Last Thursday I got a short message from an old friend who has bipolar. It simply asked what I thought of her new blog and included the URL. That’s it. When I saw the Web address, I didn’t think it was right, so I checked it out and sure enough, this person started a blog called “Bipolar Bloggo,” which is the exact same title as the bipolar blog that I started years ago, whose posts are now incorporated into this blog (though mine, like bloggo chicago, has no caps). I was alarmed by the blog’s title, called my friend, explained that I once had a blog by the same name, and asked her to change both the title and the URL of her blog. She agreed, promised to do so later that night, and did.

There was only one post on this other blog that said the narrator had just been diagnosed with bipolar disorder and, as might be expected, was shocked and angry. Except that I’ve known this person for almost 10 years, which is why I used the word “narrator,” because as far as I knew, my friend also has bipolar or at least depression because of how we met.

My friend hasn’t lived in Chicago for years, and even while she was here, she and I lost touch. We’re both writers and when we were close she was always supportive of both my writing and my well-being. As you can imagine, I was concerned about her well-being considering what I’d read on the blog, and asked if she was OK, if she wanted to talk, and so on. I asked about her diagnosis and that’s when the conversation began to, well, get strange.

I continued to reach out to her by replying to her original message after she took down the blog. I’m not going to go into all of the details, but her story kept changing and contradicting itself, and more and more I felt like I was being lied to. I hadn’t heard from her in months, and then all of a sudden I received the initial message with no background context.

Although I don’t own the word “bloggo” the way George Lucas owns the rights to the word “droid” (seriously), I’d rather not have anything regarding bipolar disorder associated with “bloggo.” I don’t want my own thoughts and experiences on the subject to be confused with someone else’s, so I may write a disclaimer of some sort in the sidebar.

There are several issues going on here, and I’ve already hashed them out with Brian, a few friends, and my therapist several times over the past few days. Still, I feel confused as to why she contacted me out of the clear blue sky with that particular message, and then kept changing her story. I felt used, hurt, and angry. However, I’m through trying to figure it out because I refuse to obsess about it. As my friends pointed out to me, I have enough going on that I don’t need to worry about this, too. But I just had to get it out there.

I’m no longer having thoughts of suicide/harming myself. I appreciate everyone’s comments and encouragement on the previous post — they mean a lot, sometimes more than Brian’s because he’s “in” this with me, if that makes sense; even though he has the capability of being objective, I don’t always have the ability to see his words and encouragement as just that — objective. Often, when I bring something up in therapy, my therapist will say exactly the same thing Brian said on the subject but for some reason, coming from her it sounds different. Maybe because she gets paid.

Speaking of therapy, I will most likely be going twice a week for a while, which I’ve done before. It’s certainly better than being hospitalized. The only problem is that since the cold and snow have set in, I’ve had trouble getting myself there. Fortunately, Brian has been able to work from home the last few weeks to drive me. But that can’t continue and I would consider it enabling if it does. Like, OK, to help me get started, that’s one thing, but I don’t want to depend on him to drive me places all the time. I’ve gotten myself where I need to be before; I can do it again.

My therapist also advised me to sign up for this 8-week fitness program at the gym. Basically it’s an intro to working out, the equipment, and the gym’s programs, but they cover nutrition and how to make working out a habit and goals. The class is an hour long and meets once a week; it’s 30 minutes lecture and 30 minutes exercise. This starts Thursday, and I’m terrified. I really shouldn’t worry about it today because it’s not for 2 more days and my anxiety gets all worked up. I’m keeping my strategy of getting to the gym that worked for me in the past: pack my bag with my gym clothes and street clothes the night before. But there’s the stupid IBS to deal with. I have to wait until I’ve used the bathroom before leaving the apartment so I’m not suddenly overcome with the urge to go while sitting in the car. Anyway, for now, I just need to be there once a week.

I haven’t called my pdoc to tell him what happened, mainly because I’m scared to death of being hospitalized, although when I met with my therapist last Wednesday, she didn’t feel that hospitalization was necessary. I gave my word that I wouldn’t harm myself, and I have not. Do I still feel miserable? Yes. But it’ll pass like it always does. I just have to be strong and ride it out and use the resources available to me. And be gentle with myself. I often forget that. Anyway, I see him next Tuesday so he’ll hear everything then.

In the meantime, I continue to sit in front of that bright-as-hell light box every morning and try to remember to take things one at a time.

Accept that your hope of being a tenured professor has reached a dead end. Overcome academe’s indoctrination process, which tells you that leaving academe means failure. There are other rewarding things you can do with your life, and you’ve got to get started somewhere. Don’t rush into another graduate program or law school. Let go of your desire for prestigious affiliations. Find a job and let the status come later. Better yet, start thinking like a free agent or an entrepreneur, since you can’t rely on any employer to survive long or to care about your prospects.

This paragraph is from the article, Dodging the Anvil in The Chronicle of Higher Education online, which basically states that humanities ABDs’ and PhDs’ (I’m assuming creative writing MFAs, since they would be applying to English departments are included) job prospects are even worse than before.

It was already bad when I graduated in 2002 and I was lucky to get the on-campus interview that I did. I think being a woman and an ethnic-American had a lot to do with it, but as the article says (and you don’t have to read it with regard to this post), I already had published work in an anthology, as well as a top-tier journal at that time so I had those going for me as well.

All this is a preface to the issue I’m dealing with right now. Some of you may or may not have noticed my sudden disappearance online, both from your blogs and on Twitter. I was blindsided Monday night by a severe depressive episode — more severe than the usual depression that’s always there, the one I struggle with day-to-day and from which I was improving. Monday night was different in that for the first time in 5 years, I had suicidal thoughts. I even considered writing a suicide note on my blog and set it to post in several days. How utterly egotistical, but in my mind, I felt it would bring closure to my blog. Um, yeah.

