Paralysis

Last weekend started off with intentions of  leaving behind a frustrating work situation full of lies and accusations and banking some pure relaxation time at my parent’s West Virginia camp. It started off that way; it really did.

Derek, my newly married and long suffering husband, didn’t have to work and we all pilled into the car for the getaway. I even took my notebook in case I scored some inspiration.

But Saturday, no matter how enjoyable, found me cranky and irritable. On top of that, I had forgotten my meds. Sleeping on the ground that night was the last straw.

Every joint in my body was swollen and in throbbing pain Sunday. I have now missed work for three days, and in addition to the stomach churning of Cymbalta changes, I now have the worry of whether I will get fired for missing too much work.

I wish I knew more about Maryland and hiring/firing laws when it comes to known “handicaps.” But at 12%, I can’t look up the number for a pizza place let alone a legal situation.

All I have right now is paralysis. My big goal today is to feed and medicate myself. I have tons to do, more than I even realize, but keeping myself out of the hospital is my only goal.

Writing Again

I’ve realized an urge to write again; an urge I thought would never return.

I wrote a poem the other day–the first in 11 months. It is only on draft two, so it needs work, but I am proud of myself. It is about the big fight Derek and I had a few days ago.

I am also trying, again, to move more of my stuff into Derek’s from my old apartment. I am hoping to get an office (at least a table and chair) set-up, so I can write at a table. It makes a huge difference.

The last time I had all of my possessions in one spot, laid out in the way I like, was 15 months ago. Since then I’ve moved three times. My stuff is in chaos, needless to say. However, the real trouble is that I don’t do well mentally with upsets like this. No wonder it’s been a struggle and a half.

My main mental health issue now is sleep. With 250mg of Trazadone and 24mg of Ambian plus Remeron, I still toss and turn, wake up, and can’t get back to sleep. I am really hoping some internal sweeping, as my poetry tends to do, will help the sleeping situation.

Fall Out Girl

“That’s me. The scarred and broken one in the corner. / Are you sure you want to get that close?”

Derek and I are closing in on knowing/dating each other for 6 months. I kept warning him he has yet to see me out of control. But now, thanks to the fall out in part due to stress but mostly due to taking the wrong meds, he has.

He is still here, but that may be because he is sick with a kidney infection. I jest, he is sick, but he wants to stay. Amazing, I know.

I feel compelled to type the truth: I assaulted him…a little. Not as much as when I went after my sister’s sleazebag of a boyfriend, but I did turn our argument physical.

I hate when that happens. I don’t feel like myself. I can’t seem to apologize enough. I want to run away from myself. But Derek ran after me barefoot and in his briefs.

We have been working on reconnecting, and we are considering a May 2014 wedding. But it all makes me wonder. Why? How can someone want to put up with me? To want to maybe suffer with me through childbirth with all it could entail? The answer is simple. And he tells me over and over. I just need to hear it on the inside, over the returning voices and doubt.

He loves me.

Med Check

This past week has been rough to say the least. The biggest problem underlying the whole out of control, mixed-mania, depressed train wreck was a simple mix up in my med dosages.

I used to have Archway monitor my meds for me, in that once per week a worker would stop by my house and help me fill my daily med planner. Yes, one of those big old lady ones with Braille and the whole bit. I have to admit, it does sound silly that a 30 something needed all that help, but then factor in the bipolar brain fog (read about that here) and the fact that I am on 12+ meds at any given time.

But I gave up that service a while ago. The reason was that I couldn’t just sit around the house all day until they showed up.  So I’m going it alone…and I got a little confused.

Instead of taking the maximum dose of Cymbalta for my fibromyalgia, which is 120mg, I was taking 240mg. My Neurontin went from 200mg a day to 600mg. And on top of all that, I was only taking my anxiety medication once per day.

Needless to say, I was fucked up. I also lost some of my sight, which has returned with straightening everything out. Now every time I see my shrink, I will get a print out and a double check on my meds.

I’ll try to write more on the fallout next week. Stay strong!

Colorcoding My Life

Next to my work computer, and hopefully soon at home as well, I have a veritable garden of Post-It Notes.

Each day has a color; for example, Sunday is yellow. I have listed all the regular tasks I should do at work on a Sunday…including the personal note to blog and pay bills. I am hoping that improving my memory for work duties–clearly visible for my boss and co-workers to see–will help me to actually keep this job. The only one I now have.

From July 2013 until I was fired on October 14th, working a second job at the Library was extremely stressful. I was forgetting all sorts of things, like taking meds, completing work tasks, etc. It was not until recently I’ve had some explanation as to why my memory is just so very bad.

