Addiction

Simply put, the ultimate sign one is addicted is when one is using to avoid withdrawal.

But before I review again, a disclaimer regarding alcoholics.  One size doesn't fit all.  Drinking patterns vary.  Some are binge drinkers who did not drink daily but when they did drink it was to extremes.  They may remain sober during the work week, but keep quite swashbuckling drunk over the weekend.  This was not my experience.

Other drinkers, more like myself, maintained a consistent daily pattern of drinking to achieve the desired effect, but remained largely "in control".  Personally, I believe this is a more troubling pattern of drinking in that it is easier to deny you have a problem.  "Out of control" is one thing non-alcoholics believe about alcoholics.  For this second type of drinker, it is a misnomer.  When I was drinking I was very intentional about making sure that I got the 'prescribed dosage' to achieve the necessary effect.  Now it is true, on some occasions I would drink more.  Weekends when my wife was gone were an opportunity to drink to excess, for sure.  A fifth of whiskey during an afternoon/evening of drinking was not unusual on such occasions.  But on a daily basis I simply maintained a sufficient level of intoxication to get by.

Habituation is the issue here.  One's body adapts to a certain level of alcohol in the system.  When alcohol is not present at the level the body has become accustomed to one experiences withdrawal.  The unpleasantness of withdrawal is such that there is an incredible compulsion to maintain at least the necessary amount of intoxication.  So, for example, I used to joke that I needed two Scotch doubles to feel sober.  The truth behind that was that I needed a minimum of about five or six ounces of Scotch daily to avoid the symptoms of withdrawal.  That amount of alcohol was only sufficient to make me feel 'normal'.  I did not achieve the 'buzz' at that level.  In fact, as my drinking progressed I never achieved a buzz at all.  I was so habituated to alcohol that I would drink myself into a stupor without ever having experienced the buzz, or the high, of intoxication.  Drinking had ceased to be fun.  It was about avoiding the pain of withdrawal.

And others just don't understand.

In my case, addiction began with Ativan, which I had been prescribed for sleep.  Ativan works on the same receptors in the brain as alcohol, and so "cross addiction" is a risk.  When I ceased taking Ativan I replaced it with alcohol.  Prior to that time my alcohol consumption had been very moderate.  For decades, very moderate and sometimes months without a drink.  Then, immediately upon quitting the Ativan, I was drinking on average, 6 to 7 ounces a day, which remained my preferred dose until the last year, when it went up to about 10 ounces a day.  In my mind, the 6 to 7 ounces only constituted a 'couple of drinks' and so I didn't have a problem.

But without those drinks, I experienced withdrawal symptoms.  Among other things, I would shake uncontrollably.  I would not drink on Saturday nights, so as not to smell of alcohol at worship Sunday morning, but instead would shake to the point I could not serve communion.  Withdrawal.

In order for an alcoholic to want to stop, you have to get to the point where you realize what is happening and are willing to endure the pain of withdrawal in order to be free from it.  It will get worse before it gets better.  When I checked into treatment I was offended that they started medicating me against all sorts of potential withdrawal symptoms, including seizures, as I had never experienced that in my mind.  The truth was I'd never allowed myself to go through withdrawal.  When I did, I experienced partial complex seizures for months following.  I do not know if these were directly related to withdrawal or not.  But after a while, they went away.  I remain suspicious.

I continue to fight addiction as I struggle with smoking.  During my chemical dependency treatment I had quit for awhile using the patch.  Last night I bought the patch again and am going to give it a try.  One thing that is very similar between alcohol and smoking is that there comes a time when you are smoking just to avoid withdrawal, even if it gives you no other pleasure.  I've been putting off quiting since my treatment for alcoholism in part because my doctors emphasized that my number one priority needed to be staying sober.  Drinking could kill me in a night.  Smoking was more of a long term health hazard.  Stay on top of the one, and the day will come to address the other.

I'm planning for retirement.  Two things:  I want to be alive for retirement, and I'd rather not have to account for the $250 a month of additional income to support this habit.  Freedom from it would be nice as well.

