RealMental

Original post here.

The voices finally got the best of me. I couldn’t sleep one night and my head was roaring so I walked outside hoping the cold air would calm things down. It did not. I acted on the voice and injured myself. My thinking at the time was that if I bent to the voice’s wishes, do what it said, it would stop nagging and leave me alone in peace. It did not. All it did was land me in the psych hospital for 6 days. I don’t smoke any longer and I missed it. Cigarettes and copious amounts of coffee are staples in the psych ward. They adjusted my meds, notably the Abilify, pronounced me safe to my myself and society and turned me loose. So now I’m an outpatient again and I take 30mg of Alibily, 50mg of Paxil CR, 60mg of Cymbalta, 200mg of Trazodone at night and .5mg of Klonopin twice a day. Seems like one hell of a lot of pills to be pushing through my body. Maybe I’m doing better but I don’t feel it. I don’t like the sideveffects of the chemical stew I’m taking .I’m a zombie with a flat affect. I am a crying, weeping, worthless zombie. Some tell me I look and sound better, but they don’t know the thoughts that still flood my head at times. It’s more than a little frustrating being told you look better. Back to the broken bone analogy I used in my previous submission, my bone is still broken and it still hurts badly so don’t tell me I look and sound better. I cut myself again the other day. Why? I’m still holding on by my fingertips, still waiting, but I still almost daily think the alternative, the shot to the head, is the more humane way, although so violent. I hurt, in pain. I’m tired. I’m fed up with it all. I only want it to stop, to find some peace.

I signed my previous post “anonymous” but my real mane is David.

So I wrote about my cousin’s issues here.

Last night I get a phone call from her older sister and those rumours flying about her doing sexual favours for money have escalated.

We’re terrified, of course.  I feel like my Aunt and Uncle should know this stuff but older sister is afraid – she is trying to protect her parents.  Meanwhile the troubled cousin is likely going to end up pregnant, with an STD or worse.

My husband says I should tell her parents.  That he would want to know.  Hell, I would want to know.

I know my Uncle.  He will be very upset that a) his daughter is involved in this sort of situation (obviously the two of them are in denial and will not investigate her actions any further than letting her do whatever she wants) and b) very hurt that oldest daughter told me but not him.

My Aunt is a mess, crying herself to sleep every night.  Troubled cousin goes to see an expensive psychologist tomorrow, her father is taking her.  I think she needs to be tested for drugs and STD’s, but what do I know?

I wish I could do more but we are a family that is very full of pride, and “what happens in these four walls, stays in these four walls.”

It’s very frustrating to be on the outside and the inside all at once, handcuffed by fear and worry.

I wrote this in part (in comments) on Belinda’s post about Kendra’s Law and wanted to elaborate considerably:

My 15 year old cousin is showing severe signs of Borderline Personality Disorder and Bipolar. My grandmother’s mother seems to have had it, my mother had it, and now this (female) cousin.

This isn’t teen angst – we all know what that is – it’s clearly, most certainly, 100% Borderline Personality and possibly Bi-polar. BPD isn’t often alone.

She has left home, is living in a drughouse with her 18 year old boyfriend, is violent to the point of knocking my 26 year old female cousin out with a glass mug. She skips school, swears at everyone, yelling, screaming death threats and worse, and at times is docile, shy and sweet.

There are rumors flying through her small town that she has been promiscuous and involved in sexual experimentation with more than one person at a time, been filmed, and possibly took money for favors.

Her parents (my uncle is the brother to my mother) have gotten her an appointment with a psychiatrist at a high financial cost and just tonight, she agreed to go. Here (we aren’t in the states) there are no laws to force anyone of any age into treatment. Even despite my cousin having hurt family members and completely outlining to her sisters how she is going to kill them in their sleep – detail by chilling detail. The only way they could force her into help should she change her mind now is to call the children’s aid authorities and place her in a group home — and obviously that is a mess they don’t want to bring on to the family, reason one being that they would lose her trust and possibly lose her forever.

We tiptoed around her at Christmas, with my grandmother agreeing to send food with her to the boyfriend’s drug house, just to avoid an eruption. Had she said no, we are certain this cousin would have gone crazy for not getting her way.
Everyone in the family is terrified of what she will do if her parents force her to give up the boyfriend and come home. She is a time bomb at all times.

