We were new on the
public aid system so when I didn’t properly check out of the hospital, the
state was notified and they classified me as leaving against medical advice
(AMA). The public aid people are required to follow up with a social worker
coming to pay me a visit one day when Kelly was at work and the kids were in
school. The social worker was a kind looking woman in her 40’s, very
conservatively dressed, short cropped hair and her name way Kay. She came into
our little apartment, which at that particular moment was a complete mess
because I had not been there to keep it tidy. Kay and I took a seat at the
kitchen table. She explained to me something about how I was going to be put on
some kind of waiting list for a treatment program that’s public aid approved. She kindly, slowly explained that in the
meanwhile I should continue to see the doctor I was seeing and if I needed to
go back to the hospital, I should call her office prior to going so they can
help facilitate matters. It was all very
weird and sort of freaked me out even more.
Before she left, she told me that it could take as long as a year to
find the right program but to not give up on myself. Very strange, I thought as
I locked the door behind her, I looked at her card again before tearing it in
half and tossing it away. When I did
that, however, it triggered a sudden feeling of guilt and remorse. I felt bad I
did that and I started to cry. I continued sobbing on and off all afternoon,
even after the kids came home and then into the evening until Kelly finally
came home. “Don’t cry about it baby…” Kelly gently rocked me in bed, my head
cradled in her loving embrace, “It’s alright, it’s only a business card.”
“No, it’s more than
that…” I sniffled, “It’s like I was rejecting help or something, I felt like I
didn’t care, I didn’t care about me enough to take her help or something…I
don’t know, I’m just so frightened, Kelly, I’m fucking freaking out.”
“Calm down…” she rubbed
me warmly, “Want to smoke a little weed?”
“Yeah, I guess…” I had
not been smoking pot for a while because of the episode, but I knew in the
past, marijuana always relaxed me and helped me to sort out my thoughts. I
think it has something to do with “slowing down” my thoughts so my emotions can
catch up with themselves. I sat up as Kelly packed the little glass bowl, “Who
did you get weed from?” I asked and then, without waiting for an answer, I
asked, “From Landy?”
“Uh-huh…” Kelly smiled
and handed me the bowl with a lighter, “You first!”
“Is this good shit or
regs?” I light the bowl and suck in a
huge hit.
“Just regs…” Kelly
shrugged, “But she’s cheap and convenient.”
“Right…” I exhaled the
harsh smoke and cough, “Yeah, well, it works.”
“Right, sort of…” Kelly
took a hit and I sat in silence and watched her as the bowl glowed in the
reflection of her glasses while her eyes met mine. I was thinking about how
long she and I had been together, since 1995, it had been 12, going on 13 years
now and I still felt that same sense of comfort and home with her, no matter
where we are, as long as we’re together, we’re home. Kelly finally exhaled a
large cloud of smoke, “You okay baby? You’re spacing out a little on me…”
“I was thinking about
how long we’ve been together,” I smiled, “Dreaming about the past…I was
thinking too…” Kelly handed me the bowl, “I’m afraid because I don’t know
things, that’s what scares me, I just don’t know, you know?”
“No.” she shook her
head and tilted her long hair to the left, “What don’t you know?”
“Well, things, if I
just knew things…” I couldn’t put my finger on it, “If I know something, I
don’t have fear of it, or at least, as much fear…I don’t know!”
“Knowledge is power.”
Kelly smiled, “Right?”
“Yeah, something like
that…Fear is rooted in ignorance.” I took a long slow hit from the little green
glass pipe and held it in to try and savor the taste, the aroma, the effect of
the marijuana, but this was ditch weed. There was no fine, sweet taste or
aroma, no mild effect, just a heavy, thick smoke that tasted like charcoal. I
coughed, “Don’t buy this shit anymore!”
“I’m sorry…” Kelly took
the bowl from me and placed it on the night stand. She handed me a glass of
water and smiled, “I missed you, it was lonely without you.”
“Me too.” We snuggled
closer and I sighed, “Kelly, all I need to do is understand what’s going on
inside my head. I’m a smart guy, right? I can read and comprehend well, I have
resources on-line, that’s what I should do; I should try to simply understand
what ails me and I can foster the healing process, right?”
“You are the smartest
person I’ve ever known.” She kissed me, “Yes, I agree.”
“I love you…” I kissed
her back, “Good night.”
“Good night.” She
turned out the light, “I love you too.”
Early the next morning,
before anyone else was awake, while The WGN Morning News flickered in the
background, I fired up Della the Laptop and began my quest for knowledge. I
started by finding some information about BiPolar Disorder from places I
considered reliable sources like The Mayo Clinic, The National Institute of
Mental Health (NAMI), The CDC and several other random sites about
psychological issues. What I discovered was far more than I anticipated and in
my damaged state of mind, it was very difficult to comprehend and process this
information.
First this
what The Mayo Clinic said:
Bipolar
disorder
— sometimes called manic-depressive disorder — is associated with mood swings
that range from the lows of depression to the highs of mania. When you become depressed, you may feel sad
or hopeless and lose interest or pleasure in most activities. When your mood shifts in the other direction,
you may feel euphoric and full of energy.
