Archive for January, 2013

Mixed states breed confusion

Posted in biolar disorder with tags , , , , on January 31, 2013 by morgueticiaatoms

So…Going on week two with no antidepressant.

The lamictal keeps the mania and severe mood swings at bay. Sort of.

Sometimes, I can manage to stay in a decent mood for a couple of hours.

It inevitably crashes. Starts out as sudden mood crash. Then turns into a depressive state.

Which lifts. Enter stable or good mental state.

Then crash.

I am impatient, irritable, easily agitated and quick to snap if not have a mini tantrum. Which is humiliating and makes me feel ashamed of myself. But there have been days the last week or so where I feel so crowded by everything, and the panic has been creeping in  for no reason, causing me to be weird about making phone calls or running errands, because it triggers the panic further. I don’t understand if it’s coming off Cymbalta or if it’s a mixed bipolar state or if it’s the untreated depression.

I’m clueless and pretty fucking lost.

But the last week there has been a silver lining for me.

I have been writing again. A vampire novel. And I have written 128 pages in five days. I can barely get out the door with all my clothes on and my hair brushed because I am so unfocused…and yet when my writing is “on”, I am focused within an inch of my life, to the point where existing outside the story is excrutiating torture and every minute of the day revolves around the moment I am free to return to my writing.

Last year marked the four year anniversary of when I had last worked on a novel. Busy raising my kid, helping another marriage fail because ya know, truth be told, I never wanted to be married, it’s just what society expects you to do…Drowning in an insane state of bip0lar mood states and crippling panic and depression…For four years, I could not think straight and felt no inspiration. There were times I questioned whether I would ever write again (even though deep down, under all the despair, I knew I would write again because I have written since I was  years old, it’s not a hobby, it’s a compulsion that possesses me completely).

Last summer, I began to write a bit. Finished six or so chapters.

The brick wall. Writer’s block.

Two weeks ago, I forced myself to open an Abiword document. And I stared at the blank page and blinking cursor and felt absolutely terrified. Paralyzed, even.

But once I had strung the first few sentences together, it poured out of me, so fluid, so easily, just like it used to. It felt like home, to be writing again. Unfortunately, reality takes precedence at least Monday through Friday, forcing me to bed earlier than I’d like, robbing me of hours I could be writing because I am trying to exist like the 9 to 5-ers. It is grueling for me to be on a roll and have to force myself to stop because I have to be up in five hours and be gone all day and even when I am free from that, there’s being mommy and housework and taking care of cats and errands and…It all seems insurmountable, and irritates me, because it is keeping me from doing what I love.

Weekends, though…Last weekend I wrote 75 pages in less than 3 days.

I can’t do it like I used to,where I would hole up for ten hours if that’s how long the streak ran. I can’t lock myself in a room sans distractions because my kid comes first. Initially, it felt like a stranglehold.

Then I realized the problem was me, failing to adapt.

Now, I write whether my kid is asleep or not. If the urge and the creative drive are there…I write. Sometimes, I am lucky to get a page and half written with all the necessary distractions.

But…in spite of my mixed states, in spite of being demoralized and depressed because the meds never fucking fix that which fucks up my life in every way…

I’m writing again.

I am me again.

And yet, that darkness in the pit of my stomach, that all encompassing depression that closes in on me sometimes…I don’t want that to be me.

Part of me desperately wants to find an anti depressant that will work.

Part of me is paralyzed that maybe the reason my creativity is flowing is because my senses aren’t so completely dulled by an anti depressant.

And it makes me sad that it would come to that, be creative and suffer the mental stuff, or give up that which you love so you don’t entertain notions of walking in front of a bus.

It shouldn’t be that way.

But then again, I shouldn’t hyperventilate at the shop on some days when R asks me to make phone calls for him.

There is nothing about my existence that doesn’t feel like a clusterfuck. I’m not entirely convinced any pill will ever change that. Because I have so many mental things going on-bipolar, depression, panic attacks- the odds of finding a trifecta of meds that help with it all are pretty slim.

