Sure, in the previous post I said "And that's all I have to say about that", but if you know me, I've always got more to say. Especially if I have all the time in the world to say it.
Anne has told me that I need to blog my way out of the MJ Death Blues. I am incredibly sad and can't believe I am fixating this way. I know what you are thinking: and yes. I've had my meds adjusted.
What can I say?
You won't believe what I can say.
I believe his death hit me at the wrong time. I was home just post-surgery. I was watching the news and began listening from the moment someone mentioned that Michael Jackson was being taken from his home to the hospital "apparently in a coma". I really thought it was going to be a Karen Carpenter situation. If you don't remember, she died from complications from anorexia. I'd seen Michael over these last months. He looked frail and not well at all while being wheel-chaired through Vegas. And I thought it was very suspect that when he announced the O2 gig, he was fairly well covered. Big glasses, hair around his face. You can't really "get" a person if you can't see their face--particularly their eyes. If he was gung-ho, ready to go, London-here-I-come, you would have seen it in his eyes -- but we couldn't.
But besides that, I have been tossing around my own demons and having a particularly tough and rough time with depression. My panic disorder, funny enough, seemed to be under control, prompting me to think: do I need to choose between bouncing off the walls at 2am in a sweaty panic or laying on the couch wishing I was invisible? But anyway, in a fit of depression, I wished that once I went under the anesthesia for surgery, that I just wouldn't wake up. I asked God. I wanted it. It was time on my clock.
Not on God's however. I woke up. And several days later, Michael Jackson allegedly used anesthesia to just get a good night's rest. And never woke up.
You can see here that the timing was bad...can't you? Our karma trains crashed. But why? I don't get it either.
Monday, August 10, 2009
I'm Apparently Not Done
Tuesday, December 9, 2008
Here Comes the Son
And I say, sometimes it's all right and sometimes it's not.
Look at that picture. Young man—high school graduate, college bound. Smiling, well nourished. Bright, shining future. Well, if your Son looks nothing like him, you've come to the right place.
Now don't get me wrong. My son Sean is the apple of my eye. He always has been, and up to his junior year in high school 2 years ago, he could have been that kid in the picture. Now we are at a whole different juncture. His being 18 and of "legal age", well, your options as a parent concerned about his health are very, very limited.
To continue with the story of my kids from a previous post, Sean was diagnosed with clinical depression about a year ago. He didn't care about anything. He didn't care about school, he didn't care about graduating, he didn't care about taking care of himself, he didn't care about his sister or me, he didn't care about eating, he didn't care about working. All he basically cared about was sleeping and running around with his friends. My normally very funny, very personable son was turning into Mr. Hyde. Oh, he could turn on Dr. Jekyll for short bursts if he had to, but it was becoming harder and harder. He chain smoked, smoked pot. Came home totally wasted one night, where he had spent part of it passed out on my front lawn. A girl dumped him and everything spiraled out of control. Every thing went right downhill until my 5'11 inch beautiful son weighed 113 pounds, had a heart rate of 38 and a blood pressure of 90/60.
I had done everything I could think of up to this point to intervene. Doctors, counselors, psychologists, 2 different psychiatrists. I begged, I pleaded, I punished, I cajoled, I guilted, I bribed, I prayed. And then I begged and pleaded some more. Last July, I talked him into an assessment at a local behavioral health hospital. They put us in the ER because his heart rate was so low. When they released us from the ER, I took him back to the behavioral health hospital, where, even after acknowledging he was putting his life at risk, he walked out. I took him back after more talking. And he wouldn't get out of the car.
"He's 18," they said. "You can't force him."
That's a great thing to hear. You feel your son is dying and there's not a thing you can do until he 1. passes out; or 2. finally agrees to hospitalization.
Days came and went after that. Some up and some down. Mostly down. Then last week, after he slept through Thanksgiving and couldn't eat, I sat down again and begged and talked and pleaded and appealed to the one thing he has always held onto: his music. If it wasn't for music, I think he wouldn't be around anymore. But his love of music and the guitar and playing kept him alive. So I told him, how does he expect to go to music school next year if he's anorexic, depressed, and suffering from panic attacks? I refused to help him until he helped himself.
That sent us to the same behavioral health hospital that my daughter is at, where she is still in the Adolescent Anxiety/School Refusal program, but doing very well. He was assessed again....and with some quick moves and fast talking, they got him to sign the inpatient admission voluntarily and escorted him to the 2nd floor -- "High Functioning Adult Unit".
