Slowly Going Sane

The poorly edited journal of recovery

Friday, February 27, 2009

14...15.

All done. Bar exam behind me. A wretched experience but got me thinking last night, and I pontificated at length upon this to L.

Maybe it was just what I needed.

Ever notice thats what we get? L was sharing her dismay, one I used to have, at the waste that is all the lives and years and minds and hearts worn down in law offices. The fact is, law, even corporate law, is a good fit for some people, but for most, including everyone I talked to at the bar, even laterals who haave been practicing for years, its not enough.

But it is enough.

Look at who we are. People who do to law school, they are achievers. Thats part of their identity. In many ways it is why we suceed, because to do otherwise conflicts with our understanding of self. Its why failure is so dirorienting. But Type A, B, the bright, the living, most of the poeple I know who got into law share that trait of needing an outside indicator of success. Not always other people, its just that we wanted to be happy, we graduated from undersgrad and the world asked us "now what?" We had no answer. We thrased about, some of us into work and more education, but in the end, we wanted another rung on the ladder, because sure from there, we would find happiness.

So we climbed and we went to law firms, and we got money and prestige adn responsibility and everything we thought we wanted. But we were not happy. Not unhappy, not completely miserable, but not...it just wasnt what we thought. But then we started trying to fit ourselves in. Trying to justify our position. Started compsimising our inherent understanding of happiness and completeness. We do this for years and year, and then, one day, we have had enoug. Its something we all understand before we ever darken a hallways, but we got to the firm, because we needed to realize that lesson. So day after day we were forced to confront that one truth- that the office is nothing. Its not happiness. Its an office. SOmeone elses, and that no award, no achievement meant shit. and that all that sucess anf money and responsiblity, it led us into contentment, but not happiness.

It takes years. took me 5. But we all get there. we all realize that at this hieght, there is no more up, only sideways. So we leave and we have finally internalized that lesson and will never make it again.

(of course, for a sliver of people, its a fit)

Anyway, the bar was like that. Teaches hard lessons by unrelentingly forcing you to revisit things. Illness was like that. True change only comes through comes through conflict, adversity and time. Beyond that, its merely a mental excersize and we can understand compassion, understand confidence, understand accepting, but not realize any of it.

The benefit of living. You get beat up, if you are lucky, and you learn. If everything goes your way...you have precious few oppurtuninities to learn. Thats why I prefer, the blood, the road, being hungry, being scared, being tired, being overwhelmed and then coming through. So, thanks Bar. And thanks all.

I have a clear day. Number 15.

I am off. Surf is at 7.5 feet and we have offshores.

Wednesday, February 25, 2009

Lucky 13.

Tomorrow is two weeks of perfect wellness. Weird how fast the novelty has faded, thought it still grabs me often.

I have the Bar tomorrow. The last day. Then I get to take the training wheels off this new found freedom and see what this guy can do. Yeeehaw.

Aside- I was number 13 in high school until I became a goalie. The coach, like a lot of coaches, usually did not play or travel with number 13, except when a player suited it. That was me. It was fun, and I loved ruining people's days with choking D. But that was a long time ago. I dont know if I even float anymore.

Tuesday, February 24, 2009

11-12

Yes, even I am finding this tedious.

But if you wait a while, I am sure I will rekindle that narcisism that makes me th blogger I am. Lord dont I like to see myself in print.

GB

Monday, February 23, 2009

Ten

and stress. wish me well

Saturday, February 21, 2009

Nine

Nine.

I wish I had time to add more.

Friday, February 20, 2009

8

I have eight days of sanity and you don't....er, never mind. I have eight days of sanity. eight. Eight. EIGHT. How you like me now?

Ok, this slightly beligerant message is brought to you by the California State Bar, and the letter O. oh yeah and the number....8. Bitch.

Thursday, February 19, 2009

Catching up

In an effort to celebrate wellness, I am starting a list of things I want to do in the next year. Volunteers are welcome. No training necesary.

Alices
Camp pt reyes and make a bonfire
Outdoor dinner party
Steinhert
De young
Artichoke Joe's casino
Ponies.
Learn to kinda play drums. Big ones.
Bondage party
Gun range
Find SF's best and worst Strip clubs
Big Sur
Gorrilla BBQ in Rockaway.
Amateur boxing
Batting cages
Hike n camp mt tam
Have champagne before breakfast
SC cold water classic.
Fish in the bay
Surf ft point (sans sharks).
pay for a stranger’s bridge toll
go to one of the free concerts in Golden Gate Park
attend a lecture at each of the local colleges
take one of the boat tours of the bay
Guerrilla gardening.
Catch up with AJ
Water Polo games.
Finish house in CR
Visit Angel's parents in Nicaragua
Finish tattoo
Drink a fifth by myself
Desolation wilderness.
Plan a vegas trip for the tribe.
Visit Italy and my friends there. See Milan again. Talk my way into show week. never seen it from that side.
Have a suit made for me.
Coke of a whore's back. I mean, this needs to get done. (I am looking at you L).
Naked swimming at OB one night. A warm night.
See SJ and try to understand the attraction.
Visit Boston, Vail, DC, and LA, again and again.
Spend a week with Dad and L.
ok, back to bar prep


This is just a start. Please please please add anything that I will need to do in order to have one fucked up good year.

