Being Bipolar isn't EASY

and the Art of Slowing it Down

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Accep(s)tance

Acceptance

 

Note to reader: And this was written a whole two (2) years ago. Couldn’t tell you when?! #sigh I love a good time stamp.

. . .

I learned to be grateful for Macau the hard way! L.R. Knost reminded ME of that: “Life is amazing. And then it’s awful. And then it’s amazing again. And in between the amazing and awful it’s ordinary and mundane and routine. Breathe in the amazing, hold on through the awful, and relax and exhale during the ordinary. That’s just living heartbreaking, soul-healing, amazing, awful, ordinary life. And it’s breathtakingly beautiful.”

 

It’s the “ordinary and mundane and routine” that I have struggled with being an expat in Macau! To digress, it’s the reason that I think I drink. Outside the pollution, Macau isn’t all that bad!! I am most grateful to not have to wear a facemask like many routinely do in Beijing…

 

I have already spoken about not being able to communicate to the locals; I was learning Hindi to speak to my in-laws upon arrival, so I never picked up Cantonese. To date, I can say maybe three (3) words after four (4) years?! You can trust that I use them a lot! Good Morning = Jo Sun. Hello = Ni Hao. And Thank you = Um Goi Sai. …I am most grateful for Google Translate! You would be too if you lived here! There are too many characters in the Chinese alphabet to count.

 

IF you are following ME on Facebook, on the BP Magazine page, you’ll note that I have mentioned that my five (5) year old son cannot run on the grass in the local parks but what I didn’t mention is that we have a lovely resort that we can take a soccer ball to play with on a beautiful lawn after a lovely Sunday brunch. In retrospect, we don’t do that enough as it’s it next to a VERY polluted beach. <Insert sigh> Yes, we have beach, sounds exotic but it’s not, but I will not allow our family to go in the water!

 

This one (1) time & only one (1) time we went to see a play. For my birthday, my husband took ME to see a play about the mentally ill to inspire ME in writing my own story, a Screenplay, an autobiography. My (embellished) autobiography in which I hope to, for the first time admit by blurring the lines of reality, provide an insider’s guide to the inner working of one BP mind and not the events as they passed.

 

Am now I am living a life practically, not entirely unlike John Nash, free from the ‘agents’ that were following ME and my conspiracies in the USA!

 

But if I am honest a neurological pathway has been eroded and still, some days I see t-shirts, most are in English, and I think that they are wearing it for ME!? And while I am being honest, sometimes I take note of neighboring apartments, one in particular, with their lights on in the middle of the night when my insomnia hits & I question, repeatedly, is there someone in there on an assignment watching ME?!

 

And then I check to see if I took my medication and remind myself that it is only ME that is doing the watching! Gratefully I can live with it now; it does not drive ME crazy anymore. It’s not weird, nor scary. It’s my new normal… a breathtakingly beautiful take on ME & my “ordinary” reality.

 

A fish out of water

The exchange was a complete mess; I let the Republicans get closer, and the Democrats felt threatened. And while I was working hard to conceal the fact that they were the ones that I wanted to be helping me; I was afraid of losing him. SLM: more appropriately Scum Lazy-ass Moron…

You see my new hairdresser had many Republican clients, including Laura Bush or so I was told; & she, the former, gave me a cactus. She told me that she grew them on her balcony; and I took it as a sign from SLM, a republican, the man I left in Arizona. He wanted me to know how close he was.

The salon wasn’t far from the White House but once I got back to Dupont a man in a black suit, or was it blue, no matter, on Connecticut Avenue approached me out and inquired what was in the bag. He wore sunglasses with a price tag still on them?! Either he wasn’t expecting ME and needed to conceal his identity quickly or he was trying to tell ME something?! Maybe he was trying to tell ME that he had been paid for. Maybe he was turning in a favor. Maybe I should have ran but I just said “It’s just a cactus for Black Beauty (that’s ME), Nerd – now back the hell off!”

