I Know Me

So I'm Bipolar? So what? It's what I have, not who I am. I'm learning to understand the impact of that statement. For those not familiar with Bipolar, it's easy to sit in judgement and just label me crazy. Well honey, I AM crazy and it has nothing to do with my medical diagnosis. I'm bold, spontaneous, opinionated and assertive. I should follow that with "I am woman, hear me roar" but that is so overused. Instead I'll just say, I am who I am...take it or leave it. If you take it, you're the kind of person I want to be around. You have strength, compassion and the fortitude to accept people for who they are. If you leave, it's your loss. Because even though I've been so lost for so long, I'm rediscovering myself. And I'm definitely a somebody.

The reserve of strength I have is surprising, even to me. I'll thank God for that. Only a Grand Creator could have bestowed such a wonderful gift because it's definitely not something learned or conditioned. By any standards, I should be in the fetal position, crying my eyes out and throwing the biggest pity party complete with confetti. But I'm not. I'm moving forward.

I have spent the day thinking that my life is in limbo, the result of waiting on someone else's decision to propel or deflate my current mood and life course. This is not the case. I am not responsible for others' actions or behaviors. I refuse to be at the mercy of anyone. I can only control me. And I will not crumble or allow my happiness to be decided by others.

Yes, I am a mother and a daughter and a sister. But above all else, I am Becky. A woman who finds humor in the oddest of places. A woman who believes in the power of sisterhood. A woman who can bounce back from anything.

My Sons

Let me share with you about my children. I have two sons. 11 and 7. The proverbial lights of my life. Even though I threaten to sell them to a family from time to time. They are two entirely different children. Inside and out.

The oldest,Hayden, is very tall with a big build. He wears a size 10 in men's shoes. At 11!! Beautiful green eyes (like mine) and dark blonde hair. His sense of humor is amazing and well advanced although 4th grade boy humor is the norm. He's very witty, jovial, compassionate, kind and sensitive. And he has this giggle...every time I hear it, a lump catches in my throat and my heart swells like the Grinch's at Christmas. He's such a fast learner with an aptitude for science and math. He's obsessed with Pokemon thus I know more about the subject than any 33 year old woman should. He dreams of being a marine biologist. I see him being a wonderful teacher. He's affectionate and loving. People are drawn to him. As a toddler, he didn't know a stranger. Would walk up and shake anyone's hand and introduce himself. We would joke that he was running for office. I'd vote for him.

Roman is my youngest. With a fair complexion and deep blue eyes, he's a heartbreaker. Fair complected is an understatement. He's almost white. I swear the boy couldn't sneak up on a tan. He has a dusting of freckles across his nose and seems to have an endless reserve of energy. He's muscular and athletic. He's has amazing artistic abilities. The child can draw, paint, color and create for hours. He loves school. He's quite withdrawn, not nearly as affectionate as his brother. Unless, of course, it's bedtime. Then he'll get up 3, 4 or 15 times for goodnight hugs and kisses. He thinks he's fooling me. He's still young enough that reverse psychology works on him. Anything green on his plate at dinner that he doesn't want to eat, forbid him to eat more than 3 bites. He'll clean his plate. I'm sure I only have a few more months of this kind of control and the only thing green I'll be able to get in him will be of the gummi nature. He loves Ranch dressing. On everything. I buy it in bulk.

Watching the two of them grow, learn and interact makes me happy to be their mother. They are both destined for great things. I only pray that I can nurture their spirits and expand their worlds. If there is one thing I want them to learn from me, it's the importance of loving yourself. If they love themselves half as much as I love them, they'll be doing wonderfully.

From Where I'm Sitting

My life came to a screeching standstill on February 7th. After much deliberation, evaluation and recommendation from the administration of a local hospital, I am undergoing group psychotherapy at the nearest mental institution. Sounds grave, doesn't it? Mental Health Facility. That's sounds so much more PC and so much calmer and less scary. Screw that. I'm undergoing a partial hospitalization program at a mental institution! Complete with craft exercises. And cafeteria food. College had to be put on hold as has my job and most of my social interaction except for those in the group. A diverse collection to say the least. Lost souls seeking redirection.

