One Week

In one week, I will find out if I have an income for April. Next Friday is the day my benefit check would normally be deposited. I think I am experiencing all of my mental “issues” at the same time: depression, check, anxiety on a level unknown to normal people, check, mania, check, fear, check. I am one 5’10” walking ball of nerves, irritability, hostility, depression, mania, anger, and fear. You want to make someone who is Bipolar sick? Cut off their source of income, and watch them try to cope with it. I think they do it for fun, personally. But that is probably paranoia talking.

Okay, I Am Starting To Get Nervous

 

My insurance company has been notified that I no longer have Medicare part B, and they sent out a letter about two weeks ago that I would no longer be eligible for the Medicare Advantage plan that I have been on for about six years now. My insurance (read: prescriptions) will end at midnight on March 31st. I have about 1.5 months worth of Abilify and about 3 weeks worth of Seroquel left. I am not going to be able to fill the Seroquel in April, and the Abilify is going to run out in mid-May, give or take. The two prescriptions combined cost about $1900.00 per month. That’s more than I get per month on disability which, if you have read the previous few posts, has been denied due to a resounding medical improvement. With all due respect to the Social Security Administration, when someone who has been on and relied upon disability to pay rent, pay for groceries, utilities and what not for about 9 years, this type of situation is going to cause a medical slide back down the hill. I do not think they recognize the severity of the situation. Since I received that letter notifying me that my benefits were to be discontinued, I have grown depressed, extremely anxious, panicky, sleepless (which really helps people with Bipolar….not), and a whole host of other symptoms that had become manageable. Now, I am back to crying at the drop of a hat, my Klonopin usage is back up to the prescribed dosage (I had managed to drop it to half), and I do not know what I am going to do when the Abilify runs out. I am going to be an untreated mentally ill person again, and that scares the living hell out of me.

I remember what it was like to be untreated. My moods were all over the place, I have been told that I could be quite the bitch, I abused drugs and alcohol in a vain attempt to regulate my moods on my own, and it just wasn’t a pretty sight. I am afraid that I am going to get suicidal again, not just of the ideation variety, but of the type that attempts it. I already have 7+ attempts under my belt, and the last one was nearly successful. I have been assured that my benefits will continue throughout the appeal process, and that data has been entered to resume my benefits. However, I have also been told that sometimes that data just kicks out of the system, and I won’t know that until April 3rd when the next check is to be deposited. This is going to be two weeks of extreme anxiety: will I get my check, will Medicare be reinstated as the liaison between the SSA office here and the Benefits Determination Services has assured me? I do not want to see what is going to happen.

Everyone keeps telling me that the Affordable Care Act is supposed to be in place to take care of these problems, but I have looked at the supposedly “affordable” insurance programs available, and unless you want a huge out of pocket expense, you won’t get a premium below about $250.00 per month. If you don’t mind having an out of pocket expense of around $6000.00, your monthly premium is going to be in the $350.00 per month range. Add $350.00 to the roughly $2100.00 worth of prescriptions I take monthly, and it is just not feasible.

Even the thought of trying to secure a job that has benefits gives me a panic attack. What if I have a depressive episode, and I cannot function at home or in the workplace? I’ll just lose another job, I guess. I have never been able to keep a job longer than two years because something always goes wrong; I make a stupid mistake, or the job is beneath my qualification level and I get bored and then I get depressed. Then I get fired for not being able to complete tasks on time, or finish them at all. I have a hard time following instructions (ADD) spoken or written. I have a huge problem with micro-management; just piss off and let me work, it will get done if you aren’t in my face every half-hour. 

I am getting nervous to the point of actually being afraid for myself. How am I supposed to live? These are not entitlements. Disability benefits are paid out of taxes that I paid into while I was working for about 17 years. I earned these benefits. I also was doing some more reading on what types of conditions are eligible for benefits: if I was a drug addict or alcoholic, I would qualify for disability benefits. I am sorry, but drug addiction and alcoholism may not be conscious choices, but they are choices none the less. Having a few mental health issues is not really a choice. It just sort of happens to people especially those with mental health problems in their families.

My parents (my mom, really, because my Father is too narcissistic to think about much other than how he plans to retire with a few million under his belt) can only help so much and for so long, and I really don’t want their help. As it stands, my mom helps me more than I would like, but it is a necessary evil. I appreciate everything they have done, and I am extremely grateful to have parents that are living at my age, as well as, having the means to help to a point. It is a very fine line. My life was built on a house of cards, and the SSA pulled one of the foundation cards out so the whole thing fell. I am seriously beginning to freak out.

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.

Today, Bipolar Disorder Is A Curse

I have been having a few problems with crying at “inappropriate” times lately. It is like my whole wounded inner child is exposed to the world and there is no scab or band-aid covering her. And, my outer adult doesn’t know what to do to help this poor child. It is like a science fiction movie where you can push a button and the force field goes up or down. I would really like to find this button so I can put the force field back up. But, it is either hidden or stuck. I have become the walking wounded. I think I know why, on the bright side, if there is one. 

