Accidentally Graduating

Hi, so, I'm back for now. I haven't forgotten this blog, but I haven't posted since January either. So much has happened since then. I moved back in with my mom due to... well a lot of reasons. My cat was really sick (she got better as soon as I moved), and my parents were worried about me. I've also been struggling financially.  After I was in the hospital in January my job stopped giving me hours. Like I came to them the day I got out and gave them my letter that I was okay to start working again. They put me on the schedule once about a month after I got out (probably so they can pretend it wasn't related to being in the hospital), but I haven't had hours once since then and I stopped getting emails telling me that I'm not on the schedule.

After that I looked for a job for awhile, I didn't even get any interviews. I could only apply to places I could walk to, but even the grocery stores and the bowling alley didn't call me back. During that time I was studying for the MCAT. I stopped when I came back to my mom's house because my baby sister was graduating high school. I was going to pick it back up when I got back to my house but that's when my cat got sick, my mom got worried, I came home, and my cat got better. She hadn't been eating or drinking but the day after I came back she was drinking a lot and her weird hiccup thing almost went away completely. However, I never really went back to studying.

I've been doing some acrobatics with my school. In just four years with a summer my attempted credits are up to 193 (the equivalent of about 13 regular semesters). In order to get any financial aid that number has to remain below 180. So I had to do an appeal. I started by trying to get my advisor letter. I eventually had my letter and a supporting letter, but my advisor letter had not gone through. I'm still not so sure what happened there. Eventually I spoke with another advisor in the Dean's office and she advised me to graduate with a BA instead of BS. I was not the biggest fan of this. I only need one more class to graduate with a BS, and I wanted to take Organic Chemistry 2, too. However, I decided that it was in my best interest to graduate. It would save me trying to figure out many things before August 18th. So in my circumstance it would probably better this way. I still need to take Organic Chemistry 2, and because I will not be working towards a degree it will be very expensive. Also, because the college I live near now is much more expensive than the school I went to. Each credit you take here is almost $500. Organic Chemistry 2 is four credits. And there will also be lab fees, whatever other fees that school has, and then of course books, and maybe lab equipment. I have the last two for my former school but that kind of stuff varies from school to school, sometimes professor to professor. So, as long as tuition doesn't go up, which it will, it will be about $2500 plus books and supplies, out of pocket, also plus gas because it's sort of far. So I have to figure out when I want to take that and the MCAT so I can apply to programs next cycle.

Also, if anyone knows any medical field jobs in my area, let me know. I'm looking at a few things, but I'm open to suggestions. Preferably, I am looking for a longer term position because I should have at least two years before I go back to school full time.

So yeah. I sort of graduate today. Well, according to my advisor in the Dean's office. I'm still a little weary because I've only heard it from one person. I haven't been able to find anything online about it. And the Registrar's office told me to call my advisor in the Dean's office. But as far as I know I am graduating today. Yay?

As far as everything else goes, I am going to choose to opt out of saying anything about what is going on right now on the outside of me. However, as far as my mental health stuff, I'm doing really well. I'm not quite sure what happened, but since about February I'm better than I've ever been like ever. I know it was not my most recent hospitalization in January, because I came out of that worse than I went in. Which is pretty scary since I came in via stretcher via ambulance. I'm fine though. Everything was fine. My labs never dropped into scary level, and they were taken so much. I had so many holes in my arms and hands I don't think they could have found another place to draw blood. I was uncomfortable but always fine. Now if I hadn't had gone, that would have been a little different, but I did. I might have another post about that stay and I might not.

Basically, despite it all, I'm doing pretty good. As far as a diagnosis, I'm pretty sure I still have a few. But it's not like how it was all of the other years.

I'm not going to promise to write again soon, because maybe I will and maybe I won't. But I would like to know how you are doing. What have you been up to since January?

Guest Post: Partial Hospitalization Program (PHP)

Hi guys,

So I wrote a guest post for Hannah, who is currently a medical student and who has a fantabulous lifestyle blog about mental illness and fashion. You should really check out her blog Pull Yourself Together. She has some really great posts about her experiences of mental illness.

This is Hannah

She asked for guest bloggers on Twitter  and I responded. She helped me come up with the topic of writing about my experience in partial hospitalization (PHP).

