This past week I have been in New York with my father and brother, visiting my father's brother's family. His name is Uncle Alan, he is married to Barbara, and he has two daughters, Mandie and Steph. Mandie is getting married tomorrow, and we came for the wedding. 

The last time I visited this side of my family was when I was fifteen. I had a few very troubled years from the time I was fifteen until, well to be honest, this past year.

My mom was dying, my dad was a jerk, and I was a rebelling teen. My dad had sent me to New York the December before my mother died, when I was fifteen. He had sent me there for three weeks as a form of punishment. My family in New York are orthodox Jews and they live in a kosher home. It was a miserable time, and all I wanted was to be back home with my friends and my mom.

In the time since I had last visited, I have kept in contact with my family, but only vaguely over facebook. They are all teachers and therapists. My dad does not believe that I am actually bipolar. He disagrees with the fact that I take medicine to manage it, and nearly every time I mention my meds he says something along the lines of "I'd really like to have a discussion with your doctor", in a negative and doubtful tone. He has also hidden my diagnosis from my family. 

When I spoke of my bipolar today in the car, and explained to them the horrible depression I went through, the mood swings, the fights with family and friends, and the lack of a bright future, it clearly adds up to a correct diagnosis. 

I am still in shock that I got through it all. I really, truly believed that I was never going to be able to live a normal life. Nearly everyday I would write down in my journal that I felt like I was losing my mind. That I knew I was never going to stop having all of these problems. Mainly, that I wanted to die. I didn't want to kill myself, but I wanted to die. I would take the bus to school, praying and hoping for a car accident. I just wanted something to happen so that I wouldn't feel that way anymore.

Ten months later, something happened. I got on medication, I regularly saw my doctor, I got a job that I love, a boyfriend that I love (and that loves me), and I couldn't be happier with my life now. It seems so clear--- I am better, and I was sick.

Ironically, my dad thinks that my bipolar diagnosis is "all in my head", which, it is. But it's not something I gave myself... it's just there. 

Saying my story out loud to my family just confirms how well I am doing... and I'm so happy.

And they are happy for me too.

I have such a bright future, and it's because of the meds and the doctors and my boyfriend (who my dad also hates, once when Waleed left for Texas my dad asked me if I was sure he wasn't a terrorist-- like really Dad?)

and it's working!

Oh, and on an even brighter note-- I just found out that my work is sending me to AWP in Seattle, in February, to represent Piper!

Obamacare

I would like to dedicate this post to our current situation, the government shutdown.

This is for two reasons:

1) I really haven't had any problems with my bipolar lately. I haven't had any symptoms, and I truly believe it is because I am on the right medicine for me. I started seeing a psychologist-in-training. It's this great program through ASU, and I get to see a student earning their graduate or doctorate in psychology, once a week for an hour, for $20 a semester. The session is recorded on a camera in the room and they are graded by our sessions at the end of the semester. When I had my first appointment this past Monday, he asked me why I had signed up for counseling. I told him I was bipolar, that I had done a lot of research and know psychiatry plus talk therapy usually leads to the best results. I told him that I had felt good lately though, and that there were no pressing issues. He applauded me for coming in, and I told him I was sure issues would arise. I can't believe things are so... normal :)

2) The whole reason that I have been restrained to using only mental health resources through ASU, is because my father's insurance doesn't cover mental health, and over the past year I've found a lot of loopholes enabling me to find the least expensive services. I didn't have health care for a while after I had turned 18. My dad had taken me off his and it was at a time I had really needed it. I was in an abusive, toxic relationship. I wound up pregnant, 18, broke, and being evicted from my apartment. I applied for access, Arizona's health insurance. They didn't cover abortion. I had done ecstasy twice before I had found out I was pregnant. The day I had taken the test, my friend Kasey drove me to his house. He started screaming and told her to leave. I can't remember exactly what happened after, just one of the typical physical fights we'd always have. He wouldn't let me abort it, he wanted me to have it. I frantically looked for another option... I found funding through a few different companies. I was eligible for the funding, I made the appointment. I didn't tell my dad, but instead my best friend's mom. She begged me to let her drive me, she begged me to stay away from him. For whatever reason, I agreed to let him drive me. Of course we got in a huge fight, and he dropped me off and left me there alone. I went through the appointment and had to convince the nurses through snot and tears that I wanted to do this, that someone wasn't forcing me. I was given the pills (I was still only a few weeks pregnant so I was able to just take the pills) and my best friend sat by my side as I sobbed through the bloodcurdling pains, for six hours, until the cramps finally stopped.

