11 Weeks Later

Some of you may have noticed my last blog was a bit out there, and then I disappeared for quite a while. Well, this is going to chronicle my last 11 weeks and how it has helped me turn back into a functioning human being, well for the most part. Mental illness is very time consuming, especially when things are not going quite right. This is why I collect disability as I would never be able to hold a job if I asked to take 11 weeks off for hospitalization and intensive group therapy, it just is not a reality. I feel sorry for those that do have jobs and have to deal with this, as I am sure that their employers may not be very accommodating to their needs. So, here is what I experienced over the past 11 weeks. Spoiler alert – the inpatient part is the best.

The day after I posted my last blog, the mixed mania got the best of me and Chris and I decided I needed to go for an assessment at the mental health facility I was last admitted to. After my assessment, they admitted me to the high functioning mental health unit. I got there late to start with so by the time I got to the unit, it was almost 3 am but the fun was not over. As soon as you enter a unit, you get what is called a “skin check,” which is a strip search where they document all your scars, tattoos and injuries while making sure you are not hiding any contraband in the process. As I had been through it before it really did not bother me, just the fact it takes too long because I have so many tattoos makes it a pain in the ass. After that and a million more of the same questions, I get to my assigned room and try not to wake my roommate up and try to get a few hours of sleep as wakeup is every day at 730am when they announce it is time for yoga.

I like yoga, do not get me wrong, but at 730am I like nothing and no one, especially with a Doxepin hangover. I usually went back to sleep until they announced breakfast at 815am, which I wanted no part of either but used the opportunity to take a shower while everyone else was down in the dining hall. The first smoke break was at 915am so it usually timed out pretty well that I was out of the shower, dressed and had a cup of coffee ready to go when they yelled for a smoke break. Yes, the place I was at allows five 15-minute smoke breaks a day for patients. Guess they figure you are stressed out enough and taking your cigarettes away is not going to help that.

The rest of the day is standard, group therapy, group recreation therapy, group music therapy, group art therapy, lunch, dinner, exercise, visiting hour, smoke breaks, and some personal time scattered throughout the day. You are strongly encouraged to participate in all the groups, which I did attempt to do, but being there 15 days they started to repeat so I found other things to do. For some groups, meals, and exercise you got to leave the unit so I tried my best to participate in all of those. Damn, I almost forgot the most important times of the day, MEDICATION TIME! The nurses were cool and hunted you down with your meds if they needed to. They always made sure you had everything you were supposed to have, especially at bedtime.

My first roomie, Vladia, was cool. She was funny as hell too. She must have been on some hellacious sleep meds because she did all kinds of fucked up shit in her sleep. She would roll out of the bed, undress and use her pants as a pillow, be sleeping upside down, all kinds of weirdness. She was a good roommate though, we would chat at night before we went to sleep like two teenagers at a sleepover. She was there before me so of course, I only had her as a roomie for a few days, and then I was moved anyway because the room had a bit of an ant problem they were trying to resolve. I did not mind being moved, the room was hot as hell and I was being moved to the coldest room in the place.

My new roomie was cool, but a little meticulous. Why did they have to stick me in a room with someone with OCD who is a germophobe? And of course, my legs were swollen because I cannot keep them up all the time when in inpatient and my heel splits and bleeds on the floor. She literally flipped the fuck out as if I had Ebola, AIDS, the bubonic plague, and every other horrible disease you can possibly think of. Mind you, she stepped on the tiny spot with shoes and socks on. So of course, out of the kindness of my heart, I offer up a vein for a blood test to ease her mind. That was a mistake. They stuck me six times trying to get a vein. I do a better job myself, how do I know, because I have stuck myself and I can get a vein on the first try. Everything ended up okay, but they really made a bigger deal out of it than they should have.

My stay was not without incident of course. My last few hospitalizations have had some type of fight or violence started by me or I was a part of. This time I did not start it but was definitely an instigating part of it. It all started over the one phone we had use of for 24 patients. We tried to make a list and keep it fair, but some people refused to follow the list, so of course, it caused arguments. A fellow patient Melissa, lost her temper with the person on the phone as she was standing next to me, he threatened to beat her ass, I am bigger and of course, wanted to protect her and all hell broke loose. CODE VIOLET, CODE VIOLET, CODE VIOLET!!! That is the hospital code for a fight on the unit. Melissa was physically dragged to the other side of the unit by two patient care assistants, two more got in my face and made me go right with her and two more took the person on the phone to the other side. They separated us all the rest of the evening. The best part was, this all happened during the visiting hour. It was a busy visiting hour too.

It is not often there are out of control patients on the unit either but there were a few while I was there because the unit they should have been on was full. For those that truly cannot control their behavior, I feel sorry for, but for those being assholes on purpose, they can just fuck off in the other direction. We had an older woman that spent one whole night screaming at the top of her lungs how she is suing everyone and how everyone there was crazy but her, etc. etc. I think they shipped her out after the 72-hour hold just to get rid of her and her bullshit. Apparently, she said something to get herself put in there so she had no one to blame but herself at that point.

My last roommate came in as a transfer from another facility with what looked like a broken nose and a black eye from there. I really felt sorry for her because the woman screaming just freaked her out even more. She definitely did not need that after being at the place she was at. She was okay after a while and we got along good, no blood testing required.

