Depression

Eclectic Me – Bipolar 1

/ Robin

I’d like to think that I’m eclectic. Maybe its because in addition to hosting Bipolar 1 I’m also providing a home for the delightful yet unpretentious full blown dalliance of ADHD. For the moment sidestep everything accept the fact that my grey cells are no place for the faint of heart.

Translation: Stick my brain bits of everything in a blender and when it stops… eclectic is what you get. Eclectic. That’s me. My brain gobbles up anything and everything and shoots out something cool, something made from various different sources, something transcending one single idea. I think.

Thinking of my brain, of me, as being eclectic is a gift. Why? You ask? It’s simple. Eclectic takes the best of many different systems (I hope I stick with the best) and make them into something new. Let me try something.

1. I have Bipolar Type 1. I cycle rapidly and/or experience mixed states. Today I’m rumbling on towards mania.
2. I have ADHD. I experience what I think of as “wandering brain syndrome”.
3. Add BP1 with ADHD and you have a hopped up manic or depressed (or both) brain that can’t sit still.

Eclectic. . . I hope.

While I enjoy the thrill of discovery that I find accompanies this eclectica, I also find that as brilliant as I consider my ideas and such to be… I often forget what I was being so brilliant about.

My attention span is, um, alright – I barely have an attention span. And what is a “span” and how does it attend? What?

Talk about sucking.

I carry pads of paper or my smartphone. My phone is cool because my notes (I use GNotes) on it are synced with the same app on my Chromebook. I can keep track of what I was thinking pretty much all the time. I may experience “wandering brain syndrome” a bit more energetically. When this happens, I’ll probably (usually) forget that I even took notes.

Damn.

I might have worked out how to feed the planet, the whole planet, in one month!

Damn. Wander where it went?

The reason I’m dedicating this post to having an eclectic (BP1/ADHD) brain is because I find myself being stuck mentally and not able to focus on what I want to say here. Say to you. My brain draws information from anything it wants to and sticks them together. I do enjoy it when the ideas stick together on their own.

Wait, back on track please.

Right. I think sometimes that I’m writing this blog (Redux – doing over) so I can share my journey of living with BP1 with you. Never mind that both depression and mania tend to make it difficult to really focus on doing something as specific as writing and making sense when I do it.

Translation: I want to talk about so many things all the time… all the time… that I always want to talk about things I don’t think will fit here. So I write nothing. My ADHD is perfectly happy with the situation. It’s already bored and off to the next thing.

The way my brain works is very similar to the way our puppy’s brain works – it never stops!

All this is just to say that I’ve finally come to the conclusion that it’s okay, even healthy, for me to write on whatever my brain is playing with at the moment.

It is my hope that my BP1 and ADHD will join forces and keep you interested.

I hear-by grant to my brain all rights and privileges due when I experience a moment of clarity.

What was I talking about?

I’m in such pain…. I’m a BP1, ADHD, PTSD, FM, OA, MOM

/ Robin

Seriously though… I’m in an extraordinarly dismal pain deep in my bones I think. I’m not certain. It starts somewhere around my swollen and annoying disks down around the L-something-or-other.

Restless legs? Perhaps. Runs in the women on my mom’s side of the family.

Anxiety encouraging psychosomatic (maybe) spinal pain to radiate through Restless Legs and deep to the ass of the leg with the double times new knee.

Translation… My equal isn’t ibriumating. Get it? Equilibrium. Equal. Equal-ibrium.  New knee as in “not using it much for years and am lopsided and out of synch.)

What?

Seriously though… From my lower back down past my toes especially in my right leg and alien beastie is trying to pull the bones out of my flesh. Meat. Oh my.

Seriously though… Hurts like a “$(%*& ”   of  a    ” )(*&#_ ”   If you know what I mean.

Sitting on my bum on the floor is a feat of unsurpassed hilarity. Translation: I’m either laughing madly – or – crying with great abandon. Take your pick.

Tonight the pain started about 1:15 in the afternoon PST.   Not EST.   PST.