The nurse told me that the fetus was about the size of a grain of rice. This may be bold (or horrible) of me to say, but having my abortion was one of the best decisions I've ever made. Who knows what could have happened to that child-- I was an alcoholic, druggie, self-medicating untreated bipolar teenager. Once I had the abortion, I realized that I needed to get away from my asshole boyfriend. I enrolled in a local community college, changed up my group of friends, and look where I am today. Four years later and worlds apart from that girl I once was. I have a future now, a bright one. I had a best friend who found out she was pregnant at the same time, Hannah. She hasn't had custody of her daughter for over a year, is currently addicted to crystal meth, and is homeless. I know that's a bold comparison too, but we were going down the same path for a very long time, and I'm so glad I strayed from that path.

Personally, I think that this entire government shutdown is absolutely fucking ridiculous. I don't want to get too political (this is a very controversial post...) so I'll let Jon Steward and Jimmy Kimmel say it for me....

http://democracyforamerica.com/blog/765-jon-stewart-says-exactly-what-we-are-all-thinking

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0mo-VlRAKns

Maybe part of the reason I feel so passionate about this is because I am a young, mentally ill, previously-uninsured, currently-underinsured, hardworking, poor, student. Maybe it's because I grew up in a family that still very much believes in racism, as well as currently believes that Obama is a Muslim, trying to destroy America with Obamacare. I don't think any of them even know exactly what Obamacare is.

Obamacare is something that will help insure that all of our futures are bright. It gives us options, it gives us the ability to be our healthiest selves, and it gives people like me, that are uninsured, options. My mental health is just as important as my physical health, if not more important. As are the decisions I make as a woman. Although I was able to find help through both situations (my mental health and abortion) I am sure that a lot of people out there aren't as lucky. There are so many mentally ill people that can't afford the ridiculously priced services of psychiatrists and psychologists. There are so many mentally ill people, self medicating with street drugs, and having children throughout it all as well. Homelessness and prison tie in so often with mental illness that it's absurd something hasn't been done yet. Not to mention the countless other medical conditions that require insurance.

All I am saying is that if people were to actually learn about Obamacare maybe they would have a different opinion. Maybe if they were to think of someone they loved... that was sick in some way and couldn't afford (or receive because of a pre-existing condition) insurance. And maybe if they were to learn something about our government, they would understand that The Affordable Care Act is THE LAW. And that a SMALL portion of the house, the tea party conservatives, are literally holding our government hostage because they aren't getting their way. And in the end, is it really because they think it's bad for our country? Or is it because they've been holding out for so long on this issue, and even though nearly every news network has called this "suicidal", and the ratings back it up, they are too fucking stubborn to let down now. They'd embarrass themselves, they can't back down. 

Maybe I'm just venting because I come from a group of conservative, uneducated, raciest, obama-hating people.

Maybe the illuminati will take over in the end and none of this will matter.

But in the meantime, let the people have options. 

Speak

This past week I had an assignment due for my english humanities class. I was to read a young adult novel that had been banned or censored. I decided to read Speak by Laurie Halse Anderson, she is my boss's favorite author.

I knew I had picked the right book when I finished reading the back cover, because goosebumps covered my entire body. I finished it in 2 1/2 days. She wrote in such an honest and authentic way; I couldn't help by highlight passage after passage--I do this incase I ever need some inspiration while writing. In a way, reading this book once again confirmed my hopefully bright future. I too hope to write young adult in such a way that it has an impact over the young adult community. I want to provide a voice for readers who can't find theirs, similarly as Anderson has done. Although, I hope to help young girls that find themselves in a trouble, to those who have lost a parent, and those struggling with a mental illness. Of course, I don't aim to only provide literature for one genre of people. I hope to help young girls all over and with all sorts of problems, Anderson successfully does this. She makes girls feel like everything is going to be okay, whether they were a rape victim or not.

