Slept like a bomb last night

Probably not surprising given I'd had 3 hours the previous night; plus I ingested 4 cans of Jack Daniels & coke yesterday arvo to cope with a panic attack brought on by missing Zyprexa the previous night. I gladly put the bright yellow bitter/sweet Zyprexa Zydis wafer on my tongue last night at 7.30 pm, and was in bed by 8.40, asleep with my furry doggy snoring too by 9pm. Thank god for that.

Woke at 7am as per usual today. Feel a bit fuzzy but not altogether bad. The sky is blue the wind is still: it will be 24 degrees celsius today. I don't have to troop into my old office job in the basement with little natural light and deal with the moods of my odious former co-worker (skip back before April 2011 to get a dose of her). I don't have to churn through piles of correspondence and summarise them into a dull database program after scanning them. True, I don't have the paycheck that turning up to my former work afforded me. Yet I am free. A bit lonely and bereft of people to talk to, but free.

I will walk my dog again today; she loves all the smells on the various naturestrips, trotting along happily. She goes ape with excitement if we meet someone, especially if they have a dog on a lead. Unfortunately she has no road sense and does not come when called, hence I can't yet let her off lead in a park. The walk is better than nothing though, plus I leave her outside in the front and back yards for a few hours each day. Right now she is sprawled on the brickwork in my side yard, blinking and squinting at the gentle morning sun. Dogs are great. I love dogs.

A domestic day awaits: there are chores inside and out in the garden which require attention. I can't do much else as my finances restrict me to buying (mostly) necessities and budgeting. Yet for now, that is my choice. Diana challenged me the other day that I could and should be working, at least part time. She's right. My casual work doing public speaking engagements has dried up as the year winds to a close. I quit the catalogue delivery due to it being too labour-intensive and poorly paid. So I scoured the internet before; slim pickings.

I'm searching for work as a consumer educator ideally; an expansion of what I'm already doing in speaking to the schoolkids. Nothing so far, but will hold out. If it comes to Feb/March next year (when the job market picks up again) and I'm still in my current position, I will have to be prepared to compromise; maybe even soul-destroying office work again. Or retail. Or call centres. Sigh. I know there are millions who endure such jobs who would be shaking their fist at me and yelling "You sanctimonious bitch!!!! How dare you sponge off hardworking ppl like me who pay your wage (my disability pension is funded by taxes) when you should be out there working too!!!!"

I hear ya. My conscience has been prickling since I left work, most of the time. It's time of the year like this when I really notice being out of work; like having no end-of-year break ups; having time to gradually go around the shops and carefully choose Xmas presents instead of rushing; staying calm in the chaos that major road arterials become as drivers Rush Rush Rush and the roads become clogged. No wonder people find relief when the festive season is over.

And that's not even mentioning coping with 'difficult' family members to endure on Xmas day itself! You know, the one or two you normally never see, nor ever would want to, who manage to say and/or do annoying things, especially after a drink or two. Maybe not an argument, but enough shennanigans to make one feel relief when either (a) you have all guests gone and the house to yourself again or (b) you pull away in your car from the venue when Xmas lunch or dinner was held.

Anyway I digress; being unemployed puts one out of the loop in several ways. I've had my fair share of unwinding and chilling out. Diana is right: I need to work.

I've mostly recovered from my manic/depressive cycle from the past fortnight or so. I know to be mindful of seeking a workplace where such 'blips' on my radar would not only be tolerated but cared about. I did get that at first in my old workplace; in Dec 2008 I was unwell and went to hospital for a month. Work gave me a 'get well' basket of goodies and were most accomodating. I felt grateful. Then in June 2009 I had a blip where I had a cold, took a Codral cold and flu tablet(with psuedoeferdrine in it), got manic and was in hospital for a wekk. That elicited no sympathy, in fact I got a bit of schtick for it. Then in Sep 2009 my psych put me on Abilify and I became zombie-like which didn't endear me to my co-workers. I became depressed in the workplace thereafter; taking too any sick days. It bubbled and boiled in my head and I finally quit in April 2011.

