Down the rabbit hole

I have reduced my psych medications to zero as if this evening.  In doing so, I have increased my mania ten-fold.  I should be hospitalized right now.  I am relying on Valium to get me through at this point.  Valium and avoidance.  I keep away from others to keep them safe from my razor tongue.  The shit that I say doesn't even make sense but I am tearing this family apart with every slice. 

I will burn it all down if I allow myself to think about it for very long.  I'm in here - deep in here - and it HURTS to be me.

I have lost so much, all at once, that I have no idea which end is up and the losses continue.  My only daughter will turn 18 in another state, away from me, just as she turned 16 in another state - without me.  It is probably for the best because I have been most unkind to her and I DO NOT MEAN TO DO IT, but there is that damn razor tongue again.  The little bits of buried me are powerless to the force that is mania. 

It's bad.  The medication was bad.  This is bad.  It's all bad.

Monday - new doctor - please hurry.   

 

Cluster fuck

I went to the hospital and left 45 minutes later. It was every horror you could possibly imagine and then some. Lock down, in with drug addicts trying to escape jail time, alcoholics, thieves, etc. I was told to be there at 11:00.  I arrived early, of course, with all of my things ready.  I had my healthy lunch, a snack, plenty of water - that's what I do, you know?  I am prepared for everything.  After waiting 30 minutes I asked why I was there and what was coming next, only to be told, "Sorry - your person did not show up today - you can wait or come back at 1:00."

I had vitals taken out in the open in front of others.   I asked to be in a private spot for such personal matters and they refused.  I had to take a drug test in front of someone else (I'm bipolar, not an addict). I had to take a fucking Breathalyzer test! In front of other addicts!

Listen, I'm not knocking people, but I did not belong there.  I did not belong there. 

Openly crying at this point, a recently relapsed heroin addict (I know this because that is how she introduced herself) walked over to me and said that I should leave my pretty rings at home and keep my purse on my arm...."we're all a bunch of addicts and stuff goes missing here."  She was trying to be helpful. 

I left.  I don't know how I managed, but I walked to my car, opened the door, closed the door, locked the door 8 times, then started to scream.  I screamed for a solid three minutes.  I then picked up my phone and fired everyone who said that I should go to that mixed company hell-on-Earth cluster fuck.  It was the most unhealthy thing for me at this time. I am in fucking shock, exhausted, shaking, sick.

My therapist (the only person to survive the mass firing) is taking care of the referral I need to obtain a private doctor to help me with my meds.  As of this moment I am no longer taking the Lithium and risperidone.  My choice.  I don't care.  Gaining 45 pounds in 5 weeks is BULLSHIT and not good for anyone.

I am resting now - that is all I am able to do.  This was one of the worst days of my life, and I've had some seriously bad mufuckin' days.

I can't.

It's like driving yourself to your own beheading.  Who would do that?  What kind of brave fuck would do that?

Me.

Intensive Care

I don't want to go to the hospital tomorrow.

I am afraid.

I no longer wish to take this medicine.

I am so tired.

I want my old life back.  It sucked, but it was something.  This is a whole lot of nothing.

I am losing the ability to do the things I love.  I am losing the ability to love.

I am falling apart.

I'm right, as always

I took half of my Risperidone, something that she wanted to wean me off of anyway, and half of the Lithium, but all at once as she - the stupid psych nurse with an ENTIRE YEAR of experience - instructed.  Result?  I did not stand there and piss myself with my body on fire and my organs wanting to crawl out of their ugly skin suit.  I felt sort of sleepy, and I slept.

Oh my gosh , ain't that a trip?

No one died, least of all me, and I did not experience the expected horrific side effects of moving up TOO GODDAMN FAST, DUMBASS. 

Tomorrow begins at least 30 days of partial/outpatient (hopefully) hospitalization; I am at the hospital for the majority of the day, but am allowed to go home in the evening.  I have other health problems that require immediate attention, but apparently this comes first.

Crawling

The bitch psych nurse upped my lithium even though I told her that it was NOT WORKING.  "You have not reached a therapeutic level," she said.  FUCK YOU.  I'm taking almost 2000 mgs now, all at once, all at bedtime, along with other antipsychotics.  My body wants to turn inside out.  I feel like absolute shit.

Everything is crawling.  Everthing hurts.  I feel wretched.  There are no words.

She made a point of telling me that she has been able to prescribe medicine for a year - like it was 25 years.  I laughed in her face.  What a self-absorbed bitch.  I told her it's not working.  She has a duty to find something else. 

