A Crash Course in My Hypomania

Today I'm in the exact opposite position that I was in the last post I wrote. Last time, I was super depressed. Today, I'm hypomanic. I decided to share with you what that means for me because it's not often people get to glimpse inside my hypomanic mind. I don't get hypomanic as often as I get depressed and most of the time my hypomania is mild. Today....not so mild.

First, I have to clarify. I have NO IDEA what triggered my hypomanic state. Yesterday I was depressed. Today....today is a whole new ball game. And I don't know why. I just am EXUBERANT! Or really happy/hyper...

Actually, one of the traits of being hypomanic is people can sort through things fast. People who are hypomanic often can get a lot done really well, given it stays controllable. So today I tackled the problem of how to describe my hypomanic episode and I'm going to share it with you.

When I'm hypomanic, I have much worse impulse control. If it gets too bad, I lose all impulse control. Today it's controllable....barely. It started with really wanting to go to the store and buy things. For some reason, shopping is an impulse that many people with bipolar disorder struggle with. I don't need to buy anything, so my brain started to create reasons I needed to go to a store to buy things. I need to do a craft project! I have a great idea now that I need to do. Since I don't have the stuff, I need to buy it. Which means I need to go to the store. I was actually in a better state when I had that impulse than I'm in now, so I reminded myself I have too much homework to do to do a craft project right now and hopped on the freeway instead of going to a store. But I REALLY want to go to a store and buy things. Anything. But that impulse was controlled. Much more extreme (and more dangerous) impulse was on the freeway. I had to swerve slightly to avoid something on the road. My brain said "Oooo! That was fun! Do it again!" and I had to remind myself that swerving around on the freeway, while fun, is very dangerous. I don't want to die, or get in a horrible accident, so I didn't swerve on the freeway. I just really wanted to. It still sounds like it would have been fun to weave around at 75 miles an hour...Yes, I know how crazy that sounds. That's kind of my point.

When I'm hypomanic, my senses are much more intense. For example, lights are brighter. The colors are more vivid. Sunshine feels warmer. My food tastes better, and I can distinguish more flavors. When my foot went to sleep and I stood up on it, I relished in the slight tingling that was my leg trying to regain blood flow and feeling (then it started hurting, and I didn't relish the pain anymore). Sometimes things can totally overstimulate me because my senses are more intense. Like my bedroom lamp. I kind of want to shoot it because it feels too bright. But today I'm not really being overstimulated. When I'm overstimulated, it's like there's a noise, or pressure, or movement, going on inside my head that makes me want to go hide in a dark, quiet room. Right now, I'm relishing in noise and light and flavors, hopefully it stays in the relishing and not the weird painful without pain thing.

When I'm hypomanic, I talk faster and more and louder. I sometimes talk so fast that my brain can't really keep up with me. I have to think about slowing my speech down so that it doesn't freak people out. I ordered a burrito bowl with tortillas on the side and totally stuttered on the word tortillas because I started to say it and then my brain (almost like an echo) shouted out tortillas! So I said tortillas twice. Because my brain said it before it consciously registered. If I don't have someone to talk to, or a way to let my thoughts out (such as furiously typing on my keyboard right now), I talk to myself. Ok, I talk to myself other days, but not like this. It's fast and furious and I laugh at myself and tell myself exactly what I'm thinking exactly as I think it. It's kind of trippy. But pretty much all of being hypomanic is trippy.

When I'm hypomanic, I feel like I need to be in constant movement. My dh tried to calm me down by cuddling me (didn't work by the way). I thought I was being so good at controlling my movement while we cuddled until I realized I was clenching and unclenching my jaw, just to keep moving. Now I'm typing fast and furious, so I'm good, but while driving I found myself tapping my feet to the music, moving my head up and down, even conducting some of the songs. When I was talking to my friend on the phone I was practically skipping around my apartment. I'm kind of tempted to go to the gym and exercise, but I think it would fuel my hypomanic episode right now instead of calming it down. I don't need to fuel it. I need to simmer, not run faster... Sometimes the movement is involuntary, like the jaw clenching. Other times it's me being silly, childish even. Like pulling faces, doing little dances, etc. But I'm ALWAYS moving.