As a preview to come, when they started to walk us to the 2nd floor, Sean looked panic stricken.
"What's wrong?" asked the social worker.
"I'm going NOW?" asked Sean.
"Yes," he answered. "You signed the papers as inpatient didn't you?"
"Well, yes."
"Voluntarily?
"Well, yes."
"Then what did you think would happen?"
"Well," Sean said. "I don't want to go up there now. I'll come back in the morning and be admitted. I didn't know I'd have to go today...right now."
And he looked at me and said he wasn't going. I told him I hadn't signed a thing. They hadn't even talked to me but for about 5 minutes and I was there when he signed the inpatient agreement. I told him I couldn't do a thing. He was an adult in the eyes of the law and the hospital.
The social worker took him in a private room while Erin and I waited outside. Eventually, they got him admitted to the second floor.
That's when the real nightmare begins.
Tuesday, March 11, 2008
Letting It All Hang Out...
...as they used to say when an emotional airing was necessary. I know I haven't posted much lately. Life seems to have seriously gotten in the way. My hands are full with just getting through every day....one hour at a time.
Previously, I sort of touched on the "darker" side of my life. Depression, anxiety, WAM...that stuff. I never really went into my relationships...or the things that I struggle with everyday. The stuff that makes me sit on a PhD's couch every Tuesday at 12:15pm.
First, my darling daughter Erin has ADHD. Now I believe she does have it, but I think the fires are fanned by the repression of the expression of anger. I'll explain in a minute.
Second, my wonderful son Sean is clinically depressed at 17. He's made some bad choices and is making more bad ones, and I think my terrific son is struggling partially because of the repression of the expression of anger. And the fact I leaned on him way, way too much post divorce. More than I ever realized until this came up.
Ok. The anger issue. My kids don't express anger well. Sean punches walls and has torn up his bedroom door. He doesn't like to be home and is like a caged animal when he is...just looking for a way out. The farther he pushes himself away from home, the worse choices he makes. In Erin's case, her ADHD kicks in. She bounces off the walls, pulls things out from everywhere without replacing them, makes a mess everywhere and just keeps on moving.
Why the anger issue? They have been exposed to extremes. With WAM (their dad), anger was an explosive outburst that no person I know of has ever been able to handle. You get mad at Dad? Oh, boy.....he can get lots louder and lots angrier...plus he's older and stronger and supposed to be a role model. Also, there was never a time when you felt you were going to make any headway. He just got angrier than you...and made sure that he would win under any and all circumstances.
With me...in trying to keep a very low profile, calm house after WAM was out, I perpetuated that anger wasn't allowed. I thought I was doing what was best for the kids, but it backfired. And compounded with the fact that both kids are protective of me anyway because of my heart attack, well, no one can get anger out.
So....it comes out in other ways. Erin's ADHD, Sean's caged animal depression.
We are all in counseling now. And I realize I have alot of work to do if I'm going to be able to send my kids out into the world as whole human beings. I hope I'm not too late.
Thursday, August 30, 2007
You Knew I Couldn't Let It Pass...
As I am frequently my own straight man, I must expound on my previous post introducing you to "The Depression Channel", number 1313 on your 10,000 channel satelite dish.
Monday's Lineup:
"Wheel of Mis-Fortune" spin the wheel and land on a diagnosis -- then try to decipher the recommended anti-psychotic med up on the board! Wynona Rider stars in the Vanna White role!
"Late Nights with Larry King" See the step by step progression of dementia.
"Malcolm at the End of His Rope"
"Full House of People on the Edge"
"Survivor....or Maybe Not"
"Getting to Know You: The Fun Side of Charles Manson"
Tuesday's Lineup:
All shows previously run on Court TV or anything produced and narrated by Bill Kurtis. If time allows, a possible preview of a new movie for our viewers: "Eyes Wide Shut", which stars Tom Cruise, producer of a new series on our channel: "Post Partum Depression - Answers for New Moms."
Wednesday's Listings:
Literary Night:
"Alister Cook Reads" Tonight: The Bell Jar.
"William Shatner Reads" Tonight: The Biography of Vincent...Van...Gogh.
Thursday's listings:
Movie madness: "Girl, Interrupted" "One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest" "The Frances Farmer Story", "Full Metal Jacket", "Secret Window" and "A Clockwork Orange".
Friday's line up:
Documentary Night
"Meds and You...and You....and You" New help for schizophrenics.
