Meds

Stability

The shitty thing about stability is that you realize how fucked up your life really is without the blinders of depression and mania.

Damn. I’ve got a lot of work to do.

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bipolar · depression · Meds · mental health · mental illness

Et Tu Pdoc?

Notmyday

 
You may start off hopeful some days and others will send it crashing down into anger or despair.

I’ve been slipping into this depression for the past few weeks. Each day I could feel my mood going down. Not enjoying my hobbies as much as I use too. Not wanting to leave the house. Sitting and staring at nothing while my mind goes blank. Increased negative thinking. All that good shit.

I set out personally to cut a depressive crash off at the curb and suggest that my psychiatrist increase a med she had cut when I was fully manic. This was a med that they had originally RAISED because of my generalized depression. What the hell does that mean anyway?

I’ve been walking and exercising and eating healthy and distracting and getting out of the house. Using my lightbox. I’ve been a busy productive little mental health bee. Not overdoing things, just doing things for a change.

I have been dealing with BP for over 25 years. I know when I am going into a depressive crash. My Pdoc (psychiatrist) tried to blame it on the weather. It was drizzling.

I said yeah, I know it’s dreary but these feelings have been going on for a long time and getting worse each day. I didn’t want to get out of bed etc. Pdoc’s response again reflected back towards the weather.

I realized I was gonna have to justify and fight for this temporary increase. Pdoc telling me pills are not the answer. I was like DUH! Why the hell do you think I’m doing all this  Cognitive Behavioral work?

With BP there are times you have to tweak the meds throughout the year because of your mood swings. It may be temporary and you can lower the med or raise it when the mood swings back towards stability.

Pdoc’s the one with the degree and just didn’t get what I was telling them. So I got adamant and told them that I know my body, I know my mind and I know my moods. I’m heading for a depressive crash. I’ve been there many times in the past and don’t want to go back there again. Much like my skip down mania lane.

Pdoc’s response… Do you want to crash?

GOOD LORD HELP ME!

Hell to the no! Who wants to crash?

We go over the medications I am on and Pdoc has me taking more of this and less of that and still being on one med we discontinued two months ago. I wondered if they had the right file up on the laptop.

Until today, Pdoc has been fine. Got me through some serious crap. I give credit where its due. I understand I am not the only patient. After I correct my Pdoc they type away for a while and then say, “See you next month.” In a flat tone.

I got what I wanted. I had to fight for it. I hate fighting, but it’s my life I’m fighting for; not some ego.

I think the Pdoc was more upset about being WRONG than with my reaction. I was not loud, I was not abusive. I was specific, gave examples and did my homework. In addition to personal experience.

No, a pill doesn’t cure anything when it comes to mental illness. It all about what alleviates your symptoms. The work is the therapy and taking risks and listening to your body when you get that feeling that you’re not yourself. Which is hard. I have changed a lot because of the illness. It’s difficult to figure out who I am sometimes. One thing I’m not is a victim of this illness. Priority one is to stay on top of symptoms and I do my best.

When I got home I had to go for a walk to defuse. Yeah, I got what I wanted. But my Pdoc didn’t trust me enough to believe I knew about what I was talking. She spoke to me like I was stupid, “I’m not stupid.”.

Which insulted my intelligence. One of the very few things BP didn’t take away from me.

When I got in the house I cried. Not only do I have to fight the stigma of others; do I have to fight it with my Pdoc too? We’ve known each other for almost ten years. It really upset me. Another proof that I’m sinking. Oversensitivity.

Normally I would have said ‘as long as I got the increase.’ I took it personally. It’ll take a few days to fully kick in and I’m used to that.

At least I wanted to get out of bed this morning and am making plans on what to do today.

And it’s raining.

 

bipolar · depression · rant

Not my Day

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Too much noise. Too many people. An exhausting workout. A wonderful person dies. The neighbors throw a party and shake the house. It’s still going on despite my complaints.

All while you battle negative thoughts. Depression and loneliness. Not even a fish to come home to.

At this moment, it’s not even home.

Thank God for tomorrow. At least there’s a chance for improvement.

bipolar · depression

Struggling with Depression

Depression has a strange weight to it. You can feel it holding you down. You drag it behind you like a weighted shadow.

The light box helps. The walks help. There are feelings of underlying sadness and dread which you can’t pinpoint. There are family health issues which are beyond my control. It doesn’t keep you from worrying despite the fact.

Little things used to keep me happy or entertained. Days just seem to fly by with nothing being accomplished.

Depression is here. The nature of the beast (bipolar). Up and down. I’m just grateful that things aren’t as bad as they used to be. I need a day of nothing. Sleep. Reading and more sleep.

Distractions help. For a while. This post is going nowhere and it is hard to write because my thinking isn’t clear.

The depression will be gone soon. Meanwhile…

Insomnia · rant

My insomnia – Random Rant

 

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I hear high heeled shoes clumping above my head and I wonder, are you coming in? Or are you going out? I’m hoping the latter so I can have some peace tonight. So I can sleep tonight.

No, my insomnia is not your fault. I just hate the added noise you make before I’m ready to go to bed. A three-year-old running around the house screaming at the top of his lungs at eleven p.m.  Heavy echoing and thumping footsteps and blocks flying across the wooden floor. No insulation. No rugs. Just noise. Like they’re trying to come through the ceiling noise.

