The Death Of Alan Rickman

David Bowie had died the day before my birthday, but the news didn't break in the US until my 36th birthday.  January 11th, 2016.  Someone said it must suck to have David Bowie die on your birthday.  I corrected them, but all the news that day was about David Bowie.  I was outside of it.  I didn't really know his work.  I was sad whenever anyone died, but didn't mourn like the rest of the world. 

Three days later, it was my turn to be devastated.  On January 14th, 2016, the world lost one of the greatest British actors to have graced the screen and stage.  Alan Rickman, whom at some point I had a crush on, had died of cancer.  No one had known he was sick.  Except of course his wife and his closest friends. 

I had loved the man.  Not in a romantic way.  And not the man whom his wife and friends had known.  I had loved the artist.  I had fallen in love with Colonel Branden.  I had fallen in love with Severus Snape.  I loved to hate The Sheriff of Nottingham, Rasputin, and Hans Grueber.  I had cried when I realized Harry had cheated on Karen in Love Actually.  He was so brilliant. 

My friend Annie asked me on Facebook if I was okay.  I told her I was, because of course he had a great life with a brilliant career.  I had been in shock. 

A Month later, maybe more, I was on IMDB.com.  There was an in memorium video for artists lost so far in 2016.  I made the mistake of watching it.  Alan Rickman was second, and they showed him as Snape, saying his famous Harry Potter line, the heartbraking, "Always."  I lost it.  All the shock was gone.  I wept for almost an hour.  My husband was not home.  I was home alone.  All the pent up grief just let loose.

You see, Alan Rickman had been my friend during my psychosis.  In the novels I had written about how I became a celebrity and moved to England, he and his wife had always been friends of mine.  In my psychosis, I had believed these stories to be true.  I felt like I had lost a close personal friend.  Even though in moments of sanity I knew it was not true, I had watched interviews with him, read quotations.  I knew I didn't know him, and yet my illness tricked me into believing I did.  And in this grief I could not tell reality from fantasy.  And when reality began to shine through again, I wept for the world at no longer seeing another brilliant performance of such an amazing actor.  With such a voice. 

There will be no voice like Alan Rickman's ever again.  No deep soothing voice.  And for that, I mourn. 

Last night, I dreamed that I won a contest that I could hang out with the cast of any movie of my choosing.  I picked Harry Potter.  They asked me which one and I told them all the last one, including flashbacks and ghosts.  The dream was littered with adventures and making movies of our own.  But in the end, Alan Rickman had to die again, because he was in reality already dead.  As he was dying in front of me, I threw my arms around him screaming and sobbing before falling back as he withered into nothing.  The other cast members, Dame Maggie Smith and Emma Thompson said they didn't understand why someone who didn't know him was so upset. 

The Cost Of Good Health Insurance

It's true that I have phenomenal Health Insurance, and that most people don't.  I hear horror stories about how people can barely afford insurance and copays, coinsurance, deductibles, and premiums.  And I get how it can be annoying when I forget these things and in a state of giddiness, post how awesome my insurance is. 

But people have to remember the other side of why I have such awesome insurance.  I am disabled.  In such a way, that I will likely NEVER be able to work again.  That is why I get SSDI, because I am permanently disabled.  That's what it's there for.  So I am entitled to Medicare. 

I live in Massachusetts, which thanks to Mitt Romney and other politicians, has a great form of Medicaid, MassHealth.  I am entitled to MassHealth for 2 reasons, 1) I am disabled, but more importantly, 2) I am very very poor. 

My husband and I live off of my SSDI and SNAP benefits (food stamps).  That's it.  And the government is constantly trying to take our SNAP benefits away too.  85% of my income goes to rent and the most basic of utilities.  That does not include cell phone usage.  We cannot afford a car.  We cannot afford a bus pass.  I rely on my Health Insurance to provide medical transportation to and from my many doctors appointments.  I rely on family to take me to the laundromat and the grocery store and the drug store.  And they live 40 miles away and only come up twice a month. 

When people talk about going out to dinner or buying things, that is a luxury we don't have.  I get money once a month and have to make it last.  Often I can't make it stretch and we go without.  I pay all the bills when my check comes in, so that we are never without electricity, and if God forbid there is a fire and we lose everything, the renter's insurance is paid up. 

I have friends who tell me I should get this movie, or this book, or try this restaurant, and I politely tell them, "Sure, when I get a chance."  But what they don't realize is, that will never happen, because I will never be able to afford it.  Once a month, we pick something low cost to buy as a treat to ourselves.  This month I got glittery eyeliner for "Valentines Day" which cost $10.  That was my fun treat for the month. 

