A Peach and A Catalyst

This one was inspired by Colonial Punk’s Post.

Stress.

A one syllable word that is so commonplace in everyone’s life. When am I not stressed? I can’t answer that. It really is always something.

It’s more about how stressors are processed that produces the effects and thus, the consequences. I’m probably not a prime example of how stress is interpreted. I have been known to buckle under the weight. I am guilty of allowing my situations to become critical.

How stress manifests for me is a complicated thing. It depends on the particular stressor and the source that it is coming from. In addition, it depends on my particular mood, the emotion, and the intensity of emotion that the stressor produces at the time.
I’ve been running a little high lately. I’m out of the hypomanic episode, thanks to a virus or something. But, if I had to describe the state I’m in right now, I’d call it a 6 or 7 on the mood scale with panic attacks. (In all fairness, this started before the abnormally high stress). Honestly, I’m used to running at about a 4.

I mentioned in Just Got Served, But It Wasn’t Dinner that C.S. is being sued. That was Thursday. That comes with a whole host of problems for both him and me. We finally have the name of an attorney. Any further than that and I’m really not at liberty to publicly detail the rest. Legal problems are at least in the top 5 of my “Worst Things That Could Happen List”. (Medical is number 1. We’re getting there.)

My typically benevolent boss is coming down on me. I understand her concern. My boss has a difficult time delegating and the Winter Concert is in my hands. Her anxiety has to be off the charts. It would be absolutely embarrassing if this project flops.

The electric company has recently determined that we are financially ineligible for services. Now, we’re stuck with a budget amount of $430 a month. That’s up $200 from what we were paying on a “just making ends meet” budget.

T.D.’s Early Intervention services ended October 16th, when he turned three. This is complicated, so try to stay with me. He was supposed to have transitioned into school-aged services at this point, but it didn’t happen.

Adding fuel to the fire, C.S. isn’t sure if he wants to take this promotion on the cusp of some serious financial detriment and before the holidays.

I mentioned problems with T.D.’s pediatrician giving me some serious trouble in The Farris Wheel. I won’t go into the complete story, but I have a ton of things I have to face now with his health and development.

And I have this surgery looming.  My consult is finally scheduled in stone for October 28.  We’ll just have to wait and see.

Blah.

The reactions varied. When I saw the papers for the suit, I sprang into action. It was an insult. I was angry.

When my boss came at me, I flew. It shook the very foundation of my work experience. I’ve always considered work to be a safe zone. I became so anxious that I responded with annoyance, fear, and paranoia.

All of T.D.’s things are overwhelming. I’m treading into unknown territory and I’m not sure how to proceed. It froze me in fear to know that my child has something wrong. And I felt like the worst mother in the world.

I’ve never had a major surgery. There are a lot of unknowns. I’ve been dodging it because I don’t want to walk around blindly. Too many what if’s. How am I going to handle news that something bad has happened?

And as for the bills, what am I going to do? We can handle it, but we’re going to be on a tight budget. We might have to make some heavy sacrifices. I am upset. I can’t stand the idea of living in extreme poverty again. I am almost to the point of tantrums. I still need a couple new staple clothing items (white t-shirts), new contacts, and new glasses. When will these needs be satisfied, if at all? Rawr!

So, as you can see, stress produces a wide variety of responses. But, the end result varies. Either, I crumble into a depressive episode because of the feeling of helplessness and hopelessness. Or, I go manic and power through with serious ferocity. Or, I am frozen with anxiety, and if I approach the situation, I’m overcome and retreat.

Spin the wheel. It’s hard to tell what stress will trigger with bipolar disorder.

Take two, three or four pills and call back in the morning.

The Farris Wheel

Manic Monday recently wrote a post entitled Surgery Date that talked about nasty, unprofessional health care professionals. I spoke to her about their disgrace and the extreme agitation it caused.

