As I stood this morning waiting for the kettle to boil, clapping my hands and reflecting on my late night last night, my desire to go shopping today and my determination to solve the problem of the youngest child invading my bed for good, I realised my mood may be changing.
I can hear my team cheering my insight from here.
Insight has not been my strong point until now, I’ve preferred to kind of roll with it, realising I’m either high or low when it’s really too late to do anything about it. Not that I know what to do about this time either and it’s difficult to find the desire to do anything that might change it. As fellow bipolar explorers will know, the cusp of a mood rise is probably one of the best bits- the ideas are starting to flow, I feel awake, interested, interesting, excited and my (no doubt, slightly irritating) habit of clapping my hands can go unchecked as I’m home alone!
I have to confess to having a bit of a light bulb moment during the night (as the 5 year old kicked me in the head for the 1000th time) and I finally got something I think I was supposed to get some months ago.
The fabulous CPN has always pointed out that stress and the adrenalin that goes with it is my poison. This bit I understood. What I didn’t understand is that good stress or bad stress, it didn’t matter, it could send me either way.
Later this week, my eldest child, the 16 year old is undergoing major surgery and I am stressed about it. I naturally assumed that this situation would depress me, I’m worried, my child is going to be in pain, and we will be away from home for a while away from the other two children. I never thought for a minute that the stress of this situation would have me fizzing with anticipation the way I am now.
I feel guilty I suppose that I am tending toward high rather than low but in there is another lesson for me, I do not choose how I react to situations. I think I can choose how I deal with those reactions to a degree (and that will no doubt involve medication) but that’s my illness.
Showing posts with label medication. Show all posts
Showing posts with label medication. Show all posts
How Others See Me
I’m still stable, still enjoying the ups and downs of everyday life with only the odd wobble toward emotional extremes.
One such extreme came after my bold attempts to deal with something I had hoped to put off forever- claiming ESA. I can’t elaborate much on this story except to say- the Job Centre were useless, I’m still not sure what ESA is, whether I want it and how I get it. I called the telephone number the Job Centre had given me, got halfway through the recorded message (please have details of your mortgage, pay, blood group, parents occupations etc) and had to take Lorazepam.
Suffice to say, I’ll let that one lie for a bit.
I’ve been advised to go to the CAB, and I will, but not today.
I started taking my new anti-psychotic last week. It’s working in that I am not psychotic but physically I feel awful. As I’ve said before I don’t “do” illness so it was with great reluctance, tinged with fear that I was on the verge of lithium toxicity, that last night I contacted NHS24 (Scottish equivalent of NHS Direct).
My symptoms were purely physical- nausea, severe whole body tremor, headache, dizziness and blurred vision. I went through my symptoms several times, the nurse checked my records then she started talking to me in a tone of voice which would normally be saved for someone perched on a bridge. I was asked what kind of day I’d had (“rubbish, I’m not feeling well”), was I feeling anxious? Was there anything troubling me? Other than the slight fear that if it was lithium toxicity I could be in a coma by the time she’d stopped patronising me- no!
I was left with the instruction to see my own GP tomorrow, “to talk it all through with him”. Now firstly, my wonderful GP is a woman and secondly, I don’t need to talk, I need my bloods done.
So this is the stigma they’re all going on about! I don’t know (and don’t want to know) what my medical records say, but in isolation they clearly paint a picture of someone much less capable and together than me. I know I haven’t been capable and together for very long but long enough to know the difference between nausea and “nerves”. It’s bad enough that everyone one asks “how are you?” or the classic yet nonsensical “how are you, in yourself?” but to discover that any health query I have from now on will immediately be attributed to my mental health is infuriating.
For the record, I didn’t slip into a coma during the night and I still feel rubbish, I’m seeing the wonderful GP tomorrow to get some proper medical advice.
One such extreme came after my bold attempts to deal with something I had hoped to put off forever- claiming ESA. I can’t elaborate much on this story except to say- the Job Centre were useless, I’m still not sure what ESA is, whether I want it and how I get it. I called the telephone number the Job Centre had given me, got halfway through the recorded message (please have details of your mortgage, pay, blood group, parents occupations etc) and had to take Lorazepam.
