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[bipolaritea]

Big Events Inside Ordinary Days

Nothing of import happened today. But it was a big day for me.

Today was one of those days where I realized that everything has changed while still, somehow, being the same. I had a doctor's appointment this morning. It was my six-week-check-in-are-you-ready-to-go-back-to-work-visit. Our family doctor has been consistently great throughout our ups and downs. She's been extra supportive of me as a caregiver, noting that the whole family falls if I fall. To be clear, she's not pushing me to go back to work, I am. I feel like I'm letting my colleagues down by being away for so long. However, I also know that I'm not really ready to go back. Thinking about it makes me feel anxiety and today's visit came with added homework from my therapist. My assignment was to ask my doctor what the benchmarks were for my return to work, and then to share what my concerns were about returning. Long story short, we had an honest discussion about the likelihood that I've got PTSD, the need for a referral to psychiatry to look at a medication tweak for me, and how I need some stability at home before she can determine how I'm doing. In other words, we need to get everyone in a healthy place for a while so I can catch my breath and recover from prolonged caregiving in crisis. So, basically not anytime soon. It was a huge relief to hear it because now I don't have to worry. The decision is out of my hands and I know the metrics. I was relieved that she agreed regarding PTSD. This last round of mental health crises for my family really shed light on how intense it can be. That done, I did a little self-care. I bought myself a breakfast sandwich and coffee and stopped at a local park to eat alone and process the appointment. I took a few minutes to message some friends, and then I enjoyed watching the dog walkers come and go with their pups. After that, I went home, put away a few groceries that my husband picked up on his errands, and excused myself for a nap. Physically I'd done nothing, but mentally I was drained. I slept for almost three hours and had the most intense dream about visiting every home I had ever lived in growing up. Clearly, I was longing for the connection and safety to home by going to the places where I felt most safe and protected. My husband woke me up before I could sleep the rest of the day away and we went to the gym. I doubled up the self-care there by reading a trashy romance on my phone while doing cardio on the bike. Whatever works, right? Home from the gym, I took the dogs out bag for a run. We have some fresh snow so I took them into the woods a little bit and let them sniff around and play while I sat on a fallen log. There were rabbit tracks in the snow, squirrel footprints, and a whole lot of quiet, save for the noise my pups made plodding through the small drifts. Nothing really happened today. A doctor's visit confirmed the things I secretly already knew, and a whole lot of self-care backfilled in to pass the rest of it. But it still feels like something important shifted. I asked some questions I'd been afraid to ask and then gave myself space with the answers. As time passes, I wonder if the trajectory of my history will determine that today wasn't so ordinary after all.

[bipolaritea]

I Resolve...

Nothing of import for the New Year. That just sets you up to feel bad about yourself out of the gate. I resolve to not make any resolutions other than getting the last of the holiday cheese out of the house, getting my ass to the gym to work off the aforementioned cheese, and reading some actual books. We made it through the holidays. It was quiet, but it was good. Everyone was stable and improving. We've entered the liminal space between mental health shit show and normal functioning routine. I'm waiting for the shoe, any shoe to drop, but cautiously optimistic that it won't. We've had so many consistent, reasonable days I feel like we can slowly exhale and move forward once again. One of the hardest things about being a caregiver and support to loved ones with mental health issues is tempering my worry and anxiety with their need to be respected and trusted to take care of themselves. Some of it is easy to give back. I am a big believer that successful self-care and autonomy means taking responsibility for medication and medical appointments. The moment they seem able to, I hand off the meds and the conversations with the physicians.

This past round, handing off meds consisted of handing over a filled seven-day pill organizer and their prescription bottles with enough meds to get them through at least one refill so they get the hang of it. Of note: if I seriously was concerned about suicide in the house, I'd hold on to all of the meds until the crisis was over. Outside of that, I want everyone to be able to care for themselves independently. My son sees his psychiatrist alone. I have permission to speak with the care team on his chart but try to save that for when he starts to go off. I wasn't a helicopter parent as they grew up and I'm not starting now. My husband has been seeing his doctors with me, but I think he's ready to go it alone. This is still new to him. So I'll ask him if he wants me to stay home, sit in the waiting room, or go with. Hopefully, he'll feel ready to go alone. I resolve to take care of my family to the absolute best of my abilities. Then, I resolve to let them go so they can own their health and wellness journies. More than anything these days, I recognize that I'm not perfect. I can only do my best and love them well. Then, I have to take care of myself so I can travel the distance with them. Encouraging them to be independent is as much for my good as it is for theirs. Everyone wins. Happy New Year.