I have been through the situation many times. I have a certain amount of animosity toward health care professionals as a result. I have been misdiagnosed. I have been diagnosed and not treated correctly, if at all. I have been treated as a hypochondriac and a liar. One clinic took the wrong course of action and made a condition worse. I had cruel nurses during my delivery and one that popped my hip out. I’ve had overzealous doctors want to pump me full of drugs when unnecessary. Others refused me much needed medications such as antibiotics until I developed a worse condition. And the worst of all was the incompetent doctor that botched my last surgery and left me on the table to fend for myself.

Worse, there are doctors that have mistreated my son. They’ve attempted to withhold antibiotics, and advised me against taking him to the hospital when he had a fever of 105F. But they are eager to pump him full of brand new, live vaccines, which have not been tested in the long term. I am almost convinced they are attempting to kill my child.

Dr. W., T.D.’s psychologist that diagnosed him with PDD-NOS on the ASD, was the worst of them all. At his diagnosis, she essentially handed me a stack of papers and sent me on my way. And still, she failed to include some crucial information.

T.D.’s pediatrician appointment did not start well. Dr. F. had a nasty demeanor. She started a physical exam when C.S. and I mentioned T.D. suffers from chronic diaper rash. She snapped, “Well, why is he still in a diaper.” I answered in a snotty tone, “Because he has Autism Spectrum Disorder.”.

“Oh.”

Yeah, oh. Bitch.

She certainly changed her tone after than. Until, we got to the vaccinations. You see, we started vaccinations until T.D. was a little over a year old. That is when my FIL (father-in-law) was diagnosed with stage 3 lymphoma. He started chemotherapy and it was recommended that T.D. stop the vaccines until my FIL was declared in remission. In that time, C.S. and I decided against them.

Don’t get me started on the vaccination debate. Suffice it to say, I’m not going to change my mind. But, I got those looks like I’m a terrible mother for signing that waiver.

Worse, they uncovered an ear infection in both of his ears. T.D. showed no symptoms and didn’t complain of pain. How was I supposed to know? He’s still largely non-verbal!

She treated me like a terrible parent all around and T.D. like he was retarded. I got crap for him not seeing a dentist. WTF?! Most dentists won’t see patients younger than 3. On top of that he has special needs!!! Do you think he’s going to sit still for an oral exam when I can’t get him to sit for a haircut? I don’t think so.

And here’s the cherry on top of the sundae. His BMI is high. So now, we all have to keep a constant and detailed food journal. Yeah, as if I’m going to be able to get all of his sitters on board with this. But, it has to be. I’m sure the next step is a dietitian and CYF at this point.

And at the end of our visit, she made it pretty clear that she doesn’t believe the diagnosis. Excuse me, are you a child psychologist? NO!. Don’t make judgments you aren’t qualified to make!

I do feel like a failure of a mother. Even when I know a doctor is trying to guilt trip me and fear monger me into doing things her way. I know my son better than any doctor could hope to.

At the very least, I’m pointed in the right direction as to where to get the referral for services. And unlike other pediatricians, she was not hesitant to prescribe medicine. Those are her only redeeming qualities.

I still absolutely detest that woman. I am rescheduling his appointment with another doctor. I never want to see her again.

Just another reason on the pile as to why I despise medical professionals.

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Antidepressants – Which Witch

“Can you turn the light off?”.

I touched the brushed metal lamp, and the dim light flickered off. There was a quick glance at the alarm clock – 12:38PM in glowing red numbers. Only a computer monitor playing Netflix illuminated the room. I was like a moth to a porch light in the summertime. It’s not the light you have to worry about. It’s just the attraction.

My eyes were fixed on the screen. I was entranced by the show, but it was just one screen in my mind’s eye. On another screen were stacks of paper and nameless faces of children. The tube next to it featured me, practicing endless monologues of the words no one will ever hear. Notebooks, pages flipping, with black cursive scrawled across each page. Blurry flashes of days, nights, people, and places past.

Yet, I was not compelled to do anything but sit idly and watch everything fly by at a speed that could’ve put a breeze through my hair.

This brain is entangled in itself while trapped in this useless body.

