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I’ve been through a metric shitton of therapy, both individual and group, to varying degrees of success. Spent two years in an intensive outpatient program (IOP), in fact. Grief recovery and suicide prevention was the main focus. Most everyone in that group – and I saw people come and go over time as I became the senior member – probably suffered some form of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (amongst other maladies).

I recall my very first day of IOP. I’d had a nervous breakdown and couldn’t work. Showed up at the encouragement of my individual therapist.

There might have been 6 or 7 others there that first day. I had no idea what to expect. The first (of four) hours of each day was check-in time. Everyone in group spent 5 minutes “checking in,” telling the therapists what was going on. Because it was my first day, I got to check in last. Which seemed to be a mistake.

As each stranger reported in on their life, I heard stories that made me question what the fuck *I* was doing there.

Jesus, I don’t have any fucking problems compared to these people. What’s my deal?

Horror stories, some of them. If I weren’t so polite, I might have just sat there with my jaw hanging open, listening to it all.

Turns out, as I’d learn over time, there were more than a handful of distortions I was clinging to. Everyone’s problems are different, everyone’s life is different. Trying to compare your struggles to mine isn’t a fair comparison most of the time. Apples and oranges, etc. Or, as I tended to say, one person’s savior is another person’s pair of lead boots.

We had these sheets we’d fill out called Trauma Sheets, where we’d discuss traumatic events in our life and “process” these things with the group. The first time I told a story from my past, I was stunned. Mostly because my group members were stunned and more than one of them were left with their jaws hanging open.

“What?” I said. “That’s not normal?”

Come to find out lots of things from my childhood weren’t “normal.”

You can’t spend five days a week, four hours a day, with a small group of people and not make friends. Some of us hung out outside group, spending even more time together. Naturally, there were rules in IOP. We weren’t allowed to engage in any sexual activity with each other. Group members weren’t allowed to loan or borrow money. (The group represented most cross-sections of society…some of us were poor and relying on food banks, others were pretty damn well off.) These rules were meant to keep the group a safe place. There was already enough conflict and stuff to deal with – didn’t need to create more drama between us (though there was some of that, too, because not everyone followed the rules all the time).

Lots of group therapy stories, but I ramble enough already. Oddly, I left group and quickly lost track of most all those folks. Haven’t been in a group therapy situation since.

So when the Matrix Therapist suggested yesterday the notion of group therapy, I said that I didn’t have a problem with it. EXCEPT that the groups she was suggesting were at the main VA facility in Tampa. Being in Sebring, there’s only a small clinic here…most anything specialized requires a visit to the main hospital, about 2 hours away from me.

“Depending on how often these groups meet,” I said, “that could be a lot of traveling.” I mean, two hours there, one or two hours of group (I’m assuming), then two hours back home? That’s a full fucking day. And even once a week, that’d add up pretty fast to lots of gas money.

Which is what led the Matrix Therapist bring up something I’ve never experienced: INpatient treatment. Meaning: you stay in facility instead of staying at home.

Whoa.

But let’s face facts: whatever I’m doing now ain’t working. I’m stuck. Again. Stagnant, even, and I find that to be the equivalent of a 4-letter word. The meds aren’t doing their thing (so far). Being in-house would let them aggressively play with meds while I’m under their watch. Plus, there’d (presumably) be a lot of structure with the group situation.

What terrifies me about this (much as I can see the potential good in it) is that I’d be totally outside my comfort zone. The likelihood of there being unrestricted Internet access is slim to none. And most all of my friends are living inside my computer. Yikes. Sure, they’ll probably let me keep my iPhone, but I’ve been to that hospital and the signal inside (as is true for many hospitals) sucks ass.

I’d be not only hanging with strangers – and sharing lots of stories/events with them – but living with them, as well.

*ring ring*

Hello?

Hi, Karl, it’s me, Social Phobia.

I don’t know how long this inpatient thing typically lasts, but the MT said yesterday it could be as little as 3 or 4 days.

“No way,” I told her. “That’s not enough time to do shit with medication.” Hell, we’ve been playing this round of the Pharmaceutical Game for many months now. I’m no stranger to being a lab rat. Meds that mess with the brain take weeks/months to gain efficacy.

My educated guess for how long I’d stay is something along the lines of at least 2-3 weeks, if not more. Which, in Karl Time, is like 2-3 months of not sleeping in my own bed, not being able to get online any time I want to, not being able to stay up till 1 in the morning, not being able to walk around in my boxers all the time. The list goes on.

That’s a long time to be outside my comfort zone.

Nevertheless, I told the MT that I’m not averse to the options. So this morning I went back in and, after getting blood drawn for my diabetes, met with the Matrix Therapist again to fill out a qualifying questionnaire.

I should hear either today or maybe Monday from the VA about if I qualify and, subsequently, where I fall on the waiting list. Then I can ask questions like:

• How long is the average stay?
• What am I allowed to bring with me from home?
• What is the structure of the program? How many hours of the day are scheduled, and how much free time do we get?
• Is there wifi?
• What’s the bed time?
• Do I have to be roomies with anyone possessing that old-man smell? (What? This is the VA we’re talking about. I’m a young whippersnapper compared to most of these people.)
• How do we deal with things like my insulin and syringes?
• Is there live-tweeting allowed from group?

