I'm Ba...aa...ck

And time marches on, and on, and on. It is hard to keep up with blogging; no wonder there are so few hits. I swear to you that I will try harder, but lack of focus, attention do detail, and concentration are key elements to being a Bipolar sufferer. That is something that really pisses me off' people being afraid to be labeled as their disease. Come on, is it really necessary to pick a fight no matter where you go? I don't think so. So much effort to erase the stigma of mental illness is undertaken that the true purpose is lost. I know, just as you do, that we are not the illness. Get over it, and fight the fight.

I have had to get new docs and P'Docs, and that has been a delight. I have been able to hook up with some pretty great people. My meds have already been adjusted, and I might be going back in for a few sessions of ETC. My experience with previous sessions have been very positive, and I would welcome a few more jolts, if warranted.

More, and I do mean (hopefully) more ..............................................................................................

Up, Up and Away

Remember, last week I had a minor meltdown at my therapist's office ... depressed, cutting, paranoia. You know, the normal tendencies of one suffering from bipolar disorder, OCD, ADHD and PTSD. She had me make an emergency appointment with my pDoc, which I did, and he squeezed me in that early afternoon.

I thought because of the urgency of the appointment, that I would be going back to the into the hospital. Not to be. He prescribed, as I stated in a previous post, Zyprexa and Prozac, the latter which I had taken years earlier. In addition, he had me stop taking the Mertazapine (Remeron). After just a few days, I actually started feeling a little better. Today, after months (maybe as many as 10) I woke up kind of energized, alert and, yes, awake.

Now don't stop reading just yet. After a few hours, this mellow "morphed" into a mild mania, accelerating slightly as the day progressed. And I was happy, that is until my pDoc heard about it from the Intern who had interviewed right before my appointment. He seemed concerned and, not wanting  the mania to go "full blown", had me stop taking the Prozac, and to continue with my other prescribed meds.

Damn, I was happy to be over the depresssion, and mania felt good for a change. However, he warned me, and I already knew, that every high is followed by a low. Intercepting the mania early on would give me a better chance of finding my "normal" before I hop back on that roller coaster ride called bipolar.

BP is just that; a roller coaster ride. The euphoric highs, the thrill of the view, and the anticipation of what's to come next is always, always followed by that sudden, uncontrollable drop. Sometimes, like BP, this is followed by a short, level ride, culminating in another up and down.

We all go through ups and downs. Weddings and funerals are good examples. The depression caused by day-to-day events are normal. When the situation goes away so goes the depression. BP, however, comes and goes unaware. There might be a trigger, but more than likely it just appears. It doesn't even knock; it just comes barging through the door. And you just hope and pray that it won't shove a gun into your mouth, or talk you into getting another mortgage on your house in order to fund another junket to somewhere you shouldn't go. BP truly is the "gift that keeps on giving".



 birth, followed by the years of worry; getting a job, only to lose it .These bringdepression depression

One Way or Another

It's happened ... I am at the lowest I've been since being diagnosed in 1994. I am at rock bottom, and my will, desire, drive, dedication, hygiene, cleanliness, caring ... all gone. I desperately need help.

Saw my pDoc today, and he said he would put me on Seroquel ... a med I took nearly 12 years ago, and then was taken off. Another pill ... you have got to be kidding me. I am currently on 9 psychotropics, and to answer a desperate plea by adding another doesn't seem right to me. I went into his office expecting hospitalization, or at the very least, IOP (Intense Out Patient), but he never brought it up ... until I did.

Near the end of the 10 minute meeting, I said I thought simply adding another med wasn't the answer. He had added one two weeks earlier, and it made no difference. I told him I needed help, and I needed it now. His secretary had informed me two days earlier that they were looking for me to go into the IOP, but he never brought it up. As a matter of fact, I don't even think he would have thought of it until I mentioned that I thought that was what this meeting was for.

This secretary called a local program, they called, and I am supposed to call tomorrow morning to pursue this possibility.

I need help before I hurt myself, something or someone else. If I can't get the help I need this way, I'll force their hand. One way or another, I'll get it.

