I miss mania.
Well, to be more specific, I miss hypomania. I miss feeling like I can accomplish anything. I miss feeling the burning urge to write.
Since my last post, I have improved on the depression front. I am returning to Alaska, and I have a job there that I start on January 2nd, and I couldn't be happier. I will miss my family here, but I have learned that Alaska is just better for me right now.
My friend H and I are going to be working on the Bipolar project we have going. Its a series of images she photographed starring yours truly, along with personal reflections and facts about Bipolar Disorder. I'm very excited to get this project going, I think it is going to be a positive thing for both her portfolio and my soul.
This has been a brief update, in an attempt to get back into writing on this stupid thing. I am aware, of course, that this blog is akin to me screaming into an empty hallway, with random people leaving their apartments occasionally overhearing my babble. I'm ok with that.
Rock on.
-Z
Friday, December 16, 2011
Wednesday, September 28, 2011
Let's Discuss Why I Haven't Been Writing...
Hello!
I very much doubt many of those who originally started reading this blog are still following it at all, since I haven't updated since February. Sorry about that. But, that explanation comes later.
First of all, a quick update. I went on a fantastic and wonderful roadtrip journey across the country, starting in Bellingham, WA, going down through California, across to New Orleans, LA, and finally ending up back home in Ohio. It was beautiful, humbling, and one of the best things I have ever done, despite my current financial issues that were not helped by this adventure. I am back in college, and Social Work has officially become my focus for my forseeable future. I am back with my oldest and dearest family and friends, and it is wonderful...it really is.
That being said, I am pretty spectacularly depressed.
It started when I was at the tail end of my journey, then went away for a bit, and then has continued to worsen over time. There are many reasons for this, I am quite sure, and many of them have become obvious to me through self-reflection and the never-ending observations of others (which are so crucial to me staying in reality). I think the worst part about being depressed is the complete lack of perspective that it brings. I AM HAPPY. No, really. I have the people I have loved for my whole life within reach, for the most part. I finally get to see my sister on a daily basis, a part of my life that I have missed so deeply. I feel at peace with my career decision. I'm being more open and honest about my Bipolar Disorder than ever, and I've even been taking the proactive steps to track my symptoms to better assist in my continued existence. (Moodtracker.com is awesome, but that's for another post)
And yet.
And yet I have been sleeping too much (14 hours) or too little (3 hours) at night, only to want to nap throughout the day, regardless. I am currently on the "too little" end of the spectrum, having woken up from a nightmare about an hour ago. I found myself thinking, (a dangerous past-time; I know -Beauty and the Beast ) and then I found myself remembering this site.
Its not that I forgot about it exactly. Its that I've been doing well, so it wasn't on the forefront of my mind. When I started it, I was entering into hypomania, which meant that I wanted to talk, and grow, and expand into the universe to be a part of everything...yadda yadda. I had a lot in my brain, and there was this PRESSURE to get it out. Then, responsibly, I recognized it and got help. Gradually, the NEED to write drifted into a desire to write, then into a mild interest, then into pretty much forgetting why I started this thing in the first place.
I started this blog first and foremost to purge myself of the demons that Bipolar has presented me with, as quite generous gifts. I wanted to educate myself and others about the disorder, and put a human face onto the disorder, as many that tried before and succeeded.
I want to come back to that. It was cathartic, and actually helped me realize that I was drifting into the "bad-place."
I am depressed. I'd go with mildly-moderately. Most days, mild. I am still taking my medications, but I need to change my antidepressant and my sleep medication, I think. In keeping with "needing to change" such things, I have an appointment to see a psychiatrist here. Granted, it was 3 weeks from the day I called to see him, but I'll take it. It was worse in New Orleans.
I cannot promise that I will be loyal in updating this blog again, any more than I can promise that I won't drop a glass full of milk tomorrow morning. But I will try. Being depressed makes it harder to want to dredge my mind for semi-interesting things, but I do end up with a lot of time at 3am to stare at walls.
Answers to a few questions you may ask:
Q. Where are you, on a scale of 1-to-Suicide?
A. Meh, about a 3. Honestly, that's really nothing to worry about. That basically means that I think about it a little more than usual, but do not desire to hurt myself, nor do I have any plans to do so. Still want to be alive. Would like things to be less difficult, but in the hey-I'm-still-breathing kind of way.
Q. Are you REALLY still taking your medications?
A. Yes, really. As prescribed, even. I hope to change a few of them soon, but I am not changing them on my own. Well, except for going back on Seroquel briefly to see if that would help with my sleep, but I was never taken off of it, and was left with the impression that it was on my discretion whether or not I should use it.
Q. Are you self-harming?
A. Except for the urge to smoke an occasional cigarette, no. I have put in measures to bring that down from about 4 a day to none, though. My sister has my pack, and I get one per day. Since I have no money, there is no concern about me buying more.
Q. Does anyone know?
A. Well, I hope you can keep my secret, internet...Shhhhh. Of course people know! That was the point of "coming out"! Silly internet. My sister, her mate, and many of my best friends are on the daily roster for checking in and processing. I feel horrifically guilty about this, but a majority of that is the depression talking, and I actually hope to get on that topic later.
Q. How's school going?
A. Fine, actually. I am taking the fewest credit hours of any semester/quarter in the history of my life (12 hours), but I'm enjoying it. The stress is both good and bad, but way more in the good than the bad.
Q. Where are you working?
A. Don't talk about that. Really, I might start getting upset. Suffice it to say, I don't have a job right now, despite many applications and an actual job offer that got rescinded by corporate because the company went into a hiring freeze. I hate, hate, hate not having work. This is the first time I've been unemployed since I was 15, and I am not handling it very well.
I think that about covers it for now. Thanks for being here for me, internet. And thank GOD you are not my only place to seek solace and help.
Be safe,
Z
I very much doubt many of those who originally started reading this blog are still following it at all, since I haven't updated since February. Sorry about that. But, that explanation comes later.
First of all, a quick update. I went on a fantastic and wonderful roadtrip journey across the country, starting in Bellingham, WA, going down through California, across to New Orleans, LA, and finally ending up back home in Ohio. It was beautiful, humbling, and one of the best things I have ever done, despite my current financial issues that were not helped by this adventure. I am back in college, and Social Work has officially become my focus for my forseeable future. I am back with my oldest and dearest family and friends, and it is wonderful...it really is.
That being said, I am pretty spectacularly depressed.
It started when I was at the tail end of my journey, then went away for a bit, and then has continued to worsen over time. There are many reasons for this, I am quite sure, and many of them have become obvious to me through self-reflection and the never-ending observations of others (which are so crucial to me staying in reality). I think the worst part about being depressed is the complete lack of perspective that it brings. I AM HAPPY. No, really. I have the people I have loved for my whole life within reach, for the most part. I finally get to see my sister on a daily basis, a part of my life that I have missed so deeply. I feel at peace with my career decision. I'm being more open and honest about my Bipolar Disorder than ever, and I've even been taking the proactive steps to track my symptoms to better assist in my continued existence. (Moodtracker.com is awesome, but that's for another post)
And yet.
And yet I have been sleeping too much (14 hours) or too little (3 hours) at night, only to want to nap throughout the day, regardless. I am currently on the "too little" end of the spectrum, having woken up from a nightmare about an hour ago. I found myself thinking, (a dangerous past-time; I know -Beauty and the Beast ) and then I found myself remembering this site.
Its not that I forgot about it exactly. Its that I've been doing well, so it wasn't on the forefront of my mind. When I started it, I was entering into hypomania, which meant that I wanted to talk, and grow, and expand into the universe to be a part of everything...yadda yadda. I had a lot in my brain, and there was this PRESSURE to get it out. Then, responsibly, I recognized it and got help. Gradually, the NEED to write drifted into a desire to write, then into a mild interest, then into pretty much forgetting why I started this thing in the first place.
I started this blog first and foremost to purge myself of the demons that Bipolar has presented me with, as quite generous gifts. I wanted to educate myself and others about the disorder, and put a human face onto the disorder, as many that tried before and succeeded.
I want to come back to that. It was cathartic, and actually helped me realize that I was drifting into the "bad-place."
I am depressed. I'd go with mildly-moderately. Most days, mild. I am still taking my medications, but I need to change my antidepressant and my sleep medication, I think. In keeping with "needing to change" such things, I have an appointment to see a psychiatrist here. Granted, it was 3 weeks from the day I called to see him, but I'll take it. It was worse in New Orleans.
I cannot promise that I will be loyal in updating this blog again, any more than I can promise that I won't drop a glass full of milk tomorrow morning. But I will try. Being depressed makes it harder to want to dredge my mind for semi-interesting things, but I do end up with a lot of time at 3am to stare at walls.
Answers to a few questions you may ask:
Q. Where are you, on a scale of 1-to-Suicide?
A. Meh, about a 3. Honestly, that's really nothing to worry about. That basically means that I think about it a little more than usual, but do not desire to hurt myself, nor do I have any plans to do so. Still want to be alive. Would like things to be less difficult, but in the hey-I'm-still-breathing kind of way.
