I had a therapy appointment today and Dr. Foster pointed out that this appointment marks six months since my hospital visit. I also knew it had been six months because it marks six months since I've talked to Kim. Today was a particularly good visit. I expressed some frustration that I was exhibiting so many side effects of the Seroquel XR, which include fatigue, dryness, which has been in my scalp, face, mouth, constipation, and, at least according to what I read, nasal congestion. I've been sleeping too much, not in a depressed way recently, but just like laying down on a bed and closing my eyes feels like the best feeling ever. She suggested I lower my dose of Seroquel to 200mg from 300mg.
She also brought up the possibility of one day being off medication completely for the first time. It made me smile. When I did, she asked why I was smirking, but I told her that it just made me smile because it made me happy to even think about that. The possibility hadn't even occurred to me.
When this whole experience started I had a really big mistrust of doctors. Part of it has to do with when I had knee surgery and they fucked up or something during the surgery and I came out with a huge scar from what was supposed to be an arthroscopic surgery. I think because my first Crohn's doctor never made clear the possible side effects of Prednisone and I blame him partially for my first manic episode. Then there was my stay at the hospital in Salinas during my first manic episode where the nurses messed around with me while I was manic, walking by and making faces and pretending to open the door to let me out of the room only to slam it shut.
Then there was me getting denied health coverage for my pre-existing condition. This bred a whole new kind of mistrust, especially since Crohn's Disease has barely ever hindered me since my diagnosis, it felt like a Scarlet letter thrust upon me or a Star of David to distinguish me from the general population and mark me as tainted. The day I was diagnosed with Crohn's Disease should have been a good day. It meant that they would be able to treat my disease so much more specifically, instead I knew I had received a label that would haunt me for years to come.
Finding UCLA really was serendipitous. The main reason I ended up there was because I heard a radio ad from them for stroke victims who also have lower back degeneration and it made me think of my grandpa, who has suffered from both of those ailments, while I was listening to K-Earth 101 on my way back from my attempt to drive to El Salvador. I didn't trust Cedar Sinai because they had diagnosed me with Crohn's Disease and seemed very opportunistic when it came to operating on me, which I was very hesitant about.
When I sat in the emergency room of UCLA with Jace and waited as patiently as I could to be admitted. There were a lot of times I felt like getting up and running away, but I knew I trusted Jace not to lead me the wrong way and he told me not to leave. As we were waiting, people, I assume from emergency that couldn't be admitted into the hospital for financial reasons, were brought into the room next to me, where they would wake up, stand up, take off their scrubs, put on their clothes, and wander out of the hospital.
From the beginning I could feel it was different at UCLA. Everyone was very attentive and kind. We spoke to this really nice security guard who was also an aspiring pastor, he kept telling me that something really good was going to happen to me that day.
Over the past six months it has been hard some times to see what happened that day as a good thing. There have been a lot of times that I have felt like I am going to be stuck, some clinical anomaly, destine to be taking different medications and going in and out of severe mania and depression forever, but now I've finally caught a glimpse of the light at the end of the tunnel and I was only able to get there by completely giving in and trusting my doctor for the first time. Every other doctor I've been to I've stopped taking my medication before my prescription was up, usually without telling them.
I remember the first time I saw my therapist/psychiatrist Dr. Foster when I was in psych at UCLA and she was standing in on a weekend. I went to talk to her and I told her I had learned that I have to listen to my doctor and that I have to listen to them and do what they say. She was completely unemotional and cold and it seemed, thought I was a complete liar. Maybe not, but that was what I gleaned from it. I didn't realize so much then or before that the doctor winning your trust was only part of it, you also have to win the doctor's trust as well and while I implicitly trusted everyone at UCLA from the beginning, it took time for them to begin to trust me.
I know I'm not perfect, I am still tempted by things that are destructive, we talked today about caffeine and how it probably has side effects we don't even know about yet. Yes, I drink a lot of coffee, fucking A, but what I'm doing now is not nearly as self-destructive as the path that I was on, which was basically do whatever I want to do whenever I want and never ask for help, even when I knew I needed it. I haven't taken my medication every day, but it has been pretty damn close, I think I've missed less than six times, which would be once a month, which is 1 of 30, I think that's pretty good.
When I first started seeing Dr. Foster and she switched my medication to Geodon and I started having panic attacks and we went on the search for another medication I told her I thought I could do with just a sleep aide and a psychiatrist to help me out. She didn't believe me at the time and at the time, she was right. I think the way things have gone have worked out for the best, but it makes me so happy to see that as a goal that is achievable.
This last manic episode was so different than all the rest. Firstly, leading up to the drive to El Salvador I really wanted help, but I didn't know what to do because I didn't have health insurance. I remember the last night before I left searching around the drawers of my aunt and uncle's guest room for some sort of sleep medication. I couldn't find any and the nightmare continued, as I got more and more paranoid throughout the night, thinking I was being watched at every turn. But something felt different this time. I wasn't sporadic, running around naked, driving recklessly, it was all very careful and calm. When I got to Mexico and figured out that my plans of going to El Salvador weren't achievable, I simply turned around and came back, totally prepared to deal with the consequences.
In my previous episodes, I always thought I was going to go meet up with my friends, the first time in big apartments in New York, which I never got to and the second at Mike Garner's parents house in Mountain House, which of course led me to getting beat up. This time, when I came home I was totally surprised when all of my friends were at my house, together. It felt like closure. I had thought El Salvador was my savior but Los Angeles was where my angels were. Damn, pretty corny for me, but my friends really are some of the kindest most gentle people and I really appreciate them.
I have been feeling really good lately, like myself, wanting to be social, even though I'm tired a lot I've still been able to do a good amount of exercising. I've been meeting girls, been having fun and doing a sufficient job at work. My boss is going to be gone a lot over the coming months, it will give me time to work on a project of my own and I am excited about that.
Anyway, some of this is well worn territory, but since six months is kind of a milestone, I thought it was high time to revisit it.
I'm sure I have some challenges and road blocks ahead, but today is one day to not think about that and just be proud of myself for where I've made it in the last half a year. That being said I'm going to go to bed. Maybe if I go to sleep early enough I will actually get up on time to eat some breakfast. Probably not though. One day at a time.
Oh and more good news: I paid off my car today. My piece of shit Ford Focus is now 100% mine. Pink slip and all. Well, I have to go pick up the pink slip, but close enough. Time to drive that baby into the ground. Next up: new computer with Final Cut.
Ok, goodnight.
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