As of late I have been extremely manic depressive. It is taking a toll on me emotionally. It drains me. I lay in dark clouds all day that storm upon me in a way that it feels it will never stop. Although it really won't ever go away in a sense. I will always get episodes that drag me deep into the caves of sadness and anger. I have to be honest- while I am in this state I think about my ex husband. How good we were for the first year and a half. I wonder where that went and why it dissolved. Of course I have my notions of why it did and sometimes I dwell on that. I sometimes just have these memories of hint telling me he didn't like me anymore for no apparent reason, or him getting so angry at me, or him just not wanting me anymore. It still hurts. I think of how happy I was on our wedding day and how it means nothing anymore. I loved him and I meant every vow I made and now I feel more cynical about relationships because it doesn't matter how much you love someone or how hard you try to make things better, how many times you ask for more intimacy outside of the bedroom, or that you made vows of love and the other has felt that they only meant theirs when they liked me. I don't understand it. Maybe people will tell I just need to get over it but it's a loss. When someone is gone from your life either by dying or by leaving you grieve. When I am manic depressive the grief comes on strong. But not just because of what happened between me and him.
Sometimes the notion that I will never find someone who will love me whole heartedly, who will care about me and my feelings from the beginning of our relationship, who wants to be around me and finds me to be beautiful in all aspects, someone who will come running to my house when I am trapped inside my dark storm, and who will always appreciate the efforts I put into showing my care, my interest, my kindness for them. The notion that I won't ever find something like that at all devours my heart. I have always been someone who gives love to people. (NO that doesn't mean me showing I am in love with someone). More like I am open with my heart and my kindness. I love to give love to others. I love being in love when I am with someone who brings those feelings to me. I give love to my friends, my family, and even strangers who I show love to by helping when I don't have to. I have felt wonderful love in return. I have been in love a couple times and it is devastating when that love gets lost but I know the heart ache will eventually go away. I let myself give love, and love because it is a comfort that makes many people feel good. I don't need to meet a Mr. Perfect, nor do I need a relationship right now but I fear to a fiery extent that I may never find that person. I do not want to end up alone with no kids and no one loving me truly. I have no doubt my ex loved as truly as I loved him but it vanished. I can't tell you where it went or to whom it went but it was lost.
Mayhaps I will never find a person who cares as much as I do when I am into someone. Could be I never find someone who wants to love with open arms. The world is full of people; my world is full of family and friends that give love to me as well. Yet I feel I am alone in the world. It is hard to put that into perspective for those who don't feel as I do because of my illness. It is different from what the average person feels. Manic depression is nothing to play with. These times are deeply disturbing to me. I am extremely sensitive normally but in these episodes I am even more fragile. When I feel used, or as if someone isn't looking at me with sincere interest I am deeply disturbed and this brings me full circle to my landless in this world. Friends can make me feel this way as well because some people only care about themselves. They make a short attempt to ask you how you are doing and when you tell them I am just awful they shortly ask why yet then don't care to help me through but move on to their own simple issues or repetitive banter about whoa is me. Now when someone is having serious issues, they are severely depressed I do not bring up my small miniscule problems because I care about that person enough to listen, do my best to help, and show genuine concern for how that person is feeling. When a friends doesn't return that it is clear to me that I do not mean as much to them as them to me.
So even if I don't find a healthy relationship in the future I fear I won't always find the genuine friends when I need them most. I have been crying a lot, have been distraught, and have been restless because my mind won't stop but the only people to notice or care to find out how I am doing are my mom, sister, and my friend Chuck. My mom and sister talk to me everyday and I know my mom will do anything to bring me up even if it is just to leave me be while I dive into a book. Chuck texts me everyday with no avail because he knows that I not only have physical issues but mental ones too and he wants to make sure I don't get too far deep into the dark hole. I know if I needed him to comfort me he would come straight over. That's really meaningful to me. He has a wife and kids yet still cares enough to be that kind. I show these people the same respect and love because they mean so much to me. I appreciate them so dearly and what they do to help me. There are others who just seem not to really care. A person I care for does not show me the same kindness and it hurts. It hurts to know that there are only a couple people who are interested in truly knowing how I am and who are willing to come to my aid when I am really to dangerously close to the edge. I keep my distance usually from those that do not have due interest in me and I do in them because I feel used, passively used.
I know my older sister has a lot on her plate but I know she would also come to my side if I needed her. I know that about a couple people. They wouldn't come to my aid and then start dribbling about some meager thing because they know that at that moment I need them to care, and they know in return I would do the same for them. I like when people show appreciation for kindness and love.
But even with those handful of people I still feel lost in this world, in this universe, in my own head. I feel so very much alone at times. It doesn't matter if my mom, aunt, sisters or whomever is there I fear my downfall episodes. I am nonexistent in this world filled with so many people. I am lost in a swarm of Americans who feel so entitled that they forget to help others or to not be so rude and unkindly. I live in a place where my mental illness is sometimes seen as fake, or a joke, or something one can just get over. I live in a place where I may never find someone who get's it, or wants to get it, or who is concerned enough to come comfort me. To others my mental illness and my physical ailments may be some kind of turn off but I believe that is unfair. I just wish that one day I can find something that is a beautiful relationship that blossoms like lilies in the sun. Where I feel safe and understood and cared for. Where there is appreciation, affection, want, desire, and a love for who I am and what I give to that person. I can no longer let myself deal with someone who neglects me on an emotional level, or on a physical level (not just sex but true intimacy shown through touch and closeness outside the bedroom). I am low on trust lately because I don't believe I can trust someone who could be something different under their shell. I don't know if this will eventually lift but I feel it now. I need someone willing to want me, willing to accept that I want to talk with them on a daily basis when I am interested and who return that feeling, someone that truly looks at me in a light where I am a gem to behold in more ways than outside beauty. I return this when I am interested.
However, this darkness looming above me, through me, has caught me in a struggle. I am lost and scarred. I am frightened by the prospect that no one will give me genuine care, kindness and love that will last beyond a few years. I have been burnt by cheaters who were apparently exclusive who said they loved me. I never want to feel that devastation again because here I sit crying just thinking about how badly the dagger in my back feels. How lonely it is to be lost in your mind wondering where things went wrong or if I have done something wrong. I have a nice life. I have a loving family, and loving friends. I do well at school, and have enjoyment from learning. I am not going hungry, and I have shelter, food, and water. I have help. I have free medical care and meds for my mental and physical ailments. But that doesn't stop my bipolar brain from sinking so low it reaches the center of the earth. I am so alone that sometimes I sleep on the couch to feel as if I have something comforting me because my bed feels so empty. Empty in a way like no one understands but the blame is more on me because I hide my sorrow, grief, anger, loneliness behind fake smiles. I lay all day on a couch reading. I have to thank the authors of my favorite books because they take me into another world. A world where my doom does not exist. My sorrow does not exist in the tales of old times. My manic, mania, manic depression is hidden behind words upon paper while my mind envisions a whole new world where while I create a bond with the characters my depression is not there to find. My world does not seem that wonderful at times because my brain is disposed to making me feel like I am but little to nothing. I wish it was easy to return from these gloomy places or to be able to say I am stronger than my mental illness but being bipolar I cannot always control these episodes. I haven't been sleeping much at night but during the day I feel my eyes growing heavy and my heart crying. I fell the lack of motivation for my life sometimes but I can at least overcome that and force myself to do what I need to do. I feel the sorrow that I have no one to come over and just hold me without any expectation for sex because they just want to make sure I am okay. I miss that. I miss knowing that I have someone to call upon to just come hold me tight without a need to say anything and who doesn't care if I just cry into their chest because I can't shake the dread that is my dark clouds. That is why I love to read. In those tales I can be the character who has that. I can forget for hours that I don't have that companion in my life. Of course my sisters or my mother or even my friend would hold me but it isn't quite the same because sometimes you just want to be held intimately or cuddled up with someone who feels deeply for you and your ache. I am alone in a world full of people. I do not exist beyond my small world to anyone. How could I. I don't know how many people walk by me and don't notice a tear washing down my face, or who don't even acknowledge I am alive. But not all people are like me. I look at the people around me, and when I see some stranger upset I ask how they are or why they are upset with sincere compassion not just to ask.
I don't need a relationship right now. I am not writing this for that purpose. I am writing this because my depression has made me feel that no one would want me because I am this. I am a bit broken, a bit out there, a nerdy mentally ill woman who desires compassion, passion, desire, love, respect, kindness, magnanimity and curiousness. Who will ever understand my curiously of death while not thinking of me as some poor depressed pathetic person. I am someone who is intelligent, creative, dutiful, kind, and so on. Yet I feel that my fake smiles will go on for eternity. I do not want anyone to feel pity for me. I do not want people thinking I am writing this because I feel badly for myself like the whoa is me person. I am writing this for me to even see what my mind and heart are feeling, and to hopefully find out or show someone else that maybe we aren't alone in a world of people.
Whose hand will grasp mine with care? Whose will hold me with genuine affection? Who will comfort me one day when I am low like this? These things I don't know and I am scarred I will never find out. Perhaps I should get used to holding myself tight, wrapped in books and blankets, contemplating why loneliness can hurt as much as a dagger in the back. I may need my fake smiles for eternity until I no longer need to wonder about death because it comes upon me when I am sleeping, or driving, or who knows what. I will not be scared of something I don't know... death... because my curiosity of it tells me it won't matter if there is nothing or something afterwards because either way it has to be better than falling into these episodes of the deepest hurt or the highest high that creates a crazy wild streak that I hate.
