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BIPOLAR and DEMENTIA: AN UNHAPPY PAIRING

Bipolar and Dementia: An Unhappy Pairing

5 Novemberr, 2022

This post requires a preface: 

Life seems to give us as many obstacles as it does choices. If you are lucky enough, you will find a path around or through your obstacles. Never overlook obscure opportunities that may help you on your way. In a worst-case scenario, blaze your own way … kick ass and take names. 
I won’t say that we only live once because I do not believe that, but we do owe it to ourselves to make the best of the life we are living now.

With the greatest blessings, 
Noor 

(“Noor,” is a common Arabic unisex name meaning “light”, “The Divine Light.” May I help bring light to you through life’s many foibles and success!)

A couple of weeks ago, I loaned a book to my boss about dementia and how the philosophy and education methods we use are being applied to persons with dementia. It is a way to keep dementia patients mentally active and engaged, and potentially to slow the rate of the disease’s progression. I have taken many courses that are specific to working with persons with dementia, and my Master’s degree is specific to my educational philosophy and methodology. It is a union with a great deal of promise. 

After lending the book to her, I started thinking about how my Bipolar might be affected should I begin to develop dementia. I took an entirely fresh and idealistic approach to researching bipolar and dementia. I thought of it as a big “IF” or “unlikely” that I develop it. What I began to discover killed the glee and optimism I was feeling. What I was finding was terribly disturbing. For once this was not some creative writer’s errant opinion, but rather it was hard scientific investigation and facts from doctors and researchers … medical professionals. I did not like what I was finding. To quote a line from a recently watched show, “People lie. Facts do not.” Since a lot of this material was in scientific journals with terms and formulas which I would struggle to paraphrase, there will be some direct quotes with hopefully sufficient documentation should you wish to delve further. I will spare us all the torture of APA formatting in this post.

What immediately jumped out was a 2020 analysis where it was determined that people with bipolar disorder are about three times more likely to develop dementia, while another expansive analysis also found a significantly increased risk (1). These chances increased exponentially with the earlier the age that Bipolar arises in the individual. My Bipolar reared its ugly head at around the age of 12 or 14, so this was not exciting news for me. My pediatrician at the time chalked it up to prepubescent mood swings and anxieties, setting a decades-long period where I went undiagnosed and untreated despite what should have been clear Bipolar warning signs.

Another statistic that was commonly shared by most of the researchers revolved around the frequency of severe Bipolar episodes in relation to increases in the likelihood of dementia. “The number of bipolar episodes someone experiences could also play a role in dementia risk. In a 2004 study published in the Journal of Neurology, Neurosurgery & Psychiatry, the rate of dementia increased about 6% with each bipolar episode that led to a hospital admission.” (2)  For me, as well as for most people (especially for those with finance or insurance limitations, or more importantly those who are not yet aware they are dealing with something as serious as Bipolar) there are likely a myriad of instances when we should have gone to the hospital but didn’t. This qualification of hospital-admission is skewed in my opinion because the number of serious Bipolar episodes one has had may not be properly credited to Bipolar-and-hospital stay stats. 

On a bit of personal reflection regarding my last post and my family medical history, I found more statistics, heavy on the Bipolar numbers. They say that “if you were diagnosed with Bipolar at an early age, this generally predicts a shorter overall lifespan (see above paragraph). Though, it does depend on your lifestyle and individual contributing factors, which can be improved.” (2)“Experts have established that living with any mental health condition reduces your life expectancy by anywhere from 8-10 years. The life expectancy for someone with Bipolar Disorder is approximately 67 years old.” (3)  This I found particularly upsetting as I have enough planned for my future to maybe get me to 80. But it might also explain why of three of my grandparents with mental health issues, two died at 69 and a third barely made 70. As good healthcare and healthy living are important to all of us, this may be a key primarily for dementia, proper medication care can be the tool for Bipolars to outlive the statistics.

I am including the results of a couple of pharmaceutical studies that show us that no matter what the facts tell us, there is always something new and promising waiting around the corner, in this case a lithium vs. valproate comparison: Which one works?

Scientific Reports volume 12, Article number: 14142 (2022)

“Effect of valproate and lithium on dementia onset risk in bipolar disorder patients“

Compared to non-users, valproate-only users and both users showed a higher risk of dementia (59% and 62%, respectively). In sub-group analysis, valproate increased the dementia risk when prescribed for at least 59 days or 23 cumulative defined daily doses. However, the dementia risk associated with lithium is unclear. Therefore, we concluded that lithium has the potential to be the safer choice as a mood stabilizer over valproate for elderly bipolar disorder patients considering the risk of dementia. (My note to you: I have been on lithium for almost 15 years. Look for studies related to Lithium treatments).

