Temper Tantrum

"They" say God only gives you what he thinks you can handle. If so, he must think me capable of handling a lot. I've been sleeping for days, weeks it seems, and my head feels like lead. My eyes hurt too. Medicine related? A result of too much sleep? Both? Neither? Oh, I hate this disease. I hate it!

My body is blubbery, even though I am losing weight. I can't stand it. I won't look at myself in the mirror because I know I'll be disgusted by what I see. Why does my husband stay with me? How can he love this wretched creature I have become?

Let's not forget I've been fired from my job. I haven't given this much thought because I've been rehabbing (and sleeping). What in the hell! I put five years into that place. I am a good, solid worker. But I had two episodes during the course of my employment and that disrupted things. Yet again, my disease has rendered me unemployable. Probably for good this time. What am I going to do? I'm a shitty housekeeper. I want to work! But I keep getting fired. My ego can't take this!

I feel like things are crumbling around me. But I must keep up a brave face because no one wants to hear about a loser -- they want to see winners, people beating back their illnesses, overcoming their disabilities. That's what makes the nightly news, right? Not some unemployed bum like me.

Now, I can descend into a real big pity party quite easily. But I'm guessing you don't want to read about that. No, we need to be thinking about ways I can navigate through this toxic wasteland of depression. I'm writing this, so I guess that's good. I talked to Mom and my husband on the phone. I'm going to get dressed. I am going to attempt to cook dinner. That's enough. Small steps.

God, help me through this depressive cycle. Help Dr. Z find the right medicine for me. I want to smile again.

Bed Head

Good evening. I've been in bed for hours and hours...I think I've slept 16 of the past 24 hours. It certainly seems like I am depressed -- I only stay in bed like this when the dark monster has me in its grips. And I don't want to shower and I have no appetite. Is this depression -- and is the Latuda to blame?

Yes, I do have bipolar disorder and that means one swings from the poles of depression and mania. But Dr. Z's med prescription for me always kept me out of depression. Dr. Blair (at the hospital) suggested the Latuda for my psychosis and depression. Who is right?? Folks, I don't like this. Stop the ride, I want to get off!

I can imagine you are probably utterly confused by all of this, because I certainly can't make heads or tails of it myself. I have an appointment with Dr. Z in two days and I am going to put myself in his hands to sort through this situation. I cling to the Latuda because it is helping me lose weight, but these side effects -- particularly the depression-like symptoms -- are intolerable.

Let's back up and let me list my meds that I take to keep me stable. I have Bipolar Type 1 with psychotic features:

1. Mood stabilizers (Depakote, Lamictal)
2. Anti-psychotics (Latuda, Haldol)
3. Anti-depressant (Latuda, 10 mg. Lexapro)
4. Anti-anxiety (Ativan)
5. Thyroid medication (Synthroid)

My "pattern" is 3-4 years of stability followed by a horrible manic episode in the summer. Repeat. Will I always have this pattern? No matter what med cocktail I am taking? Oh, who knows. My weight goes up and down and it's so very frustrating. I want to be a positive, uplifting person spreading happiness and here I am in a smelly nightgown.

It's my hope Dr. Z can get me relief. If we phase out the Latuda, so be it. I'll take the weight issue over this depression -- any day.

Cheer Up Charlie

Let's start today with a song:

(From Willie Wonka and the Chocolate Factory)

Cheer up, Charlie
Give me a smile
What happened to the smile I used to know
Don't you know your grin has always
Been my sunshine;
Let that sunshine show...

Come on, Charlie
No need to frown
Deep down you know tomorrow is your toy...

When the days get heavy
Never pitter patter
Up and at'em boy

Some day, sweet as a song
Charlie's lucky day will come along
Till that day
You've got to stay strong Charlie
Up on top is right where you belong

Look up, Charlie
You'll see a star
Just follow it and keep your dreams in view
Pretty soon the sky is going to clear up
Charlie,
Cheer up Charlie, do
Cheer up Charlie
Just be glad you're you.

* * *

Up at 4:30 a.m. this morning. Darn Latuda. I came downstairs and started the coffee and popped in a piece of nicotene gum. Sometimes I like being up before dawn -- but this is more frustrating right now. What happens is I get very tired around 9:00 a.m. and need to nap the whole morning. Oh well. I have the time to do so.

I am today going to focus on some positives in my life. Get my chin up. Most importantly, I've got a roof over my head and food in my belly. Thanks God for that. Next, I've got a loving, caring, patient, loyal husband. Family as well. I have friends waiting for me when I'm ready to reach out. I'm not in mania right now.

I found a wonderful group of people with Bipolar Disorder on Facebook. It's called "Bipolar Sanctuary." People from all over the world are there. I have found my "kin" and I'm thrilled about it. I use Facebook quite a bit now. I feel most comfortable communicating through it.

I talked with my Mom about going to the art museum today but I think I am going to postpone that for another day. Just a little too much stimulus for me right now. I also think I'm going to have problems seeing movies. Just watching television is challenging for me. It "hurts" to watch -- kinda hard to explain. My eyes get squinty and my head starts to hurt. I get squirrely and want to leave the room. But I can control my television exposure so that's good.

Cheer up, Melissa. It's another day of recovery and you've got the time and space to do so. Pretty soon the sky will clear up. Just be glad you're you.

Sacked

Well, I've waited a few days to share this with everyone. I've been fired and I'm pretty embarrassed about the whole thing. Not angry -- maybe that comes later. Might it be I'm relieved? Or that I expected it given all the leave I requested this year and the two hospitalizations?

Come to think of it, I've been fired from every job I've had since I was diagnosed with bipolar disorder. I don't want to pursue legal options so don't suggest that. It would stress me out too much and I'm too ashamed and I just want the experiences behind me.

I am seriously considering hanging up my working hat and focusing on staying at home. Staying stable. I just can't handle these hospitalizations every 3 years. We haven't pursued this strategy before. I'm very proud and I wanted to keep working despite the diagnosis and the medications and the concerns about stress. But let's get honest: I'm disabled.

I'll share a secret I'm also ashamed of: I receive federal disability insurance (SSDI). I'll continue to receive that. It's not much but it helps with monthly bills. My family subsidizes us too. What a sorry state of affairs this is!

But I know from my interactions with others sharing my illness that my story is all too familiar. I've got a husband who works and no children to support. We make it on his salary and money from our parents. Things could be so much worse and I count my blessings. The more I think about it, just focusing on running my household makes more sense. It's not something I prefer, but something I find I'll be doing  (by default).

I haven't let my husband know of my intention to leave the workforce. I'm going to wait a few weeks. I don't think he'll be mad -- just disappointed and probably sad for me. I don't like dwelling on the negative in these posts so I'll end here. Blue skies will come eventually. They always do.

Baby Steps

Up very early every morning. That's the one problem with Latuda: you don't sleep very well in these initial weeks. I take an Ativan to try and get sleepy again. I get frustrated that I must take all these pills but that's a part of my life now.

I was invited to go out with some friends two nights ago, but declined as I always do. I get tired easily; I don't like crowds; I live like a hermit now. It's not that I want to be this way -- I just feel most comfortable living like this.

I wonder if other people with bipolar illness are like this? I know depressives don't want anyone around and strongly medicated folks in mania can't really function too well. Sure, you've probably seen manic people with bipolar dancing off the walls but I'm guessing they are not taking their meds or tinkering with them.

I have been driving out to my Mother's house every day and spending time with her. I know I should make some effort to go out, preferably showering beforehand. I managed to take a shower Friday (it's Sunday) and it was an effort, to be sure. But I am hopeful as my body adjusts to these new meds I will get some energy back.

It's a beautiful Fall day and I think I am going to put a coat on and try to go for a walk. Some of the swelling has gone down and I can walk without pain, though I did break my toe 2 weeks ago. That still hurts. I feel like I'm just one big downer today...no, none of that!!! I'm taking my Baby Steps of recovery from the hospitalizations and the horrible mania this past summer.

Let's leave things here on a positive note. I'm home, it's pretty outside, my family and friends love me. That's a lot to be grateful for these days.

Rehab

Tough day for me yesterday. I felt sluggish and my tummy was a little upset. But this morning at 4:00 a.m. I am feeling better and I think as my body adjusts to the Latuda things will improve markedly.