Sorry for the novel I am sure most people won't care enough to even read to this point which proves my loneliness in a world of people.
Lea
Showing posts with label Monster. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Monster. Show all posts
Saturday, August 2, 2014
Wednesday, April 23, 2014
The Untamed Brain
Where to begin this post. Geez my mind is everywhere this morning which I guess is a good thing to document because so many people don't get how our brains work compared to those so called 'normal' people. I have said that I would love to have a day to know what 'normal' feels like because I know my mind works much differently than most peoples'. Yet, I feel I cannot really say there is a 'normal' mind, maybe an average mind.
I have wanted to feel normal mentally and physically for years. I guess I do though right because I am used to the way that I feel. I am used to the pain, the agony, the ups and downs. I know many know about my physical ailments but I want to share them with those that don't know. I have degenerative arthritis in my lumbar spine, accompanied with arthropothy (or however that is spelt), a bulging disk, a nicely pinched sciatic nerve, muscle spasms that are so bad they give me what I call a 'neck boned', and lastly, I have an abnormality in my right hip bone and a focal tear (which thanks to Medicaid should be fixed soon). So pile all of that on top of mental illness and you have me- one bat shit crazy lady that is sometimes neutral, most times manic, and often depressed severely. My husband and a bunch of other folks believe that I need more exercise and I FULLY AGREE. However, I just did an hour workout-dancing like a mad woman around the house as I have heard it burns more calories than most dull workout videos I cannot stand. I took time to stretch everything out nicely, then I went and showered. Well you know how it is usually the next day you are sore well today for me it was right after the shower. I literally fell down a couple stairs as my right hip and leg gave out. FUN! I have also started walking and by the time I get back to the house that hip is on fire. It's very hard to get motivated to do workouts when it ends up in not just the normal workout pains but some heavy serious pain because of your broken-ness. This never helps my mental state. I usually become lethargic and sedentary which is horrible for me
I like dancing around when no one is home, I love taking walks, I love feeling fit when I am, but wow how easy it is to become unmotivated. Mental illness then takes it's toll. You may not want to eat at all or you may want to eat everything in site. I kind of slide between the two. So I lose some weight and am cool with that and then I gain several extra pounds back and I am kind of mortified. Now I am a pretty confident person for the most part. I know I am not ugly, and I am by no means fat at 5'6'' and 142 pounds but my mind does not like working with me. I am a woman who believes that media is fucking stupid and makes beautiful women and men feel inferior and fat and I firmly believe that there is beauty in all bodies. What I hate is that when you are bipolar you can become extremely self conscious and that can be a tricky and dangerous situation because you may end up starving yourself or vomiting up your food.
So here is a TRUTH story;
When I was younger between 18-21 I would buy ipecac and hide them in my room. I would usually skip dinner, and my lunch would be minimal. If I ate a lot of food, guess what I drank some ipecac and would throw it all up minutes later. I know most stick fingers down their thoughts but ipecac was an easier solution and this is at a time when you could just pick it up in the first aid aisle. I don't believe you can anymore. I would workout non-stop (hours a day at home or the gym and at lease 5 days a week not to mention I was in the Army for two years so I thoroughly enjoyed PT because that meant I would get thinner. I even got caught making myself throw up in the unit building by a sergeant but she let it go and didn't bring it up but made me promise to not do it there again. It was surely embarrassing. I made weight, I was always find but I would just get these bouts of feeling so disgusting that that's exactly what I would do. Eventually I realized that this kind of action is making me worse. It's causing me to be sick and I was at a point where bowel movements without all the fiber pills and laxatives was damn near impossible. That still haunts me to this day. Days on end where nothing moves through my body. Which also makes it look like I gained weight when I am really just carrying pounds of food in my stomach because my intestines aren't working right.
The point: don't ever let someone you love who is suffering from Bipolar ever feel like you think she/he is fat, or sagging, or whatever. Just Accept the beauty they have. Sometimes we may blow up for a bit because of our meds but that doesn't mean we are not still good looking or sexy. We may slim down so drastically it's amazingly shocking but that doesn't mean we need to be told nasty things about that either. Who cares as long as they are healthy, alive, and there.
I guess I am in the mood to discuss this because of how I have been feeling. When I am really down I usually daily find something to fixate on- be it weight, manic episodes and why they are what they are, books, so on. I had to put our 20 some year old Cockatiel down and it is devastating. It sucked because I thought he couldn't feel any pain or at least not much because he had paralysis in his feet. We all thought it. But we learned at the vet that he was feeling it all. Just because they had no function didn't mean they were pain free. The little guy was literally trying to chew his one toe off. I held him in the vet's office watching how happy he was to be held, off his feet and pet. He had a way of smiling and I cannot get that out of my head that last few moments with him where he seemed healthy and I just wanted to run away with him. But it hit me; When I get old, or I get very ill I do not want to be kept alive for longer than I have to be-I do not want to endure the pain of dying- I do not want to spend my last days sedated by drugs just to have a few more weeks that I won't even cognitively be there fore. I realized I cannot hold Michael all day long to help his pain. I cannot put him through the torture of being forced into taking meds that will pretty much sedate him just so he can live a few extra weeks, or more like days. His feathers were changing colors, he was starting to smell very poorly, and something was not okay. He most likely had a tumor on his spinal cord (hence him not being able to move his feet), and to get around the cage he had to drag himself across the bottom with his beak. Then he would manage to get up on the little platforms I made him so he could just sit without tipping over. I wish I had known he was in pain. I wish I could have fixed him but it was either do a bunch of test to tell us he was dying or let him go. So we let him go. He deserved peace for once. He deserved to now have to endure all that pain and all sadness I think he felt.
I'm depressed because of that while being maniacally depressed. It's not fun. It hurts. I wish it could all just go away and I could wake up and feel good. I felt okay this morning after I worked out. But then I felt miserable again. I think my doctor will have a field day with me on Friday. There are so many symptoms to Bipolar Disorder you could write a book describing each one. Racing thoughts, immense guilt, anxiety, appetite changes, increased or decreased energy, increased or decreased sexual behaviors that could be dangerous, Drug abuse, worthlessness, making awful decision, being suicidal or simply thinking about death too often, etc. These symptoms are no joke and I feel the longer they go unnoticed or denied the worse they get which is why I am desperately clinging to the hope that my doctor will listen when I say I need an increase in mg for my meds. Nothing is helping really or I am double dosing to take me down closer to the neutral line on the really bad days. That's not okay. And even though I feel that a mania state is about to happen that is not good either because I feel a crap ton of anxiety through mania. I am feeling empty, like a passenger in my own body. I don't think I am even keeping my thoughts straight enough to make the point clear. Or I try and say the why and deviate to some random thought. This is almost exhausting and what am I supposed to do? I just want to scream at the world. I want to fall down and cry almost every hour and I just want to feel okay. For my sake and my family's sake. I feel I am losing it slowly and the bipolar is progressively getting worse with my age. I wonder if anyone else feels that way. I am sure there is but I have to get off here because I will rant on all day and never finish the post. Thanks for reading feel free to comment or ask for support/advice.
Lea Silva
I have wanted to feel normal mentally and physically for years. I guess I do though right because I am used to the way that I feel. I am used to the pain, the agony, the ups and downs. I know many know about my physical ailments but I want to share them with those that don't know. I have degenerative arthritis in my lumbar spine, accompanied with arthropothy (or however that is spelt), a bulging disk, a nicely pinched sciatic nerve, muscle spasms that are so bad they give me what I call a 'neck boned', and lastly, I have an abnormality in my right hip bone and a focal tear (which thanks to Medicaid should be fixed soon). So pile all of that on top of mental illness and you have me- one bat shit crazy lady that is sometimes neutral, most times manic, and often depressed severely. My husband and a bunch of other folks believe that I need more exercise and I FULLY AGREE. However, I just did an hour workout-dancing like a mad woman around the house as I have heard it burns more calories than most dull workout videos I cannot stand. I took time to stretch everything out nicely, then I went and showered. Well you know how it is usually the next day you are sore well today for me it was right after the shower. I literally fell down a couple stairs as my right hip and leg gave out. FUN! I have also started walking and by the time I get back to the house that hip is on fire. It's very hard to get motivated to do workouts when it ends up in not just the normal workout pains but some heavy serious pain because of your broken-ness. This never helps my mental state. I usually become lethargic and sedentary which is horrible for me
I like dancing around when no one is home, I love taking walks, I love feeling fit when I am, but wow how easy it is to become unmotivated. Mental illness then takes it's toll. You may not want to eat at all or you may want to eat everything in site. I kind of slide between the two. So I lose some weight and am cool with that and then I gain several extra pounds back and I am kind of mortified. Now I am a pretty confident person for the most part. I know I am not ugly, and I am by no means fat at 5'6'' and 142 pounds but my mind does not like working with me. I am a woman who believes that media is fucking stupid and makes beautiful women and men feel inferior and fat and I firmly believe that there is beauty in all bodies. What I hate is that when you are bipolar you can become extremely self conscious and that can be a tricky and dangerous situation because you may end up starving yourself or vomiting up your food.
