Blessings and Hope

It's been a couple of weeks since my last post and I must admit that I wondered what I might say this morning.  There have been so many times over the last few years that there were such significant concerns to write about.  But today, life is good.

First of all, I continue my ongoing effort to wean myself from my smoking habit.  I've smoked for a long time, and this time, I've decided that I will succeed in breaking the habit.  I'm using the patch and that has been effective in allowing me to greatly reduce my smoking.  I struggle still with eliminating the smoking entirely.  It's not the nicotine fix that is the problem.  It is the pattern and behavioral issues.

Let's see, I've smoked for over 4 decades.  And virtually every single time I had the opportunity for a break from work, or study, or anything, I smoked.  That is what you do on break.  That is the hardest thing to overcome.  Last week we spent four days on a trip to Bend to visit my brother and sister-in-law.  Four days and no smoking whatsoever.  Probably the only challenge was golfing.  It struck me that golfing eighteen holes without either a smoke, or a beer, was quite a new thing.  It was fine.

But then this week it was back to work.  The most difficult thing about altering the behavior at work and smoking on breaks is, ironically, that we cannot smoke at work.  So when I show up to work at 5:30 am, I know that I will not have the opportunity to smoke again until 9:00 am.  And then at 11:30, and 2:00 pm.  At issue is a lifetime of making sure that I took advantage of the opportunities that I had to smoke so as not to experience a nic fit.  The patch takes care of the nicotine withdrawal.  It's the behavioral modification that remains an issue.  Still, I am delighted with my progress so far.  A few smokes a day is better than a pack and a half.

But a clear break is going to be necessary.  My goal?  I see my psychiatrist in mid August.  She's the one who has cared for me from the moment I entered chemical dependency treatment till now.  I'd love to be able to report to her that I have succeeded in quitting smoking.  But one of the things I will not do is set an absolute date.  Some may disagree with this.  My reason goes back to countless efforts to quit smoking over the years and attempts at going cold turkey.  What would happen is that I'd 'quit', and then amid the struggles of withdrawal, give in and have a smoke.  This would result in my feeling that I had failed, and so I'd resume smoking again.

Today my attitude is that every smoke I do not have is a victory, even if I continue to have a few.

But the goal is none.  It's just going to require diligence.  And not getting discouraged or allowing myself to feel a failure because I don't live up to other's or my own hopes and expectations.  And also, I rejoice that even now, my lungs are clear and the cough I've been experiencing is gone.

A byproduct of this effort is that I am sleeping better.  I'm not sure that I woke up to smoke, but when I woke up I always smoked.  Now, at 1:15 am I've discovered that one can roll over and return to sleep, most of the time.  I've slept through to my alarm a few times.  The thing is that when waking up requires getting dressed and going outside for a smoke, it is naturally more difficult to get back to sleep.  And at the same time, getting to sleep without the smoke is also hard.  Today, things have improved.  Another reason to continue the effort.

One final word on this today.  From the standpoint of chemical dependency I'm still on the patch.  I will not consider myself a non-smoker until that time when I neither smoke, nor use the patch,  But again, my commitment this time is to continue the effort even if it takes a few months.

Life is good.

One of the things that I did this last week was to rearrange my schedule so that I could participate in the weekly text study that the pastor's in Spokane have.  It's a reminder for me that there are things that I can do to improve the satisfaction and overall quality of my life.  Connecting with colleagues is important.

I have begun a couple of projects in my own shop.  That is rewarding.

The bottom line is this, that there is light at the end of the tunnel.  Being bipolar and struggling with chemical dependency issues is not a death sentence, or at least it need not be.

And so I'm grateful today.

No referral needed

"I'll be retiring March 31st."  "You are doing just fine."

These were the words of my psychologist this month.  His retirement is welcome for him, though he admitted to some ambivalence.  He will miss the intimacy of his therapeutic relationships.  And it signals for me a milestone.  What he did not say was that we'd need to get me referred to another therapist.  He reflected on all his notes from the last year, and remarked how stable I'd been and affirmed that I'm in a healthy place.  No referral necessary.  I'm good to go.  It's time to fly solo.

I admit to some ambivalence.  The professional intimacy of a therapeutic relationship is a friendship of sorts that is rare.  It is not an overstatement to say that there is no one else on the face of this earth that knows more about me.  He has probed with me the depths of my soul and psyche and throughout it all has been an affirming, challenging, and healing presence.  But now there will be one more session, and closure.  It's time to fly solo.

I will continue seeing my psychiatrist.  This is necessary because of the medication regimen I am on.  So flying solo isn't totally alone.  And should I need it, I will trust her to refer me to another therapist.

For now though, no referral is needed.

