The treatment center I went to emphasizes the twelve step program. I'm not 100% confident in the 12 step program, but I found ways to appreciate the nuggets of wisdom that the program has to offer. After all, it has helped thousands of people. When I arrived at the center, I was given a huge binder and lots of blank notebook paper. I wrote a lot. The first assignment was called the "First Step Prep", and I wrote in depth (and I do mean, in-depth) papers on each of my addictions. My three primary issues were overeating, overspending, and codependency, so I had to write a first step prep on each. First steps tend to be up to 15 pages front and back. They prepared me to master the first of the twelve steps:
1. We admitted we were powerless over alcohol (or food, spending, etc)—that our lives had become unmanageable.
In the first step prep papers, I addressed every possible aspect of each of my addictions. I talked about how each one started, as well as the influence of money, food or codependency in my childhood. I discussed the ways the adults in my life used money and food. I talked about how I always felt "less than", in regards to being poor or not having the same clothes, body, etc. that I thought everyone else had. I talked about how broke we were when I was growing up, and how for a long time food had a way of filling up the void inside of me. I talked about how broke I was in college, but how I managed to make it on a very tiny income. I talked about how when I first got married Kyle had to force me to spend money on myself, compared to the way it is now where I have to give Kyle my debit card and ask him to hide it from me.
These first step preps allowed me to look at the history of each one of my addictions and discover where they came from, how they manifested, and how they are remarkably connected. It's amazing how all three are linked to one another. They feed off of each other, and they make it that much harder to overcome because the minute I subdue one, another rears its ugly head.
I read these first step preps during family week. They provide family members insight into the way these addictions control my life. I become so preoccupied with my addictions that I can't focus on anything or anyone else. I spend an enormous amount of energy trying to juggle so many aspects of my life to make room for the addictions. I try to eke out extra dollars from Kyle's paycheck to pay for that pair of shoes I have to have. Meanwhile, I try to figure out how to pay for that $20 copay from a doctor appointment. Research shows that those with addictions tend to have a high level of intelligence. One would have to in order to keep all the balls in the air in the addiction juggling act. Worse yet, addicts are a secretive bunch. I don't know how to ask for help. I'm ashamed of what I've done. That shame fuels the fire. I keep doing it to try to avoid the shame. It's a vicious circle.
I also read my first step preps in group, and I received feedback from other people. So many of us can relate to what another writes. We can't believe how similar our lives are, regardless of which addiction we are there for treatment for. It doesn't matter what it is, the effects of them are almost always the same. Our lives unravel bit by bit as we try to maintain normalcy in the midst of chaos. Life has truly become unmanageable, but we fail to see it right away. Sometimes it takes months, even years. Sometimes it means that we got divorced, nearly died, or lost everyone important to us. Some of us reach a darker bottom before we surrender and ask for help. Some of us come to treatment thinking we hit bottom, but we will hit bottom again and again before we heal. These first step preps help us realize that we indeed need help - that what we're doing is not working, and that we are powerless in and of ourselves in solving the problems that are slowly killing us.
Step one is acknowledged over and over again. It's not a one time deal. Some of us believe we are powerless for a short time, and then take back control thinking that somehow, this time will be different. Our repeated history of crashing and burning isn't enough sometimes to shock us into acceptance that we may not know what is best for us, but it is enough to sometimes point us in the right direction.
When I went to Texas I knew that my life had become unmanageable, and that I was powerless over food and spending. I knew I didn't have the answers, and I sure hoped that someone else did. The 12 steps are revisited again and again, so it's not possible to move down the list, checking each step off and feeling that I am all done with each one. Sometimes I have to revisit the same step time and time again, in the same day or month or year. I have to remind myself that I don't have to have the answers. This is a really hard lesson for those of us who have been very independent and self-reliant. It can be really difficult to ask for help. At times it's impossible, which is why I ended up in as deep a mess as I did.
I'm finding that I do believe there is a sort of power in admitting powerlessness. I love the irony in this. I feel stronger when I admit I don't have the willpower or strength I think I should. It's incredibly empowering to admit my limitations, but more importantly, it's a relief to know I am not required to have all the answers. I can hope that someone else knows better. That's a huge burden lifted from my shoulders that used to weigh me down everyday. Now I know that it's okay to need help. And it's easier to ask for it, too.
Tuesday, August 31, 2010
Wednesday, August 25, 2010
What I Did on My Summer Vacation...
I promised that I would blog about my trip to Texas in closer detail. As I've mentioned in previous blogs, I wanted some time and distance from my stay there to gain some perspective and to not be overly reactionary. If you don't know why I went to Texas, catch up by reading what I wrote about it here. I was very relieved to be going to Texas to receive treatment for my overeating and shopping compulsions, along with issues with self esteem. I remained very relieved for the first few days that I was there. It was so nice to know that someone else was in the driver's seat for the time being, and I just had to sit back and do as I was told. Tonight I just want to explain what the treatment center was like.
I am going to refrain from using the specific name of the facility where I received treatment for two reasons. First and foremost, I don't want to advocate any one way of treatment on this blog. I strongly feel that all persons are different in their illnesses and their treatments and no two people respond the same way to any experience. Secondly, I don't want to persuade or dissuade anyone in regard to a specific facility. Those of you closest to me know the name of where I went, and if contacted I would be happy to discuss the specifics if someone is interested in more information. For general discussion, though, specifics aren't necessary.
I'm glad that I was ready to do what I needed to do once I got there. The only thing I was not willing to do there was allow them to manipulate my medications. As I stated in previous blogs, my moods were doing relatively well, and I continue to do well now. Perhaps better than I have in my life. It was my first (and only) battle there. The psychiatrist I saw the second day I was there wanted to take me off the med that helps me sleep and gives me the mood stabilization. There are some risks of diabetes with this medication, which I am aware of and have researched. The benefits of this medication outweigh the risks for me personally, and I knew I would be far worse off if I were to discontinue the use of it. I also was not willing to let someone who knew me for twenty minutes change my medications so drastically when my doctor here at home is very pleased with this medication and its benefits. Everyone kept telling me as soon as I arrived that they never leave anyone on their meds and especially this specific one. I just nodded and reminded myself that I still have a voice in my treatment, even if I am inpatient. This was important to me. I felt that yes, I was wanting someone with better information and judgment than I had at the time to tell me what I needed, but this one area I was not willing to negotiate. The doc said let's see how things go, and left me mostly on the meds as I came in. I didn't see him again in the six weeks I was there.
This facility is extremely rigid in rules, which was fine by me. I do well with structure and rules, but at the same time, it was very difficult to get used to being told what to do all day long. I felt a huge loss of control that was a little scary, and I felt some annoyance at having to be around so many people all day long. We awoke at 6 am, M-F, and got in line for vitals. Mondays and Thursdays were weigh days, and we had to put on hospital gowns for it. We were not allowed to see our weight, mostly because many clients there are being treated for eating disorders. After vitals we worked out until 7:30, cardio on M/W/F, resistance on T/TH. Breakfast was at 8:00. We were not allowed back in our rooms until after snack at 8:30 pm, so we had to take everything we needed with us when we went to breakfast.
Meals were very rigid. We ate at 8:00, 12:00, and 5:00, snack at 8:30 pm. We were required to clean our plates. Because, again, of eating disordered patients, we could not wear long sleeves at the table nor could we put our napkins in our laps. They had to be placed flat on the table to ensure food was not hidden. My meal schedule was broken into six smaller meals due to my bypass. I still struggled to eat all the food while I was there. But I got a lot more protein and my hair finally stopped falling out!