I definitely should have used the camera on my cell phone more, those days I ran into so many weird souls?! People helping people… SLM couldn’t have paid for everything… he was so afraid of getting involved! How he protected his “friends”; it’s not like he was ir is ever going to run for President. If I had to place a bet, I’d bet the Democrats did it for FREE.

In retrospect, I think the man on the street was trying to conceal his identity. God knows I was doing nothing of the sort – I pranced around waving my cactus in the air, I wanted “Them” to see. I wanted someone to notice ME. I wanted to be one of the well respected extremely sought after ‘People’ of DC…

WOW howabout that for some honesty! (Came out of no where…) I was so out of place, in DC, a fish out of water.

Thanks WordPress (Benevolence)

B-e-n-e-v-o-l-e-n-c-e (WordPress gave me that title)… it’s the title of the grassy background that used to be the ‘Theme’ of my blog.

& I believe that herein interested readers are introduced to some characteristics of the bipolar disease. …I believe that many readers have misconceptions about ‘MY’ disease and I hope to give you/them a deeper understanding. I hope that you/they see that I am not merely the byproduct of my disease but rather I hope you/they see my Shakti (Creative Power) at play in my observation of/ participation in the world around ME/US.

I had hoped to attract enough attention to get me to Hollywood, it doesn’t look like that is happening now, but there is always time, I have time… so until this site gets more attention I’ll think up my next post, find my diaries and remain benevolent!

Peculiar Players

[T] didn’t only p-l-a-y the trumpet, he was a P-L-A-Y-E-R! He was young, blond & drove a BMW crotch rocket. We spent weekends together in NY or DC: I did the cooking while he lounged with his feet up?!

Once, he tried to get me to take my clothes off in a hot tub on the roof of his low-rise apartment building in the middle of mid town Manhattan?! Are you kidding? A thrill for him, yes, but embarrassing for ME. I have often thought that in cities like Manhattan there must be an inordinate amount of binoculars lying around. How many women he pulled that trick on before me and since? How many women went along with it??

Allow me to back track: just how “They” orchestrated keeping tabs on me was dumbfounding. Albeit the technology for tracking cellphones is available on the Internet, maybe it was as simple as that?! The gang from DC had ‘friends’ in NY. Scratch that I thought I had ‘Friends’ in NY… specifically President Clinton’s friends… ‘They’ couldn’t afford to lose track of me. I noticed “Them” posted on street corners with their ear pieces and dining next to us to eaves drop on our conversations (how did they get reservations at tables next to ours) and see who we were rubbing shoulders with. “They” wanted to know if I shared my secrets with [T] or if I just my bed…

“They” even tried to reach me once in Whole Foods on Columbus Circle. I was there doing our Easter dinner shopping when “<PrincessMarksAlot> My Valentine” rang in my ears. I have yet to report being so delusional that I heard things; I swear the voice came over the loud speaker… So I stood there frozen in the produce section wondering if “They” wanted to reveal something to me, something that “One” couldn’t reveal in DC?!

The short of it is that I thought Clinton, YES Bill Clinton, was trying to get me a message?! I thought if I went to the Customer Service counter that I’d quietly be handed a cell phone &/or directions to a safe place to get the DL (down low)… but I didn’t know who was watching. For Christ’s sake I was just thinking about making dinner.

Fear got the best of me & I didn’t follow up at the Customer Service counter… in retrospect that sounds very vain! I should have tried but my subconscious knew better, it knew I probably wouldn’t have known what to do with the disappointment. I couldn’t let my conspiracies fall apart in the grocery store?! Funny how smart our subconscious is.

But, I digress, back to [T] and me. I guess it takes one to know one? My husband tells me that I am playing games with this blog. He tells me that if I exposed my identity that I might have more followers …I need more followers to get to Hollywood?! Further, my younger sister thinks that I should reveal my identity… she thinks that it would be cathartic!

