Throughout the course of these posts I plan to keep friends and family as anonymous as possible. I shall probably choose monikers for the regularly featured cast. With that I may create a list of players, but let's jump off that bridge when it comes.
I DO want to introduce someone special at this point, dear readers, before we get too far into our relationship. I have a very special lady in my life, J. She is my now-retired, psychiatric service dog. She's pushing 12 and has been with me over seven years now. She has, and continues to be, integral to my recovery. At some point she WILL crop up in posts, so I thought to introduce her now.
She was trained through a program in Ohio named Assistance Dogs of America, Inc. ADAI linked up the program I applied to in Indiana, Paws and Think. Thanks to the work of individuals in both states, I brought my J home over Labor Day weekend, 2004.
I wanted to give a shout out to both of those wonderful programs, who helped me find the partner of a lifetime. Also, there is a program in Virginia that SPECIFICALLY trains companion and service dogs for people with psychiatric disorders. Psychiatric Service Dog Society
A dog that works as a psych animal is similar to animals used for seizure alert-- they can undergo the most rigorous training and behave beautifully, but if they don't have that unquantifiable 6th sense then they can't specialize into psych populations.
I will likely discuss her often, so look forward to doggie posts! In the meantime, please enjoy looking at these pages:
Bergin University of Canine Studies
Service Dog Tasks for Psychiatric Disabilities
ADA Service Dog Regulations
Renting and Housing Rights for Service Dog Handlers
Monday, February 27, 2012
Friday, February 24, 2012
smart dog. annoying, but smart
Yesterday I didn't have to be up at any set time. I went to bed at a reasonable hour and let myself sleep until I naturally work. I probably got close to ten hours sleep. It was HEAVENLY.
So I got up to let out J, my dog, and feed her. The weather looked promising (turned out to be a lovely day), so I left the door to the back door open for her. That way she could go in and out as she pleased. I did that a lot later in the fall last year when the bugs were no longer an issue. She would go outside for a bit to enjoy the weather, come inside to check on me, then head back out for another 20ish minutes.
As much as she loves being outside, she gets persnickety sometimes about not willing to be out there without me. Yesterday morning was one of those days.
Feeling deliciously relaxed, I decided to go back to bed. I left the door open for J. Instead of every 20-30 minutes, she was coming back in every 2-3 minutes. I could hear her 'click click clicking' on the tile. Down the hall into our room and back. I finally sat up and said "In or OUT, make up your mind!"
She just looked at me in the way only she can do. Almost like a mother scolding. Seeming to say, "you really SHOULD be up. and you should ALSO be outside playing with me." In many ways, this being is smarter than I. She knew exactly what she was doing.
So I got up, shut the door,
and went back to bed. She settled on her cushion with a petulant sigh, and I got 90 more minutes of quality rest. ;)
So I got up to let out J, my dog, and feed her. The weather looked promising (turned out to be a lovely day), so I left the door to the back door open for her. That way she could go in and out as she pleased. I did that a lot later in the fall last year when the bugs were no longer an issue. She would go outside for a bit to enjoy the weather, come inside to check on me, then head back out for another 20ish minutes.
As much as she loves being outside, she gets persnickety sometimes about not willing to be out there without me. Yesterday morning was one of those days.
Feeling deliciously relaxed, I decided to go back to bed. I left the door open for J. Instead of every 20-30 minutes, she was coming back in every 2-3 minutes. I could hear her 'click click clicking' on the tile. Down the hall into our room and back. I finally sat up and said "In or OUT, make up your mind!"
She just looked at me in the way only she can do. Almost like a mother scolding. Seeming to say, "you really SHOULD be up. and you should ALSO be outside playing with me." In many ways, this being is smarter than I. She knew exactly what she was doing.
So I got up, shut the door,
and went back to bed. She settled on her cushion with a petulant sigh, and I got 90 more minutes of quality rest. ;)
Thursday, February 23, 2012
I'd like to buy an "O" please
I miss sex. Well, that's not entirely true. I miss the intimacy of sex. Talking in the dark while cuddling. Long, sensual make-out sessions. The connection you have with a lover.
