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.

 

I’m back again

Tags

bipolar, hypomania, medications, mixed episode, psychiatrist

It’s inconceivable to me that my last post was 16 days ago.  I’ve written a couple posts since then, but they will sit in my draft folders for a long time, probably never to be finished.

My impetus for my last post made me so angry that I ended up sliding directly into a mixed episode.  And one of those episodes where your mood shifts more then once a day.  And I can’t write like that.  Everything just comes out all muddled and shoved together haphazardly and doesn’t make any sense.  Not to mention that they aren’t even finished.   I just have not been able to bring my thoughts around to completion.

But, I’ve missed writing.  It’s the one creative outlet that I have, and I know that the people reading what I write understand what I’m talking about.  Connection to the tribe is crucial.

Thankfully, it would seem that the mixed episode has finally passed.  I’m actually feeling pretty good except for a screaming headache.  But, I think the headache is more from watching the debate then anything else.

My stepson moved back in last night.  So far so good, but it’s only been 12 hours, so I guess I should hold off on saying it’s ok.

My mixed episode was a mess.  Sometimes I would wake up anxious and depressed, kick into high gear in the early afternoon and then suffer the consequences of hypomania and the depression drop a few hours later.  Sometimes I would wake up all hypomanic and ready to take the world by storm only to drop into depression and frustration a few hours later.

The only good thing I can say about it is the lithium still seems to be holding the symptoms to a bit of a dull roar.  The last time this happened, my swings were much worse and much more intense.  I’m taking a crap load of valium for the anxiety (I have Generalized Anxiety Disorder as well), but I’m praying that the lithium holds.  Nothing has worked for long, so I have some worries about my body getting used to the lithium and having it stop working.  God only knows what medication I would go on at that point.  It’s one of those thoughts that’s in the back of my head all the time, but I’m trying not to think about too much.  My psychiatrist thought we could move my appointments to once ever two months, which is cool, except that everytime she has done that something horrible has gone wrong.  So, I’m saying prayers and crossing my fingers and trying really hard to get things done while still resting enough.  I guess I’ll see what happens.

Anyway, I’m sorry to have been away so long.  I appreciate everything all of you bring to my life, and I hope that I’m useful to you.

I promise to be back soon and I can’t wait to catch up with you all!

 

A quick unleashing of anger

Tags

anger, bipolar, depression, medications, Mental Health, Mental Illness, psychiatrist, suicide, therapist, therapy

The thoughts are swirling around my mind so quickly, I can only glimpse each one for an instant before it’s gone.

Ulla’s passing from this world has awakened many thoughts and feelings within me.

But, the one that is becoming the loudest is anger.

How long must we continue to trudge along, with people dropping along the way, before someone, somewhere is willing to do something more then the shitty meds we have?

This country, The United States, has enough gigantic pharmaceutical companies and enough research hospitals that this shit should be figured out.

But, people continue to drop by the wayside.

It’s almost been me many many many times.  I’ve attempted once and been saved by therapists or inpatient or outpatient hospitals at least 7 more times over the course of my life.

We go to our therapists.  We take the medications that make us fat. Or the ones that make us clumsy.  Or the ones that make us vomit.  Or forgetful. Or give us tremors.  Or, the biggest joke, make us worse.  The antidepressants that make us manic.  Or more depressed.

We share our deepest darkest fears with doctors and have them tell us that we are being dramatic.

I don’t know what to do with this anger.  Thankfully, I do have a decent therapist and I see her tomorrow.  I know she’ll help me work that out.

Also, I think I have a lot of research to do.

Trigger Happy

Tags

anxiety, bipolar, medications, psychiatrist

My oldest stepson is moving in.

Let that sink in.

We’re going on vacation with MIL, all three kids and grandson (a/k/a Bug) in two weeks and when it’s over J is moving in with us.  His mother, the bane of my existence, is moving in with Stepdaughter (A) and is taking the youngest son (K) with her.  So K is going to sleep in Bug’s room and Bug is going to sleep with the bane of my existence.  And J is not welcome there because of his drug issues.  Now, he’s been clean since rehab, with one exception, but there is no one he knows who is willing to take him in.  So, he comes here and is going to be sleeping on our couch.

And poor Bug!  He loses his bedroom.  He loves his bedroom.  And he has to sleep with the bane of my existence, whom he loves, because she’s his grandmother, and he should love her.  But, he’s going to sleep in the same bed as her?  For how long?  He’s only 4, bedtime is sometimes a real problem.  And he can’t really be sent to his room because he shares it with her.  Not really my problem, but I don’t like it.  I think that K should set up shop in the basement and Bug should keep his room.  But I digress.

