GJX Daily

Everyone who has, or who lives with someone who has, a mood or mental disorder has formed opinions on psych meds. We all process these opinions through our own lenses and filters, based on our personal experiences. To some of us they’re life-savers, to others, life-takers. I’m able to offer a unique perspective, having seen it from multiple points of view.

So do you medicate? Do you medicate your child? Do you insist your loved one submit to a med regime? The stakes are huge, yet the answer will never be clear, and you’ll question it the rest of your life.

First, and the medical professionals will argue this, once you medicate you’re forever changed. You change, your mind changes, your body changes, your life changes. Once you start, there is no going back. You can stop medication and recover some of what changed, but you’ll always be different.

Next, nothing will ever be perfect. The docs really know very little. They have some experience on how a particular drug has affected other patients, but they have no clue what it’s going to do for you. Try it, give it 8 to 10 weeks, and see what happens. When they find out what happens, one of 3 things follows: The med doesn’t work at all, or the side effects are too severe to continue. This is common. Or a second scenario, the med works, but brings significant side effects. Additional medication is prescribed to handle the side effects. Finally, it’s possible the medication does what it’s supposed to do, and side effects are manageable as-is. This scenario is not as common as professionals would lead you to believe.

Next, be certain why you are choosing to medicate. Are you doing it for yourself, for your wife or kids, for your child’s teacher, for your doctor? Because at some point, you will resent the decision. Your relationship needs to be strong enough to handle that resentment.

Finally – what do you expect to gain from treatment? Normalcy? Forget it – ain’t going to happen. The closer you attempt to get to normalcy, the more you’ll be sacrificing in other areas. Only you can decide how far to go, but remember every additional step comes at a cost. The closer you get, the greater the costs.

Make your medication decisions with open eyes, then be prepared to defend and live with your decisions. And it won’t be easy.

Many won’t be familiar with this legislation, but on April 1, 2009 the SCHIP legislation goes into effect. Per Wikipedia:

The State Children’s Health Insurance Program (SCHIP) is a United States federal government program that gives matching funds to states in order to provide health insurance to families with children. The program was designed to cover uninsured children in families with incomes that are modest but too high to qualify for Medicaid.

This program is largely funded by increases in tobacco taxes. Federal taxes on a pack of cigarettes increase to a dollar a pack, an increase of 62 cents a pack.

While I find this a laudable and heart-felt attempt to make a difference, this wasn’t completely thought-out. Or perhaps it was, and they couldn’t approach the topic.

This legislation will most heavily impact those who can’t and shouldn’t be impacted. It’s easy to point at a low income person and say they should quit or pay. But cigarette use is SIGNIFICANTLY higher in the mental health community. It’s a way, and some would argue an effective way, of self medicating. Those who are least able to afford the increase, and least able to quit, are going to be the hardest hit.

I can’t get enough sleep lately. I’ve taken naps each of the last 3 days for 3 to 4 hours each, yet I’m still exhausted. I haven’t slept that much for years. It’s not depression, I feel pretty good otherwise. I’m not looking forward to staying awake at work this week.

This has been a decent week. Work was good, home was good, there is no reason not to be in good shape. It wasn’t perfect, we had a blizzard Friday and my daughter’s band had to cancel their show. I had to move a lot of snow using the snowblower and a little with a shovel, but it wasn’t bad. It was still a good week.

Saturday I couldn’t get out of bed. I was exhausted, mentally and physically. I was sore. I felt unable to do anything. My wife was exactly the same way. Finally, we were both in bed this morning, and she turned to me and said “you know what this is? It’s Valentines Day and Ryan died 6 months ago today.” I wasn’t thinking of that at all, but I suppose my subconscious recognized it. An interesting thing.

I’m up and afraid to go back to bed as I’ve had the worst dream in years. I’m sure there’s deep significance to it, but I can’t find any interpretation that makes any sense.

I was sitting in a bed (mine I think, but not my current bed) eating my own brains. I don’t remember how I got them, just that I did, and took a few bites. They tasted bland, had a terrible consistency, and they left a nasty coating in my mouth. I remember taking a small bite and swallowing, then a big bite and wanting to spit it out, but not wanting anyone to see it in the trash. Then I couldn’t find my water glass to wash it down. My glass should have been on the ground next to the bed, but there was so much junk on the ground I couldn’t see it.

I now feel physically sick, and I’m afraid the dream will come back. I took a sleeping pill, but so far nothing. With a little luck it will knock me out.

Sorry to be so graphic, but it really was horrible.

Why do I subject myself to these support group meetings? My wife and I are taking my daughters to a support program geared towards kids. It’s a wonderful program, one that is gaining world-wide attention. And my daughters love it. They have adult groups while the kids are doing their thing. I always come away from those things feeling worse than I did going in. I’m not enjoying these at all.

For several months now I’ve been writing posts entitled “Deadly Bipolar Disorder”. They are meant to inform the average person about the severity of the disorder. But I’m starting to ask myself what this might be accomplishing? Scaring those that have the disorder and their families? Cause depression, take away hope?

