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Author: missgnutmeg

pass the scones?

pass the scones?

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Saw Dr. A today. He witnessed first hand some of the joy which is my trembling hands/weak muscles and decided to lower my lithium down 300 mg again to see if that helps with it. He’s also going to try to get me into the Royal Ottawa Hospital’s outpatient program, whereby I would see a psychiatrist on a regular basis. This is a good thing. I think. He’s also asked me to try and get involved with the Mood Disorder support group that’s run out of the RHO/with them/something. This makes me a lot more nervous. How can I talk to strangers about things I don’t even want to tell my closest friends?

On the plus side, I’ve now spoken to both a pharmacist and Dr. A about the nsaids and their affect on lithium. Both said Advil once or twice a day for pain shouldn’t be too bad. Especially since we are monitoring my blood levels and my lithium tends to be on the low end of medicinal. But there was another blood test today (yey more holes in my body) so we’ll see if the shaking is from poisoning or just regular side effect.

I just don’t know. Nothing really seems to help anymore. Can I just quit now? Please?

lemongrass with a touch of gin…ger

lemongrass with a touch of gin…ger

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It’s funny, but no matter how many times the bloodwork comes back good I’m still convinced that I’m slowly dying. I certainly feel like it this morning (and far too many mornings, I feel). If I didn’t know better, I’d say I was badly hungover. But I know better. a) I’ve never had more than a headache for a hangover in my life b) I haven’t touched alcohol in quite a while.

Why don’t I do alcohol? Well, partly because my meds tell me not to but mostly because an addictive personality is one of the fun possible side effects of being bipolar…

An addictive personality refers to a particular set of personality traits that make an individual predisposed to addictions. Addictions are characterized by a physical or psychological dependency that negatively impacts the quality of life of the person. They are frequently connected with substance abuse, but people with addictive personalities are also highly at risk of becoming addicted to gambling, food, exercise, work, and even relationships (codependency) . People engaged in addictive behaviour tend to plan their lives around it .

(Wikipedia)

I know I have a caffeine addiction. I’ve had alcohol addictions in past. I suspect I have an addiction to self-harm, but I’m not quite ready to face that one yet. (“Can’t sleep, not bleeding” has become far too frequent a thought…) I’m definitely guilty of people/relationship addictions, but those ones always end horribly. (Not surprising, though.) And the shopping addiction is just… not good. Maybe if I had a job and no other expenses, it might be okay. Maybe. Probably not.

Music is a huge addiction for me – I own over 500 CDs – as are DVDs – over 200 – but I’ve been very good to keep myself away from those temptations for the most part, as I know I can easily spend $100 in one blow. Books are just as bad for me.

As I sit here with my morning cuppa, let’s get back to the caffeine addiction which causes headaches if it is not fulfilled. I’m pretty sure I’m supposed to keep caffeine to a minimum with my meds, but it just ain’t gonna happen with me. I mean look at the name of this blog.

Sometimes I can be really bad for me. Often, to be fair.

the spoon goes on the right

the spoon goes on the right

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This isn’t right, you know, what I’m doing to myself. Not with the amount of drugs I’m on.

There are some who believe I stopped cutting, after the incident this summer that caused me to end a rather crucial friendship of mine. I didn’t. I just stopped talking about it. It’s actually worse than ever.

I used to have someone I could talk to when I was feeling suicidal and would tell me “not now”. But at least I had that one person I felt I could go to.  What she did to me, her betrayal of my trust, has caused my introvert to come out seriously. I don’t trust anyone anymore. Which has lead to my burst of honesty. No one can betray me if I have no secrets, right?

I hate my life and I want to die. Every good thing in it seems to go sour as soon as I touch it. I want to die.

I can’t even escape to sleep to hide away from it. Fucking insomnia. Fucking life. Fuck me.

my stockings prove my virtue

my stockings prove my virtue

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Emilie Autumn

Who is this? This is the fine and fabulous Emilie Autumn. (Official website)

What does she do? She’s a singer, violinist, and sometimes writer.