And right now I'm so busy, that I'm lucky to have a passing flirtation in the halls with friends at work or school.
Intercourse isn't really the issue, though. Sexual gratification IS. There was a time when I could get myself off when I needed to, or even when I didn't need to. Ah, they halcyon days of youth when calendars was open and we didn't have to pencil in masturbation as a priority. Anyone over 30 remember those days? I'm not sure I do any more.
For several years now, unfortunately, orgasm hasn't come easily. Or often. The reasons are many, but I'll break it down for you as best I'm able.
For many people with MI, the disease hinders our sexuality. Part of this can be symptoms of the disease itself. Sadness, low energy, trouble sleeping, loneliness, the tendency to isolate--these things make sex a low priority for me. Irritability, anxiety, and an inability to sit still can make it unpleasant for friends to be around me. There's a double edge to the symptoms sword when pursuing intimacy. I also suffer from Seasonal Affective Disorder [SAD], so winter months can be more difficult from intensified symptoms.
I have the above symptoms challenges on the "emotional" plane. I say emotional because most of what I listed directly concerns my psyche, even though MI is by definition biochemical. It's hard to feel sexy, or interested in sex, when I'm forcing myself through the day/week/month. That reality is hardly unique to people with MI. The stresses of life intrude. We all know this. So take the worries of modern living and add to that the symptoms of mental illness. The blah of apathy, the fatigue of continual effort, and the sting of low self-esteem. "No one else sees me as attractive, so why should I?" It circles back nastily.
Many medications inhibit our hormones, libidos, and responses. I wasn't being redundant there, rather hair-splittingly specific. Each is different. This is the bigger challenge for me on the "physical" plane. I take two medications that impact my libido and my sexual responsiveness. Many people on the mood disorder spectrum--as I am--need more than one drug from time to time regardless if they suffer from ongoing "mild" depression or severe bi-polar disorder. I can be in a nice, sensual mood. That mellow, relaxed, lustful feeling that presents many options for fun. I can accentuate that mood with a dirty book or an erotic movie. I can do everything I know that I enjoy to get down with my bad self . . .
and nothing happens.
Mild to moderate arousal, no chance of climax. Highly annoying. Sometimes you can keep at it until you get there. But eventually the mental/emotional frustration causes me to give up. When you go at it for a good HOUR without success, it's not a case of giving up without sufficient effort. Yes, masturbating without orgasm can still be incredibly satisfying. Sure, self-touch can be enjoyable in and of itself. I enjoy a lot of sensuality aside from masturbation some days. It's what I have come to focus on since orgasm has become SO irritatingly elusive.
I want a damn orgasm! It doesn't have to leave me panting with my toes curled. Just GETTING there would be nice!
Recently I've been talking a lot with a new friend, Felicia. She's an incredible woman and we're becoming very close, very quickly. She's also one of those very blessed woman, possessing a husband who's an incredible lover. He feels that he hasn't done his job properly if he hasn't given her several screaming orgasms before he allows himself one.
So apparently, ladies, they aren't a myth existing only in romance novels. ;)
They have an incredible sex life, and manage to keep it decently active despite being working parents with two young children. I envy her that, and she knows it. I'm living vicariously through her a lot right now. She doesn't mind in the least, and gets a kick out of it. We've discussed my sex life, and lack-thereof, quite a bit. Trying to be helpful she'll give me suggestions like internet porn or new sex toys. I'll explain how certain things don't do it for me, or work for me. Bless her. She really wants sexually fulfilment to be a regular part of my life. She wants that for me. I AM open to suggestions, so I believe she has started a mission to help me have bigger, better orgasms.
As I said, I'd just like to have ONE.
The other night she finally began to understand how much more it's linked to medication and illness than opportunity. Her response: "Oh honey, you poor baby! How do you stand it???"
I just do.
