I don't think Depression is nearly as interesting as Mania, at least in my experience. It is the most painful of the two ends of the spectrum for me, but it has been less destructive in an overt sense than mania has been in my life.
While mania usually announces itself to me before it completely takes over, Depression does not. I will be happy, or fine, or flossing my teeth and suddenly I get bowled over by soul-consuming Depression. Then, I stand there in shock for a few moments, wondering what in the world set off the big D in my brain. Usually I can't find an explanation for being Depressed, other than it usually follows a Manic episode.
Depression kind of scares the people who meet me while I am Manic, and vice versa. I can easily go through photographs of my self over the years, and point to one and think: "Yep, I was Manic/Depressed in this one," just on the way I looked. In Mania, I am trim and wear fake eyelashes everywhere with full makeup. In Depression, I am lucky if I wash my hair regularly, I am overweight, and I am typically found in sweat pants from a thrift store. People tend to not recognize me if they have only seen me in one episode or that other.
Hospitalization - 2011
The one and only time I was hospitalized was at the end of the holidays in 2011. I went voluntarily, yet on the advice of my doctor, mostly due to feeling suicidal and having intrusive thoughts (later diagnosed as OCD).
I also went to the hospital because it was the holidays and my psychiatrist's office was closed for several days, and the emergency line was not going to be active.
It was a horrible experience. Not that going into a psych ward is supposed to be a luxury hotel or a spa day experience...but this was atrociously bad.
One of the nurses looked at me smugly and said, "You don't look like you have it that bad. Maybe this will give you some perspective." I almost yelled "Fuck you, bitch!" but I didn't. In all reality, going to the hospital made me worse, not better. That experience made me saddened because how many people who do have it worse off than me don't seek treatment when they need it because a) it's an awful experience, and b) it is ridiculously expensive (3 days for $2000 with insurance!).
The only solutions they could offer me were ECT or a visit with a psychiatrist, which is supposed to happen within 12 hours of admittance. I did not see a psychiatrist for 70 hours, despite repeated requests and then demands. When I did see him, he prescribed some Klonopin and told me to go home and follow up with my regular doctor.
I was enraged. Sedatives?! Really?! I had plenty of those already at home. I didn't self-admit to acquire some god-damned sedatives. I self-admitted because I was a hair away from blowing my brains out with a gun, and pre-occupied with ways I could kill myself. He offered me sedatives.
I did follow up with my lovely regular psychiatrist, who became visibly upset when I described my experience. He apologized that it was so rank and dark. Even though there have been a few instances where I should have been hospitalized since then, I avoid it at all costs. I'd rather deal with my symptoms in the comfort of my own home than go through what I went through in the hospital.
That brings up the issue of quality mental health care, and what that looks like. All I know is that what I experienced was not quality mental health care. What I wanted was a doctor to see me immediately (within the 12 hour time frame, which was part of the patient contract), and for me to have a time out of sorts to regain my balance. Did I need to adjust my Seroquel? Did I need to start a new medication? Those were all questions I had, and I had no way of answering them except in a hospital.
I was originally going to make this post about Depression, but it turned more into my hospital story. I'll leave it at that. Depression can take up a topic another day.
Tuesday, November 29, 2016
Sunday, November 27, 2016
Classic Manic Depressive Part 1: Mania
Mania
I could bore you with a lot of links to various sterile health websites that define "Mania," but I'm not going to do that. Go google mania. I am going to describe Mania from my own experiences.
I wasn't diagnosed with Bipolar Disorder until I was about 25, but I can clearly see the manic episodes throughout my life, beginning in High School. Here are the major ones I can clearly see looking backwards from the time I was 18 up until the age of about 26.
First Manic Episode, 2003
I believe my first episode of mania began my senior year of high school, in 2002-2003. I was a shy, maladjusted child who never dated, and suddenly I was sneaking out of the house and dating boys left and right. My mom chalked it up to teen rebellion. What she didn't realize was that I wasn't sleeping and I was full of energy, bouncing from one thing to the other. I began to sell my belongings and announced to everyone that I was moving to L.A., with no job, no college, and nowhere to live. My mother became a tad bit worried at this point, and decided to move with me. She had a job that transferred well, so she could move.
