To keep it short, I’ve been ultra-rapid cycling. I’m not sleeping at night, I’m miserable in so many different ways, and I’m not really capable of handling…well, life. I dropped out of school. I started a new med called Topamax, which is supposed to help with rapid cycling, among other things. Fingers crossed.
On to the advice I need: I’m looking for a new therapist, which is quite the feat in the area in which I live. Before I call anyone, I’d like the opinion of others that have had more experience with therapy than I have. What is your experience with psychotherapy and/or CBT? If you’ve experienced both, which do your prefer and why?
I would really appreciate some insight so I can avoid shopping around for a therapist (as much as possible). Thanks in advance!
I fail at blogging. It has been way too damn long since I have posted anything substantial. My excuse is the same that it’s been in the last posts, so I don’t see the need to give it again. Just know that I have been thinking daily about posting something, but my brain has been void of any ideas. My husband has some time off work coming up, so my hope is that my “relationship advice” post will be up within the week.
Contrary to what my lack of posting says, this blog means a lot to me. It’s like my small little “YOPP!” to the world.
Those of us that live with mental illness, in one way or another, become accustomed to it. There’s no question in our minds that mental illness is an illness like any other. It’s just as unwanted, debilitating, and unprovoked, and requires medical care as many other diseases. However, stepping outside the circle of people you’ve surrounded yourself with that “get it” (as best as they can) can result in a giant slap across the face. This happened to me yesterday, while reading some very praised and very offensive material on the internet. It’s just a reminder that I’m not fighting a fought war. The hurtful ignorance surrounding mental illness is huge. Things that sound immensely fucked up to me sound like great advice or wisdom to others. I want to be apart of changing that, in any way that I can. I believe I can do something. It’s hard to not to feel small and insignificant in such an uphill battle. But I refuse to let that get to me; I’m only 21. I have so much life ahead of me to step out, speak up, share my story, and make people listen.
Obviously, five voices together are louder than one. And 50 is even louder. And 200. And 10,000. If you feel led in any way to speak out, do it. Don’t wait until it’s easier or more comfortable; it’s not going to happen. When I first opened up about having bipolar disorder, it was really awkward and uncomfortable for me. I had to force myself out my comfort zone in order to eventually become comfortable with it. Even now, I still sometimes struggle with it, but I’m continually fighting that shame. I won’t let uninformed, ignorant, and offensive opinions and ideas dictate how I treat myself. My point being, it’s not always easy to take that first step into talking about it. In fact, it can be terrifying. But it’s so important. Awareness will savelives. So many people don’t get the help that they so desperately need because they are ashamed. Suicide is the 10th leading cause of death in the United States. It’s the third leading cause of death in people ages 15-24. More than 90% of people who commit suicide suffer from mental illnesses and/or substance abuse. Untreated depression is the number one cause for suicide. I strongly believe that these numbers could drop significantly if we lived in a culture that treated mental illness like any other medical condition. Not as a weakness, an emotional issue, or something that can be cured by a change in thinking or self-help book. And I will spend my entire life fighting against those misconceptions. Millions of people in this country have been diagnosed with a mental illness, and even more love and care about people with mental illnesses. If everyone stepped out of their comfort zone and talked about it, we could change things.
Well, okay. I didn’t intend on saying any of that. This is why I love having a blog. I start writing a “sorry for sucking at blogging” post and it turns into a recruit message for stigma-stomping soldiers.
As I was rereading this, I realized that I said something that could be perceived as offensive, and is definitely incorrect. I was coming from my own perspective, and I inadvertently projected my experience on all people with a mental illness. Not cool at all; I sincerely apologize. I’m referring to my statement that those of us with a mental illness become accustomed to it, and that there is no question that it’s an illness like any other. That is not true, and in fact contradicts what I am saying and believe. There are many, many people suffering from depression or other mental illnesses that don’t understand what is wrong with them. That think they should be able to handle it on their own. That are so confused as to why they are suffering so greatly for seemingly no reason. It was completely inappropriate for me to say that. I really am sorry.
I think you get it. So I’m just going to jump right into this one. These are merely my opinions with some research of the opinions of professionals. If these opinions piss you off…well, I warned you in my very first blog post.
Depression =/= Having a bad day. Everyone wakes up on the wrong side of the bed. Who hasn’t woken up grumpy and annoyed and easily irritated by everything? I have days like that, just ask my husband. It’s fine, he has days like that, too. Compared to depression, it’s apples vs oranges. However, during times like these, a lot of people say, “I’m just feeling depressed today.” Um, no. No you aren’t. It’s so frustrating to hear someone who has no clue how dark, painful, and all-consuming depression is say that they are “depressed”. Actually, you are human. Welcome to life.
Depression =/= Unhappiness. Depression is not an emotion. Being unhappy is. They are not synonymous. They are not interchangeable. Check your vocabulary and switch some shit around in your mind, because it’s really not cool to belittle a disease into an emotion.
Depression =/= Disappointment.
