My Brain Hurts

Still sick. Still sitting here wondering how to fix my brain. Still wondering why I broke down last night even though Kim was doing everything in her arsenal to bring me out of a funk.

Biopolar sucks.

It doesn't suck as bad as cancer, or Crones, or a large screwdriver through the eye, but it sucks. I kinda figured that the past 5 months I'd get a grip on this and go back to work whistling happy little tunes - in two weeks I go back, but without the whistling shit. I still have a long way to go before my brain is considered fixed. Next week I start Cognitive Behavioural Therapy, otherwise known as brainwashing. I should have started that a few months ago, but I got complacent with the way things were going, and didn't make the call. I thought that I was doing fine, the drugs were working, meditation was working, a new outlook on life was working, etc. etc. etc. Hey, I was a little bit wrong.

In the past couple of weeks I've felt more like a weepy kid than anything else. I get down about the smallest things. God forbid I run over a caterpillar. Last night I found out a good friend was back in the hospital. It's serious, but he'll get through it. This of course was not the news my broken brain needed. That, combined with the fact that I spent the better part of my afternoon at the ministry office replacing my plate tags, made it a particularly bad brain day. Hence, Kim doing everything in her power to fix me.

In the past couple of weeks I've not smiled much, broken brain says not to. I've fallen apart several times, and one day - I don't remember this beauty: I had a panic attack while sleeping. Yup, I was out like a light and don't remember anything except Kim standing over me when she shook me awake, looking like she was going to call an ambulance. I was glassy-eyed and breathing heavy, but other than that, I didn't have any recollection of it. Anxiety attacks are common, the brain says to be worried about something, so I do. Sometimes it last a couple of hours, sometimes a few minutes. Sometimes just smashing the drums is enough to get over it, I'm at the mercy of my brain and the drugs inhabiting it.

Drugs suck.

How do people get hooked on this shit? How do people function with their bodies full of man-made cocktails of chemicals designed for the sole purpose of changing the way your brain functions? Why would people do this to themselves intentionally?

I've never been on drugs, I quit smoking about seven months ago, but I don't know if that really counts, weed, acid, hash, meth, coke, nope. Never. I'm proud of that. I can see how it really fucks people up, and I thought I was a mess from smoking!

The shrink has me on a mixture of controlled meds right now. I won't tell you what because hey - they're controlled. That means NARCOTICS. Lovely. They very time in my life that I'm trying to improve my physical status, they doctor fills me with crap that is supposed to fix my brain. Unfortunately, the side effects stopped being fun on day one. Here's a few at random:

Short term memory loss

Drowsiness (otherwise know as random nap time)

Dizziness

Nausea and in rare cases, vomiting

Skin rashes

Drop in platelet count (I have to have monthly blood tests for this one)

Weight gain (combined with quitting smoking I'm now up 60 pounds)

Blurred vision

Sensitive skin

And a whole lot more!

I really hate these meds. Worse yet, I don't believe they're working. So next week I'm calling the shrink and asking him to change the drugs for the fifth time since my brain broke back in April. I'm currently on four different meds, at six pills a day. I suffer from most of the side effects listed (I haven't puked yet), so maybe less pills = less side effects? Maybe? I don't know, I'm just the patient.

I'm due to go back to work in ten days. In Kingsville. That's a one hour commute, then a full work day, then a one hour commute. Please refer to side effect number two - random nap time. Talking to my boss last week he did ask if there were any work related issues he must know about, that one came up pretty quick. I'd rather not be dead in a ditch on day two thanks. He's offered to move me to the Tecumseh office until this gets sorted out. Nice guy. I just think he'd rather not do the paperwork from the ditch incident.

So my brain is still broken, and full of drugs. I don't even take aspirin for headaches. Nevermind all this crap. I have to get back to therapy, I have to get back to work, I have to get back to normal (what is normal anyway?)

Even now as I type this at 7:45 am, I feel weird. I feel the anxiety creeping up, I have to push it back down. I described it to my shrink as that feeling when you're at the top of a tall coaster looking down but not moving yet. That feeling when you're stomach is suddenly where your lungs should be and your lungs are around your back, not working very well. That's the constant anxiety that I have to fight. That's part of the Bipolar syndrome. In the grand scheme of things, big deal. It's a feeling, not like fighting MS, or Parkinson's, or cancer, or any other physical disease. This one is mental, or physical if you consider that my brain isn't firing on all cylinders, hence, my brain broke.

I can get over this, it's certainly not life threatening, and won't do anything to shorten my life, if anything, the past six months have given me cause to live longer. It's just annoying. Less drugs, more therapy, more family and friends, less stress, etc.

I can do this. I have to. I have to fix my brain.

