But first.......read this article from the Daily Nebraskan. It's relatively short, and small wonder. With the blatant stupidity this article spews, she probably can't write more than 500 words at a time:
http://www.dailynebraskan.com/opinion/root-speculating-misguided-facts-about-fort-hood-tragedy-won-t-help-1.2060702
(And this first is just a little supposition and smart ass on my part--her name: Rhiannon Root. 'Rhiannon'--this explains alot about her parents, to my mind. Celtic goddess......ah, hippie sorts. Which would explain the political ideologies of their daughter--Dumbocrat. Unfortunately for her readers, it didn't skip a generation.)
In this article, Ms. Root would have us drink the 'This man was simply misunderstood' Kool-Aid. And like the Kool-Aid drank by Jim Jones' brainwashed devotees........"it's a little bitter-tastin'."
She tries to draw a parallel between the Oklahoma City bombing--which, make no mistake, WAS terrorism........and the Columbine shootings with Fort Hood, and on the Columbine example, methinks she was pulling examples out of her ass, because her brain--I hope--knows better.
Americans, who live in the shadow of 9/11, have suddenly--mistakenly--adopted the idea that all terrorism is religiously motivated, and the examples she gives are simply not the case. Terrorism is also politically motivated--Oklahoma City--and it was confessed as such by Timothy McVeigh himself.
Columbine? Come now. That was neither politically nor religiously motivated--Columbine was senseless, mindless violence. Terrorism? To the kids in the school that day--it probably seemed as such. But terrorism, to my mind, has to have a motive, and their motive seems to have been their 'poor me' attitude at being lumped into the so-called Trenchcoat Mafia........teenage anger and rejection run amok.
Her reasoning is laughable. 'Were the Irish Catholics blamed when McVeigh bombed the Oklahoma City federal building?' No.........and neither did McVeigh stand on the sidewalk saying, "Agnus Dei" or reciting the Litany as he watched the building come tumbling down. And, as far as I know, there are no archdiocese here in the U.S.--or abroad--that preach the destruction of the 'infidel'--and their definition of 'infidel' is just as all-encompassing as that of Islam. (Although they give us the less sinister label of 'Protestant.')
And, as far as I have read, and as much as I watched the news when it happened, I didn't hear any of the Columbine kids report that Dylan Klebold--Jewish--yell, "Mazel Tov!" before he started firing shots.
Terrorism is also politically motivated. The reason it is so hard to define, when those who adhere to Islam carry it out, is because they invoke the name of God before they do their evil deeds. I believe that many Muslims themselves have mistakenly adopted the idea that their faith is the reason they wage 'jihad' against us.
My reasoning for this......I'm not suggesting that it's NOT religiously motivated, by those who carry it out. But those who are BEHIND it--the ones like Bin Laden and al-Zawahari, who are too cowardly to strap on a bomb--it's not religiously motivated at all. Their faith is what they hide behind--it's what they rally 'their people' around......it's how they brainwash the poor, largely uneducated parents in Middle Eastern countries and territories (like in the occupied territories) to send their young boys--AND girls (hey, they're not good enough for education, property, or equal rights of any sort.......but they're good enough to carry out the work of Allah)--religion is how the ringleaders in groups like Hamas, Hizbollah, and al-Qaeda get parents to literally send their children to their deaths.
.......and these people are too ignorant (and in this case, I don't mean that word in a derogatory way; I mean that they are kept ignorant by those who would 'do what is best' for them) to realize that these evil doers think no more of the future of the Middle East than to kill its youth. They glorify the cause to the parents--their children will be martyrs, doing the true work of God.
You can see--a little--a parallel in this: in the poor parts of this country (and I bring this up because many of the terrorists--9/11 hijackers included, until they got their hands on Bin Laden's money) are from poor families.......the Taliban for instance: Afghanistan, second to Bangladesh, was THE poorest country in the world at the time the Taliban took power. In our own country, in the poorer parts of the country--Appalachia comes to mind--you find people who are just as fundamentally Christian as these radical Muslims. Fortunately for us, churches in those parts preach to prove their faith by drinking strychnine and handling snakes--they test their faith and do what they believe is God's work, too......but they will only kill themselves in the process.
