I really did think for a moment that my brain might be growing. Well, one part of my head was certainly swollen. And the scalp was red. And hot.
Moving was a rough experience for me, but I had two friends who helped me through it. I also learned that walking backward while carrying furniture is never a good idea. Not a horrible fall, but one that left a hole in the parking lot where my head hit it....well, at least I don't recall seeing a hole there before my head hit the surface.
Bump growing larger. Head feels like it's in a vise. Sinus headache everywhere. Mild confusion. Vertigo when I looked down. Ditzier than usual. Based on my experience with prior head injuries, my self-diagnosis: Mild concussion. Plan of Care: Sleep. No elopements. Sleep. Reducing my workload (that hurt the workaholic node of my things that are bad for me zone). Sleep. Dark chocolate in moderation. Sleep so much that moderation not an issue.
Today my old head feels like the epoxy has set and I'm ready to take my brain out for a test drive. And that's what I did.
I went to church for the first time in over a month. My knee hurt, my jaw hurt, I had a mild headache, and people were nice to me. Damn it. I would have been okay if they hadn't been nice to me. After the first bucket full of tears, I realized that I missed taking my happy and stable pills many times over the past few weeks. However, I had been protected by my lovely night med, so all was not lost. I felt broken inside, but reassured that resuming my meds would help me get back to my safe zone.
Lot of paranoia right now, too. I have a roommate in my new location and, thanks to my very high stress level, hearing her in the distance becomes the seed for paranoid thoughts. And I'm hiding in my rooms (one for all my stuff and one for sleeping). I am not properly caring for myself. I have not yet used the kitchen, but I have eaten cold toaster pastries in the car. I will be extra gentle with myself and allow myself time to adjust to my new surroundings before taking any action...before running away. I am out of places to find shelter.
Not at point zero, but definitely at the lower end of the scale. Sleep. Rest. Eat. Breathe.
Monday, February 11, 2013
Sunday, January 6, 2013
Stress and disorganization when moving
The title just about says it all.
This is the first time that I've moved since I was diagnosed and, as I stand back from the process, I realize the impact of being bipolar on this task.
I've attributed some of the reluctance to do the necessary work to the fact that I really don't want to make this move. I know I can no longer afford to stay in this apartment where I feel part of a community (although not much of a participant), where I feel safe, and where I selected to live even before I relocated to this city. Some of my moves were self-destructive in some respects, but each led to leaps and bounds in my growth and advancement as a person, mother, woman, girlfriend, friend, and every other role that I've accepted. I anticipate the same results this time.
This move involves significant downsizing again as I'm moving from an apartment to a set of rooms. I've made four moves that entailed crossing an ocean or crossing a continent. Each move meant that I had to assess the value of the objects in my life. The irony of the timing of each is that they occurred right about the time that things were pretty good and I had all the things I needed and some of the things I wanted. A pretty vase is not a necessity, but it can hold beautiful flowers that brighten a room and help elevate my mood. At my destination, I usually end up replacing most of the items I had to abandon. Sometimes it costs less to replace items than to move them.
I'm more aware of the move specific stress this time. Accompanying that is the stress of having a job with an irregular schedule and irregular salary. Money is already tight. Energy is already low. But I'll have a significant decrease in living expenses, be close to my two true friends, and be in a community of people near my own age. I'll have a non-family member roommate for the first time in decades. The scales don't seem balanced to me.
Then there is the cleaning. I know from my support group that I'm not the only bipolar person who has problems keeping a clean and organized residence. I wish there was a clean bomb -- a sort of bug bomb that eradicates the dirt and leaves a fresh clean smell after the deed is done.
The coffee overload doesn't help. Missing meds doesn't help. Forgetting to eat good food doesn't help. Time to use my whiteboard again and break this project down into bite-sized pieces and hope that I don't break. I've had a few of my warning signs, but so far I've been able to stay calm about them and that seems to help.
I have good support, but I won't call for help or accept help until I know that I can't go forth without it. I want to do this on my own and yet stay realistic about how much I can do.
I'll be fine as long as the stores don't run out of deep, dark, delicious, and medicinal chocolate.