I admit to feeling a bit like a kid, learning to ride a bike, who realizes that dad has let go and is no longer balancing the bike.  You know the feeling.  Simultaneously crying out "wait, don't let go!" but also being thrilled to realize that you are riding on your own.

When my disability benefits terminated I had similar emotions.  The process of termination was, in my opinion, cruel, without warning, and could have been handled much better.  And with the termination of benefits came the loss of the safety net that had sustained us through the tough times. But, there was also a positive.  Their evaluation was that I was no longer disabled.  You are good to return to the workforce.

And then there is a part of me that feels the need to cry out to the world "I'm OK!"

Part of the stigma of dealing with a mental illness diagnosis is that concerns linger.  So the insurance company determines I'm no longer disabled in any way.  My therapist determines that I'm healthy and do not need any further therapy.  But what about the world?  What about my family?  What about the Church?

For the last five years I've been out of the fire, so to speak.  For the purposes of my healing I've been sheltered in relatively low stress situations.  An unanswered question is whether the state of my health is such that I can engage again in more challenging situations without compromising everything that has been achieved.  Yet the fear of relapse can itself be disabling.  But it is only a fear.  And I hear the voice of Jesus say "Fear not, for I am with you."

Some clarity is emerging.  I know what I want.  I want to complete my years in my vocation serving to the full extent of my abilities.  I do not want to simply fade away.  I do not want to be restricted to semi-retirement until I can fully retire.  The bottom line is I'm probably healthier now than I've ever been, and I crave the opportunity to serve on that basis.

Yet there is another dimension.  To accept life on life's terms.  I do not know what life will offer me.  The fact is that even if I had been totally healthy up to now, I'm 61 years old.  There is age discrimination.  I may envision working till I'm 70, but many employers would view me as a shortimer.  It may be that my desire to reenter the workforce, that my hopes to cap off my career with a challenging and rewarding call, maybe thwarted by the two strikes against me, my age, and my history of mental illness.  That may be the reality.  I think that if it is so, its unfortunate.  But life is not always fair.

Confidence.  Health is one issue.  Confidence is another.  So my psychologist has determined that I'm in a healthy place.  He is confident in my ability.  Am I?  And have I been stable enough, long enough, that others are confident too?

If someone is cancer free for five years, or so, a degree of confidence emerges.  One might even dare say that one is 'cured'.  One may also stop thinking of oneself as a cancer patient and start thinking of oneself as a survivor.

I wonder if I'll ever experience that as one with a mental health diagnosis.

My official diagnosis regarding my chemical dependency is "in remission".  Is that a status the world will allow regarding being bipolar.

My son is a chemical engineer.  One of the things he points out is there is no difference chemically, between man made compounds and natural compounds.  Chemistry is chemistry.

So I am healthy today.  What that means is that the chemistry within my brain is balanced.  For me that is achieved through medication.  But chemistry is chemistry.  That I have the correct balance in chemicals in my brain is all that really matters.  What doesn't matter is whether that occurs 'naturally', or through medication.  Chemistry is chemistry.

I find hope in that.  And regardless what life throws at me, I know I'm in a better place to deal with it.  Yes, I wonder what the future holds for me, vocationally.  Too soon to tell for sure.  So I tend to the task at hand.  One of the things I do to find meaning and purpose is to write.  Many of you read this because of our friendship.  But I actually don't write for you.  I have received feedback from others who are bipolar, or who deal with other mental health issues, that has affirmed what I am doing as being genuinely helpful for them.  And so I see this as a calling.

Perhaps, writing from a place of health and wellbeing after having negotiated through the tough times of being mentally ill is the higher calling that I have.  I offer it up as hope for those still in the throws of the disease.  I didn't die.  It hasn't destroyed me.  And the fears associated with it were not real, they were just emotions.  Hope.

Carpe Cogitatio

Carpe Cogitatio.

Don't know for  sure that is correct, but it seemed like a good title.  Seize the thoughts.

I attended the Synod Assembly this last week.  We had a bishop's election.  Six years ago I was a candidate for bishop, though with the current bishop up for reelection there was not a significant chance of getting elected at that time.  

"Are you happy not to be experiencing the anxiety of being a candidate today?"  It was a question that was harder to answer than I imagined.  I'm delighted that in the end we elected a younger, energetic, and vibrant pastor to that position.  Given the state of my health every rational thought I have, is that my being a candidate for that position would not be a good thing.  Gratitude.  And yet disappointment.

I realized later that the most honest response would have been "I wish I was well enough to have been considered."

"Are you well, David?"  I struggled to answer that question throughout the weekend.  "Yes, I'm doing well."  Sometimes the opportunity was there to go through a more extensive answer.  I thought about that question a lot.  I was reminded of the words of a young man during the early days of my ministry.  He had AIDS.  "I have a very serious disease, but right now I'm not sick."

