I'm ok, it's just an article

I was reading an article on how smoking might be a suicide attempt indicator, and feeling that their study seems like b.s., and came across this quote from Paula Clayton, M.D., medical director of the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention in New York City: “Suicide attempts are not a strong risk factor for eventual suicide. In fact, the majority of people who make suicide attempts do not go on to kill themselves.”

I've heard this before, but never really thought too much about it. It's interesting, because I know a lot of people who have attempted suicide (is that weird?) and no one who has actually succeeded. I only know one person who tried it more than once (mom). I think she does it like I did it: self harm gone a little too far. If only she had discovered tattooing. It's great! You can't cut too deep, and you get something pretty out of it instead of an angry red scar.

Anyway, here are some more fascinating statistics on suicide.

It's all Greek to me

"Akathisia, or acathisia, is a syndrome characterized by unpleasant sensations of 'inner' restlessness that manifests itself with an inability to sit still or remain motionless."

I told the doctor yesterday that I couldn't keep my legs still. "I'm moving my foot all the time." He said it was the Zyprexa, but I just looked it up and it's a side effect of the Abilify as well. So I'm twitchy. I can't keep my feet or legs still for a minute. I'm constantly swinging my foot or tapping my toes or stomping. It's weird, but kind of funny at the same time. It's like having a ton of nervous energy that I'm trying to get out.

I'm full, today, but I still want to eat. Why? Because I eat when I'm hyped up in order to calm myself down. But I'm trying to be better about eating so much, so what did I do? I had a Red Bull. I know, I know. I have a caffeine problem. I drink way too much of it, but give me a break. I've gotten rid of the rest of my bad habits. I don't even bite my nails anymore. Let me have my caffeine.

A burden shared

Last night my little 89 year old grandmother pushed her walker up to me, leaned in and said, "You don't have to shoulder this alone. You need help, you just ask for it. Don't worry about money. Stop trying to carry it all by yourself." Except it's cuter when she says it with a British accent.

And she's right. I don't have to carry the load of unemployment and depression all on my own. But I'm really bad at reaching out for help. I've never really done it before. I'm just bad at asking because I believe I can, and should be able to, take care of myself. I'm an adult, right? Adults solve their own problems? Apparently it still takes a village to support an adult.

But I did ask for help. I moved in with my dad. I asked my mom to take the dog and car. I asked my dad to help pay for meds. I didn't hesitate to reach out on any of those fronts. But the depression is just crippling. How do you accept help when you're so low that you don't even know what would help you?

It's funny: my dad leans on his sister and his mom for support. Know how I can tell? Cause the two of them have been trying to help and talking to me about how it's all going to work out all week. Ever since I told my dad I wasn't doing so hot, suddenly his family is all over me. And my aunt just came into town last night. She brought me a good luck charm, too. It's nice to know you have family who care.

Apparently I'm fat for my height

Following on the heels of the last post, I found a whole in depth section on obesity in America from the Washington Post. Check out the scary pictures of what's happening in your body because of fat. If you don't have an eating disorder already, this may give you one.

I have a kind of sick confession to make. I always wished I could be anorexic. We value skinny in America, even though a huge percentage of us are overweight and the average dress size for a woman is 14 (I'm an 8, but according to the health guidelines I should be 2olbs lighter and probably a 4). Really. Check out the health chart. It tells you what you should weigh for your height. So let's check it out:

I'm 5'4" with a probably medium build. According to this I should be between 124 and 138 pounds. I was 138 when I moved here, but with the depression and the Zyprexa lets say I'm probably at 150. So 12 pounds to lose, not so horrible. But to be at the lower range, 124lbs, that's almost 30 pounds. That's insane. I would be a walking skeleton at 124lbs. Who comes up with these numbers? And we wonder why so many young women (and men) have eating disorders.

I figure as long as I still allow myself to order what I feel like having instead of the thing on the menu with the lowest calories, then I'm doing ok. So we got way off topic there, but that's my story. What's yours?

Eat this, not that

Do you ever think that maybe Americans obsession with dietary and nutrition guidelines is what makes us a fat country? I mean, we're all obsessed with food. New dietary guidelines came out today from the gov't. And I think this quote says it all: "And my wife, Christie, and I are now following the guidelines. We have our little sheet every day. We record what we eat. And we are very, very concerned about calories in and calories out."

The other day a friend of mine asked another friend, Crickett, how French women stay so thin. Crickett, whose mom is French, said, "French women don't worry about what they eat. They eat everything, but in moderation." And I believe that's what many other countries do: everything, but in moderation. It's the only way to enjoy life. You can't be focused all the time on how many calories are going in and how many are being burned off (says the girl who is tracking just that with Weight Watchers. I know, I'm a hypocrite, sort of).

Ok, about the hypocrite thing, I track what I eat but I eat what I want. If I want to have a slice of chocolate cake, I do. I just make sure to write it down, and then not eat as much for another meal. I'm not starving myself, believe you me. In fact, I think I eat way too much. This is why my pants don't fit. Well, my pants probably don't fit because I stopped running. Sigh. I need to start running soon. Like Monday.

Dosed up right?

"You seem different today," said my dad as we drove along the snowy highway. "It's definitely different from yesterday."

And I thought for a minute, yeah, I do feel different. I'm not suicidal anymore. I'm not having any kinds of cutting, or even smoking impulses. I feel... better.



