Vacation’s Over

It’s been awhile.

I was actually feeling quite well. These past couple of months have been quite stable. I’ve felt as though I finally found the right combination of meds. I thought that life was finally going to even out for me. Sure I’d be on meds for the rest of my life, but who cared if I was happy.

Well, vacation’s over. Curse you honeymoon period. Turns out what I thought would last  a life time lasted only long enough to give me false hope. What could it be this time? Let’s take a role call:

Depression: I am on the same dosage of generic Celexa as I was during my stable time. Okay, so admittedly I have been forgetting to take it on time, but I’ve only missed a couple of full days.

Bipolar Disorder: Still on the Seroquel XR at the same dosage. No real change there. Okay so there was that one night that I spent at my grandparents but forgot the Seroquel at my dad’s and didn’t sleep and then had a nervous breakdown the next day at my sister’s birthday party. But since then I’ve taken it religiously. I may have had a few hypomanic moments that past month but they have been too short lived to be a true hypomanic episode. Although I am pretty angry right now for no damn reason which can be indicative of the Bipolar, but also of PMS (which I also have)

Eating Disorder: I have been unhappy about my weight. The good news is since August I have dropped a whole pants size and 4 pounds. However I am still eating a diet full of junk food, although admittedly I haven’t been eating as much as I should lately. That has less to do with weight concerns and more to do with fatigue/laziness/lack of anything sounding good. I don’t keep a scale in the house, though I have been tempted. I could also probably use the energy boost that comes from not eating for a couple of days, but I hate the sound of my stomach growling so that’s not likely to happen.

BPD: I think there’s a general agreement that I’m cured of this, if I even had it in the first place. Of course as I begin to slip back to my old friend, those symptoms are starting to become more noticeable.

ADHD: Still on the medication…sometimes. This is admittedly the medication I most often forget to take. Hence the lack of memory, low attention span, inability to focus, etc. However, I don’t think that has anything to do with depression (except for giving me more ammo against myself).

Seasonal Affective Disorder: Ah, here’s the culprit. Though it has never been written down on paper, my first therapist noticed the signs and my first effective psychiatrist “prescribed” a sun lamp (which is sitting up stairs in the closet). Apparently the SAD is not affected by simplistic human medicine. It’s the only thing I can figure.

So what exactly am I feeling. There are moments when I laugh, and do enjoy myself. But they only last the moment. As long as the stimulus no longer holds my attention I go back to feeling somewhat morose. Angry for no reason: check. Self-degradation: check. Feeling all alone in the world: check. My current job situation certainly doesn’t help. For those of you who have previously read my blog know I used to work at a college. Well, since moving for my husband’s job I now work retail. And this shit is hard work. I feel like crap everyday because I don’t meet any of my standards and I get to read that everyday when looking at stats. I am also now convinced that the managers like the new hire better than me. Don’t get me wrong, I like her too. I’ve invited her to hang out with me though the invitation hasn’t yet been accepted. And if the managers like her better then perhaps she can take my job of having a key and managerial responsibilities without managerial pay. But there is that problem of the constant need for approval I have. So yeah, it hurts a little. The result? I spend half my time at work miserable and depressed without the pay to make it worth it.

Money. Sigh. We’re making it, just living paycheck to paycheck. I appreciate the blessing of just making it. But the insurance through my husband’s work sucks and doesn’t cover mental health. I keep forgetting to call Medicaid to see if they cover that. I’m currently covered for family planning so I get GYN appointments and birth control free. As for my asthma, it’s cheaper to get my inhalers through Costco than through my insurance. I need to get some kind of mental health coverage stat. My old psychiatrist won’t give me another prescription. And I should probably see a therapist considering how down I’m feeling. I know I’m getting depressed, but I’m not THERE yet.

The funny thing is my last post in August was about my group of friends, and those feelings have not gone away. I still feel very distant from them. Definitely pretty sure I won’t be a bridesmaid at my friend’s wedding. My list of bridesmaids for my wedding (yes we’re married, but didn’t get to do the big shebang so we’ll be doing some sort of vow renewal) is whittling down quite a bit.

I just feel like I have no friends and that’s pretty pathetic. I keep bugging my husband about wanting a baby but he’s being logical and doesn’t want one until we’re more financially stable. Granted there are some days where I feel like I’ll be an unfit mother.

So all in all just not feeling that great about myself lately. And it’s only the beginning of the season. And now Daylight Savings ended, so it gets darker a hell of a lot earlier. And it still has to get much colder and cloudier. Well F me, I guess it’s time to pull that stupid lamp out. How awkward.

