4 Coping Tools for Med Adjustments

            Med changes are the worst. It affects all parts of our lives and we all have our horror stories. Here’s some coping tools I use to get through the precarious times. There is an accompanying video on Ramblings of a Bipolar Chick on Facebook.

Schedule

           Huge for me. It helps reduce my anxiety and makes sure I eat, sleep, and relax. I work from home so I have a really flexible schedule. As long as you make sure you eat regularly, sleep at the same time if possible, relax, and do something enjoyable that should help.

 

7:30-8:30 – Up, yoga, shower, eat

8:30-9 – Journal 

9-10am – Coping tools blog; post video

10am-12pm – Character building poem “She Was Silent When”

12pm-1 – Meditate, eat, play escape room game on phone

1pm-2pm – Character building as above

2pm-3pm – Work on “Fancy Lady” poem

3pm-5 – Relax, read, free time

5pm – Dinner

7pm – Nighttime yoga and meditation

10pm- Bed

 

Eating

            Biggest challenge for me. As soon as more meds are added my body decides there’s no need to eat anymore. Also, for some reason I can’t use a knife and fork because my brain is swimming in new chemicals. But, I can use a spoon. Here are some ideas for mealtimes. Honestly, when really unwell I may eat McDonald’s or Crazy Bread or chocolate once a day. I try and get back to normal(ish) eating when I start to feel better. Even eating a little bit at each meal is huge.

 

Breakfast: Boost (my go-to), blueberries (or any small fruit), protein bar, milk, cereal

Lunch: Cheese and crackers (my go-to), Kraft Dinner, soup, baby carrots, nuts

Dinner: Small piece of meat cut up for me, mashed potatoes, broccoli, spaghetti, Boost

Snacks: really anything small I can eat with my hands. Too much food in front of me stresses me out.

 

Relaxation

            Anything that helps clear your mind and relax your body. You may not feel like you have time but even 5 minutes will help. Read, take a bath, a short walk, create something, text or call a friend, watch your favorite show, yoga, meditate. I spend a lot of time practicing relaxation because I honestly can’t function without it. I created this practice from ideas from the book “The Dialectical Behavior Therapy Skills Workbook”. DBT is teaching you how to self-regulate your emotions and relaxation is part of it. Highly recommend this book.

 

Morning

Yoga: “Morning Yoga Routine 15 min Daily Slow Yoga Stretches with Sara Beth”

3 min breathing: Deep breath in through your nose, hold, and breath out through your mouth. Count each of the breaths up to 4 (1, 2, 3, 4) and start again at 1. It helps with the mind wandering. 

Affirmations: I repeat to myself 3 times; I am safe, I am loved, I am whole, I am home. (I used to hate affirmations, but they actually help.)

 

3 minutes healing: This may not be part of most people’s routine. I studied energy healing (hands on healing) many years ago, so I just imagine myself doing this to my body.

 

Visualization: I visualize what my life would be like without anxiety - work, health, relationships.                                                                                                                                                              

 

Afternoon

I have this amazing self-massager that has attachments to massage the whole body. I do each body part for a minute, then 3 minutes of just breathing.

 

Evening 

Yoga: “Wind Down Yoga – 12 Minute Bedtime Yoga with Adriene” (both yoga videos I found on You Tube). 3 minutes breathing and 3 minutes healing. There are so many yoga videos out there, even ones for 5 minutes.

 Expectations: 

            Decrease those mother f*ckers. Your body and brain don’t even know what’s going on so be gentle. It’s incredibly hard but if you don’t you may stress yourself out so much you can’t tell if the pills are helping. Delegate as much as possible. Kevin (my husband) does the cooking and picks up the groceries, we both do laundry, and honestly the housework just doesn’t get done. I’m being gentle with myself today. I wanted to write a more extensive and comprehensive guide to coping with pill adjustments. But, my mind is foggy and my anxiety is high so this is as good as it gets.

 

                          

Bad Ass: Letting Yourself Be Loved

            

            This weekend I felt really seen. I felt important. I felt loved. You know those moments when you feel so overwhelmed with gratitude your eyes brim with tears but a sweet smile dances across your lips? Yeah, there was lots of those. I was so overwhelmed with the gifts, cards, texts, and phone calls for my birthday. I truly, honestly, did not expect it. How do you expect something you don’t feel worthy of? 

