AlixRites®

2011-01-17T11:40:00.000-05:00

You know, I had so much to write the other day that I decided not to put all in one post. What the best thing ( did in 2010? Well, on July 27th I quit smoking cold turkey with none of those nicotine patches or gums. I just made up my mind to do it. The first couple of weeks were hard, but by the third week, the cravings lessened

I miss going to therapy, but each therapist I’ve seen (3) just didn’t seem all that interested in what I had to say. Once actually clock-watch during the whole session. I want to return to therapy, but now I am not sure where to go. I think I am going to call the head therapist I worked with during that intensive three-month outpatient therapy. Maybe I can get her to make the appointment for me in case they it to be a referral requirement.

I’ve been fairly balanced bipolar-wise (BP). And what is interesting, when I am feeling balanced, the Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD) doesn’t seem to be as pronounced. However I feel myself slipping into a manic phase. I’ve had all this energy and haven’t been to sleep in 4 days, but I feel fine. My biggest weakness when I am manic is my need to spend money and collecting things I shouldn’t have. Those items always fall in the “want” category!

Well, my psychiatrist was me to have another neuro workup considering the fact that my short-term memory is sporadic at best and I can’t concentrate or focus on tasks. I’ll start working on ten things at the same time, yet make headway on none. So, I am no going to work on one item at a time from start to finish. Not sure what my productivity will be at work.

Speaking of work, I have been staying on top of my projects and my email. My boss hasn’t had to deal with me for the whole month of January so far. I know I am supposed to be getting my performance appraisal this month. I can hardly wait. I rather doubt that it will be as good as last year.

I have perfected the smoothie! I have a 1200-watt blender that will crush ice. I can make gelatos and ice cream and frozen Margaritas. Well, I look at my poor absorption of vitamins and minerals, but instead of taking all these vitamins and minerals in pill form, I am adding leafy green veggies and such (spinach, kale, broccoli, carrots not peeled). I put the veggies in with the blender and all you can taste is all the fruit I usually add to my regular smoothie along with the protein powder and flax seed meal (the actual flax seeds are hard to digest).. Maybe my blood results will look better this time when I go see my regular doctor.

Back to my dysfunctional family. I decided to send everyone framed pictures of Mom following her 90th birthday, evening including K, the niece from hell. I called her out on it and she claimed she didn’t know what I was talking about. Never mind that for the last 10 years I have been patently ignored when the family gets together for the celebration at K’s house. Well, I sent the framed photos to K and today is Jan 17. I actually was expecting a thank you call or card, but nothing has been forthcoming, so I have now washed my hands of her.

You know what else hurt my feelings? Now that I have a dependable car, I have the ability to drive the four hours to her house. WhenI was visiting her back in November, she told me that staying for four days is just too much for her. Three will suffice. Well, that’s hard on me considering it’s practically a quick turn-around trip. And on top of that, she doesn’t want me down there too often (like once per season). Well, she is 90 and has every right to dictate who can and for how long someone can visit. Ah, yes, family. Just warms the cockles of my heart! ©2011

One Long Year Later

2011-01-13T14:10:00.001-05:00

For the past year I have wrestled with demons, good times, manic phases…you name it. I have been trying to fly below the radar…keeps things that much easier. I want so much to be anonymous, but in today’s climate, that is virtually impossible. I hate the fact that my fingerprints are in the system (not that I plan on going out and committing a crime, mind you).

This past year was a hard one at my job (let me say this right now…I am blessed with employment!). I was still on a learning curve. But what soon became evident were the issues plaguing me during recovery. I still have short-term memory loss and we don’t know if it will be permanent. Things got so bad that I was put in a sort of probationary 3-month re-evaluation subject to my work performance. I’ve lost four accounts because of the mistakes I have made. However, that period soon passed once they understood it to be the cause of a medical condition.

Ironically, I have had a great month at work so far for January. I’ve shifted my focus. I now get up at the crack of dawn (0400, to log on to the employer’s VPN at 0700). That leaves me with 3 hours before I have to be at work. Now, every morning, I am drinking my hot tea while doing my devotions and Bible reading and praying. I am also starting to record Joyce Meyer so I can pause it here and there while I take notes. I figure that’s about the best way I can start the day.

My beloved little church finally succumbed to lack of attendance, so the Pastor chose to close the church. I have tried a few and I have come across one that I am going to attend a few more times before I commit to anything. This is a much larger church and is not affiliated with a denomination which I like. Their praise & worship is a little different from what I’ve become used to, but that can change in time. What’s nice is that my pastor from the previous church and his wife, one other couple and a single dad have decided that they really like this church as well.

There is so much I want to say and I don’t even know where to start. My mom celebrated her 90th birthday last September and she is feisty as ever. She mall walks everyday, plays bridge twice a week and attends several social butterfly lunches. You’d never know it to see her. I have this picture of my Mom and I with our heads together and we have the same colour hair considering I am 36 years younger than she is. I sure hope I come from her gene pool!

Unfortunately, my niece and all of the “precious” great-grand children came with her. She knows she smells like a rose and can do no harm. That pure bull. While she can smile and laugh with the best of them, she is quite devious underneath. Just remember that she is the one who refuses to invite me to the family holiday festivities. I am the only one not invited. Well, after everyone had eaten their dinner and was just sitting around the table in the restaurant, I pulled K outside to finally end it all and call a truce even though I still don’t know how I ever pissed her off that much (hell, maybe she’s homophobic, I don’t know). I pointedly asked her why had I been excluded all these years and she said, “but I only invite my family.” Heck, I am her Godmother and her Aunt. What part of “her family” does that not fit? So what am I, chopped liver…LOL?

My Mom once told me to rise above the circumstances. So, regardless of what K said, I still decided to send her a 5x7 close-up of Mom already framed and a framed wallet-sized photo of Mom and Santa. I also happened to send it to my nephew (her brother) and my brother (yeah, I know, surprise, surprise). Today is 13 January and I have gotten a thank you from everyone except K. Well, now I can wash my hands of her. The next time I will see her will most likely be at my Mom’s funeral. My intention after my mother dies is to make no overtures towards anyone left in the family. If someone calls me, then that’s a different story. But I am an adult and I don’t have time for such foolishness. The only person I can see having a loose relationship with is my older sister P. We have been on good terms, but she is so much like Dad was. Always offering advice when none is asked, and always reminding me of how I could have done something better. Come to think of it, my brother L has the same rock to stumble over.

And so it begins—a new year filled with possibilities. Last October and the ensuing months were the absolute low point in my life. I don’t wish to be faced with the same set of circumstances that led me to attempt suicide.

I quit seeing the therapist I was first assigned to because her available hours conflicted with my work schedule. So she graciously referred me to another therapist she had good words to say regarding her, but I went to two sessions with her and she was a tad bit over the top. Look, I don’t care what time of day it is, I cannot deal with chirpiness. She was just wa-a-ay to happy a camper. So, I called the office, indicating that the second therapist was not a good fit and could I return to seeing the first therapist. The woman who answered the phone said they would have to check my medical records and have the request referred to the nurse and someone would get back to me. Well, it’s been a month and I haven’t heard anything. Yeah, I know, I should probably call and follow-up; I just haven’t had the energy to accomplish much of anything.

I am still seeing my psychiatrist and now my visits are once every three months—more of a med and status check than anything. Nevertheless, he is quite concerned about my lack of attention, focus and my short-term memory issues that have had a measureable impact on my job. He wants me to go in for neurophysiologic testing to see if we can pinpoint either the cause of the problems or if it’s temporary or not (it’s been over a year now…sounds kinda permanent to me). My psychiatrist is worried that I may have caused some injury to my brain when I attempted suicide (God only knows what flowed through my veins that night). Then, after the results are in (I have no idea what tests they would be performing), I may have to do neurocognitive rehab. I have no idea what that is all about either.

Well, I’ve now had my car for one year and I am still happy with it. But get this, I only have 3900 miles on it. I just don’t have long distances to drive around the city. Almost everything I do except for grocery shopping is within walking distance. That’s my effort of getting off my lazy ass and generating some energy burn. I found out yesterday from my Mom that the Honda Fit made Consumers Reports their best value, and Car and Driver put the Fit in their top ten for five years in a row.

OK, shift in focus. Sunday night it began to snow heavily here (I live in the southeast US). We usually don’t get snow, but ice storms instead. At night, it was so serene and picturesque. It was like looking at a huge Ansell Adams mural. When all was said and done, we ended up with 10 inches of snow. I had so much fun. However, I did learn one lesson…don’t attempt to make a snow angel in 10 inches of snow. When you fall back, it’s a longer way down than it looks, and then, once you’ve landed, all the snow falls in and buries you (my most graceful move yet). 4 days later, only the streets are finally cleared, but all of our yards are still covered with the leftover snow. The fact that the temp hasn’t risen above freezing all this time is making it harder for the snow to dissipate. But it sure was peaceful and beautiful. That, most probably, will be our big storm of the season.

I can tell I am losing some of the ground I gained when I was in that outpatient therapy program for 3 hours a day Mon, Wed, and Fri that lasted for three months. I feel the BPD becoming an issue again. I am isolating again and at the same time having a pity party that I don’t have more friends, then I take solace in my aloneness (I prefer that to loneliness). When I really think about it, I love living alone so much that I don’t even entertain the idea of dating much less having a girlfriend move in. I love my privacy. I love not answering my door (unless I know already that someone is on their way…I make them call me when they get in my driveway). I had fun with the Census Bureau. I did not fill out the form and mail it in. I feel it’s an invasion of privacy despite all their protestations that ALL information will be kept confidential. HA! They started coming by the house, first one, then another for a total of five visits. I ignored them completely. They even went to my neighbours twice (they had already been coached to answer in such a way that it did not reveal gender and number of people living in my house). I just don’t want someone knowing my business. While I applaud the medical community and their HIPAA regulations, we could sure use some of that stringent guideline in the private sector. Face it. Too many people know too much information on everyone. All it takes is this wonderful Ethernet world.

I promise, I promise to get back into my blogging on a regular basis. I guess too many of you are sick of listening to Santana. I left it as my playlist for this past year. Today, when I post this entry, I will change the music (I promise). It sure is nice to be back again.©2011

Week in Review 20 February 2010

2010-02-20T08:26:00.001-05:00

I apologise for the delay in posting my weekly reviews. I have been so busy at work that time has just flown by. So let me catch you up since my last entry of Week Ending 30 January 2010 (see post below).

Work: My job is slowly piecing itself together. My confidence has risen a little bit and I finally got ahead of my emails. For the past three weeks, I have ended the day with as many as 90-100 unread emails. By Wednesday of this week, I finally tackled them all and now I may only have 6-12 emails I have not gotten to. What an improvement.

I feel as though I am actually accomplishing tasks at work and being able to scratch off items on my to do list. I still have about 20 requests I have not handled—some more complex than others.

My circadian rhythm has settled now. I am going to bed around 1930-2000 each evening because I am awakening on my own around 0345. My job requirements changed while I was out on medical leave. Before, if I was in the middle of something crucial and it went past my eight-hour workday, being salaried but non-exempt, I would be paid overtime. I ended up working 10-hour days frequently, which very easily made me feel burned out. When I came back to work 04 January I was told no more OT would be approved which really lightened my burden. Oh, sure, that always left me with not enough time to get my daily job done, but I was freed from the expectation that I would work the OT if I had to. So, I clock in at 0700 and clock out promptly at 1530. Because I am getting up so early, it gives me a chance to drink my hot tea, eat breakfast and stay on my strict medicine schedule.

Now, here is the bad news. Now they have decided to make us salaried exempt meaning if I have to, I am expected to work additional hours without being paid for it. In my book, I think that is a punch in the gut. That is management trying to cut the bottom line while still expecting superior work effort. Not sure when it goes into effect, but this had the potential to increase my anxiety levels.

My Psychiatrist: I had my appointment back on 03 February. He seems pleased with my progression, but concerned that I am still battling the depression. Overall, since the mood swings have stabilised I can see some improvement. He did not make any changes to the cocktail and now I have graduated to only having to see him once a month for the time being. I am looking forward to reaching the point when I only have to see him once every three months.

We talked about my residual symptoms of incurring Wernicke’s Encephalopathy which is still lingering. I am still having problems with my eyes as I am still experiencing saccadic movement which slows me down at work. It is very frustrating. Also, I still experience short-term memory loss which is equally as frustrating. I have to take copious notes during integrated phone/data conferences so I do not forget anything. I cannot tell you the number of tablets I go through just collecting facts and action items on my part. My psychiatrist believes that my brain will heal slowly over time.

Individual Therapist: My last appointment with P was 03 February 2010. It was a non-event because I told her I was going to have to switch to a different therapist. P’s last appointment of the day is 1300, right smack in the middle of my workday. I need someone who can meet with me at 1600 or later. She highly recommended one of her peers equally qualified, but when I tried to make an appointment with S for two weeks, she was booked. I now have to wait until 09 March—one month out. I will try her on for size in hopes that we can make a connection. It is going to be a bummer having to start from scratch even though she has P’s notes in my record. I just hope she takes the time to read it before our first appointment.

My Car: Well, I am now the owner of a 2010 Honda Fit Sport. I have had it since 06 January and have only put 78 miles on it! I just do not have any long rides to takes around the city. Almost everything I do is right in my own neighbourhood. There is a small part of me that is excited by the fact that I have a new car. However, what is first and foremost in my mind daily is wondering if I can really afford this car. I did well in negotiating it down from the MSRP, but a car payment is still a car payment. It still has that new car smell. Also, I have made the decision that I will not smoke in this car. Hasn’t been too difficult. I just make sure I do not bring my cigarettes with me.

Week in Review 30 January 2010

2010-01-30T17:02:00.001-05:00

Not much to report this week. I had no therapist, psychiatrist or GP appointments for a change

Work: This full-time work week hit me like a ton of bricks. It is as if all my clients all knew I was back in the office all on the same day. I simply cannot keep up with the email, nor respond as quickly as I used to with some of my more high-profile clients. I still have emails unread dating back to this past Monday 25 January.

I had one major escalation that was a forefront priority for me that I had to stay on top of from the start. The problem was presented to me last Friday afternoon and it resulted in a client wanting a particular service on a product we offer. I let the client know that I understood the importance of a speedy reply to see if we could accommodate his request. No one on my team could give me a firm answer, so I was directed to Technical Operations.

Well, that group did not respond back as quickly as I hoped, but I dropped the ball by not keeping the client completely in the loop in just continuing to communicate that we were still looking into it, but so far, we had not heard back from Tech Ops. The client decided to escalate the issue above me that did not put me in the fairest of light (sometimes you learn your lessons best the hard way).

When all was said and done and Tech Ops told me that we could not accommodate the client’s request, my main concern was regarding who should be the one to tell him: someone from Tech Ops or me (I figured Tech Ops could explain better the technical details of why we could not provide the requested service).

After getting a few other emails from the account team who was also working with this issue, including my manager, and realized that no one had STILL not communicated anything to the client—now a week later—I decided to be proactive.

I called him and reiterated just how important this issue was for them; I told him I that I was remiss in not keeping the lines of communication more fluid in the intervening time, and offered my apologies for the duration of time it took for me to give him a final answer that we could not technically provide the requested service. He was very understanding. He said that he knew I was working hard behind the scenes. I still took responsibility for my lack of communication, and we parted amicably. He said he would contact me next week about some other information he would be requesting, more notably the specifics of the services offered by the products we were supporting for them.

This whole ordeal probably put a smear in my column in my manager’s eye, but I just have to chalk it up to an experience learned. I have always felt very strongly about providing excellent customer service to my clients; I do not know why I dropped the ball on this.

My other problem, which might have leant itself to the aforementioned issue, was the enormous amounts of email that kept streaming in. At the end of every day, there have been approximately 80-90 emails I still have not read, some stemming back, as I said, from Monday the 25th. I only have eight hours in a day (no overtime allowed) and can only process so much. I quickly scan throughout the day the subject headers to ferret out what might be higher priority items. I catch what I can, but I know there are clients who are still awaiting a response from me. In some cases, the questions I am being asked require me to run reports which take 24 hours to run, so that already puts me behind a day. Then I get emails where I simply do not know how to take care of the problem (my memory is still wreaking havoc). Thankfully I have a 12-member team who I can reach out to, but I fear they will get tired of my questions soon enough. What I fear is that they will not remember that I was only on this new job for two-and-a-half months before being out on a three-month medical leave. Essentially, I am still on my learning curve. There are parts of this job I just have not been exposed to yet which is resulting in me being slow on the uptake.

The bright side of this week was my performance review that my manager held with me on Tuesday. He said he was remarkably pleased at just how far I have come in gaining experience in the position and how fast I was learning everything. He pointed to my desire to provide superior customer service as one of my strengths, and the one thing I needed to develop was my sense of self-confidence in performing my job. If he only knew! I did discover that the company approved raises for everyone and I merited a 3.5% increase. Well, it is better than nothing! I also found out that the company has approved a performance bonus this year payable in early March. I am not sure what mine will be, but I will be happy to receive whatever I get. (business has been good, thankfully).

My Car: Well, ole Betsy (never her real name, just seemed fitting at the moment) has retired. I have been spending the last two weeks searching for another car. I want to stay with a Honda as mine lasted for 16 years with mega-mileage. I looked at several dealerships thinking I would examine their certified used cars that came with a warranty. In each case, all they had were Civics comparable to mine —somewhat new, but with massive mileage. Sure, affordable, but I would be right back where I was in a short time. The other choices were the high-end Accords that were not affordable. I had already examined a new 2010 Honda Fit Sport that, when we got down to negotiating, was a far cry lower than the Accords. At this point, why should I pay more money for a used Accord when I can have a brand new Fit for a few thousand less? Moreover, this one comes with a lifetime power train warranty (the very thing that went out on my old car that never had more that the standard bumper-to-bumper three years or 36,000 miles). I did negotiate a good deal and got rid of the sales person and dealt directly with the manager who ultimately had the final say so. We must have pushed the proverbially piece of paper back and forth about five times. Nuts and bolts, I will be getting the car at $3500 less MSRP plus some of the options I wanted. I have never been afraid to negotiate and walk out the door, and this particular dealership (the last of the three locally, two of which I had already walked out when they didn’t meet my price) started hedging when I said that I was prepared to drive 90 miles or so across the state line to get a better deal. Then they started singing my song. I will be picking up the car next Saturday.

General Info: Aside from the constant anxiety at work, my bipolar appears still to be in balance. In addition, my sleep patterns are almost back to normal. It has been such a long time since I have been able to say that. Currently, I am not depressed or manic. Is this what “normal” is supposed to feel like? I would not know; I have never been here before.

Next week I have my appointment with my therapist and psychiatrist. I did have quite an unexpected expense this week. I had to get my bipolar meds refilled. I already know that I have to stay on them, so I bit the bullet and called my insurance’s 90-day prescription by mail program. I had to fill my Geodon and Provigil (not generic) and my Lamictal. Because I still had $1150 of my $1200 deductible, one or some of those meds were going to have to be a full retail price. I almost fell off my chair when they quoted me the Geodon at roughly $1172 for a 90-day supply. So, that drug alone covered my deductible and I got the other two dugs with the insurance cap. Now, how many people can say that they’ve met their medical insurance deductible by the third week in January…LOL.©2009

Week in Review 23 January 2010

2010-01-23T12:18:00.001-05:00

There are subjects that I have not caught you up on since returning to work full-time. I am going to use this week in review to address the various issues that actually encompass more than just this past week.

Iron Infusions: The study included receiving 1000mg of IV iron infusions. I received 200mg Mondays and Wednesdays for 5 days. Throughout the process, the clinical specialist drew blood to check my haemoglobin and ferritin levels. This study will go on for a year although no more iron infusions are to be given. All subsequent visits are geared towards monitoring my blood levels to see how I fare over the course of the year. On day 35, after the final infusion, my haemoglobin only rose to 12.1 (normal is around 12.3-16). However, my ferritin level (one of the key indicators in my case) rose from 5 before the study to 96. While I am pleased with the ferritin level, I still have borderline iron deficient anaemia. I am disappointed that my haemoglobin did not rise any higher. I am curious to see how the blood level results will be over the rest of the year. My savings grace is that I have not had to pay for any of this as being part of this clinical trial, and the added bonus is, once I have completed the yearlong study, I will be compensated for my travelling costs.

Vitamin and Mineral Deficiencies: If you recall, I began having symptoms of ataxia on 13 November 2009. It began with being unable to keep my balance then progressing to ocular involvement called nystagmus then to short-term memory loss. I failed certain neurological tests (most notable the Romberg test. The combination of all three symptoms indicated that I had Wernicke’s encephalopathy that does, in effect, eventually causes organic problems with my brain. If left untreated, the transient symptoms will become permanent. It was suspected that mine was caused by a vitamin B1-Thiamine deficiency. As a result, my GP decided to run a huge panel of vitamin and mineral blood work. The results showed that my B1 levels were undetectable as well as my Selenium levels (essential for the proper functioning of the immune system). I was ordered to start taking 100mg of B1 twice a day and 200mg of Selenium once a day. After six weeks, the repeat blood tests showed marked improvement and my balance had almost come full circle, although I still have some ocular involvement and short-term memory loss (my brain is healing slowly). Another level that was far below normal was vitamin D. Instead of taking an OTC version of vitamin D, my GP wrote a prescription that I am to take once a week for eight weeks, then once a month forever. This does not even include the fact that I have to give myself 1000mcg vitamin B12 shots monthly forever. My doctor essentially told me that I would be taking these vitamins and minerals forever, along with a multi-vitamin that I am supposed to start taking. Coupled with all of my bipolar medications and the ones for my continued high blood pressure, I am swallowing a horde of pills a day.

Individual Therapy: Now that I am no longer in group therapy, I have starting seeing an individual therapist. 20 January was actually my third visit with her following the intake assessment and one follow-up appointment a couple of months ago (my group therapy took precedence). This visit I determined that one of the first factors I had to deal with was my borderline personality disorder. You’ll note further down in the link what the causes are—I meet all of them. In examining the causes, I decided to deal with my disruptive family history first. I have discussed at length in previous entries how I have been treated as a pariah at holiday gatherings these past seven or eight years always celebrated at my niece’s home. She patently exclaimed that I was not welcome the first time she hosted these events. I ended up attending, even though I had not received an individual invitation, as a result of my nephew’s insistence. He said, “Alix, family is family. You belong there.” When I showed up at the front door with my nephew, my niece clearly displayed her anger and let me know I was not welcome, but she could not refuse my entry because other people had already noticed me, so she was stuck. The entire time, even my mother showed her displeasure, I was uncomfortable. Always the queen of protocol, she said I should not have come because I did not receive an invitation. To this day, I have no idea why my niece hates me—my mother will not volunteer any information and my sister even told me not to confront her daughter. So much for my supportive family.

Getting back to my early years, I was sexually abused at age five. Upon my mother and older sister finding out, my mother shook my shoulders and told me I was never to ever speak of this to anyone. This was during a generation when it was not understood nor dealt with. I was made to feel as though it was my fault. The family dynamic changed forever after that. I felt abandoned by everyone because no one would help me with all of the shame and guilt I felt. Years later, those memories were buried during the haze of my years-long addiction to smack and coke (I used to shoot speedballs). I eventually cleaned up and have been clean for 23 years. However, during my detox period, all those memories came flooding back. I worked up the courage to confront my mother about the sexual abuse and at first, she denied it ever happened. Then, with further insistence, she simply said it was in the past and refused to discuss it with me ever.

A few years later, my parents had a huge celebration for their 50th wedding anniversary. I was living out of town, but my mother wanted my son and me to attend. I simply asked if that particular family member who abused me would be there and she replied yes. Then she told me that I was only welcome if I did not create a scene. I promised I would not (always being the dutiful little girl trying to find that ever so elusive but never found approval). However, I was very anxious about seeing this family member (whom I shall refer here as L). I had not seen L since the memories surfaced. I was not sure how I would react. When I saw him I felt a flood of emotions wash over me and I was not sure I would be able to control myself, but I remembered the promise I had made to my mother. He acted as if nothing had ever happened. I kept my limited contact to perfunctory responses and immediately found someone else with whom to interact.

The next two obligatory times I had to be around L was my father’s funeral and my nephew’s first wedding. I could not keep my distance as far as I wanted because these events were small family gatherings, but I was determined never to attend any events where he would be present with the exception of my mother’s eventual funeral.

Or so I thought. My sister called me this week and told me she wanted to do something special for my mother’s 90th birthday in September. She wanted everyone to be there. Not only will I have to deal with my niece (a favoured one as she has produced my mother’s only great grandchildren), but there is an outside chance that L will be there. My sister did mention that L had declined because he had already booked a hike in Italy and that was his priority. To tell you the truth, that pissed me off. Isn’t my mother’s 90th birthday, an occasion that will never come again, something that should take precedence above all else? Tell me that he did not know that the week he booked his hike was during my mother’s birthday and that it was her 90th. How callous can someone be? Of course I already had a very poor opinion of him (to say the very least), but this was the last straw. As oxymoronic as this sounds, I hope he changes his mind, if only for my mother’s sake.

So, getting back to my therapy session…I made it a special point to tell P that this celebration would be coming up in September, one that is creating enormous anxiety for me, even now. I need to process all that has happened since childhood. Since the event is not until September, this will give me quite a while to try to come to terms with everything. I wonder what the process will be concerning trying to deal with everything. I can only afford to see her every two weeks, so I hope we can accomplish a lot.