So back to health insurance.  I get this awesome, all expenses covered health insurance that covers everything, but at what cost?  I would rather be a working member of society, earning my own paycheck, and paying my own way, then this person who scrapes by every month and pisses people off when she posts about how she gets a years worth of free contact lenses. 

Maybe the next President can fix the system, so that everyone has an equal shot at fair and affordable Health Care.  My cousin shouldn't have to go broke paying for her Medicare or her Diabetes testing supplies.  She paid through the system, it should be there for her, like it is for me. 

Mistaken Identity

I posted this picture on Facebook:

I tagged my husband, which means his friends could see the picture too.  One of his friends asked if I was his mother.  I replied, "Um no, I'm his wife.  I'm 36, but went prematurely gray."  We then went back and forth, me trying to make her feel less bad about confusing me with his 61 year old mother, and her telling me the gray hair suits me, and I really do NOT look 61. 

I have been confused for a woman in her 40s, and 50s, and now 60s.  But I will not dye it.  I stopped dying it a year ago, and even though the temptation hits me as I pass by the hair dye section at CVS and Walmart, I resist.  Too much work.  And now my hair is so gray the roots show almost immediately, so I'd have to touch it up every two weeks.  I'm just not up for that. 

Just call me, "The Silver Fox".

If My Husband Can Love Me For Who I Am, Why Can't I?

Well, I've done it this time.  I have successfully alienated all my friends on Facebook by posting a depressing poem, and a painting of myself with my hair on fire, crying tears of blood.  I have let my illness take over.  I am not a person who has schizoaffective disorder, bipolar type.  I AM schizoaffective with bipolar.  Everyday, I remind myself of it.  Whether it's swallowing one of 8 psych medications, or whether it's just feeling depressed or manic, or hearing voices or seeing things that aren't there.  My illness controls me, and I've let it.  Now I've let it creep onto Facebook, and no one knows what to think.  I mean, who knows how to deal with that?  So they stay away.  I don't blame them.  They have to protect themselves.  Hanging around negativity isn't good for anyone.  But sometimes, I just want to hear about their lives, and not talk about how I'm feeling.  I want to hear the positives (or negatives) in their lives.  I want to feel connected.

I joined a group last weekend on Facebook for Schizoaffective people and their loved ones.  It's been great.  I can post and comment and not have to worry about alienating everyone, because everyone there understands.  They get it.  They've been there.

It hasn't helped that my therapist has been out sick the last month with pneumonia.  I missed a month of appointments.  Fortunately she was back this week and I got to see her.  She was still coughing a bit, poor thing.  I felt bad for her.

I made a realization in the last month or so.  I don't hate my life.  Yes we are struggling with some things, but there are a lot more positives than negatives.  I have fresh water, a roof over my head, food to eat, a loving family, my supportive and loving husband, and many many other things.  I do not hate my life.  And I thought that I hated myself.  I even said it to a friend a week ago, who promptly said, "Talk to you later" and hasn't talked to me since.  I don't hate myself either.  But I hate the illness.  I hate the things that come with having it, and the embarrassing things I've done or said as a result of it.  The not having a filter, and saying what I feel.  But it's a part of me, and I have to accept it.  I will take my medications as prescribed, and I will go to all the therapy I can, including groups and support groups, and I will learn to accept who I am.  Because really, if my husband can love me for who I am, why can't I?

Burning of the Soul

I haven't written in almost a month.  I was doing really well, and everything seemed to be going fine, and then I fell apart again.

You see, guinea pigs are expensive.  6 guinea pigs cost about $250 a month to feed when you add up the hay, pellets, and fresh veggies they need.  We couldn't afford that anymore.  So we made the difficult decision to give them up.  That's when I fell apart again.  I told my therapist, I can't keep having psychotic breakdowns everytime something bad happens in life.  That's no way to live. 

We gave the guinea pigs up to one of the best adoption centers in the Northeastern US.  Within 2 days all 6 girls had been adopted.  I have mixed feelings.  I am glad that they will have the nutrition that they need.  I am glad they will have someone to love them the way I couldn't when I got depressed.  I'm glad they will have someone to clean out their cages instead of me who could just not keep up.  I am also relieved that I no longer have that responsibility.  But I am broken-hearted.  I loved them, all 6 of them, with their own individual personalities.  My husband and I have cried on and off for weeks.

But the truth is, we had to stop being selfish, and do what was in their best interest. 

