The Storm

 A storm blew in last night
gusting gales of rage
I couldn't stand against
With lightning strikes of despair
and a deluge of pain so strong
it was agony
I screamed and screamed
while no one was home
until the worst of the storm was over
Then the gentle patter of tears began
and hasn't stopped yet
I hate to cry but I know I'm safe
from taking my life
as long as I can puke out the pain
and not bottle it all up
No one can help me, not even
others weathering the storm
All anyone can say is "hang on,
you'll make it through it"
Maybe.

Is Life Too Short or Too Long?

Life is either too long or too short, depending on whether I'm suicidal or not.  Right now life's too short, a belief only confirmed by my latest trip to my GP.  I'd gone to see her about hip pain I've been having.  I suspected it's Old Arthur.

 Arthritis runs in my family.  My younger older brother (the middle child) turned 60 last Monday and has arthritis so bad that he's already had both hips replaced.  He's got it all through his spine, too.  My older older brother just called my Dad to ask if we have rheumatoid arthritis in our family.  No, we don't, Jack, you've simply got a bad case of osteo, just like Chris and me. I can feel it in my bones (groan - OK, baaaaad pun!).

I've had pretty painful osteoarthritis in my middle back for a few years already and now I've been told it's "moderate to severe" in my lumbar & sacral spine as well.  Plus I have it in both hips though it's worse on the right. I've got those little bone spurs that are so painful.  Yep, it's Old Arthur.

I've been on an anti-inflammatory for over a year now but the disease seems to be progressing swiftly nonetheless.  Thank God for Percoset.  (And what's weird about the Percoset is that I feel much more energetic after I've taken one...and a nice high to boot.  Go figure.)

What's so troubling about this latest diagnosis isn't the pain and stiffness, or even the possibility of joint replacement surgery down the road.  I fear the loss of a life's dream, of having to strike an entry from my Bucket List because it has become impossible.  It's a very small item in the grand scheme of things but it's the most important of them all:  own and ride a horse of my own again.

I practically grew up on the back of a horse (good old Rusty - God I miss him) but I haven't had one since I left home at 16.  Now I'm 47 - that's a long time to wait for a dream to come true.  I don't know what I'd do if that dream became an impossibility.  Sometimes that dream (and the freedom it represents, to just hop on and GO) is all that keeps me going. 

I can't have a horse yet.  We don't have enough flat acreage, nor do we have enough money for proper care.  Not to mention the money to buy what I want:  a Rocky Mountain horse.  And we don't have enough income to even be saving for a down payment on another place.  We just have to keep paying down our mortgage until we can sell the property and get enough cash from the sale to use as a down payment on another place.  That'll take years - years I'm not sure I have left (for my dream, not for my life). 

Yeah, right now life's too short.   

Just A'Swingin

I had a rotten weekend.  My worthless son and a friend of his were supposed to come help us put up Christmas lights.  Hubby and I neither one care much to get on the roof.  It's not the roof, per se, it's the effing ladder we don't like.  

Needless to say son/friend didn't show up.  They were supposed to come Saturday, then changed it to Sunday.  Sunday a.m. my son's friend was having "back problems" so they didn't come.  This is after my son helped his friend put up HIS family's lights.  Supposedly they will come next weekend but I'll believe it when I see it.

So, I'm expecting no Christmas lights this year.  Of course we've called a moratorium on Christmas this year due to financial concerns but still - the lights would've made it cheery around here, even without a Christmas tree and gifts.

Then my husband and I tried to have a romantic encounter but he, um, achieved Nirvana very quickly, and then lost interest.  Boy, was I pissed off.  I threw a tantrum and shoved everything off the couch onto the floor.  (The couch is NOT a table anyway, but usually I just pick the stuff up and put it away.)  It's still on the floor.  I'm not touching it.

So Sunday I spent the day escaping - I read a whole book yesterday.  I was SO depressed. And although we have more than two cords of wood sitting in a pile in our driveway, I refused to help hubby stack it in the shed.  I just couldn't find the energy, plus I was still pissed at him.