Finally, use the information above as a tool to improve your lives – and stats. I am not married to the statistics above, but rather I will try to rewrite them. Eat well, mind my foods choices (or in moderation) that promote good health. See a doctor often. Change my meds if/when they are no longer effective. Create a happy and full existence and watch as I pass that 67 year old landmine! I intend to look back at it from my 70’s or 80’s.

Hang in there!!!

Blessings,

Noor

  • Bipolar Disorder and Dementia: What’s the Connection? Written by Angel Ridout, Jul 19, 2022
  • National Library of Medicine, National Center for Biotechnology Information. History of Bipolar disorder and the risk of dementia: a systematic review and meta-analysis. Journal List, HHS Author Manuscripts, PMC5365367

Trusted Source, 2021

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I’M ONLY A MAN IN A SILLY RED SHEET

4 July, 2022

I’M ONLY A MAN IN A SILLY RED SHEET

I can’t stand to fly
I’m not that naive
I’m just out to find
The better part of me

I’m more than a bird, I’m more than a plane
I’m more than just some pretty face beside a train
And it’s not easy to be me

I wish that I could cry
Fall upon my knees
Find a way to lie
‘Bout a home I’ll never see

It may sound absurd, but don’t be naive
Even heroes have the right to bleed
I may be disturbed, but won’t you concede
Even heroes have the right to dream?
And it’s not easy to be me

(“Superman,” Songwriter: John Ondrasik)

Kitchen storage cabinet made by my Great-Grandfather Otto Geschke, or his father Heinrich

I am back a week now from the annual pilgrimage to somehow rescue the farmhouse, ironically exactly a year after my last trip and posting about how that went. This was my fourth trip to the farmhouse to sort and sell some of the massive amounts of stuff inside and around it. It is incomprehensible how my father accumulated so much shit, and I mean that in a not very nice way, and managed to stuff the house floor to ceiling and wall to wall on four floors, in addition to a 30’ trailer beside it. With everything we have been able to sell already deeply discounted, $2.00 here, $5.00 there, $20.00 probably being the most expensive items, we have to deal with cheap ”garage-salers” who want to fight you over a dollar, plus the ones that get past you without paying, and the friends of my father who as if they haven’t stolen enough from him already, try pitting me and my sister against each other over prices and then do fuzzy math to get away with more for less. These people disgust me and makes trying to do the right thing by my parents even harder. I might as well have a sign at the curb that says, “Come rob me.”

Artifacts from the kitchen dig

This being the fourth year of sorting and selling, we chose to skip the dumpster and focus on what we could sell, leaving the “crap” to huge piles in corners, mostly in the basement where the endless supply of old farm tools were the biggest sellers. Opening the basement to be as safe as possible to shoppers was itself a Herculean task. It takes Superheroes, (my sister included) to accomplish what we did, often touching (gloved) the masses of now-garbage items covered in white mold, but it was still not enough. We even dug a huge pit off the back side of the kitchen to bury shovels full of rotted things we wouldn’t even touch gloved. In the end, little got buried because we became consumed with more urgent projects, but interestingly we discovered china and pottery fragments about two feet down. It must have been a kitchen garbage pit at one point because I cannot imagine an outhouse placed that close to the main house. Ironically, almost everywhere we have ever dug turned out artifacts. Right now I have a few metal/iron items soaking in a big bowl of Coca Cola. If it will eat away very heavy rust deposits and crusting off iron, imagine what it does to your insides if you drink it regularly. 

Probably the second-most Superhero task was acting as historian and tour guide of the house and grounds and extended property for the people who came, mostly out of curiosity about the house and it’s insides. I even had a couple of people ask to see the attic which for safety reasons we had as off-limits. I had reached out to several local historians and historical societies with little result. Shameful on their parts, actually, as that is the job they are paid to do. I had to act as the homestead’s most dedicated advocate in a move to find a sympathetic buyer. 

In terms of dealing with emptying the contents of the house, it’s been pretty much a shit-show. I am very angry with both of my parents for letting everything about the house and their finances get to where they are today. Most of his retirement income went into the acquisition of things we can’t seem to sell or have had to throw away. My father apparently never passed up a yard or garage sale. A lot of items still had old price tags on them. There are so many small items that rather than add price tags, my sister and I made the prices up as we were asked. We will never get the house empty, just the two of us, and we will never recover the millions of dollars that were squandered on fair weather “friends” (the vultures who kept showing up for money and freebies), crooked contractor friends, charitable gifts (but not to their own children), and junk. 

Me on a good day

Like, what was my father thinking? He let the 1838 porches on the front of the house rot until they half fell off and had to be removed. We have over a dozen refrigerators, nearly 30 ancient TVs, 20+ dinosaur microwaves, and about a dozen antique washing machines – one is so old that I think Jesus used it to wash his robes. My trips upstate cost triple what we recoup having these farmhouse garage sales. It would be cheaper to send money to my mother directly, but that then negates the fact that the house still needs to be emptied before it is sold. I saw a really great quote from Power of Positivity yesterday. Shortened: “ … this is the oldest you’ve ever been and the youngest you’ll ever be again.” It is true, and I have said it many times, I am not getting any younger and every run up there gets harder. I guess we do until we can’t.

