BIPOLAR BLOG

“I am tired of hiding, tired of misspent and knotted energies, tired of the hypocrisy, and tired of acting as though I have something to hide.” 
― Kay Redfield Jamison, An Unquiet Mind: A Memoir of Moods and Madness

Quote for the day...

“He who has a why to live for can bear almost any how.” 
― Friedrich Nietzsche

Bipolar Journal Entries from the Past

Bipolar Journal Entries from the Past

February 15, 2005

I guess everyone has their own reality that they have to face, that they have to live with day in and day out, for the rest of their lives. Whether it’s the result of past choices, something that has come up by chance, or something genetic… the fact of the matter is… that they alone have to live with it.

Some days I am quite alright with it, my craziness. As new and as big as it seems, some days I am… I am fine. Other days… it just overwhelms me to the point of, well almost an anxiety attack, or an emotional breakdown. 

Some days I don’t really believe that the “me” now; and the “me” that tried to kill herself in those early days of this diagnosis, or the “me” that went to the hospital 3 times since April of 2004, or the “me” that has had to change meds so many times, or the “me” that had to up and leave college along with my boyfriend, husky puppy… the “me” that had to leave her entire life and has been totally out of school since March 2004…

Seriously, some days… I really do not believe that the “me” now and that other “me” are the same person. There are times that I almost convince myself that I’m not…  that it’s not…  and that this is not really real, and for minutes at a time I actually believe it. Those minutes are are filled with such hope, and such pain. In those moments it feels as if any second I may wake up, and be back home with my boys (my husky puppy and boyfriend) in that quiet little mountain town I have grown to love so much and call home.

But unfortunately for me, my reality is medicine in the morning, noon, and night… scars on my wrists, no friends by my side, memories in my mind, and a longing in my heart that will weigh on me for the rest of my life I am afraid.

Reflection: October 18, 2011

“everyone has their own reality that they have to face, that they have to live with day in and day out, for the rest of their lives. Whether it’s the result of past choices, something that has come up by chance, or something genetic… the fact of the matter is… that they alone have to live with it.”

They alone, have to face this in the mirror each and every morning. They alone, must face the day wearing this “badge” on their sleeve. And they alone, will try to sleep at night with this weight on their soul. 

For those that left their side when they needed someone the most, know that they have succeeded without you. And for those that gave them support, know that they could not have succeeded without you.

But knowing that no one else can carry them through their day to day was what propelled them forward to where they are now. No one else could give them the courage to fight this illness, and no one else could give them the strength to endure all that it may possibly bring. 

On their journey to wellness they will come to the realization that they alone can beat their illness, and it is this realization that will set them free. 

Thank you Eleanor...

"You gain strength, courage, and confidence by every experience in which you really stop to look fear in the face... you must do the thing you cannot do..." -Eleanor Roosevelt

Psych Patient vs. Psych Nursing

So nursing school has pretty much taken over my life. I have not even had time to think about writing on my little blog here. But now I feel I need some sort of outlet for all the things that my psych nursing course is stirring up. Which is why writing has become a priority again, and hopefully will help me make it through this course while keeping a clear head.
I know I am not the first person/ nursing student to have had severe bipolar, or to have gone through ECT treatments, and I surely am not the last. But that doesn't make this journey any less... I'm only two classes into my psych nursing course and already have bitten all of my nails off, and nearly bounced myself out of my desk due to my anxiety level. Not good considering I am wanting to become a psych nurse. No one in my class or even at the school knows what I have gone through. It is so frustrating, wanting to stand up in class and tell everyone about my disorder and journey to wellness just so that they possibly may not add to the stigma of mental illness. But I know I will never do anything of the sort simply because of the stigma. My story would not change any of the jokes that the other students make, or the things they laugh at... All that would result is that they would then be making jokes and laughing at my expense.
Some of the questions others ask in class are so ignorant I want to scream! But again, that would just support their misconceptions of those with mental illnesses.
The entire reason I even want to become a nurse is so that I can help at least one person along their journey to wellness like so many nurses have helped me. My desire to  make that journey a bit smoother for someone else most definitely outweighs any anxiety I am experiencing. I know that all of the hard work, stress, and anxiety from nursing school will be all worth it one day.

