Journal BarbaraHudson's Journal: What is it like to be mentally ill? 26
I had already been thinking about writing this for the last couple of weeks when The Schizophrenic Programmer Who Built An OS To Talk To God made the front page. There appears to be a sizable contingent who still believe that mental illness == crazy. 4% of the population will have a serious mental illness in the next 12 months. So let me share what it's like to be mentally ill.
Am I mentally ill? Sure. I'm being treated for both PTSD (Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder) and MDD (Major Depressive Disorder).
Am I "crazy"? No. No "voices in my head", no "visions", no "loss of contact with reality"; in short, no psychosis.
About 3 years ago I went into a deeper and longer depression than ever before. I had reason to be depressed - my retinas were deteriorating, using a computer for 8 hours a day was out so I figured (rightly) that my career as a programmer was probably over, and I didn't have a clue as to what to do next. I wasn't able to stay awake more than a few hours at a time, and when I wasn't sleeping I found my thoughts turning more and more to suicide.
I dropped out. From slashdot. From the net. From friends. From family. My life boiled down to trying to think of any excuse, any reason, to have hope, and walking my dogs in the winter snow.
As the weeks turned into months, I had failed to convince myself that the pros of life outweighed the cons, so I picked a date - the month of May. And yes, I had a plan.
Spring came, and I think it was in April that my mood started to reverse itself. By May, my depression had mostly passed, and I resigned myself to slogging on and hoping for better times.
I was an idiot - I freely admit it. It never even occurred to me to go to an E.R. and ask to see a psychiatrist. I had managed to make it through all these years without professional help, that when I needed it most, it was off my radar.
Last December things started to fall apart again. My eyesight had temporarily deteriorated to the point that I was letting my dog mostly lead me around outdoors. I was having nightmares, anxiety and panic attacks, and I dared not show it because a couple of hundred people were depending on me to lead the fight against a property developer who had taken over our apartment buildings. They were trying to illegally kick half of us out by February 1st, do some renovations, jack up the rent, then repeat with the other buildings. So I'd go and encourage yet another family that I wouldn't let them down, then go home and cry.
One particular nightmare convinced me that it was imperative that I get to an E.R. sooner rather than later, or I'd end up down the same rabbit hole I had fallen into 2 years prior.
I got lucky. At first, I befuddled the psychiatrist with my story. I explained that yes, I was a transsexual, but that had nothing to do with the problem at hand, which was PTSD, which had been diagnosed at another hospital after a sexual assault, but it had started when I was in high school when another classmate killed his father.
I was talking so fast, and my story was so incredible, that (he later confided) he thought I was having a manic episode. Or on drugs. Or both. I gave him permission to check the other hospital's records to confirm the assault, and to call one of my sisters to confirm the murder. My urine sample came back negative, so we talked about what was happening in my life, and what I wanted from him.
That last bit was simple - "I don't want what happened before to happen again. I don't want to go into that black hole with no way out."
I left with a prescription for an antidepressant, and a follow-up two months hence - but if things got bad, "don't wait - call me."
We had to change antidepressants twice - the first one
The third time was a charm. The new prescription ended the anxiety, didn't interfere with me realizing that I had screwed up my insulin dosage, and the only side effect was that I often had to take a nap around lunch. I was now in a good place again.
It was about this time that I started therapy to help me how to deal with PTSD. Here too I was lucky. My therapist had previous experience dealing with transsexuals, as well as people with PTSD and rape victims, so when she had a chance to work with someone who combined all three she immediately volunteered.
By this point I was symptom-free, so I was able to focus on applying what she was teaching me - distorted thinking aka cognitive distortion, as well as helping me to finally understand that not only was there nothing I could have done to prevent the murder and that most people would have been killed, that crazy events don't have rational explanations and trying to find one will just drive you crazy, that trying to help someone else but failing doesn't make me a failure, and that those in my family who won't accept me by now, there's not much to do except accept them the way they are.
I also underwent a few sessions with a psychologist, giving him background info, answering his questions, taking different tests. The Rorschach was the most interesting. I told him how strange it was - I remembered the answers I had given as a kid, but I didn't see the same things at all (my previous answers were "dark").
So, everything was now under control, and I felt better than I had in ages. I was moving to a larger apartment in a better neighborhood, having fixed things up so that none of my former neighbors had to do ANYTHING except (1) refuse every offer, (2) wait for a summons, (3) go to court, and (4) PROFIT. We had the judgments, we had the law on our side, and I had delayed work on my side of the building by 6 months by the simple expedient of refusing to move out. Any further delay and the project was dead.
