Daily Archives: September 22, 2014

1000mg Lithium

250mg then 500 (and three blood tests), then 750mg and one blood test, then 1000mg and another one.

The side effects have calmed a lot. I get a bit itchy, but not to that insane and uncomfortable level anymore – no more acne either. Still getting headaches, but no more migraines. Words get lost all the time. I’m beginning to slowly realise why bipolar people say that they start feeling a bit less bright.

It’s still fucking shit really.

Newest new word:
Seponation: Discontinuation, especially of a psychoactive drug.

The Bipolar Blogger Network

The Bipolar Blogger Network

Thank you, Raeyn, for adding my blog to The Bipolar Blogger Network. Please visit The Bipolar Blogger Network and check out their feed of member blogs under the Read Along menu header. What a wonderful way to find and network with other bipolar bloggers!

The Bipolar Blogger Network is the brainchild of a couple of friends bemused by the lack of networking options for those with various flavours of bipolar. We intend for this place to be a hub for all who have an experience to share.
~ http://www.bipolarbloggernetwork.com/?page_id=7


Filed under: Awards, Bipolar Disorder, Gratitude, Mental Health Tagged: The Bipolar Blogger Network

Your Voice In My Head – Emma Forrest

Another memoir by another female journalist, screenwriter etc – bipolar, addiction, self harm, suicide attempts … sadly familiar territory, right?

Mania flows like a river approaching a waterfall. Depression is a stagnant lake. There are dead things floating and the water has the same blue-black tinge as your lips. You stay completely still because you’re so afraid of what is brushing your leg (even though it could be nothing because your mind is already gone).

There’s a bit of a Carrie Bradshaw feel to this one, an intentional one, I think. New York, image conscious, boyfriends with catchy nicknames – that sort of thing. I can’t help comparing this book to Marya Hornbacher’s more universal and visceral Madness. 

Her ego comes through so sharply, it dulls the other details. Then again, mental illness (both the wreck and remission of it) is a self-absorbed thing. How could it be otherwise? Let me rather say that it is a deeply introspective book. Self aware too.

But then I have the luxury to find inspiration in the pain because I am a middle-class girl with a tight-knit family.

A thread running through the book is Emma’s (now deceased) therapist, Dr R, the beloved voice of reason.

You fell out of love with madness. That took self-awareness. And it took courage.”

I was disconcerted and interested to read this:

I sit back that night and say to myself, “That was properly mental. That’s borderline personality stuff and you don’t want to be that.”

… because I am ashamed to admit I’ve had similar thoughts myself. I’m sorry …

Halfway through the book I figure my ignorance of celebrity matters might be limiting my approach to the book (oh, she went out with Colin Farrell). That’s also the stage I start worrying, because things are going (too) well and I know happy endings don’t start halfway through books. And of course, it all falls apart. By then, I care, because her character has deepened and the ego edges have been smoothed.

I notice the hand cream by my bed says “Apply generously” and I say out loud, “Fuck you, hand cream!”

So, read it. Read it, because although it isn’t so much about bipolar as it is about Emma, it’s well written enough to be engaging eventually. And all of these young women with their memoirs, well … their stories are not over, just because their books are storyshaped.

“You absolutely deserve an explanation and you absolutely will not get one.”

“Life is futile,” says my new therapist, Michaela, “and no one gets out of it alive. There is only love.”

The Deception of Bi-Polar – Welcome to Dr Jekyll and Mrs Hyde.

“How do you feel”, I am often asked. And I answer ‘I’m fine’, because that is what is expected. I think we regularly ask people how they are feeling without ever wanting anything more than a ‘fine’ answer. That would … Continue reading

Two Bipolar Chicks

I’m writing this on a dreary Sunday morning as the sounds of Nickelodeon’s “The Fairly OddParents” blare in the background.  (At least it’s not SpongeBob. I must be grateful.)  When you have young children, and there’s the opportunity for the … Continue reading

6 Types of Loneliness

1. Interpersonal loneliness: This is the result of losing a significant, or intimate, relationship.
2. Social loneliness: This is where a person is on the fringes of a group, excluded from a group, or is actively rejected.
3. Cultural loneliness: This is where a person belongs to a different culture and feels that they don’t fit, or belong, in the new culture.
4. Intellectual loneliness: This is where a person feels intellectually, or educationally, out of synch with their peers, their family or their social group.
5. Psychological loneliness: This is where a person has experienced a trauma that separates them out from others around them. That is, it’s something other people can’t fully understand.
6. Existential or cosmic loneliness: This is an isolating loneliness experienced by a person who is facing death.

