Written March 25, 2026
By Julie S. Paschold
“Living in my head is a complicated place”—Brandon, from an
AA meeting
In celebration of World Bipolar Day (March 30), I am going
to talk about how mental illness can affect a person’s life. Specifically,
mine. You see, I have a mis-wired brain. Put it in any bucket you like, it
misfires sometimes, especially under stress, which, last Friday, reared its
ugly head.
Due to a busy schedule, my house was totally out of
order—dirty, things lying around: chaos reigned there. Yes, my house is usually a bit cluttered, but
this was beyond the usual. I had been teaching and reading my poetry at several
places, and hadn’t had a weekend free in quite a while to catch up on cleaning
and organizing. When my house gets out
of order, so does my brain. Welcome to trigger number one.
At my day job, we are going through a huge
reorganization—the whole company was bought out and everything is
changing—restructuring down to the computer programs and product names. Also, my
supervisor is retiring. I rely on my job for its steady predictability, but
that isn’t happening now. Trigger number two.
My daughter just had a health scare—and announced she is
moving 12 hours away. When my kids need me, I’m there. I don’t hold anything
back, or resent it. But…trigger number three.
And…to top it all off…I had an irregular mammogram. Needed
further examination. Now, I’ve been here before. On both sides. Had them biopsied/inspected.
So this means where they have looked before—is growing. Trigger number four.
I was afraid. Of all of this. The dirty house. The changes
in the job. The fact that my daughter would be far away. Whether I had cancer.
All of this set me off. Into catastrophizing. Like my friend
Brandon said, we’re afraid of what we cannot see. Life is short. I wanted to grab it all at
once, talk to people with whom I hadn’t connected in a while, wrap up things
that were undone before I deteriorated into nothing. Time seemed fleeting, and
everything seemed unknown and important. I couldn’t see anything in my fear,
which made me more afraid.
On Friday, I was at another poetry reading, and I was
triggered again...trigger number five…the straw that broke the camel’s back, so
to say. The reading happened to be nearby someone I haven’t seen for a while, and
hoping to see them turned into expecting to see them. They didn’t come. I panicked. I then did things I can’t take
back, and can’t apologize for. I pushed too far. Let my fearful brain take over.
Mental illness sleeps—it doesn’t go away. I
overreacted. Reacted in the wrong
way. Instead of slowing down, observing
my emotions, and choosing to act or change or wait, I created an ending.
But, as an alcoholic as well, I look at it this way. I didn’t drink. I stayed sober. Humans are imperfect. Time can heal. And an
ending—can create a beginning.
Now? Now, I’m taking a course on emotional regulation. I’m
giving it to my higher power. For the first time, I don’t have a finish line in
sight—no huge goal that I’m working on. I’m just taking it one step at a time.
I’m enjoying the journey.
An update on the irregular mammogram? Now I need a biopsy. Still an unknown. Still might have cancer.
Still stepping one foot in front of the other. But now, I’m not as afraid of
what I cannot see.
Saturday, on a walk, I found a heron’s feather that
resembled the one I found when I was first getting to know the person I let go
of. A new beginning? A sign? Or perhaps it is God’s way of saying I’m on my way
to where I need to go.
May you all have adventures and journeys worth stepping
into, and worth pondering.
And let’s not be afraid of what we cannot see.
Peace,
Julie
Posted March 27, 2026