Another glance – 1:31. While my body was finally exhausted, my mind was still churning out the video feeds.

Finally, I let the screen go black. 2:14. And T.D.’s Developmental Therapist was scheduled for 9AM, which meant that I would have to be up at 8AM. Another less than 6 hour night. No dreams. Just darkness.

Why did I suddenly stop dreaming?

In A Mixed Bag, we determined that it was ultra-rapid cycling, probably brought on by a med change or an antidepressant.

I stumbled upon an article from psycheducation.org about controversies with antidepressant treatment with bipolar disorder. Here’s the problem. The depression and fatigue were crippling before. I couldn’t hold a job or take care of my life. Now, I am hit with rapid cycling every three months for about two weeks as opposed to four month of depression and one week of hypomania.

Which witch is the good witch and which witch is the bad witch?

A Mixed Bag?

I am terrified of myself right now.

When I first began As the Pendulum Swings, I had started off with a post called, “To See If I Still Feel” which described a similar episode with self-injurous behavior that I blogged about recently in “Confessions of the Pain of Payment”. Soon after my original blog post, I described an incident which I thought was a mixed episode in “Shifting Gears”.  It was the first time I had ever experienced both hypomanic symptoms and depressive symptoms at the same time.

Last night, I didn’t sleep more than five hours.  I had taken three and a half milligrams of Xanax and 30mg of Temazepam.  I should have been knocked flat on my back.

My brain was buzzing, ablaze with thought and compulsions.  There was a sensation of vibration all throughout my body.  I surveyed my kitchen and drearily thought, “My house is disgusting.  It’s an absolute nasty, repulsive, filthy hut.  I wish I could burn this place to the ground.”  But that wasn’t my compulsion.  I wanted more than anything to clean.

First, I showered and scrubbed myself raw with a luffah.  Shampoo ran through my fingers and foamed as I clawed my scalp, three or more times.  My quest continued in the kitchen.  The skin on my hands was raw, red, and peeling as I ripped through the dishes.  I meticulously wiped down every surface with Clorox.

It wasn’t enough.  I gathered every piece of paperwork that had been piled up on my counter and threw it in a box.  I set it atop a large laundry basket and hauled it up the stairs.  Everything in it’s right place, everything in it’s right place, my mind’s voice frantically whispered.

I sorted through two months worth of paperwork, cleared two desks and organized their drawers, and cleared, then rearranged my dresser.  It was immaculate.  It was also 3AM.  I didn’t want to stop.  I had so much more I wanted to do.  But I feared that I would be too tired in the morning to even think about getting up.

My eyes opened in a flash when the first alarm went off.  And I didn’t even consider hitting the snooze button seventeen times this morning.  I laid in bed for a few minutes and felt the dread and dismay of my life.  Everything was still wrong.  It was all wrong.  And now, I was falling behind in my own life.

So, I sprang to action.  T.D. had Occupational Therapy at 9am.  I was compelled to clean the house some more.  I went through emails and started getting back on the horse and back into my life.  I went to work and disciplined sassy fifth graders.  I entertained Kindergarteners with new games.  And I rekindled old friendships with my third grade group.

Not once did I yawn.

I suspected that what was happening to me now was what happened three months ago.  Opening my web brower, I began my investigation into what a mixed episode is really classified as.  The NIMH states:

Bipolar II is defined by a pattern of depressive episodes shifting back and forth with hypomanic episodes, but no full-blown manic or mixed episodes.

What?

Again, I verified it. DSM-IV Criteria for Bipolar II specifically states that “There has never been a Manic Episode or a Mixed Episode”.

How is this possible?  I have never had a full-blown Manic Episode.  I don’t think, anyway, at least not diagnostically so.  But, I know that I am having feelings of despair and hopelessness while having boundless energy, racing thoughts, and pressured speech.

Bipolar II, as described by Psycheduation.org, is very fitting.  I have more depressive episodes than anything.  My episodes don’t really last longer than a few months, if even that long.  The longest hypomanic episode I ever had was for two weeks.  They usually only last about a week and then are followed by crushing depression for a few weeks to a couple of months.