Journalists or Sorority Rushes…Hmmm…

“Are you journalists, or are you rushing a sorority?”

So was the questions posed by John Stewart on Wednesday’s “The Daily Show”. He was talking about how there could have been very deep probing questions after the debacle of what’s her name (the 80-something white house news correspondent who abruptly retired after putting her foot in her mouth). Instead, it seemed that every single news source was wondering who was going to take her seat in the FRONT ROW. Yes, instead of wondering about censorship, blind allyship, etc., reporters care more about who gets the FRONT ROW seat. And, as John Stewart so aptly put it, there’s really nothing that great about the FRONT ROW seat. In fact, that FRONT ROW is in a very tiny room. And the people in the FRONT ROW have not exactly been asking pungent questions as of late.

Now, I will gladly admit that I get all my news information from John Stewart these days, so my views and thoughts are completely biased. But, interesting nonetheless?

But onto less thinking-required topics. I am quite bored and quite lonely. My husband got promoted. Two hours away from where we live. We had less than a week to find a place to live and move. He’s there now as we thankfully found a place. I’m still here with the kiddos as I have to finish this last week of work. What it means though is that I’m sitting in the apartment with no method of leisure but the computer completely alone (except for the pets). And surfing the internet is not all that exciting. Of course there’s cleaning to be done, but a lot of it can’t be done until I can get someone to transport all the furniture we’re donating.

And on this lonely, boring Saturday night, I suddenly felt particularly distanced from my college friends. We were a pretty close group, and I feel like I don’t know what’s going on with any of them. I sent an email last week with updates and have so far gotten no replies. I sent another one today to tell them about the promotion, so we’ll see. I know, I know, don’t read too much into it. They all have busy lives. People drift apart, it’s natural. But man I didn’t want to lose these girls. I just feel like a million miles and a thousand years away from them. And of course none of them are as addicted to Facebook as I am.

I’m starting to wonder if I should wean myself off of my Facebook habit. Here’s the conflict: not only does Facebook take up time, but it’s a stress reliever. After a long day at work I can go work on my “farm”. Yes, I am one of those annoying Farmville people. And I understand people get sick of seeing those statuses. But guess what, I don’t always care about theirs! You know what I do? I ignore the damn statuses I don’t care about. Not to mention you can block applications and they won’t show up in your feed. I actually had an old professor (who is also facebook friends with me) message me and ask me to change my settings so that my Farmville status updates don’t show up to all my friends. Are you kidding me? Not to mention I could not find this “magic” setting. So I told her to just block the damn thing. I was so angry I seriously considered defriending her (borderline rage, anyone?). Even now the whole thing makes my blood boil. Grrr. I think it’s probably also because I go on facebook for these two aps, not even connecting anymore really, because none of my friends use it for that. In fact, if there was a way to play Farmville out of Facebook and still get all the privileges, I’d do it in a minute. But the problem is that the thing that makes it worth playing is the bonuses you get from other people’s statuses!

Wow, I had no idea this was going to turn into a rant about Farmville, of all things. That is so lame. I apologize, if you’ve even continued reading.

But I do feel rather glum right now. A mixture of everything really. And I haven’t slept well the past couple of nights. And the Seroquel doesn’t even really make me drowsy anymore. So I can’t sleep through this boredom.

Please, just let it be Friday.

But Howie Day’s “Collide” just came on Pandora. Perhaps things are looking up?

Conflicted

I have caught up on my blog reading (which means most recent posts because doing a full catch up would take days) and have left comments where appropriate. However, I am left a little confused and a little sad. At least one blogger has stopped blogging, and has done so at a time when things seemed especially difficult, so I hope she is doing okay. I think 3 blogs are now private and I can’t get in. So, if you read my blog and I have yours listed, and your blog is private, and I didn’t leave a comment on your most recent post, I probably don’t have access. If you would like me to read, I would love to. If not, well, I’d like to know that too. My feelings won’t be hurt.

Spliit, the BPD lifestyle blog, has ended. Rather abruptly might I add, with apparently no reason. So, unless this is a very late, very cruel April Fool’s joke, or some kind of technical difficulty, we’re all just kind of left with no real closure. And yes, I need closure when one of the blogs I read ends, even if I do read it infrequently.

This whole thing makes me rethink creating a Zine. I know I got one person who was interested in posting to it, and that might be enough to get it started. Honestly I think the idea came out of my drawn out mania, but I do really want to give it a try. And now that school is almost over, my evenings and weekends are free again, which would give me more time. If I really look at myself, I think behind the drug-induced drowsiness I am still manic. Hard to tell with side effects messing with your body. But I do really want to do that magazine. Someone hold me to it?

