I think the title of this post says it all. About six months ago, I was starting to get involved with yoga. Immediately I loved it. I had always wanted to try it, but for whatever reason, I never had the courage to do so. I think a lot of it for me was that I was really intimidated, thinking there would be the quintessential-magazine-cover-type yoga experts surrounding every inch of me as they gaze at themselves in the mirror.
Well, there were a few of those, but mostly people like me who were only there to expand their mind; expand their flexibility and peace within their souls. I thought it'd be the ideal recreation for me. I knew I'd never dive into it completely like some, but I was OK with that. I wanted to try it regardless.
When I attended my first yoga class, I loved it, but I could never grasp the whole breathing part of the exercises, and I knew that was a big part of yoga. I didn't care. I just liked being there and I loved the tranquility of the whole experience entirely. Even if I did look like a fool, I didn't care.
After about 3 or 4 months of religiously going to yoga class 2–3 times a week, something odd was starting to grow inside my head. Now before you think the worst, it wasn't a tumor or anything like that. The feelings were excruciating headaches—something I never had to deal with before—well, aside from the morning after a drinking binge in college. Constant headaches that can only be described as blood plumping through my frontal lobe. It was awful. Just bowing my head was a painful experience.
I had never gotten headaches of this magnitude before, so I was scared; I didn't know what to think or what to expect. After a doctor's appointment assuring me that everything was OK, I was still experiencing throbbing headache pain. It was surrounding the entire front part of my head and I didn't know how to make it go away. Frequent pill-popping of Acetaminophen and Ibuprofen didn't help me one bit. It was a waste.
By this time, the idea of going to yoga class was difficult to comprehend. I couldn't imagine bowing my head down for a downward dog posture just to be in piercing pain as I pulled up. My blood pumping throbbing headache was too agonizing to even think of yoga.
The stabbing pain prevented me from my regular yoga visits throughout the week. I thought I finally found something I enjoyed and could dive into. In addition to running three times a week, I felt renewed, only to be let down a few months in.
Although I was able to continue to run early in the mornings, I still couldn't trial the yoga adventure any longer.
I had to stop. I was discouraged.
We never did know what caused these headaches, maybe the medication I was on at the time, but these past few months, my headaches have completely subsided. Maybe here and there I'll get a little headache, but nowhere near as troublesome as before. Am I able to do yoga again? Yeah, why not. Have I done yoga since? No, I haven't.
Why? Good question.
My husband keeps telling me I should go and try it again, but something in my head—no pun intended—tells me not to and I make excuses. Maybe I'm afraid to try it again, I don't know, but I won't know how it turns out until I try it, right? I think I might give it a try again because it's something I loved and enjoyed. Albeit for only a few months, who knows where it could have taken me after all this time. Obviously I'll never know until I completely make that effort once again.
Here we go.
Next week on the calendar I have scheduled my first yoga class in several months. Wish me luck!
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Showing posts with label pills. Show all posts
Showing posts with label pills. Show all posts
Wednesday, July 4, 2012
Sunday, May 27, 2012
What's it like, you know...to be Bipolar?
I sometimes wonder if the year is 1912 or 2012. I always feel like, even in this day and age, that people still don't get Bipolar Disorder. They don't 'get' what it's about. After all these years, all the breakthroughs of modern medicine, they still think you're a "psycho." It's still unacceptable to be bipolar, and people still use the phrase "why are you so bipolar today?" Like it's an adjective.
Is it OK to insinuate that someone is suffering from Bipolar Disorder because they're a little off? Or maybe because they're up and down with their mood? Or my personal favorite, because the weather is cloudy and dreary so they're going to have a "bipolar day?"
Ahhh such ignorance in our society. Even today, in 2012 it still exists.
That frightens me. Scares me to think that even as my daughter matures and grows into a woman, that she herself could face life in this ignorant world. We always seem to think we have evolved as a society, when in reality, we have only gone backwards.
I'm embarrassed to admit, especially from someone who has been diagnosed with Bipolar Disorder since 2004, that I just recently learned that Bipolar Disorder is not a psychological/psychiatric "problem," but a medical illness; a disease. It took many decades, if not centuries, for the medical communities to realize that Diabetes wasn't psychiatric/psychological, but a medical illness/diasease as well. Look at the breakthroughs with Diabetes? I only hope the same breakthroughs will emerse as the studies and treatments for Bipolar Disorder progress, where the judgment and discriminatory attitude will fade and acceptance will be great. But even after all this time, after everything that has been studied and learned about Bipolar Disorder, people still criticize you for something you cannot control.
Imagine sitting in a job interview and openly saying, "oh, have I mentioned that I have Bipolar Disorder and I will need to take my medication regularly"—what they would say, or worse, if you would even be offered the job? However, someone with Diabetes turning around and saying the exact same thing, would almost be sympathized with instead.
