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
Friday, April 4, 2014
Wednesday, April 2, 2014
The Insider's Perspective Manic Depression After A Loss
I often find it difficult to convey to those who are not bipolar exactly what happens, what the thought process is, and what it means. Forgive me if I repeat some things from other posts but I wanted to write clearly the inside perspective, at least in part. This may take more than one post.
I cannot tell you how many times I have gone through different cycles of manic, mania, depression, overtly happy, hyper-focused, etc. I do not know how many times I have fought irrationally, or even started rational and became irrational. It's one of the hardest things to deal with. Imagine feeling like you cannot control what you say, how you are feeling, or even who you are sometimes.
To give a good idea of what it is like I am going to refer to the hardest time of my life because it spiraled me into the worst manic depression I have ever known. Some back story is necessary. I have endometriosis, a disease of the uterus that causes womb tissue to grow outside the womb, causes scar tissue to form, and causes cyst growth. I had had two surgeries to remove this tissue growth and went through a time where my menses was way off. My doctor informed me that I was not dropping eggs on a regular basis which was causing serious issues with my endometriosis. At the time I was dating my now husband Nathan. Not long after we started dating I got pregnant. I knew me and Nathan would be together no matter what so I was ecstatic to find out I had actually gotten pregnant. We were both crying tears of happiness and just so excited.
A few days later I felt a pain ripping through my groin like I had never experienced. Now I have some pretty bad back issues that cause me severe sciatic pain so my first thought was that the growing of my womb was somehow causing bad sciatic pain. I called the Dr and he told me to go to the ER immediately. Obviously I knew I had tried to talk myself out of knowing the truth. I went to a hospital that did not treat me very well, and sent me home saying they weren't sure. The next day, during my finals, the pain erupted from my abdomen. It was so bad I walked out of the class room and when I just about fainted I knew I was losing the baby. I went rushing to my professor, crying my eyes out, and told her what was happening. (she let me do the final at home). I rushed to a different hospital, Metro, and the immediately got me in a room, injected me with diluated (sp?), and prepped me for an ultrasound. Sure enough the fetus was in the fallopian tube, the size of a golf ball and I was bleeding inward, which explained why I did not bleed out which made things a bit confusing. I ended up in emergency surgery bc we couldn't wait or the pregnancy would have ruptured and caused sepsis. I lost my baby and my left fallopian tube.
The fact that I was just told I wasn't dropping eggs regularly and that it may take a long time to get pregnant, if I could, this hit hard. By hard I mean like I was ran over by every single semi in Ohio. I was absolutely devastated. My tube was so scared from endometriosis that the egg was not able to get to the womb. My husband was devastated. It was the first time I saw him cry. I'm crying right now just picturing that moment in the ER when we looked at each other and I started to wail. Now one can imagine how hard this is in general, and then you add on bipolar disorder and it becomes a whole other thing
The couch became my sanctuary where I just laid for hours. Yea I would go ride my bike but I didn't care about it. I didn't care about anything (besides caring about my families well-being of course). I did NOT care about myself. I felt tricked. I felt cheated. I felt anger, rage, sorrow, such deep deep sorrow. I couldn't see a life in my future. I could not imagine how anyone could deal with this or deal with that kind of depression. Now I fall into manic depressive states when other very important loved ones have died, but for whatever reason this one brought me to my knees. I believe it is because I felt my baby dying inside me. I felt my body dying. I felt the world coming in on me. I had the scars to look at. I had the knowledge that now I would have even less chances of pregnancy because I was now more prone to ectopic pregnancies (which it happened again almost exactly a year after this one but my tube was salvaged), and I was missing a tube.
My world filled with darkness. While I got a new perspective on what was important, and what maturity really meant, I was falling down a very demented rabbit hole. I could barely sleep. I stayed up until 6 am many nights playing video games where I could kill monsters because I was so full of anger and sadness that I needed an outlet that took me to a new reality. Me and my husband became closer though. Very very close. He dealt with everything I went through. My non-stop crying days, my silent days, my aggressive days, and etc.
