An appointment with the Divine Physician

I know that many of you read this blog for the positive voice I bring into difficult topics like depression and bipolar disorder. Some of these posts might make it seem like I’ve figured it all out. But in recent months, I learned that I have not.

I’m hurting a lot. I’m still traumatized by the aftermath of an unrecognized, mismanaged, unmedicated hypomanic episode. I’ve learned a lot through all of this, but every day I wish I didn’t have to learn the hard way. I understand now that a lot of the mess I created could have been avoided if I’d had a better understanding of bipolar II, if I hadn’t underestimated it, if I’d recognized the symptoms early and nipped it in the bud, and if I’d been more consistent and proactive about taking care of myself. What is most painful is the realization that I could have avoided hurting myself and someone I love most dearly. But the fact of the matter is that I didn’t. And as I’ve grappled with these thoughts and emotions, it’s pushed me into another depressive episode.

But in this time of darkness, I am discovering my true love. It is exactly what St Augustine wrote: “In my deepest wound I saw Your glory, and it dazzled me.”

I see my therapist and my psychiatrist, but there’s no surer, truer healing than to be in the presence of Jesus. Day after day I approach him just as I am, a wounded child. I cry, but not the same tears I cry to a friend, to my family, or even the tears I now cry to myself as I write this. When I cry to my friends, underlying all of it is a thirst for affirmation that I’m worthy of love, of forgiveness, of second chances, and that I’m not too broken to be fixed. And when I cry to myself in my room, I know deep down that those are but tears of self-pity. These tears often deepen the wound.

But when I cry before the Blessed Sacrament, I feel free. There’s no need to struggle to articulate my pain, there’s no need to pretend to be strong, to manage other’s or my own impression of myself. I’m exposing my wounds to the one who sees it all, knows it all, feels it all. The fears, anxieties, frustrations, and regrets I’ve been carrying around all day, they fall off my shoulders and lie unhidden, unravelled, and undressed before the Divine Physician. I need not even articulate my pain, my needs, or my requests. I know He’s already working on those wounds and scabs, administering medicine far more effective than anything anyone could conjure or procure.

And each time, I walk away with the graces I need to take this one day at a time, and with ever-increasing trust in Him. Jesus, I trust in you.

Out of the darkness of my life, so much frustrated, I put before you the one great thing to love on earth: the Blessed Sacrament. There you will find romance, glory, honor, fidelity, and the true way of all your loves on earth.

–J.R.R. Tolkien

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Dragons can be beaten

One of my favorite doodles to date! The quote that inspired it speaks powerfully, so I will say no more. dragons

Treasure hidden in weakness and suffering

The phrase “what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger” never sat right with me. I was never sure why, until recently.

It brings to mind a kind strength that is callous toward pain and indifferent to weakness. Or a cold strength of ambition that propels you forward, faster, higher, while paying no heed to what you leave behind. Maybe I’m reading too much into a quip, or maybe I’ve come to desire a radically different kind of strength.

The strength I desire could be mistaken for weakness. You could say that what hasn’t killed me has made me weaker. Weaker in that I feel pain more acutely, mine as well as others’. Weaker in that I am aware of my own shortcomings, and those more forgiving of others’. And weaker in that I relinquish all desire to live life in pursuit of self-glory, instead accepting whatever God places before me, determined to find the graces God has prepared in any given time and place. In accepting weakness we become spiritually stronger.

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I love the above quote by St. Vincent de Paul — it is an invitation to learn the art of suffering well. It’s easy to recognize the value of suffering in hindsight, but let’s aspire to lovingly receive and carry our crosses.

Again and again I discover why the saints insist that suffering is medicine for the soul. Suffering teaches me the most important lessons, purges the most stubborn of bad habits, inspires my highest aspirations, and turns my eyes toward eternity.

Related post: When you know your “good days” are numbered

Even when we have nothing

Not feeling particularly useful or valuable these days. But I’ll take a leaf out of St Therese’s book:  “Our Lord does not look so much at the greatness of our actions, or even at their difficulty, as at the love with which we do them.”