My Psychiatrist: I am now seeing him every three weeks—a far cry from weekly appointments along with daily phone check-ins. R seems pleased with the state of my bipolar disorder, and so am I. The cocktail he has me on (Lamictal 200mg 2/day, Geodon 80mg in the morning and 240mg at bedtime, Provigil 200mg 2x/day, Lexapro 40mg daily, Ativan 2mg 4x/day, and Ambien 20mg at bedtime) has been very productive. I am being cautious about the Lexapro since it is an anti-depressant. In bipolar patients, while these types of drugs can battle the profound depression I found myself in, I have to be aware if I progress to any mania since these drugs can produce this side effect. I am monitoring this very carefully. I do not want to mess with this cocktail as it is servicing a precious need of keeping everything in balance right now. However, R has discussed getting me down to a maintenance cocktail that would probably result in taking me off some of this medication. I do not think I am ready for this yet. It been too soon since I tried to commit suicide. While I have made great strides, I still feel as though, at times, I am teetering on the edge. Even though my next appointment is not until 04 February, I know I can call him at any time. He always calls me back and spends however much time I need without the cost of an office visit. I am very blessed to have such a wonderful psychiatrist.

My return to work: The days leading up to my first day back to work on 04 January was met with much trepidation. I was full of fear and anxiety as much as I tried to stay in the moment. As part of my medical disability status, R sent a letter to the group managing my FMLA program indicating that I should only work four-hour days the first week and six-hour days the second week. My manager was very supportive about that suggestion. I also asked my manager if I could adjust my schedule to work 0700-1530 opposed to 0800-1630 which he agreed to. This serves a two-fold purpose. First, it frees up the afternoon to make available opportunities to have my continued appointments without missing work. Second, I am finished working while the sun is still shining—something that is important to me. I used to hate waking up in the dark and finishing my day in the dark, especially during the Standard Time Zone in winter.

The first two weeks my manager wanted me to concentrate on taking some mandatory computer-based training that was indicated during my absence. Then he wanted me to cull through the 1000+ emails that had collected during the three months I had been away. Just as an aside, no one from work ever knew why I had been on medical leave. Nevertheless, I had to explain to my manager that one of the side effects of my “treatments” was a vitamin B1 deficiency which resulted in a transient short-term memory loss. He seemed to take that OK. But that factor gives me a lot of anxiety as I don’t remember how to do a lot of my job. I was only in this new job for two-and-a-half months before being gone for three. So, I am still on my learning curve. My team may not appreciate the fact that I still have to ask questions, especially on some things of which I had already displayed knowledge.

After the first two weeks, then all of my clients were informed that I was back to supporting their accounts. Just when I had cleaned up my email box, as of the 19th they started flooding in again, yet another source of anxiety. I made it clear that I was not capable of working any overtime, so I am always left with emails that I have not read by the end of the day only to snowball into the next day. Too many critical projects are all happening at the same time. Meanwhile, my day-to-day responsibilities go on.

I try to stay in the moment each day and that, along with relaxation techniques such as being mindful and deep breathing, are helping somewhat. I have to admit, my Ativan plays a roll here as well. My goal is to do the best I can for my clients during my eight-hour day, and when that is over, to simply walk away from the laptop and let my business line go to voicemail (I work from home). I am giving myself room to acknowledge that I am going to be slow on the uptake for a while, but I have to believe that, at some point, I will be back up to speed.

Overall, I am now in a much better space than three months ago. I am quite surprised at the insight I have discovered about myself along the way. I know I will never “recover” from my bipolar disorder and will be on my meds for the rest of my life. That is a sobering thought (and an expensive one—the Geodon alone costs about $1200 before my $1200 yearly deductible is met). It hurt to pay that much a week ago for my refill, but how many people can say that they have met their deductible during the second week of January! At least now, my coverage for everything is at 90%.

I know this was a long entry, but I had so much to review. It is my intention to do a week in review each Saturday since I am back to work full-time. I have to admit, after being on the computer all day at work, sometimes the last thing I want to do is to get back onto my own computer after work.©2009

Three Months Since…

2010-01-11T15:15:00.000-05:00

I cannot believe it has been three months since I was involuntarily committed when I tried to commit suicide. It seems like a lifetime ago (no pun intended). So many of the details have just become a hazy dream.

I still do not remember any of the events that led up to being committed. I guess I never will. At least I have all of the medical records to give me an idea of what and how it transpired—what a rollercoaster ride these 90 days have been.

I can say right now that I am in a much better space than I was on 11 October. It has been several weeks now since I have had any suicide ideation. For a while there, after I was discharged, it was a nightly event. I have done a lot of hard work in my group therapy sessions that ended 30 December. And, it appears that my psychiatrist has come up with a sustainable cocktail that has stabilised my bipolar disorder.

Do I regret what I have gone through? Absolutely not. The end result has been incredible. I am stronger mentally than I can ever remember since being diagnosed in 2000. I had what I thought was a pretty good cocktail all those years having nothing to which to compare. What I did not have before was a strong handle on specific coping skills that made the difference this time. Oh, sure, when I tried to commit suicide in 2005, I was exposed to DBT, but never felt it was for me. Truth be told, I thought it was all a bunch of bullshit. And, I’m not saying that I am totally sold on DBT even now—some of the tools have worked well for me; others have been not so much. This time around, I made a concerted effort to learn these tools even, if at first, I resisted strongly.

Lessons learned? I am not sure I can even address that facet yet. I am still feeling my through this maze. OK, one lesson I did learn hard was to never go off my medication. However, when I made the choice to go off my meds in April of last year, it was because I had just found out I had been laid off and could not justify the enormous expense. Now that my insurance has rolled over to a new calendar year, I still have to meet my $1200 deductible for this year. That means I have to pay 100% of all my meds at retail price until the deductible is met. Even though I have a job now, I am pretty tight financially and I am not sure where I am going to come up with the money. But, if I have to, I will put it on my credit card even though it pains me to have to resort to that possibility. I simply do not have the option to go off my meds.

Another thing I think I have learned is the enormous help therapy has been. Now that I am back at work, I can no longer participate in my group therapy sessions (they were always held for three hours three times a week during the middle of the day). I have hooked up with an individual therapist now and saw her last week (I had already had my intake appointment some time ago and one follow-up, but I had to concentrate on my group therapy then). I am not sure how individual therapy will help me as the dynamic is going to be different from group. When I met with her last week, I actually told her I was not sure where to start. She asked me what issues I had that were most pressing to me. Not wanting to bite off more than I can chew, I told her that I wanted to focus on my stress now that I am back to work after being on short-term disability for 12 weeks.

Now that my BP has stabilised, I am going to have to start to deal with my borderline personality disorder and my anxiety disorder. Now, that is going to open up a whole big can of worms. I think that I am only going to put one foot in front of the other and take everything slowly. I have made some significant process and I do not want to find myself in a spot where I begin to regress. I value where I am today and that is what I am going to hold onto—the here and now. As someone once told me, yesterday was over last night and I have no control over tomorrow.©2009

My First Day Back to Work

2010-01-06T13:49:00.002-05:00

I woke up yesterday morning about 15 minutes before my alarm had been set. I got six-and-a-half hours of sleep and felt well rested. I woke up earlier than I had to in order to enjoy some time drinking my hot tea and settling my anxiety about this eventful day. I had no idea of what to expect.

I spent my last day on full time disability (Monday) talking to my manager. He assured me that everything would be fine. The disability claims group approved me to go back to work from the 5th to the 11th at fours hours a day and from the 12th through the 18th I’d be working 6 hours a day. I explained to him the downside of my vitamin B1/Thiamine deficiency with regard to my short-term memory loss and he understood that it was going to take some time for my brain to heal.

This first week back all he wanted me to do was to go through my email inbox and blow away the majority of the unread emails as my back-up team members were taking up the work covering my clients while I have been away. For these two weeks, my out-of-office email auto reply and my outgoing voicemail message still shows me being out of the office. My manager does not want me to interact with my clients for these first two weeks. He felt that I needed a gradual immersion back into the fold. I am so grateful to have such a wonderful manager. After talking with him, my anxiety levels were reduced.

Well, the moment I had been dreading was finally upon me—opening up my email account. There were 1000+ unread emails just waiting there for me. I took a deep breath (and an Ativan, I will admit) and sorted by sender. It turns out that there were so many I could just delete. When all was said and done, I ended up keeping 73 emails that I felt I had to read which I did. Many came with important attachments about my specific accounts that I would have the need to use later. I saved and filed all of those in the appropriate folders; the next thing I knew, it was 1100.

Oh yeah, my boss did agree to letting me change my work hours and now I will be working 0700-1500—no more overtime hours allowed. I am so grateful for those two situations. I wake up so early anyway; to have to wait until 0800 would be counter-productive. In addition, the upside is getting off at 1500 while there is still sunlight. This gives me the chance to accommodate any doctors and therapists appointments. I never did like working the normal eight hours where the sun was just coming up when I started work and already set by the time I was finished. I hate Standard Time and the sun setting so early in the Winter.

My day actually went quite smoothly. I was very methodical in how I approached the day; I received excellent support from my boss; what more could I have asked. Since my day started at 0700 I was done at 1100. I had the rest of the day free and I realised that I needed a distraction so I would not dwell on what may or may not occur my second day back. A friend of mine had been sick over the weekend and I called her up telling her I was going grocery shopping and asked her what I could pick up for her.

When I arrived at her house, my heart just went out to her. She looked liked she felt so miserable. We settled in and spent about two-and-a-half hours just talking. It was exactly what I needed to divorce myself from anticipating the worst for the next day.

Overall, it was a good day. I am not going to fret about the upcoming days or pile more on my shoulders (emotionally) by projecting outward on the worst-case scenario. I have hope that my job will be far more manageable now than it ever was before. Staying in the moment—what a marvellous tool!.©2009

Anxious About Returning to Work

2010-01-04T12:42:00.000-05:00

Well, tomorrow is my first day back to work after almost 12 weeks of short-term medical disability. I had only been working in my new job for approximately two-and-a-half months. I am afraid that I will not remember how to do my job. This is a high-stress work environment and I have a lot of high-profile clients that I serve. I am not sure I am ready for this.

Last week my psychiatrist faxed in a request so that my first two weeks back be half-days only. The disability group is scheduled to review that and decide today. I sure hope they approve this request. I have also left a voicemail with my manager requesting that my work schedule be shifted a tad earlier in the day so that I will be working 0700-1530 (not that I have ever only worked eight-hour days). In reality, this time around I am not planning to work any overtime. Working all those extra hours before set me up for my eventual downfall (aside from the very important fact that I went off my meds). I have not heard back from him yet; I hope he agrees to my request. Being able to be off the clock by 1530 will give me the chance to accommodate any doctors’ appointments I may have.

I am looking over at my corporate laptop which has been turned off for all of this time. I am even anxious about booting it up. Not that the laptop will not boot, but I wonder if all my access passwords into the network have been changed since I have been out all this time. I have to have access in order to be able to work from home so I can VPN into the network. I remember what all my passwords are, but they all have time limits on them. Some are only good for 90 days.

I am not even sure how to begin my workday. I ordinarily receive anywhere from 150-300 emails a day. I cannot even fathom how many unread emails are in my account. That thought alone has my hands shaking. Just as I was starting my disability time off, my department was being reorganised and eventually was slotted to be under a new management chain. My manager is still my manager, but the food chain on up from there changed above his level. I hope I am not in for any nasty surprises when I return (meaning I hope I still have a job). I know that my job has been protected while out on FMLA, but that doesn’t mean they can’t come back to me as soon as I get back and say to me, “Oh yeah, Alix, while you were gone we eliminated your position. Thanks and have a nice day.”

I have left another voicemail this morning for my manager to call me back at some point today. I hope he is in. Chances are, he may have taken a few vacation days before the New Year during the time I left my previous voicemail; I need to talk to him today before I report back tomorrow. That is the downside to working remotely from home. My team is located all over the country. The only communication we have is via phone calls and email.

Well, I have planned out my day today to reorganise my office space back to the way it was before I took all this time off. I am also planning on reviewing all of my training notes to have everything fresh in my mind before tomorrow. I woke up this morning at 0430 and am already feeling tired. This does not bode well for my sleep patterns the rest of the week. I hope I can sleep a more work amenable schedule tonight.©2009

Outpatient Therapy-Final Session

2009-12-31T16:02:00.003-05:00

Yesterday was the last session of my group therapy program. I began this intensive program 21 October and we have met three hours/day on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays. Yesterday marked my 30th session.

Initially, I was very phobic to these sessions. Similar to my attitude when I was involuntarily committed , and knowing I was only obligated to attend for two weeks, my original intention was to skate through those six sessions with no effort on my part. I was still pissed off at the world for how I had been treated to date; I did not want to be in therapy and I certainly did not want to get better.

You just cannot imagine the amount of rage that pulsed through my veins—think Incredible Hulk. However, as the mandatory two weeks came to a close, something was triggered inside of me. Somehow, I came up with the idea that I no longer wanted to go on feeling the way that I did. That level of rage and profound depression was eating away at me and I simply had no more energy left. I voluntarily agreed to stay in the program having no idea that it would take this long.

There was a very detailed daily check-in sheet we each had to fill out. It was basically a way for the therapist to determine and track our progress. The dynamics of the group evolved over time with old patients being discharged and new ones being admitted during my stay. While the overall group was large (in my eyes), averaging around 18-20 folks, once everyone took the 10-15 minutes to fill out the check-in sheet, we always split into two smaller groups. The groups remained split while everyone reviewed their sheets, and we all came back together as one group after the break to start the second half.

I could handle the smaller group in which we each shared what was on our sheets. Based on our input, the therapist would probe further with each of us and ask penetrating questions. The sharing half had a tendency to be somewhat tedious at times. Every so often, there would be patients that liked to hear themselves talk. Repetition is the key word here. They would go on and on about one particular issue and even talk over the therapist as if they had no interest in listening to her feedback. I could see the frustration on the therapist’s face every once and a while. As a result, sometimes the first half of the session would take a long time.

After the break, when we all gathered back together, I had a major problem. I had a rough time being around large groups of people. The noise level would always increase and sometimes everyone would talk at once. That started freaking me out. Therefore, I retreated from the large table in the room (it was actually five conference room-sized tables arranged in a large square) and sat in the chair against the door right by the back emergency exit—it was as far as I could get from the group. The emergency exit was not wired to an alarm, and when it got to be too much for me, I’d walk out the door and take a breather. Being that it was the end of autumn as winter approached, the cool, brisk breezes usually refreshed me.

The second half of the session was psycho-education [I’m sure that Alfred Hitchcock could have had valuable input here :)]. This outpatient therapy program was based on dialectical behaviour therapy (DBT). When I tried to commit suicide back in 2005, I went through a DBT program after I got out of the hospital. At that time, I thought that DBT was pure bullshit. It all centres on learning tools or coping skills to manage various stressors (depression, anger, rage, anxiety, etc). Being that I had been diagnosed with Bipolar I Disorder (BP) and Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD), everyone thought that this type of therapy would be one from which I would benefit. Back then, I thought all these coping skills were stupid. Sure, it might work for some, but I just could not imagine me taking the time to think through whatever emotion I was feeling at the time and remembering which tool would help me through that situation most effectively.

When I realised that this time around would be centred on DBT, I was quite cynical. However, after about four weeks into it, I discovered some tools that could actually serve me well (see this for a list of tools). Without a doubt, using these skills effectively requires constant practise. You cannot expect to utilise a skill and then have it at your fingertips until you practise it. Once practised, when you face an emotional obstacle, you can more readily adapt effectively.

I also realise that there is a lot of controversy around DBT. Some who have been through the training think that it is bunk as I did. I can say that I do not agree with the entire skill set. I learned what tools I knew I could use and left the others behind (there are some I still think are bullshit). All I can say is that it is up to each individual to determine what works in his or her best interests.

That being said, the first half of my last session was great. Our small group only consisted of seven patients and our small group never had the loud mouths (I am grateful that Mr. Noisy was in the other group!). I knew three of them; the rest were new patients. When I finished sharing my check-in sheet, I received wonderful feedback from the therapist. She basically said that I had done a 180˚ from the time I started the program and was extremely pleased to see the progress I had made. It had taken me all this time to see the huge steps I had made. Don’t get me wrong; I am far from being all fixed up. That is why I am going to continue with an individual therapist. BP and especially BPD can take quite some time to manage. While some professionals banter about the word recovery, I think the best I will be able to muster is to manage my BP and BPD to a tolerable level. Only time will tell.

The second half of my last session was surprisingly smooth. While Mr. Noisy was present and accounted for (as well as the other few loud mouths), the group discussion on the continuing module of assertiveness was quite ordered. It was quite appropriate that my last module would be on this topic. As I have mentioned previously, despite my butch bravado, I really could bolster this skill.

Saying goodbye was harder than I thought. All of the patients who had been around for a while (with the exception of one other patient, I had been there for the longest duration) took their time saying goodbye to me and wishing me luck for my future. As someone laughingly said, “Hope to see you at Wal-Mart should our paths ever cross again.”

Overall, I have to agree with the therapist. I have come a long way since I tried to commit suicide on 10 October. It has been a long road for me, some of it fought tooth and nail against any type of recovery. I know I still have a long way to go, but for now I will just accept the fact that I am in a better space than I was almost 12 weeks ago.©2009

Outpatient Therapy-Day 29 (28 December)

2009-12-30T21:14:00.001-05:00

Because of the Christmas holidays, the majority of the folks did not attend on Monday. After that last fiasco the previous Wednesday, I was glad the whole group was not present. In fact, with the exception of two other people, everyone else was from the other small group. I was concerned because Mr. Noisy was there, but when it came time for him to share the information from his daily check-in sheet he took a direct approach and did not go on and on about everything for a change (as he usually does when both groups join back up for the second half of the session).

It was odd sharing among this group; only two other people really knew me. My check-in sheet was pretty much straight forward. This was the second-to-last one I would be filling out and what a comparison to the first one I filled out 11 weeks ago. So much had changed over all this time. I knew that this coming Wednesday was going to be my last day. The input I received from the therapist was very positive. She couldn’t be as insightful as our small group’s regular therapist (ours was out for the holidays), but she still remembered the state I was in when I first joined the group. I at least appreciated that. She saw the tremendous difference in my attitude, but mostly how much I had changed in the anger area.

The second half of the session was spent still going over assertiveness. Much like the anger management module, this was a long one as well. Being more assertive is something I need to get under my belt. Much like the self-esteem module, the two seem to go hand-in-hand. The group discussion was far more controlled than last Wednesday and Mr. Noisy was less dominating throughout the discussion. I didn’t really have much input that day; mostly I listened to what the therapist was saying.

There is one tool I have been taught that has served me well. It’s called Using Your ABCs. “A” is awareness: the acknowledgement that an event has occurred—it is what it is and no value judgement is placed. “B” is your belief of what that event is. “C” is the consequential emotion of that belief. A ≠ C, but B = C. The theory is if you can acknowledge what the event is and form a healthy belief about that event, the consequential emotion will be a healthier emotion rather than a destructive emotion. Here is an example. “A” = my family has refused to invite me to family holiday celebrations. “B” initially was that I felt unwanted. “C” resulted in an emotion of anger and hurt that escalated more than the situation warranted which cascaded over the rest of the day and then some. If you can change the “B” to equal a response more like “Well, they are the ones missing out on my joining them,” then “C’s” consequential emotion will be healthier along the lines of perhaps still being hurt and yes, somewhat angry (there are times when anger is a perfectly rational emotion), but the intensity of the emotion will be far more controlled and not spill over into everything else that will ultimately escalate (or for as long as you repeat the same thought process).

These tools are serving me well, but I acknowledge that it is up to me to practice them so they will be available for use when I need them. Going into this program, I initially thought these tools were just a bunch of bullshit, but over time, I learned that they merited some attention on my part and realised their value to my success. I will be discharging from this group therapy this Wednesday, After doing this non-stop three days a week @ 3 hours each day, I have found the experience to be quite beneficial. While I am looking forward to being finally discharged since joining this program 21 October, I imagine there may be some group therapy withdrawal I may have to go through initially. This program has become part and parcel of my life since being committed on 11 October as an inpatient.

I have a follow-up appt with my individual therapist in early January to segue into a continued therapy module rather than just quit. I still have unresolved issues to deal with, most notably the tremendous stress I am feeling about returning to work. Yes, I am going to feel somewhat disconnected when my group therapy sessions come to an end this Wednesday.©2009

My Christmas Day

2009-12-26T17:27:00.000-05:00

I woke up at 0430 and just listened to the pouring rain. It was coming down hard. I thought of my basement and the sump pump. Sometimes, the pump just about breaks even. I went out on my front porch and saw all of the puddles forming in the dark. Then I noticed all this newspaper scattered on the front steps. I had forgotten to check my mailbox yesterday and realised it was the grocery coupon mailer. I stuck my hand outside the porch door and grabbed what was in the box and left the soggy paper on the steps thinking I’d retrieve it later when the rain stopped.

I rarely get personal mail delivered to my house as I have a PO box. However, I noticed a red envelope and quickly looked at it thinking it was a Christmas card. It was. I almost cried when I read it. It was such a beautiful card from my son. I was so happy that he remembered to send me a card. With everything that has happened in the last couple of months, the only energy I was able to muster was getting a card and a present for my son. I did not send out cards to anyone, but I did receive about ten cards which pleased me.

I rambled around the house for a while and then went out to the living room and cranked my stereo and just sat there and zoned out on the music (it would have been far much more pleasant if I could have rolled a joint). After a while, I decided to check my email and was pleased to see an email from a good friend of mine. He was inviting me to join him, his mother, stepfather and adorable two-year-old daughter for their Christmas dinner later that afternoon. What a special treat for me. I decide to call him and accept the invitation once it got to be a decent hour.

The morning just crept by. I was not in the mood to do any writing and felt a little aimless. It was too early to take my medicine and I did not feel like reading anything. So, I just sat on my couch and closed my eyes and listened to the music. I am so glad I live in a house rather than an apartment. I do have an upstairs neighbour that rents the small attic apartment above, but he was gone for the holidays and enjoyed turning up the stereo louder than usual (he’s hardly ever home, so that doesn’t really affect me)

1000 came around. I called my friend and told him how delighted I was to get his invitation, and I would love to join them later in the afternoon. It was still pouring outside and hoped the weather would clear up before I had to leave. Imagine, my family all celebrated holidays without me (their decision, not mine) and here I was able to join another family to partake in a Christmas dinner. I was really looking forward to this opportunity.

The afternoon finally rolled around and I started to get ready. The rain had finally stopped. When I got to his house, it was great to see everyone. This was the first time I had met his stepfather. My friend’s parents live out of town, but I’ve met his mom before as sometime she comes to town and she attends church with him. His stepfather was a great guy. I really enjoyed talking to him as my friend and his mom got dinner ready (I was instructed to relax!). I felt guilty just sitting there while they worked in the kitchen, but I really enjoyed getting to know his stepfather

While the food was great, what I enjoyed more than anything was sitting around the dinner table and sharing the meal with this family. We spent such a long time lingering over dinner and dessert (my friend actually baked the cherry pie—while I love to cook, baking has never been my thing). The conversation was warm and inviting; I was having a great time. When dessert was over, my plans were to help his mom clean up, but again I was kicked out of the kitchen. The rest of the evening we spent in the living room all sharing stories. What a close family they were. I envied my friend; I had not had this much fun sharing a meal in such a long time.

At 1930 I was bushed. I think the combination of a great meal coupled with the fact that I had been up for 15 hours did me in. This was the best Christmas I had enjoyed since my son visited me.©2009

Outpatient Therapy-Days 27 & 28 (December 21 & 23)

2009-12-26T16:16:00.001-05:00

Monday was supposed to be my last day of group—the insurance company had only authorised sessions through then. I was not prepared for it to end. Despite my attitude at the beginning, I have gotten a lot out of this therapy and I think that I have made significant strides. I asked my therapist what process I had to go through for discharge and she told me she didn’t think I was ready, especially with the Christmas holidays coming up—she knew I would be alone as, once again, my family enjoyed their celebration with no nod to me. I am beginning to get used to the idea of spending the entire holiday season alone. My son came to visit me two years ago, but he lives out West and, for both of us, it can get rather expensive just to fly in either direction. So, the therapist told me to return on Wednesday as she was going to submit a request to see if the insurance would authorise additional days.

The second half was on self-esteem—something I am sorely lacking. Despite my butch bravado, I saw traits from the description of those who have poor self-esteem and I ranked right up there. That actually pissed me off a bit. Nevertheless, in reality, I do not always stand up for myself and usually take a back seat. I am not exactly a doormat, but I am not as assertive as I could be. It’s odd as at work I can take the lead with regard to directing projects (considering I have taken that blasted Six Sigma training), but when I am relating to others on a personal level it is more apparent.

As the session drew to a close, I wondered if today was going to be my last day. I gathered my stuff and flew out the door as I had another iron infusion directly after group.

I came back Wednesday morning and was pleased to find out that the insurance company had authorised three more sessions, including Wednesday, through December 30th. That would take me through the New Year’s weekend leading right up to when I was supposed to return to work. When our “small” group was sharing, I tried to process the difficulty and anxiety I was feeling about returning to my job. I fear that I do not remember how to do what I have painstakingly spent three months trying to learn. I try to stay in the moment as I still have another week to go, but I cannot help worrying about it. I feel stuck and do not know how to reinsert myself into the routine. I got a lot of good feedback from the therapist and others, but it did not necessarily quell my anxiety.

The second half of the session was on assertiveness—something that I am not very good at as I am more than likely to be either aggressive or passive aggressive. The entire group, as usual, gathered for this part and our entire group is getting way too large for me. It is enough that my little group, when we split for the first half, has too many people. I have discovered that there are a couple of noisy “talkers” in the other small group. As the therapist began her discussion on this topic, those talkers always had something to say about everything and would get into their own discussions if they disagreed with each other. The more they spoke, the louder they got and more people started getting into the action.

