health

Flashback to Reality

~ jadybyproxy ~ 1 Comment

Hello my dear ones. I’m sorry to say that this is one of those blogs wherein I discuss a challenge rather than a success. This probably does not come as a shock, since I generally blog only the truly awesome and truly awful.

sigh.

The last time I used Zyprexa, I was in the psych wing of Stanford’s hospital in California, for about 5 weeks before transitioning to live-in therapy and finally going into intensive outpatient several months later. Zyprexa is strong as fuck, sedating, and I admit I never thought I’d need to use it again. Things are going poorly.

I’m paranoid. I’m not sleeping well. I wake in the middle of the night because I keep having the same nightmare night after night. I am always feeling as if there in an impending, horrific-beyond-words doom circling my head. I am worrying constantly, about every social interaction–every conversation, every exchange. My body is tense, I cannot sit still, I cannot stop bursting into tears. It’s been a little over a month of feeling this as intensely as I do now, and it’s not lessening.

so, about 6 weeks ago, I seek out an appointment with my doctor in order to address the growing unsettled and uncomfortable feeling all over my body and in my head. My doctor, being good at what he does, and I believe taking off some time, is unavailable until February 23. Well, fuck. So I set an appointment, much earlier, with my PCP (primary care provider, a general practice doctor, not a psychiatrist) in order to see if she is willing to prescribe me something stronger than my current medications, at least until I am able to see my regular psych. In this appointment, she admits she’s never prescribed the med I want, so she instead offers Zyprexa, which she is far more familiar with. I hear that medication and my heart falls. I retake it, because I am desperate, and instantly gain 10 pounds in 2 weeks. I set another appointment with my PCP wherein I tell her, in layman’s terms, “ok, I tried your med, can we try mine now?” She responds by telling me that I can stop taking Zyprexa, and I can wait for my other doctor. she literally says, “It’s just a couple of days, girl! you got this.”

(I have not ‘got this’, madam. I do not have THIS at all. )

Keep in mind, I am bugging and bugging my psych’s poor receptionist for any cancellation. She finds one with a different doctor in my psych’s practice. I take it immediately. I ask if since they’re in the same practice, if SHE would be willing to prescribe, I kid you not, a mere 2 weeks of a non-narcotic, non-habit forming, non-in any way fun to imbibe, medication that I would deeply prefer…no, no she will not. She’s “willing to discuss” changing dosages of my current meds…which at this point is pretty much a slap in my face. So I cancel that appointment and wait-list for longer. this entire time, I’m sleeping like shit, paranoid as a tinfoil hat, and crying at every emotional cue in my life.

Finally, my doctor has a cancellation for tomorrow. Of course, It’s been long enough festering in my brain, that I am a mess. I’m a hot, melty mess, loyal readers. Such, a mess, in fact, that I filled out medical leave of absence paperwork today just in case I need time for my new meds to kick in. I am struggling so hard, and I do not want to lose this job.

Just to point out how deeply societal biases are dug into my head: I literally feel guilty that I’m seeking a mental health medical leave AND I’M A DAMN THERAPIST. There’s a really shitty side of my brain telling me that I’m being a big baby and need to toughen up. Get back out there, suck it up buttercup, and do your work! Yet, there’s a much more reasonable side of me saying that I cannot do the good work if I am in a psych ward or dead.

I guess, loyal reader, that we are seeing what happens to a weather witch when seasons no longer happen the way they used to, combined with a hefty dose of interpersonal turmoil. Not only is it winter, in February, (the longest and most terrible of months), but there’s family things going on, too. I’m not comfortable sharing that part because it’s not my story, but suffice to say, I’ve been crying for ever so many reasons. and, of course, for no reason at all. I cannot describe quite how perfectly the inner and the outer world have aligned to create the EPIC storm in my brain, but if it wasn’t so damn miserable…it’d be pretty hilarious.

Well, tragedy plus time equals comedy. You’re welcome for the giggles, Future Jady.

So Much

~ jadybyproxy ~ 1 Comment

I have such big, big emotions. I’m also assessed as bipolar I, which means full manic episodes. I personally would diagnose myself as schizoaffective, since I have a whole ton of psychosis, and a few other things that are pretty trademark…but you really shouldn’t diagnose yourself. Even though I’m right. It’s fine. Sigh.

However and nevertheless, I’ve got a spicy and interesting brain with a tendency to bully and trick. Oh, and delusions are the flipping worst. Even delusions of grandeur are not fun. Well, no, they’re wildly, blindingly fun, but they ruin your life and damage relationships, burn bridges and make bad decisions happen ever so much.

So I’ve got some delusions going on, and they’re quite insidious, because I’m already a fairly sensitive and worried person. I’ve been paranoid and raw to the proverbial touch. I’ve worried and panicked excessively, much more so than usual, and it’s driving me a bit crazy. Every email, every text and absolutely every call, I am instantly on edge. It’s exhausting.