A week

One of the interesting things about this experience, is that I can still feel my tendencies in times of stress. When anxious, I talk. A lot. I talk about me. A lot. I dont mean to do it, but I just ramble on and on. Sometimes I can calm out of that. More often, someone can help me calm out of that. Sometimes, I just hope I dont offend anyone by snaking thier spotlight, which should rightfully shine on them.

The point is that the illness being gone has not resolved me. It has not made me less, or more, me. Just got out of the way.

Its been a week. I am under heavy stress preparing for the Bar exam. My throught is rough and my voice is ripped up from the tension. My eyes are blurry and I have a tension that does not quit. All perfectly normal, and perfectly familiar. But still, through it all, the wellness persists.

Thats it. J is here visiting from Boston. That should be tough to balance, but its not. I can handle things now. And she is super cool, and tolerant, which is why we are friends. The trick to being my friend is often being tolerant of the rough parts to get to the amazing parts that make me worth it. I am working on the rough parts. Hey, arent we all?

GB

Wednesday, February 18, 2009

Six Days

I know. I know. This is getting tedious. For you.

But, kiss my ass. I am keeping this up for 40 days. The blogging. It has a nice biblical feel to it and represents roughly 1 % of my time ill. If we get to 40 without relapse, I am declaring the next 400 (360) days a celebration. Thats 10%. Thats fair.

Of course, there is always relapse, in which case, I will piss and moan and roll on.

Tuesday, February 17, 2009

Five days

Crystal.

I find myself staring. I find myself totally bored with talking. There is so much to hear and see and feel.

I dont know where to begin explaining this. But I feel like I should. The novelty and specialness of the parting of the fog will dissipate, and the elation I feel will fade. Would this be how a paralegic might feel to one day stand up? I dont know.

Its been more than 100 months of feeling down in a hole, the starlight sparking up above, but so dark, so close, so far where I was.

I wish I had the same desire to explain wellness that I did illness, but I dont. I just want to get out there and get into it. I spent my youth raising a mother, and a decade at the threshold of death or madness or dispair. I dont need to grow up any more. I need to grow out. I feel like the oldest 33 year old there is. Lucky, though. many wonderful people stuck with me along this way. many others I lost along the way. I love and miss them all.

Now, if you will excuse me, I have a moon to attend to.

4 days.

Roughly 4000 days ill. 4 days clear with zero symptoms. Thats about a tenth of one percent. I am blinded, slightly, by the light, in the most pleasant and intoxicating way.

I am realing. In a good way. momories and emotions flooding back in. Smells wafting up from childhood. Voices from the past, people, things I forgot, all opening up. A chair is a chair, not a facismile, and I smile and laugh and still talk too much.

I walked home from L's tonight. Rain. the sound of denim against wool. The soft slip of track flats on the asphalt. The city in the distance. And....silence. No distortion, no...

If I could nto find the words to describe the illness in 4000 nights, I will not find the words for wellness tonight.

4 days. Fucking A right.

Monday, February 16, 2009

And still nothing

No symtpoms.

I took a walk in the rain, bringing an umbrella, and listened to the tapping of drops on the membrane. Everythign so clear. So close. So real. I remember long ago, in Pensacola, that first oak tree that seemed like more than a shadow on a cave wall and crying, there in the driver's seat of my black celica, at a red light before the brige. I held up my hand then, and it was there, real, just crisp and, shit, I dont have the words.

So, I just walked. Looked out at my new city. Enjoyed. Three days. Perfectly normal. In the bag.

S and P are having a baby. Thats amazing. time was I would have to wait for a break in the fig to feel that news, today, it hit me hard and immediately, and I could be on the phone and bursting and...

Jesus. Its been a long long time.

Sunday, February 15, 2009

Three days

Zero Symptoms. Never happened. Not since college ended and I was studying for the LSAT in that shit hole fraternity where E helped me clean the floor with a shovel before I could move in and I decided Bradley was a profit right before he OD-ed. I studied spanish 5 hours a day, and ate day old scones after skating bancroft to class. There was a girl, K, that I had a crush on, because there was little else to do that summer but study and wait for the weekends when I would drive in to SF to see E. She was a dear. E that is. She once went across the street in her pajamas to ask a party to turn down the music so I could sleep. That was the begining of the overloud days, the days before I had learned to cope with the noise. She was great and I miss her. I sometimes flatter myself by wishing she had not married.

3 days.

3 DAYS.

I feel like i am rewinding. I dont know how else to explain the sensation. I wake, and I have old feelings, memories I didn't realize I had. My dreams have grown substantial, and I often resolve old hurts in them in a fantastic dream like way, and make apologies long overdue. Sometimes I reunite with friends and loves long gone. And it all seems so terrible short and fragile adn I am reminded of being 4 years old, and awakening knowing, completely and utterly, how short life is. Since then I have tried to drink too much in. As if that could slow it down. It was my tribute to life. Somewhere I got sick on the excess. I have learned that no matter how wide you stretch your jaws, no matter how much you manage to cram in and swollow, chewed or no, its such a miniscule fraction of infinity that it equals zero. So just enjoy. You will never have enough unless you enjoy what you have.

Secada talks about the scarcity mentality being born of the inability to appreciate the luxury of simple things. Like watching fat rain drops on your skylight, and seeing the white caps kicked up in the gale force winds that pass for winter in SF. Sit, run, dance, fight, sing, its all the same, so do what suits you, make your statement, and embrace the fleeting moment of life.