If she hadn’t agreed to see this professional, I really don’t know what my uncle and aunt would have done. I do hope she gets the help she really needs, which will include therapy and drugs, probably for the rest of her life.

Her appointment is in January and all of us are holding our breath, waiting for her to blow up at her parents the next time around and refuse to go. If she does go, this could all go sour anyway – she is an expert liar and we have no idea what will come out of her mouth. Her recollection of angry outbursts are minimal, or she claims to remember nothing. She takes no accountability for any of her actions, she owns no blame for her situation and everything is someone else’s fault. She would rather live in the boyfriend’s drug filled, filthy, dangerous apartment, where his female roommate deals crack cocaine, and have the boyfriend’s roommate (another female) pick on her, use her toothbrush to clean the toilet and be abused in the house she is in, then go home and be without boyfriend. We as a family simply don’t understand this self abuse.

When I reached out to her, I was slapped in the face with “I’m smart and strong. If I need help, I’ll tell you. Stop worrying.”

I’m trying hard to understand how both my mother and my cousin ended up this way — both have been raised in loving homes, free of abuse and full of family time and lots of love. I welcome any insight, advice, whatever.

My next therapy session is mid-January and my focus has shifted to my cousin so I haven’t really thought too much about the re-telling of history I have been doing with the therapist. She did mention EDMR as a therapy we might try for me.

I’ve been thinking a good bit this weekend about the issue of “forcing” treatment upon mentally ill people, particularly those who are in immediate and ongoing danger of being hurt by their illness, or at risk of causing others to be hurt. OK, I confess–“Grizzly Man” is playing on cable this weekend, and Treadwell‘s story rips at my heart, because when you watch the footage of him, he is so obviously ill. Brilliant, creative, with a big heart…but sick. He was diagnosed with bipolar disorder and other things, but always refused treatment, and, I feel, ultimately died as a result of that refusal.

Have you heard or read about “Kendra’s Law?” If not, go check out this story, and see what you think. I’m really interested in hearing others’ thoughts on this topic. When I hear the term “forced treatment,” my mind immediately conjures up images from Ken Kesey’s novel “One Flew Over The Cuckoo’s Nest”, and Jack Nicholson’s consequent film portrayal of its main character, who has “treatment” forced on him right up through lobotomy. But from what I can see right now, it apears that the goal of Kendra’s Law is just about the opposite of the nightmare created in”Cuckoo’s Nest.” It’s not about institutionalizing people, locking them up and keeping them in chemical straitjackets. It seems to seek to help people live connected, fulfilling, and maybe ironically, independent lives.

Consider the very nature of disorders like bipolar disorder and schizophrenia…they deny their own existence. That is actually a diagnostic criteria sometimes, which boggles my mind: “Oh, you don’t think you’re sick? Well, that PROVES you are.” Yikes! But in bipolar support groups, I have seen more heartache than I can stand to reflect on much, coming simply from the sick person’s lack of insight. I don’t really even like that term, “insight,” because it implies something you can choose to have, and for many mentally ill people, that choice just does not exist without medication. And to complete the catch-22, without insight, medication is never going to be chosen. So there you are, stuck in a truly vicious cycle. I’m not talking about people who don’t like meds, resent having to take meds, etc. I mean the greater-than-80% of affected people who cannot recognize that they have an illness. If you could, somehow, get proper medication into these people, then they would be able to achieve the insight they would need to recognize the need for the medication…see the problem, here?

So, what say you all? At what point do we have the right to step in and mandate that someone else take medication–of any kind? Do we wait until they’re harming themselves and/or others? That seems to be what happens currently, and results in involuntary commitments…what if we could get to the problem and treat it before someone had to crash hard, possibly taking other people down with them? And at what point do “we” step in? I’m wondering how you get a diagnosis on someone who is totally non-compliant in the first place. Seems like someone would have to have run up against “the system” at least once, resulting in, at the very minimum, a 72-hour hold, in order to be diagnosed with a mental illness. I can easily see a “slippery slope” argument here, too. If we can mandate treatment for one thing, then why not another, and another, until we’ve reached Brave New World status?

But then, I see so many people homeless, sick, miserable, addicted to drugs and/or alcohol, having lost everything…when just straightening out some brain chemistry might have given them completely different lives, if only.

