A call for cooperation

Fear. That's what it boils down to.
In one of my last updates I told you that we're looking at ECT (shock therapy) as the next line of treatment being that my fabulous shrinky dink has "no plan b" for this last med trial. We're putting our hope in this last medication and I have several weeks before I'll see a result, if I see one at all.
Now, while I researched this treatment and introduced the topic to her several months back, I have to admit, now that it's a much more realistic possibility, I'm quite terrified.
I know that it's safe. It's been done since the 30's. It's been refined since those first cruel decades to a much more stable and comfort minded procedure. It's done under general anesthesia with a muscle relaxant to help minimize physical effects. I'm not as apprehensive about the procedure itself. I know that ECT is one of the safest and most effective treatments for medication resistant depression. I also know that people frequently feel some relief after just two to three sessions.
My trepidation is born of the known effects, namely memory loss. It's that potential that has me feeling a significant dread.
"ECT can effect memory in several ways. You may have trouble remembering events that occurred before treatment began, a condition known as retrograde amnesia. It may be hard to remember things in the weeks or months leading up to treatment, although some people do have problems with memories from previous years, as well. You may also have trouble remembering events that occurred during the weeks of your treatment. And some people have trouble with memory of events that occur even after ECT has stopped. These memory problems usually improve within a couple of months."-According to The Mayo Clinic
I have always had, with the exception of my childhood, a near impeccable memory. Not only do I rely on it heavily but so do those close to me. I am rather distressed at the possibility of losing any of it; after all, I have two kids that rely on me.
There's the memory issue, and the foreboding feeling that it won't work. After all, I have failed everything else. Why should such a radical treatment used to stave off severe depression in others work on me? All the drugs I've been on are supposed to work too...
I have such a sense of failure. Like I'm fighting a losing battle.
I know, I know, that's no way to look at it but I can't help it. That's part and parcel of the whole depression thing... An inability to look at things positively.
I'm trying, I really am. I'm trying to put my faith in the good prospects but it's difficult.
I need help friends. I need help seeing the positive.

The results are in...

Well friends, you may or may not remember, after all, it's been almost 2 years, but I filed an ethics complaint against my 1st disability lawyer's office. After crappy to no communication throughout the application process and subsequent waiting period, they acted on my behalf to the Social Security Administration after I had already terminated their representation.
Well, I received notification today that they (the lawyer's office) were issued an admonition as a result of the investigation.
They got told they did a no-no by violating a rule or two but there will be no charges filed. No punishment.
The decision feels rather anti-climactic for me.
After The Office of Lawyers Professional Responsibility saw fit to do a full-on investigation all they deemed was necessary was a talking to? A written slap on the wrist?
Bah!
Don't get me wrong. I'm grateful they did the investigation at all. After all, my complaint could have been dismissed, but I feel like the lawyer's office deserves more than just a 'shame, shame. You got caught breaking a rule.'

Anyhow....that's what I've been privy to learn today.

Confidence curtailed

So about a month, month and a half ago, I was feeling a little more confident and committed to begin karate again. Partly to support the little one who just made it to the big leagues in karate and wanted me to do it with her due to her own self doubt, partly for myself. I started strong and felt good about what I was doing. I believed that I could really see it through and make it to black belt.
Then the confidence disappeared and was replaced with doubt and anxiety.
I'm quite certain now that there's no way that I can ever remember the forms or the combinations.
Plus there's the whole I'm way too tired all the time, desperately just want to hide from the world issue.
Oh yeah....that.
And, there is the legitimate issue of the tremor in my legs thanks to the Ritalin (that I've stopped) that's still bothering me significantly.
So there is my dilemma. I've made this commitment both to myself and to my daughter and now I'm failing miserably in following through. I just can't bring myself to do it. The anxiety, the almost pain at the thought of getting dressed and getting out in class.
I feel absolutely horrible about it all which is not helping with the depression, as I'm sure you can imagine.
So that's me....