Then today, amazingly, I woke up in a cheerful mood and with lots of energy.  Where did that come from, I wonder?  It doesn't feel like mania, or even hypomania - it feels like normality.  I have actually done a lot today - dishes, laundry, and kept the woodstove going despite the fact that the wood we bought isn't seasoned (much to our dismay).  Green wood doesn't burn easily.  I've been cussing the guys we bought it from for several days now.

Bipolar is a wild ride.  From high to low to "normal" to low to "normal" to...well, you all know how it is.  I'm just hanging on for dear life and trying not to scream at the senselessness of it.  I have never dealt with frustration well, and it's horribly frustrating to have a good day, then a bad day.  I have too much to do!

Hugs to all, I'll write more tomorrow (unless I wake up depressed again)... 

  

Thank the Goddess for mania, and possibly for gabapentin.  My month-long job with the US Census ended October 28, but I then had to bust my ass making soaps and Christmas crafty things for three craft fairs in November.   If I hadn't been at least hypomanic, I wouldn't have made it through all that.

My Pdoc prescribed gabapentin in the middle of October, two weeks or so before the Census job ended.  It made me groggy in the a.m., but it eliminated my hand tremors - for about 3 days.  Then they came back.  Grrrrr.

I had two one-day fairs back to back, one Nov. 7 and one in a different location Nov. 8.  Setup and tear down were a bitch!  Then this last weekend I had my first big fair - a 3-day event.  I spent several days last week without sleep or food, trying to get together enough product for the big fair.


 Wanna hear something funny?  I made pickled eggs for the fair, which all my friends (and my husband) said was a waste of time.  Who would buy pickled eggs?  Yuck!  Well, the first thing that sold was a quart of eggs, and the only thing I sold out of was - you guessed it - pickled eggs!  Go figure. 


I needn't have put myself through the three days of torture ahead of time, though.  We were disappointed with what we made at the big fair although we did make enough to cover our booth fee and then some.  Next year might see a better turnout because HOPEFULLY the economy will have improved somewhat.

So yes, I'm still around, but have been so f-cking busy I haven't had time to even think about writing.  Now that the fairs are over for this year, though, I'll be writing a lot more.

Right now, though, I've got to go.  The house is a disaster, with craft supplies strewn everywhere and dirty soap molds scattered throughout the kitchen.  Not to mention the pot I made my Oktoberfest Beer Mustard in, which has burnt-on mustard on the bottom.  Unbelievable that the scorching didn't affect the flavor of the rest of it.

Catch u all sometime in the next couple of days.  I need to talk about the mania more.  And thanks to those of you who wrote with your concerns about where I have been.  You're a great bunch, y'know that?

Still Here

Ye Gods, what a rough couple of weeks.  I started another temporary job with the Census and have been run ragged ever since.  It'll be over with in another couple of weeks, though.  And boy do we need the money.

So I won't be writing much 'til the job is over.  I'm doing OK (as long as I remember to take my a.m. meds, LOL).  The stress is not good for me but no panic attacks or meltdowns (yet).  Wish me luck! 

Bipolar, Gay and Christian

I've made the acquaintance of another blogger who writes about her struggles with BP and with reconciling being gay with her Christianity.  My heart hurts for her; she's recently had to go off her medication because she can't afford it any longer.  Now she's back on that terrible mood rollercoaster.  
  

But what frightens me is her despair over being a gay Christian.  She has said that the Bible says she is irredeemable, doomed to hell forever, despite her choice to remain celibate.  I would like to point out that the Bible is full of contradictions and that one can find justification for almost anything in the Holy Writ.  And I wonder how much of her despair is related to being BP.  Deep depression makes us see things in black and white when in fact there are always shades of gray. 

And I would like to say this to her, and to all the others out there who are going through the same thing:

God is the Creator.  I would ask if being gay is truly a conscious choice, or is it how you were made?  I don't believe it was a choice.  I believe it's how God created you.  And God doesn't punish his creations just for being the way He made them.  Homosexuality wasn't created by Satan - Satan has no power to create anything.  I refuse to believe that simply being gay equals eternal damnation.

I would ask you to open your mind a bit and consider visiting a different church, one that is friendly to gays.  Perhaps the different perspective offered there would give you hope.  Maybe you will find that your other church had a very narrow view of God and the Bible.  Maybe you'll find Scripture that doesn't condemn you for being who you are. 