Bottom line: There is no answer or end in sight. I have always tried to be all and do all for all. I have tried this for the last several years, including the trip to Dallas with my sisters to empty two massive storage units of my parents’ personal possessions. We have become the guardians, the babysitters. It’s a lot of weight to tow. While I am in the role, I am best served operating on autopilot. Once I leave, the walls come down. I am no longer pretending to be Superman. I have left my silly red cape in Jesus’ washing machine until the next trip. 

I returned home and my Bipolar clearly took over. I met with my therapist the next day and put my depression and anxiety at a 12 on a 1-10 scale. I returned home feeling completed defeated and powerfully depressed. I felt so bad that all I wanted to was cry for the next few days back. I was too emotional to even write. Do Superheroes cry, bleed, or give up? They should, at least occasionally. It is still a long road ahead of me.

Blessings,

Noor

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WHEN IT COMES TO GOVERNMENT, WHY DO WE TRY?

29 May 2022

WHEN IT COMES TO GOVERNMENT, WHY DO WE TRY?

I have to say, my depression and anxiety skyrocketed last week. It is not from the normal minutiae of which there is plenty. Instead, I think it is that sinking sense of hopelessness of comes with knowing that we have been down this road over and over, that government never changes, not even for the biggest crises. At the very best we get new players via elections, but mostly the background people, the people in the wings, keeps its own political players in place, and life goes on, business as usual.

Here in Hudson County, we just finished a mayoral election. In Hudson county we have a very strong Democratic Machine. They decide who wins, not the voters, not to overlook the fact that both candidates were Democrats. I do not think Republicans exist here. If they do, they don’t vote because they have no candidate. And speaking of not voting, even winning is not without embarrassment. Our two-term incumbent mayor, the Popular Pride of the Peninsula, won with only 8% of registered voters, less than 1% over his opponent. Can you imagine being “The Man” with only 8% of registered voters coming out for you, and then calling his 8% a grand sweep with less than 1% over the opposition) We should all be embarrassed with a 16% turn out rate.

It would be easy for naysayers to discredit me as I am not a part of the Machine, but I have been involved in city politics, and I quit when it became obvious that I would never accomplish any of my goals because I did not and would not have enough political weight. I have since asked for things from local politicians, namely my useless city councilman (“I’m a third term Town political figure” as if that gives him any credibility). For his last four years in office, all my neighborhood got was “It’s not in my realm of power” (POWER?!?! He’s our freaking representative!, follow up on something!). We need traffic safety measures for all of the children in my neighborhood who are forced to play in the street, and we need street sweeping … something our taxes pay for but we’ve never gotten.

The biggest and latest failure in government is the spate of school shootings. I have written about it so many time over the past several years and here we are today, no further along. Why? Lobbyists own politicians. Politicians own power. Power owns the office, and the goal is to stay in that office as long as the heart beats (OK, I give, I think some of those in office are actually dead and propped up like mannikins). So, none of us are surprised that when the gun lobbyists say jump, our leaders say “how high?” And for those who plead the Second Amendment, it is sadly not a black-and-white answer and the defenses for gun rights can be twisted in whatever way best suits the argument.

The big political test (again) at the moment is gun control. The right to bear arms was for the purpose of forming a militia in defense against a foreign power. One man. One gun. Look at the Swiss for how well this works. It is honestly admirable. But here there are ineffective approaches to responsible gun ownership and display of your gun might. If you do not own a pickup truck onto which you can mount your 7-gun gun rack, you can buy the one that attaches to the back of the front seat headrests so that your children can play with the guns in the back seat while you drive. Novel approach to parenting. Americans, as individuals, can have as many guns as we can buy, legally acquired or not, and most disturbingly, military grade and capacity. Good God, do you really need to shoot Bambi in half with bullets to killl him? Who in the hell gave you the right to show up at school to see how many children you can pick off because we all know a second grader might outwit you if you only had a single-round gun. Rather than beat the dead horse, and the one before that, and the one before that, and … well you get it, let me just say that not even being at the end of the fifth month of 2022, the United States has suffered 214 mass shootings, and 17,300 gun related deaths (120 deaths per day due to gun violence!). I encourage you to go here for more details. We are sadly a gun culture. It goes right down to the toys we were given as children for birthdays, Christmas, or simply because we asked. My lunatic grandmother gave me toy guns any chance she had … and my parents promptly threw them away. I didn’t have a cap gun …. I had caps and a sharp rock. I did not turn out so bad.