Your cup of tea

What, pray tell, is it? That go to thing/act that gets you back to you.
Is it having a hot cup of coffee/tea by your lonesome?
Is it sitting and listening to your favorite song?
Is it meditating somewhere quiet and soothing?
Is it going for a long walk?
Is it going to some coffee/tea house and writing on your blog?
What do you do to help reset and find yourself again?

For me it's several of the above.

There are so many coping strategies that people can and do use to get through and I find myself increasingly interested in them all. As Depeche Mode said, "I'm always willing to learn when you've got something to teach".    (10 points if you can name the song without looking it up!)

Music is essential in my life, not to mention my coping skills. As I sit here, I have my earbuds in and I'm jamming out to an absolutely fabulous mix of my favorite songs. Music helps me calibrate and reconnect; to myself, to life. I battle such extreme obstacles, namely depression and anxiety, that anything at all that I can use to maintain myself, even if only a fraction of myself, is highly prized.
As a matter of fact, I find listening to my music through my earbuds is the most effective. I can truly focus on the music; hear every instrument, every aspect. It transforms the experience completely. I am able to relish in the intimacy of just me and my music. Whether I'm writing, people watching, or just sitting quietly listening.
A few deep breaths and a great song can really transport me to a place of peace.
What more can you ask for?

What do you do/use to cope with life's twists and turns??

One of Those....

Everyone knows those people...

Those people that can make life miserable. Those people that always have something to bitch about. Those people that make everything about them and find a way to make drama.

That person that takes crazy to a whole new plane...

Yeah.

I mean, I'm crazy, don't get me wrong. Certifiable, as a matter of fact. But I'm talking about that psychotic person, most always female, that takes bitching to a new level of torture never before experienced.

Yeah...

Got one of those in life right now.

This particular breed of psycho bitch, while not interrupting our lives in the way I'm sure she hopes to, makes an annoyance of herself rather effectively. Nothing that isn't totally dealable and dismissable though. And believe me, she's easily dismissed!!

Deforestation

That's what I feel like I've contributed to now that I'm done printing out the divorce paperwork.
Talk about excessive.


That's all for now...

The road

This journey is a lonely one.
Mental illness, no matter how well concealed, is a very lonely battle.

I cannot help but contemplate this a great deal this evening. I have so very many things on my mind and yet I find myself without a soul within which to confide completely. Whether this is a self-imposed solitude or a natural by-product of the 'nature of the beast' I have yet to determine.
Whatever the cause, its effects are undeniable.

I feel so very very alone in this world. People in which I used to confide are beyond my reach, people who seem close now still remain at a distance. There are those that claim friendship but who have no wish to be weighed upon by the struggles of others. There are those that might be close were it not for the wall that I defend so well in the interest of not burdening them with troubles not their own.

Whatever the combination of factors, the seeming finality of 'truth' is unwavering.

More squeeze please?

No thanks, I've got plenty!!

I've had a constant pressure in my chest and feeling of apprehension for the last week or so.
Do you have any idea what that feels like? Anybody?

It's only actually gone away a couple of times and only for a very short time. The rest of the time it is constant with fairly frequent increases for no damned apparent reason.

I'm getting anxious texting a friend. I'm getting anxious sitting on my couch watching a movie, I'm getting anxious getting dressed, I'm getting anxious opening my computer, I'm getting anxious getting into bed.

Aaaaaaarrrrrrrrrrgh!!!!!

I think I may have slipped right off the edge.

The edge of reason
The edge of rationale
The edge of sanity

I mean, what the hell?!

If this is a result of waiting for my damned disability determination...well, let's just say that I'm not thinking nice things about the judge right now. If she could feel what it feels like to be me everyday.... If anyone could feel what it feels like to be me everyday...

Until then...just know that it's agony.