She has this line in the novel that I especially connected with. Melinda (the main character) is arguing in her head with herself. Melinda #1 wants to go to her lab partner's house, she likes him and he invited her over after a game. Melinda #2 hates being anywhere but home, never wants to go to a party again, and fears being alone with a boy. Melinda then asks herself:

"If I kick them both out of my head, who will be left?"

Wow, talk about perfect right? Especially pertaining to my last blog post, "Disappearing on Seoquel" and good news about that as well! My doctor finally listened to me. We decided that I am going to stay on the seroquel, but she also gave me a prescription to adderall.  AND IT'S WORKING! I am not manic, I am not depressed. I go to sleep at night, wake up for work everyday, do my homework everyday, and the house has even been clean! 

So to answer my previous question, "who will be left?"

Well, very similarly to when I first began Seroquel, my doctor's words were: "The first five days you won't be able to get out of bed, but within a week, you will feel normal."

My reply through tears, "What does normal feel like?"

She laughed and said that hopefully I will find out soon.

I think this might be it. Not fighting with my boyfriend, going out to his birthday dinner tonight, interested in school again, I love my job....

I think that once I kicked them both out of my head, "I" began to come back. The "me" that I've been missing... the one I thought I had lost. It's a good feeling, and I'm glad Melina finally found it too.

"Disappearing on Seroquel"

I stole the title... 

From an article I read that I really related too. I found this article this past week. This past week I have not gone into work once because I can't get out of bed in the morning. I even made an emergency appointment with my psychiatrist but overslept and missed the appointment. I've spent the entire week obsessively researching bipolar on the internet.

I realize that I need to be on meds. But I haven't had any luck yet finding "my cocktail." Well at least I hope I haven't yet-- I hope that exists. After a horrid depressive episode last winter, I decided to start going to a pdoc. She put me on lamictal and a few weeks later I swallowed the entire contents of the bottle during a drunken rage and ended up in the hospital. I stayed away from the pdoc and bipolar meds for a few months, and was fine, until a mixed episode hit me this summer. My episodes always tend to come during the same time of the year. She put me on 500mg Seroquel and now I have lost all my motivation. I can't get out of bed, I can't stop crying. She put me on Wellbutin 75mg for energy too, but I feel none of it.

I know I'm probably crazy for saying this--but honestly all I want is adderall. I know it works for me. I've been taking it for years and it really helps with things. She's afraid it'll make me manic, but when I take adderall I go to the library and do homework, or I clean the house-- I don't go binge drink and spend all my money.  I've been trying for nine months now and she just refuses. And also she's the only psychiatrist at my school, and because my insurance is through the university, I can only go to her.

I don't have the feeling that "I'm losing my mind" anymore... but I can't get out of bed either. It's like I have absolutely 0% motivation for anything... even my job that I love more than anything, or my favorite classes. I love that it puts me to sleep at night but hate that I can't wake up in the mornings. I've been obsessively reading hundreds forums for days now about bipolar and seroquel and I keep finding the same...

"I was calm, but inwardly dead. The capacity for compassion, love, enthusiasm, or real joy diminished to the point of nothingness. Yet I wasn’t depressed anymore. I had become a zombie." 

http://www.bipolarbarebook.com/disappearing-on-seroquel/

Part of me wants to just go back to self-medicating with adderall and xanax. I get my shit done during the day, I get good grades, I always go to work, I'm fit (seroquel has added a solid 15 pounds that WON'T budge. I've been working out, dieting, juicing, diet pills--the scale hasn't budged) and then I take a xanax when I get home, make dinner, go to bed, and repeat.

I can't keep doing this. My head hurts, my body feels old and sore. All I want to do is sleep. What's the point of taking these meds if they reduce your desire to live? Breathing isn't being--there's much more to living. I feel like seroquel takes these things away from me. It leaves me like a shell of my former self-- I sort of look the same plus 15 pounds but I'm a completely different person. 