In the first 10-14 days after I checked in I was on the strictest monitor, as everyone is when they arrive. I was in the observation room the first few days, where they check on you frequently through the night. Upon arrival they went through my suitcases and determined what I was allowed to have and what they would take as "contraband". Perfumes or other items with alcohol or any items that could be used for self-harm were kept in baskets in the tech room and could be checked out for a few minutes in the morning for use before we started the day. We were allowed no outside reading materials. No cell phones. We had the bare necessities. They gave us several treatment related reading materials, a notebook, a few pens, and a lot of writing to do, so there was no time to get bored or homesick. In those first 14 days I was on bathroom monitor, which meant I had to count while using the restroom so the tech outside would know I was not purging. Everyone had to do this initially, purger or no. I also could not make nor receive phone calls during this time. It was very hard not to talk to Kyle during this time. I could write to him, and I did, but it was so strange to be so far away and not know what his day was like.
After breakfast we had a little free time until 9 am or so, then we went to group therapy, then again after lunch we had a little free time until 2pm group that lasted until dinner. Different days, group had a different focus. Sometimes we did anger work, sometimes we worked on body image. Other days people read their writing assignments in group and received feedback from the group members and therapists. The treatment center was primarily 12-step focus. Regardless of why we were there for treatment, we were taught the twelve steps and we attended several twelve step meetings each week, including Anorexics and Bulimics Anonymous, Alcoholics Anonymous, and Overeaters Anonymous. All of us went to all the meetings all the time, regardless of whether we fit in that specific group, because the step work is the same across the board, it just entails different wording. We also had meetings with a nutritionist, we were supposed to meet with our case manager weekly, and some people met with other staff as needed, such as the staff nurse or psychiatrist. My main complaint is that we seldom saw the specialists while we were there, and it was made to appear that we would meet with them regularly.
In the evenings we either had the twelve step meetings or group therapy again. After snack at 8:30, lights out was at 10:30, and I was usually exhausted. I slept better in my six weeks there than I have most of my life! Sundays were our "day off" so to speak. We had no obligations on Sunday outside of meals at their usual times. Sunday was our day to work on assignments - and boy, did we have assignments! I love to write though, and it really kept me focused and prevented homesickness, so for me it was just fine. I will blog more about those assignments next time. Some people had visiting privileges on the weekend, and their friends or family could come. We also got a movie that day if we had been compliant with the rules. We got two movies a week - a recovery related movie on Fridays and a "for fun" movie on Sunday. Other than that, we had no outside reading materials; no books or magazines. We had no television, no radio, no ipods, no computer. Absolutely NO distractions. They really wanted us to sit in our feelings and not use any behavior, substance or activity to distract us from or numb us from our feelings. I appreciated this, even though it was a little hard to get used to.
All in all, it was really hard to lose so much of my independence, but it was all for a very good cause. This background will give you perspective as I discuss my experience further in the coming days. Basically, we had fewer privileges in treatment than most people in jail or prison have. But it was for a reason. More about that later, though.
I am going to refrain from using the specific name of the facility where I received treatment for two reasons. First and foremost, I don't want to advocate any one way of treatment on this blog. I strongly feel that all persons are different in their illnesses and their treatments and no two people respond the same way to any experience. Secondly, I don't want to persuade or dissuade anyone in regard to a specific facility. Those of you closest to me know the name of where I went, and if contacted I would be happy to discuss the specifics if someone is interested in more information. For general discussion, though, specifics aren't necessary.
I'm glad that I was ready to do what I needed to do once I got there. The only thing I was not willing to do there was allow them to manipulate my medications. As I stated in previous blogs, my moods were doing relatively well, and I continue to do well now. Perhaps better than I have in my life. It was my first (and only) battle there. The psychiatrist I saw the second day I was there wanted to take me off the med that helps me sleep and gives me the mood stabilization. There are some risks of diabetes with this medication, which I am aware of and have researched. The benefits of this medication outweigh the risks for me personally, and I knew I would be far worse off if I were to discontinue the use of it. I also was not willing to let someone who knew me for twenty minutes change my medications so drastically when my doctor here at home is very pleased with this medication and its benefits. Everyone kept telling me as soon as I arrived that they never leave anyone on their meds and especially this specific one. I just nodded and reminded myself that I still have a voice in my treatment, even if I am inpatient. This was important to me. I felt that yes, I was wanting someone with better information and judgment than I had at the time to tell me what I needed, but this one area I was not willing to negotiate. The doc said let's see how things go, and left me mostly on the meds as I came in. I didn't see him again in the six weeks I was there.
This facility is extremely rigid in rules, which was fine by me. I do well with structure and rules, but at the same time, it was very difficult to get used to being told what to do all day long. I felt a huge loss of control that was a little scary, and I felt some annoyance at having to be around so many people all day long. We awoke at 6 am, M-F, and got in line for vitals. Mondays and Thursdays were weigh days, and we had to put on hospital gowns for it. We were not allowed to see our weight, mostly because many clients there are being treated for eating disorders. After vitals we worked out until 7:30, cardio on M/W/F, resistance on T/TH. Breakfast was at 8:00. We were not allowed back in our rooms until after snack at 8:30 pm, so we had to take everything we needed with us when we went to breakfast.
Meals were very rigid. We ate at 8:00, 12:00, and 5:00, snack at 8:30 pm. We were required to clean our plates. Because, again, of eating disordered patients, we could not wear long sleeves at the table nor could we put our napkins in our laps. They had to be placed flat on the table to ensure food was not hidden. My meal schedule was broken into six smaller meals due to my bypass. I still struggled to eat all the food while I was there. But I got a lot more protein and my hair finally stopped falling out!
In the first 10-14 days after I checked in I was on the strictest monitor, as everyone is when they arrive. I was in the observation room the first few days, where they check on you frequently through the night. Upon arrival they went through my suitcases and determined what I was allowed to have and what they would take as "contraband". Perfumes or other items with alcohol or any items that could be used for self-harm were kept in baskets in the tech room and could be checked out for a few minutes in the morning for use before we started the day. We were allowed no outside reading materials. No cell phones. We had the bare necessities. They gave us several treatment related reading materials, a notebook, a few pens, and a lot of writing to do, so there was no time to get bored or homesick. In those first 14 days I was on bathroom monitor, which meant I had to count while using the restroom so the tech outside would know I was not purging. Everyone had to do this initially, purger or no. I also could not make nor receive phone calls during this time. It was very hard not to talk to Kyle during this time. I could write to him, and I did, but it was so strange to be so far away and not know what his day was like.
After breakfast we had a little free time until 9 am or so, then we went to group therapy, then again after lunch we had a little free time until 2pm group that lasted until dinner. Different days, group had a different focus. Sometimes we did anger work, sometimes we worked on body image. Other days people read their writing assignments in group and received feedback from the group members and therapists. The treatment center was primarily 12-step focus. Regardless of why we were there for treatment, we were taught the twelve steps and we attended several twelve step meetings each week, including Anorexics and Bulimics Anonymous, Alcoholics Anonymous, and Overeaters Anonymous. All of us went to all the meetings all the time, regardless of whether we fit in that specific group, because the step work is the same across the board, it just entails different wording. We also had meetings with a nutritionist, we were supposed to meet with our case manager weekly, and some people met with other staff as needed, such as the staff nurse or psychiatrist. My main complaint is that we seldom saw the specialists while we were there, and it was made to appear that we would meet with them regularly.
