DSM, guys! I've Discovered a NEW Disorder. Listen up.

This is an Affective Disorder of the highest order:
Projecting the Opposite of How You Feel
EXAMPLE
You’ve been catching up with your sleep (busy, tired) and you feel rested.
However, people tell you, you look tired.
Conversely …
When you’ve been getting less than enough sleep, and you feel and actually are tired, people tell you, you look rested.
I would imagine DSM V would put this as part of their next update in the Personality Disorder column.
So which one matters?

DSM, guys! I’ve Discovered a NEW Disorder. Listen up.

This is an Affective Disorder of the highest order:

Projecting the Opposite of How You Feel

EXAMPLE

You’ve been catching up with your sleep (busy, tired) and you feel rested.

However, people tell you, you look tired.

Conversely …

When you’ve been getting less than enough sleep, and you feel and actually are tired, people tell you, you look rested.

I would imagine DSM V would put this as part of their next update in the Personality Disorder column.

So which one matters?

Up, Up and Away!

Had a really good time with my buddies, George and Sarah, yesterday in Rockville. He’s going to take me to Ocean City so we can just walk along the shoreline. We haven’t managed to work that out yet. We’ve been talking about it for a while, but now he understands it’s urgent to get me there, so we’re waiting for a good day (weather, no rain) to go there on a Sunday, Monday or Tuesday (his days off). Sarah (later) bought me two sketchbooks, cause I’m running out of paper, and we had this really (earlier) palatable (I can’t seem to handle meat, anymore) meal, something with fresh spinach and cheese melted and wrapped in a crepe. It took forever for me to order. I asked the guy very detailed questions about the menu selections, while trying to select something, make a decision.

Why are decisions sometimes so difficult?
But I did it!

And then, I needed more coffee, before I drove back to Baltimore, so Sarah went home and George and I went back to Starbucks for two shots of espresso. While they were making my coffee, the barista said (not to me): “The truck’s here.” to her coworker, in a funny way, and I looked outside and saw a semi, and I asked if the truck had coffee, and she said, “Yes.” And I said, “I wanna get on that truck!” And she laughed.

So George and I sat outside, while I drank my coffee, and the trucker had unloaded lots of stacked boxes, which were on a crate, and they were just sitting there, and I said to George, “Let’s hijack the truck!” (Not seriously). And he started laughing and said, “That would be really bad for your divorce case right now. And I’ve worked so hard to get stable (George has the greatest manic stories in the world! I was laughing so hard, I ended up on the floor, when he first told them to me.) it would be really bad for me too.” But he still thought it was funny. (And, tempting.) But the boxes just sat there. Filled with coffee beans.

Luckily, I had emailed Dr K when we first sat outside, and told him, I may be Hypomanic, but I wasn’t sure. And I think we need to increase my Trileptal. But he didn’t email me back until 2:00 AM. (I’ll get to that part soon.). So George asked me if I was okay to drive back, and I told him how much I love driving at night and cranking the music up, and that I would be okay.

So it was, like 9:00 PM.
And the boxes were still there!

And then the driver (he had been doing other stuff) was there too, and I asked if there was coffee in those boxes, and he said, “Yes.” And I said, “I want some!” And he said, “Which one do you want?” And I said, “French Roast, please.” Well, I didn’t get any. And I realized, I answered his question incorrectly. The Smart was a few feet away, and I should’ve said, “I want all of them. See the Smart, there? Just stack the entire block of 60 boxes on the roof, and I’ll be on my way.” Still, we had a lot of fun. As soon as I got home, I increased my Trileptal by 150 mgs, and the oddest thing happened. Within an hour, all the tension in my shoulders had vanished, the headache I had been battling since morning sprinted away, and I felt level!

Not normal.
Never normal.

Well, Dr K wrote me back at 2:00 AM, and I told him what I had done (With the meds. Didn’t dare tell him about the events leading up to the increase of meds.). Went back to sleep, and saw he had written back to me, and told me to keep the Trileptal at 500 mgs, not above, and divide it into 2 doses, morning and night. But I have no explanation for Giddy Attacks.

Fuck!
Oh, well.
George to the Rescue!
Once again.

“I Am NOT My Diagnosis!”

This has become a popular phrase lately among people who have a psychiatric diagnosis, especially. But I detect streams of inaccuracy there that are problematic, an attempt distance yourself from yourself – as if you could.

And although I think it’s proper linguistically to say, for example, I have a diagnosis of Bipolar Disorder, a chronic medical condition, which requires my active participation in the treatment of my symptoms … Instead of saying, I’m Bipolar

Your diagnosis does affect who you are and how you present to those around you, and in the world. And that’s why I prefer the phrase Affective Disorders, instead of, Mood Disorders, which I consider vague.

The phrase Affective Disorders includes moods, but is much more descriptive and complex, since it immediately evokes images of many behaviors that are physically and visually expressed, and often recognizable, whereas Mood Disorders is comparable to wallowing in murky waters – a Swamp.

Further, I would add (now in support of the mantra) that I knew I was an artist long before I was diagnosed. And I knew what I was when I was a child. I had no idea of psychiatric disorders at the age of five, but instead was focused on doing what I knew I was there – my passions – and doggedly pursuing them, come whatever may come between us.

So, yes. I knew I was an artist, long before I knew or understood how that would be experienced and expressed.

But I also recognize that my diagnosis affects who and what I am, and any attempt to separate that from me, as though it were some discreet idea that merely existed on a remote cerebral plane, a mere thought, something with a switch attached to it, to be controlled – that split would exacerbate the challenges we already face, would be the height of folly and spring of confusion …

Unhealthy.