Oh, you’re depressed because Halloween is over and you looooooove Halloween and you have to wait a whole year to celebrate again? No. Oh, It’s just so depressing that your favorite football team lost in the playoffs? No. Things that suck are NOT depressing. Don’t throw around a term that represents deep pain, debilitating helplessness and hopelessness, ruined lives, and lost lives like it’s nothing. Finishing a book series you loved is not depressing. You might not mean it offensively, but it’s really insensitive. So stop it.
Depression =/= Going through something really rough (sort of). This is going to be very extensive as it is much more complicated than any other topic. I’m going to try to tread lightly with this one, because situational depression (also called “reactive depression” or “adjustment disorder”) is very real and can be a dark place. I don’t intend to invalidate that in any way. Treading lightly is not an innate skill I was blessed with, to say the least, so this is me genuinely trying to state my opinion gently because I don’t want to sound unempathetic (which apparently is not a word but I’m going to stick it to the red squiggly line and use it anyway). So, with that said…situational depression, while very similar to clinical depression, is not the same. I’m sorry if that right there offends anyone, truly I am. But that’s…well, I won’t say it’s a fact because I can’t say that. But it is my opinion and the opinion of many psychiatrists and specialists. Yes, I have read articles on this topic, rather than just basing it off of my personal opinion alone. Situational depression can be debilitating, I do understand this. But they aren’t exactly alike. It’s not apples to oranges, but it’s not apples to apples either (holy shit I understand the name of the game now, did everyone else already know this?). Perhaps it’s grapes to raisins. You can decide which is which. There are some glaring differences between the two, and I will tackle each of them. As I said, this is a topic I’ve read a lot about, so this is not just 100% my opinion.
Suicidal thoughts:
Of course, someone suffering from situational depression can have suicidal thoughts. But they are typically felt or expressed when focusing on or somehow facing the situation. These thoughts can still be scary and should always be taken seriously; no matter what reason you have, if you think you might act on any suicidal thoughts, call 911 or go to the ER immediately. With that said, in the case of situational depression, the severity of suicidal thoughts is much lower than with clinical depression. Another significant difference between suicidal ideation in situational depression and clinical depression is typically the thoughts going into them. With situational depression, you might feel hopeless about a situation you can’t change, that a loss is too big to live with, or that you can’t live with the new change in your life. Clinical depression is very different in this sense. It’s a nasty monster in your head. It takes your biggest insecurity and attacks it. It tells you you are worthless, that the people around you wish you weren’t in their life, that your loved ones would genuinely be better off without you. It eats at you constantly. This is why suicidal thoughts are commonly passing (and scary) thoughts for someone suffering from situational depression, while for someone with clinical depression, it’s a much different story. I don’t know many depression statistics, but I do know that up to 50% of people with bipolar disorder attempt suicide.
Cause and the emotions that creates: This one is much easier. Obviously, situational depression stems from a tragic, traumatic, or just straight up shitty event. Clinical depression stems from nothing, except your brain being an asshole. Situational depression is easier to look at, to face, and to handle in this sense. You know why you are depressed. If someone asked you what was up, you might say, “I’m just depressed,” but I’m sure that within five minutes of honest conversation you would spill out exactly what’s causing it. In the case of clinical depression, you’re just going through life, bebopping along, when BAM, depression pops up out of nowhere and punches you in the face. You’re knocked down and it doesn’t matter how badly you want to get up. Depression stands there with its foot on your head, looking down and taunting you, calling you terrible names and telling you awful things about yourself. With situational depression, you don’t want to do anything because you’re just too bloody depressed. With clinical depression, you want nothing more than to be able to do anything at all. Situational depression makes it extremely difficult to do the things you need to do; clinical depression can make it impossible. Which of course makes you feel even more like shit. It kills my pride as a mommy to have to have my mom come stay with me and take care of my kids and house. It absolutely kills me. But it wouldn’t be fair to my children if I didn’t accept the help that I so desperately need at times like that. The help that not all are blessed to have. Regardless, it straight up sucks.
Treatment:
No matter the reason, someone suffering from depression should speak to their doctor about it. The general rule is if it doesn’t let up in about two weeks, talk to your doctor. The typical treatments for situational depression are things like exercise, proper nutrition, sleep cycle regulation, and most commonly talk therapy. These things are also beneficial to someone suffering from clinical depression; however in most cases, medication is needed. For someone with bipolar disorder, it’s a million billion (roughly) times more complicated because our brains extra suck ass and antidepressants alone swing us way too far the other way. I’ve never met someone who was medicated for bipolar disorder and was only on one medication. I’m sure there are people on lithium alone, but I don’t know them. Even the people I know who are on lithium also take an antidepressant and/or an anti-anxiety medication. Point being, well, I don’t know. I guess I went a medication tangent. Sorry.
Length of feeling like shit time:
This is an easy one. Situational depression: Hang in there! Experts say that by six months at most, people suffering from situational depression should adjust to the new life circumstances and see that cloud finally lifting. Just be prepared that if you’ve suffered an episode of depression, there is a chance that depression will be an asshat and come back to visit the next time your life gets flipped upside down by an event, loss, or change. Clinical depression: Well, you hang in there, too! But who knows how the hell long you’ll be depressed, and when things start looking up, enjoy it because depression will come back at some point to bite you in the ass out of nowhere.