For now, though…I am writing.

And I’d much rather focus on that.

Except I can’t entirely because I’ve been asked to go in tomorrow and make cold calls, which is a trigger for me. So with each moment that ticks by, I am pulled further away from my writing towards the dread that accompanies reality.

And the more reality seeps into my head, the more exhausted I feel and the more I just want to escape into sleep.

THAT, my friends, is the lovely mixed state of anxiety-depression.

Creativity killer from hell.

 

 

 

 

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Feeling alien

Posted in biolar disorder with tags , , on January 29, 2013 by morgueticiaatoms

Today was just a strange day for me mentally. I could not get the mental fog to clear and every single thing I did felt like a battled trudged uphill except the only thing I was fighting was my own mind. Paranoia and panic ran rampant. I could not focus, could not remember things ten seconds after told, did not want to make calls or answer phones because the panic attacks were running riot.

I still feel off kilter to the nth degree.

The added bonus is the ongoing random as fuck brain zaps from coming off Cymbalta.

Now that I am sans anything but Lamicatal and xanax…my brain is having a field day being a freak. I can’t reason with the distorted thoughts. It is telling me I am scared and thus panic kicks in, and I have no fucking clue what is going on. It’s like my brain has been injected with Novacaine, only instead of feeling good numb, I am stumbling clumsy numb, bumping into things, tripping over stuff, and struggling to find the right words to string into sentences that sound vaguely coherent.

After a couple of decent days…

This baffles me.

Throw in the depression which is telling me I serve no purpose and should just kill myself because it’s never going to get any better than this…And my sheer exhaustion and self disgust over so many fucking medications in the past 15 months that did not fucking work or gave me nightmare side effects…

This is not even my normal state of dysfunction, this is something new, something else, something much much worse than the usual.

I feel alien, even to myself.

And it is disconcerting beyond mere words.

Zapped!

Posted in biolar disorder with tags , , on January 25, 2013 by morgueticiaatoms

For the last six days,I have been undergoing standard anti-depressant withdrawal from Cymbalta. Extreme shifts in mood, brain zaps, excess anxiety, a feeling of numbness…

No one has any clue how hard it is to carry on about your normal business when every two or three minutes you get this ZAP from deep within your brain. Calling it withdrawal is kind of a misnomer, though. My body does not crave Cymbalta. But the effects from it not being there make themselves known physically crystal fucking clear. I was only on it 5 weeks. Now I am in week 2 of coming off it and the zap zap zap zap zap is maddening.

And ya know, I damn near keeled over last week from a reaction to the Topomax, yet I was out everyday functioning, and no one knows or cares. Yet everyone and their dog catches this current super flu, and oh, wow, what survivors are they for getting out of bed the next day.

Fuck you.

Today promised to suck because I had an appointment with the sunshine spewing counselor.

They called to cancel because she was out sick.

And ya know what?

NOT HAVING TO SEE HER MADE ME HAPPY.

She does not help me. I feel evil for saying so. I have been so trained to question myself at every turn (do you really feel this way or are you just in a bad mood???) but the baseline is if I have the same feeling on multiple different days…It’s not a mood.it’s how I really feel.

And I do not feel good when I see her.

I feel relieved when it is over.

But there are only two other counselors there and complaining seems futile.

Which leads to frustration and more depression.

Except…I’m on no anti-depressant…and I am NOT depressed.

More like resigned.

This is life, like it or not. I will either make it or I will crack my lids or I will off myself.

Sick of side effects, sick of med failures, sick sick sick.

I am in no hurry to call and reschedule.

And that depresses me, because in the past, I got great comfort and learned a lot from therapy.

But I don’t connect to this counselor or her style and I just don’t want to go anymore. It’s not helping.

Blargggh.

