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.

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.

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?).

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.

A new regimen

"Medications work differently in each person, and it takes considerable time to determine in any particular case whether a given drug is effective at all, since bipolar disorder is by nature episodic.... Many doctors emphasize that patients should not expect full stabilization for at least 3–4 weeks (some antidepressants, for example, take 4–6 weeks to take effect)...."

Met with the doctor this afternoon, and almost had a panic attack in his office. My heart was racing, I was biting my fingernails, and I felt like I was going to cry at any second. "You're holding it together really well. You sound fine - you make sense." And then I started talking faster. I mentioned my recent studies of metro car physics and homicidal drain spouts. "I want you to take something for a bit just to get you to a normal place, but take it with the new meds we're going to pick. Now, what do I have in here."

He opened the magic closet (where everything is free), and there wasn't enough Abilify to go around, so we settled on what he had a lot of: Zyprexa. The dreaded, make-you-gain-12-pounds-in-12-minutes, Zyprexa. "I don't care," I thought, "I'll do it. Anything to feel better." Zyprexa also has a reputation as a fast acting machine, capable of destroying the manic in minutes. Well, not minutes, but you get it. So I made a deal with the devil: I'll trade my vanity for sanity.

"Now, cheap. Well, you have a few options: Tegretol, Paxil, Celexa, lithium, mostly. You don't want Paxil. Have you tried lithium? Let's do lithium and Celexa."

"But I was on Celexa once (I remember, that's what college gave me), and I think I stopped taking it cause it made me sick."

"Well, that was a long time ago, and it's cheap. What about lithium?"

"Took it in high school, but I was doing so many drugs at the same time that I wasn't really med compliant. I don't know if if works for me."

"Let's find out. You'll have to get blood tests, but lithium is $10."

So I made another deal: go back on the old drugs which could kill me with their toxicity, in favor or saving money.

God help me.

What's in a name?

"By its very nature," Dr Phelps tells us, "bipolar disorder is a problem of cyclic changes in mood and energy."

Well, I'm not buzzing out of my skin today, I think thanks in part to the 2 days of Seroquel. I didn't take it today because I kind of want to be raw for tomorrows meeting with the doc. Is that silly? Probably. It's brought me to a nice, even level where I just want to kill myself and I'm having "pauses" in thought, instead of racing so much I can't gather a single thought.

I've been researching bipolar a lot today. I fit, and don't fit, a lot of the criteria. It's never taken over my life, I don't think. I've been out of control, but.... I was going to say never hurt anyone. I think that's a lie, though. I can get pretty physical, especially during blackouts or when I'm feeling high. My impulse control just lapses and I end up kicking people, so I hear. I used to smash stuff when I was a kid as anger management. Maybe I should go back to doing that.

I've been thinking, too, about all the crap I'm angry about. Deep down in there, there's one pissed off, rabid little spirit. Did I tell you all about the time I saw her? I was doing some meditation for therapy, and she was so scary I had a panic attack just looking at her. I had to have the therapist stop the session. I suppose at some point I'm going to have to deal with that, but I think being on meds makes it easy to just "chill."

I've come to acknowledge that I'm a pretty angry person. What's funny is I don't think anyone I know would ever use angry as a word to describe me. I don't get angry. I can remain calm in any situation. But being off meds, I'm angry at little stuff. It's all seeping to the top.

And I'm thinking a lot about bipolar. When I read stuff like Marya Hornbacher's "Madness" I can totally identify with the way she describes mania and depression, yet I've only been hospitalized once, and that was for a suicide attempt. I think I could probably fly under the radar if I wanted to. My emotions aren't "out there" for the world to see, I don't think. I can function in daily life.

Or is this functioning? Is talking yourself out of paranoid thoughts (last night I thought the shower drain could rip off my hand and I couldn't get close to it) normal? Is seeing things in the corner of your eye and getting panicked that they are ghosts and if you look at them they'll attack you, normal? Do I just have an over-active imagination?

Does it matter, then, if what I've got has a name? You bet it does. It's easier to handle something if you can name it. You can Google it and follow other bloggers, join the debates, and know where to go for help. If it's just life, and life is fucked up, then what? Then you're all alone.

Get off your butt

I have my workout clothes on. The gym is on my way home from work, and so I thought I would just wear my workout clothes and see if that motivates me to stop there on the way upstairs.