            

            I find it so difficult to let myself sit in love. Believe someone when they say how rad I am or let myself feel safe in their hugs and kisses. I have a survival instinct to run as soon as I feel safe enough to melt into someone. I protect myself from being left by leaving first. Who else does this? Why do we keep doing this when we end up feeling alone either way?

 

            This week, in my Facebook and Instagram video, I was going to talk about being a bad ass. What you’ve conquered, what goal you reached that you didn’t think you could. I pride myself in being a fighter. Strong, resilient, willing to jump off a ledge but maybe I’m wrong. Not that I’m not those things but that I’m missing a vital piece. It’s not all about me. Shocker, I know. 

 

            What if the real joy is jumping into someone's arms at the finish line? Or letting yourself be vulnerable enough to show the bruises you earned along the way? Not just because it feels good for you to be loved but it feels good for them to love you. 

 

            I’ve been humbled and reminded that I still have a lot of work to do in the bad ass arena. If I can reach the end of my life and let myself feel love all the way down to my toes, I’ll consider that a bad ass life lived. 

 

I'm 40 B*tches!

            

             Ya’ll I’m 40. Am I upset or scared or regretful? Hell no! This is by far my most impressive feat. I’m incredibly proud of this birthday. It’s been a long ass 40 years and I was pretty convinced bipolar would kill me by now. But, so far, I’m too strong and stubborn to give up. Perhaps, too stubborn at times. But if I’m always right, what’s the problem?

 

The best gift 40 has given me is the permission to strive for more bad ass moments and the freedom to fail. All the while knowing it’s not because I’m broken or bad or weak. I failed at staying stable enough to keep a job at a business my husband and I created. That was a breaking point for me. But there is freedom in this failure. I can now jump off a ledge and think, “Welp here we go. Hope I don’t crash and burn.” Knowing if I do, I’ll be ok. I jumped off a cliff when opening the brewery and damn did I crash hard. But it led to a life that finally fits.

            

In the end, as I welcome 40, I don’t have many regrets. I have a very clear understanding of what matters to me. My family and friends, writing, travelling, and doing everything I can to make those with mental illness feel seen, less ashamed, and less lonely. 

 

No matter what birthday you have coming up, who do you yearn to be and how can you show up to life like that? I’m going to be doing a video and blog next Wednesday about your bad ass moments. Those moments you look back and think, damn I did that and go text everyone you know to tell them. Where you feel whole or seen or worthy. I’m going to talk about what makes a bad ass moment, what gets in the way, and how to make more.

 

3 Reasons Porta Potties Deserve Respect

    

    Ok, hear me out here. I’m really not taking the piss. These containers get a bad rap, but they’ve made communing with nature more comfortable when having a fun(?) camping trip. You know, when you set up tents and spend three days taking staged pics to show how much fun others are missing out on. Instagram perfect moments. #naturebitches.
 
So, here’s 3 reasons porta potties deserve respect:
 
1)No auto flush. That shit scares me. How many times have you jumped up and looked between your legs to see what all the fuss is about? Just me? Mmmkay. I’ll be scrolling through Facebook and the toilet decides it’s had enough of my shit before I even start. I never know what to do. Should I leave before I’m finished or stay in protest? I go back and forth between feeling guilty for overstaying my welcome and indignant because I’ll goddamn leave when I’m ready!
 
2)The smell. I know, I know. You’re thinking, “But Brandi. It smells like someone ate enough curry to suffer the burn.” Perhaps, but I find it refreshing that it’s not trying to be something it’s not. Whenever I go into those bathrooms with an Orange Blossom diffuser, it reminds me of the girl who brags about guarding her special flower but gets pollinated in the backseat of a jalopy. We all know the down low of the biffy boom-boom. It doesn’t need to smell like a meadow.
 
3)Better than crouching at 2am. First, you need a piddle partner to keep an eye out for bears and drunk teenagers. Next, you grab your unmentionables and pull them forward not sure where the spigot will spray. (Based on my female experience.) I don’t know how, but even in an area with just dirt, a lone blade of grass tickles the fanny and tries to venture into the no enter zone. You try your best not to get any on the undies. But let’s be honest, you do. So, you sit around the fire, checking your Instagram stats, knowing that everyone has a little dribble in their drawers.
 
