More naval gazing. I really don’t feel like writing today but I’m noting this down as I tend to forget things otherwise due to my appalling memory. It’s taken me about two hours to write this as my head is up my arse. It’s for my benefit so it’s going under a “Read More”.
Today, and for most of yesterday, I have felt so shitty that I could have punched a train unconscious. Last night was a delicious mix of bouncing off the walls and rambling then seriously considering gassing myself (the brand new! shiny! sexy! “Thought on Repeat” that replaced the old one which died when I actually did it).
I’ve been paranoid and depressed and very awake and very tired. I couldn’t be buggered sorting out my face or my clothes so I look like a tramp. I wore my pyjama top under my hoodie to my appointment, which, if you know me, is a mean feat. I could not care less today.
My moods have been rampaging around since the shenanigans in October, and treatment has been kind of: “So, er, what now?” since then. Very rapid cycling has kicked back in. Quick summary: I was severely depressed for almost a year and had been spending most of my time imagining inventive ways to top myself. As a kind of last resort because I was going to kill myself, I was prescribed Effexor. True to form, it booted me up, I made a very impulsive decision to kill myself anyway (mostly to kill the thought that was on repeat, every second of every day for a year), threw up my body weight, ended up in hospital. Since then I’ve had to stop taking all medication other than Seroquel. My moods, though, haven’t recovered and I have been all over the place. Up and down constantly, flying between clarity and confusion, exhaustion and energy. It’s better because I’m not suicidally depressed, and I speak more than three words a day, but I don’t like this, either. I’m trying to be optimistic and, “Hey!” for my own sake but I don’t feel great. Hopefully things will settle down. The long depression was killing but it was mostly the same mood for a long time, which, hey, is progress for me.
My hives have returned in full force, as they do. My body reacts to the mood mentalism by sending a plague to keep me occupied. I can’t stop scratching and I’m wearing about thirty layers to shield my skin from my frenzied nails. There are dried rivulets of blood down my back, which must look fetching.
I have had things I needed to do today, and I did them, so that was something. One was attend my weekly appointment with the social worker.
This social worker is fairly new to me and I haven’t been able to relax around her (put yourself in my position; telling a stranger your darkest thoughts, face to face, in an hour), therefore the appointments hadn’t been helping. I’m starting to relax now and to get a measure of her and to like her, and to me, relax is to rant and ramble. Today we talked about something I’ve been freaking out over that I don’t want to go into, that I don’t like writing about depression because there is so little to say about it and I don’t like scaring my sisters, and what the psychiatrist said last week (mostly about anxiety and being defensive and very self critical, which I’m aware of, I’m so self critical, ahahaha). What he also said was that he thinks I have a good prognosis, because I’m young and have insight. It had never occured to me that I was a “young patient” and that it was relatively unusual for someone as young as me to have been ill for as long as me. I know I’m a bairn, but I don’t really feel like one and I feel like I’ve been through enough shit for a well oiled fifty year old. I’m aware I’m twenty three, but my friends are older, my mind feels older and it never occured to me that my age was important. I don’t feel like a teenager. I feel like an adult. Not a grown up, though.
I don’t know if I agree- on one hand, yeah, I have met people with absolutely no insight into their illness, no social support, no nothing. In life terms, I’m lucky. I’m poor and uneducated (which automatically qualify me for raised eyebrow and nose turning uppers) but I’ve been in a stable relationship for three years with someone I love, I have good friends and good siblings, and lovely readers, and a bizarre ambitious streak.
As I explained, though, and this is the crux: I am rarely unhappy. But I am often depressed. Circumstantial stuff doesn’t have a gigantic impact on my mood, and that pisses me off. Love, happiness, joy, gets obliterated. Likewise, sadness and grief can be obliterated, too, by gloriously inappropriate mania. I’m not a robot, things do affect me. But I have long since called off the search for “why”. And I am probably overly clinical in the way I discuss it but I find it easier to deal with the way at the moment. I need to try and keep my head above water and be hopeful that this is going to get a lot better.