I know exercise is good for depression, but Jesus, just getting the motivation to get out of bed is hard enough. Getting dressed takes forever, and being upright this long is killing me. It's weird, though. I'm in a mixed state where I'm so depressed I want to kill myself, but my body is up and running. It's at work, stocking shelves. It can't sleep very well. But my brain is fuzz.

Know what would help? Exercise! I just need to get to the treadmill, get on, and move for 30 minutes daily. That's not so hard, is it? But then I think of the whole process and it overwhelms me. Get dressed, go downstairs, turn on treadmill, workout, go back upstairs, shower, get dressed again. That's a lot! That's a lot of time and energy.

My dad said the other day that people his age live one year longer if they exercise daily. He calculated it out, and it would take him a year and a half on the treadmill in order to live an extra year. He does it anyway, but man that just sounds silly. But how else would I use that time? Sleep, probably, which is also good for you.

So will I exercise on my way home this afternoon? Probably not, but I'm halfway there. I'm dressed for it, at least.

The plan 1

"The most important thing to remember is this - your symptoms have gone away BECAUSE THE MEDS ARE WORKING! It's not necessarily because you've been cured. There are no cures for a lot of these disorders. It's not your fault that you're crazy, but it is your responsibility to stay as sane as possible. You're not the only person you hurt if you really flip out."

Just like it's my responsibility to stay sober, it's my responsibility to stay sane. But Adam reminded me last night that that doesn't mean I have to go it alone. One of the most awful parts about depression is that your brain convinces you you are all alone. I have a million phone numbers in my phone, email addresses, friends on Facebook, etc., but in that moment when I was freaking out all I could think was, "There's no one I can tell." Now, is that true? No. Am I going to freak someone out? Probably. But is that ok? Probably. That's what friends are for. They're there for you in bad times, too.

Adam asked me to make a list, a personal care packet, almost. My "plan for safety." Hm. Plan. My plan is to not drink so much caffeine. I feel shitty today, but it's a different kind of shitty. I'm not buzzy, but I'm still having racing thoughts and such. They're going so fast that I'm having trouble stopping them to pull one out. It's funny, I catch myself sitting here like a schizophrenic listening to voices - staring up in the corner of my head, just waiting for the one I want to repeat.

Right. Plan. I told my dad I was feeling crappy and now all he can do is tell me to go to the gym. "You should go get those endorphins going or they're no-dorphins." Dork. He's trying. He also thinks a lot of it is just the coming off of the meds. "It's been 2 weeks, dad." "Yes, but I'm sure they're still coming out of your system. It took me a month to get all the caffeine out." How long did it take me to get the booze out? Month, two? I don't remember now, but the physical symptoms were gone much sooner than the mental. But how can you tell whether the mental symptoms you are having are because you are not on meds and your brain chemistry is crazy stew, or because you're coming down off meds? I haven't found anything good on the internet, yet, but I'll share when I do.

I still haven't given you a plan, have I? Cause I don't have one that lasts past the week. Sleep, Seroquel, work, meetings. Yeah, I'm still including meetings on there. I promised Paul I would go tomorrow and see if the woman he wants to hook me up with is there. I just learned I have to work Thursday, so no 6am womens meeting, which I'm on-and-off ok with. I should hit the 8:30 tonight after therapy, but I probably won't. I don't want to leave the house too much. I feel weird enough, and driving has been making me paranoid.

This is getting long.

I'm awake: I'm asleep

Called the doc and the secretary told me no more than 50mg of Seroquel, so I took half my 25mg pill and immediately laid down to take a nap. I woke up to Adam calling 3 hours later. He came over and took me out to get a burger (which was tasty), and invited me to come stay with him tonight. "I'm worried about you." Don't worry. I have a plan: Seroquel, sleep, showers, work, meetings. All will keep me busy.

I'm worried about leaving the house. I hate when that happens, because it usually means I'm going to have a panic attack. I get a little phobic of "the world" in general, especially having to function in it, but I'll be just fine. I have to get out and do things. I have to. I can't just sleep till magically drugs start working.

I'm not even making sense in my head. I hope some of that made sense. And I'm having trouble typing. I'm misspelling things and my fingers are all over the keyboard. I hate this. I hate feeling this way and having to take the big guns to make me feel like I can at least partly function. I'm still buzzing, but I'm not crawling out of my skin like I was this morning.

I'm going to go back to bed.

A call for help

Help.