As Tom Petty said.. "The waiting is the hardest part
                                    Every day you get one more yard
                                    You take it on faith
                                    You take it to the heart
                                    The waiting is the hardest part"

Insight or Insanity

So, when you're crazy aren't you supposed to be able to enjoy it? Aren't you supposed to be less rather than more aware of the depths of your crazy? Blissfully unaware of the level of lost your mind has meandered?
Well I guess that just makes me even more special.
Me? I'm painfully able to analyze my uncontrollable behavior and frequently even in real time. More often than not I'm able to provide insight and understanding for my behavior, I just can't seem to change it.
How fucked up is that?
Doesn't that make me even more of a mental case than originally thought?!
Who does that?
Who psychologically analyzes themselves, pretty perceptively I might add, while they're living/displaying their seriously schizo ways but still can't manage to make any headway in the madness?

Clarity comes but disease still reigns supreme.

Psychoanalysis-not getting me much of anywhere especially when I have to wait 1 and 2 months in between appointments. I was supposed to have an appointment today but had the time wrong, showed up 30 minutes late, wasn't able to be seen and the next available appointment isn't until the 3rd of February. (I've been near hysterical several times since this happened this morning)
Meds-Yeah. My most recent isn't cutting it. At all. At the higher dose I was insanely irritable, at this lower dose I'm irritable and depressed. This med was one of what my doc said were the last two options. There's only one more after this, unless we start combining and I'm not sure what the options are there...

How do you live each day knowing how completely fucked up you are and there doesn't seem to be a damn thing that can be done about it? How do you effect the lives of those you love every day with your craziness when you know they deserve better but can't give it to them?

Bit of a block...

So here we are again after an absence from yours truly.
You have my apologies.
Not much I can tell you sadly. I just haven't had anything. There's been plenty going on, plenty on the brain, but nothing's coming out.
My teeny batshit brain just can't seem to think a thought thoroughly enough to articulate it out to the world.
:(
I'm working on it.
But I'm thinking of you. I could never forget to write, it's just the ability part that's gone on hiatus.

Ironic or just backwards?

I've never been one to journal. It's been something I've tried several times and it's been recommended to me many times over the years as it is to almost anyone with any kind of mental illness. It's always proven a problem when it comes to consistency.
But here I am with a blog that I write on fairly regularly... What's the deal there?
I feel, for whatever reason, that there are strict rules with a journal. It has to be written in a 'Dear Diary' fashion. Or at least that's the crazy (hellloooo?!) notion in my brain. I just don't always have something to say. I've been told many times that it doesn't have to conform to any set parameters, that it's just there for whatever you want/need to get out, however it comes out.
Hello...earth to Melissa, what do you think you're doing with this blog?!
Yeah, I know, I know. But gimme a break-I am crazy remember?? I'm not expected to make sense!
If you're reading this expecting me to make any sense, you had best stop now. Take your disappointed ass somewhere else cuz you're not in it for the long haul with me here! ;)

So anywho.

I've been writing general wonderings, crazy emotional questions, random thoughts, and poetry in my hospital notebook lately and some of it is making it here on the blog and some is not because I think it's just too random or crazy or just plain doesn't make any flippin sense.
But then again, that's me in a nutshell and you love me so far....
:)

Musings

Things have changed,
  what's changed?
Everything is the same
but the same is different
Different is everything new
and everything old.
Everything old is still
here but nothing new
is gone again

So I had a good day yesterday.
I need to say that again.
I   had  a  good  day  yesterday!

I've also noticed a pattern to my mood shifts.

The days that I have to get up and get going first thing (days the littl'n has school) I am moderate in the morning. Thinking of things that I need/want to do and usually actually acting on them. More often than not I don't get back in to bed. By 1:30-2:00pm I am struggling to stay awake and engaged. Everything and everyone seems a little distant and I keep having to orient myself to what's going on. Kind of like a reality check. Is this actually what's happening right now? Around 4:00 I fake it for a few hours, usually with a headache coming on by around 7 if it wasn't there already. By 8:45 I'm tired and have a headache that doesn't seem to relent. By 9:45 I'm still tired but am awake and have a lighter mood again, ready for all that isn't going to happen until I make myself go to bed between 11:30-12:00.
This is pretty much my standard day now. The rule much more than the exception.