Suffice to say, I’ll let that one lie for a bit.
I’ve been advised to go to the CAB, and I will, but not today.
I started taking my new anti-psychotic last week. It’s working in that I am not psychotic but physically I feel awful. As I’ve said before I don’t “do” illness so it was with great reluctance, tinged with fear that I was on the verge of lithium toxicity, that last night I contacted NHS24 (Scottish equivalent of NHS Direct).
My symptoms were purely physical- nausea, severe whole body tremor, headache, dizziness and blurred vision. I went through my symptoms several times, the nurse checked my records then she started talking to me in a tone of voice which would normally be saved for someone perched on a bridge. I was asked what kind of day I’d had (“rubbish, I’m not feeling well”), was I feeling anxious? Was there anything troubling me? Other than the slight fear that if it was lithium toxicity I could be in a coma by the time she’d stopped patronising me- no!
I was left with the instruction to see my own GP tomorrow, “to talk it all through with him”. Now firstly, my wonderful GP is a woman and secondly, I don’t need to talk, I need my bloods done.
So this is the stigma they’re all going on about! I don’t know (and don’t want to know) what my medical records say, but in isolation they clearly paint a picture of someone much less capable and together than me. I know I haven’t been capable and together for very long but long enough to know the difference between nausea and “nerves”. It’s bad enough that everyone one asks “how are you?” or the classic yet nonsensical “how are you, in yourself?” but to discover that any health query I have from now on will immediately be attributed to my mental health is infuriating.
For the record, I didn’t slip into a coma during the night and I still feel rubbish, I’m seeing the wonderful GP tomorrow to get some proper medical advice.
Living With It
Today marks the end of my first week at home, officially recovered enough to leave the hospital.
It’s been a challenging week and again I am finding the simplest tasks are beyond me. Housework overwhelms me and trying to fill in the seemingly endless pile of forms I’ve been putting off until I feel up to it has me in tears.
My children have returned to school so the days have some structure and routine but during the time they are away I have nothing to do other than attend appointments with health professionals. The truth is I don’t feel up to doing anything anyway.
People keep telling me I need to find things to do but with no motivation it’s very difficult. I still hanker for all the things I used to do and I miss my job. I know that it is too soon to go back to work- I still struggle to go to a supermarket but my job was such a large part of my identity I feel lost without it. I can’t think of anything I want to do other than the rather vague plea of “get my life back”.
I attended my CBT appointment this morning to be told that I am too depressed or getting too depressed for CBT to be effective and I should seek an appointment with my psychiatrist to discuss what to do next. This invariably means more medication; the current pile is enough to induce a bout of weeping when I pick them up. The side effects from my medication continue to affect me and I can’t decide which I hate more- the weight gain or the tremor. I know I could take more medication to counteract the tremor but it has its own side effects so it’s no easy decision.
On the upside, I have a letter from DVLA telling me I can drive, so I have a little of my independence back. I used my car yesterday to drive to the home of an acquaintance who revealed over coffee that they had been through a similar experience to me some years ago. It is so good to know that I’m not alone and that others have been there, done that and come out the other side.
I’m hoping to come out the other side sometime soon, and I hope to stay there.
It’s been a challenging week and again I am finding the simplest tasks are beyond me. Housework overwhelms me and trying to fill in the seemingly endless pile of forms I’ve been putting off until I feel up to it has me in tears.
My children have returned to school so the days have some structure and routine but during the time they are away I have nothing to do other than attend appointments with health professionals. The truth is I don’t feel up to doing anything anyway.
People keep telling me I need to find things to do but with no motivation it’s very difficult. I still hanker for all the things I used to do and I miss my job. I know that it is too soon to go back to work- I still struggle to go to a supermarket but my job was such a large part of my identity I feel lost without it. I can’t think of anything I want to do other than the rather vague plea of “get my life back”.
