Bipolar's Little Sister - Part II

As soon as the sun came up, I sent my mother this text. (She showed it to me two weeks before she died. I guess she kept it on her phone as some sort of memento.)

"Tried to kill myself last night. I might need to go to the hospital."

She called right away, talked to me then called my sister. I was sitting on my car smoking a cigarette when my sister, we'll call her Keira (as in K. Knightley because she's a smokin' hot babe), came out and started yelling. And crying. 

"WHAT DID YOU FUCKING DO?"

To Say the Least

"I'm heavy handed
To say the least
My mother thinks
I'll be an awful clutcher
'Cause I spill things from stirring 'em too quickly
I'm far too loud
It's like, as soon as I've got an opinion
It just has to come out
I laugh at stupid things
Just 'cause they tickle me"


I'm in crisis. 


I've been telling my docs for over three weeks I'm depressed and need to get back on Lamictal but one doc wanted to see what the next one said, the next one didn't want medication affecting my neuropsychological evaluation and finally, weeks later, the neuro doc took me seriously and agreed that it doesn't matter if it might slightly change the results, the benefits outweigh the risk.


So, based on the the third doc's recommendation and my insistence, the second doc, I'll call her Karen, prescribed the much overdue medication, except she thinks it'd be a good idea to "ease into it". The fact that I've told my doctors I'm depressed is huge and shouldn't have been taken lightly. I'm a do-it-yourselfer and, trying to avoid chemical relief as much as possible, only cry uncle when my arm is to the point of near fracture. As far as depression, the time is long and I've gotten to the point of fantasizing new ways to end my suffering. Despite all of my dark twistiness, I still don't want anyone else getting hurt so I'm TRYING to do damage control before I'm past the point of no return.


I've been very clear with my doctors that I am in the weeds here and, very reluctantly, have told my husband and sister where I'm at and the thoughts I'm having. I don't want to scare or worry them or make them feel helpless, though they truly are, but taking steps to avoid what is starting to feel like a certain fatal decision deserves some credit. Of course, venting my feelings has its consequences. My sister is now scared to death and far away and my husband, who thinks it may good idea to commit me against my will, is now dealing with his own feelings of hating life. None of this solves my problem in the least.


This is where Kate Nash sings in my mind,


"And
Sometimes I wish
Sometimes I wish I was like Mariella
She got some prittstick
And she glued her lips together
So she never had to speak
Never had to speak
Never had to speak
People used to say she's as quiet as a mouse
She just doesn't make a peep"


This is what goes through my mind when I've said too much.


I'm trying to avoid a trip to the cookoo's nest, but realize it may be better than the alternative, despite it's obvious consequences. It's prison with a whole bunch of restrictions, "quiet time", nurses watching you blow-dry your hair in case you feel like strangling yourself with the cord, a lot of people with white coats passing out chemicals like skittles and spewing a whole lot of shiny happy bullshit.


I accept that there may come a point very soon where that is the only alternative to leaving my precious son without a mother, among other things, and take that very seriously. People say that suicide is selfish but they don't know. The only step between the state I'm in and pulling the trigger, metaphorically speaking because I don't like guns, is spiraling down to the belief that no one would really care or some people would be better off without me. That's when people do it. There's nothing selfish about it.


Fast forward to this morning, when, despite not wanting to talk to anyone, I blurted this out to someone I thought was a close friend and confidant at work. I told her about the medication, the feeling that it may be too little too late and that I'm afraid because I'm too close to the edge and may have to further complicate my life by spending time in lockdown and all of its downfalls. I told her I'd pull the plug if no one would get hurt but that I really didn't want that to happen because it would hurt. I told her I'm taking measures against it.


My friend, who has no personal experience with severe depression, bipolar disorder or suicidal ideation, took it upon herself to go to another coworker (and friend) who then went I my boss, who is also the ER director at the hospital in which I work. Somehow, the telephone game changed my words into the idea that I'm planning to kill myself.


She was trying to help.


