Not doing very well

Tags

anxiety, psychiatrist, Tenex, therapy, triggers, Valium

I know, I keep going missing.  I haven’t been checking my email, so if you’ve tried to check on me, I deeply apologize for not answering.

I am ok.

I’m not great.  Ok might even be stretching things a little.

Generalized Anxiety Disorder has decided to stretch it’s ugly legs and screw with me relentlessly.  And I mean relentlessly.  There is no break from the anxiety at all.  It’s possible that there are some bipolar issues happening (maybe hypomania), but I can’t tell because the anxiety has been destroying me.

I kind of feel bad for my therapist.  Twice a week, she just has to sit and listen to me rant and rant and rant.  I’m trying to get all that excess useless energy and brain swirling out of my body.

I went to the p-doc almost 4 weeks ago now.  She upped my Valium to 10mg two times a day and added another pill called Tenex.  Tenex is technically for ADHD but has a side effect of reducing anxiety.  Thankfully, I have another appointment with her on Tuesday, because this is not working.  I really need three Valium a day, but my dose is also super high already, so that probably won’t be possible.  The tenex is doing nothing for anxiety, at least nothing noticeable.

The nice thing about the Tenex is that, because it’s for ADHD, it does give me some focus.  So while my anxiety is spiraling around me, the Tenex takes some of it and pours it into an ability to get some stuff done.  Until it wears off.  After about 2:00, I’m useless again.

My body is positively humming from the amount of anxiety that I’m carrying around.  It’s one of the most uncomfortable places that I’ve ever inhabited, with the exception of active suicidal ideation.

Facing facts, there are some triggers.  Politics are killing me.  So, I have been taking days at a time where I don’t open the computer or turn on the tv to anything that might carry news.  But, then I obsess about what I might be missing, what I might be able to be doing.  I marched in the Women’s March in my hometown and it was an amazing experience.  It actually dulled the anxiety almost completely.  I knew I was doing something that mattered.  I knew that I was with like-minded men and women.  But, that’s not a practical daily solution.

I plan to show up at the P-docs office with no valium on board.  I want her to see me at my agitated worst.  I honestly am starting to think that my body has become used to the Valium and it’s just not doing it anymore.  Which means another med change.  Hate those.

I think that there is a large part of me struggling with uselessness.  Maybe this is where the anxiety springs from, maybe not.  But, I spend a lot of time bouncing around trying to figure out how I can be helpful, not just to society, but to my family.  That’s probably another post.

 

Anxiety Rising

Tags

anxiety, bipolar, coloring, coping skills, elderly parents, family health, gardening, Generalized Anxiety Disorder, Mental Health, Mental Illness, Panic Disorder, reading, triggers

Well, at least this time, I know why.

After everything that we have just gone through with hubby’s kids, it is now my family that is having problems.

My mother is a physical mess.  Somewhere in the ancestral line is a cesspool of genetics, and my mother got a heaping helping of it.  The amount of things that are wrong with her is long and intense, but there have been recent concerns about her heart.

My grandmother turns 97 in a couple weeks.  Poppop died a year ago, and Mommom has been kind of wasting away ever since.  They were married for 73 years when he passed and she doesn’t know how to be alone anymore.

My brother probably has brain damage.  When things are too difficult for him to deal with, he goes out and acts like he is in the x-games.  He’s crashed snowmobiles, cars, ATVs.  You name it, he’s probably driven it like an asshole and crashed it.  I suspect some bipolar in him, but I don’t know.

Yesterday, Dad passed out at an event at their local convention center.  Thankfully, he was there with his next door neighbor/friend who is a doctor.  He got him up and got him home.  Why he was taken home instead of the hospital is beyond me.  But he was taken home, put to bed, and his pulse and blood pressure were monitored.  The initial thought is that he will need a pacemaker (his mother, the 96 year old mentioned above, has had one for 20 years or so).

I wasn’t actually able to speak to anyone yesterday.  Mom instituted a “no call” policy while Dad was asleep and was talking to us (me and my brother) through text messages, which is not her strong suit.