What the hell is this?  I feel like I’m losing touch with reality.  At the same time, I don’t even think I want to be in touch with reality anymore.  I don’t want to take my medicine and I’d rather give in to my impulses than keep fighting this constant, tedious, exhausting battle.  I want to stay up all night and do whatever I’m compelled to do.  I want to lay in the yard in the middle of the night in the rain.  I’m being hit with all of these illogical and sometimes sinister thoughts at light speed.

I’m going downstairs to try to continue the conversation I was having with C.S. at dinner.  He asked what I cut with because he had already thrown out all of the razors.  I’m crafty, what can I say?  I’ve contended with worse than him.  I didn’t want to answer, partly because I want to hold on to my little box of lies, and partly because I didn’t think it was appropriate dinner conversation.  I asked if he rememberred to buy band-aids.  He told me that he refused to buy me band-aids because he’d rather shame me into not doing this again. He told me that he’s taking a tough love approach.

Do you know what happened the last time someone took a tough love approach with me?  I suffered while I bided my time.  I waited until I had a reliable and self-sustaining source of income.  And I ran like hell while never looking back.

I’m up to like 919 words.  If you’re still with me, please, help me with some of your insight and personal experience.  At least insight into what I’m dealing with here with this seemingly mixed episode.

Debt of Explanation

What do I say now?

I’ve written and rewritten and edited this draft for the last three days.

It originally started out with a rationalization:

Lamictal and hormonal birth control don’t play nice. When I first started Lamictal, I would take the bc placebos for that week and start exhibiting symptoms of PMDD. My Pdoc recommended that my OB/Gyn consider putting me on a continuous cycle for three packs and then have the off week. And I’ve been doing that for almost 2 years.

I have that liberty to schedule when Aunt Dot comes to visit. Risking a complete mental break down every 63 days was better than having to do it every 21. In the last year, the last couple had been pretty mild. I thought I was in the clear.

I lost track and went 5 months this time.

What person with bipolar disorder wouldn’t want to be able to blame conditions that are within their control?  I was telling myself that Monday would come, I would be back on the BC and all would be right with the world.  In the meantime, I adjusted my dosages – with no effect.  I did that a couple of days ago thinking I could put a bandaid on the situation until there was a real fix, meaning I straightened my meds out and all of this moody woman bullshit was over with.

PMS was a word invented by men to explain women’s emotional behavior.  (No offense intended to my male readers).  My husband discovered my self-inflicted injuries today.  Actually, more like he discovered the band-aid that I’ve been hiding under layers of bracelets all week.  He said, “What’s that?”  I answered in a low voice, with T.D. on my lap, “Nothing.”  I won’t lie.  I’m sick and tired of cowering in fear for someone else’s approval.  I didn’t lie to him.  It means nothing to him, but it will stay with me for a long time.

He asked again, “What is it?” And once again I replied in a murmur, “It’s nothing.”

“Every time you get your f***ing period, you have to go and cut yourself!!!”

I don’t recall being afflicted with such in my very first post, “To See If I Still Feel”. And I can honestly say that was the very last time I engaged in self-injurous behavior.

I’m starting to suspect it isn’t completely me.

Originally, I wrote:

My marriage has been on the rocks lately. My kid is raising hell. I have the crushing weight of being solely responsible for T.D., anything domestic, and work. I am expected to have time for everything. I am also expected to take all kinds of crap from everyone when something goes wrong. That is, surprisingly, with the exception of my boss and co-workers.

I have dealt with be mistreated and disrespected in my home. I have endured vicious criticism and blame. I am overwhelmed and over burdened. And anytime I speak up, not only am I wrong, I am intentionally starting trouble. Suddenly, my condition becomes a reality because it’s convenient to blame me “being a bitch” on having bipolar disorder.

I am falling apart and it’s not even at the seams. It’s from consistent strain and wear on my fabric. And when someone I let close enough to me starts taking swipes… it’s enough. It’s more than enough to come undone.