When I'm hypomanic my brain runs super fast. Sometimes it's like my head gets crowded with thoughts. Tonight, it's almost the opposite. I think so fast that by the time I finish a thought, it's already gone. I keep losing my place as I write this, because even though I'm a really fast typist, my thoughts are going much faster than my fingers. 

When I'm hypomanic, I have to be doing two or three things at once. Or I have to be super super involved in what I'm thinking about. I know that seems like a contradiction. It kind of is. I either need a lot going on, or just one thing. Example of a lot going on: I'm listening to my husband's TV show while typing this. I'm also bobbing my head to inaudible music. And I have been having 2-3 conversations going on through text messaging. And I keep thinking about other things too. My brain is just all over the place. But the other side of the coin is when I am super focused on only one thing. I caught myself in this state as I was driving home. I found myself staring at the road incredibly intensely and not paying attention to anything else. Which is bad. So I put music on to give my brain multiple things to think about instead. 

When I'm hypomanic I get project ideas like crazy and I want to do them. I start lots of projects and don't finish most of them. My hypomania dies out before I finish the project and then it gets put aside. I want to be doing things, generating ideas, using my brain, and creativity is one of the best ways for me to do it. It's probably healthy for me to paint or crochet or collage or whatever else comes to my mind. But I just wish I could keep the motivation once the hypomania goes away....

Sometimes when I'm hypomanic, I get grandiose thoughts. I think I can do things I can't do, or I do everything extremely well. I forget my own limits. Luckily today I'm not experiencing that. But I could see it switching to that if I'm not careful.

When I'm hypomanic, my moods are super high and it takes a lot for me to feel ANYTHING but ecstatic. I scared my husband and made him sad, but I couldn't quit grinning and laughing, even though I really wanted to take away the pain my disorder caused him. But all I could do was talk to him. Which since it was so fast and jumbled, scared him worse. Yeah... that didn't go well. 

I'm trying hard to see how these things are bad. Because right now I just feel SOO good. But really, these are not normal and good. Maybe one or two at a time happens when you have a particularly good day, but frankly, my day kind of sucked. I spent most of it dealing with stomach problems. But it feels like the best day EVER!! I'm losing control over myself. That's what scares me. Right now, I can control my impulses alright. I can slow down my speaking if I need to. I can tap my fingers in order for my body to get it's movement. But what if I go that extra little bit and lose all control? It's possible. And that's the scary part. That and the crash that always seems to follow the high...

And yes, I'm going to talk with a doctor, because rotating between depression and  hypomania like this shouldn't happen while I'm on meds. Yay for a med change?

Some days the Demon wins....

Sometimes I don't feel like writing. Not because I don't like to write. Not because I have nothing to write about. But because the idea of exposing my inner emotions is terrifying. Today is one of those terrifying days.

What am I afraid of?

I'm afraid of the inner voice in my head that says "you're making it up" and "you're not trying hard enough".

Of course those thoughts are juxtaposed with "what's the point of trying if you're just going to fail" and "nothing  you do will ever be good enough".

Sometimes I have these thoughts when I'm balanced. But when I'm balanced I can laugh it off and say "Pshh, I got this. Go away negative voices." And of course when I'm hypomanic I don't even think I can't do things. But my demon, the thing I hate and fear most in my life, is the recurring depressive episodes, and while in a depressive episode those voices crowd around me so tight I feel like I can barely breathe, much less think straight.

Right now I'm in the midst of a depressive episode. And admitting that on this blog is hard to do. I mean, I can type the words, but as soon as I do I have an impulse to erase everything I've written. No one wants to read about my struggles. They want to hear about happy Beans, about succeeding Beans, not a Beans that couldn't get out of bed today, who used stomach problems as an excuse to skip class, who curled up under a blanket and who has fought the tears from spilling down my cheeks all day. They want to read about how my medicine is working great and I'm doing well in school, not that I'm so behind in one of my classes I'm considering dropping it and trying again next semester and that I'm slowly teaching my teachers they can't expect me to succeed by not doing well in one class after another.

