Archive for the ‘Bipolar Disorder’ Category
Someone might be checking me out now. Looking at my blog to find out more about me. I’m not sure.
But that’s okay. In fact, it’s great! I want you to know me!
However, if you are looking at my Blog and checking me out, know that I am SO much more than these words.
If you are reading, I hope you see this. If you took a look and don’t come back? I’ll be so mad of not thinking of this sooner!
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Your Liver is both a Recycling Bin and a Garbage Dump. When you put everything into you, it all swirls around, various organs wake up or go to sleep, but your Liver basically has insomnia.
It works non-stop. If there’s anything left that’s good from what you stuffed in you, cool! We’ll clean that up and chuck it back into you, fresh blood added, no charge!
Blech. What was THAT?
This is the Garbage Dump Situation. Too much Toxic Waste and your Liver. Well? Who on earth has internal HAZMAT Suits for all of their organs!
It appears, mine might be more of a Garbage Dump right now. Maybe? Not worthy of HAZMAT though.
I have a whack of bloods to do. And one “serum.” A, B, C…serum! There are no types of blood screenings for Hepatitis C.
Yes, Sweetie GP is thorough! Either that, or my Liver is a massive Garbage Dump and I’m really sick.
It all started with an elevated enzyme but which one? I don’t know. One nurse in the office wasn’t available to go over all the results and give me all the levels of anything off.
I know it’s related to alcohol. Mostly. 20+ years of “Drink Any Man Under the Table Bipolar” has done that to me. I wish it hadn’t.
And please don’t blame me for blaming it for blaming me. Bipolar does many awful things. Things where you have no control when not treated. So I say, under certain circumstances, “Blame The Beast.”
But not all of them.
I can’t believe all of the other enzymes she’s ordered that she’s never done with me before. There are basic ones that are always done with just standard Physical Exams. But…
Still, here I sit. Still drinking. Right now, actually.
It’s hard being an addict.
And yet, she could tell me I have three months to live and I’d be fine with that. Enough time to get my affairs in order, work with her for what I wanted and needed…and have her there.
I’m not afraid of death. It surrounds me.
Forever wanting to work in the Funeral Industry, working in an HIV/AIDS Hospice, pursuing a career in Medicine as a Palliative Nurse.
Attempting suicide and ending up in a coma for three days. I still wonder if I did clinically die before being fully intubated and put on a respirator. The records are too spotty to tell. I should have been dead.
Why do I feel so scared now?
Is it because I had complete control over death in all of those situations?
Is it now because I’m staring at a piece of paper I don’t understand?
Is it a piece of paper that could lead to a place where I have no control?
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Well, it looks like baby MacBook is still refusing to die. If you’re a Mac user, the worst (of several) things you can see is a gray screen with its Folder Icon with a big question mark flashing. DEATH. It’s like a PC’s “Blue Screen of Death” that no Techie can EVER fix.
Well, despite not working on the next attempt at saving it? Here I am typing on it still. Perhaps I should change baby MacBook’s name to baby Lazarus.
Personal Suicide? Hmmm.
Let’s start off with the fact that I have had every discussion about the issue, up down, sideways, backward, forward, diagonally… Discussions? Debates? Arguments?
The right for someone to do it, they’re not in a proper state of mind, leaving ones behind so they’re selfish because pain for others afterward, just plain selfish themselves. What else? Planning beforehand. Who was that guy? Some Professor? He mapped it out for ages and was “in a proper state of mind.”
Or do people not think so?
What about euthanasia? Another one? I’m probably missing more I have “discussed.”
I really am not “Pro-Suicide” but I believe that in some situations, people taking their own lives has some merit. When I was bedridden for 2-3 years, seizing non-stop, completely sick in terms of other parts of my body and losing my life–my prior life that I may not ever regain? Not being able to do the things I could before because of my questionable condition?
I flat out told my mother that I would take my own life. I would kill myself because I would refuse to live my life as it was for n period of time. I did tell her that it was n period of time. I didn’t know the future so I would decide on my own.
“Discuss” that one folks. However, I got better (although not completely to my prior life) before n period. Thus, I didn’t have to make the decision. Was I like the Professor? I had a plan? Roughly? Was I not in a proper state of mind?