I read the article “The Cognitive Connection” in Bipolar Magazine, a magazine I didn’t know existed.

“Psychiatrists and researchers are coming to appreciate that memory lapses and other neurocognitive problems—disorganization, groping for words, difficulty learning new information—can go hand in hand with the more obvious mood and behavioral symptoms that characterize bipolar.”

So maybe it is not a character flaw or something I can blame myself for, like some people have done about losing my second, higher paying job.

“Bipolar brain fog can complicate everything from succeeding in school to paying the bills.”

What a precise way to describe this memory meltdown: Bipolar Brain Fog! I was actually fired for attendance, but it all stems back to slipping off my meds and forgetting elements of my job.

I remember all the Post-It Notes and Day Planners and homework note books that got me through college. Time to dust off some of those tactics.

The article also mentions lapses in attention, which can cause lose of coordination and balance! Did I mention I fall a lot?

I highly recommend reading the excerpt of  the article. I’ve also subscribed to the magazine and am eagerly awaiting my first issue.

This past week went a lot smother with the Post-It Notes; at least I felt a lot more productive at work…a pay period of 79.75 hours.

The only trouble, and my Mood Score of only 57% shows this, is the raging anxiety, sleeplessness, and irritableness at home. I see my shrink on Tuesday, so I suspect an increase in my Buspar.

More on meds later…

Having Children + Having Bipolar

A big issue my boyfriend and I have struggled with is the decision on whether to have children or not.

Both of us want children, and while there are some other issues to work out (him getting a full-time job; I want to be married first; etc.), I keep coming back to square one: am I too sick to have children?

I have talked to my psychiatrist about this; he was not at all supportive of the idea. He said I shouldn’t rock the boat, so to speak. My gynecologist and primary care doctor are supportive. They say it is a natural desire and when the time is right (I’m 33 so I would want that to be soon), I should go for it. I dislike my counselor and don’t really want to discuss this with her, and my friends are discouraging about the idea just on the principle that having children is somehow bad…even my friends with children. So I am a little lost.

I’m barely stable on meds…I can’t imagine being off of them. Since I have a history of suicide attempts, my gyno said I might have to be on some sort of meds.

One the one hand, I do wonder if my body will adjust, and relying on my support network will just become vital, but I will get thought it. OR, I will hit rock bottom and end up hurting myself and the baby.

Any feedback is welcome. Thanks!

What I’m doing

Talk about a long absence! I’ve let this blog lay fallow for all the long months of some severe ups and downs. In a nut shell, I am doing much better. While for the last few weeks I was having some trouble with low moods, I am back into the 70s on my Moodscope depression test score (read about how I use Moodscope’s wonderful test here).

I’ve been trying to reincorporate things that have been helpful in the past. Such as blogging, both reading and writing. My favorite blog hands down is bi[polar] curious: poppycock from the bipolar spectrum. Sarah, who is the blog’s author, just had her 2 year anniversary! Congratulations, Sarah!

One simple thing I did was to buy a new med planner after mine was misplaced in my latest move (more on that later). I’ve also started knitting again!

But I’ve also been looking for new things to help myself. I’ve subscribed to Bipolar Disorder Magazine. Once I get my first issue, I might post some interesting snippets.

So my plan is to post a new blog every Sunday. We’ll see how long that lasts!

What can I do?

That is what a friend messaged me tonight in response to me being honest about how bad things are: What can I do?

And the answer is, I’m not sure. However, I need an answer to that question since I know I need help.

I have been tracking my mood on a UK site that I love, Moodscope.com, for a while know. While I am sure two people could score the same and not be feeling the same, I have figured out what the numbers mean for me. So here is a guide, for anyone brave enough to be one of my mood buddies, of how the numbers break down.

90%+ = Manic. I am likely to take lots of risks and do very stupid things like unprotected sex with a bisexual heroin addict or spend the month’s rent on comic books.

90% – 70% = I am handling my shit fairly well. I will fluctuate in response to stress, but over all things are ok.

70% – 50% = Something external, like a deadline, is not going well and a little bit of help or space will help, but I am still pretty good.

50% – 20% = I need support because things are feeling hectic. Some practical, concrete help is needed. I may have trouble articulating it, but I would appreciate you offering before I ask. A phone call would be fantastic. Make sure I am still taking my meds.

20% = 10% = I really need some help. I probably still can’t ask, but if you can spend the day with me or offer to take over a responsibility (like making dinner), it would mean the world to me. I probably can’t handle a phone conversation as it is too much for me. And no matter how much I deny it, I need company, too. Sit with me while I try to get my shit together. I may start drinking or smoking to self-medicate. This is not a good behavior because of the meds I take. I may also stop taking meds, quickening the spiral.

