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Monday, August 09, 2004

Another BP blog

Found another one. This is written by a partner of a woman with BP. It's really quite fascinating to read some of the thoughts and frustrations....

oops - be right back - my wrist watch alarm's gone off for my Seroquel...And since I missed this morning's Epival and doubled that up at dinner, I better not be off with this. I'll be screwed for days.

ok...Where was I?

This new blog I found (new to me, that is) gives me a glimpse of some of the frustrations, rewards, just the inner voice of one woman who is the partner of a woman with BP. I know that she and Rob and different people, and from reading the blog briefly, it seems that the partner with BP ("K", funny, that....That's my initial as well) also has had a near fatal heart attack last year, so that's a layer of worry and tension that Rob doesn't have. But he did have to deal with my involuntary committal last year. The anniversary of that is coming up and I can sense it approaching on my periphery and it's an uncomfortable feeling.

You know, I drive by that hospital every day on my way from work. And I actually drive by my room. And every freakin' day I look over and picture myself curled in a ball sitting on the window ledge looking out.

It seems so long ago.

And it seems, some days, so easy to just let the floor fall from under me and plummet there again. But I have to remind myself, sometimes daily, how Adam and Rob both count on me. I can't be selfish or self-absorbed (or at least limit it - it seems sometimes that BP comes with an automatic "I'm the centre of the universe" dial that never goes quite down to zero). Deep depression, with its debilitating self-loathing, believe it or not, falls into that category as well. Self-loathing requires a huge amount of concentration on the self, to flay and skewer every aspect of the self - it's an enormous undertaking. And perhaps that's why depressives can't do much - their internal energy is sapped by this destructive egocentrism.

Now me...I don't get depressed. I get manic, and I get mixed. People who haven't experienced it really can't understand what a mixed state is like. It's hell, quite frankly. You have the excessive exuberant energy of mania, but the vile bilious self-destructive spiral of depression. Depressives rarely suicide - they don't have the energy. For a person with bipolar disorder, a mixed state is the most dangerous: it is the time of the highest suicide percentage. I can tell when I'm heading there because I'll be driving down the highway, feeling shaky, like a wire thrumming, or like I've had too much caffeine and don't know what to do, and from the clear sky comes a HUGE desire to drive into a bridge abutment. Today was the first day I could trust myself to remove the letter opener from my desk that someone put there two weeks ago. I kept eyeing it. It's double edged and double serated, and comes to quite a point at the end. The past week or so I've been skirting a mixed episode. Today is better. Today I moved it to the photocopier area where it belonged.

My after work runs are getting better. I'm hoping that if I can string together a few more, I can extend it a bit. I want to see if I can make a dent in this damned 20 lbs the BP meds have added. I am also extremely concerned about the Pdoc appt next week. He's done another blood test on the Epival and I'm afraid he's going to raise it again. I'm so sick of meds. If I was alone, I'd quit them, but I can't - Rob would be so angry. He knows it's the only things keeping me alive and has been through so much, he'd be furious at being put in that situation again. He has said that he couldn't take it again, seeing me in hospital and unable to leave. The poor guy's been through so much.


Time to get Adam into the shower. There's a challenge for everyone - get a 13 year old boy to take a shower. Mind you, it is getting easier. Puberty does have its advantages.

Later gator.

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