My weight is slowly starting to decrease. I'm so, so happy about this. I've dropped in a pants size and I walked the dog yesterday and had no back pain. I was dazed, however, for much of the day and cleaning the kitchen is difficult. This is strange and frustrating for me because I love to cook, but can only do so in a clean kitchen.

I'm struggling with taking showers and brushing my teeth, although I do get out of bed every morning. I don't feel depressed even though I am exhibiting signs of depression. I am resolved that I am going to take a shower today. No matter how hard that may be.

I found a Bipolar group on Facebook called "Bipolar Sanctuary" and there are wonderful people there. I am looking forward to making new "friends." I like Facebook and use it quite a bit.

My husband and I talked about going to see a hockey game tonight but we are going to stay home and watch it here. I'm not ready for big crowds -- it's too soon and I've only been out of the hospital for less than a week. There's a football game on Saturday and we had tickets for that but again, we are going to watch it on television with my Mother. I know the day will come when I can go to these events. I just need to wait until I am feeling better.

I don't have anything planned for today. I guess this is a good thing. Yesterday I ended up taking a long, three hour nap during the day and that's a possibility for me today. All in all, this "rehab" is going along as planned. I have my loving husband and family circled around me and I'm so, so lucky. So bring on the day. One step at a time I am getting stronger. I won't let my illness get the best of me. I'm a fighter. Always have been. Always will be.

Magical Mystery Tour

Okay. I explain my absence. I return from not one but two hospitalizations. They were a month apart, and although I really liked the facility, when you're locked up, you're locked up. No two ways about it.

We have been trying to cap this mania (with psychosis) all summer long. It has held on for 5 months -- the longest period to date. Now, some of the reason for this is I refused to take Zyprexa, a med known for it's great reliability for arresting mania. I refused it because it causes obesity. Instead, I was put on a Seroquel/Haldol mix, which ultimately didn't work and caused obesity as well.

It was not until I got to the psych ward that I came under the care of Dr. Blair, who recommended Latuda for breaking mania and losing weight. I am now on a good dose and the psychosis/mania is broken and I can tell the swelling is going down. But let's keep in mind this episode is fizzling out on it's own. It's had me in it's grips for a long, long time.

Now, all of this calls into question the efficacy of my own psychiatrist, Dr. Z, in knowing which meds to prescribe for me. Is he at fault? Well, it's actually hard to say. Because the psychosis feels so real, and I did not tell him I thought I was involved in a huge drama filled with government agents and me as a religious figure/witch doctor of sorts and a Hollywood film production, he didn't know the Seroquel/Haldol wasn't working. But why wasn't I put on Latuda from the start?

I am guessing when I went to see him I must have looked okay? That it looked like the Seroquel/Haldol was working? That he thought I wouldn't mind the weight gain? When I am in psychosis it feels so real and I hide it -- I think because I know it must be kept a secret. Yet we have been at this place before. I've now had 7 hospitalizations.

All of this aside, I was nuts for 5 months. I am now thinking that once these manias start, they are going to run their course no matter what meds we throw at them. They are strong, gale-force episodes and I just don't think the drugs available today on the market (that I will take) can arrest things. This is perhaps the most frustrating thing about my particular diagnosis of Bipolar 1 with psychosis.

So here I am this morning, in rehab mode. My Mother has moved back to Columbus and is in high gear to help me get the house cleaned up and get the maintenance work done on the house (our house is over 100 years old). My husband has been "shell shocked" in a way, having a sick wife for 5 months and having to be the caregiver on his own. We desperately need the help, and I am lucky I have a wonderful Mother here to provide it.

I need to read back over the posts this summer to see if I sound lucid because believe me I was far from it. Maybe I looked and talked normally -- that can be the only explanation for why Dr. Z kept me on Seroquel/Haldol. Because I'm here to tell you it didn't work for me and I'm sitting here obese, which I wanted desperately to avoid.

Let's find the bright spots in this Magical Mystery Tour: It's Over. At last. Finished. I will be able to go back to work soon. Fingers crossed the Latuda -- kept on board as a permanent med -- will keep the mania arrested and help me lose this weight. I see Dr. Z today and we will have much to discuss. I'm not angry, just disappointed and frustrated.

I'm back to the blogging and I'm so grateful I can write, get my thoughts organized and down on paper. Maybe I will be able to read soon? Fingers crossed. Forward I go. Shaky, but on solid ground.

Much Better

Feeling much better today, though things got a little "dicey" for a stretch there yesterday. No suicidal thoughts right now so I'm grateful for that. Watched pro football with hubby, which is new for me. Years past I had no interest whatsoever with the NFL. But strangely, things have changed.

I am, however, feeling very lonely. My best girlfriend is in California for awhile, and I've distanced myself from others -- solely because I am embarrassed by the way our house looks. But I am very pleased to report that a landscaper is coming Tuesday to give me an estimate for yard clean-up and hubby talked with the maintenance company who will be sending someone over this week. I can't wait!!! Finally, finally we can get the exterior under control.

I see myself needing a good deal of time to recover from this episode. My worry is the mania/delusions are alive and well under the helmet of Seroquel/Haldol. You know how much I want to be free of these meds and the prime reason is they cause obesity. I can barely move without pain. I am praying that Dr. Z puts me on new medication.

My sleep is a little choppy -- went to bed last night around 9:00 p.m.; woke up at 2:00 a.m. and stayed awake until 7:00 a.m.; fell back asleep and woke up around 10:45 a.m. I'm a little disoriented to say the least.

Well, that's all for today. I'm just going to rest.

A Dreaded Dark Day

So here we are, a typical Fall Saturday in Ohio. The sun is out and it's a glorious day. OSU football is on at 6:00 p.m. I don't think I'll be able to cook. I just don't have the energy or creativity right now. This is a direct result from the meds. Can you see now why I hate them so much? Oh, and I am thinking about killing myself. Just thought I'd add that.

Woke up very early (about 5:00 a.m.) and had my coffee then went to the diner. I always feel better when I go to the diner -- why, I do not know. Came home and fell back asleep and had a dream I was racing a car on a track. I was driving a very small car but I was winning the race quite easily. Except a sharp corner suddenly came around and I nearly wiped out.

Hubby will be flying this afternoon so I will have some free time for myself. I may try to walk down to the coffee shop and get iced tea. I don't know if it will become painful to walk. As you know, I've had great difficulty moving in general. I hate my pills for causing my body to balloon up like this. I don't dare weigh myself. That will upset me so much.

I am going to BEG Dr. Z to switch out these meds with something else. I think I would be so very happy if I could be taking something else. Now let's be honest here. The Seroquel/Haldol mix does work. In combination, they keep the delusions/mania controlled. But they make me fat and I can't stand it. I'm so upset. All I can think about is how overweight I am. And how I wish I could start tinkering -- and that's definitely not an option because I'll end up in the loony bin again.

Other developments today are I bought the local newspaper. I haven't read much of it, but it's a start. I am finding television is difficult to watch. There are many reasons for this. I don't want to go into all of them right now. But I'm watching some college football right now. I seem to be okay with that.

I know I need to just let go of the disgust I feel about the way I look. But it's almost impossible. It's just not fair. I'm holding back the tears but it's pretty damn hard. I hate my disorder. I hate my meds. I hate my body. Maybe I hate me.

* * *

Dark day for me indeed. My husband is now home. I told him I was thinking about suicide. I know that he will help me through this rocky time. I know not to keep these feelings locked up inside. Funny, September is Suicide Prevention Month. My timing is impeccable.

I'll sign off here, with a promise that I won't hurt myself. But I do think about it. I loathe clinical depression. God, give me the strength to battle this demon.

Tar Pit

My sadness is still lingering today. I had a massage earlier this week, hoping it might help. So much house cleaning needs to be done that it is absolutely overwhelming. I'm frozen by the sheer mass that needs to be organized. I need some help but I don't know where to turn.

Perhaps I will call my sister to come over and help me. No, I don't want to burden her with this. I think I need my mother. Someone, anyone to help me. Perhaps I am biting off too much here. I am barely two weeks out of the hospital. This is rehab time. I need to slow down. Focus on getting better.

I am waiting for the maintenance company to call me back so we can start the work on the exterior of our home. I may have to call them again. Perhaps they don't want to do business with us? I'm not sure why no one called us back to schedule an appointment. As you know, the work on the exterior is tied to the work on the interior. Once we get the ball rolling on the outside I will be motivated to do the inside. Why don't they call me back?

