Soaring energy levels; creativity effusing from every cell; productivity out the wazzoo; happy, happy, happy. Right?

Uh. No.

Try nightmare-filled, sporadic sleep; anger escalating to rage in flashes; callousness, rudeness, disgust — all followed closely by sadness, self-loathing, rose-colored glasses now encrusted with gray.

Ahh, but the nightmares provide quite the fodder for suspenseful — perhaps horrific — fiction.

Step aside, Joyce Carol Oates! I’m on my way!

Seroquel (treats mood swings and psychosis)
Lamictal (ditto, with the added bonus of [supposedly] preventing migraines)
Effexor XR (manages depression)
Verapomil (a blood pressure medication that helps forestall a migraine attack)
Treximet (when said migraine attacks, take this for possible relief)
Cogentan (treats what I call “the jumpies,” a side effect of Seroquel)
Pepsid (a well-known antacid, to [sometimes] prevent incessant heartburn)
Lunesta (the butterfly-commercial sleep aid, which I somehow need, despite the soporific side-effects of many of my drugs)

This regimen is relatively new to me. The number of drugs I take in a day multiplies with each new Bi-Polar-Coaster fest. But I must keep reminding myself: I’m one of the lucky ones. Take a look at the experiences of “Kate” and “John”:

KATE
A friend from one of my recent hospital stays has suffered with depression for several years, and medication simply does not work for her. Kate goes on a new drug, enjoys relief for a week or maybe two, and then dives back into the imploding black hole she now recognizes as life. After two years with the same psychiatrist fumbling in the dark with one drug after another, the psychiatrist threw up her hands and suggested Kate go to a doctor at University Hospital. Her new doctor immediately prescribed a test that suggested Kate’s liver and kidneys process chemicals differently — in a sense, more efficiently — than do those of the general population. Kate did her research before consenting to this test and learned the test is administered frequently with unresponsive depression. Why didn’t her original doctor figure this out before Kate’s years of abysmal existence?

Unfortunately, Kate’s doctors have determined what they thought was new-found knowledge is really not accurate. Kate’s body does process the drugs normally. Still, the increased dosages of various drugs Kate has used unsuccessfully in the past are unable to stave off her depression. Her new psychiatrist suggested ECT — electro-shock treatment that messes with the brain’s synopses and can, mysteriously, cure depression. Pretty scary stuff, especially given the real possibility that she’d experience memory loss. Kate reluctantly submitted to this procedure. In a recent email she said she felt better, had not experienced any memory loss, and was scheduled for a second treatment soon. I am tentatively happy for Kate, but I’m fearful this will be another fleeting stay in happy-land.*

JOHN
Bi-Polar Disorder can be just plain crazy. John has had symptoms of this illness since he was a child, but he’s only recently (within the last couple of years) been diagnosed. John’s variety of Bi-Polar Disorder may be called “rapid-cycling,” because he can be Pee-Wee-Herman happy at 10:00 a.m., and by 10:10, he’s downshifted into the dark and ugly land of despondency. When John’s not depressed, he often has what my brother called “squirrels in the head,” where his mind simply will not shut down so he can (1) decide which t-shirt to wear, (2) get some badly needed sleep, or (3) simply zone out while he watches t.v. The noise in his brain is relentless and all-consuming. When he tries unsuccessfully to make even minor decisions, he becomes enraged, screams, and throws full Mountain Dew cans or punches holes in the drywall or even submits to self-injurious behaviors.

When John’s doctor asks him how he’s feeling, his answer is usually, “fine” because he’s never experienced “fine” or “good” or anything but chaotic, bottomless sadness or mind-wrecking, debilitating noise in his head. I asked him why he didn’t tell his doctor about his symptoms, and he said that he was “a lot better” — he can actually go to work now. I told him that he didn’t appear fine or good at all to me. Rather, he looks sad, defeated, tired. I’ve been there before.

I’ve experienced some of the same frustrations John expresses, but I’ve been blessed with a good doctor who asks the right questions (Are you having any suicidal thoughts? Have you been cutting? How’s the depression?). I’ve been gently but persuasively swayed from wanting to go off all my meds since “I’m so much better now.” As I told John, however, his “better” is far from the “fine” and “good” that proper medication allows.