[bipolaritea]

because the og post had reblog bait and really doesnt help people with ocd:

Depression Hotline: 1-630-482-9696

Suicide Hotline: 1-800-784-8433

LifeLine: 1-800-273-8255

Trevor Project: 1-866-488-7386

Sexuality Support: 1-800-246-7743

Eating Disorders Hotline: 1-847-831-3438

Rape and Sexual Assault: 1-800-656-4673

Grief Support: 1-650-321-5272

Runaway: 1-800-843-5200, 1-800-843-5678, 1-800-621-4000

Exhale: After Abortion Hotline/Pro-Voice: 1-866-4394253

If you ever want to talk: My tumblr ask is always open.

[bipolaritea]

Blue Christmas

*Content warning for discussion of suicide.

Merry Christmas. How'd we all make out? I don't mean stuff, I mean did we get through the day? Is everyone okay?

I made it through. It's easier at this point. Everyone is grown and lives close. The extent of Christmas planning is a simple, "When do you want to have the turkey?" and "What do you want included?"

Regardless, I'm exhausted. It was a long day filled with too few breaks and too much food prep and cleanup. The older I get, the more I appreciate just how hard my mom worked for all of us. I'm also not complaining. My daughter wanted to sleep over last night and have Christmas morning at our house even though they live only twenty minutes away. We got to see Christmas morning through a toddler's eyes again. And then my daughter and I made french toast for the family, side by side.

That was my gift. I almost didn't get it. Ten months ago, we almost lost her. If her husband hadn't woken up at the right time, if he'd slept just a few more minutes, he would have missed the window to call for help. But he didn't, and she's here, and she went through treatment to get well and finally made it home. She worked hard, her husband has been a rock, and we've done everything we can to be supportive. So far everything is great, and I've never been more grateful. Bipolar disorder has the highest suicide rate among mental health disorders, with as much as a 30-fold increase over the general population. Up until ten months ago I studiously ignored this as something that happens to other people. I was wrong. I try really hard not to live my daily life worrying about having to bury one of my loved ones someday due to the impact of BPD. I've got two therapists helping me work it out. This isn't something I have any control over outside of being the best support I can be, and learning how to watch for the warning signs. We came too close to having an empty seat at the table this year. I hope we never do.

If you are having a rough time, if you're sad, feel like there's nothing to live for, if your brain is telling you to give up...please don't. Get help. Talk to someone, call a crisis line, go to the hospital if it's really bad. You matter, more than you know, you matter. Copied from PsychCentral:

If you’ve been thinking about suicide or suspect someone you love has, you’re not alone. Consider reaching out for support:

Visit Psych Central’s Suicide Prevention Resources

Call a crisis hotline, such as the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 800-273-8255.

Text HOME to the Crisis Text Line at 741741.

Call or text the Postpartum Support International Help Line at 800-944-4773 (#1 Español, #2 English)

Contat the Trevor Project if you’re LGBTQIA+ and under 25 years old. Call 866-488-7386, text START to 678678, or chat online 24-7.

Contact the Veterans Crisis Line. Call 800-273-8255, text 838255, or chat online 24-7.

Use the Befrienders Worldwide database to find a helpline in your country.

Contact the DeafLEAD Crisis Line. Call 321-800-DEAF (3323) or text HAND at 839863.

[bipolaritea]

Be Part of The Solution

The holidays are a week out. Everyone is doing their part to be well. I've got therapy and homework and therapy homework. My daughter just started back to work after sick leave. My son is taking over his own medication and clinical care while deciding what he wants to do next. My husband is doing everything he can to get back to baseline, except color. He flat-out refused that one, so word searches it is.

After months of stress, anxiety, and turmoil, it's a relief to see everyone working together to the same end. Viking Jesus won't be around to celebrate his birthday-thank you olanzapine.

The biggest problem we have right now is the insatiable appetite my guys have thanks to medication. I can not keep them full. It's a good problem to have, but I foresee the purchase of stretchy pants soon. My son encouraged me to rub his rapidly growing food baby for luck like he's some kind of gregarious budda.

Again, you have to find humor where you can since there are some things you just can't control.

