A Touch Of Gray

 Good morning dear readers, Happy Holidays/Merry Christmas (or wherever you stand), I come to you this early morning feeling somewhat in the dumps. Now this is not the mood state I’m comfortable being in, mild depression, and I don’t normally hang out on this side of the pole anymore. Being one somewhat obsessed (?) with analyzing my moods, I’m tempted to try and think my way out of feeling the blues, particularly given that’s it’s Christmastime and this being my favorite time of year, I so desperately want to be feeling good.

I’m no stranger to depression, having first come up against it oh, around the time I first got my period at age 12 and realized a big change in me was happening that I wasn’t quite prepared for yet. I think, for me, my depression is in some way tied to hormones, but alas I’m no doctor and don’t understand these things too well. I guess my current malaise can’t be pinned on the monthly curse seeing as I haven’t had a period in six years come January. No, I am out of sorts I think perhaps because my husband Michael is out of sorts—and being so tightly enmeshed with him, if he swings one way, I tend to swing with him.

Maybe some discussion needs to be had on the critical role the spouse of a bipolar has in keeping us stable and functioning our best…I don’t like to shout from the rooftops about some of the troubles my husband Michael and I have had over the past 21 years of marriage, yet suffice to say my weekly therapy sessions with Fetter are more and more dominated by discussion about conflict. Me personally, being the middle child raised by one alcoholic and another a heavy drinker, I absolutely HATE conflict, having witnessed some terrible fights as a child, running to my room in tears, and absolutely praying to God that my parents would not get divorced—something I saw as absolutely catastrophic. Fortunately for me, my parents held it together, one got sober, and they remained together until death did they part. And as to be expected, it was me who fell apart when Dad died, drowning my sorrows in wine, tinkering with my meds again, and yes you guessed it, ending up in the nut hatch for the umpteenth time.

When will they ever learn?

Perhaps this time around, my malaise is somehow tied to getting away from gratitude—I know from A.A. teachings that the topic of gratitude, and reflection upon it, serves to bring about an inner peace and brings stability when things get “squirrely.” Maybe making a gratitude list can serve to entice this Gray Lady Day mood to move on (seriously, Christmas is coming!). So here goes, a crude attempt at said list, here at 6:37 a.m. on Monday, December 12:

1’m grateful for:

1. A (leaky) roof over my head

2. My sobriety 

3. My treatment team (Mom, Michael, doctors, therapist)

4. Friends and family

5. Sense of humor

6. Ability to write, maybe read, maybe create art coming back

7. Sleeping well

8. Optimistic good things are coming

9. Made donation to Mid Ohio Food Bank

10. Developing self esteem

***

I purposely left off my gratitude for being able to cook—a true love of mine—and I attribute this to this time last year when I was horribly attacked on social media over a Christmas ham I was planning to prepare for Michael. The attacks left me scarred for months—I don’t think I’m even recovered yet—and maybe this leads me to another item for today’s list:

11. I’m grateful for the (temporary? Who knows) break from social media—I now find myself open and aware of new possibilities in my hunt for a purpose in my life!

So now my gratitude list for today is done, and I am feeling a touch better. I’ll take that. Perhaps you try a Gratitude List, eh? Tis The Season, after all!

Back to Basics

 When one is learning to write again, after decades of being in the dark, you are faced with several intriguing questions of where to go…me, I’m going to try and seek out my old book of Bartlett’s “Quotations,” maybe just randomly open it up to a page, close my eyes and slide my finger down the page, and see where it lands. I know for sure I am not getting an eBook or any such thing like it. I’m all about books—God forbid they disappear (did the New York Public Library completely store all their books away and switch over to digital or did some wise scribe stop that?). There was an unfortunate day many years back when mom and I purged some beloved books from my personal collection, but fortunately I have managed to hold on to the true gems, including a worn, old paper book copy of Machiavelli’s “The Prince.” Still hunting for my copy of “The True Believer” plus some choice works of Noam Chomsky.

I’m eager to just head to the attic and plunge headfirst into all the literary treasures up there…but again, wait. Let’s not spoil our appetite, shall we? No, I think we go back to basics and start with some ancient saws to guide me along this new, exciting (?), perhaps scary (?) journey I am undertaking.

I would like to state firmly and emphatically that none of this would be going on if I had not completely broken away from the clutches of social media (guilty parties shall remain nameless). Perhaps I might return to social media someday but from this point forward it will be on my terms. I’m realizing that I was down a “rabbit hole” for not days, but years—and to say I’m somewhat seething would be an understatement. But be that what it may, I hope you’ll join me on this exploration of what books I currently have in this abode—and of course what books I plan to acquire in the years to come!

Keep On Keeping On

Greetings again, readers, I am back after an extremely long period away. Much has happened, that I’m not at the moment up to explaining—suffice to say, I’ve had my medication drastically adjusted and suddenly I’ve had an exciting improvement in my cognitive abilities which I’m absolutely thrilled about reporting! What has happened is my mood stabilizer, Depakote, has been decreased whilst my antipsychotic Risperdal has been increased. This new concoction, along with a lower dosage of my non-habit forming anti-anxiety med Gabapentin, has me actually multi-tasking (surprise!), reading the Wall Street Journal, dialoguing with husband Michael about current events, watching streaming services, listening to a wide array of music, and back here ever-so-slowly learning to write again. Could it even be possible for me to pick up a book and actually read it?!? One can only hope.

