Project Life Title Page and Weeks 1-2

I was held up on getting my Project Life post because I had to wait for the ink to arrive for my printer.  I'm all caught up now, so here's a peek at my title page and weeks 1 and 2.

For the title page I stamped and embossed our last name and the year.  I used white embossing powder.  I wanted it to pop a bit more, so after I applied heat to the embossing powder I outlined the letters and numbers with a black fine point pen.  I punched the butterflies with my Martha Stewart punch, and I added flower and swirl brads to fancy it up.  I used a 6x12 page protector.

A closer look at the embossing, brads, and outline of the letters.

For the backside, I included my favorite picture from this last summer when we went to Vegas.  I stamped our initials and used a tag to show our wedding date. 

Some heart brads hold the tag onto the cardstock.

A closer look.

Next up was a layout describing the basics about who are included in this Project Life project.  There are pictures of Kyle, me, Pip, Dobby, and Spike.  I also journaled our ages, places of employment, and our 2012 goals.

The first week's layout.

This page included a picture of Kyle while we waited for an appointment, a gift card from a friend, packaging from a cocoa mix, a coaster from a pub where we lunched, and a picture of my mug of cocoa.

The opposite page has a photo of our tissues being strung throughout the living room by Dobby or Pip, a photo of Kyle's place of employment, a wallet card from Dave Ramsey's Financial Peace University, a tag from a shirt I bought, the sign showing how far it is to Cheyenne, and our mail  in the box. 

The first page of Week 2

Includes a picture of Pip sunning, the back of the tag from the previous page, a photo of my favorite chocolate, a photo of the prairie and MPH sign, and a photo of an awesome mural on a downtown business building. 

The second page for week 2 shows the snow we got, Pip relaxing, packaging from my favorite chocolate, a 30 minute parking sign at the doctor's office, a tag from a throw pillow, a picture of both dogs together and a picture of my god daughter with her new dog.

I'm having a LOT of fun with this - it's simple but I get to embellish it as much as I want.  Going to look around at other Projects and see what inspiration I find.

Making Peace with the Past...

I have already talked about the reasons for picking "peace" as my word for 2012 after having it for my word in 2011, too.  Today was an important but difficult step on that journey.  

Twelve years ago I was a senior in high school looking to finish my last five months of school.  It had been a stressful past year.  My dad had had a triple bypass surgery in June before my senior year began, and that same week my grandmother, his mother, passed away after years of illness and suffering.  The Friday before Martin Luther King Day in January 2000, my father began experiencing the tell-tell chest pains and signs of further heart problems.  He was admitted to the hospital and stints were placed in the arteries that had been bypassed the previous summer.   It felt like another near miss in a year of many scares.  

I was numb.  I had reached my capacity for worry, pain, anxiety and distress.  I hoped that this hospital visit was the last, and that my father's homecoming the following day on Saturday would be the last time I would see him feebly return from the hospital after having a "heart scare" as we'd come to know them.  

I was completely incapable of emotionally enduring the shock that the following Monday brought.  It was a holiday from school, and I had looked forward, like any teenager, to sleeping in.  So when the phone rang just after 7 am and my mother showed up at my door telling me it was my friend Allison, I groggily took the phone from her.  "Hey", I said. 

"April died last night."  I felt like I was being sucked into a dark well.  I felt myself falling, and put my hand against the wall to steady myself even though I was still sitting in bed.  

"What??" I asked breathlessly.  I couldn't quite grasp what I'd heard.   April was our classmate.  She was our class president.  A top athlete in the state and the strongest young woman I knew.   

I'd known April was sick for the past week or so, but that didn't register right away. I'd later learn that April died of complications of pneumonia, something that still didn't make sense to me.  How could someone so vibrant, so full of life, be gone?

I was shocked, and I was saddened, especially to see the grief of those who loved her best.  Yet I was numb beyond basic emotions.  No one close to me had ever died, especially not a child.  I couldn't grasp what it all really meant.  I'd been so afraid of losing my father - the center of my world - that I couldn't wrap my mind around this sudden unexpected blow.  

