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…Much More Than Bipolar, by Mara McWilliams

Wednesday, September 13th, 2006
Filed under: Regular Contributors, Mara McWilliams, ThemesThe UpDown Report

…Much More Than Bipolar
by Mara McWilliams

Spiritual Being created in love by the Universe for the Universe.
Daughter, to the Divine Goddess and God above.
Mother, to the biggest blessing life can offer, a precious daughter.
Sister, to a younger brother whom I miss very much.
Aunt, to a beautiful niece and nephew with whom I’d like to bond.
Lover of nature, rocks, trees, streams, and the ocean.
Lover of the Elements — water, fire, earth, air, spirit
Pisces from beginning to end in the fullest sense of the definition )-(
Lesbian - finally fully realizing my worth, my preferences, my sexuality
In Love with a woman who is helping me recover my spirit
Cutter — Self-mutilator, RECOVERING (though I never thought possible)
But no one is worth me hurting myself!
Insatiable — always willing to go safely to the next sensual level
Very Wacky in a fun loving way
Pagan — in love with Mother Earth, The Sun, The Moon, The stars and all our other planets.
In tune with lunar cycles and energy fluctuations
Writer, poet, fiction novelist, song lyricist
Dreamer who gets lost in worlds full of vibrant colors and visual challenges
Artist, visionary — acrylics, watercolor, colored pencils — vibrant expressions of self
Student of life — never prepared, but always willing to learn a new lesson, pain and all.
Alcoholic, RECOVERING. Thank the Universe!
Anorexic — working on little meals throughout the day and finding I am healing.
Bipolar & on meds but still riding the wave because there’s nothing else
for one to do.
Borderline — but self-learning cognitive behavior therapy to alter my
reactions to similar situations and circumstances
Delusional, hearing lil’ whispers calling me by birth name before I drift
asleep
Spastic, hyper, bouncy red rubber ball hip hoppin’ off the walls
Bisexual — 
a mask to hide my true sexuality
Atypical — not caring one way or the other
Rape SURVIVOR
Abuse 
SURVIROR
Asexual — preferring to not be intimate with anyone at all
Grandiose, believing I can conquer the world.
Deflated, because I know I can’t.
Exhausted, not having the energy to open my lids.
Lonely, sometimes just wanting to cry and hide under a snuggly down comforter
on a big huge bed with lots and lots of pillows.
Vain — milking my looks before they go away,
Yet fearful I’ve never had them anyway.
Reclusive, puzzled by the so-called sanity outside my door:
Arsons, Mutilations, Murders, Child molestations…
Honking cars, Traffic Jams, too much out there —
Inside here is preferable, where I am sure of who I am
And who I can become.

© 2006

If art is communication, Mara McWilliams is screaming. A California-raised, self-taught “outsider artist,” Mara was diagnosed with Bipolar Disorder at 19 years of age. For most of her life she fought the demons associated with mental illness, until she decided to use the illness to her benefit. 

The birth of Mara’s art came from despair and led her into recovery. For her, art and recovery are inseparable. Mara started painting daily and has found art to be the truest form of self-expression. She chooses to not be restrained by the technical boundaries associated with the various genres. 

As an artist, it is Mara’s goal to relay the intense feelings associated with mental illness to her audience without stereotypical pretenses or filters. Painting allows that interaction to take place. The paint acts as emotion while the canvas is the treasure chest in which all hopes, fears and vulnerabilities are stored and shared with viewers.

She lends these same gifts to her poetry. Her first book, “Outta My Head and In Your Face,” opened to critical acclaim and adorns the libraries of some of the greatest thinkers of our generation. Through her art and poetry, Mara McWilliams hopes to be a hopeful blaring voice for those who are afraid that life ends after diagnosis.

See more of Mara’s work at www.recoverythroughart.com.

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Recovery Through Art – a gallery by Mara McWilliams

Wednesday, September 13th, 2006
 Filed under: Regular ContributorsMara McWilliams,  Themes, The UpDown Report, Shoutout from the Cutting Edge, Art Gallery

Creative Art Therapy

by Mara McWilliams

See more of Mara’s work at www.recoverythroughart.com.

 

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Life of a Bipolar, by Mara McWilliams

Wednesday, September 13th, 2006
Filed under: Regular ContributorsMara McWilliamsThemesThe UpDown Report

Life of a Bipolar

by Mara McWilliams

I’m cruising along day by day,

taking everything and feeling in stride,
All intense feelings kept at bay.
No major depression, no roller-coaster ride

Feeling quite content, this bipolar’s version of Heaven.
Seems Medications are working and no insane thoughts lurking.
Despite the side effects one has to contend with.
I can participate in life without being an extremist.
All negative behaviors have ceased and are in check.
All falling by the wayside in the pursuit of all that is better.
Suicidal ideations are a thing of the distant past.
The scars I wear no longer make sense.

