All that keeps running through my head

I pulled an all-nighter last night. I think it's because I had a 24 oz coffee from 7-Eleven. It wasn't decaf. So I've been sleeping on and off throughout the day today. Everyone I know is working or at parties so I don't mind having slept most of the afternoon. My boyfriend brought to my attention that I could volunteer on the weekends, instead of being bored all the time. My initial reaction was that I felt he was telling me what to do. I've thought about it though and I realize he was just trying to help me out, like he always does. I wish I could look at the volunteer book from the hospital online, instead of having to drag myself there and sit in a tiny room thumbing through a huge book trying to pick out an assignment. I think I remember though that most of the assignments were M-F. I might still eventually go there to see if I could find something for the weekend.

All that keeps running through my head lately is that my therapist Jeanne is now on vacation for three weeks. I still have Dr. K., but it's different. If Dr. K. went on vacation it would not affect me as much. Most of my deep issues are worked on with Jeanne. Dr.K. and I once had our own small tea party. It's like that.

A friend of mine insists that psychotherapy is not the answer. According to him cognitive therapy is the way to go. He argues that in psychotherapy, the patient is constantly venting. Getting things out, and talking about problems, but where does that end? He said it just tends to go on and on, not solving anything. You could talk until your face was blue and you would be at the same position you were at before you even met your psychotherapist. I don't know if I 100% agree. I can see where he is coming from though. It does seem that the need to vent never ends.

"Are you lost or incomplete?
Do you feel like a puzzle, you can't find your missing piece?
Tell me how you feel?
Well I feel like they're talking in a language I don't speak
And they're talking it to me"

The above lyrics are from 'Talk' by Coldplay off of their X&Y album.

Falling...

I told my therapist yesterday about the mysterious bruises on my arm. She thought it was really strange and asked me if I had been 'losing time.' What she meant was had I been in another personality state and blacked it all out; hence, losing time. My other therapist, Dr.K., had apparently observed me in multiple personality states several years ago and thinks I have DID (Dissociative Identity Disorder). He thinks it is well under control with my medications.

I am often torn on what to think about his diagnosis. The reason being is that I have so much trouble making decisions. For example, whether or not to get a part-time job. I am frequently feeling one way one day and then take the opposite stand on another day. I could go to sleep at night and wake up feeling a totally different way than the night before, in terms of a decision to make or certainty of something. I change moods almost as frequently as I change my socks or underwear, or possibly more often than that even. I really don't know what's up with it.

This is why sometimes I feel like being institutionalized. I wouldn't have to make so many decisions anymore. It's like I don't want to take responsibility for myself. My strength is just so lacking. I don't know how to become stronger.

"You
In your shell
Are you waiting for someone to rescue you
From yourself
Don't be disappointed when no one comes"

The above verse is from the song 'Falling' by the band Staind.

In love...

My boyfriend went home from visiting me. It was a really good visit, despite my trip to the ER last night. I got freaked out after dinner when I happened to glance down at my arm and saw a bunch of blue and purple spots on my arm. I don't recall any injury having occurred. The spots on my arm were not sore to the touch either. They drew some blood and then sent me home with the diagnosis of Upper Arm Contusion, in other words, bruise. It is kind of embarrassing that I went to the ER for just some bruises...but it is better to be safe than sorry.

I am really in love with my boyfriend. One of the things I love most about him most is his ability to make me laugh at any given moment. He is also a very good listener. I am very dedicated to this relationship as it is a very important part of my life. I can't wait until we get our own place. I hope that I can make him as happy as he makes me. :)

In an hour I will find out how long my therapist will be on vacation for. I have a phone session scheduled with her this afternoon. I feel like canceling it. I might just ask her when she will be back and if I can wait to talk to her until then. I am feeling pretty good today. :)

