yuuo: (It's woven in my soul)
Off the topic of partial, because I've had to meditate twice now tonight to settle down from the hurt, I went to my psychiatrist today. I am super relieved that he took me off the Latuda- it was making me super nauseous and was giving me brain shocks and also not doing shit for my depression -and put me on Seroquel. It's an anti-psychotic that is known and used for treating bipolar depression and bipolar mania. Which means it can treat my psychosis, as well as my depression, without a lot of risk of causing a manic relapse.

It'll make me super sleepy, but goddamnit, I'm willing to take that over wanting to drive myself into a ditch.

So no more Latuda, time to settle in for the first time with my Seroquel. I will keep you all posted on how that's working as time goes on.
yuuo: (Sunny came home with a vengeance)
I can't give names, I can't give details. Those are the rules of partial.

But since it's known as a general mental health recovery group, some subjects are going to inevitably come up, and I don't have to explain how to write my perspectives on these subjects.

Nor do I have to say how they came up to express my rage and humiliation and pain at being publicly shamed for the illness I have. In a fucking psychiatric partial hospitalization program.

Domestic violence came up. It's not an uncommon subject in groups like these, though I don't recall it coming up the last time I was in. But it did today. Everyone was giving their perspectives, and I apparently made the 'mistake' of piping up with my own experience- as the abuser.

Yes, I am abusive. I am controlling. I tear people down.

There are a variety of reasons, and they don't change the damage I do, but they at least give it a reason, a rhyme, a name of the madness.

My psychosis manifests a rage syndrome. I black out and become violent. Anti-psychotics control it. That's why I'm in partial, because I changed my meds and needed a close vigil on them becaue they were changed for this very reason.

I am an abuse victim. When I was seven, my mother spanked me with the buckle end of the belt out of anger because I wasn't a good enough babysitter for my two year old brother. She raised welts on him- a two year old -for leaving the yard when I wasn't looking. That was my whole life growing up, and even into adulthood.

There's a few things to remember here.

1) When my rage syndrome hits, I black out. I have very fuzzy awareness of what's going on and it takes forever to pull me back down enough to understand my surroundings.

2) Abuse victims often learn to express their pain through lashing out, in the way they were taught- with violence.

3) I am an abuse victim that was taught to react to things that angered me with violence. This teaching goes back before this wretched illness.

These things add up so that when the rage hits, my brain reacts the way it was conditioned from an early age- physically lash out.

And I explained all this, very carefully, while suggesting that sometimes, it's not a case of someone who should be dumped by the street corner (it often is, and I said as much), but that sometimes, as long as we are seeking treatment and cooperating with it, we just need someone to have enough compassion and love and patience for us to pull us out of this dark place that we do not like living in.

This was enough to make one woman snap very loudly that there's 'no excuse for beating the crap out of someone'.

Then she left the room in a huff with her cigarettes, fifteen minutes before break even started.

I don't know what baggage she's lugging around with her, but it is never okay to shame a mentally ill person for how their illness manifests, especially when they're getting help for it..

She publicly humiliated me, shamed me, and caused me to want to hide under the table and cry.

Fortunately, this woman only goes MWF now, which means I won't see her tomorrow.

But what she did, folks? Is not fucking okay. No, what I have done in my black outs isn't either, but I have no more control over those than a diabetic has over going into a diabetic coma because of no or inadequate treatment. (Yes, this is a perfect analogy.) It's no more right to condemn me and my behavior than it is to condone it.

Why?

BECAUSE IT IS NOT MY MOTHER FUCKING FAULT.

The social worker who was running the group at the time pulled me out immediately afterwards to head off the problem at the pass, reminded me that Helmet Head (my not nice name for this other woman) doesn't understand psychosis and schizophrenia illnesses, and that she would not let it happen again. Then she helped me talk through the worst of the storm so that I didn't go back in there loaded for bear and ready to pick a fight.

I will, however, being finishing that fight if it doesn't get dropped goddamn fast. I will not tolerate being shamed and attacked in a place that's supposed to be safe for me to heal in.

Folks, stand up for yourselves. And don't let people who don't 'get it' shame you for your illness. Work to get better, work towards treatment, but don't- and I mean this -don't let someone tell you you're a terrible person because you're ill, or that there's no 'excuse' for your behavior when they do not fucking understand.

It is not your fault.

Let me repeat that, louder for those of you in the back:

It is not your fault.

