Fuck you, Geodon

I'm exceedingly annoyed this morning. All because of Geodon. The med that is supposed to help me. The med that is supposed to manage my mixed episode and have fewer side effects than the other antipsychotics.

Well, fuck you.

The first night on it was horrible thanks to the drowsiness. But that passed and the next couple of nights were fine. Hooray! *throws confetti* But I had to increase my dose - from 40mg to 80mg. The next couple of mornings I was groggy. Not too bad, but enough to be mildly annoying.

Then I had a couple of mornings where I was very groggy. Like, barely-keep-my-eyes-open-for-more-than-a-few-minutes groggy. And one of these mornings I was dizzy, lightheaded and felt like I was going to faint.

For an hour.

Then, a good morning. Yay! My body is adjusting to the increased dose!

Nope. It's not.

Yesterday morning I was so groggy it was painful and was dizzy and lightheaded again. So I decided that I would take my Geodon earlier in the evening - I'd been taking it shortly before bed (and it wasn't making me drowsy after taking it anymore).

Boom. Done. Decision made.

Bad decision.

I took it at 7pm last night and by 8 I couldn't keep my eyes open. Literally. I was so fucking drowsy it was stupid. So, off to bed I go. I haven't slept the last 3 nights anyway, so I might as well turn in early.

It would have been okay if I was able to sleep. I laid in bed, to drowsy to physically or mentally function but I couldn't fall asleep. My mind was slowly racing. Lots of thoughts, just at a slower pace than when my mind usually races.

I was drowsy as fuck but I couldn't sleep.

I was already dreading bedtime since I hadn't been sleeping well. I was already dreading bedtime knowing how I'd feel in the morning. And now I get to dread bedtime knowing that the Geodon has decided to make me stupid drowsy again.

I eventually did fall asleep - probably around 10:30 or so. I woke up many times to pee (at least 5 after 10:30 - I went 4 times between 8 and 9). When I woke up this morning, however, I was wide awake. Thank the baby Jesus for small favors!!!

But now, what to do tonight? When should I take my meds? How will I sleep? How am I going to wake up? I'm seriously developing a phobia about bedtime thanks to this. I was in tears last night because I couldn't go to sleep. Because I was so fucking drowsy but I couldn't sleep. J doesn't know that part - the crying part. Well, until he reads this. Now he knows.

It's just so frustrating. I shouldn't have to deal with this. This, on top of still being in my mixed episode.

How the fuck am I supposed to function? How the fuck am I supposed to go back to work?

Bleh

I have this need to write, but at the same time I feel very apathetic. I just don't care.

I told J today that I don't have depression, I don't feel depressed, I'm not down. And for the most part, that's true. I don't feel depressed. And I'm not depressed.

But right now I am most definitely down. I've been down most of the day. Not depressed - just down. And my irritability keeps shooting through the roof. Everything sets me off. Everything. I nearly lodged my sewing bobbin in the wall yesterday because it wouldn't feed right. I threw it at the wall and then broke down sobbing.

I'm overwhelmed by everything. Everything. Even small things. J and I were supposed to spend the day with our friends. Well, their kiddos are sick so we couldn't go. I felt like I couldn't cope with life. I couldn't find a matching sock in the laundry and my world about fell apart.

This is not okay. This is not normal. I know I'm still in a mixed episode - I get that. I do. I know it's going to take time for my Geodon to get to therapeutic levels. I get that. I do.

But can't I get a break?

I mean yeah, I'm not depressed. Which is fucking awesome, thank you. But this constant irritability and agitation, racing thoughts. I get distracted easily. It's hard for me to carry on a conversation sometimes. And being overwhelmed by everything. It's frustrating. Fuck it, let's be honest - this shit is infuriating.

I'm tired of having symptoms that won't go the fuck away. I'm tired of snapping at my husband and my son. Especially my son. I have no tolerance for him. And it pains me so much to say that. You have no idea. Actually writing that out? Almost in tears (I'm not in tears only because I'm stifling them).

So yeah. Can't I get a fucking break??

In other news, I painted a horse today. So that's good. I was going to post the picture but blogger is fucking up the quality. So check it out here if you'd like to see it.

That's all I guess. Cheers, y'all.

Guilty

So here's something stupid: I feel guilty sleeping. You read that right.

I feel guilty sleeping.

Let me try to explain this. Do you remember back in July when I overdosed on Risperdal? You don't? Well, go read this. It'll help this post make more sense. Don't worry - I'll wait.

Did you read it? Did you really?