This is the first time that I've moved since I was diagnosed and, as I stand back from the process, I realize the impact of being bipolar on this task.
I've attributed some of the reluctance to do the necessary work to the fact that I really don't want to make this move. I know I can no longer afford to stay in this apartment where I feel part of a community (although not much of a participant), where I feel safe, and where I selected to live even before I relocated to this city. Some of my moves were self-destructive in some respects, but each led to leaps and bounds in my growth and advancement as a person, mother, woman, girlfriend, friend, and every other role that I've accepted. I anticipate the same results this time.
This move involves significant downsizing again as I'm moving from an apartment to a set of rooms. I've made four moves that entailed crossing an ocean or crossing a continent. Each move meant that I had to assess the value of the objects in my life. The irony of the timing of each is that they occurred right about the time that things were pretty good and I had all the things I needed and some of the things I wanted. A pretty vase is not a necessity, but it can hold beautiful flowers that brighten a room and help elevate my mood. At my destination, I usually end up replacing most of the items I had to abandon. Sometimes it costs less to replace items than to move them.
I'm more aware of the move specific stress this time. Accompanying that is the stress of having a job with an irregular schedule and irregular salary. Money is already tight. Energy is already low. But I'll have a significant decrease in living expenses, be close to my two true friends, and be in a community of people near my own age. I'll have a non-family member roommate for the first time in decades. The scales don't seem balanced to me.
Then there is the cleaning. I know from my support group that I'm not the only bipolar person who has problems keeping a clean and organized residence. I wish there was a clean bomb -- a sort of bug bomb that eradicates the dirt and leaves a fresh clean smell after the deed is done.
The coffee overload doesn't help. Missing meds doesn't help. Forgetting to eat good food doesn't help. Time to use my whiteboard again and break this project down into bite-sized pieces and hope that I don't break. I've had a few of my warning signs, but so far I've been able to stay calm about them and that seems to help.
I have good support, but I won't call for help or accept help until I know that I can't go forth without it. I want to do this on my own and yet stay realistic about how much I can do.
I'll be fine as long as the stores don't run out of deep, dark, delicious, and medicinal chocolate.
Tuesday, December 18, 2012
I have a mindache.
My mind's not broken, but it sure feels stressed. My body is not providing the support needed to keep the cogs well oiled. It's just a little off and I can't nudge it where I want it to go. I would like to visit normal for a while, just a little while. I'm weary.
I have decisions to make, but I hide under the covers rationalizing that if I get more rest, all will be well. Just postponed until I have to jump or be pushed in a direction not of my choosing.
Overwhelmed. Insufficiently medicated...I miss the thyroid medication! Unwilling to commit. Unwilling to trust my own instincts. Wanting to stay inside. Putting on my work face so I can make some money, then putting it in my pocket until it is next needed. My real face feels long, stretching down to the ground, in danger of being tread upon. I don't care if you tread on me! I just don't care right now! I just want to be someplace safe where I can step outside the world for a bit! If I had money, I'd take a vacation, if my workaholic ways permitted. If I allowed myself to feel joy.
This isn't holiday stress/melancholy/blues. This is a different size and a different flavor. I liberated myself from celebrating holidays I no longer wish to acknowledge. There is no pressure, no stress, no drive to create a perfect memory of a perfect day.
Nothing tastes good. Nothing is funny. The outfit I liked no longer appeals to me. The book I was reading has been cast aside. I no longer have a crush. I don't care about taking care of myself right now.
There are a dozen things that I need to finish or start. I don't care. If I had a traditional job, I'd call in with a "flu thing" and hide under the covers a bit longer.
But I drag myself out every day, put on my work face, do what has to be done, then put the work face away. And then crawl back under the covers and pray that this ache will end.
I have decisions to make, but I hide under the covers rationalizing that if I get more rest, all will be well. Just postponed until I have to jump or be pushed in a direction not of my choosing.
Overwhelmed. Insufficiently medicated...I miss the thyroid medication! Unwilling to commit. Unwilling to trust my own instincts. Wanting to stay inside. Putting on my work face so I can make some money, then putting it in my pocket until it is next needed. My real face feels long, stretching down to the ground, in danger of being tread upon. I don't care if you tread on me! I just don't care right now! I just want to be someplace safe where I can step outside the world for a bit! If I had money, I'd take a vacation, if my workaholic ways permitted. If I allowed myself to feel joy.
