Right English by E

I used to think
in something other than English.
I used to write
with a hand other than my right.

But teachers at mi escuela my school
taught me the correct way
to think
sólo en ingles
sólo Eenglush
only in English
as they made me sit on my left hand
and put a fat pencil in my other one,
calmly refusing to believe
that the thick drunken
letters staggering across the
lines could be
better done if they’d only release
my captive hand
my captive mind.

Eventually I learned
to think and write The Language
crisply, with a surgeon’s precision.

Occasionally though,
I stare at my neglected left hand and
sometimes,
once in awhile,
I dream in Spanish
talking con mi abuelita.

Estoy comiendo arroz y frijoles.

Yo sueño con algun dia, hablar en mi primer lengua.

On Tuesday.

On Tuesday within an hour of reading a powerful and articulate poem written by my heartsib E, I read a status by my dear friend Robert on his Facebook where he said he was

going out to do more work on his flower beds. Hopefully no hillbillies scream out "faggot" today.

I will post E's poem at the end of this blog and separately as well. She spoke of being forced to write in English with her left hand when her spirit was left handed and Spanish. She introduces the poem when stating

I used to think

in something other than English.

Both authors are being labeled as other just for being their own beautiful selves. I try to imagine what it must be like to be informed on a deep and primal level every day that who I am in my essence is wrong and my heart is scraped raw for my friends. I am deeply angry with anything that negates who someone is based on a random criteria decided upon by a group of people who think they are justified in where they draw those rigid lines.

I can't even really express it I am so angry. And I'm just so sorry for my friends and for anyone who suffers this type of behavior.



Here is E's poem:

Right English

I used to think

in something other than English.
I used to write
with a hand other than my right.

But teachers at mi escuela my school
taught me the correct way
to think
sólo en ingles
sólo Eenglush
only in English
as they made me sit on my left hand
and put a fat pencil in my other one,
calmly refusing to believe
that the thick drunken
letters staggering across the
lines could be
better done if they’d only release
my captive hand
my captive mind.

Eventually I learned
to think and write The Language
crisply, with a surgeon’s precision.

Occasionally though,
I stare at my neglected left hand and
sometimes,
once in awhile,
I dream in Spanish
talking con mi abuelita.

Estoy comiendo arroz y frijoles.

Yo sueño con algun dia, hablar en mi primer lengua.

Feeling good about feeling good.

Between the new medication and moving to PEI, I am feeling pretty good these days. And it feels good to feel good.

No anxiety. Good sleeping. Productive during the day - Monday I didn't turn on the tv until after supper.

But I know not to push it. Easy way to rebound is to try and do too much when you first start feeling good. Best to get comfortable with it, let it settle through you until it becomes familiar and easy. I'm the only one of 4 adults in the house who doesn't work so I've been looking after making supper, doing laundry, keeping the litter box clean. Two of the three cats in the house are mine so it seemed appropriate to take over the litter box. Besides, it wouldn't sit right with me. They all work really hard and come home tired. Why should they have to do what I can easily do?

Part of me feels guilty for not working. But as good as I feel, I'm not quite that ready.

But I will be soon.

Darkness Lifting

I started this blog to chronicle my journey through bi-polar depression without thinking that when things get dark I wouldn't have the energy or motivation to post. And that is what has kept me from posting for so long.

The depression started getting quite bad and then the anxiety kicked in. You know that suck in your breath feeling you get when something startles you? That has been my state of being for the past month or so. I wasn't sleeping well. I wasn't being well. Eating also fell by the wayside. I had no appetite and when I did try to eat it made me nauseous. It was during this period that I really minded not having weed. Weed quells the anxiety and gives me an appetite. (In 2005 I was so sick I lost 60 pounds from not eating). You may not agree with smoking weed but for me it can be a lifesaver.

My days were marked only by the tv, the programs ticking off the day until I felt tired enough to go to bed. But I knew that the next morning I'd be awake by 5 no matter what time I went to bed. It was exhausting to live in that state of anxiety.

But last week I saw my Dr and he started me on Seroquel which is helping tremendously. I'm sleeping and my anxiety has come down significantly. It's still there but at a level that is manageable. I'm also eating again.

It's hard though to try and describe to you what those weeks were like. Dark. Hopeless. Meaningless. Terrifying. You feel like it will always feel like that and things will never get better. Finally it reaches a point where you don't even care anymore. Doing the simplest of things, like having a shower, became huge challenges. There didn't seem to be any point. I didn't leave the house at all except for my appointment with my Dr. I felt like I was just going to implode at any moment.

