Asleep

“Sometimes people put up walls, not to keep others out, but to see who cares enough to break them down.” (I have no idea who said this, but thank you, Whoever You Are!)

I've been receiving several private messages lately, all with the same theme: Don't Give Up! Maybe my silence (in Facebook, at least) has already been speaking volumes for me.

My silence is partly prescribed and partly by choice. In some way, I'd like to share my side of the story, but what's the use? It's hard to defend myself when I can't even understand what's actually going on. But what's done is done. People will think what they want to think, but they will never truly understand the depth of what I'm going through anyway. At least the people who matter do, and they haven't given up on me. (And I am eternally grateful.)

I won't let my choices define who I am ― I'll let the way I deal with consequences do that instead.

And there lies the rub. I'm in an in-between place right now, and I can't quite get the impetus to get to the next chapter in this story; the dealing-with-the-consequences part. Mostly I just...stay in bed and try to capture my thoughts as they race by, trying to distinguish the ones that are worth keeping (too few) from the ones that are destructive (too many).

“Even when I try to stir myself up, I just get irritated because I can't make anything come out. And in the middle of the night I lie here thinking about all this. If I don't get back on track somehow, I'm dead, that's the sense I get. There isn't a single strong emotion inside me.” ― Banana Yoshimoto (Kitchen)

But I'll be okay. And when I do, watch out, Universe. You'll see.

So for those of you who have been sending me good vibes from all over the world (literally), thank you. I'll do my best to rise above this. Just...give me time. The very act of getting out of bed can become exhausting at times. And if I've become silent, if I've become unresponsive to some of your texts, calls, or comments, please know it's because I'm in this place where everything is a hushed scream. Sorry.

That, or I'm in bed. Asleep.

But I do get out of bed. I mean, how can I not?

But, yes. Please pray for me. And for my family. There's still a long way to go.

(And that's all the explanation I hope I need to give for now. Thank you.)

How Do You Solve a Problem Like Katinka?

I didn't get the Visa, so I guess I'll be staying in the Philippines for the meantime. It's hard to convince people that I have no desire to permanently reside in the US what with 99.99% of my family already living there.

And so the question: Where shall we place poor bi-polar Katinka so she can recover properly, away from all these triggers?

I'll let you know when I find out. If you have a clue, let me know.

(Although...I am a little relieved. The thought of being away from Lucia for six months was almost unbearable.)

---

Chanced upon an instrumental cover of Hello by Evanescence's Amy Lee. Not really big on the band, but this song I do love. No one's singing in it, but the lyrics of the original song are below.

The music just kinda captures my mood, reference to Sound of Music notwithstanding.

"Hello"

by Amy Lee

Playground school bell rings again

Rain clouds come to play again

Has no one told you she's not breathing?

Hello, I'm your mind giving you someone to talk to

Hello

If I smile and don't believe

Soon I know I'll wake from this dream

Don't try to fix me, I'm not broken

Hello, I'm the lie living for you so you can hide

Don't cry

Suddenly I know I'm not sleeping

Hello, I'm still here

All that's left of yesterday

Adventures in Inner Space

So I'm on day 2 of this new batch of meds and I feel incredibly...hollow. The same thoughts are there, but I am more or less devoid of any feeling towards them. At least right now. All I want to do is sleep, sleep, sleep.

But the same thoughts float around my mind, like little planets, orbiting the same source of energy, spinning round and round and round.

I vacillate between wanting to feel something and wanting to feel nothing. I can't wait to go back home and start my actual talk therapy because all these meds can't really quell the battle that's going on in my mind. My doctor said it's because I'm not doing anything. But there's little else to do. I feel like I'm in some sort of waiting area, some in between place, like the Wood Between the Worlds in Magician's Nephew. Exactly like that, actually. My thoughts are quiet, but persistent, in slow motion, but moving.

More than this, I cannot say anymore. Shouldn't say more. But my thoughts are orbiting the same thing over and over and over.

I'm waiting on my crimson hot air balloon to come, but it isn't coming anymore. At least, that's what they would like me to think. "They" being All the Rest. Be that as it may, I shall be waiting, and perhaps expecting to be disappointed.

Cryptic, I know. But my mind works that way these days. Cryptograms, nothing specific, everything vague, all things fuzzy.

It's only been a few months, Katinka. Cut yourself some slack.

"Give yourself a chance."

So said my doctor.

---
The first song I heard today was this:

Against the Grain

by City and Colour

You need not to climb mountaintops,

You need not to cross the sea,

You need not to find a cure for everything that makes you weak.

