Somewhere Over the Rainbow, I've Lost My Damn Mind: A Manic's Mood Chart (7 page)

Present Day (March 9, 2010)

I had one of the worst and best vacations I have ever had last week. Since graduating from Wittenberg University almost five years ago (it seems like only yesterday I was streaking the Hollow totally sober and able-minded) I really haven’t had a vacation. Whenever I had any extended time off work, I would plan a trip home, where I would likely make some bad decisions. Don’t get me wrong, I less than three (<3, get it now?) the ocean and beach like any other winter-trapped Midwesterner, but there’s something about home that refuses to let go.

In any case, I was going to use this spring break as an opportunity to take my first vacation since spring break ’03 (my first cruise and first time I’ve been booed off a dance floor). To be honest, I did feel a little bit guilty for taking a trip, due to the fact that all I’ve done in the past twenty-five months is work about four of them and try to enjoy life the rest. But damn it, also in that time span, I’ve gone manic and been hospitalized twice for two weeks at a shot, quit two jobs unwillingly, moved back home with my parents, battled depression, visited numerous doctors, resisted being put into outpatient rehab, and been a test subject, and I WANTED A BREAK! (I’m sorry for yelling.)

I had always wanted to visit Costa Rica from the stories Stubby told us but never could find the time while working, so I decided to give my internship hunt a break. I wasn’t getting much feedback from the agencies, and the lone piece feedback I received wasn’t favorable (politic way of saying it sucked ass). I decided a week before spring break I’d cancel my trip to Chi-Town for internship hunting and take a trip to deserted beaches, lush tropical vegetation, pristine clear waters, and hopefully away from my manic mind back home. The only problem was there would be three of us on this trip: I was the third wheel with my old man and his lady . . . what had my life come to? There was not enough time to get her a passport, so we swapped Costa Rica with Key West, an even swap if you ask me.

Not really an even swap at all to come and find out after this trip. Now I’ve never been a big fan of motorcycles but I understood the appeal (I officially rescind this). Please recall I had my mind set on getting away and clocking out for a week. You can imagine the difficulty with this when it’s bike week in Florida. I love walking down the street at dusk, just enjoying the views and the atmosphere of the Keys. I was doing this when six middle-aged accountants from Cleveland rode by on their Harleys. And were kind enough to let me know how just how T.A.N. they think they were by revving their bikes at me; thanks boys, I really appreciated it. The remote beaches and warm ocean were swapped out for near-record lows in temperatures and 30 MPH gusts of wind. I got had.

I had a couple of very bad days in Key West, and they were the type of days that kind of made me want to change something. But I kept forgetting I’d only been out of the hospital for two months, and the last time I had an episode, I was packing my things and moving home from Denver and battling the first stage of depression at two months out from the ward. I spread myself thin at times, trying to prove something to myself. This has yet to work to my benefit, and yesterday I had to quit my volunteer-position with (Radio Edit). It wasn’t something I wanted to do because I did really enjoy hanging out with the kids, but it had to be done.

On a brighter note, I was selected for an interview with the sports marketing agency in Chicago I’ve been wanting all along. I go this Friday and then get to stay in the City of Wind for the St. Patty’s Day Parade: I’ll be this guy. . .

(Yeah that shirt reads: Me + Green Beer = Your St. Patty’s Day Mistake)

I also get to hang out with my sister again (BTW, we got dead last in the flip cup tourney . . . no finger-pointing, but a certain pony wasn’t on point). Look out, Chicago, this guy might be on his way . . . Go Sox! (I refuse to root for the Chubs.)

Session

JP: Well, Derek, it seems as though you struggled with the extended recovery time associated with your manic episode here. This is common; you know, some people may be able to recover quickly from a manic, hypomanic, mixed or depressive episode, but for many others, it is more gradual. Often, it takes a few months for a person’s functioning to return to familiar levels. This may be true even if symptoms of the most recent episode have been fully eliminated. The time needed to recover often frustrates people with bipolar disorder. Healthcare providers often need to clarify the recovery phase for patients, their families and employers.

A person recovering from a broken leg would increase activities gradually. Similarly, gradually increasing activities after a bipolar episode is advised. This approach allows people to take on responsibilities and build self-confidence more manageably. Some individuals rush back into full, if not increased, activities. They may be trying to convince themselves and others that they are fully recovered. This “flight into health” often exhausts and defeats people. Many individuals who expect a lot of themselves are unhappy with how slowly they recover. They feel demoralized by the delay. This seems to hit home from this entry.

DT: Yeah, it’s definitely something I’ve struggled with. Patience doesn’t really run in the family. NEXT ENTRY!