Okay. So, my sleeping has been "off" since I've been on the Geodon. My first night on it I was a zombie. I could hardly keep my eyes open in the hospital during visitation hour (I was falling asleep on my husband). The next 2 nights were actually pretty good. Then I went up on the dose. The first night I was a little drowsy. Okay, not bad. That following morning I was very groggy, lightheaded. I felt like I was going to faint. But it passed. That night (the night before last), I slept only 3 hours. I was a little groggy yesterday morning, but not bad. And last night I slept 5 hours. This morning, only slightly groggy.

Now, why do I feel guilty about this?

Because all of this reminds me of how I felt while in my Risperdal induced coma.

My first night on Geodon, with not being able to stay awake but desperately trying to - just like my first few hours on the Risperdal.

Two mornings ago feeling groggy and lightheaded and like I was going to pass out - that's how I felt during the night and next day on the Risperdal.

Last night, the time that I did sleep, it was like I was only dozing, waking up groggy and feeling . . . weird - like I spent the entire day on Risperdal.

The day and a half I spent in and out of consciousness on Risperdal was possibly the most terrifying and shameful time of my life. Terrifying because of how I felt, what was going through my mind, I could have died. All I wanted was to sleep and I could have died. Shameful because my hubby and son had to watch me and deal with me in this semi-comatose stupor.

I hated myself. I truly hated myself.

And my sleeping habits right now remind me of this time. This time where I was terrified, depressed, and full of self loathing.

I know my body needs to adjust to the Geodon and that in time it will. I know that I haven't done anything stupid or bad. I haven't taken or done anything I shouldn't have. I know this.

But it doesn't change how I feel. So I feel guilty and bad and a little scared.

But mostly guilty.

Which is stupid.

You ever put black olives on your fingers?

Well, this is like that only more disturbing.

So I started a war on Facebook with a friend with pics of rogue taxidermy. And bad taxidermy. Because awesome.

I love taxidermy. Especially rogue and awful. I mean, come on, how can you not? So I'm going to share some with you.

You're welcome.

This dog. My God, this dog. I need him. Need. Look at that sweet, "special" face!!

Haaaaaaaaaay!

How does one even do this . . . ? Doesn't stop me from wanting it, but how?? 

This one is just plain gorgeous. And very well done. 

If I had money I would have so much weirdly awesome taxidermy. So much. 

Christmas day

I just reread my post from yesterday and, surprisingly, it kinda makes sense. Kinda. Holy crap was I pissed at church.

This morning we went to my mom's house for breakfast and presents. It was lovely. My mom makes some kickass breakfast casserole and she's not drunk in the mornings so that's an added bonus. It was fine. It was good.

Then we went to Denver to J's aunt's house. Which was fine, but not as fine. See, there's a lot of people there. Like, 15-20. And there's noise. And apparently Clancy can't handle that much stimulation anymore.

It didn't take long before I felt overwhelmed. Trapped almost. Unable to cope. Effectively at least. I was a little withdrawn. As time went on I became irritable. I was shouting at family members in my mind. Yelling at them for their (seemingly to me) stupid comments. It was like church all over again. I became more withdrawn because I didn't want to inadvertently say what I was thinking.

About an hour before we left my mind started racing. Images, thoughts . . . all melded together, coming and leaving almost too quickly to be registered. The racing thoughts continued the whole way home. Even when I plugged in my iPod and sung along, which usually helps, the thoughts and images still came.

At home they reached a fever pitch. My mind was going so fast I couldn't hold on to a single thought. I tried writing in my mood journal and it came out as one long, nearly illegible, run on sentence. I was almost in tears my brain was so frantic. It's a horrible feeling not being in control of your thoughts. Not being able to slow them down enough to get a sentence out. Being confused with all of the images flashing through your mind, completely unrelated to one another and anything you're thinking.

I had J bring me my electronic cigarette. I did deep breathing. I ate so I could take my Geodon. I talked with J a little and texted my best friend L.

My mind is slowing which is why I'm able to type this. Not enough that I can write eloquently - it's still going fast - but at least I'm getting something out.

Yesterday and today made me realize something - I can't handle too much stimulation. It's like my brain short circuits. Too much input and it goes into overdrive and I can't cope. And when you sit back and say, well, I'm still in a mixed episode and this is to be expected, it doesn't seem too bad. But what I worry about is what if it's not entirely from the mixed episode? What if I continue to have issues like this? Issues with stress or crowds or too much visual stimulation? What then?