Laura Again
Isolating is not only a “tendency” but also a symptom of Bi-Polar Disorder and depression, which means it’s very, very difficult to socialize with others — one of the things that might actually bring one temporary relief. My ascent out of depression came about after my friend’s mom told me, “God’s not done with you yet.” Corny as it sounds, those words were uttered at precisely the right time, by the perfect person, and without the assumption of reciprocity: I didn’t have to tell her I had Jesus in my heart for her to encourage me in this way. Now, since I believe I understand what God wants me to do (write about mental illness to help others, move out of myself by volunteering my time for entities I’m passionate about), I have an underlying sense of joy even when life itself is hellacious.

So now, how about all of the drugs in my medicine cabinet? Frankly, taking them sucks, bites the big one, thoroughly pisses me off. But they’re saving my life, a life I’ve come to learn is not mine alone. I have a purpose, and I must not let my anger about my illness and the tools for managing it prevent me from doing the things that please God and, ultimately, me.

* An Update on Kate’s journey:
A few days after her first shock treatment, Kate went for a second treatment. This second ECT was bi-lateral (the first was uni-lateral), and Kate experienced confusion when she woke up and memory loss in the days that followed it. Kate and I met for lunch, and she told me she’d started abusing alcohol to feel better. While 3-4 big swallows worked in the beginning, she found that it was taking closer to 10 to bring relief now.

I also talked to Kim a few days ago, and she said her mom had found and emptied her alcohol supply, something Kate found utterly embarrassing and shame-inducing. She realized that her drinking was hurting more than just herself — it was painful for her parents to find out as well. Kate also said that she’s been trying to focus on the positive, since the physical and chemical remedies didn’t work. I guess she’s trying to accept her illness once and for all and, hopefully, learn to live with it.

Clearly, if you read this blog, you know my life has been very eventful, and frequently that has not been a good thing. So I think I can safely say “I know” in many, many situations. I’ve had the “I know” feeling repeatedly over the past several days, weeks, and months. The first was in response to two friends’ relationship that quickly smudged barriers, both personal and professional. Having been in a similar situation before, I knew immediately when these dear friends of mine crossed over into the all-or-nothing chaos of a clandestine relationship. In fact, I knew instantly the day “it” actually happened, and was just as instantly thrust back into my own dark, labyrinthin time, where the supposed hedges that encased us as we walked through this maze had actually turned to deceptively soft leaf piles covering sharp, painful thorns. As time went on for me, the leaves dwindled to almost nothing, and I saw all of the thorns, and I ripped through the walls anyway. The results, as you can imagine, were devastating — both physically and emotionally.

How refreshing, then, to find an instant connection with someone who isn’t afraid to speak his mind or hear me speak mine… and who is interested in a real relationship with me and me alone. From the time he first started calling me, I chose John Mayer’s “Say” ringtone for my eNV so I am reminded every time he calls that I can be myself without fear of reprisal. The labyrinthin path so shrouded with thorn and cover is now clearly lit and easily navigated.

Praise God, from whom all blessings flow!

As is probably not unexpected, here’s some of what I found on okcupid, a free online matching service:

okcupid: The most private thing I’m willing to admit here
weirdo#1: I’m a closet exhibitionist. No, I don’t expose myself from a trench-coat, but I have this fantasy of being naked in public.

And this guy “woo-ed” me and sent me a photo of himself butt-naked with his hands to cover his private areas. Eeewwww!

I shouldn’t be surprised about any of this, of course. I know that. Even my 17-year-old niece knows there’s a better way. Her suggestion:

Do what God would have you do, keep your focus on and run towards Him. Pretty soon, you’ll look to your right or your left and find the person God meant for you, pursuing a similar goal. That’s when you’ll find your life mate.

Yes, she’s only 17. No, she doesn’t understand the challenges a divorced woman faces, especially when children are involved. But her advice is so much more manageable than freaks on online dating sites, and her method for finding your soul-mate is so much more palatable than the debauchery of the bar scene.

I think I’ll stick to volunteering at the local homeless shelter, co-managing my church’s web site, and taking writing and technology courses at the university I work for: all the things I think God is calling me to do.

What will you do?

