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Notes On Going Inpatient: Part Two

My pdoc had called ahead so they would be expecting me. foolishly I though this meant a smooth, expedited process. Three hours in the waiting room I was completely disillusioned. Two hours in I had begun to realize I still ad my bad of meds (best to take them all with you so they can just wrote down what you take rather than try to remember it yourself.) I sat for an hours, sweating, thinking about how much better this would be than at home. My husband wouldn't be alone with the kids. all I needed was a cup of water and to slip into the restroom. I would need some sleight of hand with the bag of meds but with the coma state everyone was in due to the waiting room boredom I knew it would be easy. This was all I could think about.The one snag was that I still hadn't written a note.

I would not be able to at this point and I had that loose end with my daughter. As I sat thinking this, at 3 and a half hoursin they finally called my name. NOW they took my meds and my bag, gave me a band and began treating me like a patient. There was an interview, or two, and then at least another hour of waiting. They discussed me with a doc and decided to keep me (oh yay.) My husband left as they took me back and then the fun began: step one was a full body strip search. I cried so hard I was gagging and heaving. It was now about 2AM. I was tired, stressed, and naked in a room with 2 strange women and a large stain on the floor that looked suspiciously like blood at the base of a table exactly like a gynecologist uses.

In the end i was ok, there was not invasive search, but just the look of that stain and the idea of the search and I was hyperventilating.After many more administrative procedures I eventually made it to my "bed" at 3:30am. the "bed" was a 3 inch thick box spring in which every spring is bent and distorted andstabbing into your back. also it turned out my roommate has a CPAP machine and wasbreathing like Darth Vader.

The bathroom would be shared by 4 women. This was all I could absorb at that hour and despite the discomforts I crashed into sleep.Days 1 - I was woken at 6:30am to retrieve my pink bucket which is basically what it sounds like, a pink bucket that hold all your toiletries since you are not allowed to have them with you due to the dangers they present. After using them, taking a shower if you can (4 women, remember?) you must turn it in by a certain time. Then they take vitals and you head down to breakfast all in a line like inmates.

Basically the entire time you are hospitalized you are walking in lines, waiting in lines, line line line. When you get back you go right into group where things disintegrate rapidly based on the state of the lowest common denominator – usually the newest person – and not much get done.

The entire stay is a repeat of that entire loop. Wake, bathe,eat, group, meds, group, eat, group, med, group, group, meds, group, eat, group, open rec time (woo hoo), late meds, lights out. You get stable. That's the goal. You won't get healthy, you won't really make any progress on your therapy. You will simply get past being suicidal. For now, that is enough.

My next step is intensive outpatient therapy. I am going 9am-3pm five days a week for the next two weeks. Once that is over I will go back to my normal outpatient therapist for a few days wee, and then back to once a week. They refer to all this as “step down.” This part of the program is far more helpful for my long term health, but the inpatient – no matter how awful – was necessary to get me stable.

Notes on Going Inpatient: Part One

At least a month prior to the hospitalization I began to have serious symptoms. At the time I didn't know what the issue was. My back hurt and I thought the area I had surgery on was acting up again. I had sudden stroke like symptoms, flaring flashes of light in my left eye, stomach aches, headaches that laid me out for a whole day. I had tests like you would not believe: MRI's on my back and brain, ultrasound of my heart, even a mammogram. All came back normal and I was eventually diagnosed with migraines. I can't blame the docs, I mean faced with a patient presenting with random symptoms and a flat out refusal to accept "nothing is wrong with you" for an answer they did their best.

Weeks later I still felt like hell and I started to suspect something was seriously wrong. I scheduled myself for a week of vacation to decompress and then proceeded to spend the whole week doing errands, and helping everyone else. Basically I recognized the problem, then ignored it. By the end of the vacation I was at the end of my rope. I was at the beginning of a mixed episode, having suicidal thoughts, and was just a general mess.