Today was day three. I went in with a open yet broken mind and I'm glad I did. I'm learning a lot. I'm allowing myself the time to heal. I'm not useful to anyone if I don't take the time to fix me. By whatever means that involves, popular opinion be damned. While the doctor scrambles to adjust my medications to levels I can live with, I'm busy finding comfort in purging my demons to 7 perfect strangers and a staff of mental health professionals. My biggest revelation? No...nothing profound. It's just a simple fact that it's so much easier to share with complete honesty with people who are just as screwed up as I am.

I'm okay with making light of the fact that I screwed up. I think everyone is to some degree. Some hide it better than others. Some are heavily medicated. And the rest...they're just fooling themselves. I'm not looking for a "normal" life. I want a happy life as defined by me. And I'm learning that happiness is in the little moments. That moment you find a parking space close to the store entrance. That moment you find money in the pocket of a coat you haven't worn in months. That moment your child insists on a band-aid for a barely there hangnail. Those moments that are few and far between but make you smile from somewhere so deep inside that you wish you could bottle the feeling. Life is everything in between those moments. It's monotonous, tedious, draining and at times, downright hard and ugly. They build our strength and give us character - and on a really bad day, an intense migraine. But ah...those moments.

So I'm focusing on me for a while. I'm sick and like any sickness, I need treatment and time to heal. I don't need gossip and ridicule. I need support and encouragement. I'm not ashamed of my mental disorder. It doesn't define me. It's a part of me. A very small part. As for what makes up the rest of me...I'm still discovering that.

Going Under

I feel restricted. Writing this blog. I had different expectations. That I would write and just purge myself of everything. But I'm caught up in censoring myself....

I'm battling demons. Who isn't? My demons have haunted me for years. For as long as I can remember. And now, at 33, I struggle with daily tasks and managing the spectrum of emotions the human soul is capable of processing. There is no balance, no normalcy, no idealist notion that "all is well". I am bipolar. I accept the label and understand the stigma. My mind races. My body tires. My moods -unpredictable. I'm exhausted and I'm starting to realize, exhausting. I take daily medications and go through bouts of therapy when necessary. A lot of resources have been spent maintaining a life that, from the inside, I don't even recognize.

I'm not who I was supposed to be. I never was.

I'm treading water in a vast sea. There are days I have the strength and determination to keep my head above water. To fight the currents and damn the swells. Those days are fewer and farther between lately. Most days, I struggle. I struggle with tide of emotions, the undertow of depression and endless exhaustion from trying to stay afloat.

Everyone around me is effected by my disorder. The guilt I carry from that is overwhelming at times. And at the same time, these people who love and care about me, have no idea, cannot fathom, how much of the person I was and the person I wanted to be has been forever changed by the years of my inner war. I've tried to learn how to ride the waves. You have to, to exist. But mere existing is not living. It's an injustice to the body I've been given. To my children. To God. But it's hard to hold on to that fact in the midst of drowning.

My Latest Assignment

I enrolled at a local community college this semester. Pretty big step for me. I've always wanted to finish my degree and with my two sons now at ages where they are pretty much self-sufficient, I can dedicate the time I need to doing something for me. I attended college in Fairmont, West Virginia for a year pursuing a degree in Criminal Justice. I thought I would go back and pick up where I left off. The only problem is I'm worried I don't feel as passionately about it as I did when I was younger. It's still a very fascinating field to me but I'm not sure how I feel about pursuing it further. I'm giving myself this semester to figure that out. What I'm really enjoying is my Literature Based Research class. I've got a great professor and an aptitude for English, Language and Grammar. I'm entertaining the idea of studying Technical Writing and trying to publish a few of my own works on the side. Time will tell.

In my Literature class, we keep a response journal of the works we read. This weeks assignment was to view a piece of artwork and read a corresponding poem. We were given about 10 to choose from and I thought I would share with you my selection and my response.

