Today Was A Trip

 

 

Today was a long day. Actually, every day has been long and weird for about the past three days. First, I helped a guy who was stuck here get a bus ticket to another city in another state. That was a two day process. Then this morning, my boyfriend is doing the dishes, and the next thing I know, he is on the kitchen floor with lower back spasms. After getting him from the kitchen to the bedroom and into bed, he continued to have these amazingly painful spasms. So I would grab his legs and pull them out and up straight, and stretch his back. This was not an easy feat to pull off as he is an avid cyclist whose main love in life is climbing hills. I have been riding with him off and on for 22 years, on the road and off in the mountains (I miss that a lot; no car to get to mountains). He is the only person I know who can start a ride going uphill and finishing uphill. It is a true talent that I have never quite been able to figure out how he pulls it off. He has muscular and rather heavy legs. My legs and arms are tired. 

After the spasms did not go away after about 2.5 hours, I decided that I didn’t know what to do, and that I needed to get the paramedics there and the ambulance, as well. So that is what I did. I certainly didn’t have the pharmaceuticals needed to take of the pain and relax the muscles on hand. Besides, he takes a bunch of stuff for asthma. I know what my allergies to certain medications are, but it is really difficult to determine that for someone whose meds you are completely unfamiliar with and who is really out there with acute lower back pain. Fun.

I am a bit concerned because we brought him to my apartment because there were no stairs involved, but I have carpet and a cat. No matter how hard I try to maintain a fur-free environment it is absolutely impossible. He has cats but his floor is hardwood and only carpet in the bedroom. And he is absolutely OCD about the laundry. 

We’ve known each other forever but he says he never knew this side of me existed. I guess being diagnosed as Bipolar with psychotic features, no less, as well as PTSD, Panic Disorder with and without Agoraphobia, and ADD to throw a little extra fun into the mix is somewhat humbling. Practicing Buddhism seems to have had some effect in the arrogance arena as well. Helping other people makes me feel better because no matter how fucked up I think my life may be, there is always worse, and if I can renew, even for a moment, that person’s faith in humanity, then I have done something good and right. I think nearly dying a few years ago may have had something to do with it too. Whatever happened, I am not the person I was about 7 or 8 years ago. However, the desire to help people to the extent that I can has always been there. It just needed a reason to come out. Now, not so much. It helps me forget that I don’t know if I can pay the rent in May. Still not much of anything from the SSA. Which is beginning to make my headaches come back. That kinda bites, but not like nerve pain. I get a feeling I may be up for the night 🙂

A Bit Of Buddhist Wisdom

There Are Blessings To Be Found In All Experiences

Yesterday At The Bus Stop

Negative Self-Talk

Yesterday, I was feeling very down when I woke up at 3:45 in the morning. That feeling of depression lingered throughout the morning despite the fact that I had to do something about my hair and makeup as I had to go out into that feared realm: the public. And, I do mean the Public as I have no car and rely on my feet, legs and the bus to get around town. So, there I am at the bus stop waiting for the bus so I could get to my therapist’s office which is some distance from where I live. Fortunately, my abode is centrally located next to the bus stops going North and South as well as the office of my psychiatrist which is a five minute walk across the street (so is the ER, just in case I go mad, well madder than I already am).

There were several people already at the bus stop which was a little unusual for that time of day. It was about 1:30 pm, and the general malaise had yet to lift although it was quietly being joined by mania. There we go off into mixed episode world, again. I swear I never get depressed and I never get manic, I just stay stuck and somehow balanced in the weird middle ground. Anyway, the people at the bus stop were comprised of an older gentleman named Charlie who had an impressive white beard, his wife, Stephanie, and I am assuming her son as they both spoke with accents, and Charlie did not. Charlie was also Caucasian, and I am not sure where Stephanie and her son had come from originally. As it turned out, her son had just been released from the mental hospital where I go for psych appointments and used to be a “frequent flyer” in the locked wards. The man, Charlie, spoke to me right off even though I was lost in 80’s metal land. There was something pretty nasty beneath the bench; I will not speculate on what it might have been. Charlie pointed it out, so I took out my ear buds to respond. 