And no matter what, I would ask you to remember God's infinite forgiveness.  There is no sin that can't be forgiven - you have only to ask.  

Saw the New Therapist Yesterday

In an earlier post I talked about my disillusionment with state-run mental health care.  There are three cattle farms in my county (that's what I call the Medicaid-funded clinics) and I've been to all of them at one time or another.  None of them did much for me.  I think 8 years is long enough.

In hopes of finding some stability my husband and I agreed that I would try to find someone in private practice.  A psychiatrist in my area who accepts Medicare apparently doesn't exist.  In my search for that particular unicorn I found a local ARNP who, although he doesn't accept Medicare, charges approximately what my co-pay would be if I had found a psychiatrist who does.  I saw him yesterday.

Since the initial 1-1/2 visits are for evaluation I wasn't able to determine if he and I would be a good match.  I did, however, get a sense of what kind of person he is and a learned a little bit about how knowledgeable he is.  He's a very kind man, quiet and sympathetic.  Although he was reading questions from a pre-printed list he took copious notes.  He listened to me without interruption, and asked me to clarify certain things.

It sounds like your basic intake, doesn't it?  But this was such a different experience.  He didn't rush me or treat me like his twenty-third intake for the day - he treated me like a person.  He looked me in the eyes.  He listened to what I had to say.  And best of all, he was honest with me.  He said he couldn't cure me (which I already knew - no one can) but that he would do his very best to help me achieve the best life I could.  

I still don't know how my husband and I are going to come up with the money for me to see this man on a regular basis.  Just these first two appointments are going to wipe out our tiny savings.  But if he proves to be helpful, I'll come up with the money somehow.  I won't skimp on medical care, and now I refuse to skimp on mental health care.  

After all, it's my life we're talking about.  

"Happy" People Have 2 Drinks a Week?

A recent study published in the journal Addiction found that 17.3% of people who abstain from alcohol feel anxiety, and 15.8% reported being depressed. This is after they took into account the people who stopped drinking because they had a problem with alcohol. The "happiest" people were those who averaged about 2 alcoholic drinks a week. An alcoholic drink is defined as one beer, one glass of wine or a shot of hard liquor.

My purpose here is not to analyze the study itself although it poses some interesting theories about why they found what they found. I just found those statistics rather thought-provoking. My ex-counselor along with almost all mental health providers will tell you not to drink at all. When I asked why, I was told that (aside from increasing any drowsiness my meds might cause) the leading cause of death among the depressed is overdose, and that the leading cause of overdose was drinking. She said that those who drink forget that they've already taken their meds, so they take more.

I suppose I don't understand that because I have BP, not depression. When I have more than a few drinks I get manic and the last thing on my mind is "did I take my meds?" But even if I did take an extra dose of everything one night, it isn't going to kill me. Maybe there are depression drugs that would? Or maybe she was talking about people who abuse alcohol, subsequently taking more than their daily dose on a regular basis - toxicity builds up and they die?  

I'm not convinced that the main reason for death is people forgetting they took their meds already - that just sounds lame. I think the admonition not to drink is based on the fact that alcohol is a depressant. For people already suffering from depression, it makes sense that drinking means deeper depression and suicidal ideation which they're more likely to act on when they're drunk.

My ex-counselor's advice not to drink because I might take too many meds is just a minor example of why I quit going to see her. It was quite obvious that she either didn't remember I'd told her booze affects me like jet fuel, or that she didn't know that it commonly does in BP people.

I'd like to know - how does alcohol affect you? Does it make you manic or depressed, or do you just have a good time? Minus the hangover, of course...

No More State Mental Health Services for Me!

I've had it. Ever since I qualified for Social Security Disability I've been seen by one state-run mental health facility or another. Not one of them has provided the care I need. The proof? I'm 8 years in and still not stable for any length of time between episodes. I was manic last spring, then dropped immediately into depression for several months, and now I've jumped to hypomania. 

Just the thought of going back to one of those facilities fills me with despair. I don't want to be treated like the rest of the pitiful cattle who go there. I want someone who actually has the time to care about me and my illness. Someone who knows a lot about BP, including keeping current on research and new treatments.