Walking

Firstly I want to thank everyone for the positive comments on the last post. It was reassuring to know that this is well accepted and I have nothing to worry about. Not that I didn't feel that way to begin with, but re-enforcement helps!

When I took time off work I began to walk. A lot.

I began to walk with the intention of ending up somewhere I'd never been before. I managed to accomplish that several times which was a challenge when I grew up in this city. I used to think I knew every nook and cranny of this place (what the hell is a cranny anyway? Just sayin'). As it turns out nobody really does. We all focus on our little part of the world, our little piece of heaven as it were. We have blinders on in most cases, we move from point A to point B, and if we're driving we normally see nothing but the tail lights of the car in front of us and street signs.

I found with my walks that there's more to any city than meets the eye. Walking each day, or as often as circumstances permit, averages about two hours. In that time I don't ever intend to follow that same course more than I have to. I intend to see things, to slow down and become more observational. A sort of urban explorer if you wish.

One day I started out as normal, and headed towards the Detroit River - about a half hour from home. I wanted to see how they were getting along with the massive water retention basin project that have essentially turned 5 kms of riverfront parkland into a construction zone. I made it to the river along Devonshire Road near Hiram Walker's Distillery, and turned toward downtown. I made it about three blocks before the rain started threatening. Along the river at that point, there is no shelter. Unless I parked my ass on someone's front porch and waited it out, I was going to get soaked. The black clouds rolling in seemed a little ominous. I turned towards Wyandotte Street. By this point I was near the old Danny's Tavern - a male strip joint that closed about five years ago. Behind Danny's I found the alley that ran up behind my old house I grew up on. I played in that alley as a kid and I hadn't walked it since. A flood of memories welled up. I saw graffiti on people's garages that has been there for thirty years. I remember that! For a moment I felt like a kid again, kicking stones down the old alley, I even thought about climbing some of the old trees again. Then I saw my old house and how much it had changed. I realized at that moment how time had passed. I walked on, threatened by the storm once again. By now, it was raining lightly.

Down on Wyandotte I looked for somewhere to ride it out. There isn't much. Within minutes the rain became heavy and I became wet. I was not dressed for this. By Parent Avenue I had had enough, I ducked into a bar that has been there for years and does not enjoy a positive reputation in town. I knew this going in, but screw it - the intention was to go somewhere new, and this qualified even though it was a little seedy. I ordered a beer from the woman behind the bar - a middle aged black woman with a personality that indicated that she reserves judgement on anyone. She looked me over quickly and went back to the regulars. Except for that woman sitting by herself at a table looking a little worn down and scruffy, the clientele here was perfectly normal, just guys having a mid-afternoon sabbatical at the local bar. No big deal. After my beer I checked outside, the rain stopped, so I moved on.

Walking down Wyandotte wasn't what I had in mind, I completely missed the construction zone. When I got downtown I headed down Ouellette to Dieppe Park. I wiped off a park bench and sat down, taking the time to watch. Boats on the river, freighters, fishing boats, cruisers, all the time wishing I was on the water too. I walked on down the park and again stopped to watch. I listened to a tourist couple within earshot pointing at things in Detroit. Their accent gave them away as American. I thought it strange that they were here in Canada, looking across at their homeland with a strange interest. Shouldn't they be looking around in Canada? I moved on.

Further down the river there are two railway cuts, both long since closed to trains. At one time tracks came right to the riverfront, where barges would take the trains across. Now they use the tunnel. One of the cuts has been turned into a park by local residents. The owners of the cutting don't provide anything for it, either does the city; everything there was done by residents. There has been news lately about it going downhill because nobody can afford to keep it up anymore. This became my second objective of the day. I heading into the cut, but within ten minutes I realized I went into the wrong one. This was no park.

The trail running down the centre was obviously well used. Trees covered the embankments up either side so that you cannot see any signs of urban growth. Even the taller buildings are obscured. A complete urban forest. Garbage began to appear - tires, shopping carts, and more crap. As I walked it got worse. I began to realize my mistake, but hey, it was all about exploring right? So I kept going. A man was coming down the path towards me, he wasn't exactly dressed for the opera, I was a little nervous until he gave a friendly hello and walked on.

Underneath Wyandotte Street rail tracks appeared. Further down you could make out the huge CP rail yard. I was a the tail end of it. Underneath Wyandotte I stopped - amazed by what I saw. People live down there.

There were giant fire pits still smouldering, there were signs of people eating, sleeping, living, all around me. Up on the concrete supports holding up the road was graffiti like I had never seen before - and it covered every inch of everything. It was all oddly beautiful art in a can. The colours and patterns, not to mention portraits. Some of this stuff would be in a gallery if the medium was different. For a few minutes I forgot where I was. I had to leave, the tracks in front of me meant climbing out of the ravine, but I could find no path. I climbed up making my own. I came out in an empty lot near Crawford and Wyandotte. I began walking back towards downtown. After about a half hour I was a McDonalds, so I had some lunch, then turned toward home. That was enough for the day. The walk home took another 45 minutes, again, meandering down streets looking for the route less taken.