There is the requisite outcry taking place right now regarding gun control. Political leaders will promise changes to gun laws until the next big story or news cycle, All we will get is lip service and empty promises. We have been trained not to expect anything better.

Blessings,

Noor

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COVID AND CHRONIC FATIGUE SYNDROM

24 April 2022

COVID AND CHRONIC FATIGUE SYNDROM

A couple of weeks ago, my husband asked me why I was always so tired all of the time and why I tired so easily. I guess I felt so “blah” that I never gave it much thought, that I was so relieved to be able to just stop whatever I was doing that I never questioned it. So I looked fatigue up. CFS, in relation to COVID, has lots of write-ups. Generally speaking, COVID fatigue only lasts a few days to a few weeks (my COVID was February/ March of last year and here I am, physically still tired and mentally foggy today). The one thing the numerous articles had in common was that we still do not know all of the long-term effects of having had COVID, and that there is an increasing awareness of what is called “Long-Haul” COVID.

According to an article in Healthline, “one 2021 study Trusted Source collected information from more than 3,000 people in 56 countries who had COVID-19 and experienced symptoms lasting longer than 28 days. The researchers noted several similarities between long COVID and CFS. At 6 months with long COVID, study participants reported three common symptoms: fatigue, cognitive dysfunction, and post-exertional malaise (PEM). PEM occurs if someone has worse symptoms following physical or mental activity. This mirrors what happens in CFS, when people may find it difficult to do the tasks they want to do. The same study found that nearly half of the participants had to reduce their workload due to their symptoms, and 22 percent were unable to work at all.”

I have mentioned in past posts that my former manic episodes were a mixed blessing. I did not need much sleep and I accomplished an amazing amount of tasks. That sense of constant animation was tempered by my bipolar meds when I began taking them, but I considered the loss of some motivation acceptable because it also tempered the depths of my depression episodes. Still, nothing seemed to answer constant fatigue I live with every day now. I can still push myself, but it is difficult. Yesterday I gardened for a couple of hours, but I had to drag myself to do it. It was the first day where the weather was agreeable enough to force myself to tackle the overgrown retaining wall and the Hell-strip. I never see this side of the house anymore, so when I did I was mortified. I accomplished a lot. Not everything I hoped for, but my mind was fuzzy as it always seems to be, and the work tired me enough that I took a two-hour nap. I would have napped longer but then I would have missed dinner.

I met with one of my doctors this week and we discussed my husband’s comment regarding my constant fatigue. She agreed that there is a physical link to my constant tiredness, and that as we move further away from the initial onset of COVID, new short- and long-term health issues are being discovered (there is a study being conducted on US veterans on the effect COVID and heart disease). She thinks that my physical manifestation is exacerbated by the mental exhaustion from anxiety and persistent depression, both of which have maintained higher than normal levels because of work-related issues this last year, and the societal effects of COVID such as isolation. It seems to make sense since my anxiety levels fluctuate between high and higher throughout the work day. Her only recommendation was to keep on doing the stress-relieving activities I have been doing all along. If it works even in the slightest, keep it going.

Anyway, that is enough to think about for now. I would be interested to hear what others are feeling.

Tschüss,

Urs

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APATHY

9 April, 2022

/ˈapəTHē/  (Noun) lack of interest, lack of enthusiasm, or lack of concern.

I had chosen two other subjects for this post, but alas, I became very “blah” about them and stopped. Being that it has been a while since I posted last, it occurred to me that my general indifference to almost everything might be a subject I could stay on course with because there is plenty of fuel to keep it burning. 

Covid-19 has changed the way many people act and react over things. It is not the short-term disappointment of a temporary dip in the stock market, or do I wear a mask or not. Covid-19 has become the long term gift that just keeps on giving. The changes and often bizarre effects of having had Covid are as stoppable as a moving train (not), and equally as hard to jump on to. Mutations of the virus, mask mandates and rescission, vaccines, anti-vaxxers, travel restrictions and quarantines, things which literally change day to day … how do you keep up and stay informed without wearing yourself out? Staying even partly informed is exhausting.

I realized that I am living with a great deal of apathy – different from my normal course of depression which situationally sits at about an 7 to 9 out of 10 – and I also realized that the isolation and imprint of crises after crises from Corona virus is probably the cause. On any given day of depression I might be mopey, have firm “no’s” on things I do not want to do, I might feel like crying for no reason at all, I do things that need to get done but I do them dragging my feet. If I am in an opposite spell of mania, well, Hell, there ain’t no stoppin’ me now! I am that freight train. You name it and I’ll have done yesterday! I actually miss those days. I could go on for days on end doing “stuff,” but that just doesn’t happen anymore.