In our senior year, we all had to meet with guidance counselors who would show us how to apply to colleges, and what colleges to apply to. I thought I was a brilliant genius, so I applied to top-rated universities with nonsensical, incomplete applications and just shrugged when my counselor asked about my mediocre grades. I got rejection letter after rejection letter, and I got angry because clearly, these schools were going to miss out on the next Einstein. I burned the rejection letters in anger.
Senior Prom approached, and as I mentioned above, I had been shy and quiet, never bothering with dances, never getting asked to dances. I had a ton of courage at this point, and I strolled up to a popular guy who had just broken up with someone if he'd like to go with me. I think he was a bit surprised, but he assented. My girlfriends and I had agreed to go to Prom together as a group of wallflowers, and I bailed on them without a thought.
Later that night, I was entirely sober, but giving guys lapdances. One of my friends pulled me aside and asked me if I was on drugs, or drunk or if I had gotten a spiked drink because I was behaving embarrassingly. I became angry at her for her lack of enlightenment.
I lost all my friends that night.
I began to feel that everyone was out to get me, that I was just too smart and they were all trying to hold me down. I stopped talking to everyone in my familiar circle. When my mom suggested counseling with one of our churches' pastors, I was belligerent and loud, surprising him and everyone else because I was always a quiet, well-behaved child. Again, I stress the fact that I was entirely sober, having never drank alcohol, done drugs (legal or illegal) and not taking any prescription medicine.
The move to L.A.
Right after I graduated high school, my mom and I moved to Los Angeles, where I had been born and spent most of my childhood. I still applied to top notch schools with ignorance, but I eventually decided that a community college would let me in, and then I could WOW THEM with my dazzling intellect. I attended school full time, until a professor dared give me a "C" on a paper I thought was fabulous (even though it was rambling and not on topic with a fucked reference list). I began crying and yelling and he ordered me outside of the class to calm down. I immediately marched to the school office and tried to file a complaint. The counselor suggested I withdraw the course, and take some time to make a plan for next semester. I did.
During this time, the high of the mania was peaking. I thought that by moving across the country to a big city, my amazing abilities would be recognized by someone, and that I would be famous by now. Instead, I was muddling my way through a community college, with no friends.
At about this time, my mom suffered a a major heart attack, and left her in the hospital for 6 weeks. She could not work, and did not have insurance. The bills bankrupted us. I immediately grabbed a job at the mall full-time and quit school. We moved to progressively worse apartments. Eventually, she did start working again, but it was at a much lower-paying job.
My manic energy sustained me for several months with little sleep, grabbing up as many work hours as I could. But I eventually crashed into a severe depression, where I could not work very much. I wondered if my whole life was a lie and what it would be like to be dead. I began to think of killing myself, which I would have done if my mom hadn't needed me to care for her 24/7 after yet another heart attack. I began to have severe panic attacks, which I went to the ER twice for. I couldn't sleep, I lost so much weight people began asking me if I had an eating disorder.
Second Manic Episode, 2004
After several months of stress with my mom requiring care and having no money and relying on the kindness of a church group, I slingshotted back into mania. At this point, I was grateful for the superhuman energy. It meant I could work as many hours as I wanted whenever I wanted and I wouldn't have to waste time sleeping. I began dating a guy even though I didn't like him very much, then I dumped him and moved on, and so on. I got into a confrontation with my boss at an employee meeting and I am still surprised she didn't fire me. I quit the next day, feeling paranoid. I took another job at the mall, and lasted 3 weeks before I quit again. I took another job and lasted three months, quitting because I was certain there was a co-worker who was planning to poison my food. Job after job after job, boyfriend after boyfriend after boyfriend. I saw no problem with this; it was everyone else's problem, not mine.
When I'm manic, I am charming and magnetic. My latest boyfriend of 2 months was enthralled with me, and asked me to marry him immediately. I thought that was so absurd and off the wall, I loved it. We got married two months later, against the advice of my mom and his family.
Depression came back right around the wedding, and I'll write about that later. In short, that marriage was a very bad idea, and neither of us were prepared for it.
