Some Thoughts On Weight, And A Big No-Go To Keto

 Ok, so it’s very well known that bipolar meds, particularly antipsychotics, cause a lot of weight gain. Me personally, I’m carrying about 40 lbs. extra weight, and at my height I was carrying about 80 lbs. I have fretted and moaned about weight gain for over two decades, and I have done some pretty drastic things to get the weight off. I’ve engaged in 8-month liquid diets, and starved myself on highly restrictive keto diets. In all instances, I dropped a lot of weight yet always, each and every time, ended up hospitalized in manic psychosis, and ultimately gained all the weight back.

I read a very disturbing article recently extolling the virtues of the keto diet for people on bipolar meds. I’m here to tell you, for me, drastically reducing carbohydrates has made me nuts. Literally. I’m not sure if this is because I have the thyroid disorder, Graves’ disease, or if it’s because my brain actually needs carbs to stay healthy. But the fact remains if I just allow myself to have reasonable amounts of pasta, rice, potatoes and bread I stay out of the nut hut.

Now, I must be totally honest with you that I caught sight of my body in the mirror the other day and that old thought popped into my head that I need to start restricting carbs again. It’s like I forget all the trauma I went through when I restricted in the past, all the disruption to my life, my marriage, all of that is forgotten in the name of seeing the number on the scale drop lower and lower. I’m getting sick typing this out, perhaps I can harness this feeling and yank myself back into sanity.

For whatever reason, for this bipolar, accepting and staying at this weight where my meds have me settled out right now is the key for me staying sane. My husband and I have a good, balanced diet, where traditional carbs are incorporated into every meal, I just make sure to watch my portion size. I don’t measure or count calories. I do weigh myself, but something like once every two weeks. I do wear kinda baggy clothes to hide my body—but I’ve been trying recently to get more form-fitting things that are more flattering.

Dr. Levy says if I want to safely shed some pounds, increase my cardio. Well, I keep fighting that advice, so there you have it. I guess for now I’ll keep working towards acceptance of my curvy figure. This is the hand I’m dealt with, no use fighting it. I have to use acceptance for a lot of things associated with my bipolar disorder. It’s hard, but I’m working towards peace. 

Hard Mornings

 So I’m having another difficult morning, filled with fear and anxiety about things I can’t quite name. We have had Spring forward daylight savings time and I’m wondering if that’s responsible for the angst I’m feeling right now. I try to remember that Dr. Levy said my evening gabapentin dose has worn off by the morning, so if I just wait until the morning dose kicks in, I’ll soon be fine. But it’s hard getting through these initial hours.

I called mom, as usual, noting the fatigue in her voice this morning, and I’m realizing she is just getting too old to be constantly talking me through these morning anxiety periods. I feel so alone, even though Michael is here, I am alone and afraid. I hate that my 50s have been so challenging, will I get relief in the next decade? 

It’s cold on this Sunday, after days of mild, springlike weather. I’m going to try and divert my attention to another feel-good romance, I keep plowing through them at record speed. I did order a creative non-fiction  writing textbook from the library, on the recommendation from Andy in my writing group. I do have that going for me, my writing circle every Saturday afternoon and I truly treasure that group. I don’t know how long we will keep going, but we are coming up on a year together. Isn’t that great?

Oh my God, I just looked outside and there are snow flurries coming down hard, guess Old Man Winter isn’t done with us yet. Yep, I’ll stay bundled up inside today, and maybe I can talk Michael into ordering a pizza for dinner tonight . I’ve been cooking up a storm lately and I can use a break. I’m starting to feel better, getting my toe-hold back, everything is going to be OK. Maybe I need to stop calling mom in the morning, instead checking in in the afternoon when I’m calm? Something to think about.

That’s it for now. I’m stable, I’m safe. I’ll take that.

Writing Prompt: May The Force Be With You

 Prompt: Write about a movie that made a lasting impression on you.

May The Force Be With You

Some of my memories of my youth are a little fuzzy, but I remember very clearly that warm day in 1977 when my family all piled into our station wagon and went to the now long gone Cinema East movie theater to see Star Wars. I had no idea what to expect, but at age 11, I was a precocious child with lots of energy and I filled with excitement when I saw the huge crowd of people waiting to get into the movie.

