I wrote a whole post just now and all of a sudden my iPad went black and I lost all of it. Well maybe that’s an omen for not writing about this subject, but since I don’t believe in omens, I’m starting all over again.

It’s about somebody else’s post that I read. It was easily one of the most horrific things I have ever read about in my life. This person also has bipolar disorder and they were writing about their family. What I read about, abuse, alcoholism, extreme violence, was so horrific that I was literally left speechless and I couldn’t even post a comment.

When I started this blog, it was to bring attention to mental illness. I was basically saying that if a person like me could have mental illness, then anyone could. And yes, anyone can. The purpose was to remove the stigma from mental illness. The purpose was to come out of hiding and talk about this illness. The purpose was for people to stop suffering in silence and hiding the fact that they have mental illness. If I break my rib (which I did once) I get get well cards and flowers and gifts. Do I when I get sick with either a depressive or manic phase? No I don’t. Not a complaint, just an observation. I know there can be horrific occurrences in families where mental illness is prevalent, I mean just look at movies that Hollywood produces. In reality, mentally ill people perpetrate much, much less violence than the “normal” population. But that’s not the point. The point is that this post form a blog written by a bipolar person was so incredibly disturbing that I literally feel traumatized by it. I apologize abjectly if I made anyone feel awful after they read any of my posts!

I mean, on the one hand, it was so violent and heinous that it is making me rethink my decision to have started my blog. On the other hand, there was so much strength and, amazingly enough, love and grace in it, that it seems to vindicate blogs about mental illness, even if they are extremely disturbing.

I don’t know. I feel upset and confused. I am not a dark person. I am a light, go and get em, never give up, the glass is always half full, dancing, flower loving, Zumba dancing, laughing, joking kind of person, normally, with a little hint of Lucille Ball thrown in. This abject darkness is a bit too much for me to handle. Isn’t the road to hell paved with good intentions, and I had so many good intentions when I started this blog.

I think for a while I will not be reading anything that looks the least bit depressing and for a while I will write only about the science of mental illness. That’s nice and happy, right?

It is heartbreaking to see poor, filthy, bedraggled homeless people, walking down the street, talking to themselves. Where I live now is an urban setting. In my suburban neighborhood in Buffalo, NY, I didn’t encounter any homeless people. Here, in my new neighborhood in Louisville, Kentucky, I see them daily. And it is very sad. I wonder, where do they sleep, where do they shower, wash their faces, brush their teeth? As far as sleeping, I see tents in the park and as far as showering, washing up, I think the answer is nowhere. Really sad. I’ve heard it said and seen it written that war veterans, because of post traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) or other psychiatric problems, become homeless. That is absolutely a heinous crime for our country’s government to allow this to happen. First these young men are sent to fight on our behalf, then when they come home, sick and unable to live their lives, there is no adequate care available for them and they end up on the streets! For shame U.S.A! The VA healthcare system is, simply put, inadequate, where some veterans have to wait 30 or more days to get any care. Young veterans are committing suicide, 22 veterans a day (!!!) because of severe brain injuries and PTSD.

Both of these issues, the homeless and the veterans, are issues of mental health. Our veterans deserve better, our mentally ill citizens deserve better. These are not throw away people, they are valuable people who need help and in a country, a first world, an advanced country such as the U.S.A, this should be readily available. How to do this? How to accomplish this? How to give these poor sick people the help they need?

A friend just asked me to write something about this. What if someone is showing symptoms of a mental illness, but is not getting the help he/she needs, either through their own refusal or for some other reason. That is so hard to watch, a loved one, whom you are certain is showing symptoms of bipolar d/o or schizophrenia, yet either has not realized that they are sick or is simply refusing to get treated. Well, my brother, my darling baby brother, refused to stick to his treatment and the results were catastrophic, not anything I would wish even on my worst enemy. That being said, hopefully there is a way to make someone realize that they are acting erratically, maybe not sleeping, maybe staying at home, crying all day, and that these are symptoms of a treatable diseases. No one wants to have a mental illness, because of the severe difficulty of living with one, as well as because of the stigma attached to it. Hell I don’t want to have it, but I do and I am making the best of it. What if you say to this person: If you were having trouble seeing, would you not go to an Ophthalmologist? If you broke your arm, would you not go to an Orthopedic surgeon? If your blood sugar was high, would you not see an Endocrinologist? So, if your mind/brain is playing tricks on you, then how about seeing a Psychiatrist?

Also, perhaps showing them blogs of this kind, I have many listed on the top left hand side of my page, as a way to show them that even with mental illness, people can be productive, creative, and lead fulfilling lives, this may help alleviate the fear of someone who is “becoming” bipolar or schizophrenic or manifesting some other mental illness.

Of course, when someone is starting to manifest any mental illness, it is a very frightening time for the person, as well as for their family. The pot of gold on the other side of the bipolar rainbow is that after you go through severe enough phases to have to be hospitalized, you totally come back to your self!! There is no permanent loss of self. In schizophrenia, this is not true, there is a decline in cognitive functioning and intelligence, and the patient changes… So if someone were choosing which disease to pick, bipolar would certainly be the better choice! Ha!

