Cognitively Bumbling Along…

Do you remember the year in Junior High School that you started to grow? Mine was actually freshman year. In September of that year, I was five feet tall. By April, I was five-foot-seven. Seriously. It was ridiculous. I remember shifting and stretching my legs under the desks in class. The aching leg muscles, and popping joints. But what I remember most was trying to walk.

I did not have a physical disability or limitation that inhibited my ability to walk. But my body no longer made sense to me. I was all legs and elbows. I walked into shelves that hadn’t been a problem the day before. It took all of my concentration to get my body parts moving in the same direction to carry me down the hallways without crashing into an upperclassman. And stairs? Forget it. My particular talent was not falling down the stairs, but rather UP the stairs. The toes of my bigger feet would catch on the tread and upward I sprawled, books, pencil and notebooks flying every which way.

The greatest challenge I faced freshman year was the ‘Freshman Frolic’, our first semi-formal dance. I got my dress, bought my heels, did my hair, and walked into the decorated cafeteria like I was going before a firing squad. And then, it happened. My stylish 3 inch heels hit the polished tile. I was a baby giraffe on an ice rink. Arms windmilling, legs flailing – you get the picture.

These days I can walk with a fair degree of confidence. My brain, however, has reverted to those days of adolescent in-coordination. While I compensate for some of the impacts of bipolar with technical tools (lists, calendars), there are days that I can’t seem to get my brain moving – in any direction. I start, stop, forget what I was doing, rack my addled brain trying to remember some thought, like a word on the tip of the tongue. Foggy days.

Easy solution? Nope. I just try to remind myself that I survived the baby giraffe days, and figure my brain will resume functioning sometime in the future. Meanwhile, I’ll just have another cup of coffee. (Has anyone seen my coffee cup?)

Enforcing Detachment

Somehow, March has turned into August. Days have become weeks, and weeks became months; spring has become summer, and now it is time to order firewood again. A challenging summer for my bipolar symptoms – I’ll leave it at that. But a recent dilemma has brought me back to ‘the blog’, and I am grateful.

I’ve written about toxic people before, in my “Face Value and Zero Expectations” post. I have worked hard to detach from some people, and to limit my expectations from others. With a HUGE Irish Catholic family from South Boston; aunts, uncles, cousins, second cousins, spouses, children of cousins…. I have no idea. Easily over 100 people. They’re not bad people. Many of them are wonderful people. But with that many, there seems to be a constant stream of reunions, weddings, and funerals. Especially funerals. We Irish Catholics are GREAT at funerals.

Facebook is a great media, but it’s not always beneficial. There are recent studies that people artificially inflate the pleasure and joy in their lives in their posts on facebook, which leads readers to feel discouraged about the lack of pleasure and joy in their own lives. A Gordian knot. So, I check in on facebook from time to time, but not regularly. My mother, however, in her mid-60’s, is an avid fan of facebook. And she feels it necessary to tag me in everything, including photos of people I don’t know, and events I don’t care about. Multiple times. Daily. Ugh.

With all due respect to my mother, we were not ever close. We have never had a warm, loving relationship for a gazillion reasons that don’t really matter here. But, over time, I have learned to detach. I have learned to not need anything from her, especially emotionally. We rarely spend time together for more than a few hours monthly, and I have not traveled to her home in over three years. We speak on the phone rarely, mostly about the weather. And I am quite comfortable with where things stand.

So, to the point. At a cousin’s recent wedding (which I did not attend), a sort-of relative (whom we had not seen in thirty years), commented to my mother that she should spend more time with me. She lost it. Tears, Angst, Drama. She had to leave the wedding early, sent me a long message (on facebook, of course) about all the reasons she is busy and doing her best, and called me to tell me about it and her message on facebook. I read the message. And I was angry. Not that the person said anything wrong. If anything, that person was more right about my mothers and my relationship than they had any idea. I was angry because the person had made an off-the-cuff comment to my mother, and I was being left holding the bag of putting her back together. My main thought was “Dear God, she is going to want to spend the weekend here…” Nope. Not gonna happen.

I said something noncommittal and platonic to my mother, and she seemed to calm down. Then I sent a note to the instigator, telling them that my relationship with her was none of their business, and to keep their opinion to themselves.

Does the instigator deserve to be shut down? Probably not, he was pretty accurate. Am I invested in developing a warm and fuzzy relationship with my mother based on her guilt from being called out? Nope. We’re just going to keep talking about the weather.