In the evenings we either had the twelve step meetings or group therapy again. After snack at 8:30, lights out was at 10:30, and I was usually exhausted. I slept better in my six weeks there than I have most of my life! Sundays were our "day off" so to speak. We had no obligations on Sunday outside of meals at their usual times. Sunday was our day to work on assignments - and boy, did we have assignments! I love to write though, and it really kept me focused and prevented homesickness, so for me it was just fine. I will blog more about those assignments next time. Some people had visiting privileges on the weekend, and their friends or family could come. We also got a movie that day if we had been compliant with the rules. We got two movies a week - a recovery related movie on Fridays and a "for fun" movie on Sunday. Other than that, we had no outside reading materials; no books or magazines. We had no television, no radio, no ipods, no computer. Absolutely NO distractions. They really wanted us to sit in our feelings and not use any behavior, substance or activity to distract us from or numb us from our feelings. I appreciated this, even though it was a little hard to get used to.
All in all, it was really hard to lose so much of my independence, but it was all for a very good cause. This background will give you perspective as I discuss my experience further in the coming days. Basically, we had fewer privileges in treatment than most people in jail or prison have. But it was for a reason. More about that later, though.
Friday, August 20, 2010
Who is me?
I've always been a fan of those mantras that encourage one to "Be Yourself" or announce "You are exactly the person you were meant to be!". It sounds so lovely, the idea that one could just be. Nothing about the person is wrong or needs changing, and the person could simply exist in his or her own skin, as is. That's always seemed an unreachable peace.
I've never been okay with being me. I have never been enough. I was never good enough, perfect enough, smart enough, friendly enough, or sweet enough. I was too fat, too shy, too screwed up, and too unlovable. I would never measure up in so many areas of life that I deemed necessary to reach in order to love myself or "be myself." I would have to fix all the characteristics of me that were so very wrong before I could be comfortable in my own skin. It was an insurmountable list of "to dos".
I've come to a realization recently that has changed my life. It really is okay to just be me. I have taken the word "enough" out of my vocabulary. I no longer consider whether I am thin enough, lost enough weight, am quiet enough, am outspoken enough, or am spiritual enough.
I have told myself to stop worrying about whether someone who knows me and regards me favorably will read something I've written on this blog about what I think or how I am and lose respect or, (gasp), even think poorly of me. I've told myself that the aspects of my personality and character and physical and biological makeup that I once considered imperfections or even defections are no longer to be criticized. I've come to realize that I really am what I am. And it's okay.
When I consider the distorted thinking I sometimes have, it can make me laugh. It can also be startlingly alarming, when I realize how much of my life I have spent trying to measure up. What was it that made me feel so little in the first place? I don't know. I am still working on the path to that discovery. But I am slowly realizing that the peace that comes with self-acceptance is a peace I've never had until now. And though I have not fully embraced self- acceptance, I'm gradually getting there, bit by bit, piece by piece.
What a relief it is to just be. To know that today I don't have to perform gymnastic feats and act my way through the day. I don't have to come home exhausted from the performance I've put on for others. I don't have to project this image of always being perfect, always having the right answer, always trying to stay one step ahead. I can say I don't know. I can make a mistake and not be a mistake. I can be worth more than a number on the scale. I can throw up my hands and say I just don't know.
I truly believe that this realization is one of the keys to happiness. I can never be happy if I am always saying to myself, "See, you can't do it. You aren't capable of being that pretty/smart/well-liked. Why did you even try?" It's not possible to be all the things I thought I had to be, but I already am who I was meant to be. Perfectly imperfect.
This doesn't mean I wake up every day filled to the brim with content and harmony. It doesn't mean I look in the mirror and love myself each time. It does mean I am gradually putting together the pieces of this puzzle called "Life". This piece was a biggy, too. It gives me permission to relax a little. Another little surrender.
Most importantly, it gives me a chance to explore who I really am. I spent so many years trying to measure up to others or impossible standards. I lost sight of what I was even interested in and what I enjoyed. I don't know how to have fun. I don't know what Roxann even finds fun. I've been introduced to Roxann again after a long absence, and I'm having to figure out what she's all about. It's scary, but it's exciting, too. I don't get to reinvent myself. I get to discover myself. Those little discoveries bring me happiness.
I sat at my bipolar support group meeting Tuesday night talking to someone about how I felt about the label "Bipolar" when I was diagnosed. I had hated it. I couldn't possibly be bipolar. It didn't fit into my definition of who or what I should be. It meant something was wrong with me. Here I sat on Tuesday, openly admitting to someone I barely knew, that I was bipolar. I wasn't ashamed of it. I didn't cast my eyes to the floor as I said it, or search her face looking for a reaction to the statement. I offered someone else reassurance and understanding about the fear and incense at being labeled with such an offensive term. I had made some personal progress.
Two weeks ago the local television station called and wanted to interview me about the support group. And they wanted me to talk about my own battle with bipolar disorder. At first I panicked. No way could I go on television and admit I was struggling with such a serious mental illness! What would people think about me? And yet, I knew I had to. If I didn't, I was doing a disservice to myself and to every other person labeled bipolar. Even when I won't do something for my own good, I'll usually do it to benefit others. So I told myself, "If you can't do this for you, you can do it for the other people that need to know there's someone out there who cares."
Lo and behold, the earth didn't shatter minutes after my interview, nor minutes after the interview aired. The phone didn't ring with harassing callers. None of my family or friends wrote or called and responded with dismay that I had let my secret out in public. Yes, I thought about potential employers or even parents of students I may have or had, and what that might do to my teaching career. I decided it was worth the risk. Because bipolar disorder is just part of what makes me, me. Maybe it makes me depressed sometimes, and maybe it makes me lose sleep many nights. But perhaps it also allows me to reach out to the world in ways I couldn't without it. Maybe it will help me educate others in a way I never dreamed would unfold when I pursued a Masters in Education. Maybe it really isn't as big a deal as I once thought it was.
One great aspect of a life well lived is that we continually grow and out of that personal growth sprout the seeds of happiness. The growth is essential for happiness. This year has been a year of a great deal of growth for me, and thus, I am beginning to reap the rewards of happiness in little ways. And that's what it's all about. Happiness is not some distant finish line we cross eventually. It's not a race. We find it in our own time and in our own ways through our own growth. For me, the decision to allow myself to be me, and to figure out who me even is, definitely offers me reasons to be happy.
I've never been okay with being me. I have never been enough. I was never good enough, perfect enough, smart enough, friendly enough, or sweet enough. I was too fat, too shy, too screwed up, and too unlovable. I would never measure up in so many areas of life that I deemed necessary to reach in order to love myself or "be myself." I would have to fix all the characteristics of me that were so very wrong before I could be comfortable in my own skin. It was an insurmountable list of "to dos".
I've come to a realization recently that has changed my life. It really is okay to just be me. I have taken the word "enough" out of my vocabulary. I no longer consider whether I am thin enough, lost enough weight, am quiet enough, am outspoken enough, or am spiritual enough.
I have told myself to stop worrying about whether someone who knows me and regards me favorably will read something I've written on this blog about what I think or how I am and lose respect or, (gasp), even think poorly of me. I've told myself that the aspects of my personality and character and physical and biological makeup that I once considered imperfections or even defections are no longer to be criticized. I've come to realize that I really am what I am. And it's okay.