            So, there’s my list. I hope next time you need to use one you think of me. Wait, no. Wipe that.
.

Goddamn Health Anxiety

            Fucking health anxiety. I’m just so tired of this shit and it takes over my life. Googling symptoms of breast cancer or colon cancer or skin cancer and survival statistics by age. I feel trapped. The hours, days, months lost in this prison of obsession. Up to 60 hours a month when at my worst. 60 hours! There's so much of life I miss out on. Reading, writing, time with Kevin.

 

This googling doesn’t feel like a choice. It legit feels like if I stop, a volcano of red anger and black fear will erupt from the bottom of my stomach and shoot out my mouth. Devastating me, and everything else in its wake. I picture my thoughts, generally some version of, “I have (insert body part) cancer,” chasing each other throughout my brain. Going in endless loop-di-loops with the roller coaster cars crashing into one another. But, this doesn’t seem to slow them down. I’m chasing these cars, breathless, but they just have so much more speed and power than I do. They’ve gotten away from me once again. I go to the doctor to make the obsessive chatter in my mind shut the hell up. 

 

This is what the doctor debacle looks like: 

 

1)Preparing myself for the news I have cancer. This is before I’ve had any tests or even seen the doctor. I picture him saying “I’m really sorry, but...” and me trying not to throw up or pass out. I’ve even written goodbye letters to those I love at the stage. Like, that’s fucked. 

 

2)Sitting in his waiting room and trying to distract myself by playing an escape room game on my phone. Spoiler alert, this doesn’t work. I go into his office and am so nervous my words trip over each other and I forget what I want to say. I’m embarrassed and ashamed that once again I’m in his office with a symptom I may have created in my mind. Generally, he sends me for a test because he’s very cautious. 

 

3)The time between getting the test date and results I’m actually less stressed. I’ve done my part to stop my death by going to the doctor. It’s in the professional’s hands now.

 

4)Waiting for results is the worst part. Mouth dry, muscles clenched, thoughts scattered for the days between test and results. Now, I’m no longer googling symptoms but side effects of chemo/radiation. I'm wondering who will drive me to appointments and what type of vomit bowl I want. I’ve been wrong every time and the next time I’m still positive it’s cancer.

 

5)Get results that everything is fine. There’s a sigh of relief and my mind is blessedly calm for about a week. Then I find a new symptom and the whole goddamn roller coaster starts again.

 

It’s exhausting and lonely. No one is really with me on this trip. I spend hours hiding in my closet to check my breasts for lumps and taking pictures of what I think are dimples to compare to Dr Google. I don’t want Kevin to see this. There’s just so much shame.

 

 

5 Cosmo Questions: Married Edition

            Let’s be real. The Cosmo quizzes I loved as a teen did not prepare me to navigate over a decade of relationship bliss. I no longer had to know “Are You Enough of a Bad Girl?”, “What Your Favorite Side Dish Says About Your Sex Life”, or “What Your Favorite Halloween Candy Says About Your Relationship Status”. These are all legit Cosmo quizzes, by the way. (I did, however, enjoy the quiz, “Are You Too Old for This Shit?” Yes, yes, I am.)

 

            So, for all you lovely readers I wanted to provide a more accurate, and educational, answer.

 

1)What is the most important question you’ll ask your bae today?

a) Do you feel naughty or nice

b) What’s your deepest secret

c) How do I know when I’ve reached bad ass status

d) Can you pick up coffee on your way home

 

Obviously, D. At some point coffee becomes more integral to life than reaching bad ass status.

 

2)What do you think is my best quality?

a) My long, silky legs that look fab in a string bikini

b) My BFF’s backstage passes to Justin Bieber

c) My rad new mustang

d) My strong hands...to open up the pickle jar (It’s like they don’t want us to eat them.)

 

Again, D. I’m starting to see a theme to this quiz.

 

3)What does your perfect date night look like?

a) Reciting Shakespeare over zoom in candlelight

b) Feeding each other locally sourced strawberries covered in chocolate

c) A long walk on the beach followed by a gluten free, vegan dinner

d) Take out Chinese and binging on Game of Thrones...children at grandma’s

 

Umm, D. Although, chocolate strawberries sound yummy.

