I know that that is a pretty lame-o reference to a really awesome book but I couldn’t help it. I was just sitting here at work trying to get stuff done and I decided that I wanted to write about bipolar and how it affects me now as opposed to before I was in the hospital.
First off, I admitted myself to the hospital for suicidal and homicidal ideations. Retarded word, ideations, it sounds so beautiful but is so negative in association. I was having the “bad” thoughts, except I couldn’t focus and make them go away. I had only “kind of” tried suicide a couple of times before that, “kind of” meaning not whole heartedly or knowing it wasn’t enough to do the job. I had never been caught or found out at the time so I had always lived in hiding about it. I have had plenty of experiences with depression in its milder forms but only a few had been remotely close to what I was going through when I hit rock bottom / checked myself in voluntarily to an in-patient facility.
Since then I have tried almost every drug out there for depression, anxiety and bipolar with limited sccess.Currently I take lithium, geodon, cymbalta and halcion. The only bipolar drugs I have yet to take are lamictal (started it at the same time as celexa and had an allergic reaction rash) and depakote (refuse to try it because of weight gain possibility). That leaves me with few options and a ton of questions.
I was diagnosed in the hospital through “careful” evaluation including interviews with my family as having bipolar disorder II, obsessive-compulsive personality disorder and generalized anxiety disoreder. That is a mouthful of labels that I have had to live with for the past year. What evaluation means, I am not sure in my case. I was in-patient at a facility where they monitored and took notes on how I reacted to the different things around me. I think I even got kicked out of group once for antagonizing a disturbance. The doctor interviewed me, asking questions about my past, how I grew up, my relationships. Then there were joint sessions with the doctor and my husband where he would ask him questions about me and my behaviors and such. There was a repeat performance with my mother except he focused more on what I was like growing up and my childhood traumas. That is how I got my diagnoses. Questions. Not very many of them it seems like to me now. No tests or in-depth interviewing to see if I truly fit the criteria specified in the DSM-IV. I am no dummy, I know the jargon.
Ever since then, I have cycled up and down going from one medication combination to the next. I fought to get back to work and be a contributing member to society and my marriage. I fought through the haze of seraquel and the tremors of lithium. I have fought when doctors and councelors have told me that I should be proud of how far I have come. I am going to say it now to get it off my chest, I have fought my ass off and it was ONLY because of my determination that I have made it this far and yes I am proud of myself but it is not enough for me. I want to be truly out of the Bell Jar. I will fight with everything I have to find out if I was misdiagnosed (maybe) and to find the proper course of treatment for me (medication or none). Falling asleep all the time or letting everyone else run my life won’t get me anywhere and neither will me staying on this current course of treatment.
I am starting a Personal Revolution. A quest to find my balance and restore sanity to my life and that of my family. I even bought my own Bell Jar so that I will have a constant reminder of what I am trying to escape from.
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