- Processed Meats Associated with Manic Episodes
- It’s All About The Birthday Girl
- Off Kilter And The Bad Thoughts Are Knocking At The Door
- Yes, I have a ‘mental disorder.’ But it’s not being transgender.
- Survival Of The Scared Shitless
- Another Appointment
- Good Day So Far
- Follow Up
- Delusion or truth. Again.
Daily Archives: December 4, 2017
It almost seems disloyal to title a post this way, but I think Will would understand: I’m really enjoying life these days. Part of it is anticipating the trip that’s coming up in nine days, 22 hours and 48 minutes (but who’s counting, right?); I’ve also been bitten by the Christmas bug. The holiday itself looks radically different from all my previous Christmases—who could’ve guessed that I’d be spending it at Disney World?—and there will be no presents to open that morning. But the spirit is still strong, and I spend most of my days listening to Christmas music instead of watching TV.
However, my current state of mind is that of gratitude, and I’ve realized to my amazement that I am as happy as I can be given the loss of my love. I miss him terribly and always will, but I’m learning to go on. Yesterday I went to Mass, watched football, and went out to dinner with Clark and Shelley (Ethan was at work). These things make me happy. So does a cup of hot, rich coffee first thing in the morning…writing my blog…being responsible with money. Could it be possible that I’ve become content with my lot in life?
It’s times like this that inevitably make me question my diagnosis. Were things really that bad, I wonder? Bad enough to be labeled bipolar 1? I know the medications are what’s keeping me sane and I’m not even tempted to mess with them, but I’ve been stable for so long now that the nightmare of the first few years after I was diagnosed seems like it never happened. Or if it did, it wasn’t as serious as it felt at the time. Back then, I was excruciatingly aware of all things bipolar, and had no idea of where the illness ended and where I began. That’s changed a lot. Now I can experience the full range of emotions without wondering if it’s the beginning of another manic or depressive episode. I can be sorrowful or sad, but I can also be joyful and optimistic. What a gift!
I haven’t even had to use my HappyLight this year. I’ll probably need it desperately in January, but so far none of my usual late fall/winter depression has shown up. Again, that’s probably because I’ve been looking forward to this vacation all year and now it’s very close. But it’s so nice to NOT have to deal with the usual dark moods that match the early darkness of these long nights.
No trigger intended…
But it’s a legitimate question our psych professionals ask us…Most of, I am betting, are truthful 85% of the time…The other 15%…being suicidal is very different from simply being so exhausted you want to cease to exist.
There have been times in my life when I was so down, so desperate, so in need of peace…Yes, I was suicidal and maybe it was more than ideation. Maybe in those dark moments I formulated a plan.
More often, though, there was no will to live. Just a will to sleep, to not feel anxious, to not be depressed, to not feel like the demands of others were pulling me limb from limb…Thus the desire to simply cease to exist was prevalent.
The psych professionals don’t seem to grasp this concept as well as if you plainly say, “Yeah, I wannt kill myself.”
That is THEIR failure. Assuming simply because we don’t intend to harm ourselves that we are not in the clutches of a dire mental cycle is simply wrong. Take us seriously because we are here, trying to bare our souls, and admit…we don’t know how much more we can’t take before we simply break.
Ignoring us (as my psych nurse/doc/indian chief, whatever she is, does) is bordering on malpractice. Of course, I don’t want to be hospitalized, and of course, I don’t want to hurt myself…I live for my child, my cats, my love of music, TV, books, writing….There ARE things out there I still love and enjoy.
BUT if my psychiatric state prohibits me from enjoying said things, let alone valuing them…Yeah, wanting to cease to exist is just as serious as suicidal ideation.
I’ve reached out so many times only to be swatted away (my perception, likely not their intent, but same result)…if someone says “I want to curl up on a ball and not live anymore” it SHOULD be as alarming as someone who admits they want to harm themselves.
Yet constantly we are dismissed, dismayed, and it helps fuel whatever personality disorder issues we may have by feeding our hostility, hatred, and resentment of not being heard.
Perhaps rather than asking us if we want to harm ourselves, the more pertinent question is…DO YOU HAVE ANY DESIRE TO KEEP FIGHTING TO LIVE?
Mine is there but waning and I really think that should make my psych professional care.
Alas..it did not.