But some things you can. I used to tell my kids not to bring me a problem without offering to be part of the solution. Don't complain about dinner unless you plan to help cook. I don't want to hear that visiting family is dull unless you have an idea how to make it better. I wrote a lengthy complaint to the hospital about the circumstances around my son's hospitalization. If we'd had better access to outpatient care the need to be hospitalized might have been avoided. It was a traumatic experience for all of us that shouldn't have happened the way it did. Today they called me back to follow up. The complaint was heard and circulated. I was told that it made a difference because it documented, in detail what went wrong and what needs to be better. It's being used as evidence to justify appeals for better programs for patients with severe mood disorders. Do I believe it made a difference I or my son will ever see? I'm skeptical at this point. But I used my voice to advocate in a way not everyone can. The patient relations expert was thankful and encouraged me to volunteer for the patient and family advocacy group. I'm going to do it. Let's be real. I'm going to be a mental health caregiver for the rest of my life. Anything I can do to improve the experience for families like ours will benefit all of us. With luck, future me will be able to look back and thank current me for trying. Pay it forward self-care. Maybe it won't make a difference, but one thing I know for certain is that doing nothing definitely won't change a thing.

[bipolaritea]

It's been a few more days and at this point, you almost wouldn't know my husband had been unwell at all. He's getting back in touch with his friends and colleagues; honestly, I expect he'll return to work soon. Like nothing happened. It's the weirdest thing as the observer and caregiver in the family. His recovery has been so quick I almost feel like I have whiplash. He feels great and wants to get back to normal. I'm still exhausted, not sleeping without help, and have residual anxiety. He may be back to baseline, but I'm not. My son is also doing better. It's harder for him, post mania depression is a problem. Depression in general is a problem. He has ADHD on top of BPD and everything is more to overcome, and he tries.

He's had three failed attempts to get back to school since he first presented. He needs a part-time job until he's ready to go back to school. Two years of poorly controlled BPD has left his finances drained and his confidence shot. I'm encouraging him to start with some volunteer work to bridge the gaps on his resume. It'll be fine, the goal is to keep moving forward, even a little at a time. A small win is still a win. Somedays a shower and getting dressed before noon is a win. Today it was applying for a volunteer job and being honest about not having any money for Christmas gifts and that's okay. It's long, heart-heavy work getting him through, getting them all through, but I will.

[bipolaritea]

And Suddenly, Things Are "Normal"

My son was discharged after 16 days. I filed a complaint with the hospital over how things were handled until he was admitted. I've had a few cries with my therapist over how traumatic it was. I think I might have PTSD given the way I've been reacting since. Time will tell. Things are suddenly better. My spouse has been in the therapeutic range with their lithium for two weeks. It was almost like a light switch was flicked on. If medication is a confirmation of diagnosis, then consider it confirmed. We are back to a regular daily routine, help around the house and odd jobs, answering the phone, talking to people, driving, and even holiday shopping. We have seen an almost complete reversal. Not all the way, but I feel good about how it's going. My son is also doing better with a new combination of medication. He's said, and I agree they did a better job getting him on the right balance of medication while he was an inpatient. He also misses the nightly snack wagon with all-you-can-eat sandwiches and juice. There is still more work to be done on his medication as an outpatient. He won't be ready for school next semester.

Another year lost, and that's as depressing to me as it is to him. He wants to be in school, making friends, and living a good quality of life. Hanging out at home with your parents for yet another semester is the opposite, we all know it. But then again, he met fellow patients in the hospital who were going to be discharged into homelessness. He's fortunate enough to have a good support system, I can't imagine how difficult navigating mental illness is when you don't.

The system is strained and broken and needs more resources for mental health care.

But at least for tonight, my family is all safe, mostly healthy, warm, and loved. Things have been off the rails for two months, but within the span of a few days, we are all suddenly back in the groove we'd left behind. Running errands, having easy conversations over dinner, and watching some TV together before bed were all but impossible even a week ago.

It's good to be reminded that as quickly as things can go wrong, they sometimes can be put back to right.

[bipolaritea]

Giving Myself Transitions

Every time I go to the hospital to visit my son I sit in my car for ten minutes before I go in. There is something about taking the time to transition. There is still a ten-minute walk until I get to floor, maybe longer, but there is something about the space I carve out that helps me. By now I am no stranger to visiting the mental health ward. I've learned to navigate the security protocols for the locked wings, and have long become accustomed to making small talk with both wandering patients in various states and the security guards occasionally assigned to them.

I've come to understand that except for a simple twist of fate and the right combination of stressors, any one of us could find ourselves needing this kind of help. It doesn't cost me anything to be kind to someone who needs it. The stigma around mental illness has to go.

