Tag: bipolar II

The Accidental Kindness of Strangers

Published on by cmglife

Yesterday I backed into a car while attempting to get into a parking space.

I got out of my car and we looked at the damage. I had dented and cracked his bike rack. No damage to mine. The man wasn’t very nice and actually said, “You’re not going to skip out on this are you?” He stated this in several different ways several times. The nerve!

Side Note: I did not have a terrible reaction the way I used to when I did something wrong. My eyes only filled with tears and lips quivered. Almost, but not quite, my face began to crumple into “oh god I’m going to cry” phase. Honestly I’m not ashamed of any of that. I think that would be a normal reaction to an unpleasant situation.

While standing there trying to keep my calm, I felt a hand on my shoulder and it was the director of the event I was working. He asked if I was alright. He had such a genuine look of concern, a few more tears leaked out. He asked if I needed to go home he would understand. I said I would be alright and he gave me a hug.

On my way into the event someone else approached me to ask how I was and she gave me a hug.

Half way through the event a volunteer checked in to see if I needed anything and I got another hug.

When the event was over the director came by again and I thanked him . I said I couldn’t believe how kind everyone was and how much it meant to me that I wasn’t standing there in the middle of the street alone.

This maybe a bit dramatic, but it was human nature, as it could be and was that in that moment.

This accident was no accident. The more I think about it, to experience kindness and worth as a human being, well, was worth the deductible.

When can we get in on this PRIDE thing?

Published on by cmglife

Today, on the last day of PRIDE month, it dawned on me….how do I (and other mental illness sufferers) get a PRIDE thing of our own? I want to feel safe to come out too.

I spent an hour writing four paragraphs of how we can’t come out and then I deleted them. What I had written is not necessary because we know the truth of having to live with a mood disorder. The constant spread of misinformation in this society keeps us scared and hidden.

I think our word would have to be different entirely, because I do not feel proud. I don’t know how I could. It would be like feeling proud living with diabetes or heart disease. Both, by the way, have a huge impact on health, but no stigma.

Here is what I came up with:

RESILIENCE Month – boring

BRAVE Month – boring

GRIT Month – I like this one, but it’s got a “mechanic feel” that doesn’t feel right.

COMPASSION Month – Could refer to anything.

I needed help coming up with more words for our very own PRIDE month so, of course, I searched Google hoping that maybe AI could come up with something better.

This one sentence below says more than I could have said in a thousand paragraphs .

hi·a·tus

Published on by cmglife

A pause or gap in a sequence, series, or process.

I don’t want to write about my relationship with my oldest daughter again. Let’s just say that after 8 years it is the same. I see my two grandchildren about a couple of times a year.

It’s taken me three or four of the 5 years to make peace with it. It’s been tenacity, therapy, good friends, my son and ketamine that has enabled me to live with it.

Now my other daughter, the youngest, has caused me more stress and heart ache, because it has gone on for most of her life.

I can actually admit now that I have been emotionally abused by her. She is not a narcissist like my ex husband and my mother. I think she has borderline personality disorder. Since she is my child I hung in there through it all while dragging her to every kind of professional under the sun because she was clearly unhappy (which is what I thought).

Last year she began texting me and wanted to get together. I hadn’t heard from her in a year, not from lack of trying on my part. It was wonderful! It’s like this person was behaving in a way I had never experienced with her. She would come over for dinner about once a month and we watched Sherlock and Vampire movies…not sure how we got on that one, but it was fun and I could finally love her in a real way.

I’m not completely delusional. I was puzzled by this new and improved child. Maybe I was pushing away the probably end to it with screaming, yelling and unfounded accusations from her. I was a bit tentative giving too much of myself emotionally to the situation, but it was so lovely while it lasted.

First she cancelled Christmas with us. I hid how disappointed I really was “walking on eggshells” kind of thing. We had never spent Christmas apart. Fast forward to early May, that was the last time I saw her. I did get a “I’m fine” text in late July when I asked her if I should file a missing persons report. I texted her on and off since then. The usual things. Memes, videos of the cats, silly stories, etc.

Last Sunday I called my son to see if he had heard from her. He said no. A couple of hours later I got a text from him saying “I’m Alive”. So he had texted her, I don’t know the extent of the conversation, but I know he doesn’t have patience for the way she treats us.

Another hour went by and I got a text from her “I’ve blocked you”.

This caused a familiar reaction. I had been blocked by my sister and my oldest daughter during the hardest time of my life when I divorced my husband. The reaction was that horrible pain in my chest followed by uncontrollable sobbing. This time though I got myself together within minutes instead of 30 which it usually takes.

I rummaged around in my head to figure out how I was feeling. This was new. How did I feel? I went to bed. The next morning rummaged some more trying to pinpoint this strange non-reaction.

