Sometimes I feel like such a fraud.  People have commented on my blog, and even after group skills class that I seem so calm or easy going or even tempered or positive thinking when dealing with all this mental illness and car accident and abusive past and whatnot.  I’ve come to the conclusion, though, that the fraud thing is just a feeling, not a reality. Mostly, for at least the past 6 months or so, I have been pretty calm and easy going when dealing with all this terribly messy life and mental illness stuff. Oh I’ve been up and down and had all sorts of things going on inside and out, but I’ve handled it damned well. I’m just not used to thinking of myself as calm or easy going.

That feeling like a fraud is one of the things that hit me when I was feeling peculiar and oddly sad about the diagnosis of borderline personality disorder being removed as incorrect. Here I’ve been blogging about bpd, talking about it, even getting hideously expensive DBT therapy for free courtesy the county for it, but I don’t appear to have bpd after all. Of course, I had one of those cute little converations with myself about it.

“I’m such a fraud!”
“Well, it’s not like you claimed bpd out of the blue announced it in order to defraud anyone, girlfriend.”
“Well, no, but still…”
“Still what?”
“Oh, I don’t know.”

Yeah, I didn’t know why I was feeling like a fraud about that. And heaven’s to betsy it struck me as weird at first to be sad about losing the bpd diagnosis. Then it came to me…

I got so much out of having the bpd diagnosis, even temporarily, even incorrectly as it is now said to be. I was drowning in mixed mania when I showed up at the doorstep of county mental health.  They diagnosed me as bipolar and patched up the mixed mania with medication bandaids. Then they sent me on my merry way as someone they couldn’t help because of a combination of screw-ups and lack of programs.  But lo and behold, I advocated for myself with the help of my mother, and they decided I had severe abandonment issues to go with my other stuff. So I must have bpd and they did have a program for that. That’s what got me into DBT, and to a therapist who decided to treat me as I am rather than as a textbook case of anything. And it got me continued help with my meds. If I’d “merely” had MCD or even bipolar, as long as I wasn’t emergent, they said they couldn’t help me. Considering all that, it’s normal that I’d feel sad about the diagnostic change, because whether it was correct or not I got so much out of having had the diagnosis while I did.

So yeah, I have things going on. Shit happens.  But I’m far more ok today than I was a year or two ago, and I’m mostly calm to boot.  That’s ok. Really very ok. And it’s good to stop feeling like I’m a fraud, too.

The therapist’s eyebrows did waltz with her hairdo today, which was kind of fun. We also had to review and redo my treatment goals and plans, which was not so much fun.

In the process my diagnoses got checked out and updated. Bipolar NOS. Yes, that one stays. No one knows quite what to do with the usually more hypomania type mania in concert with psychotic stuff like hallucinations. Ok, no biggie, call it NOS. Whatevah. Luckily the psychotic stuff only happens rarely these days, mostly when I have to take prednisone.

The odd part is that today they officially deleted my diagnosis of borderline personality disorder as incorrect and put in (C)PTSD in its place as more accurate. Somehow I feel sad about it. I’d argued against the bpd at first, to no avail. Now a year later, and now that my therapist actually knows me well instead of a stranger diagnosing me in an hour, I am said to not have what I said I didn’t have in the first place. I feel like I should be happy and triumphant feeling or some such thing. Instead I feel vaguely sad about it. I’m not sure why. I figure that will come clear to me in the next day or two. In the meanwhile, it’s weird.

I see my therapist tomorrow. I can see it now.

She won’t ask anything about my neckbrace or limp as we walk down the hall to her office.  That would be uncool.

So we’ll get to her office and she’ll ask,  ”How have you been?” 

“Damned good all things considered.”

“That’s great,” she’ll say, and she’ll mean it. Then she’ll ask, “So why are you in a neck brace and limping? What happened?”

“Oh, I was in a head-on collision with a pickup truck a week and a half ago.”

Her eyebrows will fly up to do a dance with her hairdo at about that point.

You see, I’m supposed to come unglued over all this. After all, I’ve been diagnosed with BPD / C-PTSD on top of bipolar disorder. So I’m definitely scheduled to go bananas over chaos like car accidents and injuries. Or at least, that’s what one would expect.  The eyebrows and the hairdo will have to dance, though, because I’m not unglued.

