When The Psych Dr Won’t Help

I had a horrible week last week. My mood began to plunge badly. I called my Psychiatry office to see if they could prescribe me anything to hold me over until my appointment scheduled for two weeks from now. They said that they couldn’t do that. I finally went in for help. I went up to the office and asked if anybody could help me, even the back up doctor I saw before. I said I really wasn’t doing well. Then the girl at the front desk, and you can’t make this crap up, looked at me and said, “Well you look well put together so you’re fine.”

I kid you not. They have someone that ignorant and condescending working in a psychiatry office now. She’s a new girl. I’m going to be taking this up with the practice manager. I was doing pretty badly and I really needed help. She told me I looked fine, and then sent me away with nothing after giving me a lecture about how they have to do things the correct way, as she called it, and couldn’t give me any meds without me seeing my practitioner. Well, I know the correct way to jump off an overpass so would she rather I have done that? And it was a whole bunch of crap to be honest. I’ve been seeing psychiatrists for about 10 years now. If you’re a new patient, then yeah they can’t help you until they’ve seen you. But when they’ve been seeing you for a while and know about what you’ve been on and know your history, it is not uncommon at all if you call with a really bad problem for them to either get you in ASAP or if they can’t get you in maybe the next day, they call in something for you to get started on and see if it helps you. While my request was undoubtedly a pain in the ass for everybody involved, it was not uncommon or unheard of and I am not the only psych patient to make such requests. It’s pretty much the norm.

Finally I got a call from the nursing assistant saying that my provider would see me a week before my regular appointment by seeing me over her lunch break. That’s still left me with more than a week of medication that wasn’t working. I started off depressed and then for several days I was suicidal and could not function. And I was just left like that. The only reason I have perked up and become more productive in the middle of this week is because I have been doubling up on both my stabilizer and antidepressant. They don’t always like it when you mess with your drug dosages on your own, but the fact is they wouldn’t help me and I couldn’t get through another week in the terrible state that I was in. I couldn’t do it. It was absolutely beyond me. So until I see my practitioner next Monday I am doing what I can to keep myself functional and able to live a good life. Or at least able to live. Today was actually a pretty good day. I don’t know what tomorrow holds.

I was and am horrified by the girl at the front desk. And the weekend that ensued was an absolute nightmare. For me and for my husband. I was doing really badly. And to think that no one would help me is really upsetting. I am a Rapid Cycling Bipolar 1. Bipolar 1 means that you can go psychotically Manic and that you have as many manic episodes as you do depressed episodes. Rapid or ultradian cycling means that your mood changes much more quickly. For some people who are bipolar depression comes on gradually. They don’t get up one day without the will power to live anymore when they were okay the day before. It comes on more gradually, and although they certainly shouldn’t be blown off either they don’t tend to drop off the deep end in the blink of an eye. I’m a rapid cycler. I can go from good to bad very quickly and from bad to worse even quicker. For me, and for other patients who are in the same situation as me, it is not okay to say gee just wait another week and a half and we will get to you. That’s unacceptable. That’s a lot of days to commit suicide between now and then. I was definitely discouraged because I realized how alone I can be when I drop or if I go too manic. My doctor back home was really on top of things and if I called her with a problem she would either get me in right away, or she would call something in to help me. She would give me something to get through the night so to speak. She did not leave me hanging day after day, and her wonderful desk staff Bruce would never say something so stupid or condescending as what the desk staff had to say at this office here. Bruce was smart, compassionate, and kind.

Previously, I have liked my provider. She’s personable and she’s a good listener. But I have no way of making sure that my severe mood swings match up with a hole in her schedule. And her lack of availability and her rigidity really scare me. Right now taking those double doses of stabilizer and antidepressant are holding me up enough to do okay. I actually even had a good day today. But the truth is these drugs are wearing out badly and I don’t know how much longer I’m going to be able to string that along. On top of that I found out that my provider is only working one day a week now, although she is considering working two days a week. So she will have very little availability to make regular appointments, and on top of that I really don’t have a hope of help. She could have called in a prescription without being in the office, so her short working hours are not entirely to blame for her not helping me. But even if she was willing to get me in quicker to help me the reality is the woman works one day a week now apparently. So it’s going to be a week of waiting at least before I see her. I hate to give up a provider, and every time you switch to someone new it’s scary. But that’s just not enough availability.