Before I left for work I wrote on the back of an envelope “this could be a good thing because now I don’t have to worry about her and take all the abuse”.

By the time I got to work I felt so strong and relived about another rejection from another daughter. Finally I could say “NO” to this, That feeling lasted all day.

I saw my therapist that afternoon and she could see the difference in my reaction. She has always given me advice that makes me feel either real with the way I process things or gives me clues as to how I can see it differently. She was really positive and then she slipped in something like “While you are taking this hiatus from her it will be good to….” can’t remember the rest.

I was disappointed that she had said “while”. Just her saying it broke that wall down a little bit knowing that it is just a matter of time that I won’t be able to keep up this persona. It’s not me, I’m her mother.

I’m not thinking about it now though. I figure if she needs anything she can go to her brother, sister or dad. I’m checked out for now. I may just block her. That would feel so good until I unblock her 10 minutes later.

Revised definition: hi·a·tus: A pause or gap of emotional reactions to my estranged daughters.

The Answer to Everything

Published on by cmglife

No matter what I’ve had wrong with me: depression, Bipolar 2, Reynaud’s disease, hypothyroidism, double vision, wanting to lose a few pounds, etc. It’s always comes back to the cure of a healthy diet, healthy weight, no alcohol, mindfulness, meditation, sleep, stay hydrated and the dreaded exercise. All of these things I hear over and over again. I read it, am told it, discuss it and never have been able to live it.

Let’s break it down.

Healthy diet.

I have a strange relationship with food. My mother had an eating disorder, maybe because she grew up in England during WWII rations. I have tons of food stories, but basically my sister and I were often even hungry or couldn’t eat what she had cooked.

I tried the glorified Mediterranean diet, Atkins, Keto, Paleo and intermittent fasting (turns out this is the only one I can stick to).

Staying Hydrated

I’ve often wondered what our ancestors did when wandering out on the plains looking for food without a liter of purified water in their steel water bottle to stay hydrated with the calculation of a liter per day per pound or whatever the calculation is. They say when you are thirsty you are actually dehydrated, what? I’m not a doctor, but I am a human being having lived a lot of years, and none of this has ever rung true for me.

Healthy Weight/Exercise

This one is the trickiest because it involves all three. Exercise to achieve a healthy weight and mind.

For me personally these have seemed to be insurmountable, actually not seemed, I’ve never been able to combine them for a healthier me, physically and mentally. I get the advice from doctors about the exercise. I have even put the exercise equipment and even the workout clothes right there in front of the TV and I either forget because I don’t notice (ADD), get home to late or up too late or the other third I just don’t want to.

I would love to walk. I have a nice neighborhood, no kids at home so I should be able to put on my tennis shoes and take off anytime. According to the experts walking is the best exercise. That sounds great in theory for other people, but for me I have anxiety that I haven’t’ been able to overcome. Several things have happened to me walking alone and I have finally stopped beating myself up about not walking. My god, I have enough things I am doing successfully, walking is really on the bottom of my list of overcoming another PTSD moment.

Meditation

I don’t know about you, but this one is just too hard for me to stop and relax. I’ve meditated before and I liked it. I liked the man guiding me through the session. But after a while I realized it wasn’t helping me with the pile of things it was supposed to help. Plus it is almost impossible for me to stop and not do anything for 30 minutes

Mindfulness

Mindfulness is too much work. In my mind it’s a racket and just another form of “self care” which takes more time and effort that actually taking care of myself. I take of myself in my own way thank you and it does not include candles and turning off my electronics.

Sleep and Alcohol

I do agree with these on a personal basis. Sleep is paramount. I only suffer from a few sleepless nights every once and a while, there is usually a reason. Stress, forgetting to take meds rolling eye emoji again or ruminating. Sleep is something that I depend on for my physical and mental health and I am lucky to not have a problem. I’m sure I would be in a different place if I did have trouble.

Alcohol only in moderation most of the time. I was dependent on alcohol for many reasons. I’ve endured a lot in my life, but being able to actually conquer drinking was hard. Actually I think quitting smoking might have been harder.

The things I’ve listed above are all things that we’ve all been led to believe are the miracle cure for everything we are suffering with. It sounds so simple and reliable but it’s not. I have managed to see results with sleep and cutting out the bottle of wine a night. They were hard, but the results were practically immediate. Not having immediate satisfaction is really the problem.

Complex PTSD

Published on by cmglife

I have a story to tell about last Christmas. That’s the simple part.

What leads up to the reason of this story is complicated and to give all the details it might turn into a novel, so I’ll try to only give what’s necessary.  I’ve been living this story up until now for the last four years and hiding from it.  I’ve been too afraid to write about it in case it triggered an emotional collapse.  I’ve already been having those in real life!