If I ever want to work again, I can’t reveal myself; people, specifically employers, just don’t understand my disease! They’ll assume the worst; they’ll think that I am moody and therefore difficult to work with… and that’s precisely why I think my story is fit for the BIG screen! I’m just an average compassionate but capable, resourceful and …impatient woman with a highly peculiar disease that some P-E-O-P-L-E need to learn more about. I don’t have mood swings (not even at that time of the month), I just go manic when my hormones are out of whack, or when it rains, and have delusions of Grandeur. And it is during those times that I need to take a break from my daily routine and collect myself. No employer would want to negotiate all the sick days that I need built into one contract!

Getting to Hollywood is less about ME and more about my wild stories – MY sensed reality. It’s ludicrous to think that just an average compassionate but capable, resourceful and …impatient woman with a highly peculiar disease was such a Red Hot commodity. (I <3 red hots, the candy that is.) But I thought that!

Scratch that: Mind you, I know that I am Bipolar but I still think that. This morning, while drafting this blog, I told my husband that Obama could get me to Hollywood. He has four more years. Wonder what mess I could get myself into in Macau to get his attention.

Note to Reader: A little birdie gave me the idea to "Edit" this "Press". I have already edited others this morning… but suffice it to say we'll just loose track of those. 4:14am MT 22 June,2013 (9)

nautICA

If I had had any money at the time, I would have invested in Nautica. In retrospect, I should have taken photographs of all the “not ICA” garb in my neighborhood. It drove me mad but convinced me that, given DC, that both Presidential Candidates (2004) amongst others were aware of my case. The powers that be knew that a) I had a good law suit on my hands and b) that I could pin some several people that were breaking laws… if I could just prove it?!

My privacy was being invaded. I was being followed. ‘They’ wanted my allegiance & my stories! The hospitals misrepresented their staff… the state of my mental health wasn’t kept CONFIDENTIAL nor were my “private sessions” with the Psychiatrists/Psychologists! IF only someone had gotten a hold of my diaries, they would have seen that I was just Nuts… I thought I was involved with the wrong crowd; I thought my client embezzled money, I thought my OBGYN preformed an illegal abortion on ME, I thought my apartment was formerly a terrorist cell… but not me. nautICA… I wasn’t a Spy! And here’s where I’ll tell you why: I couldn’t prove anything and I just wanted to be left alone! Why wouldn’t ‘they’ leave me alone?

I sought God, I went to the Foundry. I wrote in my diary, keeping it with me at all times to record outlandish events. I walked the labyrinth on 18th, did yoga/prayed religiously. But it wasn’t until my family suggested that I leave DC that I saw the light at the end of the tunnel. (I think it was my older sister’s idea. She’s a clever one… My parents were relatively hands off growing up. They rarely interfered and even then, during this most critical moment in my life, my mother couldn’t/wouldn’t do the talking?! We four were there; my mom, my older & younger sister and me – sitting outside at a French bistro after I was released from the hospital; but it was my older sister that had to do the convincing, I didn’t want to move back in with my Parents in Las Vegas at 30 some odd years of age?! Perhaps it’s just their styles… my older sister likes the challenge, my mother is a wall flower and my little sister had little of a voice back then, I thought she was young & clueless. She too was under watch, if only because we looked alike & lived together. I hold no grudges. It’s just an interesting observation. I am glad that the most important women in my life were there supporting me at a defining moment!)

I moved to Las Vegas to avoid all the confusion but in a small way it only followed me there… it wasn’t as easy to keep track of ME there, I was no longer a pedestrian. I had new Doctors, few ‘Friends’ and was under close watch of my parents.

It wasn’t until my life stabilized when I found great security in the arms of my now husband that I let go of the paranoia. It took a good THREE years to get “them” to leave me alone. I finally moved on and was going to forget what had wronged me in the first place. Now I suffer from acute mania even less. It’s definitely a hormonal thing for me… but when I suffer I no longer think of the conspiracies I once did but just get manic & when I’m manIC my husband panICs.