Now, to bed, as I plan to be pretty tomorrow.
yuuo: (If I'm alone I cannot hate)
The self-destructive depression has settled in. My thought journal is a mess of pleadings for someone to kill me or lock me up where I can't hurt anyone anymore. I... am oddly disassociated from the pain, and at the same time, am not. I feel it, oh how I feel it. It hurts, it burns, it aches, it makes my stomach seize up and my brain misfire and I feel like I'm about to erupt into flames and burn away into ashes.

But at the same time, I'm watching from a distance, oddly...calm. Curious. Wondering what this creature that's writing these things in the thought journal is and what it's doing. Detached and cool. It doesn't meany anything, these words. They're just spewing from the pen of a madwoman and it's so fascinating to watch.

And I'm ripping down the people I love the most in the process.

This is depression, folks. This is psychosis. This is mania. This is a mixed state. This is mental illness.
yuuo: (You knew the deal- no one gives a damn)
Said to an in-law on Facebook. Cousin-in-law said he hated dealing with crazy people- crazy people turned out to be unmedicated mentally ill person. Cousin-in-law's mother replied with 'there's a world of them out there.'

Excuse you.

"About 18% of the American population is affected by anxiety- that's over 40 million, many of them my generation- the millennials -and the ones after us. Depression affects 6.7% of the population- that's over 15 million of us. 2.6% for bipolar- over 5.7 million. 1% affected by schizophrenia - 3.2 million. Worldwide, 1.5 million more will be diagnosed with that this year. My disorder is schizoaffective- we're about the same as schizophrenia, a little less, actually.

Yes, there is a whole world of us out there. And we're suffering. We're suffering and too many of us aren't getting any help, or the help we're getting is insufficient. I just had a medicine change because I was suffering from violent psychosis again. We had to up my anti-psychotic and take me off my anti-depressant because it's the only thing that had changed to possibly have caused the manic-like psychosis. I will soon have nothing treating my depression.

Over 41 thousand people will kill themselves this year. Most of them are people with mental illnesses.

There's a whole world of us and we're _dying_.

Please be careful how cavalierly you say 'there's a whole world of them out there'. We're not a 'them'. We're people, and we're suffering, and we're DYING."
yuuo: (This is my family)
We are not alone. We are more common than AIDS/HIV. We are more common than multiple sclerosis.


Syd Barrett of Pink Floyd
Peter Green of Fleetwood Mac
Mary Todd Lincoln, Abraham Lincoln's wife


These are but three people in the long and rich history of humankind who have suffered from schizophrenia. Best known might be John Nash, famous mathematician whose story was told in A Beautiful Mind.

But not all of our experiences are like what is shown with John. Some of us are a bit more sedate. Some of us are violent, though very few. Some of us hear voices, but see no source for them. Still others see, but not hear. Both are terrifying.

We are not alone. We can be obscure, but we can also be very famous. Don't push us into the shadows.
yuuo: (Don't leave me like this)
Yeah, yeah, I know, I said I'd do something for Schizophrenia Awareness Week last month. Medicine changes and stress and plain old fashioned depression stopped that. I'll get to it some time. I can't promise when.

That said, I've got a pdoc (abbreviation for psychiatrist) appointment in about an hour and I'm not looking forward to it. I'm hoping he'll take me off the Risperdal entirely, leaving just the Latuda. I want to start getting off the Zoloft, too. But I'm scared we're going to maintain status quo, and that's not good enough. The progress is too slow. I want an increase in the Fetzima, a decrease in the Zoloft, and a cessation of the Risperdal.

I guess we'll see what the doc wants to do.

I miss Ritalin. This tired all the time nonsense is bullshit.
yuuo: (Can somebody help me?)
We'll start the week this year with a poem from my wife, describing the experiences I've related to her over the years. (This is in part to buy me time to do actual posts I've been promising. Good grief, at least I only have a week and not an entire month like breast cancer.)


Sounds Of Silver
By [personal profile] emilie_burns

Isolation in a crowd is loneliest of all
Amid all the voices, whispers rise and fall
People press around you, faceless in a haze
If there's a method in a madness, then method's surely crazed.

Perhaps if you're a half step in a world where rain falls up,
You see what should yet never did sip from comprehension's cup.
Sad but true, far more are blinded, fully turned away,
Cloaked and draped in silver fog, dissolving in the gray.

From the cacophony jangle of a tumultuous crowd,
To the low insidious whispers when the silence is so loud,
Colors can be lovely, the silver fog can seem to be melody divine
But even Sirens are serene as you sink that final time.

As you hear the sound of silver, there's an echo of distress,
Schizophrenia is a burden, and its struggle gives no rest.
Because if you'll open up your eyes and listen close,
The sound of silver is repeating the call of the SOS's note.