You need not to reach for the stars when life becomes so dark,

And when the wind does blow against the grain,

You must follow your heart,

You must follow your heart.

When all your friends have come and gone,

And the sun no longer shines,

And the happiness for which you long is washed away like an ocean's tide,

When all the hard times outweigh the good,

And all your words are misunderstood,

When the day seems lost from the stars

You must follow your heart,

You must follow your heart.

If you feel you've paid the price,

And your wounds should cease to heal

And everything you love in life spins like a winding wheel.

If you should wake to find you're abandoned,

And the road you've traveled leads to a dead-end

When death creeps in to play its part,

You must follow your heart,

You must follow your heart.

---
I've been having a bad spell lately, mostly because...hell, I don't know why. Things just trigger this sadness, and before I know it, I'm practically swimming in it. But I went to the shrink today, detailing all the absurdities that have happened lately (the usual gamut: racing thoughts, anxiety attacks, restlessness, crying spells...). I was mentally and emotionally flagellating myself because I couldn't get a grip on my thoughts ("I thought the meds were supposed to cure me of this!" I said). He just listened in his usual Yoda way and after my blathering and his dispensing of prescriptions for my new (stronger) meds, he said, "Give yourself a chance."

That was the most personal he had ever gotten with me, and I was struck by what he said.

Okay, so I'm giving myself a chance. And the Universe's message for me today was to follow my heart.

Chance, heart, new meds. Here we go. The rest is up to you, Lord.

Doubt

One of the biggest annoyances (to put it lightly) about being bi-polar isn't the self-hatred (and there are many instances of those). It isn't even the exhaustion from the manic episodes. Nor is it the ridiculous amount we spend on my meds. No. It's the self-doubt.

Is this happiness I feel or am I just wired? Am I feeling sad or frustrated? Am I mad? Am I actually feeling something? Are my feelings my own or are they being manufactured for me by the great minds behind modern pharmaceutical science? Did that really happen or did I just imagine it? Was I a good teacher, or was I just being manic? Did I actually say that or did I just write it? Did I write this story because I'm a good writer or because my depression is feeding my art? Will I still be able to write well when I am, well, well?

I'm not even listing down the questions that I ask myself every day because...I'm not sure if those questions exist or should exist.

Someday, I'd like to own my own feelings. I'd like to find a way to function without my meds. I'd like to be able to be puyat and not have a bad day afterwards.

I'd like to hug my daughter and feel genuine happiness and not doubt its sincerity.

I'd like to be held by my husband without thinking I am unworthy of him.

I'd like to breathe deeply and feel the joy of being alive, un-propped up by drugs.

I'd like to think of the past events without being reduced to an anxiety attack.

...Needless to say, today was another bad day.

Cleansed

I've taken to jogging/power walking around the neighborhood every morning to help clear my mind (and well, keep being in this weight range). Most days, the streets are busy with cars and pedestrians, but today being a holiday and all, the streets were near empty. Another reason the neighborhood was a prime candidate for rolling tumbleweeds was that there was a light but steady drizzle falling all around me. I'm not a hardcore runner (please, I still detest extreme physical exertion), but I decided not to let the ambon faze me. Besides, I needed to walk off everything I ate yesterday. (Belated happy birthday again, Steph!)

When I arrived home, I was drenched. I didn't think that it was all sweat and sure enough, when I checked my mostly grey attire, I realized that I had gotten wet from the rain. I didn't realize that it was drizzling hard enough for me to get that wet.

Light though it was, the rain was steady. Unceasing. Silent. But unceasing. And the world around me got cleansed this way.

And so shall I.

Eloquence

I just made this long rambling post about me having had several bad days in a row these few days because of my racing thoughts which how my mania manifests itself and I read it and I realized how bad it actually was how things were all just jumbled and then I suddenly talked about how it wasn't all that bad because I'm working on a story that I want to get published but I ended up with this wall of words and now this is a run on sentence and so what if I just abruptly

4

The past two days were 4s (out of 10). The racing thoughts won't go away. I have congruent, tangential, perpendicular, multiversal stories, plotlines, scenarios, what-ifs, should-haves...my brain won't stop. My. Brain. Won't. Stop.

The doctor decided to remove some of my meds and I guess this is me adjusting to them. But, and in all my eloquence this is what I can muster: this sucks.

But.

I received a message that comforted me to no end. I had no idea that there were some people out there who actually, actually, care. Silently praying for me. Thank you. THANK YOU.

