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.