Inspiration From Inpatient Psychiatric Hospitals

This will be the working hook for the revision of Stolentime.

My first hospitalization at Summit Ridge greatly influenced the most recent book that I am working on. While I hated being there because I felt like I was in Kindergarten, I always enjoyed the group therapies because everyone had a different story to tell for why he or she was at Summit Ridge. There were people who attempted suicide, people struggling with suicidal ideation and self-harm (like I did), people who were there because they had violent breakdowns, people who wanted to be kept safe from themselves, people unstable on meds, or people just unable to care for themselves.

There was one man I met who inspired my main character’s, Gene’s, diagnosis. This man was struggling with treatment-resistant depression. He had already undergone three treatments of ECT (electric convulsion therapy) when I arrived there. I asked him if he felt the treatments working, and he told me he didn’t.

This was terrifying to me, to think you could be depressed forever with nothing ever working for you. You can have therapy and positive thinking, but it doesn’t change the fact that you have to work 100x harder than a mentally healthy person to get things done. Or to live. To even just breathe.

Being who I am, I was terrified that I’d be one of those people, especially after my second hospitalization. Finding medication stability with bipolar is not easy. You can’t be on antidepressants–any type–because you could go manic. So you have to rely on mood stabilizers to get you to where you are, but they have crappy side effects, so you really spend time trying to find the right medicinal cocktail with the least crummy side effects. But it was these experiences that shaped my main character, Gene.

There are plenty of YA books that deal with depression, but I haven’t found any that deal with a teen who must learn to live with such a morose disease. It’s always books about teens with untreated mental illnesses that once they are diagnosed, the doctors make the treatment seem so easy. So I decided to be the one to write that book where the treatment isn’t easy. So my fears and my dealings with psychiatric units have shaped what it would be like to live with treatment-resistant depression. People with hard-to-treat depression often have to learn how to live this way. It is unfortunate many believe that suicide is the only way out because it is tough to live with depression. It’s a terrible disease that warps your thoughts and has physical effects on you too. So in order to create Gene, I asked myself, ‘What would it be like to be a teen living with treatment-resistant depression?’

I want Gene to exist for teens, for anyone out there who feels he or she cannot go on because he/she knows the depression is forever. Gene’s depression is pretty much terminal, but he has to learn how to live with it. So Stolentime is a book about a depressed teen going through trials that will teach him the value of his own life. I know in real life people aren’t going to be tested the way Gene is, but I hope they look into Gene’s character and find the hope they need so they can live to be the hope for others going through similar trials.

To me, suicide is tragic not because it is the end of a human life but because it is the end of hope, the end of potential, the end of someone else’s reason to live.

Currently I am 32,000 words into the book. If I continue writing a chapter a day, I will have the book finished the week after next. Once I begin revisions, I will be able to start talking more about this book. And hopefully by then I will have more information on When Stars Die.

 

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Feeling Left Behind: Graduation Story or Lack Thereof

I am an entire year behind in college. I should be a senior, but I’m still a junior on the cusp of being a senior. I had to drop all of my classes last semester due to being so unstable because of bipolar disorder. I couldn’t handle the stress, the thought of having to play catch-up after my first hospitalization was nauseating, and the med they put me on during my first visit made me evermore unknowingly unstable. So I had to drop all of my classes. Luckily I no longer need two of them.

My second hospitalization confirmed that I shouldn’t take any classes next semester either because I needed to use that time to find med stability. So having to drop last semester and not even doing this semester has put me an entire year behind so that way I may be graduating in 2015 instead of late 2013.

Most of the friends I came into university with graduated today. I’m going to admit I feel left behind. They’re moving on, hopefully finding swanky careers with their polished diplomas, and here I am just trying to register for the fall semester because the education program doesn’t do PIN numbers and I have to wait until late registration to get anything done. It sucks, I’ll totally admit that. I wish I could join them, celebrate with them, be happy about my graduation and being able to hold on to the hope that the future is endless for me.

But nope. Bipolar did a lot of damage and I’ll probably have to end up making new friends come fall semester. Well, school friends, anyway. It’s no fun being a loner on campus, not that I’m much of one anyway. It’s frustrating, too, because part of me wonders if I could have held on. I probably could have, but then my GPA would have suffered, further damaging my already low self-esteem at the time. And being depressed and being expected to stay on top of things is really, really difficult, especially when all you think about is sleep and not wanting to be awake because everything just hurts and you don’t know why and would rather not deal with the ‘why.’

