The Middle Road

Just a quick note to mark this place in time:  I've reached the blessed state of -- balance -- ; I'm not depressed or bouncing off the walls or cutting myself or wishing to die:  It's The Middle Road.

I finally found a doctor to prescribe my Depakote:  my primary care physician.  I'm in a very good place right now.  No side effects (knock on wood) and life is going well. 

I can't ask for anything more.

Just to be clear, and as a note to my future self:  I need my medication.  If I stop taking my medication, everything falls apart.      

The More Things Change

I recall a conversation with my therapist last year during which I asked,

"Am I really bipolar?  Couldn't this just be a time of crisis?  Some sort of fleeting thing?"

Her answer surprised me.  I expected her to agree with me and say that I was right - this was just a temporary thing and everything would be fine.  However she said no such thing.  She chuckled and said,

"You have a biochemical disorder - bipolar disorder.  YOU are not bipolar.  You are you.  You just happen to have a challenge not unlike a diabetic; you manage the condition but it is not who you are."

That wasn't what I was asking.  I truly wanted to know if this shit was for real because every now and then I felt normal.  Calm.  The voices in my head were relaxed and the screaming silenced.  I did not believe my diagnosis during those neutral times.

It has been several months since my last post and a lot has happened during my absence.  I got a job - a very good job.  I stopped seeing my therapist soon after due to issues of scheduling.  I settled in at work and spent my days navigating a steep learning curve. 

I stopped seeing my psych doctor right after the new year - January 2nd, to be exact.  I forgot about an appointment.  I was so busy at my new job, so worried that someone would find out about my illness, that I was jumping through hoops to impress right out of the gate.  I figured out that I missed the appointment when I received a bill in the mail for $200 for the missed appointment, and a note that this amount was my responsibility and not covered by my insurance.  No reminder call prior to the appointment, no inquiry regarding my health with the invoice - just an impersonal, face-slapping bill.  I cut all ties on the spot.

That put me in a difficult situation.  I never cared for my psych doctor, but I needed him for ongoing prescriptions.  Our appointments were ten minutes at most and it was clear that he had to relearn who I was with each visit.  He often confused me with other people which left it up to me to explain what medications I was taking, at what dosages, etc.  I found that dangerous given the types and amounts of medications we were dealing with at that time. 

So I was without a psych doc for meds, which meant that refills were impossible.  The only reason why I was even able to see this doctor was because my therapist pulled a favor to get me in faster than the usual 3-4 month wait.  With the realization that I would be without medication in less than a month, I made the decision to titrate down and off of my medications. 

Dangerous?  Yes.  Stupid?  Yes.  Unfortunately I felt completely alone and vulnerable so it was the only choice. 

I brought my levels of Depakote and all other medications down very slowly.  I experienced no side effects whatsoever.  Everything seemed fine, only I wasn't really fine.  I'm not really fine. 

Depakote was a fucking bitch of a medication.  It was better than Lithium and Risperidone, but not by much.  It did nothing to help me lose the monumental weight gain from Lithium and Risperidone.  It was not without side effects, but it DID level out my moods.  I was never super happy or sad - just living in the middle.

I have been without any sort of mood stabilizer for a couple of months now and things are starting to get scary.  The intrusive thoughts are back.  The deep sadness, self-harm, explosive anger, mania, screaming inner voices - all are back. 

I am doing my best to manage this on my own (regular sleep schedule, proper nutrition, supplements, etc.), but I know that I will need help.  Soon.

So that conversation with my therapist regarding my disbelief that I am, in fact, bipolar, runs through my mind.  I no longer doubt my diagnosis.  It's a shame that I had to fall through the cracks to finally accept it as fact.

   

Signs of Life

A couple of days ago The Chair was moved to another room.  At my direction, my fully functioning command center/jail cell/dining room/office/bedroom was dismantled and moved to my bedroom.  The prescription bottles, notepads, over the counter medications, and everything else within reach was put away.  There are other chairs and sofas in the living area, but the self-imposed prison is no more.

I sat in The Chair all summer long.  I only left the house for therapy/psych appointments, and those were scheduled on the same day or one day apart because I still can only manage to shower once a week...sometimes.  I did not drive because my brain could not handle the speed of it, so I had others ferry me back and forth to my appointments.  On the rare occasion that I did drive, I had someone with me, just in case.