Why are people suffering from Bipolar Disorder looked down upon? What makes us so different from anybody else with a medical illness/disease? We can't control it because aren't we born this way?
If you haven't yet seen the movie, A Beautiful Mind with Russell Crowe, I beg of you to rent it or download it NOW. It shows a man, a mathematical genius who suffers from schizophrenia, Dr. John Nash, in the 1950s. Back when the common 'medication' was shock treatments. It's a heartwarming story, but a story of sadness and despair at the same time. This was before what doctors even knew what schizophrenia was like, or what it involved. Like schizophrenia, bipolar disorder is not curable, but treatable.
As I started my medication in the past few months I admit, that sometimes I feel like a pharmacist as I look down into my hand at all of those pills and how I have to pop them in my mouth every single day. It's tough because I went from a woman never having to take any pills, to taking a handful everyday and every night. It has turned into an eye opening experience.
It's real. It has been an emotional rollercoaster.
I have to overcome my fear of what "people will think" about me. Otherwise I will drive myself crazy. I have spent an entire lifetime worrying about what other people think, but I can no longer worry about them, but worry about myself, my family and my support group. I have to move forward for myself—I need to think and do for myself first before I can do for others. I have spent too many years putting myself last, and others first. Others that don't even matter in my life.
Can I do this? Can I really do this? Only time will tell.
Is it OK to insinuate that someone is suffering from Bipolar Disorder because they're a little off? Or maybe because they're up and down with their mood? Or my personal favorite, because the weather is cloudy and dreary so they're going to have a "bipolar day?"
Ahhh such ignorance in our society. Even today, in 2012 it still exists.
That frightens me. Scares me to think that even as my daughter matures and grows into a woman, that she herself could face life in this ignorant world. We always seem to think we have evolved as a society, when in reality, we have only gone backwards.
I'm embarrassed to admit, especially from someone who has been diagnosed with Bipolar Disorder since 2004, that I just recently learned that Bipolar Disorder is not a psychological/psychiatric "problem," but a medical illness; a disease. It took many decades, if not centuries, for the medical communities to realize that Diabetes wasn't psychiatric/psychological, but a medical illness/diasease as well. Look at the breakthroughs with Diabetes? I only hope the same breakthroughs will emerse as the studies and treatments for Bipolar Disorder progress, where the judgment and discriminatory attitude will fade and acceptance will be great. But even after all this time, after everything that has been studied and learned about Bipolar Disorder, people still criticize you for something you cannot control.
Imagine sitting in a job interview and openly saying, "oh, have I mentioned that I have Bipolar Disorder and I will need to take my medication regularly"—what they would say, or worse, if you would even be offered the job? However, someone with Diabetes turning around and saying the exact same thing, would almost be sympathized with instead.
Why are people suffering from Bipolar Disorder looked down upon? What makes us so different from anybody else with a medical illness/disease? We can't control it because aren't we born this way?
If you haven't yet seen the movie, A Beautiful Mind with Russell Crowe, I beg of you to rent it or download it NOW. It shows a man, a mathematical genius who suffers from schizophrenia, Dr. John Nash, in the 1950s. Back when the common 'medication' was shock treatments. It's a heartwarming story, but a story of sadness and despair at the same time. This was before what doctors even knew what schizophrenia was like, or what it involved. Like schizophrenia, bipolar disorder is not curable, but treatable.
As I started my medication in the past few months I admit, that sometimes I feel like a pharmacist as I look down into my hand at all of those pills and how I have to pop them in my mouth every single day. It's tough because I went from a woman never having to take any pills, to taking a handful everyday and every night. It has turned into an eye opening experience.
But I continue to take them because I feel and see the results. I now know that they are working; working to make me better and enrich my life even more. I feel happier than I've felt in a very long time. Listening to my husband repeatedly tell me how he's happy to have "me back" and feeling back to 'normal' again is tough to hear, I know this, but after the past year or so, how things have escalated and have gotten worse in our lives, only makes me aware of what he and my daughter have had to endure and live through for so long. Writing this blog is making me recognize it and see it all over again. As I sit and write it all down and relive it all over again, has become very emotional for me, not just in my mind, but in my heart. I know it's beneficial so I will continue on and know that it will only help in my recovery.
It's real. It has been an emotional rollercoaster.
I have to overcome my fear of what "people will think" about me. Otherwise I will drive myself crazy. I have spent an entire lifetime worrying about what other people think, but I can no longer worry about them, but worry about myself, my family and my support group. I have to move forward for myself—I need to think and do for myself first before I can do for others. I have spent too many years putting myself last, and others first. Others that don't even matter in my life.
Can I do this? Can I really do this? Only time will tell.
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