When You Least Expect It...

I was talking to a friend maybe 3 weeks or so ago, give or take, and I said, completely without thinking about it, "There still might be something there, eventually, but in the meantime, it's his loss. I need to start looking, because I have something to offer someone." Or as I like to put it (there's a cute story behind it for another time) "Some Guy."

If I was someone who gasped, I would have let out a gasp right then. Who is this person uttering those words, "I have something to offer someone"? Not me. Not the person who used to sit in her room and cry because no one would ever love her. Not the person who used to think using a chair made her a burden. Not the person who has been consumed with apathy for well over a year. Not the person who always uses her failures as data to prove she's always going to be a failure. (THANKS former shrink!)

But yet I can't deny the fact that I did say it, when I least expected it. "...it's his loss. I need to start looking, because I have something to offer someone (Some Guy)." Where that sudden burst of self-esteem came from I might never know, but it gives me some hope that maybe over all these years I've made some progress somewhere.

Now if only I could make some progress in the laundry/dishes department I might get my life somewhere...

Triggers

Thursday I participated in market research. I watched some TV commercials for a website that hasn't yet been launched, and answered questions about them. It was just one hour, and I was compensated with a $100 visa gift card. Easiest $100 I ever made!

They said to turn your phones off. I put mine on vibrate. When we were just about wrapping up, someone's phone went off.

They said to turn your phones off! I thought

Then I thought

Maybe her ride is here.

Then I thought

Maybe that's an alarm.

Then I thought

Shit! I never took my meds today! and immdeiately reached for my keys to get them...

On Privilege Part 3 I think

I wanted to write about this 2 weeks ago, and am getting to it on the eve of a much needed massage appt. I said in an earlier post that I probably wouldn't write about the national action, but I guess in a sense I am. National actions are generally painful for a lot of people. I can't speak for other disabilities, but with CP, a chronic pain condition, being out all day with limited positioning options for days at a time in unpredictable weather can increase spasticity to the point of being near tears.

I stayed in a room with 2 other people with CP and a PA. I of course was in some pain, but I'm not sure I mentioned it. I'm in pain everyday; if I mentioned it to people everyday I'd be such a debbie downer! However, unlike a former friend, I do sometimes, and don't look down on other people who feel the need. I'll most likely empathize with you. And complain with you if your doctor is an idiot. If certain anti-spasticity pills aren't working and cause side effects you don't like, try something else! Although I don't know whether or not this person asked...

Anyway, I feel privileged that I know how my body works; that I ask questions frequently and can make decisions that benefit me. I feel for the people that either cannot, or do not know how. I empathized with the person who told me she was in pain. "My hips hurt. It hurts all the way from my hip to my ribs, and I know I didn't walk at all..." She was having the bad kind of muscle spasms, the kind that pulse if you know what I mean; the kind that make me actually cry.

"Well of course you're hips hurt! (and of course your ribs hurt I thought in my head) They hurt because your not walking!"

She was in shock that I said such a thing; that I could respond that way. I'm the first person who ever has. Apparently everyone else says "but you weren't even walking!" Except I know that your hip flexors attach to your pelvis and then cross under your abs diagonally and attach part way up your spine. I also know that the back my chair, unlike most peoples, has the ability to shift from a 90 degree angle all the way to 180 degrees flat, and is drivable up to 125 degrees, allowing me to change the position of my hips back and forth throughout the day. Most people have tilt, which counteracts gravity or some such thing, but doesn't change the way your body is bent. Your head goes closer to the floor, your feet go up in the air, but your back and your hips are bent the same way all day. I'll wait while you come to a logical conclusion...

Which brings me to my massage. I'm privileged enough that I have control of 42% of my income, and I'm privileged enough that I have a total income that is over 300% of SSI. A lot of disabled people don't have incomes that high and don't have any control over the little that they do have. I'm privileged enough that as of July when I started working I have a 15% increase in my income and that I don't have to use it on food, clothing, or shelter. I'm privileged enough and educated enough to be able to use this extra resource to pay for non-reimbursable medical expenses. Not everyone can get all they need. For a long time I couldn't, but now I can.

