I just need to vent a little.

Since I left AIM, things have slowly been going downhill. The past week was full of outings with friends and meetings with AIM friends. However, these outings and meetings all managed to turn into ways for me to get drunk. Sometimes I did things I wasn’t proud of and other times I only had a couple of drinks. Either way, I spent the week chasing a high. That’s what I figured out later — I’ve been chasing my highs, which I’m no longer getting thanks to the meds. The meds that should be also taking away the depressions, but aren’t. It’s frustrating when the only thing I liked about my illness is taken away, and the bad part of the illness is worsened.

So I’ve been drinking to find that high. The week before last, I got inordinately drunk and found the bad high — which got me kicked out of the pub for being “confrontational.” The other times I found the good high — I was happy, fun to be around (I hope), felt attractive, etc. It was the way I like to be…. followed by the depression that inevitably follows a night of drinking.

I should clarify that these drunk episodes were never by myself, although I am worried by the fact that I need to drink to enjoy the evening.

Anyway, that’s one thing — chasing the highs.

The other is that the depressions are getting worse. I probably shouldn’t judge right now, since those depressions were worsened by the drinking, but I’ve been having suicidal thoughts again — even though my lithium level was raised, and as I’ve mentioned before, lithium’s claim to fame is that it controls the suicidal thoughts. I have yet to bring it up with my psychiatrist because I can’t get an appointment with him until two weeks from now.

Finally, I’ve been having panic attacks, something that never really afflicted me, except when I was on Wellbutrin. On Friday I went to the ballet with three friends. We went for dinner before the show, and I was unhappy with the meal I ordered, to the point that I figured I wouldn’t be able to eat it. My friends urged me to return it and get something else, saying it wasn’t a big deal. But I was so anxious about it that they had to coach me for almost 10 minutes before I was able to spit out a lie about not knowing there was bacon on the dish and I “didn’t eat bacon.” Of all the lies to tell.

Of course, it was no big deal and I got a meal that I thoroughly enjoyed, but I kept thinking the waiter was going to throw something at me or something ridiculous and my heart was pounding the rest of the time we spent at the restaurant.

When we got to the ballet, we made our way to our seats, higher up in the balcony. Super steep steps and an already panic-ridden me was not a good combo and I was very anxious when we sat down. I tried to downplay it, doing some deep breathing, etc., but it was really hard to sit there and to come and go for the intermissions.

On top of all that, I was just not feeling myself all day. My friend came over with her baby before we went to drop off the baby and the car at her husband’s office. On the way there, I kept stumbling over my words, getting things mixed up (like my left and right), and a few other things that bothered me then but now I can’t remember because I’m about to fall into a Seroquel slumber. Anyway, suffice it to say that I was not myself and I didn’t know why or how to fix it. I got so upset at myself and just wanted to turn around and go home. And to top it off, my clothes were super tight cause I’ve gained about 15 pounds since I went into AIM and I felt like a heffer standing next to my beautiful, thin friends (two of which had children recently). I’m still feeling like shit about my weight, but I’m going to take steps to fix that, and I’ve already started, by eating better.

So that’s my venting for the day. I’m basically feeling like crap for no reason (and cause I’m fat — even though my friends will say I’m not, 15 pounds is a lot!) and I don’t know what to do about it other than controlling my drinking and trying to see people at least once a day for a little while.

If you Google “stigma,” the first four or so results are definitions and explanations of what a “stigma” is. They mostly say that a stigma is a mark or stain that is a permanent part of a person’s appearance or character, setting that person apart from society or “normal.”

After that, results refer to the stigma of mental illness.

But let’s think about that for a minute. Why is “stigma” automatically associated with mental illness? Yes, I understand it’s partly because of the negative connotations of mental illness, due mainly in part to the media and ignorance. But what about all the other so-called marks or stains can there be on a person’s character? Divorce, single parenthood, jobless… bald. There are so many things that can be a stigma to another person, particularly when you’re looking to date them.

Last week I had a girls’ night with a close family friend — we’ll call her my cousin for simplicity’s sake. She’s recently separated, with a five-year-old son. She was telling me how difficult it is being back on the dating market and telling the men she meets that she’s a single mother. I countered with, well it’s harder to tell someone that you’re bipolar. She thought about it for a minute and then said she doesn’t think it’s harder. They’re relatively equal. Because when you tell a man you’re interested in that you’re either a single  mother or bipolar, he’s either the type of guy who can handle that or not. He might handle bipolar better than single mother, or vice versa.