Oh hell yes, I’ve had lots of feelings about it all. I’ve sat down and cried over feeling out of control with all the insurance crap and stuff.  I’m nervous about driving, but not cripplingly so  I’ve been frustrated that I missed so much work because I was in a fog from the high doses of pain and muscle relaxant stuff. I’ve been annoyed about the insurance bs taking up so much of my time. I’ve been highly pissed off and scared about so many people telling me how insurance is going to try to screw me and giving me advice out the wazoo. I’ve been angry about hurting so much.  I’ve been sad and angry and yes, even happy; happy I didn’t get my head knocked in or something far more awful than whiplash and a banged knee. And more.

Do I like all this flood of feelings whizzing through my head?  Not especially. It’s tiring. I’m particularly not fond of the sad and angry and such. But the feelings come. Then they go. And I’m still here, so I get up and go on with my day.  Either DBT has helped a ton or the lack of current bipolar episodes courtesy meds has. Or both. Whatever, I’ll take it.

It’ll be fun to see the therapist’s eyebrows and hair waltz together for a bit, though.

Zyprexa and I are going to end our relationship. 15 lbs in 6 weeks when I’ve finally for the first time in my life started exercising daily and am starving because of ignoring cravings is just not going to do.  Not to mention my blood sugar average has gone up 50 frickin points. I’m not diabetic, but I surely will be if I  keep this up. Stopping a med that’s having this much of a negative effect on my body is the only sensible thing to do.

So I ask the gatekeeper (my case manager) Monday to have Dr. C to get in touch with me about the Zyprexa.  I don’t know what gatekeeper said, but Dr. C called that day around 6pm.  She did not want me to stop taking it. I told her the weight gain and blood sugar stuff outweighed the current benefit since I was off the prednisone and lamictal which got the hallucinations going and hadn’t hallucinated in 5 or 6 days. Nevermind that I’m no longer hallucinating, she didn’t want me to stop it. I said I’m going to stop it, but I wanted to talk to you about it so I can do it safely; talking to you about meds is going to save my neck one day. She said keep taking it at the same dose for another month. I said no way, because another 10 or 12 lbs and 50 pts on the blood sugar check would be a worse problem than hearing imaginary kids in the attic. Back and forth.  In the end, we agreed to half the amount for at least a week, then if my mood is stable I can stop taking it. Sheesh, what a hassle to get off a medication that is clearly unhealthy for me.

Then yesterday was get-FiOS-installed-hell.  It wouldn’t have been so bad had the people in the office when I got us signed up hadn’t lied to me. Or if my dear mother the flake hadn’t forgotten the password to her email and account with Verizon.  Or if she hadn’t insisted that she’d given me the folder about it that she hadn’t given me. Or if when she finally found the folder, it didn’t have an expired password written down. Or if she’d even remembered the answer to the secret question. It’s still not all straightened out. The installation guy couldn’t figure out why. An hour of being on the phone with the main office got to the fact that it wasn’t right because Verizon then had an issue with “migration”.   I’ll tell them what to do with their migrating flock

Punch my uneasy button will you people? I handled it all well. I just hated having to.  I even realized why my buttons were getting pushed. People not listening to me and taking me into account has a long history of getting me more abuse, ie. if they’d paid attention and/or listened to what I said when I was a child, the sexual abuse would have (I’d hope!) stopped much sooner. And if my first psychologist had thought anything of my seeing things as a teen, I’d maybe have gotten help for the bipolar sooner.  Ok, that was then. This is now. I handled it well and I’m ok in spite of them pushing my buttons today. Yay for me!  ARGH for having to deal with it. LOL

One of the things I’ve done for many years now is use quotations and affirmations to help me keep my head where I need it to be. It helps a lot when the bipolar disorder is knocking at the door, and helps me manage my bipolar illness too.  I have written these sayings up on index cards and leave them around the house and tacked to walls and such, so that everywhere I go there is some positive thought waiting for me.

This is today’s thought on the corner of my monitor stand.

The whole thing about the typealizer and the rude comment passes. Neither bipolar nor bpd / c-ptsd mood blips last forever, thank goodness. It just feels like it’s going to sometimes.

Turns out that what I saw as rude wasn’t meant that way.  It seems Felix’s caffeine and my insomnia had a bit of a trainwreck there, but you know, as things go that’s not so awful. Boy was I all overly-emotional yesterday though. Thanks everyone for your support. I feel awed by it. I  don’t feel that overly-emotional way now though. I feel pretty calm and cheerful. Ok, I am slightly annoyed that the cat stole a sausage and then barfed it back up 10 minutes later, but as things go that’s just no big deal.

