No, this isn't going to be a funny post worthy of Jeff Foxworthy, sorry. It's just to get things off my chest and, hopefully, feel better than I am right now.
If you don't want to "hear" me kvetch about BPD yet again, then just don't read this one. I'll be back again later with something a little lighter.
I was talking to a friend the other day and, because it was relevant to the conversation, said to her, "You know I'm bi-polar, right?"
Her altogether exasperating reply was, "I think all of us are that way, a little bit," or something along those lines.
Seriously, people, don't say that to someone who is suffering from a - yes - deadly disease. Unless you have actually been diagnosed with that disease or honestly, truly think you should be, in which case, get your damn self to the doctor already. You don't tell people your liver is a little bit cancerous, or you have a slight case of diabetes, or your child might not live to see their 8th birthday because of a touch of cystic fibrosis. And if you do, well, you're an asshole, and you should get off my page right now, m'kay?
Bi-polar disorder, and other mental diseases, are not jokes, and they're not universal. Everyone is NOT bipolar because sometimes they feel happy and sometimes they feel sad. Give me a fucking break.
When I say I suffer, I mean that I really, truly, honest-to-God suffer. And so does everyone in my family, and some other people who might get in my way at the wrong damn time.
I've been suffering a lot lately. What I mean by that is, in addition to the "regular" BPD stuff I deal with on a daily basis like the obvious mood swings, lack of control over my emotions, hyper-emotionality, and being dependent on drugs to make me feel and behave halfway like a human being, there have been other things going on. I'm pretty sure they are 100% related to the newest med Dr. P. put me on, so I went to see him this evening to get things switched around. Again. For the billionth time, because there is no reliable drug cocktail for everyone with BPD. You don't just get a script for anti-biotics and the crazy goes away. It's a squirmy, unwieldy, in my case giant pest, and the only way to get rid of it is to kill yourself, which really is kind of what everyone's trying to avoid by putting you on the medicines in the first place. You see the problem?
So I saw Dr. P., who asked me what was wrong, why I feel like the medicine is a problem. "Well," I started... and then I went into my litany of complaints: I feel like I'm dependent on it, because my whole body hurts when I feel like I have to take it. And I get twitches and major muscle spasms until I do take it. And I feel like that more and more often, in shorter and shorter periods of time, which I don't like one little bit.
Oh, and I'm having lots of suicidal ideation... "Plans?" he interrupted. "Just the thoughts and feelings, or do you have a plan?" They always ask that, you know. If you don't want to get locked right up, you better tell them it's just thoughts. "Just the thoughts," I said, truthfully.
Oh, and I'm having visual hallucinations in my the periphery of my right eye, a few times every day. "Take your glasses off and stand up," he sighed. He sighed because that meant actually doing something for me beside writing out a new script. Dr. P. likes to just get them in and get them out, and not actually have to deal with real problems. That's probably not really true and I'm just in a bitchy mood. Anyway, he gave me a little eye test and said, "Well, your pupils are normal, so only you can decide whether they are true hallucinations or not."
"Well, how do I do that?"
He stared at me. I blinked. He blinked. "I get them every day, about three times a day. I see something there. I swear it's there. Standing RIGHT next to me, about to touch me. But it's never there when I turn my head."
He scribbled on the pad some more.
Oh, and I'm having a major bout with paranoia. This made him huff and puff a little bit. "Now you're giving me too much information!" he huffed out, walking out of the room. He came back with a medication sample. "You keep telling me things. This changes everything. Is there anything else?"
Not that I can think of. I figured I'd think of something major and crucial on the way home, but I still haven't. So hopefully that was all.
I left with one of my three meds staying exactly the same, another one increased, and the one I hate being switched to a new guy that I've taken before and can't remember exactly why I stopped.
Honestly, I've been on so many brain-altering chemicals, I should probably be keeping a list somewhere. But like running my life, I prefer to fly by the seat of my pants a little bit. Wing it, if you will. Doctors love that. "Have you taken this before?" "Uh, I think so?" "When? How much? What for? Why did you stop?" "Uh... I forget, it either made me more suicidal or turned my shit green."
I made that last part up, but you get the idea.
So anyway, I start the new-old medicine in about ten minutes. Cross your fingers.
And yup, I feel better now.
Fin.
P.S. I really didn't have a bi-polar category before? Dude. I am NOT going to go back and re-tag all those posts. Not. (Maybe I will. I have OCD, too. But just a little. Heh.)
Recent Comments