The Bipolar Drunk

Plan Ahead, or Abilify Is a Hell of a Drug

2009-11-24T11:16:00.000-08:00

Author's note: sorry if this rambles, but it will get somewhere eventually...

For a change, I thought I'd post an update within 48 hours of a change in my situation/psychiatrist visit/end of the world/etc., while it's all still relatively fresh in my mind.

To recap: I'm rapid cycling. This was pretty much confirmed by my doc yesterday. The short definition of rapid cycling is three or more depressive or manic episodes in a 12-month period. Currently, that's definitely me.

As I mentioned in my last post, I was running a bit manic. I had tons of extra nervous energy. There were several days in a row where I walked 5-6 miles a day, and still had energy to burn-- definitely abnormal for me. And for the first time, ever, in my life, I was having hallucinations. Nothing major, mind you, but some minor annoyances that caused me some concern and made life awkward. I never heard voices, but was always hearing music-- bad music no less.

My doc took me off my last remaining anti-depressant medication back in October, (Lexapro, 5mg-- a very low dose), as anti-depressants often cause mania in bipolar patients. In fact, that's often how doctors (at least, good doctors) distinguish between bipolar and major depression, but more on that later. Within two weeks of going off the Lexapro, I noticed that things were moving, ever so slightly, downward. My energy was a bit lower, my concentration got worse, and I got more irritable than usual. I was sleeping 7-8 hours a night again. The audio hallucinations got fewer and farther between, and I noticed that my hearing was not nearly as acute as it was when I was manic. Back to "normal" then. Good enough.

But as usual, "normal" was entirely subjective, which is why it's one of those words that is always used in quotes with me. Very soon, there were less "normal" days, and more days where I didn't feel quite right. I quit walking after work, and I noticed that even the smallest noises in my condo bugged me-- especially the sounds of the upstairs neighbors walking across the hardwood floors in their shoes and the out-of-sync noise from the furnace, which sounded like a boom car on mescaline as it rattled throughout my condo.

I had this sneaking suspicion, given how my episodes wind out, that I'd be feeling about knee-high to a grasshopper around the end of Novembeter. I planned ahead, and asked for the week of Thanksgiving off from work. If I was sick during that time, I could at least work on getting well. If I wasn't, I'd have my first full week off in over five years. I even moved up my appointment with my psychiatrist for Monday the 23rd of November, just to be extra safe.

Needless to say, planning ahead has definitely paid off. This latest depressive episode, while still difficult and painful, has been one of the easiest I've had in several years. And being prepared ahead of time has made all the difference.

It's taken several years, but I think I've finally learned to listen to my body, and my mind. This time around, I recognized that I was running a bit manic: difficult tasks at work became "too easy" for me, as did making music. I had tons of nervous energy. I was easily distracted by small things. I kept my spending under control, for the most part, but I had urges to make large purchases (*cough* new Gretsch guitar *cough*). After so many episodes, I knew what my signs were-- and because I knew they were signs, I followed them.

And whatever goes up, must also come down. I knew that I was going up, even if it was fairly small when compared to other episodes. Consequently, I got ready for the inevitable crash. I talked to my doctor. I made appointments. I took time off work, and arranged to spend the week at my mother's house, because I didn't know if I'd be able to take care of myself when I crashed.

And it has paid off.

Yes, I am still pretty depressed right now. I can't get out of bed before 9:00 a.m., and am in bed well before 10:00 p.m. I feel lethargic, and it has taken me two attempts and five hours to write this blog entry. I haven't gotten any exercise in almost a week, and feel like I've got a hangover (which is probably due to the side effects of starting Abilify, more than anything). However, I am able to get out of bed each day, I am able to feed myself, I am able to leave the house and spend time among humanity (I'm in a coffee shop as I write this). So yeah, things kind of suck right now, but they are bearable.

The moral of the story? Hell if I know. But what I do know is this: us bipolars needs to pay attention to what our brains (and our bodies) are telling us-- much more so than normal folks who don't have to ride this roller coaster. We need to be ever vigilant of the signs that we're having an episode-- manic OR depressive. We need to be pro-active, hyper aware, almost to the point of being hypochondriacs (better safe than sorry when it comes to having an episode, I say. Besides, we're the ones that pay the doctors' salaries).

We may not have asked for this condition, but we can learn to live with it. And make no mistake, it's very hard work sometimes. Sadly, our brains do not speak English. But we can understand them, if we only pay very close attention.

Did you hear that?

2009-11-06T12:32:00.001-08:00

Jeez, it's been awhile. I really better update this thing.