Well, I think that’s more than enough on that topic. Point is, situational depression and clinical depression both suck, but clinical depression is simply more severe.
Depression = Having the life sucked out of you.
This is a quote I saw on Facebook that is so incredibly accurate:
“Depression is such a cruel punishment. There are no fevers, no rashes, no blood tests to send people scurrying in concern. Just the slow erosion of self, as insidious as any cancer. And like cancer, it is essentially a solitary experience. A room in hell with only your name on the door.”
– Martha Manning, Undercurrents
I’ll leave you guys with that. Sorry I haven’t been posting very much. I am still struggling with depression but things are starting to look up a bit. But unfortunately life isn’t put on hold when I’m not capable of doing anything, so I am behind in many aspects of life right now. I’ll try to post more frequently, though. I always feel better after writing a post.
Also, I am attempting to pull together stories from friends, family, acquaintances, and strangers alike for a blog post. I want to have a post full of the stories of other people, and how mental illness has affected their life. So far I only have three stories. It can be about your own mental illness, or someone you love; parent, child, spouse, sibling, neighbor, it doesn’t matter. As long as you’re willing to be open and share your story. I can post it anonymously or with your first name (and preferably age) whichever you prefer. I can also link to your blog/website if you’d like. Email me your story at hopeisreal124@gmail.com
I don’t know if I should be blogging right now. I did not create this blog with the intention of using it like a diary. More than once I have clearly stated the intent behind this whole thing.
So I’ve been trying to keep it rather neutral. Here, watch this documentary so I can post something without actually saying anything! (really do watch the film, though, it’s pretty good)
I’m still on the fence about whether I should really record every intense emotional phase I enter, or even any of them. Should I be showing what it’s really like living with bipolar disorder? That the carpet can be pulled from underneath you at anytime, no matter how firmly your feet are planted on the ground? Or am I taking away from what this blog could be? I don’t want this to turn into every other blog, Kari’s woeful tales, with me endlessly droning on about misery and suffering and counting how many tears have plopped into my beer.
Fuck it.
I can’t get enough sleep. If I could, I would sleep all day and all night. Every second of every moment I am just so thoroughly exhausted, and I want to sleep though every thought in my head. I just want to turn off my brain, because it’s too much. It’s too mean. It’s a nasty virus physically destroying my entire self. I feel empty. Or disproportioned, like my limbs are hollow but my chest is full of lead. I want to curl up in my bed and not leave. I imagine being extremely destructive, like destroying a room or something, because in my mind it’s some sort of release. My body is constantly battling between a dull ache and numbness, and I feel very apathetic about almost every aspect in my life. Or I don’t, maybe, but the apathy is good cover for feeling everything way too much. Mostly, though, I just want to sleep. I’m just…tired.
Tomorrow will be better. I mean, I said that days ago, but I’ll keep saying it, because the second that hope slips through my fingers, I don’t know how far I’ll fall down. It’s just a bump. A hiccup. It’s normal; medication isn’t going to make me completely asymptomatic, right? So I’m just feeling down. And I’ll start lifting out of it at any second. Any second now….any moment….any time now…..
Unless I don’t.
I can’t go there. Hope hope hope. God damn that word. Hope. I want to kick it in its stupid ever-enduring smile and break its stupid teeth.
I’m sorry, is that not what I’m supposed to say? Hold on to hope, there is hope, hope is real. How many times have I said that in the short life that this blog has had? I am not denouncing that. I’m just….
Maybe I need a little mid-post disclaimer (I’ll put on my sanity cap for a second): I am not in a good mental state right now. I’m writing because it helps me, and I’ll justify posting it by telling myself that it will show the reality of the illness. But nothing I say in this blog post should be taken as worth anything at all, as it could potentially undo what I’ve done in previous post. Please see this as coming from an unstable mind. That is all this is.
Sanity cap off, that thing starts to hurt after wearing it for too long. Anyone with a mental illness knows exactly what I mean.
So anyway, back to hope. I cling to hope. I desperately claw at it, begging it not to leave me. And every once in a while, it crouches down next to me, smiles proudly, and pats me on the head as I am plucked out of the mud, or make a leap in therapy, or start a good medication, or make any sort of advancement in my recovery. But for the most part, hope is just this idea that’s too big to grasp, too far to see, too small to cling to. Yet I keep at it. I create it out of nothing. Am I even making any sense? Probably not.
For how much credit I give hope, hope only follows through on its promises on occasion. It’s all a fucking joke, I guess. I don’t know. I don’t know what I mean by that.
I think it’s time I leave hope alone. Hope did nothing wrong. Hope is receiving my misdirected anger, like a dog getting kicked because its owner had a bad day at work.
I think I need to switch my focus over to fear. Fear is what is destroying me right now. And the only reason that fear is destroying me, is because I am not allowing myself to admit what my fear is of.