Anxiousness is one of the primary symptoms of withdrawal, coupled with an extreme irritability.  But there are other issues beyond just the physical withdrawal.  What do you do, for pete's sake?  What do you do?  I've spent a life time structured around having a smoke.  Now what do I do?  I'm an introvert and introverts need space, a time to regroup and recharge before re-engaging with others.  Smoking was my excuse to step back from social interaction and recharge.  What will I do?

Can I think and write without my pauses to reflect over coffee and a smoke?

Can I tolerate the feeling of nakedness that comes with a pocket empty of a pack and a lighter?

One of the struggles is  determining whether to go 'cold turkey' or to do a more measured decrease and withdrawal over time.  The patch is intended to maintain the nicotine level as one deals first with the behavioral issues of smoking, and then, over a period of months a gradual reduction of the level of nicotine until total cessation maybe three to four months down the line.  I have had others suggest that this is like cutting a puppy's tail off a little bit at a time.  It just prolongs the withdrawal.

Whatever works.

"Opa, (cough, cough)."  To one extent, Jasper's mimicking of me is cute.  To another extent, his identifying me with a cough is not.  I never wanted to be a role model of smoking for my children, but that was not enough to convince me to stop.  I don't want to model smoking for Jasper either, but the truth is that alone won't be sufficient.

I'd like to live long enough to enjoy being a grandfather, and enjoy retirement.  $3,000 a year would be a nice budget for entertainment, a boat, or golfing, or travel.  Or it could just go up in smoke.

One of the hardest things to deal with, other than the long term health effects of addiction, is the cost.  My smoking cost me, in today's currency, $2,500 to $3,000 a year over a life-time.  Add to that the cost of my drinking and we're talking real money.  Deposit $250 a month at 3% interest over 43 years and you have over a quarter million dollars.  We could use that money now.  We don't have it.  Actually, I might not have saved it anyway, but still. And I tell myself that when I started, a pack of cigarettes did not cost over $5.  Actually, when I started, 50 cents would buy a pack from a vending machine.  But however you cut it,  a lifetime of smoking represents a lot of dough.

Social pressures to quit smoking have not been helpful to me as I'm a rebel at heart.  From the first day of our marriage, Karla's made it clear that she doesn't like my smoking.  Actually, it wasn't until I quit drinking that she became 'tolerant' of my smoking.  When I'd try to quit, I'd get angry at her for her insistence that it be good for me to do so.  For a period of years I hid my smoking from her.  Dishonesty is a element of addiction.

My father also tried to get me to stop.  Didn't work.  It just compromised our relationship for years.

If others could quit for you, if their will power were enough to achieve success, every smoker would quit.  But they don't feel the pain.

In the dark of the night, as I lay back down, hopeful to get some more sleep, I am conscious of the sound of my breathing.  I hear the air in my bronchial tubes.  It's just short of a wheezing.  Sometimes a cough clears the airway and the sound stops.  Other times it doesn't.  At this point in time the effects of my smoking are complicated by the effects of my inhaling far too much sawdust as well.  I sometimes tell myself that it is the hearing aids that I wear that makes the sound of my breathing so pronounced.  Of course, I know better.  Clear airways would help.

Finally, identity is an issue.  As a drinker, I prided myself on being a "Scotch drinker".  Over a life time one builds up and identity as a "smoker".  One needs to adopt a new self image and identity.  That is easier said than done.

And so the battle begins.  Can someone like myself, who has battled addiction throughout my adult life, be free?  Can I do so without complicating other areas of my life, such as my mental health and tendency toward depression?

And so I offer a prayer.  And I remember the Psalm for this Sunday:  "Then in their trouble they cried to the LORD, and you delivered them from their distress."

Hate filled blood worshipping monsters

"Never does He call us to welcome rapists, murderers, pedofiles, hate filled blood worshipping monsters into our homes."