It was becoming too much for me. I wanted to listen to what the therapist had to say and ask my questions if any came up. After a while I thought, hell this is a topic on assertiveness, I think I will try it on for size. Rather than just jumping into the fray as everyone else had been doing, I raised my hand (OK, that does not exactly project an assertive position). The therapist piped up (she was pretty good about keeping the group on topic) and nodded to me. I waited for everyone to get quiet, looked around, and gave everyone eye contact. Then I explained that it was hard for me to be around large groups of people, especially when it got loud and everyone was interrupting each other. I told them that when they got carried away, I felt anxious and asked everyone if they could respect my position.

At first, everyone just stared back at me and then the therapist chimed in first. She said she was glad I spoke up and voiced my concerns and told me that it was an assertive position I took and was very appropriate (I thought to myself, “So there, hah!”). Then the noisiest of the bunch jumped in and said to the therapist, “Excuse me, but don’t you control our group?” She said it was a group discussion, but everyone had to be aware of each other. Then Mr. Noisy said, “Well, I’ll respect your position.” I looked at him and wanted to say, “What am I, chopped liver?” What I really wanted to say was, “Fuck you” but I did not (so OK, I was not completely assertive). For a while everyone seemed to settle down, but it did not take him long to go back to his diatribes and, once again, everything exploded. There were ten minutes left to go, so I just decided the statement I would make would be just to pack up my stuff and leave the room. I was not that quiet about it (here is where I was being passive aggressive), pushed back my chair and got up and walked out of the room. I though, “Well, we’ll have Friday off for Christmas, so that will give me a breather.” However, I was glad my insurance had authorised two more sessions.

Two more days until Christmas. To tell you the truth, this year it has almost snuck by me. I do not get out much so I have not been too exposed to the shopping traffic. Moreover, I definitely do not go to the mall. I have forgotten that it was going to be Christmas on Friday. For me, it will just be another day.©2009

Appt With My GP #5 (Friday 18 December PM)

2009-12-19T15:29:00.003-05:00

I have been dreading this appointment all day. My hand is still sore from the IV on Wednesday and they cannot seem to pop either of my brachial veins or the antecubital ones in my arms—fairly decently sized veins. Luckily, for me, the guy from the lab was working today and he has always been successful in starting my IVs when the clinical specialist could not.

Before each infusion, the clinical specialist always draws blood once the IV has been started to measure my haemoglobin. My GP told her that if it was 12.5 or better to wait until this coming Monday to give my arms and hands a rest. Well, the level was 12.3, but they both let it slide until Monday anyway. As usual, I made the appointment to take place directly after group. I still dread going, but I can’t beat the price!©2009

Outpatient Therapy-Day 26 (Friday 18 December AM)

2009-12-19T15:27:00.001-05:00

Today our regular group therapist was out. The person taking her place normally works as the inpatient intake therapist, so I was not sure how group would go. As I mentioned in a previous post, our little group was getting much bigger. When I looked around I noticed that we had three more new admits. I feet as if I no longer have a rapport with my group now that the original members have all been discharged. I have been here the longest—two months. Most people only stick around for four to six weeks.

I no longer feel that the group sharing part is meaningful to me since the other patients have no history of my background and what I have been through leading up to my time just before I joined the group. However, the second half of the session is still meaningful since we discuss the various tools to use to keep our emotions in a healthy balance.

Well, today was a little different. This therapist had a lot more to say for each person as each patient was sharing. I really liked his style. Looking back, I wish he had been the therapist all along. This is not to say that the regular therapist is not as competent—their styles are just different. I am still trying to process the increased depression I have experienced this past week as my financial situation looks so bleak. Most of the patients are on SS Disability full time. I do not see how they can afford it. When it got to my turn to share, one of the other patients suggested that I should file for bankruptcy. Aside from using the “should” word which imparts a value judgement, I cannot fathom filing for Chapter 7. I incurred this debt and I have an obligation to pay it off. He practically bragged about the fact that he filed two separate times. I just cannot imagine someone brushing off his or her obligations like that. Besides, I still have to get another car—how the hell I’m going to afford that one is still up in the air. My car is starting to make telltale noises, so I know it is not going to be around for much longer. I will never get financing if I file for bankruptcy. I have to be practical here. Because this therapist had a lot more to say with each patient, we spent the entire three hours going over our check-in sheets.

I cannot imagine not being apart from this group therapy. Despite the fact that I whined about it so much in the beginning, I have really benefitted from it. I found out yesterday that my medical insurance will only cover 27 sessions making this coming Monday my last day. Oh, yeah, I forgot to mention that the disability group that processes the claims did approve my extension through January 4th. I would like to be able to continue with this therapy for as long as I will be out of work.

Now that I have a fixed date to return to work on January 5th, I have to start planning for it. My FMLA runs out pretty much at the same time, so I no longer have any choice. I will be going back to work so I need to get that in my head and just deal with it. Oh how I wish I could afford to be on permanent disability. It is not as though I am being a gold brick about having to work. It is just that the job I have is very high profile and creates a tremendous amount of stress and long hours. It is going to be a rough transition after being out of work for two whole months. However, I am going to try not to stress out over that. Nevertheless, I cannot ignore it either.

Well, I have another appointment with my GP again today right after group to get another iron infusion. I sure hope that person from the lab is there as he has been far more successful at starting my IVs than the clinical specialist has been. You should see my poor arms and hands.©2009

Appt With Psychiatrist #10 (Thursday 17 December AM)

2009-12-19T15:22:00.001-05:00

Today is going to be the last weekly session I will be attending. From this point forward, I will be seeing my psychiatrist every two weeks for a while, then once a month. I will miss the weekly visits, but he and I both agreed that I have made tremendous strides since I tried to commit suicide. It will also be much easier on my billfold as my insurance does not cover any of his fees (he is out-of-network and that deductible is $5500—it will be quite a stretch to incur that much of a balance any time soon).

He has decided to increase my Lexapro to 40mg/day. We have both been pleased with how effective it has been even though I am currently experiencing a setback in my depression (which is the reason increasing the dosage). It has been the only anti-depressant I have ever taken that has had such a marked difference in my depression without tripping a manic phase.

I learned something new today. I just happened to mention the strange reaction I experienced on Monday after my first iron infusion. He said it sounded like I experienced Cataplexy that would explain the sudden onset of fatigue along with the loss of muscle tone. It is frequently associated with narcolepsy and Provigil just happens to be one of the drugs that combat narcolepsy, which might explain why I did not have that reaction yesterday.

Overall, I am glad that I have made such progress thus far. I have received excellent therapy support from both my group and my psychiatrist. I think I am going to have therapy withdrawal once I go back to work. I have arranged to start seeing an individual therapist once I finish with group. I have already seen her two times and I think we have the chance to build a good rapport.

What was nice about today is that my appointment was at 0700 and I have nothing else scheduled for today. It will be nice to have some down time.©2009

Appt With My GP #4 (Wednesday 16 December PM)

2009-12-19T15:09:00.003-05:00

The clinical trial continues. As soon as I left group I wish I had thought to call ahead of time to see if the office was still open. The weather report was calling for 70% chance of frozen precipitation mostly in the form of ice. When I left group, one of the parents told me that the county had already decided to close the schools at 1230.

As I was driving over to the office it was pouring, but there was no sleet mixed in with the water. Good sign. In most cases, when they predict snow or sleet, it hardly ever happens. I was a little concerned when I pulled into the parking lot as there only a couple of cars. Then I remembered that it was lunchtime. When I signed in, I did find out that the clinical specialist was waiting for me.

As she was prepping all of the materials for the IV, I asked her if she would mind if we just let the guy from the lab stick me instead since he got it on his first attempt on Monday (after she had already tried three times!). Therefore, we waited for him and, sure enough, he got a vein on his first attempt. However, as the specialist was adding the gizmos to the butterfly tubing she moved the needle and the IV infiltrated. I was not a happy camper, but we called the lab again and he was successful this time as well.

I like the fact that the iron can be pushed in only ten minutes. Sure beats the six hours I had to endure three years ago. Once the iron had been administered, I had to wait the customary 30 minutes to see if I was going to have a reaction. On Monday I didn’t have one in the office, but I did have that strange experience an hour after I got home. To be on the safe side I went ahead and took the Provigil just in case I started getting sleepy while I was driving home.

Well, it turned out that I did not have that strange reaction this time. Perhaps that reaction Monday afternoon was just a coincidence. However, I do not like the fact that I was overcome with fatigue and feeling so cold all at once. That has never happened to me before, and maybe it won’t again.©2009

Outpatient Therapy-Day 25 (Wednesday 16 December AM)

2009-12-19T15:02:00.002-05:00

My group therapy session today did not go as well as I had hoped. I am feeling more depressed these last few days, since Saturday, but I did not realize how much until it was my turn to share. As I was going through my daily check-in sheet, when I got down to the section marked “current stressors,” I had written that I was facing huge financial burdens due to all the medical bills coming in and that I still had to find the extra money to support buying another car. As I was talking about this, the tears just started rolling down my face. I hate crying, especially in front of other people, but I could not keep up my façade. I was not even sure what the catalyst was of my recent downturn of my mental status, but as I was sharing this, it became apparent to me that my money issues must have been playing a good part of my increased depression. Of course, there was no real tool to deal with these emotions—anything I tried was fruitless. My bills were not going away and there was nothing I could do about it. The latter concept should have given me a clue as how to handle this situation—to accept it at face value and deal with it. But, how can you deal with knowing you have much more outgo that income?

Just to add to my worry and anxiety, today is the last day of my short-term disability. Both my group therapist and my psychiatrist have submitted extension requests, but when I called the third-party vendor that administers disability claims, I was told that the decision would be rendered tomorrow, my first day back to work. I am definitely not ready to face that stress. I left a voicemail for my manager indicating that, while tomorrow is supposed to be my first day back, I was unable to return and that the claim decision would be made tomorrow. I indicated that if the extension is denied, I would like to take my remaining vacation days through the end of the year (I had 14 days still coming to me, and while I was going to be using up 10 of those days, I would end up losing the other four as my company does not allow someone to carry over any vacation days). Then I sent him an email saying the same thing. If they do deny the extension and my manager does not go along with my vacation request I will risk losing my job according to the FMLA rules—I would no longer be protected by the federal guidelines imposed by FMLA. Why can’t the disability group make their decision by the end of today to give me a heads up as to what I should do about tomorrow in case I do not get a reply from my manager? My psychiatrist submitted his request along with the supporting documents on Monday, two days ago. They have previously decided with paperwork only submitted 24 hours ahead of time. Why did they need 72 hours this time?

I also have to go by my GP’s office right after group to get my third round of those iron infusions. I am not looking forward to that considering how many times they had to stick me Monday just to find a vein. I also had that weird reaction when I got home, but when I reported that to the clinical specialist yesterday, she looked up the reported side effects. While feeling tired was one, feeling that extremely tired along with the muscle fatigue and feeling bone-chilled made me think that something did not add up. I do not want to get the same reaction again this afternoon. I am worried in case these side effects start appearing while I am driving home. To be on the safe side, I put a tablet of Provigil in the pill container that I always carry with me. I just hope they can find a vein much easier today. I still have bruises from Monday’s attempts.©2009

Appt With My GP #3—Iron Infusions (Monday 14 December PM)

2009-12-19T14:57:00.002-05:00

Good news…I found out last week that I have been accepted for the clinical trials for people that have iron deficient anaemia and can now qualify to receive my IV iron infusions for free, and they will pay me travelling expenses. The nice part is that all I have to drive to is my GP’s office. This past Monday I went for my first visit. The clinical specialist drew my blood to get a baseline haemoglobin level, and then she attempted to start the IV. Well, my veins are pretty much shot. She tried three times to find a vein, and then she finally called someone from the lab to see if he could start the IV. Boom, on his first shot he found one. It was a painful one in my wrist, but still the same, he got it started. When I had to have IV iron infusions three years ago, they gave me 25mg over a six-hour period. I had to have three at $1600 a pop. I can no longer afford to go back there.

One of the things they are testing me with is a new solution that will allow them to give me 200mg IV push over a ten-minute period—such an improvement. Once the iron was injected, the clinical specialist had to observe me for 30 minutes for any type of reaction such as anaphylaxis. I did not have a reaction so I went home and turned on my stereo and sat on the couch.

An hour later, I found myself nodding off. However, it was not a case of slowly getting sleepy and just closing my eyes. This hit me like a lead balloon. I almost could not move—all my muscles felt slack. Then I realised I was bone-chilling cold. Now, to save on money, I do keep the house rather cool in the winter, but I already had on thermal underwear, sweat pants, a sweatshirt and my thick terrycloth robe. I was freezing. I tried to get off the couch to snuggle under my covers and barely made it back to my bed. It took 20 minutes before I started to feel warm. As tired as I was, over the next two hours, it seemed that I just clock-watched. However, when I got out of bed (now much warmer) I had vivid freeze-frame images as if I had been dreaming. I was not as tired, so I went to my kitchen to make a pot of hot tea. What a strange experience.

The rest of the day was uneventful so I dismissed the entire episode. I am just glad that I can now get my much-needed iron infusions free. I wonder how many sessions I will have to have to raise my haemoglobin back to normal range (it was 9.0 before the iron and normal is generally around 14-16 for females). According to the protocol for this clinical trial, they can give me up to 1000mg over a two-week period, but stop at any point once my haemoglobin is within normal limits. I hope I do not have to have too many since they had such a hard time starting the IV. You should have seen my arms after this session—I had four nicely forming bruises where each attempt was made!©2009

Outpatient Therapy-Day 24 (Monday 14 December-AM)

2009-12-19T14:52:00.002-05:00

I have been somewhat disappointed these last couple of days. I was doing so well last week. Since my short-term medical disability is only approved through December 16th, so I thought I would be ready for discharge from this group therapy program. The therapist recommended that I return today to wrap everything up, but after this weekend, I could tell that I was more depressed than last week. I do not know what the catalyst was, but I am glad I had the chance to return. My daily check-in sheet showed a marked decrease in my level to function since last week.

One thing that I am disappointed in is that there have been a lot of new admission over the last couple of sessions. I still cannot handle being around many people. When the entire group gathered this morning to fill in the daily sheet I sorta freaked out. I moved from my spot at the table to a chair against the wall in the far corner until everyone finished and the big group split. Unfortunately, that still left a lot of people in my own group. I miss the folks that were part of my original core group when I started, but with the exception of two other people, everyone is fairly new. I have no rapport with them. They do not know my history. When it comes to my turn to share what is on my daily check-in sheet, how can they determine my level of progress (or in this case, the steps I have taken backwards)?

Even though there were still a lot of people, once the group split, I assumed my seat at the table (I always sit in the same chair—the one closest to the back door leading outside if I have to escape for a short period of time). Luckily, the person already sitting there was part of the other group. The therapist asked who wanted to go first and I groaned because we go around the table and it was going to take forever to get to me. As much as I put forth when it is my turn to share, with all these new people I had no idea how long it would take them to get through their sheets. Some people have been known to go on and on about not much at all. Not that I am trivializing their plight, but to repeat the same scenario over and over again from one person can get to be a bit much.

Actually today, it was interesting to hear the new folks share. So many of them were in exactly the same mental space I was in when I first started. It gave me a new appreciation for the strides I have made even though I feel like I have taken a few steps backward these past few days. Then, finally, it got to be my turn. One of the things I processed was my interesting reaction to my first visit back to my church after a nine-week absence since I tried to commit suicide. Here I was anxiety-filled at facing all these people for fear of what they would all ask me about my absence. Sure, some of the folks knew the truth, but there were a bunch that did not. I can still remember how stricken I was standing outside at the front door for fear of what would happen once I went inside (see post below).

Once I described how lonely I ended up feeling after the service was over since no one approached me (I had to keep telling myself it was because they were respecting my privacy), the therapist thought it was quite oxymoronic.©2009

My Return to My Church

2009-12-13T12:45:00.001-05:00

Today I am gong to try to go back to my church after nine weeks. I am feeling very anxious about this. The anxiety has been focused just upon opening that door after all this time. I plan to arrive after the service has started to avoid anyone ahead of time. I know people will notice when I come in and I am also anxious about what to do after the service. Do I leave early the same way I came in? With my cane, I am not walking as quickly as I could. What happens if someone comes out to the parking lot after I leave as I walk across the street back to my house? My exposure is greatest at this point. On the other hand, do I stay until after the service and just get it over with and let everyone welcome me back? I have 45 minutes before the service starts and I am trying to use my tools to quell this anxiety—stay in the moment and not try to project—take it 5 minutes at a time if I have to…

(later)… About five minutes before leaving the house, I decided to do some deep breathing exercise to calm me. That seemed to do the trick. I walked across the street and approached the front door having no idea what to expect. I opened the door and the service was late getting started, but everyone was sitting in their seats. When one individual noticed me, she said rather loudly, “Hi Alix,” and that was it. The service started and no one paid any attention to me. The message that the pastor preached was a good one for me to hear. It was all on how a mighty God we have. At the end of the service, I stayed for a few minutes and it was the dénouement. No one came up to me. I think I was a little bit disappointed, but I did not have to deal with anyone. Maybe everyone was just respecting my space. Therefore, I stood, put on my jacket and walked out the door feeling a little lonely. It is odd, while I had such anxiety about dealing with everyone, when everyone had the chance to say hi to me to welcome me back, no one did. Maybe next week will be different. But, I finally crossed that threshold.©2009

Outpatient Therapy, Day 23/Psychiatrist Appt #9

2009-12-11T14:27:00.000-05:00

Today’s session went really well. My therapist said I had made such strides over the last seven weeks that she agreed that I could be discharged on the 18th. Today, in fact, we had some new people and some that have been in the group for a little while that had it rock bottom and the therapist used me as an example how things can really get better. I feel good about myself today—something that I did not foresee being able to say even a couple of weeks ago.

I have built up a small coterie of close friends that know me intimately—the ins and outs of my mental illness. This has become my support group, yet another thing I about which I did not even think about. I was isolating so much and vindictively pushing people away to purposely further isolate me. The ironic thing is that the majority of this small group is made up of people with whom I had gone to church. That is my next major hurdle—reinserting myself back into my church. I am feeling less anxious about it, but something is still holding me back. Perhaps it is because not everyone knows my complete story and I certainly do not want to share that with anyone who has not been along for the ride.

I still do not know what “normal” is, but I feel more content than I have for a long while. I have not had any suicide ideation for a while, but the main concern I have, feeling this good, is that I am not ramping up to swing into the manic dark side. I am carefully looking for signs, and my friends know what to look for, so they may see it before I do.

I am going to try to go grocery shopping by myself, cane aside, this weekend. I will see how I deal with being around a large group of people. This should be a good test for me. It has been the one hurdle I have not passed (aside from returning to church). I have gone shopping with a friend that lessened the anxiety, but it is time I try to do it for myself.

I also saw my psychiatrist this morning before group. He also seems pleased at my bipolar improvement. Now that I am getting about six hours of sleep these last two days he has agreed to start reducing my Zyprexa, yet one less pill to take. He is going to submit an extension of my disability (currently ending on the 16th) to return to work on Jan 4th for two weeks at half-time to gradually get accustomed again with full time beginning on the 18th. I hope they approve this extension, as I am simply not ready to return on the 17th. He is not sure if it will fly since I have made such improvement, but he is certainly going to try. He is going to send in the paperwork on Monday.

Well, folks, that’s my story for today and I am sticking by it!©2009

Outpatient Therapy, Day 22

2009-12-10T10:26:00.003-05:00

Yesterday was the first day that I have driven anywhere outside of my own neighbourhood area for a couple of weeks, since I sideswiped the 18-wheeler on the interstate. I have not had one of those dissociative episodes when driving in a while, so I thought I would take a chance yesterday and drive myself. The weather was just awful. It was pouring and visibility was cut to almost 500 yards/457 metres. I left an hour early just in case and was quite anxious about driving on the interstate the whole way, but I got there OK.

Had the weather been fine, having arrived so early, I could have sat outside and smoked until group started, but I was relegated to sitting in our room for a while before some of the others started to file in. I had my daily check in sheet already filled out since I do it from home before I get there (gives me more time to think and try to remember the details).

After the huge group split we started out “sharing” routine. I volunteered to go first as I had to leave early since I had an early appt with my GP yesterday as well. I had a good report to share and even had a smile on my face that everyone made a big deal about. Afterwards, the therapist commented that I was showing marked improvements exponentially. I think it has a lot to do with my psychiatrist putting me on the Lexapro a couple of weeks ago. I asked the therapist if she could mark some time for me after one of our sessions as I want to talk with her about my discharge from the program. While I have made huge strides over the last eight weeks (it was eight weeks ago today that I tried to commit suicide), I knew it was getting to the point that I could no longer afford to be in this program. Yes, my insurance is helping, but 10% of this, that, and the other adds up with all of the appts I have been having. I feel that my seeing my individual therapist now, along with my psychiatrist should be enough to continue with my recovery. I do not necessarily want to leave the group, but I have to make some decisions financially.

I cannot believe it has been eight weeks since I tried to commit suicide. The whole memory seems like such a hazy nightmare to me. On the one hand, I want to forget about everything. Yet, I have to remember it all to keep where I am at now in proper perspective. I have made some huge strides since then and I cannot forget this. So much has changed for me. There are more evenings than not where I can be in my house all alone at night and be safe. I am not sure what “normal” is supposed to feel like, but I do know that I am not as profoundly depressed as I have been. It seems that my bipolar is slowly being reigned in. The positive aspect is that I haven’t swung onto the manic side since starting the Lexapro, a valid concern my psychiatrist has as giving anti-depressants to bipolar patients in a profound depression can kick off a manic episode since the anti-depressant can kick you over to the other side. I have been carefully watching for that. I am getting more sleep now than I have been, and my talking does not seem to be any more excitable than normal. When I am manic, that is the first sign I can spot. I will get on the phone with someone and not shut up the entire time and I talk fast and excitedly. So far, I do not see any evidence to that.

Could it be that my bipolar is finally coming into balance? I am almost afraid to think that one aloud. Once my bipolar is in check, then I can start looking at my borderline personality disorder issues that, for obvious reasons, have been put on the back burner. I can continue that work with my psychiatrist and individual therapist, although I am not sure how to begin that whole scenario. There are some deep-seated issues that I have to work out, and this is going to take some time.

Meanwhile I am socialising more. My friend A called me as she was leaving work last night to check in with me and I asked her if she wanted to stop by my house on her way home. She enthusiastically said yes and I thoroughly enjoyed having her visit for almost 90 minutes. It is so nice to have people with whom I can talk about every day things. This is one area that I have seen positive changes in me. I am not isolating nearly as much. Right now, all my socialising is one-on-one; I have not tried to be in a group of people yet outside of my group therapy sessions, so I am not sure how I am going to handle that. I am going to try to start attending the NAMI meetings (National Alliance on Mental Illness) that take place Monday evenings right around the corner from my house. It is going to be similar to group with a different twist. According to the facilitator I spoke with the other day, there are only about 10-12 people that attend regularly and I will not have to say anything if I do not want to. I imagine I will just sit quietly for the first couple of meetings until I can get the lay of the land.

I am still on full-time short-term FMLA disability, but that runs out January 18th. Right now I am approved through December 16th, but I am now going to have my psychiatrist (instead of the group therapist) put in for the remainder of the time to see if they will approve the extension. My psychiatrist does not think I am ready to return to work anyway, and he wants me to start back only working half-days. I’m thinking, with the deadline coming up (yes, I could always convert to long-term disability, but that’s only at 70% of my pay which I cannot afford) I could put a return to work start date for the 4th of January to work half-days until the 18th. I personally think I need more time than that, but I am financially constrained. To tell you the truth, what I dearly wish I could afford is to go on full time SS disability, but I cannot afford what they would pay out, and Medicaid will not kick in until you’ve been on disability for one full year. I cannot afford to be without insurance. Sure, I could get COBRA from my employer, but since I cannot already afford what disability would pay, there is no way I could also afford the COBRA coverage. Caught between a rock and a hard place.©2009

Doctors, Dentists, Insomnia, Oh My!

2009-12-08T02:49:00.000-05:00

Well, it’s 0220. I’ve been up since 0030. So much for getting quality sleep tonight (or should I say this morning). One thing that has changed for me is this daily need I have now to take a mid-day three-hour nap which does me wonders. I’ll be sitting on my couch listening to music and just start nodding off, so I figure I might as well crawl into bed. The naps have had no measurable affect on my nighttime sleeping; I’m still getting the two-three hours. However, waking up at 0030 for the day makes for a long day!

I went to see the dentist yesterday for my six-month check up and they found a cavity at MY age. They told me most probably it is as a result of the long-term dry mouth I’ve been dealing with since going on the high blood pressure medicines. I loathe dental pain. After the check-up, the receptionist told me that they had a cancelation for 0830 this morning, so I took it. I can hardly wait. The shots of novocaine are giving me the chills as we speak, not to mention the sound of the drill.

Then at 1400 I get to meet with a clinical trial specialist at my GP’s office to see if I qualify for a study that may make me eligible to receive my iron IV infusions for free (otherwise, I cannot afford it). So many factors must come into play when determining who is eligible. I look at the fact that I am a smoker in addition to all the meds I am currently take. Any little detail could put me out of the running. I sure hope the novocaine has worn off before this meeting. The last thing I need to do is drool in front of this person!

What really amazes me about my sleep patterns is that when I awoke tonight after only three hours of sleep, I felt totally rested and ready to start the day. Maybe I should become a day trader in the Asian market.©2009

A Saturday Surprise

2009-12-06T07:11:00.003-05:00

Well, yesterday could not have been more interesting. A person whom I know only slightly had been reading my blog (it seems my blog has been generating a lot of airtime recently). He emailed me to explain how sorry he had not sent me an earlier email in view of what had been happening in my life. Having only just read it I replied that it was no big deal since he had only just learned about it.