Long story short: things are mostly okay. Mostly. I think I may be rapid cycling (google "rapid cycling bipolar disorder" for the gory details), and am having a tough time getting completely stable-- whatever the hell that means. Currently, I think I'm in a manic/mixed state, as my moods are generally pretty good, and I sometimes have trouble sleeping. I am getting a ton of exercise (comparatively speaking), and am walking 3+ miles a day. My appetite is good (almost too good), and I am at work most days (even if I am a couple hours late once in a while). My boss says I'm doing okay at my job, and most of my customers seem happy. I've had a few bumps in the road, but nothing that couldn't be cleaned up easily.

In the past few weeks, I've started having minor hallucinations. Nothing too serious-- no voices telling me to kill myself or others. Just a lot of strange audio sensations: music, odd noises, things like that. During a walk a few weeks ago, I thought I saw somebody hiding in the bushes. I've also noticed my hearing is extremely acute-- I swear I can hear a gnat flapping its wings in Oregon. I've never had hallucinations before, even at my sickest, so it's a new sensation for me. My doc has done some minor adjustments of my meds and I'm waiting to see what happens (most med adjustments take 4-6 weeks to kick in).

In other news, my band is playing its first gig in over a dozen years tomorrow night, November 7. We will be playing at least three new songs I've written since June of this year. We've been practicing like mad for it, and I have to say we are sounding really good. We're expecting approximately 30 people, most of whom are close friends and/or relatives. I'm nervous, but I've also never been as prepared for a gig as I am for this one. I've managed to cover every detail, and make contingencies for things that may not go right the first time.

I don't know if things are good or bad right now. They just are. And I can't ask for much more than that.

I'm still me

2009-06-23T12:13:00.000-07:00

I'm still me.

I may be having an episode of depression (or mania, or even a mixed state episode) right now, but I am still the same person you know. Sure, I may be feeling a little out of sorts, but I'm still the same quirky, cynical yet caring guy I've always been. I still like and dislike the same things. I still laugh at the same things, and I still cry at the same things too.

I am still the guy who would never, EVER hurt you. I am not a violent person. I've never been in a fight in my life, and I'm not going to start now. I would just as soon hurt myself as I would hurt you, or your friends, or your family.

I know I've been a bit paranoid and/or obsessive in the past few weeks. I know I've caused you some pain because of that. I am sorry. I don't mean to behave that way. It is a byproduct of the depression-- one I am working hard at controlling, and one that is getting better day by day.

You don't have to be afraid of me. I am not going to come after you. Nor should you be afraid for me, either. I have an excellent support system in place to deal with this kind of thing. Unfortunately, it's all part of the disease-- it's still possible to have the occasional episode even if I'm taking my medications. I've been through them many times before, and I've survived. I will survive this one, too-- I promise.

I know that I'm going to be back to normal soon. Every day is better than the last. My sleep patterns are back to normal. I'm asleep by 11, and awake by 6. My appetite is improving, and I'm eating a healthier diet (I've lost 20+ lbs so far). The brain fog is lifting, and my concentration is improving. I am working more hours every day, and I even finished writing a new song-- the first one I've completed in ten years.

I am starting to feel like the same person I was back in the spring, only better. I realize now that I was sliding into depression back then because of some med changes my doctor and I had made. Those changes were a mistake, but unfortunately psychiatry is not an exact science, and no medication combination works the same on every person. If I could undo that med change, I would, in a heartbeat, because I don't like going through this-- nor do I like putting you through this, either.

I know you were worried that, because of this episode, I am the same person you knew before. I wanted to tell you that I'm still me. I'm still the same person I was. Even when I'm having an episode, I'm still the same person on the inside.

This disease is a part of me, but it is not me.

An update

2009-06-18T13:18:00.000-07:00

Well, I was working on a cool piece about how bipolars experience emotions different from normal people, but unfortunately I can't seem to pull it together. I don't know if it's because my brain is done with thinking today (it tends to "wear out" early when I'm recovering from a depressive episode) or because I can't think of what to say, but I've put that one back on the shelf and thought I'd just give everyone a general update on how things are going.

I'm sitting in a neighborhood cafe as I write this, having completed another six-hour day at work. So far, that seems to be about all I can work at this time. I'm actually pretty well mentally exhausted after four hours of work, but I'm able to do busy work for the other two to make it a six-hour day. After work, I've taken to writing either music or lyrics (or blogging), depending on what my mood is. I have not done anything remotely creative in years, and I don't think I've actually finished a new song in a decade. Pretty sad for somebody who claims to be a singer/songwriter/musician, no?

But this week, I have completed two songs: one that I've been toiling over for a couple of years and another that just kind of fell together in a day. I've written a number of songs both ways before, and one way is not necessarily better than the other. And the results tend to be fairly mixed, as well. Tonight, my band is going to go through them, and put some arrangements with the words and chords. Again, this will also be the first time we've learned a new original in a decade.

Getting my creativity back has been a godsend. I have struggled for so long to create something new, something original (something GOOD) that it's almost a relief to be able to be able to do it.
However, at the same time, I know I have to be careful, because hightened creativity is also linked with hypomania-- and the last thing I need right now is a manic episode.

