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