But as I said, things are getting better. Especially since Tom accepted a full time job offer - with benefits! - and we'll be moving to Prince Edward Island. I never wanted to come to the Miramichi and I'm glad to be leaving. The 'Chi has no diversity. Here I get followed as people gawk at my tattoos.

But I have a long road ahead. Depression breaks you into a million little pieces. It strips you of your self confidence. It erases your libido. Now I have to rebuild myself and that is exhausting. Poor Tom will be glad to see my libido come back. It's been 4 months. I'm just so tired of being broken over and over and I feel like each time I rebuild I lose pieces of myself that never quite come back. And I have to not think about the fact that this is my life. That I will get broken again and again and rebuild myself again and again. It sucks.

But I'm hanging in there despite the days when it seems like I'm free falling.

WE GOT THE REBATE!!!!

We actually slept last night after we found out we got the heating rebate woohoo! For once the system worked for us and not against us and they will be paying $550 on our power bill. We'll still have another big bill but it won't be anything like the $657 bill we got this month and right now we're grateful for any help. It was nice to actually sleep last night and not have the worry of whether or not we would get it hanging over our heads.

Also, my dear friend Eden got the book I'd crafted for her, it finally arrived and she loved it which made me happy. I love to craft for my friends and it's great when people appreciate what you've made them. Can you believe that not everyone likes hand crafted gifts? I usually craft Christmas presents, just because gifts and have found that many people think of hand made gifts as less than store bought gifts. I'd rather have a badly made something than a well made store bought anything. I remember years ago when my step mother had made her foray into tole painting. She made a beautiful serving tray and if you don't know anything about tole painting, it's very time intensive. She spent hours and hours on this piece and it was just beautiful. Debby is one of those amazing people who can just pick up any craft she is interested in and excel at it. She just blows me away. Anyway, she was so proud of this tray and the person she gave it too gave a cursory thanks and just stashed it away in a cupboard as I remember it. Debby was crushed and on her behalf I was livid. Don't get me wrong, people who craft don't expect parades, awards or huge acknowledgments but at the same time it's not hard to tell when someone doesn't really appreciate what you've done. And that's hard when you put your heart and soul into something.

But it's easy to tell when someone likes what you've made them and Eden I was overwhelmed by your response to my little gift. And it warmed me beyond measure that L liked it also.

So, today is a pretty good day. I mailed out many cards and letters yesterday, I got my first PostCrossing postcard today and had an awesome day with my friend Jenny yesterday. We had a blast going to the dollar store and she treated me to lunch at Burger King - I hadn't had a Whopper in ages and it was an awesome treat. AND, Canada beat Russia last night and is hopefully on the road to gold in men's hockey.

Today it's good to be me and for that I am grateful.

Semantics are everything......

There are many stigmas attached to psychiatric illnesses and I'm always doing what I can to expose them for the fallacies that they are. My dream job, and one I hope to be doing at some point once I figure out how, would be working as an advocate with companies of any size; teaching what it really means to have a psychiatric illness and what companies can do for their employees who suffer from these conditions. These illnesses are the number one cause of time lost on the job in North America and there is much that companies could do to decrease this loss.

But as I said, semantics really are everything and I think the first thing we need to do is stop using the term mental health. Mental refers to the mind, not the brain, and it is the brain that is the genesis of psychiatric diseases. People tend to think of the mind and brain as being the same and they are not. The mind is a function of the brain, they are not the same thing. Depression, schizophrenia, anxiety disorders - these diseases and disorders begin in the brain and from there affect the mind. They do not begin in the mind. I believe that they are neurological diseases no different than Alzheimer's or Parkinson's. I'm not sure when and how they were labeled as mental and at this point I really don't care. Alzheimer's isn't referred to as a mental health issue but it's really no different in origin than depression or schizophrenia - the brain malfunctions and that malfunction spreads to the rest of the body in various ways.

I'm a little cloud-headed today and feel like I've been more coherent on this subject previously but here you go. I think if we can be more accurate in how we refer to psychiatric diseases and disorders that would go a long way in relieving some of the stigma that surround them. Alzheimer's isn't known as a mental health issue and Parkinson's isn't known as a muscular disease. Psychiatric diseases need to be labeled for what they are, diseases of the brain. Refer to them as neurological diseases , psychiatric diseases - please just don't refer to them as mental health diseases. Doing so keeps us all in the closet of ignorance and it's getting pretty stuffy in here.

Until next time, be grateful, be happy and if that's out of reach right now, reach out to someone who can remind you.

So here I am.....