It seems like everything kicked in. Or, at least, the Zyprexa did its job. Now, let's hope the Abilify can take over where the Zyprexa left off and keep me happy. I'm worried that he doesn't want me to be on the Abilify forever cause he said it about the Zyprexa. The Abilify is what brought me out of depression last time. It's the only thing that works. I'd rather be on it and nothing else. We'll see what happens in a month when I go back.

Stuffing my face. Again

I.Can't. Stop. Eating.

It's killing me. I've been tracking on Weight Watchers, and I used up all my points by 6pm. What did I eat? Nothing bad for me. Oatmeal, a salad with a little chicken on it, a shit ton of bananas, a bag of broccoli and cauliflower, yogurt, some cheese, and some rolls. Nothing in there screams: I am full of fat and bad calories! But it's the volume at which I'm eating. I'm just constantly eating and eating, even when I just finish something I'm washing the dish and mentally searching the fridge for what I can eat next.

I took the Abilify tonight. Hopefully the Zyprexa will be out of my system tomorrow and I can show a little self control. I have no power over the urge to eat right now. I am powerless over food. Ugh. That's depressing.

I have to go out of town tomorrow until Sunday morning. I'm going where it's snowy and cold, and flat and boring: Ohio. I have nothing against people who live there, but it's one of the states I would never want to live in and sure as hell wouldn't visit on purpose. It's not a vacation kinda state. I'm going for a conference of sorts, that will be good networking for me. But they'll feed us all day long, and at this rate I'll be eating really gross and heavy foods in bulk instead of sticking with the good for you foods I'm eating now. I'm so hoping this insatiable hunger goes away before then.

I probably won't write on Saturday unless they have free WiFi at the hotel.

No baby boom here

I was just having an email conversation with someone on Facebook and complimented her on how adorable her daughter was. She thanked me, and the conversation went on, but it led my thoughts in another direction: I don't think I want kids.

I bat that idea around all the time, but I am starting to think that it's really true. I mean, when my cousin's son was little I hated having to babysit. I just didn't know what to do with him. Of course, I was 16 and crazy at the time, but I think it is a character part of me. I just am not interested in small children. I don't particularly find it fulfilling to be around them. They just distract from conversation. Is that harsh?

I imagine a life without kids could be lonely. I hope to get married, or partnered, or whatever someday. I would like to share my life with another adult, but kids... I just don't think so. If it suddenly happened I don't know that I would say no, but I wouldn't seek out kids.

Does that make me less of a grown up?

Sanity comes with a price tag

"Well, would you rather be sane and fat or psychotic again?"

That's the first time he's used the word psychotic. He used it again later in the conversation in reference to how I was the last time I saw him, exactly a week ago. Suicidal, having delusions of things out to get me, anxious, depressed, amped, and crawling out of my skin. Psychotic. It hadn't occurred to me that it could have gotten that far. I mean, I wasn't jumping off the balcony, but I was thinking about it a lot. I wasn't seeing ghosts, yet. But he called me psychotic. He's the doctor.

"I'd rather not be fat," I said. "I lost 40lbs last year and I feel like the Zyprexa has made me gain 10 back. I can't fit into my pants. It's going to make me depressed."

So, we compromised: back on the Abilify. He had some in the magic closet, so I got a months worth of free stash. I start tonight; out with the Zyprexa. The Abilify before didn't cause any side effects and it almost immediately popped me out of that depression, so I'm hoping it keeps me moving in the right direction. And that I'll stop with this insane craving to eat; to chew. It really is a compulsion that I can't control. I start to shake if I don't eat for 2 hours or longer. I've just been grazing for days, like a goat. Bloated goat.

"Ok, I'll see you in three weeks, but you call me if anything happens, ok?"

Did you know that without insurance it's $85 for a 15 minute visit to your psychiatrist? I think that's on the cheap side, too. But hell, it's less than what I would pay for that much Abilify.

"Thanks, doc."

Pop another pill

This is totally how I'm feeling. A little more Zyprexa, maybe convince the doc I need some Valium for the panic attacks. A little something to get me through this. I'm just feeling awful.

Well, that's not true. I didn't have an attack yesterday, and I actually left the house for meditation with Adam. I didn't freak out or anything. I feel... flat. I'm still agitated, but less so. My head is killing me, too. I wish I could just feel better.

Hiring time

I've had two more interviews in the past 24 hours, which I think brings me up to 17 or 18 interviews in the 4 months I've been unemployed. That has to be some kind of record. I mean, really, that many interviews and no offers whatsoever? Perhaps my interview skills are crappy. I thought they were pretty good. Maybe I need to come up with better questions to ask people.

One of the interviews was a second interview with a place up north. It's a premier organization, and I would really like to work for them. About moving: I thought about it, and I would love to move again. I really don't have much here but family and Adam, and I ignore most of my family because they drive me nuts. The longer I'm here the more I remember why I moved 3,000 miles away in the first place.

To tell the truth

"No, really, how are you?" he asks again.

"How am I? I'm stuck living with my dad in a cramped apartment full of his stuff (he's a bit of a collector), he's moving it all around to get ready to lay down new floors and he keeps coming into my room and moving shit. I have no privacy. I'm a thirty year-old woman with no privacy.

I'm living on the support of the state through unemployment because it's been 5 months and I can't seem to find a job. It doesn't matter that I've had 17 interviews at this point; no one seems to want to hire me, and I feel like my brain is wasting away.

