Limbo

I just took a shower. It might seem trivial... A simple task that many people - maybe even most in the civilised world - do every day. For me, it’s a little different. I’ll admit that I don’t shower all too often. At least not to most standards, but certainly more than soldiers in a whole somewhere in Iraq or any other place at least at one time in total ruin, dreaming - praying - for the next time they even get a drink of water. But I’ll tell you why. Even in the most unproductive or seemingly pointless tasks, I become obsessive. I keep on doing more and more, often ignoring the need to take care of myself. I’m a little better, now, though. At least I’m somewhat prompt when it comes to eating or drinking (I’m worse at making sure I drink something for the day than eating, when I have the chance to simply sit down and obsess over something.

But a shower is even more than just a moment where I remember and make sure to take care of myself. It’s my safe haven. It’s where I get a chance to think without limitations or distractions. It’s a place where I can step back for a bit from the troubles of life - of living. It’s where this man of little faith in just about anything gets a little... replenishment of faith. When I’m in a darker place... a much darker place, sometimes only the ‘safe haven’ part is true. Sometimes I lack all faith - in my spirituality, in people, and in myself, if not also in more.

I sometimes pray. It’s almost the only place I ever pray, or ever have prayed. I don’t very much, though. Not in the grander scheme of things. In this last shower, it was different. I think I’ve made it quite clear that I’ve been struggling - a lot - lately. In the past... well, almost year. I’ve struggled very much for at least six years, but not nearly as much as now, or the first two of those six years. In this last shower, while praying - if not perhaps begging - I was first upright, and then I fell lower, and then lower until I was completely on the ground. I was fighting and fighting to force tears to prove to a God I’ve had wavering faith in that I truly meant what I asked, and it isn’t until now, while writing this, that I’ve even came close. But, when I was done, and I got back up, a chill ran through my whole body, and in the hot, steaming shower, I got goose bumps all over, and thought to myself, ‘How can I not be sincere, with this reaction?’

My psychologist gave me a little homework to do before our next visit. She said to, ‘write down [my] thoughts every time I’m happy.’ At my last visit, I gave her a list of my main problems, and she had said how I always dwell on the negatives, but never on the positives. I always analyse what’s wrong with me, but never what’s right, or - if nothing else - good. I’ve thought about it, and the only answer I can think of is, ‘I never think when I’m happy.’ I don’t think, I don’t analyse... I don’t obsess. Happiness, for me, is just a moment - a time where everything is merely an endogenous response, a physical reaction, a natural, pure thing. It’s really not explainable. It’s not something that can adequately be put into words. But, being just a moment, happiness is all too fleeting. It lasts seconds, minutes, or probably at most hours. Days would be seemingly unheard of.

Happiness is a time where there’s neither hope, nor lack of it; where there’s no pain, no worry, and no fear. It’s a place where thoughts are essentially non-existent and the soul takes over. Now, this is not to say that I don’t talk, that I’m reckless or without intent, or where I’m totally vacant. I’m there, for sure, and happiness can most certainly be interrupted, or more likely crushed and destroyed, in seconds with a simple stimuli. When this happens - when happiness loses to... the darkness, I suppose - I return to my ‘normal’ self, constantly worried, constantly paranoid, constantly analysing, constantly obsessing, hopeless, struggling with faith of all kinds, angry, fearful, turbulent, broken, alone... sad.

I’ve heard on more than one show and movie at least something along the lines of, ‘Hope can only carry you so far before reality sets in.’ It’s too true. Reality set in somewhere toward the first quarter of this past school year - my 12^th grade year - that grew and grew into an unstable, unstoppable force until I become totally catatonic and had to drop out. I dropped out of my classes, really, and then my... ‘Home school,’ I suppose you can call it (not to be confused with homeschooling) dropped me... without any notice, too. Honestly, I just wanted a little break, not to end it outright. If I completed that year of school, despite all of the disruptions of the previous three years, all of my missing credits would’ve been waved and I would’ve graduated. I would’ve then been able to proceed to college and maybe even a successful life. I want to try and achieve all of that; I just don’t know when I’ll... even be capable of doing it.

Perhaps my biggest, baddest habit is avoiding... running away from, anything and everything that causes anxiety and depression, making my bubble, my safe zone, smaller and smaller, yet I get more and more anxiety to run away from, and that bubble gets perpetually smaller and... well, I think it’s quite obvious that it simply wouldn’t end well. Probably utterly petrified of the world, holed up in some deep, dark place, hiding from... everything. That is, of course, if it continues to perpetuate to that point.

