of what’s to come
Husband such a
Stay in the present
Enjoy every moment
It is fleeting…
Why can’t I
Why can’t I
be jolly with he
whom I worship
I await the dawn
rigid with anxiety
each minute an hour
as you sleep beside me
lost in the land of Morpheus.
I cannot rest,
try talking to God
cannot hear Him.
Where is He?
No Presence felt
inside my icy heart.
Do the birds wait
like me, in despair,
for that first magenta burst
of the high and mighty sun?
Then when the first light comes
you awaken and bring tea,
I put my hand on your back
to bless you with Reiki,
as we lounge together drinking warmth.
And I feel God’s presence
and I feel joy and peace and love,
all snug in bed with you and God…
It is for these few special moments
We who are mentally ill are at the mercy of our psychiatrists. They throw pills at us hoping to help us. Okay, to be fair, some pills DO work. At one point in my life, they kept me out of the mental hospital. But sometimes they don’t. I have been ailing for months and my general practitioner could not find anything wrong despite constant low grade fever, three or four migraines a week, faintness and dizziness. He never called me a hypochondriac. The thermometer did not lie. But I felt he thought me a complaining nuisance. My psychiatrist was mystified! He should not have been.
Miraculously, for some reason, out of the blue, I remembered years ago, when the psychiatrist first put me on Zyprexa, never being more sick so often than when I went on it. I googled “Zyprexa side effects” and found fever, faintness and dizziness as side effects, especially when combined with other drugs I am taking, prescribed by said psychiatrist.
Zyprexa IS a miracle drug psychologically. It DID help me over come much, but definitely not all, anxiety. It DID stabilize my moods better than anything before since I cannot take typical mood stabilizers. Recently, though, the physical symptoms have been taking a toll on my life. I have found it hard to keep up friendships. I became housebound due to feeling ill. I found it hard to keep up with the blog and haven’t been posting like I used to, nor able to read nearly as many posts of people I love to follow. Maybe some of you noticed. Maybe not. In desperation I finally told my psychiatrist that I wanted to get off Zyprexa. He was all for it due to side effects of serious weight gain and a propensity towards diabetes. Why had he not told me to get off it before???
Well, two days into withdrawal, I am nauseous and have flu-like dizziness and weakness. And I am nursing a husband who has bronchitis. I have started the withdrawal and intend to try to continue. Trying to figure out just what was going on, I googled “Zyprexa withdrawal.” Guess what? Flu-like symptoms, nausea, vomiting, dizziness, all for an indefinite length of time. I only decreased the dosage by one half a pill, 1 measly milligram, and am having this hard of a time. I will have to go through this again when I decrease the other half dose.
Why don’t doctors know about ALL the side effects of the pills they prescribe??? And why don’t they warn the patients of the withdrawal possibilities??? I have been on Zyprexa for 10 or so years. So this will be heavy duty withdrawal.
We who are mentally ill must suffer not only symptoms but the opprobrium of our friends, doctors and all who come in contact with us. It is not just the mental illness we suffer from but side effects from the medications as well.
In part, I blame myself. I should have been more informed. I should have questioned the doctors. I should have googled symptoms earlier. I should not have blindly trusted my psychiatrist. I should have remembered back to a time when I had health. But I didn’t.
A warning to all those Schizophrenics and Bipolars out there or anyone else whose doctor is thinking of putting them on Zyprexa, MAKE AN INFORMED DECISION! Discuss the costs and the benefits, not just the benefits.
And if you are on Zyprexa and want to go off it, tell your doctor first!!! Don’t do it on your own!!! Abrupt withdrawal can be fatal. Yes, fatal, as in dead.
And to my followers, I am sincerely sorry for not always responding, visiting or reading your posts over the past few months. Have no idea how this is going to play out but it has to be. I will do what I can.