Feeling aroused is challenging. Being AWARE that I'm aroused sometimes doesn't happen; the disconnect is that great. I'll go to the bathroom and realize I'm moderately wet, my body preparing itself for something that might theoretically occur.
I take two medications. I've been on this particular combination for about 6 years, and it's worked very well for me. I truly made strides forward in recovery once the cocktail balanced my neurotransmitters [NTs] enough for me to cope beyond activities of daily living. So while there may be a better combination out there for me, the thought of changing them makes me nervous. I LIKE having a life again. I went too many years without.
So how do I stand it? I just do. It's a price I pay for stability. For health. For having a life beyond sleep and television. But it doesn't stop me from wanting more, wishing for something better.
I'd like to buy an "O" please, Alex.
And right now I'm so busy, that I'm lucky to have a passing flirtation in the halls with friends at work or school.
Intercourse isn't really the issue, though. Sexual gratification IS. There was a time when I could get myself off when I needed to, or even when I didn't need to. Ah, they halcyon days of youth when calendars was open and we didn't have to pencil in masturbation as a priority. Anyone over 30 remember those days? I'm not sure I do any more.
For several years now, unfortunately, orgasm hasn't come easily. Or often. The reasons are many, but I'll break it down for you as best I'm able.
For many people with MI, the disease hinders our sexuality. Part of this can be symptoms of the disease itself. Sadness, low energy, trouble sleeping, loneliness, the tendency to isolate--these things make sex a low priority for me. Irritability, anxiety, and an inability to sit still can make it unpleasant for friends to be around me. There's a double edge to the symptoms sword when pursuing intimacy. I also suffer from Seasonal Affective Disorder [SAD], so winter months can be more difficult from intensified symptoms.
I have the above symptoms challenges on the "emotional" plane. I say emotional because most of what I listed directly concerns my psyche, even though MI is by definition biochemical. It's hard to feel sexy, or interested in sex, when I'm forcing myself through the day/week/month. That reality is hardly unique to people with MI. The stresses of life intrude. We all know this. So take the worries of modern living and add to that the symptoms of mental illness. The blah of apathy, the fatigue of continual effort, and the sting of low self-esteem. "No one else sees me as attractive, so why should I?" It circles back nastily.
Many medications inhibit our hormones, libidos, and responses. I wasn't being redundant there, rather hair-splittingly specific. Each is different. This is the bigger challenge for me on the "physical" plane. I take two medications that impact my libido and my sexual responsiveness. Many people on the mood disorder spectrum--as I am--need more than one drug from time to time regardless if they suffer from ongoing "mild" depression or severe bi-polar disorder. I can be in a nice, sensual mood. That mellow, relaxed, lustful feeling that presents many options for fun. I can accentuate that mood with a dirty book or an erotic movie. I can do everything I know that I enjoy to get down with my bad self . . .
and nothing happens.
Mild to moderate arousal, no chance of climax. Highly annoying. Sometimes you can keep at it until you get there. But eventually the mental/emotional frustration causes me to give up. When you go at it for a good HOUR without success, it's not a case of giving up without sufficient effort. Yes, masturbating without orgasm can still be incredibly satisfying. Sure, self-touch can be enjoyable in and of itself. I enjoy a lot of sensuality aside from masturbation some days. It's what I have come to focus on since orgasm has become SO irritatingly elusive.
I want a damn orgasm! It doesn't have to leave me panting with my toes curled. Just GETTING there would be nice!
Recently I've been talking a lot with a new friend, Felicia. She's an incredible woman and we're becoming very close, very quickly. She's also one of those very blessed woman, possessing a husband who's an incredible lover. He feels that he hasn't done his job properly if he hasn't given her several screaming orgasms before he allows himself one.
So apparently, ladies, they aren't a myth existing only in romance novels. ;)
They have an incredible sex life, and manage to keep it decently active despite being working parents with two young children. I envy her that, and she knows it. I'm living vicariously through her a lot right now. She doesn't mind in the least, and gets a kick out of it. We've discussed my sex life, and lack-thereof, quite a bit. Trying to be helpful she'll give me suggestions like internet porn or new sex toys. I'll explain how certain things don't do it for me, or work for me. Bless her. She really wants sexually fulfilment to be a regular part of my life. She wants that for me. I AM open to suggestions, so I believe she has started a mission to help me have bigger, better orgasms.