This comment was posted regarding my sermon this week, in which I said:

"I am deeply troubled by what is happening at our southern border with regards to the immigrants from Latin America that have come here seeking refuge.

Most troubling of all is that we have adopted the policy of separating children from their parents, placing the children in various make shift facilities while imprisoning the parents as criminals.

The “politics” of this are troubling and divisive, to say the least.  But I’m not going to debate those political issues, at least not from this pulpit.  If you want to talk about that, let’s arrange to do so at another time.

But what I will ask is does being a “Christian Nation” have anything to do with the “Kingdom of God”?  That is a religious question, a question of faith.

What would Jesus do?

How should we, who claim to be Christian, first and foremost, respond to the situation of the immigrants at our border who come here seeking refuge?"

Another individual responded to my sermon by posting directions to our Church so that all manner of people in need could inundate us, and suggested that our congregation would be a good place for heroin addicts to come and shoot up.  When I pointed out all that our church does, she thanked me that our church backed up its words with actions.

Still, yet another, questioned the status of  my health and wondered if hate were my motivation.  In all fairness, I am angry at what is happening, but not yet hateful.

I have written in this blog about my bipolar symptoms often manifesting themselves in a desire to save the world, sometimes through grandiose schemes and dreams.  Perhaps my compulsion to write about this issue is simply that, but I think not.  I'd prefer to think of it as a genuine commitment to be part of national conversation, with an optimistic hope that we can make a difference.

I am deeply disturbed at the insanity that has gripped our nation, so much so that we now justify that which we once would have fought wars to prevent.

One Facebook friend pointed out that whereas many hold views of the immigrants as "rapists, murderers, pedofiles, hate filled blood worshipping monsters", those same people gave Donald Trump a complete "pass" on all his unsavory behavior and elected him to the White House.  Why such a harsh judgment in one case, and elevation in the other?  Race?  Who knows, it's just crazy.

The New Colossus

By Emma Lazarus

Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame,

With conquering limbs astride from land to land;

Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall stand

A mighty woman with a torch, whose flame

Is the imprisoned lightning, and her name

Mother of Exiles. From her beacon-hand

Glows world-wide welcome; her mild eyes command

The air-bridged harbor that twin cities frame.

“Keep, ancient lands, your storied pomp!” cries she

With silent lips. “Give me your tired, your poor,

Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,

The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.

Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,

I lift my lamp beside the golden door!”

Has that mighty woman, the Mother of Exiles, been silenced in our land?  Perhaps that is why some of us seek to cry out in her stead.

Has the battle cry of Armageddon been sounded, a final battle for the soul of our nation?  Is the battle we are fighting amongst ourselves not between 'good and evil', but rather regarding the very definition of  'good and evil'?

Trump has alienated our allies, and saluted our enemies.  He heaps praise upon despots, and disdain for, among others, Canadians of all people.  Eh?  That's kind of like kicking "Mr. Rogers" in the groin.  What has happened to us?

And the children.  Separated from their parents as a political bargaining point.  Fifteen billion dollars in funding for a wall will set them free.  Give me your tired, you poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free and I will seize their children, and imprison them all.  All for the sake of one damn wall.  And what will the 'huddled masses yearning to breathe free" do once the wall is constructed?  Go around it.  

Some convictions:

The drug cartels would not be a problem would it not be for our own addictions.  Treat the addictions and the cartels evaporate.

We need the labor force.  It is simple supply and demand.  Provide immigration reform, and an adequate guest worker program, and the problem of undocumented aliens goes away.

And we should embrace the role of refuge for the huddled masses yearning to breathe free, as it is  people such as this that formed the foundation of our nation.  

But we cannot become what we abhor.  Lutherans live with the legacy of acquiescence to the Nazis in Germany.  Good folk, by and large, caught up in a fervor that gripped a nation.  Swastikas in our sanctuaries.  Luther's own words, a justification for the holocaust.  Pardon us for our concern, but we have a history, and never again dare we blindly salute the fuhrer. 