Q. Are you REALLY still taking your medications?
A. Yes, really. As prescribed, even. I hope to change a few of them soon, but I am not changing them on my own. Well, except for going back on Seroquel briefly to see if that would help with my sleep, but I was never taken off of it, and was left with the impression that it was on my discretion whether or not I should use it.
Q. Are you self-harming?
A. Except for the urge to smoke an occasional cigarette, no. I have put in measures to bring that down from about 4 a day to none, though. My sister has my pack, and I get one per day. Since I have no money, there is no concern about me buying more.
Q. Does anyone know?
A. Well, I hope you can keep my secret, internet...Shhhhh. Of course people know! That was the point of "coming out"! Silly internet. My sister, her mate, and many of my best friends are on the daily roster for checking in and processing. I feel horrifically guilty about this, but a majority of that is the depression talking, and I actually hope to get on that topic later.
Q. How's school going?
A. Fine, actually. I am taking the fewest credit hours of any semester/quarter in the history of my life (12 hours), but I'm enjoying it. The stress is both good and bad, but way more in the good than the bad.
Q. Where are you working?
A. Don't talk about that. Really, I might start getting upset. Suffice it to say, I don't have a job right now, despite many applications and an actual job offer that got rescinded by corporate because the company went into a hiring freeze. I hate, hate, hate not having work. This is the first time I've been unemployed since I was 15, and I am not handling it very well.
I think that about covers it for now. Thanks for being here for me, internet. And thank GOD you are not my only place to seek solace and help.
Be safe,
Z
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
Depression
Depression is a creeping thing. It slips under your doorframe and crawls into bed with you.
I have had moments of sadness that hit me like a semi-truck. But in general, depression for me has started as a quiet dissatisfaction with nothing in particular. Just a nagging feeling that something, somewhere, needs fixing.
My personal depression experience has a lot to do with guilt. I heap myself with it. I blame myself for things that could not possibly be my fault; I take things that ARE my fault and expand them out into holocaust-sized sins. I have a Catholic upbringing, and we're second only to the Jewish people in guilt mastery. My mother, (wonderful woman by the way, only ever really punished us through guilt. I wake up and feel crippled by it. Bills that I pay late make me feel guilty--"I'm not a functioning member of society!" Not answering texts and calls right away--"I'm neglecting my friends and family!"...I once stepped on the cat while walking down the steps and wept for nearly an hour.
Depression is an over the top experience. People witnessing it from the outside are usually appalled and embarrassed for the depressed person. THEY HAVE A POINT.
Depression is completely absurd! It takes your emotions and reactions and ramps them up to hyperbolic extremes. But depression is not that person's fault. We all have days of being melodramatic and feeling sorry for ourselves--don't lie, we all do it. But depression lasts for weeks and months. It effects mood, sleep, food intake, concentration, and other aspects of health. Depression is physically painful at times. Depression is not a personal failing or a choice, it is a series of unfortunate brain chemistry actions, and often, it takes serious work to get out of depression.
It can take months to get into a really deep and pervasive depressive state. Every aspect of your being is colored by it. Therefore, telling someone to "snap out of it," or "cheer up" is downright insulting. Trust me when I say that the majority of depressed people do not want to be depressed. It sucks. It hurts, and it completely destroys relationships and self esteem. Some of them don't even REALIZE that they're depressed.
Being supportive of these people is important. Getting them professional help is huge--but they have to make that decision for themselves. Another thing that is important is not to martyr yourself. The man I loved during my severe depressive episode brought himself very very low trying to drag me along. He tried to get me help, and I fought and ignored him. I took his well intentioned criticisms and heard them as a complete rejection of everything that I was. I very nearly dragged him down with me, because he loved me. Don't do that to yourself. Don't ask me how to avoid it...just...don't.
I personally believe that it is possible for most depressive episodes to be broken by a person without medication, if they are given the right tools. I believe that meditation, goal setting, strictly regimenting your day to include sleep and exercise, as well as balancing your diet and cutting out the alcohol can help pull you out of a depression.
I also know that for me, those things did not work on their own. I needed medication to help. And I am not alone. Many people find themselves in holes so black and deep that they cannot crawl out without a lamp and a bit of rope.
Medication is not a sign of weakness.
(I should have to write that on a board 9,000 times. "Medication is not a sign of weakness...medication is not a sign of weakness...Medication is not...")
I had a very hard time accepting the prospect of medications for my depression symptoms. Additionally, it never even occurred to me at the time that my hypomanic times might have benefited from a few little white pills. But hitting my personal rock bottom in a severe depressive episode taught me that sometimes, you just need more chemical help than you can pump into your brain through willpower alone.
I am a damn stubborn woman. To a FAULT. I can outargue most people, and have challenged myself in more ways than I can think of, and I generally come out at alright. But being stubborn about not getting medical help was not a good decision.
I barely remember the first 36 hours after I went into the inpatient psych facility. (yes, I have been inpatient, more on that later, I promise)
But around day 3...my world was completely different. Life still kinda sucked--I was still getting dumped, for example, but I could see the other side. I still had about 4 months of hard self-reflection and work to do to get to a healthy head-space, but I can tell you for certain that medication started me on the right path.
I didn't know where I was going with his post, and it shows. Sorry about that. But I felt the need to try and...process my depression experience. I am no longer depressed. I look back on that time and feel ashamed and embarrassed for past-me. I am angry and feel guilty about the time that was wasted, and the relationships that I damaged, some irreparably. But it is in the past. I am not the same person as I am when I am depressed. That guilt doesn't need to follow me every day.
It feels good to know that. Believing it is still hard. But I do KNOW it. And that's enough.
tl;dr version?
Depression is real, and it sucks. You can get better on your own sometimes, but other times, you may need medication to help you, and THAT IS OK. It will get better. One day, you'll look back and not even know how to imagine being this sad. It. Will. Pass.
I have had moments of sadness that hit me like a semi-truck. But in general, depression for me has started as a quiet dissatisfaction with nothing in particular. Just a nagging feeling that something, somewhere, needs fixing.
My personal depression experience has a lot to do with guilt. I heap myself with it. I blame myself for things that could not possibly be my fault; I take things that ARE my fault and expand them out into holocaust-sized sins. I have a Catholic upbringing, and we're second only to the Jewish people in guilt mastery. My mother, (wonderful woman by the way, only ever really punished us through guilt. I wake up and feel crippled by it. Bills that I pay late make me feel guilty--"I'm not a functioning member of society!" Not answering texts and calls right away--"I'm neglecting my friends and family!"...I once stepped on the cat while walking down the steps and wept for nearly an hour.
Depression is an over the top experience. People witnessing it from the outside are usually appalled and embarrassed for the depressed person. THEY HAVE A POINT.
Depression is completely absurd! It takes your emotions and reactions and ramps them up to hyperbolic extremes. But depression is not that person's fault. We all have days of being melodramatic and feeling sorry for ourselves--don't lie, we all do it. But depression lasts for weeks and months. It effects mood, sleep, food intake, concentration, and other aspects of health. Depression is physically painful at times. Depression is not a personal failing or a choice, it is a series of unfortunate brain chemistry actions, and often, it takes serious work to get out of depression.
It can take months to get into a really deep and pervasive depressive state. Every aspect of your being is colored by it. Therefore, telling someone to "snap out of it," or "cheer up" is downright insulting. Trust me when I say that the majority of depressed people do not want to be depressed. It sucks. It hurts, and it completely destroys relationships and self esteem. Some of them don't even REALIZE that they're depressed.
Being supportive of these people is important. Getting them professional help is huge--but they have to make that decision for themselves. Another thing that is important is not to martyr yourself. The man I loved during my severe depressive episode brought himself very very low trying to drag me along. He tried to get me help, and I fought and ignored him. I took his well intentioned criticisms and heard them as a complete rejection of everything that I was. I very nearly dragged him down with me, because he loved me. Don't do that to yourself. Don't ask me how to avoid it...just...don't.
I personally believe that it is possible for most depressive episodes to be broken by a person without medication, if they are given the right tools. I believe that meditation, goal setting, strictly regimenting your day to include sleep and exercise, as well as balancing your diet and cutting out the alcohol can help pull you out of a depression.
I also know that for me, those things did not work on their own. I needed medication to help. And I am not alone. Many people find themselves in holes so black and deep that they cannot crawl out without a lamp and a bit of rope.
Medication is not a sign of weakness.
(I should have to write that on a board 9,000 times. "Medication is not a sign of weakness...medication is not a sign of weakness...Medication is not...")
I had a very hard time accepting the prospect of medications for my depression symptoms. Additionally, it never even occurred to me at the time that my hypomanic times might have benefited from a few little white pills. But hitting my personal rock bottom in a severe depressive episode taught me that sometimes, you just need more chemical help than you can pump into your brain through willpower alone.
I am a damn stubborn woman. To a FAULT. I can outargue most people, and have challenged myself in more ways than I can think of, and I generally come out at alright. But being stubborn about not getting medical help was not a good decision.
