Today was the first time I have seen a medical doctor in just over a year. I never know whether I feel inundated with the system at large, or whether I am a disappearing digit in the monstrous machine? Having to re-recite the lifetime of physical and mental health issues gets old. I wish they would just pull the records and review them. I want them to know where I have been and I want to feel less like “just another patient before it’s time to clock out” patient who is more than the sum of my Birthday and Full Name. And; “by the way..what did you say the last 4 digits of your social was hun?”
Most of the time the panic going into a doctors’ office is overwhelming. I held my ground today. I rode a new bus route and saw a brand new doctor. I had blood drawn and got appropriately poked and prodded. Everyone was wonderful, cheerful, helpful and sympathetic to my need to be under regular medical care. That felt great. Helped to keep me focused on knowing I was safe.
On the other hand; in filling out all the paperwork and history feels so sterile. So wrote. So surreal. I’m trying to condense my life and the lives of my immediate family down into a 4 minute rundown. Pop, swish, scribble, scribble..and your 10 minutes are up. All that was before the doctor came.
Dr. Doris was wonderful, kind and gentle. And happy to see me take an active part in my care. I ask lots of questions. And today, I got right down to business. It also meant I had her ear, and time to cover my expectations and needs of being there.
So, out today for another step forward and a new bus route..yikes. then the office experience..boom freaked… boom high, boom kinda scary, boom mellow happy, boom, more bus, getting dark, safe and sound and feeling bounced.
Retiring with tea and a book comfortably medicated and feeling accomplished.
Here sits the life of being Bipolar.
Dulcimer and drum and having fun. Just dancing. Some days can be very god.
I’ve been a sad excuse for being an upright being over the last summer. Things just seemed to fly south losing my therapy hours for the Bipolar, and PTSD. County wouldn’t fund any more hours. Kind of lost my grip on things for a while. I’m still swinging, and trying to make the best of it. To go with the manic compulsions. That was the dancing day in November. The Harvest Faire at the local herb farm. Love spending time there. They are family..but…they aren’t..but yes, to me..They Are Family. Exactly what they are supposed to be. It was a wonderful day and I just let go. Just let it go.
So some several months have passed and all I can do is count the mornings I wake up and get to have another chance to do more, or maybe to do better. I really love summer time and spending time outside, and this spring/summer I have just holed up and shut down. Having those county hours sent me into a panic attack and they shipped me off to the Crisis Center. Felt like jail.
Month after that I in the hospital with a hemoglobin of 4.5 They wondered how I walked into the emergency room. So there I count some more. Five days in intensive care getting lots of transfused blood. And two more days after that. Was weeks before I started making blood again and started to gain some strength. More days lost.
So I swing. The attitude shifts, the confusion, the sadness, just so overwhelming. Bipolar is no fun. Some days I can feel the weirdness and understand that I’m not reading the situation sensibly. Do some more counting. 1,2,3…
Some things feels a bit better these last few weeks. I’d like to get back on track here. Really slack. Not even reading. Been really hard to look at. Accept. Admit. Really look at. So I guess counting the days till I can feel it on here instead of out here. XX
For the last couple of weeks I have just been trying to wrap my head around the thought that my state funded hours for therapy have run out. I don’t have a therapist anymore. And that scares me. She had become my greatest supporter. She helped me to stay on track. Showed me how to recognize some of my triggers and how to find ways to fight them. So, I worry what will happen to me now. I still got meds management. At least that is good.
But, I am distraught. I have lost my ground control. I have lost one more reason to step outside my door and venture out into the world. I don’t have to face riding the bus everyday and feeling the building anxiety of incoming panic attacks. But I rode that bus to prove to myself that there was at least one trigger I could conquer. Even that is not totally true. A few weeks ago I totally freaked out. I saw someone, and it triggered a flashback. The panic set in fast. The cold sweats, the quaking, the nausea, and the fear. I heard the ding for a bus stop and I dove off the bus to the curb and vomited until I was spent and empty. I had no idea where I was. All I could see was ‘that man’ hovering over me…starring..oogling. And it wasn’t real. Noone was there. Just me. If I opened my eyes, there he was. I crawled my way over to the bus stop bench and curled into a ball sobbing, waiting for it to stop. A couple of buses came and went. I just lay there, paralyzed. Afraid.I don’t know how long it took me to gather my senses..an hour at least, and then I got onto another bus. I was determined to get to my therapy session. The same thing happened again. Triggered. Again I lay on the side of the road with traffic zooming by, bicyclists rolling by, and a jogger, too. Noone stopped. I staggered across the street into the shade and lay down. I drank some water. And I quaked, eyes squeezed shut against the panic and terror. I found my cell phone, and thank goodness for speed dial. My therapist is #1. Pretty easy. Then I called my husband at work. He came and got me and took me to my therapy session where they called an ambulance. The mental health hospital wouldn’t take me. The crisis center told me to take a clonapam and go lay down somewhere quiet. I was hallucinating! I couldn’t open my eyes without seeing his face looming over me. A face that had molested me, harassed me, and made me afraid on buses. This time I just can’t seem to get past it. There is noone to sort it out with. No therapist. No funding. No insurance. No hope.
I just want to sleep tonight. And I can’t. Tonight I am haunted by that face….still.I’m afraid to sleep for fear of dreaming. The night terrors are horrible. I feel pressed into the bed, unable to open my eyes to stop the terror. Helpless. Suffocating.
I sometimes think I just want to sleep and never wake up.