Background:

• My boss has been off work for the past six-seven weeks, during which time I worked with the director of another department to plan an important event for my office.
• I have been working two jobs since mid-December while my colleague and good friend was on maternity leave.
• I received a Needs Improvement evaluation at work last year because I received a complaint about my customer service skills from one student.
• I worked my ass off this year to ensure I would meet and even exceed my performance expectations.
• I have had migraine headaches for 23 years and have never been hospitalized for one to this point.

April 23
10:30 a.m.
We had our first staff meeting since our boss’s barely-part-time return to work. During this meeting, this boss effectively undid all of the work I had put into planning the very important event mentioned above. He also decided to take the director from the other department out of the planning loop, even though he had been instrumental in putting the event together with me. I did not sit still for this decision. I professionally argued with my boss about his decision, but he refused to even consider what I had to say. It took every ounce of self-control I could muster to prevent myself from walking out of the meeting. I managed the appropriate self-control, but at least one of my teammates was aware that I was about to walk.

Also at this meeting, my boss broached the subject of performance appraisals (PAs) with his usual belly laugh of nervousness and inappropriateness. He indicated that while he gave each of us certain rankings, his boss disagreed with him on “some of them” and lowered those rankings. He implored us to acknowledge him as “only the messenger” and indicated that he would distribute the PAs after the meeting. He also said we must turn them back into him today, because his boss wanted them finalized by noon. (Mind you, at this point in the meeting it’s about 11:30 a.m.)

11:45 a.m.
The meeting ended, and I called my mentor and asked if I could talk to him. I went upstairs to his office and started to tell him about this turn of events. I couldn’t talk. Instead I sat there and cried in utter frustration and dismay. Eventually, I got all the important info out while my mentor listened attentively. He knew exactly the behavior I was having trouble with because he’d seen my boss undermine his team’s work countless times. During this hour-long meeting, I also mentioned that I knew it was my review that had been changed, because I knew. I don’t know why, but I just knew.

1:00 p.m.
The receptionist in my office told me my boss wanted to speak to me before he left. I went to his office, sat down, and listened as my boss told me that I was right. His boss decided I would receive a Needs Improvement score once again–this time based on a report she said she didn’t like (although she told me at the time it was fine) and on my lack of responsiveness to someone’s request for data (even though that request was made three weeks ago, and the PA is based on 2007 performance).

I barely controlled myself. I told my boss, “I’m sick of this place.” He said I could write an appeal explaining why I think they’re wrong and submit it to HR. Then he promptly shut down his computer and said he was leaving for the day as he handed me the dreaded PA.

I stormed out of his office, threw the review into my office, and went to my colleague’s office to tell her–no, scream to her–the news. She grabbed another colleague, who was equally appalled by the PA and who told me she would help me formulate my appeal. She also told me God had a plan for me and that there was something to be learned in this situation. I couldn’t stop crying. My colleague and I went outside to walk it off until it was time for me to leave for a doctor’s appointment.

2:30 p.m.
I picked up my daughter from school and headed to my doctor’s office. I had a twinge of migraine pain that was seeping through my head, so I immediately took the new medication my neurologist had prescribed. By the time I got to my 3:00 appointment, my migraine had progressed to a level 4 (out of 10).

3:00 p.m.
I sat down in my doctor’s office, closed my eyes, and tried to tell her briefly what had happened. I couldn’t talk. The pain was so intense, I couldn’t keep my eyes open, and I borrowed a Diet Coke can from my doctor so I could apply it to my left eye and thereby freeze away the pain. I couldn’t talk clearly–only enough to ask her to call my colleague to pick me up and take me to an immediate care center (ICC). I also managed to tell the doctor I needed her to write out my lengthy list of medications, in case the ICC needed the info.

3:45 p.m.
My arms are numb. My colleague arrived to take me to the ICC, and both she and my doctor explained to my daughter what was going on. Unfortunately, seeing her mom in pain was nothing new to her.

4:00 p.m.
We arrive at the ICC near my colleague’s house. They refuse to treat me. We go to my colleague’s house, where she hopes I will sleep it off.

