It's funny, in that not really funny sort of way, but I keep screwing up some part of this entry/posting process, and when I go back, it's all blank. In starting over so many times, my whole post is becoming sort of anxiety fraught. I'll try to be clear. I'm in that down cycle, where it's still descending, each day a little lower that yesterday, with the abyss yawning just "there," too close for comfort. I feel like I need communication, can't really go out and get it, and yet, even in this mode, ie email etc, feels like I'm pushing a car up a hill.

But that's not even what I want to talk about. The discussion I'm looking for really would be about others' experiences with meds and without as far as coping with symptoms of Bi-polar, PTSD, and various "features" (don't you love that term?) such as mild psychosis.

I'm 47. When I was 40, I started a manic cycle that went on for about 8 months. I had experienced bouts of depression all my life prior to that but had always attributed it to some imagined lack of character on some level. Several winters in a row before I turned 40, the depresions becames sort of frighteningly catatonic so I diagnosed my self as seasonal affective and tried using lights and L-tyrosene and st. John's wart type things. Everything I tried, I suppose because I was so hopeful for improvement, would seem to work for a few days, but then not. I think placebo tests show similar results but I'm not sure. Now, I still had no idea I was bipolar, so when one winter I started feeling good, and needing less and less sleep, I never questioned it. I was just glad to finally realize my superhuman nature. I gave up sleep like a former bad habit. I could not fathom why I had wasted so much of my life in sleep, when it was so much more incredibly stimulating to sit up and watch the dark of the night. Pretty soon, it was as though the lights of heaven shone directly upon me at all times, the mystery seemed revealed. Fifty thousand dollars, 8months, thousands of miles, and an entire lifetime later, I found myself destitute, utterly alone, sobbing my guts out on a beach in Puerto Rico. I cried like that for two straight weeks and became skeletally emaciated.

My parents had been aware of my calamity even from afar, and tried to dissuade me from my course of ruin many times, but I so "knew what I was doing" there was no reaching me. Fortunately, I called them at some point and they rescued me. Again. (While I had never "broken down" before, my life has had it's ups and downs.)

Prior to that, and fluctuations notwithstanding, I'd done a great many things in a variety of endeavors. I did well in school, enjoyed college rather too much. I read voraciously, am very creative and artistic, I had a construction business, did disaster inspections for FEMA, worked in a variety of fast paced clerical jobs, and went to extraordinary lengths seeking spiritual enlightenment. (some hilarious conversations could come out of that alone.) Anyway, all that to say, no more.

So I got into psychiatric care and the whole meds program. It wasn't very nice. I tried though, for almost four years, the antidepressants, lithium, and l'm not going to try to name them all, it just was, in the end, not a fair trade in my estimation.

"My estimation." OK. That's neccessarily flawed, I get that, I really do. But at the same time it isn't "nothing" either. I have a certain amount of insight into myself, my condition(s) and my behavior. I find that I observe myself in a whole new way armed with the awareness that I am (list of dx's here). Fortunately, I know when I'm depressed, I know when I'm triggered, I am able to monitor and enforce my sleep schedule, I'm aware of the statistical improbability of being uniquely singled out by the Universe to receive the supreme illumination. (I should insert one of those smiley things here, but I can't be bothered this moment to try to learn another feature of this site, tech isn't my forte.) I realize that not everyone affected by, or carrying the same or similar dx's neccessarily is at all able to reasonably audit themselves apart from adhering to med. program.

Without bogging down in the whole list of side effects and other disappointments about my med's experience, my main point is that there seems to me to be a "frontier" aspect to life which when obscured, renders life so flat to me as to seem not worth the effort. By frontier I suppose I mean cutting edge, or the horizon, the next veil, the continuing penetration of the "mystery" as much as is given to mortals, the inquiry, the wonder. In art it's the creative impulse, and the inspiration. In love it's empathy. For anything I could name that matters to me I could name a corresponding point of some nature that is vital to the experience and which is carelessly anihilated by the meds.

I've got a strong hunch that is why suicides occur on antidepressents. They're also anti feelings. For me. I'm talking about my own experience, not holding forth on the evils of meds in general. If I couldn't live outside of a hospital setting without medication, I would sing a different tune.

I can't find much usefulness in any of my PTSD symptoms, although I suppose in the grand design it has to do with self preservation by being hardwired to avoid reinjury. But being bipolar isn't all bad. I can't talk about this aspect within my current psych care system. I'm on welfare, and waiting for my SS disability hearing. I'm afraid to ever admit to a good day for fear of diminishing my chances of prevailing in my claim. I'm so mistrustful of gvt agencies. But in all but my worst states of depression (which no drug was able to prevent) my mind crackles with delight just to contemplate something meaningful to me.

I saw a who's who list of some sort once that listed famous people who are or were bipolar. Aside from the astonishing number of suicides, I was struck by the fact that so many of my own "heroes" were there. So many brilliant artists, writers, musicians were/are bipolar. I'm not saying bipolar makes me brilliant, but what brilliance I have, is erased by the meds. Ever see that movie "MR Jones?" Richard Gere's line about being unable to live without the high rings in my ears. I can live without the full blown mania, and being careful with my sleep seems to accomplish that for me. But I can't live without the spark itself.

Another movie that struck me deeply on this subject was "A Beautiful Life" with Russel Crow? About that scientist who was so schizophrenic. He couldn't handle the meds, and despite the severity of his symptoms, has lived a better life without than with medication. I identify with his pragmatic vigilance over his own state.

I hope I have introduced myself and what I'd like to explore sufficiently to at least make contact with someone. I'm going to post this now and see if it works. I've lost track of how many attempts I've made now, starting to feel pretty dumb about it.