Friends have said they were amazed I stuck it out for so long at that workplace. I guess that could be why I've been so reluctant to step back into another, for fear of poor relations with co-workers.

Anyway look; I've been told by more than one person that my public speaking has been fantastic. I'm gradually rebuilding confidence. God knows I was a shell of a person when I left the council. Awful place.

Schizoaffective or Bipolar? Does it matter???

My Psychiatrist is a Latvian fellow aged about 45. He surprised me last visit by saying "your bipolar or schizoaffective features...etc etc", as if it were a toss up betwen the two as to what diagnosis I had. Bizarrely, I felt affronted: I have always identified as Schizoaffective, especially after my worst hospital admission in 2003, whe I was 33. The chief Psychiatrist at that hospital said in my discharge meeting (with the registrar, my contact nurse and parents present) that I had a "Schizoaffective Psychosis" at that time. I was in that hospital as an involuntary patient for 7 weeks; 2 weeks in high dependancy ("the fishbowl" looks over you 24/7). So I always thought that schizoaffective was my diagnosis. So to have my present Psych (of the past 3 years) say in his Ruski-style accent that I might be Bipolar took me by surprise.

I looked up the ever-reliable (???) Wikipedia and gleaned that to be deemed schizoaffective, one must have either (a), (b), (c), or (d) features (look it up if it piques your interest) PLUS have disorganised or chaotic thoughts for four weeks or more. That's been true for me three times; each hospitalisation I've been convinced my parents are evil or that conspiracy theories abound. At my sickest I not only heard voices but hallucinated; thankfully that's only happened once (2003, aged 33). I know I've had it easy compared with some schizoaffective people.

Why does it matter what my label is? I guess I attribute a certain level of gruesome torment to psychosis (which I'm aware Bipolar people can be afflicted with too). It probably doesn't help that psychosis, or schizophrenia, has been misunderstood (eg: media reports of police shooting a psychotic person waving samurai swords) or misinterpreted (movies like "A Beautiful Mind" get some elements rights but either gloss over or get other things dreadfully wrong).

Maybe its the type of mystique that psychosis has? That people who only read or hear about it can't begin to imagine? Why do I want to be known as Schizoaffective instead of BiPolar?

Depression is almost starting to become understood (although it has a long way to go) by the wider community. BiPolar is almost nudging its way into mainstream consciousness thanks to movies and people with Bipolar who manage to contribute brilliant things to society. I said almost.....acceptance has unfortunately a long way to go yet.

However the psychotic illnesses remain cold, as far as I see. I think it freaks a lot of people out; they get scared; they imagine axes swinging and all sorts of violence and unpredictability. I know, I know.....BiPolar people endure psychosis...very real, stark and horrific/hospital involuntary stay-type of psychosis. Please don't think I am minimising what anyone with Bipolar in distress goes through; it's horrific, I've seen it in people I've been in hospital with.

Anyway look at the end of the day a label is a label. I've seen people make careers out of their label (as public speakers, authors etc). So why the fuck shouldn't I take ownership and pride in mine?

Ran out of Zyprexa last night

So I didn't sleep till 4am and woke as usual at 7am. Got on Facebook and chatted a bit (to my friend who I've posted about; we're all ok again in spite of my transgressions). At 9.30 started to feel a tightness in my chest, which intensified around my heart. I didn't smoke for over an hour and sipped water while I chatted online. Then I realised it was a panic attack probably brought on by missing my nightly 15mg of Zyprexa (hence the sleeplessness). So I showered and ate; had my morning meds and took the dog for a walk. It helped for about half an hour then the chest pain started again. So I hot-tailed it to the pharmacy and got my Zyprexa wafer script filled. Thank Christ they had them in stock (unusual for a Sunday).

