Just got home from Mom’s follow-up doctor appointment. Y’know, from the Broken Kneecap Debacle of 2010? Today was her last scheduled day of physical therapy. She’s gone from a 65-degree flex on that knee to just over 90 degrees. It’s been just over 3 months since this thing started.
She’s been driving (back roads, since highway driving with the constant acceleration hurts), she even went to the grocery store yesterday…first time since her accident. She’s cooking, too – thank God, because my culinary skills are roughly the same ones owned by 7-year-olds.
Long story short: Six more weeks of physical therapy to increase her flexibility and strength. She can return to work almost immediately. And another doctor visit in two months’ time.
Her going back to work is a good thing. It’s been a long three months and Mom has had more than her share of stir crazy. The BITCH about her going back to work now is that I’m the one that’s gonna have to chauffeur her around to work and back every day. See, she works off the highway, so…I’m kinda screwed, especially since her workday starts around 8am.
Ugh. Can’t wait till she can fully drive again.
Me? Meh. Depression still bares its vampire fangs my way, so much so that getting out of bed is just a couple clicks shy of more than I can do. It’s probably a good thing I have another video-conference with my shrink this afternoon.
The Abilify isn’t cutting it; not at the current dosage, anyway. The prazosin, a blood pressure med which has an off-label use for ridding people of nightmares, may be working. I rarely remember my dreams, but can’t recall any nightmares of late. Typically, with nightmares I’ll wake up in a sweat at 3 or 4 in the morning. Been a while since that happened.
What I have noticed is more energy, to the tune of cutting into “productive” nap time. I wish energy = motivation, but it doesn’t. I need something for mood. Or something that will excise drama from my life. Both, preferably.
I understand how my shrink is approaching my case. We don’t want to start me on multiple things at one time. That’d make it difficult to ascertain what medicines are doing what.
But as I mentioned in my last post, my super powers do not include waiting. I want to feel better…not yesterday, TODAY. Hell, I’d just about prefer a manic phase right now. Relief, any relief, would be welcome.
The trial-and-error shit associated with finding the right Magic Cocktail is not fun, nor fast enough for my liking. I know the universe doesn’t give a fuck, but I’m tired of uttering the mantra: “It has to get better, it has to get better, it has to get better.” Repeat ad nauseum.
It’s all in between my fucking ears, as usual. That’s always the problem area with me.
I had a good day yesterday. A friend visited and made my day. Hell, my month. So why are these awesome moments so short-lived in my head? I’m back to miserable today. Overwhelmed. Feeling on the verge of…shit, I don’t know. Not quite a breakdown, but close.
Every task becomes this monumental thing hanging over my head. Checking my blood sugar. Taking meds. A load of laundry. The dishes. Getting Mom another glass of water. Writing a story for work. Answering the phone, texts. Making an appointment for my head CT (Tuesday). I’m waiting for that Final Straw. Surely it’s coming.
And it’s days like this when I tend to cloak myself in one of my sweetest comforts. No, not Guinness. Not even rubbing one out. I’m talking about suicidal thoughts.
Bear me out here. I’m safe. You need to know that.
One of the hardest questions I get asked by shrinks is whether or not I’m suicidal.
“Are you having suicidal thoughts?” they ask.
The short answer is, “Yes.” But if I just drop a “yes” out there with no qualifiers, I’m sure to wind up in a rubber room somewhere. No key.
Now, any shrink or therapist worth their fees will follow up such an answer with another question.
“Have you made any plans to harm yourself?”
THAT is the REAL question, the important question. Because while I *think* about suicide every day…every hour, even…I would never ACT on those thoughts.
Now that we have that out of the way…
I’ve spoken a little about my inner voice(s). Some might call it my Inner Critic, but that’s not strong enough a term. It’s like an ARMY of Inner Critics. That’s another iffy question for me…”Do you hear voices?” I’ve said, too, that sometimes these inner voices sound as clear to me as a real-live person.
Let’s say I fuck up, something I do routinely. We all do, we’re human.
My inner dialogue might go a little like this:
Gah! You’re a fucking idiot!
I wish I was dead.
Lightning quick, it’s out there in my head, it’s often the very FIRST thought that pops to mind.
I should die.