In my mind I felt worthless and like the life I had was nothing anymore. I lost my dad two weeks after losing the baby. Talk about a horrible month. When he died I thought I couldn't grieve for him. Well I did but it was delayed. I had to grieve over that pregnancy first. I tried to control my emotions, and I didn't do well because I took it out on others by yelling, or by quitting my job, by throwing my manic fits of rage. Finally when it really hit me that I would never get the chance to build a real relationship with my dad I drowned.
Imagine yourself in a dark ocean bottom. So dark you cannot see anything. Lonely and frightening you sit. It starts to feel like things are around you prodding you, hurting you, tearing you apart slowly. Your brain feels like it is just melting, that is the best way to describe it. Just mush. Your thoughts seem to be continuous streams of negative dark thoughts. Then out of nowhere change to self defeating thoughts ( like what if's and imagining what your baby would have been like, how beautiful it would have been, how you and your dad could bond over the baby, how I will never hear my father again, and I will always still be sitting wishing I would hear him on my birthday). You get the point. And then you start thinking- is anything worth it? I am going through so much misery and pain and everyone else is able to keep going and living , so does my existence even matter? Would my lover be better off with someone without problems, who could have a healthy pregnancy, who won't be medicated for their whole life because they are depressed, because I feel so differently day to day or even hour to hour? Would it matter if I disappeared? Would my family really feel my missing presence? Would it have been better to die with the pregnancy? And then it emerged into this
I wish I had died with the pregnancy. How many times do I have to feel so down that it feels like it be better to not exist at all? My body and my mind are against me and here I sit self loathing and pitying and that makes me pathetic. My lover deserves better than me. I am truly nothing ( I did not mean this I the philosophical sense, bc I do believe that in the philosophical sense which isn't as dark as the sense that this was in).
I did not care if I got hit by a car and died, or if I was murdered, or if I simply died from a broken mind. I felt crazy. I felt like I was falling so deep into a hole that I would never get out.
This is what mental illness does. But still more than this. It goes beyond what I have written just now. It is much more complex. To say a few last important things:
Eventually I got into a horrible fight (verbal) with my now husband. I just yelled and yelled and never got what I truly wanted to say across (hang on I will tell you what it was in a minute). I would then break and start sobbing and fall to my knees or lay in the fetal position and he would just suck it all up for me and hug me. He knew. Then I went rage out a couple days later, and I spurred out "I wish I had died" and that's when it all poured out. Every thought I had either knowingly held in or every thought I didn't even know was causing all my manic problems, came gushing out of me. My mind felt like it was on fire. Searing with pain and suffering. If I hadn't had my husband I don't even want to say what I think would have happened to me. He let me get it all out. He dealt with it all. He took me to a doctor who gave me anti-depressants. Big mistake because I flew into a whole other whirlwind so we went back. I literally broke down in her office. I told her all of my dark feelings, and how my anxiety was very severe. She drug tested me!!!!! Can you believe that. Here I am finally being honest and she drug tests me to make sure I am not lying trying to score drugs. REALLY! I passed by the way. (She checked for crack, meth, heroin, PCP, cocaine, and marijuana! Really do I look like I take hardcore drugs or something. I came to you because I needed to be medicated not because I was self medicating). I have been diagnosed since I was like 19 or so. Anyway she put me on my meds and it was a miracle.
I had never been given Seroquel, even though I had asked to try it several times as I heard it combated severe bipolar and anxiety well.
While I still feared that everyone was going to die, or got scared I would somehow lose Nathan to something horrible happening, the medicine smoothed me out within a couple weeks. I was put up to 500 mg total, which I am currently at today, and my perspective on life came back slowly. While I still do go through manic depressive episodes and have anxiety still, the Seroquel helped a great deal. Then klonopin was added thanks to the NP at psych, who didn't feel a need to drug test me. Rolls eyes. Then also lamictal. However, after several months I stopped taking my meds thinking I was fine and normal, and didn't need meds to keep control. Typical bipolar person! Seriously I have never met a truly bipolar person who hasn't done that. This is after I got married to Nathan, and got accepted into the upper division Honors program at school. Guess what? J got pregnant and again it was ectopic. So the story goes on, but not now, you have to wait until later.
To be continued....
Lea
I cannot tell you how many times I have gone through different cycles of manic, mania, depression, overtly happy, hyper-focused, etc. I do not know how many times I have fought irrationally, or even started rational and became irrational. It's one of the hardest things to deal with. Imagine feeling like you cannot control what you say, how you are feeling, or even who you are sometimes.