I started doing this as I don’t think there’s many people who have a clue about the danger of the disorder. Even among those suffering I don’t think they realize the extent of the risks they face. Most people think suicide is the risk they face, but that’s only 1 of a long list of potential terminal outcomes.

Personally, I think bipolar disorder is among the most heinous health issues. If you have it, the odds of having your life go to “term” is not good. Don’t ask me to back that up, I can’t, as figures don’t exist that address this. But the overwhelming odds are that you will go early.

So even though it may be beating a dead horse, for now, I’m going to continue to point these things out.

One constant among those who suffer from bipolar disorder is medication. Get a group of people with bipolar disorder together and that’s going to be the main source of conversation for them. There are a handful of brave souls out there living a life without medication, and my hat is off to them. But most need medication, if for no other reason than to make the lives of those around them bearable.

There are a lot of medications out there, Lithium is the old standard, and Lamictal is an epilepsy medication that helps significantly with bipolar disorder. These are probably the 2 most common long-term “maintenance” drugs and contribute to general stability. But usually a person is also prescribed an anti-psychotic, usually today it’s an atypical anti-psychotic. An atypical anti-psychotic is a med like Seroquel, Risperdal, and Zyprexa. I actually have quite a bit of experience with these drugs, I wanted to know what they were and what they did before I turned them over to Ryan, so I became a guinea pig. He had taken all of the atypicals at one time or another, but he always had Seroquel around. Some people take it daily, others keep it around for significant manias (which can come often). Ryan took it when needed, then it usually became semi-permanent until he decided to drop it again.

That discussion brings up this article:

Heart risk cited in newer antipsychotic drugs

Heart risk cited in newer antipsychotic drugs
Zyprexa, Risperdal and Seroquel, among the 10 most commonly prescribed medications, are just as likely as older antipsychotic drugs to cause a fatal heart attack, a study finds.
By Thomas H. Maugh II
January 15, 2009

A widely used class of antipsychotic drugs that includes bestsellers Zyprexa, Risperdal and Seroquel is just as likely — perhaps even more likely — to cause a fatal heart attack as older antipsychotic drugs like haloperidol, researchers reported today.

The findings, which run contrary to a long-standing belief, add to a growing drumbeat of criticism about this class of drugs, known as atypical antipsychotics. Zyprexa, Risperdal and Seroquel are among the 10 most commonly prescribed medications in the world, with annual sales estimated at $14.5 billion…

The scientists found that patients taking either type of drug were about twice as likely to die of a heart attack as those not taking the drugs, with the risk of death increasing with dose and the length of time on the medication. There were about 3.3 excess deaths per year for every 1,000 patients taking the drugs.

Yet another way this disorder can chew you up and spit you out on the other side. Open your eyes, folks, and understand exactly how dangerous this disorder is. Give it the respect and attention it deserves.

I got an email from a friend the other day, one of those that get forwarded a million times. It contained a load of elitist, hateful, horseshit.

I bought a bird feeder. I hung it on my back porch and filled it with seed. What a beauty of a bird feeder it is, as I filled it lovingly with seed. Within a week we had hundreds of birds taking advantage of the continuous flow of free and easily accessible food.

But then the birds started building nests in the boards of the patio, above the table, and next to the barbecue.

Then came the poop. It was everywhere: on the patio tile, the chairs, the table … everywhere!

Then some of the birds turned mean. They would dive bomb me and try to peck me even though I had fed them out of my own pocket.

And others birds were boisterous and loud. They sat on the feeder and squawked and screamed at all hours of the day and night and demanded that I fill it when it got low on food.

After a while, I couldn’t even sit on my own back porch anymore. So I took down the bird feeder and in three days the birds were gone. I cleaned up their mess and took down the many nests they had built all over the patio.

Soon, the back yard was like it used to be…. Quiet, serene and no one demanding their rights to a free meal.

Now let’s see. Our government gives out free food, subsidized housing, free medical care, and free education and allows anyone born here to be an automatic citizen.

Then the illegal came by the tens of thousands. Suddenly our taxes went up to pay for free services; small apartments are housing 5 families; you have to wait 6 hours to be seen by an emergency room doctor; your child’s 2nd grade class is behind other schools because over half the class doesn’t speak english.

Corn Flakes now come in a bilingual box; I have to ‘press one’ to hear my bank talk to me in English, and people waving flags other than ‘Old Glory’ are squawking and screaming in the streets, demanding more rights and free liberties.

Just my opinion, but maybe it’s time for the government to take down the bird feeder. If you agree, pass it on; if not, continue cleaning up the poop!

I guess there’s always going to be people who have never experienced significant adversity. Who have never loved a person who is forced to depend on some sort of public assistance. Who have never found themselves uninsured and needing medical care. But to gloat in that ignorance is maddening.

I finally saw Ryan in a dream, but it’s not what I expected or hoped for.

All along I’ve been waiting to see him in a dream. My wife and daughters have seen him, and they were great experiences. But mine wasn’t. He was waiting outside our bedroom waiting to see us, and we were giving our full attention to another son. Ryan got frustrated and left, with me following trying to explain and keep his frustration level down.