What she didn't realize, is that I needed a friend, not an intervention. I intended on speaking with my boss about being in over my head with the issues I've been dealing with - chronic back and pelvic pain; the loss of my mother who, despite our rocky history, would be a great ally right now; marital issues; constant migraines and the sudden inability to function at optimal level or remember what president was in office during the Civil War.


Prior to the car accident, my job used to bore me to tears and I couldn't wait to finish my nursing degree that would provide me not only with a doubled income, but allow me to use my knowledge to do more interesting things and feel like a greater percentage of my talent and intelligence are being utilized.


Now I literally can't see straight or manage doing two things at once and feel like I'm new on the job. I'm also afraid I won't be able to handle the stress of school or be able to learn the things I need to know when my brain seems to be revving in first gear. When a person of high intelligence and capability starts operating in certain situations at a near average (and occasionally lower) level, it's often quite frustrating and leaves them wanting to use obscenities and act out toward the people they normally tolerate well and even enjoy, it is very likely to diminish self worth and cause depression. I had a head start on those already. On top of that, fatigue makes negative emotions more frequent and intense. Between three 12-hour shifts a week and driving all over the place for therapy and the increased need for sleep, "fatigued" doesn't come close to describing my current state. I'm absolutely fried and don't seem to be able to rest enough between shifts to be able to relax or think clearly. Insert a significant spike in feelings of hopelessness here.


Not only was my state twisted into a much bigger story than the actual situation, I've lost two friends to betrayal and feel like a bigger freak to people I need in my corner. By trying to help me, this friend has helped coax me into more isolation. I have a low enough opinion of myself during these episodes that it's not helpful to be treated like a child or some other being incapable of independence.


Don't argue that she was trying to do the right thing. I recognize she was doing something out of fear and good intentions. I'm FULLY aware. Her ignorance and lack of personal experience with the matter is not something I don't understand. What *she* doesn't get is that by trying to do what she could to help me, she pushed me even farther into the depths or despair. (Nice job, friend.)


People who haven't been where I stand cannot understand or recognize what any of this feels like, how to help or that when a person says the sort of things I did earlier they need an ear, not a straight jacket. They need to be given credit for taking steps to protect themselves and the ones they love, not belittled and made out to be crazy to people they don't want knowing a highly personal and sensitive matter.


They also don't realize that the harder you push to take care of a person, the more that person feels untrusted to care for them self.


Everyone at work, all the way down to our beloved housekeeper knows my business. Well, I should say, an exaggerated account of my business. Talk about feeling small an helpless...


This friend has also taken from me a feeling of respect and that I can count on her to be there for me. Still aware of her intentions (defending her to me is futile), I will not go to her next time, perhaps a time when having someone to listen could be the final straw between suicidal ideation and suicide.


The irritability of my head injury and depression already make me feel like telling people to fuck right off; the loss of trust in one of my closest friends puts me one step closer to the final stand of feeling no one would care if I kill myself and/or doing it out of spite.


For those of you who have concerns for people you love, and I'm assuming most people still reading this are far less ignorant than my (possibly former) friend, be direct with people you love. Ask questions, gain knowledge, give respect to privacy and least of all, help the one you love feel empowered not helpless.


End of rant. For now anyway. I've said to much already.






