Those Who Do the Right Thing

... almost always get kicked in the teeth.

In February I wanted to know exactly how much longer I could work without losing my Social Security Disability.  (Yes, it's legal.)  So I called them.

I wanted to know not because I was going to quit my job so I didn't lose my benefits, but because I needed to find a better job before the disability payments stopped.  I knew it was coming up soon - this month or next.

Of course, the government being what it is, they apparently think my reason for wanting to know was, in fact, so I could quit my job in time to avoid losing my benefits.

I received a huge packet of forms in the mail today.  They're going to review my case to see if I can continue to get benefits.  They're not supposed to do that; because I was working, I was exempt from medical reviews.

Now they want my medical records.  They want my work history.  Which they should have because, as required by law, I've kept them apprised.  Apparently those phone calls never got entered into the system because they're claiming they didn't know I was working.

They want the name of somebody who's not my doctor, but who's "familiar with my disability."  Presumably so they can catch me in any lies.

Folks, I know there are people who milk the system for every dime they can get.  I know that a "mood disorder" as a disability is hard for some people to swallow.  But I've done the right thing all along.

Now I have to spend hours proving it.  And I still might lose my disability. And Medicare.

I'm thinking of emigrating.

About Mental Illness

To preface, let me say that I have Bipolar Disorder. It's a mental illness, also known as "manic-depression". Here are some common misconceptions I've run into when telling people I have a mental illness:

• Having a mental illness does not mean I'm crazy. In the world of psychiatry, "crazy" has no meaning.
• Mental illness is not contagious.
• Just because I'm mentally ill does not mean I'm retarded. My IQ is 154, well into the genius range.
• Mental illness is a legitimate disease. I'm not faking, lazy, or lacking in self-discipline. "Pulling myself up by my bootstraps" is not an option.

Here are some things that upset me:

• I don't want or need pity. Sympathy & understanding, yes - pity, no.
• Sometimes I need your help, sometimes I don't. Let me be the judge of that.
• Yes, I take medications. No, they don't make me stupid. Drowsy, maybe, but not stupid.

Here is some information that you might find helpful when interacting with a mentally ill person:

• Living with mental illness makes life a daily struggle. Please forgive me if I don't always live up to your expectations - it's not because I don't want to, it's because I simply can't.
• Practice compassion. Try to put yourself in my place.
• Learn what kind of help I need, and provide it to the best of your ability.
• Listen carefully. Sometimes it's difficult for me to communicate.
• Before you criticize me for my failings ask yourself "Would I say this to someone who has cancer?"

And finally, here are some tips for those of us with a mental illness:

• Learn everything you can about your disease and try to get those who love you to do the same.
• Take your medications as directed and know what side effects to look for.
• Be patient when it comes to finding the right medication combination. It took me six years to find one that works, and there are no guarantees that this combination will continue to work in the future. Try to accept this as part of your illness and use hope to combat the frustration.
• Depending on your illness, just accept the fact that you will probably be on medication for the rest of your life. This fact can come in handy if your doctor doesn't want to prescribe something just because it's addictive. If s/he thinks it will help, push for it to be prescribed.
• Be completely honest with your doctor and/or therapist.
• If something about your treatment doesn't seem right or isn't working, ask questions. If you're still not satisfied, find another doctor or therapist.
• Be accepting, forgiving and patient with yourself.
• Realize that living with you can be a trial and go easy on your loved ones. It will take them some time to get used to your illness.
• Don't be afraid or too proud to ask for help from those around you.
• And finally, don't ever give up. It may take work, but you can find the right treatment(s) that will allow you to function at a level you find acceptable.

Any other comments on mental illness? I'd love to read them.

Cockadoodle Bleak

" 'Cockadoodles?' " 11-year-old Katie said incredulously. "Why do you call them that?"
"Because it's silly," I replied. "And even grown-ups need some silliness."