The death of Robin Williams hit me in the gut. Not because I know the man personally. Not because he was one of the brightest stars we have seen in both acting or comedy. It is because he was just another fellow human being fighting a losing battle with a sometimes fatal disease that was exacerbated by his addictions to cocaine and alcohol.

That could be anyone I have met on many hospital wards. The young woman who was so manic that she had become psychotic and believed the rest of us were all members of the management team at her apartment complex. I was her manager, and she kept telling me that she would pay the rent as soon as she got back from her “vacation.” The young woman with Schizoaffective disorder who believed that she and her twin brother had been separated at birth by the CIA, and saw conspiracy in everything. She left the group one afternoon during “free” time telling us as she left that she was going to kill all of us. This missive seriously upset another patient who was there because of a suicide attempt and deep depression. She wasn’t like the rest of us who had severe psychiatric problems, and she really believed this other patient, She whispered to me, “Does she really mean that?” I told her “No, she didn’t. It was just part of her illness.”

There was the young man I met during my first hospitalization who was Borderline and Bipolar who bragged that he had tried to commit suicide 5 times in one month (that’s something you write home about), and the old Viet Nam vet I had made friends with told him without looking up from what he was doing that during the war, the rest of the platoon sent guys like him out “on point.” The kid didn’t get it, and asked what he meant. I responded, looking up briefly, that guys sent out “on point” were the ones who drew enemy fire so the rest of the platoon knew where to aim, and that these were the guys that were perceived as suicidal by the rest of the group. The kid looked taken aback (as he rightly should have), and that was the last we heard of his magnificent accomplishment. I guess the Vet scared some sense into him.

However, I think it really bothered me because Robin Williams could have been any average joe battling a very difficult and hard to navigate (thanks to the mental mine field) illness. Yes, Robin Williams was a star, yes he was rich, yes he could have done anything and gone anywhere he wanted. However, where ever you go, there you are. There is no escape from this illness. Yes, you can drug and drink yourself into oblivion. I have done that. Oddly enough, upon waking with the worst hangovers ever, I was still there with Bipolar, navigating the minefield of my mind. Clearly, it didn’t work for him. I do not think it helps anyone to try to drink yourself out of the highs, or coke/speed (my drug of choice) yourself out of the lows. I have found that once you come down from the high or sobered up from the binge, you are still there battling an illness and trying to navigate the minefield that are the thoughts that can eventually kill you. Robin Williams could have been me or any other person I have met along the paths of hospitalization, partial normalcy, and back to the hospital.

I have gone six years without the serious intent to end my life, and I have not been hospitalized for two. This is not to say I haven’t lined my pill bottles up and tried to decide whether there was enough medication to get the job done. I have done that numerous times, and each time I do that, I remind myself of the vow I made six years ago that I would never again try to take my own life. And, who knows or can tell whether I will become suicidal enough to warrant a trip to the hospital (although I now live right across the street from the psych ward; I can walk there. No ambulance necessary). I think about suicide at least once a day, especially when the meds aren’t working well. And, right now they aren’t working. They are keeping my head above water so I don’t drown in my thought process. While I may consider Bipolar disorder both a blessing and a curse, it has become most definitely a curse as of late. I am finding myself pretending that I am fine so my mom won’t worry about me (even though she is), I pretend I am fine so I won’t worry my therapist (very antithetical to the concept of ‘Therapy’), and I pretend I am fine so I do not worry myself. But, that’s not working because I cannot just leave my emotions somewhere and walk away. Those damn things trail me everywhere I go. And, right now, they are saying some very negative things. So, I keep pretending as I imagine many people afflicted do. It is a way of controlling the insanity.

Constantly Questioning ~ New Question About The Idea Of Being "Disabled"

This is another question that came to mind this morning (too much coffee mixed with Adderall 🙂 ) How much of a person’s disability are either mental disorders or developmental disorders, and how much of it is because society has told a person that they are “disabled”?

This weekend I had the privilege of meeting a young woman who has certain physical challenges, and, I think also some mental challenges. She just graduated from a private school here, and intends to start college this Fall semester with the goal of becoming a 5th grade teacher. She is clearly “disabled” or “challenged,” if you prefer, but she has a strength of will and a determination to become a teacher that I have not seen before in a “disabled” or “challenged” person.

I was thinking of her as I looked into the mirror while drying my hair, and it occurred to me that “disabled” is a social construct, and maybe, not so much a reality. I do not look disabled as all of my challenges come in the form of Affective disorders, Anxiety disorders, and one learning disorder (Adult ADD). I do not have developmental disabilities. I do not have anything that makes me look different than anyone else. If you were to meet me on the street, or in a class, the only way you would  know that I struggle daily with a host of mental problems would be to talk to me at length. Then, I may come across as different or weird due to A) being wired “backwards” (ADD ~ Can mimic a manic phase) and B) I am insatiably curious about everything or C) if I am waiting at a bus stop, I generally have ear plugs in to deter people from talking to me, but it also cuts down on the stimulation I get. I am an introverted personality, and I do not really need the adulation of the crowd. That overwhelms me.