I felt it in my stomach first.  The butterflies.  Little flutters that grew stronger quickly. Then, the tightness in my chest.  The feeling like I can’t get a deep breath.  That feeling like my skin just got extra sensitive.  If you touch me, I will freak out.

Most of my writing has to do with my bipolar disorder, but I’m also diagnosed with a couple panic disorders and generalized anxiety disorder.

Sometimes, the hard part is determining whether what I am feeling is because of a true problem that should make me anxious, depressed….whatever, or if what I’m feeling is because of the illnesses I have.

In this particular case, it’s the circumstances.  There is an actual problem here that deserves my concern and anxiety.  We forget my father is 70.  He takes care of Mom, he takes care of Mommom and to an extent he takes care of my brother.  And now, something is happening with him.  Nothing ever happens to him.  The worst I’ve ever seen him is when he got hit in the eye with a baseball.  But that wasn’t his body letting him down, that was an accident.  Now, his body has let him down.  And it’s terrifying to me.

The fact that I know why I’m so anxious is helpful.  I can pin it down and say ‘this is why’.  The hard part is keeping it under control and not letting it run away with me.  And that hasn’t been a big part of my strong qualities.  The other hard part is going to be getting my mother to tell me the truth.  She doesn’t tell me stuff to protect me against anxiety and panic.   This is a new version of my mother, only about a year old.  I think that she has realized her mortality and decided it would be better to accept us as we are, rather than criticizing all the time.  It’s a nice change, but I’m still quite wary.

The other trick here is to try to not let the anxiety and adrenaline that are currently present, lead me into a massive crash when the crisis is over.  Also, to try to not snap at MIL when she comes home from visiting friends.

So, today is a day of coping skills.  Blogging (yes, you may hear from me more than once today), coloring, tending to whatever might be growing in the greenhouse, playing games and if I’m super lucky…reading.  If my coping skills are unsuccessful, and sometimes they are…I’ll find something on netflix to watch.

Thank God I got laundry done yesterday and there are leftovers for hubby’s dinner.  *phew*

A shitty little rant

Tags

Celbrity, Mental Health, Mental Illness

This is a post I wrote about a month ago and never published.  It’s a rant and it may be a little unfair, but looking back on it and watching the news today and realizing that yesterday was a year since Robin Williams’ death, I brought it out, shook off the dust and here it is.

I am so fucking tired of celebrities and the media’s fascination with them.

I’m sitting here watching the news (well, it’s on. How much I’m paying attention is another matter) and every time I look up, there is another celebrity story.

The thing is, it’s a double edged sword.  I’m sick to death of hearing about them and their lives.  I don’t care, I really don’t.  And they are every-fucking-where!  But, if a celebrity has a problem, and are willing to share, it’s often the only way that some things come to the forefront of the national conversation.

Case in point from this morning.  Mark Zuckerberg’s wife is pregnant.  Whoop de do.  But, they are talking about it because she had 3 miscarriages.  That’s terrible for them, but again, none of my business and while I feel bad for them, I really don’t want to hear about it.  But, because someone famous is talking about it, the REGULAR person with this tragic problem is now being highlighted.  

Bobbie Christina Brown died.  Very sad.  But why do I care?  How many REGULAR people overdose and die every single day around this country????  But, we don’t talk about them, because they are not famous.

The one that really sticks with me though is Robin Williams.  His death made me sad.  He was a great entertainer.  And for a little while, people in this country were actually talking about mental illness without talking about mass murderers.  But it was only because a celebrity died.  If Robin Williams were still alive, that conversation still wouldn’t have taken place.

As it is, that conversation took place for a week, maybe two, and now it’s gone.  Gone. Completely.  WHAT THE FUCK?????  We had a chance for awareness!  We had a chance to keep a conversation going.  And it just died there when Robin Williams was no longer news.

Our fascination with celebrity in this country is absolutely fucking ridiculous.  Why do we care more about Oprah Winfrey then we do about our neighbor????

 

Disability and Me (part 2)

Tags

Agoraphobia, anxiety, bipolar, depression, disability, Generalized Anxiety Disorder, Mental Health, OCD, Panic Disorder, stigma

So…

I wrote a little bit about my odyssey with the Social Security Administration a little while back and it appears that it is time for an update.