I think I might cancel my current twitter account and create one attached to my blog. Cause I don’t post to my twitter because, quite frankly, I don’t want the people who follow that account to know my every thought. That is not true of you, dear readers. Kind of a backwards display of trust, eh? I guess there’s something to be said for vague anonymity.

I don’t know if I really went into detail about my last psychiatry appointment. So the situation going into that appointment: I had on Sunday (last Sunday) decided that I would screw psychiatry. This came out of a conversation with my father. See, he doesn’t think I’m bipolar, or have any psychiatric condition. He thinks this all stems from the fact that I have let my empathic ability get out of control. Yes, you read that correctly. Despite his deep Catholicism, or perhaps because of it, my father strongly believes in psychic abilities. He was the one who told me I am an empath, and it made so much sense. To an extent I agree with him. I closed off my abilities. But I am such a receptor that I didn’t close them off completely. I just pushed them to the subconscious. So, my father’s theory is that as I got older I stopped believing in my abilities, because they don’t make scientific sense, and now am using drugs to deal with what is really a spiritual problem. I can see his point. I did close off. And ever since I’ve done that I have become increasingly selfish, uncaring, and closed-off. So I do want to reopen those abilities (and the others that come along with it). He said if I wanted to do that I would have to do it all the way. I thought that meant stopping my medication.

So I went into my appointment fully intending to tell the psychiatrist that I wanted to safely come off my meds, and I left with a med change, an increased dosage, and an additional med. Yes, that would be a WTF situation. The doctor made sense. I did try to tell him about the convo with my dad but he didn’t get it. But my appointment was an hour. A whole hour with a psychiatrist! And he listened! And he knew what every single issue I have was (including the Raynaud’s which no one seems to have heard of). I told him my symptoms. And he really believes that I need these meds. Funny thing? I told him about the fact that I don’t have the textbook symptoms of bipolar disorder. He said I have symptoms of Borderline Personality Disorder. And we’ve come full circle. However, that is not a diagnosis. And he said that instead of worrying about diagnoses I should deal with the “symptom cluster”. Alleluia! That’s exactly what I’ve been trying to do! Maybe I can actually achieve that with a competent psychiatrist.

So anyway, now I’m wondering if I can open my abilities AND take medication. It’s something I’ve been meaning to pray/meditate on. But the side effects of these drugs make it impossible to do anything that requires mental exercise. Or physical exercise for that matter. We’ll see what comes of this.

I was going to talk about values (my homework assignment), but this post is already too long. Maybe tomorrow? My alter ego says “yeah right”, but perhaps I can prove him wrong.

What a tantrum!

My last post must have been written by a two-year-old! I’d like to say that the post is not indicative of how I typically handle things, but it kind of is. I apologize for any of you that actually suffered through reading it. I would just scrap the post, but I think it’s important as a record of my thoughts and feelings. Maybe I’ll make it private? Maybe not. Maybe some of you, dear readers, will find it helpful.

So, here’s what happened with all of that. I decided to skip the Seroquel and take some Nyquil. Several hours later: it was 2:30am and I still hadn’t gone to sleep. So I bit the bullet and took the Seroquel. Ah, sleep. What does this mean? I don’t know. That I’m reliant on Seroquel? Probably. Even though I’ve been told that Seroquel is not addictive. But my body tends to take words like “can’t” and “never” as challenges. It’s not too horrible if I’m dependent on it, seeing as I’ll probably be taking it for the rest of my life. But what does this mean? I guess I’ll never know if I really do have bipolar disorder.

But last night’s tantrum did have a tiny diamond. I have been far too caught up in mental diagnosis. Who cares? I know that if I don’t take the Lexapro I get majorly depressed. I know if I don’t take Seroquel I don’t sleep and become an absolute mess the next day. I know if my life is not stable and on a routine, I freak out. I know I get panic attacks. I know I have a hard time sitting still. I know I find it difficult to focus on one thing at a time. I know that on rare occasions I am super focused. I know I hate being alone, but I hate being smothered. I know I’m usually too tired to do many things. I know I can’t deal with conflict very well. I know I can snap at people over little things. I know sometimes I feel like I’m out of my body. I know that I never know what my day is going to be like when I wake up. I know very few people understand me all the time. I know that I am utterly lost as to my purpose and direction in life.

Knowing all that, does it really matter if they slap a label on it? I know I don’t know who I am. And quite frankly, chasing after diagnoses hasn’t helped me figure that out. So why don’t I just stop?

Much to think about.