.....feeling better but still not feeling all the way there. It's been almost a month now since the new drug regimen started and I'm at the awkward place - halfway between being sick and being back to myself.
And I'm so bored...... I've been crafting like a madwoman, haha, but my paper crafting supplies are running low and I haven't quite figured out what to move to next. I have a huge stack of handmade cards to send out next week when my disability comes in. (Oh Eden, I can't wait until your surprise lands in your mailbox! I had so much fun making it!).

But crafting with depression brings it's own challenges, it's own set of usta's. I usta be able to knock out scrapbook pages in record time, the ideas would come so fast I'd be writing notes on the blank pages so I wouldn't forget them. About 5 years ago I made a scrapbook for my best friend of 30 years and I spent days working on it, filling up the pages almost as fast as I could turn them. I love to make things for my friends, I actually very rarely make things for myself. And when I make something for someone, I spell it (sort of a pun on my most favorite net name Spellflinger), that is I reflect on the person, what they mean to me, the times we've shared - I imbue whatever I'm making with good thoughts and positive energy. In the case of my heartsib, who I haven't yet been graced to meet, I spelled it with thoughts of what our time would be like together when we do get to meet.

But after my last major breakdown in 2005, my creativity has been hampered and dampened and it's never really come back full force. The enjoyment and satisfaction I get are still there, but the ideas don't come as easily or as quickly. Blank scrapbook pages challenge me. Rows of beads taunt me and material just lays there in piles. I didn't realize until this happened how much of my sense of self was connected to being creative. A page can now take all day - and much of that is spent staring at the blank whiteness waiting for inspiration to occur. And the biggest obstacle is the usta's...... I usta be able to whip them right out, I usta have idea after idea........

And now I'm at the crossroad of being sick and being well and I'm bored. My motivation is paced ahead of my concentration and everything I think of bores me. Earlier this week I laid out all my beads and beading supplies - only to put it all away again as soon as it was all laid out. I get frustrated when the ideas don't come quickly - self defeating I know but there you have it. I have lots of ideas for paper crafting but who knows when I'll be able to replenish my paper stock. I'm hoping to be able to swing a packet of paper I saw at Wal Mart a few weeks ago - 2 inches thick of my favorite colors - and $30. Thinking that with our current power bill that just can't be done but I'll be setting aside my change and hoping in a few months it will happen. But I think a trip to the dollar store is doable, they have pretty good paper there.

And I'm trying to accept the fact that my creativity may never be as it was before. It's entirely possible that my previous level was really a manifestation of mania and I'm thinking that's too high a price to pay. I can still craft, it just takes longer and I'm thinking the extra effort makes it sweeter when it's done.

But right now I'm still so bored and hoping that something will grab my fancy soon. My paper is low, but there's still beading, sewing, polymer clay..... all sorts of stuff. If you'd like a handmade card, I have lots of those!, send me an email with your mailing address and I'll add it to the pile that's going out next week!

And so it goes.....

If you read my last post, you know all about the whopping power bill we got. Well, I called out local MLA (member of the legislative assembly) and he put us in touch with a department at Social Services that may be able to help with the bill. Seems we may qualify for a heating rebate of up to $500 and we have the ball in motion to see if we qualify, fingers crossed.

Poverty is often referred to as grinding and I cannot think of a more accurate description. There's a reason that people from lower incomes suffer from depression more than those who live in a higher tax bracket. Grinding is exactly what poverty does - it grinds away at your pride, your self esteem and overall sense of self worth. Right now I'm hoping we are considered poor enough to qualify for a drug card that would cover my medications. We're so far below the poverty line we can't even see it and yet the last time we lived here I was disqualified for the drug card. My Dr will be able to get me one through the clinic if social services (doesn't that just sound better than welfare? same thing but less stigmatic to me) declines me yet again. Still, it's demeaning enough to have to apply for one but then to be denied for not being poor enough?

But, if it gets me my meds I suppose it's all for the best. As I said before, Tom and I are the little people. Eating out means having enough for a value meal at McDonalds and that usually still emans a coupon of some kind is involved. I've made my own pads for out if both economical and environmental concerns. We rarely buy meat and only then if it's on sale. I've been making do with underpants that fall off if I'm wearing a nightgown and despite our huge power bill, we're living in a cold house. In the past I've used shampoo to wash dishes when the dish soap ran out and we didn't have the money to buy new right away.

But, we get by. We always have food, sometimes from the food bank, the cats always have food and clean litter. We have the internet. We have a roof over our heads and clothes that are clean. Except for underpants, all my clothes come from the thrift store but that's also a preference not just an economic necessity. Reduce, reuse and recycle people, it's what it's all about. I've been a thrift store fan since I was a teenager thanks to my stepmother. Retail is for suckers.