It’s a good topic for discussion, and I’m going to be doing some more research into Kendra’s Law, to try and figure out the details. I don’t know what kind of “teeth” it has, or what the consequences are for non-compliance, or what criteria must be met to have it put into play. I thank God regularly that my husband is one of the “lucky” ones (Yeah, I know–funny, huh? Ha, ha.) who doesn’t have any compliance issues…but you know what? When he was undiagnosed, unmedicated, and unstable? He didn’t HAVE any insight, wasn’t capable of recognizing his illness. He had to first “hit bottom,” and be involuntarily hospitalized and medicated first. Even then, he was not initially treated correctly in the beginning, and suffered a relapse, and yet another involuntary hospitalization. That was the one that saved his life, and he’s been pretty stable for almost 4 years now. And I have to ask myself, is what he went through back then really that different from what Kendra’s Law proposes? The only real difference I can see is that once my husband was released from the hospital, there was nothing in place to ensure that he kept taking his meds–he was free to get off them and start cycling again at any time, as he is now. Fortunately, he doesn’t misinterpret “feeling better” with “being well.” But he’s not in the majority there.

If you have someone in your life who suffers from a mental illness, but who can’t recognize that fact, and it drives you to distraction, there are two sources I strongly recommend, both from Dr. Xavier Amador. One is his fantastic book, “I Am Not Sick; I Don’t Need Help,” and the other is this amazing lecture on the topic of anosognosia (lack of insight). This video can honestly change the way you look at mental illness, and in my opinion, applies in good measure to addiction, as well. Amador is inspirational, and speaks not only as a healthcare professional, but as the loving brother of a schizophrenic who refuses treatment. Do yourself a favor and block off a couple hours of time to view this lecture. Heck, even if you have to view it in 15-minute chunks here and there, it is SO worth your time.

Well it’s Tuesday morning and I’m supposed to post here but I don’t much feel like it.  Been up all night and I want to sleep but if I go now, getting up in two hours will be hell.

I called the therapist back.  She answered her own phone and I told her right off that I wasn’t sure if our health insurance would cover her.  “Oh!” she exclaimed, “You’re completely covered by the government!”

“Well then,” I replied, “I need fixing.”

We scheduled the appointment for the 23rd.

I have no clue where to begin with this.  So I go in there, full guns of verbal diarrhea and let ’em fire?

Right now I can’t think that far ahead.  Everything is coming at me again as far as life goes, so I am busy dealing with the brushfires of kids, home and work, like everyone else.  There’s not much room for thinking, which really?  Is probably good.

Thank you to everyone that encouraged me to call her back.  I think I’m glad I did.  She sounds nice and comes highly recommended, so we shall see.

In food news, which I know I need to talk about here, I’ve been sort of okay.  The husband, when he is home, notices the not eating sometimes so he makes extra effort to make things I will eat, like fish, salad and cut up fruit.  Part of me wonders if I do this to see if he will notice.  I think there’s a few layers that need to be peeled back there so I can see clearly regarding this.   Especially since I do avoid food even more so when he isn’t around, like I’m testing myself too, seeing how long I can go, which is like 14 hours now.   See?  Even here it’s a sick pride, quickly followed by a shadow of shame.  I know it’s wrong, and I feel stupid for doing it, but at the same time I’m all like 14 hours!  That’s such an accomplishment!  And then right back to shame.

I am really a huge mess of a person, and when I have all these overwhelming, noisy thoughts swirling in my head like leaves in the park, I just want to run like hell.  But where the hell would I go?

By StormyBluez

I haven’t had a psychiatric app. in about 10 years. 11 years ago it was Prozac. I was 13. I felt that the Prozac robbed me of my creativity I remember it making me feel very empty. I stopped after 4 weeks and rebelled against all help psychiatric.

Ive always drank far too much- insecurity I guess, helps me creates a fake atmosphere. I may have done too many street drugs that possibly added fuel to my internal fire. Heroin was what helped better that all the others – my sister was diagnosed with Schizoaffective disorder in late 2003, my doses were increased and I really had a iron clad reason to hate the world now. Not just my own ugly worthless forgotten demons. She was not hospitalized, they wanted to but my mother would not allow it.