However, I don't see that happening this time. For one thing, I don't have any of my usual manic symptoms: alcohol craving, road rage, rapid speech, or racing thoughts. But I know that if I start experiencing ANY of these symptoms, I will call my doctor ASAP.

As is common with people taking lithium, I suffered from hypothyroidism. I've been working with an endocrinologist for the past few months to remedy the situation, and I'm happy to report that my latest TSH check came back normal. Yet more good news.

Right now, I'm going to work on being creative, and getting back my attention span. I feel like I have ADD, as I am still easily distractable and have a hard time concentrating on things for any lenght of time. For example, it's taken me over an hour to compose the few paragraphs in this post. Normally I'd have that done in no time.

Still, I am thankful that this most recent depressive episode was relatively short, and that my recovery is happening much faster than I had anticipated (or even dreamed of, for that matter). Hopefully things will continue in that direction.

Reeling (some new song lyrics)

2009-06-16T16:26:00.000-07:00

Spinning through April
Reeling through May
Careening through June
Crashing every day

Spinning through today
Careening through the night
Reeling into tomorrow
Never know what's right

Three wicked mistresses

2009-06-15T15:05:00.000-07:00

May Nia: She's got me wired.
Ann Xiety: She's got me worried.
Dee Pression: She just brings me down.

The Rollercoaster Ride Continues

2009-06-12T09:01:00.000-07:00

Yeah, I know, long time no update. But I've got a fairly good excuse for this one. You see, I had me another one of those big badass depressions that was so soul-crushing I nearly bought myself a short stay in the wacky ward.

And worse yet, it was almost entirely avoidable.

As those of you who have read this blog know, I had reached a fairly stable place earlier this spring. Things were as "normal" as they can get for a bipolar: I was at work most of the time, I was taking care of myself and I was engaged with the world around me. I was at such a place where my psych doc recommended that I go off a couple of my medications: Seroquel (an anti-anxiety/anti-psychotic also used to quickly stabilize manic moods) and Lexapro (an anti-depressant).

Like most bipolars, mania is not my main problem-- depression is. Most of my episodes are very deep depressions, and my manias tend to be "hypomanias"; that is, relatively small, short-lived, and easy enough to recover from. Consequently, we decided to drop the Seroquel first and see what happened.

We stopped the nightly Seroquel dose, and everything went fine. In fact, it went very well. One of Seroquel's side effects is that is messes with the hunger receptors in your brain. It makes you feel hungry, even if your stomach is full, so a lot of people who take it tend to put on weight (in my case, about 40 lbs. over the course of 18 months-- which still isn't the worst weight gain I've had on psych drugs). After I went of the Seroquel, my apetite went down markedly at night. However, Seroquel also has a sedating effect, and I noticed that I had a harder time falling asleep at night. My bedtime moved from 10:00 p.m. to midnight-- or even later. I even blogged about it right about the time I went off the Seroquel.

Going off Lexapro was also fairly easy, for the most part. I got a little imbalanced immediately afterward with my lithium, but was able to bounce back relatively easily. For the next few weeks, things seemed to be going alright. As spring had finally vanquished another bone-chilling Minnesota winter, I also stopped using my lightbox, too (my cycles are seasonal, like a lot of other bipolars-- big surprise, right?). The only thing that changed a bit was my sleep cycle-- I started falling asleep later, and waking later-- but sleeping less. However, I was still able to get to work by 9:00 most mornings, so I didn't pay much attention to it, as I was still able to function fairly normally.

Unfortunately, things didn't stay this way for long.

Right around the second week in May, things started to change. My energy level started running lower. My mood shifted, ever so slightly. I began to feel a slight bit depressed, and didn't take care of myself as well as I had previously. I quit riding my bike, and only occassionally went for walks. I started to get paranoid about my friends, coworkers, and even my new girlfriend-- a sad side-effect of my depression. This paranoia fed my growing anxiety and led me to actions that I highly regret.

Things seemed to be getting a bit better by the end of May-- not completely better, but slowly improving. But then, catastrophe struck.

On the early morning of Thursday, June 4, somebody (or bodies) broke into my home and stole a couple of laptops (one of them belonging to my employer), my cheap stereo, and (saddest of all) a Fender Stratocaster guitar that I'd owned for 17 years, and one I had written, recorded and performed most of the couple dozen songs I've written. This same guitar had been my solace through many hard times and had saved my life. I had just recently spent a couple hundred bucks having it refurbished and rebuilt into my "dream guitar", and was hoping to use it with my band when we start gigging and recording again.

Needless to say, I felt violated in the worst way. The burglars had broken into the house some time between midnight (when I had gone to bed) and 3 a.m. (when I walked into my living room, and the lights were on, and the side window screen was off and had a hole cut in it). I called the cops right away and filed a police report with the responding officer, but I knew that it was highly unlikely I would ever seen any of my stuff again.