So, does Bipolar Type I with psychotic tendencies, PTSD, Panic disorder with Agoraphobia, ADD, and having an avoidant personality make me disabled? I know to a certain extent that the lability of my emotional state can cause problems with friends, co-workers, bosses, etc. If you don’t like my mood, wait a few minutes, and it will change. I know that PTSD interferes with my life in that I am hyper-vigilant, overly aware of who is near me (I can “feel” a person behind me up to 70 feet even when plugged in), I have recurring nightmares though not so much anymore, I can relive the event that led to the diagnosis in both the third and the first person, and I have fear reactions to people who resemble my attacker (I was 16 and about 3 months). The Panic disorder with Agoraphobia thankfully seems to have abated somewhat, but I still periodically can’t mentally make myself leave my apartment, and if I try, bad things happen. ADD is just added fun to the mania of Bipolar. Mania makes my brain bounce, and the ADD joins in just for fun. So, yes, based on those diagnoses and symptoms make life very challenging, and since I am usually in a “mixed” episode ~ equally manic and depressed at the same time, I frequently get “stuck” as I am the most motivated depressed person, and the most depressed manic person. Nothing gets completely done; does that make me disabled in the workforce? I think so due to the fact I have a hard time accomplishing anything completely and on-time. Agoraphobia is just like icing on the cake as is the avoidant personality problem.

However, every time I visit my psychiatrist, I am noted to be “well groomed”, which is opposed to disheveled, I suppose. I have to be really deep down the Rabbit Hole to go out without at least clean hair, and screw the rest. But, I am a girly girl, and I like my nail polish, jewelry and make-up. So, even when I do not feel well, it is very hard to tell unless you know me intimately, or I tell you, or I just break down for no reason. So, we have visited the physiological and the psychological aspects of being “disabled” (another word I dislike). Moving along to the social notions of disability.

Here’s where I get a little bit confused. Yes, I do have markedly impaired social and functioning skills. But, how much have I bought into being told by doctors and other mental health worker’s and society (including family and friends) that I am disabled? How much of my personality has become tied up in what Sociologists call the “sick role”? In other words, am I disabled because I have some very challenging mental problems, or is it because I have these mental issues that society itself has labeled me disabled?  These are questions I just do not have the answers to. When interacting with people especially over a long period of time, they come to the conclusion that I am weird, that my thoughts are not “normal” (whatever that is; although daily thoughts of suicide probably are not normal), that I am somehow different than they are.

I guess it is because I am up for medical review of my disability benefits that these questions have popped up. I have not been reviewed in more than 7 years which according to the Social Security Administration is the cycle for people not expected to improve past a certain point, or the duration of the illness is greater than 12 months or can be expected to end in death. Bipolar disorder is one of the deadliest of the “severe” psychiatric disorders probably for it’s high rate of completed suicides. Therefore, I wonder if I am disabled because I have several different types of mental disorders, or because the doctors, the government, and society tells me that I am. Because I am damn good at hiding it 🙂 

And here’s an interesting story that aired on 60 minutes regarding the Social Security Disability program: http://www.pogo.org/blog/2013/10/60-minutes-takes-down-disability-benefits-did-they-get-the-story-right.html

What do you think: truly disabled, or disabled because our society tells people they are?

Question ~ Why Is It Okay To Be Physically Disabled But Not Mentally?

This has bothered me for a long time. Why is it “okay” to have a physical disability or illness, but if your disability or illness is mental, people react differently? In other words, why is there so much stigma attached to being mentally challenged due to organic illness? People do not have a problem if you have a heart condition, diabetes, asthma, even cancer. But, tell them you suffer from depression, bipolar disorder, schizophrenia, anxiety disorders, PTSD, and people look at you sideways. People who suffer from physical illnesses frequently suffer from depression as well, but that still isn’t looked at the same way as depression on its own.

Mental Illness ~ The Invisible Illness

People suffering from the more severe psychiatric disorders are looked at even more sideways then people with depression. Especially, the schizoid disorders. Is it because people are afraid that others with these more severe diagnoses are behaviorally unstable, and people are afraid of us and what we may do to them? In my experience, most of us just want to be left alone to live our lives as best we can. I mean, what is the difference between using an asthma inhaler to control asthma, and taking a mood stabilizer or other class of psychiatric drug in order to manage a mental issue? The fact is those of us suffering from mental disorder, for the most part, take those medications because we want to manage our illnesses and to increase the quality of our lives.

He, Boyd, was turning to leave.