The worst part is I don't feel like I can reach out to my teachers and say "Hey, my depression is acting up. Can you help?" Because depression in my mind is still something so negative. I don't judge other people when they're depressed, but I'm my own worst critic. Because my depression is not as bad as it has been sometimes I tell myself it doesn't really count. I should be able to suck it up and deal with life. Missing school has no excuse. Plenty of people would cut off their right arm to have the opportunities I've been given.

But depression isn't logical. I can't logic it away, and trust me I've tried. I'm ridiculously logical and sometimes too literal (ask my in laws who have teased me about it). But no matter how much I want to logically tell myself I can do hard things, right now, school (which is pretty much my entire life) seems like an insurmountable wall.

As a proponent of medication, you're probably wondering why I haven't called my doctor up and said "hey! My medicine isn't working right. We need to fix it!" And you're right that doing so is the logical step...if I weren't having other health concerns that are taking precedence. Long story short, I'm most likely going to be put on a different medication for a different concern next week and that could mess with my moods so my pdoc won't change anything until I've been on that medication for a little while. And then I have to wait for the bipolar medication to take effect...which can take a while. So unless my moods magically switch (which I suppose is possible, though highly unlikely given my history), I'm going to be stuck fighting depression for a little while.

Which leaves me with the problem of this insurmountable semester. Somehow I have to keep going when all I want to do is curl up in blankets like a burrito, sleep, and cry. Or not cry. Sometimes I feel nothing. Today is just a cry day. But how in the world am I supposed to deal with college when I can't even convince myself showering is a good idea? How am I supposed to do my homework and study for tests when I can't even get out of bed?

I have no idea how I'm going to make it through the next week, much less the next 10. Step one is to contact the disability resource center and see what they think I should do about alerting instructors. Step two is to face tomorrow and pray it's better than today. Step three is to somehow, someway, succeed in getting the inner voices, the voices that are fed by my depression, to shut up. I can do step one. The rest....well...we'll see.

Turns Out, I'm Beautiful

The most amazing thing has happened in my life the last few days: I've transitioned from feeling fat and uncomfortable in my skin to believing I'm beautiful and radiant.

I've been making a lot of strides lately. I'm balanced and happy (but not too happy) on my medication combo. Even my anxiety is in check. I've been working on strengthening friendships and reaching out to people who support me. I'm trying hard to change how I view myself as a student (I doubt myself a lot there) and passing all my classes this last semester despite one of them really challenging me has helped there. But I haven't really felt beautiful for a long time. I have moments when I feel beautiful, but they're encompassed by the feeling that I'm overweight and unattractive. Even my wonderful husband's support and encouragement and statements that he still finds me beautiful didn't really help. They would for a moment. Then I'd look down again and see my belly roll and go back to feeling unattractive.

The reality is I'm a solid 50+ lbs overweight and bigger than I've ever been in my life. And every pound I gain made me feel more and more unattractive. The burden I placed on myself as I gained weight is much more detrimental to my emotional health than the actual weight is to my physical health. I've never before had a lower self esteem while stable. It got so bad that my husband questioned whether or not I was still depressed because I doubted my own capabilities and attractiveness so much. I didn't have a good answer for him. I knew I wasn't depressed, but I definitely had a negative self-image.

I'm not sure exactly how my self-image changed and I'm the last person in the world who could try and help someone else figure out how to improve their self image. But in the last week I went from beating myself up for being overweight to feeling beautiful. And as I've changed emotionally, others have begun to notice and reinforce my beliefs.

I'd like to say it was all an internal battle: that my willpower and self determination was all it took to change my view of myself, but that's not true. One of the things that helped the most was buying a new wardrobe. I went shopping with my sisters and bought shirts that fit me, shirts that flatter me or stylistically hang loose. I think having a new, well fitting wardrobe made a big impact. And having people compliment me in the new clothes also made a big difference.