Hey Jude

Strangley, this seems to fit:

Hey jude, dont make it bad.
Take a sad song and make it better.
Remember to let her into your heart,
Then you can start to make it better.

Hey jude, dont be afraid.
You were made to go out and get her.
The minute you let her under your skin,
Then you begin to make it better.

And anytime you feel the pain, hey jude, refrain,
Dont carry the world upon your shoulders.
For well you know that its a fool who plays it cool
By making his world a little colder.

Hey jude, dont let me down.
You have found her, now go and get her.
Remember to let her into your heart,
Then you can start to make it better.

So let it out and let it in, hey jude, begin,
Youre waiting for someone to perform with.
And dont you know that its just you, hey jude, youll do,
The movement you need is on your shoulder.

Hey jude, dont make it bad.
Take a sad song and make it better.
Remember to let her under your skin,
Then youll begin to make it
Better better better better better better, oh.

Saturday, February 14, 2009

Two days

Two days. Zero Symtoms. Do you know when last time was I had two whole days wihtout symptoms? Class?

1997. Yikes.

So, horray for me. I am celebrating by studying torts. Dare we hope for three? no. But if it comes, I will rock it.

Friday, February 13, 2009

Zero (its a good thing)

Zero.

You see, I keep a spread sheet. It used to be a journal, but hey illness, welcome to the new millenium. So I keep a spread sheet. Its columns capture the thread of my illness, day, stressors, sources, symotoms, tpye, and notes. A typical day might look like this

1/1/2000 5 Ps (psych) Bd day at work 6 Manic Could be lack of sleep.

Etc. fun right? there is reams of this shit. Its not without merit. The interesting thing is that we are dealing with a 1-10 scale. Time was, and the data coding was color coded, each one representing better or worse than usual. But see, I have zero days. Not many, but some. Zero symptoms. Yes, I am still, on those days, an asshole. I am still over opininated, wildly enthusiastic about everything and anything. I am still a poor communicator and probably too hard on myself, and I am demanding of others too. I am me. Passionate, compassionate, energetic, innovative, creative, controlled and controlling, etc.

Stay with me, it gets better.

Today was a zero. Zero symptoms. I woke with the dregs of depression clinging to my brain and the heviness and uncertainty of having my mind run through a wringer. But quickly, within an hour or so, it was lifted and in its place...nothing. Clear, prescious nothing. Just normalcy. I just feel me. I laugh, and giggle. You know I am well when I giggle. I did my bar work, and I shaved. I took a shower, and watched probably too much porn. I studied contracts and I edited a presentation for a client. I studied with a partner, and hammered esssays done. But it was clear, pure, normal, no ringing, feet unleaded with sorry. Tomorrow seemed possible and wonderful. Its just, fuck its awesome.

Its not mania. I suffer from that swing on occasion, though rarely. Really rarely. I dont feel invincible, or the need to gamble, or reckless or superior. I feel really just present. The sucking selfishness of my illness and how I deal with that is lifted.

Frankly, I have been been whole lately. even in illness, just accepting and loving. So its nice to have this. Its good too.

Zero Zero Zero. Zero.

Have a happy Valentine's day. I hope you have one. If you do, kiss him/her for me. Dont tell them. That would be inappropriate.

Gone

Depression is gone. Lifted right quickly. As always, following one of these rip downs, I feel like a soccer player on a newly reconstructed ACL. It holds, but I dont trust it. Anyway, rolling, feeling light, positive, optimistic, ready to laugh and love. Go bears.

L asked my why I keep this blog. I answered that at first, I just needed to tell no one. That is, someone, but no one I knew. Now, its different. I keep it as a record. Its vain, but we all do this. Want to believe that when we are gone we will not be forgotten. I also keep it as a journal, maybe one day I can figure more out by rereading it.

Most importantly, I keep it so I can show the people in my life what its like in one gulp. When I am fine, being ill makes no sense. I cannot explain it. When I am ill, the concept that I will be fine makes no sense. I really like that I can send the link to those in my life and say, hey, here I am, this is what you are getting into.

So, for all of you who read this, or who have read it, thank you. thank you for taking the time. Thank you for being more willing to work with all of me than I can be. Thank you for your interest, your love, your support. From the most sincere place in my being. Thank you: M, A, W, J, N, M.

ggrrrr

Well,

This was inevitable. 8 weeks of high level stress and the depressions would come. Frankly, I am still not convinced that they are all that corralated to particular stresses, but the fact it this one had to be inevitable. Couple days now. Today is the worst. not long to the test now, but dragging, really draggin.

Times like this and I wonder. I wonder what I bring. Not to my friends lives, but I look at people in relationships and I ask still if someone would want to build a life with me, and more importantly, what kind of a person would that be? WEll, I have an idea, but its going to be someone really special. Frankly, the problem is that there needs to be someone who can run with me. I have big dreams, a big heart, and an unlimited appreciation of life. I want to run, fight, fuck, dance, listen, scream, sing, travel, sit, love, write, read, bleed, and everything in between. But I also need someone who can be compassionate. Who can hold my head. Who will not run when it gets hard. Someone who can just be next to me when the dark times come, and accept that that is part of me too. I have had parts of that, but inevitably, when the good times stop, I get threatened, not sure what I bring, or, on the other side, when the hard times end, and they always do, someone who is not burned out keeping up. I know there can be both. I am both.