Where I live, it seems the police have declared open season on the mentally ill. We have one incident recently that may have made the national news (I do not know), but it certainly burned up people’s ears here. The man in question was an unmedicated (as many are) homeless schizophrenic who decided to camp out for the night in the foothills of the mountains east of the city. I, as are many people who live here, am unclear on how the police entered the situation. There are a fair number of “high-end” neighborhoods in the foothills, so it could have been someone who lives up there who saw the man in his ragged clothing, and freaked out and called police. I do not know. What is known is extraordinarily sad. There was some type of confrontation (the police are claiming he had drawn a knife on them; they have Glocks and Sig Sauers, what is a knife going to do? You have to get really close to use a knife), but the lapel cameras show there is some type of interchange between the man and the 9 or 10 police including SWAT members. The next thing the lapel cameras show is the man turning around and starting to walk away. That is the moment the police opened fire. When he was leaving the situation. The autopsy came back that the man who had done nothing wrong but be schizophrenic and camping outside (as was probably usual) in the wrong place had been shot in the back and the back of both arms. He was killed instantly. The public outcry was deafening. And this is merely one example of our police department shooting and killing someone with a mental disturbance. And, from what I can tell, they fire when people are leaving the situation, or are trying to get away from them, or my personal favorite, talking on a cell phone which our esteemed police department took to be a weapon, and killed a kid talking to his mother on his cell phone. I do not remember what his diagnosis was, but his mother got to hear the police kill her son. These things do not happen to people who are physically ill or disabled. 

I have a friend who is currently medically disabled who made an interesting comment to me the other day. He said that it is easier to get state assistance if you have a mental diagnosis than a medical one. He suffers from chronic, and I do mean chronic, depression, but he is unwilling to be diagnosed in order to get benefits he has earned through working because of the recent attitude of not only our police department, but society in general’s outlook on the mentally ill. I have news for people. Most of the mass shootings were not committed by people with lifelong mental problems, but people who are suffering situational mental difficulty or have a very strong belief in an antisocial ideology. It isn’t the Bipolar’s in manic episodes, it isn’t the schizophrenics of the world, and it isn’t the chronic depressives that are doing these things. It is people who have recently experienced a stressor like job loss, divorce, separation, etc. who also tend to hold to an antisocial ideology. It is the stressor that is key. I mean, honestly, I was depressed in high school, and yes, I did have fantasies of blowing up my school, but I, like many people like I was, didn’t do it because it was the wrong thing to do. 

Timothy McVeigh was not mentally ill, but he did hold anti-government ideologies

I think, and this is just my opinion, that one of the main reasons that people do have a fear of the mentally disordered is because when one of these mass shootings, or other violent act (the blowing up of the Federal Building in Oklahoma City, for example),the media will instantly latch onto any, no matter how slight, inference of mental illness in the party committing the crime. Through this slight inference, many people come to believe that a person with say Bipolar disorder is a ticking time bomb and is likely to go off at the least provocation. Not true of most of us. We are just trying to get along as the homeless, the disenfranchised and the poor of our society. There are times when I wish that all I had to worry about was my blood pressure (not to make light; just to make a point). I would be less likely to be arrested or killed if I were medically ill.

It All Started At Birth (The Drug Years) May Be A Trigger; I Don't Know

Backing up a bit, I had just gotten home; it was maybe 10:30 pm, but I had told my parents I was working that night so I could sneak out to see my “boyfriend.” I put it into quotes because it became very clear to me that night that he had no feelings for me at all. You cannot do something that violent to someone you really love. Abusers may claim they love you, but they really do not. 

My parents were angry; they had called my place of employment and were told I was not there. So, they knew I had lied. That was all they were concerned about. My lying. They did not notice my disheveled appearance, the smeared makeup, the look of utter shock on my face (I knew it was there because by this time, I had hit the “I can’t believe this happened to me” phase.) I was so angry, in shock, disbelieving, and full of hatred that I completely ignored them, told them to Fuck Off, and turned to go to the bathroom down the hall with my middle finger high in the air. Had I been a parent whose daughter had come home looking like that, I would be worried, but no, my parents (both narcissistic in their own way, one worse than the other) were concerned I had lied. That was the least important thing in the world to me.

No means NO! It does not mean I am playing hard to get, it means fucking NO!

I had just lost my virginity to a rapist. All I wanted to do was get clean, but that wasn’t going to happen that night or for several months after. I must have stayed in the tub for about 4 hours (wouldn’t that tip you off if you were a parent.) It was nearly 3 am before I emerged from the bathroom. I got in bed and tried to sleep, but I kept flashing back. I still have problems with nightmares, reliving the event, and being hyper-vigilant (which may be the only good thing to come out of this; I now have an almost innate sense when people are too close or are walking behind me,etc.) My main problem is that I did not completely disassociate the way many survivors of abuse do. I can see it from the third person watching it happen to me, and I can see it from the first person experiencing it. Believe me, I try not to go there. But, every now and again, I revisit the feelings in a dream or something, and I am very aware of who is around me at all times.