So here is a TRUTH story;
When I was younger between 18-21 I would buy ipecac and hide them in my room. I would usually skip dinner, and my lunch would be minimal. If I ate a lot of food, guess what I drank some ipecac and would throw it all up minutes later. I know most stick fingers down their thoughts but ipecac was an easier solution and this is at a time when you could just pick it up in the first aid aisle. I don't believe you can anymore. I would workout non-stop (hours a day at home or the gym and at lease 5 days a week not to mention I was in the Army for two years so I thoroughly enjoyed PT because that meant I would get thinner. I even got caught making myself throw up in the unit building by a sergeant but she let it go and didn't bring it up but made me promise to not do it there again. It was surely embarrassing. I made weight, I was always find but I would just get these bouts of feeling so disgusting that that's exactly what I would do. Eventually I realized that this kind of action is making me worse. It's causing me to be sick and I was at a point where bowel movements without all the fiber pills and laxatives was damn near impossible. That still haunts me to this day. Days on end where nothing moves through my body. Which also makes it look like I gained weight when I am really just carrying pounds of food in my stomach because my intestines aren't working right.
The point: don't ever let someone you love who is suffering from Bipolar ever feel like you think she/he is fat, or sagging, or whatever. Just Accept the beauty they have. Sometimes we may blow up for a bit because of our meds but that doesn't mean we are not still good looking or sexy. We may slim down so drastically it's amazingly shocking but that doesn't mean we need to be told nasty things about that either. Who cares as long as they are healthy, alive, and there.
I guess I am in the mood to discuss this because of how I have been feeling. When I am really down I usually daily find something to fixate on- be it weight, manic episodes and why they are what they are, books, so on. I had to put our 20 some year old Cockatiel down and it is devastating. It sucked because I thought he couldn't feel any pain or at least not much because he had paralysis in his feet. We all thought it. But we learned at the vet that he was feeling it all. Just because they had no function didn't mean they were pain free. The little guy was literally trying to chew his one toe off. I held him in the vet's office watching how happy he was to be held, off his feet and pet. He had a way of smiling and I cannot get that out of my head that last few moments with him where he seemed healthy and I just wanted to run away with him. But it hit me; When I get old, or I get very ill I do not want to be kept alive for longer than I have to be-I do not want to endure the pain of dying- I do not want to spend my last days sedated by drugs just to have a few more weeks that I won't even cognitively be there fore. I realized I cannot hold Michael all day long to help his pain. I cannot put him through the torture of being forced into taking meds that will pretty much sedate him just so he can live a few extra weeks, or more like days. His feathers were changing colors, he was starting to smell very poorly, and something was not okay. He most likely had a tumor on his spinal cord (hence him not being able to move his feet), and to get around the cage he had to drag himself across the bottom with his beak. Then he would manage to get up on the little platforms I made him so he could just sit without tipping over. I wish I had known he was in pain. I wish I could have fixed him but it was either do a bunch of test to tell us he was dying or let him go. So we let him go. He deserved peace for once. He deserved to now have to endure all that pain and all sadness I think he felt.
I'm depressed because of that while being maniacally depressed. It's not fun. It hurts. I wish it could all just go away and I could wake up and feel good. I felt okay this morning after I worked out. But then I felt miserable again. I think my doctor will have a field day with me on Friday. There are so many symptoms to Bipolar Disorder you could write a book describing each one. Racing thoughts, immense guilt, anxiety, appetite changes, increased or decreased energy, increased or decreased sexual behaviors that could be dangerous, Drug abuse, worthlessness, making awful decision, being suicidal or simply thinking about death too often, etc. These symptoms are no joke and I feel the longer they go unnoticed or denied the worse they get which is why I am desperately clinging to the hope that my doctor will listen when I say I need an increase in mg for my meds. Nothing is helping really or I am double dosing to take me down closer to the neutral line on the really bad days. That's not okay. And even though I feel that a mania state is about to happen that is not good either because I feel a crap ton of anxiety through mania. I am feeling empty, like a passenger in my own body. I don't think I am even keeping my thoughts straight enough to make the point clear. Or I try and say the why and deviate to some random thought. This is almost exhausting and what am I supposed to do? I just want to scream at the world. I want to fall down and cry almost every hour and I just want to feel okay. For my sake and my family's sake. I feel I am losing it slowly and the bipolar is progressively getting worse with my age. I wonder if anyone else feels that way. I am sure there is but I have to get off here because I will rant on all day and never finish the post. Thanks for reading feel free to comment or ask for support/advice.
Lea Silva
Monday, April 21, 2014
Brain is Dysfuntional with No Repreve
I went through a really rough week, well two weeks and it was terrifying, I was hearing things when no one said anything, and I was feeling absolutely crazy. I had a couple mental breakdowns and honestly if I hadn't had class to attend I would have forced myself to go into a psych ward so I didn't burden my family. It was insane how I was feeling.
I had a nice conversation with my husband one morning talking about how we should communicate better and came to an understanding about how to deal with each others' issues and make it less stressful. Well that feeling of calmness and security vanished within NO TIME. I went from accepting the nice conversation and the seeming breakthrough we had with each other to "he insulted me, he doesn't care, I feel manipulated, so on". Now honestly I don't think he really did any of those things but the manic side, the depressed side (and I mean severely depressed side) sulked all day. Ranting in my head stupid irrational things like the above statements. I just grew more and more furious. There was no real reason to feel the way I was because we had a nice decent conversation.
Well we can all guess what happened later that night. I was so passed I sat scrunched in a ball at the end of the couch unwilling to talk or be touched. (mind you I had told him I wanted more attention and here I sit unwilling to accept anything). Well as I always do when I am manic I had what I call bipolar turrets and while he was walking to bed said you don't even care about me. And an argument ensued. Now it is has be hard to understand from an outsider's perspective why this happens, and why a bipolar person turns something good into something negative. We have very little control over these situations. Like I said it's like being a passenger in your own brain. You cannot control the little demon inside you making everything turn into negativity. It was really awful.
My husband said he didn't really know how much he could take of this because the argument was so ridiculous. I obviously understand he was overwhelmed but him saying that made me go into a different kind of panic mode and a weird depressive hyper alert state (mind you I was on 500mg of Seroquel and still acting like this). From an outsider's perspective I am the crazy one who needs to 'control' the outbursts but it just doesn't work that way. I am mentally ill so there isn't much controlling. I can demand to myself to go for a walk, leave the room, go throw something to feel better, but this argument this one was bad. I literally believe I was in a psychosis. There was no control over this demon spawn inside me. One moment it would repent the next it would scream. What I need in those moments is kind of hard to understand. When I get that way the person on the receiving end needs to just accept it and say Okay. Try to help me calm down and feel comforted. I know this is a very hard task because I am being ridiculous and saying okay is giving into my irrational demands. However, this will move me past that stage and usually into one of guilt that leads to be coming back to reality and apologizing.
My mom used to have to put up with this when I was a teen. I would flip out over little things. I literally broke my wrist punching a wall over a stupid flat tire. I mean who does that? I would scream or get hostile or agitated and flip out in a nasty way. My mom would take so much and then slap me in the face after I went too far. Usually this would snap me back to reality, sometimes it made it worse. But as I got older and my brain knew what that slap would do I would grab her wrists so she couldn't. I remember this one time, I didn't know my strength (which the mentally ill can become extremely strong when they become hostile, stronger than they normally are). I will never forget the face she made when I grabbed her wrists probably with a look in my face of some girl with a demon inside me. She looked at me terrified that I had actually done this and the amount of strength I used to hold her. She said the words "you're hurting me" with a tinge of sadness and with glossed eyes and I immediately realized what I was doing and let go. It sunk me into suck immense guilt that I felt enraged- I know that weird to think about but it happens.
I have been dealing with this from most of my life and I panic, I go a bit nuts, I become someone else, and I can become very vicious. All I want is for someone to say okay fine and hold me. My mom used to do that. I would be in a very hostile and volatile mood and she would put her arms around me and rock me. It would work. But a mom caring is different that for a husband who has only dealt with this for a few years. He doesn't know the tricks yet and he let's it burden him. I completely understand why and I know that it would be difficult to handle someone with a mental illness you never had to deal with before and this is someone who deeply loves you and is all the sudden acting like a different person. Comprehending what is actually happening in my brain is not easy. Sure you can read up on bipolar, what it does to people, how it affects their train of thoughts but you will never get how difficult it is for the person with the illness. Some people just say "you need to find a way to control it" and that's just not really an option. Sure we can control our next move- either freak the hell out or try and find a solitary room and go crazy by yourself, or throw things to get the anger out or whatever helps. However, that doesn't always register. Sometimes you are in such a fit of rage that you forget that you can leave the situation, you can stop talking/yelling/screaming and just walk to a place where you can do whatever it is you need to do to calm down. Write a nasty message on a piece of paper, beat up your pillows I don't know but something. I forget this a lot. I have a very difficult time controlling what my body should be doing when I am in that kind of stage in my illness. It makes me sick when people think it is just so easy to control it, or that there are easy exercises that make it seem 90% better or whatever. Even on the best medications you still go through episodes, just not as badly, but as a severely mentally ill person you can go into a psychosis and have no clue who you are and have zero control. You are paranoid, insecure, feeling manipulated, suffocated, like everything is against you. Yea you can go do something to be distracted but it just boils in your mind all damn day. Never easing up on you just becoming worse. At least for me. Then the blow up happens.
My husband feels he was on his last leg when this occurred. I panicked and laid I the fetal position praying this wasn't real. He came into the room laid next to me and held me and talked to me and guess what, the mood passed. It wasn't just a scare that he would leave me, it was him coming in, accepting things were not good, and still laying down and holding me. Now I do not want to make him feel burdened by it all. I don't. I don't want him feeling this will be the train wreck that will happen all the time. But he does need to understand it will happen here and there. My Brian works in mysterious ways. I need him to know that when I get like that he shouldn't let it weigh him down and that just accepting it and letting it pass and holding me, because at some point I will collapse from exhaustion, will save the situation. No I am not putting any blame on him I am just saying this so maybe other spouses can understand what it is like for us and how I think one could help the situation. There is really no wrong and right when being the one trying to deal with a mentally ill, as long as you are not abusing them, because we cannot accept you to understand the whole of the disorder like we do. But there are ways your bipolar lover can be tamed or calmed down. Brought back to reality. Because let's face it I go to a whole different world.