By the time I got home my feet hurt (I was wearing sandals), I was wet with sweat and rain, and dirty from climbing around in a ravine. I changed and showered, grabbed a bottle of water and sat on the porch. I relaxed there for a while contemplating my day. Just over four hours. I looked around at my neighbours homes, and my own, I greeted a few that were outside and in that time I developed a deep appreciated of what I have in this life.

I realized just how lucky I am, disorder or not.

Cheers.

The most difficult post I've ever written, and most important

I've already started writing this three times. It's very difficult for me to find the words for this post, as I'm still a little reluctant to admit these issues. In a nutshell, I've been diagnosed Bipolar.

Really, what's the big deal right? I'm taking medication now to control it, and seeing a psychiatrist and psychologist, as well as a wealth of support from my family, especially my wife, Kimberly.

But all that aside, there's a huge stigma to this disorder. I was afraid to admit it because of that. I will be the first to admit that I've made snide remarks to someone in the past who had this condition, whether deserved or not, it was wrong. Now more than ever, I know that. I've also met several people lately who are also suffering from this, one of which is my neighbour's son. I've had the opportunity to talk extensively to this person about it, and that conversation gave me hope that this will affect me in a positive way, not negative.

Being Bipolar is not a curse, but a potential cure for a condition that people have long accused me of - that of being an asshole.

For years people have looked upon me as having a sorry attitude and carrying around a little grey cloud. Always negative, always grumpy, and one to steer clear of. Luckily my friends stuck with me through all this, even though they made their own opinions well known. Then, other days the sun shone through. The grey cloud dissipated and all was right with the world. I got my sense of humour back, and was helpful to everyone.

This is the basic definition of Bipolar. One with this disorder can't find a balance between two extremes. One experiences highs and lows on a scale that most don't see. When depression hits, it hits hard; in some cases a person will give up completely. On the other hand, highs were almost as if someone was high on life - ecstatically happy. There are several levels of Bipolar, and luckily I fall into the lower of the categories. My shrink described the highest level this way; one would call the Vatican and demand to know why the Pope missed the dinner invitation at his house last night. This person would have honestly thought in his or her mind that this would happen. The depression resulting from the rejection would be intense.

My diagnosis came about a month after my nervous breakdown on April 23rd. I don't remember about four hours of that afternoon. I don't think I want to either. Shortly after that I admitted to Kimberly that I did indeed need help. I agreed to see a shrink. My family doctor diagnosed me with depression and anxiety disorder, and gave me prescriptions for it. She also gave me a referral to a psychiatrist. My psychologist also insisted on that referral. The shrink changed the diagnosis to Bipolar within an hour of my first session, and changed my meds accordingly. The problem now, is that they aren't working.

The most benefit to any of this has been my therapist. I was very sceptical at first about someone I've never met messing with my head, and my telling him many personal details. I'm a very private person - even this blog only touches the surface of what I want people to know about me. The therapist changed that impression in me. He saw inside me to the person I really am - scared. He began Gestalt treatment on me - and I will not look back. Of all the drug cocktails and all the doctors that I've seen in the past three months, meditation and focus on self has been the best medicine. I'm now a believer in what this can do for a person's inner self and soul. I'm not cured, but now when anxiety and panic attacks hit, I can walk myself through a process that completely calms me, and eventually eases the pain. It's only a step, but a positive one. It has helped me re-focus on life. It has helped me realize what a jerk I was. It has helped me to find myself again, the person I was years ago.

When people didn't call me an asshole.

I have a long way to go yet. I'm off work on medical leave right now, mainly because I can't control the attacks and I work an hour down the highway. I really can't drive right now. I've spent my days seeing doctors, working on my self help 'homework', and getting back in shape. I quit smoking five months ago, and have since devoted considerable time to fixing the body as well as the mind. Out of boredom I began walking. Now these walks average 1.5 to 2 hours per day, depending on if I can mentally do it. One day it was four hours. Just walking. When I head out my intention is to normally go somewhere I've never been, a road, a park, and destination of some sort. However, when you live your entire life in the same city, that's difficult to do. But it keeps me thinking. I've also been reading. A lot.

My other new hobby has been my drums. I bought a used kit at a yard sale, fixed it up, and made some additions with the help of my brother in law, who still has a bunch of his old kit laying around that he doesn't use. Surprisingly enough, I'm not too bad! We've been having weekly jam nights. My son is a pretty talented up and coming guitarist, and my brother also plays guitar, so smacking the skins has been a very effective outlet for aggression and anxiety.