I barely remember the first 36 hours after I went into the inpatient psych facility. (yes, I have been inpatient, more on that later, I promise)
But around day 3...my world was completely different. Life still kinda sucked--I was still getting dumped, for example, but I could see the other side. I still had about 4 months of hard self-reflection and work to do to get to a healthy head-space, but I can tell you for certain that medication started me on the right path.
I didn't know where I was going with his post, and it shows. Sorry about that. But I felt the need to try and...process my depression experience. I am no longer depressed. I look back on that time and feel ashamed and embarrassed for past-me. I am angry and feel guilty about the time that was wasted, and the relationships that I damaged, some irreparably. But it is in the past. I am not the same person as I am when I am depressed. That guilt doesn't need to follow me every day.
It feels good to know that. Believing it is still hard. But I do KNOW it. And that's enough.
tl;dr version?
Depression is real, and it sucks. You can get better on your own sometimes, but other times, you may need medication to help you, and THAT IS OK. It will get better. One day, you'll look back and not even know how to imagine being this sad. It. Will. Pass.
Friday, February 18, 2011
Wordle: Check this out!
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alt="Wordle: Bi-Polar"
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A quick post while I'm at work...This was shared by a follower of my blog and WONDERFUL human being. Thanks!
Things are finally getting back to normal in my brain. I slept great last night!
-Cat
alt="Wordle: Bi-Polar"
style="padding:4px;border:1px solid #ddd">
A quick post while I'm at work...This was shared by a follower of my blog and WONDERFUL human being. Thanks!
Things are finally getting back to normal in my brain. I slept great last night!
-Cat
Wednesday, February 16, 2011
Shiny Happy People Regimen
You know whats obnoxious? Your therapist/psychiatrist telling you to do things that make you feel like you're in the fourth grade. "Keep a journal, go to bed on time, make goals, get enough exercise, eat right,take your medications...and AVOID ALL STRESS. CALL ME if there is any change."
Pshhh. Seriously? I'm a grown-ass woman. I can do what I--
Oh. Wait. I can't, can I?
Because when I get stubborn, and try to pretend that these things don't make a difference, I DO get worse. I HATE IT. I hate that I now know that if I plan to go out, I can...but I can't drink much, and still need to go to bed at a somewhat reasonable time, so I can still get 7-9 hours of sleep. I hate that I HAVE A BEDTIME. Now, right now its all screwy because I am still coming down off of a bit of a sleep deprived state and my meds aren't quite right yet...but here soon, I'll have to hold myself to like a 10-11pm bedtime. UUGH.
And "avoid all stress"? Really? Has this woman ever seen my life? GAH!
Ok, enough whining.
So, I'm trying. I have a mood journal (the one I use I found here) and I generally remember to fill it out at least every 2 days. I have this blog to journal some of my thoughts, and I write the posts that I'm not sure I want to post yet in word and save them for later. I'm still terrible at actual "journaling"...but I think this is achieving the reflection that I need.
Goals-
a) be a good girl about my medication. if that means fighting TOOTH AND NAIL to pay for it, fighting with the insurance as I go than so be it. (there will be a long post about that in the future)
b) keep blogging or at least writing what could one day become posts
c) get the sleep I need, even if it means avoiding things I like (late night Dr Who marathons)
d) friggin get off my but and exercise at least 4 days a week, instead of my current 2.
Ok. See, I'm a good girl. I have my next appointment with my psych next week--Thursday @9:30 ("keep your appointments written somewhere you will remember to check")just to check and make sure the medication changes are going well. So far, so good.
I hate being treated like a child. But it would make ME childish if I didn't follow the advice. Especially when I see how well it works when I do follow it.
Ugh. Maturity sucks.
Pshhh. Seriously? I'm a grown-ass woman. I can do what I--
Oh. Wait. I can't, can I?
Because when I get stubborn, and try to pretend that these things don't make a difference, I DO get worse. I HATE IT. I hate that I now know that if I plan to go out, I can...but I can't drink much, and still need to go to bed at a somewhat reasonable time, so I can still get 7-9 hours of sleep. I hate that I HAVE A BEDTIME. Now, right now its all screwy because I am still coming down off of a bit of a sleep deprived state and my meds aren't quite right yet...but here soon, I'll have to hold myself to like a 10-11pm bedtime. UUGH.
And "avoid all stress"? Really? Has this woman ever seen my life? GAH!
Ok, enough whining.
So, I'm trying. I have a mood journal (the one I use I found here) and I generally remember to fill it out at least every 2 days. I have this blog to journal some of my thoughts, and I write the posts that I'm not sure I want to post yet in word and save them for later. I'm still terrible at actual "journaling"...but I think this is achieving the reflection that I need.
Goals-
a) be a good girl about my medication. if that means fighting TOOTH AND NAIL to pay for it, fighting with the insurance as I go than so be it. (there will be a long post about that in the future)
b) keep blogging or at least writing what could one day become posts
c) get the sleep I need, even if it means avoiding things I like (late night Dr Who marathons)
d) friggin get off my but and exercise at least 4 days a week, instead of my current 2.
Ok. See, I'm a good girl. I have my next appointment with my psych next week--Thursday @9:30 ("keep your appointments written somewhere you will remember to check")just to check and make sure the medication changes are going well. So far, so good.
I hate being treated like a child. But it would make ME childish if I didn't follow the advice. Especially when I see how well it works when I do follow it.
Ugh. Maturity sucks.
Tuesday, February 15, 2011
Vocab Quiz?
It has been brought to my attention that I’ve been throwing around some terminology that many people outside of the mental health experience may not be familiar with. I will attempt to define some of these words in simplified language. It you want to understand them better, I suggest the following websites for further information, try the following links, or just ask me:
http://bipolar.about.com/od/glossary/Glossary_of_Bipolar_Disorder_Terms.htm
http://www.healthcentral.com/bipolar/understanding-bipolar.html
http://www.nami.org/Template.cfm?Section=nami_connection&template=/ContentManagement/ContentDisplay.cfm&ContentID=67728
Bipolar Disorder I- The most severe form of Bipolar Disorder. According to the DSM-IV, Bipolar I is “characterized by one or more manic or mixed episodes, usually accompanied by multiple major depressive episodes.” Bipolar I is the kind most often depicted in the media. (See: Mania)
Bipolar Disorder II- Right now, this is “what I have”, but diagnosis can change as more symptoms develop over time. According to the DSM-IV, Bipolar II disorder is “characterized by one or more major depressive episodes accompanied by at least one hypomanic episode.” The main difference in the two is that those with Bipolar II have hypomanic episodes, but no manic episodes.
Cyclothymia- Sometimes called Bipolar III, it’s known as a “mild” form of Bipolar Disorder. In cyclothymic disorders, the patient will range from mild depression to euphoria and excitement, but stop short of the extremes of the disorder.
Off-Label- The FDA approves medications for specific uses. If a medication is prescribed by a doctor for another use, it is called an “off-label” use. For example, I used Trazodone and Seroquel off-label. Trazodone is usually a depression medication, and Seroquel is for psychosis. But when used in lower doses, they work in different ways in the body.
Baseline- The range of emotions and actions that make up what you, doctors, and support people (family/friends) find to be “normal.” Everyone’s baseline is different. My baseline is high energy, upbeat, and sometimes confrontational. Suzy might be withdrawn, pessimistic, and conflict-avoidant. Both of our individual “baselines” are normal, even though they are different.
Depression- All encompassing low mood, low self esteem, loss of interest in activities usually enjoyed, low energy level. Can be accompanied by insomnia or hypersomnia (too much sleep). Can impact work or relationships.
Severe Depression- Same symptoms as above, but higher severity and longer duration. Suicidal ideation and attempts are usually found in severe depression. There will be negative effects on work, school, relationships, hygiene…pretty much anything you can imagine.
Hypomania- Literally meaning “below mania” is generally a period of persistent elevated or euphoric moods. It can also be a period of high agitation and irritability. Racing thoughts, pressured speech, and an idea of “the rest of the world moving too slow.” People in a hypomanic state have little need for sleep, are outgoing, competitive, confrontational, and usually have a higher productivity. Hypomania is separated from mania in that it does not have the psychotic symptoms, and doesn’t tend to impair day to day function. Classic symptoms: “mild euphoria, a flood if ideas, endless energy, and a desire and drive for success”
Mania- A state of elevated or irritable mood, arousal, and energy levels. All of the symptoms found in hypomania can be found here, with the addition of psychosis. Mania is also associated with gambling, shopping sprees, affairs/sudden divorces, unprotected and dangerous sex, and other excesses.
Mixed Episode- An episode that no one wants to have. It combines the worst parts of hypomanic/manic with the worst parts of depression. Basically, you can be high energy, insomniac, suicidal, depressed, creative and driven all at the same time. Not a good combination.
Suicidal Ideation- Thoughts of suicide. From “wishing to die” to making a plan, this simply means that suicide is on the mind of the individual. There are varying degrees of severity.
Successful suicide attempt- Results in death.
Unsuccessful suicide attempt- Does not result in death.
