A good friend did something difficult and gave me a talkin' to (I mean that in the best since, not smart-assy). I am so glad she did. In response, I'm going to try to address what she said. This is the hardest post I've ever tried to write.
Apparently some people have lost respect for me for begging for money, then going out to a bar or otherwise enjoying myself. Now that I think about it, I can see how that would look like I'm being irresponsible and making bad decisions.
I'm on the fence, though, about whether those really are bad decisions. Bear with me please. I have bipolar disorder. I want to talk about it honestly and publically to help fight stigma. And I need help financially, so GoFundMe.
I think most of y'all know about depression symptoms. I'm less certain you know what mania is in any meaningful detail.
Common signs and symptoms of mania include:
Here's a list:
*Feeling unusually “high” and optimistic OR extremely irritable
*Unrealistic, grandiose beliefs about one’s abilities or powers
*Sleeping very little, but feeling extremely energetic
*Talking so rapidly that others can’t keep up
*Racing thoughts; jumping quickly from one idea to the next
*Highly distractible, unable to concentrate
*Impaired judgment and impulsiveness
*Acting recklessly without thinking about the consequences
*Delusions and hallucinations (in severe cases)
I think the recklessness, impulsiveness, and impaired judgment are what's giving people such a bad impression of me.
I'm going to use one recent example: Going to 603's Closing Night Halloween party.
Let me explain my reasoning on this. First, someone gave me a little money and told me specifically to use it for something fun. That's because she knew while I'm depressed I don't get out of bed for days, and I obsess about the disaster that is my life lately. I take treating my illness seriously. I mean, I shocked my brain several times to save me life. That's not an exaggeration. But it's no cure. It just got me out of the deepest depths.
While I was in the hospital, my Mama told me 603 was closing. She knew that would be very meaningful to me. It was the first place I sang open mic or sat in with a band. In fact, it's the first and only bar I've ever felt safe and comfortable in. I respect and like the owner and manager. I've made good friends there. I sort of sped up getting out of the hospital so I could attend the party. Bad judgment? In retrospect, that sounds supremely stupid. But again, I thought it was OK because there was no cover and I usually buy Coke or 1 adult beverage. The whole night cost no more than $5. I was visiting family I hadn't seen in over a month, so the gas (in my mind, at least) wasn't to go to the bar, but to reassure my family I was indeed getting better.
I guess doing all this and putting it on Facebook was bad judgment. I get where the friend who talked to me about this is coming from. But I still think my reasoning was valid too. So maybe my judgment still isn't where it should be.
I go to support groups (even facilitated for a while). I got a master's degree so I could be a psychotherapist. I interned in a third-world country helping children who'd been taken from their parents. I interned locally with hospice, which was heartbreaking. I try so very hard to do good in this world.
To know now that instead of people recognizing that, they think I'm begging for money to party ...
I'm at a loss as to what to do. If I stay home all the time, that will fuel the depression. If I go out and DON'T post it after I've posted so many other details, I feel like I'm being dishonest.
I'm working on co-writing a book with my best friend about me having bipolar and what it's been like for her. I want to fight stigma. I certainly don't want to make the stigma WORSE. But maybe some of the opinions people have that are negative are also valid.
Friday, November 7, 2014
Thursday, November 6, 2014
Forgot about DBSA
Well, I had meant to go to DBSA (Depression and Bipolar Support Alliance) but honestly forgot. My memory has never, ever, ever, been this bad. I am doing better driving around Niceville. Haven't gotten lost in a couple of days.
I printed out a mood/medication tracker, and some calendar/to do list pages. I really need to know when my appointments are, what tasks are due when, and ESPECIALLY whether I really took my meds or just SEEM to remember taking them.
Some goals that I haven't scheduled a deadline for as yet:
update resume
color mandalas to relax
practice keys
practice lap steel
practice singing/memorizing lyrics
go through all my clothes and pick some to donate (before Christmas)
Car needs an oil change (not that I have money to do that)
Squealing car belt needs fixing (not that I have money to do that either)
Lucy needs antibiotics for a skin infection. Wonder how much that will cost?
Keep checking indeed.com for jobs I might want to apply for
I'm sure there are 9 million other things .... but this is a start.
I printed out a mood/medication tracker, and some calendar/to do list pages. I really need to know when my appointments are, what tasks are due when, and ESPECIALLY whether I really took my meds or just SEEM to remember taking them.
Some goals that I haven't scheduled a deadline for as yet:
update resume
color mandalas to relax
practice keys
practice lap steel
practice singing/memorizing lyrics
go through all my clothes and pick some to donate (before Christmas)
Car needs an oil change (not that I have money to do that)
Squealing car belt needs fixing (not that I have money to do that either)
Lucy needs antibiotics for a skin infection. Wonder how much that will cost?
Keep checking indeed.com for jobs I might want to apply for
I'm sure there are 9 million other things .... but this is a start.
Tuesday, November 4, 2014
Depression and Bipolar Support Alliance
When I lived in Tallahassee, DBSA was a huge part of my life. A couple of years or so ago, I attended the Fort Walton Beach chapter a little bit. I didn't find it as helpful. The group dynamics were just different. But I think I'm going to give it another chance. If memory serves (HA!), it meets tonight. I will verify that before I drive over.
Memory problems
Yesterday I got lost trying to find my therapist's office (Bridgeway). I've gone to that place off and on for well over a decade. I get now why the doctor told me not to drive for a week after my last treatment. Eh, I'll still be noncompliant on that front, but I will limit it as much as I find acceptable.
Apparently I signed a petition complaining about the food in the hospital. I don't remember anything about that.
I talked to the benefits coordinator 6 times and only remember 2 of those conversations.
Soni says I would call her 5 times a day from the hospital and say the same things over and over. I thought I was calling once a day.
The other patients were good natured about it. T kidded me a lot. He was a good buddy. He used to work at the Tallahassee Democrat, so we bonded over that. I really wish him well. I wonder if he's out yet? Maybe I should call and ask, go visit him tomorrow night. It's gets awfully boring in there.
Also yesterday I visited the Mental Health Association to see if I could volunteer, get some structure in my life. I was honest about the fact that I'm still recovering. So the woman I talked to suggested I participate in some events for a while until I feel steadier, then volunteer. We did come up with some projects that we were both enthusiastic about, so I hope it all works out.
Later in the day was when I got lost on the way to see my therapist. I had a funny story for her. I told her that when my social worker at the hospital asked who my therapist was, I couldn't remember her name but said she was the Bridgeway therapist who looked like Catherine Zeta Jones, only more tan. She cracked up over that, and seemed to appreciate the comparison.
As we got into the session, it got kinda heavy. I was crying by the time I left. Basically we were discussing disability vs. working vs. pursuing a Ph.D. I'm so confused. So uncertain of my abilities.
Therapist thinks I'm way to smart to abandon my dreams of working and/or furthering my education. I just feel so very shaken by the last few months.
I was actually a bit manic yesterday (have I said that already?).
Last night I calmed down, and today I feel fine. Still confused, but level moodwise and functional. Transcribing my journal and writing more is helping me process stuff.
Apparently I signed a petition complaining about the food in the hospital. I don't remember anything about that.
I talked to the benefits coordinator 6 times and only remember 2 of those conversations.
Soni says I would call her 5 times a day from the hospital and say the same things over and over. I thought I was calling once a day.
The other patients were good natured about it. T kidded me a lot. He was a good buddy. He used to work at the Tallahassee Democrat, so we bonded over that. I really wish him well. I wonder if he's out yet? Maybe I should call and ask, go visit him tomorrow night. It's gets awfully boring in there.
Also yesterday I visited the Mental Health Association to see if I could volunteer, get some structure in my life. I was honest about the fact that I'm still recovering. So the woman I talked to suggested I participate in some events for a while until I feel steadier, then volunteer. We did come up with some projects that we were both enthusiastic about, so I hope it all works out.
Later in the day was when I got lost on the way to see my therapist. I had a funny story for her. I told her that when my social worker at the hospital asked who my therapist was, I couldn't remember her name but said she was the Bridgeway therapist who looked like Catherine Zeta Jones, only more tan. She cracked up over that, and seemed to appreciate the comparison.
As we got into the session, it got kinda heavy. I was crying by the time I left. Basically we were discussing disability vs. working vs. pursuing a Ph.D. I'm so confused. So uncertain of my abilities.
Therapist thinks I'm way to smart to abandon my dreams of working and/or furthering my education. I just feel so very shaken by the last few months.
I was actually a bit manic yesterday (have I said that already?).
Last night I calmed down, and today I feel fine. Still confused, but level moodwise and functional. Transcribing my journal and writing more is helping me process stuff.
Best compliment ever
Written October 31, 2014, from Mama's house (home)
When Mama saw my Halloween costume, she was appalled that I stole a hospital gown. From her workplace, no less. She said, "Codie didn't have nothin' on you."
That's the highest praise I could've ever gotten. :) Lol
When Mama saw my Halloween costume, she was appalled that I stole a hospital gown. From her workplace, no less. She said, "Codie didn't have nothin' on you."
That's the highest praise I could've ever gotten. :) Lol
Music project
Written from Mama's house (home) November 2, 2014
Got a call from a harp player I know. He was inviting me to audition to sing (and play keys probably) for a blues band. Very excited.
Got a call from a harp player I know. He was inviting me to audition to sing (and play keys probably) for a blues band. Very excited.
Finished ECT
Written October 30, 2014, at FWBMC
The ECT was successful and I'm happy I did it. I get discharged today. I'm thinking I'm going to wear a hospital gown as my Halloween costume, be an escaped mental patient. I will save and wear my wristband hospital ID.
The ECT was successful and I'm happy I did it. I get discharged today. I'm thinking I'm going to wear a hospital gown as my Halloween costume, be an escaped mental patient. I will save and wear my wristband hospital ID.
Hungry
Written October 29, 2014, at FWBMC
ECT is later today. We're headed to recreational therapy. I'm hungry. Had to skip breakfast. Ready for lunch but I can't eat until after ECT.
ECT is later today. We're headed to recreational therapy. I'm hungry. Had to skip breakfast. Ready for lunch but I can't eat until after ECT.
Costumes
Written October 28, 2014, at FWBMC
I think tomorrow will be my last ECT treatment. I'm feeling much more my smart ass self. I really hope I make it to 603's closing party. And I hope I get to tangle up with R. <3 I wonder if it would do me any good to tell him how I feel. Hell, he may be with XXXX again for all I know.
Meanwhile I need a costume for Mama's Fire and Ice party. I have a red dress and a blue dress. A coral one too. I have an icy crystal necklace. I also need some sort of costume for 603. I fear my pirate hat is in Soni's possession.
I also need to request my medical records from this stay. Not sure when they will have it done.
I think tomorrow will be my last ECT treatment. I'm feeling much more my smart ass self. I really hope I make it to 603's closing party. And I hope I get to tangle up with R. <3 I wonder if it would do me any good to tell him how I feel. Hell, he may be with XXXX again for all I know.
Meanwhile I need a costume for Mama's Fire and Ice party. I have a red dress and a blue dress. A coral one too. I have an icy crystal necklace. I also need some sort of costume for 603. I fear my pirate hat is in Soni's possession.
I also need to request my medical records from this stay. Not sure when they will have it done.
Planning one more ECT Treatment
Written later October 27, 2014 at FWBMC
I'm going to do another ECT treatment. I feel good but want to lock it in.
I've been enjoying coloring mandalas. It's very soothing.
I wish I had an MP3 players or the internet. I miss Facebook and Gmail.
And I miss job hunting on Indeed.
I couldn't find my most recent resume in Google Drive today (one of the therapists let me look on her computer). I'm so confused. Maybe Soni will know.
I think I'm going home October 30.
I'm going to do another ECT treatment. I feel good but want to lock it in.
I've been enjoying coloring mandalas. It's very soothing.
I wish I had an MP3 players or the internet. I miss Facebook and Gmail.
And I miss job hunting on Indeed.
I couldn't find my most recent resume in Google Drive today (one of the therapists let me look on her computer). I'm so confused. Maybe Soni will know.
I think I'm going home October 30.
Sad about 603
Written October 27, 2014 at FWBMC
I finished ECT today. I'm supposed to go home tomorrow. I can't drive myself. My short term memory problems mean I can't drive because I might forget where I am.
603 is closing, Mama said. Last night is this Friday. R is going to be there, reportedly. Of course I want to spend time with him. Who knows.
Instead of thinking about that, I should be figuring out where I'm going to live. L is an option but I can't take my dogs there.
D wants to talk to me about job stuff. That makes me happy. I'm afraid she'll discount me now that she knows I have a diagnosis. I'm going to try to spin is as I have a lot of empathy and motivation to help people.
I finished ECT today. I'm supposed to go home tomorrow. I can't drive myself. My short term memory problems mean I can't drive because I might forget where I am.
603 is closing, Mama said. Last night is this Friday. R is going to be there, reportedly. Of course I want to spend time with him. Who knows.