Later, after having a few drinks, we got back on the subject of stigma. She told me that any problem or issue can seem like the end of the world — when you’re the one living it. So to her, being a single mother was the worst stigma, whereas for me it was being bipolar.

It got me thinking. Hence this post.

I’m interested to know what other people think of this. Please post a comment if you feel comfortable doing so.

The conversation with my cousin really opened my eyes. Yes, a lot of men might balk at the idea of dating a woman with bipolar. That is something I’ll have to live with. But there will be a man who can handle it. The same way my cousin will find a man that accepts that she has a son and a shitty ex-husband.

Does that mean we let the stigma get in the way of us living our lives?

I truly hope not.

I went to church on Sunday.

For me, church has always been a love it or hate it thing. I was forced to go every Sunday while I was growing up — which sometimes meant leaving the sleepover early or missing the beginning of the get together. I found church boring and pointless. I didn’t understand why I couldn’t just pray on my own, why I had to go to church every Sunday. My dad used to tell me that God only asks for one hour a week — it shouldn’t be so hard to give Him that little.

My brother and I were altar servers, Mum is a eucharistic minister (they give out the Communion, if you don’t know) and Dad is a reader. Our family name is on a brick in the new extension of the church. The priests have been to my parents’ house for dinner many times. My brother and sister-in-law got married in our childhood church. We’ve been going there since my parents moved to that neighbourhood 34 years ago. We’re entrenched.

So the priest notices when my brother and I aren’t there. We’re usually only there on the big days — Easter, Christmas, etc., and then a few Sundays here and there.

When I finished university, my parents realized I was at an age where I could choose whether or not I wanted to go to church. Of course, they heavily stressed how much they’d like me to go, but they never forced me. Once I moved out of their place, I stopped going. I did try once in a while when I visited them, but probably no more than four or five times a year.

It wasn’t that I wasn’t a spiritual person. I was. I prayed in my own way, on my own time. I believed there was something greater than me out there. I wasn’t sure what to believe in terms of the afterlife. After my suicide attempt in university, my parents tried to get me to turn back to the church. They never talked about the fact that suicide is considered a sin that would take me straight to hell, do not pass Go, do not collect $200.

I like to think that God has more compassion than that.

I’ve been living away from home for more than four years now. In that time, I’ve chosen to go to church with my parents whenever I stay at their place for the weekend. Last year was the first year I didn’t spend the entire Easter weekend with my parents. On Good Friday, I knew I didn’t want to miss mass. I did what we always do as a family on Good Friday — no TV, radio or food until after 3 pm. I went to the 3 o’clock mass at St. Micheal’s Cathedral, which is the closest church to my apartment.

I can truly say it was a religious experience.

The mass at the Cathedral is so much… more… than the masses at my parents’ church. More formal, more church-like. The boys’ choir was amazing. The Cathedral itself is gorgeous and a thing to behold. I felt good going on my own, when I knew no one would know if I skipped it.

Then I went back to only going when I was visiting my parents. But while I was at AIM, I stayed at my parents’ place every weekend and only missed mass once. I felt a kind of calm that I hadn’t experienced in a long time. It felt good to go to church. The only problem was my parents’  church. They go on Saturday evening, when the children’s choir sings. The woman who runs the choir has completely taken over the mass — she sings everything, even the Our Father. It’s too much, and it feels more like a concert than church. I didn’t like it, and I realized that I wasn’t hating church, I was hating the mass.

So yesterday, my first weekend back at my apartment since AIM, I went to Sunday mass at St. Michael’s. And it was amazing. I felt so good, having gotten up and out of the apartment on a sunny Sunday, and being in that gorgeous Cathedral with a proper mass the way mass is meant to be done — I haven’t felt that good in a long time.

I realized that I liked church, and I’m embracing the fact that my Christianity is coming back to me — not forced on me but a choice that I am making on my own.

I decided I should research this, see if there is any correlation between spirituality and mental illness. I found a few scholarly articles that say any sort of spirituality (read: not religion) can be helpful to a person with mental illness. Whether it is finding comfort in nature, in doing good for others, or in an established religion, the calm and peace that can be found in these endeavours can be extremely helpful to people with mental illness. It gives us something to grasp onto, something to reach for. It creates a sense of self in the community.

Of course, there is a “spirituality” in bipolar disorder that should be mentioned as very unhelpful. Many manic-depressives can find “religion” when they’re manic — either believing they themselves are gods or hearing voices that may claim to be heavenly.