You can read the post by clicking the link below and going to her blog.

http://pull-yourself-together.blogspot.co.uk/2015/08/guest-post-partial-hospitalization.html

You can also follow her on Bloglovin', Google+, Instagram, Pinterest, and Twitter. Or, all of the above.

a thread

This post is more depressing and definitely more raw than my other posts. I've been feeling not so great so here it is (trigger warning):

a thread

i stand upon a thread
stretched like a tightrope
waiting for it to break
or for me to slip and fall
down
    down
        down

most are hanging by a thread
waiting for it to snap
i stand on it
waiting for it to break

except i find
that it has already broken
and i am free falling
down
    down
        down

will something catch me?
or will i fall to my death?

"Everything is Different the Second Time Around"

I've spent a long time trying to figure out what I want to say in this post. I, for the most part, know who reads this and most of you I don't mind you knowing this. I'm still hesitant though. But, I know that this is related to stigma, and I shouldn't be ashamed of what's going on. As you probably all know, or have figured out I have depression. Pretty severe depression. I have moderate to severe persistent depressive disorder, recurrent severe major depressive disorder, and anxiety disorder unspecified. While that's only three diagnoses, it can be a lot to handle. Despite it all, I am grateful that I do not have it worse.

So, here's what you probably don't know. I've been to a psych ward. I've been in the psych ward a lot this year. Why this year and not before? I couldn't tell you. Maybe I'm getting worse. Maybe I'm accepting that I need help. Maybe I could have ridden it out, like I've always done before, but maybe not. Maybe going in saved my life, or at least a trip or two to the ICU. I don't know. It's hard to say for sure.

I call them part one, part two, and part three. And I might write more about them later. I spent half of February in the psych ward, on two separate occasions. I spent half of March in partial hospitalization, and I spent a week in April in the hospital again. In part three we joked a lot about how I should write a book. After all It's Kind of a Funny Story was written after a much shorter hospital stay. And I have way more experience than that.

The worst part is, my treatment team is not sure what to do with me anymore. I mean they weren't sure what to do with me before I went in all those times, but they thought we could work something out. But now the counseling center at my school says it's unethical to treat me. Because after all I've been through clearly they're not helping. I offered to switch to a new therapist at the counseling center but they say it's not enough. They don't think their level of care is good enough for me because of the hospitalizations and partial hospitalization.

I have started therapy with a new person. He, I guess, is more qualified. He specifically does DBT, dialectal behavioral therapy. I've seen him several times, and I do like him. I guess this therapy is replacing therapy at the counseling center. All I ask is that I can continue to see my psychiatrist, who I adore. In a few weeks I'm going to start a DBT group for two hours per week. I'm pretty nervous about that, but talking in groups is getting easier for me. And later this summer I'm taking a public communication class. Which just thinking about speeds up my heart and makes me want to cry. But as strange as it sounds (to me at least) I am getting better. I'm sure it's all the talking, not only in therapy, but in the groups in the hospital and partial. This has changed since I've written it. Like I said, I've been sitting on this post for months and months. I'm now taking organic chemistry two instead of public communication. But, I still have to take public communication eventually, so I decided to leave that in.

The title of this post comes from the song "You've Got Time" by Regina Spektor. It is, as many of you probably know, the theme song from Orange is the New Black. Which I watch. Just like everyone else who has Netflix and is (hopefully) above 18, which I'm sure stops no one. Despite the triggers it brings up in me, I pushed through it.

I chose that song quote because it accurately sums up my hospital experience. It really is "different" the second time around, especially for me. Part two I even made a friend. Who I still talk to a lot. Part three they called me the welcoming committee. And I wish I could know how my fellow psych patients are doing. I've talked to one person once from part three since I got out.

My dad said it must have been easy to talk to everyone because I felt better than them. My parents know about part three, and ONLY part three and partial, because of insurance reasons. But I told him we were all there for a reason. And I didn't feel better than anyone. And I really didn't. How could I? He then asked my reason and I replied to change meds, which is my story that I'm telling to my parents. And he was like why? And I said because I wasn't doing well. And he asked if I had bad thoughts. And I said yes. So he at least knows that. I hope my parents never find out how close I've been so many times - even this past weekend I had to lock myself out of my room. But as they said in part two "it is what it is." They even had a huge sign that said it in the group room.

