ADHD is so in these days -_-

today's flavor: S L I G H T D Y S P H O R I A
anxiety : 0.5
agitation : 2
today's unwanted guest: a short fuse 

Why is it that too many kids "have ADHD" nowadays? 

While I don't at all doubt that some of those children really do have the condition, I kinda think there are doctors here and there who have been careless about their diagnoses.  For one thing, it's not extraordinary for children to lack focus and be hyperactive, and that doesn't necessarily mean they "have ADHD".  For another, what we call ADHD might even be more common than we think it is, and it might not even be a disorder (in the commonly perceived meaning of the word) but just a psychological attribute.

Furthermore, whenever a mom says her kid has ADHD, I want to ask whether the kid was actually tested or if the mom came to that conclusion herself. I believe it has become fashionable for young mothers these days to say "my child has ADHD", even without an official diagnosis, to make an excuse as to why their kids are bratty.  I think some moms use it as another way of saying "My child is undisciplined because I don't bother disciplining him".  A friend of mine who has this annoying eight-year-old comes to mind; she let the kid harass other diners at this restaurant and ...  But let's not go there.

Anyway.

On a different but slightly related note, I just saw this segment on GMA News TV - it's about a celebrity mom whose child was diagnosed with ADHD.  It was presented in such a way that stigmatizes the condition, blowing it up into unnecessary negativity.  Words like "burden", "sadness", "misfortune" and "problem" were used in the mournful pa-awa voice-over, as if ADHD was a deathly, unconquerable disease worthy of the charity of GMA Kapuso Foundation.  I feel sorry for the kid already - not because he was diagnosed to have a mental condition, but because from now on the public would think of him as that poor, nutcase kid who can't function normally and who will forever be a burden to his celebrity mom. That carelessly-produced segment misinforms viewers that all people with ADHD are similarly pathetic though they might just be lucky enough to be successful.  Props for citing Michael Phelps as an example, but that doesn't quite balance it.  I feel outraged enough to want to send GMA News and Public Affairs an e-mail, or at least an emphatic Tweet, but I probably won't bother to, at least not about that, since there are more urgent concerns I would rather write them about.

And that is today's arbitrary commentary.

Cheers,

m

been bipolar from childhood

today's weather: B A S E L I N E
anxiety : 0
agitation : 0

I'm very sure I was born bipolar. I did not acquire bipolar mood. My mind did not break down due to stress at some point, (contrary to what some ignorant fiends from RavenCorp think). I was always bipolar. I will go as far as saying God intended for me to be this way.

It's in my genes, something I inherited from my mother's side of the family. My other relatives' mood-related disorders are proof enough that this didn't "just happen" to me. It has always been there.

As a matter of fact, I exhibited symptoms of bipolarity from childhood. Just to make sure it isn't just a conclusion based solely on my opinion, I checked for How To Identify Bipolar Disorder In Children and cross-checked the items with stuff older people have told me about my younger self.

Dissociation

today's weather: S L I G H T D Y S P H O R I A
anxiety : 1
agitation : 2


Sucker Punch got a lot of negative reviews, but I love the movie. I don't just mean the wow-able graphics and the kickass sountrack, mind you.

It's the kind of movie that is both brainless and profound. It's enjoyable if you don't want to think too much; paradoxically, it also has that quality that can accommodate you when you want to overthink. But you have to think like a crazy person to appreciate it.

There's been a lot of flak about what most people find as a crappy, overly simple plot. But it's actually not as simple as it seems on the surface. It's not just about "a girl and her vivid imagination" as most dislikers think it is.

The thing that Babydoll does in her head is called dissociation - it's something that people, usually trauma survivors, do with their heads to cope with the pain of existence. Though it runs on imagination, it's not quite like an ordinary daydream. Depending on the strength of their minds, dissociators can create barriers between themselves and the real world at will. It's not a psychosis; the way I see it, it's more like a defense mechanism - something that needs to be done for survival. It is not a disorder, but a way of putting things in order in one's mind in able to keep the mind from collapsing in on itself.

I used to do a lot of dissociation as a child; it was one of my drugs of choice to cope with abuse. It kept me from going berserk from all the pain and anger I felt. As a teenager, long after my abuser was gone and forgiven, it was still a habit I turned to when life situations weren't to my liking. I was dependent on it, but I managed to wean myself off of it as I matured and healed. I still dissociate when I am extremely depressed, as a way to escape the inescapable - never to Sucker Punch degrees though.

the good thing about acquired phobiae

today's weather: B A S E L I N E
anxiety : 0 | agitation : 0

I paused from reading Dean Koontz' False Memory, and then last Saturday I picked up where I left off. I found more reflections of my autophobia in the heroine's, and even nodded at the portrayal of the agoraphobia of another character, and the suicidal thawts of another. Really amusing how the characters seem to quote me.

The Hubby's been home a lot these days (he's been attending to some family matters, and then was sick for a week), and his constant company makes me feel safe. I don't need to worry about the monophobia / autophobia kicking in while someone I trust is around.

As for the agoraphobia and social anxiety - there hasn't been much of it lately, now that I am free from the Ravens and their judgment. Since I am no longer required to have a showcasey life, am no longer evaluated according to standards I don't agree with and no longer fear failing those standards, the agoraphobia has been starved.