This isn’t the kind of spirituality that I’m talking about. Church and prayer is something that I find helpful, and I’m not suggesting that it’s a good thing for everyone. This is my experience, and I’m happy to say that it is helping me.

It’s also making my parents very happy. Which is a pleasant side effect.

My last week at AIM (last week) was… emotional. Realizing that I was going to be leaving these people that I’d spent a month with almost all day every day, it got to me. We had some fun evenings that week, but the groups were heavy. I felt like I needed to get as much out of the last week as possible, so I was determined not to miss a group. My mood was up and down, but not too bad either way. My birthday was the highlight of the week. Mum and Dad surprised me by coming to take me out to lunch (even though I was leaving the next day, I felt bad they came all the way down for just an hour). Mum was waiting for me on my floor with a cake and candles, which the AIM patients devoured by the end of the night. After they left, one of my AIM friends did my makeup for my dinner out with my girlfriends. It was a great dinner, so nice to be out, with friends, and having a good meal. By the time I got back, I was pretty drunk. It sorta took my mind off the fact that I had to pack up and leave the next morning. The whole week was emotional, with people leaving every day. I know we’re still going to see each other (we started a Facebook group to keep in touch), but leaving them and the program felt like a big loss.

I spent the weekend at my parents’ house, relaxing on Friday and going out for my birthday dinner on Saturday with my brother and sister-in-law. It was a nice weekend, but all I could think about was that on Sunday I’d be going home, back to reality. I’d have to learn how to implement all the things I learned at AIM. I’d have to find a way to get better, on my own. It was very overwhelming.

When I got back, with Sasha, I spent the day unpacking and sorting things out. The month’s worth of unopened mail was a little too much to deal with. That night I couldn’t sleep, despite being so happy to be back in my big, comfortable bed. On Monday I met up with an AIM friend and we went off to get our tattoos. I was so nervous, but I knew it was something that would be special to me forever. It’s a Tibetan endless knot, designed to look like it’s made out of wood. It turned out even better than I was expecting. I love it, and the meaning behind it makes it even more special.

Anyway, this past week has been pretty full with visiting people, and finally sorting out the leftover things in the apartment, like the mail, returning emails and phone calls, etc. It’s been emotionally and physically exhausting. Then last night I made the mistake of getting really drunk, didn’t go to bed until after 4 and slept all day, only getting up at 4 pm when I remembered I had plans for dinner.

I can’t seem to get myself into a proper sleeping pattern. With nothing to wake up for, no work scheduled, etc., I have little reason to get out of bed. I spent the evening organizing all the handouts from the AIM groups, putting them into a binder. I haven’t read any of them. Every group, I’d just take the sheets, put them in my bag, and listen to the therapist for an hour. I never read a sheet, I never did any homework.

So I’ve decided that this weekend will be focused on reading the sheets and setting up a strategy for me to implement. I need to find some structure, so I’m thinking about applying for some full-time jobs, rather than sticking with the freelancing. Freelancing is fun and easy, but it’s not conducive to my mental illnesses. So I cancelled my plans for Friday night so I can have the entire weekend to myself. I’m going to have a plan by Sunday. I’m also planning on going to church on Sunday. I didn’t realize it until I was at AIM, going to my parents’ for the weekend and going to church with them, but church really calms me. It slows my mind down. So that’s the way I’ll end my weekend of self-improvement.

***

On the medication front, my lithium dose has been raised to 900 mg, and the shaking has gotten a little worse. Other than that, no real side effects. Phew.

My mood hasn’t necessarily changed. In fact, these medications that are supposed to help the depression haven’t really been doing that. The manias are gone — which led the doctor at AIM to tell me he didn’t think I was bipolar. I almost freaked out, I mean, come on, how many times can one be misdiagnosed? But he said if my highs are so few and far between as I told him they were, he’d have to trust my regular psychiatrist’s opinion on whether I was bipolar or not. So for now, I remain manic-depressive.

So without the highs, my lows feel more defined. They’re also coming more frequently and lasting either much longer or very short periods. Obviously I was depressed today, having gotten drunk last night (I really need to be more careful with that), and seeing how long I slept.

In general, my mood has been lower since I got back to my apartment. Not super low, but lower. After a month of not thinking about work or the future or anything else that gets me down, it’s all falling onto me heavily now. It feels like a lot to deal with, a lot to shoulder. I’m trying to take things one at a time, which is the only reason why I haven’t broken down yet. After a full week of socializing and feeling relatively okay, the low is definitely hovering closer. The drinking didn’t help, and I know the next few days will be difficult.