Maybe I’m the only one who knows. Nonetheless, I didn’t do anything did I?
Doing something. Proper state of mind. Planning beforehand. This is tough.
For those of you who don’t know, in the beginning of 2011 I made a suicide attempt. And a big one.
Not that this is a “Suicide Guide Blog” but pissing about with chucking a bottle of pills (which I don’t advise) down your throat will only make you sick. I’ve done it twice.
On the aforementioned date, I don’t even know how many drugs (aka pills from my many bottles of meds) I gulped down with a bottle of Red Wine.
If you care to look at my Page: “Been There, Done That…Psych Med, Lab Rat!” it not only lists all of the meds I’ve been on but updates at the end once I started to get on different meds to find a cocktail to stabilize me. The majority at the top were ADs that I cannot take being Bipolar. Some Bipolar folks can take them but they make me even worse.
That time, the only thing I remember was shoving loads of pills down my throat, trying to get help, saying fuck it, taking more until I felt unbelievably sick. Memory gone.
Then I was found by one of the tenants in our house in the snow with no coat on. Sound weird? Later, I pieced it all together. Complex partial seizure. I’m always unconscious (lack of clothing) injuries on hand, torn clothing and maybe a tonic-clonic that followed (not uncommon) because I had a massive TBI. Straight to the ER, straight to the ICU. In a coma for a few days.
Why did I do this? Life was sucky, but there was a specific reason. And this reason had been on my mind for a long time. Was I impulsive like my two prior attempts by throwing bottles of my meds down my throat with wine as a chaser, or did I think it was, “the right time.”
Because if I had the idea why for so long, was it really impulsive? Could I have not been in a proper state of mind for so long? It’s possible. Your mind can do strange things. Perhaps the attempt was an attempt to try and escape that situation? I couldn’t bear it after so long?
Maybe I’m the only one who knows. Nonetheless, I did do something, didn’t I?
I suffered a lot from it obviously. I’ve been told I’m actually lucky to be alive. I always say I did die. For without having the life support of the ICU I would have been dead. Yes, I was fully intubated and on a respirator, another tube up my nose for more support.
Crap! Cough and remove the tube from inside, cuts on the side of my mouth! It’s all taped to your face. Thoracic.
But I don’t remember any of that. Well, fabric restraints in case I woke up, all out of mind and tried to pull, tear everything off me and being intubated! If I ripped that out of me? Possible uhhhh…damage?
But the biggest thing is I have both Retrograde and Anterograde Amnesia regarding the entire thing. None of those memories are ever coming back.
Even when I awoke from the coma, everyone thought I was all conscious and “there.” Not at all. I only remembered a guy from the Psych. Ward wearing a light blue Golf Shirt.
Then I was gone again–even though I was talking. And it continued. Even after I was discharged. Just a few pieces of things that happened retained.
It’s kind of rare to have both Retrograde and Anterograde Amnesia at the same time. That is to say surrounding one event? I believe so.
Would I attempt suicide again? Yes, I might. That has always been written on this blog in Post after Post. I’ve never made it a secret. I am mentally ill! Or I have mental health issues, if you prefer. They’re not going away. Neither is my life in living with them.
In fact, I was desperatey suicidal last night. I fought so hard to just jump off my balcony! That wouldn’t have killed me. Just broken me up a bit. Snapped a lot of bones and such.
I’ve been skydiving so I know how to do a PLF. That’s what I would have done. So I really wouldn’t have died. I just wished that I actually would have.
In my last Post I said I was going to AA.
That entire prospect is scaring the shit out of me right now. My head is spinning and racing, questioning, “WHAT IF IT DOESN’T WORK???”
Intellectually, I know that’s entirely stupid. Joining a support group isn’t going to magically make my addiction problems disappear. But I’m still freaking out about going.
I’m so fucked up with my addiction problems and going to AA, I’m now at the point of of being suicidal. Oh, fab PA. Just fabbo. Layer it on.
And I mean ACTIVELY SUICIDAL.
Fuck doing a cutting. That hasn’t, or hadn’t, entered my mind since I’m writing about it here. I honestly have no desire to do a cutting. Just kill myself.