My Bunny

Almost every time my husband deploys, I adopt another family member. Last time Craig deployed, I adopted Parsnip. Craig is on a shore tour right now, so he hasn’t deployed in awhile, thank God. He only has to go away for a few days at a time. But on his last deployment, I drove from Moyock, NC to Newport News, VA to adopt baby Parsnip.

This morning Parsnip jumped up on the library sofa and went to Craig’s uniform. He was debating between snuggling on it and nibbling it. Then he saw me. He decided to hop off the sofa.

Parsnip is my little friend. It is a always so wonderful to wake up, go down stairs, and set Parsnip free. He is my little emotional support animal. Nothing totally spares me from my Bipolar symptoms. But before I hit the bottom of depression or the top of mania, my more mild symptoms can be partially alleviated by Parsnip’s company.

Hurricane Bipolar Decimated Me This Weekend

Bipolar came barreling through this weekend. It has been bad, worse than I want to write in any detail right now. I have had a hard, nonfunctional weekend. Craig has stepped in to take care of everything. I am so blessed to have him in my life.

Crazy how when you have Bipolar Disorder things change so quickly – at least if you are an ultradian like me. I rang in the New Year feeling fantastic. I was happy, excited about 2019, creative, and content. Then I just fell as though I was pushed off an overpass. Every single car driving underneath has run me over this weekend. Living has been a struggle. I am grateful that I am at least able to write about it right now. Writing sometimes helps me heal a little.

Praying this ends soon. In the meantime I’m going to do my best to do at least one thing to clean the house today, and to do one thing that is creative even if I can only do it for a minute or two. Anything so that when I lay my head down tonight I can feel that this day was at least somewhat worthwhile. I have to get something done. It’s just hard to get off the sofa and move.

Trying to Raise My Mood

Now is the time to put my new planner to the test. I was doing pretty well this morning. We did homeschool lessons, I painted with Angelica, I did housework Etc. I was productive and really enjoying myself. Then I started my afternoon low. Now I’m trying to come back. I feel like my soul slipped out between my fingers. I’m staring at the TV. It’s one of my favorite shows. I still feel like a piece of myself has been rended in a shredder. Somehow I need to get off the sofa.

Vraylar

 At the beginning of the week my psychiatric nurse put me on another medication in addition to the ones I am already on. She put me on Vraylar.

I have had mixed results. I have been able to actually do some reading this week and I was able to go and have fun and have dinner with some new friends. So there have definitely been improvements the past few days. But while it’s probably the drug I can’t know for sure at this point because it could just be that I’m getting lucky and having a few decent days. If it is in fact the new medicine making me feel better, I’m still not sure if I’m going to be able to stay on it.

I have been feeling very strange since I started it. I get disoriented when I’m driving. I feel like I’m moving even though I have my foot all the way down on the brake. The movement of other cars confuses me and I zone out a lot. I get dizzy at home. And I’m having really weird effects with my vision. My eyesight is not blurry or fuzzy or even double vision. Instead it literally looks like everything has just been painted with fresh wet paint and the paint dripped down before the picture dried. What I see is actually smeared sometimes. It’s really bizarre. I suppose it could be something else entirely causing this, but while I have had some issues before this it has really been acute this week.

September Wasn’t Great

October was worse. I haven’t written in a month, or even read much. My mind hasn’t been clear. I’ve tried to edit massive amounts I’d already written and my mind was just dry.  It wasn’t a creative block. It was depression and mixed mania. Half the time I was too depressed to do much. I fell so behind on housework for a few weeks that I felt terrible when J came to clean. The house was a mess from floor to ceiling. We alternated between running on dirty laundry and getting dressed downstairs when the laundry was clean because I couldn’t muster the will to bring it upstairs and put it away. We went to get the car washed and I had so much anxiety waiting for it to be detailed that I tried to walk off and leave. Craig had to bring me back. At one point I lost my mind and engaged in some brief self harm.