My Brain Is Bouncing

Stephanie’s son picked up on the fact that I had these little ear buds, and made a point of showing me his head phones which he pointed out were much bigger than mine. As her son and I talked (I cannot for the life of me remember his name), it became clear to me that he was mentally “different” (the term illness has been talked to death over the past week). As it turned out, he suffered from Schizophrenia, Bipolar Disorder, Asperger’s (?) Syndrome, was also somewhere on the Autistic spectrum, some features of Borderline Personality, and ADHD, in other words, he had a multitude of mental “differences” that rendered him quite interesting and somewhat difficult to talk to (it helped that I have ADD, and Bipolar disorder that was slowly becoming manic) so I was sort of able to follow his train of thought.

This kid/adult was so excited to have someone to talk to, he could barely contain himself. And, not just someone to talk to, but someone who understood most of what he was thinking. He told me he sees and hears things that he knows are not there but he sees them anyway. I replied that I do not see things that are not real, but I hear things I know are not real. This young man was so hyper, I almost couldn’t take it, and I was becoming manic (and have ADD). I am naturally hyper, but this young guy had me beat. As he was also on the Autistic spectrum and had Asperger’s, he became fairly fixated on two things: his headphones being bigger than mine, and his dislike of his meds which he had apparently been off of for several months. It was obvious. I told him that I take medicine too to help me feel better, but that even when I feel okay, I still take my medicine because that is what is making me feel better. I gently told him that going off your medication just because you feel better is not a good idea, because after a month or two, you will feel worse and you are back to square one and the medicine has to build up in your body to make you feel better again. Charlie quietly agreed with me, and I told him the various anti-psychotics I had tried, and that a combination of Abilify and Seroquel had finally put me in the weird middle ground that is the true nature of manic-depression (you are one and the other at the same time).

I mentioned Zyprexa and Resperdal as being some alternatives if Abilify doesn’t work and Seroquel puts you to sleep which makes it a night time medication. Charlie agreed, and asked the young man if the Abilify had worked. The answer was an emphatic no, it had not worked. I am sure that his mother and stepfather accompany him to his therapy appointments. I suggested that maybe they could see what the doc thinks about trying another atypical anti-psychotic. He had apparently been on Haldol and Thorazine for some time. Which in retrospect explains his complaining that the meds made him sleep. I have taken Haldol, and been prescribed it for aggression (when I get overstimulated, I can get aggressive), and yes, it will calm you right down, but the next thing it does is make you sleepy. Add Thorazine to that, and yes, you will sleep most of the day. 

American Homeless

What was even more curious was the man who came by stating that he knew bus stops were a good place to get spare change. I live on disability. I do not even make minimum wage for a 40 hour week. I have no “spare” change. To me, that’s currency, and I need all of it to get by. Charlie and his wife, Stephanie, replied they had no money and were about to lose their storage if they could not come up with the rent that day. They were homeless, and all of their possessions were in that storage locker. Charlie told the man that he was looking for money to save their stuff.

All of a sudden, my life shifted about 10 paradigms to the right. Here was this family with both parents using walkers and not terribly well themselves, and their mentally “different” son whose mother had cared for all of his life, and I was depressed about what exactly. The fact that my brain is chemically messed up and I have no real control over my feelings be them manic or depressive. I have a place that I can call my own. Granted, it takes more than half my monthly income to pay the rent. But, I have the knowledge that when I am done with my therapy appointment, I do not have to look for a place to sleep. My mother picked me up so I could buy some groceries; more than I could conceivably take on the bus or carry as I often do. What I do not know is where were these folks going to find food. They were truly the faces of the homeless. Not the homeless as our society thinks of the homeless as worthless drunks and addicts that are to be stepped over on the sidewalk or crossing the street when one sees a person coming and they can’t be bothered to say that they have no change, or if one does have change, to give it to the homeless person. Many times they are trying to get enough money to pay for one night in a flea-bag motel so they can sleep in a bed, and take a shower. There are those who have become homeless because of addiction, but there are also those who have become addicts because o
f their homelessness. But these people were clean, clothing intact (probably from a thrift store, but that’s where I shop), hair clean and combed. Even the ever so excited young man was clean with clean clothes, hair brushed. They were clearly not society’s picture of the homeless, but they do represent a good portion of people who have found themselves losing their jobs, then their savings, then their homes. 

Homeless Women and Children

“Oddly” enough, my mood shifted. I no longer felt sorry for myself but rather hope that this family could save their storage locker, and hang onto their stuff for another month. Who knows, they may have been living there. That locker could have been “home” as there are a number of rescue missions that provide showers and other types of personal care. I have a friend whose dad (now deceased, too bad because he was a character) lived in his RV which he parked every night at his storage locker.