This isn't holiday stress/melancholy/blues. This is a different size and a different flavor. I liberated myself from celebrating holidays I no longer wish to acknowledge. There is no pressure, no stress, no drive to create a perfect memory of a perfect day.
Nothing tastes good. Nothing is funny. The outfit I liked no longer appeals to me. The book I was reading has been cast aside. I no longer have a crush. I don't care about taking care of myself right now.
There are a dozen things that I need to finish or start. I don't care. If I had a traditional job, I'd call in with a "flu thing" and hide under the covers a bit longer.
But I drag myself out every day, put on my work face, do what has to be done, then put the work face away. And then crawl back under the covers and pray that this ache will end.
Sunday, November 25, 2012
And there's quicksand at the bottom of the hole
It's pretty clear from the title of this post that I'm not in a celebratory mood nor feel like giving thanks for anything. This year I am alone -- my son no longer lives in the same town, extended family is on the other side of the country, and friends have their own families or friends with whom they have a tradition of sharing Thanksgiving day. Kinda feeling on the outskirts here, but don't really mind all that much.
So I lie to people about how I spent the holiday. "I wasn't alone. I spent the day with some friends." And my nose grows longer with each telling.
I worked part of the day and was on call for the remainder. There is a sad, sad couple who both have dementia and some physical limitations. Thursday morning I helped them get their day started and put together a nice meal for them. They were grateful and that made me feel good, but the holiday pay rate was my focus. Just a mean old mercenary. But that attitude protected me from feeding the depression monster inside me.
At church today we had a guest minister who told a series of anecdotes involving people who learned they were terminally ill and how they died. ARGH!!!!!! I think the point was that we all benefit from living in a state of mindfulness, but I couldn't wait for the sermon to end so that I could give thanks that it was over and run out of the building as fast as possible!
I made the decision to eliminate a significant amount of stress by finding a less expensive place to live. Fortunately, I connected with another woman who lives alone and who has a room that I can rent. I don't know which makes me feel saddest -- the fact that I really can't afford to keep my apartment or the fact that the best I can do is rent a room. I think I mourn both. My friends say that things could be much worse. I know that. I would love to have someone acknowledge the fact that I am experiencing a loss. I am once again shedding belongings. I feel like I am losing my autonomy.
So I fell into this hole. The sides are slippery and water trickles down. It's miles deep, unlit, and there isn't even an echo in here. And there's quicksand at the bottom of the hole.
Plan of action: use the GLAD light, take my meds, blog, go to NAMI support group, find some seriously dark chocolate (medicinal)and mindfully stuff my face!
So I lie to people about how I spent the holiday. "I wasn't alone. I spent the day with some friends." And my nose grows longer with each telling.
I worked part of the day and was on call for the remainder. There is a sad, sad couple who both have dementia and some physical limitations. Thursday morning I helped them get their day started and put together a nice meal for them. They were grateful and that made me feel good, but the holiday pay rate was my focus. Just a mean old mercenary. But that attitude protected me from feeding the depression monster inside me.
At church today we had a guest minister who told a series of anecdotes involving people who learned they were terminally ill and how they died. ARGH!!!!!! I think the point was that we all benefit from living in a state of mindfulness, but I couldn't wait for the sermon to end so that I could give thanks that it was over and run out of the building as fast as possible!
I made the decision to eliminate a significant amount of stress by finding a less expensive place to live. Fortunately, I connected with another woman who lives alone and who has a room that I can rent. I don't know which makes me feel saddest -- the fact that I really can't afford to keep my apartment or the fact that the best I can do is rent a room. I think I mourn both. My friends say that things could be much worse. I know that. I would love to have someone acknowledge the fact that I am experiencing a loss. I am once again shedding belongings. I feel like I am losing my autonomy.
So I fell into this hole. The sides are slippery and water trickles down. It's miles deep, unlit, and there isn't even an echo in here. And there's quicksand at the bottom of the hole.