My med situation is all fucked up, and now I've got these awesome side effects like weight gain, bloating, and serious irritability. I'm irritable. I'm angry. I'm scared that nothing is going to change and I'm going to be right where I am this time next year. I'll never get on my feet again. I know it's not true: something has to give. But I'm fucking miserable. All the gratitude lists and positive thinking in the world can suck it. My life sucks. And I can't fucking stop eating.

That's how I feel."

"You're better this week," he says. "You've got a fight in you you didn't have before." Right. Cause I'm at least not suicidal. I'm just angry.

Smack, smack, pop

I hate chewing gum. There's nothing enjoyable about it for me. In fact, it kind of hurts. See, I have TMJ also, which causes your jaw to click when you eat or yawn (and in big, crazy French-kissing). It's annoying, but doesn't cause too much pain. Anyway, it's aggravated by chewing, so chewing gum is nothing but an annoyance.

But I'm doing it anyway. I have to stop eating. I told myself today I was going to be good and not eat so much, but then off I went and ate just as much as any other day. It's just little things; one after the other. I haven't had a proper meal since last Thursday when I went over to my mom's house.

So I bought some gum, and here I am chewing away. I like blowing bubbles, and thank God I'm alone here or I wouldn't be able to blow them. It's kind of rude to do in public, I think. Gum chewing is just gross in general. Chew, chew, chew, smack, smack, smack. Ugh. But perhaps it will keep me from eating something else, although my mind is already wandering the store looking for something to eat.

Hashtag, not hashbrowns

I'm finally learning to use Twitter to it's fullest potential, and I have to say, it's a really neat thing. Last night I got to participate in a "chat" with people from all over the world just by following a hashtag (Tuesday nights follow #mhsm) about mental health. Someone started the conversation (NAMIMass), and we talked about the portrayal of mentally ill folks on tv.

Right now, someone started a conversation on stigma. He asked everyone to come out to the Twitter community and say how they struggle with mental illness. It's #whatstigma if you want to follow it. People all over the world are expressing their diagnosis and opening up to the community. It's really an amazing thing to see.

Read me

Book review in the New York Times today for a new memoir called "Henry's Demons." It follows a family through their sons' diagnosis with schizophrenia. In the review, they quote one part of the book as saying, “Jan and I were upset, but we both thought cannabis was fairly harmless. It wasn’t until Henry was in the hospital that we learned of its possible devastating impact on somebody genetically predisposed to schizophrenia.”

Wait a minute. Are they saying they think smoking pot can bring on schizophrenia? I'm sure it doesn't do anything good for a developing brain, especially one prone to mental illness. There is some research out there on pot and schizophrenia. So I guess it is a statement that has truth behind it. I always wondered what all those drugs did to my bipolar....
"
Another interesting thing in the review, the author is quoted as saying, “We, as a family, will always have to cope with the consequences of his schizophrenia. But that, after all, is what families are for.”

Ponder that one.

Wittle the middle

I've been looking all morning and I can't find anything on bloating because of lithium, unless it's written in a chat format. I know other people must have this side effect, too. The bloating yesterday was absolutely out of control. My stomach was completely distended and my hands were puffy. I couldn't even fit in my shirts!

I woke up this morning and my abdomen was back to normal. I swear I lost 5 pounds overnight. I'm totally bloating back up as I stand here, though. I can feel it in my fingers. I am not digging this side effect at all. Of course, I just ate pretzel sticks, which can't be good for me; all that salt.

Am trying not to eat all day today. It's hard to convince myself I don't need to eat when I'm starving to death over here. I had a muffin, a banana, pretzel sticks, and a wedge of cheese and I feel so incredibly hungry! I know I shouldn't be. I wish I had woken up earlier and had cereal. Might have lasted longer than that little muffin did.

The grocery store temps me....

Bloated goat

Julie and I went over some of the characteristics of mania and depression again tonight. "Sounds like mania, a little, but you have some of the depressive qualities, too. Maybe it's the meds?" she said. I don't know. I've been feeling agitated since before I started on the meds. Thursday was my first panic, and I didn't start the new meds till Thursday at bed time.

So what is it? Do I have to put a label on how I feel? Can I just say I feel extremely agitated, irritable, ansty, unnerved, like everyone can see just how messed up I am. I feel like I can't stop eating no matter how much I don't want to eat any more. I feel bloated to incredible proportions. I just feel sick. By all accounts I sound and look just fine. "You actually look much better rested this week," said Julie. Probably the awesome catatonia I fall into at night on the Zyprexa.

I want off the lithium already. I don't want to go back to doing monthly blood work and being a bloated goat, eating everything in sight. Can't I just go back on the lamictal? It has a generic, right? I think it was still $100 at CVS. I need to price these things out. And what the hell is the Celexa doing? It's the antidepressant, and I suppose I'm not suicidal anymore, but that could be the Zyprexa. Jesus. If I can't tell and I'm with me all the time, how is the doc supposed to figure it out in 15 minutes?

Alright, Phil. I'm counting on you

So tomorrow is Groundhog day and I'm hoping little Phil brings with him some good news. I, personally, love the snow and don't mind the longer winters at all, but let's use Phil as a gauge on how I'm going to feel this spring.

My aunt sent me an email. "I know it is taking every thing you have to keep it together. Only a few more days, the medicine will begin to work and it will be looking better. Tomorrow is groundhog day and I am sure that little critter will say that winter is coming to an end."

