Tag Archives: Manic

Oct 15 2016

Is Bipolar Disorder Caused By Inflammation?

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Targeted Treatment Could Be Option for Depression-Related Inflammation

FIRST PUBLISHED ON INSIGHT BULLETIN 

Inflammation is our immune system’s response for fighting off danger in our body, and scientists are beginning to link inflammation to psychological disorders such as depression.

Severe depression affects 6.9 percent of the U.S. population, and more than half of people with major depression are unable to find relief from their symptoms with antidepressants. Interestingly, about a third of depressed patients have consistently high levels of inflammation.

Evidence now suggests that inflammation is more than something simply found in some depressed patients—it could be the cause of their disease. Researchers think the immune system is responsible for this long-term effect due to traumatic events earlier on in life.

In 2012, Duke researchers conducted a study on the connection between inflammation and mood disorders. They looked for the presence of an inflammation marker in the blood called C-reactive protein (CRP). The high amount of CRP led them to believe that childhood emotional distress could lead to the foundation for inflammatory processes in the body.

Duke researchers found the number of cumulative depressive episodes was associated with increased levels of CRP, but they could not definitively say that inflammation caused depression. Rather, the researchers scratched their heads as to whether the presence of depression itself caused inflammation in a chicken-or-the-egg-type scenario.

Now, it’s clearer that the immune system can alter cognitive functioning.

According to Carmine Pariante at King’s College London, “Nearly 30% to 40% of depressed patients have high levels of inflammation, and in these people we think it is part of the causal process.”

An article by the BBC noted Pariante saying, “the evidence supporting this idea is that high levels of inflammation are present even if someone is not depressed, but is at risk of becoming depressed. Adult individuals who have a history of early life trauma, even if they have never been depressed, have an activated immune system so they are in a state of risk.”

But it’s not just the immune biomarker in the blood. There’s something else that’s been found to make the connection.

There is evidence that IL-6, a chemical normally secreted by white blood cells to stimulate an inflammatory immune response to infection or trauma, can affect brain activity in a region called the subgenual cingulate. This region is thought to control mood and anxiety, sleep, memory and self-esteem.

Joseph Hayes at University College London identified a significant link between high levels of a chemical involved in inflammation at age 9, and experiencing aspects of hypomania at age 22.

Additionally, a recent New Scientist article revealed that, high levels of inflammation present in a child could go so far as predicting a higher risk of manic behavior in later life.

Manic behavior can be present in not only bipolar disorder, but also seasonal affective disorder and some forms of psychosis. This is enormous progress for all mood disorders, but especially significant for Bipolar Disorder as the disorder is rarely correctly diagnosed until after a person has a manic episode. Women in particular, are “susceptible to misdiagnosis”, and many have to endure many years of untreated mood disorders because of misdiagnosis or lack of treatment.

In the study that solved the chicken-egg connection, PET scans showed significant inflammation in the brains of the people with depression, and the inflammation was most severe among the participants with the most severe depression. People experienced clinical depression exhibited an inflammation increase of 30% in their brains. The study focused specifically on the activation of microglia – immune cells that play a key role in the brain’s response to inflammation.

This new finding could lead to changes being made in the way mood disorders, such as Bipolar Disorder, are treated and how future studies should investigate the possible impact of anti-inflammatory drugs on depression symptoms.

A group called NIMA (Neuroimmunology of Mood Disorders and Alzheimer’s Disease) is currently investigating whether targeting the immune system to fight specific types of inflammation could treat these conditions. They may have a pill to target that specific type of inflammation.

Hopefully, drugs targeting the immune system will provide much-needed treatments for patients.

POLICIES & DISCLAIMER 

Sep 22 2016

This Is All About Pain

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“Are you going to eat all that yourself?“

The delivery guy’s expression was incredulous as he handed me my order–an order, which, I’d used compromising means of obtaining, so desperate and pathological the means of my destruction had devolved.

I paused, immediately conjured a plausible lie, dismissed it and admitted, “Yes.”

“Whaaat?” He assessed my frame in disbelief.  “But…how?”

I had no energy for shame or mortification.

“I’m going to throw it all up when I’m done.”

Caught off guard by my candidness, his speech faltered, “Oh!  OhmyGod.  I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.  It’s not your problem.”  I pause.  “Only, if you don’t ask your customers so many personal questions, you might not have to deal with so many personal answers.”

He nodded, reaching for the signed receipt.

Now, he is finally walking away, and I think he is going to let me be.

Still, not put off, he’s got one more for me.