 

 

yes, they have technology now so a doctor can tell if you take your meds or not…

Posted in mental illness with tags , on January 24, 2013 by morgueticiaatoms

But, is that ethical? Legal? Moral?

Original story is here .

Personally,the idea creeps me out. I also think it will be very cost prohibitive. And things like this are going to prevent a lot of people from getting help. (And don’t get me started on the nefarious purposes the government could and likely would-use technology of this nature for.)

I nearly had a brain bleed a few weeks back, after the incident at Sandy Hook elementary school and the NRA guy’s press conference declaring mentally ill people getting a hold of guns is the problem and the government needs more consistent access to one’s psychiatric records.

WAIT? WHAT THE FUCK????

I have to sign ten different forms due to the privacy thing so my insurance company will pay for my psych bills…But now they’re calling for the okay for the government to just start dredging through ANYONE’S medical records if it mentions any word relating to mental illness of any kind. ????

Um, I know my state laws, even if I don’t like them. Once you’ve-willingly or not- signed into a psychiatric ward, you are placed on a registry of some sort prohibiting you from ever owning  a gun.

Now that’s invasive enough, though for the public good.

But again…How is it not a violation of my medical privacy rights to have my name in that registry just because I was under the care of a psychiatrist and had a bad reaction to a psych med thus was put into a psych hospital where he practiced. I don’t recall EVER being okay with releasing my records for that. I committed no crime against anyone other than almost dying from a medication reaction.

And yet..it’s automatic here.

So you’ve violated my rights…I can’t buy a gun.

Oh, wait. They’re selling assault rifles on the corner right now. So invading my privacy and putting me on a list only ENSURES I CAN’T LEGALLY ACCESS  A GUN.

Seriously, it’s easier to buy a gun on the street than to buy a pack of smokes. You need ID for that.

So…

We have a nice registry of every single person who has ever sought treatment for depression or anxiety, and none of them can legally own a gun. Feel safe and sound now? Because if you do, you’re a fucking mor0n.

“Mental illness” is not a fucking synonym for “violent.”

And-here’s a nutsy kookoo thought…Since people with “psychiatric” hospitalizations can’t legally own a gun…Yet the 13 year old on the playground is selling them out of his backpack…

MAYBE ACCESS TO ILLEGAL GUNS IS A FUCKING PROBLEM.

Yes, that’s a lot of profanity, and I am bent and probably being dramatic and ignorant.

Whatever.

I just can’t stand reading the news every single day watching as every ill in the world is blamed on people whose minds are wonky. Because truth be told, the wonky people aren’t the dangerous ones.

The ones who bottle everything up, the ones who seem so together, the ones who are fine upstanding sociopaths…

But by all means, let’s strip away the privacy rights of those with ANY mental condition “for the greater good.” Let’s invade their privacy, oh, wait, take this medication with a tracker, we’ll invade their bodies as well. They won’t even notice when eventually we have them all on societal lock down with no privacy and everyone monitoring them in every way simply because their brains function improperly or differently than the “norm.”

And after that, hey, old people take up space and resources and their ship has already sailed, so to speak…let’s just thin out the herd and deny them treatment so they will die and ease the world’s burden.

WAIT! What about people born with mental or physical disabilities? Their productivity is lesser and they cost money more than they generate it so let’s start weeding them out, too…

Sound crazy?

Seen Gattaca?

It’s started to happen and the sheeple are clueless.

Until the next new thing becomes an unacceptable social stigma, like brown eyes or blond hair or perhaps an IQ under 130.

I guess no one cares until it personally affects them.

