Outside Perspective

Sometimes I don’t notice changes in myself. They come on gradually. I don’t think of them until someone mentions it.

People have been telling me for awhile that I seem less anxious. I have been able to give presentations, start conversations, some things that might not seem like much but have been hard for me in the past. I even took part in a podcast once.

I was telling my therapist that I have had trouble with some physical things like fingerprinting (for work) or mammograms where they have to position you. I get tense and the more I am told to relax the worse it gets. Today. I had a mammogram. i warned the woman that I have had trouble in the past, but 1, 2 3 she was able to easily take the pictures.

I also told my therapist I have these brief periods when I feel at peace, happy out of the blue. She thinks I am finally starting to come out of a depression. That my meds are working on anxiety and depression. I really hope so.

A Bipolar Love Story (One-Sided)

Once upon a time, I knew a man named Genevieve Zuni (pseudonym). Now, a word on the name I picked for him before we begin.

I am deliberately giving Genevieve a woman’s name. This is not to humiliate him. I want to give him the something beautiful, and I don’t care if it’s a girl’s name.  But there’s also another reason for this, one that i’m not sure I can explain.  I have only experienced sexual attraction to girls.  I have only experienced romantic attraction, that I was sure was romantic, to girls.  Genevieve is like a girl to me because my feelings for him were just as strong as my past romantic and sexual feelings.  More on this later.

As for the last name, it involves a complex set of word associations that I do not wish to reveal.  I don’t want you to guess who he is.
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11 Commandments for People Living with Bipolar Disorder

Recovery from bipolar disorder is almost like a religion or an ethical system. Certain devotions must be part of our lives if we are to recover our balance.

  1. I shall hold myself accountable for all works of my body and my mind including those which I wreak when I am in episode.
    It is important, I feel, not to separate the illness from ourselves. We did the things that happened while we were in episode. There was no second soul seizing control of our bodies. Our mind is a stream that flows continuously, sometimes over rough ground, sometimes in placid stretches, and sometimes over cliffs. We own all these states of our being.
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How Far Would You Go?

We are quick to judge someone who abuses drugs. But shouldn’t we evaluate what led them to use such methods in the first place?

The first time I smoked weed was because I felt depressed and wanted to feel anything else. I didn’t know I was in a depressive episode at that time.

I no longer use it, I actually rather despise the substance.

But it is not the only drug.

I want to feel guilty about abusing my psychiatrist’s trust but I am not the type to feel much remorse.

The powder can work better than the whole. Your nose may ache and the initial rush is so heavy you feel like your heart will explode out of your chest. But I found if you balance the drug with another… then you can excel.

In a way, it is typical cliche college student. They say a ridiculous amount of college students abuse stimulants but I’m not sure of how accurate that is. I have yet to meet any who do but then again- I don’t have many friends and I’m sure it is not something most will announce to the world.

It is not something I do that often, at least not anymore. It is something I do when I’m desperate. I felt so stressed out that I couldn’t function- I couldn’t focus, I couldn’t get started- and the seconds were ticking away.

The pressure to never fail. Not a single class. You want to go to grad school, don’t you? You want to be a success, you want this career because for some reason you have equated it to happiness.

You’d do an awful lot to get this, wouldn’t you?

There are some who would go further than I am. Sabotage their peers even. I am not so devious.

Shouldn’t I feel bad that I have to use these methods at times? I should but I don’t. Like I said earlier, I’m not the type to feel guilt. Would I feel more accomplished if I did it the “right” way? Eh. Maybe. But I’d probably see no real difference. Either way I got the work done- that’s what matters, right?

I’m driven to these methods by expectations. Expectations that were put on me by family and by myself. Ever since I was little it was like my whole life revolved around my future career. Was it my fault? I don’t know. My siblings are all older than me by quite a bit. When I was old enough to start having a good concept of the future, my siblings were all determining what they wanted to do in this world. It made me ask myself the same question. And for as long as I can remember I have had a career goal. I revolve my life around it. But I don’t want to. I want to be happy and have fun.

So I come to be between a rock and a hard place. I can either spread out the time spent studying by not going out drinking or I can get it done in one night by working excessively (and perhaps with a little help) and go drinking.

I’ve done this to myself. I feel trapped in a world where career is everything. But to get to career, I have to get through college. And let me be honest- I hate college. Or at least, I hate the pressure. The deadlines, the high marks, everything. I wish I could learn in an enjoyable way. But let’s face it, I hate my major. I love my minor. Both are useless unless I can get into grad school. I’ve given up on med school, which is what I have completely devoted my college classes towards and it is too late to go back. I am shifting my goal but it doesn’t exactly align with what I’ve done.

What a mess.

Stability… does that word even truly apply to me, ever? You would think so. But I don’t think so. I am always a little up or down. Always have some unhealthy addiction. Am always a little self destructive.