The good thing about these acquired phobiae and anxiety is that you can un-acquire them through practicable processes. Professionals call it cognitive therapy. The anxiety I feel in general has been made manageable and even minimized without any sort of therapy, support group or counseling. None at all. No doctors or drugs even (It's not that I'm being resistant or anything of that sort; it's just that we're low on cash ad don't have much of a choice). The only "therapy" has been to bite off only what I can chew, and remove the bitter parts (the avoidable triggers). The only "counseling" has been prayer and honest conversations with trustable people. The only "support group" has been the Hubby. This formula has been the most effective thing I've ever applied so far.

Speaking of the Hubby. Since escaping the Unkindness of Ravens, the Hubby and I have grown much closer. There never really was a rift between us or anything like that, but these days i feel like he's been restored to me. It's as if the Ravens have been trying to steal him all these years, and now that we've moved away, they stopped claiming him and now he's really mine. It's made an enormous difference in our lives that he is no longer bullied by RavenCorp into a lifestyle with twisted priorities. I feel more loved by him and loving toward him now.

mirrored | derorrim

today's weather: S L I G H T . D E P R E S S I O N
anxiety : 1 | agitation : 1

I bought a copy of Dean Koontz' novel False Memory from a used books store. I saw it a couple months ago and being drawn in by the back-cover teaser, I wanted to devour it. Autophobia, I thought, this will be interesting.

Too interesting in fact. Fourth chapter and loving it. But I now wonder if i should discontinue reading.

Koontz is a bestselling author of the suspense / thriller genre, the not-easy-to-put-down kind of read. The short reviews on the first few pages agree he has the skill to keep readers fixated - and readers like me will prolly prefer to sacrifice sleep just to pace with the story. But I'm not so worried about losing a few nights of shut-eye; I'm alarmed about something else.

I have not gone far into the chapters but I've found that he has accurately reflected my own autophobia in the heroine, Marty. Very eerily accurate:

... The paranoia that she can easily explain away logically but can't shake off emotionally.
... The sensed presences.
... The fear of seeing something in the periphery .
... The real way she doesn't want the non-real presences to know she senses them.
... The whispering voices in the tap water.
... The fear of looking in the mirror when alone because of the improbable possibility of seeing something menacing. The way she intentionally looked down into the sink to avoid seeing the mirror.
... The way she saw nothing new but saw something she did not recognize in her own reflection.
... The way random acts of violence kept flashing into her mind.
... How the sight of common household objects trigger creative uses for harm, suicide or murder

Dangit, Dean Koontz, you S.O.B; you really did your research.

On one end, it's comforting to know that my condition is typical - textbook autophobia common to many other individuals.

But with the way it fits my situation so congruently it will feed my own phobiae, paranoia and anxiety, especially now that I am depressed. And oh - the heroine's name is very similar to my own. And she also has a kind, understanding husband. And she is home alone like often am. They have a timid pet that she loves so much and talks to; we have timid pets that I love so much and talk to. The story is set in the rainy season. I see too many parallels. This clever chunk of literature is first-class fodder for my particular breed of neurosis, I should stop.

But the curious kitten that I am can't quite let go of reading it. It's too intriguing. Maybe I should deal with it the way I usually do when stuck in a double-bind: run it by the Hubby, hear what he has to say and let him put his foot down about it if he must.

Megalomaniacal and Harder Than the Rest

today's weather: B A S E L I N E
anxiety : 0
agitation : 0



It seems that I've been so hunky-dory, I've had nothing to write about the past week and a half. But because I miss posting in this blog, I decided to pick a random critter in my menagerie that I haven't yet written about and say something about it. And the winner is ...

megalomania

A psychopathological condition characterized by delusional fantasies of wealth, power, or omnipotence.
according to Answers.com

I must restate that for every bipolar, the manifestation is different. So while there are bipolars like Stalin, Hitler and Napoleon who have exhibited antagonistic megalomanic tendencies from childhood and have had it full-blown by adulthood, there are nondestructive creative ones like Mark Twain, Emily Dickinson or Tim Burton who have a great deal of imagination but don't seem too delusional. I am more of the latter type, not the former.

I've never reached Napoleon-level megalomania, but I must admit I've seen a shadow of megalomania in my head a couple of times. The worst I've gotten was this indestructible feeling that I could change the world and make it a better place. Ain't that a riot? Normally it's just manifested in a superiority complex, a belief in myself and disregard for others.

A kinda think a megalomaniac has just as much potential to do good to the world as harm. The megalomania I have is usually along the lines of grabbing hold God's intended destiny for this generation - you know, good things, things related to God and destiny. If you think about it, it might just be the kind of crazy God needs to spark something to change the world.

Each bipolar has a different brew because each one has a different background. On my end, my childhood exposure to religious concepts kept me from shooting to extremes. Having grown up with a Catholic / Christian background, my grandmother and my teachers have scared the liar out of me I've grown up to detest lying. Deceptions formed in my mind are nipped in the bud because Jesus hates liars, and I never got to cultivate untruths into delusions by talking about them (Well, that's just one significant factor; there are others, such as having a military man as a father - sucking my emotions in prevented me from acting out and so on).