As far as the ADD test I took yesterday: I seriously doubt the validity. Basically I had to sit in front of a computer and watch this flashing box. It was gray with a small black box inside it. I was given a clicker. If the black box inside the gray box was on top, I was supposed to click. If it was on the bottom, I wasn’t supposed to click. The box flashed randomly with no pattern (believe me I tried to find one!). This went on for…drumroll please…20 minutes! 20 freakin minutes! Anybody taking that test would be ADD. Who can sit and stare at a flashing box for 20 minutes? There was no music and it was totally monochromatic. I left that appointment so very, very grumpy. It completely ruined my day. So I will have words with the ADD Guy at our next appointment.

Therapy: sigh. I think I need to see someone. My husband last night said–among other things–that I run to a therapist any time I think something might be wrong. He wouldn’t go to a therapist unless something was seriously going on. So I’m like, does that mean I shouldn’t see a therapist. Here’s the problem. I am an external processor. If I don’t say what’s on my mind, my thoughts will keep spinning in circles until I can’t separate one from the others. So is it worth $15 to talk with someone for an hour to help me straighten out my thoughts? I think so. Of course, I’m having quite the time finding a therapist. I feel like God is trying to tell me something.

Hello, God? Are you there? It’s me, Ari.

Damn, I got the answering machine. And S/He never returns my messages.

So for now I shall continue to wander, and attempt to find myself.

Continually Fighting Labels.

Wow, that sounded like a cheesy last line of a movie or book. LOL!

And Down the Rabbit Hole We Go

And I mean down

***THIS POST IS A POSSIBLE TRIGGER? i don’t even know anymore***

Apparently I am just a horrible person, and that’s all there is to it.

I just had a pep talk from my husband which basically summed up to: suck it up. Basically, I think too much.

1) Apparently I’m too self-aware to have the mental illness I think I have. And he was a psychology major, so he would know more than me, right?

2) Bipolar: He doesn’t know if I really am Bipolar. He thinks maybe I just have a large range of emotions and that my emotions are extreme. He doesn’t know if the Seroquel even really controls mania. But it does help me sleep. And maybe I do have chemical depression. But the only one who can make me happy is me.

3) Borderline: Well, that’s a hot mess I don’t even want to talk about.

4) ADD: This is the one disorder he thinks I legitimately have.

5) Cutting: He has known (or read, can’t quite remember how he put it) of people who cut themselves from depression as a release, and it doesn’t necessary have a connection to Borderline Personality Disorder.

So, apparently–just as I feared–I’m just a horrible person. Someone who over-exaggerates what everybody goes through. And if I’m over-exaggerating obviously it’s for attention? Which means I’m conceited. Which means I’m a bad person. Which means everything bad ever said about me is true. Lazy. Stupid. Over-emotional. Weird. Spastic. Conceited. Attention-whore.

So let’s try something new. Let’s just wipe all the diagnoses away. What does that look like?

Well, the lexapro has to stay. I know for a fact that I’m depressed–been dealing with it for years. So that at least is a legit medicine.

Seroquel. If all it’s doing is helping me sleep, I can replace it with Nyquil. Let’s see if the episodes I’ve had before were truly hypomanic or just lack of sleep.

Only see the psychiatrist for medicine refills. Check. Already doing that (can’t afford more).

ADD: Question any results I get next week. I seriously doubt the validity of the test I took. And if I’ve been fine for years without meds, why take them now. Besides, that’s one less expense.

Therapy is a luxury no longer appropriate. Check. Haven’t seen my therapist since November/December anyway. Was trying to look for a new one. Scrap that attempt. Strong people don’t see therapists. I’m not strong enough. I need to be stronger. Therefore, I need to not go to therapy.

Don’t worry about NAMI. Not like they were really doing much to try to help anyway.

Stop talking about my problems to people. I have it way better than other people and I need to stop complaining.

At this point I’m going to be completely hypocritical and tell people that I do not recommend these action steps to anyone. Especially never change your medication without speaking with your doctor. Yes I’m being a hypocritical bitch. Besides, I see Dr. A-Hole next week anyway.

So, operation fix Ari begins.

I also got to figure out this eating thing. I just have not wanted to eat. Eating makes me feel sick. Thinking about eating makes me feel sick. Today I had a bowl of cereal, a little bit of popcorn, 3 donuts, some apple slices, and a milkshake. Yeah, don’t ask about the donuts. I have a weak spot. And I feel like a horrible person for eating 3 donuts in one day. Perhaps I should take a multivitamin since I can’t seem to eat.

Yeah, this plan of action is probably completely wrong. But I’m used to being wrong. And I figure two things can happen. 1, nothing will happen and therefore prove that I am just an over-dramatic asshole. Or I’ll completely lose my mind and therefore prove the opposite.