Depending on how you look at my monthly expenses, I spend half of my paycheck every month on massage appointments. I don't view it that way. I view it as 10%, as I shifted money from other things to cover it, but it comes to 7.5% of my income either way you look at it. It would be 45% of an SSI check.

I'm privileged enough that I know how to use the internet, can research and ask questions, and was able to find a massage therapist who is walking distance from my apartment -- she's not even a block! I don't have to deal with paratransit to get there! I'm privileged enough that she treats me sliding scale, and that we didn't have to have an awkward conversation about it.

I'm privileged enough that I was able to schedule a massage appointment 24hrs before I left for DC, and less then an hr after I got home. I was lucky enough to not be in nearly as much pain as I was in the fall, and wanted so badly to give this person my appointment. Except her group home controls all of her money, and I've never met a massage therapist that would treat someone for free. It's exhausting work, and imagine what would happen if that got out! Plus this person lives aprox 20mi away, and paratransit's a bitch!

And so I sit here contemplating my privilege once again, and once again I feel guilty about it. I'm a "have" who knows way too many "have nots." This isn't a luxury. It's a necessity and an injustice.

"It isn't visitable"

I've been trying to get online to write this for a few days. On Thurs I came back from my 6th ADAPT National Action in DC (which I'm pretty sure I won't write about, so here are the official action reports) dropped my stuff off in my living room, and left again. I had 2 appointments and somehow managed to time things perfectly. My 2nd appointment was with my new art therapist, which might have been a mistake, because anyone who has ever been to a national action knows it's impossible to focus your brain on anything else over the next few days, other then how much we kicked ass (non-violently of course). She might have thought I was manic, I dunno.

Anyway, a standard activity to start art therapy with is "draw a house, a tree and a person," so the little I was able to focus on doing art, that's what I did. There's a lot you can tell from these three images, not that I know exactly what that is, but if the tree is full of leaves, has bare branches, fruit, a hole in the trunk, that all means something.

My whole life, all the houses I've drawn have been a variation of the house on the right. That isn't the house I grew up in, but it's down the street. Thanks google images. Thanks real estate websites. The house I grew up in had a 2 car garage, so the lines coming off both sides of the house were different, but the main house, the 2 upstairs windows, family room window downstairs left with bushes out front (ours were bigger), steps on the right that lead to the front door, all that is the house I grew up in. Complete with those railings, which were actually a selling point my parents once told me. They didn't have to install any for me.

I'm lucky it was such any easy house to draw. I was compelled to look it up, being that I don't have any pictures of the house and I thought I must have mis-remembered how square it was. I didn't. Looks a bit like a milk carton doesn't it? You know, those little ones you got with your lunch in elementary school...

Usually when I draw a house it's just that milk carton shape with the 2 upstairs windows, curtains instead of the fake shutters, and the front door ends up in the middle, so the family room window is usually missing because of lack of space. About 50% of the time the bushes are there. The garage never is, because years and years ago I decided garages were too hard. I think it had something to do with the roof line. Nothing blog worthy really, you're probably bored, but I had to set everything up you see.

What is blogworthy is the person. When I draw houses I always start with the grass, then the house, then the tree, then the... OH CRAP... Being that I'd literally just gotten back from DC my first thought was to draw the accessible parking spot guy, but all I'd drawn was grass, no sidewalk. Pushing on grass is impossible, at least to me. When I was done she asked me if I wanted to draw anything else. I said no. I wasn't interested in the drawing, didn't like it because of the chair on the grass, but looking back maybe I should have added someone in a powerchair. That way he could have gotten a tow :D

The next thing she asked me was if this looked like the kind of house this person would live in. "No," I said, with kind of a gasp, "it isn't visitable!" Then she looked at me with a look of "HUH?" while I said to myself, "I drew a two story house with steps... why...???" Forget about the fact that I lived in that house with the steps for 19 years and kept my chairs in the garage. This guy's a full timer, and this house doesn't even have a front walk, so forget about an accessible garage.