I saw an ARNP for 5-10 minutes every three months for med management. I spent 50 minutes twice a week with an overworked, undereducated counselor (when her kids weren't sick and she was there). I took a few free classes on things like mindfulness (which was actually very helpful, I have to admit). That's it. Nobody actually got to know the real me. Just me as a bipolar person.

I had a long talk with my husband. I asked if it were wrong for me to want to see an MD for a medical illness? We agreed that no, it's not. I told him that if I didn't go to the state-run facilities we'd have to pay some out-of-pocket costs. He said that we shouldn't scrimp on my care so that was fine with him. I feel angry and a bit guilty about spending our cash - since I have Medicare and Medicaid (which I pay $94 a month for)- but hubby believes I've made the right decision.

So I tried to find a psychiatrist in private practice who takes Medicare. Apparently it's like finding a unicorn; they just don't exist in my part of Washington state. I started with the King County Medical Society website and called the psychiatrists there. I don't live in King County but Seattle is there - it's 50+ miles one-way but maybe? Nope. I searched the yellow pages, both online and off, in towns within a 50 mile radius of my home. Nope. I spent hours on the phone.

At one point I thought I'd found a psychiatrist who didn't take Medicare but who had reasonable fees. Turns out he's an ARNP. In private practice. By that point I was so frustrated that I let loose on the guy who answered the phone. Told him I didn't want to see an ARNP, I wanted an MD. Told him why. Wasn't polite about it. He said for me to think about it and if I changed my mind I could call back.

Later that night I thought about how I had denigrated ARNPs to the guy on the phone. Then it hit me - OhMyGod - the guy on the phone WAS the ARNP. I'd bet a hundred bucks on it! I had just insulted the man nine ways from Sunday! I bet that guy wouldn't see me even if I wanted to go see him, after the things I said about ARNPs.

I thought about it anyway. I talked to my husband. We reasoned that since the guy has 5 different degrees, used to work at the Pentagon and is in private practice he has enough experience. We decided that since I'd be paying out of pocket, perhaps I'd get the kind of personalized care I needed. And maybe if I apologized he'd agree to see me.

 He did. So next Friday I'm going for an evaluation. After that I'll have to spend another hour with him finishing up the eval and talking about a course of treatment. Just those two appointments are going to cost me $400 altogether. It's going to wipe out our savings account. I don't know how I'm going to get together the money to see him for therapy after that, even for just half an hour. But if he works out and I get better it will be money well spent.

Wish me luck.

Going Up?

I actually got 99% of the dirty dishes washed yesterday!  Mind you, this is the first housework I've done in a month.  Poor DH has been cooking & doing laundry on top of his 14-hour workdays, and I've been too depressed to do much of anything for months. I was really starting to give up, having suicidal thoughts but no plan - it was just too much work to even plan my own death.

I wish I knew for sure what precipitated these changes.  My GP upped my Lamictal about a month ago, so maybe it's just now kicking in. Whatever the reason, it sure is nice to have some energy again.  And to not feel like my world could end at any moment.  Now I'm having to watch myself for those manic tendencies:  spending money on crap and babbling on and on about nothing.  Doing utterly stupid shit (risk taking).

I haven't been in therapy for a while.  I got disgusted when my counseling sessions turned into bitchfests.  (I think my counselor was glad to see me go, hee hee.)  In the last 8 years I've taken class after class, accumulated lots of tools and coping skills, but nothing seems to help.  I don't think much of online forums for BP people.  There's too much "Hang in there life will get better" BS. And the only bipolar support group around me meets 30 miles away.

The mental health care in Washington state absolutely sucks.  For Medicaid to pay, I have to go to a mental health center.  I see a Pdoc for evaluation, then if I'm deemed ill enough they accept me as a "client" and I see a counselor and an ARNP for med management.  The counselors are generic in that they see everybody, no matter what the illness.  None of them specialize in bipolar.

Is it unreasonable for me to want to see an MD for my illness?  DH says no.  And that it's dumb to skimp on care for my BP. If I got the right care I might eventually get well enough to go back to work. So I got online at the Medicare "Find a Physician" page and started searching.  I'm hoping to find a psychiatrist who accepts Medicare assignment, has private patients, and knows a lot about BP.  (That's a pretty tall order, keep your fingers crossed for me.)  I'll have co-pays and a deductible and maybe a long drive, but if I can find the right Pdoc it will be worth it.  I've been in the Medicaid system for seven years now and I'm just not getting anywhere.

