Today I was at an adoption event and a lovely woman that I’ve met just a few times, turned to me, somehow recognized my emotion, though I thought I was unbelievably opaque about it, and said  “uh oh. Sloth!”

I’ve felt unusually emotional lately, even by my measure, and I just haven’t known what to write about. I often feel that if I can’t make people laugh, I’m not putting up the blog. But in a blinding ah ha moment in the cab just now, I realized this is important and I suspect very common.

Did you see  Kristen Bell on the Ellen Show ? Kristen told a story of how on her birthday, her boyfriend surprised her with a Sloth.  Yes, I mean it, a real honest to goodness Sloth (and who says celebrities are different than the rest of us?). Forget the thoughtful and slow moving creature for a moment. The real story here isn’t about the animal, unless like me, you find them kinda cute, no, it was about how often she cries. Trust me, you have to see this video to appreciate it.

Now, some people see a music video vixen or a politician or an anointed saint and identify with them. Not me, for you see, I am the poster child for Sloth moments.

I cry often and a lot and sometimes, I’m overwhelmed as I have been the last month, where it seems more things move me to tears than not. Not just sad things but happy things. Not just the big deals but the little deals!

By now, I should own stock in Kleenex. And the lengths to which I go to to not watch “The Voice” and “American Idol” are ridiculous. And forget about the SPCA commercials!

Not many people in my moist world know that I avoid things in order to not be swallowed up by emotion that is partnered with the water works. I quickly turn off radios and mute the television. I am a master at changing topics in conversation and moving e-mail from my in box to a file without reading it first. The ability to compartmentalize is not on my talents list.

I have a musical background and looking back, know that because music is so powerful and emotional for me, it’s part of the reason I didn’t pursue it professionally. Not that I would have truly made a fortune in singing telegrams but it was fun.

In the last week alone, I’ve cried at the following:

•  A mattress commercial
• The morning, afternoon and evening news
• The Kelly, formerly Regis & Kelly, show
• A 20 something’s break up story
• The site of 2 children, a brother and sister, at a pizza party
• A wedding magazine
• My dog, greeting me after work
• My inability to cook a simple meal
• An employee’s departure for another job
• The sound of my sister’s voice
• The Facebook post of a friend’s daughter
• An Ellen episode about a Sloth

That’s 12 times and remember, there were 7 evenings that my dog awaited my arrival and my 7 times that my microwave was in use.

If you’ve read this far, you either can relate or love someone who relates or are the spokesperson for Rostasis.

At times like the present, I consciously isolate myself from any and everything that might bring me to a Sloth Moment.

And now, I must add the million eulogies for Whitney Houston to my list.

I’m just going watch an old episode of Family Guy.

photo credit: Davi Ozolin

It has been 13 months since I have had to crawl out of the terrifying hole that is depression. Some say a depressive “episode”…Well that was one long episode!

It was nearly 2 years worth of episode and as so many of you know, a minute feels like an hour – and hour feels like a day – a day, like a month, a month like a year. When you have depression, that is.

In my life, I’ve had 5 major episodes. And they were both different but alike at the same time.

Same ol’ Gremlins sitting on the edge of the bed as I lay beneath the covers…”You should be happy. Look at all you have. So after you do __________ then you’ll be happy. But it’s too much. You can’t do it. What’s the point anyway?” Over and over and OVER and over again I’ve had that old familiar discussion.

And then it happened. Driving back to Boston from Philly on Thanksgiving 2010. Sitting in traffic on the George Washington bridge, over the Hudson River, thinking about Scully.

I became aware of a sensation. The sensation of light..of levity…of hope. I felt that indescribable feeling; the one right before you cry? And I did. It was an amazing moment in my life. One of those moments that you will never, ever forget.

My depression was lifting and with that, I became free to start my new life in a new place with a new job and a new energy and curiosity and desire and all of the feelings people feel when they do not have depression!

God, so this is what it feels like!

But I left one thing out.