The best thing i can think of to do with someone you think is displaying signs of a mental illness is to make them aware of these signs. Offer them hope that with medication and therapy, they can live a good life. And finally get them to agree to see a good psychiatrist, who, if he is worth his salt, will treat, follow, and give this person the meds or therapy they need. Also show them that even with the disease, they can live a good life, if possible.

Besides that, there’s not much one can do. Everyone is the master of their own life and decides what to do with it, even mentally ill people, unless of course if, as in very rare cases, they are dangerous (the vast majority of mentally ill people are NOT violent or criminals) then they will be forcibly contained. Other people can help as much as they will let them. Mentally ill people, like everyone else, are responsible for their own choices.

So we will do all we can, for our loved ones, and ourselves and certainly hope for the best.

As I do for my friend who asked me to write this and I sincerely hope this offers you at least a little help.

My grandmother, the fiery child bride suffered her share of heartbreaking, gut wrenching  losses in her life. The first was of her eldest son, her firstborn child Waris, who ran in front of a car and was killed when he was five years old. I can’t imagine what she must have felt, how she must have coped with this unbearable loss. Then for three months, she thought her second child, Wahid was also lost to her. My uncle Wahid was in a boarding school, Saint Stephens. A very exclusive school where only sons of English lords and Indian aristocracy went. One day, a Sikh friend of his insisted that he come to his home for a big party that they were having for his sister’s wedding. My uncle tried to brush him off, but his friend was adamant that he should come. So they went. The next day, there was a massacre of all the Muslim students by an anti Muslim Sikh group. My uncle’s friend had heard that this was going to happen and had taken him out of the school to save his life!!! It gives me literal goose bumps just writing about this! My uncle stayed with him for a while. But these were uncertain times, during the partition of India into India and Pakistan. So as not to endanger his Sikh friend’s family, my 17 year old uncle went to “Lal Qila”, the Red Fort, where all the Muslim refugees were housed. He stayed there for three months, with no way to get word to his parents that he was alive and well. As I said, these were uncertain times and he was in Delhi, his parents were in Moradabad, many miles away and there was no way to inform them of his safety. For three months, my grandmother thought that my uncle Wahid had perished in the massacre!! Eventually my uncle Wahid made his way back home. I can not imagine what joy and happiness and feasts that took place upon his return. I am so happy for my dearest grandmother, my Nani Amma that at least this time she didn’t lose her son. The next time, there was no miracle, there was only great sorrow, this was in 1969. Her youngest son, handsome, intelligent, beautiful, loving Khalid Ahmad was lost to her. He had joined the Pakistani army and was coming to visit my grandmother, to actually surprise her. His friend who owned a motorcycle had agreed to give him a ride to Lahore, where my grandmother lived with my mother, my aunt, uncle, my little brother Farooq and me. All of a sudden the atmosphere in our house became tense, frightening, and dark. My uncle had been in an accident with a bus as he was riding on the passenger seat on his friend’s motorcycle. His friend walked away from it. But my uncle suffered terrible head injuries and was brought to the hospital where my mother worked. No one would tell us children anything. I remember asking if someone had died. I was told to pray, and of course with the innocence of an eight year old girl, I prayed and prayed. I even used to believe in fairies then, so I was convinced my prayers to almighty God would be answered. But it was for nought. My uncle Khalid, 21 years of age, did not survive. And this time I didn’t need to imagine, I saw my grandmother’s immense sorrow, her wailing and crying. We all cried. What else could we do? Then of course many years later, my brother also left us. Sorrow upon sorrow. I wish I believed in god. I would ask him why he did all this to us. Why so much suffering? Why so much loss in one family? But I don’t believe in all that. So I ask no one.