I wrote to a dear friend that I used to be able to depend on C.S.  I described all of the wonderful things he had been to me.  But now, I feel like I’m being pushed off the ledge and then kicked in the face when I finally hit the bottom.

Each morning, when I awake, I have been telling my dearest friends here that I’m doing better.  And each afternoon, I’m doing worse than the day before.  After that comment, “Every time you get your f***ing period, you have to go and cut yourself!!!”, I’m about to give it up.  I was mistaken when I said to my dear friend that I wasn’t sure that he was even aware of what he was doing to me.

We don’t get to choose our family.  Sometimes, we can’t choose who we fall in love with.  But we always have the choice to make the decision to devote ourself to each other through marriage.  How could someone who chose me, who is supposed to love me, be causing me so much hurt?

Where I End and “It” Begins

There is great mystery and confusion that surrounds us when we try to differentiation symptoms and personality. James, who writes the award winning blog James Claims, inspired me to finally write a piece on this subject with his shout out. Which is which? Episodes surely have a profound affect on our cognition and behavior. Then, what about medication? Does medication give or take when we are defining traits and types in studying our own personality?

Have you ever taken the Myers-Briggs Type Indicator personality test? If not, take a moment to review the MBTI. It doesn’t matter if you’re having an episode. The results are very reliable on a test-retest reliability scale, regardless. Don’t worry, I’ll wait.

(Pause.)

Anyhow, this subject of personality and the MBTI spawned from a conversation with Brandon who writes The Daily Bipolar. I had mentioned the MBTI and how we can get a more stable idea of ourselves.

I started taking the MBTI in 2007. I have taken it every six months since then. Each time, I scored ENFJ (Extroverted, iNtuition, Feeling, Judging). That is, until the most recent retest. Suddenly, I scored Introverted, iNtuition, Feeling, Judging – INFJ. How could a person go from a well established extrovert to an introvert?

Before I was diagnosed, I was all over the place. When I was hypomanic, I was the life of all of the parties. I could throw down with the best of them. I was always prone to doing things that were strange, dangerous, and / or illegal. And having friends that would be in awe and amazement at my latest stunts only added fuel to thay fire.

But in those days, I didn’t isolate myself when in a depressive state. I really leaned on my friends. I had no other support system. If I lost my friends, I lost everything. In those days, friends would take 3AM crying phone calls. A boyfriend would dedicate his Friday night to talking me through a depressive compulsion, like self-harm, and not think of me differently. Before we were together, C.S. used to insist that I come to his apartment to stay for awhile.

I was already married with a baby when I was diagnosed. I have been in treatment for Bipolar Disorder II for two years. By treatment, I mean several different psychiatrists have shuffled pills at me, and I faithfully swallowed them. I went through a lot of life changes in that time, too. I settled into my domestic life and started a career path.

What’s different now?

Firstly, I am a mother and a wife. Week long benders and non-stop parties are out of the question. In fact, most of my social life crumbled. I have a strong dedication to my family. I will do anything to ensure their health, well-being, and happiness.

I had dedicated myself to school and am beginning my career. I have great enthusiasm for teaching and music. Many of the dreams and ideals that had been trampled in my past have begun to emerge once more. Arts, music, literature, philosophy, politics, and the pureness of real love were all resurrected.

My vast social network dissolved. And do you know what? I don’t really care. After all of it, I’d rather be alone. I much prefer using my time to enjoy family and intellectual pursuits. These activities would be art and literature mainly. That is opposed to wasting time investing in people who will never be a good friend.

Much of this wouldn’t have been possible for me without the medication. I have more control. Having the ability to regulate my emotions has enabled me to have a more solid marriage. It allows me to be the best possible mother I can be. Even on a bad day, I can still pull myself together and responsibly honor my obligations. My judgment is better and I’m more logical than ever.

I regained and retained all of the great things about myself with only a small fee. My short-term memory is shot. It wasn’t great to begin with, but Lamictal completely did it in. Unless I repeatedly write something down, like a name or a phone number, I will immediately forget it. And by getting the bipolar disorder under control, I unearthed a terrible underlying anxiety.