Tonight I used unethical means to get some school work done.

But will you judge me before you even consider what made me want to?

Don’t call me lazy. But if you want… you can call me desperate.

-Quinn

Bits and Pieces

Lately I have been having short periods of time where I feel happy, not blah and fatigued. I can joke and laugh. I guess other people feel that a lot.

I wish I knew what brings it on but it seems to be sporadic.

Holidays

We are celebrating Passover and Easter at my in-laws today. Holidays are hard for me. I feel self-conscious. Simple questions, what have you been doing?, trip me up. Being around people, putting on the game face, wears me out. I so want to stay home and hide under the covers.

At the Seder, we go around the table reading. I hate this. I feel like people are watching me when it is my turn. My husband likes it. He leads the reading and there is a great meal after.

For Easter we do an egg hunt. That part isn’t so bad because it is all focused on the kids.

Mentally, I think I am doing pretty well, just some anticipatory anxiety.

Skipping a Dose

Last Friday night, I forgot to take my meds. When I discovered this on Saturday afternoon, I didn’t feel unusual so I left the meds in their compartment to be taken in a week. Saturday, Sunday, and Monday passed without incident; so I forgot what had happened. Tuesday, however, brought light-headedness and euphoria that peaked in the evening. I battered it down with my usual night meds and eleven hours of sleep. I still felt a little high on Wednesday which made me worry that I was ramping up into something more serious. Thursday found me a little below level-headed but no longer hypomanic. Then Friday arrived. I woke to a crashing depression and general fatigue, sluggishness, and stupidity.

The temptation not to leave the house was strong, but I defied it and went for a long walk in Whiting Ranch. Golden Stars had made their first appearance and Blue Dicks their last along the trails. A single Splendid Mariposa Lily signaled that there were more things to come. I had my instant camera with me and set myself to the task of taking five good photos with the last of the film: I succeeded at four. The exertion slowed the whirling of my head, but didn’t stop it entirely. I pumped the blood through my veins by walking fast up the hills and finished my circuit in two hours; leaving me enough time to work on the computer a bit and enjoy a large snack to curb my massive appetite.

Do I insert here a warning to take your meds? Do you need one? Because I had skipped one dose, the foundation that I relied on for existing cracked and slumped. The funk that I find myself in will linger for a few days more. I’ve made plans to exercise and take pictures as I usually do on the weekends. The fissures should heal, my cocktail should plane off the undulations, and my equanimity return. This is a course that I have often run: I know what happened and what works to improve things. There’s no hammer that fixes it all. Only time and attention to my routine repairs my brain.

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Yet Another Post- Finding the “Me” in “Meds”

After missing my meds the other night, and then taking them last night, it was like a transformation occurred.

I went to class today and was able to focus the entire time. I was energetic enough to seek out potential professors seeking research assistants. I got stuff done and tonight I plan on going to a club. Most of all- I felt happy to be alive. Maybe a little too happy and productive, but whatever I’ll roll with it.

But my friend texted me something. She said, “With meds. Without meds. Completely different. It’s both terrifying and amazing at the same time how much of an affect they can have on you.”

And I have to agree with her. The times I’ve gone off meds I’ve turned into a nervous wreck, unable to function, vomiting from anxiety, and apparently dangerously suicidal as last night proved.

But what I told her is that, yes, it is frightening. But what frightens me more is that I don’t know who that person is. I’ve only been on meds 3 years (which isn’t a long time compared to some people) but it is weird to me not knowing who I am without them.

I know for me, when I’ve quit my meds spontaneously, part of my reasoning was that I wanted to see who I was without them. And every time I did I was scared beyond belief. I wish there was a way to know that person but it is simply too dangerous. Part of me wants to see just how bad I can get. I want to know. I want to see the difference medication has made.

I do see it, sometimes. If I think back to high school before I turned 18 and got meds, I was a nightmare. I was suicidal, I was erratic, I was pessimist beyond belief… In all honesty, I was really just a horrible person. I won’t deny it, I didn’t like that person. That’s why I wanted to kill her.

Meds changed my life, even if the antidepressants did later further my problems. They started off helping before I descended again. But it was different than before, when there was no meds. On them I was still somewhat sedated. I can’t help but wonder anyway.

A lot of people think the meds strip you of personality. Make you numb. Make you a zombie.

And the right ones in the right dosages don’t.

I know who I am on the meds.

But I can’t help but wonder anyway…

Who am I underneath this safety blanket?

-Quinn

Update…

About my last post…

The one where I talked about how suicidal I was today.

Well I went to take my meds… And saw I hadnt taken them last night.

I cried. Sometimes we bipolars get it in our heads to quit, which I even considered recently, but last night I simply forgot…

And then I wanted to kill myself today.

Please take your meds everyone. Please dont forget.

-Quinn