As strange as it seems, admitting that my weight gain is partially out of my control has been liberating. I'm not saying I can't make a difference, but part of what is going on is my medication. I haven't wanted to admit that my medication is part of my weight problem because it's so dang good for me in every other way. I'm so balanced and happy on it! I don't want it to be associated with anything negative. But the reality is I was warned by my doctor that even if I did everything right, ate well and exercised well, I might still gain weight on my mood stabilizer. And I haven't been doing everything right. I crave sugar like no other on this medication, so even if the medicine isn't causing me to gain weight directly, it's influencing me by causing me to crave sweets. Which I eat. I've gained 20 to 30 lbs (I'm not sure exactly) since I started this medication a year ago. It took me almost 3 years to gain that much weight before I started the medicine. There's definitely a connection. (Don't worry, I'm not going to just blame my medication and do nothing about it. Next step in my self improvement plan is to  change my diet and start exercising).

I don't know exactly how my self image changed. I think what finally happened is a combination of admitting my weight gain isn't all my fault, new clothes, compliments, lots and lots of love (and sister time), and most importantly, day after day after day of challenging my self doubts and negative thoughts. Mix all of those together and I finally have come out on top.

Turns out, I'm beautiful just the way I am.

Accepting my Crazy

I'm not sure exactly how to start this post. It's really sensitive and really personal. It also has the possibility of resulting in people judging me. So I'm a little anxious as I type this, but the point of my blog was to share my journey with bipolar disorder and this is a big chunk of my journey, so I feel like I need to share. I want to open up the doors so stigmas are pushed aside and broken. I want people to see a normal me and realize bipolar disorder is exactly that: a disorder. It is a part of my life, it has shaped me into who I am, but it does not define me. Anyway, I'm digressing. The point is, I hope you are reading this with an open mind.

The topic for today's post is psychosis. I'm going to use Healthline's page about psychosis as my base for this post. It seems fairly comprehensive while still being easy to follow. If you want more info than I provide, feel free to look here: http://www.healthline.com/health/psychosis. 

According to Healthline, "Psychosis is a serious mental disorder characterized by thinking and emotions that are so impaired, that they indicate that the person experiencing them has lost contact with reality. People who are psychotic have false thoughts (delusions) and/or see or hear things that are not there (hallucinations)." It goes on to define delusions as "a false belief or impression that is firmly held even though it is contradicted by reality and what is commonly held as true." Of particular importance to this post are grandiose delusions and paranoid delusions. Hallucinations are defined as "a sensory perception in the absence of outside stimulus. That means seeing, hearing, feeling, or smelling something that isn't present".

So why do you care? Only schizophrenics experience psychosis, right? I'm not schizophrenic. Wrong to the first part, right to the second. I'm bipolar. One of the lesser known pieces of bipolar disorder that isn't often talked about is the potential for psychosis. It can occur in either the depressive end or the manic end. Some people experience it every time they are high or every time they are low. Some people only have it happen once or twice. Some people with bipolar disorder never experience it.

Up until yesterday night I would have told anyone who asked that I'm one of the lucky ones who never experienced it. That would have been a lie, but I would have said it anyway, because I didn't want to admit even to myself that I've crossed the border to actual "crazy". Psychosis seems about as crazy as you can get--losing touch with reality. I didn't want to put that label on myself. But I have lost touch with reality. And it was as scary as hell.

If I experienced psychosis, why has it taken me nine years to admit it? Was I just afraid to admit it to myself? Partially, but the other half is it involves a "spiritual" experience that up until recently I would have sworn was a legit spiritual experience. Let me clarify: I am a religious person. I always have been and don't see that going away any time soon. I believe God sometimes does send impressions and thoughts into our minds to guide us and direct us. I've had experiences where I've very clearly felt inspired to do something that has turned out to be the best possible thing. I believe this was God inspiring my heart. So when I had a "spiritual" experience that was very clear in my mind, I just chalked it up to revelation from God. But it wasn't. I will stand before anyone today and say that my "spiritual" experience of that night back in 2007 was not a real spiritual experience. It was my brain taking a break from reality.

It started as a murmur of voices in my mind, so many that it felt like static. I had to tune them in and then they all stopped. Then God and his angels started discussing my life and I got to be part of the audience. It was an amazing hour or so. Maybe not even that long. It was fantastic though. I don't remember what was said exactly. I do remember that I was destined for absolute greatness. I was a pivotal part of God's plan for the Earth.

