Green Eggs and Ham and they never get tired of it. Neither do I. I love to smell their soft necks and kiss their chubby pink cheeks. I say, "I love you" to each of them so many times throughout the day and I never get tired of it. These are the little moments I wish I could bottle up tight and revisit from time to time.

And yet, they pass by so quickly, without time to document them all as I would like. Keeping my journals is one way I've captured some intensely stressful and emotional periods in my life and I am so grateful to have them to look back at to remind me how far I've come.

I do want to I want my life to be a great story.

But for now, I'll immerse myself in the sweet precious moments of my everyday life. Because so far I feel like it is a really great story. And it only gets better with time.

Psych ward socks

I have a confession to make. I still wear the hideously ugly, ill-fitting, but somehow comfy, psych ward socks. Weird, right?

They are grey and have those no-slip grippy things on the bottom just like my kids' socks and they bunch up awkwardly at the ankles. But yet I still have them in my sock drawer and I still reach for them when I go to pick out a pair of socks.

You would think that they would bring back horrible, terrible, awful memories of being locked up in a mental hospital against my will. Taken away from my babies so that I could get well. But that's just it: I needed to be there. To get well. So I guess that is what I think about when I put them on. How I got well when I wore them.

I can remember the last time I was in the hospital and my Dad and husband came to visit one evening. I don't know what it was that I said, but I can remember clear as day my husband saying to me, "You could ask them for another pair of those cozy socks"  and it makes me smile.

I did ask the nurse's station for another pair, and I must have asked for a third and fourth pair while I was there because there are four pairs of those pathetically ugly pairs of socks in my sock drawer: three grey and one blue. Would've been nice to have a pink pair, you know, for a flash of color in all the blah neutral.

Sometimes when I'd run out to grab the mail in the afternoon while the kids napped, I would worry that the neighbors would see me in my psych ward socks and then they'd just know. That was then. But I am starting to not care anymore. And it feels good.

Besides, how would a crummy pair of grippy hospital socks tip them off?

I have decided to make some changes and move towards putting my real name and face on this blog. If I am ever going to help erase stigma, I cannot hide behind an anonymous blog. That just doesn't make any sense whatsoever.

A good friend of mine who I recently trusted to read my blog sent me an email saying that she thinks that it will be an amazing resource for people that are going through what I went through and are also scared to get pregnant.  She went on to tell me in an email that she thinks I am an inspiration for people in the community because I am living proof that someone can manage the disease, have healthy children and an amazing, fulfilling life. She made me start to realize that it is important that I am trying to do what I'm aspiring to do one day through this blog. And I believe a big part of that is showing my true identity. I owe her a great deal of thanks for her encouraging support. It means so much to me.

But I'm not ready to do it all at once. Bear with me. Call it suspense, if it makes it more fun.  Call me a scaredy cat. I'll just call it me being nervous. Whatever. I'll get there.

Let's start with this. Baby steps. Me in my psych ward socks this morning.

Just average

Lately I've been finding so many incredible mommy bloggers out there who are such brilliant writers. They tell their stories with such creativity and raw emotion that I find myself becoming so envious of their ability to say exactly what is on their minds and say it so succinctly and usually with a humorous spin. Not only that, but also the personable touch of  having put themselves out there for the world to see, pictures of their families included, along with beautiful portraits of their smiling faces (usually somewhere in the upper left or right corners followed by a quick text bio.) Why can't that be me?

I realize that to improve on something, you must dedicate yourself to practicing that skill. You must set aside time every day to work hard at getting better. "Practice makes perfect" is a phrase I often heard growing up in regard to my lack of dedication to playing those black and white keys. Just another extra-curricular activity I ended up dropping during my childhood.

My excuses these days are that the kids take up my time during the day that by the end of the day I am so wiped out from having been run ragged by two little monsters for 14 hours straight, the last thing I want to do is sit at my computer and write. More like take a bath with a glass of wine instead.

I've been reading so many other amazing blogs that I've lost focus for my own blog. And I had big dreams for this blog. Still do.

I'm going to work on writing more often. It may not be pretty, but I want to start to make it a habit to come here and write about what is on my mind. One blog I've been reading lately does a link-up on Tuesdays called Just Write in which she encourages other bloggers to spend some time writing "in the moment" which is a new exercise I am going to try.

I'm going to do a mini version of it right now because I do have something on my mind.

During the last date my husband and I went on which was a few weeks ago, I mentioned to him how I wanted to get better at writing and photography. It occurred to me that I have always had a love of everything artistic, ever since I was very young. And yet, in college I was too timid to truly follow my heart for fear of failing and not being able to support myself as a "starving artist". Turns out, in the recruiting business I ended up in, I saw first-hand how challenging it was for graphic designers and writers to launch their careers on a decent salary and at that point in my life I was grateful that I had chosen to follow a more lucrative career path.

Our conversation shifted to the kids. We both agreed that we want to try our best to encourage and support them no matter what field or career the choose to pursue. I have a feeling that this will be tough for me, as I have an underlying ability to speak my opinion on any and everything involving my children. It's another thing I am working on.

I aspire someday to be recognized for being a voice that helps other people. And I hope that by that time I am able to do that through words, pictures and maybe even video, as some of my fellow bloggers do right now. I have so much respect for you, ladies. Keep on writing because you all inspire me and so many other people through your heartfelt words. (Check them out by clicking through my blogroll, right sidebar.)

That's all for now from me, just your average mommy blogger.