RealMental

“If you want something badly enough, you can make it happen.” It’s not true, at least when it comes to memory. There’s always some inconvenient truth-teller, correcting the re-written version of the past that you’ve authored. I’ve wondered often if you’re in denial, or if you really believe it. Are you that insecure? That fragile? That crazy? Re-framing is one thing, but painting over the canvas doesn’t change what’s underneath.

You tell us we are lying, that it was never like we say. You tell us that we are ungrateful. And it’s not true. We are grateful, because despite all the rest, we made it out of childhood as OK as anyone can reasonably expect. And we know that you believed that you loved us. Intent counts for something, even if what it’s always been about is your narcissism and self-absorption, your need to be seen as a “good person”.

But you’re the one who’s lying. You’re lying to yourself because you don’t want to know that you should have done more, tried harder, stopped looking inward and acted to do what you could for us, rather than spent all the years feeling sorry for yourself. And telling us it’s the truth won’t work. And now you’re lying about other things, because you like the mania, and you feel every bit of the self you imagine yourself to be. You’re denying that your behavior is manic, because if you admit that you are, then the feeling of worth isn’t real, and you have to re-paint the canvas again.

I feel sorry for you in some ways, because it must be exhausting, needing to re-write everything to define yourself in your favored purple prose. I feel sorry for you for not being able to admit your mistakes, much less learn from them. But you can’t make me admit that what happened didn’t, and you can’t make me tell you lies that will make you feel better. My canvas is worn in places, scarred in others, but the entire work is there for me to understand, and the total picture teaches me something new every time I look at it.

Act Today! Presidential Vetoes Threaten Funding for Mental Illness Research and Services

November 15, 2007

Help Override the President’s Veto of Funding for Mental Illness Research and Services

As early as today, the House of Representatives is expected to vote on a motion to override President Bush’s veto of the FY 2008 Labor-HHS Appropriations bill (HR 3043). This bill includes the budgets for the National Institute of Mental Health (NIMH) and the Substance Abuse and Mental Health Services Administration (SAMHSA) – with increases totaling $40 million for FY 2008 for mental illness research and services.

Act Now!

Call your House member today, at 800-965-4298 or 877-210-5351! Urge them to support the motion to override the President’s veto of the Labor-HHS Appropriations bill. Remind your House member that HR 3043 includes:

Click here to view additional background information on the House-Senate agreement on the FY 2008 Labor-HHS spending bill.

By coolbeans

I spent several hours today thinking about what to write. I looked for memes. I checked out writing prompts. I considered ripping off Plain Jane by pulling together my own “Go Read It Today” post.

Instead, I checked my archives to send you back to a post from 2006. But this time last year, I wasn’t writing. At least, I wasn’t writing online.

My empty blog archive sent me to my secret hiding spot for the real dirt my brain coughs up. I dug out the paper journal I’d used last year in the middle of an emotional avalanche. I tipped the notebook back and forth between my palms, feeling its weight, wondering if this wasn’t a really stupid idea. Maybe today’s the day to write bad haiku.

Deep breath
crease the spine
dive inside

There wasn’t an entry for today. In fact, there was a gap between the end of October and the end of November. The closest I came was “I haven’t journaled for almost a month.”

Open to Fall
no words for today
just a dead end

I thought that I might share some of that journal someday. I anticipated scanning pages, blurring text, biting my lip and the bullet as I hit “Publish”. But at finding nothing in the heart of the fall last year, I flipped to the beginning and read through to the end. I wonder what I had thought was worth sharing. When I read it now I’m detached, calm, and judgmental. I think it sounds a little too dramatic. A written prayer feels forced, my plea for a different history reads like melodrama, the need to get everything out of my head looks like exaggeration. I decide, “This is too much. It’s so over-the-top. Who would want to read this? It’s grim and dismal and a little ridiculous.”

But that’s what it sounds like when you want to die.

I moped around for a few minutes because I felt stupid for thinking the things I thought. I was angry for things I wrote. I was angrier for words I didn’t write and couldn’t have written because I never said them.

I didn’t stew for long, though. I don’t have to. I’m on the other side of it and I’m not still writing those things because I’m not still feeling those things. A part of me wonders if maybe it really was selfish and self-indulgent. But I remember to forgive myself. Truly, I struggle to envision how it could have been different. I worked hard to stay on top of things. I was doing everything right but I’d been running on empty and had even gotten out to push for a good long while. There’s only one other way I can imagine getting past everything that I blew the whistle on last year. And now, I can’t imagine not being here to write this today.

_______________

1-800-SUICIDE
(1-800-784-2433)

1-800-273-TALK
(1-800-273-8255)

Originally posted here.

I am tired. More tired than I have ever been, excepting my wild and woolly phase during the early 90’s when I may or may not have taken mass quantities of mind altering substances and stayed up for ridiculous periods of time. I don’t really count those days as particularly trying or difficult. Self induced recreational fatigue with the occasional baby pterodactyl sighting hardly compares to my current situation. Although my child, when hungry, sounds exactly like a baby pterodactyl.

Maggie, my new baby, doesn’t sleep at night. She doesn’t sleep during the day either. She likes to party, all the time, especially at 4 am when her mother would chew off her own leg just to get a few minutes of rest. 4 am seems to be the magic hour when she comes to life and I just can’t take any more. This is the hour when I start the weeping and the whining and the pleading.