Mood shifts may occur only a few times a year, or as often as several
times a day. In some cases, bipolar
disorder causes symptoms of depression and mania at the same time. Although bipolar disorder is a disruptive,
long-term condition, you can keep your moods in check by following a treatment
plan. In most cases, bipolar disorder
can be controlled with medications and psychological counseling (psychotherapy).
Okay, so it cannot be
cured, it’s a long term disruptive condition but it can be controlled with
medication and psychotherapy, this sounded simple enough but then, reading
further into this illness, when I went to the NAMI website, I found far more
information and it sort of really freaked me out, my fear was growing.
This is the text from their website that I first
read:
What
Is Bipolar Disorder?
Bipolar
disorder, also known as manic-depressive illness, is a brain disorder that
causes unusual shifts in mood, energy, activity levels, and the ability to
carry out day-to-day tasks. Symptoms of bipolar disorder are severe. They are different from the normal ups and
downs that everyone goes through from time to time. Bipolar disorder symptoms can result in
damaged relationships, poor job or school performance, and even suicide. But
bipolar disorder can be treated, and people with this illness can lead full and
productive lives.
A little more scary,
but there was still hope, with treatment. I continued to explore through these
websites, looking into everything that had a related link to this disorder but
all it seemed to do was freak me out and it was very difficult for me to
comprehend and process. Over the next many days and weeks, I kept going back to
this research, this quest for knowledge. I did it for hours, over and over, to
these websites to read and re-read articles and research about BiPolar Disorder.
Meanwhile, as I tried
to find comfort in knowledge, Kelly was working hard to keep our family going.
She was working full time, dealing with the state welfare departments to insure
Maggie’s diabetic needs were addressed and always taking care of me in my
fragile state of mind. I had a good day every once in a while, but most of the
time my emotions were like thin ice, ready to crack and break through, I would
drown if that happened so I always tried to tread lightly. It didn’t always
work, there were some loud and frightening outbursts at times. I couldn’t seem
to control this behavior. I just snapped, my mind went blank, white and gray, I
could not see anything but fear or rage. I lashed at the kids, at Kelly, at my
neighbors, at strangers. I found peace in music, I used songs to calm myself
when I could. I played John Lennon’s “Watching The Wheels” every morning
because it gave me a sense of hope. I enjoyed listening to entire Grateful Dead
shows, especially the ones I was at when they happened, I tried to give myself
flashbacks, but it never worked. That might be a good thing, but I was looking
for a way to tap into my soul again. The medication, the trauma of the entire experience,
the way life was one continual haze, I knew I lost sight of my soul. I
intrinsically knew too, finding that part of me was a keystone in my recovery
process. I just had a very difficult time during that year in finding it, but I
never stopped looking. The kids were engaged in school, they started to make
friends in the neighborhood and as far as I could tell, they were safe and
stable. Cassidy was still a part of our life, but being a teenage boy by this
time, he was more often into his own social life and only came to see us a few
times while we lived at The Retro.
I was not me, I was
having all kinds of side effects and the bottom line, I was not really feeling
any better, not very stable and most unsatisfied with care and treatment I was
getting at Illinois Metro’s out-patient clinic. Dr. Markem was long gone but I
was still on the same basic drug cocktail he prescribed. I had no evaluation
since my discharge in December of ‘06 and when I went for my monthly check-up
and medication refills, my doctor, whoever it was that month, always deflected
my concerns. The doctors advised me to stay on these medications because
getting off them is very difficult and most likely result in death! Scare
tactic therapy, it worked for almost a year on me, I went along with the plan. I
was so keenly aware, perhaps too keenly aware, of the dangerous impacts of this
mental illness and the serious risks of treating it with certain kind
medications. I called a suicide hotline twice during that summer. I wasn’t so
much suicidal as I was simply scared and needed somebody to talk to, someone to
listen to me, to validate me, to comfort me. By the end of the summer, as the
season changed, so did my disposition and demeanor. I still had no treatment,
no therapist, no regular doctor, no immediate care, no long term care, I had
nothing to work with and I was falling deeper into depression. In November my
tremors were continually twitching my body and I was felt this looming shadow
of doom from all these mixed up feelings inside. I felt completely hopeless. On
Christmas Eve, I remember standing with Kelly, looking out the front window of
our little apartment, the lawn and trees freshly covered with still falling
snow, the lights of the holiday decorations twinkling and shimmering and Kelly
whispered, “It’s so beautiful, isn’t it?” as she wrapped her arms around me
from behind, “We are so blessed.”
“I can’t see it…” I
started to cry, “I can’t see any beauty, just nothing!”
“It’s okay baby…” I
turned around in Kelly’s warm hug and she whispered, “Next year is going to be
better, I promise…let’s go to bed.”
“I love you.” I wiped
my eyes and followed my wife to bed, “Good night, Christmas 2007…Let’s hope
it’s great in oh-8!”
“Great in 2008!” Kelly
giggled, “I love you.”