Everything would be simpler if I were dead. All the problems, the depression, the anxiety, my fucking up all the time, my loneliness, feeling so overwhelmed, so broken. All. Gone. In an instant.
I could get hit by a Mack truck. I could jump in the tub with a plugged-in toaster. I could jump off the Sebring water tower. Hanging is a popular choice. Pills I’m not thrilled with…tried that. Once. Guns. Trains. So many choices.
I often fall asleep thinking about all the ways I could blink myself out of the universe. It’s comforting. Morbid, sick, yes…but comforting. There’s power in knowing I can snuff it all away.
Now, I’m not saying it’s healthy to think like this. It’s not. At all. It’s part of my makeup, though. It’s hard-wired into my brain, these instant (sometimes gruesome) wishes for death.
I’ve come to grips with the myriad of unhealthy things happening in my brain. I know they’ll likely never, ever go away. I also know I’ll never act on the suicidal shit. Why?
I could never do that to the people in my life. Suicide is wrong, period. It’s an act of anger, and it’s the most selfish, heinous thing a person can possibly do. I don’t want to get into debates about how child molesters are far worse, or that people in chronic pain should have the right to assisted suicide. Honestly, I don’t give a fuck if you agree or disagree with me. I know I’m right. I’ve seen suicide, how it affects people.
You want to instantly become the Douchiest Person on Earth? Kill yourself. And if you do, don’t expect me to come to your funeral. I don’t mourn assholes.
What kept me from following through on my one suicide attempt in the mid 90’s was my daughters. Dark living room with a single lit candle, I had the pills all swallowed, my bottle of wine to wash them down with. Only a few minutes passed, and I was in tears. Then my girls popped into my head, and I cried even harder. I realized I was about to become the Douchiest Person on Earth.
Like I hadn’t screwed them up enough already? Now I was going to saddle my girls with a father who committed suicide? Put them through a life of fucked-uppedness? No.
I got up, went to the toilet, shoved fingers into my mouth, and puked all that shit out. No ambulance, no hospital, no further ceremony. I cried myself to sleep, knowing I was so fucked up I couldn’t even take my own life. And that the pain was still very much there.
My girls…that’s a sore subject with me. A topic for another post, maybe. Let’s just say that, in order to protect them from my bottom-of-the-pit depression, I played the neglect card. I thought I was doing the right thing, keeping them from me. I was wrong, perhaps the wrongest I’ve ever been. And that haunts me daily. Those relationships are non-existent now, both of them are fed up with my shit.
But I can say I didn’t pull the trigger, and my girls are the reason why I’m still here today. Sometimes they’re the ONLY reason, and that’s enough. We all need a reason to not be dead, preferably multiple reasons.
So…today. Back to the present. Days like today, when I’m down and overwhelmed and anhedonic, make me think of suicide a lot. Because it’s the hopelessness that convinces me this shit will never EVER end. I will NEVER have relief. Precisely why I watch “Highlander” and shudder at the thought of living forever. Fuck, I dread making it another 20 years on days like today. Living for all of eternity? No fucking thanks.
I got my new meds in the mail today. The Abilify, and the one for the nightmares. I have a lot of concerns, I’ve told you why before. But my need for something better – anything better – is so great that I’m gonna try this shit again.
I’ve already agreed to not leave Mom’s sight for 3 hours after taking the Abilify tomorrow morning. I look inside that vial and see those teeny little pills, and I think, “That little thing could make me or break me. THAT.” They terrify me.
I read through the list of potential side effects. Diabetes is mentioned specifically. Could raise my blood sugar, and mine has been not so great already. Could lower my blood pressure – which is always damn good – and make me faint.
But it could…just maybe…work. I’m not holding my breath, though.
And I’m pretty sure I know how I’ll be falling asleep tonight.
Jumping off an overpass. Barrel in my mouth. Too much insulin. It’s the Parade of Morbidity, and I am the mutherfucking Grand Marshall.
Had my first ever videoconference with a shrink today. First ever videoconference, ever, actually. Went pretty well.
The Matrix Therapist had sent the doc the list of meds I’d brought in for her to look at…the ones I was taking 10 years ago, the ones that actually were doing something. And the shrink actually looked that shit over BEFORE we met.