I have my therapy appointment tomorrow, and the doc appointment for meds on Thursday, but I know I feel crazy NOW, and that even new meds won't make me feel better for a while. I would take the Seroquel, but that is just going to make me a zombie and I have to work. I'm the only person here every morning till Feb when the boss gets back from overseas. There's no one I can call and have cover my shifts, or I would probably check myself into someplace right now. I've never been so close to picking up the phone and calling the white coats; raising the white flag. I'm done. I feel nuts. I'm itching out of my skin.

I don't want to kill myself. I want to hurt myself, though. It always makes me feel better to bleed. It gives me that nice, calm feeling. What else helps? Not being awake, but I don't have that choice. Drinking myself unconscious, but that's not going to help.

I want to call someone, but I don't know who or what they would do. Everyone I know is at work, and I can't leave work yet. And what would they do? Sit with me? I'm no fun right now, and I don't need a babysitter, yet. Could I call Emily? Why? So she can sit halfway across the States and worry about me? No. Adam. No. I don't want to lean on him too much. Diane? She's nuts, and she'd leave work to come hang out with me, but she's got a 3 year-old to manage. That's unfair. Though yesterday she asked me to hang out with her more. "I'm lonely, too," she said.

I have nothing to give right now. I'm a total mess. Should I call the doc and ask for an emergency appointment today? Maybe when I get off work I'll just go to the club and go to continuous meetings. They have them from 2pm -8:30pm tonight. I could just stay there and drink coffee. Then, I'm not alone or near knives, and I can bum smokes if it gets ridiculous.

The big question is: do I tell my dad? The man lives with me for Christ's sake, but I don't think he has a clue just how bad things are. No. No need to worry him.

I'm going to go upstairs when I get off at 1 and take the Seroquel. I won't be going to a meeting (cause it makes me too drowzy to drive) but at least I'll sleep.

A mixed state?

"...mixed states is a condition during which symptoms of mania or hypomania and symptoms of depression occur simultaneously. During a mixed episode, the person may experience the impulsiveness, insomnia, irritability, and flight of ideas that can be present in a manic episode as well as suicidal thoughts, guilt, feelings of hopelessness, and changes in appetite that are common during depressive episodes."

Getting closer... I think this is as close to describing how I feel right now as it's going to get. The insomnia one night, then super-somnia the next; the not eating for 2 days then eating constantly, hungry or not; the irratability; the weepiness; the decision to go back to school (remember 2 weeks ago?); the definite feelings of guilt, worthlessness, and suicide.

I think we're looking at a nice mixed state, here, which is just lovely. Depressives with energy are most likely to kill themselves, especially girls, it seems. They always say people just out of the hospital are at more risk because they're more likely in that mixed state.

Can you tell yet? I'm worried?

Perhaps it's hypomania

I think perhaps I'm hypomanic. I don't fit the mania criteria right now, since I'm not feeling like I'm on top of the world or having grandiose thoughts. But my mind is racing, and I'm feeling less need for sleep. Or at least having a lot of trouble sleeping. I can't seem to stay asleep even when I do go to bed, so it seems silly to go to bed and just lie there and toss and turn.

Hypomania isn't quite as much fun. I think it's really a mixed episode, because I'm feeling depressed, too. I don't know what I feel. Let's think it out here.

I can't sleep. I have a headache (probably from lack of sleep). I'm worried all the time. My mind is racing. I'm worried about things that may never happen at all, just for the fun of worrying. I feel like I hate myself and I'm a piece of shit, but then I tell myself how great I am and how lucky I am. Then again, hypomania is more about grandiose thoughts, goal related activities, and things like that. I am obsessively applying for and checking job sites. It's become an hourly ordeal that I go through. Check job sites, check email for job notices, re-read the postings I applied for, repeat.

At least I'm not irritable. Sometimes I get so damn cranky. I was cranky this afternoon, but I think it was because I hadn't eaten anything in a while. I'm also feeling really anti-social, rather than social, and I don't feel like shopping. I think that's the depression part of the mixed episode. I'm getting some of the psychotic symptoms I get in mania, like when I think my dog is going to bit my face off or I'm going to push someone into traffic. I hate those thoughts. I hate when I feel like doing something totally irrational like that. I would never want to hurt another person, but sometimes the feelings are really strong. Most of the time it's me I want to push in front of a bus, and I have to stand far away from the sidewalk just in case. Jesus, I want another cigarette, but I just went out and the door is so damn loud.