5:30 p.m.
I’d been laying in the bed mumbling to myself since arriving at my colleague’s house. My ramblings were pleas to God and Jesus to spare me from my pain and cries of anguish where I just kept saying, “my head hurts.” I walked into the living room where my colleague and my daughter were watching t.v., and I told my colleague it was unbearable. She called a friend for advice, and then decided to take me to the emergency room. We asked my daughter if she would be okay alone (she’d been by herself in her own house for about two hours before). Then we drove to Baptist Hospital East, about 30 minutes away.

6:00 p.m. – ???
I lay in two chairs in the ER, constantly mumbling to myself about whatever popped into my head: “My head hurts,” “Please, Jesus, make it stop,” “Please, God, let me be next to see the doctor,” “Please call and check on my daughter,” “My arms are numb,” “My legs are numb,” etc. My colleague reassured me constantly that it wouldn’t be much longer. She also reminded me that she was there by continually rubbing my back, patting me, and just touching me to tell me she was there. Her touch was invaluable to me. It was something to hold onto in the midst of utter physical chaos.

??
The triage nurse called us back. She barraged me with questions about my health, and my colleague and I did our best to answer her. One of the questions: “What is your pain level on a scale of 1 to 10?” My answer: “11.” Two minutes later, she told us to go back out to the waiting room and they would “express” us through the system. My colleague, who by this point was furious, asked the nurse (who hadn’t yet removed my blood pressure cuff), “Would that be with or without the cuff?”

Back in the waiting room, my ramblings were getting louder and were incessant. In my pain-induced stupor, I thought my colleague had walked to another part of the room. I could hear her voice over there, but someone was still touching me. I freaked out. I jumped up in alarm and screamed for her and asked her who that lady was who was touching me. She reassured me that it was just her and that she was right there for me.

My colleague asked the triage nurse for some more ice for the ice pack I had glued to my head. She refused to give her any, saying it doesn’t help.

11:30 p.m
Tarrance the nursing assistant took me back to an examination room on a stretcher. I could not stand up, walk, or otherwise get myself from point A to point B on my own. Tarrance had to do all the work for me.

Things began to happen more quickly at this point. I was laying on the stretcher on my back, my eyes open but foggy, wild. I knew looked insane, possessed. Oddly, I was having a moment of being pain-free.

The doctor came in and tried to explain to my colleague that this was a migraine, asked some questions, and then left. I cry out, “He’s never coming back. They’re going to leave me here. They don’t care about migraines.” And so on.

Within minutes, my nurse Tiffany gave me a shot of demerol and phenergen. She assured us that I should feel relief in about 15-20 minutes.

No relief. I was sobbing again from the depths of my soul. I overheard my “neighbor patient’s” friends and family talking about me. My neighbor patient had just been diagnosed with migraines, and she knew that was what was wrong with me. I knew she must be terrified thinking about what’s to come for her. I was terrified of where I was at the moment. I wondered if I’d ever find relief.

My colleague tells Tiffany I’m not feeling any relief. Within minutes, Tiffany comes back with another injection: Tordal.

Relief. Pain level? Zero.

The ramblings continued incessantly. Every thought that came into my mind must be vocalized. I thought of my various friends, and then repeated endlessly, “He’s [or she's] nice to me. He’s nice to me. He’s nice to me.” I think of my daughter, and repeat, “It’s okay, baby. Momma be home soon. Don’t be scared. Don’t be scared. Momma be home soon.” I think of my dog, Sparkle, who’s now been in a crate for a good 18 hours without water, food, and potty relief: “It’s okay, Sparkle. Momma be there soon. Momma be there soon. Momma be there soon.” I’d think of people who had let me down in recent weeks, and then repeat endlessly, “He’s [or she's] not nice to me. He wasn’t nice to me. He wasn’t nice to me.” I thought of my ex-husband and how he had to drive to my colleague’s house at 11:00 p.m. to pick up our daughter, who was obviously scared being alone for so long, and I asked over and over, “Is he going to take her away from me? Please don’t let him take her away from me.”

In between my rantings, I would have intelligent–although obviously exhausted, spent–conversations with my colleague. “Can we go get Sparkle now?” “Did you call and check on my daughter?” “Is her daddy mad at me?”