Racing Thoughts- I found this on Wikipedia and thought it was a great explanation, so I’m just going to copy it verbatim. “Racing thoughts may be experienced as background or take over a person's consciousness. Thoughts, music, and voices might be zooming through one's mind. There also might be a repetitive pattern of voice or of pressure without any associated "sound". It is a very overwhelming and irritating feeling, and can result in losing track of time.”
Pressured Speech- “Rapid, loud and difficult-to-interrupt speech characteristic of the manic phase of bipolar disorder. The person may be extremely talkative and continue to talk even though no one is listening.” This is not just being chatty. I’m a chatty person by nature. But this is me to the ^10th. I will babble on incoherently, often having to force myself to stop to breathe. I will also flit from topic to topic more than I usually would, or talk more about my feelings than I usually do.
Psychosis- This is a generic psychiatric term for what most people would just call “crazy.” The actual definition is more along the lines of “having lost touch with reality.” Hallucinations, delusional beliefs, sudden personality changes can all be aspects of psychosis.
I hope this clarifies some of these ideas. These are merely my summation of these terms, and I do not pretend to be an expert. Addtionally, my definition is colored by what I have personally experienced.
-Z
http://bipolar.about.com/od/glossary/Glossary_of_Bipolar_Disorder_Terms.htm
http://www.healthcentral.com/bipolar/understanding-bipolar.html
http://www.nami.org/Template.cfm?Section=nami_connection&template=/ContentManagement/ContentDisplay.cfm&ContentID=67728
Bipolar Disorder I- The most severe form of Bipolar Disorder. According to the DSM-IV, Bipolar I is “characterized by one or more manic or mixed episodes, usually accompanied by multiple major depressive episodes.” Bipolar I is the kind most often depicted in the media. (See: Mania)
Bipolar Disorder II- Right now, this is “what I have”, but diagnosis can change as more symptoms develop over time. According to the DSM-IV, Bipolar II disorder is “characterized by one or more major depressive episodes accompanied by at least one hypomanic episode.” The main difference in the two is that those with Bipolar II have hypomanic episodes, but no manic episodes.
Cyclothymia- Sometimes called Bipolar III, it’s known as a “mild” form of Bipolar Disorder. In cyclothymic disorders, the patient will range from mild depression to euphoria and excitement, but stop short of the extremes of the disorder.
Off-Label- The FDA approves medications for specific uses. If a medication is prescribed by a doctor for another use, it is called an “off-label” use. For example, I used Trazodone and Seroquel off-label. Trazodone is usually a depression medication, and Seroquel is for psychosis. But when used in lower doses, they work in different ways in the body.
Baseline- The range of emotions and actions that make up what you, doctors, and support people (family/friends) find to be “normal.” Everyone’s baseline is different. My baseline is high energy, upbeat, and sometimes confrontational. Suzy might be withdrawn, pessimistic, and conflict-avoidant. Both of our individual “baselines” are normal, even though they are different.
Depression- All encompassing low mood, low self esteem, loss of interest in activities usually enjoyed, low energy level. Can be accompanied by insomnia or hypersomnia (too much sleep). Can impact work or relationships.
Severe Depression- Same symptoms as above, but higher severity and longer duration. Suicidal ideation and attempts are usually found in severe depression. There will be negative effects on work, school, relationships, hygiene…pretty much anything you can imagine.
Hypomania- Literally meaning “below mania” is generally a period of persistent elevated or euphoric moods. It can also be a period of high agitation and irritability. Racing thoughts, pressured speech, and an idea of “the rest of the world moving too slow.” People in a hypomanic state have little need for sleep, are outgoing, competitive, confrontational, and usually have a higher productivity. Hypomania is separated from mania in that it does not have the psychotic symptoms, and doesn’t tend to impair day to day function. Classic symptoms: “mild euphoria, a flood if ideas, endless energy, and a desire and drive for success”
Mania- A state of elevated or irritable mood, arousal, and energy levels. All of the symptoms found in hypomania can be found here, with the addition of psychosis. Mania is also associated with gambling, shopping sprees, affairs/sudden divorces, unprotected and dangerous sex, and other excesses.
Mixed Episode- An episode that no one wants to have. It combines the worst parts of hypomanic/manic with the worst parts of depression. Basically, you can be high energy, insomniac, suicidal, depressed, creative and driven all at the same time. Not a good combination.
Suicidal Ideation- Thoughts of suicide. From “wishing to die” to making a plan, this simply means that suicide is on the mind of the individual. There are varying degrees of severity.
Successful suicide attempt- Results in death.
Unsuccessful suicide attempt- Does not result in death.
Racing Thoughts- I found this on Wikipedia and thought it was a great explanation, so I’m just going to copy it verbatim. “Racing thoughts may be experienced as background or take over a person's consciousness. Thoughts, music, and voices might be zooming through one's mind. There also might be a repetitive pattern of voice or of pressure without any associated "sound". It is a very overwhelming and irritating feeling, and can result in losing track of time.”
Pressured Speech- “Rapid, loud and difficult-to-interrupt speech characteristic of the manic phase of bipolar disorder. The person may be extremely talkative and continue to talk even though no one is listening.” This is not just being chatty. I’m a chatty person by nature. But this is me to the ^10th. I will babble on incoherently, often having to force myself to stop to breathe. I will also flit from topic to topic more than I usually would, or talk more about my feelings than I usually do.
Psychosis- This is a generic psychiatric term for what most people would just call “crazy.” The actual definition is more along the lines of “having lost touch with reality.” Hallucinations, delusional beliefs, sudden personality changes can all be aspects of psychosis.
I hope this clarifies some of these ideas. These are merely my summation of these terms, and I do not pretend to be an expert. Addtionally, my definition is colored by what I have personally experienced.
-Z
Monday, February 14, 2011
Series: Theme Songs of my Madness
Link to the video on YouTube if you'd rather/if that doesn't work.
Yes, 2 posts back to back, MADNESS. I was having a conversation with a dearly loved friend and companion on life's crazy train and they both came up. So here they are.
This is going to be the first in a series about how music can easily represent how I was feeling at certain points in my life.
There was a time when this song was on repeat, because I felt like she was singing out of my own heart. I was suspecting I had something wrong--but I perceived it as "just how I am sometimes" rather than a symptom that I should be handling. I cannot prove it in a "look over here at my medical chart" way, but I believe my passion for this song was in a hypomanic phase. Or maybe I was just particularly hyper. Either way...Dresden Dolls and Amanda Palmer--GRACIAS.
On Division of Self:
the top of my head
and the bottom of my heart
and the tip of my tongue
and the skin of my teeth
and the pit of my stomach
and the flat of my hand
need to meet
they are strangers to each other
like old friends at a reunion
and they just don't know each other anymore
they've lost the way back home...
where life makes sense
and love is worth it
and priorities are fair
(that imaginary land that never was but's always there.)
the back of my throat
and the soul of my foot
and the
(stop it)
metaphors and similes and whatever fucking else
my mind puts into pretty words to help explain myself
are useless and degrading
and its just not fucking fair
that every cell of me is dying
but the ones that keep me beating
and breathing
and oozing
(or secreting.)
(cause with glucose crossing the BBB, i still have strength and life to speak)
physiology is unfair
(it all makes sense to Joe)
to allow living and breathing
when the part of me that is my "I"
is bleeding and unseeing.
(all I'm asking for is
(I wish I knew))
------------
Poem by me, circa 2007
Sunday, February 13, 2011
Clipping from An Article
I DID NOT WRITE THIS. NOT EVEN A LITTLE, NOT EVEN AT ALL.
It is a small clipping of a fantastic in depth explanation of Bipolar Disorder in layman's terms. It is by a Doctor by the name of Jim Phelps. I am trusting the internet that he's an actual doctor--but the article backs him up. It is also a few years old. But definitely within a research-type range.
That being said, this rang true for me.
I can say yes to 8 (maybe 9?) of the 11 markers he lists...several of which I'd never heard before. Enjoy.
Unofficial but evidence-based markers of Bipolar Disorder
It is a small clipping of a fantastic in depth explanation of Bipolar Disorder in layman's terms. It is by a Doctor by the name of Jim Phelps. I am trusting the internet that he's an actual doctor--but the article backs him up. It is also a few years old. But definitely within a research-type range.
That being said, this rang true for me.
I can say yes to 8 (maybe 9?) of the 11 markers he lists...several of which I'd never heard before. Enjoy.
Unofficial but evidence-based markers of Bipolar Disorder
You have probably figured it out by now: making a diagnosis of bipolar disorder can be pretty tricky sometimes! You're about to read a list of eleven more factors that have been associated with bipolar disorder. None of these factors "clinches" the diagnosis. They are suggestive of bipolarity, but not sufficient to establish it. They are best regarded as markers which suggest considering bipolar disorder as a possible explanation for symptoms. They are not a scoring system, where you might think "the more I have of these, the more likely it is that I have bipolar disorder." That way of thinking about these factors has not been tested.
Here's the list of items which are found with bipolar disorder more often than you would expect by chance alone. This list is adapted from a landmark article by Drs. Ghaemi and Goodwin and Ko. (Drs. Goodwin and Ghaemi are among the most respected authorities on bipolar diagnosis in the world. This important article is online).