Carpe Cogitatio.  For lack of a better term, this is what I experience even now during the good times.  My thought patterns remain subject to being seized by this disease.  I know not to act on them.  I recognize them for what they are.  But they are there, and uncontrollable.  

I'm sitting in worship.  Trying to focus on the liturgy, the sermon, and to relish to be able to worship without being the leader.  Hymns are sung.  Lessons are read.

And then in the midst of it my thoughts are seized, and I'm carried away.  One of the most frequent and curious thought cycles I go through is that I'm the President. POTUS.  The focus is not on the drudgery of that most demanding position, but rather on some peripherals.  I imagined returning to our Synod Assembly as President.  

This train of thought gets oddly particular.  I imagine holding a town hall meeting, a time of conversation at 5:00 am.  (So as not to conflict with the business of the day.)  I imagine being asked to be the guest preacher.  I imagine mundane things like going and coming from the event.

A door is open.  I see the back hallways of the convention center.  And then a horrific thought.  I imagine being ushered through these back corridors in the building for security reasons.  And then I remember that photo of Robert Kennedy lying on the kitchen floor, his head held by the dish boy. . .  I wonder how often President's think about such things.

I'm preaching.  The most powerful man in the world preaching at a Synod Assembly.  First there are the Presidential words, and then, "Grace to you and peace. . ."  "We are in the presence  of greatness, of the most powerful force in the world.  With one word everything changes.  This power, present in a little bread, a little wine, stands in contrast to all the nuclear bombs.  For this is a power to create, not destroy."

I shake myself.  "What is Bishop Wells preaching about?"  I want to listen.  

Grandiosity is a symptom of bipolar disorder.  Sometimes psychotic episodes as well.  I comfort myself with the fact that I've never actually shown up at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue expecting to be let in.  Underlying these thought patterns is a desire for a global pulpit.  On a more reasonable level, this blog gives me an outlet for that desire, though the numbers are modest, I do have readers from around the world.  

I withdraw to the designated smoking area outside of the building.  Reality returns.  I'm in control once again of the thoughts within my head.  And yet at the same time I am struck by how out of control these thought patterns can be.  I can't imagine ever, EVER, being a politician.  Not my cup of tea.  But then I am the President.

One of the reasons to write about these secret thoughts, is to bring them out into the day light.  Perhaps such honesty will cause them to dissipate.  The burden of being President is too much for me to bear right now.  I'm content to be a parish pastor and woodworker.  

And so for today, that is what I shall be.  

An Easter Faith in a Bipolar World

It was four years ago on Easter that I wrote my letter of resignation from First Lutheran in Sandpoint, ID.  It was an exhilarating experience, actually, as I shed the weight of the burden that my ministry there had become.  It was as if I had died, and now was made alive.

My life changed course.  What I determined was that I would now apply myself wholeheartedly to my next enterprise, Olsons WoodWorks.  Optimism overflowed.  I  had been in business before, back in the 80's in Gig Harbor, WA.  Only this time would be different.  I would have the courage to make the investments needed to be successful.  I immediately set out to purchase a CNC router, at a cost of over $50,000, as well as upgrading some of my other equipment.  Furthermore, I invited my son to enter the business with me.  Together we'd make a killing.

I had not yet been diagnosed as being bipolar.  That would come shortly.

And what I certainly didn't realize was that the resurgence of my activity, and renewal of my spirit was not a 'resurrection' experience, where one who was once in the grip of death, in my case having nearly died, was now made alive.  I was simply cycling into a full blown manic phase.  Depression set back in in short order, though.  First some neighbors complained about the noise being generated by my CNC.  And second, the phone didn't ring off the hook with orders.

The depression and lack of work became debilitating.  There were days I could do little else than lay on the couch.  My productivity in the shop was greatly compromised.  The business in the end was a failure, though I was able to create some great pieces.  We simply couldn't generate enough income to pay wages, let alone realize a profit.  Thankfully, at that time I remained on disability so that we had enough to survive on.  

Another Easter dawns this morning.  And life has changed.

There was not a resounding clap of thunder, and a wild swing from the depths of depression into a manic high that marked my regaining my life.  Rather, having been medicated with Lamictal, my climb out of depression was a long and arduous journey, one day at a time.  I had my disability benefits abruptly terminated, and that forced me to seek employment which I found in a cabinet shop.  At times the work was shear drudgery.  But that discipline, combined with plenty of therapy and medication resulted in the end with achieving a balanced mood, not too high, not too low.

I'm now able to resume my ministry.  A highlight for me these last two weeks was being able once again to preach extemporaneously.  No notes.  No 'safety net'.  Just me and the Word, guided by the Spirit.  And with it a feeling that "I'm Back!"

