Tag Archives: write

I Need to Drop the Comparisons and Just be Me.

22 Thursday Feb 2018

Posted by in bipolar, caregivers, heroes, hope, mental illness, schizophrenia, Uncategorized

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I watched a video today by a life coach who has spent twenty years working with what she called, “creatives.” Her message was about getting unblocked and doing the work you are meant to do. One of the things she said was that some people have all the tools and all the resources, but they don’t do the work. I thought to myself, “that’s me!”

I have a writing coach; I participate in many Facebook groups for writers, I go to writing conferences, I buy resource books about writing, I have a writing buddy, and on and on but I have a difficult time sitting down in my chair every day to write.

I feel like I am one of the best-prepared writers that I know of who isn’t producing essays, or articles, blog posts, or working on a book. Boy, do I have the tools, though. At this point, I could easily be a writing coach for someone else, and I make an excellent writing buddy that is good at sharing resources, but there is resistance on my part to putting words on the page.

When do you blame the lack of motivation which is a symptom of schizophrenia, and when do you accept that you have something else going on? That is the thing with schizophrenia; it is hard to determine if you are experiencing a symptom or a variety of symptoms or if there is something else holding you back, causing anxiety, keeping you at home, etc.

I don’t think anyone thinks it is easy to have a mental illness, but the things that are difficult about it aren’t always obvious.  I think everyone would recognize that psychosis, or hallucinations, or hearing voices, etc. are difficult to manage. But the other symptoms, like anxiety, depression, social isolation, lack of motivation, weight gain (from medications), health problems (also from medications) make creating a “normal” life challenging too.

I know that a lack of motivation is a common symptom of schizophrenia, but when I look back over my days where I haven’t accomplished much, I think to myself, “You are lazy.” When I compare myself to other writers, I tell myself, “You should be doing that too! Look at them; they are so much more accomplished than you.”

I think that self-talk is possibly the biggest hurdle of all because in that self-talk is the comparison of me to others. Most of the people I know on social media and in real life do not have schizophrenia (a few of them do), and yet, I find that I compare myself to them all the time. Comparing ourselves to others is never a healthy pass time, but it can be extremely detrimental when you have a giant obstacle to overcome that many people do not.

I like to pass myself off as someone without a mental illness. I like to blend into a crowd or participate in everyday activities with others, but the truth is, I can’t always do that. I am not capable of planning out a day and anticipating what my symptoms will be. I have good days and bad days. I have days where I am overrun by symptoms and days where I am almost symptom-free. How then, with this reality can I compare me to someone else…apples to oranges.

I don’t know what it is like to work from home with small children or to work from home with chronic physical illness; I only know what it is like to be me; a person with schizophrenia who likes to imagine nothing is holding her back. Well, there is a hurdle I have to jump every day, most people have one, but if it isn’t the same height as mine, or the same width as mine and my legs are shorter, and I can’t run as fast, is it the same hurdle we are jumping? Nope. I need to learn to jump my hurdles and stop looking in the other lane at the runners who are faster or can jump higher than me.

Writing Beyond Our Illnesses

29 Monday Aug 2016

Posted by in bipolar, caregivers, hope, mental illness, schizophrenia, Uncategorized, writing

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A few months ago I wrote a piece for a non-profit organization about living with schizophrenia. In the piece, I said that I thought writing was an important therapeutic tool: writing can help you document your symptoms so you can easily share them with your doctor. Writing can also help you work through difficult times, difficult memories, and help you gain valuable insight into yourself and your diagnosis.

After writing about the benefits of a writing practice, I wrote that eventually, I think that to be healthy people need to stop writing solely about their illness. The editors asked me to take that part of the essay out, stating that their readers almost all use writing to document their illnesses, and they might take offense to my suggestion that one can and should move beyond that.

I’m not talking about never writing about schizophrenia again. I plan to write about it as ideas come to me, but I feel like writing other stories, stories about my grandmother, my siblings, my childhood, things that are happening in the world, all of these things can be a necessary progression to living a happier and more fulfilling life.