Frankly, I think I am harder on myself than any potential partner. I hate this, I really do. Well, I get angry. I dont get angry at me. I am proud of how I deal with it. And I do. And I excell, but I drag. Times like these and I really need someone here. It would be nice. times like these and its so hard to do it on my own. But its hard to ask for help, cause I cannot say really what I need.

this is around my 11 year anniversay. 11 years of feeling kinda weird. Used ot be severly weird, and now just kind of constantly off. I dont really worry any more about it getting better. It will or it wont. At this point, I think I have tried everything. People ask where my smile went, or where my sense of humor went. Its there, just a little worn down. This is what I got to give, and its fine for me. There is beauty everywhere, as long as you are looking for it, instead of looking for something else.

So, well, I am knackered. The whole body is down and that age old swang song heavy with weariness is on me. Holding me down. Its my hand. Ill play it out. Thats all. Just wanted to connect adn shout out there into the inter-wilderness; I am doing. Getting by. But dragging. really...dragging today. 10 days to go.

Saturday, February 07, 2009

woah

(welcome to the temple of my own narcissism. Still, its my blog, if you dont like it, go elsewhere).

Woah.

Woah.

It been 24 hours. No symptoms. At all. Ok a wanging headache and still super speed mind, but the distortion, the filterlessness, the compelling insistance of all the internal naratives, the urgency of the memories, the constant reshuffling in my head, its gone. Just gone. Its like the volume knob on the incoming, and outgoing, stimluli, has gone from 11, to 5. Or whatever. And I feel like: Me. Me me me me me. Yee haw. I think I will celebrate by studying professional responsibility.

Woah.

I have no idea why this is happening. I get days like this, but not under the full stress of the bar and this just feels, er, solid-er.

Whatever. It might be gone by dinner. Smoke ém if you got ém.

Friday, February 06, 2009

Normal

People take issue with my use of "normal"to give a relative point that I want to reach. They ask me, how do you know what normal is?

Well, right now I feel normal. 100% normal. This is how I felt before I got ill. Yes, a little racy, yes I ran at the mouth, no I could not really focus attention all that much, but normal. Crystal. This is it. And its amazing. just normal. Not high, not super, just perfectly fucked up.

So I wanted to share. I get a day like this once every few months, with no distortion, no headache, no cognitive tom foolery. No more than normal voices, no obsessions, no ...just normal.

and its..

Well, its like crystal. Like being really present in a roomm. Feeling like I am there. Not so far away. No screen. Life feels less like a shadow in a cave. And fuck, I laugh. Normal deep healing belley laughs. Oh shit.

And I get a little sad. Sad for all the days gone by when I could not have this. Sad for the people and relationships that I could not enjoy, for whom my illness and anger at it caused me to always be looking forward. Shit, I am disspointed. I know I am not supposed to be, that I should take in in stride and take what God gives me, but shit, I miss this.



Someone said ot me today "I like you better like this". Well, no shit. me too. I am a great guy. Bit overbearing and a narcissist, but normal. I hate that there were people that slipped away...no its not worth that. I hate that I can think of a dozen people who gave up frustrated. People I hurt, people I dissapeared from. Shit. I promise you people, I was worth it. But fuck you for prefereing this. This is where my smile went.

Raise a glass, hoist a whatever, but its a 0 day for symptoms.

The symptoms will be back shortly. I have some catching up to do.

Culture

If we can take Daniel Quinn at his word, the culture is the story of a people and how they came to be there. Taken another step, we all have an internal culure, the story of who we are. Move enough times and you realize how much of what you think of as right, wrong and proper, is nothing but cultural assumptions.

Still, we carry a story inside of us. We dont think of it as a myth, or a story, because we dont review it. It is who we are. our culture.

Yet therapy, I am noticing, is the process of altering that internal culture. First, you identify the stories you tell yourself. About who you are, what your relaitonship is to the world, how you are valuable, or not valuable, good enough, or not good enough. How you got to be where you are.

The therapist then lets you look at each of those in turn. If they are a bad therapist, they just poke holes in it. Its useful, but the mind recoils and you genrally end up healing over the break twice as thick- like bone. If they are good, they will simply point out the contradictions where your myths colide and cause you pain.

And then, you can slowly recognize them as stories. once you do that, they are yours to retell. now some of them are so old that tney will never be retold, but they can be reheard. They let you repond differntly, or see them as delusions.

Zen, interestingly works the same way. You sit. Still. And soon the mess of your mind clears. Then in the clarity, once the aggitation is stilled, you see a mirror of your mind. You see the pastures where your mind wanders, and you see the stories you tell yourself about your self and the world. There is no guidance, its self guided, yet everyone finds the guidance there, inside, once they learn how.

Thats all.

The GABA really seems to help. I am too long for this shit to think that its a magic bullet, but even if its just a helping hand, I dont need to do this the hard way. Not only that, but there is value adn merit to taking help from people, and GABA.

I am taking 750 mg a day, but with the PTC greenlighting 2g a day. It inhibits neurotrasmission. Thats that filter we are talking about. Oh, I came up with an analogy, so maybe you can understand. Its not perfect.