Why is she important? She’s amazingly strong, funny, creative and successful despite being bipolar. She proclaims herself loudly and proudly no matter what.

Emilie has not had the easiest life, but what impresses and amazes me about her is how she expresses her pain through her music and writing. Her album Opheliac, for instance, metaphorically discusses a lot of painful times in her life which led to her incarceration in a mental hospital. Her book, “The Asylum for Wayward Victorian Girls” incorporates actual journal entries from her time there. I would love to talk more about it, but I don’t want to give it away. If you go read it and come back, we can chat. (And, unfortunately, my ex still has my copy and I don’t know if I’ll ever get it back so I can’t lend it to nearby friends atm.)

When I go to one of Emilie’s shows (I’ll be going to my 3rd and 4th next February!) I find myself completely transported into her world. It’s just amazing. And watching her play her violin? Incredible. Maybe that’s the music student in me, but it always gives me goosebumps. She also has a very pro-girl/anti-male/yey!-lesbianism! vibe to her shows which, for me, is really encouraging. But I took my cousin who is an arts/political journalist with me and she enjoyed it even with all the lesbian Victorian burlesque-ness that goes on with it. Because the music is that good. And Emilie has some pretty amazing stories to tell if you’re willing to listen.

it was all very well to say “drink me”

it was all very well to say “drink me”

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“But I don’t want to go among mad people,” Alice remarked.
“Oh, you can’t help that,” said the Cat. “We’re all mad here. I’m mad. You’re mad.”
“How do you know I’m mad?” said Alice.
“You must be,” said the Cat. “or you wouldn’t have come here.”

Let’s talk today about one of my most favourite things in the whole entire world: escapism. Escapism, according to Wikipedia is “mental diversion by means of entertainment or recreation, as an “escape” from the perceived unpleasant or banal aspects of daily life. It can also be used as a term to define the actions people take to help relieve persisting feelings of depression or general sadness.” And by most favourite, you know I mean it’s a well abused method for me.

Where can we escape? With escapism, it doesn’t have to be physical so there’s a lot of possibilities. Video games, for instance. When I feel the need to escape my life, I can spend 20 hours a week or more on video games. Roleplaying is another one I often engage in: usually you take on a character and play in a text based game with other characters/players. I’ll even get to points where, because I play multiple characters, I will play just with myself if no one else is around. Books are bad, too. So many alternate universes you can get lost in for a time. The more an author can absorb you, the more I like them. And DVDs. Wow. I know it’s not uncommon for people to work their way through an entire TV series at one go if they really like it, but I’ll go through it two or three times in a row. (Go on, ask me how many times I’ve seen She-Ra or Lexx.) I can be just as bad with movies. I can watch the same movie (or series, if it’s part of a series) for up to a month at a time.

It’s far too easy to get lost in someone else’s world so you don’t have to face this one. And I know this isn’t a condition that effects only the sick, anyone can have it. Anyone who finds the confines of their world to be too small. And, you know, in moderation it’s not a horrible thing. It’s when one gets to the obsessive levels that worry is necessary.

So what can you do about escapism? I don’t know. I’m no doctor, no therapist. I can tell you what I do. Most of the time? Nothing. As long as my playing doesn’t interrupt my real life, I let it happen. As soon as something does get to the point where it starts interfering, though, I get rid of it. Either of my own will or asking someone else to make it disappear from my life. Assuming I’ve noticed. I don’t always.

So it goes. If you think someone you know may be an obsessive escapist, talk to them about it. It may even be worth a trip to the doctor. Escapism is often a sign of a deeper underlying problem. I imagine if you fix the problem, you’ll probably fix the habit.

can I offer you some sugar?

can I offer you some sugar?

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Yesterday, at the request of my co-guider who’s been working on a bullying challenge with the girls but would be missing the meeting, I got to speak to my rangers about suicide, self harm, and mental illness. Obviously it was tough for me and I did cry a bit but I feel this is the sort of thing it’s really important to talk with teens about.