I think a lot about my writing and I am sure other people who write think a lot about their writing, too. If my thoughts are almost always swirling around about the symptoms of my illness, it is my belief that more and more of my life will be that illness. If on the other hand, I create a love story, write down memories from childhood, or of my grandparents, then I believe my life will become richer and fuller as those thoughts take over part of my day and part of my life.

As advocates for people with a mental illness we are often trying to show people that we are more than our illness; I know I say it, and write it all the time. I think we need to live that in our creative lives as well and I think our mental health will increase because of it.

I like to read about people’s experiences involving their mental illnesses, but I also like to read about the type of flowers they like, their dream car, and whatever other things they care for or love. I even like to read fictional stories that they created out of their imaginations. This type of writing does a tremendous amount to normalize those of us living with a psychiatric diagnosis, and it also means we are thinking outside of our illness, and I think that is a sign of health and can lead to an experience of more happiness.

Happiness is not rare, but it isn’t always easy.

 

 

 

 

The Secret to Writing

26 Friday Aug 2016

Posted by in Uncategorized, writing

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For hours I read the descriptions for writing classes. I look at UCLA Extension classes. I look at Gotham Writing Workshop. I look at the offerings of the non-profit writing organization in my city. I spend hours searching for online writing classes and writing groups in my area. I attend as many writing workshops as I can afford. I am searching. I am looking for discipline. I am looking for a magic pill or bullet that will keep me in my chair every day writing essays, prose poems, blog posts, articles. There must be a trick to being productive. It doesn’t help that on Facebook I am friends with a wide network of writers. Those writers report their daily word count: 2500, 3000, sometimes more. I feel inadequate. I feel like a failure. I hire a writing coach.

I have to accept that I am looking for shortcuts. I am looking for a guru with the answers to being a writer, but no such guru exists. The only true guru would tell me this one word, “write.”  That’s it. I realize today as I am typing this that my problem is not that I need one more class, another critique, the input of one more teacher, assignments, encouragement, one more syllabus, or to participate in another workshop.

I need to sit down and do the work. I need to open a document and begin to type. I have been looking for something magical or mystical, some easy way out. There is no easy way out. It is just me, my thoughts, my hopes, my dreams, my words on a page that I either send into the world, or I don’t.

The time of reckoning is here: I either want to be a writer or I don’t. I either take this lonely step, or I give it up altogether. I think of all the money I have spent on advice. I think of all the time I have spent in classes. I think of how I was searching for someone to do the work for me. It doesn’t work that way. I need the determination. I need the motivation. I need to sit down and get down to business, the business of putting words on a page.

I have always believed that everyone has a book inside of them. I frequently meet people who tell me they are going to write theirs. I wish them well, I do, but this business of putting ideas on the page every day is not for everyone. It is both a pleasure and hard work. The words don’t always flow. The ideas don’t always make sense when you try to type them out. Not every piece is artistic or amazing.

I lost the ability to write for many years because I couldn’t focus while on my medication. I never want to lose that ability again. I don’t take this gift of time and the gift of desire for granted, but I have been looking for shortcuts and the path that has already been cleared for a few years now. It’s time to take out my machete, and start hacking away at the obstacles. No one can do it for me. I’m out in the jungle and the options are, move forward or stand still and perish without water.

I sat in my chair today, and I wrote. I wrote these words. I cleared the path a little bit. I took a step forward. Tomorrow, I hope I can make a little more progress, and after that, a few steps into the jungle each day.

It is work this writing, and although it is the best life I can imagine, I need to stop searching. If you want to write a book or make a living as a writer, you can pack your bags and begin to search for the best way to do that. But when you return home, you will find your computer waiting, and if you are lucky, there will be a sticky note on it that says that one word, “write.” And you will discover that you already had everything you needed before you left on your journey. That’s it. That’s all there is to it, “write.”

It’s so much harder than it sounds, you’ll break a sweat again and again, but that’s the secret, and it’s up to you to somehow find a way to turn it into magic one word at a time.