Average "Run Of the Mill" Normal

Guess what I just figured out. We are all normal. Now feel free to just accept that at face value, and you can stop reading this blog ... no explanation necessary. Or you can allow me to elaborate.

Now we are all who we are. Right? I don't think that point is up for debate. Of course, comparatively, we are all different, some more so than others. But we are at a place called normal within our individual lives. With me so far?

Suddenly, something happens in your life that causes your psyche to alter just a little. Let's use depression as an example. One day you find yourself in the throes of a big-time depression, one that leaves you "different" in its wake. At this point in time, your mind has made a change, and you are no longer the same person that you were.

But you're not just visiting this point in your life, it's a place that a new you dwells. This new you if no longer you being different, but you as you. Once again, you are normal.

The pendulum has swung back the other way, the universe once again reaches equilibrium, everything is settled, and you are you.

Ain't life sweet.

So the next time soneone tells you that you're not normal, tell them that you are just as normal as they are, your just different. That's the way God made us, so that's the way he wants us to be,

Again, ain't life sweet.

The following post may not be for all audiences. It may contain rough and objectional language; since I haven't written it yet, I'm not sure. But in all likelyhood this will be the case. So, lock the doors and bar the windows, put the kids to sleep, pour yourself a nice glass of single-malt scotch, and enjoy. For after over 6 years of posting on this blog, I feel it's time to "let my hair down" (pretty hard for a bald guy) and tell it like it is.


Are You Sure?



It's Not too Late!



Now You're Committed!!!!
(Or Should Be)

When I was first diagnosed with Bipolar Disorder I, I actually thought it was pretty cool. I pictured myself among the ranks of people like Hemingway, Van Gogh and Sylvia Plathe. I finally had an explanation for my periodic odd behavior, or maybe even an excuse. I had always been a little quirky, and now I find out I wasn't quirky at all, just placed in a category in which I didn't belong.

Now, after being diagnoses over 18 years ago, I can honestly say that I wouldn't live with it. I like being labeled mentally ill because I AM! It is who I am, and it defines me. Sure, it places some limitations on me, and it's difficult to assertain when or where or how those limitations will be. They won't always happen at the same time, in the same place and in the same way. But this threat is real, and always hanging over my head, not unlike the sword of Damocles http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Damocles

In the movie City Slickers Curly, the ranch boss and greenhorn Mitch Robbins(played by Billy Crystal) are riding out to round up some stray cattle. Curly says to Mitch that "the rest of the stuff in life don't mean nothin'" if you know the one thing that is the meaning of life. When asked what that is, Curly simply says that it varies from person to person. Truth or cop out?

Truth. Of course it varies depending on whose life we're talkiing about. It bothers me today that people are always trying to fit into each others molds; to take on their lives. A classic example is the exercise commercials on today. "You too can have a six-pack ab ... for only a 3 minute a day comittment, and $99.95". Sure, there are a few out there who might find this a life-changing experience. But the vast majority of people will be like me (and quite possibly you). I traded in my six-pack abs years ago for what I think is a much better investment; a keg! This is me, and it ain't going to change. So be it. Oh well.

I have gone through at least the past 22 years knowing that I am supposed to do something. You might know the feeling; that thing you were meant to do that, once finished, will have this almost orgasmic quality. As I get older, I tend to think that God had me live the life that I have lived in order to share it with someone who could benefit from my "walk". That is the direction in which I have been heading for the past few years, and the direction that I'll continue to go, until something happens.

"Alice Into the Looking Glass"(with apologies to Dickens)

"As Alice walked toward the looking glass, she could see inside, and it fascinated her. It looked different and interesting and fun, so she approached, getting closer and closer. Soon enough her nose was pressed against the glass and, shocking to her, it went into the glass like it was a thick gelatin.

Interesting. She could pull out at any time, and be back into the world that she knew. So she ventured in, and out, and in, and out, little by little by little, until this gelatin-like substance closed behind her back, and she was completely in.