By the time I got home to my colleague’s house, my headache was returning. I took a pain pill, took the countless other meds I normally take (all as prescribed by my ER doctor), and fall into bed with my work clothes still on. I feel really, really strange. My ears aren’t ringing, but it feels like waves are crashing in my head and ears. I put myself to sleep ranting, “My ears feel funny. It scares me. My ears feel funny. My ears feel funny. I’m scared. I’m scared.”

April 24
Headache persists. I take round after round of prescribed medication, sleep with ice on my left eye, and just continue to wait for relief.

April 25
Again, the headache persists. This time, I try the new medication that didn’t work on Wednesday, along with the powerful prescribed pain reliever and the phenergen (which is prescribed for nausea, but which I’m using to induce sleep). I sleep for hours, with my cat Tigger (who my colleague invited over, along with Sparkle, for my recovery) sleeping beside me the whole time.

April 25
3:00 p.m.
My headache is finally, mercifully gone.

My nephew takes me to my doctor for an appointment. I tell him I want to go off all meds to see which is causing all the migraines and the other countless side-effects I’ve been experiencing. The doctor reduces all my meds except my migraine preventive, which he increases. He won’t give his approval for me to go off the meds.

And now the cycle starts again. Will this new round of meds work? Will the levels be right to prevent mania? Allow sleep? Prevent migraines? Ward off depression?

I’m sick of this cycle.

1) Write your own six word memoir
2) Post it on your blog; include a visual illustration if you’d like
3) Link to the person that tagged you in your post, and to the original post if possible
4) Tag at least five more blogs with links
5) Leave a comment on the tagged blogs with an invitation to play!

Here is the memoir I would leave today. I’m positive it will change tomorrow or the next day. But for now, here ya go:

Creative writer craves deliverance from evil.

I’m not always this serious or intense when describing myself, but recent events have left me feeling precisely as my memoir suggests.

I’ve had quite the year… or rather, quite the eight-month period. I’ve been hospitalized for serious depression twice for a total of seven weeks, suffered numerous side-effects from medications–some serious, some seriously annoying–and on Wednesday, I spent the night in the emergency room with the worst headache I’ve ever experienced. Never have I had to go the ER with one before Wednesday. It took a combination of two powerful pain killers and an anti-nausea drug to bring relief, and that relief lasted for only a couple of hours. The headache came back the next morning and only went away about two hours ago.

The side effects–or maybe just the symptoms of something (I’m not sure)–I’ve had for about the past six weeks are insomnia, incessant heartburn, chest pain, tardive dyskinesia, hallucinations, and blinding migraine headaches that come on with an intensity I haven’t experienced in my 23 years of having migraines.

On the other hand, I’ve been doing all of the things that I believe God would have me doing: attending a church that suits my daughter and me very well, volunteering for that church and for a homeless shelter every week, working to the best of my ability in a thankless job, and writing about mental illness creatively to bring awareness to the reality of this existence. The better I do in each of these areas, the greater the physical ailments seem to become.

I try to look on the bright side of things. For example, while I had a pretty shitty childhood (to put it mildly) and an extremely difficult past four years, I feel fortunate my life provides excellent fodder for fiction. It doesn’t take a lot of creativity to come up with prose and poetry about mental illness, hospitalization for mental illness, sexual abuse, and being in abusive/manipulative relationships.

There comes a point, however, when even the biggest optimist grows weary. I am at that place. While I don’t have a “why me?” mentality, I do feel at my wits end for all the heartache and physical pain I’ve experienced this year. After receiving a “needs improvement” rating for my job performance for the past two years–from a manager who knows nothing about my day-to-day accomplishments–a beloved colleague said, “It’s clear you don’t deserve that rating, but God wants you to learn something in this situation.” I recall rambling in my pain-induced stupor Wednesday night, “I don’t want to learn anything else. I’ve learned enough this year. Please, God, don’t make me learn another lesson” and on and on it went.

Maybe the lesson I’m supposed to learn is that spiritual warfare does exist. Maybe it means I need to surrender even more to God and rebuke the relentless rantings and constant illness-inducing efforts from a supernatural force–Satan.

Did I just write that?

Yes, I did.

