The Masks We Wear

When people first meet me, they don’t see the darkness that lurks deep inside my brain.  They don’t see the constant battle I am fighting with myself.  They don’t see how much I hurt.  They’ll never really see the pain I feel inside.  Why?  Because I have a “mask” for every occasion.  We all have them and wear them.

When people meet me, they see the persona of me.  They see the confident/talented glass artist.  They see the activist.  They see the teacher.  They see the wife, mother, and family caretaker.  They see what I want them to see…to some extent.  There are a select few that I have allowed into my inner sanctum and they are allowed to see just below the cracks, but only just below.  Nobody is allowed to get too close.  I fear if anyone truly knew the darkness that surrounded me, they run away.  I wouldn’t blame them.

So, when I wake up, I put on the day’s mask.  Oh, it gets exhausting.  The cracks in my facade to begin to show from time to time, but no one really notices.  I suppose that’s okay.  I mean…how much do we really know about the people in our lives.  We really only know what they choose to reveal to us.  Whether they have a mental illness or not.  Through a mental illness into the mix and it gets a little more complicated.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not complaining about my life or the people in it.  I have a very close-knit group of friends and a family that loves me.  They all do the best they can with me with the information I reveal to them.  I do try to let people in more and more, but that’s a scary proposition for me.  It’s a vulnerable position to be in.  I suppose to truly care for and understand someone you have to let them in all the way, not just part way.  I’ve always said that I was a work in progress.  I guess I still am.

Heroes or Ghosts

Heroes or Ghosts…the people we look up admire most.  Is it time to let go?  I’ve been a fan of U2 for over 30 years.  It’s all I’ve ever known.  They have been the soundtrack to my life.  Maybe it’s time to start a new soundtrack.  There was a HUGE fiasco with purchasing tickets for their new tour.  Many long time fans were left out and ticket touts won, yet again, despite “efforts” to stop them.  As fans were forced to renew fanclub subscriptions early just to get presale codes, tickets were still on the secondary market within minutes at inflated prices.  Also, many of those lifelong fans didn’t even receive codes.  And what did the band do?  Nothing.  What did the band say to their fans that gave them their great life?  Nothing.

For a band that prided themselves on truly caring for their fans,  the silence was excruciatingly deafening.  It shattered my rose colored world and many others as well.  Perhaps they’ve gone the way of corporate (something they swore they’d never do). Perhaps they’ve just given up since Paul McGuiness left. Ever since this shift in management to Maverick (Guy O’Seary….aka Sleazy Car Salesmen), they’ve never been the same.  The music has remained great, but the soul has definitely left the building.  I don’t think their heart is in it anymore.

For someone like me, with Bipolar Disorder, their music has been a haven for me.  Their concerts have transported me out of my chaotic mind.  They have been a respite for my turbulent world.   I know they are just four men, nothing grandiose about them.  They just happen to play the best music I’ve heard and became famous for it.  They have lives and families like everyone else.  The take away from all of this?  Be careful of your level of admiration for anyone.  Someday they might do something and that fall from “grace” can really throw you.  I never thought this day would come.  37 years I have been a fan…37 years of my life…37 years of moments that I can pinpoint to their songs.

Am I devastated?  Yes.  Do regret that level of fandom?  No.  I found my voice because of their music.  I became more involved in charity work because of them.  This certainly isn’t the end of this chapter of my life…it’s just a twist in the plot.

“Big D”, Glass Art, and Peace

Glass art, for me, is my self care.  I think it’s the only thing that will keep “Big D” at arms length.  I know it sounds very strange to use very sharp glass as a means of self care, but it works for me…most days. There’s just something about stepping inside of my studio and seeing that wall of glass, seeing the rainbow of colors, envisioning what those sheets of glass will become, and bringing them to life.  It gives a great sense of calm.  Now, I will admit there are those times that I curse out loud like drunken pirate because the glass isn’t cooperating.  It decides to break in an entirely different direction than I want it to.  If I find myself too frustrated, I turn off the power to the studio, walk out, and close the door behind me.  I have to respect the glass.

I have been creating glass art for nearly 15 years now.  I used to just make it for myself and my family and friends.  I then started making pieces for charity.  That brought me so much joy.  The art that helped me could now help others.  About two years ago, I started Zarit Glassworks (  That was both rewarding and frightening all at the same time.  I made the decision to turn my coping mechanism into a business so it could self supporting and so I could donate proceeds to local charities.  My goal was not to make to a ton of money, but to help.