And now--many educated Muslims, too, have drank the aforementioned Kool-Aid of the radical clerics and imams: this is for the glory of God. Major Hasan is an example of one of these educated Muslims.
But the motivation of the leaders of so-called radical Muslim terrorist organizations? Their motives are simple. Politics. Hizbollah and Hamas want the destruction of Israel--they want what they perceive as their 'homeland' back. And with the establishment of their state comes power......after all, they helped set in motion the events that will restore their homeland to them.
In the case of al-Qaeda, I haven't decided. I am beginning to be of the opinion that while Bin Laden recruits his thugs with religious epithets--his motivations may be NEITHER political nor religious. His may be--like Columbine--senseless violence. Bin Laden was all too happy to take our 'infidel' money and weapons when Afghanistan was fighting the Soviet Union; and, by his own admission, he did it when we were funding Iraq (his fellow Muslims) to kill Iranians--(other fellow Muslims--and the Iranians, under the Ayatollah, enforced the type of Islam Bin Laden likes to preach, whether he adheres to it or not. It seems he would have rushed to their aid.) And if you need a history reminder--the Soviet-Afghan War (1979-1989) and the Iran-Iraq War (1980-1988) were occuring practically simultaneously. And while it could be argued that Bin Laden chose to fight the Russians over the Iranians and/or Iraqis because the Russians were the 'godless pigs' that they were, I think it's more than that: with the United States backing him--and we were--he knew that if the Russians were thrown out, after their government collapsed, he (Bin Laden) could gain more in Afghanistan.
So yes.......Fort Hood was terrorism. And it WAS religiously motivated terrorism. But religiously motivated terrorism is something that power-hungry monsters have created--by making their own people believe that murder is the true work of God (and in doing so, making the rest of us believe this is ALL their faith teaches)--they hide behind their faith, and they do it in the most cowardly way.
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
Monday, November 9, 2009
The price of political correctness.....
Last week, the price of political correctness was 13 dead and 30 wounded soldiers. The body count is off on purpose--the piece of shit who did it doesn't count.
I have been somewhat surprised--although, I shouldn't be--at what the American public seems to assume about life in the military. I have heard the statement, "How could that happen there? Everyone on a base has a gun." False.
"We have thousands of Muslims who serve faithfully in the United States Armed Forces.......must they give up their right to privacy?" True--we have thousands of Muslims who serve faithfully........but WHAT right to privacy?? You take the oath, you forfeit it. We're willing to die for our country--but we give up our rights. Think about that. You get to keep yours--we don't.
What I am happy to see is that, in spite of Obama's exortations to 'not rush to judgment'--the public and the media are calling it what it is: terrorism. Nothing more, and nothing less. What I hope is that the 'investigation' that Obama will launch will NOT convince some of the dimmer ones among us that Major Camel F----- didn't 'contract' PTSD from counseling patients. PTSD isn't like the clap or the flu, kids. I do, however, hope that he contracted PTSD from the brave young woman who put his sorry ass in a coma......still running TOWARD him firing her weapon after having taken two bullets. YOU GO, GIRL!!! (The fact that his assailant is a woman is just icing on the cake to me.......Allahu akhbar.)
Political correctness has no place in the military. It is a destroyer of camaraderie, of brotherhood. I served with Muslims--and I agree: if this man WAS harrassed, the harrasser would have been run out on an Article 92 before you could say 'court martial'. Discharge Under Less Than Honorable Conditions. It simply is not done. During my time in the service, we were initiated into the 'don't ask, don't tell' implemented by Clinton. The armed services weren't asking--but you bet your ass they were TELLING--and not a damn thing was done about it, contrary to what Clinton insisted upon. At least two high ranking officers at Tinker were asked to resign their commission for making a stink when someone in their command--who wasn't 'asked'--but he propositioned people in his own squadron. The squadron was mine, and the propositioner was an E-4. A Senior Airman, because he was a homosexual, and because Clinton thought it was his 'right' to serve........cost a full bird Colonel and a Major General their commission......because both the Colonel and the General basically told the powers that be that their commander in chief could take their commissions and shove it up his ass, since he had such sympathy for those who like to take it in through the out door.