Two weeks ago I didn't have the energy to even think about changing how I seek care.  Now I do.  I think I'm going up.

Oh Great - Mixed State

I thought I was headed for mania (I still may be) but today I'm in a mixed state. If anyone thinks depression is bad, and mania is bad, try being in a mixed state. I don't know whether to shit or go blind.
 
Restlessness, inability to concentrate, taking no pleasure in anything I try to do, difficulty organizing my thoughts. At least the gut-wrenching anxiety has eased up a bit (no hyperventilating today) though I'm still paralyzed. 

I can't sit still. I can barely type - I keep hitting the wrong keys, as if my finger movements are exaggerated. I found a nice online writing opportunity but so many confusing thoughts came into my head that I couldn't reply with a coherent story. 

I found myself starting to peruse the Publisher's Clearing House junk they sell that they make you look at before you can enter the current sweepstakes - uh oh. I don't need any more junk so why was I looking at it?? I managed to avert my eyes and just enter the damned sweepstakes.
 
Racing thoughts? You betcha. But instead of feeling really good about myself (a sure sign of mania for me), I still feel worthless. It's kinda like body-surfing when you know there are sharks in the water.  

Wonder what tomorrow will bring?

Waiting...

Experts say that we go through seven stages of grief in a logical progression. First comes shock & denial; then pain & guilt; anger & bargaining; "depression", rejection & loneliness; the upward turn; reconstruction & working through; and acceptance & hope. These stages are not only applicable to grief, but to people with a mental illness.

I think I'm stuck in denial although I frequently experience pain & guilt, anger, and rejection & loneliness even though I've been disabled for 8 years now. I realized that I'm spending my life waiting - waiting for things to change, waiting for things to get better. Denying that I'm going to be BP for the rest of my life and I'd better get off my ass and work on the last three stages so I can be more proactive.

I've been in therapy and supposedly I have the tools to actually be proactive: self-talk, mindfulness, positive thinking. I'm on medication so I guess I'm hoping one or a combination will be the magic cure and I won't have to work at getting better. Is that laziness? Maybe. Or maybe it's fear that no matter what I do I won't stabilize. I'm tired of trying. I've given up on seeing a therapist.

I read lots of blogs about personal growth, a lot of which apply to those of us who are mentally ill. Most of the advice falls into the "think positive" category. Some have given me other specific tools for living with BP. It's actually using those tools that's proven difficult. There are so many! Journaling, keeping mood/food/exercise charts, monitoring myself for negative thoughts, improving my self-esteem, yadda yadda yadda. If I used all the tools I wouldn't have time to run my household or work on my business or write my blogs! Again, am I rationalizing not using the tools I've been given?

I guess I'm waiting for that "upward turn" to just magically happen. The more I think about it, the more I understand that it isn't going to happen unless I make it happen. By using the tools I've been given.  

(sigh) Guess I'd better get started.

Last Week, Ultra-Rapid Cycling, Generalized Anxiety Disorder, Shit!

OK, I had to get some perspective on last Thursday's, um, event, and the days that followed before I could write.

Last Thursday my friend (who sells Cookie Lee jewelry) and I went to a local "restaurant" to sell our stuff on "Ladies' Night Out". "Restaurant" and "Ladies' Night Out" are in quotes because that is what I was led to believe they were, only they weren't. The "restaurant" turned out to be a hole-in-the-wall bar with a tiny restaurant, and "Ladies' Night Out" consisted of the local drunks cruising through to see what we had for sale. No effort had been made to advertise the event by the owner of the restaurant.

Anyway, I make handmade soap & other things to sell since I'm disabled. (I have to have a job to keep my Healthcare for Workers with Disabilities, or HWD, and since I can't work on a regular schedule being self-employed is it.) My friend and I were jammed in the bar part of the "restaurant" with three other ladies selling stuff - purses, candlewarmers, some kind of energy drinks. All these ladies were dressed up (I wore jeans and a T-shirt advertising my business and I don't wear makeup), and all of their products were commercially made. I felt like the country cousin, the red-headed stepchild, grossly underdressed and out of place. And the venue was a dump but what was worse, it was a bar.

