This Was Bad

It happened again.  We saw it coming and had no way to stop it.  How have we not learned how to curb Son when he goes manic.  This time was so frightening.  I’m not sure he’s going to fully recover.  I think it’s because of his benzodiazepine addiction of a few years ago.  Which he still has, apparently.

Things had been going so well.  The four of us were getting along better than we had been in years.  I was getting out and doing my own thing and feeling good.  I should’ve known it wouldn’t last.  Damn that optimism!  Son had been in a great mood for weeks, his business was doing very well.  He’d started some cannabis seeds and his plants were looking good.  He was staying up late; 2 and 3 AM.  But he didn’t seem bothered by it.   This went on for three days or so.   Then on Wednesday he started acting odd.  Muttering, shuffling, off balance.  Mostly confused.

This we recognize and we do as we had agreed, that if Son started acting drunk or sleep walking we were to give him an extra 1/2 dose of Seraquil.  He stayed up very late and was agitated, bumping into things, dropping things.  We sat and talked for a while, but he was pretty incoherent.  He asked the same questions: what’s going on, I don’t understand what’s happening,  why is this happening.  Then he’d ask what day it was or what time.  He was always surprised by my answer.  He began to hallucinate.  I started to record him, but had to put the camera down while I cleaned up the mess he made urinating in the middle of his room.  By then he was calmer and sat down on the couch, where he finally fell asleep.  I went to bed about 4 AM.

Next morning he seems better.  He gets up, talks with his dad and has some coffee.  But later in the day he started acting weird again.  Still, he wasn’t as bad as the previous day, so maybe he was still getting better.  But that’s not how it played out and we spent Friday night in the ER.  He admitted himself and I went home.  Husband is picking him up as I write.  Don’t know what good it did for him to just stay the night.

Still, I spoke with his caseworker and she was probably the most helpful one by far.  It’s been a different person every time he’s been in hospital.  She told me she didn’t any reason Son wouldn’t qualify for disability.   She told me to call my local SS office.  They’ll send paperwork which Son takes to his doctor.  We have an appointment with a psychologist in two weeks.  We make an appointment with the SS office and meet with their counselor.  Then in about two months he should have an answer.

I’d never heard of this, but the caseworker said she’d been doing this for 10 years and she’s rarely heard of anyone in Son’s condition be denied disability benefits.  I hate the idea of him being permanently disabled, but if he had these benefits, he wouldn’t have to work so hard out of our living room.  Plus he would then qualify for Medicare, which is much better coverage than Medi-Cal.  That’s the most important thing.

I was so angry when I tried again, in vain, to find help.   All I got was recorded messages telling me to call another number.  I called a dozen phone numbers for an hour and in the end had no where to go but the ER.  Where I had to sit and keep him calm for 6 hours, because you know they won’t give you any drugs until all the tests come back and you see the doc.  Once Son was medically cleared he finally was seen by a caseworker.

Son kept asking us if he took something or if we gave him something.  He also asked what we found in his room.  Did we take something from his room.  So we checked out his room.  A small bottle of a type Benzo in powder form.  He and his dad just came back and I told him we found it.  Now he is angry and wants it back.  He wants people to leave him be, that he’s better when he’s on them.

It’s going to be a long, long two weeks before he meets with the psychologist.  Maybe I can get him into the psychiatrist sooner.

Sometimes life just fucks you.

 

Well, That Didn’t Go Well (update)

Came home from dinner Monday night to find son sitting on the couch snoring.  Just like he does when he drinks.  We said nothing and went to bed.  He woke me at 2AM with the worst migraine.  Took him to the ER.  Sat with him for 4 hours while they gave him benadryl, compazine, and toridol.

He was in a rage on Tuesday.  I slept most of the day, not having had much sleep the night before.  He was still angry today.  Stupidly, I decided this would be the day I would give him a letter explaining how his addiction effects us and how much we want to trust him.  How much we want to help him.  Just how much we want our “old T” back.

My letter did not go over well.  We spent 1 1/2 hours yelling at each other.  Mostly Son doing the yelling.  That stupid letter I never should’ve given him.  He’s left just now, says he’s going to check into the hospital “to give us a break.”  We don’t need a break.  Things have been good for 4-5 weeks now.  I just wanted to know what happened Monday.