How do I know it wasn't real? If I believe God can communicate with His children that way, how do I know this wasn't? There are several facts that stand out to me now. 

1. I was in a high mood state at that time of my life. It was probably the happiest time in my entire life. I was high! A symptom of hypomania (or even mania). Everything was going my way and I was a bit beyond happy.  

2. I was also experiencing paranoia. The government was spying on me, or was going to spy on me.

3. I had other minor breaks with reality. On multiple occasions, I felt very strongly that someone I loved had died. I was on an exchange in Germany at the time and I honestly believed that a friend had been killed in Afghanistan and a leader in my church had died on two separate occasions and that the only reason I hadn't been told was because I was far from home. I started checking the names of soldiers who died because I knew my friends name would appear on it. No one died while I was gone. It was a break with reality. There were other small examples too, but I think those are best.

4. I had some delusions of grandeur at the time. When the government wasn't already spying on me in my mind, they were going to backtrack my life at a later point to check me out because I was that important. 

5. Maybe the most important. Remember those glorious things that were supposed to happen in my life? It's been nine years and only one of them has happened: I got married to an amazing man (something that happens to many people by my age). But some of the things were on a time schedule and they haven't happened.

Add those five major and several other minor things (that I'm not going into tonight) together and you can see that my head was not in a clear spot. At the very least I was hypomanic. I might have been in a full mania, but I've never talked with a doctor about it, so I don't know. The point is, my crazy awesome spiritual experience was nothing more than another facet of my then broken mind. 

Back then I knew something was wrong, mostly because of the paranoia and belief that people were dying. I even emailed a friend (remember, I was thousands of miles from my family and friends) asking them if they thought I was sane. They, not knowing everything and frankly not being qualified to diagnose me said I was fine. So I trusted them. Because I didn't know what else to do. It's taken 9 years for me to be in a spot where I can say I lost contact with reality. And today I can say I'm ok with that. 

There have been multiple times since then where I've had minor breaks with reality--minor delusions and minor beliefs in my greatness, etc. But that was the most dazzling. I'm lucky, frankly, that my hallucinations and delusions are minor. Even my crazy night in 2007 was minor compared to what many people experience. I wish it never happened. It caused many years of confusion and even doubt in my beliefs. I knew something was off about that time period in my life, but the delusions and hallucinations became wrapped up in my testimony of God and personal revelation that I couldn't distinguish what was real revelation and what was my disorder talking. It's taken almost 4 years after my diagnosis to separate most of it out, and there might still be things mixed up. But it doesn't matter now. I have a simple rule of thumb going forward: God will always reinforce his promptings as many times as we need to hear them. Delusions and hallucinations go away after my brain calms down. And now I have my husband as a bouncing board. There have been several times I've been "prompted" to do something and my dh has told me, um, no. And he's been right. After my brain has calmed down, I can logically process why it wasn't a good idea. 

It sucks not being able to always trust your brain. Psychosis is a nasty pill that I would love if I never took again. Ideally the medication that is treating me so well right now, the one that has me balanced and normal-happy, will keep on working and I won't have to face it. The reality is medications stop working after a while and I may face the beast yet again. And that's ok. Because I know what it is now which takes away most of its bite.

Thoughts About Jean Shopping

This post isn't a bipolar post. Well, mostly it isn't. Today's post is primarily a girl post. My bipolar journey plays a little bit into the post, but not much, so read on only if you're interested in girl-things.

Today I accomplished a major feat. I went jean shopping by myself and succeeded. For guys, going jean shopping isn't that big of a deal. While different brands have slight variations, most jeans look good on most guys and sizing is fairly consistent. With girls, there's nothing consistent or easy about jean shopping. Every brand is completely different, often with major differences between the different cuts even by the same brand. And then there's the sizing issues (which I'll get into more later).

