When Your Physical Health Messes with Your Mental Health

SO… since I’ve last been on here, I’ve gone to my primary doctor and had some blood tests done.  Technically I have diabetes and my vitamin D level was so low that she was surprised I was standing.  So after getting on some medication for both of them, I’ve noticed that the “foggy brain” I was having and trying to treat with psychotropic meds was lifting… especially with taking a ridiculous amount of Vitamin D.  So I stopped taking my one med and I’m feeling much better.  It had been so long since I had gone to the regular doctor that I was assuming everything that was going on was mental.

This is a great danger to us with mental health disorders.  If we, like me, just assume every bad symptom we experience is because of our mental disorder we could be ignoring something very bad physically.  So from now on I’m going to be viligent not just with my mental health, but with my physical health as well.  I need to be able to rule out physical reasons before I go and treat something with new medication.

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That One Good Day

I had it yesterday… that elusive good day.  The one where I didn’t feel like I was going to collapse from exhaustion and needed to take a nap.  The one where my brain didn’t feel like it was racing around itself.  The one where I didn’t feel a cloud of dread above my head everywhere I went.  The one where I didn’t have to pretend everything was fine.

And damn it felt good.

You see, I live in a perpetual mixed state from day to day.  I’m often torn between depressed exhaustion and an almost violent race of thoughts.  I go to nap because all I want to do is get away from the world, but my mind won’t let me have a moment of peace.  This is when I resort to melatonin in the middle of the day and pain pills that are supposed to knock you out.  I’m lucky if it works.

And then there are the days when I’m in a constant rage.  Nothing will satiate it.  I will put my earphones in and flip out when people want to talk to me.  My thoughts race so violently… causing my brain to have whiplash.  I don’t want to be online.  I can’t journal.  I cant do anything but stew in my own hatred of myself and the world.

So it’s hard… waiting for those good days.

Oddly enough, today seems to be shaping up pretty well just like yesterday did.  Perhaps I’ll have the rare two day in a row glow of happiness.

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I Hate Therapy

I never want to go to therapy.  In fact, I think if I didn’t have to, I wouldn’t.  Now, it wasn’t always this way with me, but in the past couple of years it has been.  I go around every two months.  I have absolutely nothing to talk about.  TWO MONTHS and nothing to talk about.  Things happen, they get resolved, and I forget about them.  Nothing is ever pressing when I have an appointment (but wouldn’t it be nice if there was?), and I find myself rambling about random shit.

Now, like I said, it wasn’t always like this.  I used to go every week.  I used to need it to survive.  I was either depressed or manic or hearing things, or more than one (and sometimes all three… THAT was fun).  She gave me great coping techniques, etc.  Then I had to switch insurances because I made too much on disability to qualify for Medicaid anymore and also had to switch therapists.  Appointments went from being free to being $40 a pop and I stopped going as much.  My new therapist wasn’t as good and I started using the coping mechanisms that I had been taught.  Which brings us to today when I have NOTHING to talk about because I deal with everything on my own.  And I’m finally on the right meds.

Which brings me to this.  Why do I HAVE to go to therapy?  It’s mandatory that we go at least once every 2 months if we’re seeing the psychiatrist for meds.  Regardless if we need it or not.  My therapist is so available that I can make an appt and have it right away.  And I can just text her about it.  So, like, maybe make it so if we NEED to see him/her that that’s the only time we have to see them.  It’s annoying an expensive.

That said, I have an appointment next Wednesday.  Joy of joys.

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When Fine Doesn’t Mean Fine

“I’m fine.”  I say these words more than a normal person would.  I’d bet on it.  Unfortunately, most of the time I say them, I’m really not fine.  Things aren’t going well, and something is probably eating me from the inside out.  Mostly because this is my constant state of being.  Thing is, most people don’t know.  They can’t… I’m very good at disguise.  And so are the many other people in this world with mental illness who don’t want to burden their friends or loved ones with everything that is going on inside them.

There are a few that can see behind the curtains, though, and I don’t know about anyone else, but I’m kinda terrified of them.  It’s like being naked.  And while part of me always wants people to know what I’m going through, I don’t at the same time.  It’s a part of me that I want to hide.

I can write about different mental health things that I’ve experienced or exist too.  That’s impersonal.  I’m not talking to you about the things my mind is experiencing in real time.  It’s an edited version of what happened.  My mind isn’t like SNL.  And when I do bring up things that are going on in real time, even THAT is edited.

So the next time a friend or family member of yours with a mental illness says “I’m fine,” they probably aren’t.  BUT… they’re good enough to fake it for your sake.

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The Medication Dance

For many of us in the mental health community, medication compliance is a real issue.  I’ve heard in recent days from different sources that some people have no problem taking their medication at the same time every day, not miss, and are very strict about their regime; that there are people (like me) who basically take their meds at the same time every day, yet miss occasionally and still keep to their regime; people who know they have to take their medication but tend to forget to do it unless reminded; people who know they have to take their medication but hate it, sometimes having to be forced to take it; those people who don’t necessarily know that they have to take medication but understand why when given it; ones to don’t know why they have to take medication and don’t know why when given it; the people who refuse medication because it changes them; people who refuse medication because they don’t believe they are sick.  The range is stunning.  And of course, those who stop taking meds because they are “better.”

It took me years to get where I am with my medication.  Firstly, I didn’t think it was necessary.  Then I thought it wasn’t working.  Then there was the time that I was given the wrong medication.  The time when I took myself off meds, flew into a mania, stopped going to one of my jobs, and spent all of my money on drugs.  When I was under-medicated.  When I was over-medicated.  I could go on.

I’ve been with my current psychiatrist for almost 6 years now.  We saw each other after lithium toxicity put me in the hospital for almost 2 weeks.  2 weeks that I don’t remember.  In these 6 years, I’ve been on so many different medications than I can count, trying to find the right balance for my own specific needs.  Each visit gets better.  For awhile there were no changes (this was recent).  My last visit 2 weeks ago I had to have a dose of one of my pills added at night to prevent very distressing symptoms which I lovingly called “crazy brain.”  It’s helped tremendously, and I’m calling him back up tomorrow to get it changed to a higher dose to correct it completely (he told me I might need a higher dose because of what was happening to me and to try it if I didn’t think the smaller dose was doing it.  He was right.).

Anyway, the basis of this is that other than those who can’t be convinced that they’re even sick, medication is a terrible game of ups and downs until you can find a balance where you feel “normal” (whatever that is… there’s a different normal for all of us, I suppose).  I often don’t talk about meds I’m on necessarily unless someone else divulges or someone is taking one of the same meds I take.  Mostly this is because the amount of medication I’m on.  There are times, of course, when ignorant people tell me I’m being lazy by not going to work or that I can’t possibly have the disorder I “claim” to have.  Those times I want to throw my pill box at them and tell them how many meds I take, what each one of them is for… that there are TWO anti-psychotics, one which has an extended release and a standard release and that I take both.  Where I want to scream and tell these people that I wouldn’t take all this shit unless I HAD to.  It’s very frustrating.

So for those still in the dance (I’m still on the dance floor, just standing a little stiller) of medication trials, I want to say there is hope.  There are medications out there for you.  Don’t count out adding or switching meds… it might help more than you think.  And if you think you’re on too much or that the side effects are too great, tell your doctor.  It will get better.

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