In an attempt to save our relationship, my husband took a less stressful job in a different state where there was plenty of nature and farmlands, a quieter lifestyle. The move occupied both of us for awhile, and we got along marginally better.
Third Manic Episode with Psychotic Features, 2007
This is a chronicle of the major episodes I can clearly see in the past. There may have been minor cycling through 2004-2007, but I don't remember mania in those years as much. I had started seeing a psychiatrist for Depression and Anxiety and was given anti-depressants, but I would stop taking those when I felt better, and that would propel me into a manic phase.
This is one of the episodes I remember the most because it was very traumatic to me. After a round of anti-depressants and after moving to a new state, I shot up sky high into mania again. However, the energy didn't last months like it had in the past. Instead, after a week or two of not sleeping and feeling great, I became paranoid. I thought there were listening devices planted in the appliances and smoke alarms. My then-husband thought I was funny and told me to stop being silly. I thought houses (the actual buildings) were watching me as I walked down the sidewalk or drove somewhere. The windows were eyes, and the doors were mouths. This lasted for about three weeks. I was terrified to go anywhere because the houses were watching my every move. I thought my own house was evil and was out to get me. I began to think ghosts lived there, and I would sit in my car in the driveway, not wanting to go inside. I would only go inside if I took my dog with me. If Monty went inside with no hesitation, it would probably be safe for me because I figured animals can sense threats. I took Monty everywhere with me in the car; he was my safety net until he passed in 2015.
I avoided driving anywhere at night because I would see lights in the windows of houses, and I thought it was signals they were sending each other about me driving down the road. It was a terrifying, excruciating experience. My husband didn't take any of the this seriously. He would laugh at me and pat my hand.
I didn't know what was wrong with me at this point. I visited my psychiatrist, and did not tell him about the house issue because even I knew it sounded crazy. I just told him I had anxiety. He prescribed some anti-anxiety pills. Those helped. I started sleeping more regularly, and it helped me calm down. As time went on, the feeling that the houses were watching me faded.
Misc Manic Episode, 2008-2009
These manic episodes were short-lived. I was relatively stable at the end of '07, but feeling more anxious and depressed. In 2008, I got into fights with friends and acquaintances over silly things. I was aggressive and belligerent to everyone. I impulsively decided to have a baby with my then-husband. He thought that was I sign was I was getting better, but it wasn't. The marriage was deteriorating rapidly as my husband lost patience with me, I resented him.
Pregnancy was good to me. I took a mild anti-depressant, but I was stable for the pregnancy. After the pregnancy, I had the most severe depression of my life at that moment. I was back in the psychiatrist's office. He prescribed anti-depressants and sedatives, which helped with the depression. It also sent me back into mania.
As my daughter grew, I had trouble with erratic spending and regulating my sleep cycles since babies tend to be loud at night. My husband and I fought more rather than less.
In 2009, after coming out of yet another depressive streak, I thought about planning to leave my husband. The marriage was failing and was unsalvagable. In 2010, I did.
Manic Episode, 2010
In 2010, I left my husband and took our daughter to stay with a friend. I thought that perhaps things would calm down and perhaps the marriage could be saved, but my ex-husband filed separation papers on me. Divorce proceedings followed. I did become manic, but that honestly ended up a good thing. I lost a bunch of weight, and became magnetic and charming again, which helped me get interviews and find a job. My boundless energy sustained me through the divorce. After it was over, however, I embarked on a destructive spree of excessive spending which eventually required I file for bankruptcy a year later. One day, I dropped my daughter off with my ex-husband for his weekend with her, and I saw an ad about Southwest Airlines having one-way fairs for $69. I used a credit card and purchased a one-way ticket to Phoenix, Arizona, which left a mere two hours later. I took nothing but my purse.
So, in the course of one Friday afternoon, I purchased a ticket and flew two hours to Phoenix. I thought I was being adventurous. I walked around the city near dusk by myself with no knowledge of the neighborhoods or where I would stay. I found some cool museums and ate at a Chinese restaurant. I hired a cab to take me to a hotel near the airport.
