Comfortably Numb

"Come on, now.   
I hear you're feeling down.
Well I can ease your pain.
Get you on your feet again."
- Pink Floyd

***

I did what every Over Achiever in the world would do if they were labelled with a mental disorder.  I read so much about mental illness I could have received a Ph.D in Psychology.  I wanted to "understand" my "illness" and "accept it".

It actually served me quite well because it became a real good excuse for everything.  Any failure was because "all my neurotransmitters were out of whack" and any failed love interest was due to my loose marbles.

In fact, I did such a great job reinforcing to myself how broken I was, I went as far as seeking out the top 100 Psychiatrists in Canada and got referred to the one I wanted.

There is no greater accomplishment than sitting in the waiting room on the psychiatric floor of the hospital.  I mean, you gotta be bat shit crazy to hang out here.

It was one of the most self sabotaging decisions I've ever made in my life.

***

I hated going.

I dreaded it the day before, and the fear and anxiety on the day of the appointments was all consuming.   I sat in my car in the parking lot, choking back tears, terrified of going in.

(I mean, honestly, ANY human being that went into that environment would leave certain that they were destined for permanent un-health and a white strait jacket.)

I would see her, this calm, frozen ice pack of a woman they call the top doctor in Ontario, and I would instantly feel about the size of a pea.

She did a lot of 'uh huh'ing and nodding while I talked about my latest dramatic event.

I proudly told her of my perfectionism to make sure she knew I wasn't "that" kind of crazy, I was just the-professional-kind, you know, not the running-down-the-street-naked-lunatic-kind.

There were loads of decisions that could've been made on my first visit to her but the one she chose was an instant checkmate.  She wanted me to stop taking the medication I was taking and come back in two weeks so she could "establish a baseline".

If you have ever taken anti-depressants before, you will know this was advice that came with some hefty potential consequences.  It wasn't even a week before I was calling the office, desperate to get in to see her.  I was crying all day, emotional outbursts at trivial situations, mood swings and mental thoughts that were violently out of control.   I was afraid I was going to lose my job and my friends.   I was spiraling fast.

***

Back to the crazy ward I went.   Now fully owning the chair in that waiting room.   Thoughts spinning, tears streaming, panic rising about the state of my health.

The ice doctor brought me in.  More nodding and "uh huh" ing.  I was diagnosed with Rapid Cycling, a form of bipolar disorder.

Which, today, I might add is a SIDE EFFECT of withdrawing too quickly from the medication.  In essence, the rapid cycling behavior I was exhibiting was not a "baseline" but a "side effect".

Exactly what did she think was going to happen when I stopped taking a drug that had a massive warning label on the bottle that said "DO NOT STOP TAKING THIS MEDICATION ABRUPTLY."??

(As you can see, I still carry some hidden rage about this stage of my "recovery".)

That day, I was given a brand new, special cocktail.  I gave up my comfy Celexa blanket and I got a whole new slew of pills.   I was given an anti epileptic drug to "reduce the swings of high's and low's", an anti anxiety drug to sleep and take "in stressful situations" and a different anti depressant.

WOW.

I DIDN'T HAVE SEIZURES.
WHY AM I TAKING AN ANTI EPILEPTIC DRUG??

***

Now I'm really feeling special.  I must be pretty ill.  I'm on the Manic Depressive list now.   We've graduated from Perfectionism into a serious mental health illness and bi-weekly appointments to the Psych ward.

Yes, sir-eeeeee.
Part-y time.

Hopefully my room will end up right beside someone famous, like Catherine Zeta Jones and we can be new friends.

Catherine Zeta Jones: "What are you taking?"
Me: (as I shrug) "Oh, I'm on 3 different drugs.  Some anti epliptic and some other stuff."
Catherine Zeta Jones: "Wow.  You're way more screwed up than I am."

Yep, that's right.
I'm topping the charts these days.

I started googling "famous people with bipolar disorder".  
I mean, there has to be people that have found a way to use this for their benefit, hasn't there?

Sinead O'Connor, Mariah Carey, Jean-Claude Van Damme, Demi Lovato.

See, there is plenty of people like me.

Maybe I'll actually start making millions.   
Oooh, wouldn't that be great?
The clever artist, so talented and creative, rising from the horrific mood swings of her bipolar disorder.

***

But I was constantly feeling worse. 

I felt like I was the water inside a bubbling pot, but instead of turning the heat down on the stove, someone was standing holding the lid down, with all their might.

I was screaming inside my head, like I was buried alive, waiting for someone to come and let me out.

***

I started investigating and researching my family history, looking for someone to blame.

Who can I blame for how I got like this?   
How unfair that I have to see the Ice Queen and take all these pills?

My state of mind started to get worse.   My beliefs were piling, one on top of one another.  I'm no good.   I'm sick.   It's hereditary.   No one is going to love me.   I'm never going to be successful.   I think my friends are talking about me.    I think this person doesn't like me anymore.  

On and on it went, snowballing and snowballing as I got heavier and heavier in my mind.

***

I would go back every two weeks and there she is.

Sitting on her damn perch on her stool, while I'm sitting on the couch crying and she raises the medication levels a little bit more.   I felt like I was a character in Flowers in the Attic, being poisoned a little bit more on every visit.

I would sleep through my alarm, daze off when I was driving, operate on auto pilot at work.   I had no emotions.   I had gone from one extreme to the other.

And the best part is - I kept on weaving the web of destruction in my mind.

***

I started living up to the self imposed limitations I had set for myself.

I became useless.  I lost my job.  I found myself in questionable situations because deep down I believed I was no good and didn't deserve anything better and my internal compass was lost.

I added partying to the mix.

No better fuel for anti depressants, anti anxiety drugs and epileptic medication than some good ole Vodka Red Bull.

I remember an afternoon in Las Vegas after the Hard Rock Rehab pool party that I actually thought I was going to have a heart attack.  I was lying in bed at 4:30 in the afternoon, with my outfit on for the night, and I felt like my heart was going to jump out of my chest.

But I threw back a shot of Jager and put my heels on, and it all seemed to go away as I danced the night away.

***

The cycle just kept repeating.

Sorry, no cure my Father used to say.
Well, if there is no cure and no forgiveness, I might as well just keep on truckin'.

I was living my own personal highway to hell and I had to get out of the moving vehicle before it collided into the side of a transport truck.

***

I cancelled an appointment with the Ice Doctor.

I just never went back.   My health was deteriorating and this plan wasn't working.  I called my fabulous Family Doctor and I went back to who I loved.

I wanted off this ride and I wanted my comfy blanket back.

***

And there she was, waiting patiently for me, my sweet, old friend Celexa - my lovely, easy peasy, happy-go-lucky drug of choice.

And I knew I could trust her.
I'd been here before.

So I stayed with her, comfortably numb, for another ten years.