When a 10 year old boy calls you on your shit…

~ jamible ~ Leave a comment

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So this was the moment that changed everything…
I’m putting my 10 year old son to bed and we are listening to the radio. A commercial comes on for “Stop Stigma Sacramento”, it’s an organization that informs and educates people about mental illness.
My son turns to me and says,
“Mom, no offense and I don’t mean anything bad by this, but I think you might be mentally ill.”
Cue the tears from me.
“I’m just saying Mom, that you really seem depressed a lot of the time.”
Cue sobbing.
“Oh… please don’t cry Mom! It’s okay, really! My Doctor can help you (he’s seeing a psychiatrist to deal with his ADD with neurofeedback brain retraining). I know he can, look at how much he helped me.”
And that’s when I saw a psychiatrist.
All of these years I had been seeing physicians, being told I have S.A.D., being put on antidepressants, which made me want to commit suicide. Light boxes that never really worked, vitamin D which never truly fixed the problem. Finally being told that I’m bipolar made so much sense. All I can say is this: you don’t go to a dentist to fix a broken arm, why would you see a physician for mental illness issues?

PS- I have an exceptional son.

The chronicles of WTF

~ jamible ~ Leave a comment

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 So, I recently had a manic episode, the kind that involves all the fun stuff like not sleeping, being paranoid, having anxiety attacks etc.
So my doctor put me on Seroquel (I’m currently on 200mg of Lamictal).
Let me just say that Seroquel is a special kind of hell. I knew from the get go that I did not like Seroquel. It made me groggy and wonky. As the week proceeded I got increasingly weepy, I couldn’t get through a workout without getting dizzy and wanting to puke.
By the end of the week I was so discouraged, hopeless and fueled by meds that didn’t agree with me, I was feeling pretty sure that suicide was probably the best medical option for me.

Commence husband calling psychiatrist.
Stop taking Seroquel.
Start suicide watch.
Start new meds.
Let’s try Fluoxetine Hcl and olanzapine.
Now let’s sleep for 24 hours straight and have both husband and son check to see if I’m still alive.

So I wake up, a little disconcerted that I’ve somehow lost a whole day; I ask my husband to bring me the meds, I’m curious about what they’ve put me on. I google olanzapine, okay… Zyprexa. I’ve never heard of it, so I read the side effects etc. Nothing I haven’t seen before.
I google Fluoxetine Hcl.
WTF. Prozac?! What F*cking part of “I can’t take SSRIs did she not understand??”
Granted she was apparently at the park with her kid when the emergency page came in from my husband, so my chart wasn’t right there, but seriously though, I’ve BEEN on Prozac before, it made me suicidal.
I hate everything about this.

*update: Zyprexa + Prozac= symbyax
Which works differently than prozac alone?
*sigh* we shall see.

Getting on the rollercoaster

~ jamible ~ 2 Comments

 

I was diagnosed with bipolar disorder several months ago.
Or should I say, I was PROPERLY diagnosed with bipolar disorder several months ago.
Ever since I was 13, I’ve been diagnosed with depression (requiring hospitalization) and SAD (seasonal affective disorder).

SSRIs made me a mess. Vertigo, insomnia, suicidal thoughts and one even gave me seizures. At that point I decided that antidepressants were absolutely NOT an option.

The manic episodes started in my late teens, or as people around me would call it, “she’s out of control and acting out.”
Go to work.
Go home and get ready.
Go to the bar.
Leave with random dude.
Go home (or not).
Sleep an hour or two (or not).
Get up. Puke.
Go to work (usually still drunk).
Wash. Rinse. Repeat.
For about 3-4 months.

Then winter would hit and I wouldn’t leave the house. The pizza delivery guy and online chat rooms were my best friends. Resisting suicide was a daily struggle.

When I was 22 I packed a bag and randomly moved to California, from Canada… because bipolar.
It seemed to even me out a little. My swings were less drastic, my highs were pleasantly high and not so self destructive. My lows were more frequent, but manageable.
I started exercising religiously, eating well, taking vitamin D, using a full spectrum light box, tanning booths, multi vitamins, SAMe, St.John’s Wort, melatonin, valerian root (for sleep disruption), therapy, EMDR and more therapy.
I was determined to fight the depression with all I had, naturally.
Then I got into my mid 30s and it just wasn’t working anymore.
All of the exercise, vitamins and therapy in the world weren’t helping me. It would get particularly bad around the shortest day of the year, which is also Christmas. I would lie to my kids and myself that I was sad and weepy because I missed being with my family in Canada for the holidays. Then we would go to Canada and it was the same story.
Finally, at the urging of my TEN YEAR OLD son, I went to see a psychiatrist.

When I was diagnosed with bipolar disorder it was like, “Of course.”
How many times in my life had I said, “Boy, when I was younger, my SAD was so bad, it was like I was bipolar!”
Well guess what? It wasn’t LIKE I was bipolar. I AM bipolar.

This is where I have a glimmer of hope.
Where the battle just begins.
Where I feel like it’s going to be okay.
Where the rug is pulled out from under me.
Where the journey to mental health is just as up and down as I am.