This Airman worked in what we call 'Life Support'--kinda like the facility that the massacre at Fort Hood was carried out in. Deployments overseas were made more difficult.......because of his blatant disobedience to 'don't tell'--he was very forward about his sexuality.......no one wanted to sleep in the same tent as this guy. No one wanted to share a barracks room with him. That sort of disruption has no place in the military......it sure as hell doesn't have one in a combat zone.
Harrassed? I don't think so. I have seen and experienced firsthand how we have to accommodate Muslim beliefs, when we are on THEIR soil, at the request of THEIR government, for THEIR protection. We have to be reverent of prayer times. In Saudi Arabia, my FEMALE ass had to walk around in 120 temperatures with my damned sleeves down--no skin showing!!--so as not to offend their philosophies. And if I did decide to go off base (just a couple of times)--it was the veil for me. And I'm here to tell you: hijab sucks.
We, as a military, are observant of their customs, their beliefs. This piece of shit may have been born in our country.........he took taxpayers' money, went to medical school, avoided deployment, made subversive speeches and presentations; tried to treat his patients with Islamic epithets......and gunned down those he swore to serve with. To protect......not only in the military, but what about his Hippocratic oath? 'First do no harm'? What about that?
Tolerant of them--both on their soil, and on our own. In the name of, and under the auspices of, political correctness. Fort Hood is how we have been repaid for our sensitivities.
Political correctness killed 13 people last week. Let's see how many more people it claims before our government FINALLY wakes up and realizes PC's gotta go--or Muslims who truly live by the PEACEABLE teachings of their faith stand up, speak up, and out the monsters among them.
I have been somewhat surprised--although, I shouldn't be--at what the American public seems to assume about life in the military. I have heard the statement, "How could that happen there? Everyone on a base has a gun." False.
"We have thousands of Muslims who serve faithfully in the United States Armed Forces.......must they give up their right to privacy?" True--we have thousands of Muslims who serve faithfully........but WHAT right to privacy?? You take the oath, you forfeit it. We're willing to die for our country--but we give up our rights. Think about that. You get to keep yours--we don't.
What I am happy to see is that, in spite of Obama's exortations to 'not rush to judgment'--the public and the media are calling it what it is: terrorism. Nothing more, and nothing less. What I hope is that the 'investigation' that Obama will launch will NOT convince some of the dimmer ones among us that Major Camel F----- didn't 'contract' PTSD from counseling patients. PTSD isn't like the clap or the flu, kids. I do, however, hope that he contracted PTSD from the brave young woman who put his sorry ass in a coma......still running TOWARD him firing her weapon after having taken two bullets. YOU GO, GIRL!!! (The fact that his assailant is a woman is just icing on the cake to me.......Allahu akhbar.)
Political correctness has no place in the military. It is a destroyer of camaraderie, of brotherhood. I served with Muslims--and I agree: if this man WAS harrassed, the harrasser would have been run out on an Article 92 before you could say 'court martial'. Discharge Under Less Than Honorable Conditions. It simply is not done. During my time in the service, we were initiated into the 'don't ask, don't tell' implemented by Clinton. The armed services weren't asking--but you bet your ass they were TELLING--and not a damn thing was done about it, contrary to what Clinton insisted upon. At least two high ranking officers at Tinker were asked to resign their commission for making a stink when someone in their command--who wasn't 'asked'--but he propositioned people in his own squadron. The squadron was mine, and the propositioner was an E-4. A Senior Airman, because he was a homosexual, and because Clinton thought it was his 'right' to serve........cost a full bird Colonel and a Major General their commission......because both the Colonel and the General basically told the powers that be that their commander in chief could take their commissions and shove it up his ass, since he had such sympathy for those who like to take it in through the out door.
