Properly diagnosed, in a stable, positive routine, & with a good, working knowledge of my illness & its symptoms, the last frontier of my journey with bipolar disorder is dealing with my episodes. As it is, I’m handling the day-to-day symptoms well, avoiding the scary ones thanks to being off the Prozac & on the right anti-psychotics, & balancing the destabilizing ones through practicing mindfulness alongside my mood stabilizers. But there’s still the issue of my bipolar episodes, long mood cycles that uncover those dangerous symptoms & pushes me off my stable track.
About every three months a new experience or transition comes up, & exhausted from keeping it together on a daily basis, I collapse under the weight of the new stress, falling into one of these cycles. Most recently, I tried to get back into the classroom, feeling ready to teach, but like has happened every time over the past three years trying to start a new job, I was overwhelmed by negative voices in my head, triggered by something (often minor) in my environment, & sent into this week-to-two-weeks-long spin of manic outbursts, depressive collapses, & hopeless feelings of grasping for safety.
Inevitably, my support system says a similar thing: “I’d love to help, but I just don’t know what to do.” In the episodes, I don’t have the energy to communicate what I need or have the insight on how to ask for help. At my mother’s request, I decided to create this “user manual” for my loved ones in helping me during these spells. While I’m stable & coherent, I want to give you the tools to be your best self in relation to me when I’m unstable & incoherent. I figured it’d be helpful to: 1) describe as accurately as I can what I’m going through 2) give tips on what you can & shouldn’t do 3) provide access for more empathy.
When I was misdiagnosed & improperly medicated, my spells were seemingly “random,” able to be triggered by the delusions & paranoia floating around in my head. Luckily, now that I’m properly treated, we have a better idea of what triggers them, usually a major transition—starting or ending a job or relationship of some sort, most notably. For many years, I’ve struggled with appropriately responding to embarrassment or abandonment, & we think this is related to my mood cycles. When I’m already feeling vulnerable & imbalanced, as we all do from time to time, something that feels threatening to my stability will set me off, a self-fulfilling prophecy of sorts.
This is what happened with the teaching situation. After a successful teacher work day, I was feeling a little manic in responding to the natural nerves of starting a new job, especially after being out of the classroom for so long. After a night of dark dreams & restless sleep, I woke on the day off before school started feeling very uneasy. I called my mother for some reassurance; unfortunately, my call woke her & she responded inappropriately with an “uh-oh” to my stressed voice on the other end (not blaming her, just stating what happened). This sent me into a rage-induced black-out, the beginning to what would be a week-and-half-long bipolar episode.
See, the beginning is subtle, & thankfully, these days I can usually feel it coming on—out-of-character anxiety, intrusive thoughts, & tingling in my hands, feet, & eyes. The problem comes when I am triggered into a highly manic mode before I can resolve those early feelings. Mania is where the moods are elevated, both in positive & negative feelings, with an increase in energy & reactiveness. For me, this early manic stage is volatile, marked by extreme irritability & usually rage-filled, physical responses, which is where the black-outs come in. Reduced to my lizard brain, I am completely irrational & obsessive. During the “uh-oh" situation, I apparently screamed “uh-oh” over & over while writing the phrase in sharpie & spray paint on the walls & garage door.
This type of manic outburst usually gives way to a few days of rapid cycling, the true ups & downs of manic depression (the old name for bipolar disorder). This is the roller coaster often depicted in media. Unpredictable & irrational, these days are a blur for me, alternating between the previous day’s outbursts, positive elevated highs, & big depressive crashes, over & over again. It is just a wave I have to ride, if I’m not able to catch it & shut it down. Because of this unpredictability, it is best for me to be at home & alone.