For years I self-medicated with alcohol. About 18 years ago I woke up one morning in my own bed, alone for once, with no clue where I'd been or how I'd got home. I went to the window to make sure my truck was there and in one piece. It was. That was the day I quit drinking. To remove temptation, I don't go to bars. When I do go to bars, I drink. A lot. Which is what happened last Thursday - thank goodness my friend was driving. Needless to say I didn't make any money because I spent it all (and then some) on booze. (Of course I only sold 3 bars of soap, totaling $5.50.)

I've been in a depressed episode for months. It felt so good to get buzzed again! I was upbeat, chatty, witty even. I was having fun. Alcohol is like jet fuel to me. It's insta-mania. Woohoo!

Then I woke up Friday morning. The hangover, the remorse, the shame, wondering if I had embarassed my friend. I hadn't blacked out, but I got pretty drunk. And I was still depressed. I slept most of the day. Saturday, Sunday and Monday were complete write-offs. My depression was bad and my anxiety level was so high that I had a couple of panic attacks and a couple of episodes of hyperventilating. I just couldn't function.

Then, out of the blue, I woke up Tuesday feeling good. Not great, but not depressed. More or less normal, mood-wise. Very little anxiety.  I actually got stuff done. Although I had this weird feeling all day that I was about 6 steps behind where I ought to be. (??) I went with my friend to an appointment. I cooked dinner. I was OK.  

Yesterday I didn't get the errands done but I did get all of our bank information switched with the companies we pay money to every month (we changed from Chase DO NOT USE CHASE BANK!! to Charles Schwab Bank) . A tedious process but it had to be done. I got it done.

Today, the agoraphobia's back. I NEED to run errands and get groceries, but leaving the house just ain't happenin'. I don't feel like I'm depressed, nor am I manic. It's anxiety. The effing anxiety again. All I can do is anything that keeps my mind 100% occupied, and take an extra klonipin. Otherwise the anxiety will overwhelm me and something terrible will happen. (I don't know what, I never know, but it will be awful.) That's Generalized Anxiety Disorder coupled with ultra-rapid cycling Bipolar. I'm headed for hypo/mania and don't have a clue what to do about it.

Although I'm not sure I want to do anything to stop it. Like most BP people I LOVE my hypo/mania. It's about the only time in my life when I actually feel good, positive, upbeat, happy. Of course my husband has to watch me because I'll spend money or do other stupid things (or maybe even have a psychotic break, I don't know). Oh, hell, bring it on! I want to feel GOOD!

I'm Not Me Anymore

Since I was diagnosed in '01 I had to focus on finding the right med combination.  What a pain in the ass that has been!  But now that I'm reasonably stable, I'm not me anymore.  The meds have changed my personality.  Before you say, "well, duh!" let me clarify:  the meds have changed more than my moods.

I used to be strong - one of those women who could see a crisis through, THEN fall apart.  Now I can't handle stress at all.  Although I still don't cry (it's a hangup from childhood), I freak out much more easily.  I'm taking a LOT of clonazepam, which only quietens the anxiety to a dull roar.  I don't know if it's the GAD (generalized anxiety disorder, which I supposedly also have) or part of the BP problem.  I read recently that anxiety can be symptomatic of BP.  So I pretend to be strong - nobody sees the terror inside, nobody knows my heart's beating 100 miles a minute and that I want to scream and run.  

I'm fat - Jesus, God, am I fat.  Thanks to the meds I've put on 70 pounds.  Now I'm obese.  My husband still wants me, so that's a good thing, but guess what?  I don't want sex any more.  Me, who used to be the horniest bitch around.  If it had 2 legs and a dick, I wanted it.

I used to not fear risks.  Of any sort, thanks to being manic, but now I'm afraid of risk altogether.  I've swung to the other end of the pendulum.  It's interfering with starting my new business, it interferes with trying to have fun (try something new?  fugedaboudit), it interferes with things all though my life.

I've developed this bizarre need to nap in the afternoons.  It's bizarre because every single day of my life, between 3 and 4 p.m. I get sleepy.  Really sleepy.  I have to fight it because if I don't I'm likely to lie down for a nap and not get up until the next morning.  This really fucks up my day.

