Therapist Follow-up & Laughing at Lunch with Friends

Both "groups" were very similar. Both my therapist and my friends wanted to know how I am doing. How am I feeling? What went on? How did I get to the point of having to go to the hospital? Do I feel okay right now? I also tell each things that I don't tell most people.

My therapist did talk about borderline personality disorder vs. bipolar. It doesn't seem that I really meet the criteria for BPD. I have a few "maybe traits", but its really up in the air, and not definite at all. I'm happy about that. It also seems that my appointment with my psych. nurse practitioner (aka my psych. dr./pdoc) in two weeks is the last appointment I have that my insurance will pay for for the year. Otherwise, I can only call and have someone call me back. (Stupid insurance limits!) I'm keeping it, though, because I only have two weeks on my new medication and I need a real prescription written. (I'm sure I used my appointments up in the middle of the year talking about things I didn't think were helpful with my old therapist, but that's another story.) Of course, we talked about my hospital stay and the week leading up to it. She wanted to know if there were any triggers and what my friend who was at the bookstore with me the night I went to the ER thought. That was the day I was dissociating and wanting to climb off the balcony from the 2nd level. As it happens, I had lunch with this particular friend today, and I asked her. She said she noticed I was acting strangely and wondered if I was okay to drive home, but noted that I did then drive home. Turns out, when I went home is when the suicidal thoughts turned to actions and I eventually called psych. emergency services at the request of a good friend online who is also bipolar. (See post here, "Crying So Mixed Up".) I also mentioned this blog to my therapist, and she was quite interested in reading it, especially the section, "Road to Mania", because it was written while I was manic.

My friends at lunch today were very nice. We go out most Fridays for lunch, including the above-mentioned friend. I had missed last week because it was one of my first days inpatient. They asked how I was feeling. I told them a few stories from my hospital stay that were interesting. We talked about my med changes. About deciding on Topomax vs. Lamictal because of the "Lamictal rash" and Stevens Johnson Syndrome where all of your skin falls off! And about the German doctor, Dr. Music, that I've mentioned here before, who, when I refused for this reason, said, "Ohhhhh! You've been READ-ING!" At any rate, I relayed this story, and just generally how I got from Saphris 2+ weeks ago, to where I am now. Everybody thought it was interesting. They mostly wanted to know how I am feeling- both in general, but in relation to where I was when I went into the hospital and now, and also how I'm feeling on my new meds. This group is all very close. Its really nice to have friends you can tell most anything to, and laugh and cry and having something so intimate happen to you such as a psychiatric hospital stay - and they will still love you.

First Full Day Home. See Therapist Tomorrow.

Today I was up at the same time I was in the hospital, but I lazed around a bit. I called the credit union to clear something up, then called a friend of mine. I played online a bit, then went out for a very nice lunch with one of my best friends. We talked about our childhoods and our childhood homes and schools. The food was so filling. I had a nice piece of cheesecake for dessert, too. In fact, I'm not even hungry again and its been five hours since I finished eating. The conversation really made me feel relaxed. It was nice to discuss happy times from my past and have some things in common with a friend that I thought I knew most things about. All very fitting for a homecoming celebration!

After the kids got home from school, I took Nataleigh and Noah to the grocery store. We were kind of behind in shopping for obvious reasons, so we got quite a few things. It will be nice to get up in the morning and have a yogurt and small bowl of cereal, chicken and cottage cheese for dinner, or whatever it might happen to be at the time.

I got some texts from another friend that were friendly and caring. That was nice, too, especially since I when I was in the hospital I wasn't sure if he was on board with the idea. At least I know he still cares even so.

Tomorrow I see my social worker/therapist. I will have to have an update of what she has to say about the last week. It should be interesting to say the least. Then in about two more weeks, I see my nurse practitioner/psych. doctor. (Basically. She doles out the meds and gives diagnoses, but is overseen by a psychiatrist.) That is what I'm really looking forward to, not only because of the hospital stay, but because of this whole deal about "BPD"- borderline personality disorder. The second doctor (regular psych hospital doctor I saw) asked me what I didn't like about the diagnosis and I said, "Borderline. Personality. Disorder." Exactly. Its like you're teetering on falling off being an okay person or something.

And with that, I'll leave it until tomorrow.

I'm home!

I got home and put my things away. Then the first thing I did was went out and bought an AM/PM pill box. I figured out that you fill it once a week. So I filled the rest of the week. I am hanging out with Noah listening to Libera a boychoir. It's relaxing. So so far things are nice. Except having to type slowly on my iPod again so it won't crash and eat my post. I wonder how this blog will evolve now. I guess I will see what my therapist and psychiatrist say.

Last Few Hours - Day 6

Just had my last morning stretch. Boy did it feel good. I can't believe I was dreading it when I first got here. It makes me want to take yoga. I heard there are go-at-your-own-pace yoga classes. That's for me!

I talked with a social worker this morning. Filled out a what-I-am-going-to-be-doing-in... sheet. That is, what will I be doing in 24 hours, 48 hours, a week and a month. I basically wrote that I'll be seeing my kids and various friends. We talked about this family meeting with my mom that is happening around 2 today. (Its 10 right now.) She really seemed to sum up my whole life in 15 minutes! I was surprised. She says the instrusive thoughts can still be bipolar, but the wanting to cut to get rid of bad feelings is BPD. UGH. I am not happy about that. Not at all. then again, that's the first time this has ever happened, so that's something. I'm nervous for the family meeting. But this is the best its going to get- with doctors and social workers supervising it. It never goes anywhere when I try to explain things to my mom and definitely not her husband. They just get selfish and mean. That's how I feel. They just don't understand. I told the social worker that if we can get them to understand and help me and move things along at home and maybe less stress would lead to my getting a job then maybe we all would be happy. Is that too much to hope for? Still, at this point, part of me is afraid to go back to the usual at home. That this meeting is going to be holding it all together. Then again, my mom's husband is not attending the meeting so maybe it won't matter. Or maybe it will all be held together for a day, a week, two weeks, and then... Right now it all remains to be seen. And then I see my psych dr. They are moving up my appointment as a follow-up from being here. That will be the big thing. That will be the person who knows me best psych-wise sumarizing what's gone on and mixing it with our past talks- with MY past, with ME.

I'm planning on getting a pill box to organize my medications. The nurse that gave me my pills this morning suggested it because, "You have so many meds!" Of course, it remains to be seen whether or not I forget to fill the box or, more than that, whether or not I remembered whether or not I took the meds in the med box already!

I'm really looking forward to seeing my kids again. To hugging them. To kissing them. To hugging them some more. To laughing with them. (I'm tearing up!) I'm looking forward to Noah asking me lots of questions I don't know the answers to and our having to hunt them down online or in books. I'm looking forward to Nathan giving me a big hug and saying, "Hi, Mother!" I'm looking forward to Nataleigh just being around me and being Nataleigh.

We just had a group about how to deal with grief. We discussed grief we've gone through. I said it was my divorce and how a book on kids and divorce triggered that memory a few years later. We talked about how to help someone else who is in grief. The stages of grief. How people might withdraw, get angry, get sad, get numb... Then we discussed what one thing we could do today that was just for us. I said I'm going home today and seeing my kids. Another class starts soon. Not sure what is is. Then lunch.

My class was art class. I finished my welcome mat! It looks really nice. We did some shading that really makes it "pop". I'm happy with it. It took me all three classes to finish it and as luck would have it I finished it on my last day.

I saw the dr walk by who suggested BPD. I joked to my roommate that I should kick him or throw him to the ground (judo?) ... or just disrupt his gate somehow. Yeah. Because we're in a mental hospital, you know. Get me a longer stay. Possibly other things. Otherwise, that wouldn't be funny.

I'm pretty much set to go. I have my papers I filled out saying what i'm going to do in the next little bit that I mentioned about. There's just one more class at 1:00, then this meeting then I'm out. I'm things are packed- just a few clothes in a paper bag. I just have my cpap bag behind the desk to get. There are a lot of the same people here, but there are some new people, too. I will miss the routine, but at the same time I want to go do my own thing. I need a regular routine for myself, but finding that has proved difficult. Job and yoga, yeah.

Today has been nice and relaxing. Helpful. I wish the "every-day" of this stay will stay with me for quite some time. Maybe that can happen with my therapist. But I don't have very many visits left with my insurance. Just a handful for the next month or so.

The meeting with my mom was hard. I cried. We covered so much ground. The doctor still talked about borderline personality disorder but he made sure to tell me that it wasn't me. That I'm still me. That it is just a label. I am exhausted from the crying and the topics covered. I'm going home as soon as they can find a few things behind the counter and give me my script for Topomax. More from home. Probably a lot less for a while.

Kick in the Gut

Oh my gosh!

The doctor just called me in a conference room. He started by asking me about this blog. He asked about a typical post so I replied, "I Am An Alien Castrato". Hahahaha... When the laughing died down, he asked me if I've ever heard of borderline personality disorder. He said I have difficulty dealing with things. He said the dissociations and wanting to cut myself are part of that and NOT of bipolar! Once I looked sufficiently ashen and told him I certainly did NOT have "THAT", he said I just had inklings of it and I should see my therapist and my DBT group about it.

I am just floored.

He did say its a brain abnormality, not just a personality flaw, like they previously thought and I guess they won't need to change my meds.

I think I am in shock. Shock! They say it goes with bipolar disorder quite often, but oh dear. On my last day no less.

Going Home Tomorrow (on Day 6), Day 5

Greg Maxwell, music practitioner -has a certificate, not a degree like a music therapist- came to play and sing for us for about an hour. He played The Octopus' Garden- just like my 2nd grade music teacher did. The two that I liked best were You've got a friend and Bridge Over Troubled Water. This was after a nice workout in the gym. I threw hoops and made about 70% of them. Then the six of us played shuffleboard. It was my first time played. Took a bit of coordination, but was fun.