I’m like a child covering my ears and closing my eyes.
I won’t even let myself think. I can’t. I can’t.
Right now. Just right now, like a band-aid. Just say it.
How bad is this going to get? What if it’s all the way to square one?
I have been avoiding that thought like the plague. For good reason, as I am now near crying, saying “no no no no no” in my head. Yes, I’m being serious. Don’t worry, seeing it typed out, it’s funny to me, too. Only in the “funny because it’s sad and pathetic and true” kind of way.
I don’t know if I can do this all over again. I don’t know if I can make it out alive again. It would be like if I climbed Mount Everest and was mere feet from the summit, and someone so easily and nonchalantly bumped me and I tumbled to the bottom. Now I’m looking up, and trying to convince myself to climb the entire fucking mountain again, still exhausted from the first time. I wouldn’t; no way in hell. I would say “close enough”, pack up my shit, and go the fuck home.
So right now, I don’t know how far down the mountain I am. I’m too scared to look.
Fuckin’ fear.
So I guess I’ll quit being a bastard to hope and give it another chance. What other option do I have?
So I decided that, instead of being all “I can’t write anything wah wah wah”, I’ll at least post something. It doesn’t HAVE to be substantial, right? As a forewarning, this is not going to be a “medication” or “psych ward” or “your story” or “my story” type of post. There isn’t going to be any advice or wisdom or insight. I just need to…type. And why keep a diary when I can just write on my blog instead? I mean, it’s already set up. I don’t have to fill out a captcha or anything. And the closest pen is…well, there’s probably one under the couch cushion I’m sitting on. Regardless, I’m blogging.
First of all, this blog site is so important to me. The response has been humbling. I want to educate people. I want people to know that someone with a serious mental illness, complete mental breakdown included, CAN come out of it alive. Not perfect, not 100% healthy 100% of the time, but alive, and happy to be so. I want people to share their stories from all perspectives. I want to hear and share stories from other people on their experiences, whether it’s a child, spouse, parent, or any other loved one. I hope to, with the help of readers with insight and the willingness to share, educate people on the realities of having a mental illness. I don’t really care about the number of people I reach. If I could have one person come read this blog and gain anything from it, it is all worth it. I say all of this because I don’t want this post to minimize any of that.
So. This blog post right here? This is me bitching. Feels good sometimes. These are just things that suck or bother me, or are just on my mind for one reason or the other.
Below you will find my bitching in numerical order:
1. Feeling pathetic. I feel this way quite often. I am very clingy and need my husband so much. He is always there when I really needhim, but he works a lot of hours to support our family. Which is beyond admirable and words cannot express how much he means to me. No matter what, his work takes a high priority because he is earning every dollar to support us all by himself. And I am so grateful for that. So you’d think that when we’re really, really broke I should jump for joy if they call him in. But whenever he accepts overtime, my heart completely sinks. I shouldn’t feel that way. Logically, I know it. I should be thrilled at the chance for more money, especially when we need it, but no….instead I feel painfully sad that he’s leaving on a day he was supposed to have off and spend with us. It’s almost embarrassing to admit, because I know logically it’s what it best. But logic and emotions, especially in those with a mental illness, don’t go together very well.
2. Feeling overwhelmed. I get overwhelmed by the simplest things. I have to change my daughter’s diaper?? Aggghhh. Fine, I feel too guilty putting it off so I’ll just do it. And guess what? Changing a diaper is not even kind of a big deal. But the stress and anxiety of it builds up beforehand regardless of how often I remind myself of that. In the mornings, I lay awake in bed mustering up the energy to get up and start the day. And no, it’s not because I’m just tired. I’ll start to clean the kitchen and half way through, I have to stop and come back to it later. Yeah, dishes make me feel overwhelmed. A one page, simple essay in school stresses me out way more than it should. Sometimes I don’t eat all day because the thought of making myself food it just too much. Of course, I’ll make Laney dinner because I could never ever ever let her go hungry. But even that is overwhelming to me, even if it’s just Kraft Mac and Cheese, or frozen chicken nuggets. Making the most simple dinners in the world overwhelms me. I also have no patience for crying. Well, to give myself credit, I have gotten a lot better in that sense. When the kids were living with my mom and only came over when my husband was off work, any little screech or fuss would skyrocket my anxiety, and I would have to step away. At least now I can handle it to some degree before I have to start my “square breathing” mindfulness practice (DBT anyone?). Getting ready to leave the house, such as getting dressed, brushing my hair, and putting make up on (half-assed of course) is so overwhelming. My husband gets annoyed when I am sitting on the couch when I should be getting ready, but I don’t say anything because I don’t want to seem like I’m blaming everything on my disorder. I’m usually (key word: usually) okay with leaving the house, but getting ready is so daunting, though it only takes me about 15 minutes.