“So…you’re like, Anorexic or somethin’”?

Yeah, buddy.  Or somethin’.

They don’t understand.  It isn’t gluttony.  And isn’t hedonism.

This is not about pleasure.  This is all about pain.

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Credit: Pixabay

Near or distant, it’s likely that nearly every family has at least one “mad” relation.  You know who I’m talking about; the one who’s responsible for the legendary tales of insane behavior, collective embarrassment, and general familial strife? Chances are if you’re reading this essay, you either love a “mad” person or are one of them.  Well, you’re in good company my friend.

As late as the 1970’s, those “affected” were institutionalized in barbaric versions of asylums and hospitals, a la One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest.  Strides made in modern medicine and mental health care ought to reduce the destructive ripple effect these individuals wield upon their respective families, but, in my estimation, it hasn’t done much to help.

At best, positive changes have been minimal;  mental illness poisons entire families.   The reality of mental illness is that there is no cure, only strategies of maintenance and coping.  The management of mood disorders is largely guesswork: trial and error requiring time, patience, resources and information.

And step one is diagnosis.

Correct diagnosis, that is.

From childhood into my early 30’s, I’ve been the unwilling passenger of a perpetual rollercoaster, with violent emotional waves dictating my behavior, decisions, and interactions.

I felt (and still feel) so wrong in the head, not understanding the constant intensity of emotion, the internal turmoil always clutching at my insides.

I’ve been confused by the behavior of those around me.  Everyone else seems so relaxed, so unaffected, so very, very even.

When I was younger, in elementary, middle and even high school, it frustrated me to no end that, when I was in a manic rage or sobbing desperately, my parents didn’t seem to take me seriously, dammit.  In fact, they often appeared amused.

Outrageous! How dare you! This is life and death we are talking about here!

I was quite indignant.

Talking to my dad about it now, he tells me: “I didn’t realize anything was really wrong.  I just assumed the fighting with your mother, the emotional outbursts, the dramatics…that it was all part of being a girl.”

Sexist, maybe.  Understandable? Absolutely.

Most of the time, I covered up the illness.  I desperately wanted (and still want) to fit in, be accepted, appear normal, be liked and admired.

And still, to this day, I seek external validation.  My 20+ years of Anorexia and Bulimia can certainly attest to that.

But of course, an Eating Disorder is not ever about just one thing.  Yes, a significant part of me wants to appear attractive, controlled, on top of things, and strong (ha ha…ha), BUT the main role of my Anorexia and Bulimia has been a homemade mood stabilizer,  only I never realized its true function until 2014, when I was finally diagnosed with Bipolar Disorder.

For years, family, doctors, psychologists, and therapists attempted to treat only the presenting symptoms: the starving, bingeing, purging, over-exercising, self-harming behaviors.

All the while, not seeing the forest from the trees.

At my sickest, I felt angry at them.  Patronized.

My problems were chalked up to the trivial pursuit of beauty.  Thinness. Perfection.  Attaining the unattainable, blah, blah, blah.

My parents theorized it was a preoccupation with vanity; a hyperbolic representation of societal standards for the aesthetic ideal.

The times when I veered toward the danger zone, more dead than alive, they realized it had become an obsession over which I’d lost control; a set of destructive behaviors so addictive and necessary that I was willing to die for them.

And I may, still.

My parents tried to understand, but they did not have all the information.

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Credit: Pixabay

Wanting very much to keep me alive, they’ve attempted all conceivable ways to help: spending tens of thousands of dollars on treatment, hospitals, rehab, therapists, doctors, and dentists.  Arguing with insurance companies on my behalf, fighting for more comprehensive care.  Seeing me through divorce and bankruptcy.  Moving me back home and opening their own homes to me, all the while providing financial and emotional support.  Straining their own relationships, prioritizing my needs at the expense of my siblings.

I am a living, breathing investment.

And then.  

Then, the true and full extent of my family’s unconditional love, support and patience was tested when I had my first psychotic manic episode.  I had initially not been diagnosed with Bipolar Disorder because, for years, doctors, psychologists, therapists, and counselors had been focused on the presenting symptoms of my eating disorder.  Forest…trees…you get it.  

 Around the time of my divorce, my family had helped moved me back home, at their time and expense, I might add, but I’d already been relapsing into Anorexia once again.  Historically my anorexia has always manifested as sub-type 2: purging type.  What this means is, that I primarily restrict my calorie intake, but if I do binge, or even eat normal portion sizes, I will purge through vomiting.  During anorectic relapses, this behavior is always accompanied by excessive exercise.  I normally run 45 minutes to an hour, but during a relapse, a two to three-hour workout would be about average for me.  OCD behaviors always intensify during these times as well.  