Then he suggested we get together as he wanted to give me the opportunity to talk about it. I figured, he had already read the blog, he already knew the good, the bad and the ugly. Even though I felt anxious about it, I agree to meet him at his house yesterday. To break the ice, I went to the local bakery and brought some bagels figuring we could be somewhat busy preparing our bagels, eating them and drinking coffee before jumping into the fray.

That said, our conversation started rather benignly. I laughingly said that he knew all about me, but I knew very little about him. Thus began his little history lesson. I found out we had a lot of common [with the exception that he hates North Carolina’s Tar Heel Blue basketball team :-)]

He had a lot to say about the scripture I had been quoting in my posts and my take on them. He also pointed out that the only reason we are in any church is to worship God, a point well taken.

We must have talked for about five hours and the time just flew by. He reiterated that he wanted to be my friend and to always feel to call whenever I might have the need to talk.

After I tried to commit suicide eight weeks ago, I started out bemoaning the fact that I had no friends, especially when I become subsequently suicidal. And suddenly, through a few people reading this blog, I realise that I have more true friends (not acquaintances) than I actually thought was possible.

I also think my medicines are finally beginning to work. Adding the Lexapro has really helped lessen the profound state of depression in which I have been. I feel I have a clearer head with which to think. While the racing thoughts are still present, they do not interfere to the same extent. Not to borrow trouble, but almost feeling normal (but not quite yet), I cannot help wondering if I am only just on this side of spiralling up into a manic phase. Until I was back on these meds, everything was black or white—I was either manic or profoundly depressed. I guess time will only tell on this one.©2009

Outpatient Therapy, Day 19 & My Early Christmas Present

2009-12-06T00:05:00.001-05:00

Since I am not allowed to drive myself to group (at some point that will have to come to end and I cannot rely on the good wishes of friends who want to help; I just feel I am being intrusive.) I have to get over my fear of driving and side swiping an 18-wheeler did not add enough to my plate already! Therefore, on Friday I sat and waited for my “limousine.” K called saying she was on her way, so that should take about 20 minutes. Man, I hate winter. You bundle up like crazy for the early morning only to have to strip down by mid-afternoon when the temp gets up to 67˚F/19.45˚C. On those days when the sky is full of sun, I just sit in my comfy camp chair and put on my iPod and bask in the sun. I actually got a sunburn on my face last weekend!

I have made a template in Word to emulate the daily check-in sheet we must spend 15 minutes filling out. This way, the morning before I leave, I can just plug in the answers and be done with it. It buys me time to smoke a cigarette. I have even colour-coded my answers to indicate where my responses are.

I counted the number of pills I take every morning. There are 11: three for blood pressure, plus one for Selenium (those results finally came it and it was abnormally low) and one for the Thiamine. Moreover, I am back to giving myself my B12 injections once a month. That leaves me six daily for my bipolar disorder, not that they are working yet. That does not even count the five I take at night.

(later) There were a lot of fresh faces Friday morning, but I did well; I continued to sit at the table despite the full room. Then, after everyone finished filling out their daily check in sheet, we split back into our two smaller groups. However, out small little group was getting bigger. We did out “sharing” part and I was pleased that the therapist said I was showing marked improvement in certain areas. In the second session, where I usually resign myself to the corner away from the table, I decided to sit at the table and interact with my peers, clearly an improvement for me. We are still working on anger management issues which has been a good one for to listen to.

Well, high noon came and K was out there waiting for me. When we got home, she said she had some food she wanted to put in the fridge. Then, she put her hands on her hips and said, “Why don’t I help you clean up?” My dear friend spent three hours scouring my kitchen and cleaning my living room. In the pit of my depression, I just stopped caring for how the house looked and let it go to seed. I couldn’t believe the amount of work she did while she basically told me to go and sit down. What a caring gift that was to me. It was so nice to walk into a clean kitchen and sit in a clean living room.©2009

Appt with Psychiatrist #8

2009-12-03T11:35:00.001-05:00

We’re still doing psychotherapy for 50 minutes weekly with phone calls interspersed. He’s concerned over my profound depression. I made a half-hearted attempt to commit suicide Sunday night. I say half-hearted because I didn’t drink any alcohol which I know would seal the deal. I think halfway through, once I swallowed the pills, I realized I didn’t want to go through with it. My consequence: well, I did sleep for 4 hours, but felt very groggy. That morning tried to drive my self to group and got sideswiped by an 18-wheeler—my fault, I veered into his lane. Luckily, I self-corrected and stayed in my lane. Unfortunately, my car has the scars to prove it. Moreover, I fell asleep during the whole first session of group (no I didn’t snore, but no one woke me up either). At the break, I guess all of the noise woke me up, but my therapist wouldn’t let me drive home, so I called a friend to pick me up. I guess some of the drugs I had only taken a few hours earlier had not fully metabolized.

Well, back to my shrink, he has increased my Lexapro to 30mg. I found out that the normal dose is 10-20mg. I sure hope this helps me. I am on so many medications. Maybe once my Thiamine levels get within appropriate range things will start to change.©2009

Being Christian and Queer-Revisited

2009-11-28T07:17:00.007-05:00

I’ve examined in some of my posts how I’ve missed my church since my whole debacle began. As I’ve alluded to, two of my biggest stumbling blocks to returning is (a) being around a group of people [thanks to my borderline personality disorder-BPD] and (b) how to explain my continued absence since being involuntarily committed due to my suicide attempt seven weeks ago.

When I attended a previous church, also an Assemblies of God, it was inherently homophobic because it preached, as they say, the full gospel—meaning that the Bible is the word of God chapter and verse. I was new to my relationship with God, and under the pastor’s teaching (at this point I had not been hit with those legendary homophobic clobber verses) I watched my relation with God grow immeasurably: it was close and personal—something I had never experienced before. My heart and spirit was full. Having been raised as a Roman Catholic when I was a child and teenager, I never got this.

I am not a theologian, but as I began to read the Bible, when I got to Leviticus 20, I continued to read all those laws set forth by God. So many of these “laws” had since been dismissed as we migrated to modern times [e.g., verse 10: “If a man commits adultery with his neighbour’s wife, both the man and the woman who have committed adultery must be put to death.” (NLT)]. I read that with a grain of salt as today adulterers are merely given a pass for a divorce. So, when I got to verse 13 “If a man practices homosexuality, having sex with another man as with a woman, both men have committed a detestable act. They must both be put to death, for they are guilty of a capital offense.” (NLT) I took this verse equally with a grain of salt. I am a lesbian and did not feel compelled to fall upon my sword, as it were.

Then this particular preacher, one Sunday, spent his whole sermon on why homosexuality was the worst sin in the bible. I was truly taken aback by his statement. Aside from quoting the verse in Leviticus, he did not proffer any specific verses that backed up what he said. I was enraged. After the service, I challenged him. I asked him to refer to the specific scripture that said that (because I never read that despite reading through various translations). He wanted to avoid this conversation with me totally, but I countered with reminding him that he always said that the Bible would prove its own truth. Again, I challenged him to point out where in the Bible was that specifically quoted and he hemmed and hawed. I told him, according to the Bible in Revelations 21:8 “But the cowardly, unbelieving, abominable, murderers, sexually immoral, sorcerers, idolaters, and all liars shall have their part in the lake which burns with fire and brimstone, which is the second death.” (NKJV). Nowhere did it say that only the homosexuals would burn in this lake of fire, and even pointed out that the sexually immoral were not even listed first! He could not respond and just walked away and greeted other members.

Well, my identity as a lesbian was then outed and I was essentially shown the door unless I repented of my sins and turned from my evil ways—translation: become celibate. That only harkened back memories of the nightmares I had read on reparative therapy where there were retreats gays and lesbians could attend to be “cured” of their homosexuality (Exodus International comes to mind). Being a lesbian is who I am, not what I chose to be. I did not have something from which to be “cured.” I was incensed that there was this organisation whose primary focus was to brainwash these unsuspecting attendees.

As a result, I left this church. I also remember being angry with God for allowing His word to be selectively be taken out of context on this one particular verse. If the other verses throughout Leviticus had for the most part been dismissed as being a product of the times (e.g., not mixing clothes of mixed fabric and all of the dietary laws), why was this solitary verse being held accountable? As the times progressed and gay rights became the new poison pill upon which many political platforms were based (the new litmus test as abortion rights were before then), I saw how the war against gay rights was being funded and waged by so called Christian fundamentalists. Gay rights (or the lack thereof) were being slammed left and right from statehood amendments on same-sex marriages, employment discrimination (there are 29 states where it is legal to fire someone who is gay), to housing statutes, and economic parity through health insurance, not to even begin to mention how partners are treated when one of them is in the hospital and are denied visitation rights or not allowed to carry out the final wishes.

I became an ardent political activist lending my voice where it counted to fight these so-called arbitrary arguments. I live in the buckle of the Bible belt where churches are like gas stations—there is one on every corner. I had plenty of opportunities and venues to lend my voice to counter these fundamentalists. I still remember how I was treated in a discount chain store while wearing my equal rights t-shirt on the banner of the rainbow flag. I was bible-thumped from quite a few people (“shame on you,” “your kind will burn in hell,” etc.). I would not be reduced to their fanaticism and merely walked away from most of them. I was, however, trapped while standing in the cashier’s lane. The couple behind me started preaching to me to repent of my evil ways as all eyes were on me. You could hear a pin drop. At first I was not going to say anything (anything I could have said would only fall on deaf ears anyway), but the cashier smiled at me and said, “You aren’t going to let them get away with that crap, are you?” So I looked at this couple and calmly said that, while I respected that they had a right to their own opinion, this was one area that that we would have to agree to disagree—no rhetoric on my part. However, that did silence them.

During this intervening time, I met my then partner and I continued to wage my war. I was quite surprised to learn that she went to church. I asked her where could she possibly go without encountering what I had experienced and she told me all about the Metropolitan Community Church (MCC) that primarily caters to lesbian, gay, bi-sexual and transgendered persons (LGBT). Sorely missing my connection to God and the community of fellowship, I eagerly started attending with her. However, my spirit was not fed here. It was static and ritualistic and there didn’t seem to be any room for the Spirit to move. I continued to go with her for the duration of our partnership, but when that ended, I no longer attended.

I moved to a different area of town and laughingly I noticed there was a church right across the street from me. Being new to the neighbourhood, one of my neighbours left a beautiful potted plant on my front porch with a nice note welcoming me to the neighbourhood. This level of hospitality, I thought, had all gone the way of other pleasant Southern ways with everyone too busy with their jobs and lives. I walked over to thank her and we had a nice conversation. There was no doubt that I was a lesbian when we met from the bumper stickers on my car to the t-shirt I was wearing, but that did not seem to phase her. Then she cordially asked me if I attended a church (my warning signals were piqued at this point) and told her no and recounted my experience with my first pastor. She thought that story was horrible and invited me to attend their church’s fall picnic. When I reminder her that I was a lesbian, she didn’t care, said that her pastor was open-minded, and that I would not be judged. Therefore, I told her I would attend with full expectation to talk to the pastor at the outset and inform him that I was a lesbian. He didn’t seem to bat an eyelash and told me that I would be welcome at his church, but he did say this one thing, that he did preach the whole Bible and said that he did think homosexuality was a sin. But I was welcomed just the same as in “Whosoever….” We agreed to disagree and he told me that his congregation wouldn’t judge me.

At this point, I had missed my relationship with God, not because I had walked away in the intervening years, but I had missed hearing God’s word being preached and the fellowship of other believers. Being the butch that I am, when I dressed up for church I wore a coat and tie even amidst those that wore blue jeans and t-shirts. I liked his style of preaching and everything he said resonated deeply within me. I felt for the first time that I had found a church home. There were times after the services where the pastor and I would get involved in conversations about my homosexuality and he just smiled and told me that he always appreciated my honesty, and felt that I had contributed to his knowledge base as he had never had the chance to really get to know someone who was gay, and thought that our conversations were refreshing for him—a chance to learn something new. I respected him greatly and considered him a friend, a friendship that continued to grow over the three years that I have been attending.

Then something happened to me. While I was reading the Bible, I came across an important passage that became the cornerstone upon which I wanted to live my life. It was Romans 12:1-2: “(1) And so, dear brothers and sisters, I plead with you to give your bodies to God because of all he has done for you. Let them be a living and holy sacrifice—the kind he will find acceptable. This is truly the way to worship him. (2) Don’t copy the behaviour and customs of this world, but let God transform you into a new person by changing the way you think. Then you will learn to know God’s will for you, which is good and pleasing and perfect.” (NLT).

I thought long and hard what these verses meant to me. I came to the conclusion that I wanted my close personal relationship with God more than I needed my identity as a lesbian (however skewed that logic may seem to you). I felt by choosing to be celibate was my living sacrifice, and that turning my back on the gay community would be no longer conforming to customs of the world. This was a decision that did not come easily as it was fought with much prayer. Nevertheless, it was a decision that I felt at peace with at the time. I never denied that I was a lesbian, but like an ambassador without papers. I lived my life from that perspective for two years.

Well, politics raised its ugly head with what was up for grabs both in Congress and at the statewide level during this year. My hackles were raised again and my anger towards this massive inequality subjugating all LGBT persons to second-class citizens put me on fire. I became politically active again renewing my passion to see true justice served. I was truly saddened to see how forthright and mean-spirited the Christian fundamentalists had become since the previous elections, not to mention the incredible amounts of money they raised to fund their own political agenda (what ever happened to the separation of church and state?).

Unforeseen by me, my personal life became a disaster as my bipolar and borderline personality disorders (BP and BPD) reared their ugly head pushing me into a downward spiral that led me to my aforementioned attempted suicide. There was so much conflict swirling within me. When I was discharged from the hospital after 11 days, I couldn’t face going back to my church having done what I had. After my continued absence, what would have I told everyone, “Oh yeah, by the way, I tried to commit suicide.” I didn’t think that would go over well. I had a long talk with my pastor and told him of my renewed passion to fight for LGBT equality. In one post to this blog, where I bemoaned how miserable my life had become, someone commented “Even though you have turned away from Him - He still loves you and wants you back. Your dilemma is trying to hold on to both worlds. It's not possible. God wants you to choose to lay down your old life and allow Him to make you totally new. He has a peace waiting for you that you've never known (but are desperately seeking)- You've never known this peace because you've never fully turned your life over to Him.”

I couldn’t believe what I read. For the first time I was being judged, and I was accused that I had never fully turned my life over to God when that couldn’t have been further from the truth considered the sacrificial decision I had made only two years before. I was torn. Knowing what I did now, could I ever be welcomed back into that church under the circumstances of how I was living my life as a queer political activist. I was hurt because this church and its people meant so very much to me. I was filled with the Spirit at this church as I had never known before; the pastor’s teaching had always deeply affected me. A subsequent conversation with this person helped me understand the spirit it which the comment was made--not to judge, but wanting to reach out so desperately to me. Can I return and just let the chips fall where they may, or do I want to search for another church that is gay-affirming, not knowing if I would be filled and fed in the same way? My heart wants to return to this little church, but at what expense.©2009

How I Handled Yesterday

2009-11-27T08:05:00.000-05:00

Knowing I was feeling very depressed yesterday (see post below), I was afraid to be alone in my house for fear that my suicide ideation would begin. I decided to be proactive during the day. I already know that my front porch does not offer me much solace as it once did, so I decided to try the backyard. I sat in my camp chair (very comfortable with two cup holders) in the full sun while listening to my iPod for the duration of the day until the sun went down. It was 61˚F/16˚C and absolutely beautiful. I was still very depressed, but not suicidal. When the sun went down, I went inside to bundle up and stayed outside until the stars cam out and watched the moon rise. I was out of my house and safe, and that is all that mattered.©2009

How My Family Treats Me on Thanksgiving

2009-11-26T11:24:00.000-05:00

How my family treats me on Thanksgiving—I am not quite sure where to begin. Usually, the feast is held at my nieces’ house with everyone in attendance, some of whom (as in my mother and my sister, the mother of my niece) have to travel about four hours to attend. I myself just live two-and-a-half hours away.

However, several years ago I found out that I was not welcome at my niece’s house. I just happened to call my nephew (who lived in the same city as my niece) to wish him a happy Thanksgiving where he, in turn, ask me what I was planning to do. I replied that I had no plans and he asked me to come with him to my niece’s house where everyone in the family would be attending (he seemed surprised that I knew nothing about it—while I knew my mother and sister would be attending, no invitation ever came from my niece). I told my nephew that I did not receive an invitation, but he just replied that that was nonsense and everyone was going to be there and wasn’t I part of the family? He insisted to the point that I agreed to meet him at his house and go with him.

When I arrived, my niece answered the door and when she saw that I was with her brother, she was clearly not pleased, but couldn’t say anything in front of all of the others. During the course of the appetizer conversation, it became evident to me that I was certainly not welcome by anyone, and my mother looked rather displeased as she must have known that I was not specifically invited. Of course, no one came out and said anything, but clearly, I was uncomfortable at my reception and the duration of the day.

Later on, the following day I queried my mother (the patron saint of protocol) and sister and asked them what the problem was. I was totally clueless. My mother said I shouldn’t have gone since I did not receive an invitation (it sounded as if she knew more, but didn’t say anything). Then I asked my sister and she replied in kind. I asked whatever did I do anything to my niece to warrant such treatment, and the reply I received was that my sister didn’t really know, but that it was my niece’s prerogative and that I should respect it. I was hurt beyond compare, not just at my niece’s reaction, but also by the fact that both my mother and sister appeared to support my niece’s position. On one Thanksgiving, it was actually held at my mother’s house instead (and of course, my niece and her family would be there). Stung by everyone’s long-standing support of my niece and her decision to completely cut me out, I told my mother I would not be attending if she was going to be there and my mother, fearing a scene, thought that would be advisable.

Thanksgiving has always been an important holiday to me as it represented the one time that everyone would be there. Even when my son was a little boy and travelling would make it hard to travel to my mother’s house, I always made a big deal about Thanksgiving, as I wanted to make memories for my son. We always made an ordeal about it from the cooking of the meal to our special outing afterwards to his favourite park he liked to play. I always took many pictures and was pleased that I was started my own traditions with him. As he grew up, we began to travel to my Mom’s house (five hours away) to be with the rest of the family (long before my niece had her own family).

Well, this year the holiday celebration is to be at my nephew’s house instead. I held out hope that maybe I would finally be invited, but no call ever came. I just cried, as it only firmly cemented the fact that I really don’t have a family outside of my son, who now lives on the west coast and celebrates it with his birth father and his grandmother. I cannot afford to fly out to be with them, although I know I would be welcomed.

I did receive a message from a couple at church to join their family at Thanksgiving, but having not attended church for quite sometime, coupled by the fact that her extended family (whom I really don’t know) would be there would make me very uncomfortable. I am sure, out of respect to me, I would not be peppered by questions as to my continued absence from church, but being around a bunch of people, some of whom I do not know is too much for me to handle right now. Following in my mother’s footsteps on proper protocol, I called back, thankfully to have her daughter answer and I just told her to give her mom a message where I thanked her very much for the thoughtful invitation, but I would be unable to attend.

So here I sit, all alone on one of the most important days of the year only to be reminded that I am not wanted by my family.©2009

Appt with Psychiatrist #7

2009-11-26T11:14:00.000-05:00

Following on the heels of my appt earlier with my GP, I gave my psychiatrist the results of the blood work and he was clearly pleased that my Thiamine (B1) levels were undetectable. Pleased because there was a solution. He did express concern that I had to begin treatment right away so I would not suffer any more brain damage if some of my cells had already started to die, a result of how long the B1 had been so low. Since it was not measured until November 12 and I had already begun showing the signs of ataxia well before that, (I had never sought any medical advice because I just thought I was getting clumsy), he said there might be some slight damage. However, if I don’t begin the B1 treatments immediately, there will be continued damage to my brain cells resulting in continued ataxia, possible permanent short-term memory loss and possible ocular involvement (I am already showing signs of saccadic movement in my eyes when I am reading—worst case scenario is to develop Wernicke-Korsakoff syndrome—some symptoms I am already showing). I told him that I gave all the information to my GP’s nurse so they can call in the prescription to my medical insurance prescription service (no local pharmacies carry it). That means at least ten days without treatment. If they choose not to call in the prescription, but write one for me to send in, that’s an additional five to seven days. Since today is Thanksgiving day, I probably will not hear back from my GP’s nurse until tomorrow or Monday, still more additional days until treatment can begin.©2009

Appt With My GP #2

2009-11-26T11:02:00.000-05:00

Well, the results of the rest of the blood work has come in and what my psychiatrist and GP thought has been proven true. My Thiamine (B1) level was so low it was undetected—clearly the cause for my ataxia, which has grown worse since first diagnosed—my balance has worsened. My GP is looking for an injectable form where I can give myself the IM shots as I do with my B12. None of the local pharmacies carries it, but I did find out that my medical insurance prescription service could supply me with a 90-day supply that is not outrageous in price. I called my GP’s nurse back, gave her all the information with which to call in the prescription, and asked her to call me back with a confirmation that the order had been called in. I left the message around 1400, but I have yet to hear back from her. I don’t know how often I will need to give myself the B1 shots (I do the B12 once a month), so I will need those instructions as well.©2009

Outpatient Therapy, Day 15

2009-11-24T03:29:00.001-05:00

I have skipped posting on these group sessions on a regular basis because there was nothing unique about them, or anything of substance. However, I had some good news to “share” with the group this time that allowed me to rate some good scribbles on my chart for a change. I was able to successfully demonstrate skills that deals with my isolation issues since my past weekend had me actually enjoying time spent with friends outside of my house. The key factor for me isn’t just being able to connect with people, it also has to do with getting me out of the house and exposing myself to conditions that actually force me to isolate (being in situations where there are lots of people). However, it was no small feat for me to have initiated those phone calls that resulted in those plans.

While there are still four more problem areas as outline in my treatment plan, I obviously have much more work to accomplish. My therapist still feels I am not ready to go back to work this coming Tuesday and will be putting in an extension for my FMLA for an additional two weeks. I am frustrated with this because, while my job is incredible stressful, I love what I do. She just firmly believes I am in no shape at this point to handle that level of stress.

The second half of the group was spent on anger management issues, something that directly applies to me. While I have been able to deploy some of the tools to combat my isolation issues, I have so many additional skills that I have been taught that I still cannot use. Therein lies my problem. Anger is a big one for me. When I become rage filled, that last thing to enter my mind is any of the tools.

I wonder how many more of these sessions I will have to attend. What once started out as a two-week requirement for discharge has now stretched into five weeks (the additional three were not under any requirements, but voluntary on my part).©2009

Momentum

2009-11-23T05:04:00.000-05:00

This past weekend has been a banner one for me as far as decreasing my isolation and reaching out to my friends. Of course, you’ve read about my coffee date with K on Friday and my grocery trip with A on Saturday. Well, I discovered that I needed to go out once again, and to the mall no less where it was teeming with people. Mind you, I am not a mall rat; in fact, I cannot remember the last time I was there. However, there is one thing I need every year and can only find it when the independent vendors set up their kiosks at Christmas time. I use this huge grid calendar that I hang on the wall right inside my bedroom door. Each square is large enough to accommodate multiple entries and to write them in large letters so I can read them. Therefore, I called K and asked if she would mind taking me to the mall.

We were not sure at which end to park, so we picked one anchor store and went inside. The idea of walking all over the place to find this particular vendor was rather daunting to me. However, we spotted a mall security guard as soon as we got there. He did not know where it was, and upon spying a walking talkie radio, I suggested he call out and find out if anyone of the security guards knew where it was.

Now that we knew where to go, we started negotiating our way among the throngs of people, impatient kids running away from their parents, and a mass of strollers with shrieking babies. I hugged the interior wall for fear that someone would kick out my cane from underneath me. I was not handling the mass of people very well, but stuck to my guns as I looked at this adventure as a mission to complete. Having K there made all the difference as I could focus on her and keep up a running dialogue as we walked.

I espied our target and once acquired we headed directly there. I got my calendar and out we went. That said, I am still fairly sure I don’t want to return, at least by myself as the crowds were somewhat suffocating. However, I did accomplish my stated mission and nothing happened to me. A week ago you couldn’t have paid me to insert myself into that situation. K has been a valuable friend as she knows my boundaries and is more than willing to be there whenever I need her. Lesson learned: I can tolerate what I most fear, even if I have to have a friend walk me through the process. I am still not capable of doing these things alone; having someone with me allows me to concentrate on my continued conversation and ignore the people. I did not have a panic attack.

Afterwards, I invited her back to my house where we talked for about an hour before she had some things she needed to attend to. This is the first time I have let anyone into my home since that fated night. All in all, I feel as though I making progress as far as my isolation goes. Now I have something to talk about when I go to group later this morning.©2009

More Baby Steps

2009-11-22T06:42:00.000-05:00

I have to start by saying that Friday afternoon, when I got home from going to Starbucks with K, I had an uneventful evening at home. I was not anywhere close to being suicidal as I sat in my house at home all alone and my depression did not seem to be as severe. I actually felt somewhat content. I am sure it all had to do with the fact that I got out of my house and went somewhere with an understanding friend where we just talked about normal stuff for two hours—what a difference 24 hours can make.

Well, I must be on the good vibrations roll this weekend. Friday, when I got home from coffee with K, I called my other friend A (who provided me with all those safety gadgets for walking late at night). Due to my limited mobility right now, I asked her if I could go grocery shopping with her the next time she went. She mentioned that she was planning to go Saturday around 1100 and she said she would be happy to take me along.