Just the same though, I still need those few minutes in my car to collect my thoughts and prepare my heart. I hate having to see my kids go through an episode; I hate seeing them struggle through the depression that follows. It's jarring to try and talk to my son when everything he says circles back to his belief that he's a leprechaun today. And a tobacco barron.

After those visits, I sit in my car and process my feelings again. I don't want to take any more of the heaviness home with me than I need to. I want to leave it all there. It's a different kind of self-care, but it does help.

He's doing better now, I wouldn't be surprised if he gets discharged within the next week. I've missed his company and will be glad to have him present again--in more ways than one.

[bipolaritea]

Time Stands Still

People affected with bipolar disorder can, and do, live productive, happy, and successful lives with the right treatment and a good support system. Bipolar disorder is a terrible illness to navigate.

Both of those statements are true.

My son has been in hospital for five days now. As a kindness to myself, I'd forgotten how much it hurts to get the endless stream of phone calls and texts asking to be rescued. As a parent, it's wired in my DNA to rescue your kid no matter how old they are. I'd give anything to swoop in, make it all better, and save the day.

But I can't. Instead, I have to sit vigil and watch everything fall apart.

I wrote a complaint letter to the hospital. The whole time he was deteriorating we called and emailed and asked for help. He did everything the doctor asked, and I have no issue with his actual interactions with the doctors when he saw them, but getting timely access when it mattered was nonexistent. Messages not returned for days, being told to avoid the emergency, going to the emergency, and being told to wait to hear from the doctor. Using the mental health crisis program that was designed to bypass emergency, was useless unless he was violent or suicidal. Their system doesn't work and he's paying the price. Will it do anything? I doubt it. But I felt better. At the end of the day, we are stuck since there's not really a plan B. One city, one system.

So for now, we wait. We wait for the meds to kick in and for my son to come back to himself. I'm grateful he won't remember most of this.

These are the hard days. We hold on knowing this will pass, but right now we have to sleepwalk through the nightmare.

[bipolaritea]

Bracing for Fallout

Today, self-care was a long nap on my couch, a gourmet brownie, and some high-omega fish oil. If walking from the hospital parking lot to my son's room counts as exercise, we can add that too.

Monday was so traumatic, yesterday I basically retreated to my corner and licked my wounds. I honestly don't even remember most of it now, and I'm not sure if that's a stress response, or because the day was filled with nothing so I could catch my breath. But today was Wednesday, and my son texted and asked for earphones and shampoo. So, once again, I found myself driving to the hospital to visit my child in the psychiatric ward.

God, this wasn't where my life was supposed to bring us.

Today, I saw a Facebook post where one of my son's grade school classmates just graduated with a master's degree. Her smile was bright and her mother's post was gushing about the bright and brilliant future she hopes is in store for her child. Of course, they should be celebrating. That's an amazing accomplishment.

It was also a bitter pill to swallow. My amazing son who makes us laugh and is one of the most thoughtful people I know thinks he's a Viking right now. Our visit did little more than establish that a potato is the same as a bar of gold or a cigarette, and that's why everyone is getting coal for Christmas.

This isn't the first time I've had one of these conversations with one of my children, and it won't be the last. I know, though, that it's only temporary. Medications will get figured out, clarity and insight will return, and we will pick up and keep going. Better days ahead.

Just for today, though, I'm allowed to be sad for what he's lost. I'm allowed to be sad about what he has to go through in the coming weeks and months. I can hurt for him because I know he's lonely. Making good friends is hard enough; making them when you have a chronic mental health condition is so much harder. He's going to come home post-mania to weather months of depression. He's going to be embarrassed, his self-confidence will be shot, and there won't be anyone in his life besides us to remind him he is loved and valued.

It fucking sucks. He deserves so much better.

[bipolaritea]

The Bad Days

*Trigger warning for talk of suicidal ideation and previous suicide attempt*

Today was one of the bad days. For context, so you know how bad that can be, let me list some of them from the past few years:

The morning I woke up to dozens of manic overnight text messages from my daughter who was visiting another country and had never been ill before.

Three days later when I physically got to her and she was in psychosis.

The day I took my son to the hospital because he was presenting as bipolar with psychotic elements, they sent him home with medication because there were no beds and we were experienced with BPD.

Six days after my daughter gave birth. Postpartum hormones triggered unexpected psychosis even though she was fully medicated to prevent it.

The day I spent 24 hours awake in Emergency with my daughter for suicidal ideation.

Her nearly successful attempt a month later.

The day I called my son's psychiatrist and begged for more support than he'd been getting. (Mental health care post-pandemic is in terrible shape)

The day I realized my spouse was also showing BPD symptoms.