And what a fascinating world it was, indeed, full of oddities and questionables and deviations she had never see before, nor dreamed about in her wildest of dreams. There were numbers where letters should have been, bicycles riding children. There were lamps on the outside of houses, along with the furniture that went with them. People walked around, some with fins for arms, some with fruit for ears and some with heads on backwards and backs facing forward.

It wasn't scary in the least, but interesting. It felt as if life was a tad off, maybe by a half a second, with real time, and things just didn't match, or couldn't be comprehended. Alice had a bit of a queasy feeling, like how you feel right after you get off of a ferris wheel. She slowly felt like she ws becoming a part of this society; like she might indeed fit in. Actually this is where she belonged, and she planned on visiting again, time permitting.

She turned to leave, putting her back toward this new society, with all intentions of returning at a later date. She walked back toward this gelatin-like substance, right up to where her nose was touching it. As she progressed, something very odd happened. Her nose kind of squished up at the end, like it was up against a hard surface. So she pushed harder, and pretty soon her nose hurt, unable to squish up any more. She couldn't understand. What was going on. She had walked in so easily, and it was so inviting. This was where she belonged, and where she felt most comfortable. But she wanted to go home.

Alice was home. Soon she discovered that even though her entrance into this world of madness was slow and gradual, once in, once comitted, it was where whe would remain. She could still see the world from which she came. but over time that vision too would fade, and the topsy-turvy work on the other side of the looking glass would become the only world she would know; a world she would soon call home.

Remember, when madness becomes reality, then reality is no longer madness - it is simply reality.

OH YEAH, SORRY ABOUT THE LANGUAGE THING - IT JUST NEVER CAME UP - FORTUNATELY!

The Reality

The one thing that frustrates me as a student and writer of mental illness is that it is so nebulous. All you can say with any certainty is that it is, wht it is, when it is. You can't even describe what exactly happened prior to or immediately after an episode, no matter how small or big.

My contention is that it is not possible to understand what is in another persons mind, whether in the realm of mental illness or day-to-day life. The bet we can do is assume that we are understanding or seeing exactly what an other person is explaining or seeing.

I sit here in a bookstore looking at the cove of a book. I can easily understand, and probably describe, what I see. But I can't possibly know for certain that another person is seeing exctly what I am seeing.

A Walk Through the Swamp

Today I continue my walk through McKinney Swamp. I started this last trek a few months ago, but the going is getting more and more difficult. It seems that with every step lately I am mired down deeper and deeper.

In addition, a dense fog has set in. When I breathe in, the fog enters my nose and mouth; the air goes to my lungs, but the "fog" goes into my brain. Because of it my thoughts are muddles and slow, my perception is off, as is my judgement.

I am afraid that soon the swamp won't end.

On Being Cool

I wasn't born cool, I didn't grow into being cool or I I didn't learn how to be cool. Actually, by my very nature I have never been, am currently not, nor have I ever been classified as "cool". Oh, I've wanted to be, but I've never had a cool gene in my body.

I was your basic nerd. I could play most sports, but never excelled at any. However, I was good at academics, so my life centered around this math, physics and other science-related topics. But I wanted to be cool so bad.

What I started to do, only realizing it recently, was to become what the "cool kids" were doing, so I could be like them. If they liked football, then I liked football. If they liked reading classic novels, then I did also. If they did drugs, so did I. If they abhorred drugs, I hated them right along with them.

In high school I had a real Jekyll and Hyde complex. During the day I was Studious boy, but after school I was Mr. Party. However, this actually led to alienating people from both sides. My school friends had a hard time understanding why I would party at night, and my party friends would have nothing to do with me outside the party scene.

And this was just the beginning. In college I continued the chameleon-like lifestyle, going through many, many different styles, personalities, hobbies, likes and dislikes. During my first, I tried to fit into the yacht club scene so desperately that it became sad. My in laws had martini hour, so I learned to drink martinis ... a lot of martinis ... and then doubles.

It was during my second marriage that I started to understand what I was doing. In therapy I discovered that I had never really developed a "me" ... I was just whoever I needed to be at the moment. All of my attempts at being cool over the years; drugs and alcohol, rock climbing, triathlons and running races from 5K to Ultra marathon, were just that ... attempts.