As it approached 1100, I began to feel the anxiety rising. I had not been inside a grocery store since I egged those patrol cars three weeks ago. I was not sure how I was going to deal with all of the people and noise. When A came to pick me up, I was somewhat calmer because I knew I could step outside the store if need be. It was good to see her again. I have never gone grocery shopping with a friend before. In addition, pushing the cart gave me more stability than my cane since I could hold onto it with both hands (no, and that is an emphatic no, I am not got to get a walker!). I was doing pretty well as we traipsed through the aisles until I forgot something and had to go all the way back to the beginning and retrieve it. I was alone, faced a slew of oncoming people, and had a mini-freak out session, sorta like a “deer-in-the-headlamps” experience. I just grabbed the cart, stood still and closed my eyes and took some deep breathes and just concentrating on standing outside in the sunshine. Well, it worked and I did not have to actually leave the store.

I found A and we were ready to check out. I was in a single file at the checkout lane, but I went first and gave some distance to the woman in front of me—talking with A helped keep my mind in the moment. The next thing I knew, we were back in her car riding home where she helped me carry in my groceries. I really enjoyed myself.

Between getting coffee with K on Friday, and spending time with A at the grocery store on Saturday, it represented the first two occasions when I got out of my house to do something with other people that also involved going to places where other people would be. It was not as bad as I thought it could be. Yesterday, after getting home from the grocery store, I felt content yet again. I had set a goal and followed through on it. The rest of the day went smoothly, and when nightfall came, the most fragile time for me when I am in my house all alone, it was not so daunting.

My severe depression seems to be abating somewhat. I don't think it's solely attributable to the Lexapro I just started taking; in fact, I think it has more to do with the decrease in my isolation. I got 4 hours of uninterrupted sleep last night. I went to sleep at 2300 and rose at 0300, so it still makes for a long day ahead of me, but I felt rested when I awoke. So, today is Sunday, the day I used to go to church. Nevertheless, that is not going to happen today. I am still not ready to go, and I am not sure I want to anymore ever since I got that comment from Sharon on one of my previous posts. I have to ask myself, does everyone there judge me the same way? Do they all think that I am a fraud? I have to keep reminding myself that her comment only represents one opinion from one person and I do not have to accept it, but I cannot help but wonder if others feel the same way. No, I am not ready to face them and all their questions, aside from the fact that it will be a room filled with people (albeit a small number, but people nonetheless). Right now, I’m just please with my baby steps forward.©2009

A Big Step Forward

2009-11-21T06:43:00.004-05:00

Waking up for the day at 0200 makes for a long day, to be sure. Sometimes it is when I am most prolific; this morning I just sat around, drank some hot tea and listened to music. I had a better day yesterday and it is good to feel this way.

I met one friend (K) for coffee at the Starbucks around the corner from my house (the same parking lot where I egged the patrol cars. Even though it is within walking distance from my house, ever since I have had to resort to using this cane, I asked if she could drop by my house and pick me up. We spent close to two hours just talking about everything in our lives. K showed me some text messages (that I do not remember sending on that ill-fated night. You could tell that I was getting progressively more drunk as some time passed; the texting in some cases was totally illegible. It was odd to see some evidence of the state of mind I was in during that whole crisis.

The time spent together was good for me. I got out of the house, which I desperately need to start doing, and I was able to spend time with an old friend whom I rejected quite despicably the night of that debacle. Although I sent her an email a week or so ago to apologize for my ugly actions, I had not seen K face-to-face since I had been committed. It was good to be able to talk with her. In one of my earlier emails to her, I established my boundaries and she totally understood my needs. She acknowledged that she did not quite understand all of what BPD encompasses, but knew, through reading my blog, the depths of what I have experienced. I was able to spend time with a good friend and did not wear my mask. It was not that scary. This has helped me open the door to more opportunities. And last night when I was alone in my house, it didn’t seem as ominous. I actually enjoyed a good evening at home by myself—something that would not have been able to say before this.

While it was hard to make that first phone call to invite K for coffee, and I was very anxious when she first came by, I was not sure what to expect. However, she put me at ease immediately. She came up to my door to help me down the front stairs and into her car (I hate that I have to move so slowly these days). We ordered our coffee, sat down and started talking as if no time had passed. I soon felt quite at ease. This was a break-through opportunity for me—one that I can continue to make, I hope. They told me in group that I just have to practice using these tools before I can become comfortable using them. About the only time I got uncomfortable was when this person chose to sit right next to us in a room filled with empty chairs and sofas. I could feel the anxiety rise, but kept it to myself not wanting to spoil the moment. I just mentally put up some blinders and avoided his presence. Thankfully he did not stay long (he did not even buy any coffee!).

So, yesterday marked a big step forward for me. And I am going to take that at face value and accept that progress for what it is.©2009

Appt with Psychiatrist Week 5

2009-11-19T11:00:00.001-05:00

On Tuesday, after posting this entry I called my group therapist out of politeness (yet another quirk—I can be completely suicidal and yet stop to be polite…go figure!) to let her know I would not be attending yesterday’s session. This was after canceling my psychiatrist’s appt for today and my appt with my GP tomorrow. In that state of mind, I did not want to be around anyone who was going to parse my emotions. When she asked me why I wouldn’t be attending, I simply replied that I couldn’t deal with being around anyone. Then I sorta lost it on the phone despite my keen attempts to be stable. I ended up telling her what had been going through my mind on Monday night when I was quite suicidal and how reading a comment yesterday morning on this post before calling her upset me so greatly. She asked if I could read to her the comment and then my response to that comment. She tried to remind me that this comment only represented one person’s opinion—an opinion that she was allowed to have, but one I did not have to agree with, nor let it have power over me. We talked on the phone for about an hour (unheard of with most in this community). I also told her that I had canceled the other two appts as well. She asked me if I was still feeling suicidal and I had to tell her that I did not know. Then she asked me if I could make a commitment to her to remain safe. If I didn’t tell her what she wanted to hear, I knew she would call 911 because she said as much. Not wanting to go there, I told her what she wanted to hear. Then she asked me if I would be able to call her before she left the office later that afternoon and I said I would.

When I get in this state, I always sabotage myself. That’s why I canceled the other two appts. I simply no longer cared about wanting to get better. However, after talking with her, I rescheduled both appts.

Well, the rescheduled appt with my psychiatrist gave me a valid reason for missing Wednesday’s group that I wanted to do in the first place. When I went in to see him yesterday morning, I could not make eye contact with him. His primary concern is that the meds cocktail he has me on is not working to get me out of this severe depression. He decided to finally add an antidepressant to the mix and gave me a sample of Lexapro. Not wanting to trigger a manic phase, he only wants me to take 5mg once a day. I also told him of my financial problems since I incurred all these medical bills. I also found out Monday afternoon that my 16-year-old Honda with 250,000+ miles on it was not long for this world (power train and transmission—the same quote I got from three different auto shops). I simply cannot afford to buy another car, and the cost to repair my car was going to be four to five times the blue book value of the car, an amount I couldn’t afford anyway. He told me not to worry about the cost of the Lexapro, as he would keep me in samples for the time that I felt I needed it. That doesn’t even touch the $175 I just had to shell out on my other bipolar 90-day scripts.

I also convinced him that my balance was much better and that I thought he and Wallace had just been alarmists. I said that because I don’t them to make such a big deal of my continued imbalance. I received some of the results from that blood work that Dr Wallace had ordered. The Magnesium, Phosphorus and Zinc were all within normal limits (albeit on the low side). Now we are just waiting on the Selenium and the most important one of all, the B1 which, in part, may be causing my ataxia (we already know that my B12 is on the low side of normal, so I’m back to giving myself the shots again once I mail off Dr Wallace’s scripts—and I don’t even know if I have the money for all of those). I am sure my B1 should come back too low to account for the ataxia; I just don’t want to think that it may be because of an organic process in my cerebellum. If my B1 is too low, I wonder if they make an IM version I can use to shoot myself in my thigh, or if it only comes in IV form (we already know that I can’t absorb it orally because of my bypass surgery). Dr Wallace also wants me to schedule a time when I can get the Infed, the iron infusion by IV, but when I did that before, it was approximately $1600 a pop. The doc said I might be able to participate in a clinical trial currently being offered so I could receive the Infed for free, but I’ve yet to hear a reply on that one. If I can’t qualify, I won’t be able to raise my Ferritin levels, already abnormally low, even though my hemoglobin is only just slightly lower that normal in comparison.

So here I sit Thursday morning with nothing to do. I don’t know what I am going to do with my car. At some point very soon, it will die on me. I just hope I’m not on some interstate when it does. When it does crap out on me I will truly be up a creek.©2009

Utter Contempt

2009-11-17T06:32:00.003-05:00

This post was never meant to be. Late last night, with full resolve, I put into place my deeply rooted desire to carry out my intended plan so foolishly done with exacting ineptitude only five weeks earlier. However, quite obviously, this did not transpire.

Instead, I have been up all night, in my castle without a drawbridge, inspecting and taking inventory of how fucking miserable my life really is. I am fuming, livid if you will that, I have been unable to carry forth my intent. I sat there looking at everything and just wailed at my utter, incompetent nature to go through this and curled up in fetal position and cried all this whole time, getting even more enraged at the stupid lack of action (spinelessness, my Achilles' heel) which only proliferated my feeling of being a total failure. Despite the fact that I actually carried out my intent 5 weeks ago, I am fuming that I was unable to go through this in view of the knowledge of the abject uselessness of my desolate life. I am quite numb at the moment, steeling myself from all other emotion. I cannot understand why the fuck I cannot go through with my actions now—so easily attainable such a short time before. I take back the feeling of being numb—I am enraged beyond all comparison. All I heard was this loud voice that kept yelling over, “Go ahead, kill yourself, I dare you to have the balls to do this, you inept asshole,” over and over, covering my ears and yelling at it to shut the fuck up as if covering my ears would make such a difference. I cannot believe, nor do I have the words, to describe the contempt in which I hold myself. My utter failure at my most piercing desire only proves to myself how stupid, miserable and useless I am.©2009

The Perfect Borderline Dream

2009-11-14T18:50:00.002-05:00

This morning at 1145, I was out on my porch enjoying the beautiful sunshine when I found myself nodding off. I thought, shit I am not getting much sleep at night; I might as well try taking a nap. I went back to my dark bedroom and snuggled under the covers just so certain that I would finally get some sleep. After about three hours I was still awake (but still feeling very sleepy), so I just stayed there all cosy (such a different experience than at night). Then I *woke up* at 1715 (yay for me, I got some sleep). Almost immediately, I recalled this vivid dream (I always have vivid dreams, I just never remember them upon awakening—they are just fleeting images), and began sobbing. The emotions flooding through me were painfully piercing.

Evidently, I was a mother to this cute, precocious girl of about 6 who was very obese, yet happy as lark to my suggestion that we go out to our swimming pool. My husband (egad, is that Freudian or what) was played by John Travolta (I kid you not) and had disappeared on us yet again (this dream came complete with this woman’s memories). He was employed as a hit man and received his orders in the mail. Well, this little girl ran out to get the mail and I heard her shrieking. When she put her hand in the mailbox, a shard of glass had practically shredded her wrist at the site where most people slice their wrist (yet again, how Freudian) and was bleeding profusely. Then she goes limp in my arms. Somewhere there was this a strange man (a neighbour perhaps responding to her shrieking outside??) was standing there and I yelled to call 911 while I tried to staunch the bleeding without removing the glass. I remember feeling that it was all my husband’s fault because of the line of work he was in. All of a sudden, the dream flash-forwards to the ER while I am in there waiting, so sure she wasn’t going to make it. My “husband” magically appears running into the ER demanding to know what I had done to his daughter

OK, so here is the BPD breakdown and my reaction to the dream: 1) I hate myself because I am a horrible mother. I let this adorable child get as obese, so therefore I am a failure; 2) my “husband” abandons us at our time of need—rejected and abandoned yet again; 3) again I’m a horrible mother because I had no idea that my child had gone running out to the mailbox situated on a street curb nearby traffic that could have killed her if she had walked out into the street; 4) based on my “husband’s” reaction upon arrival to the ER, everything is my fault—more guilt and shame.

Appt With My GP

2009-11-13T16:02:00.006-05:00

Ahh, Friday the 13th—ya gotta love it!

OK, yesterday I went to see my GP as a follow-up to all that fasting blood work. My psychiatrist actually called him at lunch before my 1615 appt to discuss his concerns about my apparent declining health. My psychiatrist told him that I flunked the Romberg test, so my GP performed some additional neurological tests on me. He confirmed that I have Ataxia, a neurological sign and symptom consisting of gross lack of coordination of muscle movements. There are many culprits, so I am choosing to ignore the more dreaded causes. There does appear to be an association with B-12 and B-1 (Thiamine) deficiencies, however.

On my lab results, my B-12 was within normal limits; however, not suspecting anything along these lines three weeks ago when my GP ordered the fasting blood work, he did not test for B-1. He decided to order more lab tests: Magnesium (serum), Phosphorous (serum), Basic Metabolic Profile (a repeat from the last one), Zinc, B-1, and Selenium. They are suspecting that the Ataxia may stem from a vitamin/mineral deficiency. The only problem is that my body does not absorb vitamins and minerals properly (I had gastric bypass surgery in 2003 which bypassed the ileum and a good portion of my jejunum, the two sections of the small intestine into which the stomach dumps). Most vitamins and minerals are absorbed in the jejunum, which may explain why I may have a serious deficiency. I can’t take vitamin pills; I’ve tried with no success with iron when I was severely anemic before resulting in an IV infusion of iron. Couple this with the fact that I am not eating anything (I lost 17 pounds since 21 October), thereby not gaining any nutrients from food; this can make for a nasty combination. It took three years for my ferritin (a protein that stores iron and releases it in a controlled fashion) levels to tumble down to 2 (normal is 20-200ng/mL for females) (and now it is down to 5), so maybe it has just taken longer for these vitamins and minerals to reach abnormally low levels. Sure beats the hell out of the idea that I may have some morphological problem in my cerebellum, a region of the brain that plays an important role in the integration of sensory perception, coordination and motor control. [gosh, I bet you didn’t think you’d be getting anatomy and physiology lessons on this blog :)].

I didn’t leave the GP’s office until 1800. He spent two hours with me. Now we wait for the results and these are specialized tests, which may take a couple of weeks on one or two, especially the Selenium (I hope that doesn’t translate into big $$$—I’ve enough medical bills as it is). These are so rarely ordered that the lab manager had to get out two huge reference books to look up what color top the test tubes had to have in order to collect the blood in the right test tube. And here she though she was wrapping it up for the evening when I was walked back to the lab! (I never seem to do anything half-assed). Meanwhile, I bought a cane this afternoon so I can walk without falling over. Yeah, that does a lot for my butch image…lol.©2009

Appt with Psychiatrist Week 4

2009-11-12T10:24:00.003-05:00

The first thing we discussed was my weird reaction I had yesterday with Outpatient Therapy Day 9 (didn’t blog about it, as there was nothing new to report). When I woke up at 0200 I felt weak, my legs felt rubbery, and I was shaking all over. It was worse when I was standing, but even after sitting for a while, those effects returned when I’d stand again. At first, I thought my blood pressure was low, but it was normal. I was hoping it would pass by the time I had to drive for my group session, but it didn’t. I chose to drive anyway, but by the time I got to the location, it was worse. I couldn’t walk in a straight line and I stumbled a few times. I went right in and sat down and that helped a lot. The therapist thought it might be a reaction to my medication as I upped the Zyprexa to 40mg to aid my insomnia before going to sleep at midnight. I had my daily call to my psychiatrist later that day, so he dropped the Zyprexa back down to 20mg. This morning I did not have those same side effects.

Later, when I saw him, He had me go through a series of neurological exercises. The only one I didn’t do well on was the Romberg test where, while standing, you hold your hands out to your side, put your feet together and close your eyes. I couldn’t keep my balance. He is still wondering about my low B-12 values and a possibility that I may be low on Thiamine. I also see my regular doc this afternoon (God, I am so sick of having all these various appointments). We’ll be discussing the results of those lab tests I had drawn last week. I’m sure I’ll be told I have to go back to injecting myself with the B-12 shots monthly (cheaper to do it myself instead of paying for an office visit for the same thing). I wonder if you can test for Thiamine. If that’s low, I may be giving myself two shots for a while. My thighs will look like pincushions!

The only other change he made was to reduce my Geodon from 240mg at bedtime to 160mg.©2009

A Measure of Hope

2009-11-10T19:01:00.005-05:00

I don’t where to start with this one, but in so many of my posts, I have demonstrated extreme rage towards my pastor. I have also invalidated another person with whom I’d grown very close to over the course of our friendship (she is the one who brought me those nifty tools to use to keep me safe at night during my midnight walks even while vilifying her).

As much as I have disparaged my pastor publically via this venue, there is something else I must do equally as public. I realized that I had to let go of all of the anger and hostility I have felt towards him. In addition, I have to come to understand how valuable my friendship is with him. I recognize that these emotions and thoughts regarding both of these individuals were irrational.

Today marks one month since I tried to commit suicide. This afternoon they came over to my house at my request. I needed to apologize to both of them for the unkind ways in which I treated them through my various posts. I realize now that their only motivation is one of compassion and concern. I didn’t see that in the midst of my turmoil. For the first time, I believed that it was possible for someone to care for me that much. I have to learn to accept that at face value—it is what it is. To know in my heart that their friendship and just as important, their acceptance of who I am while wrestling with BP and BPD, is a hard concept for me to accept. Nevertheless, I believed everything supportive and loving they said to me.

Having rejected everyone—by any means necessary—letting these two individuals back into my life brings me a measure of hope that I haven’t felt before. I discovered that I can use these tools to overcome at least one of my BPD hurdles. Today I took off my mask, even if it was for a little while©2009

Individual Therapy #2

2009-11-10T14:46:00.001-05:00

I met with my individual therapist yesterday right after group. My head is certainly having the time of its life! I didn’t think I would return after my first visit. However, this session went well. I’ve never done this before as far as dealing with a therapist one-on-one. Still not sure what to expect, but I liked the fact that I seem to get along with her fairly well. She’s upfront and direct—no bullshit. I’m not sure if I am going to chronicle these appointments as it appears that we are going to delve quite heavily into my personal life—more in detail than I want to publish. Suffice it to say that I think I can derive some benefit from this. At first I thought she was sold on DBT therapy (very similar to my group therapy sessions), but it appears not so much. I can’t take any more coping skills sessions than I am already exposed to through my group therapy. I like her (not so sure I can trust her yet; time will have to be the measuring stick on that one) and I feel I’ll be able to open up to her especially where my dysfunctional upbringing comes into play.

Oh, I did find out this morning that my medical disability has been extended through 30 November due to the paperwork my group therapist submitted. Evidently she doesn’t think I’m prepared to face going back to work tomorrow. I’m not being a deadbeat when I say this, but I don’t think I am ready yet to handle that additional stress right now.

Well, my plans for my midnight walks are quashed tonight. It has been raining like cats and dogs all day today. It’s absolutely miserably outside—chilly, dreary and wet.©2009

Outpatient Therapy, Day 8 and my Phone Check-in With My Psychiatrist

2009-11-10T14:20:00.001-05:00

This group therapy is getting old. It’s the same thing everyday—too emotional for me, at least as far as some of the others in my small group. I know this sounds callous, but from the moment I sit down, I am just counting down those two hours of “sharing” before we have our break. Yesterday was no exception. There is one woman who, they decided a week or so ago, that she needed to be hospitalized again. It wasn’t an involuntary commitment—evidently she agreed to it. Well, her first day back into the outpatient program, all she did was cry while she was sharing but refused to go into any details. She said she was afraid they would put her back inside if she told the therapist what was really evoking this emotion. I have a handle on that one—I’m certainly not going to voice that I am intentionally suicidal (they gauge how “safe” you are as to how forward thinking you are regarding your actual plans to commit suicide). I can say that I was feeling suicidal the previous evening, but I have to show a coping skill I successfully used to avert that situation. I can say without a doubt that there are nights when I am suicidal and I go through the motions of preparing everything. If I were to say that I have the intent to follow through, that would land me right back inside the Big House. I don’t follow through, not yet, but at one point when will the intent be stronger than the want not to do it?

I can feel my depression getting worse even with my doc tweaking the cocktail. So far, nothing he has done has yielded any progress as far as my depression and insomnia go. I am living one day to the next with, at best, two hours of sleep. Oh, and get this, the results of my fasting blood work has come in. My psychiatrist always gets a copy from my regular doctor. He looked at the results while we were on our phone call check-in today (I’ve been on the phone everyday between my weekly appointments even over the weekends so he can adjust the meds, if needed, on the fly and spare me the expense of an office visit). Evidently, while my haemoglobin is 11 (low side of normal), my iron stores are pretty low. My ferritin level is only 5 (normal is 15-200 ng/mL for females). Ferritin is a protein that stores iron and releases it in a controlled fashion, in single cells and multi-celled animals. It is a buffer against iron deficiency and iron overload. The last time, approximately 6 years ago, my ferritin level was only 2. I tried taking vitamins high in iron, then iron pills to no avail. My body wasn’t absorbing the iron. I ended up having to take Infed (used to treat iron deficient anemia) administered IV. I had to have three separate infusions over a few weeks. That cost me one hell of a bundle. I can’t afford that now in view of all of my other medical bills recently incurred. In addition, ketones and protein are spilling into my urine. Ketones are produced in the body when fats, rather than glucose are used to produce energy, but my glucose is 94. Protein in the urine is a warning sign. It may indicate kidney damage or disease or it may be a transient elevation due to an infection, medication, vigorous exercise, or emotional or physical stress. Well, yeah, I am under a considerable amount of emotional stress. I don’t know the other results yet, but I see my regular doctor on the 12th. I am sick of doctors; I am sick of medical tests. I just want to be left alone.©2009

For Melanie—

2009-11-10T08:43:00.004-05:00

Melanie, in your comment on my post below, you’ve touch upon a subject that concerns why I am beginning to have problems about the Bible…its translation. Full Gospel preachers will preach that it is the inherent word of God—that these words were divinely inspired. Yet, to whom were they inspired? Men of a far different cultural time than now. You cited a good example of sexism—women were treated as chattel (“an item of personal property that is not freehold land and is not intangible. Chattels are typically movable property). Women were not viewed as persons in their own right. This model had not changed until the 1920s with the 19th Amendment allowing women the right to vote. Up until then, men did not believe women had the wherewithal to have an opinion, much less speak in public. That is only the situation in the United States. Look at how many cultures (e.g., the Middle East) still actually treat their women as property. Anyway, I digress…

I also agree with your statements about Paul being sexist. Paul espoused the notion that men should stay single and devote their lives to God; however, if they could not remain single (subtle inference on my part here—if men could not do without sex), then be married, but it is much better to remain single (1 Cor 7:1). My interpretation: women were only good for one thing, satisfying men’s sexual urges (one caveat here, Paul also said the same for widows as well, though). Here’s my conundrum. I am a lesbian, therefore an abomination; however, if I choose to remain single (celibate), then it is better (so am I still an abomination?). So that forces me into a life where I will never have any relationships—a pretty sad state of affairs, don’t you think? Our current government has deemed that same-sex marriages are forbidden (under DOMA). If I could be legally married, then I would not be a fornicator, yet the noose around me is that I am still queer, so therefore still an abomination.

If the Bible is the divinely inspired word of God, then who is to say that by the time the words were captured on papyrus, the men so divinely inspired did not interpret it as they saw fit according to the times in which those words were inspired. I have already mentioned in my post below how we have since dispensed with certain passages as biblical rule, but to this day, no one will even suggest that homosexuality be dispensed with at the same time because through the ages, religious zealots have seen fit to propagate the belief that homosexuals are perverts (it’s become a strong-held belief, I believe, because people saw this as “different” from their own experiences, therefore immoral). Slavery was supported in the Bible. It is no longer allowed. Interracial marriages were not approved, but only recently have the courts deemed this as racist. No one wants to touch on the hot ticket of the day which has become the litmus test for all politicians, much like abortion was in previous political battles.

Your desire to read the true translations as you study other languages may prove interesting, especially as they may show wide differences across today’s various translations. In some churches, only the old King James version is considered THE Bible. I personally have found that the NIV is more homophobic across the board than others. Good luck with your studies and thank you for taking the time to share with me your thoughts.©2009

So Tell Me Again—Why Is It So Wrong To Be Queer?

2009-11-08T17:55:00.008-05:00

(…continued from below -- damn if I can't get the text to align with the pics!)

Then there is my big issue of being able to reconcile being queer and Christian. I want so much to sing my heart out to the Lord during praise and worship and feed on God’s word. Nevertheless, the Bible tells me that I am an abomination before Him. Even when I drew closer to God and made the decision to be celibate, I still considered myself to be a lesbian. It’s not that I have any intentions or desires “convert” and become straight. I am just not wired that way. However, isn’t that just obeying the letter of the law and not the spirit?

Sure, there is a Metropolitan Community Church (catering primarily to the gay community) here in town, but that never fed me spiritually. Besides, my ex-partner attends there (also a small church—no way to avoid her). I’ve even attended a couple of major denomination churches that are gay affirming, but they didn’t feed my spiritual hunger either. My church feeds my heart and spirit. It’s the one to which I want to return.

I argue with God. Why is being queer a sin? I just don’t get it. Aside from the famed verse in Leviticus (Lev 20:13), the very same book also preaches the dietary laws and preaches against wearing clothes of mixed fabric. Why are the latter two no longer sins, but homosexuality still is? I really believed that the Bible is God’s word. You either accept it all or reject it all. If you believe in the Bible, you just can’t choose to accept only those passages you happen to believe in. But, that is exactly what is done. We no longer follow the dietary laws or the mixing of fabrics as being sinful, yet being queer still is. Why? Why? Why?