As I said, I'd just like to have ONE.
The other night she finally began to understand how much more it's linked to medication and illness than opportunity. Her response: "Oh honey, you poor baby! How do you stand it???"
I just do.
Feeling aroused is challenging. Being AWARE that I'm aroused sometimes doesn't happen; the disconnect is that great. I'll go to the bathroom and realize I'm moderately wet, my body preparing itself for something that might theoretically occur.
I take two medications. I've been on this particular combination for about 6 years, and it's worked very well for me. I truly made strides forward in recovery once the cocktail balanced my neurotransmitters [NTs] enough for me to cope beyond activities of daily living. So while there may be a better combination out there for me, the thought of changing them makes me nervous. I LIKE having a life again. I went too many years without.
So how do I stand it? I just do. It's a price I pay for stability. For health. For having a life beyond sleep and television. But it doesn't stop me from wanting more, wishing for something better.
I'd like to buy an "O" please, Alex.
Tuesday, February 21, 2012
1:40 am
This morning at approximately 1:40 my land line rang. I only use this phone for work so very few people have the number. When I work from home during daylight hours I have many things going on at once. This means the ringer is set to a very high volume.
So I, and at least one of my room mates, was woken out of a deep sleep unexpectedly and harshly at 1:40. I got to the handset as soon as I could, but it rang at least three times. The number displayed had over 10 digits, and came from a domestic area code. I double checked the display. No foreign country code.
I don't know what happened or who the hell you/it were, but FUCK YOU! It took me nearly an hour to get back to sleep. My rest was severely disturbed by tossing and bad dreams. I got up tired and out of sorts.
Good, consistent sleep is KEY to staying in recovery, and you fucked me for the day. I hope the karma bitch bites you long and hard. Soon.
So I, and at least one of my room mates, was woken out of a deep sleep unexpectedly and harshly at 1:40. I got to the handset as soon as I could, but it rang at least three times. The number displayed had over 10 digits, and came from a domestic area code. I double checked the display. No foreign country code.
I don't know what happened or who the hell you/it were, but FUCK YOU! It took me nearly an hour to get back to sleep. My rest was severely disturbed by tossing and bad dreams. I got up tired and out of sorts.
Good, consistent sleep is KEY to staying in recovery, and you fucked me for the day. I hope the karma bitch bites you long and hard. Soon.
Monday, February 20, 2012
Shut up, Yoda
I'm assuming that title commanded the notice many, and the vilification of many more. The first result was my intention; the second collateral damage. The first reaction is not, however, the only reason I chose it.
Most Westerners are familiar with the now iconic lines of Yoda, the ancient Jedi Master. His precepts lie entrenched within modern culture, etched on the hearts of several generations. Quite probably the best known quote from all of Star Wars, "Do or do not, there is no try," was spoken by Yoda. This axiom has spread far and wide to the benefit of many.
But with all due respect, your Honor, shut up.
Let me explain:
I recognize that from a linguistic, even logical standpoint, 'merely' trying presupposes failure. It may indicate a lack of effort on some level, or in the case of young Luke a lack of faith. I understand that, hell I even AGREE to an extent. My undergrad background is in rhetorical studies. Language is very important, and reveals much about how we think and feel.
But some days, "trying" is all I have in me. And these last two weeks, I have been "trying" very, very hard.
Mental illness is a soul-sucking, self-esteem crippling, mentally exhausting, physically draining classification of diseases. Anyone who says otherwise is woefully ignorant. The amount of energy it takes to get out of bed, wash, and dress is often more than many patients can handle at one point or another. Leaving the house? Forget it!