I am wondering if the depression is tied to my current med cocktail. Perhaps I am taking a dosage that keeps me too low, not neutral. I don't see Dr. Z until late next week, so I'll have to hang in there and gut this out.  I don't like the depression at all. I don't want to shower or brush my teeth; moving around is difficult; I want to eat to feel better.

I'm wishing I could relay more uplifting news to you. But right now I'm really low. My Mom did get me a wonderful fleece purple robe and that arrived yesterday. I'm wearing it now and it's wonderful. My husband is cleaning up the kitchen and making breakfast and that makes me happy. He took a FMLA day which he deserves and needs because he is my caretaker and there's a big weight on his shoulders.

I pray that Dr. Z finds some way to get me off the Seroquel and Haldol. I know he doesn't want to change things because I'm stable now and my past tinkering put me in the nut hut. He's taking a conservative approach. It's just that these meds keep me depressed, fat and numb. I'm frightened to read any newspapers or books. I do like seeing the Facebook posts from my friends and people/things that interest me. But I'm not living. I'm a zombie.

Today is Friday and I am going to try and make it a more enjoyable one. I am going to take a shower and brush my teeth. That's progress. I think that's pretty much all I can do right now. I guess this is okay. I'm just so sad.

The Cheese Stands Alone

I'm feeling sad and lonely today. My husband is threatening to take away my car keys if I keep going to the breakfast diner in the morning to get my meal. It's become a highlight of my day -- I don't think he has any clue how much it means to me. He makes me feel trapped. Like I am still in the nut hut.

I am also thinking about work and how my job is now a trigger for possible psychosis. If this is indeed the case, I cannot continue to work there, which is my sneaking suspicion. My husband will probably be angry about that too. And what about the work I am going to do on the exterior of the house? He doesn't want to "waste" money and fails to understand why I must have these things done in order to stay sane.

I know I have placed a burden on him. But I have fought my way through this mental illness, put a lot of effort in making sure I am not a drag on him. He is fortunate to have me, in many, many ways. He rarely tells me that, needing prompting on my part.

I think we need to start couple's counseling. My therapist said he would be willing to see us both, and I am going to make this happen. I'm unhappy and heck, he probably is too. But I'm going to fight to save our marriage. We've suffered the past  12 years with my bipolar disorder and still stayed intact. This is a miracle in some respects. He could have left me in the dust, but hasn't. I love him so very much and I don't know what I'd do without him. It scares me to think about it.

There are many things I would like to share with him. Such as why I drive around, compelled to see all the changes happening in Columbus. Why buying certain things at certain places puts me at ease. Why I need to get massages regularly because I have searing back pain and neck and shoulder muscles that are so tense they feel like iron.

I think his ultra-frugality comes into conflict with my more "looser" use of money. But dammit, I've cut my spending way down since I met him. Why doesn't he see this?

I'm so sad this morning. I wish my day didn't start this way. I wish he'd just let me be when I wake up at 5:30 a.m. and want to get my breakfast. Maybe if he sees this post he will stop trying to control me. But most likely, this will not be the case. This relationship needs professional help. And I'll try to get the ball rolling as soon as possible.

A Slow Recovery

Met with Dr. Z earlier this week -- my first meeting with him since I was released from the nuthouse. We are going to leave the daily dose of Seroquel (600 mg) and Haldol (10 mg) intact, despite my longing that these meds are switched out. He said we can revisit my "med cocktail" at our next meeting in 2 weeks.

I am frustrated.

I have been sleeping very, very deeply and had an accident in the bed the other night. Too zoned out to wake up to go pee, and I wet the bed. This is so embarrassing  to talk about, but I know it's not my fault. This happened twice in the loony bin. I feel ashamed that I apparently cannot trust my bladder, although I didn't have an accident last night. Hopefully it will not happen again...

My husband had the car today so I began trying to organize the mess around here. It's hard to follow through on my household tasks. I hung up some of the new clothes I bought -- my size keeps changing i.e. going upward -- and bagged things to go to the Salvation Army. I know if I can get things cleaned up and organized I can think more clearly.

But for now, I am moving very, very slowly. Although I am in a rush to get everything picked up, to overcome 12 years of dealing with my bipolar disorder, I must be patient. And this is so very hard for me.

I want to let you know I did have a breakthrough with the phone: I am checking messages and answering calls. I also have started reading the local newspaper. Not all of it. Just a little bit. I stay away from newspapers out of fear that I will go nuts and start sending gibberish to them. I've done this in the past. I haven't read a newspaper in years. But I'd like to try now.

All in all, this has been a very strange trip. A magical mystery tour. Well, maybe not magical. It's been 5 months of trying to cap the mania. My longest manic episode to date.But i'm tough, wearing my "Women of Steel" button. You know I'm a survivor.

Recovery: Preparing For Battle

I've been out of the loony bin for a little over a week. I sleep a lot these days and household chores seem insurmountable. I know I need to get my immediate environment under control -- that helps tremendously as I rehab at home. But I realize I cannot do this on my own, so my Mother is going to come over and help.

There is much exterior work to be done on our home. It was built in 1906 and as with all of these older homes, upkeep is never-ending. I'm going to bring in a maintenance company to help with some big jobs and then a landscaper to do clean-up and mulching. I also am going to bring the house cleaners back in for cleaning inside (as much as they can).

My attempts to read have been futile lately. I'm just too scared I will read something and misinterpret it and go manic again. What I would like is someone to read to me the important stories. I'm so upset that I have this obstacle. I don't even want to listen to NPR, which is so disappointing.

This episode has been so very strange -- all of the others pretty much fizzled out after a few months. No, this one continues on, regardless of the meds. I think I may have to just dig deep and find my coping skills to get through this post-nut hut rehab.

My weight is a huge issue for me. It's not just the way I look -- and the embarrassment I feel -- but also I am physically challenged. I get a searing pain across the bottom of my back when I walk. I take Aleve but that doesn't really help. I am 48 years old and probably should be using a walker. Can you believe this? I can't and I won't get one. I refuse to get one. 

I know the Seroquel and Haldol meds are the culprits. I am going to beg Dr. Z to wean me off of them and replace them with something else. There is a new med called Letuda (sp?) that we discussed. It's a brand new drug and I will be a guinea pig. But at this juncture, I don't care. Even if it means I go back to the hospital.

I'm trying to keep my spirits up, despite the obstacles I face. I'm a tough old bird. This is hard though. I guess there's nowhere to go but up...

Back To The Nut Hut

Well, deep sigh. I am back dear readers after a one week stay in a local nut hut.We were trying to avoid sending me to the hospital, but alas, this was not to be the case. I'll elaborate, but I first want to share with you the last blog post I composed before I was hospitalized. I didn't put it online before.

* * *

I'm going to post the lyrics of the song "I'm Free" by The Who on the album "Tommy" to express how I feel today:

"I'M FREE- I'm free,
And freedom tastes of reality,
I'm free-I'm free,
AN' I'm waiting for you to follow me.

If I told you what it takes
to reach the highest high,
You'd laugh and say 'nothing's that simple'
But you've been told many times before
Messiahs pointed to the door
And no one had the guts to leave the temple!

I'm free-I'm free
And freedom tastes of reality
I'm free-I'm free
And I'm waiting for you to follow me.

[Chorus:]

How can we follow?
How can we follow?"


Apologies for my absence. I've been in a Haldol haze which blessedly has been lifted recently. I am easing off this med and suddenly I have energy and can think clearly and I am planning for our road trip to Vermont in a few days. My memory of this summer is basically shot, unless I read over past blog posts. My excessive weight is a visual reminder that I have been through hell but I'm now going to turn the corner.

This has been one hell of a summer. By my estimation, I've been in a manic state for three months, tempered by strong medicine to keep it capped. Soon memories of this will float into my subconscious (I think).

* * *

Why was I hospitalized? Well, I was "tinkering" with my med cocktail -- specifically cutting back the Seroquel and Haldol -- without doctor's orders. I am a butterball, and I hate the way I look and feel. These meds cause obesity and I want to be off of them.

Of course this led to disaster. I ended up hyper-ventilating, and suicidal thoughts raced through my head. I barely made it to The Ohio State University Emergency Room before collapsing at the entrance -- I had to be put in a wheel chair and was transported to a cramped, dark room in a separate area. This of course made matters worse. I was there for over six hours -- the exact amount of time I don't know.