Affection is welcome and
Touch soothes the soul.
Closeness is invited and intimacy seems to heal all.

Then, without warning
Like the Tsunami in Asia
Everything I know gets washed away.
An uncontrollable wave of emotion crashes down upon the coast of ME.
The skies now gray and angry consuming all that was blue.
As I race to save my life.
Everything I hold dear now in strife
My foundation washed away or buried.
Are you beginning to feel why bipolars worry?

All the tools acquired over the years,
The relationships invested in fall by the wayside
In confusion and tears.
I question if the only safe place is the hospital.

Insomnia creeps through my backdoor.
Hiding in my bed
Making sleep impossible.
My bedroom no longer a friend,
More like a distant relative.
Meds cease to work as brain chemistry adjusts and tolerances build to the
Very temporary man-made solution
To OUR organic constitution.
And you wonder why I sometimes feel cheated.

Everything within my view becomes a project I must attack and complete
My essence is slipping through and ticking by,
no time to waste.
As my mind races,
my eyes scan my surroundings
Taking note of each and every item out of place.
More projects pile up and less seems to get done.
Overwhelming every inch of my mind
And occupying all your waking time.
My mind seeks sanctuary but there isn’t any.

The CONCEPT of sleep becomes a LUXURY that the manic mind
CANNOT
Participate in.
Sleeping while in a mania is like drinking a bottle of vodka while in rehabilitation.
It’s not allowed. Against the indoctrination.
The guilt you feel when you manage to sneak in a nap
Perpetuates the mania making one feel more like crap.
Then depression pays a visit.
Adding to the feeling of inadequacy that is already drilled into our core
Because of our LITERAL limitations.
Gotta tell ya, I didn’t much miss this shit at all.

The mind keeps moving despite the body’s desire for sleep.
Relaxation, what’s that?
I haven’t known that for weeks.
Forgotten in the quest to move, go, create,
It’s existence is now questionable to me.

Friends and family get concerned.
All of them careful, forlorn.
Wanting to help, but not sure how.

The shrink’s schedule is full,
That’s nothing new.
Two more days without sleep.
Continual rapid thoughts
And sped speech.
Foggy and clumsy, bruised from bumping into walls that have always been there.
And they expect me to drive?
Is this their version of suicide?

Body itching for sleep,
Try to lay down and my mind revolts.
Eyes start to itch from stale air.
Leg starts kicking,
Fingers twitching,
Jaws start clenching,
Heartbeat rapid.
Mind racing…Gotta get up and keep moving.

Eyes dry from being open for days,
Need fake tears to ease the pain.
Get some coffee to help the body keep up with the mind.
Because nothing else is working.
You tell me, what are my other options?
You just try being bipolar.

Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday,
I dunno.
I’ve been up through all of them
So why does it matter?

Tensions build as those who care
Watch you deteriorate,
While the illness is picking up pace
Now even your loved ones can see your mind race.
Spinnnning like a toy top on speed.
We know you wonder if we’ll make it back.
So do we.
And yes, it does add to the panic.

Waited in line in a rather serene lobby,
While reading up on my hobbies.
Saw the doctor,
Took 5 hours, I hope it’s worth it.
New meds, bullshit about quitting smoking and a new.

Yeah right.
Um, in a crisis, take your quitting smoking and ……
Meds will be mailed, no need to stress
and “there’s a therapy group where you will be sent”

One day goes by.
Still manic and unable to sleep.
No meds yet, still have to wait.
Wanting to stop but unable too.
Two days go by and I begin to wonder why me?
What did I do to deserve this damn disease?

My meds shoulda been delivered to my front door.
Two days ago.
Instead I am banging my head against the wall.
While my mind and body is engaged in a war.

Anxious and exhausted call the pharmacy.
They didn’t mail them, like they were instructed.
Another trip to the hospital while exhausted,
They don’t care just part of the process.
If you get in a wreck, 
It’s not their problem.

Get to the pharmacy and wait in line.
Only to find the med I need
Isn’t covered by my insurance
And no, there isn’t a generic.
No surprise there.
This has been happening for years.
“They” say take your meds then make them unaffordable.
What kind of system is this?

At least no one ever told me that mental health is free.
What I figured is nearly $4k a year to hopefully stay sane.
But we all know, somewhere in there I’ll need another med changed.

Meds are starting to work,
For now, until they stop.
And then, we’ll get to do this again.

And this is the life a bipolar lives.