We started with a conversation about the recent suicides of Samantha Kelly and Doran Richardson, both tragic deaths. This lead into a conversation about the causes of suicide which lead to my presentation. Because, yes, I have a powerpoint. I was actually working on it on Tuesday because I’d been meaning to throw one together and then I got the call… uber weird. Clearly a sign from the Gods. (Odin? Thanks.)

If you’re interested in seeing that powerpoint, I’ve uploaded it here (and the fonts I used are here and here). Obviously, it misses something when you don’t get all my personal input and stories with it, but it still has lots of really good facts and – I believe – has a really good message.

Also, I found a rather interesting article in my search for info on those two. Check it out.

Pennyroyal Tea leads to nirvana

Pennyroyal Tea leads to nirvana

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I am not impressed right now. Seriously.Why did nobody tell me about this?

“NSAIDs reduce blood flow to the kidneys and therefore reduce the action of diuretics and decrease the elimination of lithium (Eskalith) and methotrexate (Rheumatrex).” (Source, more on lithium)

Thank god I read. But why was I never warned about this? I’ve spoken to my doctor and pharmacist both about lithium and neither said to avoid painkillers. You’d think that would be something of some importance to mention? I mean, I’ve been taking a lot less painkillers lately than I used to but winter is coming and the arthritis-like conditions are going to kick in and I’m going to need them again. The pharmacist warned me about the prozac-lithium interaction (wee light-headdedness) but not this one which could seriously harm me?

Lithium

Lithium therapy is useful for indications ranging from bipolar disorder to migraine headaches, but several interactions must be considered. Diuretics and NSAIDs alter the sodium balance at the level of the kidney. As a result, serum lithium levels increase secondary to enhanced reabsorption.3(pp309,368-9) Some NSAIDs may also alter prostaglandin effects on the kidney, thereby reducing the elimination of lithium.3(pp368-9)

If coadministration is necessary, the dosage of lithium should be reduced by 50 percent when a diuretic or an NSAID is added. Signs or symptoms of lithium toxicity involve the central nervous system (drowsiness, confusion, hand tremor, blurred vision, vertigo and seizures), gastrointestinal tract (nausea and vomiting) and cardiovascular system (arrhythmias and widening of the QRS complex). (Source)

Related case study.

…why? Why? Poison the mad until they’re either sane or dead? Is that it? …no. That’s just my frustration talking. This is just all so annoying. My doctor, though an amazing man who obviously does want to help me, doesn’t know enough about this sort of thing. I need a proper psychiatrist. And maybe a therapist, though I don’t really want one of those. I have no problem just keeping my cynical life view.

I think I now have a list of things to talk to my doctor about…

Ophelia’s herbal blend

Ophelia’s herbal blend

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Suicide in the media. It’s rather prettified and romanticized, isn’t it? I mean, just think about some of the famous people who’ve done it: Kurt Cobain (gunshot), Sylvia Plath (gas), Hunter S. Thompson (gunshot), Virginia Woolf (drowned), Marilyn Munroe (overdose), Roman Lyashenko (hanging), Ernest Hemingway (gunshot), Ian Curtis (hanging)… just to name a few.

Shakespeare was also very fond of suicides, like the infamous Romeo and Juliet, Lady Macbeth, Othello, or – my personal favourite – Ophelia. But he’s certainly not the only author to mention it.

And what about the way we talk? Expressions like “die young, stay pretty” “live fast and die young” “I bleed just to know I’m alive” are certainly at least somewhat familiar to you. Or our music? How many songs do you know that glorify death/dying/self-harm in some way? Remember that old TV show M*A*S*H? Know what the theme song was called?

Why? What is the cultural obsession with self-destruction? And how is it, with all this around us, that we are always so shocked and dismayed when we hear about someone killing themselves?

I suspect it might be a healthy mind versus unhealthy mind thing. Though I’m not one to speak with much authority on the healthy mind, I suspect that it usually doesn’t take such things at face value but interprets them instead as metaphorical. An unhealthy mind, unfortunately, has a different filter and as such relays information differently. So if you see the colour red, I might see violet. Or an elephant, depending on my disorder. Thus things that might be considered ridiculous to anyone else seem not only reasonable but like a good idea to the unhealthy. Because our world filter is skewed incorrectly.