I don’t have answers to any of these yet, but hope to soon. If anything, as Sybil was keen to point out last night on the phone, I should get some decent blog posts out of it.

So there’s that.

--- Thanks for reading! SecondHand Tryptophan

I’m slacking. I feel it. Losing my momentum is not a feeling I like. The mania has subsided. My brain is much calmer (and dumber), though that’s relative. It’s still busier than most people’s, I get that. But compared to the manic shit? It’s like my brain finally said no to steroids or something.

Tomorrow I have my first real session with the new shrink, via videoconference. Amazing the V.A. even knows such technology exists, but I’m not bitching. If it weren’t for the video thing, I’d have to drive 90 minutes to meet up with her.

I’m not slamming the V.A. in any way. I’ve heard horror stories, but to be fair, I’ve not experienced many problems with the care I’ve received. And I’m very thankful for that. I don’t have regular health care. The jobs I’ve had of late are contracting positions. No bennies provided. Sure, once upon a time, when I got $43/hour for my time, I could afford it. But not now.

I’m already impressed with this new shrink of mine. She called me a few weeks ago, unsolicited, just to check on me and my meds. On a Friday. At 5:15 in the afternoon. That speaks volumes to me.

So we’ll be discussing meds, mostly that the current regime isn’t doing shit. We stepped up the Geodon. I’m now taking twice as much as I was a few weeks ago and…nothing. That’s the bitch with being treatment-resistant. Lots of meds don’t touch me, then there are those that require a much higher dose than what others find effective.

The trial-and-error associated with medication is exhausting and nerve-wracking. I’m far from the most patient man on Earth, and adjusting meds (and trying new ones) pretty much requires patience, and lots of it. That’s how it is, particularly with the meds designed to hit your brain instead of just your body. They take WEEKS to build up efficacy in the body. And if they don’t work, many of them take weeks to get OUT of your body, which is sometimes needed before adding something NEW.

For me, I’ve pretty much always required a Magic Cocktail, a mix of different meds. I wish like hell that there was a pill that did it all, but there’s not. My chemistry is different than yours, which is different than everyone else’s. So, yeah, trial-and-error. With all the technology we have today, that’s still the way it works. I long for the days of Star Trek, when they scan you with a Tricorder and have you fixed up with a simple shot.

I read an interesting article last month about a pretty major discovery regarding Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (and yeah, I’ve got that, too). They’ve found a way to definitively diagnose PTSD using pictures of the brain. Remarkable, since the only way to diagnose before was through a series of questionnaires and a laundry list of symptomology.

Unfortunately, this discovery probably won’t lead to helping ME…not for a long time. Not until they can point to a brain scan and say, “Ah, see that squiggle there in Karl’s hippocampus? We need to give him Miracle Drug Alpha for that.” Until they know how to correspond the brain pics with specific forms of treatment? Not gonna do much for me. But it’s hopeful for future PTSD’ers, and I’ll take that.

I started out talking about me losing momentum, and that’s really what I’m feeling right now. A lot of hopelessness, lack of motivation, simply losing my give-a-shit attitude. Depression. An overwhelming sense of, well, being overwhelmed. Yes, I’m still checking my sugar and taking my meds, but I really don’t care about it.

I knew this was going to come, the return to the old me. Trying to find some shrivel of happiness in this mode is daunting, at the very least. I can’t survive in full-blown mania all the time – I’d die from sheer exhaustion, from insanity. But I wish I had a way to harness the motivation, the good attitude, the Happy.

Think I’m treatment-resistant in the attitude department, too.

For now, I’ll just take what little pieces of enjoyment I can get. I like the winter Olympics (tons more than the summer Olympics), even though I’m not a sports guy. I never watch baseball, or football, or basketball, or hockey. None of it. That shit bores me to tears. But the Olympics has something for everyone. Plus, it’s only two weeks long. I’m in, I’m out, I’m done for another 4 years. My fave events, by the way, are figure skating, snowboarding, and the skiing…none of which I’ve ever tried.

I also found some meditation podcasts, thanks to Angel. A friend has offered to help me with meditation – something I’ve never tried before – and I plan to take her up on that offer. But the podcast I listened to yesterday really helped to calm me down. I like that. I say I’ve never tried meditation, but the truth is I’ve probably achieved that “nothingness” mindset on my own many times. I may be wrong, but all the dissociating I’ve done in my life kind of mirrors that calming void sensation in meditation. I suppose there are positives to being a Survivor, after all.

I’m gearing up for 2HT’s redesign, and I am excited about that. Should be happening within the next month or so. My original launch date was going to be April Fool’s Day (seems appropriate), which also happens to be both my Mom’s AND my twin daughters’ birthdays. But it’s going to be sooner than that. Can’t wait to see it all come together.

I’d really like a dog. I think that’d do wonders for me. Mom hasn’t been so keen on getting a pet, though. Her rationale has always been, “If you can’t keep your room clean, how are you going to take care of a dog or a cat?” My rationale has always been, “Those two things aren’t even closely related.”

And yes, I’m 43 and live with my mother. I’m also depressed, anxious as Monk, and unemployed. Put me on “The Bachelor” now, ladies. I’m available. *cough*

Like my brain, this post is all over the board. I’m tired of that, too.

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