Only time will tell. I'm trying not to think too much on this, lest I drive myself crazy. Well, more crazy. I'm hoping, obviously, that this is the mixed episode and as I get to the therapeutic dose of Geodon it'll get better.

Because if not, I'm screwed.

And not the good kind of screwed. The screwed kind of screwed.

That doesn't even make sense.

It's Christmas Eve and I got pissed at church

And I don't mean I got pissed during church (well, I did, but bare with me). I got pissed at church. As in the entity of the church. The thought, the notion, the feeling, the tradition, the meaning. The church.

It pissed me off.

I'm not even sure I can explain this. Because it doesn't make sense. But I'm going to try, mostly for my own sanity and/or amusement.

J is Catholic so tonight we went to Catholic mass. Let me just throw out there that I dislike mass. I find it boring and pointless. And all the damn singing and standing and sitting and kneeling and now stand again. It needs a dislike button.

So we're sitting in the pews, listening to the choir, and I started feeling irritable. At nothing. Just irritable. And this cute family, mother, father, and 6 month old or so son sat a couple pews ahead of us.

I hated them.

For no reason. Then her friend or sister showed up with her husband and two kids and I hated them equally as much. Look at these two families, all happy and festive, enjoying themselves in church. Fuck them. I shot daggers at them with my eyes.

An elderly gentleman sat next to the second couple - a little to close for what my personal bubble would be - and I fumed. I screamed at him in my mind that he was sitting to close and why the fuck are you not following social boundaries??? You have a whole fucking pew and you had to sit that close??

More singing. Where the fuck is the damn priest? Why is the singing not stopping? Oh, now we have to stand. Good.

I fumed. I looked around the congregation at all the people, hundreds of faces. Everyone seemed so happy and content to be spending Christmas eve with their families in church.

Fuck them.

Catholic mass on Christmas eve is the same every year. I swear that it's exactly the same. And tonight everything about it was adding fuel to the fire. My irrational anger, my irritability and rage were completely out of place - and confusing. I don't know why I was feeling the way I was. But I was and I didn't like it. I couldn't seem to stop it though.

So I did what I always do and tried to overanalyze the situation. Not much - just a little. All I could come up with was that I don't really like Christmas and that I'm still in a mixed episode.

Yep. Despite what I wish and what I'd like others to think, I'm still actually in a mixed episode. Not crazy from meds - that bit is over - but still mixed.

The entire time at church my mind was racing. And I mean racing. Flight of ideas, racing swirling thoughts about nothing and everything and the house and dog and mucking stalls and dolphins and bipolar and my wedding and friend's wedding and my bridesmaid's dresses were blue and T's were lavender and a flock of pigeons take flight and there's a fountain when should we take down the treewe'rehavingsandwichesonfridayatafriendshouseand. . . . . . It wouldn't stop. It wouldn't stop.

I couldn't shut up my mind. And that contributed to my irritability. And driving home, it continued. And I said a few random outbursts of ideas and thoughts that may or may not have had anything to do with each other. And I laughed.

I felt like I was going to laugh hysterically and cry uncontrollably at the same time. I felt like I would explode.

Instead of exploding, which would be messy, I went to the bathroom and took my meds. Tonight I increased my dose of Geodon. I was told when I left the hospital that if I was experiencing irritability in the afternoon or evenings to increase my dose. So I did. 80mg instead of 40mg.

I'm writing this under the influence of my racing mind which is gradually slowing thanks to the increased dose. I'm starting to get drowsy. I'm going to be honest - I don't know if what I've written makes much sense. But I'm not going to go back and read it. Because drowsy.

Night y'all. Have a Merry Christmas or whatever the hell you celebrate.

My horse, my hospitalization, and my meds

I plan on doing a tribute post for my horse, Chance, who very tragically is being put to sleep today. He was kicked by another horse and fractured his left hock. There's nothing that can be done to help him as the fracture would not heal and he'd go crazy in the stall for the months it would take to try. I'm devastated over the news as this horse saved my life and stole my heart. I know he'll still be watching over me, but there's something about burying your face in your horse's neck and breathing deeply . . . it's the most therapeutic thing I know.

Well, let's move on to the biggies here - my hospitalization and my meds. (Now, just a note here: I'm not detailing my hospitalization - that part will be in my book). If you read through my past several posts (go ahead, I'll wait . . . done? Good.), you'll notice that I was getting progressively worse. I was having severe depressive downswings where I would start sobbing out of nowhere. Sobs full of pain and despair and hopelessness. Sobs full of thoughts of death, a desire to die. 