My beloved sister came right away to sit with me, staying until they transported me via ambulance to a new loony bin in Northwest Columbus. I want to say that it was a wonderful facility. Of all the nut huts I have been in this was the best. It was clean and spacious and they allowed us to go outside several times during the day. I made some good friends, and started reading the newspaper again -- a big accomplishment,

I had to put myself in the "seclusion room" a few times so I could scream dirty words or just talk out loud to myself. Even though this might sound strange, it calmed me down. I stayed for one week, which I think was a good period of time. I didn't fight it at all.

So I'm at home now, rehabilitating to the best of my ability. I have purchased Cliff Notes for Dante's Inferno and Homer's Ulysses. I want to read these works but I need things condensed and easier to understand. The books were mentioned by a friend I met and I am putting them on a "must read" list for myself. I know these are challenging books but I want to tackle them.

Mentally, I feel good, feel clear-headed right now. I am worried about the hospital bill, but we have insurance. I am worried about the lost income we have as a result of me not working, but I think family members may be able to help me out. In the meantime, there is much work to be done around the house and I am going to start working on things.

My Mom is going to come over to help me bag up clothes for Salvation Army. This will help reduce the clutter and get me more organized. Next I plan on getting the carpet and couch cleaned, which will help with the smell of the Basset Hounds. I am going to bring the cleaners in again to get this place smelling and looking better. I am thinking I schedule them for once a month.

There is also work to be done on the exterior of the house and Mom is paying for that. I am making an appointment for us to meet with the Superior Home Maintenance to paint the foundation outside, finish off the deck, locate a leak on the roof, and hopefully replace the gutters. I don't know how much this will cost. I have a budget to work within and I am going to try and meet that. One thing is for sure: When we get these projects done I will feel so much better. A huge load on my shoulders will be lifted.

The work on the exterior of the house is tied to the work I need to do in the interior. I've been "frozen" from doing interior work because I am so upset by how the exterior is crumbling. I have tried to explain this to my husband, but I don't think he understands. Nevertheless, I am moving forward to get these things done. I need to figure out a way to talk with him calmly and rationally. I know his ego is tied to the deck. But he just doesn't have time to finish it, now that he is working on his pilot's license.

I also think he doesn't want work done on the house because he doesn't want to be "tied down" to the property i.e. does not want to sink money into a place he might leave someday. But as of this moment, I know I'm not leaving anytime soon, and even if I were, these projects must be done in order to sell. I wish my husband felt the same way. I wish he understood why we need to work on the house. I wish he wanted to take pride in ownership. But I cannot change him, no matter how hard I try.

So here's where I stand this morning. Fall is here and it's chilly outside. I love the Fall. I'm moving forward slowly. And I'm glad I'm writing again. This is a real sign of progress.



 

Unlock And Unload

Just when you thought it was over...

I am feeling very drugged out, which means I am stabilizing and the meds are too strong now and I need to ease off of them. As you know, Dr. Z took the conservative approach and locked and loaded me up with an arsenal of anti-psychotics and mood stabilizers. They didn't really phase me, save keeping the mania and psychosis controlled. I was able to function.

But now as we move into August, as I predicted, the mania is over and these darn extra pills aren't needed anymore. So here comes the weaning off period. Physically, I'm a mess. I can barely walk because my body has swelled so much from the effects of the Haldol and Seroquel. I've gained at least 50 pounds. If you have been on these medications, this probably happened to you. But I had to go through this in order to control  the mania (and importantly, the psychosis).

The weight gain is the hardest thing I must face. In my opinion, I look horrible, unlovable, like a cow, a "less-than." Sure, none of this is my fault. But how is someone looking at me supposed to know that? Fat = Lazy in American society. Unable to control yourself. And here I am, a huge butter ball and I just want to cry about the whole darn thing.

It is very difficult for me to lose weight given a thyroid disease I have (Grave's Disease). My metabolism is very slow. I did have success shedding a significant amount of weight (80 lbs.) through a liquid diet that lasted 9 months. Looking back, I cannot believe I did it, as it requires great resolve, focus and discipline. What I found, however, is when I reached my target weight, I started drinking and then soon maintenance went out the window.

But after walking with my husband last night and only being able to suffer through a few small blocks, I decided: This is going to stop NOW. I have some of my diet products here and I started the program today. It consists of 4 shakes and 1 soup a day. I actually like the way the products taste and to have food completely removed from the equation gives me great relief. So today is Day 1 of my program. I will let you know how it goes.

We have set September 2 as my return date to my office. This is the day after Labor Day. After much uncertainty and delusions about my job, I report that I am really looking forward to returning to work. I will have August to enjoy (as much as that's possible) then it's full steam ahead. And I can get back to blogging about bipolar disorder in general versus penning journal entries.

Yes, the skies will be opening up for me and I'm so pleased. I just need to tend to the physical wreckage of this episode left behind.

A Day Of Celebration!

The gears are starting to turn!

Woke up this morning and I know the "click" is coming. I've already made the commitment to go back to work and I am feeling so much better and grounded today. Deep sigh on my end. This has been a long, stressful summer and I feel like I can finally relax and enjoy what little is left of it.

I also know that we can start ratcheting back the pills and I couldn't be happier about that! I can start making a dent in this 50+ pounds I have gained. That is very, very important to me because it is very painful for me to even walk right now. I'm a butter ball and I don't want to see anyone when I am in this condition. It's embarrassing.

I'm glad I was able to get some posts up here when I was in psychotic mania -- this will be very helpful for me to review if future episodes emerge (which they will). I remember scrawling out notes in prior manias but for the most part it was gibberish. I think this blogging medium helps me to get my thoughts relayed in a more intelligent fashion.

I have returned to Facebook and I am putting up a few posts. Nothing controversial. I try to steer clear from sensational news as best I can. It fires me up and can spark an episode if I'm not careful. I love Facebook because, as a hermit, it connects me to other people. I need this so I don't feel so alone.

Some words on sobriety: I have been sober for almost 2 months. Maybe longer (I've lost track). I think I let you know that I have the dual diagnosis of bipolar disorder and alcoholism. The booze has been a real monkey on my back for a long, long time. I cobble together a few years sober then relapse. Very tough disease to manage, as there is no cure. But you know me -- I'm not giving up. Pass the Iced Tea with some lemon wedges.

My day is open to me. Lots of possibilities. I may try to walk around the park, even if it is painful. I've got to start moving again. Nowhere to go but up. Fortunately, I've been here before. I've got a mountain to climb but I'm equipped with the gear. Plus my climbing partner -- my husband -- has me roped to him in case I slip. I can do this.

Onward, upward. My mantra for today.

Some Words Of Thanks

I'd like to thank everyone who is following my blog and sending words of support and love. It means so very much to me as I trudge through this latest manic episode. I report that it feels like the episode may be fizzling out, but it's very much a day to day thing. Yesterday I was very depressed, even though the sun was shining and the temperature was very pleasant.

I'm a fighter and I'll get through this. Heck, I've had, let's see, roughly 4 (?) manias I've survived since I was diagnosed in 2002. I got through it. At this juncture, I'm towards the end of the suffering, and I'm looking forward to my return to work and a routine that will give me structure to my day. It's fairly important that I have this in place. Keeps me grounded and steady.

I do still have this belief that people are watching me, but  I'm fairly confident it will either a.) go away or b.) I'll be able to just accept it and continue on with my daily tasks. I'm not scared or upset this time around, and don't feel traumatized like I did in 2011. Sounds really corny but I believe "the force is with me."

Again, thanks for your support. It means more than you will ever know.

I Can See Clearly

Here comes the sun?

As with all my past manias, the day comes when I experience what I call "the click." I simply wake up and feel/know the episode is over and I am back to "reality." The pattern of the manias for the most part is every three years they grow in February, March and April; emerge in May; flame in May, June and July; and then burn out in early August. Regardless of any medication I take during this period, this pattern has held.

Today is July 28 and I am sensing "the click" is coming. I realized this weekend that I do want to go back to my office -- it isn't such a bad place after all. With this acknowledgement comes much needed relief and less anxiety. Now, I do still believe I'm on the proverbial "mission from God" which can be a clear sign that manic grandiosity is still in place. This has not changed. And when I am out and about I do still believe that people are trying to communicate with me telepathically and with certain gestures. Will this always be something I believe?

