Author: spierzchala

Maine: Digging a hole, and filling it

So, how did you spend your Thanksgiving Day?

Keith is installing the run-off / septic tank for the Winery. Last week, in the heavy rains, the hole it was in filled with water and the tank was bobbing up and down in a pit of muck.

Now that the muck has been drained, he needed to make the tank level and fill around it. Keith did most of the work, but we had to jam rocks under it, and then lever it until it was level. Then Keith dumped fill in around the tank.

Hopefully it will be stable.

Now, it looks like we will get a blast of frozen rain.

Oh, the joys of farm life.

And not a Starbucks in sight.

Going North

So, we’re packing up the minivan and heading for the idyllic wilds of Maine for the Holiday weekend.

I will have connectivity, but frankly, there will be too much going on with five kids, four adults, a dog, and a flock of sheep (no sheep-human interaction! You people are sick!) to be online much.

Skype, Skype, Skype, Skype…OH! Wonderful Skype!

Over the next 12-18 months, my plan is to move to working from home more. Like, 100% of the time, when I’m not travelling. To help accomplish this, and to free myself from the servitude to the Telcos, I have started to migrate almost exclusively to Skype for my work communication.
In this area, I bought two SkypeIn numbers over the weekend: One for the US, and one for the UK. So, if you want to contact me (oh yeah, I’m beating down the doors to keep people out — NOT!), I can be reached at:
SKYPE NORMAL: stephen.pierzchala
US: +1.508.471.3865
UK: +44 20 8133 3865
If I am online, I will likely be willing to chat; if not, you’ll bounce to my Skype voicemail.
I love Skype.
Did I mention that I love Skype? Oh, ok…

What happened to the good stuff?

The last two months have brought substantial changes to my life, and to my view of the world. I am in flux, in change, in limbo. Evelyn Rodriguez of Crossroads Dispatches went through a similar phase lately.

The society we live in is driven by disruption, change, atomization. When you actually translate these messages, they are simply new ways of saying “buy more stuff”.

I don’t need more stuff. Given some of the plans we have for the next 12-18 months, we need less stuff; or at least more portable stuff.

And if you want disruption and atomization, live inside my mind for a day. The internal chaos of my mind that I am trying to understand is disruptive enough without having to absorb the external chaos people want to bring to my life. So I crave external calm.

The written word, on paper. The beauty in a photograph. The smell of the woods.

My life has been dictated by achieving the ephemeral, in a world completely addicted to “change for change’s sake”.

I’m tired of keeping up. So I am consciously falling behind. Life is finite, ephemeral. Stuff doesn’t matter.

Change doesn’t matter.

People matter.

Walk away from the technology for a day, a week. Live with yourself.

It’s been a revelation to me.

Ummmm….Focus?

Apparently the fog is getting thicker in here. My neuro-chemistry must be pretty messed up, as I can’t concentrate on anything and all I want to do is sit outside and watch the wildlife play in the “wetlands” that surround our building.

I remember being productive, I really do.

Of course, my short-term memory is pretty shot right now, so I may be making that up as well.

Dosage: “Well, it's . . . um . . . it's green."

For a 38-year old man with no outward symptoms of a physical ailment, my daily drug/supplement regimen is one that would leave many of my peers stunned.

The problem is, that like most people who are bipolar, I take a cocktail to try and balance out the variety and multitude of symptoms and effects I undergo. The current melange, as prescribed is:

It’s the last one that causes me the greatest concern. Paxil/Seroxat/paroxetine is prescribed much less freely now than it was when I was first given it in 1999. The side-effects can be stunning and as dangerous as the condition they are supposed to assist with.

I have tried multiple times to take paroxetine out of my “diet”. Unfortunately, I immediately slip into SSRI discontinuation syndrome — aggressive behaviour, irritability, and a host of other issues. In the final calculation, paroxetine will likely be a part of my “diet” until I have 6 months in a Tibetan hermitage to wean myself off of it.

Until then, I am adding things such as Omega-3 oils and Ginkgo Biloba to the mix to see if they help my body control my cycles naturally, using the methods it has used for millennia.

It’s interesting to note that, when we are mostly aware of what’s going on, Bipolars are the best ones to play with and adjust their own treatment regimen. Most high-functioning Bipolars seem to enjoy tweaking and turning the knobs in most things anyway, so why not in our medications.

[The reference in the title is from a Star Trek, Original Series episode. You know how to use Google; you find out what it means.]

When you get to the bottom, you go back to the top…

I can already tell that today will be a write-off. I am vibrating, I can’t concentrate, and my new boss starts today.

I felt warm and fuzzy this morning, which is now a symptom I recognise of the ride up the cycle. I didn’t want to stay in be; I wanted to get out of bed at 04:30 and go to work. I felt that I could do anything.

But now, the world-beating energy is gone, and the sporadic chaos, and paralysing lack of motivation have kicked in. I want to hide and stare out the window.

Wheeee! Let the Winter fun begun!

All in the Family

Time to put the manic energy I have this morning to use.

One of the most interesting things about Bipolar is that genetics plays a substantial role in determining whether you will have it. In my case, my family is a disaster when it comes to mental health.

On my father’s side, there is a long and glorious history of schizophrenia and bipolar, including at least 2 grand-uncles, and their children. Two of my father’s cousins have committed suicide.

My grandfather committed suicide in 1978.

Everyone says that this was out of the blue, there was no reason for it. He left no note, or showed any indication. But as I learn more about this condition, this state of mind, I realize that the suicidal depressions can often swamp you, flood you, to a point where a person who appears fine will take the final action in the next minute.

On my mother’s side, my grandfather medicated with rye. As well, he had amazingly manic states; at least, that’s what we would call them now. He passed the genes along to two of his children, one of whom is my mother.

Over the last 10 years, my mother has degraded to a point where she lives alone, rarely goes out, is socially inappropriate, and has tried suicide at least once.

When I speak with her, it is hard to stare into the face of what I might become, what I must be aware of, what the costs of this condition can be.

So, I was doomed from the start. My father, a man who was challenged by his own demons, married a woman who is a wildly cycling bipolar II.

My family is lucky. As far as I can tell, I absorbed all of the bipolar genetics, leaving my brothers to conquer the world in their own ways, without the chaos that tears my mind apart. I am sure that they look at me and wonder why I am so nuts. I am sure that I am not alone in being the odd family member in a sea of normals.

So when you are in the depths of your misery, or at the heights of your mania, try to step back. Ask your parents, siblings, grandparents, cousins, uncles. Try and find the thread, the trail that leads through your family. Somewhere along that trail, likely in many places, the “characters” or “eccentrics” or “troubled souls” will leap out at you. These are the people who suffered, and revelled, in their condition, and passed it to you.

And realize that you can’t lay blame. You can’t transfer your woe and misery and mania to someone who is likely long gone. You just need to understand that you are the current carrier of a torch that originated long before you were born.

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