As much as you might want to intervene, there is really nothing you can do & though it might not seem like it at times, I’m safe if I’m home & alone. Just let me go through it. I might say crazy, hurtful, or confusing things; please do not ask for apologies or explanations then. I am not in a rational mind, so it is important to not feed into any embarrassment or abandonment fears, by avoiding judgmental or catastrophic language of any sort. In this state, I can twist just about anything into a personal attack or more fuel for the fire. If need be, cut off communication by being direct & kind; others have had success with something like, “I can tell you are having a hard time (gives me the sense of feeling seen). I’m going to let you focus on that (non-combative goodbye). I will check in tomorrow (anti-abandonment).”
This will take us into our next phase, which is depression, partly fueled by the exhaustion of rapid cycling & partly caused by the embarrassment & confusion as things start to settle down a bit. This is the “it gets worse before it gets better” part, a sort of hangover after the high. Though often ugly, it is where I begin to recharge, lasting as long as a week. I’m fine if allowed to chill, watching a lot of television, eating one big meal a day, & generally just trying to keep my energy low so I don’t start the rapid cycling again. This is where suicidal problems come in, when manic energy gets reintroduced & drives depression thoughts. Thus, it is important not to re-escalate, as I can easily slip back into mania.
This is where reminders can be useful—that I’m loved, that you’re there for me, that you’ll be here when I’m ready. Remind me to take my meds. Encourage me to go on a walk. Offer to join me for a walk or a sit. Tell me I’m doing what I need to do. In the depressive phase, those abandonment / embarrassment fears are the strongest. Please don’t mention abandonment or embarrassment though, as it could be an “uh-oh”-like trigger, but instead do things that remind me, while I’m home & alone, that there are people out there on my side. Above all else, just try to be proactive & on my side.
Once I’ve worked through some sorrow, I start to “try to be a regular person again,” going to the store or meeting with a trusted person. Usually, at first, I can only last an hour before its back to the couch, but each day, I try to extend that stamina. I’m able to know my limits here pretty well. It is also in this phase where I’m ready & craving human connection, though I often don’t have the confidence or energy to express that. This would be a good time to invite me over, give me a phone call, or feed me a meal. Think of this as a “testing the waters” phase.
After that, the worst is over. It takes another week or two to be fully stable, but I’m at least able to communicate effectively about where I’m at & what I need. Even in mood episodes, I’m decent at telling others what’s going on, though not great at saying needs or behaving appropriately. So, if you’re not sure what stage I’m at, just ask. Yes, I might be pissy, dismissive, or odd. Please remember that this isn’t personal or about you. This is me working through a serious chemical swell. I appreciate you wanting to know how to help & hopefully this will give you some confidence in being proactive about helping. Stable, sane Tyler sure does appreciate you.
I’ve developed this theory: one can tell a great deal about the worldview of a person based on his or her reaction to my home disc golf course, lovingly called the E.D.G.E. (Elwood Disc Golf Enthusiasts!) here in Indiana. One sector of people will instantly grumble, their focus consumed by the glass shards & scrap metal pieces that dot the course (more on that in a second!), what they judge as ineptitude or incompletion or whatever. The other group will lead with curiosity & celebration, acknowledging context (stick with me here!), attention paid instead to the short, technical, wooded wonder that is this course. Born naturally hyper-reactive & later suffering from a serious mental illness, I have spent the last decade of my life learning to be the latter, convinced that being a member of this disc golf community has given me the models, the modes, & the insight to be a more present, mindful person.
Our current mayor, Todd Jones, who has been tremendously supportive of local disc golf efforts, likes to emphasize Elwood’s classification as a city (at around 8,000 residents!), but it has all the markers of a Midwestern small town, half-balanced between poverty—meth problems, low employment, dietary issues—& opportunity, as local support is high & enthusiastic, at least in spirit, if not in funds, for anything that will add value to the lives of its citizens. A disc golf course carved out of the woods that overgrew the old city dump (hence the glass & metal that sifts to the top!) by a group of blue-collar men, truly a DIY labor of love, is an apt example of the good that arises from places like this.