Over the last several weeks I have titrated my dose of Depakote up to 1500 mgs daily.  My side effects are mild and not enough to cause me to discontinue the drug.  My once thick hair has thinned, but it's not horrible.  I have stomach pain on occasion, but that is usually solved by drinking more water or taking my meds with food.  I have gained a considerable amount of weight, but am working to take it off.  I still continue to take valium, as needed, for severe anxiety/panic.  My psych doc added Zoloft this week to assist with that and depression.  I think we are on the right track pharma-wise because I do feel better ... more even.  However, I did have a week-long manic episode a couple of weeks ago.  I did not sleep for almost 100 hours (over 4 days), spent $2,000 on crap that I did not need or use (all of it was returned), and acted out in other ways that are not worth mentioning here.  I did the smart thing and managed to call my therapist and psych doc and they helped to bring me back down.

I do have angry outbursts on occasion, but those have greatly reduced.

Things are better on the depression side.  It has been several weeks since my last episode of suicidal ideation. 

While I still encounter hurdles along the way, I am improving.  The Chair has been replaced with a tidy living area.  I am engaged in the workings of my home.  We are moving in the right direction with medications.  The main concerns at this time are my weight and fear of leaving my home.  I told my psych doctor that walking outside felt so expansive - as though gravity had lost it's ability to hold me fast on the Earth.  Of course this fear has developed because of my extended in-home stay, so I do my best to get outside and take a few additional steps each time I venture out.

The good:
Meds are working
Moods are more even
Self harm has greatly reduced and is almost gone

Need improvement:
Self care
Overcoming fears / anxiety / panic / frustration / anger
   

 

Waiting to die

I've had a rough couple of days.  The good news is that I have an appointment with my psychiatrist on the 16th.  The bad news is that it is on the 16th, which seems like a lifetime away. 

I have no idea what "normal" is in life.  My life is not normal.  Other people are able to drive places, work, shop, clean, read a book, listen to conversation, take showers, laugh, love, feel - I am unable to do those things.  I want to do those things, and try very, very hard, but I just can't. 

It is impossible to accurately describe the difficulties that I am experiencing, because I honestly have no idea what is possible or normal.  My brain fails me.  I used to do so many things.  I was capable of great things.  Now I avoid causing myself any pain by staying in my home.  I rarely go out.  If I do, there are issues, and those issues are getting harder and harder to overcome so I've stopped testing the waters.  I very quickly move from one mood to the next and have lost the ability to "snap out of it" or respond to assistance from my husband to either calm down or climb out of a deep depression.

I want to be angry about this.  I want to be sad.  I have no feelings.  I have no life.  I serve no purpose.  I am of no use to myself or anyone else like this.

My day:

Wake up.  Breakfast.  Prednisone (still dealing with the Lamictal Rash).  Check email (if I can - fear of the unknown causes me great anxiety). 

And then I sit.  And sit.  And sit.  Sometimes I fall asleep, but mostly I just sit and think about how much I hate myself.  I do not watch television because it moves too fast for me.  Conversation makes me very angry.  I do not clean the house or shower or brush my teeth.  I have some facial wipes that I will use if I remember, perhaps once or twice a week before or after bed. 

I'll have some lunch.  If the dog has to go out I see if someone else in the house will put her out.  I'll do it if I have to.  I hate looking outside. 

If the dog barks, I freak out.  If a car drives by, my heart jumps.  If I receive bad news I will cry and want to end my life.  If something good happens, I feel nothing. 

I only go to the restroom if it is an emergency.  I spend my days frozen in place.  It is mentally and physically painful to do more than that. 

My therapist says that I am not lazy.  I argued with her, but she's right - I'm not.  There are so many things that I desperately want to do - take a walk, clean my closet, fold some towels, make a phone call - but those things cause me actual pain. 

I have been like this for years.  Back when I was working, I had to make a choice - do I shower?  If I shower I will have a hard time driving to work.  When I get to work I will have to find the ability to work.  Most days I just sat there and quietly cut my skin.  I would do a couple of things (type a letter, draft a document) but that was it.  When I got home I would hit the chair and dig my skin until I fell asleep.  I usually woke up the next morning in the same spot, wearing the same clothes.  If I'd showered the day before I would just change my shirt and brush my hair before heading out the door for another day at the office.  Near the end of my employment it was common for me to go for 4 days without showering. 