When I consider the distorted thinking I sometimes have, it can make me laugh. It can also be startlingly alarming, when I realize how much of my life I have spent trying to measure up. What was it that made me feel so little in the first place? I don't know. I am still working on the path to that discovery. But I am slowly realizing that the peace that comes with self-acceptance is a peace I've never had until now. And though I have not fully embraced self- acceptance, I'm gradually getting there, bit by bit, piece by piece.
What a relief it is to just be. To know that today I don't have to perform gymnastic feats and act my way through the day. I don't have to come home exhausted from the performance I've put on for others. I don't have to project this image of always being perfect, always having the right answer, always trying to stay one step ahead. I can say I don't know. I can make a mistake and not be a mistake. I can be worth more than a number on the scale. I can throw up my hands and say I just don't know.
I truly believe that this realization is one of the keys to happiness. I can never be happy if I am always saying to myself, "See, you can't do it. You aren't capable of being that pretty/smart/well-liked. Why did you even try?" It's not possible to be all the things I thought I had to be, but I already am who I was meant to be. Perfectly imperfect.
This doesn't mean I wake up every day filled to the brim with content and harmony. It doesn't mean I look in the mirror and love myself each time. It does mean I am gradually putting together the pieces of this puzzle called "Life". This piece was a biggy, too. It gives me permission to relax a little. Another little surrender.
Most importantly, it gives me a chance to explore who I really am. I spent so many years trying to measure up to others or impossible standards. I lost sight of what I was even interested in and what I enjoyed. I don't know how to have fun. I don't know what Roxann even finds fun. I've been introduced to Roxann again after a long absence, and I'm having to figure out what she's all about. It's scary, but it's exciting, too. I don't get to reinvent myself. I get to discover myself. Those little discoveries bring me happiness.
I sat at my bipolar support group meeting Tuesday night talking to someone about how I felt about the label "Bipolar" when I was diagnosed. I had hated it. I couldn't possibly be bipolar. It didn't fit into my definition of who or what I should be. It meant something was wrong with me. Here I sat on Tuesday, openly admitting to someone I barely knew, that I was bipolar. I wasn't ashamed of it. I didn't cast my eyes to the floor as I said it, or search her face looking for a reaction to the statement. I offered someone else reassurance and understanding about the fear and incense at being labeled with such an offensive term. I had made some personal progress.
Two weeks ago the local television station called and wanted to interview me about the support group. And they wanted me to talk about my own battle with bipolar disorder. At first I panicked. No way could I go on television and admit I was struggling with such a serious mental illness! What would people think about me? And yet, I knew I had to. If I didn't, I was doing a disservice to myself and to every other person labeled bipolar. Even when I won't do something for my own good, I'll usually do it to benefit others. So I told myself, "If you can't do this for you, you can do it for the other people that need to know there's someone out there who cares."
Lo and behold, the earth didn't shatter minutes after my interview, nor minutes after the interview aired. The phone didn't ring with harassing callers. None of my family or friends wrote or called and responded with dismay that I had let my secret out in public. Yes, I thought about potential employers or even parents of students I may have or had, and what that might do to my teaching career. I decided it was worth the risk. Because bipolar disorder is just part of what makes me, me. Maybe it makes me depressed sometimes, and maybe it makes me lose sleep many nights. But perhaps it also allows me to reach out to the world in ways I couldn't without it. Maybe it will help me educate others in a way I never dreamed would unfold when I pursued a Masters in Education. Maybe it really isn't as big a deal as I once thought it was.
One great aspect of a life well lived is that we continually grow and out of that personal growth sprout the seeds of happiness. The growth is essential for happiness. This year has been a year of a great deal of growth for me, and thus, I am beginning to reap the rewards of happiness in little ways. And that's what it's all about. Happiness is not some distant finish line we cross eventually. It's not a race. We find it in our own time and in our own ways through our own growth. For me, the decision to allow myself to be me, and to figure out who me even is, definitely offers me reasons to be happy.
Sunday, August 15, 2010
When My Bipolar Disorder Scares Me...
Every now and again I have these nights when I can't sleep. It's very frustrating to lie awake hour after hour while the husband snores softly and the dog snores softly, both sighing or twitching in their sleep but peacefully unaware of the hours creeping by. It's more than frustrating, though - it's a bit scary. Am I slipping into a manic episode, or am I just having an off night? I revisit in my head the list of mania symptoms, completing a mental checklist in my head, trying to determine whether I'm crossing that line into dangerous territory. It's not clear cut, especially in the type of bipolar I have.
Most people don't know that there are two types of bipolar disorder. Type 1s have very high highs. They usually have higher risk behaviors when manic - such as extreme spending sprees, hyper-sexuality leading to relationship problems and financial problems, and even legal problems. They make decisions based on very little information - they may marry someone they barely know, make large purchases such as a car or even a home. They even have delusions and hallucinations, psychotic features that 2s, like me, do not experience.
2s experience hypomania, meaning we get highs, but not super high highs the way 1s do. When I'm manic, which is an experience I'm still trying to identify, I need less sleep. Whereas I couldn't get out of bed when depressed, or I needed 7 to 9 hours of sleep when "normal", suddenly I don't sleep all night, or I wake up after only 5 hours of sleep, despite my nighttime medications to help me sleep. The worst part, and what I am experiencing tonight, are the racing thoughts. One thought after another runs through my head, some connected, some completely detached from anything relevant to my life at the moment. I also have a tendency to start planning projects that get way out of hand quickly. I also become hyperfocused - meaning I can't let anything go. If I start thinking about, say, reading a book on bipolar disorder, I can't read just one. I will buy or check out several, and I will spend hour after hour reading and taking notes with few if any breaks and feeling like I can't be torn away from it. My thoughts fly through my head something like this:
i need to pick up milk at the store...deposit needs to be made in checking...wonder if Pip is out of food...that was a good show tonight...therapy on wednesday...i need to add cards to my etsy shop...wonder if kyle is going out of town this week...this movie is really dull...it's hot in here...i hate the color on the walls in here...maybe i should paint it all...and if I'm going to paint I might as well pull up the carpet and see what the wood floors are like underneath...I guess I will repaint all the wooden furniture in here because I don't like the way the wood looks...then I can rearrange the furniture just so...
This kind of thinking goes on and on. Sometimes I can let it go. Sometimes it is POWERFUL and directs my thoughts and actions for hours or days at a time. It can be very difficult for me to differentiate between a normal state where I am not depressed and have natural energy, versus a hypomanic state where I have too much going on in my thoughts and actions. I get a little scared at these times. I don't want to venture into the dangerous territory of hypomania. Yet, I don't feel bad. A great deal of the time, manic phases and hypomanic phases feel really good. They can have detrimental consequences, though, and that is why it is important to stop them. They can also get very out of hand very quickly, too.
This means that I have to try to spot a manic episode in its infancy, and keep track of whether it is something to worry about, or something temporary. It's not easy. As I've talked about in other blog posts, my shopping can be my first sign that I'm off kilter. I want to spend spend spend a lot of the time, but especially when I am entering mania. I get a high from shopping that is almost identical to the high that a drug addict gets. Brain chemistry is not very different among addictions, regardless of whether they are chemical addictions or not. Many bipolar people have ended up in financial ruin. Though I've definitely accumulated some major debt, and our budget is extremely tight right now, but I haven't ruined my credit or my husband's and I am thankful for that. Left unaddressed, my spending and shopping would have put us in a much tougher place financially, not to mention the effect it would have had on our marriage.