Basically, I’ve been ostracized by my oldest daughter, my youngest son and my sister since my divorce.  I used to be the central person in our family and always planned great get togethers, especially Christmas.  I’m going to write the stories when I can. You can read them if you like. You need to know this to understand what happened last Christmas and why it directly relates to it.

Here’s the current story:

A casual comment from a friend of “What are you doing for Christmas?” And my response of “I host Christmas Breakfast, that is the time I am allotted”, caused a tsunami of emotion. To name all of them is impossible. I lied saying I was sick and barely got to my car without anyone noticing. I was sobbed all the way home.

Where was it coming from?  I did the usual things. Distraction, tv shows I’ve watched million times in the background, etc., took my meds and went to bed early.

In the morning, fine, but worried.  Then it hit me again out of left field and once again sobbing for 15 minutes. So hard I had to hold myself up by the banister.

I was terrified the ketamine has stopped working.  All I could think of was, “and then what?” there is nothing else.

Sunday was the same and Monday I got up enough courage to call my psychiatrist to get in before he went on vacation.  

On Tuesday my psychiatrist listened to my desperation about the ketamine. He listened and asked his questions and said it wasn’t the ketamine, but a ptsd reaction to this time of year. 

I said that couldn’t be right I was going to have the best Christmas since 2016!  My daughter was coming that week with the kids. My two sons were coming on Christmas morning and maybe the youngest was going to stay until 5.

He said all those years are still there though, it’s impossible to keep the memories at bay when I am already so vulnerable.  I believed him and after accepting this I got better every day.

I’ve always been ashamed of my PTSD reactions. I hadn’t seen anyone murdered, I haven’t been raped or been in a war.  I felt trauma, but where had it come from? Since I was little, I would have an array of reactions. I had agoraphobia from age 9 until 12. Fog, uncontrollable crying, burning in my chest, unable to catch my breath,  etc. Triggered by all sorts of things. Fear, getting in trouble, doing something wrong, etc.  All my life and even now I feel like I’m constantly preparing for something to jump out at me.

I’m actually glad it happened because when it happened again five days later I recovered much quicker knowing what was happening.  This time my whole family had got together at my dad’s house for boxing day and didn’t invite me.  I found out by accident, thus another shock causing it.  I did have a hard time just writing that to be honest.

Eventually my therapist diagnosed me with complex PTSD which is more complicated because it is caused over a long period of trauma.  Mine would be my home life as a child, catholic school and my ex husband. It was also caused by the condition itself by having to deal with the reactions causing more trauma. People with mental health problems can feel trauma from events where others don’t.

It’s time to move on and write a happier story (and start a little EMDR again)!

https://www.nhs.uk/mental-health/conditions/post-traumatic-stress-disorder-ptsd/complex/

Ruminating

Published on by cmglife

Today, I began to read my blog posts from the beginning. I’ve been avoiding it because I’m not sure what I will find and how they will make me feel.  Scrolling down (a long way down) I didn’t expect to arrive at 2012.

I feel I must read them because there is such a wide gap between when I stopped writing and now. It’s like I’m reading them for the first time (I have a terrible memory).

I started my blog to express myself after learning I had Bipolar 2.  I stopped writing for a long time because of several reasons, mostly depression.  All I could focus on was staying alive all while looking like nothing was wrong.

I’ve only read three or four early posts so far; they made me smile.  The progression of my life from 2017 until now is sad and I’m not looking forward to reading those. 

I still am not allowed to see my grandchildren and the four-year anniversary of when this nightmare began is this September 8th.

I realized recently that I didn’t even know the word ruminate existed until my daughter banished me from her life. It’s very hard for me to avoid ruminating, especially when I don’t understand, been given no information and I do not have any control. Sometimes it feels like a physical battle, and it has a mind of its own, a separate entity that keeps creeping in when I least expect it.

I am getting on my feet again though

My therapist says that while this has been and is still terrible and there is no explanation for the alienation of my grandchildren, being better with the ketamine helps me not fall off that cliff so regularly.

I was, and am, a good mother. I should ruminate on that.

Another Ketamine Update

Published on by cmglife

Update on my last Ketamine fusion and how it has changed my life.  I could really stop there; that says it all. 

Let me step away for a minute and count the exact days on my calendar hanging on my fridge dedicated to my depression free days from infusion to infusion.  33 days.

I try to keep in mind that ketamine is a treatment, not a cure.  I remind myself that I still have bipolar 2 and Treatment Resistant Depression (TRD).  When I remind myself of that, I think of it for a minute and then push it away. 

