The Century Mark

100 blogs?

Wow!

It seems like just 154 days ago that this ride began.

And here we are 64,031 words later, at least that’s what my computer tells me.

I can still remember my first day in the blogosphere, sitting at the computer, basically writing a story for myself.

I can also remember my second day.

And my third day.

But it was the fifth day that really opened my eyes.   That was the day that I wrote a blog titled, “Mom and Me”.

It was about my 80-year old mother.

At the time she had just moved into an assisted living facility about 15 minutes from our house.

We had tried to have her live with us, but let’s just say, it didn’t work out.

Over the next five months, I wrote about my mom many more times.

I wrote about our weekly Tuesday lunches.

I wrote about her joining a choir. 

But the subject that got the most attention were the stories I wrote about her bipolar condition.

The feedback and support I received absolutely blew me away.

I have always enjoyed writing and I have always enjoyed telling stories, but it wasn’t until this blog that I realized I could do both at the same time.

Unfortunately the circumstances of that revelation was the end of a 25-year career in the world of TV production.

By becoming a member of the unemployed I discovered emotions that I had never felt before.

Some of them were sad.  Some were depressed, but to be perfectly honest, most of them have been very positive.

I have fallen in love with a true sense of freedom.

As I mentioned yesterday, I am just now finally returning to the working world by picking up a couple of local freelance jobs.

And that’s a good thing.

But I have really grown to love my life as a stay-at-home dad.

I love the opportunity that I have had to spend countless hours with my family.

I love the opportunity to be the singer in a brand new neighborhood rock band.

But the thing that I love the most is the person I have become in the last five months.

I started seeing a therapist back in the early part of 2009 after losing my job.

Despite an optimism for life, watching your career get flushed down the toilet can be pretty depressing.

One of the first goals that we set in therapy was to have me become more present with my family.

Many times I was physically there, but my mind was wandering.

This was definitely the case when I was working.

My kids would say something like -- Hey Dad -- and I would say Pittsburgh.

Or they would say -- Do you want to (fill in the blank)... -- and I would say Tuesday.

Not my proudest moment.

So actually connecting with my family was a lot more difficult than it sounded.

Enter the blog.

As pathetic as this may be, I probably needed this little unpaid writing gig to become who or what I have become.

There's that damn, "everything happens for a reason" cliche again.

Pretty much every minute of every day now is spent thinking, “Would that make a good blog?”

And based on the wide range of subject matter I have covered in the last 99 entries -- from Spelling Bees to Judaism, my appearance on CNN to gambling on the Super Bowl -- I think it is working.

Not every one of my blogs is headed to Cooperstown, but the fact that I am actually paying attention is an accomplishment beyond words.

It has never been my goal to become the most popular unemployed guy in the world, but I must say it still makes me feel like a kid on Christmas morning when I get a new follower on Facebook or Twitter.

I truly love sharing my stories with you, but even more, I love when you share your stories with me.

And isn't that what this is all about?

As we enter my new century of blogs, I have a little request.

If you like my writing, send my link to one person.

If you love my writing, make it a double.

That’s it.

If you don’t, then don’t.

I promise I won’t put a curse on you.

Here’s to another 100 blogs.

Emotions in Motion

Each time I write a new blog, one of my top priorities is making it entertaining for you.

I truly appreciate you taking time out of your life to read about mine.

I must warn you, this blog is different.

This time I am writing it for me and I have a feeling it will be a long one.

If you can't take it and you need to leave, I totally understand. All I ask is that you give me another chance next time.

Writing my blog has been one of the most therapeutic experiences of my life and considering the stressful recipe that my life is cooking up these days, it is great to have an outlet.

I am writing this blog in the computer room at my 80-year old mother’s assisted living facility. It is currently 12:07am and it will be much later when I finish.

As I unfortunately predicted a few weeks ago, she was on the verge of another bipolar episode.

Well, it is here. Loud and clear.

We’ve been trying to head this one off by adjusting her medication, but unfortunately it isn't working.