Instead of thinking about that, I should be figuring out where I'm going to live. L is an option but I can't take my dogs there.
D wants to talk to me about job stuff. That makes me happy. I'm afraid she'll discount me now that she knows I have a diagnosis. I'm going to try to spin is as I have a lot of empathy and motivation to help people.
Halloween, wine, dancing
Written October 26, 2014 at FWBMC
I'm certainly feeling better. Enough that I'm wondering about Halloween plans. I really miss R. I know he will hurt me. But I keep fantasizing about him. Mama made a good point: If he wouldn't straighten up for XXXX and his kids, he won't for anybody. ...
I'm ready to look for a job again. I wonder what kind of reference I would get from Pathway. Maybe T would give me a good one. YYYY suggested I be a Public Information Officer for one of the state agencies that would benefit from my MSW. That's not a bad idea.
I really want a glass of muscadine wine and a night of dancing. Knock, knock, knocking on heaven's door. Hey, hey, yeah, yeah, yeah.
I hope Mama visits. Maybe I should ask her to bring me some chocolate.
I'm certainly feeling better. Enough that I'm wondering about Halloween plans. I really miss R. I know he will hurt me. But I keep fantasizing about him. Mama made a good point: If he wouldn't straighten up for XXXX and his kids, he won't for anybody. ...
I'm ready to look for a job again. I wonder what kind of reference I would get from Pathway. Maybe T would give me a good one. YYYY suggested I be a Public Information Officer for one of the state agencies that would benefit from my MSW. That's not a bad idea.
I really want a glass of muscadine wine and a night of dancing. Knock, knock, knocking on heaven's door. Hey, hey, yeah, yeah, yeah.
I hope Mama visits. Maybe I should ask her to bring me some chocolate.
Feeling better but schedules out of whack
Written October 25, 2014 at FWBMC
I feel great moodwise. I had a lot of trouble sleeping last night though. Just a lot on my mind. No racing thoughts. Just anxious. Skipped breakfast again. Got up after 11 a.m.
In other news, I got Chapstick because my lips are awful. I have a crack in the corner of my mouth that really hurts.
I need to find out what the waiting list is for that program in Tallahassee. Though I think I'd rather stay over here. I'm tempted to call H to see if he has time to play music. There's N too. I really want to make creating a blues band a priority.
Oh, SW said waiting list is a month.
I feel great moodwise. I had a lot of trouble sleeping last night though. Just a lot on my mind. No racing thoughts. Just anxious. Skipped breakfast again. Got up after 11 a.m.
In other news, I got Chapstick because my lips are awful. I have a crack in the corner of my mouth that really hurts.
I need to find out what the waiting list is for that program in Tallahassee. Though I think I'd rather stay over here. I'm tempted to call H to see if he has time to play music. There's N too. I really want to make creating a blues band a priority.
Oh, SW said waiting list is a month.
So much uncertainty
Written later Thursday, October 23, at FWBMC
It's almost time to go to bed now. I feel somewhat better. Trying to decide where to go when I leave the hospital. Not sure what turned my attitude around. I talked to a couple of the staff and they were encouraging.
L says I can go live with her but not with the dogs. Grandparents say I can live with them and I assume I could take the dogs. Of course I can live with Mama.
I keep thinking about R. I know I "should" leave him alone ... But S got married. There's nobody else that strikes my fancy. I'm tired of being alone.
I need to find a job. Maybe I can get my social worker to help me with a job search.
I really want to sing. I wonder if I'd have better luck putting together a band in Tallahassee. I love 603 and would love playing there. I guess that's silly, since there's more opportunity in Tallahassee. But it intimidates me.
It's almost time to go to bed now. I feel somewhat better. Trying to decide where to go when I leave the hospital. Not sure what turned my attitude around. I talked to a couple of the staff and they were encouraging.
L says I can go live with her but not with the dogs. Grandparents say I can live with them and I assume I could take the dogs. Of course I can live with Mama.
I keep thinking about R. I know I "should" leave him alone ... But S got married. There's nobody else that strikes my fancy. I'm tired of being alone.
I need to find a job. Maybe I can get my social worker to help me with a job search.
I really want to sing. I wonder if I'd have better luck putting together a band in Tallahassee. I love 603 and would love playing there. I guess that's silly, since there's more opportunity in Tallahassee. But it intimidates me.
Skipped arts and crafts, having suicidal thoughts
Written Thursday, October 23, at FWBMC
Suicidal thoughts again. Today has been awful since I woke up. I didn't go to breakfast. I'm surprised they let me skip since they're so strict on enforcing schedule/structure. They brought me a tray of food, but I didn't eat any of it.
I skipped arts and crafts. Dr. Harrison is going to increase my drug dosages. I've had 6 ECT treatments. I bet I need 12 again like that time in Tallassee.
Suicidal thoughts again. Today has been awful since I woke up. I didn't go to breakfast. I'm surprised they let me skip since they're so strict on enforcing schedule/structure. They brought me a tray of food, but I didn't eat any of it.
I skipped arts and crafts. Dr. Harrison is going to increase my drug dosages. I've had 6 ECT treatments. I bet I need 12 again like that time in Tallassee.
Low
Written later on October 21, 2014
OK. I need more ECT. I'm nowhere near where I need to be. I'm still depressed, very anxious. I can't even remember feeling confident or optimistic.
I am so mad A hasn't come to visit me. A says he can't stand seeing me like this. Jerk.
OK. I need more ECT. I'm nowhere near where I need to be. I'm still depressed, very anxious. I can't even remember feeling confident or optimistic.
I am so mad A hasn't come to visit me. A says he can't stand seeing me like this. Jerk.
Not getting well yet
Written October 21, 2014 at FWBMC
Irritable as can be. Not sure why. I need to stay here quite a bit longer than originally planned as I'm nowhere near well. So a few more ECT treatments are in order.
Irritable as can be. Not sure why. I need to stay here quite a bit longer than originally planned as I'm nowhere near well. So a few more ECT treatments are in order.
Changing my mind
Written October 20, 2014
Check with Soni to see if my car insurance is due. Do I have any $ from GoFundMe to pay it?
I'm not going to do Hope House. I can't share a bathroom with 7 other women.
I want to sing, and I want N to play for me. But he can't commit to the same level as I want. Can't blame him. If I had a job, spouse, kid, I'd have different priorities too.
Check with Soni to see if my car insurance is due. Do I have any $ from GoFundMe to pay it?
I'm not going to do Hope House. I can't share a bathroom with 7 other women.
I want to sing, and I want N to play for me. But he can't commit to the same level as I want. Can't blame him. If I had a job, spouse, kid, I'd have different priorities too.
Stil thinking about R (he who shall not be named)
Written Oct. 19 at FWBMC
I feel somewhat better. Been thinking about R a lot. Cuz that's helpful. I'm about ready to check out of here and find a job. I just don't know where I want to live. I want to get a social work job and also pursue my music. I want to take the GRE again too. I'm still thinking about R. I need to get him out of my system, but apparently ECT don't cover that.
Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr.
I feel somewhat better. Been thinking about R a lot. Cuz that's helpful. I'm about ready to check out of here and find a job. I just don't know where I want to live. I want to get a social work job and also pursue my music. I want to take the GRE again too. I'm still thinking about R. I need to get him out of my system, but apparently ECT don't cover that.
Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr.
Hope House
Written October 14, 2014, at FWBMC
I interviewed with Hope House (transitional housing) in Tallahassee. I was accepted but am on a waiting list and have to call weekly to stay on the list. I hope it works out and that it's a good environment for me. I want tot go back to work as a therapist, but disability is an option. I think I'm capable of working if I get certain accommodations. I'm feeling kind of low today. Mama saw R (he who shall not be named) over the weekend and said he was asking about me. I wish I didn't care so much for him. But I do. Moving to Tallahassee might be good just in that it will distance me from him.
I interviewed with Hope House (transitional housing) in Tallahassee. I was accepted but am on a waiting list and have to call weekly to stay on the list. I hope it works out and that it's a good environment for me. I want tot go back to work as a therapist, but disability is an option. I think I'm capable of working if I get certain accommodations. I'm feeling kind of low today. Mama saw R (he who shall not be named) over the weekend and said he was asking about me. I wish I didn't care so much for him. But I do. Moving to Tallahassee might be good just in that it will distance me from him.
Tuesday, September 30, 2014
A Bit of Griping, Then the Silver Lining
I'm still doing pretty good after my last med change a week and a half ago. I look back at what I was thinking and believing for so long and wonder HOW I ever believed all that stuff. It seems so ludicrous now. I can see how obviously irrational it all was. But during the worst of it, nobody could convince me my perspective was off. That's how it goes. You can't reason with an unreasonable person. That's why I couldn't "fix myself" with CBT when I was down in the darkest depths of the depression. Or the mixed episodes, for that matter.
I got outside and walked a mile and a half again yesterday. It felt good to accomplish a goal. I met with my case manager again. I bought groceries (finally got my food stamps card!). Then I was tired, so I went home and curled up with a book.
I still get overstimulated pretty quickly. And I'm having a tremendous amount of trouble regulating my sleep. There was a screw-up in getting my sleeping med called in to the pharmacy, so I was without it for a few days. Boy, did that NOT help. Erratic sleep is both a symptom and a trigger for me. So I have to be extra vigilant to go to bed and wake up at the same time every single day. Which I hate. But I have to. Especially when I'm only a few days into what I hope is "stability." I did manage to get the medicine filled today. I have 20 cents left to my name. I may or may not have enough gas to get to therapy Thursday. I may use the Okaloosa County Transit. Never used it before, but it's cheap. My case manager is trying to get a voucher for me to use it for transpo to and from Bridgeway for treatment.
Oh, about this "Obama Phone." This seems to be the same model phone I borrowed from Sr. Arlene in Trinidad. Hers was from the '90s. No touch screen. No keyboard. It's strange how spoiled we get. Everybody I've told about this is horrified. But at least I have a phone. Texting is free. Though it's such a pain the butt to type on this thing, I will be sending very few. I get 500 minutes a month of talk time. I'm trying to save all that for calling the docs, case manager, pharmacy, etc. They always put me on hold, so I'm sure that will eat up a lot of minutes. It's hard to complain about something that's free, but apparently I'm managing it just fine. Beggars can't be choosers, blah, blah. I mean, I AM grateful for it. I'm just ready to get back to work and have expendable cash for a $45/month Straight Talk card. My S3 is paid for. Seems a shame I can't use it. Though I can use the apps and internet if I'm near wifi, but we don't have that at home. Our across-the-street neighbor gave us the password to his wifi. So if I sit on the front porch, I can pick up the signal. Last night I sat out there and listened to the rain while I checked me email and such. It was sort of relaxing. At least I had a covered area and a nice chair to sit in.
I don't like being petty and complaining about the help I am getting. It just stings that I can't do for myself. I want to work. I want to save the world. I want to be able to talk on the phone for hours at a time. The McCormick is strong in me, so I struggle with this limited minutes thing. Although the rest of the world may be breathing a sigh of relief. Especially BFF. Ha. I can't call her five times a day anymore to just babble. So maybe the silver lining is that I'll be more self-reliant emotionally, even if I'm not doing so great with that in the financial area.
Back to the Bipolar Recovery. I'm am scared. Or more like nervous. I keep expecting my brain to turn on me again. It seems too good to be true that I'm over the worst and truly headed toward high-functioning again. I pray to god every night that I don't plummet back down into despair. I am very worried about the sleep issue. But like I said, I did get the medicine I needed today. So I hope I get a good rest tonight, when it's, you know, dark outside.
I'm glad that ECT doesn't seem like an option anymore. I was about to DEMAND it a couple weeks ago. It's no fun (to say the least), but I've had it once before and believe it saved my life then. God, I hope I'm going to continue to get better so I don't have to resort to that.
I keep expecting more of myself than I manage right now. I still feel tired physically (topsy-turvy sleep will do that). And walking wears me out (I haven't exercised regularly since before grad school, so 2011, to be honest). I want to be Wonder Woman. Or at least Healthy Hope. I want to take over the world. But I kinda need a nap. And if any one of ya tells me to be patient, you can expect a virtual punch in the throat. I KNOW I have to be patient. I just want to have my life back.
So. I will focus on the victories instead of wishing I was at the finish line of recovery right this second. I am learning so much about how broken our social services are, and I am learning how to navigate the red tape. That's something all the text books in college couldn't prepare me for. Nor could being a clinician give me the full experience. So I am trying to look at this whole ordeal as an intensive internship in being a destitute mentally ill client. I will certainly have more empathy and determination to help others. I think it will make me better at my job. I know when I go to therapy, if the therapist has been through similar crap, I respect what she says a lot more. I don't just blow it off without considering it fully. So I'm am hanging onto the belief that this is all for a reason. That I can transmute this experience into knowledge and determination. Life is what we make it, I guess. And, while I do like to bitch about everything, ultimately I'm a closet optimist. I will use this. I will use it to be a better person, and I hope to better help people who cross my path. OK, now I'm about to barf from the touchy-feely. But you get my meaning, I hope. Life sucked really bad; it's starting to suck less; I will use the suckiness for good.