Now, I’m currently sitting here, very early in the morning (again), thinking about a number of things. First, given everything I have gone through over the past TWO decades with cognitive impairment most definitely caused by the medication I have been prescribed, is it any surprise to anyone that people diagnosed with bipolar disorder and put on these medications would resist taking these said medications?! Um, hello, can I accurately explain how painful it is to be surrounded by books you once loved to read but can no longer get through one page of text? It’s frustrating, you feel stupid, you feel like you are missing out on this wonderful, thought-provoking world that everyone else can enjoy. This, in turn, makes you want to flush said medication down the toilet. 

But wait.

Those who have read through my blog know this is the juncture where I try to feebly issue the warning that not taking your medication (exactly) as prescribed can lead to a series of very, very unfortunate events—some quite expensive (buying cars, houses, etc.), some quite unnerving (wandering through dangerous places in the dead of night), and some just entirely unexplainable with current words in the English language.

But secondly this morning, I’ve been reflecting on the conversation I had with my therapist yesterday, where I mused if I even was bipolar. Yes, after all these years I still remember quite clearly the conversation I had with my former psychiatrist, where he came oh-so-close to saying he doubted I had bipolar disorder—and I latched on to that with such unabashed hope that maybe, just maybe, I could be free of the dreaded medication….

So here we are, AGAIN, at this juncture of To Med Or Not To Med, a street corner that I often come to time and time again. Waiter, pass me my pill tray.

Thirdly, I have spent a little time this a.m. researching the effects of marijuana (I’m talking street-grade here) on psychotic events in bipolars, and as expected there is nothing available to date. I’m doing this because I’m harboring a suspicion that perhaps it was extremely powerful marijuana that led to my first psychotic break, which led to my hasty bipolar diagnosis. If true, might we argue that continued abuse of street-grade marijuana led to repeated psychotic breaks (and hospitalizations), not “bipolar mania” run amok? Alas, one can only hope, though I guess in my current position, age 56, on bipolar medications for 20 years, I am left with just trusting the psychiatrists and taking whatever pills they deem appropriate for whatever I am cursed with having. I will try hard not to get too down, too frustrated. I will continue on my sober journey, continue doing the Next Right Thing. Keep pushing towards better functioning. 

Keep On Keeping On….right?

Emerging From The Pit

 So here I am, back attempting to write again, clawing my way out of the pit of writer’s block that I have been trapped in for the past, oh, 4 1/2 years? Perhaps longer? It’s a pit created strictly by bipolar disorder medication—which I faithfully swallow every night, 7:00 p.m. sharp, knowing all the while how it destroys my ability to do something I have always loved. 

But never one to completely give up, here I am back trying again to communicate with the written word in a way that will inspire someone…maybe just me? Actually, I’ve come here because I’ve been dealing with a lot of anxiety lately and a Google search for anxiety distraction techniques brought up a list of things to do and writing/journaling was on there. So voilà, here I am.

It’s now February 2022, and much has gone on since my last post, most notably the global Covid pandemic which came to the United States exactly two years ago. I won’t go into a big exploration of what this has meant for my country, except to say it has had a significant mental health impact, and people are feeling both anxiety and depression at alarming rates. I’m amazed and thrilled I have not had any episodes or hospitalizations since Covid hit, and I attribute this to a.) my outstanding psychiatrist Alan Levy and his medication management; b.) my talk therapist Dick Fetter and his wise advice; c.) staying completely sober from alcohol and any drugs; d.) my husband and family; and e.) support from friends.

Tragically, I lost my best friend Andi Jeney in January of 2021 to alcoholism and drug addiction. It was a huge blow, and her final decent into the disease sent me running to a 12-Step fellowship for support and guidance. I joined Zoom meetings bringing alcoholics from around the world together to discuss our disease, new ways of living, and ways to find peace and serenity. This has helped make my friend’s passing a little easier for me to process—I mean, I do carry incredible guilt that I am still here standing while she is gone, but I have learned alcoholism is a terrible disease that takes the lives of many. 

I’ve had a chance to think about what’s really important to me now, what I want to do with my life. For years I have been driven by this crazy desire of wanting to write some best-selling book about living with bipolar disorder and alcoholism/addiction—but now I’m just wondering if maybe I accept my limitations and seek out a more simple life of lower expectations, writing only for my pleasure or to process emotions that are troubling me. I’m coming to grips with the reality that I was thrown into high-achieving educational institutions and subsequent jobs, but where did that get me? Breakdowns, hospitalizations, alcohol and drug abuse. Being a housewife now, in a very low stress living situation, is actually quite appealing, in retrospect. Maybe if I take the stress out of wanting to have the crispest, cleanest, sharpest writing and just LET GO and let things flow as they may I might gain some sort of benefit.

