Daily Archives: March 8, 2017

That Big 420 In The Sky

Our dear friend Johnna has left this life.  We’re not exactly sure how or when.  More news soon, I hope.

In the meantime, I’m thinking of her fondly, wondering what she’s doing now.

What a dope!  I know what she’s doing!

In that Sweet Home in the Sky it’s always 4:20!

So as I light up, I’ll sing a little tune, and meditate on the Johnna quote for the day:

“I don’t care whether it’s Indica or Sativa. I care if it’s strong.”


Five Years

Today marks the fifth anniversary of my bipolar diagnosis. In some ways it seems like yesterday, while at the same time it’s like it happened half a lifetime ago.

I’ll never forget how I felt when Dr. Awesomesauce pronounced the words that changed my life forever. “I’m diagnosing you with bipolar disorder not otherwise specified,” he said, clearly wishing he didn’t have to. “We need to talk about getting you on some meds.” I thought about it for a minute and then asked what that meant. Even as an RN, I knew little about bipolar at the time and thought there were only two types of the disorder, so this diagnosis was confusing to say the least.

“It means that you have what looks like bipolar, but we don’t know yet what kind it is,” he told me. “Depending on what I see in the next couple of visits, I may change your diagnosis back to major depression. We’ll see.”

When I left the office that day, I felt like I had a big banner plastered across my forehead that labeled me as MENTALLY ILL. It wasn’t as if I hadn’t suspected it, but to have it confirmed by a well-qualified mental health professional was something else entirely. I went home and told my family, who were not surprised in the least, and proceeded to research the condition. I never realized there was so much information out there, and how little I really knew about mental illness in general.  Dr. Google was my best friend; I read everything I could get my hands on and recognized myself in almost all of it.

My first medication was Lamictal. It took what seemed like an awful long time before my depression lifted, but as the dose went up I started feeling better. Then summer came, and with it my first full-blown manic episode. One day I sashayed into Dr. A’s office wearing a bright turquoise outfit and blue eyeshadow, and one look at me made the diagnosis official. He still didn’t want to speculate as to what kind of bipolar I had, but the fact that I had it was never again called into question.

Now, five years, six medications, four mental healthcare providers and an equal number of bipolar 1 diagnoses later, I’ve come to terms with the illness, even if I’ve never become comfortable with the idea of having it. For the longest time I treated it as if it were an alien that lived in the house with me and ate my food; I mistakenly thought I could make it behave if I distanced myself from it. Now I give it the respect it deserves, and I can usually discern what is me from what is the disease.

Yes, I’ve learned a great deal in the past five years. Back then I was still somewhat emotionally immature; I’ve grown up a lot. Thanks to medications, I’m also mellower than I ever was in my former life; I rarely get worked up over insignificant things and I’ve learned how to pick my battles. There are no more screaming fits, no more breaking things or slamming full plates of food against the kitchen wall. And I’ve developed a deeper compassion for other mentally ill people that I wish I’d had when I was nursing.

I’m glad it’s not five years ago today. I know now that this is a lifelong illness, and as someone much wiser than I once said, I’ll die with it but I refuse to die from it.

It’s all good. 🙂

Gorgeous Day

It is so pretty outside today.  It’s just a little chilly, but the sun is out and shining and it’s going to be a lovely day.

Been writing for class this morning–I wrote on the essay assigned and turned that in.  I still have two critiques to do of other students’ work, and I feel so overwhelmed doing it.  Both pieces are long, but neither one is doing anything for me.  I just don’t like them at all.  It’s not that they’re badly written; I just can’t get into them this week.

I haven’t heard from my friend who is so sick.  She posted on her facebook page that she had been released  from the hospital, but that is all I know right now.  I hope she is getting the help she needs for her episode.  She seems so sad right now.

I go see my friend Marlo for lunch today–It’s a new place for me but he menu sounds really yummy.  We’re probably going to talk shop most of the time but that is good.  I need to SEE real people every once in a while rather than just talking on Facebook.

I still can’t get over how good I feel right now.  I’m so used to dreading spring and the mood swings and the depression.   But I am doing so well.  Even the years I didn’t go to the hospital were sometimes rocky, but right now I just feel wonderful.  I’m doing what I love to do and halfway succeeding at it; my kids are doing well; I’m not freaking out over graduation; Bob and I are getting along so well.  God is so good.

 


Finally, a blogpost!

Here I am after 5 months of not blogging. I stopped blogging after one of my closest friends and compadres committed suicide. It was a major shock to the system for me. And I suppose I could go on and on about it- how I went through two breakdowns partly because of the event. But. … Continue reading Finally, a blogpost!

Wellbutrin Is My True Love, Top Surgery Is On The Horizon, & Other Life Updates

Screen Shot 2017-03-07 at 5.50.00 PMIt’s been a while since I posted a more “old school” blog post about how things are going! My life has changed so drastically in the last month that it finally feels necessary to share.

So let’s chat!

The photo on the left is a photo of me, one year and three months on testosterone. I was on such a low dose in the beginning that I haven’t made as much progress as I’d like. But so far, I’ve really enjoyed the changes – minus the ridiculous acne and hair loss, which are a little annoying to say the least.