Dare we see Jesus at our border?  That one who once was exiled in Egypt?  'Truly I tell you, just as you did it to one of the least of these who are members of my family, you did it to me. "

Dare we embrace the Crucified One, who life was given for all, even those immigrants seeking asylum in our country.  Can we reject help to those Jesus offered his life for?

My psychologist stated his belief that the depression I was feeling didn't come from nowhere, and his belief that it is not just a matter of chemical imbalances.  We spoke of vocation, and my longing to be a self employed woodworker again able to 'create', not just 'produce'.  

But most of all, I find our nation's status to be depressing.  Perhaps most depressing is that it is the stock market, and the status of our retirement funds, that seems to afford us great leniency regarding all other issues.  That dirty little secret.  We don't care about the poor huddled masses at our border, because our portfolios are doing well.  Has our entire conscience as a country boiled down to this, "its the economy, stupid!"

That, and in spite of all the news coverage detailing one issue after another, corruption at the highest level, we simply accept reality as dictated by Trump.  He's the greatest because he says he's the greatest.  

Its depressing to me.  It just is.  I yearn for the Kingdom of God.  For a redemptive moment.  For hope.  And I wait upon the Lord, more than watchmen for the morning, more than watchmen for the morning.

The Knock at the Door

Just don't answer the door.

Yet the knocking continues.  Persistent.  Recognizable.  Ominous.

It's a familiar caller, been  here before.  But its been a while.

The signs are there.  A heaviness--as though my skull was made of lead.  The weight bearing down from above.  Sleep disturbances.  A growing discontent.  Irritability.

Depression, that lifelong companion, has come calling once again.

And you just don't know why.  Take the irritability.  The strawberries are coming on now.  Last night we had strawberry shortcake.  The other night we had it at the kids, with a pound cake that I loved.  Karla in recent years has been making biscuits of sorts for shortcake.  And she did last night.  Not the pound cake.  "Didn't she hear how much I loved the other?  Doesn't she care?  And now I'm not happy.  I ask so little."  I know its a little thing, and the shortcake was fine, and there is no reason to get irritable.  Except I was not happy.  Depression.  That's not Karla's fault.

There truly is no reason to be depressed.  As days went, yesterday was a good enough day.  We'd had a wonderful night at the kids, Friday night.  Tri-tip BBQ.  Our grandson.  On Saturday I got some honey-do projects done.  Nothing major: fix a light, rewire a lamp, hang a blind, and varnish the oars.  Accomplishments.  Something to feel good about, yet I didn't.

Diversion is a good tool.  Dream.  Live in hope.

Jens and Ker are buying a home in Sagle, out of town.  A nice place with a view.  And enough land for a shop, which one day Jens would love.  My mind schemes.  Perhaps I could take out a home equity loan and finance one.  Move the tools out of my garage.  Have space to work.  It makes sense.  In town I can only run a business out of my home.  A detached garage shop isn't allowed.  If I built a shop at Jens' place maybe one day Olson's WoodWorks would be viable again.  Hope.

Nope.  Not enough.  The weight descends as the day goes on.  No reason.  There's never a reason.  Depression just happens.

I check my calendar.  Thursday I see my therapist.  Not scheduled to see my psychiatrist until August.  Might have to change that.

It's been quite a few years since I've had to change meds.  I was hopeful that these would continue working.  Perhaps an adjustment is necessary.  Though with Lamictal there is not generally any adjustment in dose.  Perhaps a change to to Lithium, that old standby.  Or other more contemporary options.  Don't want to think about it, though, and changing meds can be a crap shoot.  Trial and error.  Some work.  Others don't.  The ones I have been on have been working.

What I hope is that the depression I'm feeling is short lived.  Maybe it was just a bad day.  Oh, but it wasn't a bad day at all.

Part of the difficulty is that depression itself is depressing.  Its a vicious cycle.  The thought alone that life's little pleasures may escape me for a while is a downer.  Knowing that in the past cycles of depression have lasted for extended periods of time weighs on one.