Finally, someone that understands. It seems like everyone else is expecting me to hold it together, and she actually acknowledges that it's taking every fiber of my being to not break down completely. And I've made my dad a worried mess, now. I knew I shouldn't have told him how I was feeling, and I even left out the suicidal ideation part.

I yelled at Adam earlier because he said I was "bullheaded" and "don't reach out for help." I call shennanigans. I asked my dad for help buying the meds that came too late; I got a therapist, that's help; I got on meds as soon as possible, that's help. What other help could I possibly ask for? He's "detaching with love" or whatever, so it's not like I'm heaping my burdens on him or anyone else. I don't ask for what I don't need. I don't need him worrying about if I'm going to kill myself. That's psychic energy he could be using to keep himself on track.

I am bad at reaching out, but I've done it this time. Things just, still, didn't work out the way I had hoped. Instead, I've got all this anxious energy to deal with and no outlet except eating. I should really go to the gym (If I keep saying it, will it come true?).

Are these someone else's pants?

Ok, seriously, it's not funny anymore. I put on my jeans from yesterday and I swear they're a size smaller. I can barely get my ass in them, and there's no room whatsoever to maneuver. I used to be able to put my entire hand in the front of my pants; that's how much room I had. And that was 2 months ago, tops. What the hell?

So what do I do after putting on the pants? I eat, of course. Why am I gaining weight? Because I just can't stop shoveling food into my face. I need to just stop eating for a month and get my pants back to where I can sit here comfortably. My dad is nagging me about going to the gym, but I just don't have the mental energy to execute that. Just getting to the interview and back wiped me out, and now I have to find some energy to get to therapy.

I get back from therapy around 7:30. Maybe I'll try to work out then? I'll think about it. Maybe just thinking about it will help.

As for the anxiety: it has got to stop. I am a complete and utter mess; dancing that thin line between amped and complete and total mental breakdown. I feel like I'm going to lose it. I don't know if it's me or the meds. I had that panic on Thursday last, before I went to the doctor, and it's just getting worse. So maybe it's me. Meds do take a long time to kick in, usually, so we'll see what the doc wants me to do.

Give a dog a bone

My aunt just called. She and my dad were talking about me, and then he handed over the phone. "I hear you're in a rough patch?" Yep. I'd call it a rough patch. "Did the old meds work better for you?" she asks. I think so. I mean, I was on them for a while and everything was just normal. I wasn't depressed until I went off the Abilify, and I didn't hit suicidal till I was off the other two. So I guess they were working well.

"Why don't you just tell your doctor you want to go back on the others. Don't worry about cost. We just need to get you on the right meds for you. We'll figure out the money."

I want to cry out, "Too late!" You can't just go back on a cocktail and hope it works like it used to. Chemistry is an ever-changing beast. Who knows if it would help. And I'm not one for accepting charity. I can't let them pay $1,000 for meds for me. I need to figure this one out.

Is that stupid? I want to be on the right meds for me, too, but I don't want to put anyone out. I'm going crazy with the anxiety, though. I'm meeting again with the doctor on Thursday and hopefully we can pin down which one needs to go. I'm hoping the lithium goes, cause I hate the tremors.

Grip the wheel

The world is so big and bright; so many moving pieces and parts. The cockpit of the car is gigantic. I slide in and try to make a little space for myself behind the steering wheel. Breathe. Breathe. Find radio station.

I don't know where I'm going. The GPS shouts out directions and, even though I'm going below the speed limit, I miss my turn, again. I circle back. There has to be an easier way. I'd never find my way here in the dark. I can barely find my way in the light.

A panel; great. The 5 of them sit there, looking at me, asking those stupid interview questions everyone asks. They present scenarios and ask me what I would do. I answer as best I can, but I'm shaking. "Um, and then, um," I stumble. I can't get my sentences together. I'm still shaking.

The parking lot has ice on it. GPS back on. Home, Jeeves. The cockpit breathes in and swells; it's too big in here. There's no way this car is fitting in a lane. Breathe, breathe.

My fingers are swollen, rings don't fit. I'm nervous, full of anxiety. Energy, but not the kind that is going to get me to the gym. So I eat. Fill my face with cereal and peanut butter. Make it go away.

Adequate care doesn't sound good

"More than 26 percent of American adults have a diagnosable mental health disorder, but of those, only 33 percent are receiving care, according to data from the National Institute of Mental Health. And of that number, one-third is receiving treatment that is considered only minimally adequate." (Emphasis mine.)

I am really horrible at math, but if 1/3 of people with mental illness are receiving care, and only 1/3 of that number is getting care that meets the "adequate" standard, then we have a huge problem here. That's a lot of people without any care, and lots of people getting substandard care.

I wonder how we compare to other countries. According to @Skypilotofhope Canada spends 5% of the GDP on mental health, while European countries spend 14%. I can't find any good numbers for what the U.S. spends, but I'm sure it's close to nothing. Just try and go out and get mental health care here. It's impossible if you don't have the money for it. Therapy for me is $30 a week, and that's the rate for unemployed people. Most people don't have the luxury of spending that much.

And meds. Meds! We already had this discussion, but I'll say it again: $967 for 3 months of three drugs is still insane. I can not afford that. No one can, unless you're wracking up credit card debt to pay for sanity. And that was the price of drugs shipped from Canada. You don't even want to know what the local pharmacy was trying to charge me.