Anxiety is also one of those unpleasant things I live with every day and often tends to be holding hands with Apathy, hopping and skipping down the trail of life. But apathy is new to my palette. I know what I need to do but I have no interest in doing any of it. Decision making is for others. Action is best left to real super heroes. There is no moaning, “Oh! Not now.” I have managed to put off even the simplest and most mundane of tasks because I just don’t have the energy (or the interest) in doing them. I have a box of my parents and grandparents papers sitting in a box under the chair in my sitting room. It has been there about a year and I have only peeked through it peripherally. I have also needed to work in the garden for quite a long time. Bad weather has been my friend so that I do not have to commit to doing any of it, but a day finally came up last weekend where I was able to get a couple of ours in. Despite the drudgery of it all, I was pleased with the tiny quarter I cleared up. Of course, it brought to attention a garden path (this makes at least two now) that needs to be gutted and re-laid. I’d rather run in front of a car, but alas, I am not interested in getting out of my chair to do anything other than maybe go take yet another nap. Naps are good, they require very little of me.

Experts and those interested in the subject of Apathy, which many believe is the byproduct of the Covid pandemic, its social distancing, its isolation, the fear of coming into contact with others, years of working from home (isolation again) for so many, fear of large traditional gatherings like weddings and holidays, and the stresses and anxieties of those who still work directly with the public, and the lack of trust in others say that Apathy may have only been a nominal part of the lives of few, but Corona has given it a spark which has taken off like wildfire. Experts agree that it is going to take many years and a lot to combat, especially given mask requirements in many places still, enforced social distancing, and wariness of crowds such as sporting events, concerts, farmers’ markets, and cruises … nobody wants to end up forcefully trapped and quarantined of a boat which has already happened. 

There are a few things experts suggest for battling Apathy:

  • One is to use a planner (on your computer, or old-school paper) and plan out the overburdensome list of things you need to do, don’t plan too much in one day, do important highlights in pink and softer to-do’s in yellow, and stay FIRM to that calendar. 
  • Walk or exercise for half an hour each day if you are not already active.
  • Engage with nature and your senses. Focus on the nature happening around you … the birds, the squirrels, the rustling leaves and branches of trees.
  • Try breathing exercises such as 5-5-5 or 4-7-8 to help cleanse the mind and make it ready to take on new things (you can Goggle these).

Let me know what your starting point happens to be, and what you are doing to take steps back to “normalcy.” I do not think we will ever be “normal” again, but we can try to get close.

Blessings and to success,

Baer

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THINGS WE LOST WITH COVID

12 March, 2022

THINGS WE LOST WITH COVID

Aside from the losses of family, friends, and loved ones to Covid, the survivors now live in a very different world. Young children never knew a world without masks. There was a State law mask-mandate in New Jersey until this last week. Masks are now optional and as crowed as our city-scape is, I would guess maybe only half of all people still wear them. For some like me, it is situational. If I am in a crowd or someplace I am not comfortable with, I wear it. When Covid number rise again, which epidemiologists are certain will happen 1. Due to increased summertime travel (after two years of practically no major vacations outside the US border), and 2. The normal rise in general infections come fall and winter. I am supposed to go to a family wedding (my rare opportunity to see both of my beloved sisters at the same time) in Upstate New York in August, assuming I can get a cabin with its own bathroom. You know me, my sense of adventure and the great wild way is going to Short Hills Mall before the store doors to Chanel and Cartier are open and I am navigating oblivious women with strollers. The wedding will be at a camp ground and outdoors so I am moderately nervous about the mask thing because USNY tends to be Trump Land so vaccinations are likely hit-and-miss.

One thing that was lost, or covered up by, was simple social politeness, greetings as we pass each other walking down the sidewalk. I have always greeted strangers, or people I encountered daily, on the sidewalk with a smile and a “Good morning,” or whatever time of the day it was. You cannot see that in a mask. People stopped trusting one another and the sidewalks became danger zones where you shuffled past oncoming pedestrians as quickly as possible. This last week as I traversed the sidewalks with no mask, I went back to my normal smile and greet, and I noticed two things that that pre-covid rarely happened: almost everyone I greeted refused to make eye contact and none of them returned to greeting. People appear to not want to invest themselves in basic humanity anymore.

There is also a crowd shift, a Great Migration, taking place. Shops and restaurants in metropolitan New York have closed due to covid. Available amenities have downsized, moved, or closed for reasons ranging from difficulty finding employees to supply chain issues to difficulty maintaining enough of a retail client base to stay open. One serious trend we are seeing are the large number of families who are tired of Covid measures in congested areas like ours who are fleeing enmasse to larger houses and spaces, large yards for play further apart from the neighbors, and down payments that match trying to keep kids in private schools near New Your City and pay exorbitant rent or mortgages. Zoom and telecommuting have made such moves easier on parents who no longer need to share the breakfast table with their children as a work space.