I attended my CBT appointment this morning to be told that I am too depressed or getting too depressed for CBT to be effective and I should seek an appointment with my psychiatrist to discuss what to do next. This invariably means more medication; the current pile is enough to induce a bout of weeping when I pick them up. The side effects from my medication continue to affect me and I can’t decide which I hate more- the weight gain or the tremor. I know I could take more medication to counteract the tremor but it has its own side effects so it’s no easy decision.
On the upside, I have a letter from DVLA telling me I can drive, so I have a little of my independence back. I used my car yesterday to drive to the home of an acquaintance who revealed over coffee that they had been through a similar experience to me some years ago. It is so good to know that I’m not alone and that others have been there, done that and come out the other side.
I’m hoping to come out the other side sometime soon, and I hope to stay there.
A Better Day
Today is a better day; too much better, I can barely type as my knees are jiggling underneath my laptop as my body strives to get rid of some energy. I have several choices
- take Lorazepam, dull the high and probably fall asleep at some point
- find something to do (I have already tidied and rearranged furniture this morning)
- as one Twitter friend suggested- go down the pub
The first option always feels like opting out. I suffer through the lows with little or no medicinal support (aside from a very occasional evening of trying to drink it away) and to medicate away a high feels wrong and somehow unjust. Lorazepam does help but I try and save it for the bad highs- the highs that leave my mind spinning and my body agitated and exhausted.
The second option has already seen the younger children’s bedroom furniture rearranged, I did fleetingly consider a bit of gardening but it would be gardening with a chainsaw and my neighbours still haven’t quite forgiven me for the last time (what else to do with a 10 foot Privet?). I could go to the gym but I already stick out a bit there with my 5 minutes on each machine then out approach. I went swimming on a high once, paid full price, got in, swam 10 lengths and got out- all in about 15 minutes.
Option 3 isn’t really an option, not for all the reasons us grown ups usually cite for not being able to spend sunny weekday lunchtimes in the pub but because of my illness and my medication- and because it would be just plain wrong.
So I suppose I’m blogging, so you all know a little of what it feels like in my head at the moment. I want to do so much but in reality can focus to do very little. I need to do my hair but my hands are trembling too much for straighteners to be a wise choice. I want to do something but I have no idea what. Most of the things I come up with are a little fanciful- I am convinced that today is the day I will start to turn my mental illness diaries into a wonderful autobiography that will make my fortune or i will pick up my paintbrushes and create that masterpiece I keep talking about.
The truth is, I can’t do anything. I need to get a few things from the shop but at the moment have retained just enough insight to see that going out in public would be a very bad plan and going out to a shop would be an even badder one! I have no concentration span and can't stop moving, I know that whatever I do, or try to do just won't be enough.
The chances are I will go for option one and take the drugs, it’s a shitty option and I’m not happy about it but when am I ever happy?
- take Lorazepam, dull the high and probably fall asleep at some point
- find something to do (I have already tidied and rearranged furniture this morning)
- as one Twitter friend suggested- go down the pub
The first option always feels like opting out. I suffer through the lows with little or no medicinal support (aside from a very occasional evening of trying to drink it away) and to medicate away a high feels wrong and somehow unjust. Lorazepam does help but I try and save it for the bad highs- the highs that leave my mind spinning and my body agitated and exhausted.
The second option has already seen the younger children’s bedroom furniture rearranged, I did fleetingly consider a bit of gardening but it would be gardening with a chainsaw and my neighbours still haven’t quite forgiven me for the last time (what else to do with a 10 foot Privet?). I could go to the gym but I already stick out a bit there with my 5 minutes on each machine then out approach. I went swimming on a high once, paid full price, got in, swam 10 lengths and got out- all in about 15 minutes.
Option 3 isn’t really an option, not for all the reasons us grown ups usually cite for not being able to spend sunny weekday lunchtimes in the pub but because of my illness and my medication- and because it would be just plain wrong.