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
 |
| www.dphilipchalmers.com |
I decided to share this excerpt from “My BiPolar Reality;
How Life Goes On…” instead of writing about a more topical issue because
somebody I don’t know in person, but through this community (you might also
know this person, but with all due respect, it could be anyone) is at a very
similar point in their recovery process. This scene, from Chapter 7, “A Dog
& Pony Show; Diagnosis & Disabilities” takes place during the latter
part of 2007, about six months after being discharged from an extended stay in
a psych ward in December of 2006. During this time, the wheels were turning
very slowly if at all, I felt more and more depressed. I followed the rules, I
took the fucking meds, every damn day, I did what they told me to do but it
made little difference, if anything I got worse. The side effects were
atrocious, the way those medications were making me feel truly caused me both
mental and physical ailments. I had less ability to control my emotions, I was
a bastard to live with and worse of all I really hated myself…I hated me so
much that I just wanted to be dead. Did I try to commit suicide, not that time
because the two previous attempts failed and, I knew, these suicidal ideations could
be induced by the medications, so they weren’t real. But the truth, in my soul,
I didn’t really give fuck if I lived or died, it was all the same shit to me
and I even imagined my wife and children, my parents, brother and friends would
be better off with me because I sucked that bad. I was that much of a burden
and the best thing I could give them was an easy way to not deal with me at
all, just be dead. But, as I shared in the excerpt, I have a good woman and
that perhaps was my saving grace. Again.
The other significant factor that helped buoy my state of
mind, although not as obvious, was having a little bit of marijuana with my
wife when I was feeling so sad and confused that day. The weed was, as we
common call domestic pot you found off the streets, not a very good strain. It
tasted horrible, I gagged while smoking it and I got as much of a headache as I
did insight from that experience. But I did gain an important insight, despite
the side effects, the marijuana helped me slow my rapid thought course, helped
me process my emotional state and I could reason with myself to develop a plan
of action. I didn’t intend on the pot having any benefit for me other than to
calm my shattered nerves; I cannot drink while on the medications, but taking
more medications didn’t seem logical either. My wife smoked pot to relax, so I
joined her that night yet I got much more from the experience than I imagined.
I was inspired by the notion that I could reduce my fears by increasing my
knowledge, this thought never occurred to me while on the other medications. I
couldn’t think out of a paper bag on those meds, but having just a little bit
of cannabis, which activates the NATURAL CANABOIDS in the brain, helped me
think about my situation in a new way. It set the course for my recovery by
igniting my own intellectual abilities to help me help myself understand this
disorder, what treatments and medications are most effective and, in essence,
teach myself to doctor what ailed me.
I am not a doctor, mind you, I have just studied a shit ton
of material about mental illness and the human body. I do have an ambition to
take the MCAT exams (Medical College Admissions Test), simply to see how well I
could score on it, but I don’t really want to be a “medical professional”, dig?
I can cite dozens of articles and studies on the impact of marijuana on the
human brain, body and spirit and in all truthfulness, there are both positive
and negative impacts of using this plant as a medication. Many “medical
professionals” will admit the medicinal properties of marijuana are there, but
until they can safely be synthetically reproduced in a pill form, they won’t
endorse or use it…but then again, one has wonder where the “medical
professionals” best interest really is sometimes, right? After all, if there
was a remedy you grew yourself, for practically free, how much revenue would
the doctor lose from not having to write you a new prescription every few
months? But setting that aside, my point is simply this…if you are struggling
right now, like I was, if you are not getting the help you need…use your brain,
think for yourself…all the information is out there and available. Is it easy
to understand, hell no, it’s hard as fuck sometimes? Will it make you feel
instantly better? Nope, it will take months of daily study until you’re even
half sure of what you know. But eventually, trust me, you will know yourself AT
LEAST as well as ANY “medical professional” plus you’ll have the advantage of
knowing the same facts as they know but not being limited to their dogmatic
response and procedures. Knowing as much as you can possibly know about your
“affliction”, no matter what the affliction, empowers you with so much
confidence that nobody can come close to knowing you better than you!
This empowerment has a ripple effect as well, from your
sense of confidence comes the ability to disarm and dis-able the haters of the
world, those who are ignorant to the plight of the mentally ill, those who have
narrow, malleable small minds; they become simply powerless! Because you have
the power of knowledge, facts and the truth that YOU learned this
YOURSELF…which is by far more than anyone who is trying to stigmatize you or me
has ever done for themselves. Beware, they might hate you even more because
you’re right…but that’s their anger to live with, not yours. You simply have to
live well, confident in yourself but always aware, on guard for those potential
triggers…but knowing that, in itself, prevents those triggers from becoming
unmanageable. Knowledge is key, know thyself is epic.
Thanks again for following and reading along in my blog, again I am very Grateful for your support and if you BUY MY BOOK from MY website, it's not only autographed, but you gets some free shit too! Please feel free to re-share this post with the world at large and until next time, like always...
Take care & be well!
Peace,
d'Philip
The San Joaquin Valley
Republic of California
2 March 2015