Wait.  Do not answer the door.  I feel better this early morning.  Never mind that I woke at 12:30 am and am not sleeping.  Denial has been one way I've fought off depression.  I take humor in some small things.  "Its all just in your head."  Well of course its in my head.  That's the problem.  I also humor myself with the thought that maybe this will help with my weight.  I've noticed my belly becoming more prominent, lately.  Anymore and I might need to name it.  I lose weight when depressed.  Though I don't recommend it as a weight loss program.

Work through it, forcibly if necessary.  I've done that alot.  And with the two jobs I have, losing myself in my work is not hard.  I could use more people contact at church, though.  My little band is a low maintenance group.  A woman lost her husband recently.  She's fine.  He was ready.  Her husband was not part of the church and so no funeral was scheduled.  What might have been a few weeks of intense ministry was greatly reduced.  Ministry is about responding to their needs, though, not mine.  But it would do my soul good if I felt more needed.

Focus on those things that you know give you pleasure.  Jasper is certainly one of them.  "Opa!"  Who can be depressed hearing such a greeting and feeling that embrace?  Well, a depressed person can still feel depressed.  At best such pleasures suspend the mood for a bit.  And then it returns.

I must admit that the one thing that gives me the most hope is simply the knowledge that "this too shall pass."  The merciful side of bipolar disorder is that there are two sides to bipolar disorder.  The depression will not last indefinitely.  And a manic phase is not inevitable.  Though, quite frankly, mania can be preferable, to say the least.  At least one 'feels' good, even if there are pitfalls.

Trust.  Medications and therapy seek to limit the extremes and provide a safety net.  Depression may not be as deep, mania not as out of control.  Even though they continue to be experienced, they likely will not be as intense.  Hope.

And then the dark side.  It doesn't help that prominent people fall prey to such a disease.  Anthony Bourdain, dead.  A reminder of the seriousness of mental health disorders.

And the world doesn't help.  Knowing that Trump is in power is not good for my soul.  Most depressing is that some support his erratic behavior.  I shudder as I remember the statement of a friend that "he voted for Trump because our nation has become so divided and something needed to change."  As though Trump would be the great uniter.  Depressing.

I do feel better this morning.  Writing does my soul good.  A couple of hours on my blog is as good as a session of psychotherapy.  But I say that with caution.  My cycle when depressed is that as the day goes on the depression worsens.  I have written in the past about the wave of depression that overwhelms me in the late afternoon, rolling in like the San Francisco fog.  That could be where I'm at, feeling good in the morning, overwhelmed by night.

The knocking at the door persists.  This is not a welcome guest.

I formulate a list in my head of things that would make me happy.  Unfortunately, many of those things are on another list, symptoms of mania.  I wonder how much study has been done about that relationship.  The high risk adrenaline pumping adventures of mania are an antidote to the weight and burden of depression.

And so I listen to the knocking at the door.  Part of the solution is to open the door and face the demon.  Call it by name.  Recognize it for what it is.  My own thought is that depression is more likely to be catastrophic when it is not recognized.  It is helpful to recognize that I only 'feel' depressed.  In truth, life is not that bad.  Emotions are real, but they do not define reality.

I will sleep some more.  And then face a new day.  Worship this morning.  Recognizing Jesus.  One of my themes in the sermon today is that we see through a mirror dimly, meaning that our human nature is to see a reflection of ourselves even as we seek to see Jesus.  We cannot see the real Jesus in the mirror, though.  We look to the cross.  And in the breaking of the bread their eyes were opened.

This is my body, this is my blood, given, shed, for you.  Comforting words.  Words that speak of redemption.  Faith sustains during the dark night of the soul.

One of the ministries of the people of God is to believe on behalf of the besieged.  When we, in our weakness are overwhelmed to the point that faith and hope evade us, others maintain that faith and hope on our behalf.  And that is sufficient.

Despair and Hope: The Politics of Today

There is not a day that goes by that I don't experience another deep revulsion at the policies of Donald Trump.  He will never be my president.  Not only is he not making America Great Again, he is attacking in a most haphazard way the very fabric of our country.  In the strangest development today, I find myself in agreement with the Koch brothers.  That takes something.