It is amazing how a random encounter with three people when you are feeling low and socially stunted can transform your day and your world. I am a practitioner of Nichiren Buddhism and we hold that all people are deserving of compassion,

Buddha

respect and fundamental dignity. We believe that all people no matter what walk of life they may come from all have the heart of the Buddha (we just forgot, and have to find it again), therefore when speaking with people, you try to tap your own inner Buddha so that your heart meets theirs, and a dialogue between Buddhas occurs whether the other party knows it or not. I generally wear my ear buds with my music cranked up loud so I can ignore the over-stimulation that can be public transit, but something about this family really made me tap that inner Buddha. It is not that we had anything truly in common except that both their son and I struggle with mental issues. They just seemed like good people in a bad circumstance, and doing what they could to make the best of it and care for the young man (who is going to need life-long mental care). The bus arrived before any of us realized it. I do not believe in random encounters. I was meant to be on that bus, that day, at that time so I could meet these people so they could help heal me in a small way, and I could help heal them in a small way.

Four Questions To Ask Yourself To Make Good Decisions In General

Everyday, each one of us is presented with a myriad of choices from what to wear that day to what to have for dinner. These are inconsequential choices; they really won’t make a huge difference in the grand scheme of things. But what do you do when you are facing a really big, life-changing decision like whether to relocate with your company, file for a divorce, file for a marriage certificate; these are all decisions that have the potential to color the next few decades of you r life. So, how do we make good decisions? Psychotherapist Alison Thayer LCPC helps her clients navigate though the oftentimes murky water of decision making; everything from unpleasant co-workers to seriously life changing decisions like moving across the country.

“Part of the decision making process involves letting go of the perfect image we had hoped to achieve.” 

Another part involves asking good questions that help you reflect on your options and put them into perspective. Below, Thayer shared four questions we can consider when making a decision.

1. What are my options, and what are the pros and cons of each option? It may sound like a petty exercise, but writing down the pros and cons of each potential outcome can help a person see the decision more clearly because it has been distanced my their mind by the process of writing it down. Approaching a decision in this way may also lead to new ideas about how something can be accomplished.
2. A year from now, if I decide to do X, what might this look like?  It is not like we can foresee the future, but chances are if you feel good about it now and you still feel good about when you “project” yourself into a year from now, then chances are it is the right decision.
3. What’s the worst-case outcome? This question can help alleviate anxiety. If you imagine the anxiety-provoking situation and decide it can be handled, you have helped ease anxiety. Asking this question can help to “clarify that the anticipated response may not be as bad as we are making it out to be.”
4. What would I tell a friend to do? Frequently, we would give the friend gentle advice while we, at the same time, have the same dilemma. Yet we are very harsh and critical of ourselves. Reflecting on this question may help you see that you are holding your own self back.

On Whether Manic Depression Is A Blessing Or A Curse Or Both

So, this is a question I struggle with periodically. Is Manic Depression a blessing, curse or both? There is no denying that my life has changed immensely both for the good and the bad since being diagnosed in the early 2000’s. But, is my life really worse than it was before? Was I truly happy, or was it a semblance of happiness? Would my life have taken the same path regardless?

Now that I have been practicing Nichiren Buddhism for about 5.5 years, I can honestly say I really do not know. One goal of Nichiren Buddhism is to become indestructibly happy to the core of your being so that you can face the obstacles and struggles that are inherent in life with the knowledge that whatever life is throwing at you you can handle it with maybe not, joy, but not anger or blame either. Which brings me to the question of whether I was happy before the diagnosis, or was I operating under an illusion that I was happy?

Having thought about this quite a bit, I really do not think that I was a happy person before the diagnosis. I had moments of extreme happiness and joy which I do miss primarily because those moments involve someone I miss a great deal. However, in general, I do not think I was what I would call a happy person, and never really had been. I was not a popular student, although I was certainly a very dedicated student throughout Middle School and High School, but I had no close friends or a person that I could take my problems to. I buried them, and not very successfully either. I got better at that, though. Probably not a good thing, but a necessary defense mechanism. I was “odd” in some way, shape or form that kept the other students from wanting to be my friend.