The standard definition of try is to attempt, or to make an effort. Synonyms include: endeavour, strive, and undertake. Synonyms with a slightly different meaning include struggle and trial. Have you ever struggled through a bad case of the flu? Have you ever felt that being sick is a trial, or trying? Now take into consideration ANY long-term, chronic health condition.
How's that light bulb coming?
During periods of decline there have been weeks, even months, when getting myself out of bed and STAYING out of bed took more effort that I ever would have imagined possible. I couldn't always remember to brush my teeth, or even if I HAD brushed my teeth I was so heavily medicated. I'd check the bristles on my toothbrush to see if they were damp. Sometimes multiple times per day. I might find the strength to shower, but not wash my hair. Then could I find any clean clothes . . . .
"Now I'm hungry. Legitimately hungry, but I'm SO TIRED. Putting
together a meal is just too much work. But at least I'm up, and
dressed, and semi-clean. That's progress."
And it was. It was more than progress, it was a VICTORY. On that day, in that time, I accomplished something that hadn't happened easily for some time. Something that possibly hadn't happened the previous day. I struggled and I strove, and that on day I succeeded.
Don't discount how much effort goes into the little things most of us take for granted. And DON'T belittle it. The strength required was so intense that those very acts wiped out all the energy I'd have for the next few hours.
Choose whatever philosophical thought train you wish, I GET that the word try is one of the worst the English language has to offer. The connotations ascribed over the years have created self-fulfilling prophesies, facilitated insincerity, and sustained justifications. It is more than a word, more than a rhetorical construct. The ambiguity of try is quite possibly one of the most nuanced and complex within psycho-social-linguistic pedagogy. "Don't try, DO IT!" is something we tell ourselves, our peers, and our children. Our intent is at worst compliance, at best motivation. Occasionally the intended message of encouragement is received as criticism.
But I don't. I hold my tongue, sometimes biting until it bleeds. So I shall strive that I may survive. There will be days I succeed and months I surpass.
For tonight I shall give myself permission to relax. Postponing certain activities won't yield insurmountable consequences. Temporary suspension may do more harm than good long-term. I recognize the possibility but in truth I don't know. I DO know that pushing myself too hard right now may set me back a bit, and I prefer to continue on an upward trend. So tonight, I choose sloth.
And tomorrow, I'll try to do better.
Sunday, February 19, 2012
Still Alive
The 2011-2012 school year finds me back in academia as a student for the first time since 2003. Among all the things currently on my plate, I find this one particularly enjoyable. My M/W morning teacher starts each class asking us how we are.
My response last Wednesday: "I'm still alive".
Understanding lit my instructor's face. She had faxes from my physicians and knows from last fall that for me to actually take time AWAY from school I have to be feeling very rough. I'm stubborn, the scion of strong, Nordic-Lutheran women. Generations worth. Heads down we sally forth, undeterred by the adversity.
Mental illness goes in cycles, good and bad patches. I'm currently clawing myself out of a particularly bad patch. A worse one than I've had in some time; it's been equally scary and sobering. After close to three weeks of riding out the pendulum, I seem to have regained my sea legs. I took several days off from classes, and haven't put in any work for my online employer in almost two weeks. Last Wednesday was my first day back to class, and by the time I got home I was EXHAUSTED. No class for Presidents' Day, so I've one more day of quiet.
This week will be the real test. I'm still playing catch-up, but I have friends who miss me when I'm not at school. That thought buoys me as I squash the fatigue and trepidation I feel at returning to my activities near-full tilt this week. Rest is one thing, hiding another. I know from past seasons that the longer I stay away, the harder it will be to return.
So I will take it slow, lean on friends, and take it slow. Did I say that twice? Yes, I did. I meant to. I'll rely upon certain trusted councillors to help me with accountability until I'm able to fully take that mantle upon myself again.
Breathe, center, ground. Rinse, repeat. All the while giving thanks for those who love me, and for the miracles of modern medicine.
My response last Wednesday: "I'm still alive".