Real Addiction

“GROUP!!! GROOOUP!!! GROUP TIME EVERYBODY!!!  SAME ROOM AS YESTERDAY…” This scrawny black guy, wearing scrubs like he is a nurse, but he’s really only a tech, yells through the hall. His voice gets louder and more annoying as he makes his way to my room. His smug ugly face peers through the crack in the doorway, and starts talking at me- me who is lying face down in my pillow: “Come on ladies group time… ”

…What the fuck is group? Who the fuck is he to tell me what I have to do? “I’m not going.” I mumble.

“Everyone has to go to group Jessica.” He says, acting like he owns the place, and leaves.

I hear my roommate head for the door. “Hey Jessie,” she says, mispronouncing my name. It’s Jessica you cunt.

“If you go to group you can get out of here faster… trust me I know.”

Ha. Ironic; advice coming from a skinny crack head. Her skin looks like an old worn out baseball glove. And her hair, well she either needs to finally admit to herself that she is not a blonde or seriously consider getting her 4 inch roots done as soon as possible. But even still, that would not help her much…

“How old are you Jessie?” She asks.

“It’s Jessica.” I say.

“Yeah, that’s what I said Jessie… soooo… how old are ya?”

“23. And it’s Jessica.” I sit up in my bed “NOT Jessie. JESSICA. Three syllables. Got it?” I can’t even look at her anymore. I feel like I may vomit.

“Mmhmm, sure thing Jessie.” She says, obviously not listening, or is simply too ignorant to get the difference, and heads out to the hallway.

I follow her out of the room, and down the hallway where I continue on, trying to make her say my name correctly, which I see is a lost cause. Then I realize I’m actually heading for this group thing.

What’s the harm, I suppose I can just sit there and see what it’s all about anyway. And if it actually does help me get out sooner, then hell, I’ll do it. My psychiatrist and mom say the stay is only going to be for the weekend. Today is Friday… so at most I’ll have 2 more days in this hell hole.

I don’t know if I will make it that long though. These people are fucked.

I walk into the room. I look at the two people in front of me, - a real life cowboy and Malibu Barbie! But why would Malibu Barbie be in this shit hole? She would go to a place that gives a mani-pedi-facial treatment rather than “GROUP”. 
And the patio wouldn’t smell like an overflowing ashtray.

This place is so ghetto.

The group room is the size of a cubicle, with two brown scuffed up, fold out cafeteria tables. And brown fold up metal chairs lining the walls.  Why are there so may chairs? Do they seriously think that this many people are going to come in this tiny little room?

“Come on, pull up a chair.” A skinny man with white hair and hippy clothes says.

I suppose this is the guy running this thing. He seems alright. I think he’s a priest. He’s wearing that little collar. Maybe he is just that confused and likes to dress up like that. Who knows in this place… not me.

“So. Now we’re going to go around the room and say our first name, and why we are here. I’ll start. My name is Father Tim. I am often the one here at Focus that runs these meetings. I also hold mass on Sundays in the cafeteria. And… I am a recovering alcoholic.”

…Hold on, what did he just say? He’s a… what? What the hell is going on?

“Hi, my name is Wendy, and I’m an alcoholic.”

“Hiiiiii Weeeendy,” the room murmers.

…God dammit, shut the fuck up people. I got scammed into coming to an AA meeting.  I’m not an alcoholic though…

“Hi, my name is Jon, and I’m a heroin addict.”

…I’m not even addicted to drugs. There is a total difference here between doing shit occasionally and being in this 12 step bull shit…

“Hiiii Joooon.”

 “Hi, my name is Sam. And uhm, I’m addicted to marijuana.”

“Hiiii Saaaaam.”

…Get the fuck out of here, that shit is not addictive, try a real drug. Pansy. And who says that, MARIJUANA. No one says that, no one that really smokes, unless you are like 60, and still say shit like far out dude or sooo groovy.

“Hi, my name is James, and I’m…”

A crack head… come on say it.

“I’m addicted to crack.”