I was who I was, which was a revelation, but who was that. After years of changing to fit the occasion, the "real" me never evolved. Who I was was basically nothing. "I" didn't exist. In an attempt to be cool and fit in, my psychological development was stunted.

It came to me only yesterday that I am not a cool person; I'm what we used to refer to as a nerd. This is who I am, and this is who I have always been. If I had just been myself over my lifetime, today would more than likely be a little different.

So here I am, mentally ill and no foundation for my life that is consistent and my own. It is like portraying many different characters so often that "you" becomes lost in all of them.

It's now too late to be 'me", because "me" just doesn't exist.
Right now I feel a little lost.

FALLING !!!!

I need to set the stage. I'll be using an example when discussing my "fall from sanity". In order to put in the proper perspective, I'll give a little background.

Since High School, I have been a rock climber. It is something I could do that 1) most people couldn't do and 2) most people had no desire to do. It was something that, at least in my little world, I was good at, maybe even better than most. Throughout my entire life I was a "wannabee"; you know, one of those who really wanted to be good at something, tried very hard but just couldn't get past the point somewhere between a participant and a spectator.

Controlling Things That I Can't Control

3437 I have an illness that can be controlled by doing something that requires a task that the illness prevents from happening. That task is remembering.

I struggle with this as a part of everyday life. When the memory can't be trusted, unfortunately the person can't be trusted. Most of the things I think I have said or done I haven't. I am unable to explain a series of events because I'll undoubtedly get them wrong. I would make a piss-poor eye witness. Even if I described what had happened correctly, I wouldn't know that it ws true.

Where Did All The Fun Go?

Where did all of the fun go? Being mentally ill used to be so much fun; the highs (and lows, unfortunately), the extremes, in spending, indulging, self-abuse. Waking up not knowing what the day might bring; will I get mad, dad, even, aggressive, depressed, suicidal. Will you hurt your friends and family, will you burn relationship bridges, will you make a fool of yourself during a manic episode? Who knows?

After a while, the fun wears off. It's no longer exciting and fresh; now you know what to expect, becuse it always turns out the same. The only variable is how high you go, and how far you crash. Once you realize this, and the disease becomes real, you become one of us. (Actually you always have been, it's just that now you finally realize it)

Winston Churchill

YOU ARE MENTALLY ILL

You're in good company with the likes of:

            Abraham Lincoln     
            Buzz Aldrin  

            Jimi Hendrix   
            Plato    
            Mark Twain

            Winston Churchill     
            Patty Duke   

            Vincent Van Gogh     
            Virginia Woolf 

            Wolfgang Amadeus Motzart      
            Richard Dreyfus         

            Hans Christian Anderson     
                                                            Sir Isaac Newton                        

So raise your banner high and, when you aren't able, be with those who can raise it for you. NAMI, DBSA, Psych Central and MD Junction are a few I visit regurlarly. They can give great volume to your voice.

Remember, you're in this with many others. Your not alone. You never are. Ever.

Phony Compassion or Plain Arrogance?

3311 No matter what they say, no matter how they act, the people responsible for making decisions in this country, and in particular, the state of Indiana, don't like the poor, minority, ill, elderly or disabled people. I would love for you to prove me wrong, but you can't. Last year a good friend of mine died of a rather simple illness because she couldn't afford health care. That pisses me off! She was unable to work any more, barely could get around and every time she went to the doctor or hospital, she paid her own way. this last time their money had run out; she didn't want to go through a big bill again, and she was too proud to ask for help, so she laid at home for 5 days, in pain, and died.

If this story makes you sad, stop right now. Sad doesn't fix the problem; you need to get mad. Mad as hell!

PTSD; Sudden Onset Mental Illness (SOMI)

3293 Over the past few years we've been involved in a war in Iraq and Afghanistan. You, and even middle-aged men and women leave family and friends to go and do what their government asks of them. No matter your take on this war, these people are doing exactly what gave us this great country over 200 years ago.

