I had my 6 month check up with my psychiatrist today and we were speaking openly about suicide after admitting that I was having suicidal thoughts. We were also discussing the differences in being suicidal and having suicidal thoughts (that is a different post.) He said that 19% of people diagnosed with bipolar disorder take their own life and that equals like 1 in 5. Those odds are shocking for some reason. If you think about the big picture 2.3 million Americans are diagnosed with bipolar disorder. If I did my math right that equals out to 437,000 people. That means there are 437,000 people contemplating suicide most with no support from anyone.I am one of the biggest supporters for the AFSP but how do we fix this? What can we as the mental health community do to combat these odds? There are so many people who can’t afford medicine, therapy let alone see a psychiatrist to properly diagnose and help them. This is something we need to recognize and help each other. We aren’t going to receive any help from the government and there is so much of a stigma attached to us people refuse to publicly support it unless it is a celebrity who claimed to “recover” from it. We need to speak openly and honestly about our struggles. I think we can be the change if we become more comfortable being open and knowing even though they might not understand we can make them care. 1 person loss to suicide is 1 too many. Let’s start the conversation and help decrease these numbers.
I’ve actively avoided him for as long as possible but they won’t refill my meds until I see him. This whole process is a chore in itself, getting the day off work, making sure my husband can pick up our daughter driving the 45+ minutes to get here and I dread it. This time I had to pay for a past balance before they would schedule the appointment only to walk in and here you still owe a balance. I lost my cool a little and feel bad for the girl behind the desk. I had paid the balance so they would give me a 30 day supply of medication. I had a balance because my amazing psychiatrist was out due to personal reasons and also COVID was on its first phase of shut downs so I had to talk to this asshole via zoom which sucked. He didn’t listen to a word I said he just kept pushing my meds and new meds because I needed a change. The feed kept freezing and he wouldn’t shut up long enough for me to talk every time he asked me a question it was like “How are you feeling?” “I am feeling….” “You need something besides Lamictal…” How in the world would you know that after you barely asked me a question and didn’t let me respond. I called back and told them that I would rather go without meds than talk to that jackass ever again. I think we were prepared for the conversation though. I don’t know if they heard me fuss at him or he complained about me but alas it is that time again. I am glad I was given the option to go in the office. I know that with just a few hiccups I’ve been okay but it is always an uneasy feeling… Here goes nothing
As I sit here writing this my car is currently on jacks the hood, trunk, and drivers side door wide open my gas tank on the shop floor if only it were my fuel pump but it isn’t and as I watch them my heart is breaking.
It isn’t just a car to me. I can tell you where every ding, scratch, and the stain is from, my salt life sticker I picked out when we were in Pensacola after a trip to Orange Beach Alabama even though we don’t live anywhere near a beach. My initials crooked on the back glass, my beads are from the AFSP walk along with a discolored brown and pink polka dot ribbon I bought for my daughter but that it looked better on my mirror. I remember driving my husband’s old beat up green S-10 with no insulation and holes in the floor board. The seat was nothing more than pieces of wood and I had to sit all the way forward just to drive it. The gas hand didn’t work so you had to guess when it needed gas and a “security” switch (it had to be hard wired because of a problem with the ignition switch.) but it got me to work and home amazingly with minimal problems. I’ll never forget the day I went to the car dealership and drove my car for the first time. I fell in love and I had to have it.
I remember going to Jacksonville Florida just a week after we bought it. I had Sirius radio for free and drove all night drinking red bull and berry smoothies from McDonald’s we fell asleep in the beach and got so sunburned. This car drove all the way to Naples, Florida and back which is a 9 hour drive. We took it on all the family vacations but it was there for me. It was there for me when I needed to scream at the steering wheel when I had a bad day, it took me to the drs appointment and later to and from the psych hospital. I drove it when I was high, manic and severely depressed. It took me to my spot on the lake where I sat on the same concrete making my suicide videos. It survived all the times I drove high especially the few times I ran off the road, all the times I almost rear ended someone trying to find the perfect song on my phone. It survived every move, angry fight when I sped off or took my computer hid in my car crying.
Godspeed Jolene you were an emotional attachment I wasn’t ready to let you go yet especially with the new job but know that you will always have a place in my heart. I have emotional attachment issues so this one hit me hard.