Mental Health

It is well known that often people with chronic conditions have a lot of co-morbidity with other illnesses. Well, I think I won the "conditions" lottery!

I was approximately seven years old when the first counselor I saw brought up the term, 'Manic Depression', the days before it was called 'Bi-Polar'. He was a school counselor who one day saw me sitting alone in the classroom eating my lunch. I was new to the school as my parent's recent separation and eventual divorce had brought me with my mum to the lower mainland for the first time in my life. I was used to a small town, kids I started kindergarten with and all the fresh fruit you could eat (plus some).

I was having a really hard time dealing with the third new school that year. I had given up on trying to make friends, I figured I'd be gone again soon to another new school and new people. Instead, I retreated into myself. 

The school counselor asked me if he could eat lunch with me. I agreed and didn't think anything of it. He would just talk to me, and ask me why I brought what I did for lunch. I often had pickles and polish garlic sausage. Not typical sandwiches. I wonder now if he thought I was neglected. I wasn't, my mum was doing the best she could for both of us. 

The first real sign that I might have something other than straight depression to me was the insomnia and the excess energy I would have. This was around my early teens, starting around 12ish. Many days I would come home from school and my mum would ask if I was taking drugs or if I was 'high'. Yes I did experiment with drugs during my teens, but the times my mum was asking me, I was completely sober. 

Eventually the depression over came the mania and my GP prescribed Prozac to me when I was 15. Anyone who knows anything about Bi-Polar Disorder, knows that you have to treat the depression AND the mania - therefore I was stuck in a manic phase for pretty much ever. Then I hit the lows. I developed anxiety. I didn't want to go to school. Not the usual high school skipping school. This was full blown panic attacks as I walked to school. Often I would get half-way there and turn around and go home. I just couldn't do it. I was very depressed. My high school was not a conducive environment for a 'creative' type. Instead, I would stay home and talk to the people who understood me - all the friends with similar likes, needs and feelings. The punk rock kids on the chatting program, IRC. 

When I went on IRC, I was instantly connected to kids around the world who felt the same as me. It became my only outlet. Though, soon, I was connected to kids in my area who went to punk rock shows. I finally found somewhere where I belonged. That our differences were celebrated. This became my happy place.

Meanwhile, my GP realized I needed something to level me out and I was soon taking Lithium for my Bi-Polar. I worked with her for awhile trying to get the medication right and then became very frustrated and I just quit everything.

A few years down the line, in my early 20's, I realized that I did need to be medicated. This was one of the hardest things I've ever done. Admit defeat. Admit that I wasn't 'right'. That I wasn't in control or myself. I remember my dad writing to me about how proud he was of me for admitting the problem I had and that I was dealing with it and that it was okay, complete with a huge list of musicians who also had Bi-Polar or depression issues. It was both comforting and frustrating.

I had admitted that I suffered from Mental Illness. 

There was a huge uphill battle after this. I finally got in with an actual psychiatrist that I liked, trusted and respected. In my teens I had gone through a few different ones quickly because they were condescending and wanted me to change myself based on their idea of 'normal'. My favourite memory of this time was when I was 16 and on a youth mental health ward. I wore patches from punk bands sewn onto my favourite hoodie. I had put spikes into the top of the hood and lined it with black and white fun-fur for extra warmth. On the back was a huge patch for the band, Civil Disobedience. One of the counselors saw it and asked if I could change it to "obedience". I laughed, explained it is a band name and they could shove it. Leaving that ward was wonderful.

During my early 20's, I started seeing the psychiatrist who I still see to this day. He was understanding, realized I really did know a lot about my condition(s) and could make informed decisions. He always respected my input on the medication regime I was on. After experimenting with several drug cocktails to treat my mania, depression, anxiety, insomnia, agoraphobia and everything else that came with those conditions, we got to a cocktail that seemed right. Over the years, we have changed dosages of certain ones, trying to get me on less medication but still in control. Reducing an anti-psychotic and adding in a sleeping medication. For the most part I have been stable over the last 10 years or so.

This doesn't mean I don't still have issues.

In fact, I still have many issues. My insomnia is barely controlled. It seems the stars have to align perfectly for me to get 6 hours of sleep. I have no memory of the last time I slept a full 8 hours. I still have breakdowns. In February and March of 2017, I had a breakdown that I hid from everyone close to me. I wasn't sleeping at all, I was up all the time working on papers for school or just trying to get something done. All sleep had completely left me. I did what is the number one no-no for someone who has all the conditions I have, I quit taking my medication. The only medication I was still taking was for my Rheumatoid Arthritis. My chemotherapy injections and the daily pain killer. I felt my life quickly falling apart but I just couldn't talk about it with anyone. I should of contacted my psychiatrist or walked into a hospital and admitted myself. But I didn't. I convinced myself that all I had to do was go off of my medications for a week, reset my system and then go back on my medication. It was horrible.

I went through detox. 

You don't really think about how much you are technically poisoning yourself by taking such complex medications. After a few days of not taking my medication and going through detox, I started to notice my symptoms. I saw my impulsive actions return. I didn't care about school. I had very rapid mood swings. Everything that I knew about my Bi-Polar self, was back. Still, I hadn't scared myself enough to want to go back on medication. I went through strange dream like states where I didn't know if I was sleeping or actually awake. My poor dog was so confused by how I acted. Eventually, it was looking into my dogs eyes that made me take pills again. What would she do without me? No one else really needed me like she does. So I started taking all my medication again. I didn't want to though. I still begrudgingly look at  my medication blister pack and feel worthless because without all those pills, I couldn't survive.

I think it's part shame, part low self esteem and part not wanting to be different that mix together to leave me in this self loathing state where I just hate who I am and how I have to rely on these stupid pills.

Then, I was diagnosed with Rheumatoid Arthritis and Fibromyalgia. When does it end?