So I suppose I’m blogging, so you all know a little of what it feels like in my head at the moment. I want to do so much but in reality can focus to do very little. I need to do my hair but my hands are trembling too much for straighteners to be a wise choice. I want to do something but I have no idea what. Most of the things I come up with are a little fanciful- I am convinced that today is the day I will start to turn my mental illness diaries into a wonderful autobiography that will make my fortune or i will pick up my paintbrushes and create that masterpiece I keep talking about.
The truth is, I can’t do anything. I need to get a few things from the shop but at the moment have retained just enough insight to see that going out in public would be a very bad plan and going out to a shop would be an even badder one! I have no concentration span and can't stop moving, I know that whatever I do, or try to do just won't be enough.
The chances are I will go for option one and take the drugs, it’s a shitty option and I’m not happy about it but when am I ever happy?
Kicking and Screaming
So in the usual pattern following my last post which was quite accepting of my mental illness I am back to feeling angry, resentful and hard done by.
Not so much “why me?” as “me? No way!”
I’m back to “I can’t do this it’s too difficult” back to wondering if I stopped taking my medication would I return to the seemingly mentally well person I was before?
I’m angry, tired and scared.
Everyday is a fight and I don’t want to do it anymore. The amount of planning that goes into the simplest event is ridiculous and my ability to deal with anything out of the ordinary is non-existent.
Aside from all the normal everyday things I’m trying to find ways to deal with, life continues to throw little spanners not just in my works but in handfuls aimed squarely at my face.
Today’s example is that the bank has failed to process the mortgage payment holiday I requested. I need the mortgage payment holiday as my days of being off sick but still on full pay are rapidly coming to an end. This week was a double whammy- for some reason I didn’t get paid at all and the bank took the mortgage payment as usual.
Previously I would have dealt with this kind of event with ease but in my current state I have to rely entirely on other people to sort things out for me. Part of me wants to scream “I’m not well, you know” and another part of me wants to ‘pull myself together’- I can’t, I’ve tried, hundreds of times.
To use my mental health car crash analogy, I’m out of intensive care but not quite in a stable condition, my whole body still hurts and many of my bones are still broken. I can engage with life quite convincingly for short periods of time but I’ve got a long way to go before I’m 100%.
I survived the car crash (and several cardiac arrests whilst in intensive care) and I intend to get through rehabilitation in one piece but I am frustrated by my limitations, grieving for the way I used to be and angry at the world. It all sounds perfectly reasonable when using the car crash analogy; I wish I could get the world to understand.
Not so much “why me?” as “me? No way!”
I’m back to “I can’t do this it’s too difficult” back to wondering if I stopped taking my medication would I return to the seemingly mentally well person I was before?
I’m angry, tired and scared.
Everyday is a fight and I don’t want to do it anymore. The amount of planning that goes into the simplest event is ridiculous and my ability to deal with anything out of the ordinary is non-existent.
Aside from all the normal everyday things I’m trying to find ways to deal with, life continues to throw little spanners not just in my works but in handfuls aimed squarely at my face.
Today’s example is that the bank has failed to process the mortgage payment holiday I requested. I need the mortgage payment holiday as my days of being off sick but still on full pay are rapidly coming to an end. This week was a double whammy- for some reason I didn’t get paid at all and the bank took the mortgage payment as usual.
Previously I would have dealt with this kind of event with ease but in my current state I have to rely entirely on other people to sort things out for me. Part of me wants to scream “I’m not well, you know” and another part of me wants to ‘pull myself together’- I can’t, I’ve tried, hundreds of times.
To use my mental health car crash analogy, I’m out of intensive care but not quite in a stable condition, my whole body still hurts and many of my bones are still broken. I can engage with life quite convincingly for short periods of time but I’ve got a long way to go before I’m 100%.
I survived the car crash (and several cardiac arrests whilst in intensive care) and I intend to get through rehabilitation in one piece but I am frustrated by my limitations, grieving for the way I used to be and angry at the world. It all sounds perfectly reasonable when using the car crash analogy; I wish I could get the world to understand.
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