I've fucked up my life so much already (collections call 10 times a day, I've ruined my credit, have a felony warrant worth over $1000, no driver license, no money) I can't afford to NOT be productive. Honestly, I'd rather just die than keep sleeping my life away. I just don't know what to do anymore. 

The Scary Side Of Art

I recently read an article that stated the following:

"We are right smack-dab in the new golden age of young adult literature." -Michael Cart, Booklist magazine critic and a leading authority on young adult literature. He went on, "And publishers are courting young adults in ways we haven't seen since the 1940s."

Well just look at that, one of the best things a young adult writer could hear, right?

You can read the full article here:
 http://www.seattlepi.com/ae/books/article/Teens-buying-books-at-fastest-rate-in-decades-1230449.php

Sometimes I feel so blessed and confident to have found writing. So many of my friends changed their majors so many times, or still aren't even passionate about their majors. I honestly have to say that at least three quarters of everyone I know in college doesn't really give two shits about their majors and just want to be able to land a job.

I honestly feel as if I'd go insane without writing. I have to do it. I've always had to do it. I've been writing poetry since I was eight years old and have kept a diary for the last fifteen years. And I still own them all too-- they sit proudly on my bookshelf. I feel like my bipolar disorder has a lot to do with my need to write as well. The more I learn about the two-- writing and bipolar disorder, I see their paths cross far too often. It's almost as if I was meant to be writer, and during the golden age of young adult literature? Could it be more perfect? All of the writers I've studied have had many things in common, they had talent and good timing. The wrote for the nation and they wrote about exactly what the nation wanted and needed to read. And right now our nation wants young adult literature more than ever. I honestly really think I have a chance of making it. My father even  believes in me. He still can't believe I write so well. My father has never had faith in me.. my entire life, and writing restored that faith.

But then again, I also have to realize that writing is an art. It's much like painters and sculptors and actors and musicians-- very few actually make it. Sometimes I just wish there was a way to know if I am good enough. I keep telling myself, just get your degree in creative writing, make sure you get into grad school, get your masters, and you'll have to be good enough. There's no way I couldn't be after so much schooling! But then again... I guess I'll never know until the day comes. It's scary and risky but maybe that's part of the reason it's so beautiful. Things like writing and art don't achieve meaning in any sort of easy way.

I'll just have to cross my fingers and hope for the best! 

I wrote this over a year ago--it's amazing to see how far I've come. 

June 14, 2012

To be too spontaneous is not a good thing at all, but more of a curse. Especially mine—after all the title of this book is Slow Down, isn’t it? I have more than one curse bestowed upon me though. My family always told me I was “13 going on 30”—all I wanted to do was grow up faster. Now I’m all grown up and I hate it. I can’t act my age. I can’t be responsible. I’ve broken three leases since I’ve been 18 now. I’ve been absolutely penniless accept for the loans I’ve taken out for school. I have no license, no money, nothing. As usual. I mean yes, on the bright side I’m on the Dean’s List, but that’s only because I’ve picked up an Adderall addiction. I’m 21 now and still haven’t bought myself a single drink, not even a beer! Because I haven’t had any money. I seduce people into doing things for me, and I always get my way. I’ve completely fucked over my aunt by having her cosign for me, and then not paying rent. I seduced her into doing what I wanted. I fucked over my father by convincing him into giving me thousands of dollars for rent, school, food, living expenses. I’ve borrowed money from Matt Farmer (who harassed me to pay him back for months), Jack Swagger (whatever his real name is), and Steven. Mariza, Steven, and Jaime (my closet friends) pay for nearly everything I do. This is exactly what I do to my mom my whole life and what I vowed I wouldn’t do to anyone anymore, and here I am! It’s my fucking lifestyle! And now I’m trying to run away to Georgia, telling myself I’ll change (but secretly hoping some dreamy billionaire sweeps me off my feet and solves all my problem for me), but at the same time I’m so scared to leave ASU. I know everyone! Everywhere I go I see everyone I know! All of my friends always gasp “Gosh Lauren who don’t you know?!” as we make our way through a crowded bar and I get tugged and hugged and yanked everywhere, and I just wait for the words –“Would you like some shots?” and I smile knowingly to whoever I’m with, thinking to myself ‘Hmm I may have no money to pay you back for everything you’ve done for me, but I can introduce you to some cute guys who will buy us whatever we want all night.’ And ASU is such a big school, that I can use up and throw away as many people as I want, I’ll always find more. I don’t want to do this anymore. I want to wake up in the morning, be able to buy myself a cup of coffee. I want to cook again, write again, watch good movies again. The only reason I’m even writing right now is because I ran away to my dads, I’m bored out of my mind, and I have SO much on my mind. I want to start a savings account, I want to exercise, be successful, land an internship, be a writer! But I don’t want to be bored. I don’t want to be like Sara going to bed at 10 on a Friday and eating my sorrows away. I still want to have fun. Can’t I have both? Isn’t there a way? I’m in debt $1000 to my current complex, I fall in love with a new boy every weekend, I’m a total fucking disaster. But then again, whats new? It’s probably not best to run away to Georgia, seems like running away never does much more me anyways, I just dig a new hole, just as deep, in a different location. I just need to get my fucking shit together. People love me, I can do this. I just have to learn to love and rely on myself.