Recently a friend told me about his other bipolar friend's version of megalomania: He'd boast about riches that he didn't have and deeds he didn't do. I'm not like that. Ideas about the possibility and probability of grandeur do exist in my mind, but I have never stoked it to illogical degrees. Our differences in bipolarity are due to differing backgrounds. This particular bipolar friend happened to have years of drug abuse too, so it is my guess that the logical functions of his brain must've been somewhat fried. It's quite common for bipolars to abuse drugs, though I never have, so my logic cells are more or less alive and intact. I'm guessing he also did some lying and tale-telling as a child and it carried over into adulthood - which as I explained earlier I am not prone to, because grandma made sure to drill in into my mind that Jesus is watching me.

Hitler's megalomania was fueled in part by his antisemitism (and vice-versa, I believe). He grew up in a neighborhood with Jews he found to be unscrupulous and unhygienic; he blamed the death of his mother on a careless Jewish dentist. He let his hatred toward them stew in the form of white-supremacist murderous tendencies. He was a Catholic too, but Hitler was actually a sociopath, okay. His conscience was hardened and his elevations were stoked into cataclysmic levels. Add that to his megalomania and you've got the Fuhrer as we know him in history: no fear, no conscience, no other option but domination.

But lemme emphasize that bipolars are not sociopaths. There may be a few cases like Hitler and Stalin and Napoleon that are both bipolar and sociopathic, but it wouldn't be right to put us all in the same box. I for one do NOT have sociopathic tendencies - I've got an oversensitive conscience actually. I find it very despicable to cheat or lie or steal or break big laws (though I must admit I find amusement in breaking some laws at socially acceptable levels). And though my anger could boil to what I call murderous degrees, I have never come close to committing an actual murder.

I've had my share of childhood trauma, but not the kind that severely injured me to turn me into a genocidal psycho. On top of that, I've had a lot of counseling and healing from being part of a church. I also believe that growing up in a more-or-less safe, civilized, comfortable environment and having reliable family relationships have kept my episodes from being thrown into severe extremes. Also, I'm a rapid-cycler, and the good thing about that is that I rarely ever stay in an episode long enough to act on any "delusions" or megalomanic notions.

So I guess I'm not going to conquer the world anytime soon, hahaha.

an ever-so-slight trichotillomania

severely elevated | very elevated | moderately elevated | slightly elevated | HUNKY DORY! | slightly depressed | moderately depressed | deeply depressed | severe depressed || anx : 0| agit : 0

I just visited the blog of a trichotillomaniac, i.e., a person who has the habit of pulling out her hair (Normally I would place a link to a site that I cite, but I'm not sure she wouldn't mind, so I decided against it this time).

It's quite interesting - for me, at least - to read other people's musings on their own flavor of psychosis, especially those who have conditions similar to mine. Aside from the fact that I am amused by how another person's thoughts could mirror mine, I find it comforting that I am not alone. In this particular case, I am reminded of another little beastie in my menagerie.

Anyway, back to the blog I was talking about. I like how the lady described her condition on her home page: trichotillomania is often seen as an impulse control disorder, but what it actually is is a manifestation of obsessive-compulsive disorder. I take this in and tell myself that that makes perfect sense.

I had a season of a trichotillomania of sorts, when I was a teenager. It didn't get to the point where I was balding, but I did have a semi-bald spot at the top of my head; the spot wasn't so obvious if I parted my hair a certain way, but it was visible enough for people to point it out to me. I remember seeing that thinning patch in a photograph and thinking, "Omg, they're right.. oh no, I'm repulsive!".

The hair-pulling started when I was much younger and simply became more frequent in the teen years. What usually triggers it is a sense that all is not right, the kind of frustrated feeling I get when I touch my hair and notice that it isn't half as nice as I want it to be. For some subconscious reason, I projected my apprehensions onto my hair. Whenever my fingertips feltthe tiniest bit of deviation in my tresses - a slight kink, a misbehaved wave - I knew that pulling out the offending strand/s would make things better. But as natural hair goes, there were always deviant strands, and I always had several to uproot. I even had this sick satisfaction in seeing that I had uprooted a lot of evil hair - that somehow gave me a sense that all will now be better. I did it not because I wanted to, but because I had to. If I didn't, all will not be right.

It's not a problem of impulse control. It's an excessive itch to flatten out the feeling that all is not right.

Finally, one day, I had one of those artist fits and had my hair cropped really, really short - as in, one inch all over. I decided that I could go for a punk / nonconforming artist /modern woman look. Besides, I just got so sick of my stubborn hair, it was time to subjugate it. Keeping it that short had other benefits aside from the cool factor: it prevented me from doing any pulling, at the same time it made my hair appear thin all over so it kinda camouflaged the balding spot.

I suppose that drastic haircut marked the decline of my version of trichotillomania. I haven't been pulling my hair that obsessively and that massively since.

I realize now that the hair-pulling was simply reincarnated into other OC behavior, such as compulsive tooth-brushing, obsessive hand-sanitizing, and so on (This is in addition to my still-consistent, from-childhood-and-never-went-away OCB's like lock-checking, cleaning, rubbing and so on).

I still engage in hair-pulling every now and then as an adult - in fact, I must admit that though I do not have an unattractive bald spot, I right now have a few ultrashort strands on my thickly-covered crown. I manage to stop the pulling by reminding myself of the patch of scalp I spotted in an old photograph of me. I tell myself that I wouldn't want to be a fat, ugly bald old lady.