I got through that week and her funeral by employing a coping mechanism that I've reverted to often in my short life - autopilot.  I listened to her friends, her teachers, and people from across the state as they grieved the loss of her, but none of it really sank in.  I stood in the cemetery on the day of her funeral and contemplated what it meant to see that shiny casket  in the sun.  Morbid thoughts of her "sleeping" in the cold, dark ground haunted me, so I tried to forget where she was. 

I wasn't particularly close to April, but when you are in a K-12 rural school in a class of 9 (nine!), you have a closeness to your peers that is unique.  And when you are a senior in high school, on the edge of that precipice that is the rest of your life - opportunity, goals, potential, college, marriage, kids .... well, it's all very hard to understand how it is that your classmate was robbed of that.  It's hard to grasp why her family has to go through such pain.  Why teachers and other parents who loved her have to wonder what might have been.  And for me, it was sort of easier to just forget where she really was.  

Only I didn't forget.  For years April has been in my dreams quite regularly.  In every dream she is surprised, incredulous, really, that we all think she is dead.  She's living a normal life and can't understand why we all think she is gone.  This dream has happened in lots of variations, but the bottom line is always that she is not really gone.  Some of these dreams were so real and persistent that I, at times, blurred the line between really acknowledging truth and fantasy.  It was easier to pretend that she was somewhere else laughing at us for being so silly as to grieve for her. 

As the anniversary of her death approached this year, I reflected on recent dreams and the event as it happened twelve years ago.  I wondered at the meaning behind the dreams and I also wondered why this year felt different as the date approached.  I finally decided that April's death was continuing to haunt me because I'd never accepted it, never dealt with it, and at the time was incapable of processing it.  And as much as I dreaded the idea, I realized that part of my journey to peace this year meant starting with one of the most unsettled parts of my past. 

Today, I asked Kyle to take me out to the small community where I lived and attended 7-12 grade.  I had only been through this community once in the last ten years, and I was more than a little apprehensive about revisiting some feelings that might come up once I was there.  

Surprisingly, it was all less terrifying than I imagined.  Most of the old school building has been demolished, and it was a bit sad to see it gone.  I remember days of reading by the old heaters, racing for a place against them before classmates got there first.  I remember pep rallies - events which I detested and more often than not, hid in the bathroom during.  I remember dreading gym, laughing at the sound of Mrs. Boehlke in the math room yelling in frustration at one or possibly both Beightol boys in the same day.  I thought about the three shiny quarters our principal would put in our hands on movie day - the last day of school before Christmas break - so we could each get an ice cold soda out of the machine.  I thought about my dear friend, Japanese student Mayumi, and how much fun we had in English when I tutored her.  I remembered Independent Reading Book tests, the fun of pep band, and the joy in beating our rivals Southeast or Pine Bluffs in volleyball or basketball.  This building held a jumble of memories for me - some good, some bad.  It was a relief to allow myself to think about them and just let them be what they were.  I didn't try to categorize them or think them through.  I just let them be what they were. 

After visiting the school I asked Kyle to drive by the house that I lived in for three and a half years.  A different color, some changes here and there, but still standing.  It felt weird to see someone else's life in place of my own.  But it also felt right.  I was so far from where I'd been the last time I set foot in that place.  

And finally, before heading back to Cheyenne, I requested we visit the cemetery.  I had been to April's grave site only once since the funeral.  My classmates and I had gathered there on our beautiful graduation day to release balloons in memory of her before we went our separate ways to parties, celebrations and then on our own life paths.  I felt it was necessary to visit April's grave in order to find some peace in her death.  I needed to acknowledge that she was there - and she wasn't there.  Her resting place was final, and it could simply be what it was. I didn't have to label it in any way other than to simply acknowledge that she was gone in body but obviously remembered in spirit.  

I wasn't sure exactly where her stone was, but it's a small cemetery and others had been to her grave in the preceding months, marking it with flowers, angels and a wreath. I spotted it right away.  I grasped Kyle's hand and led him to it, wordlessly.  We stood reading the little mementos left by others.  Kyle said, "She must have loved Coca-Cola."  A smile spread across my face.  "Oh, yes, indeed.  She did love Coca-Cola!"  My husband, who never knew her in person, had innocently reminded me of one of the simplest pleasures April had loved in her short life.  The wind had blown the Christmas wreath over, and so I kneeled to right it and tried to drive the stake into the hard ground.  I stood back up, nodded to Kyle, and said, "Ok, then.  Okay."  I'd been terrified to go, but in the end, the lightness that I felt leaving the cemetery stunned me.