I don’t know if I’m suffering from postpartum depression. I’m sure as shit suffering from a severe case of the grumpies. I’m generally irritated with everybody, all of the time. I’m an old pro and internalizing, so luckily I haven’t called anybody a twat, just yet, but there are times when I can’t help expressing my disappointment in the behavior of my loved ones.

Like my husband. He has to work all day long so he keeps getting sleep at night. It’s really starting to piss me off.

And why does everyone who visits want the baby to be awake? I just got her to go to sleep. Stop poking the baby or I will stab you.

There are so many amazing things happening right now that it’s hard for me to tell how I feel overall. I’ll be in the process of grumping my way through the dirty dishes and I’ll take a break to peek into Maggie’s crib and she will see me and smile this huge, gummy smile and it melts all of my angst away. Or I’ll be in the midst of a medium sized breakdown because she’s hungry again and then when I stick a boob in her mouth she’ll go, “Num, num, num. NUM! NUM! NUM! NUM!”, like man, that boob is the best boob that ever happened. She’s so damn awesome that it’s hard for me to be upset for any length of time.

I’m hoping that the negative feelings I’m experiencing are just my normal everyday depression mixed with fatigue. I think it’s fairly normal to be a wee bit grouchy under the circumstances. I’m trying to pay attention to my mood and thought processes so that if I get too crazy I can deal with it. I’ve found that paying attention to myself is exceedingly difficult these days and that’s not necessarily a bad thing.

Right now, it’s 2:30 am. My kid is lying in her crib staring at the ceiling and talking to herself. I am so tired and so worn out. But I am so happy.

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.

It’s short notice now, but thanks to Jane’s blog, I just found out that another fine blogger, Cat Winblood, of Cat With A Pen, will be appearing on The Morning Show with Mike and Juliet. Cat will be discussing living with Multiple Personality Disorder (DID), a topic she blogs about regularly. I’ll be TiVoing the show, and I’ll try to recap Cat’s appearance for those who miss it, unless they have a video of the segment on the site, which right now looks like a distinct possibility. Quick, everyone, find out what time the show airs where you are, and tune in to support Cat, and let the Mike and Juliet show know what you think about it–the more feedback shows like this receive, the more likely they are to cover the topics we care about.

I won’t mince words initially.  The psychiatrist I have been seeing since late 1998 is part of my past.  She helped me I first started to see her, she understood things no one else seemed to.  She could peg me when I sometimes said only a few things or struggled with words.  The medication she gave me seemed to work.  Sure, she was always late.  LATE.  1, 2, 3 or more hours late.  At  first I didn’t care, I mean I was not at work and had more free time.  I would bring a book or magazines and settle in for a little “me” time.  As time went on it became more irritating, disrespectful.  She briefly referred me to another Psychiatrist to treat my eating disorder (binge eating disorder).  Now this Psychiatrist almost proved herself initially helpful.  We talked about me and some new things I discovered that helped me deal with things.  After a few months she started to break appropriate doctor/patient boundaries.  She asked me to volunteer with her eating disorder education program, which was initially ok and even enjoyable.  The lines became blurry.  She called me at home a lot.  She hosting candle selling parties and invited me (seriously).  I was becoming more and more involved in the volunteer work and when I has appointments we never talked about me and my issues. Eventually I quit her, and realized that is was a horrible relationship.

I went back to making-me-wait-doctor.  At least I trusted her.  Fast forward, same shit different pile.  I saw waiting-doctor about 2 weeks ago what I think will be our final meeting.  We were talking, and all of a sudden she started flipping through my file, from late 1998 until now.  Quickly flipping.  She started muttering about “history of migraines” (no longer), and a history of “brittle” hypertension (wrong, it was high, then treated and just before I saw here, I was taken off said medication), and said “you know, your short term memory has never been very good (me: barooo?), “I think I will send you for a MRI of your head”. AN MRI OF MY HEAD.  She suspected that all these things she described were indicative of me having TIAs (Transient Ischemic Attacks) “ http://www.ninds.nih.gov/disorders/tia/tia.htm a transient stroke that lasts only a few minutes.” What the of the to the fuck?  I laughed!  I said, I sometimes struggle for words, but when she sees me at my PSYCHIATRIST appointment, I am not taking an IQ test.  You don’t know me personally, but “TIAs manifested by major symptoms such as dense paralysis or severe language disorder” and “Drooling, imbalance, decreased alertness, difficulty swallowing”, “Confusion, headache, seizure”.  SERIOUSLY?  I knew instantly she was way off base.  She said she has ALWAYS thought my short term memory was bad.  I know, since I am crazy, this may sound weird, but I seriously though she was bat shit crazy.

Longer story shorter.  I found a new psychotherapist for talk therapy and she found me a new Psychiatrist to take care of my meds, but not all my crazy talking/listening.  I did this all within 2 weeks and I RULE.  I interviewed two talk therapists/psychologists and I can’t decide, but I will next week.  I feel positive about all of these changes for the first time in a long long long time.  I think I just picked the short straw when I was assigned Psychiatrists.  Twice.  I think I was partially concerned that if I told the tales of my two mental health providers, my DOCTORS, people would think I was even crazier and not believe me.    I still know I have a list of things to fix in my messed up noggin, but having new support makes me feel awesome