The Bipolar Blogger Network

Fantastic News!

Today I was accepted to be a part of the Bipolar Bloggers Network!

Bipolarblog network

I’ve always primarily written for myself. Writing, for me, is an outlet, a way to promote healing, and a form of creative expression. I gave my blog website to a handful of friends and family members, but wrote for my own benefit. Recently I have thought more and more about writing for others as well as myself. I did, indeed, start this blog with the intent of using my experiences to promote awareness of mental illness, and reduce stigma.

I think it’s important to emphasise that all sorts of people, from all walks of life can be diagnosed with Bipolar disorder. ANYONE can be affected by mental illness. The Bipolar Blogger Network illustrates this point perfectly. The blogs showcased by the Bipolar Blogger Network are all so different and yet so familiar at the same time. A throng of diversity, tied together with the same diagnosis. There are some truly talented writers out there, and I would encourage you to hop on down to check out some of the awesome blogs and resources the community has to offer.

A huge thank you to Raeyn for adding me to the Bipolar Blogger Network. I love reading about other peoples experiences, I feel comfort in the words of others. So now, with a deep breath, I put my own experiences forward, and hope I can be of comfort to someone too.

Here’s to a new beginning.


It Was An Eventful Day

I woke up grumpy as usual. I noticed that I am having a lot more nightmares again. I’ll live with it, I figure it’s my minds way of being a jerk.

I didn’t let my crappy mood get me down though. I went out for lunch, went and priced stuff we need for the house, appliances and what not. We also picked out some nice furniture that we are interested on. We can’t buy it but we know the formations we want.

I just got back from the movies. We went to see The Maze Runner. I enjoyed it and it was nice being out at the theatre. I did leve my new pink sweater behind though. Damn hose comfortable recliners.

I hope that things will start taking an upswing, if not I M just gonna keep pushing.. Screw the negativity.


The Big Bum Theory

Every now and again, the irony of losing my compulsion to overeat and yet being unable to shed my excess weight just amazes the hell out of me. I don’t eat any more than the average person, I don’t eat when I’m not hungry, and I go through periods when I couldn’t care less about food. But still, I remain morbidly obese.

I can’t help blaming some of it on Zyprexa, which I must confess no longer drives me to eat everything in sight and really hasn’t caused that much weight gain this go-round. But even though I’m still not anywhere near as heavy as I was a couple of years ago, I feel heavier than I did even at my highest weight. I’m not sure why that is. Maybe it’s because these pounds seem to be concentrated in my mid-section and butt. Maybe it’s because my diet is full of processed crap. Who knows, maybe it’s just because that’s where the weight wants to go.

No matter how you slice it, though, the weight is neither welcome nor appreciated. I hate looking like a beach ball with legs. I’m so firmly packed in the middle that my hips are smaller than my waist…..assuming I could find it amid the fat rolls. I cannot lace my fingers together and rest my hands in my lap, even if I had one. I cannot cross my legs, nor squat, nor kneel (although that has as much to do with my knee operation as anything else). I can, however, tie my shoes and cut my own toenails because my pride won’t let anyone else do it for me. I also refuse to use those go-carts in the grocery stores, because almost every person I see driving them is massively overweight and I don’t want people looking at me and thinking I’m too lazy to walk around the store. So there.

But the image I saw the other night in the full-length mirror at my son’s house scares me, and though I’ve certainly weighed more, I don’t remember ever having been fatter. My clothes don’t really fit any differently, and the numerical value of my gravitational pull, like my moods, is pretty stable. I just feel thick and slow, and my ass looks like the south end of a northbound elephant.

So why am I trying to blame it on an innocent, little, round white pill? Actually, I don’t blame ALL of it on Zyprexa, because I’ve been severely overweight since my early 30s and I never even took the stuff till my early 50s. I just need a scapegoat for my unwillingness to give up burgers for tofu and kale, as well as my dislike of cooking. (Hey, at least I’m honest about it…..)