I will be able to remember her great smile, her love of Coca-Cola, and her stylin' Doc Martins.  The bright personality she was will remain, and the pain will fade, with time.  I'm just grateful to have found some peace in celebrating who she was and not the tragic end.  I'll never forget April, and I wouldn't want to.  But I won't have to be so sad when I remember her.  

Giving Support Equals Receiving Support...

Two years ago I started our local (and only state) chapter of the Depression and Bipolar Support Alliance.  I was so frustrated as I tried to build a community of support for myself and my recovery, because support groups were almost nonexistent.  

The really cool part about developing this group to give other people support through their mood disorder recovery has given me so much in return.  I have met some really awesome people who show up every week.  I'm continually amazed at the level of intelligence this group has collectively.  Everyone is so solution focused rather than dwelling on the negatives.  We can cry or vent about the hard parts and then move on to supporting each other with details about how we have weathered similar storms.  In any given group I see tears of pain, tears of laughter and countless moments of support, friendship and understanding.  I get back multiples of what I give. 

Sometimes running such a support group is a real challenge since I, too, struggle with the disorders we support.  At times my motivation wanes and I grow disorganized and disheveled by the ups and downs of my moods.  I experience great social anxiety and dread leading a meeting and having to be "up" or at least engaged when I really want to isolate.  Sometimes this group pushes me to act in ways that are GOOD for me, when otherwise I would fall into old habits and feel sorry for myself.  So while I started this group hoping to help others, I benefit just as much as others, if not more. 

I have lots of goals and dreams for this organization.  We are officially a nonprofit and can apply for grant money.  We are tax-deductible for generous donors.  We can branch into groups for specialized groups - faith based support, friends and family, children and teens, men's only, women's only, etc.  We can create a drop-in center where people can come and get information on mood disorders, borrow materials from a lending library and even come for support before they reach crisis level and have to enter a hospital.  

All these goals take planning, time, money and resources I don't yet have.  I'm looking into potential office space that would work for our drop in center and provide a meeting room for our groups to meet.  I need to apply for grant money to cover this expense and many of the expenses I have provided out of pocket - mainly envelopes, labels, business cards, advertising brochures, fliers, postage, paper, copies, newsletters, etc.  I do have a couple of generous group members who have provided important funds for reaffiliation and other important dues.  This makes life for me far less stressful. 

I'm excited to see where DBSA Cheyenne can go this year and beyond, and I'm excited to challenge myself to doing more with this organization to help me and others with our day to day struggles.  Mostly I'm excited to see the way that the positive influence of the group changes other lives, in addition to mine.

Facing Fear...

I mentioned in my last post that I am starting over when it comes to medications and managing my bipolar disorder.  I began seeing a new psychiatrist in December and I'm confident in his training and research and believe he is the number one treatment provider in this region and maybe in the US for soft bipolar.  "Soft" bipolar is also known as Bipolar II - it basically is the less serious form of bipolar disorder - but because of its nature, can be very hard to treat.  Bipolar patients generally do not find relief from the use of an antidepressant alone.  Most patients need the added boost of a mood stabilizer.  The fact that I was unresponsive to many of the antidepressants I was on over the years relates to the misdiagnosis I had. 

Originally I was diagnosed with clinical depression.  When my last psychiatrist suggested that she was leaning toward a bipolar disorder I was having none of it.  I thought of bipolar disorder as an illness that caused outbursts of rage or frantic behavior, and that wasn't my experience with my own illness.  I was mostly just depressed and didn't get the "upswings" that some bipolar patients even enjoy.  It took over a year to come to a place where I accepted that might be the right diagnosis.  My new doc asked me if I felt the diagnosis fit and I said yes.  Given the 30+ page stack of paperwork I filled out for him, he agreed completely that I am indeed a soft bipolar gal.  And I'm okay with that. 

So the next question becomes, how do we treat it?  His first move is to greatly increase my thyroid meds - both t3 and t4.  He's done extensive treatment on the link between thyroid levels and bipolar disorder.  I'm on board with that and we've taken that step.  