To say I was blown away by George Lucas’ masterpiece is an understatement. From the opening scrolling of “A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away” to the end sequence of Luke letting go and using the Force to blow up the evil Death Star, I was captivated in my seat. Afterwards, as we made our way to the car, my brother and I started doing cartwheels in the parking lot, we were so jacked up over what we had seen. 

Throughout the summer of ‘77, my brother and I would take the COTA bus out to the theater, and watch Star Wars over and over again. I would never grow tired of Luke, Leia, Han, Ben Kenobi and Chewy fighting against Darth Vader and the Dark Side. I’ve lost count how many times I’ve seen this movie, 25-30 times? More? Enough that I can do movie quotes, my favorite one being Ben Kenobi saying, “You will never find a more wretched hive of scum and villainy” before leading Luke into the town where they first meet Han Solo.

Perhaps it’s not so surprising that when I first came into AA in the late nineties and was told to seek solace in a Higher Power, I struggled a bit before eventually settling on The Force from Star Wars. Something that bound together rebel fighters, where they would say, “May The Force Be With You” to one another, something that if you believed in it, extraordinary things could happen, enemies could be bested and peace could be found. Importantly, this Force gave me hope. Which is what the original Star Wars chapter is entitled, “A New Hope.”

My Higher Power today, almost 50 years from that summer of ‘77 watching the Force in action, I guess I would describe as a combination of what I have learned from church, my AA community, and yes, George Lucas. Hey, whatever works for each individual is fine, with the important thing being, if all goes well I will celebrate 7 years of sobriety on May 1, so something is working for me. 

We have the Disney channel now, so if I want to watch Star Wars again, it’s available 24/7. But honestly, there’s nothing like seeing that movie on the big screen, in a crowded movie theater, punching your baby brother’s arm because you’re so excited by a soon-to-be classic tale of good versus evil unfolding before your eyes. I’m grateful for the opportunity to have my childhood imagination shaped by Star Wars magic. And I still say today, when the occasion calls for it, “May the force be with you.” Nothing wrong with that.

Touch of Spring

 So temps are in the 70s today, it’s feeling like Spring Has Sprung, though it might be a tad early to say that. I’ll be leaving shortly to take Lily on her afternoon walk, and I’m looking forward to stretching my legs after spending so much time in my recliner. I’m worried about my sedentary nature, yet obviously not pained enough to take any concrete action to change things. It’s kinda like I’ve given up, maybe it’s the toll from the Covid pandemic, maybe it’s the meds….oh, I’m sick of trying to figure it out.

This past weekend I read back over the entries here from 2014, and that just ended up getting me very, very upset. My psychosis then is in full display, I was so very sick and screwing around with my meds, drinking, smoking pot, I was trying to work and failing, my marriage was strained, I just was so screwed up. How many years of my life were wasted by not following directions, abusing substances, not understanding my illness? I’m trying to hold on to AA wisdom, “We will not regret the past nor wish to shut the door on it.” Yet I’m full of regrets right now.

I’m wondering about my blog here, if it’s helpful having episodes recorded here that only seem to cause pain when I read back over them. I guess I’m keeping a track record of my disorder’s cycles, the mania build up, the psychotic grip, then the long, slow recovery. What stage am I in now? I guess this is I’m recovered from the last episode of October 2022-March 2023, and in kind of a calmish, holding pattern if you will. I’ve been here before, August 2017-September 2022 was fairly stable, except for the anxiety plaguing me throughout. 

I want to know the future, how long will this current stability last? I guess no one can say. It’s tough having uncertainty about your sanity hanging over your head, I’m amazed I’ve lived with this for over two decades. It’s no wonder I’m anxious, who wouldn’t be if faced with this situation? Oh how I wish my bipolar didn’t have the psychotic features, the grandiosity attached! Oh well, nothing I can do about it, it is what it is. I’m not going to be ashamed anymore, this illness is not my fault.

I’m sorta rambling today, it’s just been that kind of day. Making Pasta Puttanesca for dinner tonight, then I have Shawn’s sponsees zoom afterwards. I continue to plow through assorted romance novels, I’ve lost count of how many I’ve read since I started last summer. It’s a welcome diversion from angsty thoughts. I guess I’ll leave things here, time to walk Lily. Adios for now.

