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.

CELEBRATING YOUR BIPOLAR-ITY

               Posted on: August 12, 2010


If you are mentally ill, this might have happened to you. If it hasn’t, give it time, and it will.


Typically something happens so you know it’s there; a crippling depression, an event triggered by your mania or something telling you that things aren’t quite right.


You meet with a doctor and, after an evaluation, are told you have Bipolar Disorder, or what used to be called Manic Depression. You are mentally ill, joining the ranks of some very creative people, and some not so blessed.


If you are like me, you’ll learn all you can about your illness, in order to understand what it is, what it does and what you can do.This position can be fun, as you learn about something brand new, and are gaining first-hand knowledge. At this point, you are outside of the illness, looking in.


Over time, you become very familiar with Bipolar Disorder, both through study and personal experience. What might happen, as in my case, is the symptoms worsen,and the line between what is real and what you think is real becomes blurred. At this point, you have changed positions; you are no longer looking at mental illness, you are now deep within the illness, looking out at the place where you looked in..


Whether this happens once, or more frequently, don’t let the stigma of mental illness define who you are. Life is a series of experiences, and this is just another one. You know who you are. Embrace your bipolar-ity!

After nearly one year since Connie's stroke, and nearly one year of working with her through recovery therapy, I am just about emotionally spent. I am happy that my bipo has been held at bay for that amount of tim, but I think that has been stretched just about as far as it can.

I hope I am making myself clear, although I am not so sure. It isn't that I don't want to help, I don't know if I'll be able to. I can startto feel the unravelling process begin. Things have to change, but in time? I don't know.

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