The Music That Keeps Me Alive
This post discusses suicide and suicidal ideation.
Introduction
I found out I have bipolar disorder at the end of 2017. I was 42 years old1.
Things kicked off with a manic episode. It was pretty awesome, actually2. I'd totally be into doing it again except for two things:
- bipolar episodes cause brain damage
- bipolar depression usually follows the mania
I felt pummeled after coming down. Hurting physically. Exhausted mentally. I don't have a clear memory of the time. I don't remember how long the slide into depression took. I just know it crushed me. Not wanting to do anything other than sleep. Then, not wanting to do even that.
I ended up the psych ward3.
The IOP
When I left the ward, I took an elevator down three floors, walked into Intensive Outpatient Program4 and signed up. Four hours of group therapy every day for seven weeks.
Mostly, it didn't do much for me. The majority of the group were drug addicts. The therapists focused things though that lens5. I just went with the flow, but there was one thing of value and it saved my life.
The Tent Pole
We did various exercises in the program. One was coming up with different coping strategies. Things we could do when we started slipping down our various spirals.
The idea was to come up with five or six. From those, you'd pick one as your "tent pole". The go-to thing you could do at any time to push back against the slide. Mine was music6.
It doesn't matter what's going on in my head. No matter how dark things have gotten, I can turn on some tunes and slide into them like water.
Everything else washes away. Dangerous thoughts fade, replaced by rhythms and melodies.
My Playlist
A key requirement of the tent pole is that you can get to it quickly. You don't want to be screwing around for ten minutes before it starts helping.
For me, that means a playlist. It's called "Uplifting Songs (Tent Pole)". It sits at the top of my library7. Ready to go whenever I need it.
Here's what it sounds like in its current iteration:
Healing Notes
I haven't used it much. A few times when I could feel myself starting to get a little down. It was nice to have even though I could have gotten by without it.
But, once, it saved my life. The spiral came without warning. I was in the depths before I knew what was happening. Laying in my bed, thoughts hammering away. Convincing me it wasn't worth going on.
Then, I hit play, and everything was alright.
Footnotes
Folks generally figure out they have bipolar disorder way earlier in life. I was "high functioning" enough that things didn't hit the wall for me until much later.
I'll write more about it one of these days. I'll also publish the recordings I made during the trip. (Delusions of Grandeur are no joke, btw)
A write up of things spiraling down to the point that I couldn't see the point of going on and how that lead me to the psych ward (which was absolutely the right place for me to go)
Intensive Outpatient Programs (IOPs) and Partial Hospitalization Program (PHPs) were both terms used for the therapy sessions. I'm not sure what the criteria is that make the difference.
For example, they kept asking me what the trauma was from earlier in my life that winded me up in the program. I kept having to remind them that my thing wasn't about trauma. It's that the chemicals in my brain decided to go sideways because that's how I'm wired.
The therapist leading the session argued against music at first. Saying I couldn't guarantee I could get to music. They gave other examples like getting up doing jumping jacks. I just held up my phone.
Well, it's usually at the top of my library. Music apps seem to love shifting things around arbitrarily.