Well, it's that time again, time for another post. Admittedly I drug my feet as I walked into my little office this evening. I don't want to write. I'm grumpy (mostly because we don't have anything chocolate in the house.) I'm tired, which seems to always be the case with me. Worst of all, I feel completely uninspired. But, let's forge ahead anyway, shall we.

Actually all that I just wrote above fits in perfectly with what I wanted to write about tonight. I watched a movie this past weekend, About Time. While it's not your typical action-packed, big production movie, the story line is quite beautiful, and, since I love a good story, I decided to give it a go.

Here's the gist of the movie. A young man, Tim, turns eighteen and one day after he celebrates the New Year, his dad gives him remarkable news. Turns out the men in the family have the ability to travel back in time to any day or moment of their choosing. It's a remarkable gift that's been passed down from father to son through the ages.

When Tim first finds out, he is skeptical. But then, on the advice of his father, he goes into a closet and clenching his fists travels back to the night before, the New Year's Eve Party. He wants to "fix" something that he hadn't gotten quite right--the traditional New Year's Eve kiss. You see, rather than kissing the girl next to him when the clock struck midnight, he shook her hand and wished her a Happy New Year.

But, when he travels back in time to that same moment, Tim gives the girl a big, bold, beautiful kiss--one she won't soon forget.

And so it goes throughout the movie. Tim travels back in time to right any wrongs or fix things that went awry, including finding and connecting with the woman who becomes the love of his life.

In the movie, Tim is very altruistic. He doesn't just go back in time to fix his own mistakes; he travels back for others' sakes as well. The biggest one is the night he intervenes for his little sister preventing her from meeting a future boyfriend who is nothing but trouble--a complete deadbeat.

Once you're into the movie, it's not really the time-travel you think about. His character isn’t portrayed as going back all that often. No, the whole point of the movie really has nothing to do with time travel. Rather, it's about life--what we do with each day, how we respond to the beauty of even the hard things in life.
In the end, Tim learns to follow his father's advice, his secret formula for happiness:

I hope you took time to watch that little clip. If you didn't, stop reading this and click on the little play button above. No cheating. Though it won't make sense at first, you'll get why I shared it.

Good for you for watching. Now, to the point of this blog. Time is precious. Even the hard parts. Even the parts we wish never happened. The inconveniences, the difficulties, the struggles. Even in those moments life can be beautiful--if we choose to see it as such.

Though none of us can really travel back in time, I think there's an important lesson to take away from this movie. As you settle back on your pillow tonight, make a promise to yourself.  When morning comes, open your eyes and determine to keep the tensions and worries of life at bay. Instead, take time to notice just how sweet the world can be. And next weekend? Rent the movie. It's such a beautiful story--it's worth your time to watch.

Another oldie, about dealing with the diagnosis that is bipolar. For more information on the symptoms of bipolar visit: http://www.mayoclinic.org/diseases-conditions/bipolar-disorder/basics/symptoms/con-20027544,  http://www.webmd.com/bipolar-disorder/guide/understanding-bipolar-disorder-symptoms or, http://www.health.com/health/gallery/0,,20436786,00.html

Last week, I was wishing I could find words to describe what it’s like to deal with the symptoms of bipolar—mania, depression, and, my happy little friend, anxiety. But nothing seemed adequate enough to explain it. Then, I remembered a children’s book I read to my kids when they were younger. My Many Colored Days by Dr. Seuss uses colors to describe the different types of days that are part of the human experience, including sad, happy, and mixed-up days. It gave me the idea to try and describe the symptoms of bipolar using color. So, here’s my attempt to depict what it’s like to struggle with mania, depression, and anxiety.

Mania- Bright, happy pink carries me weightless above the world. I’m flying and it seems so easy—like it should always be this way. But when the balloon pops, I fall helplessly to the ground with nothing to brace me for the impact.

A few entries ago, I wrote about how, in the past, I loved being manic. It felt so good—like I truly was flying weightless above the ground. Manic episodes were euphoric. They tricked me into thinking that things would always stay that way—that I wouldn’t ever come crashing back down again. Now, I know better. No matter how much I wish it weren't so, manic episodes always end, and I hurtle back down to earth knowing in my heart that, for as long as I live on this planet, mania will always be followed by the bitter pill of depression.