It has been 13 months that I’ve been waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Since I have the extra challenge of BP/depression, I try very hard to take care of myself. To manage it. But come closer, I’ll tell you a secret. I tremble with fear and I PRAY it won’t come back. Please, just leave me alone! It is a disease that I don’t like to fight.

We simply cannot live in fear when not in a depression. Because living with that fear – waiting for the other shoe to drop – that is just one more thing! Depression is robbing us yet again.

That doesn’t seem fair, does it? Even when we are fine, it’s still there, nipping at our ankles!

So while I keep one eye to the sky, I try to let go. One of my favorite sayings…Let go and let God. That’s my comfort. But everyone is different. Everyone has a different comfort.

Whatever your comfort is, shower yourself in it.. You deserve it. Then, let’s you and I, go kick some gremlin _____.

photo credit: JMazzolaa

Because I have been forced into the anxious flyer category, now, while in the friendly skies, I have more epiphanies, more moments of clarity, more wine and  now, more plans about what to do with my life If I make it back down to the ground after lift off, then on up to 10,000 feet, I’ve decided to create a bucket list and my bucket will be embossed with the words “Leslie’s Why Not Bucket?

Don’t laugh or roll your eyes now…here are a few things that have have been tossed down deep in that bucket…

• Surf and Snowboard. And I mean doing the Dew Tour – I mean the Half Pipe. I’m talking Sean White calling and asking me what I’m doing tonight?  I mean being part of the surf culture fending off endorsement offers. I have a passion like no other for this and am not afraid to embarrass myself at 47.
• Let’s put all of my belongings in storage (again) and go to Hawaii. …Or why not move back to SoCal? Why not blend into a place that will allow me to bucket without so much as a glance! Oh, oh!! Key West! Forget island fever, I’ll adapt.
• I so want to feel a violin under my chin. Better yet, a fiddle! Lord, just please make me play like Dixie Chick and dance like a Pussycat Doll! I’ve sung a lot and it seems my voice wants to sing country no matter what my wish. I want to feel my heart beat wildly again as an audience stands and claps for me! Me? I love bringing happiness to others my opening my mouth and making music!
• I think I’ll move back to my hometown. It’ll be as if I never left! Right? The KY Derby will be old hat (pun intended) and friends will beg to visit me on that coveted weekend. Lakes will be my thing, not beaches as land locked is a bit of a thing.
• Yes! Go back to college. I want to become, in no specific order,  Oceanographer, an Interior Designer – an Arborist/ Landscape Designer – a thrift shop owner – a Nurse and oh, a Writer.

So as I heard “Ladies and Gentlemen, we’re making our final decent into Boston...”, I decided this whole bucket list thing? It’s a great exercise and even better if I actually plow through it. By no means is it full. Rather, as life does its thing and presents itself, I’m sure I will say “I want to do that” many. many more times.

So enough about my desires and me!

No matter what your age – or how realistic or silly – no matter of anything…….

what’s in your bucket?

photo credit: dinoboy

Here are your directives Virginia:

Halloween BOO! Next, hurry up and be way grateful while your hand is stuck up in some poor unsuspecting turkey, then on your mark, get set, GO! 12:01 am black Friday and shop, shop, shop, while you had better hark hear the angels while you deck your halls while you roast your chestnuts on the damn open fire…now, go shop the after sales for a sparkly LBD that most certainly isn’t the size 6 you had hoped to get into for the big why-is-there-nobody-for-me-to-kiss-at-midnight New Year party! …and then there is the hangover and the dreaded black eyed pea.

Got it? Good.

This morning, I opened up some boxes in my closet marked “Crafts.” Mixed in with the hot glue sticks and ribbon, was a memory. A memory of when I actually hand made holiday t-shirts and ornaments for the tree. And that was just pre-Christmas! Under the tree, each woman in my family delighted (or at least I think they did!)  in unwrapping a box holding handmade earrings and pins. Now I’m lucky to make my cards and get them in the mail.  Fine. I don’t do cards and haven’t in a couple of years.

Busted.