Even worse was the sense of violation I felt. Somebody had broken into my house. While I was home. Asleep. In my bed. By myself. I wouldn't compare what happened to me to rape, but I can imagine it was probably something similar on a much smaller scale. Either way, it has left me traumatized, and I have not been able to spend a night in my home since then.

Unfortunately the break-in fed my already existant paranoia and anxiety, leading to a lot of strain my my interpersonal relationships (one in particular). By the next day, I was staying with my mother, and I had completely crashed.

Thankfully, I had called my psychiatrist earlier that Friday, and had explained the situation. She put me back on 5mg of Lexapro a day (1/2 the dose I was taking) in the hopes of keeping things from getting worse. As things did not improve over the weekend, the doc increased this dosage back to 10mg, and prescribed the light box to give me an extra boost.

By Thursday (yesterday), I was feeling a bit better. Nowhere near to normal, mind you, but normal enough to do things besides lay on the couch all day and feel horrible. I know that it will probably be another week or two before I get close to normal, but even today I'm miles ahead of where I was on Monday.

My biggest regret about this whole episode is that it didn't have to happen. If I would have stayed on the Lexipro, it's unlikely I would have had this recent depressive episode. I've lost quite a bit because of it: a few weeks of work, the goodwill of some friends, and also the affection and companionship of somebody that I love-- which is what I regret most of all.

I'm not quite sure how to end this, as there's no moral to the story and not much of a lesson to be learned. I suppose if there is one, it's that you need to try everything in your power to stay well, but also know that sometimes things don't go as planned and that you have to be prepared to fall back on your emergency plan to get through.

Oh, there is this: treasure your friends, and your companions, and your lover, every moment you are with them. Because some day you may not have them around, and you will miss them dearly.

What doesn't cure me can only kill me

2009-04-13T10:07:00.000-07:00

Yes, finally, another update. My apologies again for taking so long between these things, but it's been a crazy past few weeks.

First, some good news: as of today, I have been off of Lexapro for a week. So far, so good-- mostly. I had a few withdrawal symptoms (headaches, "brain shivers", muscle aches, nausea) but nothing that didn't go away, or couldn't be treated with a couple of ibuprofen. So far, so good.

And unfortunately, some bad news: a couple weeks ago, I had a nasty cold. I treated it with OTC cold medication and herbal remedies. Both of these together (along with my daily dose of lithium) dehydrated me, and caused additional problems. I managed to get a mild case of lithium toxicity, which pretty much wiped me out for five or six days. I exhibited most symptom associated with it: tremors, diarrhea, thirst, drowsiness, nausea, blurred vision and weakness, and spent a week in bed or on the couch until I could get re-hydrated and get my medication levels back to normal.

Of course, this is not a frequent occurrence, but because lithium is a drug where the window between therapeutic and toxic is so small, it's still a possibility. And because it's still by far the most effective therapy for bipolar disorder (not to mention the cheapest, and most well-proven), there's not much choice about taking it (or not taking it).

If I take lithium, I can live a somewhat normal life. I can hold a job. I can live on my own. I can take care of myself. I can do the things that everybody else takes for granted every day. If I am off my meds, things go downhill. It may not happen all at once, but within a few months I have usually wrecked my life.

If I'm depressed, I don't leave the house. I sleep most of the day. I feel sad all the time. I can't concentrate on anything. I don't go to work. And I don't want to live. If I am manic or in a mixed state, I am constantly angry. I drive recklessly and get tickets or even have car accidents. I spend money that I don't have on things I don't need and will never use. I do things that I know are not good for me. I use people to get what I want and push them away after I get it, and then hate myself for doing so. I drink, a lot, all the time. And I don't want to live.

The choice for me is simple: either take my meds and live, or don't take them and destroy myself. When I was younger, I would have chosen the latter without hesitation. I never planned on living to be 40. But now that I'm four months shy of that date, I know what I want to do. I want to live. And because I want to live, I will take those three capsules of lithium every evening at 8:00 p.m. for the rest of my life.

One down, one more to go

2009-03-11T18:15:00.000-07:00

As of right now, I've been off Seroquel for over a week. And I feel pretty good overall. I've noticed a significant increase in my energy level, a decrease in my appetite, and and decrease in the hours I spend asleep (I was sleeping 9-10 hours a night). I have a harder time getting asleep these days, so I may talk to the doc about getting a "better" sleep aid, if things continue. However, given what is coming up next in my drug situation, I may not need that sleep aid. Read on...

At my doctor appointment last week, my doctor also said I should get off of Lexapro, a commonly prescribed anti-depressant I first started taking in the fall of 2007, when I was in the hospital. This would leave me taking only lithium to treat the bipolar disorder (I would still be taking Restoril-- a benzodiazepine-- as a sleep aid, and testosterone and levothyroxin for my hormonal/thyroid problems).