Once upon a time, I wrote about being denied top surgery due to my mental health status. I finally feel safe enough to announce that I’m breezing through the clinical interviews and don’t anticipate being denied again. It’s hard to say when the actual surgery would happen, but I feel hopeful that it’s going to be sooner rather than later.

Speaking of mental health status, things could not be more different than they were before. If my last blog was any indication, you can probably guess that I’m doing really well. But I want to flesh out exactly what’s changed – and what this means for my writing moving forward.

Two months ago, I was hospitalized again.

I was struggling with a depressive episode that I genuinely believed I wouldn’t recover from. I can’t tell you how despondent I was, especially since my previous hospitalization was under a year ago. It was difficult to accept that after everything I went through the first time, I still had not recovered.

This hospitalization was a wakeup call – what I was doing wasn’t working. I had to step away from my editorial role at Everyday Feminism, which was a painful decision for me (and still is). I put my writing on hold, cancelled my speaking gigs, passed up a book deal, and made the decision to commit to my recovery full-time, even if it meant sacrificing my dream job and a lot of the opportunities I worked so hard for.

After the hospitalization, I entered an intensive recovery program, and am now in the process of transitioning into a DBT program. I built a clinical team of therapists and a totally bomb psychiatrist that helped me reassess my diagnoses and treatments.

All of my original diagnoses – bipolar disorder, generalized anxiety disorder, and OCPD – were completely scrapped and replaced with new labels and new treatments. 

I was diagnosed with borderline personality disorder (which explains the misdiagnosis of bipolar, and it’s something I hope to write about soon), a mood disorder of some sort (I’m going to hazard a guess and say it’s just depression), ADHD (which, when finally treated, completely changed my life), and obsessive traits of some kind (potentially OCD, the jury is still out on that one).

We’re also exploring C-PTSD and my therapy has shifted to become more trauma-informed – a trauma history I’ve actually written very little about, because it’s been hard for me to come to terms with it. Incorporating a trauma lens has helped to create a clearer picture of what I’m up against.

It’s a lot, I know. But it also feels a lot more true than what I started with.

I’ve tried to distance myself from being overly-invested in these labels, and refer to the ones that are most useful when I need them. As is often the case with psychiatry, the labels we acquire at the beginning of our journey are not always the ones that stick around – and clinicians can disagree amongst themselves, which has happened to me quite a bit.

But the language actually matters very much from a treatment perspective – the medications I’m being prescribed are radically different from the ones I used to be on for bipolar disorder.

When they stopped treating me for what I don’t have, and started treating me for what I do have, the transformation was like night and day.

We’re no longer sedating the hell out of me. For the first time, I’m being given meds that are also activating – which means my issues with things like depression and ADHD are finally being addressed with amazing results.

For the first time in my life, being cheerful and calm is my default. I’m relentlessly optimistic. I can focus on my work and get things done without the constant hyperactivity and distraction. Obsessions don’t consume 95% of my thoughts.

Agoraphobia no longer confines me to my apartment (I leave every day, sometimes multiple times a day – whereas before I might leave once every two weeks if I was lucky). I’m not suicidal or despairing. I bounce back from stressful situations with ease.

People in my life have remarked on how I seem exactly like myself, and yet totally different in every way.

I even keep a gratitude journal now and I meditate every day – it feels a little gross, to be honest.

I don’t think I realized, when mental illness had a complete hold over my life, how hard I was working to just survive. I didn’t realize how low my quality of life really was. I wasn’t fully conscious of how weighed down I was.

The biggest shock to my system came when we added Wellbutrin to my medication regimen. Suddenly, I could get out of bed. I could go outside. I could get my work done. And I could actually feel excitement, joy, and enthusiasm.

Wellbutrin made me feel fully and totally alive for the first time. I didn’t move through the world with a death wish, passively hoping some freak accident would end it all. I now carried with me a boundless hope and a deep appreciation for myself and my life.

Death used to cross my mind every day. Now, if it ever appears, it’s always an oddity and a visitor, not a permanent fixture.

Before the new diagnoses and medications, I considered myself a shadowy figure trying to nurture a tiny flame. I felt that the gloom and doom was who I was, and that little light within me was my survival instinct, always on the brink of being extinguished.

And then suddenly, I woke up and my world was inverted, flipped inside-out. I was a bright and impossible light. And carefully nestled within me, I was protecting what little darkness was left – holding it carefully, like a small keepsake, to remind me that the darkness will always be a part of me.

Never in my entire life have I felt this way before. I didn’t even know it was possible.

And knowing now that it is, I’m more determined than ever to do this work. I’m committed to mental health advocacy and writing, sharing my story with more urgency than ever, with the hope that my light might make the path a little clearer and the possibilities a little brighter.

And maybe together, we can build a world for mentally ill people that is so bright, we can always find our way back from the darkness.

So now, I rebuild my life into something better, something more sustainable. Hopefully a new job will present itself, the timing being right this time (need to hire a writer or editor? I know a kid, wink wink).

In the meantime, I’ve been writing some of my best work and publishing in new places (I’ll post on Facebook and Twitter as these articles go live!).

I’m making new connections, taking risks, going on adventures, writing my heart out, and most importantly, holding myself in compassion as I discover what it means to be truly living.

I don’t know what’s next. But for the first time, I’m so excited to find out – and whatever it is, good or bad, I know I can handle it. I always knew that I was strong, but this time around, I can actually feel it.