My wake-up call this morning was from two managers at her residence. They informed me that her behavior in the last few days was quite abnormal.

So abnormal that I really don’t feel comfortable sharing what I was told.

She has been living there for seven months and fortunately this was the first time this call came my way.

After living on her own for the last 20+ years, 1000 miles away, she moved in with me and my family about a year ago.

But after two different episodes landed her in the hospital, we made the painful, but necessary move.

We found a place, about 15 minutes from my home, that was not only acceptable, but actually fantastic.

They cook all her meals, deliver all medications, do her laundry, clean her room....

We should all have it that good.

All was well until a couple of weeks ago, about the same time that I shared with her that I was headed to New York for a job interview.

Nobody else will validate my thoughts, but I have no other answer for what may caused her latest episode.

I have been told by people much older and wiser than me that it is a waste of my time to try and figure out what set her off, this time.

But if there is one thing that I have plenty of these days it’s time.

Well no matter what caused it, the bottom line is she is currently knee deep into a manic phase.

Among the traditional issues that take place during one of those episodes is spending money.

And it's usually on some unusual purchases.

This time was no different.

These days she doesn’t have many financial resources at her fingertips, but she is a resourceful one, that mother of mine.

Last week when the snack man made his monthly visit, she bought $94 in nuts, charging it to her room. We have since cancelled that option.

Then she convinced an employee from the building to take her to WalMart to buy things that she desperately needed.

That trip cost another $134.

In case you were wondering, among those critical items were nine new bras.

When I asked her why nine, she told me there were seven days in a week.

Of course there are.

When I got the call this morning, it was not a surprise. Unfortunately I saw it coming, I just didn't know when.

I picked her up and took her to the hospital where I was hoping a medication adjustment and a couple of days of R&R would get her back on track.

I don’t think she has slept in weeks. That’s another one of the usual suspects.

As I am writing this, in the middle of the night, she is in the lobby of the building sleeping in a rocking chair.

At least she's sleeping.

Perhaps the first sign I notice when things are not right is her rambling. It goes something like this.

She does all the talking, you do none.

Today at the hospital, when they were looking to admit her, they asked her why she was there.

You would’ve thought the question was – take me back 25 years and tell me every thing that has happened.

And I mean EVERY thing.

About 45 seconds into her answer, the nurse turned to me and I said, “Pyschosis.”

I must’ve answered correctly, because that one word got us a room.

Once we got settled, I asked her that same question again to see if the answer had changed.

“Do you know why we are here?”

She quickly answered, “a lot of people think I’m going through a nervous breakdown.”

I’m afraid that was the correct answer.

While mental illness may still be looked at as the disease of the crazy, I have noticed that more people are willing to open up about it.

In the last few months I have had conversations with three of my closest friends who have told me, without me asking, that are using anti-depressant medications.

I don’t know that they would’ve admitted that ten years ago.

Just today on the radio, I heard the manager of a major league baseball team say that one of his pitchers is trying to come back this year from arm surgery......... and clinical depression.

When did that become ok to talk about?

Even as I write this, anonymously, I am still not totally comfortable talking about this topic.

But as they say, if even one person can learn from my mom’s situation, I guess we will all be better off.

I can honestly say that I didn’t understand death until my father died. I was 35 years old.

And I can honestly say that I didn’t understand mental illness until my mom moved in with me. A year ago.

Why can’t she just control herself? Doesn’t she realize what she is doing?

What do you mean her chemicals are imbalanced? Just sleep already and you’ll be fine!

It took me a LONG time to comprehend that her behavior is not her fault.

But as hard as I try to pass the sensitivity test, I keep failing.

The entire time we were in the ER today my mom was talking. I didn’t say a word, not one.

The two nurses in the room heard every word she was saying.

And that was a lot of words.

At one point, I caught one of the nurses staring at me from across the room as if to say either I feel for you or wow, you have given up.

It breaks my heart to think that I have given up, but I’m afraid the nurse might be right.