On the other hand, I raised my meds a bit early this year, and it’s worked out pretty well. It’s not ideal to be groggy and tired so often, but it’s been a lifesaver in terms of my sanity. I cannot describe madness with all the details that are seemingly little but very telling. I know, for example, that I’m headed down the road to trouble when I overhear conversations and assume with surety that they are talking about me and my life. I get extremely worried that everything I do is being judged and measured. Sometimes that’s the first step towards thinking I’m in a Truman Show scenario. It’s so frustrating to be at that point with the allure of total insanity, and yet knowing it’s all a brain trick. I miss full mania the way some people miss heroin. I was in love with that feeling. It is no longer an option in my life, though. I’m not 24 again, and I cannot fully destroy my life without losing a LOT that I love.

I’ll cheer this post with a short story. When I was admitted into the Stanford psych ward, wherein I would reside for the next 5 weeks, apparently my shitty ex did laundry (very rare) and put the basket in the bedroom. Legend has it that Dante the cat pushed all my clothing out of the way, and peed directly on his clothes. I was embarrassed at the time…now I simply say GOOD KITTY.

Alright loyal readers, enjoy the day, worry about me less than you’d think, and send some peace, please.

Time and Time Again

~ jadybyproxy ~ 1 Comment

Shocking Opinion: Winter is lousy and dark, cold, and endless. Winter is an insidious bastard that seeps his misery into the firmament of every single day. Now, this may seem rather bleak and as if I’ve given up. Sure, I complain a whole lot, and my complaints are hyperbolic beyond measure. Yet I remain resolute in my dedication to making this winter livable.

Sigh. This post was going to be a boastful, cheerful description of all my little winter projects, like improv and craft night planning, that make my days tolerable. I was going to share my self-care and brag about how well it was working. I was going to add a few clever tips for snapping your brain out of the winter doldrums. But I’m sorry to report that it doesn’t always work that way.

Sometimes nothing really helps and then you feel awful for a while. I’ve studied this in MY brain, and I’ve seen it in so many others…You cannot completely avoid the effects of mental disorders by willpower alone. It’s an impossible goal and one that I imagine has ruined more than a few confident people’s days. Setting yourself up to believe that you must wage brain on brain war to shut down any ‘bad’ feelings is a surefire way to have a complete meltdown. Believe me, I’ve been there. In fact, I’m pretty sure I am there.

Here’s the thing: all the study and all the experience in the world doesn’t prepare me for the little, numerous, subtle ways that my brain can trick me and hurt me. My brain may be a bully, but she’s also quite clever. A goddamn velociraptor in my head. She now me better than anyone, too, and is shameless in using my weaknesses against me.

A sensible person may ask why I discuss my brain as a separate entity than myself, and I agree, it’s strange. It’s a way I’ve found of sorting my thoughts and feeling into reasonable versus unreasonable. It makes me feel agency and a bit of control over at least one portion of my whole. I’m no stranger to psychosis, which I’d most simply describe as a non optional separation of the brain, body and soul…although writing that down, I don’t think that’s a ‘simple’ description at all. Consider this: The brain, the body, and the soul are three musicians in an ensemble. Usually they’re in synch, mostly, on tempo and working together on one defined performance. When fully psychotic, they’re still musicians but there’s no synchronicity, no teamwork. One part is blasting out a solo riff while the other two are reading their sheet music in dismay, not knowing that each is attempting to play a different song from the others. Oh, and sometimes the entire gang stops to contemplate horrific trauma in my past and just fixate, all together, on that cruel memory for a while. It’s a mess.

I’ve been struggling, my dear loyal readers. Those of you who know me, by way of Oakland, Chicago, Sheffield or Salt Lake, for long enough, know that I’ve been in dangerous levels of psychosis, and I’m glad to say that this is NOT a danger scenario*. It’s a Tornado watch, not warning. However, also definitely not a drill. I’m going to be frank: I have literally been on disability for this bullshit and while I’m VERY happy I can work and function without SSDI anymore, work is exhausting and so, so hard. I do not miss waiting on my teeny disability check, and I certainly don’t miss living the way I had been; deep into drinking and smoking a pack a day, hanging out with cokeheads and abusers. However, working full time and managing being an independent adult is a huge task for me, and I don’t always do very well. It’s ironic that I’ve technically been disabled since birth, but it was only really when the psychosis came to visit that I felt truly incapacitated**.

Now, the really funny part about all of this is that I can -describe- what is going on in detail and with fair insight, but that does very little to settle my nerves. Knowing a thing and Handling a thing are two very different skill sets. Do I know what I’d say to my client in a similar state? Sure. But it doesn’t always work on clients, and it sure as hell doesn’t always work on me. Shrug and sigh.

Short story, it hurts and it’s hard and I feel a few kinds of ways about that. Well….glad I avoided that whole ‘complaining’ thing, THAT would have been a grim few paragraphs, eh? Sigh again.

* Psychosis is a spectrum. We’ll discuss THAT can of worms one day when I’m feeling better.

**We did include my limb difference on the disability application and I think it did help to have an irrefutable physical ‘disability’, although it’s weird to think of it that way. Honestly, it has rarely felt disabling at all but I guess that’s what happens when you’re both this way.