Please don’t think I’m saying only the mentally ill will commit suicide, because that’s not true. People who become severely emotionally damaged – those who have been bullied, raped, abused, lost someone/thing incredibly dear – will also consider it an option. Those susceptible to influence are also at risk; such as teens/youth who are not yet firm in their personal identity.

So we surround ourselves with thoughts of death and then act surprised when someone follows through on them? As a society, I think we humans are rather fucked up. We put too much importance into inconsequential things and not enough in each other.

I’ve been bullied, abused, abandoned and betrayed in my life by various people who “loved” me and I was supposed to trust. I’ve had to live with the stigma of being insane and the constant fear that I would someday have an episode in public and not be able to disguise it. I’ve tried to kill myself about a dozen times over the span of my life. I haven’t ended up in the hospital for it yet, but I may still. I can’t count the number of times I drank myself to a stupor so I wouldn’t be able to think about it anymore. I’m not sure how many times I sat with a knife at various vulnerable arteries for hours until I finally talked myself out of it and cut my thighs instead. Just once I stood ankle-deep in a river in the middle of the night and talked myself out of going deeper by pointing out how badly I’d scare those who found my body – likely to be children.  And there were quite a few “sick” days spent throwing up bottles of pills I’d consumed earlier. (For the record? Over the counter painkillers just don’t work.)

To this day, I’m still not sure if I want to live but I think that’s the disease talking. I do believe that my gods want me to live, and I’m pretty sure there are a few people out there who’d be kind of pissed off if I let myself give in. I don’t know, though. It’s a losing battle.

Let me leave you with one of my poems, and we can all think a little more:

I’m Sorry

I want to ram this pen right through my wrist
I want to have this ink instead of blood
so many words pour forth, some days
I think that I may as well just bleed them
I’m sorry that I couldn’t be more perfect
I’m sorry, it feels like all I ever say
I’m sorry that you hurt me
I’m sorry that I’m dying
and I’m sorry for this is how it has to be

with my blood I could tell many stories
as my ink, it would flow easy and quiet
from wrist to page to make my book
my last apology
when I die, it won’t be your fault
as I tape my mouth to choose that silence
my organic pen will leave my note
that’s all I have to say
don’t worry, you won’t miss me all that much

it’s a spoon

it’s a spoon

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Now, I know I often tend to write here rather negatively, but bipolar disorder isn’t all doom and gloom and fire and brimstone. There are parts of it that you can actually come to really like. The bolstered creativity can be quite lovely (though the need to paint/draw/write/etc. so badly can be painful if you’re unable to fill it) and the mildest forms of mania can be very pleasant.

When I’m mildly manic – or “hypomanic” as it’s sometimes called – I tend to be cheerful, bubbly, just a little spacey, fidgety, and an obsessive neat freak. There are quite a few people in my life who tend to associate this me as the “real” or “best” me. I will agree it’s a nice place to visit, but it’s not who I am or who I want to be. At the same time, she is me. But so are the extreme manias. And the depressions. And the mixed states.

I’ve joked with friends for years about how I’m secretly multiple people. I guess that’s one way to think of it. Or maybe you could compare me with the phases of the moon with only certain parts showing but still being the same body? I don’t know. I really don’t.

When you’re fighting with a disorder like this, you end up asking strange questions like “is it ok to be us?” “who am I today” and “where’s the other me?” but they don’t seem so strange. Mind. This IS coming from a girl who sometimes believes she’s a lady in waiting in a queen’s castle.

I do enjoy the energy and productivity mania brings me. But I hate the noise. The more manic I get, the more noisy my brain gets. I think that’s part of what makes me so angry/irritable when I’m manic. My head is so full and so loud that there’s just no room for anything else in it, so don’t you dare try to get in there. Many times I’ve had to just completely shut down because my mind was so loud and so fast that I was unable to function any longer.

