Church

Most of our Recovery International Group Meetings take place in churches. The church where I belong and where I am an Assistant Leader considers Recovery as part of their outreach program and expects no payment. We always give them a gift at year-end anyway.  A large quilt which hangs in the church parlor has a square with "Recovery" on it; there has been a meeting in that church for many years.

As I was driving to church this morning, I chose the "scenic" route. If I go the other way, it is an asphalt jungle.  Along most of the way that is my favorite, beautiful trees and gardens of all sort are seen in all their glory. Every shade of green imaginable, and every size and shape, those trees never fail to remind me of the poem "Trees," by Sergeant Joyce Kilmer: "I think that I shall never see a poem lovely as a tree . . . "Oh poems are made by fools like me, but only God can make a tree." That was my husband's favorite, and I can't look upon a tree without thinking of him. He died 5 years ago, but his spirit will always guide me.

Living with bipolar depression isn't easy for the person who has it; it is harder still for those who choose to live with them. When I was first diagnosed, those long years ago (1961), it took quite a toll on our marriage. In my eyes, it was all about me, me. me.  We never knew who he'd wake up with in the morning-someone so into lowered feelings that they barely functioned (and didn't want to get up at all) or a different person who had hardly slept the entire night while cleaning out drawers, cupboards and bouncing around with a mind that just could not settle down.

I was scared the first time I landed in a psychiatric hospital, but his fear and disappointment at having this illness enter our lives was heartbreaking.  At first, he was in complete denial and he couldn't bring forth any sympathy or understanding at all. He didn't even want to take my hand when offered. When he didn't show up for home visits, he would always tell me that "I wasn't well enough" and when he didn't come to see me during visiting hours, my heart sank to my shoes.

I've described in earlier posts how I finally found Recovery (then Recovery, Inc. and now International). Going to those meetings made all the difference in the world, and having him attend also gave him a better understanding of what was going on with me. He grew to accept, not reject.

The church we had attended for years, the one where our Recovery meeting is held, is where we had his Memorial Service. There are a lot of memories in that place, some happy, some not so much. When my eyes would close and he'd think I had fallen asleep, he would nudge me with his arm and say "Wake up!"  I'm so grateful that he became my anchor and I'm grateful, too, for a wonderful Recovery home-no matter in which church it may be located.

Friendship

It's been said many times that people come into our lives for a reason, a season, or forever. We may be faced with something we just can't handle by ourselves and someone comes along with a kind word or deed that makes everything all right again. They may not stay around for long, but they have been there for you just at the right time and will never be forgotten.  Then there are those who may be our best friends for a longer period of time-a season or two-and they served their purpose, too. Maybe it was love we needed the most, or someone to care for us and to just be there when the going got rough. They, too, are never forgotten. We always know when people have entered our hearts forever; they are there through thick and thin, rain or shine, darkness or light, in sickness or health. They are our keepers, and once we have found them we know we will never let them out of our hearts. It doesn't matter whether they are near to us or far. They may be in Duluth or Minneapolis and we may be in Hawaii, we are always intertwined. I don't mean via telephone, or Skype, or even Facebook. We know they are there, and that's enough. They may be the closest of relatives, or a long-time friend. We remember all the happiness, joy, and sometimes tears that we shared through the years. We meet such friends through our Chat Room and Structured Meetings online at lowselfhelpsystems.org. In the almost-two years that I have been going into those meetings and chats, I have met people as far away as Saudi Arabia, Jerusalem, Ireland, Sweden and all over the United States, including Puerto Rico. I was lucky enough to meet some of them in May, 2010 at the Annual Meeting in Chicago and our friendship has grown right along with the meetings. So much so, that now, August 3 through 11, we have had the distinct honor and pleasure of entertaining Jayene Findlayson from Utah, Al LeBlanc from Toronto, and Gus Ortiz from Puerto Rico.  They are Group Leaders at those locations and active online also. We have more than 1,000 folks who join us at the online chats and structured meetings. We not only become friends, we learn a lot about Dr. Abraham A. Low's Method and how to apply it to our daily lives. Go Recovery!

Trust Your Doctor's Authority

When we give an example, it is usually about how we used Recovery tools to handle our symptoms. Then we endorse ourselves. Sometimes we give a "help" example or a progress report. All endorseable. We give ourselves a mental pat on the back for our effort, not for the results.

I had very little to endorse myself for during the entire month of June, other than getting out of bed, moving my muscles, and changing my thoughts. I started taking one of my most important pills every other night instead of every night as directed by my doctor. I felt so well! Who needs to feel so "doped up" all the time? And of course there was the stigma, too. I thought taking fewer pills meant I was just fine.

Well, I was not "just fine."  My daughter is a social worker, taking care of schizophrenic clients; my best friends are all long-time Recovery leaders (both at traditional meetings and online); I have a caseworker who works with geriatric patients and has been a real friend to me for a number of years, and when I started on an upward swing that became unmanageable, they all tried to tell me to slow down. But when I'm in a manic phase, I think I know everything and pay no attention at all to anything anyone tries to tell me.

My regular doctor appointment came towards the end of the month, and that's when he adjusted all my medication. It took about two or three weeks before I felt really stable and could look back at all of my extreme actions. None of it makes any sense, even now, but it taught me an awful lesson, one I hope I never forget. One of my best online friends said, "Flo, I'm sorry you had to go through this, but I'm glad to know about it so I will know not to do the same thing."

And that's the main reason I'm writing about this experience.  Don't ever think you know everything there is to know about your illness. Trust your doctor's authority.