One thing at a time.

Well, a lot happened last week, which is why I didn’t have time to update this or call anyone. I went from almost manic on Monday to hopelessly depressed on Friday. After a relaxing weekend at my parents’, without my phone, which I left at CAMH by accident, I came back refreshed and feeling pretty darn good. I was talkative and happy, but not so much as to be manic. So I guess this is what we would call my “normal” mood.

However, this morning in the first group, I got really irritable and had to sit with my head between my knees, trying to block out the sounds that were annoying me, and all the talking. I guess I should have gotten up and left, but I did so after the group and came back to my floor for some quiet while the rest of the people are in the second group. My primary nurse (Arko) was here and asked if I wanted to talk about it, which we did. He told me he was really close to not letting me have a pass to leave for the weekend after seeing how depressed I was on Friday. He’s really great, really pushing me to break down my old routines and such to find better ways to control the bipolar.

Anyway, I didn’t have much access to the computer last week, so I wrote some things down in my notebook. I’ll write them out here, but don’t mind if they seem all over the place, they’re from the entire week.

***

I know I have a lot to say but I haven’t been able to get it out.

Things have been pretty emotional lately. I’ve been having some ups and downs since I’ve been here, which I suppose is a good thing, in a way.

Arko keeps getting mad at me for putting on my mask, my happy face. But I can’t help it. I’ve been putting on the mask for so many years that now it just comes to me naturally. He thinks I’m trying to help other people more than I’m helping myself. But that’s what I do. It takes my mind off my problems, at least for a little while.

We just talked about “recovery” and how that doesn’t mean no longer having bipolar, but learning how to live a happy and fulfilled life with the bipolar. I said I’d be happy just being in my apartment alone for the rest of my life, and he was like, what about finding love? etc. I just shook my head and started crying. Like, that’s the fucking problem buddy. I feel like I won’t find anyone who can put up with my moods. What if I never find that person? Does that mean I don’t get to live a happy life?

***

The other thing that’s been bugging me is how everyone keeps telling us that we have the tools to help ourselves, we just have to do it. But the problem with depression is not having the energy to help ourselves. I know I’m lazy, especially when it comes to my depression. How do you teach someone to not be lazy? I can’t just summon up the energy out of nowhere. I need to find some kind of real motivation. But what? I mean, other than living happily. That doesn’t seem real enough, not tangible. I can’t do it for my family and friends, I have to do it for myself.

***

Sometimes I feel like I can handle it, more than I have been, at least, and then the moment passes and I wonder if I’ll just go back to the way things were before.  I mean, it wasn’t bad. I dated, I worked, I socialized. Quite well, at least as far as I’m concerned. What’s wrong with closing in every once in a while?

I guess the big challenge is not feeling suicidal.

***

I’m feeling very irritable today. I feel like no one likes me here and no one wants to be my friend other than to talk at me. I feel like I might snap at the next person who looks at me the wrong way. I’m trying to stay away from people as much as possible, but I know I should be using CBT (cognitive-behavioural therapy) or some such thing to figure out why I’m feeling this way, and how to bring myself out of it. But I can’t be bothered. Tomorrow I’m going to Mum and Dad’s place, so I can be as sociable or unsociable as I want to be.

***

And that’s exactly what happened. I had grand plans (in my mind) of visiting a few friends, but in the end all I did was sleep and watch sports. I have phone calls to make, and usually that gets me anxious — oh, and I realized this morning that I suffer from anxiety! yay! — so I’m going to take it slow and make one call this afternoon to the folks, one call this evening to a friend, and make the rest tomorrow.

As for the irritability, I’m planning on removing myself from the irritating situations, per Arko’s directions, and sit quietly in the sunny nook at the end of the hall with my music and book. The only thing left to do today is a Community Meeting, and I’m only going so I can mention that we’re planning to go to the movies tomorrow.

Right, and I also had a weird sleep last night. Couldn’t fall asleep even with 200mg of Seroquel and 1mg of Lorazepam. I must have finally fallen asleep, because I woke up around 6:30 and couldn’t go back to sleep. I’m not sure if this means I’m gearing up for a high, or if this is how I should be “normally”.

Regardless, I feel good today.