Now I don't know where I'm at.  I'm feeling depressed for sure.  But I'm not sleeping.  I have nightmares and stress dreams.  I am awake or half awake most of the night.  Then during the day I can barely keep my eyes open.  I am still having hallucinations, though they aren't as bad as before.  A few weeks ago, I heard the Devil singing Christmas Carols on the way home from a brunch with my in-laws. 

Today, I felt like painting.  But I didn't want to paint a landscape, or a happy picture.  I painted a self-portrait, with fire for hair, and blood for tears, pouring down my face.  Am I in danger?  No.  Am I sad?  Yes.  But I am not going to hurt myself.  I have expressed my pain creatively.  I perhaps have scared all my friends, but they will soon forget about the strange painting their strange friend did.  They always do. 

There is so much going on.  I don't know how I can present as "normal" when my mind feels like it's tearing itself apart at times.  I have found some good distractions.  I saw Star Wars.  I'm reading Carrie Fisher's book Shockaholic.  I am going to read some of Wil Wheaton;s work, and Jenny Lawson's book Furiously Happy, next. 

I will be okay.  That's the important thing.  I am sad now, and as much as I hate the saying (I want to punch the people who say it), this will pass. 

I have survived 100% of my worst days. 

Symptoms Vs Side Effects, the Pros and Cons of Latuda

I have finally found a pill that takes away the night terrors, the delusions, tames the magical thinking, makes me more aware that my thoughts are just altered because of my illness, not that they are real and everyone is out to get me.  I am not so afraid of the dark.  The magic pill is called Latuda.  The magic dosage is 120mg.

But.  There's always a but.  I can't drink.  Well that's nothing new, I can't drink with most of my other pills.  I am sleepy or drowsy 24/7.  If I lay down I will be asleep in 5 minutes.  Answer to that?  Don't lie down.  I gained weight.  This is perhaps because I have to eat 350 calories with my Lautda dose.  That's not much in the grand scheme of things, but my appetite overall has increased.  Ugh.  Answer to that?  Exercise more. 

The answers may sound simple, but well, frankly, aren't.  I can go without drinking for the most part.  I cheat every now and then, which causes me terrible anxiety that I'm going to die in my sleep, so I don't sleep.  Hmmm....  Being sleepy all the time is a problem because I fall asleep a lot.  I also sleep well at night, so if I nap in the day, it's not keeping me up at night.  I fall asleep in the car on the way to and from doctor's appointments (don't worry I am not driving).  But I find if I have to be out and doing something to focus my energy on, like errands, I can do them.  So while I'm not sure I could hold a 40 hour a week job, it seems probable now, not impossible. 

And then there's eating.  Latuda itself does not cause weight gain.  But if you don't take it with 350 calories or more, it doesn't get absorbed properly and I get nauseous.  It's amazing how few doctor's know this, and I have to educate them.  Like when they put me on a liquid diet and I'm like, "Excuse me...but how do I get 350 calories on a liquid diet once a day?"  So why am I gaining weight?  I think it makes me hungrier.  And I think I'm eating more than 350 calories with it, because I'm afraid of getting nauseated.  I haven't gained a huge amount, but enough for me to keep an eye on.

So exercise more.  Ugh.  There are about 1,000,000 reasons to do it, and I have about 500 excuses not to.  I'm not going to list them.  Everyone tells me to exercise more.  I just have to suck it up and do it. 

So cost vs benefit analysis.  Do I want to live in fear, or do I want to live with side effects? 

I'm going to go with the side effects.  Unless I get Type 2 diebetes or high blood pressure that can't be treated, I'm staying with the 120mg of Latuda. 

DBT Skills And A Haircut

I used my DBT skills in a dream I had a few nights ago.  I dreamed that someone told me my mother died, and I was in a mall, so I began shoving people out of the way angrily and tearing down the escalator to jump into a fountain.  A DBT skill for when you're at the moment of crisis when you just can't handle your feelings, is to stick your face in cold water for 30 seconds.  Sounds weird, right?  Well, it works.  Something to do with making your body thinking you're drowning and it physically calms you down.  I was all set to share my dream with my DBT group, until my medical transportation company couldn't get their act together and get me to my group.  I will have to wait until next week to share.