At first I was nervous about getting off the Lexapro, but since the Seroquel withdrawal went better (and quicker!) than I anticipated, I've decided to start phasing out the Lexapro tomorrow. Our original plan was to go off of it beginning March 20, but I am feeling confident. We had been planning on going off the Seroquel and Lexipro for awhile now, and since things are going so well I decided that there's no better time than the present to take the next step.

Plus, I am a bit concerned that I may go a bit manic the longer I stay on Lexapro. Seroquel tends to sedate, while Lexapro is an anti-depressant (a stimulant), and lithium takes away the peaks and valleys. Since I'm not on the Seroquel any longer, I'm afraid that the Lexapro may "overstimulate" me, and lead me into a manic state, since the Seroquel isn't there to balance it. Also, the drugs I'm taking for my thyroid condition also have a stimulating effect, and may make me go manic. I'm sleeping less, which is oftentimes a symptom of mania. However, I do have a plan in place, and am monitoring the situation very closely to make sure that I don't have a manic episode.

Withdrawing from SSRIs/SNRIs anit-depressants is a real pain in the ass. I've gone of several of them in the past (Paxil, Wellbutrin, Effexor, Cymbalta, Zoloft come immediately to mind) and they can cause a lot of very scary physical and mental reactions. When I went off Paxil the first time, I had a full-blown panic attack that almost landed me in the emergency room. Thankfully, I've got some experience at this, and I'm prepared for the sweats, nausea, brain shivers, and body aches. I've done this before, and I've come through eventually. I'll get through this one, too.

I haven't had a major episode of depression or mania since I got out of the hospital in October 2007-- the longest I've gone in years. I've never felt as good as I do now, and things continue to get better.

Kicking Seroquel

2009-03-11T18:13:00.000-07:00

EDITORS NOTE: This is a cross-post from my Facebook wall. I thought it was relevant to this blog, so I'm sharing it out here for those who don't have me friended in FBLand. Enjoy!

From Wikipedia:
Quetiapine (pronounced /kwəˈtɑɪəpiːn/, kwe-TYE-a-peen), marketed by AstraZeneca as Seroquel and by Orion Pharma as Ketipinor, is an atypical antipsychotic used in the management of schizophrenia and bipolar I disorder, and used off-label for a variety of other purposes, including insomnia and anxiety disorders.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Quetiapine

========

I've been taking Seroquel regularly since October of 2007, when I was hospitalized for an acute bipolar episode (my second in three months). It was prescribed to help control my anxiety and to help control some of the symptoms of my episode. I started off taking 75mg in the hospital, and have gradually decreased that dosage to 25mg, which I take now every night at bedtime.

Seroquel's most noted side effect is sedation-- on which I am all too familiar with, as most drugs prescribed to treat bipolar disorder tend to have sedative effects. Right now, I am also taking very high doses of lithium, another drug used to treat bipolar disorder and one that also has a very sedating effect.

Right now, I feel as if I'm swimming through mud. I feel lethargic and half awake all the time, even though I get plenty of sleep (sometimes 10 hours a night).

My doc has recommended that I come off the Seroquel for the past six months. I even tried once before last fall, to no avail. At the dose I'm taking, I'm not getting much of the beneficial effect, but I'm getting plenty of the side effects (heavy sedation, weight gain, persistent appetite, etc.).

With spring coming and a recent increase in my lithium dose (and the crappy way I've been feeling the past several days), I've decided it's time to kick the Seroquel. I am currently taking seven medications to treat this disease (including the side effects from the medications), and I'd like to reduce that number.

The drug withdrawal side effects will be (and have been) pretty crappy, but I'll get through them after a few days. For now, I'll just expect the headaches, the nausea, and the bouts of insomnia. It's nothing I can't handle and nothing I haven't gone through before.

According to my last count, I've taken fourteen different brain drugs over the past fifteen years. This one will soon be another memory, too.

Some randomness on a sick day

2009-02-05T10:45:00.000-08:00

No, I haven't fallen completely off the face of the earth. I am, however, having a bit of trouble getting motivated this winter. A lot of my energy/creativity goes in seasonal cycles, and the winter tends to be one of my lowest times of the year. And unfortunately this year is like any other.

Sometimes I think I would have been better off if I was a bear. I could sleep all winter, crawl out of my cave, go totally apesh!t in the summer, pig out all autumn, then back into the cave for a three-month-long nap. Unfortunately we humans don't work that way, so here I am.

