Growing into Me with Bipolar

Posts tagged ‘EMDR’

Metabolic Weight Loss, Instability, Regrets and the General Pointlessness of Things

So, I am partway way through my 3rd week of 4 of Metabolic Weight Loss nutrition and exercise program.  Have I lost any weight?  No, I had lost 1 lb, but then I switched from Lithium to Depakote, whose side effect turns out to be salt and water retention!  No kidding!  I jumped out of the frying pan  (lithium) just so that I could jump into the fire ( depakote).  Stopping the lithium was supposed to stop the ‘voltage dependent drug-induced R(enal) T(ubular) A(cidosis)’ that was characterized by my body thinking lithium was Salt, and wasting the real Salt instead, leaving way too much Potassium in the body that can’t bind with lithium like it is supposed to do with real salt.  So, my nephrologist was in agreement with me that since the lithium was so effective in stabilizing me, then we should stay on it as long as possible.  However, my psychiatrist felt that it was imprudent to do that, and really pushed and pushed for me to change off the lithium to anything else.  So, after like 6 months, I finally gave in to her and agreed to switch to depokate.

Well, we expected the hyperkalemia (excess potassium) to resolve, since my body would not be wasting its own real salt anymore since there would be no lithium to trick it.  So, all my symptoms were supposed to recede and be ‘normal’ again.  But what ended up happening is that my feet just grow bigger and fatter and more and more painful all the way up to just under my knees.  I look like I’m walking on big giant stubs.    Sleeping or putting them up does little to nothing to help them go down.  I had to fight with my psychiatrist and my nephrologist just to get an earlier appointment to see my nephrologist sooner.  Then my Case Manager at my mental health clinic insisted I acknowledge how she had made it all come together so I could see my nephro sooner, because she talked my psychiatrist into talking to my nephro about the swelling issues.  Except, I saw my nephro yesterday, and he had never heard of either my case manager or my psychiatrist or my clinic and the only reason I got in to see him earlier was because he heard my messages and was concerned about what I described going on.  So, my new case manager is not just trying to grub for acknowledgement and validation from me, her client, but she also lies about what she does ( and probably about what she doesn’t do, too).  Neither she nor my psychiatrist had anything to do with me getting my nephro to see me sooner.  It was ALL me!  That means, I am really failing to be getting the help and support of my psych team and they are not doing any of the communication between providers that they are supposed to do and the follow up too.  That means I am doing all the coordination and pushing and organizing all on my own.  So what good is it to be determined as SMI (Seriously Mentally Ill) and then being told to go to ma particular clinic for all your cares so that everything will be coordinated and followed up on so you, as a SMI person, will not have to fight the system with each interaction or symptom or whatever.  So that you, the disabled person, will supposedly be getting help to do and stay on top of all these things and not have to get stressed out and can concentrate on getting better, more stable, more ready to return to work or volunteering, etc.  But they don’t.  They just keep pretending and taking all the credit and leave you to fight all the battles on your own just like as if you had no SMI designation or had no Disabled designation, or were a regular working person contributing to the community with little more than small issues to be dealt with, not the large ones of Bipolar, Schizophrenia, etc.  But now that I am recognized as disabled and SMI, I have no choice to what services I can receive.  I am forced to go to 1 out of 1 clinic, and I am forced to work with the ‘team’ I am assigned (Psychiatrist, Nurse, Case Manager, and, on some teams, you even have to accept the primary care doc that is on your team–you can’t even go out into the community to choose your regular doc!  Every doc you see must be in the clinic is where they are going with this.  They even have a pharmacy you must use in the clinic as well).  And now, I have no choice over any healthcare providers at all.  I am lucky they have not yet put me on a team with a primary care doc, or a nephro specialist.

