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

Slowing the Rabbit's Descent ... MAYBE

Today my therapist saw some things that weren't quite right, and sent me to see my Psychiatrist pronto. She thought I might need to go to the hospital.The pdoc decided to try a med adjustment. He stopped the mirtazipine, and replaced it with zypexa

Down the Rabbit Hole ... Volume II

Last January I was hospitalized ... a little psychotic, enraged, anxious and depressed ... worse than I've ever been. The result of my "incarceration" was the complete removal of all nine psychotropic medications (except Lithium - my core stabilizer). After a few days one was added and I was sent home, under the care of a new psychiatrist who. Over the next ten months, my progress (and regression) was closely monitored through weekly, and eventually biweekly, visits.However, after being on the "high" end of the bipolar scale, I found myself slipping down, down, down into a deeper depression; into the rabbit's hole. The walls of this hole are slick, so the harder I try to claw my way out, the deeper I go. And the deeper I go, the narrower the hole becomes. I fear that the narrower it becomes, the less I'll try to retract myself, until I stop struggling altogether.This is my fear; that this fear might become a reality. Reality eventually evolves into acceptance, and over, over time resignation. At that time, the rabbit hole becomes home. At that time, I don't know what happens - and I don't want to know.

Down the Rabbit Hole; Volume I

Like a wet blanket, depression engulfed me again. Since a total med "redo" last winter it's been my companion; sometimes more than others, but always there.With a steady increase in meds and dosages, depression slips further away. How far away, or for how long, will it go, I don't know. But of this I can be certain; it won't go far, and it won't be there long.Bipolar Disorder: the gift that keeps on giving. Oh joy of joys ...

NAMI Training

Today I completed day one of NAMI's two day "In Our Own Voice" (IOOV) training. This trains and qualifies a person to share their personal experience of mental illness with fellow consumers, or groups who can benefit from the experiences.

This answers a prayer for me, of being able to share my rather unique experience with those who might benefit.

Praise God!

Mental Illness ... A "Never-Win" Situation

I have finally decided to face the fact that I will never get better. I've come face-to-face with this issue; I've stared it square in the face and ... I give. Now before you get on your great, big high horse, let me explain.

I'm not ready to swallow the barrel, or swing from the yardarm, or drink down the cyanide cocktail. Sure, I've thought about it, and I can't say I never will ... who knows what the future brings. What I am saying is that I finally acknowledge that mental illness can't be cured. With the proper medication it can be abated, temporarily held at bay, or maybe reduced to a manageable level. But it ... is ... always ... there!

I will have, actually I now have, acceptable and not-so-acceptable days. I've stopped calling them "good" and "bad" days, for the simple fact that I don't have good days any more. It was hard to get excited about "good" days, because, due the very nature of Bipolar Disorder, a bad day was sure t follow.

Any more, I don't feel good, I don't feel bad ... I just have a hard time feeling ... period. Sorry but that is just the way it is ...

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.

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.

Are We There Yet?

Are we there yet? These words uttered from the backseat on a relaxing vation can turn the calmest parent's nerves on edge. Little did I know I would be asking me those very same words, wishing for a completely different answer. Thise kids in the backseat wanted to arrive; I don't.

The journey through mental illness is very unique and personal. At any given time you don't really know where you are in your illness, and it's difficult to determine how you're doing, since that requires a comparison over time, and the duration and severity of your illness i always an unknown.

The very best you can do is detemine how you are in relation to how you have been before. Presently when I ask myself "are we there yet?" I hear a small voice in my head say, "Almost".

Years ago on this blog I described going mad (?) as slowly walking into a mirror, such as the one in "Alice Looking Through the Looking Glass". At first you just poke your nose, or toe in, with the ability to pull it right back again. Over time you find you are slipping in deeper and deeper, still with a small part of you back in reality.

At some point in time, you are all the way in. Turning around you can see the world in which you lived, but only relate in memories, which dimish over time. Slowly, over time, these memories start to fade, and your vision of what was becomes cloudy and indiscernable. You are in. You no longer have to ask if you are there yet ... you are.