Hear us, help us, don't forget us, tossed carelessly aside.
Put quality of life within our reach and bridge the fog's divide.
We're not the misconceptions that Hollywood likes to hear,
Money and tickets hand over fist preying on social fears.

Fund research to find new drugs to help us stabilize,
So we might leave the land of fog and have productive lives.
In this sound of silver, hear our cry, the SOS distress.
Don't sweep us under and forget us, we try our very best.
yuuo: (You either die a hero)
I found this post of mine on Facebook while going back, looking for pictures I'd uploaded from my phone so I could save them on my computer so I can delete them on the phone to free up memory and that was an unnecessarily long sentence.

Anyway.

Context is that there was a post asking about general cat craziness, I... think. I can't remember fully, but basically, someone ended up saying "I'm not schizophrenic, but my cat sure is!" in a context that suggested that the word schizophrenic was being used to describe a normal behavior of a 'crazy cat'. (We cat owners get that one.)

I chose not to reply to the person, as it was a stranger who replied on a post that a mutual friend had liked, so it ended up on my feed. I was very tempted to reply with "How do you know your cat has schizophrenia? /actual person with actual schizophrenia"

I was very tempted.

But, since I didn't have the spoons to deal with a whiny mcbutthurt that someone took offense at having their illness used in a derogatory way, I didn't say anything there. But I sure as hell went to my own wall and posted the following:

You know, I fully believe that cats can be neuro-atypical or have intellectual disabilities or mental illnesses. They're living creatures with brains. By definition, they can have such things.

I say George [middle child cat] is autistic because we can take his behavior and what 'parenting' tactics we use that he responds to, and take that information to an actual parent of an actual human autistic child and get confirmation. Autistic might not be the right word. But until we have expanded health care for cats, we'll never know any other word.

I say my youngest has ADHD because his behavior very closely mimics a young child with ADHD. I know this because I grew up with a child with ADHD.

However, I highly doubt that when you say "I'm not schizophrenic, but my cat sure is!" that you know what that even fucking means. Especially given the context. You are using the illness the same way people misuse OCD and bipolar. Unless you can accurately say that your animal's behavior differs from normal for its species in the way that you are claiming, you have no business comparing a probably normal animal to a person with schizophrenia.

Please, people, stop using schizophrenia to mean just plain ol' craziness. Those of us with the disorder can use it that way, because it is our word to use. We can give close friends permission to use it in context of talking with us, as again, that is our word to use.

But it most definitely is not yours, so leave it alone.


There's your dose of internet rage for the day. (I'll post about the zoo trip soon.)
yuuo: (Wherever I go I take you with me)
EEG results are in. I am Depressed. My brain shows no signs of physical damage. My working memory is surprisingly good. My attention is in the shitter.

At least it didn't come back "You are 100% okay you big faker mcfakeyson." Which was my fear.

My prolactin blood draw also came back, my levels were up in the sixties. Which means my prolactin levels match that of a very pregnant woman- it should be 2 to 29 ng/mL. So uh. Yeah. He's weaning me down off the Risperdone, and keeping me on the Latuda. We've removed the .5 mg midday dose, and will decrease more the next go-round.

We also started me on Fetzima ER, which is a serotonin-norepinephrine reuptake inhibitor (SNRI). Which is different from Zoloft, which is a selective serotonin reuptake inhibitor (SSRI). SSRIs are the more common ones used, but since I had a bad reaction to Lexapro many a moon ago, and the Zoloft stopped doing anything fairly quickly and didn't respond to dose changes, we're trying a different type. But, since Fetzima takes a month to kick in, in the name of not sending me to the hospital from feeling shitty, we're not taking me off the Zoloft until I've been on the Fetzima a month, just to keep me from dropping too much and too fast.

So, here's to hoping the Fetzima works, because I really need out of this depression spiral. (Can I say that I have a feeling getting my prolactin levels under control might help, too? Pregnancy hormones, yikes.)
yuuo: (Happy hurts sometimes)
We have a week! (For those of you new here, my profile states that I have schizophrenia, although it's more complicated than that. I'll put up a post... uh, maybe some time today, but at least during that week explaining the whole she-bang.)

Schizophrenia Awareness Week is May 17th through May 23rd this year. Our ribbon color is silver, although since I know most people don't have silver clothing beyond jewelry, if you wanna show support for us, grey will do in a pinch.

(Yes, I use the British spelling for 'grey'. I use 'theatre' too, instead of 'theater'. I have no idea why at this point. You're just gonna have to get used to it if you hang out around here.)
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