To give a good idea of what it is like I am going to refer to the hardest time of my life because it spiraled me into the worst manic depression I have ever known. Some back story is necessary. I have endometriosis, a disease of the uterus that causes womb tissue to grow outside the womb, causes scar tissue to form, and causes cyst growth. I had had two surgeries to remove this tissue growth and went through a time where my menses was way off. My doctor informed me that I was not dropping eggs on a regular basis which was causing serious issues with my endometriosis. At the time I was dating my now husband Nathan. Not long after we started dating I got pregnant. I knew me and Nathan would be together no matter what so I was ecstatic to find out I had actually gotten pregnant. We were both crying tears of happiness and just so excited.
A few days later I felt a pain ripping through my groin like I had never experienced. Now I have some pretty bad back issues that cause me severe sciatic pain so my first thought was that the growing of my womb was somehow causing bad sciatic pain. I called the Dr and he told me to go to the ER immediately. Obviously I knew I had tried to talk myself out of knowing the truth. I went to a hospital that did not treat me very well, and sent me home saying they weren't sure. The next day, during my finals, the pain erupted from my abdomen. It was so bad I walked out of the class room and when I just about fainted I knew I was losing the baby. I went rushing to my professor, crying my eyes out, and told her what was happening. (she let me do the final at home). I rushed to a different hospital, Metro, and the immediately got me in a room, injected me with diluated (sp?), and prepped me for an ultrasound. Sure enough the fetus was in the fallopian tube, the size of a golf ball and I was bleeding inward, which explained why I did not bleed out which made things a bit confusing. I ended up in emergency surgery bc we couldn't wait or the pregnancy would have ruptured and caused sepsis. I lost my baby and my left fallopian tube.
The fact that I was just told I wasn't dropping eggs regularly and that it may take a long time to get pregnant, if I could, this hit hard. By hard I mean like I was ran over by every single semi in Ohio. I was absolutely devastated. My tube was so scared from endometriosis that the egg was not able to get to the womb. My husband was devastated. It was the first time I saw him cry. I'm crying right now just picturing that moment in the ER when we looked at each other and I started to wail. Now one can imagine how hard this is in general, and then you add on bipolar disorder and it becomes a whole other thing
The couch became my sanctuary where I just laid for hours. Yea I would go ride my bike but I didn't care about it. I didn't care about anything (besides caring about my families well-being of course). I did NOT care about myself. I felt tricked. I felt cheated. I felt anger, rage, sorrow, such deep deep sorrow. I couldn't see a life in my future. I could not imagine how anyone could deal with this or deal with that kind of depression. Now I fall into manic depressive states when other very important loved ones have died, but for whatever reason this one brought me to my knees. I believe it is because I felt my baby dying inside me. I felt my body dying. I felt the world coming in on me. I had the scars to look at. I had the knowledge that now I would have even less chances of pregnancy because I was now more prone to ectopic pregnancies (which it happened again almost exactly a year after this one but my tube was salvaged), and I was missing a tube.
My world filled with darkness. While I got a new perspective on what was important, and what maturity really meant, I was falling down a very demented rabbit hole. I could barely sleep. I stayed up until 6 am many nights playing video games where I could kill monsters because I was so full of anger and sadness that I needed an outlet that took me to a new reality. Me and my husband became closer though. Very very close. He dealt with everything I went through. My non-stop crying days, my silent days, my aggressive days, and etc.
In my mind I felt worthless and like the life I had was nothing anymore. I lost my dad two weeks after losing the baby. Talk about a horrible month. When he died I thought I couldn't grieve for him. Well I did but it was delayed. I had to grieve over that pregnancy first. I tried to control my emotions, and I didn't do well because I took it out on others by yelling, or by quitting my job, by throwing my manic fits of rage. Finally when it really hit me that I would never get the chance to build a real relationship with my dad I drowned.