That's why I understand when I hear someone killed themselves because they could figure out what was real and what wasn't anymore. That's how I feel sometimes. For instance, did my husband really say this or did he really manipulate me- in one world, the one of the rational Lea, I say no of course not, but in the irrational world of my bipolar alter ego I say yes and start a war in my head. I actually had a war with myself about taking all the meds I had and laying myself down to sleep. Somehow I, the rational Lea, won that battle. It took days for me to realize that there is no point to kill myself because this will all pass, me and my husband can always work things out and the world is not really crumbling around me. But it was hard. It's hard for everyone who is bipolar. It's like no one gets it unless they are bipolar and yet, even then some bipolar people say stuff like those meds won't do nothing for you except make you a dull person, or it's bullshit to say you can't fight it. I feel like some of them are either in denial, or have a misdiagnosis because I have seen that many people are being diagnosed with bipolar just because of anger issues and I don't think that is right or good for the patient because they are being put on meds they don't need and that can harm them because they aren't bipolar.
My main point here (which I have to state because I have been rambling) it that the awareness needs to be spread on how to help your loved one cope with his/her illness without letting it weigh you down or make you feel that you have to give too much of yourself to the point of feeling exhausted. We all have something that brings us around to reality or grounds us and I don't know that we always communicate that to our lovers. So I want this blog to reach those that don't understand, or want to understand, or need to know how to cope with their bipolar spouse. Thanks for reading. Feel free to comment with any further advice or questions!
Lea Silva
I had a nice conversation with my husband one morning talking about how we should communicate better and came to an understanding about how to deal with each others' issues and make it less stressful. Well that feeling of calmness and security vanished within NO TIME. I went from accepting the nice conversation and the seeming breakthrough we had with each other to "he insulted me, he doesn't care, I feel manipulated, so on". Now honestly I don't think he really did any of those things but the manic side, the depressed side (and I mean severely depressed side) sulked all day. Ranting in my head stupid irrational things like the above statements. I just grew more and more furious. There was no real reason to feel the way I was because we had a nice decent conversation.
Well we can all guess what happened later that night. I was so passed I sat scrunched in a ball at the end of the couch unwilling to talk or be touched. (mind you I had told him I wanted more attention and here I sit unwilling to accept anything). Well as I always do when I am manic I had what I call bipolar turrets and while he was walking to bed said you don't even care about me. And an argument ensued. Now it is has be hard to understand from an outsider's perspective why this happens, and why a bipolar person turns something good into something negative. We have very little control over these situations. Like I said it's like being a passenger in your own brain. You cannot control the little demon inside you making everything turn into negativity. It was really awful.
My husband said he didn't really know how much he could take of this because the argument was so ridiculous. I obviously understand he was overwhelmed but him saying that made me go into a different kind of panic mode and a weird depressive hyper alert state (mind you I was on 500mg of Seroquel and still acting like this). From an outsider's perspective I am the crazy one who needs to 'control' the outbursts but it just doesn't work that way. I am mentally ill so there isn't much controlling. I can demand to myself to go for a walk, leave the room, go throw something to feel better, but this argument this one was bad. I literally believe I was in a psychosis. There was no control over this demon spawn inside me. One moment it would repent the next it would scream. What I need in those moments is kind of hard to understand. When I get that way the person on the receiving end needs to just accept it and say Okay. Try to help me calm down and feel comforted. I know this is a very hard task because I am being ridiculous and saying okay is giving into my irrational demands. However, this will move me past that stage and usually into one of guilt that leads to be coming back to reality and apologizing.
My mom used to have to put up with this when I was a teen. I would flip out over little things. I literally broke my wrist punching a wall over a stupid flat tire. I mean who does that? I would scream or get hostile or agitated and flip out in a nasty way. My mom would take so much and then slap me in the face after I went too far. Usually this would snap me back to reality, sometimes it made it worse. But as I got older and my brain knew what that slap would do I would grab her wrists so she couldn't. I remember this one time, I didn't know my strength (which the mentally ill can become extremely strong when they become hostile, stronger than they normally are). I will never forget the face she made when I grabbed her wrists probably with a look in my face of some girl with a demon inside me. She looked at me terrified that I had actually done this and the amount of strength I used to hold her. She said the words "you're hurting me" with a tinge of sadness and with glossed eyes and I immediately realized what I was doing and let go. It sunk me into suck immense guilt that I felt enraged- I know that weird to think about but it happens.
I have been dealing with this from most of my life and I panic, I go a bit nuts, I become someone else, and I can become very vicious. All I want is for someone to say okay fine and hold me. My mom used to do that. I would be in a very hostile and volatile mood and she would put her arms around me and rock me. It would work. But a mom caring is different that for a husband who has only dealt with this for a few years. He doesn't know the tricks yet and he let's it burden him. I completely understand why and I know that it would be difficult to handle someone with a mental illness you never had to deal with before and this is someone who deeply loves you and is all the sudden acting like a different person. Comprehending what is actually happening in my brain is not easy. Sure you can read up on bipolar, what it does to people, how it affects their train of thoughts but you will never get how difficult it is for the person with the illness. Some people just say "you need to find a way to control it" and that's just not really an option. Sure we can control our next move- either freak the hell out or try and find a solitary room and go crazy by yourself, or throw things to get the anger out or whatever helps. However, that doesn't always register. Sometimes you are in such a fit of rage that you forget that you can leave the situation, you can stop talking/yelling/screaming and just walk to a place where you can do whatever it is you need to do to calm down. Write a nasty message on a piece of paper, beat up your pillows I don't know but something. I forget this a lot. I have a very difficult time controlling what my body should be doing when I am in that kind of stage in my illness. It makes me sick when people think it is just so easy to control it, or that there are easy exercises that make it seem 90% better or whatever. Even on the best medications you still go through episodes, just not as badly, but as a severely mentally ill person you can go into a psychosis and have no clue who you are and have zero control. You are paranoid, insecure, feeling manipulated, suffocated, like everything is against you. Yea you can go do something to be distracted but it just boils in your mind all damn day. Never easing up on you just becoming worse. At least for me. Then the blow up happens.
My husband feels he was on his last leg when this occurred. I panicked and laid I the fetal position praying this wasn't real. He came into the room laid next to me and held me and talked to me and guess what, the mood passed. It wasn't just a scare that he would leave me, it was him coming in, accepting things were not good, and still laying down and holding me. Now I do not want to make him feel burdened by it all. I don't. I don't want him feeling this will be the train wreck that will happen all the time. But he does need to understand it will happen here and there. My Brian works in mysterious ways. I need him to know that when I get like that he shouldn't let it weigh him down and that just accepting it and letting it pass and holding me, because at some point I will collapse from exhaustion, will save the situation. No I am not putting any blame on him I am just saying this so maybe other spouses can understand what it is like for us and how I think one could help the situation. There is really no wrong and right when being the one trying to deal with a mentally ill, as long as you are not abusing them, because we cannot accept you to understand the whole of the disorder like we do. But there are ways your bipolar lover can be tamed or calmed down. Brought back to reality. Because let's face it I go to a whole different world.
That's why I understand when I hear someone killed themselves because they could figure out what was real and what wasn't anymore. That's how I feel sometimes. For instance, did my husband really say this or did he really manipulate me- in one world, the one of the rational Lea, I say no of course not, but in the irrational world of my bipolar alter ego I say yes and start a war in my head. I actually had a war with myself about taking all the meds I had and laying myself down to sleep. Somehow I, the rational Lea, won that battle. It took days for me to realize that there is no point to kill myself because this will all pass, me and my husband can always work things out and the world is not really crumbling around me. But it was hard. It's hard for everyone who is bipolar. It's like no one gets it unless they are bipolar and yet, even then some bipolar people say stuff like those meds won't do nothing for you except make you a dull person, or it's bullshit to say you can't fight it. I feel like some of them are either in denial, or have a misdiagnosis because I have seen that many people are being diagnosed with bipolar just because of anger issues and I don't think that is right or good for the patient because they are being put on meds they don't need and that can harm them because they aren't bipolar.
My main point here (which I have to state because I have been rambling) it that the awareness needs to be spread on how to help your loved one cope with his/her illness without letting it weigh you down or make you feel that you have to give too much of yourself to the point of feeling exhausted. We all have something that brings us around to reality or grounds us and I don't know that we always communicate that to our lovers. So I want this blog to reach those that don't understand, or want to understand, or need to know how to cope with their bipolar spouse. Thanks for reading. Feel free to comment with any further advice or questions!
Lea Silva
Friday, April 4, 2014
Insider's Perspective Part Two
I left off my conversation in the last post on how I had to endure a second ectopic pregnancy, and how two months prior I took myself of my meds. The second pregnancy was not as far along as the first, and I had high hopes for this pregnancy. Although I had been spotting but I didn't think much of it. When I went to the ob/gyn I found out my numbers were really low, my hcg was at 90.Because I am high risk they checked my levels every other day because they should double. Well they never did double, they just stayed at 90. We though I may be miscarrying because of the bleeding (remember the first time I had bled internally) but the day my next appointment was to see the doctor I started to feel very ill, faint, started to feel very bad cramping, and the memory of the first pregnancy was haunting me. I waited for the appointment rather than going to the ER which worked out well because my doctor did an ultrasound and found the pregnancy right at the end of my tube by the ovary. He told me to go to the ER right away and he would be there shortly to do the surgery. This time my tube was salvageable. He made sure to clear out any scare tissue and a few months later he pushed dye through the tube and since it passed through it means I still have at least some possibility to get pregnant.