 

 

We Listen To You? That Needs To Change, Or You Do.

30 Wednesday Dec 2015

Posted by in bipolar, mental illness, schizophrenia, stigma, Uncategorized

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I can’t get away from it. It is everywhere. For some reason, I keep thinking I will be safe with artists. Surely artists will understand.

I first read the name, Anne Lamott, on Facebook. Some of her quotes were going around, and I thought they were beautiful. I liked her author’s page on Facebook and started seeing updates from her. I liked what I read. I thought she would be a cool person to have coffee with once a week.

I was on Twitter a day or two after Caitlyn Jenner came out. I follow Anne Lamott on Twitter, and she was using the masculine pronoun to write about Caitlyn. People started to call her out on that. She tweeted back that she would refer to Caitlyn as she as soon as “he lost the pee pee.” (I’m not sure that is the exact quote, but it was very close to that).

If you look up Anne Lamott on Google, you will find her described as a progressive political activist. That is the best we can expect from someone who identifies as progressive and as an activist? Her son popped on Twitter and explained that his mom had some things to learn. Anne apologized. Her initial response was a total rejection of the transgender community.

I knew she wasn’t perfect, but she did own up to her ignorance and apologized, which is so much more than many people do. We all have to have space to make mistakes and grow. It is necessary to welcome the people in who are willing to open their minds and change their perspectives. I continued to follow her.

So, as one of my Christmas gifts, I bought her book, “Small Victories Spotting Improbable Moments of Grace.” I’m not going to lie I didn’t love the first essay in the book. But I kept reading, and there it was on page twenty. Twenty pages into the book the words, “They knew deep down they were manic-depressive crazy people…” popped out as if in bold on the page.

I held my breath. I read a few sentences to see if she meant it or would take it back. I thought maybe I read it wrong. The author is a progressive activist after all. I looked in the front of the book to see if it was published a long time ago. The copyright date said 2014.

Manic-Depressive? My first diagnosis was over twenty years ago, and it was bipolar disorder. Even twenty years ago, the switch was being made from manic-depressive to bipolar. There is a woman out of touch. Not only is she a woman out of touch, but a woman who thinks bipolar equals crazy people. I started to see her comments about Caitlyn Jenner as part of a bigger problem.

In my opinion, she is far from a progressive, and if she is an activist it is not for the marginalized or discriminated or hated or those that are made to feel less than and dehumanized. No. I don’t think of Anne Lamott as a progressive. I think of her as an outdated, ignorant person, who should be irrelevant but keeps making the New York Times Best Seller List. I guess many people don’t read closely or thoroughly enough, either that or they have the same stigmatizing attitudes that she does. All I can do is sigh because last week I thought we had made such progress in this arena. One step forward, two steps back.

Do I Have Schizophrenia, Or Am I Schizophrenic?

26 Saturday Dec 2015

Posted by in bipolar, mental illness, schizophrenia, stigma, Uncategorized

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Internalized racism is the closest term I can find for what I think happens to many people who are mentally ill.  Most of us living with schizophrenia haven’t had the diagnosis all of our lives. I was twenty-eight before my first diagnosis. At twenty-eight, I already had an opinion on mentally ill people. At that age, I didn’t know anyone who was mentally ill (or at least openly mentally ill). I was frightened of people who showed symptoms of being psychotic –talking to voices, yelling, etc. Like many people, that was my idea of “crazy.” Of course, when I received my diagnosis, all the images in movies, music videos and all the characters in books, etc. that were a depiction of the mentally ill became internalized. I thought of myself as all the stereotypes, all the myths, etc.

I was ashamed of my diagnosis (which at first was bipolar). In fact, I kept looking up all the famous people who were diagnosed with bipolar disorder to find hope, to put myself among geniuses, to build my fragile self-esteem. Later, when I received the diagnosis of schizophrenia I was, even more, ashamed because like everyone else I had heard and believed that it was the “most severe of the mental illnesses – the worst of the worst – a lost cause.”

