Yes, I’m still alive. Actually, I would be alive and well, if I had never crossed paths with a monster called fibromyalgia.
I was admitted to a psychiatric rehab facility on February 18th and discharged after exactly 40 days. They changed and saved my life.
I will never, ever forget what they did for me—the kindness and care and love I received.
My recovery took a step forward thanks to them. Also, I was able to become aware of some sick traits of my personality and start working to become a better person, as I was diagnosed with Borderline Personality Disorder on top of my Bipolar diagnosis.
It wasn’t easy. Another diagnosis, another label, other symptoms to tackle. But finally some things I had never found an explanation for—like my impulsivity, my tendency to be over-dramatic, my terror of abandonment, my intrusive thoughts and tendency to dissociate—suddenly it all made sense. I was always a Borderline, I just received the diagnosis too late to save some friendships whose loss broke my heart.
When I came home from rehab I was a richer person. I was ready to start a new life.
Then fibro decided to step in and ruin all my plans.
I’ve now been mostly couch-ridden due to the worst fibro flare I’ve ever experienced for more than a month. I’m on oxycodone 3 times a day and I’m surviving thanks to that. Chronic pain sent me into depression again, a depression so worrying that my psych put me on Fluoxetine—a med which having Bipolar is dangerous to take.
I’ve spent weeks not being able to stand up to go make myself a cup of tea. I had to ask my parents to do that for me and bring it to me on the couch. I tried everything. I was IM’d for weeks, firstly with a mixture of diclofenac+a muscle relaxant which had no effect at all, then with bethametasone, which helped a little but not enough. Then I finally saw pain management who put me on oxycodone and now I’m able to walk around, do a bit of yoga and make myself a cup of tea.
I’ve not been working since February, when the Bipolar episode started. I’m now convinced to seek to go on disability—because that’s the harsh truth. I’m an invisibly disabled person.
I have no idea when I’ll be able to come off oxycodone. I have no idea how to survive our students’ final shows week, which is approaching. I have no idea when Fluoxetine will finally kick in.
And having no idea of anything is what makes me more and more depressed. And angry. Because I was well when I was discharged-
I didn’t deserve this. I really didn’t.
The only positive is that I have all the time in the world to work. I’m polishing up my first novel, I’m translating, I’m working for The Five Demands. I think these three things are keeping me alive.
wecanmakeforever 