Ways I See Myself

Ways I see myself:

1. I’m a guy with Bipolar Disorder II.  I’m fairly run-of-the-mill, I have downs more than ups.  I have several hypo-manic episodes  a year, but those are usually pretty mild.  I’m just doing what I need to do to get by.  I get enough sleep, I take my medications, I go to a NAMI Peer Support group every week, I see my therapist every other week and my psychiatrist every 3 months.  I write a blog where I publish poetry and articles about Bipolar Disorder and Mental Health from my point of view.  I guess you could say that I’m on maintenance.

2. I’m a guy who lives in the past.  It’s been two and a half years since I had a psychotic episode.  It’s been one and a half years since my last ECT treatment.  I am trying to piece together my life between 2005 and 2009 because it is largely a blur to me.  I would like to know what caused my big psychotic break.  I have a suspicion that a large part of my life between 2007 and 2009 was lived in a manic state.  Most of my writing is about things that happened in the past.

3.  Again, I’m a guy with Bipolar Disorder II.  That in itself makes life harder for me to live than other people.  I fear the stigma that goes along with it, enough to keep me from doing much besides going to my doctor appointments, seeing my therapist, writing a blog, dinner, movies, shopping, all things that either center around Bipolar or don’t have anything to do with Bipolar.  I shy away from social situations.  Because of the ECT and some of the medication, I don’t always speak well, I have problems finishing sentences, I have tremor in my hands and legs.  I feel I am awkward both physically and mentally.  I am unsure about my future life.

I do know this:  Post 800

“A Bipolar Life”

After my break, I floated around for a while.  My parents were there to take care of me, I was not in the psych ward.  I’m not really sure what I did, except try to piece together what had been going on for the previous two years.  I remember little pieces of things but not very much.  I also know I hunted around for quality psychiatric care.  Other than that, I come up empty.  Six or seven months after the break, I had found a psych doc and therapist. My meds had changed and I was starting to feel the fog lifting a bit.  I had started Cognitive Behavioral Therapy on an outpatient basis at the psychiatric hospital.  I had been going for a month and I really wasn’t seeing any benefit.  My biggest complaint was that I was still hearing voices telling me to do all kinds of things, the least of which was to crash my car.  One of the counselors took me aside one morning and talked to me about ECT.  I went home and talked to my parents about it and we set up an appointment at the hospital.

The next thing I remember clearly is being taken off the unit I was on and walked down to the ECT department.

The first ECT went like this:
After the lengthly talk with the nurse, blood pressure, blood sugar, pulse, temp, etc. etc.
Walk down the hall to the ECT Room
Hop up on the gurney
Hello to the Nurse, Doc, Orderly, Anesthesiologist
Nurse hooks up a bunch of electrodes, then finds the vein, hooks up the IV
Doc puts electrodes on your head
Anesthesiologist administers heart rate drug (downer, feels a little good, I could stay on this for a while)
Anesthesiologist administers knock out drug (it felt like my heart stopped and I died, I don’t need to or want to experience this again)
Wake up on the gurney in a long line of gurneys and curtains (ECT Recovery)

The way I experienced ECT for the first few months was to black it out.  This was made easier by the anesthetist.  Having to go for treatment on a regular basis meant that my regular life was pretty much blacked out as well.  I remember doing things in and around San Diego, but they’re a little fuzzy.  When the treatments got farther apart the three of us would go on weekend then week long trips.  Yosemite was a favorite and I know we went two if not three times. (I’ll have to look back at the pictures I took).  We also went up the coast to Santa Barbra, and further North to go whale watching.  Most of my in between treatment memories are held in pictures and video that I have on my computer.  Other than those trips, my memory of that time is empty.  I don’t know if it was because of the way I was approaching ECT or if it was the ECT itself.  I have nothing.  Though I will say, the ECT appeared to be doing its job.  My mood was better and the voices had stopped.