Then the hard part begins.

I am on very high doses of Effexor XR and Zoloft (generics).  So high that the doc said, "I've been known to subscribe high doses of meds, but these are high doses of meds."  Although the high doses of meds I'm on have worked better than most, I'm not where I should be in many respects.  Some of my obsessive and compulsive issues remain untreated despite being on two meds that would treat full-blown Obsessive Compulsive Disorder (OCD).  This is in part because I am not on the right combination for my specific biological makeup and the type of bipolar disorder I have. This means I must be taken off of the drugs I have been on for over two years.  It also means withdrawal. 

Withdrawal is often thought of as associated with illegal drug use, but it applies to prescription drugs as well.  Potential withdrawal symptoms for Effexor XR include:

• balance, coordination issues, dizziness and even seizures (extreme case scenario)
• ringing in the ears or a feeling of a sort of "shock" in the extremities
• agitation, difficulty sleeping OR fatigue and oversleeping
• nausea and vomiting
• irritability, nervousness, leading to general anxiety
• depression & suicidal ideation
• hypomania (fast talking, distractable, jumping from topic to topic
• confusion, unclear thinking
• headaches
• flu-like symptoms
• nightmares and sleepwalking
• tremors

As for Zoloft, withdrawal symptoms are similar.  Because it's rarely advised to discontinue medications all at once and without close supervision, I will be slowly tapering off these medications.  Even a slow tapering can lead to a wide range of symptoms.  It's pretty intimidating to know I have to go through this.  Been there, done that, got the T-shirt. I can take the "safe" path, stay on the meds and continue to exist in life as I currently do - neither deeply depressed but also not generally experiencing a sense of well-being.  And it's honestly tempting to do that.  The fear you do know is sometimes more comforting than what you don't know.  Yet, I also know that a much better of quality of life is available to me if I'm willing to let the majority of the decisions take place out of my hands by a trusted professional. 


That is not to say that I don't have power in this situation or control.  New doc has guaranteed that he can help me feel better.  He also says it will probably take one to two years.  It means a lot of patience.  In his words, withdrawal from my current meds will "be hell".  Been there, done that, got that t-shirt.  


And while I really, really do not want to go through all of this again, I have to keep reminding myself of two things.  


So much possibility for my life exists in the treatment of my symptoms.  I have so much potential for happiness, satisfaction, and the opportunity to make meaning of my illness if I can get on top of it. 


But most of all, I remind myself that I have survived.  As much as I have no desire to go through another emotionally and physically daunting journey, I know I can do it because I've done it - not once, not twice, but at times on a daily basis and even on a moment-to-moment basis.  That helps stem the fear and leaves the power within me.  Ultimately, my well-being depends on my ability to be open to possibility.  And while it would be easier to be bitter and resentful at "having to go through this again", giving up and refusing to try again would make everything I've accomplished and survived in the past 8 years worth nothing.  All the trials and failures and successes would have been for nothing.  


My attitude and optimism will ebb and flow through this process.  My spirits will dip and my motivation will decrease even more so than it has already.  It will be tempting in the moment to just take the "easy" way out and stick with what I've got now.  I will allow myself a little time to feel all that and pout about it.  Then I'll push on and keep my eye on the prize.  


I'll continue to document this process on my blog, both to raise awareness and to show others going through this that they are not alone.  Your best wishes are much appreciated as I begin the next leg of my journey. :)

The Pain and Expression of Depression...

I'm deeply saddened by the death of a local 13 year old boy who is thought to have taken his own life.  I'm also angry that another person has succumbed to the pain of depression and believed only death would soothe it.  

I know that kind of pain all too well.  I, too, have believed that death was the only respite from the deep grief I felt.  I've blogged about my own suicide attempt here.  It's not something I talk about often, because few people understand.  Suicide is still a taboo subject.  It's victims are painted too frequently as weak and selfish.  It's impossible to find the words to express the kind of pain that makes one consider suicide, so sometimes the only expression becomes the act itself and the promise of sweet relief. 