So, thus began the self-medicating. I couldn’t go to my parents and tell them what happened; they had made it quite clear that the lie about working would preclude any truth about that night.) I began to smoke pot more frequently with my neighbor, I began to drink a bit, and I couldn’t have cared less about school. Nothing, absolutely nothing mattered to me. Getting high, that mattered. Anything that would stop the flow of images, and marijuana did that quite effectively. I found more and new friends who smoked. Until then, I was the one who passed on the joint. Now, it was my savior. I began to smoke cigarettes regularly at that time, too.

I decided that I could no longer handle High School and discovered that the University here had a concurrent enrollment program; all you needed to do was get your high school’s permission, in my case, I only had 2.5 credits to graduate. One year of English, one year of Math, and a semester elective. So, I took the SAT (did not do well: 1090. Sad.) and I took the ACT (27 cumulative, much better.) So, having written an essay to the Dean of Students about why I wanted to start college early, I was admitted to college about 2 months after my 17th birthday. This all took place in the spring so I could get all the necessary paperwork approved.

During this period of time, I began to hang out at a local spot frequented by students, hippies, Deadheads, you name a group they were there; including my rapist whom I saw everyday. As if I wasn’t traumatized enough. I met a man who turned into one of my best friends there. He is beautiful both inside and outside, and has remained that way even into his 40’s. It makes me smile to think of him. I also met my first boyfriend (I do not consider my rapist as my first boyfriend.) He was not attractive in a traditional sense, but he had this sense of humor that was infectious. He made me laugh. He actually asked one night when I was running late for dinner if it would be alright if he kissed me (he knew my story.) I knew that I wanted to kiss him, but I had no confidence at the time (another theft.) I said, yes it would be okay, and he kissed me so gently and softly. He completely respected that I had been attacked and was going to be hesitant, but that was okay with him. I was 17, and should probably mention that he was 24. My parents hated him from the word go, but they did not understand how he treated me with respect and compassion, and how much he took care of me. But then again, they were unaware of how important these qualities were to me. If only they had asked one simple question: Are you okay? Things may have turned out very differently. To this day, I do not think my father fully comprehends that his daughter was sexually assaulted. It is like he has a block on everything unpleasant in this world. I could never live with such blinders.

This is when I really started getting into pot smoking. I was stoned from the time I woke up until I went to sleep at night. It quieted the voices in my head, and allowed me to relax my guard a little bit. I started skipping class to hang out with my new-found friends. My soon to become boyfriend noticed that I was not attending class in favor of getting high, and he began to walk me to class, and be there when I got out to take me to my next class. My parents never knew this about him either. They chose to believe he was bad because he had some jail time under his belt, and he was 7 years older than I was. But, if they could only had known how much love he had to give me, and respect for what had happened, and the compassion and wisdom to ask before he touched me in any form of intimate way. All they saw was an ex-con who was messing with their daughter.

Before long, my pot smoking gave way to pretty heavy LSD use, and then gradually to pills. Then I hit a mile marker: I tried meth for the first time. I had found my drug. This was not a good thing. I had a dealer living in my apartment, and he paid his rent by keeping me high. On meth, I was happy, outgoing, talkative, loved everyone, and lost about 30 pounds that I really didn’t have to lose. I cooked, I cleaned (and I do mean thoroughly.) I was super woman! For the first time in years, I felt like I had before the attack. Nothing bothered me…..I had a temper, but you really had to make me mad to get a rise out of me. Now, that I know that I have ADD, all of my reactions to meth make sense. For me it was calming, but I am wired backwards.

I do not know how it happened, considering my drug of choice is meth and probably always will be), but somehow I moved on to cocaine (this guy I knew got 97% pure Colombian), and Crack. He was a crack fiend, and need a safe place to rock the powdered cocaine. I let him do it at my apartment in exchange for about a quarter gram of pure cocaine. I mean, this stuff knocked you on your ass for about 20 minutes or so. He was usually done rocking the remainder about the same time I “came to.” Then we spent the night smoking rocks. By this time, I was also taking an unimaginable amount of valium, and shooting about 12 cc’s of morphine each day. Meanwhile, the Bipolar disorder that had been lying dormant was starting to manifest itself. I was unaware of it, but my moods were very volatile, and everyone I knew including myself chalked it up to drug addiction. And, I can’t dance around it anymore calling it substance abuse. I was an addict. I didn’t care what you had, I would buy it and take it. I loved the pure cocaine, meth, morphine and pills. Drinking was a so-so remedy (although it becomes important later.) What I did not know was that I was subconsciously trying to control the chemical imbalance in my brain. If I was down, I snorted a couple of lines of meth or coke whichever was available. If I was too far up, I shot myself up with morphine and popped some pills. Yes, I was an addict and a junkie. This has gotten too long…….I will cover the events that led me to rehab, and relapse in my next post……

Effects Of Bullying

I am an effect of bullying. I experienced during school and after school bullying from the time I was about 7 to the age of 16. This bullying occurred in one form or another at every school I attended from grammar school through high school. The consequences of said bullying have lasted well into my adult years. I have trouble trusting another’s intentions, I feel that people are out to hurt me for no logical reason, I suffer panic attacks and fear when in a group of people I do not know, and, consequently, I have very few friends among other effects. Following is some information I found at www.stopbullying.gov . I find it disturbing that the trend has grown to such a proportion that there is actually a governmental website devoted to the subject. When I was experiencing bullying growing up it was literally thought of as something to be endured and wasn’t very important in terms of mental and physical health. While reading some of the material I located, I was mildly surprised to find myself thinking back to those days, and identifying with much of what had been written.