Today I received my second rejection letter in the mail.

My initial reaction was a mix of shock and anger.  I yelled at my husband when he asked what the letter said (not my finest moment).

I have, within the past few days, been able to come to some kind of peace with the psychological testing that I had done last month.  That testing, and subsequent hours of interviews, came to the very sure conclusion that I am severely mentally disabled.  I cannot now, nor is it likely that I ever will, hold down any type of gainful employment.  My mood swings are too often, and too severe.  The depression has too deep of a hold on my mind.  The anxiety is near constant.  The initial assessment is that I’m merely  treading water psychologically.  I’m not getting better, but at least I’m not in the hospital (which I do take as a bright spot!).

My attorney sent this (what I thought was a fairly compelling) report along to Social Security on July 1.  On July 9, the rejection letter was crafted generated through the SSA’s “Kiss our Butts” form letter department.  My testing results were listed as evidence received.

Now I have 13 months invested in this process and I have nothing to show for it, except an ever increasing pile of paperwork.

My attorney tells me that this is normal.  Expected. Typical.

I think that it is ridiculous, slipping right past insulting.  In the words of my grandson, it is “Stupidy poopy”. (That child is brilliant!)

I haven’t drawn a paycheck in 18 months.  I’ve been working on disability for 13.  An appeal to have a hearing in front of a judge is the next step and is expected to take anywhere from another 12-15 months.   All for a sum of money that will be well beneath the poverty line even though I have worked for 30 years and always made good money.

I feel defeated and small.  I feel humiliated.  I feel like crawling under the covers and not emerging for the next few days.

But, I’m also seriously pissed off.  I want to punch something.  Hard.  It’s probably a blessing that my right foot is in a cast right now as it does take away the urge to kick something.  I should mention that I am not violent.  Rarely (once in the last ten years) does my urge to kick or punch something actually end in me kicking or punching something.

This is resulting in a new goal for me for the future.  I don’t know when I will be able to handle it, and I for sure don’t know how, but this system has GOT to change.  We need to remove the stigma associated with needing disability.  I’ve said it before, but this is not something that I want.  This is something that I need.  And I’m not the only one.  But it is humiliating.  And it shouldn’t be.  It just shouldn’t.

Why is my doctor’s opinion not good enough?  I have two opinions and they both say the same thing (Bipolar, Generalized Anxiety Disorder, Panic Disorder, OCD, Agoraphobia etc). But someone’s government job is dependent on telling my doctors that they are wrong.  I would love to compare everyone’s credentials.  *ha!*

Stay tuned folks!  Updates as they arrive!

Riddle me this, Batman

Tags

anxiety, depression, Mental Health, triggers

I’m having a depressing day.

I’m still out of commission from my foot surgery, which isn’t helping.

But, at the same time I am depressed, I am also anxious.  My triggers are being stomped on.

My question to you is…do you also have those days when you are anxious and depressed at the same time?  How do you reconcile feeling both at the same time?

I feel like it’s some super crazy hard riddle.  And I have been trying to solve it for years.  I’ve even been told the answer, but I can’t seem to retain it.  (That’s a problem for another day)

What do you think?

Knowledge is power but it doesn’t feel like it.

Tags

anxiety, bipolar, coping skills, depression, mania, maniac, Mental Health, worry

My diagnosis of bipolar is relatively new.  Well, very new.  No one really started throwing that around as a potential diagnosis until after my last nervous breakdown in October 2014.  Before that, I had been holding steady with my nice little generalized anxiety disorder and panic disorder diagnosis.

I thought me and my GAD and panic disorders had a nice relationship.  I knew they were there, I was used to them and occasionally I felt free from them.  I had days where I had lots of energy and got so much accomplished.

But the meltdown of 2014 changed all that.  Suddenly everyone was talking about bipolar disorder.  Well isn’t that the same thing as manic depression?  Does this mean I’m a maniac?  Now, these bouts of energy were being looked at with suspicion.  Ok, yeah, I would get really tired and down after periods of all this energy, but that was just me catching up on sleep.  I was tired because I had been SO active.  Now, the doctors are saying, no no that’s the depression part.