We talked about treatment, which is just Seroquel for now. That mania is less extreme now thanks to it. I told her I am terrified of the future. Not, as I badly articulated, because I thought antidepressants would save me. But because they felt like a safety net. The “something” I could try if I became that depressed again. It was only six weeks ago that I took the overdose. I’m not magically better. And now there’s nothing to try anymore, I don’t know what to do. Of course I’m worried I’m going to fall into depression and there will be nothing to help me. My depressions are either wildly agitated or completely flat, and in both states, talking does not help. I’m not being fatalistic, but, y’know, it’s been the drill for the past ten years. So what will I do? Am I being stupid to worry about this? We talked about suicide.
And we talked about practical things which the community mental health team help me with (you know the drill: finances, future, freaking out, so on).
I am very tired!
I felt better for a while after the appointment. That was nice. I actually laughed.
I have put TWO! duvets on my bed and intend to spend some time as a caterpillar later. (Which reminds me of me and Rob finding a caterpillar in a little park- hairy, alien, fragile. I wanted it to be my friend. They are living eyebrows).
Filed under: Bipolar 1 Disorder, Bipolar Disorder, bipolar, coping with manic depression, depression, manic depression, mental illness
Stumble It!
I’m glad you feel better. I wish I could magically wave a wand and help you. I think you’re strong and wonderful.
(Wow, that is both an utterly pointless comment and slightly stalkerish in nature at the same time!)
Hi Seaneen (I do hope that is the correct spelling!), ive slowly been drawn over the past couple of weeks to your blog, and following your interview with the BBC this week, I think what you are doing is great.
Being diagnosed with Bipolar at 15 I have had to come to terms with this illness in what should have been the best years of my life: joyful, carefree youth. Thankfully I have had very deep friendships that carried me through my worst moments, and a family who will never stop giving me the love and support I need. To my family and friends I owe my life; in perhaps less emotional ways I can also say this to those professionals who have been involved in my psychiatric/pastoral care.
But not everyone is blessed with these circumstances, and that is why I believe the rate of suicide among mental health patients remains alarmingly high.
Being diagnosed with such disorders does not necessitate a life of despair and destruction, but societal pressures (e.g. friendships, relationships, employment, fiting stereotypes, debt,) serve to exacerbate the most painful feelings sufferers endure.
This has to be minimised in the most effective way possible. It is not only a question of morality, but I think real, effective schemes, preventative measures would ultimately raise the economic performance of this country.
It is not as if those labelled with a diagnosis are the only people to suffer from depression, anxiety, mania, even delusional and paranoid thoughts; infact most people in Britain will have experienced some form of Mental Health crisis in their lifetime. Therefore real government and charity intervention, would not only benefit the most acute sufferers, but communitites as a whole, and that is something surely everyone would welcome.
Anyway, hope you’re having a nice evening.
“It’s taken me about two hours to write this as my head is up my arse”… Oh, you do yoga too? (I’m typing this with my big toe while looking at the screen through a very long dentist’s mirror wot I have swallowed.
)
“I am rarely unhappy. But I am often depressed.” In a nutshell. For me, I’m often happy AND often depressed.” Stupid, eh? And hives are the effing pits. Don’t get me started on hives.
Take care Seaneen. Atb David
Thought this might give you a giggle. I wrote it to cheer up a guy I met on the psych wards. We’d struck up a friendship over a period of weeks but he got down when I was close to discharge so I typed it up, printed it off and glued it in a ‘get well soon card’. He loved it but it raised a few eyebrows with the staff at the time…I forgot to delete it after printing of off! I think they kept a copy in my file LOL…
Origins Of The Word “Suicide”
The word suicide is a corruption of the old English term “sewer-side” most commonly used in 16th and 17th century England when most city streets had open sewers.
To say someone “had gone sewer-side” meant they were laid down next to or in the street sewer, usually as a result of intoxication.
Thus to be sewer-sidal was to be in need of alcohol, so much so that one desired to get falling down drunk, ending up face down in the street sewer. To “commit sewer-side” was to go out and get stone drunk.