Then the disability from my job ran out and I was officially laid off.  We needed to find a new place to live.  I did, and my parents were coming with me.  So, we moved to my aunt’s house in Elk Grove, VA.  That’s about an eight hour drive North of San Diego.  We moved there and still “commuted” to San Diego for ECT treatments.  They were getting further apart so we didn’t have to go too many times.  Still, those trips were a blur.  I think we drove down the day before, stayed in a hotel, had the treatment the next day then drove back to Elk Grove.  I float in and out of the early days in Elk Grove too.  After a little while we made arrangements with the Psych Hospital in Sacramento to take over the ECT treatments.  They required that I go in patient to start so I could be monitored.  I remember three things about that stay.  Gray,  the cafeteria made me want to retch, we had to walk through the gym to get to the ECT trailer and it smelled of sweat, rubber flooring and rubber balls.  After the initial treatments I went to outpatient again.  Once my government disability and Medicare was available we moved out of my aunt’s house and into an apartment close to the hospital.  My memories of this time are better.  For one, I had an outstanding therapist who just “got me”.  Also, all the relatives I had around provided a constant source of interaction and I was finally coming out of the fog I had been living in for a long time.

Looking back on that time of my life, I can now see how I pulled myself through some horrible experiences.  The only way I can describe it; I was present but I wasn’t always there.  I found myself in a sequence of situations that I didn’t want to be in, so for all intents and purposes, I went on auto-pilot and just got through.  I am greatly and sincerely sorry to anyone this may have hurt, inconvenienced, put-out or mislead during that time.  I was trying to survive the best way I could.

Reading “Madness: A Bipolar Life”  by Marya Hornbacher for the past week and a half has made me look at my own relationship with Bipolar Disorder a lot differently than I have been.  Marya’s experiences with Bipolar are very different from mine.  To begin with she has Bipolar I, rapid cycling, meaning she goes from depression to mania very quickly, she also suffers from mixed episodes where she experiences depression and mania at the same time.  I have Bipolar II and suffer mainly depression (though I am not a stranger to mania and psychoses).  She has also been in hospital many more times than I have.  Where our experiences do cross how Bipolar has affected things in our lives like relationships with family, friends (gained and lost), jobs and careers (won and lost).  Mental illness affects these things and many, many more, in all who suffer from it.

I learned a lot about myself reading this book, I saw a lot of myself in those pages and I think that I am better off for having read it.  One thing I will take away from it comes from the Epilogue (that’s right you should always read the Epilogue) where Marya talks about who we are and what we can become.  She writes:

“How do we know who we are or what we can become? We tell ourselves stories.  The stories we tell are what we know of ourselves.  We are a creation, a product of our own minds a pastiche of memory, dream, fear, desire.  My memory looks like a child’s collage, or a ransom note, incomplete and full of holes.  All I have is today, this moment, to work with.  I am writing my story as I go.  I am inventing myself one moment, one experience at a time.

And that’s all right.  It means I can choose who I become.  It means I can write my future.  I can create a person, write a story, full of hope.”

I sincerely hope you get a chance to read “Madness: A Bipolar Life”  by Marya Hornbacher.  It’s a gripping, funny, maddening, harrowing, human story that could possibly change your life.

Start Again

“There are millions and millions of people with mental problems.  They work regular jobs, irregular jobs, they work at home, they don’t work, they’re married or single, they have kids or don’t, they do laundry and fall in love and have opinions and grieve their losses and, if they’re lucky, take their meds.  That’s what I’m learning.  I am a person with mental illness. So it takes some extra effort.  So sometimes it’s debilitating.  But now that I’m learning to manage it, it’s becoming not my entire life but simply a part of how I live, something people around me live with as well, something I can accept.  I have to, that’s the only way this works.”             —  “Madness: A Bipolar Life” by Marya Hornbacher

This extended quote gets right to the heart of where I am right now.  As someone with Bipolar Disorder, which appears to have been put in my rear view mirror for the time being, I am trying to figure out where I go from here.  What I need to do is figure out how to stop being afraid of things I perceive as being outside my comfort zone.  I’m not sure how to do that, if any of you have some suggestions I would really appreciate it.  Some of the questions I ask are:

Can I get a job?
Can I handle a career?
How about a significant other, or a family?
What happens when I fall apart?
Where does it all go when the only thing I can focus on is me?

defeat is just an
opportunity to
start again

I don’t know where I heard that but it seems like a good motto.  I think I’ll take it as my own.  Now I need to do some serious work on me.  I hope nothing gets in the way.