And now we can add this day to the list. I have done everything I know how to do these past six weeks to support my son through this last episode. None of this was his fault. It was a case of gastro and some accidentally missed doses that snowballed into another lost semester at school and lots of medication tweaking. When he needed help, I helped, and when he was well enough, I let him guide his care since the goal is for him to be able to do so. He was doing really well until he wasn't. Something happened in the last week. I'm not exactly sure what, but on Saturday he started saying things like "There are two monkeys in a tree and one of them is salt water and that's how Christmas trees are made." By Sunday, he was only talking that way. By today, we could no longer wait for a callback from the clinic. Long story short, his sister took him to Emergency where they still are 12 hours later. But he's been admitted. I didn't go because my spouse who is also unwell and in crisis was afraid for me to be away from him for so long. I still wouldn't be surprised if they were also admitted at some point, but it's complicated. I'm so very tired. It's a terrible feeling when you've done everything and it wasn't enough. It's a terrible feeling when you finally ask for help and you're not sure you'll get it. It's a terrible feeling when there is no end in sight. This is one of those days where maybe I should have exercised, done yoga, or practiced any kind of self-care. But I couldn't. I'm in knots. Except, I did lock myself in my room and had a good cry. No a long one, not long enough. But the best one I've had in two long, difficult, years. I hope tomorrow is better.

[bipolaritea]

All true.

[bipolaritea]

And Then There Are Days....

I try. I try really hard to be and do all the things everyone needs me to be. Of course, that's an impossible bar to reach, but I do try. But today I'm tired. I'm feeling dangerously low on patience and empathy. Part of me wants to yell "Just take the fucking lithium!" as my husband. But I don't, because this isn't his fault and the end result would be him digging in more.

The other part of me wants to say "Fine, don't take it. Don't take the lithium, don't take the olanzapine, don't take the Ativan. We can wait for you to be admitted. Let's ride this motherfucker into the ground."

I don't really want that. It's the exact opposite of what I want. It's just that we've been navigating an acute mental health crisis for a month now and I am ready to move away from 24/7 caregiving.

I'm tired. I have two more days of begging him to take his pills so I can then beg him to go to the lab for a blood test to check his levels. Then, I get to encourage him to take them for another week before the next medical visit. And while that's happening, I can only hope that it will start to work and my husband begins to come back to me one small piece at a time. Don't get me wrong. I am grateful for every small success we achieve along the way. But just for tonight, I'd give anything for some ease.

Tomorrow will be a new day. We will keep going.

[bipolaritea]

Two Steps forward

Son two days after his doctor's appointment where he couldn't remember what they discussed and an otherwise quiet weekend: Oh, by the way, my doctor and I decided that I needed some extra antipsychotics, so I'm taking olanzapine again for a little while.

Me, who until this moment thought everything was fine: Are you okay?

Him: Yes, I just realized that things were a little....I had some coffee and it had me...we talked about it and she suggested I take it again for a while. I just had a little upswing, but I recognized it.

Me: Well, I'm proud of you for recognizing it and getting help. It's a good sign.

Him: I'm learning to understand myself better.

Three months ago I was losing hope that he would ever be able to advocate for himself. This is another example of a setback still being a win.

[bipolaritea]

Mettle: an ingrained capacity for meeting strain or difficulty with fortitude and resilience (Merriam-Webster dictionary)

You can't control your circumstances, you can only control your reaction to them. I never expected to find myself being the primary support for three people with chronic mental health conditions. Had I known, I would have spent more time preparing. Maybe I would have saved a bit more money and enjoyed my kids' childhoods a bit more instead of looking forward to their adulthood. I definitely should have built in better self-care habits ahead of time instead of faking my way through two decades on coffee and takeout whenever I felt exhausted.

I can't do that anymore. I can do many things, but I can no longer pull patience and endurance out of thin air. Sheer force of will can get you far, but once you've drained your tanks, they're empty.

Almost two years after my daughter was diagnosed with bipolar 1, my mom was diagnosed with cancer. I'd barely caught my breath from helping my child only to be thrust into caring for my parents. They lived two hours away and I became their person for navigating the medical system through terminal illness. Mom died nine months later and then Dad, four months after that. Then I had to settle their estates.

By the time I was done, I barely recognized myself in the mirror. My face and body were bloated from sleepless nights, fast food, and hospital coffee. My skin was sallow and grey, my hair was falling out, and I couldn't climb a flight of stairs without getting winded.

