manic

Green light, red light 7

/ Outrunning my demons / 2 Comments

It has been a whole month now since the mania and delusions started. Arabella is gradually getting better, but these kinds of medications take time to kick in fully.

The endless pacing back and forth has gotten slower but she can’t sit down. When she talks her voice isn’t as loud as if she is yelling. She no longer talks non-stop but she is still constantly interrupting conversations. Having a conversation in the room she is in is next to impossible. If we go in a different room, she might knock on the door.

She has become like that of a young girl, around 6 or 7. She has given up smoking. I’m not sure if it is because she now thinks she is too young or even if it will stick after all this is over. If it ever ends.

The voices in her head are quieting. I didn’t know she heard voices. She told us she thought everyone heard voices. Sometimes the voices told her to do awful things like cut or kill herself. Sometimes the voices she hears are like my voice. It can almost make sense to me why she thought I was tormenting her.

It’s exhausting. At times the suffering and grief is unbearable. Sometimes I think this is going to kill me. Sometimes I don’t even care if it does.

I am envious of people who in times like these can lean on their faith to bring them peace, comfort, and hope. As a seeker, I never can seem to find what I’m chasing after.

Why has this been what is chosen for me, my daughter, my family.

Green light, red light 4

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The aftermath after our daughter was committed was like that of a bomb going off. We were left with shattered lives and broken pieces of rubble. Shards impossible to put back together even as it was a few weeks before everything crumbled.

I can’t find the way back.

We both walked around like zombies afterwards. It’s even hard to focus enough to tell this story adequately. But that’s all a part of being in crisis mode. In utter despair our tears fell to the ground. Arabella was doing so well for the first six months after jail living at home. She found a job. We gave her a stable environment and that gave us a false sense of hope and control. The stress of her tonsillectomy was enough to send her into a relapse worse than we ever saw her in before. She was seeing things and talking to people who weren’t there.

I can’t find the road she is on.

The prognosis bleak, the illness severe. But it’s not the kind of illness where anyone brought her flowers and sent her cards to get well soon. There will be no speedy recovery. Schizophrenia, people shudder in fear and stay away as if it’s contagious. It’s not the mental illness offering up cutesy meme’s of awareness and support. It’s scary and shameful without go fund me and caring bridge pages.

I can’t find anyone who really cares.

I don’t want to talk about it over and over again to people who don’t understand. It’s exhausting in every possible way. I feel tired when I wake up. Bipolar mania, she needs support day and night. She needs support when I need to sleep. No, you can’t buy a snake. You talk too long and too loud. I need a break just to get the things done I need to get done.

I don’t have the strength to do this anymore.

Borderline personality disorder, sometimes you love me and other times you hate me. Which will it be today? It’s too much trapped inside of one body. Finally the doctors were seeing in the hospital what we were seeing at home. Right away, she signed an AMA (against medical advice) to come back home. They had 24 hours to evaluate her before she was going to come back home. Could we even take her back home? She had nowhere else to go.

I don’t know how to help her.

Sunday morning I tried to hide my swollen eyes as I went to church. I felt bitterness enter my heart. I didn’t want to see the happy healthy families. I don’t want to hear about kids going into the ministry. My daughter thinks she is God, does that count? It’s painful to see the normalcy all around me, like being impoverished while everyone is feasting on their riches. I don’t feel the joy or God’s blessings. I think I’ve been cursed since the day I was born. I don’t want to see suffering anymore. Sometimes I even get bored with my feelings of anger towards a God who is supposed to be loving.

Yet I can’t find the way.

What were we going to do? Where are the answers? What if she comes home too early in an agitated psychotic state? Do I call the police? Do I send her back to jail? Do I have her face her felonies or go to prison for an illness she didn’t choose and doesn’t have control over? How was I going to make hard decisions when I couldn’t even think? Decisions that could affect the rest of her life.

Yet I can’t find the way.

We had to find a way to get her to stay as if our very lives depended on it.

Where is the way?

Waiting in the uncertainty

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One day Arabella handed me a baggie full of pills. Inside was a month’s supply of sleeping pills. I didn’t understand. How did this happen when I watched her take her medication every morning and every night? I couldn’t imagine it would be that easy to stockpile pills while under supervision.

She gave me the pills because she said she was no longer planning on using them to kill herself. She said she was surprised that I never found them after outpatient said I should search her room. I also remember the late night text from Jordan’s mom saying that she had pills and was planning on using them.

Arabella said that on some nights she wouldn’t take her sleeping pills but instead would drink energy drinks so she could stay up all night. That is what she did to finish high school. I don’t understand why she would even want to do that. At the time she seemed rather manic and didn’t feel the need for sleep. But she didn’t feel like killing herself either. I would almost prefer mania to suicidal depression.

But was she really bipolar then? She told the doctor she couldn’t sleep at night even with the sleeping pills. But she didn’t tell him that she wasn’t always taking them.

I’m glad she handed over the sleeping pills. I finally felt some peace after hearing that my daughter was going to OD on pills but never being able to find anything.

The hard part was that her psychiatrist thought she could be bipolar but said he was retiring and just left us. He never put her on medication that would manage bipolar. At residential, they didn’t think she was bipolar. At home right now, she seems manic.

Over the past year, my daughter has had 6 different possible psychiatric diagnoses. It seems to me that the experts don’t agree. She still needs my help to manage her medications because she is not taking them properly. I still don’t have the answers that I need. I’m not sure what the future holds as far as her care goes. She is having a hard time finding a job because it is obvious that she has some serious mental health issues if you have a conversation with her. I don’t know where to turn.

But as for now, she gave me the pills back. She seems manic which presents itself with other safety concerns. At least she isn’t suicidal at the moment.

But now what? She wants me to butt out because she is an adult now. I can’t in good conscience walk away. I really would like her to have psychological testing for a firm diagnosis. The jury is still out whether or not she is going to be able to live independently and take care of herself someday. The uncertainty and lack of control over the situation is hard to deal with. I guess I’ll just have to wait and see and hope she doesn’t do something to destroy herself in the meantime.