Occasionally, I have what I call a “dip” (my old name and feeling was “falling off a cliff”) thank God that hasn’t happened since the treatment started working. That sense of dread when a dip moment occurs, and I don’t know the reason for it.  My poor old brain leaps right to “it’s back”.

I think I’ve found an explanation. I don’t know what emotions people with healthy brains feel.  I give it some thought and come up with a few reasons.

Most likely it’s stress. Stress has always been a killer for me. 

It could be from working too much and anxiety from that. 

Worrying about money (definitely).

I’ll keep writing about the ketamine, but I really want to start writing about my day-to-day things again. My posts have been so heavy for a long time they need a little nonsense.

Crying it out.

Published on by cmglife

I did “Last the day”.

I talked with my dr and he said there is nothing in my medicines or withdrawal off antidepressants that would cause this depression or crying.

“I’m not diminishing your pain,” he said, “but often you have a hard time coping”.

Normally I would have been insulted or felt unheard, but I had already thought of something close to that myself.

Could these tears be grief?

Maybe I just need to cry it all out like I’ve done before.

When I was little I cried for weeks when we moved, when friends moved. Cried for two weeks when I had to put down my dogs, my daughter moved to Wisconsin, my mom died, etc.

Most recently my divorce, the other woman, ostracized by my sister and kept from my grandchildren.

Maybe what I am misinterpreting as depression is actually grief . Maybe this is the way other people handle their emotional pain and I used to because I recognized the event.

So I’m giving it a go. I’ll be crying my eyes out and not questioning it. Sounds like utter hell, I’ll just release the sadness and cry until the tears stop.

I’m all about a plan.

Lasting the Day

Published on by cmglife

Depression is back. I have reasons.

I’m now on depakote. I’m depressed and so weepy. That pathetic crying that I can’t move, tears rolling over my cheeks. I now realize that it is better than a full on noisy shoulders shaking episode. Sometimes they are impossible to hold back.

“Lasting the day” means waiting until tomorrow to call my psychiatrist and ask what to do. He has given me his cell number and I’ve used it.

I’m trying to figure out why I’m waiting. Maybe I have lost hope that another 18 hours will make any difference and it probably won’t. I’m losing hope for any of this.

Be back tomorrow.

URC BD

Published on by cmglife

I’ve had a small glass of wine. I’m resisting the urge to write.

I have Ultra Rapid Cycling Bipolar Disorder. I’m not sure if there is “2” “II” behind it or not for this glamorous sounding disease.

Now, and for the last five days, I’ve taken a dive into the abyss of depression. No, I’m calling it a fall into the abyss of depression, that sounds less deliberate, because I certainly have no control over it.

If you know anything about or suffer from a mood disorder and read my last post, I think it is obvious that I had begun falling in a dramatic way.

I’m much more aware and less likely to fight against admitting defeat these days, so I call my Dr. and get in right away.  There is always a lot of crying on my part and a lot of rifling through my three maybe four-inch-thick file folder on his part.  I think I’ll mention to him next time – it’s time for a binder.

He looks, he thinks, I cry, I tell him what I think is wrong and he comes up with yet another plan. 

I’ve been cycling again, but not at all in a fun way, I’m not getting the pleasant phase. The productive, “Aren’t I amazing? “ and “I love me!” phase. All depressed and irritability. More like angry and pissed off. Either sobbing or berating myself as pathetic. Raw exposed nerves, don’t even talk to me and definitely don’t touch me! I want to be hit by a truck and throw things that aren’t cooperating. I’m not eating either. I cannot even enjoy the lack of appetite and therefore lack of calories because it is a danger sign that I’m getting closer to the edge.

No one knows I’m felling this way because I have way too many responsibilities and way too high standards for myself to drop the mask I have perfected over a lifetime.

So about now you might be thinking, where is all this going? She has definitely not been able to resist the urge to write.

I was resisting the urge to write because I had a small glass of wine.  I know I am not supposed to drink because of my condition, but when I feel this depressed it is the only relief I get until the medicine starts to work.  Luckily, I metabolize medicine very quickly.  That is also a plus for the very small amount of wine I need.  I have been known, a year or so ago and before, to drink a lot every night. And now I don’t. 

Writing my thoughts and feelings in a blog about being diagnosed with such a stigmatized illness was a great outlet for me. I couldn’t tell anyone I knew because of the shame I felt. It took me months before I told my husband. Drinking was the only way to feel anything. The medicine was levelling me out but there was nothing left. Being buzzed wasn’t the same, but at least I didn’t feel dead.

So what’s next for me? Drink and then write again? Today, and with the way I’m feeling, the buzz feels a tiny bit good and writing this feels good. It feels real. It makes me feel like me. The real me that I love. If other people felt this way about me I know they would love me too.