Learning to Human

For those of you who follow me on Facebook (pretty sure that's my entire 'audience' at this point), you know that I was recently diagnosed with Bipolar II and OCD. You also know that I enthusiastically began a treatment regimen, as BiP must be treated with a mood stabilizer. Since starting the medicine, I can't tell you how much better I feel overall. But with it comes a few quirks I didn't expect. When you've spent your whole life unregulated, you don't really know what "normal" is like. Your normal is skewed, in one way or another. Of course this has shown itself emotionally but it has also shown itself physically.

Emotionally-speaking, I have discovered the feeling of medium mad. I know that probably sounds weird, but there were definitely times I had essentially two levels in this: not mad, and completely furious/enraged/livid. While I did a lot of work to master how that looked on the outside, and was occasionally successful, I'm realizing more and more how much it had actually mastered me. Things would come out of my mouth or even in a text message I read over and over that weren't kind, weren't productive. But I felt justified. Even if I did realize it...it took a while. And my apologies weren't always heartfelt, because I was still too focused in my anger toward the other person. If I could keep my tempestuous emotions somewhat in check and do what needed to be done, I had no patience for people I perceived as not doing so.

The blustery wind leaves my sails a lot quicker these days. I also seem to have an increased capacity to feel ashamed of my actions, which is both good and bad. Used ineffectively, it could just stay in a place of unhealthy guilt/shame. But when I channel it into apologizing and changing my behavior, it can be a force for good. Today, for example, for about a ten minute period I lost all patience with my daughter Aurora (2.5 years old). I spoke harshly to her. I hurried her. I told her "STOP CRYING" (why that's problematic could be an entire other blog post). None of those things are part of my parenting philosophy/strategy, but I just lost it. In her hurt expression and in her tears I realized the complete ugliness coming out of me, and I was able to pretty quickly turn things around. I took her in my arms and told her Mamas have hard days, Mamas get angry too. But that none of that was an excuse for being mean to her (as best as you can put this situation in a 2 year old's terms). And then I told her I was sorry, hugged her, and let her portion out her own fingerpaints--even if she wasted a little, even if it felt excruciatingly slow to me. Because she's not in a hurry--and she shouldn't be. 

I used to say I saved all my patience for Aurora. I get now why I so easily sympathized with her inability (and all young children's inability) to regulate emotions. And honestly I'm gonna pat myself on the back for how rare it has been, even before treatment, that I would let her see I was frustrated with her. But that meant a lot more harsh words for pretty much everyone else in my life, a lot less understanding. Now that I'm more even, I'm having to recalibrate. I'm more aware of how I treat everyone, so my frustration is spilling out a little more equally. It doesn't help that I am not yet being treated for my OCD (that comes next), which can make it more likely that I am irritable/impatient/want things done a certain way. Here's the thing, though--these things are still my responsibility, and are not justification for how I treat anyone else. Even once treated, I've got to make the decision to be aware and make changes when I'm hurting others--especially this little girl whose definition of love will start with me. It's not a responsibility I can take lightly.

Physically speaking, I feel like I'm basically having to learn how to eat again. Food has always been a bigger deal to me than I realized. Whether because I was hypomanic, depressed, or just generally out of whack; I was almost always ravenous. I could rarely recognize fullness because I wasn't just going after food out of boredom or comfort (though those were factors), I truly felt hungry almost constantly. Now I'm having trouble gauging how much food to put on my plate or order. I get full so quickly. I have huge issues with wasting food, and I have had to make myself let it go a little as things readjust. Comfort eating isn't comfortable when you're too full for it, so that's one way to get rid of an unhealthy coping mechanism. And it's the combination of the physical fullness and the mental balance that has me able to enjoy 1-2 alcoholic drinks at a time instead of 3-4. So my self-medication is ending, and that's great! But what does that mean?

Medication is not enough to totally counteract the impacts of a neuro-divergent brain. It's helping my body and brain to stop certain compulsions...but what fills those gaps? I have to learn healthy coping mechanisms now. Sure, they were peppered in before--some exercise, a good talk session with a trusted friend, the occasional journal entry--but they weren't a daily habit. If I'm going to keep myself in a good place, I've got to start building a real foundation for how to cope with anger, sadness, stress, envy--every negative emotion. If it's not drinking, food, long impassioned rants...it's shopping, procrastination, dissociation. And meds aren't gonna fix all that for me. I'll have to actually hone discipline, measure my energy across the tasks I need to do, and do these things in a consistent way instead of short power bursts. It really is like learning to human all over again.

I was very excited to figure out that something really was wrong, and that I wasn't just a failure. I still am! But the work doesn't stop at diagnosis. It begins.