Once I got into my room, it occurred to me that I did not have any money left to get back home. My mom was frantic with worry about me when she called and learned what I had done. Of course, in my own mind, I was acting entirely rationally. No one had the funds to buy me a fare back home as the ticket sale with Southwest was one day only. It didn't really seem to bother me. I called my credit card company and asked for an extension of credit, lying about a relative that just died. That allowed me to purchase fare back home.
Once I got home, my family (including my new boyfriend) expressed some concern about my behavior, especially the trip to Phoenix. To me I was being indomitable and adventurous; to others I was behaving recklessly and dangerously.
Around this time, as I mentioned above, I started working. That occupied my time, and I threw myself into my job, winning all sorts of rewards for my mania-induced, frenzied efforts. I would show up an hour early at work at 6am, and work frantically until 3pm. Then I'd go to the gym and run 4 miles on the treadmill, then pick my daughter up from daycare. I still spent excessively, believing that I could become a professional model. I drank and smoked and changed my hair from brown to blond to black to red to blonde again.
I began getting in trouble at my job for my erratic behavior, which led me back to my psychiatrist's office. He was the first to mention "Bipolar Disorder" at this point. He put me on Seroquel. A few weeks later, I was hospitalized for Depression, which is another post.
After I was on Seroquel for about two months, my moods began evening out. I was given sleeping pills to ensure I slept each night, and sedatives for anxiety. This led to me becoming relatively stable for the next 4 years.
I know this reads like medical file sterility, but it is the bulk of my manic episodes. I have a few more I'll put in in Part 2. I don't really have the energy after all of that to comment any more on Mania or my experiences with it, except to say that it feels like you are drawing closer to a flame, getting warmer and happier until you are so close you burn and burn til it hurts and all that's left are ugly, black scars.
I could bore you with a lot of links to various sterile health websites that define "Mania," but I'm not going to do that. Go google mania. I am going to describe Mania from my own experiences.
I wasn't diagnosed with Bipolar Disorder until I was about 25, but I can clearly see the manic episodes throughout my life, beginning in High School. Here are the major ones I can clearly see looking backwards from the time I was 18 up until the age of about 26.
First Manic Episode, 2003
I believe my first episode of mania began my senior year of high school, in 2002-2003. I was a shy, maladjusted child who never dated, and suddenly I was sneaking out of the house and dating boys left and right. My mom chalked it up to teen rebellion. What she didn't realize was that I wasn't sleeping and I was full of energy, bouncing from one thing to the other. I began to sell my belongings and announced to everyone that I was moving to L.A., with no job, no college, and nowhere to live. My mother became a tad bit worried at this point, and decided to move with me. She had a job that transferred well, so she could move.
In our senior year, we all had to meet with guidance counselors who would show us how to apply to colleges, and what colleges to apply to. I thought I was a brilliant genius, so I applied to top-rated universities with nonsensical, incomplete applications and just shrugged when my counselor asked about my mediocre grades. I got rejection letter after rejection letter, and I got angry because clearly, these schools were going to miss out on the next Einstein. I burned the rejection letters in anger.
Senior Prom approached, and as I mentioned above, I had been shy and quiet, never bothering with dances, never getting asked to dances. I had a ton of courage at this point, and I strolled up to a popular guy who had just broken up with someone if he'd like to go with me. I think he was a bit surprised, but he assented. My girlfriends and I had agreed to go to Prom together as a group of wallflowers, and I bailed on them without a thought.
Later that night, I was entirely sober, but giving guys lapdances. One of my friends pulled me aside and asked me if I was on drugs, or drunk or if I had gotten a spiked drink because I was behaving embarrassingly. I became angry at her for her lack of enlightenment.
I lost all my friends that night.
I began to feel that everyone was out to get me, that I was just too smart and they were all trying to hold me down. I stopped talking to everyone in my familiar circle. When my mom suggested counseling with one of our churches' pastors, I was belligerent and loud, surprising him and everyone else because I was always a quiet, well-behaved child. Again, I stress the fact that I was entirely sober, having never drank alcohol, done drugs (legal or illegal) and not taking any prescription medicine.
The move to L.A.