My grandmother, the fiery child bride suffered her share of heartbreaking losses in her life. The first was of her eldest child Waris, who ran in front of a car and was killed when he was five years old. I can’t imagine what she must have felt, how she must have coped with this unbearable loss. Then for three months, she thought her second child, Wahid was also lost to her. My uncle Wahid was in a boarding school, Saint Stephens. A very exclusive school where only sons of English lords and Indian aristocracy went. One day, a Sikh friend of his insisted that he come to his home for a big party that they were having for his sister’s wedding. My uncle tried to brush him off, but his friend was adamant that he should come. So they went. The next day, there was a massacre of all the Muslim students by an anti Muslim Sikh group. My uncle’s friend had heard that this was going to happen and had taken him out of the school to save his life!!! It gives me literal goose bumps just writing about this! My uncle stayed with him for a while. But these were uncertain times, during the partition of India into India and Pakistan. So as not to endanger his Sikh friend’s family, my 17 year old uncle went to “Lal Qila”, the Red Fort, where all the Muslim refugees were housed. He stayed there for three months, with no way to get word to his parents that he was alive and well. As I said, these were uncertain times and he was in Delhi, his parents were in Moradabad, many miles away and there was no way to inform them of his safety. For three months, my grandmother thought that my uncle Wahid had perished in the massacre!! Eventually my uncle Wahid made his way back home. I can not imagine what joy and happiness and feasts that took place upon his return. I am so happy for my dearest grandmother, my Nani Amma that at least this time she didn’t lose her son. The next time, there was no miracle, there was only great sorrow, this was in 1969. Her youngest son, handsome, intelligent, beautiful, loving Khalid Ahmad was lost to her. He had joined the Pakistani army and was coming to visit my grandmother, to actually surprise her. His friend who owned a motorcycle had agreed to give him a ride to Lahore, where my grandmother lived with my mother, my aunt, uncle, my little brother Farooq and me. All of a sudden the atmosphere in our house became tense, frightening, and dark. My uncle had been in an accident with a bus as he was riding on the passenger seat on his friend’s motorcycle. His friend walked away from it. But my uncle suffered terrible head injuries and was brought to the hospital where my mother worked. No one would tell us children anything. I remember asking if someone had died. I was told to pray, and of course with the innocence of an eight year old girl, I prayed and prayed. I even used to believe in fairies then, so I was convinced my prayers to Almighty Allah would be answered. But it was for nought. My uncle Khalid, 21 years of age, did not survive. And this time I didn’t need to imagine, I saw my grandmother’s immense sorrow, her wailing and crying. We all cried. What else could we do? Then of course many years later, my brother also left us. Sorrow upon sorrow. I wish I believed in god. I would ask him why he did all this to us. Why so much suffering? Why so much loss in one family? But I don’t believe in all that. So I ask no one.

http://www.medicaldaily.com/ketamine-helps-patients-bipolar-disorder-depression-works-differently-among-two-308880
Researchers from The National Mental Health Institute (NIMH) at the National Institutes of Health have been studying the antidepressant effects of ketamine — a hallucinatory drug commonly known as “special k” — for years now. While prior studies confirmed the drug can rapidly reduce disordered symptoms, the latest from NIMH refines these findings to emphasize ketamine effects bipolar and depression patients differently.

“Our findings help to deconstruct what has traditionally been lumped together as depression,” Dr. Carlos Zarate, of NIMH, said in a press release. “We break out a component that responds uniquely to a treatment that works through different brain systems than conventional antidepressants — and link that response to different circuitry than other depression symptoms.” Zarate and his team were able to do this after infusing the drug or a placebo into 36 patients in the depressive phase of bipolar disorder.

When patients were on the drug and placebo, researchers could detect any mood changes on a scale of anhedonia (the inability to experience pleasure from enjoyable activities) and depression. Isolating the two helped researchers to see that ketamine triggers a strong anti-anhedonia effect sooner, and independent of, other effects. Specifically, researchers discovered levels of anhedonia improved within 40-minutes of patients taking ketamine compared to those who took a placebo; depressive symptoms improved within two hours.

When I don’t feel well, I kinda live in the Cyber World.

Holed up in my condo, with my MacBook Air, iPhone and iPad… (And haha, no they’re not paying me for my endorsement.)

The better I feel, the more I am out in the real world doing things.

In fact, the inverse is also true, the more I am out in the real world doing things, the better I feel.

So, whenever the down period comes, remember, up and at ’em!

Remember, always tell yourself, come on, you can do it.

Cheerleading for ourselves is sort of necessary when mood d/o’s act up.
And I know this is harder than it sounds. Because sometimes no amount of cheerleading can have you getting up an at em… I know…

But even so we try. So to all my readers who need this as well, I’m cheering you on too. Right now!

It can be done and YOU and I can do it :))

Much love. To us all.

http://www.medicaldaily.com/ketamine-helps-patients-bipolar-disorder-depression-works-differently-among-two-308880
Researchers from The National Mental Health Institute (NIMH) at the National Institutes of Health have been studying the antidepressant effects of ketamine — a hallucinatory drug commonly known as “special k” — for years now. While prior studies confirmed the drug can rapidly reduce disordered symptoms, the latest from NIMH refines these findings to emphasize ketamine effects bipolar and depression patients differently.

“Our findings help to deconstruct what has traditionally been lumped together as depression,” Dr. Carlos Zarate, of NIMH, said in a press release. “We break out a component that responds uniquely to a treatment that works through different brain systems than conventional antidepressants — and link that response to different circuitry than other depression symptoms.” Zarate and his team were able to do this after infusing the drug or a placebo into 36 patients in the depressive phase of bipolar disorder.

When patients were on the drug and placebo, researchers could detect any mood changes on a scale of anhedonia (the inability to experience pleasure from enjoyable activities) and depression. Isolating the two helped researchers to see that ketamine triggers a strong anti-anhedonia effect sooner, and independent of, other effects. Specifically, researchers discovered levels of anhedonia improved within 40-minutes of patients taking ketamine compared to those who took a placebo; depressive symptoms improved within two hours.

As per the advice of my doctor, I increased my dose of Seroquel from 100 mg to 125 mg and pretty much feel like a new person, feel like my normal self. So happy all the emotional upheaval inside me is gone and I feel quite at peace. Lets hope it continues. Went out for the 3rd time as Maleficent, LOVE that costume. Might be Maleficent for the next few years to come!

Wishing everyone a “Happy Halloween!”