Daily Archives: June 11, 2014

Alcoholic Genes Identified

Alcoholic Genes A group of 11 genes can successfully predict whether an individual is at increased risk of alcoholism, a research team from the United States and Germany reported last month. The study also mentions some of the 11 genes have been linked to bipolar and other disorders. It’s been my long held belief that […]

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Friend

I met a friend on a mental health website.  I said we were all "wounded healers."  He said we were all looking for validation.  I had hoped we were more altruistic than that.  But this started a discussion that left the website and moved to our personal email spaces.  We discussed our histories, abuse, medication, children, ourselves as children, music, books, travels, hopes, opportunities, aspirations, limitations, and the idea that we would like to meet...one day.  1000 emails later, he is gone.

He had a manic episode that I did not know how to handle.  He was getting 'in your face' confrontational with people in his neighborhood.  I tried to calm him down and that was apparently not the thing to do.  He signed off...and that's the last I've heard from him.

So many feelings...so many reactions...so many possibilities.  I hope he's alive.  I hope he's safe.  I hope he knows I care about him deeply and would not abandon him...intentionally.

Our two months of correspondence walked me back away from a near-fatal depression last spring.  I now face the days without the dozens or more new emails titled in bright blue.  The silence roars with intensity,.and I wonder, what happened to him.

I will not think I could have been hurt...that I am better off.  In spite of his intentions to go out looking for trouble, I know he would not have hurt me.  I feel no concern for that.  I did not like the intensity of his anger and belligerence...that is why I failed to be what he needed at the time...friend.

I hurt, but I'm ok.  In one unanswered email, I said I was like a SETI technician, sending out signals in hopes that I would one day hear something back.

Crazy Recipe-just add bipolar

It’s 1:30 am. I am wide awake. My brain is in overdrive, thoughts rushing like warm ocean waves flooding across your feet as your toes sink into hot sand. Manic episodes are so random. When you need the energy, it’s never there. Then when it’s bedtime…BOOM. Unfortunately, I am doing ten things at once, none of which are really urgent. Meanwhile, my dishes need done, laundry needs washed and folded, floors need cleaned, cat boxes need scooped…

And all my brain can do is run round and round like a hamster on its little wheel with its irritating creaky squeaky noise. I am also breaking out into hives because that sliver of brain that is the adult in me knows I will have a long day with my kid playing Uzi to my brain so I really should be asleep right now otherwise I will be bitch (ier).

If they just bottle mania, illegal drugs wouldn’t be needed. It’s awesome to feel so on top of the world, so energetic, so creative.

My flip side is I multi task but with no attention span, lots gets started and little gets finished.

Fuck fuck fuckity fuck.

I took my beddy  bye meds to slow my brain and gently ease me into sleep. That was 4 hours ago. Xanax is overly sedating, my ass. Nothing competes with sheer mania.

Least it’s not the eeeevil mania where you come out of it several days later and go, ‘I SPENT HOW MUCH ON WHAT AND SPENT THE NIGHT WITH WHO AND DRANK HOW MUCH BOOZE?????” Yeah, those are fun when your mind is altered by mania.

Reality and consequence make me fear honest to god bad manic states. I’ve been on that blessed hellride too many times and even years after, the consequences gnaw on my ass.

I am getting the distinct impression Lamictal is no longer stabilizing my moods. But when you add an anti depressant, it can be like a tug of war, one trying to level you out while the other tries to lift you up. The result is you feeling like you’re riding in a clown car with a drunk Krusty the Klown behind the wheel.

I loathe clowns.

Now…back to my hives and my head full of busy little hamsters on their wheels.

Rinse. Lather. Repeat. Life is like shampoo, how sad is that.

 


How My Prolapsed Uterus is Like a Pregnancy

I counted the other day and it turns out I will be having my hysterectomy and oophorectomy (removal of the ovaries) about nine months after I first started really hurting and knew I needed to go to the doctor.  This got me thinking about the other ways this whole thing has been like a pregnancy.