"She marched to her wardrobe
And threw away the colour
Because wearing black looks mysterious
But it didn't impress her mother
She wanted to dress her baby
In patterns and flowers
But Mariella just crossed her arms
And so she cried for hours
Mariella, Mariella
My pretty baby girl
Unglue your lips from being together and
And wear some pink and pearls
You can have your friends 'round
And they can stay for tea
Won't you just try to fit in please
Do this for me
But Mariella just crossed her arms
As she walked up the stairsAnd she went into her bedroom
And she sat on her bed
And she looked in the mirror
And she thought to herself
"If I wanna play, I can play with meIf I wanna think, I'll think in my head"
At school, Mariella didn't have many friends
Yeah the girls they all looked at her
And they thought she was quite strange
And the boys they're not really into girls at that age
And the teachers, they thought Mariella was just going through a phase.
But Mariella just smiled as she skipped down the road
Because she knew all the secrets in her world
Yes, she always got the crossword puzzle right everyday
And she could do the alphabet backwards
Without making any mistakes
Mariella, Mariella
Pretty, pretty girl
Mariella, Mariella
Happy in her own little world
Happy in her own little world
And she saidYeah I'm never ever ever ever ever ever
Ever ever ever ever ever ever ever
Yeah I'm never ever ever ever ever ever
Ever ever ever ever ever ever ever
Yeah I'm never ever ever ever ever ever
Ever ever ever ever ever ever ever
Gonna unglue my lips from being together
She said I'm never ever ever ever ever ever
Ever ever ever ever ever ever ever
Yeah I'm never ever ever ever ever ever
Ever ever ever ever ever ever ever
Ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever
Gonna unglue my lips from being together
Ha. Ha. Ha. Ha."

"Dear mum, couldn't stand the solitude any longer. Gone off to see the world. Don't be worried, I'll be back soon. Love Bilbo xxx"

This was the note supposedly left in the first record of  a garden gnome gone missing. I didn't realize this idea has been around since the time I was born; seems fitting. I'm thinking of leaving it myself and busting out of here but don't know where I'd go and it's hard to take a 6 year-old boy around the world when he should be in school. Twelve years and it's on!


I'd love to travel the world but here's the problem - there's really no place on Earth a person can spill the beans about EVERYTHING without getting into some sort of trouble and I've got some stuff to get off my chest. Where's the best place to hide? Right out in the open.  

This is not a challenge. Please don't try to find me, because you might, and that would be very unfortunate because I'd have to filter through all of this to take out anything inappropriate. No fun. Game over. 

Don't search for who loves Modest Mouse and Chuck Palahniuk, works in dialysis and has a Step Mother-in-Law who thinks "Bipolar" is an adequate cause of death. (It probably is but she has no idea and needs to keep her fucking mouth shut.) Don't look for a person who is shiny and happy (more than you could imagine) one minute and wants to throw herself off a cliff the next. This person does not exist. This is all a dream. Pretend that everything you read here is someone's fiction and we'll be cool. Oh, and as one of my blogging sisters likes to say, "don't be a dick".


This blog is likely to be short lived and probably just something to do in place of all the other things I should be doing (read: laundry, dishes, "mom stuff", work). It's been a rough year and I'm out of my mind with boredom from being home. I've managed to use 160 hours of PTO in the last 3 months between a small surgery for endometriosis, my mother dying and a car accident that ROCKED my brain. I'm currently dealing with the brain thing. And supposed to write myself notes like the Memento guy, only not so bad. Not really bad at all, if it doesn't bother you not to remember what you were planning to do or what word you were looking for. :( I don't feel like writing myself notes though. Talking to myself is getting old.


I'm taking 3 medications for the headache, which is comparable to when I had dry socket from having wisdom teeth extracted and refusal to obey the (what's the word?) "golden rule" of not smoking afterward. One of them is rough on my stomach and kidneys (indomethacin), the other is incredibly addictive (percocet) and the last isn't doing anything, as far as I can tell, aside from making me a little dizzy (propanol). I probably should be taking  mood stabilizers to get through the crap I've got to deal with. It'd make my husband happy, though he doesn't know it, and I might miss less work due to chronic pelvic pain and now a near chronic post-concussion headache and maybe even smile more but we're trying to have a baby (10 months of nothing so far), the one that I know works for me (lamictal) is horrible on the liver and I refuse to take lithium (read: denial, denial, denial). Usually, I can maintain a stable, happy psyche with yoga and good food but I keep getting knocks that hold me back. I spent 2+ years virtually incapacitated by a back injury a while back that still flares up from time to time, my brother died, now I've got pelvic congestion and endometriosis, a dead mom and a massive fucking headache. There's nothing more depressing to me than being mentally unsettled and physically inactive. It kills me. 


Seriously.


I need out. Out of the house. Out of my mind.