Big Break

Big Break, for someone in Hollywood, say, an actor, it means something completely different than what it means to me.  For both of us, it will be a life-altering event.  For the actor, the change he experiences may or may not be permanent.  For me, the change is constant.  Nothing is ever the same.  It’s like I’m living on the edge of a kaleidoscope that is attached to the International Space Station traveling 17,00m mph.  At least that is the way it felt most of the time while I was having my Big Break (psychotic break, psychotic episode, mental breakdown, gone bat-shit crazy).  Part of the time, though, I felt like I was moving at a snail’s pace. That feeling only applied to me, everything else was moving at normal, if not accelerated pace.  This was the case with the little men trying to get into my apartment.  They were climbing through windows, coming up my porch downspout and pushing open my front door faster than I could sweep them out.  Because I was moving so slow, they were moving even faster. I couldn’t even get my pistol and shotgun out fast enough to get them all out.  Luckily, the guns were kept locked up and the little men, somehow disappeared.

That amounts to the sum total of what I can remember of my Big Break.  The slow parts continue to this day.  They have gotten better.  I don’t usually feel as though I am completely slowed down.  Not physically anyway.  Though it does frequently happen to me mentally.  I notice it most often when I am writing or speaking.  A thought or idea will enter my mind and it will feel as though it is wading through mud.  It will take an eternity for me to find the right word or words to express the idea.  This is frustrating when I’m writing but when I’m having a conversation with someone it can be very embarrassing.  I’ve been working on the problem for over a year now and it doesn’t seem to be getting any better.  It looks like the sticky mind is here to stay.  If I were in Hollywood and the result of my Big Break was something like this, I’d probably be heading back to my home town in search of other opportunities.  I’m not, so I have no choice but to keep working at it.

California

“…and it’s California, where everything is powerfully strange. Everyone wants it to be home.  Everyone left where he or she was from with dreams of transformation.  Everyone runs away to California once, or at least all the lonely, hungry people do.”  “Madness: A Bipolar Life” by Marya Hornbacher

California, I can’t say it is where all my problems started, but it is where I started to experience the most prominent and life changing events of my existence.  My move to California was preceded by my two best friends moving out there.  One, with his growing family, to San Diego followed by the other and her new(ish) husband to the L.A. area.  Before those two moves, California never occurred to me.  But I visited him in San Diego and drove out to L.A. with her and I guess it was just a matter of time before I was on my way West.

Now, it’s not as though I wasn’t leaving anything behind.  I had lived Virginia Beach for seven years, my parent’s were in Southeastern North Carolina and my sister and her family were in the Washington D.C. area.  On the other hand, Northern California from Sacramento, to Petaluma, Elk Grove and well all over Northern California was packed with relatives.  Let’s see, two grandmothers, aunts, uncles, cousins, second cousins, a third cousin twice removed or, I don’t know, just a load of relatives that I never spent a whole lot of time with.  There was that opportunity as well.

So, my friend talked to some people he knew, and then I talked to those people and after a bit of time I was on my way to San Diego.

Virginia Beach is a Navy town.  Everything is geared towards the Navy.  There is a Naval Air Station there.  Jets fly directly over the beach, and houses and the mall.  Right next door is Norfolk, a Naval Base, the across the river is Newport News and Hampton, where Navy ships are built.  To me it was a big place with a small town feel.

San Diego, on the other hand, is a Navy City.  There is so much more going on there than Navy or Marine Corps.  San Diego is where “Top Gun” was set.  The Naval Air Station is now a Marine Corps Air Station.  I think the biggest shock for me was how big it was.  There were so many freeways, 8, 5, 805, 15, 163.  So many things to do.  Sea World, The San Diego Zoo, Mission Beach, Pacific Beach, I could go on and on.  That was just San Diego.  The other friend I mentioned had moved to the L.A. area.  You can just imagine how overwhelming could get.

I was a bit overwhelmed and to add to that I had a brand new job I had to excel at. (I don’t think I knew any other way to work)  Not to mention, I was looking for a way to transform my life.  I was hoping I would find something in California that would be different, better, something else.  I was looking to escape some of the horrors Virginia Beach held for me.  My friend J, overcome by breast cancer, my own bout with cancer, starting to deal with depression.  It was time for me to leave.