 Damn I’m good, maybe I’m fucking psychic. That could be cool…

“Good. Keep going around the room just like you are. I have to step out for a moment. I’ll be right back,” explains Father Tim.

Oh, great…

“Hi.” Here goes Malibu Barbie.

“My name is Kimberly…”

You know she likes the coke.

“And I’m addicted to…”

I will shit if she says COCAINE. Like pot-hea… oh no sorry marijuana-head over there…

“I’m addicted to cocaine.” Ahaha I fucking knew it. Yeah Barbie, no worries, who wouldn’t be addicted to that shit. It’s cool. Been there done that. If I can get off that shit anyone can. It’s not too tough. This crazy shit is much harder to deal with. But seriously, no one says that shit. It’s COKE Kimberly! Not COCAINE. Wasn’t Kimberly the name of barbie’s best friend? I swear it was something like… Oh fucking shit, I’m next. What the fuck am I going to say? Why am I even on this druggie side? I shouldn’t be here, I shouldn’t be here, I shouldn’t be here.

“Hi, uhmmm… My name… uhmmm.”

Across the table is Barbie’s BFF. She is nodding with so much anticipation that she looks more like Malibu bobble head than Malibu Barbie right now… Did I say my part yet? What is my part? AAAaaaahhh!!! I shouldn’t be here. “I shouldn’t be here.” FUCK, I said that outloud. Here it comes…

“Wale, whut’s yur name daarrrrlin? Just start wit that,” says the cowboy from the head of the table.

That was not what I was expecting. “Uhmmm, Jessica.” Fuck, now what? Just wait til he asks you another easy question… wait for it… wait for it…

“Now, why shouldn’t ya be heer daarrrlin?” I said easy, that one wasn’t easy. Shit Jess, your losing your psychic powers. Now how will we make it through this?

“Well, I was supposed to go on the other side, the psychiatric side but I was like, going to fail the drug test when I came in, and when they asked me I, like, told them straight up sorta, so I don’t really like  remember much from my intake I was like really manic and I’m not supposed to be here. I’m supposed to be on the otherside…”

“Slooow down daarrrlin, nuuuun uh us folks er s’posed to be heer, we s’posed tuh be out theer…”

Can he talk any slower? I may scream if he doesn’t talk faster. He is worse than Trill’s dad, Pa. And I can’t even understand Pa. Trill has to translate for me. I miss her and the girls. I should call them from here. Maybe they can come down and break me out of here and take me back up to NC. I miss it up there so much. I hate it down here, where ever I am. I don’t even know where I am. I know there is an airport nearby. I saw some Cessna planes like Dad’s flying over me when I was outside before group. Shit I’m still in group…

“I’m not an addict, and I’m not an alcoholic. To be addicted to something it must interfere with your life or your ability to accomplish day to day things.” I finally say.

“Well, do you drink?” asks my crack head roomie.”

…Well fucking DUH!

“Yeah, occasionally, but I’m in college. Isn’t that what you are supposed to do when you are in college? But it doesn’t interfere with the stuff I have to do. And I don’t have to drink; I can stop if I wanted to.”

The room begins to mumble under their breath like I can’t hear them

“She’s in denial, the first step sweetheart; she needs to admit it…”

I’m guessing that was the wrong thing to say in a room full of people that can’t quit if they wanted to. But I don’t want to, it’s fun, and I’m young. What else would I do at night?

“What about drugs, you said you were goin’ to fail the intake test?” The longer they sit and mumble as if I were deaf the more I get annoyed, so I blurt out

“PASS.”

“You can’t pass, Miss Jessica,” announces Father Tim, as he pokes his head in on us for a millisecond. 

Noooo wait. Father… please come back. They’re going to eat me alive!!!!

Ugh. “Fine… I guess you could, possibly, like, say that I am maybe kinda addicted to… mania.”

“What?” “What is that?” “That’s not a drug!!!” “Drinkin or druggin or get out.” “Are you mocking us?”

Aaaaaahhhhh! bLA BLa bLA bLA!!! BLA bLA bLA bLA bLA!!! bLA bLA bLA!!! bLA bLa bLA bLa!!! That’s all I hear from the whole room.