Of course, being a girl, the biggest concern is "how does my butt look in these?" Not kidding there. We all want to have a defined, but not too defined butt. We don't want it to be too accentuated, but a little attention wouldn't be bad. As long as we don't have a saggy-butt problem or too perky butt. The reality is jeans make or break how your butt looks and it's REALLY hard to see your own butt. This is the biggest reason you need a friend or someone to go jean shopping with you. You need them to stare at your butt and tell you whether or not your butt looks good in those jeans. Taking pictures and sending them to someone else doesn't work very well, at least I haven't mastered the art of the butt-selfie (yes, I've tried). I'm perfectly fine shopping by myself 90% of the time, except when I go jean shopping.

Except today.

See, today I had a rough morning. I drove all the way to school only to get to class and not have the TA that was supposed to lead the section show up. I was grumpy. Really grumpy. I'm not one of those students who lives on campus. I live in a city about an hour away and between parking, walking, and taking the train (cheaper than on-campus parking), it takes me an hour and a half to get to school. An hour and a half there and an hour and a half home for a class where I sat waiting for 30 minutes for nothing. I admit it, I'm still a little grumpy. It was an utter waste of almost four hours. I needed something positive to do so I decided to go shopping. Jean shopping.

I don't know why I thought jean shopping was a good idea. I guess I didn't really think about it. My only pair of jeans that fit just developed a hole, and not a cute hole that might look like it's supposed to be there. A big gaping hole that showed off my underwear. Since we don't have a lot of money, I figured I'd allow myself the joy of shopping (I like it), but I'd buy what I need. New jeans. And the first store I went to wasn't too bad. I only looked on the sale racks and there were only a few pairs of jeans in my size, but one of them fit and to the best of my vision, my butt looked okay in them. Not super sexy, but right now, I'm overweight. I'm not going to have that cute perky butt that I have when I'm 2-3 sizes smaller.

Maybe I should have left well enough alone. Maybe I should have accepted that the jean-gods had smiled on me once today and that was all I was going to get, but I don't know when to quit. I went to another store to try and find jeans in my size again. Problem with jean shopping right now: skinny jeans are in. I look horrible in skinny jeans. Even though I was at a bigger store than the first one, the selection was worse, at least worse for someone who doesn't look good in skinny jeans. There were no jeans that fit me well. So I went to another store. This is where the depression hit.

Here's the thing to remember: there is no standard sizes for women's jeans. A 12 in one brand is not necessarily the same as a 12 in another brand. Each brand, and sometimes each cut in each brand has it's own stupid sizing rules. I bought a 14 at the first store I went to so I figured I'd be a 14 at this new store. Wrong. Not only were all of the 14s too small, the pair I grabbed that looked super cute but said 17 was too small. Part of me felt like crying. I know I'm a little bit overweight (for my body type), but am I really that big? It's a good thing I had the success as store 1 or I might have been a lot more devastated by the size 17 debacle. As is, I tried hard to be logical. "It's a flaw of the clothing industry, not a flaw with your gorgeous body". Ok, I didn't say that. Or even think it. I just wish I had.

Two stores later I finally found them. The jeans that fit. Snug enough that they're not going to fall down without a belt. My butt seemed a normal size (not too big). It didn't seem saggy or too perky or too defined. They weren't the perfect butt pants--whatever those are--but they seemed to look good to the best of my view. I still wish I'd had a friend to stare at my butt and agree or disagree with my judgement, but I think I did alright. It only took me four stores, but I found jeans that I feel cute in. Maybe the jeans-gods had pity on me after the fourth store of the night. However it worked, I now own another pair of jeans. And the best part is I only paid $13.00 for them.

The bipolar/really girly part: I am an incredibly blessed and lucky person right now. I am balanced and in a healthy mindset. Having to go to 5 stores to find 2 pairs of jeans didn't phase me. If I weren't balanced right now, I think I would have given up and quit before I found that second pair of jeans. That size 17 pair of jeans only threw me for a little loop. I was able to return to my logical thoughts and say "this brand has a problem" instead of saying "I'm sooo fat!" I'm mentally healthy enough that I can say I'm beautiful, even if I'm wearing bigger jeans than I've ever worn in my life. It's taken me years of work to get to this point, but I have finally done it. Does that mean I'm not going to try and lose weight? Nope. I'm going to sign up for a health challenge and try to get healthy, but that's my focus, improving my health, not shrinking my waist.

