Daily Archives: January 1, 2015

Today is the first day of 2015. I’m bundled under covers in my bed typing on my laptop. My husband brought me cornflakes and coffee, so he could watch The Omen downstairs in Spanish. I am a scaredy cat and cannot watch movies with ominous (get it? the Omen, ominous) music tracks, even if I have no idea what’s being said.

NAMI Ending the Silence is an in-school presentation about mental health designed for high school students. Students can learn about mental illness directly from family members and individuals living with mental illness themselves.

Just now I completed the Ending the Silence volunteer application for my local Orange County chapter of NAMI. Pretty in-depth application, so thought I would share my answers with you.

List other NAMI programs you have participated in and your role in the program:

I participated in NAMI’s Peer-to-Peer training as a peer participant or student. Although I have an MA in psychology, an MFT [Marriage and Family Therapist] license, been in therapy since I was 18 years old (over 30 years), have participated in group therapy at South Coast Medical Center’s once excellent program (too bad it no longer exists) ten years ago for two weeks inpatient and months of partial hospitalization, I learned A LOT. I feared that I would feel out of place, but did not. NAMI’s Peer-to-Peer training is excellent and covers much information, perhaps too much information. I wanted to get my hand on the instructors’ manuals so that I could go into greater depth. That’s how impressed I was. The program introduced me to the concept of recovery vis-à-vis mental illness, and gave me hope. HOPE!

Describe any background in education:

MA in psychology (1990) and LMFT (licensed in 1992, though I have not practiced in over twenty years). When I practiced psychotherapy, I worked with severely emotionally disturbed (SED) latency-aged children, pregnant and parenting teens, and severely emotionally disturbed (SED) adolescents in residential (level 14, which is the most restrictive private setting in CA – one step from state hospitalization or CA Youth Authority) and day-treatment. My son is 14. I have experience mothering him and volunteering in his elementary school classrooms.

From my LinkedIn profile:

Psychotherapist
Seneca Treatment Center, San Leandro, CA
August 1993 – November 1993 (4 months)
Individual, family, group, and milieu psychotherapy of severely emotionally disturbed adolescents in day treatment program.

Psychotherapist
Berkeley Academy for Youth Development, Berkeley, CA
June 1990 – August 1993 (3 years 3 months)
Individual, family, group, and milieu psychotherapy of severely emotionally disturbed adolescent girls in residential treatment program.

Counselor – Case Manager
Teenage Pregnancy and Parenting Project, Family Service Agency of San Francisco
June 1990 – June 1992 (2 years 1 month)
Counseled pregnant and parenting adolescents. Agency liaison to Young Mothers’ Clinic at Kaiser Permanente Medical Center.

Field Placement
Oakes Children’s Center, San Francisco
September 1989 – June 1990 (10 months)
Individual, family, and milieu psychotherapy of severely emotionally disturbed children in day treatment program.

Administrative Coordinator
La Casa de las Madres, San Francisco
June 1988 – November 1989 (1 year 6 months)
Non-profit administration of battered women’s shelter and counseling center. Crisis intervention. On-call supervision of crisis line and shelter intake.

Why do you want to be an Ending the Silence Presenter?

First of all, as a former high school drama geek, I love getting on stage and speaking in front of an audience. I have a passion for ending stigma surrounding mental illness, educating the public about mental illness, and offering compassion and support to those living with mental illness and their loved ones. Currently I exercise my passion and commitment by mental health blogging at kittomalley.com and prolific social media advocacy and psycho-education on multiple platforms. I am a former psychotherapist. I have lived experience with mental illness, namely bipolar disorder type II.

Ending the Silence is an educational program.  We do not give advice or counsel high school students or their teachers.  Can you refrain from giving advice or suggestions?  We do provide the number for the NAMI Warmline [Orange County, CA: 714-991-6412, NAMI-OC Warmline Online Chat – Click here to enter.], which students and teachers may call for resources for therapists, psychiatrists, treatment, support groups, etc.