But, there I am, with my likely second worst habit, dwelling on all of the negatives. I suppose that, when you wear the dark, roseless-colored glasses long enough, it’s hard not to only see from that perspective. When every attempt at doing something good, something productive, and something hopeful fails, crashes, and burns right before your eyes, you also start to pick up on the view that the world is a big bad, hopeless place that you simply don’t, and can’t, fit into. A puzzle piece trying to fit into the wrong puzzle. And you start to wonder, ‘What’s my purpose? What’s the point?’ And it gets harder and harder to see the light as you fall deeper and deeper into the tunnel that seems as though it was designed - tailored - for just you; a hole that you now fit into that no one else does, designed to ensnare and confine you to. And, when other people tell you that they’ve been there, or that you’re words ring true to them, you have the hardest time believing them because, well, obviously no one could possibly be like you. No one could possibly understand. And the darkness blinds you, and extinguishes the fire... at least until a little spark manages to ignite, only to eventually be extinguished again.

Now, there’s mania. Mania can be a great respite from all of this... awful, tiring shit, but it’s... well... manic. It’s crazy, nearly uncontrollable, frenzied, and... often enough, euphoric. It’s like a drug, and with any other drug (at least illicit ones), there’s a terrible crash, and you desire with all of your primal heart to get just one more taste of that ecstasy, regardless of any consequences. And when you taste it, you think that the crash is worth it, but it’s not. And when the crashes get longer and more frequent, that euphoria becomes just a problem. The higher you go, the lower you drop, but damn do you want to go high. It’s like a rollercoaster that’s both fun and frightening, only it’s constant and seemingly never ending, and you’re heart can only beat so fast, your lungs can only take so much, and it ends up taking a toll on your body, mind, and soul that feels as though it’ll be the death of you.

Lately... I’ve been in a weird state. My mind has been... turned to slush, my body put into a daze, and my consciousness in Limbo. I’ve felt as though I’ve been taking my opiate pain relievers every day, all day. I’ve had headaches, but they’re just slow, long, dull headaches. I’ve felt like I’m in a dream state, my body on autopilot. I react to things, even in ways that I don’t mean to. I’ve been in this sort of Limbo before, but not so... strongly, or dominantly. Not so long, either. It’s been weeks, and for months it’s been becoming more and more frequent with longer durations each time, building up with time.

If you’ve never taken an opiate, or at least something like it or a benzodiazepine, you probably couldn’t fathom what this feels like. You’re there... but you’re not... I suppose it’s a little like dissociation, which is common in some mental disorders and rare, often spontaneous states, similar to a fugue state. It’s relaxing, but it can also be disturbing at the same time. On the show Prison Break, the character, Doctor Sara Tancredi, talks to one of the... many antagonists about his addiction to a benzodiazepine, and - being an addict to morphine, herself - says, ‘It feels like you’re walking underwater, doesn’t it?’ That’s probably not an exact quote. That’s perhaps a very simplistic way to describe this feeling, this ‘Limbo’ as I’ve been calling it.

I suppose that it’s somewhat peaceful. From this whole, long ‘stream of consciousness,’ as they call it in the literary and psychological worlds, it probably doesn’t seem like it, but I’ve actually been dwelling on the dark, negative things less while in this state than usual. Maybe it’s a defence mechanism... Maybe my body knows something is seriously wrong and it’s trying to remedy that problem to the best of its abilities. I really don’t know.

I suppose that ever since I got on meds, I’ve felt like a great deal of my mind was locked away in a vault that’s seemingly impossible to break into, which I don’t have a key or combination to. It feels like the only... logical, if not a perversely logical, way to open that vault is to get off my meds... and let my mind run rampant once again. Much of the part of my mind that is still accessible tells me that that’s crazy and utterly stupid, but some other part - a very seductive part - says that it’s the best thing to do. My mind is split, in the sense of being indecisive as well as in the sense of being broken.

If the cost of my sanity is to lose a very large part of myself, sanity doesn’t seem like a very good option. Even with my sanity, I’m obviously not doing too well. I think with a more... I wouldn’t say rational mind... but one that is fully intact with reality. I almost envy my old self, delusions, hallucinations, and all. The only real downer - from where I’m standing now - is the very, very serious sleep problems. If I could be off antipsychotics/mood stabilisers, but still manage to get at least the sleep I get now... it seems almost perfect to me. I found comfort in... what was beyond reality. Sure, I was plenty aware of reality, too, but I almost lived in two different worlds at the same time. They didn’t collide, but rather overlapped. The things that were perhaps most clinically considered ‘wrong’ with me, which the meds then at least mostly got rid of, where the things that made the most sense to me. I was happier then than I am now, in the sense that I had more and longer moments of continuous happiness, but I also had much, much darker places, too. It was crazier in the most literal sense, but it was me, as a whole.