This was my reality until I went to college, and discovered an entirely new world of people my age, older than myself, and all with different life experiences. I was truly happy in college. My therapist thinks I first presented with Bipolar in college (I had already been diagnosed with PTSD), and looking at my transcript, I can see some signs that there may have been a problem with my moods. I dropped in and out a lot, couldn’t decide on a major, and drifted a lot. I dropped out for two years when I was 19 to “sow” my wild oats because I had not had that experience in High School. I got myself in trouble; some of it serious. But, with the help of rehab, and outpatient therapy, I pulled myself back together and went back with a strong determination to find my major and to earn my degree. I met my ex-fiance, and he rekindled my love of bicycling as he was an avid cyclist, and I had always enjoyed cycling. So, yes, I think I was happy in college. I “fit”.

After graduating, I set out to my find my first real job (the kind that pays more than minimum wage, or relies on tips). I landed the second job I applied for with a salary of about $28,000 per year. Although I thoroughly enjoyed what I did for a living, I was not happy with my environment, my boss, and the way I was treated by some of the other employees. To clarify, I was the Payroll Benefits Coordinator for a 200+ employee hospital, and was frequently blamed for people’s paycheck errors. That’s what the time clock is for. To keep track of your hours; if I don’t know if you worked, I cannot pay you. Pretty simple stuff, and most people did it once because I did not go out of my way to get them special checks to cover their mistakes. However, my boss was a micro-manager and I do not function well under constant scrutiny. So, I was very unhappy with that aspect. Then, I was asked to resign after I made a mistake that in retrospect was a pretty big one. They kept me on to train my replacement. That was my first go around with almost unbearable anxiety, and prescriptions for Xanax. Fortunately, I found a position at the University doing the same type of job for about the same salary. I was over the moon! I was back at my beloved University. It was during my tenure at the University that I had the breakdown that led me to seek out a therapist.

Our whole office was under extreme stress for reasons that are too complicated to explain. I found myself doing the job of two people, and working 12 to 14 hours per day. It was here that I met the individual that was probably as close to a soul mate as I have ever found. He made me happy, and therefore the environment was bearable. Then I melted down, and after about 6 months of weekly therapy, I was diagnosed with Bipolar Type II disorder, and then bipolar Type I with Psychotic tendencies. My world came to a screeching halt. I was once again fired, and this time was very different because now I was clinically mentally ill. I became very unhappy, and became a “frequent flyer” at the mental health unit of a local hospital. I was up, i was down, I was drinking…..heavily. My whole world turned on its head again.

At this time, I would say that Manic Depression was most definitely a curse. The doctors were trying to stabilize me, and onto the med-go-round I hopped. Most of what I can remember about that time is very fuzzy as the doctors tried one medication after another attempting to return my moods to something resembling normal. I was very depressed, frequently drunk, and just as frequently, suicidal. I just could not see any way out of the hole I had fallen into. My whole life revolved around doctor’s appointments, medications that didn’t work or caused unacceptable side effects. I was miserable. I was most definitely caught in the “Why me?” trap. So, yes, I would say the first 4 to 5 years were a curse. And, then I reached the point I call stable madness. I was still a danger to myself, and now I had the means, and I used them. Then one evening, I took a full prescription for Geodon (an anti-psychotic) and one of Welbutrin (an anti-depressant), and I waited. Then the drugs started to kick in, and I got very frightened because I could feel in my gut that I had gotten it right (or wrong) this time. I called 911, and told the dispatcher what I had taken and how much, and the paramedics were there in about 5 minutes. I was taken to the nearest emergency room where they put about 8 IV’s in me trying to flush the now digested medications. I almost died that night. I made a pact that evening that if the Universe and everything in it that was divine that if it allowed me to live through this with no ill effects, I would never do it again. The 6 year anniversary of that pact is approaching in July. I have been suicidal since, but you do not break pacts made with the Universe so I have never tried again regardless of how much I wanted to. My whole view on life changed during the time I was hospitalized following the successful revival of my life.

Not long after I made this pact, I was introduced to Nichiren Buddhism. At first, I thought the practice was weird, and the tenets difficult to understand. But, I kept at it sensing that something greater than myself was at work. I have never been religious, but I have always been spiritual. As I gradually learned more and more, and began to be able to say the prayers more easily, I started to feel better. This was entirely foreign to me. Something was working. I was becoming grounded, I was becoming more stable. I began to ride again. I wanted to see and meet people. I was beginning to think that perhaps life was worth living if only to practice and study Buddhism. I began to see that my previous trials and difficulties had left me with a gift; I was becoming appreciative and grateful for things and people I had taken for granted. I was having more good days than bad. And, the most peculiar of all, my ability to sense when another person was hurting or struggling in their life was becoming heightened. I began to think of others ahead of myself. I still had to vigilantly monitor my moods, but I was becoming less restless and dissatisfied. I became the Vice Women’s Division leader for a group of fellow Buddhists, and then the Women’s Division leader. Things were becoming okay. I was beginning to accept my illness, and think of it less as an illness but as something medically treatable.