So what to do about this afternoon-evening lull? I feel almost dissociated from the world of reality. I mean, I'm with it enough to participate in whatever is happening, I'm appropriate, I understand, I engage but everything feels like it's outside of a bubble that I can't get through. I have to keep double and triple checking with myself that what's happening is the reality and that I'm actually taking part.
That's not normal. That can't be normal.
How do I get out of the bubble? I'm not always in the bubble. Where does this bubble come from? Where is the crazy place that keeps all the bubbles? Cuz' I'd really like to send it back.
Return to sender please. Thank You.

So that's me. Good day yesterday. Bubbled everyday. Good days have less of a bubble than bad days.

Truly yours,
Bubbles

Yeah....No

  So I'm reading a book. It's a wonderfully expressive account of one woman's journey with bipolar. She's funny and snarky and real and matter of fact. She has an excellent vocabulary and uses it with great skill.

And she totally intimidates the shit out of me.

  I've been told that I write well. I've been told, by more than one person and on more than one occasion to write my story into a book.
Not-a-gonna-happen my friends. Not after reading this book. There's no way that I can come anywhere near this woman's talent.
Afterall, it is she that has so helpfully put into words so many of the things that I have been feeling and thinking but just couldn't articulate.

And besides, no one wants to read about all the shitty things that I've lived through. I don't even wanna hear about all the shitty things that I've lived through.

  But I love writing. I love getting it down, getting it out of myself. Like somehow releasing a balloon: no one else is going to get it and that's ok. It was mine, I let it go "into the great wide open" as Tom Petty so aptly wrote. Such a great song. Boy if that isn't some pertinent prose. If you're unfamiliar with the song I highly suggest you give it a whirl.

So yeah.
There's that.
Again, out there. Outside of me. No longer held captive by that which might stifle it down into the abyss that threatens the whole.

My mind has wandered again.

They just aren't coming

The words, I mean.
I've been really wanting to write the past couple of days, but the words just aren't there. I've got song lyrics galore traipsing about in my brain but nothing of my own.
I'm reading beautifully written books that are articulate and descriptive in ways that I only dream but again, nothing of my own.
It occurs to me, what a friend once revealed-that I don't write once my mood lifts. And he is right. I don't.
My mood has lifted this past week or so. I'm still exhausted, but it's a fatigue not associated with the desire for isolation. Course, my appetite has also lifted. I'm eating every damn thing in sight regardless of when or what else I've had. Sugar is my main crave and boy howdy if it isn't what I seek out specifically with great skill.
I attribute all of the above to the new med (Zyprexa [actually olanzapine]).
And while my mood lifting is wonderful, it has brought along significant irritability. Not so wonderful! My sweet loving husband has been getting the worst of that, as usual.
So while I feel this lessening of the deeply entrenched darkness that pervaded everything, I also feel an increasing despair over my instantaneous and unprovoked fits of anger. A biting disgust that overrules all other thought processes and lashes out like a whip at whomever (read: my husband) is in my path. Just as quick as I become aware of it at all it has encompassed my whole being and has taken supreme reign over my intentions and actions.
Whodo thunkit? An uncontrollable action in a bipolar???
Surely not!
Such devastation.....
Pfft. Right.

So damn. My mind has yet again wandered away from the task at hand and I haven't even the foggiest of clues as to where this was going.
Shit!
Oh well. It's gone now. I guess you'll just have to settle for what actually found its way out of the loopy labyrinth that is my mind.

Ugh

Bad day.
Don't know why.
Headache.
Some good spots.
Tired.
Still ridiculously hungry.