I finally went to the endocrinologist and discovered that I am, indeed, hypothyroid and hypotestosterone. One of the side effects of lithium is that it depresses thyroid functionality, and consequently a lot of lithium patients also take a thyroid supplement to alleviate the side effects. So, I'm still a bit lethargic, still a bit fatter than normal, but things seem to be getting better. I'm still eating fairly healthy, I still exercize 5x a week (I've got Buns and Thighs of Steel, thanks to biking), I get plenty of sleep, and mentally I generally feel pretty well. I'm a little fuzzy-headed at times and feel a bit ADD-ish (bipolar symptoms often look like ADD), but overall I'm okay.

I promise I will post a real update to this thing very soon (probably more tales of the various meds I've been on over the past dozen+ years). So don't say I didn't warn you.

The sound of one hand clapping (Part 1)

2008-11-22T12:35:00.000-08:00

"Got a head full of echoes
Got a mind full of pills
Do you think you recognize me?
Do you think you ever will?"

— lyrics from the song "One Hand Clapping". Download it here (MP3, 3.1 MB).

I wrote those words in the fall of 1994, shortly after I first started taking psychiatric medication for what I thought was major clinical depression. I was trying to capture what it felt like to feel my life change, to have things that seemed forever broken get fixed. To feel that finally my mind was not my enemy, but my ally.

I was first officially diagnosed with depression when I was 18 years old, even though I'd probably been depressed since the onset of puberty. I also remember a myriad of crying jags, feelings of immense sadness for no reason, and odd behavior as a child. I'd been to a few counselors as a kid as a one-off thing, mainly because I came from a single-parent family and had some self-esteem issues. None of it seemed to satiate the strange, terrible feelings I had, which had little (if anything) to do with my parents' divorce.

When I was 18, I started seeing a pyschologist on a regular basis. Most of the therapy sessions involved me doing "visualizations" of previous traumatic events in my life, only giving them happy endings instead of the bad ones. Needless to say, I thought it was a joke, and didn't take any of it seriously. I just figured that life is miserable, and that's how it's supposed to be. And it was my job to wallow in that miserableness.

I was also just starting college at this time, and socially things seemed to improve a bit. I came out of the shell I'd made in high school, and even became a bit of an extrovert. I went through my glam phase, and started dressing up and wearing eyeliner. I subconsciously cultivated the image of a cynical, dark, mysterious creature who spent his time listening to dark music and chain smoking (oooo scary!).

I was one of a number of guys named Dan on my small college campus, and I soon gained the nickname of "Death Dan" to differentiate me from the others. Even other people saw that I was a bit different, and had a dark attitude. I remember that a woman broke up with me because I told her I thought that people who spent their life trying to be happy were stupid and ignorant, and that life was supposed to be miserable.

Starting in my late teens, it seemed that every autumn, my moods would shift, and my thinking would take on an odd quality. I became even more sarcastic than I normally was. I was angry at everything-- more so than usual. Sometimes, I felt hyper-sexual, and would get involved in relationships I knew were a bad idea, yet still felt compelled to pursue. I would lash out at friends and family, for little more reason than I felt like it. I would also turn more and more often to alcohol, as it was the only thing that seemed to take the edge off the anger, and gave me some relief from the fire in my brain.

Then, like clockwork, I would have an epiphany of sorts, and realize what an ass I was, and crash and burn, and shut myself off for a few days to escape from the mess I'd created. Each year, the sarcasm would get worse, and the corresponding crash would get worse, too. What started out as a few weeks of being an asshole to everyone would turn into a couple months of rage, random outbursts and terrible cases of road rage-- followed by the inevitable retreat to bed, or a walking zombie existence, just barely keeping the tears back.

Eventually, this crash and burn routine got to be too much. I made an appointment with a pyschology clinic. During the initial interview, the social worker diagnosed me as being in a depressive episode. Instead of prescribing more counseling, he made an appointment for me with the pyschiatrist-- a medical doctor.

(To be continued...)

The Beginning/End (Part 2)

2008-11-17T19:04:00.001-08:00

(Authors note: the use of the terms "crazies", "nutjobs", etc. is not meant to minimize or demean the suffering of anybody who lives with a brain disease. People who have mental illnesses suffer as much (or even more) pain than those with more visible, physical ailments, and deserve our compassion and respect for living with their frustratingly baffling disorders. I oftentimes use these terms 1) to make a very sad situation easier to deal with by lightening the mood, 2) to destigmatize and "disempower" the word and take it back, much the same way the GLBT community has taken back "queer". As somebody who has a brain disease, I know what it's like to walk around with a mind that doesn't work like everyone else's, and I certainly don't mean to make it any worse for my brothers and sisters who are also touched by this strange affliction.)

Okay, so where was I? That's right, the psych ward.

First, a few words about your typical, modern-day psych ward. Most major hospitals have them these days, and most of them have more than one ward or section. Typically, they separate out the violent, aggressive crazies from the more sedate, mood-disorder-related crazies. As I am non-violent by nature (and tend to be hospitalized when I'm depressed), my stays on the ward have all been in mostly mellow places, with mostly depressives, bipolars who are depressed, and a few delusional/schizophrenics thrown in for color (more about that later).