The biggest similarity is the nesting.  Okay, I'm not getting my house ready for a new baby, but I have been deep cleaning and getting my house ready for my down time and possibly visitors.  I don't generally receive visitors in my bedroom, but that will be a possibility for a few days after surgery.  So I wanted it to be presentable.  All those things I've wanted to do for a long time to make it the way I wanted it to be are finally getting done now.  I've been deep cleaning and purging so I can recuperate in peace without being anxious about things that need to be done.  Other than maintenance (which includes getting my family to actually clean up after themselves), my house is ready!

Discomfort.  Ugh.  Being pregnant brings about all kinds of weird and unexpected changes to your body.  And you spend so much time worrying if this is normal or something to worry about.  Should I call the doctor?  Do I need to go to the hospital?  Twinges.  Pain.  Swelling.   Cramping.  The one thing that's been nearly constant these last nine months is a cramping uterus - very like contractions only less come-and-go and more constant, like a Charlie horse.  It feels like I have a giant rock in my lower abdomen, very much like when I was about two months pregnant.  Uncomfortable to me, but not noticeable to anyone else.

And, because of my uterus being displaced, a more frequent need to pee.

An ultrasound as part of the diagnostic process.

Way too many pelvic exams.

Way more doctors visits than I'd like.

Deciding when and how to tell people.

Lots of people asking when my date is (surgery date as opposed to due date).

And when it's time I will go to the hospital and have a delivery of sorts and spend a night in the hospital while they monitor my bleeding and recovery.

I won't be bringing home a bundle of joy (but I also won't be gaining another lifelong responsibility).  There will be no naming of anything under any circumstances.

But hopefully, when all is said and done, I will experience the same joy and freedom and relief that comes after pregnancy when I feel like I finally have my body back the way it should be.  Fingers crossed!

Lull

Finally today…a lull in the turbulence of bipolar disorder. Even though I forgot my meds until nearly 1pm…My mood head steady and is still holding. It’s like seeing a rainbow, a unicorn, and a pegasus all in the same day. I’ve not been happy or sad, just…steady and even. It’s wondermous. That this is the norm for others boggles my mind. This mental state ROCKS.

So why does it never stick for more than a day or two?

I was thinking earlier, in spite of the seven month crippling winter depression, which I do believe Lithium made worse…There were few extreme mood shifts. I woke up low, stayed low, went to bed low. And that lessened my anxiety a bit. It’s kind of helpful when you can cling to one mood for more than an hour, even if it’s depression. Stability, of the mind anyway, is wayyyy underrated. Only a bipolar person would really know this, of course. Stable is the norm for most. It’s a mystical magical unicorn when you have bipolar. Nice to imagine and yearn to see but not fucking likely.

I went to the shop today. R was unfocused and giving me chores that weren’t on his list so I wasn’t getting done what needed to be. I left early because my aunt died last night, plus the son of one of my sister’;s friends drowned at age 3 yesterday and it was just like…Well, I can’t ask mom to babysit and Becca offered, but I felt bad, like I was taking advantage like her sinisters tried to convince he I would…I am grateful because I need to curry favor to get Frankenstein (my desktop) fixed. He gave me an ancient laptop from 1872 but it has no drivers so essentially all it will do is boot windows and let you put things in the recycle bin. I’ll get to it this weekend. My focus is shit during the week when others are making demands on me. See, this paragraph just went off topic because I CAN’T HOLD ONTO A THOUGHT FOR MORE THAN 5 SECONDS.

I gotta find a way to get the Foculin. I don’t think the shrink will have a problem prescribing it. It’s affording it that’s been the stumbling block ‘cos insurance won’t cover it for adults. Well, my life has been shit ten ways to sunday since I went off Focalin all those years ago. I want my attention span back. I am sick of people getting pissed off, like I am being flaky to annoy them. Maybe I can sell blood…Oh, wait, my blood is pumped so full of anti crazy pills, who’d want it.