There's just no way to get mental health coverage in this country without having health insurance, and they don't have to cover you if you have a pre-existing condition. So where are you then? You're here in the boat with me. taking the meds that have the most side effects but are at a reduced cost ($300 for 3 months). You're seeking out nonprofit assistance for therapy and getting seen by therapists in training because they're cheaper. You're fighting tooth and nail not to have to be hospitalized, because that just wouldn't be financially possible.

What a mess.

Damsels in distress

Interesting article on the portrayal of crazy in women on the big screen. Asked why male audiences might be drawn to "crazy chicks," the quote was, “I think it has to do with the Sir Lancelot feeling. Men might be more attracted to someone who has a degree of helplessness: being crazy is being helpless.”



Ah, yes, weak and helpless. I hate that description. Granted, that's sure how I feel when I'm depressed: weak and useless, like I can't even raise my body out of bed. So yes, there's some grain of truth in it, but I don't have to like being seen as helpless. There are plenty of things I can and actually do do for myself, even when I'm depressed. I am never helpless, I am just sometimes useless.

What's the difference? I think helpless is not being able to fend for yourself, and useless is the act of not doing anything for yourself. I'm perfectly capable, I'm just not going to do it because I'm depressed.

Do you like being rescued? I used to rescue my mom all the time from stuff, and Adam would tag along. I remember the first time he came and helped out. My mom went missing and I had to call the police and file a report. He and my roommate Calvin decided they would stay with me. I told them to go - again, I was perfectly capable of handling the situation - but he told me no. He wanted to be there with me. I really appreciated the support. I had never had anyone help me before. From then on, he was there for a lot of the mess. I let myself become dependent on his help. I let myself become a damsel in distress.

I wonder if that was part of the draw for him. Maybe that's where he's going with this detached love bit. He's trying not to get involved and rescue me. Huh. Interesting thought.

I totally lost the thread of this post, now that I'm thinking about Adam, so you'll just have to come to your own conclusions.

The irresistable urge to eat

I think the Zyprexa is giving me Binge Eating Disorder. I can not stop eating. Even while I'm eating I'm thinking about what I'm going to eat next. I just finished eating a roll and now I'm looking over the fridge in my head to see what's next. I should be full - I had an apple right before that, and I had a sandwich 3 hours ago - but I'm not. I just have an insatiable need to eat. Nothing is satisfying.

I thought maybe it was thirst, so I drank a liter of water and 3 cups of coffee. Nothing. Still feels like hunger to me. This is the mighty secret of Zyprexa. It gives you an eating disorder. It messes with that little cue system in your brain that says you're full. Even my dad commented on my eating. "That's why people gain 12 pounds in 12 days." Right he is.

And the silly thing is, I know I'm not hungry, but I can't keep myself away from food. There's an incredible gravitational pull towards the kitchen. I am powerless over it. I must eat. I don't like feeling out of control like this.

Yesterday and the day before I was using the Weight Watchers tool to track what I was eating, but today I gave up. I already know I'm overeating. I don't know how to stop it. So, I'm making a giant bowl of vegetables. At least I'm getting good food in.

But hey, at least I'm not suicidal anymore! I just traded one demon for another.

The weird wide web

You ever notice how there are a lot of really crazy people out there? I've been trolling around lately looking at other people's blogs, and I've found some super crazy people. Like conspiracy theory, aliens abducted you kind of crazy, all writing about their mental illnesses. I'm not going to link to any of them here, cause I don't want to endorse some of the very strange things I've found on the web.

But I have also found a great number of good blogs written by people whose heads are still on their shoulders, at least. Check out my blogroll for some new people. Twitter also has a "discussion" every Tuesday night at 9 under the hashtag #mhsm. A good spot for finding new voices and seeing what's going on in the community.

Oh so lonely

Got this from Steph over at the Princess's Daily Life. Good blog, if you haven't seen it. I'm not identifying with the lonely feeling today. I'm a little too amped to feel lonely.

Luckily I can see without my contacts

Since I was so late this morning, I forgot to pack diet Cokes. Not a problem, right, cause I work in a grocery store? Right, but I keep spending everything I earn on snacks while I'm working. So I'm debating whether or not to buy one. I just drank a Slim Fast shake thingy that was in the cooler and it wasn't half bad. I feel like I'm still hungry, though. I also chugged a huge thing of water, and I still feel thirsty. Nothing is satisfying.

I think I'm speeding up. I still don't have the energy to do the simple things, like brush my teeth or put my contacts in, but my leg keeps tapping to imaginary music. Shake, shake, shake, goes my leg. And my legs are heavy. Walking up the stairs to the meeting last night was a difficult feat.

I've had the urge to cut today, but it's a weird urge. It doesn't have a natural progression of thought to action or even passing thought to obsession. It's just there, sitting in my brain saying hello. It's just the feeling of needing a quick punch in the arm. It's not tattoo pain I want, it's just quick and dirty.

Give a girl a drink

I am so thirsty. It's like a desert in here and I'm crawling towards the water hole, griping the sand with my fingernails and pulling with all my might. I am so thirsty.

Because it's what I do, I started Googling side effects to see which one is causing the thirst. I was betting on lithium, and I think I'm right. Side effects are:

- thirst

- frequent urination

- weight gain

- mild hand tremors

And guess who's lucky and has all of those? I have to pee constantly, even when I'm not drinking any fluids at all. So this morning I chugged a few bottles of water and some coffee, but I'm still standing here thirsty as hell and worried about eating. They say people often mistake the thirst cues for hunger. Of course, if you're taking in tons of salts (lithium is a salt) and not enough water, then you're going to be thirsty.