Losing this pregnancy sent me into another deep manic episode. This time it wasn't nearly as bad, probably because I had endured this loss before but it made me feel helpless like I will never be able to have kids on my own without some scientific technology to help, or without adoption.
Now many people would recommend a surrogate who could carry my egg fertilized by my husband's sperm but I absolutely refuse to do that. This is probably my bipolar, and ocd side coming out. If I even think about another woman being able to carry my baby to full term it ignites an anger and sadness in me that I don't normally encounter. Just typing it is making me agitated. So why is that, what is going through my mind? Well I feel that a strong amount of jealousy would wash over me because this person can actually carry pregnancies and feel MY baby growing and moving. I would feel deep resentment towards that person because they got to feel the baby, feel it hiccup, kick, roll, and so forth and I would sit on the side lines wishing I knew what it felt like to have my baby inside me, not her. Maybe that seems selfish or ridiculous because it is a very good option for those who cannot get pregnant but to me I know I would be whirling down the dark staircase. I would despise the world, and my body and not find any enjoyment because of it. That is simply the way my brain works. Plus I would be even more angered if I got the crazy person that believed since they carried MY EGG and my husbands sperm that it is somehow still also her child. You know why people feel that way even though it isn't there biological child? Because they bonded with the baby through the pregnancy, and thus is why I cannot bear to think about it. I wouldn't get that bond someone else would. Weirdly adoption I would encourage more because while it may not be my biological child it is a child I want and I want to love, a child who was abandoned or given up because the mother knew it be better off. Yes someone still got to feel the pregnancy but I didn't have to sit by and watch it, and it wasn't my egg and sperm that I couldn't carry, it would be a baby that needed a loving home that was already created. There are so many babies that need homes that adopting, rather than using a surrogate, seems much more harmonious with how I deal with things mentally.
Back to the main point- Last summer is when I lost the second pregnancy, and this time video games were not really there to help. I certainly read a lot, and wrote a lot in journals scattered here and there, but I mostly laid on the couch not wanting to do a damn thing. I was so depressed again and I didn't want to have to talk to people about it, or really acknowledge or deal with it. I would snap at little things, small comments made that were meant to be jokes I took deadly serious. It was awful. Sometimes I would just sit and cry, and while it was partly due to losing the pregnancy it was also partly due to the fear of others dying because of all the people I had lost over the last couple years, and then partly because I didn't know how to cope with my mental illness but wasn't willing to admit it. That same year, on January 3,2013 my uncle Ron, who was like a dad to me and had always been there, had died in front of our house, in his car, due to a heart attack. So over the summer I obsessed a bit over the concept of death and what life actually meant.
It made me so curious about what death actually is and how much someone, even my fetuses, felt pain when they died. Did they realize what was happening, at least instinctually? Does their energy just disburse or is it more than that? I know scientifically matter just re-disburses so we could have some of President Washington's atoms inside us, but I think the question of whether something happens to you at death or not is always on a person's mind when someone close dies, even if they say they are atheist I am sure they still sometimes wonder if they are wrong, or if science just hasn't realized what takes place.
These kinds of thoughts running through your mind all the time drag you down into a lethargic, haunting place. It really is quite hard to get back up the ladder, and even harder to deal with little annoyances. I do not know how many times I was super snippy and short during telephone calls or regular conversations. I just didn't want to talk to very many people. I felt left alone by everyone except my husband Nathan. Yea my best friend would try and get me to hangout but I felt like everyone forgot that I was still trying to cope with life. It's like this- If something bad happens to you, and let's assume you are NOT mentally ill, it takes some time to cope but you move one. If something bad happens to me it drowns my brain in depression, anger, grief, annoyance, and very little happiness or enjoyment. Then think of those around you- sure they recognize something bad has happened to you and may even realize that you have a hard time coping due to mental illness but after a couple days, maybe a week or two, they don't think about it much, if at all, anymore. They coped faster because it didn't happen to them, or did not affect them like it does for the mentally ill. This is very aggregating because they forget that you may still be fragile about certain subjects, or make jokes that aren't very funny to you because somehow they remind you of how awful things have been, the dark cloud around you, or the bad event(s) that have happened. Worse still they may also make you feel guilt or bad because you are more distant or don't want to talk for long periods of time, or because you can be very irritable, but guess what? That's just how it is with bipolar people sometimes. You may think well she looks happy and active today, (maybe for a few days), but you don't realize that we cycle through episode so one week, month, maybe just even one day we are manic, and the next day, week, month we are going through mania (hyper, sometimes aggressive, shopping a lot or doing things that aren't that safe or that rational), and then all the sudden we may stabilize for a period of time.
Panicking all the time is embarrassing too. The losses in my life have caused me to panic about losing others when I think about how x will die someday, or I panic driving because if I lose control someone could die, or in social places because I fear being around these people and them judging me or getting on my nerves, or prying too much etch. It can be humiliating when you start to shake with anxiety, or start sweating, or even crying and there isn't much you can do besides find a bathroom to be alone in, go home, wait it out, or take an anti-anxiety med if you can. When I lose someone close I tend to have more panic attacks, and when I lost the pregnancies sometime I would panic seeing small babies because I would start thinking how I may never have kids, and what if Nathan would leave over that (he wouldn't but that doesn't stop the panicking).
So it can be difficult and frustrating because others don't understand why you are so inverted, irritable, crying for 'no reason', or just not able to be social or diplomatic. When traumas happen we tend to fold inward and our brains just don't want to deal with other people's stuff because it is having a hard enough time coping with it's own stuff. Being patient may be off the table too. It becomes overwhelming especially when people expect you to do certain things, or act certain ways, or 'get over it already'. I tend to not have very many friends because of this. It can be extremely taxing to have to leave the house and be 'friendly' when you are exhausted from being maniacally depressed and agro.
For all of you out there with bipolar disorder and panic disorder all I can recommend is to try and stay on your meds, be honest when you are feeling manic or mania, and I tend to put things around rooms that are unbreakable so if I get too upset or too angry I can throw them and they won't shatter. For panicking I suggest keeping a rubber band on your gear shift in your car, and one in your purse, wallet or on your wrist. When I start to panic snapping the rubber band against something or my skin can sometimes help bring me back to reality, or at least make the panic attack have slower onset. I have come to realize I don't have control over my moods or my anxiety and I have to accept me for me. I have to be honest with people that it affects and I have to talk about it or I become too overwhelmed. I need meds to control it but I also know I have a tendency to think "I'm fine, I don't need these" or "these meds don't do anything". I realize how wrong I am once I get off them and the cycles starts again about a couple weeks to a month later. I should know better because even on my meds I still go through episodes and panic attacks, just not as bad.
For those who don't have this mental illness, or one at all, take these words seriously. My blog is not a joke and it may seem scattered but that's just the way it comes out. Support is needed when a person is being tried by his/her disorders. Joking, or insinuating that they can just stop feeling that way or acting that way is hurtful and harmful. Just because you don't understand it doesn't mean it cannot be real. I know it may seem hard to accept these things because they aren't seen, you cannot just take an x-ray of the mind and say oh they are bipolar. It's mental and I think a lot of people equate that to meaning "it's all in your head and not real so just find a way to stop". It's just not that easy and a lot of neuronreceptors are in play. But I should stop here because this has turned into a book. I suppose it makes up for not writing a post yesterday! Thanks for reading, please pass it on for mental illness awareness.
Lea Silva
Losing this pregnancy sent me into another deep manic episode. This time it wasn't nearly as bad, probably because I had endured this loss before but it made me feel helpless like I will never be able to have kids on my own without some scientific technology to help, or without adoption.
Now many people would recommend a surrogate who could carry my egg fertilized by my husband's sperm but I absolutely refuse to do that. This is probably my bipolar, and ocd side coming out. If I even think about another woman being able to carry my baby to full term it ignites an anger and sadness in me that I don't normally encounter. Just typing it is making me agitated. So why is that, what is going through my mind? Well I feel that a strong amount of jealousy would wash over me because this person can actually carry pregnancies and feel MY baby growing and moving. I would feel deep resentment towards that person because they got to feel the baby, feel it hiccup, kick, roll, and so forth and I would sit on the side lines wishing I knew what it felt like to have my baby inside me, not her. Maybe that seems selfish or ridiculous because it is a very good option for those who cannot get pregnant but to me I know I would be whirling down the dark staircase. I would despise the world, and my body and not find any enjoyment because of it. That is simply the way my brain works. Plus I would be even more angered if I got the crazy person that believed since they carried MY EGG and my husbands sperm that it is somehow still also her child. You know why people feel that way even though it isn't there biological child? Because they bonded with the baby through the pregnancy, and thus is why I cannot bear to think about it. I wouldn't get that bond someone else would. Weirdly adoption I would encourage more because while it may not be my biological child it is a child I want and I want to love, a child who was abandoned or given up because the mother knew it be better off. Yes someone still got to feel the pregnancy but I didn't have to sit by and watch it, and it wasn't my egg and sperm that I couldn't carry, it would be a baby that needed a loving home that was already created. There are so many babies that need homes that adopting, rather than using a surrogate, seems much more harmonious with how I deal with things mentally.