While I was at the shop, my cell rang unexpectedly…And it was my kid calling from Becca’s phone telling me I’d been gone too long (2 hours) and I should come home now. Hearing her cute little babble on the phone always warms the cockles of my cold dead heart. Though I can’t grasp how she can go to my dad’s out of town for two days and not hug me bye or hello when she returns, yet I go out for ten minutes or two hours and she acts like I’ve been gone forever. Maybe from her point of view, when she leaves, she knows she’ll be brought back. When I leave she doesn’t know whether i will be back or not., (Like her sperm donor.) I don’t know, it’s weird. Kids are good if you like inconsistency and fickleness.

I am adapting, albeit with a grudge.

Tomorrow is a vegetative day. I can’t do the shop and the dish again. Need to reboot.

Maybe I will sleep through tonight. I haven’t slept easily or long the last two nights because I had the looming clock ticking in my head. Expectations. It freaks me out to be expected at a certain place within a certain time frame. Always has. Appointments and jobs are like imprisonment for my fucked up mind.

Bent, NOT broken, demmit.

Crazy is beautiful.

Crookedly so.


Into The Night

Feeling a little off today. I was awake too far into the night last night, even though I was in bed, and today I’m kind of restless and spacey. I keep telling myself that NOTHING is going to be solved by worrying about it at one in the morning, but obviously I’m not listening or I’d stop that shit.

I hate this. Every day that goes by without a job prospect, or even something on Craigslist that looks promising, is another day without a steady income and health insurance. And every night I take my meds faithfully, a full two hours before bedtime, and then I lie on my back and stare at the ceiling, wondering for the 900th time what I’m really going to do.

I wish I could look at it as an adventure, because that’s what it is—I’m stepping off the cliff into space, not knowing if there will be something to catch me or if I’ll be taught how to fly. But then, I never did have much of a thirst for adventure, and the older I get the more I appreciate the tried and true. This not knowing where I’m going to land is for the birds. I mean, I know I’ll land on my feet, because that’s how I roll. I just hope it’s not at the bottom of a canyon.

Speaking of feet, I’ve been giving mine some sensual delights today. It’s been warm enough to go barefoot in the house, so I’ve been treating them to the cool smoothness of our wood floors, which is amazing given the fact that they seldom thaw out before July. It’s definitely time to drive barefooted, too, although I haven’t gone anywhere today. I’ve also been outside walking on hot concrete, and then I cooled off my dogs in the sweet, soft turf of the front yard. There’s nothing like feeling the grass between your toes!

Hopefully, with the physical activity I’ve done today and perhaps a little Ativan to help me sleep, I won’t be up half the night stewing and worrying and plotting and planning. I do need to organize a garage sale though, and last night I was thinking of items to sell (I am never going to be a size 14 again and I know it) and how to attract people who are otherwise NOT going to want to try negotiating our long, sloping driveway.

My daughter says we ought to put everything we want to sell on Craigslist, but I’m sort of paranoid about the idea of strangers calling and coming out to the house. At least with a yard sale, there’s lots of people milling around and the chances of some weird shit going down are minimal, although the way things are these days, a crowd doesn’t really provide much protection from crazed gunmen bent on murder. But I’d prefer to believe that nobody’s going to shoot up a neighborhood garage sale…..not ours anyway.

THIS is the kind of crap I think up in the middle of the night when the moon is high and my head is full of worries. If it sounds a little disjointed, that’s only because it is. The calm and rational part of my brain seems to be on vacation, and the only thing that helps is something a friend posted on Facebook this morning along the lines of “If you’re going to worry about it, don’t pray about it, and if you’re going to pray about it, don’t worry about it”. I know the latter is best…..but it’s sure hard to do when it’s late into the night and God seems so very far away.