- The patient has had repeated episodes of major depression (four or more; seasonal shifts in mood are also common).
- The first episode of major depression occurred before age 25 (some experts say before age 20, a few before age 18; most likely, the younger you were at the first episode, the more it is that bipolar disorder, not "unipolar", was the basis for that episode).
- A first-degree relative (mother/father, brother/sister, daughter/son) has a diagnosis of bipolar disorder.
- When not depressed, mood and energy are a bit higher than average, all the time ("hyperthymic personality").
- When depressed, symptoms are "atypical": extremely low energy and activity; excessive sleep (e.g. more than 10 hours a day); mood is highly reactive to the actions and actions of others; and (the weakest such sign) appetite is more likely to be increased than decreased. Some experts think that carbohydrate craving and night eating are variants of this appetite effect.
- Episodes of major depression are brief, e.g. less than 3 months.
- The patient has had psychosis (loss of contact with reality) during an episode of depression.
- The patient has had severe depression after giving birth to a child ("postpartum depression").
- The patient has had hypomania or mania while taking an antidepressant (remember, severe irritability, difficulty sleeping, and agitation may -- but do not always -- qualify for "hypomania").
- The patient has had loss of response to an antidepressant (sometimes called "Prozac Poop-out"): it worked well for a while then the depression symptoms came back, usually within a few months.
- Three or more antidepressants have been tried, and none worked.
There is a very radical idea buried in these 11 items, which we should look at before going on, but you should be aware that this idea is likely be dismissed with a "hmmmph" by many practicing psychiatrists. The idea is this: Dr. Ghaemi and colleagues propose that there might be a version of "bipolar disorder" that does not have any mania at all, not even hypomania. They call it "bipolar spectrum disorder".
Saturday, February 12, 2011
A Three Headed Dog
There are several misconceptions about Bipolar Disorder that I find to be very understandable. Complete bullshit, of course, but understandable. Because of these misconceptions, and the associated stigma, I spent far too long denying what was going on, and trying to find other reasons why I seemed to have such a hard time, sometimes. When I write about my experience with Bipolar, I will be using terms that are not always considered kosher by other people in the mental health field/people with mental health disorders. I will describe my actions or feelings as "crazy", for example. I am meaning that as a descriptor, not a judgment. Think of it as short hand for "outside of the range of actions and emotions I would normally have, either to the depressive or manic side". See. Crazy is just much easier. I prefer it, and that's a personal choice.
Anyway, misconceptions. The one I want to address right now is what I think to be the most basic misconception.
The title of the disease says it all, doesn't it? BI-POLAR. Bi- Two. Polar-dual, two, opposing ends. This creates the impression that I, as a Bipolar American (bwahahaha!), only cycle between two states. Crazy happy and crazy sad. Also, it seems to have the connotation of being a rapid shift from one to another.
*ahem*
"Hey sweetie, where's that soda you bought? Oh, you forgot? No biggie."
--elapse 5 minutes--
"YOU'RE CALLING ME FAT, AREN'T YOU?? I'M A FAT LARD AND YOU DON'T LOVE ME!"
*scene*
Crazy bitch. Typical Bipolar. (Yeah, not so much)
That simply isn't true. Does that happen on occasion in life? SURE DOES. We have all seen someone freaking lose it over something trivial, seemingly out of nowhere. But it doesn't make that person Bipolar. Usually, its hormonal, or just a crappy day, or they have a pattern of irratic behavior at their baseline.
Additionally, most people with Bipolar don't cycle that quickly between emotions. Yes, they can shift on a dime, but more often, they are sneaky little buggers. Your emotions seem to be completely stable, maybe its just a bad day--like a doll sitting on the floor. You look away for a minute, and when you look back that Chucky doll is just a little closer. No...no, it can't be. Its just a doll, everything is fine- HOLY SHIT IT MOVED AGAIN. The first few times, you might ignore it. But once the little bastard is stabbing you in the leg, you then have to notice it.
Which brings me to my next point. Life for me is not a series of horrible, terrible, Eeyore/BlackBolt-like months or weeks, followed immediately by euphoric joy and Tigger/Flash-like qualities. I have pleanty of "normal" times. In fact, its MOSTLY normal. Now, I have good days and bad days like anyone else. Every time I'm a little hyper and feeling great is not a hypomanic or manic episode. I'm a ball of sunshine and chitter-chatter most of the time. Every time I'm feeling sad or down does not mean I'm depressed. Being sad is a normal part of life. Being depressed shouldn't have to be.
I have normal times. I have good times. I have great times. I have CRAZY HAPPY times. Only one of those is a problem, people.
So I guess my point is this. Bipolar shouldn't be called Bipolar. I'd prefer TPAGE- Two Poles And a Gigantic Equator. Or even Cerberus Syndrome. Or anything that automatically makes a person think of three sides to a person instead of two.
Isn't that funny? Everyone should be respected for the many facets of their emotions and reactions, depending on where they are in their life. Heaven forbid you limit them to two...
But say Bipolar, and I'm over here begging to be allowed three.
Anyway, misconceptions. The one I want to address right now is what I think to be the most basic misconception.
The title of the disease says it all, doesn't it? BI-POLAR. Bi- Two. Polar-dual, two, opposing ends. This creates the impression that I, as a Bipolar American (bwahahaha!), only cycle between two states. Crazy happy and crazy sad. Also, it seems to have the connotation of being a rapid shift from one to another.
*ahem*
"Hey sweetie, where's that soda you bought? Oh, you forgot? No biggie."
--elapse 5 minutes--
"YOU'RE CALLING ME FAT, AREN'T YOU?? I'M A FAT LARD AND YOU DON'T LOVE ME!"
*scene*
Crazy bitch. Typical Bipolar. (Yeah, not so much)
That simply isn't true. Does that happen on occasion in life? SURE DOES. We have all seen someone freaking lose it over something trivial, seemingly out of nowhere. But it doesn't make that person Bipolar. Usually, its hormonal, or just a crappy day, or they have a pattern of irratic behavior at their baseline.
Additionally, most people with Bipolar don't cycle that quickly between emotions. Yes, they can shift on a dime, but more often, they are sneaky little buggers. Your emotions seem to be completely stable, maybe its just a bad day--like a doll sitting on the floor. You look away for a minute, and when you look back that Chucky doll is just a little closer. No...no, it can't be. Its just a doll, everything is fine- HOLY SHIT IT MOVED AGAIN. The first few times, you might ignore it. But once the little bastard is stabbing you in the leg, you then have to notice it.
Which brings me to my next point. Life for me is not a series of horrible, terrible, Eeyore/BlackBolt-like months or weeks, followed immediately by euphoric joy and Tigger/Flash-like qualities. I have pleanty of "normal" times. In fact, its MOSTLY normal. Now, I have good days and bad days like anyone else. Every time I'm a little hyper and feeling great is not a hypomanic or manic episode. I'm a ball of sunshine and chitter-chatter most of the time. Every time I'm feeling sad or down does not mean I'm depressed. Being sad is a normal part of life. Being depressed shouldn't have to be.
I have normal times. I have good times. I have great times. I have CRAZY HAPPY times. Only one of those is a problem, people.
So I guess my point is this. Bipolar shouldn't be called Bipolar. I'd prefer TPAGE- Two Poles And a Gigantic Equator. Or even Cerberus Syndrome. Or anything that automatically makes a person think of three sides to a person instead of two.
Isn't that funny? Everyone should be respected for the many facets of their emotions and reactions, depending on where they are in their life. Heaven forbid you limit them to two...
But say Bipolar, and I'm over here begging to be allowed three.
Friday, February 11, 2011
Prayer for a Person With Bipolar Disorder
Mother, Father
Help me to let of of this fear and pain.
Help me to understand that on this road, Bipolar will be my constant companion.
Help me to remember that Bipolar is not my only companion.
Help me to remember that to many in my life, I am not only good enough, but wonderful.
Help me to sleep at night, untouched by fear and racing thoughts.
Help me to get through my days with a balance of sadness and joy, never too far to either side.
Help me to forgive myself of the wrongs I have committed with Bipolar as my helpmeet.
Help me to avoid those wrongs that I would commit alone.
Help me to love myself as you and others love me.
Help me to obtain the goals I seek; that I will be a good wife, mother, and worker for peace.
Help me to respect and understand the importance of my medication,
And help me to be honest with those who would help me to handle the extremes of my reality.
May my prayers reach the heavens, the earth, and my own heart.
Amen
Written by me, feel free to use anywhere you like.
Adapt the religious statements as necessary for your personal faith, please. I would never presume that your idea of God is the same as mine.
Love,
Z
Help me to let of of this fear and pain.
Help me to understand that on this road, Bipolar will be my constant companion.
Help me to remember that Bipolar is not my only companion.
Help me to remember that to many in my life, I am not only good enough, but wonderful.
Help me to sleep at night, untouched by fear and racing thoughts.
Help me to get through my days with a balance of sadness and joy, never too far to either side.