I know I’ve never said THAT before haha. I am writing this post from my lame-ass job. As usual, I have nothing to do. I guess I’m looking at five weeks of sitting on my ass and then *poof* I’ll be out of a job again. That’s right. They’re not renewing my contract. Aside from financial panic, I am totally glad. This job sucks. The commute sucks. But looking for a job also sucks. And I just went down to 300 mg of Wellbutrin and I hope my mood doesn’t crash. That would just be the fucking cherry on top of this shit-cake. I know, I know, I paint pictures with my words, don’t I!
Hope you are all doing well. Peach to the out
Filed under: Bipolar, Bipolar and Work, Bipolar Disorder, I do NOT love my job, Psychology, Psychology Shmyshmology Tagged: Bipolar, Blogging, Mental Health, Mental Illness, Psychology, Reader
After Friday, the day from hell, I am finally back to a decent mental space but it’s precarious, at best. I don’t know how it can be anything else considering the demands placed on me from R and my child randomly physically attacking me for trying to set limits. I’m already juggling depression, anxiety, stress, and sleep deprivation. Yet…
My Friday appointment did not go well with nurse doc. I went in and immediately started ranting about all the strain and yeah, yeah, I know, that’s what therapy is for, not the actual professionals. Try not making me wait 6 weeks between appointments, you might know what’s going on with me and I won’t need to go on a tirade to demonstrating how close to the edge I am.
As usual, she made me feel an inch tall. I think her empathy bone is broken, honestly. There I was, pouring out my soul, admitting, yes, you busted me, I smell like booze because occasionally and I drink ritas and sometimes I even spill them and don’t bother changing my clothes…Fair enough, call me on my bullshit, I have it coming. But when I told her flat out, it’s 16 hours a week and it’s been three months and I simply cannot keep up with the demands and expectations R has. I’m simply not ready to work yet.
And in this apathy filled voice she asks, “How will you know when you are ready?”
Pretty sure when my meds work more than six months at a time and I can manage the bare minimum without ending up on a crisis hotline.
Of course, it makes me look on the wrong side, because sure, I’ve been a bad girl, mixing meds and booze, but the choice between sleep meds that knock me on my ass and give me hangovers verses being able to sleep after a couple of drinks and not having a hangover…Okay, excuses, excuses. I got called on my crap, I own it, she was right on that part.
But it’s not like I’ve ever truly taken to her. Every month since I started seeing her I end up venting about feeling so dismissed, like she is unsupportive, has no empathy….And as if to prove me right, after I’d already told her that the keyboard clacking unnerved me…she started doing it again!!!! I said I’d be fine with her writing notes or using a recorder yet she has to do the very thing that makes me freak out! Not professional. And probably not personal or intentional, she likely sees so many patients she just forgot that the clacking makes me edgy.
Oddly, it was the final straw for me, Not simply feeling ignored or chastised, but the disrespect of clacking when I’d voiced my issues with it. That was what finally gave me the balls to make an appointment with Dr. B over nurse doc. I have to wait til January 15th but it will be worth it. Though my permanent record is botched, thanks to my own idiocy of reverting back to ritas to dull the anxiety and sleep. It’s so weird because I’ve had half a bottle of whiskey in the cabinet for two months and never once drank a drop. I apparently can’t even have a drinking problem within the normal parameters.
I got the go to therapy lecture, again. I told her to find me any place else and I’d go-I explained completely why the local place is such a conflict of interest where I won’t even be able to open up. She could not have cared less. If she cared, she’d have said, “you check the phone book and I’ll ask around, too.” Instead she told me I needed to check the phone book and get some intensive therapy. Yet every time I go to therapy, it’s just insurance paying for me to vent to someone while I figure things out on my own gracelessly. What’s the fucking point? And why didn’t she suggested maybe my kid who hits me needs a therapist or doctor? Dr. B has said it before. Yet doc nurse doesn’t seem to care.
And I can sense she doesn’t consider me disabled. Some things you just know based on how someone repeatedly treats you and it’s obvious she thinks my every problem is either lack of solid sleep or I need therapy. She could have easily wrote me a note to get out of the shop for a week or so, let me get my brain back together. I should have switched back to Dr. B months ago, I always had a feeling about nurse doc. (Or whatever she actually is, a master’s degree doesn’t make you helpful to patients, I know that much.) Now my file is going to make me look like a malingerer partying loser.