Imagine yourself in a dark ocean bottom. So dark you cannot see anything. Lonely and frightening you sit. It starts to feel like things are around you prodding you, hurting you, tearing you apart slowly. Your brain feels like it is just melting, that is the best way to describe it. Just mush. Your thoughts seem to be continuous streams of negative dark thoughts. Then out of nowhere change to self defeating thoughts ( like what if's and imagining what your baby would have been like, how beautiful it would have been, how you and your dad could bond over the baby, how I will never hear my father again, and I will always still be sitting wishing I would hear him on my birthday). You get the point. And then you start thinking- is anything worth it? I am going through so much misery and pain and everyone else is able to keep going and living , so does my existence even matter? Would my lover be better off with someone without problems, who could have a healthy pregnancy, who won't be medicated for their whole life because they are depressed, because I feel so differently day to day or even hour to hour? Would it matter if I disappeared? Would my family really feel my missing presence? Would it have been better to die with the pregnancy? And then it emerged into this
I wish I had died with the pregnancy. How many times do I have to feel so down that it feels like it be better to not exist at all? My body and my mind are against me and here I sit self loathing and pitying and that makes me pathetic. My lover deserves better than me. I am truly nothing ( I did not mean this I the philosophical sense, bc I do believe that in the philosophical sense which isn't as dark as the sense that this was in).
I did not care if I got hit by a car and died, or if I was murdered, or if I simply died from a broken mind. I felt crazy. I felt like I was falling so deep into a hole that I would never get out.
This is what mental illness does. But still more than this. It goes beyond what I have written just now. It is much more complex. To say a few last important things:
Eventually I got into a horrible fight (verbal) with my now husband. I just yelled and yelled and never got what I truly wanted to say across (hang on I will tell you what it was in a minute). I would then break and start sobbing and fall to my knees or lay in the fetal position and he would just suck it all up for me and hug me. He knew. Then I went rage out a couple days later, and I spurred out "I wish I had died" and that's when it all poured out. Every thought I had either knowingly held in or every thought I didn't even know was causing all my manic problems, came gushing out of me. My mind felt like it was on fire. Searing with pain and suffering. If I hadn't had my husband I don't even want to say what I think would have happened to me. He let me get it all out. He dealt with it all. He took me to a doctor who gave me anti-depressants. Big mistake because I flew into a whole other whirlwind so we went back. I literally broke down in her office. I told her all of my dark feelings, and how my anxiety was very severe. She drug tested me!!!!! Can you believe that. Here I am finally being honest and she drug tests me to make sure I am not lying trying to score drugs. REALLY! I passed by the way. (She checked for crack, meth, heroin, PCP, cocaine, and marijuana! Really do I look like I take hardcore drugs or something. I came to you because I needed to be medicated not because I was self medicating). I have been diagnosed since I was like 19 or so. Anyway she put me on my meds and it was a miracle.
I had never been given Seroquel, even though I had asked to try it several times as I heard it combated severe bipolar and anxiety well.
While I still feared that everyone was going to die, or got scared I would somehow lose Nathan to something horrible happening, the medicine smoothed me out within a couple weeks. I was put up to 500 mg total, which I am currently at today, and my perspective on life came back slowly. While I still do go through manic depressive episodes and have anxiety still, the Seroquel helped a great deal. Then klonopin was added thanks to the NP at psych, who didn't feel a need to drug test me. Rolls eyes. Then also lamictal. However, after several months I stopped taking my meds thinking I was fine and normal, and didn't need meds to keep control. Typical bipolar person! Seriously I have never met a truly bipolar person who hasn't done that. This is after I got married to Nathan, and got accepted into the upper division Honors program at school. Guess what? J got pregnant and again it was ectopic. So the story goes on, but not now, you have to wait until later.
To be continued....
Lea
Frustration
Well today is the day where Honor Student Seniors get to add classes for the next year. I woke up at 8:00am to be able to get into all the classes I wanted and guess what? My advisor put a hold on my account. She is the one that told me to write "elective" where I had no required classes, and she told me about the credit transition at CSU, then approved my academic plan. However, I go on today and I cannot get on and she says 'well you only put elective instead of classes you were going to take". WHAT? ARE YOU F***ING SERIOS? You are the one that told me to do this. She refuses to lift the hold and says that apparently the director told her I need a 'paper trail' saying exactly what I want to take Well if that is true I would like to know why she waited until the day of registration to tell me!