"Single family homes aren't covered under the ADA, because they're private property..." I said to her. "We've been trying to pass a law for years that says all new construction has to have one no step entrance (front, side, rear, garage, doesn't matter), and a half or full bath on the main floor with a wide enough doorway and walls strong enough to handle grab bars should you choose to install them. That way it's visitable."

Except then I looked at my drawing (man I wish I had it) and realized that it didn't have any steps outside. None. Not one. "Well, wait... and it could have a stair lift..." I realized that none of the other 100 "milk carton" houses I've drawn in my life have ever actually, in reality, had steps outside. Steps are too hard to draw a front view of. This fact had not however prevented me from adding steps to all the other 100 milk carton houses in my mind. Because, you know, all houses, including the one the "milk carton house" was based off of, have steps. So like of course this house has steps! Except it doesn't! Like I said, I wish I had it to post. I had a hypothetically barrier free environment (she told me to go back and add sidewalk and I didn't feel like it) and I had unconsciously added barriers to it.

What does that say about me? What does that mean? Does it say more about society, more about overt ableism then anything about me? Is it an outcome of internalized ableism and oppression, or is it an outcome of realism, my realistic view of society? I've been mystified for 5 days...

Access and Hypocrisy

I feel like I must preface this post by reminding readers that I am a die hard ADAPTer. My commitment flows through my veins 24/7, even if my constant depression and other issues make it almost impossible for other people to see it. However, two things happened over the course of a little over a week that I feel have questioned my credibility. Right now I'm up not able to sleep because of a few things, one of which is that I'm trying to reconcile the values I've developed as an ADAPTer with the positions I'm putting myself into.

The first thing that happened was that over the winter I decided I wanted to see an art therapist. I never liked doing art in my youth; my visual and fine motor deficits causing me to put up walls due to frustration, but after I spent 7 weeks in the summer of 2007 taking Intro to Art Therapy, art became my #1 strategy for avoiding my overwhelming anxiety. I say avoiding because instead of facing my anxiety head on I would spend hours with crayons and markers in an effort to ignore/push aside how uncomfortable I felt. This actually made my anxiety worse.

I created some great art though, and while my art will never hang in a professional gallery, I can no longer say I am "bad at art." I haven't touched my art materials in 2 years though, which is a good thing. A conversation with a friend once went like this:

"You want to come over and do art?"

"I'm not in the mood."

"You don't have to be in a good mood to do art."

"No, I have to be in a bad mood."

However, I noticed some patterns when I was doing art and I don't understand what they mean. I've been wondering all these years and finally over the winter started seeking out an outpatient art therapist.

The second thing that happened was that I decided to pursue an opportunity at work. There has been a recent staff turnover, and I can, most likely, pick up a few hours a week helping to develop our transitioning age youth program, which in 3+ years has never gotten off the ground. I've had some great ideas that the people running it agreed were good, but then nothing happened, and I decided it wasn't wise of me to strong arm them. I decided I wasn't willing to work on this unless I was being compensated.

What do these two things have in common? Both are located in inaccessible offices. The art therapist works within a group which is located in an older building, and her office has 1 step outside. Just 1 -- it'd be easy to ramp. If I ignore the issue, I have to be careful of where I am coming from or going to. I obviously can't bring my chair with me. While I have that "luxury," for lack of a better word, of deciding to do this, I don't feel right about it. In the 5 years I have been seeing my other shrink I have gone to appointments from places like our state capital, or gone straight from her to an ADAPT mtg, lugging bottles of soda on the back of my chair.

The organization I work for operates programs in 5 locations. I already work at 2 of them. One I bring my chair to 6 months out of the year because it's so close to where I live that rolling to work is faster then waiting for paratransit. The other I have brought my chair to twice over the last 10 months, both times because I was coming from somewhere. Out of all 5 locations, my new position, should I choose to ask for it, will be located where our executive offices are. The only location that is completely inaccessible. Not only are there steps up to both of the outside doors (one without any railings), but the main floor, the one where all the programing is, is divided in half by 3 steps. In the two years I have worked here I've rarely had to go there, so I decided not to pick this battle, but if I'm going to be working there regularly, I really don't feel that I need to not go places because I won't be able to get into work afterwards.

