My levels are low

I wrote this story in 2010 sometime. I am bipolar 2, a milder subset of bipolar disorder. I take three medications and in moderate dosages. They do NOT sedate me nor make me a zombie. It is the illness that is the stranger, that doesn't belong. The medication helps me to be MORE myself. Years of narcotic usage and addiction in Las Vegas exacerbated my condition. Why do I post these stories? This is old material. I'm running out of stuff, and I'm not inspired to write just now. 

I’m not even sure I should write this story. There isn’t much percentage in admitting that you are mentally ill. Right now I’m angry and bitter. I’m suffering, but that’s the least of it. What happens when you are bipolar and your dosages are not right is that — well mood drives ideation and ideation drives behavior. The upshot is that I alienate friends and people in my life that can help me, that can support me.
Of course, the other thing is that I alienate my professional associations, usually forever. People in the publishing business ain’t gonna put up with my shit. They are too busy, they don’t need it, and the business is so volatile right now. 

Three years ago I had a biwinning moment with the head editor at Anvil Press. SubTerrain magazine bought three of my stories, and I was getting pissy about the editing on the pieces. I thought the guy butchered my stories. Or who really knows what I thought. It wasn’t what I thought, it’s what did, which was to pollute his answering machine with invective. Three days later I received a box and inside was my manuscript and a note wishing me luck with the next publisher.

Now losing Anvil was no big deal, except that I don’t figure to get another chance, and as well, I figured that I burned down every publisher on the lower mainland. It’s a fairly incestuous business and word gets around. I made a mistake and I was in a lot of pain for a long time, but then I got a second chance and a contract last March. I have kept my nose clean, for the most part, but lately...

I had been seeing a psychiatrist for over two years. I wasn’t too fond of the guy, but I acquiesced because I need help with my medication. One time I confronted him, “What specifically are you doing to treat me?” He didn’t like that too much.
Here are the facts; I can get my psych meds from any MD, but they won’t do adjustments. I understand. It’s not their venue; it’s a liability situation for them. Being as there is an acute shortage of psychiatrists in BC, I’m lucky to get anybody, and I have gotten some bad ones. Not that I have any veracity compared to a professional.

Anyway, the upshot is that I have to do my own adjustments and that is not a good idea. But I really have no choice. An episode comes on slowly generally. By the time, I realize what is happening it is too late. It takes some time to stabilize. 

Many months ago I asked my psychiatrist what was going to happen when he retired. “Oh, that’s no problem; you can get a referral from the clinic.” But I knew that he was just blowing me off. He made zero effort to help me by referring me to another psychiatrist.

This guy was old, that’s why I figured he would be retiring soon. In fact, he had a habit of falling asleep during our sessions. Not that I really cared. I was just talking so that I didn’t have to hear his lame aphorisms and cheer-leading, “Now Jesse, you are doing well now, just keep it up and be careful.” I can get all the aphorisms I'll ever need and more on Linkedin. 

I’ve been taking these medications for close to nineteen years and I’m religious about it. I LIKE the medication. I don’t believe in talk therapy, all I wanted was to get my script and get out of there.

Anyway, he announced his retirement sometime in April. He said I would get to see him twice more since he was retiring at the end of June. I saw him on May 30th and he told me that was our last session. “I have a lot of other patients to see.” And in truth, I was stable. He gave me six months worth of script and I have an appointment at the Mood Disorders Clinic, on September 11th. That was a three-month wait, but what was I going to do? 

About three weeks ago, more like a month, I took a toxicology screen at the lab for lithium and valproic acid. These are mood stabilizers. The clinic calls and they have the results. I’m a little bit low on the Epival.

My doctor doesn’t want to do an adjustment. I tell her that I understand and I say it’s alright; I can wait until September 11th. 

Not too long afterward I’m struggling with insomnia, a harbinger. I’m feeling anger, thinking thoughts, bitter, angry thoughts; I’m venting online, not a good idea at all, and having a hard time all around.

Finally, I realize what’s happening and I made my own adjustment. Doing that — I wouldn’t do that, but what choice do I have? I just talked to a lady at the Mood Disorders Clinic and she told me to go to the emergency ward, “Great, then I can get pink slipped!” Be committed for observation. I used to do sitter shifts on pink slipped people when I worked as a security guard. They never could understand why they were being held against their will. I don’t want that shit on my record, I don’t want that and I am not that bad yet. I increased my Epival, increased the valproic acid, a moderate increase and we will see. 

Who wants to hear my litany of woes dealing with the mental health apparatus for the past 13 years? I had a much better situation in the States, believe it or not, with mental health only. And I’ll say something else here, this is the first time in 19 years that I have even remotely felt sorry for myself, and I don’t like it, I don’t like that. That leads nowhere. I get tired sometimes. I’ve had some serious health problems, but mental illness has impacted my life more than any single disease that I have ever had.

Listen to this: if I go into the doctor and get a blood pressure reading of 162 over 97, she is likely to adjust my Adalat, or try another high blood pressure medication. But somehow a disease of the brain is different. I don’t know that you need to be a specialist to prescribe and monitor bipolar disorder, but you try telling that to somebody who spent twelve years getting the credential.

Regardless, I have to cope, I can’t change the system and it’s only getting worse. More of these people are retiring, and they are not being replaced. A policy change would be in order, but I don’t expect they will be recognizing credentials from outside of the Country any time soon. 

When I go see these guys they usually quickly apprehend that I am highly self-aware, articulate, and intelligent. I go into it with the goal of getting five or six weeks between appointments and a 47 minute or less hour. For years, I didn’t even have a shrink, but it’s better to have one for all the above reasons, someone to monitor me and help me with adjustments. 

The last thing my psychiatrist said to me was that it was really a shame about my life, because with my intelligence I could have really been successful. This guy doesn’t even understand how that comes across. “Oh, yes sir, my life is a shame and a tragedy.” I should have just gone home and put a plastic bag over my head and taken a hot bath. Maybe it’s true, what he said, but I’m not inclined to hear about it. It’s been a difficult life for me but the be all and end all for me doesn’t have much to do with academic credentials.