I just could not stomach the idea that this was a life-long illness that has no cure. It is only treatable; sometimes successfully, other times, not so much. It can be managed through medication, therapy (long-term, in most cases), and in my opinion, some sort of spiritual faith that keeps you grounded (it also provides a social circle, and, in some cases, wonderful people who lift you back up if you stumble). But, it is, in my opinion and experience never “under control”. It is simply well managed.
One of my last two trips to the psych ward involved a heavy duty overdose of two completely full prescriptions for Geodon (an atypical anti-psychotic) and Wellbutrin (a popular anti-depressant for Bipolars). I think I swallowed about 27 Geodon and about 25 Wellbutrin tablets, then sat back to wait. I was determined that this time I was going to get it right. I would not under any circumstances call 911, I would not call my mother or my best friend; this time I was all-in. Until the consequences of my actions began to take hold. I began to question whether I was really all-in or not, because the fact of the matter was that I was dying. This time I had really f*&^%ed up, and had taken lethal doses of both medications. I don’t remember a whole lot of what followed, but I have to assume I called 911 and told the operator what I had taken. Seriously rapid response time for the paramedics. I had never seen them get anywhere that fast. Of course, the police came. I was coherent enough to remember a female officer asking about a knife that I used as a letter opener, and whether I had ever cut myself. I told her no. I do not like pain of any kind. That’s why I swallow pills. However, my will to live is too strong.
This particular attempt scared any desire to attempt suicide ever again no matter how dark the tunnel I was in seemed to be right out of me. Initially, I was relatively coherent, and responsive. They quickly hooked me up to 8 separate IV‘s to flush the drugs I had taken, and by now were in my blood stream (which meant they were cycling through my brain). Very slowly, total paralysis from the neck down began to set in. Oh, and the entire emergency room and all the people in it turned a fucshia pink. Neither of those symptoms were okay with me. I couldn’t move at all, and I was becoming psychotic at the same time, and I knew it. It is the weirdest feeling I have experienced on this “ride.” I was totally psychotic, broken from reality, but I knew that I was psychotic and nothing I saw or heard could be trusted. I mean, honestly, fuschia? Being psychotic is fine, but let’s leave out the color changes; they are too weird for me. So, all these hot pink people were doing everything in their power to save my life, and I do mean that. I was so close to dead that if I had called 911 any later, I probably would have succeeded.
So, no s*&^, there I was completely unable to move any part of my body except my head, hooked up to at least 8 IV’s and having to pee every 5 to 10 minutes. The extremely nice hot pink nurse’s aides would do their best to get me up to the small portable toilet they had near my bed, and this went on for what seemed like hours. I lay there fully aware of my psychosis, and pleading with the powers that be to allow me to just wiggle a toe. It didn’t seem like a whole lot to ask. I spent 30 minutes just trying to wiggle my big toe, and then the miraculous happened! My toe wiggled and I was the one sending the electrical impulses from my brain. All was not lost after all. Slowly, I began to move other parts of my body. I was going to be okay, at least physically. I had no idea what I had done to my brain functioning. All I knew was that hot pink people were not normal.
I was transferred by ambulance to the psych ward of the same group of hospitals. During the ride there, I made a vow with myself and the Universe that if I were lucky enough to come out of this with no lasting effects, I would never try again. That was five years ago, and while I have had suicidal thoughts up to the point of lining the pill bottles up to see what was left and if a cocktail might do the job, I will never break that vow. Something very bad will happen if you break vows with the Universe as a whole. No one really knows what’s out there, and I am not willing to find out.
After being shuttled through the psych emergency room, I was placed on the ward as a suicide risk. They locked the door to my room if I wasn’t in it, and even worse, they locked the door to the bathroom both night and day. The meds I was on were extremely dehydrating so I drank a lot of fluids, and the door to the bathroom was locked. That, at the time, was high on my irritant Richter scale. I was on “suicide watch” for about 3 days.
In the meantime, I watched the walls swirl and warp into pretty patterns, and asked the psychiatrist if she saw ants marching in formation on the floor. She said no, but I could plainly see them. As far as I was concerned they were real, but here’s the caveat, I knew at the same time that they were not real. It is real strange to know you are psychotic. You are not supposed to know that your reality is different from other people’s. But, I did know. Some part of my brain was still functioning normally while the majority took a little trip. Yea!
I am happy to say with a great deal of gratitude and indebtedness that I have only been back to the hospital once in these past 5 years. Apparently, the Universe heard me, and has held me to what I promised. I still cycle far more often than I would like, but at least now I understand more about what signals the onslaught of an “episode.” Depressive episodes are usually precluded by a great deal of agitation, restlessness, and bouncing from activity to activity with none of them holding my interest for very long. So, knowing that, I can head it off at the pass by having my psychiatrist renew my anti-depressants or up something or lower something. The manic spells I just don’t really have them much. However, the same agitation and restlessness are there but it is accompanied by a great deal of highly focused activity usually writing. So, this blog is fueled by rapidly changing highs and lows. Manic-Depression is……well it is what it is and it is different for everyone. There is no typical mentally “interesting” person. And, I find that makes the world an even more wondrous place even if it is filtered through a now stable madness.
A Bipolar Journey Through The Rabbit Hole 