The easiest thing to do would be to state that they must move the program, however I don't feel like this would be fair to my new boss (I'd have 4). I'd only be working a partial shift, but with the staff turnover her hours are being expanded so that she's working a full shift that day. If we move locations it cuts into her hours. So I guess that means that I ask (demand?) that ramps be installed. The thing is that 1, I'm not sure it is possible to ramp the inside steps, meaning that if we ramp one set of the outside steps we'd literally be doing half the job, making only half the place accessible. I could get out of my chair and struggle with the inside steps, but not everyone can. A half job is not OK with me. The other thing is that they're not legally required to do this. I have a good enough sense of our finances to know that they can claim "undo hardship." Is it my responsibility to find a way to get ramps installed at a discount, or theirs? This I don't know.

My first inclination was to ignore both of these access issues, push them to the back of my head and pretend that they're OK. I've realized that I can't bring myself to do this, which is actually a relief. I won't spend all my time feeling like a hypocrite. I won't spend all my days feeling like a sell out. I won't be limiting how I plan my days. However if I bring these issues up and they can't be resolved, am I limiting myself in other ways? Am I limiting my ability to knock down my psychological barriers? Am I limiting my ability to develop valuable work skills? I'm not OK with that either.

Which is leaving me at a loss, and is contributing to my insomnia. Anyone know where I should go from here? That is if you've gotten this far...

I Can't Believe He Came Here Like That

Today I had the pleasure of making an unplanned trip to Wegmans. Have I ever said how much I like grocery shopping? Well Wegmans is at the top of my list. If you know me and know my eating habits of the last 6+ months, you wouldn't have been surprised to see me buying 6 Green Giant veggie boxes. People always ask me if I need help when I'm reaching for frozen food, being that most of the time the angles that they are placed into the cases make me have to shift around a lot in order to reach them. I only stand up as a last resort, sometimes passing on something that is too high up, as I'd have to place my basket on the floor in order to do so, and picking it back up if it happens to be full is way more of a challenge then reaching the food while sitting down.

I noticed voices to the left of me, a family discussing which veggies to buy, but as I was both heavily concentrating on wiggling free a box of broccoli with cheese sauce and totaling up the cost of my basket, I didn't pay them any mind. Besides, I didn't get the vibe that there were little children staring at me and they seemed too involved in veggie picking to bother to ask me if I needed help (a relief).

Like any good driver though, when I had my 6 boxes and backed away from the case I turned my head left to make sure I wouldn't run into them. Standing there with his parents was a boy around 14 using a reverse walker. I didn't look at him long enough to notice what his clothes looked like, if he was wearing AFOs, or if the hand grips of his walker were red (they most likely are). I only noticed out of the corner of my eye that he most definitely has CP. I was too focused on repeating "$18.71, $18.71" in my head to think I cared.

[image description: the walker with the red handles, although mine didn't have those hip positioning pads]

Except I did care. The first thought that came into my head was I can't believe he came here like that. The next was, no wonder they understood that I didn't need help... Then I wondered why I thought such a seemingly negative thing about the boy. It was totally a transference thing. Did his parents force him to go grocery shopping against his will? Was he insecure and embarrassed, is he sick to death of preschoolers staring?

I would never have gone out in public using a walker without putting up a fight. People might think I'm r------d. People I'll never see again... But that used to matter to me. I wasn't that kind of cripple, and I didn't want anyone thinking I was.

Then on my way home more thoughts came into my head: Did his parents force him there? Did they force the exercise on him? Doctors have "prescribed" grocery shopping to me in my life. Does he not like his chair? Has he used a walker since he was a toddler so that after over a decade he's OK with it? I have used one only here and there. Did he like not walk until he was 10; has he bought into the "people who walk are better, I'll use my chair over my dead body" rhetoric? Been there done that.