I don't question why a person chooses suicide.  I understand why they have come to that decision.  What frustrates me, however, is the lack of resources available to those of us battling depression.  What frustrates me, is the lack of willingness for others to understand that depression is more than just the blues.  What frustrates me is the belief that those of us with depression need to "buck up" or just keep our chin up.  Depression is an illness that requires treatment the way any other disease does, and as much as those of us with depression would like to pull ourselves up by the bootstraps and get better, it's often out of our hands entirely.  

I've struggled with depression for twenty two years.  I didn't seek treatment until I'd had the disease 14 years.  I've been in treatment since January 2004, so a solid 8 years, and tonight as I write this I am no closer to being "cured", well, or symptom free than I was in 2004.  The only difference between the depressed person I was then and the depressed person I am now is that I no longer hold suicide as an option.  That was a very difficult decision to make, and one I made mostly because I won't hurt the people around me and I won't let others with depression see one more person "give in".  It doesn't mean that I don't think sometimes that death would be preferable to the pain of depression.  It doesn't mean I don't at times passively wish for that permanent reprieve.  It simply means I will persist in my attempt to treat my depression and bipolar disorder so that I can live the fullest life possible. 

This is a monumental task.  I get angry when, as a result of a suicide, people wonder why the victim didn't reach out or ask for help.  They make it sound so easy, so innocuous.  But sometimes, even after we've asked for help, we end up feeling alone.  Why, after 8 years of treatment am I back at square one in seeking treatment?  The biggest reason  is the lack of resources I have had since moving back to WY.  When I first sought treatment in 2004 at my college in Nebraska, and later at the doctor's office, I was fortunate to find people who were monumental in helping me get through the last two years of college.  My therapist was amazing and charged me a mere $10 per session instead of her standard $90 based on my student status and inability to pay.  I saw a psychiatric nurse practitioner who was also very experienced.  Due to a program they had at her clinic I saw her as often as necessary for free.  The drug companies accepted me for their patient assistance programs and I had the medications I needed despite my lack of health insurance. 

Fast forward two years to my move to Wyoming.  Since moving here there has been a mass exodus of physicians.  Our doctors, for whatever reasons, have left Wyoming for opportunities in other states.  Because of such moves, I have seen three different psychiatrists in Cheyenne, and finally went to Ft. Collins where I'm on my second.  Five doctors in eight years makes treatment hard.  

Then there's the issue of therapy.  It's widely known that the best chance a person has with depression is a combination of medication and therapy.  Medication changes our brain chemistry while therapy changes our behaviors and perceptions.  Together they can work magnificently.  Without both, though, a patient is not fully armed in the battle against a mood disorder.  I had a wonderful therapist here who was the fourth therapist I'd seen before finding someone I liked and trusted.  I'll write another time about the difficulties in finding quality therapy, but the point I'm getting to is that she, too, left Cheyenne in 2011.  Thus began a new search for a therapist.  I'm on my third one this year, and I'm very grateful to have his help and wisdom, but therapy is not easy!

The few doctors and therapists that remain, as well as the one mental health treatment facility that serves patients on a sliding scare, are incredibly overwhelmed.  Waiting lists are months if not more than a year, long.  I waited on such a list for 9 months during a period of time after I was married but had no insurance.  Drugs continue to be ridiculously high and more insurance companies are declining to cover certain medications.  My own health insurance company has stated it will allow me only half the dosage of my current therapeutic level beginning January 1st 2012.  They seem to suggest that the medication is merely for my own pleasure and enjoyment rather than lifesaving.  But what the heck if 600mg is what I require - 300mg is what is "allowed". 

So here I am, 22 years into living with depression, capable of making rational decisions when it comes to my mental health treatment and providers, and I am no closer to finding relief than I was at 8 years old.  How can  anyone living with this disease not find that a bit daunting?  And if I feel this alone in my fight at 30, knowing what I need to do and who I need to see, how alone must this little boy of 13 felt?  

Most people would not deem suicide courageous - and I don't in any way want to say I condone it or glorify it - however, I get it.  And when I think about this little boy's situation and I picture him, alone in the dark and taking his last breaths, and knowing what goes through one's mind as one waits to die, I can't help but think him brave.  For this little boy chose the uncertainty of death and dying as the preferred path than any longer bearing the pain of his life.  And that path was no easier to take than to face the demons themselves.  