Faith enables us to know that there’s grace to be found everywhere, even in seeming emptiness and nothingness. Perhaps this is the season to be a child, and in doing so allowing Jesus to carry me like a little child too feeble to walk. 

 

Under Reconstruction (Round Three)

Round Two began about six months ago. The fog of a long depressive episode was beginning to dissipate, and my mind and soul glimpsed a new horizon. At the time, I wrote the following:

I wish it was as easy as “picking up where I left off”. But the damage and hurt I have inflicted on myself and the people who love me are all very real. There’s a lot of rubble to sift through, a lot of re-examination, mending, and rebuilding to be done. With God’s grace and guidance I will find healing. Not just restoration, but transformation. I have faith. I am reminded once again of why I named this blog “Under Reconstruction”. From this point on I will let God rebuild me, my life, and my relationships in whatever way He deems best. My Creator knows best.

In the months that have gone by, I have learned and grown a lot — this blog catalogs that journey — so I didn’t think there’d be a Round Three. Yet here I am! The above words are eerily relevant. Except this time, I’m emerging not from a depressive episode, but a hypomanic episode. If being depressed meant being in darkness, being hypomanic meant playing with fire. The initial spark was very much welcomed. A spike in energy was nice, a boost of creativity was fun, a healthy self-esteem was thrilling… But I made the mistake of not watching the flames, and I allowed them to get too big. I was enraptured, hypnotized by an illusion of grandiosity and invincibility. I made mistake after mistake, I got burned, but what I regret most is that the people closest to me got burned as well.

But I know there is mercy and healing to be found in Christ. For my mind and my soul, for those I’ve hurt, for the relationships I’ve damaged. That I know full well. It will take time, but a broken spirit and a contrite heart He will not refuse.

And this time I’m learning that I’m never “done”. There is always more to learn. More weaknesses to be unearthed and weeded out. More calls to repentance. More forgiveness to seek and grant. And in every fall is a reminder of my weak, sinful nature, and a call to continually surrender my will to the Eternal and Unchanging. And always, always a call to love better, serve better, sacrifice better.

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“Surely, I wait for the Lord; who bends down to me and hears my cry, draws me up from the pit of destruction, out of the muddy clay, sets my feet upon rock, steadied my steps, and puts a new song in my mouth, a hymn to our God.” (Ps 40:2-4)

I may not be writing as much as I attempt to sort things out internally. But you’ll probably see more doodles — where words fail me, I’ll let them fill the void. Thank you, again, for accompanying me on this never-ending journey! Peace be with you. 🙂

“I’ll be back! I always come back!” (That’s a quote from Bride of Chucky, but no, that’s not relevant.)

A smooth-sailing life is no adventure!

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I have never in my life envied a human being who led an easy life. I have envied a great many people who led difficult lives and led them well.

–Theodore Roosevelt

A new season, a new diagnosis

If you’re a frequent reader, you may have noticed that I’ve been posting at a markedly reduced rate. The arrival of spring has, for me, coincided with a new season in life.

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Frankly, ideas no longer come to me as readily as they did over the last few months. Or if they still still do, then perhaps it’s the words I need to convey them that are no longer at my beck and call. I’m aware of how my fingers no longer chase after words that once spontaneously spilled onto the keyboard.

Does it bother me that it now takes a more deliberate, concerted effort to condense my thoughts into the written word? That socializing is no longer as easy breezy? That I now get tired more easily and sometimes struggle to stay alert at work? That I now need afternoon naps and more snooze hours? A little bit, yes, but while all this might sound like a melodramatic lament, I’m actually surprisingly okay with these developments.

It’s not the most pleasant feeling, but at least I’m not terrified. Two years ago, I had no idea what was happening to me, so best guess was that I was losing my mind. I vividly remember having a horrifying existential breakdown in front of my computer while struggling to comprehend some class-assigned readings. In retrospect, I probably over-exaggerated the problem. It probably wasn’t quite that I understood NOTHING, as I ran around exclaiming in despair to me helpless roommate. More likely, I simply could no longer read, comprehend, and process at the super-speed I’d come to regard as “normal”.