My personal travel is hopefully going to improve this year since it has been two years since I last visited my normal haunts. I am looking at my beloved Spain, Ireland, and Switzerland. It will rest largely on quarantining laws crossing borders. All I want is to lay under a straw umbrella with my toes in the sand at Puerta Banus Marbella and order my pilpil from the nearby chirangita. Ah, one can hope. For those of you who do not want the hassles of crossing the US border, keep in mind that Puerto Rico and the US Virgin Islands are US territories so you can come and go freely. And there is a Ritz-Carleton on St. Thomas so that you don’t have to feel like you are roughing it.

The supply chain has been severely disrupted, and although it has affected everything from clothes to cars, I am talking specifically food and groceries. I could not get my base-supply of Pellegrino for over a month. We ended up buying a Soda Stream, which is not as convenient as opening a Pellegrino, but it serves its purpose. Markets are out of lots of things. My favorite health cereal has been MIA for over a month. My flavored Pellegrino is represented by only one 8-pack each … once I buy them, the shelves are empty. Even things I would never buy amaze me. Products are lined up at the edge of the shelf, one unit deep and ten wide in order to give the appearance there is more there than there actually is. Because of this, Amazon has become my go-to. Not that I want to give this power to Bezos, but desperate times call for things that actually work.

Think of what has been important you that has been affected by covid. Have you been able to work around these issues, or have you put them out of sight/out of mind for now. 

And do not forget to smile at a stranger. It might be the only one they get that day.

Blessings,

Baer

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STILL FEELING RATTLED

I am even more convinced that those who are not Bipolar have only a foggy idea of what it really means to be Bipolar, and they have an even foggier idea how it affects those of us living with it and how it influences our behavior. 

I was typically half an hour early for work yesterday so before work began I asked for an impromptu meeting with one of my directors to discuss this procession of meetings they have been having with me. I provided her with a complete year of my normal paperwork as well as documents I created specifically for record keeping to demonstrate what my paperwork looks like normally, not the sorry state of a strained September/October Bipolar mess, and record keeping forms specific to what we are doing (she had never seen them before). It was my hope that this was enough to bring about an end to what feels like a weekly interrogation. Sadly, that will not be the way it will work, although my boss recognized that during these meetings she can tell by my face that I am very tense, anxious, and upset. My General Anxiety baseline is five out of ten and my anxiety and worry clearly rockets to the top of scale and higher during these meetings. I need to find ways to try to control emotions during the questioning, especially since we are now dealing with paperwork and answers that are six months old and my recall has been greatly diminished by time and Bipolar while my anxiety and despair are at their peaks. My anxiety and depression are always there, and it is hard to explain to friends and loved ones that it is my nature, beyond my control, to worry about things that have yet to happen, like all of the upcoming meetings I still have to have with Admin.

One sort of reassurance of the impromptu meeting was being told that I am not being targeted, that this situation and the history of events leading up to it are not about me alone. The meetings leading up to my request for my ADA rights put to light problems within the environment/people I was leaving. Another Admin took my position while they waited on my replacement. Red flags were raised and those persons will have their own set of meetings in due time.

Aside from that, life goes on. I will admit that I am learning to make new uses of weekends – especially last weekend’s four-day holiday weekend – taking naps. It is a beautiful time where my mind gets a break and refreshes itself between tasks, not to overlook my depression which also gets a reprieve while sleeping. Sleep is a beautiful friend when the brain is challenged or can’t cope. I took a nap yesterday and must have been so exhausted from my week that when the alarm went off I was completely disoriented and went into a panic that I had messed up my work schedule. Is that a clue that worrying about work often interferes with and influences even my time away?

In keeping with the theme of uncooperative and unpredictable, how about our weather lately? The week before the long Presidents’ Day weekend was nice and warm so I planned to spend the long peaceful weekend beginning prep work in the garden for spring … cutting back the roses and raking up all of the leaves I had used for bedding insulation, in addition to raking up plenty of stray leaves and dead-heading all of the ghostly remains of the Hosta and Irises. Gardening can be very therapeutic in good weather for as long as my back holds out. Plus, I still have several areas where nothing grows well and I need to plan and find new vegetation. This year I might try Bougainvillea, and maybe a fig tree. Don’t laugh, but since not even grass, peas, squash, rhubarb, and corn will not grow there, I am hoping for something less demanding of the soil that will take easier … realistic looking astro-turf?!

I’ll take ideas if you have any!