Obviously this is also the origin of the commonly used terms “shit-faced” and “pissed”. Both phrases mean to have fallen down in the street sewer and literally have shit on your face or be covered in piss. Being shit-faced was considered worse than being pissed.
So if you’re having suicidal thoughts remember the origin of the word. Go out and get pissed or even shit-faced. You might wake up the next day feeling like shit but at least you will wake up and be able to celebrate beating the blues one more time (and that’s positive thinking!)
My biggest fear is becoming completely debilitated by a depressive episode. I have come close on many occassions – flattened, totally detached, void of emotional psychological and physical energy, the list goes on and on – but somehow I have managed to get up each day and go through the motions required to run a house full of noisy(beautiful)kids, each of them desperately in need of all kinds of attention which I failed to give them day in day out for weeks. I don’t think I would have coped as well however had they not been there, strange as that may sound but they gave me a reason to keep going. I also have been told that antidepressants are a big no no so it does leave one with an immense fear for the future. Why can’t those of us who become manic on antidepressants take just enough to pick us up before becoming manic? Or is that a really stupid question.
My husband does not understand my moods yet nor is he aware when they are changing but it always helps me to be around him on my worst days. Peolpe tell me all the time to live in the minute ( I can’t) take each day as it comes. I will keep trying, then, hopefully some day it will just all click into place – the constant feelings of anxiety which feed the manic depression will subside and the moods will in turn become milder. ( I know that’s wishful thinking)
So my message is ( do as I say not as I do !) i.e try not to worry about the future . You’ve been to hell and back many times , and you have come such a long way. I think your’e a fighter and a survivor.
I’m not going to give the tired old cheerleading tactics, and so forth. No promises of revolutionary cures, or suggestions of magic beans from this quarter. I think you are entitled to be worried, that is probably the downside of insight. If you were a touch more gah gah, or in complete denial it might be an easier ride for you.
But you’ve noted an important factor Seaneen, that you are ambitious, and in a slightly offbeat definition, that implies some hope is still there.Yours is a story well worth sharing, and by all accounts one which has caught peoples interest. You don’t know the ending, any more than any of us do, but you can make it heard.
Lola x
Bollocks to “my story”! I want to invent stories! I want to write stories about scandalous anti-heroes who are just joyful and bizarre and animals and taxi journeys and deliciousness and oddness and madness and loveliness.
And thank you chaps for responding. Although now the word suicide is being distorted and I want a drink…
Anthony, that was great! I never knew where the word “suicide” came from and it was quite interesting to learn.
Seaneen, I listened to the BBC Radio broadcast and was quite chuffed listening to your voice. You have a beautiful voice and I love your Irish accent!
You are doing incredible things with your blog and I admire you a lot!!
Had an experience last w/e which, though largely mundane and not worth going into, caused me to have some kind of epiphany. Happens every so often, where everything suddenly makes sense to the point where the clarity is sometimes overwhelming, but seems different, bigger, this time. Revelations with displacement aspect, all very fascinating, genuinely, plus amusing to a degree. Am currently able to let mind get away with it’s tricks for a while, observe it misbehaving as if it’s a troublesome tyke testing the boundaries. On Tues mind attempted systematic destruction of everything I rate in the world, like a computer virus kind of, serving up perfectly reasonable/logical reasons as to why I was just fucking wrong about everything, as if to rock my foundations by tearing to shreds my cerebral security blankets. Listened in for a while as it went down the list, actual smile on my face. Could see it working for first time ever, sense the subterfuge, the deceit, the sheer ruthlessness. Bowie didn’t fair too well. I didn’t answer back, lulled it into false sense of security, then just stopped it in it’s tracks. Felt absolutely incredible to have that kind of control, where I could derail something that was trying to derail me. Point to all this terribly explained nonsense is that for the first time ever ever I feel like I’ve turned an actual fucking corner. It’s beyond anything I ever thought possible, even in good times. I don’t think I’m cured, strong poss this won’t last, powers will fade, but it realistically feels like a step I never thought I’d be able to take and in fact didn’t even know existed. I hope this is taken in the spirit it was intended. Badly conveyed (my tm) ’cause sounds all me, me, me but written with you in mind re: your curiosity for what the future might have in store past-post mention. I’d given up on nice surprises and then this, a new angle, a perception shift, or whatever it is. Not be-all end-all but something. And that’s all I can write for now you’ll be pleased to read. Is Rob back from Leics soon? Hope his knee’s sorted. You’re great and so fucking talented and you have top taste e.g. Innes and Cook and that’s all, gotta go, take care, keep on rocking x
Anthony, great story. Wish it was true. L. sui (of oneself) + cide. Your version is far more entertaining.