In my adult life, my attention has been focused inward. When I was officially diagnosed, I knew that I couldn’t escape it any longer. It is time to work on myself.

And my E changed to an I.

I’m Going to Die in the Walmart Parking Lot

This is installment one of “The 99 quirks of Lulu”.

I’m know these are not at BP related. Some of them are anxiety related. Others stem from life experiences. And the rest, well, I don’t know.

1. I can only wear found or gifted jewelry. If I wear jewelry that I bought for myself, it always either breaks or gets lost.
2. When sitting in a public place, I try to position myself so it would be difficult for a person to come up from behind me. We’s don’t want no surprises. No, seriously though. I’m pretty paranoid.
3. I can’t make eye contact when I’m telling a story. It’s not symptomatic of anything. I just can’t take in any visual information when I’m trying to give out verbal information.
4. I have to have a minimal amount of background noise when I’m working on something. The more tedious and repetitive the task is, the more sound I require.
5. I have serious claustrophobia. I hate elevators. I will walk six flights of stairs to avoid it (I’ve done it). I have nightmares about getting trapped in a tiny space. No matter how badly I want to get home, I’ll let a crowded bus pass to get on a later, less crowded one.
6. I am obsessed with office supplies. I cannot resist a sale. I hoard them.
7. I am so particular about my pens that I will only use specific brands, with gel ink, and only in 0.7 tip.
8. I have been wearing the same Capricorn pendant for 10 years. C.S. bought me a Taurus pendant at a craft sale 4 years ago and I haven’t taken it off since. I’m very superstitious about it. Every time I forgot to put it back on, something bad has happened. Last time was C.S.’s car accident.
9. I practice natal astrology. It can peg a person every time.
10. I put my hand in front of my mouth a lot. Ethology would call me a liar. But really, I’m just trying to hide.
11. I have a really difficult time lying. It produces an intolerable physical response, so I don’t do it unless I really have to protect myself.
12. I’ve bitten my bottom lip since I had teeth. I have pictures to prove it.
13. I am so particular about shoes that I only buy tennis shoes every three years. And that’s after they start taking on water. This is partially because my feet are abnormally wide, although they’re not very big. It takes a lot to find a comfortable, stylish shoe.
14. I honestly believe I’m going to die in some ridiculous, unbelievable accident or situation. I have this scenario about how I’m going to die in the Walmart parking lot. If you want to hear about it, ask in the comment section.
15. The numbers 1, 5, and 14 follow me everywhere. The bus number I’m on – 5157. I’m on a bus everyday that starts with 51. My birthday 1/14. My husband’s birthday 5/14. Just strange as hell. Coincidentally, no lie, this just happened to be 15!
16. I am a camel. I can hold it for hours on end. Longest held? 16 hours. I was 13, and stuck in a car with my parents on the way to Florida who refused to stop until we got there. By Virginia, everything below my waist was numb.
17. I have always had a problem regulating body functions. I can’t fall asleep, and then I can’t wake up. I am always thirsty, but I have difficulty knowing when I’m hungry. Sometimes, if I’m busy enough, I’ll forget to eat until I have hunger pains.
18. I have an incredible internal clock. I always know what time it is. Or maybe I’m just very observant of the position of the sun.
19. I yell at inanimate objects.
20. I can get a vibe from someone and know instantly if we’re incompatible. I don’t discriminate. I can be on the phone or over the internet and know. It is in the way a person addresses me.
21. I am the only person that does the dishes and folds the laundry. It has to be done in a certain way. My clothes have to be sorted by graphic tee’s, solid tees, and color. My jeans are assorted by thickness.
22. I have twilight blindness. I can’t see things correctly during that time of day.
23. I carry my person journal on my person at all times.  You never know when you’ll be inspired.  You also never know when someone wants to take a peek at your dirty little secrets.
24. I used to make wishes.  My wishes have always come true, but in a Twilight Zone kind of way.  There was always some kind of catch that ruined it all.  Remember the episode about the man who just wanted to be left alone to read his books?  And he got his wish, but then his glasses broke and he was all alone.  It’s a lot like that.  So I don’t anymore because I know there will be consequences.