Inasmuch as we do get by, it's still a struggle and to then be told that you aren't poor enough? That's a slap that stings more than going to the food bank. I felt much of my progress slip away when we got that power bill last week and I'm working hard to get back to where I was so I can continue to improve. It sucks to have something outside of yourself take away progress when I work and fight so hard for every small bit of improvement. I'm still feeling more engaged that I did before the meds started, but I've lost a fair bit of my new optimism. It's tilting at windmills to be sure, but things shouldn't be so hard all the time. So, cross your fingers for us that we are considered poor enough for the rebate to help with our power bill. We should find out in the next few days.

And I was supposed to have an appointment with Dr Sanjay today but I had to reschedule. We didn't have the bus fare I needed to get there and back. But we get by. Barely.

Today is hard.

I know that I have much to be grateful for. I have a husband and we actually love each other, family and friend that I love - and they love me.

But today is hard. We pay for our electricity here and the house is heated with electric. We keep the thermostat on 15C/58F - in the living room. The rest of the rooms the heaters are on basically just enough to prevent the ice from actually forming. The things in my house are cold - furniture, utensils - my fingertips get colder from the keyboard. We are cold. As I write this I am wearing 2 pairs of socks, slippers, leggings, flannel pants, turtleneck, sweatshirt, cardigan and fingerless gloves. And I'm cold. By hanging a sheet in the living room doorway last week, I'm able to trap heat in the living room and it's not too bad. So that makes one room kind of warm.

Last month our hydro bill was $154. Apparently that was an estimate. This month the employee actually got out of his heated truck, walked 6 feet from the street and read the meter. So this month we are paying for what we actually used this month and last. And our bill is $657.

Our rent is $480. I'm on disability and Tom is getting unemployment. We are so beyond being able to pay that bill it may as well be a million dollars. The bright side, haha, is that after several people froze to death last winter after NB Power cut their power off, they changed the law and they can't turn your power off in the winter months. So spring will be a double edged sword. The bill will go down but we won't be able to afford to keep it.

We're the little people. We pay the outrageous taxes and banking fees. We're not vegetarian but we may as well be for as little as we can buy meat. If I don't get a drug card from social services I'll be hoping that every month a drug rep leaves enough samples of my medication.

Knowing that there are others, literally millions, who have it much worse and would trade places with my situation in a heartbeat doesn't make it any easier to deal with the situation.

Today is hard.

Be grateful. Inspired by Jinxi Boo's poem.

I knew it was tme to get postign but I was ahving a hard time figuring out what to write about. Then I read Jinxi's poem Grateful in my Google Reader and a topic that had been dancing around the edges crystallized. I love Jinxi's work, it always speaks to my heart and as I said when I posted it here, I hope it speaks to yours. I also read another poem today that spoke as loudly and brought with it healing but my edges are still somewhat raw and Ill write more on that another time as I need to get permission to repost that poem.

It's very easy to get caught up in what we don't have and lose sight of what we do have. It's a human trait that seems to be increasing these days but it's always possible that it's my perspective that makes it seem so.

I work to live a life of gratitude but it wasn't always that way. In 2002 I'd had yet another massive breakdown, lost my job and my apartment. I was forced to move into a rooming house, the only place I could afford on what little money I would be getting from unemployment - 55% of just over minimum wage isn't very much money. When I was younger my Dad had dated a woman who lived in a rooming house and I had a somewhat romantic view of the whole thing. Well, there was little that was romantic about this rooming house. Across the hall from me lived a couple that the week before I had moved away from on the bus. On my second day there was a knock on the door from a local church group offering me a sandwich and a pop. ("Sandwich and a pop?" called out in a sweet singsong..... I can hear it to this day......). Apparently they came around every other Sunday. I was horrified. I declined their offer and would later just sit quietly when they knocked until they went away. They'd leave the sandwich and can of pop outside my door and I'd give them to the guy who had the closet sized room beside mine. Eventually the day came when I had to eat the sandwich myself. Eventually the day came when I realized that I'd lost enough weight that my jeans slipped off my hips and I had to accept the fact that I was now one of those people who went to the food bank instead of being someone who made donations to the food bank. For the longest time food bank food gave me heartburn. Eventually that passed taking more of my pride with it.

I'd go the the library to use the internet. And to steal toilet paper. On Saturdays I had to remember to take enough to last until Tuesday when the library opened again. I cut up all my towels except for two to use as pads. I eventually remembered to take my toilet paper with me when I woke up in the night to use the bathroom - the one I now shared with people I didn't care to share bus space with previously.