Then I felt sorry for him. Wegmans is the biggest grocery store I've ever been to. As I have trouble finding things and often have to walk back and forth around the store or up and down the same aisle three times in order to find things, I have gone there on foot and left not being able to stand for the rest of the day. Does he not have a powerchair? Is he mortified at the thought of his parents pushing him in public? I most certainly was at that age. He doesn't have to go home and collapse tonight. I didn't.

See what I mean, transference? I was having flashbacks to 1999. All I can hope was that they were flashing forward, noticing that I was alone, doing my shopping independently, and wondering how I got there. Did I drive, take paratransit? I actually had rolled the mile and a quarter from the last place I was, and then took the train to the bus and rolled the last 2 blocks home.

Do his parents have more hope for his future now then they did before we bumped into each other? Do they see less dependence for their son and more independence? Do they wonder if I live alone? The only exchange we had was the mom offering to close the freezer door for me as I was backing away "Oh, I've got it," I said for the 9001th time. That was before I saw her son. Neither of us said anything after. Was the kid looking at me in horror, swearing to himself that he'd never be caught dead grocery shopping in a chair? Flashback, 1999: I would have said that exact thing to myself.

I've certainly grown in the last half of my life, as I obviously don't think that now, and for that I am thankful. But it makes me wonder why all these thoughts came into my head so quickly. Why my memories of these things are so vivid, while memories most people treasure, like summer camp are harder to bring to the surface. Is this a shared experience among people who were born with their disability? Because I thought only people who had serious trauma have flashbacks...

Acceptance

My stepfather is turning 60 and my brother is turning 30 five days apart. My stepfather didn't have any children until he was 54 (us) so you should see him doing family stuff. All he wants for his 60th birthday is to go to Las Vegas with his family, me, my brother, his wife, my mom, and my grandma. It's kinda sad he doesn't want his family to come too, but that's another story.

After the debacle where we went to Hawaii in 2010 and all we took was my dilapidated Quickie, every time this idea has been mentioned, all I can say is "my chair, my chair, my chair..." Having traveled twice independently with a powerchair (all the other times were with a manual), most recently 5 weeks ago, I know the drill and can do this confidently.

I'm happy to report that my parents are ok with this; that they've thought through some of the logistics and recognize the importance of my independence. They understand the utter frustration I felt in Hawaii, and care that I can enjoy myself as much as possible.

My mobility has declined over the past 4 years, and I feel like my ability to walk was somewhat subconsciously tied to my independence. At least it was in my head... I'm concerned that my mother is upset with me on some level. She put a lot of time, energy, and money into something I'm letting slip away. Am I leading the life she wanted for me? I think so, but it's different then either of us could have imagined.

We sat at dinner and my parents (who have been to Las Vegas, I haven't) told me of all the places I would need my chair. It sounds like I'll be sitting all day. I can't just use it to get somewhere and then dump it in the corner -- it was $13,000 afterall. And they're ok with that, which leaves me kind of shocked. Oddly I am not ok with it. I am thinking of the physical pain this causes, the exacerbation of my spasticity. But I'll figure something out. My brother doesn't take his ritilan when he goes on vacations, and he's always had fun with this stuff. He can drive my chair.

Over the years my chair has become a part of me, an extension of my independence, and after all I did to actively fight it, I guess I'm still surprisingly having to revaluate my identity to include it. Why else would I think this was so odd?

I'm a wheelchair user, and that's ok.

A Positive Observation

[Image description: The chicken boxty I had for dinner. Boxty is a very delicious Irish dish.]

My parents stopped to take me to dinner the other day on their way home from visiting my grandma, as I'm not at all out of the way. We decided to go someplace new to them, someplace I hadn't been in about 4 or 5 years. Right as we pulled into one of the accessible spots a minivan pulled into the other one. I watched as an older lady and a PA got a manual wheelchair out of the trunk. For those of you who don't know, I check out chairs like some people check out cars. It was a very crappy chair, which was obviously custom (a shame... If you're going to go through insurance approval and all...) as the frame was blue, and it was an Invacare. I didn't notice if it was a foldable chair or a rigid frame as I was concentrating on getting out of the car, but as it had swing away foot rests and a sling back I imagine it was foldable. I didn't get a chance to see the wheelchair user.