The doctors called me in the conference room and basically said that I was too well and to get out. Ha! Well, actually, they said my thyroid medication was given incorrectly and needs to be straightened out, which I knew already. They said my Topomax can be taken at night not twice a day. They also said they'd talked with my mom on the phone and they will try to get her to come in tomorrow morning for a meeting as they think this will be better for everybody instead of another phone call. They call it a family meeting. They said she said I never tell her how I'm feeling. I probably don't but that's because I figure she won't understand, or I am too sick to really communicate how I'm feeling, or she has been a trigger for how I'm feeling and I feel like getting away from her. So I'm crossing my fingers that this meeting will go well, not only her at the psych unit, but that it will carry over when we're home. (Truth is that I'm afraid of how life will be when I get home. That it will go back to them being mean to me and my kids!!!!) They then said that my med adjustments can be tweaked outpatient and I'm not thinking of harming myself anymore so I am a free bird.

The rabbit has phoned the home store, ordered more Skittles and is mapping the way up the rabbit hole. He has started his climb, and can see the a bit of light. He can see the crumbs from his entry in and stops for a moment to think. Yes. He may be okay with his friends up the hole and his Skittles.

"I Can Choose How Healthy I Want to Be" Day 5

"I can choose how healthy I want to be in spite of the negativity around me." This was the last phrase of the Anger Management class I had just before lunch. Its food for thought.

I had a stretching class, and a class on skills for when I go home, though that doesn't necessarily mean I'm going home yet. Its just discussing it. I'm going to have a social worker talk with my mom about things before I go, so I hope that goes well. I think I'm anxious about going home that things will go back to exactly how they were. And I think I'm anxious enough to have said that twice here.

I also have physical conditioning group in the gym and then live music. Yes, we're back in elementary school. But hey- I'm looking forward to them!

Someone is tuning the piano. If I could remember how to play anything, I would.

I'm still tired. I'd love a nap, but I don't think I'm done here until 3 or so. And who am I fooling? I never take naps. But then again, when am I going to get a better time and place to take one? A doctor just came and talked to me and said I've been hypo thyroid since I got here! That means that my thyroid is low and I'll be very tired. Ta-da! That plus the Topomax and I have my answer.

The rabbit took his Skittles again in the usual big gulp and would like to curl up under a toadstool. There's no alarm on his big watch, so he most likely will be late, late, late....

So Tired - New Roommate

Its 7:40 p.m. and I can't keep my eyes open. I was reading my book and its nearly impossible. It wasn't possible around 4, 5, or 6, either. Make that 2, and 3, too. First it starts as staring, then it eventually turns into my eyes closing. I tried to nap, but that got interrupted but by someone wanting to ask me questions. It never fails. I would go to bed right now if I could, but then I think I'd be up at 5 without anything to do. Well, I could read, but my new roommate might not like that. Speaking of her, she arrived not long ago. We talked for a bit. Then her husband arrived and I overheard her talking with him. It seems she took a bunch of trazodone which is a sleeping pill. She was in the ICU asleep for 3 days. I've had trazodone in the past, but never taken that much of it. Such is the face of depression. She seems nice enough, though. All I can think of right now is bed. Sleep... sleep... sleep... people are watching tv. I could find someone to talk with. I could use the phone but I tried that earlier and nobody was really around. Its the Topomax. Supposedly, I'll lose weight on it, but not if I don't ever move! The hours drag on and drag on and drag on in the evening. I did talk to a few friends today. That was nice!

Still Here. Just Like Me.

I talked with the social worker. It seems that I'm still here. My medications are still being straightened out. The doctors need to keep an eye on them. This could take days, still. I have many more groups to go to to deal with my brain innards that can't be dealt with with pills.

Otherwise, I have a headache and I'm tired. I never got my nap. I have 2 1/2 hours until dinner. I've been reading again. My friend who got admitted when I did is waiting to be discharged. I will miss talking with him. But he has this blog address, so he can keep in touch. I'm getting a new roommate and my bathroom will be locked again, although right now there is no sign of her except her bed is freshly made.

Maybe a friend can come see me tonight. I feel spacey. I do feel more myself, but if I were at home, I'd just sleep all the time. I know I'm not totally my funny self. I'm a bit dazed and confused. My memory is quite effected. I like watching the staff walk by. Its like I'm invisible. That is, except when they want something from me. Then they just take my blood, give me pills, or take my blood pressure.

I talked with another bipolar 1 person. I'd seen him this whole time, but just started talking with him this afternoon. He said he'd been walking around in a daze and had to be here. We discussed the meds we've been on, and why we were admitted. It felt good to bond like that. My first roommate was bipolar 2, and though that's also bipolar, it just feels better somehow to bond with someone who is "just like" me.

Doctors & Apples Day 4

Today is a busier day. Its Monday after a holiday weekend. The regular doctors are back. They pulled me out of coloring my rug in my individual tasks group (i.e. art class) called to talk to me. They asked me to write down what I think is my main problem right now. I wrote "intrusive thoughts". He thought that was good. He said he doesn't think I'm hallucinating. He checked off lots of things on the form and asked me when I think I should leave. He asked me about my coping skills. I said I wasn't sure that if I went home right now that I could apply the coping skills that we've been working on- that I wouldn't slide back into where I was when I got here. This is my fear, anyway.

Someone got taken down for ECT- electro convulsive therapy. When he got back, I asked him how he was feeling. He seemed a little shaky and not that good, but all-in-all he seemed like he would get better over time. I told him I hoped he felt better soon.

I was woken up at 5:30 by someone taking my pulse oxymeter to check how much oxygen is in my blood, as I have asthma and had the pulmonary embolism a few months ago. As soon as she left, someone else came in and took blood to see how thin it is- the INR. I did manage to sleep another hour or so.

An Occupational Therapist had us play Apples to Apples in Leisure Skills class today. That was fun. That was the same game I played last night with Mom and Nathan, Nataleigh and Noah last night. You laugh and laugh and bond with everybody in the game. Its so nice. And that's the point- to take yourself out of the blah parts of your life. Wish I knew better how to do that and only that. My mom and her husband just won't seem to LET me do that. They constandly demand that I be upset! They complain and won't STOP complaining. Its no wonder I want to run out of my skin and out of my life! *sigh* I can see myself going back there if that all starts up again. I really can. This place is a little utopia. That place is often hell. I wonder if I really ever can get that worked out. I wish I had some music to listen to. I've been musicless for at least four days now. At least Mom and the kids seems to be being nice to me but I just don't know how long it will last.

Today, I feel like I'm in no-man's land. I'm not sick enough to really be that out-of-it, but I'm not well enough to go home. I can think pretty clearly, but yet I'm still going to these classes. I sound better than when I got here, my friends tell me. This is good. But I am still so afraid of being out in the real world. Yet, I want to see my friends so much. I have a visit planned with a few of them and I picture what that will be like. I know I need to be here and I know I need to do what I need to do, but the idea of a calm visit with laughing and some fun meeting-of-the-minds just makes me happy.

My Kids Visited

My mom and kids came to visit just now for about an hour. We played Uno and then Apples to Apples in the community room. As we played, we laughed, and discussed the game and our answers- just like the group did this morning here on the floor! But this was much more special to me because it was my family and especially because it was my kids.

They asked how long I was staying and I said I didn't know. I don't. I'm okay with that for now- especially since I've hugged my kids and laughed with them. My youngest even played the piano for me! I'm tearing up just thinking about it; they're tickling my nose again and warming my eyes.

This is such a short entry for such a big event, but trust me: I am happy. The hugs are immeasurable.

Calmed and Sedated

Already, I can feel the effects of Topomax. I am more tired and more forgetful. I was pretty forgetful in general, but now I go to write something down so I don't forget to do it, and by the time I pick up the pen, I've forgotten when I wanted to write down.

I feel stoned. Time has slowed down. Tick, tick, tick. 5:14. "I was the only one who got a high score of 30. There were three zeros..." My friend is explaining taking an exam in a class about psych. drugs as a prerequisite for the forensics center he worked for for 30 years. Tick. 5:15. "...talking, talking, talking..." I'm staring into space. Not blinking. It feels good. Almost high. The drug is slowing my brain down. I want to sleep. I have been fighting sleep most of the afternoon. Luckily it is almost dinner time right now. My kids are supposed to come visit me sometime this evening. I haven't seen them since Wednesday. Today is Sunday. Everything here is engineered to calm you down. High-definition photographs line the walls- close-ups of dandilions, alovera plants, fall leaves and waterfalls. There are even clear photographs of branches of the tops of trees in the sky set in the ceilings where the lights can shine through.

All of these things calm and sedate me.

Day 3, Changes & Skittles

I just had morning exercises. They are just stretches, but boy do they feel good. On a full belly, even better! I leave there feeling like an early sunrise. Of course, part of that may be the coffee I had with breakfast.

In a few minutes, I am going to what amounts to arts and crafts again. I really enjoyed that the other day. I am looking forward to it.

I woke up to three doctors calling my name. (The sleeping pill did what I thought it would. Oh well.) They asked me how I was feeling and what the date is. I never remember that. I still don't know! They pointed to my dry erase board. D'oh. At least I know what city I'm in and what month it is. I'm getting used to the people here, but since the unit is always full, I know there will be a slow trickle of changes in personel. Now I'm hearing that my roomie is getting discharged. That means a new roomie and a locked bathroom again. When I first got here it was locked. So I have to ask to use the bathroom until they are allowed to have it unlocked, too. Deja vu. I will miss my roommate. She is nice. She said she went through several room mates over the week and a half she was here. Makes me wonder how long they'll keep me. After last night's post, probably not today.