These downswings were worsening and coming more frequently over about a week's time, each day drawing me deeper into depression. I knew where I was headed. I knew what needed to be done. I knew . . . but I dare not say it. 

Wednesday the 18th I had therapy with M. I had been crying in the parking lot before hand, but had myself under control before walking into the office. 

Or so I thought.

I broke down again as M was coming out to bring me back to his office. I tried to stop, tried to hide it, tried to play it off as nothing. But let's be honest - M is a smart guy and sobbing uncontrollably usually means something is wrong . . . am I right?

He asked what was going on and I told him I didn't know. I had been like this all week long, each day getting worse, passively suicidal on Monday. But I didn't know what was wrong. I didn't know why, just that it was getting worse each day. 

He asked what we needed to do. I shook my head. I don't know, I said . . . though I did. And so did he.

"I think you need to go to the hospital." Boom. It was out. I sobbed harder. "I want you to call J, and give the phone to me. He needs to either meet you here or at your house and take you in. You need to go to the hospital."

I looked at him through bleary eyes, my lip quivering, and nodded. I fished my phone out of my purse and called my husband. M talked to him, told him what was going on, and they came up with a game plan - we would finish our session and when I was leaving I would call J to meet me at the house. From there . . . hospital. 

I looked at M feeling defeated. "This is my second hospitalization in a month." I shook my head as more tears threatened to fall. 

"Cami, I've never seen you this bad. Even at your worst, I haven't seen you this bad. You need to go in." I nodded slowly.

We talked about the previous week, of the worsening depression. It came on so fast. So much change in just a week. It didn't make sense to me.

And then it did.

I had an idea. What if it was the Latuda? The new antipsychotic I had been put on? My first random bouts of crying started the day after my first dose . . . It was possible, wasn't it? Antidepressant commercials and med inserts warn about worsening depression and suicidal thoughts and actions, so why not an antipsychotic? It seemed plausible.

And was confirmed by Dr. S in the hospital. 

When I stopped taking the Latuda in the hospital, the sobbing, horrific depressive downswings stopped. Almost immediately. There was a hug change in me between Wednesday and Friday (and thank GOD for several reasons - one of which was the ability to then go home on Saturday!). Sudden onset coinciding with starting the med, and sudden disappearance of episodes with the discontinuance of the med.

Latuda literally made me crazy.

Dr. S swapped out the Latuda for Geodon - a tried and true med that has been around for a long time (Latuda has been on the market about a year). She's had very good success with a Geodon and Lithium combo - and I've already been on lithium for awhile. 

So I'm hopeful now. I'm feeling more like myself - a lot more. I'm actually feeling happiness and contentment and joy. I'm still having some swings - I'll suddenly have a wave of depression wash over me - but it's mild and short lived. But I can say that I'm me.

I'm me. And that's huge.

A rant, of sorts

This post is a bit of a vent post, so bare with me. (which means it might not be terribly eloquent)

I had a taste of happiness, of normalcy. A taste of what I could be if I can get stable. I taste of how I want to be.

This was on Saturday. I went into work extra to help out because we were short staffed. Now, the way my mood has been, I figured I was going to have a bad day (I was working 07-1300 - a half shift). My day was the opposite. I was awake (thanks, in part, to some very mild hypomania). I was alert and optimistic. I was upbeat. I was happy. Genuinely happy. I felt content and at peace and stable. Little setbacks didn't bother me. Minor annoyances were just that - minor annoyances. I felt like myself.

I felt like myself.

And that was big. I didn't feel hypomanic. Like I said, I think I had a little going on because I felt awake (the Latuda has made me horribly fatigued). But this was big. And I noticed that I actually wasn't waiting for the proverbial other shoe to drop. I was truly enjoying myself. I was in the moment and I was happy.

And it didn't last.

When I got home the mixed mania started to settle in. Irritability and anger. The fatigue came back. I laid down and tried to take a nap but my mind was racing and wouldn't be stopped. So I painted, but became angry at my painting - it didn't turn out how I had hoped (instead of deer in a winter scene it was more of an early spring scene). My irritability sky rocketed. I started building up explosive kinetic energy and resentment and hatred for everything around me - the table, the kitchen, my feet . . . you name it, it pissed me off. Irrational anger. I exploded at my hubby, I was short, bitchy, and volatile.

I had to leave.