 

4)What does your dream wedding look like?

a) Under the stars with Ed Sheeran singing “Thinking Out Loud”

b) A beach in Hawaii with a white orchid in your hair

c) Vegas, Baby!

d) Within budget because we just bought a house in the burbs

 

D is the winner here. Mortgages are a bitch.

 

5)Where do you see yourself in 25 years?

a) Lounging naked on the deck of a yacht named “Baby Got Bass”

b) Drinking Dom in Paris 

c) Getting hair replacement treatments

d) Sitting with my love laughing at how ridiculous I am

 

If I’m lucky, D. 

   

 

To Muff or Not to Muff: My Gynecological Adventure

                   

     Ladies (and gentlemen?) I had a pap smear recently. What is that some of you ask? Well, it’s when you take off your clothes, open your legs...never mind this is going in the wrong direction. Let’s try that again. It’s an exam to make sure that the big C doesn’t intrude on the lady parts. Cervix, to be exact. The little cottage between the uterine universe and vagina village.

            You arrive at the gynecologist office and nervously sit 6 feet apart from other women who are scrolling Facebook to distract themselves from whatever fun procedure awaits them. From here you’re escorted to the exam room where you take off your white, high waisted sensible panties. This is not the place for a lacy, black thong. The nurse leaves a small piece of thin, blue tissue paper to cover up your down there and it tears as soon as you touch it. It always tears. The doctor walks in and you look up startled as you’re desperately trying to paste the paper back together with just the power of your mind.

 

            You lie on the exam table and try to wiggle your bottom right up to the edge where the doctor is patiently waiting to stick stuff up your woohoo.

 

            “Come a bit closer”, the doctor says with a smile. “Just a bit closer.”

 

             Although the table is covered with another thin slice of paper, your awkward wiggle makes a farting sound as you jerk across the table. Feet are relegated to stirrups to make for an optimal vagina village visit. (I once had a doctor wear a head lamp. It’s like he was preparing to explore the unknown and I was freaked out about how far he was going to venture.) You wait until the last minute to open your legs. Who wants someone to get all up in there when they have to look at a file folder to remember your name?

 

            They bring out the duck lips. I hate the duck lips. It’s a cold, stainless steel speculum that closely resembles the beak of a duck. It opens the gate to vagina village with a click, click, click of the lips so fingers and tools can investigate. Then they pull out their machete to slice off a squishy, pink, piece of stucco from your cottage. For some women it doesn’t hurt, for me it feels like I’m being stung by a jelly fish. It only takes a couple minutes, then they snap off their plastic gloves, smile, and leave you two pieces of Kleenex to wipe away a river of lube. Wham bam thank you ma’am and you don’t hear from them for 3 years. No dinner or nothin'.

 

            The big question, though, is whether to muff or not to muff. How much of a cleaning job needs to happen to your lady garden before the inspection commences? 

 

            I can only think of two reasons to spend the morning getting nicked by the Bick. One, society has taught you to be embarrassed by the muff and two, you’re lookin’ for a partner. For those on the prowl, here are 3 reasons to spruce up that muff before your next cottage inspection (and why I don’t).

 

1)They make the big moola, know exactly where all the fun lady buttons are, and can commit like a mofo. They did 12 years of school, so you know they’re pretty damn good at staying for the long haul. This is a no go for me because my vag is a little too insecure to be among the dozens they visit every day. It just doesn’t feel pretty enough and, honestly, I’m too lazy to mow the lawn. At this point I’d probably need a Weed Wacker. 

 

2)Looking for good medical coverage and connections. I mean, the gynecologist must have an in with the medical community. Need a hip replaced? First in line. Want a bustier bosom? Half off. (The price not the melons.) Need an ultrasound? Pffft, you get the luxury model of tests. Full body MRI’s all the way, baby. Myself, I’d go dentist. My hips work, my bosom doesn’t lack substance it just loves gravity, and although I’d love all the medical tests I could get, it really wouldn’t be good for my health anxiety. But my teeth? They’re a disaster with a denture before 40. Between psychiatric meds and the genetic lottery my teeth are weak AF.

 

3)They have a prescription pad. Hey, no judgements here. I’d love a few pages from my psychiatrists pad. 

 

            So, there you have it. You now know whether to muff or not to muff next time your cottage gets a house call.