Writing Prompt: Music That Moves You

 Prompt: Write about a concert you attended that made an impression.

Music That Moves You

So last Friday morning, I awoke early to prepare for my 83 year old mother to pick me up and drive us to the Ohio Theater for a morning dress rehearsal of the Columbus Symphony Orchestra. Both classical music fans, mom and I were eager to hear that morning’s selections of Tchaikovsky’s piano concerto No. 1 as well as some Brahms and a contemporary piece written during the anxious height of the Covid pandemic. 

I was surprised to see how crowded the Ohio Theater was for this, just a dress rehearsal for the big evening performance that night. After procuring some free coffee and doughnuts, we settled into our great seats in about the tenth row. I looked at the people around me, definitely a much older crowd of senior citizens, which wasn’t surprising considering most younger folks are at work at 10:00 a.m. on a weekday. I’ve always felt comfortable around people closer in age to my mom, so I didn’t feel out of place.

The orchestra members looked relaxed on the stage, most dressed in jeans and casual shirts, wearing sneakers or other type of comfortable footwear. Quite different from the formal attire members sport during the evening performances I’ve attended over the years. I felt fortunate to be able to see the performers in this more relaxed atmosphere, though when the guest conductor joined them onstage, they were quickly at attention and ready to start work.

After a brief introduction about the modern classical piece (the name of which alludes me, and programs weren’t handed out), the conductor led the orchestra through it. I guess I would describe it as a haunting yet ultimately hopeful musical depiction of the Covid pandemic, complete with a harpist’s solo and chiming bells to honor all the lives lost. I found while the orchestra was playing my thoughts drifted back to the time of Covid, and how topsy turvy everything was. I felt grateful I had made it through it, and was thankful the orchestra could again assemble for performances.

Next up was the beloved Tchaikovsky piano concerto No. 1, my whole reason for going with mom to the rehearsal, and boy, the young female pianist performing with the orchestra did not disappoint. It’s a rousing, passionate piece, and mom reached for my hand and squeezed it tightly. I felt completely connected with mom and the music, letting myself get swept up in the emotion of the piano chords dancing with the violins and the rest of the orchestra. Tchaikovsky is definitely my favorite classical composer, and I’m definitely partial to music featuring the piano, seeing as I labored in piano classes when I was a young child. I’m sure you would recognize this famous concerto, it’s been featured in many movies throughout the years. Our Columbus orchestra did a wonderful job with it.

The final selection was Brahms, and I must admit I wasn’t a fan. It was a little too structured and uptight, so I nudged mom gently and whispered could we depart early. She obliged, so we crept out and in the lobby, held hands and both said how much we enjoyed the rehearsal and made plans to catch another one on April 5. Not wanting to end our morning jaunt, I convinced mom to come with me next door to the wonderful Peanut Shoppe, where I purchased bags of assorted roasted nuts and chocolate covered goodies to enjoy with my husband throughout the week. 

As I sit here listening to the Tchaikovsky piece on Apple Music, I’m realizing how lucky I am to have heard it performed live by an excellent orchestra. Thanks go to mom for alerting me about it, and organizing us to get down to the Ohio Theater. I loved the more relaxed atmosphere of a morning dress rehearsal and I’m eager to go to another one. Up next is Beethoven, Hayden and Mozart. And another visit to the Peanut Shoppe, of course!

Some Progress On Anxiety Treatment

 So here we are in the beginning of March and I’ve spent a month working with new therapist Matt on addressing my anxiety disorder and how crippling it’s been. He’s utilizing Accelerated Resolution Therapy (ART) eye movement techniques to help me process highly traumatic/anxious moments in my life, and I must say I’m feeling some real relief. ART is a way to reprogram painful memories and I’m hoping bring about ripple effects to calm my ever-present anxious fear I have. 

Doing ART plus taking the Gabapentin appears to be really helping me so far. I feel like I have a toe-hold again, and that I don’t have to spend hours upon hours trapped in my recliner ruminating about catastrophic future scenarios. I’m waiting for Spring to come so I can start walking around the neighborhood; maybe finally find a pool and start doing water exercise? The latter might be out of reach, but I can certainly walk around here. 