I’m so sorry I wrote that note and gave it to him.  Shouldn’t have done it.  It made things worse than just letting him be.

Going to go have me a good cry.  Then probably a nap.  Not up to yoga or tai chi today.  I think I’d rather wallow in a little self pity.

UPDATE

It’s 4PM and he’s been raging all damn day.  He’s talking about going to the hospital, but we are encouraging him not to go.  I know as soon as he checks in, he will want to leave again.  Plus it’s Christmas this weekend, we don’t want it ruined by him being in hospital, but then again, if he’s going to be in a manic rage all week, maybe it’s best.

I feel this is all my fault.  I know how he reacts.  But I was angry with him, and disappointed, and felt I needed to do something.  Unfortunately, for Son, it was the wrong thing.

Banks!

I received a letter today from my mortgage bank saying they have denied me any assistance since I did not produce the requested documents.  Here’s the thing, they keep sending me form letters which don’t specify what they want.  One day I received two separate packages dated the same date but saying different things.  When I called, and after much mining on my part, I discovered I apparently did not include my social security number.  I told them I could give it to them now, since we are on the phone.  Oh, no, we can’t take information over the phone.  It’s apparently unsecure.  Fine.  I relent and fill out their form, again, wrote the social security numbers nice and big and sent along a note saying to contact me at my home number.

So today’s letter tells me I have not been cooperative.  I am not providing the info requested, except they have the forms I completed.  Now they tell me they need my W-2s and my latest tax return.  No where in any letter is this requested.  They sent me one list initially of the docs they wanted.  I completed them and returned them.  They have these documents, yet say I haven’t provided requested info.Image

To say I am frustrated is far from accurate.  I am incensed and crazy upset with the way this is going.  I want to take this public and show the world how the banks here are helping people keep their homes.  Some help.  All I’ve gotten is messages left on my cellphone.  I get no reception for my cell phone at home.  I have requested they contact me at my home number, but they don’t.  How is this helping?  Right now I just want to pack up and move rather than deal with these idiots any longer.

The letters are all signed by the same woman.  A woman I’m not sure even exists.  I have never spoken to her, she only leaves me phone messages on a phone I cannot answer from home.  How hard is that to understand?  Call the right effing number and maybe I can get somewhere.  When I call I have never spoken to the same person twice.

When did my life go to hell?  Why can I no longer cope?  I’m trying to clean up my son, take care of my Mom in law, deal with at least three pending deaths; how soon is anyone’s guess.  It could be weeks, it could be years.  I’m trying to get my own shit together so I can go back to work. The phone interview went pretty well, and I am waiting now for a call to set up an in person interview. How the hell am I supposed to do all of this???

At least most of the paperwork re R and his death are pretty much taken care of.  Though we are still dealing with issues about the car.  Apparently we accidentally included the car’s renewal when we sent in the forms for the change in title.  Now they won’t give Son’s Ex the title, because it doesn’t have her name on it.  Well, Duh, if they would just look at the rest of the papers it will show that the car was transferred to her.  Jeeeeez, why are people who deal with the public so inept and stupid?

I’m about out of venom at this point, so I think I’ll stop.  I just can’t wait to see how Son’s dr appointment goes today.  I’m sure it will be the topper to my already awful day.  I hate to whine here, but I’ve got no where else.  Thank you for listening.

Addiction and Rehab

Son has come to me serveral times in the last couple of days to tell me of his increased drug use.  He was home alone all day yesterday and spent the vast majority of it just sitting on the couch, high.  He tells me he hates that.  He hates that he hurts, and he hates that he’s depressed/bipolar, he hates that he is alone, he hates needing to take the drugs just to feel better, except for the problem that they wear off faster and faster and he has to take more and more.

He says he’s ready for treatment.  Psychiatric assessment, and properly monitored drugs.  I think he really needs an inpatient program for a few months, but I know we can’t afford that.  Though I don’t have any idea what these places charge and my assumption is, if I have to ask the price, I can’t afford it.

We have been recommended to The Edelman Clinic here in LA.  I think it is a free or low cost clinic, run by the government, but also affiliated with UCLA, which makes me more comfortable with the level of care they give.  Son and I will check it out more tomorrow–they are only open 9am-5pm Monday through Friday.  But I can’t find any information on the cost of care there either.