3. Social anxiety. I sometimes feel anxiety out of nowhere, for no reason, and it is definitely no fun. But social anxiety? I should have included this in my medication post, but I was on Klonopin for quite a while. Before that, I was too anxious to go anywhere alone, drive on the freeway, make phone calls, and numerous other things. I swore I would never get off the Klonopin; I felt like it was the only medication that actually made a difference. I drove on the freeway. I made phone calls like it was nothing. I went to groups and church all alone with no issue. But one evening, I was at a friend’s house and realized I hadn’t taken any of my Klonopin. I drove home with my friend to take them, but as I pulled into my street, my tremors were unbearable. I couldn’t drive. I kept hitting the gas pedal and slamming on the brakes accidentally. If that had happened any earlier, I would have swapped with my friend for driver, or smashed into a car. But since I was so close, I just coasted into my driveway. I took my Klonopin immediately, but it took so long to kick in that my tremors were still getting worse. I genuinely looked like I had Parkinson’s. So later that night, I got talked into going to the hospital and they just gave me a shit ton of Klonopin and kept me until the tremors slowed down to twitches. After that, I realized how addicted my body was to the medication, and I didn’t like it. I decided to go off the med (with approval from my psychiatrist) and it took me 8 weeks to get off 4mg daily of Klonopin (yes I know that it is a lot…). Now that I am off of it, I feel less like a zombie and more like a human. Unfortunately, a lot of my anxiety has returned. No panic attacks yet, knock on wood, but the anxiety definitely affects my life. It’s just not worth taking that crap any longer (if you are on it and it is amazing and you love it, please don’t be offended, this is just my experience and opinion). So that has been really hard; coming to terms with the fact that I have severe social anxiety. At church, when he says “shake hands with someone you don’t know”, I immediately look as busy as possible, feeling dizzy and slightly nauseated at the idea of talking with someone I don’t know. I really could go on and on about my struggles with social anxiety, because it’s a total motherfucker, but I’ll move on regardless.
4. Self-harm. This is something that came up in my teenage years, and due to immense amounts of shame, I have kept to myself in my adult life. But I need to emphasize the word adult in my head, because it’s time for me to not worry about that now. Besides, if I am fighting against shame I need to completely raw and real here, and this is a huge battle in my life. Telling me to stop is like telling someone with anorexia to just eat. When I was at Timberline Knolls(<–link to their site) the super amazing residential treatment center that I’ve mentioned, a resident told us that her psychiatrist told her, “If cutting worked, everyone would do it!” Really? I mean, really? I just don’t even have words for that stupidity. Anyway, this has been a ten-year battle for me, and I have made a lot of progress. I have gone quite awhile without relapsing, which of course is so fucking frustrating because all of those weeks mean nothing, right? Wrong. They mean a whole hell of a lot. It’s really, really hard to remind myself of that though. My husband has set up a bank account that he puts $30 in every paycheck if I have gone without self harming, and when I’ve saved up enough, I can get a tattoo. My first reaction (in my head, not aloud) was “Oh cool, I get a gold star.” But, after two seconds of being a dick, I realized that it means a lot to me that my husband cares enough to come up with a plan to help keep me “clean”. Plus I’m planning a fucking awesome tattoo.
5. No, I’m not depressed or manic right now, but I am something. Am I the only person that experiences “moods” that are not depressed, manic, mixed, or any other title they have for people with bipolar disorder? I know it’s not “normal”. It’s sort of indescribable. Like I want to create beauty and destruction, and they could even be the same thing. If that makes absolutely no fucking sense to you whatsoever, you probably don’t have a mental illness. I’d be willing to bet that those who do, even if they don’t fully understand or relate to that, can at least relate to the indescribable feeling I’m talking about. Bipolar disorder (as well as….I’d venture to say ALL mental illnesses) is so much more complex than people understand. I’m very “in my head” at times like this. I just…I wish I could put it to words. I really do.
6. If you know I’m depressed, don’t ask me how I’m feeling. I have to clarify this; if you’ve known that I have been depressed and you’re asking as in “are you feeling any less/worse depressed?” that’s totally acceptable and appreciated, even if it’s awkward to answer. If you know that I’m depressed, and you come over to be with me, and you nonchalantly ask “how’ve you been?” or “what’s up with you?” I….just….please don’t do that, people.
7. Pity parties. This is short one. It’s okay to have a pity party sometimes, in my opinion. As long as you can snap out of it. I am having a pity party tonight. I have had some bad shit happen to me, including the chemicals in my brain being imbalanced or a bipolar chip inserted into it (can’t decide which) and it just fucking sucks. It sucks. I didn’t do anything wrong. Well, I mean, I’ve done a LOT wrong. But I’ve never clubbed baby seals or murdered anyone. And I’m not trying to say an eye for an eye is how it should work. It’s just….why? Why? Why why why why?? < pity party
k I’m done for real this time. I’ll post again when I can figure my shit out and get it back in some sort of fucked up order that seemed to be working for me before.
I will irrelevantly leave you with the song that I have been playing on repeat today. If you read this while listening to that, it will almost be like you’re inside my head. So I strongly recommend not doing that.
I can’t even find the energy to proofread this. Enjoy all those speling and grammer issues.