I realize it has also helped if I set aside a budget for regular hair treatments - it teaches my tresses to more or less behave, and thus somewhat lessens the all is not right feeling. Still the best cure against my hair-pulling it is to not allow myself to be idle.

fight night after fright night

severely elevated | very elevated | moderately elevated | slightly elevated | BASELINE | slightly depressed | moderately depressed | deeply depressed | severe depressed || anx : 0 | agit: 0

This week, the Hubby went on his first day on his new job; he begins this month with trainings. He has night hours for now, so I had to be alone all night. I had trouble sleeping that night - mostly because the voices and noises and presences kept coming. Man, it was sheer torture. Even more torturous was the fact that I couldn't turn to anyone physically present to dispel my fright.

The following night as he was getting ready to leave, I tried to be all responsible-like and hold all my sentiments in. I tried to be a good, prudent, longsuffering wife who bites her tongue, the nicey Christian wife.

... while trying to bear the thought of being frozen in terror all over again for another night. And another night, and another night, and another.

At the last minute, the waterworks broke the dam - I just couldn't go through another night like that.

After letting me have the full brunt of his frustration, he gave in. He decided to call the new employer and inquire about a daytime shift. It's just funny that he had to go postal on me when he had an option to do daytime anyway. I think it was more that his pride was hurt than he was angry at me for being so needy, but then again I'm not so sure.

The main point (not the main point, but the main point in relation to me at least) of his having to resign from his previous job was that it was unnecessarily difficult for me. It would be utter nonsense for him to get another job that would submit me to a different kind of torture. It's not that I require him to change his whole lifestyle just for me; it's just I need to rebuild right now, and I need his extra consideration.

It's such a male thing that he (and all of the men in this household) keeps doing: go all alpha and expect everyone else in the family to adjust. Right now, I need him to adjust to me for this particular aspect of our lives - at least if he wants me to stay healthy. The way I see it, there are a lot of other jobs he can look into - jobs that won't have to tax me needlessly.


What do I mean?

• Something in the daytime - or if he really likes the graveyard shift, at least 2 a.m. onwards - so I won't have to be alone at night.
• Something that earns us sufficient funds - doesn't have to be a lot of cash- so we won't have to fight about money.
• Something which doesn't burden me with expectations - i.e., where I won't be required to be a shiny, happy, plastic wife.
• Something that he more-or-less enjoys. Because it gets me down when he's down.
  
  

That's really not too much to ask.

Although my paranoid, unquiet mind can imagine those wagging tongues saying that I am too demanding. I don't think I am; I just feel the need to play it safe. Considering how his previous affected me, it's only natural to be mindful of these things.

So there. He's reapplying in the same company for a daytime shift. Pwede naman pala eh...

The positive thing that the fight night after fright night allowed was that I caught his attention to really listen to what I need from him. I've told him several times before of course, but as the way husbands go, he needs to "learn by experience". By this time, he probably already gets that the voices and noises and presences are not exactly a piece of cake for me.

Voices and Noises

severely elevated | very elevated | moderately elevated | slightly elevated | BASELINE | slightly depressed | moderately depressed | deeply depressed | severe depressed ||
anx : 0 | agit: 0


Extreme episodes of bipolar mood have sometimes been misdiagnosed as schizophrenia. Some symptoms can be similar, but they're not the same thing. 

From what I understand, schizophrenia can have full-blown delusions and deviation from reality,  like Russel Crowe's character in the movie A Beautiful Mind. 

 

 
Just for the record, that's NOT what it's like for me, okay.   (Bipolar is more like Penelope Cruz in Vicky Cristina Barcelona, or Nicole Kidman and Julianne Moore in The Hours).


Voices and Noises.

I call them voices and noises, but the clinical term is auditory hallucinations - which I prefer not to use, because it's misleading.  Simply put it's "hearing sounds that no one else can hear".  It's not a crazy person thing, mind you.  It's just an anxiety-related symptom resulting from extreme depression or elevation


Bipolar ≠ Schizophrenia.
Schizophrenia is a psychosis; bipolar is a mood disorder. I'm not schizophrenic, just bipolar.  The abnormality is with my emotional makeup, NOT my sanity. 

Bipolar Mood doesn't necessarily involve delusions but may lead to that if  not properly treated. Severe manic or depressive episodes can look like schizophrenia. There have been cases when improperly treated bipolar mood came with or led to schizophrenia, such as in the cases of Vincent Van Gogh and Virginia Woolf, but that doesn't always happen.

And before anyone thinks that I'm about to go all psycho killer, lemme just clarify ...


I am not psychotic, delusional or sociopathic.

The voices and noises do NOT necessarily indicate insanity, but may just point to an overactive mind.

I'm too logical and lucid enough to know what's real and what's not.  I'm not going to start spotting convoluted theories a la Russel Crowe; I am not going to kill people because "the voices made me do it". Besides, I'm too cool for heeding imaginary projections.   

Dr. C had nonchalantly assured me that so-called hallucinations are normal for bipolars, and there's really no big deal about it.  It's just a fact.  Nothing to get too worried over.

Mean Girls' Karen  said, "I'm kinda psychic. I have a fifth sense...
It's like I have ESPN or something. My breasts can always tell when it's going to rain"

I am not possessed or demonized.