I could choose to be bitter about what bipolar did, what depression did, but looking at what I was able to accomplish makes me realize I may not have been able to accomplish anything had I been in school. I got to do a ballet recital, and that means so much to me, especially because it was a dream come true. I was dying for the chance to finally be able to show my parents and my fiancé what I’d been doing in class. Then I got a contract for my book, When Stars Die, because I finally took a risk. Who knows if I would have taken that risk in school. Who knows if I would have even been thinking about When Stars Die while in school.

So while everyone is celebrating graduation, I am doing pre-release book marketing, solidifying my platform, writing another book, and instead of holding a graduation party, I will be holding a book release party. I would say two dreams come true beats graduation any day.

The Other Side of Depressed

For the past few days I have been having to remind myself that I’m not manic. When you’re bipolar and you start to feel great, you often have worries that you’re becoming manic because you’re not used to being in between. So when you start feeling great (and sometimes it’s not gradual), you have to take a step back and examine symptoms of mania with your normal mood.

Yesterday at work I was so confident, outgoing, and competitive that I had to wonder if mania was fueling the heat in my veins. But my thoughts weren’t fast, my brain wasn’t telling me to “Go! Go! Go!”, I didn’t have thoughts of reckless behavior, I didn’t have psychomotor agitation, I wasn’t over excited, and I wasn’t overindulging myself in my work.

I am a naturally hyperthermic person, I have come to realize. According to psychology, hyperthermia is a step below hypomania, which probably explains why even a small dose of an antidepressant or even an atypical antidepressant makes me either hypomanic or manic. I am a naturally driven person. I am naturally optimistic and sociable. But after everything that has happened, I am much stronger.

Bipolar disorder has taught me a lot. I am not romanticizing this illness, but I might as well make the best of an overwhelming illness. I am a much more thoughtful, sensitive person. Mania can remind me that my life can be great–just not to such an extreme degree. Being able to compare my current thoughts to my depressive thoughts makes me realize I am a much more confident, caring person. Yesterday at work I gave up my coat to a co-worker who was barely dressed for the occasion. Certainly I was cold, but she probably would have started crying with how she was dressed. I also don’t smile and bare things anymore that I don’t need to tolerate. My co-worker was playfully criticizing the way I tried to get people over for the drawing, and I just said, with confidence, not meanness, that I’ve been at it for more than 6 months and my method works with my personality. I don’t want to add a Southern drawl to my words when that is not me. And I was proud. Before I probably would have just done it to appease, but no more.

I work today at 12. I woke up just before 9. No longer am I thinking I don’t want to get up because everything feels pointless. I am waking up, and even though I am still tired when my mind shakes me awake, my thoughts are positive. They are not irritable, grouchy, upset, despairing, or hopeless. I am also appreciating the fact that I am alive when my mind tried too many times to count to kill me. I have a joie de vivre, joy of life. It’s so surprising to me how extreme I can become. I go from hating life to loving life so much I am grateful I have never even attempted suicide.

But there is the fear of becoming depressed again because of how I am right now. Why would I want to go back to feeling suicidal, hopeless, angry, hateful of myself? It’s hard to accept there is a possibility of that happening again. I was terrified it was happening yesterday, until I realized my anxiety was doing it to me–for no reason. I might need meds to help with the anxiety side of things, but I also know getting up and doing things helps it. And caffeine. But I’m no addict, I swear.

It is nice to be able to enjoy this life again.

In any case, today promises to be a good day. I will work hard at work to make extra money for a few surprises, I will come home and proofread my novel, I will possibly watch Naruto with the fiancé, and I will come home and blog again, possibly proofread some more, and go to bed for the surprises of tomorrow.

The Exhausting End is Here

This is unfortunately true. But my bright smiles are hopefully real now, and I truly am willing to help those who need it.

Stars, I’m actually waking up three hours early! Instead of 12 or 1 o’clock, I’m waking up around 8:30 or 9:00. This is either because I have a reason now, or I’ve found the right medicinal cocktail. My therapist and I think it is the latter because yesterday was the first time I wasn’t irritable in the morning, I wasn’t tired at all throughout the day (until night, obviously), I didn’t feel depression trying to drag me down, I was able to eat more and not feel cramped in my stomach, and I was able to just bask on Cloud 9. I don’t think it’s because of the super incredible news I received. I mean, I sobbed when I found out I was in the recital (tears of joy), but I still felt depression stalking me. I don’t feel it stalking me. I don’t feel its dark shadow.