I also saw my psychiatrist this morning, and we decided on my release date for February 11, the day after my birthday. So I’ll get the full four weeks out of this place, and hopefully have the right tools to take care of myself when I get home. Of course, the weekend after my release I’ll be going to Mum and Dad’s, but the following week, on the 14th, I’m planning on getting a tattoo with one of my floormates! The idea is to cover up the scar on my wrist, which apparently isn’t noticeable to most people but it bothers me to no end. I’m not sure what I’m going to get yet, some kind of pretty design, but we’re going later this week to check out some ideas. I’m so excited! I figure it can commemorate my time here and my 30th birthday.

Sigh, so that’s the update. I’ll try to write again this week, if I can get the computer for this length of time again!

P.S. I’m also going up in my dose of Lithium, which is kinda scary cause I’ve already got some bad Lithium shakes, but apparently I’m at the lowest therapeutic dose so I have a ways to go before it really starts working. Stay tuned for side effects….

So, I don’t remember writing that post. I was taking Lorazepam, which I haven’t taken in a long time, to help with the Seroquel to sleep. And now I realized that I don’t remember much of the weekend. Which sucks, cause I was supposed to be enjoying my freedom.

Anyway, Mum and Dad brought me back to the… I hate saying hospital, cause it’s not very hospitally (except the beds)… to CAMH on Sunday. The evening was fine, although I don’t remember much of what I did. That probably sounds worse than it actually is. I slept that night, which was amazing, only waking up once when the nurses checked on me. Either they didn’t check on me again or I slept through it. I woke up around 8 for my morning meds.

Today was my first full day of group. The first one was not very exciting or helpful — we talked the whole time about how we’d feel if we woke up tomorrow and a miracle had occurred while we slept that made us healthy again, how we’d feel, what we’d do. That’s it. I guess next week we’ll talk about how to achieve those things without a miracle, but talking about it today made me really depressed. I had woken up depressed and it just got worse in the group. I totally closed in. I knew it was going to happen, I’ve been feeling too up for it to have lasted much longer. The second group was Tri-Fit — brain gym, tai chi and yoga. Today was tai chi, which was actually very calming and totally something I could see myself doing in the future. But by the time it ended, I was so low that by the time we got back for lunch, I was ready to burst into tears. T and G were super supportive, seeing my mood and offering me hugs. The rest of the afternoon was nothing really. I’ve come out of the low, but not by much, so I’m worried about tomorrow.

I wish I could see my friends. I want to call them, but I don’t know what to say. My parents call every evening, which is nice for the most part.

Oh and today, three separate people thought I was a staff member while I was out for a smoke. I’m not sure how to take that. Like, I don’t look like I’m crazy enough to be here? Or I look like a nurse? Who knows.

T and G are watching The Bachelor right now, which I refuse to watch, so maybe Mondays will be my day to write here. I’ll try to write as often as possible, since I’m having a hard time talking to people “on the outside.”

Okay, I’ve been sitting here writing for an hour or so, that’s how slowly my mind is working. I’m also very shaky, which could be a combo of increased meds or not eating enough. I don’t want to go to sleep cause then I’ll have to wake up early and go to group. I wish I could just stay here all day. I don’t have the energy. The only reason I’ve been able to get through any of this so far is because I’m afraid of missing something and getting in trouble.

On the bright side, the nurses are generally really nice and friendly. The other patients are friendly and talkative. I feel like I can learn a lot here, I’m just having a hard time finding the motivation and energy.

Oh well, until we meet again….

So a lot has happened since I last wrote.  After making the decision to go into the in-patient program (called AIM), it was a lot of hurry up and wait. Barbara told me that I have to go in for four weeks while Dr. A told me it was more flexible. I finally got a tour of the facility and the manager told me two weeks would be fine. However, she also told me that it would be February before I could get in. I shook my head and said if it was going to take that long, I can’t do it. I’ve already put off one month of work and I can’t do it again. So she took those extenuating circumstances and said she’d try to put me at the top of the list. She said it would likely be a week or two before I got in.

The next day, she called and asked if I could be there on Thursday, two days later. Of course, I didn’t want to wait and lose my place, so I packed up Sasha and moved her to my parents. My parents dropped me off on Thursday morning, saw my digs and left. I was all alone.

The actual place isn’t too bad. There are new, comfy armchairs everywhere, a nice TV, a little kitchen (even though you can’t use the stove unless you ask for it to be turned on and then have to be watched while you use it), an exercise room, etc., plus my own bedroom (tiny bed), desk, armchair, huge window, and my own bathroom.

