Remember The Titans

Remember the Titans

There’s one movie that always makes me cry.  Remember the Titans.  If you haven’t seen it, I highly recommend it.  It’s not just a football movie.  It’s about overcoming differences (in this case race) and working together for a common goal.

Today when I watched part of it, I started comparing it to overcoming the differences or stigma of having a mental illness.  We are a community, those of us who have some sort of mental illness.  And then there’s the “well” community who don’t necessarily like to come into contact with those of us who have an invisible illness.  They don’t know how to treat us.  They don’t know what to say.

We all need to work together to break down those barriers between us.  We are not contagious, or stupid, or lazy.  We work just as hard, if not harder, than those without any illness.  We need a way to bridge that gap to break down the wall and not have two sides.  Both sides need to reach out to each other for education and learning about reality.

That’s really all I have to say.  As someone who has bipolar disorder, I want everyone to know that I don’t choose my friends based on disability or not.  Do you?

Agoraphobia

Agoraphobia

Today I am writing about agoraphobia.  For those who don’t know what it is, it’s a fear of open spaces, crowds, and (especially for me) fear of leaving a safe place.  In my case it’s not just that my home is safe, it’s my bedroom.  It sounds a lot less scary than it really is.

For me, the whole process of planning to leave is painful.  Yesterday, for example, I had had enough of staying in my safe place and wanted to do something different.  I wanted to go out of the house my mom and I share and go to our complex’s pool.  It was a beautiful day.  But the act of putting on a swimsuit, knowing I was going to be leaving the house, was scary.  I knew that I would be out in public, around people, people who don’t know me.

But I did it anyway for an hour.  That was more than enough.  I was proud of myself for going but exhausted over the argument in my head that I needed to get home versus my need to try to stay outside for a while.  I’m very lucky that my mom gets it and does what I need her to do.

Most days the thought of leaving the house is paralyzing.  And it really sucks.  I’m fortunate to have friends who stop by occasionally, and like I said before, I always have my mom here with me so I’m not as lonely.  But I never just pick up and go without an army in my head telling me to try to do this one simple thing.

Some of my friends just don’t get it, and in a lot of ways I have come to live a virtual life.  I don’t know what I would do without my phone and iPad.  I can talk on the phone, FaceTime with friends on my iPad, chat on Facebook.  Those are my lifelines to the world.  I do have a world, just a smaller one than most people.

So if you have a friend or family member who is terrified to go out of their safe place, please understand.  It’s crippling.  It’s misunderstood.  It’s devastating in that it robs you of your freedom.  It’s not something you can just struggle through.  You have to wait for days when you feel strong enough to do something small.  Please be kind to us.  We want nothing more than to run around with you doing all the fun things in life.  We miss those.

Memory - Where Did It Go?

Memory – Where Did It Go?

What is life except a collection of relationships and memories?  I don’t have Alzheimer’s or Dementia.  But there are days where my memories are probably not much better than those with these diseases.  And I’m not just talking about things like not remembering where the car keys are.  I’m talking about serious memories of events, happenings, conversations, experiences.

I had a head injury a couple of years ago and then was diagnosed with Post Concussion Syndrome.  I also have Bipolar Disorder II and am on numerous medications.  I am pretty sure that the head injury caused my memories of that specific time in my life to disappear, but I don’t think it still causes me to have difficulty with my memory.  Instead, I think it’s either the Bipolar or a combination of the Bipolar and medications.

I probably have one of the most detailed calendars and journals of anybody you would ever meet.  I put every detail of my life in one or both places just so I don’t forget.  The calendar helps me remember where and when I am supposed to do things, and the journal is almost like reading a somewhat familiar book when I go back to look at the past, especially when someone in my life reminds me of something that I have forgotten.

It’s almost like my brain has a limited storage space like a computer, and when new information gets added, older things get erased.  I hate it so much.  I hate when someone will talk to me about a shared event or experience, and I have to say, “I don’t remember.”  I’m afraid it makes the other person feel like they aren’t important enough for me to remember when that is definitely not the case. 

Here’s an example:

My daughter is my very best friend, and we tell each other almost everything.  She has, by now, gotten used to my memory problems, but it still makes me feel like shit when she tells me something that I have forgotten.  She was talking to me about her friend being in a car crash and the airbags deploying.  My daughter said she remembered how that felt.  I asked her how she would know what deploying airbags feel like, and she reminded me that she had been in a car crash only two years ago.  Even when she reminded me I could only summon a vague memory of the time.  It was only two years ago, and it was a BIG DEAL.  How could I forget something like this?  And why?

So to all my family and friends who I have forgotten (I have no clue) to tell…I’m sorry when I forget things we did or conversations we had or events that were important to you.  I don’t ever want to do that, but the wires in my brain must be crossed somehow.  You are important.  The memories we share(d) are important.  I just can’t always access them.  So thank you for understanding and for not losing your patience when I ask you to tell me about things again.  I ask because these things matter to me, you matter to me, and I wish I could help us all to understand why I can’t remember.