We went into the restaurant and got seated, and they came in right after and got seated diagonal from us. I checked out the woman in the chair, who must have been in her 40s. "Why isn't she in a powerchair," I thought? I'm not sure if she has CP or if she had a TBI or a stroke when she was too old to have it classified as CP, (when babies have strokes they call it CP) but I imagine she has CP, and regardless would be perfectly capable of handling a joystick.

As soon as the three of them got settled, the woman turned to the person who seated them, and asked him what his name is. "My name is Wendy, she said in perfectly understandable "CP speech," if you know what I mean. "I'm very happy you're here." To which he replied, "I'm very happy you're here."

She repeated this exchange as soon as the waitress showed up, even before she had a chance to say anything, and again when another restaurant staff showed up.

Hmmm... I thought. What a clever idea. I also noticed out of the corner of my eye that her PA had put on a bib. I'm sure being in your 40s and wearing a bib, coupled with the fact that you're being pushed by a PA wearing scrubs (ICK! if I had a PA I'd make them wear jeans to go out to eat) often if not always puts her in a situation where she's ignored. Where people look at the people she's with as if she's not even there and ask them what she would like to eat. Although my CP is significant enough that there's no way I'd ever pass, I seldom find myself in this situation, and found it to be a great way to break down a frustrating communication barrier... which leaves me wondering if any of you use this strategy or a similar one? Just curious...

A Quote

Found on the main page of the website of a therapeutic riding place somewhere in the state of Maryland. I won't out them. Also found in at least one of their newsletters (I only looked at one).

Although many afflictions cannot be “cured”, nearly anyone may be healed.

I'm speechless...

A Conversation with My Family Part 2

Same morning as the last post. Same brunch. Somehow we're in a conversation that turns briefly to London, and then briefly to a specific museum in London, where my stepfather mentions he bought a book for $20 that is now extremely rare and is worth $300. My parents are like that, they have all kinds of "shit" in their house that isn't shit at all. You might look at that book at a yard sale and give me $2 for it. I don't even know which one it is, but I'll know to look for it. It's the same with their dishes, they're into Fiestaware. They might have a $300 plate lying around.

So I look at them both and say

"When you're old and demented we'll bring in an appraiser so we can sell your dishes and things and pay for your home attendants. Because of course we have to pay them a living wage..."

This sets me off on a tangent about someone I know who gets paid crap under the table, to which my mom responded about a close friend who paid her mom's/ mom-in-law's attendants very well. But then she went

"Start with the sterling sliver it's worth [tens of thousands $] retail, so you'll probably get [I forget what she said]"

Is this the kind of conversations other 26 year old daughters have with their 54 year old mothers, or is it just me? It's what happens when you get involved with worker rights I guess...

A Conversation with My Family Part 1

Yesterday was my mother's 54th birthday. I took the bus home Saturday night after work, and a few hours earlier my brother flew in overnight from New Mexico, where he's living in a hotel for a few months. Sunday morning we went to brunch. My parents have never owned a mini van, because my mom is scared of them, but because my stepfather was in a car accident and my mom's best friend is in California for the entire month of February, we're borrowing her's. At some point during the morning, my mom looks at my brother and says

"Jason, help Cheryl with the door."

To which I snap

"I don't need help with the door. Don't you know etiquette? You don't help someone unless they say 'I need help with the door'."

She could have said "Do you need help with the door?" That's different.

On the way home we stopped at a Japanese grocery store. We're parked right in front of the door. Why go to the ramp built onto the access aisle a few spaces away? Except I can't do curbs, which they all know full well, and everyone just got out of the car and walked into the store without any regard to me. One of them had the store door open before I even had the car door closed. The parking spaces had those stupid barriers that keep the front of your car from being close to or on top of the curb, so they were too far away to lean on, which I'm sure at least one of them noticed.

"HEY!" I said, a slight bit exasperated. I should learn to keep my mouth shut...