Beginnings

So my boyfriend is visiting. Tonight is the NAMI meeting, but we decided not to go. We had a long day, a lot of time was spent driving around looking for an Entenmann's Factory Outlet. We first went to the one by me, but it was closed and said they are relocating, but listed other locations. So we decided to go to one of the locations on the sign. We drove and drove and it turns out that one was shut down too! Entenmann's is not only the best bakery line, in my opinion, but also brings back many fond memories from my childhood. That's right, food brings back good memories. My grandmother was probably one of their best customers buying their cakes and cookies like every week. She would always give my sister and I dessert when we lived with her. It wasn't the desserts growing up that caused my weight gain though. It was my psych meds interfering with my appetite and metabolism. My grandmother eventually developed Alzheimer's disease and forgot about the need to eat. We fed her Entenmann's even when she didn't remember what it was anymore. It was always her favorite. I would hope that someone would remember my favorite things if I forgot what they were. I don't plan on having any kids ever, so I don't know who would visit me if I ended up in a nursing home someday. Oh, well, can't worry about everything...though I manage to worry about most things on a daily basis.

The dark and depressing parts of life always seem to attract me like a magnet. My depression was all I had when I was 13. I had no friends (we had just moved to a different town) and nothing to do besides homework. My dad was drinking all the time, and being really silly and embarassing. My mom was depressed and violent most of the time. So I started getting into working extra diligently on my homework. I became creative with my writing assignments, mixing in elements of my dark depression in an attempt to cry for help. Most of the teachers ignored it. One wrote a note on my paper and told me that the school psychologist was a very friendly and gentle person I could go to talk to if I needed. At least someone paid attention. However, I didn't have the strength to make an appointment with him on my own. It took my boyfriend at the time going down to guidance and telling them they thought something was wrong with my mother and the way she treated me to get me in any sort of counseling situation. One day I was in health class and they paged me to go down to the guidance office. I thought I was in trouble or something. Anyway, the airhead of a guidance counselor I had decided she would be my 'therapist.' She was not helpful in the least, until I told her I was suicidal and she called my dad. My dad listened to her and found me a social worker to talk to. That was the beginning of the great downfall; though it seemed like things were getting better, things were actually about to get much worse.

"You know you're not the only one"

It's pretty muggy here. My housemate decided to make an appearance today. She lives here like four days a year. It is a waste of money for her to pay rent to a place where she doesn't live. Why should I care? Well, she has the nicest room in this house, it has a private bathroom and two closets.

My therapist Jeanne is going on vacation starting next week. She has not yet broke the news of how long she will be gone. She asked me if I wanted someone to talk to while she was gone, if my other therapist would suffice for that period of time. I told her I guess that I will be ok with just him for a while. It is scary how dependent I am on Jeanne to be there to listen to my weekly stockpile of grievance. Dr. K just keeps a low profile and doesn't say much other than uh-huh, or yeah. Jeanne actually gets involved and pays very close attention (in fact sometimes too close attention) to my emotions. And, as of late, there is quite a range of emotion flowing through me. To quote one of my favorite bands, Evanescence:

"So afraid to open your eyes- hypnotized
you know you're not the only one
never understood this life
and you're right I don't deserve but you know I'm not the only one"

That was from their song, 'The Only One' off of their 'The Open Door' album. I have never understood this life and probably never will.

What about consumers?

My boyfriend and I were thinking about attending a NAMI (National Alliance on Mental Illness) meeting this week coming up. So I called up and asked someone for driving directions and the woman on the phone asked me who would be attending. I said myself and my boyfriend. Then she asked: “do you have a loved one?” I said no, that I suffer (from mental illness) and so does my boyfriend. Then she quickly said that they were looking to have consumers attend their meetings. That means that we will be the only ‘consumers’ to attend. Apparently their "support group" is for family and friends of the mentally ill. So, off the bat I automatically thought to myself: ‘great, a bitchfest.’ There are probably parents of mentally ill amongst the attendees and we are probably in for a long night.

I have issues with parents. I don’t think I’ve made it quite clear how much so in my blog as of yet, but it is sure to come up in future posts. The major reason for that is that many abuse their children.

Here are some important facts from:

http://www.annafoundation.org/D-MI.html

The references for this article are at the bottom of the above webpage.