Got home and the tightness continued. Tried distracting myself, then it hit me: a scotch and coke. Fucking alcohol will ease this panic. I can't take any more meds till tonight when they are due, so how to get through today? Pepsi Max and cigs will only intensify anxiety. Jack Daniels and Coke 4 pack pre-mixed for $20 (we have an outrageous 'alco-pops' tax in Australia on pre-mixed drinks to supposedly curb teenage binge drinking....it has only succeeded in driving up sales of bottles of pure spirits) will do the shot. Then I think....think through this drunk (not a drink, a drunk, for that's what it will be). I weigh up the pro's and cons. After 15mins of Will I Won't I, I shoot inside, grab my purse and keys and head out to the shops. Fifteen minutes later I am in the Bottle-O with the aformentioned JD & coke. I get home, roll three cigs, and slowly let the nectar down while inhaling and exhaling nicotine. Heaven.

After the second can, I think to myself: This is where a mild to moderate drinker thinks; "I've got that warm glow; I feel a bit giddy and giggly (because they are in company; they usually would never drink alone); I must stop now, I don't like being out of control." That's of course unless they are coping with a crisis: the death of a loved one, a lost job, the disintegration of a relationship, eviction from a rental....etc etc. Social, or moderate drinkers don't get tiddled on their own at around 1pm on a Sunday like I have done today.

I was coping with a panic attack. I am feeling alone today. I am trying to just heal and get over a moderate manic and depressive episode. I would never normally run out of Zyprexa; the past week has seen me preoccupied with my thoughts (well dah....what's new) and how I conduct myself to the extent that I haven't looked out for myself on a practical level. I've lost 2 kilos. I'm disinterested in food. Granted, the weight loss is welcomed considering I sit at a ballooning 85 kilos. Yet the carpet needs vaccuming, the garden needs weeding...eyeyaiyai...ohh Mister Hart...whattamess!!!

On the plus side I've walked my dog the past 3 mornings; that's a first. A bonus from quitting the pamphlet delivery job; walk for pleasure. The dog likes it immensely. It feels good.

I resurrected my dining room from being the engine room for sorting pamphlets (table chocked up on old university textbooks to prevent me leaning and getting a bad back; it looked awful, plus I had to eat my meals on my lap in front of the telly), to being a place where I roll my smokes and eat meals. Plus I put all the good chinaware back on the dresser (it used to house stacks of catalogues when I would sort them onto the dining table into bundles). So that feels and looks better.

Finally, despite having had 2 cans of JD and coke at 2pm on a Sunday and only 3 and a bit hours sleep, I feel quite lively. The Zyprexa really must be a knockout drug; usually by now (after takin gmy usual nightly dose and getting to sleep, say, by 10pm) I am feeling drowsy and in need of a one hour kip or so; that's if I'm up by 7am, which I am most mornings. One way around it is to get up with my dog and then doze in my armchair till 9am; she dozes too. Yet often I feel the early/mid arvo sleepies.

Oh well; medication like Zyprexa keeps me out of hospital: given the past week's activity one would think I'd be particularly grateful about that. I am.

Feel like nobody cares and yet logically I know that they do

Mood Indigo. Has been all day. Come down from a wave of a high that ran for 5 days till I noticed. On Sunday I was going gangbusters: a hot day up at 7am then out delivering pamphlets (I do a low paid catalogue delivery run which on avg pays a paltry $25 per 1000 that I deliver) which I got done by 10am. Then mowed the lawn in sweltering heat. Then went out and shopped; got home at midday and realised that although the temperature was 30 degrees (Celsius), I was in a tracksuit and felt cool. I looked down at my long-haired dog who was flaked out on the tiles in the heat, and realised maybe all my energy and great mood were not to be trusted. So I rang my Psychiatrist's consulting rooms, or rather, the hospital he works at, seeing it was a Sunday.

