In a perfect world, all doctors would know that people with psychiatric issues are regular humans, just like everybody else. They would not look at our diagnosis, our health history, our med list, and automatically assume that we are drug seekers. They would not automatically write off our symptoms as being “psychosomatic.” I use quotes there, because the word “psychosomatic” means that the mind is causing a disorder that is expressed by the body. I happen to be of the school of medicine that believes that virtually all physical illness is caused, ultimately, by imbalances of body chemistry that are initiated in the brain; therefore, all illnesses are “psychosomatic.” And guess what, folks: they’re real illnesses. Continue reading
You’re cordially invited to Dina Leah’s coming-out party. You might have met her before, but she is painfully shy, and has had to be earnestly convinced to reveal her true identity.
You see, Dina Leah’s life has been tough, and she’s got a lot of fears. One of them is being discovered by her mother, who was terribly cruel to her as a child, and continues to be cruel whenever she gets a chance. So Dina is terrified that her mother would somehow find her (she does know how to use Google), so Dina has built layers of pseudonyms around herself, in an effort to insulate, to build a wall around her identity. Continue reading
Dr. X was a normally functioning medical student with a wife and two children when one day he woke up, got out of bed, and fell on the floor. His right side was completely paralyzed. He was taken to the hospital in an ambulance; tests were done; and he was diagnosed with Multiple Sclerosis. Continue reading
If the truth be known, I am totally consumed by writing (FINALLY) my memoir. I have a lot to write about. I have not had a “regular” life. No, really, I haven’t.
Those of you who have been following my personal blog (shameless plug #1:) http://www.bipolarforlife.me will have been getting a fairly significant preview of coming, uh, attractions. Continue reading
I can’t believe I haven’t written about my therapist yet. After all these years: we’ve been partners in this odd relationship since 1999 or so. On and off, but still. She’s seen me through some fearsome places. She tells me now how much better I am, and I believe her, because she’s been there for me when I wasn’t.
Back then around the turn of this latest century, I was a pretty busy humanoid indeed. I had just moved to beautiful Western North Carolina from even more beautiful Northern Utah, ostensibly because I wanted to spend more time with my father, who had just suffered a minor heart attack and got a stent for his trouble. Continue reading
Sleep eludes me tonight.
I have taken the appropriate doses of the appropriate pharmaceutical cocktails, to no avail. I know this feeling.
It is born of anxiety, of a tightening in the muscles at the back of my neck, and in my diaphragm, restricting my breathing. I have to pay special attention to the jaw muscles so they don’t get stuck, Heaven forfend. Continue reading
The symptoms of IBS include abdominal pain and discomfort, bloating, and diarrhea (there is a form that includes constipation, but that’s not so relevant here). The diarrhea can be so severe that a person could become housebound, or even incontinent. Continue reading
Once upon a time I had a teetering, yet outwardly normal, life. My then-fiance decided to buy me a diamond, even though I insisted I did not want one because of the terrible karma diamonds carry, generally being the products of slavery. He insisted. And he demanded that I pick the stone myself.
So I launched into a whole epoch of diamond-related research. I learned about color, clarity, cut, and inclusions, commonly known as “flaws.” Continue reading