So I get meds.  And I go home.  Oh, and I get a whole big pile of therapist appointments as well.  Three times a week for me.  I guess if you’re gonna do something, you should do it right.

So, NOW I’m home one day and I start getting really energetic and jittery.  I’m pacing, my thoughts are racing and I don’t know what to do with myself.  I’m terrified.  This must be the mania everyone has been talking about.  Get to the coping skills.  Take a walk, color, write in my journal, I’ve got all this energy I should be able to manage one of these.  But, no, not gonna happen.

And the depression?  Same as it always was, except that I used to write it off as normal and now I know that it is the far side of the bipolar pendulum swing.

When I look back, I can see the mania speckled through my life.  I’m bipolar 1, but few dangerous behaviors.  Although, maybe someone would have noticed dangerous behaviors, and I would have gotten help sooner.  But, I digress.  I see the days at work where I would work for 8-10 hours in a row, no breaks and not feel tired when I got home.  No real rest, just a couple hours of sleep and back to it the next day.  But I didn’t see the problem…and really, look how much I got accomplished!

Now that I have the name to put with it, it feels like a problem.  It also feels worse.  But that’s because it is worse.  That’s the problem with bipolar disorder.  It feels great while it’s shiny and new and you don’t know what’s up.   Lots of energy, getting things done,  what’s to feel bad about?

But now, it’s out of hand.  I’m rapid cycling and I’m not very well controlled on medication.  The various concoctions that I have been on have helped me gain another 30 pounds that I really didn’t need and/or made my restless leg syndrome so bad that I laid in bed every night crying from the pain in my legs.

I really want to just taper off all my meds and see who I am without them.  But, the therapist and the pdoc both believe that regardless of who I would be without them, WHERE I would be is the psych ward.  Been there, done that, got the t-shirt.  Twice.  No thanks.

So, now I have the knowledge.  And sometimes I feel like I wish I didn’t.  When I didn’t know, it wasn’t scary.  Now I’m scared.  I’ve also thrown another log on the fire of worry that I tend to daily.  And I know that I’m better off with the knowledge.  My intellect tells me that’s the truth.  But my mind isn’t interested in the truth. (Did you just hear Jack Nicholson yelling that you can’t handle the truth?  I did) My mind just wants to go back to the days when times were simpler and I was just super energetic.  Or, ya know….resting.

Peace

Triggers, Triggers Everywhere (and where did I put my coping tools?)

Tags

anxiety, bipolar, coping skills, depression, disability, Mental Health, triggers

What a trying day and it’s only half over.

I had therapy earlier today and I was going over the results of my psychological testing with her.  (I talked briefly about that testing here).  I started to feel something rising in me.  I didn’t know if it was anxiety or mania.  Unfortunately, I still can’t always tell the difference until I’m full blown one way or the other.  Turns out it was anxiety and now I’m running all over the place emotionally.  I’m at that point where if someone says the wrong thing to me I’m liable to verbally take their head off.  I know you know the feeling.

I know that it started by once again getting myself worked up over the results of those damnable tests.  I’m terrified that I allowed this psychologist to mentally take me apart and I still won’t get the disability benefits that I need.  Plus, I’m obsessing over the results themselves.

Now, I’m home and I’m becoming more and more aggravated.  It feels like every moment that goes by, another trigger hits me in the face and pulls me a little further down into the pit of anxiety.

But my coping skills….well, that’s a bit of a mess.  Since I had my foot surgery, I’ve been on crutches.  So no walking.  Since I can’t walk out to my garden, it’s dying.  Can’t go for a swim and I really don’t feel like coloring.  And I already read the books I had set aside for my surgery recovery.  No cooking, no baking.

Wednesday I should be getting my stitches out and hopefully I’ll be able to lose the crutches.

Today will probably be a day of TV and blog reading.  And ativan.

If I’m lucky I won’t eat the half gallon of mint chocolate chip ice cream in the freezer.