The Hand Washer's Companion: which soaps don't chafe, which lotions FEEL like soap, but will make hands soft and smooth, and an interactive live discussion entitled "To Towel or Not to Towel?"
Rubber-Necker's Quarterly: Agoraphobics learn the tricks of the neighborhood spying game. Includes step by step instructions on how to listen in on neighbors conversations while never leaving the comfort of your own home.
Home Security Innovations: Checking locks over and over? Introducing a revolutionary new system that lets you lie in bed and have a robot check your front door lock -- over and over and over while you relax in secure comfort. Robot runs on 24 hour battery with a back up for compulsive emergencies.
Satuday:
Biography: "The Really Forgotten Kennedy: Rosemary" Along with the preview of the newly found letter from Rose to Sr. Joseph Kennedy: "Dearest Husband, You took Rosemary out for ice cream a couple weeks ago and her bed doesn't seem to have been slept in. Do you know where she is? Possibly with her brother Jack in the hospital? I don't know. I haven't seen either of them in ages. Love, Rose. PS -- Is Jack still in the hospital?"
Background music provided by Warren Zevon's "You're Never Alone With A Schizophrenic".
Sunday:
The fun side of clinical depression with a looping of Monty Python's "Spot the Looney" sketch ALL DAY!
If nothing else, I made myself laugh.
Wednesday, July 4, 2007
A Little Advice on Panic Attacks
Don’t have them. And while the mechanics of panic attacks aren’t well understood, as are most brain chemical imbalance disorders or how various medications work on them, let me tell you first hand, they suck.
I suffered from clinical depression for most of my married life. I knew it wasn’t normal for a social, generally upbeat, positive person like me to have immense difficulty just managing to get out of bed in the morning. There were days when I would take the kids to school and sit on the sofa the rest of the day until I had to go back and get them at 2:30. Sometimes I would sleep. Sometimes I would just sit there. No TV, no radio, no noise. I’d turn off the phone. I didn’t even think. My mind was just sort of shut off, like it had overloaded or something.
My panic attacks originally started when I was about 25, but they escalated after I got married. I was a bag of jumbled nerves on the verge of panic every day. Every day. Every day I was in fight or flight (or the new "chew" or "stew") response mode. And the stress would have killed me if my son hadn’t dialed 911 that day I had a heart attack. So take heed, those of you in abusive relationships. Your life may be in danger in more ways than you can imagine.
Grand mal panic attacks are the flip side of depression. While depression “turns you mentally off”, panic puts your system in revved up overdrive. I was in the grocery store one time and actually had to leave the cart of food and go home because I thought I was dying. The place was closing in around me, I was getting tunnel vision, my heart was racing, I was sweaty, cold, jittery. I was sure I was going to die. Panic attacks woke me in the middle of the night, kept me from sleeping, sometimes kept me from going out of the house. I had them in the car, in restaurants, at work. Unless you’ve had them, there’s no describing how debilitating they are. You think you are going insane.
Eventually, I started opening up to my doctor, my counselor, my friends. The years of counseling and medication, along with my freedom, did the trick for me. I still suffer from panic attacks, which we know from previously discussing Dr. Donald and all my friends in the local ER, but they are better controlled and milder. Also, understanding what is happening to you is imperative in handling them.
Panic attacks are extremely difficult to explain to those who never experienced them and like all “mental disorders” are looked upon with some mistrust. My favorite is calling into work after a night in the ER, zoned out on anti-anxiety medications.
“I won’t be in today. I was in the ER all last night.”
“Why?”
“Uh, well, I really didn’t feel well and I thought I had better get checked out.”
“What was wrong?"
"Uh, I had a panic attack.”
“Oh.”
Doesn’t have the same huumph as say, “I cut my arm off in a tree-sawing accident” or “I ended up with double pneumonia and blood squirting out of my nose”. Basically, when you say “I had a panic attack” people think you’re just nuts.
But I think things are changing. At least I can hope so.
Now I’m not suggesting that any one thing…divorce, meds, counseling…is better than another to make your life livable again. I’m saying you need to find what is going to help you save your own life and begin enjoying who you are, who you have, and where you are going. When you are depressed, life has no meaning. Especially your own. You need to hold onto something and fight for yourself. You are important to so many.
My only advice? Hang onto friends, hang onto your family, hang onto your career, hang onto Barry Manilow, hang onto Star Trek, hang onto whatever you need to, get medical advice….and don’t give up. Remember, you are worth it.
If you forget…come back. I’ll remind you.