KABOOM

This afternoon "shit hit the fan" in the McKinney household. I had a major breakdown, and became violent, luckily toward things and not people. It scared me, it was exhausting and I didn't like it one bit. The problem is that it will happen again ... thus the name "bi-polar".

I contacted my pDoc and he put me on Celexa. It wasn't a medication replacement, but an addition to my current 6 drug regiment. A major side effect is sexual dysfunction, but that will have the same effect on me as a dead dog run over again by a car. Men who are on psychotropic medications could moonlight as eunuchs.

This is the second time it has happened in as many months. The next time I'll go to the hospital for a few days in an attempt to put a stop to this specific pattern.

This trip through life can get pretty rough ...

Angelina's

When I stopped working in 2010, my wife bought me a membership to a local cigar club. I have enjoyed fine cigars for nearly 12 years, but smoking them in public anymore is banned almost anywhere. In the summer I would sit outside, and in the winter would drive to a local cemetery, sit in the car and smoke.

Angelina's is a cigar store that also has an attached area with over-stuffed leather club chairs, big screen tvs, kitchen, restrooms personal humidors and liquor lockers and a state-of-the-art air filtration system. I had always dreamed of being a part of a club like this, and the other members are wonderful. I go about once or twice a week.

If it were just me, I never would have joined. I wouls probably just sit at home and do nothing. It's my wife that keeps me going outside the house. But socializing is a key part of mental illness maintenance, and my therapist is 100% supportive of this activity. I pray I can keep it up.

Mental Illness Stigma Takes Another Hit

 Recently a 9 year old girl was killed, and her body dismembered by a "trusted" family friend who was acting as a babysitter. This man had taken care of the girl's mother's father as he died, and currently had the girl and her sister staying with him while their mother was sick.

For reasons presently unknown he hit the little girl repeatedly in the head with a brick until she was dead. He then placed her body in plastic bags, and put her body in a freezer. Later thaat day, he took her body out of the freezer and cut it into pieces, which he wrapped up and distributed in a number of dumpsters. The head, feet and hands he kept in the freezer in his trailer.

He initially acted innocent, stating that he couldn't hurt an animal or a person. About a week after she went missing, he admitted his role, and part of the story was closed. However, it was soon learned that he had had numerous felony arrests and convictions, among them a 2007 child-molestation charge in North Carolina. He had somehow removed himself from that states registry, and moved to Indiana without registering as a sexual offender.

It is only a matter of time, I fear, until we learn that this man is "mentally ill", and once again all of us who are mentally ill will be grouped together with this monster. Along our journey to inclusion of mental illness into society, we will once again be derailed by a false accusation that "all mentally-ill people are created equal".

Two steps forward and one step back. Progress is only slowed, but not halted. The time will come when the stigma is eliminated, but that time will be a little longer.

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.

Times, They Are 'a (Life) Changin'

The past few months have signaled a benchmark in my mental-health life. For the first time in my life I am experiencing a deep depression, not so deep that I am confined to bed, can't move or eat. I guess you could say that mine is a level above that; I am functioning, but usually in a zombie-like state, not caring for anything or trying at anything. The problem with me is this is lasting for months.

In November I ran out of Ritalin, and decided thaat I could cut my dosage in half, in order to save on money. YOU CAN'T DO THAT! Ritalin is one of those drugs, of which there are many, that you can't adjust the dosage down suddenly. It says so on the bottle. But it says so many things, who pays attention, right? Well, I did and, believe me when I tell you, you can't.

Now anyone who has an MI diagnosis will eventually take over control of their meds, knowing what will be best for them. After a few years I thought, "Why do I need these meds? I feel just fine." Duh ... The reason I felt fine is because of the meds, of course.

A few weeks after I reduced my dosage, I started to experience strange symptoms: light-heated, flu-like symptoms, malaise, and a general feeling of "mush brain". I felt like I was living in a heavy fog.