So, anyway, back to the original point.  I finally got thru to my nephro that I needed him to see me, and he did.  He is such a great and awesome doc–my best doc by far.  Wish he could be my doc for everything!  So, he is concerned that my body is not recovering like it should be.  Now that the fake salt, lithium, is out of my system, I should hold a normal amount of salt in my system to bind with the potassium.  They should both be at about the same ratio.  I should not have to worry about the hyperkalemia anymore, nor should I have to worry about hypernatremia.  But, I am definitely having hypernatremia issues—that is, way way too much salt leading to this huge swelling.  This should not be happening, except there is a rare possibility that I am having a a rare side effect of the new med, the depakote. Once in a great while, some people get the side effect of intense swelling and salt retention.  Hah!  I let them talk me out of taking a med that we had gotten well controlled that worked wonders for my stability, just so I could avoid the future potential pitfalls of that med on my kidneys, and now I’m on a new med, which is not causing me heart and liver issues by retaining salt and water!   And now, this is not well controlled the way the lithium and its side effects were.  And the depakote is not stabilizing me as well as the lithium was either.

So, back to the original point.  How am I expected to stay and maintain a healthy weight, a healthy body, and a healthy attidude and move forward in my mental health recovery when this is what I’m dealing with?  I can’t lose weight cause all the mood stabilizers have that as an effect.  Most of them also have really bad effects on me like the lithium leading to the kidney problem and the depakote leading to the heart problem.  And if I’m forced to keep gaining weight, and I am having difficulties with all the related side effects, then how would I be able to lose weight, even with the metabolic stuff?  And if I can’t stay sane and lose weight and deal with the heart and or kidney or whatever other issues would happen….then how am I supposed to stay positive enough to move forward and become a productive citizen again?  Is it the illness, the side effects, the meds, or the complications…that keep me disabled?  That keep me from being a useful human being again?  And damn it, I am tired of suffering and tired of my life never being able to move ahead.  Tired of being unable to do things.  Tired, so tired.  Something has got to give.  No matter what I do to get better, something else is sacrificed to make it happen.  So there is always something never getting better.

And I am not the mother I thought I could be, and I am barely holding on to life for my kids.  No, really, I mean if my ex misses one support payment because he changes jobs, or something else, we could end up on the street.  And I am certainly not capable of raising a family like that for the next 2 years.  I couldn’t even take care of me in that state for a month.  I live in fear of this every month.  I just found out my ex is moving to California from Az, where we all currently have been.  But his agency can’t find him computer programming work in Az, so they found him a spot in a place in Cali.  But he’s not happy with it, it won’t meet the cost of living changes.  And he’ll be looking for a new job once he’s there.  When he switches jobs, a new court order must be petitioned by me, then the court takes several months from time of filing to rule on it, then the court orders the employer to hold the money and pay it to the state the custodial parent is in.  Then the state processes the funds and distributes them to me.  So, if he even misses one normal payment of the 2x/mo….we are evicted.  We lose our car insurance and can’t drive.  Our house of cards falls apart.

So, I think I have made mistake after mistake, leading to a tenuous existence from which my grip will surely slide sooner or later.  I should never have quit working.  I should never have stopped the lithium.  I should never have gone down this path.  Where to go now, to start over or push on, I don’t know.

Who are We?

Many of you may ask yoursel(ves) the very same question.  Or maybe not.  I don’t really know, I’m really pretty new to this entire reality.  I know who I am, Anti-Kitty knows who she is, Trina knows and Little Trina knows who they are.  And we all know who each other is, and are aware of each other.  Pretty much, I’m the one that drives this person, and none of us even know who this “K” person is.  But while we work more or less cooperatively to keep this machine going, none of us knows who this person is even supposed to be.  We don’t think we have ever even met her.  How can a ‘person’ exist without the person being there at all?  This body, if it is not “K”, then is it us?  Do we get to claim ownership, whole or in part, of this body/brain we all share?  Do we even have to find “K”?  I mean, we operate pretty well nowadays as we are, in cooperation, with me mostly fronting.

Silly as it sounds, me, Kat, only just know realized I’m not actually ‘K’, that whoever that is (the original person), is not me after all.  It’s someone else, who maybe is gone.  So, I know who I am, and the others know who they are, but who are WE?  If we find ‘K’, will WE change/cease/stay the same?  It is a puzzle, which WE cannot know the answer to unless it happens, unless we find ‘K’.  Problem is, WE don’t know if WE want to find her.  Maybe its better to not know, to stay as WE are?