I'll Let The Words Speak for Themselves

Swiped from Deborah. I need to visit your blog more often...

Intersections

Some editions of the Disability Blog Carnival have talked about intersections. The intersection between disability and feminism or religion for example. I've always had a hard time with these and usually skip those.

But today, today I learned something about the intersection of bipolar and CP that is invaluable to me. I shouldn't go to the gym when I'm manic. But of course I wasn't manic in the least this morning. I got home though and the first thought that came into my head was "I feel like death." Not anywhere near the way I felt like death here, but on that spectrum. I haven't slept in 2 days. And even before then I was sleeping enough but it wasn't quality sleep. I was tired but AWAKE! A feeling I HATE! And when I got home I was both more revved up and more worn out. OOPS...

I've realized that there's a delicate balance of energy expenditure when you have CP. Don't use enough and you won't get good quality sleep. You also won't produce enough serotonin. Your body wasn't meant to be sedentary. Use too much and you'll be nonfunctional. Yes this is true for any human being, but for us spazes the tipping point is more sensitive, the balance more precarious. Ok, not new news, but manic episodes can be like bowling balls, and I realized today that I should try very hard not to nudge the ball towards the pins. A spaz does not fall down gracefully, but rather with a thud :-D

My lack of sleep will gently nudge that ball. Each morning I wake up early pushes the ball closer and closer to the pins. So why tempt things? Why expend any more energy then I have to? As much as I need to go to the gym, my personal trainer appointment was probably a bad idea. As much as I need to keep moving (if I wasn't typing I'd be fidgeting), I need to try to keep still. I need to counterbalance the lack of sleep. Slow down the ball, not speed it up.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I had put in a call to my latest psychiatrist yesterday to discuss something different, but of course said, "I'm going away on Friday and I'm manic. what do I do?" instead.

"When did this start? I just saw you."

"Today," I simply answered. I wanted her to think I woke up this way, not that it started 3hrs before she called. I needed her take me seriously.

But she didn't take me seriously. Not enough time. "How do you know?"

How do I articulate it within a 7min phone call, most of which was spent telling her why she can't prescribe anything a psychiatrist would prescribe as the 1st line of defense. Tried them. Don't work. It's taken me well over an hour to write this post; to gather my thoughts.

All I could think of was "I feel like I was run over by a truck." I told her I didn't sleep for the past 2 days (me get up at 6:45? SCARY) and that I know I won't sleep tonight as I have too much energy. She wasn't any help to me because she doesn't understand the intersection of CP and bipolar. She doesn't understand the presentation of my atypical manic episodes and panic attacks. Heck I did say I was irritable for no reason the other day, didn't I? Although I really don't think this is what that stemmed from.

All I have to say to my shrink is "I feel like I was run over by a truck," and somehow she understands. She doesn't even have to say anything. Just a look. A look that says, Uh Huh. Add in 6:45am for good measure, and she'll say "you're probably right."

But my psychiatrist is the 4th psychiatrist who's told me that 6.5hrs of sleep sounded like enough sleep to her. She's the 4th psychiatrist to not understand that when I say that I need 9-10hrs of sleep I mean I need 9-10hrs of sleep a night. She's the 4th psychiatrist to apparently not have any training in chronic fatigue. Does she need to see me a mess to really understand?

I had 1 pdoc who still didn't understand. The pins were down, but the balls kept coming 1 after another without stopping. Couldn't get even 1 pin set up because they were coming so fast I had to keep my hand out of the way! Still she'd just throw up her hands, blame it on me. Blame me for trying to stop the balls using anything I could think up.

I'm trying to be proactive this time. Catch it before the 1st ball has started rolling. Right now it's just about to drop to the ground. Do something to stop it now! To put it back on the shelf, not down the lane.

So how do I know?

Well, I'm generally annoying when I'm manic, and after not being able to stop talking for the previous hour, and suddenly finding my mind racing about nothing in particular, no racing thoughts, just pent up mental energy, my brain screaming "DO SOMETHING!" I put the 2 together immediately and said to myself, OMG I'm manic! Make it stop now! Just those 2 things were enough, combined with the lack of sleep. Add in some long rambling emails within the last couple of days, and the length of this blog post (taken be about 2hrs to do) and you have the cherry on top!