Bullying Definition

Bullying is “unwanted, aggressive behavior among school aged children that involves a real or a perceived power imbalance. The behavior is repeated, or has the potential to be repeated, over time. Both kids who are bullied and who bully others may have serious, lasting problems.”

In order to be considered bullying, the behavior must be aggressive and include:

• An imbalance of power: Kids who bully use their power ~ such as physical strength, access to embarrassing information, or popularity ~ to control or harm others. Power imbalances can change over time and in different situations, even if they involve the same people.
• Repetition: Bullying behaviors happen more than once or have the potential to happen more than once.

Bullying includes actions such as making threats, spreading rumors, attacking someone verbally or physically, and excluding someone from a group on purpose. (I have experienced all of these at some point in time).

Types Of Bullying

• Verbal bullying is saying or writing mean things. Verbal bullying includes:
  • Teasing
  • Name-calling
  • Inappropriate sexual comments
  • Taunting
  • Threatening to cause harm
• Social bullying, sometimes called relational bullying, involves:
  • Leaving someone out on purpose
  • Telling other children not to be friends with someone
  • Spreading rumors about someone
  • Embarrassing someone in public
• Physical bullying involves hurting a person or possessions including:
  • Hitting/kicking/pinching
  • Spitting
  • Tripping/pushing
  • Taking or breaking a person’s things
  • Making mean or rude hand gestures

Where And When Bullying Happens

It can occur either during or after school hours. While most reported bullying occurs within the school building, a significant portion occurs in places like the playground or on the bus. It happens on the way to or from school, in the neighborhood, or (now) on the Internet.

Frequency Of Bullying

There are two sources of federally collected data on youth bullying:

• The 2011 Youth Risk Behavior Surveillance System (the CDC) indicates that, nationwide, about 20% of students grades 9-12 experienced bullying.
• The 2008-2009 School Crime Supplement (National Center for Education Statistics and Bureau of Justice Statistics) found that, nationwide, about 28% of students grades 6-12 experienced bullying.

On average, that is approximately %25 of kids aged 11-17 that have reported bullying. I would like to emphasize the word “reported”. These statistics are a) out of date, and b) the students who have reported bullying, and does not include those who do not tell anyone. That means that, in reality, the number of students being bullied may be higher, and I suspect it is. A number of students may not report bullying for fear of retaliation or simply out of shame. These students are not captured by these studies.

Effects Of Bullying

The effects of bullying both by those being bullied and those who bully others have been linked to many negative outcomes including but not limited to impacts on mental and physical health, substance use and abuse, and suicide. An interesting study conducted by the National Institute for Mental Health highlights some of the long lasting effects of bullying. http://www.nimh.nih.gov/news/science-news/2013/bullying-exerts-psychiatric-effects-into-adulthood.shtml

Kids Who Are Bullied

Students who experience bullying at school, after school, in their neighborhoods, or by technological means such as the Internet or texts on their phones are more likely to experience:

• Depression and anxiety, increased feelings of sadness and loneliness, changes in sleep and eating patterns loss of interest in activities they used to enjoy or anhedonia, and I would add low self-esteem and self-worth.
• Health complaints such as frequent headaches and stomachaches, or being too sick to go to school
• Decreased academic achievement and school participation. They are more likely to miss, skip or drop out of school.

A very small proportion of students who are bullied may react in extremely violent ways. In 12 of 15 school shootings in the 1990’s, the shooters had a history of being bullied.

Kids Who Bully Others

Students who are bullies can also continue to engage in violent and other risky behaviors into adulthood. They are more likely to:

• Abuse alcohol and other drugs in adolescence and into adulthood
• Get into fights, vandalize property, and drop out of school
• Engage in early sexual activity (the same could be said for the kids being bullied as a way of “belonging”)
• Have criminal records and traffic citations as adults
• Be abusive in romantic or intimate relationships as adults

Bystanders

Children who witness bullying tend to be more likely to:

• Have increased use of tobacco, alcohol and other drugs
• Have increased mental health problems, including depression and anxiety
• Miss or skip school

The Relationship Between Bullying And Suicide

The media often link suicide and bullying. However, most kids that are experiencing bullying do not have thoughts of suicide or engage in suicidal behavior.

