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.

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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.

A New Attitude?

My mood changed considerably yesterday. In Peter's office were many of my kin -- descendants from Henry VIII (I think) or perhaps St. David I from Scotland or Charlemagne. My family tree is full of royalty on my mother's side and father's side. I was able to speak with them through my head and I told them I was scared. They calmed me and it felt so good.

Of particular note was one gentleman who reinforced that I shouldn't be afraid about not having money. Michael scares me about that and uses it as an excuse to get me back at AGC (where I don't want to go). He does not understand how uncomfortable I am there now. How mean Andrea is, how tense things are. I'm willing to take any mediocre job to get away. I am not treated well at AGC and I'm tired of it. This is an excellent opportunity to break free if I want to.

I wish I had more opportunities to "talk" with people through my head. My thoughts are jumbled, however, and racing. It's very, very hard to slow down. I am going to try and practice more. Maybe take a seat at Starbucks and see if I can "talk" to someone there. I feel weird being alone but I guess I need to get used to it.

It doesn't appear that anyone is going to come up to me directly and tell me how the future is going to play out for me -- particularly the next 5 years. I want a plan in place. Something solid. I want someone to put me in a safe job within Club Fed. Or if I'm not to have a "traditional" job, a plan of what I am to do from this point forward. Write? About what? Current affairs? My views/concerns about the future? Lessons learned? Feminist theory? Do I publish a daily blog post? Am I put on an allowance to do so? When is Michael brought in to the scenario?

I get agitated because no one tells me the answers to these questions i.e. speaks vocally/directly to me and my husband about it. He doesn't believe I can "see" everything; my special bloodlines; my struggles with "hearing"; my wisdom; my ability to find "rats." If I can just get him on board he can ease up on the money/work pressure and let me take some time to find a proper job/use of my time.

Writing is my natural gift. I don't have to think hard about it -- it just flows. To be paid to write is a good thing. Write something I want to write about, not what I'm told to do. Now, where to find a job where I can do this...not sure. Who reads it? Everyone? I have no idea. These things need to be sorted out. Michael is pressuring me to go back to work and make money. To a structured situation where you clock in and clock out. That's all he sees -- money. He doesn't give one hoot if I am unhappy or uncomfortable. It's all about money and it completely stresses me out.

I think if Michael knew there was a little bit of money in the coffer he would relax. He'd get off my back so I can make a break with AGC and get a new job. I believe if he knew I am through my initial training, he would back off. But it's the money that's the kicker. If he was guaranteed an additional 1,300/month (give or take) he'd pipe down and get off my back.

And while we're on this topic -- why is he pushing me to get back to work at the end of this month? For Chrissake, I'm not ready! Folks, it's all about money. Can you see how dangerous this man can be? How unsettling he can be? This is why I so desperately want someone to sit down with him and yank him into reality. He's in the dark and that gets me so upset. Doesn't anyone care about my well-being? Help me!

I am begging -- yes begging -- for someone to enlighten him; give me some guidance; help me to relax so I can recover more easily. I want so much to be happy and free. I need your assistance.

Tracking This Episode

I've looked back over the entries here and I think I can say the mania took me out on May 14 and started growing. It is now July 2 and what I'm seeing is short breakthrough periods of anger or sadness here and there, but for the most part I'm stabilized by the slew of medication I am taking. The "delusions" and "messages" are still there and I remain adamant that they are real. Designed to "control" me so I don't go off my rocker. I'm in one big "hospital" here in town.

I'm agitated that I have to take so many meds because they make me fat and I want to eat all the time. I have gained so much weight and that upsets me to no end. Getting this weight off is going to take months and months. Yes, the trade-off is fat and sane or thin and nuts. And I'm going for the former. But ladies and gentlemen, this is so embarrassing and upsetting. I feel like a big butterball.

If history is our guide, I should be through the mania in a few weeks, and we can start backing down the extra meds at the end of the month. I'd like to state for the record that this mania has been very, very different from all the other ones -- and I am changed now that I can "see" and "hear." This is going to guide my decision where I end up working, be that AGC of Ohio or somewhere else.

I know our little friends who have come to town have a place where they want me to be so I can be controlled. Most likely AGC. And it will be impossible for me to find work elsewhere. This makes me bitter and resentful and just emphasizes that I can't get a fair shake in this town. Oh, do I dislike it here! I long to be free. I am slowly accepting that this town will be my prison for a long, long period of time -- and it makes me want to cry. I'm lonely, my house is a mess, my marriage isn't healthy and strong. It's just horrible. I'm sorry to say this but it's the truth.

I know I'm supposed to be picking through the "garbage" here in town and find "nuggets" of golden, worthwhile things. But when you've been cut off at the knees it's a little difficult to perform your search. I wish I had golden words to utter to all; motivational speeches and tidbits of wisdom. But there is nothing right now. I'm just sad and overwhelmed,

I see Dr. Z today and I have a massage scheduled. Let's see how that goes. Should help a little bit.

Pain and Volatility

Am I psychotic -- or seeing the truth?