Help me to forgive myself of the wrongs I have committed with Bipolar as my helpmeet.
Help me to avoid those wrongs that I would commit alone.
Help me to love myself as you and others love me.
Help me to obtain the goals I seek; that I will be a good wife, mother, and worker for peace.
Help me to respect and understand the importance of my medication,
And help me to be honest with those who would help me to handle the extremes of my reality.
May my prayers reach the heavens, the earth, and my own heart.
Amen
Written by me, feel free to use anywhere you like.
Adapt the religious statements as necessary for your personal faith, please. I would never presume that your idea of God is the same as mine.
Love,
Z
Stigma
Stigma is something that all people with mental illness have to face at some point or another. I am currently struggling with this in my own life from what some may consider to be an unlikely source.
Myself.
I still have days where I don't believe I'm bipolar, where I want to get off my medications and live my life like a "normal" person.
Then I have days like what happened last week. I am telling you this not to gain your pity, but to stress what I believe to be my main goal on this blog. To provide an honest account of what it feels like to be bipolar.
Last week, I had the flu. It completely sucked. I called off of work and stayed home. Now, two days into having the flu, I stopped sleeping and started feeling wired.
When I say wired, I don't mean "crackhead twitchy". I mean my thoughts were racing in my head a little more than normal, and I couldn't really lay down. I could sit and be still, but when I'd go to lie down, it just felt wrong somehow. I attributed it to the flu, and let it go.
That night, I'm barely not sleeping, and I'm going out of my way to talk to people. Texting, especially...I even joined twitter. Now, I never had a problem with twitter, but I never had the strange URGE to have more people available to converse with right-this-very-second.
I also started reading. I finished two of the Harry Dresden books in 2 days, without even noticing. That's fast even for me.
I also was getting sucked into deep documentaries about religion and physics. Hours of them. All hail Netflix!
The flu started on Tuesday. Over the week, I kept getting progressively less and less sleep. By Saturday night, things were getting weird in my brain, but I was able to keep myself looking normal on the outside. I had already decided to call my psych on monday to make an appointment, because I was recognizing my personal warning signs. (I am very proud of myself for that. I am known to be stubborn to absurd levels.)
Monday morning, 2am, I cant sleep. Its been just about 48 hours since I last slept, and I'm filled with anxiety. I'm not scared of anything specific, I'm just...racing. My body feels like I just narrowly missed getting hit by a car. I take a dose of xanax, which I did stubbornly avoid until I couldn't stand it anymore. Usually, a dose will take me down to a managable level with no problem. I have a very low dose perscribed to me.
Nothing.
It didn't even touch me. That is where things got stupid in my brain-parts. I started getting terrified that I was losing it, that I was headed for a huge psychiatric meltdown and I'd have to be flown somewhere for treatment and I couldn't afford it, and my family would worry, and blah blah blah blah blah. The thoughts came that quick. I couldn't even finish one paranoid thought before spiraling down to the next. So I did an extremely stupid thing.
I started driving around. This, my friends, was beyond stupid. I should never drive when upset. Many people have commented to this, and its true. Its not a good decision. The sad thing is, I KNOW this. I will tell people, I can't drive right now, I'm too upset. I have pulled over in the past to freak out, or cry, before continuing to drive. But in this moment, I...forgot? Forgot isn't really the right word, but I do not know how else to put it. It seemed like a small concern compared to the fact that I "had-to-get-out-of-this-house-right-now-or-something-in-me-will-explode."
So I drove around. For about 4 hours. Not straight. I would drive somewhere, then sit there for a bit. Drove to McDonalds, got a root beer. Drove out south end of the island, watched the sea. Back and forth.
At about 0830, I was at a loss. I didn't know what to do, and I felt completely unstable. I didn't have any more xanax after taking that last dose (I've been on the same perscription for 30 pills since August without a refill, don't start thinking I have a dependancy), and I didn't know what to do.
So I swallowed my pride and did the one thing I have always sworn I would NEVER do. I went to the ER. Even when I was suicidal, I didn't go this far--I had myself direct admitted. I do NOT go to the ER.
But go I did. I walked into a completely empty ER, and tried to tell my nurse what was wrong. I was so ashamed. I tried to poise myself to calmly tell her that I was bipolar, and I seemed to be having an anxiety attack that I couldn't break, or possibly the beginnings of a manic episode.
Instead, I stood there and cried. To her credit, she got me into a room right away, dimmed the lights just a little so they weren't in my face, and just waited. She didn't "Oh, HONEY, what's the matter?" she just waited patiently, and not unkindly. A minute or so later, I got myself together and explained that I was bipolar, and something wasn't right. She didn't let me babble on forever, though I would have in that state, just nodded, and left. An aide came in and got me registered and took my vital signs (elevated BP and heart rate, of course), and then the Doc came in.
Yes, you read those words right. A doctor saw me in the ER within 15 minutes of my feet hitting the door. God Bless small towns.
He asked me a bunch of questions, familiar to those of us with mental health history...to those who have not yet been diagnosed/are not effected, some of those are as follows:
-Are you thinking of hurting yourself or others?
-Are you pregnant?
-Have you been doing any drugs this evening? Pot, meth, crack, heroin?
-Have you been taking your medications as directed?
-Have you been sleeping?
-Are you hearing or seeing things that you suspect are not real?
Bipolar specific:
-Have you been spending a lot of moneyshopping, gambling, or giving large amounts of money away?
-Have you been having unprotected or unusually high amounts of sex?
-Have you been in any physical fights, or been irritable more than normal?
-Have you been having racing thoughts?
-Have you felt "high" or hyper with no explainable cause?
There are many more questions, but that about covers the basics. After I answered all of these, he suggested I have some xanax to see if we could break the cycle, and very kindly asked if there was anything he could get me to entertain myself with. I declined, deciding to focus on my breathing in some exercises I've been trying to learn.
I am so grateful that I could answer "no" to almost all of those questions. I fear one day I will have to say "yes" to some of those...and that completely kills me.
In the end, it took 2 doses of xanax, and a dose of Valium to bring me back to a "normal" level. Even with that, it was hard for me to sleep for the few hours before my appointment with my psychiatrist that had been set up in the ER for that afternoon.
We changed some drugs around in dosage, and she gave me a 4 day supply of Valium to get me through, as well as the Chloral Hydrate to knock me the heck out.
The first day I stayed home from the flu was Wednesday. I started going to a bad place mentally on Friday (that I noticed)...ER Monday. I came back to work yesterday, feeling much better. A little "off" in my head, but none the worse for wear. The side effects from increased dosage on my medications will fade soon, I hope.
The moral is this: Had I not gone to the ER to break the cycle, I could have hurt myself or someone else. I was driving while extremely agitated and afraid. I COULD not see what was wrong with my behavior. Trust me, I know how dangerous it was and I cannot understand why I did it at the time. Its like it wasn't me. And in many ways, it wasn't. But I am still responsible for my actions no matter what mental state I am in.
See, I'm learning. A year ago, I would never have done that. And despite the residual shame I still feel--despite still feeling weak in that mean part of my brain, I am really proud of myself.
To those who might be upset that I didn't call you or who I did call, but didn't really tell you what was going on, I am sorry. It is part of my pattern when I am manic or depressive. Part of that is shame, as well. I'm working through it. Please, don't think that it reflects on you, or that I didn't feel like I could trust you.
This isn't about you. Its the result of biochemistry and a lifetime of training myself that if it can be done at all, it can be done by me alone. I'm working on it.
Love you all,
Z
Myself.
I still have days where I don't believe I'm bipolar, where I want to get off my medications and live my life like a "normal" person.
Then I have days like what happened last week. I am telling you this not to gain your pity, but to stress what I believe to be my main goal on this blog. To provide an honest account of what it feels like to be bipolar.
Last week, I had the flu. It completely sucked. I called off of work and stayed home. Now, two days into having the flu, I stopped sleeping and started feeling wired.
When I say wired, I don't mean "crackhead twitchy". I mean my thoughts were racing in my head a little more than normal, and I couldn't really lay down. I could sit and be still, but when I'd go to lie down, it just felt wrong somehow. I attributed it to the flu, and let it go.
That night, I'm barely not sleeping, and I'm going out of my way to talk to people. Texting, especially...I even joined twitter. Now, I never had a problem with twitter, but I never had the strange URGE to have more people available to converse with right-this-very-second.
I also started reading. I finished two of the Harry Dresden books in 2 days, without even noticing. That's fast even for me.
I also was getting sucked into deep documentaries about religion and physics. Hours of them. All hail Netflix!
The flu started on Tuesday. Over the week, I kept getting progressively less and less sleep. By Saturday night, things were getting weird in my brain, but I was able to keep myself looking normal on the outside. I had already decided to call my psych on monday to make an appointment, because I was recognizing my personal warning signs. (I am very proud of myself for that. I am known to be stubborn to absurd levels.)