Such is my Easter Faith in this Bipolar World.  The powers of death have been defeated.  Life is victorious.  Faith is restored.

Its not just about keeping the manic and depressed cycles at bay, it is that these powers of darkness and death have been overcome by the gift of life.

For this I am deeply grateful.  

Christ is Risen, he is risen indeed!  Alleluia!

And we whose lives are hidden in Christ in God, are also raised with him.  Alleluia.  Amen.

Where can I flee from your presence?

Psalm 139:7-12

Where can I go from your spirit?

Or where can I flee from your presence?

If I ascend to heaven, you are there;

if I make my bed in Sheol, you are there.

If I take the wings of the morning

and settle at the farthest limits of the sea,

even there your hand shall lead me,

and your right hand shall hold me fast.

If I say, "Surely the darkness shall cover me,

and the light around me become night,"

even the darkness is not dark to you;

the night is as bright as the day,

for darkness is as light to you.

Would that we might always have the perspective that time's passage affords.  There would be less despair, little doubt, more comfort, and the assurance that God is there.  Yet such an awareness awaits the morning sun.  When one is in the thick of it, one's perspective is obscured.

As one who is bipolar one learns to loathe both the height and the depth  of our experience.  Soaring with a manic euphoria is to be feared.  And the descent into the depths brings despair and a sense of abandonment.  In the name of a healthy balance these are shunned as an aberration of a disease.

And in doing so major segments of our lives are dismissed as symptoms.  Successful treatment is measured in the degree to which one maintains the healthy balance of the center.  Yet I would not be who I am were it not for the highs and the lows that have defined my existence.  This is the other balancing act.  On the one hand we yearn for that blessed normalcy that health brings.  Yet on the other, there is a recognition of the presence of God in both the heights and depths of life's experiences.

When I have been in the midst of a manic phase the presence of God was palpable.  Too much.  A delusion?  Neurons misfiring in the old noggin.  

And as darkness covered me like the night a powerful sense of being forsaken by God took over.  Where was he?  And how could he just let me descend to such depths?  And how long could I endure the awful silence of God?

It is only with time that the Psalmist sings of God's ever present love.

As those who have come out of the abyss, who have ascended to the heights and leaned over the precipice, yet survived, there is a holy calling to bear witness to the loving hand of God that sustained them.  And so, today, I'm at a place that I can sing the song.

And perhaps it will be that song that sustains a fellow traveler on this  bipolar journey until they too, can hum the melody.

It's not just that God brought us through the heights and the depths of our existence, it is that God was present in those experiences.  Would that we could only see it at the time.  

Daring to have Joy

When mood swings are the problem, then one's tendency is to be concerned when one experiences either the highs or the lows associated with this disease, bipolar disorder.  Treating depression is a no brainer.  No one wants to feel that way.

But the struggle is what do you do at the other end of the spectrum?  

Currently, I am not depressed.  There is part of me that believes that thanks to the effectiveness of my medications I am at a point of a healthy balance.  I feel joy, yes joy, pure joy, in a way I haven't for years.  I catch myself smiling.  And wonder what's up.  Its been a while.  

Our lives are changing.  Over the last few years I've been limited in my ability to work and earn a livable wage.  We've been dependent on my wife's paycheck and my disability benefits.  Those stopped last year at this time, and a job opportunity opened up for me at a cabinet shop.  Today, I am anticipating resuming my pastoral ministry.  In addition to my work as a cabinet maker I will be serving a small congregation on a half time basis.  

This is a Godsend for us for it comes at a time when due to a variety of circumstances my wife chose to resign her position and is now unemployed.  For the time being I am the sole breadwinner in the house-- and it feels good for my ego.  Not that I delight in my wife's situation, but just to be here, once again, where I am earning enough to support my family is a good feeling.  Joyful, even.  

Energy is bubbling up inside of me.  I am planning on working close to full time at the cabinet shop, and half time in ministry.  Sounds like a lot, but the actual hours will be similar to what I often worked in ministry alone.  Most notably, as opposed to when I was disabled by depression, unable to even shower without effort, I now am quite convinced that I can do this.  And enjoy this.

The problem is that highs can be too high.  I have to be careful.  I have to monitor myself.  The call to return to ministry is neither a call to be a savior, nor to grandiose endeavors and quests.  Mania feels good,  too good, and one must guard against it and be wary of it.  

But what becomes of joy in living?

Exuberance.  Can we experience that without fear that it will give way to mania?  

One of the concerns I have is that fear of mania will deprive me of the opportunity to enjoy normal states of joy and delight.  I am convinced that I need to overcome that fear.  There are things that one can enjoy, without reservation, even if one is bipolar.  

And so I will march onward.  One day at a time.  And simply be thankful that the clouds of depression have lifted.  And pray that the other extreme is not looming near on the horizon.