It was bad and I was secretly worried I was going to have a stroke. I work in health care and one of the doctors I worked with pulled me aside and said they were worried about me. I was too.

Diet changes didn't really do much, and I tried to make a difference in things by using the old treadmill in my basement. No luck, it was like I was too far gone.

So I did the thing I most hated. I joined the gym.

That was six years ago. I'm still going. I still hate it. But I love it too.

Now, hear me out, I'm not going to tell you I dropped 100 pounds and wear a size six. I didn't. I was plus-sized going in, and I'm still plus-sized. I do eat better, but my portion control is the shits especially in times like these when I am stressed from being pulled in 100 directions. I'm definitely not saying I'm perfect or there isn't room to improve. I will always be a work in progress.

I have anxiety and depression. Not at all surprising considering the things I navigate with my family. It sucked having to accept my own referral for mental health, but among the easiest of the recommendations from the psychiatrist I met was getting regular exercise.

We already go twice a week, sometimes more, sometimes less. Typically, we get a good rhythm going, and then someone gets sick or something happens where we get sidelined for a week or two every few months. But here's the key: we go back and start over.

I hate it. I hate it every single time. But then I go, and the endorphins kick in, and I am always glad I did it. I have to force myself to go 97% of the time and then thank myself 100% after. I always leave feeling better about myself, and I always leave feeling better in general. I've noticed that for me, the good feeling from endorphins lasts about two to three days. So, the twice-a-week model is the minimum I need to feel as positive as I can in any circumstance.

So, of all the self-care things I do to keep myself going, this one is, by far, the most important. I'm only talking about endorphins, but we could also talk about energy levels and muscle strength. There is no way I could have, at my age, survived the multiple long days and nights caring for my family over the past 18 months without it.

I need as much mettle as I can muster to make it through. Ironically, one of the best things I can do for myself is lift a little metal.

[bipolaritea]

Just Hanging On

A lot can change in a week. And a lot can change in a week while everything remains basically the same.

Back to the psychiatrist tomorrow for my spouse. A week ago I was certain they were on the express route to admission. At one point, I was getting worried about their spike in agitation and had safety plans in place.

Fortunately(?), things settled instead. While they've declined the recommended treatment thus far (discussion round 2 tomorrow), the plan B choice of treatment (lots of Olanzapine) did bring things down to a low boil. They're still not good, but we made it through. I'm definitely tired, and I hate seeing someone I love so much struggling. I'm also frustrated with their lack of insight, and while I understand the hows and whys, this is hard work for all of us.

So, tomorrow will set the tone for November. After the psychiatrist's appointment, there is one with the family doctor to discuss work absence. Then, there will be the filing of that paperwork and, most likely, new prescriptions to pick up.

The day after that, my son needs to see his psychiatrist. Different doctors, different hospitals, good reasons why. As I mentioned previously, he reported that his change in medication was working, and he no longer had thoughts about possibly being Viking Jesus. A success to celebrate until I went to talk to him in his office today and noted that he's drawn runes in the corners of his to-do list. He swears he's good. There's not a damn thing I can do about it right now anyway, and heck, maybe he just likes drawing runes. Back in the day, I used to draw them too, when I went through my historical Viking romance phase.

Not that I think he's reading historical Viking romances, but if he is, I hope he drops me a link.

Five dollars says he's got another med adjustment coming as well.

Regardless, we somehow made it through another week in crisis. I think I'm acclimating to double caregiving. I've been working on identifying the things I can control versus the things I can't. If I can't control it, I'm doing my best to let go of my worries around it. It's a waste of my precious reserves. I'm running a marathon, after all.

[bipolaritea]

Just Another Manic Monday

Today was one of those slow days where we are basically just killing time between medical appointments. No one is well enough to work or go to school. Olanzapine stimulates hunger and I've resorted to making large pots of soup to keep everyone full. On days like today, I feel more like a housekeeper than a caregiver.

There was laundry and food, it snowed overnight and that meant a minor panic to prepare for winter. My son has to defer school to next semester and needs help with the paperwork. My husband needs reassurance that he doesn't need to worry about sick leave and forms for work.

"I'll take care of it," I tell him dozens of times a day.

Things are getting better. My son says his med change is working and his hyperreligiousity is lessened, meaning Viking Jesus is no longer with us.

"It's too bad," he said. "I no longer believe in myself."

"That's fair," I answered. "We will drink and feast in his memory whence we next celebrate the winter solstice." You have to laugh. Sometimes. it's all you've got.