Either way I get an answer. And  maybe I’ll figure out who the fuck I am.

So what do you think? Am I legit or am I the ultimate poser?

A Little More About Ari Right Now

For the record, I have made it through the E’s on PA’s blogroll. I need to remember that when I start again it will be on the first F.

I am at a…well, can’t think of any poetic phrasing but basically I need to make a decision.

I have quite a lot on my mind that I need to get out because I think the thoughts are starting to form their own thoughts. So here is the problem. If I spew everything out right now it will make for a very long post. Like, a post of epic proportions. Do I save you, dear readers, from an utterly time-consuming read that may or may not be rather dull? Or do I use this blog to its fullest potential as a free place for my thoughts?

With the fear of sounding snobbish, I’m going to have to claim the “It’s my blog” and “I do what I want” phrases. Please feel free to skip this post or stop reading if it gets too dull. For once my feelings won’t be hurt. However, if you would like a real indepth look at Ari, here we go.

There may be parts of the post that are triggering or TMI. As I’m going to be freewriting I’m not sure where it will take me. I will use by typical *** warning to denote those areas. Please read the warning before you read the section.

I hate cooking. Well, that’s not entirely true. I sometimes like cooking. But most of the time I do not like to cook. I think I could enjoy it, but I am usually too lazy tired to cook, or do any kind of chore for that matter. Today I’m being lazy by most standards, but doing pretty good for mine. Chicken and ramen – simple but better than yet again eating out and depleting the bank account.

Ugh, money. What another issue. Friday my husband and I got into yet another argument over money. I was pissed because he wouldn’t let me buy a $12 refill for the Wallflower my coworker bought me for my office (kind of a useless gift if I don’t refill it). Then the next day he asked if he could  buy a $700 camera. He didn’t, but that’s beside the point. I brought the issue up. He said he couldn’t rationalize spending $12 for something that would last two months. I argued that he was being unfair, and that he considered the things he wanted to buy more important than the things I want to buy. He agreed that that’s what it sounded like but didn’t bring up any solution. So we go back and forth. It kind of becomes a blame game of who is being less sensitive. He claims that he buys things for us, and that he just bought me the leaning bookshelf I’ve been wanting for a while. At that point I just completely shut down. I understand now that Wallflower refills are not a big enough deal for a massive blow up. At the time I was pissed. He failed to grasp my problem. I want to be able to spend my money. I know it’s our money, but I’m sick of asking for permission to buy things and then feeling guilty if I spend money. I need some control and recognition that I am an adult. After a hot bath in which I resisted temptation, he had also had time to cool down and (finally) came up with a solution. I now get $100 a month to spend however I want. (He wanted to give me $200 but I decided $200 might be too much a strain on the account).

Insert over-educated Ari analysis: Could this have possibly been a manifestation of BPD? Was I using Black and White thinking–looking back I can now see that I was putting our entire relationship into that argument. That if I didn’t get my way then, then I never would (which is usually my mindframe when we argue). It was also that impulsive anger that comes out of nowhere. Let me explain. I don’t get angry, or rather I don’t show when I get angry. Usually I hold it in until I can safely take it out on myself. My husband seems to be the only person I can kind of explode on. Not really fair to him. Not to mention after the argument (after every argument!) I went into I’m a bad person mode. Anytime he gets angry with me I feel like I’m a bad person. Damn my perfectionist personality!

As I said I took a bath. ***POSSIBLE TRIGGER*** I took a knife in with me. Months ago I bought a knife my husband didn’t know about and hid it in my underwear drawer. (Haha, drawers drawer). Eventually I decided I was done cutting and put it in the knife drawer. BIG mistake. My husband found it and asked why I felt the need to buy a single knife. I’m not sure how I did it but I explained my way out of that one. Fast forward. Last argument we had (before the Friday one) I went into the bathroom and cut myself. I then hid the knife back in my underwear drawer. My husband doesn’t know about it. As a result of the cold weather, I was able to wear long sleeves everyday, both inside and out. Anyway, this time I took the knife. BUT I DIDN’T USE IT! A small victory, but a victory nonetheless. Well, my husband doesn’t see it that way. Like an idiot (or an unconscious passive-aggressive move?) I left the knife in the bathroom. Completely forgot about it. Then I’m laying bed and my husband comes out of the shower all withdrawn. So I pester him to tell me what’s wrong. “Why is there a knife in the bathroom?” It didn’t matter that I didn’t use it. He was pissed that I thought about it. I told him it was like a security blanket. He didn’t understand. And of course he couldn’t understand how he wasn’t enough. I can’t even understand how he isn’t enough. But I have a theory on the “Knight in Shining Armor” metaphor that I will discuss some other time. The knife is still in the bathroom. I should move it so there isn’t a constant reminder that it’s there. You’d think at this point I’d put it back in the knife drawer. But I’m not sure I’m ready to give up that security.