I wonder if other people also feel a twinge of envy when they see TV commercials of happy, perfect women adjusting vampire capes on their impossibly precious little boys or blazing into their dining rooms with gravy boats and plates of homemade stuffing or placing stars atop their trees.

It seems that each year I am thrust into a new situation with new circumstances to complain about. But while I haven’t perfected my scarf knitting or even blog writing, I have gotten pretty good at escaping the trappings of the holidays without whining too terribly much.

To my family and friends (sans glittered t-shirts and too heavy earrings) I say thank you because you are what matters.

And please know that you are doing your part as I am saving a tree by not licking a stamp and placing it on an envelope.

 Rather, this is your card. Yes, back to the basics.

 I love you and merry, merry Christmas.

photo credit: rinoshea

Yup, alone. You would think as outgoing and extroverted – how nice, friendly and warm I am, I would have tons of options of what to do on the big day….what to do? What to do?

I’ve spent the last year coming out of my shell. Match.com resulted in many dates that I wouldn’t trade for the world! OK, that was a full out lie. If anything, it’s been an exercise in putting a toe outside of my comfort zone.  Taking a break from the dating world at the moment.

My family? We are spreading out all over the country but our love is not. That however, does not make me enjoy my mouth watering Marie Calandar’s turkey pot pie any more.

For whatever reason, this Turkey day seems to be jumping up and down reminding me that I am all alone here. For whatever reason it makes me even more determined to not let the Turkey (depression) get me down.

The biggest reason I write on Psych Central is so that I might possibly help others. This is one of those times. But in writing for this reason, I find myself on the receiving end of being helped.

If you are alone this Thanksgiving, ask someone you know – you work with – a neighbor…ask them if you can drop by this Thursday and be part of their celebration. Yes, ask them. Difficult? Yes, but stick that toe out.

Of course we might volunteer, but is it hard for you to get motivated? Me too. We have to keep pushing on though.

I don’t have all the answers on this one. One thing I know for certain is if I can push all my little demons and gremlins off to the side and count my blessings, I’ll be OK. It’s just 24 hours.

What are your blessings?

photo credit: Mr. T in DC

For the last few months, I have been in and out of a funk. Last week, oh so refreshingly, I was all bark and all bite. A big shout out goes to my employees who don’t deserve to be on the receiving end of my mercurial moods but curiously continue to show up day after day!

I was angry, frustrated and really, really annoyed. Scratch that. I was furious, frustrated and really, really annoyed.

Eventually, as the days wore on, that familiar feeling of being thoroughly overwhelmed washed over me. If you were within 50 miles, you would have heard the “whoosh”ing noise my mood made as it plummeted.  I stood by  helplessly as I went from really angry to really depressed.

Depression gets around. It holds hands with “What’s the point?” and it’s in bed with “It’s hopeless.”

Sometimes, I throw pennies on the ground in hopes that it may make someone’s dreams come true. Silly? Probably. Sometimes, I say hello to a stranger and engage in conversation. Out of my comfort zone I wearily climb, in hopes, that it might make someone’s day – and my own.

Sometimes, I do “nice” things for others….I help someone with a heavy door or suitcase. Once, I wrote “Have A Nice Day” on 1o slips of paper and put them under the windshield wipers of 10 cars in my neighborhood.  While I’m sure there were at least a fe  skeptical and suspicious commuters in the bunch, I held out hope that nice days were in abundance.

I know, I know. This is elevating me to near St. Theresa proportions, but during my selflessness-fest,  I most certainly got something for myself.

I happened upon an undeniable truth. When you are helping others, it’s virtually impossible to acknowledge depression.  When conversing with a stranger, you cannot give depression the power it so desperately wants to steal and if only for a few minutes, it’s forced to a back seat or back burner.

There is no feeling like the feeling of giving to another and with that, there is no room for anything else.

I know that trying to give away anything when you feel depleted is no easy task. It can take every last ounce of your  effort. Sometimes, it might take all the energy you have but it pays back ten fold  for in doing something for another person, you are also giving a gift to yourself. The gift of reprieve.
photo credit: Wonderlane

In February of 2010, I wrote, out loud, about my bipolar.

