Prelude 3/19

It wasn’t the meds I take to help me sleep that weren’t working. It was the Zantac that I have to take in addition to my Nexium to help my stomach quit producing so much acid. Fun stuff, huh? I experimented with moving my meds around last night, and took my Zantac at supper instead of bedtime. I got a whole night of sleep. Yay!

I started on Colestid last night for my abdominal pain and other symptoms which had sent me to the ER last week. It seems to be helping some so far, but that might be the whole mental effect that you get when you think drugs are going to help. Apparently, according to my family doctor, my body has just realized that my gallbladder (which has been out for almost 11 years–it didn’t work, I didn’t have gallstones) is gone. So now I’m getting the reaction that most people get when they have just had it taken out. My mom’s theory is that my body didn’t recognize it until after my small intestine had been moved around (because of the gastric bypass surgery) and I had gained the weight back (because of the Depakote).

My mom just woke up, so maybe I’ll be able to help her convince my dad to get up so that I can start cutting fabric for my first sewing project–a sundress. It should be really pretty. It’s a pink gingham print with daisies on it. The only thing that I’m a bit nervous about is that it only has a ribbon to keep it on. I mean, I’ve worn spaghetti strap stuff before, but this is the closest to strapless that I’ve ever worn. It makes me quite nervous.

I talked about my inability to get that job at the hospital recently, which I’ve been thinking about lately. It wasn’t that I didn’t have the experience. I have enough life experience to run the damn psych unit. I have worked as a kind of counselor to both of my parents–my mom has similar problems to mine, and my dad has PTSD. I also had to help my grandfather, who had Alzheimer’s Disease, which is what I would have been working with. I just didn’t include any of that on my resume because I didn’t think it counted, but I later found out that it did. It doesn’t matter, though, because there are so many psych students in this area that want to work at a psych unit. A friend suggested I try volunteering with the Red Cross, which would be okay, but they don’t get experience in that unit. I could volunteer at the hospital that I was in back in 2001, but I had such a bad experience there that I’m afraid I’d have panic attacks. I also need money, which volunteering doesn’t help with. I need a job that only last 4 hours a day for less than 20 hours a week because I am disabled, which some may doubt, but it is true. I get stressed out beyond words just going to school full-time. When I get stressed out, my mental health declines. That’s part of why I started banging my wrists back at A&M. I was going to school practically everyday, and I was banging my wrists to get the stress out.

I recently found a board where there are other Schizoaffectives, which is great, but I’m afraid that on Friday, I’ll lose that diagnosis and gain another. It’s not a pretty diagnosis, but it seems to describe me better than just Bipolar. I’ve also learned that the more open that you seem to be about your own mental health, the more open other people will be about theirs. It’s nice that there are more people who are opening up about their problems these days. I wish people didn’t suffer from mental illness, but at least with people opening up, people are finding others who can help them know they’re not alone.

Published by

Janet Morris

I'm from Huntsville, Alabama. I've got as many college credits as a doctorate candidate, and the GPA of some of them, too. I have a boss by the name of Amy Pond. She's a dachshund. My parents both grew up in Alabama.

Comments are closed.