Maybe it’s the unusually early snow. Tree branches still rich with green foliage weighted to the breaking point under heavy wet snow are decidedly out of place so early in September. If it warms up we may squeeze a little fall out of the year after all. If we get a killing frost the leaves will turn leathery and cling to the trees until spring.
Copyright JM Schreiber 2014 (yes these shots were taken today)
An omen perhaps?
Is it late summer or early winter?
Like trying to define the weather, it can be difficult for me to clearly pin a label on my emotional state. A stable, well medicated state is actually one of relative distance from what I really feel. Blunted at either end of the normal ups and downs. I am not certain if that is a natural or artificial state. It is probably more realistic to call it functional.
Manic? Well, manic is really only recognizable as it recedes. Think of the way that you can become accustomed to a certain level of physical pain and not realize just how severe it is until the painkiller kicks in. But there is no instant relief for a significant manic episode. Manic gradually disappears in the rear view mirror as I creep along and then, just as the road ahead seems to become clear, I hit depression. Or this anxious emptiness that I feel lately.
Copyright JM Schreiber 2014
Like today.
The streets are littered with branches that could not handle the weight of the snow. The power has been off across the western side of the city for hours. As crews manage to restore power to one section, melting snow frees branches that bounce back and knock the wires out all over again. The silence and reduced light has left me alone with my thoughts for much of the day.
There is, however, an important lesson in unexpected situations like this. You have no choice but to ride it out, stay safe and wait until the storm has passed. Only then can you assess the damage, clean up and move forward. After all, we are supposed to be back up to summer temperatures by the weekend.
My own spirits might not lift quite so quickly, but I know from past experience that they will.
We have all heard this expression, probably said it ourselves if we are parents. Somehow, today, as we continue to simmer in the aftermath of the news of Robin William’s tragic suicide on Monday, this is the thought that keeps coming back to my mind. For those of us who live with the very harsh reality of a mood disorder his death holds a special poignancy. So does the inevitable, endless discussion that only unexpected celebrity death seems to be able to generate.
I am presently on sick leave after a severe manic episode and although I feel the worst of my own suicidal ideation has passed, the extreme mixed state I passed into as medical resources were amassed to put the brakes on my mania was the worst I have known to date. I relied heavily on the local Distress Centre at all hours of the day and night and as much as practical on my elderly mother and young adult children. Otherwise I was intentionally and completely ostracized by my employer and they have yet to follow up on my well being. Still I feel fortunate. Robin Williams and countless others are not so lucky.
In the wake of his death, everyone seems to be turning in to look at the darkness haunting so many seemingly outgoing, humorous, entertaining and outgoing individuals. It seems to me like the attention is so keenly focused on depression and addiction. But when he was working all out, brimming with manic energy the danger signals were just as evident. But we were too busy laughing, crying, and being entertained to be concerned. It’s all fun and games…
Another public media post mortem comment that disturbs me is the observation some people have made that he seemed to hide behind his characters, whether in his improvised comedy or the countless powerful and engaging individuals he portrayed on screen. From this they extrapolate that it is as if he was hollow inside. As if only an individual so empty and devoid of being could ever be driven to take his or her own life! I am no expert on Robin Williams, I never met him, but I would not be surprised to learn that he was a deep and intensely private man. Probably shy and insecure too.
For many people who grow up with an inclination to conditions on the mood/anxiety disorder spectrum, there is often a lot of social isolation. I know from my own experience and that of my son, social interaction does not come naturally to some of us. The need to compensate can drive such people to the creative arts – drama, music, literature for example. Likewise such individuals can be drawn to academic pursuits where energy and intellectual drive can lead to striking success. After all, there can be long periods of essentially “normal” function, especially if one avoids the trap of alcohol or drugs as a means to cope.
From my own recent experience, it seems to me that our western society, rewards the mildly manic. Over the past nine years I worked at a small agency where I routinely held the largest and most complex caseloads and took on any extra assignments placed on my desk. I developed programs, trained staff. I was rarely sick and frequently had to struggle to squeeze my allotted vacation time in before year end. I loved my job.
At home I was a single parent with two teenagers, each with their own special needs. There was whole full time round of responsibilities that fell into play outside the office. Then about a year ago things at work got crazy. The Director was exhibiting signs of significant cognitive decline and it was left to myself and a junior staff to monitor and report on the increasingly toxic state at the office while the Board of Directors tried to decide what to do.
As senior management I took the brunt of the responsibility, workload and, ultimately, abuse. I became irritable, overwhelmed and distressed – big time manic. Although I had always been open about my bipolar diagnosis no one recognized the warning signs until a chance comment about how fast I was talking hit me like a ton of bricks. I immediately pulled myself out but by then it was too late. And it is all still seen as entirely my fault, my failure to control my behaviour.
I wasn’t funny, no one was laughing and I am the only one who lost an eye, figuratively speaking of course.
In the early weeks of my sick leave I remember thinking that if I took my life, maybe my employers would realize how truly sick I had become. Of course it would have only reinforced my madness and saved them the complication that as a disabled person I have human rights protection.
Loveable madness is remembered fondly. Margot Kidder digging garbage out of an alley is not. On a more horrific level, the nice ordinary person who seems to suddenly snap and takes the lives of family or strangers is not. However mental illness is a critical subject that we cannot afford to ignore.
After all, it’s all fun and games until somebody loses a life.
roughghosts 