The lack of sleep also has some horrid effects on your health. But at least you don’t feel tired. I’m running on three hours right now, but if you were to sit and talk with me, you’d think I was well rested and perky. Really? I’m not. But we see what we want to see in life. Perceptions are everything.

and a gray ribbon on her wrist

and a gray ribbon on her wrist

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Facebook has once again claimed a “To Write Love on Her Arms” day. And while the original charity actually does some pretty cool stuff, and has some great information, I have come to HATE the “days” proclaimed on Facebook.

Why?

According to the TWLOHA website:

“Self-injury, like many addictions, is often a coping mechanism to deal with some manner of internal pain, many who struggle with it also struggle with other issues such as eating disorders and alcohol and drug abuse. While self-injury may be someone’s way to cope with or relieve painful or hard-to-express feelings and is generally NOT a suicide attempt, relief is always temporary, and usually only perpetuates a destructive cycle that continues the struggle. This cycle often means that those who do not get help can become more depressed and shameful, adding to the pain and need for relief, thus perpetuating the cycle.”

The fact that people think just writing “LOVE” on your arms somewhere is not going to actually make a difference. I don’t fucking care WHAT you write on your arms. If I want to cut myself, I will. I was actually (half) joking with my roommate about carving “LOVE” onto my arm with my knife and putting it up as my profile picture as a way of protesting.

I won’t. I’ll be good. Ish.

What really gets me is they always talk about the depression side of things, how writing love on one’s arms can help all the depressed people out there. First off, you’re missing the point. The idea of TWLOHA? Is the fact that they want to write LOVE instead of there being cuts. TWLOHA is a charity that supports the fight against self harm by donating to the many mental health programs that deal with the diseases that causes these urges.

Awareness is extremely important, but I’m not sure if the people doing this even know what’s going on, sometimes. This charity has received the endorsement of Hollywood poptarts such as Lindsay Lohan and Miley Cyrus. In my mind, at least, this speaks poorly for the charity because it’s suddenly become a trend.  It puts me in mind of that “donate your hair to cancer!” thing that went around, which ended up being that the charity actually gave the hair to kids with a rarer disease (alopecia areata) but only about 10-20% of what was donated. The rest was thrown out (due to being in poor condition) or sold to wig makers for money to continue advertising, paying staff, covering manufacturing costs and such. Does this make the charity bad? Not at all. They’re doing exactly as they set out to do. However, public word of mouth twisted the story and then people turned around and called the charity liars when it was actually those “supporting” it who were misrepresenting it.

Now, don’t get me wrong. I want there to be awareness of mental health issues. Hell, why else would I write this blog for anyone to read? My concern is that people are going to go around writing words on their arm and thinking it’ll make some huge difference when it really won’t. Personally? I get insulted. I think “what the hell do you know about it?” I’ve lost friends over admittance of my scars/cutting. I’ve lost a lot of blood. I spend a stupid amount of money on bandaging for myself. Most of my bed sheets have the rather distinctively stripey bloodstains. (For the record? If you move a lot in your sleep, there is pretty much no way that I’ve found of bandaging so it’ll stay.)

My self injuring is the one thing I will always lie about to almost anyone who asks me in person. “What? This scratch? I caught myself on a shelf at work.” “Oh, you know cats…” “One of the tables at school.” “Yeah, I was playing with the rabbit.” “Oh, I don’t know, I must’ve caught myself on something.” “What? Oh, it’s nothing, don’t worry.” Any of those sound familiar?

Tell you what, guys? If you insist on playing this silly game about writing love on your arms, at least actually READ the website of the organization. Know what you’re saying. Know who you’re saying it to. If you really want to make a difference? Find some local charities for mental health and donate or volunteer for them. Or, like I do, make sure people know they exist and that there IS help out there.

It took me three suicide attempts to try to get help the first time. After those people failed me, it took almost ten years to finally start getting the help I needed. Need. I’m not out of the lake yet.

For those who live in my area, here’s a couple of great places to start looking if you truly want to help those of us suffering from mental disorders:

Or just google “your area mental health” and see what comes up!