We just had a class on how to deal with stress, basically. What we can do, like reading or journaling, or deep breathing. These are all things I knew, but when you're "in the moment" its difficult. The occupational therapist always plays soothing music- the kind you'd have during a professional massage- during her classes. We talked about being in traffic jams and people who get upset and try to drive up the breakdown lane. We all had to come up with something we could do to help ourselves today. Some people said "read more", some said "journal more", I said, "stop drinking coffee", and one person said, "meet someone". I thought that was cool.

There is a void of time right now. There so little going on that I don't have much to write about. My room has been cleaned. Some people have left on passes. There is earily nobody here. There are hours until dinner time and that's the next thing on my schedule. Its too quiet. However, my friend is coming to visit me and I have The Hot Zone to read and a science magazine, also. I feel okay today. Clean, calm, and yet still unsure about the outside world. Yes, I remember it, but that's not the point. Its where I came from when I got admitted. How soon would I or could I be back there were I to leave the ward today?

One good thing is that if I have a question about my medication, be it a side effect or wanting a dose, I don't have to call and wait for a nurse to call me back; I just have to catch my nurse walking down the hall! How great is that?!

I'm very tired today. Achey. I'm not sure if that's the exercise class from this morning or if that's the new drug I'm on. I'd really love a nap but I'm against naps because they I might not sleep that well at night.

Its still really slow around here. I read more of my book and now got a Discover- one of my favorite science magazines.

The rabbit stayed up late talking and fell asleep at the Mad Hatters'. He was down to a few sticky Skittles and improvised with tinier pieces of his cakes in his pocket, even though his friend with the tall hat told him he didn't need any of those colorful lies- that he aught to try some of his. He politely declined and, in the morning, the rabbit took off to look for more of his colorful discs and a safer place to hang out.

Tiny Cakes with Tiny Forks

I'm up out of bed. I had my cpap on and my puffy air things on my legs (to prevent blood clots) and was comfy and trying to fall asleep. My mind was wandering into dreamland when I kept seeing myself cutting my arms, and thinking of ways to cut my arms: maybe I could get a fork from the kitchen. (There are no knives, obviously.) The thoughts became seductive as they played over and over and in various, colorful ways.

I called my nurse. A sleeping pill has been ordered. We will see if that will help.

Now that I am awake and typing the thoughts aren't playing as much, but if I had a knife... The thoughts are seductive. They are incidious. They sing to me. They call to me. They wrap me in their warmth and tell me how good they are. They tell me how wonderful it will be when we are together.

The rabbit is up telling tales with the Mad Hatter and they are having tiny cakes- with tiny forks.

Day 2, Part 2 - Utopia?

I'm sitting at one of the two computers. Its after dinner. I've had a shower and am dressed in scrubs and a tshirt and the mandatory hospital socks. I was talking with my roommate- who is very nice, by the way- and more and more it seems I'm in a little utopia. A utopia of Kindergarten. My meals are given to me on schedule, I have my own place to nap, I go to various activities throughout the day, people come and tell me "stories", I get little colored "snacks" a few times a day.

Of course, utopia means "nowhere", and this will have to end. I keep thinking about that. What I've inside somewhere kept wishing for I've finally gotten- its too bad things had to get so bad that I'm finally getting help. Who knows how I feel. They keep asking me and right now its pretty good. But I do keep looking out the windows and thinking about flying down. And I do keep thinking about knives and bottles of pills.

A co-live-in, got mad at me at dinner tonight. She said I sneezed and didn't wash my hands. Maybe she's OCD who knows. I told her I'm not sick and she didn't need to worry but she didn't care. Truth is, I have allergies and just sneeze umpteen times anyway, but she wasn't worth my time. It did make me wonder how often the "inmates" fight with each other, though. Haldol all around. lol

My new med, Topomax, is being titrated- i.e. adjusted upward little by little. A friend asked me why they can't just let me go now. I don't think that would be a good idea because when my regular doctor put me on Saphris, I called and called about side effects, as you've read, and things just went down hill. So I think they're taking it slow. There certainly is no utopia in the land of behavioral pharmacology. That said, I do feel better inthat I don't want to cry all the time. The images and thoughts just won't leave my mind. They just call to me. And honestly, I don't know how much things will really, really change when I get home. They are supposed to have a meeting with my mother at some point, but I just don't believe it.

The rabbit is headed through the colored flora toward the Mad Hatter's place for a while. He's brought his Skittles.

Day 2 - Rabbits Don't Cry

So here is day 2. I'm getting used to being here. The people are quite an eclectic mix of shapes, sizes, personalities and diagnoses. They are all pretty friendly. One person told me she is bipolar 2, and another said she is OCD. Another tries to tell fellow patients what to do, including to pray to god. She is constantly talking, especially during mealtimes.

I had my first group this morning. We made art. I colored a welcome mat. Coloring with fabric markers is very soothing. I will have to finish it another day. And later today we get pet therapy! When I saw that I smiled. Its a labradoodle. I also had exercise group first thing this morning and that really helped me feel more settled. It doesn't last forever, but for now I feel okay. After this meeting we're going to in a few minutes, I have an hour of free time. I might call my friend on the phone. It seems I'll be here another few days. A doctor came and talked to me again in general. We talked about Topomax again; I've wanted to be on this for a while because it is weight neutral and it helps with migraines. I am very happy about this new change. We're going to adjust the Topomax up little by little and see if I need the Ativan still. He's also going to keep in touch with my regular pdoc.

All in all, I don't feel judged here by anybody. I don't feel guilty. I don't feel like I'm wrong for anything I do. Everyone is dressed in street clothes, or scrubs and tees and hospital socks. Its all very accepting.

We just had a meeting about the rules here. It seems there are levels. And you earn each level. I'm thinking I'm still the lowest level. Eventually, you can get a pass to go with a staff member outside the locked unit onto other hospital grounds, and then after that you move up to being able to go home for four hours or so. I'm not sure if you need to go with a staff member for that one. It doesn't seem like this is going to be a short trip.

I have been talking with my friends on the phone. Joy was just wonderful. I should really call Karen, too. I can't get ahold of Christine. It means so much to have friends who love you unconditionally!

My mom is going to come later when groups are over.

Last night, I woke up feeling like I had a fever of 104. Turns out, the box part of the plug for my cpap had fallen under my pillow! Not only was it heating me up that much, but the box itself was very very hot. I tried to leave my room to find a nurse, but the door wouldn't open. She did come find me though, so I don't know how that happened. We got the table switched around. Oh, and I have this machine with foam things to squeaze my calves because of my blood clots in my lungs a few months ago. They actually feel good! Nice leg massage while I fall asleep.

So I'm feeling better, but I feel out of touch with my bipolar board friends. One of them has this blog, but I can only hope she is reading it.

At lunch, one woman who swears a lot, called an African American staff member over to sit with her. I was eating my lunch two tables over when I heard her call him a nigger and him start laughing and explain that she can't use that word.

I dunno what I'm gonna do. I still feel anxious. Maybe I should ask for an ativan before the dog comes for pet therapy.

I've seen several doctors so far, but the coolest has been the Attending- a German woman with very short hair named Dr. Music.

Just saw a social worker. I'd seen her before here in the hospital but we couldn't remember where. She was so nice! We discussed eventual transitioning back into real life. She also talked about talking with my mom about what I'll be going through and what I'll need. Gosh I hope that goes well! That sounds just like what I need! Oh... I had Ativan. I do feel quiet a bit better. Yay.

Apparently, we've been on Psych Ward Light this weekend. Monday, the regular staff will be back.

In short, life is becoming predictable here. Food is regularly fed to us. The fridge is stocked with drinks. Its quiet. I know who to go to if a need to find my nurse or to ask a question. My bed is always there. My few things, like my assigned phone is always on my desk. My cpap has been a comfort- that familiar in-and-out of the air when I breathe. I can see why they have to wean you back to real life and why they say you should do regular things and things that you like when you get home. I don't know right now if I know what those things are. I know I like music and listening to music, too. I know I like photography and collecting funny quotes by my kids. Of course, I like adding to this blog about bipolar. I would love to get together with a good friend when I get out. Maybe Ken. My mother is coming a little bit later. At some point the social worker is going to talk with her but I don't think at this point.

Right now, I feel pretty much ok. Like I am past all the trauma and could just go home, but I don't think I could handle it if I jumped back into what brought me here. No way. I miss my kids. I miss their hugs. Thinking about them is making my nose tingle - no don't cry. Rabbits don't cry.

Day 1, Part 4 - A Strange New Flavor

I'm hungry. Waiting for dinner. I found that there's a library here, so what is the first book that catches my eye? The Hot Zone. Its about an outbreak of Ebola in the early 80's. I tried reading but it just made me want to go to sleep, so I came out into the common area. Pretty much, people seem to be watching tv, getting on Facebook, or reading. I guess I'll figure out what group is about when I get there. I might do the stretching in the morning, too.

My bathroom door was unlocked for good. They now trust me not to kill myself, it seems. Even so, everything is battoned down. Ev-er-y-thing. Welded, screwed in, or otherwise enhanced.

Its been snowing. The window has those frozen frosts on it. Its nice to watch the cars drive lackidazically by the hospital under my window.

One of the people who works here just asked me if I wanted to play cards! Yay. I think I will take her up on that when I'm done with this. I wish I weren't so hungry.

So I have bruises on my arms which they had to ask me how I got them. I told them blood draws.

Here I am free yet every move is watched. I don't suppose the keystrokes are being captured on this computer, but you never know.

