A Big Step Forward

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

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

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

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.

Give me a fucking break. If I am going to enjoy some sleep and have dreams, can’t they at least be dreams of escape from my wretched life?©2009

Appt With My GP

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

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

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

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

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—

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?

(…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

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

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

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”

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

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

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?

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

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

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