The detention of immigrant children in, among other places, an abandoned Walmart.  And a senator denied access.  I suppose there is something appropriate about that as Walmart parking lots have long attracted the homeless, living out of their cars, who rely on Walmart for bathrooms and a food supply, not to mention a place to get in out of the cold.

But America, really, did you ever think that our Federal Government would warehouse children in an abandoned Walmart?  Republicans, is this the America you embrace, oh you of 'family values'.  You are responsible for electing this monster.  You.  You are responsible for the plight of those children.  This may be worse than the treatment of Native Americans, the Japanese, etc..  And this is 2018.  We know better.  It is past time that we hold our leaders accountable. 

"I have the absolute right to pardon myself."  I doubt that, as do many others.  But even if you have the constitutional authority to pardon yourself, neither you, Donald Trump, nor those who support you, can absolve yourself of the moral implications of your actions.  And make no mistake about it, every American who acquiesces to this type of behavior is complicent in it. 

I don't give a shit about collusion with the Russians, and the dirt that the Donald tried to dig up regarding Hillary.  I don't really care about the many ways the Trump empire appears to be profiting from his policies.  And I could care less about his opinion of the NFL.

I do care deeply about people, and especially the harm being done to innocent children.  I predict that the day will come that everything comes to light and we will be, or should be, aghast at what we've become. 

And then there is hope.

Each day brings us closer to the next election, and candidates are beginning to line up already.  My hope is that not only Democrats, but Republicans will raise up candidates worthy of the presidency to challenge and defeat Trump.  Democrats obviously will try.  I'm not sure about Republicans. 

Could the former CEO of Starbucks mount a successful campaign?  I don't know.  Perhaps someone like Elizabeth Warren?  I could even thoroughly embrace and support a true Republican like Romney or McCain, though obviously McCain's not available anymore.  Kasich, well that would be a big improvement.  Anybody, as long as they have a conscience, and are willing to make a commitment to the best of their ability, to preserve, protect and defend the Constitution of the United States.

My biggest fear is that having seen four years of the atrocities of Trump's administration voters will embrace it.  Then the United States will have lost its soul.  This is not what our veterans fought to defend.  This is not the country that was the conscience of the world.  Any Republican who can see pictures of children caged like animals and still support this president has simply strayed from Republican values.  This is my cry, not that Democrats will always win, but that Republicans will at least be true to their own heritage as a party.

Do I want him  impeached?  Maybe, but I'd rather see him overwhelmingly defeated at the ballot box as that would demonstrate in my mind that the United States has not lost its soul.

I struggle to not give in to hate.  This can be difficult when one abhors so much of what is happening.  But somewhere in between acquiescence and hate there is a position of strong resistance to the current state of affairs that will not rest until the soul of our nation is restored.

Acceptance and Adaptation

I'm an avid Seahawks fan.  So much so that I follow them intently even during the offseason.  This last week the Seahawks signed a veteran wide receiver, Brandon Marshall.  Brandon has had a checkered past, with many off field issues.  He has revealed that he has and is being treated for Borderline Personality Disorder.  This knowledge and the treatment he has received has resulted in a transformation in his life.  He, like me, has been open about it and seeks to remove the stigma of living with mental illness.  His story stimulated some thoughts and observations.

When one finally has a diagnosis it goes a long way to explaining, but not excusing behavior.  In other words, I'm not much on a mental health defense, claiming one is not responsible for actions because one is mentally ill.  At the same time, there is a degree to which one is out of control and hence absolved to a degree from personal responsibility.  It's a fine line.

Case in point:  As a bipolar person I experienced both the highs of mania and the lows of depression.  These were not in anyway choices.  They did, however, affect day to day choices.  One of the difficulties of dealing with mental illness prior to diagnosis and treatment is that "normal" is defined as one's own experience.  I could not recognize the wide swings in mood as anything other than normal, in that it was "my" normal.  I believe that one of the most crucial things a friend or family member can do to assist a person with mental illness is to help them identify and recognize that certain behaviors are not "normal".