Although they are at risk of suicide, other factors must be considered. Depression, problems at home and a history of trauma tend to be better indicators than bullying alone or when combined with bullying. Additionally, specific groups are more at risk for suicide, including American Indian and Alaskan Native, Asian American, and LCBT youth. The risk is highest when these groups of students are not supported by family, peer groups and schools. Bullying simply makes the problem worse.

Warning Signs And Risk Factors

There are many warning signs that a child is being affected by bullying ~ either being bullied or bullying others. Recognizing these warning signs is often the first step in stopping the behavior. Since not all children will report problems with bullying, it is important to talk to kids who are displaying symptoms. Talking to kids can help identify the root of the problem.

Signs A Child Is Being Bullied

First of all, look for changes in the child’s behavior, but also be aware that not all kids will display warning signs. The warning signs include:

• Unexplainable injuries
• Lost or destroyed clothing, books, electronics, or jewelry
• Frequent headaches, stomach aches, feeling ill, or faking illness
• Changes in eating habits ~ not eating, or binge eating
• Difficulty sleeping, sleeping too much, or frequent nightmares
• Declining grades, loss of interest in schoolwork, or not wanting to go to school
• A sudden loss of friends or avoidance of social situations
• Feeling helpless or decreased self-esteem/self-worth
• Self-destructive behaviors ~ running away, harming themselves, or suicidal ideation or talking about suicide

If you notice these any of these warning signs, do not ignore them. Get help right away.

Signs A Child Is Bullying Others

• Getting into physical and/or verbal fights
• Having friends who bully others
• Are increasingly aggressive
• Are frequently in trouble at school ~ detention and/or being called to principal’s office
• Having unexplained extra money or new belongings
• Blaming others for their problems
• Will not accept responsibility for their actions
• Are competitive and worry about their reputation or popularity

Why Children Don’t Ask For Help

Statistics from the 2008-2009 School Crime Supplement (see above for reporting agencies) show that only about 1 out of 3 bullying cases is reported to an adult. There are many reasons why kids don’t talk:

• Kids want to handle it on their own in order to regain a sense of control or they may fear being seen as weak or a “tattle-tale”
• They may fear backlash from their bullies (this is a very real concern)
• Bullying is a humiliating experience, and kids may not want adults to know what is happening. They also may fear being punished and/or judged for being “weak”
• They already feel socially isolated and like nobody can or will understand
• Kids may fear being rejected by their peers; friends can help protect kids from being bullied and they do not want to lose this protection

Risk Factors

There is no single variable that puts one child at risk for bullying over another. It is a complex mixture of environment, group identification, and others. In general, kids who are at risk of being bullied have one or more of the following:

• Are perceived as different than their peers such as being over or underweight, not having the latest cool toy or clothes, being new to school among others
• Are perceived as weak and unable to defend themselves
• Are depressed, nervous or anxious, and/or have low self-esteem
• Are less popular than others and have few friends, are socially isolated
• Do not get along well with other kids, are perceived as annoying or provoking

These are only indicators that a child may be bullied. They may or may not experience bullying as a result of these risk factors.

Children More Likely To Bully Others

In general, there are two types of kids who bully others ~ some are well connected to their peers, have social power, or like to dominate others, and some are isolated from their peer group and may be depressed (in children, depression can be expressed as aggression) or anxious, be less involved in school, or not identify with the feelings of others. They also have other existing factors such as:

• Aggressive or easily frustrated
• Have less parental involvement or problems at home
• Have difficulty following rules
• View violence in a positive light
• Have friends who are bullies

Remember that bullies do not need to be bigger or stronger than those they bully. The ability to bully others comes from a real or perceived power imbalance which can come from a number of sources: popularity, strength, cognitive ability, etc. Children who bully also may have a combination of these factors.

Who Is At Risk?

Bullying can happen anywhere, but depending on the environment, some groups of kids may be more at risk. No single factor puts a student or child at risk for bullying or for being bullied by others. The behavior can happen anywhere ~ cities, suburbs, and rural towns. What does seem to increase risk is the environment and/or belonging to certain groups such as ~ LGBT youth, disabled (mentally or developmentally) youth, and socially isolated youth. Recognizing the many warning signs that a child is bullying others or is being bullied is often the first step in taking action against bullying. Not all children will report being bullied or that they themselves are bullying others. Bullying affects everyone involved. There are many negative outcomes of being bullied, being the one doing the bullying, or simply observing bullying behavior. These outcomes may include depression, anxiety issues, substance abuse and suicide. This is why it is important to monitor kids, and ask them if bullying or something else is wrong.