My therapist had warned me that because I have a history of depression, it would likely happen again. She was right. Late August and early September were denoted by three back-to-back negative events. The worst was that despite my best efforts, and moving into a larger place that had enough room for someone confined to a wheelchair, there was no way that I would be able to keep a close relative from having to go into palliative care instead.
I then set up the two laptops (one Windows 8.1, the other Fedora 19) and two 26" screens, and set about trying to get back into coding, since I have one eye that I can still read with. I was hoping against hope, but it turns out there's no way I can get "back into the zone" again. At least not while taking anti-depressants, and that's just too risky.
And in the end, almost every person who had agreed not to accept any offer from the developers folded without a fight. Sheeple really are sheeple. I feel sorry for them.
Three failures, back-to-back-to-back. I took the first one particularly hard. I started to get "down in the dumps". When it didn't clear up in a couple of weeks, I promised myself that if there was no change I would call my psychiatrist. Things started to improve, but it was like the calm before a storm. Within another week I was not able to stay awake more than 2-3 hours at a time, despite 10 or more hours of sleep. My mood darkened, thoughts of suicide came to seem more and more "reasonable". "Why should I continue if I'm always going to end up back here?" "There's no future." "The only person who benefited from all my hard volunteer work this past year was me. Couldn't even do that right." "My life sucks." "Being me sucks. What a waste."
A month in, I was counting the days to my next appointment with my psychiatrist, which was still a month away
The last week of October things started getting better. I was still unable to stay awake for more than a few hours at a time, but by the first week of November, I was in a better place emotionally. No more thoughts of pulling the plug, and that's all that counted. I described it to my psychiatrist when I went for my appointment and he told me that I should have called when I first noticed things going downhill. I told him that I hadn't wanted to intrude, seeing as we had a scheduled visit coming up, but he assured me it wouldn't be an intrusion - he's there to help me, it's his job. I understand that, but I still feel a bit like I'm imposing on him.
The upshot is that my evening antidepressant dose is now doubled, and I now have a different one for the morning, which will hopefully get rid of the need to sleep during the day. So far, it's not working, but it's only been a week, and I see him in another 4 weeks to re-evaluate.
So, as promised, a look into what being mentally ill is like. It must seem strange, alien, to most of you, but probably not so much to the "walking wounded" out there who are suffering in silence because of all the stigma and prejudice. Not to mention sheer ignorance - I don't know how many times people (especially family members) have told me that I should "just pull myself out of it". Now THAT'S depressing
moof (Score:1)
I'm glad you have dogs (i.e. critters depending on you).
This reminds me, I want to look into some kind(s) of anti-anxiety meds in 2015...
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Thanks for replying
I'm glad you have dogs (i.e. critters depending on you).
So am I (though Toby getting me out of bed at 4 am this morning was a bit extreme - but maybe that plus lots of coffee will reset my circadian rhythm). [edit: It didn't]
The other dogs belong to the woman next door and the one downstairs. We've all swapped door keys (and all been glad we did because we've all locked ourselves out) and I get the other dogs when I take Toby for his morning walk. One stays until I call it a day, the other is more in and out. Even when I'm at my most wi
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The other dogs belong to the woman next door and the one downstairs. We've all swapped door keys
That's very cool. To be on terms like that with some of your neighbors, and where the "kids" can go from place to place and play!
For meds, I just need something that, on select days when I know I'm going to need it, will tranquilize my subconscious but leave me fully alert and myself. I'm fine, it's just that other guy is nucking futs! :) But that may be asking for a miracle drug. (Gee BD, "cognitive distortion" much? ;)
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As for your co-worker, booze works just fine. Get him good and loaded and slip the rest of the bottle (and a few empties) in one of his drawers. Or even cheaper, just have someone "accidentally" discover his cache of empties and a cruddy glass while the PHBs are around.
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Coworker? Setting up my subconscious like that would get me fired as well. I don't want to nuke both of us, I just want to suppress him when I know it's going to be an occasion where he (physiologically) intrudes. It's not fair; he gets my dream world, without me interfering, and I should get the real world. I'm sleeping when it's his time, and all I'm asking is the converse.
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We're aware of each other. There have been times if I'm in a really bad nightmare, where it's probably taken me up a few levels from deep sleep, my consciousness becomes available to me and I decide I'm tired of the stress and the madcap situation and decide to wake up and kill it off. So I guess I have been known to interfere in his world at times. Still, for selfish reasons, I want to have the advantage.
Doesn't being able to remember part of a dream right after waking from it qualify as being aware of
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Thank you for your post (Score:1)
It is hard to understand from an outsider, and it took me a lot of training to understand what is going on.