The Search Is On

The Search Is On

My psychiatrist (who is actually a nurse practitioner) has been making me feel a little crazy and a lot dismissed.  She’s good  with med management but bad with her people skills.  She has even called my anxiety/panic attacks “temper tantrums” like I’m a 3 year old who can control them.  I am not happy with the way she is treating me, like I am wasting her time and should be grateful to get to see her.

Another reason that I am veering away from her is that my SSDI review will be up next June.  I already have extreme anxiety about it.  So what does she do?  She tells me that I will feel better if I get a job.  Hello?  Does she even know me?  I have to take Xanax just to walk out of the house.  There’s no way I can hold a job.  Luckily my therapist strongly agrees.  But I don’t know if the SSDI people will put as much weight into a nurse practitioner as they will an actual pdoc.

So I have begun the quest to find a new doctor.  It’s a real pain in the ass.  Finding doctors, going in to meet with them for that first appointment, seeing if you mesh well.  It’s expensive and can be a big waste of time.  I hate it, but I feel that it is necessary.

I went to an intake yesterday for a doctor.  It was long.  Turns out this practice does “telemedicine.”  That means I will see the doctor on their TV screen, and he will see me, but not in person.  Not sure how I feel about this, but I will give it a try.  They seem to be very responsive to any needs, so that is a big plus.  I also have an appointment with a different doctor tomorrow.

One of my big things is that they don’t start fucking with my meds.  I’m relatively stable now so I’m open to tweaking things a bit but not any big changes.  The one medicine I think will be a problem will be my Xanax.  Docs just don’t like prescribing it, and I really need it to function.

I wish these new docs could just read my whole history file and understand what my problems are without me having to explain every single thing.  It’s so tedious.  But if that’s what it takes.  I’m willing to do it to find a good provider.

So wish me luck on my quest.  I’m still seeing my old pdoc…the nurse practitioner until I am sure that I have found a new doc that I can build a relationship with.  So here I go…off to the great unknown.

Broken

Broken

Everything about me is broken right now.  Relationships especially.  I even feel like I’m walking on broken glass.  Everything hurts.  How can one conversation take me from feeling in a sort of up cycle down to a broken, dark pit?  Probably because that argument happened with the one person I counted on to always be there and not be hateful and spiteful and just plain mean.

I’m no saint.  I played a part in it, too.  We probably both feel that we are in the right and justified.  Right now I don’t care about that.  I care about my angel face.  I must have hurt her for her to lash out so badly.  I didn’t mean to.  I was just trying to get a point across.

And then she decides to take away something that affects my budget even though my budget is so tight that any little deviance can throw it off.  All because of her thinking that she is doing me a “favor”, and I feel like I’m getting thrown a very cheap bone for services rendered.  Let her do it herself.  It used to make me proud and happy to make her life easier, but now she can do it for herself.  Maybe now she will see what it’s like, but she will never do it as good as I have.

Is she still there for me?  I don’t know.  The morning phone calls, the long talks about everything and nothing.  For all I know those are gone, too.  That is something else that is broken.  Something I looked forward to every day.

Just a dark day with no sign of reparation.  That’s what has me broken and hurt.  I need to take some drugs to go to sleep and try to sleep away this pain of yet another thing that is broken…my heart.  I truly feel like my heart is broken.  It’s a day of breaks, and this is the hardest one.  Will this ever be repaired?  Can you mend a broken heart?  Can I climb back out of this broken pit?  All I see is despair with nothing to look forward to. 

I really wanted to write a happy blog, but I guess I waited a little long to do it.  This will have to be it for now.

The Return

The Return

So it feels like it’s coming on again.  It’s been a little while since the cloud has descended on my world.  I was slightly up, better than I had been in a while, and today I have noticed a definite decline.  I didn’t even get a chance to enjoy the sunshine while it was there.  I kept waiting for the other shoe to fall, and it looks like it’s going to drop on my head.

Even though I know it will come around again, I always wonder why or when.  I know the easy answer is that I have bipolar.  But I am pretty stable on my medication so it just confounds me that it can come around again so quickly.  It’s so damn frustrating no matter how many times I go through it.  I guess I should be glad that it’s just at the frustration stage and not at despair.

I reached out today to my family and friends, but most were not available.  Luckily my best friend has been around most of the day to help me talk through what is going on.  She’s listened to me more times than I can count, and I don’t know how or why she doesn’t get sick of hearing about it, but she never does.

Gray.  I guess that’s the word.  Not yet black, just a fuzzy gray.  Like a rain cloud blocking out my hazy sun.  I want that sun.  I’m fighting for that sun.  At least I’m trying to.  And I know one of these days I will find it again, and I hope it is brighter and as sunny as the summer.  I need it.  I deserve it.  And I have to believe that it will come again.  I have to believe that to get through the fog.