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?)

Train of thought…derailed

I used to be smart.  Really.  I earned a Masters degree, held a position of authority at my workplace, enjoyed reading Plato, and had started on a Doctoral program.  Honest.

Someone once said that with each child a mother bears, she loses half of her brain capacity.  So, one child equals a 50% brain.  A second child brings her down to a 25% brain.  I used to scoff at that, until I met my ex-husbands mother.  She had eleven children.  Dear God, the woman could barely finish a sentence.

So, I had a masters degree, working on a doctorate, two children, and a demanding career.  Ergo, trouble.  Add on three breakdowns, and by now ten years of mood stabilizers, antipsychotics, antidepressants, and beta blockers.  My brain is mush.

I used to love to read.  Now, three paragraphs in, I am lost.  I can’t remember the last time that I finished a book.

I love Bill Cosby’s assertion that his brain is in his behind.  Mine too!  It goes like this: sitting in the living room, I think of something I need to get in the other room.  I stand up, walk to the other room, and have NO IDEA what I am looking for.  I go back to the living room, sit back down, and immediately remember what I needed in the other room. My brain is in my behind.

If I pay close attention, and the person I am conversing with has a fairly direct point to make, I can carry on a conversation.  Walk into the grocery store?  Complete blank.  I can buy $200 worth of groceries, and still forget the one thing I needed to make dinner.

I could get frustrated, but it’s easier to laugh.  My two teenagers know I have no memory.  Could they exploit this?  Absolutely.  But I have great kids, so they don’t take advantage.  They patiently remind me of what they had asked, and what I had answered.  And they know that, if anything needs to get done, they MUST write it down, and put it next to the coffee pot.  Coffee is the one thing I always remember in the morning.

Notes and lists are my lifeline.  I make a list everyday.  Chores I want to get done, places I need to go, and what I need to do when I get to those places.  Every day has an index card, and the index card gives structure to my day.  And the calendar on the wall is my lifeline.  If I don’t write it on the calendar, I guarantee you that I won’t remember it.

Here’s my secret:  any old index card won’t do.  I use fluorescent yellow index cards.  Why?  So when I forget where I put my list, the color makes it easy to find.  🙂