One day I was feeling especially bad and quite sorry for myself. I'd been forced to feed my two beloved cats rice for a few days while I waited for my unemployment check to arrive. I was out of cat food, out of tobacco and pretty much out of hope. I sat by the window and watched the street three stories below. The I saw him. I always thought of him as the guy in the red coat. He was a street person and no matter the weather, he always had on a red winter coat. I saw him at the library all the time - full bearded, dirty and usually talking to himself. I watched him walking along, bumming change form passers by and picking up butts from the street. And I realized that as bad as I had it, it could always be worse. True, my cats and I had only plain rice to eat, but we had a roof over our heads. And even though there were many times when I used to bathroom sink wo wash out my underpants, I still had clean underpants to wear. I didn't feel better than him, but I did feel luckier. And I felt pretty small for feeling so badly for myself.

Living on Carleton St wasn't the best place to live, but I learned some invaluable lessons there. I learned to truly live in gratitude there and I still do. It's been pretty cold here this winter but I remind myself that it would be even colder living on the streets. When we were without a stove and fridge, I'd remind myself that we were lucky to have had the money to buy a hotplate. I felt overwhelming gratitude when the parents of a dear friend gave us $150 at Christmas to help us get a fridge and stove - we'd never even met them but they knew of our situation from their daughter, my dear friend Jenny. (We moved back to the Miramichi in December and the only place that would allow my cats was a house that had no fridge or stove - thanks to Jenny's folks, we now have both!) And there isn;t a time when I use the stove or open the fridge that I don't think on that amazing gift.

When Tom and I fist got together, he used to bitch about going to the laundromat. I'd tell him, be grateful! Going there means we have the ability to walk there, we have the money to wash the clothes and we have clothes that need to be washed and clothes to wear while we go. And besides, it was all of two hours out of the day, not worth letting it ruin your whole day!

I never did express my thanks in words to the guy in the red coat. Last I knew, he was still living on the streets in Fredericton. But I used to buy a sub when I could and leave it on his coat at the library when he was away in the stacks getting a book.

Oh, and the awful rooming house that destryoed my image of rooming houses as being a romantic place to live? There was some romance there. It's where I met Tom my husband.

Grateful: A Poem by Jinxi Boo

Yet another great poem by Jinxi Boo. Her words always speak straight to my heart and I hope they speak to your as well.

Grateful

Be grateful for mistakes.
Mistakes are what teach lessons.

Be grateful when you are tired,
Your hard work often means that you have made a difference.

Be grateful for unaccomplished goals.
If all were reached, what would there be to work towards?

Be grateful for shortcomings;
they provide the prospect for improvement.

Be grateful when you don't understand;
It gives you the opportunity to learn something new.

Be grateful when times are trying.
Those times make you stronger.

Be grateful for progression. And persistence.
And days, good or bad.

Be grateful for difficulties.
How you handle them, speaks volumes to your character.

~j-boo

http://www.jinxiboo.com/blog/2010/2/9/grateful-a-poem.html?lastPage=true#comment7386569

Well, it's been a week now.....

....and I have to say that there has been a definite shift in the internal dialogue. I am feeling more engaged with myself and the world in which I live. This is the forgetting time, when how I felt two weeks ago fades and it hard to explain exactly how I felt. The difficulty with the dark time is that there is no energy to chronicle how it feels and by the time I start to feel the energy, the sense of how I felt is fading away. It's like trying to remember an amazing concert - as time goes by, you remember the feeling of the concert but the small precise moments have slipped away. And the further away I get from the dark time, the hazier the details are.

But I do know that when I wake up in the morning, that sense of dread is gone. The sense of oh crap another day and how am I going to fill it this time and how will I pass enough time before I can go back to bed....... even going to bed has gotten better. Instead of laying there cataloging all the things I didn't do I can go over the things I did do and the things I'd like to do tomorrow. I'm still not doing everything I'd hoped to - the bedroom is still unorganized and there are still boxes to be unpacked, but the thought of these things doesn't overwhelm me like it did two weeks ago.

Yesterday Tom and I did a major grocery shop in celebration of our new mini fridge. (The house we moved into last December didn't have either a fridge or stove..... but we have a stove and a mini fridge now woohoo!!!!) After we got home and put it all away, I did the dishes, made corned beef hash for supper and a lazy daisy cake for dessert AND THEN I DID THE SUPPER DISHES!!! So I figure either the Lithium is working or we have a new sign for the coming of the apocalypse...... and it was nice to get up today and go into a kitchen that wasn't a disaster zone. Please don't rat me out to Germaine Greer or Betty Friedan for my little woman behavior....