That group—including folks like Aaron Hill, Trent McPhearson, & Alan Hazelwood—found each other at the Morse Beach course in Noblesville, Indiana, about 30 minutes away, as Hill told me on a previous episode of this podcast. At the time, it was one of the few courses within a short drive, the only in the now-booming Hamilton County, adjacent to the then-zero in our Madison County. As their crew grew & as opportunity likes to spring out, they were offered the woods behind the Elwood Athletic Club complex, home of the Babe Ruth baseball field & youth football field, where many of us in the next disc golf generation first caught the bug for playing sports.
Never having created a course, they led with passion & hard work, pulling at both ends, fundraising as they began building the course. As Hill remembers it, McPhearson & Hazelwood set up a booth at our yearly local fair, the Elwood Glass Festival, with baskets & putters to introduce folks to the sport, as well as taking donations for the in-progress course. The group, a dozen or so strong at this point, had started carving fairways, pulling ribbons through the dense honeysuckle & overgrown vines, cutting paths until lines began to emerge. With local businesses & other stoked area disc golfers pitching in funds to buy baskets, tee-pads, & signs, the first nine holes were complete in late 2010. A full year of this incredible effort had yielded a truly unique & bizarre course with some of the tightest lines around; it is slightly reminiscent of the legendary Honey Bear Hollow course up the road in Peru (our state’s first course!), & certainly nothing like the open, pitch-&-putt park course that birthed this group.
I was falling in love with disc golf at the time, having picked it up a year prior as a college student at Ball State University, Muncie’s beefy McCulloch Park being another local course. That next spring in 2011, following graduation & my first major psychological episode, I moved back in with my parents here in Elwood, clutching my creative writing degree & a nagging suspicion that something was going haywire with my brain. Young, lost, & oblivious, I learned quickly what a course like E.D.G.E. in a place like Elwood could offer: simply, a place to go & others to be around.
Something like this, I realized, stretched beyond disc golf, an opportunity to work through our struggles, celebrate our triumphs, & uncover a little more, day after day, hole after hole, about who we really are. When the course first opened, I saw many men from the area (like many clubs, we still hope to get more women & children involved!) who didn’t fit in other, more traditional places, such as the ball golf course down the road; they found, in the course, their own safe space for working out their demons & cultivating their angels—the ones struggling with addiction, the ones who had gained some weight & lost some confidence, the ones in need some positive company, a weirdo artist like me who was terrified about what the next decade would bring.
As the course extended to 18 holes a year later, thanks to E.D.G.E. member Travis Faucett convincing the company he worked for to bankroll the back nine, I soon left for Austin, Texas, chasing some answers, slowly losing my mind, & with a tub of discs in my trunk. I would play local events when back for holidays, meeting up with the E.D.G.E. guys to check out the other courses swiftly popping up in the area (like Madison County’s second 18-hole course in Anderson!). When I finally moved back to Elwood in the summer of 2019, I was more of a disc golf enthusiast than ever, returning with a wife, another creative writing degree, & more than a hunch about my increasing mood swings & psychotic symptoms like paranoia & rage-induced black-outs. I did not know much, but I knew that playing rounds at this course balanced my moods & grounded my awareness like nothing else did.
There’s an episode of King of the Hill where Hank Hill & his buddies push their friend & local conspiracy theorist Dale Gribble too far, pranking him by stealing his mower & concocting a story about its disappearance being tied to aliens & the U.S. government. Dale’s paranoia is intensified to an off-the-deep-end level, with a regretful Hank remarking that they dropped “extra stress on a structure not up to code in the first place.” In retrospect, that is what the spring of 2020 did to me. Already unable to work because of my unpredictable, psychotic symptoms, the arrival of the COVID-19 pandemic pushed me into my house, away from my support system & emotional outlets, & deeper into my growing distrust of the world. To make matters worse, my wife, rightfully terrified of my “spells” (we didn’t know what they were yet!), left me less than a month into the pandemic.