“It’s when I’m manic, that’s the only thing I can like think of that I cannot quit on my own that I need like help with.” 
Malibu Barbie shouts, “That’s not a real addiction! Boooo! Next please!” yes, yes, yes… NEXT please! Dear gawd! PLEASE!!!


“I agree, NEXT!”

“Hi, my name is Bobby…”

How dare they! I gave it my best shot. Did I really just get boo’d off the stage by a bunch of addicts? I was rejected by a group of rejects. How fucking ironic… How fucking dare they!!! I tried to explain that I was not supposed to be here, I’m not. I need to be on the other side, learning how to deal and get over this mania. I can’t take this bull shit. I am never getting roped into going to group again.

They totally lied.

It’s not a therapy group it’s a fucking AA/NA meeting of people that have the smallest brains and least amount of consideration for others that I have ever met!!!

Fuck, is it hot in here.

Why does everyone keep looking at me and rolling their eyes? If they only knew what I really thought of them, these people are such assholes.

That’s fine. Fuck them. I don’t need this shit anyways. I’m going to get better and these people are going to still be crying over how much they miss their bottle or needle.

Group sucks, fuck this.

I’m outie!

Blurry Coma Memory

We are nearing the end of March, and it is almost exactly 4 years since I last attempted to kill myself. It seems like an eternity ago, but that is far from accurate. I still to this day have no recollection of the entire day leading up to my hospitalization, my actual attempt, and much of what happens after my coma. It used to be that every night as I lie in bed trying to fall asleep I would rack my brain in search of any memory or even a glimpse of what I may have done, or been thinking that day, but nothing ever has come to me. I can now see things as a very vague and old revisited dream based solely on what I have been told and from the few memories I do have of when I came to after my coma.

As I look around the room I cannot recognize a single thing or a single person. I can feel myself frantically blinking trying to clear my blurry vision but nothing seems to help. I feel as if the weight of a thousand elephants is pressing on my chest. The heaviness in my lungs is almost unbearable. My chest burns to the point that I want to flail around and scream at the top of my lungs in pain as if I were burning in flames from the inside out. But when I think of moving nothing happens. “Move your right hand. Move your right hand. FUCK!!!! MOVE YOUR RIGHT HAND!!!” But nothing happens. I am so extremely parched that there are no words to describe what I would do for a sip of water right now. My mouth feels as if each surface was a piece of sandpaper. As I try to close my mouth to swallow in an effort to reduce my aching thirst I feel that my mouth will not close, my tongue is pressed down, and as I attempt to swallow I can feel myself gagging. I think to myself “Wow I am really fucking thirsty if it is to the point that it makes me gag.” But as I try to maneuver my tongue to push out this thing I feel in my mouth, again there is the sensation of gagging. “Ok, seriously what the fuck is going on here!” “I can’t see, I can’t move… What about talking, can I talk?” My attempt at talking was quite pathetic. Every time I would see something around me move, I would give everything I had in making an effort to say “Hey.” But I would not hear anything. “Ok, I know what this is, I know what is going on, it’s one of those totally fucked up dreams where you are paralyzed and can’t move. I hate these dreams. But why does my chest hurt so badly?” Instead some lady with nasty ass bangs and stringy hair came over to me and was I swear about ½ and inch from my face. This was nice it was the first person I was able to see or even was able to realize that it was a person. I later overheard someone say something about pneumonia. “Oh, that’s it. I must have really bad pneumonia that is probably why my chest is hurting, and I am guessing I am in a hospital, that is probably why I do not recognize a single thing.” So I try to swallow again and immediately have the sense of gagging. But this time to my surprise, my arm moves. It moves toward my face and then to my mouth and attempt to pull on whatever is consistently making me gag when I swallow.  I did not even get to touch whatever it was in my mouth before there were a swarm of people on me holding me down and in slow motion I see this needle with a full shot of some sort of fluid go straight down toward my right collarbone. Then this tingly float-y feeling and it was lights out for me. 