Having refused to go to inpatient eating disorder treatment during this relapse,  I was seeing both a medical doctor and an outpatient therapist regularly, at my family’s behest.  The doctor, in an attempt to treat my “depression and anxiety” prescribed me anti-depressants, which promptly sent me into full blown mania.  

Starvation-and not in the hyperbolic sense, mind you-combined with, well, basically speed for Bipolar people, made me a fucking lunatic.  

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Credit: Pixabay

 Compounding that, a Bipolar person, having a mixed-manic episode, I was readily and enthusiastically putting myself in peril. There’s that impulsive, risky element that’s so magnetically attractive in this state; even suicidal thoughts are idealized and appealing.

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Aug 31 2016
Coffee

Can Caffeine Offer Mild Treatment For Depressive & ADHD Symptoms?

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Read this entire article on InsightBulletin

Can Caffeine Offer Mild Treatment For Depressive and ADHD Symptoms?

For parents who say they don’t want to administer drugs or chemicals to their child for their ADHD symptoms, a cup of coffee brewed from organically grown coffee beans might be the more attractive alternative. When considering our rising healthcare costs, its ubiquity, affordability, and ease of use are what make caffeine an intriguing option for an adult or child with ADHD. All of those factors make this consideration difficult to pass up.

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For a lot of people, too much caffeine can have a negative emotional effect: it can contribute to anxiety, jitteriness, irritability, impulsivity, and insomnia. A moderate amount of caffeine does the opposite for me.

Because many people experience jitteriness and increased anxiety when they consume too much caffeine, my personal experience may seem counterintuitive, but I’m not an anomaly.  According to a 2005 study of rats with hyperactivity, impulsivity, poor attention and deficits in learning and memory, a significant improvement was reported in test results when caffeine was administered to the rats beforehand. And in a 10-year study, spanning from 1996 to 2006, researchers found that depression risk in human females decreases with increasing caffeinated coffee consumption. The study included 50,739 women and the clinical depression was “defined as self-reported physician-diagnosed depression and antidepressant use.”

Accordingly, moderate caffeine intake (< 6 cups/day) has been associated with less depressive symptoms, fewer cognitive failures, and lower risk of suicide…READ MORE

 

 

 

Aug 20 2016

What Is Stigma?

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Three out of four people with a mental illness report that they have experienced stigma.

75 percent!

What is Stigma? 

Stigma is a mark of disgrace and/or public shunning that sets a person apart.

Stigma can evoke feelings of: 

  • shame

  • self-blame

  • hopelessness & distress

  • reluctance to seek and/or accept necessary help

    Families are also affected by stigma, which, in turn, can lead to a lack of support. For mental health professionals, stigma means that they themselves are seen as abnormal, corrupt or evil, and psychiatric treatments are often viewed with suspicion, fear, or disgust.

 How is stigma perpetuated? 

 When a person is labeled by their illness they are seen as part of a stereotyped group. Negative attitudes create prejudice which leads to negative actions and discrimination.

When Star Wars’ Jake Lloyd’s schizophrenia got him into trouble, he received very little media empathy. In fact, there was much parody made of him, not only making light of a very serious illness but publicly shaming him. It made me so furious that so many media outlets could be so irresponsible, cruel, and dangerous in their public messages –some of which went viral– that I wrote the following about how they propagated the stigma of mental illness. 

The article is live on Odyssey

*READ THE FULL STORY HERE*

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Aug 13 2016
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What Is Paranoia?

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, like any other emotion, falls on a spectrum; there are varying intensities of the feeling, and, depending on the context or situation, it can endure for any given length of time.  Everyone feels anxious now and then, say, before an interview or while preparing to go on a .  But feeling anxious all the time is another story altogether.  Anxious and fearful, that is.

Read more at InsightBulletin

Aug 1 2016

I Wear My Sunglasses At Night So I Can, So I can…Sleep

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It’s no secret that I have a sleep cycle that’s perpetually in flux.  Days with no sleep aren’t uncommon, but neither are days comprised of sleep and only sleep.  My bipolar disorder is the conductor of its rhythm and, although I try to maintain a traditional schedule, my neurological pathways beg to differ.