I never go out. I don’t go to concerts or live shows even though I love music. Half the time I can’t work up energy to shower. I can barely wear clean clothes. I can’t keep up with housework 99% of the time. I am putting forth every inch of effort and my life basically hangs in the balance of someone who’s had their degree a year or less.
Maybe I should give her the benefit of the doubt but one thing is fore sure: I am fine being called for my bad behaviors but I have a dozen entries about my misgivings about her long before that so this is not something knee jerk “been caught being bad” reaction. If I don’t feel like they’re on my side…I guess I should just buy my own straightjacket because that’s all doc nurse did for me, is jumble my feelings so much I’m not sure if I hate myself or what. Which was what the last ‘therapist’, with 2 years experience under her belt, did when she changed my 20 plus year diagnosis after only 3 sessions. These people are supposed to help me, and they are the ones doing as much damage as the mental illness itself.
In other news…our furnace needs a new main board and chances are I will be blamed for having too much stuff and dust so I’ve not exactly broken my back to call the scumlord. I have however kicked ass for three days towards cleaning the place up. Lots left to go but today alone I rearranged the living room completely, AND managed a trip to Wal-mart. I think Mrs R’s impromptu uninvited visit the other night while he was looking at the furnace helped motivate me to clean a little lest she report me for being an unfit parent. Of course, I’ve seen her idea of filthy so I might as well give up now. My stuff is old and it ain’t ever gonna be all shiny clean. But she and him got into a yelling fight in my laundry room cos he’d been gone two weeks and he didn’t rush to her side and….He should have mentioned he was using family time to look at my furniture. I do not need people screaming at each other making me feel unwelcome in my own home, ffs. And why would they put me in that position?
I thought I’d at least get the weekend to myself then yesterday when we finally ran to the store…he calls and makes me feel shitty for leaving home because he needed to drop by and have me put some file on flash drive for him. I basically put in Friday for free (because even though I wasn’t needed, if I had tried to leave before it was time, he’d have guilt tripped me, and seriously, it’s what he does.) I’d be better off waiting tables, at least once your schedule is done, you can have a life. Not with R and his shop, even before the ‘real’ job, it was living and breathing that shop 7 days a week. I can’t be him and I can’t be what he needs me to be.
And no matter what doc nurse thinks, I’m not ready to tell people how stable and capable I am when it’s a blatant lie. And what kind of mental health professional would place a patient in a spot where they have to fake stability and lie about it? Okay, she never said that, but still, it’s how she made me feel and she’s the ONLY doctor to ever make me feel that way. Even the horrid “I’m a psychiatrist but I don’t think people need to take medication” was better at being supportive than she is. And he called me on my crap all the time and by that, I mean, he loathed giving me Xanax and constantly wanted me on clownapin. I met him halfway and cut my Xanax level in half and he could live with that.
So when even your worst has been trumped out of 20 plus doctors and therapist…it may simply be a bad fit or maybe…I won’t go there but I think it goes without saying. You should never make a depressed person feel more depressed about themselves.
As for her Vistoril…it’s not helping -put me to sleep or stay asleep but now when I get up at night to go to the bathroom, I’m all wobbly and walking into walls. A former shrink said Vistoril (however it is spelled) would not be strong enough for someone with my sleep disturbance history. She was right. If I’m getting bruises walking into walls and shit, I should at least get a buzz or six solid hours of sleep out of it.
We went shopping a lot this weekend. Chimneyville Crafts Festival Saturday morning for gifts for family then WalMart that afternoon to get gifts for our angel tree children. Me and the youngest found a lot of stuff for them–clothes as well as happies. Hopefully everyone else is generous as well.
My youngest found a great ornament to wrap with my oldest one’s gift from her. So that idea is solid. So we have found some good gifts so far.
Went to the Sunday School class party last night. THey fixed a shellfish dish but it seemed to have some sort of fish base to it so Bob had to leave early. I stayed and rode home with another couple that had to drive by my way to get home. THey offered so I stayed. THe teacher came up with a game of Christmas trivia for us and I had a lot of fun with that. Just a really great time sitting around talking to each other and having fun.
Well, my keyboard is giving me trouble so I will sign off for today and grade papers instead. Hope everyone has a great week!
Originally posted on The Disabled Diva's Blog:
Disclosure: This post contains and is supported by affiliate links. For many years I dreaded Christmas. It wasn’t that I hated the holiday, but that I loathed how physically draining keeping up with traditions and extra commitments were. Thankfully I was able to rekindle my love for…