I know certain people with schizophrenia are able to successfully work even though the voices they hear are present. They have just learned to adapt to them. John Nash is a good example. Might I be able to function somewhat normally even though I have grandiose thoughts? Frankly, with a self esteem so low, I'm surprised at myself for even considering I might be someone uniquely special, worthy of praise.

The important thing today is I can get my arms around this episode; I can "see" and feel my surroundings; my bearings are taking root. Stabilization is right around the corner. I am cautiously optimistic that I will not have a flare up of PTSD this time. Quite frankly, I feel safe and comfortable today. Actually, I feel like I've been spinning my wheels for 12 years but that's over now -- my wheels have hit the pavement and I'm moving forward. It's a wonderful thing to feel.

Of course I've got some obstacles ahead, some things that must be addressed sooner rather than later. One thing I am very upset about is my weight and raging appetite. I know it's tied to the medicine -- specifically Seroquel -- and I want desperately to be off it. But I must wait. This is very, very hard for me. I don't do patience well at all.

So forward I go, step by step, day by day. Hope is on the horizon.
 

Side Trip To The Scary Place

Yesterday early evening did not go very well. I started reflecting on a discussion I had earlier in the week when I accompanied a work colleague to a political function she had to attend. Inevitably we started discussing if/when I would return to work. I am very confused about that and I'm medicated and it really stresses me quite a bit.

Somehow the talk started circling around this idea that I should leave and collecting unemployment would be impossible and all I was entitled to was a small severance package. And I've been mulling this over and no one has talked with the Big Boss yet and I have no idea what my status is. As I've said, I hate uncertainty but that's what I'm facing.

So thoughts of this started melting into this whole manic experience I am having and it built into an eruption of tears and suicidal thoughts. A river of tears flowed down my face and I told husband I needed to go to the hospital because I had thoughts of hurting myself. But then I calmed down after having this good cry.

I don't like the suicidal thoughts. Blessedly we found that right medication (Lexapro) long ago to treat my depression if it tries to crop up. I've been free from suicidal thinking for years. But it sneaked up yesterday and I forgot what it was like. I'm stable today and things are under control. Waiting for all the meds to kick in and send me off to zombie land.

Obviously work and the unknowns with that are forefront in my mind. Husband is going to talk directly with the Big Boss next week so we will get a good idea of what my options are. Right now I think I want to go back. I'm on a roller coaster though.  

Do As I Say, Not As I Do

NO tinkering!

So I go off on this lecture in a prior post that we must take our medicine cocktail as prescribed, not tinkering with dosages or stop taking our medication completely. And what do I do after penning this post? Why I start tinkering around the edges, cutting my Haldol (anti-psychotic) dose in half. I don't want to feel groggy anymore. I'm tired of feeling like I am in quicksand. My husband is pressuring me to return to an office with people that manipulate me.

Well, the tinkering proved to be a disaster. In due course I descended into a burst of tears and suicidal thoughts came into my head. I asked my husband to hospitalize me so I could just shut the world off and be in isolation. I have taken three steps back in my progress. And that upsets me.

I'm back on my prescribed regimen and feeling better today. I guess I must be patient and continue to just go day to day and wait for this mania to fizzle out. As for work and my husband, he backed off on setting some deadline for me to go back. Heck, I don't know if I want to go back to my office. It changes day by day. Do they even want me back? Who knows.

I am really starting to detest my brain illness. Starting to descend into self pity and "why me" and all that crap. Tired of saying, "I'm a trooper and I can overcome this!" Tired of putting up a strong front, tired of laughing when I want to cry. I really, really want to be positive here but I just can't be right now.

I have no idea what's in store for me in the coming months and that upsets me to no end. I don't do well with uncertainty or big "surprises" or big shifts in situations. And this is exactly where I am right now, what I am facing. I am going to try not to cry today. The sun is out and the temperature is pleasant. The kitchen is a disaster and I am going to try and clean it up. That should make me feel a little bit better.

I'm definitely down but not out (yet). And I'm grateful for that. Onward.

Sunshine On My Shoulders

Okay. I awoke this morning feeling really good. The plan is to go to my Mother's house for a visit and a swim in the pool, then we will go out to dinner with husband. I need more days like this. I've spent  a lot of time wandering around my home and neighborhood in a daze. I can't wait to get into the water.

The sun will be out today and it's going to be hot. Yes, I need sunscreen and no, I probably won't use any. I'm so feisty and resistant sometimes...I do plan on sitting at a table under an umbrella. That should help a bit. I feel very self-conscious in a bathing suit. If you were carting around an extra 50+ lbs. I'd wager you would be too. But I'm not going to let that stop me from enjoying the water.

Feeling much clearer today. Yesterday I slept until 1:30 p.m. and was groggy all day. I was up this morning at 6:30 a.m. and this is so much better. I am looking forward to the day. I just sense this is going to be a good one, hopefully including laughter versus such seriousness.

I believe I may have mentioned before that I think laughter can be the best medicine for me. I have had moments when I have laughed at past manias, though I will add the caveat that this doesn't happen often. Having that scary psychosis attached makes things very unpleasant. But there is some humor there. Sometimes.

As I pull out of this mania, two things are coming into focus: my body weight and my job. I have no idea how I am going to shed these pounds and I don't know what will be awaiting me at my workplace. But I'm just going to follow my mindfulness techniques and stay in the "now." Certainly I've been at this juncture before. And the "now" means today, and I have some fun things planned.

I hope you have a good day as well. Make the most of the little things. They can be more significant than you think!






  

FMLA? Walk The Talk

Husband reports he is on the equivalent of "double secret probation" at work. It is in response to some days he took this summer to care for me. I guess I would describe them as "mental health days" for him. Caring for someone in a bipolar manic episode is extremely difficult -- I'm surprised he has weathered this past 12 years.

What gripes my butt is he brought a work computer home to do his job while he was here. He's not ripping off the company. I think he did the right thing, but I admit I don't know all the procedures involved with Family Medical Lead Act cases and how they apply to his particular company.

Now, I'm like the mother lion and her cubs, and in my eyes he can do no wrong. There may indeed be some things about his situation that I don't know. But I'm pretty damn sure we can connect those days he took off to my illness. No doubt about it.

I am feeling this very strong urge to call up his boss and get a full explanation of what is happening to him at work. Husband would be furious, of course, but I want to what is happening. He doesn't provide me with the specifics. I'm very angry.

Everyone talks about how great FMLA is but from what I'm seeing it isn't working at all. If my husband loses his job over it watch out. There's going to be some serious heat in the kitchen.

More Thoughts On Med Compliance

Mornin' -- or should I say, "Good Afternoon!" -- dear readers. I report my present state as follows: "I've got me a Chrysler, she's as big as a whale and she's about to set sail!" (B-52s, Love Shack) I think I relayed that Dr. Z is taking a very conservative approach to my case and has me on three mood stabilizers and two anti-psychotics. I'm taking enough medicine to knock that whale out but miraculously I am able to function -- barely. And my weight is through the roof.

Everything feels like it is in slow motion. Just walking around the block is a huge hurdle. Pulling together some semblance of a dinner is a huge chore. I have a voracious appetite. Obviously, this is not a situation I want to be experiencing. BUT this is a time to do a little "soul searching."

If I stop taking this medicine, scary things could happen. Not violent, just very disturbing. I could start "roaming" around in my car. I might go to a department store and start spending money like crazy. The line could become blurred between delusion and reality.

Certainly I don't believe any of this might happen because I've been doing a little "experiment." Yes, I have been holding off on taking my morning dose until the early afternoon. Why? Well, I want to experience a few hours "med-free" (if we can call it that). I love this time -- my thinking is clear, I feel cogent. I can outline plans for healthy eating. I want to get exercise. Heck, I just want to move in general.

Once I take those morning pills and they kick in, all I can do is sit in my recliner and stare out into space. Remember those movies depicting people in asylums sitting in wheelchairs on the lawn with blank faces? That's how I am. Who in the heck wants to live like this? No one, that's who. And this is a big reason why people go off their medication. I "get it" completely.

Now, let's step back a bit and try to put this is a broader perspective. I cannot forget that I will not be in this state forever. Dr. Z is going to pull out the Seroquel and Haldol and ratchet down the Invega in time. Every manic episode I have had passes, normally in late July. I should be ready for work in August and really be up to speed before Labor Day.