On August 24 I called my pdoc. I wanted to hurt myself or to get hurt. I was completely preoccupied with falling down stairs, maybe getting get hit by a car, or getting in some kind of accident, I even hoped to go blind, I just wanted to self destruct like quit my job or just leave town. My mind was completely consumed with these thoughts and I began to seriously entertain the thoughts of suicide that had been popping into my head for months and began to plan out the event. I constantly felt like screaming but just remained silent and looked mildly annoyed. At dinner my husband persuaded me to call my therapist since my pdoc had not called all day. She asked me to promise that I wouldn't hurt myself, I lied. My pdoc called and I mentioned to him that I thought I might need to go to a hospital. After some discussion we decided against it and decided I would see him the next morning, early. He told me what to take to sedate myself, I slept.

August 25 my husband drove my to my pdoc's office. My pdoc was against the hospital so I left with some new prescriptions. By the afternoon I was beyond any illusion that this was going to work. My therapist had checked in a few times and it must have been clear to her as well. She spoke with my husband and got him to collect all my meds. I was PISSED, betrayed, angry, and even more hopeless. How could I escape? I became completely focussed on getting at least enough meds back to cause death.

By 4pm that day I had gotten 4 bottles through various methods of treachery and I had enough to kill myself (Ambien, Lithium, Seroquel, and Clonazepam - all were almost full.) I couldn't concentrate well enough to write a suicide note so now I turned my energy to this. I knew I needed to go over the disposal of my remains (cremation, no services) and the children but I just couldn't organize my thoughts well enough to put it down on paper. I knew that I would take my favorite down comforter and pillow into the tub with me and take the pills there to keep from making a mess if my body let go after death. I wanted to take the meds in the right order to keep from throwing them up and waking up in the hospital needing an organ so I was going to line them up on the bathtub ledge.

At this point my pdoc finally called back and I finally said the words, "I want to kill myself. I am not safe here." We began to discuss where to go. I went with the hospital my therapist had recomended. I packed a bag with 2 days of clothes and light toiletries and headed to the car, crying and fighting with myself the whole time. I wanted to die and to live all at once.

Next up: At the hospital

~ANONYMOUS

I'm Bipolar

I'm bi-polar. I know, I know the first thing you think is this person is crazy. Although my family may agree with you, I have been on meds for years, have held the same job for over 17 years and only been hospitalized once due to that nasty thing called menopause and it's fluctuating hormones.

I still, however, deal with the day to day fears of this disorder. If I get depressed, am I spiraling? If I have too much energy, am I getting manic? I recently quit smoking using the patch and every time I stepped down, I would get very depressed and feared I was spiraling down in to the abyss that lies inside my mind. I would return to normalcy (what normalcy is for me anyway) after about three days and would go on an exercise jaunt.

I never felt that I was going in to mania when I was exercising because I felt so good, but my husband got very afraid. I tried to assure him that I was fine but had all this extra time and energy and needed to do something (there was also the weight gain from quitting smoking I had to consider), so I exercised.

He still watches me. Ocassionally I do feel like my mental health is fragile and I need to be very careful with it because I still have the fear that one day something may push me over the edge.Anyway, I just wanted to blog and let others know that I am living with bi-polar and it is possible -- not always fun, but possible.

~ANONYMOUS~

Get Your Ass Out Of Bed

I started my blog with the intent to share my life with others, which I have molded and mended into the life that I've always dreamed of, so that others could see that it is possible to get through this disease with hardwork, determination, and incentive...even when the motivation is so difficult to muster up. But now I look at the previous posts and realize I was being big-headed in thinking that I could actually help others to follow their dreams as well...when I can't even fully enjoy the fruits of my own labor.

My altered dosages were not successful in deterring this "crash". So today I am at home. I called in sick because, like yesterday, I could not get out of bed. Just the thought of seeing clients today had me shivering again. I have this phrase that I say to myself aloud over and over again in the mornings: "I can do this. I can do this. I can do this." When my husband, Bernie, hears me chanting those familiar words in front of the bathroom mirror, he knows what it means. Well, this morning, the chants didn't work.

