Hey there friends.
I started applying right away. I submitted my request and was denied. I tried to go back to work in January and it wasn't a good scene. I submitted the paper work for disability again and was denied again and still my doctors thought going to work would only worsen my already severe depression.
I had been doing everything I could do to get better, going to therapy twice a week, seeing my doctors, taking my medications as prescribed. I still felt horrible.
My doctor upped the medications I was already taking, no improvement.
We talked about inpatient care. I was reluctant to leave home and the kids.
We talked about ECT, electroshock therapy. I have a friend who suffered pretty severe side effects from that treatment and I declined. Also on the table, Ketamine infusions, a relatively new treatment which has been somewhat successful, though long term effects are obviously unknown. My doctor was skeptical of the Ketamine.
Then she suggested I start in on a new drug, an anti-psychotic, Vraylar, that had shown some promise in the treatment of bipolar depression. I agreed to try it though some of the side effects were off putting, I was desperate to become a functional person again.
At first the Vralar seemed to take the edge off the depression. I was exceedingly tired but the doctor seemed to think that side effect would abate over time. Emotionally I became numb. I would cry for no reason, but I didn't really feel sad. I didn't really feel anything except exhausted. I couldn't remember things, I was confused. I couldn't read, I couldn't write, I slept all day, doing anything became painful. I would go out with Brad to the grocery store and I couldn't get out of the car. I attributed this stuff to deepening depression, so my doctor upped the dose.
Daily exercise was my goal. I tried to go for walks with my son but walking around the park was painful. The effort required to walk even short distances was unimaginable. I had gone from being able to walk miles a day to hardly being able to walk around the block. At one point Brad had to come with the car to pick me up, he had to help me inside. I went to bed. I slept the rest of the day.
The simplest task was overwhelming to even contemplate. I could barely lift my arms high enough to hang the laundry on the line. Going up the stairs to shower was an effort. I felt worse and worse until I decided I had come to the end of the road.
I read about a woman in Belgium who was granted permission by the government to seek out physician assisted suicide because her depression was so severe and treatment resistant. I knew exactly how she felt and yearned for that same right. I was ready to die.
I decided I would try the Ketamine injections and that if that didn't work, I would kill myself. My life stretched out in front of me and the idea of hurting that bad for the next twenty years was unbearable. I couldn't stand it any longer.
I neglected to follow up on the Ketamine thing. It was just too hard to make the phone calls.
Because my memory and cognitive functioning were so impaired, I forgot to take my medication. The brain fog lifted a little and I thought, hey, I think I feel a little less bad. I decided to try a second day without the medication, I felt a little better. Without consulting my doctor I decided to stop taking Vraylar altogether.
Over the next few days the improvement was undeniable.
I've been off the medication for about a month. I no longer need to sleep 18 hours a day. I can walk with my son. I can make dinner, do the laundry, I can remember shit, I can form a full sentence.
It sounds so fucking stupid but I feel like I've had a near death experience and lived to tell the tale.
It sounds so fucking stupid but I feel like I've woken up from a bad dream.
The problem now is, upon waking, I find there are areas of our lives that are in terrible disarray. This mess is attributable in every way to my mental health crisis.
I feel guilty and ashamed and I'm so sorry.
Even under the best of circumstances, due to wonky brain chemistry and trauma, I'm not exactly a high functioning adult.
When I'm sick I am pathetic.
I did everything I could do to feel better and wound up prolonging my illness. It is dispiriting.
Anyway, that's why we're in this horrible mess. I felt I owed folks an honest explanation.
In the past, I haven't been shy about talking about my bipolar II, my near constant depression, and anxiety.
Writing about my experiences has been a mixed bag. Sometimes I feel I am reveling too much and that I'm embarrassing myself. Then there are times when people reach out and thank me for being honest about my mental health struggles. Some folks find comfort or solidarity in the stuff I write and that's good, because that's my hope and intention.
Writing about my experiences has been a mixed bag. Sometimes I feel I am reveling too much and that I'm embarrassing myself. Then there are times when people reach out and thank me for being honest about my mental health struggles. Some folks find comfort or solidarity in the stuff I write and that's good, because that's my hope and intention.
I've been mostly silent though about this most recent episode. It's been so dire I felt foolish discussing it much. It just felt too big to be real. I worried that people would think I was being overly dramatic. I have been tempted to dump it all out there like a bag of old garbage, but I though, who needs that. And frankly, at a certain point it felt like who cares, why bother, it's all a load of shit and in the long run, who gives a fuck.
At this point though, I feel like I owe some people an explanation.