I took my Oxycodone and heating pad and lie down (lay down… well I wasn’t “sitting” down) on my bed while my puppy (Australian Shepherd/Heeler named Bailey, a little girl) snoozed at my feet. Literally. She slept temporarily where my feet could go on my queen sized bed. Then she slept where they also could have been. And then again. Add. Spin. Rinse. Repeat.

Where was I? Right. Bloody bleeding sickly . . . agony. Pain. Unrelenting, mind blowing, consuming… pain.

I don’t watch American Idol. Did once, when it all first began. Still have a fondness for Kelly Clarkson. The queen upon the Idol throne. I sat tonight not watching the 13th season with my son (Kyle, 19. He’s a boy.). I think I must have been doing it louder than I noticed because suddenly he sideswiped my attention from my ass to, well, to my whining. I was whimpering and whining.

I never allow myself that luxury while my kids are about. At least, not before this. Today, I’m in such pain… And it started well before bedtime.

Oh damn!  I just want to sleep.

I think, I think I’ll go soak my ass. Okay, I’ll soak everything that will fit in the tub too. Maybe some soothing heat not floating around my body will help some. Oh great bird of the universe I hope so. Damn I do hope so.

My car is in the shop. Again.

My phone is stupid and dead.

My knee is still new.

My weather is nice. Just right today.

My belly is too big.

My kids are amazing. And my puppy too.

I can see my feet again.  When I move my boobs out of the way. I’m short you know.

I’m in so much pain.

Good night.

Tomorrow is going to come whether I’ve slept or not. As it always does and always should do. I would do well to remember this.

Come on pain, time to have a bath. Pain, would you consider going down the drain? Please. No? Screw you. I’m having that bath anyway.

Again. Good night.

You Can’t Have My Leg!

/ Robin

It would seem that I’m not done with me yet. I’ve paralyzed myself for a long time, not willing to write, telling myself that I don’t know where to start. So many odd and terrible things have happened to me… are happening each day… that I rationed that I was waiting for a lull in the storms that are me so I could present you with a neat package all polished and not like I am now. If I were a color book I would never have drawing inside my lines.

Here I am. This is what I’m thinking tonight:

My right leg is going to fall off.

Seriously. That’s it. Oh sure, with my alphabet soup (Bipolar 1, ADHD, PTSD, FM, OA… for now) crowding me for more undeserved attention. They annoy me. Like a flock, a gaggle of Canadian Geese launching themselves at me unreserved and underrated. They scare me. They are impossible to reason with. No matter where you are if they decide you need to be chased, you’ll be chased as long as they can chase you. No lie. Your heart will pound excitedly when the medium sized birds take after you on the ground like a Disney movie gone terribly wrong.

My leg. I had my right knee totally replaced in January two years ago. By the following year it was clear that the surgery had failed. The prosthetic that was implanted in my leg bone failed to graft with the bone it was supposed to graft to which would, had it worked, have given me a working and reliable new knee.

Wrong.

August 2013 a surgeon specializing in replacing messed up knee replacements replaced my replaced and prosthetic knee. Both times I suffered terribly (differently each time). I suspect that no surgeon would appreciate me talking with any of their patients and telling them how the whole sordid mess went. (To clarify – Sordid meaning: involving ignoble actions and motives; arousing moral distaste and contempt, sleazy, dirty, seedy, seamy, unsavory, tawdry,cheap, debased, degenerate, dishonorable, disreputable, discreditable, contemptible, ignominious, shameful, and abhorrent. The exact opposite of: respectable.)

The up-to-the-minute report is this: Friday I showed my MD that my entire surgical leg (right) was bigger than the left. No sense in studying it to see if I was imagining it. It obviously belongs on some other person’s body. This is a problem. I don’t even know what the problem is and already I realize it’s a problem. I think my name must translate in some language to “problem”. I’m certain of it.

I exposed the bare and big leg to my doc on Friday last. He sent me back to my surgeon, but not till after we get another and new authorization to see the fella. Seriously. Same leg. Obvious connection. Gotta have that new authorization. I called his office and explained the situation. The woman at his office agreed to request one for me from my MD. (Yes, I’m saying “MD” and not PP, PC or any other ridiculous set of the alphabet… again with the alphabet. He’s my doctor, my medical doctor. That’s Medical Doctor. MD.