 

Lost And Confused

From confusion comes opportunity. (Photo credit: wasabicube)

 

 

So, I am not feeling particularly bad about divorcing my ex-husband right now. In fact, we belong to the same Buddhist community and he introduced to this form of Buddhism. Our community is divided across the city into smaller groups or Districts. I am now and have been the Women’s District leader for the group he had practiced with since moving here about 8 years ago. Upon the divorce, he made the choice (thank the powers that be) to move to another District because I sure was not going to give up my group because of him, although I did try for other reasons. But, I was shot down. So, at any rate, for the past month or so, I have been in and out of a fairly intense mixed episode. I cry at the drop of a pin, I am manic as all hell with the motivation of a seriously depressed person. It’s cool. Fucking rocks (pardon my French)……the problem is I still have to do shit.

 

Actually, sitting here listening to Pearl Jam’s “Ten”, the song “Alive” is playing. Always one of my favorites, ever since it was a new song (yes, I am an aging Gen-Xer, and was around to see the very beginning of alternative rock and Grunge.I am getting old…er). Anyway, this particular lyric has always gotten to me, probably because I have been Bipolar for 20+ years and did not know it. At any rate, here’s the lyric: “…..Is there something wrong, she said. Well, of course there is. You’re still alive, she said. Oh, and do I deserve to be? Is that the question? And, if so….if so… who answers…who answers….” (Pearl Jam, Ten “Alive”) For some reason, this lyric has always touched a nerve. Maybe because I don’t feel worthy of life, worthy of happiness (my marriage certainly validated that feeling), worthy of a happy life. Somewhere along the path of my growing up, I decided that psychological torture (both by self and by others) seemed to define the “norm” of my life. This is how confusion has been reached. Confusion is not a state I find my self in often. At least not about emotions. I just choose to not have them if I can possibly avoid them. 

 

However, confusion and complete discombobulation is where I find my self. I do not like it. I do not enjoy this. I choose not to feel for a reason. Feeling has caused me nothing but pain over my lifetime. I do not hold much hope for the same reason. Every time I have dared to hope, it has gone dramatically and catastrophically awry. I seem to find my self in a position where I am actually feeling bad that I divorced my ex. Neither of us put much into marriage counseling (it, I believe was too far gone by then), and as a consequence we paid co-payments for psychologists that couldn’t help by that point. Initially, I thought, he was falling asleep on the couch because he was staying up too late, and then, it gradually dawned. He didn’t want to sleep in the same bed as me. I have these questions that goes around and around and around in my mind: was it his porn addiction or my having Manic Depression that caused the rift? Was it a combination of both? Was it my reaction to what he saw as normal and healthy? He blamed the whole thing on me, always telling me that I was all talk and no action (I had actually been thinking of divorce for a year or so). 

 

Then, the “deal-breaker” fight happened and he threatened me with bodily harm. Lethal bodily harm. I have PTSD. I have an intense fight or flight mechanism; it depends on the situation which one steps up. I also have a fairly “distinctive” career as a substance abuser (see post: “Self-Medication” in the archives). When he said that I was lucky there were no lethal weapons in the house, he was clearly thinking about guns. Idiot. I felt this really scary calm come over me. I have only felt it a few times, and it always involved a threat to me of some sort. I just looked at him, and found him pathetic. I, mean, how dare he threaten my life? As if I was going to let him hurt me? So, I looked at him much like you look at a specimen of algae in Biology class. He had become a non-entity; something to be disposed of. I looked around the room from my position on the sofa, and I could clearly see at least 10 lethal objects not to mention the knives in the kitchen. I asked very calmly what did he mean there were no lethal weapons in the house, that I could see about 10 from where I sat. He was clearly out of his element. I had been a fairly violent child, and it got even worse as my substance use led me further and further down a very dangerous path littered with human land mines. I told him the conversation was over, and I was going to bed. It was 2:00 am. I spent an hour trying to fall asleep, and in that hour decided that I was leaving. He really fucked up when he threatened me because a vital part of my self shut down, and part of that part was my love for him.

 

Which gets me to where I am now. Confused. And emotional. I feel bad for divorcing him because I know he thought I would put up with his shit forever. No, sorry, even my self esteem has a point at which I say no more. I mean, he clearly was hiding from me. He would spend all day locked away with his computer and his porn. Didn’t leave much room for me. So, I filed the first of the paperwork 4 days before my birthday and one month after our anniversary. I have always had a great sense of timing. I think what is bothering me now is that I just don’t feel that bad about it. In my eyes, I was protecting my self from further damage. I isolate the word “self” for a reason. It was the “self” that was being attacked and damaged. I have spent far too much time in therapy, in the hospital, getting medically “stable” to watch it all go down in flames. Maybe that makes me a cold person, but I do not think so. It makes me a survivor, and it makes me someone who wants a life. I feel bad for him, but, at the same time, I do not feel anything. That’s new; I have never just not felt anything. Maybe its because it is the Holidays, and I feel so much that it feels like numbness.

 

An Interesting Sort Of New Study Looks At Employment Of The Mentally Ill

I am only going to post the link to the article because it is three pages long….

http://www.nytimes.com/2011/10/23/health/23lives.html?_r=1&ref=health