Acceptance

October 20th at around 2100 was without doubt the worst moment in my life.

I had gotten home from a fourteen day tour in southern Louisiana where I work as a paramedic. I had spoken with Dad the day before and he was cheerful as usual. His usual self. We talked about Mom. We talked about the weather and the happenings back home. "Same ol', same ol'" he always said. After about twenty minutes the phone was passed to Mom like usual. That was the last chance I'd have to speak with him; I had no clue.

On the 20th around 2000 I had arrived home and began to unpack for fourteen days of relaxation before my next tour. I was sitting on the couch watching TV when "Home" showed up on my caller ID. It was unusual to have a call from home at this hour but I wasn't even close to prepared for what I was about to hear. Mom's voice was strained and I could tell something was wrong. I thought Dad may have been sick but that wasn't unusual those days. He'd been sick for a number of years. The smoking, drinking, diabetes, congestive heart failure, chronic obstructive pulmonary disease (COPD) and overall failure to care for himself was slowly catching up with him.

"Dad died." I froze. I couldn't move or say anything. I'm sure if someone were there, watching me, they would have seen the life drain from my body. I lost it and broke out crying. Mom cried. We were alone now. 2000 miles away my family had fallen into disarray and I couldn't be there to help. The phone call lasted 45 seconds. I had to schedule a flight home immediately.

After scheduling my flight and rental car I sat on the floor and cried. I'm not sure for how long. I was numb. I didn't know what to do. Immediately I started texting anyone I knew would listen. I felt alone.

For the longest time I was hard on Dad. I always hated that he smoked and told him regularly. I knew he was only going to hurt himself and that it would shorten the time I had with him. I didn't see him for nearly two years before he died and I will always deal with that fact.

Today I finally think I have accepted his death and moved forward. We all have vices - things that make us happy but may not be the best for us in the long run. Dad's was smoking. Before he died I would have told him to quit smoking, selfishly. But today, I would do no such thing. He died a happy, fulfilled man. He provided for a family the best he knew how. The day before he died he was happy. I could hear his smile through the phone. How could I ask him to give up something he loved so much?

And with that, Dad. I miss you. I always will. You taught me all you could and you did it until the day you died. I love you. Rest in peace.

Home Sweet Home

Got home from Louisiana last night and boy, it's amazing to be back. I find it interesting however that since I've been home I am slightly more forgetful than usual. I forgot my meds this morning despite reminders. Not sure why.

The last few days have been boring. I haven't done or felt anything spectacular. So there is not too much to report. The Stavzor seems to have kicked in and seems to be working.

Any assumption that my life is back to normal is just plain wrong. I feel like I have spent the last few months spending all my energy just trying to stay afloat in the ocean of life. 

The Stavzor seems to be my life raft. It's truly amazing that I no longer struggle to be alive but there's a down side. Now that I'm in this raft, I woke up and looked around. All I see is the vast, featureless ocean. The real challenges still lie ahead. I must find a rock to stand on - to build my life upon. There's lots of work to do.

I've felt sort of depressed for a while now. But I'm not sure I truly am. I just don't know what to do next.  I've been making lists of the things I can do, and the things I want to do. I have followed my feelings and that of others and aimed high. But at the same time, it is still difficult visualizing myself doing these things.

As a potential fix for this problem, I've decided to enroll in school. Again. But this time I think it will take me in the right direction. I am no longer attempting to make a break from my career of seven years and instead I've chosen to advance it. Maybe my life raft has found its way to the surf of an incredibly large island. And maybe, just maybe, that island is volcanic and will grow over time.

There is one downside to my new possible life. It's not safe and that terrifies me. So for now, I am stuck between two extremes: the comfort and relative stability of my old life and the possibility of a much more productive and possibly safe life. I don't know how to do this.

Is it Hopeless?

I realized that the horror / hopelessness I have been feeling stems mostly from not being able to sustain any project. My current imagery is that of being stuck in the here and now without having a future or even being able to imagine a future. Or of sitting on the sidelines and watching the world go by and not being able to take part because I can't keep up with the people.

My friends will in their everyday lives do the little or big things that move their lives one step further on - you could say they move on further down the road of life. I won't be able to do that. I'm trapped at the location I am at and I can't achieve any more. And so they will leave me behind.