Now is not a good time. Maybe later? After the 9 days straight where I have to be able to sit through meetings or airplane rides without constantly interrupting people, which I do all the time when I'm manic. OK? Can you do that for me brain? Pretty PLEEZZZE?

I Wish

Most of the time I like the fact that I'm crazy. I may quibble over the labels in my head -- am I really bipolar, or am I just depressed? Is my anxiety a seperate thing all together, or a package deal? -- but I generally like myself. Or at least I generally accept myself. That's not to say I don't set goals, don't want to be a better person, but I've always been at peace with my disabilities. Ask me as a kid if I could take a pill that'd cure my CP would I? And I don't think I've ever in my life said yes. I've been asked this question many times.

I've never said either out loud or in my head that I didn't want to have CP anymore. Maybe I wished I could do things like jump rope, but that's not the same thing. If someone told me I'd have to give up my disability to do it, I'm almost certain I would have said no. Correct me if I'm wrong, but I must have been 6 at the time. Somehow I've always known I'm a package deal.

What's this got to do with being crazy? Well sometimes I get so consumed by crazy, that I let out a sigh and/or an ARGH or a GAAAAHHHHH!!! in my head. Sometimes I say "Why do I have to be this crazy? I HATE BEING CRAZY!"

And then a half-second later I say "Don't say that! You don't hate being crazy!" Please tell me I'm not the only person that talks to herself in her head in the 3rd person...

What sparked this post was I was wondering to myself, why do I chastise myself? Who cares if I decide I hate being crazy? Why do I care? Because if I do truly hate being crazy, then I hate being me, and that's the worst thing to hate. I guess I somehow knew that when I was 6.

So then what do I hate? I hate being consumed by crazy. I hate when my crazy becomes overwhelming. I hate that my crazy holds me back from doing what I want to do, while at the same time I do realize the opportunities it's giving me.

I'm at odds as to whether this is ok. Whether hating these things is the same or different then hating the crazy in and of itself. They're not concrete things to hate like jump ropes. If it is the same thing as hating my crazy, then it's not ok. It's not ok to hate yourself. You're stuck with yourself 24/7.

Is it wrong that I wish my life wasn't so hard, so frustrating, because of my crazy? I don't know, but I do.

I Love Using the Internet for Good

Right now, I'm irritable. I'm in one of those moods where it's everything and nothing. It's things I've complained about here before, and things I won't bother complaining about. I'm Just IRRITABLE! I'd blame it on the mood disorder, but you can't blame bipolar for everything. I think I'l have to blame "human being disorder."

Anyway, one of my new favorite things I discovered a few months ago is using the internet for peer support. And you're probably gonna say, "That's not new, such and such has had a website for 15 years!" But I argue there's a big difference in the value of support from people you actually know.

Where else is there to go for peer support in the wee hours of the night besides facebook? It's using the internet for good.

My November 10th status update from 1am when I couldn't sleep says "anxiety is worse then depression, but better then mania. Discuss." I'm glad I no longer remember what made me so anxious, but I tagged the first 10 people I could think of who identify as crazy and managed to start a meaningful discussion within 6mins.

Then there's my Oct 21st status from 12:17am "has a sudden fear of having a panic attack while I'm sleeping tonight. Not a completely irrational fear as I've had them before. Coping strategies anyone?" I didn't even think to tag people that time, and I still got a response in 2mins. About 25mins later, someone posted an idea I'd used successfully many, many times before, which has always worked. Don't know why I hadn't thought of it first, but I was able to sleep that night.

So I've decided to take this to my blog. What are some things you do when you're irritable that tend to help snap you out of it? Writing this is helping me!

and a very important PS -- I very rarely actually look at other people's FB pages as it fuels unwanted obsessive behaviors, but if you tag me in a status update in this genre, I'll be sure to add my 2 cents!