If it is such a huge sin, then why didn’t it make it in the top ten right alongside adulterers, thieves, liars, and murderers? Jesus never once mentioned it during His ministry, but did warn against adulterers, thieves, liars, and murderers. Why is being queer a sin?

Remaining celibate hasn’t really been an issue for me since I walked away from the only social network I ever had. My only social network after that became this one little church. No, I’ve never been judged openly; yet at the same time, I’ve never been able to have a conversation with anyone about my struggle with this issue except my pastor and one other person. I’m still an activist dyke fighting for LGBTQ equality in my own way (e.g., my entire Facebook page focuses on that). All of my “friends” rally around equal justice while there are those lobbying our government using their powerful muscle to promote their views that all gays are sinners and perverts out to destroy American family values. Hello…I’m an American.

I find it quite ironic that the recent hate crime law to include gays only made it because it was attached to a defense bill that the White House and Congress wanted so desperately to pass. Yet, another irony—it’s part of an amendment whose very nature supports Don’t Ask, Don’t tell. If the military only knew how many closeted lesbians and gay men are fighting for our country right now. Yes, there is another bill in Congress deliberating repealing DADT, but that is small potatoes compared to some very basic issues of inequality we face every single day. Because same-sex marriage is not sanctioned at the federal level (thanks to the Defense of Marriage Act), we don’t enjoy the same equal economic opportunities (e.g., insurance coverage for our partners, although some major companies do have diversity policies allowing for this, death benefits, etc.). Let’s not forget that we have no protection where housing and employment are concerned.

Back to the recent hate crimes law, what that made it more palliative had to do with the following provision: religious leaders are still given the permission to continue spewing their religious rhetoric with no consequences.

There is another bill up before this Congress, the Employment Non-Discrimination Act, but yet again, there is a provision that religious organizations are provided a special exception to this protection, similar to the principles of the Civil Rights Act. The right-wing Christian fundamentalists have their fingers in every pie. Imagine one of these fundies wearing a cotton-wool blend suit. If they are going to throw the Bible down our throats as the measuring stick for their causes, they can’t have it both ways.©2009

I Miss My Church

2009-11-08T16:19:00.001-05:00

Gosh, today is absolutely beautiful outside. It’s 64˚. The sun is shining brightly with a piercing blue sky. I’m out here on my front porch just listening to the acorns pelt my roof and driveway (yeah, I know I should be out there sweeping them—they’re as dangerous as ball bearings as you try to walk among them. Here it is two weeks into November and only now the leaves are starting to turn.). There must be some truth about the sun’s effects on depression. I always feel more peaceful sitting out here, even with the noise of the steady traffic. If only I got suicidal during the daytime. The first couple of times I felt suicidal after I came home from the psych ward, I tried to retreat from inside my house to the porch, but the darkness was still around me. It’s a shame that my porch is only a safe haven for me during the day.

I’ve been out here most of the morning and afternoon. This morning I watched my church parking lot fill with cars. This whole issue about going back to church really has me confused. I want so badly to attend, but I still cannot deal with all of the people and the eventual greetings and questions. How I wish I could sneak in where no one would see me.

Even before my world came tumbling down around me one month ago, I had already begun to isolate. I’d still attend church, but I started planning my entrance just around the time praise & worship had begun. Most didn’t see me as the doors are on the side. They sat in front of the doors, so I wasn’t immediately noticed when I’d take my usual seat. Then I began the habit of leaving the building immediately after the service was over to avoid everyone. The last time I even sat further in the back to make the getaway a little faster.

There is a row of chairs right by the door I always use, but there are a couple of folks that sit there. I cannot sit next to anyone. If I sit back too far, it just takes that much longer to get away. No, I’m not ready to go back my church. So, here I sit on my porch watching my church to which I so much want to return.©2009 (continued above...)

Another Lonely Evening Comes to Pass

2009-11-07T21:18:00.006-05:00

I’m sure where to start with this entry. The house is quiet; I don’t even want to listen to music (pause) no, I changed my mind. Just opened my iTunes and am now listening to Frank Sinatra’s September of My Years. Hmmm, maybe the theme is a little too appropriate.

How do you explain to someone that you don’t want to get better? Yes, I’m about as mental as one can be. But, it is my comfort zone; it is what I know best. I know how to operate under this cover of darkness. Oh, sure, you must be thinking, why would someone choose to struggle with being suicidal so many nights a week? I do not know what normal is. I do not remember what being happy feels like. Was I ever happy—ever? Even when I was somewhat balanced while on my meds before I quit taking them, all I remember at best was being numb. At least when I am manic, I feel energetic; I feel as if I can do anything. Now, all I experience is the crushing defeat of morbid depression. Even after three weeks, the meds haven’t kicked in at all. My doctor keeps upping a dosage of one and waits a while, then he’ll add to the cocktail (he is rather conservative about how many types of changes he makes at one time). Either way, I don’t feel any different.

I am supposed to try to add yet another med tonight as a temporary measure to break my cycle of persistent insomnia. He wants me to take 10mg of Zyprexa an hour before I take the rest of my bedtime meds, and if I am not asleep in an hour, to take another 10mg. Then I have to do another phone call check-in with him again tomorrow (the addition of Zyprexa was the topic of our phone check-in today). He already knows how I feel about Zyprexa; it became a deal-breaker for me when I discovered what a weight gainer this drug was. Not trying to be recalcitrant, I argued with him since he already knew how I felt about this drug, but he said he only wanted me to try it for one week to see if it would break my insomnia and give sleep a chance. I agreed to take it temporarily. We’ll see what happens tonight. (Now Frank is singing “It Was a Very Good Year.” I wish I could say the same).

(later) I decided that I had to leave the house. The walls were closing in on me. I already know where that will take me. The weather is perfect outside. I decided to grab my atlas and don my new toys and go for a walk. I decided to go up to the corner Starbucks (yeah, I remembered to opt for decaffeinated). That meant I had to deal with people. I had no idea how many there would be. However, the evening was too nice not to go out. I was too exhausted to go for a power walk; there is no apparent rage seething within me at the moment—a welcome change. Just a short walk up to the corner to get some fresh air was perfect.

Starbucks just had two customers that were engrossed with each other, tucked away in the corner. I doubt they even noticed me. I got to the counter and looked up to the menu. There were so many choices. The cashier was waiting for me to place my order. I couldn’t make up my mind. I froze as she just stared at me and asked, “What I get for you?” a second time. Finally, I made my choice and just wanted to get out of there as fast as I could. Once I hit the door and the cool night breezes swept my face, I felt I could finally breathe. It was good to know I still had my bearings. I promptly left the parking lot and headed home.©2009

Just what IS Borderline Personality Disorder

2009-11-07T13:29:00.001-05:00

The following video, while not totally inclusive, has a good handle on the whats and whys of the disorder. It's well worth the few minutes of listening time.

Personality Disorder:
Borderline Personality Disorder

Outpatient Therapy, Day 7, the Gift Bag at My Door, & My Attempt at “Radical Acceptance”

2009-11-07T13:06:00.000-05:00

I do not have much to say about today’s session. The therapist is concerned that I am not eating except a small snack to take with my Geodon. She is also concerned about my insomnia. I did not have much to share. Not much had changed from Wednesday, but I was able to report that I was not having any suicidal ideation Thursday night. Very depressed, yes, but I was able to leave it at that. She pointedly asked me if I could remain safe through the weekend and I could only tell her that I have demonstrated successfully one tool, and that was all I could promise her. I also told her that my psychiatrist has requested me to call him for a check-in call on Saturday and Sunday. She seemed rather pleased with that.

In actuality, my blogging has actually helped me with the ideation Thursday night. I spent a good deal of time writing, reading others’ blogs, and keeping up with my LGBTQ-oriented Facebook account (OK, a translation for you straight folks: Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, Transgendered, Queer/Questioning), along with my Twitter feeds.

Something weird happened at break. One of the folks in my small group came up to me and wanted to know why I ignored her after trying to say hi two times. I had to honestly tell her that I really had not noticed her (remember me; I am all about blinders around other people). She started crying and I did not what the hell to do as she did this in front of everyone. Then everyone stared at me. Well, I am sorry that I must have hurt her feelings (I can recognize that from classic BPD symptoms), but I am not responsible for her feelings, only my own. I felt, with everyone staring at me, that I at least had to apologize. I really didn’t want to have to interact with her at all, but what was I to do? It is not as if I go around intentionally trying to hurt someone, or be rude or uncaring. I just simply want to be left alone. Soon enough, break was over so I went inside where both groups join and found my seat on the far wall. I also asked the therapist if I could crack open the emergency door right beside me in case I had to leave the room (I do not want to make a spectacle of getting up and walking by everyone to leave through the normal door). She said that was fine (no alarm attached to the door)

I came home and found this gift bag by my front door inside my porch. Curiously, I picked it up and brought it inside. The attached note said, “For your walks around the neighbourhood…a few things I thought would come in handy.” It was signed from the only church member (outside of my pastor and his wife) that I had been relatively honest with about some things. Evidently she has been reading my blog and noticed my entries concerning with my dissociative states while walking or driving. Inside the bag was some pretty neat stuff. It contained an atlas with very detailed set of maps of my city along with a street index finder. I found my house (conveniently already marked with an icon as there is a large city fire department up at the corner. Nevertheless, I am going to put an X right where my house is anyway because with a past dissociation, the fire department’s presence did not mean anything to me. I’ve even post-noted my relevant pages). It also marks subdivisions and schools—things I pass by on a regular basis. In addition, there was a device with a red blinking LED visible to one km with a range of 180˚. It came with a strap and three batteries. I can attach this to myself to make me visible when I take my late-night walks. There was also an LED pen light with a magnifier lens that only weighs 38g and has a metal clip attachment. The last thing in the bag thrilled me to no end—a new tool. This seven-in-one tool is only 12cm long. Get this—it contains an LED light, compass, thermometer, clock, safety whistle, safety mirror and a 2X magnifier. It comes with a lanyard I can wear around my neck. Now I can be all decked out in LED!

OK, time for an honest reality check here—my perception vs. my reality. This person does want to be close to me—not because of the gifts, but because of the intentions behind them. I wrote her a long email thanking her (I did not feel prepared enough to actually talk with her at that point). In the same email, I told her everything. I even attached two documents on bipolar and borderline personality disorders to help her understand the effects these have on me. She responded with such a kind email; it gave me some contact with another person who now knew me the way I wanted her to know me—no pretence about anything. She let me know that she clearly knew what my boundaries were and that she was not going to be in my face, but essentially would let me make any contact. Fearing that I would lapse into my normative state of isolation, I told her that it was OK to call me, but if I felt I was not capable to talk, she could leave me a vm. I was OK with that, so after reading the email, I actually felt better prepared to call her. I am trying so very hard to reach out, but I can only take baby steps. I fear rejection; I fear abandonment.

Now, onto my next hurdle—trying to use “radical acceptance.” The principles are 1) solve the problem, or, 2) change how you feel about the problem, or 3) stay miserable, or 4) accept the problem. It takes away the “judgements” and removes the “shoulds.”

The hurdle—all of the anger and resentment I have felt toward my pastor for placing the 911 call and coming by the house to show the police my text message. My perception? That he was disappointed with me, angry because I did not call first and ask for prayer before I got in that state, and that he would think less of me. Therefore, I took a very deep breath and wrote down everything I wanted to say before I called him so I could focus and concentrate on what I really wanted to say.

I called his house and thankfully, he answered. I am not really sure what I would have said if his wife had picked up instead…I wasn’t prepared for that scenario. I told him who I was not knowing if he would recognize my voice. Then I told him I had something to say and would he listen to me without interrupting me until I was done. I asked him if he would meet me because there were some things that I needed to say to him alone, that we could meet in a public venue of his choosing as long as I would not be seen as making a spectacle of myself if I got emotional, and it had to be a place where I could smoke (damn these city ordinances banning smoking to even include many outside venues). We settled on standing in the church parking lot (right across the street from me) for this Tuesday at 1630. When I finished what I said, he asked if he could say a few things. I hesitated momentarily—this wasn’t a planned two-way conversation. I wanted to say what I had to say, set the time and place and get off the phone, but I ended up saying OK. He helped fill in some more of the blanks. Evidently there were already three or four police cruisers and the EMS there across the street in the church parking lot before he arrived (I had been told earlier by one of the first responder cops that they parked there with no lights flashing on purpose so as not to alert me in case it was a situation of “suicide by cop”). The cops asked him who he was and he explained that he had placed the 911 call as a result of my text message. They asked to see the text message, but they would not let him cross the street to my house at any point. He told me that the only reason why he came over was that he was very concerned and worried about me. He said he had tried to call me after receiving the text message and I did not answer. Again, the problem with my perception vs. reality.

Am I ready for this conversation? I do not know. I have to find a way to let this anger and resentment go. While it is by no means my only trigger, I have obsessed over this a lot—primarily because I have always respected him. He is a WYSIWYG (what you see is what you get for you non-computer geeks) kind of guy—shoots straight from the hip with no guile. From the very beginning, he has accepted the fact that I am a lesbian and never has judged me. I owe him the same respect.

Well, I still have two days to process this. I am also going to discuss during my group therapy session on Monday. I also have my second appointment with my individual therapist on Monday afternoon as well. My question is am I sufficiently prepared to handle this type of conversation at this point so soon after everything has happened? I need to protect myself and not set myself up for failure. I am trying so hard to reach a point in my life where everything is in balance, but I have to put my needs first—a concept that never existed in my “I don’t give a damn” mode.©2009

Appt with Psychiatrist Week 3

2009-11-07T10:20:00.001-05:00

My calendar said that we had our second appointment on the 29th, but I don’t remember that one. I can tell my meds have changed because I found his instruction sheet. He always writes everything out because he knows I may not remember. This visit was on 05 November.

My meds have changed again. Now my Geodon has changed from 240mg at bedtime to also include taking an 80mg dose in the morning along with a new drug called Provigil @ 200mg in the morning to help sharpen my focus and concentration. Its primary use is for the treatment of narcolepsy, shift work sleep disorder and excessive daytime sleepiness associated with obstructive sleep apnea. Other potentially effective, but similarly unapproved targets include the treatment of depression, schizophrenia, and disease-related fatigue. I guess my disease-related fatigue is the insomnia due to the depression

His primary concern is that I can keep myself safe. He has always been the only one with whom I’ve been able to be completely honest. I have been seeing him since June, 2000 when I was first diagnosed with BP (BPD didn’t become diagnosed until 2005 after my previous attempt at suicide). Aside from wanting to keep me safe, he is very concerned over my lack of sleep. He told me that I couldn’t expect to see measurable progress until I can overcome the insomnia. He’s also concerned about my weight loss. I’ve lost eight pounds since 28 October because I’m not eating. The only thing I eat is a small snack when I take my two doses of Geodon because it has to be absorbed with food.

Today he increased my Lamictal to 200mg QD. My short-term goals are 1) work on severe depression with medication changes as needed, 2) directly deal with my persistent suicide ideation as depression lessens and while my coping skills are still effective, 3) work on my rage issues as my depression lessens, and 4) work on my isolation as the depression lessens. He knows I am in the OP Therapy program Mon-Wed-Fri, so I am to call his office on Tuesdays and Thursdays and request a call back so he can check in with me. He also wants me to call his service on Saturdays and Sundays for the same purpose. He wants to keep me safe, and feels with this constant monitoring, if needed, he can make a med change on the fly. I couldn’t ask for a better psychiatrist. He gets me. And he said that once my bipolar balances out, he wants to work on my borderline personality disorder. He is more than just a psychiatrist. The time he spends with me and what we talk about is better than any individual therapist I’ve ever seen. I’m very grateful that the circumstances back in 2000 brought us together.©2009

Outpatient Therapy, Day 6

2009-11-05T19:19:00.004-05:00

I couldn’t resist this video. It actually had ME chuckling a bit! It’s well worth listening to for you group therapy gurus out there!.

Yesterday I was a little more active about filling information on the daily check-in sheet we use for “sharing” (gag). I was able to verbalize and demonstrate (what they are looking for according to my treatment plan) three skills I have been using to further my treatment.

You know how I mentioned that I can be out driving my car and all of a sudden I don’t where I am, how I got there or how to get home? (which only causes an anxiety attack to no end). Well, what I’ve come up is this plan: I Google the map from house to location (and also do a return map) and I keep that in my car. I study the map so I know what exits to pay attention to if I’m on the interstate. I have been using “mindfulness” (skill #1) by concentrating hard on where I am at all times, mentally checking off the exits. In addition, I will call the location ahead of time (even if it’s been a place where I have gone before) and ask for prominent landmarks that I can start looking for as I approach the location. I mark these landmarks on my map.

When it comes to more locally centered destinations, I can zoom in on Google and it will note landmarks (restaurants, gas stations, churches, etc). It’s still up to me to study them ahead of time so I don’t have to be looking at them while I’m driving. I’ve have even had to resort to do this when I plan to take a long walk around my neighborhood. The other night, when I just wanted to get fresh air, I Googled the diameter of the area usually a minimum of a two-mile stretch (residential, no populated landmarks) and made notes on the map with regard to street addresses to go with the street names and would place arrows to make sure I would know how to get home. In addition, I take my walks when it is very late at night—no traffic, no noise. You might wonder if I’m taking a risk doing this so late. All I can say, pity the fool who wants to fuck with me whether he has a gun or knife. Besides, you’ve heard the phrase, “suicide by cop,” well, couldn’t this be just as easily “suicide by rapist?”

The other immediate issue I have been working on is facing being around a large group of people. When our whole group therapy rejoins us for the second session (we always split into two smaller groups for the “sharing” session), I can’t handle the room that is now filled of people. All of the chairs are taken. I can’t sit next to someone, or even be in close proximity. My coping skill has been to “retreat” (skill #2) where I find a chair alongside the wall, as far as away from the table that is possible. Again, I use “mindfulness” when I start freaking out and the walls feeling like they are closing in around me. I simply close my eyes so I don’t have to see anyone and just zone on what the therapist says. Sometimes I have to use my “deep breathing” (skill 3) when I actually have to open my eyes and look at the white board, or have to participate in the discussion (my extent of participation is usually having to ask her to repeat what she just said because I don’t understand something, or my poor concentration is acting up).

So, I am using three skills so far that seem to be working to an extent. I’ve developed quite a lot of neighborhood maps, by the way. I’m not one to retrace my steps every night. Since I am still alive writing this, the severe suicide ideation I experience on an all too familiar basis, what I have been doing for that one is to get out of my house, because it seems that being all alone in my house has become a trigger, so I “retreat” and take a long, hard walk. The exertion helps dissipate the wrathful rage I am experiencing at the moment, so by the time come home I am usually spent and exhausted. I simply take my bedtime meds knowing that they will knock me out for about two hours tops. When I wake up, the suicide ideation is usually at bay, even when I go into the other room and put all my “instruments” back in their lockbox for no one to find. I’ve carefully labeled it quite prominently Bank Statements, so no one would even bother looking there if the cops ever had the probable cause to search my house.

I am missing a time block from the time I left group therapy this past Friday from about 1215 until I woke up @ 0135 (you know, when I eventually go back to work, there is no point in having to set an alarm!). However, what concerns me most about the dissociative states is wondering what I do when I am in that headspace. I have to ask the obvious question: what happens if I become suicidal during a dissociative state? Will I have the frame of mind to attempt to use my coping skills? I only have this as a vital concern because the last time I committed suicide I cannot remember almost nine hours (which of course could actually have been precipitated by the incredible amount of ETOH I consumed along with the benzos).©2009

So What Now?

2009-11-04T19:00:00.003-05:00

What do you do at the end of the day when there is nothing left?

I look around and all I see are these walls.

Where has my life gone?

Outpatient Therapy, Day 5

2009-11-02T17:39:00.000-05:00

This morning was rather interesting. Did the usual sharing, but when I commented that I couldn’t remember anything from the time I left group last Friday (but that I remembered Saturday and Sunday) she asked me if I remembered calling her Friday afternoon. I drew a complete blank. She said I wanted to meet with her afterwards today to discuss my treatment plan. It was news to me (as she scribbled).
Well, we did discuss my treatment plan. I asked why, under master problem list, it listed merely “depression” and no indication of persistent suicide ideation. She explained that I had not been honest from the beginning about that on my daily check-in sheets, and only just started mentioning it. I tried to explain to her that the ideation isn’t just something I think about here and there, but that I struggle with this almost every evening. The only thing that has kept me alive has actually been using one of the coping skills. I am discovering that my house…my fucking house (or rather, being in it all alone), has become a trigger. I have to leave the house and I end up going for a walk—a long walk. My reasoning? It’s late at night, and walking releases so much of my energy. When I finally get home, I’m worn out—physically and emotionally—utterly spent.

She looked at me and told me that she thought I needed go back inside the Big House—that this outpatient treatment program, in her opinion, wasn’t going to be sufficient to keep me safe. I pleaded with her not to make that recommendation (i.e., have me committed again), that I had shown that I was successful in using my skills. I practically begged her to let me go as long as I made the commitment to her that I would use my skills when I was in that head space. I tried to stay calm, although my heart was banging so hard. However, she relented but there was this look in her eyes that scared the shit out of me. All I kept thinking to myself was to just deep breathe and stay calm. I didn’t want to trigger any action on her part.

When I got home later, I looked at my entries on the blog and, sure enough, there was my entry about Friday that I posted on Sunday morning. Evidently, I did remember at that moment actually coming home, but it doesn’t say anything else about the rest of the day. And today, the last thing I could remember was someone making a comment about the fact that I actually smiled for the first time just before we left group. My mind is so fucked up. I swear there are times when I don’t know what is real and what isn’t.©2009

Outpatient Therapy, Day 4: Treatment Plan and My Diatribe about Pot

2009-11-01T08:25:00.008-05:00

Friday was an uneventful day again. I’m glad this program is only Mon-Wed-Fri from 0900-1200. Once the group split, I realized that there were a few less of us in my half. A couple of people, evidently, had finished the program. I wondered when I was scheduled to be finished. As usual, we went around the room “sharing” what was on our daily check off sheet. While I understand that this is the opportunity for the therapist to get a good view of the progress each of us is making from day-to-day, I have a hard time enduring what some of these mentals say. Some of them can just go on and on about nothing, or repeat themselves endlessly as if to really underscore the problem they are having with their “issues.” Yelling “I heard you the first time,” would accomplish nothing. Meanwhile, when it came around to me, I sorta just tonelessly droned through my list (nothing had changed from last Wednesday, except that I was still alive). I did underscore that I am having repeated states of dissociation and time loss. I swear, there are blocks of time where I can’t remember shit. Not that I go into another room and forget why I got up in the first place; I’ll forget an entire day and have no idea what happened (no, I am not drinking any alcohol and my meds have never affected me this way before). Or, I’ll be driving down the road and all of a sudden I have no idea where I am, how I got to that point, nor where I am going. Kinda spooky. Of course, she did some heavy scribbling here. Then I reported back to them how well I controlled myself when the cop came back to my house on Wednesday to answer my questions. Then, break time (I always arrange it so I am the last to report in).

The group as a whole has pretty much figured out to leave me alone while I smoke my cigarettes during the break. If there are too many of them around the covered picnic tables, if it’s not raining, I’ll just walk around the parking lot instead. When we came back in, I found out that the whole group would be together again for the second half, so I just grabbed my stuff off of the table and found my seat along the wall in the corner. A few people in the other half of the group looked at me, and I just stared back with this “What’s your problem?” look while I shrugged my shoulders and held up my hands. That usually works. In fact, I had to smile—one of the women in my half of the group saw me do that and looked at me and gave me a thumbs up sign. At least she gets it.

Then, the door opened and one of the other therapists called me out to her office. She wanted to go over my “Interdisciplinary Treatment Plan.” In other words, what they perceived to be my problem areas and their stated goals for me. Basically, this is how it breaks down:

ADMITTING DIAGNOSIS (DSM-IV):

AXIS I: 296.62 Bipolar Disorder, Mixed

AXIS II: Borderline Personality Disorder

AXIS III: HTN, Asthma, Arthritis, Headaches

AXIS IV: Financial, Social, Occupational

AXIS V (GAF): 50 (explained below)

MASTER PROBLEM LIST:

1. Depression
2. Intense anxiety
3. Work-related stress
4. Low self esteem
5. Impaired thoughts
6. Lack of social support
7. Grief (deferred to individual therapist)
8. Shame/Guilt (deferred to individual therapist)
9. Hypertension, knee pain, headaches (deferred to PCP)

GLOBAL ASSESSMENT OF FUNCTIONING SCALE (GAF): “41-50=Serious symptoms (e.g., suicide ideation, severe obsessional rituals, frequent shoplifting) OR any serious impairment in social, occupational, or school functioning (e.g., no friends, unable to keep a job).” [Alix’s note: this description comes from a manual; it by no way implies that I shoplift…LOL]

LONG RANGE GOALS FOR TRATMENT (Discharge Criteria): Alix will exhibit skills adequate to maintain the gains made in therapy and establish adequate resources to function at a lower level of care.