Depression- I wake up pink, but the shroud of gray quickly wraps me up in its suffocating folds. As this boa constricts, struggling to break free seems pointless. I turn back to my bed, my place of safety, burying myself beneath the blankets that offer precarious protection at best.

Depression can be deceitful. Even when I’m dealing with a bout of it, I wake up feeling happy and focused. But, when I’m in this part of the bipolar cycle, the familiar cloud of despair quickly colors my day, and the hope I had when my feet hit the ground is nowhere to be found. Morning always tricks me into thinking that I’m not going to struggle with depression that day. But it’s a lie because, as long as I am bipolar, I will always struggle with depression. It’s just part of the deal.

Anxiety- yellow birds pop in and out of my brain creating chaos. I try to focus but, just as one coherent thought begins to take shape, another distraction flies in, clamoring for my attention. The uproar in my brain is paralyzing, and I find it difficult to make even the simplest of decisions.

In my world, anxiety is always along for the ride. When I’m struggling with it, I literally can’t make a decision, fearing it will be the wrong one. For example, in the past, I could stand for an eternity in the frozen foods aisle trying to choose which brand of bagged vegetables to buy. I know it sounds silly, but making even the simplest of decisions was a real struggle. These days I’m not as afraid to make decisions, even if they might be the wrong ones. But anxiety still has its way with me at times. It’s very strange feeling my stomach churn with anxiety when there’s absolutely no reason for it. It reminds me that being bipolar isn’t my fault; it’s just a disease that affects my neuro-transmitters.

Though I’m no poet, using color to express this disorder was the best way I could think of to describe the battle I fight every day. Over the years, I’ve learned coping skills to deal with mania, depression, and anxiety while also accepting the fact that medication is a strong ally in my fight to be as productive and healthy as I can be. Being bipolar isn’t my fault. Nor is it the fault of anyone who suffers from a mental disorder. If you struggle with any of these symptoms, and they never seem to completely go away, I encourage you to get help. You don’t just have to cope with your condition. You can find relief and help if you just seek it out.
 

This post was written before my mom passed away in December, 2011. It’s all about change and whether to embrace it or stubbornly hold on to what is part of your past. As my family faces uncertain times, this post reminds me that good, even great things come with change. Standing on the precipice of what our future holds is scary. But I don’t want to hold on to the past so tightly that I forget to enjoy the ride that comes with the changes of life. Don’t be stubborn like I am so prone to be, embrace the changes that come with life and trust that God has a plan for your future. A good plan.

 So Mom's settled in her new home. Although it's not what she's used to, she did admit to me one day that she understands now why she had to make the move. But why did she wait so long to move to this place; a place she would have enjoyed so much better when she was healthier?  Well, you can chalk it up to one thing—stubbornness.  And the only reason I can say that is because the stubborn gene lies dormant in my heart as well.  It comes out and rears its ugly head now and again, and, when it does, my husband gleefully points out that I'm being just as hard headed as the rest of my family.  Boy, I hate it when he's right.

Stubbornness does have its bad points I will admit.  Holding on tightly, clinging to the way life is now.  Resisting the change that might make all the difference in the world - that might, if you let it, actually be a good thing - even a great thing in your life. 


I hate change.  My resistance to it is demonstrated in many ways.   I always order the same drink when I go to Starbucks—tall caramel macchiato, decaf with whip cream on top.  When I see a seasonal drink like a pumpkin spice latte, I don't even bat an eye.  Why mess with a good thing? I shop at the same grocery store every week—weaving the same path in and out of the aisles;  vegetables at the front, bread and cereal in the middle, ice cream at the very back.  In fact, when the store makes changes, I get a bit miffed.  Don't mess with my routine. You might regret it.

My husband is so the opposite of me.  Sometimes it frustrates me when he decides to take a shortcut through a neighborhood –a deviation from the same walking trail I follow every day. Sometimes when he takes a different route home from church I question him “What are you doing? This isn't the way home?”  On more than one occasion, I've had the humbling experience of realizing that life doesn't always have to follow my normal. Changing things up a bit can be kind of fun. Sometimes,  it’s even necessary.