© 2006

If art is communication, Mara McWilliams is screaming. A California-raised, self-taught “outsider artist,” Mara was diagnosed with Bipolar Disorder at 19 years of age. For most of her life she fought the demons associated with mental illness, until she decided to use the illness to her benefit. 

The birth of Mara’s art came from despair and led her into recovery. For her, art and recovery are inseparable. Mara started painting daily and has found art to be the truest form of self-expression. She chooses to not be restrained by the technical boundaries associated with the various genres. 

As an artist, it is Mara’s goal to relay the intense feelings associated with mental illness to her audience without stereotypical pretenses or filters. Painting allows that interaction to take place. The paint acts as emotion while the canvas is the treasure chest in which all hopes, fears and vulnerabilities are stored and shared with viewers.

She lends these same gifts to her poetry. Her first book, “Outta My Head and In Your Face,” opened to critical acclaim and adorns the libraries of some of the greatest thinkers of our generation. Through her art and poetry, Mara McWilliams hopes to be a hopeful blaring voice for those who are afraid that life ends after diagnosis.

See more of Mara’s work at www.recoverythroughart.com.

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Bipolar Parenting, by Mara McWilliams

Wednesday, September 13th, 2006
Filed under: Regular ContributorsMara McWilliamsThemesThe UpDown Report

Bipolar Parenting

by Mara McWilliams

As a mother who is also bipolar, I have searched the Internet for websites geared toward helping parents diagnosed with bipolar disorder; I have yet to find one. I believe it would make a big difference if one existed. We all have found, over the years, that sharing our experiences with those who are or have experienced the same thing is healing and therapeutic for all parties involved. The first Twelve Step program was founded on that basic principle. In this situation, it would be one bipolar parent helping another, and so on.

I know that as a person raised in a co-dependent, oppressive environment, I don’t want to raise my child in a similar atmosphere. It is important that I raise an independent, responsible, brave young woman who is aware of her boundaries. I am aware that my daughter might be prone to assume the role of caretaker or codependent. It is my responsibility, regardless of my diagnosis, to make sure that doesn’t happen. My child is not the parent; I am.

According to current statistics, my daughter has between a 15-30% chance of inheriting bipolar disorder. Unfortunately, I cannot protect her from developing this illness, but I can properly prepare her to deal with life and the curve balls it will throw at her. I can teach her to live honestly, to live with compassion in her heart, and to act in kind to all inhabitants on this planet. I can teach her to claim responsibility for her actions and accept the consequences of her decisions gracefully. I can teach her that love comes in all different shapes and sizes and isn’t limited to traditional concepts of marriage, tradition and commitment.

I’m not naïve. I know my illness has an effect on my child. What kind of effect, I’m not sure; time will tell. I am honest with my daughter. We have discussed my illness many times: how it is called a brain disorder because there is a chemical imbalance in the brain. She knows that my illness is called Bipolar Disorder and that I take medication to treat it. She has experienced my moods changing from happy to sad within hours of each other, and she knows that my moods are not a result of something she did. She knows this because we have an open line of communication that is based on honesty and trust.

My child knows it is not her responsibility to change my feelings or make me feel better. I have explained to her that my feelings and moods are my responsibility. Occasionally, when I am feeling blue, she will come up to me, give me a hug and say, “It’s going to be ok Mommy, I love you.” And then she will run off and play with her friends, just like any other 8 year old kid. Because of my illness, my child has learned how to be empathetic without becoming codependent. In today’s world, that is a very valuable lesson.

We all have to play the hand we’ve been dealt. I was dealt bipolar disorder. My child was dealt a bipolar parent. It’s the coping tools we develop to deal with our cards that are invaluable.

We invite our daughter to share with us not only her experiences during the day, but her feelings about her day. She is encouraged to express her feelings, including anger. We are teaching her to express her angry feelings in a positive way. Children want to be loved and it is the parent’s job to love, nurture, and guide them. I remind myself that my child’s life is her own and not my experience.

I believe that because of my bipolar disorder and my recovery process, my child will grow up in a house that is focused on mental wellness.

© 2006

If art is communication, Mara McWilliams is screaming. A California-raised, self-taught “outsider artist,” Mara was diagnosed with Bipolar Disorder at 19 years of age. For most of her life she fought the demons associated with mental illness, until she decided to use the illness to her benefit. 

The birth of Mara’s art came from despair and led her into recovery. For her, art and recovery are inseparable. Mara started painting daily and has found art to be the truest form of self-expression. She chooses to not be restrained by the technical boundaries associated with the various genres. 