If I can just be patient and gut through this episode I will be back on my feet. I'm strong and I can do this. It's just not worth it to stop the meds or start seriously "tinkering" with the dosage. I was entertaining the idea of cutting my Haldol pills in half but now I'm starting to think that isn't a wise move. I need to go take the meds, go upstairs and take a shower, and clean up the kitchen. Then go to the grocery. Really simple things. Maybe I can find some energy to walk the Bassets.

If I can be compliant, so can you. We will get through this. It's a rotten space to be in but this is our situation. Hang in there, little soldiers. Brighter skies are on the horizon.

 

A Fraction Of Friction

No, mornings are not a good time for my husband. He's in a bad mood -- mostly because he wants to keep sleeping -- which doesn't elevate until he's had his coffee. This morning wasn't good at all. He wants, he needs some cleaning done around here. And it's not a big list of things. Just some vacuuming, clean some dishes, stuff like that. I should be able to do these tasks with no problem.

Why does it seem like such a burden to do?

It's hard for me to explain this. It actually hurts me to do cleaning -- physically and mentally. I've burst into tears before from just organizing a small bookshelf. I have vacuumed our tiny TV room and had to have a break halfway through it. Why?!

I think I am depressed. I think the medicine I am taking is too strong and is bringing me down too much. Fortunately, I see Dr. Z today and I can ask him. I'm going to also let him know how frustrated Michael is, and ask for some advice on how to make things easier for the caretaker. He's not asking for me to do much around here. This is easy stuff. However, it feels like a mountain for me to climb.

I berate myself for my housecleaning shortcomings. I hate conflict and it upsets me to know I cause grief for my husband. Some may say, "It's not your fault!" but I feel like I should be doing what he wants and more because honestly it's not much.

I want my husband to be happy and I'm overcome with guilt that I irritate him. Sure, there is some sort of friction in all marriages. Why can't I remember that? Of course I discuss this topic of guilt often in my talk therapy sessions. It's got me all bound up -- not just now, but has for a good long while.

Well, I'm on my third cup of coffee and I'm all "pilled up." Time to start slowly gearing up for my tasks. I can do this. I've got plenty of toilet paper if I start crying. One day at a time, Melissa. One foot in front of the other.

Problem Patients

Well, let's see. I've heard (and read) about all those people with a mental illness who don't want to take their medication. Some say it makes them feel groggy or "flat." Others miss the "high." People (like me) cannot stand the side effects, particularly weight gain. I've also experienced something new. By accident, in a way. If I miss (or delay) my morning dosage, I feel great. Better than I have in years.

Danger, Will Robinson, danger.

I cannot recall being so drawn to anti-compliance as I am now. I want to be free of the meds, I want the medicine helmet off, I want to be like "regular" people and think and behave like "normal" people. And subsequently, I feel anguish because I know what happens to most people with a severe mental illness (like me) who stop taking their pills.

They get very, very sick.

No, I'm not violent. I would just melt into a frightening world of delusions and paranoia and grandiosity and sleeplessness. And I must now dig very, very deep inside and say to myself, "Melissa, you have a brain disease. You need this medicine to treat it. Follow instructions. Happier days will come around soon."

I have always been the proverbial "trooper." I'm a tough cookie and I've been compliant with my med dosages almost 100%. I follow doctor's orders. Yes, I've done some slight "tweaks" around the edges, but nothing radical, and I always let Dr. Z. know. So I don't think you can call me a Problem Patient. But rest assured, there are many that fit this classification.

What I am trying to remember is 50 years ago, they didn't have any of these meds and would simply lock people up in the nut hut. I'm the beneficiary of great strides in modern medicine. I didn't even have to endure a stint in the loony bin this time around. We are successfully "home hospitalizing" me. I'm now allowed to drive the car, handle my allowance, and spend time with a friend. Well, actually, I prefer talking on the phone with friends versus visiting with them. But I don't feel "alone" like I do in the hospital.

I get solace in these mantras: One Day At A Time. Grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change; the courage to change the things I can; and the wisdom to know the difference. Well known, beloved quotes.  When I think about skipping/tinkering pill dosages, I try to come right back to the Serenity Prayer. I need my medicine to keep me from suicidal depression or uncontrollable mania. I will find serenity by accepting this regime.

What I can change is how I view myself. I am not a freak. I don't need to be shunned or locked up forever. I am a kind, compassion person. I want to help others get well too. I am wise in the management of bipolar disorder. There is no cure but we have treatment options. And this I know quite a bit about. I'm more than willing to share my knowledge with others.

So here we are. Another day of rehabilitation from this latest manic episode. I took my morning meds a little while ago and they are kicking into place. Until later...have a great day!

The Medicine Helmet

Picture, if you will, a medieval joust, with two men, each on a horse preparing for the game. Each is clad in armor, including a helmet that is put on and closed just before take off. There are slim slots for the eyes to see through.

I walk around every day with my own "medicine helmet" securely fastened to my head. It never comes off -- as long as I am med compliant every day. Which I am. I feel like a zombie most of the time. But let me relay a little story about what happened to me yesterday.

I awoke very late: 1:30 p.m. Which means I missed my morning dose of meds completely. And guess what? I felt friggin' fabulous. Clear, cogent, felt like I did before this bipolar nonsense blew out in 2002. Dear readers, I felt like I was free, like I could reason effectively, converse intelligently, read and discuss pertinent issues of the day.

And I wondered: Do I really need these pills after all?

I know, however, that this is what trips most folks with a mental illness up: You take your pills, start feeling good, then ditch them -- only to end up worse off in another terrible episode down the line. To the best of my knowledge, I can count on one hand the number of times I have missed a dose since 2002. Husband says it's more. But regardless, I have never felt as good as I did yesterday.

I went ahead and put my helmet back on and followed my dosage schedule last night and this morning, so I'm back on track. And I'm feeling tarry and sinking slowly into quicksand. I know I get the "gold star" for being a trooper all through this episode. Yeah, yeah I'm very proud of this. But that little "taste" of helmet-free living sure was finger-lickin' good.

Tightrope

Definitely feel like I'm walking on a high wire right now. Steady during certain periods of the day then dips in the afternoon into depression, which I am attributing to the most part to the slew of mood stabilizers and anti-psychotics I am taking. I feel the clearest first thing in the morning before my morning dose. This is when I can do my writing. But once the pills are swallowed it's zombie zone for me.

Dr. Z has me on three anti-psychotics with mood stabilizing properties and then two additional mood stabilizers. This is one hell of a cocktail to be taking. I'd argue I'm on enough medication to knock a horse out. Yet here I am, up and functioning somewhat.

Husband woke up enraged about numerous things and yelled at me while I sat quietly in my recliner sipping coffee and chewing numerous pieces of nicotene gum. I didn't say anything really. I am so used to these yelling sessions first thing in the morning. He pretty much cut me apart and I feel useless and like a failure. He is entirely correct that this house is a mess. But it gets this way due to lack of cleaning follow-through from me and him.

My mother is suggesting that he take a trip alone this summer to Vermont to see his parents. This would be only the second time we have been separated for a week or more. Part of me wants to encourage him to go. But the other part wants him here with me. I am going to talk to him about it and see what his reaction is.

***

Husband and I just spoke on the phone and he is going to stay with me. He apologized for his outburst. This, dear readers, is what happens when your spouse/partner/child has bipolar disorder. Things are very difficult before and during the episode, and in the rehabilitation period. The caretaker can snap so easily. And I feel terrible guilt that I cause this -- or at least contribute heavily to it. I'm working on this in therapy i.e. how to dismantle guilt and shame. I also talk about sin and my desire to be forgiven. I'd like that very much.

So here I am at 11:15 a.m., still in bathrobe, trying to get some strength to clean up all the dog urine in the kitchen. I'm exhausted even though I slept for 10 hours. I hate depression. I think some tweaking of the meds is required. I'll call Dr. Z and get his opinion.

The Precious Present

Woke up in the cyclone of regret over past decisions and experiences. Of course I've got no business playing in that sandbox -- I need to stay out of the regretful past and the anxious future; instead enjoying the wonderful Precious Present. But when the flashbacks come they bring me down. Like bags of cement tied to my legs that harden when I am pushed overboard from my lifeboat.