I suppose I’ve been in a sort of Limbo for a pretty long time, now, but it’s most obvious right now. It... surfaced into the physical and conscious world, rather than more just the subconscious. ‘These are turbulent times,’ they might say in some cliché movie or show, but it’s fitting, I think.

Manic Panic

I had a panic attack the other day. Not a hypothetical one as in my last post, but a real, scary, physically and mentally tolling one...

Really, the attack occurred in the early morning, around 4:30-5:00. The day before that, around noontime, I had gone to a class held by a clinical psychologist in the behavioral health class on the Air Force base. It was me - a plain, young civilian - in a room full of soldiers. The class was about relaxations, and covered the differences between calm and stress - both physiologically and psychologically, though less on the psychology. Rapid heartbeat versus normal or slow heartbeat, fast, shallow breathing versus normal or slow breathing, muscle tension versus looseness, and so on and so forth...

Later, nearer to when the panic attack happened, I was told to get some yard work done - racking some leaves off of the concrete areas of the backyard and doing a little weed whacking, or at least getting rid of some of the tall grass and weeds. When I was asking for the sheers, since it was quite obvious that the weeds were too thick to cut with a weed whacker, I was told it was in the shed, but that the shed had a hornets' nest. It was also suggested that I should take out the nest, which I said should be fine while they were still dormant. However, despite all of this, I knew that those sheers weren't what I was talking about.

At this time, and maybe even earlier, I was going through a bit of a manic phase. It was obvious once I got up and moving around. I was searching for those sheers like a madman, turning over everything that they could've been hiding under. I went all over the house. My overhead light in my room hasn't worked in probably over a year, now, but I needed light to search my room - where I thought they most likely were. They're just scissor-like sheers with two or three inch blades put back into their original package.

I got my brother to replace the overhead light and, voilà, there they were, under a pile of... well, assorted things, after a manic search with a heart beating a million miles per hour and breathing like a hot dog. After I found those, I decided that the next thing I needed to do was deal with the hornets' nest. Something to note is that I'm deathly afraid of wasps, and basically any bug that bites or stings - but especially the first (and spiders.) So, can of deadly chemicals in hand, I slowly crept up to the nest hanging just over the shed doorway like mistletoe, I started spraying and spraying and spraying. I could see several wasps just drop down dead, but even then, I started spraying the grass they fell into, then switching back to the nest itself. The nest was soaked and dripping, the spray all over my hand, having had held the trigger on the can for probably thirty or more seconds without letting go.

They were undoubtedly dead at that point, but I was also hyperventilating. Mix that with my meds, which have sedating properties, I was barely in my right mind, woozy and stumbling. I climbed up the deck stairs up into the house. The world seemed like it was spinning and I felt like I was going to pass out. My hand - the one that got the spray all over it - was burning, so I read the back of the can which, at the time, was quite a feat. It said to immediately rinse the skin which it came into contact with for fifteen to twenty minutes with plenty of water.

I went into the bathroom and got to the sink. I then just let the water pour and pour and pour, as I laid my head on the faucet feeling the warmth of the hot water passing through it on my forehead and the steam rising to my face. I was still breathing rapidly and shallowly at this point, my heart beating faster than I could've kept up with counting, even with a clearer mind.

After maybe ten minutes of the rinsing, for some reason, I thought I should still go back out and start cutting the big, prickly weeds in the backyard. I don't really know why I did it, but I did. Being on the brink of fainting and trying to do yard work while simultaneously being paranoid about every little sensation just doesn't make a good fit. I was accidentally passing through small spider threads and would frantically - almost psychotically - start trying to pull the threads off as if they were laced with some sort of neurotoxin. After five or ten minutes of trying to cut weeds, I then frantically ran up the deck stairs in the backyard, neurotically looking for any wasp nests or spiders, until I finally got back inside.

I went downstairs and frantically searched for clothing and a towel. When I did, I went back upstairs as quickly as I could, stumbling around, until I got back into the bathroom. I jumped into the shower as quickly as I could and just sat there. I began to settle down, but it seemed so mentally exhausting that I somehow went from manic, to frantic, to exhausted and nearly depressed in just thirty to forty minutes. I was so mentally and physically exhausted that I nearly fell asleep in the shower.

When I was finally done, I was calmer but had absolutely no life in me. I went to bed and nearly slept the whole day away. I kept on thinking to myself, "If I get up, then I might be told to do yard work." There was no way I was going back outside; at least not for a few days. I didn't want another panic attack, and I didn't want to even spot a single wasp. When I finally woke up past 19:30, I just casually went to eat something and then went downstairs. I did also bring up the whole debacle with mom, trying to make sure that it was understood that I wasn't going outside. A bit of an agoraphobic episode. I still don't really want to leave the house - not even a single foot out the door.