And I did. I decided I was going to go pick up Taco Bell for dinner so I could get out of the house. I needed to get out of the house. I decided that I was going to take the long was there so I could have more time to just drive. Drive and listen to blaring music and smoke my electronic cigarette (I don't actually smoke - I have it for stress, though I've been using it more and more lately . . .).

And I drove, and I pulled into the parking lot of a local grocery store. Because I was sobbing. Uncontrollably. The ugly cry. And I couldn't stop. For almost 20 minutes, I couldn't stop crying. You would have thought someone died listening to the wails and pain filled moans coming from me. I pounded the steering wheel and pulled my hair. I tried to curl up in a ball (which is ineffective sitting in the driver's seat). I felt full of anguish and despair and hopelessness and sadness. I wanted to die. I didn't want to continue on having to feel this pain. It was too much.

I thought of my hubby and son, tried to hold onto their image which made the crying worse. In my mind I was making their lives miserable. I was so unpredictable and unloving and bitchy all the time. I was selfish and uncaring. They truly may be better off without me . . .

I stopped that thought though. My son needs his mom. My hubby needs me (God knows why . . .). And I couldn't put them through that. So I did what I could to stop sobbing, to clean myself up (I still had Taco Bell to go to dammit). And I felt horrible. I had gone from feeling so good to being on the brink of self destruction.

That's what bipolar disorder does, people. And this is not getting better. Even on a day that was going so perfectly, where I felt there was hope, it takes over and brings me crashing down. And even on a day, like yesterday, where I don't completely break down into a sobbing mess, I live in this no man's land of not feeling anything. I'm flat and mildly depressed. I could care less about anything. Nothing matters and I'm on the verge of tears, they just never come. (now, yesterday I actually did have true hypomania that I had to reign in because I was getting out of hand).

And this is how it's been. It seems the Latuda has knocked down the full blown mania. But what I'm left with is the mixed mania and horrific depressive downturns. Those two are what I cycle through.

This is all very tiring. I'm so close to giving up. I can't take this much longer, it's too much. I've struggled for so long - every day is a struggle. Every day is a fight against my moods, my brain, the unknown. It takes so much energy - energy the Latuda has now zapped.

Now, people tell me to hold on to the "good" moments. The moments like Saturday morning where I'm happy. To remember those moments when I'm down or cycling. Do you know how little that helps? How very little that actually helps? Let's say you broke your arm. You're in the middle of insane intense pain from your broken arm. The bone is sticking out and you're bleeding and close to blacking out from the pain. You're fine - just remember how it felt when it wasn't broken and you'll feel better. Did that help? Did it take away the pain of your broken arm?

No. It didn't.

And remembering feeling good doesn't take away the intense pain or anger when I'm cycling. It makes it worse because I've failed because I'm not there. I'm not better.

I don't want to sound fatalistic, but I can't do this much longer. I'm too tired. I'm getting too apathetic. I'm not getting better and I'm not going to get better. This is it. And I'm having a much more difficult time coping with it. Because it's too much and it's gone on for too long. I'm getting to the point where I just don't care anymore, and that's a scary place to be.

Thoughts. . .

There's a part of me that thinks that I'm truly getting worse. That my mood swings are getting deeper, harder to manage. That on some days (the last three days) they've been coming more often. That I'm definitely not coping as well as I think I should be.

 

There's a part of me that thinks I should take some time off to stabilize. To let the meds start working, really working, and safely gauge the side effects without jeporadizing my job. That this is the smart thing to do.

 

There's a part of me that is terrified that I'm getting worse and will need to be admitted again and that I won't ever really get better. That I won't get through this.

 

There's a part of me that thinks all of the above is a bunch of shit and that I'm weak for not doing better, for not being better. That I've coped for so long so why should this be any different? That I'm weak for thinking about taking time off and that I'm just trying to skirt my responsibilities.

 

See, on some days, I have a decent portion of the day where I'm semi stable. Where I have mood fluctuations but they're more mild, more tolerable. And I should be able to manage that. I should be fine.

 

But then there are days where I'm anything but stable. Where my mood swings are wild and out of control and are not managable. Where I feel like the world is crumbling down around me and I can't possibly go on.

 

And on my better days, my days where I think of myself as semi stable, I still have bad swings. I still get the extremes. And they come without warning. I never know how many I'll have, how long they'll last, or how bad they'll be.

 

I'm still having cognitive deficits. I still forget what I'm saying. I still feel slow.