I blog about the challenges of finding balance often.  I know that the disruption of natural biological rhythm contributes towards aggravating my bipolar symptoms.  Insomnia reinforces or creates states of hypomania, mania, or a mixed episode.  Oversleeping and depression are correlated.  I know this.  And it’s not just how many or how few hours I spend sleeping.  It’s when I’m sleeping.  And for the better part of the last year, when I did sleep, my body has desperately wanted to sleep through the day and be awake during the night, all night.  I’ve been totally mixed up.

Let’s say I began with a state of something akin to alert wakefulness somewhere in the afternoon hour.  I’d exercise, do chores around my house, get a ton of writing done, eat meals around the times that a person would if the p.m. were actually a.m. and vice versa.  I’d get so much done, in fact, that I’d keep working and keep working through to the next day.  But instead of going to sleep during what was “my nighttime”, I’d still be awake because, of course, the sun was out now.  So by the next day, a little bit of hypomania kicks in, but I’ve got no idea, because, you see, I’m getting so much done!  

At this point in my sleep-wake cycle, I’m not paying any attention whatsoever, because (according to what I think at the time) I’m producing the most articulate and comprehensible delight for which any editor in their right mind would be champing at the bit!   Only, I’m not in my right mind, just my write mind.

Fortunately, because of my medication-mainly the mood stabilizer and antipsychotic medication-I’m prevented from escalating into full-blown mania, or worse, a mixed episode.  I don’t know how many days pass like this.  Not many because I’m Ultradian Rapid Cycling.

And then.

Continue reading »

Apr 25 2016

Spin Cycle

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I’ve always been emotionally explosive.  Rather, I’m like a raw nerve.  I wasn’t diagnosed with Bipolar Disorder, (Type I, Severe, Rapid Cycling), until I was 32 years old, but when I finally got the diagnosis, hot damn, did my life-long wild and erratic behavior suddenly begin to make a lot more sense to me.

It was an enormous relief to have some sort of explanation for the rampant mood swings, the overwhelming irritability, the rages, the meltdowns, the all-or-nothing approach to ABSOLUTELY EVERY ASPECT of my life.

Finally, I felt less alien, less alone.  There were others out there, just like me, bouncing off the walls, invincible; out of their head with grandiose plans to achieve this, that and the other…and then, the next week, having to cancel everything because LIFE WAS OVER and there was NOTHING LEFT IN THE WORLD.  Therefore, I could not leave my bed, much less my house.  And this isn’t hyperbolic, to be frank, this is, truly, putting it rather mildly.

I live, primarily, inside of my head; the roar and silence of my mind consumes nearly all my mental and emotional energy.  I find it difficult to emerge very often.
Although depression and mania are expressed in opposing timbers, they are equally demanding, clamorous in my mind.  Because they insist on my undivided attention, the world surrounding me is dimmed.The voices, feelings, and needs of my family, friends, anyone, everyone, are drowned out.  In order to hear, engage, converse, react appropriately (in the societal sense) I must concentrate very hard and, even then, I fear I’m not getting it right.

My mental illness makes me feel Selfish.  Immature.  Self-possessed.  Self-obsessed.  Needy and Greedy as a child– a wretched woman-child; a blight, a leech, a mistake.

A very dominant portion of my genetic make-up is the predisposition for anxiety, engendering considerable fear, self-doubt and rumination.  It presents itself most potently during mood fluctuation- usually at the height of a mixed episode when agitation becomes extreme. Then the anxiety itself promotes a depressive swing, underscores it.The hopeless, frantic ruminations press in.  I am afraid to be alone but desperately averse to the company of others.

This is social anxiety, magnified.  Overtaking me.  Engulfing me.  Controlling me.
There is the tiny cross-section of time: intermittent bouts of Hypomania, in which I am hyperverbal, creative, expressive, gregarious, enthusiastic, euphoric.  They are fantastic.

A photo posted by Kristen Polito (@) on

 And fleeting.

At various points of occurrence, the illness presents a false demeanor.  I am caught up in the play acting, the pretending.  I am fun, spontaneous, likable.
It is a farce, though, this pleasant and engaging personality, this false congeniality.  The more I learn about Bipolar Disorder, the more unbelievable it is that it took well into my 30’s to be properly diagnosed. Furthermore, I think my mood swings might be slightly more complex than I originally thought. My depressive and manic periods can last 3 to 6 months, switching back and forth, tag-teaming me mercilessly.
 
Compounding that, I’ve already been told I am rapid-cycling, which means that within a Depressive or Manic period, I have shorter, more subtle mood shifts throughout the day.
 