Actually, I think I might get a little help from Dr. Awesomesauce as to weaning off the Vitamin Z, maybe even as soon as tomorrow. I’m doing well and neither of us wants me to be on two anti-psychotics a day longer than I have to be. Of course, he just ordered another three months’ worth, and we both know what happened the last time I tried to cut back. But I like to think that I’m in a different place than I was three months ago, even as I wish I could turn the clock back five years, before all of…..well…..THIS happened. Before I became “ill”. Before I ever really knew what bipolar disorder was, let alone that I had it.

Yeah, I guess my “big bum theory” is a little lacking in substance. Oh well, you can’t blame me for trying!

 

 


Meh Day

Sundays are always so mind numbingly boring for me. “Vegetation” day I call it. But I did the veggie thing yesterday so I felt obligated to fake energy and motivation today. Did all the housework but vacuuming. This includes folding four baskets of laundry.I really don’t know how anyone as broke as we are can have that many fucking clothes.

Bex slept most of the day, but she has trouble sleeping at night without coma drugs so I understand. I don’t abide, because in a depression, the comas become golden and giving in too often makes it harder to pull yourself out of the abyss. Been there, done that, burned the tshirt. But this is her thing, not mine, so I let her sleep.

Surprisingly, my kid and I had few issues other than her not picking up her messes. This ended as soon as Bex returned to the living room. Spook had an audience to perform for and immediately dove into pain in the ass mode. Not a shocker, been that way a long time. Sometimes, I think she hates me and wants to torture me. Other times, I think maybe she’s just become so co dependent on me she lashes out with bad behavior when she feels my attention is divide rather than focused solely on her.
I have NO idea.

Anxiety’s been iffy. I haven’t talked to my dad’s faction all weekend and while on one hand, this is blissful for me…It’s not the norm and my paranoid panic stricken mind wanders to all the horrid things that could have happened. (They could have been murdered, the cats could be eating their corpses right now and if I don’t make an effort to contact them…) But I tried several times yesterday and got nothing. My dad is hauling 7 days a week for harvest which means he’s gonna be tired and bigger prick than usual so I am really not in a hurry to talk to him. Last time I called because I was worried, he yelled at about how he’s just been working hard and he’s exhausted and what the hell do I want from him.
Yeah, paranoid as I may be, verbal evisceration is not my favorite, they will call when they aren’t busy or dead or whatever.

Around 3:30 my mood crashed into the abyss and there was no stressor. I was reading, and then I just felt very down and irate. Thing was, once I ate, the mood lifted the tiniest bit and the headache and nausea went away. It’s weird because I ate off and on all day,I wasn’t starving or even particularly hungry. Yet the food seemed to change everything. I have got to have some sort of hormonal or insulin imbalance. Of course, short of a knife protruding from my skull, I won’t do anything to figure it out. I loathe doctors. I fear doctors. I get panic attacks seeing the shrink and she’s like 90 miles away and on a tv screen.
No,there truly is no end to my neuroses.

Early batcave. Kid finally zonked. I am having hot and cold flashes.My mind is starting to slow down, though. I still feel edgy and anxious (the cable guy was repairing the neighbor’s cable line earlier and I went into sheer panic mode, thinking maybe my payment wasn’t recorded and they were gonna shut my net off.)
The more the temp cools, the earlier it gets dark, as the calendar days tick down…The worse my bucket of crazy gets.
Like I went to get a soda tonight and I chose the smaller store over the one I normally go to. Because it is smaller and not as busy and I am starting to feel uber vulnerable out in public. Like I have a target painted on me and everyone is packing a rifle.
Nuts? Yes.
Can I talk myself out of it?
Rarely.
Seasonal depression is coming, whether I like it or whether it makes my shrink have a bad day.

The best I can do is keep battling myself into a shower, putting on clothes I didn’t sleep in, and doing more than operating like a robot to care my kid.
But that’s how I feel. Automated. I’m doing what I was programmed to do.
Do I want my life to be this way?
Hell to the fucking no.
But it is what it is, and all I can do is play the hand I am dealt.
Not like I haven’t survived a hand of aces and eights many times before.
I just usually pray not to survive.
My mind can be a very dark place when the mental illness becomes sovereign.

Meh.