Right now I only shower if I have an appointment with my therapist.  I usually go at least 5 days in a row without a shower. 

My therapy appointments are scheduled on dates and at times when my husband is off work so that I have a ride.  I do drive on occasion (to buy a breakfast sandwich or go to the market), but I should not drive.  I stay within a 4 mile radius of home so it feels relatively safe, but it is not safe.  My brain has a very hard time keeping up with the speed of driving.  I used to zoom my ass down the street like a maniac.

The zoom is long gone but the maniac remains. 

I want to take care of myself.  In my mind I do not deserve a walk or nutritious meals.  Those are reserved for people who earn a living.  I am not working and should not be spending work hours (8:00 a.m. - 5:00 p.m.) doing anything but sitting and thinking about what I should and would be doing if I had a job.   

This is not a life.  I do not have the tools to figure out how to live my life.  At this point, I have not found anyone else who knows how to help me.  Several medications have failed.  I suffered a horrible reaction to one of them, and the other two contributed to a 40+ pound weight gain in a few short weeks. 

I've lost everything.  I don't know how to make this right.  I'm just waiting to die because this is no way to live. 


 

On my own...again

All of my appointments have been cancelled.  I have no therapy, psych nurse practitioner or psychiatrist/med management appointments at all.  I am on my own...again.  We've come full circle.  It's hard to avoid feeling down right now.  I thought someone had discovered the elusive answers to the issues that have consumed my life.  I thought that things would get better from that point forward.  There would be hard work, but I was willing to do that work - to put forth an honest effort to invest in my health, something I have been unable to do until now because I simply did not know where to begin...what was wrong...how to fix it.  I was told that it would "get better from here." I put faith and complete trust in that statement.  I believed that statement with every cell in my misfit body.  I had hope. 

Everything happened all at once back in April.  All of the balls that I had flying in the air came crashing down.  I was up and down and up and down and down and...down.  I wanted to die.  I wanted to live.  I wanted to squeeze the shit out of life with my fabulous plans...fabulous plans that I could not make happen because my mind was a jumble of bits and pieces and nothing fit.  Nothing made sense.

I fell into the deepest and most frightening despair of my life.  Self harm was almost constant.  I would cut my stomach with scissors under my desk at work (usually while my boss was grilling me), claw at my body at home, in the car, while I was sleeping.  When I saw blood, I felt better.  Contrary to what most people say about self-harm being a release and a cry for help - it was more; I wanted to die.  I made plans to die.  I was going to take my life.  The living world had lost its pull on my heart and all that was left was my mind.  My mind was saying yes to the end.  It felt right to finish the journey.  People would be better off without my negative energy in their lives.  They would go on.  Be better.  Do better.  Learn from my illnesses.  I had to give myself permission to stop trying so fucking hard to be well.  I gave myself permission to stop pretending. 

It happened all at once. 

After letting the mask fall, I told my husband that I had to leave.  I wasn't going to, but after 20+ years of marriage I was not going to leave him with a letter.  I was not going to leave this world without saying goodbye to my one true friend.  He did not ask me to stay, but he did beg me to wait.  He stopped everything and asked that I join him in a discussion with our family doctor.  I agreed and we saw him the next morning.  Our family doctor referred me to a therapist and psych nurse practitioner.  After some discussion and many tests, they diagnosed me with several disorders and started therapy and medicine.  I had hope, I think.  I certainly had something.  It gave me a moment to focus on myself - perhaps to stay alive and see if I could salvage the second half of my life.  Perhaps find joy.  No, not even joy.  I desperately wanted PEACE in my heart and mind.

The answer quickly turned sour and became a problem.  Another problem.  Another thing to endure and survive.  I tried.  I FUCKING TRIED, but the cure was just another cross to bear, and my weary shoulders had long since worn out.  I gained a massive amount of weight, pissed my pants, drooled, and started to loathe the very sight of my ever-expanding, hideous body.  This was not the answer.

I discussed my issues with Lithium and Risperidone at every appointment, but my concerns fell on deaf ears.  I felt like a prisoner to another problem.  It was my problem - they gave it to me and expected me to make it work.