You know those 1990s pictures that looked liked choatic dots, but when you relazed your eyes, you could see sharply a sailboat, or a dolphin, or whatever? Thats normal. You can see your thoughts adn the edges between people, noises, relevancies, and priorities. My life, when its bad, let your eyes get tight...all dots. The sailboat is there still, but lost in the dots. Dots of voices, people, smells, noises, the beat and the singer are one. A million voices as important as the next. Each memory so terribly important. Its all there. even the sailboat. I wake, I work, I say intersting things, but all I see are dots.

Thats all folks. G'night.

Thursday, February 05, 2009

A spoon and a moon

Not suprisingly, with the stress of the bar mounting, precisely the kind of stress that really torques me, I had another bad swing today. by 2 I felt fine, but by 6, I had no clue anymore. Its like I get there, moving around, I get things accomplished. I hear myself talk, and what I say makes perfect sense, but I cannot understand where it came from or where it goes. I see my feet move and I take out trash and clean the house and move from gym to check email, but I do not direct them. I watch, and I bathe in the utter overwhleming blast of nosie color, emotions, and impulses, a shrill white blast of moise, like a Metalica concert, pure, hard, painful, so that you cannot hear anything and the notes are pain in your head. I weave. I stumble. I vaguely enjoy myslef. I freak out. BB came by because I needed someone to hold onto, or to hold onto me. She told me all the ordinariy things: that I am going to be fine. That I just need to relax, that I am often fine, that this will pass, to breathe, to calm. And I said all the ordinary things back, back off, you dont understand, I am lost, lost lost. I wept hard when she asked me to let go of the voices. I realize they are distrcting me from the onslaught. I let it in. It overtook me. I wept harder. Things did not get better.

But somewhere, somehow, sometime later they did.

Thats me. I just need someone. someone to hold on tight while the storm rages. I need someone so I can be angry, so its safe. I know how to ask for that now. Its me, its part of me, and its now part of my life, not something to hide, to squirrel away in the darkness. Its front and center. I guess, if you are going to be my friend, my lover, my confidant, you need to accept this. Its a tall order. Many people have said yes, but when it came down to the buffeting waves of terror and self recrimination, they tackfully, or tacklessly, left. I dont blame them, but I need stronger people. Or else, I was asking too much of them. Time will tell. I ask for what I need.

So cheers and thanks BB. You saved me. Again.

Wednesday, February 04, 2009

Connection between GABA and P5P

Pyridoxal-5'-phosphate (vitamin-B6) is an essential cofactor to GABA synthesis. An individual with a genetic pyridoxine metabolism abnormality or one who is taking a pyridoxine antagonist (i.e. isoniazid) may experience inadequate GAD activity and will have significant GABA deficiency leading to symptoms of irritability and confusion (Kaplan & Sadock, 1995). Confusion and irritability are symptoms often associated with schizophrenia (American Psychiatric Association, 1994).

Well, as you know, I take a whole bucket of this stuff a day. Its not that simple, as p5p also potentiates dopamine and norepinephrine. really, I should leave this stuff to the professionals.

Tuesday, February 03, 2009

Abatement

The tempest broke, leaving me flung on shore, panting and full of water, but sane and alive.

I dont know what to say. When its like that I am so terrified. I am so inundated, overwhelmed. There is no filter. None at all. It all washes in without the ability to differentiate, or priroritze, or screen, or even understand. one wash of emotions/color/smells/desires/thoughts/touch. Overhwelming? overwhelmed.

I go places. I say things. It feels like someone else. My body just going through the motions. And I get so confused. Why dont I reach out? The deisre is there, so strong. Please help me, it says. Please God, someone. But then, there are lots of desires right then. Run. Die. Eat. Sit. The cocaphany overtakes me, and I sit, staring at a light, or wall, or wheel, locked up. Too much information to use and I am paralyzed.

That said,yay for me. Throughout it all, I did not make that old mental division- ME and Illness. No it was all one. This is Michael. And that felt good. I pay a price for the senstivities when there is a filter. And this is it.

It backed off today. I was still thrashed. last time this happened was the day before the Cal reunion game. That day I went from bad to worse. That night I was adrift, pounded from everyside with stimuli, information, loud blaring urgency without face or beggining or end. I spiralled into depression. I was so scared. I did what I do- entrench. I shut myself in and shut everyone out. J called. I simultaneously wanted her there so badly it hurt, choked me, but I heard my voice telling her I was going to be fine. That was my voice telling me that. M, you are going to be fine, going to make it, its going to be fine. Thats how it goes. Stay positive. Stay optimistic. Never crack because it can spiral away from you so fast you are going to get hammered. Down down down you will go into madness, into, well shit, who knows. So I said no. I think I said no. At least, she didn't come. And I did make it. But...shit. How I wanted her to kick down my door, kick through the shell and help me. Hold my hand. I know what would happen. The tears would crash out. That was again the feeling last night. Someone to come and save me. Someone to hold my hand. But I was stuck. And I was fried. I made it to bed. And made it to sleep. I dont remember much but lying on the couch with the phone, then lying on the couch crying.

Thing is, when I am doing fine, I know tahts what I want and I am fine with it. Just ask- I know. And I want to. Its who I am. But when I get like taht I get defenseive and shut down. I cannot make good decisions. So hard to think. So I go on autopilot. Get the washing done. Do your house work. Go to the gym.

The next day, after that one, like this one, i felt it abated. Backed off. I felt ok in the morning, still really shaky. Things felt better but still weird. I went to the game. I played. And it was great. but really, all I wanted was that comforting.