When I was a was a kid and didn't know about my condition, I mistook the voices and noises and presences for demons trying to derail me from the perfect will of God, hahaha.  After years of  ministry training, I can prove by simple deductive reasoning that those noises in my head definitely are not and have never been demons. For one thing, real demons obey when commanded to shut up; figments of the imagination don't. 

You can't cast out an emotional imbalance.  It's not a demon, and it's not a sickness.  It's good to be aware of the spiritual, but no need to overspiritualize. Bipolars need to trust in God for wholeness, and take the meds and loving relationships He provides.


What are the "hallucinations" like?

I didn't think I needed to elaborate on this, but some people have asked me about specifics, so I'll try my best to explain:

They're not always present but come only during times of beyond-average depression or elevation, and only when I'm alone and already upset.

The voices and noises are just imagined projections symptomatic of emotional disturbances during a bipolar episode.  In other words, they're not really there, but it gets noisy in my head when I'm heavily stressed. It's easy to tell they're not actual, physical sounds. 

They are NOT coherent, i.e., I don't hear clear words, sentences or  conspiracy theories.
They kinda like just punctuate the dead air when I am alone, like background noise. 
They are not loud.
They DO NOT talk to me or hang out with me.
I DO NOT respond to them.
They DO NOT ramble or talk to each other.
I don't see things.  There are no images, just eerie feelings.
They are mostly short, sudden flashes.
Mostly I just hear my name in the ambient noise (like in the swish of dishwater or in the rustle of branches) - because I'm a self-confessed narcissist, my mind automatically listens for my name in my surroundings. 
They are never clear. They're like residues of dreams in the morning, that shimmer away when one tries to take a closer look.
They don't have any realistic quality to them, so though they startle me sometimes, they don't confuse me.

How I deal with the "voices and noises"

Since I know they're not really there, I don't listen to them, respond or act on them.

I ignore them.  I keep myself busy.  I put on some nice music or a non-thrilling DVD.

Lithium Carbonate has helped to quiet them somewhat (Though not entirely, because I don't want to take more than one tab a day. I suppose they'd shut up if I took higher dosages? But that would also mean I'd sink deeper into that underwater feeling, so no thanks).

It's also to my advantage that I have strong logical, analytical inclination. Because of this, I am able to research, compile and synthesize data and come up with an application. So while the voices noises and presences can be bothersome, I have the capacity to be discerning and the ability to outsmart my own busy imagination.

------------------------------------------------

A D D E N D U M :

Bipolar intersection Schizophrenia

Some symptoms that severe bipolar episodes have in common with schizophrenia (Researched from here.) - and some exaggerated examples I picked up from television.  ) 


1. Delusions

Paranoid delusions / delusions of persecution: believing that people are against you, contrary to evidence
e.g.: "I have no proof, but those ladies always spread nasty rumors about me."
"My boss hates me and is bent on getting rid of me."
"There is a clandestine network of black-suited agents out to kill me because I found out they exist.""Big Brother is monitoring us through our cellphones as part of a government control system."

Delusions of reference: thinking that things around are directly related or affected by you - and not in a metaphoric way.
e.g., "I bring rain wherever I go."
"Those cheerleaders whispered about me when I passed."
"That earthquake was meant for me because God is punishing me."

Somatic delusions: perceived illnesses or foreign objects in your body.
e.g., "My hair is falling out, I must be dying."
"There is a chip in my spine implanted by aliens."
"I am pregnant with the baby of an angel who came to me one night."

Delusions of grandeur: perceived special abilities, experiences or attributes
e.g., "I am the son of god returned."
"I am an undercover agent on a special joint CIA-NSA operation."
"I was abducted by aliens"
"When I find myself in times of trouble, Mother Mary comes to me, speaking words of wisdom, let it be."

"I bendo time ando space"

2. Hallucinations
Seeing, hearing, smelling, feeling or tasting things that aren't there.

delusions + hallucinations = A Beautiful Mind

3. Grossly disorganized or catatonic behavior

4. "Negative" symptoms - Loss of important abilities

Alogia - lessening of speech fluency, slowing or blocked thoughts, trite replies to questions Affective flattening - reduction in the range and intensity of emotional expression (facial expression, voice tone, eye contact [staring or avoiding eye contact] ); inability to interpret body language or using inappropriate body language  Avolition - reduction, inability or difficulty in initiating goal-directed behavior (often mistaken for loss of interest), e.g., loss of interest in activities previously enjoyed, sitting around for hours doing nothing
Lack of emotion
Low energy
Low motivation
Lack of interest or ability to socialize, inability to make or keep friends, social isolation

5. Cognitive symptoms

Disorganized speech - disjointed or rambling monologues, speaking to the "voices"
Disorganized or slow thinking
Difficulty understanding
Poor concentration
Poor memory
Difficulty in integrating or expressing thoughts and emotions


I've experienced some of the above in mild, non-illogical, non-harmful measures in association with severe depression or elevation - though never consistently, and never in 6-month periods, and never without depression or elevation or dysphoria. Some of them I think might even be even side effects of Lithium.  :p

autophobia, monophobia and other things related

severe elevation | high elevation | moderate elevation | slight elevation | stable | slight depression | moderate depression | deep depression | severe depression || anx: 0 | agit: 1


Bonjour, tourists. On today's trip, I'll be taking you to another prominent feature in the landscape of my Bipolar Condition. As I've said before symptoms and experience vary from one BiPer to another, so this sort of thing may be unique to me.