***END TRIGGER***

This section I’m going to talk about a panic attack. If reading about panic attacks triggers you, please skip this paragraph. I really am losing my mind. I took a group of my (15!) students to a conference. Yeah, holy shit. It was stressful, especially after I damaged a university vehicle (yikes). We got there on Friday. By Saturday I was ready to strangle half my children. I went to a session on mental illness cause I was like, my people! Big, big mistake. The workshop was given by NAMI members (nothing against NAMI. I actually think it’s a great organization. These presenters did not represent that) who were also mental health consumers. Both had bipolar disorder. One was clearly either entering or leaving a (hypo)manic state. I could not for the life of me follow her train of thought. The presentation was disorderly and rushed. And all it was was them sharing their personal stories. I am in no way saying they should not be allowed to do that. I am saying conference attendees should be warned, especially since that kind of workshop is likely to attract other mental health consumers! I ended up being extremely triggered, having a huge panic attack (with no one to help me come down). I had to sit somewhere by myself, take deep breaths, and feel like an utter failure as an advisor. I was useless for the rest of the evening. I at least have the relationship with those students that once I said I’d had a panic attack they were totally supportive. My graduate assistant totally stepped up to the plate. Sunday I had a mental health hangover. Yuck.

And of course this panic attack and the depression I was dealing with and then the mess of a missed dose, I’ve been thinking about mental illness a lot (please note that the face-lift for this blog came after all this). At what point do we accept what our family and friends say about us, and at what point do we go with what we know assume about ourselves? I told the ADD guy (read therapist) that he would not get an accurate appraisal from parents. And I was being honest. The minute either one of them heard ADD they’d be like no you don’t have that. My father understands depression, he doesn’t understand the (hypo)mania or the (what I’m pretty sure are) mixed episodes. My mother accepts it–I think–but we don’t talk about it. We don’t talk about a lot of things. I’m pretty sure both of them would be like, she was a good kid, can’t possibly have ADD. Never mention the fact that they barely paid enough attention to me to understand any of my issues, or even realize I had them. (Sorry some bitterness came out).

I had a conversation with my grandmother the other day, who has been the biggest critic of my diagnosis. The problem lies in the fact that my grandmother only sees one definition of bipolar. My aunt has bipolar I and (I think, not sure if this diagnosis was ever reversed) schizophrenia. So she was hell on two legs for most of her life. My grandmother’s argument is “but you were such a sweet child”. I finally disclosed to her that I suffered from  major depression from 5th grade on. And that now if I go off the anti-mania (not a scientific term) drugs I flip out. I don’t think I’ve convinced.

But dammit, why do I have to convince her? I mean, of anyone she probably knew me best as a kid. But I was still pretty closed up. I learned early on that expressing emotions was a bad thing. And I was, am, rather emotional. So I hid in my room. The only manifestation of all my feelings occurred in my imagination and in my journal. The journal doesn’t lie, even if my memories do.

But why do I even care about all this? I’m supposed to be fighting labels, remember? Unfortunately mental diagnosis seems to be the one label I can’t live without. Let’s explore this. By having a label you belong to a community. In a community you are recognized. You don’t have to hide behind false facades. People accept you…kind of. See the problem with communities is that once you belong to one you are expected to behave a certain way. So if I don’t fit the bipolar, borderline, ADD diagnosis to a T, I feel like I’m looked at sideways. Like I only kind of belong. I’m used to that feeling but it sucks. It sucks not to have any real peers. And if I don’t fit the label, can I possibly fit the treatment? Am I doomed to be forever wandering?

Ugh! It’s all so confusing! Bipolar, borderline, ADD–what do they all mean anyway? And yet here I am clinging to them. I’m I looking for excuses. Am I just some horrible person who can’t figure out how to fix myself, so I use mental illness as a scapegoat? Am I looking for special treatment? What exactly am I looking for anyway?I asked my coworker about registering with disability services in HR. I wanted to know what I’d gain. Apparently nothing. Some protection against being fired, but then there’s my dirty laundry for anybody to see. So irritating. So what exactly am I looking for?

Myself, obviously.

Ah, there it is. There it always is.

Looking to be unique. Special.