It was about 2 years into my practice that I began to understand the practice as being essential to my life, and to my satisfaction with the cards I had been dealt. This is about the time I began to wonder if Manic Depression was a blessing, a curse, or both. Today, and the reason I wrote this, is that I realized that it is both. It is a blessing in that I have learned to appreciate and be grateful for the things and people in my life who make my life worth living. It is a blessing in that I have learned that I am not nearly as bad off as others I have met. And, it is a blessing that I have realized that I truly enjoy helping relieve others of their pain even if it is just a little bit and for a short time. It is a curse in that my moods still fluctuate though not nearly as badly as they once did, that I will be on medication for the rest of my life, and that I will still experience bone crushing depressions from time to time and that I will still have a desire to end my life at those times. So, I have finally answered my question: yes, I am a happy person today. I am alive. No, I am not always surfing the perfect sine wave, but that is okay because the sine wave always comes back. Sometimes, it just hangs out off shore for a while.

This Is Actually Tibetan Buddhism, But The Dalai Lama Explains The Main Tenets Well

I am also a Buddhist as well as many other things, and although this explanation is particular to Tibetan Buddhist chant and prayer (I am a believer in the Nichiren sect of Buddhism), The Dalai Lama explains the main precepts of Buddhism quite well. So, I thought I would post it for anyone interested in Buddhism, in general. Buddhism is very peaceful and, for me, calming.

Today I Got Two New Awards (Not Bragging Today)

English: Bob Marley live in concert, just a couple of years before his death (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Hobby (Photo credit: Sergey Yeliseev)

Today, another blogger, ajaytao2010, volunteered me to pick out two awards from a total of thirteen. As, I am approaching the “big” move out of the house I used to share with a man I thought was something he turned out not to be, I am feeling a little like I am on a hammock that is rocking violently in a late summer wind. I am alternating from irritable (big defensive wall) to profoundly sad (no defenses there). I got married with the idea that this would be the only marriage i would ever have. I was in my late 30’s when I got married. I waited until I thought I had found the right man. I was very wrong as I often am. One of these days I am going to get this “life thing” right, I swear. i just do not know what a happy life looks like. I have never really had one. Not even as a child. I thought too much and analyzed the life out of things; probably why I am a great researcher. but, happy, no. Weird to other people and kids at school, yes. I wasn’t normal until I hit college, and realized that all the weirdos from high school had congregated there. Now, I wasn’t weird or strange or any one of a number of descriptors used over the years. I was accepted, I was allowed to explore ideas and philosophies. I was encouraged to explore, to inquire, to question, and to be myself (which was still a bit odd).

At any rate, I have been moving out of the house that was supposed to be a “fresh start” for my husband and myself, but nothing changed except me. I became less emotional which may or may not be a good thing. He continued with his way of life (of which I highly disapproved). It is almost like the status quo was fine for him, but I needed to work on myself. I was always in the wrong, always on the receiving end of small but biting barbs; I was being abused, and I recognized it. I had been trying to work up the courage to leave, but he always sweet talked me back, and then it would all start over again. We finally had the deal breaker fight a couple of months ago, and I went to bed that night determined to instigate divorce proceedings. I had told him that I would divorce him if he didn’t at least try to curb certain activities. He didn’t and told me to stop threatening. I said that it was a certainty. And, so it came to be. 

So, today, a blogger who has just started reading the convolution that is my life gave me two awards for my blog. Like I said, i do not really need awards to validate myself (that was me in college; I was defined by being the best student in the class), however, it is very nice and humbling that someone would actually not only read my esoteric writings about everything, but would find it interesting enough to follow it, and to deem it worthy of a couple of awards. Like I said, it couldn’t have come at a more opportune time in my life; recognition and validation of any kind is very appreciated when one has not heard much of it. So, one again, Ajaytao2010, thank you very much. I receive them with appreciation and gratitude.  🙂

An Open Letter To One Who Denies Me

Disease? (Photo credit: armigeress)

This is an open and ongoing dialogue I have with myself. Some days it is quiet on the frontlines, other days, the frontline has shifted. It is like trench warfare; no one side advances very far before the retreat. Today the trench belongs to the other side so I write. 