I'm angry that there are not more resources for those of us with mood disorders.  I'm angry that there isn't a magic solution that treats body and mind.  I'm angry that there are not enough doctors to go around, not enough therapists and not enough funding for a large number of people to seek what help there is.  I'm angry that depression interferes with my life on a daily, and sometimes hourly basis.  I'm angry that a precious child had so few resources that he ended a promising life.  

Most of us with mood disorders have friends and family who love us, but that doesn't "fix" the illness.  I know that personally, I minimize the symptoms so as not to worry others.  I smile when I really wish I could cry.  And even though my friends have said, "Call me anytime!  Even at 2 am", that the reality is that it's impossible for me to make that call.  I have a hard enough time asking for help from the people I pay for it, let alone someone else.  When anxiety keeps me awake all night and racing thoughts give me little rest, the reality is that I feel very alone.  Even if I make that call or go downstairs and wake Kyle, no one can really help alleviate the absolute loneliness I feel.  My symptoms don't show the way it might if I had another illness.  People forget to check in on me because they can't "see" the toll it's taking on me, and since I don't want to  be perceived as feeling sorry for myself, I don't let it show how much I need their support.

Depression is not a rational or reasonable illness, thus those of us with the illness often act irrational and unreasonable.  So while it might seem "silly" or unfathomable that this dear child - or anyone - who has killed himself wouldn't just ask a friend or family for help, to me it's understandable. Before we keep encouraging people to "reach out" we need to make sure there are substantial resources to reach out to.  Otherwise, it's impossible to feel heard and acknowledged and leads to isolation, withdrawal and deeper depression.  


I don't pretend to know what the answer to all this is.  I just know that from my own experience, especially in this past year, that the resources we need just aren't available.  And until there's attention to this, suicide will continue to be a viable option for some people. 

One Little Word 2012...

Photo by Dan

Playing along with Ali Edward's One Little Word for the second year, I've given lots of thought to what my word should be.  Instead of making resolutions that I know will break, I pick a word that I want to see more of in my life for the coming year.  Last year I picked "peace", and as much as I was looking forward to seeing what new word picked me for 2012, I have concluded that my word will once again be "peace".  I lost my footing some in 2011 and I didn't put as much effort into creating peace the way I intended.  I am already taking some steps to change this in 2012.  

Kyle and I are taking Dave Ramsey's Financial Peace University starting this Wednesday.  Several friends or family members have already taken this class and have reaped various rewards from it.  I will post as we take this journey to bring us some financial peace.  I am very excited about the class and the prospect of, someday, being debt free. 


I am seeing a new psychiatrist, and though it may take a year to two years, he promises he can help me find the medications I need to treat the bipolar disorder I have.  He says I present a challenge to him, but he is sure he can help me.  That is a considerably life-changing promise.  Treatment of my bipolar symptoms could mean more creativity, better ability to write, and return to gainful employment, all of which mean a considerable amount of peace.


I am enrolled as a member of Fitness One.  I will endeavor to lose the weight I regained, as well as the last twenty additional pounds I needed to lose to reach my goal weight.  It's been three years since my gastric bypass, and while I'm still much smaller than I was when I had the surgery, bad habits have worked their way into my life and psychiatric medications have caused unwanted weight gain.  I know I will be more at peace with my depression and my body size and shape if I workout regularly. 


Kyle and I have made some important decisions about our family and the lifestyle we will have together.  I will be sharing these decisions as part of my blog in the coming year.  I will be working to be at peace with the way life is when it's out of my control, and to be at peace with the decisions we make as a team. This will bring me peace in my marriage, my life in general and make peace in other avenues more attainable.  


I'm going to apply for grant money to expand the services my nonprofit depression and bipolar disorder group offers in order to bring more peace to others, as well.  


2012 offers a lot of hope for change in many great ways, and I intend to put much effort into making those changes happen often and for good throughout the year and into my future years.  Peace is something I will continually have to strive for.  I won't get to the end of 2012 and simply have acquired peace for good.  Just like happiness, peace ebbs and flows and we must make the most of the moments of peace and happiness as they happen.  


What's your word for 2012?