I'm Not Crazy. You're The One Who's Crazy.

2012-02-16T19:03:00.000-08:00

If I had a dollar for every time some poor, uninformed person tried to talk to me about clinical depression, anxiety or, in my own personal case, bipolar disorder, Warren Buffett would look at my money and be sad.

It seems that when the topic of mental illness arises, inevitably two things happen: certain people (who have it) sometimes feel ashamed and other people (who don't have it) act uncomfortable.

What's with all the shame and discomfort? If I say that I have bipolar disorder, it's not as though I've just stood up in church and announced to God (who, I'm guessing would have already gotten the memo) and everybody that I have syphilis, right? I mean, maybe there's something to be ashamed of in that and maybe there is reason for people to feel uncomfortable around you.

But, realistically speaking, having bipolar disorder or schizophrenia or clinical depression or anxiety, etc. is no more shameful than having a brain tumor or a bad case of hives. It's an illness. No one asks to get it and unlike diseases such as diabetes or lung cancer, there isn't even anything you can attempt to do to prevent it. Sucks to be crazy, huh?

As I mentioned and for the record, I have bipolar disorder. What this means is that I swing back and forth between depression and mania. When I am depressed, I cry a lot. I feel very down. I feel sad. I feel hopeless. I have no motivation. Everything seems pointless. Sometimes I want to die, but I don't necessarily want to kill myself (there's a big difference.) When I am manic, I sometimes feel like I can conquer the world and I make all kinds of plans, but rarely follow-through. I can also be extremely agitated and anything sensory (light, sound, touch) will make me feel like I'm crawling out of my skin. I become reckless and can spend too much money or do risky things that I would not ordinarily do. And just for fun, sometimes, I can be manic and depressed at the same time. That's what's known as a "mixed-episode", boys and girls. Sounds crazy right?

So what should YOU do if someone you know has a mental illness and they've either trusted you enough to share their "shameful", little secret with you or, because you live with them/are close to them and it's 2 in the morning and they haven't slept for 4 days and are re-potting all the house plants, you've kind of figured it out on your own?

More than what you SHOULD do/say, I guess I'll stick to a list of "don'ts".

First of all, unless you, yourself, have a severe mental illness, don't judge because you cannot even begin to comprehend. Period.

Here is a short list of things (you're probably saying to yourself, "this is short!??!"), I have had said to me or have heard other people say about their relatives who have mental illnesses:

1 - You just need to snap out of it and try harder.

This is bullshit, straight up. NO ONE would deliberately CHOOSE this life and if it were so easy to just "snap out of it" then EVERYONE would do it! You can't snap out of a mental illness any easier than you can snap out of a broken leg. (See what I did there?)

2 - If he/she just took their medication they would be fine.

It's really easy for those of you who are sane to say that. Let me explain something to you: Medications suck (and before you go off and say "being crazy sucks worse", just shhh...listen.)

Here are just a few of the side-effects I've experienced on the dozens of medications I've been on: bruising on my entire body, itching all over my body, vivid nightmares, extreme sleepiness (to the point of having to pull over and stop on the side of the road and sleep), bloating so severe I could barely breathe, extreme fatigue and thirst, weight gains of 20-50 pounds (Lithium destroyed my metabolism and I've never been able to recover from that), suicidal thoughts (I thought you said this was supposed to make me NOT want to die, Doctor?) and the need to urinate every 15-20 minutes. Good times.

My current medications come with a risk of seizures (never had one, thank God), brain zaps (these are hard to explain), anxiety (cuz I don't have enough of THAT), thirst, headache and the possibility of severe electrolyte imbalance (this one can kill you, kids) and on top of all this, since I was misdiagnosed as clinically depressed for 15 years, I was being fed medications that actually continually caused me to become manic because I was, in reality, bipolar. Thank you, doctors.

Now all of that being said, side-effects DO suck, but in general, being crazy DOES suck worse (happy now?), so me, personally, I'll take my medications and thank you very much, however...If someone needs to be on medication and they are not, you being an asshole toward them isn't going to change anything. They're sick.

You cannot reason with, talk to or argue with a brain disorder and if you think that you can, you're the one who's crazy.

Don't get pissed off at us. We know we suck when we're sick, we don't need you to constantly remind us and we may be so sick that we are unable to make a rational decision to get back on medications. This is NOT our fault, so don't treat us as if we were less than. The only difference between me and you is that your brain functions "normally" and mine does not for some unknown, but biologically based reason.