Monday morning, 2am, I cant sleep. Its been just about 48 hours since I last slept, and I'm filled with anxiety. I'm not scared of anything specific, I'm just...racing. My body feels like I just narrowly missed getting hit by a car. I take a dose of xanax, which I did stubbornly avoid until I couldn't stand it anymore. Usually, a dose will take me down to a managable level with no problem. I have a very low dose perscribed to me.
Nothing.
It didn't even touch me. That is where things got stupid in my brain-parts. I started getting terrified that I was losing it, that I was headed for a huge psychiatric meltdown and I'd have to be flown somewhere for treatment and I couldn't afford it, and my family would worry, and blah blah blah blah blah. The thoughts came that quick. I couldn't even finish one paranoid thought before spiraling down to the next. So I did an extremely stupid thing.
I started driving around. This, my friends, was beyond stupid. I should never drive when upset. Many people have commented to this, and its true. Its not a good decision. The sad thing is, I KNOW this. I will tell people, I can't drive right now, I'm too upset. I have pulled over in the past to freak out, or cry, before continuing to drive. But in this moment, I...forgot? Forgot isn't really the right word, but I do not know how else to put it. It seemed like a small concern compared to the fact that I "had-to-get-out-of-this-house-right-now-or-something-in-me-will-explode."
So I drove around. For about 4 hours. Not straight. I would drive somewhere, then sit there for a bit. Drove to McDonalds, got a root beer. Drove out south end of the island, watched the sea. Back and forth.
At about 0830, I was at a loss. I didn't know what to do, and I felt completely unstable. I didn't have any more xanax after taking that last dose (I've been on the same perscription for 30 pills since August without a refill, don't start thinking I have a dependancy), and I didn't know what to do.
So I swallowed my pride and did the one thing I have always sworn I would NEVER do. I went to the ER. Even when I was suicidal, I didn't go this far--I had myself direct admitted. I do NOT go to the ER.
But go I did. I walked into a completely empty ER, and tried to tell my nurse what was wrong. I was so ashamed. I tried to poise myself to calmly tell her that I was bipolar, and I seemed to be having an anxiety attack that I couldn't break, or possibly the beginnings of a manic episode.
Instead, I stood there and cried. To her credit, she got me into a room right away, dimmed the lights just a little so they weren't in my face, and just waited. She didn't "Oh, HONEY, what's the matter?" she just waited patiently, and not unkindly. A minute or so later, I got myself together and explained that I was bipolar, and something wasn't right. She didn't let me babble on forever, though I would have in that state, just nodded, and left. An aide came in and got me registered and took my vital signs (elevated BP and heart rate, of course), and then the Doc came in.
Yes, you read those words right. A doctor saw me in the ER within 15 minutes of my feet hitting the door. God Bless small towns.
He asked me a bunch of questions, familiar to those of us with mental health history...to those who have not yet been diagnosed/are not effected, some of those are as follows:
-Are you thinking of hurting yourself or others?
-Are you pregnant?
-Have you been doing any drugs this evening? Pot, meth, crack, heroin?
-Have you been taking your medications as directed?
-Have you been sleeping?
-Are you hearing or seeing things that you suspect are not real?
Bipolar specific:
-Have you been spending a lot of moneyshopping, gambling, or giving large amounts of money away?
-Have you been having unprotected or unusually high amounts of sex?
-Have you been in any physical fights, or been irritable more than normal?
-Have you been having racing thoughts?
-Have you felt "high" or hyper with no explainable cause?
There are many more questions, but that about covers the basics. After I answered all of these, he suggested I have some xanax to see if we could break the cycle, and very kindly asked if there was anything he could get me to entertain myself with. I declined, deciding to focus on my breathing in some exercises I've been trying to learn.
I am so grateful that I could answer "no" to almost all of those questions. I fear one day I will have to say "yes" to some of those...and that completely kills me.
In the end, it took 2 doses of xanax, and a dose of Valium to bring me back to a "normal" level. Even with that, it was hard for me to sleep for the few hours before my appointment with my psychiatrist that had been set up in the ER for that afternoon.
We changed some drugs around in dosage, and she gave me a 4 day supply of Valium to get me through, as well as the Chloral Hydrate to knock me the heck out.
The first day I stayed home from the flu was Wednesday. I started going to a bad place mentally on Friday (that I noticed)...ER Monday. I came back to work yesterday, feeling much better. A little "off" in my head, but none the worse for wear. The side effects from increased dosage on my medications will fade soon, I hope.
The moral is this: Had I not gone to the ER to break the cycle, I could have hurt myself or someone else. I was driving while extremely agitated and afraid. I COULD not see what was wrong with my behavior. Trust me, I know how dangerous it was and I cannot understand why I did it at the time. Its like it wasn't me. And in many ways, it wasn't. But I am still responsible for my actions no matter what mental state I am in.
See, I'm learning. A year ago, I would never have done that. And despite the residual shame I still feel--despite still feeling weak in that mean part of my brain, I am really proud of myself.
To those who might be upset that I didn't call you or who I did call, but didn't really tell you what was going on, I am sorry. It is part of my pattern when I am manic or depressive. Part of that is shame, as well. I'm working through it. Please, don't think that it reflects on you, or that I didn't feel like I could trust you.
This isn't about you. Its the result of biochemistry and a lifetime of training myself that if it can be done at all, it can be done by me alone. I'm working on it.
Love you all,
Z
Wednesday, February 9, 2011
Jagged Little Pill (THROWBACK)
Lets take a moment to talk about my personal version of the boogieman, medications. My resistance to taking daily medications was very, very hard to work through. Dependance on something other than my own stubbornness just makes me cringe. I feel ashamed that in my mid-twenties, I have 6 medications...4 of which I am to take every single day, or potentially end up in a mental institution (again)(<---more on that later) or suicidal.
That being said, part of trying to reconcile myself with the reality of being bipolar is embracing my pills. Yes, I said embracing. Not tolerating, not grudgingly acquiescing...actually embracing my medications as a part of my life FOREVER.
Not that the pills themselves have helped their own case. Especially sleeping medications.
We'll start with Ambien. Ambien and I are NOT friends. The first time I took Ambien, I fell asleep, and didn't remember anything until the next morning. That sounds great, until you realize that I vomited repeatedly, wandered about for several hours, unable to be awakened, and apparently, I also screamed intermittently. That isn't exactly written on the bottle, folks. And the really funny part of it is, had I been alone when I took it, I wouldn't have known it wasn't working as directed. Besides waking up with a nasty taste in my mouth and a bit of what can only be described as a hangover, I was fine.
The next sleeping pill to fail miserably is Trazodone. This pill did put me to sleep, and didn't increase or decrease my sleepwalking in any noticeable fashion. However, I did lose all appetite. I lost about 15 pounds in 3 weeks. "Gosh, get me a pill like that!" You might foolishly exclaim. Losing 5 pounds a week isn't good, and feeling like a flaccid Christmas blow-up decoration for the first 3 hours you're awake isn't all that awesome either.
Doxepin made me itchy. I think that's enough said there. ITCHY.
Rozerem worked fine, but wasn't covered by my insurance. Steep prices, people. Steep. I had to let that one go.
So, now, I'm taking melatonin (herbal) and Seroquel XR. I also have a perscripton for Chloral Hydrate, which sounds suspiciously like a cause of death in an Agatha Cristie Novel...but its for those nights where my brain won't stop no matter what I do. Its in liquid form. Yes, its disgusting. And yes, I think of the magic liquid Mary Poppins gives out every time I have to take it, and wish in vain that it will taste better this time.
I have more to say on the subject of medications, but fittingly, I took my evening medications before starting this blog entry, and they are working already.
You have no idea how beautiful that really is. Tonight, at least, I can embrace one aspect of my medicated life...being able to fall asleep.
Goodnight.
That being said, part of trying to reconcile myself with the reality of being bipolar is embracing my pills. Yes, I said embracing. Not tolerating, not grudgingly acquiescing...actually embracing my medications as a part of my life FOREVER.
Not that the pills themselves have helped their own case. Especially sleeping medications.
We'll start with Ambien. Ambien and I are NOT friends. The first time I took Ambien, I fell asleep, and didn't remember anything until the next morning. That sounds great, until you realize that I vomited repeatedly, wandered about for several hours, unable to be awakened, and apparently, I also screamed intermittently. That isn't exactly written on the bottle, folks. And the really funny part of it is, had I been alone when I took it, I wouldn't have known it wasn't working as directed. Besides waking up with a nasty taste in my mouth and a bit of what can only be described as a hangover, I was fine.
The next sleeping pill to fail miserably is Trazodone. This pill did put me to sleep, and didn't increase or decrease my sleepwalking in any noticeable fashion. However, I did lose all appetite. I lost about 15 pounds in 3 weeks. "Gosh, get me a pill like that!" You might foolishly exclaim. Losing 5 pounds a week isn't good, and feeling like a flaccid Christmas blow-up decoration for the first 3 hours you're awake isn't all that awesome either.
Doxepin made me itchy. I think that's enough said there. ITCHY.
Rozerem worked fine, but wasn't covered by my insurance. Steep prices, people. Steep. I had to let that one go.