Tshuss,Noor

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WHAT LIES BENEATH

To be well-heeled is to be the object of envy of others. At first (and maybe the only) glance, I would agree. If you saw me finely dressed and layered in the likes of Cartier, Louis Vuitton, Hermes, Bulgari, Yurman and more, have you already misjudged me? These layers are a mere shroud, a disguise. They envelope a very fragile skin that takes me great effort to hide my true self from others. What could possibly be wrong with me? Take the time to look beneath the layers and you will see that my true skin is transparent. The tornadic winds that tear within the shell of my body are horrifying as you watch them move through me and devastate my body and mind, the lashing rain which never stops and often results in real tears of my own on the outside. The endless bolts of lightning ripping throughout my body, whipping me into an uncontrollable and disorienting frenzy of internal panic attacks on the inside, most for no reason. I am more Frankenstein’s monster than I am the well-heeled, cheerful Sunday stroller walking down Fifth Avenue as I first appeared to you.

No one really understands the workings (and failures) of the bipolar mind better than another bipolar or a doctor-specialist. Coming in a close second are those individuals who have a strong and knowledgeable connection to a bipolar person. At first glance, bipolars aren’t any different than the next person on the street. But now imagine that you are Frankenstein’s monster trying to navigate your way through the minutiae of life that others pass through with ease. You feel as if life has played a cruel and unjust joke on you and purposely set out to take you down. Whatever the problem is that you are experiencing, imagine magnifying it ten-fold. Your heart will be racing from the anxiety and your chest is ready to explode, while at the same time you are just so tired and defeated and depressed that you could lay down on a dirty city sidewalk and go to sleep.

I really thought that with this new blog I would be writing about the beautiful and enlightening experiences that would make silliness or humor out of my bipolar experiences, or at least make the bipolar more palatable. Recently, that is not how it is working, and I am locked in a box of negativity, self-defense, depression, anxiety and turmoil.

The first quarter at my company went off with a really big bang … in a very, very bad way. After only two disastrous months in my new department, I felt I had no choice but to approach my employers and ask for a Reasonable Accommodation based upon my rights under the Americans with Disabilities Act (ADA), even though I knew there was no place to move me. I would not have been surprised to be let go (I am sure the company’s legal team made sure to keep me there for fear of a lawsuit). It was ok at first, a lot of boredom and feeling like a pinball as I bounced from department to department to department throughout the day. I no longer have “my space,” no private office area to hang my coat and bag, no place to rest for five minutes to gather my thoughts or to self-reflect. But I deal with it.

And then the assault on my paperwork for those two months began. I was torn to shreds on Zoom by members of management who do not seem to have a grasp on what bipolar does to a person’s ability (or lack of ability) to think and act coherently. I was so demoralized that suddenly the 11 years I had worked there was of no merit or value. My future was being determined by the two months I would consider the worst two months of my 11 year history there, two months where I faced open hostility in my office, and a general tone of “not available” to me when I did have a question. The Admin I sat with clearly has no understanding of the bipolar mind in motion, the lack of clarity, the panic, the depression, “fight or flight,” which is usually flight for me. It has been having such a negative effect on my mind and body that I have returned to where I can’t eat, I am exhausted all day long, and all I want to do is sleep. 

I had a brief reprieve last week courtesy of catching a cold (not Covid). I woke Saturday very ill. I slept the entire weekend. Work’s health-protocol kept me home Monday and Tuesday, so no planning time for the Wednesday torture session. So I slept! I have also decided that when the next email comes to “continue” the conversation, I need to speak up for myself and ask for a pause while they read the one whole year’s worth of Lesson Plans, Notes, and brief Narratives to see what my notes USUALLY look like. They will not be perfect, but they are night and day compared to the Hell and torture they have been putting me though. After all, it was only two HOFFIFIC months where my bipolar was out of control compared to eleven years of STELLAR Reports, Narratives, and Conferencing. Something has to give, and if I am asked to bite the bullet, I may need to have the bullet bite back, at which point there is no point of return.

What would you do???

Blessings,

Noor

PS. Today is my birthday. The ultimate gift would be early retirement, only gotten through my husband, adding a few more productive and able-bodied years to the construction, decoration, and landscaping of our retirement home. This body is not getting any younger or more able, so every year counts.

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TRYING TO KEEP MY HEAD ABOVE THE WAVES

As promised, there will be no rhyme or reason to what I publish and when. The last few weeks have been excessively challenging. For some unspecified reason, my paperwork for September, October, and November has been the source of interest for my bosses. I will be the first to admit that those months were jarring and atypical of work that spans 11 years there. In those months, I was going through a critical co-worker crisis, my depression went from a 3 to 8 or 9 (10 being worst), my anxiety peaked at 10, there are lingering concerns with my husband’s health, and my sisters and I are at wit’s end dealing with the needs of our aging parents, one on each coast. And now I have weekly meetings at work to “correct” future paperwork. I always go into the meeting in great trepidation, and in turn leave, feeling battered and ready to quit. I only have four-and-a-half months left in the calendar year.