Pretty cool setup, and I had about 40 minutes of her time, which was also cool. We’re stopping the Geodon, even though I’m only taking a third of the max dosage. Gonna try Abilify again.
It’s important to note that the one and only time I’ve had an adverse reaction to a medication – and I’ve been on a LOT of meds – was with Abilify. I fainted. After ONE dose.
But.
I now suspect that the fainting (and it was years ago, after I was first diagnosed as bipolar) was a low blood-sugar event. So we are gonna try it again, because I’ve heard really good things about Abilify. Plus, it doesn’t have a sedating effect, which Geodon is known to have at higher dosages. I want to be calm and relaxed, but I don’t want to feel sleepy all the time. Fuck that.
First, as I mentioned already, we’re gonna have to ween me off the Geodon. That’ll take only about 10 days or so to do, and I don’t look forward to being without something in my system for that long, even if I don’t think it’s doing anything. Could takes weeks or (God help me) months for Abilify to gain full efficacy. Not looking forward to that, either, especially since it’s hard to maintain hope. So many drugs do nothing for me.
We’re also going to try a new med for the nightmares. She asked me if I’d ever taken anything for them, and I said, “Like what? Name a drug and I’ll tell you if I’ve tried it.” She did, and I hadn’t. No one has EVER suggested a med to specifically target the nightmares. I didn’t even think to ASK for such a thing.
The nightmares, ugh. I won’t even get into detail about them here. Some of them are really horrific. The most common theme is I’m being chased by baddies, sometimes monsters that make “Nightmare Before Christmas” and “Hellboy” monsters look warm and fuzzy, sometimes it’s people. Always within arm’s reach, constantly grabbing at my shirt, just touching the back of my neck. And I’m not a runner, people. Hell, I consider walking to my car exercise. But I run like a mutherfucker in my nightmares. Trust me, you would, too.
I’ve woken myself up falling on the floor on multiple occasions, and it’s always when I’m kicking at the blankets on my feet, thinking they’re monsters trying to grab me. Hit my head on the nightstand more than once falling out of bed. Plus, the sleepwalking…I’ve done that, too. So the suggestion of Ambien today didn’t go over well with me. Never tried it, but I don’t need to be DRIVING in my sleep, and that’s not unheard of on Ambien. I’m not about to start hiding my car keys from my own damn self.
I was told during my very first psychiatrist meeting – back in the mid 90’s – that the average person has one nightmare a year. ONE. That is alarming to me, still. I don’t know if it’s true or not. I just know that it’s nowhere CLOSE to my reality.
I have 2 or 3 a week, minimum. The prospect of meds that can help with that? It’s too much too hope for, honestly. If it doesn’t work, I’m going to be really let down. And I suspect I’m going to be really let down.
So…weening off the Geodon. Starting Abilify after that, which should arrive in the mail with the nightmare vanquishing med. Can’t remember the name of that one right now.
I took notes during our videoconference. I like this doc. She’s good. She listens, she offers advice, she explains things well without being condescending. She’s proactive. She doesn’t think Adderall is a good fit for me, even though I clearly remember it working well. And I’m willing to listen to her, and believe her.
I just don’t know if I have the patience for this go-round of Karl’s Medication Olympic Trials. I say that every time, and I mean it every time, but this time it REALLY feels true. Coming off the tail-end of a strong manic phase only serves to give me sharp contrast between mania and my usual depressive state. And it hurts. A lot.
But I’m a survivor, right?
Speaking of which, a big happy anniversary to Violence Unsilenced. Maggie celebrates a year today, as do the many people that have broken the silence. She is doing great work over there. Go show some love, eh?
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.
I wish I could tell you that this month’s Resolution has gone off without a hitch, but it hasn’t. There’s a bit of a fly in the ointment, and I can’t yet say what. Suffice it to say that I’m still working on fulfilling at least half of my Resolution. And when I find out what I’m waiting to find out, you’ll hear about it.
Meantime, I have other news to report.
Mom had her follow-up at the doctor today. It’ll be two weeks since her surgery tomorrow. Things are moving along. She hasn’t had a pain pill since the weekend. X-rays look good. The doc took her staples out today, so now she can actually get her knee wet in the shower (instead of sticking her leg in a big black garbage bag and taping it shut).