Honestly, I could use the practice saying no, as people often turn to me for advice and counsel, and it overwhelms me. That is why I no longer practice psychotherapy. If I ever did return to the profession, I would require distance and clearly delineated boundaries. The distance of being an educator or public speaker rather than providing therapy or even giving casual advice is protective of MY boundaries and enables those in need to get proper care, such as psychiatric care, hospitalization, or psychotherapy.

What does recovery mean to you?

Recovery is a relatively new concept for me, believe it or not. I always thought of it in terms of substance abuse. But NAMI’s Peer-to-Peer course and my involvement in the mental health blogging community this past year and a quarter has opened my eyes to the concept of HOPE. When I first learned that I had bipolar disorder, and not depression, I was devastated. I had internalized shame and stigma attached to that diagnosis. I thought that the only direction my life and my mental health would take was a downward spiral. Not so. Although I must be mindful of my symptoms and adjust my lifestyle to suit my needs, I am still a productive member of society. There are ways of contributing aside from earning an income and climbing some preconceived ladder of success.

For me, recovery means overcoming my own internalized stigma and having hope that I can live well. I can live my life well even though I have a mental illness. I do contribute to society even if I do not earn a handsome salary. I am of value. Recovering means learning how to best live with bipolar disorder.

Recovery means Hope for Now and Hope for the Future.

What are your views on treatment (traditional and/or nontraditional)?

I struggled with the symptoms of depression and cyclical overwork leading to burnout and breakdown for twelve years before turning to a medical doctor for help. In those twelve years, I struggled with my symptoms using psychotherapy. Psychotherapy helped at times, for example cognitive restructuring rescued me from the precipice of suicide when I was 18. Perhaps at other times, it contributed to my depression, digging me in deeper and deeper without a clear way out. Medication in conjunction with psychotherapy helped with my depression, but it wasn’t until I received the diagnosis of bipolar disorder that both my hypomania and my depression were acknowledged and treated properly. I support the use of medication, psychotherapy, and peer support.

I believe in taking care of your body, for the brain is influenced by exercise, sun, nutrition, vitamin D, and omega fatty acids. I believe nontraditional treatments, such as aromatherapy, as adjuncts to medical treatment.  Any nontraditional treatments should be shared with one’s prescribing doctor, for herbal remedies and nutritional supplements are chemicals, too, and can either help or interfere with treatment. I take fish oil, vitamin D, try to exercise regularly, and like the soothing scent of lavender. My son finds that fresh lavender helps him when he is stressed or feeling the symptoms of a migraine coming. [I forgot to mention in my application the usefulness of mindfulness and prayer.]

I was doing fine.
Bex went on her merry way to greener pastures and while the whole scene creeped me out (I find it disturbing when someone shows at my door with their face covered completely, like they don’t want to be identified…I didn’t cry. She made her choice. We wish her well.
Spook had a forty minute breakdown. My dad was so worried about her being broken up about Becca’s departure.
Bacon and eggs, some ice cream and painting…She’s completely recovered.
My kid’s not as delicate as they think, most kids aren’t.

I got a burst of hypomanic energy and went about the hassle of housework. (Must admit, I got a little giddy having a vacuum that’s working again.) I was in a good place. R’s wife called and invited us over for Uno this afternoon. I said sure, why not.

And then from out of bloody nowhere….
MOOD CRASH.
Not a minor “Ooops, I missed a step.”
I’m talking falling down the entire staircase mood swing.
I am debating coming up with some polite excuse to beg off. My stomach is twisted in knots and I think some of it is anxiety. If drinking isn’t involved in a social outing, well, my comfort is going to be nil.
But mostly…My mood just died. No trigger.

So I sit here, feeling desolate but no idea why. Is it bedtime yet? Brain reboot desperately needed here.
Alas, it’s not even 2:30 p.m.
I want to curl up into a fetalized ball and lick imaginary wounds.
Except they aren’t imaginary at all, they are etched into my battered and bruised psyche.