And like I woke up beat up and shaky today. then later, like that day, today it broke. All at once. At three. 30 minutes and it was lifted, or filtered, and I was not lost anymore. No, not super. Just, normal. Normal me. Full of normal insecurities and whatever, just able to navigate them and see them.

I learned I really want someone there during those times. Last night I would have gone to A's if I could have driven. I was not able to filter enough to drive. But in my life, I want me to be there and offer comfort, and someone else. Maybe a lot of peoples, but shit, I feel really alone then, and maybe I need someone and maybe thats ok.

I took GABA today. It coincided with the abatement. Maybe just a coincidence. Still, thats what GABA is supposed to do for histapenics. We, according to the PTC, have way too much dopamine, seratonin, and norepinephrine. Check it out:

GABA: Gamma-Aminobutyric Acid (GABA) is a neurotransmitter that is inhibitory, that is, it decreases the ability of other neurotransmitters to work. GABA is involved in our level of excitability. Rather than encouraging communication between cells such as Dopamine, Serotonin or Norepinephrine - GABA reduces, discourages, and blocks communication. This neurotransmitter is important in brain areas involving emotion and anxiety.

When GABA is in the normal range in the brain, we are not overly aroused or anxious. At the same time, we have appropriate reactions to situations in our environment. GABA is the communication speed controller, making sure all brain communications are operating at the right speed and with the correct intensity. Too little GABA in the brain, the communication becomes out of control, overstimulated, and chemically unstable.

And for my symptoms, there is an amazing amount of similarity here:

On the other end of the Dopamine dipstick, as Dopamine levels in the brain begin to raise, we become excited/energized, then suspicious and paranoid, then finally hyperstimulated by our environment. With low levels of Dopamine, we can’t focus while with high levels of Dopamine our focus becomes narrowed and intense to the point of focusing on everything in our environment as though it were directly related to our situation.

sound like a lack of filter anyone?

Now, how about for a list of my exitory symptoms:

Moderately high levels of norepinephrine create a sense of arousal that becomes uncomfortable. Remembering that this neurotransmitter is strongly involved in creating physical reactions, moderate increases create worry, anxiety, increased startle reflex, jumpiness, fears of crowds & tight places, impaired concentration, restless sleep, and physical changes. The physical symptoms may include rapid fatigue, muscle tension/cramps, irritability, and a sense of being on edge. Almost all anxiety disorders involve norepinephrine elevations.


On edge? have you ever hung out with me? I think I fit the bill. Aggitation, jumpiness, fears of crowds, rapid fatigue? Yes yes and more yes.

The one that doesnt make sense is Seratonin, in which my symptoms seem to look like Low Seratonin. But that is not supposed to be what is going on. Besides that, an SSRI drove me mad bonkers.

Well, I dont have to figure it out today.

Oh, hell, here it is, blatant copyright infringment and all. Maybe the important part is the stress threshold Q:

Perhaps the best way to think of Serotonin is again with an automobile example. Most automobiles in the United States are made to cruise at 70 miles per hour, perfect for interstate highways and that summer vacation. If we place that same automobile on a racetrack and drive day-after-day at 130 mph, two things would happen. Parts would fail and we would run the engine so hot as to evaporate or burnout the oil. Serotonin is the brain’s “oil”.

Like a normal automobile on a race track, when we find ourselves living in a high stress situation for a prolonged period of time, we use more Serotonin than is normally replaced. Imagine a list of your pressures, responsibilities, difficulties and environmental issues (difficult job, bad marriage, poor housing, rough neighborhood, etc.). Prolonged exposure to such a high level of stress gradually lowers our Serotonin level. As we continue to “hang on” we develop symptoms of a severe stress-produced depression.

An automobile can be one, two or three quarts low in oil. Using the automobile as an example, imagine that brain Serotonin can have similar stages, being low (one quart low), moderately low (two quarts low), and severely low (three quarts low). The less Serotonin available in the brain, the more severe our depression and related symptoms.

When Serotonin is low, we experience problems with concentration and attention. We become scatterbrained and poorly organized. Routine responsibilities now seem overwhelming. It takes longer to do things because of poor planning. We lose our car keys and put odd things in the refrigerator. We call people and forget why we called or go to the grocery and forget what we needed. We tell people the same thing two or three times.

As stress continues and our Serotonin level continues to drop, we become more depressed. At this point, moderately low or “two quarts” low, major changes occur in those bodily functions regulated by Serotonin. When Serotonin is moderately low, we have the following symptoms and behaviors:

· Chronic fatigue. Despite sleeping extra hours and naps, we remain tired. There is a sense of being “worn out”

· Sleep disturbance, typically we can’t go to sleep at night as our mind/thought is racing. Patients describe this as “My mind won’t shut up!” Early-morning awakening is also common, typically at 4:00 am, at which point returning to sleep is difficult, again due to the racing thoughts.

· Appetite disturbance is present, usually in two types. We experience a loss of appetite and subsequent weight loss or a craving for sweets and carbohydrates when the brain is trying to make more Serotonin.

· Total loss of sexual interest is present. In fact, there is loss of interest in everything, including those activities and interests that have been enjoyed in the past.

· Social withdrawal is common – not answering the phone, rarely leaving the house/apartment, we stop calling friends and family, and we withdraw from social events.

· Emotional sadness and frequent crying spells are common.