In tears fighting fears, I prayed to God to speak to me and he did, moments later, through the beautiful words of Dennis Ference, at Merging Traffic…
After awaiting September all summer, the month of the Autumnal Equinox came and is almost gone. I try desperately to stop time, clinging to each day, to no avail. These next few months, my favorite time of year, go by in a flash, like sand sifting through my fingers. Poof! In a flash the trees turn beauteous, with variegated flames of color. Poof! The leaves are gone.
First, there is the change in light. The sun, still hot in mid-September, does not pack the punch it did in July, when one could be outdoors for an hour and come in with a change in skin color. Temperatures cool. The grass starts to stop growing. The “blood” of the trees starts to flow back into the trunk, causing leaves to change color. Walnuts, acorns and apples fall. Butterflies, so rampant outdoors in August, have gone inside the stomach of many a child as they go back to school. Even adults are not immune. Many feel the flutter of “back-to-school” anxiety come Fall. Summer vacations are a memory and it is time to “honker down” at work. Fall offers a new beginning but there is a tinge of anxiety in facing some thing new.
And most of all, Fall is a time of riotous color, when a walk in the woods finds one reveling like a drunk, besotted by the yellow, orange, crimson, russet world which our eyes imbibe like a hefty cocktail. It is a time when Italian comes to the lips in a loud “Que bella!!” The green of summer is bucolic and raises the spirit, but the many colors of fall intoxicate. People start talking of peak color, and leafing becomes the pastime of many. It is the time to plant bulbs and endlessly rake blowing leaves.
But Fall is a time of melancholia, too. Flowers die. Reptiles go into hibernation. Insects die or overwinter. Songbirds migrate. Trees eventually loose their leaves. And the end of the lazy days of summer brings with it shorter days, longer nights, and concomitant depression for those with Seasonal Affective Disorder. Moments of sobriety seep into intoxication with the new world of color as we may remember loved ones who can no longer share the beauty–who can no longer enjoy those coveted, cooler, crisp days of September when coolness kisses the cheeks. For autumn is a celebration of endings, too, perhaps best described by the French poet, Guillaume Appollinaire, in his poem Autumn:
“A bowlegged peasant and his ox receding
through the mist slowly through the mist of autumn…
Oh the autumn the autumn has been the death of summer
In the mist there are two gray shapes receding.”
(Click http://www.independentauthornetwork.com/ellen-stockdale-wolfe.html for information on, and to purchase my Bipolar/Asperger’s memoir.
in the valley
the devil’s lair,
thou seemeth to be shy
with your glossy, glassy tears.
One day we all must die
and we all have fulsome fears
It is not
for lack of trying
your life to live;
it is not from sins of lying
or reluctance to give.
You lived your life purely,
always kneeling demurely,
and though your petals turn to crepe
your form still has a humble drape,
still praising He who made you
in your last living days
and inspiring us to follow suit
in your reverent ways.
For whatever reason these days are days of high anxiety for me, nervousness to the point of tears. Meditations are “noisy” with all thoughts and negative ones in particular. To deal with this I share with you a helpful 9:06 minute webcast on fear and love with Jack Kornfield and Catherine Ingram.
At one point in my life I was just trying to get through one hour at a time. Actually I have vivid memories of it sometimes being 15 minutes at time in which I would be praying to God in utter desperation. Such times could come again but I would hope to be stronger if, or more likely, when they return.
Fleet-footed moments of heart-stopping anxiety visit far too often even now, maybe just to keep me in practice. Uncontrolled thoughts of a scary future fraught with frets and worries frequent my mind, “pissing on the present,” as they say. These visitations may be the by-product of Bipolar Disorder and/or my Asperger’s Syndrome. In any case, my current goal is to learn “mindfulness” through meditation to correct this distortion of time and consciousness.
Long the slogan of A.A. and other methods of recovery, “one day at a time” can also be a celebration of, and desire for, peace– world peace, as well as inner peace. Yusuf/Cat Stevens expresses this poetically, as always, in his song, “One Day at a Time,” in this video link:
(Click http://www.independentauthornetwork.com/ellen-stockdale-wolfe.html for information on, and to purchase my Bipolar/Asperger’s memoir.)