The one counselor is going to try and get the hold removed by talking to the sit in director, but I went even further and contacted the actual director. She should be lucky I didn't cuss her out (although I came close as I did raise my voice to her). This is not the first time my advisor has been an ASS. It's like the time I told her I was contracting a 200 level philosophy class as my honors course, she approved it, and then when I hand in the contract she goes 'I did not know this was a 200 level course and you can't contract this"! I literally wrote in on my academic plan so how is it she didn't know it was a 200 level is beyond me!
I am thanking the stars I am on my tranquilizer4s and anxiety meds. Also, that the one counselor, who helps with events finally got it sorted for me. I am so happy when competent people are where you need them. The point.... because I am on my meds I was able to stay much calmer than normal, without actually yelling, and because of that the faculty was sympathetic and did everything they could to fix the issue. I still want to get a new honors advisor because I am very annoyed by mine due to her passive blame gaming but I am relatively calm!
P.S I also went outside and got some air for twenty minutes because there was nothing more I could do so I just needed to cool off. I try to remember sometimes things are what they are and you just have to go along for the ride.
Anyone else go through these situations and have advice on how to deal?
Lea Silva
The one counselor is going to try and get the hold removed by talking to the sit in director, but I went even further and contacted the actual director. She should be lucky I didn't cuss her out (although I came close as I did raise my voice to her). This is not the first time my advisor has been an ASS. It's like the time I told her I was contracting a 200 level philosophy class as my honors course, she approved it, and then when I hand in the contract she goes 'I did not know this was a 200 level course and you can't contract this"! I literally wrote in on my academic plan so how is it she didn't know it was a 200 level is beyond me!
I am thanking the stars I am on my tranquilizer4s and anxiety meds. Also, that the one counselor, who helps with events finally got it sorted for me. I am so happy when competent people are where you need them. The point.... because I am on my meds I was able to stay much calmer than normal, without actually yelling, and because of that the faculty was sympathetic and did everything they could to fix the issue. I still want to get a new honors advisor because I am very annoyed by mine due to her passive blame gaming but I am relatively calm!
P.S I also went outside and got some air for twenty minutes because there was nothing more I could do so I just needed to cool off. I try to remember sometimes things are what they are and you just have to go along for the ride.
Anyone else go through these situations and have advice on how to deal?
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
What a HORRIBLE ride!
It's been one of those days where you wake up feeling great and you do your normal routine, feel like a million bucks, and then start driving down the highway and feel completely disconnected from life. Here comes the PANIC!
How miserable it is to feel as if your brain is being weighted down. Everything appears so surreal, like it is all just a dream. You try to talk your self down saying things like "it's okay you are not going to crash and kill people. You are not going to fall asleep for unknown reasons and crash. You are not going to go blind while driving. This is real, take deep breaths and realize you are being irrational." None of these ever work of course. Sometimes I think "just hold on until you get off the exist and then you can take a klonopin". I don't take them while I am driving-That would cause a problem!
You feel your heart pumping faster, literally feel your blood pressure raising (it feels like you are swelling up), fingers, toes, tongue, or some other part of your body starts tingling, and then the shakiness from being on edge, and then BOOM here it is. The dreadful moment of a full on panic attack! Concentrating on anything but irrational thoughts is out of the question. Calming down will not happen for about 20 minutes, and even then your blood pressure will still be high. When you panic it feels like the world is coming in on you through a tunnel. It is eating away at your security, your confidence, and your motivation. It is disturbingly horrifying, especially because deep down you know you are overreacting and NOTHING has or will happen.
How do I deal with this?
I stay for the ride. I have no way of escaping this panic attack unless I am in an area where taking klonopin is acceptable and not dangerous. It is the longest 15 to 20 minutes but it will end. I just keep saying "this will pass" over and over again. Swallowing the lumps of fear, trying not to shake too badly. Eventually it will end. However, this panic attack will make you not want to do the activity that caused the panic attack to begin with. For me it can be driving, social areas filled with people, or having to talk about something medically serious. It's one of the toughest things I deal with besides manic episodes.