FTW

The Insanity Files: The week’s mood-in-review

Posted in biolar disorder with tags , , , , on January 20, 2013 by morgueticiaatoms

Monday- started out awful, felt like shit physically, nothing was going right, my nerves were sizzling under my skin and I was on the verge of a nervous breakdown…I was literally, snapping and yelling and starting to lapse into tears. At one point I seriously thought, “I cannot do this, I am not equipped, I cannot do this, put me in a rubber room or let me die, but I CANNOT DO THIS ANYMORE.” The rest of the day was spent in a suicidal depression which sucked the life and soul of me.  I knew the only course of action, aside from giving into the bad thoughts, was to go home, tend to my kid and cats, suck down some chicken noodle soup, and go to bed, Trazadoned out of my head.
I woke up three times that night, meaning…Trazzy-D is letting me down big time.

Tuesday- I had a GOOD MOOD day. I was semi-manic, but felt happy. Which ya know, considering sixteen hours before I was trying not to plot my own demise…was weird. Of course, R was in a horrible mood bemoaning how he may go out of business if repairs don’t start coming in…And I got a taste of what it must be like to be around me in my perpetual state of depression.Except I don’t bitch and moan, I just keep it all to myself, barely speak, and look utterly morose or disturbed. God, I sound fun, don’t I?

Wednesday- The day I realized my new medicine was basically trying to murder me. Your eyeball does not turn bright red and cause you immense pain in sunlight and water while all your muscles lock up on you for no good reason. I stopped Topamax that day. And oddly,it was my last day on Cymbalta. So…Dual medication cessation…

Thursday- another down in the dumps “kill me now” day. Lots of anxiety and panic, especially at night, trying to sleep, not wanting to go to the shop, not wanting to do much of anything but be a hermit.

Friday- I was stiff but moving  better and my eye was more mauve than crimson. On the mend. The entire day, my brain could do nothing  but watch the clock and scream I DO NOT WANT TO BE HERE, LET ME GO HOME NOW, HOME, NOW, HOME HOME HOME. I faked it and faked it and faked it and…the clock mocked me, ticking so slowly. He invited me and Spook over to his house that evening but at that point, my need to not be around people and to vegetate was almost pathological.

TODAY- Up early, in spite of a rough night trying to sleep and stay asleep. Felt okay. Went to my dad’s and he took me and Spook out to lunch as a gift for my birthday Tuesday. I cleaned their house for money to buy Spook’s pull ups. Not fun, considering stepmonster had not washed a dish in two and a half weeks. I kid you not. It took five sinkfulls of water and over an hour to do it all. Then I vacuumed. And I felt pretty good. Being functional is nice. Plus, it was 56 F today, and that took out the seasonal affect, so…I felt good at times.  Though…Five hours gone…my deranged brain started screaming GET HOME GO HOME SAFE ZONE NOW NOW NOW. People assume I am rude or think I am too good to socialize (they’ve told me so point blank) and the fact is, once the panic sets in, my lizard brain cannot be reasoned with. It is time to go NOW, do not pass go, do not collect $200.
Returned to my safe zone for awhile. Then popped by mom’s to visit her for her birthday. THEN the really brave part-facing Wal-Mart on a Saturday night. Driving after dark, which has become one of my major triggers since I became so sensitive to bright lights and my vision has slipped.
I felt so good, so calm, I didn’t even realize it was ninety minutes passed Spook’s bedtime, we were just playing and watching Torchwood and…It was a good day,for the most part.

Good days scare me.

Not because I am negative.

But because I have walked this road so many damn times, and I know what always comes after the good. Especially with no anti depressant on board not. And two more months of seasonal affect to face.

I can no longer tell if the Lamictal is working  because I have so many other medication factors going on-starting, stopping, tapering off…I just know I am frustrated with anti depressants and about to give up on them and my sunshine spewing counselor who has done fuck all to help me or even make me feel better in sixteen months.

There are times…when I truly believe I am insane. Not “We, the jury, find the defendant…” But NUTS. Like there is no rhyme or reason to me even to myself. I make no sense. I have no middle ground. I am just a roller coaster ride of extremes.

And…

I am so very tired.

Of me.

 

Topomax Side Effects:Don’t ya hate it when your medicine tries to blind you?