I got outside and walked a mile and a half again yesterday. It felt good to accomplish a goal. I met with my case manager again. I bought groceries (finally got my food stamps card!). Then I was tired, so I went home and curled up with a book.
I still get overstimulated pretty quickly. And I'm having a tremendous amount of trouble regulating my sleep. There was a screw-up in getting my sleeping med called in to the pharmacy, so I was without it for a few days. Boy, did that NOT help. Erratic sleep is both a symptom and a trigger for me. So I have to be extra vigilant to go to bed and wake up at the same time every single day. Which I hate. But I have to. Especially when I'm only a few days into what I hope is "stability." I did manage to get the medicine filled today. I have 20 cents left to my name. I may or may not have enough gas to get to therapy Thursday. I may use the Okaloosa County Transit. Never used it before, but it's cheap. My case manager is trying to get a voucher for me to use it for transpo to and from Bridgeway for treatment.
Oh, about this "Obama Phone." This seems to be the same model phone I borrowed from Sr. Arlene in Trinidad. Hers was from the '90s. No touch screen. No keyboard. It's strange how spoiled we get. Everybody I've told about this is horrified. But at least I have a phone. Texting is free. Though it's such a pain the butt to type on this thing, I will be sending very few. I get 500 minutes a month of talk time. I'm trying to save all that for calling the docs, case manager, pharmacy, etc. They always put me on hold, so I'm sure that will eat up a lot of minutes. It's hard to complain about something that's free, but apparently I'm managing it just fine. Beggars can't be choosers, blah, blah. I mean, I AM grateful for it. I'm just ready to get back to work and have expendable cash for a $45/month Straight Talk card. My S3 is paid for. Seems a shame I can't use it. Though I can use the apps and internet if I'm near wifi, but we don't have that at home. Our across-the-street neighbor gave us the password to his wifi. So if I sit on the front porch, I can pick up the signal. Last night I sat out there and listened to the rain while I checked me email and such. It was sort of relaxing. At least I had a covered area and a nice chair to sit in.
I don't like being petty and complaining about the help I am getting. It just stings that I can't do for myself. I want to work. I want to save the world. I want to be able to talk on the phone for hours at a time. The McCormick is strong in me, so I struggle with this limited minutes thing. Although the rest of the world may be breathing a sigh of relief. Especially BFF. Ha. I can't call her five times a day anymore to just babble. So maybe the silver lining is that I'll be more self-reliant emotionally, even if I'm not doing so great with that in the financial area.
Back to the Bipolar Recovery. I'm am scared. Or more like nervous. I keep expecting my brain to turn on me again. It seems too good to be true that I'm over the worst and truly headed toward high-functioning again. I pray to god every night that I don't plummet back down into despair. I am very worried about the sleep issue. But like I said, I did get the medicine I needed today. So I hope I get a good rest tonight, when it's, you know, dark outside.
I'm glad that ECT doesn't seem like an option anymore. I was about to DEMAND it a couple weeks ago. It's no fun (to say the least), but I've had it once before and believe it saved my life then. God, I hope I'm going to continue to get better so I don't have to resort to that.
I keep expecting more of myself than I manage right now. I still feel tired physically (topsy-turvy sleep will do that). And walking wears me out (I haven't exercised regularly since before grad school, so 2011, to be honest). I want to be Wonder Woman. Or at least Healthy Hope. I want to take over the world. But I kinda need a nap. And if any one of ya tells me to be patient, you can expect a virtual punch in the throat. I KNOW I have to be patient. I just want to have my life back.
So. I will focus on the victories instead of wishing I was at the finish line of recovery right this second. I am learning so much about how broken our social services are, and I am learning how to navigate the red tape. That's something all the text books in college couldn't prepare me for. Nor could being a clinician give me the full experience. So I am trying to look at this whole ordeal as an intensive internship in being a destitute mentally ill client. I will certainly have more empathy and determination to help others. I think it will make me better at my job. I know when I go to therapy, if the therapist has been through similar crap, I respect what she says a lot more. I don't just blow it off without considering it fully. So I'm am hanging onto the belief that this is all for a reason. That I can transmute this experience into knowledge and determination. Life is what we make it, I guess. And, while I do like to bitch about everything, ultimately I'm a closet optimist. I will use this. I will use it to be a better person, and I hope to better help people who cross my path. OK, now I'm about to barf from the touchy-feely. But you get my meaning, I hope. Life sucked really bad; it's starting to suck less; I will use the suckiness for good.
Thursday, September 25, 2014
Wait. I had NO Symptoms the Past 5 Days?
Last week I had to sign a safety contract to avoid being involuntarily committed. Adjustments in meds happened. I got much better over the past few days. Today I was making my therapist laugh and she asked if I wanted to come back in two weeks as opposed to my normal 1-week interval. I opted to go ahead and schedule an appointment next week "just in case." Experience has taught me caution.
However.
I'm pretty proud of myself. Recent accomplishments: applied for a job, cut through food stamps red tape, got approved for an "Obama phone," played keyboard and sang with my grandpa, practiced guitar, read a book, wrote a little, visited the beach, learned the lyrics to a song I want to cover, changed purses (a bigger deal than you might imagine), walked a mile and a half, found enough change to pay off my library fine, enjoyed some life jazz with my mom, saw my new case manager, saw my new nurse practitioner, put gas in the car, walked my dogs, taught Daddy a Bob Marley song, stopped snacking a million times a night, found my good pair of sunglasses, found a Tim Dorsey book I had stashed away that will serve nicely at the book signing, I didn't sleep all day even once this past week, I didn't make any "final arrangements" for myself or my dogs, I was even accused of being goofy!!! That last one may be the best thing out of the whole list. :D
I haven't felt so blessedly "normal" in too many months to count. Mild turbulence is still likely, but I am FINALLY leveling out and turning back into Hope.
However.
I'm pretty proud of myself. Recent accomplishments: applied for a job, cut through food stamps red tape, got approved for an "Obama phone," played keyboard and sang with my grandpa, practiced guitar, read a book, wrote a little, visited the beach, learned the lyrics to a song I want to cover, changed purses (a bigger deal than you might imagine), walked a mile and a half, found enough change to pay off my library fine, enjoyed some life jazz with my mom, saw my new case manager, saw my new nurse practitioner, put gas in the car, walked my dogs, taught Daddy a Bob Marley song, stopped snacking a million times a night, found my good pair of sunglasses, found a Tim Dorsey book I had stashed away that will serve nicely at the book signing, I didn't sleep all day even once this past week, I didn't make any "final arrangements" for myself or my dogs, I was even accused of being goofy!!! That last one may be the best thing out of the whole list. :D
I haven't felt so blessedly "normal" in too many months to count. Mild turbulence is still likely, but I am FINALLY leveling out and turning back into Hope.
Tuesday, September 23, 2014
Hypocricy or Pragmatism?
OK, so I applied for a job. Yay me! In response to some well-meaning suggestions from friends and family -- and based on my own crappy experiences with bosses in various jobs through my working years -- I decided that I would take down this blog and my Facebook page and my GoFundMe campaign. All temporarily, until I find a job.
I meant to do that. Really, I did.
But.
I just can't stomach it. On one hand, I know it is not my job to end stigma against mental illness. That's a huge job, like turning back the tide.
But.
If not me, who? I don't have a clue where that annoying maxim "If you're not part of the solution you're part of the problem" came from. But I've always taken it to heart.
And now I have no idea what to do. Though really, there was never any doubt I'd leave this all out there. But I'm going to angst over it. Be mad about it. Worry that I won't get a job and that everybody who warned me will be right. Cry because the world really is a shitty place.
But.
Deciding to "come out" to the public about me having Bipolar Disorder was something that required much thought and prayer. I don't say it lightly when I say I feel "called" to be open about this. Voice for the voiceless and all that. How can I possibly say this to the world? "Here I am. Bipolar Hope. Take me or leave me" THEN turn around and say, "Well, let's pretend I didn't say all that, at least until I get a pay check, then I'll go back to advocating."
Now, I know tons of people hide their Facebook pages when they're job hunting. Maybe they don't want that picture of them holding a beer to create a false impression. Maybe they just like their privacy. If that were the case with me, I wouldn't bat an eye. I'd just shut it all down, then put it back out there when it was less likely to cause me negative consequences.
But I just can't. I won't.
I watched a documentary about Robin Williams last night. It made me so sad. It looked at the history of his career. Then at the end, there was some general commentary that people were sad that he was dead. The closest anyone came to mentioning mood disorders or suicide was this one actress saying, "Why?"
Maybe the makers of the documentary were trying to be respectful or sensitive. But I think that's bullshit. If he'd died of cancer, nobody would have tiptoed around it. There might well have been a telethon. And if I had just beaten cancer, I would celebrate that all over the internet. I wouldn't be ashamed I'd gotten cancer to begin with. (Please don't mistake me. I am in no way saying cancer is easy, that it is less a nightmare than mental illness. I just mean that people acknowledge that it's hard, that it sucks, that it can kill you, that there needs to be more screening, more research, more access to treatment.)
A few years ago I considered myself fairly open about having Bipolar Disorder. I didn't go around sharing "my truth" with the whole world. But people in my life who mattered, who I thought might understand ... yeah, I told them.
When my life turned into a disaster earlier this year, I felt my pride had to be sacrificed if I was going to save myself because I needed money. I didn't anticipate how much that act would strip me of my dignity. I remember calling my BFF balling my eyes out because I felt like I may as well have been on a street corner holding a tin can begging for spare change. It is lowering to have such need, to have no way of being self-supporting. Trust me, I was and am grateful for every penny I get from friends, family, strangers. Just like I'm grateful for any government assistance I qualify to receive.
I want a job. I NEED a job. This last bout with bipolar episodes was such a steep fall. From graduating with a master's degree and living in another country to getting my dream job to ... I shudder to think about the past several months. I really do believe if I hadn't had such a huge gap in taking my meds (lack of resources, not noncompliance), I would be fine right now. More than fine even.
I am so very grateful that my current meds DO seem to be working. I recognize myself more days than not. I am accomplishing more, little by little. I am getting ever more confident that I can not only hold down a full-time job but do a damn fine job for whatever company hires me AND the clients I serve.
I really hope that me choosing to leave all this information about my experience with bipolar disorder online doesn't keep me from getting hired.
Although.
When it comes down to it, if a company won't hire me based on my illness, I probably don't want to work for them anyway. I want to work for someone who believes recovery is possible, who applauds a person who works hard to not only save herself but throw a life raft to other people who are suffering.
I don't know if I'm doing the right thing. I just know I'm doing the only thing I can live with.
*And please, if you are one of the people who suggested I keep this quiet, please don't be offended by this post. I really do see your point, and I wrestled with what to do. And I appreciate that you all were willing to be honest with me.
**If any of you can spare a little change for my tin cup, please donate to my GoFundMe campaign. I am using this money for meds, co-pays, gas to and from treatment, etc. I won't waste it. And I will pay it forward when I'm working in the social services field. I am so grateful for everybody who's already helped.
I meant to do that. Really, I did.
But.
I just can't stomach it. On one hand, I know it is not my job to end stigma against mental illness. That's a huge job, like turning back the tide.
But.
If not me, who? I don't have a clue where that annoying maxim "If you're not part of the solution you're part of the problem" came from. But I've always taken it to heart.
And now I have no idea what to do. Though really, there was never any doubt I'd leave this all out there. But I'm going to angst over it. Be mad about it. Worry that I won't get a job and that everybody who warned me will be right. Cry because the world really is a shitty place.
But.
Deciding to "come out" to the public about me having Bipolar Disorder was something that required much thought and prayer. I don't say it lightly when I say I feel "called" to be open about this. Voice for the voiceless and all that. How can I possibly say this to the world? "Here I am. Bipolar Hope. Take me or leave me" THEN turn around and say, "Well, let's pretend I didn't say all that, at least until I get a pay check, then I'll go back to advocating."
Now, I know tons of people hide their Facebook pages when they're job hunting. Maybe they don't want that picture of them holding a beer to create a false impression. Maybe they just like their privacy. If that were the case with me, I wouldn't bat an eye. I'd just shut it all down, then put it back out there when it was less likely to cause me negative consequences.
But I just can't. I won't.
I watched a documentary about Robin Williams last night. It made me so sad. It looked at the history of his career. Then at the end, there was some general commentary that people were sad that he was dead. The closest anyone came to mentioning mood disorders or suicide was this one actress saying, "Why?"