KEY TERMS:
DRUG DEALS, CHILD PLEASE, PRICKS, FANTASY FOOTBALL

Submitted on 8/4/10

Blue

The start of football season is just around the corner, which means I’m getting peer-pressured to join Fantasy Football Leagues (dibs on team name
“Cap’n Geech and the Shrimp Shack Shooters”), planning road trips (Oct 22 A-Town for the Dirty Birds vs. the Who Deys!?, in the eloquent words of OchoCinco “Child please!”)
and checking out the lines for the upcoming year. Last year, I was only three games away from pulling in six grand and hijacking a plane to Awesomeville, so this year I feel like I have some expectations to live up to. As always I’ll take a look at the over under for the Bengals (eight, if I was a betting man I’d take the over; and I am so I will), odds at winning the Super Bowl (off the board right now, thanks a ton, Brett) and I’ve added one this year, and that is the over under of number of phone calls I’ll make before being able to get a doctor’s appointment.

Finding a doctor who will see you without insurance is about as likely as Pittsburgh Steelers fans from Ohio acting like they’re not conceited pricks. When I left the hospital in The Nasty (Southside!) I was first a participant in a study being conducted through the hospital and UC, so I was “lucky enough” to see a doctor once a week for ten weeks. I suppose I should be grateful for the help I received while in the study, but it just became annoying.

Every week I had the opportunity to be a learning tool for a new assistant still getting the hang of taking blood. Then I was able to describe my emotions and feelings and mania to someone who really can’t understand it. It seems to me that being in a manic episode and then trying to describe this to someone who hasn’t had one would compare to trying to describe a sunset to someone who can’t see it; it’s just something you need to experience. At least I was seeing a doc and having my prescription wrote (written? wrought? whatever).

Once I left the study, I was aligned with an organization that was a sort of middleman to get me in contact with the guys with the good meds. This is starting to sound like a drug deal, probably because it was. My first assessment determined that I was an addict, and they attempted to put me in outpatient rehab (no, thank you) where my behavior relating to addiction would be emphasized and mental health put to the side. This, of course, would have been great if I was addicted to anything other than being sweet and I wasn’t diagnosed with bipolar disorder and suffering from chronic psychotic episodes (but I’m sure Bud Light is my problem).

So next I was referred to a service that concentrated on addressing my mental condition and issues, but alas, I didn’t have a Medicare/’Caid/'whoknows card. I had never conducted my phone interview, of which I was never called by said agency so could not conduct my interview but naturally that was my fault. The service couldn’t accept me. After sliding my doc a few extra bones (I kid I kid) he wrote me a prescription, and I took off for the City of Wind (mistake).

Well, after three phone calls, two denials, one unreturned message and a near-episode, I decided to move back to Ohio (there were a few other stories in there that I’ll share when I’m more comfortable with this relationship). So now I’m back in Clark County and back to my search for help. To be fair, since I’ve returned last week, I’ve made five phone calls and I’m still without an appointment, so I’m going to put the over under at nine. I believe this is line will attract betters on both sides and provide a little change in my pocket. There’s plenty of room, it’s not like I have my medicine in there or anything.

Session

JP: I’m assuming you were having issues with insurance due to your preexisting condition of bipolar disorder. In case anyone doesn’t know, insurance agencies define a preexisting condition as a health condition that existed prior to someone applying for a health insurance policy or enrolling in a new plan. Insurance companies and health plans are concerned about their financial bottom line--it’s in their best interest, therefore, to exclude people with a preexisting condition, impose a waiting period before coverage starts, or charge higher premiums and out-of-pocket expenses. Given this, and with your past experiences discussed in the entry, what are your thoughts on the subject, Derek?

DT: I call bullshit.

KEY TERMS:
CONFIDENCE, ONLINE DATING, CREATIVITY, POLAR BEARS

Submitted on 8/19/10

Blue

How much does a polar bear weigh?

Enough to break the ice. Hi, I’m Derek.

Now what women could resist that charm and humor? Well, apparently at least three from The Nasty via Match.com. I couldn’t believe it either.

A peculiar new thing my mania has decided to start playing with is my self-confidence. I’ve never really had a problem with this before. Some may say I’m a bit dickish, but jealousy will get you nowhere my friends. I was usually pretty confident in the person I was. I had everything planned out in my head on how my life would take shape and felt confident about making it happen.

I’m sure just about everyone does this planning whether they intend to or not; human nature, I suppose. The farm gene that seems to be in all my relatives just kind of skipped me for some reason, probably to make room for the BMD gene; what are the odds? Growing up, I knew that in order to make it, I was going to have to educate myself. So that’s what I did, and I liked it so much I repeated kindergarten and my senior collegiate year and once I finally appeared to be graduating, I took the next step and got a job. I was working hard and finding success and could see my life plan coming together.

This of course came to a screeching halt--figuratively and literally as I tried to drive my Big Body Beamer off the top of a parking garage during episode uno. I saw everything I had worked for disappear, and with it went my confidence. Coming to terms with my psychotic manic episodes, filled with hallucinations and delusions, actually came pretty easily to me; so weird, I know. Yet regaining my self-confidence is something I struggle with on a nearly daily basis.

In order to counter this, I decided to give myself a little pick-me-up. You know, go after the ole sure thing to boost the ole self-esteem and get yourself back on track. When I had to resign from my internship in the City of Wind and knew I would have to move back home and start over again, I needed a boost. I needed a fun activity to boost my confidence and entertain myself for the next month until I moved. Of course, I immediately thought of online dating.