(see what I did there?)
Oh medication. The deepest love/hate relationship known to mankind; well, at least for those of us who need it to survive day in and day out. In my experience, finding the right medication has been one of the biggest struggles in this whole fucked up game. This one makes me less depressed, but I also gained around 7,000 lbs in the first three weeks of starting it. This one lessens my anxiety, but there isn’t enough coffee in the world to keep me awake for longer than two hours at a time while on it. This one and this one and this one don’t work at all. I can’t tell you if this one works because I can’t even remember how to spell my own name. Then, to make it even more fun, a lot of us need more than just one drug. So not only does it have to work, but the other ones have to work too, and they all have to work together. The process of getting on the right medication is beyond frustrating and time consuming. Have you ever had a surgery or had something happen that caused you a great deal of physical pain? The doctor prescribed you Vicodin or the like and sent you on your way. You took it, and the pain was gone or manageable, right? So you’d think it would be that simple. Personally, I’m on Seroquel, Lamictal, and Parnate. Works for me, so if you have bipolar II with nearly identical symptoms, it should work for you, too, right? Wrong. Why? Well…they don’t really know.
So we get to be our own guinea pigs. Take this, if you feel/see/notice this, stop taking it. And then something goes wrong, always (unless you’re lucky and the first med you try works. If so, I hate you….but not really), and you have to start over again. And again. And again. When you’re suffering, the hope and then let down of medications that don’t work can be devastating. But hang in there. It’s a painstaking process but eventually you’ll get on the right medication(s) and things will start looking up. Life won’t be sunshine and rainbows, but it isn’t for anybody. It isn’t a cure-all, but it’s a vital part of recovery. You will also have to come to terms with the fact that medications come with side effects, and you’ll have to weigh those for yourself. Currently, with the meds I’m on, I’m very spacey. I can say and do some very stupid things, and forget important details or no-brainer information. I’m also on an MAOI, so I have very strict diet restrictions and have had to learn about and try a lot of different foods. But when I put those things on my figurative scale, next to “barely functional”, I’ll take the crappy side effects any day. But some side effects can be close to unbearable, and you and your psychiatrist have to make that decision. It sucks to find something that seems to work and have to just throw it out the window, but no one ever said it would be easy to get stable on meds.
And just in case I didn’t make the point clear enough that medication SUCKS, here’s another kicker: they can stop working. Yep. You can find a great med, or cocktail of meds, and be stable, doing great, living life, when BAM, your meds stop working and you have to start all over. Yes, it’s perfectly okay to stomp your foot and yell, “IT’S NOT FAIR!”, because it isn’t. But once you’ve finished your temper tantrum, get back on that horse, because a healthy, stable life is worth living.
While I’m on the topic of medication, I’m just going to throw this out there for the loved ones of those suffering from a mental illness: it is completely normal for us to decide to go off our meds. This is NOT a green light to forego your medication, so if you haven’t already today, go take your damn meds! But I want those of you who are trying to gain an understanding of mental illness to know that almost all of us do it, no matter how stupid it may seem. There are many reasons why we justify going off of our meds; unpleasant side effects, feeling like we are “all better”, thinking we can cope without them (“I’m going the natural route”), and just plum not wanting to take a bunch of pills everyday. I know it has to be scary and so frustrating, but don’t lose heart if your loved one goes off of their meds. Trust me, they’ll realize the error of their ways at some point. I’ve gone off my meds twice now. Both times it was a terrible decision, and while I would love to not need my medication, I know now how desperately I do. Your loved one will figure that out, too. And if they don’t, there is nothing you can do. You can hope, pray, and plead that they decide to get back on them and fight for themselves, but beyond that, there isn’t much more you can do. Just please, please, please don’t give up on them. We need you. We need the people that love us so desperately, even though we can be pretty crappy at showing it. Remind yourself that it is an illness, and it controls our thoughts and judgements. And honestly, meds suck, if I haven’t made that clear enough. They really, really do. But most of us will realize that life sucks even more without them.
So if you’re struggling to find the right medication, fighting the desire to give up medication, watching a loved one struggle with these things, or even on meds that are working but have shitty side effects, just hold out. Cling to hope, cling to God, cling to whatever you cling to. And remember, you’re not pathetic for needing to take medication every day, you are strong for doing something about your illness. You are strong for fighting for yourself. You are strong for standing by your loved one with a mental illness, even though I’m sure at times it is almost as difficult as being sick yourself.
Keep fighting! You are worth it.
(As a little disclaimer about my “natural route” comment, if you are being supervised by a professional and on vitamins and other natural choices, and they work for you, awesome! No offense meant at all.)
Here’s a website that I’ve found helpful for reading about medications: Crazy Meds
My main goal for this blog right now is to share the stories of people that are suffering from mental illness in many different ways, and from many different angles. The following was written by my husband:
“When I was 18, my idea of marriage was living with my wife, struggling through school, freedom from those tyrannical parents, eventually having kids, and then someday retiring together and dying of old age. I knew my fiancé was recently diagnosed with bipolar II and I had a pretty good understanding of the science part of the disorder. What I didn’t understand or anticipate was the effect that it would have on our lives and the support that would be required from me to try and keep her stable.