It makes one wonder, what is this concept of identity anyway, and if there is a single definition, should there be more interpretations?  So, who are WE?


Some Things Done, Some Left to Do; About the Same as Usual

So, I finally have got a replacement car.  Spent several days going to dealerships for cars I saw the night before, but when I got there, they were already sold.  So I didn’t end up with a Toyota or a Honda, but I did manage to get a silver Ford Taurus (2003) that is almost immaculate inside and out.  Seems to run well-no weird sounds, or feels, or sights.  Hopefully its in as good shape under the hood as it seems.

And I have also finally squared away where we will be moving to later this month.  The lease hasn’t been signed yet, have to wait til the unit becomes actually available.  But I have put down the deposit and hold money, and my application was accepted.  The next big task will be carrying off the move and cleaning out the old apartment.  Right after that school will start again.  Whew!  Then, back to the strict routines, getting up early, going to bed early (for me)

But as good as it feels to have these two big jobs completed, there are already more on the horizon, starting with school resuming.  In therapy, every time I think I have finished something, and let it go, it seems it comes up in the context of something I am just starting on again.  So, I kinda thought I had moved past my friend, B, and past lots of things with my ‘mom’.  But in one way or another, they both keep popping up again when I start on something new.  And others do too.

My daughter, who sees the same therapist that I see, has been working on focus.  I’ve always known she is always flighty, always distracted, forever leaving bits of herself all around everywhere she goes.  And I’ve known she’s got a big, wonderful heart, infectious joie d’vivre, more compassion, more loyalty, more feelings in her little toe than anyone else has in their entire being.  And I’ve known she’s smart, and clever and funny and kind and loving.  But always slipping up and down in her grades, and struggling to get things done.  Well, it turns out that our therapist wanted to try EMDR with her, but her lack of focus and concentration has made it impossible to do any EMDR at all.  The therapist, A, has tried all the various methods of EMDR, and my daughter can’t focus on it long enough to make it work.  So, A has talked with both of us that my daughter should probably be tested for ADHD/ADD.  Which I am totally fine with.  I just can’t afford all the co-pays (R, her dad, is supposed to pay 85% of them, but I have to pay for it up front and he reimburses me sometime later).  I am going to see about having her school request the testing, which they will then pay for.  But the process takes longer and involves more paperwork.  Part of feels like I must be the one responsible for my daughter having problems, having PTSD, having ADHD, having depression.  I know I know it is not  my fault, and yet I can’t get past the fact that if she needs all this help, then I must have done something really wrong somewhere along the way.

Meanwhile, my Emotional Service Animal, aka my dog, Sunshine, is losing a little more ground every few weeks.  It started with her left front leg becoming weak and unable to support her fully when walking.  She subsequently adapted by developing a pronounced limp to accommodate that leg.  I took her to the vet, we tried several different meds, all of which worked somewhat, but whose side effects were simply intolerable.  So, I decided as long as she was still happy and healthy and excited to walk, that a limp was ok.  However recently, she has also become weak in her hind legs, moreso in the right.  This changes her gait to a kind of stagger+limp, and when something as simple as her back toenails hitting the ground a bit unevenly, she just kind of slowly crumples to the ground in a laying position, and then can’t quite figure what happened or how to get up.  Sometimes, all she needs is verbal prodding to get ‘up’, but others, I have to actually lift her hind end up and place it in a standing position and then she can start again.  Sometimes, she seems to be in another world and no matter what I do, I can’t make her move again.  Then, I have to carry her like a barrel.

And, just to top things off, apparently the ’78 T-Bird I bought my son for his first car, is about to bite the dust as well.  I knew it wasn’t any peach when I got it, but I did expect it to last at least year or so.  After dumping money into it repeatedly to fix this and then that, it turns out that now there is something wrong in the actual heart of the engine.  Diagnosing this would mean they would have to tear down and then rebuild the engine, or, pull the engine and drop in another.  Either way, the job is way too big for the car.  We’ll be better off buying a different junker than putting anymore into this one.  I really got screwed on this car.  And because of that, I’m gonna be letting my son down just as soon as the car stops running.