Last Monday Angelica and I went to our first social event for the Peterson Wives Group, even though we’ve been here since the end of February. So many of them have nothing but strangers there and have tons of people going. I have so much anxiety that I can’t seem to get up the courage to go. But a nice girl I’ve talked to before hosted this event, so I decided to take the plunge. It was an adorable thing where the kids could paint little pumpkins. Angelica had a wonderful time and it was so good to see her get to play with other kids. She really hit it off with K, the hostess’s, son. We want to get them together again for a little playdate. The other women there were so nice and I enjoyed the conversation with all of them. And yet….toward the end I felt like  crying. When I got to the car and buckled in I did cry. I cried on the short drive home and I cried when I got in the house. I was no use the rest of the day. It was a wonderful event and the company was superb, but I just fell apart afterward.

Craig has had a hard time with me for awhile now. I just haven’t been good company. I’ve been so low that he has resorted to letting me watch Real Housewives even when he’s home and stuck in front of the TV. It’s a mercy thing to raise my mood. Usually I like scary shows, surreal stuff, and nature documentaries. But for some reason I love the Real Housewives franchise. I never put it on when Craig is home out of consideration, but it is mindless entertainment and can help me while away hours when I’m really not up to do anything else. Poor Craig. I have been living as much life as I’ve been able to, but it isn’t easy. The other day I wasted two hours of the babysitter being here so that I could sleep. 

For now, Trazadone is no longer part of my nightly med regimen. Last summer I was waking up early naturally. I’ve been sleeping later and later and it has just been adding to my misery.  Not only does my day suck and I accomplish very little, but I have even less chance of making something of myself and my day than I usually do because I’m asleep for half of it. I pulled myself off and I’ve started waking up early again like I like. I’ll keep it on backup for when I go to high to sleep. I also have some other medicine I can take if I go to manic. I haven’t had a full blown psychotic mania this season, which is odd. But I’m grateful.

Instead I’ve had those delightful things they call mixed states. That is where you are manic and depressed at the same time. So I’ve gone through periods of super high energy and agitation, combined with hopeless and suicidal feelings. These spells haven’t lasted long (otherwise my house might have been cleaner), but they’ve been miserable when they’ve happened. I’ve had to walk out of restaurants countless times. It isn’t constant. I’ve been able to eat out without trouble a few times. But it has been a regular issue. 

Hopefully I’m on the rise again. They have doubled my mood stabilizer and my antidepressant. I have had to go to the psychiatrist each week for weeks. I’m tired of waiting for table scraps of life – for just a few moments or hours here and there when I can be of use to my family or shop or hang with friends. I want to be able to write again, and have the focus to read. As I write I’m listening to music. I haven’t sat and just listened to music in weeks.

Depression Hurts My Creativity

Depression is difficult. I regret that I have not been posting more poetry. I have a backlog on my computer that I need to revise and post. I want to write more in my poetry journal. 

This might sound silly, but I am waiting for the right time. In my head. Today I’ve been sitting down at my laptop looking over my poetry and trying to revise it, but it is as though my core is sleeping. My mind is somewhere else. I’m revising a little bit, but what I’m doing is just not that imaginative and I’m not pleased with it. 

It’s not just poetry that has taken a backseat to depression. My novice visual art (not much to look at but I love doing it) has barely been touched. I even went out last week on a day when I felt like I could leave the house and drive, and bought art supplies, and I haven’t begun to touch the new supplies. My housework has taken a nosedive. My friend J came over today to clean and everything was a mess. My laundry is backed up. I haven’t showered in days. Today I had to get dressed in the living room because my load of clean clothes has been down there for days and I haven’t brought them upstairs. Sometimes I just sit and stare at the wall. I’m trying to be proactive and watch interesting or inspiring things on Netflix. I never know when something might light a fire in me. I try to read my favorite magazines, but sometimes I can’t enjoy the articles or images, and my eyes even glaze over at times.

My inlaws were here from Thursday to Sunday and I think they had a nice visit, but it took a lot of energy to try and be social and do a lot. We did some really fun stuff, but I’m worn out. When J came over to clean I didn’t say much. We did the first celebration for Angelica’s 5th birthday on Saturday with my inlaws. Thursday is her actual birthday. We will be celebrating again. I’m tired. 

Bipolar is hard.