No more lounging around in bed all the time, either. Doc says I need to crack the whip, so I will. Up and about as much as possible. Her endurance is shit right now, but that’ll change, too. She’s walking back and forth short distances (with a walker, mostly, but still).
She’ll be in the knee immobilizer for another month, when she goes back for more x-rays. Thumb needs to stay in its own immobilizer, too. Yeah, we forgot to ask about the thumb last time because, well, it’s pretty inconsequential when compared to the broken kneecap.
Should everything look good in a month, it’ll be time for physical therapy. And that’ll be another 6-8 weeks.
That’s all good. Aside from me being locked to the house for a while longer, anyway. But I can get out when I need to…just have to ask for a sitter. Mom doesn’t agree that she needs one, but she does agree that if the shoe were on the other foot, she wouldn’t be leaving ME by myself right now. So there’s progress.
My diabetes is coming under control. My sugars the last few days have mostly been well under 200, mostly under 140, even. I’m not including tonight, of course, because I scored a 222 after three slices of pizza. Oops. Still, I’m getting there.
I ordered a number of herbal and natural supplements to help with my depression and the bipolar disorder. Checked the list with both the Matrix Therapist and my new shrink, of course. I’m still being compliant and very honest with them about…everything, really. I keep no secrets from my medical team. That would just be stupid. No therapy this week because the MT thinks she deserves time off or something.
Whatev.
Got the Natural Calm yesterday and I’ve been taking it twice a day. Still waiting on my other shipment, which will include a multivitamin, as well as l-thiamine and melatonin. I love the InterWebz.
In an odd burst of motivation today, I went out to the shed and reclaimed some of my journals from my days in group therapy. Took a while, but I found the one I was really searching for. It lists the meds I was taking at the time, some of which were really working. Found tons of stuff in those journals. This stuff is just some of the doodlings between my scribblings.
Hmm. 10 years later and not much has changed from that particular drawing.
My head? It’s…I don’t really know, actually. I’ve had a lot of shit happening (again. still.) and haven’t been taking note of everything. With the journals I found today, I found a blank book I can use. So I’ll start keeping one with all my symptoms/feelings so I can report out to everyone that needs the info.
What I do know is this: I feel more depressed. I’m still likely to tear up if a hummingbird burps the wrong way. Still oddly calm, yet at the same time freaking out from stress. So I suppose I’m still manic, though it’s not nearly as heightened now as it was a week ago.
That Charlie feeling I described? The reversion to Stupid Karl? I feel like it’s happening. I’m not as sharp. Things are a tad foggier. I’m slipping.
I just hope I can hold on to some semblance of a good attitude.
Watched half of the last “Tonight Show with Conan O’Brien” before bed last night. Funny, funny shit. Conan is funnier than I’ve ever seen him. I can relate. I often find that I’m near the top of my game when I’m in crisis mode. Not lately, mind you, but other times.
His ratings the last couple of weeks were up by over 60%. And NBC is still ditching him because, well, NBC is being run by rabid monkeys. Clearly. I mean, it makes sense. Jay Leno did so fantastic in prime time (*cough*) that anyone in their right mind would want to move him back to 11:30. Cue the Jaywalking and Monday night Headlines…comedy gold, people. *cough*
I don’t know who the fuck thinks Jay Leno is still funny, but the monkeys sure seem to dig him. Something tells me that Letterman’s ratings are gonna stay ahead of Leno’s now that this shit has gone down. But we’ll see. Either way, I’m back to not watching NBC late-night.
It’s like “Dallas” in the 80’s. That time when Bobby was killed, but a year later he wakes up and realizes the whole last season was a dream? Yeah, that’s the shit NBC is trying to pull.
“Just pretend the last 7 months never happened. You never saw Conan in the 11:30 slot. See? Jay Leno is host of ‘The Tonight Show.’ You must have dreamt the whole thing.”
Er…right. I was just imagining that “The Tonight Show” was finally funny again.
So. Back to me.
I slept last night. Finally. For about 6-1/2 hours. My brain finally shut off, thanks to classical music. And a beer. And a sleeping pill. And exhaustion.