I met the floor “ambassador”, Ralph, who was extremely nice. We bonded pretty quickly over smoking and hockey. I spent most of the first day with him, as he wasn’t feeling well so he’d skipped group. He’s leaving early next week. The other two women on my floor are nice — one’s a bit older (let’s call her G) and the other is about 20 (we’ll call her T). I get along with them well enough.  T is very sweet, and has ridiculously bad anxiety, so I feel bad for her, but we get along really well. They only came in  a couple of days before me.

I went to one group on my first day, while I was waiting for a meeting with my new psychiatrist, and the people were really nice. They all live in the same building as me, but unless we roam around the floors (which some do), we only see each other in group.

On Thursday night, when Ralph and I were coming back from a smoke, we heard there was karaoke going on on the 3rd floor (I’m on 4). So we stopped by — it was actually fun. Everyone is super friendly.

Meals are okay, about one level up from hospital food. We eat on our own floors, so I only eat with the three of my floormates. Groups take place between 10 am and about 5 pm, depending on the day.  Then, for the most part, our evenings are our own. We can leave once in a while, as long as we’re back before 10:30, so I can smoke as much as I want. Sometimes there are meetings with the psychiatrist, doctor, nurse, etc.

The first night, I didn’t sleep. It wasn’t just that I was anxious about being there. The first day was so long that I felt like I’d been there for a week. No, I just couldn’t sleep at 10:30. I took my Seroquel, and the nurse told me if I had any trouble sleeping, I could take some Lorazapam. I went to bed, trying to fall asleep, trying not to fall off the tiny single bed, and it took about an hour and a half to fall asleep. Then, just as I was about to drift off, the door buzzed (entry to the rooms are by key cards) and clicked open (loudly) and the nurse had to stand there until I moved, to let her know I was still alive. Then she didn’t close the door all the way — and if you know me, you know that I hate sleeping with the bedroom door open, not to mention that the light from the hall was shining right on my face. So I got up and closed the door. Immediately, it was opened and left ajar. I was like, fine. So I went back to bed. Again, just as I was about to fall asleep, an hour or so later, the nurse came in for checks again. This went on all night, until she came in the next morning to give me my morning meds.

I mean, I understand that they have to check on us, but why does it have to be so disruptive? Apparently after a few days, I can request they slow down the checks.

Anyway Friday was basically just about having my blood drawn and seeing the GP. After that, happily, my parents came to pick me up. I’m staying here at their house until tomorrow.

So that’s how it’s been so far. I know next week will be harder, what with actually going to groups and stuff. Plus I was only there for a day and a half, hardly enough time to settle in. I did feel really comfortable there though, and I know now that if they say I need to stay for three weeks or a month, I won’t be as scared to do it.

So far my mood has been relatively up. I’m waiting for the crash to happen. And to be honest, if it doesn’t happen in the two weeks I’m supposed to be there, I’ll definitely stay longer. It’s impossible to help someone if you never see them at their worst, right?

I’m sure I have more to say, but I can’t think of anything. I’ll try to write at least once a week while I’m there.

The other thing that’s been really great about this, is talking to the other patients — like, oh I was on that med, how did you like it? Or how do you get when you’re manic? Etc. It’s been nice to be able to have conversations like that without feeling embarrassed.

Overall, even though it’s been less than  two days, this is probably the best thing I’ve ever done for myself.  And it helps to have friends and family who are right there with me, supporting me like nothing else. I am amazingly lucky.

Well, obviously I made it through Christmas. On Christmas eve and on Christmas day, my mood started to fade towards the end of the evening. The worst part was on Christmas day. Mum was cleaning up in the kitchen and my brother and sister-in-law had gone to bed. Dad and I were sitting in the family room, watching TV, both of us in our own worlds. We’d had a great day, opening presents, eating way too much food, playing all day on the Wii that I brought from my place. I looked over at Dad, and realized he looked the way I felt — sad. I haven’t really seen my dad express sadness many times in my life. He’s usually really reserved with that emotion, always the strong one in the family. I looked at him and he looked so sad and lonely. I’ve never seen him like that and my heart broke. I went over and sat with him, gave him a big hug and leaned against him for the rest of the evening. We didn’t say anything, except when I asked if I’d done something to upset him. He immediately said, of course not, and gave me a big hug and a kiss. We stayed like that for about an hour, until he went to bed. The next day, when my parents drove me home, he hugged me in front of my apartment building and just said, thanks for the hugs last night. I almost broke down crying. I never asked why he was upset. He never said anything. I don’t know what it was about that moment, but something happened between us. I saw him again this morning when my brother and I went to my parents’ house for lunch. He was still very… I don’t know, but not himself. I’m not sure if it’s all this stuff with the in-patient thing — because he knows that things need to be pretty darn bad for me to consider it — or if something is going on with him. We didn’t get a chance to talk alone today, but my mum left for England tonight, so I’ll have more chance next time I see him, on New Years’ day. I know this isn’t a place to talk about other people’s problems, but I’m really worried about him and I can’t stop thinking about it.