There is something else you should know about medications. News flash: They aren't a cure-all (that's for those of you who think your relative with depression/bipolar disorder, etc. would be a peach to live with if they'd only take mind-altering medications.) Every day, for the rest of my life, I will always experience low-grade symptoms of depression and mania. The medications just allow me to function somewhat more normally. And guess what? Medications don't always prevent a relapse. That means I can be being a good, little girl and taking my 4-6 pills a day (depending on my anxiety level) and if enough stress, lack of sleep, change, freeway trips come along, I can start to get sick again and no amount of medication in the world will stop it or fix it, until I've train wrecked myself and either landed in the hospital or an intensive outpatient program (known as IOP.)

3 - It'll be ok. You'll feel better once you (get a job, fix your relationship problems, find your missing hamster.)

Partially true, but not what you're thinking. As I have mentioned, a mental illness is a biological illness and while things like the stress of losing your job, your relationship or your hamster can aggravate your condition, it doesn't magically go away once the stress of the moment is gone.

4 - We all have our down days. I was sad when I lost my job/my boyfriend/my guinea pig.

Don't. Just don't. It's not the same thing. I'm not sad. I'm not down. Ok, well I am, but it's not because Fluffy, the hamster, is missing. I have an illness. You just felt like crap for awhile, but you got over it. I won't ever get over this. I will be the way for the rest of my life. You try living with THAT in your head.

To wrap this up and I know it was long and it looks like I'm going to go on for (counting...) 11 more paragraphs before I shut up, I want to muse about the past few weeks. They've been rough.

I feel like I'm on a 2 year-plan with this illness. I first became sick in 1992 and I was desperately sick. I will write about those times another day. In 2007 (which was when I finally got my accurate diagnosis of bipolar disorder), I was so ill that I had to go on disability and back through IOP (again).

I got sick again in 2009 and overdosed once, was hospitalized twice and due to my oldest daughter making some really stupid and selfish decisions, I lost my youngest daughter to CPS for a time. She had to live with her Uncle for 9 months (thank, God that she could - I will always love him and be thankful to him for taking her in and not leaving her to rot in some foster home.)

It's 2012 and even though my rational mind knows relapse is not inevitable, I'm feeling like my relapse is overdue, lurking around the corner. For months, I've been having sleeping issues and that's always a bad thing with bipolar disorder. I'm getting more and more sad and depressed and feeling more and more hopeless and that life is pointless. The living room and my bedroom are a mess and Y and I have been wearing clothes out of baskets and off the floor for weeks and weeks. Most nights, I don't eat dinner, though of course, I always fix her something simple to eat. Thank God she gets a to-go breakfast in the morning and eats lunch at school. Weekends are a little harder, but we get by and she always gets fed, even if I choose not to eat because the thought of preparing something for both of us is just too overwhelming. I still go to work every day and it takes everything I have to get there and do my job. There is nothing leftover at the end of the day.

I had a very frank conversation with my middle daughter, V, a few nights ago. Of all my daughters, she is the one who "gets it" the most. My oldest could not possibly care less that I'm sick and that one day, this sickness might choose to take my life if it so wishes. She views my illness only as something that inconveniences her life. My youngest is, obviously, too young to understand.

I told V that I am tired. I am so tired of fighting this monster (here come the tears.) This year marks two decades since I first became ill. I spent the first 15 of those years incorrectly diagnosed and utterly miserable.

I hate that the person I was before bipolar disorder stole my life is gone forever. Yes. We all change over the years, this is true, but before I got sick, life was different. My house was clean. I cooked 3 meals a day. I was never "behind" on laundry. I went to the gym 6 times a week. I had a lot of energy, I was motivated and I was always the type to get "just one more thing" done before I moved on to the next. I never got to see who I might have become had bipolar disorder not handed me a life sentence.

Bipolar disorder contributed to the destruction of my marriage. It destroyed the years I should have spent, happily watching my children grow up. There are entire years of their lives and important events in their lives that I can't even remember. This is painful. I vividly recall A's first day of pre-school. I can't remember V's at all. I can remember V's high school graduation with absolute clarity. I cannot remember A's at all. These are the things that bipolar disorder steals from you when it decides to move in. Your life, your memories, your happiness.

I'm really just very tired. I can be aware of my illness when I'm in this particular state, but there are times when it spirals out of control and becomes so bad that I forget that I'm bipolar. I forget that I need to eat, to sleep, to stick to a routine and a schedule. That's when things like swallowing handfuls of Xanax with vodka happen. Well, that's the extreme example of what happened last time, though, I hope never to repeat that. I remember feeling so tired then, too. I didn't want to kill myself; I just wanted the pain to stop and I wanted to sleep and I couldn't seem to make either thing happen.