I don’t even know what to think about all of this.  I’m definitely anxious.  The more people I am around the more stressed out I get.  And now it seems as though my house is going to be where the whole world lives.  I know that’s not true, but it seems to be what my brain is talking about.  Part of the reason for that, is that we don’t have an extra room for him.  So, he will be living on our couch.  So when I get up in the morning, there he will be.  And I can’t send him anywhere because there’s nowhere for him to go.  His luggage?  Probably in the living room.

When MIL moved in, she was supposed to take the proceeds from selling her house and use that to help us build an extra room on the back of our house.  We had taken our master bedroom and added most of my office to it to make her a big room that she would be able to use even if she ends up with a walker or wheelchair someday.  Which left hubby and I in a very small guest room.  Too small.  And MIL didn’t set aside any money and now she has none.  So hubby and I are waiting for the money to come in from my car accident or Lord help us, disability.

But that doesn’t help us in the short term.  And my anxiety is rising and rising and rising. I’ve spent most of the last two days in bed.  My psychiatrist calling in a prescription for a med I no longer take isn’t helping much either.  I haven’t decided what to do about my psychiatrist, but I have decided to try lithium when we come home.  I told her that at my last appointment and she was shocked that we had never tried it.  Idiot.

Part of my anxiety, which is turning to anger, is that J is almost 27 and has done nothing with his life.  He currently has no job, no health insurance, no savings, no nothing.  The clothes he wears, we bought those.  The house he lives in is paid for by his brother and mother and they can’t afford it any longer with no contribution from him.  Of course, if they got rid of the premium cable service and stopped eating food from the convenience store and actually went grocery shopping, they would have more money, but again, not my problem.  I worry about it constantly, but, I keep trying to remind myself that it’s not my problem.

Now, J is supposedly moving to Colorado in August.  Although he keeps saying that he’s moving there and it keeps not happening.  But, since he’s now putting a timeline on it, hubby isn’t going to make him get a job.  What’s the point?  It’s only 2 months.  So he will always be here.  Always.  If he doesn’t move away in August, they are going to need to hospitalize me.

Because I will lose my nut.

 

Getting my head out of the sand

Tags

bipolar, Deplin, medications, psychiatrist

I have to do something about my psychiatrist.

Yes, I have treatment resistant bipolar disorder.  I sort of, kind of, accept that.  (Karen, my therapist, calls it radical acceptance…I can accept it, but still hate it)  I understand that bipolar disorder is a hit and miss game of chance with medications.  Some work, most don’t, dosages need to be adjusted, the possible combinations are endless and we can be up against a deadline of suicidal ideation or potentially seriously risky mania behaviors.

So, what’s a bipolar gal to do?  I go to therapy twice a week, I see my psychiatrist as often as I can, I write and I take my meds.  Now, there are nights where I will sit and look at my pill caddy for 45 minutes just trying to talk myself into taking them.  But I always do. Always.

Pills pills pills pills pills

I’ve stuck with my psychiatrist for a long time.  She’s very well respected in the area in which I live.  Karen, thinks Dr. M is great.  The hospital I was in a year and a half ago loves her.  The psychologist I saw for testing knows of her.

But, I feel like she’s kind of checking out during our session.  Two weeks ago she asked if I was still taking Lamictal.  Seriously?  Don’t you know that?  SHOULDN’T you know that? The computer right in front of her presumably has my chart on it.  Maybe she’s playing solitaire.

Fast forward to today.  I was going back for a med check for a new med she put me on called Deplin.  It’s activated folic acid.  According to their website, 70% of depressed people can’t activate folic acid so the body can use it properly.  So this medicine is supposed to help with that.  Today was my check in day to make sure it’s working properly (it’s not, what else is new).  At the end of the appointment, she was filling out my refills and asked me if I was still taking Lamictal.

Um….

Still, no.  Still thinking that you should know that.

So, I left and went to the grocery store.  When I got there I called CVS to tell them not to fill the Deplin.  I have found anecdotal evidence on how to control my side effects, but if it doesn’t work, I’m not paying for a prescription I won’t be taking.  The amount of samples I have left are enough to tell the tale.  The pharmacist says no problem, do I still want the Neurontin and Lamictal filled?

Um…..

What the hell?

In two weeks I go on vacation and in three I go back to see her.  And between now and then I have to decide what to do.

So….