That did not work.  I spoke and no one listened.  I became the patient.  The mental patient.  I was not a partner in my own care - my opinion did not matter.  I had no say - no control.  The people charged with my care - my life - would just ignore my questions and carry on as though they were never asked.  I would ask again, and the conversation would continue.  I was invisible.  My input did not matter on this train.   

In the meantime, I had a career and responsibilities.  I have a husband and children.  I have a home.  I have an extended family.  There were life events - graduations, college, new responsibilites, injuries, demands, bills...

It happened all at once.

My boss, who had abused me for years (and I permitted it because I needed that job), layed the final straw on the trembling pile when he demanded that I cancel two medical appointments and tell personnel why I had those appointments.  I made the decision to leave my job of almost 11 years.  In doing so, I knew that I would leave that career forever.  I'd lost my edge many years ago and it was time.

It happened all at once.

I wanted to die, attempted to die, left my job, received shitty care, was twice almost involuntarily committed, agreed to a forced intensive outpatient program that nearly killed me, gained 45 pounds, and lost every last regular contact with coworkers, colleagues and clients.  I lost control, my self-respect...I lost nearly everything.

I'm right back where I started, only now I have nothing, save my husband.  I have less than nothing because my care up to this point has cost me thousands of precious dollars and did nothing but make things worse.  I am obese.  I am battling serious adverse effects of Lamictal.  The children (3) will soon be off (one is already) to colleges and careers.  We have to sell the house.  Life is forever altered because I dared to ask for help. 

I am exhausted.  There is nothing left under my burned skin.  I feel a small twinge of life deep inside, but those have let me down before.  The plan going forward is quite simple:  set goals, do my best, focus on what I have accomplished and not what is left undone at the end of the day.  If I run off the rails, I will seek help.  "Help" has been very unkind to me, but the twinge is telling me that I should keep trying.  Is this good?  No, no this is not good.  This is a dangerous time.  I know that.  My family knows that.  We tried.  I tried.  That twinge is all I have and I pray that it is enough to carry me through to the next source of help and hope, if there is such a thing. 

It's all me.  The scary part is that I have no idea who the hell "me" is.   

   

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. 

I don't remember

I've been sitting here between moments of sheer terror, anger and despair, trying to think back to happy times; moments when there wasn't a care on my mind or in my heart.  Moments of pure joy...bliss...laughter...light.

I don't remember.

I remember (sad, bad, mad?) grandparents, naked and drunk.  I remember bad people at base housing.  I remember the word "NO" a lot from teachers when I first started out because I could already read and write and count and do so much more than the soft-headed spawn in the short chairs who ate paste and wrote in a some sort of retarded foreign language of lazy parents and hit or miss.  I remember packing boxes. 

I remember a record player and records that were different colors.  Some were yellow and one was even red.  That was pretty cool.  "Little Miss Stuck Up" was one of my favorite 45s.  I remember not being able to take a bath.  That sucked.

I remember Christmas being hard, but always having something.  That was bittersweet.  The joy always came with a price so joy was never joy. 

I remember church and God and the fall of men of God and then... no god. 

I remember family illness, wearing my grandmother's clothes, being teased, and skipping school.  I skipped a lot of school.  I didn't skip to play, I skipped to get away from the teasing and the eyes.  All those eyes - looking right through me.  Surely they saw that I had no idea how to be around them.

I remember protecting my sister - I always did that.  She was my job, and I took that job seriously.  I took that job seriously until she fired me a few years ago in the most painful way.  I will never recover from that.  Ever. 

I remember picking strawberries for money in the hot June sun.  I ate half of them so the money wasn't great, but ---- the moments at the lake after work, when I rode my bike to the point to swim and laugh and jump -- was that joy?  I think so. 

Things started to go wrong at about this time.  It was when I first remember engaging in neurotic excoriation and thinking about dying.  It was when I first started my attempts to solve things by walking ... solvitur ambulando ... and talking - to myself.

I remember abuse at the hands of others.  There isn't much to say about that.  I remember people coming and going - some good and some not - none of them really mattering one way or the other in my life.   

I don't remember much more after that.  Isn't that odd?  I remember only bits of pieces of a span of 40 odd years.  Was I ever happy?  Do I even know how to be? 

I don't remember.