It’s not something that we can fix, I definitely have the ‘bug’ when I get my mind wrapped around a to-do, just any ordinary to-do like “making an album” or “buying a cabinet”, I obsess about it… my poor husband. Always on the watch, is always concerned that it’s the beginning of something to worry about!

ME & MY Starfish

I had had too much stimulation for one day and went to my corner deli to read a Newsweek article on leadership and to eat a sandwich. I couldn’t remember the last time I ate… I knew to keep my head down as I didn’t want to be further distracted or leak the secrets of the code. By this point it was clear that this body of angels & I had many enemies.

Slowly and suddenly everything around me grew silent, the table next to me cleared their trays and left, and the commotion on the sidewalk seemed to slow down and then came the cough, [Japan Man] who I had only met once prior was leaving the deli with [everybody loves the Italian guy] who was holding a CityPaper.

God bless them, they were confused… they thought my firm was the crux of my trouble. You see in DC everybody, like most people in cosmopolitan cities, has an agenda but in DC there are also those secret agendas. [Japan Man] and [everybody loves the Italian guy] were sent to guide me into revealing to the local rag the injustices of the small architectural practice that I worked for in hopes of putting me out of my misery. They thought that, that alone, would help me sleep. In many ways it would have but I was entangled in something that had more depth, something more deserving of… the Post.

Long story short, much to my surprise [Japan Man] ended up inviting me for a drink at Dragonfly, a swank white bar in DuPont Circle. I had been eager to get to get to know him. He had an air about him; he was self-assured and always had a look that there was more going on than he was at liberty to tell you. James Bond like and this was the night that was going to I learn why!

About a half an hour into our conversation a good friend of mine entered the bar gave me a kiss, complimented how stunning I looked and sat six (6) stools away from us waiting for his date. He watched me flirt with [Japan Man] as he sipped his martini… (I questioned his friendship and wondered if he had been planted in my world.)

About a half an hour later another very attractive man in a khaki linen suit and a pink and orange tie entered the bar. He sat closer to us and ordered a sapphire, tonic and roses. (My spidey sense went up… That was my drink?!?! Besides, his tie was perfect for the occasion: Me, naive little girl & he, on a mission.) His English accent was thick and his body language screamed I am ready to PARTY!

Not but moments later [Japan Man] kissed me goodbye (on the cheek, it was our first kiss) and made a comment about starfish. My starfish? He noticed my Tiffany’s starfish?!?! (Did he also know about the Macy’s bags? How much did he know?)

So now I think: [Japan Man’s] task was deeper than I initially understood & now his ‘job’ was fulfilled: [Japan Man] brought me to that bar to meet the [Agent] in the pink & orange tie b/c he, [Japan Man] couldn’t afford to get caught up in my mess! He had other fish to fry. He was after the Architects… he was just the delivery boy!

… I have yet to hallucinate, or so I can remember but if I could, the story would have ended like this: The [Agent] took me out clubbing (I have never been clubbing) to tell me in a loud crowded place that “they are working on it… that there is truth behind my conspiracies  & I should keep quiet”! But alas, like most of my fantasies sitting alone at the bar, from that point forward, was rather uneventful.

Then GOD said

(Note to Reader: The bulk of this was written many years ago.)

Just a few short days ago I was literally scrambling through my house, in the middle of the night, on my fingers and toes like a hungry wolf sniffing out her prey. I imagine I looked focused and determined, a bit MAD, as if I was going to find someone hiding under the bed, or in the closet. At least that’s what I was hoping… at the bare minimum I suspected that I’d find a “bug” under the lamp shade.

I was high as a kite; I hadn’t slept in ten days; but I didn’t find anyone or thing anywhere, however hard I looked.

But that didn’t stop me! I made offerings to him behind closed doors; I felt his towering presence behind the shower curtain but did not dare to disturb him. I gather, in my subconscious, I knew better than to destroy the myth that I willed in my head.