This Airman worked in what we call 'Life Support'--kinda like the facility that the massacre at Fort Hood was carried out in. Deployments overseas were made more difficult.......because of his blatant disobedience to 'don't tell'--he was very forward about his sexuality.......no one wanted to sleep in the same tent as this guy. No one wanted to share a barracks room with him. That sort of disruption has no place in the military......it sure as hell doesn't have one in a combat zone.
Harrassed? I don't think so. I have seen and experienced firsthand how we have to accommodate Muslim beliefs, when we are on THEIR soil, at the request of THEIR government, for THEIR protection. We have to be reverent of prayer times. In Saudi Arabia, my FEMALE ass had to walk around in 120 temperatures with my damned sleeves down--no skin showing!!--so as not to offend their philosophies. And if I did decide to go off base (just a couple of times)--it was the veil for me. And I'm here to tell you: hijab sucks.
We, as a military, are observant of their customs, their beliefs. This piece of shit may have been born in our country.........he took taxpayers' money, went to medical school, avoided deployment, made subversive speeches and presentations; tried to treat his patients with Islamic epithets......and gunned down those he swore to serve with. To protect......not only in the military, but what about his Hippocratic oath? 'First do no harm'? What about that?
Tolerant of them--both on their soil, and on our own. In the name of, and under the auspices of, political correctness. Fort Hood is how we have been repaid for our sensitivities.
Political correctness killed 13 people last week. Let's see how many more people it claims before our government FINALLY wakes up and realizes PC's gotta go--or Muslims who truly live by the PEACEABLE teachings of their faith stand up, speak up, and out the monsters among them.
Monday, November 2, 2009
Musings for the mentally interesting....
It's the title of my blogspot......today it's also the title for my blog.
It's not often I talk--in-depth, anyway--about life with a mental illness. And that's because.....in some small way, I refuse to acknowledge it: it's there, yes......I take medication for it, yes......but I don't let it be an excuse to slow me down, nor do I use it to garner special treatment. It's taken some time, but I've come to accept it as something I'm going to have to learn to live with.....and I am STILL learning, every day, four years after the diagnosis.
Four years ago, after six months of what my current doctor calls a 'mixed' state (and this is an expression that amuses me......'mixed'. Mixed drinks......mixed nuts. Yeah, that's what I was--mixed nuts. I couldn't figure out if I wanted to curl up in a ball and cry or chicken choke someone.......and I mean, just wring their frigging neck.)....after six months of this, I was diagnosed with type 2 bipolar disorder. For six months and medication changes by the score, I was pretty much FUBAR, and that is a perfectly accurate description. I wasn't able to drive, leave my house alone--I almost couldn't leave my house, period. Three doctors, and diagnoses of everything from major depression with agoraphobia, panic disorder, OCD.....endless. The medications went from Wellbutrin to Lexapro to Prozac to Zoloft to Elavil--and ALL of them caused side effects that ranged from roller coastering emotions (Wellbutrin--I'd go on one minute about how FABULOUS life was, only to be in tears five minutes later and asking what is it all for??) Lexapro actually caused--and I realized this after Abnormal Psychology and studying a DSM-IV--aka the Psych Bible--that when I was taking Lexapro, clinically speaking, I was experiencing mild psychosis. Finally, Bill's Aunt Cindy encouraged me to see her doctor--something I will always be grateful to her for: my current doctor had me straightened out within a month. After listening to my history--moreover, after hearing that my mother had been prescribed Lithium--and taking into consideration my reaction to antidepressants (which, as it turns out, is classic bipolar--antidepressants make you WORSE) her diagnosis was type 2 bipolar disorder. She did something almost unheard of--took me off the Elavil cold turkey--took it AWAY from me, in fact. I was sent home with two mood stabilizers, clonozepam (and ordered to TAKE IT--I had been reluctant to take Xanax because of fear of the addiction factor. The anxiety showed--I had lost a hideous amount of weight, and I narrowly missed hospitalization simply for emaciation).....and appetite stimulants, with orders to put on five pounds before she saw me again in two weeks--or else.