I was reluctant to write this entry. I was afraid to put these issues out there for all to see. I was going to keep my diagnosis a secret to all except my closest friends, but Kim convinced me that I need to write this. I need to tell everyone that there is no stigma attached to the this disorder, and no shame in mental health issues. Yes, I'm sick, but yes, I will get better. I will get back to work, and I will find a medication that controls the highs and lows of Bipolar disorder. I will find myself and even out my behaviour. It will just take time.

I shouldn't have any fear of telling anyone this. Now that I've posted this, I have no choice! It's just one more thing I have to deal with. Maybe now I will have a more positive outlook on life, on my friends and on my family. Maybe this is the mid-life crisis that HAD to happen in order for me to realize what I've been missing.

Maybe now I won't be afraid.

Cheers.

Two weeks and one flu bug

Yesterday it was two weeks since we quit smoking. I feel good about it, even though I still doubt my ability to resist the temptation without a patch on. Kim however, hasn't had one on for the past week, she's doing great. Today she was tempted by the evil stick, but she resisted, in the end, the Borg were wrong. I don't have any cravings, but I do have the occasional bout of old habit, especially when someone I was dealing with last week blew smoke in my face. I was on the one hand completely disgusted, thinking that I used to smell like that, and on the other hand reaching for his pack and lighter. Mixed feelings will be around for a while yet I'm afraid.

But I will soldier on.

Not only am I feeling better about myself, I feel better about my financial outlook and the smell of my clothing. Yick. That shit really stinks! Everyone has a 'thing' when they quit. Some chew gum, some eat anything not tied down, some punch people, some chase small animals, I found that every time I had a thought about smoking I simply took a deep breathe. Every time I wanted a cigarette I inhale fresh air and realize that I can. Two weeks ago that hurt. Today it feels like the breathe of life. It's wonderful. Kim said her main motivation for quitting now is that she wants to be an old woman sitting on the porch with me while we watch our grandchildren play on the front lawn. We always promised to grow old together, and in the past few years, stress, middle age and several family losses have made that simple dream more and more distant. Today, the dream got closer for both of us. It feels good, but the very idea of looking forward to old age is just plain weird - I'm nowhere near old!

Yesterday I felt old. Yesterday I had the flu. I spent the past two days out of it on the couch, fleeting moments of consciousness sucking back orange juice and piling on more blankets. I called in sick yesterday, something I hate doing, more or less because I don't trust the others in my office to keep my work up to date while I'm gone. In any case, I went back in today, not feeling 100%, but enough to function. I'm bloody tired now, I still have a ways to go before I'm completely up and around, but hey, that's life. At least I'm up and around, at least I'm not gasping for breathe under the tremendous weight of addiction.

Tomorrow is another day and another deep breathe. The sun will be out and the deep freeze is in it's waining days, soon Spring will be here, long walks in the park, bike rides, playing with the kids outside, backyard parties with the village, and more. All of that while breathing free.

All that brings my one step closer to sitting on the porch with Kim, watching my grandchildren do the same one day.

Cheers.

Day 6

This was the worst day yet. If someone had of handed me a cigarette yesterday I would have eaten it, not smoked it. I was irritable, short tempered, and just plain assholish. I didn't help that it snowed again yesterday, all I want is a warm spring day and a cigarette, and I can't have either.

So it's Sunday morning, I sitting in a quiet house drinking my coffee listening to Fleetwood Mac's The Chain - one of my favourite songs, telling the world about my issues with tobacco. Yesterday proved to me that this is by far the hardest thing I've ever had to do. How people do this cold turkey is beyond me, I just don't get it. I had the weekend child over yesterday too, and Kim was at work. So, here I am with 3 kids, no partner, no smokes, tons of snow, and no sleep. Did I mention that one of the side effects of the patch is insomnia? Don't know if I've covered that yet, but I've seen 4am each of the last six days. So add fatigue to the rest of the issues.

The snow didn't stop until 7 last night, and by the time it was done we had another 4 inches on top of the 10 already on the ground. I hate winter. Yup, I'm sounding negative, that's not gonna change until I quit! The pic was taken out the back window, notice the crane sculpture in the distance. That thing actually has long legs. Somewhere out there is my patio, just waiting for the fond attention of a family BBQ. But alas, not today.

Today is a new dawn, a new day of challenges, today is what I make of it. It's day 7 without my old nemesis. I have laundry to do, some dishes, some errands, then the day is mine to do what I wish, I hope it's better, I know by this point I don't like myself nevermind what my family and friends think of me. My sister told me yesterday of her husband's worst day, in which he spent all day pacing, but thereafter, it got easier. Here's hoping yesterday was mine.

Cheers.