Wednesday, March 26, 2008

At a Loss

It is a cruel fact of life that the soul's joy and the mind's tranquility are nontransferable. I do not often possess these things, but I have recently acquired them and expect to retain them for a little while, at least. 

Tonight, however, I would gladly give them to an old friend who has recently had a disappointing end to a long struggle. From what she says, it makes no sense to me that her search has not turned up more satisfying answers after all this time. Were she not a dear friend, I might ignorantly suggest half a dozen reasons (insincerity, impatience, etc.) for the situation's outcome. But any explanation I can imagine oversimplifies or sounds canned, and I ache that I have no answers for her.

My only thought is a favorite scripture from the Book of Mormon, and I fear to quote it to her directly (though she will likely read this blog) lest it be too dogmatic (with every negative connotation of the word) at a sensitive time: "Believe in God; believe that he is, and that he created all things, both in heaven and in earth; believe that he has all wisdom, and all power, both in heaven and in earth; believe that man does not comprehend all the things that the Lord can comprehend" (Mosiah 4:9).

From the Mouths of Babes

"Jesus died, but now he lives in the temple."
-Jacob, age 3

Monday, March 10, 2008

The Perpetual Summer of 2004

It is that time again. What time, you ask? Time to let go of everything familiar and venture alone into the unknown. Melodramatic? A little. But you try living with bipolar disorder and severe anxiety disorder and see how stably you handle change.

Earlier tonight I was wishing everything could stay as it is, but then I realized I'm not happy with things as they are. So I wish things could stay as they were. As they were when? I should like to return to the summer of 2004 and stay there forever. My job was boring but it paid well, the hours were flexible, and everyone at the company adored me. I met Shaant after work most evenings, once or twice a week we had cooking lessons, and many nights we spent hunched over the photomosaic puzzle that took us all summer to finish. Ted would meet us at whatever ungodly hour he got off work. Sometimes the boys would ditch me to do something together, but I would make myself dinner and watch the Red Sox, so the evenings alone were usually enjoyable. That summer felt so complete. I felt so complete, connected, settled, wanted. My pleasures were simple, my friendships fulfilling, my worries few. Granted, at the end of August my world came crashing down, shattering into millions of tiny pieces, and nearly four years later I am still finding shards hiding in corners of my mind, waiting to prick or cut me, drawing blood that somehow escapes my body through my eyes in the form of salty clear liquid instead of thick red stuff. But that detail aside, I spent the better part of the summer in pure deluded joy.

Delusions are a symptom of the manic episodes that occur in bipolar disorder. In an abnormal psychology class (that I dropped after the first week) someone asked why people with bipolar disorder often refuse to take their medications during manic episodes. There are several reasons. My personal reason is that mania feels so good most of the time. You have so much energy, and sometimes you are even deluded enough to believe that you have found true happiness.

I want my delusion back! Or at least I would like a new best friend who will meet me after a long day at my boring job, so we can cook dinner and pore over a difficult jigsaw puzzle and watch a Red Sox game together. *sigh*

Sunday, March 9, 2008

Anna Banana Pants

Tonight at work Russell decided to branch out from his usual nicknames for me, Annanananana and Anna Banana Pants. My new names are Anna Pajama Plannah (Planner) and Anna Manna Hammah (Hammer). But I'm pretty sure Anna Banana Pants will continue to be his favorite.