9/6/2013

I never went to Georgia--I got too drunk the night before and missed my flight. And instead I found help for my bipolar and the two loves of my life. I've learned I can rely on myself more than anyone, and truly believe I've become a good person.

Mad Woman

Recently, the show Mad Men has become a bit of unhealthy obsession of mine.

I just love the glamour of it, and I love the name: Mad Men.

I am also taking this PSY 394 class at ASU called Media Madness: Mental Illnesses portrayed in film and literature. Perfect for me right, a crazy bipolar writer who loves reading. But it's got me thinking about how our society looks at those with mental illnesses. How people perceive those with a mental illness has incapable of doing things that ordinary people do. They think that we are always living on the edge--that we are dangerous, or criminals, or drug addicts. And while the mentally ill do have a tendency to get themselves in trouble (guilty) or do a lot of drugs (guilty) or drink a lot of alcohol (guilty) and sometimes I get really crazy and try to punch my boyfriend... so I guess you could call that dangerous. I also have something that those ordinary people don't-- I can't explain it. But I can feel it--swirling around in head, I can feel it through my fingers whether I'm furiously typing or writing. I can also feel it in my wrists when they become sore because I've been clenching the pencil for too long, let's call it writer's cramp. 

I like the way Edgar Allan Poe says it:

Men have called me mad; but the question is not yet settled, whether madness is or is not the loftiest of intelligence--whether much that is glorious--whether all that is profound--does not spring from disease of thought--from moods of mind exalted at the expense of the general intellect. They who dream by day are cognizant of many things, which escape those who dream only by night.

And he's right. He's absolutely, completely right. This disease, bipolar, that some may say I was cursed with, is actually a bittersweet blessing.

Last night I had a glass of wine with a longtime friend. One who, every time I had mentioned my bipolar, had dismissed it. She has known me for 4 years now and I had never been on medication. I was known as her (and everyone else's) crazy friend. I was the one who wanted to go out drinking every night, who was always chatty, always expressing my love, always running a million miles an hour. Except for when I was depressed, whom very few people saw. Now, I am medicated. I am calm, I can finish my sentences before starting new ones, I stopped fighting with my boyfriend, work two jobs, and only go out once every weekend or so. She told me that she noticed a huge difference in the me she used to know, and the new me--in a good way. 

But sometimes I worry without my mania, without my depression, if I'll be able to write as deeply as I have in the past. I hope that I can still tap into my madness when I need it. It kind of feels like I've lost a part of me--a toxic part--but one that was able connect with people through words on paper. 

And I'm not too sure where to end this either... because I like the stability of my life now too.

Hmmmm... maybe I'll just go volunteer in Africa for a year, stop my meds, write a bestseller, and then get back on them and live the good life. 

Don't worry--- I'll consult my psychiatrist first ;)