I never thought it could be so... traumatic. The hornets weren't even awake, though they did do a number to mom's arm the day before. That probably didn't help, nor did the visual my brother gave me of the wasps seemingly spewing from a relatively unknown location. All of that added to the suspense and anticipatory anxiety. I've always had a fear of wasps, and I've always had some pretty panicky reactions whenever even a single wasp got within ten feet of me. I had never had a full-blown panic attack, though - not that I can remember. So this was certainly unexpected and extreme.

If a single hair on my body moves, I automatically think a wasp or spider is crawling on me. If I get even the smallest poke, I think I'm getting stung or bitten. If I see a tiny shadow pass over the ground or just over me, I think a wasp is flying over or around me. The paranoia kills me, and it's not actually unusual for me; it's just been unusually bad since the attack. Every year, during summer especially, I live in fear for at least moments of almost every day, submerged in the paranoia of little creepy crawly things. I love winter because most of such critters are dormant or dead, just how I like them. My anxieties and paranoia become less frequent and bothersome. But summer... the worse season of all for so many reasons, creepy crawlies at the top of the list.

So... that was a real panic attack - not some hypothetical example. That was real, genuine fear I felt, fear for my life. I felt like I was going to die, like I was going to drown without even an ounce of water. It seemed as though I was going to suffocate, or fill my blood and muscles with carbon dioxide. I've had that happen once before... and it was probably one of the most traumatising moments in my life. It happened in an entirely different situation, and altered my life quite dramatically, but the symptoms were all too similar.

I'll give myself a few days break from the outside world... more so than usual. Hopefully I'll get over it soon, but I'll just give myself some time to try and shake it off. But... one thing's for sure - I won't forget it for a long time.

Panic Attack

The jaw clenches, the neck tenses, the forehead tightens, hands shake. Breathing becomes shallow, scarce, and trembling. The mind’s shaky, dizzy, blurry, as the world begins to melt. Palms become sweaty, head heats up. Is that light real? Those blacks spots? I feel like passing out, but I won’t. Chest is tight and I feel like I’m drowning. Every joint shocks and tingles with pain. The storm builds up within me.

All of my senses become overloaded as I forget my extremities. I get sucked into my head, sucked so far back that my eyes become tunnels as I dwell in the darkness. My vision begins to blur as I don’t know whether I’m going to faint or explode. I want to wake up from this dream.

Finally, the adrenaline begins to dissipate, my muscles begin to relax, as a wave of exhaustion - both mental and physical - crashes over me. Is it over? Was any of it even real? I lay down, tired and stunned. My eyes are wide open, jaw dropped. ‘Go to sleep,’ I tell myself. With double vision, my eyelids begin to slowly close until, finally, I shut down and go to sleep.

Faces of Bipolar Disorder

Today, I'm gonna to talk about some of the 'faces' of bipolar, and to a degree mental disorders in general, and some ways situations affected by those faces could play out. Probably none of the information will be universally accurate or effective; everyone's different, even if they have the same diagnosis.

So, here are some of the faces (likely an incomplete list):

Neutral/Normal: Exactly what it sounds like; the 'Green Zone' of bipolar. Normal, basic, healthy - whatever you want to call it (though 'neutral' could possibly also mean apathetic, which isn't so healthy.) While an individual who is in the 'normal' stage may not show any signs of a disorder, she still has that common human element of unpredictability. You can typically treat her like any other person - though that's not necessarily to say that she would want to be treated differently in other cases, while showing the other faces of her disorder; some people simply wanted to be treated normally.

Depressed: This is a common face for many, many people with a mental disorder, spread across a wide demographic and a wide spectrum of different disorders. It can become extremely different for friends, loved ones, and carers to know how to treat an individual who is depressed, and - once again - everyone's different. Some people just want someone to talk to, while others may want to just be alone. Some peoples may want intimacy and/or hugs, while others may want the exact opposite. Some people may eat more, while others eat less, and so on and so forth. Really, you just have to learn the habits of the individual and play it by ear. You can never be too careful when treading a minefield.

Some rules of thumb - very broad rules of thumb - are: men tend to manifest their depression as anger. Taking their aggression personally can be one of the most detrimental things you could do. Women, on the other hand, tend to either become withdrawn and/or desire love and affection. Both genders may push their loved ones away, even if they actually want the exact opposite (so trying to be there for the individual even when they say they want otherwise isn't always a bad idea, unless they seem very adamant about wanting to be left alone; weigh the costs and benefits the best you can.) Sometimes being adamant about being left alone or more suspicious/atypical behaviors can be signs of being suicidal, so it's usually best to be close by just in case. This, and even some other situations, may often call for immediate medical intervention at the hospital.