My mood is flapping about some lately because of all the chemical stuff — getting on and back back off the lamictal, being sick for going on 6 weeks now with bronchitis of one sort or another, heavy duty antibiotics, heavy duty cough medicine, steroids, insomnia related to all that, and whatnot.  I get pretty reactive because of all that at times. But here’s the real joy of it for me: I bounce back SO much quicker than I could have a year or so ago. Yay!  This is like a huge success for me every time I fall down into the “oh I hate me life is crap everyone hates me” thing and can get back out of it before I’ve foundered in it for days or weeks. A year and a half ago under the same circumstances it would have been weeks.

This ability to get out of a funk in hours rather than days or weeks is why I’ve paid my dues with the bipolar meds and all that’s entailed, the DBT that takes some 5 to 10 hours out of my week, daily meditation, schedules I’d rather not have, mood charts I’d just as soon not do, dropping my caffeine to blood ratio, actually sleeping 8 hours most nights however wasteful it seems at times, and all that. This is what makes it worth it.  And boy, is it worth it.

Unstable over at This is Uncensored Territory Baby keeps coming up with posts on therapeutic exercises that are so spot on.  This exercise is no different. A Declaration of Permission. Apparently it’s not secret now that I find these therapeutic, although I’m still chickening out on the letter to my m other one. LOL

First bits first.  Just what are the things that I can’t/don’t/won’t because I secretly feel I feel I can’t do because I’d explode or the world would end or whatever and why can’t/don’t/won’t I? Things I have unreal rules for myself about? (Hey BorderLife, sounds like, more on myths, eh? By gum, I think it is!)

Why can’t/don’t/won’t I….

… and I draw a complete blank.

Ok, let’s get simpler. WHAT can’t/don’t/won’t I????  Blank again.

[I had started this post, then stopped here in the draft for days. This morning I finally got it going, after last night being reassured by the fact that Unstable was having the same issues with it. It's good to hang together when the going is tough. Even out here in cyberland.]

Uh, why’s this so hard. I seem to think I can, do will do anything and everything and there are no things I feel I’d explode about or something similarly sinister and no rules about my conduct stuffed into my head.

Oh. Exercise.

The old “rule”… Moving around is dangerous and someone will come molest you or hurt you some way.

Immi, I give you permission to exercise without worrying that anyone will hurt you.

Anger.  And now it’s moving.

The old “rule”, the mental myth … Getting angry is dangerous. I might do something dangerous or explode, or someone might do something horrid to me if I get angry.

Immi, I give you permission to feel angry at anyone any time whether it’s reasonable or not, without being overwhelmed by the feeling.  
(I don’t give you permission to be violent with them, but have at all the anger you want sweet.)

The old “rule”, the mental myth … I have to fit in so they don’t notice me and do something abusive to me.

Immi, I give you permission to look any way you do without worrying what others will think.  Yes, that includes wearing Winnie the Pooh t’s with frightening jewelry if that’s what you want or doing your hair in the latest bedhead style.

The old “rule”, the mental myth … If someone compliements me they’ve noticed me and they’re lying to me or getting ready to do something abusive to me. The very rare times that isn’t so, it’s jinxing me so that I’ll get abused.

Immi, I give you permission to be complimented on anything about you without feeling it’s undeserved or you’re somehow being jinxed by it.

The old “rule”, the mental myth … I am horrible and don’t deserve to feel good because I’m so horrible.

Immi, I give you permission to feel good about yourself no matter what. Nuff said.

The old “rule”, the mental myth … I can’t say no because it’s bad and I’m horrible.

Immi, I give you permission to say no in any situation you need or want to say no.

The old “rule”, the mental myth … I deserve nothing good.

Immi, I give you permission to say yes to things you want to do, have,  and be.

The rules and myths we have to live by are so deeply buried they’re just part of life. When they get dug up and brought to light, thoughI think I’ll have to go find a permission slip pad and put these on the wall nearby. These days the myths are smaller and farther away than ever. I know they’re still engrained, though. All the things I learned by the time I  was 3 or 4 are, so it’ll take longer to un-engrain them and put new things in their place. Such is the lot of those with bpd, c-ptsd, or who just plain were abused as children, or maybe abused at all. It’s good to start un-entraining them and finding new things to live by, though. To get away from them even some is a great freedom.