I’m waving to stop from drowning
I come from a long line of mentally ill people, on both my Mother and Father’s side. They chose to calm with alcohol, drugs and whatever else took their mind off what was going on inside their heads.
I was first handed medication when I was a few months short of 16. There began 14 years of being on and off various antidepressants and benzodiazepines.
I swing from very high to very low. Even my handwriting changes depending on what phase I am in. I cringe at the things I do and say when manic, yet when manic I cannot imagine being any other way. My head buzzes, my thoughts race.
BING BING BING
I can do ANYTHING
I can make jewellery, sell it online, make an empire, celebs will wear it! I can paint masterpieces that will be world famous. I’ll travel with the circus, be a world-famous tattooed acrobat. And it’s ok, because if anything bad may come my way, the correct assortment of rings I am wearing on the correct fingers will stop that from happening.
I am buzzing, I am creative. I can do all these things because I can see them happening, I WILL them to happen. I can see the future; it’s going to be AMAZING. If I think loud enough I can make things happen. I’m here, I’m there and I’m everywhere
I am manic.
With the low, it’s the lowest. It’s beyond crying. It’s lying there like the worthless cunt that I am, no good to anyone and wanted by no one. Look in the mirror, you see that, ugly cunt? That’s you and you’re a dog shit on the pavement of life.
Hear the way you speak? You should be ashamed, even your voice sounds offensive. You’re a good for nothing, broken, waster, pierced, tattooed, piece of shit. Don’t you dare look into your Son’s eyes and show him the poison inside you.
I am depressed.
My first anti-depressant was Venlafaxine. Every time I went to my GP to tell her this wasn’t right, there was too much agitation, too much anxiety. Restlessness, racing thoughts, etc. Every time my dose was upped. I went from 75mg to 375mg. Now 375mg is a dose now prescribed to patients in psychiatric hospitals, not to 17 year old teenagers as a way to get them out of the office quicker.
I was given no options of counselling/psychiatric help and had basically no support around me. My mother at the time (who, now deceased, was severely bipolar) even mocked me for taking the pills. Apparently, I was weak.
My father died when I was 18 and my GP handed me Valium along with the anti-depressants, which to say the least, sent me loopy. If only for a few days.
I stopped these meds after a year or so and ended up back at a different GP at the age of 21 after the death of my mother. This time their drug of choice was Prozac.
ALL THESE ANTI-DEPRESSANTS DID WAS HEIGHTEN MY PERIODS OF MANIA.
The next time time I was prescribed both Prozac and Valium (both in very, very low doses) was when I was pregnant with my Son. My husband at the time was having an affair, which at this time I did not know yet as a result of his guilt he was choosing to abuse me very badly emotionally and withdraw all support and affection from me.
After the birth of my son and finding out what my husband had been up to, my dosage was increased to 60mg of Prozac. Cue the increased MANIA!
That was in 2008 and I have spent the last four years going from GP to GP asking for help, describing symptoms they would not listen to but rather blame on ‘life experiences’.
I’ve been sectioned after drinking too much to ‘calm’ a manic phase and taken into hospital because of the same thing. Self-medicating with alcohol and painkillers was a problem until I stopped completely for my Son.
I do not need medication because of what has happened in my life, I need it because of the complete imbalance IN MY HEAD.
To this day I have never been diagnosed. I have just been handed pill after pill after pill, like some Emo Guinea Pig the GP couldn’t get out of the office fast enough.
Now, however, I have a new GP. She has twigged that my medication (back on the good old Venlafaxine) is not right. That none of it has been right. The correct wheels are turning and I will see part of the Mental Health Team tomorrow.
Will they see what I know I have? If it’s obvious to me, a layman, shouldn’t they be able to see it? For a long time there has been no rest between the two phases. The swing so fast I can’t see the real me in the blur of the emotions. I don’t know who I am. When I dip, I won’t be able to remember writing this, fingers flying over the keys in an effort to get it all out.
Here’s hoping. Wish me luck…
This inspirational post was written anonymously by a mom who is a member of my Facebook mums group. I have full permission to share her story. If you can relate to this post and would like to share your own anonymous post please contact me.
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