A few other signs of mania include irritability and quickened speech. I'm always irritable, so it's hard for me to judge whether I'm more or less irritable than usual, but I'm not generally a fast talker, especially since my medications make it a little harder to gather my thoughts. When my speech quickens, it's a big sign to me that I might be enter mania.
No instant solution for a manic episode exists. Generally, I call my psychiatrist as soon as I realize I am experience manic symptoms and she adjusts my medications. People with more severe episodes sometimes require hospitalization until medications are tweaked and the patient's moods even out again. No quick fix exists. Psychiatric medications can take anywhere from a few minutes to six weeks to be effective. This means that for a patient to feel the full effects of a new antidepressant, it can take up to a month and a half. This is part of what makes me soooo frustrated. Therapy also helps, as well as support from friends, spouses, and support groups.
I suppose the part that scares me so much is the unknown. First, it's the unknown of whether or not I really am going manic or not, mixed with dread and apprehension. Then, if I do know I am, I am dreading and apprehensive about the medication changes. It's such a gamble to know what changes are right. Finally, it's a fear and apprehension about losing myself. Which me is the right me? Which me do I lose when I'm on the medications and parts of my personality or characteristics differ a little? It's all a lot to think about.
Most people don't know that there are two types of bipolar disorder. Type 1s have very high highs. They usually have higher risk behaviors when manic - such as extreme spending sprees, hyper-sexuality leading to relationship problems and financial problems, and even legal problems. They make decisions based on very little information - they may marry someone they barely know, make large purchases such as a car or even a home. They even have delusions and hallucinations, psychotic features that 2s, like me, do not experience.
2s experience hypomania, meaning we get highs, but not super high highs the way 1s do. When I'm manic, which is an experience I'm still trying to identify, I need less sleep. Whereas I couldn't get out of bed when depressed, or I needed 7 to 9 hours of sleep when "normal", suddenly I don't sleep all night, or I wake up after only 5 hours of sleep, despite my nighttime medications to help me sleep. The worst part, and what I am experiencing tonight, are the racing thoughts. One thought after another runs through my head, some connected, some completely detached from anything relevant to my life at the moment. I also have a tendency to start planning projects that get way out of hand quickly. I also become hyperfocused - meaning I can't let anything go. If I start thinking about, say, reading a book on bipolar disorder, I can't read just one. I will buy or check out several, and I will spend hour after hour reading and taking notes with few if any breaks and feeling like I can't be torn away from it. My thoughts fly through my head something like this:
i need to pick up milk at the store...deposit needs to be made in checking...wonder if Pip is out of food...that was a good show tonight...therapy on wednesday...i need to add cards to my etsy shop...wonder if kyle is going out of town this week...this movie is really dull...it's hot in here...i hate the color on the walls in here...maybe i should paint it all...and if I'm going to paint I might as well pull up the carpet and see what the wood floors are like underneath...I guess I will repaint all the wooden furniture in here because I don't like the way the wood looks...then I can rearrange the furniture just so...
This kind of thinking goes on and on. Sometimes I can let it go. Sometimes it is POWERFUL and directs my thoughts and actions for hours or days at a time. It can be very difficult for me to differentiate between a normal state where I am not depressed and have natural energy, versus a hypomanic state where I have too much going on in my thoughts and actions. I get a little scared at these times. I don't want to venture into the dangerous territory of hypomania. Yet, I don't feel bad. A great deal of the time, manic phases and hypomanic phases feel really good. They can have detrimental consequences, though, and that is why it is important to stop them. They can also get very out of hand very quickly, too.
This means that I have to try to spot a manic episode in its infancy, and keep track of whether it is something to worry about, or something temporary. It's not easy. As I've talked about in other blog posts, my shopping can be my first sign that I'm off kilter. I want to spend spend spend a lot of the time, but especially when I am entering mania. I get a high from shopping that is almost identical to the high that a drug addict gets. Brain chemistry is not very different among addictions, regardless of whether they are chemical addictions or not. Many bipolar people have ended up in financial ruin. Though I've definitely accumulated some major debt, and our budget is extremely tight right now, but I haven't ruined my credit or my husband's and I am thankful for that. Left unaddressed, my spending and shopping would have put us in a much tougher place financially, not to mention the effect it would have had on our marriage.
A few other signs of mania include irritability and quickened speech. I'm always irritable, so it's hard for me to judge whether I'm more or less irritable than usual, but I'm not generally a fast talker, especially since my medications make it a little harder to gather my thoughts. When my speech quickens, it's a big sign to me that I might be enter mania.
No instant solution for a manic episode exists. Generally, I call my psychiatrist as soon as I realize I am experience manic symptoms and she adjusts my medications. People with more severe episodes sometimes require hospitalization until medications are tweaked and the patient's moods even out again. No quick fix exists. Psychiatric medications can take anywhere from a few minutes to six weeks to be effective. This means that for a patient to feel the full effects of a new antidepressant, it can take up to a month and a half. This is part of what makes me soooo frustrated. Therapy also helps, as well as support from friends, spouses, and support groups.
I suppose the part that scares me so much is the unknown. First, it's the unknown of whether or not I really am going manic or not, mixed with dread and apprehension. Then, if I do know I am, I am dreading and apprehensive about the medication changes. It's such a gamble to know what changes are right. Finally, it's a fear and apprehension about losing myself. Which me is the right me? Which me do I lose when I'm on the medications and parts of my personality or characteristics differ a little? It's all a lot to think about.
Sunday, August 8, 2010
Keep on Keeping On...
If I know anything after six years of treatment for bipolar/depression, it is that it's pretty much a never-ending battle. The severity of the symptoms ebb and flow. I go through many peaks and valleys. I never know how long a "good" or "bad" episode is going to last, or when I will take a turn for better or for worse. I never know how long my medications will continue to keep my moods and compulsive behaviors in check. I never know how long I will enjoy a reprieve from medication side effects. As I've said before, part of the crumminess of mental illness is the absolute vacancy of certainty. Nothing is certain. Nothing is for sure. But then, nothing about illness or wellness is ever guaranteed.
But I also know something else. I will get through. It won't be fun. It will be hard - harder than perhaps anything else I face in this lifetime. It will be downright miserable at times and I won't want to get through - much less care if I do. But I will. Because I have.
Maintaining mental health, like physical health, takes work and dedication. It takes a lot of effort on my part. At times I've been lackadaisical about taking my meds everyday, taking them at the correct times, manipulating dosing schedules to prevent side effects and make life seemingly better. Those attitudes and behaviors never serve me well, and I always pay in the long run.
I'm learning a lesson that has taken me years to accept - and I don't accept it on a daily basis. But oh, how I am learning it, as my Texas friends say, "Little by slow". What is this big lesson?
Surrender.
I haven't blogged much yet about my six weeks in a Texas treatment center. Partly because life has been really busy. Partly because I wanted some time to personally reflect on it all. Partly because I wanted time and distance to sort everything out in my mind. And partly because it's really hard to integrate back into normal, everyday life after having been confined to the rules and guidelines of a recovery program with twenty other people for 24 hours a day for 42 days.