· Self-esteem and self-confidence are low.

· Body sensations, due to Serotonin’s role as a body regulator, include hot flushes and temperature changes, headaches, and stomach distress.

· Loss of personality – a sense that our sense of humor has left and our personality has changed.

· We begin to take everything very personally. Comments, glances, and situations are viewed personally and negatively. If someone speaks to you, it irritates you. If they don’t speak, you become angry and feel ignored.

· Your family will have the sense that you have “faded away”. You talk less, smile less, and sit for hours without noticing anyone.

· Your behavior becomes odd. Family members may find you sitting in the dark in the kitchen at 4:00 am.

Individuals can live many years moderately depressed. They develop compensations for the sleep and other symptoms, using sleeping medication or alcohol to get some sleep. While chronically unhappy and pessimistic, they explain their situation with “It’s just my life!” They may not fully recognize the depressive component.

Very low levels of Serotonin typically bring people to the attention of their family physician, their employer, or other sources of help. Severe Serotonin loss produces symptoms that are difficult to ignore. Not only are severe symptoms present, but also the brain’s ideation/thinking becomes very uncomfortable and even torturing. When Serotonin is severely low, you will experience some if not all of the following:

· Thinking speed will increase. You will have difficulty controlling your own thoughts. The brain will focus on torturing memories and you’ll find it difficult to stop thinking about these uncomfortable memories or images.

· You’ll become emotionally numb! You wouldn’t know how you feel about your life, marriage, job, family, future, significant other, etc. It’s as though all feelings have been turned off. Asked by others how you feel – your response might be “I don’t know!”

· Outbursts will begin, typically two types. Crying outbursts will surface, suddenly crying without much warning. Behavioral outbursts will also surface. If you break the lead in a pencil, you throw the pencil across the room. Temper tantrums may surface. You may storm out of offices or public places.

· Escape fantasies will begin. The most common – Hit the Road! The brain will suggest packing up your personal effects and leaving the family and community.

· Memory torture will begin. Your brain, thinking at 100 miles an hour, will search your memories for your most traumatic or unpleasant experiences. You will suddenly become preoccupied with horrible experiences that may have happened ten, twenty, or even thirty years ago. You will relive the death of loved ones, divorce, childhood abuse – whatever the brain can find to torture you with – you’ll feel like it happened yesterday.

· You’ll have Evil Thoughts. New mothers may have thoughts about smothering their infants. Thoughts of harming or killing others may appear. You may be tortured by images/pictures in your memory. It’s as though the brain finds your most uncomfortable weak spot, then terrorizes you with it.

· With Serotonin a major bodily regulator, when Serotonin is this low your body becomes unregulated. You’ll experience changes in body temperature, aches/pains, muscle cramps, bowel/bladder problems, smothering sensations, etc. The “Evil Thoughts” then tell you those symptoms are due to a terminal disease. Depressed folks never have gas – it’s colon cancer. A bruise is leukemia.

· You’ll develop a Need-for-Change Panic. You’ll begin thinking a change in lifestyle (Midlife Crisis!), a divorce, an extramarital affair, a new job, or a Corvette will change your mood. About 70 percent of jobs are lost at this time as depressed individuals gradually fade away from their life. Most extramarital affairs occur at this time.

· As low Serotonin levels are related to obsessive-compulsive disorders, you may find yourself starting to count things, become preoccupied with germs/disease, excessively worry that appliances are turned off or doors locked, worry that televisions must be turned off on an even-numbered channel, etc. You may develop rituals involving safety and counting. One auto assembly plant worker began believing his work would curse automobiles if their serial number, when each number was added, didn’t equal an even number.

· Whatever normal personality traits, quirks, or attitudes you have, they will suddenly be increased three-fold. A perfectionist will suddenly become anxiously overwhelmed by the messiness of their environment or distraught over leaves that fall each minute to land on the lawn. Penny-pinchers will suddenly become preoccupied with the electric and water consumption in the home.

· A “trigger” event may produce bizarre behavior. Already moderately low in Serotonin, an animal bite or scratch may make you suddenly preoccupied with rabies. A media story about the harmful effects of radiation may make you remember a teenage tour of the local nuclear power plant – suddenly feeling all your symptoms are now the result of exposure to radiation.

· When you reach the bottom of “severely low” Serotonin, the “garbage truck” will arrive. Everyone with severely low Serotonin is told the same thing. You will be told 1) You’re a bad spouse, parent, child, employee, etc., 2) You are a burden to those who love or depend on you, 3) You are worsening the lives of those around you, 4) Those who care about you would be better if you weren’t there, 5) You would be better if you weren’t around, and 6) You and those around you would be better off if you were totally out of the picture. At that point, you develop suicidal thoughts.

Clinical Depression is perhaps the most common mental health problem encountered in practice. One in four adults will experience clinical depression within their lifetime. Depression is the “common cold” of mental health practice – very common and much easier to treat today than in the past.

Treatment for depression, as might be expected, involves increasing levels of Serotonin in the brain. Since the mid-eighties, medications have been available that attempt to specifically target and increase Serotonin. Known as Selective Serotonin Reuptake Inhibitors (SSRI’s), these medications such as Prozac, Zoloft, and Paxil are felt to work by making more Serotonin available in the brain.

Like all neurotransmitters, we can have too much Serotonin. While elevated levels of Serotonin produce a sense of well-being, bliss, and “oneness with the universe” – too much Serotonin can produce a life-threatening condition known as Serotonin Syndrome (SS).