Let’s not even talk about identity! I am unique. Unique in the fact that there is not one extraordinary thing about me. Utterly average. And if I’m so average, just a number in the crowd, do I have any kind of identity?  Further proof: My identity is never constant. I’m constantly changing my mind about who I am. And maybe that’s the reason for the diagnoses. Maybe it’s because–as unstable as mental illness is–having a diagnosis provides some stability.

And that, my dear readers, is what it all boils down to.

The Cord Is Cut

Well, I’ve done the deed.

I sent an email out to my pagan group letting them know I will no longer be attending.

Here are my reasons:

1. My schedule just does not permit it. That evening that I had forced my supervisor to let me have I can no longer have. The children just aren’t keeping up the communication, so I have to show my face at more of their meetings.
2. Funny thing about mental issues and pagans-they notice it. I certainly don’t want my sudden mental instability affecting their spell work.
3. There is a strong possibly I will be moving over the summer.
4. I really, really cannot get into the whole Wicca thing. Every time they mention Lord and Lady, or refer to object as male or female, I cringe. Part of it has to do with the fact that I was raised in the Women’s Magick tradition, and there I remain. To me energy is just energy. Gender is a human concept. Energy doesn’t need female and male parts to breed. It’s like an amoeba. Also, my new educational pursuits concerning transgender issues has forced me to further question the labels of female and male. I simply don’t believe it is a dichotomy. And if I don’t believe that on a social level, how can I accept it on a spiritual level.
5. Quite bluntly, my Borderline self can’t handle being in that social group. I need consistent reactions from people, otherwise I’m constantly wondering if they actually like me or not. I don’t get that from this group. There are a few members that genuinely seem to like me. But I have felt, at times, left out, belittled, ignored, and/or chastised. My wee self-esteem just can’t handle that.
6. Finances. I cannot afford to buy the books, the supplies and materials, and the fund raising required to fully participate in this group.

So, now that I’ve laid it all out, I feel better about this decision.

To Hell in a Handbasket

And no I’m not talking about my likely destination in the afterlife.

I got–hmm–maybe a total of 3 hours of sleep last night. And that was all interrupted. I think the longest time I went was a 1/2 hour of sleep.

Funny enough is that I had thought I had grown resistant to the Seroquel. It takes about an hour to fall asleep after taking it (used to be 15 minutes tops!). And of course no hungover feeling in the morning.

Well, Seroquel just had to go and prove me wrong. I took my last pill on Saturday and my lazy ass didn’t get a refill yesterday. I’m thinking, no biggie. Wrong. Either I have redeveloped my dependency on Seroquel, or my bipolar switch happens so fast that if I don’t take Seroquel by 9pm, I’m hypomanic (not bloody likely.) Needless to say I’m heading straight to the pharmacy after work.

Usually a sleepless night is enough to switch me into hypomania or mixed episode (who cares what the DSM says. DSM-V is redefining mixed episode as exhibiting either manic or hypomanic state + depression, or vice-versa). I’m actually doing relatively well, all things considered. I mean my focus is pretty much shot. I was able to concentrate on tasky stuff earlier in the day. But now I’m supposed to write letters of recommendation for my students, and I just can’t bring myself to start them. I’m thinking one more day won’t be too bad, and perhaps I will be able to focus after a full night’s sleep.

But aside from the likely hypomania I’m experiencing, I feel like hell. Hence the title of this post. My head hurts, my IBS (which hasn’t been confirmed but we’ll say I have it) has decided to flare up. ***Warning: mention of bodily functions*** I am so gassy and can’t use the bathroom for the life of me. I feel like I’ve been stabbed in the gut! ***End Warning***

I was shaky earlier today but that stopped. My back is having throbbing pains. Psychosomatic, possibly. But my body does tend to go haywire when I don’t sleep. Which is why as tempting as forcing hypomania may sound at times, I’m not likely to do it. The excess energy is just not a big enough plus for the minuses of anxiety and bodily blahness.

I really just want to go home and sit in front of my tv watching HGTV. I can’t even eat I feel so god awful. Logically I should tell my supervisor that I need to go home, however I’ve been out sick quite frequently and am not quite sure I have very many hours left. It sucks having so many medical problems. So instead I will sit here and stare at my computer screen for the next 2 hours. Ugh, two hours seems like such a long time.

Note: expect this post to continue as I’m trying to fill up time and if I stop typing I may go crazy.

This morning was my appointment with the ADHD specialist. From a preliminary and non-professional perspective, I think it’s in the bag that I am ADHD positive and will need to go on even MORE meds. (ADHD positive sounds so dramatic, doesn’t it?)

