Monday, April 9, 2012

The Siren's Call

I recently awoke from almost a month's long sleep. At least that's what it feels like. But more precisely it was an almost month's long psychosis of mixed episodes of depressions and manias of my bipolar. It's why I went to the hospital last week.

As much as I try to remember the past few weeks I just cannot do it. With the few snippets of images in my mind that remain I try to retrace the few memories I have backwards from the pictures but they never show up. Using those same images I try moving forward. Still, no recall of any memory. There are no memories of conversations, of no talks or any other verbal exchanges.

Try remembering before your birth and describing it. You know you were alive but you can't remember it. Or try to remember your years before turning three or. It can't be done. That's what it feels like every time I blackout in psychosis. And each time it occurs they last longer and closer in between.

It's hard to describe the feeling of knowing you've said or done something that was hurtful; especially having done something and you have absolutely no memory of it all. Things said and done during psychosis are not so easily filtered by others.

The truth is, there will be people whom you've hurt or wronged or scared so badly they won't want to forgive you, or they won't be able to. It won't matter that you're psychotic.

I've learned all you can do is offer an apology if you feel one is needed. If they can't accept it, you have to accept that. But every action has consequences, and sometimes apologies or even restitutions don't make everything better.

Messes. Look at the messes that "I" never intended to make but have to pay the consequences and clean up, as do those that get caught in their wakes. Burning bridges. You have to put pieces together like a crime investigation before you can attempt to fix things.

It's the excesses that make bipolar so fascinating to many people. Face it, depression isn't much fun to watch. But mania...mania can be exhilarating. Exciting. Mania can be fun.

And that's from outsiders. Outsiders can laugh at your goofy behavior. Your funny conversations. From inside, it's either equally exciting or like being trapped in a living hell. At least while it's happening. But when the ride is over...when the music stops...when reality returns...when you wake up, you're the one left holding the bag. You're left trying to figure where you have been and what all you have done. You're the one who has to put the pieces back together, to try to make your life whole again. And you have to do it despite not always being sure what really happened in the first place.

I have been where I am today more than once in the past but this time it is the hardest to deal with. I'm seriously having a hard time accepting and dealing with the past month's occurrences and actions because of my bipolar episodes; particularly my episodes that of my psychosis.

I've been here before. Standing here. Sitting here. Looking and listening. Watching. Half waiting while half moving.

However, just because I'm having a hard time dealing with my recent episode doesn't mean I'm in a state of despair or feeling overwhelmed. I'm only in a moment of being upset. And quit the contrary. I see the need for changes and I have a drive do whatever it takes to find an aggressive treatment no matter what is thrown my way.

Waking up from an episode and/or psychosis can be empowering. Fixing problems is all about attitude.

If I look around at my life and see nothing but rubble, if I let my issues overwhelm me, I wallow in guilt, then all my issues are likely to perpetuate more issues and more guilt and then trigger another cycle of depression. And that is negative. And that is not me.

But if I look around at my life and see possibilities and challenges, then I've got a better than even chance of making something good come out of something bad. And isn't that the ultimate goal?

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A Recycled-Dad with Bipolar & Parkinson's, reflections on fathering and family life and other stuff thrown in'll love my Soap Box Rants

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Why I call myself a Recycled Dad

I call myself a Recycled Dad because of the struggles with remarriage and being a step-parent and weekend dad. This is also about my life living with bipolar and how it affects me personally, my family and my job. It also reflects on the grace God has poured out on me throughout recovery from alcohol and an eating disorder. Recycled Dad is about my reflections on the wisdom God teaches daily on fatherhood and being a better husband in spite of being bipolar.

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