Unsurprisingly, this was my Dale Gribble moment, the structure of myself crumpling under the triple-threat stress of global crisis, personal grief, & my heightened disconnection from reality. I was hospitalized, first for a week & then a few other times for shorter stays that summer, overwhelmed by suicidal ideations. I was finally properly diagnosed with bipolar disorder (bipolar I, severe, with psychotic features, if you’re nasty). As BP Magazine (a great online resource for those curious about this illness!) teaches us, bipolar disorder is “a treatable illness marked by extreme changes in mood, thought, energy, and behavior...also known as manic depression because a person’s mood can alternate between the poles—mania (highs) and depression (lows).” This was it; similarly to how I saw myself in the men flinging discs through the ups-&-downs of life, I, at last, witnessed myself in a description of a mental illness & the experiences of others afflicted with it.
Like with any ailment, the treatment trajectory is never linear nor without its flailings / failings, necessarily aided by structure & support. Thankfully, our society has finally started to reckon with the millions of lives uncared for due to a lack of mental health treatment & awareness. A couple years before my rock bottom, professional basketball player Kevin Love published an essay in The Players’ Tribune called “Everyone is Going Through Something,” detailing his own panic attacks & urging us to be gentler with others & ourselves. I recall baskets at multiple courses cradling discs signed with the names of victims of suicide, asking players to throw it in their honor & leave it with the awareness of the tragic effects of depression & other mental illnesses. In the last year-and-a-half, I have witnessed how organically a community like ours can turn that awareness into action.
It starts with simply showing up. I obviously was not the only person whose mental health tanked in 2020, with 4-in-10 adults reporting symptoms of anxiety or depressive disorders a year into the pandemic, compared to only 1-in-10 the year prior, according to KFF. I also certainly was not the only one that turned to disc golf to restore some sanity, stretch some muscles, & be out in the world again; with disc golf arguably the top socially-distant, outside activity, disc golf rounds played nearly tripled in 2020 compared to 2019, according to UDisc. My eye test concurred, the parking lot of our small-town course seemingly never empty, the woods constantly buzzing with folks slinging plastic as a means to get through the day.
In my recovery, assisted by mood stabilizers & anti-psychotics on the medication side, as well as regular communication with a therapist & my support system (big shout-out to my parents & my best friends!) on the processing side, I kept hearing the same things: That I needed to develop a regular routine—sleep, diet, exercise, meditation, writing. That I needed to inform & stabilize my support system. That I needed to find meaningful work, not necessarily for money, but for structure, for confidence, for self-worth. Soon, I realized those necessary facets of my life were best practiced out at the E.D.G.E. course.
Within the community, I had a regular place to be, be it the two weekly E.D.G.E. leagues, the visiting leagues from our displaced friends in the Anderson Disc Golf Club (their home course sadly knocked out mid-pandemic!), or my regular Thursday morning round with my longtime friend, Josh Lee, who himself had found his way onto the course at the beginning of the pandemic. As I became more involved in this community, my support system widened to include several disc golfers who would check-in if I missed a league round (oh the importance of being seen!), who I could talk to casually about my journey during warm-up chats, & who I grew to trust as our conversations widened, as the rounds & the year progressed (I’m looking at you, Bourff brothers!). Likewise, I found meaningful work, such as running the Saturday morning random draw doubles that had become so important to me, or through participating in course maintenance in preparation for tournaments.
I often admit to people that it was impossible to know how troubled I actually was while in the midst of my madness, just now able to reflect on how truly imbalanced my last decade was psychologically; similarly, it is hard to measure how much I have grown while still very much engaged in the recovery process. As I attempt to bring my mindfulness practices onto the disc golf course, as I begin to write about these experiences, I find the markers of my rehabilitation not just in the improvement of my scores or rating, but in how I handle the rough rounds & high scores, how I have regained confidence as a community-oriented guy, how the number of connections I make & the knowing nods I give continue to accumulate.