I am going to try not to wallow, as that is most unattractive and gets me nowhere. I'll put on my "happy" face paint today and float around town on my errands. No one wants to be around someone who is depressed. You know, I haven't been in a severe mania this summer (as opposed to past years). I haven't really been feeling any great "high." Just flat for the most part -- which means the med cocktail is working it's magic. But I am definitely noticing some "dips" into depression since we added the Haldol. Is a medication adjustment needed?

What is my present? Mostly pills, skills and bills. Med tweaks, constant talk therapy, and payment for services rendered graciously provided by my mother. Sure, it's about all I can handle. But I feel like I should by doing more, should be back at work, should be...I don't know...contributing in some grand fashion to the tapestry of This American Life. Should be doing something tangible that earns money. But I'm no good at making money. A real shortcoming in this society, to be sure.

I'm plagued by the decision of whether I go back to my office or not. I'm looking for some guidance but all I can sense is mixed signals. I am a very, very loyal employee who does not like leaving people hanging. September through December is a very busy time for us. So I must make a decision soon. Maybe they don't want me back? That's a possibility. A good possibility. I will have my husband contact Glenna. She will know what I should do.

I'm sad that I cannot "enjoy" this rehab period. All that is on my mind this summer is money; money for groceries and my massages and the few things that keep me happy. Folks, I'm talking about $1,300 month. Hardly anything. I should be able to summon up that amount through simple freelancing. But as I said, I'm no damn good at making money. And it's stressful to be out on my own trying to wrangle up projects. This whole thing makes me sick. I need a guardian angel.

I have a therapy appointment today and will discuss my struggles with living in the past and the future. Obviously I'm not the only one who does this. Will I make some headway? Who knows. It's worth some exploration.

Welcome My Friends To The Show That Never Ends

Strange. Feeling my brain calm down considerably, but all the "delusions" are still firmly in place i.e. I am a gift to mankind from God/my brain is far more advanced than everyone else's and this is why God can communicate to me. This smells clearly of bipolar grandiosity. So I am trying to tell myself to just block this out, get humble, stay at home and don't interact with anyone, and keep my trap shut. No talking to husband, family, or doctor about it. Keep this a secret.

But what if we were to indulge the delusions? What would be at the top of my list of messages I want to communicate to the audience? Well, the first would be that God is pretty pissed off with America right now. The government is in shambles, income disparity is no laughing matter, the divorce rate is through the roof. I'll add that people aren't communicating face to face much anymore and cannot write anymore (thanks Apple) and that really scares me.

Now, I can go ahead with a whole laundry list of what's rotten in the state of America, but perhaps what we need to be doing is figuring out what in the heck we are going to do to pull ourselves out of this mess. I tend to believe that we will inevitably fall, as all great capitalistic countries have (i.e. see Rome), but we might be able to soften the landing. We've got some outstanding economic theorists here in country to provide guidance. I'd love to get a panel together to discuss America "Doomsday" action plans.

I may not have mentioned that I hold a "delusion" that my mood state affects the environment. In other words, if I'm really angry, devastating storms descend or wild fires break out. If I'm sad, rain falls. So to combat this, I need to be in a "happy place." And what would that look like? Well, it certainly would be a place where the severely disadvantaged (mentally ill/alcoholic community) are fully assisted with medicine and living accommodations. They would be treated just as importantly as those with cancer. This rings very close to home for me because in my city there is a shameful, woeful disparity between services available to these two groups. And that makes me very, very angry.

When I am better, I will fully unpack my experience with the mental health care "system" (if you call it that) in Columbus. It's a joke. Actually, it's no laughing matter. But sometimes you just need a little levity in order to swallow a nasty reality pill. Now, people get really sensitive if you criticize anything in this town. I've learned this the hard way, having been emotionally leveled when I pried around the exterior. Powerful forces don't want dirty laundry getting out. But I'm not going to keep my mouth buttoned up on this travesty. There is a powerful story that needs to be told.

I saw a segment on 60 Minutes last night profiling a very disturbing man who "stole" people's copyrighted material and uploaded it to the Internet and collected fees. Got insanely rich that way. And I wondered what would happen if someone got a hold of my delusional writings. Not sure if anyone would actually want to read this stuff -- but maybe some golden nuggets are here. I may have to ask my husband how we keep my writings secure? For now I'll just keep typing away. After all, God is guiding the show.

We Interrupt This Broadcast

Smashed glass

My husband is very upset and I don't know why. But I can tell you when he feels hurt, I hurt (literally) too. My stomach is tense, I'm getting a headache. One of our lamps just broke and as I was cleaning the broken glass orb up, he just left...out walking in the neighborhood, I suppose. Where is he? Some might call this childish behavior. He could have helped clean up. But I know something disturbing is going on here.

* * *

I saw he took the cell phone, so I called and located him in the neighborhood park. He is listening to music. Look, my husband is a lonely, tortured soul. And in America, those types are frowned upon, judged poorly and to be inadequate, made fun of and are the source of jokes. The depth of his feelings do not translate, for him at this time, into income so that would imply to many in this country that he is a failure.

I'm not going to jump into deep theoretical reasoning right now because these meds are kicking my butt (just took my evening dose), but I want you to know that tears are welling up in my eyes. I am recalling the time my brother called me and said, "You know Melissa, everyone speaks so highly of you and loves you. But they don't say much about Michael."

This just breaks my heart. Dear readers, he is not a bad man, he is lost. He looks back on his life with great regret (something I do -- we all do -- from time to time). The frustrating thing is I can tell him to do this or that to improve his situation, but ultimately it's up to him. God, that sounds, this is so cliche. He is "architecting" his own destiny and it's my fear that things could be so much better for him if he just pushed himself more.

We don't have a bad thing going here albeit Nell is close to passing away and the house needs work and cleaned thoroughly. But maybe it's not enough for him. Is it enough for me? I can tie this back to bipolar illness and tell you that Michael has sacrificed things to take care of me. But my mother reminds me the same holds true on my end of the spectrum.

Why is my soul so intertwined with this man? Strong as the iron links on the chain for a ship liner's anchor. In these past months of illness I've believed people were sending me messages to sever ties with him; kick him out; move forward on my own. This "advice" upset me greatly and didn't help matters at all. I stand by this man.

So I will try to see if I can get husband to open up more about his feelings. He suppresses them so well. Let's have a collective "eye roll" because this whole thing sounds sappy. He just came home and I suggested we talk a little bit. On goes the cable TV. He "doesn't feel like chatting."

I'm scared but will try to put this on the back burner. I'm in rehabilitation. I don't think I'll rest easy tonight.

Rebound?

Feeling very low today but going to attempt to dig out from the muck. We bought a good deal of flowers yesterday for the garden and husband and I will be planting them today. I am sleeping quite a bit which is good. Bad part is I am eating all the time -- things really picked up when we added the Haldol. I am trying to keep junk out of the house and eat healthy things but it is hard.

The Three Graces

I wouldn't exactly say my body is ugly -- it is more fleshy and round like a woman in a Rubens painting. But we know how prized thinness is in our society; and then there are all the health issues. My back aches again and I am short of breath if I exert myself. I am thinking about all that money and time I spent on the liquid Optifast diet. Losing all that weight, only to end up back where I started.

I am ever so slowly accepting the reality that I may have to just go back to my office. They have graciously given me this time off to rehabilitate and work with me on my hours. They don't overwhelm me with things to do. I stay busy and it's a place for me to go and get a paycheck, no matter how meager. Hunting for a new job is not something I should/can do right now. AGC of Ohio is the proper place for me to be.

My struggles are sometimes with the staff, but I guess I'd have struggles wherever I go. I do so miss Washington where I felt respected and in a job that challenged me. But that was a long, long time ago; and I did not have these health issues. I will just make the best of my situation. And now they know I have bipolar disorder so it's no secret, nothing I have to hide. So there are some good things with my situation.

The "delusions" aren't bothering me today. I feel pretty normal if I just stay in the house and don't watch TV. I am somewhat confident that in a few weeks I won't have any problem with the TV/radio or driving around. My husband will be able to give me my rings back, as there will be no fear of me throwing them away or just giving them to some stranger (I did this a few years back). Big "high five" to husband for helping me manage this mania. Yet again he has been here for me. My rock.

So off I go to clean up the kitchen (which is a disaster) and cook some brunch. Planting to follow but a slight rain has started up. For the first time I am thinking I may be able to segway from these journal-entry type posts into something more philosophical about having bipolar illness and pulling oneself out of the various pitfalls. I believe this means the psychosis is breaking down. Wouldn't that be nice!