-10% = An ER visit or hospital stay is probably going to happen. I might get into fights and say hurtful things I don’t mean. Or get in trouble with the police for disturbing the peace, theft, or shoplifting. Or I might start hurting myself, like slamming my hand into a wall or cutting myself or vomiting or starving myself. I may even slap myself or other extreme types of behaviors. I need help immediately. A hotline call might be too much for me to do on my own; I may fight it. But I MUST get to someplace SAFE right away and get back on my meds.

They tried to make me go to Rehab…

…and I said, “Sure, OK.”

It takes me a while to work my way to the truth. Or at least a somewhat stable version of it.

I am in rehab, an all be it outpatient one, but rehab nonetheless. The few friends I am in any kind of contact with are dealing with this fact in very different ways. One wants to take me drinking. One traveled 4 hours by train to take naps with me. One comes to my house for dinner and brings pie.

But how to I deal with this? I should be writing lots of great poetry.

I’m not.

I am trying to remember to take my meds. I am trying to remember they are good for me, and that I should stay on them. All but the week’s supply is padlocked into a great big black box I have no access to. I also receive a phone call every evening to tell me to take my medicine and charge my cell phone. If this new protocol fails to keep me on meds (and prevent another fist fight and an ER visit for a broken hand – or at least severely contused hand), people I don’t know will come to my house twice a day and watch me take the pills. Then they will ask me to open my mouth and move my tongue around.

I am trying to remember to shower everyday and get dressed. I am trying to put my clean clothes away and pick all the clothes up off the floor of my new bedroom. Almost all of the socks I own are underneath my new bed.

I am trying to slowly chip away at the mountain of paperwork I have to fill out because the poorer you are, the more paperwork you have to fill out.

I have learned if I drink the smallest amount, I will laugh until I begin weeping followed by a spiral that will probably end in physical violence to others or myself.

I have learned I have not really slept well for the last 20 odd years, that Ambian is a precious commodity never to be squandered, and that sleeping meds will be my new best friend hopefully very soon.

I have learned to admit to my bitterness over having to leave school and that no one really seems to care as much as I think they should.

And of course, I have come to appreciate that the times I can spend in the company of other people who have experienced psych holds and The System are actually a relief. I can use a shorthand–no need to explain myself or explain why I am such a shadow of my former self.

And finally, I think about how much time must pass before I can no longer call myself a poet and what to do with a life that has no purpose.

Some musings on friendship

Not that I am much of a Bible reader anymore, by thinking over the events of the last several months has me remembering the adage of Proverbs 17:17:

“A friend loveth at all times, and a brother is born for adversity (KJV).”

I know I’ve not been easy to be friends with lately–isolation, irritability, and mood swings that pull at least 3 Gs. But I am surprised most by the ones who stuck it out and helped me the whole way through.

Like the phone call from someone I would have categorized as a business associate. I was so surprised, I used the cover story about my blood pressure being elevated. I mean it was, but doctors don’t usually keep you in the hospital for 5 days to monitor your BP, and certainly my sister’s message accompanying the number where I could be reached must have raised some eyebrows: don’t use her last name, just ask for Tiffany.

I’m also surprised by some of the traffic, small as it might be, of people commenting on my blog posts. For example, someone I’ve not seen in over 2 years, who I was pretty sure did not consider me a friend anymore, and who lives on the other coast. I guess the Apocrypha do have some valuable advice:

“Forsake not an old friend; for the new is not comparable to him: a new friend is as new wine; when it is old, thou shall drink it with pleasure. (Sirach 9:10).

Friendship is a theme today because the only blog I seem to be able to keep up with mentioned it, too. Jon Cousins wrote a blog entry entitled Where do you belong? today. The thought for today is to “[p]articipate in activities with people who share your interests.”

Of course, my interests have become rather narrow. Between my declining physical health and my unstable mental health, the immanent move and the unending packing, and the gobs of paperwork I need to fill out and send to various offices, free time is something I Still have to fight for. And I’m tired. I also have a head cold.

I have tried to invite friends to share in some of my recovery activities like cooking more, knitting, walking, etc. but with only limited success.

So while I am feeling better on the whole, I am still not really being a good friend. And I can’t help but become a little sad when my Carlow writer friends are displaying pictures of all the wonderful things I missed in Dublin and talking about packets with excitement.

So, while I am trying to do better, I can’t make any promises. I am staring a 1-2 year recovery in the face. If anyone wants to stick it out, I will be very glad of the company.