Music has always been there for me. It’s critical in my life. But lately, naturally, music is trying to kill me. Every song that plays on the radio or my iPod (even on Shuffle) has lyrics that are speaking directly to me. Yes, music is trying to make me have an emotional breakdown.
Normally, I go to sleep to music, whether it’s my iPod or this retro 80’s radio station called The Point (101.5). But with me in manic mode, everything I see and hear is just more stuff for my brain to chew on. Actually keeps my brain BUSIER when I’m trying to relax and sleep.
So the classical music last night (thank you, WunderRadio! ) did the trick.
Yes, you heard me right a couple paragraphs ago. I think I’m manic right now. It definitely explains a lot of my behavior of late. The racing thoughts have really been out of control lately…far worse than usual.
I have a hard time explaining racing thoughts. Here’s what Wikipedia has to say about them:
Racing thoughts refers to thought confusion which occurs in manic episodes, hypomanic, or mixed episodes. While Racing thoughts are most common with patients with Bipolar disorder, they are also common with Anxiety disorders, such as OCD. Racing thoughts are also associated with use of amphetamines. [1]
Racing thoughts may be experienced as background or take over a person’s consciousness. Thoughts, music, and voices might be zooming through one’s mind. There also might be a repetitive pattern of voice or of pressure without any associated “sound”. It is a very overwhelming and irritating feeling, and can result in losing track of time. Sometimes racing thoughts are accompanied by an elevated pulse, including drumming in the ears.
Generally, racing thoughts are described as an event where the mind uncontrollably brings up random thoughts and memories and switches between them very quickly. Sometimes they are related, as one thought leads to another; other times they are completely random. A person suffering from an episode of racing thoughts has no control over his or her train of thought and it stops them from focusing on one topic or prevents sleeping.
I think of racing thoughts in cartoon form, because I really try to relate most everything to cartoons at some point. Cartoons explain things so much more simply.
You’ve seen Pinky & the Brain, right? Imagine the Brain, mulling over his amazing Take-Over-The-World schemes. He’s sitting there – while images of da Vinci’s Vetruvian Man, chemical compositions, quadratic formulas, Acme Rube Goldberg device blueprints, chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream, quotes from Andy Warhol, and giant Pi’s go swirling over his head. Tons of different ideas and thoughts surrounding him, consuming him.
It’s like that in my head. Most all the time. As if my reticular formation is malformed…or nonexistent.
For most of my life, I thought that was how EVERYONE’s brain worked. I was stunned to find out that wasn’t the case in the 90’s. Stunned, I tell you.
It’s astounding, really, knowing what I know now about bipolar disorder and racing thoughts, that I was a straight A student throughout the bulk of my academic career. But somehow I managed to compensate for the mess inside my head.
Growing up, my parents always called me “a dreamer.” But not in a good way, really. A “dreamer,” as in someone who daydreams all the time and gets nothing accomplished. And I always just bought into that. It’s not as if they had any understanding of bipolar disorder, or depression, or any of the other mental shit I’m afflicted with.
My problems were easily explained. Karl is a dreamer, his head is always in the clouds. Karl is lazy. Karl is very smart BUT doesn’t apply himself. Etc. etc ad nauseum. These were the things my parents were dealing with, and I can’t blame them for not knowing the warning signs or symptomology associated with BPD. It was the 70’s. Back then, divorce was still a “taboo” word, kids could go trick-or-treating unescorted by parents, and we still thought that shag carpet was a good idea. Our collective conscious was obviously afflicted.
One of the more prevalent threats I used to get from my folks when I’d misbehave was this: “Do you want us to take you to a psychologist?”
“Noooooo!” And I’d start to cry and beg for them not to take me.
Jesus, I wish I’d said yes. My life might be totally different. But back then, a shrink was a very scary threat. Shrinks were BAD, and proof that *I* was BAD. A fuckup. A loser. Crazy. Irreparably Broken.
Now I know better. Shit, I know a LOT of things better since I started going to therapy and psychiatrists. Not that I don’t often see myself as irreparably broken, mind you. Those negative tapes are still prevalent between my ears. I hear them at full volume a great deal of the time. It’s why, whenever I make a mistake, the first thing I say in my head (and usually out loud, too) is, “Gah! I’m an IDIOT!” Because I am literally hearing that shit in my mind, as clearly as I hear the television or a real-life conversation with a friend.