Onward I go. Making one mudpie at a time.

Summing Things Up: What Been Happening To Me

Okay, I've read back over these posts and it appears the mania/psychosis started taking hold around May 10th. It's July 5th today, so we're talking about two months now in an elevated state punctuated with short periods of depression. I'm on two anti-psychotics and three mood stabilizers but still have purported "delusions."

It's my belief that regardless what I am taking, the mania will just run it's own course and peter out at the end of this month. That's been the case every other time. No matter what strength the pill or what combination of pills, the mania just has it's own schedule. I don't think anyone believes me when I say this. So I'll just shrug my shoulders.

In the posts you see here from May 10th forward, I have tried to relay to you some insight into my mental faculties/reasoning during mania. This is a difficult task. Some of my experiences are hard to explain because they involve rather complex situations and frankly things that arguably sound insane and unbelievable. The themes remain the same as past manias:

1. The federal government (Executive branch (including Army, NSA, CIA, etc.) + Congress) in conjunction with local authorities have set a wide net throughout the state of Ohio to keep me protected from harm. They are using tactics perfected over the years that impact my driving speed, send messages through license plates and different colored cars, and walk/drive past my house in different clothes to communicate with me.

2. This "net" is in place because I am a very, very special individual -- either a highly important religious figure or someone who can communicate directly with God or even some kind of alien creature. This mania is different from the others and my ability to communicate will continue after the drugs are phased out. The government officials know this and are subsequently working diligently to build a place for me to interact with important individuals.

3. I am surrounded by cameras both inside my home and everywhere I go. A movie is being made so mankind can follow my experiences. I don't know who the director/directors are, but I call him/her the "Puppet Master." I have chosen this title because I believe they are striving for pure authenticity and subsequently will not approach me or my husband to explain what they are doing. This makes me very, very upset; traumatized; quasi-suicidal; and depressed.

4. I listen to Sirrius XM and NPR and songs played I believe are selected to send messages to me.

5. I believe there are people around me attempting to communicate with me in ways that do not involve actual speaking. Gestures such as rubbing eye brows; putting hands in hair; pointing to eyes; rubbing the nose; rubbing under the nose; rubbing moles; tracing lips; rubbing chin. Each gesture has a meaning. As someone who loves verbal conversation and writing, this is not behavior I am comfortable with or want to indulge. So I get angry again that no one has approached my husband about this, so he continues to believe I'm crazy. People use these signals with me but not him. I try to tell him but he has no idea what I am talking about. It's so upsetting.

6. I have held all these beliefs since May. Throughout all the med increases. I believe them as I write this. One can easily dismiss this as manic grandiosity and paranoia. But I would say this feels real and "meant to be" and timely and actually opportunistic for mankind. I am not afraid as I was in years past. Actually, most of the time I feel happy and protected and even get a laugh or two. Yesterday (July 4) was a real low. But I'm a little bit better today.

* * *

I don't know if any of this makes sense to the reader. Many of my experiences are very difficult to put into words in the English language. Sometimes I feel like I am in an alternate reality or maybe tapping into places in my brain that others cannot. It's strange. But onward I go. Bear with me if the posts get strange. And know that when this mania passes, my posts will be different. We'll just see as it goes...

Living In A Box

My heart is almost breaking...I am so lonely and feel dirty. I cannot stop shoving food into my body. I don't care what it looks or tastes like. I am falling into depression and I have not been in this place for such a long, long time. Depressive episodes are ten times worse for me than mania, as I find I become so debilitated I cannot get out of bed; bathe; brush my teeth; cook; clean, etc.

I thought we had the right medicine cocktail to keep my clinical depression at bay. I haven't had a whiff of it in years. But I guess my husband clarifying for me that I am indeed just suffering from one big delusion just shattered everything for me. I have been running around this town for weeks and weeks in what apparently is just one big psychotic delusion. I am ashamed and feel victimized (by who, I don't know) and I just know the PTSD is going to arrive in due course.

It's the 4th of July today and I did not celebrate at all. I just feel pain and suffering. I thought we were going to be free; I thought we were destined for great things after years and years of suffering and longing. What a fool I have been! What tricks my mind has played on me, episode after episode, getting worse every time. Misery. Get out.

Spinnin' Wheels

I really knocked myself out yesterday with that extra Haldol and Seroquel. I'm not going to do that again. I have now decided I am not going to converse with Michael or anyone else about my delusions. It does no good. He's right -- when the mania passes (should be by the end of this month), the "click" will happen and I will come to my senses and see this was all just a big ball of nonsense.

My fear is I will again be traumatized and afraid to do anything, thus continuing to live in this state of agoraphobia and terribly low self esteem. The cleaning will go out the window and I will be surrounded in filth and chaos. Of course this is nothing new. This is how I live now. I wish you could see our garden (if you can even call it that). It is covered almost entirely with weeds; there are no flowers in pots; dead ivy is choking everything in the beds; and the only thing blooming is my Jacob's Ladder Bee Balm. It is purple/magenta in color.

Conversations with my husband about money remain tense. He just does not want to spend anything on home maintenance. I'm so tired of fighting with him about it. Because of my illness he controls all of the money so I am trapped. I'm just so sad and miserable, dear readers. I'm not enjoying summer at all, I don't feel like I am rehabilitating. I'm just waiting in terror for the PTSD that will come in the fall.

I had wanted Michael to be brought "into the loop" so we could work on this together. But he hasn't and subsequently, as a sane, rational person, he has called my experiences delusional and I must agree with him. He does not have bipolar disorder or any other mental illness. So he knows the truth that exists. He has made it perfectly clear that no one has approached him to discuss what I thought was reality.

He tells me I am in psychosis -- nothing more, nothing less. I can see why he would say this, so I am going to take it as fact. No more reading license plates (if I can help it), no more trying to communicate with people, maybe no more radio? Just cut every type of communication off and cram down all my feelings? Maybe I wear the color brown -- which for me right now symbolizes sin and someone who should be punished. Yes, that's what I may do.

So the next few weeks will be very difficult as I try to radically change my current thought process. The Queen Bee/Christ scenario felt/feels  so real...but if someone who is closest to me and sane is telling me this is delusional thinking and it will hurt me if I perpetuate the thought process, I'm going to stop it. Please say a prayer for me. I am so terribly upset.

Waking Up And Tuning Out

After a near miss this afternoon of a metal object flying across the highway, I made it home shaky, but convinced I would tell Michael about these "people" driving cars and walking around communicating telepathically with me; and the messages on the license plates and on the trucks; and how I need to wear certain colors on certain days; and how people communicate to me through the radio and television. I should not have been surprised when he said this was just one big delusion that has been going on for months -- and he instructed me to load up on some extra Seroquel and Haldol.

I retreated to my room, bawling like a baby, howling and moaning, in such pain. Why am I being tortured like this? Why do these delusions feel so real? When will they go away? I need more and more medicine...I want to be totally drugged out at this point. I want to stay in a dark, cold room under the covers. And I do not want to come out, I do not want to see anyone.

I had this "dream" that I was the Queen "Honey Bee" and everyone was surrounding me with love and support. Federal agents and police officers were providing protection so no one could hurt me. One day I would be installed (if you can call it that) formally, and everyone would be happy and harmonious and there would be lots of laughter.

But no, as Michael reminds me, this is just one big delusion my mind has concocted. Where all this came from I don't know. It's cruel and painful and it's oh so clear that I'm headed straight back to AGC of Ohio. What joy.

Thoughts of suicide flicker here and there but I won't go through with it. No, I'll suffer through this the whole way through. That's why I need more drugs. I thought I was doing okay, feeling stable, but when Michael told me nothing I thought about my situation was true -- no one had told him anything -- everything fell apart. So hit me with the mother-load of extra medication. Right quick.

I'm so very dejected tonight, dear readers. I'd go out and get smashed at a bar but I'm an alcoholic and have been sober for a month. I'm on Anabuse and if I drink anything I will get very, very sick. There's no pot here, so I can't get stoned. I just have to wait for the pills to (hopefully) kick in and knock me out.

I bid you adieu tonight with a very heavy heart and huge tears welling up in my eyes. I'm so ill. I wish this wasn't the case. I thought I was making progress, I thought I was connecting with people. I thought positive growth was coming. And I thought my decades of suffering were over. Sadly, this is not to be.