25. I have a cat that wipes my tears away when I cry.  He paws my face without claws.
26. I think it’s ridiculous to give a kid a weird first name.  So, in case my kid want a weird name, I gave him a weird middle name.
27. I think the most random thoughts.  For instance, my husband and I were once talking about daily activities that burn calories.  I asked him, “How many calories do you think a seizure burns?”  Today, we were talking about how we were going to manage to find a girlfriend for another friend.  He’s kind of nerdy, so I said, “Maybe I should start telling these girls he has money?  Do you think that would help?  It worked for Bill Gates!  How much money does someone have to have before they stop being a nerd?”  Honestly, I want to know these things.
28. Flashing lights drive me nuts.  Imagine me verses a strobe light.  I have a message indicator that is driving me crazy on my voicemail right now.  But I just don’t feel like listening to it.
29. I have to sleep with my feet outside of the covers.  My feet are my temperature control.  If they’re too hot, then I’m too hot.
30. I am almost always barefoot when I can help it.  You see, my depth perception is terrible.  In order to not trip and fall all of the time, I use the sensations in my feet to guide me.
31. I count stairs.  I can tell you the amount of stairs that are on every stairwell that I encounter frequently.  13 in my house.  14 in my parent’s basement and 16 to the upstairs.  And 10 each going up each floor at work, with eight leading into the building.
32. Every clock I have that isn’t set to a satelight is set randomly ahead.  I don’t know the real time, so I have to assume that what I’m looking at is the real time.  This is how I trick myself into being early.
33. I am an organizational freak, not a neat freak.  Everything in it’s right place.  I want to know where I can find anything on a moments notice.
34. I am extremely scheduled.  I have to do things at certain times or else my day isn’t going to go right.
35. I am obsessed with the weather.  Especially during hurricane season.  It is absolutely fascinating.
36. I collect odd things from places I travel to.  In fact, I have sand from Myrtle Beach in a baby food jar with a little ceramic turtle with a little straw hat sitting on my desk.  I went to a theme park in California that was selling as many rocks as you could fit in a tiny bag with a drawstring.  I have a collection of decorative boxes from various places.
37. Old world maps tickle my fancy.  It’s amazing to see how differently people viewed the world in those days.
38. I believe in the power of hematite.  Hematite supposedly absorbs negative energy.  To clear the energy from the hematite, you bury it in the ground for several days to return it back to the earth.  I actually had a hematite ring shatter once.  I was going through a really bad time.
39. I cannot spill a drink without freaking out about it.
40. I hate the smell of raw onions.  It is intolerable.
41. Perfume is my best friend.  I have this fear that I smell bad.  So everything I use is scented.  Lotion, bodywash, shampoo, deodorant, body spray, perfume, anything you can name.
42. I don’t like wearing jeans.  I prefer skirts and what would be considered a house dress.  But, I live in Pennsylvania and we have two seasons here.  Winter and construction, also known as summer.  Jeans are required dress.
43. I cannot stand getting my face went unless I’m fully submerged.  That means, I hate any kind of precipitation, with the exception of a good summer downpour.  Now that’s a way to get wet!
44. I can’t stand when my husband uses my toothbrush or razor.  So I intentionally buy pink colored items so he doesn’t use them.  It’s not manly.
45. Everytime I dye my hair, I always have to do a trim.  So, I take a sample of the hair and I keep it in a ziplock with the date on it.  That way, I can always keep an assessment of my hair color at any period of time.
46. I like having certain imperfections.  My hair is cut choppy and asymmetrical with a weird part for a reason.  I love the scars that I didn’t inflict upon myself.  I have stretch marks all over my body for various reasons (growth spurts, pregnancy, etc).  I love when my dark blonde roots come in against my white blonde hair.  And I especially love my eyes.  They are each split in half in color.  One part is green-gold and the other part is blue grey.  Maybe people think I look like a mess, but I think I look real.
47. The noise of someone biting their nails is like nails on a chalkboard to me.  Ugh.
48. I can predict the weather based on previous injuries.  When my hips and knees hurt, a serious storm is coming.  I’ve never been wrong.