I think I’m still fighting anxiety a little, just the anxious feelings that come on for no reason, but there aren’t any anxious thoughts accompanying the feelings. They’re just there for whatever reason, and, for me, I’d frankly prefer anxious feelings with no anxious thoughts over depression with anxious thoughts any time. Sure, it’s still uncomfortable, but I’m not snappish and irritable now. Usually talking with my parents irritates me, but now I find myself speaking with them without that irritability present.

In any case, yesterday was the first time I felt fantastic since being manic. But I’m not manic–I think I’m finally happy. It’s odd, too, because I’m on 2 mg of Abilify (this is a child’s dose. I’m 22) and have only been on it for six days. I’m 5 ft. 5, 114 lbs, and have a small frame. I also have a fast metabolism, which is why Seroquel doesn’t give me the munchies, for those who understand medications. So perhaps it is reasonable to conclude that the Abilify is working.

I’m going to admit it’s wretched that my mind is totally dependent on pills to balance it, mostly because all pills have the potential for serious side effects, but for now, I’m just going to be grateful I’m balanced out. Depression has had me trapped for almost two years and now I’m finally seeing the light again. I’m excited about life. I want to go back to work and be sociable so I can make appts., which turn to sales, which means commission and demo money for me along with my minimum wage. I am even picking my hours back up–just for the summer. During the school year, I won’t do more than 12.

It’s just such a relief to be breathing now, when I’ve been holding my breath for so long. Therapy helps too. As well as positive thinking.

I know there is a possibility of me becoming depressed again (or even manic) because bipolar disorder is often a lifelong illness. But I won’t think about that. For now, I will enjoy the life that I have and appreciate the small things that I never appreciated before all of this. I will even think about Emilie Autumn who is currently kicking bipolar’s butt and being fabulous all the while.

What Depression Feels Like for a Writer Like Me

My Stars, this is a very honest post. I hope you can handle my honesty because I want you to be able to know me, all of me. I don’t want to hold or hide anything back, so if you’re the kind of person who is uncomfortable around real people, stay away from this post.

I’ve decided to up my blogging to twice a day, in case you haven’t noticed. One blog post will be personal, and another will be purely writing related. This one I’m writing because I’m feeling the depression puppeteer pulling on my strings and trying to make me do its bidding.

I use American McGee’s Alice a lot because I feel like her a good majority of the time–not abused by an external force, but my own mind.

I hate the way I feel right now. I’m irritable and exhausted and feeling a little hopeless. I finished chapter one in my new novel and am 1/3 of the way through chapter two. I know I can finish chapter two by dance class tonight–well, rather, I should–but I’m exhausted and don’t have it in me.

It honestly sucks breathing right now. I just want to stop. I just want to sleep. But I can’t. Not without meds. It’s terrible. It really is. I feel like my brain has given up on me. It doesn’t want to function right without meds. It hates me, and I hate it. It’s a terrifying thought knowing my moods are at the whim of chemicals in my mind. Certainly I can control the way I think, but not the way I feel. And I’m trying to remind myself that I can become better again, but it’s hard when you’re at war with your mind and your mind is telling you that it’s hopeless, how can you feel better when you feel this way.

Right now, I feel like I’m not good enough, as a human being and a writer. I feel like this new novel will turn to crap because of my traitorous mind. I feel so dispassionate right now, about everything. I don’t want to go to dance tonight. I don’t want to be around people. I just want to take my meds and go to bed and wake up hoping for a better life, a better day.

I shouldn’t be feeling this way. My website, my blog, is finally kicking off. I’m getting lots of likes on posts. I’m finally getting followers. I should be proud I was able to outline 37 chapters plus an epilogue last week, that I finally imagined a story that can rival When Stars Die. I have so many ideas of what I’m going to do to market When Stars Die that I should be bursting with motivation to hunker down and pound out the chapters for my new novel (I already have a freaking cover design in mind for this novel!).

But I can’t feel anything but apathy and seething hatred for feeling this way. My therapist tells me I need to accept the feelings, but it’s hard when these feelings prevent you from doing what you want to do–because you don’t want to do it at the time but you know you normally would.

I honestly hate cliché gifs like this, but there is no other way to describe how I feel at the moment.

Depression does this. You are its puppet. You cannot break the strings. Some days you can control what the strings do, and other days you cannot. This is one of those days for me. I pray during work tomorrow I’m not so run over that I can’t work on my novel during the lulls at work. I’m a freaking writer. It’s what I do, what I need to do.

I’m on a new medication though. Abilify. My therapist thinks I’ll like it. Unfortunately, I’m on a child’s dosage, so I probably won’t feel any improvements. Another torturous month, I suppose. But Stars, I’m not giving up. I might be giving in, but I know things aren’t always this way.