Another thing has happened too. This is not something we want to be spread around. So if you know me in real life, please don't tell anyone you know. It is only half my business. My dad left my mom. That's right. My dad left my mom. It is a big shock because they weren't fighting or anything. He told us he's leaving because he wants a romantic relationship, something he and my mom were lacking. My baby sisters have seen him once this week. It's been really hard for all of us.

I'm not sure if I have anything else to say right now. I think I'm going to finally publish this post. I'm open to any questions you have about the hospital visits or my parents or anything else. If you have them leave a comment or email me at cassandra.cassandrascurse@gmail.com. If you get this in an email, just a reminder, do not reply to that email, because I will not receive it. I know a few of you need this reminder. Anyways, as always, thanks for reading.

Parents and Mental Illness

Sigh. Blogger has once again eaten a post. I'm sure I saved it.

First of all, Storm, my emotional support kitty has been sick. I thought she was better, but then my friend and I witnessed her peeing on my stuff again. So it seems like she's still sick, unfortunately.

So, as I mentioned in my last post, my parents are no longer quite so in the dark about my conditions. Are they still in the dark? Yes, very much so, but not as much.

I get a few of my medications through patient assistance programs. These programs are when the drug companies send free brand name medication to your doctor when you have under a certain income and don't have insurance. That's right, I'm on multiple medications with no insurance. How is that related to what I just said? Well, I've been home a long time. Which means I need my medications. Which are particularly difficult to get when your doctor is 100 miles away. So my doctor stuck my drugs in an envelope and mailed them. Twice.

The first time my mom saw the package and asked "What boy in Columbia is sending you pills?" I somehow got out of that one by not really answering. The second time, about a week later, he sent me another envelope filled with pills. And my mom asks me again, "What boy in Columbia is sending you pills?" I tried again to get out of it, but with no success. I asked, "Would it make a difference if it was my doctor?" She basically said no. I thought her knowing it wasn't birth control would make it better. It apparently made it worse.

They then lulled me into a false sense of security by not bringing it up for several weeks. I thought that maybe my parents didn't think it was a big deal. Until they took me out to lunch in Columbia. They started out by telling me that I am slow on the medication. My mom has even said she's worried about me driving at all on them (I don't drive anyways). However, they don't even know when I started taking the meds. They think I've been slow this summer when I've been on the medications since December 2012. I have been on several different kinds, sure. Maybe I just don't want to be slow, but I don't understand how it can be my meds.

Secondly, my mom really likes to ask really awkward questions that either I can't or don't want to answer including: "Why didn't the last one work?" "How is this one helping you?" and "What were you feeling before?" I made the mistake of telling her I had tried one before and it didn't work. Although, of course, as you know, there have been more than one.

We also had other conversations including:

Mom: What do you think is causing this?
Me: I don't know.
Dad: Do you think it's a chemical imbalance?
Me: Yeah....
Mom: Why is that what you think?
Me: I don't know.
Mom: No really, who told you that's what it was?
Me: No one. It just is.

This is one that they have not dropped. They keep asking me if x told me it was a chemical imbalance. Including the classes I'm taking at school. See, they think it's all college's fault that I'm this way. Well, that's what my mom thinks. My dad thinks I'm in a funk. He told me all I needed was to travel for three months, and I'd be better. I guess they're both waiting for me to snap out of it. But blame it all on college. At least this way I don't have to deal with them knowing how bad I was before college. I'd rather them not know I was crying six to eight hours a night, under their roof, and they never noticed. I'd rather them not know a lot of things.

Mom: One of my friends said medication just took the edge off, is that what you think?
Me: Yeah....
Mom: But what does that mean???
Me: What?
Mom: When she told me that I didn't know what it meant and I still don't know!!!

I'm not sure either of them really know what depression is. And I'm pretty sure I'd rather let them think I'm in a funk than know how bad my life really was for a very long time.

And then things like this happen, in the library my mom found a book called Beating the Blues and tried to give it to me. Said, "Look! It's about," whispers, "depression." I know she's just trying to help, but seriously.

Also, another thing she said, in front of my horrified friend, "We just want the real you back."

What is this real me that she's talking about? Last summer when the real me couldn't get out of bed and was in constant indescribable pain? The real me who cried for countless hours in the dark because she didn't realize the lights were off? The real me who was peed on by a cat and didn't care or move? The real me who didn't remember to eat unless prompted? I don't know what real me she's talking about. I am better now than I have ever been in my whole life.