Tags

anxiety, bipolar, lamictal, latuda, prozac, psychiatrist, saphris, seroquel

So…..I took my 50mg dose of Lamictal upon waking every day for the last 5 days.  Each day I feel the anxiety rising within a half hour.  Waking up anxious is not new to me, but doing it daily is.  I expect that within another half hour there will not be enough food in the world to satisfy me.  I won’t be hungry.  But I will have a terribly strong desire to eat anyway.

So….I’m going to call the pdoc office when they open and request an emergency appointment to fix this.  It is obviously not working.  I’m going to request Topomax or Geodone. I’m tired of playing around with Seroquel, Lamictal and Prozac.  They are not working.  I think we have tried every possible combination of these meds and it’s just not doing it.  I’m feeling like a drastic change is required, and these meds may or may not work, but I have to get away from what I’m on now.  I could not tolerate the newer stuff like Saphris and Latuda, so I’m thinking it’s time to go off script and try completely new stuff.

So….that’s all I can manage right now.  Hopefully I’ll be able to write more later.

So, about yesterday

Tags

anxiety, bipolar, frustration, klonopin, lamictal, psychiatrist, therapist, therapy

So…

Yesterday was a bit of a mess.

Today, I feel a little better, although I still woke up anxious, but this time I had my meds and didn’t have to wait for the pharmacy to open.

I went to pdoc yesterday.  The day before I had talked to Karen (therapist) about what I wanted to say to Dr. M.  Since the appointment is only 15 minutes, I try to go in as prepared as I can.  I, however, have never mentioned to her that I sometimes wake up anxious (well, more than sometimes) and as Blah said, I really need to start a list.

So talking to Karen, we decided that even though I have been having big swings in my moods, I have had a bunch of decent days and maybe that was good enough for my med resistant self.  That maybe now, we let the mood stabilizers do what they are doing and treat the rest of the episodes as they happen.

Dr. M. disagreed.  We talked about quality of life and I said that I was frustrated.  Nothing works for long.  I can’t take any of the new meds that are out and even failed the Zyprexa. I tolerate Lamictal at 100 mg, more than that affects my memory.  I tolerate Seroquel XR, but I am fighting the weight gain (all I want to do is eat), but it’s better at 200mg than 300mg.  It’s also ridiculously expensive until I meet my deductible.  Which, I will meet by the end of this month, but I can do payment plans with everyone except the pharmacy.

ANYway, Dr. M. decided that maybe an extra 50mg of Lamictal would help, except that I’ll take that extra bit in the morning instead of at night, hopefully avoiding any memory issues.  It’s only been 2 days, so I’m gonna have to give it a little time before I know if it’s a good change or not.

Yesterday, I spent the morning fighting myself to remain calm cool and collected as it was hubby’s birthday and I didn’t want to be a mess.  But, I was a mess.  People who do not fight these mental illnesses do not understand how difficult it is to pretend to feel fine.  Once hubby left for work, I collapsed into bed, sleeping until he came home.  I stayed up for about an hour with him, took my meds (slept right through med time) and slept till about 6:30.  So, I’ve had about 12 hours of sleep.  I’m getting WAY too much sleep these days.  Maybe Dr. M. is right.  Maybe I’m fighting a depression I’m not even seeing and the Lamictal will help.  I guess the next week or so will tell the tale.

On a good note, I colored my hair yesterday, which I haven’t done in I don’t even know how long.  My gray was grown all the way out.  So, at least I had a fleeting interest in my appearance yesterday.  Yay me!

This morning I have therapy.  So, I’ll get some of the frustration that I feel out while I’m there.  Therapy, for me, is pretty much only good as a vent session.  If I can’t get the moods under control, and so far there’s no indication that will ever happen, then we will never get a chance to work on anything deep.  We pretty much can only deal with what’s happening right this very instant.  But, why I feel the way I feel?  It’s hard to work on that when the moods are so far out of whack.

So, I guess the upshot is that I’m glad I feel better today.  I’m not thrilled that Dr. M added more Lamictal, but until I get disability approved, I have to be extremely compliant. I’m taking .5 mg of klonopin pretty much the second I get up, so I’ll have to start a list.  I should get one of those little day minder calendars to keep track.  Maybe then I won’t forget to make the list.

How are you feeling?  Does your pdoc listen to you?  Are you trying to be compliant for disability?  Tell me what’s going on with you!

 

Dr Appointments and Med Fails

Tags

anxiety, ativan, bipolar, grief, klonopin, medications, psychiatrist, seroquel, therapist, therapy, zyprexa

I wrote this post months ago and found it while looking for something to post for today.  It is a post that at it’s heart is about the frustration I feel trying to deal with my bipolar disorder.  Some things are day to day things and some things are the story arc of my life.  

