RealMental

by Stormybluez

I try to go out every afternoon- for a walk… to the beach… to buy smokes… lay in bed at a friend’s – drive drive drive…save me from me < breath fresh night air. I'm taking TRAZODONE 50 mg for a little over a week now. at first it put me right out and i was so glad- BUT last night and now I took it over 2 hours ago and I'm wide a wake-- ughgh! Instead of feeling doomed in gloom<< I'm Empty .. very hollow ... like I hit a point so hard ---I'm stuck in a slow motion ricochet. Everything still seems so worthless I feel worthless...but I'm far to numb to feel anything --- everyone is SOoo concerned...They all think I'm a freak... AND i AM- but so what-- I stretched a canvass and started sketching early in the week it so therapeutic... I was feeling so much better bit by broken bit ... Then out of the blue I get a medical call --- they found something & want preform a biopsy on my cervix -- a Coltoscopy. both my great grandmothers died of cervical cancer MAN i don't NEED THIS !! I'm trying not to let to disarm me fully I scared tho--im soo scared... oh me I'm gonna try to close my eyes and fall now.

(Sunday morning, East Coast Time)

As I traded phone calls back and forth with my brother (here), my aunt (there), and my mother (there), I reflected on the fact that this is just too damned hard right now. And, that maybe I precipitated her mania? by not just keeping my damned mouth shut during her visit. By the time I talked to her this past Thursday, she was excitedly complaining to me about the internal inconsistencies in The Golden Compass series, which I’d lent her to read on the plane flight home. Something about how Lyra already knew how to do her hair in the first book, so why was she learning all over again in the second? Hoo-whee.

When I talked to her on Friday night, she was excited to tell me about how she’d finally been able to get out some thoughts about a theology based on the Holy Spirit, and not on God the Father or Christ the Son. From a lecture she gave 30 years ago, back when she was teaching at divinity school. “And I was considered quite one of the more brilliant up-and-coming feminist theologians.” Nah, obsession with the past and inflated ego are not signs of mania.

“Why is it, that whenever I finally have a breakthrough in the creative process, you people think I am crazy?” Well, let’s see, the giggling every minute or so might have tipped me off. And . . . “whenever?” This is only her second manic episode. She was very irritable with me during the three phone calls we had, and was refusing to go to the hospital over the weekend. She was sure she wasn’t manic. “This is different.” Telling her that sure, creativity and happiness are nice, but these were precursors to delusion and confusion, like last time, and that you have to stop it before it starts, or it’s longer and worse, wasn’t getting me anywhere. So the third time I spoke with her, after she told me “I did NOT agree to go tomorrow, I will NOT go anywhere until MONDAY, when the doctor’s office is open again,” I just started sobbing, and begging her to please go to the hospital on Saturday, because I am three thousand miles away, and as angry as I am at her, I want her to be OK, and I just can’t handle her breaking down right now, in the middle of my own issues.

Well, when I put it that way, and appealed to her self-image as a caring mother, it was a different story. She went, the doctor and she and my aunt met, the doctor told her he thought that she was on the verge again, she grumpily accepted the ‘scrip, and then she and my aunt went out for Thai, according to my aunt, who called from the restaurant while Mom was in the bathroom. I’ve got to call her in a few hours to try and convince her to fill the prescription, and take it before she goes to see the shrink tomorrow, so that he can “prove to you that I am fine.”

(Later Sunday afternoon)
Well, that didn’t go well. She told me the doctor gave her the medications “just in case,” got increasingly more agitated, and then hung up on me after telling me that she didn’t understand why we all hate her. She then called my aunt, told her that she hated her for telling me “lies” about what had happened with the doctor, and hung up on her.

I then spoke with the covering psychiatrist, who seems a saint. I told him what’d happened and he agreed with my take, and told me he and the shrink at the hospital yesterday had rx’d Abilify, but we’re at that point where she’s not yet hospitalizable, so there’s not a lot I can do from Boston.

I don’t want to go to California. My brother’s going to try to call her in an hour and see how she’s doing.

(Early Sunday evening)
She’s been calling my aunt, yelling at her, and hanging up. My brother then called her, talked her down, and got her to agree she’s going to see the shrink tomorrow. (I’d told him the covering’d told me they were open tomorrow and she could come in whenever.)

She then called me to tell me she was sorry she’d yelled at me, but that she was still mad at my aunt, and that we were all still wrong. I said, “Good, I hope I am. Give Dr. X my cell number so he can call me and tell me so while you’re there.” “That’s a good idea!” she says.

I don’t want to go to California. I don’t want to look for documents to establish our relationship, so that I can start guardianship or commitment or representative payee proceedings. I want her absence to make my heart grow fonder.