An hour later, I finally got up from the bed to drop the kids to school and feed the dogs. Fortunately, my kids are old enough to dress and feed themselves. Then I laid back in bed in my emptiness. My house is a mess, errands yet to be run for days, and I spent more time on Facebook and blogs then I have with my chores. A few minutes later, a voice inside me said: "Get up and do something to stop this, would ya?" So here I am, up from the bed, blogging the emptiness away, typing away the confusion.

My bipolar disorder has progressed with age. Medication that worked wonderfully for years no longer has any positive effects. So I've spent that last couple of years searching frantically, alongside my pdoc, to find a new combo.

When I was younger, my episodes were mostly manic and had only a few depressive bouts lasting a few days maybe once or twice a year. My kids were younger, and I was in graduate school. My manic episodes were not as damaging. In fact, they were what helped me through school and raising babies and running a household all at the same time.

I was SUPERWOMAN...all the time. People would say to me: "Wow. How do you do it? How can you go to school with three babies?" And I would feel so good about myself. I'd say: "Determination and incentive to provide for my family."

Was it really determination and incentive? Or was it just mania? Or maybe a combo of both? I finished college at the top of my class. We bought our first house the next year. I did it. I actually did what I set out to do. Eight years later, I have the career that I wanted, a new house, great kids, a 15-year marriage. This is what I wanted. So why am I here in my bedroom and not at work? Why am I here? Am I really successful when I am a failure at handling the progression of this disease, which is now MUCH more debilitating than it was when I was younger???

Would I be able to do now what I did back then? Absolutely not. So I guess I'm thankful that my disorder has had a gradual progression. I've met many others who can't say that. I am now a rapid-cycling patient. My depressions are more frequent and last longer. My manias cause more collateral damage nowadays (I still love 'em anyways). And I am unpredicatable.

I love you mania, for helping me through college and helping me raise three wonderful and well-rounded children. Now please go away because I don't need you anymore.

~MARSHA~

Interval of Lucidity

If I believe what I see, hear, feel, and taste to be reality, then what happens when every experience starts to seem connected? I have felt the love of the Universe flowing through everything I see, and the constricting anxiety that my family is in great peril. How can I remain still when thoughts and feelings crest and subside at a pace too fast for me to even talk? During the darkest moments of my life, I ultimately placed my faith in people who I knew cared about me. This was no mere belief that in the end everything would turn out for the best. I relinquished control of my body and I thought at times perhaps my life. I let go of everything.

For years before I ever became ill, I had a nagging sensation that there was something waiting for me at the edge of my awareness. So I began psychotherapy sessions that lasted for nearly three years. The therapist and I began to traverse long ignored corridors of my heart and mind. I often imagined myself walking through a labyrinth in search of the mythical Minotaur. I knew intuitively that I was searching for a beast in the most private part of myself. And when I finally met up with that scary fellow, it took the intervention of other people to keep him from consuming me.

I have read that bipolar disorder is hard for even mental health professionals to diagnose. From the beginning of my therapy in 1998 until the day before I went into the hospital in 2001, my therapist never recognized my symptoms. And unfortunately, while I knew I needed help, I really had no idea what form it should take. Open ended talk therapy seemed like a good idea, but it turned out to be a bit like dousing a fire with gasoline. My therapist helped me understand quite a bit about myself. But my emotional state never improved, and often I left his office feeling much worse. I have since learned that this is common for people who suffer from serious mental illness.

In April of 2001 my spouse, our minister, and two friends brought me into the emergency room at University of Chicago Hospital. While we waited for the doctor, my uncontrollably racing mind created one painful phantasm after another frightening both me and my companions. Having gone without sleep for days, I was beyond wondering what was wrong with me. I just wanted my hellish experiences to end one way or another. After three weeks in the hospital, I went home with an official diagnosis of severe bipolar I disorder and the solemn task of reconstructing my life.

Since that time, I have had one more bout of illness in 2006 (both have occurred during times of great personal stress), and a new diagnosis, schizoaffective/bipolar. This time it took me close to two years to recover from the episode. The arc of the illness has been the same both times: mania, delusions, psychosis, then depression and coping with being heavily medicated. Now I consider myself to be in the time of remission. Like a squirrel storing nuts for the winter, I am busy enjoying my life and the people I share it with.