Write, paint, make collages, edit photos, study something new, read a book. I need to do something. I keep hoping that if I just sit down and do anything I’ll enjoy it or at least make progress, but it is so hard to get started. And the minute I begin to make the least littlest bit of headway I just stop. I can’t feel it. It isn’t a matter of discipline. I understand that you should always try and write or pursue something important to you daily, regardless of how you feel.  But unhappiness is not the same as depression. My mind isn’t working right. I can work on stuff when I’m unhappy. I’ve done a lot while unhappy before. Right now though I’m struggling to string my mind together. It is as if someone could light me up with a match and I wouldn’t feel it.

Realization

Yesterday in the car I came to a realization, one it has taken me years to come to. If I could trade my creativity, ie my poetry writing, to not have Bipolar anymore I would. I’ve never been willing to say that until now. I’ve always thought that the writing came first. But a few things have  changed since then. First, I hope I’ve gotten at least marginally wiser with all the getting older I’ve been doing. I can recognize the value in a normal, stable life. Even if I couldn’t write anymore, I could still love books by spending that many more hours reading them.  I could still blog if I wanted. Basically, as much as I would miss writing poetry and having all the ideas and images floating through my mind, if I could be a balanced, stable person and a normal wife and mother, I would take that opportunity in a New York minute.

I think too that the past few months have helped to bring me to that mindset. Although I’ve been experiencing mood swings more and more frequently lately, the meds I’m currently on have given me way more stability and normalcy than I have had since i was a teenager. Having gotten a taste of what that feels like, I don’t want to give it up. Having seen how much more I can do for my family when I’m like that, I don’t want to lose it.

Of course, this is all wishful, hypothetical thinking. This is not how life works. There may not even be a choice, because although there are heavy links between creativity and Bipolar, and particularly between Bipolar and poetry, it is possible I’d be a poet either way. I’d say not likely, but it is possible. Wouldn’t that be amazing though! The best of both worlds! But more to the point, I doubt God will come from his heavenly throne to offer me a choice no one else gets. I will never be presented with the opportunity to say take this cross I bear and give me normalcy. It is a sacrifice I would make, but I’ll never get to make it. I will never be normal. But at least if it is God’s will, I will always have poetry.

The very fact I would make that choice, however, shows a shift in my mindset. I want a happy life. I want to be a good wife and mother. I am so passionate about poetry and there is nothing I love to do more than to write it. I am not even sure how I could be quite the same person without it. It is hard to imagine that life. But if I could be a better wife and mother, if I could travel the whole world (which is a nightmare for me now as a Bipolar), if I wouldn’t miss hours that turn into days of my life dealing with bad medication side effects, if I could see my friends without worrying that my mental stability might wane before we are done hanging out…….I wouldn’t pass that up.

Since I don’t have that choice, I am going to try to make the most of the poetry that has been put in me. But I long for a day where I could put down my pen and find a blissful equilibrium.

Totally Off

I knew something was off when I woke up this morning, late. Before I even left the house with Craig and Angelica, I could feel that something was wrong. Dark, moody. I went to the Exchange with Craig for him to get his haircut, and then we ran over to the commissary to get a few things. The whole time I felt so unlike me, walking as far as I could ahead of them to avoid them and be alone. Then we ran an errand for me and I felt so absent minded. And I was dying to get away from everyone.

Craig offered to take us all home, but I made the unfortunate decision to go out to lunch as we originally planned because I didn’t want to ruin any weekend plans – or I tried to. We got our menus and sat down, and then I started flipping out about everyone and everything. So we left, and I felt terrible once we were gone for losing my mind like that. It made at least some sense at the time, but afterwards it struck me as bizarre. Everyone and everything has been upsetting me, pissing me off, irritating me, and making me feel lonely and frustrated all day…..and no one has done anything wrong.  My mood is just so uneven and angry. I felt awful. I am one of those people who almost never yells about anything. I mean, once in awhile I lose my temper or get really upset just like everyone else does, but I go months at a time without raising my voice at or about anything. And when I do, it is for a good reason. But I just started yelling.