As if that isn't subtle enough my dad on our vacation said "well we're open to therapy, but not psychiatrists." And then when my baby sister said "doesn't she have one?" and asked what the difference was between them and therapists he said "they prescribe medicine that people may or may not need." Also, I said something about having a type of disability, which allows me to have an emotional support animal. He got all serious an said we needed to talk. As in don't think that or else.... Talk about not being supportive.

Also, there was another time when my mom was telling me about someone she knew who was depressed. She said, "she's in the same place she was a few years ago. And it's just sooo sad." Like it was the worst thing ever. How do I explain that's just how I am? That my condition is chronic - I don't get breaks? She just thinks everything is so surprising and tragic. One time my sister mentioned she had insomnia and my mom said with absolute utter horror, "you have INSOMNIA!?!?" Like it was the worst thing ever. Insomnia. I had insomnia my whole life up until I started taking medication.

This is a big part of why I didn't want to disclose to my parents my mental illness. Because they just don't understand. I know parental support is important for a lot of people. But, honestly, I'd rather them not know anything.

How have the people in your life supported or not supported big choices you've made?

Obligatory Holiday Post

I'm not a big holiday person. Shocker. I know.

It might be all the people or high energy. It might be seeing other people so damn happy because they either a. LOVE holidays or b. are out of their minds drunk because of the stress. Maybe it's the stress. Maybe there's another reason. I'm not sure. Holidays are just normal days with fancy meanings attached to them. Holidays are another way to show the passing of time.

However, sometimes things happen that even I can't ignore. They are selling these at my church.

take a ho to go

guess the chimney wasn't warmed up/easy access

Too far? Maybe.

Many of the other blogs I read have said that they can't quite get into the holiday spirit this year. I feel the same way (especially when it's 80* out) but no more so than any other year. My mom is very festive and really likes holidays. She has put bells on every door (including the ones to the bathroom). I think she's the only reason we celebrate holidays. But I guess everyone needs a few days a year to stop preaching non-consumerism and/or be a hypocrite. As we shop, we talk not only about consumerism but also about "trickle-up" economics, and we complain about people buying into things (literally and figuratively).

Maybe it's by habit. Maybe it's because it's the norm. I know one family who doesn't celebrate any holidays. If I ever have kids, I don't know how I will raise them. We would probably do a gift exchange, but I can't imagine trying to explain "Santa" (who's a creeper in my opinion). I think my sister, my elder by six years, believed in Santa longer than I did. I don't remember if I ever believed at all. I don't think I did. I mean I think that little traditions are cute and fun, but it just isn't me, you know? I'm not religious, so why would I celebrate the birth of a religious figure? Even if the holiday isn't really about that anymore.

Why do you celebrate the holidays?

Also, my crack (that's also a snack) hit the shack with a whack. Or, you know, people really liked it. I never thought I'd hear the word "crack" after my name as much as I did today. Also me and my friend kept making up things like "take a bite... you'll see the light."

Also, my mood's been back down again. I think it might be partly environmental, but I wish we'd hadn't reduced the dosage of one of my meds when both my therapist and psychiatrist are out of their offices until the second. Such is life.

Because That's How Grammar Works

I know I haven't brought mental illness up much since my fabulous post on stigma, but that's because I'm doing much better. We've finally found a medication, or medication combination that helps me a lot. Of course we've also found out I have other issues that were initially covered up. Because nothing can be easy.

Yesterday I went to the psychiatrist and these are a few conversation clips....

him: *googles something I said that he didn't know about a drug*
him: you're right, you're right
me: *cracks up*
him: *looks questioningly*
me: I was going to say 'see, I'm not crazy,' but then I realized well, I am in here

him: allergic to latex?
me: yeah
him: drugs?
me: *looks down at the three brand name drugs I had just been given in the office* um... yes...
him: okay, okay. allergic to any drugs?
me: oh, no

Today, on my abnormal test I finished my essay with "I made-up for the run-on sentence in the beginning of this essay with making lots of short sentences at the end. Because that's how grammar works."

This is for the same teacher who put something about people excreting oxycontin on the exam. Our only other test had the same mistake on it. Admittedly we had a different teach then. But that's beside the point.