That reminds me of a huge argument I had with my dad one time down the pub about the etymology the word fuck. He was sure it was some acronym to do with Dublin law… Hang on, google beckons… Oh. Fornication Under Cardinal Knowledge. Or something like that. Anyway, it all ended in tears or fisticuffs, I forget which. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fuck Oh, btw it comes from the rather unpleasant ficken which means to beat. Which is why it will never really take on as a chat-up line (there are always unpleasant etymological surprises that end up being no surprise at all)…
And it’s been bugging me how I knew the latin word sui… http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sui_generis
ok, will stop clogging your comments now.
Depression does suck. I am alas a little too familiar with it. You can’t talk yourself out of it when you are in it, but talking about it when you are stable means that you can start getting better at dealing with it.
Stick with it.
how much Seroquil are you on? i felt pretty drugged when i was on 600 mg daily. i’ve been able to step it down with my doctor to 300mg over a period of months and i feel almost normal now. or at least normal for me. similar to what i did before i had my nervous breakdown. The seroquil didn’t seem to help with odd thoughts, but it did seem to cut out the racing heart, rapid speach, and panic attacks. my thoughts have gradually calmed down since getting out of the Psychiatric hospital, which up until recently i had thought was a rehab center. boy once i latched onto an idea in a manic state it was sure hard to let go of. like i just knew the president was going to come on the T.V. and announce that we had captured osama bin laden. i was sure of this. but i told my wife that if it hadn’t happened by the time that the presidential elections took place that i would let it go. so i’ve given up my role as prophet.
uh huh I’m scared for my future too, we;ve both had this shit for too many years.
*hugs*
x x x x
Ahh, my old fri
Sorry – posting from phone pressed ‘done’ by accident! Where was I? Ahh yes, my old friend insight: I have been told repeatedly that I have an astonishingly large amount if insight; and hence it leaves HCP’s confused as to why I continue to engage in self destructive behaviours. Is there any evidence to suggest it is associated with a higher likelihood of recovery?
I’m glad you’re feeling more able to talk to your social worker, especially with Hannah off on maturnity leave. Just hang in there
Stay Safe
xXx
it has become my personal oppinion that antidepressants are very very dangerous to bi-polars. They often trigger “ugly mania” and I refuse to even try them any longer. They make me sicker not better
Hey guys, don’t anybody take my version of the origins of the word “Suicide” as truth, it was just a funny fiction I wrote to cheer a friend up and thought I’d share here.
Love the bit about the caterpillars.
Wish I could meet you for coffee and the sodding Irish sea wasn’t in the way.
Are you home at Christmas?
L x
Yep for about 15 seconds. 23rd-28th.
yeah i listened to the show on radio 4 by chance which led me to this site.im totally dependant on my antidepressants(sertraline) have been on them for nine years and only very recently diagnosed as bi-polar.
Ive been put on tegratol for a few months which seems to have helped stabalise my rapid cycling into destructive stuff a little and i do feel generally more subdued
im abit isolated really. just finished a 2 year group therapy programme and now …..what now? unemployable, bored stiff,
At least the “highs had some purpose in affording me distraction from the general difficulties in my particular perception of existance. Without them …oh.. i;m just not too sure.
any how its really good to read about other people going through this stuff.
Damn. That’s the exact time when I’ll be out of the country. Meh.
Oh well, I’ll have to plan another trip to London.
L x