Likely to occur by accident by combining two Serotonin-increasing medications or substances, Serotonin Syndrome (SS) produces violent trembling, profuse sweating, insomnia, nausea, teeth chattering, chilling, shivering, aggressiveness, over-confidence, agitation, and malignant hyperthermia. Emergency medical treatment is required, utilizing medications that neutralize or block the action of Serotonin as the treatment for Serotonin Syndrome (SS).

Like Dopamine, Serotonin can be accidentally increased or decreased by substances. One method of birth control is known to produce severe depression as it lowers Serotonin levels. A specific medication for acne has also been linked with depression and suicidal ideation. For this reason, always inform your physicians if you are taking any medication for depression. Also avoid combining antidepressants with any herbal substances reported to be of help in Depression such as St. John’s Wort.


Goodnight Moon.

Expectations

My life didn't end up going the way I thought it would. When I was young and golden and invincible, I never saw all this coming. It has taken me a long time not to be dissapointed, or to feel cheated.

No one, as a kid, bright, optimistic, good at making friends and running through creeks playing kick the can, ever thinks to themselves, I am going to spend major portions of my life incapacitated by mental illness. I am going to forever fight darknesses and terrors of madness. I am going to see what I expect from myself held hostage to processes that I dont understand.

Graduating from Cal in 1997, I thought, like everyone else there, that the only obstacle in front of me was oppurtunity and figuring out what I wanted. That if I worked hard, and stayed focused, I would make a life that fit and fed me. I didnt see this coming. 10 years on couches and warbling.

Now I am accepting this. Not resigning myself to it, but accepting that this is the starting place. it feels better. Sometimes I feel disspointed still. I see myself as very different from this person. I hate knowing that it could all go to pieces.

But recently, I dont feel broken. I feel whole. Just different whole than I had expected, but those are just my expectations. Mine. Who told me that thats what I would get? No one but me. When I let them go, and take what is here, and just build towards what I want, I am grounded.

I feel lonely. I often dont feel like i should engage in relationships. It seems the one thing a partner wants from a man is stability and security. Yesterday I could not drive I was so out of it. What do you do with that? Build a life that does not require top functioning? nope. Aint gonna do that. Build a life where sometimes you fall on your face when the Sz gods come for payment? thats frustrating. Build a life with a partner? I dont know how. I want to find out, but I have done this alone for so long, its hard to let someone else help. I have pretended to be fine for so long when I am not, that I dont know how to stop pretending. I am learning, but I feel really vulnerable when I do, and snap at the person to whom I am trying to be honest.

Communication. I have recently been caught miscommunicating again. I thought I was so clear. I thought I was saying I really like this, but it came off- go away. I stopped this time and asked to work through it. Its good. I spent a lot of years alone. I would often go weeks without talking with someone more than the grocer, or a person on the street. I was hiding. But I got pretty bad at talking. And listening. and when you are your only companion, you get really really rusty.

Well, first things first, I am really enjoying being me and being with me. This was not the case for years when I was really sick. So, I am chilling. A companion, the type of relationship I want, may not be my lot this time around life. But, I cannot really control that.

Ok, thats it. I feel more...focused today. Able to screen. I'm off. Three doctor's appointments today. One for blood, one for my head, and one for my hip, which seems to be about done.


PS- can the mentally ill participate in the parolympics? I didn't think so.

Monday, February 02, 2009

Bad day

How many times can I write this? Shit, its my blog. I think the word blog is sanskrit for self indulgent.

Wow. rough one. really rough. Woke up this morning with the filter just ripped off. No way to slow down the incoming traffic. Words, smell, sounds, emotions, thoughts, just all crammed in without any ability to discern, prioritize, filter, or screen. I had a very hard time reading today. I had a hard time understanding people. I had a hard time being still. It was like taking snap shots at 7 second intervals. Oh, there is a person. oh, a dog. Oh, I have a book open. oh, I appear to be peeing. And talking is...well, you forget what you are saying all the time adn stop sentances in the middle. Its hard. Writting is easier cause you can read what you wrote. I feel worse than lost. At least when you are lost you know where you are at that moment, just not where here is. in this condition, I just buckle up and cling to my structures. Meal, workout, study, bed. tick tick tick goes the clock on the wall.

So, lets begin a short description of the difference between depression and dispair.

Depression, to me, is a sort of irrational cellular desire to run down and die.

Dispair, on the other hand, is a pissed off rational response to being temporarily nuts, but appreciciating that this is you bag.

Both are hard. I might call A tonight. I was supposed to have dinner with B, but she bailed. I didn't tell her that I needed her. When I feel like this I feel the need to push everyone away at the same time I long for someone to push through that and hold onto me. Stragely too, the desire is for a romantic relationship to hold onto me. It just seems, well, its hard to trust when you cannot filter things out. When you are sure someone loves you, then you can trust. or I can. or, whatever.

i went to 15 b-9 pills yesterday. Or was it two days ago. I wonder if this has something to do with it. No more messing with prescriptions until AFTER the bar.

I did have moments of clarity about this though. This used to be more often and worse. I used to get really so confused and the filter even more gone so that it was just one big multicolor undifferentiated note. Choas. Amy used to hold my head. W too. Or hand. I would cry then. Cause I felt safe.

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