And when it happened a year ago, I assumed it was the onset of another bout of depression. It happened to be crunch time for my B.A. thesis, the pinnacle of my undergraduate career, and also the dreaded job hunt season. I grappled and clamored and clawed to keep my head and my “sanity” above the quicksand, only to get sucked right under. Before I knew it, I found myself on the floor of The Stacks, spilling tears and snot all over musky old books (I apologize to everyone who had to touch those books after me), freaking out about being “the most pathetic human being to ever exist” and begging my hapless boyfriend not to make me get on the plane to Pittsburgh for a final interview.

In this space I’ve freely written about my travails in “recurrent major depression”, but never once mentioned my brewing suspicions of a misdiagnosis. Over the last few months, I’d begun to suspect that my “condition” should rightfully be termed and treated as bipolar II. With each article read, each forum scoured, and conversation had (with friends who have had similar experiences, friends in med school, helpful folks on Quora…), I grew increasingly certain. But it was only about a week ago that I received affirmatives from my general physician, as well as a psychiatrist.

I don’t simply drift in and out of depression — I ebb between a few months of depression, and a few months “hypomania“, a lesser known term. You can easily find descriptors of the common symptoms of hypomania, but generally, I would classify them all as basically being a Super version of yourself: quicker, more creative, more productive, more sociable, more adventurous, more energetic (but on the flip side, often more impulsive, which can lead to poor judgment and bad decisions). A word they often use is grandiosity. But me being naturally more reserved, the grandiose, less inhibited version of myself often just seemed healthy, confident, and fun.

Doesn’t sound bad, does it? In fact, you’d find many people with bipolar II asking questions like, “How can I extend my hypomanic episodes and shorten my depressive episodes?” Unfortunately, it doesn’t quite work that way because your brain is essentially on over drive during hypomanic episodes, so to indulge in it would likely result in a harder crash. And I can only imagine how drastic spikes and falls, left uncalibrated, would mess up one’s brain in the long run.

I now wonder: How was it humanly possible that I churned out an average of 4 full-length blog posts and 2 original drawings per week? And all without sacrificing my full-time job, volunteer commitments, self-directed study plan, occasional Netflix binges, and a healthy social life? No, now it doesn’t quite seem humanly possible. And I am accepting that it’s not supposed to be.

My “superpowers” have been taken from me. And that’s more than okay. When I speak of a “new season” in life, I don’t mean a new season marked with reduced activity and inspiration, because that wouldn’t exactly be the first time. It is a new season in that I am now aware of what’s going on in me. I know what body of knowledge I should be tapping into. I know when and where to get help if needed. I know what to encourage, and what not to. I know what feelings can be indulged, and what shouldn’t. I have a good relationship with my psychiatrist and therapist, and I am actively involved in making decisions about going on/off medication, making plans to learn to self-regulate where possible, and so on.

Why did it take me so long to consult health experts about my brewing suspicions? I was afraid. I didn’t like the idea that the periods in my life where I actually liked myself and liked being me, I was in fact just “hypomanic”. I yearned for those to be “normal”, not things that might potentially need to be repressed, regulated, corrected, or even medicated. Basically, I was afraid to acknowledge that I might not really be me when I’m at my best. But over the last few months, I’ve come to realize that there’s no such thing as a “real” you. The depressed me is still me, the hypomanic me is still me, and same goes for everything in between.

Perhaps I’m not as “consistent” as I would ideally be, but who is? We’re at times lazy, at times driven. At times selfless, at times self-indulgent. At times insecure, at times self-assured. At times fearless, at times cowardly. And at times we are lost in the fog, at times we find a good vantage point to see past the fog, and at times we even find our footing in the midst of it all.

I am learning to be okay with uncertainty, and with a lack of control. And it helps to realize we can only ever have perceived certainty and control. When we think we know what tomorrow will bring, it’s really just an illusion, isn’t it?

Thank you for accompanying me on this journey. Peace be with you. 🙂

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