I prefer to be called a person with schizophrenia. I prefer that all people recognize the fact that I am a person before identifying me as a person with schizophrenia. I prefer this in the exact way that people with other diseases identify – someone with cancer, a person with diabetes, etc. There is a kind of movement among people who have schizophrenia to call themselves, schizophrenics. That word hurts my heart and burns my ears. I am not a schizophrenic. I fight every day to be defined by things besides my illness. I am a woman. I am a wife, daughter, sister, friend, writer, etc. There are so many facets to my life, and I would hope that the very last way that people choose to identify me or know me as is a person with schizophrenia. It is an illness. I don’t want to be identified with that part of me that is the part I would get rid of, or cure if only I could.

But I don’t get to dictate the experience of others who have schizophrenia. I don’t even want to. I don’t want to silence the voices or the opinions of people who have the same illness as I do. In fact, I encourage people who want to write about, create, or produce something with a character that has a mental illness to include people with that mental illness in the process. We should be consulted about artwork, books, movies, etc. that depict us. We should have our say in how our experiences and illness is portrayed to the public. In essence, we should be allowed to write our  narrative.

So, with people who want to be called, schizophrenic, I am uncertain if it is pride they feel in their diagnosis – a way to identify that they are not ashamed of (in which case, that is great for them, but doesn’t work for me), or if they have internalized the messages that come daily from the media and from artists of all kinds suggesting that we are our illness. I don’t know the answer to this, and I assume there are some who have internalized negative messages, and others who are proud.

I do know that although I prefer one way over the other, my way is neither right nor wrong. People get to ask to be addressed or call themselves whatever they want. But I do hope that people who want to be called, schizophrenic don’t see themselves as their illness before they see the complexity of all the other things they are, but if they do, it isn’t my place to tell them to do things differently. I only hope it doesn’t create an atmosphere for me that I find insulting and limiting. I am so much more than a diagnosis, and I work hard for the world to see it and know it. I hope calling people, schizophrenic doesn’t become the norm – it doesn’t work at all for me.

Picking A Word For 2016

09 Wednesday Dec 2015

Posted by in hope, mental illness, schizophrenia, Uncategorized, writing

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Traditions can be the framework of a year, and they can tie one year to the next, marking each season for celebration.

My husband and I like to add small, easy to complete, traditions to our lives. We buy each other stocking stuffers each year, and on Christmas Eve, we fill the stockings and hang them before going to bed. We also make a list on New Year’s Eve of resolutions (goals and dreams) for the next year. Every year on Valentine’s Day, we remind each other that every day is about love, and we should celebrate our love 365 days, not one day and not by buying chocolates or jewelry.

Because we love little traditions, I look for ideas to incorporate into our lives throughout the year. Yesterday, on a writer’s Facebook page, she wrote about picking her word for the upcoming New Year. She said in a past year, she had picked the word, “rest.”  I have forgotten the word she picked for 2016, but I think it was “outside” because she is a literary travel writer and spends a good deal of time hiking and camping in remote places in the world.

I love the idea of picking a word for the upcoming year. I think it is an easy ritual or tradition that my husband and I can complete while doing our New Year’s resolutions each year. I have already thought about it, and I am going to pick the word, “attempt.” It embodies my hope for 2016. I hope to try more things, and combat the worsening symptoms of my illness like social isolation, lack of motivation, and social anxiety.

In the Oxford Dictionary and Thesaurus it lists these words and phrases for attempt: seek to achieve, complete, or master (a task, action, challenge, etc.) try, undertake, take on.

I need to expose myself to more things. I need to try more foods, travel more places, write more essays, send more essays out, network with more people, build more friendships, in other words, I need to attempt so much in order to grow my life and world bigger (combating the crushing walls that my illness tries to build).

I love my word, “attempt.”

Can you think of a word you would like to define the upcoming year for you?