So, now, I'm taking melatonin (herbal) and Seroquel XR. I also have a perscripton for Chloral Hydrate, which sounds suspiciously like a cause of death in an Agatha Cristie Novel...but its for those nights where my brain won't stop no matter what I do. Its in liquid form. Yes, its disgusting. And yes, I think of the magic liquid Mary Poppins gives out every time I have to take it, and wish in vain that it will taste better this time.
I have more to say on the subject of medications, but fittingly, I took my evening medications before starting this blog entry, and they are working already.
You have no idea how beautiful that really is. Tonight, at least, I can embrace one aspect of my medicated life...being able to fall asleep.
Goodnight.
Tuesday, February 8, 2011
This is one of many older poems I'll be reposting because I like them. I'm taking this first day on my blog to say the tone for the following days, so its only fair that I add this too. Circa 2009.
I am consumed with guilt
when I can't comprehend chemistry.
I am letting down Marie Curie,
I think. I think. I think.
She looms before me,
glowing hot
and I am in disgrace.
(I admire her scientific intellect
and bemoan what I am not)
Femininity knows no restriction
on mathematic intellect-
but yet I prove them all correct
when I'd rather read instead.
"Disgrace, Disgrace!"
Marie cries out, spitting mold that burns
But I can no more be like her
Than I can be a "girl."
Breaking the Taboo- Oh look, I'm talking about suicide!
Suicidal ideation is an interesting barometer for my mental health. (SPOILER ALERT: I will not be killing myself today. Sorry. Try back tomorrow. This is merely a philosophical musing)
At the best of times, suicide is still disturbingly present on my mental radar. I remember an incident at a waterpark, where it became astonishingly clear to me just how unstable I actually am. While in line for one of those terrifying tube rides, about three stories up, I commented to my companion something along the lines of—“Huh. From this height onto those rocks? That would almost definitely be fatal.”
Deafening silence.
What I had interpreted in my brain as a perfectly normal conversation starter, he had found disturbing and frightening. I was not feeling suicidal. I was simply being observant.
Since I was very small, I have always been aware of what options I have in terms of fatal occurrences. Standing at an intersection, my mind often wanders to what vehicle out of those in my line of sight would kill, rather than maim me at the speed they are currently going. Being at high altitudes during hiking has me observing sheer dropoffs instead of gradual (if dangerous) downward slopes. Don’t even get me started on the myriad options available to me when I worked on the ambulance. These thoughts are not abnormal to me, but they aren’t pressing. Its just…something I look for.
I have decided to compare myself to a bird watcher. They may well be at their cousin Susan’s wedding, but they’ll still notice a Harris’ Sparrow hanging out in the trees flanking the arch and altar. Its not that the bird is more important to them than the vows (I am not imagining an obsessive bird watcher), its just that they can’t help but notice a detail that has become a big part of their life.
Is that what suicide is to me? A pleasurable hobby? That is the thought that stopped me dead (heh) earlier today, and lead me to writing. In conclusion: no, I don’t think so. It’s merely something that I keep track of. Is that disturbing and a little frightening? Absolutely. But what it IS is occasionally comforting, in a way, to know my options.
So, to get back to the barometer aspect of suicidal ideation—
My normal baseline notices suicidal options. That isn’t something that I think I can change. I don’t long for them, and I don’t seek them out. I just notice them when they pass me by.
At the very beginnings of my descent into an unhealthy place, I start grading the suicidal options as they come across my path. Hit by a bus? Not definite enough. Jumping off a cliff? I might get found by innocent bystanders, even children, if I land too close to the hiking path I came up on. Gun? Messy, but definitely effective. Again, this level of awareness usually doesn’t happen at the time. I notice it later, once I’ve started to come back to what I have established as baseline.
The next step is planning. I start contemplating the logistics of my death. I found myself searching for crematoriums on the island where I live not too long ago, and in realizing that there WASN’T one, made the completely logical decision to not kill myself here. I’d have to at least travel down to Bellingham first. It’s just too darn expensive to ship a body.
At this point, I am STILL not actually planning on or truly having suicidal ideations in the classic sense. Yes, I know that a textbook will tell you that picking a method and “planning” is a major danger sign…but for me, I have learned that it really isn’t.
(Here be dragons.) Somewhere after the “planning” stage in my lovely descent into a very personal hell, I start realizing I’m contemplating suicide, albeit in a very general way. There is a fork at the road at this point. I either turn right, and start trudging back up the hill, paying more attention to myself along the way, and letting a few friends and professionals know…or I turn left. I can’t explain what happens when I turn left. It’s only happened a few times in my life, and I can’t honestly explain why. Despite all of this rambling about suicide, I really do not want to die. I love my life. I love my friends, my family, and what I consider to be a valuable step in my eternal spiritual path. I honestly do not understand how I could have ever been suicidal in my current state of mind. It just doesn’t compute. I may notice suicidal options—but I really never actually plan on acting on them.
Until I do. Then, like a trapdoor being pulled, I “turn left”…and suddenly find myself honestly planning on dying. I start judging myself for what I haven’t yet done. Circular logic leads me to “well, I’m going to kill myself, so I don’t deserve to live,” as well as other equally idiotic places.
This has happened two times in my life. I will not go into details of these times right now, though I feel like it might be educational to others to discuss it at some point.
The next step, which I have never yet sunk to, is actual suicide attempt. I have had plans. I have waited until those who loved me weren’t around, and I have had my finger on the trigger, both literally and figuratively.
But I have never done it. And God willing, I never will.
This is what mental illness looks like. It’s not flashy visions of Green Lantern telling me that I am the chosen one. It’s rarely panic attacks and homicidal rages. It isn’t something you can see at a glance when you meet someone—and it certainly isn’t something that people can always see in themselves.
It is this. It’s realizing that the way I have always thought is seen by many (now including myself) to be not only terrifying, but dangerous.
But that’s part of healing too. Because for the first time, I’m not only realizing the parts of me that are wrong and scary, I’m accepting them as the quirky little beasties they are. Like a dog that pisses on the carpet a little when he gets nervous, my brain is not always the best companion. But I’m learning to anticipate his excitement—and realizing I have to clean up afterwards. (Sooner rather than later)
I don’t think I really have a conclusion to all of these thoughts. I don’t think I’m there yet. I’m doing all the things I’m supposed to do to be healthy, and I’m starting to really look inside myself and really see who I am. I don’t want to die. I’m firmly in the “life is good” camp.
And I guess the point is that I’m learning that I can’t take that for granted.
Alright. Time to go make oatmeal.
Coming Out Bipolar
Never let it be said that my madness has not given me gifts.
Glorious highs have come from my disorder. Though I have not yet experienced a true manic episode, my hypomanic phases have been some of the happiest times of my life. I have felt like a superhero. I have gone days without sleep, aced tests that I couldn't get a C on now, worked shift after shift without feeling an ounce of burnout that should have been piled upon me...
I have had some of the best moments of my life because of my illness, as pathetic as that might be to some.
But the places it has taken me have not always been good. I have looked into a mirror and hated myself with such passion that it has terrified me. I have been suicidal. I have contemplated strange and dangerous pursuits like prostitution with as much forethought as some people take when deciding to stop by Barnes and Noble on the way home from work. I have harmed myself. I have been physically aggressive towards those I love. I have lain in bed for days and considered it a triumph that I hadn't yet got up the energy to end it all.
Coming out of the closet has many connotations, both socially and personally, for me. I identify as a heterosexual female, but much of my life I have shoved and pushed into a small corner of my mind, and prayed no one noticed. Well, they have. Bits and pieces here and there.
And they have loved me anyway. Not everyone, of course. But enough. Oh, enough.
I am mad. But I am not alone.
This will be the outlet for some of my thoughts and musings on my madness, and explaining, both to myself and possibly to others, what the true reality of Bipolar Disorder can be, for me.
Thank you.
Glorious highs have come from my disorder. Though I have not yet experienced a true manic episode, my hypomanic phases have been some of the happiest times of my life. I have felt like a superhero. I have gone days without sleep, aced tests that I couldn't get a C on now, worked shift after shift without feeling an ounce of burnout that should have been piled upon me...
I have had some of the best moments of my life because of my illness, as pathetic as that might be to some.
But the places it has taken me have not always been good. I have looked into a mirror and hated myself with such passion that it has terrified me. I have been suicidal. I have contemplated strange and dangerous pursuits like prostitution with as much forethought as some people take when deciding to stop by Barnes and Noble on the way home from work. I have harmed myself. I have been physically aggressive towards those I love. I have lain in bed for days and considered it a triumph that I hadn't yet got up the energy to end it all.
Coming out of the closet has many connotations, both socially and personally, for me. I identify as a heterosexual female, but much of my life I have shoved and pushed into a small corner of my mind, and prayed no one noticed. Well, they have. Bits and pieces here and there.
And they have loved me anyway. Not everyone, of course. But enough. Oh, enough.
I am mad. But I am not alone.
This will be the outlet for some of my thoughts and musings on my madness, and explaining, both to myself and possibly to others, what the true reality of Bipolar Disorder can be, for me.
Thank you.
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