Anyway the therapist gave me all these forms to fill out. That was actually quite fun as it was in survey format and I love taking psychological tests as it is. I was also supposed to get forms to have my parents fill out to get their perspective on how I was as a child, as it relates to ADHD. I told the therapist quite bluntly that it probably wouldn’t do a whole lot of good. My father is still in denial about my Bipolar (which I’ve now had for 3 years, though is getting better. He understands the depression at least). And my mother…well, she’s kind of ambivalent about the whole thing. I mean, she did scoff when I told her about my father explaining the diagnosis as being some sort of spiritual disease; but I’m not sure if it was for my sake or if it was just because she generally thinks my father is a complete idiot. Either way I’m not sure how accurate her memory of me would be. She was quite preoccupied getting her own life together and trying to keep her sanity with my demon brother and sister. (Please note, I love my siblings dearly and would do anything in the world for them. However, they were awful when they were younger). So anyway the therapist made the grand decision to just skip those forms.

What will be interesting is that my husband has to fill out a form. This shall be enlightening indeed. Do I really want to know what my husband thinks of me? It’s like all his frustrations with me get to come out in a two-page form. Intense. Perhaps I should be in a different room when he fills it out. I also want to see if his perspective matches my perspective, or if it’s completely different. I mean, it’s quite possible that I am over-exaggerating the entire thing. All these symptoms I feel may just be this simple formula: Bipolar + Anxiety = Hot Ass Mess. Let’s not forget to throw in the curve ball of Borderline Personality Disorder, which I may or may not have.

Jeez I’m a mess. They should make a new diagnosis for me: Ariana Personality Disorder. Characterized

I just wanted to take this moment to express the joy that I have just sent out the contract that has been plaguing me for 4 weeks. Sure my student worker hates me cuz she has to fax a 16 page document, but she’ll survive.

But yes, Ariana Personality Disorder. Characterized by complete dysfunctionality in patient’s attempt to go through life. Patient may exhibit extreme in-persistence in mood, switching from anger, to depression, to (hypo)mania in as little as a minute and as much as a week. Patient is likely to present with many physical illnesses, which may or may not be psychosomatic in nature. Anxiety is likely to exist at all mood states. Patient may present with ADHD symptoms. There is likely to be a measure of hypochondria, especially concerning psychological disorders.

Differential Diagnosis: Ariana Personality Disorder may disguise itself as any diagnosis within the DSM. However, a patient with APD likely does not fit the textbook definition of any DSM diagnosis.

Note: If patient has a history of being diagnosed, only to have the diagnosis retracted, the patient likely suffers from APD.

Prognosis: No cure is known for Ariana Personality Disorder. Psychiatrists are encouraged to try various cocktails of medication until something works. Throw in some placebos as well. Patients with APD are known to not follow through with a therapeutic regimen, and are especially skeptic of DBT. If therapist/psychiatrist does not go along with a patients ideas, that clinician is likely to be rejected. To prevent acting-out, clinician is encouraged to humor the patient. Remember, the patient with APD is likely to drive themselves into a state of absolute insanity, so eventually they will be off your hands.

There. I have my own disorder. Do any of you, dear readers, feel that you suffer from Ariana Personality Disorder? Or perhaps you have a non-DSM diagnosis of your own? If my description of Ariana Personality Disorder is not descriptive enough, let me know. Perhaps I’ll make a page to describe the disorder. Hell, maybe I’ll do it anyway!

I only have a 1/2 hour left of work. Do you like the positive spin I put on that? Then I’m going home and vegging. Screw the dishes. Screw the husband’s dinner. He can have leftovers. I will eat…my foot. Hey, sounds about as appetizing as anything else right now. Maybe I’ll have a bag of popcorn, which has been my diet for the past few days. My husband says its unhealthy. I say at least I’m getting calorie intake.

Mystery Solved!

Finally got a second opinion! I posted a question on an ask the therapist type of website. See the question and answer here:

http://www.alternativedepressiontherapy.com/borderline-personality-disorder-and-self-awareness.html

Are You Ready for a Mind-Warp?

I’ve decided that Mind-Warp is my new term to replace mindf**k. Quite frankly I like the original term but it might ruffle a few feathers. So here’s the Mind-Warp:

The proposed changes for the DSM-V are underway. They really thrown me for a loop now. Of course all the diagnoses I care about are getting revamped. But the real doozy is for personality disorders. They’re totally and completely changing the structure of those diagnoses. The crazy part, the new wording for Borderline Personality Disorder, excuse me: Personality Disorder, Borderline Type, fits me even better now. So wtf am I supposed to think? The one thing it doesn’t address: if a person is aware of these issues, do they truly have the disorder. Time to put on our thinking caps lasses and laddies!