It was my wife who made the conection between what I had done and the way I was feeling, that is once I told  her what I had done.

I now know, and can admit, that I can't be trusted. I might not do what I am told, and I might not truthfully what I did or did not do. This isn't, at least I don't think, done on purpose, to be deceptive. I either get confused, forget, or think I did what I say I did. This is who I am.

Summer Hiatus

All the steam left my engines, all the wind bypassed my sails, and my oomph just went this summer. I think it was due to a depression that settled in; not severe, just life-controlling.

I am also suffering a great deal with a significant memory problem, and it seems like it is taking up permanent residency. It is caused by the inability of my body to absorb and process vitamin B12, and even the monthly injections I self-administer don't seem to make much difference. My understanding is that the loss cannot be corrected, but the continuing loss can be slowed by the injections.

The ramifications of this short-term memory loss are far reaching, and having a huge impact on my day-to-day life. Forgetting birthdays, meetings and things like that is bad enough. However what really causes difficulty is thinking I can function as I always have, and discovering in the end that I have just screwed up everything.

For instance, last week I had an appointment with my therapist for Monday at 11:00. I went through the previous two weeks POSITIVE that the time was 1:00. I didn't discover my mistake until 10:00 the morning of the appointment, and only because my phone alarm went off at that time.

I have surgery on my knee scheduled for tomorrow, an appointment I had made a week prior. Before the date of the procedure I had to have an EKG done at the local hospital. It wasn't until the office called and asked why they hadn't received the results from the hospital that I was reminded this had to be done.

My finances are also suffering. We have the money coming in each month to pay our bills, but I either overpay, underpay or forget to pay all together. No matter what I do, no matter how I try, it gets away from me over and over and over.

It's like I am trying to live someone elses life. Think about this basic tenant of life, one that we take for granted, that suddenly is escaping me; trusting in my own reality. Everyone makes mistakes in their life, but certain things are constant. For instance, when you see the color red, you are absolutely positive that it is red. When you go to the end of your road and turn right, you are sure that you turned right. When someone left a message on your phone, you are able to relay it to the intended person.

What if you were no longer able to do this and trust yourself. If you are wrong enough times, you're bound to doubt yourself. Once you do this, you can't honestly believe that anything you "know" is actually right. The problem lies, at least in my case, in the fact that I am so certain that what I say is right  that I come across as confident.

At this point, having confidence in anything isn't possible, if I am honest with myself.

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.

Let's Looks At Taking Meds From A Different Angle

 Just when I start to get comfortable on my current med regime, along comes the announcement that the medications prescribed to control Bipolar Disorder don't really make a difference. Isn't there enough proof in the fact that tens of thousands of people have been, and are currently being helped by their meds.

"To Tell Or Not To Tell" - Shielding Our Children

3626 Catherine Zeta-Jones' recent revelation that she has Bipolar Disorder was "big" news a few weeks ago, and this week an interesting question has arisen. Recently on The View her husband, Michael Douglas answered "no" to the question about whether or not they had told their two children, ages 8 and 10.

"Post Pubesent" Puberty?

 In 1994, when I was first diagnosed with Bipolar Disorder, the doctor put me on the "med of the day", Paxil, first introduced in 1993. One unfortunate side effect for me was weight gain, something I previously had never dealt with. For most of my adult life I had hovered between 140 - 145 pounds.

Once I began this med, I started to gain weight. The first month, I went up to 160#, the second month 170#, and on, and on, and on. Finally, my weight began to level off at 230#! What the hell just happened?

Over the years I would experiences "changes" that might or might not be attributed to the mediation I was taking; it was hard to tell. However,  I now have something happening that is both unsightly, annoying and painful. I have developed these large, painful pimples on the back of my head. To top it off, I have been bald on top since 1981, so even the hair on the back of my head is thinning. It seems that one goes away, and two come to take its place.

Nothing life changing, nothing even life altering. Just life annoying! How about you?