Plan of action: use the GLAD light, take my meds, blog, go to NAMI support group, find some seriously dark chocolate (medicinal)and mindfully stuff my face!
Thursday, November 8, 2012
Anxiety Attack, Seroquel, Going Forward
It's been a long time since I've had an anxiety attack. Today's episode was clearly the result of my aversion to visiting one of my clients. I don't like him. I hate going to his house. I would really like to ask that I be reassigned to someone else. But I don't speak up. I'm afraid of not being called for available assignments if I ask to be released from this one.
In a very short period of time I went from thinking about how much I dreaded going to his house to throwing up. Then more nausea. Throwing up again. More nausea. Finally calling the office to ask to reschedule. Permission granted. Now I am calm, no nausea, just slightly shaken.
I've been going through a little rough spell brought on by reverting to my old workaholic habits. Yet I acknowledge that I really need to cut back on the hours that I work. I can't sustain a 40+ hour work week. I've started the process of obtaining help from the government.
Voices and paranoia came back briefly. I asked for help and am now taking Seroquel. It's a lovely fit for me and I have rested so well -- refreshing, deep sleep. Bad stuff now gone.
I am working out the details of a new living arrangement. I advertised through my church newsletter and a member's friend responded. It looks like I will soon be living in one end of a large mobile home. The owner and I got along and I think, personality wise, this could work. She was upfront about a health issue that she has and how she welcomed having a caregiver in her home. I told her about riding the roller coaster; she didn't hesitate. Her sister shares the diagnosis. As long as I take my meds, I'm welcome to live in her home. The challenge for me is just living with someone else (other than my son). I've told her I need my alone time, that I spend a good deal of time sleeping, and that I'll be respectful. Her only concern was how we might handle having an overnight guest! How I'd love to have a man in my bed! I think this will work and the savings for me are significant. But I wonder how well I'll adjust.
I love the NAMI support group! It's so nice to not feel alone any more. It's a pleasant surprise to discover that a member of the group also attends my church!
Next challenge: Purging my stuff and not creating chaos in my new environment.
In a very short period of time I went from thinking about how much I dreaded going to his house to throwing up. Then more nausea. Throwing up again. More nausea. Finally calling the office to ask to reschedule. Permission granted. Now I am calm, no nausea, just slightly shaken.
I've been going through a little rough spell brought on by reverting to my old workaholic habits. Yet I acknowledge that I really need to cut back on the hours that I work. I can't sustain a 40+ hour work week. I've started the process of obtaining help from the government.
Voices and paranoia came back briefly. I asked for help and am now taking Seroquel. It's a lovely fit for me and I have rested so well -- refreshing, deep sleep. Bad stuff now gone.
I am working out the details of a new living arrangement. I advertised through my church newsletter and a member's friend responded. It looks like I will soon be living in one end of a large mobile home. The owner and I got along and I think, personality wise, this could work. She was upfront about a health issue that she has and how she welcomed having a caregiver in her home. I told her about riding the roller coaster; she didn't hesitate. Her sister shares the diagnosis. As long as I take my meds, I'm welcome to live in her home. The challenge for me is just living with someone else (other than my son). I've told her I need my alone time, that I spend a good deal of time sleeping, and that I'll be respectful. Her only concern was how we might handle having an overnight guest! How I'd love to have a man in my bed! I think this will work and the savings for me are significant. But I wonder how well I'll adjust.
I love the NAMI support group! It's so nice to not feel alone any more. It's a pleasant surprise to discover that a member of the group also attends my church!
Next challenge: Purging my stuff and not creating chaos in my new environment.
Sunday, October 14, 2012
Recreating Myself?
It was way overdue. I finally made the appointment to see the medical professional who arrives at the magical mixture of pills that assists in my management of my silly brain.
What we talked about has shattered my self image. I'm contemplating life changes that feel foreign to me. Control. I think I would have to surrender control.
Hi. I'm a workaholic and I've been in overdrive lately, especially the past two weeks. Last week I worked 76 hours; 48 of those were 12-hour shifts on consecutive nights. To this was added my usual 4 hour shifts and some odd hours here and there. This week I worked 60 hours; 24 of those were 12-hour shifts on consecutive nights. The frightening part is that I'm physically tired, but feeling a little high, too. It's hard to determine if my willingness to work so much was tied to my fear of not surviving or tied to the high that comes from pushing myself. From past experience, I know that this behavior results in a crash-and-burn -- what my prescriber called a psychotic break.