Peace

The way I was (and why it doesn’t matter)

Tags

anxiety, bipolar, depression

The diagnosis of Generalized Anxiety Disorder and Bi-polar disorder has changed my life in very profound ways.

I’ve been thinking a lot about the person I used to be; the way I worked at my job, the way I interacted with my friends and with strangers and just generally the way I dealt with life.  Not only have I been considering the who I used to be, but also how that compares to who I am now.

I used to be a real estate professional.  I worked as a licensed title insurance agent in the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania.  If you have ever purchased a house, you know title insurance even if you don’t realize it.  I sat at the head of the conference table, making sure paperwork was filled out properly, making sure the money was distributed properly and problem solving, problem solving and more problem solving.

The old me multi-tasked.  The old me was detail oriented.  The old me finished what I started.  I dressed for work, wore my high heels, did my makeup (sometimes), did my hair and bolted out the door in order to be at work early.  I was heavy, but not too heavy to dash around in 4 inch heels.

During the last few years of this I started to see a therapist.  I didn’t want to, but my doctor really wanted me on anxiety medication, which I REALLY didn’t want.  The compromise was a therapist.  As I look back I am thankful that I had such a good relationship with my doctor.  If I hadn’t liked him or didn’t really respect him, then I probably wouldn’t have started therapy.  Starting therapy when I did is probably what allowed me to hold on for as long as I did.

A few years after beginning therapy I moved to a new job.  The economy was doing poorly and the real estate bubble had burst.  Business was hard to come by.  I was laid off from my old job, but thankfully was able to find this new one.  Less money and less to do, but at least I had something, which was more then some people could say.

And then I had my first nervous breakdown.  In my case, as is the case for a lot of people, the last straw was something ridiculous.  My favorite radio station had started playing all Christmas music all the time.  Thanksgiving was still 4 days away.

I spent a week in the psych ward.  I spent 2 months in intensive out-patient therapy.  I quit my job.  I couldn’t work and do the therapy necessary at the same time.

My husband and I had decided to move south.  I needed a calmer, slower paced environment and he needed a job with a future.  We both needed more sunshine.  I found a job in retail.  Much less stress, and as a result, much less money.  But, the much less stress was worth the lower paycheck.

But I still broke.  Not a lot.  Not enough to need inpatient hospitalization, but enough to have to leave my job.

And then, I broke again.  All the way.

I spent another week in the psych ward.  The doctors tweaked my medications and sent me home.

I started experiencing days and days of mania.  It frightened me because it had never happened before (well, it had, I just hadn’t known that was what was happening).  I had so much energy I could have run a marathon.   But I couldn’t focus that energy enough to even clean the kitchen.  That’s when the Bi-Polar was diagnosed.

Now, there is a whole new me.

The new me can do only one thing at a time.  The new me has a hard time with the small things.  The new me bounces from task to task.  And, the new me is always tired.

But who’s to say that the old me was the better version?

Even just sitting down to write this blog is a learning experience for me.  While taking a break from writing, I realized that I had been in the middle of emptying the dishwasher when I decided to sit down and write.  How I had just managed to walk away from what I was doing and start doing something else is kind of mind-boggling for me.  But, it’s also becoming a pattern.

I can’t work at a job outside the home.  I need to rest too often and my moods are a crap shoot each and every day.

I recently saw a psychologist for testing to see if a job is even possible.  He tested me for concentration (I’m on the 2nd day of working on on this blog entry), memory, task completion and a few other things.  His opinion is that the last time I broke, I broke thoroughly and completely.

It was a devastating blow.  I spent a week so depressed over the results I could barely leave my bed each day.  It physically hurt.  It could be years (and probably will be) before I am able to be certain enough of each day’s mood to venture out on a regular basis.  Or be able to concentrate long enough to spend a few hours working at a job.  I need to be able to rest a couple times an hour.

I’m not over it.  Not by a long shot.  I’m used to working, to contributing to the household income.  To feeling useful.

But, I’m on my way to accepting it.  It’s taking a lot of support from my husband and my therapist to get there, but I’m trying.