More people should try to understand....
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Thanks. I think it's hard to understand in part because we avoid the subject like the plague. I've known for decades that I have PTSD, but because it's been there all my adult life, I just for the most part accepted it without thinking "OMG I have a mental illness!" Same with the depressions. To me, it was all part of life, something I was stuck with.
In a classic case of not seeing the forest for the trees, it was only after my last visit to the psychiatrist that I thought "I'm mentally ill." That's
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I'll be able to reply "It's an illness. It's permanent. I can't get over it, but maybe you should" rather than waste time in detailed explanations they refuse to hear
Even the seeming invariants in life, like the eye problem, could be fixed by medical advances. My point being that life has its constants and its variables. Not saying you are (even slightly: blaming the victim sucks too), but treating one as the other can be a real source of trouble.
For example, those unhappy with their shape, but completely unwilling to make alterations in their diet or exercise patterns.
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I was bugging one of my sisters, told her that "if I can hang on 30 years, they'll probably have a way to make me an artificial retina," which I felt was a reasonable time-table. She told me that I was being totally unrealistic - "You get a problem and only then they'll work on a solution?". Totally ignores the reality that this is the #1 cause of blindness in North America, and has been the target of a LOT of research. A week later, I posted the story about successfully growing a (non-functioning) reti
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Thanks. I'm doing my share, but sometimes it's a bit overwhelming. It's why coming back to slashdot is, in a way, reassuring. Some things haven't changed much, from the crappy editing and the trolls, to the good people who have stuck it out post-Dice.
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The fact that mental illness is considered a failure by most people is disgusting. Attitudes need to be changed.
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The fact that mental illness is considered a failure by most people is disgusting. Attitudes need to be changed.
And that includes those of us with mental illnesses who have internalized those values.
My window into insanity (Score:1)
But in both cases, my internal map of the situation slipped out of lock with the reality surrounding me, only to be violently jerked back by events.
That sort of "dreaming while awake" state is what I understand insanity to resemble, although I wouldn't claim that phrasing is more than a hint.
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I remember one day at the end of a LOOONG week I was sitting at a stop sign waiting for it to turn green. Extreme fatigue can mess with your head.
We have a controversial murder case [huffingtonpost.ca] that's going to be retried up here. A cardiologist was held not to be criminally responsible for killing his two young children. The crown is appealing, apparently influenced by public pressure.
This makes me pose a question: If someone kills their children while insane, isn't helping them recover their sanity (and reali
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This makes me pose a question: If someone kills their children while insane, isn't helping them recover their sanity (and realizing what they had done) really cruel? And if they weren't insane, how could they do such a thing?
I wouldn't try to answer your question directly, but refine it somewhat. Sanity, in the rational sense, is never undesirable. The cruelty creeps in from the emotional dimension.
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Good point. But how do you separate the two in such a case? How do you live with that knowledge? How CAN you live with that knowledge? I feel it would be (almost) enough to drive one nutzo (the "almost" is optional).
Now I could understand if he had been diagnosed prior to the killings, receiving treatment that worked, and decided to go off his meds. The decision to go off his meds would have been made as a rational person, and a rational person should, in most cases, be responsible for their actions
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I'm glad you spotted it (Score:2)
Reading about how slowly it crept up on you helps me realize that "illness" is a really important analogy. There was no specific trauma (apart from your incident 30 years earlier) that triggered the need to seek help, no recognizable thing, just a steady worsening of your condition. I don't know that I would recognize pain like that that builds over such a long time. But if I do have self-destructive thoughts like that, I'll at least think about getting help earlier, rather than (maybe) spotting that "pi
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I'm glad you liked it :-)
The bad part is that, the better you are at "coping" on a day-to-day basis, the less likely you are to seek help when you really really need it. And the less likely those around you are going to recognize anything's wrong.
Heck, even my sisters didn't buy the PTSD diagnosis, even though the surgeons who operated on me after the sexual assault had noticed enough gaps in my immediate memory (I had totally lost something like 10 days in the first 2 weeks in hospital) that they cal
Illness (Score:2)
There are lots of different mental illnesses. PTSD, depression, schitzophrenia, lots more and all are different. I suffered from "Adjustment disorder with depressed mood," fortunately for me that one is a temporary illness. Part of my therapy (which was better than anything the doctor suggested) was writing The Paxil Diaries.
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I agree that there are a ton of different mental illnesses, which is why people have to understand that not everyone has the same symptoms, in part because they're individuals, and in part because the illnesses are harder to quantify because we can't poke and prod and rummage around in the brain to find out what's not right.
Congratulations for finding an effective way to deal with it.