All in all, despite the tasks, the difficulties, some end up completed, some never are or will be, and I guess this is just life.  Right now, at this moment, with these challenges, things aren’t too bad.  I’m feeling ok, I’m managing to do what I need to and still be ok at the end of the day.  Despite my kids’ issues and problems, desires and needs, I think they are mostly ok.  And late at night, when the day is done, I think things are ok right now for all of us.


Letter to my Mother


Here I am going to say all the things I always wanted to tell you, but I either didn’t or you twisted what I said or you just didn’t care.

I spent my whole life trying to prove to you I was good.  smart.  responsible.  caring.  I tried sooo hard to earn your love, your affection.  Every day I lived in fear of you, of your words, of your tone of voice.  Of your hands.  You terrorized me, every single day.  All I wanted was for you to not despise me.  I don’t know what I ever did to you that you felt you had to make me a perfect automaton who never had their own thoughts or actions.  I don’t know what I could have done for you to feel the need to instill fear and terror in my mind when I was only 3 years old.  I remember so clearly trying to stand in the corner by the door without moving or taking my nose off the corner.  You made me stand there all day, because I would always squirm or wiggle inadvertantly, so you made me stay longer each time that happened.

I always knew you hated me.  And I knew it was a secret that only I shared with you.  It was so confusing that when others were present, you actually seemed nice, even interested in me.  When I was still little, I didn’t understand this;  I thought that somehow I had done the right things, acted the right way, finally made you see what a good, nice, smart, responsible girl we were.  And then, I would do the same things the next time to told me to do something, only this time, you would bend over and put your face in mine.  It was always so angry, so ugly and distorted, it scared me to see it so close.  I wanted to squeeze my eyes so tightly shut to make you stop.  But I was too afraid even to do that.  I knew if you saw my eyes close, you would just make it worse, scarier, more threatening.  So I held my eyes open in front of that face you made, and became perfectly still, because I knew if I showed any weakness you would only have more fuel for your white hot burning hate.  Then you started yelling, when you knew you had me paralyzed, unable to move or speak.  I was your captive and you tortured and toyed with me like a boy pulling wings off flies, or burning ants with magnifying glasses.  For so so long, I thought I was somehow incapable of doing anything properly.  I thought I was useless, clumsy, and basically I didn’t trust anything I thought or did, and was afraid to try anything I didn’t already know how to do.  You did this me, mother.  You made me doubt every single thing about myself.  Now in my 40’s I am finally beginning believe in myself, to trust myself, for the first time ever.  Why did you have to punish me-for just being your daughter?  Why did you have to give me pain instead of love?  And why did you have to enjoy my suffering so so much?

For years I thought you must love me, because you said it sometimes, without being mean.  And because when others were around you treated me like you loved me.  And so I thought that your hatefulness was really you being demanding, tough on me, but because you loved me and wanted me to do things right, and know how to act.  I thought for so many years that if I could figure out how to do things right, what answer to give you when, that I would finally get you to stop hating me.  This was probably the most cruel torture you could have done.  I believed I actually had a chance to make you not hate me (I gave up on getting you to love me by the time I was in high school) You had by then made me doubt every single thing about myself, and also made me loathe every part of me, because I couldn’t ever do anything right according to you.  By the time I was a teenager, I didn’t even care if I got your love or affection or attention.  I just wanted to stop hurting for once.  Just once, I wanted to live in a safe place where I didn’t need to walk on eggshells, and wonder with my every word and every action if you would attack me again.

By the time I was 14 I had been raped.  Then I loathed myself even more.  I started drinking, partying, and became too promiscuous.  You didn’t care.  You didn’t talk to me.  You didn’t validate me.  You didn’t show affection, except if you call screaming, shrieking, tirades of my worthlessness and uselessness love.  Oh, and the occasional punch, slam or smack.  All the things I did, were all because I knew I was nothing.  Because you made me believe that.  Because you made me break into parts.  Because you are so inhuman and hate yourself more than anything but can’t accept it, you brutalized your own daughter from birth.  Instead of building me up, supporting my dreams and goals, you took every chance to rip me to shreds.  You may have broke me, but you didn’t kill me, didn’t eradicate me.  I managed despite your efforts to have 2 wonderful kids, to finish college,  and to do a  job I loved for many years taking care of others.

