Dear Sunshine,

In the summertime, a hard-day's work is effortlessly accepted as a dutiful endeavor that only lazy and selfish people shirk. Energy is provided in excess amounts, the leftovers are then funneled to other projects like sewing, blogging, church callings, and even grocery lists!! Eventually, we take your warm rays for granted and look forward to the invigorating colors, and brisk air of the Fall (a poetic term, to say the least).

Then we remember, 'oh yeah...the sunshine disappears, too...ugh.' Depression sets in...tick...
tock..........tick...............tock.

At first it is subtle, the house gets a little messier, the workouts are fewer and far between. The irritability starts sprouting like a noxious weed, and pretty soon, a bonafide time-waster emerges. For most normal people, the distress does not progress any further. For those of the bipolar variety, the 'fall' has just begun.

This holiday season was the first time we've spent away from my side of the family. I figured it would be a fun adventure to really settle into a family routine-starting our own unique traditions and realizing our identity as a smaller family unit. While some of what I had hoped for materialized in ginger-bread houses, my mother's divine English toffee, and even her Christmas Eve Danish pastry- my quality time was spent more in bed rather than with my family. But my all-time low of the season happened on Christmas day.

We had invited the Mormon missionaries over to our house for dinner Christmas evening. I had planned to make my mothers rolls to really add something special to the occasion. And a simple event set it off in a hurry. The dough didn't rise! Most normal people would make rice, or improvise in some other simple way, but for me-it was a catastrophe that ended up with me in the bedroom, pulling on my hair, and pinching my arms with a trouser hanger. The visual would certainly scare or anxiously amuse the onlooker-but to me, it was the ONLY way I could cope with the intensity. The only way to stay the intensity was to inflict mild pain on myself. In the moment, the release actually feels good, and helps me ignore or respond in like manner to what I am feeling.

The most challenging part is putting on my game face to protect others from your illness. But I get better at dealing with it on my own, rather than foisting it on the shoulders of my loved ones.

I have to accept that when you (sunshine) take a vacation, I must also take a vacation from my own expectations. The house may be a little messier, the sewing projects might gather dust, and we might make a few more pizza runs. And this is when I put a plug in for my husband who is so patient with my shortcomings. My mother says, as long as you love your family, and feed them---the laundry and vacuuming can wait till the Spring. I think she is very wise.

And so it goes...Sunshine, I miss you (and so does the messy house).

Why Me? Accepting My Crazy Genes

Odds of getting the crazy gene in a family full of crazies is about as inevitable as drawing your name at the family reunion raffle--after your mother bought all of the tickets. And then, the spoils of such prizewinning vary in size, shape, scope, depth and financial cost.

Me? I pulled a couple of those tickets to be sure. However, the realization of such winnings didn't manifest themselves until motherhood. There were, however, many who tried to notify me leading up to my moment of truth. Like an annoying intercom announcement, I was warned many times in the form of dysfunctional relationships, short-lived employment and socially adventurous encounters.

10,000 roommates cannot be wrong. Like my moods, people either loved me or hated me--there was no in-between. But over and again, these blow-ups were explained away in my mind as character flaws of those 'persecuting' me. This is the catch-22 of mental illness. I was too delusional to see my error, and those experiencing my error were uninformed or ill-equipped to handle someone with mental illness. Fault is not relevant.

This is the purpose of the blog: to inform those who encounter this illness, in the people they meet, the people they love, and in themselves.

For me, the question is no longer 'Why Me?' but 'Is there a generic for that?' Acceptance is the first step to finding peace of mind. And mind is the matter.