Understanding lit my instructor's face. She had faxes from my physicians and knows from last fall that for me to actually take time AWAY from school I have to be feeling very rough. I'm stubborn, the scion of strong, Nordic-Lutheran women. Generations worth. Heads down we sally forth, undeterred by the adversity.
Mental illness goes in cycles, good and bad patches. I'm currently clawing myself out of a particularly bad patch. A worse one than I've had in some time; it's been equally scary and sobering. After close to three weeks of riding out the pendulum, I seem to have regained my sea legs. I took several days off from classes, and haven't put in any work for my online employer in almost two weeks. Last Wednesday was my first day back to class, and by the time I got home I was EXHAUSTED. No class for Presidents' Day, so I've one more day of quiet.
This week will be the real test. I'm still playing catch-up, but I have friends who miss me when I'm not at school. That thought buoys me as I squash the fatigue and trepidation I feel at returning to my activities near-full tilt this week. Rest is one thing, hiding another. I know from past seasons that the longer I stay away, the harder it will be to return.
So I will take it slow, lean on friends, and take it slow. Did I say that twice? Yes, I did. I meant to. I'll rely upon certain trusted councillors to help me with accountability until I'm able to fully take that mantle upon myself again.
Breathe, center, ground. Rinse, repeat. All the while giving thanks for those who love me, and for the miracles of modern medicine.
Hail, and Welcome!
I see you've found me. Please feel free to look around and stay awhile.
What you should know about me: I'm a 30 something, single female without children. I work in social services, and I've actively been in recovery for 5 years.
Recovery from what, you ask? Are you an alcoholic, did you beat cancer? No to both. I am a fully functioning adult who just happens to have a mental illness.
Scared yet, or perhaps intrigued? If you choose to navigate away I won't be offended in the least. The internet is vast and full of many people sharing their most intimate experiences in a shockingly public manner.
I know that I have a lot to offer from the standpoint of a survivor, so that is one purpose in me starting this blog. Recovery is a PROCESS, ever evolving and sadly, sometimes backtracking. That is my other main motivation: when I'm having a particularly bad time it often helps me to jot it down. I can vent with loved ones all I wish, but that doesn't necessarily exorcise the demons.
This blog is to be a safe place for me discuss my current situation and past experiences. I will be bringing out funny and painful stories for all to see. The emphasis will be on recovery, and sometimes that process means giving yourself permission to wallow in misery for awhile. It is my hope that this blog will promote empathy and tolerance among the public, provide hope for all those who suffer from mental illness, and solace for those with loved ones with MI.
Everyone's journey is unique, and no more valid than the travels of another. So come in. Laugh, cry, learn something. I can't promise I'll always entertain, but I won't shy from the truth.
So Hail, and Welcome! Stay if you will, go if you must.
What you should know about me: I'm a 30 something, single female without children. I work in social services, and I've actively been in recovery for 5 years.
Recovery from what, you ask? Are you an alcoholic, did you beat cancer? No to both. I am a fully functioning adult who just happens to have a mental illness.
Scared yet, or perhaps intrigued? If you choose to navigate away I won't be offended in the least. The internet is vast and full of many people sharing their most intimate experiences in a shockingly public manner.
I know that I have a lot to offer from the standpoint of a survivor, so that is one purpose in me starting this blog. Recovery is a PROCESS, ever evolving and sadly, sometimes backtracking. That is my other main motivation: when I'm having a particularly bad time it often helps me to jot it down. I can vent with loved ones all I wish, but that doesn't necessarily exorcise the demons.
This blog is to be a safe place for me discuss my current situation and past experiences. I will be bringing out funny and painful stories for all to see. The emphasis will be on recovery, and sometimes that process means giving yourself permission to wallow in misery for awhile. It is my hope that this blog will promote empathy and tolerance among the public, provide hope for all those who suffer from mental illness, and solace for those with loved ones with MI.
Everyone's journey is unique, and no more valid than the travels of another. So come in. Laugh, cry, learn something. I can't promise I'll always entertain, but I won't shy from the truth.
So Hail, and Welcome! Stay if you will, go if you must.
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