Its really a lot of nothing going on! Its like a big vacation sleep-over with people you've never met and we all have secret identies. We're even wearing scrubs for pajamas. Well that and the doctors and the drugs, but you get it. I really think it was a good idea to switch my drugs because then the side effects can be watched right here.

One of the best parts about being here is that I can be me. I can feel like my brain is not working, go up to someone and ask a pretty incoherent question and I am met with smiles and help! I am in pajamas all day, and yet so are a lot of people. I get a shower and its a luxury. The din of people talking and shuffling by in their hospital footies is actually not bothering me. The meds must be working.

While some of the patients are friendly, there are some which couldn't be bothered to look your way. Whose idea was it to put a bunch of people with serious mental "challenges" in a small "house" together? We obviously have issues coping. I suppose they just have ways of dealing those that go off track. Haldol and restraints, most likely. Otherwise, its hard to talk about trashy tv shows, or the food, or what someone else typing into a computer like mad.

I have gone from bouncing and running and yelling to wanting to go to bed. I don't think I've had Ativan today. I wonder why.

I feel a little isolated because two good friends didn't want to talk to me about this subject. I don't know what's going on with them, but I wanted to reach out to a friendly voice. Ah- but my friend is going to visit me Sunday, I guess. That will be nice. He was the one who was with me in the ER. My mom came for about an hour this afternoon. She was very nice asking questions about bipolar and how I was feeling. Maybe she finally figured out that this is serious and not an excuse of one type or another.

The Rabbit has been running a lot today and is hungry. There is plenty to eat out in the bounties of colorful foods. He has a lot of questions that are about to be answered about a strange new flavor...

Day 1, Part 3 - The Rabbit is Feeling Fine in the Meadow

I was just interviewed by the doctor. Many questions. He said my thoughts were intrusive. I told him the visions just come back as soon as they go. He also said he doesn't think a med change is going to be possible. Well, not in so many words. He just said I've gone through so many. I didn't really get a clear picture except it seems I'm just still stuck with Ativan and Zyprexa.

Lunch was good. Just cafeteria food, but I did talk with my roomie! The girl I'm rooming with seemed pretty quiet at first but opened up at lunch. We talked about Black Friday shopping and driver's ed. It seems she's 18.

I still feel internally not okay. I just took some Ativan, so I should be feeling a bit better soon. I have nothing to read, but I could try the phone again. My mom might be coming to visit, but another friend can't come until Sunday. I'm bummed about that, but I'll be more used to it then. I think I'm leaving then, but we shall see.

The staff all seem pleasant. Now I'm beginning to worry, after talking to that dr, that I'm making this all up and that I don't really need to be here. That my intrusive thoughts, as he put it, are my fault. I'm not required to do things on my first day. Groups, I mean. Good. I need to get this all out and just talk to family. My mom said she might show up for a visit today! Amazing that I want her here since she frequently annoys me to no end, but when I'm sick she's always good to me. That reminds me: I feel I am constantly criticised at home. I know it can't be true, but that's how it feels. That said, I've had a good last month which is in contradiction with how my mood has gotten worse and worse over that same time period. I cried in my room this morning, so whatever is going on in my mind is still fresh. I wish I had some music to listen to! I can't have anything like that. As I said, this computer is a luxury and just having it is improving my mood. Its funny that I feel good right now- sitting here clean in my scrub bottoms and a tshirt. Its quiet here. The voices are friendly. Everybody is nice to me. There are no relationship expectations. Some of the patients don't seem to want to talk, so I let them be. I think the staff being kind is going to go a long way for me.

Just as I was about to finish this up, two doctors came up to see me. One I'd seen before, but the other was unfamiliar. They took me into a long-desked meeting room and closed the door. The silence was palpable. The first thing the attending said was that she noticed my blog! (The name is big as anything on the top of the screen, after all. She said its a good way to keep events and moods. I agree!) The attending doctor had reviewed with the doctor I'd talked to earlier and we reviewed my case. We eventually came to a compromise of keeping the lithium and low dose of Zyprexa and adding Topomax. I've wanted to try Topomax for quite some time so I was very happy! The attending had mentioned Lamictal, but from what I've read, no. Nevermind that you can get a "bad body rash", as she put it; I think its more like that rare reaction where your skin all sloughs off and you are at risk for everything that happens when you have no skin! No thank you! I am very pleased about the Topomax. Of course, it remains to be seen how I feel on it. I'm happy my meds got changed in the hospital here and that I might actually start to feel better overall.

I swear this blog has kept me together- at least more than I would've have been otherwise. The last three weeks, I've gone down and down gradually. Now I am at least feeling better this afternoon.

The rabbit has had another tiny white crumb to eat,and is feeling fine, passing through the tiny door into the meadow.

Day 1, Part 2 - Don't know Why

I just talked with a long-time friend of mine on the phone. He is nice, but never very supportive of my having bipolar. I had a bit of time between activities. (Next one is a shower, thank goodness.) I called him because, even though we aren't very close, we used to be, and frankly, the only person's number I could remember.

As we talked, I stared out my skinny wide window marvelling at the town, the air from the vents from each building white and billowy. It must be cold out. He was nice enough, but not very supportive. He doesn't believe in mental illness. He thinks that reading a book would fix me. While that might distract me, it won't fix me. I've tried distracting myself for days and it hasn't helped. It comes right back. I stood, staring out the window crying, watching the world go by, the cars inching along. The truth is, I don't know why I'm sad. I don't know why I keep crying. I don't know why I have the visions. I don't know why I sometimes hear the voices. I don't know that I *am* sad. I feel sad, but the thoughts of "this bad thing happened and now I'm sad" are just not there. There is no memory of any sort like that.

At the moment, I feel fine because my sessions on the computer here are my godsend. They are my ticket out into the real world. They help me collect my thoughts so that maybe when the doctors come around to ask me how I fell I can be able to tell them more easily. Maybe my bipolar friend will read it and comment. I really love her. She is a great, supportive person. She and I are there for each other. We normally communicate on another site that I don't remember the password for, so she'll read these or not.

So far, everything seems normal. Nobody screaming. People don't talk much, but its quiet. People are milling from place to place. There aren't people that stand out, yet. Well, there's one: he was in the psych ER with me. He was prescribed Zyprexa I noticed but that's all I know. I don't really relish talking to other people I don't know with psych. issues, mainly because I am at such a low reserve myself that I don't think I'd have that much to give at all. Boy! Do I miss my friend who is also bipolar, Chris. Maybe she will post here. I don't have any other way to contact her right now.

I am scared. I am scared to do therapy. I'm scared to find out why I am feeling the way I do. I think finding out will make it worse. I know that more crying is in my future. If it weren't or writing here, I'd feel very alone.

The rabit just got another round of little tasty Skittles. I like red the best. I wish they'd give me the red ones.

Day One

Its 2 a.m. I'm up in the psych ward chatting with the nurse. She has a LOT of medical questions for me. It must've taken a couple hours to get them all down. I started crying when she asked about suicide; I still see my forearms all bloody. I'm so tired. My nurse asked if I want to be dead but I don't. I just want the internal feelings to stop! The balcony calls to me and the bloody visions replay in my mind like layers of forgotten images. They are pervasive. They chase me! I can't get away.

Now its about 9:30. This room here is just like a regular hospital room, except the bathrooms are locked "until they get to know" me. My room is a standard hospital room except the towel racks are welded shut. The door handle is rounded so you can't hang anything by it. The windows have another window around them so you can't climb out. Shoes and shirts and sweathirts aren't allowed to have strings. (Though, oddly, my CPAP machine is allowed to have a power cord and my tongue still has its piercing!) The toilet has a tall metal tank that couldn't be opened; it flushes with a button. The shower head is rounded off. There's a big, red digital clock on the wall at night in our room. The door gets closed. The bathroom is still locked. My meds get delivered at various times. No med changes yet. I'm supposed to go to group soon. The bloody visions make me feel better somehow. They take away the horrible feeling from the Saphris. I have stopped wanting to scream and run. The feeling has been taken over by an odd calm of I'm-not-here.

I am wearing hospital pajamas. My only clothes pretty much. They took all my things after wanding me down. I do get visiters- longer hours today. My first thing to do after my computer time is some stretching/exercise. The windows are at least a foot thick; they've got every angle covered, it seems- literally. The trash cans are lined with paper bags. Eating breakfast, I was strangely quiet and slow. Nobody's talked to me except the staff. Not even the guy that guy a room a few hours before I did whom I saw in the ER.

Everything is moderated around here. I don't know what's on my list of things to do. I really do not like groups. Oh well. Part of me just wants to go home now. I've had sleep and breakfast and now I'd like to go home, please. The doors are locked and you might not even get out if there were a fire.

I haven't met anybody but I'm sure group will take care of that.

I am not sure how I got this way. Why I feel suicidal. They ask me if I want to die and I say no, but inside somewhere I do. Think of your kids, they say. Yes. That one thing. You see, its not matter of, "Think of Disney World! Don't you want to stay alive for Christmas? You're a talented photographer..." etc. The problem is that my mind can't think that way. The part of me that wants to jump off a balcony doens't necessarily want to die. I don't have a thought in my head that I want to die therefore I need to do x, y, and z. Something just makes me cry on top of being in a surreal place where dead seems normal. The thoughts and images just keep playing.

I have three days to figure this out. There isn't really an "or". Or, I have to follow-up with my psych doctor? I'm lost. I know where my bedroom is. I know where the lunch room is. I don't know what anybody else is doing. So for now, I'm still confused, but I feel well-rested and well-fed and hey those are big things.