Expect resistance.  Admitting one is no longer "normal" is difficult.  One blatant example of this in my life was my alcohol consumption.  I was self medicating with alcohol, using it as a sleep aid and to control my moods.  I had thoroughly convinced myself that having a "couple of drinks" in the evening was normal.  Now, define "drink".  The standard "drink" of hard liquor is 1 to 1 1/2 fluid ounces.  A shot.  My definition was "whatever I could fit in a glass".  And my scotch glasses got larger as time went on.  My "couple of drinks" was in the end, over ten fluid ounces per day, on average.  So, that's 7 to 10 "drinks" per night.  Given the opportunity I could drink a fifth of scotch in a sitting.  I needed help to recognize that this was not, in fact, normal.  But recognizing this was not easy, even as my wife was crying out about it.  Denial is a major factor.

Nor were my experiences of mania and depression easy to recognize as not normal.  Everyone has their highs and lows, right?  Well, within reason.  The problem is that even now, five years into treatment, I am just discovering what "normal" is.  Today, I no longer fall off a cliff into deep depression.  Stability is the new norm.  I'm learning that.  But it takes time.

With recognition comes responsibility.  No excuses.  Grandiose schemes are symptoms of mania.  I have a responsibility to accept this, and be responsible for managing this.  There is no excuse for my spending our life savings on a risky business venture, no matter how reasonable it may seem to me.  For me one of the most difficult things has been to realize that I need other people's perspective.  Another example.  I have family members who struggle with being OCD.  Now being OCD offers a good explanation why one feels it necessary to have a specific number of ice cubes in a drink, not four, not six, but five.  However, it is not an excuse for going ballistic if someone serves you a drink with the wrong number of ice cubes in it. 

A second observation is that altering unhealthy behaviors requires intentional choices that go against what has become "normal".  Regarding the ice cube example, I wonder if it wouldn't be a good adaptation to intentionally choose to have a random number of ice cubes in a drink.  In my own case, the tendency to make risky business decisions is probably best served by not putting myself in the position to be making those decisions in the first place.  Maybe being a self employed person is not in my own best interest.  Adapting to life as a bipolar person may necessitate making intentional choices to live differently than before.

One of the hardest things to accept is that chemistry plays a huge part in mental health.  To me there is a deep desire to believe that my thoughts are independent and stand on their own.  It's hard to admit that my mood on a particular day may be entirely the result of the chemical balance in my brain.  Likewise, that my new experience of "normal" is chemically assisted through medication.  I guess what I'm saying is that western thought has often focused on a mind/body distinction.  More and more what we are discovering is that the two can not be separated.  Brain chemistry is intricately intertwined with mood and thought patterns.  And I'm not sure anyone understands which comes first.

Finally, I believe that we need to come to a new recognition that mental health issues are as universal as physical health issues.  That's essential to  removing some of the stigma surrounding mental health.  It is as "normal" to experience varying degrees of mental health, as it is to experience varying degrees of physical health.  That some of us have a specific diagnosis does not separate us as a class from the rest of humanity.  Depression to one degree or another, is a universal human experience.  That some must be diagnosed and treated is a matter of degree not type.  Everyone experiences highs and lows.  For some that becomes extreme enough to be debilitating.  It's like cholesterol.  We've all got it.  It's just that for some, the specific level and type of cholesterol may be problematic.

A second part of this is that I believe we would do well as a society to pay as much attention to mental health issues as we do to physical health issues.  Mental health screenings should be a regular part of our health maintenance.  Physicals should be more than "physicals".  I wonder if at some point the medical field will advance to the point where chemical analysis of the brain will enable not only diagnosis but also prevention.  Wouldn't it be wonderful if one could identify tendencies and take corrective action before mental health is compromised, again, just like we do with cholesterol levels. 

Enough for tonight.  I'll see what dreams the night has left for me.