*disclaimer: This is a personal journey. Not intended as medical advice, and not at all making a statement that mental illness does not exist.~This has been quite a long several weeks, very emotionally based and charged, due to the Holidays. Each one, from Thanksgiving through New Year's held meaning of major change. Alongside victory, was the fear of defeat. Each day was victorious for my youngest daughter, that she was free from a locked-down psychiatric ward.
But over my head, was the extreme and very agonizing worry that remained a constant dark cloud, that would never leave. It hasn't been quite an easy adjustment knowing she is in a group home. Each night I sleep at home, it became more real, more painful, knowing she wasn't here. Though hearing everyone tell me I did a good job, I needed it said louder, longer and in print. That wasn't possible. I felt grief, defeat and failure so badly, it took over my complete being. I went to the psychiatrist to make sure I "could get through the Holidays", with enough samples. I've never filled one prescription for Lamictal yet, in the year that I've been taking it.
~
The Beginning
Last Fall of 2006 was a busy time, falling on the heels of my youngest returning to school, having blood draws every 2 weeks, school meetings, doctor's appointments, more school meetings for her IEP plan to transition into the adult world via school, and work given to her via school, along with finding out she went from age 29 reading comprehension to 8 yr, old in class. This was devastation. The beginning of another long year, which was to be 2007.
My Racing Mind
I went to the psychiatrist hysterical that I was bipolar, because of noise in my head. I was tired, wound up, not sleeping well, and driving me was the previous year, of 2006, of all of the adult psych wards, the trauma from spending 4-6 hours a day inside of Western State Hospital with my then 18 year old, to keep her safe,and be used as staff, due to under-staffing, caused by a defunct and inadequate mental health system. I saw injuries happen, and guarded my daughter, and ultimately got her discharged from a dangerous hell-hole called "long term care" via a letter to the Governor. Following this event was a Chiari malformation discovery in her brain, neuro doc appointments, and that Fall 06 she returned to school.
I never stopped. I never stopped to see what I had accomplished, experienced or had to shove down--all of those emotions--cannot be seen or heard when negotiating in mental health court, when being an advocate, one must be emotion-free, in charge, on top of it all, smart, keen listener, and ready to make chess moves with a poker face.
My psychiatrist, is one I credit for questioning "my diagnoses". He told me, that I was always right on target with keeping him updated about my daughter, and hell look what I did. I never stopped to validate myself, I still had the edge of failure and guilt driving me, causing me angst and pain, and I suppose insomnia, racing thoughts and depression can all be "situational" feelings.
I've got myself through the last 2 years by concentrating. Period. No one has ever heard of an advocate like me said the local NAMI director, who asked me to teach a group. I declined, because I don't advocate what they do, which is complacent whining in support groups, one-sided thinking that mental illness is forever and only treatable with medications, and the slam-dunk of distrust that began for NAMI, was when the local group had Fuller Torrey as a guest speaker. I attended this event, and heard them tout him as the leading expert and heard him basically say that Schizophrenia and Bipolar are the same, and that the only way to treat and prevent them both--was with hard core medications.
December 2006
My psychiatrist hesitantly gave me Lamictal at a very low dose, and very specifically told me he did not "want to medicate away your personality". He called me a dynamo, a go-getter, and amazing. What? I still didn't stop to feel my feelings. No time. Life kept falling apart one piece at a time, from auto break downs, to marriage breakdown, to my daughter becoming very sick in Spring 07.
Spring 2007
Entered with my daughter becoming less interested in school, more blood draws, another MRI review of the brain malformation. This was a lot of time, and many appointments, and fear of her needing surgery to correct the Chiari 1 malformation. It frightened her as much as anyone else, obviously. By May she was on her own down spiral, and by June in the psych ward. The day my middle daughter graduated college, I left my youngest in a psych ward.
No time or stopping to feel. To feel my extreme fatigue, devastation, hope, fears and happiness all mixed into one piece. I kept my movement going, how could I stop?I am my daughter's advocate, mother and the one who brings photos and shares who she is with others, and with her unable to speak, I guarded her fiercely in court, and made sure they stopped transporting her there via gurney down an undignified street to enter the court house. I was relentless, and refused to believe that a doctor could or even would ever think, of giving up on a 19 year old and send her to Western. Again. After she was discharged from there once due to crime of sexual assault, and let me tell you my trauma as a non-patient there is just now surfacing.--I stopped her from being sent there, via court and she is now residing outside of a locked down facility. Life isn't perfect, but she sure as hell got to be home with her family and pets and celebrate her Holidays and her 20 th birthday.