I realize I don’t have a whole lot of emotional strength or compassion left in me these days, but I have got to keep reminding myself that the person in my mom’s body right now is not my mom.

It is the product of a woman who has endured several tragedies in her life, perhaps none more devastating than being born with a bipolar disorder.

It’s not her fault! It’s not her fault! It’s not her fault!

That's me talking to myself.

The hospital did an evaluation of her, both medically and emotionally, and to my absolute surprise and tremendous frustration, they found nothing that would validate admitting her to the hospital.

Nothing!

Nothing?

Her primary doctor called. The assisted living folks called. I expressed my deepest concern.

But the hospital said there was nothing they witnessed first hand that would change their opinion.

They asked me to sign her discharge papers, which I would not.

I told them that their decision was wrong.

Even with that protest, moments later we left to go back to her home.

She started talking from the moment my car started. I literally did not say one word.

Not one.

Until she asked me about 40 minutes in, are you tired of listening to me?

“Yes,” I said.

She paused for about ten seconds, then went into another story.

I was asked by the assisted living facility to spend the night tonight to be there in case there was a problem.

It’s now 2:24 in the morning and she's still sleeping.

In the lobby.

Madden or Mirtazapine?

According to webmd.com, there are no fewer than 24 medications for depression.

They run from A to Z, or technically Adapin to Zoloft.

I am happy to say that medications have not been part of my diet during my 25 years of employment OR 14 months of unemployment, but in the last year, there have been days where I could’ve used the positive energy boost in my Jamba Juice.

Today was one of those days, but instead of giving Amitrityline or Imipramine a taste, I used a prescription that wasn’t on the list --- Madden.

As in, Madden 2009, the video game.

Today’s mood swing was a quick one, but thankfully it was adjusted with the help of the Wii, instead of a dose of Wellbutrin.

My son and I completed a game where the Colts defeated the Chargers 34-30 on a last-second hail mary. The outcome was insignificant, to me, but in less than 20 minutes, one game of Madden picked up my attitude quicker than Lexapro or Norpramin.

And with none of those amazing side effects that make us all giggle.

Don’t let my sense of humor confuse you, the last few hours were some of the toughest I have had since becoming unemployed.

I’ve had my share of pity parties during this unemployment episode, but depression has not really been an issue.

To be perfectly honest, today looked a whole lot like the rest of the days with lots of family time and very little stress.

That all changed in a sixteen minute phone call with an old friend, actually a former boss of mine.

This former boss is one of my favorite people in the world and somebody who truly showed me how to succeed in the business world -- until I lost my job of course.

I don’t get a chance to talk to him much, but when I do, it usually ends with, “if there is anything I can do, let me know.”

And he means it.

He also meant what he said during the phone call when he gave me a swift kick in the pants.

ENOUGH IS ENOUGH, IT’S TIME TO START KNOCKING DOWN DOORS instead of leaving flowers on the doorstep.

He made it clear that this journey of finding a job wasn’t going to happen on its own and I needed to force the issue.

His words cut into me like a steak knife, leaving an immediate mark in my medium-rare skin.

I certainly understand his nothing-to-lose, go-for-it mentality, especially from someone who has a job, but the bottom line is he is right.

Well, just like when I worked for my friend, he still knows exactly what buttons to push to get me going.

In the end, I’m guessing that his challenge will motivate me and hopefully have some positive results.

Unfortunately, the immediate reaction to the phone call sent me into a three-hour tailspin.

The bottom line is he made me feel bad, a feeling a felt through the entire afternoon. I’m sure that was not his goal and to be quite honest, I’m not sure what I felt bad about.

Just like depression, lack of confidence has never been on my resume and I certainly don’t doubt my abilities.

For the last year, I have made every effort to find a job. I really have, despite the lack of results.

Searching the internet, emailing my contacts, following up with phone calls, reaching out to pretty much everyone I know in this world.

Well, we’ve seen where that got me.

Maybe it’s time to try another prescription.