A few years back after my husband began a new job, we started looking at houses that would be closer to his workplace.  In fact, we began thinking about building a new home.  So, one weekend we met with a realtor to begin the process. He had an estimate all laid out for us, we talked about features we wanted, and discussed the costs involved. We were on the verge of signing a deal, but for some reason we decided not to do it that day.  After we'd met with the guy, my husband mentioned that he wanted to look at some existing houses. 

On the drive over, I made the comment that I wished he would stop taking us on all these little bunny trails.  We'd made our decision, right?  Why change things up now?  Well, I choked on every word when we stepped into the house that was to become ours.  We fell in love with it on the spot—both of us.  And let me tell you, my husband did not hesitate to point out that following this bunny trail hadn't been such a bad idea.

So sometimes, I guess, change is a good thing.  And maybe following those bunny trails every once in awhile is good for me.  I do have to admit that it gets boring ordering the same drink, walking the same trail, shopping at the same store week after week.  Sometimes, it’s fun to mix things up a bit.  So, I'll try a different latte next week.  And maybe I'll deviate from my walking trail every few days.  I might even dare to go to a new grocery store this week.  Who knows, I might find myself enjoying the change of scenery.   Darn, bunny trails . . .

Ecc 3:11 [God] has made everything (even change) beautiful in its time. 

You don’t try to kill yourself because death’s appealing — but because life’s agonizing. We don’t want to die. But we can’t stand to be devoured. ~ Ann Voskamp 

Should I, or should I not? That was the question I pondered this past week as I looked ahead to Monday's new post. It's been everywhere, the news of Robin Williams—how he took his own life. So many thoughts, questions, opinions have been expressed—was there any room for me to share my own experiences?

But I decided not to pass this up—this opportunity to share my own suffering and grief. And I hope I won't share these words in vain. I hope they will help someone, somewhere.

Suicide? Yes, I considered it. I pondered what it would be like. How I would end my own life. I was a Christian who contemplated suicide. But, I wasn't thinking selfish thoughts like, "Gee, I can't wait 'til they find my body and feel sorry for all the mean things they did to me." It was never about that. It was never about being selfish. It was about finding a way out of the pain that seemed never-ending. I was dying inside and nobody knew it. Not even those closest to me.

I don't like to suffer, so I thought a car running in an enclosed garage would be the way I would do it. I knew I couldn't slit my wrists, too painful. I wanted to go quietly and simply end my life by falling asleep.

Meanwhile I cried out to God to save me. There were so many times when I would lie on the floor, curled up in a fetal position, crying out to God, begging him, 'Please, please take away my pain.' Much like Job, I sat in agony wondering why God had left me and what I was doing wrong.

Only I wasn't doing anything wrong, I was just suffering.

In an old post called the, Colors of My World, I tried to describe depression using the color gray. Though I did my best, even those words didn't tell the whole story, the whole truth of how it feels to be deeply depressed. It's silent. It's hidden. It's hell.

The one thing that truly kept me going—hope. The hope that things would get better, that change would come. But sometimes that golden thread of hope stretched very thin. So I got out my Bible and started to underline passages—like, Jeremiah 29:11:

I put dates beside each verse and shoved them into God's face and reminded him that when he makes a promise, he always keeps it. And I waited for the day when all those promises of God would come through for me. Promises like Psalm 9:18:

And verses like Psalm 90:15:

Give us gladness in proportion to our former misery! Replace the evil years with good. 

I waited patiently, persistently for the day when God would turn my 'valley of weeping,' into 'pools of blessing'. And he did. Since my diagnosis in 2004, my life is a 180 degree turnaround from where it was—a fact that I am grateful for every day.

I can't promise you that the pain of depression will go away all together, because it won't. I can't promise you that you'll never deal with another bout of anxiety, because you will. It's inevitable. But I can promise you this; Hope is a good thing, and it will not disappoint you. That's not my promise. It's God's.

Psalm 12:6 The Lord's promises are pure. Like silver refined in a furnace purified seven times over.