The Night Before Her 20 th Birthday
I was completely distraught. I woke up sobbing hysterically, and what I can describe only as extreme as it felt; vomiting up emotional pain, agony and grief, in the form of tears and gut sobs. I was in extreme emotional pain, and it was 2 years worth, of hospitals, worry, interviews, and much more details that I write here about my daughter's treatment and care at some facilities.
I Reached for the phone
This is when I fell, flat down on my face, across my bedside table, gashing my forehead, hitting my cheek bone and eyelid, arm and thumb. I found my way to the bathroom and stood there and saw myself. Bloody, bleeding, sobbing.
I saw me. I saw the last 2 years. This was me. The bloody advocate. The worn out warrior, the one who cries in the night for other patients, who hears women screaming who I witnessed being restrained and forced with injections of antipsychotics, and one of those women was my daughter. I heard their cries in my sleep. I still do. I am tormented from what I witnessed in several hospitals. I talked down extremely psychotic men who locked me in 2 separate visiting rooms at 2 separate hospitals. I was kind, and compassionate, and I felt each person's pure heart and soul when I met with them. These are people I will never forget, and their treatment and lack of dignity in which they received it, is not only unacceptable, it is so intolerable, that it causes me to sob up grief in the form of tears, night after torture-filled nightmare-filled night.
Before the Holidays, at the psychiatrist
He gave me more samples of Lamictal. I was mostly concerned with withdrawals, so I took the samples. I sat and sobbed, for the first time ever in his office. I cried about my guilt, that took me all the way back to 1999. I asked the big question, of why? why did I ever allow anyone to medicate my daughter that way? she was a product of the popular Childhood Bipolar Disorder dx after a 30 minute appointment, and I finally said it out loud to a psychiatrist. He said he never saw me like that before. I told him, well, what do you think? who did all of the advocating, the court, I barely able to pay bills, it's the holidays, and my daughter's birthday, and my own! He told me to increase the Lamictal, and admitted that was all he could do for me, was medication adjustment.
The Night I fell
I had increased the Lamictal like planned. I became disoriented, was sobbing, fell on my face and wondered what the hell happened.
I stopped increasing the Lamictal.
It's me. It's 2 years of emotional turmoil and agony, and dealing with doctors and police and many unpleasant people within the system. For each decent person, I had to deal with at least one to counter that person with a career for treating people with mental illness poorly, without dignity or concern with their future. I have met some very horrible people within the system, and some good people. The horrible ones, well they will have to live with themselves and I have met a few who have told me they changed jobs due to having restrained patients, etc. Finally, they couldn't take it anymore. Good for them, seriously, thank them for seeing the real people.
Not Bipolar
I am going to agree with the least likely person to have said "I don't think you're Bipolar, but we can watch and see how things go." --my psychiatrist.
Epiphany
Was when I fell flat on my face and sobbed up emotions so powerful, and so full of pain, it is hard to describe. But for each person who has ever been inside a psych ward as a patient, well I've been in more than one, and for hours and hours for 2 years, I felt the pain, it entered my soul, and I cried. I cried and I cried and I cry.
Standing with the blood running down my face, I saw every ambulance, every gurney, heard every rude comment said to me as a mother, I saw images, I heard people crying, I thought of the women who cried to me they didn't want discharge to a shelter. I saw every face I ever met.
I stand with a black eye, bruised cheek, and a cut on my forehead. A warrior. Not beaten. I stand tall, entering the arena with more knowledge than I ever thought I would have about the system.
I removed the word Bipolar from my title of the blog this week. I have never turned in one insurance claim due to my doctor wanting to be paid upfront--so bipolar is not in any system. I am going to walk away from it, and go back to allowing myself to feel my feelings, love myself and say, way to go, you did it. Open my life up to embrace the fear of being loved by someone new, and letting myself have a life. Guilt works dark shadows until you lose hope. Hope is restored with belief in yourself, and once that happens love walks into your life. I hope so, because I also am not afraid to admit that I am lonely and want a partner, not a caregiver, a friend, and soul mate. I want it all.
Life is too short.
Be well.