Today I cut my hair off.  To explain why would sound crazy, so I won't try and explain.  Suffice it to say, I had black and gold hair a year and a half ago to support the Bruins, which in fact, only cursed them because they sucked after I did it.  I haven't dyed it in a year, so I had about 5 inches of silver and the rest was faded black and blond, about 10 inches of it. So I cut off all the hair dye.  My husband was not amused.  The plan had been to grow it out until it reached my waist.  But I had to do it.  Again, I can't explain the rationale without coming across as "crazy", so I won't try.  My mother is going to even it out next time I see her in a few weeks.

I had individual therapy today.  It was a good session.  Talked about loose ends not being tied up.

I lsiten to music 24/7 while I'm home.  Not sure if I've already shared that.  I can't not have music playing.  I have a Jenn's Greatest Hits Playlist in iTunes that is literally over 1.2 days long.  Distraction is a DBT skill.  Music helps keep me sane.  It drives my husband insane, but he bears it with patience and love.  I also now have 2 candles burning during the day. One is Evergreen Spruce, and the other is Pumpkin Spice.  I get the generic (cheap) candles at Walmart.  That DBT skill is called Self-soothing.

I feel like I should send the link for this blog to the Psychologist who runs my DBT group.  He would be thrilled to know I am using my skills.

Here's a picture of my long hair prior to being cut, and a picture of it post-hack.  I might add, I am only 35.  Gray/white hair is genetic.  I expcet to be completely white-haired in 5 years, just like my grandmother.

#PrayForParis #PrayForPeace

Even one death is too many.  Now they are reporting over 150.  It is terrifying, but that's the point isn't it?  The terrorists are trying to create terror by definition.  I pray for those in Paris, for those souls lost, and for those families affected.

So now what?  Does France join in the War on ISIS?  First they will have to determine it was in fact ISIS who carried out these attacks.  In fact, France could already be involved in the War on ISIS, I don't follow along in International Affairs as much as I should.

All I do know is that Twitter and Facebook, and I'm assuming all social media, has lit up with supportive words for Paris.  The Red Cross has a link set up to raise money to help those affected.  Facebook has activated their Safety Check App for France.  Twitter is using the hashtag #PorteOuverte to help people find shelter from the streets.  People are tweeting the phone numbers of embassies.

But people need to remember, that what this will lead to should be a war on Terrorism and not on Islam.  Many Muslims believe in peace.  Not in the same radical ideals that these terrorists believe in, which make many Americans believe is the face of Islam.  A few weeks ago, in Burlington, MA, a Boston suburb not too far from where I live, two teenagers vandalized a Mosque.  Instead of coming out and condemning the attacks, the leaders of this Islamic religious center invited people of all faiths and backgrounds to come and paint positive messages on the building.  Messages of peace.  I might not have the details of the story, but that's the general idea.  And yet these two 18 year olds will not be charged with a hate crime.  I think that is the crime.

What do we do in a time of Terror?  We hold those we love close to us and tell them we love them.  We pray for those in the line of fire and those affected.  We offer support where we can.

Self-Doubt Cannot Win

The trick is to not internalize.

My day started out okay.  I had DBT group this morning, bright and early.  I found out that a member of my group, who also has a blog, has 8,000 followers!  Holy shit!  She is like 15 years younger than me, and also write about mental illness amonst other things.  How did she get such a following?  I want to ask her?  Damn, I want to read her blog, but I don't know her last name, or even how to spell her first name.

Next was coffee with my father at Dunkin Donuts.  We talked about my Mental illness and symptoms.  He asked me a lot of questions as though he didn't believe my diagnosis of Schizoaffective Disorder.  He thought that my hallucinations might be dreams.  I adamantly insisted they were not, nor were they tricks of light.  They are very real and terrifying.  I gave an example of a psychotic delusion I had as a child, and he just said that could be the result of a weird child.  Sigh.  I pointed out that was one of many, and I was only willing to give one example at that time.

I also told him I didn't think my grandfather liked me.  Everytime I call, he hands the phone off to my grandfather.  Every time I see him, he asks when I'm going to go back to work.  Last time I attempted to work, I was convinced the customers were sent by the government to push me to the limit so I would crack and they would lock me up again.  I vomited in front of customers because I was so anxious.  My dad explained that I present as "normal", which is why people are easily confused that I suffer from mental illness.  I explained that I spent my whole life desperately trying to fit in and appear normal so that I wouldn't stand out.  None of my other friends would run away and hide behind bushes every time a car or pedestrian passed by the house, so I learned to stop doing it, even though in my head I would be terrified that I was about to be murdered.

I think I reached some kind of understanding with my father.

I came home and did some writing.  I spent some time talking to people on Facebook.  I wrote some emails.