~ANONYMOUS

Facebook~Global Exposure!

Bipolar Speaks started a group on facebook! If you are a member of facebook, join our group. If you aren't a member of facebook, sign up for a facebook account and you can join the group!

Simply log onto Facebook with your username and password and in the search box type in "Bipolar Speaks" and join the group. It's that easy!

Your "Blog" identity won't be revealed because a lot of us don't know who we truly are (in legal name) anyways...No exposure will occur unless you choose to do so yourself.

Also as a member of the group, no one can view your profile unless they ask to be your friend...you are truly protected.

Bipolar In The Raw

Living with loved one's who are Bipolar from a woman of God's eyes. This isn't something that is really "talked" about, and some may think it's "too personal", but it's REAL and it's out there!Trying to live my life for God and dealing with the everyday struggles of mental illness.

This is MY story:

Padded rooms & lots of drugs here I come! “No, you make choices and you’re choosing to do the wrong thing.” “Why don’t you care about me?” “Why do you keep doing that?” “What is wrong with you?”

I found myself flat on my face before the Lord pleading, begging, and crying out for HELP!Convinced that there was something wrong with ME, I tried a number of different things. Some helped, some didn’t! This went on for 3 years. After an unexpected incident with our youngest son (who was 8 and already on meds for ADHD) we took yet another trip to visit the Doc. He then explained our little man was in fact bipolar.

I immediately went home and started my research! My eyes were about to pop out of my head due to all of the knowledge pouring into them. My brain was on over drive, and I couldn’t stop. If someone had tried to explain in laymen terms “what” bipolar was I would’ve looked at them like they had lost their marbles. HA, probably how people look at me when I try and explain it now.

Bipolar in children is different than in adults. While still in overdrive I realized I was also reading about my husband. With my new found knowledge I learned I was still completely CLUELESS. Trying to tell your 29 year old husband that he IS bipolar and getting on some medicine would HELP, was like pulling an embedded wisdom tooth out without Novocain. I’m NOT crazy after all, they are! Oh dear, what am I going to do now?

The Doc got our little man squared away and miracles began to happen with him! Still pulling teeth with my husband, I kept track of the episodes. Every three weeks I could expect “something” to happen. Every three months, something BIG would happen. I found myself flat on my face before the Lord pleading, begging, and crying out for HELP! October was on the horizon with the number of events all which were up in the air.

My husbands job, are we moving clear across the country, we are having another baby, WHAT! Pulling my hair out handfuls at a time and doing my best to rest in God’s perfect timing… WHAM! I was hit harder than a ton of bricks dropped from ten stories high! “Is this Mrs. Archuleta?” The first words I hear at the other end of the phone which nearly jump started my heart at 1am. Fuzzy brained and trying to focus the deep voice begins to explain who they are and why they are calling.

Calm, cool, and collective (because the severity hadn’t quite yet hit me) I proceeded to learn, my dear husband was being taken into custody and I needed to come pick up his car.“How did I miss this?” “How long has this been going on?” “How did I miss this?”Astonished & dismayed, flooded with a million thoughts, feelings and emotions I didn’t know which one to express first. I found myself flat on my face before the Lord pleading, begging, and crying out for HELP! “How am I going to support four kids (soon to be five)?” “I am NOT bailing him out!” “What am I going to tell the children when they see their dad isn’t home?” HELP, was on the way, I just didn’t know it.

2 Corinthians 12:10: (Amplified)10 So for the sake of Christ, I am well pleased and take pleasure in infirmities, insults, hardships, persecutions, perplexities and distresses; for when I am weak [[a]in human strength], then am I [truly] strong (able, powerful [b]in divine strength).

Spinning out of control my dear husband was facing serious charges. I found myself flat on my face before the Lord pleading, begging, and crying out for HELP! LOVE was the answer. God enabled me to love that man harder, tighter, and deeper than ever before. We made our way to see the different doctors, he was put on meds, and within days I could see a dramatic difference!