~
Other Journeys
Re-Writing History-Bipolar Blast-Med withdrawal-recovery
"Once Diagnosed, Never Undiagnosed"-Furious Seasons
Rayne's World-Wellness Center
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~
This has been quite a long several weeks, very emotionally based and charged, due to the Holidays. Each one, from Thanksgiving through New Year's held meaning of major change. Alongside victory, was the fear of defeat. Each day was victorious for my youngest daughter, that she was free from a locked-down psychiatric ward.
But over my head, was the extreme and very agonizing worry that remained a constant dark cloud, that would never leave. It hasn't been quite an easy adjustment knowing she is in a group home. Each night I sleep at home, it became more real, more painful, knowing she wasn't here. Though hearing everyone tell me I did a good job, I needed it said louder, longer and in print. That wasn't possible. I felt grief, defeat and failure so badly, it took over my complete being. I went to the psychiatrist to make sure I "could get through the Holidays", with enough samples. I've never filled one prescription for Lamictal yet, in the year that I've been taking it.
~
The Beginning
Last Fall of 2006 was a busy time, falling on the heels of my youngest returning to school, having blood draws every 2 weeks, school meetings, doctor's appointments, more school meetings for her IEP plan to transition into the adult world via school, and work given to her via school, along with finding out she went from age 29 reading comprehension to 8 yr, old in class. This was devastation. The beginning of another long year, which was to be 2007.
My Racing Mind
I went to the psychiatrist hysterical that I was bipolar, because of noise in my head. I was tired, wound up, not sleeping well, and driving me was the previous year, of 2006, of all of the adult psych wards, the trauma from spending 4-6 hours a day inside of Western State Hospital with my then 18 year old, to keep her safe,and be used as staff, due to under-staffing, caused by a defunct and inadequate mental health system. I saw injuries happen, and guarded my daughter, and ultimately got her discharged from a dangerous hell-hole called "long term care" via a letter to the Governor. Following this event was a Chiari malformation discovery in her brain, neuro doc appointments, and that Fall 06 she returned to school.
I never stopped. I never stopped to see what I had accomplished, experienced or had to shove down--all of those emotions--cannot be seen or heard when negotiating in mental health court, when being an advocate, one must be emotion-free, in charge, on top of it all, smart, keen listener, and ready to make chess moves with a poker face.
My psychiatrist, is one I credit for questioning "my diagnoses". He told me, that I was always right on target with keeping him updated about my daughter, and hell look what I did. I never stopped to validate myself, I still had the edge of failure and guilt driving me, causing me angst and pain, and I suppose insomnia, racing thoughts and depression can all be "situational" feelings.
I've got myself through the last 2 years by concentrating. Period. No one has ever heard of an advocate like me said the local NAMI director, who asked me to teach a group. I declined, because I don't advocate what they do, which is complacent whining in support groups, one-sided thinking that mental illness is forever and only treatable with medications, and the slam-dunk of distrust that began for NAMI, was when the local group had Fuller Torrey as a guest speaker. I attended this event, and heard them tout him as the leading expert and heard him basically say that Schizophrenia and Bipolar are the same, and that the only way to treat and prevent them both--was with hard core medications.
December 2006
My psychiatrist hesitantly gave me Lamictal at a very low dose, and very specifically told me he did not "want to medicate away your personality". He called me a dynamo, a go-getter, and amazing. What? I still didn't stop to feel my feelings. No time. Life kept falling apart one piece at a time, from auto break downs, to marriage breakdown, to my daughter becoming very sick in Spring 07.
Spring 2007
Entered with my daughter becoming less interested in school, more blood draws, another MRI review of the brain malformation. This was a lot of time, and many appointments, and fear of her needing surgery to correct the Chiari 1 malformation. It frightened her as much as anyone else, obviously. By May she was on her own down spiral, and by June in the psych ward. The day my middle daughter graduated college, I left my youngest in a psych ward.
No time or stopping to feel. To feel my extreme fatigue, devastation, hope, fears and happiness all mixed into one piece. I kept my movement going, how could I stop?I am my daughter's advocate, mother and the one who brings photos and shares who she is with others, and with her unable to speak, I guarded her fiercely in court, and made sure they stopped transporting her there via gurney down an undignified street to enter the court house. I was relentless, and refused to believe that a doctor could or even would ever think, of giving up on a 19 year old and send her to Western. Again. After she was discharged from there once due to crime of sexual assault, and let me tell you my trauma as a non-patient there is just now surfacing.--I stopped her from being sent there, via court and she is now residing outside of a locked down facility. Life isn't perfect, but she sure as hell got to be home with her family and pets and celebrate her Holidays and her 20 th birthday.