No, my insomnia is not your fault. Earplugs help. There are times I can hear you and Chucky, (I call him Chucky.) laughing and playing through my earplugs. I can hear you over my headphones with the volume blaring at ‘eleven.’

That’s when I scream. That’s when I bang the wall so hard I hurt my hand.

So I take the pill. Wait an hour and take the rest for the night and plug up my ears and hope for the best.

No, my insomnia is not your fault. But you damn sure don’t help the son-of-a-bitch!

 

anxiety · bipolar · Life · mental illness · social anxiety · Stigma

Alice at the tea party

There are many times I have used this reference. Usually when I was feeling like everyone around me was mad as the hatter and I was the only sane one. Funny thing is it was my anxiety reacting to my surroundings.

Too much noise. Too crowded. Other people enjoying themselves boisterously. Not feeling like I was supposed to be in the presence of others. The tea party left me feeling overstimulated and I shut down. Closed myself up and walked away or closed my eyes and wished I were someplace else.

My social anxiety was in full swing tonight. There were many times I was about to bolt and just go home. I NEEDED to go home. Home is safety and sanity and my own creation. Out there is some wild shit.

I did enjoy myself tonight. The company of two people helped me hold it together.

I was at a Drop-in for people with mental illness and there were various types of people with different diagnoses. Party type atmosphere with people feeling secure enough that they did not wear the masks they wear out in public.

It wasn’t mayhem or an old movie scene of an asylum. People were simply enjoying themselves without being judged. The problem was Alice (me) and her anxiety.

It’s not that I felt superior to the others at the table. Many had more degrees and were more intelligent than I. Mental illness will rob you of that sometimes. And you need to remind yourself of the accomplishments of the past. Or present.

I’m high functioning. To see me, talk to me or just be around me. You would think I had my ducks in a row and my shit was all together.

I’ve sat through conversations with people who judged and bad mouthed the mentally ill. I immediately corrected them about their one-sided observation without telling them I was BiPolar.

It’s none of their business. BiPolar isn’t who I am so why introduce my diagnosis into the conversation. I felt if I had they would think ‘oh, she’s one of them and that’s why she’s correcting us.’ Coming from someone who they considered to be ‘put together’ I felt at the moment the lack of personal information gave more credibility to my argument.

I’ve told people I was BiPolar and watched them walk out of my life. For that reason alone. There were no incidents. Just fear on their part. It didn’t matter that they knew me for many years. All of a sudden I became something to fear. I had magically changed into a STIGMA and not a person.

There was nothing wrong with tonight’s Drop-in. As I said, the problem was Alice or rather me. Overwhelmed. Tired and closed down Me.

Closing down is a defense mechanism. Close your eyes, block out the noise and fall silent. Shut down and regroup. Leave the tea party.

I sit here now with insomnia. Typing away and needing to sleep. It’s almost one a.m. and I’ve been up since five a.m. yesterday. I’m hoping that blogging will clear my mind and ease me into a relaxed state.

There will always be times I feel like Alice. I realize this and accept it.

It doesn’t have to be a room of people who have mental illness to make me feel this way. It’s happened at the most in opportune times. With ‘normal’ people. I would feel the room spin and the walls close in and there was just TOO much going on for my senses to handle. I couldn’t leave. Overwhelmed and stressed, I close down.

I get quiet. Politely nod my head and eek out a thank you or whatever is called for at the moment. Fight the intense urge to flee the whole situation and desire to run home. Sometimes you can’t.

Anxiety. Social anxiety. One is bad enough without the other.

Life · Meds · mental health · mental illness · Thoughts

Random Thoughts

I think I’ve written about this before. Maybe years ago. For me risks must be taken in order for things to improve in my life.

If you don’t take risks, nothing happens. Nothing happens if you don’t take risks. I can stay compliant in my life and die of old age never knowing if I reached my full potential. Never knowing if there was more out there for me if I only took a chance and took a risk.

Two things. Full potential. What if this is as good as it gets? Negative thinking or reality check? I don’t know.

The second is that these risks need to be positive. They can’t hurt anyone else or myself. Nothing illegal or immoral. These are my rules. Others mileage may vary.

I put myself out there on Instagram and here in two blogs. I write about my illness without holding back. Will this boomerang on me? I really don’t know.

I have other writings that I am working on and THEY are my major risks. Rejection and judgement. Judgement is a major trigger for me. I don’t judge others and I feel that no one should judge someone else. What makes them so superior that they can set the bar as to what’s acceptable or what the norm should be?

That’s my judgement rant.

In the past my major risks concerned medication. If I didn’t try and find the right one I would be stuck in an existence I was not happy with and nothing would change. Luckily by the time one med stopped working for me there was another one which could take it’s place.

I hate the big pharmaceutical companies because of the prices they charge for life saving meds are highway robbery. I don’t hate my meds. I don’t love them either. It just is. Nothing I can do about it. Tried living without but I can’t. I’m happy for those who can go through life without meds. Hate when they give me the whole “Poison” speech. Like duh, I know.

Meds to me are like insulin to a diabetic. Without there is no life.

I have an illness. I treat it. The end.