I was referring, of course, to our six half-grown chickens. I had been calling them "The Girls" but when Samantha turned into Samuel and started crowing, I had to find something else. "Cockadoodles" just jumped into my mind. Plus, the evolution of Sam's crow is just too silly to believe. It started out as a sort of scream; a cross between a screech and a squeaky door hinge with a bit of throat-clearing thrown in. Now it has progressed to a hoarse "Rrr-RRR" or the "cock-a" part of "cock-a-doodle-doo". Even the next door neighbor, near whose bedroom window our chicken coop is, thinks it's hilarious. She has promised me that if Sam's crowing ever bothers her she will let me know. Sam's attempts also provoke the neighbor's rooster into answering, and I swear I can hear that bird laughing at Sam. He throws a hiccup into the middle of his normal crow.

It's my first attempt at keeping chickens, and I want to enjoy the hilarity of Sam's progress. But I've sunk into what my doctor calls a "depressive episode." It's the bottoming-out part of being on the bipolar roller coaster. When I'm on the downside I live in a peculiar state: part paralyzing anxiety, part utter boredom and part complete hopelessness. It's disorienting and frustrating as hell. Intellectually I know that this bizarre state is transient. These episodes pass, just as my manic episodes do. But in the midst of one it's impossible to believe that in my heart.

The depression leaches all of the color out of my world. Literally: when I see pictures in my mind during this kind of episode they're in black and white, like old movies. And I see the things around me as just objects, unable to see the beauty in the details. My miniature horse becomes just a small animal, his delightful personality masked by the filter of my depression. My husband's smile is like a snapshot of a stranger; it evokes no gladness in my heart. All I see when I look at the baby squash in the garden is all the work ahead of me - canning, freezing, etc.

A lot of people think of depression as "the blues", but it goes much deeper than that. I don't feel sadness - I feel hardly anything at all except fleeting remorse that I can't function, can't meet the responsibilities I impose on myself and those I owe my loved ones. I seem to be capable of only two emotions: terror (due to the anxiety disorder I have in addition to bipolar) and hopelessness. Other than those I'm completely numb. I simply don't care about anything, even though I want to.

It's a horrible state of mind, one I simply can't cope with. The only way I have of living through it is to engage in escapist behavior. I read a lot, I become obsessive about learning about something new, I play PC games for hours on end. I have to distract my mind, keep myself from brooding, and physical activity just doesn't do it. Whatever I do to escape must involve my mind, and all of my mind at that.

I also eat a lot of chocolate, craving the endorphins it provides. No wonder I'm almost 100 pounds overweight.

I used to self-medicate with marijuana and booze, but the medications I'm on make the booze deadly and I don't have a source for pot right now. I find it very interesting that marijuana helps so much. I can function much better when I'm depressed if I get high. I think because being stoned creates a pleasant state of mind. It sort of overrides the numbness, replacing it with fascination, curiosity and the ability to find humor in the absurd. It brings back parts of me that I like. There's actually some research confirming the benefits of marijuana for bipolar sufferers, but I need to go find that study again before I can quote it.

I've learned in therapy to try to identify the triggers for my mood swings. Two big ones hit me in the last couple of weeks: serious money worries, and grief. Our only credit card got canceled (for bogus reasons, fuck you Chase bank) and I lost one of my cats. She just vanished, seemingly into thin air. The grief was almost unbearable; maybe the depression has its upside since the anguish I was feeling is now gone.

I will probably spend the rest of my life trying to find the right words to describe my state of being when I'm depressed. And when I'm manic. I'm not sure I'll ever find the accuracy I seek, but maybe each description will be a puzzle piece and at the end of my life those pieces will form that picture they say is worth a thousand words.

In the meantime, writing about the downside helps. Not so much now as later, when I'm trying to understand whatever it is I did (or didn't do) when I was depressed. It helps me identify triggers for the mood swings so I can hopefully avoid them or at least be forewarned that the depression/mania is likely. And if I do finally succeed at suicide when I'm depressed, maybe the words I leave behind will help the people I leave behind.

For now, though, I'm not suicidal. Just trying to live through this miserable state of mind, one minute at a time. Thanks for listening.