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.

Option for Mental Illness: Take Your Meds

3449Please tell me this happens to you. Please tell me the details; the when, where, how and why. I can think of dozens of excuses as to why it happens, but due to my mental illness, they are more like reasons.

Just When You Thought Things Couldn't Get Any Worse ...

My poor wife has gone through hell since her stroke last March, and the last thing she needed happened last Monday. While trying to move the trash can, it twisted and, in the words of the orthopedist, shattered her left wrist and sprained her back. She wasn't able to stand, so after crawling across the driveway and through the garage to the phone, she called and told me what had happened. I could tell in her voice that she was shocky, and after ending the call I drove the 35 miles home. On my way I called the local police, and they went and checked on her.

When I arived home, it was obvious that her wrist was broken. She didn't want to go to the doctor, so I agreed and recommended that we wait a while to see if it was actually broken. Her pain was almost unbearable for most of the evening and the next morning. Around 1:00 pm we decided to go to the emergency room, and they confirmed what we really knew; she had shattered her left wrist. Her left arm was put in a cast, and surgery scheduled for the next day to realign the bones and put in two pins. This was the first time that Connie had ever been under anasthesia, in surgery or even taken pain killer.

She sees this as a big setback in her recovery from the stroke. I spend most of my time reminding her that this is a temporary situation, we can continue with her therapy and she will not lose ground.

I am flying by tthe seat of my pants, having never experienced anything like this. I don' knoow what I should do, I just know what feel right, and that's wha we do. This is the steepest roller coaster ride I've ever been on, and I don't see any end in sight.

My prayer: "God, please don't let my mania or depression kick now, for neither one of us could stand it. Amen."

Winston