 

I'm tired all the time. Since I've been on the Latuda I've been tired all day every day. I don't know if the cognitive deficits (which have started getting worse again) are from the Latuda or remnants of the Zyprexa. Or my worsening bipolar disorder. My apetite is through the roof thanks to the medication. If I keep this up I'll gain 20 pounds easy - think of how much that will help with my depression!

 

I'm at a loss as to what to do. Take time off, relax, get more stable? But beat myself up mercilessly over it?

 

Or keep plugging along, doing what I've been doing until I run myself into the ground or worse but feel "better" about how hard I tried? Keeping some sefl-esteem intact.

 

What do I do? It's stupid that I'm so torn.

And so the REALLY annoying thing is . . .

. . . I want to see how sick I can get. How fucked up can I truly get?

Now, let me start by saying that this is not entirely true. I want to be better. I want to not have to deal with these constant mood swings. I want to feel normal.

Except that I don't.

This isn't some weird attention seeking thing going on here - let's get that straight. This is something, I think,  that almost every person with a chronic illness feels at some point. You've been through med change after med change after med change. You still feel like crap. Nothing you do seems to work. Everything starts to seem hopeless and pointless. Nothing has worked, so nothing will work.

It's frustrating. It's overwhelming. And it seems so much easier just to give up. Let the illness take you.

That's where I'm at. I've just made yet another med change - dropping Zyprexa and starting Latuda - hoping that this time it will work. That my mixed episode will finally end with minimal side effects from the meds. That for once, maybe, I'll feel okay.

I'll be honest - I'm not optimistic. I've been through this. Several times over the last 2 years (I've probably changed up my meds 10 times or so). I'm so fucked up, in fact, that my diagnosis has been changed from Bipolar 2 to Bipolar 1, ultra rapid cycling. I'm so fucked up, in fact, that my pdoc is trying to get me in to see the mood disorder specialists at Mass General in Boston. I'm so fucked up, in fact, my pdoc said that if I stopped my meds I would go psychotic - I would completely lose my shit.

And you know what? So be it. Let me completely lose my shit. Let me see how sick I can get. Am I really that fucked up? Am I really that sick?

Let's find out. Let's not take anything. Let's see what happens. Let the world sort it out for me.

But I can't do that. Because I don't want to do that. I have a family, a career. I have friends and obligations and hopes and dreams. And I don't want to do that. I want to get better.

I'm frustrated. I'm tired. I've exhausted my resources. I've done everything I'm supposed to do to get better. And still I struggle. Every day.

Every. Fucking. Day.

My friends are worried about me. Very worried, it seems. They see me from the outside. They see the swings, more so than I can I think.  I downplay this all. I wonder if I downplay it too much. I wonder if I'm already sicker than I think.

I worry, but I also don't care. What can I do about it anyway?

Nothing. That's what.

I'm having a hard time mustering up any feelings today. I'm flat but near tears. And that's it. My mood could change at any minute - and I don't know until it happens.

I don't even know how to explain how I feel - the turmoil and confusion and hopelessness and despair. The sadness. Breaking down sobbing for no reason but not being able to stop. And the pain in that - the emptiness and grief and pain that threatens to swallow you whole. So much so you want to die. In that instant you want to die.

But then the giddiness and excitement and outright joy. Feeling like I can take on the world and that I'm funnier and smarter and better than everyone. That I need to spend money and write and draw and paint and clean the house and run a marathon and do all these things right now and all at once! And they have to be done why don't you understand???

And the irritability. Oh the irritability. And anger and impatience. And this built up kinetic energy and hostility and the need to destroy something. Anything. Even if it means hurting myself severely. Snapping at my husband and son for the mere fact that they exist.

And I might cycle through these feelings ten times a day - or not much at all. They may be the extreme - the worst it could possibly be. Or it may be milder, a little easier to deal with. And the cycles come without warning, at the drop of a hat. One minute I'm okay and, literally, the next minute I'm not.

Does that make sense? Can you even fathom how difficult that is? To live every fucking day like that? To have it affect your family and your job? Your own sanity?

Can you understand why I want to give up? Why I want to throw in the towel and lose my shit? When nothing I do works? Does it make any sense at all?

I can't adequately convey what I'm feeling. I want to give up. I want to completely lose my shit.

But I want to get better. And I have to. So I guess I struggle the fuck on.

And the annoying thing is . . .

. . . I need to write and I want to write but I want to sleep to escape my conflicting thoughts, my racing mind.

I have so many thoughts, so many that won't go away. They hang on, tenacious bastards that they are. They race around and they don't stop and I want them to stop but they don't and I'm so tired of it.