Then I was filled with Self-doubt.  I don't know where it came from.  A combination of things.  An email I got, I internalized too much, my Facebook notifications weren't working and I thought no one was "liking" my pictures that I shared about Veteran's Day.  It turned out that Chrome was having a seizure so I closed it and reopened it and I had 8 notifications waiting for me.

I feel better now.  I just need to remember not to internalize everything.  It's hard to remember that I am not that important, which is hard, because of some of my more paranoid delusions.

Anyway, I want to conclude this post by saying thank you to all the Veteran's of all the wars, who fought for this country, and who fought for the Allies in the World Wars, which included my family.  I can't thank you enough for your bravery.  Without you I would have no freedom.

Baby Steps

7 Weeks ago, I fell to pieces.  My therapist and my psychiatrist wanted me to do a Partial Hospitalization Program.  I resisted with all my might.  Eventually they told me either I did the Program or they were going to Section 12 me (force me in-patient).  I agreed to do the Program.

I wasn't sure how on earth I was going to commit to getting up every morning and stying in groups for apporoximately 5 hours every day.  I have agoraphobia and sometimes the idea of leaving the apartment is just terrifying.  But I did it.  And over the last 3 weeks, I've had structure and socialization.

Today I graduated from the Program.  Now I am trying to get into a Day Program in Downtown Lowell.  I think this Program lasts 4-6 weeks.  I want to keep the structure and socialization going.  Then I want to start volunteering somewhere.  Maybe just a few hours at first, but slowly building up to a few hours a day several times a week.

It seemed impossible to commit to one day.  Now I'm thinking about giving my life some meaning again.  But I don't want to get too far ahead of myself.  Take it one day at a time.  Baby Steps.

"I have survived 100% of my worst days"

I learned a lot in the program, but I'm not going to write about it because of the Anonymity and confidentiality of the Program.

Is 5 Years A Lot These Days?

Today is my 5 year wedding anniversary.  It is my first marriage, and really my first long term relationship.  But I'm not sure that's the norm these days.  I know some of my High School classmates are like me and waited until their 30's to get married, so they too are in the early years of marriage.  Then there are some High School Classmates who have married and are divorced, but I think there aren't many of those.  And there are more still who married in their 20's, have children, but have experienced the "downs" in the ups and downs of marriage.  Not to say they aren't good marriages, just normal marriages.

I haven't, in my 5 years, experienced the "downs" of a marriage yet.  We're still in the newlywed "marriage is great!" stage.  Sure we argue and get mad and yell.  But only once have we gone to bed angry.  After we get angry, we take a few minutes, calm down, and have a discussion.  I hope we can continue this process for a long time.

I'm not sure what most marriages are like.  On Facebook, no one ever talks about their marriage, except on occasion to say how fantastic it is.  And on TV and in the movies, on Tabloids and in the media, marriage life is so distorted it can't possibly be "normal."

So I've decided that 5 years is great, but not to worry about making it to 10 years, but just to take it day by day.  Take life day by day.  Because that's all we have, today.

Family Is So Important

Tomorrow is my 5 year wedding anniversary.  I am very happy in my marriage and very blessed to have found such an amazing supportive spouse.  Today I am also reminded of how much family support means to me, whether it be far off family in California and Canada, or family right here in my state.

I have learned in life that not everyone has what I have.  Many people don't have loving families, so I just want to tell my family, I love you.  And I hope that those who don't have a biological family who loves them, can create their own family by finding a person or people to share their life with and build on.

This summer I'm going to have a new sister, as my brother is getting married.  I am very excited and since I love weddings, it is especially exciting!  She has essentially been a part of the family for years anyway, since she has been dating my brother, but also because she is my sister-in-law's best friend!  She did my manicure and pedicure for me the night before my wedding.  Which was exactly 5 years ago, almost to the minute!

I am sitting here typing, listening to some new music, mixed in with my favorite music.  It has been a good day, and I am happy to end it on a positive note.

Desperate To Connect

I think I wrote something like 7 Facebook status updates, 3 posts on people's timelines, and multiple comments today.  I need to connect with people.  I am desperate to connect with people.  Ideally I would like to connect with people who are going through similar stuff that I am going through, so I sent an email to my Schizoaffective email group.  So far, no response.  I would love to talk to people from my Partial Hospital Program, but no one there wants to communicate with me outside the program.  Which is okay.  I mean we're not really supposed to hang out until we've finished the program so that people don't feel left out.  People do, and of course I feel left out.  I would love to connect on Facebook with some of them, but I can't because of the whole anonymity of the program.  No one knows anyone's last name.  But there are a few people who I wish I could be friends with afterwards.