The Army, Navy, Air Force, Marine Corps, either active or National Guard, or whatever other clandestine group their might be takes these men and women, trains them and sends them out to do their duty. They do as asked, which unfortunately means witnessing or performing aatrocities that are hard for the mind to comprehend. And then, they are sent home. What?

Improvement or Adjustment?

Every year the oil companies play us for a fool, and it turns out, they're right. A few years ago, the price of gasoline went up to around $4/gallon. The American public was outraged, but unfortunately not outraged enough to reduce spending. Fortunately, by the end of the summer prices had dropped to the low $2's, and we were content again. And then the "slight of hand".

Can't Do It

When I go to the doctor, I am trusting his expertise and experience to help me get better. When he tells me to do something, or don't do something, I should follow his orders. After all, by going there I am entrusting my health to him, so for me to second-guess his diagnosis belies this trust. If you can't trust your doctor, why have one in the firs place? (Note: I have now forgotten what I was going to "say" ... hopefully it will come to me soon. Please don't think, "This happens to me, too"; does it happen to you all the time ...  it does to me.) Here it is, that every-evasive thought. Simple trust just isn't enough; with mental illness, trust required responsibility and action on our part.

When Dealing With Me ...

There comes a time in our life when we realize who we are. This is after all of those years of trying to be who I'd like, while constantly being faced with who I am. When the two don't coincide, conflict happens. Even when they do coincide, they don't always work out for the good. If you've always wanted to be a drug dealer, and you have the characteristics, abilities and desire to do just that,, you'll probably be a pretty good one. Of course, that doesn't mean that is acceptable. Redirecting those talents into something more mainstream and productive would be the best bet.

Forgetting to Remember the Things I Forget

I've got a problem ...

I think it's significant, but I don't seem to take it seriously enough to do anything about it. It happens a lot, with a frequency that is nearly predictable by those around me, but not by me. It affects every aspect of my life, and it always will. I know what the problem is, I know what needs to be done to fix it and I know how to do just that. But I can't. I just can't.

A Big "Cut-Up"

I was on a blog the other day where a 46 yo man was talking about cutting himself purposefully. He was bipolar, and wasn't consciously deciding to cut himself; he just did it. It seemed to be more a reaction to some impulse than driven by an occurance. He thought this was something that much younger people, such a teens and early adults, did. He wanted to know if it was "normal" for him to cut, and if his age indicated another issue.

That is one of the problems with mental illness. People who don't suffer from this condition see any manifestations of the illness as "childish". So when we adults

What do you think? Is this a symptom for younger people only? (I know, an absurd question, but it needed to be asked.) The stigma associated with MI is not just that "scary" image; it is also the "childish" image too. Makes you think, eh?

Wierd Stuff

Driving to the store this afternoon I had a brand new experience. (The best way I have found to describe an event is to compare it to something that people can easily relate to.) The best comparison that can describe my experience is a television that is slightly off channel. You can't understand this using todays television sets. When I was young, each channel had to be "tuned in", the know slowly turned one way, then another, incrementally, until a clear picture was achieved.

Right before that point of achievement the picture is nearly there, not entirely, but with a little static. You could see the picture, but, as I have heard it said, it was a "bubble out of plumb"; almost there, but not quite. During my drive everything seemed a little out of focus; not so much visible focus, but more a focus of perception.

I've decided that, since these kinds of occurances are pretty common, and thus a part of me now, I will experience them, and not shy away, or be fearful. thus goes life.

"Slip Slidin' Away" (with apologies to P.S.)

I have spent my adult life wondering how I will "make a difference". You know what I mean? A person goes through life hoping to accomplish a thing or things that will matter, something they can have remain once they are dead. For some it might be a nice family, good children and grandchildren. Others might like to create something that others can use, or perform a function where their name will be recorded for posterity.

Since my life suddenly shifted gears last summer, and I am no longer a member of the working class, I naturally reflected on what I had done, or left, or who I had affected. It seems that the things that were not done, or done wrong, or left behind and the ones we have hurt, or have hurt us, immediately come to mind. Most people might look back and not notice right away their accomplishments, wondering what they had done with all of those years. They might ask themselves, "What have I done that is uniquely me?"