I will blog more about the actual treatment and treatment center over the next few weeks. But tonight I really just want to focus on surrender. The treatment facility I was at emphasized the twelve step program for all patients, regardless of our individual issues that brought us there. Regardless of whether one is a participant in Overeaters Anonymous, Gamblers Anonymous, Bulimics Anonymous, Alcoholics Anonymous, or any other twelve step program, the steps are the same. Step number one is all about surrender:
We admitted we were powerless over alcohol (or food, money, gambling, drugs, etc)—that our lives had become unmanageable.
I arrived at the treatment facility with utter relief, really. Of course I had some anxiety, some homesickness, and I was absolutely travel-weary after a host of horrible snarls in my trip to TX. But ultimately I felt relief at being there, because I knew, for perhaps the first time in my life, that I didn't have all the answers. That this thing - this overeating, this spending, this need to fill a void - was bigger than I was. And that my life, indeed, was becoming unmanageable. I knew all of that before I ever left home. It was, in fact, the reason I did leave home. I knew that if I didn't get help for this - whatever it was - I was going to ruin my marriage, my life, and everything and anything I held dear. This fear was enough for me to put my life on hold and leave everything of comfort and dearness for six weeks away in a treatment center.
I sat there in my first few days of treatment wondering why people were stuck on little old step number one. It didn't seem like that big of a leap to me - we were all sitting in treatment, so it was obvious to me that something wasn't working in our lives. That even though we thought we knew ourselves best and what was best for us, we clearly were failing at life big time. But I didn't realize in those first few hours and days that, unlike me, some people weren't there willingly. Some had been sent by family and friends as a last ultimatum: You will go to treatment or we are done with you. Some had been sent by the court or a judge after numerous arrests or offenses. Some had merely shown up there because they were at the end of the road and could see no other options. Not everyone was as grateful and relieved to be there as I was.
I had another lesson to learn in those first few days, too. This was a little bit harder to grasp. That whole surrender piece - the one that I at first thought, "Pshaw, that ain't nothin'!" - well, it's not something you do just once, on that first day you arrive in treatment, shrugging your shoulders saying, "I don't know what else to do. Where else to go...". No, surrender has to happen daily. Well, actually, surrender has to happen sometimes every hour, or even every moment of the day. Surrender is an action that has to occur as many times as it must - we don't know how often we will have to hand it over. And each of us hands it over to someone or something different. That all comes later in the steps. But man, that first one is a toughie, because those of us with addictions, whether it's food or drugs or money, whatever it is, we love to be in control. We love to think we have all the answers. We don't like to feel like someone else knows better.
And that's what surrender is all about. Admitting that we don't have the answers and hoping that someone else does. And it's not necessarily something we will have the answer to immediately. There may not even be an answer. And that's even harder to believe, because we like to fix things. We can't fathom that there might not be a solution to it all.
I'm slowly beginning to grasp the idea that if I surrender to this bipolar disorder, or rather, the idea of bipolar disorder, maybe it will lose some of its control over me. Maybe it won't hold the power over me anymore if I finally just throw up my hands and say, "Okay, so I have bipolar disorder. Big deal. It doesn't change me. It doesn't define me. It's just a tiny piece of the whole pie. I don't have to fix it. I'm not broken."
Maybe, just maybe, if I surrender to it, it will actually be easier to manage. Maybe taking my medicine won't seem like giving in. Maybe it won't feel like defines me. Maybe it will just be like taking my B12 shot each month after my bypass surgery - it's just something I do once a month to feel better. Well, Seroquel and Effexor are just something I take each day to make me feel better.
I'm doing well right now. I wake up every day fairly positive, fairly energized. I have hope and goals and I even enjoy working on hobbies or crafts. I am happy at the prospect of going back to work part time in a job that gives me a little more control over my scheduling and leaves me room to make changes if my physical or mental health changes. I still struggle every day with eating right and spending right. But I keep trying. I get up every morning and I'm willing to do the work. I'm willing to start over again when I've messed up. I'm willing to rebudget, eat a few more grams of protein, or ask for help from friends or my husband or my therapist.
Each of those actions is a form of surrender for me that I haven't always been willing to do in the past. I had to do everything perfectly, or I was a failure, so starting over on the budget or trying to eat better wasn't an option, because that meant I had failed. I wouldn't allow myself to fail because then that meant I was a failure. Getting out of bed was a struggle because it was so daunting trying to be perfect all the time. I didn't even want to try, because I knew it was only a matter of time before I showed how much of a fraud I was or how much of a waste of space I was on the planet. I couldn't ask for help, because that meant someone might see me as weak or stupid or ...any number of things. That's a lot of crap to carry around in my mind.
Surrender gives me a little peace of mind, even though it also causes some anxiety. A little voice in the back of my head is always there whispering "what if, what if, what if..." and sometimes it is quieter than others. Sometimes I almost forget it is there, but then when I least expect it, it surfaces. Sometimes it makes me reach out and take back that surrender, which inevitably leads me back down a destructive path. The difference is, I'm trying to let go of that all-or-nothing thinking that once told me I couldn't regroup my losses.
Today I know that I always have that option to give it up, at any given point and time. It's a little bit of a relief to know that I don't have to be perfect, and it's never too late to start again. And that's how I keep on keeping on, at least for today.
But I also know something else. I will get through. It won't be fun. It will be hard - harder than perhaps anything else I face in this lifetime. It will be downright miserable at times and I won't want to get through - much less care if I do. But I will. Because I have.
Maintaining mental health, like physical health, takes work and dedication. It takes a lot of effort on my part. At times I've been lackadaisical about taking my meds everyday, taking them at the correct times, manipulating dosing schedules to prevent side effects and make life seemingly better. Those attitudes and behaviors never serve me well, and I always pay in the long run.
I'm learning a lesson that has taken me years to accept - and I don't accept it on a daily basis. But oh, how I am learning it, as my Texas friends say, "Little by slow". What is this big lesson?
Surrender.
I haven't blogged much yet about my six weeks in a Texas treatment center. Partly because life has been really busy. Partly because I wanted some time to personally reflect on it all. Partly because I wanted time and distance to sort everything out in my mind. And partly because it's really hard to integrate back into normal, everyday life after having been confined to the rules and guidelines of a recovery program with twenty other people for 24 hours a day for 42 days.
I will blog more about the actual treatment and treatment center over the next few weeks. But tonight I really just want to focus on surrender. The treatment facility I was at emphasized the twelve step program for all patients, regardless of our individual issues that brought us there. Regardless of whether one is a participant in Overeaters Anonymous, Gamblers Anonymous, Bulimics Anonymous, Alcoholics Anonymous, or any other twelve step program, the steps are the same. Step number one is all about surrender:
We admitted we were powerless over alcohol (or food, money, gambling, drugs, etc)—that our lives had become unmanageable.
I arrived at the treatment facility with utter relief, really. Of course I had some anxiety, some homesickness, and I was absolutely travel-weary after a host of horrible snarls in my trip to TX. But ultimately I felt relief at being there, because I knew, for perhaps the first time in my life, that I didn't have all the answers. That this thing - this overeating, this spending, this need to fill a void - was bigger than I was. And that my life, indeed, was becoming unmanageable. I knew all of that before I ever left home. It was, in fact, the reason I did leave home. I knew that if I didn't get help for this - whatever it was - I was going to ruin my marriage, my life, and everything and anything I held dear. This fear was enough for me to put my life on hold and leave everything of comfort and dearness for six weeks away in a treatment center.