I've been waiting

What an uneventful, quiet, relaxing day.  No major issues of any kind.  Of course the day is not over, but I am confident that the trend will continue until I retire for the evening.

With regard to anxiety and panic attacks, it is important to note that not only do these issues come about in certain situations, but certain people can trigger these events as well.  I did have to take a small bit of Valium today - just to head off some anxiety while a loud and boisterous person joined me this afternoon.  I have found that heading off a big issue by hitting it while it's still manageable is a wonderful strategy to keep things on an even keel.

Going back to this morning; I woke up groggy, which is normal.  When I opened my eyes, my dog (she is such a sweetheart) was sitting next to my bed with my slippers.  I am fairly certain that she put the slippers there while I was sleeping.  I am almost positive that I left them in the bathroom.  I patted her head, sat up, and put on my slippers while she waited.  Then she gave me her paw and smiled.  There are no words to describe how much I love my dog.  She brings pure joy to my life.  I am not always able to accept her gifts, but she is always there to give them. 

This was an "at home" day.  The dog napped out in the bright sunshine.  I spent time with my son, talked to my parents on the telephone, and surfed the internet.  I've been waiting for a day like this.  Tomorrow will take care of itself.  Right now I'll just enjoy the fact that everything is fine.


Update at 8:25 p.m.  I feel my mood slipping.  Nagging/negative thoughts are creeping in.  Work tomorrow - that place is not good for me.  I should leave.  Is any place good for me?  If I leave I will be a failure.  When we move we will lose our health insurance and we NEED our health insurance.  What if we do not find jobs?  What if I am unable to work?  What if we do not purchase a business?  Will we be able to afford private health insurance?  If I do not have my medications I WILL die.  There is no doubt about that.  I will die by my own hand. 

Fear and its buddies anxiety, panic, and depression are standing by.  I will probably hurt myself this evening in an effort to feel better ... to feel something ... and I do not want to.  I do not.  Causing new pain makes the old pain disappear, but pain is pain.  When will the pain go away?


Update at 9:51 p.m.  I AM SO FUCKING ANGRY.  ANGRY!!!!  I WANT TO SCREAM AND KICK AND THROW MY COMPUTER ACROSS THE ROOM AND BREAK EVERYTHING OF VALUE IN THIS HOUSE.  I WANT TO CRASH MY CAR AND TIP THINGS OVER AND KICK EVERY DOOR IN.  I do not have an outlet for this right now.  I am alone.  I am alone a lot.  I am fucking pissed off.  Outwardly I am just tapping and shaking.  Why are people leaving me alone?!?   EVERYTHING IS MESSED UP.  NOTHING IS RIGHT.  I DO NOT WANT TO HEAR WHAT YOU HAVE TO SAY.  SHUT UP AND LEAVE ME ALONE.  My chest hurts.  I just smashed my hands down on my legs and that did nothing to stop the anger.  This stupid fucking brain in my head is a piece of shit.  It is not mine.  I do not want it.

Update at 12:28 a.m.  Calming down now - feeling tired.  I have to work in a few hours and pray that sleep comes quickly.  Ha - I said "pray" - how odd.  Wouldn't it be wonderful to believe in a God?  Some sort of preternatural being?  I envy those who "give their woes" up to "God".  Damned sheeple.  My fucked up brain simply does not subscribe to such foolish notions, but I envy your simple existences.    

Going down?

Another day of rapid cycling. The morning was wonderful - I woke, took the dog for a ride, brought breakfast home for my son (and the dog), and went shopping.

Shopping was fine, for the most part. I chose new flooring and paint colors for the house, and decided on a few other home improvement matters. I smiled at people, wished them good morning, walked with a spring in my step - it was very enjoyable...for a while. Honestly, I was probably trying too damn hard. I know that I do that. I know it annoys people. It is a chore to deal with my mania.

We're slipping now. The crowds of rude and stupid people make me very angry. It is not uncommon for me to let loose a crazy mix of cussing, obscene gestures, aggressive stances, angry faces - all of which make most people back off and walk away. Some challenge me and that is most unwise on their part. I will tear your face off. Nothing like that happened today - at least nothing physical, anyway.