And so I need to write and I want to write but I need to sleep to escape my own mind. Because I can't concentrate because round and round my thoughts tumble and bounce and go.

And it's annoying, and so I'll sleep. I'll write tomorrow. Maybe the thoughts will calm themselves.

So I stopped my Zyprexa . . .

And HOORAY!!! My mixed episode is BACK! Full swing!
I was started on Zyprexa 3 weeks ago while I was in the hospital for mania from my mixed episode. I experienced VERY noticeable cognitive deficits - to where I didn't feel safe working (delivering babies). So I stopped taking the Zyprexa on my own without consulting anyone (because I'm a rebel, people).

It's been 5 days without it and my mixed episode is back. Sooooo excited. I randomly burst into tears, sobbing uncontrollably for 15-20 minutes. It passes in an instant and my mood moves on. Yesterday, in a delivery, hypomania struck. And it was bad. Like, if this family wasn't so awesome and did't think I was the most hilarious thing in the world and should do stand up comedy, I could have been suspended or FIRED bad. And I couldn't stop laughing.

At all.

I left the room in near hysterics because everything was just so damn FUNNY. And like I said, I'm lucky this family thought everything I said was hilarious - they loved me.. Thank God for small favors!

Like me being hilarious.

So I figured I ought to get help before I go completely off the deep end and end up in the hospital again. My pdoc is going out of the country tomorrow, but I was able to get an appointment today. Go me. I'm nervous because I know he'll want to do another antipsychotic and I have a feeling I'll have all the same side effects (the cognitive deficits weren't the only side effects - I also got a face and neck full of acne, insatiable hunger, gas . . . pretty freaking awesome stuff, if you ask me). And I just can't deal with all that.

But I'm guessing I have no choice. We'll see what he says. What I think I'd really like is a med holiday. Stop everything, detox, and start again. It's just that pesky 90-95% chance that I'll go completely psychotic off my meds. Maybe I'll be that 5-10% . . .

Probably not.

I'm also a bit hypo right now, so I'm enjoying myself greatly. Not like that. Get your mind out of the gutter.

I should be in bed . . .

I should be, but I'm not. I'm farting around on the computer until I get tired. My mind is racing but I am starting to get drowsy now.

Good.

I have an appointment with Dr. C tomorrow. I'm most definitely mixed again. And my hypomania is getting a bit out of hand. And by "a bit out of hand" I mean I almost lost it tonight. Almost uncontrolled hypo. At work. Yay.

I was hilarious, I really was. And that's the problem - making people laugh in that state just elevates me further. Which is not good. I'm not going to go into detail, not right now. Mainly because I actually am getting a little sleepy and so I want to take advantage of that.

I'm nervous about my appointment. I know Dr. C will want another antipsychotic. And I don't want another antipsychotic. Too many side effects. I'm going to talk to him about a drug holiday - which I'm sure will go over great since I would have about a 90% chance of going psychotic if I did that.

I still want to though. Because I'm an idiot. Apparently.

I'll write more later. I'm going to try to sleep, if my mind will let me.

Where am I now?

Revolution from dissolution, hypnotizing and demoralizing
Pressure of the future, too much for today
How many hours will I let slip away
Before I realize existing and living
Are not the same
Are not the same
      -MSMR

I'm not exactly sure where I am right now. Many places, I guess. I'm stuck, I know that much. Stuck and annoyed and frustrated. Frustrated because I'm coming back to square one.

Last Wednesday marked two weeks of being on the Zyprexa. Two weeks of subdued, controlled mania. Two weeks of "stability".

Two weeks of steady cognitive decline.

Yep. Cognitive decline. Noticeable cognitive decline. It started innocent enough. Shortened attention span, being a little more easily distracted. Nothing big, nothing to write home about.

But then it became insidious, permeating everything I do. My focus was gone. I couldn't concentrate. I was very easily distracted. Everything changed.

On Monday, at work, I was going over discharge instructions with a patient - something I have done literally thousands of times. I stopped mid sentence. I had no clue what I had just said. Or what I was doing. Or what I needed to do. Luckily I'm awesome and I recovered and carried on, the patients none the wiser of my folly.

But that's not like me.

And then it happened again. And my mind would wander off as I was speaking and then I would stop, a bit confused. I couldn't focus on my charting. If there were distractions I was done. I'd have to check over everything I had just entered.

I felt overwhelmed more easily. Things that would have never flustered me were now an issue.

This past week, my first week back at work, was difficult. Because of the above. What's wrong with me?