After moving and finding a place to live (I stayed with my friend and his family for a few months) things started to settle down.  Work was good and not too hard, I started exploring the city some.  I was getting to know the people I worked with.  We were going out to bars and restaurants, pretty much having a good time, I didn’t drink so I was commonly the designated driver.  At the time, I had a blue Ford Expedition and everyone loved to pile in.

A few years later, my friend and his family have moved away, my relationship with my friend in L.A. has soured.  I was spending too much time at work and with the people from work.  The next couple of years are a blur to me.  When I concentrate hard on what went on in those two years all I get is working way too many hours at the office and at home.  I see going out a lot, in spite of all the work, and I see my mentor and now friend being diagnosed with cancer.  The cancer diagnosis is very clear in my mind, the rest is just a flurry of activity which ends with me in the hospital having just come through a psychotic episode.

Some days I have clear memories of sunny skies, a light breeze and a feeling of well-being.
Others are roller-coasters of faces and noise that are completely terrifying.  Those days I feel like California, at least San Diego, chewed me up and spit me out.

I loved living in
San Diego but it did
not like me at all

my friend

you visited me in San Diego
you brought your family?
it is something I should remember
we have been friends for a long time
and I barely remember any of it
I remember the oldest of memories
Pritchard Hall, Pheasant Run Drive, Red ’66 Mustang
I don’t know if it is the medication, the ECT
all these things that are supposed to make
me better, improve my life,
sometimes I question

— GB

My Argument for Bipolar Disorder

I’m thinking about the time between when I was diagnosed with depression and when I was diagnosed with Bipolar Disorder.  I received my first diagnosis from an actual psychologist in late 2003 to early 2004.  It’s not that clear to me because it was not that big a deal to me.  I had, in the past year, come off a bout with cancer which turned itself around in pretty short order.  I wasn’t quite feeling like myself, more down than usual. So I went to a psychiatrist, was diagnosed with depression, got a prescription for an anti-depressant and went on with my life.  I figured it was all part of the healing process, part of having cancer and so would become part of my life.  I took my anti-depressant as I should. I stopped drinking as I should.  I saw my doctors as I should.  Everything was as normal as it could be.

In the spring of 2005 I was given the opportunity to move across the country, from Virginia Beach to San Diego.  So I did.  When I got to San Diego, I found a new set of doctors and went about my merry way. But something was different.  I went out a lot more often, spent money more freely, had a lot of one night stands.  I also had more and more bouts with depression.  At first I attributed it to being worn out from the increased pressure to perform at work.  I didn’t even identify it as depression.  When I talked to my psychiatrist about it, I told him I was having a hard time sleeping and he prescribed Ambien.  This worked for a while, I was rested and work was easier to deal with but my highs were getting higher.  I was spending more time at work or I was working at home in the evenings, on top of that I was still going out at night.  Pretty soon the candle was about to meet in the middle and boy was I going to get burned.  I told my psychiatrist that I was having problems sleeping again and he prescribed Lunesta.  I took Lunesta for about a week or so and then things started going sideways.  I was having problems at work, I wasn’t treating my co-workers and customers with the respect they deserved then I started hallucinating.  The main hallucination had little men trying to get into my apartment. The rest of this story has been told earlier in this blog and I don’t think I need to rehash it here.

The thing I came away with when really looked at it, is that I should have been diagnosed with Bipolar Disorder at least as early as 2005.  The problem is that no one could see it.  I was in a new town, with new friends and we were all just out to have a good time.  This would have been fine if I hadn’t previously been diagnosed with depression and on an anti-depressant.  If I had the Bipolar diagnosis at this time I believe there would have never been as psychotic break. Up until I had the psychotic break my anti-depressant prescription never changed.  After that, I was diagnosed with psychotic depression which made more sense and different medications were given.  It wasn’t until I moved here in 2012 and had a full psychiatric work up by my current psych-doc that I was diagnosed with Bipolar Disorder and started on the path to figuring out just which medications are right for me.  I am finally getting the treatment needed to make me level.

To some, Bipolar Disorder sounds like a horrific diagnosis.  For me, it sounds like music to my ears.  To me it means that I’m getting my life back.