And then after supper I made a small folding book for Tom for Valentine's Day that turned out well and being me I gave it to him last night. We usually don't bother much with V-day, I would have made it for him regardless of the season. It's not easy for him by times and that is another thing I struggle with - the guilt I feel over him having a wife that isn't always there the way she'd like to be. But I did find an incredible quote that was said to Tsar Nicholas by his wife Alexandra:

"I love you - these three words contain my whole life"

Here's to a whole life!

Getting over the ustas......

Earlier today I posted a poem by Jinxi Boo that I really liked - especially the part about memory lane being a stop on the journey, not the destination itself. I am prone to getting the ustas and that part really spoke to me.

Ever had the ustas? I usta be able to work 2 jobs and go to school full time. I usta be able to handle simple decisions like which socks to wear without having an anxiety attack. I usta have a strong self image of myself as a strong, independent and capable woman. I usta be able to bounce back from depressive episodes in a matter of days. Now it can take months. I usta have a firm and toned jaw line.......

Living in the past can be seductive, destructive and oh so easy to do..... and paralyzes me. It undermines where I am now and what I'm accomplishing at this moment. And I'm realizing that it's not just the bipolar and accompanying disorders that have changed things - it's also the fact that 44 ain't 24 and 44 can't do everything as easily as 24 once did.

But it's hard, especially with my husband's family. They know me largely as someone who is "sensitive", who is unable to handle certain things like the mall on a busy weekend afternoon. I feel more defined by my limitations than my abilities. I wish I could turn on a time machine screen and show them who I "usta" be, introduce them to the woman who maintained A's in Honors Philosophy while working 70 hours at 2 jobs, have them meet the me I usta be, the me I mourn still.

I'll never get that woman back, she's long gone and I'd be loathe to give up all I've learned and experienced since then. But I'm hoping that this new drug regimen will introduce to the 44 and fierce me I know I can be.

Today by Jinxi Caddell

Today

Now is not the time
to live in the past.

You are not your past...
you are so much more.

Make memory lane
a destination on the journey;
not the finish line.

Use lessons learned
to guide your way.

Be proud of days gone by…
but be bigger;
and better;
and brighter than ever before.

The past is there
to learn from.

The present is here
to live.

The future awaits
with open arms.

Don’t be the old version of anything.
Be the best version of yourself
... today.

~ j-boo
http://www.jinxiboo.com/blog/2010/1/27/today-a-poem-about-the-past-present-and-future.html


I've been subscribing to Jinxi's blog for awhile now since I stumbled it. Jinxi has an infectious enthusiasm for life that I find refreshing and this poem really spoke to me. Especially the lines about memory lane being a stop on the destination and not the finish line.

Trying to remember......

...to take my meds every night...... after years of being on them it took only a few months to forget to take them. Tom is good though, he'll always ask "did you take your meds yet?" - especially when I fall asleep on the couch during the evening.

I'm not sure why but taking the meds is when I really feel crazy. Some meds you might be able to fool yourself as to why you take them. Kind of hard to pretend that Lithium is for anything but being nuts. And the "anti-psychotic" in big letters on the side of the box of Risperidone is hard to miss....... although from what's listed on the box, I could pretend it's for dementia -maybe pretending it's Alzheimer's would make it easier.

Maybe if I'd grown up without being told that there was something wrong with me would make the diagnosis easier to handle. Turns out I was crazy but not in the way the egg donor meant. From her it was a judgment. From the Dr it was a relief - a reason why I felt the way I did, one that made sense and didn't make me feel less than.

I don't mind the diagnosis. I made my peace with it many moons ago. But for some reason I mind how taking the pills makes me feel......

And so it begins....

It's been two days now since I started the latest drug protocol - 300mg Lithium and 2mg Risperidone. I feel the usual grogginess when I first get up but am hoping that will subside as my system gets used to it. I'm a little stumbly too - rather like someone who's had a few too many.

I order to chart how I'm progressing it seems appropriate to chart where I am now...... I've been med free since last fall - and that nightmare is discussed in previous postings. I'm not as sick as I have been before and while that is good, it has also allowed me to delude myself into thinking I'm not that bad now. Comparatively speaking that is true, but all things being equal, things aren't that great.

I'm feeling stuck in a persistent, low grade depression - like how you feel when you first start to slide down that slope to Sparky. I have little energy, even less motivation and spend my days just waiting for the day to pass. The weekends are the worse when I don't have the usual tv schedule to keep me occupied. No Golden Girls at 3pm, Criminal Minds at 8pm and Friends reruns at various times throughout the day. Some days I try to craft, but my creativity is still quite compromised and crafting usually brings more conflict than the boredom it is meant to offset. It's frustrating to spend all day trying to do one small scrapbook page when I can remember doing several pages in one day. Jigsaw puzzles are great though. They give me something to focus on and you don't expect to get it all done in one sitting. I find the sorting of pieces very Zen like - by giving me something to focus on I can get lost in the process.