After lunch at my parents’, my brother dropped me off at my appointment with Barbara Streisand. I went in wanting to talk about the in-patient stuff, hoping she’d be able to put me on the list so I can get in as soon as possible. She told me only Dr. A can do that, so I have to wait until the 4th when I see him. She did tell me more about the program — it’s not really structured, so I’d have more freedom to go to groups that I want, structure my day the way I want, and leave more often than I thought I’d be able to. I’m still unsure about leaving for the weekend of my friend’s wedding, and I really want to know if I can do that so I can book a flight. But now it’s looking like it might take a while before I can get in, so not only am I worried about missing the wedding (I will sneak out if I have to, I will not miss that wedding) but I might be in there over my birthday.

Anyway, I don’t want to think about that now. What’s on my mind is something Barbara and I discussed today. She asked me how my parents and brother took the news about the in-patient program, and then asked about my friends. As I told her how supportive my friends have been, how overwhelmingly sensitive and supportive, I burst into tears. Even now, thinking about it, I’m having trouble controlling the tears.

This past year has been the hardest year of my life. Even harder than the year I got laid off twice and was broken up with by my boyfriend. And I know — unequivocally — that I wouldn’t have made it through this year without my friends.

Even thinking about New Years — after the ups and downs of Christmas, I wasn’t looking to make plans for New Years. I left it with a friend and said, if she wants to, we can do something, but I was completely satisfied with staying in at my place, spending it alone. After the extreme high I was on for last year’s festivities, due to the Effexor, and the deep low I’ve been in for the past few months, I knew no matter what I did, it would end up with me feeling like crap. I figured it was best for me to do that alone. But then a friend called and said she and our friend decided to have a chill New Years at her place with a few other people, and I knew they were trying to keep me from wallowing. It’s the little things like that that makes me cry when Barbara says, you must have some great friends.

***

I don’t know if I’m feeling over emotional today because I didn’t sleep well last night and I’ve been going non-stop all day, or if it’s because the year is over and I feel like nothing has changed. I hate New Years eve. And it’s even worse this year because of what’s going to happen after it. It’s so weird — I can’t see anything past January. I can’t see how things are going to be after the in-patient program. I can’t see how I’m going to return to a normal life. I can’t see how things will get better. If they’ll get better. What if being in there just makes me more depressed? What am I supposed to do with that?

Okay, I have to stop writing now, cause I’m just making myself think of things I don’t want to think about. I need to sleep, and then I’m going to have a lovely New Years eve. 2011 is going to be better.

It has to be.

Well, the past week has been pretty good. I know I managed to push myself into a high, and I’m just glad it’s lasted this long. I spent Friday through Saturday with my friend and her daughter, Saturday night with some friends and Sunday with my parents. And tonight I had a great dinner with three of my best friends. Even yesterday when I didn’t have any plans, I managed to get out of the house, finish my Christmas shopping and get groceries. It’s been a long time since I’ve been able to do so much without feeling like I had to make a huge effort.

I have a couple of days to myself before going to my parents’ place for Christmas. I’ll be there for three days and then I’m on my own again. I’ll admit that I’m afraid of crashing from this high too soon. If I can make it to Sunday, I’ll be happy. I just don’t want to be miserable on Christmas.

Looking back at last year, when I was on the super high of my first month on Effexor, it was all so easy. I don’t want this Christmas to be the one we look back on and think, wow, she was really far gone.

When I was at my parents’ house on Sunday, I talked to them about going into the in-patient program at CAMH. I found out, in my last appointment with Barbara Streisand, that the program is four weeks, not the two or three more flexible length of time Dr. A told me about. So no matter when I go in, after the new year, I’ll miss my friend’s wedding. I haven’t talked to her about it yet, because I’m still hoping to make it (it’s at the end of January), but I have talked to a couple of friends who are going and they assure me the bride will understand and that I have to do what’s best for me. I know that’s true, but I don’t want to look back and regret not being there. Barbara told me that, provided I’m doing well, I might be able to leave for the weekend, but it’ll depend on how I’m doing, so I can’t even say for sure I’d be able to make it.