Prior to this work binge I was already experiencing paranoia and hearing voices. I have arrived at a few ways of lessening the impact of these symptoms -- reminding myself that without evidence in support of negative "talk" that I hear, the voices are not real. It keeps the anxiety down, but is exhausting. Besides, by the time I am experiencing the symptoms, I'm past the point where I should have asked for help.
The Zyprexa has helped in the past. Although the sleep is deep and cleansing, it feels like it takes forever to fully awaken. The language issues (the wrong words keep coming out of my mouth -- like "mouse" for "mouth")are not very helpful when working with my clients.
So we begin trying out new drugs. And scheduling enough sleep time to allow them to work.
Meanwhile, I've had to admit that the maximum time that I can work without feeling overwhelmed is a mere four hours. If I have a break of several hours, I can work another shift without problems. The trouble is that I've accepted consecutive shifts where there has only been 30 - 45 minute breaks and those were for travel.
Working 4 hours a day, or possibly a few hours more, means that I can't support myself. Tomorrow I begin knocking on doors. I go to agencies that can help me explore housing options, medical care options, and the possibility of disability.
"Disabled" is not a term I'm comfortable applying to myself. No matter how difficult life has been, I've always been able to get through tough times. Of course, then I collapse. I've always taken care of myself and others. Well, maybe taken care of others more than myself. Taken care of others at the expense of my own wellbeing.
Time to re-examine my core self. Who am I? What are my goals? What are realistic expectations? Is it realistic to expect to have a life of prosperity, filled with true friends, good health, and love (my declaration of New Year's Day)? What is a realistic housing situation for me? Must I always be alone?
Pondering.
What we talked about has shattered my self image. I'm contemplating life changes that feel foreign to me. Control. I think I would have to surrender control.
Hi. I'm a workaholic and I've been in overdrive lately, especially the past two weeks. Last week I worked 76 hours; 48 of those were 12-hour shifts on consecutive nights. To this was added my usual 4 hour shifts and some odd hours here and there. This week I worked 60 hours; 24 of those were 12-hour shifts on consecutive nights. The frightening part is that I'm physically tired, but feeling a little high, too. It's hard to determine if my willingness to work so much was tied to my fear of not surviving or tied to the high that comes from pushing myself. From past experience, I know that this behavior results in a crash-and-burn -- what my prescriber called a psychotic break.
Prior to this work binge I was already experiencing paranoia and hearing voices. I have arrived at a few ways of lessening the impact of these symptoms -- reminding myself that without evidence in support of negative "talk" that I hear, the voices are not real. It keeps the anxiety down, but is exhausting. Besides, by the time I am experiencing the symptoms, I'm past the point where I should have asked for help.
The Zyprexa has helped in the past. Although the sleep is deep and cleansing, it feels like it takes forever to fully awaken. The language issues (the wrong words keep coming out of my mouth -- like "mouse" for "mouth")are not very helpful when working with my clients.
So we begin trying out new drugs. And scheduling enough sleep time to allow them to work.
Meanwhile, I've had to admit that the maximum time that I can work without feeling overwhelmed is a mere four hours. If I have a break of several hours, I can work another shift without problems. The trouble is that I've accepted consecutive shifts where there has only been 30 - 45 minute breaks and those were for travel.
Working 4 hours a day, or possibly a few hours more, means that I can't support myself. Tomorrow I begin knocking on doors. I go to agencies that can help me explore housing options, medical care options, and the possibility of disability.
"Disabled" is not a term I'm comfortable applying to myself. No matter how difficult life has been, I've always been able to get through tough times. Of course, then I collapse. I've always taken care of myself and others. Well, maybe taken care of others more than myself. Taken care of others at the expense of my own wellbeing.
Time to re-examine my core self. Who am I? What are my goals? What are realistic expectations? Is it realistic to expect to have a life of prosperity, filled with true friends, good health, and love (my declaration of New Year's Day)? What is a realistic housing situation for me? Must I always be alone?