I need friends who have my symptoms.  Or at least understand them.  I don't know how to find friends that do.  I don't need to hang out with them.  I don't hang out with anyone.  But to chat with online, or maybe...maybe text with.  I don't know about that.  I wish I had someone to call when the cameras are on and the world is watching, when the rays are boring into my head, reading my thoughts and broadcasting them to the world.  When the tall broad-shouldered man comes into the apartment with his heavy footsteps and his flashlight, to kill me.  Every night.

I don't feel safe.  Not in my apartment, not in my Therapist's office, not anywhere.  Not because I'm going to hurt myself, but because I feel exposed.

I'm told these are "delusions", and hallucinations.  But these are only the tip of the iceberg, or so I'm told.  I'm not going to say any more because I have to protect my privacy.  But it makes it pretty damn hard to function normally.  I can give the appearance of "normal".  I've perfected it since I first experienced "delusions" when I was about 7.  Over the years I learned to act like everyone else and I thought my thoughts were "normal."  It's only recently that I discovered they weren't.

Sure people think they're jinxes and certain superstitions can cause their teams to lose.  It is literally ALWAYS my fault when the Bruins, Pats, Maple Leafs, Blue Jays, Red Sox, Kings lose.  It's my fault the Blue Jays aren't going to the World Series.  I can't explain why.  I just know it.

Is this TMI?  Of course.  Do you know I take it personally when people don't like or comment on my posts?  I think it's part of a conspiracy to puch me to the breaking point?  I think people have blocked my posts.  Anyway, my brother's going to be pissed that I shared so much.  He's trying to teach me to filter my thoughts before I post them.  Sorry R, but Crazy Jenn is in charge tonight!

Short Blip Of A Post

I haven't written in over a week because my mind has been too chaotic.  It's still pretty chaotic.

I am spending my days in a Partial Hospital Program.  It provides structure, group therapy, coping skills, and socialization.  It is a safe place.  I am getting a lot out of it.

I don't like being lied to by my doctor's office.  I found out I was lied to by one of the 24/7 clinicians.  She told me one thing, then called the ER I was going to and told them something else.  It was not cool.

The Bruins have started off the season really badly.  I hope it gets better.  Tuukka is just not performing at his best.

Happy (Canadian) Thanksgiving!

In a few minutes, it will be Monday.  Here where I live, most people will be celebrating Columbus Day, or as some more enlightened communities in the US are calling it, Indigenous People's Day.  But Over the border to our North, it is Thanksgiving.  And since my mother was born and raised there, this is the big holiday my family celebrates every year.  My siblings and their spouses and children, and my mom's closest friends, gather in my mom's apartment, and eat a traditional Thanksgiving meal with all the fixings.  She usually makes something like 20 pies.  This year she had to cut it back to 12.  I think we'll manage.

If you're read my posts over the last few weeks, you'll know I haven't been doing too well.  I was starting to feel better last week, but alas, my mood and psychosis are out of control.  So I'm telling myself, just make it through Thanksgiving with my family, then figure out necessary treatment options.  I haven't seen some of my family in 2 years, because last year we were unable to attend.  And this year I will be meeting my nephew for the first time.  He was born in January, but without a car, I've never met him.

Tuesday morning, first thing, I have an appointment with my Nurse Psychiatrist.  We will talk about my unmanageable symptoms and figure out how to move forward.

So what am I thankful for in such a time of desolation and insanity (I may sound sane while writing this, but I assure you, my hallucinations and beliefs are bad right now)?  I am of course thankful for my family.  Every weekend, either my mother or my step-father, drives up 20+ miles to where we live to take us grocery shopping and to run errands.  I am immensely thankful for that.  I am thankful for the friends and family on Facebook who offer support even when they don't always know what to say or how to deal with me.  I am thankful for my health insurance and Health Care Team, who make sure I am taken care of.  I am thankful for my loving husband who has stood by me through the good times and the bad times.

But most importantly, I am thankful for my life.  I may not always value it.  And I may not always think I want it.  But truth be told, I am grateful for the chance to live my life on this planet, however long I may be here.

Rest In Peace Gary And Jenn

I need to talk.  To anybody.  3 weeks ago I lied to one of my friends about who I was having lunch with.  I knew he would disapprove and when he started asking questions, I panicked and started telling more lies.  Not one of my best moments.  I went to lunch.  The next day my friend of 15 years asked how the lunch went.  I admitted I had lunch with someone from my past who I had lied about.  My friend then accused me of going in the hopes of having an affair to spice up my boring life.  I said that wasn't true and my friend called me a liar.  I said that if he couldn't believe me when I told the truth I had nothing more to say to him.  I said good-bye, he said good-bye, and we hung up.