Posted in biolar disorder with tags , , on January 18, 2013 by morgueticiaatoms

I have had to stop the Topomax due to some sort of bad reaction.

My right eye  became blood red and bloodshot and began watering and twitching and then my leg muscles all became extremely sore and locked up off  and on.

My meds give me the best attempted maimings.

What sucks is this one was my idea and I had high hopes for it.

Now I am back at the drawing board, with a red eye, aching legs, and a defeated attitude. I am ready to give up on the stupid meds. Take the Lamictal and just live with the suicidal depressions. (I  want my Cymbalta back and wish I had never ever told her about the manic episodes, it was the only med in 15 months that did ANY good.)

Depression should not be your perpetual mental state. It should not be a way of life.

And you shouldn’t have to risk blindness just to escape depression, either. I knew it could cause glaucoma/vision issues but what were the frickin odds I’d be one in a million to get that side effect

I am just special.

And I don’t want to be. I just want to be normal. Which to me means,not depressed.

 

 

Guess what,guys? Some idiot in NZ says we’re just making our mental stuff up

Posted in biolar disorder, mental illness with tags , , on January 15, 2013 by morgueticiaatoms

As I am in this sucky med transition stage and don’t care to whine more…I thought I would regale you with this gem I found yesterday.

The original story is here IDIOCY.

Now, the primary story is “Addiction is not a disease.” Genius Derek is entitled to his (idiotic) opinion. Although, the physical withdrawal symptoms would indicate to me that even if not a disease, it ceases to be psychological/behavioral at some point and becomes medical.

Where my head nearly imploded was where he essentially said BECAUSE there are no blood tests,et al to determine mental illness, it basically does not exist and is just a behavioral issue because doctors are enabling us.

I,myself, admit to some perhaps incorrect opinions of my own, inasmuch as some medications are used to “treat” borderline personality disorder. I simply do NOT believe that a personality disorder can be fixed with medication. And I base this on my own personal experience.

Let’s face it. I have been on pretty much every psych med to come out in the last 20 years and some out long before then.

NONE of them solved any of my personality disorder issues. None of them made me less of an anxiety ridden worry wart. None of them made me less insecure. None of them made me handle deviation in schedule better. None of them erased the early imprinting that resulted from being tormented in high school that to this day, makes me paranoid and jumpy any time I pass a group of teenagers.

What do the meds help with?

The depressions, the extreme highs and lows, the impulsive shopping, the extreme panic attacks, the angry outbursts…

To me, that is a huge difference. Meds correct imbalances that cause physical symptoms.

They do NOT fix your beliefs and mental boo boos from getting screwed up at an early age.

And as for them helping borderline personality disorder…Most people I have known with this so called borderline shit were as good as being bipolar in temper so it makes sense a med would at least help with that.

So, I can understand New Zealand’s Derek,in a way. I am sure my opinion is to some extent wrong and based on my own personal bias. I mean, wouldn’t it be nice it a med could just reverse and fix all my bad traits? It hasn’t worked out that way for me therefore I simply don’t buy that it works  that way at all on PERSONALITY TRAITS AND BEHAVIORS.

Which is not to  say I don’t believe borderline personality disorder exists. I have met my mother. It exists. (And meds NEVER helped her an iota, which is proof for me.)

But for this Derek guy to have an opinion on addiction not being a disease then to toss in bipolar and schizophrenia, as if they are mythical unicorns and anyone who believes in them are insane, lazy, or both…

Kind of makes me hope a schizophrenic decides to go off their meds and work on their behavior.

And pay Derek a visit when the voices get really loud.

Because trust me, Derek and anyone who shares his opinion…

If you think living under the cloud of mental illness and a neverending regime of side effect inducing pills is easier than just changing behavior, you are mental midgets.

You are entitled to your opinion, but in expressing this particular opinion, you have made it abundantly clear you do not have any compassion.

I dislike you for this more than your opinion which I disagree with.