The rabit has found the small door at the bottom of the hole. The mirror is strangely missing. She is given many tiny cakes to eat throughout the day. Lots of pretty colors. Many many colors. Dressed up, in that tiny place- the dark dank smell. Searching for the right pill to fit through that door.

Down the Rabbit Hole

I'm at the hospital. I've been here in the psych ER since last night.I slept in the back room and snored without my cpap. I'd begun to feel a need to leave my own body. I couldn't run fast enough. I began to have thoughts of harming myself so I went with a friend to the bookstore. (See previous post). When I got home, the thoughts wouldn't leave of my own bloody wrists and of jumping off the balcony at the bookstore. I started to make preparations to cut myself and to take pills. My friend told me to get two ice cubes and hold them in my hands as long as possible. This was supposed to distract me. It did but briefly. At my -also bipolar 1- friend's suggestion I finally gave up and called the psych ER.

I've been here for almost 24 hours now. I've told them my tales about the voices telling me that I'm evil and to kill things etc. They thought long and hard and they are searching for an available bed at any hospital in the area. This is usually the case: rooms fill up and you have to take the first available rather than your home hospital.

Last night, I was awoken from sleep in a backroom of the ER here- the kind with the thick, riveted double-pained windows. I was given my pills one by one in a tiny clear cup by an unknown man in scrubs. As I picked up each colorful shape, I wondered which kind it was and what it would do....Alice. Yes, Alice, will we be falling down the rabbit's hole again? Shades of the rainbow passing me by, nothing familiar yet strangely I am passive to the process. I swallow, one hue after another: Will we walk through that looking glass into de-realization, floating through what passes for life, but which is really just a simple illusion of my mind? Whichever is the case, two of those pills were double-strength Ativan. Two employees came to me this morning joking about my snoring. Funny thing is, I didn't wake myself up from it.

They feed me here but that's about it. There's a tv, but the shows leave much to be desired. Someone else has the remote. That and I just don't have the attention span for such things lately. I'm entertaining myself by writing this on my Mom's iPhone. A luxury which will go away once I'm admitted. Actually, now I'm editing on my friend's laptop. What a joy!

Since I took the pills, I feel tired, even since I woke up. The voices and thought have slowed way down. I think if I can't get my iPod to work at the new hospital, I will have to ask for pad and paper but who knows how strict they'll be. It may have to all be retrospective.

I talked with plenty of doctors and social workers. I told them my stories, everything in the last few posts here. One touched a nerve and I just kept crying and every time she asked me what was wrong I just started crying more. She did touch a nerve: I started thinking about how I was rejected for music school this past June; that it was all politics; that its one of my oldest passions. I seem to cry easily these days. I hadn't cried for months!

I'm wearing a green band on my wrist. Its electronic. It goes of if I even think about going near the exits. It's for people who are a suicide risk. I also and wearing my pajamas- have been the whole time I've been here. And the bottoms have a big hole in the rear. Oh well!

My mom stopped by today to bring me my CPAP, chargers for my ipod and phone, and a fresh set of clothes. I don't know if I'll be allowed to bring the ipod and phone with me, but I have them even so.

I would say that right now, twenty-four hours in,I feel tired and a bit anxious about how this is going to be. Its a 3- or 4-day inpatient here at the hospital. I got lucky that they found a bed for me in the same hospital as this ER. I'm happy about that. Friends tell me that I'll be much happier for it and that it won't change who I am. I worry that I won't be creative anymore or that I'll be "fixed" and that I won't have any more entries to make in my blog! In reality, my meds need fixed and this is something a doctor said to me yesterday. They just aren't working well since I went off the Saphris and there needs to be one - or maybe two- found that make me feel better. I still am having those thoughts that I was, but they are quieter than they were. Wonder what the people "upstairs" will be like. Oh gosh! I'm not good at dealing with other mentally ill people. I have enough on my plate. And I don't much like groups, but whatever. I'll live through it, I'm sure.

When I got wheeled out of the psych ER, they had forgotten to remove my electronic green band, so a voice over a speaker said, "A patient has left the area... A patient has left the area..." At least now we know what that sounds like. Nobody came running after me.

Crying. So Mixed Up.

Went to movies with My youngest. Feel anxiety.  Feel restless.  I need to take my Ativan.  When I feel this way, I feel the need to get out of here.  I can't stand being in my body.  I feel very uncomfortable.  I need to hurry through whatever I'm doing.  I can't get my food eaten - it comes to a standstill because I can't possibly go that quickly.  I should take my Ativan but I'm at a restaurant and that means I need to drive.  I am already bouncing a lot.  It's a feeling like I need to run outside of myself.  I would've thought this feeling would be gone by now.  I still need to do an errand after this.  Kids have the day off hence why I'm going to the movies. Need to scream but when I take the Ativan I feel very slow and like I want to sleep for hours.  What a choice!!!  I start to take a drink of my diet Pepsi and I need to be done when I just started.  I have no patience!  It almost feels like mania but without the need to talk.  I'm just very uncomfortable.  My legs are shaking again.  What a choice!  I have to drive after this and getting a DUI would be very bad.  

I got home and my mother's idiot husband began giving me his holier-than-thou-fuck-you face.  I had visions of last time I went to the psych ER over something similar. He was yelling at my daughter that her room needs cleaned right this minute (because family is coming over tomorrow  for Thanksgiving).  The attitude, the indignant face.  The fact that he annoys me to no end!  Last time I was in the ER was because I fell into a puddle of sobbing.  I am not doing that now but I am having those feelings of wanting to kill.  The situation at least but I can't stand when people treat my children horribly and then dismiss me.  I hate it.  Plain and simple, I hate it. I am already not feeling well.  Thoughts are going downhill.  I managed to take my youngest out to eat after a movie but as you read above my sense of reality is askew.  Oh dear.  Is Ativan my cure-all?  Why couldn't the Saphris have worked?  I can clean my room as that seems to be-all around here.  Not that it's really that dirty.  One of my best friends seems to have shut his phone off all day.  I want to cry and scream.  I'm scared.  The back-up beeping of the truck a few doors down is stabbing bloody holes in my ear.

I called the psych ER and they talked with me.  I cried as I talked.  That's the first time in months that ive even remotely felt sad. I cant stand this. The ER woman Said to call my psych dr.  So now we're waiting for that.  Could be 2 or 3 hours.

I feel like I do t know what is coming next.  I'm crying.  I was crying on the phone to my psych dr.  She said I need to get through this feeling with Ativan.  Twice a day.  That and getting away from my mom's husband are the only ways to cope.  She said to go to the hospital of I have feelings of needing to kill people.  Right now I can't stand being in my own body.  I cried to my pdoc on the phone and I'm crying now. It's been so long since I've cried.  And I feel like my only choice is to take Ativan and hope I feel better.  That taking Ativan is my only choice and that means I can't do anything or go anywhere unless I'm with a friend who drives me.  I feel like I don't know what is coming next- I don't know my own mind.  And it will take a week for the Saphris to get out of my system.  My friend who usually is around isn't today.  I'm talking to him. Crying.  he's in another town.  Another friend is picking me up.   Yay!  I think it's time for Ativan.  Tired of crying. Hopefully no more to add but we'll see.  I could really use a hug.

The nurse at the ER and my pdoc both said that I should get out of the house.  So I go to walk out the door and get the evil eye from my mother as she stomps up the stairs.  I yelled up after her that my doctor ordered me to get out by myself.  I don't think it helped very much but damn it I need to take care of myself! Having visions of bloody wrists. Mine!  The bookstore has been good.  Mocha coffee with very little chocolate.  Side of ice water.

I rode the escalator up to the second level of Barnes and Noble.  I searched for books on bipolar.  The same usual suspects: Cheney and Jameson.  I walked to the balcony between the down and up escalators.  I looked over.  I heard a man's voice say, "Don't do that; that's dangerous.". Behind him was his 2-year-old son.  I left the area to look for the afford-mentioned books only to return to the circular glass-and-metal balcony again.  Looking down, I was mesmerized by the people who could not see me.  I saw my leg reaching up and over the glass wall, then, of me falling down down....  I remembered the bloody wrists and hands. Completely covered in blood from elbows to mid-fingers. The thought comforted me. I saw myself climbing over the balcony; it was as if I could not stop myself. I drew my leg up... My mind was now not mine.  And yet on Ativan my brain is askew.  Caught between insanity at home and the supposed need for the psych ER.  Ativan is keeping me together- at least I hope.  A friend online who is also bipolar suggested that I'm in a mixed episode.  I won't discount anything.  The lighting of the store is wintry and crisp.  The book shelves are all taking on a surreal form.  The world I am in which is a dream.  This is called derealization and I know it's not good but I am here nevertheless.  The only thing that can save me is Ativan.  Drug me so I can't move.  Well guess what? I can still move!  My thoughts are still here.  I just feel less anxious.

This internal feeling is unbearable! Tried to cut. Nothing sharp enough. I just want this feeling gone! The cutting can deliver me from this horridness! I want to take pills. Anything! I did the ice- held it in my hands. My hands hurt. Distraction. I still can't stand this feeling! Nobody at the per gets it. My pdoc thinks I need to just get through it with Ativan. I took the Ativan!!

Anxiety - Drug Reaction. Voices again. Akathisia.

Feeling extremely anxious today. Internal crappy. Fear. Looked in Saphris handout. It said to call dr immediately. Waiting to hear back. I want to cry but nothing is sad. I want to scream but I'm not scared. I do have a feeling of impending doom though. I will make it through this!

I talked to the psych ER nurse who talked to a dr. I'm stopping Saphris and keeping Zyprexa and adding Ativan until the morning when I call her. An update after that.

I took Ativan and am in bed with a heating blanket. I am feeling much more relaxed.