Read about, listen to, and observe hilarious images of Tony Stewart’s Back Waxing for charity. Just go to the link above, click on the words “Click here for audio clips and photos,” and then click on the button that reads: Tony’s back wax Montage: Listen at your own risk! Do I need to explain the red-colored font? Okay, okay… Take a look at Tony’s back in the middle image. Think purple would have been a more appropriate color choice?

I’m no masochist, but having waxed areas somewhat more sensitive than one’s back in preparation for “bikini season,” I have to laugh at the baby-like screams of this tough guy getting his back waxed. Come on, Tony! You’re a wimp!

For additional entertainment, google “waxing” images. The lengths some people will go to for beauty truly are amazing!

Look for yourself:

This is Tigger–always regal looking, but a big baby at heart.

Bubbles, aka Mr. Fatty, has a squishy jello-belly, long hairs between his toes, and a surprisingly bossy disposition.

Here’s my baby girl when I first brought her home. Even now, she’s smaller than my boys, and she’s full grown!

What more could a single mother who’s living in a 980-square-foot condo want?

Hee, hee, hee…

One of the comments I heard was this: “If I wanted to watch a movie, I would’ve stayed home.” And this: “There was too much going on at one time; it was distracting.”

It’s true, a lot of the drama took place onscreen, parallel to the acting onstage. Picture, if you will, Jesus healing the blind man. On stage, the actors recount the story of this healing. At the same time, the video screen shows darkness, and then… gradually…light, as Jesus pulls his hands away from the blind man’s eyes and you see Jesus’ face first studying and then smiling back at you. Likewise, in the scene of the woman at the well, you see Jesus and the Samaritan woman interacting onstage. However, you get a close-up view–and the realism of actual water–onscreen when the Samaritan woman realizes she’s speaking to the Son of God, and she drops her bag of water to the ground.

I guess you’d call this special effects: When Satan tempts Jesus in the wilderness, s/he literally pulls him across stage, and Jesus’ feet don’t move at all. The effect is creepy, surprising, and totally cool. Later, when the disciples are fishing during the storm, Jesus hovers just above the heads of the people in the audience as he “walks” on water to the boat. Then Peter gets out of the boat and walks on water too–until he doubts Jesus and begins to “sink” into the water. Jesus grabs Peter’s hands, encourages him to trust Him, and then Peter rises up out of the water to walk back to the boat with Jesus. Step aside, camels and sheep–which used to be the highlight of the pageant for me–we’ve got nifty special effects that really bring the story to life. I mean, you can feel Satan pulling Jesus, and you can imagine the awe of the disciples when Jesus and Peter actually did walk on water. It’s like you experience it first-hand. And that’s really cool.

One of the criticisms I’ve heard is that Shane Sooter, the actor who portrays Jesus, is also the pageant’s director. Now, tell me, why do we accept this situation in Hollywood, yet shun it when it’s done in a Christian drama? While Shane isn’t the perfect Jesus (I had trouble with his tone of voice and his laughter at times), he did a very good job, in my lay person’s opinion. He looks the part–at least the way that most people these days picture Jesus–especially with his deep, penetrating, lake-like eyes.

The music was all different this year. I always loved the music of the pageant that we’d shared for the past I don’t know how many years, so I was a little nervous that the new music would be disappointing. I was about 90% pleased with the new score. Four actors’ singing was phenomenal: Mary, mother of Jesus; Mary Magdalene; Judas; and a disciple whose name I don’t know. Listening to them was moving, emotional, and wonderful. The 10% negative was the singing/acting of the woman at the well. Her operatic voice was shrill and annoying, and we had to sit through two songs in a row by her. (Apparently, some people who knew this actor were in the audience tonight, because a few of them burst into premature applause at the end of her scene–but nobody applauded at other points during the drama, even when the singing was beautiful and compelling.)

One last, really wonderful thing about the pageant this year: While Southeast Christian Church doesn’t have a very integrated population, the onscreen images enabled the audience to see a wide range of nationalities, a full spectrum of skin tones, and many different cultures–which truly is representative of the Christian community worldwide. I loved seeing the African woman, the biker dude, and the wrinkled old woman onscreen, demonstrating that Christians come in all sorts of shapes and varieties.

So, what’s the verdict? I think it’s obvious–but you’ve still got until Friday, March 28, to decide for yourself.