I've already eaten yogurt, cereal, cheese, and a Twix bar and I've only been up for 2 and a half hours. And I'm salivating. I think it might be thirst, but look at all the food I've eaten, too. No wonder it causes weight gain.

Syrup head is a great name for a band

Are your kids stealing your prescription meds and having "Skittle parties?" Apparently, prescription drug abuse by kids is on the rise and some people are claiming that kids get together and have parties where they share the drugs they've stolen from your medicine cabinet in order to get high. "The U.S. Department of Health and Human Services (HHS) reports that nearly 3 million teenagers and young adults (those aged 12 to 25) become new abusers of prescription drugs."

I don't think my parents were on any drugs when I was a kid, except for my moms thyroid medication. It never tempted me for some reason. I'm sure if I had access to other pills I would have thought about taking them. I was having too much fun with illegal drugs to worry about prescriptions.

Later on, of course, I discovered how much fun abusing prescription drugs could be. Need a good days rest? Take some Ativan. Have a test to study for? A little Adderall will help. Hell, Adderall is good for everything: from studying to partying.

I love this quote:
"a police officer or a drug counselor who asserts that the soirees take place or have heard young drug-heads talking about them. Given such stringent evidentiary standards, it's a wonder that preschool teachers aren't claiming that unicorns are real, too."

Mental health screening

What would have happened in your life had you been diagnosed with mental illness earlier? I was lucky to have been diagnosed and begun treatment in my early teens, but most people don't get treatment until their 20s. So how would your life have been better?

There's a movement brewing to get mental health testing in schools. From Pete Earley's blog: "David L. Shern, Ph.D, the president and CEO of Mental Health America, made a statement that I found interesting.

Half of all people with a mental health diagnosis first experience it by age fourteen, but will not receive treatment until age twenty-four…Just as we have tests for hearing and vision, we need to have mental health check-ups with effective follow-up to reduce the prevalence and disability associated with these developmental disorders."

There's also apparently a movement against testing.

Earley also points us to a link for Mental Health First Aid.

Screening and first aid sound good on the outset, but what if it just creates more stigma? What if people start identifying mental illness everywhere? You get what you look for, you know? And teenagers are all mentally ill. It's part of the process. With kids who are obviously ill these kinds of programs can surely help them get help, but what about the ones who wobble the line of angsty teen vs bipolar? Will this start us on a path of drugging more kids? We don't even know how the meds effect adults long-term, let alone how meds effect a growing body.

You also have to worry about our litigious culture. What if a teacher identifies a student as possibly having a mental illness and the parents sue for "branding" their child? Or will these children be moved into special classrooms? What if it just creates a whole new load of stigma?

Education is better than ignorance, though, so I'm pulling for mental health screenings in schools and teacher training to identify these things. I think I would rather know something is up with my child than have it hit me out of the blue one day.

Follow that rabbit

I'm never late to anything. In fact, I'm one of those people who shows up a half an hour early to everything, waiting in your driveway with my radio on, killing time. I leave room for error when going to new places, and old. Waiting is my specialty.

And then this week happened. I've been late to work every day this week, sometimes by as much as half an hour. And my commute is literally 10 floors of a building. There is no excuse except for the near catatonia I've been in during sleep lately. I've been completely zonked out, but I wake up knowing I was dreaming; something was happening in a story line.

I wish I could remember my dreams, but I know they're troubling. I don't wake up refreshed and ready to go. I wake up confused, late, and panicking. I don't like that feeling one bit.

What does NAMI know about it?

Damn. Julie just sent me an email with some side effect stuff and told me I should really look into the effects of caffeine on lithium production in the body. I think she's trying to get me to stop drinking so much coffee. So, I headed over to NAMI to see what they think.

"Avoid excessive intake of caffeinated beverages, such as coffee, tea, cola or energy drinks, since these may decrease levels of lithium and decrease effectiveness of the medication."

Aw, seriously? Lithium really works against everything else, doesn't it? I wonder if it's the caffeine that's causing the panic attacks and the shakes? I suppose there's no way to tell. What I'll have to do is just start drinking more water and less diet Coke. They say not to change the sodium levels in your diet when taking lithium, because that can effect the dosage, but cutting out one or two diet Cokes will hopefully be for the best, she says as she reaches for the cold one at her feet.

Detatchment with love

Adam came over to give me a hug and see how I was doing. As he left, he told me he was "detaching with love." Ok, I've heard that before, but it is normally used as a synonym for loving you from a distance, no?

"We take responsibility for ourselves; we allow others to do the same. We detach with the understanding that life is unfolding exactly as it needs to, for others and ourselves. The way life unfolds is good, even when it hurts."

Right, so it's letting go of the other person and letting the chips fall where they may. It means he's been talking about me at therapy. He was saying how he's worried about me, but he's not going to take it on. "You can call me, you know." I know. But it's so hard to reach out to anyone. I don't know what to say; don't know what I need.

I was wary of physical contact when he said he was coming over. I feel so weird right now and I didn't think I could handle touch. It wasn't bad. I felt a little more relaxed, and he made me laugh a few times. I'm glad he didn't stay too long, though. I don't really feel up to interactions.

What the hell am I going to do on Tuesday during the interview? I hope I can pull it together by then.