Read: My mind is set to spin cycle, and neither delicate nor permanent press settings are options.
 
I think the patterns in mood-switching are becoming more predictable, but I’m still taken by surprise when I suddenly find myself mired in depression, or consumed by mania.  I suppose when one is crazy and going crazier, they are probably too damn crazy to realize it.
 
The mornings are always the worst.  Regardless of whether I am in a manic or depressive period, each morning weighs me down.  My eyes open with reluctance as the anxiety kicks up into full-force.  My armpits already slick with anxiety sweat, my breath is shallow.  My heart speeds up.  The dread is overwhelming.  The dread, the anxiety, the feelings of worthlessness are almost too much to bear.
I take my medication, the pills which are supposed to make me not so unhinged.
 
But I am. Still.  So. unhinged.
..unhinged enough to know that the suicidal ideation isn’t that far behind me.  In fact, I can see it rearing its ugly head again.
My last trick of the night, folks.  The grand finale of the Crazy Kristen Show.
After waking, I lay back down.  I pull the blanket around me, over my head to block out the light from the cheerfully obnoxious sun.  

What. a. bastard.

The sunshine remains unceasingly cruel; mocking me, almost taking pleasure in my suffering.  I keep the blanket tucked around my head, even though it is getting hot and uncomfortable.  It’s hard to breathe in there.  I don’t like that.  Sometimes, I think I want to die, but I’m afraid of the suffering.  I forget that I will MOST DEFINITELY NOT want to die later in the day, post-mood shift.  The afternoons are better, and the evenings are EXCELLENT.

Every morning, I forget that now, since I am taking the pills,  I am feeling better.  For part of the day.  At least the whole day isn’t  just one long, drawn-out morning.

Even with that it mind, it takes an hour or more for me to coax myself into an upright position, to put my feet on the ground.  To slowly stand.  To look in the mirror and quickly look away, hating what I see.
I try not to obsess about my fat, the uneasy knowledge that my Body Mass Index now sits squarely in the middle of the “healthy” range.  The word healthy sounds fat to me: well-fed, over-nourished, portly.  The fact that I am no longer thin sets off the panic.

That reassurance, which would normally calm my frayed nerves, center my thinking, reassure me; the focus around being thin, concentrating on this one goal, dials down the outside world.  When I am using this unhealthy coping mechanism, everything else is muted and the complex problems in my life no longer seem so bad, so terribly urgent or troubling.  But, this is not an option…sickness, I mean…certain death, I mean.  I am in the dreaded state of eating disorder purgatory, where my weight is restored, but the mind (and often behaviors) are still very diseased.
I don’t start feeling better until about halfway through my workout when the endorphins kick in.  And then the creativity returns, the ideas come, the planning, the small glimmers of hope.  These feelings are not steady throughout, but they make enough of a dent in my misery to propel me through the rest of my workout.

Post workout, I am feeling pretty even for a while, just so long as I do not linger in front of the mirror. Mirror, Mirror, on the Wall–Mirrors seem to have magical properties, you know–they are able to transform my mood almost instantaneously.  If I can remember to keep away from mirrors and other triggers, to take my medicine on time, and to employ healthy coping strategies, I can get through the day, relatively unscathed.

A photo posted by Kristen Polito (@) on

 If I can do that, then I can actually take advantage of the fact that I’m Bipolar, because, even though each day’s most basic demands leave me completely exhausted, my Bipolar brain is the very reason I’m able to write the way that I can.  If I wasn’t unhinged, I’d not likely have a comparable grasp of the English language, of syntax.  Words are a powerful display of feelings and sometimes people, even the ones we love, don’t understand or have access to suppressed feelings locked away for one reason or the other.

MIGHTY1I’d choose rhetoric savant over boring old mainstream shmo’ any day.

POLICIES & DISCLAIMER

Apr 12 2016

Stigmas & Susceptibility

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Civilian or celebrity, if you have a mental illness, you can’t run away from it.  It will not be ignored.  Rather, it will track you down, wrestle you to the ground, and, potentially, even immobilize you, and steal your life. Your sickness will also wreak havoc on the lives of your very sane family.

Star Wars’ actor Jake Lloyd — who played Anakin Skywalker in Episode I, The Phantom Menace– suffers from schizophrenia.

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His demons wasted no time in tracking him down when he went off his meds early last year. On the 26th of March 2015, a police report was filed after he drove to his mother’s house and physically attacked her.  A few weeks later, he led the police on a high-speed car chase through Charleston, South Carolina, hitting speeds of 117 miles per hour before crashing into a bunch of trees.