The day before the 2020 Madison County Open, my grandfather died, I the last one to sit with him, to see him alive. I played the tourney the next morning, shooting as well as I could expect, stoked that Matt Bell was playing our little course, but the thing I most remember is carrying my sadness alone, simultaneously managing my disorder & freshly grieving my grandfather’s passing without substantial connections in the community to lean on. In contrast, I played this year’s tournament on the one-year anniversary of his death, & because of the community that had taken me in the previous year, I did not have to reflect in solitude. I sponsored a hole “In Loving Memory of Fred Tyner.” I talked to my card-mates & my other buddies who were playing about the importance of this date & the pressure I felt to play well. I chatted with the caring organizers, Colt Carpenter & Ashley Waterbury-Carpenter, about the reality of my mental illness & the steps I am taking to manage it (hello sobriety!). This sort of confidence & transparency would not have been possible less than a year previous, me teetering on the edge of taking my own life.
Could another course have had the same effect? Sure, absolutely. But the fact is, melodramatic as it sounds, the Elwood Disc Golf Enthusiasts saved my life by giving me a regular, welcoming place to go & in offering structure within which to practice my self-care & personal growth. Now itself stretched to 27 hard-hitting holes, I see the course working its magic on others still, offering folks like Roy McCormick what it has gifted me. With his own equipment, McCormick (always with a smile on his face!) spends countless hours of his retirement doing maintenance at the course—mowing, weed-whacking, trimming trees, picking up broken bottles & old brake pads. It is in people like Hill & McCormick that I find the kind of man I want to become & finally, thankfully, feel it is possible to be.
This course saved me because it is so much like me—dotted with the stuff of its past, cared for by the people who keep showing up, growing because of those same folks. I want to be a third kind of person, the one continuously in awe of the parking lot stretched full of cars & trucks with disc golf bumper stickers, the one that tells the league organizers & tournament directors thank you every time, the one that, first & foremost, celebrates the strange & beautiful Elwood Disc Golf Enthusiasts. Only then will I enter this ass-kicking course, sure to never forget the debris & what it symbolizes.
I had no clue / I'd be the boy who / your momma warned you about - Turnpike Troubadours
People in my life these days forget sometimes how volatile my psychology was for a good stretch of time. People in my life back in those days went many different ways in their response--ghosting me, learning about my challenges & illness, giving me a pass. The most dramatic response was when I was "cancelled," after it was publicly revealed, a couple years after the fact via a now-unpublished online essay, that I physically & emotionally assaulted my girlfriend during a psychotic episode. I was publicly shamed by & shunned from the poetry community that I loved dearly. I lost teaching opportunities & loved ones & book deals & whatever semblance of stability I was clinging to. And you know what? Maybe I deserved it, maybe I was a danger, maybe my actions made me unfit for those roles & relationships.
Recently someone I met on a dating app cancelled our planned date due to hearing from a "mutual friend" what happened with that ex-girlfriend back then. At this point, if someone wants to make final judgements on me based on something that happened 7 years ago during a psychotic break, I can accept that, as it probably says more about their values & journey than it does about where I am at. The thing those continued detractors don't understand though is that my story didn't stop 7 years ago; it is mid-telling today as I continue to learn to manage my disorder, seek forgiveness for the harm I've caused, & use this very ongoing story as a learning opportunity for how we view & treat mental illness.
Through the last year or so, I've been trying each month to tweak my mindset, routine, & lifestyle to better support the management of my illness & to ultimately extend my capabilities as a rational, caring human being. Early on, it was developing a mindfulness practice & recommitting to the local disc golf community. Lately, it has been developing a better relationship to what I put in my body, namely quitting drinking alcohol & practicing an every-three-hours small meal "diet." I'm also currently in the process of getting back into the classroom as an educator.