These were idle threats made to my husband, but the thoughts were real. My suicide attempts in the past consisted of swallowing a whole bunch of pills, except the first time, when I threatened to jump out of a second-story window. Lame. Like that would actually kill me.

Anyway, what always happens is that the ambulance comes to take me to the E.R. where I’m forced to drink activated charcoal. If you’ve ever had that experience, then you know it’s one of the most vile things you can ever consume. EVER. Silly as it may seem, that experience is what’s kept me from ODing these past 5 years, although whenever I’ve been hit with these depressive episodes, I honestly haven’t felt suicidal since 2005. I also felt like cutting, which I haven’t done in years, but as with swallowing pills, I couldn’t bring myself to do it. But oh, I wanted to badly.

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I always look forward to the end of the year, as in man, am I glad that’s over. On the other hand, I don’t look forward to the coming year nor do I believe it’ll be any better — unfortunate, but that’s been my experience in the recent past, though 2009 was definitely better than 2008. I’m hoping the trend will continue.

The reason I have a hard time looking forward to the new year is because for me, it’s fraught with medical appointments: the annual physical and pap smear, which most people go through; eye check-up, again, which a lot of people go through; twice a year dental cleanings, which many people have and that I just started having and as cool as my dentist is, am still dreading; and now that I’ll be 41, another mammogram, which most women have (hopefully) but it’s yet another thing. Then there’s my annual ultrasound to check the size of my uterine fibroid and please, please, please, not another colonoscopy! You’re not even supposed to have one until you’re 50 and I’ve had 2 before I turned 40! I can’t remember if in 2008 the CRS said I wouldn’t need another for 10 years or until 2010.

Either way, I want a CRS closer to home, and since I’ve been having some IBS issues lately, I still have no choice but to see one. Or is it a GI doctor that I need to see? Again, either way, I have to find one or both.

I’ve had problems with my ears since childhood. You know how they test your hearing in grade school? Well, I never quite passed. I was plagued with ear infections and had 3½ pairs of tubes at different times. The ½ pair was a larger tube and was only necessary in one ear. Now that I’m getting older, I swear, my hearing’s starting to go. Brian never seems to have trouble hearing the TV but I do, and this has been going on for a few years now. I clean my ears daily, so it isn’t that. It’s probably time to see my ENT who I’ve known and loved since I became his patient when I was 22, though I first started seeing one at age 13. Funny: the first one TALKED LIKE THIS and my current ENT is soft spoken.

Then there’s this minor eczema-type thing that’s been bothering me and that I’ve already seen the doctor for, but it. Won’t. Go. Away. And I’ve either developed tendonitis in the ankle I sprained badly last spring, or it hasn’t fully healed. Do I see a dermatologist and an orthopedist in my future? I hope not.

I must sound like a complete hypochondriac but the sad thing is, all of this stuff is real and some of it I’ve been blowing off because I’m sick of doctors, so I plod along with these symptoms that make me miserable.

I’ll be continuing my weekly therapy and monthly pdoc appointments, but those have been integrated into my day-to-day life so in my view, skewed though it may be, they “don’t count.”

The one good thing about all this is that we have excellent insurance benefits. Even so, I’d rather not have to use them.

Ha! What grind? I pondered this same issue about a month ago. I thrive on routine, even little, teeny routines like getting out of bed, making said bed, using the bathroom, brushing my teeth, unloading the dishwasher while the coffee brews, then having breakfast. I realize that’s incredibly detailed but I need that, especially when I’m really depressed and have to concentrate on one “step” at a time. As it is, I’ve been blowing off those 2 little chores for weeks, maybe months. The rest of the morning is spent on the computer until I get tired of it in the early afternoon when I have lunch and read and probably nap. I may or may not have showered.

Trouble began a few months ago when I returned to the gym and was struggling to find a way to fit it into my schedule, such as it is. Then we went to Iowa in November (still haven’t posted the pics for that trip) and I haven’t worked out since. Part of it was because of a nasty customer service experience over the phone with a front desk clerk, and since then I’ve been trying to convince myself that maybe that gym isn’t right for me after all. Maybe I should just stick with the old one, despite its fewer number of classes at times I’d be willing to attend (on weekdays when everyone else is at work).

This recent trip to Iowa from which we returned yesterday was less stressful than the one in November, and definitely less stressful than our trip to Columbus in September. Don’t get me wrong — a lot of it was good stress, but it was still stress. A major part of it is worrying about whether or not I’ll have used the bathroom (thank you, IBS) and showered before housekeeping arrives. Traveling is stressful as it is, but to have taken 3 road trips within the last 4 months is a lot for me. Prior to that, we hadn’t been on any overnight trips since last Christmas.

Now that we’re home and Brian’s back at work, I feel lost. I have a ton of blog reading to catch up on and when I feel overwhelmed, I tend to withdraw. Although I’ve been using the light box for nearly a week now, I’ve slept horribly for the past few days. Odd, since light therapy is also supposed to help with sleep. Maybe it’s just because we were out of town.

I return to psychotherapy on Wednesday and Brian will be working from home so he can take me — though I’m supposed to do the driving — I’m all freaked out about driving in snow and for some reason, that makes me feel like an idiot.

I suppose the wise thing is to just let myself have a “mental health day” today and chill, but I’m having trouble. I’ve considered taking an extra Klonopin, but I’m holding out. For what, I don’t know. The good thing is that I don’t feel depressed — just out of sorts.