Manic: This is, simply put, a whirlwind. An individual who is manic is often totally unpredictable, physically and emotionally tolling (both for her and those around her), and even a danger to themselves or others. She would likely have the attention span of a six-year-old, should that six-year-old be on a sugar rush with ADHD. She might have the speed and activeness of a cat high on catnip and, speaking of catnip, even start having hallucinations and delusions. She may speak faster than you can keep up with, or occasionally faster than she can keep up with! I know I've had a train wreck of thoughts during manic episodes where I couldn't keep up with my own thoughts.

Now, when I say a danger to herself or others, I mean being impulsive and have risky behavior such as gambling, shopping frivolously, and even things like promiscuity (hypersexuality) and drug abuse. If someone who is manic is simply too manic, the hospital may very well be the next stop you and she will have to go, just like with depression. A manic individual may become very irritable or even (or rather often) euphoric. She may feel like the greatest thing to ever happen to the world, or think she thought of the greatest thing to ever happen to the world. She may make promises she can keep when she finally crashes or the manic episode simply goes away. Feelings of grandeur, grandiosity, and other 'grand' sort of things are certainly not uncommon.

Apathetic: While all of the moods and behaviors can be found in essentially any non-disordered person, just in a smaller version, apathy can be one of the even more common and relatable of these different moods and behaviors. An individual can be hyper or excited (smaller version of mania) or sad/blue (smaller version of depression.) However, apathy is a quality that any individual can have under one circumstance or another, even at the same level of someone with a disorder.

And apathetic individual usually shuns her emotional involvement in one situation or another, or even all situations for a period of time. Apathy can also be confused with angst, though they are actually very different. Few individuals who aren't sociopaths, or something of the sort, are totally apathetic, also. There's still a human being underneath that façade, and it's often very important to let her know that you know that. In the end, just about everyone wants to simply be treated like a human being, even when they're withdrawn or need some time alone,

Mixed: An individual may have mixed emotions, moods, or a 'mixed episode,' as it's often called in the world of mental health. During such a time, she may have qualities of manic, depressive, and even more 'neutral' or apathetic episodes. These episodes can be even more unpredictable and varied. When dealing with an individual in such an episode, one may need to play it completely by ear - there's no way to predict how it will turn out or what the best methods of traversing the situations are.

To go about the difficult task of supporting someone during a mixed episode (or any episode, really), walking on eggshells can actually be a very good and important thing to do. There's nothing like saying the wrong thing and then repeating the mistake to make the situation go completely out of control. If you do accidentally say the wrong thing, instead of diving deeper into the issue, try to back off a little bit, show compassion and empathy, and then simply let go.

Other Noteworthy Things / Dealing with Unpredictability: When an individual becomes defensive or attempts to dodge a question, don't push it. You can support someone without trying to 'get to the bottom of things,' so to speak. Sometimes the best thing to support her is to simply say nothing at all. Gestures can be so much more important than words. When an individual is depressed, words often don't mean much, or can even exacerbate the situation, whereas caring gestures can make a world of difference.

When an individual becomes offensive, or just mean, it's usually best to try not to take things seriously, even though it can be incredibly difficult. Once again, sometimes the best thing to do is to simply not say anything, as just one wrong word could potentially set her off. Maybe half the time an angry or frustrated individual couldn't care less about gestures, either. Removing yourself from the equation and giving her some space could be one of the best things you could do.

When an individual tries to dodge a question or a subject, imagine she's trying to dodge a bullet, because that's how it may feel to her. It's obviously a sore spot and you don't want to be pressure on the soreness - it just doesn't turn out well for anyone. Periodically bringing the subject up isn't always bad, though; just make sure to bring it up, and not push it.

In a very simplistic way of putting things, adapt; find patterns and work from there. Just like many things in life, you just need to figure it out because there isn't a manual. No matter how many articles and blogs you read, you can't find the perfect recipe for caring for a loved one or friend with a mood disorder (though those things can certainly help.) You may have a very difficult time bearing the burdens of caring for such a person, but just know that it's likely even harder for the individuals themselves. A loved one's depression can take an emotional toll on you, but try to stand in their shoes - it's certainly not a walk in the park for them, either.