The Holidays came and went and I was so relieved, thankful and proud of MY “new” husband!SIGH…WHAM! Another ton of bricks hit. My dearest wasn’t taking his meds and hadn’t for a couple weeks. The episodes began like clockwork! “What am I going to do with this man?” “I can’t take it anymore!” “Why did I get stuck with a husband like this?”

I found myself flat on my face before the Lord pleading, begging, and crying out for HELP! My pity party didn’t last long. Clearly the Lord has given me all that I have good and bad for His purpose and it WILL glorify HIM. Meanwhile, I am to lean on Him for the strength, patience, and guidance.Philippians 4:13: (Amplified)13I have strength for all things in Christ Who empowers me [I am ready for anything and equal to anything through Him Who [a]infuses inner strength into me; I am [b]self-sufficient in Christ's sufficiency

~Rebecca Archuleta~

Lifetime Struggle

I feel like my life is like a treadmill - running in place and getting nowhere. This is my life with Bipolar Disorder. I have battled with managing my bipolar, staying on medication, and watching my triggers for nearly five years now (since I've been diagnosed). To be honest, its been an ongoing rollercoaster ride that has never slowed down.

Every time I think that I have a hold on things, something happens. I have said this a thousand times, since my diagnosis or actually struggling with it while never knowing I had it, I have never been the same. Every life battle sets me off. I will fall into a deep depression over just about anything and that depression will spiral into a manic state. This is where I am now.

There are times I think about suicide, but not the way you think. I don't have the balls to kill myself. I would never cut myself, shoot myself, or take pills. But I could easily stop eating or not eat a lot. This has always been my choice of suicide if it were to arise.

Everytime I think that I could lead a normal life, I fall to pieces. I feel like I am a walking depressed soul. This is me, a depressed person that cannot seem to get out of that rut. I don't have the desire to work during these times of economic downfalls. Emotionally and mentally I can't.

I lie awake at night and cannot get to sleep, I am up late hours of the night, and I am not tired. What triggered this? BIG things, serious things that has put me over the edge. I still go to counseling, see my psychiatrist, and yes, I am still on meds. Love how these meds work, NOT!

I am tired, drained, emotionally unstable. I cannot believe the power of Bipolar Disorder. I cannot believe no matter how much we try, this Bipolar kicks in like a bat out of hell. Many of us had said before, Bipolar is not our identity, Bipolar is not who I am, Bipolar doesn't control me - well, I am not too sure about that. I think that we can only control so much - we do the best we can.

Sometimes, I feel that maybe having only so much on my plate is something I have to accept. Maybe working isn't in the cards at this time, maybe living my life as a stay-at-home mom, being a writer, taking care of my mental state of mind is where I have to be right now. But I cannot live like this forever and its hard for me to accept. I need to work and I want an outlet - but will this really solve anything or are we just doomed?

I see friends, I go out at times with friends, but I could take it or leave it and believe me at times I leave it. I have been involved in so many things, but people piss me off. That's where the irritability comes in - my patience has run dry. I could do without people and petty shit.

One thing I cannot stand is when people bring up "Celebrities." I don't care about these people. These people have money to REALLY help themselves, they have the medical insurance, the money to get away to a tropical spa in Maui, and they have the jobs and agents that allow them to take off if needed.

Well, I am an ordinary person with an ordinary home, with an ordinary lifestyle. I cannot afford to Mentally or Financially take care of my Mental Illness. I feel like there is no hope, it's a no-win situation and basically I need to accept who I am, what I have, and deal with it.

But I can't. Why? Because to some degree I am always depressed. I cry over music, commercials, movies, TV shows, and I dwell on the past a lot. I am a big "past time" drama queen. I have become a couch potato, catatonic - not just in spurts - its been awhile. This is my life.

This is a lifetime struggle. I read that Bipolar fades within time with age - I don't know if that is true or not, but at my age of forty-something - I am still an emotional wreck and I don't think I will ever have peace of mind.

~DREAMWRITER~

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