Pondering.
Sunday, September 16, 2012
Good Week and New Moon
The new moon is the time when I set intentions, not only for the rest of the month, but I also reaffirm intentions that I previously expressed to the universe. It's also a time for reflection and review. I've had a good week!
I met three new clients. It is always an interesting adventure meeting someone new. I have a good attitude about my job!
Today I saw the man I used to have a crush on (note past tense) and we had a quick catch-up conversation, followed by a hug. My heart didn't flutter. Without waiting for him to ask, I shared a few things going on in my life. When he shared, I didn't care if he was telling me the truth or not. I am very pleased with myself -- no words of insanity came out of my mouth, no apologies for any previous behavior, no actions that I may later regret. I am calm, cool, and collected!
There are 5% fewer dirty dishes on my kitchen counter. I am a good housekeeper! (Okay, perhaps I am exclaiming about this a bit prematurely, but I figure any size improvement deserves some applause.)
I went to a meeting of the Depression and Bipolar Support group at the local NAMI chapter. Although it wasn't what I expected in that the group consisted of caregivers, loved ones, and interested parties in addition to those of us living the roller coaster life, it was a good experience. It felt so good to feel safe to be myself. NAMI also provides a weekly peer-to-peer group that I will try this week. I am not alone!
On Friday, my church is having a coffee house. I am putting the finishing touches on a short short story that I plan to share. There are some butterflies in my stomach that are emerging from their cocoons. I am proud of myself for doing a reading when I haven't done one in 30 years!
When I went grocery shopping today, I only placed one chocolate item in my buggy. I purchased healthy food. Next week I plan to drop in at the fitness center that I used to belong to and see if I can barter membership again. I am taking good care of my body! (I failed to mention that the wrapping fell off the chocolate item as I walked through my doorway and that lovely dark chocolate morsel has satisfied this hour's sugar craving.)
I discovered that by taking all of my meds at bedtime, I don't have to worry about the possibility of missing them in the morning. So far, so good. I am taking my meds!
Tonight I will light a candle, read my intentions aloud, and head to bed with sweet thoughts that will become sweet dreams. I will sleep well and have lovely, lovely dreams!
I met three new clients. It is always an interesting adventure meeting someone new. I have a good attitude about my job!
Today I saw the man I used to have a crush on (note past tense) and we had a quick catch-up conversation, followed by a hug. My heart didn't flutter. Without waiting for him to ask, I shared a few things going on in my life. When he shared, I didn't care if he was telling me the truth or not. I am very pleased with myself -- no words of insanity came out of my mouth, no apologies for any previous behavior, no actions that I may later regret. I am calm, cool, and collected!
There are 5% fewer dirty dishes on my kitchen counter. I am a good housekeeper! (Okay, perhaps I am exclaiming about this a bit prematurely, but I figure any size improvement deserves some applause.)
I went to a meeting of the Depression and Bipolar Support group at the local NAMI chapter. Although it wasn't what I expected in that the group consisted of caregivers, loved ones, and interested parties in addition to those of us living the roller coaster life, it was a good experience. It felt so good to feel safe to be myself. NAMI also provides a weekly peer-to-peer group that I will try this week. I am not alone!
On Friday, my church is having a coffee house. I am putting the finishing touches on a short short story that I plan to share. There are some butterflies in my stomach that are emerging from their cocoons. I am proud of myself for doing a reading when I haven't done one in 30 years!
When I went grocery shopping today, I only placed one chocolate item in my buggy. I purchased healthy food. Next week I plan to drop in at the fitness center that I used to belong to and see if I can barter membership again. I am taking good care of my body! (I failed to mention that the wrapping fell off the chocolate item as I walked through my doorway and that lovely dark chocolate morsel has satisfied this hour's sugar craving.)
I discovered that by taking all of my meds at bedtime, I don't have to worry about the possibility of missing them in the morning. So far, so good. I am taking my meds!
Tonight I will light a candle, read my intentions aloud, and head to bed with sweet thoughts that will become sweet dreams. I will sleep well and have lovely, lovely dreams!
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