I noticed my typing changing. I leave letters out of words or switch them around. Those damn red squiggly lines that spell check loves? Almost every word. I have to go back an recheck everything. And now? Now I leave motherfucking WORDS out of sentences.

WORDS people. Who the fuck forgets to write words? While thinking they're there? Me. That's who *points to self*.

I can't work like this. I can't. So I made a decision: no more Zyprexa. Wednesday night was the first night I didn't take it. Thursday morning my cognition was a little better. But I happened to tell two friends who made me take the one I had in my purse for "breakthrough" mania. And I was worse in the afternoon.

So Thursday night and last night I didn't take it. I'm focusing a little better, my typing is a little better.

But my mood? My mood is now not better. It would seem I'm going back to being in a mixed episode. Yesterday at work I started the day hypomanic. Then I got irritable. Then I spent almost 20 minutes in the back room sobbing, crying the ugly cry, while filled with crippling despair and hopelessness. I was depressed for awhile, then down, then irritable, then hypomanic.

Today I've been cycling between feeling down and being irritable. Right now, as I write this, I want to hide. I want to be alone, in bed, under the covers, crying. It's what I want to do so badly but I can't. J and A are here and we're going to decorate our tree soon. It should be a happy time. It should be fun and I just want to hide away and not exist and not deal with the shit anymore.

This is so frustrating, you have no idea. I can take the Zyprexa and be stable mood wise but lose essential cognitive functioning (not to mention the insanely increased appetite and sudden appearance of about 5000 pimples). Or I can not take it and have my brain power but be mixed and unstable again.

Why the FUCK can't I just be okay??? Just okay. That's all I want. Just to be stable and okay. But I can't. I can't have that. I can't just be okay.

Why can't I just be okay? Please. . . 

I'm scared about what's going on, about these two choices I have in front of me. My choice, for now, is to not take the Zyprexa. I'm done with it. I can't do it. But this starts, again, the search for a different med to replace it, lest I want the mixed episode to worsen.

I'm not okay with either of these choices. I'm not okay with any of this. I'm not okay . . .

Please . . .

Boo

I'm at work, I'm irritable, I want to go home.

I also don't want to take my meds anymore.

Done.

Still Cycling

I'm still cycling. It's mild, but it's there. Which is annoying. Can't I just be better already?

Also:

On Nov. 20, the first day of my last hospitalization, I was started on Zyprexa (I was manic and delusional and it was decided that an antipsychotic is a good idea). This is my first time being on an antipsychotic.

Now, I've been having some slight cognitive decline over the last 2 years, but nothing to write home about. But since the 20th . . . sweet mother of GOD what the hell is going on?!?!

First - memory. I'm forgetting everything. EVERYTHING. Things that I know inside and out - forgotten. I've done discharge instructions with patients literally THOUSANDS of times, but now I stop mid sentence not knowing what the hell I was just saying or how I should proceed. It's gone. I just stand there like an idiot stumbling over what I'm trying to say.

Second - concentration and focus. Yeah, totally not there. I get distracted easily. I just can't seem to focus or concentrate AT ALL.

Third - typing. Yep. Typing. Cami, what the hell are you talking about? Well, when I type I randomly leave letters out of words. For no reason. I don't know if my brain is moving too fast for my fingers to keep up or if I'm just literally forgetting letters. (I had to go back and reread this several times to make sure it made sense).

I know some of this is the disease itself - I've had some of these cognitive deficits already. But they haven't been to this extent. And I've declined so quickly.

Could it be the Zyprexa? I'm thinking yes. I emailed Dr. C about it and I'm guessing we'll be taking me off of it (which I'm perfectly fine with).

How stupid is all this???

In Remembrance

No, this isn't about Paul Walker. That shit is annoying.

This post is for my dad. Thirteen years ago today he passed away at the young age of 43 from lung cancer. December 1, 2000. He was at MD Anderson in Houston, Texas, undergoing experimental chemotherapy. He had the most aggressive form of lung cancer and it had already metastasized to his vocal cords and brain when he was diagnosed. His battle with it lasted 6 short months.

I want to tell the story of my dad, my last memories of him. I don't know the proper timeline of events - I don't remember all of the details. And I want to do the story justice.

So I'll be writing about it off and on, and when I get a full story done, one that I'm happy with, I'll post it. My dad was an amazing man. He was my confidant and my champion. I was very much a daddy's girl and we put each other on a pedestal.

Dad, I love you and miss you. Thank you for watching over me, you're the best guardian angel a girl could have.