We are reckless when we are manic. We make bad decisions. We don't think about the consequences. I can still recall my daughter, V's, voice cracking the day after I overdosed and I called her from the hospital. She choked up as she started to tell me she was so glad I was ok. Yes my nemesis, bipolar disorder, you have stolen many things from me, but that is one memory that you haven't taken and never will. Maybe there's a reason for that.

So pray for me, dear family and friends and try to understand that when I'm like this, I really don't mean to be. I try hard to hide it and not burden you with it, but I know it seeps through the cracks and on occasion, crashes through the walls.

For many years, and not just due to having bipolar disorder, I have considered this to be my life's theme song. Enjoy.

Unspeakable Tragedies

2012-02-10T14:41:00.000-08:00

I logged into Facebook this morning, checked my news feed and came upon a post that said, "Dad Uses Gun to Teach Disrespectful Daughter a Public Lesson." Now, at first, I was quite alarmed. I thought I might be about to read about some out of control dad who went too far. Instead I discovered one of the best videos I have seen in a very long time. Here is a link where you can read the story and check out the video. Dad Shoots Up Daughter's Laptop Over Facebook Rant. It's a little long, but it's really worth watching if you have 8 minutes.

The gist of the story is that little girl posted a long, whiny rant on Facebook about her parents. It seems she was incredibly upset at the barbaric way in which she was being treated because her parents have her contributing to keeping the home she lives in (rent free) clean by holding her accountable to do such things as *gasp* sweep and mop and empty the dishwasher and get to school on time. Oh the horror.

The man's name is Tommy Jordan. Apparently, (and you knew this would happen) he has already been interviewed by police, who gave him kudos for his actions. Next up, his daughter will be interviewed (and you knew THIS was coming, too) by CPS to find out just what sort of "unspeakable tragedies" she has been through at the hands of this "monster."

Quite honestly, I find the whole thing to be pretty inspiring. This man spent 6 hours of his time and $130 of his money fixing up his daughter's computer and the only thing she can think to do with it is post a scathing rant about how horrible life is because her parents are trying to raise her to be a responsible person instead of someone who becomes a burden on society? Hell to the nah. And the amusing thing about her rant is she THOUGHT she had it set so that her parents couldn't see it. Joke's on you, little girl.

If you don't want to do things like help keep the home you live in clean or get to school on time, then here's a thought, go try to find yourself a job (at 15 years of age with no formal education or training), rent an apartment and pay all of your own damn bills. I WISH I still had mommy and daddy supporting ME and the only thing I had to worry about was getting my ass to school on time, taking care of the dog, putting away a few dishes and keeping my room clean. Life sure would be a whole lot easier.

It seems to me that this generation of children and even the one before them are spoiled, selfish and entitled. Who ever told you that the world owed you something? Or that you don't have to make a meaningful contribution to the environment you are in? Or that life had to always be entirely fair and equitable according to your imaginary set of standards?

Personally, I wish that instead of parents who coddle and cater to their child's every whim and never tell them "no" or discipline them for fear of damaging their precious, little egos, we had more parents Tommy Duncans in this world.

Tommy Jordan's Facebook Page

A Letter to my "Neighbors"

2011-11-28T11:32:00.000-08:00

Dear Neighborhood Douchebags:

Thanks so much for keeping me awake with your pointless fighting last night. The broken glass was an especially nice touch.

You owe me a Lunesta. There is a twenty minute window within which it will either work or not work. That window was disrupted by your asshattery and guess who had to get up early this morning and go to work on about 5 hours of sleep?

Now, I wouldn't expect you to understand the concept of having to go somewhere every day and earn a paycheck when clearly you have much better things to do, such as fight, break glass and have the police summoned in order to teach you how to behave, but in the future, it would be nice if you could take pause for a moment of reflection before you disturb the peace and ask yourself, "Will my neighbor enjoy what am I about to do?" If the answer is no, please take your drunk ass home and go to bed.

One other thing, the next time you decide that a fight sounds like a mature, responsible adult decision, please have your wives/girlfriends/baby mamas, etc. take the children INSIDE the house BEFORE you start slinging the F word and breaking bottles. Kids shouldn't have to see or hear things like that. That would be great. Thanks.

Best Regards,

Your Tired as Hell Neighbor in 4B

Am I the only one who has ever had THESE neighbors?

Simply Amy Says

I'm Not Crazy. You're The One Who's Crazy.

Unspeakable Tragedies

A Letter to my "Neighbors"