My wife and I met when we were 18, quickly fell in love, moved in together, and tied the knot all within our first year of knowing each other. We met shortly after I turned 18 in January and by June my then girlfriend was overdosing on DXM because her psychiatrist prescribed her antidepressants to diagnose her with either major depressive disorder or bipolar. That was my first introduction to someone with a mental illness. That was my first experience with someone who I was intimately involved with having a mental illness. By September we were out living on our own in a sketchy part of the county, living out our days working, going to school and getting fucked up like most responsible 18 year olds. What I didn’t realize at the time that a lot of our drinking and using recreational substances was to help her smother her emotions, fears, and insecurities.
I would spend all this time talking to her and trying to understand the illness and her past, comforting her when she was depressed and keeping her satisfied when she was manic. I was an enabler for some time when it came to her self harm because I didn’t know how to prevent her from hurting herself, so I would let her do it when she felt the need to. I realize now and feel guilty that all I would have had to do was take her out and do something fun, or talk it out with her until she felt like she would make it through the urge.
We spent a lot of time during the next few months living our lives this way and by December we were married. Most people my age couldn’t understand why anyone our age would get married, and to be honest I wasn’t sure I knew why, other than that I loved her and she made me happy. I also didn’t know how much more responsible I became for her well being. I thought that I all I had to do was talk to her and help cheer her up and satisfy her urges. I quickly learned that trying to cheer her up made her feel worse. It made her feel guilty and like shit that I wasn’t able to help her. My wife would convince me to call out of work to spend time with her, or keep her company. We moved many, many times just because she wanted to live someplace new and I always gave in. What I learned was that I wasn’t helping her. I was allowing her to succumb to her urges and her manic tendencies, costing us so much money and unsettling our lives repeatedly.
By April of 2011 we found out that we were pregnant with our daughter, and I didn’t know what to think. I love kids, and I wanted kids, but at the same time I was scared. Marriage wasn’t all that it was cracked up to be at the time, and I felt that having a child cemented me into a marriage. It forced me to make it work no matter what. I’m not saying that I didn’t love my wife, I just felt so exhausted from worrying about her self harm, dealing with her depression, and trying to satisfy her random manic urges, along with a few very nasty fights we had had. Ultimately I can say that our daughter helped keep us together. There were many times that I thought about leaving, told myself I could, but always came back to the thought of my daughter, which then made me feel that no, I vowed to this woman, I love her, and I will make it work no matter what. At this point I learned how to start saying no to her more frequently when she was manic, and that when she was depressed, I just needed to be there for her in case she wanted to talk, and to let her know that I loved her and was here for her. All the while I worked 40 hours a week and took care of bills, while being a student.
I don’t mean to make my marriage sound like it was entirely my wife’s fault that we had issues. I had some very serious screw ups, and hurt her very badly multiple times and have caused some long term trust issues between us. One thing that we have always struggled with was our personalities in a fight. She can be very combative and mean in a fight, while I tend to stonewall or make snarky comments that are rude and intended to strike low. She has called me some very terrible things, especially when she was pregnant with our son and her she was not being medicated (but that’s a whole other story that she will talk about later). Some of her temper is from her bipolar and she used to blame me for everything bad in our relationship because she genuinely felt that I was trying to hurt her and make her feel like shit.
At first I believed that all of these things were my fault, it took until my wife told me that she didn’t mean everything she said that I believed everything wasn’t my fault. These days were some of the worst days in our marriage, and after our son was born in February of 2013 my wife’s bipolar went from being depressed most of the time with very little mania to rapid cycling, mixed states insanity. I could tell the night after my son was born that my wife didn’t have the same connection to him that she did to our daughter, and by the time that we were leaving the hospital and she was having a panic attack about me leaving to go get the car to pick her up at the front, I knew something was wrong.
Progressively things got worse, my wife stopped being my wife, she wasn’t the woman I married, or so I thought. My understanding of her disorder grew during this time. I took my wife to the psych ward at our local hospital; I put her on a plane to Timberline Knolls, a residential female treatment center close to 2000 miles away from our kids and myself. I would call home as I was driving home from work and when she didn’t answer either her cell or house phone, I would panic, thinking I would come home to find her dead in our bed, or unconscious from blood loss. I was in crisis mode, just trying to make it through day in and day out, trying to keep our family together. I began to understand that the woman I came home too, was only half my wife; she was buried under this crippling pain, crying out for help.
My wife began a stable medication cocktail, and seeing her counselors frequently, and we began to notice improvements. Our children were not living with us for 6 months and they finally came home, my wife started college again, and while she has been stressed and overwhelmed she is back to herself. She is my wife again.
