Madness.
This is a real life story. I wish there was another way to tell it. But it wouldn't be real, then, would it? I've gone back and forth with myself on whether or not to write this. How detailed to go. Who would read it. What they would think. And on and on. I don't like the word "trigger." But I wouldn't betray the plot of Endgame without a spoiler alert, so I guess I'd better say "trigger warning." Don't read on if you're in a fragile place.
I woke up at 5:15 on the morning of Friday, June 14th feeling like complete and total crap. I'd been surviving on squares of Life cereal, chicken broth, and Sprite for over a week. I was lightheaded, weak, and starving. I wanted to eat but I couldn't. I was tormented. Mom and Skylar were on vacation in Illinois, so it was just Dad and me. I didn't feel safe to drive to work, so I woke Dad up and asked if he'd be willing to drive me. I'm truly blessed to have a father who said of course.
I'd been doing IOP for a week and the team had finally convinced me that I needed a higher level of care Wednesday night. They wanted me to do my intake on Thursday. Friday, even. But I told them I couldn't do it until Monday. I needed more time to prepare my coworkers for my absence.
But Friday didn't get any better. At one point it got so bad that I laid on the office floor for a few minutes. Trying to summon the energy to finish training my coworker. But I was desperate. My doctor is off on Fridays, but I called and asked the office to contact her anyway. And then the phone calls started flying back and forth. They wanted me to come in at 11. I told them no. I had too much to do. Then they wanted me to come in at 1. I told them maybe. Then they didn't have a bed. Then they wanted me to go to the ER. At 12:30 they called and asked if I could be there by 1:30. They could put me on a cot for the night. I didn't have my car, so Dad jumped in the Mini, picked me up, and we flew off to Towson.
I can't remember a time of ever being so desperately aware of my need for help. I wanted to eat so badly, I just couldn't. And half the time that I could, I wound up throwing it up in a coughing fit. I was not in a good place. At all.
The hospital finally got some food into me. I wasn't sleeping a wink, though. Up all night. And my heart rate was out of control. I couldn't stop trembling. I was a mess. But I got on some meds and things simmered down.
It's amazing what some nutrition will do for you.
My insurance kicked me out of inpatient after a few days. My labs were normal and even though I had dropped weight quickly, I wasn't underweight. I didn't need to be in the hospital 24/7. So I've done PHP for the last 5 weeks. 7am-7pm. I've been able to take Tuesdays and Thursdays off so that I could come in to work. And I've had the occasional weekend dinner or Sunday off towards the end here. I wake up at the same time to go to treatment as I do to go to work, so I really haven't had a day off. It's exhausting.
It took me a while to get up to the full meal plan. I was on 50% for a while, then up to 75%, then finally at 100%. I was ready to go at 50. Then certainly finished by the time I hit 100. I had gone from eating like 10% and figured 100 was pretty darn good. I had done what I came in to do and I was ready to go. But it's never that simple.
We started switching medicines during my stay. Seroquel had always been magical for me, but it elevated my A1C years ago, so I came off of it. We had yet to find an adequate replacement. My team and I decided it was worth it to try the Seroquel again. So we added the Seroquel and backed off of my other antipsychotic. Bad news bears.
Let's just say this. There are parts of bipolar disorder you talk about and parts you don't. I ran head first into the latter. This is the part I'm having trouble with. Do I talk about it or do I let your imagination run wild? I'm not sure which is worse, really.
I read an article in Time magazine that puts things really well. Here it is:
“You spend your life just an inch from madness. You don’t know it-but that’s one of the tricks with madness. You break a leg, you know it. You get the measles, you know it. But madness-the drift of the rational mind into the irrational, the lucid to the delusional-is not always easy to see as it’s happening. At what point does joy become mania, sadness become depression, apprehension became anxiety, fear become phobia? We value imagination but not hallucination. Yet they’re close kin....madness still stalks our species, but increasingly, we are stalking it right back-and slowly driving it into retreat.”
An inch from madness. But sometimes the inch becomes half an inch. And then it slowly blurs to a quarter. Rational. Irrational. Lucid. Delusional. Imagination. Hallucination. And who knows what else.
I spent some time in a scary place inside my mind and I wasn't always honest about it. That's my bad. But I was transparent enough to make my struggle known and compliant enough to follow recommendations and so I found my way out. And that there is a miracle.
It was an unfortunate course of events, but it really highlights my strength, honestly. It tells the story of just how far I have come. Of the reserves that exist within me. Of the resilience that resides in my spirit. Of just how much I have to live for.
So I've come out the other side and-as always-I'm a better person for it. There's still some work to do. We resorted to damage-control medication wise, so we need to figure out a more long-term solution. I'm still experiencing symptoms of my bipolar disorder. Brittany had decided not to do IOP, but psychiatrist has other opinions and she usually wins. I feel like food is good. That's what I went into treatment for, after all. But she wants to keep a closer eye on me and tweak my meds. So I discharge from PHP Monday and start IOP on Wednesday. IOP is 3:30-7:30 Monday-Thursday. It's a step down, but actually a longer day for me than PHP even is. So hopefully it won't be for long. But I understand the reasoning and will do it with a good attitude. I'll give it my best shot.
So there you have it. The honest-real-life-story of Brittany. At least for the last 5 weeks. I felt I owed it to my readers. To my family and friends. I fell off the face of the planet following a rather concerning post, so I figured you deserved a story. A true story.
Is there a lesson to be learned from this story? I mean there usually is. If there's a lesson to be learned, I believe it is this. That relapse can come from anywhere. Even from allergies and a randomly prescribed antibiotic. That it can happen fast. That it's ok to ask for help. That defeat doesn't mean the end of a story. That you can face demons and slay them. That darkness passes. Always.
I'll end with one more quote. This time from my favorite; Brian Andreas.
“There is always a moment right before dawn, when the sun gathers itself for the new day & then it steps into the dark world & everything is so filled with light that whatever doubt there was in that long night is barely a memory & I hope you remember this in these days, because it is the way of all things that the night ends & the light returns. The light always returns.”
I don't know that we're to a new day yet. And the night isn't quite a memory. But the light is there and it's returning. There is always hope.