After the article was posted in World of Psychology, I thought of changing my name and entering a convent but there’s that silly little rule about a vow of celibacy.

I googled, frantically  trying to identify a disorder for someone who feels the pull to lie ; claiming to be afflicted with a mental health disorder in order to get their writing published! Surely there must be a DSM code for that, right? Mental health hypochandria?

Even better, I would feign innocence. I’ve never met a person who accidentally sent an e-mail or photo to an unintended recipient that didn’tsay “I’ve been hacked!!”  OK, sounds good.

“What? That’s not my picture on Psych Central! I’ve been hacked!… It’s the wrong Leslie Hull.” 

Ultimately, writing that article taught me many things and by it being published, it hopefully taught many others.

Slowly but surely, I began the complicated process of pulling back the layers.  One by one, I allowed people into  my world. I received everything from demonstrations of unconditional love to that look on someone’s face when they are wondering if they are being Punked while quickly scanning the room for hidden cameras or Ashton Kutcher.

It was hard at first to be open. I still  carefully choose who I will reveal myself to…who I know won’t judge me and are emotionally plugged in enough to be knowledgeable about my disorder.

Countless times I’ve witnessed people poke fun of others,  referring to them as Bipolar or Manic Depressive and though I act as though  it doesn’t bother me, it often  hurts me but more often angers me.

I have fantasies of ending the conversation with the revelation of my disease  and showing them what Bipolar looks like while they show me their embarrassment.

Because of people talking about mental health  issues, many more are finally knowledgeable about disease. And though I criticise the media for their often broad, overuse of the term, I am delighted that it’s out there!

I am overwhelmed with gratitude that I was properly diagnosed that cold, grey day for it saved my life.

And so I began the journey of tiptoeing out from the shadows and in doing so I claimed my Light, Laughter and my Life.

photo credit: Christian Johnstone

I would like to think I’m normal. I’d like to think I’m plain vanilla, Midwest nice – boring! Yes, boring might be fun (yawn), but the reality is that with the exception of ”nice,” I’m probably none of those things, at least not on any consistent basis.

I am a woman who has an ongoing love/hate relationship with ADD and a fondness/dislike with her bipoliarity. Gee, what else do I feel like tossing in there….

If you look over the edge along which I skate you’ll see things I could easily fall into the grasps of…depression…hypo-mania…addiction…reckless behavior…a virtual playground of danger.

There are days when to skate inland into safer territory seems uphill and on a quite slippery slope.

Then there are other days that peeping over the edge just seems like it’s never going to be enough.

Danger is the object of my affection and with whom I flirt. People would certainly not describe me as a “Type A’” kinda gal. I mean, I really dislike flying of late and I have not gone to trapeze school (though I did watch others learn). Now that I think of it, how important is the net anyway?

It’s not that type of danger I’m talking about. Some serious envelope pushing is my kind of danger….

How long till you’re called an addict?

How much can I do anything before it becomes a problem?

How much can I get away with not doing?

You’ve perhaps heard me speak of my beloved extreme sports (I totally channel a 16 year old boy btw)? So, I have a question! How long can I practice extreme procrastinating before a problem emerges or it becomes an official Olympic sport? C’mon! Want to join me?

So I’ve come to accept my trips along the edge of the ice; even appreciating them. If you are like me, and skate until you think you can hear the ice crack, we  just have to learn to  effectively manage our lives and be diligent in doing so.

Yeah, um, we’ll start doing that tomorrow.

photo credit: Jos Dielis

I’ve never been big on doing things the “normal” way. If I did, I wouldn’t live my life skating blissfully along the edge.

Like some curious bystander, I’ve witnessed the engagements – wedding showers - bachelorette parties -  weddings (I gave up counting bridesmaid dresses) - baby showers – births – second children – third and so on and so forth.

Guess what?

MY TURN!

But why on earth would I take my turns  in an orderly fashion? You know me better than that! So, to those who follow the bouncing ball of my dating escapades, fear not! You’ll be happy to know that those will most certainly continue.