I was so happy this morning. Perhaps not really, but it was pleasant. Then I spent time with the gen pop on a busy Saturday and it all went to shit. Even worse, I decided that I should strip down and weigh myself because I was feeling rather thin. Big mistake. Naked, no food, dehydrated, and certain I would see a wonderful number on the scale, only to see the biggest number in my life.

What. The. Fuck.

Trap door opens, I fall to the depths of despair. I had my first bite of food of the day at 2:30 this afternoon, after the weigh in. It was a hard-boiled egg. One bite and I vomited immediately. Then I ate the rest of that egg and had another - then some cottage cheese. We had to go back out and I wanted to make a low-carb dinner - a pasta-free lasagna made with lean ground chicken, cheeses and spinach. We've had it before and it's good. I bought everything to make this for dinner, and then the negative self talk bubbled to the surface ...

"You're fatter than you've ever been, you fat fucking loser. Your face looks bigger than that super moon in the sky. Your head is gigantic - way to go pulling that hair back - you look like a lazy, fat-headed piece of shit. Your stomach is gross and fat. Your face is under so much fat that all you see is a blob of ... who cares ... it's ugly. Just fucking die. Why are you here? Why do you even bother brushing your hair? Why did you even bother getting your hair cut? Who cares about your hair? That $30 could have been used for something that someone else needed, you selfish bitch. Eat the popcorn - all of it. NO - do NOT hide that licorice. Ha - weakling - just because you hid the licorice doesn't mean that you won't eat all of it later, and you will. Eat the leftover mashed potatoes and gravy ... that's it - tastes good, right?  Go ahead and cry.  What a weak little bitch. You can't keep your fat face shut long enough to lose a pound. Your husband is an idiot to stay with you. Look at yourself. Don't you kiss him back, you repulsive blob, don't you do it you repulsive pig."

Here I sit - so tired - tearing at my skin because I should be as ugly as I feel. There is a knot in my chest and I feel ... nothing. I feel absolutely nothing at all.

I keep waking up and taking the brave steps necessary to find a solution to these difficult moments, but it is such hard work. How long will it take? Will I be happy tomorrow? Will I make it until Tuesday when the Lithium therapy finally begins? Will I live the three weeks until the Lithium starts to work? What if it doesn't work? Will I have the strength to wait for another medicine to work?

I would not ask these questions if I really wanted to die, but if I did cease to exist, people would move on, without the trouble that is ME.

Medicine and bed. Now. Everything is always better in the light of day.

Revealing the Beast

As I mentioned yesterday, I completed most of my pre-Lithium testing, save the EKG.  I promised to get to the hospital today, and I did.  The cardiographic technician, who looked an awful lot like me, was wonderful.  She did not keep me waiting, which was good because - as we know from my first post (http://mymiddleroad.blogspot.com/2012/04/it-has-name.html) - I have an issue with waiting in a crowded, noisy room.

As I entered the testing room it occurred to me that I would have to remove my clothes.  Panic filled my chest.  The skin all over my body immediately started to crawl with heat and pain.

I have to remove my clothes.  This lovely lady will see my self-injury.  I am ugly.  I am hideous.  These injuries are visual representations of the intense pain in my mind and they are not meant to be seen by others.  We hide these feelings.  I have to run.  I have to leave.  I have to get out of this room. 

I must leave this room!

Instead I took a moment, removed my jacket, sat on the exam table, took a deep breath and spoke - softly at first ... searching for the right words and pleading with my larynx to grant me the sound to create them.

"I am sorry.  You may or may not already know this, but I am here for pre-Lithium testing.  I was recently diagnosed with various disorders and one of them involves self-harm.  I have injuries on my stomach ... and other areas, and apologize for what you are about to see.  It is a great embarrassment to me and it would be easier to leave this room now, but I need to do this to move forward in my care.  I will need your help."

The technician made me feel at ease.  She asked me to trust her and not to be afraid.  At her request, I removed my shirt and .... this is very hard for me ... I removed my shirt and allowed her to place the leads on my body.  She was quick and did not remain in any one area for long.  The test was over in just a few moments and revealed a normal sinus rhythm.  I am cleared to begin Lithium on Tuesday.

Every small step I take on this road to a stable life is a victory over decades of anguish and pain.  I have met compassionate people along the way and appreciate their kindness and understanding as I struggle to heal my physical and emotional wounds.