What I didn’t realize was that my MD had that very day put in an order for me to have a vascular study done on the affected leg. They would take me as soon as today (Tuesday). Getting an appointment that fast freaked me out. (Just a little FYI.) Since my doc referred me to my surgeon I assumed he was done with me regarding this particular medical happenstance (coincidence).

That last sentence looks strange to me, but my brain refuses to use any other word.

Anyway, the surgeon didn’t order the imaging before he even saw me. I wondered if maybe he had so he would know ahead of time what might be going on. But.. no. My MD ordered it. When he starts a process that really should probably be ordered to the specialist I was being sent to I hit the “worry” button and all hell breaks loose. Again.

Today the resounding thought that pestered me like the rain does every time it soaks me when I take the puppy potty was: “They are going to take my leg off.”

Seriously. “They are going to take my leg off.” That’s what my brain has been saying all damn day.

Just to show you how badly I freak myself out living inside my head with my alphabet soup, my MD has ordered me to have a service/companion dog. This, is our puppy, my service/companion dog in training. She’s so awesome. But more about her at another time.

I’m going to jump now through the rest of the day to now. I’m having considerable back pain which has kept me from sleeping. I began to write this. I got half way through it. Suddenly I see my bedroom door open, but I see no one opening it. Ahh. It’s Maks. Maks is one of our awesome cats. Throughout all my ailments Maks has been my healing kitty. Cat. He’s too old to be a kitty. Just don’t mention that to him and we’ll all get along just fine.

Whenever (most of the time) I’ve been doing particularly terrible, like today and taking my leg off, he comes to me and loves me up. Right now he’s purring and clawing, I mean needing, my right hip. This isn’t where he normally lays. He usually takes up station keeping on my left side somewhere but since we got the puppy (Bailey) he hasn’t been up to see me very often. I’ve been having my son bring him up to me when I retire for the night so he can get used to puppy smells and sounds. It’s working. He’s beside me doing his magical cat thing. How the hell do they know when we need them? Of course I’ve heard about the cats and dogs that can smell/sense impending death or various illnesses. He thinks he’s one of these special and extraordinary furry companions. I agree with him.

He’s been urging me to pet him and love him up stabbing me gently and now snoring at me. The look of love on his face is wonderful. (I know what you’re going to say. Cats don’t make that kind of face and they don’t feel like that you bozo. And then I would tell you to shut your trap. It works for me.) I’ve been alternately petting him and waving his loose fir away and writing this. I like it. I feel better. He knows my alphabet is haunting me. I do… feel better now.

Tomorrow afternoon I’m having the vascular imaging done of my entire right leg. It’s weird and cool to watch. Stay tuned in to this same bat time, this same bat channel.

Wow, can this cat snore.

Overload – Consider ONE Issue at a Time – Stress, Anxiety, and Worry

/ Robin

I’ve been stuck for weeks now on what to say. Or rather, how much to say and about what. If I listed all my “issues” I would just be embarrassed and probably stop writing about them. It would be an impossible feat to follow.

I never thought I’d begin talking (revealing myself) about my many issues starting with these: Stress, Anxiety, and Worry.

Very briefly let me begin by saying I believe that my acute levels of Stress, Anxiety, and Worry are destroying my efforts to reach a level of balance in my life… in myself. They directly affect each part of me and make any difficulties I have . . .   amplified.

And they, Stress, Anxiety, and Worry, give me headaches.

NEXT: How Stress, Anxiety, and Worry impact my brain. I have Bipolar Type I.

Don’t Tell Me to Be Positive When I’m Fighting to Get Out of My Own Skin

/ Robin

It is so much easier to be positive, to weather the storms of everyday life and those days that turn to shit… when the fine balancing line of I who dance with (Bipolar) is made so so much harder when meds are being adjusted. That in between time when the last drug tried and worked, well, all accept the backlash… The time in between when I leave one drug and begin the search for another and another… The time when I am the most vulnerable… The time when stress becomes STRESS… The time I’m not ready to hear that my baby who serves proudly in the United States Air Force might not be coming back when we planned.

