It’s not easy to ‘pause when agitated’

WEST PALM BEACH, Fla. — Some things don’t come easy for me, like “pause when agitated.”

I have heard this phrase for years and it makes a heck of a lot of sense. It works well when my faucet leaks, my bike has a flat or a neighbor’s dog makes a deposit on my front lawn.

It is not easy for someone who is bipolar, like me, to pause when agitated. When agitation turns to anger, pausing — even for a moment — is a monumental feat. I have been working on techniques to handle my anger for years.

I have been told to bite my lips to keep my mouth closed. To not be sarcastic and to cut off contact with those who are sarcastic. To end a heated conversation with “I think we should agree to disagree.”

If that does not work, I should physically remove myself from the target of my anger and have no contact until I have defused and have calmly studied my role. Great advice but unnatural acts if you are mentally ill.

Of all my emotions, anger is the most toxic. Some say that for many women, depression is anger turned inward. For me, getting rid of anger is a process that begins by “purging” myself — physically. I exercise as hard and as fast as I can. I get in the car, roll up the windows, holler everything I would have loved to have said, then turn up Led Zeppelin as loud as my speakers allow.

When my heart rate returns to normal I write and talk about it. I try to meditate, stretch and pray. Then I make a pot roast and fix myself a mug of chocolate before bed.

It can take days for the emotional hangover to lift. I do not sleep well. I have nightmares. My thoughts race. Then I get on my knees every night and — through clenched teeth — ask God to give that person everything I desire for myself. I do that until my TMJ kicks in or my anger dissolves.

This is the crossroads where daily life intersects mental illness. Healthy brains move on down the road. My brain sits at the intersection, stuck in neutral, revving the engine. If I work hard enough and stay on my side of the street, the rage dissolves into resentment, a lesson learned and, finally, an apology.

I must always remember that people who do not know I am mentally ill and even those who do are not responsible for my behavior. I am.

Christine Stapleton writes for The Palm Beach Post. E-mail: christine(underscore)stapleton(at)pbpost.com. To read previous columns, go to PalmBeachPost.com/depression