Oh, and forget going to hospital!
“Hi. I want to kill myself. I was going to do it tonight but I came here for help instead.”
“Why do you want to kill yourself?”
“Because I’m an addict and I want to go to AA, but I’m totally petrified of it and me not getting better and the only thing I can see is offing myself in the next five minutes!”
BANG! Straight into some Detox Hell I go, with no Psych or Medical needs…well, that I need!
Obviously not an option. Well, to admit myself.
OD? I have so many pills left over from extra refills and when I was trying to get my seizures and moods under control from losing my Clobazam for so long.
Think about it kids. I was UNDERMEDICATED FOR YEARS.
No wonder I was so fucked up! That’s why I’m now on huge doses of my other two.
Turn (CRANK!) up the volume to maybe save this girl? Nobody knew for sure but some magic did occur.
All the seizures stopped. It’s been about a year and a half. My Anticonvulsants do double duty. Epilepsy and Bipolar. That’s why I was also going out of my mind for so long as well!
Moods okay too.
Except now. I’m not cycling. At least I don’t think so because nothing before the serious business about AA. The suicidal thoughts? I feel better now that I’m Blogging about it.
So, no. I’m damn near the fastest Ultradian Cycler of the Bipolar Ultradian Clan. I’m like a Revolving Door. In and out, roundabout in 24-48 hours.
It’s almost a blessing in disguise.
Okay. I barfed, or bled, or shit all over the screen for you here. My selection would be shit.
Thanks for reading.
Will WordPress on my mobile FINALLY work?
I’ve been seeing a Counsellor from a Hospital for a bit now. Neither of us knew why. She didn’t know who referred me and I had no clue either.
She just called me on the phone in a quandary asking if this was: “My Name.” I said: “Yes.” She then followed: “Do you know why I’m calling you?” To which my response was: “No!”
This gal is awesome! After that very brief introduction to each other, we were both, “What the hell, and who are they? I’ve never heard of them! Wanna meet anyway?”
So we sat and chat and laughed and I can’t find a word that rhymes with that. Daft? Considering the above, that would fit?
Tomorrow, I am going to “fill out some paperwork.” Okay. For what, I have no idea. I guess someone out there to do with this Organization she works for, is gonna get me help me to…?
…somehow get, or somewhat, or some kinda way of getting mountains of shit sorted out in my life.
Whether that’s actually possible I seriously ponder. Quite seriously. Extremely. Yeah, you get it.
Okay, we’ll have a happy appointment tomorrow, and see what I get served on a
paper Silver paper Platter?
Think about it. Everything you’ve done in your life? You’ve had to work at it. For it. Sometimes your work doesn’t pay off. You don’t get what you want or where you want to be, to go. Trust me.
I’ve failed at so many things I can’t even count them. But did I “fail?” I’m starting to question that these days. Regrets or none? Bad choices or simply choices at the time? No matter how much work I put into so many things…there is no explanation at all where I didn’t get what I wanted, where I wanted to be. Just anything.
Sometimes if I didn’t have to put any work into things at all: “Hey! Mom! Dad! Look at this book! It’s amazing and you know what? When I was reading it, I found…”
But that’s not all of us. Not the Gen. Pop. We all work and strive for…? And what is the outcome? Moreover, if you don’t get it, how do you see or view those that DO get it. They did. They did. Not me. Not me.
That’s a tough one for
a lot all of us. Please. Let’s be honest here. I certainly will. I like to profess I am so High and Mighty that I profess no envy or jealousy BUT COME ON! Will any of you tell me under these circumstances you have NOT felt these emotions? Or something akin? Ever?
If so? I don’t believe you. There. Now I have also admitted I am judgmental (within this context.)
Everybody wants. Sometimes we get. Sometimes we don’t. Sometimes we never get (but we really do.)
Maybe everybody gets. But they don’t. Look around. Take stock. It might take you a while. It might take you your entire life! But you did something and it was easy. You just have to find out what it was, if it’s not immediately in front of your eyes.
If you see something you wanted, you got, where you ended up that was so easy? Keep digging. There were other things too.
What a Pollyanna Post, huh? No.