Bipolar Time Warp

Rip Van Winkle theory

It has been 7 years since I was first diagnosed with bipolar. But only 2 years since I underwent 9 ECT treatments. I have never felt as balanced as I do now, in my entire life. “Thank gawd for electricity.” But since I’ve come back to reality, I have noticed something. I seem to be about 6 to 7 years behind where I am supposed to be in more than one aspect of life. I have mostly noticed with the company I keep, or don’t keep would be more accurate. I seem to be lacking in the area of close girlfriends. Mine all left at the first sign of trouble with this bipolar thing. Same goes with the guys… I had a serious boyfriend before and during this bipolar thing began, and he left too, about 5 years ago. And I just don’t have much of anything in common with most people my age anymore. Everyone my age seems so grown up, and I’m so… well… not. 

Needless to say, all things happen for a reason. Now I have a wonderful boyfriend. He just happens to be about 6 years younger than me. As are all the people I tend to surround myself with at school. School, another thing most people at my age have finished and started careers. But I have a bit of time to make up.

Well a few weeks ago I was at the psychiatrist for my 3 month appointment. This is a drastic change from when I had to go two to three times a week. My last appointment was an awesomely uneventful appointment. There was nothing to report, and no meds to change. Now my appointments go more along the lines of a casual conversation you have when you ask “so, what’s new with you?” Rather than discussing my most recent manic episode, new side effects, or my long list of bipolar signs and symptoms.

While talking we got onto subject of me playing catch up in life, and having younger boyfriend who’s age coincides with the same amount of time I was so ill. I told him I had noticed this with many of the people in my life now… He said he calls that his Rip Van Winkle theory. I thought how brilliant, absolutely brilliant. That perfectly explains this. So, for those of you not so familiar with the story here is a very general summary.

The story of Rip Van Winkle takes place during the years before and after the American Revolutionary War. Rip, was a colonial British-American villager. He was a regular guy who enjoyed solitary activities in the wilderness. He had this tendency to avoid all professional labor, despite his wife’s constant nagging. Because of this his home and farm were pretty much falling apart.

So Rip went and tried to escape his wife's nagging, by heading up the mountain with his dog, Wolf. Then there was this other guy calling Rip’s name… This guy was carrying a keg up the mountain, and needed Rip's help. So, the two of them hike up the mountain to where there is a group guys. Somehow these guys know Rip’s name too. Rip drinks some of the guys’ liquor and falls asleep. 

When he wakes up his dog is gone, his beard is long, and his gun is rusty. Rip goes back down the mountain to the village and notices that he doesn’t recognize anyone. He finds out that his wife died, along with most everyone else. Rip doesn’t know that the American Revolution has taken place and that George Washington is in charge of things now. And now there is this other guy being called Rip Van Winkle who actually is his son, but all grown up.

As it turns out the guys up on the mountain were the ghosts of Henry Hudson’s crew. So Rip had been “asleep” and away from the village for like 20 years. So basically, Rip picks things up in life right where he left off about 20 years ago. 

Another Manic Night: 2005

All is quiet in the house, just as it should be; everyone is asleep, except me, like usual. I’m going on five days now, or is it six? If it’s three something in the morning do you count it as the next day or do you still count it as the night of the previous day when you are trying to keep count.

I am so incredibly exhausted.

Every muscle in my body is tense. I swear not a single muscle has had a single moment of relaxation in over a week. My eyes are bulging out of their sockets. They have been open as wide as possible for as long as I can remember, just as if someone has been holding them open all this time. When I try to close them all I see are strange flashes of light in neon colors. The flashes are so distorted that I try to make out what they are but can’t because it is too painful to look at the random images I see with my eyes shut, the contrast of black and neon makes the flashes so incredibly bright. This is ridiculous, its hurts to keep my eyes shut.

My stomach is burning. Much like the feeling you get in your throat from the carbonation when you drink a soda entirely too fast, only multiplied by like a zillion. When I sit in an attempt to relax, if I can even sit in one place for any amount of time, my legs are running a race against each other it seems. Both feet arched with the balls of my feet pressed firmly on the ground. Bouncing both of my legs faster and faster, as the left one is bouncing trying to bounce faster than the right, then the right leg trying to go faster than the left, imagine the calories I must be burning.