You don’t own me anymore.  You don’t even know me any more.  The person I am now was born from your hate, and from the others that came to help me survive you.  We have gone through the crucible and come out stronger.  We are joined now to make us successful, working together to be strong and stable.  Kicking me out at 17,  punishing me and my kids when my husband left me and I had no income or home, and wrapping it all up with the things you said to me the day I had to send my kids away from me, out of state, to their father, are unforgivable.  And the irony is that I forgave it all, up until the very last thing.  The day I lost my kids and sent them away, you said the cruellest, hurtfullest, nastiest, unforgivable things.  You (and oh yes, your mother was there chiming in too) told me with glee in your eye how I deserved to lose my kids, how I was a failure as a mother, how if it was up to you you would tell the courts and judges and anyone else how unfit I was and should never see them again.   You said in that cutting, snarky, voice with a smirk on your lips, how I would never be welcome to even your spare bed.  How I should go and crawl into the gutter that suits me so well and never come back out, because that’s what I have always been–nothing more than gutter trash.

You stole from me every single chance to believe in myself, to have confidence and courage just to make yourself feel good by turning your self hatred onto me.  I am not your punching bag anymore.  You do not own me anymore. I have claimed ownership of myself.  And I choose not to surround myself with abusers any longer.  So after 5 years, you have written to me twice in the last 2 months.  You think you can get in touch after saying those things to me?  You think 5 years is gonna erase your pure and unadulterated glee at telling me I am nothing but trash?  You think now that I have been rid of you for 5 years and have finally found myself, have started to discover who I really am, and am actually starting to like the real me, you think that NOW I’m gonna let you back in my life?  When would that ever in any situation ever, ever happen?  For the first time in my life, I am finally safe.  My home is finally safe.  I do not live in constant fear of the next attack.  I will never let you in again.  You and other abusers have taken up enough of my life.  I will never allow myself to be hurt again.  I will never forgive you for denying me what every child should have, unconditional love and support.

In the end, all that self loathing and hatred and anger that you turned onto me for 36 years, has backfired.  You thought if you focused your pain on someone else, like me, that you wouldn’t feel so awful.  Well, now I’m done, and you have only you to live with, with all that anger and self hatred, until you die.  The only person you can hurt now is you.  And even if you fool someone into being your friend or husband (again), it will be short lived since  it will end just like all the other marriages and friendships–with them leaving you because you are so hurtful and vile.

And I am a good person.  And I am  responsible.  And I am a good mother–a very good mother.  I guess its just who I am.



Sleep is the only time when everything is ok.  I wish I could sleep always.

And yet, I am afraid to go to sleep, because I am afraid of waking to yet another new and  excruciating day.

Why I Never Get To Have Any Fun

I recently read a post by Bourbon (so go there and read all the newest things) that really got me thinking.  Bourbon was talking about ages, the feeling of one’s age, and this in relation to alters.  Ok, so that made me realize that I (the host, the usual fronter) feel I am the body’s age, 41.  And that I believe I must always act appropriate to that, must always do the ‘right’ thing,  the ‘proper’ thing, and I must never be seen as being silly, or frivolous, or childish in any way.  Basically, its something like I think that I should always be responsible, mature, grown-up and sacrificing, and I should never, ever, be wasteful, non-serious, or act in a any way that is not necessary and that does not lead directly to whatever grown-up goals I have.  So, eating out is something I would love to do, but do very rarely.  It is not only wasteful, but unnecessary.  It is not practical and does not help us save money to have more food at home, or to have clothes, or to improve our home, or, even, to save it.  It is wrong of me to indulge in eating out.  And that makes all of us (insiders and me) angry, and sad.  And the insiders complain, and whine, and beg and promise…but almost always, I keep the law.

Its not just eating out that we aren’t allowed to do.  It’s almost anything.  We can’t go to movies in the theatre, we can only buy clothes when we are replacing something that is too worn to use.  We can’t stay up past a certain time, or sleep past a certain time (even though we are disabled and don’t work and don’t have to do anything).  We always have something we have to do before we are allowed to have any fun.  And then, even if we actually manage to finish what has to be done, we still aren’t allowed to have fun since then we can always find something else that should be done.  The only fun we really are allowed to have is do this blog and read everyone else’s, and play online boggle when we are in between tasks.