… it was during this episode, I realized that I had become a most exquisite sculpture/ artiste. Here are pictures to prove it. (WOW) I had fulfilled my dream, even if I didn’t have a repertoire of built work to prove it.

With rigor, through the course of my illness, I ‘worked’ to absolve my family and myself from our sins but I couldn’t stop talking. My realizations were periodic, much like confessions, which I insisted on sharing. Once I realized that I wasn’t building a fortress but digging a moat; when I risked losing everything, possibly everyone that I loved, and someone who they loved… when I questioned if I was really “on the inside” or “out”. I discovered why [they] came to me in the hospital.

They came because I was dying.

As the story goes; a nurse in the previous hospital, which I stayed at, injected me with a virus that was slowly taking my life. My monsters had designed it such that the medication would retard the virus’ growth until it was strong enough to take my life. I wasn’t the only one who saw the warning signs: I was losing my hair and had blisters, etc..

Upon seeing this, during my confession, [they] shut my case. They couldn’t simply jump the fence or come over the back wall, [they] had to devise a safer way of getting to me, of putting me to rest.

… A messenger told me not to look at them; and I knew better than to cross the messenger.

With the cameras overhead, and my mother in the corridor, I knew that I was safe. …I figured that I was going to die soon; but I knew that I was safe.

Was it witchcraft that they practiced? Was it yogic??

My eyes were closed, I was trying to sleep, but I recall: A man? A man stood at my head, scratching his Five O’clock Shadow the other and a large older woman, in all likelihood my Mom, with smooth hands sat at my bedside with his hand on my thigh a comforting gesture. When the ritual was over, he brushed my tattoo off in a way that resembled blowing out a candle. <insert relief>

The subject of this post should have been: “then God said: let there be LOVE” – I haven’t been to the hospital since; am I healed? (Note to Reader: I was not injected with a deadly virus, I didn’t have “CANcer”… as you may very well know, from experience, hospitals routinely check one’s blood especially while patients are on certain medications.)

a BLIND date

I was set up! A hairdresser that I had been to several times really didn’t listen to me… she was a BAD hair dresser. I took my friend to her one weekend so that she could get her hair styled for her wedding. I took her for the trial run… Weeks later, the day of my friend’s wedding; I went alone to get my hair styled. (My friend had found someone else.) The hair dresser (I forget her name but recall that she was Russian also styled the hair of some very prominent republican politician’s wives) thought it was ME that was getting married!?!?

I tried to deny it when she asked but when she pushed, I played along. She asked me about the man who I was marrying, where we were going to live, what I was going to wear and what color flowers we should put in my hair. I felt self-conscious about lying; as she also managed to talk one of her co-workers into doing my make-up for FREE. (I had never had my make-up done by anyone else.)

Nonetheless, on my drive to my good friend & neighbor’s wedding, in a rainbow printed dress with PURPLE flowers in my hair, it was clear in MY head that it wasn’t ME that was getting married. But that didn’t last long, upon arrival I saw a painting in a gallery; it was a hunting scene and MY prince charming on a horse in a RED coat. Many other events over the course of several months led up to this event but during the wedding, I imagined that my sweetheart was on the other side of the fence (my friend’s wedding was in a very nice private garden in a cottage at The Inn at Little Washington) and I imagined that I was marrying my long-lost love?!?!

I was careful not to drink too much champagne at the reception and left the party early as I was completely exhausted and completely psychotic; I do not know how I didn’t crash as I raced to get back to Dupont to meet my best friend from New York, at a comedy show. (More about that show later… in another post.)

On the way to the comedy show, in the circle (imagine of all places), an East-Indian man sitting on a park bench greeted ME. (Somehow this relates to something that the hairdresser said but without my diaries I cannot remember what. It was in a discussion about Astrology &/or Yoga that she mentioned that I deserved a good man.) He asked what I did that day and I told him that… “I got married”. Within minutes, I couldn’t continue the lie, I told him that I was mentally ill and was just pretending. I hope I apologized for lying.