You may wonder why I decided to donate rather keep all my profits, maybe not.  I’m going to tell you anyway.  I’ve always believed that I had Bipolar Disorder for a reason.  For me, that reason is to help others find a way to work with their mental illness; to find the positive in it.  There is always a positive to be found within all the negative.  I will never be rich from art and I’m okay with that.  I can help organizations that don’t get much, if any, government funding and that’s all I need.  It’s my hope to inspire others to something similar.  You don’t have to donate money through your art to help others.  You just have to be kind.  You just have to listen.  You just have to be present.  You just have to be mindful.

So, yes, glass art is an odd choice for coping with the day to day battles of Bipolar Disorder and Anxiety Disorder.  Sparkle is my favorite and in my world it is a valid color.  🙂  When I complete a stained glass piece, I rush outside and hold it up to the sunlight to watch the way the rays of light dance through it.  I’m always amazed at the way the colors change.  It’s like the sunlight and the glass are doing the Tango.  It’s beautiful to watch…mesmerizing really.

What do you do to keep “Big D” away?  What’s your best coping skill?  I would love to hear from you.

Time to Beat “Big D”

I’m left with that feeling of disbelief…that feeling you get after you’ve just witnessed something horrifying.  Your body goes cold. Your hands start to shake.  Your heart starts to race.  Your head aches.  I call it the “Depression Hangover”.  You’re not truly out of the depression, but you’re nearing the end of it.  It feels like I’m walking in a wintry fog.  “Big D” is looming ever close.  Oh he’s never for behind.  I think he has abandonment issues.

This part of “Big D”, sleep is elusive.  (As I write this, it’s 1 a.m.)  My mind is running its umpteenth marathon…trying to stay one step ahead.  We all know that’s NOT possible, but it tries (bless it’s heart).  In my mind, I’ve completed all the glass art my gallery opening (that isn’t even on the books…yet).  I’ve finished every unfinished conversation.  I found every lost item.  I’ve fixed the mental health system.  I think you get the picture.  This all happens while my family blissfully slumbers…so envious.

Oh, “Big D”, the things I could accomplish without you interrupting my life!  Wait a minute.  I’ve accomplished plenty.  True, I could have done so much more without the constant derailments from “Big D”, but I have done quite a lot:

  • graduated college
  • married & started a family
  • taught French & HIstory
  • went to Belarus on a charity aid convoy
  • tons of charity work
  • traveled
  • spoke to thousands about mental health
  • spoke to congressional members about mental health
  • lobbied for mental health care change
  • started a glass art business (Zarit Glassworks) (shameless plug)
  • and more that I can’t think of at the moment

There are still many more things I’d like to do”

  • fix the broken mental health care system
  • educate people about mental health
  • stop discriminating bills against people with mental illness
  • exercise more
  • travel more
  • and so, so, so much more

I can’t keep using “Big D” as an excuse for not doing more. It’s easy to do when I’m caught up in that roller coaster ride.  I have to remember the strength that I do have…that we all have.

Fighting every day for my life, I am stronger than I realize.  I am on this earth for a purpose.  “Big D”, you will NOT beat me !

The “Big D”

I want to be better, but why bother?  No matter how hard I try… No matter how many medications I try… No matter how many doctors I see; the “Big D” always returns.  What’s the “Big D” you ask?  Depression!  It always comes back and with a vengeance! I want off this roller coaster ride!

That’s what it is.  Up, down, round, and round!  Here we go ladies and gentlemen!  Step right up! Sit down! Fasten your seat belts!  You’re in for a bumpy ride! I can visualize the master puppeteer running the ride… the “Big D”.  He’s menacing, maniacal, with a handlebar mustache that he’s waxed at the ends so he can curl them up.  He wears a tattered old black top hat, dirty overcoat, and pin striped pants with mud splatters from tromping through the rain soaked fairgrounds.  He has oil under his fingernails, not from fixing the ride…no…from sabotaging it.

As the ride come to a stop, just as you are about to get off, he starts it up again!  No medication can stop the “Big D”! No talk therapy…No coping skills…you’re screwed!!  Well, at least I am.  I seem to have run out of options.  No, suicide doesn’t enter this scenario.  I won’t give “Big D” the satisfaction of winning this ongoing battle.

The ride continues as if he doesn’t see that I want to get off.  I’m trying to get out.  I’m taking my medications.  I’m seeing my doctors every week.  I’m using my coping skills.  Yet, he continues the ride.  Am I being punished?  Or am I meant to learn something from all of this?  For the love Pete “Big D”!  Enough is enough!  My brain, my body, my friends, my family can’t take much more of this.  Release this vice like grip you have on me.  I can’t take much more.

These are all of the things I so desperately want to say, but I don’t…or won’t.  I’m a fighter.  Although, I feel my resolve is weakening.