The good news is that I have my new new official theme song. “Because I’m Awesome” by The Dollyrots. That’s my new motherfucking theme song: You’re stronger, faster and can spell. Yes, thanks, but I would use a serial comma after that penultimate item. And that sentence isn’t parallel. But whatever. It’s rock.

Anyhow, I especially like the little bratty spoken part at the end, which sounds exactly like me when I’m unmedicated. And hey guess what? Not medicated. And guess what? Not enjoying this. I called the doctor and discovered–here’s more good news–that I had an appointment today. I thought it was last week and I missed it. Then I realized that I had no fucking idea what day it was today.

I seriously had the following exchange at the office:

OTHER GUY: Hey, were you here on Friday?

ME: I have no idea.

The weekend was like trying to stand up in a squall, topped off by the unexpected arrival of a totally random four-year-old who came over and stayed for six hours on Saturday. He was with his dad, who was doing some work for my neighbor, next door. And I guess he needed some kind of supervision and it takes a village and all that, but sometimes the kids in the village need to stay out of the hut of the Crazy Lady until she gets her Depakote.

Incredibly, I found in the doctor’s waiting room a woman who was more fucked up than I was. She was having some difficulty affording her mental health care, and it was a really bad scene. The receptionist had her on the phone with some kind of agency. The doctor wanted her to come back in three weeks (anything above monthly is a big deal in our practice), but she couldn’t afford to. That’s how people slip through and get lost.

I stopped her as she was leaving. I told her I didn’t want to get up in her business, but I gave her a $20 because that’s what I had. Use it for whatever. She took it and looked at it like she was going to have to figure out what it was. Then she gave it back.

I go back in two weeks.

Originally published at Baldo.

By StormyBluez

I don’t feel good.

I went to my psychiatric App. 1st in 10 years – it was horrible, I felt worst than before I went in yesterday, He was so rushy – he said – 1 on 1 – on an on going basis was not what they offered – tops is 6 sessions solo.

Everything else is in groups, I know myself- I’m shy enough as it is and so insecure – I KNOW its not my cup of tea.

Every fucking book on the man’s self was … THIS BOYS Life – A MAN’S MIND – MALE EROGENOUS – MEN AND SEX – MY Father’s father – MEN & Psychosis>>>> uUuHHHgggGHH!!!!!- I asked to be referred to a women – the bastard never followed up! –

I got in my car and started to cry- I already wanted to give up after 17 min of being in there- but today I woke up and didn’t give up.. because its about ME not them right?….

I went to the the other guy who gives you the Meds- he was OK he’s selection of books was a bit more vast but most important of all I felt like he LISTENED___ even if he only had 10 min for me because I was late he saw me for longer and genuinely asked and observed me. He put me on Lexapro 10 mg and Trazodone 50mg, I took the Lexapro – 40 min later i felt extremely dizzy, i wanted to vomit – high anxiety, very irritating sounds, SICK u know- I called the doc he said it was the first side effects to split it in half next time.

Now I’m just questioning were I am . Why I’m thinking i need these meds? and why am I crossing these Male ego-ed Bastards….. Do I even belong here!!!.

I’m scared and confused I don’t want to feel FLAT but that’s how all Anti D’s make you feel right?
Because at least I know what I’m gonna feel when I’m sad….. It’s familiar.
But thinking about how I’m gonna feel on medication frightens me.

I’m so lost…

All I know is that I am not very nice to myself when I am in that familiar place, I am exhausted of feeling like shit. & I don’t want to feel like a vegetable either. ..maybe I just started off bad. (like every aspect of my life)….

Well, you probably don’t think of them when you’re not the person most directly affected, anyway. This post is going to be short and sweet, but I think it’s important. Mostly because I myself am guilty of what I’m going to try to explain here. And what I understand of this, I understand because of the patient, thoughtful, and painstaking explanation of it to me by my bipolar husband, Alex.

Alex has Bipolar 1 Disorder, and nothing about it is fun. Unmedicated, his hypomanic phases are short preludes to pretty horrific and lengthy manias. He’s never had any symptoms of psychosis, but the extremes of his cycling are pretty severe. Fortunately (ironic as that term is in this context), he has tremendous insight into his own illness, and total dedication to treating it and staying on top of the often chaotic ebb and flow.