There is this disturbing feeling of guilt for hating everyone that is so peacefully asleep as they should be. I know I have done nothing wrong, but it sure feels as if I had.  For some reason the quiet hours of the night that slowly turn into morning, they are the loneliest and hardest to make it through, especially when I’m alone.  As I see the sun coming through the window my eyes begin to hurt, and I begin to cry, another sleepless night has passed making it six, when will this end?

That was a journal entry of mine from March 5, 2005. It was between hospital visits, and I had come down from NC to stay with my parents in FL until I could get well enough to go back up to my life in NC again. If I remember correctly this stretch of sleepless nights was not the longest I had been awake due to mania. I think the longest may have been nine or ten days. After a certain point it's impossible to keep the days apart.

I still worry that nights like that will return. Especially now with the schedule I am keeping because of nursing school. It's a constant source of stress for me. Everyone struggles with a sleepless night here and there, but when you have bipolar a sleepless night can trigger a cascade of symptoms that will make even the most balanced person become unstable again. 

And my asking, when will this end... well that's the thing about the stretches of manic sleepless nights, they always come to an end, a crashing end. Cycles are simply the nature of manic depression. I used to try and make it seem like things weren't so bad when I was on a manic stretch by joking with my parents and saying, what goes up must come down.  

Excuse My Mania

BEFORE DAWN

It’s dark out still

But for me it’s the birth of a newday

Between the highs…

Between the lows…

I will try to fall somewhere between the lines

On a good day my goal is met,

Between the lines I fall.

On a bad day I fall from the highs;

Just as quickly as the flicking of a switch.

To whom this may concern:

Please excuse Jessica from class today, for she is swinging from the highs and lows as if they were trees, and if you catch her in between, please tell her how things have been.

In high school if I was absent from a class it was necessary to have a note signed by a parent stating why you were absent. Usually, my parents were unaware of the fact that I had even missed class, so it was actually me writing the readmits. Whether I had crashed due to exhaustion from not sleeping the previous 3 nights, or if I was manic-ly moving at the speed of light through my hectic high school schedule, the writing of readmits was a regular weekly event. Not aware of the underlying reason for my truancy at that time this habit continued into college and was so cyclic that it could easily be predicted. If only life were as simple as having my mother write a readmit for the day to excuse my mania.

Yesterday... to Today...

WHAT’S GOING ON?

6-14-04 FLASHING CONSPIRACY

Well it is lights out at Focus, and I am wired and racing and I can’t slow down. I am tired, I truly am. This is the part that I hate; the part of no sleep. Is it the caffeine? My intake has been no different, who knows. The excitement of a breakthrough! There has been no breakthrough.

All of me is pulsing. Pulsing so hard I feel like a bass speaker at a motherfucking rave. And my organs are going to bounce right out of me. But at the same time a tingling sensation is radiating through my body from my core to my extremities and then to the tips of my fingers and toes; over and over and over, and back again. There is a big pit in the bottom of my stomach, and a burning that just won’t quit, as if I had been starved for more than a year, I cannot swallow, I feel as if there are two golf balls in my throat. 

This is me. This is me awake and manic and miserable my first night at this hospital.

I am not sure why but every time I close my eyes I see flashes of this abstract shape, sort of like a bean stalk but without the beans and with some sort of horizontal crescents going up and down the stalk. It’s no wonder that I cannot sleep.

It is something along the lines of that sketch. I don’t know where these things are coming from. It’s appearing like a flash of lightning, and then it is gone, but it is happening over and over again very, very rapidly. Am I tripping off these new fucking meds? Did they drug me so that I am having fucking hallucinations so they have a fucking reason to hold me here longer? It must be some sort of conspiracy against the new patients like me. FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! What am I going to do? I suppose as long as I do not tell anyone of this ever happening then they will have no real reason to keep me here. Or maybe this is real? Oh god I am so confused, the lack of sleep is really starting to fuck with my head.

2-24-2011

That was a very frantic, paranoid, and panicked journal entry I had written during my first of many sleepless nights in the psychiatric hospital. 

  

6 years later, here I am, in the middle of my first term as a nursing student.

