It is difficult to select a theme for this post. Would it be frustrating? anxious? sad? I suppose it is all of that and more. Last week it would have been considered "a call for help". The truth is, I made a medical decision that has left me at the starting point once again instead of at the finish line. It is true that I am my own advocate but sometimes I am over zealous to my own demise.
My psychiatrist, quite patient I might add, watches me conduct experiments on myself. I am certain she is smirking when my back is turned because in hindsight the result is always the same. My brilliant idea to stop and decrease medications brings concern to her while I am filled with glee. She advises me against what is the obvious but I go against her just the same. She understands that medications separate me from disaster, but I am not a history buff. I easily forget what I must remember.
It is true that there are medications that I refuse to take. Side effects often take over and worsen the who I am. Oh yes, I can take the tremors and the long pauses between questions but I will not tolerate losing my hair or having it turn yellow. I cannot take the violent tics or insomnia. When my face is stiff and my mouth feels like it will not move I become afraid. Anxiety, a no-no and so is mind fog, confusion, and the numbness of emotions that is so constant and overwhelming.
Unfortunately, without a band-aid, this festering wound called bipolar disorder continues to worsen. Unprotected I am hypersensitive and withdrawn and distant. I am hypersexual and only interested in the power of it, the bottom line of it, and nothing more. Last week with obsessive suicidal ideation, I evaluated what I consider the means to an end. The end, this long haul of an illness that is absolute mind control, the end of the days and months and years of self-questioning and experimentation, the end to the aching desire for clarity, minus medications that only the wellness of health can provide.
So with appointment in place, I will soon face my experimental failure and she will know that I have reaffirmed her diagnosis once again. Having sampled from the tree of pharmaceuticals in every classification, we will discuss our eight year history and the trial and error process and what will come next. I will ask her about ECT and she will move me into another direction.
One would think that after all of this time I would understand this process of being "too well". Each time I take myself off medications I walk down this path of destruction and it is only after I hit bottom that I realize that each symptom, though one at a time, was leading me to something. Each time I risk my marriage and my well being while kidding myself into believing that I am cured, especially since I know there is no cure. So are these brain chemicals that trigger this pattern of behavior? or is it trickery propagated by a mentally contrived mind? Each time I experience this cycle, I forget my own history.
Bipolar disorder is like a simmering pot and medication is it’s cover. Without it, all that simmers beneath the surface may begin to boil harshly and when it does the chances for a burn, inevitable.
Cynthia is a public speaker and author of "Life Is Like a Line: A Memoir of Moods, Medication, and Mania" www.LifeIsLikeaLine.com
My psychiatrist, quite patient I might add, watches me conduct experiments on myself. I am certain she is smirking when my back is turned because in hindsight the result is always the same. My brilliant idea to stop and decrease medications brings concern to her while I am filled with glee. She advises me against what is the obvious but I go against her just the same. She understands that medications separate me from disaster, but I am not a history buff. I easily forget what I must remember.
It is true that there are medications that I refuse to take. Side effects often take over and worsen the who I am. Oh yes, I can take the tremors and the long pauses between questions but I will not tolerate losing my hair or having it turn yellow. I cannot take the violent tics or insomnia. When my face is stiff and my mouth feels like it will not move I become afraid. Anxiety, a no-no and so is mind fog, confusion, and the numbness of emotions that is so constant and overwhelming.
Unfortunately, without a band-aid, this festering wound called bipolar disorder continues to worsen. Unprotected I am hypersensitive and withdrawn and distant. I am hypersexual and only interested in the power of it, the bottom line of it, and nothing more. Last week with obsessive suicidal ideation, I evaluated what I consider the means to an end. The end, this long haul of an illness that is absolute mind control, the end of the days and months and years of self-questioning and experimentation, the end to the aching desire for clarity, minus medications that only the wellness of health can provide.
So with appointment in place, I will soon face my experimental failure and she will know that I have reaffirmed her diagnosis once again. Having sampled from the tree of pharmaceuticals in every classification, we will discuss our eight year history and the trial and error process and what will come next. I will ask her about ECT and she will move me into another direction.
One would think that after all of this time I would understand this process of being "too well". Each time I take myself off medications I walk down this path of destruction and it is only after I hit bottom that I realize that each symptom, though one at a time, was leading me to something. Each time I risk my marriage and my well being while kidding myself into believing that I am cured, especially since I know there is no cure. So are these brain chemicals that trigger this pattern of behavior? or is it trickery propagated by a mentally contrived mind? Each time I experience this cycle, I forget my own history.
Bipolar disorder is like a simmering pot and medication is it’s cover. Without it, all that simmers beneath the surface may begin to boil harshly and when it does the chances for a burn, inevitable.
Cynthia is a public speaker and author of "Life Is Like a Line: A Memoir of Moods, Medication, and Mania" www.LifeIsLikeaLine.com