PRESCRIBERD TREATMENT MODALITIES/SHORT-TERM GOALS:
Problem 1: Alix will verbalize and demonstrate 3 skills used to manage depressive symptoms, such as mood swings, feelings of hopelessness, isolation, low motivation, poor sleep, & the impaired ability to function. (Target date 11/27/09)
Problem 2: Alix will verbalize and demonstrate 3 self-nurturing skills used to reduce and help manage feelings of anxiety. (Target date 11/27/09)
Problem 3: Alix will verbalize and demonstrate 3 skills used to manage current work-related and financial stressors. (Target date 11/27/09)
Problem 4: Alix will verbalize and demonstrate 3 confidence-building skills used to experience an improved sense of self esteem. (Target date 11/27/09)
Problem 5: Alix will verbalize and demonstrate 3 skills used to improve memory and concentration, and decrease racing, irrational, and confused thoughts. (Target date 11/27/09)
Problem 6: Alix will verbalize and demonstrate 3 skills used to strengthen or build a support system in order to experience less isolation. (Target date 11/27/09)

Well, folks, there you have it: all my problems summed up in a neat tidy package! I’m supposed to figure out a shitload of “skills.” Hell, I don’t even know what most of them are. I sure hope that teaching them is going to be part of this program (since I’ve only been to a few, I really don’t know what to expect). I wonder if the target date means that is how long I am to remain in the program. I did find out that my current FMLA medical disability goes through 10 November. If the target date does indicate how long they perceive my need to continue in the program, does this mean they are going to re-file w/the disability group @ work and extend my FMLA? I know that, according to federal FMLA rules, I cannot lose my job. They don’t have to give me my exact job back, but they do have to provide minimally a similar job with the exact same pay scale. If my manager deems that the team can no longer proceed with my absence and brings in someone new to replace me, maybe my replacement position will be much less stressful and require less than 12-14 hour work days.

I’m not sure how I feel about returning to my current position. I love the interaction with my clients and being able to provide my services, but the overall demand of having approximately 150 high-end clients (major revenue-producing companies), coupled with the many ongoing projects in which I manage the majority of the work product (and so many of them all having approximately the same deadline dates) have become too much for me to handle. The mere hours I work have finally exhausted me. I have tried to manage my time as effectively as possible, but all it takes is one little phone call from a huge company to throw me all off track (not to mention the number of voicemails I have to address throughout the day). Meanwhile all those inbound emails continue to flood my account with more demands of my time and “invites” to numerous customer meetings. At the end of the day, when I physically can do no more, I look at what I didn’t finish and how many unread emails I still have that day only to realize that it will snowball into the next accompanied by a new day’s worth of meetings and unread emails. I have had too many people tell me that I can only do so much and to let the rest go; however, I am bound by Service Level Agreements as part of the contract signed with my clients. I am required to respond to their emails/voicemails within 24 hours (in some cases, within only one hour depending upon the problem). I also have to take into account that I work for a global company. While I sleep, Europe and Asia continue to send emails and voicemails. I am slowly realizing that, as much as I want to, I can’t be all things to all people. Moreover, this doesn’t even take into account the many hours of continuing in-house corporate training I must complete (e.g., Six Sigma). Vacation time? Sure, I have 17 days left. I’ve been too busy to take any of those up to now—too many projects always underway. (I actually took 09 amd 10 October as vacation days; however,the evening of the 10th is when the nightmare began). It’s already the first of November. If I don’t use them, I will lose them (no carry over). Can you imagine how many emails are waiting for me right this very minute? How the hell am I going to be able to take off any vacation time between now and the end of the year? I just can’t do it any more, but with the way the job market is, I simply have no choice to not do it. With what I do, trying to find a comparable job elsewhere is a pipe dream—everyone is downsizing, even my own company.

When I got home from group around 1230, there was nothing to do. Yeah, my house could use some straightening up, a good dusting and vacuum job (at least the kitchen always sparkles). I can’t tell you the last time I actually made my bed. I just sit on my couch and listen to my music. Oh how I miss the old days when I could fire up a number, sit back and catch a buzz. When corporate HR policies everywhere instituted the mandatory compliance of random drug testing, all that went out the door. I never envisioned not being able to light up a joint again. I have a big problem with this whole scenario. Go after the tweakers and the hard ball coke and smack users, just leave us well-intentioned potheads the fuck alone. I never got high before or during work; it was simply my “martini” at the end of a long, hard day. Tell me who doesn’t have a beer when they get home from work (or goes out with the gang)? In addition, the drug test policy doesn’t even address the alcohol issue. I can’t tell you how many times, when I used to work in a corporate setting, I would be standing next to someone who smelled like a brewery first thing in the morning, or those that came back from lunch looking just a little too much bloodshot for my tastes. Why not address that pervasive problem. Their judgment is equally impaired. It’s just not fair.

Well, tomorrow is Monday, yet another group session. I have some questions about my treatment plan. At least I know I have something to do from 0900-1200.©2009

For Sharon—

2009-10-30T18:16:00.000-04:00

Sharon, from the comment you made to my post below, I know you must feel that you mean well by passing along “the perfect scripture” and to remind me that the people at the church are my friends. However, while on the surface everyone is nice—and I acknowledge that they have been there when I have needed them during trying times by praying for me—as soon as I walk out the door, that’s it. Yes, A and I actually had lunch the Thursday before my debacle; she brought me my cell phone before I was transferred to the psych ward, and has texted me a couple of times since (which I have patently refused to respond). D did call once after I missed the second service wondering if I was OK or sick, or something; and no, I did not return her call either.

It’s not that I believe they don’t care. I believe there is an intrinsic obligation from Godly Christians to feel they “ought” to care because it is their duty. There is no friendship base there. There is no level playing field. I have nothing in common with anyone. I am the only single, queer, mental case of the lot. How could anyone possible begin to relate to me—to be able to truly “get it?” A friend is someone who is there no matter what whenever you need them. And I can’t operate with just one friend because, realistically speaking, one person may not be able to be “there” due to his or her own personal obligations at that time. Everyone at the church is married and has (or will be having) children. They are all wrapped up in their own lives and obligations. I am a mere blip on the radar screen. With the exception of A and D, there has never been any interaction outside of church (and those were limited at best and the one time A and I actually made plans, I had to initiate the action—something that I am extremely uncomfortable doing). OK, yes, A was truly there when I needed her as she did bring me my cell phone. But as with all of the couples, my only down time is after 1900 on weekdays and weekends—the time they all spend with their spouses/family. I feel as though I am an intruder taking away from their time together. And I don’t want to be the fifth wheel, either—easily the situation since I am the only single person there.

There are just too many people at the church right now. When I walk through those doors, I feel paralyzed for fear that someone will speak to me. I have felt, crossing that threshold of just wanting to stand there and quietly walk out the door, hoping that no one notices me. I can’t be myself, so I put on my façade and pretend that all is well. What should I say? That I am full of uncontrollable rage; don’t forget that I am queer and missing being a part of that community I so desperately want to belong; oh yeah, and by the way, I tried to commit suicide—and most likely will again (it’s all I think about. But have no fear, I will not make the same mistake I did last time)? I don’t want to have scripture quoted to me; I don’t want to be prayed for. I just want to be left alone. You see, that is the conundrum that bipolar and borderline personality persons face. I ache so much for contact, yet at the same time, I am repulsed by it. I can’t walk into a room full of people without feeling so full of fear and anxiety. I don’t expect you, or any of the others to understand that.

So, that brings everything back full circle. No one at the church can possibly understand what I am going through, much less know who the real “me” is. All interactions have been and would continue to be quite superficial at best. I am tired of the façade I must present every single Sunday. Sure, I let my hair down when I was facing that strike, being laid off, and that Six Sigma training I was terrified of taking—but those issues in and of themselves are also superficial. I won’t share anything about who Alix really is for fear that I will become someone to avoid so that they don’t have to deal with my “issues.” Then when that happens, everything has boiled to the surface and, once again, I will see their subtle detachment slowly begin to occur as I have seen with other people to whom I have attempted to reach out over the years of my life. Very simply put, I am tired of the rollercoaster ride—my life such as it is. I’m done with it all.

Surprised as I am, I appreciate the time you took to make the comment. I am not trying to trivialize your effort, but the simplistic approach of dashing off a scripture and telling me of course that I still have a group of friends only validates my perceptions, hence this post.©2009

Despair of Loneliness

2009-10-29T22:04:00.004-04:00

Today is another off day for me. I actually set a goal last night. Laundry. Well, I’ve done that, along with moving all my summer clothes to my armoire. Winter, what a dreary thought. I hate the fact that we go back to standard time zone on 01 November. Crap, that’s this Sunday. Sunshine is important to me. There are periods of time when I will spend huge gaps of time on my front porch. Before I started working for my current company, I also worked from home. I can’t tell you the advantages of being able to work from home. Think about it: dress code (I am always in a tee w/sweatpants and barefoot), I can smoke (which probably explains why I am up to two packs a day), and talk about multitasking— I can pop in a load of laundry during the day, etc.. Anyway, at my old job, I did not have a company-paid business landline coming into my home. So, I snaked a patch cable under my office window that looks out onto my porch. I’d take my laptop, cordless phone and cell and just sit out there all day. It was wonderful. Whenever I had to unmute my phone during a conference call, the damn birds or a siren passing by would always give me away, but no one ever made a big deal about it. Hell, the birds were a pale intrusion compared to some assholes who worked from home and had constant barking dogs or a damn baby shrieking in the background.

I digress. I don’t even want to talk about work while I am on medical disability leave (for how long has yet to be determined). Getting back to today. It’s absolutely beautiful outside. Do I go anywhere? No. I can’t think of any place to go. I have no friends I can call up with whom I can make plans. I had one friend with whom I thought I could be upfront about my mood swings and I made the huge mistake of admitting to her during my last crisis earlier that afternoon that I was so depressed that I was feeling suicidal. BIG MISTAKE. She started crying and going on and on about how she couldn’t bear to lose me; think about all the people I’d be leaving behind who love me and care about me (I had no idea who she was talking about); how could I possibly do that to everyone. She never got it that she was my only friend). Then she told me that she wasn’t leaving me alone that day. Boy did that piss me off. As I got out of her car I told her that she could sit in my driveway all damn day, but she sure as fuck wasn’t coming into my house. Ultimately she calmed down and I finally got her to leave. (She was the one I thought had called 911 later that night). Then, not too much later she texted me and wanted to make sure that I was still OK, followed by a phone call which I did not answer. I texted her in all caps to leave me the fuck alone and not call back. Needless to say, I ended up with a bunch of texts and missed call entries that I had to delete.

I have quit going to my church (I’ve now missed three services in a row—something I’ve never done). One person had called and left a vm the other week that I just deleted. (What is nice about having an actual answering machine at home vs having your vm as part of your landline package is that you can screen your calls.) But, no one ever calls me. I’m serious. I have no friends. I had to use that one friend as part of my “safety list” upon discharge from the psych hospital to indicate that I had a support system. I actually used her and one person I knew at the church. I had to put in at least two names and phone numbers (no, they didn’t bother to call them to verify it; otherwise, I imagine one or both would have tried to contact me specifically about receiving that type of call). It’s ironic that, after three weeks now, she pinged me on my cell only twice (which I ignored) and hit my facebook account once (and I immediately blocked her). She actually hasn’t tried to call me. I hope she got the message finally. I don’t want someone around who feels they have to "fix" me.

So I am sitting on my couch once again (now listening to U2, the Stones and Jethro Tull) and there is absolutely no one I can call with whom I can talk. No one. I never understood just how much loneliness could hurt. I don’t have to worry about intentionally isolating myself. There is no one from which to isolate. And the most desolate part of all of this is that I have been like this for so long. Even looking at my past blog entries, I can see going back to April 2007 I made this entry. So here I sit. All alone. Why bother?©2009

Outpatient Therapy, Day 3 and My Date with the Police

2009-10-28T15:43:00.001-04:00

I was very uncomfortable walking into the group room today. While the entire group is split in two, everyone has to come into my room to pick up and fill out their daily check in sheets. Then they go to another room. The room is fairly large; there are 6 conference-sized tables arranged in a large square. There is a seat for everyone, but it still too many people for me. At least half of them leave after 10 minutes or so.

Today’s “sharing” session (which generally lasts for two hours) was the usual boring routine until it got to me. I have decided to be honest about everything: the isolation that is now bordering on the extreme to include not even wanting to sit near someone, the rage/anger, suicide ideation (as long as I can assure them that I am not going to act on it), etc. I told them about my egging the police cars Sunday afternoon as an example of how my rage is getting out of control since I am now acting out my impulses. I admitted the desire I have to want to beat the crap out of any cop, and that I have been looking for ways to provoke an incident. I also told them that the two cops who responded first to my 911 call back on 10 October would be coming over to my house this afternoon to answer some of my still yet unanswered questions. Boy did that get their panties in a wad. They asked me if I thought I could control myself while they were at my house. I told them I was seeking answers, and as far as this meeting was concerned, I needed their help so I could fill in the gaps. I’m smart enough to know not to bite that hand that feeds me. Then I was asked how I would respond if they told me something that made me angry, or if they patronized me in any way. I didn’t have an answer for that one. They’d better not patronize me. That’s about all it would take to send me over the edge. Who the hell do they think they are, anyway, strutting around flashing their badges and guns like they own everything? (but, of course, I didn’t say that!). They didn’t think it was a good idea, and suggested instead that I meet them at the police department. Oh, yeah, like I’m gonna want to go THERE (aside from the fact that there are too many people around). I just told them I would think about it, but most probably I was going to stick to my guns and have them over. Right now as I wait (should be here in about 45 minutes barring getting a call beforehand), I don’t feel that my anger is out of control. My driving force is to get these much-needed answers. I can behave, or at least play the game, to get what I want. We’ll see.

The second part of the outpatient program today was the presentation by the therapist. She usually touches on various stressors, reactions to stressors, and discusses possible coping skills (today was about anxiety vs panic and their associated decriptions/indications of the related attacks). However, as soon as we came in from our break, she announced that the whole group would be together for this. I immediately got up from my seat at the table and found a chair that was against the wall far away from the table. Everyone piled in and thankfully filled all of the seats so it didn’t look too abnormal to take a seat on the wall (however, I moved there before most of the other group had come into the room). I had a hard time during that session. Just too many people. And, God, can some people whine!

(later) Well, the officer just left. He was as nice as could be and sat down at the table I have on the porch. He said the police always respond to “suicide person” calls as SOP. He and the ambulance parked across the street (where the church parking lot is) so as not to alert me, reasoning being that the alleged “suicide person” may try suicide by cop (it’s a shame they know THAT trick). He went on to say, especially after interacting with me today, that I was highly intoxicated and could not walk without assistance. He walked me into my house to secure my wallet, keys and sandals, but said that he did not search the house. He can’t remember if all my house lights were on or not.

But, here is the kicker: my pastor arrived (he was waiting for the police. He also parked across the street) to show them the text message I sent him. That really pisses me off. OK, I get that he felt some professional obligation to call 911 based on the text message I sent. But to meet the police at my house??? That crosses the line in my book. That pisses me off to no end. Why couldn’t he just leave well enough alone? What was he out to prove?

The cop was completely courteous and respectful. He even said that he wouldn’t even have recognized me by my actions given the state I was in then vs how I was when he talked to me today. It said it was quite an amazing difference.

OK, I guess I have been able to fill in my blanks (except why the hell my pastor showed up…but I haven’t talked to him or anyone at the church since that night, nor do I plan to. Needless to say, I won’t be returning to church—that one or any other for that matter). Now I am just waiting on my medical records from my ER debacle and the copy of the .wav file with the original 911 recording. While I may now have my answers to what the fuck happened (no, I take that back. I can’t account for the hours between 2000-0300 or remember ever feeling suicidal), the whole nightmare has been very upsetting to say the least.©2009

This Should Be Classified as a Hate Crime!

2009-10-27T13:14:00.006-04:00

ATLANTA POLICE DEPARTMENT RAID THE ATLANTA EAGLE

“On September 10, 2009, Atlanta Police illegally detained and searched dozens of patrons at gay bar without a Warrant, Reasonable Suspicion, or Probable Cause.” (see here for the full accounting.)

This is a personal account of someone who was there (listen to all of it even though the clip is about ten minutes) It visibly reveals the incredible impact this incident had on this patron:

This has not just affected people locally in Atlanta. Here is an example of a reaction from a global perspective:

I am outraged beyond description that something like this has occurred. This is NOT Stonewall, and it is NOT June, 1969. Folks, this is happening NOW. The fundamentalist Christian Right has decried our efforts to obtain our rights as citizens of the US. They say that we are asking for “special” rights. They say that allowing these rights (legally recognized marriages and all of the economic benefits associated, protection from discrimination in the workplace, the acknowledgement of inclusion as any abuse to be considered a hate crime, the repeal of Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell, etc., etc., etc.) will only erode and undermine the family values of the American institution (the last time I looked, I lived in Amerca!). There are bans in many states forbidding LGBTQ couples from adopting children. You can only imagine the underlying thought process in this discrimination. Yes, most recently, Obama finally signed a hate crimes law. Congress proceeds to discuss ending discrimination in the workplace. But none of the “big ticket” items are being addressed. We are so far from where we should be.

What will it finally take for us to be truly treated as equal citizens? It’s been 40 years since Stonewall. Yes, I have seen some positive changes along the way (more open-mindedness, some states passing the right to marry/civil unions—however with the caveat of DOMA—nothing is sanctioned at the federal level, and a little more public tolerance). However, the religious right is determined to have their way. They browbeat Washington with their powerful lobbying efforts (e.g., Focus on the Family’s James Dobson, et al. have made it their driving focus to rid America of the “gay agenda” and they have exerted their significant influence upon many in Congress). The “gay issue” has become the litmus test for all politicians.

What happened in Atlanta IS a hate crime. Will the Atlanta City Police Department ultimately be held accountable for their horrendous actions, or will this, as with so many other incidents, be quietly swept under the rug? The LGBTQ community is completely exposed as long as there is tacit permission for any organization to be able to act as the APD did. I fear the end result, if all of the gay bashers have their way, will be retreating back to the pre-Stonewall days. I’m proud of who I am; I don’t shrink from my responsibilities to speak out and take a stand when necessary (to include righteously speaking out to the snide comment made behind my back while standing in a cashier line while someone loudly announces their ignorance just because of a t-shirt I may be wearing displaying the fact that I am a dyke).

Folks, we’re not going anywhere. We are not going to be passive and silent. Change must come now.©2009

Yet Another Decision

2009-10-27T10:56:00.001-04:00

Today is a day off for me. No appointments with anyone. Yesterday evening I made another decision, diametrically opposed to this one only made here.

I had nothing but time on my hands yesterday after my first encounter with my therapist. I spent much of the time playing catch-up in reading the many blogs that I follow and reading comments made to my posts, along with some personal emails I actually received from truly caring individuals. As the day progressed, I did feel the intensity of my rage lessen somewhat (certainly not from anything purposefully done on my part, I assure you)

I had already made the decision to come back and see the therapist for a second appointment—a commitment that I didn’t think I was capable of making, much less caring about. Early evening it occurred to me that if I am going to make an effort with this therapist, I should at least be responsible enough to go back on my meds (a value judgment?). I went back to my bedroom and lined up all the containers (three of which are for blood pressure since it seems I’m having an issue there as well and swallowed them all (I always feel I have to add the caveat: as prescribed LOL). With my history, making the statement “swallowing them all” takes on a whole other connotation!

Went back to my living room and spent the evening listening to some really fine jazz (John Klemmer, Stanley Clarke, Chick Corea, Miles Davis, Jean-Luc Ponty, Al DiMeola). As the evening rolled onward, I made a concerted effort to also start trying to structure the time I try to go to sleep (an ephemeral experience to say the least). Even though I felt far from tired, I took my bedtime meds, crawled into bed and tried to read a book. I am so frustrated with this last action. I opened up to where I had last read (just the previous day) and I had no memory of what this book is about (I’m only about 12-15% into the beginning). This repeated problem really pisses me off, because, if given the chance to be focused enough to read, at least concentrating on that action temporarily quells all my racing thoughts. *Sigh* I return to the first page and start over.

After a few minutes, I realized that I had made an error with one of my blood pressure medications, a mild diuretic (hydrochlorothiazide HCL, hereafter referred to HCTZ). This one, for obvious reasons, taken once a day, should only be consumed in the morning—certainly not just before going to bed. When I hopped up to hit the head, all of a sudden I did not feel so well. No, I wasn’t dizzy per se, but I felt as if I couldn’t catch my breath and also somewhat disoriented. It occurred to me that perhaps the blood pressure crisis I experienced while incarcerated was indeed situational after all. Was my blood pressure now too low? I walked around for a little bit and found myself having to sit down. Very weird feeling.

So, as potentially stupid as this action could result, I decided to drive up to the nearest CVS and use their BP machine. I had much difficulty driving; it required far more dedicated concentration and focus that what I am used to. When I walked into the store, the lights were too bright and there were too many people milling around. Without asking, I blindly walked to the rear by the pharmacy and found the machine.

Now, mind you, when I was first put on the initial does of medication, my BP had skyrocketed to 228/156. When I was released 11 days later, I immediately saw my primary care physician and my BP was still elevated (165/110). What was eerie in both measurements was the fact that my heart rate was only around 56. My PCP decided to alter the medication I was discharged with from the hospital. He effectively doubled the dose of one (clonidine HCL from 0.1mg to 0.2 mg, but dropped it from, 3x/day to 2x/day), increased to dose of another (lisinopril from 30mg to 40 mg 1x/day) and added the HCTZ at 25mg 1x/day).

I sat in front of the machine and it turned out that my BP had dropped to 137/61, HR 72. The diastolic measurement concerned me as I thought that was a bit too low which might have explained how I was feeling. I drove back home, still trying to catch my breath and thought about calling my PCP in the morning. Went back to bed, read a little and actually experienced the feeling of being sleepy (hooray for me). Perhaps adding the Geodon to my bipolar cocktail might have made the difference. I actually got about five (count ‘em FIVE!!!) hours of uninterrupted sleep. I cannot even remember the last time that happened.

When I woke up, I decided to get my BP measured again before calling my PCP. Weird. It was back up to 150/95 HR 61. (I decided to purchase a BP wrist monitor while at CVS this morning to save on having to drive each time. The first reading, while still at the store, calibrated closely to their BP machine, so I was at least on a level playing field) Knowing it was still slightly elevated, I decided not to call my PCP and took all my meds this morning as prescribed. It has now been one hour. My BP is 112/66 HR 71. Perhaps my BP meds are stronger than they need to be. I’m going to take the rest of the BP meds today and monitor this closely and then possibly call my PCP tomorrow and ask if I should perhaps reduce my dosages.

Speaking of tomorrow, I have my second appt with my shrink. As far as he knows from the phone call he received from my therapist yesterday, I have been off my meds since last my discharge. While I did fill the scripts the shrink gave me on my first visit with him post discharge, I never bothered to take any of them (still in the “I don’t give a damn” mode). I am sure his first response is going to be along the lines of “Why won’t you help me be a better doctor to you?” What can I say? I am now willing to take my meds, continue with this outpatient program for this week and next, and then pick up with my individual therapist the following week.

Is this progress? I don’t know. I still feel resistant. I’m still in my “don’t give a damn” mode. I still face abject loneliness, utter sense of no worth, absolute pain over all the consequences arising from my actions throughout my life, and above all, I have no reason why I should be forced to continue this existence from which I want to be finally relieved. Nevertheless, in reality, what do I have to lose except my life, upon which I still place no value?©2009

DBT Therapist, Appt #1

2009-10-26T15:05:00.001-04:00

Well, I am finally caught up with keying in everything I had written in my journal since my “visit” to the ER. No more date stamping my titles! You know, my handwriting can really suck at times!

I agreed to this appointment as a condition of my release (in addition to the outpatient treatment program I am in, they wanted me to start seeing an individual therapist). Just so it would appear that I was being a “good little girl” I showed up.

While I was in the waiting room, filling out yet more “new patient” forms (hell, they already have a copy of my records from the hospital, why can’t they just read that?), I could feel my anger building. I didn’t want to be here. I had no expectations. And I sure as hell don’t trust the system not to lock me back up if I say how I really feel.

(For the first time since I started this blog, I am not so sure I feel safe even writing what I really do feel here. No one who knows me personally has the link to or the name of my blog, not that I can remember, anyway. At what point do I end up surrendering my 1st Amendment rights?)

I was actually somewhat surprised by this first visit. I wasn’t even sure we would “click.” I tried to get through to her that I did not care whether things “improved.” Of course she asked me if I was suicidal and I just laughed and asked her if she really expected me to answer that after everything that had happened (she started scribbling on her clipboard). She asked a few questions about my history and previous suicide attempts (more scribbling), but all-in-all, she got it that I was incredibly angry. She said my continued participation with her was strictly voluntary at this point.

Sure, I told her that I thought that my life sucks (did not expand on why at this point, but more scribbling anyway), that I had no clue as to how I thought she could help me, and that I thought DBT was for the birds (more scribbling). Then I simply asked her, “How can you even deal with me if I’m in a space where I don’t even WANT to use the tools—that I just don’t give a damn?” And she said that this would be a good place to start. At least she acknowledged where I was rather than determining that I was “unwilling “or “uncooperative.” She said that a return visit was clearly up to me. She didn’t try to preach about tools/coping skills or what I should be doing. She said that obviously I had to decide if I wanted to try to figure out why I was feeling the way I did well before I could do anything about it. It was the first reasonable thing I had heard anyone say to me to date.

I could tell that the time was almost up. She asked me if I felt suicidal, would I be willing to call the hospital, and I emphatically told her absolutely not (more scribbling). Then she handed me my sheet with which to check out, gave me her card, and told me if I wanted to come back to just call and make an appointment.

As I stood in line to sign out, I looked at what she checked off under “diagnosis.” She indicated bipolar (good catch) and anxiety disorder (yet a new label for me, oh goodie). However, conspicuously absent (despite the records from the hospital and the information I filled out on her “new patient” form) was borderline personality disorder. She was still in the hallway, so I called her back up and asked her about that. She said that she didn’t think it was appropriate. Well, I got tagged with that label back in 2005, and with everything I tried to learn about BPD, it seemed to be right up my alley. I told her that I thought it was amazing how no one wants to deal with that issue with me, not even my own psychiatrist and now her. She said that I was operating under an assumption that she didn’t think was accurate, but reached over and checked it off on my sheet and walked back down the hall. What’s up with that? Is BPD the dreaded mental illness that no one wants to discuss? All anyone ever wants to deal with is my bipolar.