Dear Santa

07 Monday Dec 2015

Posted by in bipolar, heroes, hope, mental illness, schizophrenia, Uncategorized, writing

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Dear Santa,

There is only one thing on my Christmas list this year. I would like you to find two men and deliver this letter in a sealed envelope in their stockings. If they don’t have stockings, can you please hang one for them?

Here is all I know about the men, and why I want to give them this letter:

On a night back in 1997 I stopped my car on the Tacoma Narrows Bridge, climbed over the railing and was hanging high above the icy water of the Puget Sound. A man stopped his car, came to the edge and said, “Give me your hand.” That man pulled me to safety.

On the same night, I took all of my prescribed medication and then drove my car. I passed out on I-5 between Tacoma and Seattle. A man stopped his car, tried to wake me, had difficulty getting me to respond, so he called 911 (I don’t know how as cell phone were pretty rare then). He waited with me, and tried to keep me conscious until an ambulance arrived. I remember him asking, “Is she going to be alright?”

Santa, here is the letter:

To the two men who saved my life,

You are directly responsible for giving me the opportunity to find the love of my life and experience 17 years of marital happiness. My husband and I are grateful.

You are directly responsible for giving me almost two more decades with my family (hopefully, there will be more). My family and I are grateful.

You are directly responsible for serving the elderly, the homeless, and college students in the jobs I have had since you saved my life. I am sure there are people whose lives I have impacted in a positive way that would be grateful.

You are directly responsible for the blog that I have been keeping over the last nine months that encourages, educates, and uplifts people living with, or caring for someone with, a severe mental illness.

You are directly responsible for allowing me to become and be a good friend to many people.

You are directly responsible for the woman I let get in front of me in the grocery line last night. You are directly responsible for the surprise, gratitude, and appreciation people have shown when I randomly bought their coffee or groceries, and for the neighbors who I have babysat for, made cakes for, and brought soup to when they were sick.

I am an average person, but in an average life, many people are touched, changed, loved, helped, and made to feel special or cared for.

I’m not going to save the planet or solve world hunger, but the past 18 years have been the best of my life, and I have tried to live with an attitude of gratitude and generosity. You made a remarkable difference in so many people’s lives – kept some from grieving, helped some find love, helped some find jobs, comforted others.

You never left your name so I could thank you in person, but I know Santa has his ways, so I’ll leave it in his hands.

I just wanted to tell you how much your choice on that night back in 1997 mattered. It mattered to a lot of people. It continues to matter. I am so thankful for the two of you.

I hope this letter finds you healthy and happy. Your kindness, compassion and concern have literally given me life. I don’t have anything but stories to share with you – I hope they will lift your heart.

Merry Christmas.

 

From the Universe to the Personal: How Big is Your Worldview?

29 Tuesday Sep 2015

Posted by in mental illness, schizophrenia, writing

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Two nights ago I stood on the roof of my building with my husband to look at the moon. It was a pinkish orange color. It was the first time in my life that I saw the moon look like a basketball that I could pluck from the sky. My husband thought it looked like a balloon. On every other night that I have seen the moon it is like a flat disc cut out of paper and placed on the sky. Two nights ago, you could see that it was round and full and three dimensional. I was also lucky enough to see a shooting star for the first time in over ten years.

Climate change is a threat to us all. We need to work together to lessen our impact on the environment. We need to pollute less, plant more trees, practice sustainable agriculture, walk more, drive less, stop buying, buying, buying.

There are wars in various parts of the world. People are frightened. People are dying. People are running to save their lives. We need to teach children about peace, harmony and tolerance. We need to curb power hungry people, greed, and extremism.

In the United States the stock market has been falling for over a month. The government may shut down again in a few short days. We owe billions of dollars to other nations. People live in the streets. Children go hungry. We imprison more people than any other country. People don’t have access to the health care they need.

In California there is a drought. There are wildfires. There is supposed to be a heavy rainy season that will bring floods and mudslides. There is always the risk of sink holes and earthquakes.

My mother has leukemia. My husband has an autoimmune disease.

I have schizophrenia.