Prowler

My dog woke me up at 2:00am the other night. She barked. Several times in a row. This is quite unusual for her. She is not a barker, she is more of a snorer. And this was not the "my god there is a strange cat (or not so strange cat) on the back porch that wants to play chase" bark. No, this was a very concerned "people are doing bad things" bark. OK. Enough about the dog.

So I woke my husband up, because although I have no problem shouldering my 50% of the household duties, when the dog barks like that at 2:00am, hubby gets to investigate. He peeks out the window and lo and behold, there is his son and a friend, trying to break into what they thought was our empty house. I don't need this at two o'clock in the morning. It turns out that although he was supposed to be at his mother's house, he went to spend the night at a friend's house. They then skipped out and went to a party. Cops showed up at said party and told all to disperse. Stepson and friend wandered the streets for 2 hours and then tried to break into our house.

What to do, what to do.

Aside from not sleeping the rest of the night, I accomplished little. There is no immediate answer. There is no immediate cure and remedy. Any action and solution will have to occur over time. Time. At times I am ready for this. But when the paranoia starts again in earnest; when the depression begins; when all I see in my minds eye are ways of committing violence on myself, I will not be up for it. Right now, in this slightly hypomanic state I have the energy, ideas and quick, razor sharp thinking that I love so much. The biting, acerbic voices telling me how I am evil, stupid, wrongheaded etc., serve to keep me in check, like an overdeveloped internal monologue stuck on the self-destructive channel. Next at 11:00, you are an idiot and should die!

The upshot of all this rambling is... well a description of flailing. We are muddling our way through, trying to be good parents. We are trying to communicate with the ex and her new husband. We are trying to communicate with the boy. All sorts of trying going on, but not much accomplishing when it comes down to the important job of helping this young hooligan become the fine man I know he can be.

Damn and double damn.

Answering Questions

First, an apology. As a blogging neophyte, I am not sure of how to answer comments or questions posed. So forgive me if this is not the acceptable method. Mea culpa, mea culpa, mea maxima culpa.

I am bipolar, or schizophrenic, or schizoaffective or just plain nuts. It depends on the mental health professional one talks to. My most recent diagnosis was as bipolar. This diagnosis was made by a psychiatrist after about 45 minutes of discussion of a lifetime of symptoms. It may or may not be accurate.

No matter what the diagnosis, I am usually high-functioning. It helps to be highly driven and organized. And the constant invective inside my head keeps me motivated to be.... well, perfect. That is one thing that voices in one's head are good for, a constant stream of analysis and criticism.

My psychiatrist does know that I have stopped medication. He is not pleased. When I started medication under his supervision, he believed that medication would be the only way I would avoid suiciding within the next 12 months. My husband is also aware of my decision to cease medication. He is also not pleased. However, me has "veto" power over my decision. I have told him that should I become unstable and dangerous to myself, he has the authority to, in effect, order me back onto medication. I have tried to make this unmedicated trial as "safe" as possible. The weakest part of the chain however, is me, as always. I will not always share with him or with friends how I am feeling. I hate to impose on family and friends in such a burdensome way when the demons are on me.

This blog helps. An anonymous and catharctic vent, it seems to help focus and calm my thoughts. When my mind is racing or feeling profoundly depressed, or both at the same time, it is good to know I can say what I think, and not worry about an involuntary 72 "observation" at the local locked ward.

So some, not all, questions addressed. I will try to be more thorough later. And please feel free to tell me if I have violated blogging etiquette.

Peace and Disquiet

It is difficult living in a split household. As the new spouse I see the children behave in a very different way with each parental member of their mother's and father's households. The most striking and damaging concept is that of a lack of rules/stability/consistency... call it what you will. The effect of this is that the children learn there are different rules in the different households. Almost immediately they learn to manipulate their parents.

Now all children manipulate their parents. It is a normal course of nature. However, usually mom and dad talk about what their children are doing and are able to rein in their children in a firm but loving way. This allows the child to ever push the boundaries, without free-falling into an anarchy filled void of misinformation and chaos.

In a split household there are additional difficulties. In the best case scenario, mom and dad still communicate and make an attempt to be civil. However, there are still the little digs. There are still the attempts to slightly put down the other parent and raise oneself to a higher level of popularity and love with ones children. Yes, popularity. That is the sad fact. We compete for our children's love.