I don’t even know what to do. I felt calmer when we went home and stayed home for awhile, and I have been taking my medication as directed. I can’t even tell whether I’m high or low. I knew as soon as I opened my eyes that something in my head was wrong, but I am confused. I feel more depressed than anything else, but usually if I get angry or frazzled it is mania. Some of my hypomanias are really pleasant feeling and I am the queen of goodness – and the queen of spending money, high sex drive, and painting things bright colors that aren’t supposed to be painted at all. But once in awhile, in hypomania or mania, I get super on edge. And it is always miserable. For some people being on edge comes with depression, so I could be depressed. But for me it has always been my highs that have the potential to make me feel that way. I may be high and low at the same time, what is called a mixed state. I have had lots of physical energy. I am just mentally cracked and peeling. I certainly don’t feel happy, and the thought of dealing with other people infuriates me and terrifies me. I want to check the mail right now and I am afraid I can’t because I don’t want to run into a neighbor and have to talk and try to plaster some phony smile on my face. I can’t deal with talking to anyone right now. I am struggling to hold conversations with Craig and Angelica. I don’t have it in me to face a neighbor. It has been hard writing this post so far. I have to backtrack and correct repeated words and other stuff. My mind is all over. My head is pounding.

I think maybe I’m depressed and I tried to push myself to go out and be around people, and I just kind of cracked. Maybe depression can turn into feelings of unease and anger if I try to hard to push myself. I just don’t know. I havae a lot of energy for someone who is depressed. I want to use Lucy, my light therapy  box, but I am not sure if I should. If I’m depressed, Lucy will help. If I am high or mixed, Lucy could make things worse. Much worse. I don’t know what to do.  I feel like jumping out of my head. I think I am high and low.

This day has been a disaster, an embarrassing disaster. And I am so tired and fraught in everywhere. I am socially frazzled, mentally on edge, physically I am starting to burn out but I’ve been burning birhgt all day. I am hyper and worn.  I am energetic around the house, but the prospect of speaking with people makes me want to scream. I wish everyone in the neighborhood would evacuate and I could just take a walk and not risk seeing anyone. I long to take a walk and I can’t . I’m afraid if someone spoke to me I would scream or cry or yell. I cannot see anmore people.

My Friend Lucy – Light Therapy for Mood Disorders

I’ve been spending a lot of time the past few days with Lucy. Lucy is my Daylight Box. My mood has been unstable, and frequently low, the past several days. On Sunday morning I felt really low, and I started rereading one of my Bipolar books for ideas on how to ward off the depression I was slipping into. It mentioned light exposure and BAM! I remembered LUCY! She is my darling little box of light that lifts my mood. I used to sit in front of her regularly for many months at our old house, but since moving out here in late winter/early spring, Lucy has been packed away and lost among so many things. I decided to go looking for her, and found her in the closet under the stairs with the Christmas decorations and my old instruments. Poor Lucy! So I brought Lucy upstairs to my craft room/office/library spill over room and moved my desk so I could slip the cord down through the gap by the wall and plug Lucy in. Moving that desk so much as a millimeter was no easy job. Since I got her all set up, I’ve been spending twenty minutes to more than an hour a day, about 18 inches from her light, reading and creating. It is helping. I am getting more stable, and while depression is still an issue, I’m not free falling like I was starting to do. My light box gives me a lift in my mood. Basically, she is not a cure all, but she really can help.  I still need meds, plenty of sleep, some light exercise, and family support. But light therapy gives me that extra boost I need sometimes to avoid serious problems.

Light therapy can make a world of difference when you have Bipolar. Light therapy can lessen depression, and in the winter it can help prevent seasonal affective issues. Below is a link where you can buy this light box yourself. I AM NOT AN AMAZON AFFILIATE AND I WILL NOT MAKE A DIME! I am recommending this light therapy box because it is helping me so much, and has helped me a lot in the past. Medication often isn’t enough, though it is necessary. This supplement of light (the right kind of light. Not all light is beneficial for mood. You need white light) can be crucial for treating unipolar or Bipolar depression. Light therapy is a great tool for any treatment plan. I went from being depressed to the point of having difficulty completing simple tasks, to being functional and making use of my time. I’ll say this once more for the people in the back – light therapy is not a cure. It is supplementary. You still need meds. And just like your meds don’t always work all the way, sometimes light therapy may not help you as much as you’d hope. But sometimes the effects of light therapy are amazing and can make all the difference in the world, especially if you catch your depressive episode early. In my experience, light therapy always helps me feel better and function more. Sometimes it helps more than other times, but it always aids me in staying functional and making my life livable when it otherwise would not be.

https://www.amazon.com/Day-Light-Classic-Therapy-Provides-Glare-Free/dp/B0009MFUWC?th=1