“Facts and Discussion Points:

1--Fifty to seventy percent of all women and a substantial number of men treated in psychiatric settings have histories of sexual or physical abuse, or both.1-3

2--Up to 81% of men and women in psychiatric hospitals who are diagnosed with a variety of major mental illnesses have experienced physical and/or sexual abuse. Sixty-seven percent of these men and women were abused as children.4

3--Seventy-four percent of Maine ’s Augusta Mental Health Institute consumers, interviewed as class members, reported histories of sexual and physical abuse.5

6--Childhood abuse can result in adult experiences of shame, flashbacks, nightmares, severe anxiety, depression, alcohol and drug use, feelings of humiliation and unworthiness, ugliness, and profound terror.12-18

7--Adults who were abused during childhood are:

* more than twice as likely to have at least one lifetime psychiatric diagnosis;

* almost three times as likely to have an affective disorder;

* almost three times as likely to have an anxiety disorder;

* almost 2 1/2 times as likely to have phobias;

* more than 10 times as likely to have a panic disorder; and

* almost 4 times as likely to have an antisocial personality disorder.19

9--Adults who were abused as children may be more prone to developing schizophrenia. A high rate of childhood physical and sexual abuse is evident among children later diagnosed as schizophrenic, with a strong link between childhood abuse and hearing voices. In addition, changes in the brain seen in abused children were similar to those found in adults with schizophrenia.21

11--For adults and adolescents with childhood abuse histories, the risk of suicide increases 4- to 12-fold.23

12--Most self-injurers have a history of childhood physical or sexual abuse. Forty percent of persons who self-injure are men.24–26 "

Note that I did not include all of the facts from the article, the rest can be found at the webpage above. I myself was abused as a child, both physically and verbally/emotionally (see #9).

Coincidence or not?

Yesterday I was taking a walk through the neighborhood, the same path as usual. I was listening to some music so a lot of the environment surrounding me was tuned out. There were two sightings along my walk in particular that grabbed my attention. The first was when I happened to look down at the sidewalk. I noticed a butterfly opening and closing it's wings right there along the walkway. The other was closer to the end of my walk, on my street actually. I noticed a black cat staring at me on someone's lawn. As I walked by it just stood there, staring. Both of these sightings I found rather interesting, particularly because I just started this blog not too many days ago. Not only does the title of my blog refer to butterflies, but also I have a daily picture and a link about black cats on it as well. I attribute these sightings to synchronicity.

Synchronicity, according to Merriam-Webster Online is as follows:

"synchronicity

Main Entry:

syn·chro·nic·i·ty

Pronunciation:

\ˌsiŋ-krə-ˈni-sə-tē, ˌsin-\

Function:

noun

Inflected Form(s):

plural syn·chro·nic·i·ties

Date:

circa 1889

1 : the quality or fact of being synchronous 2 : the coincidental occurrence of events and especially psychic events (as similar thoughts in widely separated persons or a mental image of an unexpected event before it happens) that seem related but are not explained by conventional mechanisms of causality —used especially in the psychology of C. G. Jung"

It's been a while since I've studied psychology, so I had to refresh my memory on the concept. I shall include a link about Carl Jung's synchronicity in my relevant links section. There is much skepticism about synchronicity, as according to skepdic.com, they attribute it to the human mind's ability to find meaning and significance where there is none.

Certainly people suffering from schizophrenia/psychosis often find meanings in our everyday surroundings. Being hyper-vigilant is one of the symptoms I have had in the past. There is a website though that argues that synchronicity is not psychosis .

Whether or not you believe in synchronicity, is entirely your choice. Fact is though, that coincidences happen- whether synchronous or not. I do happen to know however that Synchronicity II is an awesome song by The Police. :)

"Where am I?"

Yesterday I got what seemed to be a mass mailing from someone involved in the volunteer program I was trying to get involved in. It had something to do with some party they are going to have. I was wondering why I got this email, because after I filed my volunteer application, no one ever got back to me. So, why would I be getting an email about a party?

Then late last night another email from the same person appeared in my inbox. It was a much shorter email and it was stating that they need help Thursday and Monday and asked if I had the time to help clean and feed the cats. My name wasn't in the email at all, so it could have been another mass mailing. I don't know what the deal is, why no one ever got back to me and now all of a sudden I am hearing from someone that I don't even know and has never introduced himself. I guess somehow I got on their mailing list.