As an artist, it is Mara’s goal to relay the intense feelings associated with mental illness to her audience without stereotypical pretenses or filters. Painting allows that interaction to take place. The paint acts as emotion while the canvas is the treasure chest in which all hopes, fears and vulnerabilities are stored and shared with viewers.

She lends these same gifts to her poetry. Her first book, “Outta My Head and In Your Face,” opened to critical acclaim and adorns the libraries of some of the greatest thinkers of our generation. Through her art and poetry, Mara McWilliams hopes to be a hopeful blaring voice for those who are afraid that life ends after diagnosis.

See more of Mara’s work at www.recoverythroughart.com

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Anorexic-Bulimic Lies, by Mara McWilliams

Wednesday, September 13th, 2006
Filed under: Regular ContributorsMara McWilliamsThemes, The Skinny on FatThe UpDown Report

Anorexic-Bulimic Lies

By Mara McWilliams

Sick. Nauseous.
Full of contempt.
Hating the living.
Fantasizing of death.
STOMACH
twisting, turning, jumping, churning.
DIAPHRAGM
pushing up the fuel I fed my
body so I may continue to live.
40 days and 40 nights.
What’s the big deal with that Mr. Big Man Christ?
Wincing. Disgusted.
Praying it away.
Looking in the mirror and seeing my age.
Down. Down.
Pushing this necessary evil down.
Fighting my mind.
Trying to find that happy place inside.
Focusing on the here and now.
Allowing my system to digest this fuel.
The hurt. The pain. The disgust.
Not worth wasting away over.
Power taken, passively and forcibly.
Given away, gladly and reluctantly.
Getting thinner and thinner yet every day.
Too thin…
NEVER thought I’d say that.
Bones popping out everywhere,
even in my back!
Trying to deceive myself that this is
all about looks.
You liars.
You users!
You pain inducers!
No more – enough!
Slow suicide.
Painful starvation.
Heart palpitations.
Chest pains.
Exhausted.
Barely enough strength to face another day.
Sick. Nauseated.
Ready to toss…
Feeling so alone.
Drifting…I’m lost.
Dissociation – something self-taught.
Pain.
Here. There. Everywhere.
Parents.
Partners.
Ex-lovers.
Old friends.
Burnt down home
and a cute, but dead kitten.
All living in my whacked out head.
Try to heal, forgive, and move on.
To love. To give.
To teach what I’ve learned,
as I am spiritually
obligated.
My heart broken,
again and again.
Stomped on. Stepped on. Tossed aside.
Feeling like a rag doll
without the ability to cry.
Torn, then mended.
Stitched, as if by hand.
Only to have the same thing
happen
over and over again.
Prayers, spells, spiritual cleansings,
yoga, chakra meditation.
Yet here I am,
an old worn rag doll
with zigzag stitches,
fighting down the bile
that challenges my resolve.
Fighting so hard to do what’s right,
not for THEM, but for my own well-being.
Standing up for what’s healthy for me.
All the while,
just wanting love.
Wanting the KNOWING
that there’s someone
in whom I could place my trust.
Bipolar waves,
Borderline urges,
Anorexic denial.
Yearning for alcohol.
Intensely desiring to make pretty little
slices on my arm.
But still,
just WRITING it out.
Praying by pen,
the tool the Universe blessed my fragile hands with.
I write for me to keep my mind in line.
But all the while,
hoping
ONE,
just one person can identify.
Maybe I can help one more get by.
The nausea is passing,
feeling a bit better.
No longer Alice chasing the Mad Hatter.
Tell me,
does any of this make sense to you?

©2002

If art is communication, Mara McWilliams is screaming. A California-raised, self-taught “outsider artist,” Mara was diagnosed with Bipolar Disorder at 19 years of age. For most of her life she fought the demons associated with mental illness, until she decided to use the illness to her benefit. 

The birth of Mara’s art came from despair and led her into recovery. For her, art and recovery are inseparable. Mara started painting daily and has found art to be the truest form of self-expression. She chooses to not be restrained by the technical boundaries associated with the various genres. 

As an artist, it is Mara’s goal to relay the intense feelings associated with mental illness to her audience without stereotypical pretenses or filters. Painting allows that interaction to take place. The paint acts as emotion while the canvas is the treasure chest in which all hopes, fears and vulnerabilities are stored and shared with viewers.

She lends these same gifts to her poetry. Her first book, “Outta My Head and In Your Face,” opened to critical acclaim and adorns the libraries of some of the greatest thinkers of our generation. Through her art and poetry, Mara McWilliams hopes to be a hopeful blaring voice for those who are afraid that life ends after diagnosis.

See more of Mara’s work at www.recoverythroughart.com.

Permalink / Comments