Right after I graduated high school, my mom and I moved to Los Angeles, where I had been born and spent most of my childhood. I still applied to top notch schools with ignorance, but I eventually decided that a community college would let me in, and then I could WOW THEM with my dazzling intellect. I attended school full time, until a professor dared give me a "C" on a paper I thought was fabulous (even though it was rambling and not on topic with a fucked reference list). I began crying and yelling and he ordered me outside of the class to calm down. I immediately marched to the school office and tried to file a complaint. The counselor suggested I withdraw the course, and take some time to make a plan for next semester. I did.
During this time, the high of the mania was peaking. I thought that by moving across the country to a big city, my amazing abilities would be recognized by someone, and that I would be famous by now. Instead, I was muddling my way through a community college, with no friends.
At about this time, my mom suffered a a major heart attack, and left her in the hospital for 6 weeks. She could not work, and did not have insurance. The bills bankrupted us. I immediately grabbed a job at the mall full-time and quit school. We moved to progressively worse apartments. Eventually, she did start working again, but it was at a much lower-paying job.
My manic energy sustained me for several months with little sleep, grabbing up as many work hours as I could. But I eventually crashed into a severe depression, where I could not work very much. I wondered if my whole life was a lie and what it would be like to be dead. I began to think of killing myself, which I would have done if my mom hadn't needed me to care for her 24/7 after yet another heart attack. I began to have severe panic attacks, which I went to the ER twice for. I couldn't sleep, I lost so much weight people began asking me if I had an eating disorder.
Second Manic Episode, 2004
After several months of stress with my mom requiring care and having no money and relying on the kindness of a church group, I slingshotted back into mania. At this point, I was grateful for the superhuman energy. It meant I could work as many hours as I wanted whenever I wanted and I wouldn't have to waste time sleeping. I began dating a guy even though I didn't like him very much, then I dumped him and moved on, and so on. I got into a confrontation with my boss at an employee meeting and I am still surprised she didn't fire me. I quit the next day, feeling paranoid. I took another job at the mall, and lasted 3 weeks before I quit again. I took another job and lasted three months, quitting because I was certain there was a co-worker who was planning to poison my food. Job after job after job, boyfriend after boyfriend after boyfriend. I saw no problem with this; it was everyone else's problem, not mine.
When I'm manic, I am charming and magnetic. My latest boyfriend of 2 months was enthralled with me, and asked me to marry him immediately. I thought that was so absurd and off the wall, I loved it. We got married two months later, against the advice of my mom and his family.
Depression came back right around the wedding, and I'll write about that later. In short, that marriage was a very bad idea, and neither of us were prepared for it.
In an attempt to save our relationship, my husband took a less stressful job in a different state where there was plenty of nature and farmlands, a quieter lifestyle. The move occupied both of us for awhile, and we got along marginally better.
Third Manic Episode with Psychotic Features, 2007
This is a chronicle of the major episodes I can clearly see in the past. There may have been minor cycling through 2004-2007, but I don't remember mania in those years as much. I had started seeing a psychiatrist for Depression and Anxiety and was given anti-depressants, but I would stop taking those when I felt better, and that would propel me into a manic phase.
This is one of the episodes I remember the most because it was very traumatic to me. After a round of anti-depressants and after moving to a new state, I shot up sky high into mania again. However, the energy didn't last months like it had in the past. Instead, after a week or two of not sleeping and feeling great, I became paranoid. I thought there were listening devices planted in the appliances and smoke alarms. My then-husband thought I was funny and told me to stop being silly. I thought houses (the actual buildings) were watching me as I walked down the sidewalk or drove somewhere. The windows were eyes, and the doors were mouths. This lasted for about three weeks. I was terrified to go anywhere because the houses were watching my every move. I thought my own house was evil and was out to get me. I began to think ghosts lived there, and I would sit in my car in the driveway, not wanting to go inside. I would only go inside if I took my dog with me. If Monty went inside with no hesitation, it would probably be safe for me because I figured animals can sense threats. I took Monty everywhere with me in the car; he was my safety net until he passed in 2015.
I avoided driving anywhere at night because I would see lights in the windows of houses, and I thought it was signals they were sending each other about me driving down the road. It was a terrifying, excruciating experience. My husband didn't take any of the this seriously. He would laugh at me and pat my hand.