It's the next day and I've been a bit hypomanic all day. Had a good yet flighty conversation out at lunch today. I am very bouncy. Not very poetic. Part of that is typing this on my iPod today. Waiting for my nurse practitioner "pdoc" to call me back. I left a message for her this morning.

Also, I heard the voices again last night. Not hearing them now, though. Wait, wait, wait for the phone to ring...

Was leaping about the kitchen as I started putting the chicken cooking. No call. No call. Well, there's always the PER if things get to where I can't stand them. Ativan later tonight, again. I want to scream but am not. I can't get my thoughts out typing at a snail's pace!

I am sitting here swinging my leg over and over. Im having repetitive thoughts that I am evil. I want to scream. I want to attack people. But it's all in my mind. I feel very ill-at-ease. I need to cry. Inside, I have such internal restlessness and I can't get it out of me! I feel evil. Those thoughts telling me that this is ok!!! I need help. Oh help. Just like my manic posts: oh help!

My dr called back and I missed the call! She is going to try again any minute which is why I'm trying to get this down on a laptop. What I typed before that got eaten by my ipod: I called the psych ER. I told them that I hear voices now telling me to kill things. They aren't voices outside my head as before, but like a separate "internal voice" lives inside my head with mine. I can't sit still. I am buzzing inside so much! Waiting for the call.... I can see more ativan in my future. Maybe even a PER visit. Won't know until the phone rings rings rings rings... I don't know why the voice said to kill things. I think I want to kill this feeling is what I want to kill. I don't feel angry at all. Oddly lucid.

My doctor called. She says I have akathisia. That's what the internal restlessness is. She said the thoughts aren't psychosis but part of the akethesia. She said if I think I'm going to act on them, I need to go to the ER. So far, I'm not. What I AM going to be is sedated as she wants me to take 1 mg twice a day of Ativan. Then I see her relatively soon. In the meantime I'm still on the lower dose of Zyprexa. No more Saphris. Oh well. Back to the drug drawing board. Back to drugging me so I can't act on things - my thoughts. I hate that I am my brain. This feeling is so uncomfortable, that my brain told me to kill things. I dunno why it did that. Of course, she said I need to go to the ER, but she says she doesn't think they're psychosis. We're thinking that the Ativan will slow me down enough that this feeling with go away. For now. Then I take more Ativan in the morning. Oh joy. Every day until I see her again and we pick a NEW brain-altering drug!

The Spider and the Fly

"Come into my parlour, said the spider to the fly..." "Oh what a tangled web we weave, when at first we practice to deceive."

I'm feeling irritated at the moment. I am not sure why. My day has gone well. When I get to thinking, and other people are trying to distract me, I feel irritable. I wrote about this before, but today I'm even more so. I am trying to write and can't! So I'm telling you that I'm irritated. Earlier, I lost something- AGAIN! I lost my debit card. After losing my purse twice, now I lose this! I called and cancelled it, of course, but this losing things is starting to get to me. My new card is ordered, and in the meantime I have to use cash. I am constantly checking if I have my purse, and keys and phone.

I don't fully understand it, but my mind just feels like it isn't completely paying attention to what it should. Its dull. Its distracted. Its the brain drugs, I'm sure. Even now, I can't seem to write a proper entry in my blog.

Here I sit at the bookstore, feeling that sanguine feeling - my brain is a syrupy, bloody mess of thoughts that were- thoughts that can't quite make it to my typing fingers. In this way, the drug is the spider, weaving lies at me of thoughts that seem believable, but which lie in the tangle of synapses that are my mind. I cannot believe the impedance of information that my supposed lack of thought creates.

What am I to do when I cannot believe the one thing that is supposed to never fail me? When do I begin to follow the singing of the drug in my dendrites, rather than the cooing psychoses in my ears?

This few days without those whispers calling to me has been sad. I need the fly buzzing in my ear, saying, "Oh, no no!" refusing to submit, yet she cannot help herself. She is gone, yet she is here. She is always here. Talking to me. Telling me unintelligible things; comforting me. She will be caught. She can only submit. She knows no other way. And she therefore will eventually cease to exist.

The spider dances across his webs, teasing those who might take a trip into his notation. "Come into my parlour..." he says. It is a soft, comfortable place to be, that web, and yet the fly falls in again. Her wings buzz, singing to me her song. Vibrating one dendrite, over and over, the others singing in synchrony. What is that she says? I don't know. She is telling me something again and again. I cannot understand her, as she drones to herself "Oh no no... Oh no no..."

The thoughts now coalesce into unison. A warm, soothing unison. A comfortable winging of churning thoughts. Down, down, down... into the parlour.

Second Dose of Saphris

I've taken two doses of the new drug in the last 16 hours- one at 9:30 p.m. and one at 10 a.m. I got a few text messages on my phone around 10:30 last night and woke up enough to read them and fall back asleep. What seemed like a few minutes of willing myself to reply was really about half an hour. I replied that I was sorry but I was too sleepy and that was that until 9 a.m. when my alarm went off.

By 9:30 a.m., I was awake enough to watch some t.v. At 10 o'clock, I took the second dose and promptly fell back asleep until 11:30 when my alarm went off again. Yesterday, I was up at 7:00 without a problem, so this is a big change. I made myself get up so that I could go out with my friend to lunch.

At lunch, I explained to one friend that I am on a new anti-psychotic and it will take a bit for my body to adjust. She seemed understanding, but this isn't the first time I've mentioned being bipolar to her, either. So, I sat and stared quite a bit of the time while I drank my two cups of coffee. The talk around me was warming as I listened to the snippets of each conversation along the stretched-out table of 11. I got up to take a walk outside because I was feeling like I could fall asleep at any moment. The air outside was cool, crisp, and blew lightly into my face. I was awake again! It felt good- a happy, settled feeling.

After I circled the building, I went back inside, thinking of how I've felt this morning. The tip of my tongue went numb after I took each dose of the new med. I felt tired, but not like I'd been out and about all day, but like it was 2 a.m. and I just had missed my bedtime. My heart beat faster. I'd had more sleep than the last week, and yet I was this sedated. As I sat and stared out the window, I turned my head toward my left and the room turned slightly with me. How do I feel? Drunk! Slightly, but drunk. The room followed me like pulling taffy behind my head and back again.

The longer I get away from a dose, the better I feel. I still am only at my first day on this, so I'm sure I will have plenty more before I begin to feel back to my normal self. For now, its not as bad as I'd thought. I can still write. I can still talk. I'm just much slower. Its as if someone turned the turntable down from 45 to 33 1/3. Its still the same song, just slower and lower. Let's see how I make it back to a place where 33 1/3 feels okay. Maybe even a place where 33 1/3 feels like 45 and I'm okay with that.

The Storm Before the Calm

One of my best friends says that I aught to write a post before I go on the Saphris. Over the last fifteen days, I've written a post a day. Very prolific! Once I go on the Saphris, I may be too sedated to write, or at least write as creatively, so from here on out, consider my posts as evidence of my last post: See just what this new drug does to my brain. I will make every effort to post here tomorrow afternoon after lunch with friends. (My friend here is driving me!) My first dose of the drug is tonight and the second is tomorrow morning. No matter how I feel, I will try to type SOMEthing so that you can see how I am feeling during a new med. change.

This has been The Storm Before the Calm!

This is My Brain. This is My Brain On Drugs.

Today, I got a new prescription from my psychiatrist: Saphris. Its a new drug to replace Zyprexa, since I've had muscle twitching- including my tongue!- since going on the double dose a month ago or so. Its in the same family: atypical antipsychotic. (I thought about going on Haldol, a typical antipsychotic, but we decided its not right for me since it is known to produce twitching.) Its apparently a cousin of Zyprexa, but we're hoping the side effects will be better. Back when I started the 5 mg of Zyprexa, I was VERY sedated. I was awake, but just barely, and when I was, I happily stared out the window at the rain coming down. My doctor says I'll have some of this with the Saphris until I get used to it.

Some days I feel this way all day. My mind is not only a blank, but it just feels gone. A feeling of MY not being there, in addition to the void that is my consciousness. Its a comfortable feeling, as the rest of the world seems gone, too, pretty much. It is here that I feel not at peace, but basically nothing. The lack of bad things then feels "good".

My brain does this on its own, but it also does this on drugs. While watching the rain fall down the canvas umbrellas outside, I was completely taken in by the medium-sized drops coalescing into big drops as they languidly drew down the fabric. I was perfectly happy to continue this forever. My sense of time disappeared. It is sort of like when I travel to a new town. Everywhere is new to me; you'd think that this would be anxiety-provoking, but its actually calming: I am somewhere where nothing is expected and where the rules can be suspended - if only for a few minutes. The space inside the world seems bigger- the space surrounding my person is infinite.

So what is the bipolar and what is the drugs? Its hard to say, sometimes. I know that I will have increased sedation when starting an anti-psychotic, as this is their function: to put the old Dolby Noise Reduction over your brain and dampen down the messages. This is how they work: quieting the noise that is constantly bubbling, bouncing, and piping. Sometimes, I actually can't put two words together. I drop words as if they didn't exist anymore and I cannot go back and retrieve them. Not only is stuttering a problem, as I explained in a previous post, but the wrong words come out! Words that I didn't even realize I was thinking about. I think this disconnect is the one of the most difficult things to understand: How can you say a word you weren't even thinking about? Well, I was, obviously, or I wouldn't have said it, but things are so disconnected in my brain, that it is as if I am not my brain. What a liar! Bipolar is a LIAR! It makes my brain tell me things that are not true at all, from hallucinations, to believing that people are out to harm me.