 

Well this was fun.

First, I had therapy.  I really like my therapist.  Her name is Karen and she’s very professional and very personable.  I feel like I would like her if she wasn’t my therapist, which helps.

So, I told her of the Zyprexa fail.  Yet one more medication to go into the books as less than useless for me.  And then I started to go off.  I love therapy.  I love the opportunity to get the things that are rattling around in my head out of my system. The major problem with the medication issue is that therapy is useless.  I still need to go, because I still need to get this stuff out.  I still need the professional objective person to help me see fact from fiction.  She helps me understand some of the reasons why I feel the way I do.

But, the fact remains, that if the medication doesn’t start working, then therapy is never going to be anymore than a venting session for me.  Yes, I do get something from it, but not nearly as much as I should.  And I try.  I try my ass off.  I blog, because I can’t journal, and I know I need to get this stuff out of my head.  I run to my bedroom in the middle of the day, because I know that the thing my MIL is doing isn’t really an issue, but the meds have not moderated my reactions enough.  I know that but I can’t live it.

So, then I go right to the pdoc’s office for that appointment.  Right off the bat, I tell her that Zyprexa was a fail.  I explained the side effects that I experienced and watched her eyes widen and her expression fall.  One more med for the scrap heap.  Oh, and the ativan is doing less than nothing and the restoril is not helping me sleep.  So, you know, I’m all around fucked as far as meds are concerned.  Oh and by the way, every afternoon sucks.  Often the morning do as well.  But the afternoons, great googly moogly, I’m always anxious in the afternoon and I’m lucky if I’m only anxious.

Have I been on Risperdal she asks?  No, I don’t think so.  What about Seroquel?  Yes, AND it worked, BUT I gained weight, and once the year was over and I had to meet my insurance deductible again, I couldn’t afford it.  But it worked.  But I gained weight.  But….fuck.  Back onto the Seroquel I go.  As soon as I recover from my next foot surgery, (I’ll probably have it next week) my goal is to start exercising like, well, like a crazy person.  I don’t work, I don’t have kids.  I should be able to pencil in some exercise time.  Right? RIGHT!?  Fuck.

We’re going to try the genetic testing from Genomind.  The kit hasn’t come yet, she’ll call when it does and I’ll run over there to get my cheek swabbed.  This test is supposed to tell me what side effects I’m most prone to based on my genetic makeup and possibly help figure out which meds will help me most.  We’re actually doing a pretty good job at finding the side effects that I’m prone to all by ourselves, but this will take some of the drama out of it.  I hope.  Maybe.  *sigh*

ANYway, if the Seroquel works, then we will see if we can stop the prozac.  She also changed my ativan to klonopin, and she’s counting on the Seroquel to back up the restoril.  So, seroquel at 6:00pm, everything else at 8 and see what happens.  Back to the pdoc in 3 weeks.

I’m exhausted.  It’s exhausting.  I just want to feel normal for a minute.  One minute, maybe two.  Is three too much to hope for?  Probably.

Karen and I also had a brief discussion about an upcoming topic.  My grief for the woman I used to be.  The loss nags at me constantly.  The inability to work reminds me of the woman who defined herself by how good she was at her job.  But that woman, the one who could work all day, go out for dinner with friends, buy a house, fix up a house and do it all on her own?  She’s gone.  Left the building after the first nervous breakdown.  Maybe before.  And I miss the shit outta her.

Bipolar dispair

Tags

anxiety, bipolar, Celexa, Cymbalta, depression, disability, dry mouth, klonopin, lamictal, latuda, Lexapro, medication cost, medications, Mental Health, Mental Illness, prozac, psychiatrist, saphris, side effects, stigma, suicidal thoughts, suicide, Trazodone, zyprexa

 

Christmas is over and bipolar is still here.

I’m starting to come back around to my baseline of constant low level anxiety.  I got a couple weeks out of my med changes and now they are slowly failing me yet again.  I will go to next pdoc appt and request an increase of klonopin, which she will give me.  That will hold for a couple weeks and then I’ll need more.  So we’ll change to something else.  She loves messing around with my prozac dosage, so I’m sure we’ll do some of that as well.  Can’t increase lamictal or I’ll lose my memory again.  Can’t increase Seroquel XR or I’ll stop losing weight and start gaining again.  Latuda?   Immediate fail.  Zyprexa? Immediate fail. Lexapro?  Been there, done that.  Cymbalta? Couldn’t pay me enough. Celexa?  Eventual fail.  Trazodone?  Eventual fail. Saphris? Immediate fail.  There are more.  I’ve been through all the sleeping pills and all the anxiety rescue meds more than once.  We just keep cycling through them as their effectiveness wears off.