Back to the main point- Last summer is when I lost the second pregnancy, and this time video games were not really there to help. I certainly read a lot, and wrote a lot in journals scattered here and there, but I mostly laid on the couch not wanting to do a damn thing. I was so depressed again and I didn't want to have to talk to people about it, or really acknowledge or deal with it. I would snap at little things, small comments made that were meant to be jokes I took deadly serious. It was awful. Sometimes I would just sit and cry, and while it was partly due to losing the pregnancy it was also partly due to the fear of others dying because of all the people I had lost over the last couple years, and then partly because I didn't know how to cope with my mental illness but wasn't willing to admit it. That same year, on January 3,2013 my uncle Ron, who was like a dad to me and had always been there, had died in front of our house, in his car, due to a heart attack. So over the summer I obsessed a bit over the concept of death and what life actually meant.
It made me so curious about what death actually is and how much someone, even my fetuses, felt pain when they died. Did they realize what was happening, at least instinctually? Does their energy just disburse or is it more than that? I know scientifically matter just re-disburses so we could have some of President Washington's atoms inside us, but I think the question of whether something happens to you at death or not is always on a person's mind when someone close dies, even if they say they are atheist I am sure they still sometimes wonder if they are wrong, or if science just hasn't realized what takes place.
These kinds of thoughts running through your mind all the time drag you down into a lethargic, haunting place. It really is quite hard to get back up the ladder, and even harder to deal with little annoyances. I do not know how many times I was super snippy and short during telephone calls or regular conversations. I just didn't want to talk to very many people. I felt left alone by everyone except my husband Nathan. Yea my best friend would try and get me to hangout but I felt like everyone forgot that I was still trying to cope with life. It's like this- If something bad happens to you, and let's assume you are NOT mentally ill, it takes some time to cope but you move one. If something bad happens to me it drowns my brain in depression, anger, grief, annoyance, and very little happiness or enjoyment. Then think of those around you- sure they recognize something bad has happened to you and may even realize that you have a hard time coping due to mental illness but after a couple days, maybe a week or two, they don't think about it much, if at all, anymore. They coped faster because it didn't happen to them, or did not affect them like it does for the mentally ill. This is very aggregating because they forget that you may still be fragile about certain subjects, or make jokes that aren't very funny to you because somehow they remind you of how awful things have been, the dark cloud around you, or the bad event(s) that have happened. Worse still they may also make you feel guilt or bad because you are more distant or don't want to talk for long periods of time, or because you can be very irritable, but guess what? That's just how it is with bipolar people sometimes. You may think well she looks happy and active today, (maybe for a few days), but you don't realize that we cycle through episode so one week, month, maybe just even one day we are manic, and the next day, week, month we are going through mania (hyper, sometimes aggressive, shopping a lot or doing things that aren't that safe or that rational), and then all the sudden we may stabilize for a period of time.
Panicking all the time is embarrassing too. The losses in my life have caused me to panic about losing others when I think about how x will die someday, or I panic driving because if I lose control someone could die, or in social places because I fear being around these people and them judging me or getting on my nerves, or prying too much etch. It can be humiliating when you start to shake with anxiety, or start sweating, or even crying and there isn't much you can do besides find a bathroom to be alone in, go home, wait it out, or take an anti-anxiety med if you can. When I lose someone close I tend to have more panic attacks, and when I lost the pregnancies sometime I would panic seeing small babies because I would start thinking how I may never have kids, and what if Nathan would leave over that (he wouldn't but that doesn't stop the panicking).
So it can be difficult and frustrating because others don't understand why you are so inverted, irritable, crying for 'no reason', or just not able to be social or diplomatic. When traumas happen we tend to fold inward and our brains just don't want to deal with other people's stuff because it is having a hard enough time coping with it's own stuff. Being patient may be off the table too. It becomes overwhelming especially when people expect you to do certain things, or act certain ways, or 'get over it already'. I tend to not have very many friends because of this. It can be extremely taxing to have to leave the house and be 'friendly' when you are exhausted from being maniacally depressed and agro.
For all of you out there with bipolar disorder and panic disorder all I can recommend is to try and stay on your meds, be honest when you are feeling manic or mania, and I tend to put things around rooms that are unbreakable so if I get too upset or too angry I can throw them and they won't shatter. For panicking I suggest keeping a rubber band on your gear shift in your car, and one in your purse, wallet or on your wrist. When I start to panic snapping the rubber band against something or my skin can sometimes help bring me back to reality, or at least make the panic attack have slower onset. I have come to realize I don't have control over my moods or my anxiety and I have to accept me for me. I have to be honest with people that it affects and I have to talk about it or I become too overwhelmed. I need meds to control it but I also know I have a tendency to think "I'm fine, I don't need these" or "these meds don't do anything". I realize how wrong I am once I get off them and the cycles starts again about a couple weeks to a month later. I should know better because even on my meds I still go through episodes and panic attacks, just not as bad.
For those who don't have this mental illness, or one at all, take these words seriously. My blog is not a joke and it may seem scattered but that's just the way it comes out. Support is needed when a person is being tried by his/her disorders. Joking, or insinuating that they can just stop feeling that way or acting that way is hurtful and harmful. Just because you don't understand it doesn't mean it cannot be real. I know it may seem hard to accept these things because they aren't seen, you cannot just take an x-ray of the mind and say oh they are bipolar. It's mental and I think a lot of people equate that to meaning "it's all in your head and not real so just find a way to stop". It's just not that easy and a lot of neuronreceptors are in play. But I should stop here because this has turned into a book. I suppose it makes up for not writing a post yesterday! Thanks for reading, please pass it on for mental illness awareness.
Lea Silva
Tuesday, April 1, 2014
Night Time Equals Tranquilizer Time
Obviously it is time for the meds. 400mg of Seroquel will do the trick if you cannot sleep lol!
This is the only medication that has worked for me when it comes to combating resistant bipolar disorder. Usually the doctor will start you off on 50mg and work you on up to the high doses. This medication is an anti-psychotic so a lot of people do not want to take it because they believe if you are on an anti-psychotic you must be psychotic. Well that's not true nor should that even be an argument for not taking meds that work.
For instance, I get horrible migraines that are extremely awful and the so called 'migraine' medicines like imitrex, maxalt, and some funky anti-inflammatories just do not cut it. Instead I use compazine which is used for nausea. Just because I take compazine doesn't mean I am nauseous so why would taking an anti-psychotic mean you are psychotic? Sure Seroquel is used for mental illness but there is no reason to be that scared of the meds. Besides there are others like Lithium, Abilify, Cymbalta, Lamictal (sp?) and so forth. Seroquel just works wonders for me.
While I take the Seroquel at night because it does tranquilize you/sedate you, it does not completely wear off once you wake up. It will knock you out cold and you will be able to sleep anywhere at anytime if you even have a couple hundred milligrams. The effects are very quick. I took my dose about ten minutes ago and I can already feel the tranquil warm sleepy feeling coming on. It is a pleasant feeling because it is like being enveloped in a warm cascade of sunlight that warms you to your soul and calms all your problems and rocks you to sleep. By no means is it recreational, at least nor for me. I don't think that would be very safe considering once it completely kicks in you are completely knocked out.
I personally recommend you start a routine for the morning as this stuff really kicks your butt in the morning because you are still tranquilized. When I wake up for about ten minutes I will kind of be sleep walking. For example, yesterday I took the dogs out went into the basement and fell asleep in a chair. My husband comes down and my second alarm goes off. I look at him and say "oh geez I should take the dogs out" and he then informed me that I had already done so and I left them out there for about ten minutes while he was showering (don't worry it was warm and they normally hang out there for 10 to 20 minutes). My point is you need to be prepared for the mornings when on Seroquel. I set two alarms twenty minutes apart. Why, you may ask do I do that? The first one allows me to realize I need to get up for the day and I am not allowed to be in bed all day. The second one is because I WILL find a spot to sit while waiting on the dogs or for the bathroom and will fall asleep. Next there must be coffee or some other caffeinated drink, I preset my coffee maker so it's ready to go. Showers help to wake up as long as they are not too hot.
Here is the important part:
Even though you will eventually feel awake you will also feel different. It is so hard to explain. I will feel calmer, less manic or less mania, I will feel happy, motivated and so forth but there is one last thing. It is an overall secure feeling while also feeling even-tempered, at peace, and super stable in my emotive sense. Thus,, you are tranquilized and feel tranquil. Laid back. Don't get me wrong you can still get manic, or hyper, or overly focused, etc. But it does help motivate (once you have the coffee of course). Throughout the day the affects stay with you and you can deal with the days much easier than without meds.
I must stop here as I am starting to doze off and tomorrow I will blog about experiences and other meds Thanks
Lea Silva
This is the only medication that has worked for me when it comes to combating resistant bipolar disorder. Usually the doctor will start you off on 50mg and work you on up to the high doses. This medication is an anti-psychotic so a lot of people do not want to take it because they believe if you are on an anti-psychotic you must be psychotic. Well that's not true nor should that even be an argument for not taking meds that work.
For instance, I get horrible migraines that are extremely awful and the so called 'migraine' medicines like imitrex, maxalt, and some funky anti-inflammatories just do not cut it. Instead I use compazine which is used for nausea. Just because I take compazine doesn't mean I am nauseous so why would taking an anti-psychotic mean you are psychotic? Sure Seroquel is used for mental illness but there is no reason to be that scared of the meds. Besides there are others like Lithium, Abilify, Cymbalta, Lamictal (sp?) and so forth. Seroquel just works wonders for me.