So, what goes on in your typical psych ward? Well, truthfully, not a whole lot. Most of us there are extremely depressed, many nearly catatonic. You sit around a lot. If you can concentrate, you might read a magazine or a book. Or do puzzles-- jigsaw, crossword, wordfinds, sudoku, whatever's around. Or, if it's allowed, you watch TV. Or sit in a corner, and sob uncontrollably. That's if you're not being dragged off to a session on how to run your life, practicing good leisure activities, or managing your feelings, or some other type of subject that sounds oddly trivial, yet is essential to your daily life. And surprisingly, many people with mental illnesses never learned so many of these essential life skills. All of this while your brain gradually adapts to various medicinal experiments carried out by a trained team of psychiatric professionals.

Also, you don't go to the psych ward to get "cured". You get treated and stabilized so you can go back to the world. Psychiatry is still a relatively young science-- I prefer to call it "shotgun medicine" because it's so inexact. You try one medication, and if that doesn't work, you try another. And another. And probably another, and another, until you hit on a medication (or combination of medications) that works for you. This can take months, even years, to perfect. Hopefully they keep working, and don't crap out after a few years. If they do, it's back to the drawing board. And yes, it is exasperating, which is why so many of us choose to off ourselves instead of go through it over and over and over again.

So, back to our story. I finally made it onto the ward some time after dinner. I ate, alone, and joined the rest of the crazies in the day room. I was surprised that, when I came onto the ward, they let me keep my personal jewelry, including my watch and my rings (and earrings too, for that matter).

For evening session, we all introduced ourselves, and I related my tale. Surprisingly, I didn't break down. I didn't even cry. I didn't shed one tear about what was the most tragic event of my life. But I was done crying. And surprisingly, it felt alright...

Everybody on the ward was sympathetic, and offered a lot of support. I was safe-- and even if I wasn't among friends, at least I was among people who cared.

That night, before I went to bed, I took off my wedding ring. I wrapped it in tissue, and put it in the drawer of the nightstand next to my hospital bed. I never wore it again.

The Beginning/End (part 1)

2008-11-15T12:07:00.001-08:00

I suppose if I'd been in my right mind and not so far into my weirdness I would have seen it coming.

G. and I had been married for almost nine years. I had proposed to her ten years earlier, after one whirlwind drunken evening. Lately, things had been a little cool between us. I knew she was irritated for me, but it was for the usual reasons: I'm a slob, I can't manage my money, I drive like an asshole (six tickets in as many months, and the consequent suspension of my license), I don't do anything besides go to work, come home, sit on the couch, drink a lot of wine, and pass out/go to bed. The usual minor crimes and trespasses in our comfy little home.

It started on Friday, May 6, 2005. It was the day after Cinco de Mayo. G. had a bunch of her gal pals over for drinks before they went out. As it was near Cinco, I volunteered to make margaritas (I made killer margaritas-- even professional bartenders would beg me for my recipe). I had recently gotten into top-shelf tequilas, and needed a good excuse to try them out, too.

After a few pitchers, we were all well on our way. I provided some low-key entertainment with my flamenco guitar (very amateurish, but sounding like Paco de Luca to drunk people who don't know what it's supposed to sound like). I remember seeing them off, and then went into my office for awhile. That's where my memory goes blank for several hours.

G. and her pals came home several hours later, and found me, passed out in the bathtub, with vomit on my t-shirt. Once again, I had embarrassed G. For the one millionth-plus time in our marriage.

The next day, we were going down to visit my mother for Mother's Day. Needless to say, I was hung over to hell, and G. drove the 90 miles to Rochester. I felt awful the whole weekend, although I never let on it was because of a hangover.

The following Monday night, G. went out with her best gal friend. She got home late (around midnight), and insisted on sleeping on the couch. Not unusual, as I had a tendency to snore and she was a light sleeper. On Tuesday, she didn't come home at all, and stayed over at her best friends' house. This was getting strange. And I was getting anxious. When I get anxious, I retreat to some place safe. In this case, it was back down to my mom's in Rochester. I drove down that night, missing a concert by the reunited Gang of Four, one of my favorite bands, which I had been planning to see for months.

G. had been planning to start couples counseling again, and had our first appointment in a couple weeks. I called and had it changed to that Thursday morning. Between Tuesday night I spent my time on my mom's couch, staring at the TV, scared, unable to do anything, even cry.

Thursday morning comes around, and my mom drives me to the therapy appointment. G. is there, and is decidedly detached-- cold, even, in her black suit. We sit near each other (not next to each other), wordless, in the waiting room. After waiting for what seems like an eternity, we're called in to see the therapist.