I have this recurring dream in which I am at the train station but I am at the wrong one. It's always an issue how I am going to get home. Last night I had this dream, and it lasted for what seemed to be a long time while ending at the part where I am at the train station. I was a psychology major, but I am not sure what to make of this dream. Perhaps it is as simple as the concept that I feel lost. The other day I started to write a poem about how I feel lost. It goes as follows:

something is dying
inside.

how can I be myself
when I don’t know who that person is?
somewhere along the way
over the years
I got lost.

'Kendra's Law'

It has come to my attention that I am clearly more depressed than I thought. Sometimes it is hard to see out of the fog. I do believe that my depression this time around is merely situational depression. There is a lot of crap on my mind that is bothering me.

I went for a physical last Friday to get necessary paperwork for my housing application. The doc told me that I had a slight heart murmur. This freaked me out, I did not say or ask anything. I am always worried about my heart and this was just some fuel for the fire. It took me back to a conversation I had a long time ago with a fellow mentally ill friend. He had told me he had a heart attack and warned me about psych meds f'ing with my heart. He said something about his heart valve being damaged by his antipsychotic. I immediately attributed my heart murmur to long term effects of my medicine. If my heart murmur is slight now, could it get worse with the continual doses of perphenazine and Abilify? If that is the case I am doomed.

I cannot go off of this medication. The one time I did, the hospital took me to court to have me mandated to take my meds in a supervised community residence. It is Kendra's Law-a law stemming from a schizophrenic committing a horrific criminal act while off his medication. I did NOT commit any crimes. Not all schizophrenics are prone to violence when symptomatic, contrary to popular belief. In fact, they coerced me into lying to the judge- saying that I was non-compliant with medication three times. I was only non-compliant once. But if I didn't go along with the lie, I would not ever get out of the hospital they said. I assume they meant they'd send me to a state institution. Is that horrific or what? I think so.

It isn't easy being blue...

I got into a conversation with my boyfriend yesterday about our psychiatric medications. In particular, the damaging physical effects they have on our bodies. The question I have is how could the FDA approve these medicines when they do so much physical damage? They can cause excessive weight gain, contribute to the onset of diabetes, cause cerebral edema, can f$#% up the QT interval of the heart, and I am sure my kidneys and liver aren't loving the meds either. Those are just a few. The biggie side effect that I am most concerned about is Tardive Dyskinesia. It is a potentially irreversible neurological disorder. It can cause repetitive involuntary movements of the face, tongue, lips, arms, legs, or trunk. I saw my own grandmother develop TD when she was put on the same medication I am on. She was constantly making a chewing motion, as if she was chewing gum all the time. It made it difficult to feed her when she was sick with Alzheimer's.

I answered my own question though, I think it's because they are desperate to keep us mentally ill under control. Benefits outweigh the risks sort of concept. But I often wonder if I am really benefited by being out in our society nowadays.

It is so hard to try and make it in this world when you have people telling you that you are not capable of working full-time and if you work part-time most of the money is taken away due to rent increases and loss of benefits. I am on disability by the way. I live at poverty level. I have a car, thanks to Mom. If I smoked I could not afford to have my car. But just living on disability with a car is a struggle itself. My free dial-up internet is now non-existent. I feel having my computer and the internet helps to keep me sane though, so I pay for the slowest, cheapest DSL. If my car were to need a repair, I would not be able to pay for it. I am lucky if I can save $25 a month. I would not have my own transportation if it weren't for my parents looking out for me. I have doctors literally all over the place. It is imperative that I can transport myself, as Medicaid will not pay for a taxi out of the nine mile radius. I cannot afford to buy clothes, or even shoes. Payless is a store that I now consider a luxury. My boyfriend gave me a $25 gift card to the food store so I could have food until my next paycheck as I only get $24 a month in foodstamps.