Waiting for the drugs to kick in

Adam just called and asked if I wanted to go to a meeting with him in half an hour. I would like to see him, but I had to decline. I couldn't even keep my voice steady on the phone, let alone in public. I'm just shaky all over the place. I feel so unstable. He asked if I was still suicidal, and I have to say I haven't had any thoughts of it lately. I've just been afraid of stuff.

There was a spider in the shower, a daddy-long-legs, which wasn't going to hurt me, but I got him down the drain anyway. And then I kept thinking he was going to come back up and attack me, so I couldn't turn my back on the drain. I'm just super amped up and anxious and I think being out in public is going to make it worse. I need to hide. He wants to come say hi anyway, which should be interesting.

I took 5mg of Zyprexa (I've been on 10 at night and 2.5 in the morning, but he said I could up it as I see fit) a minute ago. I'm hoping that will kick in and do something. I also had something to eat which sometimes calms me down, but it doesn't appear to have worked in this situation. What I really want is a Twix bar, don't ask me why.

Don't panic

Panic attacks have a huge list of fun symptoms, all of which I've felt today. I'm just super anxious. It can be caused by the meds, or by the depression, or just as part of my regular old anxiety disorder, but it's pretty big right now. I can't get over the anxious feeling.

I took a nice warm shower and that helped some, but I'm still shaking. I can't keep my hands still (which is making typing fun). That can be a side effect of the meds, too, or the anxiety.

I hate panic attacks. Just that feeling that you're shrinking and everything around you is so big and overwhelming. The feeling that you're a freak and everyone can see how much you're shaking and sweating. Your voice raises and you talk too fast, not making any sense at all. It burns just to be where people can see you, like a vampire in the noon-day sun.

Normally right now I would be chain-smoking. I would be sitting somewhere with a cup of coffee smoking cigarette after cigarette until the feeling went away. Instead, I'm here, sitting on my bed typing away. I want to take more Zyprexa and have it all go away, but I think I have to help my dad get my grandma from the airport. I don't know if I can face that. I don't know if I can handle being in the car. And then he'll want to go over to my cousin's house and hang out, which I just can't face doing. I can't face talking to people right now.

But how to make him understand? How do you explain to someone just how paralyzing anxiety can be? I suppose there's no way to make him understand. I'm just going to have to stand my ground and say no, I can't go out. He'll be disappointed, but he's going to have to get over it. I can't leave the house. I shouldn't have left the house in the first place.

I'm working myself up again. Time to medicate.

Driving myself to the brink

Wow, I am a hot mess. I knew I shouldn't have opened my mouth. I was sitting there feeling panic coming on; hands shaking, heart pounding, stomach acids churning. But I did it anyway. We had just read a story in the Big Book called Crossing the River of Denial, about a woman who realized there was no point in continuing to drink. In there, she says, after losing her job, "thank goodness I was sober or I probably would have killed myself."

So I opened up to the group. "I lost my job four months into my sobriety, and like this woman, I think I would be dead if I weren't sober." I was shaking, my eye twitching, my heart pounding. I don't know what else I said, but I could barely get anything sensible out. I made it short.

This seems to happen every time I open my mouth and talk about anything except how much something costs or whether the newspaper was delivered this morning. I can do work in the store, but I can't talk to anyone else about anything else without bringing on a panic attack.

On the drive home, I knew I shouldn't be driving. I could feel the car expanding around me: the cockpit was becoming large enough for a giant. It was just me and the steering wheel. Everything else was moving farther away from me. Then a bus pulled up behind me and passed to the left. It was so big! The bus just overwhelmed me even in my gigantic car.

I made it to the parking garage. Oh, God, now I have to back in to the tight space. Breathe, breathe. I did it. I shouldn't have been driving. I wanted to stay for another meeting but my dad needs the car. I feel like I should just take another Zyprexa and call it a night.

Don't cut our budget

In the late nineties, early 2000's I worried a lot about hospital bed availability. My mom was constantly in need of one, and it seems that she was always able to find a place just for a night. I never really worried that they take her in; she was always dripping blood by the time it came to that, but I always knew they would release her before anything good could come of that visit. She was homeless and unable to pay anything, and so she would usually just stay overnight. She was never stable when she left.

And now more states are cutting mental health funding so there will be less places for people like her to go. "Budgets for mental health services in some 30 states were slashed an average of almost $19 million in 2009 and more than $24 million in 2010." That's hundreds of beds gone, nurses out of work, and mentally ill people still out on the streets with no where to go to get stabilized.

I don't know what's happening with cuts in our area, but I'm sure it's a lot different than it was. Just look at all the buzz in Texas about cutting their mental health services, again. Lots of states are following that trend, even after the tragedy in Arizona brought mental illness back into the light.

Where do the acutely mentally ill go when they're released prematurely or can't get in to treatment? They go back to families who can't handle them, back to suffering in silence, and often back to the streets.

That's where my mom would go. Back out to the streets or into housing my family paid for, when she could tolerate housing. Luckily, we had the resources to help her. But what about people without resources? Who've alienated their families, or have no family? Without the help of the government, these people end up homeless, in jail, or dead.

So go ahead and cut the mental health budgets. See what happens. Don't say I didn't warn you.

Zyprexa wants me to gain weight

I can feel my body pushing up against my jeans, wanting to burst out the other side. All around the hips the pants are pushing in and up, making burbles of fat roll over my waistline. I swear these pants used to fit. I wore them last week and they weren't this tight. I have a serious problem, here. If these pants don't fit, what about all my work pants?