I took a seat on a couch, G. sat down on a chair next to it. The therapist introduced herself, and asked us to do the same, and describe why we were here.

I told her I knew that we had some problems. I knew I was hard to live with. I knew I was emotional, and sometimes that was scary. But I also knew that I loved G. more than anyone, and that I wanted to spend the rest of my life with her, and was willing to work on our relationship.

Then she spoke. She said that she didn't love me anymore, and hadn't loved me for years, and had been living a lie. She said the marriage was over, and didn't see the point in working on it. She wanted a divorce, now.

I was crushed. As a child of divorce, I'd always told myself that when I got married, that would be it-- forever. I even naively thought that because my marriage lasted longer than my parents', that I was in the clear. After all, people tend to get divorced after a few years, not nine years. By then, you've pretty much got it sussed, right?

I was crying, and had an overwhelming desire to kill myself-- more so than usual. The therapist knew I was in trouble, especially after I had described how I'd been the past few months. She called over to Regions Hospital, and got me a bed in their acute psych ward.

I'd had several significant mental breakdowns in the past, but I'd never been hospitalized. I'd have episodes that would leave me unable to work for a month or two, but I'd never been to the hospital. THAT place was for wackos, not for people like me who had a little problem with depression once in awhile. What the hell was I supposed to do at the hospital?

The rest of the day was a bit of a blur. My mom took me to the hospital, and I sat in the emergency room for eight hours, curled up on an examination table, feeling numb. I didn't cry much after the initial revelation-- I think I was in shock.

Finally I was admitted. They took inventory of all the meds I was taking, took away my belt and shoelaces (ain't nobody gonna hang himself in OUR nutjob ward, amigo), got me some pajamas, and sent me into the dayroom with the rest of the crazies...

Coming soon; or, I'm working on it

2008-11-13T21:19:00.000-08:00

Sorry there hasn't been an update. I'm in the middle of writing some new songs, as I'm anticipating that the band will return to gigging early in the new year. I'm working on the rest of the "Weirdo" thingy, plus I'm working on an entry tentatively titled "The Beginning", which will be about the events that led to my first stay in a psych ward, and what happened afterward.

Stay tuned-- I promise it will be worth it. :-)

Weirdo (part 1)

2008-10-08T11:12:00.000-07:00

Ever since I was a kid, I knew that I was different. Sure, everybody says that, and to some extent it's true, but in this case I knew that I wasn't just the "run-of-the-mill unique"-- I was downright strange.

For one thing, I was obsessive about things. I would dive into something, and it would consume my life. After my parents split up when I was four, my dad moved to Richfield, right across Cedar Avenue from the Met Center, home of the Minnesota North Stars. In the winter, it seems like we went to a hockey game almost every weekend. Even at that young age, I became an uber-fan. I memorized the entire starting line-up, including their stats. Had there been sports talk radio back then, I could have had my own show and held my own with the Pat Reusses and Sid Hartmans of the world, even though I was only in first grade.

A couple years later, after my dad moved away to Arizona, the first Star Wars movie came out. I became the biggest Star Wars fanatic you ever saw. I memorized the movie, I bought the toys, the comics, the paperbacks, and I even tried my hand at what would become known as fan fiction a couple decades later. All I talked about day and night was Star Wars.

A couple years later, it was model rocketry. Then Dungeons and Dragons. Every hobby I had I threw myself into it completely, obsessively, to the exclusion of almost everything else, including friends and family. Eventually, as I neared puberty, it became music, and the guitar.

(to be continued...)

Hello

2008-10-08T11:10:00.000-07:00

So, uh, where do I start?

A little about me. I'm in my late 30s. I am a straight white male. I am single (divorced) and live alone in a fairly large city in the upper midwest, with two cats who seem to be very good at producing large amounts of hair and shit, but are still filled with love for their papa (that's me). I work in technology in the public sector.

I am blessed with perfect pitch, and consequently I play a few musical instruments. I also sing and have a four-octave range. I write music, and have put out a CD with my band. I play music at least a couple hours every day.

I am also bipolar. This is a fairly new diagnosis for me. I have had at least six major depressive episodes (that I can count) since my teens. I've taken psych meds for the last fourteen years, and have been on most of the most popular anti-depressants (including Paxil, Effexor, Wellbutrin and Cymbalta). The anti-depressants would work for awhile (sometimes as long as a couple years), and then they'd stop. I'd head right back down.

Finally, a couple years ago, I did a little research on recurrent depression, and came to the conclusion that I don't have depression, but bipolar II disorder. A consultation with a couple psychiatrists confirmed this.

The past few years have been a bit difficult, but are getting better. I decided to start this blog in an effort to work through the different things I feel about this diagnosis, to share some stories and insights, and maybe help other people understand what this whole thing is all about. Oh, and to have a couple laughs about some of the weird stuff I've done because of (or in spite of?) this strange affliction.