As much as I would love to argue with that diagnosis--I can't. It fits. My mother had it--although I suspect Mom's was worse than mine, for reasons I will not go into here; except to say she was once hospitalized, and the day she got home, she flushed her Lithium. There is a strong biological element to bipolar disorder. Furthermore, her father was at one time in his life an alcoholic, and it's believed that many bipolar patients self-medicate with alcohol. Mom, devoutly religious, did not fall into this habit.......although I have to say, there were times I wish she had.
Although the medication was wreaking havoc emotionally, my body had become dependent on the Elavil, and the cold turkey withdrawl wasn't always pleasant--physically speaking. I was sweaty, cold, nauseous and weak. But.......after the fifth day without it, I began to feel like someone had taken a pipe wrench and loosened something before a pressure valve blew; by the end of seven days, I could eat a full meal and go back for a snack a little later, and by the end of ten days, I was sleeping through the night again and even napping during the day, after all the months of sleep deprivation. I could also concentrate enough to read--very welcome indeed.
For the first few days, however, I found myself angry.....today, I say this not out of anger, I say it out of honesty: I spent alot of time growing up on the receiving end of my Mom's outbursts--very likely triggered by the illness she had. And now.......she'd passed it on to me--some of my very own. It was a bitter pill to swallow (actually, it's four bitter pills to swallow, once a day at bedtime.) I was resentful. And I wanted to fight it, wanted to deny it, wanted to forget about it. NOW I am thankful for the doctor's orders.......because they were that she was to see improvement in two weeks, or in the hospital I went. And improvement she saw.....at the end of a month, encouraged at my progress but still a little concerned at my lack of affect, she suggested adding an antidepressant. (This took some serious convincing. It took another month of visits to even get me to utter the word 'antidepressant'.) After assuring me that the mood stabilizers would keep the antidepressant in its place, I reluctantly agreed. Unlike before, the Effexor she gave me didn't cause a swift, severe (and severely undesirable) reaction--I called her on day five of it and told her I didn't think it was doing shit. "Keep taking it....." her answer. And after about two weeks, I literally woke up one morning, and someone had turned the lights on, and put all the colors back. I sat up in bed and was looking around.....what the look on my face must have been, God only knows, because Bill said, "What? What's wrong?" And I said, "Nothing....for once. I think........I'm better."
Yes.......I was better. But--bipolar disorder (I refer to mine as Bipolar Lite--most of the fun, most of the guilt, but no five point restraints, no antipsychotics, no little birdies calling me)--bipolar disorder is a chronic illness, and it's likely I will be treated for it for the rest of my life. As I approach middle age, one of two things will happen on the old bipolar pendulum--it'll dwindle and stop (hey, it takes alot of energy to be crazy, and the doctor says there is the possibility that I will quite literally get too old for that shit) or..........there is the chance it will worsen. (I did a semester long project on schizophrenia in Abnormal Psych class. Men usually develop it in their late teens/early twenties. Women are closer to thirty, and the chances of developing it spike again around menopause. Schizophrenia and menopause........that speaks to me, and it says 'justifiable homicide.')
All this being said....as I mentioned, mine is a chronic illness. I have setbacks, and unfortunately, my temperament and 'wiring', for lack of a better word doesn't allow for much to go wrong before I do get a setback. My psychiatrist is wonderful in that she agrees that I should take just what keeps me functional........and happy. For the most part, I am both. But there are still days when 250 mgs a day of Lamictal doesn't keep the edge off. There are days I am volatile; and it is worst when I am under pressure. I can organize, prioritize, put everything in its place and get busy........that doesn't mean I won't give a good tongue lashing (and not one that you'd enjoy) to anyone who gets in my way.
