This post was controversial even before posted; clearly underscoring how much people need to talk about ECT. The Bipolar Burble welcomes Steven Schwartz, the BiPolar Badger, and his experiences with electroconvulsive therapy.
Myths, Realities and Journey Through ECT – by the BiPolar Badger
I was 9-years-old in 1975 when One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest came out. I remember watching it on our floral, pleather sofa, late one night on TV. It scared the crap out of me; this was the first time in my life I saw E.C.T. (electroconvulsive therapy, previously electroshock therapy or shock therapy) and little could I imagine that one day I would find myself in McMurphy’s position.
After Third ECT Treatment – How Do I Feel? Less Depressed.
Natasha Tracy and the Bipolar Burble welcome Steven Schwartz, the BiPolar Badger as a guest blogger later this week. Steven will be speaking from the point of view of someone who has chosen to get electroconvulsive therapy treatments and is in the middle of his current series of electroconvulsive therapy treatments.
Electroconvulsive Therapy Primer
In preparation for Steven’s piece, I’ve written this primer.
And generally the strong viewpoints are anti-ECT. They are from the ECT-is-torture crowd. A prevalent crowd online, to be sure, but someone needs to actually talk about the facts of ECT.
People don’t like it when I get angry. They don’t like it when I rant. On my very own blog. On the internet. Sheesh people, I am human you know. One might suggest it would be absolutely nutty not to rant.
And I’m not an angry kind of person. I have a theory about why you shouldn’t be angry and I try to use the idea that there is no reason to be angry, and allow anger to roll off my back. It usually works.
But I think all sick people have a right to be angry. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not a good idea to live in that anger. It’s not a good idea to spread that anger. But for fuck’s sake, you’ve been given a life-long mental illness that requires too many doctors and debilitating psychiatric medication. You have the right to be a little angry about that.
A commenter, Jessica, left a comment yesterday that so succinctly expresses what so many of us feel about depression, bipolar and mental illness, and continue to feel. The following is her comment and my response.
“when I just feel so sick and tired of fighting for what seems like nothing…what seems like a never ending battle…what seems like someone hitting me over the head with a two-by-four every two minutes, telling me it will never stop until the day I die, and then they explaining to me why I should continue to fight to live for another 40 years.”
Yes. I know.
Fighting the Pain of Depression
We fight to the death for millimeters when we really need a mile. I know.
You can be anything you want to be. Dream it and you can be it. Do it now.
We have all heard these things. These are the things we tell our children. These are the some of the lies we tell our children.
Tell the Crazy They Can Do Anything they Want, I Dare You
We’re trying to encourage our children to be who they want to be. We want them to get what they want.
And as far as lies go these ones aren’t bad. We are trying to encourage kids to be presidents, astronauts, fire engines (seriously, kids love fire engines), CEOs, police officers (they don’t want to be police cruisers for some reason), doctors, lawyers and so on. We want them to obtain their dreams. It’s so terribly noble of us, to lie to our children like that.
No, You Can’t Do Anything You Want
Of course doors for a person are closed the second they take their first breath. What is their race? What is their sex? Where are they born? Who are their parents? How much money do they have? Into what time are they born? What is the political climate? Are they born with a birth defect? Do they have a disability? Do they have an illness? And so on, and so on, and so on. And with every circle around the sun, more and more limitations are placed on them.
Also known as, How Do You Know if You’re Hypomanic?
These are my hypomania signs seen throughout an average hypomanic day, and honestly, the symptoms vary by individual, time and medication, but I suspect many bipolars are similar. The secret to self-diagnosing hypomania are paying attention to these little differences seen throughout the day.
Hypomania and Sleep Disturbance
The first thing I usually notice in hypomania is a sleep disruption. I’ll go to bed and become so awash in fantasy I cannot sleep. And this fantasy comes with it’s own soundtrack. A collection of sounds that become the tone of my mind. I lay naked in bed trying to calm my mind down. But my brain and my mind will have none of it. Even if terribly tranqued, my hypomanic consciousness will spend its time with sloppy fantasies instead of snappy ones. Or sleepy ones.
My brain’s neurons light up in syncopation to the throbbing beats of Nine Inch Nails or some such.
It is a stupid, cyclical life that I lead. I just keep going round and round the insanity-go-round, the mood-go-round, the crazy-go-round. It’s said insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different result.
One of the truly horrible things about a lifetime of bipolar, hypomania, depression and illness is that you’re always left wondering, is this depression the last depression? Is this my brain and my mind’s breaking point? Is this the depression I end with suicide?
Others Wonder if This is the Time You End Depression with Suicide
And worse, people around you, in idle moments, might wonder if this the last time they’ll have to hear you sobbing on the phone. Is this the last time they see your depression? Is this the last time they have to be scared for you?
Ah yes, a mental illness reality that is a treat for everyone.
Depression makes you feel alone. Depression makes you feel like you’re the only person that feels the pain and sadness that you do. Depression brings about negative spirals of thinking that convinces you that there is only darkness, nothingness and that you are utterly alone in the world. This loneliness is a symptom of depression.
Bipolar makes you feel alone too. Bipolar makes you think you are alone because no one else experiences the highs of mania and the lows of depression. Then there’s loneliness with Schizophrenia thanks to the rest of the world unfairly thinking you are violent and dangerous. And dissociative identity disorder convincing you that you are alone and that no one on the planet is as “crazy” as you.
In short, mental illness makes you feel alone and like there is no one else like you in the world.
Ah depression. Sucking, vaporizing, numbing black hole. A void where feeling used to be.
Last night I went out on a date. It was a girl I had connected with through a site online. Lovely girl. Smiling. Happy. There’s a picture of her taking another girl’s bikini top off with her teeth. Playful happiness.
And in person, she was, in fact, happy. Enthralled and entertained by me. She wanted to hear story after story. Captivated. Charmed. Her gaze burned into my flesh.
Most Notable Feeling in Depression is Nothingness. A Lack of Want.
Just how suicidal are you? OK, admittedly, it’s probably not the best idea to fixate on this question, but in point of fact “being suicidal” doesn’t mean just one thing. Being suicidal exists on a scale. But how does one quantify how suicidal you are?
Suicide Statistics
Thanks to very depressing research we do know many awful suicide statistics.
Suicide was the tenth leading cause of death in the US in 2007
Suicide was the third leading cause of death in people aged 15-24 in 2007
People with anorexia nervosa have a 40 times greater chance of committing suicide than the general population (anorexia nervosa is the most deadly mental illness)
Age, race, substance abuse, mental health and history are all other suicide risk factors
I can feel the post-depression-bounce-back hypomania beginning in my brain; not in my body, only in my brain. Hypomanic symptoms started yesterday evening. Things started seeming clear, perhaps just a little too clear, and certainly a little too fast. Bipolar fast. Gospel music (yes, oddly) played in my head intermittently while I guided an old tourist couple to the park, I drafted my upcoming novel, planned a conversation, and I investigated the fallen tree branch in the middle of the baseball field. Rapid fire thoughts, hypomanic thoughts, took over.
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