I tell you all this, about the racing thoughts and some of the other shit inside my brain, so you have maybe a little better understanding about the stuff I have to constantly compensate for. And because yesterday I had an appointment with the Matrix Therapist.
It was basically me blurting out 10,000 things all at once. For an hour. Mom fell on the ice. Now I’m her caregiver 24/7. I almost killed myself TWICE last week. I’m sleep-deprived. I’m losing relationships. My car “Service Engine Soon” light came on during my drive here.
I. CAN’T. TAKE. ANY. MORE.
And I told her I’m pretty sure I’m having a manic episode. She agreed. She’s gonna talk to the shrink and see about adding more meds. Now that we’ve seen me at baseline, and we know the Geodon isn’t enough. I’ve been taking (most) all my meds as directed since January 1.
I need more. And fast.
So she’s working on it. And that’s a good thing.
As for my diabetes, my sugars are running a lot better. Still high at times, because I’m not taking EVERYTHING until we get the meds adjusted. I am, however, checking my sugar 4 times a day (except for yesterday, when it was a very full day), using the regular insulin when I’m way high, etc.
This morning, I tested a 171 straight out of bed. Not bad, considering I don’t take nighttime insulin at the moment. Too scared. Last night, after two slices of pizza for dinner, my sugar was 294. That’s not good, but for the time being, I’d rather be high than low. Sure you can understand why.
My doctor went home violently ill yesterday, so my appointment with her is rescheduled for Monday. That’s when we’ll go over my blood test and make med adjustments. This isn’t a bad thing, since it’ll give her 3 more days of numbers to look over before we change things around. (And thanks to Glucose Buddy I have graphs and numbers galore.)
Mom’s surgery went perfectly. They went in, removed all the little kneecap fragments, reattached the tendon to the remaining kneecap, and it went without a hitch. She’s in a LOT more pain now, though we are staying on top of it with the pain meds.
She goes back to the doctor Wednesday for a follow-up appointment. We’ll know more then. For now, what I know is this. Six weeks in the knee immobilizer. Then 6-8 weeks of physical therapy. That puts us well into April.
Which brings me to my next point. TequilaCon is out for me this year.
It kills me, but quite frankly, I’m seriously considering everything being out for me this year, including BlogHer. I wasn’t kidding about not feeling the social media thing lately.
That may change, of course. As I progress through the Year of Resolutions, my attitude may change. But I have yet to buy my BlogHer ticket for this year. And at the moment, the only must-do as far as travel goes this year is visiting Bubblewench for her birthday.
In fact, I may adopt that for any traveling this year. Just visit friends in intimate gatherings, instead of attending the big blogger gatherings. That does not, of course, include Avitaween, which I can’t see skipping.
We’ll see. I’m not making any rash judgments. I think I’ve made enough of those in the last couple of weeks. And now that I know I’m manic, I know I need to keep the impulsivity in check and try more heavily to rely on my logic, as opposed to my emotions.
Emotions come and go, people. Acting on them impulsively, without any thought whatsoever, is foolhardy at best. And that’s something I’m trying to avoid.
I HAVE decided upon my February Resolution. Will be announcing that February 1. But the other 10 Resolutions for 2010 are still completely up in the air. So keep those suggestions coming.
I’m a natural Glass-is-Half-Empty person. Jaded. Cynical. Even petty. I’m trying, with the YOR, to do a 180 and move to being a Glass-is-Half-Full kinda guy.
It’s a bitch, believe me. My first instincts are always to point out the bad shit. Making a conscious effort to make NOTE of that Negative Nancy tendency – as it HAPPENS – is quite a workout. Those negative self-tapes and all that shit.
But I’m trying. And my friends are helping a lot with that effort, pointing out to me (in the moment) how things could always be worse. And I am trying to be gracious about it, even if in my head I’m hearing, “Fuck, I can’t say a single thing without it being criticized.”
Perhaps, though, the first step is controlling what comes out of my MOUTH, regardless of what’s going on in my head. Fix that part, then we can backtrack a little and start trying to fix the words that AREN’T coming out of my mouth.
Change what I say, then change what I think? I dunno. I could just be totally full of shit. I’m winging it here, people. This shit is all new to me.
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