While I take the Seroquel at night because it does tranquilize you/sedate you, it does not completely wear off once you wake up. It will knock you out cold and you will be able to sleep anywhere at anytime if you even have a couple hundred milligrams. The effects are very quick. I took my dose about ten minutes ago and I can already feel the tranquil warm sleepy feeling coming on. It is a pleasant feeling because it is like being enveloped in a warm cascade of sunlight that warms you to your soul and calms all your problems and rocks you to sleep. By no means is it recreational, at least nor for me. I don't think that would be very safe considering once it completely kicks in you are completely knocked out.
I personally recommend you start a routine for the morning as this stuff really kicks your butt in the morning because you are still tranquilized. When I wake up for about ten minutes I will kind of be sleep walking. For example, yesterday I took the dogs out went into the basement and fell asleep in a chair. My husband comes down and my second alarm goes off. I look at him and say "oh geez I should take the dogs out" and he then informed me that I had already done so and I left them out there for about ten minutes while he was showering (don't worry it was warm and they normally hang out there for 10 to 20 minutes). My point is you need to be prepared for the mornings when on Seroquel. I set two alarms twenty minutes apart. Why, you may ask do I do that? The first one allows me to realize I need to get up for the day and I am not allowed to be in bed all day. The second one is because I WILL find a spot to sit while waiting on the dogs or for the bathroom and will fall asleep. Next there must be coffee or some other caffeinated drink, I preset my coffee maker so it's ready to go. Showers help to wake up as long as they are not too hot.
Here is the important part:
Even though you will eventually feel awake you will also feel different. It is so hard to explain. I will feel calmer, less manic or less mania, I will feel happy, motivated and so forth but there is one last thing. It is an overall secure feeling while also feeling even-tempered, at peace, and super stable in my emotive sense. Thus,, you are tranquilized and feel tranquil. Laid back. Don't get me wrong you can still get manic, or hyper, or overly focused, etc. But it does help motivate (once you have the coffee of course). Throughout the day the affects stay with you and you can deal with the days much easier than without meds.
I must stop here as I am starting to doze off and tomorrow I will blog about experiences and other meds Thanks
Lea Silva
Diagnosis, and the 'Episodes'
There are millions of people out there suffering from some sort of mental illness be it depression, some sort of anxiety, OCD, schizophrenia, sociopath, psychopathy, PTSD, ADHD, Bipolar disorder, and so forth. Do you ever wonder what those people must be feeling? I certainly do. Are they feeling like I felt in my teens when I had no idea why I acted the way I did. I was told by friends and some family members that it was because my dad wasn't there, or because my father had had a temper but I knew that could not be it. I felt lost in a big world with a brain I didn't understand. When bad things came my way, no matter how big or small, it changed the way I felt instantly. I thought I was broken, something was wrong with me. I broke phones, glasses, pans, windows, my wrist, toes (from kicking things), hurt others with my vicious words, and struggled. I still struggle daily but at least now I know why and that makes it a little easier. I have learned to cope with having mental illness, and I have learned to be humble and apologize. I will never be able to stop myself from fixating on one thing that hurt me, or feel so hurt I fall deep down, and I won't be the typical average 'non-mentally ill' person (whatever that may mean). I will always struggle to hold my tongue, focus my mind on not raging or getting angry, and my greatest fear is I will never learn to cope with dealing with work everyday. I have a hard time coping with school 4 days a week, so I fear not being able to do what I want in life (unless I find a way to do it at home). I am going to present here a tale from my life that affected me forever. An event that affected me and caused my 'episodes' to start. While I am positive bipolar disorder is just in my genetic code because I have done therapy for this specific part of my life several times, I do believe this set me off earlier than if this hadn't happened. I am opening up on something I HATE talking about so please no harsh commenting, and at the end of this post you will understand why I telling you this. So here goes it.
As a young girl I was raped. I was 12 and he was 24. My friends and me went to a friend of a friends house and I had my first 40 (big mistake kids to think you are ready for that when you are not). In the end I was left passed out in some strangers bedroom. I awoke to a man, who was much bigger and stronger than me, maybe 6 Ft or so, on top of me. I looked around panicking, not knowing what I should do. Do I yell? If I yell he might hit me. Do I try and run? No he will probably hit me. And that's the answer I just kept coming to. My 12 year old body was drunk, and was so trapped and afraid of what was about to happen. Trying with all my might to get up from under him and I just felt paralyzed. Holding my one wrist he ended up getting the clothes off below the waist and here I am frozen in terror. I felt so horrified. I remember tears coming down the side of my face silently. I could muster up only the courage to say this "I'm a virgin please don't hurt me". The sick bastard smiled at that. I won't ever forget that look. EVER. My wrist was released but I had no power. My tiny short body was stuck under this disgusting piece of s**t. I wanted to die. I tried pushing him off me but realized the more I fight the more he will fight and I just waited. I waited to be set free. When I was I b lined my way out of that house. Dazed and not really knowing what just happened, what I should do, and where exactly I was I just started walking.
The worst part was I didn't want to say anything because I felt humiliated. I felt like nothing. I felt that what was special about me wasn't special anymore. I didn't know what to tell my friends, and I definitely did not know what to tell my mom. I simply said I lost my virginity to friends and mindlessly answered questions and the whole time I was doing this the image of me dying was in my mind. The image of me, at 12, dying was all I saw. I was so mortified I feared telling my friends the truth. I don't really know why but that's how I felt. My mom figured it out. I asked 'Do tampons break your hymen?" She immediately knew something was wrong. She asked me "Did you have sex?" I swallowed my vomit and said 'kind of'. She was starting to get the point. When I told her he was 24, told her my friends got me drunk, told her 'no I don't know if he wore a condom because I was not awake when he got atop me', she flipped like any mom would and took me to the police station.
I tell this story because this is what I thought caused all my issues. I'm sure it caused a lot, and I am sure it slowly formed my panic disorder, and my rage that usually is worse with men but I do not believe it is what caused me to be bipolar, it only made my episodes worse. I look at my younger sister who is 12 and think about how tiny she is. She is strong, but she is tiny. She is a child. She is so innocent. Her skin has not met time yet and her body has not even taken shape yet. I am 28 and I look at her and see a baby. How any 'man' could look at a young child like that and watch them get drunk and then rape them is far past my ability to understand.
When I first saw a psychologist he asked me if I had every been abused in anyway and I shortly said yes, I was raped. I refused to talk about it because it always would throw me into an 'episode' as my mother would say. He backed off the subject and discussed how abuse affects the mentally ill, how holding it in exacerbates it, and how to try and combat my rage. Note: I went to a doctor finally because I was raging out on everyone so I needed help.
I had come to realize that I CANNOT let that disgusting worthless pos take me down. I may always have to deal with bipolar disorder and panic disorder, but I can get some control by not letting his actions control my outlook.
It took me a long time to realize that even though I can be absolutely nuts sometimes, that I do not deserve bad treatment, that I don't have to turn a blind eye to a douchebag boyfriend cheating, and that even with my crazy moments my mind is wonderful and I can offer something to this world because of my experiences. I can tell my story and hope it helps others. I know that what happened to me is awful but by working through it I helped my coping skills. Much more has happened to me since then that was not pleasant but it gave me perspective.
I sometimes do wonder though how would I be if that hadn't happened to me? Would I have lived differently? Would I have chosen the path I did as a teen? Would I have had such a bad bipolar break and panic disorder?
I answer these questions as such:
If that had not happened to me I may have lived a life without actual knowledge or understanding of what people are capable of. We all hear these stories and all see news videos of gruesome events but most of us think that will never happen to me, or we see it, recognize it, but have this strange habit of not really thinking of it as real. I dealt with this in reality so I have an inside perspective. I have more empathy for victims of all sorts of crimes, which makes me try and be moral and kind. However, my knowledge of this kind of abuse led me to realize how awful this world can be. Because I can empathize so much when people are mistreated I feel deeply. This deep feeling is ignited by bipolar disorder and I drown into a manic state. So deep I won't leave the house or I will go MIA and not talk to anyone but my mom and husband. So maybe if this hadn't happened my manic stages wouldn't be so severe, but I learned I have to find silver linings or I will become very sorrowful. So I am able to see the world in a different way than most; I see the world without blinders and that makes it easier for me to connect the dots in life.
This awful experience caused me to delve deep into my academics as a young teen. However, even though I was offered several full ride scholarships I turned them down. I was not ready. I had too much going on in my head and I had no clue what I would even go for. I ended up taking a couple classes here and there at the community college and hated it so I stopped. I worked under the table and learned a lot about what really happens in this world and not just what media wants us to think, or what materialistic people see. The world can be disgusting, greedy, addicted, and dirty but can also be moving, kind, and beautiful. Through this stage in life I could not control my illness. I would have 'episodes' all the time. I didn't like staying at one job for too long, hated working on a specific schedule, and hated having a boss. I couldn't cope with it. I was so dysfunctional. The psychiatrist put me on Abilify and Cymbalta which just put me into a sedative state, while the Cymbalta caused another manic episode. I soon learned I needed out of my real life lifestyle. I needed to get away from the guy I was dating who made me go crazy, and I needed to let my intelligent mind work.
I went back to university with a scholarship (6 or so years after high school I still got the scholarship). I have been to so many doctors trying to help me mentally and physically and I had seen the discrimination first hand.