After 15 days of medication changes and additions, the doctor felt it was safe to send me home only if I started their PHP (Partial Hospitalization Program) the next day, which I did. PHP is six hours a day, five days a week of group therapy with an hour for lunch. It is a lot like being inpatient but you get to go home and sleep. They also keep a close eye on everyone in case they think you need to go back to inpatient. It is a lot like inpatient with DBT and CBT sessions and art therapy once a week. We also watched the movie Inside Out. If you have never seen it, it is good for a kid’s movie. After three weeks of PHP, you go to five weeks of IOP.

IOP is Intensive Outpatient Therapy, which is three hours a day, four days a week. IOP is a lot different because of the counselors. Ours was a trained EMDR (Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing) therapist and introduced us to a variety of different techniques to manage stress and anxiety. As soon as I get my psychiatrist and therapist situation figured out, I am going to look into this type of therapy more and see if I can benefit from it better than just the DBT and CBT.

So, where am I after 11 weeks of all that? I feel really good! I went out for the first time by myself with a group of Facebook friends I had never met in real life before and had a great time, I am inspired to write again, I am ready to dive into any and all Satany projects I can, I just want to do things. It is a fucking shame it took 11 weeks but mental illness is no joke my friends. It will steal large amounts of your life, fuck it up, and not give it back. If you struggle with mental illness, do something at the first sign of trouble, do not wait as I did, maybe you will not lose 11 weeks of your spring and summer as I did.

In the Midst of Chaos

WARNING:  This is not like my normal blogs, major trigger warning as I am writing this in the middle of a mixed manic episode.

Mental illness sucks, plain and simple. As I write this, I am in the middle of a mixed manic episode. My brain is everywhere and anywhere. Just focusing on getting it out is a challenge, but something I felt I needed to do. I hope that sharing the chaos that is my thoughts and emotions will help someone who may think they are the only ones who have to deal with these exhausting episodes. My head has not been right for days and I fear I will end up in the hospital to bring me back to somewhat center.

I do not know if I want to curl up in a ball and cry, find the nearest sharp object and cut my arm to shreds or just go through the house yelling and punching walls. I am typically not violent with anything but inanimate objects. I know none of this is good, but what can you do when you feel out of control? I have enough control right now to sit down and get some of this out, but I have a feeling this will not last long. I am home alone until 11 pm and it is only 530 pm, too many hours to let my lack of control take over.

I know that my recent doctor visits are the reason my emotions have spun out of control again. My first breakdown was not long after I had my unsuccessful back surgery in 2016. From then on, my medical issues have been to blame for many of my institutionalizations. Right now, I could do 100 things at a time and still need more. I am typing, watching television and have music cranked metal of course, and I still need more things to do. As I type I get even more agitated because my fingers have recently started to go numb, making it difficult to do a lot of the only things I have left to do; type, write, color, paint, all of it.

Since I mentioned medical issues, I should probably elaborate so you all can get a sense of why I feel wound up in my head. First, the failed lumbar fusion on May 15, 2016, that simply kept me from being paralyzed but did nothing for my back and leg pain, weakness and numbness, which they are now blaming on my diabetes. It started before my diabetes was diagnosed so I am sure my back is the root cause. I recently had MRIs, CT scans, and x rays of my entire spine only to be told by my neurosurgeon, “there is nothing we can do to help, your last chance is pain management.” Been there done that and really do not want a nerve stimulator implanted in my side and spine. However, it may be an absolute last resort. I have degenerative back issues, which means all of this will only get worse. Fucking wonderful.

I lost a toe, not to diabetes, but to the wonderful MRSA, I have colonized in my system. I had a bone spur making a hole in the bottom of my toe and seven surgeries later, I am now missing the big toe on my right foot. I used to love wearing flip-flops, well fuck that. Over a period of five months, my surgeon tried to save my toe, I even spent five weeks in a nursing home on IV antibiotics and getting physical therapy to try to keep my damn toe and October 29, 2017, I lose it anyway. At least I dressed it up with a funny tattoo. I then required surgery to remove large fibromas from my other foot and spent six weeks off it only to break my ankle the week after I started walking on it again. It never healed right so I am supposed to wear a brace, which of course I do not because I hate it. So I walk funny because of the missing toe, huge scar on the bottom of my foot and the fucked up ankle, oh wait, add in the numbness to all that. I also have cervical spine problems that affect my balance, so I stumble around like a drunk most of the time and fall frequently. Spent two weeks institutionalized after the toe was lopped off.

Shit, I do not even know where to go next. Maybe my diabetes, which is continuing to get worse, thanks to one of my psych meds. I already take five pills a day and insulin for it so it will be interesting to decide what they are going to do to fix it this time. More pills? More insulin? Hell, I take 15 pills at a time, what is a few more. I have high blood pressure, high cholesterol, nerve problems, fibromyalgia, diabetes, bladder issues, mixed manic bipolar 1, depression, anxiety disorder, borderline personality disorder, and PTSD. That is too much shit and too many meds. I am not fond of people, do not do crowds, traffic, or freeways, and really do not leave the house much. I leave to go to the doctor and shop, that about sums it up. I bitched about spending $54 on shoes, yet they should last forever for as little as I will wear them.

It took over five years to finally diagnose my mental illness correctly and put me on meds that help somewhat. Even now, they do not work when my brain goes into chaos mode as it is now. As much as this is helping, I cannot make this a 20-page dissertation just to keep my hands busy for the next six hours.

I do not want sympathy at all, hell no. I just wanted to share some of my thoughts and why my brain is so chemically imbalanced and that I am in a state of losing complete control. I want other people that go through this to understand they are not alone and asking for help does not mean you failed. Knowing when to ask for help is half the battle I think. Right now I am asking for help and I may go away for a week or two, but I know when I come out I will be able to center myself and tame the chaos once again…