Worried about ME, he asked to meet me in the same place the next day. And so I did, the next day at TWO, after another reception, I laid in the grass, close to the same place that I met the man the night before, with my left hand over my heart (ring finger) and right hand on my belly (keep center). You yogi’s know that’s the opposite way that one is trained but leave it to me to put my own twist in things!

If he saw me, he didn’t disturb me – perhaps he & his cohort’s thought that I could sleep it off. If only I could just sleep it off.

I bought a black teddy for he who Dances with (the) Wolves

I was paging through the newspaper one Valentines Day weekend before I left DC + Kevin Costner was featured in, I believe, a military suit… and it made me think of an old fling. You must understand at the time I thought that THE WORLD – or at least a select few Washington legals, lawyers and bureaucrats were trying to teach me a lesson… I was discovering that seeds were planted in every day paraphernalia: newspapers, magazines, etc.. And I was reading messages into everything. In a way, perhaps, I was discovering my subconscious mind and how it was/is effected by the whirl of information that passes us by every day.

In this case, when I saw Kevin Costner’s photo, it reminded me of a photo I have, (or had, dunno what I got rid of over the years) of a very austere looking gentleman with strong jaw bones and a big nose in a dark suit. I loved this man a long time ago and the photo of KC triggered a desire to rekindle that old fling and pretend that I had a Valentine. On the off chance that it was a message from my X, I bought a ‘lil black number from Victoria’s Secrets on a very snowy day in February 2006.

On the surface, my passions didn’t really fit in (DC) but I learned something very basic there – that might be taught in Marketing 101. I learned that there are messages behind: branding, the colors one wears on game day, the sunglasses you choose to wear (at the time, I wore Dior with tiny hearts), the grocery stores one chooses to shop at – stuff as simple as whether or not you chose to use Pur-Elle or a generic hand sanitizer.

What I mean by “messages” is that similar to the code of fraternity brothers… Translating these messages comes easy to the highly involved type, the ones that pay close attention to news, fashion, sports (whatever your flavor) and have a competitive spirit. No idiot wears pink to a football game… but then again I might!?!?

Learning to pace Myself

9:39am  01.06.2011
If I ever get around to digging up my diaries and writing about my past episodes, which is part of this Master Project, you’ll believe that I have learned to pace myself during Manic moments. If you knew me way back when; you could see how well I have coped these last few weeks that I have been over stimulated (both hypo manic and on the edge of hypo mania). I think that you’d agree that: I can pace myself. (My yoga practice has taught me, and continues to teach me, a great deal about balancing on the edge.)

In short, I got up last night and wrote the intro to my blog, a publication that will help me finally start to release my demons + today my husband asked me to make an appointment w/ the DOCtor.  …I just bypassed an episode over the Holidays and started new but old (had them before) drugs last weekend.

Am not “Mapping” or “Tracking” but as of this morning I am DREAMING BIG about a business adventure and “Multitasking’*. Trouble is (I am medicated) I feel great, I feel Sound and Clear, but those that love me are “concerned”.

Can’t help but record these thoughts. And, in my defense, my dream this time, and during last episode in August of 2009, are perfectly normal… I am dreaming because I have a good idea and want the extra cash to hire a nanny, work from home, support my husband’s endeavors and start a non-profit, someday – far far away. That’s a lot of cash but my husband knows how to reign me in. He’s not yet convinced that my latest idea can be very big!

But, back to the topic: On this matter, you shouldn’t listen to me, you should listen to my husband. He keeps ever so gently reminding me that he’s also got a heart and a brain in our relationship. See for yourself; see what he wrote while I was at the dentist.