And for that, I'm going to try my best to make tomorrow a 6 or 7, at least.

Please, let it be a 6 or 7. I'm exhausted.

Precision of Language

“Even trained for years as they all had been in precision of language, what words could you use which would give another the experience of sunshine?” 

― Lois Lowry, The Giver

I have been told by several people that I am the strongest person they’ve ever known. I know it’s bad manners to deflect a compliment (because that was the spirit in which they paid it), but I might have to disagree.

I overcompensate, that’s what. I’m the poster child-woman for Napoleonic Tendency. I think. (Add that to the list of maladies, why don’t I?)

Either way, deflecting or overcompensating, these days, I don’t feel so strong. At least not when I’m alone. These days, my husband has been my source of strength.

I don’t know what people see in me, why people love me and stick with me even after everything I had done, but I’m quite simply, grateful. So this, this post-meds afterglow (for lack of a better term), this is me being grateful. Not strong. Precision of language is essential. Precision of meaning.

Meaning is greater than language. And gratitude is stronger than, well, strength.

Default

All this free time because my brain doesn't race as much as before is...boring. Which makes me wonder (uy, Sex and the City ang peg): What is my default state? Manic or depressed?

Half an hour on the treadmill and half an hour doing laps around the pool, all that time alone, and I still don't know what I should be feeling, or what my state of mind ought to be.

It's like I'm living through the lyrics of the songs I listen to.

Like looking at the mirror without really seeing myself.

Or, looking at a mirror with a mirror behind me and I can't tell if I'm seeing the reflection of my other reflection or is it the other around? (Okay, that was confusing.)

I'm supposed to see my shrink again tomorrow, so hopefully Dr. Yoda can enlighten me.

Blah. Oh gods and goddesses of Happy Mediumism, enlighten me.

Katinka 2.0

On my second stint at the basement (with barely a month in between confinements, dang it), I was constantly asked by the nurses and the orderlies, "Anong nangyari? Bakit ka pinabalik?" I couldn't  couldn't explain it since it was so complicated, so I just said, (sarcastically, natch), "It's more fun in the basement!" It almost felt like a homecoming. Like I was with my people (schizos, catatonics, and my fellow bi-polars). As it happened, the nurses and the orderlies were my only friends on my first few days back because I was still reeling from what, in fact, led me back to the basement.

(Aside: This was the conversation that prompted my return --
Me: I don't what's wrong. It's like it's getting worse! (Through mega tears yan a.)
Doctor (who looks and acts like Yoda): *deadpan smile* ---> [I swear, I know that's an oxymoron, but he really does always have that expression. Yoda nga e.]
Me: What should I do???
Doctor: You need to go back downstairs. I'm sending you to the basement again.
Me: What? When?
Doctor: Oh. Now.

And, scene.)

I couldn't quite explain what happened, but whatever it was, it was certainly getting worse ("it" being my depression).

I felt like such a pro on my second foray into the world of the behaviorally disordered. I already knew what was contraband, so I didn't even bother bringing them. I knew the routines such that taking my vital signs 4 times a day became a breeze for me. I also knew I could get away with not eating as much as I should, so I found a takaw buddy who ate most of my food for me.

The first few days were still horrible. I'd still have "spells" that rivaled the ones I actually had in the outside world. Eventually, they changed my cocktail of meds and I started feeling better (I'm on 6 different medicines, sana naman, diba?).

The great thing this time was that the nurses and doctors allowed me to have my real journal, provided that one of the residents got to read it. For the first time in my life, another set of eyes looked into my Moleskine. I felt naked and afraid at first, but it helped because the resident's daily therapy with me had more substance.

One of the nurses also noticed that I could actually draw. Now, now, I know I've been saying that I can't draw for sh**, but she said I had something when it came to the abstract. So she gave me a sketch pad and some materials and I discovered that...I love to paint! I had never really taken painting seriously, but it turns out I could. So, yay.

I've been out for a few days now, and I can definitely say I'm starting to feel like my old self again. Even Chad noticed it. I have moments of panic (especially with crowds), but when Chad is with me, I stay calm. In time, I want to regain my confidence in being alone. I used to be able to go off and do all sorts of things by myself, but now I feel so iffy about being among strangers.

No matter; I feel like I'm at the cusp of a new beginning. If only this visa application would go without a hitch, then everything will be okay. I need to start from scratch. Katinka 2.0.

Jump, high-five, freeze frame.

Aaaand, scene.