Curious George

They say curiosity killed the cat,

but satisfaction brought it back.

Well, my dear. I wonder why is that.

After finishing what was technically my third semester of college, I knew that I needed help.

I knew I needed help because the restlessness I had been fighting for almost ten years kept rearing its ugly head into my studies. It didn’t make sense. For the longest time I had desperately wanted to return to school.

I couldn’t or rather I wouldn’t let myself return sooner. I had to metaphorically beat myself up over my past sins. The grave mistake of leaving school because I dared to let my demons overcome me.

It seems like yesterday, but in reality it will be a decade in 2017 that I was officially diagnosed with my first mental illness. It was depression and from there the diagnoses changed as they are wont to do.

It was a bit of shock to me find out this summer when I opened the letter I had requested from my pdoc for college disability services. I’ve always been a curious person. I went a full week without opening that letter, but something told me open it as my grandmother would say. Maybe it was the demons? Maybe it was God? I don’t know. What matters is that I did open it.

The new diagnosis was schizoaffective disorder.

It goes without saying I was more than a little upset. I had was upset when they told me I had bipolar disorder as a teen, but I adjusted to that eventually. I don’t remember exactly how though is the problem. My memory has been affected by my mental illness, but now that I am on the correct medications I am gradually beginning to grasp at old photographs.

But I am still learning to deal with having what is essentially both schizophrenia and bipolar disorder. I want to be mad. I don’t know if I want to be mad at God or my genetics or what? The problem is that I won’t allow myself to be angry.

I’ve come a long way in therapy from the girl with the lowest self esteem and body image issue and mental health issues on the wazoo. I am getting there. As my mania fueled maxim says: Rome wasn’t built in a day while Caesar was in Gaul.

Currently Playing:

Allow Me To Re-Introduce Myself

My name is Destiny. I turned 25 a full two months ago. I turned 25 in a mental hospital. This was not my first time being in one. This was not my first time being in one during my birthday. This was however my first time  being admitted to one after suffering from a full blown psychotic break.

Psychosis and I have never been closer than we have been this year. She’s become a friend to me. She whispered in my ear: what was that? Are they talking about me? Is he angry? Does she hate me?

Even now that I’m stable my frenemy hasn’t completely left me yet. She’s leaving, but not without a fight.

I want to document my journey with schizoaffective disorder. The diagnosis is as much a surprise to me as anyone, but apparently not my mother and a hoard of doctors, nurses, and therapists. I had no idea this illness even existed. What is it? I asked. The simple answer?

Schizoaffective disorder is a serious mental illness with the symptoms of both either bipolar (my case) or depression and schizophrenia.

I feel like I’ve won the lottery of bad genetics. Woohoo you get BP and you get schizophrenia too!

So I’m going to try to work through this the best way I know how: through journaling/blogging and hopefully this blog can be of help to other confused souls like me.

 

They Call Her Emily

And Emily is my new therapist. I switched from my old center to a new one this month. My first appointment is on Thursday.

Though I do still get anxious sometimes when I’m alone usually at night I have been feeling much better. I’ve been taking my meds on time and sleeping through the night. I don’t feel so angry and irritable and I’m being much nicer to my grandmother which she surely appreciates.

This January is also special in another way. I’m starting volunteering and I’m planning on going to adult education classes so I can finally after putting it off earn my GED (Well it’s the HiSet in my state now but that’s a convoluted story.)

I’ve been more active. I’m sorta kinda making friends here in the city. I’m trying to get my life back in order. When I say bipolar completely fucked over my life. I’m not exaggerating. It completely threw a wrench in my plans and I made some mistakes but I’m better now. I’m ready to move on now.

Until the next update!

Once More with Feeling

So it’s been a few weeks after the panic attack. Overall my general mood seems to be back into the range of what I consider normal. But everything is not completely where I’d like it.

I’ve become extremely restless. This is not a new feeling at all mind you. But it seems to be really hitting me now. I don’t feel like doing anything even though I desperately want to do something. I’ve been doing outlines and writing bits on different stories. But I can’t focus on one. I’m all over the place.

 

And it is so frustrating to me. I hate this feeling. I just feel so lazy and I feel like I could be studying for the GED test or practicing my French but I can’t even muster up the will to do it anymore. Where’s my drive?

 

I know I need to be patient and I know that it will eventually go away but I’m impatient. I wonder if I went to the pdoc would they tell me anything different? I don’t have an actual appointment until two months from now. I’m not in any danger but I’m just feeling all these different emotions and intensely and I don’t like it all.

We Meet Again

In the early morning hours of September 30 I started to feel weird. This feeling was different from the general weirdness I feel which happens when I haven’t had enough sleep. That weirdness is characterized by grumpiness, sore eyes, and yawning. No this weirdness was…weirder. I didn’t realize what it was at first. My body felt out of whack and my chest hurt a bit. I just didn’t feel anything like myself.                     

As the night went on I started to panic. What was wrong with me? I couldn’t sleep, I couldn’t calm down, and I felt like I was going mad. Around 6 am I crawled into my mother’s bed hoping that would calm me down but it didn’t. I succeeded in scaring her and myself. It was about this time that I realized that I was having a panic attack.

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I haven’t had a panic in almost seven years. I haven’t been anxious so I ruled that out at first. Don’t you need to be worried about something to have a panic attack?

My mother called the EMTs and they were able to get me to calm down because I wasn’t able to do it by myself. But afterwards I felt weak and I felt vulnerable. I still don’t feel back to myself six days later. I guess I’m worried. I realize that I’m not as bulletproof as I’d like to think and that’s weighing heavily on me.

 

The attack made me realize that I need to put my needs first. My current mental health provider only treats bipolar disorder and schizophrenia. I’m currently having a lot of issues with my borderline and then of course the panic attack happened. Though I’ve had good care with the center and they helped me in my time of need, I realize I can’t let my loyalty overrule my health. So I took the first step and called a new provider that treats other issues. I’ll miss the people at the center but I can always keep in contact. I think I need to remember that. 

 

 

 

                                                                                                                                          

Everything in the Book

Both of the major times I was hospitalized I came out with many different diagnosis. To be honest there is one I’m still not feeling comfortable with and I only found about it four years ago when my old counselor visited here to release my papers.

I’m not going to lie that I sometimes wonder if the doctors aren’t inflating things. Perhaps I’m listening to my grandma a little too much, but idk. For example the illness that I spoke of is PSTD. I still think…I can’t have that. I’ve never been exposed to something traumatic.

But as I read more about it, I find myself getting uncomfortable. My home life…wasn’t the best. But it wasn’t the worst. I’m still hesitant to call it traumatic. But yes now I remember certain things. Stuff that I don’t feel comfortable with confronting especially with my new enlightened relationship with my mother. But confront them I will have to.

I’m currently looking for a new mental health provider. My old one is alright, but I don’t think they are equipped for all of the services I need at the moment. I hate to leave them though. I’ve always been afraid of change.