Not that I’m complaining, I mean, after all, they are (I think) my rules…I think maybe I am afraid to have fun, to do anything ‘indulgent’ or impractical.  That maybe in some warped way, having fun or indulging would make me unworthy and bad.  And I think to I am afraid to have fun, partially because of being bad or unworthy, but also because I’m not sure I really deserve it or need it, plus I’m not sure I really know how to.  Maybe some of these ‘rules’ (that I thought were mine) are really the Mother’s, and this is her voice talking in mine?  I don’t know.  I can’t go there now.   But maybe one day, I can reassess the rules, maybe start to try to work some enjoyment in.  We’ll see (but I’m not holding my breath just yet)…

Feelings? What Feelings?

why cant i feel?  all through EMDR so far i have never once made a connection with emotion appearing and connecting with the issue i was thinking of during the EMDR.  it has always been a very dry, clean, process.  i think of something, we do EMDR, and i come to a new (for me) conclusion, then another and another, until i reel that the issue is resolved, where i dont have any negative or bad feelings when thinking of it.  when i dont feel regret anymore, or revulsion, of hurt or when my body stops being tense or tight or painful.

apparently part of why i sabotage myself has to do with the fact that i dont feel.  i mean, i guess i probably feel somewhere, but its so deep, so removed, mostly i just have only minute and superficial dealings with it.  the kinds of interaction like where you smile when your kid hugs you, or when you see something on a tv show, or look at a birthday or friendship card.  not the deep, real, true feelings.  those kinds of interactions are so buried they are for all intents and purposes, nonexistent.

i guess i am supposed to figure out how to find them.  then find out how to make sense of what i find.  i mean, to me, thats like finding a book in a foreign language or in glyphs and you dont know the topics or where one part ends and another begins.  so supposing i ever find the real emotions, what do i do then?  how do i make it connect with me like it should?  will interpreting these buried emotions really lead to less dissociation?  to less self-sabotage?  will it really help me live, not stagnate?  this seems like a really big job, especially without a map.  i could spend forever looking for them, and still never understand or connect to them.  i am overwhelmed just pondering this new journey.

What Do I Do Now?

This post is not about any problems or troubles, or anything of the usual sort.  It seems today I find myself in the position of not knowing what to do now that I have dealt with a lot of my issues.  Now, I am not sure what to do or how to incorporate these resolved issues into the person who has been ill and not feeling well because of them.  I kind of had it in the back of my head that I would spontaneously or magically feel better when the problems had been dealt with.  Apparently, that is not how it works.  I still feel the same as I did before I worked through these issues.  But shouldn’t I feel, oh, I don’t know, happier?  lighter? relieved?  And shouldn’t I no longer be triggered?  or reactive? to things I always have been that are related to the issues now solved?  But the triggers aren’t gone, I am still reacting to them.  So, what do I need to do to cause myself to be changed in some way (positively, I hope!) that will reflect my new truimphs and victories over these issues?  To make myself be in some way different than the self that has always been, the self that has been traumatized and abused and triggered?  I want to feel better, feel more positive, have more energy, and enjoy life.  So now, what do I do to reap the benefits of working through my issues?  How do I apply this success and change how I feel?

I have been in therapy, mostly just processing therapy, for over 10 years.  The last year has been much more productive therapy as I’ve been using EMDR to work through my memories and issues.  I’m about done with the EMDR, which should mean that I feel better somehow.  But I just seem stuck and unable to incorporate or apply the new information into my brain.  I’m still feeling the same depressed, still occassionally thinking about suicide, still tired and lethargic, still not able to cope with doing any kind of thing full time, like a job or school.  When do I start improving?  When do I get well?

Tag Cloud

Dearest Someone,

writing through chaos


Keeping positive in a unforgiving world when you are different.

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Indisposed and Undiagnosed

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All Things Chronic

Things I Learned In Therapy

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The Invisible Scar

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A Canvas Of The Minds

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