On the flip side of that........there are days when I'm those sad bastards you see in the Cymbalta commercials (God, I hate those commercials......probably because I belong in one.....but the part at the end, "Depression hurts. Cymbalta can help." Is that really supposed to make us feel better? I mean.......yeah, depression hurts. Cymbalta probably CAN help--so can a Drain-O sandwich.) And I can say that because when I was on the Lexapro, I got curious as to the culinary properties of Drain-O. Talk about something that would cleanse the palate.....I can joke about it now, but the truth is, at the time, it was very real, it was very frightening, and the thoughts were very uninvited. And the harder I'd try to make them go away, the worse they got.
And right there--I have one of the answers: I have to just go with it. I'm going to have bad days, and accepting it is much easier than fighting it. Fortunately, sans Lexapro, my bad days no longer include taking into consideration whether I will have my Drain-O en croute or tartare. Ironically, the panic attacks also stopped when--upon feeling one creep up on me--I would STOP fighting it.....and simply say, "Oh, f--- it!! Go ahead then......let's get this over with." Do I want to live with bipolar disorder--no. But I DO want to live, so it looks like we're going to have to be roomies.
I can take the medication, and I can do what the doctor says.......but there are days when you ARE just along for the ride. While I have learned to tell myself--and be accepting in the knowledge--that this too shall pass.....it's not always so easy for those around me to understand. And there are days when I fight it, and fight it hard--the urge to stay in the bed, the urge to get in the refrigerator and eat my way out, the urge to go spend oodles of money on something ridiculous (with me, books and clothes). And this mentally fighting with yourself wears you down, and it makes you tired......and cranky. I'm not always easy to live with when I'm like this--but I'm up, I'm fighting, and I'm accomplishing things. That's what I want. Maybe this will make sense: sometimes the illness wears me down.......and I have to do the same right back. Because after several days of these mental Olympics, I will start to WANT to do things again. I just have to keep reaching for it.
Having addressed all these things, I would like to insert here a few words of advice. For all of you inclined to tell people like myself to 'cowboy up'--please go be a rodeo clown. Because you sound as stupid as they look. While there is--and a good psychiatrist will admit this; mine does--such a thing as mental illness that is self-inflicted via drug and alcohol abuse....that is not always the case. I would give almost anything to be 'normal'--granted, that is a very subjective term. We may be a horrifying pain in the ass to live with sometimes......but I speak for myself, and I'm pretty sure I speak for a few I know who struggle with naturally -acquired mental illness: this is not who we are. We are people who are overly sensitive, are too easily hurt by things, and have so much love for others that it is almost toxic to ourselves and our psyche, if that makes sense at all. We want to be everything to everyone, and we WILL do it--no matter the cost, and the cost is ourselves. In spite of what life has dealt us.......we are more attuned to the little things, and I think, can find beauty in more things than do others. If it IS the bipolar that makes me these things.......I think that it's quite possible that sometimes, in some ways, the good just may outweigh the bad.
It's not often I talk--in-depth, anyway--about life with a mental illness. And that's because.....in some small way, I refuse to acknowledge it: it's there, yes......I take medication for it, yes......but I don't let it be an excuse to slow me down, nor do I use it to garner special treatment. It's taken some time, but I've come to accept it as something I'm going to have to learn to live with.....and I am STILL learning, every day, four years after the diagnosis.