I think a lot of my current problems have to do with Son’s growing addiction.  I don’t know how to make him get the help he says he wants.  It has to be a good program, or he won’t use it.  Unless we make it a condition of his living with us.  I don’t want to make threats, especially threats I may not be able to follow up on.

At least I had a couple days of rest.  I’ll be going into hormonal overdrive for the next few days, so we’ll see how it goes.  I have moved my computer to my bedroom, and will continue to give Son more space.  And meditate on recovery and acceptance. 

Meds

I’m on the last two weeks of lowering my dosage of effexor from 450 mg to 37 1/2.  In two weeks I will only be taking 200mg zoloft and .5 mg abilify.  Then after another two weeks without effexor at all, go back and see the shrink and decide what new medication I should start.   It has been harder than I thought, and worse than I expected.  Each time I lower the dose I go through 3-4 days of depression, anger, frustration, mood swings, hot flashes and freak outs.

If you put me in a room by myself for those days I would probably be just fine, but life moves on, and I’m supposed to participate.  I have a job to look for, a son to coax out of his own depression, and help with my ADHD gs.  Throw in a little stress about using my credit cards to buy groceries, and it’s been quite a ride this year.  To add a new drug to the mix is enough to make me tear at my hair.  And today someone asked me why I don’t go back to school. LOL

I’ll be glad when I’m clear of effexor and relieved I haven’t been so bad as to do anything stupid.  Luckily since I’m not employed I have no life insurance, so my death wouldn’t benefit my family monetarily, so I’m safe.  But the idea is there, sneaking around the back of my mind.  I hate that black snake of depression which takes all the joy from your life, leaving you with nothing but a blackness inside you, an emptiness that nothing can fill.  A black hole in your soul.  Depression is an evil fuck.

It’s been like having PMS for two weeks (totally not fair!) with mood swings that would scare children and so sudden–Like a hatchet through the day.  How the hell am I supposed to work if I’m like this two weeks of the month?   Now add the ms,  the drive, the stress of working.  Yet my government tells me I’m not disabled.  Sure, when I’m not at work I’m good.  Don’t give me any problems to deal with, and I’m your gal.  Expect me to make international travel arrangements today and you’re going to end up in North Korea instead of South Korea.  A simple transposition of words.  An easy mistake for me to make these days.

I’d love to work, I need to work…I need the money– seriously DI insurance doesn’t buy you much.  I spent all of this morning applying for AA positions in LA, an hour and a half drive from home (great for someone fatigued walking around the block).  Keeping a calendar, making travel arrangements, simple bookkeeping, all duties of an AA.   All the things I was once highly capable of.  How do I apply for jobs I can do when I’m not sure what I can do.  My resume is terrific, my skills as of 5 years ago–top notch.

I am friends with the administrator at VRM.  We have a very honest relationship and I asked her knowing what she does of my situation would she hire me.  She said absolutely not.   I’m not sure I can manage the job of receptionist, yet I’m applying for an AA spot.  I hope that dealing with a lower level exec would lessen my stress and even if I had to maintain a calendar and make travel arrangements it might only be occasional, not as heavy as with VRM, my last employer.  I can probably get a job in a month if I went back to LA to the agency that got me my last job, but I would be lying to say I could still do that job, despite what my government says.

I’d be accused of lying to my prospective employer telling him, ‘yes, I’ve maintained a complex calendar’, though I have done.  Am I to expect an employer to put up with my screaming and crying spells?  Which, by the way may very well be due to the ms and be permanent and have nothing to do with my drug withdrawal.  There’s virtually no way to tell.  What would my exec do if I burst into tears after receiving a criticism?  How will I take notes with bum thumbs?  I’m willing to do my best, but I no longer know what my best is and whether it will be enough to get a job that will actually pay my mortgage.  I don’t need to make zillions, I don’t need fancy vacations.  Shit I don’t need vacations, haven’t had one until I retired this year, if you can call this past year a vacation…I didn’t go anywhere.  (Didn’t even make it to the beach this summer.)

I’ll be calling a lawyer tomorrow to make an appointment to discuss my situation with disability and figure out my best option.  Then I have to make an appointment with my shrink, see if I can get in to see him sooner than later.  Then I will put my notes in order to start NaNoWriMo and write my 50,000-word draft of my latest novel.

If all goes well, I will be published in the Spring and make hundreds!

…. Ya gotta have a dream.