They paged him and he called within the hour, told me to take 400mg of Epilim on the spot then my usual nightly meds with dinner then to cut out my anti depressant the next 2 days and to call him Tuesday. Today. Which I did; at 2pm by which stage I was feeling beyond Indigo....beyond blue...into grey and blackness. The type of black where you curl up in a chair with your knees hugging to your chest while you cross your arms and stare at a spot for 15mins before you realise you are staring. You put the radio on and notice all the sad lyrics for a change instead of mostly the tune and melody. You don't want to eat. You don't even feel much like smoking a cigarette. Worst of all you can't cry, which is what you feel like doing, and you crave the healing salty tears as your body shudders into sobs and your nose runs.

I rang a friend who said she was going to call and check how I was at 3pm; I'd given her a fair amount of time to have made the caring call to me. She was in the middle of something; she noted that I sounded down; she said she'd ring in a week or so when she got a chance. People don't much like talking to depressed people; it may seem like the depressed one is just feeling needlessly sorry for themselves and engaging in self-indulgence. It can be hard to talk to a depressed person; they sound sooooo flat and defeatist and negative; it's confronting and to many people is not something they want to deal with at the best of times. I can't blame my friend for shying away from conversing with me in flat mode today. It hurt at the time though. The whole nobody cares thing. Such a powerful voice in my addled mind. Destructively strong.

I distracted myself on the internet for most of the afternoon: thank god for the anonymous, ever-present internet. I stayed away from Facebook, where I have a grand total of 19 friends: I don't see the point in friending someone you've never met, let alone got to know in real life. I have a skewed view of friendship, it's true to say: when i am acutely manic I am unbearable (babble babble babble about myself and get irritable and critical of people when I connect with them); ditto when depressed, as described above. Hence I have a very refined tendency to alienate myself socially. Plus I've been burned a lot. I know, I know; who hasn't been burned??? No reason to get bitter and twisted, right?

I wish I could say, right on; you live and learn; be good to those who love you; be considerate and help others, be a friend to have a friend; etc etc . Stop being self-centred.

I've tried. Here's proof: over the past 5 years I made 3 close friends. There was give and take in all friendships, but ultimately I ended up being 'the sympathetic ear' more often than not. In some ways I behaved like an unpaid therapist, which is how a lot of friendships work, and it's about showing genuine care for someone you like a lot. But things got weird; suffice to say all 3 people are no longer my friends. There was only so much I could give. I had to step away.

I've been rejected by more friends I would be able to readily add up right now, mostly due to my illness making me unbearable. Sometimes it was through my insensitivity and careless comments, which I totally regret doing and saying. At the end of the day, whether the friendships were ended by me (a handful) or by others (dozens), it's left me in a state of having few friends. Very few. So much so that I don't celebrate my birthday with friends. My birthday ius coming up in a few weeks and I'll go out to dinner with my ageing parents. I'm lucky they are still alive. I love them deeply. They put up with my moods. I try not to inflict them on Mum and Jeff too much. They are great.

So in solitude I write this. The indigo will give way to a brighter colour on the spectrum. My anti depressant will kick in eventually if not already.

Hell....I'm alive. I don't yet have diabetes or any major health scare...just a blip in the head which usually is manageable. I'm lucky to be treated for it and have a roof over my head and food in the belly. And a little dog who licks my face. That helps.

28 degrees Celsius today hooray

Summer is just around the corner with Melbourne having its warmest day today since last Autumn.  For me this means having salads for dinner and leaving doors open to air out the house and being able to wear a t-shirt all day without being cold.  For my furry companion Floss it means splaying out on the cool bathroom tiles and having lots of gulps of water; I had Floss clipped a couple of weeks back but she stills feels the heat.