My short-term memory is pitiful.  It was better before I had 6 ECT sessions 4 or 5 years ago, but still.  I have to make lists or nothing gets done.  It's incredibly frustrating.

I used to be a control freak.  Now I'm an uber-control-freak.  I guess because I'm not having a lot of success managing my own life I try to make up for that by micro-managing my husband's.  It annoys him but he usually tells me to butt out in a nice way.

I can't handle change easily.  Of any sort, really.  Starting new habits is extremely difficult.  Even something as simple as switching from Diet Coke to iced tea is hard - I keep going in the kitchen to get something to drink and when I can't find the Coke I get pissed off, thinking hubby drank it all.  Until I remember that I don't drink Coke anymore and there's a gallon of tea in the 'fridge.

The anxiety is constant and overwhelming.  Self-talk doesn't help, mindfulness doesn't help - you have to have a mind to be mindful.  When I get anxious I get paralyzed.  I do something obsessively to help escape the fear:  read a book, read blogs, read my email, work Sudokus 'til I'm cross-eyed, whatever.  Anything except what I need to do or want to do.  I have a bottle of pills that help with the anxiety but I try really hard not to take them - they're painkillers.  Percoset, for my back.  I feel much less anxious when I'm high on Percoset or marijuana.  But Percoset's addicting and marijuana's, ahem, illegal.  And expensive.  And I don't have a source right now.  And there's no point in asking my GP for a prescription, since marijuana isn't exactly approved by the FDA for BP so Medicare/'caid won't cover it anyway.

Maybe I should just accept who I've become and go from there.  But I mourn the old me; she was a bright, fearless, ass-kicking go-getter who didn't let anything slow her down.  I miss her a lot.

Some Generalities

Thought I'd start the inaugural post with some general stuff.  I'm amazed I even found the energy to create this blog - I'm having a depressive episode that's been going on for a couple of months.  Had a bit more energy today, though.  Maybe I'm coming out of it.  Come on, mania! I want to feel good again.

Here are some common misconceptions I've run into when telling people I have a mental illness:

• Having a mental illness does not mean I'm crazy. In the world of psychiatry, "crazy" has no meaning.
• Mental illness is not contagious.
• Just because I'm mentally ill does not mean I'm retarded. My IQ is 154, well into the genius range.
• Mental illness is a legitimate disease. I'm not faking, lazy, or lacking in self-discipline. "Pulling myself up by my bootstraps" is not an option.

Here are some things that upset me:

• I don't want or need pity. Sympathy & understanding, yes - pity, no.
• Sometimes I need your help, sometimes I don't. Let me be the judge of that.
• Yes, I take medications. No, they don't make me stupid. Drowsy, maybe, but not stupid.

Here is some information that you might find helpful when interacting with a mentally ill person:

• Living with mental illness makes life a daily struggle. Please forgive me if I don't always live up to your expectations - it's not because I don't want to, it's because I simply can't.
• Practice compassion. Try to put yourself in my place.
• Learn what kind of help I need, and provide it.
• Listen carefully. Sometimes it's difficult for me to communicate.
• Before you criticize me for my failings ask yourself "Would I say this to someone who has cancer?"

And finally, here are some tips for those of us with a mental illness:

• Learn everything you can about your disease and try to get those who love you to do the same.
• Take your medications as directed and know what side effects to look for.
• Be patient when it comes to finding the right medication combination. It took me six years to find one that works, and there are no guarantees that this combination will continue to work in the future. Try to accept this as part of your illness and use hope to combat the frustration.
• Depending on your illness, just accept the fact that you will probably be on medication for the rest of your life. This fact can come in handy if your doctor doesn't want to prescribe something just because it's addictive. If s/he thinks it will help, push for it to be prescribed.
• Be completely honest with your doctor and/or therapist.
• If something about your treatment doesn't seem right or isn't working, ask questions. If you're still not satisfied, find another doctor or therapist.
• Be accepting, forgiving and patient with yourself.
• Realize that living with you can be a trial and go easy on your loved ones. It will take them some time to get used to your illness.
• Don't be afraid or too proud to ask for help from those around you.

And finally, don't ever give up. It may take work, but you can find the right treatment(s) that will allow you to function at a level you find acceptable.