Dr. Levy is always telling me to exercise more, but alas, I’ve grown quite sedentary in my 50s. I know movement can help cut through anxiety and improve mood, but as you know I’ve got to push through my highly sedating med cocktail and I just don’t seem to have the energy to do so. At least though I’m getting out every afternoon to walk Lily, so I’m not a complete slug. 

Michael and his brother continue to shoulder the caretaking responsibilities for his mother and I’m not as stressed about that as I was. Whatever will happen will happen, we will somehow resolve our car issues, I’m leaning on the AA philosophy of letting go of trying to control outcomes. I still get a tightening in my stomach whenever Michael’s phone rings but I find if I do some deep breathing it helps.

 This anxiety disorder of mine will not be cured over night, there probably isn’t a cure, but at least I’m working on it. I’m grateful I found Matt, and really, really proud of myself for getting up the nerve to leave Fetter after 7 years to try something new. I really think I’ll be able to see tangible progress on things, at least I’m hopeful about it. 

Best of all, my bipolar is under complete control, and let’s not forget how wonderful that is! My moods are completely stable, no lows or manic highs, I’m sleeping extremely well. Next month will mark one year since those last vestiges of manic psychosis had a grip on me, so I can say I’m pretty much recovered from that last episode/incident. I’m relieved.

All that’s left is to get this anxiety under control, and I’m realizing I will always have some anxiety to contend with, that is inevitable. I just don’t want to feel it so acutely, so here’s hoping my treatment of it will have some success. OK, that’s all for now. Welcome March 2024.

Writing Prompt: Is It Safe?

Prompt: Write about your “safe space.”

Is It Safe?

So I took some time yesterday and this morning to read over past entries on my blog, Bipolar Bared, all the way through to last January. It was eye-opening, kinda unsettling to read between the lines and see my psychosis evident last winter, then me coming out of it in the Spring, around the time we started our creative writing group. I can see clearly the bipolar grandiosity, plus disruption in my sleep, the telltale sign that mania has its hooks in me. And then I detail coming back to reality, and all that confusion realizing I’ve been through a major psychic clusterfuck, where I was blaring rock music in the car and talking out loud to myself, thinking I was under observation and being recorded, and people were sending messages to me through their license plates and car decals.

This week’s writing assignment is to write about our “safe space,” and that’s incredibly challenging for me to describe, as I never have felt truly safe since 2002, when I had my first manic psychotic episode. I’ve been rocked by repeated episodes ever since, which used to occur approximately every two years, but since getting completely sober and religiously med compliant in 2017, I’ve been able to cobble together much longer stretches of time in relative sanity.

I don’t feel safe because I’m constantly on edge that another episode will occur, when I don’t know, what will happen to me in it, I don’t know either. I pay big bucks to a top psychiatrist to keep me sufficiently medicated enough that psychosis is kept at bay, but he does not give me certainty that I’ll never have to experience psychosis again. I’ve just started working with a new therapist who is going to use an eye movement therapy to help me process all the trauma I feel from having gone through repeated episodes and hospitalization. Will this therapy help me stay stable, can I get say ten years between psychotic episodes? I don’t know.

I do often look at my husband, when we are sitting in the TV room, and ask, “Is everything OK?” To which he always replies, “Yes, honey.” I think what I’m really asking is, “Are we safe? Am I safe?” Because I’m always, it seems, living in fear that my sanity is going to be snatched away from me, and I’ll turn into a wanderer, picking up trash outside, and talking out loud to imaginary cameras I think are filming me.

I think my biggest challenge is figuring out how to feel safe in light of the likelihood that psychosis will happen to me again. I’m definitely not there yet, but I have put things in place to assist me. Like I mentioned, I have a new therapist who I meet weekly to work on my past episodes. I also have sponsor Shawn, who I meet weekly at a local Starbucks where we discuss my fears of losing my mind again and he helps me to laugh and realize there are some pretty colorful other people out there. I’m definitely not alone, and in many cases my episodes pale in comparison to some other individuals’ experiences.

So no, I don’t have a true “safe space” that I can think of, though this worn, brown recliner I’m presently parked on is very, very comfortable. Perhaps I should have devoted my writing today on a reflection of my beloved brown chair, but it feels good to give you some more insight on me and my struggles. I would like to end with the firm declaration that I have always felt safe to share in our writing group, so maybe I have indeed carved out a kind of “safe space” on Saturday afternoons. Thanks, gents, for making this possible.