The psych professionals would insist going out would be good for me.
They haven’t had the (dis)pleasure of spending quality time with me when my anxiety is rioting and my mood is in the gutter. I am not good company. I am LUMP.

Earlier, my mood was decent, my anxiety of the last several months lessened. I felt like I could breathe again.
Now I feel like taking a breath is too exhausting.
Cyclothymia is a bitch.
So am I.
Match made in Hell.

A nagging little voice in my head tells me to fight it, not give into the desolation. Rebel against my own fucked up mind.
Then ten other voices scream LET ME BE DEPRESSED AND RIDE IT OUT, FOR FUCK’S SAKE.
I don’t actually hear voices, it’s more like my own subconscious and bumper car thoughts colliding.
Do this. No, do that. Don’t do any of it. You have to fight. Fuck it, I give up.
Very maddening.
This is my prison.
And I will never get paroled.

Yeah, my churning nervous gut says I need to bow out on the social thing. Once the anxiety gets so bad I have physical symptoms…Stick a fork in me, I’m done.
Next mood cycle will pull up shortly.
Until then…
Ride the storm and duck the lightning bolts of mental illness.

2015 isn’t off to a great start. And it’s courtesy of my own mind.
Scumbag brain.

My journal entry last night:

New Year’s Eve. Been awhile since I’ve journaled hard copy with pen in hand. Not sure how long this will last. So, what is it that I need write down here? I have no idea. I have no idea what brings me here – pen to paper. I write in the dark with [my husband] beside me asleep and [my son] down the hall. I use a small hand-held reading light. Not sure if I am doing anything of value now. But at least these are MY words. I am not simply sharing someone else’s words, someone else’s message. Perhaps that is something that I must do, for when I read [someone else’s writing] I was struck by how amateurishly it was written. I know that I can write better. [Forgive me for my arrogance, but I was journaling, after all.] I like my writing voice – when I unleash it. So, that I must. My voice is not corporate – the materials I quote, though, are. So I feel this push to share, to comment, to inform. It takes up all of my time. I’m doing it again – work – what I do when I work – I subsume my own needs, quiet my own voice, ignore my own needs – for the needs of the whole. Wouldn’t it be wonderful if I could instead develop MY voice. Focus on my writing. Perhaps it is time to read, follow & comment less. Perhaps it is time to blog more. To speak. To write. To focus.

I was inspired last night to journal by Kelly‘s post Graceless where she writes about journaling.

I have spent much of my spare time journaling in a composition book, rather than blogging (sorry guys). It’s allowed me to write freely and not worry about sentence structure, flow or even worrying about what it says or who it could offend. It’s been incredibly helpful to me in trying to work out my feelings about my personal life and who I am and what makes ME happy. It’s almost meditative at times, me scratching across the page, full-throttle, just trying to throw all the thoughts down on the page before they fly away.

One benefit in particular that I’ve found about journaling is how it can keep you accountable for your emotions. What I mean is that once you put pen to paper it’s out. It can be crossed out, (hell, it can even be ripped out of the journal and lit on fire) but the point is that it’s out into the universe, and not on your shoulders as much. You can take a deep breath and look back on your scribbles and try to understand how you’re feeling, and try to figure out what to do with those emotions.

This morning, I read Natasha Tracy‘s post Pressure and the Limited Time, Resources of One with Bipolar, which resonated a similar message.

Pressure and Bipolar

I think that people have no idea what kind of pressure is exerted when people contact you every day for something. Strangers that expect me to fix their lives and an uncountable number of people who are suicidal. Well, just for the record, I don’t fix people’s lives. I don’t have that power. And I am not a suicide hotline.

… perhaps it might be better for you to talk to a friend or a professional psychotherapist…

My comment to Natasha was:

Natasha, thank you. I feel much the same way, but I err, by far, on the side of doing WAY TOO MUCH for others. Following too many blogs. Reading too many posts. Commenting far too much. I must develop better boundaries. I must learn to say NO. No need to read this, or to respond.