As someone who craves collaboration & connection, I think the next step that I am ready for is exploring possible romantic relationships. I stumbled in late 2020 / early 2021 trying to date, for two major reasons. Mostly, I hadn't adequately processed losing my ex-wife--how & why she left, the lack of closure her disappearance caused, the nagging feeling I likely won't find anyone more compatible & enchanting. Also, I wasn't quite yet confident in sharing my shaky past & the reality of my illness with new folks.
Through therapy & through this blog, I've sifted through both of those necessary hurdles, & I feel like I'm ready to share my full self with someone else again. As the earlier example shows though, my past will inevitably be a stumbling block for some folks. In practicing telling my story, honestly & vulnerably, I hope to find people who are open-minded to the nuance of mental illness & judge for themselves through actually current experience with me, not passed-along stories or others' previous perspectives. I promise to be forthright, probably within the first couple dates, about my illness, its possible problems, & my historical episodes. I also hope to be confident in my current iteration of self, one neck-deep in self-care & illness management.
For me, I grew because of graceful accountability, knowledgeable guidance, & added presence from loved ones; I got better because I was provided opportunities for meaningful work & safe collaboration. I didn't get better because I was shamed, threatened, or shunned; in fact, those measures, in many ways, pulled me from resources & motivations, even slowing & derailing progress at times. I worry that our dualistic, simplistic thinking on these very complex situations robs us of beautiful stories of redemption & healing, as well as keeps us away from much true progress, both in ourselves & others. In dating again, I hope to invite others into this wider perspective & understanding, knowing that the good / right ones will be willing & able to stare into that particular flame.
Pete Holmes introduced me to a more mystical, humanist perspective on Heaven & Hell, one that I'm sure has a richer & deeper tradition than I am just preparing to explore. Instead of this silly & stody idea that Heaven & Hell are actual, physical places based on an opaque reward/punishment system, this other perspective suggests that they are more metaphorical, humanity-based concepts. Simply, if you've left a good legacy of people remembering you fondly, kindly, & often, then you're in Heaven after death. Oppositely, if you're remembered negatively, then you're in Hell. Of course, this isn't a literal understanding of how it works; taken literally, it'd be just as short-sighted & flawed as fundamentalism. However, it is very appealing as a story-focused mind frame, an opportunity to ground ethics in human-centered, practical modes.
I'm lucky to have a good-sized property for Ginny Bug (my six-year-old pitbull) to wander around on & even luckier to have a dog who will stay in the yard & who listens well. But I have been trying, a couple times a week, to take Ginny in town or to a park disc golf course for leashed walks. I think it reminds us both of our connection, our collaboration, our compromise.
I want to flirt with the world!
What's that they say about the difference between hearing & listening? It's a below-the-surface-level thing, how much processing & engaging are had & how that manifests a continued response. My new therapist, in our first session, threw me off because unlike recent professionals who listened & nodded, she was asking bold questions & making big connections. Even when off-base, it felt invigorating to be heard like that, met in the middle of a depth that's rare around here these days.
During therapy today (5/19), we pin-pointed the physiological underpinnings of my disorders (bipolar I & intermittent explosive disorder). It seems clear that these are both related to the unresolved trauma of my Uncle Ricky's death & my Grandma Tyner's death (age 8, both of which I had premonitions about), as well as the separation from my half-brother TG when I was 4. As both my therapist & Peter A. Levine in Waking The Tiger have pointed out, the aggressive outbursts, the on-the-edge feelings, & the depressive pitfalls are the leftover energy from that early trauma. It never got explored or resolved, so my whole brain has rewired to anticipate such calamity & maintain that intense on-guard reaction to my ongoing life.
There was this kid Jack (name obviously changed) at the park the other day when I took my little cousin. I knew Jack from when I worked at the school. He is probably eight now, but he's big & his parents already let him roam town. Every generation in Elwood has a couple of these kids--oversized, undersupervised, no emotional / social skills, very physical. He just terrorized the other kids--slapping them hard on the back for no reason, scaring them at the bottom of the curly slide, randomly yelling. It's easy to think "little shit," abut the real work comes in sympathizing with him for all the physiological, environmental, & genetic factors stacked against him.