Every time Dr. A and I talk about in-patient treatment, when things are really bad, I start to feel better before we make a decision and then the option just fades away. I know that I need to do this, and I’m trying to psyche myself up, make myself see that this really is the best thing for me in the long term, even if I don’t feel like I need it right now. This is the fourth time in two years that Dr. A and I have discussed in-patient treatment, so it’s obviously something that keeps coming back. I should do it and get it over with, right?

But I’m afraid. I’m scared of being in the hospital for that long… even if Barbara assures me that the new wing I’d be in is not hospital-like, I’d have my own room and bathroom, which is very rare. She also told me, after I asked, that there is no “art therapy” or any kind of touchy feely stuff. It’s strictly cognitive behavioural therapy, group therapy, etc. It would also be a way of reworking my medications in a controlled environment. So I think about stuff like that and I feel like I can handle it. Then I think back to the first time I was hospitalized and how scary it was, how weird the other patients were, how lonely I was.

Four weeks. Last time it was only three days and I could barely handle it.

I downplayed the whole thing when I told my parents and I think I really need to talk to them about it again. We mostly talked about the fact that I’d need them to take my cat while I’m in. Mum said I should take lots of books and was upset she wouldn’t be able to visit me because she’s going to England for most of the month. I know she’s a little in the dark about my whole illness — she still believes me when, after a bad day and she asks me how I am, I hesitantly say “I’m okay.” Dad understands and knows what a big deal it is to go into the hospital. We just didn’t really get a chance to get into the details, but I can tell he’s concerned by the way he’s been watching me.

I haven’t been able to express to my family or friends why I’m so scared of going in. I can’t really explain it to myself. I just know that it terrifies me.

Actually, I just realized. It’s because I’m afraid of admitting that I need more help. I’m afraid of saying, no, I can’t handle this, please help me. Because I’ve always been able to handle it.

***

Other than all of that, I’ve been having some weird reactions to my medications. Probably the thyroid medication, since that was recently increased. All the muscles in my body randomly twitch, to varying degrees. Sometimes a twitch in my lower back will make my entire body jump. Sasha was lying on my stomach last night when that happened. She got so scared, she jumped off and shot me a dirty look (if it’s possible for a cat to give a dirty look). Sometimes a leg twitch wakes me up even from a deep Seroquel sleep. Actually, that’s been happening far too often, along with dreams of falling — whether I’m falling down one step or off a mountain — that jerk me out of sleep. So I haven’t been sleeping well the past few nights — which could also explain why I’ve been relatively high the past few days.

Add to that the feeling of constantly being on the verge of throwing up… and often coming really close to it. Yesterday I was barely able to eat a bowl of cereal and nothing else. I was okay today (thank goodness — my friend cooked an amazing meal), but still having those moments of how-fast-can-I-reach-the-garbage-can.

I thought I was past all the stupid annoying side effects. It’s always one thing after another, things can’t seem to just be normal.

Or at least as normal as things can be when you’re bipolar.

The past few days have been a bit of a whirlwind of visiting with people that I’ve been pushing aside for the past few months. It’s been nice — tiring, but nice.  Since I’ve been so down, especially lately, I thought I wouldn’t be able to handle it. But I’ve found that I can actually be sociable… if I don’t get any sleep. On Sunday, I had my friend’s daughter’s first birthday. I was so worried. There would be so many people to chat with, I’d have to be “on” the whole time. I hadn’t slept the two nights before, and I was fine when it came down to it. I realized later that really I was just deliriously tired. That night I stayed at my parents’ house and got about ten hours of sleep. The next day, I was snapping at everyone who said anything, I sat on the couch in my pajamas all day, I was basically a nightmare. Another night of no sleep and I was fine the next day. It’s so bizarre.

Anyway, I saw Dr. A on Tuesday. He upped my dose of Seroquel from 50 mg to 200 mg. He asked how I’d been feeling, and I said other than the past few days, nothing had changed. So he upped the dose of the thyroid medication and said that he wasn’t giving me a choice anymore — it was in-patient treatment whether I wanted it or not. We haven’t come up with when I would go in, but it will be between now and early January.

Now that my flurry of visiting is over until Christmas, I’m waiting to see if the other shoe drops. I did sleep last night, partly from exhaustion of ripping myself out of a good sleep yesterday morning to catch a train on time and partly from the new dose of Seroquel. I’ve been feeling so-so today. Still having a hard time getting anything done, like laundry, although I managed to send out some invoices and pay some bills yesterday.

So I’m just here, waiting.