Last year I began a journey I could not have imagined.  I completed the state required training to become an adoptive parent. This year I sat through the many home  visits by social workers  (hide the wine and sharp items) and with the sun shining on an amazingly stunning late summer day last week, I became an official approved adoptive family (my dog must be included with me)!

Let’s see, let’s see. How to describe my feelings to you?

You know that feeling you get as the roller-coaster makes those final clack, clack, clack noises as you creep impossibly higher and you know you are nearing the top of the peak?

What about the TV show “Deal Or No Deal”? … do I pick the sexy blonde with case number 14 or the tall redhead with case number 21 or do I take my money and quit now? What if I quit and my case,  mocking me just inches away, is holding the million dollars?!

What about the feeling you get when you smell pink and blue cotton candy being spun at the state fair? Or crawling into nice clean, cool sheets on your bed? Or the butterflies you get when you meet someone you really, really like? Or what about the prefect steaming, chicken pot pie in winter or playing in the waves at the beach on a magnificent summer day?

Talk about having bipolar tendencies! … yes I do, no, I can’t, Yes, I do! No, I don’t, Yes, no, yes, no… you get the point.

Erma Bombeck had a few thoughts on motherhood herself. She thought that the reason why God made babies smell so good is so that their parents wouldn’t kill them and she thought it unfair that after you have children, you’re supposed to remember their names and ages at the drop of a hat!  I’m adopting an older child and have a sneaky suspicion Erma and I will be kindred spirits.

So, soon, I’ll be hearing the sweet music of  “But why not Mommy!?!?” and I know with all of my being that I will smell the sweet smells of cotton candy.
photo credit: Reasonable Excuse

When you are told that a loved one has cancer, you can almost hear the tires as your life comes to a screeching halt. Time stands still, everything moves in slow motion. “I don’t understand. I don’t understand what you’re telling me. I don’t understand.” And that about sums up my reaction.

I think, in many ways, my life since my loved one’s diagnosis, if I am not careful, could head to a place that isn’t all that good.

I live my life, skating along the edge. What most people take for granted, I often have to work very hard for and sometimes even struggle for.

In the recent past, I have partied too much, slept too much, stayed up too much and stayed out late too much and have done something, anything and everything to avoid having to feel.

As always, I love that I can be there for everybody else in my world but I fail to show up for myself.

I sometimes look in the mirror and as they say, don’t really recognize the woman staring back at me. Nobody knows. I am always “up” – always extroverted – high profile – always the one person that brings levity to the room….the one that makes everyone laugh – the one who always helps solve other’s problems –

I am getting to be a better and better actress. Because of who I am, everyone and I mean everyone knows if something’s wrong so I have to use all of my tricks to be “on” so that people won’t notice. Plus, I have to focus on work so I work very hard to push it all to the back burner – to keep it at arm’s length so I can do my job.

So, I’ve seen with my own eyes the impact a person’s attitude has on cancer.

You know what I was thinking today? If Doctors lied and told their patients their life expectancy was longer than the data said it is supposed to be? …would people outlive that time frame? I think some would. Damn that ethical oath thing.

Anyone that has tried to talk to me about it gets to witness a complete meltdown. I have never cried so hard and so much in my lifetime.

I am angry. And anger is power.

I don’t really care about much of anything except my loved one at present. The gift is that I look at things differently now. I look at problems and see them as tiny. I just had my apartment and everything in it nearly completely destroyed – it’s in disarray and I have concrete floors and a dozen machines trying to dry it out and it doesn’t upset me in the least.

People (we all do) worry about and get upset over the most insignificant things. Relationships matter – people matter – love matters..the rest is all stuff. You can rebuild and replace stuff but you cannot get time back. You cannot get people back.

No matter how much you prepare – no matter how much you pray that you are prepared, there is absolutely nothing that can.

Sometimes, I’m afraid if I stop running, I will be overcome and overwhelmed with pain.

I don’t know a lot of things but this I  know for certain: I will be an advocate, a warrior, pure courage. I am a force to be reckoned with.

photo credit: Hibr