My depression is usually worsened or triggered by aloneness, on the simple fact that being alone leaves me to wander off into the the caverns of my mind. Usually that means delving into negative, self-destructive thought patterns. That's one reason why I shouldn't be left alone.

The other reason is the phobia.

a u t o p h o b i a
1. A fear of being alone
2. In extreme cases, a fear of oneself

m o n o p h o b i a
1. Am abnormal fear of being alone or lonely.
2. An anxiety over separation from a person or place that bring security

i s o l o p h o b i a
An irrational fear of being left alone.

[These are IrReverend Mar's easy paraphrase]

This isn't a constant feature of course; it exists during episodes - whether elevated ones or depressed. I wouldn't really call myself autophobic; it's just that I've noticed the symptoms of autophobia when i am manic or depressed.

The way I described it to my friends is that there is this irrational, overwhelming fear that something bad will happen to me when I'm alone. Dr C says that's not really unusual for a BiPer.

Irrational - because I can logically deduce that nothing can possibly go wrong and then conclude that I am safe, but emotionally I believe the opposite and therefore go into panic. The unrest is not at a logical level but at an emotional one.

Overwhelming because it often dumbfounds me to the point that I won't, can't do anything but panic.

The degree of the phobia depends on the degree of the episode:

(Before I continue, lemme just say I swear I'm not crazy. I'm perfectly logical; just emotionally disturbed)

• Slight depression:
  I'd spaz out a bit.
  I'd prefer not to do anything unless someone else - doesn't matter who, as long as it is a warm body - is physically present. That person doesn't need to accompany me; he just has to be within range.
  
  
• Slight elevation: Hardly any autophobia symptoms.
  
  
• Moderate to severe depression:
  > I can't look into the mirror sometimes because I'd expect to look different. Horned maybe, or bloody, or crazed like Charles Manson. I can logically recognize the absurdity of that, but emotionally believe it to be true. I can't quite explain how or why it happens, but bot Doc C and Nini have told me it's not that unusual for someone in my predicament.
  > I get to hearing things - like my name or some words being pronounced in the ambient noise. I know logically and perfectly well that nothing and no one is talking to me, but somehow my mind translates sounds into syllables. I could hear my name in the wind or in a cat's meow, and then give myself a fit. Doc says that's not uncommon.
  > Then there's "seeing things" as well. It's not the same as hallucinating because I don't see thing that aren't really there. My mind sees actual, physical things, but in a different way, like a very slight trip but not always a happy one. When I'm alone, inanimate objects have a presence or a personality - but they return to their lifeless states when I begin to mind them. When I was younger, I wasn't so fearful when this happened; I'd actually find it entertaining. I thought it was just my version of having a fertile imagination.
  > The things I "hear" and "see" are not friendlies. It's so not like Beauty and the Beast's magic castle, all happy and cute. It's more like a Clockwork Orange mind-frak, trippy and disturbed.
  > I sometimes I feel like the mere atmosphere around me wants to throttle me. I used o think there were silet demons watching me; now I know it's all just mental.
  > I would actually need another person to be able to function. I need to be kept company and listened to.
  > I could get so terrified that I would freeze in a corner when alone, until somebody I trust comes by. It can't be some random acquaintance; it has to be a close family member or close friend.
  > There have been a few times I've gotten to screaming and crying, but those don't come very often .
  
  
• Moderate to severe elevation:
  > "Hearing things", as above.
  > "Seeing things" - like some excess of energy makes my mind druggie-high hyper and my eyes form immediate connections between various visual elements to form a freaky, nonreal whole.
  > At times I'd be afraid of myself, knowing that when I'm elevated I'd be brave enough to slit my jugular vein open. I'd start an obsessive conversation with myself as to why I should or shouldn't kill myself.

je suis fatiguee

severe elevation | high elevation | moderate elevation | slight elevation | stable | slight depression | moderate depression | deep depression | severe depression || anx: 0 | agit: 1

"Je suis fatiguee"

is one of the first sentences I learned in Francais Dix back in university, some time after listening to

"Silvie! Silvie!"
"Bon jour Valerie!"
"Comment ca va? Tu habite le cartier?"
"Oui, Rue Mouffetard, au dix."
"Je connais!"

Anyway.

I've been feeling really, really tired these days, with accompanying bodily pains, even if I haven't been doing much. Reading tires me out. Just sitting around and watching the new Narda transform into a foil-bikini-clad Darna tires me out.

The fatigue has nothing to do with my physical activity actually. I'd feel spent whether I stayed in bed all day or I stayed in bed all day in the other sense.

In fairness, sexy ni Marian...

These days I'd wake up late but stay in for at least another hour anyway, then I'd return to bed for a nap at least twice later on. If a bed is not available, I'd pick the nearest most comfortable spot, like the inside of a car or a lobby couch. Sometimes any out-of-the-way corner would suffice.

When you feel this exhausted, agitated and anxious, you wouldn't care about poise or propriety.

The fatigue was a cause of much loathing pre-diagnosis - both from myself and those around me. In childhood and those awkward teen years, there were seasons when I was often chided (er, berated, lambasted, harangued) by parents and teachers for being lazy.