Still, in the midst of this particularly traumatizing situation, I know that if they did not care they would not put time in on me. But it is hard none-the-less. I have upped my psychologist visits to every week instead of every 2-3 weeks. And I will see my psychiatrist this week, and probably increase the frequency of that as well. Since I am popping Ativan like candy, I am sure we will flex some of my meds. I just can’t wait for the time when I can spend my days calmer, arranging flowers and furniture in my new home, and tilling soil and rocks in the flower beds of my new gardens. My biggest anxiety will be avoiding cattle and rattlesnakes.

What monsters have been keeping you awake at night?

Blessings,

Noor

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ARE WE THERE YET?!!

I have missed my Ann Taintor “cartoons” and thought I might as well try to relaunch them and see how it goes …

I will also be adding Categories that may be covered in any given post. If you think of something I have missed, let me know!!!

I have always loved this one above. It is me and a friend in college. Every night. Then below is also college, or more accurately, the story of my life!!!

Hopefully this will give you a chuckle as I see what works and what doesn’t!

Tschüss,

Noor

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CHANGE CAN BE A BLESSING

1 October 2022

CHANGE CAN BE A BLESSING

Constant and often difficult change defines my youth and early adulthood. My family was always moving … New York, Pennsylvania, Chicago, and Europe (I was packed off to university in England to get as far away from the smothering and dictatorial control of my parents … it brought about significant changes in my development as a person), Phoenix and Dallas. The next few moves were of my choice, so they were better, but it was still change, starting all over with a new city, new job, new home, and new friends. When you are young and experience significant change, it can offer the opportunity to reinvent yourself. New friends did not know the painfully shy boy that I left behind in the last city. Sometimes change provides opportunities for personal growth. Moving to NYC with my then-boyfriend, now-husband, was a period of great change and social upheaval. After many wild years, we settled into our quiet comfort zone, pleased with the metamorphosis that has become us, and we settle into a calm peace.

Being enveloped in the status quo feels safe and comfortable, like the blanket carried around by Linus (the Peanuts cartoon character). I’ll admit, I am keen on consistency and calm, things being the same, stable, and safe. I do not even like changing planes at the airport even when I know it will get me to the destination I seek. Moving in the near future (anywhere) for retirement scares me even though I know the outcome will likely be incredible. Any degree of change, now or in the foreseeable future, ramps up my anxiety, and I have to labor to bring it down to a palatable level. Well, that, and I have medication.

One thing that has affected me very strongly in the last year is a severe deepening and dark descent into the depression side of my bipolar. These dark days last longer than my normal lulls, often passing a week or more. I have been dealing with bipolar/depression almost my entire life. I know how to read it, how to pacify it, and how to act and react in order to try to minimize its impact on my daily life. But these trips to the depths of the Bipolar Sea have been different. I had lost interest in simple things, things I needed or wanted to do, and was overall indifferent to everything. I was not suicidal, but bipolar and depression run wild in my family tree, and the suicides I am aware of in my family happened in older age. I am not going to be part of a family statistic.

My first step was to have a serious and revealing chat with my psychiatrist (NOT with Lucy from the Peanuts). It is the longest discussion we have had in a long time. My frequency and severity of bipolar episodes have worsened with age, and medications may need to be changed, or medication amounts of what I already take might need to be adjusted or increased. When I spoke with my doctor, I let her know that my medications and their amounts had changed minimally since I was diagnosed and prescribed in Switzerland 15 years ago, although symptoms presented themselves while I was in my teens and I lived untreated the bulk of my life.

I had previously been reluctant to request changes since I had remained relatively stable all of these years, but I knew that something in my body and brain was changing and becoming less stable. I mean, who wants to walk around all day every day ready to burst into tears for absolutely no reason? Plus, I realized I was manifesting more afflictions attributed to maturing persons with Bipolar, including constant sadness and fatigue, concentration issues, sleep changes, and hopelessness. My doctor, alarmed by what I was sharing, changed (actually doubled) one of my daytime medications. I am happy to say, it has made a profound impact on me and my outlook. I only wish I had addressed this sooner. But better late than never.

But that was weeks ago now. The euphoria I experienced during the first week on the increased medication was great. I felt as if I was walking on sunshine. I was happy and invincible on a level I had not experienced in quite a long time. Now, I have somewhat reverted backward. I am not beaming rays of light, but likewise, I have not fallen back into the dark caverns that haunted me so often. I am in a middle ground, neither elated nor depressed. If that is the best I can get for now, I can be content that it is not worse. This is a status quo I can live with until the next adjustments in my medications.

What do your medications and mood swings tell you? Are you in a good enough place to just keep plugging along? Are you as happy as a kid at the carnival? Or do you feel like you fell through a hole in the ice and are frantically clutching at the ice around you just to hang on?

Think about where you are and where you want to be. Only you can make a difference, and be the catalyst for the life you want and deserve.

Blessings,

Noor