Back around 2006, I was put on Celexa, which is an antidepressant. This was about six months before I was diagnosed as bipolar. I drove myself to Wendy's. I had no memory of driving there. I stared at the menu as the gears turned in futility while I read the items one by one and couldn't figure out what they were or what this place did! I walked down a hallway and tried to replay my trip there and to figure out what I was doing and how I was supposed to do it but I could not. Also, I had a complete lack of emotions. Zero. Zip. Zilch. An odd lack of sensation indeed! Something in the back of my brain said to call my psychiatrist- so I did. She got very concerned and said I shouldn't have been driving! Well, now I can't take Celexa because it makes me hypomanic, but this is another example of how drugs really can affect your ability to function.

Eventually, the side effects of the drugs may wear off and I can finally see the real me. Well, the real bipolar me. I think it is a mix between both most of the time. A continuum. The drugs supposedly return me to a "normal" state, but as I've written in recently days, my brain is far from what most people would consider normal. And that's okay. I'm funny, creative, silly, and kind. I credit some of this to being bipolar. I just see things differently. My ability to be empathetic also allows me to form closer friendships. I will probably never be medication-free - I just go downhill too quickly. It is a mixture and a balance- me, things bipolar helps with like creativity, and who I've always been.

This is my brain and this is my brain on drugs.

I Am An Alien Castrato

Many times, I have thought that I am an alien. I am so different from everybody else that I feel like another species on another planet.

People cannot relate to me- sometimes, even my psychiatrist can't, and she is supposedly schooled in these things. But aha- knowing what it is like and actually LIVE it- therein lies the rub, as they say. Today I found interesting author, Stanley Victor Paskavich, who writes of being bipolar, "I feel sorry for every therapist, psychologist, and psychiatrist I've ever met. I know I've put thoughts in their mind they will never forget".

Yesterday, I listened to an old recording of a famous singer named Alessandro Moreschi. He is famous for one thing: Being "the last castrato". In short, he had his testicles removed as a boy in order to preserve his treble voice indefinitely. This Edison cylandar was recorded over 100 years ago when he was 46 years old! He wasn't the only castrato living at the time, but certainly the youngest, and hence the "only" one. What must he have felt to be unlike everyone around him? Then again, this is all he knew; the operation took place when he was a young boy. Hearing that a man had his "balls" removed is an idea that most people have a hard time getting their minds around- those "thoughts in their mind they will never forget".

I don't feel much different than Moreschi must have. I sing my songs to the world every day. In fact, I am compelled to. This is what I must share with those around me. And yet, I share confusing things- scary, yet beautiful things. I sacrifice the self I could have been, for the self I know in my heart I always have been. I am an alien. I am that castrato spinning hauntingly beautiful tones, one by one, blended together at the edges seamlessly.

Moreschi did have other castrato camerades. They were many years older, and apparently not solo quality when Fred Gaisburg came to record the Pope in 1902. All these years later, we can't know the true sound of Moreschi and his choir mates of the day, as the recording techniques were in their infancy. We simply do not have the experience of hearing a live castrato. This was the Sistine Chapel Choir's only way preserving and communicating their sound and thereby allowing us in the future to "travel back in time". I think Paskavich was onto something, when he said, "The greatest communication barrier known to man is the lack of the common core of experience. 'When's the last time you had a Manic Episode Doctor?'" When is the last time you heard a castrato?

I post on a bulletin board for those with bipolar. It is here that I don't feel so much of an alien. Those members of my choir that I can sing with. As a group, we help each other with our experiences or just a kind ear; I've also made a couple very close friends with whom I can share anything. After I wrote the entry on creativity, my dearest friend on the board, having read the entry said that she isn't creative. I had a hard time believing this. She said she had made some jewelry and it just wasn't her thing. I told her that she may not be good at arts and crafts, but she *is* good at empathy and being a good friend. Two soloist singing to each other. Different tunes, but same words.

As for being aliens, we aren't really. We can walk among the others and "pass" quite easily. And we need time apart from them and the board to show us what the rest of the world is like. We are always singing our bipolar arias to the universe- always walking through time moment by moment, sharing our songs through the hours, days, years and- if we're lucky- the centuries.

Bipolar & Creativity

I was thinking about writing this entry and looked up "bipolar creativity". It seems that many bipolar people have written about this subject. One person suggested that we see things differently than other people which lends itself to writing differently than others. I'd have to agree. I have always seen things differently than others. As a pre-teen, I told myself that I'd never forget how it is to be a kid! And, in some respects, I haven't. I still see tiny worlds inside other bigger worlds; this is one reason I love photography: I see the outer ring, the middle ring and the inner ring of a photograph and capture each photo to emphasize the ring that speaks to me the most. I love capturing emotions of people through pictures- capturing "them". Its easier to do with your own children or others you know well, but there is a pattern that develops over time, too.

These patterns of every-day life follow me around. I can stare at a certain color purple, for example, because its just that much deeper, or more royal, or it takes me back to a memory which seems pre-verbal; I am transfixed!

This phenomenon is not limited to sights, but extends to sounds. I've been posting a lot lately about hallucinations because I've been having them more. I am very sensitive to nuances of sound, and this may be part of the hallucinations. Even when hearing "tangible" sounds, my brain sorts them into pitches, phrases, repeated tones or sounds. Some days, its pretty harmonious. On the other hand, I can get the opposite effect: sounds are not filtered or categorized; each individual noise is played at once- people talking to each other; footsteps on the ground; clanking of forks against plates... In fact, the din of a restaurant can be so overwhelming that I have to leave. I can hear each voice, each word, every breath almost, and everybody is at their maximum volume. I cannot sort. I cannot distinguish. I am absolutely flooded with a cacophony of crassness against my person. I am being mauled. I am scared. I am anxious. I must run but I can hardly move. I can hardly breathe. You might think that this is agoraphobia, but it is not; I have no problem with the space I'm in of itself.

It is with these tools, though, that I am at an advantage. I can see the photograph in my head before it occurs. I know what he or she is about to do next. When I look back, I can see that I've always been this way. I was writing poetry when I was 12; taking photographs- albeit simple ones on a 110 camera- at age 10.

Sometimes, when I am in a manic state, -See posts from September here for more detail- the world almost melts - the colors are more vivid, the textures more defined, the coolness or warmth of an object magnified. I am in my own world. A new world. One filled with eternity.

At one point, I thought to myself, "I know the thread that binds my life together!" Of course, looking back, it was a bit manic, I admit. But there is still some truth to it. I have always been me. The way I see the world has not changed. I am just learning to mold my creative thoughts through practice of the years. The me that is here today is the me that has always been. Creative. And though I was not diagnosed as bipolar, I know that some of that was there long before.

So again I ask: Is it me or is it the bipolar? Are we the same, or am I separate from my diagnosis? I would have to say there is a duality. I am me. I am always me. Bipolar is part of me. I am part of the bipolar. But I am not exclusively one or the other. Some bipolar people are adamant that they "HAVE" bipolar and others say they "ARE" bipolar. When it comes to creativity, I AM bipolar. I cannot disconnect the two. Here are a few famous people were supposed to have bipolar: Abraham Lincoln; Agatha Christie; Buzz Aldrin; Carrie Fisher; Jim Carey; Marilyn Monroe; Ozzy Osbourne; Plato; Robin Williams; Vincent Van Gogh; Winston Churchill; Drew Carey; Edgar Poe; Virginia Wolf; Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart.... And many more.

Tying these ends together gives me a bigger picture of what makes me, me. People have always loved my piano playing, my singing, my writing, and my photography. And I love them because they are intertwined into me at the core: The creative me; the bipolar me.

This Blog

I am a member of a bulletin board on Bipolar. People from all over- South Africa, Australia, Canada, United States- post there. Some people have bipolar 1, and some of have bipolar 2. (I have bipolar 1; bipolar 2, has little to no mania, but CAN have hallucinations during a depressive episode.)

We post anonymously.

This blog is anonymous and gets a small number of page views. As I've said before, its mainly for me to get my thought out and for the few that read its for them to understand the bipolar part of me better.

That said, the very nature of this blog is that it is personal. I am writing from the heart. The inner-most thoughts I have I put here. Being bipolar is not generally seen as okay in our society. What's more, people think it means any number of things which it does not. They think you change moods from one minute to the next. While that might be true for some people with ultra-rapid cycling bipolar, its not true of me.

Its also- like schizophrenia- somewhat of a thought disorder. Yes, I know its a mood disorder mainly, but as you can read in this blog, my brain takes off and I sometimes have a hard time catching up to it - to rein it back in! The racing thoughts are part of the mania, but the mania is not the racing thoughts. Let me say that again: they are not the same! There are days where I start feeling like the world is not real around me and that's a very bipolar thing but I wouldn't say its because I suddenly started feeling "happy". Conversely, feeling suicidal is not necessarily a feeling of "I hate life; I wanna die!" (As an aside, it can be a feeling of, "Yes. That would be interesting. Dead. Huh...." with no emotion attached whatsoever!") Luckily, I haven't had a depressive episode in quite a long time.

Back to what I was saying, this blog is for me to get my thoughts out. I feel better when I've done so. Its for my friends to maybe understand the bipolar part of me a bit better. (There is more to me than bipolar!) So I worry that they won't like what they read? Yes! They might shy away from me, or get upset, or misinterpret, or use against me, or think badly of me, be scared of me... The list goes on. It can happen. But those who are true true friends will not have any of these things happen. They will read this blog and look at me and still love me. Still, despite, even though, even through, within up, within down, and just plain with- will still love me.

Stuttttttering Thththoughts

Not only do I blank out on words lately- just can't think of a word, or a name, or a place, or an idea- but I stutter. It may be a side effect of the upped Zyprexa dose. My brain is a big void while my tongue and lips stutter; its as if I can't find the word and when I do, it comes out in collective pieces of scraps, falling on the floor in a flow of discarded chaff.