I sat there in my first few days of treatment wondering why people were stuck on little old step number one. It didn't seem like that big of a leap to me - we were all sitting in treatment, so it was obvious to me that something wasn't working in our lives. That even though we thought we knew ourselves best and what was best for us, we clearly were failing at life big time. But I didn't realize in those first few hours and days that, unlike me, some people weren't there willingly. Some had been sent by family and friends as a last ultimatum: You will go to treatment or we are done with you. Some had been sent by the court or a judge after numerous arrests or offenses. Some had merely shown up there because they were at the end of the road and could see no other options. Not everyone was as grateful and relieved to be there as I was.
I had another lesson to learn in those first few days, too. This was a little bit harder to grasp. That whole surrender piece - the one that I at first thought, "Pshaw, that ain't nothin'!" - well, it's not something you do just once, on that first day you arrive in treatment, shrugging your shoulders saying, "I don't know what else to do. Where else to go...". No, surrender has to happen daily. Well, actually, surrender has to happen sometimes every hour, or even every moment of the day. Surrender is an action that has to occur as many times as it must - we don't know how often we will have to hand it over. And each of us hands it over to someone or something different. That all comes later in the steps. But man, that first one is a toughie, because those of us with addictions, whether it's food or drugs or money, whatever it is, we love to be in control. We love to think we have all the answers. We don't like to feel like someone else knows better.
And that's what surrender is all about. Admitting that we don't have the answers and hoping that someone else does. And it's not necessarily something we will have the answer to immediately. There may not even be an answer. And that's even harder to believe, because we like to fix things. We can't fathom that there might not be a solution to it all.
I'm slowly beginning to grasp the idea that if I surrender to this bipolar disorder, or rather, the idea of bipolar disorder, maybe it will lose some of its control over me. Maybe it won't hold the power over me anymore if I finally just throw up my hands and say, "Okay, so I have bipolar disorder. Big deal. It doesn't change me. It doesn't define me. It's just a tiny piece of the whole pie. I don't have to fix it. I'm not broken."
Maybe, just maybe, if I surrender to it, it will actually be easier to manage. Maybe taking my medicine won't seem like giving in. Maybe it won't feel like defines me. Maybe it will just be like taking my B12 shot each month after my bypass surgery - it's just something I do once a month to feel better. Well, Seroquel and Effexor are just something I take each day to make me feel better.
I'm doing well right now. I wake up every day fairly positive, fairly energized. I have hope and goals and I even enjoy working on hobbies or crafts. I am happy at the prospect of going back to work part time in a job that gives me a little more control over my scheduling and leaves me room to make changes if my physical or mental health changes. I still struggle every day with eating right and spending right. But I keep trying. I get up every morning and I'm willing to do the work. I'm willing to start over again when I've messed up. I'm willing to rebudget, eat a few more grams of protein, or ask for help from friends or my husband or my therapist.
Each of those actions is a form of surrender for me that I haven't always been willing to do in the past. I had to do everything perfectly, or I was a failure, so starting over on the budget or trying to eat better wasn't an option, because that meant I had failed. I wouldn't allow myself to fail because then that meant I was a failure. Getting out of bed was a struggle because it was so daunting trying to be perfect all the time. I didn't even want to try, because I knew it was only a matter of time before I showed how much of a fraud I was or how much of a waste of space I was on the planet. I couldn't ask for help, because that meant someone might see me as weak or stupid or ...any number of things. That's a lot of crap to carry around in my mind.
Surrender gives me a little peace of mind, even though it also causes some anxiety. A little voice in the back of my head is always there whispering "what if, what if, what if..." and sometimes it is quieter than others. Sometimes I almost forget it is there, but then when I least expect it, it surfaces. Sometimes it makes me reach out and take back that surrender, which inevitably leads me back down a destructive path. The difference is, I'm trying to let go of that all-or-nothing thinking that once told me I couldn't regroup my losses.
Today I know that I always have that option to give it up, at any given point and time. It's a little bit of a relief to know that I don't have to be perfect, and it's never too late to start again. And that's how I keep on keeping on, at least for today.
Tuesday, August 3, 2010
It's the Little Things...
Since I have been out of work for a year (by choice), and since my recent six week "vacation" to Texas, money has been a wee bit tight in our household. We're on a tight budget, but we give ourselves an allowance so we can get those odds and ends that we want and need each month.
In our old bedroom in the basement, I had a rub-on decal on the wall above the bed that said, "Always kiss me goodnight." I loved it, but unfortunately it decided it would not be willing to come off in one piece so it could be relocated. I believe I got it at Kohl's originally. Oh, yes, here it is...
They are priced at $29.95 usually, but Kohl's has awesome sales - for instance, the quote is available here for $14.99. I also pair up a great coupon with a sale to make a doable purchase price, but even $12.50 right now is a little extravagant. So, I was thinking about printing the saying out with my printer, cutting the letters out and making my own stencil to paint it on the wall. But in all honesty, I was feeling a little burned out when it came to home improvement. I needed a little break. I am also waiting on my Shutterfly and Snapfish photo deliveries so I can frame some prints and put some finishing touches on my photo wall.
And so, today, my dear friend and I ventured out to breakfast and then to the local Ross store. Let me just say I could spend an entire paycheck at Ross on almost any given day. I love shopping for clothes there. But I went in knowing I was on a budget, so my expectations were adjusted accordingly. As I perused the picture frames looking for something classy for my loves and likes art (more on that later), I noted two small canisters on the top shelf at the end of the aisle. I don't know how they even caught my eye - I'm a little (ok, lot) on the short side. If I had been standing in front of them, I never would have seen them. But I did. My first thought was, oh, they'll probably be something for the kitchen. But my heart was saying PLEASE BE SOMETHING LOVING. I didn't have to have the "Always Kiss Me Goodnight" phrase - even if it IS my favorite. Any loving quote would do, if it was a bargain buy. So I sucked in my breath and stood tiptoe to reach the shelf and I picked up the two round boxes. The first said something about mealtime - so my kitchen guess was correct. I put it back. I slowly turned the other one around so I could read the label.
OMG.
Always kiss me goodnight.
I wanted to click my heels together in the air, (but I didn't want to fall down in the middle of the store), so I just giggled excitedly and hugged my find to my chest. NOTHING is better than finding the EXACT item you wanted at a price you can afford - $6.99!!!!
I also found two AMAZING frames for my loves and likes - I will post about those tomorrow. Until then, I am going to go dream of putting the finishing touches on my new bedroom. Because suddenly, I have all the energy I need to finish up my little home improvement project.
In our old bedroom in the basement, I had a rub-on decal on the wall above the bed that said, "Always kiss me goodnight." I loved it, but unfortunately it decided it would not be willing to come off in one piece so it could be relocated. I believe I got it at Kohl's originally. Oh, yes, here it is...
They are priced at $29.95 usually, but Kohl's has awesome sales - for instance, the quote is available here for $14.99. I also pair up a great coupon with a sale to make a doable purchase price, but even $12.50 right now is a little extravagant. So, I was thinking about printing the saying out with my printer, cutting the letters out and making my own stencil to paint it on the wall. But in all honesty, I was feeling a little burned out when it came to home improvement. I needed a little break. I am also waiting on my Shutterfly and Snapfish photo deliveries so I can frame some prints and put some finishing touches on my photo wall.