I'm sure we've all had this experience:

Fat Math Teacher: [Garbled message in an alien language]
Me: zzz . . .
Fat Math Teacher: [Garbled message in an alien language] ... Miss Martinez!
Me: I'm . . . sorry . . . I did nat hear da . . . question . . .
Fat Math Teacher: [Asks question in said alien language]
Me: . . . ?
Fat Math Teacher: [Hurls insults which would have been the equivalent of the whole class throwing rotten tomatoes my way]

But lemme just say I still manage to ace the exam the day after. Yeah, me.

SFX: Cymbal crash.

Here's another common occurence:

Guidance counselor: You know, you're a smart kid. You're just lazy. You just need a little [motivation / discipline / inpiration / experience / more fun in your life / whatever it was]
Me: Thank you [Thinks, " G*** ka rin, 'no?"]
Guidance counselor: You remind me of myself when i was young ... [Followed by supposedly inspiring anecdote]
Me: [Sneers]
Guidance counselor: You can do it! [Insert pep talk here]
Me: Thank you [Thinks, "Oh go to hell!"]

The difference between myself and other people who have had similar experiences as a student is that their problem is solvable by an attitude adjustment. Mine couldn't. Believe me, I've adjusted. And adjusted. Of course i now realize I needed neither the pep talk not the public humiliation to make me repent of my slothfulness. What i needed after all were the happy yellow pills.

By the time the Guidance Counselor got to me with the pep talk, I didn't care about grades anymore. They weren't as high as I wanted to be, but they were at least as high as I needed them to be. When you feel depressed and exhausted, you learn to settle for maintenance mode and hope you find a burst of energy later on to make up for the lost time.

Of course in between those fatigued periods, I can boast of highly productive, creative, energetic bursts in which I could be mistaken for a genius.

Fan 1: Wow, ang galing mo! Paano mo naisip / nagawa / natapos yan?

Fan 2: You're so brilliant!

Fan 3: Genius talaga ang batang ito...

But before and after that ...

Parent: [Orders ramdom task] ... What's taking you so long?
Me: [Slowly picks up aching, fatugued limbs]
Parent: Get up off of there, you good-for-nothing sloth!
Me: . . . I'm just feeling really tired . . .
Parent: You mean lazy! You lazy, lazy slob! Why the heck are you moving so slow? ! You are lazy and useless. You Go hang. Lazy.

I accepted laziness as a justification for average-grades-despite-genius-high-IQ and began to parrot other people's ideas about me. Try as I might to de-lazify myself, it seemed as if i worked harder for no reason. My energy was always low and performance poor during those periods.

But this is funny, circa 1994:

Well-meaning High School Classmate: Do you paint?
Me: Not really. I don't have paints right now [Thinks: "Do you have a commission for me? I can use the money"] Why?
Well-meaning High School Classmate: I figured that you're an artist, right? And that artists use these paints and thinners that have fumes, and thought maybe they were going to your head or something, that's why you're so dazed all the time.

Thanks, ha. Ha.

College Schoolmate, c. 1998: Even when I didn't know you, I'd see you around and was sure you came to classes laced. You'd have glazed eyes and be all groggy, but you think real sharp and sound real deep. And you're often sleeping in some corner like [Stoner Classmate 1] and [Stoner Classmate 2]

I wanted to be more than an above average student - and I often times was. I had a satisfactory work ethic, a fantastic motivation (which is, to rule the world), an organizer and a schedule. I just had a problem with being faithful to all of that. It wasn't because I was lazy or slothlike or a stoner (but otherwise drugged, yes) or any other insult. The truth is I run low on temporal resources every now and then. Just honest-to-goodness tired, and anxious and agitated besides. I've often felt myself spread too thin, feeling overly busy if even if I really ain't, freak of nature that I am.

Prof: Magaling ka sana blah blah blah you deserve a higher grade blah blah. Ano ba problema?
Me: [Thinks: Yun naman pala eh. Then just cut the crap and give me the higher grade that I deserve]. I just have these headaches often [Translated: you give too much work], and my eyes hurt constantly. I think I need glasses. [Translated: I'm not interested in your class]
Prof: Patingin mo na yang mata mo.
Me: Pinatingin ko na, may sira daw konti. But too low for glasses. Pwede ko pa daw daanin sa vitamins. [Translated: Kelangan ko ng drugs. Alam ko meron ka. Penge.]
Prof: O sige, daanin mo na lang sa vitamins [Translated: I'm not really interested in your plight but I pretend to be so you will give me a positive evaluation so that i can apply for the Department Head position]

My disciplines and overall life outlook improved as an adult (with much thanks to the academic freedom of University life in which no one gave a fig about how you did your business as long as you get your work done well; there were no confidence-maiming insult barrages and this allowed me to regenerate), but my problem has never been in my habits or my character, but in my psyche. At work, I was often caught slumped in awkward positions in front of the keyboard. This merited a lot of accusation and criticism of course, which compounded the anx/agit factors and really didn't help to improve my performance. This, by the way, was easily mistaken for poor performance or an attitude problem or selective preference depending on mood, even if other evidence proved otherwise.

I've always supposed that having an official diagnosis and taking the meds from a young age would have curbed the symptoms and given me a happier, fuller life. But now I see that the episodes don't really go away; the symptoms are merely muffled. I know it should have been worse without the meds, but I also know I still feel awfully tired with or without the meds.