The above painting is by Pieter Brueghel, entitled Landscape with the Fall of Icarus.

The corresponding poem is by W. H. Auden entitled Musée des Beaux Arts.

Musee des Beaux Arts W.H. Auden

About suffering they were never wrong,
The Old Masters; how well, they understood
Its human position; how it takes place
While someone else is eating or opening a window or just walking dully along;
How, when the aged are reverently, passionately waiting
For the miraculous birth, there always must be
Children who did not specially want it to happen, skating
On a pond at the edge of the wood:
They never forgot
That even the dreadful martyrdom must run its course
Anyhow in a corner, some untidy spot
Where the dogs go on with their doggy life and the torturer's horse
Scratches its innocent behind on a tree.
In Breughel's Icarus, for instance: how everything turns away
Quite leisurely from the disaster; the ploughman may
Have heard the splash, the forsaken cry,
But for him it was not an important failure; the sun shone
As it had to on the white legs disappearing into the green
Water; and the expensive delicate ship that must have seen
Something amazing, a boy falling out of the sky,
had somewhere to get to and sailed calmly on.
1940

Here is my response.

In the story of Icarus, a character form Greek mythology, you learn that he was made a pair of wings from wax and feathers to escape from Crete. He was warned not to fly too close to the sun else the wings would melt. Not heading this advice, Icarus plummets to his death in the sea. Brueghel’s painting Landscape with the Fall of Icarus depicts a small water front village on the day Icarus fell from the sky. You can clearly see the legs protruding from the water and the waves that surround them. What you don’t see is anyone paying particular attention to this astounding occurrence. No one is looking or pointing. The villagers in the painting are going about their lives - plowing and tending sheep. One man, sitting right at the water’s edge, seems more enthralled with his task at hand, possibly fishing or casting nets or maybe just throwing pebbles into the water below. Something as significant as a man falling from the heavens, you would assume, would demand more attention, cause for alarm or simply curiosity. But the village is unaffected.

W.H. Auden refers to Brueghel’s painting in the poem Musée des Beaux Arts. The author explains in the first 4 lines how suffering occurs all the while “someone is eating or opening a window or just walking dully along”. Life continues no matter the tragedy or excitement around us. Auden uses the painting as an example of human apathy - “Everything turns away quite leisurely from the disaster”. Quite leisurely suggests a sense of no regard whatsoever. He describes in lines 15 through 17 how the ploughman probably heard the splash and the cry of Icarus, but it didn’t really affect him. So he chooses not to be engaged by the activity. He goes about his business. Even the ships, having witnessed something so dramatic “had somewhere to get to and sailed calmly on”.

Both the poem and the painting make me think about the human condition. As fellow humans suffer, we continue our self-centered lives and turn away from or simply don’t even acknowledge the torment of those around us. It’s easier to not get involved. When we are not immediately affected, then it’s none of our business or not worth our time and energy.

An Introduction

How boring, right?

The things we share in attempts to define ourselves rarely do a body or rather, a soul, justice. I could simply relay that I am a 33 year old married mother of 2, a part-time college student and a part-time employee of a self managed business and that may be all you need to know to stick around and read my ramblings or quickly click the "return to" button and continue your search for more meaningful discourse.

Who I am is a woman with many different facets of my personality. Mostly sarcastic, rarely mild, often pessimistic and always searching. Searching for knowledge, humor, empathy...meaning. That is all I will say about who I am. Because hopefully, as I continue this blog, who I am will become apparent and who I want to be will emerge.

This is my first attempt at a blog. Usually I just bend the ear of the closest and most attentive until their eyes glaze over and I find myself standing alone amidst tumble weeds and crickets chirping in the back ground. With this blog, I attempt to not only "get it out of my system" as they say but also develop a better sense of my writing style and strengthen my writing "voice". I titled this blog "A View from the Handbasket" for reasons that make me smile inside. For the very reason that while everything around me may be "going to hell in a handbasket"...I, and hopefully you as well, will enjoy the view.