These problems build. A recognition that there are no set rules (because mom's rules are different than dad's, and neither enforces the others) will build into a contempt for the rules at home. This leads to a contempt for school rules and eventually a contempt for the law. The child decides that if they do not like, believe in, or want to follow the rule or law, they are not obligated to do so. When caught, the child does not act with remorse and an effort to change, but with belligerence and a belief that they are being persecuted unjustly.

Once life has proceeded this far, and the child is 16 or 17 years old, what can be done?

Obviously the child's parents must intervene, but how? Do the stepparents (who at this point have been threatened and told off in their own homes) try to be involved in this process? When the children become violent, does one summon the police?

I do not have the answer. I wish I did. Because all in all, this is a good kid. He deserves a future that is happy and bright.

Kids - Why?

I am a step-parent. Not an evil stepmother (although my kids might disagree). I am involved in their lives. Sacrifice time, money and heartache for them. But even more so than birth parents, I am the target of their ire. After all, it is much safer to tell ones step parent to shove it than ones mother or father.

My relationship with my husband is such that I have been the main enforcer of discipline and schedule in the house as it pertains to the children. I have been willing to assume this role for years. Now however, things must change.

The youngest (age 16 - male) is becoming aggressive, difficult and I fear, violent. I am done with dealing with him. So now my husband and I are trying to develop a new dynamic in the household. He is taking on more and more responsibilities with his son, and I am trying to back away. It is hard on all three of us.

I hope things get better. I am tired of feeling unsafe and vulnerable in my own home.

Now, to work.

So Far, No Voices

I've been off medication for less than a week.

I had been on Lithium (600mg 2x/day) for only 7 weeks. It seemed to be working well. My pdoc added Topomax at the relatively small dosage of 50mg/day each am. I was also taking 5mg of Ambien each night to sleep, because apparently it is not normal to sleep only 3 hours a night.

Immediately upon starting the Topomax, the hallucinations began. Now these were not vague, benign hallucinations out of the corner of ones eye. Oh no, these were full blown, acid tripping, people appearing and disappearing, colors, tracers, and the most bizarre of thought processes. I did this for 5 days. Then I stopped all medication.

I know this is a mistake. I know I should keep taking my Lithium. I know that if I don't, I have a very good chance of successfully suiciding in the near future. Right now I don't care. Right now I am enjoying this little hypomanic spell. Later I will worry about jumping off the bridge. Later I will worry about the gun. Later I will worry about the overdose. Right now, I just want to feel good, almost normal, not depressed.

Just for a few days.

Then it will stop.

Sick

Anticipated a lovely weekend. The boy to return to his mother's, and my husband and I to have some quiet time with the shades drawn. Ah how life enjoys her little ironies.

Sometime Friday afternoon it started with a sore throat. It proceeded to a mild cough and general aching. It got worse as the weekend progressed. Here I sit, Monday afternoon. Home, sick.

I hate that.

A Little Background

I know that in all probability no one will ever read this blog. We are millions, billions of anonymous ants pouring out what is left of our souls into cyberspace in the vain hope that someone, anyone, will care. OK, no one cares.

I wanted, needed to vent. After all, it is so unfair. We all want life to be fair. We all feel at least a little betrayed when life is not fair. But we also know that life really is not fair. But damnit all anyway...

I hit the averages just right. The "episodes" started in the mid teen years. I wasn't diagnosed until 28. Fortunately, I have kept myself out of hospitals. Got medicated. Got unmedicated. Contemplated suicide (always contemplating suicide). Never successful. I suppose I will go through all the normal steps someone who is facing a chronic, lifelong illness will go through. Right now, deep in denial. I don't want it to be real. Therefore, despite knowing that going off medication will probably have serious, perhaps fatal consequences, I have done it anyway.

It is hard to reconcile the intellectual awareness of my disease with the emotional irrationality of my coping with the disease. I feel like two people. One is calm, cool, calculating. This one recognizes dangers and percentages. The other is kicking and screaming and listening to the voices in my head. But on the outside, all anyone ever sees is the stoic me. Never let them know you are ready to jump, or that you think you can fly. Apparently both those things are bad.

Enough for now. More later.

Beginning

Just a test for now.