State of the unstable

If you know me, I'm big on choices.
I believe that you always have a choice. Not to say that it's a balanced choice, an easy choice, or a big choice, but one nonetheless. Even in the crappiest of situations, you have choices.
When facing the guillotine, you have choices. Your top pick, to get the frack outta dodge may not be one of them, but you still have options that you and only you can exercise. They don't seem like important ones, but any choice, even the smallest, is important.

I saw some thing on facebook earlier that got me thinking. It was one of those dumb things that has some bit of "wisdom" that gets shared and shared and passed around but is really just somebody's...whatever...spreading and taking hold amongst the masses who don't know how to make sense of things on their own.
Anyway.
It said "Cheating is a choice not a mistake".

Well, yeah. And no.

Of course, I'm not necessarily referring to cheating here. Cheating, in whatever sense you take it. I'm referring to the choice.

Each of us make choices. Choosing one option over an other. Choosing one option over none. Choosing nothing over anything else.
I'm thinking about choices in mental illness.
When mental illness takes over your brain, it does...just that. It takes over your brain. It takes away so many choices.
So many ...
We're still left with many, though they're certainly not as expansive. They don't usually have much of a range. It's not 'Go to law school or go to med school'. It's more like, especially when in the throes of mania, 'Run the Boston marathon tomorrow without ever having trained and buy a hotel just so you can have a choice of beds to sleep in each night or run the Boston marathon tomorrow without ever having trained and then buy 2 hotels just so you have even more of a choice of beds to sleep in each night'.
See what I mean?
There's still a choice, it's just not exactly one that covers as much ground.
When you're in the depths of depression, it's like 'Roll over and cover your head with the blankets' or 'Don't waste the energy that you don't have on something that won't make any difference anyway'.
Nowhere within either one of those scenarios is there an actual rational choice much less the ability to handle it were it actually there.

Don't get me wrong. I'm not excusing behaviors. I'm just trying to shed a little light on them.

Choice is a funny thing and must always be taken in context.
Especially...when it's not funny.

A hankerin' ?

So I've had this kind of itch to tell you a little bit more about me. Specifically about my past and my life as it has come to be. I'm not sure why but it's been hanging around my noggin. So I think I just might actually oblige, for those of you that may be interested in some of 'the back story'.

  I've thrown a few in the past when having to try to find a word that describes my childhood or rather a description of how it progressed such as; I was raised, I was brought up, or I grew up, etc... I was certainly not raised by anyone but myself. I did not have steady guardians nor were the unsteady ones of continual use.
I am an only child, only not. I have a most wonderful older half sister, by 5 years, that was adopted out to a very stable loving family when she was born. I met her just a few short months before our mother died back in 2007. Here comes the point when someone usually praises my mother for the smart and loving choice she made when she was oh so young. No. She had absolutely no choice in the matter. Not her decision.
Anywho. Then along comes me. I'm worth holding on to and torturing apparently. Just under a year later comes a little brother. I haven't the foggiest idea as to whether or not he's a half or full sibling. He was also adopted out when he was born. Hopefully to a similarly wonderful family as was graced with my sister.
And still, I remained.
Stuck with 2 drug and alcohol dependent parents that couldn't even stay together. They showed, at every imaginable turn, that they were completely incapable of making good decisions for themselves much less an infant in their care.
And still, I remained.
I was shuttled off to fully functioning, yet undeniably alcoholic, grandparents and an aunt/uncle/cousin at a consistently random rate. This predictable pattern of getting bounced around 'tween the fam continued until I was 10 when I was forced to choose, in front of everybody, whom I wanted to live with; my mom and the newest stepdad or the aunt/uncle/cousin grouping.
Yes indeed. 2 sets of alcoholic parents were actually physically fighting in front of me over who got to 'take' me. My mother against her older sister (that practically raised her). Forcing a 10 year old child to pick between stability and uncertainty. Between her mother, that she's "supposed" to live with, love, want to be with, and the aunt who could provide her with any and all necessities, love her, and actually acted like she wanted her around.
Like most kids would in that situation, I picked my mother even though it's not what I wanted. A kid is "supposed" to live with their parents, not their aunt and uncle (or their grandparents as had been the case several times). A kid is "supposed" to love their mom and want to be with them, want to be like them. Well, not this kid. I had learned from a very very early age that everything I saw from my mother was what NOT to do. I had learned to take care of myself from very very early on. So much so that I had had to learn how to take care of and deal with my parent.
A preschooler is NOT supposed to understand that you don't touch the little cut up straws and mirrors on the table. The scales and baggies on the shelf aren't to be played with. That you don't ask if mom's alright when you hear noises coming from the back room of a 'friend's' place. But me? I knew those things. I remember knowing those things. I can't tell you what state I lived in while in any given grade in elementary school, but I can tell you those other things.
Looking back now, while I only spent a little less than a third of my life getting tossed around to whomever would take me for whatever effing reason my mother couldn't, or didn't want to, be a mother, it has still played one of the biggest parts.
Maybe one of the hardest things is that I will NEVER get any answers to any of the bazillions of questions I could possibly ask. My mother (cancer), all 4 grandparents (cancer), 2 step grandparents (cancer too I believe), father (suicide 4 days before my 11th b-day), and 1 stepfather (ruptured ulcers as I was told), are all dead. My aunt and I no longer have a relationship other than that shared by blood. And that was an easy choice on my part. I was told a few years ago that she had stage 4 lung cancer but to my knowledge she is still alive and full of alcohol and attitude.