But mostly is the feeling of I just don't care accompanied by Why Bother? Get dressed properly instead of wearing baggy flannel pants and sweatshirts? Why bother when I don't care? And the whole dressing properly is complicated by the fact that our new house is cold and it's easier to just stayed bundled in flannel and sweats and showering everyday is just too much work and I get too cold......

And my poor husband. My libido was stifled enough on the drugs. Without it's pretty much vanished. We've been here since the last day of November and still haven't christened the place. I am lucky in that he knows it's not personal, but that doesn't make it any easier for either of us. He feels frustrated and I feel guilty. For awhile. Then I just don't care anymore.

So here's to hoping that the Lithium and Risperidone combat all that without enveloping me in lithury - my word for the wrapped in cotton sensation that I had the last time I was on Lithium.

Lithurgy.......

By now, we've moved back to New Brunswick and I was finally able to get in to see my old Dr at the Mental Health Clinic. I wasn't happy with the blog site where I was writing Life With Sparky and decided to move it here where I'm more accustomed with the mechanics and layout. After this next post, all postings will be new. It's my intention to chronicle my latest attempt to find the right drugs to tame the bipolar beast within.

Finally got to see Dr Sanjay yesterday and here I go again with the meds. I was quite emphatic that Effexor was not an option. I could be guaranteed a lifetime supply and still not take it. Of course I also don’t have drug coverage at this time, so I’m back on Lithium. I was on it before and didn’t like how it made me feel, but I’m hopeful that in conjunction with the Risperidone it won’t be as bad. It’s also cheap - $14 for a 70 day supply. Dr Sanjay writes scripts for 70 days to save on dispensing fees. He’s also gave me the paperwork to apply for a drug card through Social Services. If they say no, which I’m anticipating as they said no 2 years ago, he’ll be able to get me one through the clinic. Universal health care my ass.

Funny. I only feel crazy when I am actually taking the meds, that moment of setting aside what I’m doing to swallow pills makes me feel crazier than any thing else. Panic attacks, anxiety, inability to get out of bed - that all pales in how swallowing the meds makes me feel.

It’s hard to feel like my thoughts are really my own. When I’m depressed, I feel a disconnect from my thoughts and feelings because I know I am feeling that way because of the depression. BUT, when I’m on meds or not depressed, I feel a disconnect from my thoughts and feelings because I feel that they are what they are because of the meds. I never seem to feel like they are truly mine.

So, I decided it would be good to have a project, something to do everyday and have decided to start chronicling this latest round of which meds will work. I figure it will also be a good way to chart how I’m feeling, something to look back on from time to time and see how I’m doing comparatively speaking.

So, here we go, 300mg Lithium and 2mg Risperidone daily!

Effexor free a month later.....

....another repost from November 2009....

It’s been almost a month since I stopped taking Effexor and the worst seems to be over as far as the withdrawal symptoms.

I still have the persistent feeling of coming down with the flu and oddly enough these symptoms get worse as the day goes on. I wake up feeling all right but as the day goes on I feel worse. Aching joints, sensation of low grade fever, that feeling your head gets when you’re about to get the flu or a really nasty head cold. But in the morning it starts all over again. I feel like Sisyphus.

So now I’m waiting for the reality of my untreated bipolar, anxiety and OCD to kick in. So far I seem to be doing ok. A low grade depression that hasn’t yet crippled me although I’m sure that will change over time. It’s what missing that is telling - energy, motivation, general over all giving a fuck really.

I’m depressed enough that I don’t care and right now things are such in my life that there seems little point in really doing anything to improve the situation. I have to move back to a province I hate to be near relatives I don’t have much in common with. I’ll get to live in the whitest community I’ve ever seen. There is virtually zero diversity of any kind. Ethnicity, orientation, beliefs…. you name it and it’s conspicuous only by it’s absence.

And did I mention that there is no book store?

I suppose I don’t really have to move back. I could stay here and find my way. But staying here means being left behind while my husband moves anyway. He’s made it clear that he’ll go without me. Easy threat really for him to make. He knows I’d go wherever he goes and I’m working really hard not to hate him for that.

Two weeks Effexor.....

....this was originally written October 2009 two weeks after I had to quit Effexor cold turkey whenI couldn't afford it any longer....

I was prescribed 450mg Effexor daily, dispensed in 75mg capsules. With no job and no drug coverage, I was doing the best I could with what I had.

I wasn’t taking my Effexor properly. I was getting 50 capsules at a time and making them last for a month. Two capsules most nights, one capsule 10 nights a month.