An Open Letter To One Who Denies Me

Hello,

I would like to introduce myself. I am the part of you that you will not acknowledge. Half of my DNA is the result of you. I possess 23 pairs of your chromosomes. I look like you. I have the same coloring as you, freckled and fair and strawberry blonde. I have inherited your intelligence, your thirst for knowledge, your seeking ways, your search for an elusive “truth.” I have the gene that causes you to deny me. I am like your mother, yet I am nothing like her. Yes, I paint, yes, I love to travel, yes, I enjoy conversation with interesting people, yes, I am fascinated by all things in this world. But, I lack the storminess of her. Yes, I used to be a person of stormy and unpredictable moods, but unlike her, I live in this century where they have almost figured out how to medicate the storminess so it no longer wreaks havoc on the world around it.

Granted, I choose to take the least amount of medication that will keep my madness stable. I choose to do so because I still want to feel that storminess that drives my writing, my painting, my dabbles in computer graphics. In other words, the stormy weather that makes me a person distinguishable from others. I manifest the storm in a way that is completely different than she did. I am not her, therefore, I do not understand why you would deny that which is part of you.

Let me tell you about myself. First and foremost, I am a distinct person. I am not my illnesses. I have my illnesses, and to tell the truth, I would not have it any other way. My experience of the world is rich with emotion and appreciation and gratitude (even though some would disagree with that statement). I am not like the other that is also part of you. I have opinions that are based on my experience of what I read and find to be the correct belief. Maybe I am wrong in some of my beliefs and perceptions, but you have to take into account that all I experience is filtered through the somewhat crooked lens of my perception. The important thing is that they are uniquely mine.

Secondly, I am just as flawed as you are. Maybe that is why you deny me. You see flaws in me that you have seen in another. But, once again, I am not her. I am her on atypical anti-psychotics, anti-anxiety medication, and a little stimulant to control my racing mind. She was untreated and, therefore, ran rampant when the episodes hit. At least this is what I am guessing because no one will tell me anything about her except that she was “odd,” and that I remind relatives of her. I have heard this since I was a child, and since I remind people of her, I can only assume she struggled with the same ailments that I do. She must have been “mad” as well from what little I can gather. Which is not much because you have chosen to deny my existence in your world.

Why would you do that? Am I really that much of a disappointment to you? Did I fail in some way to live up to your exceptionally high standards (mine are higher than yours, by the way)? What have I done to cause you to deny a part of yourself? Or, is it guilt for passing on the predisposition to madness? You know, as an intelligent researcher, that only the predisposition is passed down. Some external stressor is thought to activate the “disease.” Or, perhaps, you look at me as being “diseased,” and since all of your research has focussed on eradicating disease from cells, I am unacceptable because you cannot separate me from the “disease.”

For whatever reason you choose to deny me, you are choosing to deny a part of you. I would have thought that by now, you would have learned to accept yourself as you are. Some of us have been forced to do exactly that due to being considered “different” than…….

 

The Long Road To A Correct Diagnosis ~ Why Rapid Cycling Is Hard To Identify Part One

Bipolar Disorder (Photo credit: SheriW1223)

Okay, for anyone who doesn’t know me or my blog: I have rapid cycling Bipolar type I with psychotic features, PTSD, and Generalized Anxiety disorder with and with out Agoraphobia, oops, forgot Adult ADD. Basically, all this means is sometimes I can’t leave the house without having a panic attack, I am very jumpy, hyper-vigilant, and can recall the incident that caused the PTSD vividly in both the first person and the third person. It has been 24 years, and while I largely do not think about it, I do have dreams every now and again.  It is part of my past that I live with much like the Bipolar type I with psychotic tendencies diagnosis. The whole purpose of this blog is to help me better understand how to manage this illness, and to let the reading public know that we are just as ordinary as they are.