  So those were my humble beginnings. That's a nutshell of my Back Story. There are innumerable events within but that's the Cliff's Notes version that might give you just a little inkling into my wretched start and progression on this crazy crazy spinning ball of ours.
If you ever wonder how one gets a diagnosis list that reads like mine....there ya go.
 
  Consider yourself schooled in Crazy 101.

My inner poet reeks, er, I mean eeks out...

  The night comes swiftly even as the light never dawned
Darkness is not quiet through the light
The end is visible though the birth not so long past

An original from yours truly that just seeped its short path through my brain.
And believe it or not, a second followed...

  So nearly painful and affronting, the reverberation felt from the faint fluttering of an eyelash or the grand gesture to stand upright
The sharp pang of an unsaid thought to the quiet yet somehow cacophonous jolt of a breath
Unassuming
Impersonal
Disparate

Resonation


  The latter being an attempt to express my torture throughout my current, prescribed, drug withdrawal.
Any thoughts or comments?

Is this moderate or 'write a new text book'?

There's all of this...shit! in my head and I have no idea what to do with it. Not much of it seems to make a whole lot of sense, particularly when considered together.

  One of the big floaters in my brain recently is my total inclination to stop my Lithium and see what happens. I feel like it's not doing anything. I mean, I know it's a mood stabilizer so it's not a true antidepressant, but given the antidepressants I'm on and I'm still depressed, I don't think we're really in need of a mood stabilizer. Why should I take 3 more damn pills (that leave a nasty taste) than I have to? I figure, stop everything and then treat what comes up...
  Which brings me to another point. What is it that's going on anyway? Is this Bipolar? Is this BPD? Is this Major Depressive Disorder?
  What the hell kind of crazy am I?
  I understand that I'm crazy. I'm good with that. Truly. I just want to know what kind of crazy so that we can deal with it better. Cuz the way we're dealing with things now definitely isn't working!! So, to me, it's a natural and reasonable conclusion to draw that we're not dealing with the right things.
 As I mentioned in a previous post, I am incredibly interested in pursuing ECT. I've done quite a bit of research (books, articles, studies, discussions with nurses, etc...) and everything that I have found proves that I'm a good candidate. I have found a local hospital that does it and they work closely with the patient's Psychiatrist for continuity of care which is great. Now, all that remains is to talk to my Psychiatrist. My next appointment, the soonest she had (and they still slipped me in), isn't until Oct. 23rd. It feels like a lifetime away at this point. A lifetime stuck in this....gray. This confusion. This land of unknown. This painless pain.