Maybe the makers of the documentary were trying to be respectful or sensitive. But I think that's bullshit. If he'd died of cancer, nobody would have tiptoed around it. There might well have been a telethon. And if I had just beaten cancer, I would celebrate that all over the internet. I wouldn't be ashamed I'd gotten cancer to begin with. (Please don't mistake me. I am in no way saying cancer is easy, that it is less a nightmare than mental illness. I just mean that people acknowledge that it's hard, that it sucks, that it can kill you, that there needs to be more screening, more research, more access to treatment.)
A few years ago I considered myself fairly open about having Bipolar Disorder. I didn't go around sharing "my truth" with the whole world. But people in my life who mattered, who I thought might understand ... yeah, I told them.
When my life turned into a disaster earlier this year, I felt my pride had to be sacrificed if I was going to save myself because I needed money. I didn't anticipate how much that act would strip me of my dignity. I remember calling my BFF balling my eyes out because I felt like I may as well have been on a street corner holding a tin can begging for spare change. It is lowering to have such need, to have no way of being self-supporting. Trust me, I was and am grateful for every penny I get from friends, family, strangers. Just like I'm grateful for any government assistance I qualify to receive.
I want a job. I NEED a job. This last bout with bipolar episodes was such a steep fall. From graduating with a master's degree and living in another country to getting my dream job to ... I shudder to think about the past several months. I really do believe if I hadn't had such a huge gap in taking my meds (lack of resources, not noncompliance), I would be fine right now. More than fine even.
I am so very grateful that my current meds DO seem to be working. I recognize myself more days than not. I am accomplishing more, little by little. I am getting ever more confident that I can not only hold down a full-time job but do a damn fine job for whatever company hires me AND the clients I serve.
I really hope that me choosing to leave all this information about my experience with bipolar disorder online doesn't keep me from getting hired.
Although.
When it comes down to it, if a company won't hire me based on my illness, I probably don't want to work for them anyway. I want to work for someone who believes recovery is possible, who applauds a person who works hard to not only save herself but throw a life raft to other people who are suffering.
I don't know if I'm doing the right thing. I just know I'm doing the only thing I can live with.
*And please, if you are one of the people who suggested I keep this quiet, please don't be offended by this post. I really do see your point, and I wrestled with what to do. And I appreciate that you all were willing to be honest with me.
**If any of you can spare a little change for my tin cup, please donate to my GoFundMe campaign. I am using this money for meds, co-pays, gas to and from treatment, etc. I won't waste it. And I will pay it forward when I'm working in the social services field. I am so grateful for everybody who's already helped.
Getting Things Done, For Real
When I took my dogs outside first thing this morning, I noticed how wonderful the weather felt: 64 degrees! I've been griping about the heat forever and using that as an excuse not to walk. I need exercise for my mental health. So I went out for a stroll. I logged 1 1/2 miles, according to this Map My Walk free app on my phone. And I felt so good. One of the problems with being depressed is the disconnect I feel between body, mind, and spirit. Getting outside and moving was calming, centering, and empowering.
I took that energy over to Fort Walton Beach to the Access Florida office. I needed face-to-face help with SNAP (food stamps). I was approved (according to correspondence I received online) as of Sept. 5. I was supposed to get my EBT card within seven business days of that correspondence. Didn't happen. So I called customer services and was told to "give it a few more days." I asked if they could confirm my address. They had the correct one. I asked if they could confirm that the card was indeed mailed. They wouldn't look that up but just said, "your case is pending, you should get mail saying you are approved, then wait 7 business days for the card." I told them about the electronic letter that said I was approved, that I had signed up for electronic correspondence. They said that didn't matter, to watch for a physical letter, then expect the card a few days later. Ugh. Since then I've tried to call various numbers and it's a real aggravation. I go through touch tone menus for upwards of 4 minutes each call to be told all customer service reps are busy, call back later. Not "hold until someone can help you." But "Call back."
Anyway, I felt a face-to-face was in order, and after the walk felt energized enough to go down there and sit in the office until I had some kind of answer. I was pleasantly surprised to find them nice and helpful. Turns out my card had never been ordered, much less mailed. So now I'm waiting 7 business days, but I do expect to receive it.
Also, on my way out the door, they asked if I needed a free phone. Wait, what? Because I qualify for food stamps (and some other mysterious factors I didn't even ask about), I do in fact qualify for a free phone too. It's a tiny little track phone. No touch screen. No data package that I know of. But for the first 5 months, I get 500 free monthly phone minutes and unlimited texting. The phone itself is free as well. I should get this in the mail in a couple of weeks. And I was informed that this is NOT an "Obama phone" because George W. set up this program after Hurricane Katrina.
When I get a job, I will notify the food stamps folks and the GW Phone folks that I no longer need their programs. It's the right thing to do, for one, and I don't want to commit fraud. In the meantime, I'll be happy to have assistance on both fronts.
I do feel like me again. Like, for real real. Not tired, not foggy, not sad. Actually motivated and able to enjoy life. Sometimes that's a trick. This is an up-and-down kinda thing. But I feel a little more me than on the last good day. It feels less ... tenuous?
I took that energy over to Fort Walton Beach to the Access Florida office. I needed face-to-face help with SNAP (food stamps). I was approved (according to correspondence I received online) as of Sept. 5. I was supposed to get my EBT card within seven business days of that correspondence. Didn't happen. So I called customer services and was told to "give it a few more days." I asked if they could confirm my address. They had the correct one. I asked if they could confirm that the card was indeed mailed. They wouldn't look that up but just said, "your case is pending, you should get mail saying you are approved, then wait 7 business days for the card." I told them about the electronic letter that said I was approved, that I had signed up for electronic correspondence. They said that didn't matter, to watch for a physical letter, then expect the card a few days later. Ugh. Since then I've tried to call various numbers and it's a real aggravation. I go through touch tone menus for upwards of 4 minutes each call to be told all customer service reps are busy, call back later. Not "hold until someone can help you." But "Call back."
Anyway, I felt a face-to-face was in order, and after the walk felt energized enough to go down there and sit in the office until I had some kind of answer. I was pleasantly surprised to find them nice and helpful. Turns out my card had never been ordered, much less mailed. So now I'm waiting 7 business days, but I do expect to receive it.
Also, on my way out the door, they asked if I needed a free phone. Wait, what? Because I qualify for food stamps (and some other mysterious factors I didn't even ask about), I do in fact qualify for a free phone too. It's a tiny little track phone. No touch screen. No data package that I know of. But for the first 5 months, I get 500 free monthly phone minutes and unlimited texting. The phone itself is free as well. I should get this in the mail in a couple of weeks. And I was informed that this is NOT an "Obama phone" because George W. set up this program after Hurricane Katrina.
When I get a job, I will notify the food stamps folks and the GW Phone folks that I no longer need their programs. It's the right thing to do, for one, and I don't want to commit fraud. In the meantime, I'll be happy to have assistance on both fronts.
I do feel like me again. Like, for real real. Not tired, not foggy, not sad. Actually motivated and able to enjoy life. Sometimes that's a trick. This is an up-and-down kinda thing. But I feel a little more me than on the last good day. It feels less ... tenuous?
Friday, September 19, 2014
I am Sad that I am Sad
No triggers occurred that I can identify. But, like a switch, I flipped from positive to negative sometime this afternoon. I started wanting to sleep, to self-isolate. I started focusing on the fact that I don't have kids. On poor relationship choices -- I actually defended my latest entanglement recently by saying, "But drunken sex addicts need love too." (Maybe Al-Anon can help on that front.)
Then my thoughts went down the trail of "no man will ever put up with the craziness. Yes, countless friends love, respect, and appreciate me, but none of 'em have to deal with me 24/7."
Lest you think I always obsess about finding the right guy, I assure you that isn't true. Usually I have too many irons in the fire, none of which I would give up to free up the time and energy required to pursue a relationship. I love my freedom.
And yet. I am sometimes plagued by the "why am I still single?" nonsense. I wonder if my life can be truly fulfilling without kids. (Not that I think all women need kids; it's just that I have always wanted a houseful.)
I spent some time with my parents, some dinner and pleasant conversation. But I longed for bed the whole time. I had a two-hour nap today so I didn't need more sleep. I just wanted to crawl in a hole and hide.
Now it's bedtime and I hope I fall asleep quickly and don't wake up several times, as per usual. I hope my brain is kinder to me again when I wake up tomorrow.
I pray before bed most nights. Sometimes those are long conversations with god. Tonight I will just be begging, "please make me well; please make me well; please make me well."
Better Ain't Well
I don't convalesce gracefully. If I start feeling the least bit better, I want to be all the way better. But that is not how Bipolar Disorder works. It's gradual, the getting well. And for many years, I would settle for coming out of a Severe Depression to leveling out at a Mild Depression. But eventually, with the right doctor, meds, support, therapy combo, I got up to "normal" again and lived that way for a long time. Sure, I'd have minor dips into depression, but I could quickly address it and get back to my normal. Or I'd elevate a bit, but again, I'd manage it and get back to my baseline.
This current battle with my illness has lasted for about 7 months at this point. My brain has been processing several different trials of a crapload of different meds. I've been on the present cocktail (more or less) for about a month now, so I'm hoping all the previous drugs are fully (or nearly) out of my system. I'm also hoping I will be stable soon, as the increased dosage yesterday should allow me to see maximized benefits in a few more weeks. Cross your fingers for me. Say a prayer. Send good vibes. Whatever you can do.
I've been struggling with being patient with this process of getting well. And I found a project called Better Is Not Well on DBSA's website. The Depression and Bipolar Alliance is an amazing organization, and I encourage you to explore dbsalliance.org at your convenience. It's full of educational materials and other resources, for both people with mood disorders and their loved ones.
I copied the following excerpt from the Better Is Not Well website:
Too often, when a person is out of immediate risk and able to function in most day-to-day activities, the assumption is made, by both clinician and patient, that they have achieved treatment success, and as such further steps aren't taken to facilitate complete well-being. While the person's condition may have improved greatly, they are still living with residual symptoms of their condition and/or not living to their full potential.
I can relate. Right now, my apathy and anhedonia* seem to be gone. I just don't have the stamina (mentally or physically) or the powers of concentration to move forward as much as I'd like. Yes, I'm always impatient. But realistically, I just CAN'T DO very much right now. I am trying hard to be gentle with myself, to have realistic expectations. But I have goals, and I want to force reality to bend to my will so I can accomplish said goals. Because that's gonna happen. Yes, I care about stuff more; yes, I'm enjoying life more. BUT.
I worry sometimes that if I post something about going to the beach or singing at open mic nights, everybody will assume I've completely recovered. If only.While I am certainly BETTER, I sure as hell ain't WELL.
*BTW, anhedonia is the inability to experience pleasure from activities usually found enjoyable.
This current battle with my illness has lasted for about 7 months at this point. My brain has been processing several different trials of a crapload of different meds. I've been on the present cocktail (more or less) for about a month now, so I'm hoping all the previous drugs are fully (or nearly) out of my system. I'm also hoping I will be stable soon, as the increased dosage yesterday should allow me to see maximized benefits in a few more weeks. Cross your fingers for me. Say a prayer. Send good vibes. Whatever you can do.
I've been struggling with being patient with this process of getting well. And I found a project called Better Is Not Well on DBSA's website. The Depression and Bipolar Alliance is an amazing organization, and I encourage you to explore dbsalliance.org at your convenience. It's full of educational materials and other resources, for both people with mood disorders and their loved ones.
I copied the following excerpt from the Better Is Not Well website:
Too often, when a person is out of immediate risk and able to function in most day-to-day activities, the assumption is made, by both clinician and patient, that they have achieved treatment success, and as such further steps aren't taken to facilitate complete well-being. While the person's condition may have improved greatly, they are still living with residual symptoms of their condition and/or not living to their full potential.
I can relate. Right now, my apathy and anhedonia* seem to be gone. I just don't have the stamina (mentally or physically) or the powers of concentration to move forward as much as I'd like. Yes, I'm always impatient. But realistically, I just CAN'T DO very much right now. I am trying hard to be gentle with myself, to have realistic expectations. But I have goals, and I want to force reality to bend to my will so I can accomplish said goals. Because that's gonna happen. Yes, I care about stuff more; yes, I'm enjoying life more. BUT.
I worry sometimes that if I post something about going to the beach or singing at open mic nights, everybody will assume I've completely recovered. If only.While I am certainly BETTER, I sure as hell ain't WELL.
*BTW, anhedonia is the inability to experience pleasure from activities usually found enjoyable.
Bipolar Episodes Described in DSM 5
I always fear people's reactions when I tell them I have Bipolar Disorder. Often, people are just confused. They've heard of it but have no idea what it is.
First off, there are periods of mania (highs) and depression (lows) and, for most folks, periods where you're level and "stable." I think there's a perception that because it's a Mood Disorder, the only issue is that you feel intense sadness or happiness. That's the tip of the iceberg. There are mood, thought, and behavioral aspects. I could just summarize, but I think that misses the nuances. So please slog through all of this post, as it explains it so much better than any edited, more concise description could.