Anyone have any fun doctor stories? Exam stories? (oxymoron, I know)

The Stigma

Hey guys,
I know it's been awhile. I'm a bit behind on my blog reading, but I'm trying to catch up. I've been watching an unhealthy amount of Dexter dealing with a roommate situation and doing copious amounts of physics. I know some of you know details but for those of you who don't - it boils down to the stigma of mental illness (and some people just being horrible but that's not what I'm going to talk about, this time). This roommate put me down repeatedly and called me weak for doing possibly the strongest thing I've ever done - getting help.

If you think mental illness doesn't have a stigma - then you are probably contributing to it. And you are hopefully lucky enough to never have to experience being sick in this way. (Aside: I'm going to use quotation marks to add in what "you" say. It's probably not what any of you would actual say but that's how I think.) "But two of my best friends have been on antidepressants for years" (you say, see?) "and I still think you're wrong." Well, there are different levels of severities. And I'm not saying that antidepressants are over prescribed (I totally am) but the stigma still exists. It's not okay to stare at someone in a wheelchair, but it's okay to shoot dirty looks at "crazy" people and mumble about how they should be locked up. Words like "psychotic" are spat out like poison. And no one's supposed to hang out with people who are "not quite right in the head" or "insane." Why? Because it might rub off? Last time I checked hallucinations, compulsions, and panic attacks are about as contagious as cancer. For example, people claim it's because of old movies that they think ECT is horrible. But people who haven't even seen the movies feel the same way. When the facts are... oh wait... they have none.

And then, after all that, people decide that it must be fun or easy. We just don't want to deal with things. We made it up. We just want attention. The truth? All we want is to be normal. While you're thinking about how easy it is to stay in bed all day, we're thinking about how easy it must be to be like everyone else. How easy it must be to know that you're seeing the same thing as everyone else. How easy it must be not to freak out over something that isn't scary. How easy it must be to go about life without knowing that in a second everything could change and you could be completely incapacitated with no one to help you.

Others only seem to see two types of mental illness. Those who have "completely lost it" and those who are pretending, enviable because they can get out of things. They don't see how truly desperate these people are to escape. I've tried to find experimental treatments, trials, to join from horse tranquilizers to brain surgery. "That's ridiculous - you don't need that, don't be silly, you're just a little sad." Well, you don't understand, you can't understand, what it's like for something to always be there. And that's okay. I envy you. And I really hope you don't envy me. Because there is no one I would wish a severe mental illness on. Because it doesn't just stop. It doesn't take breaks no matter what is going on. And it's always there. No matter what.

This stigma affects the people who actually suffer from these conditions. Especially because after awhile - we start to believe it's true. We believe we must be faking. We believe that maybe we should and could just "snap out of it." We believe that we are weak for getting or accepting help. So on top of everything else, we put off getting help, and hide our conditions. We don't want anyone else to know because they might think we are weak. We don't want to accept to ourselves that we are that weak and couldn't just deal with stuff on our own like everyone else. The disease lies to us and on top of that we have others agreeing with it. And so it's hard for us to decide which voice to listen to. Who is right. Especially since we know everything could change it in a second.

This is what happened to me and this roommate. I believed her. She was saying, confirming, the things I was already thinking. While other voices protested, I just couldn't believe them. I wasn't that bad. There were tons of people who waited more time to get help and were therefore worse than I was. I was faking it. I was over exaggerating. I was needy. I was weak.

I know these things are not true. I know that those who are close to me and care about me are correct. I know it. I try to believe it. And I try not to listen to the negative forces in my life, both external and internal. But it's hard.That is something I think everyone can agree on, mental illness or not.

This is my take. I use "we" meaning people suffering with mental illness, but this is only my reality. There are exceptions. I know there are others who feel the same as I do, but just because someone is mentally ill do not assume that this is how they feel. Because we are not all the same. But at the same time, we're really not all that different from everyone else. Don't be afraid of us. Don't make assumptions. Treat us the same way as you would treat someone with diabetes. Diabetics may need special medication or watch what they eat. But it would be silly not to talk to someone because s/he were a diabetic, right? And it would be just as silly not to talk to someone because s/he had a mental illness.


On a completely different note, I started running with one of my roommates last week. And by started running I mean I went twice with her. And then once by myself, where I guess I did too much too soon because I injured myself a little. But as soon as I feel completely recovered and find the right insoles for my shoes, I plan on going back to it. Maybe a little slower this time.