Four years ago, after six months of what my current doctor calls a 'mixed' state (and this is an expression that amuses me......'mixed'. Mixed drinks......mixed nuts. Yeah, that's what I was--mixed nuts. I couldn't figure out if I wanted to curl up in a ball and cry or chicken choke someone.......and I mean, just wring their frigging neck.)....after six months of this, I was diagnosed with type 2 bipolar disorder. For six months and medication changes by the score, I was pretty much FUBAR, and that is a perfectly accurate description. I wasn't able to drive, leave my house alone--I almost couldn't leave my house, period. Three doctors, and diagnoses of everything from major depression with agoraphobia, panic disorder, OCD.....endless. The medications went from Wellbutrin to Lexapro to Prozac to Zoloft to Elavil--and ALL of them caused side effects that ranged from roller coastering emotions (Wellbutrin--I'd go on one minute about how FABULOUS life was, only to be in tears five minutes later and asking what is it all for??) Lexapro actually caused--and I realized this after Abnormal Psychology and studying a DSM-IV--aka the Psych Bible--that when I was taking Lexapro, clinically speaking, I was experiencing mild psychosis. Finally, Bill's Aunt Cindy encouraged me to see her doctor--something I will always be grateful to her for: my current doctor had me straightened out within a month. After listening to my history--moreover, after hearing that my mother had been prescribed Lithium--and taking into consideration my reaction to antidepressants (which, as it turns out, is classic bipolar--antidepressants make you WORSE) her diagnosis was type 2 bipolar disorder. She did something almost unheard of--took me off the Elavil cold turkey--took it AWAY from me, in fact. I was sent home with two mood stabilizers, clonozepam (and ordered to TAKE IT--I had been reluctant to take Xanax because of fear of the addiction factor. The anxiety showed--I had lost a hideous amount of weight, and I narrowly missed hospitalization simply for emaciation).....and appetite stimulants, with orders to put on five pounds before she saw me again in two weeks--or else.
As much as I would love to argue with that diagnosis--I can't. It fits. My mother had it--although I suspect Mom's was worse than mine, for reasons I will not go into here; except to say she was once hospitalized, and the day she got home, she flushed her Lithium. There is a strong biological element to bipolar disorder. Furthermore, her father was at one time in his life an alcoholic, and it's believed that many bipolar patients self-medicate with alcohol. Mom, devoutly religious, did not fall into this habit.......although I have to say, there were times I wish she had.
Although the medication was wreaking havoc emotionally, my body had become dependent on the Elavil, and the cold turkey withdrawl wasn't always pleasant--physically speaking. I was sweaty, cold, nauseous and weak. But.......after the fifth day without it, I began to feel like someone had taken a pipe wrench and loosened something before a pressure valve blew; by the end of seven days, I could eat a full meal and go back for a snack a little later, and by the end of ten days, I was sleeping through the night again and even napping during the day, after all the months of sleep deprivation. I could also concentrate enough to read--very welcome indeed.
For the first few days, however, I found myself angry.....today, I say this not out of anger, I say it out of honesty: I spent alot of time growing up on the receiving end of my Mom's outbursts--very likely triggered by the illness she had. And now.......she'd passed it on to me--some of my very own. It was a bitter pill to swallow (actually, it's four bitter pills to swallow, once a day at bedtime.) I was resentful. And I wanted to fight it, wanted to deny it, wanted to forget about it. NOW I am thankful for the doctor's orders.......because they were that she was to see improvement in two weeks, or in the hospital I went. And improvement she saw.....at the end of a month, encouraged at my progress but still a little concerned at my lack of affect, she suggested adding an antidepressant. (This took some serious convincing. It took another month of visits to even get me to utter the word 'antidepressant'.) After assuring me that the mood stabilizers would keep the antidepressant in its place, I reluctantly agreed. Unlike before, the Effexor she gave me didn't cause a swift, severe (and severely undesirable) reaction--I called her on day five of it and told her I didn't think it was doing shit. "Keep taking it....." her answer. And after about two weeks, I literally woke up one morning, and someone had turned the lights on, and put all the colors back. I sat up in bed and was looking around.....what the look on my face must have been, God only knows, because Bill said, "What? What's wrong?" And I said, "Nothing....for once. I think........I'm better."