That’s why I always like to give some personal examples.
I never finished my BA. We all called the Degree “Bugger All” anyway because it was basically useless in securing you employment.
But I bloody well resent the fact that I didn’t do it! I dream of having my Ph.D. and wandering the Hallowed Halls of Academia (despite the fact that becoming a professor and staying one at a University is just like only have a BA.)
The whole problem with my “Degree Thing” was a battle between my Bipolar and ADD. I always say the Bipolar won, but reflecting upon the whole disaster, I think it was a tie.
I have an amazing Therapist who finishes my sentences for me. *laughing*
After a couple of years or so of being bedridden with what was looking like intractable epilepsy? My goddamn seizures have actually been sent to Hades, and I’m diving into Physio to get into Martial Arts! Aces High!
I’VE ACTUALLY SECURED GALLERY SPACE BEFORE A PHOTOGRAPHY SHOWING. Do you know how ridiculous that is for any artist? It’s totally bass-ackwards! Artists have their work ready to go and then securing space to show? AND SELL? I’d be happy if someone bought one of my photographs for a dollar.
I found a group where I can possibly get my French back. *swoons* Holy shit. If I could learn to speak French again after so many years of never using it? What a dream. Are those enough examples? I hope so.
I’m doing my laundry and I’m really tired. That’s not so easy either.
Hi. Do whatever you want with your Livers or mine. Mine’s up to me. And mine?
I blew a week of sobriety tonight. And Outpatient Group is tomorrow.
I’m still sitting in the bar where at one (recent) point I was drinking (now?) such heavy amounts of alcohol every day.
Cheese and Rice! I’m so altered, I have my Senns on but I haven’t pumped up iTunes!
Y’see? Okay. iTunes. Goth.
Why am I drinking after that week was so goddamn easy? It was!!!
Work in my apartment that took hours. My neighbourhood? Exactly the title of the song I’m listening to right now: “Wasteland” (by The Mission UK.”) There’s nothing here.
Except a Public Library. But the work was done too late. Closed. Only one place to go. Three to four hours to wait to go home…where I drink…all the time…and recently every day, or if it was closed, a place across the street.
I brought books, notebooks to write…summon the muse…let her summon you…
Within a half hour hour I caved. But it’s worse. While I’m typing this to you? I went home. I smelled my apartment and felt so sick that I was going to be fumigated too…fucking bedbugs…I opened the window, grabbed baby MacBook and headed right back to the pub.
Now I’m over limit.
I’d rather drink until I fall down…that would take?…well, I’ve had four double Vodkas Neat (i.e. no ice, soda or any of that shit–it’s a sipping drink like whisky.) So eight drinks? That’s past my limit (limit=three.) Fuck it.
Genetics. But as a teenager, always the “good girl.” Sure, the “initiation” to drinking alcohol for the first time, your first hangover. You’re a total joke when you look back on yourself.
Enter Bipolar. Not even knowing I was for about seven years? I could drink most men under the table. I’m not joking. That’s why I can sit here and and write a blog post to you. All calm, treated…no, no…my meds are perfect. Actually, I mean that. After SO many years, my cocktail is perfect *takes last ounce of vodka as a shot and heads to bar*
Two more shots=drinks etc. yeah, okay, whatever. And I’m still here writing. Does it make sense to you? Still? Maybe it never did from the start. That’s okay. It never made any sense to me from the start.
Those years. Seven? Party. Go out for lunch with colleagues, then do the same after work. Alcohol was always downed and drowned. The first thing out of the mouth I heard when I one of new Manager: “I don’t trust people who don’t drink.”
I partied with friends too. A wonderful friend always said to me, “It sure helps to sleep fast, doesn’t it, PA?” That was during the Fet. Scene but I drank every day, every night.
There were casualties. Far too many.
I don’t even know if I was one of them. If so, surely a lesser one. That’s how I see it anyway.
Cheers. And a good song running through my Senns…
“But Not Tonight” by Depeche Mode.
When you AD(H)D Stims kick in hard if they’re the right ones or if they’re going to work at all. I took my first dose of (then) Concerta and I couldn’t believe it! I had a jaunty little step as this song came up on my iPod (perfect?) and I cried.