Let's start with the highs. There are two types: Mania and Hypomania. This next bit I took directly from the DSM 5.
Manic Episode
A. A distinct period of abnormally and persistently elevated, expansive, or irritable mood and abnormally and persistently increased goal-directed activity or energy, lasting at least 1 week and present most of the day, nearly every day (or any duration if hospitalization is necessary).
B. During the period of mood disturbance and increased energy or activity, three (or more) of the following symptoms (four if the mood is only irritable) are present to a significant degree and represent a noticeable change from usual behavior:
1. Inflated self-esteem or grandiosity.
2. Decreased need for sleep (e.g., feels rested after only 3 hours of sleep).
3. More talkative than usual or pressure to keep talking.
4. Flight of ideas or subjective experience that thoughts are racing.
5. Distractibility (i.e., attention too easily drawn to unimportant or irrelevant external stimuli), as reported or observed.
6. Increase in goal-directed activity (either socially, at work or school, or sexually) or psychomotor agitation (i.e., puposeless non-goal-directed activity).
7. Excessive involvement in activities that have a high potential for painful consequences (e.g., engaging in unrestrained buying sprees, sexual indiscretions, or foolish business investments).
C. The mood disturbance is sufficiently severe to cause marked impairment in social or occupational functioning or to necessitate hospitalization to prevent harm to self or others, or there are psychotic features.
D. The episode is not attributable to the physiological effects of a substance (e.g., a drug of abuse, a medication, other treatment) or to another medical condition.
Hypomanic Episode
A. A distinct period of abnormally and persistently elevated, expansive, or irritable mood and abnormally and persistently increased activity or energy, lasting at least 4 consecutive days and present most of the day, nearly every day.
B. During the period of mood disturbance and increased energy and activity, three (or more) of the following symptoms (four if the mood is only irritable) have persisted, represent a noticeable change from usual behavior, and have been present to a significant degree:
1. Inflated self-esteem or grandiosity.
2. Decreased need for sleep (e.g., feels rested after only 3 hours of sleep).
3. More talkative than usual or pressure to keep talking.
4. Flight of ideas or subjective experience that thoughts are racing.
5. Distractibility (i.e., attention too easily drawn to unimportant or irrelevant external stimuli), as reported or observed.
6. Increase in goal-directed activity (either socially, at work or school, or sexually) or psychomotor agitation.
7. Excessive involvement in activities that have a high potential for painful consequences (e.g., engaging in unrestrained buying sprees, sexual indiscretions, or foolish business investments).
C. The episode is associated with an unequivocal change in functioning that is uncharacteristic of the individual when not symptomatic.
D. The disturbance in mood and the change in functioning are observable by others.
E. The episode is not severe enough to cause marked impairment in social or occupational functioning or to necessitate hospitalization. If there are psychotic features, the episode is, by definition, manic.
F. The episode is not attributable to the physiological effects of a substance (e.g., a drug of abuse, a medication, other treatment).
Note: A full hypomanic episode that emerges during antidepressant treatment (e.g., medication, electroconvulsive therapy) but persists at a fully syndromal level beyond the physiological effect of that treatment is sufficient evidence for a hypomanic episode diagnosis. However, caution is indicated so that one or two symptoms (particularly increased irritability, edginess, or agitation following antidepressant use) are not taken as sufficient for diagnosis of a hypomanic episode, nor necessarily indicative of a bipolar diathesis.
There is only one description of a Major Depressive Episode, but in practice there are three levels: Mild, Moderate, or Severe. Again, the next section is taken directly from the DSM 5.
Major Depressive Episode
A. Five (or more) of the following symptoms have been present during the same 2-week period and represent a change from previous functioning; at least one of the symptoms is either (1) depressed mood or (2) loss of interest or pleasure.
Note: Do not include symptoms that are clearly attributable to another medical condition.
1. Depressed mood most of the day, nearly every day, as indicated by either subjective report (e.g., feels sad, empty, or hopeless) or observation made by others (e.g., appears tearful). (Note: In children and adolescents, can be irritable mood.)
2. Markedly diminished interest or pleasure in all, or almost all, activities most of the day, nearly every day (as indicated by either subjective account or observation).
3. Significant weight loss when not dieting or weight gain (e.g., a change of more than 5% of body weight in a month), or decrease or increase in appetite nearly every day. (Note: In children, consider failure to make expected weight gain.)
4. Insomnia or hypersomnia nearly every day.
5. Psychomotor agitation or retardation nearly every day (observable by others; not merely subjective feelings of restlessness or being slowed down).
6. Fatigue or loss of energy nearly every day.
7. Feelings of worthlessness or excessive or inappropriate guilt (which may be delusional) nearly every day (not merely self-reproach or guilt about being sick).
8. Diminished ability to think or concentrate, or indecisiveness, nearly every day (either by subjective account or as observed by others).
9. Recurrent thoughts of death (not just fear of dying), recurrent suicidal ideation without a specific plan, or a suicide attempt or a specific plan for committing suicide.
B. The symptoms cause clinically significant distress or impairment in social, occupational, or other important areas of functioning.
C. The episode is not attributable to the physiological effects of a substance or another
medical condition.
...
Note: Responses to a significant loss (e.g., bereavement, financial ruin, losses from a natural disaster, a serious medical illness or disability) may include the feelings of intense sadness, rumination about the loss, insomnia, poor appetite, and weight loss noted in Criterion A, which may resemble a depressive episode. Although such symptoms may be understandable or considered appropriate to the loss, the presence of a major depressive episode in addition to the normal response to a significant loss should also be carefully considered. This decision inevitably requires the exercise of clinical judgment based on the individual’s history and the cultural norms for the expression of distress in the context of loss.
Then there's a whole lot of discussion explaining the lists and how this stuff can manifest. This post is long enough already, but I hope to revisit this and explain how I personally exhibit various diagnostic criteria. .... Assuming I can get past the embarrassment. While I think some people might be able to nonjudgmentally accept that I have this disorder, I'm not so sure they can nonjudgmentally accept some of the specific behaviors I've engaged in while experiencing episodes. I need to wrestle with that a bit more before I decide for sure how much detail I'm willing to share.
First off, there are periods of mania (highs) and depression (lows) and, for most folks, periods where you're level and "stable." I think there's a perception that because it's a Mood Disorder, the only issue is that you feel intense sadness or happiness. That's the tip of the iceberg. There are mood, thought, and behavioral aspects. I could just summarize, but I think that misses the nuances. So please slog through all of this post, as it explains it so much better than any edited, more concise description could.
Let's start with the highs. There are two types: Mania and Hypomania. This next bit I took directly from the DSM 5.
Manic Episode
A. A distinct period of abnormally and persistently elevated, expansive, or irritable mood and abnormally and persistently increased goal-directed activity or energy, lasting at least 1 week and present most of the day, nearly every day (or any duration if hospitalization is necessary).
B. During the period of mood disturbance and increased energy or activity, three (or more) of the following symptoms (four if the mood is only irritable) are present to a significant degree and represent a noticeable change from usual behavior:
1. Inflated self-esteem or grandiosity.
2. Decreased need for sleep (e.g., feels rested after only 3 hours of sleep).
3. More talkative than usual or pressure to keep talking.
4. Flight of ideas or subjective experience that thoughts are racing.
5. Distractibility (i.e., attention too easily drawn to unimportant or irrelevant external stimuli), as reported or observed.
6. Increase in goal-directed activity (either socially, at work or school, or sexually) or psychomotor agitation (i.e., puposeless non-goal-directed activity).
7. Excessive involvement in activities that have a high potential for painful consequences (e.g., engaging in unrestrained buying sprees, sexual indiscretions, or foolish business investments).
C. The mood disturbance is sufficiently severe to cause marked impairment in social or occupational functioning or to necessitate hospitalization to prevent harm to self or others, or there are psychotic features.
D. The episode is not attributable to the physiological effects of a substance (e.g., a drug of abuse, a medication, other treatment) or to another medical condition.
Hypomanic Episode
A. A distinct period of abnormally and persistently elevated, expansive, or irritable mood and abnormally and persistently increased activity or energy, lasting at least 4 consecutive days and present most of the day, nearly every day.
B. During the period of mood disturbance and increased energy and activity, three (or more) of the following symptoms (four if the mood is only irritable) have persisted, represent a noticeable change from usual behavior, and have been present to a significant degree:
1. Inflated self-esteem or grandiosity.
2. Decreased need for sleep (e.g., feels rested after only 3 hours of sleep).
3. More talkative than usual or pressure to keep talking.
4. Flight of ideas or subjective experience that thoughts are racing.
5. Distractibility (i.e., attention too easily drawn to unimportant or irrelevant external stimuli), as reported or observed.
6. Increase in goal-directed activity (either socially, at work or school, or sexually) or psychomotor agitation.
7. Excessive involvement in activities that have a high potential for painful consequences (e.g., engaging in unrestrained buying sprees, sexual indiscretions, or foolish business investments).
C. The episode is associated with an unequivocal change in functioning that is uncharacteristic of the individual when not symptomatic.
D. The disturbance in mood and the change in functioning are observable by others.
E. The episode is not severe enough to cause marked impairment in social or occupational functioning or to necessitate hospitalization. If there are psychotic features, the episode is, by definition, manic.
F. The episode is not attributable to the physiological effects of a substance (e.g., a drug of abuse, a medication, other treatment).
Note: A full hypomanic episode that emerges during antidepressant treatment (e.g., medication, electroconvulsive therapy) but persists at a fully syndromal level beyond the physiological effect of that treatment is sufficient evidence for a hypomanic episode diagnosis. However, caution is indicated so that one or two symptoms (particularly increased irritability, edginess, or agitation following antidepressant use) are not taken as sufficient for diagnosis of a hypomanic episode, nor necessarily indicative of a bipolar diathesis.
There is only one description of a Major Depressive Episode, but in practice there are three levels: Mild, Moderate, or Severe. Again, the next section is taken directly from the DSM 5.
Major Depressive Episode
A. Five (or more) of the following symptoms have been present during the same 2-week period and represent a change from previous functioning; at least one of the symptoms is either (1) depressed mood or (2) loss of interest or pleasure.
Note: Do not include symptoms that are clearly attributable to another medical condition.
1. Depressed mood most of the day, nearly every day, as indicated by either subjective report (e.g., feels sad, empty, or hopeless) or observation made by others (e.g., appears tearful). (Note: In children and adolescents, can be irritable mood.)
2. Markedly diminished interest or pleasure in all, or almost all, activities most of the day, nearly every day (as indicated by either subjective account or observation).
3. Significant weight loss when not dieting or weight gain (e.g., a change of more than 5% of body weight in a month), or decrease or increase in appetite nearly every day. (Note: In children, consider failure to make expected weight gain.)
4. Insomnia or hypersomnia nearly every day.
5. Psychomotor agitation or retardation nearly every day (observable by others; not merely subjective feelings of restlessness or being slowed down).
6. Fatigue or loss of energy nearly every day.
7. Feelings of worthlessness or excessive or inappropriate guilt (which may be delusional) nearly every day (not merely self-reproach or guilt about being sick).
8. Diminished ability to think or concentrate, or indecisiveness, nearly every day (either by subjective account or as observed by others).
9. Recurrent thoughts of death (not just fear of dying), recurrent suicidal ideation without a specific plan, or a suicide attempt or a specific plan for committing suicide.
B. The symptoms cause clinically significant distress or impairment in social, occupational, or other important areas of functioning.
C. The episode is not attributable to the physiological effects of a substance or another
medical condition.
...
Note: Responses to a significant loss (e.g., bereavement, financial ruin, losses from a natural disaster, a serious medical illness or disability) may include the feelings of intense sadness, rumination about the loss, insomnia, poor appetite, and weight loss noted in Criterion A, which may resemble a depressive episode. Although such symptoms may be understandable or considered appropriate to the loss, the presence of a major depressive episode in addition to the normal response to a significant loss should also be carefully considered. This decision inevitably requires the exercise of clinical judgment based on the individual’s history and the cultural norms for the expression of distress in the context of loss.
Then there's a whole lot of discussion explaining the lists and how this stuff can manifest. This post is long enough already, but I hope to revisit this and explain how I personally exhibit various diagnostic criteria. .... Assuming I can get past the embarrassment. While I think some people might be able to nonjudgmentally accept that I have this disorder, I'm not so sure they can nonjudgmentally accept some of the specific behaviors I've engaged in while experiencing episodes. I need to wrestle with that a bit more before I decide for sure how much detail I'm willing to share.
Thursday, September 18, 2014
Lithium Discontinued!
Quick note to say I saw a nurse practitioner today, and she agreed to d/c my lithium. She tinkered with other meds, and we hope we're on the right track. I pray we are.
I mentioned the awful taste in my mouth, the fear of toxicity. I didn't mention that it dehydrates me, which affects my singing voice -- a damn shame, I think. It also makes my hair brittle and my nails have ridges. I got prenatal vitamins to combat that, but frankly, when you're of a certain age and childless (not by choice), choking down prenatal vitamins does NOT help with the positive thinking.