Most women know how hard it is to have such a positive outlook about their body, even if they are in a healthy place. Society has such high standards for beauty that it's easy for us to say, "well, I don't look like Jennifer Lawrence (or insert celebrity of choice), therefore I'm not good enough." That's all a bunch of bogus. You are beautiful exactly the way you are. That doesn't mean you can't try to improve yourself, but it means that your goals for beauty shouldn't ever make you feel bad about how you are right now. Much easier said than done. I'm living proof that it's possible. Will I always be this positive? I highly doubt it. My moods most likely won't stay balanced forever. Heck, all it might take is one period to throw me off. But right now, I'm in a good spot.

And that's worth celebrating.

A New Year, Goals and Plans

Happy New Year everyone! I hope your 2016 is as fabulous as my 2015 was. Actually, scratch that. I hope your new year is as fabulous as I feel right now. See, I'm a positive person who tends to see things through a positive filter. I've had a rough year in many respects, but as I look back on the year, what I keep focusing on is the good things. New friends. Finally finding a medicine that balances me out. A bed bug free apartment (that was a nightmare). Visiting with family twice this year. Good grades at my first semester back at a university. It makes me happy to think of all the wonderful things that have happened this year. Yes, they were mixed in with a lot of bad things, but that's just how life works. When I'm balanced I get to choose how I view things and I like life better when I choose to focus on the good. I can only hope that next year finds me as balanced as I am right now so that I can choose to focus on the good in 2016 as well.

I'm really looking forward to this new year. It's a year that offers me a lot of challenges but it's starting off on the right track. It's starting with me balanced and with goals. Making goals and plans always helps me feel better. I don't know what it is about it, but I love making new goals. Maybe it's the fact that they challenge me. I like challenges (as long as they're not impossible). I like the satisfaction of achieving my goals. 

Goals for 2016: 

• Participate in a book challenge. I'm doing it with my friend. If I remember right, there are 50 categories. I kind of cheated and started at Christmas, but I plan on finishing by Christmas 2016 so it's a 1 year challenge, even if I stared it early. I just had time to kill and felt like reading. I'm 3 books in and looking forward to the next 47!

• Improving my piano skills. I'm hoping to get piano lessons to aid me on this journey, but even if it just involves me plunking out songs on my keyboard, I'll get better. The goal is to practice at least 5 times a week.

• Get healthier. I'm going to do this by participating in a health challenge. My goal is to eat more vegetables and fruit, limit my sugar, and start walking regularly. Nothing to drastic, just small changes that will make a big difference.

• Last but definitely not least I want to work on my spirituality. I'm a religious person and I want to draw closer to my God. I'm not going to go into this goal as much because it's very personal to me. 

As I look at this year, I can't help but look further down the road as well. Last summer I was telling anyone who'd listen about my 5 year plan, to the point that I had a friend buy me a cup with the words on it (pictured here). 

My 5 year plan is a bit more complicated but just as important as my 2016 goals.

• I want to be done with school. At least have my bachelor's degree under my belt. Maybe even my masters. I might do the 4 & 1 program offered by my university where I finish my bachelor's in 4 and my masters in 1 (because I double dip my senior classes with master's level courses). If I don't do that, I might not get my masters degree within 5 years, but I will definitely have my bachelors.

• Get a real job. I want to be working for a company that I plan on staying at for years. It needs to have a decent salary, which shouldn't be a problem considering my career choice. 

• Move into somewhere a little bigger. Last summer my goal was to be in a house within 5 years. Now I think I'd rather stay somewhere smaller until we've paid of my student loans and then worry about moving into a house. 

• Start my family. Right now we're not in a place to have kids. Within 5 years, that should change.

I hope to remain balanced during this time, but I'm realistic. There's a good chance I'll experience at least one depression or hypomanic episode in the next 5 years. It's life being bipolar. Medication only does so much. That's why I'm so grateful to be balanced right now. You never know how long it will last. 

Life is going to bring it's fair share of challenges as well as the good things. My five year plan has already changed some since this summer, it'll probably change again. That's just how life works. But I have a direction to head and that gives me a sense of confidence. I'm entering this new year with hope and happiness. Really, what more could I ask for right now?