The next two weeks I went through a very severe depression and couldn't deal with this fight with my friend.  A few days ago I started feeling better.  So last night I wrote a very long email, apologizing for lying and stating what wasn't going right in our friendship, and offering solutions as to how to fix it, so I wouldn't feel the need to lie anymore, because normally, I don't lie.  I sent it last night at about 6:45 pm.  I still hadn't heard anything by about 11pm so I sent a text, "I sent you an email.  Did you get it?"  Because sometimes he doesn't check his personal email. 

This morning I woke up and found I had a text message from him.  "I did.  I'm done.  Good-bye meant good-bye.  I hope you get the help you need and can learn to live a meaningful life."

That's it.  15 years, gone.  He was my boss for 7 years.  He was my friend for longer.  I helped him through his divorce.  I saw the pictures the Private Investigator took of his wife with her lover at a restaurant.  I listened to Drops of Jupiter with him and listened to him talked about how it related to his wife.  I saw him shed tears for his marriage.  And he helped me.  He helped me through the breakup of my first adult relationship.  He helped me through the ups and downs of undiagnosed mental illnesses.  He believed in me, promoted me, taught me, mentored me.  I worked my ass off to please him.

Yes I even had a crush on him for years.  It made it hard to work for him because I knew that he didn't feel the same way.  But I couldn't leave.  I couldn't bear the thought of not seeing him every weekday.  And then the layoff happened.  We were both let go, although they kept extending him.  We would have lunch once a week until I got another job.  For years we would talk on the phone. 

We would play pool, both at work and outside of work.  People at our company even thought we were dating just because of our closeness and how we interacted.  We were friends.  And he was essentially my best friend. 

And now?  Now it's over.  No more weekly phone calls. Nothing.  I am left to mourn a relationship that had turned toxic in the last two years.  With him always putting me down, calling me lazy, calling me a teenager at least 20 times a conversation.  He didn't understand mental illness.  When he went through a depression over his divorce, he kept working, so he couldn't understand why I couldn't work through my illnesses.  It caused tension.  I would feel worse after talking to him.  I suppose it was only a matter of time.  But it still hurts.  Rest In Peace Gary and Jenn

From Bipolar To Schizoaffective Disorder

In 2010, my Psychiatrist, my PCP, my Psychologist, and a number of specialists, all met at my doctor's office to discuss treatment for me,  I don't know exactly what they talked about, but what came out of that meeting was to put me on Clozapine (Clozaril).  It is a drug that is only available at specially registered pharmacies and there is a national registry to be on it.  Once a week, the patient is required to have blood work done to check Complete Blood Counts.  I didn't know much about the drug, but agreed to try it.  I was on it for several months.  My husband and I call it the Zombie Drug.  I would sleep 20-23 hours a day.  I ignored phone calls, friends, family.  I missed therapy appointments and was eventually dropped by my therapist.  Then I lost my health insurance.  I stopped taking it.

This last weekend I decided to google the drug.  It is used to treat severe schizophrenia.  This confused me because I don't have schizophrenia.  I asked my nurse psychiatrist about it on Monday,  She said that they most likely put me on it because I was having severe psychotic symptoms.  Today when I saw her, I worked up enough courage to ask her what my official diagnosis was.  For the last ten years, I had been told I was Bipolar.  I've been identifying as Bipolar.

She told me, I had Schizoaffective Disorder, Anxiety Disorder, Agoraphobia, and PTSD.

Holy shit.  I just sat there in shock for a minute.  It turned out my previous Psychiatrist had diagnosed me as such years ago, but neglected to tell me.  That's why they put me on Clozapine.

For those unaware of Schizoaffective Disorder, it's like a cross between Schizophrenia and either Bipolar or Depression.  For more information, check out this link:

http://www.mayoclinic.org/diseases-conditions/schizoaffective-disorder/basics/definition/con-20029221

So now here I sit.  Desperate to talk to someone, but unsure what to say.  I have therapy tomorrow.  I'll have to talk it out then.

The weird thing is that it fits.  I'm not questioning the diagnosis.  I just wish someone had bothered to inform me.