I think I'm gonna quit drinking. It just feels like the right time. One part financial decision, one part physical lifestyle change, one part psychological necessity.
I had the pleasure of spending the Memorial Day weekend with a bunch of new-ish buds camping down in Red River Gorge. It was full of the usual joy--campfire jokes, time among the trees, dogs trying to navigate the unfamiliar. But what added to the wow of this weekend was the fact that I had zero behavioral incidents & the most minuscule of bipolar symptoms. If you've known me awhile, you know that trips & excursions are both my favorite thing & a load of dread for me. Let's just say I don't have the best track record as an adult when removed from my comfort zone & routine.
I grew up camping with my parents, first in tents as a toddler & then in campers through my late teens, but when my symptoms started to set in in my early twenties, primitive camping became often problematic. Right after graduating from college, I organized a camping trip for a group of buds, & it quickly came to an end, when a friend's drunken mouth met one of my psychotic rage attacks. I had a couple successful camping trips in Texas, but those usually only worked when I was alone. Most recently, I tried a solo trip last summer after my wife left, but ended up shoving the tent & all my belongings in the van at 3 a.m. as hallucinations overwhelmed me. As much as I love the outdoors & adventure, something about tent camping knocks me off my psychological balance.
Knowing the possibility for trouble, I communicated with the group my concerns about the trip, but after their understanding responses & noting my recent successes in managing my illness, I decided to join, making the three-&-a-half hour trek down to Kentucky. I knew being removed from routine & comfort can cause me to become moody & unstable. I knew poor sleeping & eating habits could affect my ability to be aware of my symptoms & make the proper adjustments. I knew, in the past, responsibility, such as planning a trip or being in charge of the camp, added more stress than I could handle while trying to manage my moods. Ultimately, I had to watch out for falling into the unregistered, unaware trap of my more animalistic feelings & behavior.
I've been re-reading Waking The Tiger: Healing Trauma by Peter A. Levine (with Ann Frederick) & it's been providing me much insight on that last key to understanding my mood episodes, the big boom we were avoiding. As Levine notes, "Sensations come from symptoms, and symptoms from compressed energy" (76). I've learned it's not just about being aware of the symptoms & sensations, as important as that is, but also about releasing that compressed energy in clear, intentional ways. During the day, I made sure to step away from the campsite, be it for a hike, a walk with the dog, or a solo round of disc golf; on the site, I made sure to take moments to check in with myself, like with a power nap or a session of Dr. Weil's breathing cycle. Any success I had on this trip, compared to others, was all about awareness & intentionality.
As Levine remarks in his book, "The fundamental challenges we face today have come about relatively quickly, but our nervous system, but our nervous systems have been much slower to change
" (43). Partially removed from that modern grind, camping can be a jolt to that nervous system too, half-hung up on the quick-paced stress of modern life & well-exposed in the slowness of a weekend away. Looking back, wondering what was different this go-around, the core answer is simply that I'm taking better care of myself on a regular basis, having established some positive forward momentum--being well-medicated, developing a solid relationship with a new, trusted therapist, & following a daily routine balanced on meaningful work & reflective rest time. For the trip itself, the bookends were first being up front with the group & releasing myself of much responsibility pressure & allowing myself to pack & leave on my own internal schedule.
It is a weird thing to be proud of as a thirty-two-year-old, having a successful holiday weekend camping trip with buddies, but I can't help but smile looking back on all the good moments, knowing my bipolar disorder & I didn't ruin anyone's trip, MINE INCLUDED. I will always feel awful for the torment my rage attacks & mood episodes have caused, the fissure I've created among should-be peaceful time, often for some of my most beloved people. But with each successful trip out of the comfort zone, I have a better understanding of how to concoct such success, & I feel a little more confident in my ability to pull off such a task & prevent calamity in the future.