At this point though, I feel like I owe some people an explanation.
You may have seen the GoFundMe page my spouse set up to help us pay off over $9,000 in back mortgage payments and the $10,000 to pay for a new roof we badly need.
One of the things Brad alluded to in the GoFundMe profile was that we've been dealing with a disability issue. Since Brad is working and the kids are kids, the disability is obviously mine. It's mortifying but that's the truth. I've been out of work for going on ten months and the unpaid house payments mirror that pretty clearly.
One of the things Brad alluded to in the GoFundMe profile was that we've been dealing with a disability issue. Since Brad is working and the kids are kids, the disability is obviously mine. It's mortifying but that's the truth. I've been out of work for going on ten months and the unpaid house payments mirror that pretty clearly.
I have been unable to work since December 5, 2017. I had a huge PTSD response to shit at work. I was coming down fast from a hypomanic episode anyway, and was headed straight for a major depressive episode. My therapist and doctor both adamantly counseled me to stop working immediately. The idea was that I would apply for disability. They felt the severity of my illness was such that I would qualify,
I started applying right away. I submitted my request and was denied. I tried to go back to work in January and it wasn't a good scene. I submitted the paper work for disability again and was denied again and still my doctors thought going to work would only worsen my already severe depression.
I had been doing everything I could do to get better, going to therapy twice a week, seeing my doctors, taking my medications as prescribed. I still felt horrible.
My doctor upped the medications I was already taking, no improvement.
We talked about inpatient care. I was reluctant to leave home and the kids.
We talked about ECT, electroshock therapy. I have a friend who suffered pretty severe side effects from that treatment and I declined. Also on the table, Ketamine infusions, a relatively new treatment which has been somewhat successful, though long term effects are obviously unknown. My doctor was skeptical of the Ketamine.
Then she suggested I start in on a new drug, an anti-psychotic, Vraylar, that had shown some promise in the treatment of bipolar depression. I agreed to try it though some of the side effects were off putting, I was desperate to become a functional person again.
At first the Vralar seemed to take the edge off the depression. I was exceedingly tired but the doctor seemed to think that side effect would abate over time. Emotionally I became numb. I would cry for no reason, but I didn't really feel sad. I didn't really feel anything except exhausted. I couldn't remember things, I was confused. I couldn't read, I couldn't write, I slept all day, doing anything became painful. I would go out with Brad to the grocery store and I couldn't get out of the car. I attributed this stuff to deepening depression, so my doctor upped the dose.
Daily exercise was my goal. I tried to go for walks with my son but walking around the park was painful. The effort required to walk even short distances was unimaginable. I had gone from being able to walk miles a day to hardly being able to walk around the block. At one point Brad had to come with the car to pick me up, he had to help me inside. I went to bed. I slept the rest of the day.
The simplest task was overwhelming to even contemplate. I could barely lift my arms high enough to hang the laundry on the line. Going up the stairs to shower was an effort. I felt worse and worse until I decided I had come to the end of the road.
I read about a woman in Belgium who was granted permission by the government to seek out physician assisted suicide because her depression was so severe and treatment resistant. I knew exactly how she felt and yearned for that same right. I was ready to die.
I decided I would try the Ketamine injections and that if that didn't work, I would kill myself. My life stretched out in front of me and the idea of hurting that bad for the next twenty years was unbearable. I couldn't stand it any longer.
I neglected to follow up on the Ketamine thing. It was just too hard to make the phone calls.
Because my memory and cognitive functioning were so impaired, I forgot to take my medication. The brain fog lifted a little and I thought, hey, I think I feel a little less bad. I decided to try a second day without the medication, I felt a little better. Without consulting my doctor I decided to stop taking Vraylar altogether.
Over the next few days the improvement was undeniable.
I've been off the medication for about a month. I no longer need to sleep 18 hours a day. I can walk with my son. I can make dinner, do the laundry, I can remember shit, I can form a full sentence.
It sounds so fucking stupid but I feel like I've had a near death experience and lived to tell the tale.
It sounds so fucking stupid but I feel like I've woken up from a bad dream.
The problem now is, upon waking, I find there are areas of our lives that are in terrible disarray. This mess is attributable in every way to my mental health crisis.
I feel guilty and ashamed and I'm so sorry.
Even under the best of circumstances, due to wonky brain chemistry and trauma, I'm not exactly a high functioning adult.
When I'm sick I am pathetic.
I did everything I could do to feel better and wound up prolonging my illness. It is dispiriting.
Anyway, that's why we're in this horrible mess. I felt I owed folks an honest explanation.
Comments