I remember coming home in the rain one night not being able to feel my mind or legs. I sat beside her bedside as she slept and contemplated burning the house down, stop everyones suffering. I felt SO selfish and worthless- here my sister incapable of controlling her mind. Really literally Mentally unable. And me abusing my capability of control. Because I CAN no matter how deep and suicidal my episode is – I am capable to stop, acknowledged my actions and thoughts. So I stopped shooting-up and decreased my drinking.

My sister went through so many medications. 3 years to find the right ones. She’s ok now, although she is not the same she is and wants to survive. She is a huge inspiration. I’m clean now- about 3 years, don’t even smoke cigarettes. But I am deeply sad, I feel alone stupid and worthless ungrateful & suicidal. I have a therapist app. on Halloween. I don’t want to go I’m scared of myself. I think its a man. I don’t think I can be honest with a man. maybe I shouldn’t go. Damn this is gonna be hard, I want to listen to the better half of me, I want to be able to love myself, but can’t even get dressed today.

I wrote this part 6 weeks ago:

tonight i am not drunk. i started to drink and ran out of booze. that is probably best since it’s a school day and i want to be sure i’m up for that. every day i make promises to myself to not give up life, not leave my family behind in a mess of blood and tears. i have been close many times to planning it out, and as of late, i do believe that drugs should be had. the ones that will make me happy. every day i promise myself i will call the doctor and have that sit down with her – but last time went so badly and i do not agree with her choices. how do i trust a doctor who sleeps with her prescription pad under her pillow? i’d be better off re-joining the gym and getting stronger. i hope to do that soon. my body craves the movement and god knows i need to take that time for me.

i have been on those happy pills before, but they make me gain considerable weight and being fat, especially for me, given my history of abuse, is devastating and comes with bone crushing sadness. i can’t be fat. i have nothing against fat people – in fact, i tend to gravitate to them. they are safe to me – people i can relate to and be raw with. i can’t explain it, but fat people are considered safe and more loved by me. i distrust skinny people, completely.

the only father figure i have recently asked me when i was getting divorced. i was really surprised at the question since we are happy, but then he followed up with, “guys don’t dig fat chicks.” i repeat it every goddamn time i look in the mirror. i shouldn’t let it get to me but he was one of few ‘safe’ family members. it’s killing me to think about it all the time but i’m obsessed with being thin.

the last time i went to the doctor, i refused drugs. i was going through a horrible relapse with anorexia and never slept. i was public about it and was quickly shut down by hateful emails. since that time i have kept things more under control, especially since my husband had me under a microscope and made me ‘express my feelings’ and ‘open up.’

what he heard unnerved him i think, but he loves me. he knows most of what i deal with privately is a mental hell. still, i haven’t ever said everything i wanted to say. no one knows me inside and out. no one.

i doubt i will ever trust anyone fully. even after years and years of a great marriage, i find i am staring at the sky, waiting for it to fall. it happens all the time – couples fight, lose interest, cheat, lie, whatever. we haven’t gone there. it’s been good, really good. i should be happy.

that feeling of ‘should be happy’ makes it worse. my life ‘should’ make me happy – i have everything i want in terms of material things and of loving arms around me all the time, well, when he is here. i’m alone a lot and miss him so much i ache. so then i feel guilty for not being happy – i feel shitty about starving myself and needing the happy pills but am afraid to get fat, dependent, or deemed weak, by anyone. these 2 cycles have their hands around my neck and the grip has only gotten tighter.

i can’t swallow anymore. i feel very much alone and afraid. writing here might make everything worse. i confided in another writer here about how opening up some of these old wounds might make it worse. i bury things. it works for me.

so i pen this post as ‘blue’ and hope that one day i work through some of this shit . sounds cliche, i’m glad to be here, writing with people who know more, and understand me. it’s a really good start, and i’m hopeful for a whole lot more “every days.”.

****
I wrote this part last night:

these days, things are a little better. i joined a gym and got rid of some of the things that i felt had a serious hold on me. i feel freer, healthier, most of the time. as long as i get moving, my head doesn’t want to bend and swoop, diving down into the darkness. some days are alright.

i quit drinking too. not completely, but i forbid myself to drink during the week. i haven’t drank in nearly 3 weeks. i’m proud of that, and most nights, i don’t think about it. i don’t think i was addicted to alcohol so much as the wallowing in self-pity or the high points – though i never knew which way things would go.

i’m still abusing coffee and my body. i’d like to talk about that more but i think food deserves it’s own post.) if you made it this far, thank you.

~ blue