Once in a blue moon I go to the mall and walk by all these super expensive, ritzy stores. I see people walking around with multiple bags in hand. The only time I'll have a bag in hand at the mall is if it was just Christmas or my birthday and I was using my gift money. My family is middle class and can afford to give me some money at those times of the year. I know that I am lucky to have my family, as dysfunctional as they might be. My gift money often ends up being spent on gas for my car or food. I try to eat as cheaply as I can. I suppose I qualify for going to the food pantry. Maybe I will do that soon.

I applied for Section 8 government subsidized housing but I honestly don't think I could afford living there by myself. I could not foot the bills on the money I have now. I think I will always be in supported housing.

So, being able to get to my doctor appointments and having food on the table is always a worry for me. It eats away at me. As if having depression and schizophrenia weren't enough of a mind drain. I know I could be worse off, but I could also be so much better off. It is always an uncomfortable experience to attend family gatherings and parties. People always love to ask: "what do you do?". I can't even express how badly I'd like to be able to say I am working in some sort of job and actually be honest. Saying that I am out of work sort of kills the conversation. I suppose if I told them that I am mentally ill and/or on disability, that would kill the conversation also. The people that already do know about my mental illness often tell me that I "look good." They are not saying this because they think I am good looking, they are saying this because they don't know what else to say. I don't want their pity. I feel bad enough already.

Anyway, I've often contemplated being permanently institutionalized. I would not have to worry about food and getting to the doctor. There's a catch though, I'd want to refuse psych meds and ECT. I would accept the occasional injection of Haldol, as it is meant to be used- a temporary tranquilizer. Naturally, I'd have to be actively symptomatic to be institutionalized. Some people feel that I would lose all freedom. I don't think that way, I feel like if I were allowed to live off psych meds, and live with my illness, then I would be truly free. My body would no longer be poisoned. I would no longer suffer from the stress of being at poverty level in this society. I'd be with people like me. I would gain back some of my personality that is flattened by the antipsychotics and my artistic creativity. I know this because I went off of meds once in the past. I would gain back my emotions and not feel so numb.

I am not going to take that path though. I don't think I'd be allowed to refuse meds in an institution and I would lose the few people in my life that mean something to me. As tough as times may be, love keeps me here.

A little background...

I've suffered from depression ever since I was 13 years old. When it started, I was obsessed with death and romanticized suicide. I had visions of hanging myself from this one tree in my backyard. On Halloween at the age of 14, I took a knife to my wrist. Nothing happened, as I was just playing with knives. I wanted to see how difficult it would be to cut myself. I was far too weak to do any harm to myself at that point. Some might argue that I was not weak, but strong.

Over the years, I have confused the many mental health practitioners that treated me. I've had about a dozen different diagnoses. I find it rather amusing and it makes me question the 'science of psychiatry.' They all agreed that I had depression though. Quite frankly, it doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure that one out! I made it very obvious.

The latest DSM-IV diagnosis of mine is Schizoaffective Disorder of the depressed type. I have never heard voices. I feel blessed that I have not suffered from voices. Schizoaffective disorder, by the way, is a combination of schizophrenia and depression.

I take a few psychiatric medications and see two therapists as well as a psychiatrist. My therapists are Dr. K and Jeanne. I can't decide between the two, so I figured I'd keep both of them. My insurance pays for both of them because one is a clinical psychologist and the other is a social worker.

I am in a serious relationship and we are trying to get couples housing. He also has mental illness. I live in supported housing at the moment with two housemates. They are smokers and I don't smoke. Most supported housing options around here have smoking tenants. If I had decided to wait until a non-smoking house became available, I would probably still be waiting.

I come from a dysfunctional family, and I'll leave it at that. I don't think that is at all uncommon nowadays.

I have struggled with my weight for many years now. Psych meds can screw up your appetite and metabolism. My appetite is much smaller nowadays, though for some reason lately I have been getting sugar cravings after dinner. I have tried a commerical dieting program and succeeded on that once. Then my meds got increased and I put back on some of the pounds. Damn meds.

I like to write poetry and paint. Bob Ross is my artistic inspiration. My poetry stems from my mental health issues and my relationships.