Anxiety. It has a pivotal role in the lives of many people, but there's good anxiety and bad anxiety. People with a mood disorder can very likely be susceptible to bad anxiety. The moods themselves can cause tremendous anxiety (depression and anxiety love to go hand-in-hand), and social and interpersonal lives can cause even more anxiety. If you want to help and anxious individual, try to alleviate as much of her stress as possible. Create a sort of 'zone' where they feel safe. Relaxation, slowing down, taking a breath, and feeling safe are extremely important to deal with anxiety. There are probably very few things you could do for someone that's better than helping them cope with anxiety. However, make sure not to enable their anxiety so much that the individual gives in to it. Just lend a helping hand.

This, again, is just meant to give some general advice. It may or may not be effective depending on the individuals (on both sides of the table.) Interpersonal relationships aren't - and never will be - an exact science, so try not to be discouraged when something doesn't follow through all too well. If at first you don't succeed, try and try again, as the saying goes. Also, therapy can't hurt (except in the case of your wallet, perhaps.) Therapy isn't only for people with mental disorders; anyone can benefit from therapy, even though stigmata have taught the general public otherwise. Therapy gives a person the tools to cope with stress, improve interpersonal relationship and social skills, help yourself so you can help others, and much, much more.

Much of this information can be related to various mental health areas and issues, as well as disorders, other than just bipolar (though it's certainly geared toward bipolar.) Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD) also shares many characteristics of bipolar, and so much of the information is potentially transferable - at least to an extent. Two other sources to understand bipolar disorder and BPD are here Bipolar Disorder, Coping with Bipolar and Manic Depression  and here An Introduction to Borderline Personality Disorder For more information on BPD and some other methods of coping with mental health problems, this is a good place to go: MeAndMyBlackTable

Depression, Anxiety, Healthcare, and School

This'll be a long post... just so you know. Lots of updates and information.

Yesterday... I was asked a question - a surprisingly daunting question. "When will you be ready?" To give it context, 'When will you be ready [to face your anxieties]?' There was much more to the question, but that essentially sums it up in the most basic form. Before I answered, I simply stared at the computer screen for several minutes. I didn't know what to say.

When I finally came up with an answer, it was quite lengthy and, honestly, quite depressing. Rather than explaining when I will be ready, I listed various reasons why I might not - maybe even ever - be ready. The more I wrote, the more depressed and anxious I got. It leaked into the rest of my day and still affects me a bit now. And, when Mom asked if I was depressed because the rheumatologist I went to deemed I have not fibromyalgia, I answered, "Why would I be depressed because of that?" It was deflection. She knew it, I'm sure.

I'm really, really stupid with some of my moods. Mania, I'll tell everyone in the world that I'm manic, or weird, or maybe even insane. I have no problem expressing my mania. Depression, on the other hand, seems like it needs to be a deep, dark secret that I must hide from everyone I can. I feel like expressing my depression would cause confrontation, whereas mania usually just gets a few weird looks an maybe a benign comment or two, or encouragement because I can become more productive. Depression and anxiety are the opposite for me. Also, depression and anxiety are twins that just love to tag-team me.

To be honest, maybe I was a bit depressed at the news that I probably don't have fibromyalgia (from the sound of it, the rheumatologist seems quite certain of that.) It's like being told you have cancer, and then told you don't - but to a much milder extent. It can disrupt your life and simply screw you over. It ought to be good news, but it just simply doesn't seem that way. And, in the case of it not being fibromyalgia, it means that it's some other, unknown issue, and the mystery of it is more daunting than being able to give it a name.

But my moods have been getting darker much more easily as of late. It doesn't take much to send me into an utterly negative mindset - even total hopelessness. At those points, making progress in my life seems like it's not even an option. It makes me just want to lay in my bed and never get out. It makes me want to sleep and never wake up. It makes me want to avoid... life. Avoiding life, of course, isn't really a viable option, either. But, in those moments, it seems like a better way to go.

Once you fall into a ten foot hole, it can be rather difficult to climb out (especially when you're only 5'2"!) You want help, and you probably can't get out without help, but some people are just too damn stubborn to ask! Like me. It's embarrassing, it's shameful, and it's awkward. I often think, "I'm not deserving of help," or, "I'll be thought less of if I ask for help (as if admitting defeat.)" Telepathy would be a nice thing at these times.

The irritability that comes with depression and anxiety is also rather obtrusive. It certainly doesn't mesh well with those around me. What would normally be benign acts and words can suddenly become a trigger for a fierce or frustrated reaction. Playing around and joking is also often a no-no at those times. But, me being me, how is anyone supposed to know this? I'd rather sweep my feeling and moods under the rug anytime they come up, sometimes even masquerading as the total opposite of how I'm actually doing. It's often even simply a subconscious reaction - a smile or a laugh when, really, I just don't care, and I want to curl up into a ball on a bed and shut everyone out.