Minute By Minute

People talk about getting through one day at a time when feeling depressed or going through a rough time.  But when Depression, Anxiety, PTSD, Psychosis, etc. take over, you're living minute by minute, just trying to survive one minute at a time.  That's where I'm at.  When I'm hallucinating, even a second lasts a lifetime.  A week ago I had one of the most frightening visual hallucinations of my life.  I'm not going to share it, as my psych team thinks it is trauma related.

My delusions, paranoia, and magical thinking are back.  Again, my psych team thinks this has been triggered by multiple stressful events that took place over the course of the last 3 weeks.  I have been taking all my medications, and going to all my therapy appointments.  But it's not enough.  I have engaged in self destructive behavior.  So I have finally agreed to a Partial Hospitalization Program.  My intake appointment isn't scheduled for another 10 days, which is the soonest they could get me in.  I just have to try and hang on until then.

The other option, is of course, in-patient hospitalization, which my psych team has also been telling me to consider.  I don't want to do it for a number of reasons.  They almost always change medications, which is not necessary as these episodes were triggered by outside events.  There's no therapy in-patient.  And there's nothing to do.  It's a lot like prison.  On top of all that, my husband can't really manage on his own.  He can't feed himself because he can't cook, not even pasta, and I manage his medications for him (though he has figured out his medications in the past).

The biggest fear I have with going in-patient is where they will send me.  Most psychiatric facilities are okay (though none can rival McLean's, minus the food), but I am terrified I will end up at Baldpate, which is a substance abuse facility.  It's good for people who have substance abuse problems and dual diagnosis, but they don't have a program for non-substance abuse patients.  I was sent there because it was literally the only bed in the entire Eastern Massachusetts.  I was forced to go to AA 4 times a day.  I faked getting better just to be released.  4 days later I was admitted to McLean's to get treatment specific to my illnesses.

I'm putting a lot out here, and maybe I shouldn't, but if you're like me, and you're really struggling almost every minute of every day, get help.  If you don't have help, call a helpline.  I have a mother who cares about me and I have a very supportive husband, who is doing the best he can to keep me safe, while undergoing his own stress.

I get asked a lot why I can't work.  There are even times I feel normal enough to work.  I go on interviews and I even get jobs occasionally.  I worked at iRobot for a week before the anxiety set in and I got so sick to my stomach repeatedly that I was sent to the ER and then admitted inpatient while they ran tests.  They did discover I had physical gastro problems, like gastroparesis, and possible Celiac Disease, but I think the anxiety was what triggered the getting sick.  The same thing happened at CVS.  When I started vomiting in front of customers, I knew I couldn't handle it, even such an easy job.  And that's when I would feel "normal".  Times like these would cost me my job if I had one.  I was laid off from Millennium for my deteriorating mental health, though they'll never admit that.

It actually is very hard to talk about this because people feel uncomfortable, helpless, and don't know what to say.  I'm not looking for advice, I have my psych team for that.  All I want is words of support, which a bunch of friends have already given me.  It feels very lonely and isolating.  And I just want the pain to go away.

When You Can't Go Back

You've come too far, there's no turning back.  You can't stray from your road no matter how much you may want to.  It's time to let go.  Like Frodo said as he entered Shelob's Cave, "I can't go back."

The wheels are in motion.  It may hurt for awhile, but in the end it must be this way.  "It is the only way."

I have done all I can do.  If you love something, then set it free.

Sometimes There Are No Words

I have to do something on Monday.  I feel it is time.  I am looking forward to it and dreading it at the same time.  I have had a tumultuous couple of weeks and they are finally coming to a close.  I have realized that someone whom I thought was bad is actually good, and someone I've looked up to for a very long time, is actually quite toxic.  It's time I said goodbye to both.

I saw my mother today.  She brought us pet food and took us grocery shopping.  She also brought me something that I asked for, something I haven't seen in about 6 years.

In my Freshman year of High School I took Art.  One of the projects was to take a block of clay and turn it into a head.  While everyone else was making aliens and monsters, I just made a man's head.  I made him crying.  Then I hollowed out the inside, and the art teacher put it in the oven for firing.  A few weeks later we got them back and I painted my man purple, except for a single silver tear escaping his left eye.  It has survived these 20 years, and I hope it survives the next 20.

A few years after I made the purple head, I made two more clay heads on my own.  I made a bust og Garak, the Cardassian from Star Trek: Deep Space Nine, and a Ferengi.  I couldn't fire them in an oven, so I let them air dry.  Eventually I painted the Ferengi.  They only lasted about 6 years before they were knocked off a wobbly bookcase and shattered on the floor.  One day perhaps I will recreate them.