The Night Before Her 20 th Birthday
I was completely distraught. I woke up sobbing hysterically, and what I can describe only as extreme as it felt; vomiting up emotional pain, agony and grief, in the form of tears and gut sobs. I was in extreme emotional pain, and it was 2 years worth, of hospitals, worry, interviews, and much more details that I write here about my daughter's treatment and care at some facilities.
I Reached for the phone
This is when I fell, flat down on my face, across my bedside table, gashing my forehead, hitting my cheek bone and eyelid, arm and thumb. I found my way to the bathroom and stood there and saw myself. Bloody, bleeding, sobbing.
I saw me. I saw the last 2 years. This was me. The bloody advocate. The worn out warrior, the one who cries in the night for other patients, who hears women screaming who I witnessed being restrained and forced with injections of antipsychotics, and one of those women was my daughter. I heard their cries in my sleep. I still do. I am tormented from what I witnessed in several hospitals. I talked down extremely psychotic men who locked me in 2 separate visiting rooms at 2 separate hospitals. I was kind, and compassionate, and I felt each person's pure heart and soul when I met with them. These are people I will never forget, and their treatment and lack of dignity in which they received it, is not only unacceptable, it is so intolerable, that it causes me to sob up grief in the form of tears, night after torture-filled nightmare-filled night.
Before the Holidays, at the psychiatrist
He gave me more samples of Lamictal. I was mostly concerned with withdrawals, so I took the samples. I sat and sobbed, for the first time ever in his office. I cried about my guilt, that took me all the way back to 1999. I asked the big question, of why? why did I ever allow anyone to medicate my daughter that way? she was a product of the popular Childhood Bipolar Disorder dx after a 30 minute appointment, and I finally said it out loud to a psychiatrist. He said he never saw me like that before. I told him, well, what do you think? who did all of the advocating, the court, I barely able to pay bills, it's the holidays, and my daughter's birthday, and my own! He told me to increase the Lamictal, and admitted that was all he could do for me, was medication adjustment.
The Night I fell
I had increased the Lamictal like planned. I became disoriented, was sobbing, fell on my face and wondered what the hell happened.
I stopped increasing the Lamictal.
It's me. It's 2 years of emotional turmoil and agony, and dealing with doctors and police and many unpleasant people within the system. For each decent person, I had to deal with at least one to counter that person with a career for treating people with mental illness poorly, without dignity or concern with their future. I have met some very horrible people within the system, and some good people. The horrible ones, well they will have to live with themselves and I have met a few who have told me they changed jobs due to having restrained patients, etc. Finally, they couldn't take it anymore. Good for them, seriously, thank them for seeing the real people.
Not Bipolar
I am going to agree with the least likely person to have said "I don't think you're Bipolar, but we can watch and see how things go." --my psychiatrist.
Epiphany
Was when I fell flat on my face and sobbed up emotions so powerful, and so full of pain, it is hard to describe. But for each person who has ever been inside a psych ward as a patient, well I've been in more than one, and for hours and hours for 2 years, I felt the pain, it entered my soul, and I cried. I cried and I cried and I cry.
Standing with the blood running down my face, I saw every ambulance, every gurney, heard every rude comment said to me as a mother, I saw images, I heard people crying, I thought of the women who cried to me they didn't want discharge to a shelter. I saw every face I ever met.
I stand with a black eye, bruised cheek, and a cut on my forehead. A warrior. Not beaten. I stand tall, entering the arena with more knowledge than I ever thought I would have about the system.
I removed the word Bipolar from my title of the blog this week. I have never turned in one insurance claim due to my doctor wanting to be paid upfront--so bipolar is not in any system. I am going to walk away from it, and go back to allowing myself to feel my feelings, love myself and say, way to go, you did it. Open my life up to embrace the fear of being loved by someone new, and letting myself have a life. Guilt works dark shadows until you lose hope. Hope is restored with belief in yourself, and once that happens love walks into your life. I hope so, because I also am not afraid to admit that I am lonely and want a partner, not a caregiver, a friend, and soul mate. I want it all.
Life is too short.
Be well.
~
Other Journeys
Re-Writing History-Bipolar Blast-Med withdrawal-recovery
"Once Diagnosed, Never Undiagnosed"-Furious Seasons
Rayne's World-Wellness Center