It wasn’t working. And despite the fact that I was still taking the Effexor, I was having mild withdrawal due to the decreased dose.

I wanted off the Effexor. I asked the pharmacist to dispense the same amount of meds, but in 37.5mg caps so I could wean off. She refused. I’ve worked several years in drugstore retail. Had I been a long time customer, or one who spent obvious amounts in the store, it would have been done.

So I quit. Cold turkey.

It’s been a few weeks now. The withdrawal is abating somewhat but it is still awful.

Persistent flu feeling. Chills. Hot flashes. Vomiting. Aching joints and muscles. The feeling of a fever without actually having one. And excruciating sensitivity to light that has the television screen practically black with virtually no contrast. I wear my sunglasses when I play my Nintendo DS. Dizziness that hits at any time. My bowels, never the best at the best, are impaired. I feel constipated without being constipated.

There is nothing to take to alleviate these symptoms.

Except Effexor. Swallow a couple and within hours I’d feel sooooo much better.

Except I wouldn’t take this shit if they guaranteed me a lifetime supply.

Ever.

Meet Sparky

It was Winston Churchill who first coined the phrase the black dog ~ it was what he called his depression. And it’s a metaphor that really works and in many ways makes it easier to try and understand what Depression is like to live with. Although my best friend Tanya made a good point when she said that Depression is like childbirth ~ you can have someone tell you all about it and understand it on an intellectual level, but until you’ve gone through it, you really don’t get it.

I’ve always had Sparky ~ my black dog ~ but I didn’t realize he was there until my late 20’s when my Dr discovered him. And then began the process of learning how to care for Sparky ~ my black dog. The first thing I had to do was accept the fact that Sparky would always be a part of my life and that having Sparky was not a character flaw, a weakness or my fault. I was never a dog person and accepting the fact that I now had one of my own was a long and difficult process. And Sparky is a very picky eater. He’d eat a certain food for awhile and then decide that he didn’t like it and act up. And then the search for a new food would begin again. And this would be after Sparky was given different portions of the same food. When he continued to act up, then a new food would be looked at as a possibility. Different foods at different portions, all the while trying to keep Sparky under control.

That’s the other reality of having a black dog. Even when he has the food he likes at the right portion he can still act up. Often for no reason at all except that he feels like it. And most people don’t care for being around an unruly dog ~ even when they know that you are doing your best to contain him. And even when he is behaving, he is always at your feet. You just do your best not to trip on him or wake up him and have him get too active. Looking after Sparky is a tricky business. When people realize you have a black dog you often are then in a position of explaining to them what having a black dog is really all about. It can be extremely difficult to accept you have a black dog when others are always questioning his presence. And Sparky himself adds to the questioning. He’ll try his best to control me. When he is acting up, he gets bigger than me, overshadowing me until even I feel invisible. And the bigger he gets the stronger he gets. The tricky part is knowing when he’s about to get stronger. Recognizing the signs of agitation. Accepting the oncoming, and often inevitable, period of bad behavior.

But there are things I can do to rein in Sparky as much as I can. I make sure that I have a professional trainer to help me when Sparky acts up. I do my best not to listen to Sparky when he tells me that his presence is shameful and I should just hide him and myself away. Sparky tells me that merely having him makes me unworthy. He wants to me the master and control me. It’s a balance between knowing he will act up and working not to allow him complete control. When Sparky is in control it is easy to allow him that control, to let him call the shots and submit to his will. At these times Sparky doesn’t like to go outside, see other people, eat, sleep or even take care of basic hygiene. He even barks at my partner, scaring him and keeping him back. Some friends are so scared of Sparky they never come back.

And Sparky has offspring and they tend to wake up when he does. Generalized anxiety, social anxiety, OCD, PTSD……..and they require a different diet than Sparky. And the diets themselves can be just as hard as having Sparky. Decreased libido, hand tremors, increased need for sleep, the sensation of being muffled from the rest of the world. Other than when Sparky is acting up, the time I feel his presence the strongest is when I have to feed him. It is a daily reminder that he is with me and he will always be with me. You can’t put a black dog down. You can do your best to control him but you’ll never be rid of him. And I mean no gender bias when I call Sparky “him” ~ it’s just how I always thought of Sparky.

So exercise him. feed him properly. Take care of him as best you can but accept that he’ll always be there. Accept that there will be times when you can’t control him. Accept that some people will never accept him. Do your best to explain Sparky’s presence to those that will accept him as part of your life. Inform others what it means to have a black dog. But most of all remember that having a black dog is not your fault. He is not a punishment and you should feel no shame in having him.