Sure there are special events I’ve spent a good amount of money on and her brother and sister will both be on vacation then, but none of that matters really.

I’m in the in between time when I am scared that if something comes up I won’t be ready/able to deal with it.

It has… and I’m not. I just spent the last little while seeing how long I could hold my breath while I tried to stop crying. There is still a reasonable chance she’ll be home then… but I’m not real reasonable right now. Not even close.

It is in this place that I find myself being reasonably medicated in regards to my overall Bipolar but not to my constant mania, not to the surprising and instant fury, not to the despair that doesn’t eat away at my soul… because I’m so manic that there isn’t time… this is where I find myself.

I imagine my other two kids (19 and 16) have a hard time understanding the relationship their older sister and I have. She and I love so many of the same things… we’re happy to sit and read books in the living room or going on a long drive. I try and then try not so hard to find things the younger two and I can do together, be together. I fail so often I can’t remember the last time we found something fun to do together or something we understood why the other liked something and felt joy at the other’s happiness. I don’t know what happened. Have I been lying to myself about what kind of mom I am? Lying about the mom I’ve been in their shadowed lives?

Shadowed lives? I just thought of this now… shadowed lives. I mean that they have grown up poor material possessions and even poorer still when I consider that they have grown up with the massive Bipolar being that is me. The shadow of the lives I wanted for them.

They say it doesn’t matter. We’re together. But it matters to me. It does matter when I hear my youngest child planning on working full-time as soon as school gets out for summer because she doesn’t feel like I can support the three of us. She believes so strongly we will be without food or a place to live. Right now she’s totally correct. I have refused to let either of her siblings work the summers before high school graduation. Why? Because these are the days when adult life kicks into gear and never looking back it never slows down. Rest, live, enjoy before … before becoming what I consider a full-fledged adult. Of course they probably are much more so than most of their friends, but that doesn’t matter. I’ll be damned if they have to work before I want them to. Know why else my baby thinks/wants a job? She wants some money of her own. Anything, something.

Back to the beginning now where I’ve wiped my face with toilet paper and rubbed my eyes too hard and I try to breathe. In two days I’ll see my med provider. Because of backlash I’m off sleeping pills and Neurontin (for Bipolar and FM). I’m running hard with sticky emotions … well … sticking to my life and driving me to my knees… to a single one.

The bloody new series “Resurrection” features a theme song that is wrenching my heart this way and that. I hear the refrain over and over taunting me and my ridiculous hold on my emotions  and my thoughts… “I’m coming home, I’m coming home…”

Toilet paper in hand I sit upon my bed. My heating pad tries in vain to ease the tight knots in my shoulders. My breathing has slowed. My tears stopped for now. I keep hearing that song… “I’m coming home…” endlessly repeating….

I’m coming home
I’m coming home
tell the world I’m coming home
let the rain, wash away, all the pain of yesterday
I know my kingdom awaits, and they’ve forgiven my mistakes
I’m coming home
I’m coming home
tell the world I’m coming home
I’m coming home
tell the world I’m coming home
let the rain, wash away, all the pain of yesterday
I know my kingdom awaits, and they’ve forgiven my mistakes
I’m coming home
I’m coming home
tell the world I’m coming home
I’m coming home
tell the world I’m coming home
let the rain, wash away, all the pain of yesterday
I know my kingdom awaits, and they’ve forgiven my mistakes
I’m coming home
I’m coming home
tell the world I’m coming home
I’m coming home
tell the world I’m coming home
let the rain, wash away, all the pain of yesterday
I know my kingdom awaits, and they’ve forgiven my mistakes
I’m coming home
I’m coming home
tell the world I’m coming home
I’m coming home
tell the world I’m coming home
let the rain, wash away, all the pain of yesterday
I know my kingdom awaits, and they’ve forgiven my mistakes
I’m coming home
I’m coming home
tell the world I’m coming home
I’m coming home
tell the world I’m coming home
let the rain, wash away, all the pain of yesterday
I know my kingdom awaits, and they’ve forgiven my mistakes
I’m coming home
I’m coming home
tell the world I’m coming…

I’m crying again.