It's only been 3 days on the Zyprexa and already I can't stop eating. I feel fatter by the moment.

"The average weight gain for an adult or adolescent patient on Zyprexa is 20 pounds in three months. Some patients have put on as much as 60 pounds. 90% of patients on Zyprexa not only put on weight, but on excessive weight." Read that again. See it? 90%. 90. That's almost everyone. Makes me want to give up now.

They use Zyprexa for anorexics because it makes you eat (and, of course, it does other good things). It's like smoking pot and getting the munchies. You don't know what you want, but you'll try a taste of everything just to see if it's good, and then you can't go wasting it....

I wish I could say I didn't care, and just let it do it's thing, but I do care. I don't want to gain weight. Again, we're back to square one: exercise. I can't eat any better, since I'm living on good foods (and the occasional ice cream sandwich or kit kat), but I can exercise. God, just thinking about it is exhausting.

Sleep the day away

Lying there in my near catatonic state the other night, I heard my dad come in to my room, lean over, and turn off the light by my bed. I knew he was there, but there was no way I could have the energy to say thank you. I woke up late the next day, dashing out of my room to get to work, and there he was, still sitting in his recliner. The poor man has insomnia.

He's been awake for three days on around 5 hours of sleep. He sits in his recliner and reads the paper or watches old movies on the movie channel. He waits for sleep to come and it never does.

On the other side of the apartment there's me with hypersomnia. All I can do is sleep. I wake up only to feed, and then I'm back down, sunk into my comforter.

Both insomnia and hypersomnia have nasty side effects, from heart disease to relationship problems. We're a mess of sleep disorders here at my house. I know mine is med and depression related, but who knows what's wrong with dad.

Boring myself

Yesterday I was fighting the nausea and working full-time to keep upright. It was a zombie attack, leading me to sleep the entire day away. And then came today. Today, I've got a little manic energy going on. I can't stop tapping my foot. Tap, tap, tap, go my toes. I'm wandering around the store looking for things to do, and new things to eat. I just want to chew. I don't feel full at all, and I've eaten 2 of those oatmeal bars already.

I can't think enough to think if I feel depressed, still. I'm just here on the surface. I have no feelings. I'm shaky. My nose is stuffy from the Celexa.

Tap, tap, tap. There's nothing on the internet. I could delve into the news, but the world is on fire and falling apart and I want nothing to do with it right now. So what to do with myself? I think I'll check all the laundry tags and make sure everything is priced. Exciting!

Om

Meditation is said to be good for your brain. "The researchers report that those who meditated for about 30 minutes a day for eight weeks had measurable changes in gray-matter density in parts of the brain associated with memory, sense of self, empathy and stress."

Part of AA's suggestions are that you pray and meditate. It's tough, at first, to quiet your brain down, but you're not looking for a perfectly silent brain. In meditation, it's all about sitting quietly and noticing what your body is doing. Concentrating on the breathe, breathing in and out slowly.

There are a ton of guided meditation links and podcasts out there. Some are as simple as listening to rain drops fall or ocean waves. Others are people discussing aspects of life and asking you to relax as you follow along. One of the people I like for meditating is Tara Brach for meditating. She's funny, and tells some good stories. I also like listening to American Indian drums. I haven't found a good website yet, but there are some podcasts out there.

Meditation is a great way to just calm down when you're too far up. Of course, that's the hardest thing to do when you're agitated; stop and be calm. I know I have tons of trouble just getting myself to sit still sometimes. But you can do it. It's good to develop a practice, even if it's just 5 minutes in your car listening to your breathing before you get out and go to work. Or standing in line somewhere, just breath slowly and clean your mind. Meditating doesn't mean you have to have candles lit and a comfortable mat to lie on, though that helps.

I'm late, I'm late!

The snow is crisp out on the vacant lot across from my building. Someone has built a snowman on the tennis courts below. All is quiet on a Sunday morning. And I'm late, again.

I jump out of bed and throw on the first sweater I find in the pile; and there's a pile. My clothes, freshly washed, lie in their hamper and across the bed, waiting to be put away. They've been there for days. Rushing into the kitchen, I grab my purse and find my keys on the counter. Stop. Go back to the bedroom and grab my meds. Can't forget those precious tidbits. Out the door I fly; 11 floors down and into the belly of the building.

Dark. I open the doors, grab the newspapers from the loading dock next door, and turn on the lights. Please don't let there be cockroaches, I think. I check the clock: 9:15. I hope he's not watching the video tapes to see when this place opens. I've been late a few days now. No one would know but me, since I'm the only one here, but I feel guilty all the same.

It's not like me to be late. I'm never late for things. I'm always too early - getting there before the hostess is ready. And now, I'm just so tired. My dreams are vivid, disturbing. I want to cry out but I wake up instead. And then it's late.

I ran out without breakfast, and now everything here looks good. I find a granola bar in my purse and proceed to gnaw it down. Not the same as a real breakfast. And I'm here till 2. What can I eat? Why does my jaw insist on chewing constantly? I must find something. Pretzels: too salty for a lithium body? Oatmeal squares: I could eat 5. My banana is too raw.

So I sit here, hungry, lonely, tired. Waiting for release. My leg twitches to a beat of it's own. Tap, tap, tapping away. I'm antsy.