It’s an exhausting cycle which many people go through when confronted with mental illness.  There just isn’t a good enough solution.  We’re the guinea pigs of our own treatment.  We get fat from our meds.  We get dry mouth and horrible breath.  The depression meds make us manic, but if we don’t take them we move towards suicidal.  Some of the meds take away our personalities.  We become emotionless robots, plodding through our days, enjoying little to none of it.  We lose our memory.  We lose our creativity.  Many of us don’t regain the ability to rejoin the workforce.  But, obtaining disability is a multi-year odyssey in humiliation and poverty during which we struggle to pay our doctors and purchase our ridiculously expensive meds.

And, as if all of that was not enough, we are told to suck it up.  We are told that if we exercise we won’t need those meds.  We are told that suicide is selfish.  We are told we are lazy.  We are told we are a drain on the system.

If we are fortunate enough to eventually obtain disability, we live in poverty.  And disability can be taken away, regardless of our doctors reports, leaving us to wean ourselves off dangerous medications without medical supervision.

The stigma of mental illness will keep many of us from getting the treatment we need.  We will endeavor to keep our families and friends in the dark about our conditions for fear of losing them.  We berate ourselves for being so weak and crazy.  Because our illness can’t be seen, it is hard to accept.

We remain anonymous, even to each other.  Being known, speaking or writing publically could make the government decide that we are, after all, capable of doing the things our doctors say we can’t.  It wouldn’t matter that it is taking me hours to write this.  I would never be able to commit to speaking anywhere, as there are days I can’t bring myself to get out of bed. Or shower.  Or eat.  Or hear loud noises.  Or have conversations with others.  Or see the sun.  And there are rarely warnings that those days are coming.  So, we don’t trust even the people who live with the same problems as ourselves, with our real identity.  Which I believe hurts us in the long run.

I wish I knew how to make it all stop.  A med that will help everyone with a minimum of side effects.  A removal of stigma so that our condition can be openly dealt with, as it would if we had cancer.  And a government that would listen to the opinions of our doctors and help us when we are no longer able to help ourselves without a helping hand.  After all, I paid into that system for 25 years.  Instead they are forcing us to fight battles we don’t have the strength to fight to get the money we are were told we were entitled to when we were forced to pay into the system.

It would be so wonderful if we could all speak in unison of the trials and tribulations of mental illness.  But those of us with the most need are those whose suffering prevents them from doing much else but suffer.

 

The therapy of no emotion

Tags

genetic testing, psychiatrist, therapist, therapy

Psychiatrist and therapist this morning.  A whole bowl of head shrinking for breakfast. Some interesting things came of it though.

Pdoc finally got the genetic testing package, so she did the cheek swabs and she’ll send that off this afternoon.  Hopefully hopefully hopefully it’ll give us some useful information about what meds will work better and what side effects I’m more likely to experience.

I told her about this emotionless void I’ve been experiencing and about not sleeping. Weirdly the fact that I’m not sleeping really isn’t bothering me, except that the Seroquel makes me binge.  If that weren’t the case, I’m really not sure I would give even the littlest shits that I’m not sleeping.  I told her that I want to come back in three weeks.  That way, I’ll definitely be off crutches and possibly have my emotions back.  Or maybe not.  But, either way, we’ll know.

Then therapy.  That was actually pretty illuminating.  It turns out that even though my emotional parts aren’t really working very well right now, my analytical self is doing pretty well.  Apparently it works better when it’s not hampered by all those pesky emotions and stress and depression and empathy. I’m finding that when I’m reading blogs, I know I should be sad or angry or whatever on behalf of the author, but I just can’t do it.  Apparently though, the fact that I’m aware of how I should be feeling is important.  Even if I can’t feel it.

But, and here’s the really important part, the logical part of my brain is functioning better than it has in awhile.  I feel like I could organize things and get the house together and DO stuff that takes brain energy.  Of course, I can’t walk without crutches, so most of those things can’t happen anyway.  But the ability seems to be awake inside my mind.  Which is new.

So, now my concern is what is going to happen when I get done with the crutches.  I’m wondering if the Great Wall of Non-Emotion will come down slowly or in an avalanche of craziness.

But, for now…I don’t really care.