Anyway, NO MORE LITHIUM. WOOHOO! Can you tell I'm glad?
OK, that's all.
I mentioned the awful taste in my mouth, the fear of toxicity. I didn't mention that it dehydrates me, which affects my singing voice -- a damn shame, I think. It also makes my hair brittle and my nails have ridges. I got prenatal vitamins to combat that, but frankly, when you're of a certain age and childless (not by choice), choking down prenatal vitamins does NOT help with the positive thinking.
Anyway, NO MORE LITHIUM. WOOHOO! Can you tell I'm glad?
OK, that's all.
Can Lyrics Save Your Life?
My brother, a music lover if there ever was one, was a great friend to many, many people, including me. Part of his charm was his ability to listen to a problem, immediately find a song that spoke to that, play it for you, then wait expectantly while some insight broke you open and you realized all the woes of the universe were now solved, or at least put in a perspective that made them bearable, manageable. It used to annoy the shit out of me. I was looking for advice from him. But he only spoke in other people's lyrics when there was something really heavy going on with me. Strange how I've caught myself doing the same thing in the guise of Poetry Therapy, courtesy of my MSW coursework at FSU.
I took a Poetry Therapy class with Dean Mazza (the world's expert in this area, apparently), and I felt a rightness down to my bones that this is what I wanted to incorporate into my practice as a therapist. Well, I say I took a class. I took half a class, because I had a crippling depressive episode hit mid-semester and I had to withdraw from that course (and others). But I still have the textbook, and I've used the technique in Trinidad and at my job in Enterprise. I dream of maybe one day getting certified in poetry therapy and opening my own expressive arts center ...
But back to my immediate reality.
There's this Zakk Wylde song Codie used to sing to me called "Throwin' It All Away." It's about depression and suicide. I fell in love with it instantly. I even did a scrapbook page about depression with some of the lyrics from that song:
You couldn't feel the sunlight upon your face
Your little world a little out of place
You couldn't hear the ocean
You couldn't hear the waves
I know you meant to come back
I know you meant to stay
I can't tell you how perfectly that captures depression for me. If I'm listening to that on repeat, BFF knows it's getting bad for me. (Side note: Listening to sad music doesn't make me sad. It feels good, in fact, when I'm depressed, because I feel less alone, like the write relates. Don't know if I've explained that earlier in the blog, but there it is.)
OK, so last night the TV show Nashville was on TV in Mama's living room. It's one of the few shows I actually watch, but I haven't seem it in a while. I didn't really want to tune in, because the storyline wouldn't make sense. But there was a scene starting where characters were going to perform, and I hate to miss out on a good song. Boy, am I glad I listened! There was this song called "It Ain't Yours to Throw Away." It's rocked me to the core. This bit especially:
Some things are just God-sent. Or maybe Codie-sent. (Don't mean that to be sacrilegious; I just know Codie's looking out for me too.)
I don't know if diamonds come rolling out when I open my mouth ... BUT. I do remember quite vividly sitting in orientation for the MSW program, hearing the speakers that day say to all the incoming social worker students that our job in the world was twofold: to instill hope in our clients and to be a voice for the voiceless. I feel called to be in the social work field. I feel called to use my writing talents, meager though they may be, to speak out about my own experience as someone with bipolar disorder, and to advocate for the needs of other people living with mental illness. I certainly hope that my actions instill hope in people too. I hope that I can use my singing voice to entertain, to provide some therapeutic insights along the way even.
A mere 24 hours before I heard "It Ain't Yours to Throw Away" I was considering hospitalizing myself because of the suicidal thoughts that had invaded my brain again. A lot of things helped get me back on track, but that song? It solidified it. My attitude crystalized into: "These folks at Bridgeway better help me, and with a quickness, because I got shit to do."
It's nice to feel sassy and motivated again. It's even better to feel like I have a purpose, and that God will use me, work THROUGH me, to help other people. I just need to get well so I can get back to it.
I realize that shift in perspective may or may not be permanent, as I've still got brain chemistry to level out. But that's a lot closer to ME than I've felt in a long time. Praise God. And thank you too, lil bro, if you happened to have had a hand in it.
I took a Poetry Therapy class with Dean Mazza (the world's expert in this area, apparently), and I felt a rightness down to my bones that this is what I wanted to incorporate into my practice as a therapist. Well, I say I took a class. I took half a class, because I had a crippling depressive episode hit mid-semester and I had to withdraw from that course (and others). But I still have the textbook, and I've used the technique in Trinidad and at my job in Enterprise. I dream of maybe one day getting certified in poetry therapy and opening my own expressive arts center ...
But back to my immediate reality.
There's this Zakk Wylde song Codie used to sing to me called "Throwin' It All Away." It's about depression and suicide. I fell in love with it instantly. I even did a scrapbook page about depression with some of the lyrics from that song:
You couldn't feel the sunlight upon your face
Your little world a little out of place
You couldn't hear the ocean
You couldn't hear the waves
I know you meant to come back
I know you meant to stay
I can't tell you how perfectly that captures depression for me. If I'm listening to that on repeat, BFF knows it's getting bad for me. (Side note: Listening to sad music doesn't make me sad. It feels good, in fact, when I'm depressed, because I feel less alone, like the write relates. Don't know if I've explained that earlier in the blog, but there it is.)
OK, so last night the TV show Nashville was on TV in Mama's living room. It's one of the few shows I actually watch, but I haven't seem it in a while. I didn't really want to tune in, because the storyline wouldn't make sense. But there was a scene starting where characters were going to perform, and I hate to miss out on a good song. Boy, am I glad I listened! There was this song called "It Ain't Yours to Throw Away." It's rocked me to the core. This bit especially:
That same road that brought you here
Will sure as hell take you home
The life you left behind will have you back
You're tired of paying dues in worn out shoes
and Broadway blues
And any fool will tell you
the damn ol' deck is stacked
Will sure as hell take you home
The life you left behind will have you back
You're tired of paying dues in worn out shoes
and Broadway blues
And any fool will tell you
the damn ol' deck is stacked
What if you're just a vessel
And God gave you something special
And God gave you something special
It ain't yours to throw away
It ain't yours to throw away
Every time you open up your mouth
Diamonds come rolling out
It ain't yours to throw away
No ...
It ain't yours to throw away
Every time you open up your mouth
Diamonds come rolling out
It ain't yours to throw away
No ...
Some things are just God-sent. Or maybe Codie-sent. (Don't mean that to be sacrilegious; I just know Codie's looking out for me too.)
I don't know if diamonds come rolling out when I open my mouth ... BUT. I do remember quite vividly sitting in orientation for the MSW program, hearing the speakers that day say to all the incoming social worker students that our job in the world was twofold: to instill hope in our clients and to be a voice for the voiceless. I feel called to be in the social work field. I feel called to use my writing talents, meager though they may be, to speak out about my own experience as someone with bipolar disorder, and to advocate for the needs of other people living with mental illness. I certainly hope that my actions instill hope in people too. I hope that I can use my singing voice to entertain, to provide some therapeutic insights along the way even.
A mere 24 hours before I heard "It Ain't Yours to Throw Away" I was considering hospitalizing myself because of the suicidal thoughts that had invaded my brain again. A lot of things helped get me back on track, but that song? It solidified it. My attitude crystalized into: "These folks at Bridgeway better help me, and with a quickness, because I got shit to do."
It's nice to feel sassy and motivated again. It's even better to feel like I have a purpose, and that God will use me, work THROUGH me, to help other people. I just need to get well so I can get back to it.
I realize that shift in perspective may or may not be permanent, as I've still got brain chemistry to level out. But that's a lot closer to ME than I've felt in a long time. Praise God. And thank you too, lil bro, if you happened to have had a hand in it.
Wednesday, September 17, 2014
Noncompliance Never Tasted So Good
I had a Coke at lunch today, and it was glorious. Because I intentionally skipped my morning dose of lithium. I took it after lunch, a fact which toned down the screech in my BFF's voice -- when I told her I'd skipped a dose, she had a ... strong reaction. I wasn't mad at BFF. I felt guilty, actually. She's done and continues to do so much to help me. I'm sure she'd like to strangle me for being self-destructive (at worst) or having poor judgment (at the least). She argued that I'm seeing the doctor tomorrow, I could've waited one more day before I stopped the lithium. She's worried, and probably rightly so, because lithium is not to be f---ed with. That whole toxic thing. But you can't get toxic from taking too little. And my lab work says I'm not taking a high enough dose for it to be therapeutic anyway. And this is the dose the doc started me on, so I don't have to worry about titrating down ... A lot of rationalization on my end, perhaps. But I WANTED a F---ing COKE.
Yes, that's a trivial thing. But some days, a Coke is all the happiness I get. And lithium takes that from me. Judge all you want. I did what I had to do this morning, and I don't regret it. I'm going to tell the doctor to take me off the lithium. Physician's assistant, I mean. Whatever. If the PA makes a good enough argument for me staying on it, I might be persuaded to listen. But I strongly hope that I can stay on the other two meds and switch out the third. Yes, the PA is an expert that I should listen to. But it's still my brain, my body, my life, my taste buds. And frankly, I'm the expert on ME. And I know myself well enough to know that I won't be 100% compliant on lithium. I need something else I can tolerate a bit easier, something that doesn't make everything taste like a paste marinated in the Gulf of Mexico.
Yes, that's a trivial thing. But some days, a Coke is all the happiness I get. And lithium takes that from me. Judge all you want. I did what I had to do this morning, and I don't regret it. I'm going to tell the doctor to take me off the lithium. Physician's assistant, I mean. Whatever. If the PA makes a good enough argument for me staying on it, I might be persuaded to listen. But I strongly hope that I can stay on the other two meds and switch out the third. Yes, the PA is an expert that I should listen to. But it's still my brain, my body, my life, my taste buds. And frankly, I'm the expert on ME. And I know myself well enough to know that I won't be 100% compliant on lithium. I need something else I can tolerate a bit easier, something that doesn't make everything taste like a paste marinated in the Gulf of Mexico.
Tuesday, September 16, 2014
PhD Applications, Open Mic Nights, and Disability
You might be reading this blog, wondering if I focus on my illness every minute of every day. The answer is a resounding NO. It's frequently on my mind, always in the back of my mind, for sure.
But I am trying very hard to get well, and part of that means having positive goals, enjoying healthy leisure activities (there's a long list of other stuff too, but I'm trying to focus this post).
When I got my MSW in December 2013, my plan was to work a couple years, get a clinical license, then decide if I really wanted that PhD. I mean, I wanted it immediately. But it's a lot of work. A lot of stress. And I kinda wanted a break from college. But I haven't made any progress at all on licensure, because I was working in Alabama but wanted a Florida license.
I have been so sick for so long this time, that I started taking a hard look at my overall work history as both a journalist and as a therapist. I wondered if I should just go on disability. That's a tough thing to consider. When I'm well, I am a good employee, good student. I'm smart, talented, creative, empathetic, have a good work ethic, blah, blah. Just read my letters of recommendation to the master's program at FSU from 2011. I'm basically awesome.
But being smart and being sick aren't really related. And if I apply for disability and get approved, I can decline it. If I'm well by then, I can work instead. Or get my Ph.D.
I need a reason to get out of bed. So I'm researching schools and marking application deadlines on my calendar. If I'm accepted to a program and get the right financial aid deal and am stable and well by next fall, I will go back to school. It's a goal.
Also, singing blues music is about the only thing lately that makes me feel anything other than defeated. It's downer stuff, blues music, but I find comfort in it. I mean, if a whole genre can exist detailing humanity's misery, I AM NOT ALONE. So I keep sending out feelers for musicians who might want to start a band with me. Ha. I'm sure if they read my Facebook feed or this blog, they'll be lining up. Because everybody wants to be in a band with a crazy lady. Not the smartest marketing strategy perhaps.
This sick person is not the REAL ME. On stage behind that mic, I am purely in the moment, not thinking all the black thoughts. I'm feeling a release instead. And that feels good. I feel FREE, at least momentarily. I need it. So I do hope some musicians out there open themselves up to the chance that I can be a good addition to their own projects, or that they'll take a gamble at starting a new project entirely involving yours truly.
I have to make efforts on the Ph.D. and music fronts. Because eventually I will be well; I will be ME. And I want a doctorate and a band. I did before I got on the crazy train this time, and I will again when this ride is over. In the meantime, making those efforts are a touchstone to reminding me of what I have to look forward to when I finally climb out of this damn hole.
Meanwhile, I think I am going to apply for disability. I am not well enough to hold down a job right now. I don't know how long it will take before I am. It takes forever and a day to get approved, I hear. If I get well before I get a decision on the disability, no big deal. I'll proceed with my life as planned. If I get approved for disability and still can't work, well ... that's what it's there for. I would still keep fighting to get better, with the eventual goal of getting off disability and going back to work. Still, hard on the ego. But what isn't these days.