I imagine you have quirks too.  Maybe you identify with some of mine.  So tell me, what are yours?

Pillbox

After working through numerous scheduling conflicts, I finally had my visit with the psychiatrist today. And I finally had a chance to express to him everything that has been going on.

His first reaction was not what I had expected. Instead of generalized anxiety disorder or a medication reaction, my doctor seems to think I’ve had underlying panic disorder. He wanted to change my antidepressant to Effexor. I very kindly reminded him that my depression had caused significant weight gain in a short time. He changed his sights to Prozac. I stopped him there.

I didn’t think it was the antidepressant that was the problem. We just changed the dosage on my Wellbutrin and there was no change. None. Not better and not worse. But we haven’t moved anything around with my mood stabilizer or my anti-anxiety meds in six months or more. I told him that irritability was always the calling card of destabilization. And I’ve been a firecracker lately.

So I have some new things to add to my pillbox. Xanax, 1 mg 3 times daily, and temazepam 30 mg once daily. C.S. added a couple of nutraceutical add-ons to help.

My daily regimen looks as such:

Morning:
300mg Wellbutrin
1 capsule Cogni-flex
1 capsule Ubiquinol
1 capsule Adrenomend
1mg Xanax
100mg Lamictal

Afternoon:
1mg Xanax

Bedtime:
1mg Xanax
30mg Temazepam
150mg Lamictal
1 tablet Orthosept
1 capsule Quell
1 capsule L-glutithione
1 capsule Seditol

As needed:
2 puffs Ventolin
1 capsule Maxalt

Note: The nutraceuticals are not all aimed at mood support. I take some for heart support, weight management, and immune support. Some psychiatric medications lower white blood cell count and leave a person susceptible to infection.

I am also aware of the potentially dangerous interactions between several of these medications. Don’t worry. Dr. Husband (with some sarcasm) has vowed to look after me. Mainly, we’re concerned with too much sedation. Orthocept increrases Xanax and Xanax and Temazepam are both benzo’s. Temazepam isn’t forever – it’s temporarily treating the insomnia until we can get things under control$

If you see something I might have missed, let me know.

Meet Me in the Magnolia Tree

Firstly, I want to apologize to anyone who was alarmed by my absence. I always hate when I hurt people by my actions. I should have put a message out there first.

We’ve seen the trend. I have been suffering crippling depression and I’ve been dragging it around like a heavy weight with me. Every hour, of every day has been brutally agonizing. I have been trapped in my head, trying so hard to not let it bleed over into my life. I went as far as I could. And then I collapsed.

I wrote a rambling word document after days of crying episodes spilling everything that was wrong. It didn’t help.

I turned my phone off. I didn’t need anymore than I already had. If I was going to be alone, then I was really going to be totally alone. I went nearly catatonic. I didn’t speak much. I tried desperately to stay as horizontal as possible. I didn’t want to write. I didn’t want to do anything. I wanted to stare into space. I wanted the numbness to come. And it never did.

My phone was off for 5 days. And everyone was none the wiser. I discovered this and sunk further. So much for friends.

I am not in a good place. I keep sinking farther and farther, frozen in place as I go down. I’m trapped in my head. I can’t solve any of my problems. I feel hopeless to even try anymore.

I reach out for help to the people who are supposed to be the closest, and I am left hanging on the branch, clinging to it, trying to avoid the fall. I don’t. I always hit with a thud, more shattered every time.

So I reach out to you, like I should have in the first place. Help. Please help me. I don’t know how I can keep going on and there’s no way out. I’m trapped. I’m hurting, confused, and I only want to hide. But there’s no place to do it.

Please. Grab me on that branch.