I didn't know what was wrong with me at this point. I visited my psychiatrist, and did not tell him about the house issue because even I knew it sounded crazy. I just told him I had anxiety. He prescribed some anti-anxiety pills. Those helped. I started sleeping more regularly, and it helped me calm down. As time went on, the feeling that the houses were watching me faded.
Misc Manic Episode, 2008-2009
These manic episodes were short-lived. I was relatively stable at the end of '07, but feeling more anxious and depressed. In 2008, I got into fights with friends and acquaintances over silly things. I was aggressive and belligerent to everyone. I impulsively decided to have a baby with my then-husband. He thought that was I sign was I was getting better, but it wasn't. The marriage was deteriorating rapidly as my husband lost patience with me, I resented him.
Pregnancy was good to me. I took a mild anti-depressant, but I was stable for the pregnancy. After the pregnancy, I had the most severe depression of my life at that moment. I was back in the psychiatrist's office. He prescribed anti-depressants and sedatives, which helped with the depression. It also sent me back into mania.
As my daughter grew, I had trouble with erratic spending and regulating my sleep cycles since babies tend to be loud at night. My husband and I fought more rather than less.
In 2009, after coming out of yet another depressive streak, I thought about planning to leave my husband. The marriage was failing and was unsalvagable. In 2010, I did.
Manic Episode, 2010
In 2010, I left my husband and took our daughter to stay with a friend. I thought that perhaps things would calm down and perhaps the marriage could be saved, but my ex-husband filed separation papers on me. Divorce proceedings followed. I did become manic, but that honestly ended up a good thing. I lost a bunch of weight, and became magnetic and charming again, which helped me get interviews and find a job. My boundless energy sustained me through the divorce. After it was over, however, I embarked on a destructive spree of excessive spending which eventually required I file for bankruptcy a year later. One day, I dropped my daughter off with my ex-husband for his weekend with her, and I saw an ad about Southwest Airlines having one-way fairs for $69. I used a credit card and purchased a one-way ticket to Phoenix, Arizona, which left a mere two hours later. I took nothing but my purse.
So, in the course of one Friday afternoon, I purchased a ticket and flew two hours to Phoenix. I thought I was being adventurous. I walked around the city near dusk by myself with no knowledge of the neighborhoods or where I would stay. I found some cool museums and ate at a Chinese restaurant. I hired a cab to take me to a hotel near the airport.
Once I got into my room, it occurred to me that I did not have any money left to get back home. My mom was frantic with worry about me when she called and learned what I had done. Of course, in my own mind, I was acting entirely rationally. No one had the funds to buy me a fare back home as the ticket sale with Southwest was one day only. It didn't really seem to bother me. I called my credit card company and asked for an extension of credit, lying about a relative that just died. That allowed me to purchase fare back home.
Once I got home, my family (including my new boyfriend) expressed some concern about my behavior, especially the trip to Phoenix. To me I was being indomitable and adventurous; to others I was behaving recklessly and dangerously.
Around this time, as I mentioned above, I started working. That occupied my time, and I threw myself into my job, winning all sorts of rewards for my mania-induced, frenzied efforts. I would show up an hour early at work at 6am, and work frantically until 3pm. Then I'd go to the gym and run 4 miles on the treadmill, then pick my daughter up from daycare. I still spent excessively, believing that I could become a professional model. I drank and smoked and changed my hair from brown to blond to black to red to blonde again.
I began getting in trouble at my job for my erratic behavior, which led me back to my psychiatrist's office. He was the first to mention "Bipolar Disorder" at this point. He put me on Seroquel. A few weeks later, I was hospitalized for Depression, which is another post.
After I was on Seroquel for about two months, my moods began evening out. I was given sleeping pills to ensure I slept each night, and sedatives for anxiety. This led to me becoming relatively stable for the next 4 years.
I know this reads like medical file sterility, but it is the bulk of my manic episodes. I have a few more I'll put in in Part 2. I don't really have the energy after all of that to comment any more on Mania or my experiences with it, except to say that it feels like you are drawing closer to a flame, getting warmer and happier until you are so close you burn and burn til it hurts and all that's left are ugly, black scars.
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