They have introduced Haldol into my mix -- reducing Seroquel simultaneously. From what I can tell, this hasn't really done anything because I still have the "visions" and see "agents" and people everywhere sending messages to me through colored clothing and cars and license plates. I have sadly come to the conclusion that no one is going to believe me if I try and explain this -- they will think I'm off my rocker and medicate me even more and ultimately lock me up again.

I find that I have a short semblance of peace when I start my day but as things progress, something sets me off and I either start crying hysterically or become very, very angry and volatile. What underlies all of this is fear and frustration that I cannot vocalize my feelings/knowledge with anyone. This constant "up and down" in mood state is so very hard on me and keeps me from feeling peace and contentment. What I want to do is sit down with a group of people involved in this "game" we are playing and talk at great length why things are being orchestrated this way; who is involved; how long this scenario is going to be perpetuated; and what I am supposed to do.

As you may know, one of my favorite quotes is from Socrates: "I know that I don't know." And this is somewhat true in this current episode -- with some caveats -- and I should just accept things as they are. But something is compelling me to rise up and fight for my right to be informed. Yet we know what happened to Socrates...  I am not, by nature, a calm, passive human being -- well, let me restate that. When heavily medicated, I am almost on auto-pilot, constantly smiling and pleasant.

But there is anger/fear underneath this...years of pain and rejection from my town. I don't seem to fit in anywhere; my house is deteriorating; I'm an alcoholic (in recovery); since the pills I am grossly overweight; the list goes on and on. I'm very sad right now and depressed and suicidal ideations pop up here and there. Perhaps I just turn off the radio (NPR) and reduce all external stimulation. It is just making me more upset and downtrodden. When will I be happy and hopeful again? When will I wake up feeling positive about mankind and our future?

Action Steps

I am finding I need to write to get my feelings out. I am in great emotional turmoil dear friends, and the pain is incredibly difficult to bear. I feel as if the weight of the world is on my shoulders and while yes, I can shoulder the load, there are just so many people crying and hurting like me -- so the task is almost too much for me.

I up and left my office yesterday. I just cannot continue to work in that environment. It feels cold and unloving; like everyone is wearing a "mask" and I know when Andrea returns it will be impossible for me to be there. So after breaking down in the ladies room and getting composure, I got my Basset Hound coffee mug and Basset Hound mouse pad Glenna bought me years ago and just left. Didn't really say anything formal -- just walked out.

I guess I feel it's better for me to leave on my time schedule versus awaiting someone else's decision. I'd like to think I have some semblance of "control" over the situation. I've always been a team player -- and I support the team approach for problem solving -- and if I sit down and really think hard about this, I am the only one in the office who truly stands behind this credo. I am different than the others. It's always been that way. And my self esteem is continually shredded and it's time to stop this ASAP.

Husband is of course focusing on the financial cost of me being unemployed and the great difficulty I will have finding another job. My response is to let me sit here for a bit; perhaps try to get some severance or unemployment from my boss; and then go about the frustrating search for a new job. I'm tired, dear readers. Just bone tired. I need to rest.

Another thing I want to do is laugh. I really miss the laughter. I had a brief taste of it yesterday and it felt good; but most of the time I am confused, frustrated, and sad. Really worried about beloved Basset Nell. She'll be 15 in August and she's still moving but I know she's in pain. Will I know when it's time to send her off to be with Lou on the other side of the Rainbow Bridge? Will there be signs? How will I handle it emotionally? Questions. No clear answers.

Why doesn't anyone in this town want to work with me? I've had to leave jobs, been fired -- what is going on? I never had this problem in Washington. My hometown wants nothing to do with me. I'm shedding tears over this because I have so much to offer, so much to give and no one wants it. What do I need to change?

It feels -- right now -- that for most of my life I've been in deep emotional pain. I don't know why -- could it be tied to my compassionate nature? Is God subjecting me to a test? Am I just some oddball, some nutcase, unfit for society? Why don't I fit in with everyone else? I'm so very sad. Perhaps I can visit my Mother today. I would like that.

Sledgehammer

Still finding writing to be terribly difficult and still having grandiose "visions" about communicating with God and sending messages to everyone. I'm confused because this feels so real -- and what if it is actually happening? I feel alone and want to hibernate, and I'm actually glad the meds hit me like a sledgehammer because it keeps me from "roaming" around Columbus (and elsewhere) looking for "signs" that people are acting to clean up their sins.

The ideas of "redemption" and "atonement" are very important to me right now. I feel like this city is full of vice and greed and and sin and I am trapped here. Sometimes I feel like I am the only one who notices this -- other times I believe there is an "army" here of people who received the battle cry and are diligently working to clean this filthy place up.

On a personal note, I have packed on a significant amount of weight due to the pills and a raging appetite that appeared out of nowhere. I feel like a cow and ugly and unlovable. I go through these depressive states which don't last long -- thank God -- and when they hit I want to either sleep or eat. My lower back pain is back and walking is difficult. I know this is going to upset my husband, who likes to be active. I am seeing Optifast in my future, perhaps. I'm just going to mull it over..

So this is where I am today. Uncomfortable. Vestiges of psychosis. But carrying Winston with me: "Never give up! Never give up! Never give up!"