I'm supposed to wind this entry up now, but I'm too pooped to think of something witty.

Agoraphobia

severe elevation | high elevation | moderate elevation | slight elevation | stable | slight depression | moderate depression | deep depression | severe depression || anx: 2 | agit: 1

Agoraphobia is one of those other nasty things that relate with Bipolar Mood Condtion. Without yet knowing the word for it, I had a discussion about it with Dr. C last year but she didn’t really say much about it except that it’s quite normal for a bipolar. I haven't been able explore it with her further, primarily since I keep ditching my appointments (Bad patient, bad patient. I haven’t seen Dr. C in such a long time, she must think I’ve gone ahead and killed myself already). But thanks to the wonderful world of http://www, I did me some bit of research.

a g o r a p h o b i a
(n.) an anxiety disorder characterized by an irrational fear of being in an unfamiliar or public place, which is actually precipitated by a irrational fear of being trapped in an uncontrollable situation.

This is IrReverend Mar's run-on sentence paraphrase.
See the Wiki article from which I DID NOT plagiarize.

A simplified list of symptoms can be found in this lady’s blog. I experience most of the listed symptoms during depressions, specifically in moderate to severe depressive episodes. I'm not too observant about the physical/somatic manifestations so I'm not too sure about not having them.

When I am in a stable condition, I’d like to think I am fairly sociable; on the selective side but not quite antisocial. I usually enjoy being around other people; I like parties, happy crowds and trying out new things (or people. hee hee). When I am elevated, I can get extremely intrusive - i.e., too friendly to the discomfort zone of some. Of most, actually.

When depressed, I could feel vulnerable as a turtle stripped of a shell, i.e., good as dead and trying to avoid the imminent doom.


The agoraphobe in me:
A complication of depression

• There have been times when I'd refuse to leave home for days because of an extreme fear that something horrible would happen to me "out there". I'd simply panic at the thought of going out or interacting with "outside people", sometimes to the point of tears and / or immobility.
• Irrational is the word to describe the fear. I could logically understand and accept that nothing bad could possibly happen, but that doesn't do much for the overwhelming feeling of unsafeness.
• I'd fear that I'd panic excessively / fig out / spaz / faint/ wail / vomit / bleed to death / hurt myself / murder someone / lose my clothes / manifest demons / stab my jugular in desperation / fall over and die / make an utter idiot of myself / have something equally appalling happen to me in front of many people.
  
• In case I couldn't ditch an event where crowds or public places are involved (such as family gatherings or church functions), I could rely on the Hubby to drag me. Though I'd be present, I'd withdraw as far away as I can practically get, in whatever sense possible.
• This (the previous statement, I mean) is the reason some people perceive me as shy, while that is light years from the truth. I just really think they're d***s.
• Paranoia, Paranoia, Everybody's coming to get me... I'd feel distrust, discomfort, dislike, sometimes even a strong hatred toward others, and I'd be sure they feel the same way toward me.
• It's not uncommon for me to experience the anxiety even in an acceptably "safe" place such as a relative's house or at church - the same church I've been going to for the past decade, the same people I interact with every week.
  
• I just should not be left alone in a crowd when I'm depressed, or the panic would worsen. Dependence right there. I'd have this constant need to be attended to, physical contact required. I'd trust no one with this task except the Hubby alone; everyone else is an object of distrust and distaste.
  
  

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Famous agoraphobes
Photos nicked from here, here, here, here, here and here.

Woody Allen, American actor /director.
I find it amusing that actors and public figures could be agoraphobic considering that their professions are full of unfamiliar people and places. I wonder how they cope. Makes me muse about how they are still able to perform, and why they still choose to stay in their line of work.


Barbra Streisand, singer.







Kim Basinger, actress.
I read somewhere that she said her phobia grew from a knowledge that people were staring at her. I guess in her case it was acquired.



Donny and Marie Osmond, the cutie-cutie brother-and-sister from duo the 70's, now a cutie-cutie-but-it's-not-working-anymore-even-after-all-the-cosmetic-surgery brother-and-sister has-been duo. The disorder can run in families too.





Howard Hughes, aviator, engineer, overall eccentric.
That guy had a conglomerate of disorders, methinks. Interesting soul. I'm not sure Leo did a good job of him in The Aviator, though some say he did. In that case I conclude Howard Hughes was much like Billy Costigan, Frank Abagnale, Louie XIV and Jack Dawson.


Sigmund Freud, progenitor of modern psychoanalysis. I suppose all his staying indoors gave him more steam for propelling into his twisted theories. Go figure.

Mike Villar, Filipino satire blogger and intarnetz celebrity. He claimed in one of his old online journal entries to have the anxiety disorder. With a very amusing satirical account of his therapy sessions with a sexy shrink, besides.
(I was unable to find a good black-and-white photo of the guy)

Wings Soriano, Filipino musician, songwriter, record producer. One of those in the noughties' sea of acoustic artists whose music I've never even heard. I know he isn't really famous famous, but I just want to mention him here just 'cause I'd crushed on him back in high school and I still think he's cute even if he's already a father of two.

So there. Agoraphobia. Another plushie identified in the BiPer Menagerie. Sweet, ain't it?