———- Forwarded message ———-
Date: Thu, Jan 6, 2011 at 9:11 AM
Subject: things that matter…

There is a thin line between passion and condition.. and i have to pick a side. Just so you know that I will pick the side of caution and always err on the side that any exuberance of passion is borderline condition. Therefore while I don’t want to be non-supportive of your ideas of any kind I would like you to dissuade you and try to make you go slow every time…

The difference between hard work, diligence and pursuing… and obsession is that of state of mind. If one is doing the tasks in a cold, calculated, uninvolved fashion.. can take a break from it, finish the work and can relax, focus on other important things in life like child, eating or sleeping.. .that is hard work… if you cannot take a break from it and is all you can think of .. it wakes you up.. can not relax.. then it is obsession..

I don’t know that an onset of an episode can be prevented by mental focus and wishing away… but I think you should be very cautious with these projects and my advice would be to spend more time away from them. The world will not end if you don’t get it all figured out today.. if there are three things that you think of doing.. do them over 3 days to slow your mind. On the other hand i think it is time to see the doctor again to revisit your dosage… remember that we moving from one dose to another and it may not be giving you enough relief that need.

just remember that i love you and our son loves you and in the big scheme of things you are already a super famous and super star in our eyes.. and no other validation is that important to miss time away from us.

love
-<me>

I tried to find the following song online so you could listen to it yourself, but I couldn’t… perhaps one of you reading has the album? http://www.justsomelyrics.com/644505/Aerosmith-Jeanie’s-Got-A-Gun-Lyrics

It’s a stretch but I think one you can deduce from my husband’s message that perhaps some of the “Mentally Ill”, the ones that hurt themselves are the ones that simply move too fast! Perhaps they just make abrupt and impulsive decisions, like leasing a new car (when they can’t afford the payments) or worse: sometimes taking their lives… gratefully I failed poorly as a teenager at trying to take my life. My ‘steps’ in CT were somewhat accidental and in retrospect pretty pathetic (I just wanted to be a. “COOL” and b. “Thin”) and since I just haven’t had any room for that.

01.19.2011 4:34pm
So yes, dearest husband:

I am listening and admit that I need your help to see the iceberg before I run into it. Thanks for the email. This one’s a keeper.

After taking a sober look at how my brain works during moments like these; moments that I veer towards Mania… moments when I get caught up in the present and the excitement of it ALL – I know that I am not the best judge. Hypo mania is too much fun for me to see it as a “potential problem”. I am terribly fortunate to have you as one of my judges.

You must know; it’s certainly not my intention to rush around and miss out on our lives. In fact when I am hypo-manic it feels just the opposite. And although I have maintained our son and our home as my primary concern; I have been distracted with a project or two. So I promise to s-l-o-w down as best I can, especially when you alert me to unusual behavior. (The Spa at the Mandarin Oriental helped. Thanks for that.)

I promise to approach my illness w/ the 3 D’s. The same D’s that got me into architecture school: Desire, Discipline + Dedication**. I learned them well at home; school reinforced them and my yoga sealed those early lessons before I met you. They are part of the reason that I am as highly functional as I am today. They are part of the reason you were/ are attracted to ME.

That said, please keep in mind that although we increased my medication; I may very well be exuberant in the weeks to come as I am just trying to get back to a professionally passionate filled life. Think of it like I vowed: “with all that I am and all that I am to become”… I simply want you to be proud of ME and my successes!

I very well may have far to go in the art of “Learning to Pace Myself” but must concede that I am not too far off. I can see the light at the end of the tunnel.

Your devoted partner

(A readers note: I’ll always use brackets like these < > to protect your privacy.)

*Not ashamed, still on maternity leave, and am fully aware that I have a baby to take care of! He sleeps as I write. Maybe ‘this’ is a mix of the last episode that started Mon, Dec 20, 2010 at 9:29 PM (note to self see “Changes are Coming -Non Political” email) and PPD (Post Partum Depression)? My hormones should be going crazy although I am rather flat; I weaned our son of the breast just before the Thurs, Dec 30, 2010.

**Desire – to not allow my mania to escalate to psychotic thoughts. Discipline – getting enough exercise to mediate the serotonin levels in my brain naturally and Dedication – to pick up from where I started when I fail. We all fail.