But I am trying very hard to get well, and part of that means having positive goals, enjoying healthy leisure activities (there's a long list of other stuff too, but I'm trying to focus this post).
When I got my MSW in December 2013, my plan was to work a couple years, get a clinical license, then decide if I really wanted that PhD. I mean, I wanted it immediately. But it's a lot of work. A lot of stress. And I kinda wanted a break from college. But I haven't made any progress at all on licensure, because I was working in Alabama but wanted a Florida license.
I have been so sick for so long this time, that I started taking a hard look at my overall work history as both a journalist and as a therapist. I wondered if I should just go on disability. That's a tough thing to consider. When I'm well, I am a good employee, good student. I'm smart, talented, creative, empathetic, have a good work ethic, blah, blah. Just read my letters of recommendation to the master's program at FSU from 2011. I'm basically awesome.
But being smart and being sick aren't really related. And if I apply for disability and get approved, I can decline it. If I'm well by then, I can work instead. Or get my Ph.D.
I need a reason to get out of bed. So I'm researching schools and marking application deadlines on my calendar. If I'm accepted to a program and get the right financial aid deal and am stable and well by next fall, I will go back to school. It's a goal.
Also, singing blues music is about the only thing lately that makes me feel anything other than defeated. It's downer stuff, blues music, but I find comfort in it. I mean, if a whole genre can exist detailing humanity's misery, I AM NOT ALONE. So I keep sending out feelers for musicians who might want to start a band with me. Ha. I'm sure if they read my Facebook feed or this blog, they'll be lining up. Because everybody wants to be in a band with a crazy lady. Not the smartest marketing strategy perhaps.
This sick person is not the REAL ME. On stage behind that mic, I am purely in the moment, not thinking all the black thoughts. I'm feeling a release instead. And that feels good. I feel FREE, at least momentarily. I need it. So I do hope some musicians out there open themselves up to the chance that I can be a good addition to their own projects, or that they'll take a gamble at starting a new project entirely involving yours truly.
I have to make efforts on the Ph.D. and music fronts. Because eventually I will be well; I will be ME. And I want a doctorate and a band. I did before I got on the crazy train this time, and I will again when this ride is over. In the meantime, making those efforts are a touchstone to reminding me of what I have to look forward to when I finally climb out of this damn hole.
Meanwhile, I think I am going to apply for disability. I am not well enough to hold down a job right now. I don't know how long it will take before I am. It takes forever and a day to get approved, I hear. If I get well before I get a decision on the disability, no big deal. I'll proceed with my life as planned. If I get approved for disability and still can't work, well ... that's what it's there for. I would still keep fighting to get better, with the eventual goal of getting off disability and going back to work. Still, hard on the ego. But what isn't these days.
These Side Effects Can Bite Me
Let's talk about lithium carbonate. It's an oldie but a goodie, the first drug used to treat manic depression, back when bipolar disorder was, in my humble opinion, more accurately named.
It's very cheap, which is why my broke, uninsured self is taking it right now. Years ago (1999 or 2000 perhaps) I took it and had problems with coordination (couldn't hang up a phone in the office). I think there were other adverse effects, but who can remember that long ago. I stopped taking it, is the main point here. On to the next drug experiment to try to level me out ...
But here we are. 2014. For financial reasons, I'm giving lithium a go once more. It requires lab work, as the line between a therapeutic dose and a toxic dose is thin. My levels came back low, which means I need a higher dose. I am sure when I see the physician's assistant last this week an increase will be recommended.
Not so fast. I don't want to take this shit anymore. I don't care if it might work at a higher dose. I don't care if it's cheap. (Yes, the biggest obstacle to bipolar folk's being stable and well is noncompliance. I don't f---ing care right now).
I had to call Poison Control not too long ago (2 and a half weeks maybe?) because I was having SOME but not ALL of the acute toxicity symptoms. I was advised by the prescribing doc that if I had these symptoms, I should stop taking the lithium immediately and go to the ER. I was unsure if I was toxic or not. And who needs an ER bill if you don't really require care? So I called Poison Control, explained that I didn't THINK I was toxic but needed more information about what I should be watching out for. The woman was extremely helpful. Since I wasn't throwing up, she didn't think I was toxic. She was concerned enough to call back in two hours to see how I was doing though. And then she asked if I lived alone. Yes, I said. This bothered her. She said one of the symptoms of toxicity is confusion. So if I started having the other symptoms I'd learned to watch out for, I might not realize I need to or be able to call an ambulance. We agreed I'd call the BFF and have her ring me at midnight and again at 6 a.m. to see if I was confused. (My BFF needs her own super hero costume, as much as I have been relying on her to save the day lately). I called the BFF and explained the plan, and she agreed to make the calls. I warned her that the Seroquel I'm taking knocks me out, so I advised her to call three times in a row before giving up and calling 911. She called, I answered and made sense, all was well. No toxicity.
But that was all scary as shit. (Google "acute lithium toxicity" if you want more info).
And there are other side effects too. Lithium makes my mouth taste like salt ALL THE TIME. Like I'm sucking on a salt rock. My palate is completely off kilter. I have to drink a ton of water to avoid being dehydrated, as that can make me toxic. I can't take NSAIDS (like the Mobic for plantar fasciitis) as that can make me toxic. There are other drug interactions, but I stopped listening to the doctor and just made a note that if I ever take anything OTC or prescription, I will inform the docs and pharmacists of my lithium dosages so they can tell me if it's safe.
So about my mouth tasting like the Gulf of Mexico. This means I can't comfort myself with food. At all. And I actually prefer Pepsi to Coke these days, because somehow my taste buds are just that f---ed up. And another thing. That Seroquel is making my mouth dry. So I need sour candy to make me salivate more. And sugar free so I don't rot out my teeth. I have yet to FIND any sugar free sour candy. I have settled on sugar free Werther's. The caramel apple kind. That is expensive. Furthermore, the Seroquel makes me eat all the time. Like, three meals a day plus a couple snacks, plus waking up three or four times a night to snack. I AM SO HUNGRY. Worse than being-on-Atkin's hungry. My fashion choices revolve around "What won't look like pajamas if paired with my yoga pants?" Because none of my jeans fasten anymore. I realize that my pants size woes pale in significance to getting myself well mentally. But damn. Getting fatter never helps me feel LESS depressed. *sigh*
Oh, I'm also taking Lamictal. It makes me slightly nauseated all the time. It's annoying but not overly so. I took it for years, and it helped me stay stable for good, long stretches. I can tolerate the queasy.
There are other adverse effects to this combo of drugs, but I'm out of motivation to detail them. I think this is the worst of it. Though I should mention that the Seroquel might give me diabetes or heart disease, things I'm already at a high risk of developing due to family history and my own Polycystic Ovary Syndrome (endocrine system disorder). So there's more lab work that goes along with that one too.
Ugh. It's enough to make anyone go off her meds. I won't, because that's what got me in my current nightmare. But I do hope I can go off the lithium in favor of something more effective and also more tolerable.
It's very cheap, which is why my broke, uninsured self is taking it right now. Years ago (1999 or 2000 perhaps) I took it and had problems with coordination (couldn't hang up a phone in the office). I think there were other adverse effects, but who can remember that long ago. I stopped taking it, is the main point here. On to the next drug experiment to try to level me out ...
But here we are. 2014. For financial reasons, I'm giving lithium a go once more. It requires lab work, as the line between a therapeutic dose and a toxic dose is thin. My levels came back low, which means I need a higher dose. I am sure when I see the physician's assistant last this week an increase will be recommended.
Not so fast. I don't want to take this shit anymore. I don't care if it might work at a higher dose. I don't care if it's cheap. (Yes, the biggest obstacle to bipolar folk's being stable and well is noncompliance. I don't f---ing care right now).
I had to call Poison Control not too long ago (2 and a half weeks maybe?) because I was having SOME but not ALL of the acute toxicity symptoms. I was advised by the prescribing doc that if I had these symptoms, I should stop taking the lithium immediately and go to the ER. I was unsure if I was toxic or not. And who needs an ER bill if you don't really require care? So I called Poison Control, explained that I didn't THINK I was toxic but needed more information about what I should be watching out for. The woman was extremely helpful. Since I wasn't throwing up, she didn't think I was toxic. She was concerned enough to call back in two hours to see how I was doing though. And then she asked if I lived alone. Yes, I said. This bothered her. She said one of the symptoms of toxicity is confusion. So if I started having the other symptoms I'd learned to watch out for, I might not realize I need to or be able to call an ambulance. We agreed I'd call the BFF and have her ring me at midnight and again at 6 a.m. to see if I was confused. (My BFF needs her own super hero costume, as much as I have been relying on her to save the day lately). I called the BFF and explained the plan, and she agreed to make the calls. I warned her that the Seroquel I'm taking knocks me out, so I advised her to call three times in a row before giving up and calling 911. She called, I answered and made sense, all was well. No toxicity.
But that was all scary as shit. (Google "acute lithium toxicity" if you want more info).
And there are other side effects too. Lithium makes my mouth taste like salt ALL THE TIME. Like I'm sucking on a salt rock. My palate is completely off kilter. I have to drink a ton of water to avoid being dehydrated, as that can make me toxic. I can't take NSAIDS (like the Mobic for plantar fasciitis) as that can make me toxic. There are other drug interactions, but I stopped listening to the doctor and just made a note that if I ever take anything OTC or prescription, I will inform the docs and pharmacists of my lithium dosages so they can tell me if it's safe.
So about my mouth tasting like the Gulf of Mexico. This means I can't comfort myself with food. At all. And I actually prefer Pepsi to Coke these days, because somehow my taste buds are just that f---ed up. And another thing. That Seroquel is making my mouth dry. So I need sour candy to make me salivate more. And sugar free so I don't rot out my teeth. I have yet to FIND any sugar free sour candy. I have settled on sugar free Werther's. The caramel apple kind. That is expensive. Furthermore, the Seroquel makes me eat all the time. Like, three meals a day plus a couple snacks, plus waking up three or four times a night to snack. I AM SO HUNGRY. Worse than being-on-Atkin's hungry. My fashion choices revolve around "What won't look like pajamas if paired with my yoga pants?" Because none of my jeans fasten anymore. I realize that my pants size woes pale in significance to getting myself well mentally. But damn. Getting fatter never helps me feel LESS depressed. *sigh*
Oh, I'm also taking Lamictal. It makes me slightly nauseated all the time. It's annoying but not overly so. I took it for years, and it helped me stay stable for good, long stretches. I can tolerate the queasy.
There are other adverse effects to this combo of drugs, but I'm out of motivation to detail them. I think this is the worst of it. Though I should mention that the Seroquel might give me diabetes or heart disease, things I'm already at a high risk of developing due to family history and my own Polycystic Ovary Syndrome (endocrine system disorder). So there's more lab work that goes along with that one too.
Ugh. It's enough to make anyone go off her meds. I won't, because that's what got me in my current nightmare. But I do hope I can go off the lithium in favor of something more effective and also more tolerable.
Nearly got Baker Acted Today
I had lunch with a dear friend, and she was concerned about me. She asked about the Baker Act process. I told her I'd be placed in cuffs, escorted to the hospital, involuntarily committed, that it would be a matter of public record. She expressed being concerned that as a witness to me being so sick, she wondered if she should initiate this process to keep me safe, because if she didn't and something happened ... That's a tough position to be in, I'm sure. I hate that I am worrying all my friends and family to that level of fear.
Truth is, I only reveal to you guys a small part of the darkness in my brain these days. Apparently that bit of honesty is scary enough. After lunch with my friend, I called the BFF to discuss whether I should just check into the hospital voluntarily. I have a therapy appointment in the a.m. I have an appointment with a physician's assistant in two days (the wait for an appointment with an actual psychiatrist is at least another month, and I don't have that kind of time). BFF suggested that rather than checking into the hospital RIGHT NOW, I go to Bridgeway to see if I could have a crisis session with my therapist, any therapist, to help me make a plan to get through the next 24 hours until my regularly scheduled appointment. This sounded good to me. I'm not QUITE so bad that I feel unsafe outside a hospital, but I was have a bad morning and felt a great sense of urgency to be reassured that I will get better. And soon.
See, on my way to lunch I called my BFF and told her quite dispassionately that I'm aggravated with myself for not having life insurance, that my whole family is living paycheck to paycheck, so nobody could afford to bury me right now. When my brother died in that car wreck 11 years ago, it was an added nightmare trying to afford a coffin, burial space, and all the other crap that goes along with it. As if losing a loved one traumatically isn't burden enough. I was telling BFF that it sucks that I can't even THINK about killing myself because I am too poor to die. There was no emotion attached to this conversation. I think that's what scared me most -- by me I mean that tiny remnant in the back of my mind that still has Hope's thoughts as opposed to the thoughts of my illness.