When I went to pay (yay—only have a 10% co-pay and today’s, the most expensive appointment since it was an initial workup, was only $12), for some reason I did decide to make a return appointment. Don’t know why, or what I expect, but I thought I’d give it a shot. She has been the only person so far that seemed to be interested in the reasons why.

Meanwhile, she’s going to contact the outpatient therapy program @ the hospital to indicate that I did complete the follow-up appt (I went to see her today instead of the outpatient program), as well as contact my psychiatrist (he asked me to have her contact him for ongoing continuity of care). Since I admitted to her that I hadn’t bothered taking any of my meds since discharge, I guess that cat is out of the bag. I see my shrink Wednesday. I wonder what that visit will be like?

Why am I so resistant to taking my meds—even the blood pressure meds? Everything keeps coming back around to “I don’t care.”©2009

Escalating Anger and Rage, Sunday 25 October

2009-10-26T14:09:00.000-04:00

It’s Sunday evening. This weekend has pretty much been a wash. Accomplished absolutely nothing. I’m trying to figure out how many days it has been since I last slept. I feel like I’m on auto-pilot.

I did manage a quick grocery trip finally since being home. That was a strange experience. I found myself just wandering down each aisle trying to figure out what I needed. I’ve never walk in without my list. I didn’t even know what I needed. So I got the basics and beat feet outta there. Too many people.

But I am starting to see a pattern emerge. My anger and rage is escalating for no apparent reason (yeah, I know for you DBT fans out there, there has to be a trigger, but damn if I know what it is). On the way home from the grocery store, I stopped by this little sushi restaurant right around the corner from my house to order something to go. As I pulled into the small parking lot, I noticed five (yeah, count ‘em—FIVE) patrol cars all sitting there unattended. The only other places in this small shopping centre is a bank (closed since it’s Sunday), a Starbucks, a deli and an ice scream shoppe. I had to park next to one of them. I got out of my car, looked around, and couldn’t see a cop in sight. Then I walked into the restaurant (nope they weren’t here). For some reason, as I was waiting for my order, I became increasingly pissed off by the fact that there were at least five cops somewhere sitting on their butts doing nothing. So much for my tax dollars at work.

By the time I left the restaurant I was so riled up over this (don’t ask me why!!!), that I opened up my trunk and got out the carton of eggs. I grabbed four of them and slammed two of the patrol cars. God that felt good. Never mind the fact that anyone in any of these establishments could see what I had done through those large plate glass windows all facing back at me. Never mind the fact that those FIVE lazy cops were somewhere on the other side of those windows. I don’t even remember what I was thinking. Really stupid, Alix. That’s all I need on top of everything else. But nothing happened; no one came flying out the doors. I turned around, closed my trunk, hopped in my car and drove out of the parking lot (yeah, all the while checking my rear view mirror just waiting to see the blue flashing lights on my tail). As I said, this place is literally around the corner from my house. All I had to do was hang a right out of the lot, drive past six driveways and I was home. When I pulled in, I waited for a minute, so sure that the cops were right behind me—still nothing.

I just snapped. Where did all this anger come from? I have developed a rather unhealthy obsession of wanting to beat the shit out of a cop only to know that it would land my sorry ass in jail. There is just something so enticing about wanting to inflict the greatest amount of physical damage to a cop simply because of the fucking authority they represent. I don’t get where this is coming from. It’s like I am stuck in this stupid 60s time warp.©2009

Outpatient Therapy, Day 2 Friday, 23 October, 0900

2009-10-26T13:32:00.000-04:00

At group, I was clearly still quite angry and was blatant about purposely not choosing to use any tools, and was very vocal about not giving a damn. Of course, the therapist tried to handle me (I hate being handled) and finally she let it go and went on to the next person. When I got home I was still pretty pissed off and feeling restless. Life really does suck. I can’t make up my mind. I sit in this huge house with a beautiful screened-in porch and all I end up feeling is so overwhelmingly depressed because I am so alone. Then I go off on the rage tangent because I can’t sand to be around anyone and all I want is to be left alone. What a fucking oxymoron am I?

I was reading Patrick’s blog today, catching up on what he’d posted while I was gone. (I still have a few other blogs I am behind in reading). So much of what he wrote resonated so strongly. All I want to do is just disappear and be where no one can find me—ever. Leave everything I own except the clothes on my back, walk out my front door, and drop off the grid with no notice to anyone.

No one will miss me—well, maybe except for my manager after the first day or so. I am currently on short-term medical disability leave totally screwing up my team’s workload. I generally get about 200-300 emails a day. By the time I eventually get back to work (perhaps by 09 November), I am sure my mail server will have shut down my email account just due to overload (I’m sure my clients will be thrilled to start getting “return-to-sender” notifications on top of the already existing “out-of-office” reply my manager had set up upon my admission to the hospital). I can’t even begin to imagine how many unread emails I will have waiting for me by the time I get back. If I get back.

I just plain don’t want to do “it” any more. I’m tired; I’m spent. There is nothing left in me. All I want is to walk out my front door and disappear into the wind leaving no fingerprints behind. It’s almost over now. Even though I had all my scripts filled (from the hospital, my regular doctor and my shrink), I haven’t taken any meds since my discharge. I have no clue as to what my blood pressure could possibly be (ask me if I care). Why can’t I just have a heart attack and die? Knowing my luck, I’d have a massive stroke instead, be left incapacitated and totally useless with no more control. God would find that amusing.

No, I still have the option to take control. I’ve been out of contact with everyone since the night I was taken to the ER. My CallerID was empty when I got home and only one personal email was waiting for me. Ever since I came home, I have only received one phone call and that was from my son. I am so proud of him. He’s 26 and has his head on straight. He has a great job and talks about going back to the university. Do you want to know what we talked about tonight? He was telling me how tickled pink he was now that he finally decided to get contacts (he thanked me profusely for my contribution to the gene pool) and went on about how long it had taken him to get the damn things in his eyes for about the first week or so. He sounded like a kid with a new toy. He sounded happy and that made me smile.

Do I feel guilty about what I will put him through? Sometimes I do because he will be the one to have to fly back east to pick up the pieces. But my job is done. I raised a great son and it’s probably the one thing I’ve done without fucking up to badly. He’s living his own life—he’ll be fine after a while. At least I can say, with past performances, he won’t be surprised. This last episode, however, he never knew of. He’s not listed on my emergency contact list (in fact no one is). But, to head anything off at the pass, the day I was admitted to the psych hospital I texted him that I was headed out of town on business for about three weeks, and oh, by the way, let mom know as my cell battery was getting ready to go. Kept the hounds at bay.

And while I was at the hospital, I missed two services in a row at church–something I hadn’t done in a long time. I’m not planning on returning. There is nothing there for me any more. The ironic thing is that the church is right across the street from my house (in this part of the country, churches are like gas stations—there is one on every corner). And all this time, my car has been parked right in front of my house. Oh yeah, that’s right, there was one member who left me a voicemail the other day wanting to know what was up since I had missed two in a row. Evidently, my pastor didn’t tell anyone what I had done. I just deleted it as soon as the connection broke. No one else at the church has bothered to call. I guess my pastor felt a professional obligation to call in the 911, but that was the extent of it.

It’s weird. I’ve only been home for three days and it seems like it’s been ages since I was in the hospital. It’s all just a distant, hazy memory. I just thought of something amusing. I wonder if there is someone at the hospital that is in charge of reading the obituaries every day just to figure out what their success rate is. But, it doesn’t matter. There is no one here to write mine and send it in.©2009

Post-hospital Visit with Shrink #1, 22 October, 0700

2009-10-26T12:38:00.000-04:00

I’m glad he makes these early morning appointments. I get the first one for the day and I don’t have to wait. And, there is no one else in the waiting room—perfect.

It was actually good to see him again. It had been about a year (I quit making my three-month med check appts last year even though I was still taking my meds then). I have always enjoyed a good rapport with him. Compared to the comments I heard from the other patients whose psychiatrists only spend about 10 minutes with them doing their med checks, mine has always actually talked with me and asked me a lot of detailed questions even when everything was going well.

As soon as he came into the waiting room to get me, he was clearly glad to see me and asked when I had been discharged. I immediately spilled my guts from telling him how I initially got laid off back in April which sparked the financial reason why I went off my meds in the first place right through everything that had been happening that led up to the eventual involuntary commitment. He decided to add Geodon (80mg daily for now) to aid my severe depressed state and help with the insomnia.

I also talked about my memory loss. He said that it was highly probably that I was in a dissociative state, but without knowing the results from the tox screen and blood alcohol level, that could very well have contributed to my memory loss. He also wanted to get some more blood work done and said he would wait to get a copy of the labs tests from the ER and the hospital before coming up with the list of tests so as to not repeat anything unnecessarily. He also knew my regular doc was going to be doing a fasting blood panel on me in two weeks, so once he knew what additional tests he wanted run he would call over there and just have them add those tests so I would only have to be stuck once. At the very minimum, he wants to check my thyroid, my FSH (follicle stimulating hormone—an indicator of potential menopause onset), B12, Iron and Potassium. When he mentioned FSH, I thought, yeah, I’m 52. It’s very likely that menopause will be hitting me at some point. Great, I already deal with bipolar mood swings. Let’s just add hormonal mood swings to the mix. I can hardly wait.©2009

My Nancy Drew Act: The Quest To Find Out What The Hell Happened, Wednesday, 21 October, 1230

2009-10-25T13:09:00.001-04:00

(If you haven't already read this saga from the beginning of this nightmare, go here first)

Immediately after the outpatient session was over I raced over to the trauma center I was taken to and put in a request to receive my complete medical record of my ER visit. I detailed that I wanted all the doctors’ notes, the nurses’ notes, all lab results, and any legal paperwork filed against me—or at least evidence that they were requested and ordered by the doctor. I was told it would take approximately 15 days. Then I thought to stop by the business office and get a copy of my bill. At least I could determine from that what tests were ordered and what medications were given and anything else that was billable. That they gave me immediately. It was a start.

What a fucking rip-off. The entire bill was $3910. Here is how it broke down: 5 0.1mg clonidine tabs @ $3 each, 40meq of potassium chloride @ $3/10meq, 1 800mg ibuprofen @ $3, venipuncture @ $25, blood alcohol level @ $196, 2 basic metabolic blood tests @ $200 each, 11 drug screens @ $88 each, CBC @ $105, urine culture @ $171, urinalysis @$93, ER Fee-Level V @ $1,524 (I was charged twice for that one), EKG @ $250, and finally the ER physician’s fee of $234. If I were that doctor, I would be humiliated to know that the damn EKG cost more than I did.

I can’t wait to get my hands on the medical records. I am going to match each billable item to an order in the chart. If I don’t see 11 orders for the separate tox screens, I’m sure as hell not going to pay for all of them

Aside from the ridiculous costs of each item and why the hell they had to run 11 tox screens, everything billed seemed to be a reasonable action taken by the ER considering my supposed presenting symptoms. But, just what were those presenting symptoms? I still can’t remember shit.

Then I went over to the E911 administrative offices. I told them I wanted a copy of the paramedics’ record on me that would reveal the time the 911 call came in, how they found me, what condition I was in, etc. I also told them that I wanted a copy of the 911 recording (they could send me the .wav file via email). While I got a hard copy of the record right away, I was told it would take about a week to get the recording.

As I sat there and read it, I was totally blown away. As best as I assumed before reading this, someone called 911 reporting a suicide attempt. Yet, at the top of the record, it states that they were dispatched at 0259 on 10 October with no lights and sirens. Hmmm…guess they must not take suicide attempts very seriously! They arrived at my house at 0313. But get this—they departed my location to transport me to the ER at 0330 (arrival to the ER @ 0338—again with no lights and sirens). They spent only 17 minutes at my home (btw, that bill was $250).

Then I flip to the second page. This only gets more bizarre. According to the report, “patient found sitting on porch with city police talking with her.” Talking??? So, I was up and talking. Explains HOW they gained access to my house. But, why were the police there? Oh yeah, that’s right, in my state it’s against the law to commit suicide.

I kept reading…”Chief Complaint: Category-Psychiatric Problems,” (geniuses, aren’t they?), “History of Present Illness: patient states that she has been having suicidal thoughts recently. Patient states she sent a message to her pastor detailing that she was going to overdose on medication with alcohol. Patient states she has been off her psychiatric meds for about three months. Patient agreed to go to the ER after admitting to sending her pastor the message about intentions of overdosing. Patient states she has not made an attempt to overdose or any other type of suicide yet.”

Third page “Neurological Exam—Level of Consciousness: alert, Orientation: oriented to people place and time, Loss of Consciousness: No, Chemically Paralyzed: No, Motor Comments: moves all extremities equally well, Sensory Comments: equal and normal sensory functions, Pupils: normal and reactive.” The GCS, airway, respiratory and cardiovascular entries all reported “within normal limits.” “Injury Details—Drugs/Alcohol? Alcohol, Drugs/Alcohol Indicators: patient admits to alcohol use, smell of alcohol on breath” Here is my favorite entry… “Impression/Diagnosis: mental/psych” (God love their training!).

Fourth page “Patient Authorization Signature Form” There was my signature, plain as day and clear as a bell. This was followed by a similar page for the receiving nurse’s signature at the ER.

Reading all of this only raised more questions. If I was so fucking alert and oriented, why the hell can I not remember a damn thing? Why would I send a message to my pastor of all people (sure enough, I checked my cell and there was an outbound text message basically saying what was in the report, so I now know WHO called 911)

What I do remember was being depressed at being so alone and pissed off that I couldn’t go to sleep, and making that huge Kamikaze. I don’t remember being suicidal (well, enough to actually do something about it). Besides, I already know how I plan to commit suicide—with an IV overdose of potassium chloride or insulin, whichever I can get my hands on (which I can quite easily). As I’ve said in previous posts, I’m certainly not going to take a chance by swallowing a boatload of pills and chasing it down with alcohol only to risk vomiting up all my resources. Plus, as evidenced by this occurrence, there is no telling what I might do in that period of time as my mental state starts altering after drinking a lot of alcohol (God forbid I make the mistake of sending another text message). With an overdose of the pills that I do have, there is the risk of resuscitation. With IV potassium chloride or insulin, especially the former, hell, I’ll be doing good to be around long enough to pull out the damn needle. No chance of resuscitation. It’s quick and it’s permanent.

Nevertheless, there are still more questions. Why were all the lights on in my house? Did the cops search my house? There didn’t seem to be any evidence of that. The only things out of place were the coffee table and the two speakers. Why were they moved if I was found sitting on my porch talking to the cops? Well, at least I know HOW the paramedics got in and WHO called 911. Huh, I wonder if the cops’ lights were flashing the whole time they were in my driveway? I’m sure the neighbors loved that. Well, at that hour, that’s probably a moot point. Besides, I don’t even know who they are, so I could give a flying fuck what they think.

Now I want to get in touch with the police department and talk to these cops who were on my porch. Maybe they can fill in some more of the blanks. And the nightmare continues…©2009

Outpatient Therapy, Day 1, Wednesday, 21 October, 0815

2009-10-25T11:32:00.002-04:00

Today was my first day attending the outpatient program that was a condition of my release. I had to come in early today to fill out yet another round of paperwork. Afterwards, I walked into this room filled with strangers, one of whom had been discharged the second day I was in the hospital. She tried to make “nice” with me, but I essentially just blew her off. There were two piles of papers on the table one of which was a daily check-in sheet I had to fill out (only to find out soon enough that I was to “share” that information with the group, then turn it in…groan). Geez, it was like being back in the hospital all over again. Oh yeah, there were even these oh so cute neon yellow name tags that we’re all supposed to wear each time. I toyed with the idea of writing “Jane Doe” on mine.

The program is Mon-Wed-Fri from 0900-1200. We spent the first two hours going over that daily check-in sheet, a much needed 10-minute cigarette break, followed by a presentation by the therapist on some type of coping skill. The whole program is DBT-based. Oh the joy. Consider this the 12-step program for the criminally insane.

Going over the check-in sheet was incredibly boring. Essentially everyone gets to share how they’ve been feeling, discussing current stressors in their lives, and of course, the inevitable obligatory follow-up of “what coping skills have you been trying to use to deal with these stressors?” You know, this time around, I thought, well, there is no court order hanging around my neck anymore (sort of…I certainly cannot become obviously suicidal for they will only stick me back inside the Big House). I’m obligated to attend for two weeks. Why bother with the façade this time around. Face it these are all strangers. I could care less how they are “feeling” or the way they are “coping.” So I decided to take the gloves off and tell them exactly how I was feeling (well, to an extent).

When it got to my turn, there really wasn’t too much to say that pertained to me since it was my first day after having been released only yesterday. I told them how perplexing it was to come home and find the house the way I did. I actually did tell them how I felt this huge depression fall on me especially because I was coming home to an empty house.

Well, everyone had all sorts of “feel good” comments to make that I painfully endured (and took with a grain of salt). I also told them how I don’t like being around people and that I usually blow everyone off. I was told that this is normal for BPD and that I would learn successful coping skills to aid in my recovery (remember my comment above about the 12-step program analogy). In my mind, I thought that they just didn’t get it—I don’t want to recover and learn to socialize. I just plain don’t want to be around anyone at any time. Go figure.

When it was time to take the break, I was the first to fly out the door. God did I need a cigarette. There is this covered patio outside with picnic tables and a coke machine. I ambled over that way, but soon enough the whole group was on my heels. Unfortunately, too many people wanted to be nice and welcome me to the group. I decided to downplay my default “fuck you” attitude. I just stood there, smoked and said nothing (that is one thing I am good at)

The last hour was useless. Again with all these stupid tools. Talking about using your “wise mind” (vs. your emotional or logical—the wise mind is where the two intersect), and other DBT dribble like “mindfulness,” “radical acceptance,” “willingness vs. willfulness,” etc. I got nothing out of it, but what could I expect. To be fair and objective, I didn’t put anything into it. I guess I can stomach this for two weeks.©2009

Home At Last, 20 October, 1230

2009-10-25T10:37:00.000-04:00

(…continued from previous post)
After walking though my house, all I wanted to do was sit down on my couch and smoke a cigarette. I straightened up the living room, putting the coffee table and speakers back in place. As I sat there and smoked, this overwhelming, helpless depression just settled in around me. Here I was, 11 days later, still on my couch as if nothing had ever happened. But something did. I just couldn’t piece it together. I just started crying uncontrollably (now, let me tell you a little something about me. I’m really not into the crying thing being this tough old butch dyke, but somewhere within me these last few days the waterworks just spouted out…I hated that).

Around 1730 hrs I thought about making some dinner, but I remembered that I had some prescriptions I had to fill. Since they were only 30-day scripts they wouldn’t be as expensive as the 90-day scripts. I figured that maybe it was time after all to get back on my meds. Certainly, after all of the multiple hospital expenses incurred to date, I had more than met my $1150 deductible finally, so the prescription insurance cap would apply. Besides, at the very minimum I knew I had to get the two blood pressure meds filled.

Finally, around 1945 hrs I simply felt drained. So I took all my meds (as prescribed, just so there is no misunderstanding as to the meaning of “all my meds”) and went to bed wondering if I’d get any sleep. It was so nice to be back in my own bed. Tomorrow I begin the first day of the outpatient program. Different staff, different patients (I hope). I will continue this saga as I still have a big mystery to solve and I want to fill in those missing hours. How I will go about that I have no idea just yet. Stay tuned for this story is far from over…©2009

Involuntary Commitment—Day 11, 20 October

2009-10-25T10:16:00.000-04:00

(…continued from previous post)
Last night I actually got a little bit of sleep. My morning vitals had my blood pressure elevated again; the two meds, while reducing the BP as a whole, have not quite stabilized it yet.

I decided over the weekend, after I spoke with my shrink on Friday when he told me that today was a reasonable discharge date, that I didn’t want any of the patients to know I would be going home before I actually leave.

I know that nothing will be “final” until the shrink signs the papers for my release this morning and then faxes it to the court to await their decision. Apparently, I do not have to personally go before the judge. Being ever so hopeful, once shift change occurred @ 0700, I pulled aside the one staff person with whom I had a good relationship and told him that I did not want the rest of the patients to know of my discharge before I actually leave. I also asked if it would be possible to arrange my exit while everyone else was in a group therapy session so I could avoid the “goodbye scene.” He just smiled at me and said, “I love a good plan.” I would be leaving with just the clothes I came in with (no packed suitcase or anything), so strolling down the back hallway would mean nothing to anyone.

Then my shrink came onto the unit just while all of the patients were getting ready to go to breakfast, so they all saw me go into his office. I sat down with confidence, had a relaxed smile on my face (with my heart in my stomach) as he opened up my chart. We went through the usual “well, how were you yesterday?” chitchat as he reviewed all of the nurses’ and therapists’ notes. I also mentioned that I was grateful that I was finally able to get some sleep. Then dead silence. I wanted to jump up on the desk and yell, “Well, am I going home today or not?” as I just sat there watching him read my chart.

Finally, I took a deep breath and just spit it out, “So, Doc, is it a go for today?” and he looked at me and said it was and smiled. He took out all of the legal docs and asked me all of the requisite questions (e.g., do I currently feel suicidal? Do I feel homicidal? Do I attest to the fact that I do not have in my possession a gun? What is the name and phone number that can be called to confirm the latter? and so on). I gave all the proper answers to assure my release and watched him sign the papers.

Then he wrote up prescriptions for all my meds to carry me for the first month until I met with my own psychiatrist that had already been scheduled by the discharge therapist for the 27th. He increased my Lamictal dosage again, stood up, and shook my hand. I quickly got rid of my smile as I turned my back to walk out of the office. A couple of patients immediately asked me if I was going home today (the standard fare whenever anyone came out of their shrink’s office each morning). I simply replied that he changed my medication again which basically means I’d be there for another 24-48 hours. Well, I didn’t actually lie—sort of—just ducked the question.

Meanwhile, the whole staff now knew I wanted to keep this news under wraps. So, I had to go through all of the motions of the daily schedule with everyone until the court rendered its decision (whenever the hell that would be). Talk about being distracted during morning group. Then, halfway through group, I was called out (not an unusual occurrence as we were all on different med schedules) and I was immediately told that the court had faxed back my release. I just grinned like a Cheshire cat. My nurse asked me if I was good to go as they surreptitiously handed me back my wallet, keys and cell (it seemed, damn it, that one patient—of course the one with the big mouth— got pissed off during group and walked out and was now hanging around the nurse’s station). I told my nurse that all I had left to do was call a cab.

Then he told me that they could not let me leave the unit until the cab actually arrived, nor was I allowed to wait in the front foyer (on the other side of the locked doors) by myself. I nervously looked at the clock knowing that group would be over before the cab would arrive. Then he said, “Relax, Alix, I promised you that I had a good plan. I promise that you’ll be able to walk through everyone and they won’t even have a clue.” I wasn’t so sure.

Then the patient with the big mouth came up to me and demanded to know if I was going home, but I just blew her off and tried to casually walk over to the lounge area and wait. Thankfully, she didn’t pursue the matter. Meanwhile, my nurse kept calling up to the front desk to see if my cab had arrived. He was looking at the clock. I was looking at the clock. We both looked at each other. The doors to the two group sessions flew open and out poured all 17 patients. Then I got up and walked over to the nurse’s station with this panicked look on my face. He said to just hold tight for a minute. He quietly talked to the other nurses, then came back to me and told me to casually walk down the back hallway as if I was going to the laundry room (certainly not suspicious; we always had some free time between groups to take care of various things). He told me when I got to the end of the hallway, take the left and wait by the back door. He said he would follow me in about 30 seconds so it wouldn’t appear as if I was being escorted out.

I held my breath and nonchalantly walked through everyone as they were milling about getting coffee, talking on the phones and generally chit-chatting among themselves, praying that no one would notice me or stop me. When I got past everyone, headed down that back hallway and got to the end, I quickly dashed to the left and waited. My heart was beating so hard. Freedom—so close.

Sure enough, he casually came around the corner, quickly inserted his key and we walked through together. Turns out that my cab still hadn’t arrived, but they decided to let him accompany me and wait with me in the foyer. As we got to the front doors, my cab arrived. He turned and looked me and said, “I told you I loved a good plan.” The front door…my ride home…everything was perfect. I managed to play my role beautifully for 11 consecutive days convincing everyone that I was not suicidal and that my bipolar and borderline disorders were on their way to getting back under control again.

The ride home was an odd experience. I just stared out the window watching all of the traffic on the interstate. Everyone in the world was just going about his or her normal routines. My life had been on hold for the last 11 days.

It was so surreal when the cab pulled up to my house. As I was walking up my front walk to the porch door, I started to look around for any evidence that the paramedics had been there. I didn’t even know what I was looking for. I still have no fucking memory of those first hours. I opened up the porch door and it had not been forcibly opened. Looked around my porch—nothing. Then I walked up to my front door. It appeared to be closed and locked properly, so that door wasn’t busted in. How the hell did the paramedics get into my house?

As soon as I walked though my front door, I could tell that there had been some commotion. My living room coffee table had been pushed all the way to one side and two of my surround sound speakers had been pushed out of position. This was eerie. Then I noticed that ALL my lights were on throughout the house. What the hell had happened that night? I can’t begin to tell you how disconcerting this whole “coming home” experience became.

All of the windows were closed and locked. The back door was intact and locked. It was odd knowing that strangers had walked through my entire house. Why? The last thing I remember was sitting on my couch around 2000 hrs Friday evening, 9 October, polishing off that killer Kamikaze (no pun intended). I have no memory of taking any pills or even thinking about suicide. What were they looking for? Nothing seemed to be out of place in any of the other rooms. (To be continued…)©2009