We moved here for the slower pace and I am trying to embrace that.  I clip coupons and have been able to save a lot of money on groceries.  I cook most days and have started baking.  I have a garden.

My new activities have rest periods built in.  They are slower paced activities.  I spend a lot of time in the grocery store, because sometimes I just have to sit down for a bit.  But, I get it done.  My savings are my contribution to the household income.  My garden provides not just a therapeutic activity, but free food for the home.

I yearn for the old days of working and feeling useful, but I am finding other ways to be useful.  Being present for my family is good.  When my grandfather was reaching the end of his life, I was able to be there and spend time with him, for which I will be eternally grateful.

The way I was doesn’t matter anymore.  It is a fond memory, but I am also starting to see the deep cracks that have been present for a very long time.  I filled them with chewing gum and duct tape, but even duct tape gives way eventually.

Now I’m picking at the cracks trying to see where they lead and trying to fill them with something more substantial then chewing gum.  I’m trying to fill them with understanding, knowledge and acceptance.

I have a very long way to go.  But, for better or worse, the old me is gone.  She is a tool for me to use to understand the new me.  But, I will never be her again.  Accepting that, and figuring out who I am now is what matters.

It reminds me of a joke Steven Wright used to tell (I know…you young’uns have no idea who that is) about how everywhere is walking distance as long as you have the time.

I have the time.

Peace and love.

How to make you understand

Tags

anxiety, bipolar, depression

I’m going to try to explain my generalized anxiety disorder and bipolar disorder to you.  If you don’t suffer from one of these conditions, then I can only hope to make things a little clearer for you.  If you do suffer, then you will understand.

My brain runs full tilt 24/7. There are three problems with that. 1.) All of the thoughts I could ever have bombard me constantly and I am unable to hold on to any of them at all. 2.) All those thoughts are just muttering in the background and I can’t hear them. I can feel them back there, but I can’t hear well enough to grab one. 3.) I have so much energy that I absolutely cannot channel it into anything at all. My head is empty of all thoughts and instead I race around trying to figure out something to do. Maybe drive to Virginia to the closest Wawa to grab some coffee.

So I spend my days one of four ways ; trying to grab onto a thought out of a swirl of thoughts so loud, I’m sure I’ll go deaf (anxiety), having a totally blank mind even though I can sort of hear a din of thoughts behind my mind, but none of them are loud enough to quite hear (depression) fighting the impulse to just run around the backyard screaming to burn some energy and ending up sleeping from the medicine to bring me down (Bi-Polar) OR having a relatively “regular” day in which I can function more or less normally. These days are less common.

Exhaustion comes with three of these situations. Not exhaustion from running around all day and being physically tired, but from thinking all day and being mentally exhausted. (Think taking the SATs for 10 hours or a really hard day at work where you are just problem solving for the entire day) I tend to be on edge all day, but trying not to be, or to hide it, which makes me tired (and often doesn’t work). Or trying so hard to grab onto a thought that is positive that it makes me tired. Or, worse, not succeeding in hiding all of it and being on edge all day, thereby turning me into a bitch on wheels. Or, being so tired all day that it’s hard to stay awake, even though there doesn’t seem to be a good reason why I’m so tired.

Not everyone suffers the same way. For instance, there are two distinct types of Bi-Polar. Everyone’s anxiety comes from different stressers and everyone reacts to these problems differently. But, this is my situation

I believe I speak for most everyone who has these conditions, when I say that we KNOW that you can just get over it. But we can’t so please don’t tell us to just let it go, it’s not going to happen and we wish that we knew how you can do that, it’s like magic to us. It’s like expecting a smoker to put down their cigarettes forever just because you told them smoking is bad for their health.

We fill our lives with coping strategies. Things to do when life is hard. Things to do that can occupy our minds completely, or at least nearly completely, so that the swirl that is always there fades to the background. We spend our days doing one thing or another to just shut our brains up for a minute or two. We more then likely are not mad at you. More then likely you just got to us during a period when the coping strategies have failed us for a bit. We apologize and we are trying. Please don’t give up on us.