Most people wouldn’t think of grad school as being fun times, but they were. Our department was big on Halloween and held a party every year. My friends and I were the bridal party from hell, as you can see here. I think I found the most hideous of the bridesmaid dresses, if I do say so myself. Another friend kindly took our picture. Happy Halloween!

Recent family events have brought acceptance, being accepting, of others, of facts, into light. I won’t go into details because they aren’t relevant to what I have to say, but acceptance has been an underlying theme in my life for some time now. That is, I have trouble accepting, not others so much as myself: my life, the facts of my life.

Fact: I have bipolar disorder. Fine. I learned that in 1994 and have had plenty of time to accept it. If anything, it was a relief knowing why I led the life I did at the time.

Fact: Since December 2006, I have been on disability for bipolar disorder. Not so fine. I am reasonably intelligent, I have a graduate degree, my budding teaching career was promising as was my writing career; my writing career still holds promise. People like me aren’t on disability; people like me lead successful lives. People on disability are physically disabled; those who are mentally disabled are unable to hold down jobs, let alone take care of their own basic needs like hygiene and feeding themselves, and are uneducated.

Fact: On most days, I have to force myself into the shower and feel overwhelmed by toasting a bagel or tossing a frozen entree into the microwave. This is the third season in a row that I have been unable to play on a hockey team, not so much because I’m out of shape, but, as a goaltender, I can’t commit to 20 or so games over the next 6 months because I don’t know how I’m going to feel from day to day — never mind having a job — I don’t know for sure that I could show up when I’m supposed to. I can’t even commit to a workout schedule that I set up myself. Yet I am educated and physically able, but I am also disabled.

Disability has many faces. Accepting this is much harder because one of those faces is my own, and that my disability is what’s referred to as invisible. It’s especially so because my affect, what in psychiatry is referred to as “an expressed or observed emotional response,” is not that of someone suffering from severe bipolar depression: both in my online and in person interactions with others, I come off as someone able to laugh and have fun, all of it genuine. Sometimes even my pdoc is baffled and relies more on my behavior (inability to do this or that; disinterest in things that normally interest me; lack of concentration, sleep, etc.) rather than my affect to gauge the severity of the depression. Fortunately, Brian and I are observant in this regard, and although I may be laughing about something while sitting in my pdoc’s office, I can describe the behavioral aspects of my life that aren’t — not “normal” — but more accurately, at baseline. Then again, my depression, at its severest, includes withdrawing from people, both online and in person, so they wouldn’t see me at my worst, anyway.

I don’t understand why it’s so difficult for me to accept the fact that I’m on disability — clearly, I am dis-abled: I know this and understand this. I don’t like it, but who would? I’ve described the picture of what I think people on disability are “supposed” to be like: I’m unable to hold down a job and often have trouble taking care of my basic needs. In this, I’m accurate; but I am wrong, very wrong, in that “these” people are uneducated.

[via]

When I saw the pdoc last week I told him that I haven’t been sleeping well. I’ve been having vivid dreams, which isn’t new, but although I don’t remember most of these recent ones, each one puts me in a stressful situation — kind of like those dreams about not having studied for a big exam, but 10 times more stressful. I wake up with my jaws clenched and with my entire body a knot of tensed muscle. I feel physically and mentally exhausted.

The pdoc was surprised because the 1 mg. of Klonopin I take every night has muscle relaxing properties. Well, it doesn’t. Not 1 mg., anyway, unlike the 3 mg. I took before my root canal last week (1 mg. the night before, 1 mg. the next morning, and 1 mg. a couple of hours before my appointment). He said that it is possible to actually stress while you sleep, so he replaced the Klonopin with 5 mg. of Valium.

I was concerned because of my past history of overdosing on prescription meds, although I haven’t done that in years; I take all of my medications exactly as prescribed. I am allowed to take 1 or 2 extra Klonopins during stressful situations, and even that has been rare — just the emergency dental appointment this past summer and this recent root canal. Other times I just eat, but that’s another story.

Although this is a valid concern, my pdoc and therapist agree that there isn’t any danger of this happening. Besides, if you’ve ever had to drink activated charcoal, you’re not going to be ODing again anytime soon. At least it worked as a deterrent for me. That web site’s claim that activated charcoal is “tasteless” is complete and utter bullshit, I’ll tell you that right now — it’s quite possibly the worst thing I’ve ever tasted in my life. And if you don’t drink it, they pump your stomach and force it down your throat. No, thank you.

Anyway, I left his office feeling like a middle-class suburban mom in need of a “chill pill,” the image that comes to mind when I hear “Valium,” but also with some hope of relief.

If anything, things are worse. Now, I’m not even sleeping through the night! I wake up several times and often have trouble falling back asleep. This is in addition to the stressful dreams. It’s only been a week, and admittedly, I’m too lazy to call the doctor, so I’m giving it another week. I just hope it starts working.