Okay, so Rapid Cycling Manic-Depression is a symptom of the illness in which the Manic-Depressive experiences 4 or more distinct episodes of either depression or mania within a year. That‘s the “official” explanation. People with Rapid Cycling Manic-Depression can cycle faster. I find that I tend to cycle faster when I am under extreme duress like I am now. That’s a whole other story altogether. Maybe I will tell it when I stop crying about it. I actually diagnosed myself with Rapid Cycling Manic-Depression because after reading the symptoms, I saw myself in those pages. I tend to cycle very rapidly. I have roughly 7 or 8 major depressive episodes per year, and about 3 manic episodes. I usually write when I am manic. Most of my blog is fueled by mania, and partially by severe, bone crushing depression which has recently been the case.

Rapid Cycling Manic-Depression is often very difficult to diagnose because the patient usually presents in the depressive phase. Frequently, a diagnosis of Unipolar Depression is given, and the doctors set about treating the depression which can paradoxically cause a manic episode. More women than men present in the depressive phase. My guess is that the manic or hypo-manic high feels good for a while so men don’t see the need for treatment, but there is always the crash, and it is painful. One day you are on the top of the world, and the next you are crying and depressed for no real apparent reason.

I, myself, presented in the depressive phase along with Agoraphobia. I hadn’t been to work in 11 days. I refused to speak to my supervisor. I left voice mails to say that I wouldn’t be in that day. I eventually lost my job due to the fact that I missed so many days of work. I had not yet been diagnosed with Manic-Depression type I with psychotic tendencies. I knew from previous experiences with severe depression that this was not a normal depression for me. I have been having major depressive episodes since I was in Grammar School, and this was not like any of those. I was paranoid, and I couldn’t leave my apartment for fear of a panic attack. I was paralyzed with depression and fear. This wasn’t right or normal for me. I always went to school, and even completed college (albeit on the 7 year plan). The Agoraphobia was new and different. Different enough that I compiled a list of psychologists, and sent it to my primary care doctor to see if he knew of any of them. I wasn’t going to be tossed around between different docs like I was in my teens. I wanted someone who could understand me, and understood what was happening to me. I was, at this point, 31 years old and had been an untreated Manic-Depressive for about 14 years. I was always treated for depression.

As it turned out, one of the therapists on the list had worked under my Primary Care Physician, and he recommended her to me as I am pretty eccentric, and so is she. She also happened to specialize in mood disorders. So, on 09/03/2003, I drug my depressed, agoraphobic self out of my apartment, got in my car and drove to her office which was a lot further than I wanted it to be. C’est la vie. I spewed out everything that I had been through as a teen, as a pre-teen, and as a child to her. I really do not where it all came from, but I sensed that maybe this was someone I could finally trust. She seemed very, very bright which for me is essential since I can convince most docs that I am fine and do not to see them anymore, and then turn around and swallow a bottle of aspirin. I have not been able to do that with her. 

This was wonderful! I finally had met a psychologist who could help me. She was certainly more eccentric than I was. I made another appointment to come back the next week. She administered the Minnesota Multi-Phasic Inventory; no one had done that before. The test measures levels of trust, paranoia, depression, mania, and is a wonderful diagnostic tool when you are trying to figure out a diagnosis. She was doing something to try to figure out what was actually wrong with me. All the other psychologists I had seen were too easy to manipulate, and what are teenagers are really good at: manipulation.

She actually listened to what I said very carefully. It took about 6 months, and then she dropped the bomb: Manic-Depression type II. So, she and I went over the DSM criteria for that diagnosis. It was almost right. A couple of weeks later, I graduated. I was given the diagnosis (label) of Manic-Depression type I with psychotic tendencies. WTF!?!?! Me! “No, absolutely not” my brain screamed!

That began a series of hospitalizations for suicidal ideation, and suicide attempts. This stage of “acceptance” went on for several years. I was not adjusting well to the diagnosis. I felt like my life was over. Everything I had read and heard about Manic-Depressive illness that had gone untreated as long as mine had made the diagnosis sound like a death sentence. I had learned that it was important to catch it early when symptoms first present themselves because Manic-Depression is a progressive disorder; it gets worse with time if it goes untreated. I was really freaked out. 

Dragon's Loyalty Award

Thank you to mkesling63 for the nomination of this award. Any and all award nominations that I have received are deeply appreciated and I am grateful that some one found my life, ideas and perceptions interesting enough to even follow. I am still working on my list of bloggers to nominate but it will come soon. 

Seven things about myself:

• I am incredibly shy in real life
• I am also very bold in real life
• I have always stood up for the little guy
• I cannot tolerate bullies and/or aggressive behavior
• I have been keeping journals of my life since age 12
• I am not a chocolate fiend
  
• I will be your friend for life