Have to leave in an hour to be part of a paid discussion group for mental health; which approaches helped me recover, which didn't etc.  Then it's on to my monthly catchup with the shrink; hopefully we can discuss going on to any alternative antipsychotics than Zyprexa, my zombifying balloon-fat-making drug.  He tried me on Abilify but that made me REally zombie-like, with serious blunted affect and inability to animate which impacted  on all my social constructs and hence diminished my confidence dramatically.  I tried Zeldox but that made me restless and also had my right leg 'pinging' up on its own from the knee joint which would have been a danger when driving.  So here's hoping he thinks I'm stable and that there's something decent and new happening.

Am still delivering catalogues; have to finish my run today as I felt mega tired yesterday and only got half done; I overdid things on Monday while helping a friend get organised for moving house and wore myself out.  Am still realising my limits when it comes to energy levels; it's also greatly affected if I have more than 2 drinks a day, so I try not to.  I didn't have any drinks last night so here's hoping i can get through today the best I can muster.


Gotta fly....seeyou!! :)

Warmer weather, my dog and walking walking walking

                                                          My beautiful dog Flossie xo

So it's late September at nearly 8pm and the wind is mild; my dog is outside fossicking around.  Yesterday she caught a big black spider and every time I went near her to kill it (it looked seriously menacing) she gleefully ran off with it in her mouth whilst waggling her bushy tail.  Then she proceeded to bat at the poor beast with her paws till it curled up its legs in self-defence.  THEN to my horror she picked it up in her mouth and ATE it.  Fearless Flossie, I call her (Flossie being her name).  The other night we had a thunderstorm; she barked angrily at the rumbling; sticking her furry head out beyond the curtains to blink at the lightning.  Again, fearless.

I think it's the terrier in her; she's a cross between a shih tsu, a terrier and a pekinese, which basically means she's fluffy and cute.  It also means that, as a stray whom I adopted from a shelter she's been allowed to get away with murder by her previous owners, and she has a fair few challenging behavious which I'm trying to train her out of, like whining for food when I eat my meals, biting at my feet when I walk if she gets excitable, ripping furniture when bored, barking incessantly at people who walk past our front window...the list goes on.  And she isn't toilet trained.  She's challenging but worth it.  I now have a furry friend who greets me enthusiastically when I come home.  She curls up with me on my bed at night and we snore in unison.  When I rub her belly she sighs and licks my hand.  My companion, my Floss poss (short for possum, an Australian native animal she barks at if they jump on the roof at night).

I haven't been walking her as much as I should (ie: every day).  Lately I've taken on a second job delivering catalogues to letterboxes; I do it twice a week and the delivery takes me over 2 1/2 hours to do, which feels great but is tiring.  Not so good is the time it takes to collate the various catalogues into one parcel (Ie: fold 8 or 9 catalogues into one bundle per letterbox); usually around 3-4 hours to do this.  For all this work I get around $30; I'm paid per 1000 catalogues I deliver.  It's a massive rip-off, but I'm mainly doing it for the exercise.  Whether I can maintain doing it long term is another question, but with the weather warming up I feel inclined to continue.  Am still giving the talks about mental illness to schoolkids, but that will wind down as they approach their final exams in October/November.  I might have to look for better paying work, but so far I'm managing.  I'm learning to shop at discount sores and to budget better.  So for all that it's piss-poor paid, the walking I'm doing delivering catalogues is suiting me at the moment.  It's great for depression: non-existant at present.  So, yeah, happy at the mo :)

Talking about having a mental illness

I'm getting paid to talk to school groups about what it's been like for me having a mental illness. Secondary school kids who are studying psychology pretty much. I've done two talks; so far so good. The kids have been attentive and some ask insightful questions afterwards. Things like Did Art Therapy help you when you were sick and what would happen if you didn't take your medication. I guess it's a good thing to be able to share with schoolkids about what it feels like to be unwell and to be well; helps debunk some myths hopefully.

I spend a fair bit of time talking about what its like being in hospital and also what was running through my head when I was sick. I'm careful to balance that with how I think when I'm well.

So far, so good; hopefully I can keep doing this regularly and not ever have to go back to soul-destroying office work.