Yes.......I was better. But--bipolar disorder (I refer to mine as Bipolar Lite--most of the fun, most of the guilt, but no five point restraints, no antipsychotics, no little birdies calling me)--bipolar disorder is a chronic illness, and it's likely I will be treated for it for the rest of my life. As I approach middle age, one of two things will happen on the old bipolar pendulum--it'll dwindle and stop (hey, it takes alot of energy to be crazy, and the doctor says there is the possibility that I will quite literally get too old for that shit) or..........there is the chance it will worsen. (I did a semester long project on schizophrenia in Abnormal Psych class. Men usually develop it in their late teens/early twenties. Women are closer to thirty, and the chances of developing it spike again around menopause. Schizophrenia and menopause........that speaks to me, and it says 'justifiable homicide.')
All this being said....as I mentioned, mine is a chronic illness. I have setbacks, and unfortunately, my temperament and 'wiring', for lack of a better word doesn't allow for much to go wrong before I do get a setback. My psychiatrist is wonderful in that she agrees that I should take just what keeps me functional........and happy. For the most part, I am both. But there are still days when 250 mgs a day of Lamictal doesn't keep the edge off. There are days I am volatile; and it is worst when I am under pressure. I can organize, prioritize, put everything in its place and get busy........that doesn't mean I won't give a good tongue lashing (and not one that you'd enjoy) to anyone who gets in my way.
On the flip side of that........there are days when I'm those sad bastards you see in the Cymbalta commercials (God, I hate those commercials......probably because I belong in one.....but the part at the end, "Depression hurts. Cymbalta can help." Is that really supposed to make us feel better? I mean.......yeah, depression hurts. Cymbalta probably CAN help--so can a Drain-O sandwich.) And I can say that because when I was on the Lexapro, I got curious as to the culinary properties of Drain-O. Talk about something that would cleanse the palate.....I can joke about it now, but the truth is, at the time, it was very real, it was very frightening, and the thoughts were very uninvited. And the harder I'd try to make them go away, the worse they got.
And right there--I have one of the answers: I have to just go with it. I'm going to have bad days, and accepting it is much easier than fighting it. Fortunately, sans Lexapro, my bad days no longer include taking into consideration whether I will have my Drain-O en croute or tartare. Ironically, the panic attacks also stopped when--upon feeling one creep up on me--I would STOP fighting it.....and simply say, "Oh, f--- it!! Go ahead then......let's get this over with." Do I want to live with bipolar disorder--no. But I DO want to live, so it looks like we're going to have to be roomies.
I can take the medication, and I can do what the doctor says.......but there are days when you ARE just along for the ride. While I have learned to tell myself--and be accepting in the knowledge--that this too shall pass.....it's not always so easy for those around me to understand. And there are days when I fight it, and fight it hard--the urge to stay in the bed, the urge to get in the refrigerator and eat my way out, the urge to go spend oodles of money on something ridiculous (with me, books and clothes). And this mentally fighting with yourself wears you down, and it makes you tired......and cranky. I'm not always easy to live with when I'm like this--but I'm up, I'm fighting, and I'm accomplishing things. That's what I want. Maybe this will make sense: sometimes the illness wears me down.......and I have to do the same right back. Because after several days of these mental Olympics, I will start to WANT to do things again. I just have to keep reaching for it.
Having addressed all these things, I would like to insert here a few words of advice. For all of you inclined to tell people like myself to 'cowboy up'--please go be a rodeo clown. Because you sound as stupid as they look. While there is--and a good psychiatrist will admit this; mine does--such a thing as mental illness that is self-inflicted via drug and alcohol abuse....that is not always the case. I would give almost anything to be 'normal'--granted, that is a very subjective term. We may be a horrifying pain in the ass to live with sometimes......but I speak for myself, and I'm pretty sure I speak for a few I know who struggle with naturally -acquired mental illness: this is not who we are. We are people who are overly sensitive, are too easily hurt by things, and have so much love for others that it is almost toxic to ourselves and our psyche, if that makes sense at all. We want to be everything to everyone, and we WILL do it--no matter the cost, and the cost is ourselves. In spite of what life has dealt us.......we are more attuned to the little things, and I think, can find beauty in more things than do others. If it IS the bipolar that makes me these things.......I think that it's quite possible that sometimes, in some ways, the good just may outweigh the bad.
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