Its very a... n n noying. Its as if I have aged 50 years. (If I'm lucky to make it another 50!) Eventually, people understand what I might mean and we move on. On the other hand, I can find myself with a disposal of seemingly hundreds of synonyms- five- and ten-dollar words as easy as falling into a grand pool, cascading into swirling goodness.

It doesn't matter what words I forget, as I invariably pick others, usually in the form of an ebullient slide of many smaller words that are never as descriptive as that original word would've been.

What's more, both of these states can occur within hours or even moments of each other. I gain or lose IQ points within one phrase, even stopping in the middle and having no clue what I had just been talking about- not even a reference point.

You might say that this is because I am getting older. I'll take credit for some of that, but I cannot discount the effect that racing thoughts of hypo/mania has on keeping track of what you're thinking. Moreover, the drugs used to slow your thoughts down- the chemical Dolby Noise Reduction known as anti-psychotics- really do their job well. They now don't zip by in the least- and hey, who cares anyway, right? I remember seeing my ex-husband's cousin when we were all in our mid-20's. He came downstairs very tired-looking, sat in a chair, stared into space for fifteen minutes or so and returned back upstairs. I never gave it much thought until I was put on Zyprexa. Turns out, he is Schizophrenic, and was very drugged after attempting suicide. (Among other things, that outside the realm of my blog.) I never dreamed that that might one day be me.

Luckily, the effect of the drugs even out after a while. The zombified feeling gradually ebbs. (I wish it wouldn't have its affinity for putting on weight. It interacts with your body in such a way that it stores fat more than you normally would.)

What's more, your thoughts can just hang in mid-air; just sitting there, they and you staring off into space and completely disappear. No clawing back to get them to return. No amount of your friend saying, "You were talking about..." will help. Its just gone.

And sometimes, as I said, you can seem like an absolute genius with a torrent of words pouring out of you.

Which one is the real you? Both. Sometimes all thoughts that would come flowing out just get stuck at your lips. Stut-ter, stttutter.... And sometimes they just go. And sometimes five minutes later, you utter a phrase which your friend thinks is absolutely brilliant!

Hallucinations yet again

They are back. Scratchy. Almost-perceptible. I still think its something in the tv. In this show. Getting bored. They should at least say something! Like an old recording playing on an old phonograph with a horn. I'm beginning to think they're my fault somehow. I'm anxious and sad. All these things seem non-congruent. Wonder what a fMRI would look like of my brain.

Jobs

Bipolar people have an issue with jobs. I am not certain why, exactly, but I have come across this issue when reading bulletin boards on the subject.

I would guess that the issue might be that mood episodes just do not go well with doing work well, or, moreover, that having a mood episode while at work is just plain disruptive. Its not only disruptive, but confusing for everyone else. They don't live in your head, as a bipolar person; you're used to it; they are not.

As a result of this, the resume of a bipolar person can be spotty and speckled. I've been "fired" from jobs, without actually being formally fired. I think this a new thing- so they don't have to pay unemployment. I heard of one manager getting sued by the next person she did this to! Why didn't *I* think of that?

Currently, I have no job. I'm glad I didn't back a few months ago when I was manic. If you read those posts, you can see just how disruptive that would be to a job, never mind everyday life. This isn't to say that, when in remission, bipolar people aren't productive human beings. It just means that some days, you might hallucinate at work and have to think about the cost-benefit analysis of continuing to work in that way, or should you say you're sick and risk being labeled a lazy liar.

Jobs are very good for someone with bipolar. It helps with keeping a regular schedule, which help with mood stabilization; a sense of purpose also does wonders.

If, however, you cannot track thoughts because of a mood episode- say, mania- then you just can't. This conflict of "should I say something or not" is difficult and depends very much on the job and the relationship with the boss and coworkers. Some managers are empathetic and kind, while others see you as a cog in a wheel. Its hard, too, when you work somewhere where skill is NOT paramount, but showing up is; you can get replaced very easily and so they are not as likely to be empathic to your specific situation. I had this happen at a job where I was feeling what I thought was a reaction to a medication I was on, and even though I called my doctor and did what I thought was reasonable to this end, the job still decided I was dispensable- even though I was a hard worker!

Should someone with bipolar hold down a job? Of course! There are people with the disease in countless fields. Sometimes, bipolar can be of benefit at work. If you're hypomanic, you're likely to be very productive and organized. How great is that? The problem is, that hypomanic won't last forever. It might turn into a mixed episode, or maybe manic, when hyper-organization turns into buzzing chaos.

What can we do? Talk to your therapist or social worker about this; they have many resources. Try to recognize the symptoms of an episode and head them off at the pass. Be the best employee you can be. Mainly, though, treat yourself well by getting enough sleep, and keeping up on your appointments and medications. These are things we CAN control. A job is a source of great pride and it can be reconciled with the symptoms of bipolar. Keep notes of resources and coping techniques, in case they become needed. Keep the lines of communication open with your friends and family. When these things are done, little things that might come up at work become something to work though, instead of a major deal.

If, after all this has gone on, you still end up not working out with a job, go apply for another.

Feeling Calm

Ever since I last saw my therapist, I've felt calm. Well, except when I lost my purse at the mall Saturday. It's been nice. Made it easier to deal with the anxiety that may have surfaced.

Bipolar Country

This will be a bit off-topic, but maybe not really.

What is it about taking two opposing sides and pitting millions of people against each other? Is there no common ground? None? Facebook, last night, was filled with elated and pissed people. And then people are un-friending each other because of the election results!

What is the psychology of suddenly hating your friend because they don't agree with you? Last month, you had coffee together perfectly well. And now all the polarizing- no pun intended- topics come up and friends are pitted against each other.

Even Rush Limbough- famous for his long-time Conservative talkshow, couldn't say anything but "What if WE did what they do? Would they vote for us?" Never thinking that maybe the people who voted for Obama just didn't like Romney as a person, no matter what party he was professing?

Why do these things break up friendships? What is the psychology of an election when million of people see "them" and "us" - a big game to be won?

Yes, the country is bipolar. Yes, Tom Brokaw, news anchor, said we were "schizophrenic"- meaning split, I think, but I like the idea that we're all hallucinating. And that can happen if you're schizophrenic, OR "merely" bipolar.

I Post Here and Yet....

I have posted about sharing about being bipolar. It's not always a good idea. People have their preconceived notions about the disease and like it or not we will be judged. Why, then, am I keeping a blog? It helps me get my thoughts about how I'm feeling together. When I've posted, I feel a sense of relief and peace. Its not going to be beautified and sweetened - no flowers and rainbows here. It's my reality. The good, bad, beautiful or scary. I don't share these things lightly and in fact what I write is 99% for me alone. For that other 1%, you are the privileged few to see inside me. I love to read any comments, but in light of the nature of this blog- ie bipolar- if blatantly unsupportive replies are made, I will delete them. I choose not to deal with unkind reflections or at least unthoughtabout before the post button was pressed.

To my closest friends, thank you for reading and thank you for your support!

Scratchy voices again

Same. Whispering. Scratchy. I'm beginning to think its a side effect of the MAsH tv show since it happens often with that.I've watched it many other times without the voices. And it doesn't sound like its coming out of the tv; it's like its inside my ear. Like someone whispering in my ear.

Cylindrical Sex Seconds

Everything I said about a boy singing to me still holds: He is a boy in a man's body. His song is the same- the nuances slight. No matter how many time I hear this album I want to listen just one more time. The song never changes in reality, but playing it again is comforting.

In the end, it is lying for something that is probably not as rare as it seems. Lying that its more than it is; lying because it is only sex: like that movie Same Time Next Year.

At the time, my brain says, "This may be the last time you get sex..." and then the small voice of left-over mania says, "Take it!" as if I were a squirrel. I have had it once again; I have had seconds!

The loudest track of all is the one that sings that I am not number one; I get merely seconds; I am only seconds.

That CD sits on the shelf for ages and when it's finally listened to again, it's as if I never stopped listening. Turning around and around. Second by second, time ticks by- moment by moment as my brain is in bliss: those sex seconds. Somewhere, there is another record which sounds as sweet. One which I can enjoy learning each of its nuances over time. One which becomes comfortable and well-worn-in in my mind and in myself. (I know: I AM my brain!)

Forgetful Brain

In the last two days, I've lost my purse and then my keys. Actually, make that in the last 24 hours.

Yesterday, I was at the mall with a friend when I noticed I didn't have my purse. We searched everywhere we'd been. I was looking at everyone in the mall as if they had it. I was a bit frantic, I admit. It was only after we had checked some dumpsters outside that I had a flash of brilliance: I saw myself hanging my purse up and I knew: I'd hung it on a rack in a department store as I tried on a cape! I ran inside. My friend ended up finding it just where I'd left it!

Then today, I left my keys in the bathroom at Whole Foods. Luckily, they were at the customer service desk.

I think my brain is either too busy doing other things so I can't be bothered with the usual everyday tasks, or my Zyprexa is dampening my brain down a bit too much.

I have my purse, Keys, iPod and phone. For now!

Retro Post

Around September 18, I had an appointment in a new office. I heard faint music playing. But after I left, I realized something was odd. So after filling a prescription, I went back and asked the women at the front desk about music. They said their music system was broken!

I Think it's the TV

I am hearing the voices again. I think my brain is just playing tricks on me. It always while watching tv. It sounds like whispering. My dr said to call if they begin commanding me to do things. That only happened once. That was very entertaining. They go as quickly as they show up. I am thinking my brain is playing tricks on me. I know that's what hallucinations are. Wonder how long this will go on if these are indeed hallucinations.