Since that time, Lloyd has been held in jail for ten months and is only now being transferred to a psychiatric facility.  I think this demonstrates the breakdown in our criminal justice system: how did it take close to a year for the courts to determine that a schizophrenic who’d gone off his medication and had committed the criminal acts during a psychotic episode needed to be transferred?  Why was it not glaringly and immediately obvious that a psychiatric facility was the more appropriate rehabilitative place for him?  I am angry that it took so long but mollified that he is now receiving proper care. Continue reading »

Mar 26 2016

Racecars & Reality

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To say it’s been a while since my last post would be an understatement.  

It’s been 35 days since I last hit the “publish” button on the blog.  And it feels a great deal longer than that! Making my life and thoughts available for public consumption has become so natural, so routine and so vital to my identity that a separation from writing and publishing, however brief, is unwelcome–distressing, even.  I’m glad to be resuming a normal writing schedule for both the blog and my offline writing project.

And to address the break itself, I’ll say that things hadn’t–and haven’t–been going so well for me personally: internally and emotionally.  I could just say: “I went off my meds” and leave it at that; streamline the speculation process, so that everyone could conclude that I willfully and deliberately made a choice to stop taking the medications that effectively manage my mood, personality and eating disorders.  

But it’s a little more complicated than that.  

I didn’t just wake up one morning, see my bottles of pills all lined up, quietly and patiently waiting for me, throw out an arm, scattering them to the floor, all the while hollering Fuck it All to Hell!

Why would I do that? The current meds were working! The suicidal ideation had stopped completely.  I’d begun tentatively thinking about the future.  I was experiencing little to no side effects.  I couldn’t even claim one of the more adverse side effects–weight gain–that prevents some from taking psychiatric medication altogether.  In fact, I’ve actually lost weight over time since beginning a consistent course of medication. 

So…why, then?   If I was feeling better, what was the problem?  

I  really was.  Feeling. Better.    

Well, what happened, see, was it was time to refill one of the bottles of pills, see.  A really important bottle.  The mood stabilizing one. 

And because it’s a government subsidized program, the SMA Pharmacy is necessarily and understandably tightfisted concerning medication refills and the flexibility in picking them up sooner rather than later.  And so, unfortunately, one can’t plan very far in advance.  

And in the days leading up to this, I’d miscalculated, called in the refill late, had to sit it out over the weekend (as they are closed) and come Monday morning, the pharmacy staff told me they were out of the specific medication I had refilled.  Not that my refill wasn’t ready.  That they were just. Out.  

So now, thanks to my own poor judgment, with a side of bad luck, I’m now on Day Five sans mood stabilizer.  

The good people at SMA say, Don’t worry, it’s okay.  

They say, Come back tomorrow.  We will have your medicine by then and you will be okay.  

I say, okay.  I say, See you tomorrow.

I do not see them tomorrow, because, by this time tomorrow, I am batshit crazy.

The very poisonous, very diseased part of my brain, assumed command and jumped into the driver’s seat.  I don’t even own a car, but there the demon was, racing gloves snapped on, pedal to the medal, zooming around like a Daytona 500 pro. By then, I wasn’t even in the passenger’s seat. I was knocked out, unconscious, in the trunk, without even enough time to try and kick out the tail lights like they tell you to do.  …they?   I guess maybe I read that somewhere; it sounds plausible.  

 Anyway…it sounds as though I’m not taking responsibility, right? Well, I am.  I got what was coming to me.  And since then, my meds have been adjusted.  The monster inside me is sleeping.  Fitfully sometimes; quietly, mostly. Continue reading »

Jan 27 2016
My beautiful picture

Dr. Candy Crush, Dogs, & Triggers

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 I saw my psychiatrist today for a medication management appointment.  Yes, Dr. Candy Crush, again. 

In her defense, she was actually pretty focused today.  

I attribute this mainly to the brevity of the appointment and the fact that I came straight in, disregarded the usual pleasantries, and immediately stated my request.  I’m growing fairly certain she’s ADHD.  

Source

Although, the perpetual communication breakdown probably lies with me.  I’m the patient and am therefore, the affected one.  

Hard-knuckling through a bi-monthly face-to-face of endless, repetitive droning about my *horrible life cognition* has got to be brutal, whether her time’s compensated or not.   I mean, who would sit, hands steepled, transfixed, while I regale them with fresh hell from neuron-to-synapse-to-mouth?

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