I'm sure I am not the only tattooed bipolar person that has been drug tested with no reason to even suspect abuse (I never failed any of them). I also felt I was sometimes treated poorly or condescendingly because I was bipolar. One doctor refused to listen to me about how sick I was feeling and he insisted it was anxiety and a mania stage. I of course flipped out and he of course dickishly said "see it's just your bipolar disorder". The next day I had emergency surgery to get my appendix removed because it was about to burst. So my intentions are to advocate for patients via ethical systems. I am sick of feeling like I need to keep things hidden, or like I will be stigmatized or discriminated against just because I need specific meds. I don't want anyone to deal with all of the BS I have dealt with. I want to advocate for the mentally ill, especially when it comes to bipolar disorder as so many people have asked "oh come on are you really bipolar? I think that is just an excuse. Bipolar disorder isn't real is it?" That always hurts and reminds me why I like staying inside. But as my panic disorder progresses and I cope with rapid cycling bipolar I find myself more determined to tell people all about my experiences. It may take forever but if this helps one person it is worth it. If one person can learn what it feels like to deal with this it will be worth it. Every experience that drives my anxiety or throws me into an 'episode' gives me more perspective. Learning to deal with doctors is important too. So while I have here written a novel, it was to show that while many find it hard to express their problems, experiences, or how they were abused and how that affects them, that letting it out is helpful. It is calming. I find some peace from my minds antics when I write and I find sanctuary in books and others' writings about their experience. I am here to support anyone that needs it. I am writing to help myself and hopefully others. I am here to show those who think its not real, or an excuse, that it is more complex than they can imagine. And I want to write this so those that have someone who deals with bipolar disorder and/or panic disorder can maybe get an inside look on how we think, our process in thought, how we link things together, and perhaps then understand why certain things put together can make us snap. I wrote my long story today to shed some light on how I process when I am manic, to see how far I have come (or maybe not lol), and to recognize what is on my mind that I didn't realize was even causing my depression today.
I know this was long so thank you for reading this if you made it down to here
Pass the links to the posts along to those who may not understand bipolar or panic disorder but need to, or to those who are having a hard time coping. I am more than happy to try and give advice. Thanks
Lea Silva
As a young girl I was raped. I was 12 and he was 24. My friends and me went to a friend of a friends house and I had my first 40 (big mistake kids to think you are ready for that when you are not). In the end I was left passed out in some strangers bedroom. I awoke to a man, who was much bigger and stronger than me, maybe 6 Ft or so, on top of me. I looked around panicking, not knowing what I should do. Do I yell? If I yell he might hit me. Do I try and run? No he will probably hit me. And that's the answer I just kept coming to. My 12 year old body was drunk, and was so trapped and afraid of what was about to happen. Trying with all my might to get up from under him and I just felt paralyzed. Holding my one wrist he ended up getting the clothes off below the waist and here I am frozen in terror. I felt so horrified. I remember tears coming down the side of my face silently. I could muster up only the courage to say this "I'm a virgin please don't hurt me". The sick bastard smiled at that. I won't ever forget that look. EVER. My wrist was released but I had no power. My tiny short body was stuck under this disgusting piece of s**t. I wanted to die. I tried pushing him off me but realized the more I fight the more he will fight and I just waited. I waited to be set free. When I was I b lined my way out of that house. Dazed and not really knowing what just happened, what I should do, and where exactly I was I just started walking.
The worst part was I didn't want to say anything because I felt humiliated. I felt like nothing. I felt that what was special about me wasn't special anymore. I didn't know what to tell my friends, and I definitely did not know what to tell my mom. I simply said I lost my virginity to friends and mindlessly answered questions and the whole time I was doing this the image of me dying was in my mind. The image of me, at 12, dying was all I saw. I was so mortified I feared telling my friends the truth. I don't really know why but that's how I felt. My mom figured it out. I asked 'Do tampons break your hymen?" She immediately knew something was wrong. She asked me "Did you have sex?" I swallowed my vomit and said 'kind of'. She was starting to get the point. When I told her he was 24, told her my friends got me drunk, told her 'no I don't know if he wore a condom because I was not awake when he got atop me', she flipped like any mom would and took me to the police station.
I tell this story because this is what I thought caused all my issues. I'm sure it caused a lot, and I am sure it slowly formed my panic disorder, and my rage that usually is worse with men but I do not believe it is what caused me to be bipolar, it only made my episodes worse. I look at my younger sister who is 12 and think about how tiny she is. She is strong, but she is tiny. She is a child. She is so innocent. Her skin has not met time yet and her body has not even taken shape yet. I am 28 and I look at her and see a baby. How any 'man' could look at a young child like that and watch them get drunk and then rape them is far past my ability to understand.
When I first saw a psychologist he asked me if I had every been abused in anyway and I shortly said yes, I was raped. I refused to talk about it because it always would throw me into an 'episode' as my mother would say. He backed off the subject and discussed how abuse affects the mentally ill, how holding it in exacerbates it, and how to try and combat my rage. Note: I went to a doctor finally because I was raging out on everyone so I needed help.
I had come to realize that I CANNOT let that disgusting worthless pos take me down. I may always have to deal with bipolar disorder and panic disorder, but I can get some control by not letting his actions control my outlook.
It took me a long time to realize that even though I can be absolutely nuts sometimes, that I do not deserve bad treatment, that I don't have to turn a blind eye to a douchebag boyfriend cheating, and that even with my crazy moments my mind is wonderful and I can offer something to this world because of my experiences. I can tell my story and hope it helps others. I know that what happened to me is awful but by working through it I helped my coping skills. Much more has happened to me since then that was not pleasant but it gave me perspective.
I sometimes do wonder though how would I be if that hadn't happened to me? Would I have lived differently? Would I have chosen the path I did as a teen? Would I have had such a bad bipolar break and panic disorder?
I answer these questions as such:
If that had not happened to me I may have lived a life without actual knowledge or understanding of what people are capable of. We all hear these stories and all see news videos of gruesome events but most of us think that will never happen to me, or we see it, recognize it, but have this strange habit of not really thinking of it as real. I dealt with this in reality so I have an inside perspective. I have more empathy for victims of all sorts of crimes, which makes me try and be moral and kind. However, my knowledge of this kind of abuse led me to realize how awful this world can be. Because I can empathize so much when people are mistreated I feel deeply. This deep feeling is ignited by bipolar disorder and I drown into a manic state. So deep I won't leave the house or I will go MIA and not talk to anyone but my mom and husband. So maybe if this hadn't happened my manic stages wouldn't be so severe, but I learned I have to find silver linings or I will become very sorrowful. So I am able to see the world in a different way than most; I see the world without blinders and that makes it easier for me to connect the dots in life.
This awful experience caused me to delve deep into my academics as a young teen. However, even though I was offered several full ride scholarships I turned them down. I was not ready. I had too much going on in my head and I had no clue what I would even go for. I ended up taking a couple classes here and there at the community college and hated it so I stopped. I worked under the table and learned a lot about what really happens in this world and not just what media wants us to think, or what materialistic people see. The world can be disgusting, greedy, addicted, and dirty but can also be moving, kind, and beautiful. Through this stage in life I could not control my illness. I would have 'episodes' all the time. I didn't like staying at one job for too long, hated working on a specific schedule, and hated having a boss. I couldn't cope with it. I was so dysfunctional. The psychiatrist put me on Abilify and Cymbalta which just put me into a sedative state, while the Cymbalta caused another manic episode. I soon learned I needed out of my real life lifestyle. I needed to get away from the guy I was dating who made me go crazy, and I needed to let my intelligent mind work.
I went back to university with a scholarship (6 or so years after high school I still got the scholarship). I have been to so many doctors trying to help me mentally and physically and I had seen the discrimination first hand.
I'm sure I am not the only tattooed bipolar person that has been drug tested with no reason to even suspect abuse (I never failed any of them). I also felt I was sometimes treated poorly or condescendingly because I was bipolar. One doctor refused to listen to me about how sick I was feeling and he insisted it was anxiety and a mania stage. I of course flipped out and he of course dickishly said "see it's just your bipolar disorder". The next day I had emergency surgery to get my appendix removed because it was about to burst. So my intentions are to advocate for patients via ethical systems. I am sick of feeling like I need to keep things hidden, or like I will be stigmatized or discriminated against just because I need specific meds. I don't want anyone to deal with all of the BS I have dealt with. I want to advocate for the mentally ill, especially when it comes to bipolar disorder as so many people have asked "oh come on are you really bipolar? I think that is just an excuse. Bipolar disorder isn't real is it?" That always hurts and reminds me why I like staying inside. But as my panic disorder progresses and I cope with rapid cycling bipolar I find myself more determined to tell people all about my experiences. It may take forever but if this helps one person it is worth it. If one person can learn what it feels like to deal with this it will be worth it. Every experience that drives my anxiety or throws me into an 'episode' gives me more perspective. Learning to deal with doctors is important too. So while I have here written a novel, it was to show that while many find it hard to express their problems, experiences, or how they were abused and how that affects them, that letting it out is helpful. It is calming. I find some peace from my minds antics when I write and I find sanctuary in books and others' writings about their experience. I am here to support anyone that needs it. I am writing to help myself and hopefully others. I am here to show those who think its not real, or an excuse, that it is more complex than they can imagine. And I want to write this so those that have someone who deals with bipolar disorder and/or panic disorder can maybe get an inside look on how we think, our process in thought, how we link things together, and perhaps then understand why certain things put together can make us snap. I wrote my long story today to shed some light on how I process when I am manic, to see how far I have come (or maybe not lol), and to recognize what is on my mind that I didn't realize was even causing my depression today.
I know this was long so thank you for reading this if you made it down to here
Pass the links to the posts along to those who may not understand bipolar or panic disorder but need to, or to those who are having a hard time coping. I am more than happy to try and give advice. Thanks
Lea Silva
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