“I can hardly believe it.” 

Since beginning the actual nursing program this past January, I’ve had these “Oh My Gawd I’m really here and doing this” kinda moments. And they come, of course, at some of the most inopportune times. 

For instance, last Wednesday, while I’m in the middle of my first timed, Nursing Techniques Simulation Exam I totally froze. Not because I didn’t know what I was doing, but I was in disbelief that I had actually made it to that exact moment in my life. After all that I’ve unknowingly gone through in high school, and especially in college on the road to learning of and living with this bipolar crap… Like all my major changes at Lees McRae… First semester, sports medicine; second semester, psychology; third semester, accidentally finding business as a major, and excelling… but then having to quit collegiate soccer and losing my scholarship. It goes on, transferring to AppState, losing nearly all my credits the first time, retaking almost half of my business courses, changing my major to management, to marketing, withdrawing from Appstate the first time, going back to Appstate, withdrawing again and being forced to move back to FL and in with my parents from living on my own in NC. Transferring to FSCJ, changing major to nursing, beginning prerequisites for any and all FL nursing programs that may accept me, withdrawing from FSCJ, going back, withdrawing, going back, withdrawing… 

And sprinkled somewhere throughout all of this madness there were Psychiatrists, therapists, over 10 psychiatric hospitalizations, numerous therapy sessions, uncountable med changes, devastating physical, emotional, and life changes, some so drastic that even more therapy was needed to alleviate the 'oh so lovely' stages of grief that accompanied nearly  every aspect of this manic depressive roller coaster.

This hardly gives light to the many detours of my life. So here I am in my simulation exam. I was to give a subQ and IM injection as well as demonstrate a sterile CVL dressing change. So, I’m somewhere between my subQ and IM injections... I finish talking through and successfully demonstrating the subcutaneous injection of heparin on this mannequin and injection pad as my mind goes blank while I’m still holding the needle. I completely freeze, with my clinical instructor’s eyes watching my every move, and waiting for me to continue. But my mind is miles away for what seems like a very long time, but really it is only maybe 3 seconds, if even. I mentally relive the roller coaster ride, known as my life, in a flash. I then, answer myself in my head as I very slowly set down the needle… “Yes, you are here and you are doing this…” I stall mumbling “uhm… uhm…” and begin reorganizing my thought process as I am simultaneously reorganizing my supplies on the bedside table. “One down and two to go, can you believe it?” asks my instructor. I say, “No, I really can’t.” as I think to myself, wow, that was close. She really has no idea of my level of disbelief right now.

My level of disbelief went up when my instructor stated that I received a perfect score for the entire simulation. It's hard to think of where I was only a few years ago, and where I am today, which is one step closer to being able to give back to others what so many have given to me on my journey to wellness. For this I am eternally grateful. 

DAY BY DAY

DAY BY DAY

Heavens knows I’ve tried many times to leave this godforsaken earth.

But heaven has its own plan and keeps sending me back almost to rebirth.

It’s hard to start from scratch when you’re 24 like me.

Everyone watches me like a hawk in fear that I’ll hurt me.

But my soul tells me that I’m okay and everything else will be too.

Right now it’s hard for them to see because they can’t take a walk in my shoes.

It’s a fickle thing the lives we lead going day by day.

But now day by day is all I know so there is not much more to say.

I wrote that about 5 years ago... Not knowing at the time that at age 26 I would nearly pull it off. But it was that very experience that has led me to where I am today. 

Today, at age 29,  I am 5 weeks in to my first term of nursing school working toward an A.S. degree. Hoping with all my heart that what I have gone through during my road to wellness can be put to some use.
I hope that I am able to make it through nursing school and become an RN, eventually helping at least one person avoid riding that same roller coaster as I did. I want to do for others what the wonderful nurses along my journey have done for me. Which not only includes helping someone to find wellness, but helping them to find the courage, confidence, and strength to continue to fight and over come their illness.
So now, day by day, I navigate through my newly found wellness and through all the new things life brings, such as nursing school. So here is to the past, the present, and the future... and to taking it day by day.

Motto of the day

“Act As If!”