You would think that having his illness managed as well as he does would make everything just hunky-dory most of the time, wouldn’t you? Well, most people would, and DO. And that’s kind of the problem. There is a catch-22 here that most people would never even consider, and that is this: Even when you are open and transparently honest about your illness, as Alex is–everyone in our lives, from family to workplace to church to friends, knows about it–there’s a hitch. Because even with all proper treatment, bipolar disorder is prone to “breakthrough” manias and depressions, and that can cause disruptions in daily life, with work, family, friends, etc. Sometimes BIG disruptions, like not being able to get out of bed for a few–or several–days, or not being able to concentrate, or just feeling…”off,” and anxious to the point of distraction.

And therein lies the rub. When you’re “doing well,” especially the longer you’re “doing well,” then the more people expect you to ALWAYS be doing well. The reaction that comes from a crash of any kind is surprised, disappointed, even shocked. It’s as if every single time you have a good stretch, people seem to expect, if not totally on a conscious level, that you are “cured.” And sometimes, compassion, or the impression of compassion, anyway, can seem reduced, and people can seem impatient for you to “get it together” and “get back on track.” Very few people understand about breakthrough manias or depressions, and most seem to think that once you start taking medication, it’s going to work forever, so if you’re having problems again, it must be due to some personal weakness or omission. And even though I know that it’s a perfectly reasonable question from a clinical standpoint, given the low rate of compliance and insight among bipolar patients, when Alex and I get an emergency appointment with the psychiatrist because things are going awry, and the first thing he asks is, “Are you taking your medications?” I get pissed off.

I could ramble on about this for a while, but my point, for those of you who may be reading, who have significant others, family members, friends, who deal with mental illness and who try hard to keep things on an even keel, is…well, when there’s a blip on the radar, a wobble of the boat, or whatever other metaphor you want to use to indicate a break in the desired pattern of behavior: Try to remember that there IS an illness there, and that just because things were managed for a while doesn’t mean they always will be. Try not to be impatient with your loved one, because I assure you that he or she doesn’t want to be “off” any more than you want them to be. Give whatever support you can in getting things back on track, but give it with a compassionate spirit. If you have a compassionate friend who REALLY understands, then vent if you need to, but don’t vent to those who aren’t “in the loop,” because you’re only doing damage to their perception of someone you love.

People who are trying hard to maintain, and having a good percentage of success at it, shouldn’t have to think, sometimes, that it might be easier if they were just sick to the point of being totally disabled all the time, so that everyone else’s expectations would be lowered. And here’s where the tightrope-walk of a significant other comes in, because at the same time, you don’t want to live your life as if you expect things to go awry at any moment–or to project that feeling onto your loved one.

Nothing about this is easy, but one thing is sure. It’s a joint effort.

I have been meaning to write about what these last two weeks have been like for me since I upped my dosage of Celexa from 20 mg to 30 mg, but when I sit down to explain everything, all I can come up with is a hodgepodge of emotive descriptors, such as anxious and defeated and scared.

I want to have more to say than feeling words. I want to be able to tell you what I have done, realizations I have come to, behaviours I am hoping to change, but I have got bupkis. This is not at all surprising, really, because I am still making it through that first month after a dosage change, but don’t we always want to have more to show for all our hard times than orange stains on our fingers from cheez puffs and a dwindling supply of facial tissues? I know I do.

Yesterday, I was setting out cartons of asian takeout and chopsticks and whatnot for the Palinode and me, and you would have thought that I was waiting for someone to beat me by the way I was behaving. My anxiety was so high that I was fumbling with everything, and each time I dropped or bumped something, I would jump or squeak or issue an apology. I ended up reaching such a fever pitch that the Palinode took to patting my arm and saying You’re doing really well, really good, don’t worry, you’re doing fine.

Who needs this kind of support to get through setting out utensils and takeout? Apparently, I do, and it is frustrating. I always have high hopes when I change dosages or medications, so when the road to wellness is bumpy, I take that as a personal failure. I become certain that I am weak, that I am less intelligent than I thought I was, that I am inherently unlovable, that this is all there will ever be for me. I know this line of thinking is not entirely realistic, but even so, these ideas take me by the nose.

If this scenario works out the way I hope, this is just the storm before the calm. My body has to take its (sweet) time to adjust to its new chemical configuration; I have to adjust to not being the kind of anxious depressive I was when my experience of the medication (hopefully) evens out. Transitions are rarely easy, even when they do not involve psychological illnesses, so I just have to keep in mind that I am in transition and try to stay patient.

Is there a drug for patience?

(also posted on Schmutzie’s Milkmoney Or Not, Here I Come)

I’ve decided that if I think about changing my meds and the pain in the ass of titration down on one and up on the other as a science experiment, and keep detailed notes about my responses in the interests of the larger Crazy Community (and those poor, underfunded pharmaceutical companies), then it’s really not such a daunting prospect after all.