And so it begins ... losing control of my life.

I start intensive care on Monday.  That will remove this bitch from the equation and put real doctors on the case.  I hope that they can figure this shit out because I am ready to take a nap on the tracks. 

-EXTREME-

This is written at the top of every page from my psych nurse:  Bipolar I Extreme w/o Psychosis, though a few times there was psychosis and those were dark times indeed. 

I look at that and wonder what the fuck happened.  How did I get here?  How did this happen?  What fucking worm worked its way into my head and jumbled things about in such an EXTREME way that I can hardly manage the basics for daily living -- like self care? 

I have learned one thing - how to manipulate things (probaby not, but allow me this one indulgence).  If I say that I want to die - that sounds the alarms.  If I say that I want to hurt people, that sounds the alarms.  If I THINK those things but stop short of SHARING those things, all is well with the psych people.

Maybe.  Is it?  I don't know.  Perhaps they are smarter than I give them credit for, the fuckers.

Quite simply, I want my brain back in one piece, and I don't want to get lost on a ward forever.  I want things to work.  I want to be brilliant.  I realize now that much of my brilliance was probably a result of mania....and we are planning on losing that.  It's a shame because mania - controlled - is responsible for some of the most amazing things that humans have thought, written, acted, created...

I wouldn't wish this on my worst enemy.

Learning how to let it go

There isn't much to share today.  I set a goal to walk (waddle) a mile and did just that.  No fanfare needed.

I had a few issues that upset me, but worked my way through them and that was that. 

I have an appointment with the hated psych nurse in the morning, and also with the billing department for the Intensive Outpatient Program.  They will give me a tour of the facility at that time. 

I am scared.  Scared was the word of the day today but in the end I had to let it go.  I realized that it did no good to hold on to it.  Scared, scared, scared, scared....is this doing anything?  No. 

I learned to let it go - like that WOPR computer in WarGames.  I feverishly played the game of tic tac .. err... Scared until I finally realized that there was no possible winner, and then let it go.

  

I am not ok

I made the call to enter the intensive outpatient program at the local psych hospital.  It was difficult, but not as difficult as living inside of my own head - that place is full of pain.

I am not ok.  I am very down right now.  While I enjoyed my day and time on the coast this afternoon, the shadows moved in without my consent and have taken hold.  Every movement is a cut from a razor.  Every breath is a raging fire.  It hurts to speak, think, hear, type, sit up. 

It hurts.

My mental illnesses are going to take this poor family down.  We certainly weren't living high off the hog before (what a dreadful saying), but we did have a home, vehicles, jobs, support from family and friends - we had things.  Now I no longer have a job, unemployment will not happen (you have to be available to work), I am unemployable, entering the hospital for weeks and weeks, and somehow these bills that we barely paid before - with help - will still have to be paid without my paycheck.

HOW DO PEOPLE DO THIS?  HOW?

My husband is furiously working on this house - working against a deadline uncertain.  When will the money run out?  Will we make it that long?  Will the house be ready, show and sell before that moment when the song stops playing?

Will we be ready?  Able? 

I am not ok. 

The one thing I cling to is a statement made by a person who probably doesn't really give two shits about me - my therapist.  She said that it will be ok.  I keep saying that, but it's bullshit - how can we know?  We can't.  We don't.  We do not know. 

I am afraid to buy a bottle of water for fear that the $0.99 used to purchase that bottle of water may be necessary one of these days.  We've had those days over these last few years - not enough money for food or bills - but always paying the bills first because that is the right thing to do.

I am frozen in fear - unable to allow myself the luxury of taking a walk around the block because I should be at work right now.  I should be working.  Instead, someone else is sitting in my chair ... doing my work ... collecting my paycheck. 

I am not ok.    

Asking for help

Today I said the following to a dear friend and my therapist:  "Losing your greatest asset - your mind - is a scary thing."

It is scary.  It is frightening as hell to agree that you need help and submit to an intensive outpatient program or inpatient care.  How do I know that I won't be one of those crazy fucking whack jobs running through the ward halls with my ass hanging out, drooling, screaming...

How do I know?  My mind fails me all the time.  I no longer trust what is real.  What if I walk through those hospital doors and never exit?  What if I am lost forever?

My therapist assures me that things will get better and that I will be better and that I will get my life back.  I don't know what to believe.

Do you have any idea how brave one has to be to walk through the doors of a place and not know if you will ever exit?  I will - very soon.  I am scared to death.