Part #… of my story.

Life sucks sometimes. Isn’t that an understatement? I read blogs, and write them about difficulties that we all have in our lives. We have a common theme, and that is pain. Whether we suffer emotionally or physically, the pain is real. Some of us deal with it on our own and do so spiritually, intellectually, or medicinally. Some choose to go through it,  voluntarily or out of necessity, with professional help. No matter the mode of coping, we all live with the pain.

Personally, I have not found a treatment plan on my own. It’s not that I haven’t tried, I have thought that I should be able to beat this, on my own. That’s reasonable, right? Mind over matter and “just get over it” is the help that people who don’t have problems suggest. Who doesn’t have troubles?

In order to beat back the pain, we have to fight it. I have found that physical pain is a little easier for me to control. I am talking now about MY physical pain i will not speak to others pain. Everyone experiences pain or any sensation with different levels and intensities!

The discomfort that i experience mentally is deeply ingrained. It reaches into my soul like the trap root of a mighty tree. I have worked at relieving that pain. On my own, I’ve spent money mindlessly, trying to aleviate pain by buying everything i thought would make happy. It turns out that I can thank by bipolar hypomania for that. I can thank bipolar depression for that too. It turns out that a lot of other people can verify this information. I am fortunate that most of my life I have been able to work for that money.

I have also tried to hide from pain. During very dark and tough times i turned to inpatient help. It never helped me. I found hospitals to be ineffective for my brand of brain pain. They were, however, a good place to hide from whatever the caused the REAL problems.

The next step was to tell every talk therapist as much of my pathetic story as I could remember. I can’t remember all of it though. My thoughts are fractured into pieces that don’t come out in one fluid story. When I dissociate, only a part emerges. The therapist who dx DID (disassociative identity disorder) helped me recognize seven “people” sharing my life in my head. With help I have been able to get me to live all together.

This is starting to read like a slapstick comedy. I was recently dx’d bipolar. This isn’t a new idea brought up by Drs I’ve seen. In fact it turns out that most of the psych meds that I’ve been taking are to treat bipolarity. I’ve resisted this dx  a long time. I guess it would mean that i resign to a serious illness.

The hypomania was the harder part of the bipolar to identify. The manic episodes don’t last nearly long enough. It usually lasts long enough to run out of money or just until I’ve worn myself out doing whatever is keeping me occupied. As a teen, I rode motorcycles continously for the thrill. Faster the better, and I owned some fast machines. It wasn’t until i got married and we had children that i found a replacement for rapid acceleration.

The depression now is a different thing.The depression runs dark and very deep. It sucks the light out of the room along with any pleasure that might have been there moments before. Doctors can recognize depression easily. Pharmaceutical companies manufacture tons of stuff to combat depression. They spread samples out in all directions to provide as many options of medication as they can for patients to try.

A doctor even provided ECT’s (electro-convulsive -therapy). They erased a few weeks of memories but did little for the depression. My therapist suggested it was because of the disassociation, there were parts that weren’t treated by the “minute amounts” of electricity they passed through my brain.

Physical pain would be something easily treatable, one would think. Some pain can be but as previously stated, everyone reacts differently to pain and to pain treatments. Aspirin helps some people but is deadly to others. More powerful pain relievers can be even more problematic, especially addiction to opioids.

Funny really, I am nearly 60 years old. I have dealt with this shit for over forty of them. I will probably die of old age before I find relief from my torment. It gets harder to find a professional to talk to all of the time. It might be time to give my slot of time to someone who might get something from talk. I will stick with the prescribers. Medicines provide relief that is measurable in the effects that they cause. At least I don’t have to talk to a pill.


5 thoughts on “Part #… of my story.

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