It started when I was 19. I was singing an oldies song and this awful feeling washed over me like the world was about to come to a halt. Not knowing what was happening I of course started to panic more! Thinking to myself "I am having a stroke, or a heart attack, oh my god what do I do". I ended up in tears parked in a store's lot. I called a friend to come get me because while the house was only three blocks away I could not force myself to get back in the driver's seat. My mind absolutely forbid it. This happened more and more and got worse and worse to the point were I barely drive and barely go out. I finally did see a doctor when I was 20 who diagnosed me with Bipolar disorder and panic disorder. All the previous years my mom would say I would have 'episodes'- I would rage out and just be so angry, or I would become so down it would scare people because I went into a very dark place. So when this doctor told me what was happening I did not know how to feel. Good because I know now, or Bad because this is going to be my life forever?
Class time.
Lea
Monday, March 31, 2014
Humiliation and Panic
I had to write four papers in the last few weeks, and needless to say it was a daunting task. I had won a trip to the Marlboro Ranch so that was scheduled very inconveniently during the time I needed these papers done. Little did I know that two of my professors would extend the due date. Guess which papers I had written a month before the original due date to have time for the others? You got it, the two that got extended dates. I am an Honors student I can handle a few papers, long or short but something happened to me.
I got stuck in my manic rut. This time it was different. I started cycling through different episodes and could not gain control over my feelings. I felt lost, overwhelmed, and insecure leading to a very sorrowful depressed unmotivated state. It was so debilitating that over spring break I didn't even touch my research or my papers. This is not normal for me. Even in the past when I would go through rapid cycling I still felt motivation to do well academically. Well this lack of motivation caused panic to ensue at an almost constant rate which led to an utterly awful and rushed paper for Biomedical Ethics (my favorite).
Thankfully I have peers that help me edit but this paper is a turd compared to my normal writing skills. Obviously here this is no where near my academic writing but nonetheless I am mortified.
Now having been put back on my meds after a complete break down I am calmest but still feeling sick about the draft I turned in. It is astonishing how a mental illness can diminish your analytical and cognitive skills. You think you are organized and have it together just to come to the realization that you do not. You are overwhelmed and have dug yourself a deep hole. You have decided to not take care of your mental illness because you stereotypically think "Oh I'm good I can control this on my own. I am super rational now and don't need any flipping meds that just tranquilize me!"
You eventually come to realize-once you notice a downturn in your productivity, skill set, and everyday attitude toward the 'innocents'- that you are far from good and far from being able to take care of it alone. Support helps but for me without the meds I feel just nuts. Rolling up and down a hill continuously and destroying things that get in my way. Angry at people who aren't bad people (like getting angry at your husband because deep down you are mad at the world). Sometimes the feelings are correct but a lot of times they are just not.
It can feel mortifying to realize you are acting super irrational when you believe you are thinking logically-and this hurts more when you study gosh dang logic and philosophy! I was open with my professor and apologized for the atrocity I turned in. I did reedit it but who knows if it is even close to my normal work. I had to tell her. It was not an excuse I will fully accept my grade but I felt an apology was in order as I slacked off during break (not because I was drinking and partying and granted it was because of mental sickness).
I do still astonish myself sometimes though because I have a hard time sticking to a job, a budget, a therapy, and so on, but I have stuck to school and researching on my own. I have no clue if I will mentally be able to handle a career or having to be at work most of the week, but with support I can do better.
To be honest, J did slack off a bit more than usual at school attendance wise. Usually I try and make every class and this semester the monster in my head hit, and along with that physical issues. So here I lay with degenerating cartilage and what sometimes feels like a degenerative frontal lobe trying to do what I can. Driving to school, even sitting in a long class, going into some store where I could probably get a job, and panicking really does disable me. Panic and your day may just feel ruined. Panic and be going through a manic or mania stage and guess what, all hell breaks loose inside that brain. You can't get it together. Happiness may be off the table that day(s), and sorrow comes a tumbling on down. It make you feel useless bc wherever you go you start fearing, and wherever you go you may start feeling the affects of mental illness. It makes for a situation where all you want is to go lay down at home. Many times I have fallen victim to it and have just laid in bed all day. This is not normal, and it is not Okay. So please tell anyone who says 'everyone is bipolar' to read this post, shoot email me, IDC, but make sure you realize that bipolar and panic disorders are not 'fake', are not ways to get drugs (JI mean if you really want go ahead get some tranquilizers for bipolar and tell me how ya like it!), nor is it something one should try to handle on their own. Sometimes we need help, sometime we need support.
Thank you
Lea
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