The fact that I try to stay out, that I try to be around people, is actually a sign of me putting effort into dealing with the moods, even if it really doesn't seem so. I was thinking about just going into my room, lighting incense, and then just laying in the dark, even though I knew I wouldn't get to sleep - I'm still not asleep. The persistent pain hasn't been helping, either. I've been wondering if I've already started building up a tolerance to my Norco. Two Norco at one time seems to do the trick much better than one, though I haven't tried 1½, yet.

Something else of note... I've actually been gaining about a pound a month for the past several months. I think I've gained about 7+ pounds in all. Since around October I've been eating and eating - especially sugary things and just junk food in general. Prior, I hadn't often cared for sugary things, at least. Now, I can't stop having them. Candy, ice cream... I just have an insatiable appetite for comfort foods - foods that just aren't overall good for you in bulk.

My disability claim got denied again. That probably hasn't been working wonders on my moods, either. We - a disability lawyer included - think that the claim got filed incorrectly. It could still take months more before any real progress is made, even when filed correctly, and - knowing the government and social security - just might deny me after that! Aaron having trouble finding a job, my lack of disability benefits, and other threats to our total income, have been rather paralytically devastating, even more. If I were asked if I'm stressed... I think the answer is pretty obvious.

I looked into programs for getting a high school diploma after 4 in high school, and even dropping out. Apparently, community and technical schools may offer high school degrees. One such program actually requires you to drop out of high school in order to get a high school diploma via a community college. Never really think of going to college without even completing high school, but apparently it can happen under the right circumstances.

The only real hitch is that you likely would have to pay tuition to get that diploma (though some colleges offer financial aid or may even waive the tuition completely.) It might be something to look into. From the bit I've read, it seems like it might be much easier than trying to get the diploma through the high school, and be better in the long run than getting a GED. I may even be able to do it after turning 21, should it come to that. If I could somehow manage to get that done - at least in the next year or two - it might significantly alleviate some of my stress. It's just getting there that's the problem.

I've also been looking into the recent Supreme Court ruling on Obama's Affordable Care Act, which could potentially help many people get insurance where they otherwise couldn't, or better insurance where it would've otherwise been shabbier. If things start to go south in that area, then maybe that could be a glimmer of hope. Obama at least did one thing right, even though it's strongly opposed. Some of the methods of getting the Affordable Care Act to work may or may not be the best - reducing taxation might backfire, or maybe that was dealt with well, as well. Putting some more costs in the hands of the insured may balance out the lowered taxation, though those feeds have been deemed a sort of taxation in itself.

I would love for our country to get a free healthcare system like Canada, and I think we could if we actually started doing some things right. capitalism actually screws up a lot of things, and it's just about the sole thing the government chooses to rely on as its lifeblood. Without capitalism, our would fall apart, but with capitalism, our country is falling apart more and more. Perhaps a sort of socialist, or even a fresher, less definable approach, would be better for our country. Hitler, while he was still at least mostly sane, even understood the benefits of socialism over capitalism or communism, and, before waging world like a lunatic against essentially the whole world, he drastically improved Germany's financial, economic, and job-related stability. But greed can utterly ruin a nation.

Obama wants to try to assimilate our healthcare to Canada's, at least a little bit, which I think is admirable, even if some of his other ideas and/or methods are flawed (but what president didn't have flaws in his administration?) Honestly, though, if our situation doesn't improve - and fast - Canada still seems like a pretty good place to become a citizen of.

Well, this blog was all over the place and quite long, but it was good to get all of these things out and off my chest. My mind's been so haphazard and just... off, so to let it pour out is quite a relief. I'm still not all too expecting of a complete turn around very soon, but things are - at least a little bit - starting to look up. How you can really know that things were bad and are now improving is that I went a whole day without even bothering to work on my D&D, and now I'm actually wanting to do that, at least for a little bit, when I wake up next. Geeze, 8:30 - yep, really ought to get to sleep. So I'll do that now... Oh, and I forgot that I have an appointment in a matter of hours... Oops.

The Spectrum (2)

I've been in what I refer to as an 'emotionally impressionable state.' Essentially, it means that I have very, very little resilience emotionally, and am easily swayed by life events, essentially the opposite of typical bipolar moods, which are rather difficult to budge. If something good happens, then my mood is likely to rise, and if something bad happens, my mood is likely to plummet. Even things in others' lives (e.g. a family member dies, they lose their job, they show inhuman perseverance, et cetera) then I'm likely to empathise and assimilate to their feelings. This, to me, seems very Borderline-ish, especially since it's just not very characteristic of bipolar.