And so, today, my dear friend and I ventured out to breakfast and then to the local Ross store. Let me just say I could spend an entire paycheck at Ross on almost any given day. I love shopping for clothes there. But I went in knowing I was on a budget, so my expectations were adjusted accordingly. As I perused the picture frames looking for something classy for my loves and likes art (more on that later), I noted two small canisters on the top shelf at the end of the aisle. I don't know how they even caught my eye - I'm a little (ok, lot) on the short side. If I had been standing in front of them, I never would have seen them. But I did. My first thought was, oh, they'll probably be something for the kitchen. But my heart was saying PLEASE BE SOMETHING LOVING. I didn't have to have the "Always Kiss Me Goodnight" phrase - even if it IS my favorite. Any loving quote would do, if it was a bargain buy. So I sucked in my breath and stood tiptoe to reach the shelf and I picked up the two round boxes. The first said something about mealtime - so my kitchen guess was correct. I put it back. I slowly turned the other one around so I could read the label.
OMG.
Always kiss me goodnight.
I wanted to click my heels together in the air, (but I didn't want to fall down in the middle of the store), so I just giggled excitedly and hugged my find to my chest. NOTHING is better than finding the EXACT item you wanted at a price you can afford - $6.99!!!!
I also found two AMAZING frames for my loves and likes - I will post about those tomorrow. Until then, I am going to go dream of putting the finishing touches on my new bedroom. Because suddenly, I have all the energy I need to finish up my little home improvement project.
Monday, August 2, 2010
Magnum Opus...
I wrote this three years ago, but I felt like posting it tonight.
************************
Magnum Opus
Nine months my creation lay in wait
For years I had planned this great labor.
I cherished the project as others before,
But this one brought more pain, anguish, delight.
When he was delivered, I cradled my creation
My child, my masterpiece.
For eighteen years I nurtured my greatest work
Retouching, remodling, reshaping,
Regretting, starting anew, enjoying each surprise.
I watched in amazement as his bright existence
Splashed onto life's blank canvas.
I came to rest only when I saw myself in him.
The artist is never quite finished
Modifying her design.
The time comes when she must put down her tools,
When it's time to stand back and behold
The product that love and desire
Created as a gift to the world.
************************
Magnum Opus
Nine months my creation lay in wait
For years I had planned this great labor.
I cherished the project as others before,
But this one brought more pain, anguish, delight.
When he was delivered, I cradled my creation
My child, my masterpiece.
For eighteen years I nurtured my greatest work
Retouching, remodling, reshaping,
Regretting, starting anew, enjoying each surprise.
I watched in amazement as his bright existence
Splashed onto life's blank canvas.
I came to rest only when I saw myself in him.
The artist is never quite finished
Modifying her design.
The time comes when she must put down her tools,
When it's time to stand back and behold
The product that love and desire
Created as a gift to the world.
Sunday, August 1, 2010
Remodel Nearly Complete...
My blogging has taken a backseat, along with everything else, while I have been remodeling a room in our house. Perhaps you remember back when I turned our "office" into my crafting area and it looked something like this:
If not, refresh your memory by rereading my blogpost called Crafter's Paradise. Unfortunately, my new paradise didn't have as much natural light as I would have liked, and so I soon relocated to our sunroom and my space looked like this:
I was somewhat happier, but I still felt that my space wasn't as organized as it could be. I also wasn't fond of all my stuff crammed into that white cabinet. The shelves didn't sit straight and they were warped. But it was better than nothing, and the natural light made me very happy.
I've finally reached a point of satisfaction with my crafting area. I recently repainted an old dresser we had. I then used some shelving I already owned to increase the storage capacity on top of the dresser. Here is my new and improved crafting area:
I finally found a storing solution that I love for my unmounted clear stamps - I now keep them in jewel cases for cds. They stick to the plastic case perfectly, and I just slide the plastic sheet into the case after I cut it in two and I can see easily what stamps I have. Tiny labels on the edge of the case tell me which case has which stamps.
You may be noticing that there is an aqua/teal color on the wall and then cream. Well, I started painting the wall aqua because I intended to paint the whole room that color. It is cream at present. But having just finished (almost) the bedroom of the same color, I'm not sure I want to undertake another huge painting project at this point. So I will either repaint the aqua cream or forge ahead with plans to repaint the entire room. More than likely, it will go back to cream color.
Now for the best part of my remodel energies. This is the way our office/junk room looked when I first started stripping wallpaper off the wall and there was still some miscellaneous junk in there along with paper torn from the walls:
Once the wallpaper was stripped off and the new coat of paint was on them, my next task was to get rid of the ugly blue carpet and I crossed my fingers in the hopes that the hardwood floors beneath would be usable...
And, all in all, they were not bad at all! But thanks to the fact that someone got latex paint on them, it took a serious amount of scrubbing to get them bright and shiny.
And so, once the floors were scrubbed (and scrubbed, and scrubbed again), and the lovely Behr color called Refreshing Pool was on the walls, this was what our once craft room/office now looked like as our bedroom:
I've finally reached a point of satisfaction with my crafting area. I recently repainted an old dresser we had. I then used some shelving I already owned to increase the storage capacity on top of the dresser. Here is my new and improved crafting area:
You may be noticing that there is an aqua/teal color on the wall and then cream. Well, I started painting the wall aqua because I intended to paint the whole room that color. It is cream at present. But having just finished (almost) the bedroom of the same color, I'm not sure I want to undertake another huge painting project at this point. So I will either repaint the aqua cream or forge ahead with plans to repaint the entire room. More than likely, it will go back to cream color.
Now for the best part of my remodel energies. This is the way our office/junk room looked when I first started stripping wallpaper off the wall and there was still some miscellaneous junk in there along with paper torn from the walls:
Once the wallpaper was stripped off and the new coat of paint was on them, my next task was to get rid of the ugly blue carpet and I crossed my fingers in the hopes that the hardwood floors beneath would be usable...
And so, once the floors were scrubbed (and scrubbed, and scrubbed again), and the lovely Behr color called Refreshing Pool was on the walls, this was what our once craft room/office now looked like as our bedroom:
I plan to put a wall decal on this wall that says "Always kiss me goodnight". I also want to buy a large "K" and "R" in either wood or metal and paint them a chocolate brown to coordinate with the bedding. I will put them on the wall above our portrait to personalize the room a little. The other key piece I want to add is something special that we did in Texas. As part of my family week there, we wrote a list of "Love/Likes" about the other person, so I am going to frame those and add my list about him to his side of the wall and his list about me to my side. This will be one of my favorite elements of our new room.
Here is a little bit better shot of the wood floors once they were cleaned up. I want to trade out the cream bedskirt for a white one. But baby steps.
A view of the closet. I need to find another knob for the left side door. The color on the walls is a little cooler than it appears here.
I'm loving all the natural light in here. After four years of sleeping in the basement, the beautiful teal color of the room along with the big window make for a bright but warm room.
I intend to make this wall and the wall behind the open door photo walls - these photos will just be of Kyle and me. They will be photos of us having fun, being silly and enjoying life. Something peaceful and happy to look at before we go to sleep each night.
We are keeping minimal items in this room. No TV in the bedroom anymore! Not sure how long that will last. But we don't want a lot of furniture and whatnot taking up room. I want it open and relaxing. Warm and inviting. We keep a scrabble board on the bookshelf by the bed and we play a game or two in bed a couple of nights a week. It's a great room just for the two of us to spend time together.
So there you have it. That is where my creative and other energies have been going for four weeks. I hope to have the bits and pieces done in another two weeks or so. I am waiting on my photos order to get here, then comes the task of finding picture frames that I like or can paint to match the others. This is the fun part - accenting the room with personal touches after lots of hard work!
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