I guess today’s entry is sort of free-flowing, but that’s how I am now. I’ll always wonder if the botched ECT session at OSU in October 2016 led to some sort of brain damage in me, though Dr. Levy says that’s not the case. Regardless, I have limitations now in my writing abilities and that’s ok. The point is I have always loved to write and I’m going to continue to try and do so. So this is it for today. Michael wants to walk our Basset hounds together so off I go for some afternoon exercise. Until next time!

Cooking With Gas!

Dear readers I made it! A few days ago, Dr. Levy gave the green light to reduce to 2 mg./day Risperdal, my goal for so, so long, after years waiting, Im finally here! Im already starting to feel more clear-headed and thinking about my writing and I just feel so optimistic. I'm excited where I'm headed, after feeling cognitively impaired for such a long time. I had to muster the patience of Job to get to this point. Dr. Levy is so conservative, and I was so frustrated at times but finally here we are. Hooray!

Now, my dream has always been to write a book about having bipolar disorder and being an alcoholic  in recovery. I have amassed a whole heck of a lot of wisdom over the past 17 years dealing with this situation. I've been in the nut hut nine times, I've met countless people with bipolar disorder, and i want to craft a story of hope for those struggling with this mental illness. I know it will take a lot of time and effort to get this accomplished, but I'm going to give it a shot.

I just need to move forward slowly and methodically. I will use this blog as practice while I continue to chisel away at this writers block. One step at a time. I got this.

I Can See Clearly Now!!

Dear readers I am so, so happy to report that Dr. Levy has reduced my Risperdal to 3 mg and now some of the drug haze is really, really lifting! Hooray! Finally! I have patiently waited two years for this...two years! I can now converse in conversation with others; little things like typing with two hands instead of one; clean-up of the kitchen is much easier and I am cooking more methodically; I am finding it easier to write. I vacuumed the downstairs this morning and I am doing laundry too--a little bit of multi-tasking that hereforto was impossible.

Much has happened since my last post in early April. Sadly, I was not able to go to my high school reunion. I had horrible anxiety before the event and it got too overwhelming. I tried taking an extra dose of my Gabapentin but in the end it was just too much and I was scared I would faint from the stress. Looking back at it, I'm glad I made the decision not to go. My mental well-being has to come first. I am truly realizing what a formidable foe this anxiety is...and that I must take extra precautions to make sure I stay stable.

I also went to my family doctor in May to discuss very painful hip pain I was having. X-rays were taken and I have been diagnosed with mild arthritis. Great. I was given an anti-inflammatory to take for a month and I got on Google to look for more information. It said exercise was needed--now, my water exercise classes are specifically designed for those with arthritis but they are not high-intensity. I could barely muster enough energy to do minimal walking for two years. But I am deeply concerned at how sedentary I have become, and as this drug haze slowly wears off, maybe it's time to think about walking through the neighborhood more. I have to do more!

Finally, with this recent reduction to 3 mg Risperdal, I am thinking about the goal I have always had of getting down to 2 mg and holding there. I'm excited, but also at the same time deeply, deeply afraid of going psychotic again and ending up in the hospital. I still feel limitations in my abilities and I want to be functioning at the highest level I can safely have. I guess at this juncture I just have to trust Dr. Levy and all his wisdom at treating those with bipolar disorder. I just have to put treatment in his hands and continue to do what he says. Right now I have a two month script for 3 mg, and we meet monthly. We'll see where we go.

Happily, my writing ability is coming back! It is so much easier to put sentences together and the words flow. I think I will benefit from practicing here. In so many ways I feel like someone must feel who is recovering from a horrible car accident with head trauma. It takes so much time to recover...and so much work. I look forward to continued progress. 

Spring Has Sprung

Spring has come to our corner of the world, and the weather is warming up. I am starting to perk up more; it's helping that I have almost completely cut out taking the Simply Sleep at night because I now feel more alert during the day and I like that. When Dr. Levy told me I had to stop the Simply Sleep before he'd consider reducing the Risperdol I was initially upset but now I fully understand his reasoning. He wants to see how truly drugged out I am--which I can tell you I am without a doubt. It's just a little less drugged but drugged nonetheless.

With Spring comes the expected Spring cleaning, something I struggle mightily with. I hope my husband can find me some help. I'm just too overwhelmed by everything that needs to be done. I've checked with other bipolars and they have this problem too. I can keep the kitchen clean, for the most part, but that's it. Yes, I definitely need a cleaning service to help.

I'm going to cling to Spring because I don't like what follows--summer with temperatures in the 90s. It's horrible for me, I don't do well in the heat, a side effect of my meds. I don't like to be outside at all, and cooking in the kitchen gets unpleasant. No, let's not think about summer! Let's enjoy Spring while it's here.

All in all I am doing okay. Wonder what my purpose is, and other mid-life crisis stuff but for the most  part I'm just taking it One Day At A Time. I'm blessed that I don't have to work, no stress to deal with and make me sick. Things could be much, much worse. Right now all I want is my Risperdol reduced  but I must be patient. I'll try.