I previously wrote about that little voice in my head thinking I should drop my meds, and - while it's like an alcoholic thinking about having a drink - it wasn't much of a threat. However, when I get in these more rapidly fluctuating moods, it sounds like a better and better idea. Having the moods is like having a beer lying around, and the alcoholic glancing over from time to time, fighting off the urge that haunts them. With it right there, it's harder to deny than when it's at least a bit off in the distance.

Even if I do decide to drop my meds... which would be a sketchy decision... it would be wisest to gradually drop down, instead of go immediately cold turkey. I've heard of plenty of people getting (safely) off of their meds and still... well... living. It can feel as though meds take a person's emotional spectrum and chops it up and cuts out a lot, and then it just doesn't feel right... To represent it more visually, say this is the full spectrum off of meds:

Depression                   'Normal'                            Mania

<===================|===================>

On meds, it feels more like:

                N-Dep                  'Normal'             H-Mania

                <=============|=============>

'N-Dep' meaning 'Near Depression,' or simply not deep depression and 'H-Mania' meaning 'Hypomania.' I put Normal in quotes because it's a very relative term.

As you can see, it's a rainbow that's missing colors. It's incomplete. For other people, the full spectrum probably has all the colors, but different levels (e.g. sadness instead of depression and happiness instead of mania.) So, for a person with a more normal spectrum, cutting out the two ends would essentially be ridding them of sadness and happiness; it would be extremely bland. That's how it feels, to me, with this shorter spectrum. Strangely, that's why I feel better when I can fall into depression and fly into mania. Experiencing the whole rainbow is like nothing else, and is irreplaceable.

I don't think I'll ever be able to adjust completely to a more normal spectrum. I don't know if I'd want to. I know I would never commit suicide and that I would never sporadically run in front of a bus because I saw something interesting on the other side of the road. I'd never do drugs and I'd likely not drink (at least much.) If I could try to manage sleep and learn mindfulness with... probably years of therapy, maybe my meds wouldn't be completely necessary (or I could try to manage my moods to a lesser degree so that I don't crash and fly too low and too high, respectively, but I still get a fuller range. These are some things to ponder. Then again, maybe these thoughts will just start to dissolve until a later time.

Manic-Depressive

I don't think that people quite understand the willpower it takes almost every day of my life to hold onto the little bit of stability I have. I think that I just cover it up to look just casual enough.

There were two parents who made a movie after their child's death (called Boy Interrupted.) He was diagnosed with bipolar when he was just a very, very young child and casually spoke of suicide practically since he could walk. Right before he finally did commit suicide, his parents attempted to get their son to see his psychiatrist because he had previously dropped his meds because he was 'feeling fine,' with worrying symptoms soon after arising. However... just the day before, the boy threw himself out of his window and he died. He psychiatrist later said, they [bipolar people] all drop their meds.

Well... I think that the latter statement is true. Even I have to admit that I once dropped my meds. Felt pretty awful and something I'll never forget. But, despite this, I still often get the urge to drop my meds out of the blue and dive right back into that chaos. Those highs and lows... there's just something strangely seductive about them. The highs are quite obviously enticing, I think. But the lows are, too. The highs make you feel better than alive, while the lows can simply make you feel alive, at least for me. It's like without the lows, life is surreal. I get plenty of bouts of both, but it's just not quite the same - neither in intensity or frequency.

If I were to say that I wanted to drop my meds because I 'felt fine,' then that would be quite true. Feeling fine isn't always the best feeling in the world, especially for someone who craves instability like me. Self-sabotaging, impulsivity, and - especially - doubt and guilt, become regular things for people like me. Some people don't even realise how much they crave instability, yet they still do these exact same things, almost like a dangerous drug.

Luckily for me, I've never taken drugs - at least not illegal narcotics, or anything like that. My drugs are usually just bad habits, video games, and other useless things that simply give me some sort of enjoyment or relief. These can also often turn into impulsive behaviors that are much like itches I just have to scratch. I often feel like I just can't control my body - like someone else was making my every move for me. I stand back, at least metaphorically, and see the things I do in awe and guilt.

I've been asked more times than I can count, 'Is this really how you want to live your life?' and I always respond, at least one way or another, 'No.' Of course it isn't. Or, at least, the logical side of my mind doesn't want that. But it happens anyway because the irrational side always manages to have more power. And so... with every day, I think, 'What if I stopped taking my meds?' I know it would be catastrophic, but I just can't shake the urge. I've managed to muster all of the willpower I can to keep it from happening, but then I have just about no willpower for anything else.

My life is exhausting, but people can't even see that. And then you add fibromyalgia and anxieties and it's simply catatonic. It's disabling. I'm getting nowhere fast. And, the faster I run, the more nowhere I get.