Everyone creates a script for their futures. We will get a good job as an accountant or a doctor, we will get married before the age thirty, we will have two children, we will own a house by the time we are thirty five, we will raise the kids, we will go on the dream vacation to Australia within the next eight years...and so on. And although real life doesn't follow the script exactly, and although the script needs adjusting from time to time, there it is providing a structure for the future and the actions we will take.

My problem is that I can't seem to develop one. I mean I can create a general life script, but I know that anything written for more than three weeks is pure fiction. And because I know that, the script is effectively meaningless. So unlike most people who have some tapestry of a future life, I have a piece of blank cloth with a little bit of writing in tiny letters on the bottom right hand corner. And I have no idea what else to draw on the cloth that won't be fake.

It is generally assumed that not being able to remember your past denies you of your identity; there are lots of stories about people with amnesia. But I am realizing that it is equally true that not having a future just as effectively robs me of my identity. If I can't cast forward my dreams, then there is no person inhabiting my body now.

The Day I Knew

March 12th, 2010 was the last day I thought I was normal like everyone else.

On March 6th I was working a street shift as a paramedic like usual. My relationship at the time hadn't been going very well and an unfortunate situation resulted in a breakup after nearly two years of dating and 1 year of living together. It happened at 0300 after we had just gone available from the hospital. I remember every second. But that's where my memories end.

The next six and a half days are nothing but a blur. I truly remember nothing of the events of those days. I do know that I was awake for nearly 76 hours without so much as a nap. And I remember coming down from what I now know was a fully manic phase where I completely destroyed the once clean home I knew. A tornado could not have produced the mess that was present.

Projects seemed to have started and ended before completion. There were papers spread throughout the house, dishes stacked in the sink and groceries left unsorted. Friends have told me some of the events of those six days and I am not proud. I flirted endlessly, spent most of my money and drank in excess. My irrationality got me in trouble at work. I was irritable beyond anything I thought was possible. I became physically violent and had multiple outbursts. I was truly manic.

A few days later I had my first appointment with my psychiatrist. I was less than pleased. After showing up more than forty five minutes late, she asked me why I was there and what problems I'd been having. She then had me fill out a questionnaire that had twelve questions. I circled them dutifully and handed her the piece of paper. She handed me another. I repeated the steps and passed it back. She looked up after reviewing the results and said "You are Bipolar." My jaw hit the floor I'm sure. I asked her how she could tell after only about ten minutes. Apparently the tests I took were standardized tests. Who knew? I left her office after about thirty minutes with a Bipolar I diagnosis and a sample of Lamictal. She charged me $165 after insurance for 30 minutes.

Over the next week I contemplated what this meant. Bipolar? What the hell is that? I spent countless hours reading everything I could get my hands on. I needed to know everything I could. There's a lot to learn, and I'm still learning today.

Afternoon Update

This afternoon I feel anxious. I don't have any reason to be anxious at all, not that I can identify at least. My chest is tight and I have some heartburn. Those could be related to each other but who knows. I feel a little tired too, but if I sleep now I won't sleep well tonight and that would be a bad idea.

Overall I felt very disconnected today. I wasn't able to really focus on any specific task. As I write this post, I have 8 tabs open in my internet browser and have been trying to read them all simultaneously while watching TV, texting and listening to my co-worker's conversations. None of which have been going well. It's a shame ADD medications tend to cause mania to get worse...it would probably help.

To heat or not to heat

Woke last night a couple times but fell asleep quickly. Was in bed by 2200. This morning went well. Woke up at 0430. Morning routine as usual.

I feel slightly less drowsy this morning as compared to yesterday. I wonder if it's because I took the Seroquel earlier or if the fact that I was hypomanic when I took it. In either case, the less groggy me appreciates it.

While I was in the bathroom, before my shower, it took me nearly 5 minutes to decide wether I wanted to turn the heater on or not. I must have flipped that switch at least 5 times. It's irritating when simple tasks for some seem to take an eternity for me to act on. Does it ever get better? Or am I destined to be seen as an indecisive, unreliable person for the rest of my life?

Emergency Bail Out?

I'm sure my Psychiatrist would roll over in his grave if he knew I was taking my Seroquel as a means of emergency mania management. It seems that a 12.5mg dose works as a means of controlling the anxiety / anger of a violent manic phase. I hope it doesn't cause issues physiologically.

I can tell that I feel more relaxed and much less anxious than before.