I don’t have this entire thing figured out, but I have learned quite a bit. Mental illness is just as much a disease as cancer; it is just as debilitating as a broken leg. Patience is key, with patience comes understanding of your partner’s disorder. Everyone will mess up from time to time and get frustrated or angry but the important thing is to apologize and remember that it isn’t your partner’s fault, it’s their illness. Sometimes your partner doesn’t need to be encouraged, they feel like shit and when you try to do nice things, they feel guilty for not just feeling better, so instead just lay with them, rub their back or their feet and just be there when they need you. Mental illness hurts everyone but remember that whatever you are feeling, your partner feels it ten times worse.”
Josh, 21
If you have any questions or comments for my husband, just leave them below and I will definitely pass them on. If you are interested in sharing your story or experience (it can be as long or as short as you would like), please email me at hopeisreal124@gmail.com
Being diagnosed with a mental illness is scary. Even if you already knew that something wasn’t right, it’s still hard to hear it from a professional.
I first saw a psychiatric ARNP (nurse practitioner; able to prescribe medication) when I was 15. The experience was moderately ridiculous; she didn’t bring up any of the issues that I was suffering from. And if she wasn’t going to, I sure as hell wasn’t going to either. I was 15 and angsty, and had no desire to be there. We talked about school and jobs and future school and future jobs. I was clearly depressed and it went nearly ignored. So I “got better” (AKA, said the right things to make her feel that therapy was no longer necessary) and got the hell out of there. Needless to say, I did not “get better”.
At 18, I fell into a pretty deep depression. I looked for other psychiatric options, but I live in a small area with few resources, so I found myself back in her office. This time, I actually cared about feeling better. I fought for myself. After about a week of discussing my experiences, she told me that I might have bipolar disorder. She said that she didn’t know for sure, but there was a simple way to find out. If she started me on Prozac, and I felt better, I had major depressive disorder. If it sent me into a manic phase, I had bipolar disorder. I went along with it, despite thinking it was strange. Looking back now, the fact that I was perfectly explaining bouts of depression and mania, without any understanding of bipolar disorder, should have been enough. Regardless, I started the Prozac.
About a week after starting the Prozac, I became manic. I wasn’t aware of this for two reasons: she never told me what to look out for, and mania is hard to notice in yourself. I still have a hard time realizing that I’m manic. My husband usually points it out to me, and I get very defensive, until about two days later when I realize that he was right. Anyway, I was experiencing a manic phase and had no idea. I became very reckless and landed myself in the hospital for taking way too much cough syrup. And no, I did not just have a really bad cold. If you are a parent, and unaware of recreational use of cough syrup, or DXM, read this.
So I was slapped with a new shiny diagnoses and given a goody bag including mood stabilizers and anti-psychotics.
My experience with being diagnosed was very mild compared to other people I know, or stories I have read. Some people suffer for years without knowing the cause or being properly treated. Others are completely misdiagnosed and mistreated. Mental illness is a tricky game; there is no blood test, scan, or screening that shows what illness a person is suffering from and how to effectively treat it. This leads to struggles, suffering, and heartache in the early stages of treatment for mental illness.
Whether battling for years to be correctly diagnosed or given the correct diagnoses after the first psychiatrist visit, there is a lot of emotion following the discovery of a mental illness. Anger, shame, denial, confusion, and even a sense of relief are all completely normal emotions. You’ve just been told that you have a chronic illness (in most cases) and will need some form of treatment for the rest of your life. It’s a lot to take in and hard to accept. But there can be a feeling of comfort as well; finally knowing what is wrong and being on the path to effectively treating it.
If you or a loved one has been recently diagnosed with a mental illness, I want you to know first and foremost that you are not alone, and that you have nothing to be ashamed of. It is an illness like any other, and with proper medication and/or talk therapy, there is hope.
Here are a few of many resources that you might find helpful:
I feel like I need to preface this entire blog with a disclaimer: I am probably going to piss you off at some point. Why? Because I’m a bit of a clash of lifestyles. I swear like a sailor, I smoke too many cigarettes, a “date night” with my husband always includes a bar, and I love Jesus.
I have never liked the idea of living a double life; drink on Saturday, go to church on Sunday. Not my thing. So I am just me, the real me, 100% of the time. Perhaps God will convict me on my coarse language and whatnot, but right now (and in my entire measly four month relationship with God) He has bigger things He is working on in me. So if you’re offended by swearing, or if you’re offended by Jesus, I put up this disclaimer for you. I hope that you’ll stick around, because what I have to say is important.
I want to talk about pain, and I want to talk about hope. About depression, suicide, psychosis, anxiety, scary hospitals, medication hell, and so-bad-it’s-funny psychiatrists. And the feeling of standing on your own two feet again after believing it was never possible. I want to share the passion, compassion, humor, and desperation I have. I want to slash through stigmas, annihilate false ideas, and kick the shit out of ignorance. I want to share my story, and I want to hear yours.
So I hope and pray that you can overlook whatever it is about me that may be unpleasant to you. The fact of the matter is, I’m going to swear, I’m going to talk about some terrible things, and I’m going to talk about Jesus. That’s probably going to offend or annoy many types of people. But I don’t care if you like me. I care if you listen.
Don't Tell Me To Cheer Up 