I started wondering what refills I had available at the pharmacy. I have no clue what dose would be fatal, and I wouldn't want to come out of any attempt alive. I'd likely have organ damage, permanent neurological problems, who knows. My perfectionism might be working for Hope in this instance, as I won't make an attempt that isn't a guaranteed success. Anyway, I don't have the energy or concentration to figure all that out right now.
At any rate, BFF stayed on the phone with me (this was after lunch) until I got to the therapist's office. You'd think she didn't trust me. My therapist had a cancellation, so she was able to see me immediately. She was very concerned and called her supervisor in to help assess me. I was very honest, as I do actually want to live, I just want to get better but am tired of waiting (after 7 months of misery) for that to happen. I was surprised that they were talking about Baker Acting me, because I showed up voluntarily asking for help. The explanation I got was that they automatically Baker Act anyone going to the hospital because it's across town, and if I'm suicidal, they (Bridgeway) need to know I will safely get TO the hospital, not change me mind or whatever and never show up.
This pissed me off, though I get the rationale, both in keeping clients safe and in the agency covering their ass. Lesson: If I want to voluntarily check in, go directly TO the hospital.
I assured the therapist and her boss that I would not kill myself any time soon, that I would show up for therapy in the morning as planned. I convinced them I was not an immediate danger to myself. And I'm NOT. I just feel angry and ... the situation is becoming intolerable. I need help FASTER.
So I signed a safety contract. That's a first for me. As a clinician I've had clients sign behavioral contracts and safety contracts. Being on the client side of that process is strange. On one hand, I was like "Do you really think a piece of paper and my signature is going to affect what I do?" But then again, I do like to keep my word. And it's only for a day. I can get to my next appointment. Then we'll reassess. If things get too bad between now and then, I'll go to the hospital and check in. I give you all my word, just like I gave it to Bridgeway.
I am grateful to the lunch friend for talking to me about her worries, for talking to me about Baker Acting me. If she had started that process, I would not have held it against her. If the folks at Bridgeway had Baker Acted me, I would have understood that also. But I really am safe, and it really isn't necessary. Not for the next little bit, anyway. I don't know where the line is, therefore I don't REALLY know how close I am. But I do know I have no intention of dying while there are still treatment options that will get me well. There is hope. I will get better eventually. I always do.
Truth is, I only reveal to you guys a small part of the darkness in my brain these days. Apparently that bit of honesty is scary enough. After lunch with my friend, I called the BFF to discuss whether I should just check into the hospital voluntarily. I have a therapy appointment in the a.m. I have an appointment with a physician's assistant in two days (the wait for an appointment with an actual psychiatrist is at least another month, and I don't have that kind of time). BFF suggested that rather than checking into the hospital RIGHT NOW, I go to Bridgeway to see if I could have a crisis session with my therapist, any therapist, to help me make a plan to get through the next 24 hours until my regularly scheduled appointment. This sounded good to me. I'm not QUITE so bad that I feel unsafe outside a hospital, but I was have a bad morning and felt a great sense of urgency to be reassured that I will get better. And soon.
See, on my way to lunch I called my BFF and told her quite dispassionately that I'm aggravated with myself for not having life insurance, that my whole family is living paycheck to paycheck, so nobody could afford to bury me right now. When my brother died in that car wreck 11 years ago, it was an added nightmare trying to afford a coffin, burial space, and all the other crap that goes along with it. As if losing a loved one traumatically isn't burden enough. I was telling BFF that it sucks that I can't even THINK about killing myself because I am too poor to die. There was no emotion attached to this conversation. I think that's what scared me most -- by me I mean that tiny remnant in the back of my mind that still has Hope's thoughts as opposed to the thoughts of my illness.
I started wondering what refills I had available at the pharmacy. I have no clue what dose would be fatal, and I wouldn't want to come out of any attempt alive. I'd likely have organ damage, permanent neurological problems, who knows. My perfectionism might be working for Hope in this instance, as I won't make an attempt that isn't a guaranteed success. Anyway, I don't have the energy or concentration to figure all that out right now.
At any rate, BFF stayed on the phone with me (this was after lunch) until I got to the therapist's office. You'd think she didn't trust me. My therapist had a cancellation, so she was able to see me immediately. She was very concerned and called her supervisor in to help assess me. I was very honest, as I do actually want to live, I just want to get better but am tired of waiting (after 7 months of misery) for that to happen. I was surprised that they were talking about Baker Acting me, because I showed up voluntarily asking for help. The explanation I got was that they automatically Baker Act anyone going to the hospital because it's across town, and if I'm suicidal, they (Bridgeway) need to know I will safely get TO the hospital, not change me mind or whatever and never show up.
This pissed me off, though I get the rationale, both in keeping clients safe and in the agency covering their ass. Lesson: If I want to voluntarily check in, go directly TO the hospital.
I assured the therapist and her boss that I would not kill myself any time soon, that I would show up for therapy in the morning as planned. I convinced them I was not an immediate danger to myself. And I'm NOT. I just feel angry and ... the situation is becoming intolerable. I need help FASTER.
So I signed a safety contract. That's a first for me. As a clinician I've had clients sign behavioral contracts and safety contracts. Being on the client side of that process is strange. On one hand, I was like "Do you really think a piece of paper and my signature is going to affect what I do?" But then again, I do like to keep my word. And it's only for a day. I can get to my next appointment. Then we'll reassess. If things get too bad between now and then, I'll go to the hospital and check in. I give you all my word, just like I gave it to Bridgeway.
I am grateful to the lunch friend for talking to me about her worries, for talking to me about Baker Acting me. If she had started that process, I would not have held it against her. If the folks at Bridgeway had Baker Acted me, I would have understood that also. But I really am safe, and it really isn't necessary. Not for the next little bit, anyway. I don't know where the line is, therefore I don't REALLY know how close I am. But I do know I have no intention of dying while there are still treatment options that will get me well. There is hope. I will get better eventually. I always do.
Tuesday, September 9, 2014
My name is Hope, and I have Bipolar Disorder
I started a GoFundMe campaign called Help Hope Get Well when my life exploded due to my most recent Bipolar Disorder cycling, which has been described by my mom and best friend as the worst they've ever seen me. I've been fighting mental illness since I was 14 years old. It started with depression and panic attacks. By the time I was about 18, I started having what I now recognize as hypomanic cycles. I wasn't diagnosed with Bipolar until I was maybe 20 years old. I was considered Bipolar Type II then. (More on all the variations and criteria in a later post). In 2011 my diagnosis was changed to Bipolar Type 1 Rapid Cycling. This thing morphs and gets worse with age. Yay.
Over the years I have tried a variety of meds, most of which either don't work or the adverse side effects were intolerable. Support groups and friends help. Meds DO help, when I find the right cocktail and take them as prescribed (more on noncompliance in a later post too). Therapy helps tremendously. I would say when I was stable the longest, it was because I had a three-legged stool propping me up: meds, therapy, support group.
But then I was a dumbass. I did honestly try at first to find a way to afford my meds after graduation. No more student health insurance, no income. I didn't qualify for help through the Affordable Care Act because I hadn't filed taxes the year before (because I was a student with no income). I asked relatives, but they didn't have the cash to spare. At that point I just gave up. And I thought, somewhat irrationally, that since I'd managed to successfully live in another country for 15 weeks and get a social work degree training me to be a psychotherapist, that I had finally kicked Bipolar's ass. Or if I was not cured, at least I was qualified to talk myself out of being crazy if the symptoms returned. Hahahaha. What a joke. And here we are.
I am fully aware I've managed to live a pretty cool and fulfilling life, despite the battles with my brain. I've been happy and content for long stretches, and I am grateful. I'm a passionate, fiery gal, and I find joy in so many things. In fact, I have a friend who once told me he laughs more with me than anyone else he knows. What a compliment! It isn't exactly that I am funny (though I am, darling, I promise). It's more that I find life ridiculously absurd, and that triggers his own ability to laugh at random things that might otherwise be frustrating and crazy-making. I am a smart, compassionate, capable, talented woman.
Except that today I believe I should put my dogs down because they deserve a better mom than me. I believe that I can NOT endure another day of crying spells, self-hatred, hopelessness, rage, and complete inability to get out of bed and feed myself. I feel furious that all the progress I have fought so hard to make has been for nothing. I think my best friend, while she would miss me a great deal, would have a lot more peace, or at least free time, if I weren't in this plane of existence anymore. I know I worry my parents to death. If I were gone, they could stop worrying. I get that that's all crazy. Doesn't stop me from believing it anyway. And by the way, I should probably track down every online account I have and disable/delete them so my friends and family don't have to deal with ghost versions of my on the internet once I'm dead. Because I figure one day I will give in to the urges to just be done with this shit.
It's not like this every day. Some days I recognize myself, have enthusiasm for hobbies and future projects. I feel like maybe I am getting my balance again. That maybe my brain won't succeed in killing me. Last Saturday night was awesome, in fact. I saw some friends, sat in with a band and got a ton of positive feedback on my singing. I made some connections with musicians who might be interested in starting a band with me. Life was looking up. I was HAPPY. Not giddy, manic, crazy happy. Just GOOD.
Today though? It kinda sucks to be me. I ask that you consider donating to my GoFundMe campaign (linked above). If you can't give money, share the link with anyone you know who might. $12 will buy my lithium. $3 will cover a copay for psychiatric and counseling services. $10 will get me enough gas to go to treatment and get back home. I have car insurance ($50/month) and a phone bill ($45/month), and other meds to fill as well. Yes, I want to work and pay for all this shit myself. Of COURSE I do. I want to use my degree to help other people manage their own mental illnesses. And I am good at that. But right now? I can barely put one foot in front of the other. It's going to be a while before I can save the world. Saving me is a tall order these days. Please help me.
Over the years I have tried a variety of meds, most of which either don't work or the adverse side effects were intolerable. Support groups and friends help. Meds DO help, when I find the right cocktail and take them as prescribed (more on noncompliance in a later post too). Therapy helps tremendously. I would say when I was stable the longest, it was because I had a three-legged stool propping me up: meds, therapy, support group.
But then I was a dumbass. I did honestly try at first to find a way to afford my meds after graduation. No more student health insurance, no income. I didn't qualify for help through the Affordable Care Act because I hadn't filed taxes the year before (because I was a student with no income). I asked relatives, but they didn't have the cash to spare. At that point I just gave up. And I thought, somewhat irrationally, that since I'd managed to successfully live in another country for 15 weeks and get a social work degree training me to be a psychotherapist, that I had finally kicked Bipolar's ass. Or if I was not cured, at least I was qualified to talk myself out of being crazy if the symptoms returned. Hahahaha. What a joke. And here we are.
I am fully aware I've managed to live a pretty cool and fulfilling life, despite the battles with my brain. I've been happy and content for long stretches, and I am grateful. I'm a passionate, fiery gal, and I find joy in so many things. In fact, I have a friend who once told me he laughs more with me than anyone else he knows. What a compliment! It isn't exactly that I am funny (though I am, darling, I promise). It's more that I find life ridiculously absurd, and that triggers his own ability to laugh at random things that might otherwise be frustrating and crazy-making. I am a smart, compassionate, capable, talented woman.
Except that today I believe I should put my dogs down because they deserve a better mom than me. I believe that I can NOT endure another day of crying spells, self-hatred, hopelessness, rage, and complete inability to get out of bed and feed myself. I feel furious that all the progress I have fought so hard to make has been for nothing. I think my best friend, while she would miss me a great deal, would have a lot more peace, or at least free time, if I weren't in this plane of existence anymore. I know I worry my parents to death. If I were gone, they could stop worrying. I get that that's all crazy. Doesn't stop me from believing it anyway. And by the way, I should probably track down every online account I have and disable/delete them so my friends and family don't have to deal with ghost versions of my on the internet once I'm dead. Because I figure one day I will give in to the urges to just be done with this shit.
It's not like this every day. Some days I recognize myself, have enthusiasm for hobbies and future projects. I feel like maybe I am getting my balance again. That maybe my brain won't succeed in killing me. Last Saturday night was awesome, in fact. I saw some friends, sat in with a band and got a ton of positive feedback on my singing. I made some connections with musicians who might be interested in starting a band with me. Life was looking up. I was HAPPY. Not giddy, manic, crazy happy. Just GOOD.
Today though? It kinda sucks to be me. I ask that you consider donating to my GoFundMe campaign (linked above). If you can't give money, share the link with anyone you know who might. $12 will buy my lithium. $3 will cover a copay for psychiatric and counseling services. $10 will get me enough gas to go to treatment and get back home. I have car insurance ($50/month) and a phone bill ($45/month), and other meds to fill as well. Yes, I want to work and pay for all this shit myself. Of COURSE I do. I want to use my degree to help other people manage their own mental illnesses. And I am good at that. But right now? I can barely put one foot in front of the other. It's going to be a while before I can save the world. Saving me is a tall order these days. Please help me.
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